#of course Dick doesn’t get down because he knows the threat is empty Bruce is using his “tired dad” voice not his “disappointed dad” voice

[littlefankingdom]

Dick who climbed on anything as a child. Even in public, especially in public. The moment Bruce looks away, he is climbing something to get as high as possible. The first times, it gave Bruce an heart attack. Now, it's just a headache.

People pass by and ask if they should call the firefighters, and Bruce tiredly tell them "He is fine, he can get down on his own.", like people with cats.

Imagine, you're walking out of some building, only to see a 10 years old standing on top of a lamppost, having a discussion with his dad guardian at the bottom.

"Dick, get down."

"Make me."

"Get down or you're grounded."

[themandylion]

97 & 41 jaytim

Oh wow, this ended up long. /o\

97 (Time Travel) + 41 (First Kiss) + JayTim

He's boosting tires in the Bowery when the thugs find him. Crowd him up against a wall and threaten him with bodily harm for horning in on their territory, even though this part of the city is a free-for-all, with no one reigning supreme. There's three of them to his one, all of them full-grown men with bulging muscles and nasty tempers and Jason knows he's in his final moments, that there's no way he's escaping this. Still, that doesn't mean he's going to go down without a fight. He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, raises the tire iron in his hand, and—

Between one blink and the next, the back-most thug is on the ground, groaning and clutching his crotch. There's a blur of red, and then the next one's down on his knees, the crowbar he was gripping half a block away and the hand that was holding it pinned to the wall by a slim, sharp-edged disk.

Silver flashes through the night, and the final guy collapses in a heap, just sprawled out on the pavement like he's not even human anymore, just a pile of discard clothes over something lumpy and unmoving. Someone lands on his back, light and nimble and impossibly tall. "You okay there, kid?" the new person asks, crouching down so he's at Jason's level and smiling.

"…Batman?" He's only ever seen the Bat from a distance before, but he's heard about the cape and cowl, and this guy has both.

The guy shakes his head. "Nope, not him. I'm his partner, though."

"Robin wears green," Jason feels compelled to point out, because he's definitely seen Robin before, though always on the TV, when the Teen Titans are fighting really scary bad guys elsewhere in the world.

This time, a shadow seems to pass over the man's face, sad and unhappy. "I'm a different kind of Robin. Red Robin. I'm pretty new, it's not surprising you haven't heard of me." He leans back on his heels and glances around at the thugs, frowning. "I've got to tie these guys up and leave them somewhere the GCPD will find them. Do you think you can get home on your own?"

Jason gulps, staring up at him, at the way all that tight leather and spandex hugs his body. Gee whiz. "Yeah, I. I can take care of myself. Thanks!" He surges forward, practically smacking his mouth against Red Robin's cheek, before running off into the night. Maybe not headed home, but to as close as anything gets, these days.

---

Two weeks later, Batman catches him boosting tires on Crime Alley. A week later, he's going home with the man. Jason asks about Red Robin and gets a confused, clueless look, which is strange. With everything else happening, he forgets about the man in the black cowl with the silver staff, but he still finds himself drawn to that one particular shade of red.

---

He forgets until the memory is jarred out of the deepest depths years later on the other side of the multiverse, when he's bound to a chair and staring down the barrel of gun. A gun held by another Batman, a different Bruce. One who did all the things he thought he wanted his Bruce to do, only to end up a broken man as a result. Jason tries to explain himself and his presence, but it's hard to when he keeps seeing that suit in the case over this Batman's shoulder.

They reach an understanding, a kind of peace. Both of them, finally, for the first time in ages. This other Bruce offers him the suit, and Jason doesn't think twice before putting it on. He's traveled across the multiverse, seen places where dead people live again, where evil people are good and vice versa. It's not too far a stretch to believe that somehow, he's going become his own childhood hero.

When he finishes pulling on the last piece, Bruce looks on him with pride and announces, "Red Robin lives!"

"Red…?" Jason murmurs, more than a little startled. It's been so long, he'd nearly forgotten the name, but it fits, it makes sense. Finally, he's back on the right path, back to being someone the boy he once was could be proud of. Will be proud of, when their paths cross again, which he's sure they will.

---

The other Batman dies.

---

They get back, finally done traveling across the multiverse, fleeing across Apokolips, running from plagues and maybes and might-have-beens. Donna and Rayner return to wherever they call home, and Jason... He thought he finally found himself when he put on the cowl and became Red Robin, but with everything that happened after that moment, all the contrition he gained has been too long stewing in a half-broken heart. He isn't sure who rescued him when he was a kid, but it wasn't him, and it wasn't the long-dead Jason of another world. Maybe it was no one at all, and he made it all up and convinced himself it was real.

He runs back to Gotham, strips off the cape and cowl, the bandoliers and leather. Throws it all in the trash and goes to knock some heads and blow off some steam, anything to escape from what the rest of the Justice League brought with them—a sob story and a broken, days-old body.

---

The suit disappears from the can where he threw it, and he thinks good riddance to bad rubbish, but the person who's wearing it now doesn't understand the significance, the legacy. Doesn't know what it symbolizes, a last chance at redemption, a final loss of innocence.

The new kid distracts him, muddies the water and still Jason doesn't see it, doesn't realize what's happening. Even when the kid takes the cowl, adds it to his green-free suit, he doesn't see it.

Jason's too busy fighting, too busy screaming, raging, being angry at himself and the world to realize how things are swirling tighter and tighter, closing in, twining together, weaving themselves in an intricate, impossible mesh that's new and old and always existing all at the same time. The three of them—him and Dick and the new kid—push and shove and fight and scream and grieve in their own ways, trying to figure out who they're going to be now, what the world is without Bruce.

He ignores overtures of friendship, leaves the kid broken and bleeding out and thinks nothing of it, still too busy hurting and too busy denying he hurts.

Thinks nothing of Robin back on the streets in red and green and black and yellow, a different boy, an actual child.

---

Bruce comes back, but he's just as stubborn as always, and Jason burned the last of his bridges while the old man was playing possum. There's nothing left for him to do but lurk in the shadows and grit his teeth and watch Drake bounce around the city in a costume that isn't his, telling himself he doesn't care, that it doesn't rub him the wrong way.

Doesn't actually realize what's happening until one day he's watching as Drake races across the city, ready to step in and stop him if he dares to cross into Red Hood's territory when suddenly—

There's no one. The roof's empty, not a soul in sight.

He swings over, investigates. There's a strange acrid smell in the air along with the faintest traces of sweat and exhaustion, but there's no clue to where he's gone, no hint. Minutes pass and the sky is getting darker as evening turns into night. Just when he's given up, Drake reappears, but still, unmoving. One hand grasping his staff while the other touches his cheek and he stares into nothing, dazed and unfocused.

His attention snaps up, and Jason is too startled to move, still standing there in the middle of the roof, the two of them locked in place.

"Holy fuck." He can't. This isn't—

He's tried to kill Drake multiple times over the years. They've barely had a conversation that hasn't ended with Jason drawing a knife or a gun, and more often than not he comes out on top. Leaves the guy knowing that he's alive at Jason's mercy.

But now he's standing there, finally grown into the Red Robin suit and name, filling it in all the right places, all the right ways, grasping a staff that Jason somehow failed to recognize until this exact moment.

"I never—" He never thought to make the connection, always assumed it had to be someone else, some one huge. Big enough to match the larger-than-life figure that dominated a half-forgotten memory.

"Huh." Red Robin collapses his staff, clips it his belt. "Random time blip? I didn't even realize."

Which would explain it. Of course he didn't realize—no way would he have helped that other, younger Jason if he'd known who it was. Why save a boy who's going to grow up to become a monster bent on destroying him over and over again. "Sorry," Jason says, startled, confused, unable to wrap his head around it all as he stumbles backwards, tries to do what he always does when he's confronted with too much, too fast—run.

Red Robin—Drake—tilts his head to the side and then does something completely unexpected. He shoves back the cowl and studies Jason with cool, clear eyes. "I have a feeling this has been a weird night for both of us. You could stick around. We could figure this out together."

So help him, Jason hesitates. "Time travel is pretty weird."

"I was thinking more being kissed by my childhood crush. But yeah, that too."

"Your… what?"

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I think it's time we finally talked. Maybe without the death threats this time?"

Gulping, Jason takes that hand in his.

It's not much, but. It's a start.

(The Fanfic Trope MASH-UP is still open for asks!)

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: L - Language 

Summary: Jason doesn’t hesitate to drag his brothers down with him when Bruce starts reprimanding him about the type of language he uses on a daily basis. 

Enjoy! :D 

“Well this is just a load of bullshit! Why do they have to intervene? We’re perfectly capable of handling this.” Jason huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. He can’t believe what he's hearing.

On the opposite side of the table Bruce levels him with a hard look. “Watch your language Jason.”

Jason blinks before sitting up straight. “What, it’s not like the kid is currently around to overhear."

“Jason!”

Glaring at the man, Jason scowls. This seems to be a regular topic of conversation between them recently because according to Bruce Jason swears too much, especially when he’s around Damian. The man, for whatever reason, wants Jason to be a good role model for the kid and apparently that includes him not swearing.

So now anytime he swears, Bruce points it out with a matching scolding tone and expression.

It’s a ridiculous notion because Jason being who he is was brought up with swearing, living on the streets for so many years exposed him to all kinds of things, one of which being the language people use. Swearing is just part of his vocabulary, half of the time he isn’t even aware he is doing it. As long as he’s not swearing at someone, then surely there should be some leniency.

“Oh come on!” He exclaims with a wave of his hands. “He’s been raised as an assassin, he was already tainted before we even met. Me saying a few words isn’t doing any harm.”

Before Bruce could respond a new voice joins the conversation. “To be fair you do swear a lot. Maybe you should try and tone it down.”

Jason turns to his right to glare at his older brother who’s lounging comfortably next to him. “Oh fuck off, Dick, no one asked for your opinion.”

Dick stares back unimpressed, he raises both eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

Jason recalls what he said and grits his teeth.

He points menacingly at Dick. “That doesn’t prove anything. Quite frankly I grew up in Crime Alley, of course I’m gonna swear, you hear it every minute in that place and typically as a kid you’re gonna pick up the habit. You know what they say old habits die hard.”

“Just like you did?” A different voice retorts with a snort.

Jason switches his gaze to Tim, who is opposite him next to Bruce currently playing with his phone, and blinks at him in surprise. “Uh, excuse me? I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud by that.”

It’s usually only him who makes death jokes so it’s come as a surprise to find Tim making one, a well-timed one too. Jason shakes his head, he’ll deal with those emotions at another time.

“Anyway, if we’re talking about who swears too much then why aren’t you giving Tim a lecture? He swears like a bloody sailor. If anyone needs reprimanding on his language it’s him!”

Tim abruptly stops fiddling with his phone and looks up, he rolls his eyes and glowers at him. “Jesus Christ that’s so immature Jason. How old are you, 10? I’m no way near as bad as you.”

His response gets a gleeful chuckle out of Jason. He knows exactly how the next few minutes are about to play out and he can’t wait. While the focus of the conversation had been on him, he’s glad for the opportunity to move it onto someone else and Tim happens to be perfect for the new spotlight.

Without any hesitation Jason digs into his pocket and grabs his phone. Once he has the device in hand he starts searching for the video he has saved for this very purpose. Call him petty, but he knew it would be good blackmail material one day.

“Oh really?” He drawls out, finally finding the video he had been looking for, “then what do I have here…” Jason clicks play and puts it on speaker so everyone in the room would be able to hear the audio.

After a second the sound of Tim’s voice could be heard. The teenager was clearly angry about something and certainly wasn’t holding back from letting his anger be known through his choice of words.

“You bloody bastard, why won’t you work you piece of shit. By god this is pissing me off now, I’ve been at this all fucking day and you’re still not fucking working. I am going to kill…”

The recording lasts for about a minute and is filled with Tim swearing his head off, cursing at everything and everyone and making empty threats. Once it’s finished Jason turns his phone off, puts it back in his pocket and leans back in his chair feeling smug about the situation.

“I rest my case.”

His words are met with a stunned silence in the room. Tim is blushing hard with his head buried in his hands. Next to him Bruce looks concerned, probably for Tim’s mental health and wellbeing. Dick’s staring at Tim with shock spread across his features.

After a few beats Tim lifts his head from his hands but keeps his eyes down staring at the table so he could avoid everyone’s eyes. “Okay in my defence the technology was really piss–annoying me. It wouldn’t work and I couldn’t work out why so I got frustrated and that happened.”

His response makes Jason snort and causes Dick to shake his head in disbelief. He knew Tim could be feisty but until that moment he never realised how bad his temper could get. Jason’s honestly impressed. However that doesn’t mean he’s letting Tim get away with it, especially when he’s getting blamed for something Tim does just as much of as him.

If he's going down then he’s dragging Tim down with him. It’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t have anything on Dick.

Jason’s broken out of his thoughts on ways he could get blackmail material on Dick when Tim speaks up again. He’s finally looking up at everyone though his still flushed face shows his prior embarrassment.

“Let’s be honest, is swearing really all that bad? As long as we’re not swearing at people then I think it’s fine. We’re not harming anyone. Who cares if we swear a little too much. And anyway, doesn’t everyone swear at some point?”

“Clark doesn’t.” Dick pipes up next to him.

Jason snorts. “That’s because big blue is a boy scout, of course he isn’t going to swear. He doesn’t count. Plus we’re from Gotham after all, it’s not like this is the most impeccable place in the world.”

Dick becomes thoughtful, humming his response. “Yeah that’s true I guess.”

“Boys.”

The three brother’s all turn and look at Bruce who had called for their attention. Jason had forgotten the man was even there, he had surprisingly been quiet until now. Maybe it’s because Clark was brought into the conversation, it must have peaked his interest. Jason files that information away for later.

“It doesn’t matter how much any of you swear, you shouldn’t do it at all. Damian is still young, he doesn’t need to grow up listening to that sort of language despite his initial upbringing.” Bruce firmly says, looking at each of them in turn. “You all know better and have good manners, going forward I expect you to use them.”

As Bruce rattles on about proper manners and the importance of them, Jason finds himself resisting the urge to smile. With every second that passes, it threatens to break out on his face. What makes matters worse is that he knows he shouldn’t smile, this isn’t a smiling matter considering how serious Bruce is being but the man is making it difficult to concentrate and to take the topic seriously.

Jason glances to the right to find Dick staring at Bruce with a hand covering the lower part of his face and Jason can tell that his brother is in the exact same boat as he is.

Apparently all it takes for him to break is Dick to glance at him and for them to make eye contact.

After that Jason couldn’t help himself but to burst out laughing, next to him Dick also breaks out into a fit of giggles. They laugh for a good while until they’re able to start calming down, by that point Jason’s cheeks are hurting and he even had tears forming in his eyes. As he takes a deep breath to compose himself he makes the mistake of looking over at Dick again, Dick looks back at him too and just like that they fall into another uncontrollable laughing fit.

While laughing Jason gets a glimpse of a confused looking Tim and a disappointed Bruce, but it’s Bruce’s scowling expression that triggers off another wave of giggles.

It takes even longer for the two of them to calm down. As he sits there Jason repeatedly takes deep breaths in order to collect himself. Once he’s calmed down a little, now able to breathe somewhat normally, he could feel how his sides are aching, how his cheeks hurt from the wide smiling and the tears coming from his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard that it hurt, and over something so trivial nonetheless.

When it feels like he’s finally composed himself he risks a glance at Dick to find his brother also in the state of calming down though there’s still a wide grin on face. He then looks at Bruce who is still staring at the two of them with his disappointed look. That’s almost enough to set himself off again. Almost.

“If you’re both quite done, we have important business to discuss, may I remind you that being the reason we’re meeting to begin with.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started on the whole language topic that derailed us in the beginning.” Jason defends himself and his brother’s. All Bruce does is huff at that, knowing Jason is right and can’t defend himself against it otherwise. Jason smirks victoriously.

Opposite him, Tim sighs loudly and makes a show to sitting up straight and sorting out some of the paperwork between them all on table. “Enough already, can we just go over the details and the police reports again and get to the end of this. I have better things to do than hear everyone bicker about language and manners.”

Dick gives the youngest a side look. “What you got planned? Is that who you were messaging just now? Is it your boyfriend?”

“What? No. Just friends. I ain’t telling you.” Tim snaps glaring at Dick.

Jason whistles. “Timmy’s getting some tonight then eh? Make sure to stay safe and use protection.”

“Jason!”

“Well he’s not wrong Tim, but where are you going? We need to know so if something happens we know where to look first.” Dick’s looking more concerned by the minute and Jason could see the flip switch from carefree older brother to over-bearing mother hen.

Tim blinks at them before turning his gaze to Bruce. In a whining voice he pleads the man, “Bruce, get them to stop!”

To begin with all Bruce does is run a hand over his face like he’s regretting every life choice he’s made and how he would rather be anywhere else but here. After a moment he sends exasperated looks at his eldest sons.

“Not much more to go, then we should be all caught up and ready to proceed with the case further tomorrow. Is it too much to ask for your full attention for the remaining hour?”

Jason sighs and sits up straighter, knowing play time is over and it’s time to be serious. One more hour won’t hurt, then afterwards there’s nothing stopping him from having a little fun is there. He nods at Bruce and picks up the piece of paper closet to him to examine the page. Dick does the same and finally Bruce proceeds with their meeting.

[miracle-sham]

Amidst the Howls of Death, Your Divinity Gives Me Breath.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 2: Protection} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| Marinette, Jason, Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian are all unfortunately familiar with how danger lurks around every corner in places like these. But perhaps their instincts can be ignored for just one evening of rest? |

| Or a Priestess, a Gunslinger, and his family, walk into a creepy inn. |

| Word Count: 2,789. |

| Warnings/Tags: Swearing/Explicit Language, Mild Gothic Horror, Implied/Referenced Background/Minor Character Death, Pretend Character Death, Fantasy & Magic Au, Romantic Fluff, Sharing a Room/Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing. |

———

| A/N: Another fic with a playlist, so check it out if you're curious to the songs I listened to when writing this! And have look in the end notes if you want to read a short descrip of what inspired this piece! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics or a specific Au, then feel free to send me a dm and or ask! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

As soon as Marinette, Jason, and his family had entered the ramshackle hamlet, they all could tell without a doubt that there was something not quite... right about the place.

Even in the dying light of the day, it was obvious that every window and door were boarded up. A few even had stone or iron bars nailed or soldered across any and all potential points of entry—chimneys included. Some buildings were half-collapsed beneath the weight of their own rotting timbers, others looked unnaturally clean and newly constructed, most however were somewhere between the two extremes. But regardless of how new or decrepit the buildings appeared, each and every single one had at least some form of large scratching or claw marks gouged into the wood and stonework.

The first thing the Wayne family and Marinette had all agreed upon, was acquiring rooms for the night from the only inn in the hamlet. One of the nicer buildings albeit, but just as foreboding in its own sense due to the deeper and more extensive scratch and claw marks along the exterior.

Inside, the innkeeper was undoubtedly strange, eyeing them each with an odd look in his eyes, and an empty grin. Giving him an off-putting appearance that certainly wasn't helped by his slow and methodical cleaning of kitchen knives, from just behind the bar.

Wheezing, the innkeeper tilted his head to one side, staring the family of six down. Voice like gravel, he rasped. “Tread carefully 'round these parts, travellers. There's been tales of your kind vanishing in the dark, followed by the howls.”

“Our kind? What do you mean by our kind?” Dick questioned sharply, narrowing his eyes and subtly curling his hands into fists by his sides—hidden by his deep blue cloak.

“The howls? What howls?” Tim asked curiously, a few seconds after Dick, eyes twinkling with the thrill of a mystery to unravel.

The innkeeper chuckled. “Curious lot, aren't you. I'm afraid that won't do you any good 'ere.”

“Is that a threat?” Bruce rumbled, adjusting his pose ever so slightly to put himself between his four sons plus pseudo-daughter in law, and the innkeeper. So that should anything happen, he would be first in the line of fire instead.

“Not if you pay for rooms tonight, stay quiet, and watch yourselves from straying in the dark.” The innkeeper replied, still grinning emptily as his chuckled subsided.

Tim ducked around Bruce's side to stare at the innkeeper. “You didn't answer our other questions! What do you mean by our kind and why did the previous travellers disappear followed by howls! How did you know that the howls follow disappearances?”

The innkeeper pulled out a whetstone and began sharpening the knives without looking, as his gaze snapped to Tim. “I only answer questions from paying customers, boy.”

“Father! I do not wish to stay somewhere as suspicious as this contemptible establishment.” Damian hissed, keeping his voice low as to avoid the hearing of the innkeeper, and tugged on the edge of Bruce's black cloak.

