#steph brown x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anothertimdrakestan · 2 years ago

Note

Hi Elle!! Hope all is well 💕💕

Can I request a headcanon or fic of where Dick and y/n have been in a serious relationship for a few years and OC has become a “mom figure” to all the other batboys. So when the batboys misunderstand Dick and OC getting into a big fight somewhere, they both come home (either to their place or to the manor) to find that the batboys have moved/thrown out all of Dick’s things because they love OC that much??

Thank youuu ☺️

Ahhh this is such a cute little idea!! Thank you so so much for the request it’s lovely to see an old friend <333

Found Family - Dick Grayson x Reader

Steph gave you a sympathetic smile as she poured the rest of the wine bottle into your now empty glass. “What’s wrong hun? Because if it’s boy troubles I will personally castrate Richard if he hurt you.” Which only made you sigh as you nodded. Her eyes widened, you and Dick never ever fought, and this foreign emotional territory was a shock to you too- hence the wine.

“Dick asked me to move in with him, but I’m not ready to leave my place! I love Gotham, and I’m not sure Bludhaven is where I’m meant to be. But I also know I could never leave him. I just told him I needed more time to think and I think he took it really personally. It’s not that I’m not ready to live with him, I’m just not ready to leave my life here even if it is just a town over.” You said, happy to put into words the emotions swirling in your chest.

“What?! You are NOT leaving Gotham anytime soon. What on earth would I do without you here?” Steph exclaimed, putting down her glass to pick up her phone, fingers typing frantically.

Less than a minute later, Tim was jogging into the Manor kitchen, “Dick’s tryna take Y/N from us? Over my dead body.” And before you could tell him otherwise, the young hero burst out the room, clearly on a type of war path.

“No! I love Dick and you guys, Bludhaven is great! I just need-”

“Taking down Richard has always been on my bucket list.” Damian’s snarky voice echoed through the manor as he stalked out the same door as Tim. You scrambled up and after him, but Steph side stepped in front of you, “don’t you dare try to fix this, we’ve got it!” Which only made you more nervous for the future of your relationship.

Before you knew it, another bottle was opened, and the colors of the Manor living room were awfully fuzzy. You were pretty sure you’d seen Jason, Tim, and Damian zipping in and out of the manor, each repeatedly promising an increasingly violent demise for your boyfriend, who’s radio silence was only making you more anxious. Steph, while physically with you, was terrifyingly glued to her phone, sending text after text- even taking the occasional call, but she was speaking quiet enough that your tipsy-mind couldn’t process the words flying out of her mouth.

You truly weren’t sure how much time had passed when Dick burst through the manor shouting “Stephanie Brown where the hell did you hide her!” And before you could shriek with excitement, Dick appeared in front of you, his eyes frantic until he saw you were okay.

“Dickie!” You cooed, outstretching your arms so he would scoop you up into a hug. And he did. He was breathing heavy, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he took a deep inhale. You were just giddy to see your handsome man, squeezing him tighter, wrapping your legs around his waist, happy to be carried as you weren’t sure you could stand in your current state.

“What on earth did they do to you sweetheart,” Dick mumbled, walking back towards the kitchen so you could place you on a counter, you leaned back to look up at his eyes. He swiped a hand over your cheek, you assumed you were still warm from the alcohol.

“She’s. Fine. Can’t say the same about you you selfish monster,” Steph slurred her speech, pointing an accusatory finger at Dick who gave you both a confused look.

Almost like a sitcom, the three other boys burst into the room, as if on cue.

“Step away from the woman Grayson!” Jason shouted as Damian lobbed the nearest manor antique he could get his hands on at Dick, who of course caught it effortlessly, setting it down next to you on the counter.

“What the hell is going on?” Dick raised his voice, but Tim was already in between the two of you, pushing Dick backwards as Damian hopped up onto the counter next to you, silently handing you a glass of water which you graciously took, enjoying the plot unfolding before you.

“No questions at this time Richard, as Y/N’s personal advisor I’m here to state the case.” Tim began, Jason and Damian nodding in agreement. Steph had her phone out, clearly filming the entire argument.

Tim continued, “it has come to our attention that you intend to take Y/N from us.”

“I asked her to move in with me?” Dick looked exasperated but intrigued by the way his brothers had turned on him in your name.

“And in doing so, you’d be removing her from Gotham, and therefore the four of us!” Tim concluded, and at the statement, Jason, Steph, and Damian mumbled angry agreements.

Dick scoffed, “I’m sorry, I thought she was my girlfriend, and you guys love coming to Bludhaven! With Y/N there it’s more reason for everyone to spend more time over there.”

Damian piped up immediately, “we hate Bludhaven Richard, Y/N is the only thing that makes it manageable.”

Jason snorted, “ever realized we only go over for dinner when Y/N is visiting you? Or that Steph only wants Sunday bagels in Bludhaven cuz Y/N spends the weekends there? Did you seriously think we just went over for you?” You cringed as the harsh tone, but Dick didn’t look offended, rather, proud?

Dick opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. Tim spoke up again, “Don’t worry Richard, I’ve already mended the problem at hand.”

Now Dick spoke up, “what the hell did you brats do now”.

“To the Zeta Tube!” Jason called, scooping you and Damian up in one arm and sprinting towards the teleporter, with Dick screeching for him to put you down following close behind. For once, Damian wasn’t squirming out of Jason’s grasp, rather he had quietly grabbed your hand, saying “I hope you love your new home” to you right before the Zeta Tube activated.

When you came through, Jason set you and Damian down happily, and you were situated in a fully furnished apartment. Furnished with your and Dick’s combined furniture. You froze for a moment, feeling like you were in a different dimension until you notice the window in the apartment. You recognized the block corner instantly.

“We refurbished an old safe house! It’s south west Gotham, so close enough to Bludhaven that Dick can’t whine too much, but only a couple minutes drive, or instant Zeta Tube to the manor!” Tim exclaimed excitedly.

Damian piped up, “we stripped Dick’s apartment to the ground to furnish it! Not like either of you will be needing it anyway!”

Dick had been silent, drinking in the new view. But he came up beside you to stare out the window, “I think they just made a compromise for us, but I do want you to love it. What I should’ve said earlier, is that I don’t need to be in Bludhaven, I need to be with you. You’re my home Y/N.” He pressed a kiss to your temple and you leaned back into his chest.

You spoke up, “I love it, and I love you, and I especially love you guys,” you turned around to face your family. Steph was grinning, Jason was nodding knowingly, Tim was off slightly adjusting furniture placements, and Damian was- wiping away a tear. Not worth pointing out, because he’d deny it anyway, but your heart was bursting knowing the little guy wanted you near just as badly as you wanted to be close to him.

“Tim! Get over here, it’s group hug time!” Dick called, throwing an arm around Jason and Steph while you scooped up Damian, who for the second time that day, wasn’t fighting back. Tim crashed into the hug and your swore you could feel your heart beating out of your chest with pride in your found family.

Tim’s phone vibrated and he shouted “Dick! You’re rich! The Bludhaven apartment just sold!” And Dick shrieked, “You put my apartment up for sale in a day!!” To which Damian shrugged, “not like there was anything in there after we were through.” Jason nodded in agreement saying: “yeah, you don’t even wanna know what plan B was if you said no to this place!” But Steph shushed him before he could divulge any more, most likely violent, secrets. You couldn’t help but grin knowing your family had your back no matter what, even if Dick was slightly concerned over his brother’s undying loyalty to you, it made staying in Gotham that much more worth it to you both.

