#to Alfred taking Bruce home as stepping into the cold dark

[daydreamerdrew]

Batman (2016) #18 and Legends of the DC Universe (1998) #10-11

[siddyyyyyyyy]

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Batsis!Reader

wc: 2.7 K summary: You, Bruce Wayne's sister, find Jason in a dark alleyway, on a cold winter night. warnings: angst, angst/no comfort, death, grief, open ending? a/n: some distraction for myself and for my followers who are all on their toes, waiting for the next part of "It's All an Act"!! (this is also dedicated to my dear friend, who won't stop sending me angsty edits of Jason Todd) Enjoy !!

Your day was draining you more than usual. Work has been taking a toll on you and it didn‘t help that the weather was not on your side today. Walking to your bus station, you had to be extra careful while walking, not wanting to slip on the icy side walks and hit the back of your head.

As you concentrate on taking slow and steady steps, you almost miss the way someone winces not too far away. With your undying curiousity, you search for the noise. It doesn‘t come again, but you are more than sure that it was real and came from the alleyway you just passed by. It could be a kitten but it could also be a simple trap from some wicked person. Either way, you step into the alleyway and shine into the darkness with the flashlight Bruce gave you just in case.

Your steps are silent and careful. Coming closer, you finally get to see more of what‘s in there. Several dumpsters are leaned against the brick walls of the houses, some snow still laying around.

After taking a small breath, you dare to get closer and light into the smaller sillhoute between those trash containers.

»Don‘t!«

A high-pitched voice exclaims and the little form holds his hand out to you in fear. You freeze too, not having expected to meet a, what seems to be nine-year-old boy. You sigh out softly and crouch down to his level, pointing the flashlight on the ground.

»Relax, you‘re not in trouble… what are you doing here, though?«

The little boy realxes at your reassuring tone and puts his hand back by his side. He stays cramped in between the cold cumpsters and you wonder for how long he has been hiding there.

Much to your desmay, his response doesn‘t help you a lot.

»You don‘t have to know that! I don‘t trust you.«

Wow. He has some snark. Much like Bruce.

Clearing your throat, you nod and stay crouched down in front of him.

»Okay, I get that. But I just need to know where your parents are, so I can bring you back to them.«

Your voice stays calm and steady, but it doesn‘t seem to help all that much. This time, the boy stays quiet and looks down. For the first time in a while, you start doubting your social skills. Did you say something wrong? The way he looks down and went silent makes him look even more exhausted than before. After thinking for a few seconds, you decide on a final solution for the both of you.

»C‘mon, I‘ll make you some hot chocolate and give you a warm blanket. I‘ll introduce you to my brother as well.«

You stand up again and extend your hand for him to take, which he does after a moment of hesitance.

Finally, after driving back for half an hour in a bus, you got him inside the Manor and wrapped him into a blanket, while you are busy making him a warm drink. It‘s close to seven in the evening and you are sure that Bruce will come back home in a while as well. Since your parents died, you settled on living together with Alfred for the meantime, which has been working well so far.

Now that Dick, the first boy Bruce adopted, is in college, it felt more empty inside the big house. But it seems like it won‘t be empty and too quiet for long, having another boy in the main area right now.

You sit down beside the little boy, who you soon learned is Jason. He may seem rude at first, but you figure out it‘s because of his closed off nature. But who knows, maybe that will change overtime.

»I‘m home!«

A deep, familiar voice sounds through the manor, making Jason tense up in the blanket. You notice that but decide to not comment on it, instead assuring him that it‘s just your brother. As expected, Bruce enters the main area and stops in his tracks once he registers Jason.

His eyes meet yours, silently asking for an explanation.

»Bruce! This is Jason. I found him on the streets, he will live with us now.«

Your brother only blinks in response and then looks between you and the little boy. Jason, still seated beside you, seems to lighten up at the mention of living here. He was already impressed by the size of the building from outside, so living here would make all his dreams come true.

Finally, Bruce learns to speak again and gives you a look only you can understand. He needs to talk to you later.

»Great, yeah. How old are you, Jason?«

As he waits for his answer, Bruce shrugs his coat off and just stands in front of the couch for the meantime.

»I‘m eleven.«

For the first time since you know Jason, you can see the clear admiration in his eyes. The way he looks up at Bruce is enough for you to be sure that these two will get along just fine.

As the evening progresses, you make Richard‘s old room suitable for Jason, before you will make Jason‘s own room the next day.

As you get back to the living room, you catch Jason and Bruce talking together and it actually warms your heart. The way they seem to understand each other on a deeper level makes you smile to yourself.

Suddenly, Bruce forgot that he wanted to speak to you about this. He is already bought for Jason and he is okay with adopting him too.

◐

It‘s been a few weeks since you found Jason in that alleyway. He has his own room now, you walk him to school and bought him new clothes. He looks way happier now, he‘s been eating full meals, and always talks your ears off when you pick him up from school.

You settled on taking turns with Bruce, you get to take care of him one week and the other week is Bruce taking care of of the bundle of sunshine.

As time progresses, you all grow closer and Jason feels genuinely comfortable with you two. Your teamwork with Bruce is paying off, but of course there‘s a point, where you don‘t agree with your younger brother.

After only two months of living together with the little boy, he proposed the idea of making him Robin. Naturally, you were against it. You made it clear to let him stay out of any serious trouble, but Bruce is stubborn too. You can‘t really win against any argument with Bruce when it comes to his work. And Jason seems eager to join on the vigilantism as well, so it‘s two against one. Not exactly fair.

Now that Jason works together with Batman as his side-kick, you spend every night worrying about both of them. It was the same thing with Richard back then. You weren‘t fond with the idea of the younger boy being Robin, but they both insisted. It‘s like arguing with two children at this point. Everything goes past their heads and only their opinion seems to matter.

But as time passes and you check on them regurarly, it seems to go well. Bruce makes sure Jason still eats well while training and won‘t get hurt during patrol. Maybe you have underestimated his ability to take care of a child, but Bruce seems to do well enough.

Not worrying so much anymore, you continued to go about your days and co-parent Jason. You noticed the growing relationship between Alfred and Jason too. It‘s endearing, seeing them bake cookies together from time to time or cleaning up the kitchen together just makes your heart wrench with sweetness.

During the days, you spent most of your time together with Jason, helping him with homework before he goes to patrol with Bruce. It doesn‘t feel like Jason has any trouble balancing school with his vigilante work, even when he has to take regular naps from time to time.

Jason is a goodhearted kid. He fights for justice alongside Batman. Sure, his morals are not always okay, but Bruce is there to talk about it and reign him back in. His intentions are clear. Fight the people who wrong the innocent.

You find out about his past. The life he had before living with you. It was heartbreaking to know how abusive his household was. But the fact that he keeps looking forward despite of his past, gives you hope that Jason stays strong.

◐

You come home from a long day of work, the manor filled with nothing but silence. That‘s strange… normally, Jason would be greeting you already. Well, maybe he is taking a nap before going on patrol.

Without any further thoughts, you make your way into the dinning room to get something to eat before you get back to work. The silence stretches and there‘s nothing happening around you. Surely Bruce is taking care of Jason anyway. He is taking most of the work into his own hands these past few months either way.

The day goes around and you forgot about the strange silence that doesn‘t seem to end. A loud smack halls across the hallway, making you want to check what happened. Getting out of your office, you find yourself standing in the hallway by the top of the stairs, heart dropping.

There stands Bruce in his full gear, the colourful uniform of Robin drenched in blood. On instinct, you hurry to the two of them, hoping this is just another medical emergency.

What happens after is a blur of panicked shouts and denial. Jason‘s cold body is the proof of Joker‘s gruesome games, but you still won‘t believe it. Bruce always takes good care of him and does his best to protect him, there‘s not a chance he could let anything happen to him. But not this time.

»I was too late.«

These words are difficult to register in your head as you stare down at Jason‘s lifeless body. The once eager and motivated child now lays on a medical bed, body cold.

»What?«

Finally, you snap out of your trance and glance at Bruce, recognising the same dissociated look on him too.

»I was too late. The building exploded when I got there.«

With a shaky breath, you can‘t hold your emotions back in. Your thoughts start to race again, the sheer imagination of what Jason had to go through to end up like this makes you want to throw up. You haven‘t felt so hopeless in a long time.

You remember the day you took him in. You remember it being a good idea, helping a lost child. You remember telling Bruce it‘s not a good idea to make him Robin. If you would‘ve let the boy behind back then, let him take his own way back home, then maybe he wouldn‘t end like this. If you‘d argued more with Bruce about Robin, this wouldn‘t happen. You shoud‘ve taken better care of Jason. Just because you spend an hour longer at work, Jason died.

It‘s all because of you.

Releasing a sob against your will, you quickly leave the Batcave and hide yourself in your room. Trembling hands and blurry vision, unclear thoughts, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Hyperventilating and panicking, you curl up against your door and hide. You hide from the guilt, you hide from the reality. But it‘s all to no avail. You know the truth, you know that this is no one‘s fault but yours and Bruce‘s. You did the opposite of what you are supposed to do.

You lost him.

The funeral is silent. Your ears are ringing the whole time, seeing Jason‘s grave is something you never even thought about seeing one day. It‘s destroying you. Burning you from the inside and out.

You don‘t talk to Bruce. It‘s difficult to even look at him. The heavy tension and grief is hard to ignore in the manor and you do your best to isolate yourself from him and avoid talking to anyone. Alfred makes sure to leave food by your door and politely pleades you to talk to him, at least. But you wouldn‘t budge.

The grief is replaced with numbness after a few weeks. You still visit his grave every day and talk to him, reading a few pages of his favourite book as if he is sitting right beside you again.

◐

Three years have passed from the tragic incident and Batman still has a Robin. His real name is Tim Drake and you managed to take him in just as well as the other two boys you had. Tim also managed to keep Bruce on track, although you can‘t recognise him after Jason‘s death. Bruce acts almost always out of pure emotion and fights more aggressively against the criminals. He comes back with more cuts and bruises than before. He became more reckless.

You talked to him, but it ended in a verbal fight again. The situation only seems to worsen once a new Crime Lord appeared in Gotham, who seems to be more powerful than any of the others.

You try to focus on your work and keep going like before, but you often find yourself staring at the group picture of your brother, Jason and Alfred you once took on his first birthday together. Sighing out, you keep your eyes on your paperwork and focus on it again.

Ding

Since Alfred is busy, working in the winter garden, you decide to answer the door. You open the gate at the front before you open the front door and take a closer look at who pays a visit. You don‘t recognise the tall figure, but you guess it‘s Bruce for a brief moment, before that thought quickly dismisses your mind.

Bruce is on patrol.

Finally, the tall and brooding figure is in front of you. He is still unfamiliar, but also seems trusting at the same time.

»Sorry… what‘s your name?«

You sigh out, making it clear that you don‘t have time for any pranks. But the tall, almost intimidating person won‘t budge and finally takes his hood off.

His face looks familiar. However, you can‘t seem to recognise him.

Jason should‘ve expected the confused stare. There‘s no way someone could recognise him again after being dead for three years.

»Jay.«

He extends his hand for you, introducing himself with that same nickname you gave him all these years ago.

Finally, your expression changes with a sense of surprise and disbelief. You repeat his name in a hushed whisper, heart starting to race.

Rushing him inside, you hold onto his hand to make sure he is real and actually there, not just a hallucination. Reaching up to cup his cheeks, you finally sigh out and believe your eyes.

»H-How are you… is this real?«

And finally, Jason lets his guard down and steps closer to hug you tightly. He still isn‘t used to his strength, squeezing you almost painfully tight, but you won‘t dare to comment on it. Instead, you happily hug him back and savour the feeling.

It‘s the first time in a long while that you felt truly comforted and you want to lock him inside your heart, so he won‘t get lost again.

»I can‘t stay for long.«

Jason speaks up quietly, aware of the butler being further away, but he doesn‘t want to risk it. You tense and get nervous by his words, looking at him again.

»What do you mean? Are you okay?« He doesn‘t really react at your words and just presses his lips together into a thin line.

»It‘s because of Bruce. I can‘t explain it to you but you have to trust me.«

He repeats and lets go of the hug, taking some steps towards the exit.

And you really try to convince him otherwise and stay, at least tell you what he‘s been through and what happened. But you couldn‘t and he is gone as fast as he appeared.

You should‘ve argued for longer. You should have made him stay, you could be more strict with him and actually make a change. However, this is how it‘s always been. You can‘t be persistent enough. Jason left again because you didn‘t do enough.

a/n: Originally, this was supposed to a angst/comfort drabble, but my dear friend sent me more sad videos of Jason, so I decided to be mean too. Hope you enjoyed it!!💕

←MASTERLIST

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter eleven

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: I'd like to say week was crazy and that's the reason the update took a little longer than usual, but actually I had the week off and I was just taking a break! Anyways, things are starting to get a little crazy now...oops

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.3k

How many more women would die? 

And how much time did that buy her before she was next?

Two nights after the second murder–another woman who eerily resembled y/n–she finally got a text from that same unknown number. 

11 tonight, same place. 

She was almost giddy. She had been hiding in her room for two days like a good girl, trying not to bug Gordon or even Martinez as they investigated the second murder. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going crazy again already. 

The news was calling it a potential serial killer, but she knew better. They all knew better. 

It was the Gallo family hunting her down. 

She dressed in warm, dark clothes again and texted Alfred where she was going. She wanted to leave early, but knew it was a bad idea. She waited until a couple of minutes after eleven to go downstairs, just to be sure the Batman was out there. As she stepped into the elevator his one word text came through. Outside. 

She was excited to see him. She finally had something to look forward to, and it was talking to a vigilante, of all things. 

And there he was, leaning against the motorcycle without a care in the world. She let her eyes trail from his legs crossed at the ankle to his crossed arms to his masked face. Despite the fact he was literally covered head to toe, a thrill went through her. 

“Hi,” she said lamely when she was close enough. 

He simply handed her the helmet and got back on the bike. 

Some of the excitement went out of her like a balloon deflating. “No hello?” she said, her voice light and teasing.

“Hello. Ready?” he asked when her arms were around his waist. She rolled her eyes. 

“Ready.” 

They sped off into the night. She let her eyes close. She was almost at peace for the first time in weeks, and it was in the wake of another murder and on the back of a motorcycle with a vigilante she barely knew. 

But she had not been made to be idle. Sitting at home, hiding from mobsters, was doing her in. Add to that not only boredom, but grief and painful memories from all sides, and she was surprised she really hadn’t jumped out of a window yet. It was the reason she and Bruce were constantly sneaking out as kids, the reason she had taken extra classes for fun in college, the reason she did things that were objectively stupid. The reason she was an investigative reporter and not in a more steady, safe job. 

