#Everyone knows Batman controls Gotham from the shadows. Everyone knows he has a finger in every pie. If anything happens it's because Batman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peteyprecious616 · 2 years

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Behind the mask

Pairing: Batman x reader

Summary: Somehow the man in the mask was your soulmate. You didn't know anything about him except for late night visits and whispers. But maybe you realized you meant more to him than just run-ins and phone calls.

Word count: ~1.7k

A/N: I saw the new Batman movie and let me just say...Robert Pattinson as Batman. That's all I need to say. But idk what this is but emo Bruce Wayne made me feel something. Also ive never really written a soulmate au so im not sure how it works in general. Also don't read this if you haven't seen the film obviously. It doesn't follow the movie really at all but it has some themes in it from the film. But let me know what you think.

Warnings: Nothing really; just small mentions of violence and late nights lol

I’m trying to keep you safe

I need to stay away

Stay close

Don’t leave

I can’t lose you. I've already lost everyone else.

Small grunts sounded from the metals stairs above you as you cleaned the glass at the bar.

Your eyes hurt from the number of times they rolled at the same run-ins with him.

Your fingers grasped the cup tighter, making your fingers rush white from poor circulation. You couldn’t stand his poor choice of timing.

The small tattoo still stuck permanently to your wrist as you thought about that damn cape. He always knew where to find you.

Protecting you

Saving you

But here you were, still stuck in this god-forsaken city. Pure hatred ran through your veins as you heard Cobblepot's small pleads to the man in the mask to stop. Only looking out for his bar’s reputation.

You chose this job for many reasons.

Money, fun, to spite him.

You were angry at the man that promised you everything and nothing in the shadowed alleyways of your small apartment complex.

How he couldn’t be with you because it was too dangerous but he needed to keep you safe

You were his soulmate.

—

You barely knew him. Small checks that followed months of radio silence were aggravating. His job is his only priority. Hours of examining evidence given to him surprisingly by the commissioner himself.

He barely slept, only eating when Alfred brought it down to him. Even then it was only touched a few times before he went back to work.

He called you sometimes. To make sure you were doing well, and you were okay.

But the less you knew the better.

He sent you small, expensive gifts hoping it would keep you happy. He never asked you to live with him.

You’ve asked him numerous times about it. He always told you, you would be better off.

Crime controlled his life. When he was asleep, he was haunted by his need to fulfill his father’s legacy to keep Gotham running.

You saw him on dark rooftops when you walked home from work. You never told him where you worked, walking different streets and alleyways at night.

You knew that he would tell you to quit.

The iceberg lounge was a criminal hotspot. Surrounded by famous-named Gotham residents and secret mob members that no one knew the names of.

It was where criminals and "good people" were allowed to mingle together. Or to hide and confess their sins to someone to fix them.

So you heard about what kept Batman up at night. The new bad that kept everyone on edge.

He told riddles; that was all you knew.

But that was what his whole life revolved around.

He was so stupid. So ignorant towards his safety. To put his own life at risk constantly for a city that had already fallen to ash.

To sin.

He still puts on a mask to hide his identity from a city that has already ripped his body and soul bare. He was a broken man trying to piece together a broken city;

A ripped cape and scars were gifted to him; the pain that was given to him to keep this city from bleeding out.

Even though it had nothing left to save.

He didn’t care about saving himself or saving the joke of the government that keeps trying to push on the population.

It will get better.

Keep going. Believe in us.

But everyone was greedy for money, for lust.

Only looking out for themselves.

Him only looking out for you

He was too selfish. Surrounded by people filled with it just egged him on.

He just kept getting angrier. Enraged at what this city has become. His father believed in the best of Gotham. He believed the city had good in it.

But all the good that he saw was in you. And only you.

So he kept fighting, even though he already lost the ongoing battle between good and evil that ran through the streets of his beloved home.

His mind ramped with guilt and hatred for letting it fall so quickly. And let you live in it for so long.

Who cared about vengeance? Who cared about anything when it all could just be a lie that spilled from greedy lips. He knew that he could only do so much. Alfred told him many times to hang up the cape. To slow down or leave the city because he couldn’t do any more than he already has.

What his family already tried to do.

Even with money, people had a poor sense of change; To be better people.

Alfred accepted this fact long ago, but you kept him going.

So when he found out you worked under Penguin, he froze. He dropped everything to come to find you.

—

Your bed started to feel foreign as you lay there. Your phone rested upon your chest, almost waiting for it to ring.

You did not have any plans today or tonight. It was a rare occurrence to have time to yourself.

Especially when your life had to revolve around him.

Even though it was never really put together, Batman was like the invisible glue that silently held the city steady. Always taking care of others because it's what the city needed to survive.

