#then Tim immediately reminds him about his parents death again

[lena-thinks-too-much]

It is so, so important to me that people understand that Tim didn't figure out the bats because Dick was a "Show off". Like yes, Dick Grayson is the most flamboyant, dramatic ass man you will ever meet.

But the quadruple somersault? There's no way that was because dick was just showing off. Because you're telling me Bruce Wayne, who's so committed to hiding his identity that he literally acts like a completely different person out of the mask in public just to ward suspicion, would miss the fact that Robin regularly uses the flying Grayson's trademark move? There's literally no way.

In the comics we see Tim explain his deductive process to Dick and Alfred and they're both surprised impressed whatever. We don't see him explain it to Bruce. I think Bruce would be surprised and shocked that a 9 year old was able to put the pieces together but I don't think he'd be surprised that the quadruple somersault gave it away.

So if Bruce was possibly aware of such an obvious give away, why let it continue?

I'll tell you why.

It really comes down to the physics

So Dick was 9 when he started out right? That means the most he'd have likely weighed was 43kgs or roughly 95lbs in freedom units.

But Dick and both of his parents are gymnasts who tend to be smaller. So he was likely less than that.

In physics, rotating objects build up angular momentum (this is how bikes stay up right for example). The more rotation, the more momentum. And objects with less mass build up that momentum much faster than those that are heavier.

Robin constantly has to fight people who are nearly 3 times his size. I teach 8 year olds, they're tiny. A quadruple somersault for a small boy that weighs less than a hundred pounds is a brutal weapon. Especially if you add in the acceleration from gravity as he drops in from above.

And I can guarantee you this logic tracks because Dick literally utilizes this idea, without the somersault, in the 2009 teen titans cartoon.

Yeah, that's right. We're talking about the infamous knee drop.

Like it is borderline savage. Add in a quadruple somersault and the resulting force is nearly fatal. It's likely the main reason Batman would ever allow him to do it with the cape on.

Also, Dick landing feet first on the penguin in the first image probably gave the guy severe back issues

[cannibalisticcorpse]

a batman movie that starts with dick going off to college and leaving bruce as batman alone, and he's all sad but he goes out on a night and finds some scrawny kid stealing his tires who looks just like dick and then there's a montage sequence similar to Up where he becomes happy again and it reminds him of his first son but jason starts having behavioral issues in the montage and it ends with him dying

Then we see bruce grieving worse than ever, insert comparison to his parents dying, and it's almost like he's continuing Jason's behavioral issues, his own violence getting worse and worse. until tim shows up one night, in a dark alley way and it flashes to compare the scene to bruce meeting jason. he refuses, he'd been too hurt. but tim is persistent.

and tim dresses up and bruce starts training him and the two of them have issues, but dick comes by to mitigate and immediately tim is his Annoying Younger Brother.

but things start working and stuff is almost Normal again so bruce goes out on a date with talia (said to be an ex he hadn't seen in ~10 years) and she has something important to tell him, but an emergency beacon from tim at the titans tower pings and bruce can only think about how he was too late for jason so he leaves. the tower is dark, furniture overturned, random lights and broken glass. he finds tim with his hands bound and beat to shit when BAM a new villain comes in out of nowhere wearing a robin costume and demanding to know why he lets this pretender wear what he was buried in

immediately after Red Hood appears in gotham, taking over crime with a monopoly and bruce becomes hell bent. this IS jason. he's trying to kill bruce and the pretender. he's angry his murder went unavenged. nightwing finds out and we didn't know he was grieving, but he kills joker and avenges his baby brother in a gruesome show of violence and it looks Exactly how the audience imagined jason's death.

jason is avenged, he backs off. but Tim's struggling with reconciling with his attack, with his parents, (with his sexuality?) and he's thinking of quitting, debating himself, when DAMIAN crashed by to take what is rightfully his!

end credits scene is a phone conversation between bruce and talia where bruce sounds so so tired and talia goes "well i TRIED to tell you" and they discuss schooling options for damian

[intriq]

dc characters in the little moon universe react to your death

Takes place in the same universe as the little moon oneshot! i dont know all the characters so if im missing someone immediately inform me and i will f i x i t

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Bruce...

...is a usually stoic man. Bruce was never one to really show emotions. Except when it came to you.

So when Alfred had returned to Wayne manor that night, cradling your dead, bloody body in his arms? He shuts down. His entire being is numb.

He leaves and doesn't return for days, and he only returned days later because he was injured. He leaves in his wake numerous dead vampires. He'd gone on a spree for you, because the one thing he'd loved as part of his own family was gone. Taken from him by the same monsters that took his parents.

At your funeral, he cries. For the first time, Bruce Wayne cries. He shows emotions, and he's left a broken man.

After your death, he's never quite the same. He's colder, harsher. Doesn't talk to Alfred quite as much because he knows Alfred was the one that took you out, gave you a merciless death.

He knows he shouldn't be angry, but he can't help it. Because he feels like he failed you as your big brother.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you..."

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

Jason...

...is particularly devastated by your loss. To him, you were basically the parent he'd never had. The parent that genuinely loved him.

He always tries to keep a little piece of you on his person somewhere when he's out and about taking out vampires. In fact, he's even more brutal than he was before.

He doesn't really talk to anyone much anymore after that, too. Speaks only when spoken to, and if that it's short and to the point. If it's a question or something that he can simply nod his head to, he does that instead.

That gift you got him when he was still Batman's Robin? He treasures it. Keeps it safe. If someone even dares to make a comment on it, it is usually met by a glare and a quick "shut up before I make you" kind of comment.

At your funeral, he doesn't get too close to anyone else. He just watches from the sidelines, in the distance. He approaches your grave after it's ended and just sits there and apologizes to your headstone.

"I'm sorry. I should have been there. I should have been able to stop it. I'm sorry I failed you."

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

Tim...

...is also devastated. You were someone he looked up to. A lot.

He visits your bedroom sometimes, knowing he will never see you doing something in there again. He stole one of the pillows from your bed, too. He holds it while he sleeps at night, you know.

Sometimes he wakes up, smelling whatever perfume/body spray/cologne you use on it and thinks your alive still. Only to be reminded that you aren't there.

That you weren't alive anymore.

At your funeral, he's quiet. He's crying, but he's quiet.

He makes a habit of leaving flowers by your grave, too. Your favorites.

"Brought your favorites again. You always liked these, right? I know I sometimes didn't remember, but I'm hoping I'm right this time. You aren't here to remind me anymore, after all..."

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

Dick...

...kind of shuts down after he learns what happened. When he learns that you'd been attacked, and it resulted in you becoming a vampire? He hates himself. He shuts down even worse.

He closes himself off to everyone because he feels like an utter and complete failure. He was on patrol the night you'd been attacked, in the same part of Gotham.

He feels like he failed you, failed to save you. If he'd looked around a little harder that night, maybe he could have stopped it. And you'd be alive.

At your funeral he just can't stop thinking about how it should be him in that casket, being lowered into the ground.

He makes a habit of stopping by your grave when he can to just talk to your headstone.

"Hey, it's me again. I hope... Your doing okay. Hope your happy, in a place that's free from vampires. Free of pain. I'm sorry I didn't find you that night, you know. Still am. Even if you'd tell me not to blame myself."

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

Damian...

...at first doesn't understand. What did they mean you were dead? That you'd become a vampire?

He refuses to believe it, until he's at your funeral. He cries, too. Cries really hard. He blames Dick for not saving you. Blames him for not stopping the attack that is the reason your no longer with them.

He stops by your grave, though. Talks to you at least once a week. Tells you about himself. Tells you how he's doing, how much he misses seeing you. Says sorry for how mean he'd been the last time you two had been able to talk.

"I'm sorry I was so mean last time we talked. You were right, I shouldn't be so closed off. I know your worried, especially considering I'm already being trained to be a Vampire Hunter. I get you were worried, worried I'd get hurt. But you were hurt, and now I won't have anyone to pester me about being more careful, or buy me those stupid gifts anymore..."

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

Babs...

...is absolutely broken by the news. You two were close, quite close. She could remember the times she'd hung out with you. Remembers the times you'd drag her to places to see something cool.

She doesn't really know what to do besides cry at your funeral. She tries to share stories, but they come out muffled as she just sobs.

She likes to text your number when she misses you. Sometimes she'll even call your number just to hear your voicemail again.

"Hey! Sorry I can't come to the phone right this second, might be a little busy! Call Bruce if it's urgent and he'll make sure I call you back!" She calls your number again. Just one more time, she thinks. One more time and she'll finally go to bed or focus on patrol. "Hey! Sorry I can't come to the phone right this second..."

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

Cassandra...

...shuts down just like Bruce does. But instead of burying herself in Vampire Hunter work like he does, she spends time in your bedroom. Sometimes she'll sit in there for hours, other times she does her schoolwork in there.

After your funeral, she sleeps in there, too. On the floor, because she doesn't want to ruin your bed. Doesn't want it to change from the state you'd left it in.

She buys the body spray/perfume/cologne you used to, too. Sometimes she wears it so she can always remember your favorite scent.

Other time she sprays it in your room so it always smells like you, or she'll spray it on a pillow to cry into so she can pretend that she's hugging you instead as you comfort her while she cries, telling her "it's alright, Cass. Let it out, it's alright."

Cassandra hugs the pillow tighter as she lays on your bedroom floor, crying. Sobbing so hard her body shakes, that she almost can't breath. But when she does, she breathes through her nose, and she can smell your favorite body spray/perfume/cologne on the pillow she's holding. And she simply hugs it tighter as a result.

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

☾ Alfred...

...doesn't quite seem the same after your death. He had to kill you, after all. You were practically his child, after all. His little moon.

He doesn't make your bed after your death. All he does is make sure not an ounce of dust has a chance to build up, but he never changes the sheet on your bed. Never removes the pillows from your bed, or the blanket.

The most he'll do to your pillow is fluff it, acting as if he's expecting you home after your long day of school/work.

He still sometimes accidentally makes too much for dinner and breakfast. He sometimes still sets out an extra plate where you used to sit.

No one dares to sit there.

Sometimes he'll still put food on that empty plate for that empty chair, because he forgets your not here anymore.

But when he realizes, he just throws it away.

After your funeral, he spends a lot of time looking through the pictures on your phone. Smiling at some, crying at some, laughing at some.

He keeps a picture of you during your high school graduation framed in his room, so he can always remember you.

"Little moon, I made you your favorite! It's time to wake up!" Alfred calls from the kitchen as he puts your favorite breakfast food on the plate, setting it down in the same spot you'd always sit in, before he realizes. Before he remembers. "Ah... right. You... Won't be here to eat breakfast with Bruce anymore..."

[love-toxin]

So sorry to ask, but... what exactly is corpse bride?

OHO!!!!!! im so glad you asked >:)) it's one of my favourite childhood movies!!!! I'll put this plot summary under the cut bc im too excited to infodump :,)

I've watched it like a million times, its a tim burton film from 2005 shot entirely with stop motion figures, a lot like NBC! it's got both musical numbers and spoken parts (tears to shed and remains of the day SLAPS if you get a chance to listen to them on spotify or youtube, although the whole soundtrack is really really good--it's directed by danny elfman!)

the plot centers around a man named Victor Van Dort living in a victorian-era village who is the son of a pair of new money fishmarket owners, and has been arranged into a marriage with the daughter of old money aristocrats named Victoria Everglot. although her parents agreed to the marriage primarily for financial reasons because they've found themselves destitute, Victor's in-laws not only openly detest him for his meek personality but they also have a very low opinion of Victoria, as well as being distasteful of having to rely on the wealth of a commoner family to save them from the poorhouse. throw in the fact that the bride and groom haven't met until then but he falls in love almost immediately, as well as the appearance of a passing Lord Barkis Bittern at their home who watches the proceedings, and Victor messes up the rehearsal so badly that he leaves into the woods to go practice his vows so he can hopefully impress his new family, and his new wife. but while he's there, practicing out loud and bemoaning his nerves because he only does them well when he's alone, he ends up putting the ring on a branch-like root and unknowingly summons a corpse out of the ground, who chases after him before pulling him into the underworld with her.

and surprise! when he wakes up after fainting from the shock, he discovers that the branch wasn't a branch at all, but the outstretched hand of a bride-to-be that had been murdered by her fiancé and had her fortune stolen under that tree years before, and has been waiting for her true love to come along and marry her. although a bit naive, she's very sweet and innocent and is so excited to be wed to her new husband, showing off her ring to prove their bond while the other corpses congratulate them and start planning the wedding--she even gives him a wedding present, which is the skeleton of his deceased dog that comes together to play with him again. Victor finds the "downstairs" to be surprisingly bright and colourful and totally unlike the gray, lifeless expanse of the living world, but with such a weak constitution he's totally in shock and insistent on going back home and returning to his living fiancé, to the point that he ends up tricking his corpse bride, Emily, into taking him up so she can meet his parents before their supposed wedding. but instead, he sneaks away once they come up to go see Victoria in secret, who has been worried about his disappearance, and explains what's happened to him while also confessing his love right up until Emily finds them together and jealously drags Victor back down to the underworld. feeling betrayed and hurt at having her heart broken again, she mourns her failed marriage and the fact that it's been ruined because she's dead, and Victor would prefer a woman that's alive even though her friends remind her that she's so talented and has a lovely personality.

while this is all happening, Victoria is trying to convince her family that Victor needs to be rescued and even escapes being locked in her room to head for the church for guidance, only to be taken back by the minister as everyone deems her unreasonable due to hysteria. at this moment, Lord Barkis steps in to comfort her parents and ends up convincing them to let him marry Victoria, with promises that he'll be lavishing her with wealth--but what they don't know is that he's already plotting her death, so he can steal all her family's riches and take her dowry once she's gone. at the same time, while Victor's parents are searching for him, their driver Mayhew ends up dying from a smoking-induced coughing fit and shows up in the downstairs, for him to meet up with Victor and let him know that Victoria has moved on and is getting married to someone else.

and, feeling guilty over the fact that he tricked her, Victor has come back to Emily to apologize and they share in one of their interests, which is playing the piano. upon hearing the news of Victoria's new union, Victor is hurt at losing her but more at ease with the thought of marrying Emily and decides to do so properly--but she soon realizes that in order to do so, Victor has to repeat his vows in the living world and drink poison in order to die, which Emily feels too guilty about asking of him to even try. luckily Victor has overheard, though, and agrees to the terms, and the two of them joined by the undead wedding party bring their festivities upstairs to commence with the marriage. by this time, Victoria has been unwillingly married off to Lord Barkis and is completely depressed, but the reception is crashed by the dead as they flood through the village and cause a panic, to all but the people who soon recognize their deceased family members and lovers and friends and are reunited. abandoned by their own wedding party, a disheveled Lord Barkis insists on Victoria taking all of her family's riches from their coffers so they can steal away from the overrun town--but he becomes furious when she reveals that her family is practically impoverished, and that his perceived wealth was the reason her parents were so eager to marry her off. Victoria storms off to follow the wedding party and slips into the church where Victor is being married. she watches the ceremony, but just as he's about to drink the poison and commit to his undead bride, Emily spots Victoria and stops him from doing so. realizing that the two of them are in love, she can't bring herself to split them apart and gives up her wedding so that they can be together, because she doesn't want to take someone that wasn't meant to be hers.

however, just as Victor and Victoria are reunited, Lord Barkis crashes the wedding and demands Victoria be returned to him, only for he and Emily to recognize each other--she realizes that he was the fiancé that had taken all she had and left her for dead, and a fight between himself and Victor ensues as he stops him from kidnapping Victoria (also because the dead can't get involved or commit murder while they are obeying the rules of the living in their world). Barkis tries to kill Victor by stabbing him but is intercepted by Emily who takes the blow, and turns his sword on him and orders him to leave--but before he does, he takes the immunity he has against the angered crowd of undead to propose a mocking toast against his former fiancé on her failed love, not realizing that the wine he's drinking is poisoned. he dies on the spot, the dead drag him back into the underworld to torture their new arrival on behalf of Emily, and the corpse bride returns her ring to Victor to marry his true love and is set free, her body turning into a cloud of blue butterflies that flutter away towards the moon.

[damianbugs]

Batman #125 will forever haunt me, for multiple reasons, but mainly because these six panels have shown such a horrific and tragic side of Bruce Wayne's mission that is so often overlooked — and presents an important take on what this mission actually is.

Writers, and readers, have become increasingly desensitised to the concept of Bruce's children dying, simply because it (unfortunately) happens so often. Even I'll admit, simply having a passing thought about what Bruce had to have done to prepare his dead son's body for the police to find post-'Death In The Family' is not as horrible as having to see him do it.

It is such a... raw action. As if knowing you were just too late, your son's body still warm, the rigor mortis still not present, the fire and smoke of an explosion still around you wasn't bad enough — you now have no time to mourn, because to protect the very thing your son died for, you need to strip him of his uniform and set up a death you know isn't true.