The motorcycle jolted to a stop. 

She opened her eyes and slid off, tucking the helmet under her arm. 

Even though she knew what to expect, the fear still stole her breath. She really, really hated heights, and yet she was willingly going up onto rooftops. Stupid. She muttered to herself as the soft noise of the grappling hook split the quiet air. 

Y/n tried really hard not to embarrass herself by clinging to Batman, but it didn’t work. At least this time, she let go quickly and didn’t fall on her ass. 

She cleared her throat as she stepped away and murmured a thanks. She inched carefully towards the center of the rooftop to get her bearings. It was a different roof this time, next door to the one they’d been on that first night. 

“Thanks for doing this,” she said quietly as she set up her camera. The pub below was twice as busy now that it was the weekend. 

“Is it so bad at home?” he asked after she had taken several pictures, startling her. She glanced over at him, but he was busy studying the street below. His gloved fingers tapped an idle rhythm on his leg. 

“Yes,” she said without thinking. She looked through the camera’s viewfinder and adjusted another setting for the low light and the distance. “I mean–sort of. It’s complicated.” 

“Complicated?” 

The camera shutter was the only sound between them for a minute. “I told you my grandmother and my mother died.” A soft noise of assent. “And to start with, Wayne Tower, as nice as it is, is full of memories of my grandmother. She raised me. Every time I walk around a corner I–” The words stuck in her throat as the grief rose unbidden within her. “–I have no idea if something is going to remind me of her and then I have to remember that she’s gone. It’s like getting punched every time. Or having the breath knocked out of you.” 

“I understand,” he said softly, and she knew that he had lost someone too. 

She blinked back tears and nodded. She focused on the pictures to distract herself. “On top of that–” She couldn’t admit it. Because how pitiful would it sound? How stupid, how childish, would it sound to say, On top of that, I told Bruce Wayne that I loved him three years ago and he broke my heart and I still can’t stand to be around him. “It’s complicated,” she finally said again. “Someone broke my heart, and I haven’t gotten over it. I’m not sure I ever will.” Her voice lowered until the last words were almost a whisper, choking her until she could barely speak. 

There was a sharp intake of breath next to her. 

She faced him but he was staring below.

She frowned and tried to see what she had missed that made him make that noise, but she couldn’t see anything. 

They lapsed into silence. 

“Got any snacks in that fun belt of yours?” she asked a while later. Her voice was falsely light to her own ears. But what else was she supposed to do? She had basically trauma dumped on a virtual stranger. It was awkward, too awkward. She grit her teeth and silently cursed her mouth for running away from her, like usual. 

A huff that might have been a laugh. “No. No snacks.” 

She faced him fully this time, one hand on her hip while the other still held the camera. “No snacks? What kind of vigilante are you if you aren’t prepared for everything?” 

He shrugged but he was smiling. “A bad one, I guess.” 

“I’m making my own belt for next time and filling it with snacks,” she muttered. 

Things were a little easier after that. Batman still didn’t talk much, but she did come to learn that he made most of his gadgets too–like the gauntlets that held a grappling hook–and most of those things he had added after bad experiences. 

“One time I fell in the sewer because I didn’t have a flashlight,” he said in a low voice. She had to smother her laugh so as not to draw attention. “Now I have two.” 

She was also able to elicit an answer about his favorite snacks, learning that he had a surprising sweet tooth. She asked if he ate healthy in order to stay in shape for being a vigilante, and he answered that his diet focused on strength and stamina. She made a joke about protein shakes that had him turning a cough into a laugh. 

It was nearly one in the morning when she saw him. 

They had been chatting quietly, the music coming from the perpetually open pub door drowning most of it out, when a man stepped outside. 

Y/n almost dropped the camera. 

“He’s here,” she said in a whisper. She quickly snapped pictures. 

She hadn’t expected to recognize the man who had escaped. 

But there he was, standing below her, talking to one of the women smoking as she leaned against the bricks by the front door. 

“You’re sure?” Batman asked. 

She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat. Her hands shook so badly she had to fight to steady them so as to get a good picture. 

He had been closest to her that night. His face in the most light. 

He had been holding the gun. 

It played in her mind again, the noise drawing their attention, the almost slow-motion turn of four heads. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. 

And, somehow, it was like the man heard her.

He looked up, across the street and to the roof, and met her eyes.

Y/n scrambled back away from the edge. 

“He saw me,” she whispered. “He saw me.” 

Batman was crouched next to her, hidden by the low wall that ran around the entire edge of the building. 

“You’re sure?” he said again, but his eyes were on her face this time. It was too dark to tell what color they were. Probably not brown–they were too light. 

She mentally shook herself to focus. “I’m positive.” 

It was his turn to curse. “Fuck,” he muttered. He grabbed his phone and texted something quickly. He was actually good at texting–she had expected him to text like an old man with just his pointer finger. 

He put the phone away and crept closer to the edge of the building. He peeked his head over the wall, barely clearing it, but it was enough. He ducked back down as a shout rang out. 

“Oh God,” y/n said. The fear threatened to overwhelm her. If the pub was a hangout for the Gallo family–and at this point, she was certain it was–that meant a lot of armed men and maybe women were right there. 

They were trapped there, the motorcycle hidden next to a dumpster down below. 

Next to a very convenient fire escape that led straight to where the two of them were currently crouched. 

“Listen to me,” Batman said, drawing her focus. He was crouched over her where she was still splayed in a half-crouch from her mad dash to get out of sight. He touched her chin. “Do exactly as I say. We’re going to have to move fast. The priority is getting you and that camera out of here and not leading them home, do you understand?” 

She nodded frantically. “Yes,” she said on a breath. “What do we do? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” 

“It’s not your fault.” He was grabbing something off of his belt and texting at the same time. “Gordon’s on the way but it’ll be too late. If they’re smart, they’re going to surround the building. Someone will be sent to the roof from inside, someone up the fire escape.” He held three small flat disks in his hand and pocketed the phone again. “When they’re distracted, we’re going to make a break for it. Can you drive the motorcycle if you have to?” 

She stared at him, openmouthed. “Yes,” she said after a second. “Bruce taught me, years ago. I can figure it out.” 

“Good. I’ll stay to fight if–” 

“No!” she said, the word too loud in the darkness. Below, it had gone quiet. Too quiet. 

Batman seemed to realize it at the same time, his head tilted. “The music’s off,” he murmured. “We’re going to have to move.” 

He crept to the edge of the wall and peered over.

A gunshot echoed through the night. A chunk of brick exploded close to Batman’s head. She squeaked and covered her mouth to hide the sound. Her eyes were wide as he came back to her side. 

“Hold on tight. Run if I say run. Do you understand?” 

She nodded. She had never been so afraid, even that first night she had met him. She hadn’t been surrounded then. She hadn’t had to do anything but run and now–now there was so much more on the line. 

“If you have to leave me behind, do not go straight home. Ride around as much as you can, as randomly as you can, and try to meet Gordon somewhere. Got it?” 

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her, still crouched, to the spot closest to where the motorcycle was. 

He was giving her so many instructions she could barely keep up. Run, stay alive, get to Gordon. Leave him behind if she had to. 

She didn’t want to leave him behind. She didn’t know if she could. 

He let go of her long enough to throw each of the three flat disks in a separate direction. Two landed in the alley below, one at each end. 

“Ready?” he asked, an echo of the start of their night. He held something out to her. The motorcycle key. 

She shook her head but he was grabbing her anyway. There were three small explosions. Smoke poured out of the ground. There was shouting, gunfire. 

She realized her face was wet with terrified tears. 

Batman leapt. 

The ground rushed up at them fast, too fast, and she fought against the instinct to hold on tighter, to close her eyes. She needed them wide open, needed to be ready to run. 

With a yank, he pulled up right before they hit the pavement, and landed impossibly softly on his feet. 

There was smoke everywhere now. She could barely make out the dumpster the motorcycle was hidden behind. 

“Go,” he whispered in her ear and gave her a shove. 

She ran. 

There was more gunfire behind her and she ducked on instinct. Her hands smacked against the side of the dumpster as she lost her balance. 

“Over here!” she heard from somewhere in the smoke. There was a loud grunt and more gunshots. Her heart was pounding so loud it echoed the gunfire in her ears. 

She sobbed through her teeth as she ran the last few feet to the motorcycle. She could see nothing in the smoke other than shadows and the vaguest outlines of the streetlights at either end of the alley. 

She almost dropped the key but managed to slide it into the ignition. She waited to start it, waiting for one shadow in particular to materialize into a familiar form. Where was he? He hadn’t told her to leave without him, but what if–

She screamed as hands grabbed her and yanked her off of the motorcycle. 

Next Chapter

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[random-writing-panda]

||•~Late night love~•||

Bruce Wayne (Batman) x reader

*not my gif

First post kinda exited also kinda terrified. Sorry for any grammar/spelling or just general mistakes. Hope you like it?

Warnings: mentions of blood ( its like a few words i think)

Word count: 800

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Being Bruce Wayne’s wife wasn’t easy, its stressful and upsetting. Due to Bruce's extracurricular activities you are often left alone in a bed that feels too large and lonely it’s a good thing he always ends up next to you eventually. 

====================================

Flipping over into your side you glance at the clock on your nightstand the big red numbers read 4am and you hadn't slept at all. It was always impossible for you to sleep without the warmth Bruce provided. 

Bruce was currently on patrol with the boys and you were left alone in an obnoxiously large bed that was cold and empty, you knew what Bruce did was important and how many people he helped, how many people that depended on him. 

But you couldn’t help but feel lonely at times like these, late at night, cold and missing your husband.

You waiting up for Bruce to return from patrol wasn’t unusual, you always worried when he was out and wanted to make sure he was safe and unharmed, the many sleepless nights took the form of prominent dark circles under your eyes and no matter what you did you could never fully hide them. This of course made Bruce feel guilty, you were only up because of him.

∞∞

You were woken to the sound of yelling and something smashing on the floor. You jolt up from bed and rush out into the hallway and as you step out Alfred runs right into you.

“I’m so sorry Miss y/n.” Alfred hastily apologies but continues to rush to the halls with his arms full of medical supplies.

“It’s okay Alfred what happened, who got hurt??” you followed Alfred through the manor taking a few items from him,

“Master Bruce was injured…” the grim look on his face said more than any words could, Bruce had been hurt before, it was in the job description, but this was different, this was worse than his other injuries, at this realization you grab more of the medical supplies from Alfred and run into the bat cave.

Once you enter the Batcave you see Jason and Tim trying to hold up an almost unconscious Bruce between them, you hurl yourself towards them and pull up a medical table that was kept in the Cave for these exact situations, Alfred was quickly helping the boys move Bruce.

“Quick get him down!” you are almost screaming at the boys, you glance at the floor, small puddles of the deep red blood scatter along the floor with small drips from someone else, your heart drops.

With a thud Jason and Tim manage to get Bruce on the table and Alfred retrieves the medical supplies he left close by.

“What happened?” trying to stay calm as you start cutting Bruce’s suit,

“It was a trap…” Tim grasped his own forearm where blood was rushing out.

“We need to get Master Bruce to a hospital I can’t fix all of this.” Alfred says in the calmest voice he could muster.

∞∞

That night was the last time you slept before your boys got back home, Bruce had ended up in the hospital because of a ‘car accident’ and you didn’t leave his side for two days until he woke up, you barley slept and only ate when one of the boys brought food in. Only once Bruce was awake did the boys manage to convince you to get some real sleep, another three days in the hospital and Bruce was released. That had been a few months ago.

Your eyes slowly close as sleep becomes harder and harder to fight, every one of your muscles feel like stone dragging you closer to sleep.

Just as your mind is about to slip into an unconscious state the door to your bedroom opened and you crack your eyes open and let out a silent yawn.

“Bruce?” you whisper.

You husband takes long strides towards you,

“Why are you still awake?” he moves towards the closet,

“You know I can’t sleep alone…” you whisper it was hard being Bruce’s wife sometimes, but he didn’t let anyone in, not even you so when something was wrong, he became closed off and more brooding until eventually he was just back to being your loving and kind husband.

Bruce walked out of the large closet with his pajamas in hand. You sit up in bed and pull the blanket to your chest.

“Did something happen tonight?” you ask silently,

“No.” As he changed you took in his figure and your eyes slowly rose to meet his and he cracks a small smile only just noticeable.

“Nothing really happened, its just been a long night and I missed my lovely wife.” lifting the blankets over his body he settles into the bed beside you,

“I miss you a lot when you are out…” another yawn escapes your mouth, moving closer to him you rest your head on his chest.

“I know sweetheart I’m sorry…but I’m here now okay? So go to sleep alright? I hate it when you stay up so late for me y/n it’s not good for your health.” Bruce gently whispers as he leaves kisses all over your forehead. Unable to stop the giggles you curl up against him.

“You’re just lucky I love you Mr. Wayne.” slowly drifting off to sleep.

“I agree, my love, I am very lucky.”

====================================

Tag list:

[blancheludis]

Whumptober 2024 Day 7: Magic With A Cost

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Tags: Grief, Magic, Tim is a Witch, Self-Sacrifice

Summary:

Tim offers to bring Jason back from the dead. He knows magic always comes with a price and he is willing to pay it. A life for a life. It is not like anybody will miss him anyway.

All magic comes with a cost. Tim likes to think for him to have magic at all, he had to give up his parents' love.

When he was five and they just returned from a dig, he snuck into his father's study, just to get a glimpse at all the wonders from forgotten times they brought home with them. A small earthen vase called out to him and the stopper moved barely without any effort under his small hands. Wind rose and the echo of laughter rang in his ears although there was no one else around. Something came out of the vessel - cold and insistent and powerful - and dove right into Tim. The rest, as they say, is history.

Well, first, he spent weeks too sick to tell reality from the countless, visceral nightmares suddenly filling his head, feverish and fighting the force suddenly sharing his body with him.

His parents thought it was a curse. Tim never corrected them.

---

The death of a child is never a good thing, but something about Jason Todd dying pushes Tim's entire world off balance. He cannot sleep, he cannot eat, he cannot work. The magic inside him, always present, humming right beneath his skin and in his blood, grows demanding, pushing him towards something inevitable. Tim is unsettled by it, feeling for once more like a tool than a partner. And then, one night in the library, he finds out why.

---

The sky is a dark grey, as welcoming as the forbidding monument that is Wayne Manor as Tim walks up to the front door. This place holds a different kind of loneliness than his own home, a different kind of grief. His parents, Tim is sure, would not mind overly much, if he died. They definitely would not fall down a dark spiral of desperation bad enough to draw in all of the surrounding magic and subsequently call a witch with a handy solution directly to their doorstep.