Holding himself together, keeping above water was another story. But his disheveled hair that was scattered upon his pillow, while you cuddled up against his bruised body, his mumbling about saving this god-forsaken town for his family, and for you was enough for him.

Your small relief that you gave him at night that made him forget that the world was ending was enough to go back out the next day.

You knew it wasn’t going to last forever.

The way he sacrificed himself to Gotham every night, without a single care in the world. Bruises were hidden by long hair that covered his face when he hid it in the crook of your shoulder.

Hiding from the light that cursed his name, you held his weak body in your arms, waiting for him to crack.

But as he laid still, silent breathes that hit your neck you still held him close. Because even if you didn’t know him, he was still a part of you.

Kisses given to cleaned, shallow cuts; soft brushes over eternal scars were just a normal interaction.

But your soul is bound with his, even if his is lost and a bit dark just like the rest of the city.

He was still yours to have

Forever

—

The last interaction was over three months ago.

Now showing up in this overcrowded bar, looking for you was not something you could handle. You called a fellow worker over to fill your shift as you grabbed your coat from the back of the bar.

You pulled out the collar of your jacket, fixing your hair as you fish for your keys in your pockets. Praying he was busy elsewhere.

But you could feel his presence becoming more familiar. Your body was magnetic towards him. Your mind struggled to give in as you fumbled to find your keys that were sitting in your hand practically.

Eyes pulled to the ground as you turned to the back door, you felt him stand behind you. His black mask doing nothing to hide his worried stare aimed at your body.

You still felt his fingertips caressing your body that night he left. The whispers and promises that still entangled your mind and soul,

I will save this city. I will be back for you.

I need you.

I love you.

"you know you can't save everyone, right?" you muttered as your back facing him.

You always tried to reassure him. He held too much on his shoulders. Uprooting his whole life before his father died and locking it away. He needed to make his father proud. So all the guilt bled through his hands and chest as he fought crime day after day.

He was never good with words. His family; other news reporters; spoke for him. He never wanted to talk to anyone because words hurt. They didn't get the work done.

But you heard him murmur as your hand caught the doorknob,

"I only need to save you."

You sighed as your hand gripped the handle tightly. He couldn't do this to you now.

"You barely know me."

"You're still important to me. Even if I'm not important to you." He said as you felt his chest hovering behind your back.

You knew he was getting anxious. He needed you safe.

"Why should I care?" you questioned as your back hit the door as you turned to see his paint-covered eyes. Your hand shifting to hold the doorknob.

What did he want you to say when he looked you in the eyes and said,

"Because I love you."

"You don't mean that."

You never knew what he meant.

Hiding his emotions, his whole life behind a mask.

If he never told you he was your soulmate, you would never have figured it out. Sometimes you wish you never met him.

But that tattoo on your wrist said otherwise.

you heard the words,

"I can't lose you too," as his lips met your ear. An easy kiss was pressed against your forehead.

He opened the door behind you and got you to your car first.

Before anything

because he knew that even if he lost everyone he cared about; his family, Alfred,

you were still promised to him. You were made for each other. He would never be alone if he had someone that he was meant to spend eternity with.

So he'd fight anyone, go anywhere, get every bruise if it meant he still got you in the end.

So yes he did hide emotions from you, kept to himself these past few months.

Because if the Riddler knew how much he would sacrifice to save you. You would be the first one he'd lose.

Batman didn't have any weaknesses. But Bruce Wayne did.

#batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #robert pattinson #battinson #battinson x reader #the batman 2022 #bruce wayne #batman x you

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

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Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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the-broken-truth · 3 years

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Broken-Style Remix: The Red Hood & Shadow Hunter (Jason Todd & Bellatrix Todd)

Broken: So, I happened to read one of @anxiousnerdwritings's works about Jason Todd and Damian's Twin sister being a team and going against Bruce and the Bat-Family who want Damian's twin sister with them. This idea came to mind and I thought you would like it. Let the words weave and enjoy!

@anxiousnerdwritings's version: LINK

Quick Note: Bellatrix's Name is Shadow Hunter - Her Armor is like Jason's but it is more wolf-like (My personal touch) and has a bit more tech to it.

Blue eyes forced through the magnifying glasses on the face of the Eldest Wayne Heir, yet the one who cast the name aside for one that better understood her and a family that would better understand her than the Dark Knight or his gaggle of infants ever could. She sat in the darkroom - well, not entirely dark; the sparks from the tools in her hand made occasional lights that illuminated the room every now and then, plus there was the desk lamp on the workbench - shining light on the hand & forearm model and the gadget in the making that Bellatrix was working on. It was an attachment to her suit - Claws that gave a lightning discharge. She could use it to knock someone out or remove them completely with enough voltage but she won't do that - she won't live on the Al Ghul Blood, she won't be like Talia Al Ghul or the boy she once called brother.