Bruce realises the same with Tim, who tells him, blood pouring out of his wound, that Bruce has to change him out of his uniform before they reach the hospital. All to protect this damned mission that his children are willing to die for.

Bruce has no time to process the death of his son at all, because quickly, Robin becomes Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne shouldn't be anywhere near here, Batman even less so, and everything about this is wrong but you know that this whole mission would amount to nothing if you don't do what you have to. Your son would have died for nothing. You would have lost him for nothing.

Unlike Jason, Tim is still alive when he's literally bleeding out in Bruce's arms and yet, with what little breath he has left, Tim insists they need to uphold their secret identities. Call it training, or responsibility, or the want to protect a legacy — whatever it is, Bruce Wayne is once again exposed to this all encompassing tragedy of his mission.

The mission that, he notes, he's failing. Again.

Bruce Wayne is a person who is constantly surrounded by death, but I think it is important to note that all this death is physical. One can know about death, hear about it in their family, visit the bodies and graves of people who were once alive — but it is an entirely different motivation to be constantly reminded of death right because it's literally in your hands.

Bruce watched them get shot and sat next to his parents dead bodies. He held his son, and immediately had to position Jason's body after he passed. He held Damian as he died. Heard Tim when he was killed. Listened and watched Stephanie flat line. He is constantly left to physically handle grief in its most exposing forms.

But again, the mission. The damned mission.

Isn't it too cruel? Almost? Yet, Bruce constantly finds himself in this cycle of repeating the same grief, the same actions, again and again. After every death he faces, he learns to handle it in a new way, and incorporates that into a lesson in this mission.

I wonder if one day he'll realise he's simply compensating for the guilt he feels. He blames himself for his parents death, thus the seed that would one day grow into batman is planted. He blames himself for Jason's death, and thus closes himself off to any future family, stopping himself from ever forming a bond with a child like he had before he lost his son. A piece of him is always deconstructed after death, but he rebuilds it in a way that is entirely unrecognisable.

This mission to protect Gotham, to protect the innocent, is only half of what he's actually achieving. The rest of it is his own, selfish punishment, for failing the mission.

[faintblueivy]

So Imagine...

A world where Bruce Wayne died as a child in that alley that day, Martha and Thomas Wayne grieve as normal parents. They DO NOT BECOME BATMAN AND JOKER. 

Nothing ever remains the same after losing their little boy. So, Thomas buries himself in his work and Martha drowns herself in depression and pain. They do therapy and it works a little and life becomes bearable but...not happy.

One day, Alfred badgers the couple to go out and relax a little and buys them tickets for a circus - Haly’s circus. Everything was going nice and dandy and Martha was in awe of this little acrobat as much as the rest of the crowd when suddenly the rope snaps and the boy’s parents fall to their deaths - right in front of him and the gathering. Thomas is quick to jump in to see if he could help them in any way but Martha can see it in his eyes that they are as dead as they can be. 

They return to home with heavy hearts and Martha can’t get the image of the little boy out of her head. His skin was a light shade of bronze but his dark hair and bright cerulean blue eyes reminded her so much of Bruce that her heart wouldn’t rest. So a few days later she uses her connections to know if the child is safe and well cared for, when to her immense horror, she is replied that he was shipped to Gotham Juvie due to the lack of foster homes. She is enraged.

She calls Thomas and Alfred and lets them know about the little acrobat’s situation and declares that she was going to adopt him. They hesitate a little but she is not to be deterred as she goes ahead and brings the little boy home. 

Richard John Grayson - Wayne. Or Dick, as he likes to call himself. 

He is adamant that he wants no parents and Martha is fine because not only that she is old enough to be not his mother but also because no child can ever be her Bruce.

“You can just call me Grandma then.” She tells him.

His eyes are wide but he nods and then smiles and Martha, in a long while, has never felt this happy. 

Her new Grandson, despite losing his parents, is a ray of sunshine with unlimited supply of energy and the cold and empty manor is warm and happy again. 

Dick is a little charmer and even after Thomas and Alfred’s initial reluctance, they immediately fall in love with the boy and one day, when Martha comes down to the morning breakfast, she hears a happy, deep rumble - one she has not heard in many years. Thomas is laughing. 

There on the dining table, seated beside Dick, was Thomas laughing. Her eyes water at the scene and Alfred, who is standing beside her offers her a handkerchief. None of them mention how his own eyes are wet too.

 ...

Dick is sixteen, a brilliant boy in academics as much as they disinterest him but an invincible athlete. Martha has been told time and time again that her grandson is undoubtedly a international level gymnast. But he is a teenager.

And teenagers steal their grandparent’s ‘coolest’ car and rush off into the night. But they don’t come back with a little battered and bruised, homeless kid tucked under their arm.

“He had jacked three tires off your car. When I confronted him, he tried to hit me with a tire iron.” He says, amused, as Thomas tries to convince the child to show him his injuries.

“I didn’t do nothin’! He’s a fuckin’ big boob liar!” They boy screams, his blue green eyes glaring daggers at Dick.

“Language.” Both her and Alfred warn simultaneously.

After hours of struggle, interrogation and fuck you’s, Martha learns that the child’s name is Jason. He is twelve. Mother died form drug overdosing and Dad is a petty henchman of some crime lord. He ran away from multiple foster homes because they are so abusive that the child feels safer on streets. 

Martha goes on a rampage over Gotham’s foster care after that. She did not donate millions of dollars annually for children to feel safer on streets. After of lot of talks and reassurances and promises, Martha acquires her second grandchild.

Jason Peter Todd - Wayne. 

Jason is tiny. Malnourished like Leslie said. But he is sharp, observant and hungry for knowledge. Martha and Alfred joke that Jason is Thomas' soul child. Where Dick had loved activity and movement, Jason liked quiet and stability - Martha thinks that running and fighting for survival on streets every single day does that you. So evenings often found her and Dick in the garden but Thomas and Jason in the library pouring over as many books as they can.

And to nobody's surprise, despite their rocky start, the boys become inseparable. They are outwardly different, with clashing interests and behaviors but Martha can see that they both carry the same cores of light.  

When the morning of Dick’s Parent’s death anniversary comes around, both her and Thomas find Jason on Dick’s bed, arms curled protectively around his big brother. For the first time in so many years, Dick wakes up to warmth surrounding him, not nightmares. 

...

Both her grandsons attend Gotham Academy so when she receives a phone call from the Principal, she is half surprised and half not. When she enters the Principal’s office, both her boys are standing on one side, Jason with his head hung in shame and Dick glaring daggers at the other side. The boy who seems to be injured is being coddled by his mother who is shooting nasty glares at her grandchildren periodically. 

Then she notices another small boy standing beside her boys, trying to melt into the wall.

Tim Drake. The only son of Jack and Janet Drake of Drake Industries.    

She arches a questioning eyebrow at Dick who shakes his head and then she turns to the Principal. 

“What happened here?”

“Glad to see you’re here Mrs. Wayne.” The Principal says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I regret to inform you that your ward Jason Peter Todd attacked this young man here.” He gestures to the other boy. 

“Madam, Gotham Academy is a prestigious school and we do not encourage physical violence here. Yes, it might have been acceptable from where he came from but it won’t be, here. I hope you give us the right to punish Mr. Todd here appropriately.” 

Martha inwardly bristles at the jab at her grandson and says crisply, “Mr. Wayne.”

“What?”

“He’s not just Todd. He is a Wayne. Please remember that.”

“Principal Sir.” Dick cuts in and Martha is confused because as hyperactive as Dick is, he is a mannerly child and knows better than to cut in a conversation like this but what draws her attention is the chilling tone which Dick almost never uses. Dick continues, “Why don’t you tell our grandmother more of your regrets? Or the prestigious Gotham Academy believes that bullying is acceptable.” 

Martha has been told what she needs to know. 

“Jason?” she calls out to her youngest grandson softly, “What happened?”

Jason is quiet when suddenly Tim Drake moves forward. She can see he is scared the way his hands shake but determination shines in his blue eyes. She likes him.

“I want to say something.”

He narrates the tale of how he was being bullied and how the boy on the other side with his mother threw his science project model away and broke it and physically tried to attack him when Jason stepped in to save him. Martha felt nothing but pride at Jason’s righteous indignation. 

Tim also explained that Jason exercised immense control even after these bullies called him ‘street rat’, but the verbal spar intensified after Dick was insulted for his Romani heritage, but it came to fist fight after Thomas and Martha were insulted, and Bruce’s death was made fun of.

Her gaze snaps to the other three occupants of the room and they are all in various shades of pale. Apparently, the Principal had not done his homework.

“Principal” She says icily, “Yes, I give you the authority to punish Jason appropriately but only when this young man here”, she gestures to the boy who was now cowering behind his mother, “Is dealt with in the same way.”

After threatening the Principal in soft words but harsh tone about not tolerating to having her grandsons bullied the next time, she grabs Jason’s hand to drag him away from these people who don’t deserve his company, when her eyes fall on the little trembling Tim. 

She offers him her hand.

He stares at it, shocked but after an encouraging smile from Dick and a small shove from Jason, he takes it shyly.

And since that day, Tim becomes a member of Martha’s family. The boys stay together so much that even Thomas forgets that Tim is not theirs. 

Tim’s upbringing sends Martha’s grandmother instincts on a haywire and she resents the Drakes for their criminal neglect towards Tim. 

It is rewarding that Tim flourishes in their attention. 

She learns that his hobby is Photography and he is excellent at it. And he is a genius when it comes to science, computers and gadgets. He likes crime thrillers movies and books and often picks them apart with his scarily good knowledge about forensics that leave the rest of the family in awe and slightly disturbed. 

The dam breaks when one day Jason and Dick return back from school telling her that Tim was absent today and they are worried about him. When they later sneak into the Drake mansion in the evening, Thomas receives a frantic call from their oldest grandchild that Tim was burning with fever. Because Thomas is a doctor, they save Tim before anything serious happens.

This time, it is Thomas who sues the Drakes for Tim’s custody after him and Jason had, had enough of ‘Timbo’s shitty parents’.

“Timothy?” Martha brushes his sweat soaked forehead gently. “Would you like to be a member of our family legally?"

Tim is hesitant about this but he admits that he likes Wayne manor much better than he ever liked Drake mansion. He confesses that he loves Jason and Dick as brothers and sees Martha, Thomas and Alfred as his grandparents as well.

The long custody battle ends with both Jack and Janet Drake dying at the hands of two different tragedies, leaving Tim an orphan, but also with a loving family consisting of three grandparents and two brothers by his side. 

Timothy Jackson Drake - Wayne is adopted into the Wayne family as her and Thomas’ third grandson.

...

A year after they adopt Tim, Thomas comes home with a small girl on his side. She is clearly an east Asian in heritage with dark hair and dark eyes and is speech deprived. Thomas is clearly distressed after Cassandra - her name is Cassandra - is safely secured in warm bed in a nice room across Jason’s. He calls her, the three boys and Alfred to his study to explain about the small girl. 

He talks about how Gordon brought the girl to him and after hours of wordless, signed and clumsily sketched on paper conversations with the little girl they were able to determine that Cassandra was hiding from her father who was an assassin and wanted to drag the little girl down the same path before she ran away. The more he talks about the damage and abuse the girl had experienced at the hands on her own father, the more furious Martha becomes. When Thomas’ explanations ends, Jason slams a punch into the wall making a dent but no one has the heart to reprimand him for that. 

The following morning, Martha can see that her three boys have unanimously decided that they are adopting Cassandra as their sister. She is treated like a Princess, and given the nick name ‘Cass’. 

Slowly but surely, Cass learns what it means to love through Dick’s bright kindness, Jason’s quiet protection and Tim’s infinite patience. After her father is finally apprehended, the family celebrates.

Cassandra Wayne, soon after, becomes the beloved Wayne Princess of Gotham. 

Martha and Thomas often accompany their only granddaughter to her speech therapy lessons, so after six months of her adoption, at dinner, she places a kiss on everyone’s forehead - her three brothers and three grandparents, stands at the head of the table and croaks out, slowly, “Thank...thank you.” All of them stare at her flabbergasted, but it appears that she was planning to shock them even more.

“You...Love. Love you...”

The silence that follows her broken but sure words is deafening. Surprisingly it is Tim who breaks it as he scrambles out of his chair and launches himself at Cass, wrapping his arms around her and both Jason and Dick follow him, grabbing both their youngest siblings fiercely.

A quiet sob breaks her out of the trance and she smiles when she watches Thomas furiously wiping his tears from the sleeve of his shirt. The last time he     had cried was at Bruce’s funeral. And Martha is infinitely grateful that this time these are happy tears. 

...

Sometimes Martha wonders what would have happened if Bruce had lived. If these children are her grandchildren then does that mean they are Bruce’s kids? Had Bruce lived, would he have accepted these gaggle of kids that her and Thomas have collected over the years as his own? Would he have kids of his own? 

Her questions are answered when one day she hears a slight commotion in the entrance is surprised to see a young woman with a sword threatening Alfred.

“I want to meet the Master of this house. Let them know immediately.” She demands in an authoritative but silky voice, and Martha suddenly sees the Toddler clutched in her arm. 

“What is it?” Martha speaks as soon as she can when the woman notices her. She looks surprised for a second but immediately schools her features as the baby fusses.

“You’re alive.” She whispers and before any of them could make an indignant comment about her wordings, she says, “It appears that I might have traveled in to the wrong universe.”

Now that is interesting. Martha lives in a world where they are protected by aliens...so, it is certainly worth hearing for. 

Martha offers the young lady an invitation for tea which she accepts. She notices how the woman carries herself with lethal grace and dignity as if she was a Princess but much more. As they sit and Alfred leaves to bring the promised team Martha notices how the woman’s eyes sweep over the place. 

“How may I help you?”

Her voice attracts the attention of the toddler and this time, he is not clutched tightly enough to his mother’s chest to turn his small head and look at her. Martha gasps. Because the child looks too much like Toddler Bruce. But instead of the blue eyes like her son, this child has glowing green ones, like his mother. But still, the resemblance is uncanny. 

“Yes, he is your son’s.” The woman answers the unasked question.

She is explained the existence of Multiverse, and it’s workings and how Bruce survived instead of them in that world, met Talia (the woman’s name is Talia Al Ghul) and had a child but had to leave. Talia mentions the reason she came here was because her son’s life was in danger and Talia’s father wanted to raise her son as an assassin Prince and a tool for him to use. Talia’s solution to protect her son was for her to give her son to the Bruce of this world to raise, since the Bruce of that world had gone missing.   

“I can raise him.” Martha suddenly declares and the woman looks at him shocked. “I will not raise him into a life of violence but I can certainly protect him and give him a happy civilian life.”

Talia looks unsure, hesitant, but says, “I...have been a warrior since the day I can remember. Never once have I ever thought of my son not being a warrior. He was...born to be one.” 

Martha smiles. “He doesn’t have to be one. Yes, his life will be infinitely different than the one you imagined but...he will be well loved and protected. I can assure you of that.”

“Damian.” Talia whispers as he deposits the baby in her arms after a lot of consideration. “His name is Damian.”

She looks at her son tenderly one last time and places a kiss on his forehead and Martha’s heart breaks a little for the young mother. 

“Will you return back for him?” Martha asks as she follows the Talia to the door.

“No.” Talia whispers, her voice strained. “I will not. Any action taken by me is monitored by my father closely. If I return back, then he might know that I have left Damian here and I cannot let that happen. He is yours, forever.”

Martha gives her a sad smile. “You’re a brave and good mother Talia. Thank you for doing what is best for your son.”

She nods, not turning to look at Damian one last time as she leaves the manor grounds, never to return. 

Martha looks at the baby secure in her arms and her lips quirk up into a grin at the sight of two curious green eyes watching her with interest. 

“Welcome to the family, little Damian.”

When she introduces the new addition to the family, Thomas is dumbfounded. Dick is ecstatic at the prospect of having a new baby brother, Jason is secretly pleased, Cass is happiest and Tim looks unsure.

That’s how Damian Wayne - Al Ghul joins the family.

Damian fits in their home spectacularly. After few days of hesitation, like he had with Dick, Thomas takes to Damian quickly. He has an epic competition going on with their eldest grandson to become the baby’s favorite. Damian refuses to sleep without Thomas but his tantrums are only controlled and won over by Dick. Damian loves Jason manhandling him and giggles happily when the older boy throws him in the air or swings him around. Damian loves Cassandra because she knows what he wants before any of them do. And Cass loves to carry her little brother around to watch birds and animals in the manor grounds.

The only person Damian seems to not get along with is Tim and the older boy seems not be fond of him either. Because Damian wants everything Tim does and the older brother has to compromise for Damian every time. But Martha has to bite laughs a lot now a days because almost everytime Damian falls asleep, it is with Tim in vicinity. And she has caught the older boy tenderly covering Damian in his favorite blanket more often than not. Martha thinks that this is kind of cute but keeps her opinion to herself. 