Mere moments after knocking on the door, it opens to reveal Mr. Pennyworth, the Wayne family's butler. Tim has done his research. According to the servants' gossip in town, Mr. Pennyworth is the only person in the whole wide world who can make Mr. Wayne do something he does not want. In order to even get into the house, this is where Tim has to be most convincing.

"Good evening," he greets brightly and does not show any sign of irritation at the way the butler is subtly but disapprovingly looking him over. 

Tim knows he is young and looks younger. He is small for thirteen years, too thin. Pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, thanks to the unsettled magic letting him get little rest, just make things worse. Otherwise, however, he does look like a normal boy from a respectable family and Mr. Pennyworth's scepticism is not appreciated. 

"Master Wayne is not seeing visitors at this time," Mr. Pennyworth says, crisp and final, already moving to turn away.

Tim takes a small step forward. "He will want to see me."

Heat crackles under his skin, urging him forward. His magic has not been this insistent on anything in years. It has never led him astray, before, so he does not let the manor or its butler intimidate him.

"Young sir," Mr. Pennyworth says, too formal to be condescending. "Do your parents know you're here?"

Laughter breaks over Tim's lips, high and childish, along with something else, something darker that makes the hairs on the butler's arm stand up. It is not a trick, really, Tim does not have to pay anything for that effect. Magic loves him. He still has not made up his mind if he loves it.

Mr. Pennyworth stands up straighter, filling out his shoulders with a presence not befitting a mere butler. Gone are the last traces of the genial old man, replaced by something harder, something determined.

"Are you possessed?" No politeness is left in his tone. It rather sounds like he is one wrong move away from performing an exorcism himself, right here on the doorstep to his Master's home. Tim decides he likes him.

"Do possessed people usually give you an honest answer?" he asks, smiling just a tad too widely.

They stare at each other for a long moment, butler and child, duty and magic. Tim is not worried. Magic wants him here and it usually gets what it wants. It is also usually not too unkind about it. 

"I will not allow any harm to come to Master Wayne," Mr. Pennyworth says slowly, not quite making it a threat.

Tim still nods briefly to show he has heard it. "It's a good thing, then, I'm not here for that. I'm here to give him something back that he lost."

Once again, there is laughter, but this time it is not Tim's. He does not move his mouth at all. These halls have seen many generations of Waynes and they just beg to be heard. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim thinks he sees a boy running, the shadow of a shadow, skidding through the foyer with a wide grin. Alfie, look. An exhale. A blink and they are alone again.

The butler has gone pale. He does not look at Tim anymore with even the distant kindness reserved for children. All he sees is a monster. "How dare you come here and wield our grief against us?"

Tim cannot help the small, bitter smile, but he inclines his head in an attempt to hide it. "What if I can bring him back?"

---

Mister Wayne's office, just like most of the halls of Wayne Manor, is dark and forbidding. Lack of light, dark wood and, most of all, their master sitting in the midst of it with grief clinging to every sharp angle, every small movement speaking of destruction, decay.

His eyes are piercing as he stares Tim down, who stands in front of the desk and repeats his proposal: returning the lost child back to life. A ritual he is sure he can do, even though the few books he found where not as instructional as he might have wanted. In fact, they all preached caution. But this is not Tim's idea.

Ever since stepping into the Manor proper, the magic inside him has expanded, pressing against the confines of Tim's mortal body, reaching a bit farther out with every breath. So, no, Tim does not know the how, yet, and he is still not clear on the why, but he is right where he is supposed to be.

"Bringing someone back from the dead is not straightforward," he explains, not losing any of his confidence. "Magic does not happen with a simple snap of fingers."

That, of course, depends. If he coated his fingers in something potent, if he were pointing at a source - but they are not talking about parlour tricks, here. They do not want to break but to mend. Building something always takes more than pulling it all down.

"How?" Mr. Wayne demands, flat and dark. Apart from a brief flash of rage, he has not shown any emotion since Mr. Pennyworth herded Tim into the office.

Beyond ritual circles and power sources and intent, the most important thing about every piece of magic is the cost. The one thing all the texts agreed on is that the cost of curing death is enormous, painful. There are options, of course, but Tim has already decided. He has never liked to depend on third-party sources. No, his magic wants him here for a reason and Tim thinks that is the simple part.

"Do you really want me to bore you with technical details?" Tim asks, tired without growing impertinent. The less he has to explain the better for everybody involved. "Every ritual is different and -"

Mr. Wayne cuts him off with a glare. "I want to know why you are here and what you intend to gain from it."

The honest answer is actually very simple. This house is calling for him, ghosts reach out for him whenever he turns his back, something is haunting his every step. As things are, he does not have anything to gain from this but rest, which is not the worst bargain he could get in a situation like this.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Wayne? he asks, softly. "In fate?"

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Wayne scoffs. "I don't deal with such nonsense."

He would not call it nonsense if he could see Jason's memory flitting through the house, as real and fleeting as any of them who are still alive.

"I am here because of both," Tim says, having long since learned to ignore scepticism. Eventually, they all learn. "Your son is calling for help. I'm not sure whether he is asking for me specifically or if I'm just the first who heard him, but I know that I can bring him back."

Tim does not know any such thing, but he has come to trust in magic, to follow its lead. It is quite impossible not to when it never lets him forget its existence.

"Don't -" Mr. Wayne snaps, then swallows audibly, schools his expression into something neutral. "You can really bring him back?"

"Yes." This is not the time to show doubt. Things will fall into place at the right time, he has to trust in that.

Mr. Wayne breathes, never once looking away from Tim. "When?"

The house sighs in sudden relief, releasing some of the tension in the air. That is how Tim knows he has won the argument.

He cocks his head to the side. "I could bring him back right now, but I think you would want him to come back right." The last thing he needs is impatience or someone looking over his shoulder the entire time.

"Is there a wrong way?" Mr. Wayne asks, his shoulders tensing further.

Tim allows himself a small smile. "You want him to bring all of his soul back with him. All of his memories. All that made him who he was." He shrugs, making himself look more confident than he feels. "Simply animating a corpse would be easy. Giving back life is not." Easy is, perhaps, too strong a word but nobody needs to know that.

"How long?"

These things cannot be rushed, otherwise they will end up with even more grief. And possibly more bodies than intended. Dead ones. "I need to understand who Jason is. I think he will tell me what he needs."

Immediately, Tim knows that this answer was too bold, too outlandish for Mr. Wayne, who is very much a nonbeliever in all things he cannot personally touch. Leaning forward, hands not quite curled into fists, he says, "If you're lying to us, if you're using our grief -"

"I won't ask anything of you, Mr. Wayne, other than that you will let me live here until the job is done." Before Mr. Wayne's expression can darken further, he adds, "I have my own home, my own money. I don't need anything from you other than the freedom to do what I have come here for."

The manor creaks as they look at each other in silence. The sound of the running steps of a child waft in from somewhere.

"Yes," Mr. Wayne finally allows through clenched teeth. "But you will share all your research with me and if I get even a hint of you doing something untoward, you will leave."

"Is that -"

Mr. Wayne stands, effectively cutting Tim off. "I already said yes. Now, get out."

---

Tim moves in without fanfare. He barely brings anything in terms of clothes or personal items. He does, however, ask for a place in the gardens to put up a greenhouse.

Magic always comes with a cost. It could be body heat or a drop of blood, life force in terms of years, willing or unwilling sacrifices. Life is in all things, though, and Tim has learned a careful balance of taking without killing, growing without culling. Plants, after all, do grow stronger if cut regularly, in the right way.

The gardens of Drake Manor are rows and rows of lush green and colours of all kind, ripe fruits and fragrant smells. When he walks his home, magic is all around him.

Of course, he does not have time to plant an entire garden in Wayne Manor, but he has this: a greenhouse full of his most potent plants and windowsills filled to bursting. Green is life much more than crimson is. Here, he can breathe.

---

The theory is easy. Build a summoning circle in which he has to pour enough understanding of Jason's essence to make it stick. A binding circle to make sure he will have enough time for the exchange. The usual physical offerings, both potent in magic and specific to Jason. And then, payment.

All magic has a cost, and great deeds of magic demand great sacrifice. This will not be done with a cup full of blood, no matter the origin. Tim could bleed an entire dragon dry and the fates would not be moved. No, the payment always has to match the demand.

To create life, he has to offer something equivalent. A life for a life.

There are a number of rituals and spells that are powered by human sacrifice. Tim has never dabbled in those, has never even read up on them beyond the basics.

His magic has led him here, has pulled him in with more insistence than ever before. He knows what that means.

A life for a life.

---

Tim keeps to himself and Mister Wayne is more than happy to ignore him. The house, however, is not. Long gone laughter rings out around every corner. Phantom flames flicker in empty fireplaces. Books fall from shelves in the library only to reveal dozens of handwritten notes in the margins. For once, Tim is not the only ghost that haunts a manor.

"I need to know more about Jason's life." Tim ambushes Alfred in the kitchen. "What did he do all day?"

He needs to know, but he does not like seeing Alfred age right before him, hollowed out by grief and memories he has not yet laid to rest.

"Sit down," he offers Tim, smiling despite himself. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

---

"I want to train with you," Tim says one morning after breakfast.

Mr. Wayne tends to avoid him and offering nothing but terse nods whenever he cannot. He does not ask about Tim's progress, does not offer any help that is not pulled out of him with great effort. It is clear that he has let Tim into his home out of desperation, but that he does not believe success is possible. Worse, every time he sees Tim is a reminder of his loss.

"No," Mr. Wayne snaps, alit with sudden anger. He has half-risen out of his seat, towering over Tim.

"It's what Jason did, right?" Tim asks, not showing any outward reaction to Mr. Wayne's intimidation tactics.

His fingertips burn, ready to throw Mr. Wayne across the room if he comes any closer or begins to act on his unspoken threat. Tim is small and young, but he is anything but defenceless.

"You're not here to replace him." That is more a growl than a human voice, somehow befitting the sharp-cut jaw.

Tim leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee. "No. I'm here to understand him so I can bring him back."

Without another word, Mr. Wayne storms out. He does not, however, deny Tim when he appears, a few hours later, in the gym, eager to learn.

---

Tim is not sure what to make of the prospect of dying. He is young. He has seen nothing of the world. His parents do not love him, but he always hoped that, someday, somewhere, he could find love for himself, family. He wonders, now, why whatever was in that vessel spared him, gave him the gift of magic. He wonders what is so special about Jason Todd that fate asks Tim to die for him.

He learns about Jason, learns that he can be jealous of a dead boy, learns that life can be really, unfathomably unfair. He does not find a satisfying answer to his question. With time, however, he thinks it will at least be a worthy exchange. Jason has so much to offer the world. He has people waiting for him. Tim has nobody but himself.

Magic buzzes restlessly inside Tim as he refuses to let it out. Without it, he is entirely human. Entirely breakable. Bruce does not seem to care. He never tires, he never makes mistakes.

Tim could still wipe the floor with him if only he would let go. He does not. Instead, he gets thrown down on the mats more often than he can count.

"Again," Bruce repeats a thousand times.

At night, Tim goes through an unholy amount of arnica and hamamelis and heat sucked right out of the flames in the fireplace so that he can move without too much pain the next morning. His magic purrs, glad he has not forgotten it completely.

---

"Was he often hurt?" Tim asks one night when he is sure that Bruce is nowhere nearby. He nurses his tea, appreciative of its warmth.

Alfred looks up alarmed. "Master Jason? Why do you ask? What happened?"

His immediate worry is just as soothing as the tea, careful attentiveness instead of dismissive ignorance. Tim is not used to so much positive human interaction, he has to take care not to let his guard down too much.

"It's just - he has training with Bruce and then they fight out in Gotham." He shrugs. His intention was never to accuse anyone of anything. It is just intense. "He was just a boy, right?"

With too perceptive eyes, Alfred looks at him. "Are you hurt, Master Tim?"

Tim flinches back, taken by surprise. "No," he lies. 

Although, is it really a lie if he asked for it? Bruce seemed tolerant of his antics in the training room and never once hesitated when Tim got back to his feet to face him again.

His muscles are permanently sore, not used to the exertion. If he would not heal himself, his bruises would have bruises because he never before had to dodge a predator coming after him with intent. His skin spans painfully over his bones, barely containing his magic. It is constantly simmering right underneath his fingertips. He could make sure not a single hit ever finds his target again. But that is not what he is here for. He wants to learn. Magic is not infallible.

Bruce is not hurting him for the sake of pain, but Tim has never had much need for physical fitness. This is like learning to walk, all over again, like getting on a bike for the first time and greeting the gravel of their driveway with his knees.

Of course, at the end of this journey, it will not matter whether his body is trained, whether he learned anything that could be useful for a life he will never have. At the end of this, Tim will be dead and Jason will be back in his rightful place.

Tim does need to learn about Jason, but a small, not insignificant part of him, does this for his own gain. Where is the harm in experiencing this life? Where is the harm in tasting something that was never for him?

"If something is wrong -"

Tim shakes his head quickly. He does not need Alfred to do something rash. "Everything's good, Alfred," he reassures easily. "I'm just not used to so much physical exertion, and I wondered. It was not an accusation. I know Jason was happy here."

Slowly, Alfred settles back into a more comfortable position. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, drinking tea.

"Do you see him?" Alfred then asks, as hopeful as he is cautious.

There is not a step Tim can take in this house without Jason's essence pressing in on him.

"He is not the kind of ghost I could talk to," he says and is glad for it. Otherwise, his task could be done much quicker, and he finds himself reluctant to let go just yet. "But his essence is here nonetheless. I hear most of his laughter in the kitchen."

Alfred's eyes turn glassy and Tim offers a smile, unsure whether he overstepped. Grief is a fickle thing, able to cause both comfort and pain.

"You're a good kid, Master Tim."

Tim does not know about that, but something preens in him at the attention nonetheless.

---

Bruce's temper is a minefield on a good day and he tends not to have a lot of those.

"What is taking so long?" he growls after having summoned Tim to his office. Once again, Tim is not asked to sit. It is eerily reminiscent of his first visit here, having to plead his case as if he is desperate to die for these people, as if his life is worth nothing at all on its own.

Tim looks at Bruce as he takes a moment to swallow his temper. It must have been a bad night, one where Bruce is haunting the house just as much as Jason is, just with less of a positive energy.

"I told you I need to-"

Bruce brings his hand down on the table, making Tim flinch. He has never before felt seriously threatened in this house, but he has seen what these hands can do. He knows what grief can do. 

"I think you just want to take something that's not yours," Bruce accuses with burning eyes. "You want to take his place."

Deep breaths, Tim reminds himself. "Bruce. I don't want to take anything from you." On the contrary, he wants to give something back, to the point of self-destruction, even. He knows better than to say that, though. Bruce would not mind much, probably, giving nothing but token protest. Alfred might be the real obstacle there, and Tim does not actually want to spend time and effort on convincing people to let him die. "I can't tell you why I was called. But I'm not yet ready."