Speaking of brothers.

"Another all-nighter?" A familiar voice called out, causing Bellatrix to turn off the tools, placed them down, and turn in her seat while lifting the goggles off her face to look at the man in the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Yeah, I wanna make sure the claws are ready for our next patrol." Bellatrix explained as she pulled the goggles off her head and placed them on the table before getting up and walking over to Jason, who gave her the coffee cup once she was in front of him. "Thanks." She said as she took a sip.

"No problem, what are brothers for?" Jason asked with a smirk.

"Other than entering their little sister's workroom without knocking?" Bellatrix asked with a raised eyebrow.

"As your brother, I have a right to invade your privacy for the greater good." Jason said with a smirk.

"And to be nosy." Bellatrix added as she walked past him.

"And to be..." He stopped when he realized what he was gonna say, "Hey! I'm not nosy!" He yelled as he followed behind her to the kitchen where breakfast was waiting.

[Later That Night]

Shadow Huntress secured her clawed boots shut before standing to look at the modified claws before sliding them on and latching them closed. She then positioned her right hand as if she was going to strike with her claws and smiled as the light blue electric current waves ran flowed from the bottom of her forearm to the tip of her claws; the tried with her other arm and everything was perfect. She grabbed her sword in one hand and her mask in the other before heading out to see what Hood was doing.

"Anything?" Huntress asked.

"They're still moving - I think they might be hiding to the abandoned warehouse on the edge of town; you know, the one near the waterfront." Red Hood said.

"I think that's where they are heading. Look." Huntress hits some keys on the supercomputer and the cameras in that area showed the factory. "See those boats? They're new, no one has been in that district and it's the only place to do a deal uninterrupted because the cops don't patrol that area anymore." Huntress explained.

"Then, we have our place. Let's move out." Red Hood said as he placed on his helmet and Huntress did the same - both masks locked into place and the two of them were out of there.

[Gotham Rooftops]

Red Hood soared through the open spaces of the backstreets of Gothan while the Shadow Huntress ran across the roofs with the speed and prowess of a wolf on the hunt. She leaped for a high roof and used her claws to climb to the top before running and jumping to the next one while Red Hood attached his rope to another point and began to swing.

The two of them landed on the roof at the same time - a vantage point that showed the trucks driving into the warehouse and the men that stood out to keep watch; not seeing the two hunters crouching on the roof, waiting and watching.

"What do we got?" Red Hood asked. Huntress placed her fingers on the control pad of her mask's visor to activate heat-vision mode - seeing the heat signatures in the building.

"There's about 25 of them - not counting the ones that are waiting outside." Huntress explained.

"What do you think we should do about it?" Red asked.

"We take out the guys outside, then we find the generator and cut the power; under the cover of darkness, we take them out - one by one." Huntress explained.

"What if they see us or hear the noise?" Red asked.

"Then we beat the hell out of them." Huntress said as the two of them rose to their feet and jumped down.

Everything was going good until Jason decided the throw someone through the window, everyone was high alert - it was ass-kicking time.

Red Hood and Shadow Huntress were knocking thugs down left and right, showing the combos that brother and sister made together. Huntress saw one of the thugs pointing his gun at Red Hood and jumped in the way, taking the bullet in the side but she still stood. She cracked her hand in the claw formation and the lightning came to life, causing her to pounce on the thugs, knocking them out through electrical waves while Red just beat the hell out of them.

When the last thug fell, Huntress grunted as she held the bleeding hole in her side, causing Red to run to her.

"Huntress, you alright?" He asked.

"I'll be fine. Let's get out of here and we can get it patched up." Huntress said as she rose to her feet and the 2 of them jumped through the window. They scaled the wall of the roof to stop and breathe for a moment while Jason removed the bullet that got stuck and clean the wound before wrapping it. They were waiting when Huntress's Robotic Wolf Ears shot up at the sound of footsteps - 4 pairs of them, she groaned.

"They're here." Huntress groaned and just when she said that 4 Figures landed on the roof in front of them.

The Dark Knight - Batman, a.k.a Bruce Wayne; Bellatrix's Father.

The Latest Robin - Damian Wayne; Bellatrix's Womb Mate.

Nightwing - Dick Grayson.

Batgirl - Barbara Gordon; the Police Commissioner's Daughter.

"What the hell do you 4 want?" Red Hood said as he rose to his feet.

"We received reports about gunfire in this region, we came to investigate." Batman said to Jason, but his eyes remained on Bellatrix, who just glared at him.

"There was a Firearms Deal going on and we put a stop to it before it could have even begun." Huntress said as she rose to her feet and stood beside Red Hood; Nightwing looked over the edge and whistled.

"They put a stop to it alright - everyone is laid out." He said.

"Laid out? You killed them?" Batgirl asked.