Jason edged a hand towards the hilt of one of his flintlocks. He leaned closer to Marinette to whisper in her ear. “For once, sweet priestess, I'm with the demon spawn, I don't want to stay here any longer than strictly necessary. This wretched fucking place reeks of ancient necrotic magic.” He wrinkled his nose before adding, “and not your goddess' other half's kind of ancient necrotic magic.”

Marinette frowned, glancing around the inn with ill ease. “I can feel what you mean, my dear knight. Whatever is causing the necrotic magic is definitely not holy by any means. But as far as I can tell, the magic was stronger outside, it's almost muted somewhat in here.”

“Forgive me, sweet priestess, but that doesn't ease my nerves at all.” Jason scoffed.

She rolled her eyes with a quiet snort of laughter, “I wasn't trying to, my dear red hooded knight.” She steeled herself slightly, mirth fading, “though what I am suggesting, is that we purchase rooms for the night. Whatever the source of the magic, we're most likely safer in here than out there. There are no claw marks on the inside after all.”

“For the record, I hate when you're right about these things, my holiness.” He growled, glancing around to confirm her statement.

“You say that as if I hate it any less than you.” Marinette countered, “now let's go intervene before another impending scuffle gets us kicked out of what is possibly our only safe shelter for the eve.”

“And miss out on free entertainment? I cannot believe you.” Jason snickered.

She shoved him good-naturedly before striding past Bruce and up to the counter, imposing in her own right even in comparison to the rest of the family. She cleared her throat to draw attention to herself and stared down the innkeeper with all the sharpness of a storming sea upon rocks. “You will answer all our questions if we purchase rooms, correct?”

The innkeeper squinted at Marinette. “Aye, girl.”

She pursed her lips then nodded. “How much for lodgings then?”

“We've got a room with a double bed, three with a single, and two twin rooms.” The innkeeper responded, empty grin curling into something more twisted, “The singles are a gold each per night, the rest are two gold each per night.”

“That pricing is outrageous!” Damian scowled.

Narrowing her eyes, she ignored Damian and hummed. “I see,” she glanced back at Jason and raised an eyebrow.

He nodded in return.

“Then I will purchase the room with the double bed.” She stated, plucking two gold coins from her purse and placing them upon the bar counter.

The innkeeper nodded, sliding two keys over to her. “Excellent choice, my lady, your room is on the left at the very end of the corridor upstairs.”

Jason prickled at the addressing title given to her, gripping the hilt of the gun he had reached for with whitening knuckles.

Marinette picked up the keys and stared coolly at the innkeeper before taking a few deliberate steps back until she was once more beside Jason. There, she handed him one of the keys.

Silence permeated the room for a minute as the rest of the family communicated through glances and facial movements alone.

Bruce sighed, breaking the stalemate, and placed four gold coins on the counter as well. “We'll take two singles and a twin as well.”

The innkeeper chuckled, passing four more keys over. “Wise decisions, Traveller. The twin room is the last door on the right along the corridor upstairs, and the two singles are the first two doors on both sides.”

“Now answer our questions,” Dick demanded.

The innkeeper glowered at Dick. “What I meant by your kind, was that you're the kind of folk who trouble follows. The travellers that poke their noses where they don't belong. And as for the howls, I wouldn't know. I've never seen what makes it because I stay inside where it is safe. Those who don't stay inside... well their screams, remaining bloody streaks, and disappearances are evidence enough for me.”

Marinette grimaced. “I am going to retire to the room now.”

Jason startled at her words and stared at her concern. “I'll, uh, join you. If you don't mind.”

“You don't have to for my sake.” She responded.

“It would ease my conscience if you weren't to go up alone.” He grit out.

She bowed her head for a second, “then your company would be most appreciated.” She began to make her way towards the stairs up to the rooms.

Before she reached the first step, the innkeeper called out. “My apologies, my holy lady, I did not intend to discuss such gruesome conversations before you that would offend your delicate holy constitution.”

“I appreciate your concern, however, I think you will find it was not my delicate holy constitution that was offended, as much as it was the wish for some privacy after a long and tedious journey. Thank you very much.” She spat in response, voice as acetic as an alchemist's corrosive acid.

The innkeeper raised his hands in a placating manner. “My sincerest apologies then, my lady.”

Marinette took that as a cue to continue upstairs, with Jason on her heels.

Once they reached the door, Jason snarled. “How dare that fucking bastard call you his lady, I'm going to put a bullet through his fucking skull.”

She sighed and went up onto her tiptoes so that she could place a kiss on his lips. “Perhaps wait until after we sort out the cause of the ancient necrotic magic plaguing this place. Though I'd like to rip his tongue out his mouth before you get to have your fun.”

Jason unwound marginally beneath the kiss, his fury was still palpable, however. “Hmm, I would like to watch you do that, my love.”

“Of course you would. Now, let's enjoy some much-needed privacy together. As much as I adore your family, there is only so much time spent travelling I can spend with them without wanting some peace and quiet to cherish you, my knight.” She remarked, opening the door with the key in the meantime.

———

Lounging upon the double bed, Marinette hummed as she gently carded her fingers through Jason's hair—his head resting on her lap and a soft smile gracing his face as he gazed up at her.

She paused her humming, face creases in mild displeasure, as a loose lock of her hair fell across her face. After a few half-hearted attempts to blow it out of the way, she closed her eyes and sighed—fingers twitching to a stop.

Jason raised an eyebrow and reached a hand up to her face, cupping her cheek for a few moments before tucking the loose lock of her hair back behind her ear. “Something on your mind, sweet priestess?”

“Ah. No, not really, no. I was just…” She sighs, lips twisting with faint distress, her earlier mask of determination faltering in the privacy of their room. “I'm worried about you. About this place. It's not safe and I'm worried if we fight anything here, whether it be the cause of the howls, a godforsaken Akuma, or even those creepy fanatics again, you're not going to make it—survive another close call.” She inhaled sharply. “I dread to think that should it come to it, the resurrection rituals won't work for you any longer.” Tears springing to her eyes as she voiced her doubts.

Jason frowned, “Oh,” He fumbled for words, shifting himself up into a sitting position so he could properly cup both sides of her face, and pull her into a gentle kiss on the lips. Pulling back, he took a deep breath, “oh, my holiness. Oh, my love. As long as I've been by your side, you've never let me fall, and your goddess and her pantheon don't seem like they'll let me die anytime before you. Not after the deal we struck, and I promise you, my priestess, that I don't intend on ever breaking that deal.”

“I know my knight, I know.” Marinette mumbled, tugging Jason into a tight hug as soon as he pulled away from the kiss, “but will there be a choice? Have you not forgotten your revival sickness we've yet to find or create a cure for? And not to mention the rumours about what has happened to the others who were also brought back by that awful Lich!”

Grimacing, he idly rubbed the back of his neck. “How could I fucking forget, I've hurt everyone I care about, especially you, thanks to that…”

She hummed once more. “And yet, none of us blame you for that, my love.”

“You should.” He argued weakly.

“I will never!” She retorted.

Their conversation lulled as they relished in the other's embrace.

Minutes passed before Marinette pulled away from the hug. She huffed, fingers twitching and nose scrunching up. “Jason, my red hooded knight, and love of my life.”

Jason squinted at her, “Yes…?”

“Wou— Can— What if I—.” She frowned, searching for her words, before settling on words she knew by ritual. “It would ease my mind if you were to be bestowed with some form of protection magic. Would you accept such a blessing from me?”

He remained silent for a few moments. “Of course I would, sweet priestess. I trust you, and I trust your goddess and her pantheon.” He closed his eyes and glanced away. “But shouldn't you save that magic for yourself, or when we're out in the fucking fray.”

“My powers will replenish come dawn, and the protection will last until then. I'd rather be certain in knowing you'll be safe whilst we sleep here.” Marinette answered, leaning forwards to cup his face in her hands.

Jason opened his eyes and looked back over at Marinette. “Alright,” he reluctantly conceded, “but only if it can also be applied to you.”

She stared at him then rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips twitching upwards in amusement. “I shouldn't have expected any answer but that from you. Luckily I've still got enough divine power to cast those two protection wards on the both of us.”

“Good!” He grinned cheekily.

Rolling her shoulders, Marinette mentally went over the incantations that would be used in this specific warding. She locked eyes with Jason and tilted her head to the side, “you first my knight.”

Squinting at her suspiciously for a few seconds, he eventually relented and shrugged. “As long as you've got enough divinity to protect yourself after, my holiness.”

“I will, trust me.” She responded, closing her eyes for a brief second before muttering the ancient celestial words of the language of the guardians. Her eyes filled with holy light, glowing like two sparkling suns. Whilst her hair began to shimmer and float as though underwater in sun-dappled waves. Swiftly she made an elegant hand gesture as continued to murmur the incantations. The shimmer in her hair and glow of her eyes flared for a split second as her words and hand gestures crescendoed, before flickering out like a snuffed candle.

As the golden radiance faded from Marinette, a similar golden glow began to settle around Jason. That too faded but a split second after appearing.

“Your powers never cease to amaze me, my holiness,” Jason murmured, staring at where the soft golden glow had radiated around him. Carefully he moved to hold her hands in his own so that he could press gentle kisses to them.

She giggled, blushing profusely. Although a smirk formed on her lips at his words. “Oh? Then where was this adoration of yours, my knight, when I magically mended those noble finery clothes of yours that were so unfortunately ripped just the night before we were to attend a masquerade, hmm?”

“Hey! Fucking–! Argh!” Jason sputtered for a second and then twisted around to grab a pillow from the bed, throwing it at Marinette. “Just cast the fucking protection ward on yourself!”

Marinette cackled as she fell back against the bedding from the impact of the pillow. She dramatically threw an arm over her face and cried out in mock distress, “oh no, oh dear! It would seem I have been most verily betrayed by mine own knight who was sworn to protect me, and yet! Here I lay, bloodied and betrayed! The world is fading from my grasp, I see the light of my goddess and her pantheon beckoning! Oh, whatever shall I do?”

“It would seem my last assassination attempt failed, sweetest priestess. Fear not! I shan't fail you again.” He declared equally as theatrically, grabbing the other pillow and throwing it at her as well.

“Ah! I have perished. What a shame, I am unable to cast that protection ward on myself now. Oh no!” Marinette continued, flopping onto her side and sticking out her tongue in mock death.

Jason snorted, “My assassination may have succeeded, but I cannot live with myself in this world without my love any longer. With this knife,” He stole back one of the pillows, “I shall perish besides the light of my life! Bleh.”

He flopped against the bedding beside her, a few seconds passed before the two of them burst into more laughter.

A few more moments passed before he elbowed her lightly. “Come on, your turn!”

Marinette wheezed and waved a hand, muttering the incantations between breaths. The radiance glowed around her, eyes and hair glimmering as they did before. Then as she reached the end of the incantations once more, it all faded away again. “Happy?”

“Indubitably, my love.” He responded.

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Good!”

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Fun fact: this was supposed to be longer but I wasn't happy with how the last part was going and so I cut it. So if people enjoy this one, well I'll just have to finish the follow-up piece to this fic, won't I. Ironically the part that was cut got more into the gothic horror and the main reason behind the title but I decided to focus on the romantic fluff as the end point instead. Flowed a little bit better. |

| This piece was inspired by a d&d campaign i joined for a few sessions. It was set in a creepy little hamlet with an incredibly creepy innkeeper who forced our party into signing a contract before we could spend outrageous amounts on gold just for a single night's stay. And uh turned out the dude was a demon we just sold our souls to, and then all but one of the party ended up leaving the inn to try our chances against the horrifying plague-like monsters outside, aka the whole reason we brought rooms in the first place! |

| Also feel free to send me any asks or comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 24

Bio dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Oh dear, oh dear Lila what a shame this is

First< Previous > Next

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The next couple of days are... awkward. Dick keeps calling which is nice, they even go for dinner one day dragging Tim along. Tim seems fine, tired but that's hardly unusual. Jason had just straight up disappeared, but Dick had assured them he would be coming to the Wayne Gala that weekend. Speaking of which they had been invited, well they were already going because of MDC stuff but now they were also invited as civilians. The news would have been happy if Damian hadn't stormed out the room when it was mentioned. The next day and the day after that hadn’t improved anything, Damian was completely ignoring them and they weren't the only ones to notice.

“What did you do to upset Dami so much?!” Lila announces rather loudly to the entire cafeteria, “I told you, you were going too far,”

“Lila, and I mean this sincerely, fuck off,” Marion says flatly, he hears Marinette cover a laugh despite swatting at him lightly.

“How dare you?! I’m just trying to look out for him,” Lila sniffles, basking under the attention of her large audience, looking between the girl and Damian. Marion catches Damian's eye, raising a brow basically saying you’re going to let this slide? Apparently he was as Damian looks away from them, and if anything was going to give Lila more believability it’s that.

“Marion are you alright?” Rose asks gently, having tiptoed after Lila with the rest of the class. Had he been looking so downcast she actually noticed?

“I’m fi-” Whatever assurance he was about to give is mute as he feels tears sliding down his cheeks, “Fuck-I just-”

He tries to wipe away the tears, very aware of everyone watching him. It’s starting to get hard to breath when he feels gentle arms wrap around him. It’s Rose. Rose is actually hugging him! It’s been so long he forgot what her hugs felt like. Well if she was trying to stop him from crying that certainly didn’t help matters. He tries to take a calming breath but it comes out more like a sob and soon enough he can’t hold it back anymore. A fine place to break down Mari, really, truly a testament to your skill.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this here,” Lila scoffs, Marion can feel the arms around him tighten, “After all the work I put in for this trip-”

“LILA WOULD YOU JUST STOP!” Alya’s scream makes them all jump back, Marion turning to face the absolutely seething girl, “This is the first time in YEARS we’ve been allowed to feel emotions! So just leave it alone, they’re allowed to be sad!”

“Well-I-its-they-” Lila splutters looking completely blindsided that one of her puppets broke off its strings, clearly she hasn't been paying attention the last few weeks, funny when you save someone's life they tend to listen and care about what you say a bit more. And if that leads to noticing a few more jibes in their direction... well that's just a happy coincidence.

“What is your problem!? You’ve been nothing but nasty to them since we got here!” Well a bit longer than that but good on you for noticing Alya.

“Oh, it’s just been so hard for me!” Lila exclaims, crocodile tears coming in as Marion still tries to wipe off his own, the genuine article at that, “If you had heard some of the things they’ve said to me-”

Lila jumps as Damian appears next to her. He doesn't look at or acknowledge the twins. In fact, he still looks rather pissed but at least some of its directed at Lila this time. He silently hands his phone over to Alya with some hesitation, Lila's eyes go wide. As quickly as he had come he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd that had formed around them.

“What’s-”

“Give it!” Lila screeches, lunging for the phone. Alya jerks back in surprise, Lila’s nails tearing down her arm. Ugly red marks that had broken the skin and gone in deep.

“What the hell!” Alya shouts through tears, clutching her bloody arm as the class crowd around her.

Instead of apologizing Lila tries to snatch the phone in the moment of distraction, but Alix is a hair quicker. She presses play despite Lila shouting threats that made the rest of the class go pale. The recording plays everyone is glued to it. The class becoming increasingly more hysterical. Marinette doesn't wait for it to finish, she gently guides Marion out of the room slipping through the crowd. They hide in an empty classroom, far enough away they can’t hear the outcry that follows.

“Do you think that’s really it, it’s done?” Marion whispers, Marinette is wiping his face with a handkerchief he had always made fun of her for carrying.

“Maybe, I honestly can’t bring myself to care anymore,” Marinette rests her forehead against his, her standing as he sits on a desk, “I thought I’d feel more…”

“Victorious?”

“Yeah,”

“I don’t think there are any winners here,” He can hear someone shouting their names down the hall, voice wobbly with tears, he doesn't care about any apology the can muster, “How lame did I look crying?”

“In front of the whole school like that?”

“Yeah,”

“I’d say it was pretty brave,” She pulls him into a hug, squeezing tight.

“He was just ignoring us,” Marion admits quietly, Lila hadn’t made him cry in a long time, but Damian? Damian did.

“I know,” Marinette pats his head, the same way she would tease him as Chat Noir, “But he did something in the end didn’t he?”

“Oh, gee look at this lame-ass, better make him stop before people associate him with me��,” Marion does an impression not remotely close to Damian, Marinette pinches him.

“That’s not what he was thinking and you know it,”

“Yeah,” Marion sighs, he can hear doors opening and closing now, apologies cast out through the school in hopes they’ll hear them, “What do we do now?”

“Jump out the window?”

So they did end up jumping out the window. Something Alfred had somehow known they were planning because he was waiting right there to pick them up. The debated on actually going to the manor, but their phones were lighting up with messages and the hotel was not an option. The Manor was silent when they arrived. And it remained silent for most of their stay.

Dick had apparently set himself a mission of making them feel at home, whatever that meant, and was nowhere to be seen. He seemed like the only one actually happy to have them join the ragtag family so without him it was likely the others were just avoiding them. That was fine, really, Alfred set them up with a movie and ice cream that they used to ignore everything else.

Dick was their saving grace and the bane of their existence. When he came back he had apparently made the decision they would be staying at the manor for the rest of the trip, despite it only meant to be a few more days(it wasn't for them but he didn’t know that yet). Alfred had apparently told him what happened and he had brought it upon himself to bring their friends, actual friends not classmates to the manor. This was a blessing and a curse as all they seemed to want to do was fill them in on what had happened.

They listened and ate ice cream together. And yeah Marion kind of wished he could have seen Lila as every lie was torn down but Chloe rejoiced in relaying her reactions with great detail. She had of course tried to lie and turn it all on the twins, them trying to frame her. However, with blood running down Alya's arm that warranted a trip to the hospital it was met with a cold shoulder. Their talk eventually morphed into laughing at all her outlandish lies, which Chloe gladly compiled into a list to share with the rest of the class, ranking them in order of their stupidity. She planned to go through the whole list on the plane ride back where there would be no escape for anyone. It was fun in a way, and if Marion noticed more than one pair of eyes spying in on the conversation he wasn’t going to point it out. Lila was yet to face her dues.

When their friends had to go back to the hotel they promised not to give anything away. Alfred gratefully let them skip over dinner and Dick was overjoyed to show them to their rooms. Marion kind of wanted to laugh when he was shown his, wondering how much of it was Dick, how much was Bruce, and what was Alfred.

There were cat plushies everywhere which he had to guess was Bruce latching onto the detail from the fair and indeed Dough boy is sitting front and center on his bed. Then again wherever he was over he did spend a lot of time with Catfred. It could also be Dick taking note of that because really everything has cats on it. There's blankets, pillows, a rug with kittens over it. There was an armchair shaped like a cat head, and where had they even found that? It only got worse the further he went into the room noticing that the curtains had been replaced to have cats on them and there were pictures of cats hanging on the wall, the lamps in the room even cast shadows of cats. The only thing he could find that wasn't cat-related was a picture of them with Bruce at the fair, each sporting a plushie with Bruce holding a cutesy Batman plush between the grinning twins.

“Nette my defining trait isn’t cats is it?” He walks into her room through the joining door he was willing to bet didn’t exist a week ago. His side, of course, had a cat painted on it, he closes it just so he has less exposure to all the cats.

“Course not,” Marinette grins from her sewing machine.

She had a more, let's say subdued room. Oh sure Bruce had apparently found her all the Ladybug plushies he could but they apparently didn't have the same abundance as cats. Instead, he seemed to have focused on her sewing kit. Mannequins littered about her room that Marinette had already started pinning fabric to. Half of her walk-in closet was dedicated to spools of fabric, the other stocked with clothes. Marion didn’t dare brave his own knowing he would find only cats .

“Did you notice the dollhouse?” Marinette asks as Marion flops onto her bed, at least you could actually see her bed and it wasn't hidden by a pile of cats.

“Yeah mine was stocked with camembert and sugar cubes,” and it had personalized rooms for both Kaalki and Plagg that they were happily exploring.

“Mine cookies,” Marinette hums, more concerned with her design than the topic at hand, “Think we got found out,”

“Probably, whoever it is hasn't said anything tho,” Marion looks over at the large dollhouse in Marinette's room, Tikki waved at him from a window and he waved back.

“Probably Alfred,”

“Probably, that mans a witch,”

“A Witch?”

“I know what I said,” Marion sighs, sealing himself to go back into the cat infestation. How do you politely say ‘thank you so much but what the fuck?’

He knew he had to brave the closet sometime as someone had been so kind as to put away his clothes. Sure enough, it was as bad as he had imagined. Everything from t-shirts with cartoon cats to clothes carefully crafted to have cat ears. I was actually kind of amazing at this point. Giving up his conquest to find his actual pj’s he buttons up a two-piece that is, naturally, covered with cats.