"Do you ever plan on being ready?" Bruce asks, his lips pulling up into something that is more of a threat than a smile.

Planning has little to do with it. Tim is willing to do what has to be done. Life, magic, all of it was a gift. He has not yet paid for that, but something in him tells him that this might be it. This is the universe coming to collect. Why else push him into the home of a dead boy? Why else give him a task that will mean the cost of his life? He is already getting more out of the bargain than he could have hoped for, these glimpses of what it means to be a family.

"Do you want me to go?" Tim asks softly. The magic in him stirs, stings underneath his skin. He breathes to calm it. He will not abandon his task, but he wants to do this the right way.

Bruce is not quick enough to pull his face into impassiveness, to fully hide the fear. "Are you rescinding your offer?"

"No," he promises, gentler perhaps than Bruce deserves. "I mean, I have an entire house just down the road. I don't have to stay here. I don't have to eat here. You don't have to see me, if you don't want to. I can try to get ready otherwise."

It would be harder, of course, but Tim would also not be distracted by liking this life.

"No." Bruce's reply comes too fast, too hoarse. "No. Stay."

Immediately, the pressure that has been building inside Tim releases. His magic is mollified.

"Do you want to spar? Take your mind off things?" Tim then offers, deciding a change in topic is needed and Bruce always seems to do better when he can punch out his grief. It is not how he planned to spend his morning but he is not completely hopeless anymore and has even begun to enjoy the exertion of it.

Bruce, however, narrows his eyes at him. "Alfred tells me you've been limping yesterday."

Traitor, Tim thinks without heat. He grins, careless. "Nothing some good old magic can't fix."

He expects Bruce to nod and be done with the topic. Instead, he carefully looks Tim over as if he can spot any bruises through his clothes.

"I don't want to hurt you," he then says, gentle and honest. It does things to the part of Tim that is still a child waiting for his parents to come home and love him.

"You can't." That is a bold-faced lie, but Tim does not stumble over it. They are talking about different hurts anyway. Physical pain is fine. Getting to live a life never meant for him, to experience love if only from the outskirts of it - that hurts. At the same time, it might be the most precious thing of all. "And if I don't train, then I won't get better."

---

After that first, not very promising meeting on the Manor's doorsteps, Alfred's behaviour in regards to Tim has improved immensely. He was never rude, no, but he has a way of wielding his politeness in a way that cuts. Slowly but surely, the sharpness drained out of his words and expressions, and his service grew from perfunctory to warm. Alfred is the soul of this house and Tim feels honoured to have been welcomed in.

"What is your favourite dessert, Master Tim?" Alfred asks one morning, attentive in a way that would befit more serious questions.

Tim smiles at him over the rim of his coffee mug. "Wrong question, dear Alfred. What is Jason's favourite dessert?" He cannot let the lines blur too much.

But Alfred is not going to let himself be deterred. "I do think you can take an evening off. This is about you."

Nothing is ever about Tim. Even the magic. It pulls and pushes, insists and demands. He is but a vessel. He broke that sealed vase and whatever was inside that now lives in him is always hungry.

Still, there is something endearingly earnest about the way Alfred looks at him. It is hard to disappoint him.

"I don't know," Tim admits.

A pause. A frown. "Well," Alfred claps his hands with too much cheer. "It is time we found out, then."

---

Things are coming to an end; Tim feels it in his bones. He is not a stranger anymore in this house. At times, his own laughter rings along with Jason's, creating a harmony that leaves him breathless.

He knows the manor's inhabitants as well as its halls. Bruce's silences, less broody now but filled with warmth. Alfred's quiet strength and endless capacity for love. He knows where to put his feet to remain standing when Bruce charges at him, knows the thrill of fighting, an intricate choreography. He knows the pleasant ebb and flow of conversations, of stories shared to entertain. He knows the feel of family, of love. Underneath it all, he knows all the places Jason fit.

"I'm ready," he says when they are half-way through breakfast.

Bruce stills. Which is not the reaction Tim expected. "You are?" Hesitation, questions in every angle.

Tim nods, smiling. He has been ready for a week now, but an unwelcome, selfish part of him did not want to admit it, did not want to give this up, and the magic let him. Now it is time to face reality, however.

Bruce looks at him, still strangely hesitant. "What do you need?"

More time, Tim thinks, but that is not part of the deal. He will not hurt these people further, not after they have taken him in and given him the greatest gift of his life.

"Today is the new moon. I will do it then. Later, I'll unearth the coffin. If you want to come, do it soon." The body has to stay inside, so it will not be disturbed before it is time, but Tim does not want to leave Jason in his grave when he cannot help him out, afterwards. "You need to stay inside when I do the ritual. I cannot be distracted." More importantly, the magic cannot be distracted. There can only be two targets for the ritual. Better not add any temptations.

"You -" Bruce's eyes are piercing, but Tim meets them calmly. "It will work?"

The magic purrs inside Tim, which he takes as an affirmative. Bruce still does not believe in it, though.

"I have not done this before, but I've done my research," Tim says, as confidently as he can. "Something called me here. I'm sure." Failure is not an option, anyway. He will not get a second try. 

"Thank you, Tim." Bruce sounds breathless, at once anticipatory and afraid.

"Thank me tomorrow," Tim says, even while the words taste like ash in his mouth.

It is funny, really. The cost has been clear from the very beginning. He will not sacrifice any other human being, so the only viable alternative is himself. He has known that all along. So, why does he feel reluctant now? Why are his limbs heavy and his heart rate too fast? He is a willing sacrifice, a life freely given. Why make it hard on himself now?

He knows why, of course. For the first time in his short life, he actually has something to give up. Before, it was him in his parents' empty house, learning, doing magic feats no one would congratulate him for. Now, he has gotten a taste of what it feels like to be wanted, even if they want Jason, not him. The lines have blurred enough for him to feel the connection, the love.

But it is all right. He can do this. Today, he will say his goodbyes, he will thank magic and fate. He will be ready.

---

Tim makes a last round through the house, wanders in Jason's footsteps and, now, also in his own. He sits on his bed, runs a hand across his desk. In the greenhouse, he says goodbye to each of his plants. Alfred will take care of them, surely, so something of his will remain. In the kitchen, he steals a cookie and laughs when Alfred offers to make his favourites for dinner. He cleans himself thoroughly, body and soul, the last ritual he will do for himself. It is a good day, a good life. Tim is glad he got to taste it.

---

Magic makes it easy to unearth the coffin. It looks a bit damaged, but Tim does not know anything about the natural progression of coffin decomposition to think anything about it. He does not look in. Neither do Alfred or Bruce when they come by, briefly, before letting him do his work.

Calm settles over Tim as he prepares. He has brought his best supplies for this. No need to save them for later when there will never be a later. This is his masterpiece. He draws the runic circles with utmost care, going over each three times to make sure everything is perfect. He begins burning the incense as he places the physical anchors.

He watches the sun set, speaking a prayer of thanks.

---

Night falls and he is ready. 

This is it. This is the culmination of months of work.

Tim's blood seeps into the runes, his bones creak in anticipation. His soul, at once ready and balking, hangs by nothing but a thread. With a deep inhale, feeling his body for the last time, Tim snaps it.

[guilty-ff]

𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐭. 𝟓

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

This story takes place after Jason's death (warning: not 100% Comic accurate)

Pairings: Dick Grayson/Nightwing × (fem!Reader), Slight Jason Todd/Red hood x (fem!Reader)

Genre: Action, Angst, Revenge, Violence, DC

Warnings: Comic Spoilers!, Explicit content, Child abuse, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word Count: 3634

Y/n feels a strange mix of nerves and determination settle in her chest as the jet circles lower, bringing her closer to Gotham. She presses her forehead against the cold glass window, watching as the sprawling city lights glitter below her like stars trapped on the ground. 

Gotham has a dark beauty, with towering skyscrapers casting shadows over crowded streets, bridges arching across wide rivers, and entire neighbourhoods hidden behind veils of mist and fog. It looks chaotic, raw, and dangerous and it is about to become her new home.

As the plane descends, she steadies herself for this new chapter. Her mother's words echo in her mind, firm and straightforward. "Remember, Y/n, you're in Gotham to observe and to learn," Talia had said with her usual calm certainty. "This will be a valuable experience. Don't reveal your past- not to Bruce, not to anyone. Let them think you're just a spoiled child in need of toughening up. It will be safer that way."

The jet finally touches down with a gentle jolt, and Y/n takes a steadying breath. When the door opens, a cool gust of night air sweeps in, carrying the faint smell of rain and metal. She steps out, scanning the surroundings with practiced precision, her senses heightened.

Waiting for her beside a sleek black car is an older man in a perfectly tailored suit. He stands with impeccable posture, hands clasped in front of him. His expression is both kind and shrewd, and he inclines his head slightly as she approaches.

"Good evening, Miss Y/n," he says, his voice smooth and formal. "I am Alfred Pennyworth, butler to the Wayne family. He has asked me to personally escort you to Wayne Manor. Welcome to Gotham."

"Thank you, Alfred." She nods, her voice steady and polite. His calm demeanour puts her somewhat at ease, a welcome buffer against the tension simmering beneath the surface. He gestures toward the car, opening the door for her with a practiced grace. She slides into the backseat, the leather cool against her palms as she settles in.

The car driving  away from the airstrip and toward the city. Alfred's eyes meet hers briefly in the rear-view mirror. "Gotham is... an unusual city, Miss Y/n," he says, his tone careful yet warm. "I thought a brief introduction might be helpful as we drive."

"I'd appreciate that," Y/n replies, keeping her voice light. She has faced enemies in battle without flinching, but something about Gotham's unpredictability keeps her on edge.

Alfred's faint smile softens the air of caution in his words. "To put it simply, Gotham is a city of extremes. Its beauty is often deceptive. The grandeur you'll see is matched by shadows of poverty and crime. This place has a way of revealing the best and the worst in people."

Y/n turns to the window, watching the city unfold. They drive through streets where run down buildings and rusted signs seem to lean into the oppressive air. In the dim corners of doorways, malnourished children huddle together, their hollow eyes following the occasional passer by and tired prostitutes forcefully offering themselves for a little money. Her chest tightens as she takes in the stark contrast between the city's opulent skyline and its forgotten souls.

She thinks of Jason. She can almost picture him as a boy in these streets- hungry, cold, and alone, trying to survive in the shadow of Gotham's elite. The memory of him stirs a pang of anger and sadness, though she pushes it down quickly, masking it with the persona she's here to project.

"My mother thought I needed a reality check," she says, injecting her voice with a breezy carelessness. "Apparently, Gotham was the perfect choice."

Alfred chuckles softly, a polite but knowing sound. "A reality check, indeed."

The car transitions from the chaos of the city to the quiet elegance of the suburbs. Alfred navigates through winding roads lined with tall trees and stately homes. When the car finally turns onto a private driveway, Y/n catches her first glimpse of Wayne Manor. The imposing gothic structure looms ahead, its grandeur accentuated by the soft glow of lights spilling through its many windows.

"Quite the sight, isn't it, Miss Y/n?" Alfred remarks, his voice carrying a faint note of pride. "Master Damian, of course, considers it underwhelming compared to the many places of his childhood."

Y/n smirks faintly, suppressing a laugh. "I can't say I've seen many places like this either," she replies, though the truth is far from her words. She thinks of the League's hidden places- stark, practical, and carved into remote cliffs or buried deep in the shadows of the earth. Compared to those cold halls, Wayne Manor feels almost alive.

Inside, the warmth of the manor surprises her. Rich wood panelling and shimmering chandeliers give the space a stately elegance, but before she can fully take it in, chaos erupts.

"Damian, you idiotic maniac, give it back!"

A teenager storms past Y/n, fury radiating from him, while a smaller boy with dark hair and a smug expression follows close behind.

"Perhaps you should invest in better quality items, Drake," Damian answers teasingly. "Clearly, those headphones weren't meant to last."

Tim Drake spins around, glaring at Damian with pure annoyance. "You broke them! They're limited edition!"

"Consider it a lesson in resilience."

"I'm telling Dick the second he gets back from Blüdhaven!" Tim yells, his face red with frustration.

Before the argument escalates further, Alfred clears his throat with a sharp but polite "Ahem." Both boys pause, their attention drawn to him.

"Gentlemen, we have a guest," Alfred announces, gesturing toward Y/n.

Tim mutters an awkward "Hi" before retreating upstairs, clearly eager to escape the situation. Damian, however, freezes when his eyes land on Y/n. For a moment, his usual confidence falters, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. Without warning, he rushes forward and hugsher tightly, burying his face in her side.

Y/n's breath hitches in surprise, but she quickly wraps her arms around him, holding him close. "Damian..."

He pulls back just as abruptly as he hugs her, his cheeks flushing. "That was... I was merely ensuring you were unharmed from your journey. Nothing more."

She smiles, her tone teasing. "Of course. The great Damian Al Ghul showing sentimentality? Impossible."

"Tch." He scowls, though the blush deepens. "This is why I avoid attachments."

From the staircase, Tim's voice drifts down. "That's a lie, and we all know it!"

"Quiet, Drake!" Damian snaps, his voice sharp, but Y/n catches the flicker of a smile on his lips.

Once the chaos subsides, Damian offers to show Y/n around the manor. She accepts, eager for the chance to talk to him alone. As they walk through the expansive halls, she looks amazed at the blend of elegance and history, but her focus remains on the boy beside her.

"You've grown," she says softly, glancing at him.

"Of course I have," he replies. "It's been years."

They reach a quiet sitting room, and Damian hesitates before sitting with her on the plush couch. She sits beside him, her expression growing serious.

"Damian," she begins, her tone serious, "I need to talk to you."

He turns to her, his expression immediately alert. "What is it?"

She hesitates for a moment before saying, "Grandfather is dead."

His reaction is startled- a flicker of emotion crossing his face before he changes it back to his usual stoicism. "How?"

"It doesn't matter," she says firmly. "What matters is that I've left the League. I'm forging my own path now."

He narrows his eyes slightly. "You mean... you're still an assassin?"

"Yes," she admits. "But on my own terms. I believe killing is sometimes necessary to fight crime. I won't apologize for that."

Damian studies her, his green eyes sharp. "Does the family know?"

"No," she says. "And they don't need to. This is my fight, Damian. My choice."

He nods slowly, understanding but conflicted. "I won't say anything."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "Thank you."

They sit in silence for a moment before she adds, "By the way, that argument with Tim earlier... you were enjoying yourself, weren't you?"

His cheeks tint red again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She laughs softly, nudging him. "It's good to see you like this. Part of a family."