"We're not above killing but we try not to, per Huntress's request." Red Hood said as he gestured at his sister.

"You don't kill but you partner yourself with a killer? How backward you are, Bellatrix." Damian said.

"It is no business of yours, Wayne." Huntress growled.

"You're my sister, so it is my business, and you're a Wayne too; as well as an Al Ghul." Damian countered but Bellatrix scoffed.

"I've never been an Al Ghul, that's why you and your mother cast me aside; the only one who saw any worth in me in that family was my grandfather. Just like you wiped your hands of me back then, I wiped my hands of you - you're nothing to me but a stranger I happen to share my blood with." Huntress said.

"Bellatrix, that's enough." Bruce said.

"You have no say over me, Bat-Boy; I don't have to listen to you." She said.

"I am your father, you need to listen to me." Bruce said.

"I may have your blood but I damn sure don't have to listen to a damn thing you have to say because I don't live with you, nor do I work with you." Huntress said.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Bellatrix, you've been hanging around Jason for too long, it's making you reckless and dangerous. I think it's time you came to live with me, with us, with your family. There is a room waiting for you at Wayne Manor and we can talk about patrols and missions once you get settled in but you need to be with us now; Todd is a bad influence on you." Bruce said.

"You're joking." She said.

"No, Father is right - you've been living with this brute for too long. You're a Wayne and an Al Ghul, it's time you started acting like one." Damian said.

"Let me tell you something: I stopped being an Al Ghul when I left that hell you called home, and I never accepted to be a Wayne. Last time I checked, my last name is Todd and I want nothing to do with you...and of you." She glared at all of them. "Let's go, Bro. I'm done with this." Huntress began to walk away with Jason at her side.

Jason was her brother.

Jason was her family.

Bellatrix was a Todd and there was nothing anyone could do it change that.

#jason todd #damian wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson #barbara gordon

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iphoenixrising · 3 years

Text

More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler.

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read.

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go.

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat.

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did.

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.”

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach.

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses.

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder.

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand.

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side.

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice.

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor.

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out.

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something.

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding.

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath.

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night.

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.”

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this.

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy.

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something.

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him.

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan.

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates.

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly.

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force.

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways.

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…”

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture.

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change. He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years.

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind.

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy.

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while.

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question.

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own. I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore.

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months.

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible.

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth.

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.”

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit.

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan.

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years.

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his.

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

#winter writes #robinpile soulmate au #just a bit more #ANGST #be aware #this is how my life is going #chippon is really patient with me #please give chip your love

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siremasterlawrence · 3 years

Text

Gotham By Night

Disassociation Of Bruce Wayne

There has been longtime research leading to heavy conversation on the psychology of the Batman.

I knew if Gotham City feel in to a disarray of biblical proportions he would fall apart instantly at my feet.

Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave suited up except of his mask as Alfred rushes to greet him.

His butlers expression said it all turning on the television in a glorious uprising the Gothamites have spoken.

The entire city is on lockdown boarded out of The US until further notice. How is all this happening?

Bruce’s anger swells a serious expression now covers his face as he drops the cowl and his Dark Knight Persona is alive.

A monitor goes off beeping as Alfred runs in to see Bruce Wayne in a coma the man of mystery lock in his own body.

Back in his mind control he stops in one loud thud in mid motion to see a crowd sis gathering.

A man is floating in the middle of Gotham City over the Harbor that once welcomed boats.

Bruce hops out of the car which enters it’s natural sleep mode, and self repairs at its own time.

“What in the blazing hell is going on here? Why is everyone going so crazy?”

“Scarecrow, Joker, Mad Hatter? No who is that man?”

Batman never shows fear, but tonight for the fist time in his miserable life he shakes in his boots.

His body is frozen in time lost to the sands of time he cant back off when the man is approaching him.

He lands on to the grass with a bluish aura

about him as he smiles.

“What do you want you fiend? Gotham is mine to protect.”

The man shakes his head silent covering his mouth with his finger he shush him.

“Don’t worry Gotham is safe is my hands because you will resurrect it in my name.”

Violating Nightwing, A Night At The Circus

“All right I’m here, I came alone. What do you want?”

“Very good, you can follow instructions well enough.”

“Don’t get smart with me. Why did you lure me here?”

“I want to play a game, you could not save your parents.”

“What the hell do you know about their deaths?”

“I know enough to break you exactly how I

broke him.”

Out of the shadows Batman stood from his usual post in the air landing on the grounds.

Dick is in disbelief that Bruce could be use so easily. How fright heights seeing Bruce now to him.

Bruce stares Dick down who’s only single thought is to freak out and leaps out of their.

The man points towards him Bruce nods and goes after him leaps on to the roof.

Dick never thought he would be facing his old mentor as his enemy.

