#their staying with Robin 1 because Batman is incompetent

[orangejuice-ttg]

Teen Titans Go! Robins

The only thing I know about DC is this stupid show so yes I’m doing great

[night-fallz]

We’re Tired of Him

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Description: 

It was pretty easy to dislike Damian Wayne. He was an arrogant, stuck-up brat. So when the Titans get a chance to gain blackmail material on him, they took it, along with his brother's eagerly joining in.

They couldn't wait to see the look on Damian's face when he realizes that they know every little secret he has. Who knows. Maybe they can finally get the brat to shut up or if they're lucky, they might be able to force him to quit being Robin.

Or that one time Damian's teammates and brothers decide to spike his drink so they could use Damian's secrets against him.

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Ao3 // Wattpad

previous II next 

We’re Tired of Him (Part 1)

Wally does not remember a single time where the Titans have completed a mission without him feeling annoyed or irritated at Robin.

It wasn’t a secret to anyone in the superhero community that speedsters weren’t patient people. They had too much energy pent up in their system to sit still for more than five seconds.

Which is why you shouldn’t expect much from them when you bring them to a discrete, cover-ops mission.

Everyone knew that.

At least, everyone except Damian fucking Wayne.

Wally never liked the new Robin and he didn’t try to hide that fact.

He’d make snide comments behind the kid’s back, purposely being loud so that Damian knew what he thought of him.

Hell, he’s even told Damian straight to his face that no one liked him. But the kid wasn’t affected; he only dismissed Wally with a roll of his eyes and a simple ‘tt’.

As if Wally was nothing but an ant standing in his way.

It annoys him that the kid doesn’t respond to his remarks, but he doesn’t regret making them.

In his head, Damian deserved it.

Who in their right mind decides to abduct someone to force them to join a reincarnation of an old superhero team.

At least come up with a new name!

Wally never wanted to join the brat’s team anyways and he might’ve changed his mind and stayed in the end, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he was forced to be in it.

Despite the fact that the kid might’ve apologized, Wally still hasn’t forgiven him. And frankly, he thinks that he never will.

Especially if he kept it up with the attitude.

The moment the rest of the team stepped into the main lobby, he couldn’t stop the complaints that rolled off of his tongue.

“He’s such a brat,” he couldn’t help but growl out, the disgust clear on his voice. “Like how can someone be such a dick!”

Wally felt some of his anger vanish as his words caused the room to be filled with laughter. It was always nice to know that he wasn’t the only one that had a strong distaste for their team leader.

Though, to be fair, a lot of people didn’t get along with Damian Wayne. He knows for a fact that a lot of them just put up with him because his dad’s Batman.

The more Wally thought about it, the more he wondered if the brat actually had friends.

While Damian was rather close with Djinn, along with Superman’s son, Jon. They were also some of the sweetest people that he’s ever had the chance of meeting. So maybe they just felt bad for the kid.

It made sense in his mind.

After all; who in their right mind would want to be friends with Damian?

Emiko’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “What did the kid do now?”

He couldn’t contain the smirk that made its way onto his face, he loved it when they bonded over how much they disliked the new Robin.

And judging by how Emiko and Crush mirrored his expression, he knew that he wasn’t the only one that felt that way.

“He goes and gets mad at me for being incompetent or something. Like it’s not my fault I wasn’t raised by a crazy old hot assassin lady.”

Wally knew that he wasn’t being fair. That Damian couldn’t control how he was raised. And that there was a high chance that Damian could hear him- could hear them- tearing him apart.

But in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted the brat to hear him. He wanted the kid to know that even if he was Batman’s son, a majority of them still didn’t like him.

That they only put up with him because they had to.

Not because they wanted to.

There’s a fucking difference between the two and Wally needs Damian to know that.

Crush jumped on the couch, imitating Damian’s pose as she mocked his words, “If you don’t halt your tongue you useless speedster, you will perish under my sword.”

She swung her imaginary sword into the air, pretending to slice Wally’s neck.

He played along, fanning his face as he forced his eyes to roll back before his back hit the soft cushions of the couch.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Djinn and Roundhouse trying to hold in their laughs.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised that they were so reluctant to make fun of their so-called leader, out of everyone in the Titans, they were the ones that tolerated the brat the most.

He saw Roundhouse’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he tried to hold in a groan as he heard the uneasy tone come out of his teammate’s mouth, no doubt feeling bad for laughing at the expense of ridiculing one of his favorite heroes.

“Why are you guys so mean to the small man?”

It was such an innocent question, but it made Wally’s blood fill up with such rage.

What they’re doing isn’t mean. It was well deserved. Plus, if Damian cared, he would’ve yelled at them already.

They’ve never been quiet when it came to mocking the youngest bat.

Emiko snorted, her dark hair framing her face, “Please, that wannabe is barely a man.”

He hid a smile, muttering a “That’s all he is, though. A wannabe.” as he stared at the floor.

A wannabe friend.

A wannabe leader.

A wannabe hero.

Sure Damian was trying, but that didn’t mean he was succeeding.

He would never be as charming as Nightwing.

He would never be as good of a fighter as Red Hood.

He would never be as smart as Red Robin.

He was just Damian.  

The kid with the big attitude that everyone around him had to put up with.

Emiko leaned her back onto the couch, arms on the back of her head. “You guys wanna know what Roy told me,”

Wally found himself nodding, along with the others as she continued. “He said that even his own brothers don’t like him. They just put up with him to make their dad happy. Actually, probably even his own father doesn’t want him.”

“You’re probably right.” Wally laughed, not registering just how hurtful his words could be. “I mean, didn’t his mom just force Batman to take him. The guy probably didn’t have a choice.”

It wasn’t like what he said was wrong.

He remembers Dick complaining to him about it. How an assassin came out of nowhere with Damian and just gave him to Batman, who gave Dick the task of training the spoiled brat who just wouldn’t listen.

Those were Dick’s words, not his.

“That must be tough,” he heard Crush huff, “Being tossed around like trash.”

Wally found himself nodding in agreement, “He probably deserved it.”

Djinn cut in before his mouth said something he would regret, “That’s just plain mean.”

The look she gave him actually made him feel bad so he found himself muttering a quiet, “sorry” before sitting next to Emiko on the couch, who looked like she was holding in her laughter.

Roundhouse spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention towards the blue-skinned kid. “If you guys don’t like Damian so much, why don’t you just leave.”

Emiko only shook her head in amusement, “I’m still friends with you guys,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m not going to leave just because a kid is acting like- well, a kid.”

And even though Wally knew it was wrong. He couldn’t stop the dark thrill that curled up his stomach to know that even if Damian was the chosen leader for the team, he would never acquire the close bond that they all had with each other.

Crush rolled her eyes, “The kid’s a spoiled brat. And that’s it. No explanation needed.”

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you guys just try to get to know him more?” Djinn asked, “I know that he’s not as bad as you think he is.”

Wally held in the laugh threatening to come out of his throat- Damian Wayne? Not being as bad as he thinks he is.

If anything, Damian was probably worse.

Roundhouse bobbed his head in agreement, “Yeah, he’s usually pretty nice to me.”

Crush, Emiko, and Wally exchanged uncertain glances with each other.

Wally doesn’t believe it; Damian Wayne, being nice?

Are they even talking about the same Damian Wayne? The one trained by fucking assassins.

He knows for a fact that his brothers won’t believe it either. And out of everyone else in the superhero community, they’re probably the ones that know Damian best.

But then again, that was only because they had to spend the most time with him. Whether they liked it or not, Damian was a part of their family.

Wally found himself genuinely feeling bad for them.

Djinn tilted her head, “So will you do it? Actually, try to get to know him?”

Crush immediately shook her head, “Yeah. No.”

Djinn furrowed her eyebrows at the instant rejection, “But why not?”

“Damian is well- he’s just Damian.” Emiko intervened. “Even if we put in an effort, he might not put the same amount back.”

“Yeah,” Wally added on. “And unless he’s drunk and shit, we won’t get anything out of him.”

Crush raised an eyebrow at the two, “Why do you think we never invite him when we hang out?”

Roundhouse faltered, giving Djinn a hesitant look. “I just thought he didn’t want to join us.”

“That's probably true as well.” Wally pointed out. “If he did, he would tell us that he’d want to join, you know? He probably thinks that he’s too good for any of us.”

Djinn frowned in disagreement, but this time, she kept her mouth shut.

No one said anything for a while before he noticed Emiko turning to him, “About that comment you made, what if we did get the kid drunk?”

Roundhouse stared at the girl, eyes wide, “Is that even allowed? Or legal? Is that even legal? We’re superheroes. We can’t do illegal things.”

The archer shrugged, “I mean, yeah it can be legal. We just need a trusted adult’s consent. And lucky for us, two of his brothers are legal adults.” she met Wally’s eyes, “You know them better than any of us. Do you think they’ll allow it?”

Wally eagerly nodded, “They probably will. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that they don’t like him that much either.”

That was an understatement.

With all the complaining he’s heard from them, Wally had a feeling that they hate Damian even more than he did.

And he hated the kid a lot.

“Wouldn’t that be betraying his trust?” Djinn asked.

Crush leaned forward, her eyes full of mischief before it quickly disappeared as soon as she met the young girl’s eyes, “Let me tell you a secret, this is something Damian might call a training exercise.” she slowly explained to the two youngest heroes, “In a way, we’re technically gathering information on our target. And in this case, our target is Damian.”

Wally could tell that they were close to convincing them so he softly added on, “Plus, isn’t this technically just a faster way for us to get to know Damian? That’s what you wanted.”

The girl nodded, her lips pursed, and after a few minutes she spoke up, “Okay, let’s do it.” her eyes soon grew troubled. “But what if his brothers end up saying no?”

The speedster waved off the girl’s concerns. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, “This is an opportunity that they probably won’t be able to decline. Trust me.”

Wally’s was confident that they’ll agree to it.

Roundhouse had the biggest grin growing on his face, “We finally get to know more about Robin!” he excitedly said, “He’s always by himself. And he’s quiet. Really quiet”

His eagerness died down, sadly looking at the floor. “Does this mean he doesn’t like us?”

Crush snorted, “I don’t even know kid, I stopped trying to understand the brat a while ago.”

Wally and Emiko nodded in agreement.

The only times they willingly interacted with Damian was on the field. Because even though the kid sucked; he definitely knew what he was doing.

Emiko took her phone out, “I’m pretty sure that the bats have a game night in their little cave tonight.”

The team stared at her confused, “What does that even have to do with the discussion?”

Emiko rolled her eyes, “What I’m trying to say is that all of Damian’s eldest brothers are in their little Batcave.” she spoke slowly like she was talking to a bunch of babies. “Together. Playing a game. Probably without Damian.”

Roundhouse caught on, “So all we have to do is go to the cave and ask them if we can get Robin drunk.”

“How do you even know that?” Crush asked Emiko.

“Roy talks.” The archer shrugged, “A lot… especially if it’s about Jason.”

Crush jumped out of the couch in excitement, “That means we might be able to do this tonight!” She pointed at him, “Wally, go!”

“Right now?”

“Obviously, you dolt.”

“Why me?” he cried out, “You know how protective the bats are of their precious little cave.”

“Wally, go,” she repeated.

He didn’t budge. “Batman will kill me.”

“Batman doesn’t kill.”

“If someone just randomly enters his cave, he will.”

Crush looked like she wanted to punch him, “Wally, I fucking swear. Aren’t you and Nightwing like besties?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Just text the dude in advance,” Roundhouse suggested. “That way no one gets killed, and we get to learn more about Robin.”

Wally sighed, leaping to his feet as he spoke, his tone filled with faux-excitement. “Great, I can’t wait to go-“

His voice trailed off, noticing Damian walking in.

It looked like the brat was about to go use the zeta-tubes but he stopped, his head tilting as his gaze landed on the team, “Can’t wait for what?”

Wally looked around, his eyes desperate for an answer.

Luckily, Djinn answered for him, a bright smile on her face as she addressed Damian’s question. “We’re going to the movies! We wanted to do a bit of team bonding.”

That response made Wally want to laugh.

Don’t get him wrong, it was a believable excuse. It’s just-

He can’t even think of a single time that they invited their “leader” to a team hangout.

He wondered if Damian noticed the fact that they went out of their way to exclude him from everything except for missions.

And If he did, did he care?

His eyes watched as the kid nodded in acceptance. As if they even needed his permission to hang out.

Damian turned his back on them, calling out a “have fun” as he disappeared in a flash of bright light.

Well, that answered his question. Damian looked like he could care less. He didn’t even give them another glance.

He just immediately turned his back on them, walking away as if he owned the place.

It made Wally’s blood boil. Did the brat even notice that no one wanted him around?

He couldn’t wait and see just what secrets the brat hid underneath that perfect, little mask of his.

And Wally couldn’t wait to tear that mask apart.

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Note:

guess who finally started writing the one fic that almost everyone was waiting for.

me!!!

To be honest, I was kinda confused on how I was going to write the events of “I’m fine” from the other’s POV, then I realized that I could just write it using multiple chapters, so that’s what I did.

I know that a lot of people were waiting for this version, so hopefully you guys end up liking this installment, and if you have any comments, suggestions, and feedback, make sure to comment on them.

Also, I feel like I need to mention that, yes- I know that some of the characters are “out of character” in a way. Though, Damian does receive a whole lot of shit from them in the comics so at the same time they kind of aren’t ooc, if that makes sense.

I genuinely just wanted to write a Damian Wayne whump fic that I can go back too and cry about later. So if you don’t like it, then just don’t read it. No need to waste your energy writing hate comments that I’ll probably only laugh at later.

[collectivefandomstuff]

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him. 

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

-

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

-

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

-

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

-

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

-

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

[akimmito]

They thought they won #1

 "Ok. So, this is a fanfic that follows the directions posted by @chocolate1721​. I liked it and wanted to write it, so here it is.

I divided it into two parts because it had 7546 words and I had only written about Gotham, I was still missing Paris. So, to allow a more pleasant reading I separated it.

This is a Timinette fanfic because I think there are very few of them and I want more content from these two.

So, let's get started.

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

Taggued: @elmokingkong​

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A trip to Gotham did not go as badly as Marinette thought it would. And they were talking about Gotham, a city so dangerous that you cannot set foot on the streets without suffering an attempted assault. She can only think that Ladybug's luck allowed them to pass the two weeks of the trip without any incident that attempted against the life of any of their companions (although the class screamed to be attacked with Lila spreading scandalous lies). So everything was fine ... Until his last night in the city.

A quiet night, if they could ignore the screams that were occasionally heard (Damn it, Bustier, why so close to the Crime Alley?). The class dined as if there was not a three-front war brewing between the students, it was a time when Lila's lies were hardly heard. It was a great night for Marinette... but then again, why so close to the Crime Alley?

As soon as they left the small restaurant they met two well-known Gotham villains, causing panic in almost all the members of the French class. Only two girls saw that there really is no danger, too many injuries to pose a threat. Harley and Ivy barely  can see the students, they can't even stop.

Marinette, sweet Marinette, approaches them to see their wounds. She's not going to let someone bleed to death in front of her, not if she can help it.

Chloe follows her closely; each taking one of the women to identify the wounds and see how to get them to the hospital. However, Marinette believes that if she lets them bleed freely it won't do to take them anywhere; She began tearing her clothes to make makeshift bandages with the pieces for the most bleeding wounds ... That was until the class stopped being a bunch of screaming and inconsistency.

"Oh, I didn't want to believe it, but you're working with villains!" Lila's comment sparked the class hostility, Chloe just huffs mockingly.

"Damn it, Marinette. Don't you get tired of being such a bitch? "

"Joining Chloe, what did they expect? If they both work for Hawkmoth, obviously they would for the villains here." Someone, Marinette doesn't want to identify the voice, accuses them (again) of working with the Parisian villain, when clearly the man has put a target on her back to corrupt her and turn her into an Akuma. Anyway, idiots.

"You suck, Marinette!"

"What a disappointment, Marinette, you would know better that you must be a good example for class."

"Fools. " Chloe curses under her breath at her teacher's comment.

"I'm. No matter who the person is, I'm not going to see them die if I can help avoid it. ”Marinette frowns at the teacher. There was a time when she thought it was amazing, but those were childish thoughts of a thirteen year old girl who thought the world was divide in black and white. The world is more than that.

Everyone is so engrossed in the uproar that they are not alert enough, Marinette gets mad at herself for not being more careful. The Joker, FUCKING JOKER, is in front of them with a stuffed animal? Marinette isn't going to question it, as far as she knows, it could be a bomb. Even so…

The class doesn't wait a second when they run away, Joker just laughs at the reaction. Chloe stands in front of the two wounded women, waiting for any sign of her best friend, whether to flee or fight.

Marinette scans her surroundings without taking her attention from the madman in front of her. Her first option would be to run, but she's not going to leave Harley and Ivy helpless in the face of the brutal clown-themed killer (all fully justified childhood fears). A moment of silence when the class screams are lost in the streets, it almost seems like a dramatic moment from an action movie.

Joker is excited. The two girls stayed behind to protect their toy and the redhead. He might be impressed; not just anyone would stay to face it. No one is so crazy. His gaze falls on the dark-haired girl, she looks too calm and in ambient. He smiles when he sees her walking to face him and bends down to grab a lever too convenient in the middle of the sidewalk. She's a fun girl! Before she does, he lunges for her. It will be a fun game between the two.

Chloe watches Marinette fight the Joker with a crowbar, take and hit. She can tell he wants to knock him out, but, well, he's not doing it. Brutal would be a good word to describe the little Parisian drawing blood from the man as he laughs as if he had been given the top prize in the lottery (Chloe firmly believes he really feels that way). And it seems he really likes Marinette, a shiver running down her spine at the thought. Chloe bends quickly towards the two women trying  to get up, the more time passes the more possibilities there are for that crazy man to become obsessed with her friend and she will not allow it (Kagami will dismember her with her katana if she allows it).

Harley and Ivy barely manage to stand up, but lean heavily on Chloe. It does not bother her, her training has allowed her to support a little extra weight and as long as she does not have to carry them, there's no problem.

"If you don't hit harder, you won't win," Joker laughs with each comment, wanting to force the girl to be more brutal, even though she is too calm and his comments don't seem to reach her.

"Who said something about winning?" It's the first time she've answered him, he smiles. Marinette bites her tongue to containing any other comment, if she opens her mouth she will get the maniac to follow her to Paris and a madman behind her is enough.

Somehow, while fighting, he has cornered the group in a corner. Marinette berates herself for worrying too much about useless things and now she must win, but give him that satisfaction. Her hair stands on end, a bad blow and her weapon goes in the opposite direction and away from her. Now she only has a clean fist. She can work with it, even though her brain screams at her to run. She swallows thick when he lunges at her again. His mind is a constant alarm of: there's no cure, there's no cure, there's no cure.

But at that moment dark figures leap from the surrounding buildings and confront him, Marinette backs down without letting her guard down until her mind focuses enough to recognize them. The city vigilants.

From there everything is a whirlwind of thoughts and Marinette does not realize when the Joker has been placated and has them close, to the surprise them, she launches herself towards one totally random and remains in the arms of Nightwing who only smiles kindly at the agitated girl about to cry with relief.

"I, help ... them, yes ... wounds, that." Marinette can't hold a coherent sentence toward Nightwing.

"What he meant is that they are injured and need immediate medical attention." Chloe stands firm and will never admit that her legs are shaking, or that being held by Red Hood was welcome help. First dead than looking vulnerable.

Marinette lets herself slip into Nightwing's arms as all the adrenaline leaves her. It's been a long time since she felt this way helpless towards some danger, but she was just Marinette and there was no chance of Ladybug showing up. Thank heaven for the arrival of the vigilants.

"Robin has already alerted the police, he should be here soon." Batman looks at both girls for a moment, but turns to watch the unconscious Joker.

"Everything is fine. " Nightwing whispers to the little girl in his arms, he feels her tremble against him and he is no longer sure if it is the fear  or has another origin.

