#sassy pennyworth

[mylifeingotham]

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[amevdw]

[frappegoddess]

Well

It had to start somewhere lmao

[zoe-creates]

Bruce doesn’t have any friends 💀

[multiverseworm]

Alfred keeps proving he’s the most out of pocket and sassiest one with his comments about the Batkids and I LOVE him for that😭

Bruce is a tough crowd when I would’ve bursted out laughing lol

[mikakuna]

the absolute horror and offence in his face at alfred taking away his dinner is perfectly captured

[overwhelmedandlonely]

Out of context Batman panels that made me laugh

Part 8

[rokishimizu4]

Constantine is done, but so is Tim

(This happened a bit before Alfred’s and Jason’s headcanons)

*”And I’m tell you that I would know if it was something supernatural. Even Alfred checked you out and nothing was wrong.” John grumbles as he closes his occult book and his hands stops glowing as Tim puts back on his shirt.

*Cue very unhappy Red Robin noises as he reaches over and grabs a huge mug of steaming hot coffee, and drowns it.

*John simply rolls his eyes and wonders why he agreed to babysit the bedridden Robin, but remembers the look of stress in Bruce’s eyes as he asks for help.

*”Fine, you spoiled little brat, let’s get going.” He grumbles as he helps Tim up off of the bed and follows him out of the Batcave and back to the building in question. (While also sending a quick update to the rest of the Bat family)

*Cue a very long, and awkward, walk to the abandoned warehouse, still covered in yellow police tape and the floor covered in dried and old blood.

*Splitting up, while not the best idea, did help Tim remember where he was originally meant to enter from. Which was covered in claw marks (deep into the brick and steel surrounding the high window a good 40 feet up) and a black slime that smells faintly of what he thinks stardust would smell like.

*While Tim, dressed in civilian clothes-trying to blend in, is checking it out, he hears John yelping and cursing in ancient Latin through the steel and brick walls.

*Tim scrambles towards the hole in the wall, and finds Constantine trying to dodge some type of sheep with wings, colored in blues and pinks, that was firing some type of dust at him.

*The sheep, or ram or something, seems to notice him as well and begins to speak in English….

*”Great, another two bit magician who can’t keep his nose to himself.” It huffs as it dodges yet another blast of magic. Before it simply begins to grow and change, spreading dust around itself.

*”Am I high or still asleep?” Tim yelps as he takes cover under a overturned table and covers his nose and mouth with the thick material of his jacket, as it was slowly turning cold, but the creature jumps John before he could return the favor.

*”Get off of me, you sheep whore!” John curses as he scrambles to get his trench coat off of him, as it was being covered in the strange dust, but gets a heeled kick in his stomach in return.

*Tim peeks over to find some type of demon standing over John’s groaning form. Horns like a sheep, or Ram he would have to look it up later if he remembers, and its hair twisted in blues and pinks.

*The clothing, if you can call it that, barely covered anything and he could clearly see that it had black, leather, wings and a long pointed tail.

*The demon jumps off of John and looks over at Tim, giving him a very confused look. Before it gives a clap and floats, flies?, over to him.

*”Little Sleeper will be so happy to see you up and about! They were so worried that they somehow killed you!”

*Cue slow realization that this demon thing, whatever, knew who he was and that it knew that he got his ass kicked by accident! Cue Tim trying to play it off, but him getting a disappointed look from the demon and a choked off chuckle from John.

*”Can’t lie to a demon, sweet little thing. But I like that you have the balls to try. However, I’m not here on a social call, so please drag this sorry excuse of a human being back to your little fancy house and leave the bad guys to us, yes?”

*The demon gives Tim a creepy smile before simply disappearing in a cloud of dust, that strangely smells of peppermint and spiced cider.

*The two men agree to never speak about the incident again, at least until they both get enough coffee in them to properly process what they just experienced.

*Also, cue Tim blaming it on the drugs in his system, which he has none of btw, and goes back to bed.

[supermxnthathoe]

Sometimes I'm just sitting there happily and then I remember that DC killed Alfred off in the main continuity.