The two come to blows as Bruce pins him down, and injects him with a new serum.

“Bruce why? Why are you doing this?”

“My Master wills so shall it be”

“Who are you? Bruce would never”

“Never what? Mwahahahahahahaha”

“You always had doubt about humanity”

“And you were right, how ironic it would be your undoing.”

Saving Red Hood

Poor Jason Todd on the brink of madness since The Scarecrow chemical enhancer event.

Red Hood is a one man army with a one track mind, a arsenal of weapons and a lust for blood.

On my invitation at the scene of his death to the hands of the Joker, saved by Dr. crane, resurrection by Ras Algoul.

“Come out you fucking Narcs”

“The language out of this one mouth.”

“Fuck you! Where are they?”

“Boys meet your ex protoge”

“You guys remember Jason Todd”

“Or as he is know by that literally trash ass name Red Hood.”

“So what? Are you planning to trap and kill me?”

“Your funny, you will join us or die “

“Fuck you !”

“Bruce always said you were better with the toys than I was”

“ I am back bitches feels “

“In living color, I have a new name now, though.”

“You will be hearing it a lot around here”

“Will I? Yes sire I love you “

“Call me Master and you will obey me Jason Todd.”

The end

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wthcew · 3 years

Note

JayTim, flirting, falling in love and cuddles and JJ Tim who gor adopted by Harley and Ivy pretty please??

Sweetie, you just jumped on my train of JJ fics, I hope you don't mind that I added a little bit of smut

I'm so sorry it took me that long to write it, I hope you like it!

_____________________________________________

30 days

_____________________________________________

The first time he heard about it he was under the ground. He felt like he was choking, his helmet somewhere unknown and with it his communication with Oracle. He isn't talking to B (not after he chose the fucking Joker over him) but he does help Nightwing sometimes, and oh, did he wished right now that he would have never let Dick in his safehouse.

Nightwing and Red Hood were about to bust a drag ring, but the thing is, it was an ambush, so now they're both under ground, Hood's leg impaled to the ground by an iron pillar from one of the walls that exploded and that they're buried under, his helmet in an unknown place and 'wing trying to call for help.

Jason tried to slow his breath but being under ground is bringing back bad memories (He can't breathe, he's locked, and all he want right now is his dad-) of being six feet under and he's hysterical- because everything is hurting and broken and half his face are burned and he can't breathe so please, please he just want his dad, "please dad come save me"-

He's so gone into his mind, letting his panic control him that he's flinching away when Dick touching his shoulder, but it's pulling him out of his head (and just when did the tears started to spill out of his eyes?), and Dick is looking at him, the whites lenses of his domino mask are gone and instead Jason's getting those blue eyes that are full with concern.

"It's okay Jay" Dick smiled at him, a small smile that somehow made Jason believe that it's okay. "B and baby bat are on their way right now," Dick's hand found Jason's and he squeezed it in reassuring. Jason returned the squeeze. "We will be fine"

...

"Did someone ever told you about the kid who almost killed Joker?" Dick asked after couple minutes of silence, when Jason's breath is under control and he isn't so much as hysterical as he was couple of minutes before.

Jay turned his head to Dick, "No" his voice was hoarse, too hoarse for his own ears but Dick didn't seems to mind, he just nodded his head and smiled softly at him.

"He was thirteen years old back then, Joker took him, when Babs still was Batgirl" And at that moment Dick's comn beeped and after five minutes they were out of the ground, Bruce and Damian next to Dick, checking if he's fine while Jason took his helmet, the hole in his leg isn't that bad and when Dick looking at him the Red Hood already swing away.

_____________________________________________

The second time he heard about it was because he wanted to, he was curious and he wanted to know what happened to the kid, what made a thirteen years old kid almost kill the Joker.

So, he was on his couch, his leg bandaged and a cup of hot tea on the coffe table, his laptop open and working and the reading lamp's orange light made his shadow look like some villain from kids cartoon.

It's hard to find anything about it but he is (A bat) Red Hood, if he wants to he'll find out what happened back then. And he want to.

So Jason cracked his fingers and started to work.

The seconds became to minutes that became to hours of work and clicking on his keyboard, it's hard to find anything because apparently this whole story is shushed and all Jason gathered until now came from a video of the news report and all they said there was that Joker broke out of Arkham and decided he wanted a son, kidnapped some unlucky kid and deleted the boy's personality with electrical shocks until he becamed Joker Junior, and then he kept torturing the kid until the Batman and Batgirl found the kid, broken minded and holding a gun to Joker's head.

It was quite the story, but Jason didn't know what happened later, who the kid was or what happened to him.

But he will, just to know if the kid's okay. Or to ask why he hadn't pulled the trigger..