“As your realtor I will be taking 15% of the profit! Gonna go meet the new tenants!” Tim called, beelining to the Zeta Tube before Dick could even try to tell him no. You gave Damian’s hair a ruffle, which he immediately tried to fix, as Jason and Steph nodded, knowing they could be over whenever, but you and Dick probably wanted a moment to get used to the new place.

And suddenly, it was quiet. The bustle of the Gotham streets was faint, and you walked through the apartment which was truly designed perfectly, imagining the dinner parties, late night adventures, and peaceful mornings you’d get to have in your new place.

“As much as I hate to admit it, they did good.” Dick broke the silence. You nodded in agreement, unable to wipe the heartfelt smile off your face, you gave him a peck and said, “They sure did, it feels good to be home.”

I hope you enjoyed!! Thank you again for the request!

2K notes · View notes

dangerousduckcloud · 4 months ago

Text

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“You know, I’m going on a date soon.” “Yeah?” Your voice was coarse. “Yeah, she’s truly pretty, and I want to make it special, but I’m not sure what her ideal date would be, though.” You chuckled. The heat on your cheeks was simply due to the burnout of the whole exercising and not because Jason called you pretty. Not at all.

Chapter 12 < > Chapter 14

Masterlist

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog @katrina0-0 @readingfictionnothingelse @lookingforsyd @jackrabbitem @lvlythea @qmabailor

If anyone else would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

so, the last update was like two weeks ago, sorry, life happens also, happy birthday to our favorite crime lord, i raced to post this on his bday ♥

There's mentions of grooming almost at the end of the chapter: nothing like that happens (nor will it happen in the future of this story), it's all due to a newspaper's libel.

You should run. You should leave.

Maybe if you wished hard enough, one of the bats (the animals) would take you by the shoulders and whisk you away to never be seen again.

It was different when Damian was here, knowing the topic of a date wouldn’t come out with him present (and maybe that’s why he left you two alone), but now that the kid had disappeared, there wasn’t a string of ones and zeroes in which you could hide yourself behind, either with the excuse of not seeing the notification or being busy (with what, though? he knows you don’t do squat all day.)

No, if he took the opportunity to bring up the mention of a date, you would be left on the spot, forced to reply, to stumble and make an idiot out of you.

Regardless, it seemed Jason wasn’t as frantic with the situation as you were, absorbed with fixing something on his bike. You could totally leave, bid your goodnight and go upstairs, where your racing mind could catch a break.

But of course, you didn’t. Wanting to bask in his presence as much as you could, not knowing when you would see him again.

Was he serious about the date?

In lieu of leaving, you picked up the taped-up toy to busy yourself, and not be dumbly idle fiddling with your hands. Your movements were slow, sluggish, your aching muscles not giving you full movement, but also because you were doing everything you could to prolong being left with nothing to do while you tried to think of what else to do.

There was a steel box filled with sharp, dangerous gadgets that were all broken in some way; some were salvageable, while others were destroyed beyond repair that you couldn’t even identify what they used to be, left here to be used for spare parts. This crate must be from where Damian took the tape, but you couldn’t see it anywhere when you turned your head left and right to search for it. Where did he put it? You better look for it before it gets lost, before it rolls over the floor and down into the—

“Did you ask Damian for the lessons?”

“Not really, no.” You turned round to answer him. He was fiddling with a loose strap of the red threads he usually worn around his hands in his Red Hood suit, not even pretending he was interested in talking to you. You gave up looking for the tape, making a beeline to the weight bench and sitting down, inspecting the bandage on your left hand that had the tiniest red dot. “He sent me a message to come down here. I don’t know if it was his idea or not, but—”

Your eyes looked for his face, only to find no one in the spot he’d been standing just one second ago. Out of the corned of your eye, you saw movement in the medbay, the bulky figure going through the cabinets in there.

Anger and disappointment were bubbling up inside you, battling each other for one of them to emerge victorious. Why would he ask a question if he didn’t care in hearing the answer?

“But?” he asked as he turned around, making his way back to you, gauze and cotton in his hands.

So, he was paying attention after all.

Jason sat down next to you, gently talking hold of your hand to remove the dirty and sweaty bandage, his calloused hands sent sparks all over your body, the twitch of your fingers at wanting to lace them between his mistaken as the reaction of the cotton touching the cuts. You weren’t in any pain, the cuts smaller than a paper cut, yet he mumbled a soft apology.

“But… It’s nice to have someone to care for me like that.”

Your gaze was focused on his hands, hands that’d been in countless fights, knocking unconscious men and women bigger than you without breaking a sweat, hands that were forever bathed in blood, hands that pulled the trigger on numerous criminals without a second thought, without remorse.

Only he knew how many had met their fate by these hands, and only he knew how many more would pile up to the list. He could break bones and spill blood as easy as it was breathing.

And yet, they were still capable of kindness, gentleness, of moving so delicately with every motion thought with the most care and attention it made you feel like the petals of a flower. These hands were capable of healing, of comfort, tending to the practically invisible cuts with a careful caress.

“I’m sure you have someone back home that cares for you.”

“No, at least… not anymore.” Now that you thought about it, it was taking Damian to find Tim longer than it should.

“How come?”

“I work all day, and —I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it’s grueling dealing with all that people that…” Great, now you were rambling, the immediate conscious feeling of thinking, knowing, he might be regretting starting a conversation. “That in my free days I’m not in the mood for dating or friends.”

He nodded, cleaning the last cut on your hands and picking up the used bandages and cotton balls. Tilting his head up to meet your eyes, with the cutest, small smile on his face, and dimples on his cheeks, he asked “What about family?”

It was a matter of time for someone to ask about them, for someone to open the wound once again. “They’re gone. Car accident.”

The hands once again found their place over yours, engulfing them in the warm his body was radiating.

“I’m sorry. I—” You shook your head, both to ask him to stop and to prevent tears from falling. It’d been so long, yet every time you thought about it, the dread that consumed your body that day felt just the same. The silence stretched out uncomfortably, mostly for him than you, focused on ridding yourself of the painful memories and the tears welling in your eyes. “You know, I’m going on a date soon.”

“Yeah?” Your voice was coarse.

“Yeah, she’s truly pretty, and I want to make it special, but I’m not sure what her ideal date would be, though.”

You chuckled. The heat on your cheeks was simply due to the burnout of the whole exercising and not because Jason called you pretty. Not at all.

You’re sure that if your brain wasn’t so dehydrated to the point of resembling a raisin, it would be malfunctioning.

“I bet she’d like something romantic, like a picnic, or chocolates.”

“No flowers?”

“No flowers.”

“Alright.” He closed the lid of the aid kit, the echo disturbing the sleep of some of the bats. “I’ll do that, then. Wish me luck.” With a wink and a grin on his face, he got up just in time when echoing voices broke the silence.

When you were out of your stupor, you stood up. There wasn’t much for you to do here, as you wouldn’t be able to be of any help with the case. Besides, you were in dire need of a hot shower for sore muscles that were going to hurt like hell tomorrow.

“Timbo!” The voice rumbled through the cave, greeting him once he and Damian were at the end of the steps. “Got some intel for you.”

“Yeah, Damian mentioned something like that.”