In a short time the police are there and the two Parisian girls have to give a statement (unfortunately the loss of blood left the two women out of action).

"How it happend?" Chloe takes the initiative, Marinette doesn't seem to be ready to leave Nightwing or say something more coherent than a barely audible babble, clearly struggling to stay together between anxiety and guilt, because yes, Marinette Dupain-Cheng can't help blame herself. Sometimes, Chloe thinks, ��want to shake her until she regains her senses (but that doesn't work, Luka's melodies, on the contrary. Oh, they're magical).

"To begin with, this is the fault of our teacher's incompetence to choose a restaurant so close to the Crime Alley. Second, I am very surprised that it did not happen before because our companions were struggling to get the attention of a madman. They said so many stupid things." The vigilants raise an eyebrow at the girl's words, if they didn't know better they could believe that the girls didn't  suffer a close encounter with the Joker. "And third, Dupain-Cheng is too good to let someone bleed to death in front of her and I too good a friend to see her jump into danger alone. This leaves me with the experience of never going on a trip with that band of incompetents. "

"Can you relate the incident?" Commissioner Gordon is tired, with each passing day new characters appear in the city and he is never ready. The girl hiding in Nightwing's arms and her friend who seems ready to declare war to anyone.

"They appeared bleeding, our companions being stupid, the madman appears and they all flee leaving us behind. Ha, surely they would have thrown us towards him if they had not been so afraid" Chloe doesn't miss the opportunity to make a dismissive comment to her class, Marinette is out of combat to reprimand her for being too cruel with her sincerity. "Dupain-Cheng being so sweet as an acid candy defends us, is done with a lever and gets into a fight with the madman. Somehow we ended up in this horrible place and well, they came along and Dupain-Cheng falls apart in her standard nervous form. It will be fine, it just tends to over-think. The only thing recorded is the split lip, the rest is her realizing a thousand possible scenarios where everything went wrong. "

That said, the four women are rushed to the hospital (Nightwing accompanies them because the young woman in his arms refused to release him and also didn't have the heart to leave her alone when it was obvious that she needed comfort). As soon as they arrive they are checked and Nightwing leaves, giving the girls a brief look before leaving.

"We will stay here, we want to make sure they are okay." Chloe takes control of the situation, refusing to abandon the women. Anyway, after the act on the street, he doubts that they will be well received by the class. She is sure they are not worried and can almost hear their irritating voices speaking nonsense about it.

The doctors allow it stay there with the endorsement of the police, they fall asleep on a sofa in the room where Harley and Ivy are locate. Marinette calmed down throughout the trip to the hospital, muttering apologies to the caretaker who accompanied her for sticking like a koala to his person. And her rest is very calm, without nightmares or anything; Maybe it's the emotional exhaustion of the experience, but there are no dreams riddled with deaths or with the Joker, there is only a deep black who embraces her like a good friend.

The next morning they are awakened by the voices of Harley and Ivy talking to the doctor, Chloe also recognizes the voice of the officer who took the statement yesterday.

"They were very daring and their classmates abandoned them, even the adult with them. "

"You should do something, Jimmy!"

Gordon notices the looks of the two girls and approaches to talk to them, being much more rested can better appreciate the mettle of the two young girls. Especially the dark-haired one, last night was a bunch of inconsistencies and today she looks completely calm, looking towards Harley and Ivy looking for confirmation of their health.

"Good morning, ladies. "

"Good morning, Officer. " Marinette greets with a friendly smile, focusing her attention on the officer. She knows that they must return to their class and return to Paris.

"No one reported two girls missing, but you mentioned they are on a class trip. Can I know the name of the person in charge to call them?"

"Claine Bustier from Paris, France. College Françoise Dupont, we stayed at the Gotham Royal Hotel. Our room is the 155. "Marinette enters all her data, but she also decides that it is better that she has absolutely all of them. "My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 17 years old. My parents are Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, they have a bakery. Tom & Sabine Boulangerie."

"Chloe Burgeois, I reside at the Hotel Le Grand Paris. My father is the mayor, André Burgeois, and my mother is Audrey Burgeois, the Queen of Style. "

Gordon takes note of all the information they have given him, if he cannot contact her teacher he has two pairs of parents to call for their daughters. And for them to be giving that contingency, he can intuit that they know that perhaps they imagine that it will be the case.

He immediately retires and leaves them alone with the two women. He has a job to do.

Gordon spent the whole morning trying to locate the teacher, according to the hotel they left him early in the morning and they have no idea about anything. He doesn't want to alarm the girls' parents yet, so he will first talk to them to find out if they know where they could be, he sends them to bring to the police station to facilitate the whole process, and he also asks for food for the girls. It's almost lunch time.

"Welcome, sit down." The two girls obey with slightly worried expressions, they seem to be fearing the worst. "I have been unable to locate their teacher or class, according to the hotel, they left early in the morning. "

Marinette holds her breath, reality hit her in the face. Chloe's not much better. It was their last night in Gotham, today they had to take a flight to Paris... they didn't it because they are sure that they abandoned them. They start muttering in French at Gordon's confusion, they look alarmed.

"Sir, we are supposed to go back to Paris today. And... well, lately our teacher hasn't been taking roll. Also, she take what our comrades say as fact." Marinette panics again, but this time there are no saviors and they are trapped in another country. "I just hope they didn't go to Paris without us..."

"Don't be innocent, Maribug." Chloe addresses her with her friend's loving nickname, sees her on the verge of panic and hopes to remind her that they are in this together. "Of course they left without us, she didn't count for a visit to the museum. What will be different today? A word from Lie-la and everything goes under her will."

There was a small second of surprise that gave way to panic interspersed with fury in Gordon's features, he turns to pick up the phone and call the airport in a frenzy. He began to demand passengers on flights to Paris, but was repeatedly denied and his patience goes overboard.

"Ladies, would you mind waiting outside?" "Marinette and Chloe obey. They stay near the door because they don't know where to go and catch the officer's scream." THERE ARE TWO CHILDREN WHO COULD HAVE BEEN ABANDONED BY THEIR TEACHER IN THE CITY! NOW TELL ME IF CALINE BUSTIER BOEARDED THE FUNCKING PLANE WITH HER STUDENTS OR NOT! "

Boiling with anger and after a few more screams, Gordon has the information. But he's still so furious that he could commit murder on the spot. Worst of all, he also has video evidence of a student tearing up two airline tickets that, if you have to guess, are those of the girls they left behind. What do those people have in mind? He already feel the migraine coming.

He drops into his chair, counts to ten, and decides to call Bruce. Technically, being a Wayne Foundation sponsored trip, he's responsible for the two girls and with him in charge it will be easier to deal with the parents.

"Hey, Bruce. I have a situation, the Wayne Foundation sponsored a class trip for the Françoise Dupont School and the teacher in charge left two of his students abandoned in the country; I have video evidence of their negligence and I am sure that in every place they went to there is has least one camera that must have caught something. " He massages his forehead, it's not his jurisdiction, but when doing it in his territory he can form a case and send it to the Paris police for follow. "You should come and take care of them while we resolve to take them home, one of her classmates broke their tickets and I'm not even sure if their belongings are in good condition. "

"I understand, Jim. I'll take over, I'll be there soon. "

Gordon is relatively more relieved, but no less angry. He gets up to ask them to come back in and tell them what will happen, so they won't be surprised to see Bruce Wayne coming for them.

"Bruce will take care of you, make all the preparations for your return trip to Paris. And while you come, how normal is the situation with your teacher and your classmates?" He watches the silent interaction and the blonde is the one talking.

"We are the only two people in our class who do not believe Lie-la's lies. Maribug earned her hatred by trying to expose her stories for what they are: lies. And I, well, I was never going to let myself be bowed down by someone like her. "Marinette denies because of the choice of words.

"She considers us an obstacle in her reign. When she arrived, I never believed her because the stories were too unrealistic even for our  standards in the class, considering that we all know a fair amount of celebrities and we all form a very diverse group with a promising future, I mean we have Max, he create an AI capable of feeling emotions. So when I didn't believe her and tried to make my friends  see reason, she swore that she would take everything away from me ... And she did, it wouldn't have been so bad if it were just that, I realized who my true friends are and that I shouldn't trust anyone. The real problem is the way in which he influenced them all, I cann't longer recognize Alya, she is even worse than Chloe years ago. "Marinette sighs, remembering the last years is exhausting in many ways. "So they have marginalized us, they attack us only because Lila says that we did something to her even when we were not there and we have witnesses who can confirm our stories..."

"Seeing them is like seeing a surreal work with abstract tendencies, impossible to believe what you are seeing. The worst is Bustier, she's a facilitator. I hadn't seen the problem before, but now that I'm in Maribug's place too, well, we were clearly wrong about what kind of teacher she was. She believes all her lies and even congratulates her on them! She let use everyone to her holy whim and antagonize those who don't. ”Chloe gets up indignant and ready to continue ranting, not many adults stop to listen to them. "I'm tired of hearing the same speech from her must be the best person, Marinette. Be a good example! Someone should teach him didactics, she obviously doesn't know what she's doing. And now she leaves us in another country! Negligent, stupid, facilitator ..."

"Chloe, stop it. He understood your point. "Marinette is the voice of reason and tries to appease her friend's overflowing anger. It's true that having someone willing to listen is cathartic, but they should not take so many liberties.

"It's not fair, Maribug, not with you. Always ready to help others and they simply attack you when you decide to think about yourself and your future. They think you owe them something and it's totally the other way around because without you, that class wouldn't be half as good as it's ... because when you took the class presidency they all  grew in their areas..."Chloe sits down again, her brow furrowed and still very angry. "They don't deserve you. "

"Miss Bustier often asks me to help her with different tasks, before it meant an additional workload… I became her disappointment when I told her that I would not do more work outside of my duties as class president, it dictated by the rules of the institution. She lectured me that I should not be selfish, that it's for the benefit of the class ... and well, I told him that if she gave me half her salary I would gladly continue doing her job. She punished me, but it was the truth. "Marinette looks at her hands, that conversation was before the trip to Gotham and her punishment would start as soon as they returned to Paris, a pity that left her abandoned.

Surprised is a word that falls short, Gordon doesn't understand how an adult woman can be so irrational. What kind of alternate dimension does that class live in? A person with at least two functioning neurons would not be so ridiculous; At least, he thinks, perhaps the lies are well crafted as unrealistic as they may have seemed, correct?

"All this arose from the lies of that girl, how are those lies? "He feels like asking was a bad idea and the looks of the two girls are confirmation.

"She has tinnitus because she saved Jagged Stone's kitten from being run over by an airplane." Marinette replies completely blank.

"She knows half of Hollywood and recently said that she knows the whole Wayne family and that Damian Wayne has been her friend since she was five years old. "Marinette snorts not holding her stoic expression, they only said some lies, but it is that the others border on the delirium that they do not they want to end up in Arkham just for repeating it. That last one, of course, was very close. "I wish someone would warn her that the boy lived with his mother until he was ten years old. "

From there, Chloe gives more details and there is no longer Marinette who can stop her. By the time Bruce arrives with two of his boys, Gordon is on a call with the French police for a case to be brought to the French Board of Education about the school and its unethical methods of education, citing Marinette's unfair expulsion which looks  it's still on the school record.

Bruce looks at the two girls in Gordon's office, the blonde looks ready for war and the other girl is sitting quietly. Dick and Tim walk behind him; Richard couldn't resist seeing the girl who hung on him as a koala baby again and Tim is there for exactly the same as Bruce, taking charge because is also his responsibility.

"Good afternoon." Bruce greets, catching the attention of the two Parisian girls. They return the greeting and Gordon only makes a gesture of recognition, the police chief reviews the video he sent and the evidence he has of the case, he can hear him muttering indignantly and something about his daughter being part of all that circus.

"Hey!" Richard greets as well, being friendlier than his adoptive father. "I'm Richard, but you can call me Dick and this is Tim, my little brother. ”Tim gives him a contemplative look and just nods at them. His eyes fixed on everything but the two girls.

"I'm Marinette and she's Chloe, nice to meet you." Marinette smiles brightly. Dick can't believe he's the same girl of last night, but apparently she is.

Gordon ends the call at that time, the police said to initiate a police investigation and to involve the Board of Education.

"Well, ladies. When they get home they will ask for your formal statement and the presentation of the charges, although it seems that the prosecution will take care of that. ”He smiles at the girls, who agree with his words. Chloe celebrates, of course it will involve her father too. "Hi Bruce, thanks for coming."

"Of course. And since you mentioned the investigation, Tim collected all of the security camera files from the past two weeks. Every place they were in is in the file. " Tim hands the memory over to the commissioner, he still has a copy on the computer to review in detail himself.

"Thanks, I will review it and send the parts of interest to France."

After that, the five retreat to the Wayne Manor. The suitcases, or what is left of them, awaits they there. Any impression they might have on seeing the mansion falls short because of the disgust of seeing its things ruined.

"Well, Maribug, can I take this as evidence for my theory?" The hosts are still close enough to hear his words, even though they were about to leave them alone.

"Lila's being a meta or the Akuma's?" Marinette rummages in the secret compartments of her suitcase to make sure it was not raped, fortunately it's intact. It's safe to say that none of them thought that it would have a false base with a secret content, the place where the box of miracles rests. Ever since Hawkmoth decided to target her, she has been a little paranoid, or well, very paranoid. She has two secret compartments inside a secret compartment in her room, to store it, but being so far away she didn't feel calm and decided to carry it with her. Maybe it should include some riddle like firewall.

"Akuma, but Lie-la's also fits."

"I think it's the second one, only the class behaves this stupid so we can't blame Hawkmoth, half Paris continues to maintain it's logical reasoning. "Marinette shrugs and classifies the clothes that still serve and the clothes which inevitably must Discard.

Chloe just hums in agreement, it's a valid point. Long nights of conversation with Kagami and Luka (Marinette's small notes) to determine the motives of the class being so incoherent and violent without a truly logical reason led to those two theories.

"You have to call home, Chloe. You already heard Mr. Wayne. "

"Yeah yeah, I'm going to. At least I brought the least glamorous clothes for this trip. "

That's a ground call for Tim, who had overheard their conversation upon hearing something curious. He must prepare the trip to Paris with Wayne's private plane, Bruce wants to take charge of the situation and speak in person with the parents of both girls. Every hour he knows they won't be leaving until the next day, giving them time to spend time with their unexpected guests.

The call is quick and enough for Marinette to fear that her mother will become Akuma. A message from her father confirms that her fears were unfounded, that her mother's anger is cold and will not fall into Hawkmoth's hands.

When the two girls relax and take a breather, knowing that they will sleep in that mansion, they don't even have time to think twice when Jason drags them into a room full of weapons, Marinette can barely contain her surprise and Chloe glows with excitement.

"Ready to learn how to shoot a gun?" Chloe jumps with badly contained enthusiasm, Marinette is not so enthusiastic about it, but learning to remove a weapon considers that it is something useful for what she asks to start there. "Okay, pixie-pop, I'll teach you how to take apart and lock a weapon."

They spend an entire two hours immersed in the world of weapons, Chloe going through each type as Marinette confronts Jason to disarm him, showing off her quick learning, though not good enough to beat her temporary master.

When Marinette leaves, claiming she doesn't want to shoot, she bumps into Damian and asks him for directions to get out of there.

"Because I should?"

"If I get lost it will be your fault." He snorts, but accepts. He doesn't want a stranger sniffing around the mansion and sticking his nose where it shouldn't. They walk in silence when she notices he is carrying a sword. "Is it a katana?"

"What else would it be?"

"An umbrella." She laughs at the boy's annoyed expression when he turns to look at her as if he thinks she's crazy. "There is a design inspired by katanas, a friend decided it was a good idea to scare us with it..."

"Pff. And why did you believe it?"

"She really tried to cut off someone's hand one day, it was with a saber, but ... we really believed her capable of attacking someone with a katana" Damian only raises an eyebrow with a curiosity that he refuses to admit even to himself. "And she's deadly with a sword, we vowed never to face her again with real swords unless we somehow became Superman. "

"Can you fight with swords?" He was being tolerant by allowing her to speak at first, but the latter did catch his attention. It may not be a good one, but having someone who won't cut its finger on themselves in a workout can be helpful, and if he can get her better, a decent opponent to practice with.

"I avoided she cutting my arm with a katana, does that count?"

It changes course and they head to another room, similar to the weapons room, but this time it is full of swords and knives. She respects people's hobbies, she does, but the amount is over the top and she has a slight suspicion that there is more somewhere in the big mansion. Will there be a pump room? She wouldn't be surprised if one of the other two brothers suddenly came out claiming fanaticism about the explosives.

"I want to see how bad you are."

Ouch, Marinette thinks. She has been ruled out immediately, but will not decline now that she's surrounded by so many weapons. She does feel more excited about a sword than a gun, they can't blame her for preferring close combat.

"We will fight with katana, take whatever you want. They are all polished and sharp. ”She feels something dark when she mentions the sharp, as well as pride in the perfect maintenance of her weapons. She smiles confidently, the boy reminds her of Kagami (albeit much more somber and clearly hostile).

Having chosen, the two are placed in position. And he begins to criticize hard and coldly.

"Your posture is very loose, you will only get him to cut your throat with the first blow. Your friend is an idiot, she must has corrected you since he saw you. ”Mariette nods. "Imitate me. ”She obeys, reflecting her posture. "But be firmer, this is not a dance, it's a fight and if you don't stand up fine. Well, you will dead. "

After several minutes in the same position, they begin. A couple of movements and he correct her again.

"The movement must be strong and fluid, you will cause a fracture on your own if you allow the elbow to continue flexing like this. You must be precise in the movements, you cann't start to experiment if you don't have dominated the base. Again. "

With each criticism and correction the girl makes, she becomes more excited. Damian is relentless with his comments, openly insulting her for her mistakes, but gives the correct and fair corrections for the problem she presents.

"You are agile and flexible, use it to your advantage. Put aside unnecessary movements, sword fighting is offensive and deadly." Marinette notices that she is having fun, if the smile says anything (however mischievous it is when she mocks her mistakes). At least until he stumbles over his own feet and falls flat on his face in front of Damian. "You're an idiot?! You almost stabbed yourself, you can't fall like this! Get up and regain the dignity you have left. Again and don't fall or I’ll stab yourself. "

Marinette has a good time, she doesn't even notice the time she spends training with Damian. Alfred interrupts them by announcing that dinner has been served since fifteen minutes.

"Thanks Alfred." She smiles kindly.

Damian reluctantly guards the sword, his brothers always choose other weapons when training. It was satisfying to have someone willing to fight him in his area, especially for his quick learning, he only had to correct twice about posture and movement; he also noticed that she was imitating his movements to correct himself as they fought. Less useless than his brothers, he will give she that.

When they enter, everyone is eating or so it seems. Tim looks at his plate as if he is going to speak to him at any moment, Dick talks more than he eats (with Stephanie who came interested in the two girls who could be victims of Bruce's adoption), Jason has not even touched the plate and in change is arguing over the theory of how to disassemble a grenade launcher with Chloe. Bruce is the only one who eats in silence, at least until he sees his youngest son arrive with Marinette.

"Excuse me." Marinette sits in the empty seat next to Tim, who barely registers the movement. She worries a little, she seems to be in her bad weeks (say Hawkmoth and her Akuma at three in the morning).

Dinner passes unceremoniously, past Damian demanding they shut up, almost stabbing Marinette's hand with his fork. And contrary to what anyone might think, she just laughs, the whole situation seemed so refreshing, so many people at a table and the familiarity with which they were received. She feels comfortable, even with Damian's passive-aggressive attitude.

Somehow, an hour later, they are dragged back into another room. This time both Chloe and Marinette want to scream, and Mari feels she can be relieved because it didn't result in bombs or anything more dangerous than the other two. He gets them comfortable clothes so they can get on, knowing that they have been sweating and going in normal clothes.