I keep waiting for a 'syke he's alive' moment -WHICH WE DID GET IN BATMAN versus ROBIN- but it turned out it was just a demon cosplaying Alfred to trick Batman for Damian's hot great granny.

DC keeps wounding me and then refusing to give me bandages.

Not only was the way he died absolutely tragic BUT THE SHIT BRUCE SAYS TO DAMIAN AFTERWARDS.

It wasn't cute. It wasn't funny. DC needs to take it back rn because my feelings can't handle this.

(if you're curious about when Alfred dies; it's Batman #77-- I'm not sure when it is that the demon pretends to be him but it's sometime in Batman Vs Robin.

Damian also briefly hallucinates Alfred in his solo Robin run, which is Robin Vol 5 which happens almost directly after the events of Batman #77 and that whole debacle and follows the Lazarus Tournament storyline- READ IT, IT's SO GOOD)

[lady-ofliterature]

5 minutes into Batman the animated series and I’m already loving Alfred.

[mylifeingotham]

Gotta love Alfred

[deadsetobsessions]

AU of Gotham! Tim Drake! Danny where he doesn’t know the universe he was reincarnated into.

“Robin!” Batman barked. Tim sighed, loudly. Batman twitched.

“What is it, B?”

“Drills. Again.”

Tim rolled his eyes but moved to obey. Speaking to B these days was like speaking to a rather boorish caveman. Simple grunts and single word sentences. It didn't use to be like this but B was loosing his grip on his humanity and it’s Tim’s job to bring it back.

It’s hilarious because he’s the least human of them all. It was odd, juggling his duties as Danny Gotham, his responsibilities as Tim, and his workload as Bruce’s shiny new Robin. Somehow he made it work.

Yeah, sometimes B’s hands are heavy when they’re training. Sometimes he forgets Danny’s name (or at least his human name) and calls for Jason instead. Sometimes, he smells more like booze and less like Bruce.

Danny could handle it. Even if his core quivers with grief. He wished he didn’t have to, but he could and will handle whatever he needs to for his Knight to regain himself. But fuck, that doesn’t mean taking his self destructive habits lying down. He might be Tim right now, but as far as Batman knew, Tim was here on the orders of

“B.”

“Hm.”

Oh, a neutral grunt! I see we’ve upgraded to grunts instead of arm flapping! Holy detective, Batman! Aren’t I glad I learned to speak cave man? Wow! Tim mocked, in his head.

“You’re heading to bed when I’m done with this set,” Tim said.

“This case isn’t done,” Batman growled. Ancients, it was like speaking to a large chihuahua-toddler hybrid. All the barking, all the growling, and all the petulance of a child makes the entirety of how his Knight acted on a good day these days.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Tim shot back, sore arms and legs and everything working through the set. Thank the ancients for his healing, or else Tim might actually be dying.

“You don’t give me orders, Robin.”

“No, but Gotham does.” He would know, considering Tim was Gotham.

The head full of greasy- ew, take a shower, B!- hair swiveled towards him.

“You have a direct line to Gotham?”

Tim settled into the final forms of the night. “Gotham sent me. I thought we went over this.”

A beat of silence.

Batman returned to clacking away at the computer. Tim finished his set in relative peace. He moved to the cool down stretches while Batman sulked in front of his computer like a five year old.

“I’m done.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Hm.”

“That means you’re done, too.”

“I’m not tired.”

Tim rolled his eyes so hard, he thinks he saw the light. Oh, wait, that’s just Bruce’s last brain cell dying.

“You’re heading to bed. Good luck finding actual crime tomorrow, if you stay up.”

Batman stilled, because he knows Gotham would back Tim up on the threat. Considering the time sensitivity of some of these cases, Gotham’s anger is not something he could risk.

Tim patted himself on the back for effectively playing the good cop and the bad cop on his own. Except ACAB for life because they’re vigilantes and the GCPD as a whole (with exceptions) sucks ass.