The tense shoulders and the cognizant eyes were painfully obvious signs of how overstrung and uncomfortable Tim was, forced to pretend he’s unbothered being left with the two brothers that attempted to kill him, both more than on one occasion.

Question was, did Jason and Damian were oblivious to that, or they simply not care? Was it believable to think the two vigilantes didn’t notice?

Your shower could wait. Besides, you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious at seeing them work.

Tim wasted no time, eager to get this over quickly, and sat down in front of the computer, fast fingers gliding over the keyboard, Damian at his left and Jason behind him, scooting over when he saw you approach.

“I got a name. Gregory Crowther. Low tier goon, but he’s the one getting the girls out of the city.” His hand brushed against yours for a second. That’s simply things that happen, you thought to yourself, nothing done on purpose, no hidden meaning behind it.

You shook your head to clear your mind, focusing instead on the grand screen in front of you; a database Tim had accessed to with the information of one Gregory Crowther, the mugshot of a stout, balding man with eyes so dark and full of hatred piercing your soul through the screen, a disgusting yet impressive list of crimes next to the photo: shoplifting, indecent exposure, fraud, murder, arson, assault, battery, drug possession… and now kidnapping and trafficking. This guy was a golden worker for criminals, with years of experience dating since his teen years.

“Gregory was released from Blackgate three months ago, for arson.” Tim said. “He worked for Riddler a couple years ago, but this isn’t the type of things he does. Besides him, he never worked for any other rogue, this must be an outside ring.”

Jason began pacing, a murderous look on his face, completely different from moments ago. “Huh, well, this is… Interesting.” Tim kept talking, moving closer to the screen. “He works for a shipping company that’d had several complains of delays in deliveries since the start of the year, all of them from New York.”

“So, he picks the girls in Gotham and takes them to New York.” Jason stopped pacing, his hand holding the back of the chair with so much force you could see the leather creasing. “You said the start of the year? Can you access the records of everyone that has done deliveries to New York?”

Another list came out, with at least the names of fifty people on it.

“I’ll get their addresses and do a background check, see if some of them have some link in common. In the meantime, I sent Gregory’s address to your phone, Hood. He had a day off today.”

“I’ll have a chat with him.” Jason mumbled while looking at the address on his phone. He’d walked past you to get to his bike when he stopped abruptly. It seemed he was debating something, his hand going up as if to catch Tim’s attention, who was engrossed in the information displayed on the computer, only to fall flat at his side. Your eyes met for a second, his expression unreadable.

He shook his head and got on the bike, speeding out of the cave.

What was that?

Damian and Tim were none the wiser to whatever situation had happened just now, still focused on the screen, the very far corner of it reading fifteen past nine.

“Come, Damian.” You put your hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the stairs. “It’s getting late and you have school tomorrow.”

Tim’s snicker earned him a glare from the kid.

“I am not a child.”

“I’ll believe that when you can reach the pedals on the Batmobile. Come, or I’ll go get Alfred.”

He grumbled, but heeded your order nonetheless, stomping with every step he climbed.

Definitely not the reaction of a child.

———

As expected, your sore muscles woke you up in the morning, every move of your legs and arms needed ten times strength than usual, but there was still a reason for which you wanted to wake up early and not lay in bed all day (you could do that later). Taking another quick, scalding shower, you went downstairs hopping you weren't late.

"Morning, Alfred" You grabbed a freshly baked muffin and sat down at the kitchen island, if Alfred was still here, that meant you were on time, maybe even early considering how empty the kitchen was.

“Good morning, Miss Jane, you seem quite excited today."

"My body is on fire, and I hide my pain behind my smile."

As expected from the man who raised a household of vigilantes, his only reaction was to curve a brow. "Well, at least you're honest, unlike my grandchildren. May I inquire what ails you?"

"Damian's teaching me self-defense, and now my muscles are paying the price"

"Ah." Alfred places a steaming cup of chamomile and lavender tea in front of you, the first sip already doing wonders for your tender body.

"Master Damian mentioned it to me last night. I must say, I appreciate having a... Let's say normal person spending time with him, teaching him how to be a normal kid, especially one that cares for him as you do."

Alfred's gaze did not concord with his words. It wasn't hateful nor suspicious, simply... wary. Of what, though?

"Yeah, he’s... difficult, but I care for him like the little brother I never had" The sound of dragged footsteps drew your gaze to the door, whoever was making the noise, they wanted to be heard. "Speaking of my favorite brat. Why are you still in your pajamas?" Unlike the posh and pristine uniform, you were expecting to see him in, Damian was still wearing his plaid sleepwear.

“I am unwell, Pennyworth. I believe it wise to rest and avoid getting my classmates sick.”

“Is that so?” Alfred didn’t believe him in the slightest. “Come here so I can feel your forehead.”

“I must refuse.” Damian coughed surprisingly real. “I am contagious and do not wish to sicken you in your advance, frail age.”

“I can do it then, I’m not old.” You turned to look at Alfred. “Sorry, Alfred.”

“Apology accepted, Miss Jane. I believe it is the best option anyway. After all, my frail body could confuse Master Damian’s temperature and believe him to be healthy, we wouldn’t want to send him to school sick, now, would we?”

Before Damian could run, you put both hands on his face, the back of your hand feeling nothing but his cool forehead.

“Why don’t next time you put a warm towel before coming down? You might fool us.” Damian grumbled something in Arabic that you had no idea what it meant, but you knew he wasn’t complimenting your outfit for today. “Go get changed or you’ll be late.”

Stomping, again, he left the kitchen, his usual frown on his face ten times stronger.

Soon, the clanging of pots and pans was replaced with chatter and clattering of utensils. After patrol, Steph had spent the night in the manor, recounting how patrol went between bites of her breakfast.

“It was a pretty calm night for Gotham. There were like, only three muggings, so Cass and I stopped by BatBurguer for fries. Condiment King was there.”

Your eyebrows gently shot up your face.

“He’s real?”

“Unfortunately.” Tim piped up. “The night’s he’s out are the worst, I never know if I’ll get back covered in mustard. Do you know just how hard it is to get rid of the smell?”

“Buddy’s not that bad.” Steph said. “… When he’s taking his meds. We chat with him for a while, and he was doing pretty alright, he’s working in a convenience store next to my school, I might drop by from time to time and say hello, make sure he’s not relapsing.”

“Didn’t he used to be a comedian?”

“Yeah, but there’s a limit to the number of condiment puns one can tell.”

“Bad jokes.” Cass agreed.

Alfred walked inside the small dining room, the one connected directly to the kitchen through a simple arched wall. There was a formal, bigger dining room, but since there were rarely enough people in the manor to use it, all meals were taken here, in a booth placed next against a window. He was drying his hands on a kitchen towel, taking off his apron next.

“Master Damian, we better leave now.” Without any fight left in him, Damian begrudgingly stood up from the table, you mimicked his movements, however cheerful rather than moody.

“Why are you following me, Jane?”

“Oh, I want to go with Alfred to drop you off.”

“Why?”

“I take enjoyment in your suffering and I wanna see it as much as I can. Consider it my revenge from making me exercise more than I’ve ever done in my life.”

———

It wasn’t until Alfred had started the car that you realized what you were about to do. Cold, tingling limbs scared of going back to the city, scared of being taken hostage or kidnapped again.

Every rumble of the car felt like a beacon of your location, every possible pothole or pebble that shook the vehicle felt as if the car would stop instantly and a man would open the door to pull you out.