The soft sound of approaching footsteps breaks the silence. Alfred, ever the presence of calm authority, appears around the corner, his attire immaculate as always.

"Miss Y/n," he begins with a polite bow of his head, "your room is ready. I believe you'll find it most accommodating. If there's anything you need, do not hesitate to call for me."

She glances at him, unsure how to respond. The idea of having her own room- something more than the League's barracks or a run downed safe house feels foreign, even indulgent.

"Thank you," she mutters softly, still adjusting to the kindness she is not used to.

"Dinner will be served in thirty minutes," Alfred adds with a warm smile before disappearing as quietly as he arrived.

Damian walks her to the room, keeping his usual air of detachment, though she catches him glancing at her occasionally. As they arrive, he nods curtly and walks off, leaving her standing in front of the polished wooden door. 

Taking a deep breath, she opens it.

──────────────────────

Y/n freezes as she steps inside. The room is grand practically a palace compared to the cramped  quarters she would known in the League. Rich, dark wood panels line the walls, and the faint scent of lavender lingers in the air. A plush bed with a headboard dominates the centre of the room. To one side, a grand desk sits beneath shelves filled with books she does not recognize, and on the other, a wardrobe big enough to hold a lifetime of disguises.

But it is the window that draws her attention.

She moves toward it as if in a trance, the faint creak of the wooden floor under her feet the only sound. Unlocking the latch, she pushes the window open, letting the sharp, cold night air rush into the room.

The view takes her breath away. Below, a sprawling garden stretches out, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon. Flowers of every colour bloom, their petals swaying gently in the breeze. A narrow stone path through the garden, leading to an ancient well covered in creeping ivy.

Her chest tightens. For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels something close to peace. She had forgotten what beauty looked like, what it meant to stand in a moment that was not overshadowed by pain or survival.

She leans against the windowsill, the cold biting into her skin, grounding her. "Freedom," she whispers to herself, the word strange on her tongue. Jason had talked about this once, about stepping away from the shadows, from the chains that bound them.

"This is what you meant, isn't it?" she murmurs under her breath, her gaze locked on the well. A small smile tugs at her lips, unbidden but not unwelcome.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Alfred's voice calling up from the corridor. "Miss Y/n, dinner is ready."

With a sigh, she closes the window, sealing the cold night air out. The world outside remains untouched, as if it's waiting for her to come back and find it again.

As Y/n follows the smell of food down the hall, her senses sharpen. The faint aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spices fills the air, making her stomach twist- not in hunger, but in unease. The grand dining room comes into view, its long table emphasised by a chandelier that casts soft golden light across the polished surface.

Six chairs are set, but only three are occupied. Damian is already seated, his posture as rigid as ever. Across from him sit Alfred and Tim, who offers her a polite but curious glance.

"Where are the others?" Y/n asks, her voice clipped.

Damian, cutting into his plate with precision, does not even look up. "Father is occupied with work at Wayne Enterprises, as usual. And Grayson is in Blüdhaven. He'll probably return tomorrow."

Her brow furrows. "Grayson?"

"Dick Grayson," Damian replies, his tone flat. "Eldest sibling. You'll meet him soon enough."

The name sticks in her mind for some reason, but she pushes the thought away.

As she sits down, her eyes are drawn to the food. The sheer abundance of it feels overwhelming: steaming dishes of rich meats, buttery vegetables, decadent desserts. She swallows hard, her chest tightening again, but this time not with awe.

She is transported back to the streets of Gotham, where malnourished children with hollow eyes begged for scraps. Her hands clench under the table, the fork and knife feeling alien in her grasp.

"Pathetic," she thinks bitterly. The irony of it all: the rich and powerful feasting while the weak starve, their lives devoured by those with more than enough. Her appetite vanishes entirely.

Despite her discomfort, the others chat casually. Tim discusses a project he is working on, while Damian occasionally throws in a sarcastic comment. Alfred's dry humour draws the occasional laugh, and even Damian seems... lighter, happier in her presence. She notices the change but says nothing, unsure if she should feel honoured or burdened by his dependence on her.

As the dinner concludes, Alfred approaches her, his kind eyes warm with gratitude.

"Miss Y/n," he says softly, "thank you. Damian has... changed since you've arrived. He hasn't opened up to anyone like this in years. It's a relief to see him smile again."

She is taken aback, unsure how to respond. A part of her wants to reject the idea that she's made any difference. But another part, the part that still aches from losing Jason feels a flicker of pride.

"You're welcome," she murmurs awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

That night, Y/n lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is too quiet, too comfortable. She closes her eyes, hoping sleep will come quickly. But instead, the darkness drags her back into the past.

She is in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the stench of blood and sweat. The walls echo with the sound of her own ragged breathing. Jason is beside her, his face pale, his body trembling as he tries to stand.

"Get up," she whispers urgently, her voice cracking. "Jason, we have to move!"

But he does not respond. She turns to see why and freezes. His chest is covered in blood, the red seeping through his uniform like a spreading stain. His eyes are dull, unfocused.

A shadow looms over them, a figure she cannot fully see but knows too well. The voice is cold, sharp, cutting through her like a blade.

"You failed," it says. "You were supposed to protect him."

"No," she whispers, backing away. "I didn't—"

"You let him die."

The room tilts, spinning around her as Jason's lifeless body slumps to the ground. She screams, but no sound comes out. Shadows rise around her, twisting into grotesque shapes, reaching for her with clawed hands.

"Jason!" she screams, jolting awake.

Her heart pounds in her chest as she sits up, gasping for air. The room is still, the only sound her own ragged breathing. She runs a trembling hand through her hair, trying to shake the images from her mind.

"This is my freedom?" she mutters bitterly to herself, tears stinging her eyes. "This is what it feels like?"

For the first time since arriving at Wayne Manor, she wonders if she made the right choice coming here, or if the shadows of her past will follow her forever.  

──────────────────────

Loud voices echo through the halls, disrupting Y/n's sleep. She stands up, tired and annoyed, as the muffled sounds grow louder. One voice is sharp and biting- Damian's, and the other is casual, teasing, and far too cheerful for this hour.

She sits up, running a hand through her hair before pulling on a sweatshirt. Her peace is clearly under attack, and the perpetrators are about to face her wrath.

As she steps into the hallway, she spots Damian glaring daggers at a tall man standing with his arms crossed and a wide grin plastered across his face.

"You're still as grumpy as ever," the man teases, ignoring Damian's withering look.

"Grayson," Damian growls. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

The man laughs, the sound bright and infectious. "Not when you're this much fun."

Then his gaze lands on Y/n. His grin widens. "And who's this?" he asks, stepping forward. "The famous Y/n? The miracle worker who managed to make 'this guy' somewhat tolerable?"

Y/n crosses her arms, unimpressed. "You're... loud."

Dick pauses, his grin faltering for a moment before he recovers. "Wow. Tough crowd." He offers a hand. "Dick Grayson. My pleasure to meet-."

She does not take his hand. "Nice to meet you, Richard."

"Dick," he corrects, his smile becoming a little strained.

"Sure," she says, brushing past him to stand next to Damian.

Dick looks after her, a mix of amusement and confusion on his face. "Is she always this charming?" he asks Damian, who smirks.

"She doesn't like idiots," Damian replies flatly.

"Guess I'll just have to grow on her," Dick quips. "It's a good thing I'm irresistible."

Y/n rolls her eyes, muttering, "Nepo baby energy."

Dick looks genuinely offended. "I have earned my nepo baby privileges, thank you very much."

──────────────────────

By the time Y/n makes it to the dining room, Alfred is already setting out breakfast. The long, polished table hosts a spread that's almost overwhelming: eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit, and more. 

Bruce sits at the head of the table, reading the newspaper. Damian is already seated, and Dick strolls in casually, pulling out a chair across from her. He flashes her a grin as he sits.

"Don't worry," he says. "It's not a trap. You're allowed to eat."

Y/n glares at him. "Hilarious."

Dick smirks, clearly enjoying her hostility.

Bruce finally looks up from his paper. "Dick, stop antagonizing our guest," he says in a calm but firm tone.

"Who, me? I'm just being friendly," Dick protests innocently.

Damian snorts. "Grayson's idea of 'friendly' is an exercise in irritation."

Breakfast is a strange mix of tension and teasing. Dick continues to try to win Y/n over with his humour, but she shoots down every attempt with sharp remarks and cold stares. Damian, for once, seems genuinely entertained.

By the end of the meal, Dick leans back in his chair, looking at Y/n with an amused expression. "You know, you're like a tougher Damian," he says. "I'm starting to think we should keep you around just to keep me on my toes."

Y/n doesn't respond, focusing on her coffee.

──────────────────────

After breakfast, Alfred approaches Y/n with a polite smile. "Miss Y/n, Master Wayne would like to see you in his office."

Y/n nods, her curiosity hidden. She follows Alfred down the hall to a large, imposing door. Inside, Bruce is seated at a massive desk, papers and files neatly arranged in front of him. He gestures for her to sit in the chair across from him.

"I wanted to discuss a few things," Bruce begins, his voice calm but authoritative. "Mainly your safety."

Y/n raises an eyebrow. "I'm fine."

Bruce leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. "I'm aware of what happened to your grandfather. Talia killed him, which puts you and Damian as targets of the League of Assassins."

Y/n stiffens but says nothing.

"That's why I want you to learn the basics of self-defence," Bruce continues. "It's important you're able to protect yourself."

Y/n forces her expression to remain neutral, but inside, she is boiling. He does not know the truth, does not know that she has been fighting for her life long before she ever stepped foot in this house.

"I think a self-defence class could be useful," she says carefully, pretending to have no history of combat.

Bruce narrows his eyes slightly, sensing her resistance. "It's not optional. And Dick is more than qualified to teach you."

"Dick?" she echoes, her tone laced with disdain. "Isn't he busy... being loud?"

Bruce's lips twitch in what might almost be a smile. "He's more capable than he looks."

Y/n clenches her jaw, but she knows better than to argue. "Fine," she says tightly.

Before she leaves, she hesitates. "I want to start working," she says, her voice firmer now.

Bruce looks up from his paperwork. "You can work at Wayne Enterprises. I'll have HR—"

"No," Y/n interrupts. "I don't want any handouts. I want to work on my own terms. Somewhere small, like a library."

Bruce studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You'll need a bank account."

"I'll take care of that," she says quickly. "Just... let me handle it."

He nods slowly, his gaze lingering on her. "Alright. But if you need anything, you'll let me know."

"Sure," she replies, standing up.

As she leaves his office, she cannot help but feel a small victory. A private bank account is exactly what she needs, for her "real" work.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, with Y/n carefully navigating the dynamics of the Wayne household. She avoids Dick as much as possible, knowing that his teasing and charm will only irritate her further. But as she settles into her new life, a part of her wonders how long she can keep her secrets buried.

[glitchyrealities]

Rorschach Voyeurism

Carrey!Riddler x OFC

part 1/8

"when you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye"

see a03 for tags and full story

Prologue

Everyone knew Edward Nygma was obsessed with Bruce Wayne, if the pictures splattered all over his walls were any evidence. He didn’t advertise his fascination with the younger Katherine Wayne, but it was obvious to anyone who paid attention. Her dark eyes and ruby lips were permanent residents in his fantasies. He’d met her once, well, seen her. She was sitting cross-legged on the receptionist's desk after a Wayne Industries New Year’s Eve party with a bottle of champagne in her hand. That night he dreamed a world where he caught her eye and they’d shared the bottle. After New Years, she disappeared. No one heard from her, but she had been captured in plenty of photos. She never stopped in one place for long, walking runways across Europe and Asia. He’d read every article and clipped her pictures from each magazine, methodologically pinning them up in his apartment. 

“...beautiful.” Edward mutters to himself, standing in the grocery store checkout line and clutching a special edition with her face on the cover. 

“Mister, you gonna buy that?” An unimpressed college girl stands behind the register, her hair in a ponytail and a couple cigarettes in her front shirt pocket. Edward now notices that the line is clear, and must’ve been for a while while he was lost in thought. He flushes, and steps forward without a word, laying the magazine down on the conveyor belt with a pack of pens and a bag of ground coffee. He shoves his hands in his pockets as she scans the items, fumbling for his wallet. 

It’s cold and rainy when he reaches the door, the raindrops covering his glasses and immediately impeding his vision. He groans and sets the grocery bag down, wiping his glasses, just for them to be covered again as soon as he looks back towards the street. He starts to take them back off, before a warm body walks right into him. 

“Oh!” A feminine gasp comes from the body, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Edward says without looking up, still fiddling with the glasses. 

“No, really. Here, take my umbrella. You look like you need it more than I do.”

“Oh...thank you!” He says, surprised and finally moving to meet her eyes as she practically shoves the umbrella into his hands. 

“It’s no problem, sorry again.” The brunette rushes off into the crowd just as Edward recognizes her. He pushes through the crowd, desperately searching for one more look at her, but it’s no use, she’s gone. When he looks back down, he notices the umbrella in his hands. Specifically, the “K.W.” professionally embroidered on the corner in gold threading. He runs his thumb over it, his heart thumping in his chest. He tucks the umbrella under his coat and takes off down the street, bag in hand. 

*

Katherine is soaked when she walks through the door, slipping off her heeled boots and raincoat and piling them beside the entryway. 

“Hello?” She calls into the vast expanse of Wayne Manor, stockinged  feet padding across the hardwood. “Hm.” 

“Miss Katherine!”

She smiles, “Hi, Alfred.”

“Master Bruce will be home very late, but I can make up some coffee if you’d like to wait up?”

“No, no. I think I’ll just take a warm bath and go to bed.” She says, running her hand over the railing as she takes the first few steps up the staircase.

“Of course. Oh, and welcome home.” Alfred says with a gentle smile.

“Thanks, Alfred.” She mutters, heading up the stairs to take her shower.

Her room is just the way it was when she left. She was 23, fresh out of business school and getting signed for an international contract. It’s only been two years, but it seems like so much longer. The world has changed, she’s changed. She falls onto the bed with a gentle moan, wriggling into the goosedown and twisting around to grasp for something on her nightstand. Her fingers close around an oak frame and she brings the picture down from it’s place to rest it on the towel she has wrapped around her. Martha and Thomas Wayne, each with an arm around one of their young children. Bruce was seven in this picture, Katherine was two. She puts the picture back into its place and turns over in the bed with a sigh, staring out the open window. 