So he kept digging, looking for anything that may conect to the story. And that's how Jason found himself reading article about Jack and Jent Drake disowning their only child Tim Drake. The kid was only thirteen back then, and all he took before he took off from the face of earth was a stuffed Kola and a camra.

And it may be his curiosity about this because he don't remember the kid and apparently they were neighbors or the JJ thing but he knows that he'll find Tim Drake.

_____________________________________________

Jent Drake died two years after she disowned Tim in a car crash, her husband got depressed and started looking for Tim to reown him but then he met Dana Winters.

There was some love story there that Jason wasn't really that interested in reading but in the end they married and left Gotham, never coming back. And the most annoying thing is, that Tim was never found.

But he did found out that there was some kid that helped Harley and Ivy sometimes, he had a faded red hoodie and faded green jeans.

The hoodie's hat always hiding his face and from the little Jason saw, his skin was more white than normal human skin.

Jason couldn't find a lot of photos of the kid but he did find one of Harley hugging the kid.

Jason looked at the photo, it was fuve years old, when Tim desperate and all the JJ thing happened. The way he held himself was familiar to Jason, something deep in his mind, memories that he couldn't remember, but it was there, and Jason knows that this Tim kid is JJ who is also somehow Harley's kid.

_____________________________________________

"I need your help"

"Oh that's nice, what aby 'hey Babs, how was your day? Did Dick pissed you off and going to sleep on the couch tonight? Can you please help me with this thing?'"

Jason smiled, shifting the phone that was pressed against his ear "What did Dick did?"

"He was a dick"

"How was your day?"

"What did you wanted help with Jay?"

"Clown boy"

"Hmm?"

"Joker Junior"

A sharp breath "What about him?"

"You know who he is?"

"We found him after he took a dip in the acid, and he was dressed like the Joker, too much make up, green hair, purple suit, couldn't recognise him"

"But you know don't you?"

"Batman doesn't know"

"Well you're Oracle not Batman. It's simple question O, you know? Yes or no?"

"I know"

"I think I know too"

"Who do you think it is?"

"Tim Drake"

"..Yes it's him"

"Why didn't you told Bruce?

"He's a good kid"

"He's with Harley now"

"Tim isn't bad"

"Babs, if he's Joker Junior and he's with Harley he can't be that good"

"Jay, Harley and Ivy gave me the tip to find him and Harley took him in after his parents disowned him, he may be stilling sometimes or helping Harley and Ivy but he is good"

"You kept tabs on him?"

"He's smart, he may have lost a lot of his memories because of the Joker and he is crazy but he have support"

"Does Bruce know you're helping hiding him?"

"No, and he wouldn't. Not until Tim decided that it's fine"

"You're in contact?"

"We're just talking, I'm sending him puzels and riddles and it's helping him keep clean mind"

"Can I talk to him?"

"I can't tell you where he is but I also can't stop you from doing this"

"Thank you Babs"

"Not a problem Jaybird"

_____________________________________________

It was a week later that Jason walked into a small unnoticed coffee shop.

The design of the place gave him a feeling of happiness, like it was some kind of home.

He looked through everyone there, couple next to the window, three old ladies sitting in a table for four, chatting and laughing, couple of collage students sitting with something to eat and something warm to drink and typing on their laptops, and on the farthest side of the coffee shop, in a table for two, sat a teen, his hands paler than any human skin, his long hair hiding his face, a coffee cup in front of him and his legs shacking.

"Hello! Can I help you?" A cheerful voice called from the cashier desk, he put on a smile on his face and turned to see a black haired girl, with a big smile on her face.

"Yeah, do you have Eral Gray?"

"We do! Anything else with this?"

"No, thank you"

"Okay, just a minute"

When he got his cup he paid the girl murmuring a "Thank you" and walking to Tim.

When he sat down in front of the teen, icy blue eyes looked at his face, and his breath hitched when he saw the little cuts on at each end of his mouth, creating a smile.

"Hey" Jason said, smiling at Tim.

"Hey.." Tim's voice almost didn't reached his ears and Jason's smile grew wider when Tim smiled at him. A shy little amazing smile.

"I'm Jason"

"T-Tim"

"Nice to meet you"

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted tea"

"You aren't scared?" Tim's eyes looked a bit insane when he said the last word, his smile grew wider and he leaned closer to the table. The cuts on his face and his pale skin made him look like Joker but there was also something else there, something in his eyes that said 'Pleas don't be scared' and Jason swallowed and forced his nerves to calm down.

"No, you actually seems nice"

Tim blinked once.

Twice.

And then his smile became nicer, less dangerous and more shy. He relaxed and took a sip from his coffee.

Jason smiled, sipping from his own cup while making a note in his head to be careful with this one.

They drank a couple more cups together, chatting about nothing in particular and when Tim excused himself and left, Jason found a paper next to the cup.