Chloe does not hesitate to climb on the trapeze after warming up, but Marinette sits on the parallel bars, not that she is not willing to do the same as Chloe, but she flies often enough as Ladybug to look for something calmer, although she should take advantage and she would like to have a private gym like that, because there are also weights and a punching bag.

Dick is in cloud nine watching how the two girls look like fish in the water, he imagined that it would be so. Especially when she saw Marinette training with Damian and the movements she made, she is clearly a gymnast. And being there, well, that the two of them are so enthusiastic only makes it better. Unlike his brothers, he just wants them to have fun.

At some point in the time they take turns between the bars and the trapeze, Dick and Chloe end up competing. While Marinette is happy on the uneven bars until Damian re-monopolizes her and they move to the weapons room; leaving the other two doing jumps and twists in the air (Dick wins, of course).

Of course, Marinette enjoys the workout and is glad she didn't end up hurt in any way. It would be funny to explain to her parents that they ended up fighting with swords with a boy four years younger and that he did not have the mercy to avoid hurting her.

"Better than a few hours ago, you're not that horrible anymore. "

"Decent, right?"

"That is too favorable for you, you still trip over the air and almost take your eye out." Damian frowns in disappointment at the incompetence of maintaining a decent balance when he has both feet on the ground. When he saw her on the uneven bars, it was almost believed that the jumps that ended in disaster were fake, but no, she really stumbled into nothingness itself.

"Uh, sorry. I will do it better.

"You better, I won't admit any more stupid mistakes."

Damian would have preferred to go on patrol, but he won't complain about the training either. He had fun at the girl's expense and, above all, he knows that if he sees her again and she keeps practicing (he will make sure of that) he will be a better rival than today. She can even introduce that friend of her to measure levels, he's better of course but it never hurts to re-confirm.

At ten at night they go to bed, Alfred shows the room to the two girls and lets them settle down. Marinette can't sleep, after four hours of tossing and turning, she resigns herself and leaves, looking at Tikki on her pillow sleeping comfortably, she can't help envying her good rest. Pick up your phone and it's 2:15.

She curses her insomnia and wanders around the mansion, somehow miraculously ends up in the kitchen. It is a dim light that directs her there, since everything else is dark, she didn't even feel when went downstairs.

In the kitchen, Tim is leaning against the table with his computer on and a steaming coffee. Suddenly he gets up and turns to her with a surprised (and very confused) expression, but more surprised Marinette is when he does that.

"Oh Im sorry…"

"No, no ... Uh, can't you sleep?"

"Usually not. What are you doing?" Marinette knows that she is taking, perhaps, too much liberties when curious about what Tim is doing, but she is not sleepy and there is nothing else to do.

"Work, Wayne Industries is developing a new model of heavy machinery for moving cargo containers, much more resistant to be located on the coasts for the rainy seasons… I am reviewing all the designs, suggested materials and profitability of each project to present to the board in three weeks. There are seven different models, and none are tailored to it needs. " Tim shows the blueprint of the last model he has reviewed, flipped it over several times, and revised the materials, but they are not entirely satisfactory for what he is seeking to present.

"It looks complicated, how do you know if it adapts to it needs or not?" Marinette sits next to him, interested in the project. She know he is the CEO of  Wayne Enterprise and every division in the company, but seeing the work he does is something different. "If you have to go through those kinds of projects and take care of other tasks, i'm not surprised that you're so sleep deprived"

"Well, the demand is analyzed first." Open another file of the works of the sector where the new project is directed.  "Here, the work of the machinery must meet the standards in relation to the pace of work and the climate, considering that it wants to deliver a specific model for working on coasts. This is only to increase efficiency and allow a slightly longer time frame between maintenances. Metals corrode with greater speed and, sometimes, the weather is so bad that it avoids correct maintenance; storms in mid-spring flood the ports. fairly frequently and parts need to be replaced more frequently This new model should allow greater resistance to these conditions. "

"Interesting, and are you always watching projects?"

"Not all projects, Wayne Biotechnology projects do not review this way, it is not my area. It's usually the manager of the division who presents new projects to the board. However, I still have to review other aspects of all the divisions of the company and that includes them all…"

"It's still a lot of work, is it that heavy or do you overload yourself?" Marinette inquires with playful curiosity, Tim shifts nervously.

"A little of both?"

"Oh.So, you need a better coffee. ”She takes the liberty of trying the one she is drinking. "It's still very light. I will share with you my winning recipe, it has kept me up for an entire week with one hour of daily sleep. "

Marinette gets up and moves in the kitchen as if she were the owner of the place, looking for what she needs. Seeing the coffee, she is surprised.

"Black Insomnia?"

"I can only have one cup a week, Alfred thinks it's going to kill me if I drink it every day. I have made an agreement, he doesn't tell me anything about not sleeping and I comply with taking it once a week."

"It's totally valid. " Marinette laughs and puts the coffee back in its place. "Whiskey. It will come handy. "

"What?" Tim watches the girl open the bottle to smell her, it's one of the ones Alfred confiscated from Jason a week ago. "Why Whiskey?"

"Other flavor, vodka is better, but I can work with this. Do you have mint?"

Tim remains dubious as he watches her work with the most random ingredients he could think of for a coffee, also yogurt? He won't question it, but was France so strange?

A few minutes later Marinette hands him a cup.

"It has less caffeine than a regular cup, but the energy it provides is much greater. If you drink one cup per hour, with this you only need one to run at least four. It's magical, come on, don't see it like that. ”She pouts and he decides to take it.

"It is safe? I don't think Alfred is happy that you murder me with coffee."

"I think Damian would have a party."

"Oh, the demon's ally. Since I didn't see it coming, I gave you my trust and that's how you pay me. "

They both laugh, Tim finally trying the coffee. He will give she points for the taste, he don't even feel that it has alcohol and ultimately he feel more alive than a moment ago. He can continue working.

They both stay in the kitchen, Tim works until five in the morning. Marinette fell asleep at one point in that time and he settled her in such a way that when he falls asleep she is his pillow. The sad thing is that not even putting together the hours of sleep of both can they add up to three.

Alfred enters deciding to wake up the teenagers, the plane will leave in two hours and they must prepare. Tim looks for his cup of coffee and has finished it, he doesn't want to move.

"Now, Master Tim. Be a responsible boy and they'll go change. ”Marinette is barely aware of her surroundings as she is dragged into the rooms by Tim, but neither is he does.

Neither of them fully records what happens, except getting to a bed and going back to sleep. Totally out of combat. When they are close to leaving, Bruce doesn't even know what think on seeing the two young sleeping like corpses, dressed exactly the same as the day before.

"Chloe, help Marinette get ready. Dick, help Tim. We're leaving in ten minutes. ”The two mentioned only look at each other in panic before running to wake up the dead.

Marinette barely registers, feeling terribly drained now that all the effort from the day before is building up. He could sleep a thousand years if he were allowed to. They get ready in record time and move to the airport, for the only thing Marinette is aware of is to her luggage, being that she hugs it and when she asks, she murmurs: I love this suitcase, but don't tell my other suitcases, they get angry. No one says anything except for Jason's small laugh and a snort from a more sleepy than awake Tim who responds: who will tell them? No one knows them. Jason breaks down after that and laughs out loud.

Richard regrets not having recorded the most hilarious conversation he has ever witnessed, he has heard his little brother say inconsistent things in his sleep deprivation, but seeing an exchange is something very different. And it's so funy.

And they spend hours on the plane, Marinette basically asleep on Tim while he seems to melt in the seat. Richard took lots of photos every time they moved. By the time they get to Paris, they are both more awake.

Chloe smiles at her city, excited for what awaits all the bastards who left them behind. Maybe it is justice for everyone else, but for her it's revenge and she wants to see them suffer for hurting them both.

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Thanks for reading!

[hasegawasosise]

In Numbers We Trust

Summary:

Prompt master: @outoftheframework

I like the concept of each of the kids having a number or having a thing where they count off. Not in a demeaning or dehumanizing way at all, just more so to use in dangerous situations. For example, a bomb goes off on patrol, and to quickly see if everyone is okay, the kids (including Steph and Babs) automatically start counting one at a time. Bruce can breathe again once the count reaches eight. This tradition begins to carry over to civilian life when the kids yell numbers across a crowded gala after the power goes out.

Beta Agenthandler

Bruce never planned on starting a family. He made a vow to live for justice. He would be the force Gotham needed. He would be the forever bachelor. Justice was his Lady Love.

But 90% of life’s plan was just that—a plan. Bruce would never have guessed he'd end up taking in a boy who called himself Dick Grayson. Technically his ward, but Bruce suffered a mid-life crisis every day from thereon, wondering whether it was the right choice for him to adopt a kid—or why anyone sane would let Bruce Wayne adopt any kid in the first place. It was a testament to Dick’s own awesomeness that he grew up to be a mostly functional adult—Bruce definitely wasn’t.

After Dick, he recruited an amazing girl named Barbara Gordon as another sidekick. She was not officially his adopted daughter, but by day two of working together Bruce registered her in his little hind brain as “my kid.”

Then another. Jason Todd not only stole the Batmobile’s tires but also Batman’s heart. The little boy taught Bruce more about street-smarts and how to be a better person right until his death. His realized depth of parental love made him wonder why he ever adopted anyone in the first place—and ended up losing them that way.

After what he thought was the last, another one came into his life without invitation. Timothy Drake was a genius detective. Out of his first four—yes, Bruce could still count—Tim was the most similar to Bruce. They had the same kind of upbringing amidst the Gotham Elite, they were both highly focused and detail oriented individuals. Tim was even smarter than Bruce, and he was the sole reason Bruce could continue functioning after Jason’s death. Tim was also the only one to believe he was still alive and brought Bruce back from when he was lost in time.

After Time was Stephanie Brown. A cheerful ray of sunshine that had her own worries, but could function the best out of all his children. She had the kind of light sarcastic humor to brighten up Bruce’s darker days. He gained a third daughter, Cassandra Cain, the most accomplished amongst his children in terms of stealth and combat, also his one darling princess.

Then Bruce was introduced to his—one and only—blood son, a little baby assassin who had the unfortunate tendency to stab first ask later. By this time, Bruce had a better handle on raising children highly susceptible to raising hell and violence (read: still an incompetent parent, but he knew how to tune out their nagging) and had no choice but to assign Dick  with Damian’s education on humanities and socialization.

He also had Helena, Terry, Matt, Duke, and Harper.

Bruce lost count.

It was the ultimate testament to Bruce’s parenting skill. He sometimes couldn’t remember how many kids he had. He could lose them in a Walmart and forget he was missing one. But thankfully, he had a secret weapon.

Since Jason, he assigned them all numbers. Dick was one, Barbara was two, Jason three, Timothy four, Stephanie five, Cass six,  Damian seven—although he always said he was the first—Duke was eight, Harper nine, Terry ten, Matt eleven, and little Helena was twelve.

Imagine that. Bruce had twelve kids. What was his vow again? Lady Love Justice? Don’t know her.

It became sort of a tradition. When the kids entered the Wayne manor, each of them wrote their number on the info board down in the changing room. They were also listed on a desktop note of the BatComputer. It became a ritual in which the last child would add their newest sibling into the list, so they knew who the next number was supposed to be, and that next child would be who they were responsible for. Well, except Dick who accepted all of them as his baby chicks. The number also became a little part of their identity—each of them would put their numbers on everything they owned from their doors to their batarangs to the containers in the fridge.

Bruce, most importantly, used the numbering system to check in on them. It started when Penguin detonated a bank and his robins were scattered fighting all the hundred thugs Penguin hired to keep Batman busy. The blast stopped the fight and Bruce’s heart dropped when he realized his coms were damaged and he immediately couldn’t keep sight of them. He immediately tried to think what he could do, and when he did,  he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“KID COUNT!”

“One!” Nightwing shouted from the top of the next building. Apparently he flew off the bank’s  roof when he realised it was going to burst.

Oracle was two but he knew she was safe in the clock tower.

“Three,” Red Hood drawled. Bruce wondered why he joined in, but was thankful nonetheless.

“Four,” Red Robin shouted from the opposite direction, because he was the sensible one who directed the civilians and police to safety.

“Five!” Spoiler laughed and flew to his side. “That was a doozy!”

“Six,” Black Bat said as she appeared beside Spoiler where they shared a hi-five.

“Seven,” Robin pulled out his swords from a thug’s leg. “Father, I need to clean my sword immediately.”

“No stabbing, please.” “Too late.” Bruce groaned.

“...Eight?” Signal. He was still new to the numbering system.

Batman let go a deep relieved sigh.

The police and civilians who were fortunate to witness the scene, collectively said ‘Oh’. It became a trending twitter before Tim deleted the topic as much as he could.

********

The counting continued though. Citizens who have lots of children (such as parents, teachers, sometimes even the Police teams), realised it was a quick method to ensure update of their progeny/students/teams condition. So they  The counting became sort of a Gotham Trend and eventually enlisted into Gotham’s Emergency SOP. Imagine that, having too many kids to count gave birth to a crucial disaster first-aid first responder procedure.

In all actually, maybe that was one of the top major contributions Batman has given to his city.

********

The kids themselves slowly embraced the importance and fun of the numbers. It created a sort of camaraderie-- even when the numbers didn’t correlate with their height. It used to be a nice isoquant curve when they stood side by side. But after Jason’s growth spurt and Tim naught growth spurt, Steph finding high heels and Cass love for Anti-flood Boots, the nice isoquant curve just became a jagged line not unlike a heartbeat rate.  

That aside, the numbering also slowly bled into their civilian lives:

1.

All of them counted before they entered the GothMart -- Alfred was there too, and suddenly Bruce became number 0. He was there to help Alfred because herding the kids was a massive job.

Dick was back for the weekend to spend time with his “babies” and refused to stay at home, because he wanted to sneak in his grocery list (gummy bears and cereals) into Bruce’s list so he could bring it back to Bludhaven and not spend a dime on it.  

Jason was there because Alfred asked him for help--he was the only one out of the brood with cooking talent and generally all responsible in the kitchen, i.e. Alfred could trust Jason to use his kitchen without blowing it up (shoutout to Tim and Duke who blew the kitchen for the fifth time this year).

Barbara stayed at home, watching over their base, but she was ready with her surveillance just in case they lost one of the broods.

Tim was half dragged, because he had spent the last 30 hours awake doing Bruce-knew-what, and only agreed to be dragged with the promise of sweet, abominable GothMart coffee with pink glitter (a cheap imitation of Starbucks, really) because Tim was fabulous especially after thirty hours of no sleep. And the surprisingly awesome coffee was a dollar--what kind of frugal millionaire didn’t appreciate a dollar of drinkable coffee?

Steph was the one who dragged Tim, with the help of Cass who just returned from Hong Kong for the weekend. Steph wanted to buy some new bras for Cass, something cool and sexy she could enjoy immensely. Bruce was not privy in this knowledge.

Damian was there to ensure his embarrassment of siblings didn’t kill themselves or humiliate the family. Wayne was his legacy afterall, and all of them reflected on his legacy, whether he liked it or not. Duke, the only one whom he could tolerate outside Cassandra (Grayson was mother) just poked his cheek and grinned. Duke might be tolerable, but it didn’t mean Damian didn’t want to stab him sometimes (Drake, on the other hand, looked like a nice pincushion to stab his sword into).

They counted 0 to 8 before they entered, orchestrated by Alfred.  

When they were ready for the checkout, 4, 5, and 6 were missing. Bruce finally found them at the children section, where Tim was busy defending his virginity from a Superboy Plushie, while Steph convulsed with laughter on the floor and Cass video-ed the entire thing.

Bruce refused to buy the cereals (Dick) / sexy lingerie (nope, nope, nope) / kitchen knife collection in black (Damian, as they didn’t need another stabby collection). But Bruce ended up buying the superboy plushie because it had been tainted (the store manager glared at him the whole check out time). At least Tim looked ashamed enough when he was handed the superboy plushie.

2.

The gala was in full swing, full of important people and not-so important moochies. Bruce was entertaining a group of usual donors (important and fun people!) while he saw Tim seriously discussing the stock exchange trends with several old, serious men. Dick was charming the usual group of ladies and young men, while Cass seemed to be hiding behind the potted plan.

Then, just like usual in Gotham, the lights went off. The room suddenly became dark and people started to scream.

“KID COUNT!” Bruce shouted. “Zero,” he added because of habit.

“One!” “Three!” “Four!” “Five and Six!” “Seven.” “Eight” “Nine.”

Wait, did he bring Harper with him? Harper was allergic to this kind of gala--and that was why he never fully adopted her into his Wayne name.

Oh well. The more number he got, the better.

Justice Lady love who?

[internal-ethics]

"But Golden Age Robin stayed Robin when he grew up. Nightwing was a phase.”

I feel like many people always referenced Golden Age Batman and Robin just staying Robin in regards to Nightwing not able to be what it could potentially be, that it was "a phase", WITHOUT any context. The thing is, any later Bruce after Golden Age Batman, was simply not that man. Golden Age Batman let Dick Grayson be free to be who he is' He was able to have fun and go solo, made more appearance than his Batman. Robin back then was big, because Golden Age Bruce was attentive, yet allowed him his freedom. When he was being a kid and rebellious, Golden Age Bruce understood and never act fearful, needy, bitchy or replace him IMMIDIATELY. (i know there are golden Age issues where Dick was "replaced", but that's for character moments and study, and they are 1-issue stories where the replacements couldn't messure up to Dick) Robin back then stayed Robin because he was actually respected and his own hero. As soon as the Silver Age rolled around and especially when Bill Finger stopped writing Batman altogether (circa 1965) Bruce started to act like a different character. Under the comic code he was sometimes abusive and emotionally incompetent to Dick. In the Bronze Age, the Bat office boasted that they brought the Golden Age Batman back, but actually they never did. They used a younger, more idealistic and less pragmatic Bruce. ("i want to eradicate ALL crime. I dream about a time when there’s no criminal." really? ) And Dennis Oneil straight up don't know how to write Robin. Robin was 1 year into Golden Age Batman. HOW did erasing him and making Bruce act like an asshole to him "bringing the golden age Batman back?" I dont see it. Most of the people who believed that lie or believed early Robin really did have no personality or never was his own hero never actually read Golden Age Bill Finger comics. It’s Batman that changed. And those weird Jason origins didnt even bother me as much as the fact alongside it that they tried to make readers forget about the first Robin by replacing him with Jason and others.  It was because of the Silver Age camp and Bronze Age softening that Robin faded away. Dick was no longer secure in that mantle. It's in character that he felt like he had to make a new one for himself. Essencially, NTT Nightwing was the return of the Golden Age Dick Grayson after the camp dragged him for more than a decade, and it was a real return in personality and characterization, more so than Bronse Age to Golden Age Batman like DC loved to boast to us.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 7 - Queasy

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Word count: 11,285

Trigger warning: this chapter contains sexual content, violence, gore, and mentions of torture. 

A/N: I’m so sorry for the wait, guys! This is my longest chapter yet, and I’ve really put my all into it. Thank you for all the kind words of encouragement! It really helped me get through my bad days. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

One would assume that the docks would smell like the sea.

Wrong.

It smelt like shit. Literally.

A lot of Gotham’s sewage ended up in the sea , and trash that wasn’t from the sewage ended up there as well. Gothamites liked to pollute, and it made the docks smell.

But if you held your breath and closed your eyes, it still sounded like the sea.

The crashing waves, the sound of the breeze ruffling your hair, the rapid gunfire-

Oh right.

You were in the middle of crashing Red Hood’s illegal shipment party.

Dodging a rain of bullets, you hopped across some shipment crates towards a group of hired guns to incapacitate them with a flying kick. You hit the large muscly man- who was wearing sunglasses at night, for some reason- flat in the chest with one leg. With your other, you kicked aside the weapon in his hand, which flew straight into his partner’s head, making him stumble backwards.

Taking the two of them down, and looking back at the other eight unconscious bodies behind you that you had dealt with in under two minutes, you took a deep breath and smiled to yourself for you excellent work, before running off to where Bruce was.