He watched as Batman- as Bruce- reluctantly powered down the Bat-Computer. As he stood up, Tim wrinkled his nose.

“Never mind. You take a shower first. I’ll text Alfred.”

“Not necessary.”

“Okay, then you can explain to Gotham why you’re traipsing through his city looking a starved rat and smelling like you took a joy ride in Killer Croc’s excrement. Oh, wait.” Tim snapped, just about done being patient today. Tim whipped out his phone, texting Alfred with one hand and pointing towards the staircase with the other.

“Shower above ground, you weird little mole rat. No cave water for you.”

Bruce makes a weird offended grunt.

“I literally don’t care if you have to walk up to your room to shower in your boxers, B. Most of Gotham’s people don’t have access to a shower, let alone a million dollar bathroom. Fucking use your actual bathroom instead of hosing off.”

And with that, Batman and Bruce Wayne moved to the tune of a pre-teen, who was also, unknowingly to him, the spirit of his City.

——

“Go home.”

Tim smiled sweetly. Bruce paled. The scary, Gotham loved child patted Bruce’s hand as he sat beside Bruce’s bed.

“Sleep, before I make you.”

Bruce slammed his eyelids shut, anything to not look at Tim’s malicious looking eyes, and allowed himself- nay, forced himself- to rest for the first time in weeks since Jason died.

As Bruce’s dumb self drifted off to dreamland, Tim muttered, “Wuss.”

He settled himself into the chair, napping lightly to make sure Bruce doesn’t sneak out to work when he’s gone.

Alfred snapped a quick picture.

[amevdw]

[androgynouspoetry]

This is just a small head cannon I had about Jason and Alfred often having to team up against Bruce to have the sorry bastard actually take care of himself.

Aching Bones

He took in a sharp breath as he tried to stand from his seat. A sharp pain in his lower back stopping him in his tracks and making him clench his jaw. Alfred raised a brow at the sound of his sharp inhale.

“Back problems, Master Bruce?” He took a sip of his early morning tea before placing it down on the kitchen counter and walking towards Bruce.

Bruce in all his stubbornness gritted out, “No. I’m fine.” Before finally standing up with a slight hunch in his posture. Alfred’s lips thinned and turned away back to his tea.

“Oh, of course Master Bruce, I was just wondering if NOT taking my advice for rest after your fight with Bane was working for you-seems it is!” *Alfred turned his nose up but still was seen to grab an ice pack for Bruce. Footsteps were heard from behind the tall dark wood doors before Jason was pushing them open.

“Mornin’ bitches.” He walked in looking like he just ended patrol. He turned his lips up when he saw no one else in the kitchen but Bruce and Alfred.

“Master Jason, language.” Jason smiled guilty. “Sorry Alfie.” He makes his way across the kitchen to grab some drapes from the fridge and throws his handful in his mouth.

“Hn.” Bruce made a face. Jason rolled his eyes and chewed obnoxiously loud in Bruce’s face before swallowing hard. “Mornin’ to you too old man.” He slapped Bruce on his back on his way to the cupboard only to freeze when he hears Bruce let out a strangled wheeze. He turns around and raises a brow to him and then looks at Alfred with a ‘is he fucking serious?’. Alfred takes a judgmentally long sip of his tea before giving a nod.

“Really B? You’re supposed to be on bed rest, the hell you doing outa bed an’ looking like shit?” Alfred throws Jason a side glance before sighing and giving a nod.

“I’m afraid Master Jason’s right. You should be in bed-it is my pleasure to serve you breakfast in bed Master Bruce.” Bruce gave them both a lazy glare before silently sighing and rolling his shoulder.

“Really, I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Jason cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms before giving a slow nod. “Okay, then next time I break a couple of bones n’ shit then I should be fine to keep outa rest-right Alfred?”

“It would seem so Master Jason.” They both looked at Bruce with a small smug smile Bruce had a feeling you could see his eye twitch. “Alright, but I draw the line at skipping next weeks patrol.” He spoke tiredly and slowly made his way out the kitchen leaving Jason to grin at Alfred.