He opened it because of his dammed curiosity and bis breath hitched.

'Ha ha ha'

_____________________________________________

It was in the middle of the night, the streets lamps flickered on and off every couple of seconds, and the stars were hidden in the sky, behind the clouds.

His parents just left the town. Without telling him. Again. And it's fine, he can't be mad at his parents for leaving him -he is, like his mother says, rotten child- all the time.

But sometimes he wonders if he'll ever be good enough for them to stay. If he'll ever be good enough so his mother wouldn't need to hiss his name through clench teeth and his father to hit him.

Maybe he would never be good enough..

In those nights when he wonders about it, he goes to a walk. It's always makes him calm and shuts his mind down. It's leaving him with the feeling of wholenesses, like some how the wind that hit his body in cold sharp hit is welcoming, or the cold of the night is like his stuffed Kola -the one he got from Bruce Wayne In a gala that his parents hosted when he was four and since then he hides it from his parents and hugging it when he need comfort- or like the silence out here is better than the silence inside the empty house.

And maybe, just maybe hr would see his heros.

And as Tim kept walking he could barely hear this cursed laugh, followed by the soft like song-

Mary had a little lamb

Little lamb, little lamb

Mary had a little lamb...

"Cutie pie?" His mama's voice rang, it was muffled but it was still there. "I'm hearing laughing, it's a good joke?"

A knock on his door "Sweetheart?" His laugh grew and his eyes burned, tears dropping from his eyes.

"Timmy?"

He hugged his legs to his chest, laughing and crying and this song is stuck in his head and he can't stop it and-

"Mary had a little lamb"

Mama's hands are around him, hugging him and petting his hair "Shhh shh shh, everything's fine baby, I'm here"

He can't breathe and the song is on full volume in his head but mama's here and mama is safety, she's safety. He's safe. Safe

_____________________________________________

"What the hell were you thinking?" Oracle's voice rang through the comn in his helmet.

"You need to be more specific than that O"

"Tim blocked me, Selina is mad at Bruce because one of his kids hurt her niece, Harley and Tim are nowhere to be found and Selina and Ivy are planning something"

"I didn't hurt Tim and I don't know why you told ma all the other stuff"

"Hood, Tim's smart, maybe too much smart but his mind is broken, he's crazy and genius"

"Okay and..?"

"He wants to go -and I’m quoting him- Boom he always wanted everyone to know that he's Harley's kid, and I always made him take more time, think about it more the fact that he blocked me means that I can't tell him to sit back anymore"

"You can remove it though"

"I did, and he just throw his phone away"

"So I broke him?"

"No, Joker broke him you just set him off"

"Shit"

"Yes. Shit"

_____________________________________________

"Wohhooo" Was shout out to the sky as Tim set in shopping cart, Harley -in her rollerblades- holding the handles of the cart, and they're both 'driving' down a road, laughing.

The air hit Tim's face in the best way he could have ever imagined and he laughed so hard that his cheedk burned, and maybe he ripped his stiches oncr again today but he dosen't care.

He is happy. So, so happy, like he was with this hot guy in the coffee shop, before his meltdown.

But right now, right now it's all this.

His mama and him, having fun, his mom and aunty kitty somewhere doing her own thing and everything's okay.

He laughed again as they started to speed up, the wind throwing his hair in any direction possible.

After a few minutes they cane to a stop, his mama's smile is so loving and he hopes that his smile is loving as well.

"Come on sweetie, let's do it" Harley smiled as she gave him the lighter, he jumped out of the cart and lit the lighter, his eyes sparking as the fire started spreading.

Tim and Harley walked away because they're crazy not stupid.

There faces lit up as the fireworks blew and flew to the sky.

Harley hugged him from behind and he relaxed into his mama's touch, watching the fireworks becoming to words that are shining over Gotham's sky.

30 days

_____________________________________________

"Hey Hoodie" A cheerful voice called from behind him.

Red Hood turned around, a gun in his hand just to be met with Tim's lovely smile.

"Chill, chill" The teen said, holding his hands up "I'm not going to hurt you"

"What do you want?" Hood asked, lowering his gun.

"We have never met have we?" Tim said, his smile calm

"I don't think so"

"No, but I did met Robin"

"So you met the Demon"

Tim frowned "No. The second one."

"Don't know him"

"Red Hood can't meet Robin II"

"And why's that?"

"Robin II's dead, dad killed him" Tim shock his head "I don't like dad, I liked Robin II and dad did it because it's funny. It's not!"

Tim looked so frustrated, his eyes big and he's looking at Jason like he hope that he would understand that and, something in Jason change, his face are softer under the helmet and-

"Okay Tim, I know you aren't the Joker."

"I didn't met *you* but we did met, I know Robin and I know Jason and now I know Red Hood?"