*

He pins the magazine cover to the wall, chewing on the inside of his lip, before turning back to his desk where the umbrella sits. He can’t fully believe it. She...touched him. He sits on the rickety twin bed. If he focuses on the memory, shutting his eyes and going back to that afternoon, he can almost feel her warmth against him and the brush of her hand against his. He’s frustrated with himself for not noticing who she was sooner, recognizing her voice, or at least looking up at her as soon as she bumped into him. But he didn’t, the opportunity was squandered, and yet she still gifted him with something of hers. It’s just an umbrella, but the sight of K.W. makes his heart skip a beat. He wants to see those initials everywhere. They fill his head. K.W. K.W. K.W. K.N. He opens his eyes with a start, blushing at the thought of K.N. engraved on her jewelry. The thought that there could be a universe where she belonged to him, on his arm and in his bed at night. He lets himself believe the fantasy long enough to drift into a peaceful sleep.

[endless-oc-creations]

Mimi's Mobile Other Superheroes Oc Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Updated: 1/09/25

Name: Audrey Freeman

Fic Title: My Ordinary Life

Fandom: DC [Shazam]

Faceclaim: Kiernan Shipka ->Erin Moriarty

Love interest: None

Ship Tag: N/A [Link]

Tag: [Link]

Pinterest Board: [Link]

Summary: More to be added. 

Name: Bailey Jenkins

Series Title: Lonely Gun

Fic Titles: Sucker For Pain[1], Partners in Crime[2]. Kings And Queens[3]

Fandom: DC

Faceclaim: Krysten Ritter

Love interest: Harley Quinn

Ship Tag: Barley [Link]

Tag: [Link]

Pinterest Board: [Link]

Summary:  More to be added. 

Name: Maverick Pennyworth (Aka The Duke)

Series Title: The Duke of Gotham 

Fic Titles: A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing[1]

Fandom: DC [Batman 2022]

Faceclaim: Ben Barnes

Love interest: Bruce Wayne

Ship Tag: Braverick [Link]

Tag: [Link]

Pinterest Board: [Link]

Summary:  After being found on the street and saved by Alfred Pennyworth, 7-year-old Maverick never expected him to take him back home and was accepted with open arms by the very people who lived there, the Waynes. Maverick was adopted by Alfred, taking on the Pennyworth name and duties. But Maverick took it a step further than that. Maverick had become close to Wayne's son Bruce, the two boys enjoyed each other's company and played together, but everything changed when Bruce's parents were murdered. Bruce had changed. Maverick stayed loyal throughout the whole time by his side, but when he took on the mantel of being Batman, fighting crime alone. Maverick couldn't stand idly by. He took on a mantel of his own without Bruce knowing. Maverick became The Duke, protector of Gotham's very own Dark Knight.

Name: Odette Tyler

Series Title: The Devil You Know

Fic Titles: Straight to Hell[1], Devil Eyes

Fandom: Hellboy(2004-2008)

Faceclaim: Eiza González

Love interest: Hellboy[Red] 

Ship Tag: Hellette [Link]

Tag: [Link]

Pinterest Board: [Link]

Summary: More to be added. 

Name: Tommaso Hamato

Series Title: Shell of a Brother

Fic Titles: To be Determined

Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Faceclaim: Ryan Potter

Voice Actor: [There will be a variety] [TBD]

Love interest: None

Ship Tag: N/A [Link]

Tag: [Link]

Pinterest Board: [Link]

Summary: In the Bay Turtle Verse, while scavenging for food for himself and his sons during the winter time, Splinter ends up finding an abandoned baby boy and ends up taking him home to help warm him before the cold could kill him. While Splinter was trying to figure out a way to safely leave the child so that a human could save him, he noticed that the baby and his four sons instantly bonded with one another. After a few days, the thought of separating the child from his sons and himself started to pain him, but what's more is that this child reminded him so much of the little girl that saved him and his son's life, April O'Neil. Then Splinter finally decided that he would raise this child alongside his sons and gave him the name Tommaso.

Name: Reed Campbell

Series Title: Heroes Never Die

Fic Titles: To Be Determined

Fandom: The Boys

Faceclaim: Freddie Stroma

Love interest: Billy Butcher

Ship Tag: Rlly [Link]

Tag: [Link]

Pinterest Board: [Link]

Summary: More to be added.

[eliemo]

Jason went to the funeral alone. 

The Titans were there, and Barbara too of course. They were all careful with him, all painfully gentle, offering sad smiles, pats on the shoulder, and one overwhelming hug from Kori. They were like family to each other, but to Jason they may as well have been strangers. 

Wally didn’t say a word. He saw Barbara cry for the first time. 

Jason sat alone during the service. He watched Donna’s voice break during the eulogy, ushered away bt the rest of the team. He watched them lower the coffin into the dirt. He wished he was sitting with his dad. 

Bruce never showed up to the funeral. Neither did Alfred. 

And he knew why. He knew Bruce couldn’t bring himself to see the casket, to come to terms with it, to watch them bury a boy he couldn’t accept wasn’t breathing yet. And he knew Alfred was shattered, and terrified to leave Bruce alone and risk losing another child, stationing himself at the manor to take care of his ward.

But that left no one to take care of Jason. And as much as he stubbornly insisted he didn’t need it, he really wished he had a hand to hold at his brother’s funeral. 

Barbara gave him a ride home, but she didn’t get out of the car to follow him into the manor. Jason wished she would have, but he didn’t push. The world felt too heavy, too quiet, as he opened the front door by himself and slipped inside the manor. The halls were silent, lifeless in a way they never had been before. 

Jason found Bruce in the cave. He was always in the cave, always desperately searching for something to latch onto to avoid coming face to face with his own mistakes, jumping through hoops to avoid grief. 

Jason didn’t understand how he could be working. If someone couldn’t go to their own son’s funeral, hecouldn’t see how they could be out of bed and working like it was just another day. Like the world hadn’t ended because he’d been too slow.  

But here Bruce was, hunched in his chair like he so often was, staring blankly at the screen in front of him, fingers steepled under his chin. He was reading case files, unmoving, buried in his work. 

“Dad?” 

Bruce went stiff, the way his breath caught almost unnoticeable. It was the first time Jason had managed to sneak up on him. “It’s getting late, Jason.” 

Jason wrapped his arms around himself and shrugged, even though Bruce’s back stayed turned. He’d stayed at the gravesite long after the ceremony ended, even as the small crowd began to disperse, waiting until the sky went dark and Barbara’s gentle hold was tugging him away from his brother. “Are you going to patrol tonight?” 

“Not tonight,” Bruce said, his voice heavy. “I have work to do here.” 

“Oh.” Jason hesitated, wishing Bruce would look at him. “Are you looking for… for–” He couldn’t say his name. “For him?” 

Bruce didn’t move a muscle. “Why don’t you go ask Alfred to help you get ready for bed?” 

“Bruce,” Jason pushed, taking a breath and stepping closer to Batman’s chair. “Are you… you’re gonna kill him, right?” 

When Bruce finally turned around, his face was closed off and blank, his eyes cold. He looked unrecognizable, stony and lifeless like one of the gargyoles that watched over their broken city. Jason took a step back. 

“No.” 

“What?” 

Bruce turned back to the screen. “Go to bed, Jason.” 

It felt like the world was swallowing him whole. He stood his ground. “But you- you have to!” 

“I don’t have to do anything,” Bruce snarled. “We don’t kill. You know that.” 

“You have to, you–” 

“I won’t.” Bruce kept his eyes glued to his computer. “I’m going to find him, and he’s going to pay to what he did to you. Both of you. But killing him won’t solve anything. That’s not how we do things.” 

“Dad he killed… and- and he almost killed me too, how can you–?” 

“I know,” Bruce snapped. “I know. And he will be back behind bars for good this time. I promise. He’ll never come near you again.” 

“That’s not good enough!” 

“Jason–” 

“If you won’t kill him, then I will.” 

“No, you won’t.” Bruce was on his feet in the blink of an eye, and Jason craned his neck to meet his glare. “Get that thought out of your head right now. That’s an order.” 

“He has to die,” Jason insisted. “That’s not fair to Dick, that’s not–” 

“Stop it. No one is dying.” 

Jason couldn’t breathe. “Joker is. He doesn’t get to live that’s not fair.”  

“No, he isn’t.” There was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and Jason wasn’t strong enough to shrug him off. “That’s not how I do things.” 

“How you do things is wrong!” He hadn’t cried once at the funeral, forcing himself to stay strong, holding it all together for his big brother even as he was lowered into the ground, and out of sight forever, but suddenly he couldn’t stop, eyes flooding over with hot tears. “How you do things got him killed! He’s dead because of you and your stupid code!”   

“Stop it,” Bruce said again, but he didn’t sound angry anymore. He just sounded tired, strained and defeated. Batman shouldn’t sound like that. None of this should be happening. “Go to your room.” 

“You left me alone,” Jason sobbed. “You… I was alone today, you left me, I- I went to his funeral by myself. You weren’t there!” 

Bruce dropped his hand, his eyes clouding over. “I couldn’t.” 

“You weren’t there,” Jason said again, choking on his own cries, his throat too tight to take a breath. “Why weren’t you there?” 

“You need to get some rest,” Bruce said instead of a real answer, always evading, always avoiding the root of the issue. Jason wanted to scream. “Today was a hard day.” 

“You wouldn’t know,” Jason snapped, but there wasn’t any bite to his words anymore. He didn’t have the strength to keep fighting through the nightmare. “Can you still tuck me in? Please?” 

Bruce’s face softened, and Jason let it go for the moment. “Of course.” 

Six months later, the Joker was dead. 

Jason stumbled back into the cave covered in blood, his hands soaked red, the weight on his chest suffocating. Bruce was waiting for him, silent. They didn’t have to talk about what happened. Batman already knew. 

“I’m not sorry,” Jason said. “He killed Dick. I’m not fucking sorry.” 

Bruce didn’t say a word. He stalked past Jason and the blood on his floor, got in the Batmobile, and drove away. 

They didn’t speak for another two weeks. 

making the saddest reverse au right now

[sparkypantaloons]

It Must Be

Bruce remembers the first time each of his kids told him they loved him.

The first time Dick says the words, Bruce almost doesn't catch them.

The eleven year old is near exhaustion, limbs shaking and breath heaving as he struggles to pull Batman out of the surf. He's soaked, his cape sopping wet and clinging to his tiny frame. There's sand all over his face, too. All over his knees and arms, in his hair and on his gloves.

His feet stumble, as the swell finally helps him pull Batman's sodden form onto the shore. Then he collapses to his knees. Throws himself onto Bruce's chest, and tries to catch his breath through his sobs.

"Don't die, don't die, don't die. Please B, don't leave me. I love you, B, please don't leave, please don't leave me."

Bruce's hands are still tightly bound together, his head feels like someone took a chainsaw to it and he's pretty sure he's swallowed half of the Bay. But those three little words, barely audible over the tide and the wind and Dick's desperate sobs, change everything.

It's the first time Bruce has heard them in years. Decades, even. Not since his parents had... well...

And it's not that Alfred doesn't feel that way about him. Or that Bruce doesn't know it. But Alfred was a man of a different generation, had brought Bruce up the same. Words like that... they were thought, not said.

Hearing them from Dick, even in such bleak circumstances, it lights a flame in Bruce. Just a small one, flickering and fluttering, where before there had only been darkness.

~

The first time Bruce hears it from Jason, is in the summer. It's Jason's first birthday at the Manor and there are balloons and cake and music. The twelve year old has received cards from Diana and Clark and Dick, from Commissioner Gordon and Dr. Thompkins. Alfred has bought him his own cooking apron and hand made little step, so Jason can reach the stove properly, and Bruce has brought him a bike.

The three of them sit in the sunshine for lunch, Jason's eyes shining brighter with every card and gift and well wish he receives. Like he didn't even realise so many people knew he existed, let alone cared about his birthday.

When Bruce tucks him into bed that night, Jason flings his arms around Bruce's neck. Buries his head into the older man's shoulder and says "This was the best birthday ever, Bruce."

Bruce laughs and says "I'm glad, Jay. What was your favourite present?"

Jason pulls back and smiles, a little shy. "It was you, B." Then he presses a sloppy kiss to Bruce's cheek before settling down under the covers.

"Goodnight, Jason." Bruce says, turning out the light.

"G'night B, love you."

Bruce doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the week. The flame inside a little campfire now, and Alfred, Dick, Jason and Bruce sit around it, toasting marshmallows.

~

Bruce tries not to think about the words once Jason... once Jason dies. It's too much to bear. His darling boy. Once so full of compassion and joy and warmth, lies cold and still in the ground. Most days it's all Bruce can do not to join him, though he flirts ever closer to the idea.

Then Tim comes along. Tim who is whipsmart and driven and oh so stubborn. Always willing to put himself on the line. To do whatever it takes. To be better, to do better, to help.

Tim steps up to help Bruce, help a total stranger, regardless of the cost to himself. He brings Dick back home, helps Bruce fix old hurts with his first son. And yes, Tim's a little weird, but he's there. Always, when Bruce needs him.

Bruce had needed Tim that night. That night, when for no reason at all, Bruce was being reckless. Dangerous. Pushing himself to the brink and why? Because someone had mentioned his parents on the radio? Some song had reminded him of Jason?

No, nothing so sad as that. Bruce had asked if Tim would like to be adopted, and Tim had said no. He had his reasons. Good reasons. Reasons that Bruce understood, agreed with even. But somehow it still hurt like he had lost another son. And when he'd taken to the rooftops that night, he fought as though he had too.

Three broken ribs and a fractured tibia later, Tim had dragged him back to the Cave, furious.

"I thought we were past this, Bruce!"

Bruce doesn't answer.

"Seriously?" Tim snaps. "Nothing?" He begins pacing. "I can't keep doing this Bruce. I can't... I can't do it. I won't."

"It's fine." Bruce grimaces.

"It's not fine!" Tim voice breaks on the words. Tears of frustration shining in his eyes. "You can't keep putting yourself in harms way, tormenting the people who love you. Dick, Alfred, me. It's not fair."

"You?" Bruce had mumbled, half high on the painkillers Tim had given him no choice in.

"Yes, me!" Tim snaps again, wiping at his eyes. "Damn it Bruce, how many years have I been doing this. Tried to stop you from destroying yourself? I can't... I can't keep doing this. It's not just you he needs me out there Bruce. I need you too."

Bruce is silent again.

Tim sighs. "I love you, Bruce. We all love you. You have to stop this."

And even though Bruce has kept Tim at a distance, deliberately so, somehow, the kid has still pulled him back from the brink. Saved that sputtering flame inside of him from disappearing again.

~

It takes Bruce longer than he's proud of to make Cass officially part of their family. She's almost an adult, really, but it's something she needs. The security of a family, the stability of a father. She's something Bruce needs too.

He's seen the way she's tortured herself for what Cain made her. He sees it when he looks in the mirror as well. When he questions what Gotham has made him. What Gotham has cost him...