On his way out he notices a bit of black at the very front of the closet not fitting in with the color-coded organization. He pulls it out to find a gorgeous leather jacket that was completely devoid of cats! Huzzah! There was a note hanging from the sleeve which Marion unfolded.

Knew Bruce and Dick would be idiots so I got you something actually decent

I saw the room and yeah it's a fucken mess

If you ever need it gone or I don’t know accidentally set on fire give me a call

Marion chuckles knowing it could be no one else but Jason he tucks the note into the jacket, pulling it on to find a perfect fit. He keeps it on as a shield, something solidly not-cat is comforting at this point. He pushes the piles of cat toys onto the floor and seriously he was going to have to have a talk with Bruce about moderation and interior decorating. He lies down looking up at the ceiling, then immediately getting up and storming into Nette’s room. He was not going to sleep under a mural of cats! Nope not tonight! Not ever!

Marinette doesn't even look up from where she’s hunched over her desk as he flops onto her bed. Can someone be over the moon to be surrounded by ladybugs? Yes provided they have had an overexposure to cats first.

“I know we don’t want to go to school tomorrow but I can not stand a second more in that room,”

“Schools over Mari, it’s the concert tomorrow remember?”

“Goddammit,”

“Jasons having a bad influence on you,”

“Can’t we have just one day of rest?”

“No, now go to sleep,”

“You first,” Marion shoots, back despite curling up under the blankets.

“If you want to wear that jacket tomorrow you better take it off before it gets ruined,”

“I can wear it for the concert?” He shoots back up, excited but takes her advice anyway.

“ No I did not spend weeks designing a new jacket for you to wear that,” Besides it doesn't even have bats on the back,”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Marion yawns, sinking back into the bed, and wow it’s really soft, “What if we changed them to Robins?”

“... you really don’t want me to sleep tonight do you?”

“Means I get the whole bed to myself, a master plan if I do say so myself,” Marion doesn't even stir as the pillow hits him square in the face.

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

Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90  @misslenamooney @superbwhispersconnoisseur @biodad-bruce-month @nalu-ismyjam @the-one-woman-army @rosesandsailboats @blackmagicforever @zeneralla @ivymala07 @tired-butterfly @Ranger-gothamite @A-star-with-a-human-name @enchanted-nerd @trippingovermyfeet

[octalove]

II: Blood and Ghosts

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader tries getting a clue. part one

“Typically, they steer clear of the Village, but that doesn’t appear to be the case as of recent. Oracle found out about an operation out of a Hadley’s Deli there- standard money laundering, but it also could’ve been linked to the shipment of cocaine that we found at the Yacht Basin.”

“Right. So what changed?”

“A better question would be what didn’t?”

A beat. The contrasting silence that followed jarred me from my thoughts as I glanced over and realized that Bruce was prompting me for an answer. Tim looked expectant and inquisitive, but that was sort of his default expression.

“Oh. Sorry. What?” I said apologetically.

“Maroni.” He said simply. Nothing came to mind. He didn’t express verbal disappointment as he turned back to Tim, but I knew it was there.

“Red Hood has been operating out of The Bowery. Maroni and Falcone are stubborn, but they’re losing. He’s pushing them north.”

“So moving to the Village isn’t expansion. It’s desperation.” Tim muttered thoughtfully.

“I believe so.”

“May I be excused?” I asked. Bruce glanced back to me, studying a moment. Scrutinizing every detail; not deciding whether or not to let me leave- rather, deciding why I wanted to. Then, he nodded. Seems he wasn’t in the mood to ask.

I swept up my laptop and phone, and ascended the stairs from the cave to the manor quickly, trying to escape the eyes boring into my back. Only when the cool, lemon-scented air of the manor filled my lungs did I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone. All I needed was few minutes alone. I scaled the marble steps to my room and shut the door.

I hadn’t told anyone that I saw him three nights ago. That I watched him murder a man in retribution for me. My alter ego, anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe because it would mean having to tell them I snuck away. Having to walk through every detail again; sights, sounds, smells. What Red Hood was wearing and what he sounded like, what gun he was holding and how he held it, what prompted him to fire, how many shots and how he acted when he did.

But if ever there was a time to be high-strung and anxious, it was when you were keeping secrets from Batman. And Oracle. And Nightwing. And Red Robin. And Robin. Damian in particular could smell a lie like blood in the water, and he wasn’t too polite to hold your gaze until he was certain you weren’t hiding anything. That, and the art of solidarity was still foreign to him- even if I did tell him in confidence, he would take it right to Bruce. Possibly the police. Maybe a news outlet or two just because it soothed his vindictive nature. I’d been avoiding him.

Evening bled into night, and I was barred from masked business on school nights, so I couldn’t even patrol to ease the anxious energy. Still, that meant less opportunity for Bruce to analyze my musculoskeletal ticks or whatever the hell he did to tell when I was nervous, so I decided it was a worthy trade-off and resigned myself to independent research.

Who the hell was Red Hood, anyway? Half of Gotham was looking for him, the other half was running from him. I opened my laptop.

His debut was The Viper House, a strip club in Little Italy that also functioned as a human trafficking hub when the owner, Renaldo, needed to buy his wife (or handful of mistresses) a new Blue Nile diamond. By the end, the building had to be gutted. There’s only so much crime scene clean-up can do with carpet.

Next came the kingpins. Blowing open a trafficking operation had a short grace period if you didn’t cut out the source. Italian mobsters, the Romani families, the crews that had built empires on drug and sex trade dropped like flies until they found that their numbers dwindled for the first time since Joker finally bit it. The dozens of loyal men on their payroll decided that empty pockets were better than a full grave, and when it came to the business of death, Red Hood was very persuasive. It went on like that for six months; he amassed men, power, weapons, and tech. Most importantly, a potent reputation. This was due in no small part to his creative footwork; he liked to send messages. One file covered an incident where Alphonso Kuznetsov decided to write Gotham’s new player an open letter in the evening column suggesting that if he decided to bring his business to Port Adams, he might find himself in a ‘watery grave’. Kuznetsov was found a week later when a fishing vessel drug an entire coffin from the bottom of the harbor, padlocked and full of water. He was bound, drowned, and gagged with a copy of the very paper that featured his message. Red Hood must have been in touch with his artistic sensibilities; it was all very Shakespearean.

Of course, these were all just words. Rumors and hearsay. All I knew of the Red Hood from my intimate encounter was that he had a quick hand, an incendiary temper, and he didn’t fucking like creeps. All the makings of vigilante, if you chose to see it like that.

I sighed. Two hours and none of my research gave me any indication of why me. Why the hell should Red 57-kill-count Hood care if some goon told me he like the way I looked in my suit? I may has well have been the veiled threats of Kuznetsov’s evening column for all my inconsequence to him.

But it all kept running through my mind. Backwards and forwards. The vitriol in his voice preluding the barbarity of his reprimand. The way he said little Batgirl, like the crime was that I’d been engaged at all. More than the memory, something was telling me to keep digging. Something dragging me back to Crime Alley with the current of the running blood through Little Italy’s gutters.

I had to do something. And if that something wasn’t going to Bruce, then school tomorrow would have to wait.

The morning went along as per usual. I woke up at six, dawned my Gotham Academy uniform, grabbed a muffin and coffee, completed a complicated and well-practiced secret handshake with Tim (that Dick was secretly jealous of), and was out the door at 6:30, keys jingling in Alfred’s hand.

He dropped me off outside the ornate gothic academy, and I waved goodbye as I skipped backward along the cobblestone walkway. Once his black Mercedes was a pinpoint on the horizon, I promptly turned heel from the front doors, heading East toward the Narrows. Catching the subway there would take me as far as the Knight’s Stadium, and from there it was a short distance to the Alley. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in my academy uniform- anyone who gave a shit could pretty confidently deduce that school was in session at 8am on a Tuesday, and no student native to the Alley could afford a private education, so I was bound to draw eyes. I hadn’t packed an extra outfit incase Tim or Alfred got suspicious- that was paranoia puppeteering. I wasn’t used to skipping school. I’d have to make due.

Crime Alley in broad daylight was a brand new experience. At night, at least the smoke unfurling from the sewer grates hit the flickering streetlights and offered an unconventional charm. During the day, it was like shedding light on a foul sin. I was starkly out of place, and even the lapdog-sized rats seemed to know it, scurrying back across gritty concrete when I passed by. I looked for familiar things I’d seen the other night- a run-down apartment complex, a gated liquor shop, a meager but menacing corner-store, busy with glaring laymen reluctantly dragging out their wallets for a pack of cigarettes. I caught the eye of a woman sitting on the curb with a paper-bag bottle for company, and she scowled.

Spurned by the rats, and now by the people, I was running out of options. Sticking close to the buildings that perimetered the square, I moved in tandem with the motion of the locals, so as not to draw any eyes by looking lost. It was an unnerving scape; too quiet for my liking, but just empty enough to feel safely underseen. I made my way past familiar landmarks until I finally stood before the warehouse where I’d been.

I listened; no sound from inside. Even henchmen have day jobs. Jimmying the rusty padlock was just a matter of brandishing a bobby-pin from my hair, and the heavy metal door swung open without much resistance. I cautiously picked my way around crates and boxes, unsure of what I was looking for. Clues, maybe. Proof that he was here and dropped a body in my name, amen.

There was a dark, daunting stain on the floor where Hoffman’s body was. A phantom gunshot echoed in my ears, along with a nauseating sound of flat-back weight slapping concrete.

“Ain’t school in session?” I spun on my heel, meeting the red helm of a towering man draped in leather and armor. My mouth went dry. My right foot slipped back into a fighting stance before I remembered I was in cashmere and plaid, not kevlar. Not that I even stood a chance either way; but at least he seemed to harbor good will toward Batgirl. Wordlessly, I took a few steps back until I was standing over the blood and ghosts of Hoffman’s demise.

“P-please. Don’t- don’t hurt me.” I rasped.

I could play the rebellious, morose teenager and come up with something like it was a dare, or I could offer no explanation and simply cry.

Red Hood’s head tipped one way. His hands were empty- for now. Two heavy-looking glocks hung on his waist. I didn’t want to die on top of Hoffman’s blood stain. There was a level of symbolism there I was deeply unprepared to spend my final moments analyzing.

“Lookin’ for something, darlin’?” I swallowed- unable to say you.

“Wh-What do you want?” I asked.

He laughed, but it was humorless. Lacking whatever key component made laughs so appealing. As though the sound rung off the gravestones of uncanny valley before reaching my ears. “I think we’re both asking stupid questions.” He said. I was fucked. He outweighed me by a hundred pounds, and could out-draw me even if I had a weapon. I had no explanation for my being here that suited a civilian, and my phone was in my bag, meaning help was a world away.

But just as soon as he advanced a few paces, he stopped, and gestured to the crimson beneath my feet.

“Enjoy the show the other night?” He asked, before pulling something out of his jacket pocket and twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease. A batarang.

“You forgot somethin’.”

Cold, knife-like fear erupted in my spine, driven to the hilt. He knew. How did he know? What the hell was I supposed to do? My terror must have shown on my face, because he stopped fidgeting.

“It’s okay, babydoll. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“H-how-“

He moved again, slow, lazy strides until he was no more than an inch from me.

“Who are you?” I asked, figuring if I was gonna die, I should at least know that much.

His hands grabbed mine. The leather of his gloves was cool on my skin, but it barely registered for the closeness of him. I stared at the red bat symbol on his chest, jagged and angry looking. I blinked and looked down slowly as he closed my fingers around the cold metal of the batarang.

“Go home, little bird.” It was a cold, seething demand, his voice snagging on the scrambler to make it sound like a low growl.

“Tell Batman when he’s ready to stop sending his toy soldiers,” His hand went under my chin, tilting my head upward. My breath shook as I drew it, hitching, even though the man before me was faceless. Clean, red monochrome, glinting in the light.

“I’m getting impatient.” *

I walked through the manor door in a daze, the cold steel batarang searing my palm.

Bruce and Damian were in the living room, each invested in their own reading material. The grandfather clock ticked his steady tempo, and I inconspicuously adjusted the bag on my shoulder. Bruce had a steaming cup of coffee on the glass side table beside his leather chair.

“How was school?” He asked, not looking up. My paranoia convinced me it sounded rhetorical, but I shrugged anyway.

“Same old.” A glance, to see if my lie had landed.

Damian was the spitting image of his father. He, along with Tim, operated in the wake of being an only child, so he never did care about how I did in school, or much of anything else in my orbit. If at any point he did, he never thought to ask. Father and son looked like a matching set of dolls sitting there, cross-legged, with dark hair and gaunt eyes, both leanly muscular, and habitually poised; a consequence of being from the upper echelon of each of their respective backgrounds.

“Hey, um, are you going out tonight?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Can I come?”

“Are you certain you want to?” He still didn’t look up.

I blinked. “Um… yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been distracted since the last outing.”

Damian visibly tuned in.

“Oh. Sorry. I had a big paper I was worried about for school, but I turned it in today, so I’m good to go.” I threw him a thumbs up, even though he wasn’t looking.

A beat.

“Very well, then. Nine o’clock.”

I nodded, and headed toward the stairs.

“Y/N,” I stopped, and turned around. He was looking at me now, eyes blue and steady.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you did well?”

“…”

“On the paper.”

I threw him a smile. “The best.”

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Worthy of Everything (Part 3) - fic

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Summary: “I’ve got you, Damian. Now let’s get you home.” A/N: Location is based on that page in TEC 1029 where they show Damian reading the casebook. Also, can’t tell if Damian’s new uni is black or gray based on the three issues it’s been fully seen in so...have fun with my vague guess haha. Dick sends a picture of Damian sleeping with his pets to only Barbara, the only one that I can see in canon who has given a shit about Damian and his emotional state in the last year, to confirm that he actually found him. Damian still spends a lot of his time apologizing for things that aren’t actually his fault and it breaks Dick’s heart, but he helps as best he can. Purposeful parallels to part one huzzah!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

~~

It was an old observation tower, in the historic district. Disused since the 80s, but not run down. Still owned by the city, if he was remembering correctly, and still got annual inspections, just in case it was ever needed to be reopened.

So the building was stable, just empty. And could see all of Gotham City.

Of course Damian would come here. It was so obvious. They touted that they were the family of the world’s greatest detectives, and it didn’t occur to a single one of them. Didn’t occur to Bruce.

They should all be ashamed.

Dick took a deep inhale, ignored the butterflies in his stomach, and the tears already threatening to mist over his vision.

God, he missed this kid. He missed his kid.

The threat of tears was the joy he wanted to feel, the joy he knew was coming. How long did he have that stupid amnesia? How long was he gone? Too long, no matter the actual number.

The butterflies were the fact that he knew Damian. Knew what he heard on that phone call. Knew Damian was a feral cat on a good day, always ready to run, always halfway gone even if he was standing there.

It’d been a few days since they talked, what if Damian changed his mind? What if he already ran? Dick could be walking into an empty building, abandoned again, and he honestly didn’t know if he could take that. Didn’t know if he could take losing Damian again.

To death, to amnesia, to Bruce – how many times has he lost Damian already? How many times could his boy be ripped from his fingers?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and moved forward.

Damian would be here. He had to be.

He walked up to the door, locked by a numbered keypad, and saw that it was propped open. That was a good sign.

He stepped inside, and stood there for a moment, listening. There was nothing, not even the skittering of rodents. No footsteps. No hints of life at all. That was a bad sign.

The stairs were off in the corner and Dick practically ran to them, taking them two at a time. He huffed as he reached the landing, looking both ways down the expanse of the hallway that curved in front of him. There were doors along the outer walls, ones that clearly went to the rooms that could see out to the city. A few doors on the inner walls, probably closets and bathrooms and the like.

That was fine. He’d search every one if he had to.

So he started with the one closest to him.

But the butterflies turned into moths as he walked, as he checked more rooms that ended up empty. More rooms that had no hints that anyone had been there. No beds or clothes or food wrappers.

Turned into birds as he got halfway around the circle, with sharp beaks and talons, ripping at his insides. He’s not here, his mind began to supply giddily. He’s already gone. Doesn’t trust you like he doesn’t trust Bruce.

No, he tried to fight back. He’s here. He knows I would never-

As he caught first sight of the stairs ahead, stomach dropping knowing he’d done a full lap, he heard a door close. A heavy door, like one to the outside.

He ran, believing it to be the door he’d come in, that Damian had just left. But as he reached the landing that overlooked the lobby, he saw the door was still propped open. He glanced to another set of steps nearby. Smaller ones, that went to a rooftop entrance. He was going to check there last.

“Damian?” He finally called. He’d waited on that, in case there were other squatters here, other villains. But now that there was a sign of life, a sign someone was here, he couldn’t hold back.

No answer.

It must have been him going on the roof, Dick decided, so he rushed to the smaller stairs, and took them just as quickly as he’d taken the first set. As he reached the door, he slammed into it, throwing it open.

But…there was nothing.

Again, no signs that anyone had been up here. But almost worse than that, no signs of someone leaving either. There was no claws of a grapple hooked to the roof. No tied off rope. Not even any potential scorch or tire marks from a potential vehicle, or hookup for a glider.

So…was it Damian coming back in?

He’d never left the doorway, so immediately just twirled back around on his toes.

There.

A door on the inner ring, one of the closets that he’d already checked, was open just a crack, but that was all Dick needed. Because he could see the dim light of the hall bouncing off a pair of eyes, the shadow of a face under a hood.

And just like the phone call: “I know you’re there, kiddo.” He smiled as he started back down the stairs, slower this time. “I can see you.”

Damian blinked, and seemed to almost shrink back, just a little.

“I’m not leaving.” Dick promised. “And if you run, I’m chasing you.”

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the door opened just a little, like it was a twitch, or a hesitation, before pulling open completely.

Damian stood there, in an unrecognizable uniform. All dark grays and blacks, save for an almost white chest plate and silver boots.

But Dick didn’t care about that. He cared more about how tall Damian was now, and how he’d missed that growth. How Damian looked a little thinner than he remembered, and there were the starts of dark bags under his eyes.

“…You came?” Damian asked quietly, stepping forward.

“Of course I did.” Dick laughed. Those joyful tears were beginning to form in his eyes now. “You doubted me?”

He wasn’t hurt by the idea, and frankly didn’t blame Damian if he thought so anyway. He’d been hurt by so many people who claimed to love him before, Bruce and Talia number one on that list, why would Dick be any different?

“No.” Damian said simply. “I just…hoped you’d change your mind.”

Dick blinked, stepped forward. His heart broke as Damian took an immediate step back, but not towards the closet. Towards the steps to the outside.

“You shouldn’t see me like this. Shouldn’t want to see me like this.” Damian murmured, dropping his gaze. “Not after what I’ve done.”

“And what did you do?” Dick asked, already knowing. Bruce had told him. The prison under Mercy Hall. Potentially killing Brother Blood. None of it mattered to him.

That wasn’t what Damian confessed to, though.

“I killed Alfred. It was my fault.” Damian said, like it was an actual fact. And Dick instantly wondered how many times he’d been told that, that he believed it. Who told him that, that he believed it.

How many times Bruce told him that, that he believed it?

“No, kiddo. You didn’t.” Dick tried softly. “Bane did, and I know you had to watch. I’m so sorry that those bastards made you watch, but there was nothing you could have done.”

But Damian was shaking his head. “I didn’t try to help you.” He continued. “When…when you rejected us after you woke up, I…I guess I rejected you.”

“Convinced yourself I was gone, so it would hurt less. I get that.” Dick nodded. “I don’t blame you for that. I would have done the same thing. Hell, I did. Or do you forget that after you died, I left the country and pretended to be a spy, instead of confront the fact that you weren’t here and our family was in shambles?”

“I never visited, I never checked in. Even Father did that, in his roundabout way.” Damian sighed, but glanced up. His eyes looked so old. So tired. “I never came after you.”

“So?”

“So why did you come after me?” Damian almost sounded like he was begging, hands laid out in front of him. “Why did you waste your time?”

Dick blinked, then smiled. “Because I love you.”

Damian’s hands instantly balled into fists. “Well, you shouldn’t.”

“And like I told you before, you don’t get to tell me that I can’t.” He took a step forward, and was happily surprised when Damian didn’t step back. “And honestly? At this point, I’m going to love you out of spite. Just to annoy you. Just to be an asshole.”

He took another step forward, and they were only feet apart now. Damian just stared up at him.

“…I don’t deserve it.” Damian whispered. “Not after what I’ve done. I don’t deserve you.”

Dick took another step forward, and now they were chest to chest. Just like he was with Bruce in the kitchen. Only now there was no anger. There was only relief.

“Opposite, actually.” Dick grinned. Damian just stared up at him in wonder. “None of us ever deserved you, Damian.”

Damian blinked, and his eyes were instantly watery, his lip trembling against his will.