The rational part of your brain was begging for you to realize how improvable that was, you were safe. Both of those times you’d been in open, vulnerable areas, vulnerable situations. Besides, you were sure Alfred must be carrying a weapon with him.

You tried to focus on your surroundings rather than your invasive thoughts, looking for something that would intrigue you; there were simple, boring buildings on either side, a stray dog relieving himself on a bush, an unopened bottled water in the cup holder, Damian next to you drawing— “Is that me?”

The sudden question caused Damian to jump in his place, quickly slamming shut his sketchbook.

“Must you be so nosy?” Damian put away the book inside his backpack. You were dying to see his drawing, yet you knew how annoying it was to have people forcefully taking hold of things you wanted to keep private, so you simply said “Looked like me. I was curious.”

In the distance, you were beginning to see the form of Gotham Academy’s main building. The red, brick wall fence and trees surrounding it ineffective in covering the structure. The groups of tweens and teens excitedly chatting between them on their way inside, most likely catching up on their extravagant activities done while on vacations.

Alfred stopped the car way further than where the entrance was, discovering the reason once he spoke. “Oh dear.”

In front of you were two other cars stopped, the drivers fighting each other on who was at fault. You were confused at exactly what’d happened until you noticed the tiniest of scratches in one of the cars, barely visible, nothing these people couldn’t pay to get it fixed.

“Miss Jane, would you be so kind as to accompany Master Damian to the entrance and make sure he goes inside while I turn the car around? I shall be waiting at the corner.”

“Sure.” Taking off your seatbelt, you left the car, rounding it to get on the sidewalk, hearing Damian slamming the door shut. He was quieter than usual, not complaining or judging people, his gaze focused on the sidewalk, kicking a small pebble until it rolled to the street.

You let him be, gauging into the daily lives of the one percent; despite being young and talking like any other kid, they still exude an air of grandeur, or properness and poise.

“Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you hate me?”

That made you stop. Where had he gotten that idea? Where was this coming from?”

“What? No.”

“It is alright if you do, you would not be the first one.”

“I don’t, Damian. Why would you think that?” You placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort, resuming walking when parents began scowling at you for hindering their walk.

“Earlier, at the manor. You mentioned enjoying my suffering.”

You’re quite an idiot, aren’t you?

“Oh, fuck, Damian no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how?”

You’d forgotten you were talking to a kid that’d gone from being an only child to having four siblings, all older than him. He wasn’t social and took all things completely literal, he most likely wasn’t used to this type of jokes.

“I was joking, Damian. It’s like when Tim asks me to do something, and I say no, but I do it anyway. It’s just to mess with him.” He was so deep in thought, a frown on his face.

“So, you do not hate me?”

“Not at all, Damian. In fact, you’re my favorite.” His frown was replaced by a smug smirk.

The bell rang, the few kids still outside running to their classes. You sided hugged Damian, wishing him good luck on his first day. His walk to the entrance as calm and unbothered as he could, not caring if he was late.

With the ring of the last bell, the street was soon empty and quiet, even the men fighting had resolved their issues and left. You were alone now, with no one to protect you from an attack, no one would know your location if you were taken.

A familiar car was the only one left in the street. That’s right, Alfred’s waiting for you. It’s not even a minute walk, nothing could happen; yet you still sped up your walking as much as you could without looking suspicious

“Everything alright, Miss Jane?”

“Yeah, just… Making sure Dami didn’t try to escape.”

“Very well then.”

Your breathing calmed down once the car was put on motion, you were soon going to be safe behind the manor’s walls. The streets were calmer now that parents had dropped off their kids and all workers were already in their offices, the drive calmer and smoothly than it’d been ten minutes ago.

While waiting for the traffic light to turn green, your phone vibrated next to you on your set. A text from Damian.

| Useless torture

A photo of his desk with an open history book attached to the text. With a smile, you typed in a reply.

| We can paint something when you get back

| Your artistic skills are not your forte.

| :(

| But I suppose even abstract ideas can convey something.

| :D

———

Both Steph and Damian were busy with school, Tim had locked himself in his room for a meeting, Cass was taking a nap, and while Dick had contacted Alfred to let him know he was alive and coming back to earth, he still wasn’t available for idle chatting, and all your bravado of the other day hadn’t dare to make an appearance today, so you didn’t have the confidence to send Jason a message (although you were curious, what did he do during the day?)

It was an unusually bright day in Gotham, the breeze light enough to not lift the pages of the book you were reading, the condensation on your glass of lemonade made it even more appetizing than it already was, cooling down your warm body. The birds were taking the lack of rain as their opportunity to sing to their hearts content.

You’d never felt this calm before, without the looming threat of real life, of work and expectations, without the need of society to be fast, fast, fast. No, time had slowed down for you, letting you breathe, fill your lungs with rose scented air from the nearby flowerpots. You were in a dream, in a bubble of peace and quiet, broken in seconds by the notification on your phone.

Normally, you wouldn’t have cared about any of this before. You still couldn’t care less about politics and sports, but now that you were a part of this city that once was fictitious and not just an outsider feeding of the scraps the fandom could get you, you’d set up notifications about local news and entertainment of Gotham (as well as Metropolis, reading everything written by Clark Kent and Lois Lane)

Of course, now that you lived in the house of a well-known public figure and his children, you also set up an special alert every time the name ‘Wayne’ popped up in any article, which, despite them not being extremely active in society lately, there were still quite a couple of newsclips every week.

So, when your phone lit up and began loading the article, it wasn’t a surprise, however, the title in big, bold letters was an unpleasant one, forcing you to take a big gulp of lemonade to help pass down the pretzels you were munching and almost chocked on.

‘Underage Bruce Wayne Lover?’

This morning, a photo of an unknown young woman seen with Damian Wayne, biological son of Bruce Wayne, began circulating all around social media, with citizens wondering if this mysterious woman is Damian Wayne's mother due to the warm embrace they were both sharing.

Since the appearance of Damian Wayne in Gotham three years ago, not much is known about his mother, with Bruce denying commenting about the topic. It's now time to wonder if his reluctance is tied to the problematic situation he got himself in.

It is important to note the youngest Wayne has not been seen caring, nor affectionate in public with any member of his family. Why, then, would he be affectionate with her if she were not his mother? They certainly share similar physical qualities.

The problem of the matter begins when one questions the age of the girl in the picture, as she does not look old enough to be the mother of a ten-year-old, in fact, she probably was his age when he was born.

This newspaper begs to the GCPD to investigate Bruce Wayne's private life and discover what he's doing behind closed doors with all the children he's adopted 'out of the goodness of his heart'.

At the time of writing this article, Wayne is out of the country in Wayne Enterprises matters, making him unreachable for questioning. Since last year, he had left most of the CEO responsibilities to his third youngest son, Timothy Drake-Wayne, so why is he the one meeting with possible clients? Could it be that these meetings are code word for whatever nefarious activities he's involved in?

You were disgusted, staring dumbly at the article, reading it once again to make sure your brain hadn’t made up the whole thing.

At the end of the article were two photos, one of when you were side hugging Damian before he walked inside the school (he wasn’t even hugging you back, how is that ‘affectionate’? There were probably thousands of photos with Dick doing the same), and the other of you getting into the car with Alfred, your face completely in focus.

Comments on the article were a mix of people throwing shit at Bruce, and others throwing shit at the article itself.