“Com’on, don’t I get some waffles for that? Practically a miracle.” Alfred gave a nod and grabbed a hidden plate of waffles stacked high with fresh cream and syrup.

“As agreed. Job well done.” Jason grabbed the top waffle covered with cream and stuffed it in his mouth. “Yeah, no problem!” He mouthed around a mouth full of food before coughing and almost dropping his plate. Cream getting all over his face and the fruit flying through the air.

Alfred sighed before drinking the rest of his tea tiredly and planning to have a pay raise.

[awhitehead17]

Faces of the past

Batfam, De-aged Jason, Sibling relationships, Humour, Light Angst, Guilty Dick and Bruce, Sassy Jason.

Summary: The thing that seems to bother Jason the most about the situation is the family members he no longer recognises, he doesn't seem at all concerned by the fact he's been unexplainably reverted back into a teenager with no memory of his adult self. Dick and Bruce, on the other hand, are unprepared for the onslaught of thoughts and emotions of seeing Jason the age he had been when he died.

A/N: This has been done for day four of Batfam Week 2023, the prompt is de-aging. @batfamilyweek

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

“We’re going to be late, Jason! Let’s go. What are you doing?” Dick shouts as he thumps his fist against the bedroom door in front of him. He huffs when no response comes and smacks the door again impatiently. “Jason. No matter how old you are Alfred will have your hide.”

This time he could hear shuffling going on inside the room. Dick rolls his eyes, it’s about time, they were supposed to leave the manor ten minutes ago. When Jason didn’t turn up in the foyer at the arranged meeting time Dick got sent up to fetch him, apparently that also meant waking him up.

A few moments pass by and when his brother doesn’t make an appearance Dick raises his fist to knock again but that’s when the door swings open revealing something that had Dick freezing in place and staring.

“What do you want Dickhead? Why are you waking me up at crack ass dawn, I only got back from patrol less than four hours ago.”

Dick blinks. He blinks again and then rubs his eyes when the sight in front of him doesn't change. In front of him stands a gangly teenager, a little too thin but who is slowly growing into his limbs, messy unkept hair, boyish features, higher than usual voice and who is short, the top of his head only reaching Dick’s sternum.

Blinking, Dick opens his mouth however he immediately closes realising he doesn't know what he's going to say. Ignoring the way the kid is glaring at him, with eyes that are all too familiar, Dick presses his way past the kid and into the room. Glancing around the otherwise empty room Dick frowns at the kid, finding him being to be the only person inside.

“Dick this isn’t funny. It’s Saturday. I deserve my lie in. Surely Bruce hasn’t set you up to this.”

Dick has no idea how to respond to that. Everything about the situation is wrong. The last time he saw Jason which happened to be hours ago, he was a six foot grumpy man, not this teenager version of himself. Dick stares at him as realisation strikes him, this Jason is young, he’s the age he was when he… when he died.

A shove from Jason, breaks him out of his thoughts. He stumbles to the side and stares at him as the teenager continues to grumble about being woken up on a Saturday for no apparent reason.

Dick holds up a hand, still unable to form words, and shakes it before deciding to step out of the room. Silently he closes the door and leans against it, trying to get his brain to function. What the fuck? How the hell has Jason reverted back into a teenager? If it’s even Jason, this could be someone else…

“Dick what is taking so long? Bruce is starting to get pissy. Not mention how Alfred’s disapproving frown is starting to make an appearance.”

Tim’s voice echoes down the hallway and Dick turns to him, watching him stride down the corridor to where he’s leaning against the door. At least Tim looks and appears normal. He doesn't know if that’s better or worse, perhaps Dick is dreaming and making up teenage Jason in his head…

When Tim reaches him, his little brother is sending him a judgemental look. Still unable to create words Dick simply moves to the side and gestures at the door. Tim can see for himself. Tim sends him a deadpan look, clearly not impressed, but he opens the door without question and peers inside. Dick knows the moment he spots Jason because his body completely stills.