“…Grayson?” He breathed. And that was all Dick needed. He reached out and enveloped Damian into his arms. Held him as close and as tightly as physics would allow. Laughed when his tears fell onto Damian’s hood.

“I’m here, kiddo.” He murmured, holding the back of his head as Damian slowly returned the embrace. Squeezed as hard as he could. “I found you.”

Damian nodded, dug his nails into Dick’s back. “Thank you.”

“Titus and your cat are at my apartment waiting for you. So are a warm bed and a hot meal. Probably haven’t seen either of those in a while have you?” Dick asked softly.

“Too busy.” Damian admitted. And that’s why Dick never saw the remnants of food, or a bed. Because he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. Focused too hard on work that wasn’t his. Just like his goddamn father.

Well, that was going to change.

“Well, not anymore you’re not.” Dick decided. He waited a moment, let them stand in silence for a second, then tightened his grip on Damian’s shoulders, buried his face against his hood. “I’m so glad I found you, kiddo.”

Damian didn’t argue this time. Just locked his hands together behind Dick’s back and repeated, “Thank you.” Another moment, and suddenly Damian tried to lean away. “…Father?”

But Dick didn’t let him. Refused to let go, refused to give Damian even an inch. “Not if you don’t want to.” Dick swore against his head. “We won’t see anyone else, not if you don’t want to.”

And that seemed to be it. Seemed to be the final bit of assurance for Damian to finally accept what was happening, whose arms he was engulfed in. He all but slumped into Dick’s hold then, and let himself cry. Let himself sob like he did on the phone.

Dick only smiled.

“I’ve got you, Damian.” Dick promised. “Now, let’s get you home.” A second, then an amendment. “Let’s get you to our home.”

Dick gathered Damian up in his arms, laughed when Damian grumbled about being carried, relished the feeling of holding his little brother again, of knowing he was never letting go, never losing him again, not this time – and they did.

[quillsareswords]

Smoke: VIII | Smoke, Silk, and Snow

SUMMARY: After vanishing for four years, you return to the place you once called home, to the people you once called family. We all carry our baggage in different ways, using different techniques to hide it. You just happen to hide it in cigarette smoke.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: At Damian’s request, you done a dress and a pair of heels to attend  Bruce’s Christmas Charity Ball. You don’t get to mingle much, but when  he catches you out on a balcony, the pain in your feet is worth it.

SERIES WARNINGS: cigarette smoking; underage drinking; gang activity; violence; swearing; blood; self-hate

MASTER LISTS in BIO

You duck and weave through patrons, hitching up a floor length skirt with one hand and balancing a stiff drink with the other. Your ears are near ringing, with all the noise and voices and glasses clinking and has the music been this loud the whole time?

You find yourself slipping into old habits, feet plotting a course all their own while you try to keep your mind focused on not having a breakdown with all these people around. Yellow eyes and three inch claws aren't going to look very good with a burgundy dress.

Outside the ballroom, there's less of a crowd. Further down the hall, the masses dwindle. Sliding into a room past the kitchen's back hall—where you pass waiters and a new bartender—you finally find solitude.

One of Bruce's parlors, or lounges—whatever he calls them. There's a leather couch and a pair of matching arm chairs, all facing an oak coffee table despite being paired with end tables. Bookshelves and works of art line three walls, tall windows the other. You breathe deeply. The room is unsurprisingly a little stale, seeing as it's likely unused until there's a party a few doors down the hall.

You steal a sip from your glass before you make for the door to the balcony. The night air stings cold against your skin, but sets a lively burn in your lungs. It's quiet, thankfully, aside from the hum of the ongoing gala in the window-lined room about ten windows to your left. The light spills out from there and illuminates most of the gardens that stretch out toward the woodline. You've always loved the garden.

Alfred's flowers are always so pretty, and the smell is always overpoweringly fresh.

You lean on the thick stone railing. You pull out the paper pack from the pocket of your skirt and stick a cigarette between your teeth. You light it, take a drag, and swipe a moment to reminisce on all the times you've gone running through that garden, for one reason or another. Sometimes it was for fun, sometimes Damian was angrily chasing you with the garden hose because say yeet one more goddamn time, Y/N, one more. Good times.

Damian. The bold man that had asked you three times to come to this event, and yet in the hour and a half you'd been here, you had yet to see. You admit, you're disappointed. Sure, you know he's busy keeping up images by mingling and chatting, but. . . well, you had hoped he'd asked you so much because he wants you here. Usually, that would lead one to believe he wants to spend time with you here. Then again, it is Damian, after all. He's never exactly been so straight forward.

Your mind reels back to last Tuesday. That fleeting hug. The warmth of his hold at the erratic pace of his heart. I’m glad you’re home.

"Thought you'd be here."

You turn over your shoulder.

Damian's hands are tucked into his pockets, and you'd be lying through your teeth to claim he isn't absolutely stunning in a dark green three-piece. You hope he doesn't catch the movement of your eyes before you snap back to reality. You turn halfway as he joins you by the stone, pinching your cigarette in the hand that still rests on the wide ledge. You note a vague limp in his gait.

"You narrowed down one room out of the hundred—minimum—of rooms in this house?" Your eyebrow quirks.

He sets his whisky glass down beside yours. "Well, it's the only empty room close to the ballroom, and it's been two hours since it started to get loud. I figured you'd be looking for a quiet corner about now."

You shrug, trying to play off the fact he was actively thinking of and looking for you in a sea of people. You push daydream thoughts away and remind yourself that he absolutely took the path of least resistance to check in on an old friend.

"What can I say? The doggy hearing has it's downsides." You take another drag. Turn around, and hoist yourself up onto the ledge to sit with your back to the garden, and the halfmoon shining overhead.

He leans one elbow on the ledge, reaches toward you and wiggles his fingers, a hint of shame and revolt sparkling those pretty eyes of his.

You giggle loudly, trying your best not to howl the laughter bubbling up your chest. Damian shushes you, though he's grinning and peering over your shoulder, so it's hard to take him serious. Two glasses in two respective sets of hands, you make sure you aren't followed as you slink off to hole up in an empty sitting room.

He finds one, juggling his drinks as he fiddles with the doorknob. This only makes you want to laugh harder, but you know that doing so would result in one hell of a scolding, so you pipe down until you get into the room.

After that, it's all on the table.

You're practically choking on giggles while Damian grins and laughs as openly as the nightsky, amber liquid sloshing in one of his glasses and clear in the other. You're making for the chairs in the middle of the room, when you hear the floorboards creak in front of the door.

You get quiet, an anxious twist in your belly, staring at the door, waiting for Bruce or your brother to rip the door open and start scolding you for sneaking drinks.

When it doesn't happen, you make a break for the balcony before it does. Laughing again—a little more nervously now—you hop up onto the stone wall. The glasses clink as you set them down beside you, and Damian's join them.

"Best make it last," Damian chuckles. "I don't think we can risk another trip."

You nod. "Well, then it's a good thing I brought back up," you grin, fishing a white and green pack of Camels from a pocket in your coat, and hold them up with a shake.

He scoffs. "I don't smoke," he says proudly.

You cock an eyebrow. "Neither do I."

He snorts, takes one from you anyway. "I hate it when Jason smokes," he sighs, hovering the end over the lighter in your hand. "Smells terrible."

You eye him a little suspiciously. You hand him a stick all the same. "You don't smoke."

"Neither do you." He only comes close enough to light the end of it before he pulls away again.

You take a drag the same time as him, still eyeing him warily. He doesn't cough and sputter like he use to.

He must feel your eyes, or he reads the look on your face like he always does. "I don't really smoke," he sighs, words laced with gray clouds. "Only once every blue moon." The next part is quiet, like he doesn't really want you to hear it. "It's been a long week."

You chuckle. "You’re preaching to the choir."

He shakes his head, eyes wandering the garden. You aren't sure what he's looking for. "At least you’ve been sleeping."

Your eyebrows raise. "Bold assumption. What happened?"

He nods, understanding. "Bruce and I have been arguing since Tuesday, and I haven't spoken to him since then, aside from professionalism and patrol. My apartment building was evacuated Monday night and cost me five hours of sleep—and while I appreciate how seriously they take a bomb threat, I wish they would take efficiency in the same vein."

Dick mentioned he'd moved into a penthouse uptown, not too far from the Wayne Industries tower. Flash thoughts run through your head about what it would have been like to help him move, but you plunge them into the deepest part of your mind before you dive too far down the rabbit hole.

You nod slowly. "Sounds rough."

He blows out a puff of empty air, apparently meant to resemble a laugh. "Yeah."

His grammar is more relaxed than you're used to. He's only this loose when he's very tired—at least, that's how you remember.

"How have your friends been?"

He's changing subjects. You decide to let him. "Good, last I checked. I was over there yesterday morning." You sigh, deeply. You feel the anxieties crawling back up your throat, so you subdue them like bees with a lungful of smoke. "We've been having problems with another pack. I don't remember if I mentioned that before."

"Fleetingly."

You bob your head. Another drag. "They're out for blood. Jumped one of ours a few days ago."

He turns his head toward you. "You sound nervous."

"A little," you laugh nervously. "We've got history with them, ya know? They know where to hit, but we don't. Makes me uneasy."

He straightens his posture and you sense a shift in character. "Are they illegally involved as well?"

You take it for what it is. Curiosity, a warning, an offer. You shrug, leaning back on one hand. "I don't know. I've had eyes on every other street corner since Friday, but nobody is seeing anything."

You look away from him. You really shouldn't be telling him any of this. Maybe it's the buzz from six shots of tequila—all you can hope to get, unfortunately—or maybe it's the nostalgia of this that's loosening your tongue. This used to be your routine for these kinds of events.

"Tell me when you find out. I might be of some assistance."

You blink, eyebrows furrowing. You still aren't looking at him, but you're wondering why he's so eager to help all of a sudden. Maybe last Tuesday changed things more that you thought it had.

"It's my job, Y/N. If they're breaking the law, it's my duty to make a move." He clips the white stick between his teeth again. "Besides, I owe you for Tuesday night."

"You don't owe me," you say quickly. Your eyes his his shoes. Quietly, "I still owe you for leaving."

He's silent for a moment. You both are. The air stills.

"No," he sighs at last, stubbing out the cigarette before he flicks it off into the night, "you don't. I've forgiven you for it."

Your eyes blow wide. "You–"

"I was angry. For two years, I was angry. You never called, never texted, and I thought it was because of something I did. Then I realized it wasn't, and I didn't know who else to blame, so I blamed you. After two years and three months, I realized you were really never coming back, so I moved on." He picks up his glass and downs the whole thing.

"I was alright for two years, and then you turned up again. I was angry again, and then then the whole thing with Erica—I didn't have time to properly process anything. And at the time, I didn't know everything. I didn’t know that you were building a new life for yourself—a good one. I didn't know you'd been chased out, either."

You go rigid. When did you tell him that? How did he know?

He sees your eyebrow twitch. "You didn't tell me. I worked it out myself." He turns to face you fully. "I wish you had, though. I wish you would have told me then. I could have helped."

You advert your gaze again. You squeeze your eyes closed. "You couldn't have," you grumble. "It wasn't that simple."

You jump when your phone rings. You dig it out in a rush. "Tyrone's got the absolutely worse timing," you growl, hopping off the ledge while answering. "I'll just be a minute," you excuse, darting back into the sitting room.

"Tyrone," you hiss, "this had better be something–"

"You're still there?" He sounds surprised.

You make a face. "Well– Yeah?" You pause, running a checklist of all the things you had on the list for today. "Should I not be?"

"I mean . . . No– Yeah, you should be, I just didn't think you'd stay very long. Having a good time? Meet somebody?"

You decide to ignore the suggestive tone he uses. With a glance thrown over your shoulder to the man standing out on the balcony, busing himself with stargazing and probably listening to your end of the conversation, if you know him well enough. "You could say that."

"You're with Damian, aren't you?" You can't help but notice he sounds sort of disappointed.

Your eyebrows slant. "Maybe. Is that a problem?" You feel defensive. Tyrone is like family to you, and you want his approval, but you don't understand what he'd expected. You came to this event specifically at Damian's request.

"No, of course not. I know you went because he asked, but I thought you might, ya know . . . mingle some."

You cross one arm over your waist and rest the opposite elbow on it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"No, nothing!" There's an edge of embarrassment and panic in his voice. "I don't mean anything, really. Just, you've been in Gotham for a few months now, and it doesn't seem like you see anyone other than him. You're at t complex often, I just mean–"

You close your eyes and pinch the bride of your nose. Right. You should have seen this conversation coming. "Look, Ty, can we talk about this later? I'm in the middle of a pretty important conversation."

He gets strangely quiet. "Right. Sorry, I just wanted to check on you. I'm going to wait up, so call me when you leave and when you get home, okay?"

Your eyes are still closed, but you hear Damian shifting around on the balcony. "I can handle myself." You exhale slowly. "But, yeah. I appreciate it."

"I know, but I don't like the silence on the Rats' end. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Bye."

You hang up and pocket your phone. With another exhale, your heels click as they carry you back out to the balcony.

"Problem?" Damian asks passively. You can't help noticing he seems a little deflated.

You polish off your drink. "No, he just wanted to check on me." You try to meet his eyes again, but he's much more interested in cold blanket of snow whiting out the property.

"That's kind of him," he offers. You see now that his eyes aren't focused and he seems spacey. "Are you close?"

He's changing the subject. He receded into himself. Your moment of vulnerability is gone, and with it your window of opportunity to finally put everything behind you.

You just want a fresh start. You're sick of feeling like there's always something hanging in the air between the two of you, blocking any amends you have a chance to make. Frustration boils in your lungs.

"Very. We grew up together, in the complex. Born into the pack, you know?" The causality of the new conversation eats at you. You get caught up in the pent up irritation and make a leap of faith.

"When I said earlier that you couldn't have helped, I mean it."

He closes his eyes. You can’t tell if it’s disappointment or if he’s bracing himself for a rocky conversation.

“It’s deeper than drug deals, Damian. They’re Werewolves. They want Gotham.”

   He throws you a look you’re familiar with. His should-I-be-concerned-about-that glare hasn’t changed a bit .

   “Not the way you’re thinking. It’s complicated.”

   “Like everything else.”

   You cringe. Should have seen that coming. “I’m sorry.”

   He exhales, closes his eyes, and turns to face you fully before he opens them. “I can’t hold it against you,” he admits. “I know better than anyone how that goes. You can’t fill anyone in ion details, because those details have details, and by the time you’ve said your piece, everyone’s twice as confused as they started.”

   You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing.

   He leans almost all of his weight against he stone half-wall. “I know you can’t tell me everything. But what can you tell me?”

   You maul it over. What can you freely tell him that you haven’t already? “Not much,” you answer honestly. “Mostly just that the Rats are the one’s who killed my parents. They were trying to disband the pack by cutting the head off the snake. They went after Nick and I next. Nick managed to lead a group of them to the Crime Alley area, where some of ours ambushed them. The other group went after me, and that lead to the warehouse fire. Some of the other young members were there, like I’d told you. Some of them didn’t make it out.”

   He soaks it all in. Clarity dawns his face. “You didn’t wait for me because you didn’t want them to target me.”

   You nod. Finally.

   He shakes his head with a ghost of a smile. “Do you know how many years of frustration and weeks of awkward resentment you could have saved us both if you’d just told me that?”

   You laugh. It isn’t boisterous, or loud. It’s a spurt of disbelief and relief. “You’d have found something else to hate me for, I’m sure.”

   He snorts. His tiny smile fades, and then it’s back to openly confused eyes and an odd edge to his voice. “But why didn’t you call?”

   Your eyes hit the stone tiled floor. Hesitance, then honest hurt. Self-inflicted, but hurt all the same. “It was stupid, looking back.” You take a deep breath. “I was embarrassed. And guilty. At the time, I had people on my ass who wanted me dead, I’d been lying to your face and keeping things from you for years, and then I’d literally left you in a burning building. I didn’t think I could ever face you again, after that.”

  His expression is solemn. He considers your wording for a moment, before he slides his hands into his pockets. “I would have forgiven you,” he states quietly.

   Your eyes leap to his, shock jolting through your mind and parting your lips.

   His eyes are soft on yours. His head is tilted just a smidgen to the side. The right edge of his mouth tips up. “You could have started the fire, and I’d have still forgiven you. You were my best friend, (Y/N). I trusted you more than anyone, and that includes myself.”

   Your eyes are watering. “I, um–”

   “I should known you had a good reason to leave so suddenly,” he concedes. “But I was hurt. I couldn’t get past feeling like it was my fault. We thought the fire had been started by someone who was after me, or someone I should have been after. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

   The apology nearly knocks you over. When was the last time you heard him genuinely apologize to someone like this? Seventh grade? You stand stiffly for a long moment, blinking dumbly at him, mouth agape.

   The next physical thing you’re aware of is his knuckle bumping your arm and the teeth peeking out from his smile. “This is the part where you say, No! It was my fault!”

   You snort, trying to regain some composure. “I mean, it was–”

   “I’m joking,” he chuckles, “it was never your fault. It was the Rats’. Which is why I want to do anything I can to help you bring them down. For good, this time.”

TAGS: @howcanibreathewithnozaire @avis-writeshq @mello-10 @ukuleleatnight @chikorita-stuff @idkmanicantenglish

[animemangasoul]

We Parted Ways A Long Time Ago

Summery: Lucius Fox is Tim's emergency contact number.In which Bruce and Tim have drifted apart and Bruce doesn't realize it until it's a little too late

Chapter 4/4+

The door slammed open.

“What the fuck you leave before dinner for? You know how fucking pissed Alf-”

Both of his sons freeze at the sight of each other, Tim actually taking a step back, all previous cool long forgotten as his eyes widen and face pales.  

“Rep-- Tim?”

His youngest doesn’t say anything, only tenses up where he stands and a brief flash of hurt passes through Jason’s eyes. Bruce frowns. Sure Tim and Jay had a past. But he thought his youngest had gotten over it? Hadn’t he broken Jason out of jail while he was dead? Why was he now acting as if he was afraid of him?

Jason wouldn’t hurt Tim. Bruce could bet his life on it, and.... The lazarus pit had been responsible for his Jay turning into the hood, so Tim of all people should understand the sheer amount of work Jason had put into getting better, put into overcoming his trauma so for him to act as if Jay would hurt him....

Stepping up, Bruce raises a hand to lay on his youngest shoulder, just about to open his mouth to tell Tim that he shouldn’t be---

When a blazing glare from his older froze him in place.

Was Jason angry with him? Why?

But the glare is there, hostile, angry and a clear sign to shut the hell up.  

And then, in a blink of an eye Jay’s face softens just a bit, his stance loosens up and he takes on an air of friendliness that has Bruce taken by surprise. It’s not friendly like Dick, not as open, not as calming, but it’s the kindest Bruce has seen Jason look in a very long time and it makes his heart hurt. Because for a moment, it was as if he was seeing the little kid who laughed across rooftops in his red, yellow and green.

“What brings you back here Timbo?”

Tim had managed to center himself in that short span of time and now, a hesitant smile graces his lips as he takes a step forward, fingers coming up to curl around Jason’s sleeve almost in a silent apology.  

It almost felt like he, Bruce, had walked into a game he didn’t quite understand. Clearly his boys were navigating through something. Something that made Jason patient and Tim scared? And...

Jason reaches up then, hand slow and obvious in its direction, but when Tim doesn’t move away, he finally rests it atop of his head, ruffling his hair lightly and cackling when the younger scrunches up his nose at him, darting away.  

“What are you doing here kid?” Jason’s eyes flicker to Bruce and Bruce frowns back. “Aren’t you supposed to--”

“Visiting,” Tim cuts him off, voice soft. “B invited me.”

“Did he now.”  

The way Jason is looking at him, it almost makes Bruce tense. The gaze is scrutinizing, searching and whatever his son seems to find, he doesn’t like it. Making Bruce feel even more agitated.

What was going on?

What did Jason know?

And if Tim feared Jason what was the older trying to do? Since when did Jay talk to Tim like that. Talk to Tim like he was one of those victims he was so good at calming down.

What had he been missing here?

“Come on,” Jason finally said, breaking Bruce out of his momentary confusion. “Let’s go in. I’m sure Cass has been dying to see you again.”

Tim had stopped looking so pale by then, face still blank however and gaze fixed on his feet, but at the mention of his only sister his eyes snapped up and a familiar warmth bled through them.  

“Ok.”

They start walking, but they aren’t even halfway down the hall before a blur of a shadow flies from God knows where and lashes onto Tim.  

“Timmy!” Comes the resounding screech as a delighted Dick Grayson practically clings to the younger like a koala.