Cass doesn't deserve the life he's lived, and he's determined to do better for her, where he can no longer do better for himself.

When she moves into the Manor, he suggest a movie night just the two of them. Needs to show her she isn't just here because she's Batgirl, but because she's Cass.

They watch Jurassic Park. Sink into the giant couch in the den, leaning against each other and eating popcorn. When the t-rex comes she jumps excitedly in her seat and when the velociratpors chase the children through the kitchen she pretends to cover Bruce's eyes so he doesn't scared.

When the film is over, they head out on patrol together. It's an easy night, warm and dry but little sign of trouble. They swing from roof top to roof top and glide between buildings. Move seamlessly together as if they'd been doing it their whole lives.

When the sun begins to crest on the horizon around five thirty, they shed their uniforms for civvies, and watch it rise from Wayne Tower. As father and daughter. As Wayne's.

I've never had this before. Cass signs.

"A sunrise?" Bruce asks.

A father. She replies.

"Hn." Bruce chuckles. "How is going?"

Perfect. She signs. "Love it." She says. "Love you."

She presses a kiss to Bruce's cheek and the fire inside of him burns warm as the summer sun.

~

Damian never expected love. Never considered it even. He was raised with a mission, a purpose. That was the goal and everything else was superfluous.

Bruce can't take credit for teaching him otherwise. It's Dick who did the hard work. Who broke the icey exterior and protective walls, this fierce little nine year old had created. Had shown him that life wasn't meant to be about Batman's cause, or Robin's title, or inheriting the Demon's Head. But that it was about love. About family.

Even so, as well as Damian had learned Dick's lesson, he was still his father's son. Words of affection came as easy to him as they did to Bruce, which is to say, not at all.

So Bruce never expected, hadn't with any of his children, but would never from Damian, to hear those words.

And then Scarecrow had reared his ugly head, and his fear toxin had brought out the very worst of Damian's upbringing. Every awful trial he had faced with the League, mangled together with Bruce's death, and Dick's amnesia, Jon's age change and Damian's own murder at the hands of the Heretic. Until Damian was sobbing in Bruce's arms, begging Bruce not to abandon him.

"Damian, listen to me." Bruce had said, his hands cupping Damian's face. "I will never make you leave, never."

"Please Father, please." Damian had sobbed, had begged into Bruce's chest. "I love you so much. Please don't make me leave. I beg you, please. I'll make you proud, I swear it."

Bruce had wondered if Damian could feel the fire that burned for him, deep inside Bruce's chest. Wondered it if had kept him warm, as Bruce had held him on the Cave floor, and waited for the storm to pass.

~

It's Bruce's birthday, so Alfred usually lets him sleep past twelve.

Ace however, does not. Too smart for her own good, she's long since worked out how to open his bedroom door. She bounds in around eleven am, and leaps onto the bed. Wakes him with sloppy kisses and a wet nose.

"Easy, girl. Easy." Bruce's voice is deep and dry with sleep, his eyelids heavy. But Ace is insistent, relentless even, despite her age.

"Is he up yet, Acey?"

Ace barks happily, and Bruce winces at the volume. Jason is stood in the doorway.

"Come on old man." He says. "Your dog needs a walk."

Bruce blinks blearily, is sure Jason must be a hallucination or a mirage or something.

"We'll go without you if you don't hurry up." Jason huffs slightly, and Bruce stumbles from bed, pulls on his sweats.

The sun is already high in the sky and for spring it's already pleasantly warm. Jason and Bruce walk through the grounds of the Manor in companionable silence. Ace racing ahead of them for the ball Jason throws.

"So how are you?" Bruce says eventually. The sun is warm on his face. It's been a few weeks since he's seen Jason out of uniform. It feels good to see him in the day.

"I'm good." Jason says softly. "Really good, actually."

"Yeah?" Bruce asks.

Jason smiles. "Yeah." He pauses. "How about you?"

Bruce shrugs. "Ah you know. Same old, same old."

Jason grins, the kind he used to do when he was Robin. "Same old?" He asks, eyebrow raised. "Aren't you a new old today?"

Bruce opens his mouth to speak, but they round the corner of the Manor, onto the terrace and his words fail him.

There are balloons and cake and music. His entire family gathered round a table of cards and gifts and pictures. They cheer when they see him and Steph, Duke and Tim lead an awful rendition of Happy Birthday.

Jason bumps his shoulder. "I erm... I didn't get you a present." He says sheepishly. "But I did organise this." He gestures vaguely at his siblings.

Bruce's heart is full of fire. He grins. "It's perfect, Jay. Thank you." He pulls the younger man into a hug.

"Happy birthday, B." Jason mumbles. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

[jawabear]

Wait For Us (Bruce Wayne x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/n: So I finally watched The Batman 2022. I was a little apprehensive about it but i was pleasantly surprised. I loved the darker take on the hero. I thought it was great. So i wrote this. It's short and sad. but enjoy. Sorry fro any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: Angst

Warnings: fem!reader, sad, mentions of injuries, crying, happy(ish) ending

Summary: A heart can only takes so much before it breaks.

Half a year. She had been with the infamous Bruce Wayne for half a year. Six months. 

At least, on paper thats how long it had been. 

In reality, it was probably half that. Bruce wasn’t exactly the most present of boyfriends, even when she could see him, when he was physically in front of her, she was always in doubt his mind was there. 

She would never ever stop him from being The Batman. If she had the money and/or the skills she would do the exact same if to make the crime ridden city she called home more like a home. But she had neither the money nor the skill. She was but a humble mortal at the mercy of the city. A humble mortal who had limits to everything. 

That was something Bruce had forgotten. 

Her patience to wait for him every night could only stretch so far. It could only last for so long before she gave up. And she was close to that point. 

Her strong heart to keep going could only stay strong for so long. But it was weakening. 

Her tears could only fall so many times before she cried them all away. And she didn’t have many left as it was. 

What hurt her most of all was the small thought that grew in the back of her mind every night she laid alone in his too big and too cold bed alone. Do I even still love him?

That thought was more painful than anything. More painful than having to watch him stumble into the bedroom after being patch up by Alfred. His face more pale than usual. More bruises scattered on his skin from his night time activities. Because, despite the time and his state, he came back to her. He came back to her none the wiser that she had been silently questioning her love for him. 

Bruce didn’t say anything but just stood in the doorway to his room and looked over to her sat up in bed. He had noticed as time went on that the worry in her eyes faded slightly every time he would look into them. 

They were dark tonight. Not even the pale light of the moon seeping through his not fully drawn curtains reflected off them like it used to. She hadn’t cried for him that night. Instead she had just laid there in complete and utter silence waiting for him to come back. 

He watched her darker eyes flick over his body, checking over his injuries but said nothing before laying back down and pulling the covers over her head and rolling away so her back would be facing him should he climb into bed next to her. 

He let out a silent breath and tread quiet steps towards the bed and climbed in. He didn’t miss the way her body tensed when he did. Something that made him tense as well. She wasn’t meant to tense around him. She was meant to relieve his tension the same he was meant to relieve hers. 

“(Y/N)…” he said in a breath, but it was thunder in the absolute silence of the room. There were one million things he wanted to say to her.  So many ways he wanted to tell her how much he loved her and how sorry he was. But he didn’t say any of them. Not a single on. Instead they laid there in silence again. 

He wanted to reach out for her. He wanted to pull her into him so he knew she was safe. So he knew he was safe. But even the feeling of his breath on her back made her roll away from him. That hurt. He would take thousands of brutal beatings over the feeling of her moving away from his touch. He frowned and moved away from her. 

“I’m sorry” he whispered. He rolled over to his other side, matching her position of facing away. “For everything…” he added. 

A few minuets of murderous silence past. His heart skipped a beat when he felt her shift behind him and it full on leapt out of his chest when he felt her press her front against his back and drape an arm over his side. 

“You have to understand,” she spoke softly against the bruised skin on his back, he could feel all the pain from that spot drifting away, as if she had healing powers. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did. His pain would always float away when she was near. “I fully support you in what you do Bruce. I admire you for it. But…I can only wait for so long. As much as I wish I could wait forever, my heart just can’t take it. I know I love you. I love you so much Bruce. I do…” it seemed to him that she was saying it more to convince herself than him but he wasn’t going to say anything in that moment. “But… I don’t know how I can when…you’re not here for me to love. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to be without you. I just-“ she was cut off by a harsh sobbing shook through her body. 

He rolled over and his arms were immediately around her holding her tightly against his chest, pressing sweet and soft kisses to her where ever he could reach without moving her from his embrace. “I love you” he whispered. He whispered it again and again after every kiss her left on her body. 

“I won’t make you wait. I won’t make you cry. I’ll be here. Whenever you need me. Wherever you need me. I’ll be there. I’ll be here. To hold you. To kiss you. To love you. Forever. I can’t loose you (Y/N)”

She lifted her head and her shiny eyes met his. She noticed the slight sheen that coated those cool blue orbs. “You won’t loose me Bruce. I don’t expect you or want you to stop. I  just want…you”

“You have me” he took her face gently between his hands “all of me. I’m only yours” she could hear the promise in his voice and the desperation for her to believe him. 

She only nodded and brushed her lips against his and turned her head to kiss his palm. He looked at her and then shifted so his face was buried in her neck. Her fingers began stroking through his hair lulling him to sleep. “We’ll figure it out” he said “right?” 

“Yes. I believe we will”

5/08/22

[skeltnwrites]

"Rest" - Autistic!Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: You find Bruce during a shutdown and do what you can to help him through it. 

Word Count: 1.8k

TW: reader being scared of the dark and a little anxious, helping someone through a shutdown

A/N: As an autistic person, I noticed the signs in Bruce pretty quickly but @liztism‘s post about Bruce being autistic really encouraged me to write something about his autism specifically. This is just my headcanon so you are free to disagree but I will not tolerate ableism or any hate regarding this on my blog!! If you would like to learn more about autism I can link some of my favorite autistic creators and other resources or feel free to message me about my experiences! 

It was nearing midnight when you returned home. The hallways of Wayne tower were silent apart from sporadic bursts of thunder. You stowed your dripping umbrella in its caddy beside the door and kicked off your shoes. 

You didn’t enjoy coming home so late, as the aging building creaked in ways that sent a chill up your spine. Alfred had certainly gone to bed and the chances of Bruce being home were slim. Once the sun dipped below the horizon, he hopped on his motorcycle to tend to the same path throughout Gotham. He committed to this routine, taking only a handful of days off. Some days he didn’t crawl into bed until sunrise. On others, the world became too noisy and chaotic after a couple of hours. 

You hoped he might have come home to rest earlier today. Many times when he did, he opted to hang out in the cave. Usually to tinker with his car, research something, or jot his memories down in his journal. During these hours, if you weren’t already asleep, it was typical for you to advise him to take a nap, drink some water, or shower. He appreciated the reminder as he often neglected these necessities unintentionally. 

Deciding to check if it had been a brief night for Batman, you trekked over to the elevator. It wobbled in its descent into the basement. With a familiar ding, the doors squeaked open, revealing a pitch-black expanse. An army of goosebumps invaded your skin; A reasonable response to the rush of icy air and the eerie unknown beyond the lit chamber you stood in. Bruce preferred the cold, but the last time the air conditioning had worked so hard was during a heatwave the summer prior. You trap the elevator door with your palm, fishing your phone from your pocket. 

It was bizarre for the work lamps to be off in his den. When he left, regardless of what time he intended to be back, they always stayed on. You had repeatedly suggested he powered everything down when he went or at least install automatic lights but nothing ever changed. It’s plausible he had a sudden change of heart but you assumed his priorities were beyond that of his electricity bill. 

You waved your phone’s flashlight into the seemingly infinite darkness. It was radiant enough to reveal muted silhouettes of the furniture. Not enough to clue you in on your partner’s whereabouts. 

“Bruce!” You whisper-yelled, scanning for any sign of movement or a sound that wasn’t the distant chirping of bats. 

The thought that someone had broke in crossed your mind, there was the secluded entrance that Bruce utilized. You reconciled with a more positive option, maybe the power had gone out. 

Inhaling a deep breath, you released your hold on the elevator door. It squealed shut, encouraging you to step forward. You just had to locate his  main work-station which housed the nearest lamp. Skewered shadows danced across the floor as you aimed your light. It was uncomfortably silent now that the bats had recognized you and settled. You scurried in the direction of his desk, observing your surroundings with caution. Nearly stumbling over a pile of tools, you pinpoint his cluttered nook.  

You twist the knob on the lamp until a band of light materializes. Craning its metal neck to envelop more of the room, you examine your surroundings. Immediately you notice both his car and motorcycle are parked in their spots. To your knowledge, Bruce had never departed the tower as Batman on foot. It was too risky. 

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of Bruce. His desk is lined neatly with materials. Everything had a place. His journal in the center, a pen on top. Computer monitors, a radio, and other technology situated around the perimeter. You inspect past the surface, at the neighboring tables and machinery. Training your flashlight on each component, you circle the room. Stacks of car parts, gadgets you weren’t sure how to operate, and a plethora of storage containers, but no Bruce. 

Sighing, you consider if he’d already traveled upstairs to your shared bedroom. You spin on your heel, prepared to flick off the light and dash to the elevator. You couldn’t bear to be alone in there any longer. But then near the gate, you identify a dark heap of limbs wedged against a locker. 

“Bruce?” 

The pile remains motionless as you approach. It’s undoubtedly Bruce. You recognize the unruly mop attached to his head. It’s pillowed on his knees and is sporting his favorite pair of bulky, noise-canceling headphones. His body was awkwardly curled in on itself, knees tucked into his chest and arms cocooning his shins. Despite his six-foot stature, he appeared tiny.

He was still clad in his kevlar suit but missing the cowl. He’d shared with you previously that he enjoyed the pressure of the armor. It provided a comforting sensation that reminded him of a hug. Not to mention the boost of confidence he gained with his disguise. It held the ability to merge with the shadows, to relinquish any assumptions that were tied to his name. Often he was reluctant to part from the familiar material after a night out and only after the promise of a weighted blanket would he shower and change. 

You squat, inches from his frame. With a delicate poke to his arm, you murmur, “Bruce?”

A gasp surfaced from his throat as his head shot up immediately. Alert eyes met yours.

“Hey, it’s just me.” You cup his knee in reassurance. 

He visibly relaxes when his mind catches up. His shoulders droop and his eyes flicker to the light behind you, then to the patch of concrete, you’re crouched on. 

“Can you hear me?” You gesture to the device hugging his ears.

He nods, continuing to gaze at the floor.

Bruce was quiet generally but in moments such as these, it proved beneficial to him to cease speaking altogether. If it was available, he’d choose to gesture with his hands, type out a text, or scribble a message on a scrap of paper. He’d explained how feeling so claustrophobic in his own body and being engulfed in such strong emotions could steal the tongue from his mouth. Communicating becomes a million times more difficult than it already was.  