Bruce had went on ahead to confirm the shipment and catch Red Hood, well, red handed, while you covered his back and deal with security.

You ran past the crates and metal containers that created a maze.

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s breathless voice in your ear, “Shipment is confirmed, call GCPD.”

“Okay, I’m coming your way,” you replied.

You dialled GCPD on your phone.

“Suspected terrorist attack at Dixon Docks.”

You hung up. Terrorist attacks always made the police rush more.

Finally, you heard the sound of gunshots get louder and you turned a corner to see Batman’s looming dark figure in a direct fight with Red Hood.

“Where’s Robin, B? Got bored of her already? Throw her away like the two before her?” Red Hood jabbed, dodging a punch from Batman.

All Batman did was growl and never stopped attacking.

“When are you going to tell her that she’s disposable? It’s not good to keep stringing women along, you know?” he poked, “Especially those you call your children.”

Batman succeeded in tripping him, making Red Hood stumble backwards for just a second. A shout distracted you from the fight, making your head snap in the direction of Moehler barking at his workers to hurry with loading wooden crates onto the back of a truck a few feet away.

You ran past Batman and Red Hood and towards the two men who were loading the last crate.

“Ah, there she is!” you heard Red Hood chuckle.

You were almost there, you needed to stop them before they could drive off with the weapons. Suddenly, you felt something grip your ankle, making you trip forward.

It was as if you were falling in slow motion, the ground slowly approaching your face. The next millisecond you heard a loud bang, and felt a sharp pain at your right earlobe.

As you broke your fall as to not hit your face, you realized that the thing around your ankle was Red Hood’s grappling hook, wound tightly to stop you from approaching your goal.

Struggling to get up, you felt a wave of disappointment crash onto you when you heard the sound of the truck’s engine start, and the tyres screech as it hurried to drive away. Before it could escape your view, you threw a tracking device you had attached to the armor of your uniform at the truck, which you saw suddenly bounce away as Red Hood shot it out of reach of the truck from behind you.

He ran from Batman’s attacks and towards the port, jumping onto a speedboat, and the two of you silently watched as he gave you the middle finger, while Moehler drove the speedboat away.

You untangled yourself from the wire around your leg and stood up, watching his figure get smaller and smaller into the darkness. That fucker actually gave you the middle finger. You could scoff at how juvenile it was if it weren’t for the fact that you were blaming yourself for letting the truck get away.

“You’re bleeding,” Batman’s gravelly voice made you jump.

You touched your right ear, and winced. You were sure a bullet had grazed it when Red Hood tripped you earlier.

“Huh,” you stared at the blood on your fingers, “I didn’t even notice.”

“You called Gordon?”

“Anonymous tip to GCPD,” you informed.

“Terrorist attack?”

“How did you know?” you smirked.

“You’re predictable.”

“Ouch,” you faked, “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

You glanced at him, earning yourself a scowl.

“It was like he knew my moves,” Batman suddenly expressed, “Like he’s familiar with me.”

“Sounded like he’s also familiar with my predecessors too,” you added.

Batman stayed silent.

“On top of the fact that he’s very familiar with my uniform,” you continued, “He seemed to know the moment I reached for my shoulder that I was going to throw a tracker at the truck and shot it out of the way. Not to mention that signal button a while back too.”

More silence.

“And the fact that he knows we’re your children,” you pointed out, “Which means that you have to assume he knows all our identities.”

A clenched jaw.

“Do you know who he is?” you narrowed your eyes at him.

Nothing.

“I trust you to know which information you tell me- or don’t tell me- is beneficial to me or harmful,” you lectured him in frustration, “Which means I’m not going to go digging around. So you better tell me when you figure things out. Trust goes both ways, Batman.”

“I’ll deal with the police.”

Sure enough, you heard the sirens slowly approaching. You glanced again at the dark sea, illuminated poorly by the distant city lights and the hidden moon, wondering who was under the red helmet, and what he meant by ‘disposable’.

***

Jason fired one loud bullet into the ground, breaking the chaotic commotion that came with unloading the crates in one of Moehler’s warehouse turned into base operations. He watched down at them from a raised platform, the two dozen or so hired by Moehler stopped what they were doing and turned to him, along with Moehler and some of his associates- mainly relatives.

“How many did we manage to get?” Jason asked.

“All of them, Red Hood,” a tall brute with distasteful face tattoos answered smugly.

“But just barely,” Jason snapped.

Jason felt the mood subtly shift. They knew why he was mad, and now, he could smell their fear.

“Can anyone tell me how Batman knew?” he calmly asked.

Everyone was avoiding eye contact with him, looking either at each other or their own feet.

“When I find out you know how this information got leaked, and trust me, I will find out, I will come after you and your family,” he simply shrugged, “So someone better step up and confess. Right. Now.”

Jason waited for 3 seconds, and then-

“It was Dave,” a bald brute stepped closer to him, the head of Moehler’s security detail, “We heard that he got arrested last week. It must have been him.”

“One of your own got arrested, and knowing that our meeting could have been compromised, you decided to keep quiet?” Jason articulated.

The man gulped, “We- we didn’t know for sure.”

“Didn’t know for sure?” Jason started chuckling softly, before pointing his gun at the man, “Tell me why I shouldn’t gun you down for your incompetence. Or are you still unsure?”

“His wife called and told me she hadn’t heard from him in three days,” his eyes now wide and pleading, “Only yesterday we confirmed that he had been arrested, but that’s about it. Our inside man said that the arrest report said he was arrested for public urination. We didn’t think much of it then.”

Jason thought for a split second, deciding whether or not to kill him.

No, it wasn’t a strategic move. The story sounded genuine, and if he killed too many people without actual cause, everyone would start to hate him and could want to start a coup. He needed to be specific about his rules.

He put down his gun and started chuckling, earning a sigh of relief from the man before him. He gripped the mans shoulder and squeezed hard- showing both friendliness and threat.

“Fine, we all make mistakes, right?” Jason laughed.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, “Sorry, boss.”

“Just be sure not to overlook things like this again,” Jason warned and gave him a hard pat on the back, “Now, I have another issue to address.”

The relief of the room just now was turned into tension again.

“Who was the brave man who shot at Robin to stop her from getting to the trucks?” Jason asked, “I have a reward for him! A token of courage, if you will.”

“It was me, boss,” the same man with the inked face answered proudly.

“Oh, it was you, huh?” Jason grit, “What’s your name again?”

“Snake, sir.”

“Snake?” he burst out laughing, “Okay, okay. What are you waiting for, Snake? Get up here!”

Snake strutted to Jason’s side, smirking all the way. Jason put an arm over his shoulder.

He saw that some of the others were already shaking their heads at their colleague’s ignorance.

“So Snake,” he started, “You were really brave tonight. You know why?”

“Because I tried to stop Robin?” he answered.

“Yes,” Jason agreed, “In fact, you shot at her, am I right?”

“Yeah, I did,” he grinned.

“Even when I specifically ordered everyone not to?” Jason asked softly.

Snake tensed.

“If I remember correctly,” Jason announced to his audience, “I said that anyone who tries to kill or harm Robin without my orders will be severely punished, didn’t I?”

Silence.

“DIDN’T I?!” he bellowed.

A mumble of “Yes’s” and “Yeah’s” were heard.

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically, “Now, my fellow associates, what should I do with our buddy Snake here?”

No one dared answer him.

It didn’t matter. Jason already knew what he had to do.

“Oh, right,” he pretended to remember, “I was going to give you a token of my appreciation.”

BANG. BANG.

A loud wail came from Snake. He fell to the ground and started crying and screaming. Jason could hardly blame him. He did just shoot both his kneecaps.

“What do you say to daddy, Snake?” Jason stepped on one of his knees, “Daddy gave you a gift, didn’t he?”

“F-FUCK YOU!”

Jason shot at his elbow, making him scream even louder. “Manners!”

“T-thank y-you,” Snake gasped in between sobs.

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Thank y-”

BANG.

Jason gave him a gift right between his eyes.

Whenever Jason killed, he didn’t feel better or worse. Killing was just part of the job, just merely strategic for him.

But killing the guy who almost killed you if it wasn’t for the fact that he pulled you down and made you trip using the grappling hook he had?

He felt better.

He took a deep breath.

“Whoever defies my direct order again, will get worse than this fucker!” he yelled, “No one touches Robin but me. Even if it means you get taken down, you don’t. Shoot. At. Her. GOT IT?!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Now someone clean this up,” he nudged the body with his foot, “Before the shit comes out.”

The part he hated most about killing and disposing of bodies was when the muscles relax and he has to deal with shit and urine that comes out. Not everyone will shit and urinate themselves when they die- it depends on whether they were holding it in to begin with- but when it doeshappen, it’s disgusting.

And Snake looks like he’s just full of shit. Whatever. He’s glad he has people to do the dirty job for him now.

“Moehler,” he growled, “I need to speak to you.”

Jason hopped off the platform and walked straight to the straw haired American-German man.

“Where are we with Black Mask?” he asked.

Roman Sionis. He was one of the defiant ones who refused to work together with Red Hood. Black Mask used to own all these gangs; Moehler’s, Ibenescus’- and Jason had snatched them from underneath his nose.

He wasn’t happy about it.

“Still putting out hits on you,” he gruffly stated, “And also taking down my men.”

“Why haven’t you dealt with him yet?” Jason hissed through the voice scramble of his helmet.

“He’s got a whole armory, boss,” Moehler complained, “And many men who are still loyal to him.”

“They’re not loyal, they’re afraid,” Jason corrected, “I’ll deal with him.”

“Let me know if you need help,” Moehler added.

Jason had already picked out what he wanted beforehand, as per agreement with Moehler, and all he has to do is bring it back with him to his safehouse. The rest of the weapons were to be sold to various gangs or anyone who was interested, and he would take 40 percent profits, as per agreement with Moehler.

Besides Batman’s interference that night, everything was going smoothly. Yet, he was stressed.

He needed to blow off steam.

Ah, right. It was time to enter phase 2 of his plan.

***

You fell on the comfort of your bed, and looked at the time. It was nearly three in the morning. You stretched like a cat, relieving your body from the aches and pains. You had already showered and refreshed yourself, along with slapping a bandaid on your grazed ear. It wasn’t too deep.

You checked your phone, and saw that Sexy Hunk From Library had left you a text about half an hour ago.

Sexy Hunk From Library: You up?

You grinned.

You: Yes! Hi. Sexy Hunk From Library: Hello. I thought you were already asleep. You: Nope. Just on Netflix. As usual. Sexy Hunk From Library: Let’s get on video.

Your heart raced at his directness. Before this he would ask you politely, or played coy with you. But now he wasn’t asking you if you wanted to get on video, he told you to.

And you liked it.

You took the initiative and dialled him first.

“Hey,” you heard his warm, yet tired voice first before you got the video feed and saw him lying on his bed.

Shirtless.

You gulped.

“Hey, you,” you smiled. You were sitting upright, your knees brought to your chest as you leaned against your propped up pillows.

“You hurt yourself again?” you saw him frown. His room was dark, and his face illuminated by the light from his phone.

“Oh, this?” you automatically touched your ear pinna where the bandaid was, “Yeah, I made an impulsive and stupid decision to pierce my cartilage at a really dodgy looking shop, now that I think about it. It got infected.”

For some reason, Jason thought it was funny, because he burst into a laughing fit.

“I-I’m sorry,” he choked, “Stupid decision indeed.”

“Hey!” you giggled, “Like you’ve never made a stupid decision in your entire life.”

“You caught me,” he conceded.

“Well, what was it? What’s the most stupid thing you have done in your entire life?” you demanded.

“Hmm,” you saw him bite his lower lip as he thought about it. You licked yours. “Well, I’ve done many stupid things. One of them is not going to that library sooner. I could have gotten to know you way beforehand.”

You blushed. “You know, I’ve never actually asked you what your age was.”

“My age?” he laughed, “Why? Do I look old?”

“No, no,” you quickly denied, “I’m just curious.”

“Guess how old I am.”

“Twenty-four?” you guessed.

“Woah, back up a few years,” he shook his head.

“Twenty-two?” you tried again.

“Close,” he nodded, “I’m twenty-one this year.”

“Argh, so close!” you said.

“How about you, princess?”

“I’m eighteen this year,” you told him.

“Phewh!” he gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, “Thank God for that.”

“Why?” you giggled, “Any specific reason why you would be relieved that I’ll be legal this year?”

“Of course,” he answered as a matter-of-factly, “There are so many reasons why I would be relieved.”

“Like?” you prompted.

“Like, I want to get into your pants?” he said bluntly, causing you to laugh out loud.

“Very direct, Jason,” you chuckled, “No sugar-coating at all.”

“Why would I?” he raised an eyebrow, “You should already know that I like you. You’re smart, beautiful, funny, not to mention hella clumsy.”

“Clumsy?” you shrilled.

“Yeah, I mean, for some reason you always get injuries. That cut on your forehead, now the infected ear,” he listed down, “I'm pretty sure if I got to know you longer I'd have more to add.”

“And that's a turn on for you?” you skeptically asked.

“No, but it makes for good entertainment,” he grinned, “But in all seriousness, you’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” you blushed, “You’re not too bad yourself. But actually…”

“What?”

“The legal age of consent for sex in Gotham is seventeen,” you stated, “So you shouldn’t have had to worry too much. Unless you thought that I was younger than that.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that,” he responded, “And hold up. There’s no way I would have thought you were younger than that. You’re too… developed.”

“Developed?” you laughed, “Interesting choice of words.”

“What can I say?” his expression changed, his voice lower, “I’ve stared more than I should.”

Oh, you were really blushing this time.

Not to mention the heat that shot down between your legs.

“Naughty,” you teased, “Unfortunately for me, all you wear are baggy hoodies so I can’t exactly stare back.”

“Hmm,” he hesitated for a while, and then raised his phone up high, so it could capture the rest of his shirtless upper body.

You tried to keep your reaction cool, because even in the dim light, you could see his ripped body. His pecs looked hard, and his abs- you wanted to lick them.

Your favourite part was the V that cut into his pants, teasing what was underneath.

“So what do you think?” he winked.

“Uhm,” you gulped, “Very nice.”

“Very descriptive,” he chuckled, and then brought his phone back down, “Your turn, sweetheart.”

“My turn?” you panicked.

You weren’t exactly wearing the sexiest choice of pyjamas. It Dick’s old and faded Superman t-shirt with shorts.

“Yeah, your turn,” he pressed, “I wanna see what you wear to bed.”

“O-okay,” you answered.

Slut. Your mother was back.

You straightened your knees and gave Jason a view of your upper body.

“Nice t-shirt,” he said stiffly. You thought you saw his jaw clench. “Superman fan?”

“It’s my brother’s. I’m more of a Batman and Robin fan,” you answered, smiling to yourself at the inside joke.

“I can see your nipples,” he pointed out.

Your eyes widen. Right, you weren't wearing your bra, so he would have been able to see them poking through the soft cotton. You brought your phone back closer to you.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” he smiled devilishly, “I think it’s hot.”

“I think you’re hot,” you blurted.

Whore.

“Very direct, angel,” he mocked your previous choice of words, “Oh yeah. Remember last week I said I had a dream about you?”

Oh, you remembered very well. “Uh-huh.”

“Well,” he began, “Wanna know what it was about?”

“I do, actually,” you bit your lip, “I was curious. Especially after you said that you were… finishing it.”

“It’s inappropriate,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“Which means it was sexual,” he stated.

“It’s okay.”

“Well, we were at the library,” he started without hesitation, “At the bookshelves. I had you against one of them, and you were in my arms.”

“What were we doing?” you prompted.

“I had my tongue in your mouth,” he smirked, “And I was touching you.”

You were rubbing your thighs together, and you realised you were breathing slightly faster.

“Where?” you pressed on.

“Your tits,” his voice was now husky, “Your hair. Everywhere.”

“Oh.”

“Want me to go on?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your free hand secretly cupping your sex underneath your shorts.

This was all new to you. Very new. You have wanted this so bad. You wanted to be naughty and inappropriate with boys you found attractive, but mother always stopped you.

It was too late for mother to stop you now.

“You were grinding against my dick,” he went on, “It felt really good.”

“I bet,” you grinned.

“Princess, are you really trying to be smart with me while I’m talking dirty to you?” he reprimanded lightly.

“It depends,” you shrugged.

“On what?”

“Whether or not you have your other hand down your pants like I do,” you boldly stated.

Jason really had the power to completely take off your mask, making you expose your true self to him. The one you had so desperately tried to hide from your parents, your peers, your family. Maybe it was the fact that he was basically a complete stranger that you could just cut off after. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t know you enough to judge you.

Whatever the reason was, it made you more confident, which evidently caught Jason off guard because of his current shocked expression.

Which turned into a much darker, and sinister one.

“Caught me,” he gave a side smile, “I’m really hard right now. Been hard after I saw your nipples.”

You let a finger between your pussy lips and felt that you were soaking.

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows.

“What?”

“I’m wet,” you grinned at him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Do you wanna like, you know?”

“Wanna what?” you teased.

“Wanna touch yourself with me,” he continued, “You don’t have to show me anything. Just, let yourself loose.”

You pondered for a while.

The masked you would never ever do anything of this sort. But you figured that there was no harm in letting your mask slip completely from time to time if it wasn’t hurting anyone.

Besides, you’ve always wanted to do this.

You leaned back completely on the propped pillows, the camera on your phone only framing your head and your upper chest. You took off your shorts and spread your legs, brushing against your clit with a finger.

You moaned softly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he concluded excitedly. You saw that he was moving, busy with something using his other hand which was out of frame.

“Are you taking off your pants, Jason?” you asked.

“Yep,” he simply replied, “Aand, there. My dick is now free from its confinement.”

You giggled, now looking at him. His camera also framed his face and upper chest. His eyes were closed and you could see the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

He let out a short yet deep moan.

You bit your lip and started circling your clit.

“So, where was I?” he opened his eyes, “Oh, right. You were grinding on my dick. And, you were even begging me.”

“Begging you?” you sighed in pleasure.

“Y-yeah,” he confirmed, “You were begging me to hurry up and fuck you.”

His voice was sensual. The way his words rolled off his tongue was smooth like butter. You loved it when he said the F word. It sounded sexy.

“And did you?” you desperately asked.

“Not yet,” he told you, “No, I wanted to tease you more, so I just started finger fucking you-”

“Oh,” you sighed.

For some reason, you remembered when Red Hood stuck out his middle finger at you earlier. You imagined that very same long, thick finger inserting itself into your pussy. You tried to shove that thought away.

“Are you the loud type or the quiet type, Princess?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admitted, “I was never in any situation where I needed to be quiet or loud.”

“Means that we just have to find out, huh?” he teased.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Yeah, i’d like that.”

There was a moment of silence where the both of you were just enjoying the pleasure you were giving yourselves, looking at each others expressions on screen and listening to the heavy pants of each others laboured breathing.

“What happened next?” you prompted.

“Your begging was too much to handle, so I started fucking you,” he continued, “You were loud.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In fact, even if you're the quiet type, I don't think you'll be able to stay quiet if I'm the one fucking you, sweetheart,” he said.

“Mmm,” you hummed, lost in the fantasy of Red Hood fucking you hard until you screamed.

Jason. You meant Jason.

“I was- mmm- I was super stressed out today,” he explained, eyes closed. You could see one shoulder and the top of his bicep making small movements, probably stroking his cock.

You wanted to see his cock so bad.

“What happened?” you breathed.

“Long story,” he grunted, “A colleague annoyed me. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

You understood, and also made a mental reminder to ask Jason what he was working as while waiting to apply for the police force.

“Then what- what do you want to talk about, Jason?” you asked, pleasure slowly building up, heat spreading from your core to the rest of you.

You’ve never been that turned on in your entire life. Granted, you never put yourself in any situations that would have aroused you. You’ve never seen porn.

But you knew that at that moment in time, you were horny as hell.