Tim stiffens. The motion is instantaneous as whatever friendliness that Jason had managed to drag out, shutters close behind an empty gaze, and Bruce finds his own smile waning at the sight. His youngest stumbles back from the warm embrace, lips parting slightly in shock and arms going up just to pause in a half-aborted motion.

“Timbits, little bro! I’ve missed you so much!”

Tim smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Wha-- Tim liked Dick, right? Sure they weren’t as close as they used to be, but children grew up and siblings grew apart, especially brothers.  

So surely--

But just as his mind is about to descend into a rapid spiral of unending questions, the blankness fades from Tim’s eyes as quickly as it appeared and his son blinks once, twice before laughing, arms coming up to fully circle around his brother's waist. Spinning him around playfully to incite a delighted cackle out of the older.

Bruce shoulders relax.

He’s growing too paranoid for his own good. Interpreting every instance of change on Tim’s face as some sort of damning sign. Of course Tim had reacted the way he did. His son had just gotten out of the hospital yesterday for crying out loud. He was exhausted, not to mention the potential health issues he might be facing that Bruce still wanted to take a look at down at the cave.  

Dick jumping on him the way he did probably exasperated his already tired muscles.

“It’s good to see you too Dick.” The words come out chipper, any sign of whatever it is Bruce thought he saw nowhere in sight.

Yes, this was Tim. His son who might not feel quite at home with them yet but was undoubtedly still very much worshiping the ground his oldest walked on. No matter the years that passed, Dick Grayson would always be Tim’s hero.

“Look at you,” the eldest cooed, finally loosening his death grip around Tim’s neck and standing back to observe him. “Aren’t you looking healthier!” His hands come up to frame the youngers cheeks, pressing down on them and shaking Tim’s head back and forth. “You’re just too cute.”

A disgusted snort from Jason makes Bruce finally sigh and shake his head. Fondness curling his lip upward as he presses a firm hand against Dick’s shoulder to slightly push him back. “He just got out of the hospital Dick, try not to add to his stress.”

Eyes blowing wide, his eldest gapes at him, fingers still pressed on the Tim’s squished cheeks. “He did what?”

“You deaf?”

Dick elects to ignore Jason, gaze solely focused on him over Tim’s head. “He was in the hospital! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Regret of having spilled the beans already developing into an upcoming headache, all Bruce does is level Dick with a tired eye and a heavy frown. “There was no time.”

“But--”

“What is he doing here.”

“Dami!”

A careful sort of stillness descends on Tim’s frame, squished face going rigged at the sight of his only younger brother.

“Dami look who’s here!”

Damian’s arms are crossed, a petulant pout adorning his lips. “I am aware of his presence Grayson. Why is he back.” Leveling Tim with a glare, he almost smiles. “I thought we got rid of the trash this morning.”

Snorting, Dick shakes his head fondly. Bruce finds himself almost mirroring the action. Damian might have matured quite a bit these past couple of months, but his verbal rivalry with Tim still seemed to be present and accounted for.  

The threats and violence had been concerning, but with Dick’s tutelage and Bruce careful guidance, Damian had found other ways to express his displeasures and Bruce was proud to say that his youngest had taken up verbally sparring with Tim rather than hurt him physically these days.  

He’d come along way.  

He still spoke of Tim in an unfavorable manner when his second youngest wasn’t present, but whenever Tim was around, the scathing remarks dulled down to more childish barbs between school mates.

Progress.

If Tim had just been around to see it, perhaps he would notice how much his brother had changed, instead..... Bruce fingers curl up, and he pushes any thought of Lucius Fox to the back of his mind.  

Never mind that man---

“Look at him Timmy, hasn’t Dami grown taller? You’re still as short as ever though.” Dick stares down at Tim a delighted smile painting his lips, switching his gaze between both boys before finally settling on Damian. “Tim is staying over for dinner. Didn’t Bruce tell you kiddo?”

Damian clicks his tongue and glares. “I knew father was planning to bring the stray back, I just assumed Drake had enough dignity to not show his face around this place anymore.”

Bruce frowns. That was... uncalled for. Tim had yet to say anything back and Damian.... Damian shouldn’t have continued their usual spat if his other son didn’t feel up--

“What the actual fuck demon spawn!”

“Jason!” Dick looked utterly shocked, hands falling back to his side as he turns on his brother. “You can’t say that!”

The utter bewilderment gracing Jason’s features are almost as baffling to Bruce as his second speaking so harshly to his youngest.

Damian’s retort is drowned out by the waves of disappointment crashing at the shores of Bruce’s mind.

“Jason.” Maybe... perhaps he was missing something. “You can’t talk to your brother like that.” Still, there was no excuse in snapping at Damian in such manner.

“What,” Jason hisses back and... Bruce glares.  

His son stiffens, eyebrow raised in disbelief as if he’s surprised Bruce is willing to call him out.

‘You’re older than Damian,’ Bruce thinks disapprovingly. ‘You don’t get the same leeway he does. Not anymore. It’s time to grow up Jay.’ Sensing his seriousness from his body language, Jason relents, clicking his mouth shut and shaking his head, still looking shocked.

Maybe they needed to talk about this in depth later. But for now, a stop to the conversation was enough.  

Tim was here today, and Bruce wanted this dinner to go off without a hitch.  

“Whatever.” Looking truly beyond exasperated, Jason spun on his heels and stomped away. Bruce frowned after him. They would need to sit down and have a long conversation after this. Whatever was on Jason’s mind would need to come out before his son let it fester and build up to something that would be even harder to deal with in the future.

Shaking his head, Dick turned around to grab Tim’s wrist. “Come on babybird. Let’s go eat. Alfred has been so excited and--”

He continues to ramble as he drags Tim along, and Tim’s smile has grown into a more of a genuine one by the time they’ve disappeared behind the corner, Bruce and Damian trudging silently behind them.  

Something like relief overcomes Bruce and.... the niggling feeling that had been drilling at the back of his mind this whole family reunion finally subsiding. Tim wasn’t himself anymore and Bruce knew that, had accepted that, had even come to terms with his own part in Tim not feeling welcome in their home anymore, but... seeing him like this. Watching him slowly warm up to Dick despite his initial hesitation, it..... it gave him hope.

Tim loved them. Bruce knew this with every fiber of his being, and they loved him in turn. It just came down to showing this fact to his son.

“Father.”

Bruce looked down. “Yes?”

Damian’s face scrunched up. Several seconds passing as his son seemed to battle with something internally before he finally opened his mouth again. “Why is Drake back?” Bruce raised a brow.

“Because he’s family and he needs us right now.”

“We do not need him.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said, resting his gaze on the retreating back of his middle child. “But we want him here Damian.” looking back down at his son, Bruce doesn’t continue until Damain’s gaze is once more directed at him. “And Damian.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t antagonize him.”

” What?” The utter surprise on his son’s face, makes his stomach tighten.

Shouldn’t what he said be a given?  

The fact that Damian was surprised that he---

Suddenly it becomes all too difficult for Bruce not to flee the scene. His face tightens, his heartrate spikes and for a second, he wonders, maybe.... maybe the reason why Tim hadn’t wanted to come.....

But just as soon as the thought surfaces, rationality brings it back down.  

He breathes.  

What was he thinking? There was no time for second guessing. And he already knew all of this. Tim was a sensitive child, he’d always been. Taking things to heart more easily than any of his children, but he was also capable of fighting his own battles and that’s probably why Damian was surprised with his interference. His children didn’t need him to argue on their behalves. He’d raised them well enough to handle their own strives and issues.

Look at Jason and Tim for example. He hadn’t even been there, and somehow they’d managed to get passed their conflict and patch things up. If given enough time, Bruce was sure Damian and Tim would one day reach the same milestone.

He was proud of them. Proud of his children’s capability to handle themselves, proud of who they’d become. But most of all, he was proud of the man Tim was growing into and given the chance, he wanted to be there by his side when his son finally realized the amazing person he was.

Damian had already gone ahead by the time he resurfaced back from his thoughts, and all Bruce can do is sigh and follow along. Some of the weight falling of his shoulders now that he’d managed to sort himself out.

Arriving at the dining room however, he’s met with a tense air so palpable, Bruce almost freezes in place. There his four sons stood, three of them looking utterly confused while Tim face was twisted into a grimace with eyes that exuded apprehension.

In front of them all stood Alfred. Plates in hand and a heartbreaking look in his eyes. Bruce felt himself grow cold. “It’s good to have you back Master Timothy,” Alfred finally said, breaking the silence and choosing to step passed whatever tension that most have brewed before Bruce arrived. “Please take a seat.”

Tim jerked his head into a nod and tried to smile again, this time a bit more sincere. “Of course Alfred. Thank you.”

That most have been the right thing to say, for Alfred loosened up and his expression eased. “Well then, take a seat everyone.” And with that he turned on his heels and stepped into the kitchen.  

Awkwardness descends on them, whatever most have transpired while he was unaware making Bruce helpless in providing a solution to fix it. Instead he looks at Dick and with his eyes ask for clarification. His son just shrugs back at him, darting a glance at Tim before looking back at him with pure confusion and distress. Bruce grimaces.

“Let’s sit down and eat,” he finally says. “You heard Alfred.” Rounding the table, he takes his place at the head, arms folding under his chin. Briefly looking up he smiles at Tim who meets his gaze and after a momentary delay grins back at him. The happiness behind it is shaky, but the smile is genuine enough, and Bruce takes it to heart. “Come sit next to me,” he says, and Tim does.

Shuffles his way past his brothers until he comes to a stop to his left. Silently he pulls out the chair and sits down. Damian rushes over to his right, slowing down when he notices that no one is challenging him for the spot and with all the grace of a born assassin throws himself into his seat, glaring at Tim. “I am father’s right hand.”

Tim looks up, blinks slowly at the glowering Damian before just as slowly looking away. “Where is Cass?” he asks, eyes fixed on Jay.  

His second oldest shrugs, taking the seat next to Damian who glares venomously at his action. “No clue. But she promised to be here.” Tim follows his movements with unwavering focus and Bruce finds himself feeling even more concerned by the sheer absurdity of Tim’s behavior today.  

“She’ll be here Timbo, don’t you worry.” Dick says, sitting down and swinging an arm around the younger’s shoulders, Tim doesn’t stop smiling this time, and Bruce finds himself feeling.... relieved?  

He frowns.

What was.... his emotions where all over the place today. That was unacceptable. He needed to get a grip. His children were getting along and here he was expecting what exactly? Anarchy? Murder?  

Ridiculous.

Whatever he was feeling, whatever Tim was feeling, whatever misunderstanding, haunting his family, it could all be solved later. The goal here was not to make something out of nothing. He needed Tim to want to stay, feel like he could stay and only then could he change things. But to do that, this dinner needed to go off without a hitch, and it couldn’t do that if Bruce was too busy worrying about-- If Bruce was overthinking things.

“Little brother!” The voice is soft but not any less delighted and Bruce looks up.

“Cass!” Tim’s halfway out of his chair, a wide grin dancing across his lips. “How was the recital?”

His sister laughs, putting two hands on his shoulders and pushing him back down. “It....fine.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, leaning down to plant a kiss on his head. Tim leans into it, eyes falling shut for just a moment. A snort from Damian makes him snap them back open however and Bruce feels his heart sink.  

He would have liked that expression to last just a little bit longer.  

Cassandra stiffens, but her hands remain on Tim’s shoulders, gently patting him for some odd reason. “Shame you not come.”

An apologetic smile pulls at the corners of Tim’s mouth. “Sorry. I passed out and I--

Her hand comes to cover the lower half of his face. “Shush, I understand.”

His son still looked apologetic and Bruce felt for him. He’d wanted to be there too, but Cassandra hadn’t allowed him. Because last time, well, he’d gotten into an argument with some of the parents there and.... needless to say she’d kindly asked him not to come the next time and he’d obliged. Finding some soles in Dick’s exclusion as well, his oldest having gotten himself an official ban when he’d somehow managed to instigate a fist fight.  

After that disaster of an incident, Dick had come back home and declared the father of one of the principle dancers a racist and a bigot and it was all Bruce could do to hold the rest of his children back from rushing the man’s house and beating the shit out of him. Still, Cass had kissed her brother’s cheek, thanked him but also told him he was no longer welcome there, his action being deemed unacceptable by the company.

His oldest had taken it like a champ, only later sobbing loudly and dramatically on his shoulder for hours bemoaning how unfair it was. He however also took soles in the fact that the father too had been banned as well. The other man for his racism and Dick for inciting violence.  

Jason, well Jason hadn’t officially been declared alive yet so he couldn’t really go either. Didn’t stop him from sneaking in though, arguing that he would be unrecognizable unless someone looked too closely.

So with that, Cass had been left with very few people to cheer her on, so Bruce understood Tim’s disappointment in himself. He really did.

“I still wanted to be there,” Tim mutters, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts. “You worked so hard and---”

Another kiss is planted on his head before Cass sidles away to sit next to Jason. “Next time.”

Tim smiles. “Deal.”

-----------

Dinner is eventually served and it goes well. It goes really really well, for a long time. Bruce can swear by it. His children talk, they laugh, they argue, and sure Damian snaps at Tim every now and then making that familiar uncomfortable feeling rise up in Bruce. And sure Tim doesn’t partake in most of said conversations, but he does smile and even seems to relax when Cassandra’s glare momentarily quiets down Damian.... Everything else is fine. They really are, so why does it all start to go wrong from there?

It all starts with a stupid joke from Dick. His oldest having been all over Tim all throughout dinner, his love for his younger brother quite evident in how he refuses to engage in any conversation with anyone else and practically cling to Tim, trying to make him laugh. And it’s a decent effort because Tim does laugh. Cracks his own jokes and everything, but the younger is clearly distracted by his phone and he keeps looking at it. His responses to Dick halfhearted at best, and any dialogue exchanged between them seems to die out even with Dick trying his best to keep them going.  

Tim’s fingers tap at his phone. He smiles and then taps something else.  

“And then he said that I can’t take a break because I took one yesterday, can you believe it!” Dick is grinning and after a second Tim looks up to return a similar smile.  

“You’re an idiot so I can.”

“Hey!”

“The only imbecile here is you Drake.”

Tim pauses and then bumps his shoulder into Dick as if nothing was said. “I’m just telling you the truth man.”

Dick throws an arm over his neck, digging his knuckles into his head.  

“Hey hey hey,” Tim splutters, flailing and not noticing Damian growing more and more agitated from being ignored.  

“Serves you right Drake.”

Bruce huffs. Relaxing back into his chair and picking his fork back up. The feeling of unrest subsiding within him again. Now that Tim seems back to normal.

But eventually Dick does let Tim go and said unease returns as Tim turns back to his phone, acknowledging his brother with one-word responses yet again. Bruce let’s it go on for a bit. Keeping his eyes firmly on his son, hoping, no praying that Tim would quit on his own. Stop messing around on his phone and start paying attention to his family, but---

Tim grins after clicking on something, fingers coming up to press at his lips as his shoulders shake and.... and.....

Bruce slams his fork down.  

Stillness descends abruptly. Each of his children looking up, startled. Even Damian who’d proceeded to climb over the table to reach Tim, pauses in his action to look at him. Bruce doesn’t care.

“Tim.” He says loudly.  

“Yeah?” Tim is looking at him in confusion, face pale and eyes darting back and forth between his siblings and him. In fact, all his children look confused.

Bruce doesn’t care.

“Put the phone away,” he says as softly and kindly as possible. “It’s rude being on your phone when you’re eating with your family.”

Tim blinks, mouth slightly falling open, eyes wide. Bruce sighs.

“Tim.”

But his son is not looking at him anymore, instead he’s staring across the table at his other siblings and Bruce can’t help but follow his gaze because.... what’s so fascinating about---

And.....

His blood runs cold, his face flushes and it’s all he can do not to absolutely die inside then and there because.....

There they are. Jason, Cass and even Damian. Their phones in hand, having been on them when he’d somehow ignored all of them and focused on Tim. Damian who’d gotten down from the table now is loosely holding his phone between his fingers, screen alight from the animal video he’d been watching and Jason, Jason had actually been calling someone and.... Cass.... of course Cass needed her phone. She used it to translate words she didn’t fully understand! and....

Oh God.

Oh God.

A cold sensation slides down his neck because suddenly, suddenly it feels like he’s just lost something. Him and Tim were playing a game and he’d just lost something.

“Old man, did you just...” Jason is gaping at him now, call disconnected, and eyebrows raised so high they disappear behind his hairline. “Did you just tell the replace – Tim that he and only he should put his phone down?”

He had.

“I did. But it goes for all of you as well.”

He’d singled him out.

He hadn’t even noticed the rest.

He’d only seen Tim.

“It’s rude to be on your phones or any devices when we’re eating. This is family time.”

What was wrong with him?

“So put them away, now.”

Jason snorts, the disbelief on his face slowly morphing into something much uglier. “You’ve never asked us to do this before. So what brings this up B? Tell us?”

Bruce does no such a thing. It’s not his job to explain himself to his children. This was beyond Jason. He’d made a mistake yes, but he was only trying to keep Tim close, keep him connected to their family and he couldn’t very well do that if his son was busy being distracted. So he stiffens and levels his second oldest with a glare, the glare is returned tenfold. Jason practically hissing at him. A clear sign he was unwilling to back down.  

“Jason you--”

“I understand.” Tim’s voice is soft, but it cuts through the air like a knife. “I’ll put it away.” He sends him a tiny smile and Bruce is taken back.  

Perhaps this situation could be salvaged after all.

“Lucius doesn’t allow phones at the table either. So I get it.”

Perhaps not.

“Lucius?”

Tim nods, it’s hesitant. Bruce bites his tongue, forcing himself not to say the words lying under the surface.

‘If you aren’t on your phone on his dinner table than why do you think it’s ok to do it here.’

He doesn’t voice this. He can’t. Lucius Fox was apparently held to different standards than him, so he couldn’t comment. He couldn’t say anything.

If he did, Tim could leave and---

“How are the Foxes?” The question is tentative, warm, friendly. It comes from Cassandra. His daughter leaning over the table, a giant smile painting her lips. “Tam.... well?”

It’s as if a fuse has been lit within Tim because he’s suddenly so much brighter it physically hurts Bruce to look at him.

“They are doing great.” Tim’s not even paying attention to him anymore. “Tam’s handling everything so well and now that I have a team around me I can even take those online collage classes Lucius signed me up for.” He too is leaning across the table now. “Luke is coming back tonight too so we’ll get to watch that movie you went to with Cassie.” Here he pouts and Cass snorts. “Anyways, it’s gonna be great and Tam misses you and--”

He goes on and on and on. Jason looks more interested as Tim keeps on babbling to Cass. His confusion falling away to reveal a sort of gentle fondness that was starting to look at home on his face.

Damian’s frowning next to him. ‘At least there is someone else who don’t like the Foxes,’ Bruce thinks sardonically, glancing at Dick to see his reaction.

Dick looks confused, but as the confusion slowly fades, an aching hurt takes its place. Dick’s face dropping into a wounded look and.... Bruce hates this. Hates seeing his oldest son hurt because he didn’t do what he should have done from the start. He should have been there for Tim. Should have made sure he always had a home with them before his son sought a new home elsewhere. And now, Dick was hurting because Bruce didn’t do his job as a father.  

It’s.... heartbreaking.

Tim doesn’t need him anymore, does he?

Not like he used to.

It’s then he locks eyes with Alfred. The old butler standing by the door, a dish towel in hand and looking.... he looks resigned, defeated, sad.

No. No, no, no. Bruce couldn’t let it end here. Couldn’t just give up. Not when his family needed Tim. Not when he needed Tim.  

He couldn’t give him up. Tim didn’t deserve to be given up on. That’s what Jack did and Bruce would be damned if he followed in that man’s footsteps.  

Clearing his throat he doesn’t acknowledge Tim’s sudden blankness. “Can I talk to you after dinner, in my office?”

Tim practically sags against the table, lips pulling into a frown. “I need to go home?” Bruce is already shaking his head before the kid is finished talking.

“I insist.”

Cass reaches out then, putting a hand over Tim’s wrist. “He go home.”

“I know,” Bruce huffs, rubbing his forehead. “It’s not going to take long.”

“But--” His daughter is leveling him with a look now. Dick shifts next to him. Mouth opening then closing just as fast.  

“If the kid needs to go home,” Jason finally speaks up, gaze darting between him and Cass before settling on Tim. “Then he needs to go home.”

“I’m not saying he can’t,” Bruce says, trying very hard not to lose his cool despite feeling like he was losing his son right then and there. “I just need to talk to him.”

“If father wishes to talk to Dra--”

“Shut the fuck up satan.”

“Jason!” Dick has finally snapped out of whatever had him troubled for the last couple of minutes, now he’s frustration fully directed at his brother. “Stop calling Dami names!”