“Are you okay?” 

He didn’t answer. In hindsight, it wasn’t the most helpful question to ask. 

While it wasn’t exactly common that Bruce would squeeze himself into a dark corner of his home, this wasn’t the first time you’d witnessed it. You’d learned over the course of your relationship it meant that Bruce needed some time to process his feelings and destress. You hypothesized he may have become overstimulated while out fighting crime. Navigating Gotham tended to be an overwhelming experience for Bruce so he’d often ask you to accompany him to new places. Not to mention the significant amount of sensory input that accompanied what he did.  

“Do you need some space?” 

He shook his head, glancing up at you. He opened his mouth and closed it, struggling to formulate the words he intended to say. You waited patiently for his response. 

“Stay. Please,” he mumbled after a moment. 

You hummed, adopting a more comfortable position across from the man. Your cheek met the cool metal surface of the locker as you inspected Bruce. 

Unless he’d recently purchased a water-proof makeup palette, you concluded he couldn't have been patrolling long, if at all, based on the way his face paint remained composed. It lacked the sweat streaks and smudges that resulted from a long shift. 

His hair strayed from his scalp in a mountain of chaotic strands. You resisted the urge to comb them down in fear he’d recoil from your touch. While he usually relished your random kisses and reassuring pats and tight squeezes, physical touch could just become so overwhelming for him sometimes. He didn’t mean any harm when he had pushed them away during circumstances like this. 

“Do you want to get cleaned up? I can turn the lights off and turn the air down upstairs first,” you spoke, conscious of the volume of your voice. 

He shook his head with a breathy exhale and let his eyes flutter shut. He craned his neck back over the tops of his knees to cushion his forehead. 

“Can I get you anything else,” you paused, unsure if you should keep talking, “Water, weighted blanket–”

He shook his head before you could tack on any more suggestions. 

You nodded but he didn’t see. You studied the way his body expanded and condensed with each breath. He appeared to be so calm and unbothered, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that. You were cognizant of the whirlwind of emotions happening in his brain and his body. You wished you could ease the chaos, to experience it for him so he didn’t have to. 

He had confided in you about his feelings of guilt regarding these times when he couldn’t afford a trip around Gotham. He was hard on himself in that sense, never feeling like what he was doing for his city was enough. It made you sad to consider, knowing only a small scope of the lives he’s saved. All you could do was attest to your observations from the Batcave. To remind him how many nights he’d come home battered and beaten for complete strangers. To prove to him that what he was doing was beyond enough and that he was permitted to take breaks. 

You offered a final suggestion, “You can lay on my lap if you want?” 

You hadn’t expected him to answer but after some consideration, he unlocked his eyes and lazily crawled over to you. He rearranged the muffs of his headphones so they didn’t interfere as he stationed his head on your thighs. To your surprise, he found your palm, giving it a firm squeeze, and securing it around his waist. 

He’d become significantly more comfortable with you, you realized. There was a time when he wasn’t so inviting. Fear-fueled emotions caused him to push you away on multiple occasions. But you developed your trust, gained an understanding for each other, and created a way to communicate that works for you both. 

He tapped a repetitive pattern onto the bones in your knuckles. You savored the feeling of his skin connecting to yours. You mirrored his eyelids, granting them to close. The weight on your lap provided a sensation of solace. A peace that was not always guaranteed when you were dating Batman. But knowing you and Bruce were safe and home was enough consolation to allow you to rest for the night. 

If you enjoyed this check out my masterlist!

[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.

[battymommastuff]

Lazarus

Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: Batmom is dying, and the members of the batfamily are scrambling to find a cure for her illness while two others are trying to get her to the most simplest and easiest solution.

The clock was ticking, and you were running out of time. It'd been almost a year since you'd come down with a sickness that was never seen before. It started out as a simple cold, but morphed into something even more deadlier. Your family was there every step of the way to help you only to see you get worse and worse by the day.

You went from being full and lively to pale, sickly and frail. Your cheeks were sunken in and your eyes had dark bags under them. Bruce spent nights in the cave analyzing blood samples from you trying to fins a way to cure you. Dick, and Tim went to every doctor they could find for help. Alfred was at your side making sure that you had everything you needed to be comfortable. Stephanie, Cass, and Barbra were in charge of the media. Rumors were starting to spread about reasons why the famous Y/N Wayne hasn't been seen in public.

They kept all the rumors at bay simply saying that you were dealing with some important business in California, and you would be returning to Gotham soon.

Jason and Damian? Well they were on a mission. Trying to convince everyone else to take you to the one place that could help you. The Lazarus Pit. Bruce was hell bent on keeping you away from that place, and the rest of the family followed. At first they listened but now they weren't going to ask. They were taking you.

Damian opened the door to the room you were being kept in. You hooked up to machines and the sound of your weak heartbeat along with your ragged breaths were the only sounds in the room. Damian gestured for Jason to follow once he made sure the room was empty. Jason made his way in and started unhooking you from the machines.

"Jason? What?" You whisper feeling him lift you up from the bed into his arms. Damian grabbed bags that he'd packed the night before from the closet in the room and started carrying them out to the batcave where they were planning to swipe the batwing.

"Just relax Ma. We're going to get you help." Jason whispers then carefully carries you down to the batcave where Bruce was typing away on the computer. Luckily it was only him there. He turned around once he heard footsteps. He quickly stood up when he saw you in Jason's arms.

"Take her back Jason." He warned blocking the path to the batwing. Jason's glared hardened as he set you down onto your feet letting you lean against him while he held his gun up towards Bruce.

"We are taking her to the only thing that will help her Bruce. Why can't you see that? She's dying and you're just sitting there on your dumbass computer trying to find a miracle. Get out of the way or get shot."

You opened your eyes and tug weakly on your son's shirt trying to get him to lower the gun, "N-No.." you rasp still trying to play peacemaker in your condition.

Bruce made a move to grab you but Damian came flying down from the rafters and injected something into his father's neck causing him to fall to the floor unconscious, "We're wasting time Todd. Let's go." He growls as Jason picks you back up.

The flight was bumpy and your sons made sure you were as comfortable as possible. Eventually the home of the League of Assassin's came into view along with Tala and Ra's. They watched as the batwing landed on the ground in front of them and Damian jumps out.

"Mother, Grandfather. We need your help." He says as Jason walks around with you in his arms. Ra's raises a brow seeing your frail condition while Talia had a smug look on her face. Serves you right for stealing her beloved and her son.

Ra's on the other hand admired you. You weren't a hero like your family and yet you were willing to fight him when he threatened your family.

"Come..." He gestures ignoring his daughter's protests and led the group down to the pit. A green hue filled the room as they entered the small cave. Ra's and Talia stood back while Jason and Damian walked closer to the pit. Jason held you in his arms as he walked into the pit with you and Damian stayed on the edge. Slowly you were lowered into the pit. He let you go and your body sank to the bottom. It was only seconds before your body shot out of the water and you gasped loudly trying to get oxygen into your lungs.

Your sons took note of how your appearance changed. You looked the same, but you were a tad bit fuller and your hair was longer with a long white streak like Jason's. You breathed heavily then walked out of the pit. Your aura was different as well. Gone was the mother aura that everyone loved. It was like you weren't even there.

"Come. Let's go home boys." You mumbled then started walking towards the exit. Talia who felt offended by your lack of thanks stopped you and held you back from leaving.

"Show appreciation. If it wasn't for us you'd be dead." She whispered holding a dagger to your throat. You smirked softly licking your lips before grabbing the blade with your bare hand and bending it until it snapped. Talia looked at you in shock then jumped when your hand wrapped around her throat and you tilted your head, "Would you like me to kiss you? Or pleasure you in bed like I do your former lover Talia?" You ask with a wicked grin then drop her to the ground. You stepped over her body and made your way back to the wing.

Something was very wrong with you, and your sons had no clue what was going on. What happened to you? They'd never seen you act like this before.

What happened in the Lazarus Pit?

><><><><

Part 2?

[dont-be-so-shy]

@aliteralchicken remember when i told you back when the batman (2022) first came out that i was going to write you battinson batfam headcanons and then never did? so i got over my writer’s block and wrote a lil something something but i can’t find the original post so here you go:

Go somewhere, Alfred said. Do something fun, Alfred said. 

Selina was busy in Blüdhaven and Jim had taken a trip to the mainland with his family, so he’d been forced to listen. 

Haly’s Circus was bright and shining, and even from a distance and inside his car, the cheers were audible. 

The noisy camp land near Amusement Mile, wide open space filled with fancy cars and dressed-up socialites along with the middle-class, all walking among the striped tents and caravans and acrobats doing tricks along the sides of the dirt walkway. 

As Bruce steps into the biggest tent, filled with acrobatic equipment and blue banners hyping the Flying Graysons. 

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

Gravel crunches under the wheels of Dick’s Porsche, but he doesn’t hear it above the sound of the album Nevermind blasting from his speakers. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” clicks off as Dick parks his car in front of the door of the manor, eyeing the steps with trepidation. 

Finally, he brushes his hands off on his jeans𑁋a nervous habit from his days in the circus𑁋and uses his key with the Aquaman chain charm to unlock the heavy wooden doors. 

The door slides open silently on its hinges and Dick steps into the low-lit space, glancing around for Alfred, who had the uncanny ability to sneak up on literally everybody. Instead he spots a flash of purple from behind the stair rails. 

Dick looks higher and𑁋there! A young boy, maybe twelve years old, is peeking at him from between the banisters, wary. 

Dick makes sure to look back down, hiding his eyes under his hair, and heading to Alfred’s favorite table in the dining room on the second floor𑁋using the opposite stairs. 

Wayne Manor, gothic as it is, makes it supremely easy to sneak around on the cold floors and slip into the nooks and crannies of the walls to follow others. But Dick lived here for seven years, so he knows the young boy with slanted brown eyes is following him down the familiar corridors lined with Wayne family portraits. 

Dick lets himself stop at the youngest one, still years old; one of him aged fourteen, Bruce, and Alfred. Alfred has a strong hand on both Dick and Bruce’s shoulders, Bruce has his shoulders pulled up nearly to his ears, and Dick is grinning eagerly, smile ear to ear with his dark hair curling around it, concealer covering the yellow bruise on his cheekbone from one of Black Mask’s goon’s guns to the face. 

He turns away from the portrait, it always inspires a spark of sentiment in him, reminds him of the past, which reminds him that there’s still a young boy following him down the halls of his home. 

In the kitchen attached to the dining room, he finds Alfred preparing dinner. “Got room for one more?” 

Alfred looks up and his crow’s eyes deepen as he smiles. “Master Richard! How good of you to come for a visit!” 

“Hi, Alfred.” Dick says wistfully and leans in for a hug. 

After Alfred has returned to fileting the fish and Dick has been assigned to the cutting board where he’s chopping potatoes, he asks, “So. Who’s the kid?” 

The kid in question is pretty good at sneaking, but his shadow falls into Dick’s peripheral vision. 

“Ah.” Alfred begins delicately, “Master Jason. About two weeks ago, Master Jason helped the Batman take down a school for children engaging in criminal activities and since he was an orphan, Master Bruce took him in.” 

Alfred is eyeing him surreptitiously, perhaps wondering if Dick is angry. Dick isn’t, but he is able to keep his face calm and not let it break out into a smile. “So Jason is his ward now?” 

“Yes, Master Richard.” He leans closer, as to not let Jason hear, “But just between you and me, your father already has the adoption papers ready.” 

“Huh,” Dick says, washing his hands and heading towards the kitchen threshold. He surprises Jason, making him twitch-jump and smiles widely. Jason peers at him warily from the shadows. 

“Hi, little brother.”

[batfam-slash]

WARNING: Handmaids Tale AU, so dark

*****

Wayne Manor is cold.

Big and cold and dark.

Tim shivers beneath his thick red cloak, his heart pounding. He’d known this day was coming for a long time, but that doesn’t make it any easier. His first posting in his first household.

“Eyes down, dear,” the Aunt beside him says.

Tim lowers his gaze as he hears footsteps on the grand staircase.

Commander Wayne is one of the most powerful commanders in Gotham. The Aunts had told Tim how lucky he was to be posted to the Wayne household.

Tim has seen pictures of Commander Wayne before; he’d always thought there was something mysterious about the man. Bruce Wayne is certainly handsome in person, but there’s a warmth to him that doesn’t quite come across in the photos.

“Blessed be the fruit,” Commander Wayne says with a smile.

“May the Lord open,” Tim replies automatically.

“Welcome to our home,” the young man standing next to Commander Wayne says softly.

Mrs Wayne is about fifteen years younger than Commander Wayne, and he’s considered to be one of the most beautiful Wives in Gotham. He’s dressed in the traditional green, and he radiates warmth. There’s something different about him; he’s not like the other Wives Tim has met.

“Thank you, Mrs Wayne,” Tim says.

“Please.” Mrs Wayne smiles reassuringly. “Call me Dick.”

The Aunt gives a disapproving look, but Tim knows she won’t say anything. The Waynes are too powerful.

It’s hard to imagine that Dick is barren; he looks so healthy and fit. But there aren’t many fertile people these days, and Tim is one of the unlucky few who is.

“You must be tired,” Commander Wayne says. “We’ll get you sorted in your room, and then we can have some tea and chat. We have two Marthas here. Alfred is busy cooking so you’ll meet him later, but Jason will show you to your room.”

Tim glances to the Martha who has appeared from a door to the side. He’s young; maybe a few years older than Tim. He’s large as well; tall, broad, and muscular, although not quite as big as the Commander.

There’s something that looks a little like pity in Jason’s eyes. He knows why Tim is here.

Tim bites his lip. If this were Before, Jason would have been the kind of person he would have flirted with. Jason would have been the kind of person he would have been attracted to.

He needs to be careful though. He can’t be seen to flirt with the Martha, or else they could both end up in trouble. Jason would probably lose an eye or a hand, and Tim would probably be sent to the colonies.

But the temptation is there.

Jason smells good as he steps forward to take Tim’s suitcase, and Tim allows himself just a moment to fantasise about soft lips and strong hands. A little romance.

He’ll get none of that with the Commander.

But as he’s led up the stairs by Jason, Dick reaches out to give him a little squeeze on the arm.

“Don’t worry, Tim,” Dick says softly.

The Aunt clears her throat.

“Ofbruce,” Dick quickly corrects himself. “We’ll take care of you.”

Maybe Tim has joined a kind household. Maybe Dick will be a Wife who will feign illness to get Tim out of the ceremony. He’s heard rumours of Wives like that.

Dick can’t be ill every month though.

But Tim can dream.