Her little grandson is quite protective of his siblings though. Anytime someone upsets any of his siblings, they are threatened with scowls, growls and even bites and stabbings in extreme cases.

Like last time when Mrs. Park made fun of Cassandra’s  speech impairment, Damian almost bit her finger off. Damian hates one of Dick’s racist colleague (they all do) so much that anytime the man enters his field of vision, the first thing Damian gets his hand on is thrown at the guy’s head. With deadly precision. And last time when Mr. Link had called Jason ‘street rat’ for personally volunteering charity work for poor and homeless, Damian had smeared his juice and drool covered hands on the Man’s thousand dollars suit. And when one time, a reporter had infiltrated a Gala and chased Tim around to ask uncomfortable questions about his parent’s death and the Wayne’s involvement in it, Damian, noticing Tim’s distress had stabbed the reporter with a fork with no hesitation. 

Martha is still not sure if she should encourage or reprimand Damian for that.

...

As she sits on the head of the table with Thomas on her side and Alfred on the other end, she wonders how miraculous it is for her to have all these children in her life. 

Dick is engaged in an animated conversation with Stephanie who was introduced to the family as Tim’s girlfriend. Barbara, the daughter of James Gordon and Dick’s girlfirend/or not was helping Cass pile up food on her plate. Damian and Tim were bickering over something as usual but Jason trying to hide his snickers in guise of drinking water which made Martha sure that the something was Jason’s doing.

These people were her family. The ones she had gained after losing Bruce. She wonders, if there was a universe where Bruce got to meet her grandchildren. 

Would he accept them? As family? 

Would he love them? As family? 

She brightly smiles when the multiple sets of eyes turn to her waiting for her to blow the candle.

“Happy Birthday Martha.”

Thomas says warmly, his voice thick with emotion and she meets his gaze and sees the love, affection and thankfulness in his eyes for this family that they had created after their earth shattering loss. She knows what she wants as she blows the candle on the cake flickering in front of her.

I wish for us to be family in every universe.

[toastedside]

Call From Home

Tim Drake x Batmom!Reader

Warning: sad Tim Drake, him crying, feeling small, fluff in the end

Note: I always like and entertain the idea that Tim eventually finish his education and go to college. I wrote this back in 2019 when I was away for college and experiencing mild case of homesick. Enjoy!

College life was pretty exciting. At least Tim able to muster that out loud now, and no longer wallowing in constant denial how much he enjoyed being a college student. It does get pretty crazy at times. The chaos in the dorms, the shenanigans of bored college students, morning classes. It got its own rhythm, and Tim was proud that he able to blend and follow the rhythm pretty well.

He never imagined that he eventually able to live a life like this. Like this one. Not after him confronting Batman in his own house. Not after his parents’ death. Not after taking the mantle and split his life into day and night. He never imagined he get to party until late night, laughing his ass off whilst running on the campus ground at night, pulling all night for assignments, and running late to classes.

The Red Robin suit he carefully packed still untouched. Tucked carefully underneath his bed. He never got time to be Red Robin. Not with the piling assignments and constant nudging to socialize. He listened to the police’s radio from his dorm when he was alone from time to time, but in a city like this, it’s pretty calm and mild.

Compared to Gotham, this city is peaceful.

It’s loud, it’s colorful, it’s exciting. Perhaps that’s why he liked the thrill of being here. It reminded him of home. Of Wayne Manor that filled with too many people, too many vigilantes who never know when to lower their voices. And perhaps that’s why he grew relentless and anxious as the clock slowly tick by and it’s all quiet. Darren, his roommate, was gone to his parents for the weekend. Left him all alone with his thought.

Tim sighed as he punched the number on his phone screen. He didn’t know why he did it. But something behind his mind pushed him to do so.

“Hello?” the voice answered after the fifth rang. Tim wanted to smack his head. You were probably sleeping.

“Hi Mom,” Tim greeted. “It’s me.”

“Hi, honey!” your voice laced with a lot of excitement. Tim sat up on his bed, head leaned to the wall next to him as he closed his eyes. “How are you? How do you like college?”

Tim chuckled. “It’s exciting, yeah. The assignments were crazy. But it was fun.”

“It reminds me with my college days! One time, this one student flood the whole floor with detergent because he didn’t know how to wash his own clothes in the washing machine.”

“My God. Just last week a student accidentally pushed the fire alarm because she was drunk.”

Tim could hear you laughing. And then a faint sound of a silverware hitting a surface. You’re in the kitchen then. Or the dining room. There were no background noises and it was all quiet. You were probably alone in the kitchen; dug on the freezer to eat a pint of ice cream you always so cleverly hide from everyone.

“How are you doing, Timmy? You haven’t answered my question.”

Tim went quiet as he bit his lower lip. You often called him Timmy when he was upset or in dire need of comfort. A nickname you reserved for comfort and now his brain associated it with tenderness and comfort. And the warmth of your embrace.

All of sudden, he wanted to cry. His eyes started to sting and his chest heavy. He didn’t know why, but listening to his mother’s voice alone opened up something he had shoved to the back of his mind since the day he moved into his dorm.

“Timmy? Honey?” you called for him. He probably had unconsciously let a sob escaped his mouth. “Baby, are you okay?”

“I miss you,” Tim rasped between his sobs. Saying those out loud only made him want to cry harder. “I miss Alfred. I miss Bruce, Jason, Dick, Damian, Cass…” he trailed, sniffled as he harshly wiped his tears with his sleeve. “I miss home.”

Tim pulled his knees into his chest, curled himself into a ball. He wanted nothing but to sank into your embrace, enjoying the way your fingers would thread on his hair and your nails lightly scratched his scalp. He wanted nothing but to eat a homemade food, not the cheap, knocked off questionable foods he often got on campus.

He wanted home.

“I miss you too, honey,” you cooed. You heaved a sigh as you continued, “The house does get a little quieter without you here.”

“I- I thought I’d be okay. I like it here,” Tim sniffed. “But I miss you. I miss home. And – I want to go home.”

The line went quiet for a little while. He could hear you shuffling in the background, a sound of chair being pushed confirmed his suspicion of you being in the kitchen. He was both surprised and bashful about his sudden childish plea. He never thought he would miss Gotham out of all places. It stinks and raked of criminal. The air here was crisp and clear, he could hear the bird chirping on his way to his classes.

But one call to home and his body longed to be there. One call and his soul wished he was home.

His bed suddenly felt too small and stuffy. The mattress is too stiff and the duvet not warm enough. Tim pressed his head onto his knees, his eyes still producing saline tears as he quietly listened to you contemplating your answer.

“Baby, you know what? It’s okay to miss home. It’s okay for wanting to be home and liking where you are at the same time. I had severe homesick cases when I was away for college too,” you answered finally, with a quiet huff as Tim faintly heard you landed in a cushion. Perhaps the living room.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Tim could listen a smile seeped on your voice. “Listen. You live your life here, in Gotham, for almost all your life. You born and grew up here. You live here in this house. You fight for the city. Of course, you’d miss home. Of course, you’d want to be here.”

Tim sniffed as a response.

“And you’re adapting. Nobody expect you to immediately like where you are. Especially when you’re so far away from home, all alone, all by yourself. You’re starting a new chapter in your life. There will be hard times. But I always know you’re a fighter. And you’ll survive just fine. You can do this.”

Tim smiled as he wiped his tears.

“Besides, I believe your friends suffer the same homesick cases too.”

An involuntary laugh escaped him. He let out a wet chuckle as he wiped his tears with his sleeve again. Eyes spared glances into the empty bed across him. “Yeah. Darren is out visiting his parents’ house. Lucky for him his parents are only two hours away.”

“See? You know what I mean?” Tim practically could see the way your face would scrunch up. An expression he grew fond of. “You’re always welcome to come home anytime, honey. Remember wherever you are, no matter how far, you’re always welcome here whenever.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You know what? This gives me an idea.”

“Idea?”

“For impromptu family weekend getaway,” you said thoughtfully. “What about you show the city around for us next week? Tell me places you like, good restaurants to eat, and places you visit the most.”

Tim blinked dumbly. “You’re visiting?”

“Yeah! Next week. I promise.”

Tim could feel a smile slowly crept up on his cheeks. He shifted on his bed out of excitement. “You know what? This also give me an idea.”

“Ooh, what is it?”

“That I should go cycling around and list down all places I want to show you,” Tim said as he hopped out of his bed. Already made a beeline towards his coat and shoe rack. “I think I need some fresh air too.”

“Alright, Atta Boy. Wear your jacket. It’s cold outside.”

“On it, Mom. I’ll call you later. See you next week.”

“See you next week, baby. I love you, bye.”

Tim was already halfway out of his room when he answered, “I love you too.”

[letarasstuff]

Where do you go?

(A/N): This is requested by an anon and based on this post.

Summary: How does Hotch’s daughter, who everyone goes to with their own problems, cope with her mother’s death two years later?

Warnings: Angst. Grief. Dealing with a loved one’s death

Wordcount: 2.2k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

“Hey (Y/N), I really need your help with Tim. Do you have a minute for me?” (Y/N) turns around to see a boy from her science class. It’s not like she knows him that much, they occasionally team up for small projects, there is nothing more behind that.

“Uh of course. I just had my last class, so I got time for you.” She smiles and lets him, Vincent is his name she thinks, rant to her about how his boyfriend doesn’t understand his needs.

This is nothing out of the ordinary for her, to be asked for advice. She simply is a good listener and gives good tips, the best even according to people close to the teenager. The problem is her limited knowledge on relationships. “Coaches don’t play”, Hotch tells her. And he intends on keeping it that way.

“That does really suck. Did you try to talk to him about it?” (Y/N) asks the boy in front of her. Suddenly he bursts into tears, describing how he only sees breaking up as a solution. She awkwardly pats his back and says encouraging words to him. That he will make the right decision, that he shouldn’t rush it and that he has to take his time.

After Vincent, or is it Gordon, calms down he looks up at the girl. “Thank you for listening. You were a great help, (Y/N).” He hugs her and leaves.

As she looks over the parking lot she spots her father’s car. Excitedly (Y/N) walks over and gets onto the passenger seat. “Hey, I didn’t know you pick me up today”, she greets him.

“We finished the case early and I was on the way home and thought giving you a lift wouldn’t hurt. Who was that boy? Is there something I should know?” Hotch looks at her from the side. But his daughter shakes her head. “Don’t worry, he is gay. He just needed a shoulder to cry on about his ruined relationship.”

“You do know you are not the school’s therapist, don’t you? At this point your classmates should pay you.” He tries to joke about it, but as a father he is worried. Since Haley died, (Y/N) took it upon her to make sure everybody is happy, no matter at what costs.

“I know, Dad. I’m fine and Alex feels better.”

A few days later (Y/N) sits in JJ’s living room, watching the mother go from one place to the next. “Food is in the fridge, so help yourself. Henry’s bedtime is in half an hour, please make sure he goes to sleep by then. He should be easy to put down, Will made sure to tire him out earlier. All important numbers are on the fridge. Feel free to watch anything on the TV.”

The teenager volunteered to babysit Henry, giving his parents a child free evening. “Thank you, JJ. We will rock this, don’t we?” She looks down to the boy on her lap, who nods his head.

“Good. Behave for (Y/N), ok?” The mother gives her son a kiss on the head. After Will’s goodbye the couple is gone.

“Ok, how about we get real comfy on your bed and I read you a story?” Henry nods again. He takes (Y/N) by her hand to his room. As suggested they lay down on his bed.

“Which one do you want me to read to you?” But the boy looks unsure all of a sudden. “Can we just talk?” Surprised the teenager nods. “Whatever you like, champ.”

“Uh okay, do you know Mommy is a bit… much? She is like there and the next second she is here and then she isn’t here for days. I- this is sooo annoying”, Henry rants to her. He is only three, so it is kept rather simple.

“Oh man, she must be a handful, champ. But you have to keep in mind that she really loves you and in the end this is the only thing that matters. Do you love her, too?” It hurts her to talk about a mother’s love, since her own passed away over two years ago. (Y/N) still misses her. She is sure it will never go away.

“Of course I love her.” Sleepily Henry cuddles closer to (Y/N), holding his plush toy near him. After that, he falls asleep safe and sound. The teenager waits for a bit, watching him scrunching up his nose every few minutes.

The next day at the BAU a knock is heard on the Unit Chief’s door. “Come in!”

“Hey Dad, I thought a little visit wont hurt”, the daughter enters the room. Automatically a smile appears on Hotch’s face. “Also, I thought a little help from Spencer wont hurt, too”, she adds with a laugh. “Last time I checked he was in Garcia’s lair. You might have a shot finding him there”, he tips her off.

“Thank you Dad, you are the best!” Not long after this she steps into the Technical Analyst’s office and is immediately greeted by the preppy woman being anything but preppy.

“What in heaven’s name do they think I am, do you know it (Y/N)? They want me to work faster and more efficiently and expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows while looking at the most gruesome pictures ever taken on a daily basis! Un-be-lie-va-ble!” The blonde walks back and forth, gesticulating wildly.

The teenager takes her hands in an attempt to calm her down. “Sit down and tell me from the beginning what you are talking about.” This ends in Penelope raging about some superiors for an hour. When she finally calms down, it is like she wakes up. “Oh my, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to load all that up on you. You don’t need that in addition to-” She suddenly cuts herself off.

“I’m fine, really. It’ll be like any other day.” The smile the girl struggles to put on looks pained. “My sweet sweet summer child, the second anniversary of your mother’s death is not like any other day. You are still allowed to grief, you know that, right?” Penelope hugs (Y/N), cradling her close to her chest.

“I know, Penny. Thank you for reminding me. But I have to go, I need Spencer’s help with my chemistry assignment. You know, gotta keep those grades up.” With that she makes a beeline for the bullpen, leaving a stunned Technical Analyst by herself.

Since Foyet Hotch worries about his daughter. He learned many things about her coping mechanisms in the last two years: She tries to do it on her own.

In times like this the similarity between him and (Y/N) frustrates him. Aaron also tends to deal with his emotions alone, in the safe space of his own four walls. With all of his qualifications he knows it’s not healthy and he slowly learns to let his feelings loose around people he trusts, typically his team.

The difference between (Y/N) and Hotch is that he knows when he reaches his breaking point and she doesn’t about hers. So in a situation like right now being a profiler comes in handy with the job as a father.

It’s the day. The second anniversary of a mother’s death.

Hotch already planned the whole day for his two kids. At first he wakes both of them up, a luxus he seldom is able to indulge. But for today he has called into work saying he won't be coming any time before ten.

The mood around the house is suffocating. Even the little boy notices the heaviness of the day and its meaning.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)? I’m gonna drop you and Jack off at school!” Aaron shouts standing at the foot of the stairs. “I’m coming!” The answer is heard faintly.

Not long after this the Hotchner Household is on their way to the youngest’s elementary school. “Behave and remember: If you don’t feel fine it’s okay. Just tell your teachers and they will call me and I will get you, do you understand?” The father looks at his son with a certain seriousness. “Understood”, the blonde boy confirms and gives him a hug.

When he is back onto the driver’s seat, (Y/N) speaks up. “I don’t feel good about letting him to school today. What if he suddenly gets overwhelmed? I don’t think his teachers are able to calm him down.” Hotch gives his daughter a glance from the side. Jack never showed any signs of what she just described.

“They know to call me. I also told him it's all right to let them call me. He is in good hands.” It’s quiet for the next few minutes. “Dad, this is not the way to school”, the teenager tries to alert her father.

“I know. You won’t go today. I called you in sick when you were in the bathroom. I got the day planned, be ready to be surprised.”

The first thing they do is having breakfast in a little niché café. They once visited it regularly with Haley, way long before Jack was born. The two of them sit down at a booth in the corner.

“What can I get you two sweeties?” A waitress asks, her notebook ready in her hands. While the father orders their usuals, (Y/N) lets her eyes wander. So many memories at once crash onto her.

“Do you remember this one waiter, who always got you a hot cup of chocolate for free?” Aaron says after noticing her sad look. The girl begins to smile through the tears forming in her eyes. “Of course. Mom always got nearly a heart attack seeing me down it like it’s juice. I-” Her voice breaks. The tears fall down and make their way over her cheeks.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything. I’m here. For anything you want or need me. Because nobody expects you to be alright, especially on this day.” He takes her hand and looks her in the eyes. (Y/N) nods, leaning against her father’s shoulder. He puts an arm on her, keeping her closer.

“I know. It’s just- It still hurts. So so badly. I feel like she still is here, but that’s just not true and that hurts me more.” Silently Hotch motions the waitress to make the order to go, while rubbing his child’s arm. Because that’s what she still is, a child.