Jason’s higher pitched voice filters through the opening of the door. “Who are you and what do you want? Is Dick still there?”

“Sorry,” Tim says evenly, “don’t worry about me. We’ll leave you be now…”

Tim slowly shuts the door and turns to Dick wearing a confused frown on his face. Dick puts his hands up placatingly, unable to answer the unspoken questions.

After a moment Tim clears his throat awkwardly. “We should probably tell Bruce to cancel today.”

===========

“So you’re telling me Bruce has a problem in collecting strays? Most people collect stamps, Bruce apparently collects children.”

Jason’s comment is said with a bluntness only a teenager could achieve, he’s sitting at the kitchen island on a stool and is swinging his legs as he rips up a piece of bread and eats it bit by bit. He's looking around the kitchen observing with interest before his gaze moves onto each person separately in the room with him. Which is basically the whole family, minus Damian.

After discovering teenage Jason, Dick and Tim called up Bruce with an emergency and it didn’t take long for Bruce to see what the situation is. After that it was a headache lasting several hours as they tell teenage Jason the truth, some of it, in how he’s somehow been de-aged and how he’s currently in the future where the family has expanded and not everything is the same.

That’s when Alfred approached and offered to fix up breakfast for everyone in the kitchen, Jason included. They were originally going out for food so this worked in everyone’s favour. Serious matters always seemed to be to be discussed over food.

Despite being disoriented with the situation Jason easily agrees and together they head to the kitchen. As Jason settles at the island, Dick saw the moment the older men realised what age Jason currently appears to be, he could see the devastation cross both Bruce and Alfred’s faces, if the others pick up on it they may understand but they wouldn’t be able to relate.

While they caught Jason up and also introducing him to Cass, Tim, Duke, Steph, and Damian when he made a brief appearance before deeming it not an important enough situation for his presence, everyone seemed to have made the same silent and mutual agreement in not mentioning Jason’s death. That’s for the best of course.

Jason waves around a piece of bread before shoving it in his mouth. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud there are robins after me. Was that a choice or forced? I’m surprised you allowed it Dick after what we went through.”

On the opposite side of the island Tim flinches at the comment which goes unnoticed by Jason. Tim covers it up well with the action of taking a sip of coffee from his mug but it doesn't go unnoticed by the rest of the family. Dick runs a hand over his face, all those memories, thoughts and feelings from that time are coming to the forefront of his mind.

Admittedly he hadn’t taken to Jason when Bruce brought him home. He knows and regrets how badly he had treated Jason back then but he had been an angry teenager, mostly angry at Bruce and Jason took the brunt of it. It’s one of the reason why he tried hard with Tim when it became clear the kid wasn't going away any time soon.

“Look I’m sorry, even now I still feel guilty about how I treated you.”

Jason snorts and send him a disbelieving look. He then looks over at Tim, “Did he at least treat you any better when Bruce brought you home?”

At being directly spoken to Tim looks like a deer caught in headlights. His mouth opens and closes for several long minutes before he finally comes up with an answer. “He wasn't accepting at first, just like you, but he soon warmed up.”

Somewhat the truth. They have to be careful with what they’re telling teenage Jason, especially regarding Tim’s involvement. The whole reason why Tim even became part of the family is because Jason died, as morbid as that reason may be. They’re going to need to tell Jason some white lies surrounding Tim and his background.

Jason hums and his attention moves onto the others. He munches away as he asks them questions that focus more on Gotham instead of everyone’s backgrounds. He asks what villains are still about, what their relationship with the police is like, how patrols work compared to back then and surely the technology must be better right.

The questions last for a long while and the entire time Dick watches as Bruce stares at Jason bewildered, his pseudo father clearly getting caught up in past memories of when Jason was originally this age before everything changed. The same energetic vibe teenage Jason is giving off, that young innocence he still somehow kept even after living on the streets for as long as he had. This was the kid who was cocky enough to attempt to steal the tires from the batmobile, who almost got away with it too...

Jason’s next enquiring question brings everything back to reality. “So since I’m a teenager out of time, how do I … not be? What do we do?”