“I want to talk about how perfect I think your tits would look like,” he said, “If they were bouncing in front of me right now while you ride me.”

You moaned loudly at his words. He was good at dirty talk. You liked it very much.

You wondered if Red Hood liked your tits, since he got to grope them quite a bit.

“You sound sexy,” he commented.

“So do you,” you replied, “Fuck, Jason. I’m so horny.”

“Me too, princess. Me too,” he agreed, “I really want to fuck you.”

His eyes were hooded, looking at you through his own screen. You saw that his arm movements were getting faster.

“I want to lick your cock,” you said, before laughing to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, a smile appearing on his lips.

“I never thought I’d actually say that to someone,” you confessed.

“There's always a first for everything, angel,” he jested, “Hmm, now you've put the mental image of me fucking your mouth in my head.”

“And how does that image look?”

“Looks like I can come to that image alone.”

“Mmm, I think I’m getting close.”

You started speeding up, feeling all your juices leak and spread onto the whole of your pussy.

“I want to hear you come,” he groaned, and picked up the pace and force. You knew, because you heard a sound coming from Jason’s end.

A wet, slapping sound.

“Jason, your dick sounds are really hot,” you panted.

“Your expressions are really hot,” he responded, “Also your moans.”

“Mmm, Jason,” you breathed, “I think I’m-”

You felt a tightening in your core as you sped up your rhythm, your eyes closed shut and your mouth open in a silent scream. You built and built and built until-

“Fuck! Red!” you cried as you felt your pussy flutter and you reached your peak.

“Shit, fuck- ah!” he gasped. You opened your eyes immediately to see him with an almost angry frown and biting his lip too hard.

You felt your clit tingle when you saw him in that expression.

He opened his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“That felt good,” he panted.

“Yeah,” you giggled.

“Red?” he asked, looking amused.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“When you came, you said- well, moaned- Red,” he pointed out.

“Did I?” you panicked. You really didn't have any control over yourself when you were at that state of ecstasy. “You must have misheard me. Why would I moan a colour?”

“You tell me,” he smirked, a twinkle in his eye.

“I really don't know what to say,” you denied.

What the fuck? You moaned Red, as in Red Hood?

“I guess random things slip out when people come. It's fine. But I’d like to do that again, baby girl,” he smiled sleepily at you.

Baby girl.

“Me too, but, uhm,” you mumbled, “Please don’t call me that? Everything else is fine.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologised, “I didn’t realise-”

“No, it’s fine,” you shook your head, “It’s just that- this guy I really despise likes to call me that. If you call me that, you’ll remind me of him.”

“I get it,” he frowned, “Why don’t you tell him to stop?”

“He won’t listen,” you almost laughed at the prospect of Red Hood apologising for calling you that.

“Who is he?”

“Some jackass I ran into and for some reason won’t leave me alone,” you rolled your eyes.

“That sounds serious,” he pointed out, “Is he a stalker? Why don’t you go to the police?”

You snorted.

“What?”

“Uh, sorry,” you mentally slapped yourself, “I mean, I don’t think the police can do anything about this guy.”

“Why, is he like the president or something?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Or something,” you revealed vaguely.

Jason looked genuinely concerned about your safety. You found that so sweet. You might actually consider a long term relationship with him.

“Well if you see him when we’re out together, tell me, because I’ll beat him up for you,” he assured you.

You thought about what would happen if Jason and Red Hood got into a fight and resisted chuckling to yourself.

“Of course. I won’t even stop you,” you humoured him.

“Good,” he yawned.

“You should go to bed,” you yawned back.

“Mmkay,” he mumbled, eyes drooping, “I’ll text you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you acknowledged.

“Goodnight, princess. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, handsome,” you winked, and ended the call.

You sighed and lied down, staring at the ceiling.

It was definitely a different feeling, doing it with another person over video call. Jason had a way with words, making your experience even more intensefully heightened.

You enjoyed yourself a lot, but after ending the call with him and rethinking about everything, you suddenly felt a wave of guilt crash over you.

Because you just whored yourself out, you pathetic bitch!

There she was again.

You wondered if you could ever get rid of her.

You buried your face in your pillow and tried your best to ignore the haunting voice of your mother in your head.

You felt guilty for thinking of Red Hood too. This would have been the second time you orgasmed to him. And you’ve only orgasmed twice anyway, which meant that you’ve orgasmed to him every single time you masturbated, which meant that you couldn’t orgasm to anyone else besides Red Hood, which meant that-

You groaned.

You didn’t want to overthink your obvious sexual attraction to Red Hood, because how could you ever face him and fight him again the next time you see him?

***

Jason chuckled to himself as he cleaned the cum from his abdomen.

He thought that you were hotter, sexier than he ever imagined you to be. Phase 2 of his plan was going way too easy. You were already thinking about him.

You were thinking about Red Hood when you came.

It was too easy.

He shook his head and laughed. He guessed that Batman never taught you how to resist seduction.

He chuckled again before closing his eyes.

Too easy.

***

You gagged.

You felt bile rising from the back of your throat, your stomach feeling queasy and uneasy, as if your stomach acids were full and overflowing. Like if you were to do a handstand that very moment, all your stomach juices would come out down your oesophagus.

“Robin, don’t look away,” Batman asserted next to you, “Don’t be queasy.”

You took a deep breath- wait, bad idea. It smelled like blood.

You gulped and willed yourself to look at the three decapitated heads that were pierced by 3 pikes, spearing through the cut off neck, blood slowly dripping down the wooden stick.

The spears were driven into the wooden panels of the bar floor in a row, the warm dim light only barely illuminating the scene before you. All were male, all were brunettes. One was staring blankly at you, his pompadour messy, while the other two had their eyes shut in an expression of grimace.

At least you were at a bar on a Saturday night.

“If you look away, you’ll miss things,” Batman explained to you.

Batman had tapped into the GCPD radio feed like he did so many times before, and someone had called 911, describing an armed man with a red helmet had started to attack some people at Black Bass Bar in the East End, on Murphy Avenue. The both of you were patrolling The Bowery when Batman heard the call.

Despite rushing to the location much faster than the police department, Red Hood was already gone, leaving an empty bar with shattered glass all over the floor and three heads on pikes, their bodies dumped in the far right corner of the room.

Each body were missing every single finger except the middle.

Now that you looked at the heads, you couldn’t stop. You felt an eerie pull towards them, an unsettling feeling of anxiety settling at the pit of your stomach.

It was different from the mauling the Ibenescus faced at the club. Indeed, the mauling was more gruesome and the thought had disturbed you quite a bit, but you figured the adrenaline rush that Red Hood had incited that day due to the fight had prevented you from fully taking in and processing what had happened.

Because as of now, the room was empty and quiet. You weren’t in a hurry, and you were forced to take in everything.

It felt like the first time you’ve ever seen a dead body. You didn’t know why you were afraid of a cold empty shell, yet you couldn’t stop looking.

You couldn’t believe that you were justifying Red Hood’s actions. You couldn’t believe that you were sexually attracted to him. This served as a reminder as who he was-

A sick, depraved human being.

You closed your eyes at an empty attempt to try to forget the image, but it was too late. It was already seared in your mind.

What did these people do to deserve such a cruel, undignified death-

“Hmm,” Batman hummed, making you open your eyes, “Red Hood must still have trouble with the human trafficking ring.”

“What?” you frowned.

“Alexandru and Elias Ibenescu,” Batman pointed to the two heads from the right, “And Jarick Bucinschi.”

Right, you could see it now.

Alexandru and Elias Ibenescu were cousins of the main 4 brothers that lead the human trafficking ring- the ones who were mauled. Jarick Bucinschi was a Slav who married into the Ibenescu family and joined the ring.

You had read it all in the case file when the Ibenescus’ got murdered just over a week ago. You were too preoccupied with being disturbed by the heads to recognize their faces.

From what you read in their files, these people kidnapped women and children to sell them off to disgusting people to be prostituted or harvested for organs.

You didn’t feel sorry for them anymore.

But that didn’t make the scene before you any less gruesome.

There was blood smeared all over the floor, and some footprints all leading out, already oxidizing and turning into a shade of dark brown.

“I wonder why they’re so insistent,” you voiced out, walking towards the bodies in the corner, “The others submitted to Red Hood just fine.”

Batman was bending down and looking at the heads where the neck were cut off, the sounds of police sirens from outside getting close.

“Not everyone,” Batman answered, “It’s only been a week since Red Hood showed his dominance on the underground. These people and their families have been controlling their rings for decades. They wouldn’t submit so easily.”

“So who else?”

“Black Mask, officially. What’s left of the Ibenescu ring was supposed to submit too, but like Gordon said before, it was a massive operation with several people the Patru Frati appointed to directly work under them. The cousins must have thought that now the leaders were gone, they would be the next in line to take over,” Batman deduced.

Patru Frati. The direct translation of ‘Four Brothers’ in Romanian.

“So what is this, a statement? A warning of sorts?” you guessed.

“It seems so,” Batman straightened up and walked towards where you were, observing the headless bodies, “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

“Tell me what happened here,” he asked.

A test.

“He sliced off their heads pretty cleanly,” you pointed out, “He’s skilled with a sword, most probably a katana.”

“What else?”

“Obviously the middle finger he’s trying to show us again,” you grumbled, referring to the amputated fingers, “I don’t know if he cut them off post-mortem or not.”

“Yes, there’s too much blood from the decapitation,” Batman agreed.

“How much do you want to bet that he did it while they were still alive, that fucking psycho,” you muttered.

“What can you tell from the amputation?” Batman pressed.

“That he’s mocking you, just like how he was at the docks,” you concluded.

“Jesus Christ,” a tired sigh came from behind the two of you.

You turned to see Gordon grimace, not unlike the expressions on the heads.

He looked at you, and then to Batman with concern, “You sure she’s not too young to see these things, Batman?”

“I’m fi-” you started.

“She can handle anything I can,” he replied sternly.

That made your heart swell.

He looked at Batman through judgemental eyes, and then proceeded to walk over to the bodies.

After a few moments, he chuckled, “How old is this guy?”

Batman gave him a glare.

Gordon shrugged, “Just an observation.”

The forensics walked in, and immediately scowled when they saw the two of you. They were never big fans of Batman and Robin, because the two of you would arrive at locations first and “contaminated the crime scene”.

You smirked, your nerves slowly calming down the more people arrived. It made the atmosphere less eerie.

Because the truth was, you weren’t fine. You thought that Gotham could throw anything at you, and you would be able to stomach it.

You were wrong.

“I trust you have the files on these three,” Batman told Gordon.

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded, “These three were always able to get away without getting charged. I almost gave up at one point. I don’t want to say good riddance, but… well…”

“We’re done here,” Batman stated, and you started to follow behind him as he proceeded to walk out.

“Wait,” the commissioner stopped him, “You should know that there’s a gang war brewing, according to my informant.”

“As expected,” Batman acknowledged, and walked out.

***

“Did he really need to take all that time and effort to make such a statement?” your voice echoed in the Cave.

Bruce had taken out his cowl and was sitting at his large computer table, logging the events of that night. You were standing next to him, leaning against the table with a mug of hot chocolate in your still gloved hands.

“I mean,” you continued, “Isn’t killing them already enough of a warning?”

“You have to understand that these criminals kill on almost a daily basis,” Bruce explained without taking his eyes off the screen, “Dead bodies are part of the job. They’re desensitized to death.”

“So in order to strike fear, he has to do more than just kill,” you pieced everything together, “He has to make it look painful and... degrading.”

“Exactly,” Bruce paused typing and turned to look at you in the eye, “You did well today. Are you okay?”

“I can handle whatever you can handle,” you grinned, repeating his own words.

“Good,” he praised, “Things will only get worse. You will see worse things.”

“More so than people getting mauled by robot dogs and decapitation?” you rolled your eyes.

“Lazlo Valentin is still in Arkham,” Batman reminded you, raising an eyebrow.

He was right. You never had a Professor Pyg case before. From what you’ve read about him, you thanked your lucky stars.

“Yeah,” you admitted, “And let’s hope he stays there.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, “However, it is perfectly normal for these things to keep you up at night. Will you tell me when it does?”

“I will,” you promised.

You tossed and turned that night.

You didn’t want to close your eyes, because you didn’t want to see the scene again. But it wasn’t any different from staring in your dark room.

You were afraid to fall asleep, because you had just woken up from a nightmare. The heads again. This time staring at you with all of their eyes wide open, the glassy emptiness of their expression somehow pulling you in closer.

You couldn’t stop looking at those eyes.

The overwhelming sense of anxiety of dread drowned you, and you woke up, sweating despite the cold temperature.

“Fuck,” you groaned, and squinted at the sudden bright light of your phone when you looked at the time. It was already 5 in the morning, the sun would be up in less than two hours.

Thank God it was a Sunday.

When you finally managed to fall asleep, you slept in late. It was already midday when you woke up and went down for breakfast. Bruce gave you a break from training that day, because he somehow knew that you had trouble sleeping.

That was fine, you had another mission that day.

Your mission was to get over your fear of mutilated bodies.

So you sat yourself in front of your laptop on your study desk. You would have tried going to Gotham Public Library- a replacement for the one you lost- if it wasn’t for the sensitive nature of your research.

You first went through Bruce’s files on the more gruesome cases in Gotham. He wrote very detailed description of the cases, along with pictures he snapped from the camera in his cowl. You were glad you weren’t around when some of these criminals were active.

Most of them were in Arkham Asylum. The Joker, Lazlo Valentin, Victor Zsaz. After Jason Todd died, Bruce made sure they would never get the taste of freedom ever again- unless rehabilitated.

We’ll see how long that lasts. They always find a way to escape.

So the crime in Gotham were now dominated by gangsters. They were harder to charge, because they were slick and rich. Filthy rich.

They could bribe the judge, the jury, the officers- anyone. And they had the money to hire the best lawyers, and somehow also get rid of incriminating evidence.

Hence, the heavier crimes you saw when you started as Robin were gang related.

You wondered for a second how Jason Todd dealt with the surplus of mentally insane criminals. He’d probably know a thing or two about brutal deaths.

You caught yourself chuckling, and then felt immediately bad.

Your phone buzzed.

Thinking of ex-Robins, Dick was calling you.

“Hey,” you answered.

“Hey, sis! You busy?” his warm voice comforted you.

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files,” you told him, “What’s up?”

“Can’t I call to just ask you how you’re doing?”

“You already called last week,” your voice leaked suspicion.

“I can’t call you again?” he asked sarcastically.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you stated.

He paused. And then-

“Yeah,” he confessed, “He was worried about you after… After last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you sighed.

“Well, if you’re not then you can talk to me,” he offered.

“Actually, yeah,” you agreed, “How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

“The gore?” he started, “Of course it did. It was scary. I remember when I saw my first dead body. Kept me up for days.”

“Yeah, it did for me as well,” you admitted, “But then I just got… used to it, you know? But then this asshole comes and starts mutilating people. I mean, the occasional amputated limb or decapitated head is one thing, but he arranged them on spikes!”

“Yeah, must have been a spectacle,” he said, “But, really, I know these things are part of the job and all, but it affects everyone. You shouldn’t pretend that you’re fine when you’re not. Talking to someone about it really helps.”

“Well, I’m talking to you aren’t I?” you teased.

“I guess you are,” your brother chuckled.

“So how did you get over it?” you inquired.

“Well,” he began, “It really affected me, that’s for one. I always had trouble waking up for school the next day because of the nightmares, and well, thoughts. The darkness and silence really gets to you.”

“I know what you mean,” you agreed.

“And really, I talked to people about it,” he explained, “People who knew what I was going through. And after a while, it became easier to think that you’re not the only one affected by it. Anyone normal would be.”

“And did it ever go away? The fear?”

“Eventually, it did. I kept on thinking that it doesn’t get worse than whatever that was I saw then, but oh trust me, it kept on getting worse. To the point where I just… Treated it like another case to solve,” he told you.

“So you’re telling me to just expect the worst?” you scoffed.

“It doesn’t sound like much, but it helps you deal with it in the mean time. When you expect something so horrible, but it ends up being not so bad as what you imagined,” he continued, “You’ll be relieved to see just a decapitated head.”

A moment of comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you took everything in.

“Hey, Dick?” you tried, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How did, uh, he deal with it?” you winced to yourself. You didn’t like bringing up Jason Todd because of how it affected everyone around you, which was why you never really brought him up to begin with.

You heard a long sigh.

“He came to me as well,” Dick reminisced, “He used to call me up in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. It was almost every night. He was sensitive- for a while. And then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself. He got braver and more confident. He was a smart kid too. Hardworking. I bet he probably did some weird cognitive therapy on himself to get over his fears. Wouldn’t be surprising.”

You felt a sudden spark of jealousy when you heard Dick talk about your predecessor in such a tone. You wondered if you were better than Jason Todd.

That was an issue you never really figured out how to solve.

Your constant competition with a phantom of the past.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy then,” you lightened the mood, “Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

“No problem, kid,” he assure you, “Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

“Okay.”

After that, you moved on from Bruce’s case files to documentaries and articles, some of them making you cry as you read them.

Because the reading material you had on the Murder of Junko Furuta was only the Wikipedia page- and it was enough to make you choke back tears. You couldn’t finish reading the article.

You wondered if you could ever be desensitized to these things. You wondered if you actually wanted to be. But what Dick said earlier resonated in you. Anyone normal would be affected by it.

Because it must take a heartless, soulless person to not blink an eye to such brutalities.

But you couldn’t stop looking for more.

And somewhere along the way, you started watching videos.

The deep web was a scary place. The highest level of the deep web was full of depravity, the epitome of human wickedness.

And the scariest thing? The internet we normal people surf on a daily basis, the ones that pop up on search engines, makes up only 4% of web content. The other 96% of the digital universe is on the deep web- the stuff you can’t just Google.

Sifting through movie pirating websites and file sharing users with questionable content, you ended up watching leaked videos of beheadings and drug cartel torture.

After a couple hours, you found yourself able to handle the disturbing images better. You were more intrigued rather than scared.

You felt better.

But that was because you were sitting on a chair, in the comfort of your own room. No smell of blood, no dim lights and eerie silence.

Now you found yourself wanting to be tested again, hating the fact that by doing so, you were basically anticipating another brutal murder by Red Hood, just to prove to yourself that you had succeeded your own personal mission.

***

There was a sort of an annoying buzz in the air.

Like a mosquito that wouldn’t stop bothering you.

You felt restless.

It had already been more than a week since The Black Bass Bar, and it was Tuesday morning, and you were in class, and you were looking out the window, shaking your knee. You felt like your joints were aching, like right before you got a cold. The last two days had been uneventful, even during patrol.

No sign of Red Hood whatsoever. No gang related crimes.

It was like the underworld was holding its breath.

Maybe even Red Hood needed his break from time to time.

That night you went on patrol like you always did during a weekday. You were split from Batman- on your own motorbike- but not too far away from each other. You were currently in Chinatown, zooming past little alleyways to find a perfect place to park.

It was around 11pm, yet the area was still bustling with life. The red lanterns that hung above you contributed little to the illumination of the town, because the brightness came from many chinese stalls and restaurants that were open, full of merry people drinking their beer at the array of large round outdoor tables that occupied half the street.

As you appreciated the smell of seafood and bak kut teh that wafted through the air, overpowering the usual smell of pollution, you suddenly heard a loud explosion coming from the direction you were heading to.

You somehow knew who you were going to meet that night.

Finally, you thought.

You were getting bored.

You wanted to see him. He got you excited.

But in a curious way.

The past week that you were researching criminal behavior and also brutal murders, you got intrigued by his philosophy, and you wanted to know more about how he thinks.

You weren’t scared of him anymore.

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s voice in your ear, as expected, “Wait for me.”

“But I’m five minutes away, Batman,” you argued, “I think it’s at that warehouse complex. I’ll circle to the loading bay.”

“Do not proceed without me, Robin,” Batman growled.

“But by the time you reach here, he’ll get away,” you frustratedly reasoned.