“I’ll stop calling him names when he stops acting like them!”

“Fuck you Todd! Why are you even here? You should have stayed dead!

“Damian!”

“Stay out of it Grayson!”

“Enough!”

Bruce startles. For a second he’d almost assumed he’d snapped again, but no. It’s Tim. Both fists slamming on the table and chest heaving in anger. “Just stop! I don’t mind staying to talk to Bruce so just stop.”

Damian opens his mouth but... Putting a hand around his wrist, Bruce tugs him back. “Enough Dami.”

The hurt look he receives pulls at his heart but he stands firm. He needed this win. He needed to talk to Tim to make things right and he couldn’t let Damian mess it up. “Sit.”

He does. Quietly and disgruntled, but no more barbs are thrown out and things descend back into a quiet silence. The clangs of forks and chewing noises the only thing masking the awkwardness.

All phones are placed in the middle of the table. Even Dick’s phone is among those confiscated. Only Cass given the leeway to hold onto hers as she needed it to help communicate.  

She doesn’t focus on it though, keeping her voice soft as she initiates conversation again, tapping at her phone every now and then to figure out a word or two.

It’s almost peaceful. Everyone beginning to talk to each other soon enough, prompted by Cass and no more insults are thrown around. It’s..... nice.

Cass constant glances at the door the only indicator of discomfort that’s visible. He can’t blame her; his daughter had never been good with confrontations so Bruce couldn’t fault her for wanting to escape the current situation.

Fortunately, they all stand their ground and soon, it’s almost like the argument never happened. Bruce is content.

Dinner is almost over however, when the doorbell rings. Loud and shrill.  

What the--

“Alfred?”

“On it Master Bruce.” Alfred disappears down the hall, footsteps fading away.

It takes a minute, but finally the butler reappearance, a vaguely familiar man standing behind him.

“Luke!”  

Tim practically flies out of his chair, flinging his arms around the other man’s neck, laughter bubbling out of his throat. “You’re back!”

Lucas Fox chuckles, arms coming up to hug Tim. “Yeah. I got back early so I decided to come pick you up.”

“That’s so awesome!”

The other grins, Tim’s enthusiasm seeming to infect him with equal amount of energy. “I know right!” Turning to look at them, Luke’s gaze skims over their faces before they finally come to a stop on Cass. Over Tim’s head, he mouths a thank you.

Bruce freezes.

Did..... Did Cass. Looking at his daughter, he watches her smile back at Lucas, fingers tightly gripping her phone and....

And....

It’s as if the world falls from underneath Bruce.

“I need to go B! B? Bruce I’m sorry but,” Tim’s looking at him now, waving an arm at Lucas as he grins back at him sheepishly. “Let’s talk tomorrow ok?”

It’s a dismissal. A victory.

He’d lost.

Tim wasn’t staying here tonight.

He was going home, to Lucius Fox.

Bruce stares as Tim shuffles out the door, a goodbye hug for Dick, who somehow knows exactly what’s going on and manages to hug Tim with all the warmth of seven suns, peppering his face with kisses till the younger finally pushes him away laughing. He watches as he hugs and kisses Cass on both cheeks. He watches as he hesitates with Jason, eyes slightly suspicious, but still doesn’t chose to move away when Jason slowly, gently reaches down to ruffle his hair.

He watches his son smile back at him, watches as a business card is dropped on the end of the table and pushed in his direction. Watches as his son, his Tim walks away.

He just stands there and watches.

A silent Damian next to him. A tearful Dick on his other side.

He watches Tim go home, and it kills him.

Game over.

The end

-------one more chapter left guys------

@miss-choco-chips talking to you always helps me sort out my writing blocks!

@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen Next chapter is finally here hun! Hope you like it

@river9noble tagging you for the first time ;) Hope you like it too!

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 28

Mugged

Ao3

Summary: It's a simple get together, and for once everything was fine.

Warnings: GRAPHIC MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH AND GRAPHIC INJURY. DO NOT READ IF THIS KIND OF VIOLENCE BOTHERS YOU, WHETHER ITS DIRECTED TO A CHILD OR AN ADULT. SPOILERS FOR DEATH IS IN TAGS.

-o-o-o-o-

 "You have something on your face," Dick teases, smiling and leaning his elbows forward onto the 24 hour diner table. In the booth across from him, Damian scowls and wipes a smidge of strawberry ice cream from his cheek then elbows to his side to hit the laughing Tim straight into his gut. 

Jason snorts and takes a spoonful of his own ice cream, which is raspberry flavored with little chocolate chips. 

The time outside is very late. So late that when the four of them walked inside the diner after a long, team up for patrol, one of the workers actually glared at them. Which is valid. If Jason worked at one of these places when it was reaching the buttcrack of dawn, then watched as four annoyingly loud and too awake people barged in, he'd probably glare too. 

Maybe they should have came inside in their costumes instead of getting dressed first into their normal clothes. One of the waitresses literally has a Nightwing pin on her vest. They could have probably gotten the ice cream and fries for free. 

Oh well. The ice cream here is worth a little glaring and a few bucks. 

"So I was thinking-" Dick says through a mouthful of ice cream. He's already dipping another fry into his chocolate mint shake, so Jason gets the feeling that whatever Dick says for the next twenty minutes will be through food- "that after this, we can go to a Redbox and pick up a movie."

"What movie?" Tim asks.

Dick hums. "One that Cass hasn't seen yet."

Jason scoffs. "She hasn't seen a lot of movies. You're going to have to be more specific."

"Then what about a movie Duke hasn't seen," Tim asks, scraping the bottom of his shake with his spoon. "That way we can kill two birds with one stone."

"I hate that metaphor," Jason stands up from the booth with his empty shake cup and equally empty bag of fries. 

Dick glares at him with a face that says yes Jason, we all know you died. 

Jason smirks and throws his trash away. 

As they all walk out of the diner, Jason hears one of the workers mumble finally, and he's not even that mad about it. He hopes their shifts end soon and they can go home and watch anime or something. Working night shifts like that in Gotham isn't something to scoff at.

Dick pulls out his phone while Tim runs ahead to take the lead. Jason walks behind the group as Damian falls into step besides Dick and looks over at his phone screen to see what he's typing. "Where's the closest Redbox?" Dick mumbles to himself and Jason rolls his eyes. 

He's serious about the Redbox thing? "You do know we can just buy whatever movie we want with B's card. We don't need a Redbox."

"It's for the experience, Jay," Dick argues back, scrolling on his phone through Google. "Everyone goes to Redbox to get random movies they don't actually want to own."

"Alright, alright," Jason huffs, smirking a little. 

And okay, he'll admit it. Tonight has actually been… a little fun. Even if Dick had to threaten to go skiing without him next winter if he didn't join them for patrol. And while yes, Jason could just go skiing alone or force Roy to come along… and while yes, Dick would have gone skiing with him regardless of the threat and if Jason went through with it… he still found it enjoyable to just pretend to be a family with these idiots for the night. He almost wishes the others could have joined, but with Duke and Cass being busy on their own sibling bonding mission for the night where no one else were allowed they were forced to be just the four of them tonight. 

Dick will have to work with Cass to better schedule sibling get togethers'. Just imagining the shenanigans and trash taking about Bruce they could be doing if it were all six of them has him staunching down a grin. 

Even better if Steph joined as well. 

Jason follows along as Dick picks up speed to pass Tim—whos balancing on the curb of the street like an actual five year old—and lead them towards the nearest Redbox. 

"We should get Princess Bride," Tim suggests as they walk past an alleyway. "I don't think Duke's seen that."

"He has no excuse to have not seen Princess Bride," Damian huffs. "It was one of the first movies Richard showed me."

"And one of the first I showed Cass, too," Dick adds, turning to flash a lopsided grin. "So we need to think of another one."

"What about that new movie?" Tim suggests. 

Jason lifts an eyebrow. "What new movie?"

"You know," Tim replies, "the- the new movie. With that guy from Voltron. Where they go on the bridges and fight the monkeys?" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's-" Tim growls, sounding frustrated with himself. Jason finds him amusing. "You know. That one movie."

"Timothy has no idea what he's talking about."

"I'm sorry I don't spend all day watching movies all the time. Oh! Dwayne the Rock Johnson was there!"

"… Are you talking about Jumanji 2?" Dick asks and Tim snaps his fingers. 

"Jumanji 2!" 

They turn a corner, then immediately all stop when they spot the entire road blocked off by orange coned and giant signs telling you to detour. In the middle of the blocked off road is a giant, dangerous looking hole in the ground leading towards the sewers. 

Huh. Jason's almost forgotten one of Two-Face's thugs had thrown a very powerful grenade of some sort last night. 

"Damn. Google hasn't updated this?" Dick sighs and begins tapping on his phone. 

"Crap like this happens all the time in Gotham," Tim sighs while stuffing his hands in his pockets, "you really think they're gonna catch everything?"

Dick's mouth turns into a frown, then he looks up at the building rooftops around them as if wondering how difficult it would be to climb up and parkour towards the nearest Redbox in civilian attire. He sighs, probably settling on it not being difficult, but potentially compromising of their identities ifanyone saw. 

He looks back at the phone. Then turns towards the alleyway they have just passed. 

"… We can cut through the alley," he suggests. 

Jason immediately scoffs while Tim walks towards them, shaking his head. 

"Um no? We shouldn't? Have you forgot what city we're in?" 

Dick gives an unimpressed look at Tim before sighing. "We'll have to go all the way around the block to get to the Redbox. That's like, another twenty minutes. Besides, we just finished patrol. Gotham's at its safest around now."

"We're going to get in there and then get shanked by some rando," Tim argues. 

Damian watches the two of them argue with narrowed eyes. When Damian opens his mouth, Jason decides it's his turn to step in. He grabs Dick by the back of his jacket and then behind to walk towards the mouth of the alleyway. He has his guns on him still, concealed under the belt of his jeans. If anyone is stupid enough to try and try to assult them in the alleyway, all Jason needs to do is pull out his guns and they'll go running for the hills. 

Gotham isn't filled with fighters. Gotham is filled with rats that only prey on those with smaller claws than them. 

"I'm not spendin' another hour out here to get a monkey bridge movie," Jason huffs, stopping in front of the mouth of the alleyway. "Now let's go."

"Fine," Tim mumbles, following behind as Dick takes the lead inside the alley. "But if we all get killed don't blame me."

"Dying isn't that bad, actually," Jason says, and Dick turns around and shoots that glare again. 

Damian huffs and trails behind Dick, but he watches the shadows like how a kid shouldn't. Thirteen years old and he's already seen the worst the world has to offer. Jason, once again, takes the back, fully aware of the weight hanging off his hip. The alleyway is long, and dark, and definitely not as surveillanced as it should be, but they continue anyways. So far, all there is to see is closed doors here and there that would lead into various shops and such if they weren't boarded up. Trash cans, litter, bags, and boxes of various contents dot the entirety of the alleyway. 

Otherwise, it looks pretty empty. 

Jason sighs. It should be fine. Gotham is always quiet around these early morning hours after Batman and his army of sidekicks have just combed through its streets. Criminals are back in there nests, shivering and praying they're not found tonight. Hours like these are usually the safest to go out for a after midnight stroll, or a very early morning jog. It's like a limbo. Where Gotham can actually feel like a normal city for once.

Of course, it's right when Jason let's his guard down that something goes wrong. 

Because something always goes wrong. 

Because some criminals are rats. But there's others who are like moths, too dumb to go back inside and persistent enough to jump at anything shiny enough to catch their attention.

A man, practically rags, skin, and bones jumps our from behind a dumpster, his hands already lifted in front of him with a gun in his grasp. Immediately, everyone pauses in their tracks. Jason goes to grab his own gun like he planned, but the man points his weapon at Jason with shaking, obviously trigger happy hands. 

"No one move!" The man shouts, trembling like a nervous mut. Jason holds off grabbing his guns for the moment, knowing that if he makes any sudden or threatening moves the man will fire. 

Dick, like the idiot he is, immediately steps in front of Damian. Damian growls, but doesn't make a move to fight that show of protection yet. Dick slowly raises his hands in surrender. "Take whatever you want," he says slowly. Evenly. 

Tim shifts behind Dick and glances at Jason, questioning in his eyes. 

"Give me your money- all of it," the man demands, and Jason can practically hear the body of his weapon tremble in his shaking hands. "No one will get hurt if ya give me all your money."

"Okay, okay," Dick says gently. Like he's soothing the mugger. Dick carefully lowers his arms to his pockets and uses smooth motions to bring out his wallet, which is probably only filled a debit card he can easily cancel, his driver's license which is definitely expired, and not even four dollars of cash. Jason only knows what's in Dick's wallet because Dick's his main victim for him to practice pickpocketing on. He holds out his Superman patterned wallet but the man keep his gun up and trained. 

"All of you," he wheezes. "All of you, give me your fuckin' money."

Tim snaps into movement with shaking hands, pulling out his wallet while Damian makes to do the same. Why the kid has a wallet with actual cash, Jason will never know. Something about Bruce wanting Damian to feel independent… like how he bought a lock for Jason's bedroom door that only Jason had the key for, just to make him feel like he had control while small and scared and barely eleven years old. 

The gun moves back to Jason, and Jason realizes he's been focusing too much on the wrong things. He lifts his hands and clears his throat. 

"I don't have anything," he says, because it's true. He doesn't carry his wallet while on patrol, nor does he stash personal belongings with his changes of clothes after patrol. Then, there's also the added fact that this guy is definitely one more nerve shot from firing his weapon. Him seeing a glock on Jason's belt might be the thing that pushes him over the edge. 

"I don't believe you," the man growls, taking a step forward and aiming directly at Jason now. 

And of course this is happening. Of course Jason's being mugged when he doesn't have any change on him. 

"Jason…" Tim hissed and Jason throws him a sideways glare. 

"I'm telling you, man, I don't have anything."

"Show me," the man snarls, jerking his pistol dangerously. "Show me your pockets."

And shit. This is what Jason was worried about. 

"Okay," he says, softening his voice, "alright. Just... I'm carrying okay? But I'm not gonna-"

"YOU HAVE A GUN?!" The man screeches, and Jason winces. Great. He was trying to warn the guy. There's no way Jason can show all of his pockets and his gun go unnoticed. It's grip is hanging out of his jeans waistband, black as night and clear as day. 

Jason lifts his hands immediately in surrender, watching the man wearily as his already panicked breaths become more labored. The tendons in his paper thin wrists are twitching. 

Jason's record for drawing and shooting a gun with accuracy is a little less than two seconds. Even with his hands up like this. 

But this man already has the gun aimed and finger on the trigger. 

"Let's calm down," Dick tries, "we have money, just take it and we can all-"

"You have a gun-" the man practically froths. 

And that is when Jason knew the sound of gunfire will be heard in this alleyway tonight. Jason can see the resolution in the man's eyes to shoot a moment before it happens. Jason doesn't have time to dodge or pull his own weapons. He will try to anyway. 

He goes to dodge, drops his hands to his waistline, and the enemies gun explodes. 

There's normally a moment of nothing between the time you've been shot and the time you realize you've been shot. But it doesn't happen this time. 

What happens is that Jason suddenly blinks on the grimy floor, his gun having skid across the cement from the force of his fall. 

He… he was pushed. 

"RICHARD!"

Jason looks up just in time to watch Damian run for the collapsing Dick Grayson… just to be violently knocked to the side by the sound of another bullet launching from the chamber. 

Jason doesn't watch or look anymore. He just scrambles to his gun, turns, aims, and fires.

The man chokes on blood as the bullet rips through his chest. 

And Jason thinks that this should be the end of it. This should be when he can get to his feet and look his brother's all in the eye one at a time. And- and he doesn't know. Go home? Call Gordon? Plead self defense?

However, when he stands up, he finds only Tim standing, his hands leaving his face from protecting himself moments before. 

Dick's on the ground writhing from pooling red in the center of his gut. 

Damian… Damian…

Jason thinks he's going to get sick. 

The damage a 9mil can do to a head at this close of range…

He doesn't look. He can't look. Not yet. He rushes towards Dick and ignored Damian's b- he-

He ignores Damian. He ignores Damian and slams his hands down onto Dick's stomach. 

Guilt twists in his gut like something he's never felt before. Rage. Helplessness. Disbelief. It's all he can do to force his limbs to press down as Dick jolts from agony beneath him. "Stay- stay still-" Jason snarls. His chest hurts so badly. His ears are ringing. 

His fault his fault his fault his fault-

"D-" Dick babbles, blood coating his teeth and dripping from the corners of his mouth. "No- n-"

Dick's not paying attention to anything. It's then, Jason realizes he's not struggling because of his own pain.

He's struggling because his kid is laying across from him in a puddle of blood, a hole in his skull. 

"No-" Dick twitches. Practically sobs. "M'suh- sorry- D'mi…"

"It's okay, just-" it's not okay, but Jason continues- "just focus on me, kay? Just- Tim, hospital?"

"Working on it."

Jason presses harder onto Dick's stomach. Dick sobs and his eyelashes flutter. 

He almost wants to tell Tim to stop. 

The ambulance isn't going to make it in time.

He knows this because he can hear Dick's protests begin to die down. He knows because he can see Dick's hand twitching towards Damian's limp one. He knows because he can feel the final shudder through his frame before his normally clear blue eyes cloud over. 

Jason… doesn't know what to do now. It's like his entire world just… stops. 

And he wants to scream. He wants to throw something. He wants to go back in time and shake Dick by the shoulders until he fixes this. 

He can't... he can't go back to a world where Dick and Damian aren't apart of it. 

Especially not if it's all. His. Fucking. Fault. 

"-we need help- my brother's been shot-"

And Jason clutches his fists in Dick's sopping wet, blood-soaked shirt and turns to find Tim kneeling against Damian, blood painting his fingertips. 

He wants to scream that there's no use of an ambulance. There's no point. 

But then Tim meets his eyes, tears trailing down in tracks, then looks down at Damian. 

It takes a second for Jason to see it. But Damian's chest moves. 

Damian's still alive. 

He's still alive. 

Jason forces himself to leave Dick so he can scramble over to Damian and get a closer, desperate look. Tim rattles off the details of their location the the details of the mugging while Jason just... Hovers. Holding his red stained hands above his- his baby brother. 

He doesn't want to touch Damian. He doesn't want to break him more.

So he sits there and counts every breath the kid stubbornly makes even with a bullet in his skull. 

He sits there until Tim hangs up the call and sits besides him. He sits there until a loud ambulance accompanied by at least three cop cars pull up and then a shock blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. He stays there until Damian is loaded into a gurney. Until he's left there, kneeling, not even realizing he's holding Tim's hand, until a female cop with sad brown eyes kneels down in front of him and tells him Bruce is on his way with Cass and Duke. 

He nods, and stands up, keeping Tim besides him even though he's caused this. 

He looks to his side to see Dick already covered by by a tarp. He can see red bleeding out from under it. 

Slender arms wrap around his waste, and it takes him a moment to realize Tim is clutching to him. 

Jason's... The big brother again. The big brother. 

He- he should…

He wraps his arms around Tim and let's his own tears finally fall.

[wajjs]

Hey Blob! So I noticed that the first prompt on the list you posted (you faked your death and ate all my cereal) was definitely channeling Dick Grayson. Maybe jaydick or gen with any preferred character please:)

“Who wouldn’t be angry you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years!”

-

wound that makes you scream

  Tomorrow’s the anniversary, that is all Dick can think of as he goes through the rest of the day - as he finishes his coffee, while he starts getting ready, when he’s running and leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Tomorrow’s the anniversary of both Batman and Bruce’s greatest mistake, the one that was the final thing to send him down spiraling, to have the man crash down. And down. And down. Not even rock bottom had been enough.

  Because three years ago Bruce, not enough Batman, had been demanded to make a choice, put right in between the sword and the wall, and he had acted. He had acted, only for everything to crash in right over his head. The wound, the blood, the explosion. The laughter, the silence, the absence. The trail of crimson, the hint, the void. Nothing left behind.

  Like the miracle that had turned into a nightmare to then promptly go up in smoke and mirages. Like he had never been there, he had never come back, like- like-

  They have the proof, though. The empty, destroyed coffin. The DNA samples. They have everything to know, to be sure, that he was as real as he could be and now he’s all gone and it’s all…

  It’s Bruce’s fault.

  He sighs, stopping next to a ledge and looking out over the buildings around him. For once, the night holds no threat of rain and the wind carries no ungodly stench. Even the activity is surprisingly low, calm, something he’d comment on if he didn’t fear the real threat of jinxing it. He still allows himself one moment, just one moment, and sits right on the border of the ledge, lets his legs hang over it, feet facing the deadly drop.