A child that went through much, especially for her age. When (Y/N) calms down a little, they make their way back to the car.

“I thought we are going to the BAU to distract you for a while. But I can call the team and tell them we are going to do a SPA day at home or something. What do you want?”

“Can we go to them? And maybe leave earlier to do face masks at home before picking Jack up?” There is no way the father can say no to her puppy dog eyes. “Of course, Honey. Anything you want.”

As soon as the doors of the elevator open to floor six of the FBI building in Quantico, Penelope Garcia embraces (Y/N) in a big bear hug. “My sweet sweet summer child. You are so strong, I admire you. We are so happy to have you here” she whispers into the teenager's ear. “Thank you, Penny. Thank you so much.”

Over the course of the next few hours (Y/N) visits everyone’s desk. At first she goes into the lair, where mountains of cookies wait for her. Then she sits at Spencer’s desk, listening to cute facts about sloths. But Emily is quick to steal her from the genius, bribing the girl with new pictures of Sergio. Derek takes the teen from there, pushing her through the office on a desk chair with wheels. Her father is able to hear her laughs in his office, which puts a small smile on his face.

After that (Y/N) goes to JJ, who has a drawn picture from Henry for her. “Will had to write ‘best babysitter ever’ for him”, the blonde explains, pointing at the picture. The girl smiles. “Woah, I think you got a little Picasso at home. Tell him I love it.”

Her last stop is Rossi’s office. The older man looks at her with a fond smile. “Do you know that I see so much of your father and mother in you?” Confused, she glances at him.

“You are as stoic as Aaron. You are determined. But you are also caring and loving, like Haley. You are a perfect combination of both of them. Just keep that in your mind.”

As mysterious as this seems, it somehow makes (Y/N) happy. Happy to know a part of her mother is always with her.

Soon the little family departes for their home. Not long after they bid their goodbyes, Penelope receives a picture of the Unit Chief and the teenager with pink glitter masks. The father is willing to do anything to make her smile, even when this means he gets a basket of various masks the next day for teasingly reasons.

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Clenched Fists and Heavy Hearts

Square: N2, Self-Harm

@badthingshappenbingo

Teen And Up Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply / Gen / 4.4k

Fandom: Batman - All Media Types

Relationship: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: POV Tim Drake, Self-Harm, non-graphic, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort

Read on AO3

---

Tim’s life ends with eight simple words: “We’re going to have to call Mr. Wayne.”

Through the windows of the principal’s office, midday sunlight shines and washes the other occupants of the room—the principal, Mrs. Weaver, her secretary, Miss Anderson, and the nurse, Nurse Reynolds—aglow. They stand shoulder to shoulder, a united front across from him.

Tim should be here receiving an award for his outstanding smarts. They should be chastising him for missing so many days and having so many tardies. He shouldn’t have come into school today at all.

None of those are the case today.

He’s sitting up straight in the stiff chair and he’s never felt more like he’s about to be executed than in this moment. His fists are clenched in his lap. He’s had so many targets on his head that it’s not even funny, but this is easily the worst one.

“A-are you sure?” He stammers, before immediately reeling himself in.

He can’t be emotional right now—that’ll only make things so much worse. Clenching his fists harder, he purposefully makes himself sit back in the chair. A familiar mask of calm disinterest settles on his face, and he turns to the secretary, who he knows from experience will be the easiest to crack.

“Miss Anderson, please, I really don’t think that’s necessary.” He makes himself sound contrite, like he’s just some stupid rich kid who thought he could flout the rules. “I understand I shouldn’t have been skateboarding in the halls and I promise not to do it again. If you’d like, you can even keep my board in here—I’ll come to retrieve it at the end of the day.”

She exhales softly, and glances to Mrs. Weaver. “Tim…,” she says, her voice achingly gentle. There’s concern in her eyes and he hates it, he hates it, but he doesn’t let his expression doesn’t change. A crack in his mask is the difference between life or death; his ability to hold onto a certain kind of smile, whatever befits the situation, has gotten him farther than this with hardened criminals.

And even if he doesn’t consider those situations—since they happen to Robin (or Red Robin, now), not Tim—he doesn’t have to look any further than all of the annoying galas and parties he’s had to attend in his life. His parents made it clear when he was very young that his best weapons are his reputation and his behavior, and they’ve been proven right again and again. Having good manners has gotten him out of tons of binds, shifting suspicion off of him, veiling his true feelings easily.

Now if only it can work this time, too.

“Mr. Drake,” Mrs. Weaver interrupts. The set of her mouth is very serious, her laugh lines completely smoothed out. Tim’s heart is pounding in his chest like he’s being chased by Harley’s rabid dogs. “If this was only because you were skateboarding in the hall, then…” she inhales, a bracing-oneself kind of breath if he’s ever seen one. “Then, we would consider that course of action. But you are well aware it’s no longer just about that.”

“Isn’t it?” He asks, going full on Brucie with his faint, undeniably vacant tone.

Nurse Reynolds shakes his head, giving a pointed look at Tim. He doesn’t have to say anything to get his point across, they all know why they’re there, but Tim is unwilling to let go of his mask for anything.

“I only tripped,” Tim says with a shrug. “I’m fine.”

“You hit another student,” Nurse Reynolds reminds him.

“Dante’s fine, too. He didn’t even need any band-aids, you said so yourself, Nurse.” At that, he stands, as smoothly as he can manage. If he just keeps his back straight and his face neutral, they’ll be persuaded, he tells himself. The air is thick with unspoken tension and it’s suffocating him. “Can I go back to class now?”

“No, Mr. Drake, you may not,” Mrs. Weaver chastises, standing herself. “Sit down. Miss Anderson, will you please call Mr. Wayne? Ask him to come by but don’t give any sensitive information over the phone. We’ll need to discuss this with him in person.”

Please don’t, Tim thinks desperately. But he doesn’t say it. “I’m eighteen,” he tries instead. “Surely I’m old enough that we don’t need to get him involved.”

The principal shakes her head just once, though her ‘this matter is put to rest’ face is so much less intimidating than Alfred’s. “Now, please, Natalie.”

He doesn’t even get the chance to warn her to let Bruce know he’s not, like, imminently dying before Miss Anderson nods and escapes the room. He stares at the shut door for a beat too long, wishing he could follow her out. And then run away from Gotham for good measure. He’ll have to go somewhere not even the Supers can reach him—Talia would probably take him in, if he plays his cards right. Maybe she won’t even tell Bruce.

“Mr. Drake, you understand that this is policy,” Mrs. Weaver says, interrupting his spiraling escape plans. Her voice wavers impossibly between firm and uncertain. It must be scary having to inform Bruce Wayne, a main benefactor of the school, that his son is—well. What they’re accusing him of. “We must tell the parent or guardian when we have this kind of concern for a student.”

Tim’s eye twitches. He politely tells her, “It’s a baseless concern.”

Mrs. Weaver’s frown deepens. “Mr. Drake.”

“What? It is!” As soon as he says it, he regrets it—he isn’t supposed to show when things upset him. He’s been better about following that rule lately. No one has noticed anything wrong, exactly as Tim wants it. He’s fine. He tucks his hands into his pockets, knuckles creaking from how tightly he’s holding his fists.

Nurse Reynolds opens his mouth, probably about to refute that or say something awful like ‘Tim, we’re worried about you’, but Tim absolutely cannot handle hearing it right now. Though it’s rude, he interrupts, “If it’s all the same to you both, I’d like to wait until Bruce is here to discuss further.”

They share a hesitant look. Tim swears if they make him talk, he will abuse the Wayne name to get himself the hell out of here, Bruce or no Bruce. He’s good at wiggling his way out of things with pretty, petty words.

“…Alright,” Mrs. Weaver gives in. “We can’t let you return to class until this is resolved. Would you rather stay here or out there with Miss Anderson?”

He’s perfectly polite, waiting until she’s done speaking before he answers, though he knew his answer as soon as she began to ask. “I’ll sit in the main office.”

She doesn’t smile. He doesn’t care, can’t care right now, and says a perfunctory goodbye. He leaves before either adult can say anything else.

He nods to Miss Anderson and the other secretaries before finding a seat, safely distanced from the door but still close enough he’ll be able to make a run for it if needed.

“Your… ah, Mr. Wayne is on his way,” Miss Anderson says from her desk.

Fuck. He keeps his genial smile on, pretending that his gut isn’t churning in fear. He can’t think of a worse place or time to throw up but if he acknowledges his anxiety, he knows it will happen. “Thank you.”

What follows is forty minutes of miserable waiting. The WE building is halfway across the city, not to mention the traffic. Tim hopes Bruce isn’t worrying himself but more than that, he hopes Bruce won’t… won’t… he doesn’t even know what. He can think of dozens of ways Bruce could react to this, and none of them are good. His clenched fists are the only physical expression of his anxiety that he allows himself.

Everyone in the office, even just people passing through, give him looks—not the normal, ‘oh shit it’s Tim Drake-Wayne’ stares, but ‘obviously something is going on and I’m going to spread rumors about it’ curious ones. Still, even with how uncomfortable they make him, he doesn’t regret sitting out here. At least no one is trying to talk to him.

He doesn’t scroll through his phone, unable to stomach whatever memes his friends and siblings have likely sent him by now.

Looking out of the window, he wishes he’d ignored Alfred knocking on his door this morning. At his age, with the kinds of responsibilities he has, the fact that he attends school at all is more of a favor to Alfred than it is anything else. It’s certainly not because he wants to be here.

But when Alfred told him he needed to finish the year, and Bruce concurred, and Duke was all happy about having an inside connection to the seniors, Tim hadn’t said no. His plans to get a GED on the side of having an actual job were put down for good, and he resigned himself to one more year. He could do it for them—he will do it for them. Even if the events of today are enough to make him regret that choice, he will.

If Bruce will even let him, after this meeting.

Tim can’t decide which response he’s hoping for.

Some small, silly part of himself is desperate for Bruce to—to believe him, to take his side. To tell the principal and the nurse they’re both looking too much into things. Tim is fine. Tim is so fine, he can go back to class and finish up the day and then finish up the year and never have to worry about this ever again.

An even bigger part—one that remembers his childhood and his parents griping to each other about how positively uncouth Dick Grayson and Jason Todd were, running around charity events laughing at their own jokes and rolling their eyes at Bruce—is terrified that Bruce won’t understand. He’ll agree with Mrs. Weaver and Nurse Reynolds. He’ll tell Alfred and Dick out of concern, and then everyone will know, even Damian, and they’ll—they’ll—

He lets out an inaudible sigh, cutting off his own thought process, desperate for all of this to be over already.

The door to the office suddenly swings open, perfect timing. Bruce steps in, dressed in one of his nice work suits, his eyes immediately scanning the room for Tim. As soon as they land on him, he settles a bit, obviously relieved to see he’s not grievously injured. Or injured at all, really. He only tripped.

Tim stands as Bruce sweeps over to him, one hand coming up to land on Tim’s shoulder. He tilts his head back, giving him a quick once-over. When he doesn’t see anything wrong, he asks, “She said you had an accident?”

“I’m fine, really,” Tim says. He stamps down viciously on the war going on in his head—however Bruce reacts, he’ll just have to deal with it. No use worrying himself sick in the meantime.

Easier said than done.

Bruce narrows his eyes the slightest bit, disbelieving, but he doesn’t question Tim out loud. “She also said I’d need to have a talk with the principal.”

Tim swallows and nods. He can’t get any words out.

Not letting go of Tim’s shoulder, he guides them over to Miss Anderson’s desk. She’s familiar with them from previous visits, and let’s them know they can go right on in. Her eyes have that—that pity back. Tim turns his head to look away from her, a falsely natural move that still manages to catch Bruce’s attention. Damn it.

“Mr. Wayne,” Mrs. Weaver greets, the weight on her words only further tipping Bruce off. “Thank you for coming in. Please, both of you can have a seat here in front of my desk.”

They sit in separate chairs, but Bruce rests his hand on the back of Tim’s chair, not quite touching him. Even just his arm feels protective, just as much as when he’s got on his suit and lets Tim hide under his cape. Bruce asks, “Can you tell me what’s going on? Miss Anderson didn’t exactly give any details.”

She nods, crossing around to sit behind her desk. “First, let me introduce you—Mr. Wayne, this is our school’s main nurse, Nurse Reynolds. Nurse, this is Bruce Wayne.”

They share brief pleasantries that Tim can hardly pay any attention to. The panic from earlier comes back with a vengeance as he realizes she’s really going to do it, she’s really going to tell Bruce. He squeezes his hands in his lap, hoping he appears like he’s listening even a little bit.

“Tim said he had an accident,” Bruce offers, clearly ready to get to the point of this visit.

“Yes, he did. Mr. Drake was riding his skateboard in the halls this morning and bumped into another student, causing them both to fall to the ground. Neither seemed seriously injured, but Nurse Reynolds checked them over just to make sure.” She glances beside her. “When he was checking over Tim, he noticed some concerning marks on his palms, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce frowns. He’s probably thinking that this isn’t the usual ‘where on earth are your children getting all these bruises from, Mr. Wayne?’ situation where they have to excuse crime fighting injuries. Sitting up straighter, he asks, “…What kind of concerning marks do you mean?”

Tim closes his eyes. His fists are clenched so tightly his palms are stinging. This is really happening. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“He has open wounds from his fingernails piercing the skin. Scars, as well.” Then, like Tim isn’t even in the room, Nurse Reynolds says straightforwardly, “Tim refused to explain where they came from or how long it has been going on. To be frank, Mr. Wayne, we believe they may be a sign of self-harm.”

-------

They make him go sit back in the main office while Mrs. Weaver and Nurse Reynolds tell Bruce just how serious this is. He knows they’ll be giving him recommendations on what to do based on experiences with previous students, knows they’ll tell Bruce not to pretend it isn’t happening since it so clearly is. He can practically hear Mrs. Weaver impart that this is something that cannot be swept under the rug or ignored.

Tim bites the inside of his cheek, caught between shame and offense. This is ridiculous. He’s not self-harming—he thinks he would know if he was cutting himself or acting more reckless than usual in the field.

He’s not depressed, either. None of his friends have died or been seriously injured in a long time. Things at home are fine. School is annoying but he deals with it on the days he bothers to go. No rogues have caused particularly awful damage recently.

There’s nothing going on in his life to be upset about, and even if there was, he’s not self-harming. He’s fine. He is.

But if Bruce doesn’t think so… it can go so many ways. Maybe he’ll ground Tim for a time, and let him back once Tim’s palms have healed. Maybe he’ll make Tim see Leslie, or worse, a therapist. Or maybe it’ll be worse—maybe he’ll force Tim to stop fighting crime entirely; it wouldn’t be the first time he tried that with one of his Robins.

No matter what he does, though, Tim is sure he’ll tell Alfred. And if Bruce believes Tim is hurting himself, Alfred will too.

One of the very last things he wants is to put any more of a burden on his pseudo-grandfather, but that’s exactly what this will be: a burden. Another thing to worry about. Even if—when—Tim moves away, it’ll be in the back of his mind.

Tim’s cheek stings between his teeth, the slight taste of rust seeping into his mouth, but he doesn’t let go.

He’s going to have to stop clenching his fists. That much is obvious. The very thought is enough to send anxiety zipping through him.

Ever since he was a child, it’s been one of few, if not the only, ways he could express his feelings. Great shows of emotion, especially in public, are uncouth. They’re embarrassing. They make one seem sloppy and uneducated. Tim was raised by two people who’d grown up in the circles of Gotham’s elite, who’d known how to show their emotions—whether they were real or not—politely, appropriately. Quietly.

Working with Batman is much the same. If Rogues know they’ve struck a nerve, they’ll pounce. If mobsters know their shot landed, they’ll run around bragging about knocking down a Bat. Civilians shouldn’t be able to capture anything from them at all. Anonymity is paramount and if someone notices Red Robin and Tim Drake have the same cocky smile, then it could all be over.

In his experience, no one looks at the hands unless weapons are involved. They watch the face, the eyes, the jaw. They notice shoulders stiffening, foot stance widening. The only time they care about if someone’s hands are curled into fists is if said fist is flying towards them.

It was safe. It was his constant outlet. When something upset him or things felt out of control, he could ball up his fists. The sting of it helps him focus, keeps him in the moment.

But now the principal and the nurse have ruined that for him, and Bruce is going to do something about this, he won’t just let it go.

It’s a miserable fifteen minute wait. Miss Anderson keeps shooting him worried looks but he ignores her and everyone else that comes in or out of the office. When Bruce comes out, he stands.

“Can I go back to class?” Anything to put off the inevitable.

Bruce is frowning one of his dad frowns, the ones he turns on them when they’re injured on shift. They make Jason and Damian (and Tim, sometimes) uncomfortable and shy. Dick, Cass, and Duke perk up when he turns it on them, lighthouses for Bruce’s paternal woes.