“You don’t know who it is,” Batman hissed.

“But-”

“That’s an order,” he commanded, “Stay-”

You pressed the button in your ear, and click, he was gone.

“To hell with your orders,” you muttered to yourself and drove high speed to the loading bay of the warehouse, the lights of the town dimming behind you and a new orange light came slowly into view.

The warehouse was old, but not run down. It was a complex that consisted of 6 blocks, and a large loading bay for trucks. Two blocks were ablaze, fire licking the wooden crates you could see from the opened metal doors.

And there was Red Hood, who just threw in a grenade at a third opened door, and walked away from the explosion calmly towards his large, black superbike.

You drove your bike to a halt right in front of his.

You expected him to get on the defense, to take out his guns, to try to escape- anything. But he just leaned against his bike with his arms crossed, like he was expecting you.

You ignored the way his biceps flexed underneath his leather jacket.

“Where’s the old man?” his scrambled voice reached your ears.

“On the way,” you got off your bike and got into a defensive position, keeping your distance from him.

“Hmm,” he simply said, cocking his head to the side like a curious cat.

“Who’s warehouse is this?” you asked.

You knew he wouldn’t do things without a reason.

“Black Mask,” he shrugged simply, “His main armory.”

“Why did you kill the Ibenescus?” you straightforwardly asked.

“They’re filth who refuse to work with me,” he simply answered.

“Why did you do it in such a violent way?” you inquired.

“As a message to others,” he replied without hesitation.

“You tortured them alive,” you pointed out.

“So?” he scoffed, “They deserve much worse for what they do. You have no idea what they put innocent people through.”

You frowned in deep thought.

“What’s your end goal?” you demanded.

“Controlled crime,” he answered.

You didn’t have time to think about his answer then, or ask him more. Batman would be there any second.

“I’m going to have to stop you now,” you told him.

“Oh, baby girl,” he drawled, “You can try.”

You attacked him in a low sweep kick, which he easily avoided by jumping, but the moment he was midair, you quickly got back on your feet and tackled him into his bike, causing it to fall over.

Before you could stand, he had one hand around your neck, restricting your airflow.

He landed a punch at your stomach, making you want to vomit. He then used his grip on you to throw you on the ground. You felt a hard blow at your ribs when he kicked you, making you cough.

He stood over you as you scrambled to get on your feet.

He kicked you again, and you gasped as the air escaped out of you forcefully through his blows.

You felt his abnormal strength from his grips and kicks. Every time you tried to stand, he would kick you on the side.

“I don’t enjoy this,” his static voice started, “Stand down.”

You struggled to roll over on your stomach to get on all fours. You secretly reached for the R shuriken on your left breast, hiding it from his view, and then turned around in a flash, throwing it at him.

The bastard saw it coming, and he dodged it. During the one moment of distraction, you shot up on your feet and attempted to punch him. He caught your fists with a hand, and lifted his other fist.

You waited for the blow to your face.

But it never came. His fists were still in the air, aiming at your head, yet it never landed. You took his moment of hesitation to throw an undercut.

You felt a small crack in his helmet when the blow connected with your gauntlet covered knuckles.

You grinned, pleased with yourself as you watched him stumble backwards, tripping over his own bike.

Even though he was wearing the stupid helmet, you felt him glare at you. His right arm reached for something, and then you were blinded by a white light.

You hissed and closed your eyes, cursing at yourself for not looking away sooner before he threw the flashbang.

You heard the sound of an engine starting, and you stumbled forward in your blind daze.

When you finally regained your eyesight, the first thing your eyes saw was a disgruntled Batman with his arms crossed, looming over you.

Judging from the slight downturned corner of his tightly closed lips, he was practically fuming.

“I almost had him,” you winced, as you felt the pain from the blows you took now that your adrenaline rush was over.

He remained silent.

“He would have gotten away and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you tried to justify.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Batman pointed to a CCTV that was very much still active.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you shrugged.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he fumed.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you argued, “You always say to follow your instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders,” he retorted.

“Wow,” you scoffed, “Just- wow.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Well, since I’m sure you’re going to dismiss me for tonight, I’ll be heading back now,” you walked to your bike, grimacing at the pain the whole way.

“Robin,” Batman called before you could drive away, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

You paused.

“Okay.”

*** “Take a deep breath and hold it,” you heard Alfred’s voice coming from the speakers in the small X-Ray room in the very far end of the cave.

You winced and did as you were told. You heard a beep, and then breathed normally again.

You walked out the room in a thin cotton robe and sat on a medical examination bed in the centre of the cave.

“Well, no broken ribs or fractures,” Alfred came out, holding the X-Ray image of your thorax, “Thankfully, your injuries are merely superficial.”

“Good,” you huffed, “Still hurts, though.”

“Yes, bruises tend to hurt,” he agreed, “Any other injuries I should know of? Your head, in particular.”

“No, no head injuries,” you shook your head. He specifically did not give you any head injuries.

“Very well, then. You are good to go,” Alfred dismissed you.

By the time you were ready for bed, it was half past midnight.

You admittedly felt bad for arguing with Bruce the way you did earlier. You rarely ever disobeyed him- but when you did, you would lie in bed for hours feeling guilty.

After all, he took you in, raised you, trained you, made you who you were. And you were forever grateful for that.

But sometimes he was just so frustrating.

It was either his way or the highway. But you guessed that’s the deal with most parents.

You sighed to yourself. You needed a distraction. You’ve been feeling anxious and restless the past few days.

You called Jason.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice slightly breathless.

“Hey, it’s me,” you greeted him, “Are you busy?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said.

“Would you like to hang out tomorrow after I finish school?” you asked, “I was thinking Robinson Park.”

“Really?” he blurted, “You’re feeling okay?”

You were taken aback.

“Of course I am,” you replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just thought that you were busy on school days, that’s all,” he chuckled.

“I’ve got nothing on tomorrow,” you explained, “I just feel like winding down for a bit. Take a stroll, eat ice cream.”

“Okay, then. See you at Robinson Park at…?”

“I finish at three, so I’ll be there around three twenty?” you told him.

“Awesome! I’ll see you tomorrow at three, princess.”

“See you, Jason.”

*** The weather was nice, considering that it was Gotham. You got lucky that it wasn’t all too gloomy that day, and there were actually birds chirping about.

You were sitting on a bench at Robinson Park in a tank top and shorts- you took the time to change before you came- watching as joggers passed by and kids chased their dogs. Suddenly, you had an ice cream cone pushed up in front of your face.

You looked up and saw Jason grinning, holding the cone.

“I didn’t know what flavor you liked, so I just got this one. If you don’t like it I can go back and buy another-”

“No, no,” you insisted, taking the cone from him, “I’m fine with this. Thank you.”

He sat down next to you. He was wearing a tight light grey shirt that stretched marvelously across his chest. It was the first time you saw him wear something that showed you what he actually looked like underneath.

His biceps reminded you of Red Hood’s flexed-

No, stop it. What was wrong with you?

“So,” he began, “What’s up with the…”

He gestured to your knuckles, which were taped and bandaged. You had cuts and bruises that needed to be bandaged on your knuckles, due to Red Hood’s hard helmet.

“Oh, I do MMA,” you answered smoothly, a lie that you had perfected over the years, “It’s funny, actually. I sometimes show up to school with bruises on my shoulders, or a black eye- stuff so bad that makeup couldn’t even cover it. Everyone thought my dad was abusing me.”

You let out a well practiced chuckle.

“So you not only get injured over glass doors, but you also let yourself voluntarily get beaten up?” he laughed.

“It’s a sport, okay!” you giggled, “I’m not too bad at it.”

“I’m not too bad at fighting, myself,” he grinned, and then licked his ice cream.

You forced yourself to not stare at his wet lips.

“You know martial arts?” you exclaimed, “Wait, what am I talking about? Of course you do. You’re planning to join the force.”

“Well, yes,” he said, “But I bet you’re better.”

“Are you kidding me? Look at the size of you!” you blurted.

“And there you go talking about my size again,” he feigned a hurt sigh.

“Oh, please,” you playfully slapped his arm, “Oh, I saw a meme this morning that reminded me of you- wait, let me show you.”

“Meme?” he asked.

You looked at him weird.

“Yeah?” you said slowly, “Don’t you know what a meme is?”

He blinked at you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “Have you been living under a rock all these years? Where were you in 2010?”

You saw him frown slightly, and clench his jaw.

You immediately felt bad.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” you started.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, “It’s just that I’m not really on the internet much. No Myspace, or whatever.”

“Myspace?” you giggled, “Myspace is dead, Jason. It’s all Instagram now.”

“Well, let’s just say that living under a rock is quite an accurate statement you made,” he chuckled, yet no humour was in his eyes.

You tried to decipher the joke, but failed.

“Hey, wanna fight?” he changed the subject.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, spar,” he smirked, “It would be fun.”

You paused for awhile, thinking of your injuries. They were minor and usually you would be on patrol the day right after a light beating as well, so you figured why not.

“It’s on!” you stood up and gobbled up your ice cream, “Let’s find a nice spot.”

The two of you followed the park’s path, and settled on a flat area of soft grass a few metres down.

“I’m gonna have to touch you places, princess,” he warned, “You okay with that?”

“Oh, you can touch me anywhere you want,” you winked back at him.

His expression changed from excitement to a darker glint in his eye.

You got into your usual defensive position. You figured you were just going to go easy on him.

You went in for a right hook, which he dodged easily. And then a jab. He dodged again. You weren’t really aiming to hit him, as it was just a sparring session.

You kinda just want to tackle him to the ground.

So you went in for a low sweep, which he surprisingly avoided too. You frowned, thinking he was much better than you thought he was.

“I thought you said you weren’t too bad?” he gave you a smug look.

You narrowed your eyes at him, and then an idea popped into your head.

You wanted to just tackle him to the ground? So that’s what you did.

You ran head first in his direction, body bent low just like a football player, and tackled him to the ground.

He landed with an “Oof” on his back, but before you could even think of your next step, he had his hand around your neck and flung you off of him.

You laid on your back, letting the wet grass seep into your clothes, wide eyes and in shock.

“Oh, shit. Are you okay? I’m so sor-” Jason approached you to help you up, but you reflexively backed away from him.

It was illogical of you to back away from him, especially since he didn’t hurt you, but that move he made, it seemed too familiar.

“Fuck, princess,” Jason panicked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You just caught me off guard and it was like a reflex. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked up at Jason’s wide, blue eyes. He was slightly sweaty, and his lips were apart, breathing heavily. He looked kind and concerned. You shook your head and laughed to yourself at your own ridiculousness.

There was no way your Jason could be Red Hood.

“It’s fine,” you chuckled, “I wasn’t expecting that move, that’s all. Come on, help me up.”

You held out your hand, and he pulled you up.

“Could you help brush off the grass from my back, please?” you asked politely.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded and then proceeded to do as you asked. He didn’t even hesitate to brush off the grass off your butt. After he was done, he gave it a small slap, and grinned cheekily.

“Naughty,” you eyed him, smiling.

The two of you continued walking on the path, deciding silently not to continue sparring. You bickered and joked for around half an hour, before you needed to go back.

“I had a good time, Jason. Thank you, I needed this,” you said.

“No problem. You can call me anytime,” he suddenly hesitated and avoided your eye, “And uh, I’m sorry about just now. I really didn’t mean to.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” you dismissed.

“No, it’s not fine,” he grabbed your hands and stood in front of you, close.

So close, you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face and count the little white scars that littered his skin here and there, even some freckles, and you could see how long and thick his eyelashes were.

“I’m really, truly sorry,” he whispered, lifting your chin up, “I would never ever hurt you, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, consumed by his closeness and the icy blue of his eyes.

“I’m not a creep,” he chuckled lightly, “So you can trust me.”

“Okay,” you repeated.

“You’re really pretty close up,” he laughed nervously.

You hadn’t realised that the two of you were inching closer and closer together, until you felt his lips brush against yours lightly, as if he was asking you if it was okay.

You crashed your lips against his, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from him. He tasted like vanilla and strawberries- from the ice cream he had before.

The kiss was short and sweet- as you were in a public area. You broke it off and blushed.

“So, uh,” he panted, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” you sighed back, “I’ll see you around.”

Once you were out of his view, you squealed to yourself as you rejoiced at your first kiss.

[that-shamrock-vibe]

Movie Review: Shazam! (Spoilers)

Spoiler Warning: This is my spoiler review for Shazam! released the weekend after the movie’s initial release on April 5 so if you haven’t yet seen the movie, go and see it and then come back and read on.

Characters:

Billy Batson/Shazam:

So let’s start with our main character(s) and I will start with Asher Angel’s Billy Batson because I can’t really talk about Zachary Levi’s Shazam without first talking about the origin of how he came to be.

As I said in my non-spoiler review, I thought Asher Angel got off to a very rocky start. I am guessing “Holy Moley” is Billy’s catchphrase because both he and Shazam said it quite a lot in this movie. However when the first words you hear the movie’s hero say are “Holy moley! It’s the boys in blue!” you do question what kind of movie this is.

I did like his actions of tricking the cops into that shop and locking them in so he could try and find a woman with the surname Batson in their car...but I just how it was executed from the dialogue to that very childish waving played a little bit too kid-like than Billy or Shazam are supposed to be.

Although the fact he is a kid in the foster system was very tastefully handled and didn’t detour away from the hard-hitting reality of what growing up in the system is like.

Similar to the 2009 movie Hotel for Dogs starring Emma Roberts and Jake T. Austin as brother and sister in the system and wanting to remain together no matter where they end up. Don Cheadle plays one of his better roles there as the social worker who like Andi Osho here is very realistic in saying “If you keep running away, eventually it will become impossible to place you”. Very well handled and I am impressed a movie this comedic and light goes there.

Now when Billy moves in with the foster family that houses the other kids of the Shazam! family, something about Asher’s performance really makes Billy fade away and the attention is focused on literally everyone else. I think the main problem for this movie will be Asher Angel because even in promotions it’s Zachary Levi and Jack Dylan Grazer doing the rounds.

I did like the growth of him accepting the foster family as his new family. He started off very cagey, was fixated on the idea he wasn’t going to stay there so didn’t want Darla to get attached which made her feel sad and how he didn’t join in with the family dinner tradition of “all hands in”.

But then when he finally tracked down his mother, which by the way I found interesting that Billy had gone I think from state to state or city to city yet somehow ended up in the same state or city as his mother all those years later, that realization that his mother is a waste of space and accepting that the foster family are his true family was touching.

This is, by a mile, my favourite performance of Zachary Levi’s. Shazam as a character in live-action was every bit as funny and child-like as I have seen him in animation.

That child-like wonder of discovering he had superpowers and learning how to deal with them was very good, the fact he appeared as an adult so could buy beer but still being a child not having a taste for it so swapped it out for candy and sugary drinks was very funny.

But then of course you have the line of “With great power comes great responsibility” which yes isn’t a Shazam or DC line but does come into effect as Shazam is using his lightning powers mainly to charge phones and put on a show, but when it comes to saving people he does go through that ordeal of not knowing what to do and simply succeeding by luck.

I thought the Shazam suit was very well realized despite what we have seen in promotions, I’m still not a fan of the cape and I like the comments about it in the movie. I think it’s either one of those things that works better in animation or the choice in design they went with for the movie just made it look like a bath towel but something didn’t translate well for me.

Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but I do not believe Shazam was ever called Shazam in this movie. I mean yes there was that great line in the climax of the film when Billy’s foster siblings became the Shazam family and Shazam himself instructed them on how to become them but rather than saying Shazam originally they said “Billy!” and so he said “No not my name, the name that turns me into this guy” it was funny.

Obviously they can’t use the character’s original name of Captain Marvel because 1) There is a small independent movie that just passed $1 Billion at the box office with the same name and of course the name is literally the name of DC’s rival studio.

I had fun with the character and I genuinely look forward to seeing where this character goes next.

Dr. Sivana:

Mark Strong finally comes good as a supervillain and I could not be happier for him. I really like this actor, I think he is an incredible working actor just trying to have that one breakthrough role that grabs audience attention and I believe Dr. Sivana is that role.

I enjoyed the movie starting with his origin, because of course behind every great superhero is a great supervillain, and Mark Strong as Dr. Sivana is a fantastic supervillain.

His father being John Glover was a very nice surprise for me both as a Smallville fan and just a John Glover fan in general. Yes he played a kind of Frankenstein-esk villain in Batman and Robin but his turn as Lionel Luthor in Smallville and even Sylar’s father in Heroes were two great roles for the character. Also he is the voice of The Riddler in Batman: The Animated Series so he clearly has a lot of weight at DC.

When young Thad goes to Shazam’s lair and is tempted by the seven deadly sins before being banished by Shazam, I thought it was a great precursor for what is to come.

I loved how from being a child he dedicated his life to finding his way back to the lair to obtain the power and that took I think 44/45 years, if we’re talking “present day” when it’s clearly Christmas in April, was dedication and I loved how in this instance it wasn’t the villain created because of the hero.

Being empowered by the Seven Deadly Sins, who by the way the promotional trail kept really secret. I mean I didn’t know about the Seven Deadly Enemies of Man from the comics but obviously even atheists know about the seven deadly sins and portraying them in these rather creative demon styles was a lot of fun.

I also found it brilliant that he never released the seventh deadly sin Envy until he had no choice because if all seven left him he would simply be mortal and vulnerable, I thought at one point he was going to mutate into Envy because of how he was envious he wasn’t worthy of the power of Shazam yet a child was but I was wrong.

Dr. Sivana, as I said in my non-spoiler review, is the best supervillain portrayal since Heath Ledger’s Joker. This guy was dark, brutal and was not afraid to kill or threaten anybody - Man, woman, child, elderly, infant...anybody!

Mark Strong could have very easily gone down the Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor in Superman Returns route particularly when he had the foster siblings hostage at their house but he was still scary and threatening.

He never broke character either, there was never one moment where he was a goofy villain or let himself play to the goofiness of the hero. The best laugh he got was in the Deadpool-like scene where he and Shazam were in the air...very far away from each other and Sivana was threatening Shazam but Shazam couldn’t hear him yet he was still talking. Yet it was never played as Sivana being incompetent or goofy as he was still menacing.

Foster Family/Shazam! Family:

Alright so I am going to go through the foster kids in order of my favourites still but just to talk about them as a whole, I thought once again this was a great example of diversity within a comic-book movie. To play up the fact that a foster family can be made up of different ethnicities was another realistic touch in portraying how the foster system works.

Darla Dudley:

Darla was my favourite out of the kids and Faithe Herman is the breakout star of this movie. She was cute for a start, this girl was adorable, you could easily see why she was picked for fostering/adoption because she is that cute.

However, she is a great example of looks being deceiving because this girl may be cute but she is sassy and she knows how to work a room. From keeping the secret that Billy is Shazam to playing up the little sister angle. Her reaction when the other kids found out that Billy was Shazam was great because she was so giddy that she didn’t spill the secret it was just so adorable.

When she was gifted her superpowers and became an adult, I thought Meegan Good kept up Faithe Herman’s cuteness but plussed it into the vision of what Darla sees herself being as an adult. She had the same kind of look and had a side-ponytail curl rather than bunches, her power, because each kid was granted one of Shazam’s powers while he as Billy has all of them, was the Speed of Mercury and it was great to see a female speedster in the movies, because at the moment they’re all on the small screen and mainly on The Flash with the Flash Family.

I look forward to seeing how Darla progresses as a character and, to be honest, care about her more than Billy at this point.

Freddy Freeman:

Jack Dylan Grazer was basically as good here as he was as Ritchie in It but the difference is the genre because while in a horror setting it is all very intense and, as someone who isn’t a horror fan myself, I am always on the edge of my seat that there isn’t really time to convey a lighter performance, here Freddy was simply a comic-book geek and I found that very relatable.

I loved the fact that it was either every day or every other scene that Freddy had a different logo t-shirt from the Justice League members and the main heroes so far established in the DCEU, even Wonder Woman which I found to be very forward-thinking of the director to have a guy wear a Wonder Woman t-shirt.