  Bruce has yet to recover. He’s yet to be anywhere near a semblance of what he once was. Not even Tim, god, poor young and hopeful Tim, not even his passion and stubbornness were enough to make the old man move on. Dick doubts anything will ever be enough. Dick doubts he himself will ever be able to make himself understand why Bruce did that, why did he-

  His comm comes to life just then, making him sit up just a tad bit straighter, bracing himself for movement once more.

  “You should head home,” Tim speaks clearly, no rush to his words, “everything’s quiet. A and I will keep an eye on B tonight.”

  It’s what they always do when that date rears its ugly head upon them. He still nods, swallows past the sudden knot in his throat.

  “Alright,” he says, stands up and stretches his arms over his head, “I’ll keep my comm on just in case. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will,” Tim promises even though they both know it’s unlikely any call will be made. With that, the communication ends.

  No one is a fan of words in the eve of Jason Todd’s second death.

-

  With his thoughts all scrambled, filled with memories, regrets and crushed dreams, Dick slides into his apartment from the window. There is no need to turn on the lights as he reactivates all the locks and security measures, and no need to stop himself from sagging under his own weight as he peels off his mask, starts working on the top of his costume. His instincts only come back online when he’s two steps into the living room, fluorescent glow coming from the kitchen’s open door. 

  Dick doesn’t stop to think. He picks up his escrima sticks, activates them, and with silent steps walks towards the entrance. He sure as hell hopes upon hope it’s one of his old Titans teammates, or a friend, because he does not want to fight right now, he is in no mood, his heart is gone, six feet under, right where the tomb of his lost- of, of Jaybird is.

  And maybe it’s because he’s so deep in longing and grief that his eyes trick him in such a painful way. Because he slides into the kitchen to be face to face with a young man sitting on the counter, bowl of cereal in his hands, spoon halfway to his mouth. Because the young man has the same features of the one he’s missing, the same eyes, the same lips, the same eyebrows. Everything is a carbon copy of him and Dick discovers right then and there that he can’t handle any more heartbreak. He can’t take any more of it. He’s had enough.

   “Who are you?,” he makes himself ask, feels his chest seizing, throat constricting, and it’s a herculean task to keep himself pulled together. “How did you get in here?”

  The man blinks once, twice, begins to frown in confusion as he sets the bowl next to his thigh on the counter, licks away any remaining of milk and cereal from his lips. Dick braces himself for the sound of his voice, fearing that it will sound just like Jason’s, but it never comes. The voice never comes. Instead, the man lets out the smallest of sighs before lifting his hands, signing away with ease that betrays lots of practice.

  You don’t recognize me?, the man asks with a barely there hint of a pout, Thought you’d be thrilled to see me.

  “Answer me!,” he demands, giving another step forward and shifting into a fighting stance. This is too much. “Who are you!”

  It’s me, dumbass, the other’s hands move fast, almost too fast for Dick to fully finish understanding the signs, I’m Jason.

  “That’s-,” he has to swallow, clearing his throat because that, that is impossible, isn’t it? They all believed him dead. Again. Bruce himself showed them the video recording from the cowl. No one could survive that kind of cut to the throat. No one, no one, but… but… “No,” he breathes out, shaking, “no, you died.”

  I didn’t, with a small smile, the man, no, Jason? God, Jason, stands up, looking at Dick in the eyes, I mean, I did, once, but I came back and you were there. Or you forgot?

  He doesn’t- of course he didn’t! But if he’s here, then, then.

  By the way, Jason, it’s really him, Dick feels a whole lot like screaming, even more like crying, you ran out of cereal. I invited myself to some but it was barely enough for a single bowl.

  Dropping his escrima sticks to the ground, Dick allows himself the luxury of laughing. Laughing till there are tears in his eyes and the rattling in his chest has gone full bomb, about to explode and curse everyone in the immediate blast radius. His hands close into fists, his whole body is moving and next thing he knows he’s got Jason trapped against the counter, one hand closed tightly around the neck of his red sweater, the other raised, ready to strike.

  Dude, Jason snorts, eyes impossibly clear, pinning Dick to his place, it’s just cereal. Don’t be mad.

  “Don’t be mad?!,” he yells out, mildly succumbing to hysterics. “Why wouldn’t I be mad that you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years?! Three fucking years, Jason!! Do you know what it did to Bruce? What it did to me?!”

  I’m sorry, in the small space between them, Jason barely has room to sign properly between their faces. His expression is sad and haunted, and filled with just too much regret. I needed time. To heal. And. To accept.

  “Accept what!,” he knows he should probably pull away, bring his voice back to decent levels, but he can’t, not when everything feels too surreal, when air escapes him to never return. “Accept what!”

  That B would hurt me like this, Jason says, thumb hovering over the thick, gnarly scar crossing his throat, That I cannot speak anymore. That I needed to learn. Learn how to communicate again.

-

  It’s been three years. Three years since the return and the loss of the prodigal son.

  Dick still needs to gather his thoughts, his heart, hell, maybe even his soul. But one thing is clear. On the third year, he’s the one guiding Jason back home. Hand in hand, step by step. And this time, he’ll make sure there won’t be any more harm to come.

[alotoffandomtrash]

I wish it was that simple (Fanfiction)

Summary: Wally is still dead and Dick Grayson is falling. (Warning: Angst. Hints of depression and suicide.)

It was hard to argue with the angry voice in his head these days. The voice that reminds him that he is alone and will always be alone. Because being poison to everyone is all he's ever gonna been good at. Dick should be more used to that angry voice (On the bad days the voice sounds like his own, but on the average days it's the voice of everyone else), but somehow it still broke him down like nothing else. He knows he should get up. He knows that the best he could do is get up and patch up the wounds from last night's patrol, but he doesn't even know if he wants to breathe right now. Yet he still gets up, he doesn't think he knows how not to. He finds himself sitting down in his couch eating dry cereal out of the box, wounds hazardly stitched together and cases all around him as he pretends to watch the news.  He pretends like it's not worrying that he doesn't even remember how he got there. He wonders if life had ever not been this numb haze of nothingness. He stops that thought immediately because he honestly doesn't want to know the answer. 

"Are you ever gonna look at me?" Dick ignored him, not in the mood to talk to a dead man. "You can't ignore me forever Dick. Please, look at me."

There was something in his voice. A hint of pain so sharp that Dick spared the redhead a slight look from the corner of his eye. The ghost of his friend walked over to stand in front of his shitty tv and Dick could only sigh. Because of course, this was his life. He's barely holding himself together as it is, he's hanging by a threat and destiny continues to add the ghost of his dead best friend on top of it. 

"Dude, please. I'm begging you. You look worse every time I see you. Call Bruce. Call someone." The fake Wally looked a lot more tired, worn-out than last time he saw him. He looked at the date on his phone and he realized that it was two weeks ago. He had hoped the Wally hallucinations would have died out quickly, like the ones of his parents and Jason. But Dick knew better than anyone that life just wasn't kind like that.

"Dick Jonathan Grayson. You need some help. Please."

"You are not real." Dick could only whisper to himself through closed eyes.

"Yet here I am. Worrying about your stupid ass. Nothing changes even after death I guess." Wally lets out a short laugh, it sounded so empty. "Dickie. Please, if you're not gonna call someone, at least go to the grocery store and buy some real food. Take a shower or clean up this mess of an apartment. Just stop looking like you are dead. You're scaring me." The last sentence was only a whisper, but Wally was close enough for him to pick it up. If Dick was honest, he was a little bit scared of himself too.

"Dickie, buddy, why don't we take a trip?" Dick opened his eyes. Big sad blue eyes met green and Wally was smiling down at him with a smile that seemed painful. "Let's take your gym bag and fill it up with some clothes. How about that?" 

Dick wasn't sure what compelled him to do so, but maybe it had something to do with the voice Wally was using. It sounded like the tone he used when he was thirteen and got the flu. He covered him up with blankets and took care of him, something that he hadn't experience from anyone other than Alfred since his parents died. But not even Alfred can mimic the warmth serenity of his mom and dad cuddling him until he felt better. Wally got so close.

Dick ended up dressed in a pair of jeans and one of his only clean shirts. He threw the gym bag over his shoulder and he knew the moment he was standing by his front door where he would end up. He turned to the ghost Wally, who had been following close behind him the entire time. "Thank you." Were the only words that could escape his mouth. 

Fake Wally smiled through his ghostly tears and Dick felt the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but he didn't. He turned back to the door and decided to take a stand and fight through the haze. 

A month later Gotham news exploded as an anonymous tip was revealed saying, Richard Grayson, Bruce Wayne's ward was spotted checking into a mental facility recently.

[codenamed-queenie]

Batman Movie Idea

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Matt Reeves movie, and how we might actually finally get a Robin on the big screen (I don’t know Batman and Robin(1997), who’s she?). 

At first, I was thinking it would be amazing to get Tim Drake. I think we can all agree that he’s the least represented of the Batbros in the media, and seeing him debut in the DCEU along Battinson would be epic, to say the least.

But then I got to thinking--you know who we see even less of? You know who’s got just as much (if not more) quipping power as Dick Grayson? And a dubious, unprivileged past like Jason Todd? And the desperate need to prove themselves like Damian Wayne? That’s right, ladies and gentleman, I’m talking about--

--Stephanie Brown.

In the comics, Batman is just as reluctant to have a female Robin at his side as I’m sure a lot of rabid fanboys are to see one up on screen. (And that’s reason enough, honestly, but I’m not done)

But can you imagine? A Stephanie Brown origin story that doesn’t revolve around Tim Drake?

Picture this:

The movie opens with Batman going about his business--crushing it in the board room by day, and kicking butt by night. He’s tired, and lonely, and thinking about his other partner(s), who left. (Setting up that Nightwing movie people keep talking about, and possibly allowing for Jason and/or Tim to come in)

Alfred can tell Bruce is struggling, and continues to hound him about maybe possibly considering dating around? Maybe getting a dog? Just so that he’s not so alone. Bruce shrugs off all of these with the ‘No, I’m Batman, I’ll work and live and die alone, justice not happiness’ schpeel we all know and recognize. 

But then one night, he’s out on patrol. And he comes across another person fighting crime in a cape:

Spoiler. 

She’s in a laughably cheap homemade costume, and is basically just a tiny little five-foot-nothing child. A kid who saw superheroes on the news and decided ‘hey, looks like I’ve found my calling in life’. But even so, she’s...doing a decent job? She seems to know what she’s doing, but Batman swoops in and tells her to beat it. 

And Stephanie, our stubborn Stephanie, says ‘screw that’ and stealthily follows him home. 

Bruce goes about his everyday business, crushing it in the board room and handling CEOmanship like a Boss. But when he comes home, Alfred is missing and the secret door to his cave is hanging wide open. 

So he makes his way down, and stops short to see Stephanie Brown with her feet on his desktop, eating a plain Eggo waffle and watching anime on the computer��s giant monitors. She wheels around slowly, like a supervillain reveal but with more waffles and less ‘actual threat’.

Alfred is tied up nearby and is giving Bruce a Look.

And Stephanie’s all, ‘Hey, Bats, I followed you to your secret lair. Toldja I knew what I was doing. Anyway, I raided your fridge, but I caught this intruder for you, so I guess we’re even?’ 

Bruce meanwhile is doing his Best not to have an aneurysm. 

He tries to convince her to hang up her cape, but after a lengthy argument and a lot of shouting down, Steph manages to wrangle a deal out of Bruce. Three weeks. If she can prove to him that she’s strong enough to fight on her own in three weeks, he’ll let her do the Spoiler thing without interference. 

Bruce has his own conditions, though. He has to keep an eye on her and make sure she’s keeping to their agreement. So she’ll do it wearing the Robin uniform, or not at all.

He and Alfred head upstairs, and Steph stews in her chair, proving that its totally possible to eat a waffle ‘angrily’. 

The first night on patrol doesn’t go as planned. Steph’s in Dick’s old uniform, and it doesn’t fit. She’s trying her hardest, but it seems like Bruce is out to let her fail. (Not because he’s malicious, but because he wants her to understand just how dangerous this life is, and he doesn’t want her to choose it.) They return at the end of the night battered and exhausted. Steph flops down and Bruce asks her ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this? I won’t blame you if you don’t’ for the millionth time. Steph tells him to eff off. 

As soon as he does just that, she takes off, still wearing the Robin suit. She climbs to the top of a building and looks out at the city. Then bursts into tears. 

Unbeknownst to her, someone else just stopped into Gotham to see some old friends and brush up with their old mentor to get his help on a tricky case. Someone who happened to be swinging around nearby.

Enter, Nightwing, stage left. 

He demands to know why there’s someone else wearing the uniform--and his uniform, to boot. At first, he’s confrontational and defensive, remembering what happened to Jason or/and Tim.

But then Steph explains that the Robin schtick is just so she can be Spoiler. All she wants is to stop people like her dad. Do some good.

And about five minutes into the argument, Dick melts. 

He goes into full-on Big Brother mode. Trains her behind Bruce’s back (cue epic training montages with acrobatic flips and so forth) and offers to get her a better costume, and be her real mentor. 

(The latter offer is one that Steph declines. She can handle the vigilante thing just fine on her own, thank you very much.)

Still, Steph spends her days with Dick--learning and hanging out, and doing the whole Sibling Thing (bonus points if Babs or Tim, or especially Cass make cameos) and spends her nights with Bruce. Who, though not for lack of trying, continuously fails to throw Steph off her game.

(Keep in mind that all of this is going on between the lines of the actual story--which of course has to be Bats looking into his own case. This is the Batman movie, after all, not a Robin movie. Sadly.)

But then Bruce cracks his case, and lands right into a trap set by the Main Baddie (tbd, but wouldn’t it be great if we got Cluemaster as a side-villain?), leaving it up to Robin and Nightwing to come to his rescue. (Bonus points if those aforementioned cameos suit up and join in).

After the boss fight ends and the dust settles, Batman nods and says something along the lines of “So Nightwing’s been training you. No wonder you improved so much.”

And Dick just shakes his head. “Are you kidding me? I barely had to do anything. We mostly hung out and talked. She’s a great sparring partner, though, B. You should give her more credit.”

Everyone turns on Steph. “Then how do you know what you’re doing?”

And she’s all “You’re kidding, right? My dad’s the Cluemaster. I’ve been training for this since I was seven years old.”

“Ohhhh. So your dad taught you to fight.”

“My dad didn’t teach me anything, guys. I saw what he was doing, and I saw the people who were getting hurt, and I decided to do something about it. Took a little inspiration from the flying Bat I saw outside my window at night, and made my own moniker.” 

Dick laughs. “Looks like you’re a role model, B.”

“Nah, not him.’ Stephanie smirks. “I’m talking about Batgirl.”

So in the end, Bruce lets Steph keep Spoiler, and gives her a new-and-improved suit as an apology. The Robin mantle sits empty, but everybody agrees that its for the best. Maybe someday, it’ll be used again, but for now, there’s enough capes in Gotham.

For now, they’ve got a city to run.

(cue end credit scene)

A little boy in a lavish room is watching TV on a luxurious bed. He’s transfixed by the image of Batman and Robin fighting side by side on the news. 

The screen turns off, and his mother stands in the doorway, remote outstretched. A disapproving frown marks her face. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing, habibi?”

The little boy sits up straight and says, “Is it true? He’s found another?”

The woman tsks and strides across the room. Deftly tucking her son into bed, and smoothing the sheets around him, she explains that, no, the girl has chosen not to be Robin. Their plans are still on track, so there isn’t cause for worry. 

The boy nestles into the pillow, but looks up at the ceiling. “Do you think he will recognize me? When the time comes?”

The woman, Talia Al Ghul, leans in and presses a gentle kiss to her son’s forehead. “Oh, habibi,” she whispers. 

“A father always knows his son.”

The camera pans up, following the boy’s gaze to the ceiling, where mosaics of bat-winged creatures fly in circles. 

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Broadcast Torture + Jason Todd & Tim Drake

Written for the @badthingshappenbingo​ . X’s are finished & can be found on my AO3 (under the same username!!), asterisks are requested. Thanks to @whateverrrrwhatever​ for making this way better than it was <3

----

The entrance to the Cave Jason takes is old and rarely used anymore. He isn’t sure if the kids even know about it, and really, he hopes they don’t. It feels like a little secret just between him and the Cave (and a few other assholes, plus Alfred). Anyway, he’s only going to the Cave tonight because no one else is here. B is out with the Justice League somewhere, Dick off with Kory and Roy, and all the rest of them, Duke included, are holding down the fort here in Gotham.

None of them will come back any time soon unless they’re grievously injured. Knowing, like, all of them, that’s a distinct possibility. He seriously hopes they can keep their shit together tonight, though, because if not? He’s going to have to interact with them. And he can only handle so much interaction with people, period, much less his intense family members. He worked with Damian the other night, and that’s enough time with another Bat to last him for at least a few more weeks.

Thankfully, what he’s here for shouldn’t take too long—he just needs some files on the drug trade down at the docks. The more he can get the better, especially ones from at least a few years ago, since he has suspicions that remnants of the Lucky Hand Triad have regrouped.

Technically, Jason can go without them. But they’ll help, and as long as he gets done before 3 am, it’ll be fine. Three is, of course, the witching hour of Bat injuries. (Trust him, he knows all about those.)

Really, the only person who might see him poking around—getting his files, he means, because poking around insinuates he’s here for anything else, and he is not —is Alfred. And Alfred won’t tell on Jason, so if he does happen to come down to the Cave and see Jason, well, it’ll be no big deal. It’s always been easier to interact with Alfred than any of the rest, anyway.

When he steps into the main part of the Cave, he can’t help but notice how weirdly small it seems. Wasn’t it bigger? It’s as empty as it’s ever been, though, the only sounds the humming of machines and the bats flying and screeching.

Maybe Jason should be scared by how dark and confined it is. Anybody in their right mind would be, but he’s never been frightened of this place and he’s not going to start now. Determined, he starts over to the big computer, trying not to think about how familiar everything feels, no matter how long he’s been gone. How every corner brings up a new memory, but all the new keepsakes mean nothing to him. How he still knows his way around. Or how he feels… weird here, almost like an apparition or something.

He casts his eyes on the place where his old suit used to be on display, and can’t help the feeling that maybe he’s just a ghost, the shadow of a boy in a picture who’s climbed out of its frame to haunt the city.

Shaking the thought away, he hurries over to the computer bay, flinging himself into Bruce’s chair with false ease. Sitting here doesn’t help him feel any better—it holds so many memories from his childhood that feel more like dreams, muted and far away. In soft focus like that, he can’t be sure what’s real and what’s imagined, what’s a lie. But ugh. God, he’s got to stop, now. He came here for a reason, and the sooner he can get his shit and go, the better.

Just as he’s about click into the huge storage drive of reports and files that Bruce has amassed over the years, he realizes something.

Babs has to know he’s in the Cave right now. There’s no way she’s not going to tell B or Dick, or both. Probably both. And probably Alfred, too, because why not, right? But what can she tell them besides the truth, which isn’t even that bad?

On the other hand, if he’s going to get told on, why not mess with the others a little bit?

Detouring from his original intentions, Jason cracks his knuckles and sets off to open up all of the weirdest porn Google can give him.

It gets old after a few minutes, and it’s best if he gets out of here sooner rather than later, so he moves on. (He leaves the pages up, of course. Let Dick or Tim find them when they get back. Hah.)

He goes to click into the database, but the cursor on the screen doesn’t move. He tries again and it still doesn’t work.

“What the fuck,” he says, because, seriously, what? The Batcomputer doesn’t get slow. And it can’t be Babs, because although she’s not shy about putting up her logo and locking people out of their hardware... no logo. Not Babs, then.

But if not her… by all rights, it shouldn’t be possible.

Discomfited, Jason wonders if he should try to fix it, or tell Babs. He leans down to make sure the mouse is plugged in, but a noise on the screen has him looking back up.

A video has popped up on the screen.

At first, it’s just black. Jason is confused and annoyed. Maybe Oracle is messing with him.

“Babs,” he says, because whether this is her or not, there’s no way she’s not tapped into whatever bugs she has down here. “Stop playing. I’m just here for some files and then I’m gone.” When that gets no reaction, he adds, “Won’t even take the originals, just need some copies.”  

Nothing happens. Jason looks around, struck once again by how empty and dark the Cave is.

Okay, his gut was right. It’s not Babs. But what, or who, the hell is it?

Before he can even begin to figure it out, the video changes, revealing a laboratory splattered with what looks like paint. Other than that, it’s practically devoid of color. The tall, peeling walls remind Jason of the warehouses at the docks. Medical equipment fills out the edges, somehow even more rudimentary and broken down than he’d expect.

As far as he’s aware, there’s nobody out there with a hospital gimmick. He looks closer, taking in as many details as he can. The paint catches his attention again, and he curses as he recognizes the colors. White, green, and red. Fuck. 