“We’ll be looking into it, since nothing out of the ordinary happened to you, adult you yesterday, we’ll need to try and retrace your steps to try and see if anything comes up amiss. Something probably happened on patrol which you didn’t share with us that may be a key to working this out.”

It’s the first time Bruce has spoken up since seeing Jason the way he currently is. His voice sounds strained and as Dick noticed earlier, the man seems to be stuck in the past while looking at his second son the age he had been when he died.

Jason looks contemplative for a moment before piping up, “why wouldn’t I share everything with you, especially something significant? Isn’t that what you drill into us from the very beginning?”

At that comment Dick couldn’t help but snort which earns him a dirty look from the current teenager. Everyone else was snickering though. “Seriously? As if we all tell Bruce everything that happens during patrol. Nothing changes when you get older buddy.”

That’s the truth. Dick’s done it, hidden things, even big things, from Bruce that’s happened during a patrol. He knows for a fact Tim’s done it, the girls and even Damian. It’s typical behaviour, whatever excuses they may come up with but it’s not unusual for someone to hide something. Most of the time everyone is pretty good about reporting back but on occasion some things ‘may be forgotten about’.

Bruce clears his throat pointedly. “Until then, we’ll keep you safe. We may need to refer to you for different things throughout, but until then you stay here.”

Jason dramatically groans and rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fine if I have too.” With that he climbs off the stool and drops his plate off in the sink. “Thanks for breakfast Alfie, perfect as usual, glad to know your culinary skills are still on point.”

“Thank you Master Jason.” Alfred acknowledges with amusement.

“If I have to stay here I’m at least going to go and check out the library. Surely it must have expanded over the years right?”

As he begins to head for the door Cass blocks his path and grabs his wrist. “Let’s spar in gym.”

Caught off guard by her sudden appearance in front of him Jason blinks, “uh sure?” he glances round before looking at her again. “How good are you in combat?”

Steph lets out a barking laugh. “Oh this is something I need to see. She’s by far the best of us.” The blonde leads the way out of the kitchen and Cass drags Jason out with her before he could respond. As they disappear Dick couldn’t help but think that it’s strange seeing Jason almost the same height as Cass. It’s as amusing as it is weird.

“If you need any tech support let me know, otherwise I’m going to go watch Cass beat baby Jason’s ass.” Following his statement Tim leaves the kitchen with a fresh mug of coffee in his hands and follows their siblings.

With only four of them left in the kitchen Duke speaks up. “If you want me to patrol Crime Alley I can see if I can find anything out the ordinary or ask around to who may have seen Jason patrolling last night. I can also ask my own contacts for any information.”

Bruce sighs and runs a hand over his face. “That would be most useful, thanks Duke. Let me know if you hear anything back.”

Duke nods. “I’ll go out a little later and tonight too. For now I’m going to join the others, someone needs to record this…”

In a hurry Duke darts out of the kitchen which leaves only three of them. Alfred begins cleaning up breakfast and Dick stands there staring at Bruce.

“You okay?” He asks the man concerned.

“I’m fine,” comes the unsurprising response. “It’s just…” Bruce waves a hand and lets his sentence trail off but Dick knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I know.” Dick says quietly, in understanding. “It’s hard seeing him like that. For now we just need to try and work out what happened to him and why. I’ll help where I can so let me know what you need and when.”

Bruce looks at him grateful, probably because Dick isn’t forcing him to share his emotions on the situation. Even if he pushed for answers Dick doubts Bruce would answer. Despite it being years and how they’ve manged to move on from what happened, long conversations and healing with Jason himself playing into that, seeing Jason this young again is bringing up raw emotions and memories.

“Thanks for breakfast Alfred.” Dick says pushing himself up away from the side he had been leaning on the entire time. He smiles at the elderly man as he heads out of the kitchen in pursuit of his younger siblings, the least he can do until Bruce calls him for help is try to keep the rest of them out of trouble. He just hopes they can find a solution to what’s happened sooner rather than later.