> I always knew Wayne was sick, why else would he adopt so many kids in the first place

> They should remove his custody of all of them and get them to safety

> You gotta be a fucking idiot to not consider the possibility that she's just another stray he adopted who got close to the kid

> Wasn't Wayne found in a stint of a group of child molesters a year ago and declared as 'working undercover'? I wonder how much he paid to the police to say that

> I find it highly unlikely Brucie would do something like that when he almost beat to dead a guy who tried to touch his oldest when he was a kid

Your hands were shaking, sure that all color had been drained from your face. When did they take the photo? How did they know to be there?

The reflection of something on your face drew your attention from your phone to the gate in the distance, a shadowy figure high up in a tree with a camera pointing at you.

Shit.

You didn’t even bother to take your stuff before going inside, you’d fucked up and had drawn unwanted attention on the family, not to mention helping Bruce get labeled as a groomer.

Opening door after door in hopes of finding someone, the sound of one closing in the distance reached your ears.

“Timmy!” It appeared he’d just finished his meeting, rubbing his shoulders after his two-hour conference. When you shouted his name, he immediately changed his posture; going from relaxed to cautious in a second, his hands went down to his torso, raised and ready to defend, his left leg going forward for a more stable position.

“What’s wrong?” When you shoved your phone on his face, it took him a few seconds to react, relaxing his posture and taking the device from your hands, eyes skimming over the page. “Ah.” Was all he said, calm as if you’d told him it was going to rain in Gotham “What about it?”

“What? Tim, this is serious, I’m ten years older than Damian, they’re implying Bruce slept with a twelve-year-old. Why are you so calm?”

“Because they’ve done it before.” Tim went back to his room. You’d never been inside before, only seeing glances of it when the door was left ajar and you were walking down the corridor. It was… Tidy was not the word you’d described it. Clothes were strewn all over the place. Half-filled, cold cups of coffee forgotten in every surface available. You were pretty sure Alfred would disown him if he saw this.

While you were observing his room, Tim had turned on his laptop, notes and diagrams of his call still open. Once he found what he was looking for, he turned the screen to you, the web results with several links all accusing Bruce of being an abuser, some even decades old, coincidentally, they all came from the same newspaper: the Gotham Weekly.

“They’ve been doing it since dad adopted Dick. At first the cops investigated it, —or well, Commissioner Gordon did— but they all quickly found out it wasn’t true, every two or three years they post something about this that people don’t believe them anymore, especially when they started to corner us at galas and events to give our statements. You should’ve seen their faces when their recorder accidentally hit Cass in the face, Bruce was fuming, threatened to sue them all for everything they had if they didn’t stop. I’m surprised they haven’t gone bankrupt already.”

“Oh.” Was your turn to say. “Why, though?”

“The owner, Bill Blacklow, has some sort of grudge against Bruce since their teen years, so I guess he’s trying to get back at him, I don’t really care much to look it up, after that incident they pretty much stopped, but I guess they got bold because Bruce’s not here. This isn’t really a problem, but we could give out our statement if it makes you feel better. But really, only like ten people will read this.”

His assurance and calm demeanor brought down your anxiety levels.

“You’re sure this won’t affect your family?”

“Can Superman fly?”

You sighed, letting yourself drop down on the bed.

“There was also a paparazzi outside.” Tim’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, crouching down next to the bed, the sound of boxes moving coming from under you. “What are you looking for?”

Instead of replying, his face popped up next to you, slowly raising his hands to reveal a… Oh.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

54 notes · View notes

dangerousduckcloud · 6 months ago

Text

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Looks like your loyalty was worth nothing.” Steph said, the man grunted and pressed the barrel of the gun even tighter, your panic levels spiking up at realizing the man had no reason to keep you alive now. And so, the gun went off.

Chapter 9 < > Chapter 11

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog, @katrina0-0

Everyone that could was running, getting away from the men who began shooting in the air to scare everyone, screams, crying and laughing were everywhere, with the men ordering everyone to turn in everything of value.

“Stay. Here.” Cass ordered you, leaving you behind a counter inside one of the food establishments, changing into a simple, black sweatshirt you’d bought and putting on a domino mask she grabbed from who knows where.

You raised your head a bit over the counter, noticing both Steph and Damian were wearing the same. Had they been carrying the masks the whole time? Did they have a secret stash with their uniforms all over the city?

“Pretty low for you to hit on a mall, Two-Face.” Steph taunted him. Damian hidden behind a turned over table, speaking to something in his ear, most likely asking for backup, as they didn’t have their whole gear. “Is it the age? You can’t hit on banks anymore?”

“SHUT UP!” The raspy voice screamed, a shot ringing through now the mostly empty food court. His good face was facing your side, it was obvious to anyone that he’d been —still is— quite handsome, a heartbreaker that changed into a bonebreaker.

The thugs had moved all the unlucky citizens who hadn’t had the chance to escape to a circle in the middle of the food court, one of the henchmen with his finger closer to the trigger than you would like to, but as much as you wanted to help, you had no idea how, and knew you would be more of a distraction to the vigilantes rather than helpful.

Cass was nowhere to be seen, Steph was still taunting Two-Face, and Damian hadn’t moved from his place behind the table, his eyes focused on the hostages and the nearest exits.

The revving of a bike was getting closer and closer, and time slowed down; from the hole in the wall, a blur of red and black jumped inside the mall, jumping off his bike and pulling out two guns from the holsters inside his jacket, shooting at the goons pointing at the hostages, their guns clattering to the floor, where a shadow landed on them with enough force and precision to break the triggers.

“Hey, jackass.” Red Hood’s voice modulator reverberated. “Pick on someone your size.”

Chaos ensued. Both Red Hood and Cass were battling the goons, with Hood getting closer and closer to Two-Face. He was hell bent on spending his whole magazine on Steph, the blonde dodging every bullet, so Jason was using the distraction for his advantage. Damian had hurriedly run towards the hostages and directing them towards an exit, a lost toddler separated from her family in his arms.

It was mesmerizing to see them in action, wordlessly communicating and moving with such finesse and grace only someone who had several years of experience could do.

And while you were obsessing over them —most specifically, Jason—, you failed to notice a man sneaking on you, a dirty hand covering your mouth, the other with a gun to your head.

Seriously, twice in less than a month?

The goon forced you to stand up, leaving your hiding spot and out into the open area.

“Leave the boss alone or I’ll blow her head off.”

Just like that, the fighting ceased.

“I swear if you do anything to her, I’ll—”

“Oh, ho, did I pick a lucky one?” The man mocked him, his putrid breath invading your nose. “Is this the big, bad, Red Hood’s little bitch? I said, let the boss go or she gets it.”

Your wide eyes could only see the white eyes of his helmet, but you wanted, needed to see his face, to see those emerald eyes and tell you everything was going to be alright.

Not a second had passed that the glove holding the charred arm of the rogue let go, the man wasted not time on pointing his gun towards the vigilantes, grabbing a bag that’d been filled with the belongings of the hostages and escaped through the hole in the wall.

“Looks like your loyalty was worth nothing.”

Steph said, the man grunted and pressed the barrel of the gun even tighter, your panic levels spiking up at realizing the man had no reason to keep you alive now.

And so, the gun went off.

———

“I’m… Really sorry.”

“It’s alright, Steph.”

“I sweat this doesn’t happen often.”

The paramedics checked you over, letting you go back home at seeing you didn’t have any injury besides the imprint of the gun, that should disappear soon.