“You have the rest of the week off,” he says. “I thought it would be best.”

Tim can’t think of anything to say to that. He doesn’t bother.

Things have already gone to hell, so he doesn’t say goodbye to Miss Anderson on his way out of the building. Bruce follows behind him, probably trying not to crowd him but failing miserably. He doesn’t say anything in the parking lot, not even when Tim wordlessly rushes to get in. Everything feels unsteady and he needs the solitude and closed in space of whatever fancy car Bruce’s driving today.

Bruce enters sedately, tossing a packet of papers carefully into the back seat. He grabs his seatbelt and waits to click it until Tim’s clicked his first.

They still don’t speak, not until Bruce has pulled out of the lot and they’re three blocks away from the school. “Tim,” he says heavily.

“I’m not,” he bursts out. They aren’t home or in the Cave, they’re practically still in public, but he can’t keep it in anymore. That desperate voice in the back of his mind is pleading for Bruce to understand. “They’re wrong. I’m not—it’s not—”

“Take a breath,” Bruce interrupts, firm. “Exhale slowly.”

Tim tries. His eyes are burning. Shame sits hot and heavy in his chest. What the hell is he doing, crying? He’s been through worse things. There’s nothing to cry about.

Bruce has to guide him through several deep breaths before any kind of conversation can happen. And when it finally does, it’s not at all what he’s expecting.

“Do you want ice cream?”

“What?” Tim chokes out.

“I think we should get some ice cream. Come on, I know a place.” He turns them down a street that will take them back towards the nice shopping center, not looking over at Tim. Giving him a moment of privacy and a distraction before they’ll have to have a serious talk.

Tim pouts, knowing exactly what he’s doing. But damn if it doesn’t work. Indignantly, Tim says, “I know all the same places as you.”

Bruce doesn’t reply except to pull into Tim’s favorite ice cream shop. They go through the drive-thru, and Bruce orders for them both, getting Tim a mint chocolate chip milkshake without having to ask. He replies good naturedly to the employees, slipping on his Brucie persona like nothing is wrong. Thankfully, they don’t linger there long.

With no cupholders around (stupid fancy cars), Tim has to hold both of their milkshakes as Bruce drives them… wherever it is he’s taking them. Tim doesn’t ask, just stares out the window and lets the cold condensation relieve the pain in his palms.

The drive is longer than Tim expects, quiet except for low level music playing from the stereo. Every once in a while, Bruce hums to himself, though Tim isn’t sure if he’s thinking or if it’s in reaction to the other cars on the road. Some of his anxiety eases with the calm atmosphere, though most of it can’t be soothed. He can’t decide if this ride and the ice cream and the not-yelling is meant to be a last hurrah before things are irreparably changed or not.

They cross the bridge all without speaking, and end up parking in one of the lesser used parks in Bristol. It used to be a lovers' lane, but nowadays it’s far more useful as a stargazing spot. Bruce shifts into park and holds out his hand for his shake, boring strawberry.

He needs to get ahead of this. Inhaling, he starts, “Bruce—”

But Bruce shakes his head. “Let’s eat first. Then we can talk.”

“But….” He sighs. “Fine.”

Too anxious to enjoy his ice cream, he mostly spoons at it, letting it get soupy and only taking a few bites. He has to stave off the urge to grab the papers from behind them.

Bruce notices. Of course he does. He finishes his shake and throws the trash in the little bag Alfred insists on every car having before finally, finally turning to face Tim. “I’ve made you wait long enough.”

Tim doesn’t reply. He doesn’t think an agreement is the best way to begin this conversation.

Hesitantly, Bruce asks, “Can I see your hands, Tim?”

“I’m not s-self-harming,” Tim immediately says, trying not to immaturely snatch his hands in close like Bruce might force him to show them.

“I didn’t say you were, bud.” Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I just want to see how bad these cuts are.”

He bites down on the retort that flies to his tongue. He’s sure that back talking will only make this go worse. Reluctantly, he holds his hands out, palms up. Each one has a line of four open, crescent shaped wounds. They aren’t very deep, already healing over, but they still don’t make a pretty picture.

“Were they treated?” Bruce asks neutrally.

“The nurse gave me antiseptic.”

Bruce hums. Gently, he takes Tim’s hands in his own, but not to get a closer look like Tim expected. Instead, he softly curls Tim’s fingers forward until he’s making fists, his nails hovering right over the lines.

“Tim, kiddo,” Bruce sighs, not letting go of his hands.

Tim’s heart thumps in his throat painfully. He’s about to say it. He’s about to tell him that he can’t patrol if he’s hurting himself. He’s going to take it all away. He’s—

“Can you explain to me why, why you do this?”

“It’s not because I—I want to hurt myself, I promise, B, I’m not—”

Bruce interrupts, “Slow down. Don’t tell me what it’s not, tell me what it is. Why do you cut your hands like this?”

Swallowing, he tries to find a way to explain. “My p-parents taught me to have a ‘politely interested’ expression,” Tim fumbles. “I wasn’t supposed to emote or I’d em-embarrass them.”

He can see the contempt in Bruce’s eyes, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything about Tim’s parents. He’s learned over the years that they did him wrong in a lot of ways, but he still loves and misses them. And this was one of those things they’d taught him that he’s always seen as an exception, a good nugget of advice in a sea of abandonment. Up until this afternoon, that is.

“They never got mad at me if I clenched my fists. They didn’t notice. Eventually, I learned instead of throwing tantrums I could just… accept it. Them leaving again. Being shuttled off to another finishing school. Whatever it was. Even if it made me mad.”

“And this was how you coped?”

Tim nods miserably. That word, coped, suddenly makes everything worse; heat flares in his face as his eyes well up. He squeezes them shut but a few traitorous tears leak out, leaving hot trails down his cheeks. “Nothing I did could change it, and they’d just get m-mad at me if I ever talked back. This is—was—something I can control.” He sniffles, “B, I—I learned a long time ago that I can’t be emotional. I have to be perfect. And I-I can be but only if I can—”

He tries to demonstrate, tries to show Bruce how he digs his fingernails in deliberately. The sting is distracting, familiar, but it only lasts a second before Bruce is forcing him to stop. He pulls his fingers straight, careful not to hurt him.

“You can’t keep doing this, Tim.” Bruce’s gaze is intense, his hands warm against Tim’s clammy skin. “I know this is going to sound rich coming from me, but… I think it’s time you let it out.”

Tim gapes at him. Tears begin streaming down his face in earnest, silent but more than he’s allowed himself in a long time. “What?”

“Let yourself cry, chum. It—it helps.”

Tim shakes his head. Teardrops slide off his jaw onto his expensive school pants. “I don’t want to. I can’t. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Bruce says gently. He tugs Tim closer, wrapping his arms loosely around his back. “Come on, let it out. I’m here. You don’t have to be perfect. It’s okay.”

Tim resists, but he’s helpless, caught in his dad’s arms. With a strangled gasp, he dives forward to hide his face in Bruce’s chest. The dam inside him has been threatening overflow for years—but finally, finally, he lets it out.

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Protect

For Maribat March day 18 theme protect 

Master List 

“DEAREST BIG BROTHER! I’M HOME!” A female shout came from the foyer of the manor. 

Dick, Jason, Tim, Babs, Steph, and Cass were hanging out in one of the many rooms the manor held. Alfred had just walked in with a tray of drinks but froze at the sound of the voice.

“THE HECK!” Was shouted by the same voice followed by Damian’s voice shouting, 

“WHO ARE YOU!?!?! HOW DID YOU GET IN!?!?!” 

Alfred was out of the room in an instant. He was not sprinting but he might as well be with how fast he was walking. The batkids immediately followed after him. 

They walked in on a sight none of them will ever forget. Literally, Jason had taken a picture. A strange woman who looked like a female, miniature version of Bruce had Damian’s precious katana and seemed to be taunting him with it. 

“Miss Marinette!” Alfred called and got both the woman’s and Damian’s attention. 

“Alfred!” The woman replied, running over and giving him a hug, katana still in her hand. 

“Wait, Aunt Nettie?” Dick spoke up, walking over to the pair. 

“Little Wing! Wow, you got so much bigger since the last time I saw you.” She responded, giving him a hug. 

“Wait, wait, your Aunt Nettie?” Jason asked, crossing his arms. 

“Aww, Little Blue Jay, you don’t remember me?” She shot back, crossing her arms as well. 

“Blue Jay, why is that familiar?” Jason muttered to himself, not quietly enough since everyone heard him. 

“Aunt Nettie, you only visited once when he was here.” Dick reminded her. 

“Oh, well that will explain that. Also how many more kids did Bruce adopt? I thought it was only the 2 of you, the Drake kid, and his bio kid.” She questioned, motioning to each child she remembered. 

“The only other kid he adopted is Cass, Steph and Babs are family friends.” Dick clarified. 

“Babs, the first Batgirl correct?” She asked, turning to the girl in question. Everyone froze at that, this girl who was apparently Bruce’s sister knew who they were.

“It’s fine guys, she’s known since the beginning of his time as Batman.” Dick assured. 

“Yep, speaking of my big brother, where is he?” 

“Master Bruce is currently at a WE meeting, but he will be back in time for dinner.” Alfred answered for her. 

“How come father never told us about you?” Damian voiced, glaring at her and looking like he wanted to attack her again. Probably because she still had his katana. 

“I rarely visit nowadays and he’s probably still upset after last time.” Marinette smirked, like she had won some sort of battle. Noticing she still had his katana, she handed the blade back to Damian. 

“Last time?” Tim hesitantly echoed. 

“How about Miss Marinette shares the story in the living room? I can bring snacks.” Alfred offered, Marinette looked like she was about to say something but Alfred beat her to it, “You bond with your nieces and nephews, I will be fine.” 

“Come on Marinette! You can tell them about how you helped train Bruce! Oh did you bring any kwamis with you?” Dick rambled, pulling Marinette with him into the room they were hanging out in before her appearance. 

Once they were all seated Tim started the conversation, “So I’m not hallucinating, you are actually Bruce’s sister.” 

“Yes, Bruce is 3 years older than me. I know that he is Batman and you guys are the bats and the birds.” She calmly responded. 

“What did Dick mean by you helped train Bruce? And what is a Kwami?” Babs continued. 

“Kwami are basically magical beings, kinda like gods, that are bound to jewels called miraculous. Since I’m the guardian I protect these jewels. I trained Bruce by helping my old mentor from Tibet train him.” Marinette explained. 

“What happened last time? And why don’t you visit often?” Damian asked, carefully hidden curiosity in his eyes. 

“Back in my first year of highschool, Bruce was very protective of me. Like very protective. No boy he didn’t approve of, which meant I could never talk to a single boy, could get within 10 feet of me without him present. Asking me out, out of the question. Pretty sure this one guy, Adam, wanted to ask me out but Bruce interrupted before he could. I never talked to him again after that. I got pretty tired of it so I signed up for the foreign exchange program and went to school in Paris.” 

“Wait,” Steph interrupted, “Bruce was an overprotective brother?” 

“One of the worst kinds. I’m sure if our parents were still alive he might’ve been worse than my dad.”

“What importance does this have to the questions?” Damian sneered, annoyed that he wasn’t getting any answers. 

“Hold on I’m getting there. So anyways it was in my sophomore year of highschool at Paris that a supervillain attacked. He called himself Hawkmoth, he used the butterfly miraculous to transform people into his puppets by using their emotions against them. I didn’t think much of it since it didn’t concern me, my host family agreed thinking it wouldn’t last long. But when I got to my room there was a little box sitting on my desk and that’s where I found the ladybug miraculous. The most powerful miraculous besides the cat miraculous. I told Bruce, he wasn’t too happy about it, but there wasn’t much he could do. So much happened in that amount of time that I don’t think I could summarize it all before Bruce gets back but just know that in that span of time I met the current guardian. Hawkmoth gained an ally who used the peacock miraculous, Mayura. Also a miraculous that could manipulate emotions. 

After I and my partner had defeated Hawkmoth and Mayura, sometime during my senior year, we revealed our identities, dated for a few months before I ended things. Then I went back home and Bruce was getting ready to go on his soul-searching journey to be trained by masters or whatever and I suggested he be trained by my mentor who was in Tibet. I went with him, we trained for a couple of months before he left. I decided to stay in Tibet to train to become the next guardian. Eventually my mentor died and gave me guardianship. 

Then I returned to Gotham and Bruce had adopted Little Wing over there. So I stayed here for a while before I decided to go around the world doing guardian things. Bruce didn’t like the idea but there wasn’t much he could do. I ended up catching up with an old friend of mine on one of my travels and we started dating before I came back here. That’s when I met Little Blue Jay for the first and last time.

Before you guys had gone on patrol I tried to ask Bruce to give my boyfriend a chance but he didn’t agree. I’ve always been his little sister in his eyes, I think he couldn’t handle the fact I had grown up. Nasty words were exchanged between us and I haven’t returned since. In the end me and him didn’t work out but I couldn’t bring myself to return, until now at least.” 

“Why now?” Damian immediately pressed once she finished her explanation. 

“Dusuu was missing Alfred. It has been like a decade or something.” She remarked, pulling out a peacock shaped brooch. 

“Didn’t you say that the peacock miraculous was evil?” Cass signed, raising an eyebrow at the brooch. 

“No, I said it was used for evil. The miraculous are technically neutral, can be used for good or evil. Depends on who is wielding them.” Marinette bit back, as a flash of light emitted from the brooch. Suddenly a small floating peacock creature stood in front of Marinette. 

“Is that a kwami?” Steph asked. 

“Yes, this is Dusuu, the peacock kwami of emotions.”

“Hello! It’s so nice to meet you!” Dusuu chirped, “Where’s Alfred?” 

“I am right here Dusuu. It is lovely to see you again.” Alfred spoke from the doorway, holding a tray of snacks and drinks. 

“Alfred!” Dusuu cheered before flying over and hugging the older man. 

“In all honesty Bruce doesn’t sound like the best brother.” Jason pointed out. 

“I know it may seem like he’s a shitty brother, and at the time I totally thought he was and still is, but I know where he’s coming from. Bruce was always the more reserved and protective out of the 2 of us even before what happened to our parents. I think our parents' death solidified his need to protect me from anything and anyone. And we all know how horrible Bruce is at showing his emotions so I know his heart was in the right place. Plus, we’ve had years to cool off, I’m sure we can have a mature conversation now.” Marinette explained, a fond smile gracing her lips. 

Faintly in the distance they heard Alfred say, “Welcome home, Master Bruce.” 

“That’s my cue!” Marinette said before bolting off in the direction of the foyer. 

“Alfred something’s off, what are you not telling me?” The second those words left his mouth a weight connected with his back, arms wrapped around his neck and a familiar, 

“HEY BIG BRO!” Was registered by his ears. 

The weight slipped off his back and as he turned around he was met with the familiar sight of his little sister. “Marinette.” 

“Bruce.”

“You’re here.” 

“I am.” 

“I thought-”

“That I was mad at you.”

“You didn’t visit for 10 years.” 

“Life got busy.” 

They stood in silence for a minute. 

“I missed you.” Marinette whispered, so much different from the girl that was telling them a brief summary of her life. She seemed so much more vulnerable uttering those words than when she had revealed why she hadn’t come back in the first place. 

Turns out that was the straw that broke the camel’s back as Bruce wrapped Marinette in a hug as tears slipped from his eyes. They could hear him whispering over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did all those years ago.” 

It was weird for them all to see, including Dick who knew how much Marinette meant to Bruce. Bruce kept his emotions so closed up, master of the stoic face, but here he was breaking down in front of the all. Here he was crying and apologizing. 

“I believe we should leave them alone for now.” Alfred spoke up heading for the dining room. They followed. Later Bruce and Marinette would join them, a little red-eyed with their cheeks tear-stained, but small smiles on their faces. 

It was then that all the batkids knew that they would be seeing this ‘Aunt Nettie’ much more often. 

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

Look at that, I’m super late again! Nothing new, I think day 14 was a one time thing unfortunately. 

I’ve seen a ton of fics where Marinette was Bruce’s older sister but what about where she’s his younger sister? Bruce would so be an overprotective older brother. 

I hoped you enjoyed this! I’m planning on making a part 2 of this for ‘contest’. So stay tuned!

@maribatmarch-2k21 

[marauderundercover]

Making Memories: Ch. 11

Day 11: Fate and Phoenix

AO3

Prev

Marinette had never liked the idea of fate. Well, she might have liked it when she was really young, she didn’t remember. What she did remember though, was the old lady that lived in the building next to the bakery. When Marinette was really little, the woman was her parent’s go to babysitter. She was nice enough, but she often rambled about things six year old Marinette didn’t really understand- or care about. One of those things was fate. The woman had always insisted that you couldn’t avoid fate, and trying to would only bring your fate faster. And the woman always talked about fate as if it was another term for death. Always connecting the two. Needless to say, at the ripe age of six, Marinette saw fate as an enemy.