The only thing I didn’t like about Freddy was the fact he became almost a user and exploiter when it came to Billy’s newfound powers and apparent celebrity status.

I get Freddy uses a crutch and gets bullied for it, but I don’t see why that means he automatically say “I know the superhero” without at least asking Billy if it was okay first.

To then make a fool of both him and Shazam while he’s putting on that lightning show was stupid and selfish both because it makes it hard for Shazam to present himself as a reliable superhero but also how exactly do you explain Freddy having such a relationship with Shazam that he feels confident in just calling him out like that.

My funniest moment from Freddy was in that, now overplayed, convenience store scene where you had those thugs come in and Freddy convince Shazam to stand up to them while he’s recording it and, after the discovery that his suit is at least bulletproof, Freddy saying “We need to try the head”...the fact Freddy is essentially directing a robbery is quite funny.

When Freddy became Adam Brody, admittedly I at first did not recognize him. I know Adam Brody TV guest appearances from over 10 years ago so I guess puberty hit or something but he both looked and sounded completely different.

Other Three:

The other three kids really blend into the background for me with maybe one or two moments to shine yet they never do.

Eugene had a funny introduction of being a gamer nerd who, when his dad tells him it’s night said “When did it become night?”. Again I can relate to that.

Pedro had an interesting line of dialogue when the kids came out of the strip club after Shazam teleports them all there and he says “It’s not really for me”, which is either just Pedro not being a meatheaded hetero and trying to be more mature but also could be a sign the character will be an LGBT character.

Mary, was bland as bran flakes. She had one interesting scene, surprisingly in the trailer, where Shazam saves her and she mentions something about college but that is never mentioned again.

Overall I do like this group of kids for what they represent, but I hope the sequel does develop them further and give them something more to do.

Worlds of DC:

Alright so because the Worlds of DC has seemingly been taken literal here, as I do not see Shazam! as a movie really fitting in with the likes of Wonder Woman or Aquaman and rather in it’s own world within the DC Movies. Having said  that, I am open for the movies going forward to prove me wrong.

Post-Credits Scenes:

This is where I get completely lost and had to do further research because the mid-credits scene saw a now depowered Dr. Sivana...so glad they didn’t kill him off...incarcerated. But then we have this weird caterpillar thing somehow talking to him through a voice box about conquering the seven realms.

It did lead to intruge for me, as I said was curious who the bug was and knew he had been in the movie at the start in the Rock of Eternity but then broke out later.

Apparently his name is Mister Mind and he is a Venusian worm with powerful mental abilities including mind control and hypnosis.

It’s a little bit of a hard-sell when the rest of the movie was so dark, particularly to have Dr. Sivana go from such a brilliant villain to possibly just a puppet, but we shall see.

The very end-credits scene is again a bit of a throwaway but it is Freddy and Shazam testing more of Shazam’s powers, this time seeing if he could control fish which Shazam says is a stupid and useless power but Freddy makes a brilliant in-universe joke to the fact Aquaman did that with style in his movie. Maybe alluding to the fact that this world is separate to the rest...I don’t know.

Overall I rate this movie a solid 8/10, I had a lot of fun with it, I thought Mark Strong and Faithe Herman were definitely my MVPs of the movie and I thought Zachary Levi did a great job at being him but also trying to level up as he was in a mainstream superhero movie.

So that’s my spoiler review of Shazam! What did you guys think? Share your comments and check out more DC Movie Reviews as well as other Movie Reviews and posts.

[thingr1]

Weighing One’s Worth (1/2)

Rating: T

Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt.

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne.

Preview: There was a beat of tense silence, during which Tim could feel the youngest Wayne's gaze boring into him, taking in the scene before him. He lowered the gun, an admittedly useless gesture: Damian had already seen him.

Then, "What are you doing?"

Cross posted: FFN and AO3 (1-15-16). (A/N found on both sites)

Prequel: Of Milkshakes and Marathons. (Not necessary to understand story.)

Second Chapter: Here

Sequel: Focus on the Fallout

So you thought you had to keep this up


All the work that you do so we think that you're good


And you can't believe it's not enough


All the walls you built up are just glass on the outside

~"Healing Begins" by Tenth Avenue North

There were good nights. There were bad nights. There were somewhere in between nights. There were great nights. There were horrible nights. And then there were nights when you really began to wonder if it was really even worth the fight at all.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Everyone copes with things differently. Tim? Well, he typically ended up curled up in the tiny space between his bed and the wall, cynically considering his options. One of which included a handgun tucked away in a shoebox under the floorboards.

A handgun that now found itself hanging heavy in his hand.

There were definitely other, less violent ways to end it all. Downing a couple pills, braining himself on the bedside table, slitting his wrists and bleeding out on the bathroom floor... But Tim didn't need any more time to think. Nothing was faster or more efficient than a bullet to the head. It was also less painful, though he tried not to think about the selfishness of that.

Not to mention the irony of using a gun, the start of Batman's career and, in essence, the beginning of Red Robin's.

Tim had thought it through. He had never been one to rush into something, especially such a life-changing—he held back a snort—decision as the one he was about to make.

The best part? No one even knew what Tim really felt.

Because Tim was an expert liar. Actually, better than expert. It came as naturally to him as breathing. He supposed that should probably disturb him, but it didn't. It happened to be a very useful skill in the face of nosy coworkers, friends, and relatives. Lies were nearly always easier to face than the truth.

Hiding his true feelings was one such lie. Facades and masks defined him, his true emotions corked tightly within a bottle inside, never ever to see the light of day; only the waning moonlight filtering through the curtains of his apartment, or, at the moment, his Wayne Manor bedroom. This practice of falsehood had extended to himself, almost so he was convinced he was okay; that he could handle the horrible stress and pain that was life.

He remembered the time when he'd hated the lying involved with the mask: to his father, to his friends, wanting nothing more than to give them a straight answer for once. But now...

Well. There comes a time when even the best liars start to crack.

And if Tim was being honest (haha), he lied to himself as often, if not more frequently than he did to his friends and...family.

Could he even call them his family? Sure, it was all down on paper, but just like blood, ink wasn't what made a family family.

His fingers ghosted over the safety mechanism, hesitating before flicking it off.

Replacement. Pretender.

At least Jason knew what Tim really was.

Tim had practically forced his way into this secret life in his desperation to be Robin after Jason's death. He had never been Robin; not really. He had been (still was) unwanted and unchosen. The outsider in Bruce's hand-picked family. Why should he even bother sticking around if no one had ever really wanted him in the first place?

A harsh laugh escaped his throat. After all the pain, all the danger, all the narrow escapes brought on by patrolling the streets of Gotham, the mighty Red Robin was going to go down via a handgun by his own volition. The irony.

Rock steady, he raised the gun barrel to his temple, the cold tip pressing against his scalp. He couldn't fight this feeling anymore. It was better for everyone this way. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his finger around the trigger.

"Drake!" called a familiar voice, shattering the previous silence as Tim's room door flew open (hadn't Tim locked it?) and slammed into the opposite wall. Before Tim could overcome his shock and slide the gun under the bed, footsteps echoed across the room.

"Grayson is..." The pompous voice trailed off, a tiny shadow stretching along the wall pausing at the foot of the bed as its owner halted his footsteps.

There was a beat of tense silence, during which Tim could feel the youngest Wayne's gaze boring into him, taking in the scene before him. He lowered the gun, an admittedly useless gesture: Damian had already seen him.

Then, "What are you doing?" Damian asked carefully, cynically—uncaringly.

"It's...it's not what it looks like," Tim managed, cheeks flushing at being caught by the brat, of all people. Well...the brat was better than Bruce or Dick. At least Damian wouldn't try to stop him. "Go away."

"It looks like you're about to do something either profoundly smart, or ridiculously stupid," Damian said, completely ignoring Tim's last statement.

"And why would you care?" Tim countered, finally glaring up at the smaller boy.

Crystal blue eyes stared down at him, not a single emotion crossing the 10-year-old's face. He didn't respond.

The minutes ticked by, Tim's initial discomfort being overcome by anger at Damian's lack of response. "Look," he snapped, "my business is my business. You can stay or go away, I don't care. But staring at me won't get you anywhere."

No reply. Well, he'd given him a chance.

Damian watched him in continued silence, eyes narrowed as Tim double-checked the safety was off, raising the barrel to his head.

Briefly, Tim wondered if this was really appropriate to be doing in front of a 10-year-old. He immediately dismissed the thought. This was a baby assassin who'd been killing since birth and who'd been not-so-secretly wishing Tim's demise since the day they'd met. To him, this would be a show.

Why not go out entertaining the brat? If he couldn't satisfy his peers, why not the son?

His finger tensed on the trigger.

"Stop."

Tim flinched at the sound. It wasn't quite an order. Damian almost sounded...young. Like his age, for once.

"If you're insistent upon doing this," Damian said, tone deceptively flat, "you'd better have a good reason, Drake."

Tim blinked. "It's not that simple."

Damian folded his arms over his chest. "I've got time."

Surprised, Tim hesitated. The truth pressed up against the lies, squeezing under his skin and begging to be set free. But after all these years, could he really just let them go? "No one would notice if I was gone anyway," he murmured, bidding for time.

Raising an eyebrow, Damian said, "Care to elaborate?"

Before Tim could make up his mind whether to actually answer the brat or not, his mouth decided for him: "From the beginning, Bruce never chose me as his Robin. I had to force him to take me on, to give me a chance. Heck, even Dick didn't want me to be Robin. I had to earn the right to the role."

Tim ran a hand through his hair, taking a shaky breath. "In a way, I was proud. Dick and Jason became Robin because Batman picked them, trained them, taught them everything he knew because he wanted to. I proved myself to him, showed him I could do everything...well, nearly everything that Dick and Jason could do and live to tell the tale. But that came at a price: Bruce refused to accept me completely as his partner.

"To him, I was—am—just an expendable asset, another soldier in his endless, self-driven crusade. I don't think I ever made the rank of equal in his eyes. Not like Dick and Jason did."

Impassive blue eyes stared down at him. Tim imagined he heard the brat mutter under his breath, "That's not true," but Tim was already launching into his next justification, unable to stop the flow of words now that he'd finally loosened the cork on his pent up emotions.

"I'm just a packhorse. The one in charge of all the projects nobody wants to do. Even as I sit here, the work keeps piling up. I just can't deal with all this anymore. Patrol, Wayne Enterprises, the Teen Titans, Bruce's cases..." He closed his eyes, pressing the palm of his free hand into his eye, fighting back the overwhelming pressure of panic squeezing his heart. "Too much. Nothing I do is enough, never satisfy anyone, never good enough. I can't..." He huffs, breath hitching slightly on the intake. "As you've kindly pointed out on multiple occasions, no one will even notice when my incompetency is gone."

Out of breath, he glared at the 10-year-old mulishly. "And why am I telling you all this? You never wanted me to exist in the first place."

Damian made no move to either confirm or deny that fact. Not that it mattered. Tim could practically see the gears turning in his little head as the demon attempted to drop the blame on someone else.

"Nobody will miss me much," Tim said matter-of-factly, hammering the final nail in his own coffin. "I mean, they might be sad for awhile, but they'll get over it."

There was a tense silence, two pairs of blue eyes glaring stoically into each other.

"Father will mourn you till the day he dies," Damian stated flatly, startling Tim at the sudden interruption from the formerly impassive boy. "Grayson will go crazy with guilt and grief, berating himself for not being a better big brother before he falls apart completely. Todd will blow a gasket and murder every criminal in Arkham. Cain would distance herself and spend years trying to figure out where she went wrong. Pennyworth's heart would break into a million pieces—again." The young hero fixed Tim with a glare worthy of the Bat. "And I would hate you for destroying our family with your selfishness."

Tim swallowed thickly, hesitating. "You already hate me," he offered weakly.

Damian tutted. "What does my opinion matter? You have won the affections of Grayson, my father, and a whole team of young superheroes. Not to mention Cain and Todd. What do you think the latter two would do if they caught you like this?"

Tim winced at the mental picture.

"Especially Superboy," Damian added. Then, not quite an afterthought: "Even I don't actually hate you."

At that, Tim shot him an incredulous look.

"That much," the baby assassin corrected.

Their eyes locked, blue on blue; one pair challenging, the other stubbornly stoic.

Tim huffed. "Fine." He allowed the barrel of the gun to drop, swinging it to face the wall. "Funk over. You can go now."

"Give me the gun, Drake."

Tim blinked. "Why?"

Damian snorted. "If you're truly not planning on blowing your idiotic brains out the moment I step out of this room, then give. Me. The gun."

Tim hesitated. It couldn't be that simple...could it?

No. It was too late. Damian already knew, so if Tim didn't go through with this he'd run the very high risk of the rest of the Bats finding out. Tim didn't think he could stand that; he could practically see the disappointment in Bruce's eyes as yet another of his soldiers failed his mission...

Almost absently, he buried the gun barrel back into his hair. His finger tensed on the trigger.

Missing nothing, Damian's eyes flared. "Very well, Drake," he announced imperiously. "If you're going, you're going to have to take me with you." Before Tim could blink, a knife was in the child's hand, the gleaming tip pressed against Damian's jugular.

"If you refuse to believe everyone—and I mean everyone—will miss you, think of what my father and Grayson would do if they saw me dead," Damian challenged. "And don't think for one second I won't go through with it if you dare pull that trigger, Drake."

Of all the ways this could have gone down from the moment Damian walked through the door, Tim would never have thought of this outcome in a million years.

Tim blinked slowly.

But no. Damian still stood before him, the razor sharp knife pressing dangerously into his own neck, an almost wild glint in his eyes.

"Because people will miss you, Drake," Damian continued in a strange, almost choked tone. "I only have Grayson and father. But you...you've got actual friends and family who love you not because of what you can do, but just because you're you. And that's good enough for them."

Blinking rapidly, Damian's eyes seemed to be shining a little brighter in the lowlight.

"They accept you for who you are, and when you make a mistake, they forgive you," he continued with a barely noticeable sniff. "They cry with you when you are sad, and laugh along when you are happy. If that's not love, then my interpretations of the concept are inaccurate. And I am never wrong."

"Damian," Tim sighed shakily. "You don't know what you're doing. Put the knife down."

"No, it's you who doesn't know what you're doing, Drake," Damian growled. "If you die, everyone is going to shatter with you. And if the only way to make you see sense is to threaten my own life, then so be it."

Tim stared. And then it clicked. "You're trying to guilt trip me," he realized.

Damian smirked savagely, a sick, twisted little smile that had no place on such a young face. "I refuse to let you break this family," he said levelly. "It's the only family I have left. So you remove your fingers from that gun, and I'll drop the knife. It's that simple."

Tim hesitated. The gun suddenly seemed very there in his hand; the solid weight of the warming barrel pressed against his head and tickling his scalp, the pad of his finger wrapped around the trigger. He became aware of every breath in his lungs hissing through his larynx to his nose, of his heart beating slightly faster in his chest. All of his body parts functioning as one in a beautiful creation for the sole purpose of keeping Tim alive.

Doubt crept in at the edges for the first time since he'd made his life-changing—ha, still funny the second time 'round—decision. Maybe...maybe this wasn't the answer he was looking for.

Staring up at Damian, Tim could swear the demon's lower lip was trembling slightly. "Go ahead," the boy challenged, steel blue eyes sending him a silent challenge over the glistening edge of the knife digging into his skin. "Prove how much of a coward you are, Drake. Do it."

Blood pumping through his veins, hairs on the back of his neck bristling at a phantom chill, sweat trickling down his forehead, sweater rubbing irritatingly along his collar bone...

The family would be devastated at another death, especially if it was at Tim's own hands rather than an actual Gotham villain. After all, yourself wasn't supposed to be included as a "flight risk."

Damian was right. Tim was a selfish coward. Selfish to believe that his death would affect no one, that his work would take care of itself if he were gone. A coward because he was desperate enough to try and take the easy way out rather than suck it up and face his mountain of problems.

Maybe...maybe he didn't have to go through life alone.

If Damian, of all people—the one who'd tried to kill him when they'd first met, the one who threatened to murder him on a weekly basis, the one who daily insulted Tim's very existence—was trying to talk him out of it...

He cared. To some degree, the one Tim was sure hated his guts cared whether Tim lived or died.

And at that moment, Tim had never felt more alive.

Almost numb, his grip loosened on the weapon, fingers shaking as his muscles mushed into jelly.

Before he'd dropped it hardly an inch, the gun was snatched from his hands, the former assassin snapping open the cartridge and emptying the bullets onto the floor with one quick motion. With a look of utter distaste, Damian tossed the weapon into the corner, along with the knife that had somehow slipped past both Bruce's and Alfred's scrutiny.

Silently, Damian dropped to the floor at Tim's side. What he did next took Tim a moment to process: the Bat's son scooted closer, leaning forward and pressing his cheek against Tim's chest, even as one arm snaked around Tim's middle to grasp firmly at the fabric of Tim's sweater.

Tim stared. Damian...was cuddling?

The bundle of assassin huddled at his side radiated heat, slowly warming against Tim's side. He hadn't realized how cold he was until the little furnace decided to crawl up next to him.

It was...nice.

"Don't kill yourself," Damian whispered, so low Tim could barely hear him. "I would never forgive myself."

Not Dick. Not Bruce. Damian would never forgive himself.

"You've been spending too much time with Dick," Tim managed weakly.

"Tt. Just shut up and go to sleep, Drake."

[camsthisky]

Theory of Relativity - Part 1

ao3 | ff.net

Summary: In which Dick Grayson gets de-aged and everybody freaks out

Okay, so let me just start off by saying that, yes, this is going to be more than one chapter long. I’m thinking about five or six. The only thing is, updates are going to be sporadic because of Teach Me to Dream, I just really wanted to get this story out because of a prompt I received asking for this specific story. Since I already had this written I figured I would post it.

Thanks to @laquilasse for helping with (and inspiring) this story.

When Dick wakes up cradled in Bruce’s lap, he immediately knows that something’s wrong. One, Dick doesn’t remember ever leaving the manor after falling asleep last night. It had been a school night and he’d already used up his weeknight patrols for the rest of the month.

The second is that he isn’t wearing anything. He’s wrapped up in a big leather jacket like it’s a blanket or something, and it dwarfs him so spectacularly. He’s small for his age, sure, but this is ridiculous. Only his knees down are bared to the cold—plus the parts of his face that aren’t smooshed into a shoulder or covered up by the jacket collar. And even then, it’s not too cold.

He doesn’t know what’s going on but he’s sure that this is Bruce who’s holding him—Batman, really. But he doesn’t think there’s much of a difference.

The way Bruce holds him is familiar, arms wrapped around Dick tight, but not too tight, like he’s not completely sure of his grip. The Kevlar armor plating and the cape under Dick’s cheek, the rough fabric of gloves as Bruce’s fingers card through his hair, the familiar rumble of the Batmobile humming from underneath them. This is Bruce, of that Dick has no doubt.

“He’s too quiet,” a voice says, and it’s low and soft, but Dick’s sure he’s never heard it before. “I don’t like it.”

It’s weird, because Dick thinks it’s coming from the driver’s seat. Since when did Batman let anybody but Robin get into the Batmobile? It’s only supposed to be Bruce and Alfred and Dick. Not even Uncle Clark is allowed to touch the Batmobile.

“He’s unconscious,” Bruce lectures, his voice maybe a touch deeper and gruffer than Dick is expecting, but it could just be Dick’s imagination. There’s a pause, and then Bruce huffs an exasperated breath. “Or are you?”

Busted, Dick think and he peels his eyes open. He doesn’t move his head from Bruce’s shoulder, though, just pulls the leather jacket tighter around him and pushes his face into the crook of Bruce’s armored neck. Bruce’s arms automatically tighten around him.

It’s only then that Dick asks, “How’d you know I was awake?”