Cass, Steph, and Damian had changed the black hoodies for their regular clothes, the domino masks hidden in their pockets. Red Hood was talking to Commissioner Gordon, going over what had happened.

As soon as Alfred saw you walk out into the parking lot, he walked over the four of you, worried, his focus shifting mainly to you once he’d learned about the incident, going back inside the car after assuring him for the umpteenth time that you were fine.

You were now standing under the midday sun in the now mostly empty parking lot; the paramedics were wrapping up treating the hostages, thankfully the worst some people needed were bandages for scratches made with the debris from the explosion.

Jason had finished talking with the police and was now making his way towards you.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing you said to him. “If I’d been paying attention, he… He wouldn’t have caught me.” He was now being shoved in the back of a police car, the ringing from the shot still in your ears, a sound the paramedics had explained would disappear on its own. “Two-Face wouldn’t have escaped.”

“It’s alright, Jane.” The mechanical voice said. If you had your druthers, you would prefer to hear his deep, sweet voice, not a robot, but you would take what you could get. “These things happen, we’ll catch him, don’t worry. Now, you.” He said while looking at Damian, who had been unusually quiet and with pink tinted cheeks the whole time. “That shit you pulled was dangerous, Jane could’ve been badly hurt.”

“I saved her, did I not?”

“More by miracle than anything else. We’ll talk about it later, and I will tell Dickhead about this.”

“Tt.”

Damian got inside the car, closing the door with more force than necessary. Both Cass and Steph got inside as well, leaving the door opened for you.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.”

“Hm.” With his helmet on, you couldn’t even guess what he was thinking or looking at, with just a slight movement of his head that looked as if he was checking on you, not trusting your words. “I need to get my bike back before some idiot tries to steal it. I’ll see you at the manor, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks, Ja—Hood.”

———

Even with all the chaos, your new clothes had been safe underneath one of the tables, now putting them away in the dresser that’d laid empty for several weeks now.

While walking out of the walk-in closet, a small figure outside your room startled you, a hand going up your chest. “Damian! You scared me.”

“That was the intention.”

You scoffed, with a fond smile on your face, grabbing another shirt from the bed, putting it on a hanger.

“Is there something you need?”

“I—” He shifted from side to side, once again rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together. “It appears the course of action I took this morning could have ended in an unfortunate result. Regardless, I would like to appeal to my case by—”

“Damian.” You left the hanger on the bed, taking three big steps to put your arms around his face, leaving a gentle kiss on top of his head. “Thank you for saving me.”

You expected him to get defensive, to push you away with something along the lines of ‘do not touch me, you imbecile.’, but you were surprised by how easy he relaxed in your embrace, his head lolling to the side and resting on your shoulder.

Just when was the last time someone had hugged him?

“Are… Are your ears better? Shall I call Pennyworth?”

“No, I’m fine. They don’t ring anymore.” You rustled his hair, this time earning a small groan from him, and went back inside the room. “Wanna help me put these away?”

Damian was full of surprises today; in lieu of escaping from the chore, he followed you inside, sitting with his legs crossed on your bed, simply handing you the hangers. It wasn’t the help you needed, but it was the one expected of a ten-year-old, glad he was behaving like one.

“So, San Francisco, huh? You were with the Titans?”

“Teen Titans, yes. Father sent me there for the summer to… ‘learn’ teamwork.” He quoted the word ‘teamwork’. “Useless, I do not need anyone else, I have gone against several high-trained assassins, unscathed. A simpleton like Mad Hatter could hardly best me, even if I were gravely injured.”

“There’s a difference between fighting trained, controlled people and fighting unstable ones.” Your voice was muffled from the walls of the closet, getting clearer when you walked out. “You might think you can predict their movements, but they could do something else entirely different.”

“Thus, you are saying I should do a deeper analysis of their personalities to comprehend and predict their actions and movements.”

“No.” You groaned, sitting next to him. “Forget everything I said. Teamwork is important, for starters, fights can end quicker and with less, or no casualties than if you were alone. Imagine this; you need to reach something on a high shelf, but it’s way taller than you, and there are no chairs or ladders around, and you can’t climb it because it’s fragile and adding more weight will break it. So, what do you do? Recognize your limitations and ask for help, or climb the shelve, destroying it?”

“I… Assume the shelf are the civilians that could get hurt if I attempt to do so on my own?”

“Exactly.” That was absolutely not what you had in mind, but it was clever as hell, so you took it. “The smartest of people are those that recognize where they lack in knowledge and abilities, the ones that are not afraid to ask for help. Ignorants are those who believe they know it all and refuse to learn.”

“She’s right, you know.” A third voice said, how long had he been there? “She called you an ignorant for not wanting to learn to work in a team.”

“Jason.” You exclaimed, curtly. Him walking into your room and spinning the desk chair, arms resting on the back rest. “That is not what I said.”

“Father always tells the League he works alone.”

“If by ‘alone’ you mean him and all his children, sure.”

"I... Shall think about it."

Damian all but escaped your room, leaving you and Jason in silence. He was looking out the window, the light drizzle that’d started as soon as you got to the manor was hitting your window, the soft pity-patter the only sound. You stood up, resuming your chore of putting everything away.

“So, what was that about? The whole ‘teamwork is good’ and all that.”

“I asked him what he was doing in San Francisco. He said Bruce sent him there.”

“Oh yeah.” He turned to look at you. “I was there when Bruce made the choice. The Demon Spawn deserved it, truly. Almost ruined the whole mission.”

A frown appeared on your face. “With his dad saying ‘I work alone’ all the time, are you really surprised he tries to do everything by himself? Not to mention the kind of place he was raised for the first eight years of his life. You can’t really just say ‘hey, don’t do this’ and expect him to stop, specially not when the rest of his family is doing the opposite.”

You popped your head out of the closet, thinking maybe he’d left you talking alone when you didn’t hear the expected retort.

He was deep in thought, elbows resting on the backrest, his fists covering his mouth.

“Whatever, Timmbers says there’s something you should see in the cave.”

———

You hadn’t been in the cave after the incident. As impressive as it was, there just wasn’t a reason for you to be down here, not to mention it brought back memories of that night, feeling queasy about your close encounter with Scarecrow.

When Jason told you to come down here, you were half-expecting to see the portal opened, or at least some plans on how to get back, or something related to your situation, but the gun laid still discarded on a table.

There were voices down there, recognizing the cheerful one as Dick’s.

“Yeah, Timmy’s been working on it non-stop, he’s made great advancements, but he was straining himself, even more than usual, so I benched him from the cave until he’s slept for at least eight hours straight.”

A rich, booming chuckle was heard, follow by a voice you naturally associate with that of a natural leader, a great voice to give out speeches and fill people with hope.

“We’re working on it as well, but I don’t—Oh, you must be Jane!” Right there, in front of you, was the buffiest man you’d ever seen, a vibrant cape billowing behind him, wearing a tight, blue and red suit. “Nice to meet you, my name is—”

“Superman.” You said in awe, voice small but not an issue for him to hear, cautiously walking to him. “You’re—you’re really him.” Dick chuckled, and just now you noticed he was filming your reaction with his phone.

“I’m really me.” He laughed. “I was told you wanted to meet me.”

“You’re—But… Whoa.” You were acting like an idiot. “Can you really fly?”

He nodded. “Would you like to see the sunset at two thousand meters?”