As she got older, she wasn’t quite as hostile towards the idea, even teetering on the possibility of believing in it when she first became the Guardian. Some of the things Master Fu had said, had just led her to believe that he was right. That it was fate. And maybe fate wasn’t so bad. Then Jason had read a book to her. It was the first book he’d read to her that wasn’t a classic, but neither of them had been feeling up to discussing the classics. The book had described fate as ‘a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.’

Staring blankly at the computer screen in the Batcave, she wished she’d remembered earlier that fate was never on her side.

“Mars, are you okay?” Tim asks softly, his voice the only one she’s able to latch onto. Everyone else is yelling, screaming at both the computer and each other as they try and figure out a plan.

“No.” She breathes out, hands immediately shaking. Instantly, she clenches her fists, not wanting anyone else to see how much this was affecting her. Hating how weak she felt in the moment. She was desperate to get rid of that feeling, no matter how stupid her gut was telling her it was.

“Do you-”

“I need to go get Tikki. She won’t let me go out without her.” Marinette interrupts, flinching slightly at the sudden silence in the cave. It was deafening.

“The fuck you do. You’re not going out there!” Jason argues, crossing his arms and staring down at her. She mimics his posture, narrowing her eyes as well.

“What do you mean I’m not going out? Yes, I am.” She counters. Jason scoffs.

“I think the fuck not, Marinette. You haven’t even gone on normal patrols-”

“I’ve gone out! I’ve gone out loads of times with the Sirens.” Marinette counters, glaring at her older brother. Did he really think she was too weak for this? That she wasn’t strong enough?

“I don’t give a fuck. The last time this sick son of a bitch was near you, he tried to kill you. Ladybird hasn’t been seen since, so there’s a good chance he thinks you’re dead. We send you out and he catches word, and his interest is right back on you. Trust me, I fucking know.” Jason practically growls the last part, his entire body tense as he glares at her.

“So what, I’m just never allowed to be Ladybird again? Is that what you’re saying?” She asks, her voice growing louder. She ignores the looks from her other brothers and dad, too focused on her fight with Jason. Why was he acting like this?

“No! That’s not- Look, I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Pixie.” Jason says. Marinette huffs.

“You all get hurt all the time!” She points out.

“But we don’t all almost die from the same son of a bitch who has tried to destroy us at every goddamn opportunity.” Jason says. Marinette opens her mouth to argue more, but her dad steps between them.

“That’s enough.” He says firmly. “Marinette, you are not to follow us tonight.” He adds. Her jaw drops.

“Are you serious?” She asks, he nods.

“You’re still grounded anyway, missy, for the stunt you pulled with the Sirens.”

“I didn’t mean to cause property damage!” Marinette reminds him, pouting. It’d been an accident, really.

“I don’t care if you meant to or not. I grounded you, so you’re benched from all alter egos for two weeks. And Jason’s right-”

“Shit, bet that hurt to say.”

“-as long as the Joker thinks you’re dead, you remain off his radar. If he knows you’re alive, it’ll make him just that more interested in you. We don’t need to risk that.” Her dad says, and she can see the worry in his eyes as he looks at her.

“I still vote we kill the son of a bitch instead of shoving him back in Arkham. Obviously he’s not gonna stay.” Jason adds. Marinette frowns, feeling awful for the part of her that agrees with Jason. The part of her that wants the Joker to suffer- suffer like she did. Like he made her family suffer. She blinks, shaking her head. Harley assured her that small doses of anger or rage like that was okay, as long as she didn’t act on it by hurting herself or others. She was also certain that if she texted the woman to go kill the Joker with her right now, Harley would answer with a smiley face emoji and ‘sure’. It was something she admired about the woman. Her predictability.

“We have a code, Jason.” Her dad says, pinching his nose as the clear signs of frustration cross his face.

“No, you have a code that you keep shoving down our throats.” Jason argues. The two continue going back and forth, and Marinette decides to use the opportunity to her advantage. Slipping past her brothers, she heads towards the stairs to grab Tikki. So okay, maybe she shouldn’t be seen around in Gotham, but she was sure the kwami would have an idea. Just as she makes it to the stairs, a hand grabs her arm. She whirls around, prepared to hit the person, and frowns instead.

“What?” She asks Damian, frowning. He usually went along with her crazy schemes. She could pretty much always count on him to-

“If you two are done fighting, could we go put him back in Arkham?” Damian asks loudly, from his spot next to her. Everyone turns to look at them, and she scowls at him. Sure, they really did need to get a move on. But he definitely said it close to her so that she would be caught and couldn’t leave. Evil genius.

“Right. Marinette, you are to stay in the cave with Alfred and Barbara. Do you understand?” Her dad asks, his voice firm. She opens her mouth to argue, but closes it instead. It’s not that she wanted to go after the Joker. In fact, the very idea of it made her sick to her stomach. She was just so tired of feeling weak and scared every time the man was brought up. And now that he’d escaped from Arkham, after a little over a month? She was not doing okay.

“Fine.” She mumbles, pushing past him to go curl up in a chair near Babs. Fate sure liked to give her a big middle finger sometimes. Hopefully, fate knew that she was giving one right back.

---

Jason grins viciously under his helmet. The Joker was right in front of him. He could easily- he stops, glancing over at Bruce. It’s not that he was against killing in front of the man. But he was pretty sure that Bruce would limit his visits with Pixie Pop and Demon Spawn, and he didn’t want to risk that. So instead, he’d settle for following the man’s cue. B makes eye contact with him- as well as they can with helmets and cowls- before dropping down behind the Joker. Just as the man whirls around to face Batman, Jason drops down. He feels his blood boil as he looks at man, the rage inside of him building up.

“I see you’re missing a little birdy.” Joker says, his tone light. Jason clenches his jaw.

“Robin is patrolling elsewhere tonight.” B says calmly. Joker laughs, a wicked grin on his face.

“I wasn’t talking about that one. I meant, the girl. You know, the one that just couldn’t take the...heat. Get it? Cause she blew up.” Joker snorts, laughing maniacally. Before Jason can lunge forward and beat the shit out of him, B’s doing it. Jason’s grateful that his helmet hides his entire face, because his jaw drops. He just stands there as B beats the shit out of the Joker, blinking at the scene, utterly confused.

“Don’t talk about her.” B growls as he punches the man. His face was covered in blood, but the man still smiled widely.

“Doesn’t this bring back great memories? You tried to kill me after I killed Robin, too. You tried, Batsy, but you just couldn’t pull the trigger, could you? Not even for one of your sidekicks.” Joker drawls out, almost as if the beating was doing nothing to him. He lets out a few muffled screams. That’s when Jason realizes that B had moved on to breaking the man’s bones. As much as it pains him, he tugs Bruce off of the Joker.

“Listen, if anyone’s gonna kill this son of a bitch for what he did, it’s gonna be me. Don’t go against your own morals, B.” Jason chastises him, tying the Joker up with zip ties- ignoring the cries of distress from the man as his broken bones are jostled roughly. Looking down at the man- the bleeding, broken man who had once left Jason (and two people he loved) bleeding and broken- he can’t help but smirk underneath the helmet.

“You know-” Joker starts, but Jason cuts him off.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. Bats is forgiving to a point, but I’ll just as soon shoot you. You’re one crazy son of a bitch, and I don’t think you should be given the chance to go to Arkham instead of a prison.” Jason practically hisses. He was just waiting for his chance. It wouldn’t be today, but Jason Todd was determined to kill the fucking Joker.

---

Marinette breathes a sigh of relief at the news. Her family had caught the Joker, and they were en route to the Cave. It was fine. It had worked out just fine.She jumps up to greet her family, immediately alarmed by the amount of blood her dad had on him.

“What happened?” She asks shrilly, searching for a first aid kit.

“It’s not mine.” Her dad says. She just gapes at him.

“Is that- was- what do you mean?” Marinette asks, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.

“He talked about you. He won’t anymore.” Her dad says before walking away, silently. Marinette sighs, confusion still flowing over her. But that was okay. She’d probably get the entire story later. All she cared about for right now, was that the Joker was locked up again. Hopefully his punishment would stick this time. She’d hate for Tikki to get involved.

Next

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[beebubb]

Creepypastas headcanons that hurt me

Jeff:

Even though he's an asshole and a jackass, he never bullies anyone to the extent of actually hurting someone's feelings, Sense he knows what it feels to be bullied

Had diagnosed ADHD but his parents (especially his dad) never took him to get proper help and left him untreated.

Always pretended to not care about his brother liu but he actually misses him a lot and sometimes even feels bad for killing him sense liu was the one to always make him feel better when he was bullied and never judged him when his face got messed up

When he knew liu was alive and now lived in the underworld, he acted like it was no big deal but he desperately wanted to look for him, but at the same time he didn't want to see him sense he didn't even know what to say.

When he finally saw liu, at first he was just in shock. He NEVER cries. He's been through a lot (physically and mentally) but he had never cried, but seeing his brother again, immediately broke him down.

Smile is kinda like his emotional support pet.

He hasn't cried but when he feels bad, he just hugs smile for literally hours.

Ben:

Has a huge fear of water.

Some of the pastas have wanted to make pool parties before but usually slender doesn't let it happen sense he knows ben would be left out and wouldn't be able to enjoy anything

He has tried to overcome but always gets really bad panic attacks

His panic attacks are worse when he doesn't mentally prepare himself for something.

When his panic attacks are really bad he feels like he can't breathe and it worsens the attack even more sense it reminds him of when he was drowning. He shakes a lot and sometimes just sobs and cries loudly while covering himself with his hands.

Jeff is his best friend, and he usually hugs him when his attacks are bad

The best way to calm him down is by physical contact. So holding him close and reassuring him that he's ok, helps him a lot.

Toby:

He hangs out with the girls (sherry, nina, clockwork, jane, amelie, amari, sally) because he feels like they remind him of his sister.

I feel like his sister would do his hair into tiny baby ponytails when they were younger, so he's happy when sally does that too

Sense masky is the oldest there, he kinda sees him as an older brother. Which is why he's always messing with him and annoying him, sense he misses being a little brother

He's actually really mature but refuses to act as it. He feels like he lost his childhood and could never enjoy it. He became more happy living with the pastas sense he feels like they're a family, so now that he's happier, he wants to enjoy it

Sense jane is the most mature and has more of a motherly feeling, he has accidentally called her "mom" before

Masky/tim:

He's the oldest out of everyone, and has been around with slenderman before slender started taking in apprentices. But when slender started training future proxies, it was his job to train them too sense he was the first ever proxy (along with hoodie/brian) and had more experience. He had grown to care for many apprentices sense he liked seeing them really determined to become great proxies. But what many didn't know, was that at becoming a proxy, it came with a lot of responsibilities and even risking your life. Some of the apprentices became proxies, but were soon killed by zalgoids or kidnapped (the zalgo war was active). So masky has seen many deaths.

He was used to death sense his job is literally killing along with other things but, seeing people from his own crew be killed or kidnapped and to never be found again, really devastated him

Even though he rarely admits it, hoodie/brian and toby keep him sane.

Even though he gets really annoyed with toby's pranks or actions, he still cares for him and reminds him of the more simple things in life, including hoodie/brian

He's actually kinda insecure about his age (i imagine him being around his 30's)

He actually loves the idea of finding someone, getting married, and have a family, but he usually avoids relationships sense usually many girls turn him down for being "too old"

Nina:

She has huge abandonment issues and always looks for praise

Even though he just seemed like a crazy fangirl to jeff. She actually seeked validation and love from him in order to feel better abour herself

She has moved on from her obsession for jeff but it's hard for her to find someone without obsessing for them too

Sherry:

Ever sense she was sexually abused when she was younger, it's been really hard for her to trust anyone and have a proper sexual life, sense she always feels in danger and feels like she's going to be hurt

When something happens or when she's going through a lot of pain (physically and emotionally) and cries, the first thing she says is "i want my mom!" or "i wish my mom was here.."

She has nothing against religion and respects all religions but she hated her own catholic religion sense her family would always shame her and push her to do things she didn't want to do just because she "needed to please god"

Has a huge sense of justice and always makes it her job. Even though she works as a proxy and has to kill people, she would never kill animals or children

[hood-ex]

For a batfam prompt: Dick as Nightwing, fear toxin, and Bruce?

Dick was in the middle of trying to stanch the bleeding from his nose when his comm started beeping in his ear. He sighed at the terrible timing and quickly wrangled off one of his blood coated gloves to receive the call. 

“Talk to me,” he said, voice sounding high and distorted as a result of pinching his nostrils closed. 

“Whoa,” Babs said. “What the hell is wrong with your voice?” 

“Got a bloody nose,” Dick explained quickly. It was really uncomfortable trying to breathe and talk only through his mouth. He was definitely going to need a huge glass of water after this. “What’s up?” 

“The Owls are what’s up. I need you to get your tush to the cave ASAP.” 

Ah, fuck. 

“What kind of trouble are our freaky electrum filled friends getting up to?” he asked, already tugging his glove back on and booking it back to where he’d left his bike half a block away. He knew he looked fucking ridiculous running while holding his nose, but it seemed pretty insignificant compared to the idea of Talons running loose and slaughtering people. 

“Just one friend, actually,” Babs said. The lack of urgency in her voice made some of the anxiety in Dick’s chest dissipate. It also made him realize that they were talking about a member of the Court and not the Talons. 

“Oh yeah?”

“She was schmoozing it up at the Aparo Auction House with Brucie Wayne and a hundred other rich people.”

A feeling of disgust settled in his gut, his mind replaying the time he infiltrated one of the Court’s underground auctions. The same auction that had tried to sell off the crowbar Joker had beaten Jason with. 

A shiver traveled all the way down to his toes as he leapt over a puddle that was in the middle of the sidewalk. His bike was now in his sight. He could tell it was his because of the way its blue accents gleamed in the moonlight. 

“Looks like Scarecrow and the Court have been doing business with each other,” Babs said in that slightly distracted way of hers that Dick was used to hearing when she was trying to talk while rubbing at her eyes. It was something she did a lot since her eyes were always strained from looking at computer screens for hours on end. “Fear toxin was released through the vents at the auction. It caused an absolute shitstorm of chaos, as you can imagine.”

“Damn,” Dick said, straddling his bike. He was secretly glad he was wearing his thermal suit so he wouldn’t have to ride to Gotham on a cold seat. The only thing he was annoyed about was that he was getting blood all over his handle bars and helmet. “Is B okay?” 

“Yeah... about that...” 

The anxiety in Dick’s chest cranked back up tenfold. Irrational images of Bruce lying dead in a red-stained tuxedo flashed through his mind. He shook his head, mentally yelling at himself to cool it. If something like that had happened, Bab’s wouldn’t sound as casual as she did now. 

“He keeps thinking you’re dead,” she said, and for a second, Dick thought he misheard her over the sound of his tires peeling off down the street. “Red Robin says he keeps switching between rationalizing that you’re alive and thinking you bit it.”

“Huh,” Dick said, not really sure what to make of that. It wasn’t the first time Bruce had delusions of him or someone else dying while on fear toxin. Dick was just slightly surprised because it had been years since he was the sole subject of Bruce’s fear. He wondered if it was tied to Bruce knowing that a woman from the Court was at the auction. Bruce might have associated her with Dick in his mind since the Court had been after Dick for the last few years. 

“All I’m saying is that you might want to hurry home quick, Hunk Wonder. Robin and Red Robin are out distributing an updated antidote to the people who got dosed at the auction. B’s antidote won’t really kick in for another thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“It should take you longer than that,” Babs said suspiciously. 

Dick grinned under his helmet. “It would if I wasn’t making my way there like Sonic the Hedgehog on a caffeine high.” 

“D-Nightwing!” 

“Gotta go, O! I’ll catch you at Cass’s birthday party next weekend!”

Dick disconnected the call, knowing full well that Bab’s hated when he did that and was sure to give him an earful the next time they talked. But that was a problem for future Dick to deal with. 

The ride to the batcave was filled with a lot of weaving and a few angry honks directed his way. Dick was pretty sure he might have even shaved off his expected arrival time by two minutes. He was very decidedly not going to share that with anyone else except for Roy. Roy was the only one who would appreciate it without giving Dick the third degree about safety precautions. 

The cave was about as lit up as it could get when Dick’s bike came to a screeching halt next to one of the batmobiles. Alfred had probably turned on all the lights since they’d learned over the years that shadows and fear toxin really didn’t mix that well.  

Dick left his helmet on his bike and hurried over to the cot Alfred always had them lie on when they were sick or injured. Sure enough, that was where Bruce was currently sitting, his feet bouncing in agitation against the floor. He was already out of his batsuit and was dressed in a soft looking blue shirt and gray sweatpants. 

Bruce’s eyes were squeezed shut and his arms were wrapped tightly around himself, his knuckles white. Dick wasn’t really sure what the correct way was to approach him, but he figured letting Bruce know he was there was probably a good first step.