“You know exactly how,” Bruce says, but it sounds nothing like when Bruce had said it as a joke the other day over a cup of hot chocolate. It sounds all growly an intimidating. It doesn’t—It doesn’t really sound like Bruce.

Dick frowns, choosing to file that piece of information away for later. He has more questions, after all. “Why aren’t I wearing any clothes?”

Bruce pauses. Dick can’t see what he looks like, so he can’t guess what he’s thinking. Probably wouldn’t be able to with the cowl on anyways. He can, however, see the stranger in the front seat, the one with the domino mask that looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here. Yeah, Dick can see him, and he thinks that this guy has to be on the same level of trust as Alfred to be sitting there, and that’s when Dick knows something is up.

Bruce doesn’t have anybody that he trusts more than Alfred. Dick doesn’t even think he makes the cut. Close, sure, but is Dick driving the Batmobile? Bruce probably wouldn’t even let him sit behind the steering wheel.

But the stranger, even with the mask on Dick can tell the guy’s shooting furtive glances at Bruce every so often. More and more the longer Bruce stays silent. They both know something, and neither of them are inclined to spill. Great.

So, even though he’s frustrated about it, Dick moves on. There’s no getting an answer out of Batman without a lot of hard work, and Dick’s not really feeling up to prying Bruce’ secrets out of him at the moment.

Instead, he says, “Fine. Then who is he?”

The stranger’s face twists up strangely, like he hadn’t been expecting Dick to say that, and honestly, Dick’s just about as confused as he can get. The stranger shoots Bruce another look, and then his gaze drops down to meet Dick’s from behind the mask.

Dick makes sure to meet the white lenses evenly, having enough experiences with masks to figure out where the guy’s eyes are. Besides, he’s already huddled in what’s probably this stranger’s jacket, looking like a little kid. There’s no way he’s going to show any more weakness in front of someone he doesn’t know. Even if Bruce seems to trust him.

“You don’t know me?” the stranger asks,, tone matching his expression.

“No,” Dick says honestly, and he feels it when Bruce heaves a sigh.

“Of course you don’t. Lucky you, then, I guess,” the stranger snarls. “Everybody’s just looking for an excuse to forget I exi—”

“Red Hood,” Bruce snaps, and the stranger snaps his mouth shut. Dick tries not to flinch at the shapr tone, and he succeeds, but his limbs lock up. He freezes. Because the last time Dick had hear that tone hadn’t been a pleasant experience, and it had led to the biggest argument Dick had had since coming to the manor.

Bruce catches on quick, but the stranger catches on even quicker. A sharp, mirthless laugh leaves his lips, and he gives Dick a sneer. “Well, that was a surprise. Didn’t think that the Golden Boy would ever be afraid of Batman.”

“I’m not afraid of Batman!” Dick protests, sitting up straight, even as his cheeks flush with ager. Bruce’s arms never leave him, but they do pull him in closer so that Dick’s back is up against Bruce’s chest. If he were afraid of Bruce, he would never even let Bruce near him. “What do you know?!”

“I know a lot,” the stranger says as they leave the city behind them, and he doesn’t sound like he’s joking. “I know that Batman’s actually Bruce Wayne. I know that you’re Dick Grayson. I know that being Robin get you fucking killed.”

“Jason!”

“How would you know anything about being Robin?!” Dick yells over Bruce’s reprimand.

“I’ve been Robin, kid.”

Dick sucks in a sharp breath, eyes burning and a tightness in his chest that doesn’t make much sense. That can’t be right. He’d made a mistake before, yes, but Dick’s Robin. He’s the only one that’s ever been and ever will be Robin.

“I’m Robin,” Dick insists, because it’s his name, his colors, and Batman is his partner, and the stranger has to be lying. Trying to get under his skin or something. He turns to Bruce, who watches them both silently. Dick demands, “Why is he even here anyways?”

“Bruce needed my help,” the stranger sneers. “And you’re both lucky I was there or we’d have two incompetent rich kids.”

“Yeah?” Dick asks, because that’s another thing. “And how do you even know our identities?’

The stranger snorts. “Told you, kid. “I’ve been Robin. Bruce adopted me.”

That something is back again, telling him that whatever’s going on it’s so, so wrong. And Dick swallows past the lump in his throat. Because Bruce wouldn’t. He wouldn’t adopt anybody else. He hadn’t even been able to adopt Dick. And besides, this guy has to be in his late teens, or maybe even in his twenties. The stranger is lying.

And so, Dick tells him that, and he makes sure his tone is ice cold. “You’re a liar, you know?” Dick seethes. “I’m robin and I’m the only one Brue has taken in. Right?”

He turns to Bruce once again, but the cowl is still doesn, and while Dick is getting better at it, he still has trouble readin the visible half of Bruce’ face for any emotion. For some reason, it seems especially hard now.

After a moment, Bruce inhales deeply through his nose and peels off the cowl, and Dick can’t help but flinch this time. Because—it’s Bruce, but it’s not. He’s older and broader and the hidden twinkle of kidness Dick used to be able to find isn’t there anymore. This is someone else with Bruce’s voice and personality, and Dick think that if they weren’t in the Batmbile right now, he would probably be half a block away by now.

“Dick,” Bruce says, and it’s tired. “There’s a lot that we need to tell you, but I don’t think now is the best time.”

“No.” Dick’s stubborn on a good day, and there’s no way he’s letting this go without a fight “Why is the guy—” he nods to the stranger “—saying he was Robin? I’m Robin.”

“Not now,” Bruce repeats.

“But—”

“Dick.”

Dick wants to shrink away. But Bruce’s hands are still holding him in place as the atranger weaves the care down the long winding road to the entrance to the Cave. Bruce is looking at Dick, swaddled in a stranger’s jacket, like it’s been such a long time since he’s seen him, and it doesn’t make any sense.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Dick says, just because he doesn’t know what else he’d supposed to think, and the anger’s back full force. “Why aren’t you telling me that he’s lying? Are you trying to replace me? Are you firing me again?”

“Again?”

The stranger jolts in his set, slamming on the breaks just as they make it to the Batmobile’s parking spot—and it probably would have been fine if Dick had been wearing a seat belt, but he’s still sitting Bruce’s lap, curled up in a leather jacket without his own hands to stabilize him, so he jolts forward with the momentum, too. Bruce barely pulls Dick away from the dashboard in time to keep him from getting a concussion.

“It wasn’t about Two-Face,” Bruce says once Dick is pulled back into Bruce’s hold, and Dick tenses at the use of past tense. Wasn’t. What is that supposed mean? “Trust me, Dick. Firing you for a situation I hadn’t prepared you for wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry.”

Dick slumps back into Bruce’ comfort. “Then I don’t get it.”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Make it uncomplicated, then,” Dick demands. “Who is he? Why is he saying he was Robin? And why aren’t you disagreeing?”

And why is Bruce so old? He looks like he’s agd twenty years in between last night and now, and Dick just doesn’t know what to make of it. At all. Maybe this is all some drug-induced hallucination, or something. It really wouldn’t surprise him at this point.

Maybe fear toxin. His worst fears had been his parents—and then Bruce—falling to their deaths. But ever since Two-Face, he’s had a sort of different fear on his mind.

And yet, everything seems so clear. Bruce’s touch feels so real. He just doesn’t get what’s going on.

“Let’s get you something to wear first,” Bruce says softly. Then he turns to the stranger. “Go upstairs and get some of Damian’s old clothes.”

Dick doesn’t know who Damian is or why he would have clothes upstairs, but apparently the stranger does, because Dick watches him leave without a word. There’s just a glance between Dick and Bruce and he’s gone. Then, it’s just Bruce and Dick alone in the car, and Dick has a sneaking suspicion that Bruce had wanted it this way. Wanted to talk without the stranger interrupting them again.

“What’s going on?” Dick asks in a small voice. “Why was that guy saying all that stuff? And why aren’t I wearing any clothes? Why do you look so different?”

Bruce’s expression is grim, but his eyes are honest. “Dick, before we left for patrol, you were twenty-four.” Dick opens his mouth to say something, to deny it, to say that’s impossible, but he can’t get anything out before Bruce is speaking again. “We ran into some trouble. A gang had access to drugs that are able to manipulate age and memory. You were hit with a dart containing the drug.”

“I don’t understand,” Dick says, and he feels empty inside. Blank. Numb. The sense of wrongness takes over, and this—this can’t be happening. Dick doesn’t remember being twenty-four at all. He’s eleven. He’s the Robin to Bruce’s Batman. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s true, Dick,” Bruce says.

And Dick can see it now, kind of. He’s been trained to put clues together since he became Robin, and he sees it all adding up. This isn’t his Bruce. If what he’s saying is true, then this Bruce is thirteen years older than what Dick remembers. And Dick knows that if he’d changed so drastically in just the two years Dick had been living at the manor, then there’s no way he hadn’t changed in six times that long.

But Dick shakes his head violently, backing up into the dashboard to the best of his ability. No matter how many signs are telling Dick that Bruce is right, he won’t accept it. Not yet. Not until he can get this straight in his head.

Because Dick wouldn’t have just given up being Robin. It’s who he is, and Dick would never let it go. Not in a million years. So the stranger has to be lying. Bruce has to be lying.

But Bruce’s eyes are clear, and his gaze is steady. His hand comes up to push Dick’s hair back from his head, and Dick relaxes into the touch. He remembers this touch from when he’d woken up, too. He’d been so sure that this was Bruce, just by his touch. Because Dick knows Bruce. They’re partners. It’s Dick’s job to know.

So Dick slumps, and he decides that, for now, he’ll believe Bruce, and hope that whatever storm comes from it, from losing thirteen impossible years, doesn’t destroy them.

[headquartersforlievmuses]

► Pamela Isley

Pamela Isley was born in Washington, daughter of a wealthy family. She attended college in Seattle, where she studied botany. Pamela fell in love with Marc Legrand, one of her teachers and they started a relationship. Eventually, Pamela stole some special herbs from a local museum to help Legrand with some experiments, but he betrayed and poisoned her using the same herbs she had stolen for him. Pamela survived the poisoning and as a result, she became invulnerable to all poisons. These events were known by the FBI, but they had Pamela's name wrongly recorded as Lillian Rose.

Doctor Pamela Lillian Isley grew up in Seattle; daughter to wealthy yet distant parents. In college, she specialized in botany and toxicology and was a very promising, but naive, student. Her professor, Doctor Jason Woodrue, later known as the Floronic Man, seduced her, hoping to persuade her into becoming a human test subject for his experiments. These experiments, according to Isley, were torturous. Twice, she was nearly killed, and ended up in the hospital for six months. Woodrue fled the authorities, while Isley was left with a changed physiology. Toxins in her bloodstream made her touch deadly and immune to all poisons, viruses, bacteria, and fungi. She also gained the ability to produce pheromones that she could use to seduce men into doing her bidding. Unfortunately, the results of these experiments also also left her barren, and she has treated her plants as her children ever since.

Enraged at her betrayal by a man, Isley suffered violent mood swings. She later caused a boyfriend to have a car accident by bringing about a massive fungal-overgrowth in his lungs. Isley then left Seattle, eventually settling down in Gotham City.

Turning to crime, Pamela adopted the alias of Poison Ivy and appeared in public for the first time in Gotham City in order to challenge the most renowned criminals for the title of Public Enemy No. 1. She managed to outmatch them, but she was confronted by Batman and Robin. Using her charms, she almost escaped from them, but Batman recovered just in time to capture her and placed her in prison. Later, Ivy attempted to escape prison using Batman as her enforcer, but her plan backfired and she was captured once again.

Eventually, she escaped from prison and joined the Injustice Gang, but they were all defeated by the Justice League. Not long after this, Ivy became a member of the jury on a mock trial run by criminals in Gotham, which was staged in order to determine who had killed Batman. The whole situation was a plan concocted by Batman to capture the Joker, which allowed Ivy and the other criminals to avoid capture.

Some time later, Ivy joined forces with Catwoman and Madame Zodiac in order to confront Batwoman, Batgirl and Huntress. Although successful at first, Ivy and Catwoman were captured and defeated while Zodiac betrayed them and escaped, leaving them behind. When Ivy escaped once again, she planned her revenge against her former lover, Marc Legrand and transformed him into a tree-like creature under her command. Ivy started a new series of crimes, but she was confronted by Wonder Woman, who turned the Legrand creature against Ivy and caused their apparent demise.

Ivy had survived her encounter with Wonder Woman and after a short stint with the Injustice Gang, she returned to Gotham City with a grand scheme to steal the assets of Wayne Enterprises from Bruce Wayne. Ivy's plan was almost successful, but despite his hypnotic suggestion, Bruce Wayne resisted Ivy's commands and challenged her as Batman. Ivy's plan came crumbling down when Batman and Robin worked together against her and her trusted assistant revealed the truth to the authorities. Ivy was subsequently arrested and Wayne recovered the assets of his company.

However, Ivy was soon released due to lack of evidence and good behaviour and she started working on her next scheme. She allied with a scientist and together, they created plant monsters that could potentially destroy Gotham. Ivy then used some executives from Wayne Enterprises to give the creatures their energy. Her recklessness caused Ivy to be confronted once again by Batman, who foiled her plans with help from the new Robin

A few years after her arrival, she would try to leave Gotham forever, escaping Arkham to settle on a desert island in the Caribbean. She moulded the barren wasteland into a tropical paradise and stated that for the first time in her life, she was happy. It was soon firebombed, however, when an American-owned corporation tested their weapons systems out on what they thought was an abandoned island. Ivy then returned to Gotham, punishing those responsible. After being willingly apprehended by Batman, she resolved that she could never leave Gotham, at least not until the world was safe for plants. From then on, she dedicated herself to the mission of purifying Gotham.

Poison Ivy was a member of the original Injustice Gang of the World, which fought the Justice League on several occasions. She also joined the Secret Society of Super-Villains for a mission against the Justice League. Years later, she was coerced into being a member of the Suicide Squad. During this time she used her abilities to enslave Count Vertigo.

Ivy is also friends with the Joker's sidekick Harley Quinn. Unlike most villain team-ups, their partnership seems to be rooted in genuine friendship, and Ivy really wants to save Harley from her abusive relationship with the Joker. Following the destruction of Gotham in an earthquake, the ruins of the city were declared a No Man's Land. Rather than fight over territory like most of Batman's enemies, Ivy held dominion over Robinson Park, and turned it into a tropical paradise. Sixteen children who were orphaned during the quake came to live with her, as she sympathized with them, having suffered a traumatic childhood herself. She cared for them like sons and daughters, despite her general misanthropy.

That winter, Clayface paid Ivy a visit, hoping to form a bargain with her. This would entail her growing fruits and vegetables, while the orphans harvested them, and then he would sell the produce to the highest bidder. She wanted nothing to do with the plan and attempted to kill him with a kiss. Clayface overpowered her and imprisoned she and the orphans for six months in a chamber under the lake in the park. He fed her salt and kept her from the sun to weaken her. Eventually, Batman came and discovered the prisoners. The two agreed to work together to take Karlo down. Batman battled Clayface and instructed Robin to blow up the lake bed above, allowing the rushing water to break apart the mud, effectively freeing Ivy. She fought Karlo, ensnaring him in the branches of a tree and fatally kissing him. She then proceeded to sink him down into the ground, where he became fertilizer for Ivy's plants. Batman, originally intended to take the orphans away from Ivy, but recognized that staying with her was what was best for them, and they remained in her care until the city was restored

One year after the events of the Infinite Crisis, Ivy was alive and active. Her control over flora had increased, apparently on a par with that of the Swamp Thing or the Floronic Man. She also appeared to have resumed her crusade against the corporate enemies of the environment with a new fanaticism, regarding Batman no longer as an opponent, but merely as a "hindrance".

Later, it was discovered that Ivy had been feeding people, including tiresome lovers, incompetent henchmen, and those who returned her smile to a giant plant which would digest the victims slowly and painfully. She referred to it as a guilty pleasure. In an unprecedented event, the souls of her victims merged with the plant, creating a botanical monster called Harvest, which sought revenge upon Ivy. With the intervention of Batman, however, she was saved. Ivy was left in critical condition, and the whereabouts of Harvest were unknown.

After recovering, Ivy caught the Trickster and Pied Piper eating fruits in one of her gardens. Her plants then told her that the men had hurt them and she proceeded to ensnare them with intent to kill, if not for the intervention of Deathstroke.

Later, Ivy was contacted by Catwoman, who wanted to get revenge over Hush. Ivy was in charge of locating every single hideout Hush had used and she stole all the money stashed in those places.

Some time later, after rescuing Catwoman from Boneblaster, a new villain trying to make a name for himself, Poison Ivy took her back to Edward Nigma's townhouse. When there, Catwoman saw that Ivy had been keeping the Riddler under mind control so that she and Harley Quinn could use his townhouse as a hideout. Catwoman decided that with Gotham City more dangerous than ever, thanks to all the gang wars and a new Batman, a partnership with the other two women would be advantageous. However, Ivy feared that Catwoman had lost her edge and prowess, and consulted with Zatanna regarding the nature of Catwoman's injuries. Zatanna responded that Catwoman had psychological wounds that would need healing, moreso than physical ones. Ivy resolved that she and Harley would provide Catwoman with "positive female reinforcement", and the three agreed to become a team.

Ivy joined Selina on a mission at the Club V, where Selina was tasked to follow Vicki Vale. However, when Harley crashed the place in order to retrieve her stolen pet hyenas, Ivy was forced to help her fight against the various criminals in the building.

Ivy soon escaped and made amends with Harley Quinn. Together, the two set off to find Catwoman and make her pay for her betrayal. The two of them found Catwoman and fought her on the streets, where Catwoman confessed that she saw good in the both of them, and only wanted to help them. When she told them that she had only kept tabs on them because Batman wanted to keep them under control, Ivy took her anger out on the city by using giant vines to destroy buildings, cursing at Batman for manipulating her. Batman was about to arrest them, but Catwoman helped the two of them escape.

Powers 

Chlorokinesis: Semi-mystical connection to the plant world through a force called the Green. She was able to manipulate and animate plants, using roots to form supports for a tunnel. She controlled an entire tree to come down on Clayface, ensnaring him in its branches. She once brought a whole skyscraper down with giant vines.

Pheromone Control: Ivy is known to be able to seduce men and women alike, often using pheromones to do so, but even without the pheromones, her beauty is still an asset that can she can use to seduce.

Toxikinesis: A deliberate overdose of plant and animal based toxins into her blood stream that make her touch deadly. Ivy can create the most potently powerful floral toxins in Gotham City. Often these are secreted from her lips and administered via a kiss. They come in a number of varieties, from mind controlling drugs to instantly fatal necrotics. Her skin is toxic as well, although contact with it is usually not fatal.

Toxic Immunity: Immunity to all toxins, bacteria, and viruses.

Skin Pigment Manipulation: By reducing the intensity of her poison, she can give herself a normal skin tone, allowing her to move around in public without being recognized.

Botany: Doctor Isley was a renowned scientist with a career in Gotham City. She's always had a fascination with plants and they have been the major direction in her life even after her accident. Her knowledge of botany allows her to better manipulate her plants.

Toxicology: Her specialization in Botany was Toxicology, at first she used her knowledge for perfumes, make-up and medicine. After her accident, she used her knowledge to grow thorny plants and poisonous traps for her enemies.

Seduction: Pamela Isley has always been a beautiful woman but she never used her looks or talents for personal gain until she became Poison Ivy. She taunts her trapped opponents with their human desires and can even infatuate thugs to her cause through her plants or her own means.

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Basic): Her athletic abilities have grown over the course of her career. She has learned a limited style of martial arts fighting, is proficient at climbing and leaping, and is a strong and fast swimmer.

Vulnerability to Darkness: Poison Ivy requires substantial amounts of solar energy to live.

Mental Instability: Poison Ivy has been committed to Arkham Asylum on a regular basis. She speaks to her plants, finds extreme rage towards males and at a certain point sought out the destruction of the human race so only she and her plants would live.

Verses

tba