62 notes · View notes

dangerousduckcloud · 6 months ago

Text

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“I still haven’t met Superman.” “He is not impressive.” “I don’t know, he can fly. Seems pretty impressive to me.” “Yes, but if we were on a red sun planet, he would not be able to fight even against Drake.” The endless trees had turned into gray and boring buildings, each taller than the other, people walking in and out of them, others leisurely getting to their destination on the sidewalk. Damian was still listing the reasons as to why Superman wasn’t impressive, at one point including the topic of physiology. “—a child could do it.” “Yeah.” You agreed, to what? You’re not sure. “But he can fly.” The exasperated groan that left him made you and Cass snicker, secretly high fiving each other.

Chapter 8 < > Chapter 10

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog, @katrina0-0

You couldn’t even see your shoes, nor the mist that was coming out your mouth with every shaky breath. The room was cold, gelid, the feeling on your feet was the first thing you stopped sensing.

You couldn’t move, your arms secured with leather restrains to your sides, your legs the same. The gurney you were tied to was vertical, the metal surface chilling your bones, the wheels squeaking with every movement you made, however you couldn’t get far, as something you couldn’t see had it bolted to the ground.

You were once again in Scarecrow’s basement.

Your breathing became more erratic by the second at this realization. The darkest shadows had a life on its own, dim, white orbs like eyes fixed on you, crawling from side to side. Your screams were empty, devoid of any sound.

Tiny pinpricks were crawling all around your arms and legs, going up, and down, left, and right. Something smooth was slithering around your legs, slightly squeezing.

You were alone.

No one knew where you were.

Your mouth hurt, your chest hurt, your throat hurt, but you kept on screaming, barely a sound leaving you.

This was it. There was no escape. No one was coming. No one—

“Jane!”

You jolted awake, clothes sticking with cold sweat, breathless and a feeling of suffocation forcing you to breath in quick gasps, strong hands were on your shoulders, pushing them away with a cry.

“Don’t hurt me!” You cried, pressing yourself against the headboard as much as you could.

“It’s me.” The deep voice said, hands raised and opened. “You’re safe. You’re in your room.”

You forced yourself to look at the voice, dark, green eyes shining in the moonlight, worry etched on his face.

“Jason?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He said, sitting down slowly at the end of the bed. “You were having a nightmare. You’re in Wayne manor.”

“Jason.” His name was the only thing you could say, your grip on the blanket tightening, tears pricking at your eyes once more. “Jason. He was— I was— The lab, I—”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain. Would you…” He wet his lips, looking at the wall behind you. “Would you like me to hug you?”

You nodded, barely registering his words, your shallow breath regulating as soon as his arms closed in around you, the thick material of his suit cool against your palms, a finger idly tracing the bat emblem on his chest, eyes unfocused, mind racing.

He smelled like sweat, gunpowder and morning dew.

He never complained, never moved besides the soft rising of his breathing, your room bit by bit being illuminated by the early sun, but still veiled in darkness.

“Thank you.” Your voice was rough. His breathing stood to a halt for a second, swiftly going back to normal, his hum reverberating all over your body.

“It’s alright. I’m glad I was here to help you.” I’m glad you were here, too, was left unsaid, your mouth left hanging open. “Come, I know something that’ll help you.”

Palm up, he waited until you grabbed his hand, amused at how his engulfed yours. It was big, rough and calloused like everyone else in this family, the remnants of a scar rubbing against your palm.

They weren’t the hands of a model, but they were hands that fit with yours like two perfect pieces of a puzzle, made to hold each other.

The digital clock on the kitchen read half past five in the morning, the sun rising over the city’s skyscrapers. Jason led you to the kitchen table, pulling out the chair for you. Normally you would’ve said some lame joke to ruin the mood, but you were still too shaken by the nightmare to even think of something.

He walked towards the pantry, pulling out ingredients for whatever he wanted to prepare, walking from one side to the other and murmuring about the placement of everything.

“Damian said you’d left the manor the day after… That day.” He stopped for a second, drops of vanilla falling from the spoon to the counter at his sudden halt.

“Needed to get somethin’” You hummed, enthralled by his movements. “Can’t say no to Alfie when he asks me to stay, so I come by while he’s sleeping… Then I heard you crying. Had you ever had nightmares about it?”

You shook your head; however, he had his back towards you. “No. Why did…? Was I supposed to?”

“I’m surprised it took you so long.” He placed a cup of hot chocolate in front of you, the smiling face of whipped cream melting already. “It’s the aftereffects of the Fear Toxin, it usually lingers for a day or two.”

“It’s been a week.”

“Yeah, but you also had a hell of a week. Maybe your mind ‘postponed it’ until you dealt with everything else. You know, the whole different universe and all that.” You hummed, taking another sip from your drink and analyzing him. His posture was relaxed, his eyes closing while taking a drink of his own, relishing the flavor. He didn’t look as if he was still angry about what happened a week ago, if anything he was completely unbothered by it. However, before you could ruin the moment and question him about it, he spoke once again. “Has Timmbers had any luck with that?”

“’m not sure. I don’t go to the cave often.”

“I would ask him, but, you know, he doesn’t like me much.” His apathetic tone showed he didn’t know why Tim would be wary of him, or did he simply not care? The other emotion he had was a frown on his face after trying to take another sip of his cup only to find it empty.

“Gee. I wonder why that is.” Cuttingly, you stood up to put both cups on the sink, turning around and leaning on the counter with both hands holding it.

“What do you mean?”

“Jason. You tried to kill him.”

“Well… Yeah. But I apologized.”

“You—” Flabbergasted, your mouth opened and closed, and you couldn’t stop looking at him, but this time it wasn’t because you were mesmerized by his looks —which, alright, you still were—, but also because you couldn’t believe how dense he had to be to believe a simple apology was going to fix it. “Jason, I—You… You’re unbelievable. In what word a simple ‘Sorry for almost killing you’ is enough?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” He stood up, the chair dragging behind him, green eyes focused on you, gradually getting closer until you had to crane your neck a bit to hold his stare.

“I don’t know, maybe show that you care about him? That you actually mean your apology? It doesn’t take a detective to figure it out. You know, you’re always telling Dick off for how awful he handled my situation, but you’re no better. You’re just like him, and like Bruce, and—”

“I’m not!” The sudden rising of his voice shut you up with a click of your teeth. “I’m not like him.” Even though his eyes were entirely on you, it was as if he wasn’t seeing you, but some ghost of his past, his regrets, and his failures. The next time he spoke, his voice was soft and lacking the heat they carried earlier. “I’m not…”

The roles had reversed, your trembling hand moved upward his arm, fingers ghosting over the skin for comfort, to ground him and bring him back from wherever he had gone, and yet as soon as you touched him, Jason pulled back as if touched by fire.

“Jason, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

He shook his head.

“Don’t. It’s… Fine. Just drop it.”

You stood there; arm half raised from when you wanted to hold him, eyes glistening once again. Seconds ticked by and his breathing had slowed down, the glowing of his eyes dimming.

When he looked up, his eyes immediately went to some part below your eyes, your chin, maybe?

“You…” He said, hand painfully close but not enough to touch your face, however he pulled back, walking out the kitchen. “You have cream on your face.”

———

“School.”

“School?”

Cass woke you up at a normal hour in the morning, her finger prodding your cheek, the cutest smile you’d ever seen on her face. You had your arm covering half your face from the sun, voice rough with sleep.

“Yes, school.”

“You go to school?”