A huge metal table sits in the middle of the room, angled upwards, and there, strapped down on the table, unconscious, is the fucking Replacement.

Jason honestly doesn’t really like the kid. They’re civil enough. Jason has apologized for everything that happened when he came back and Tim has forgiven him, if not forgotten. Not that Jason can blame him. But other than a few conversations outside of the capes and a few missions they’ve teamed up on, they don’t interact much.

There are still days where Jason thinks about being replaced—he knows that’s not how it happened, exactly, but whatever. In those moments, he sees sickly green and has to forcibly calm himself down, punch a wall, something to get the feeling out. He has to tell himself it’s not Tim’s fault, not really.

Replacement or no, it’s hard to see him on the table like this. He really is just a kid.

The Joker moves into view on the screen, his hands clasped behind his back, casual as can be. And Jesus Christ, his smile is still as big and inhuman as it ever was, sickeningly amused by a 17 year old under threat of torture.

"Oh, Batsy,“ he sings, and the sound of his voice sends furious, painful shivers down Jason’s spine. Oh fuck no , he thinks, and wants to get up, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

It’s the same spot where Jason’s dad sat for years, protecting the city, making it better , or so Jason had thought. But sitting here now, it feels like he’s Bruce. It feels like he’s that little kid who was murdered. It feels like a lot of gut-churning, ominous tangle of emotions he doesn't have a name for and doesn't care to learn.

"I’ve got another of your little birds,” the Joker says, leaning close to the camera.

Part of Jason wants to walk away. He can’t stand this. He doesn’t want to hear another word out of that fucking thing’s mouth ever again, and it’s better to just let the voice pass by over him than to actually listen.

But the other part of Jason, the part that’s been fighting this war since he was born, won’t let him ignore what’s on the screen. He has to know everything, all the details, can’t have only half the picture.

So Jason pays attention and catalogs everything. Forces himself to listen as the clown talks about kidnapping Tim off the street. How he distracted him and snuck up on him and beat him over the head until he was unconscious. How easy it was to capture the oh-so-weak Robin.

Eventually, the Joker stops talking. Must be bored, since he’s not getting an immediate reaction. The dramatic piece of shit only loves attention.

He walks over to Tim. The way he moves is disgustingly familiar to Jason. There’s a kind of switch near the table, far enough that there’s no way Tim could reach it, and then. Then. The Joker flips it.

Tim’s body convulses and shakes as electricity burns through him. He screams, straining against the table.

Jason clutches the armrests of Bruce’s chair, the leather creaking under his hands. Leaning forward, he finds he can’t look away, jaw jumping. He shouldn’t be surprised by anything the Joker does by now, but all he can think is an unending loop of what the fuck?

The Joker flips the switch again and goes over to Tim, crooning something the camera doesn’t quite pick up. A little louder, he says, “I think you need some air, little birdie.” He pulls an oxygen mask from  somewhere out of view and puts it on Tim’s face.

Alarm bells ringing in Jason’s head, he watches as Tim struggles, twisting his head and attempting to bite the Joker’s fingers. There’s nothing he can do but watch as Tim loses the fight. The mask is secured, and within a few moments, it fills with horrible green gas.

All he’s got to breathe is Joker toxin.

Jason watches for another minute as the Joker takes the mask off, deceivingly gentle. After a few moments, Tim starts hysterically giggling, the sound a wheezing and crackling and painful thing.

A message shows up on the screen, listing an address and quickest route to the location. Signed: ‘O’.

“Fuck this,” Jason says, because he doesn’t even want to think about what comes next, what’s going to happen to the kid’s body, how badly the kid is going to be hurt. He stands and hurries over to where all the keys are hung up, grabbing the first set he can reach. He runs to the motorcycles and high tails it the fuck out of the Cave.

Jason thinks he might throw up. The thought of seeing the Joker in person again is too much to bear even on his best nights, but. Whatever. He has to get through it. He’s managed it before, with other traumatic things, and he can manage it now. He can do it for Tim.

He doesn’t like the kid. They aren’t friends and they certainly aren’t brothers, but he’s not about to just let the Joker kill another Robin. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

—-

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment in the tags. Thank you <3

[northoftheroad]

All about Alfred

I’ve come to realize I’ve got some mixed feelings about Alfred. One one hand, I love reading (and writing) his dry snark as much as the next person. 

Nightwing vol 2 # 86. By Devin Grayson, art Patrick Zircher, Andy Owens and Sean Parsons.

Nightwing # 141. By Peter J. Tomasi, art Rags Morales and Michael Bair.

Throwing away an empty dish to make a point to Bruce. Priceless. I mean, who can not love this chap?

Batman/TMNT Adventures # 1. By Matthew Manning, art Jon Sommariva.

On the other hand, I think he gets far too much credit. Especially in fanfic. For one thing, it is not humanly possible for one person to take care of the Manor, the cave and everyone in it and, on top of that, bake cookies every day. (Anyone who has ever had an old house knows they are a lot of work, and the Manor and the cave are huge!)

More importantly, if Alfred had been an okay caretaker for Bruce, there wouldn’t be a Batman. 

Initially, of course, Alfred (then Beagle) came to the Wayne household after Dick. This was retconned after Crisis on Infinite Earths (1985–1986). Since then, Alfred Pennyworth has raised Bruce after the murder of his parents. And clearly, failed at helping the boy to heal mentally. 

Dark Victory has a nice panel where it’s clear he feels he failed Bruce when he was a child, and that he want to do better with Dick.

Dark Victory. By Jeph Loeb, art Tim Sale.

It should also be noted that Alfred originally was nothing like the competent and sassy character we know today. He was more of a blundering, comical figure and when he managed to solve a crime, it was down to pure luck. 

To be fair, Alfred has, at times, questioned Bruce.

Nightwing vol 2 # 53. By Devin Grayson, art Rick Burchett and Rodney Ramos.

Batman Chronicles: The Gauntlet. By Bruce Canwell, art Lee Weeks.

But what Alfred mostly does is enabling Bruce, and his taking children into the war on crime. He can be passive-aggressive all he wants, as long as he tidies up the Manor and the cave and cooks and takes the kids to school, he is still making it possible for Bruce to spend his life as Batman – with sidekicks – fighting crime in tights.

Detective Comics # 523. By Gerry Conway, art Gene Colan and Tony DeZuniga.

Batman # 340. By Gerry Conway and Roy Thomas, art Gene Colan and Adrian Gonzales.

Batman vol 3 # 58. By Tom King, art Mikel Janín. 

Once, Alfred actually had enough and left Bruce. Not because he kicked Dick out and told him to leave the key, not when he let younger teenager Jason become Robin shortly after he deemed the position too dangerous for Dick, not when Jason was killed, not when he fired Tim and made Stephanie a very temporary Robin, or any other time when Bruce has been an ass to one of his fellow humans.

No, the tipping point for Alfred is when Bruce does not take care of himself.

In Batman # 440, when Bruce is shattered after Jason’s death and is careless and gets hurt a lot, Alfred threatens to leave. ”I do not intend to spend the rest of my life playing nurse.”

Batman # 440. By Marv Wolfman and George Pérez, art Jim Aparo and Mike DeCarlo.

Now, we all know that Tim turns up and becomes Robin, and Batman needs a Robin, so things look up for a period. However, Alfred finally carries out his threat to leave during Knightfall. Once again, the reason is that he thinks Bruce is self-destructive. After Bane broke his back, Bruce and Alfred travel to the Caribbean and England to search for Jack Drake and Shondra Kinsolving, Bruce’s physical therapist and current love interest. Finally, while in England, Alfred has had it with Bruce’s refusal to rest and recuperate; he resigns.

Shadow of the Bat # 31. By Alan Grant, art Bret Blevins.

Incidentally, you didn’t think that Bruce actually would search out Alfred and have a heart-to-heart about this, did you? Didn’t think so. (In Dick’s words, Bruce has too much respect for Alfred even to try to find out where Alfred went. Not unlike how Bruce wants to respect Dick’s wishes to have nothing to do with the family after he was shot in the head, recently. Now, you can discuss if this is respect or emotional cowardice. But that is another story.)

Of course, it’s Dick who goes to London and talks to Alfred. Possibly Dick wants him back because he doesn’t want to be stuck cooking, washing, and taking care of the Manor again, as he did when he and Tim were Batman and Robin in Knightfall Prodigal…

Batman # 513. By Doug Moench, art Mike Gustovich and Romeo Tanghal.

Anyway, the Alfred and Dick duo averts an anti-European Union terrorist attack and a military coup in the United Kingdom. In the end, Alfred goes back to Gotham.

Nightwing: Alfred’s Return. By Alan Grant, art Dick Giordano.

Alfred also leaves Wayne Manor another time, this time on Bruce’s order, to live with Tim at his boarding school Brentwood Academy. He leaves Tim and returns to Gotham when Bruce is accused of murder in ”Bruce Wayne: Murderer”.

Robin # 98. By Chuck Dixon, art Pete Woods and Andrew Pepoy.

Now, I’m not saying that he didn’t have his priorities right, in this instance. But Bruce always comes first, second, third and fourth for Alfred. The Manor probably takes a measly fifth place.

This boils down to that Alfred is a flawed character. Which is good, right? It makes him more relatable and interesting. He can be cool and sassy and still have done a poor job of helping Bruce to heal after his parents’ murder, and he lets Bruce get away with far too much in his relationship with the family. I still have a lot of love for Alfred. I’m just a teeny bit annoyed when he is put on a pedestal. 

And damn it, Bruce. Get some more hired help to take care of Wayne Manor. At least hire a few gardeners and take in some cleaning staff. Alfred isn’t getting any younger, you know...

This blog post is dedicated to Lightsider, who has written some of my favourite Batman/Young Justice the tv version-fics (do give them a try, you’ll find them on fanfic.net and AO3). It was exchanging comments about one of them that I got the idea to write this.

[unavenged-robin]

"Would you believe I fell down the stairs?" With Dick and either Jason or Damian, please, if that manages to spark something ;)

Months (YEARS???) later it has sparked this. Sorry for the angst that it’s about to happen. Here on AO3.

The music coming from the pub is so loud that it’s almost deafening, and the bright colored lights flashing in time with the beats make it even more difficult to have a clear view of who is inside. So it’s only by sheer luck that Dick spots the kid among the faceless crowd, leaning in a corner, a beer in hands, the hood pulled over his eyes leaving only the profile of his face uncovered, but it’s still enough for Dick to recognize him. He freezes.

The bust is just about to begin: the other policemen are ready to break-in, weapons in hand, their commander has the walkie-talkie raised to his mouth to give the order, and for the briefest moment Dick’s ashamed to admit that he actually considers doing nothing about it.

After all, he owes this kid nothing, and sure as hell he owes nothing to Bruce.

Worst of all, he allows himself to bask in the idea of calling Wayne Manor to ask for Mr. Wayne himself to come and pick up his new pupil at the Blüdhaven police station. Even indulges into the selfish fantasy of being the one to welcome Bruce in, make him sit at his desk to list him all the wrongdoings of his unruly kid. It would feel like a retribution, and a nice one too. But it would also be petty, and unfair, and definitely something Alfred would frown upon.

So he runs inside along with his colleagues, badge in one hand and the unloaded gun in the other, and cuts through the now screaming crowd in the most harmless way possible to get right to the kid. It’s not easy, and he manages to catch him by the scruff of his neck just one moment before Jason can climb the pub’s wall and get to the open window above their heads.

Dick brings him back to the ground with little kindness, shaking him enough to make him lose his balance and throw off the punch that, predictably, Jason tries to land on him.

“Don’t even”, he chides with a snarl, and after a quick glance around he tosses the kid into an empty room, away from the ruined disco party behind them. They don’t have that much time, and Dick doesn’t want to have to explain to another officer why he’s hiding what they would see as nothing more than a possible suspect.

“Get off me!”, Jason shouts out, falling on his butt with no grace whatsoever. The beer bottle crashes to the ground, pieces of glass flying all over.

“Shut up!”, Dick snarls, closing the door behind them with a loud thud. “You better have a very good reason to be here, or I swear to god I’ll call B and-”

He cuts himself off when Jason rolls on his side, bounces back up on his feet and into a fighting stance, making his hood slide backwards and exposing his face. The neon lights shine on his swollen skin, and Dick takes in the yellow bruises, the split lip and the black eye all in one single look.

“What the hell happened to you?”, he asks, taken aback.

Jason looks at him with eyes made of glass, but after a moment the fog seems to clear out, and the kid tilts his head to the side and relaxes his shoulders.

“Oh, it’s you”, he says, and Dick can’t tell if there’s relief or disappointment in his voice.

On the other side of the wall the yelling gets louder, more violent as the thugs hidden in the crowd begin to react. The first gunshot echoes high above the music and Dick’s muscles stretch under the adrenaline rush. He should be out there doing his job, not here in this room taking care of one of Bruce’s pet projects.

He swallows a lump of anger and takes a step towards Jason, raising an uncertain hand. He doesn’t even know what to do with it, if he wants to put it on the kid’s shoulder in some kind of reassurance, or just grab him to prevent another escape attempt.

But Jason pulls himself back before he has time to make a decision, slipping away from his reach.

“Hands off, man!”, he hisses, making a show of dusting off his jacket. He looks as angry as Dick feels, and that’s not going to help anything, he expects.

“What happened to your face?”, Dick asks again. “Did you get hurt on patrol?”

Jason rolls his eyes at him with nothing less than contempt.

“I don’t get hurt on patrol”, he sneers, lifting up his chin.

What an insufferable brat, Dick thinks.

“For that to be true you’d have to be a nice, good little soldier who always does what the boss says”, he answers in a scoff. “And somehow I doubt that’s the case, since you were out there drinking beer and not paying attention to your surrounding.”

He’d like to say he doesn’t enjoy watching the kid’s face turn into a beet red under the scolding Dick just delivered. He does feel guilty about it, though, because the flushed cheeks only make the bruises more evident.

“Answer me”, he says, more gently this time, before Jason gets a chance to turn his embarrassment into anger. “Who did that to you?”

It’s the wrong question. Jason’s shoulders slump down and the kid looks away for a moment before catching himself. He snaps on attention almost immediately after realizing what he was doing, straightening his back again. Dick watches the kid shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and gather the most casual grin he can pull given the circumstances, and he almost can hear in his head the sound of Bruce’s voice lecturing about deception and never giving your real feelings away in a fight.

“Would you believe I fell down the stairs?”, Jason asks, and his smile is wide and bright and it pulls at Dick’s heartstrings.

“No, I wouldn’t”, he answers, but before he can add anything to that there’s a furious knock at the door and Dick turns around, considering what to do. He doesn’t want to deal with this, but there’s no way he can not deal with this. He sighs.

“Take the window and wait for me in the next alley. I’ll be out in half an hour top”, he says, turning back to Jason, who’s looking at him with an almost funny mix of anxiety and fake arrogance.

“I don’t-”, the kid starts protesting, but Dick raises one finger to stop him right away.

“If you’re not there when I get out, I’m going to call Bruce”, he warns him. “And don’t waste your breath trying to convince me he knows about you being in the middle of a drug ring, kiddo.”

Jason looks positively ruffled at those words.

“Don’t call me a kid”, he grumbles.

“Don’t make my night even more difficult than it currently is”, Dick retorts. “Now shoo. I need to take care of the bad guys you were cahooting with.”

“I wasn’t cahooting with anyone!”, Jason yells, looking beyond offended. Again, Dick feels the urge to grin at him, maybe even pat his head, like you do with children and cute dogs. It’s weird to have such conflicted feelings, like annoyance and something that could be almost affection, for the same person.

“Out of here, kiddo. Before I change my mind and haul your ass to jail.”

He wouldn’t do that under any circumstance, but by the panicked look on Jason’s face, the kid doesn’t know it.

Good, Dick thinks with a tinge of enjoyment.

He waits for Jason to start climbing again, then opens the door on the mess that’s still raging on the dance floor.

“Clear!”, he shouts to no-one, before throwing himself back into the crowd.

*

Despite his threats, Dick doesn’t really expect to find Jason still waiting for him when he finally manages to get away from the scene.

He’s almost startled when he finds the kid perched on an upturned garbage can, hands still hidden in his pockets, hood once again lowered over his eyes to hide his face. He looks unnervingly small like this, and Dick forces himself to remember that Jason’s only fourteen. He’s young. Not as young as Dick used to be when he first donned the yellow cape, but still too young to be out and about on his own.

Anger and annoyance shrink without permission into feelings closer to nostalgia and remorse. Dick feels the need to shake his head to clear his thought once again.

“So”, he says tentatively, mimicking the kid’s posture by shoving his fists into his jeans’ pockets.

“Did you call Bruce?”, Jason blurts out, looking at him with wide eyes full of concern and resignation, like a man who fears to be handed over to his executioner any moment now.

Dick didn’t expect the threat to be so effective, to be honest. When he was Jason’s age things like this were almost an everyday occurrence.

“Of course not”, he reassures him. “But I should. I know you feel ready to do things on your own, but you aren’t yet. And coming to Blüdhaven to do the solo Robin thing instead of staying in Gotham may sound smarter to you but I don’t-”

“I’m not doing any solo Robin thing”, Jason interrupts him, scowling and kicking his feet.

Dick blinks and pauses in his lecture.

“…What?”, he asks. “Then what the heck were you doing in there?”

He tries to meet the kid’s eyes, looking for an answer he knows it’s not going to be given out loud. He just doesn’t understand. Jason has no business being here, in one of the pubs only known to Blüdhaven’s lowlife, if he isn’t on a stakeout as Robin.

Again his gaze lingers on the kid’s bruises and the way he’s now biting his lips, waiting for another chastisement. Dick should really call Alfred. Let him deal with this, whatever this is. He’s in no mood to tangle with whatever Gotham mess the kid’s bringing to his door.

He pinches his nose with two fingers, then crosses his arms over his chest.

“Alright, then just tell me this one thing”, he proposes, and Jason looks up, a vague halo of hope in his posture. “Does this have anything to do with Bruce?”

Jason hesitates, then shakes his head no.

Of course not, Dick mentally sighs.

“C’mon, my apartment’s not far”, he offers eventually. He starts walking and doesn’t turn back to check if the kid’s following him or not.

*

“Stay still”, Dick says, tinkering with a pair of tweezers.

“You’re hurting me!”, Jason bellows, trying to wiggle his hand out of Dick’s grasp. Dick’s not having any of that and blocks him by his wrist none too tendery.

“You’re hurting yourself”, he points out, swabbing the cut with a gentler touch. “I need to get all the glass out.”

Jason huffs and by the corner of his eye Dick can see him glancing around his bathroom, trying to distract himself. Funny he should be so squeamish.

“I’m almost done”, he offers with half a smile.

He works in silence for a few minutes, removing shards and the last blood clots, then bandaging the kid’s hand, paying particular attention to his bruised knuckles. He hasn’t asked any more questions about the injuries or the reason why the kid was in a place where he absolutely should not have been, but he can tell a trouble when it’s sitting on the edge of his own bathtub.

“There”, he says, awkwardingly releasing the kid’s hand.

He wonders what he should do about the whole situation now. Calling Alfred still sounds like the most sensible thing to do, but that would mean having a conversation about this, getting involved. And getting involved in Gotham’s drama is exactly what Dick’s trying to avoid. This is something for Bruce to worry about, he tells to himself.

“I have a couch.”

Jason stops fiddling with the loose threads of Dick’s bandage and gives him a questioning look.

“A couch?”, he asks.

“Yes. For you to sleep into”, Dick clarifies. “Tomorrow I have an early shift, I can give you a ride to the bus station first thing in the morning, and you can go back home.”

“Oh. Okay”, Jason says, sounding oddly polite when he adds: “Thank you.”

It feels like he wants to say something else, and Dick waits, uncertain about what he could do or say to make him feel more welcomed. It should be simple, he knows. It’s obvious by the way Jason’s been acting all night - the initial anger at being caught quickly turned into grumpy acceptance, the fact that he waited for Dick and followed him to his apartment, that he let him bandage him up without too much fuss - all of this speaks of a need for acceptance, for someone to talk to, someone that can understand him and his peculiar life. He looks like he needs a friend. A brother.

And it would be so simple indeed. The words are already burning on the tip of Dick’s tongue: you can talk to me. We’re family, you and I. That would be enough, Dick’s sure of it.

And yet those words die prematurely on his lips. He can’t talk about family. Not with Bruce’s new son. It’s too difficult, too complicated to explain it to someone so green.

There will be time, Dick thinks. Eventually, he’ll understand.

He smiles, then pats the kid over his head, hastily withdrawing his hand when Jason tries to slap it. Dick laughs.

“Good night, kiddo. See you in the morning”, he says before walking out of the bathroom without looking back.