“Hey, B, I’m here,” Dick said, walking slowly up to his dad to try and give him enough time to work out what was real and what wasn’t. 

Bruce’s head jerked at the sound of his voice, his bloodshot looking eyes immediately seeking out Dick’s own. He looked... well, not okay but not terrible either. Mostly just pale and a little shaky. 

It was the way Bruce was staring at him that made Dick feel nervous all over. His eyes were wide and haunted looking as they soaked Dick up like a sponge. It was the kind of raw look Dick had only ever seen on parent’s faces when they realized their baby wasn’t coming home. 

It was Bruce after Jason’s death. It was Bruce after Damian’s death. It was Bruce after T—

“You want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” Dick asked quietly, becoming more alarmed as he noticed Bruce was breathing so quickly that his chest was practically heaving. 

Bruce’s voice cracked as he murmured, “Dick?”

Bruce’s increasing panic didn’t make sense until Dick reached out his hand to comfort him and saw all the blood coated over his glove. 

Oh wow. He was a fucking asshole, wasn’t he?

He jerked his arm back to his side and whirled around so that Bruce couldn’t see all the dried blood on his face.

“I’m okay, Bruce. I’m okay. I got a bloody nose from patrol and... just wait, okay? Let me clean this off.” 

You’re such an idiot, Dick thought as he jogged towards the shower area, ripping off his gloves as he went. Once he was hidden from Bruce’s sight, he quickly peeled off his suit because, yeah, he found that blood had dripped on it as well. No wonder he was staring at you like you’d actually... like you were really...

He grabbed a clean towel from the pile they kept on a rack, and then he wet it and went about scrubbing all the blood off his skin until his face looked raw and the towel looked rusted. He was shivering by the time he was done. The cave was always cold and the water definitely wasn’t helping with that. 

Dick looked in the mirror and made sure there was no more blood on him before he went to their extra clothes supply rack. Weirdly, the shirts and hoodies from his own pile were missing. He barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, knowing Tim and Damian had probably been taking his stuff again. Tim always forgot to replace the clothes he borrowed after washing them, and Damian usually hoarded the clothes in his bedroom. 

Bruce and Jason’s stacks were still pretty well stocked. Dick made a considering sound in the back of his throat as he looked between them. Jason would definitely blow a gasket if he realized someone had taken his clothes, and contrary to popular belief, Dick really didn’t like fighting with Jason. On the other hand, wearing Bruce’s clothes was kind of weird. 

Says the guy who wore his batsuit, his traitorous brain reminded him. 

Shrugging, Dick grabbed some red gym shorts from his own pile and a black t-shirt and hoodie from Bruce’s pile. He did end up taking Tim’s Nike slides because his own slip on shoes had been stolen by two kleptomaniacs.

By the time he’d gotten himself dressed, he saw that Alfred had returned from upstairs and was coaxing Bruce into eating an artfully prepared sandwich. Dick wouldn’t mind eating one as long as there was no sign of cucumbers in it. 

“Ah, Master Dick,” Alfred smiled, looking both happy to see him and also relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with Bruce by himself. Bruce whipped around to where Dick was, and their eyes locked briefly before Bruce dropped his gaze like he was embarrassed about needing to reassure himself that Dick was actually there. 

“Hey, Alfie,” Dick said with a small smile of his own. He plopped himself on the cot next to Bruce, and before Bruce could protest, he grabbed Bruce’s fingers and forcefully pressed them against his wrist where his pulse was beating steadily. Bruce’s fingers trembled against his skin from the effects of the toxin, but he didn’t try to move them away. Instead, his shoulders relaxed into a more comfortable position, and he ended up leaning some of his weight against Dick’s shoulder. 

“You gonna eat that sandwich?” Dick asked Bruce who had closed his eyes and seemed to be silently counting the beats of Dick’s pulse. 

Alfred would normally intervene at a time like this and insist that he could go get Dick his own sandwich, but this time, Alfred stayed silent and watched them both with a knowing look. 

“No,” Bruce shook his head lightly. “You go ahead and eat it.” 

“Are you super-duper sure? Or just super sure? Or just duper sure? What level of sure are you?”

Bruce finally cracked the tiniest of grins at the game Dick used to play with him back when their worlds were a little smaller. Back when Casa de Wayne only had a population of three. 

Score, Dick thought with a smile of his own, feeling proud of himself. 

“I’m super-duper sure you can eat the sandwich,” Bruce said. 

That was essentially code for: I’ll throw up all over the floor if I have to eat even a bite of that sandwich. Dick took it as a sign to back off. 

“Well, as long as you’re super-duper sure,” Dick said, making grabby hands at Alfred for the sandwich in question. Alfred only looked mildly exasperated as he handed it over. 

Bruce’s fingers tightened around Dick’s wrist. “Trust me, I’m good.”

When Dick looked over at Bruce, he realized that Bruce’s eyes were open, and this time, they looked much clearer. The antidote seemed to have finally made its way through his system. 

“Good,” Dick said, playfully jostling Bruce’s shoulder. 

There was no stopping his surprised laugh when Bruce jostled him back. 

[redhoodieone]

Welcome Home

A/N: Hi everyone! This is an old fic that I’m re-posting for those who want to read it. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language and Smut.

  I knew my family was different the moment I found out my adoptive father was Batman. I was just a ten-year-old girl when I snuck down the stairs at midnight for a drink of water and spotted Batman leaving a trail of blood from his study and calling out for Alfred for help. The moment our eyes locked, Bruce instantly knew that I was clearly aware of his secret. He had also confessed it was him who saved me from a shootout that my parents were involved in and that it was him, as Batman. I felt I owed Bruce my own life for saving me, and I vowed to keep my father’s secret and pray that he would return home safely every night back to me.

It didn’t help that I soon discovered my adoptive older brother Dick Grayson was Robin. Not only did I have to keep his secret as well, but it made it more impossible to not have a crush on him. I mean, Dick has such a charming personality, beautiful baby blue eyes, and a devilish smile that can make any girl crawl on her hands and knees. And that ass…

I later found myself becoming the second Robin once Dick left to assume his own identity, Nightwing. Bruce trusted me, and he saw potential in me the second I told him I couldn’t see myself being a hero forever. Perhaps he never really wanted me to be his sidekick and figured if I got it out of my system that I could resume my life as a sixteen-year-old and do normal teenager activities. As if my life was normal anyways.

But things changed as soon as I was finally embracing myself as a hero. Bruce had taken in a new kid, Jason Todd. He was a troublemaker, a rebel, and a mysterious kid, who had never even spoken to me unless he had to. I don’t think my age helped the situation either; I was a couple of years older than him and he may not have seen me as an equal. But of course, the dark haired, icy blue eyed, bad attitude boy was given the Robin title, and I was removed because of a patrol-gone-wrong situation.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Then the unthinkable happened. The second Robin was killed by the Joker. Jason Todd’s death put Bruce into a depression, and he swore he would never put another kid’s life in danger. Our father and daughter relationship broke apart before my very eyes. I spent my remaining teenage years in the mansion isolated, except for Alfred’s loving company.

I had graduated high school on time and I quickly decided to go to Gotham University to escape the Bat family. Before I moved out, I discovered Bruce had taken in another kid, Tim Drake, who was currently the new Robin. Was I hurt? Of course, I felt I was somehow replaced. Would I miss the Bat family? Maybe. Maybe not.

I did in fact wish the new younger Robin good luck. When Tim looked up at me, his light blue eyes were so innocent and frightened about me leaving him behind. I didn’t know why he would be so upset about me leaving; wouldn’t he want all of Bruce’s attention without me hanging around the mansion?

Now I’m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

As I sit in a taxi while anxiously waiting to pull up to Wayne Manor, I honestly don’t know why Bruce wants me back at home. Alfred has kept me up to date about the Bat family incidents and activities I have missed out those few years such as:

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

Tim Drake is Red Robin (does the fast food chain restaurant know about his superhero name?), and he’s currently assisting the Teen Titans when necessary while simultaneously aiding Bruce with detective work.

Damian Wayne is Bruce Wayne’s unknown biological child. I think he’s about fifteen-years-old now; from what I remember the last time I spoke to Alfred. I met Damian once, when Bruce asked me to meet him once Talia al Ghul practically dropped him off at Bruce’s doorstep. The boy was a little shit: bratty, stuck up, and insensitive. Even though he is the spitting image of Bruce, minus the different colored eyes (Bruce has blue and Damian’s are green), Damian claims he is set to take over the cowl when Bruce is either dead or done. God help us all…

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I jump in surprise once the taxi comes to a hard stop. After paying the man, I grab my duffel bag and I climb the front steps that I suddenly remember jumping off them as a kid. Alfred scolded me many times, and I still did it because being bad was fun.

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

I find the wooden front door unlocked, which is odd considering Alfred always makes sure to lock it. As a matter of fact, Alfred hasn’t greeted me like he always does when I come home. Where is Alfred?

After I unwrap my scarf, I pull my hoodie over my head to be more comfortable in the warm house. Sadly, I forgot to do laundry yesterday, so I came home in just my black yoga pants and red tank top. What would Alfred say?

I kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen barefoot. Pulling my long hair into a ponytail, I notice a note on the counter that’s written for me. I unfold the note and stare at the nicest, well done cursive handwriting only one man can do here.

 Dear Lady Y/N,

I sincerely apologize for not being there to greet you properly. Master Bruce had wanted me to take my holiday to London early, and Lord knows I can use a week to myself after stitching up countless wounds, tidying up bedrooms and Bat caves, and playing messenger between you and your father. I have a cooked roast with garlic mash potatoes in the refrigerator if you are hungry. Do heat it up and perhaps show your father and brothers how to use the microwave.

I dearly love you and the boys,

 Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

 I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“Welcome home, Y/N. I missed you so much,” Bruce whispers in my ear. I can feel his hot breath above my shoulder and neck. The familiar smell of his expensive cologne fills my nostrils. His large hands rub my legs and grip onto my hips very hard. “Did you miss me?”

“H-hi dad. W-what are you doing?” I ask softly, but I know it came out like a whisper. One of his hands is holding my waist, while the other caresses my abdomen. It feels strange considering Bruce is supposed to be my father, and we shouldn’t be this close or even touching each other. But a part of me wants to keep feeling his hands on me and see what he does next.

“Holding you. Smelling you. Touching you,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He breathes harder when I press my backside against his front by accident. “It appears you want this too. Am I correct, Y/N?”

His hand pulls down my yoga pants enough, so he can reach into my underwear. Bruce continues to breathe hard from his nose when his fingers find my core. His thumb rubs fast circles on my clit, while he pushes two fingers inside me. I bite my bottom lip to stop a loud moan from coming out of me, but he appears he’ll have none of that. He stops fingering me.

“You better be loud, or I won’t let you cum, Y/N.”

Before I can beg him to keep going, he turns my face, so I can look him in those cold, pale blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re…not a virgin.” Bruce’s face is twisted in pleasure from just fingering me, but I can tell his lips are trembling and there’s a soft but pleading look in his eyes. This must hurt him as much as it’s hurting me.

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

Before I can answer, Bruce shoves the front of my body onto the counter, while he pulls down my yoga pants. My adrenaline is rushing, and I can feel myself wetting the counter from just his roughness. I can feel him unzip his pants and I can already imagine this thick, hard cock fucking me into oblivion.

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I want to turn around and watch him jack off. Hearing him pleasure himself isn’t enough. Bruce then jams two fingers back into my pussy and I whimper loudly. It has been too long since I’ve been intimate with a man. I need his cock now!

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Do I need to remind you who you are supposed to answer to?” he says seriously before adding a third finger inside me. I grip the counter and I breathe harder. I find myself rubbing my pussy on the edge of the smooth countertop for more friction, but he grabs my hips and stops me. “Now, do you want me to fuck you, Y/N, or should I leave you here, so you can dry hump the countertop alone?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately wonder if I killed the mood. Why would I call him ‘dad’ when we’re about to have hot, rough sex in the kitchen? I need to apologize. I push myself up on my elbows and I shift my head to the side to apologize. I open my mouth to speak but stop when Bruce’s eyes darkened, and he growls as he slams his thick cock inside me.

I moan louder than I have in my entire life. His cock fills me up so much that I fear I won’t be able to walk straight for the next week or two. Bruce lifts my legs up and continues to shove me against the counter with every hard thrust. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck me. The man is practically drilling into me with no kindness at all.

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

Bruce growls and rams his cock faster into me. He keeps knocking the air out from my lungs, and I can feel my body pulsating against his. I grip the countertop harder each time, and I know my knuckles are turning white and becoming numb every second. With one hand on my hips, Bruce moves his other hand up my tank top to hold my tits.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

“Excuses,” he manages to say, as he holds me up more, so he can penetrate me deeper. His cock is hitting a deeper spot in me. It must be my g-spot, because I have read about it but never actually felt it to know. I can feel myself clenching his dick tightly, and I know I’m getting closer to release. “You wanted me and your brothers to see your tits, huh?”

“Maybe,” I cry out louder than what I intended to. Fuck, what if one of my brothers hears me? They’ll really think I’m insane for fucking our father and for loving it every second. Bruce readjusts our position once more, so he can hit that spot continuously. “I-I think I’m going to cum!”

“Not yet, you better not!” Bruce growls, and drills into me harder and faster. With his powerful thrusts and the constant friction from the countertop on my clit, I know for a fact that I can’t last longer. His hands hold onto my hips while he fucks me harder than before.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

The sounds of skin on skin is louder because of my mess. I drop my head onto the counter while Bruce continues to fuck me. Before I can catch my breath, Bruce chuckles and lifts me up. “I just made you squirt. That has never happened before, has it?”

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“You’re so wet,” Bruce grunts into my ear. Breathing heavily, he lifts my hips again, so he can rub my clit with his fingers. “You’re making a mess all over my cock. You’re such a bad girl.”

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

With every rough thrust, I know Bruce won’t last. I whimper once more when my pussy clenches his dick as he fucks me through my orgasm. A few more hard thrusts, Bruce pulls out and turns me over onto my back. He jacks himself off as I watch his cum spurt out all over my stomach.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

Bruce sighs heavily, and just when I think I should try to get up and clean myself, he pulls me up and kisses me. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and we explore each other’s mouths as if this was our last chance to. He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You belong to me, and the Batfamily. I don’t care who wants you, because you will never give them what you have given me. Do you understand?” Bruce asks, before giving me his famous bat glare.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

I grab a paper towel and wipe Bruce’s cum off my stomach before I pull up my yoga pants. As soon as I toss the damped paper towel into the trash, I immediately notice Dick Grayson is standing there at the entrance of the kitchen staring at me with fire in his eyes.

[consumeconstantly]

Bring Me To The Precipice of Victory

1| 2 | 3(you are here) | 4  | next

Summary: When Batman departs— just for a short time, just to patch things up in Gotham— things go horribly, horribly wrong in Paris.

He doesn’t know if he can come back from realizing that Marinette and Ladybug are one and the same (and that his daughter has died more times than he can count.) (all biodad bruce are posted in chronological order but can be read as stand alones)

______________________________________________

The moment of peace, of solidarity, that Batman shares with Ladybug up on that rooftop at night means the world.

After a minute or two, Ladybug pulls back, tear tracks down the sides of her face, eye and nose red. She takes another minute of silence,hugging herself in the muggy Parisian air. When she next opens her eyes, Batman can almost imagine that Ladybug never cried at all. 

But he knows that's not true. Ladybug seemed so fragile in his arms. He can imagine— he can imagine Dick in her place, broken over Jason’s death. Tim losing his parents. All of his children facing insurmountable odds with no team by their side. Alone. 

Ladybug is not alone, but functionally, she may as well be. He’s watched the fights. He’s analyzed them. Ladybug is always, always the leader. She strategizes with Ryuko and Viperion, but Ladybug is who everybody looks to for an answer when things don’t work out the way they want them to. She’s the one with the plan, the backup plan, the out. She’s the one who swoops in to save the day.

She’s also the one who has racked up the most hours on the battlefield. Even Chat Noir, her partner, only has three quarters of the hours that she’s put in. For most of the other members of her team, she puts in double, sometimes even triple of what they do. Over the course of six years, there have been a little under two thousand battles, lasting from under an hour to over five hours. Ladybug has shown up for every single one, without fail. That’s not even counting the patrols that they do; although Ladybug is given a lot of flack for not patrolling as often as Chat Noir, there’s a fundamental difference in how they patrol. Ladybug is methodical, Chat Noir is volatile. 

He’s not a bad superhero when it comes down to battle, but the two of them are fundamentally different. Ladybug sees her time as a superhero as a duty. Chat Noir seems to view it as a time to unwind— and while that’s worrying, considering the information he’s gathered on the Miraculous Team so far points to the majority of them beings teens or young adults— it’s not what is needed to deal with the Paris situation. 