“No.” At your raised brow, she clarified. “Damian does. We’ll buy him new stuff for his new year. For you, too.”

“I don’ go to school a‘more.” Sleep wanted to overtake you once more, turning in place to cuddle with your pillows once more.

“No, silly. Clothes for you.”

That caught your attention. You knew Cass didn’t mind sharing her stuff, but you were desperate to have something that was completely yours. Not to mention you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to buy clothes without a spending limit, something you knew both Alfred and Bruce loved to do. You hadn't met Bruce yet, obviously, but simply by the gigantic gym they'd had installed in one of the old ballrooms was enough to know he showed his love through spending money on his loved ones.

You’d gone back to sleep after your… Fight? Altercation? Whatever it was with Jason. The hot chocolate lulling you to a state of calm and sleepiness. You couldn’t stop fucking up everything with him, did you?

“Good morning, girls. Miss Jane, I’m sure Miss Cass has already explained to you our errands for today.”

You sat down next to a grumpy-as-usual Damian, however something bigger must be bothering him if in lieu of picking small fights with you and insult your intelligence once more, he was forcefully stabbing his pancakes. You’ll take it as a win.

“Yeah, I’m gonna get new clothes?”

“Indeed. And please, do not feel necessary to hold back on buying what you need and what you like, I can assure you, we can pay for it.”

“I’m counting on it.” A devilish yet harmless smile appeared on your face, covering your pancakes with syrup.

“Bruce will love you.” Tim spoke, sitting down on the table with what appeared to be either his third or fourth cup of coffee by how aware he is. “He’ll finally have someone to spend all his money on.”

“By all means, let him. I won’t complain.”

“Why are you angry, little brother?” Cass changed the focus from you to Damian, sure that if he was as powerful as Superman, he would’ve cut his plate in two by the amount of force he was putting on splitting up his pancakes.

“I am the grandson of the Demon’s Head, I am the son of the Batman, yet I am being forced once again to attend school even though the contents they teach I had learned it years before. My classmates are nowhere near my level, yet I am treated as if I am one of them.”

“Aw, come on, Damian.” You hugged him sideways, his ire now wholly directed at you. “School’s fun, where else would you make friends?”

“Jon Kent is my acquaintance.”

“Not acquaintance, Damian, friend. And it’s alright to have only one, but he’s all the way over to Metropolis, you could use having some friends here.”

The summer weather in Gotham was as awful as you expected it to be, with rain coming at short, uneven intervals, the humid heat it brings pressing against your skin, stifling and clammy.

“We shall make a detour to stop for Miss Stephanie.”

Alfred informed you once the four of you were buckled up inside the car, a black SUV big enough to fit even ten people. The seat you’d chosen had a forgotten Superman sweatshirt on it, thumbing the faded logo.

“I still haven’t met Superman.”

“He is not impressive.”

“I don’t know, he can fly. Seems pretty impressive to me.”

“Yes, but if we were on a red sun planet, he would not be able to fight even against Drake.” The endless trees had turned into gray and boring buildings, each taller than the other, people walking in and out of them, others leisurely getting to their destination on the sidewalk. Damian was still listing the reasons as to why Superman wasn’t impressive, at one point including the topic of physiology. “—a child could do it.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, to what? You’re not sure. “But he can fly.”

The exasperated groan that left him made you and Cass snicker, secretly high fiving each other.

The view was something different altogether during the day, and without the added dread of thinking you were unsafe and in danger.

Stephanie lived in a regular, common, red brick building, waiting for the Waynes on the steps leading to the apartments. Her bright, blue eyes landed on you, gaze never leaving you even as she sat down behind you and Cass, next to Damian. “Oh, you’re Jane? Cass told me about you.” She waved her phone to wordlessly explain their means of communication. “How did you end up here, again?”

“From a portal to another dimension.”

“Huh.” She let go of your seat’s backrest, leaning on her own. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“You took that better than expected.”

“Weirder things have happened here. I’m surprised it took so long for something like this to occur.”

The mall was crowded with people doing their summer shopping, and teens enjoying their vacations. The building had nothing extraordinary that you wouldn’t find in any other regular mall; regular electronics, clothes, and jewelry stores, not even the superheroes shop looked out of place, something you could easily find back home.

“I’m glad they’re finally starting to have Black Bat merchandise.” Steph mentioned once you stepped foot on the store, Alfred and Damian leaving to buy the youngest Wayne his materials, a shiny, black credit card left on Cass’ hands. “She deserves way more recognition.” The three of you shared a sweet, knowing smile.

Besides having a wide variety of the ‘Batfamily’ merchandise, they also had a section for the other superheroes. Steph had picked up Green Arrow socks, Cass a cute Batman plushie-keychain, and while you were terribly tempted to buy a Red Hood sweatshirt, you chose not to, as it would be painfully obvious he’s your favorite, so you grabbed a Black Bat shirt —earning a warm hug from Cass—, and socks with the symbols of all the vigilantes in Gotham, putting as much distance as you could from the Rogues section, avoiding specifically the Scarecrow merchandise.

Stephanie didn’t have much shopping to do, as she still had left some brand new notebooks from her past school year, simply needing some pens and a new backpack. “Mine got teared up at the last Riddler attack.” She explained. “We were on a school trip to a museum he chose to attack at that moment.”

“Are they… Common? The attacks?” You had to ask, wondering why people would continue being here if buildings were destroyed on a daily basis.

“No. Five… Maybe ten times a year, at most.” Cass said, choosing a shirt she thought you’d like. “The big ones. Most of the time we… Focus on small groups.”

She whispered the last part, assuming she meant stuff like gun trading, kidnapping and muggings. Still… Ten times a year? That was almost once a month of re-building whatever was destroyed, blown up, or burned on the fights.

The girls had helped you buy a whole new wardrobe, with close to forty new long and short sleeved shirts, twenty pairs of jeans and pants, as well as three pairs of shoes, and any new undergarments you needed, the face of the worker brightening with every piece you picked up, most likely working on a commissions basis. Every girls dream.

With the three of you with both your hands full of bags, Steph led you to the food court to wait for Alfred and Damian, surprised it was taking them longer to buy.

“So, Jane. How you’re liking the city so far?” Steph asked between bites of her ice cream.

“She escaped once.” Cass deadpanned, Steph bursting out laughing. “Was kidnapped by Scarecrow.”

“Shit, really? That must’ve been traumatizing for someone… Like you.” For someone that doesn’t have supervillains walking on the streets.

“Being kidnapped is traumatizing for anyone.”

“Yeah, you know what I meant.”

You took another sip of your milkshake.

“It’s… Weird, I never expected to live in the stories I’d read so many times.” The people around the court were all focused on their own conversations, the sound loud enough to muffle yours. “Never thought they’ll be real somewhere.”

“And why did you escape? Wanted the real Gothamite experience?”

“I didn’t know what was happening!” You exclaimed, a pained look on your face. “I thought everyone was brainwashed into thinking they were living in Gotham and I was gonna be brainwashed too. Neither Tim nor Dick explained anything to me.”

“Sounds like ��em.”

“Here you are.” A not so childish voice exclaimed next to you. “Pennyworth says it is time to go back home if you are finished with your errands.”

The three of you were almost done with your treats and could easily finish them on the way back to the parking lot.

That is, if a wall of the mall hadn’t collapsed.

And several men dressed in half white and half black suit came through the hole.

71 notes · View notes