Perhaps one of the easiest ways to see these differences is during patrol. Chat Noir uses patrol time almost seems to be an outlet for stress. He entices whoever he’s on patrol with to race to random places in Paris with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he comes across crime, he stops it, but Ladybug— Ladybug searches for crime.

Ladybug has a team and she trusts them with her life, but she cannot trust them to be responsible. That is perhaps the worst possible thing that can happen. And through the videos that he’s watched, it’s clear that the hours she puts in do affect her, and fairly heavily. 

Whoever she is, she’s young. Too young to be in battle untrained, because they are untrained— despite being in the field for years, all of their basic form lacks and tells anybody with an experienced eye that they’ve never had formal training in martial arts. 

When Batman and Ladybug leave the roof, they leave on a better note than where they started. Batman is still upset that Tom and Sabine are dead, but he cannot attribute it solely to Ladybug’s negligence. He admires the young heroine for rising to the occasion when there was nobody else to help. He has no doubt that with the resources and training that he can provide him and his operatives already on the case, Hawkmoth will be revealed in no time at all. 

He’s right, but in the worst possible way. 

It’s largely a mistake on hiss part-- he gets a notification that the Joker broke out of Arkham again, and Hawkmoth and Pavona are missing for the time being. Though Ladybug has made a mistake in not taking Pavona out immediately, she and her team have won every akuma and sentimonster battle. The logical course of action is to go where the most danger is. 

Bruce does not have any predictive powers. There is no way for him to know what’s going to happen. But when he and his team finally catch the Joker and put him away again-- a feat that takes just a little under twenty four hours, extreme concentration, and a good number of injuries-- Batman finally gets a chance to breathe. The adrenaline from facing off against the Joker’s latest scheme fades. Batman reclines in a chair as Alfred binds his  wounds and passes him pain relieving pills while he gets stitches in his abdomen. 

He checks the news in Paris. 

He almost drops the device that he’s using to view the news. 

Marinette’s existence has been hidden from his family. With Dick, he was more concerned about his existence as Robin, rather than informing him that he had a sister. As soon as he started contemplating bringing up Marinette, Batman and Robin had a bad break. Then Jason came along, troubled and angry. Bruce didn’t want to introduce Marinette into the mix then because he was volatile. 

Jason died due to Batman’s incompetence. Bruce grieved the loss of his ward; Batman was never allowed to mourn the loss of his second Robin.

Tim felt unworthy as the only child Bruce didn’t pick up off the streets, and Damian-- well, Damian was Damian. First he had a superiority complex the size of the Grand Canyon, and once he got accustomed to how they handled things in the Wayne Manor-- though Tim would argue that Damian is still not used to this kind of lifestyle-- he overcompensated every single mission and needed a remedial course on How to Interact With Other Humans 101. Add the overarching concern of Marinette being exposed to his vigilante life style and being unprepared for it, and he was never able to tell his children that he had another biological kid. A daughter.

When the news that Sabine and Tom died reached his ears, he told everybody he had business in Paris without elaborating what. With Wayne Enterprises opening a Paris branch of their R&D specialising in European artifacts, it was easy to draw connections that weren’t there.

“Bruce, you need to relax. Business in Paris can be dealt with later, you need to take the time to heal,” Tim says.

A clip in his shoulder from a bullet, knife wounds on his torso and legs, a sprained wrist. Whatever chemical experiment the Joker got his hands out still pumping through his veins. “I need to go-- it’s important--”

The pain relievers Alfred gave him earlier were also a sedative. 

Tim catches him before he passes out.

#

He wakes up three hours late through sheer force of will.

“Paris!” Bruce jolts upright, still in costume, lying prone on a medical cot in the Batcave.

The first thing that catches his eyes is the red and black flying across the screens.

Ladybug.

His kids are all watching the screens with abject horror. 

“Is this,” Tim wets his lips. “The business trip that you were on?”

Bruce drags himself out of bed, adrenaline washing out any residual pain. He doesn’t have the capacity to respond, he needs to get to the zeta tube, he needs to get to Paris, Ladybug is bleeding, the city is in shambles, and Marinette-- 

One of the news sites up on the screen declares the arrondissements that are obliterated. The one that houses Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie is amongst their number. An approximate death toll fills the static.

-- Marinette is likely among those lost. He has lost another child due to his inaction. Due to his inability to push through, to look forwards and predict the future and the consequences of his actions. Marinette is another Jason, but if Ladybug doesn’t get it together, she’ll be gone permanently. And Ladybug is little more than a child. She can’t handle it, not by herself, not with her team. She needs an experienced hero, and Batman will be there for her, be the one leading the charge against Hawkmoth as the civilians hide in their homes and pray for her Miracle Cure to reverse the damage.

Dick places a hand on his shoulder. Bruce tries to shrug it off, but his fingers dig into the place where the bullet clipped his flesh. The pain is just a reminder that if he does not get to Paris now, there will be thousands-- no, millions-- more who feel this pain. How did Marinette die? Was it an akuma? Did the rubble of one of the destroyed buildings fall on her? Did Ladybug even try to protect her?

“I need to go,” Bruce growls.

“You can’t. While you were out, the majority of the Justice League prohibited all travel via zeta tubes. Nobody can get into Paris right now.”

Bruce knocks Dick’s hand off his shoulder and turns to his eldest. At the very least, Dick and the rest of his children look solemn. Damian’s gaze is fixed to one of the screens that shows Ladybug. “A city is in danger, millions of lives are at risk, Marinette--”

His daughter is dead. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Standing by idly is the last thing he’ll let himself do.“Who put out the order? I’ll get them to reverse it.”

Dick moves so he’s between the zeta tube and Bruce. “B, you don’t understand. If you go to Paris right now, you’ll get akumatized.” 

“I can handle my emotions.”

Jason points at the upper right section of screens that’s replaying past footage. “I wouldn’t bet Paris’ survival on it. Not when more level headed superheroes got on the scene first and failed. They really don’t need any heavy hitters getting akumatized. Not when Superman put three members of their team out of commission.”

Superman arrived on the scene first; it took a matter of seconds for him to get akumatized. He was responsible for razing down three arrondissements in no time flat. Ladybug had to call for a Lucky Charm in order to get her hands on some kryptonite, which forced her to recoup after her time ran out. 

Black Canary arrived next. Then Red Tornado. 

Both were akumatized in mere minutes. 

“After Red Tornado got akumatized, Wonder Woman led the charge to put the rest of the zeta tubes on lockdown,” Duke says, grim. “All we can do now is hope that these Parisian superheroes can pull off a win.”

Bruce stumbles over to get a better view. He remembers Ladybug, small and slight in his arms. A child, crying over the loss of her pseudo parents. 

A warrior, bloody and bruised and broken.

She is one of the last ones standing.

King Monkey and an ox themed hero both died at Superman’s hands. The former got in the way of his laser beams, the latter a victim of super strength and getting thrown through two buildings and having their necks snap at an unsightly angle. Chat Noir was also sent hurtling through the air, and the only reason he was still alive was because Ladybug alighted from the sky and grabbed him before he got sent through a building in his unconscious state. Black Canary came shortly after, apparently informed of the Superman situation and carrying kryptonite. 

She didn’t last for long either. Almost immediately after helping Ladybug and Ryuko bind Superman in such a way that he couldn’t escape, 

Pegasus got hit by Black Canary’s sound waves and Chat Noir’s residual injuries from his fight with Superman forced him into a state of unconsciousness. Queen Bee and Carapace were able to pull off a win against Black Canary, but not without serious injuries. Ryuko faced off against Red Tornado alone, which normally would have been a thing of awe, but in the grander scheme of things, was a huge issue, as without her, the Miraculous Team functionally lost all of their heavy hitters. Rena Rouge and several Miraculous users that clearly had never been in battle before were the ones left to hold their own against the scores of akumatized Parisians.

The only ones left to hunt down Hawkmoth and Pavona were Ladybug and Viperion, and the former was already on her third use of Lucky Charm.

Ladybug pulls out her communicator, dodging an attack.

“Can we get sound on this?” Jason grips the closest table.

Dick shakes his head. “Zatara says there’s already enough interference just trying to get these images. And for some reason, Dr. Fate refuses to get involved with any of this.”

Bruce’s phone rings. He doesn’t pick it up on the first ring, too focused on the ongoing battles. He does take his phone out of his pocket to silence it the next time, but when he presses the sound off, an image comes through.

“Bruce.” Ladybug’s image comes through crystal clear, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ladybug, blood dripping from her mouth, costume torn open, hair burnt, wild eyed. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but the image goes blurry as she moves to avoid several attacks pointed towards her. 

“Before I go, I--”

“Watch out, LB!” Bruce lifts his eyes to the screen that displays Ladybug and Viperion in battle. The spotted heroine gets pushed out of the way of a laser, but the snake themed hero takes the hit.

The ambient noise coming from his phone is strong; he can hear blades clashing in the background as Chat Noir, already on his last legs attempts to hold off Darkblade. Screaming from civilians, a strangled sob from Ladybug. “Viperion.”

Ladybug comes back into view. Blue eyes filled with rage.

“If this doesn’t end in our favor, you need to make sure that Hawkmoth and Pavona do not acquire both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening.” She blinks, retreats into herself, and Bruce wonders if he’s seeing the girl behind the mask. 

“And If I don’t get to see you again--” If I’m dead, the words go unspoken, “I really did want the chance -- I-- you’re a good man. A good father. Your daughter-- she loves you. She really, really does. Stay safe.”

The transmission cuts off. On the screen in front of him, Ladybug closes her communicator, closes Viperion’s open eyes, and strides to the epicenter of the akumas. Blue fire flashes in her irises, and for a moment, she’s staring directly at the screen. And Bruce knows those eyes. He knows them. 

The next second, all of the computers simultaneously die.

Bruce is numb. No-- no.

He is nothing.

#

All his children-- no, not all his children, Marinette is missing, Marinette is Ladybug, and she’s out on a field that he can’t see grappling with magic forces strong enough to incapacitate Justice League members like their powers and abilities are inconsequential-- stare at him.

“That was… Ladybug?” Tim’s brow furrows. It’s clear that he’s thinking up a hundred different reasons why Ladybug and Batman are connected, why he’s the last person she calls before going into a battle that could very well cost her her life.

“My daughter.” The words are ash on his lips. An existence he’s never acknowledged. Not out loud. Saying it brings a sense of finality to the room. An impending death. “My daughter.”

Nobody asks how long he’s known or when he met her or why he’s never brought it up before. Everything is fuzzy. Floating. 

For a while, there’s silence. 

“Zatara says there’s too much interference to get the picture back up,” Dick opens his messages, frowning. 

Damian still stares at the screen Ladybug looked at directly, frozen.

Bruce picks himself up and moves. He may not be able to use the zeta tubes, but he has a private jet and a license, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something.

#

It takes two hours too long to get to Paris. He shaved five hours off the flight length due to superior technology, and another hour and a half off due to sheer force of will. 

The landing is not a pretty thing, but Paris is already in shambles, and there’s no way that the ATC will approve his landing, so Bruce picks out the flattest looking spot of rubble before his jet meets the ground.

According to Tim and Duke, who stayed behind in case this turned out to be an attack spanning multiple cities, the battle ended mere minutes before they landed. Dick manages to get Zatara to broadcast the image in the cockpit of the jet, and on the screen lay three prone bodies. Gabriel Agreste, whose body type fits that of Hawkmoth, Lila, and a third that Bruce does not recognize. 

A bone sticks out of Marinette’s arm, the connected hand crushed and hanging limp. The opposing ankle is twisted almost fully backwards. She is covered in blood and ash and filth. There is no victory in her eyes. Only weariness.

In her good hand, she holds her yoyo. 

She raises her eyes skywards-- the roof of the Agreste mansion is blown clean off-- blinks slowly, and throws the yoyo into the air. 

“Miraculous Cure,” her lips read.

The corpses in Paris rise from the dead. Rubble reforms into buildings. The ashy haze that covered the city disappears.

Ladybug looks like she wants to disappear, too.

She collapses, instead.

Nobody is there to catch her when she drops to the floor. 

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys  @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness 

mb for not doing tag list right away i forgot i had these cued up already

[shkspr]

You know, I'm fucking heartbroken because when Martin first appeared and he was talking about how spiders are cute he immediately became one of my favourite characters, but later I lost interest because I felt that everyone liked him too much, and now I miss caring about him :( If it's not too much trouble, help me fall in love with him again?

absolutely it is my pleasure!!!! consider the following:

martin grew up poor and taking care of his mother and he had to drop out of school to get a job to support the two of them and he never resented her or left her on her own, he always visited and wrote to her and took care of her even when he got nothing in return in the way of parental love or appreciation, he didn’t ever question his loyalty to her even when he knew how she felt about him

he lied on his cv to get a better job for her, for them, put himself through so much stress and anxiety for the sake of making a living, which nobody should have to do but especially not someone as young as he was, dropping everything else in his life to take care of the one person he had

he was always so alone! no siblings. his dad left and his mum hated him. he was so fucking lonely and it made him sad but it never made him turn his back on himself. he held onto his heart and nurtured himself when nobody else would do it!

it is so incredibly difficult to maintain the kind of outlook he has concerning the world and other people. he wants to be happy and he wants to make other people happy and that’s not naive or childish it’s so brave and he is so strong for keeping that attitude despite everything that’s happened to him.

he truly went above and beyond the call of duty in the name of ‘due diligence’ and put himself in mortal danger because he wanted to do it right and he wanted to do a good job! he cares so much!

he was the only person who got through to jon and got him to talk about his fears and his feelings despite jon’s apparent dislike of him, he never gave up and he never abandoned jon, he just kept caring for him!!

he gave jon a jar of ashes to comfort him after the prentiss attack!

he made sure that jon knew that he knew that he was slipping in season 2, stood by him and said i know you’re hiding things from us, i know you’re getting yourself hurt, i know you won’t tell me what’s going on or let me help in the way i really want to, but in the meantime i’m going to make sure you’re eating properly and i’m going to keep bringing you tea because i care about you

he was the only person who stood with jon when everyone else was giving up on him, martin believed in him and defended him and always tried his best to mediate and be the voice of reason

seriously, tim and jon and melanie and basira made it sound like martin was some naive little puppy who stubbornly, optimistically believed that everything would magically be okay, but he was actually a brilliant man who stubbornly, optimistically believed in the ability of himself and his friends to make things work out and to do their best with what they had

martin was smart enough to concoct the plan to take down elias and brave enough to execute it. he put himself in danger and subjected himself to psychological torture and stood firm and courageous in the face of elias’s anger and power, and it worked, and he won! martin blackwood got the better of elias!

he lost everyone he cared about in the span of a few months, he mourned for tim and he mourned for his mother and he mourned for jon, he had nobody, again, and this time it was worse than when he was growing up, because he’d had those close relationships, he’d had people he loved and then he lost them

and still he resisted peter’s grooming and courting for months, and only joined up with him when he had absolutely nothing left to lose and he did have a bit of a death wish but he also wanted to do something, to help people, to get them that little bit of protection from being in with the man in charge

he never fully fell in with peter and the lonely, he always maintained his suspicion and his loyalty to who he was, and when jon came back he tried so hard to balance everything and to keep peter happy without alienating jon entirely - he kept his faith in jon and he kept his hope that they could figure out what game was being played and then win it

and he did, sort of! there were things he could never have known, but he figured out that peter was playing him, he figured out that it was more than what they were telling him, and he figured out how to play his own game in return, how to string peter along and keep everyone else out of danger while the whole thing played out!

he ran away with jon, stuck with him and loved him and helped him deal with the fallout of everything at the panopticon, no resentment and no question, dropped the lonely and chose love instead!

and that didn’t change when jon brought the apocalypse down on them, not one bit! he was never anything but supportive and comforting and reassuring and he advocated for jon when he couldn’t advocate for himself! he reminded jon that it wasn’t his fault and he kept jon from falling entirely into wallowing and self pity!

he kept all that fierce determination even in the face of the literal end of the world! he was prepared to fight from the beginning, prepared to find a way to fix it even when all signs said there was no way to fix it!

but he also was willing to wait for jon to be ready! he was so eager to start swinging and searching for solutions but he understood what jon was going through and he gave him both the space and the support he needed to get to a place where he could imagine hoping for a future!

he learned how to stand up for himself, how to communicate honestly, how to ask for what he needed, how to maintain a loving and healthy relationship in the midst of a nightmarish hellscape, and he has been supportive and understanding and simultaneously unwilling to put up with jon’s bullshit, when that’s what it is

martin blackwood is brilliant and compassionate and pragmatic and hopeful and loving and strong and brave and clever and he’s consistently underestimated by those around him and he’s lost so much and been through so much and he remains a diamond in the rough rather than letting all of that horror destroy him!