"You know who I am"

"No, no no no!" Tim looked him straight in the eyes, like he could see his face behind the helmet "You're Red Hood now, you were Robin and you always were Jason but now you Red Hood, I don't know Red Hood!"

"Okay, okay, relax, you don't know Red Hood, that's fine"

"I need to know Red Hood"

"Why?"

"Because I need Red Hood to help me"

"You need help?"

"Yes"

"Okay, but why Red Hood?"

"Because.. Ummm because- Because of Dad! I need Red Hood to help me kill dad"

To kill.. the Joker.

To kill the Joker.

The Joker dead.

'Yes'

"I would help you, Red Hood and Jason, okay?"

Tim nodded "Yeah, okay."

The sky started to glow and they both looked up, looking at fireworks that formed

29 days

_____________________________________________

It was so logical and simple that Jason almost laugh.

He sat next to Tim in some small safehouse, looking at Tim up and down as he was solving Sudoku.

They're waiting for the others to decide exactly who will go in and kill this son of a bitch and aho will make sure that everyone else will be present in that day.

They are waiting for Tim's small family, and Jason smiled at the thought of this family, he once had one and then he died and he was replaced by Stephanie Brown who is now Batgirl so they're fine now. But he doesn't have this family now, all he have are some blurred memories.

Tim let out a little "Yay" with a cute, small giggle that made Jason smile.

"Hey!" Tim suddenly said, looking at Jason with big eyes, Jason looked around him, trying to find something that would make Tim look panoco "What-"

"Are you hurt?" Tim's voice was soft and caring and Jasom heart might have skipped a beat, "No?"

"Than why do you have split lip and bruise on your jaw?"

"I've got into a fight, it's not serious" But Tim was there in seconds, his worry eyes looking at Jason's jaw and just wow- Jason swallowed the lump in his throat when Tim's slender finger touched his lip and-

"I've the best thing to help!" Tim pulled away and his finger caressed Jason's lip in a way that made Jason hold his breath.

And in the next moment Tim putted a chocolate bar in his hand, smiling at him "It help!" He said and Jason huffed a laugh, mentally shacking his head.

"Thanks Timmy" Jason said an smile on his face, opening the chocolate and cutting a line.

It was milk chocolate with pop candy and it was amazing, Jason hummed as he ate it, looking at Tim solving a new sudoku.

After the meeting (if it even can be called that) Jason took the rest of the chocolate bar, just to have something sweet after patrol tonight.

_____________________________________________

Jason stripped from his Red Hood gear, stretching his hands out and poping his back.

He took a quick shower and pulled on a sweat pants and grey hoodie from the deep of his closest 'Maybe it's time to do the laundry'.

Jason smiled as the sky were lit in 25 Days and turned the lamp off.

His lip tickled as some kind of reminder that Tim touched him there, he looked so worried and that just warmed Jason's heart.

And that amazing chocolate- maybe he will have to get hurt more just to have it.

He closed hid eyes, ready to fall asleep and then it hit him-

Oh.

Oh shit.

He- he have a crush.

_____________________________________________

The sun was in the middle of the sky when Jason woke up, blinking into the darkness because the blinds are close.

He groaned as he stretched his body, still in the bed under the warmth of the fluffy blanket. The sleepiness still has her claws clutching on him and made Jason wonder why the hell his bed isn't as comfy whenever he's trying to sleep but is when he tries to wake up.

He almost fell asleep again, but the *Bam! Bam! Bam!* on his door made him jolt up from the bed, the gun that he hides between the mattress and the bed in his hand, walking to the living room without making a sound, looking through the peep hole.

He huffed in relief, opening the door looking at Dick who smiled at him. "You woke me up you asshole"

"Sorry little wing" But Dick didn't sounded sorry at all and that just made him groan.

Jason followed Dick to the kitchen after Dick let himself in, the door closing behind them.

"What are you doing here?"

"I can't visit my little brother?"

"Not your brother" Jason turned around to the pantry to take out a tea bag just when Dick flinched from the words as if they're physically harming him.

"You're my brother, even if you don't see it like that"

"Dick."

"No! You're my brother, I count you as my brother" Dick snap and Jason would lie if he said that that didn't touched his heart, even if it's not true because in the end Dick have his new little brother and also a sister and it's really is fine that Jason isn't part of his family. It is.

So he didn't reply to it, just let Dick think what he wants to. "Do you want to tell me why you actually came or what?" He asked as he started to boil water.

"I wanted to talk to you"

"About?"

"You said you'd this case, how's it going?"

Jason took the teapot off the gas, pouring the hot water to his glass, "I didn't told anyone that I've a case"

"Well no but Babs told me"

"Babs don't know, and she would have asked if she wanted to know" Jason took a sip from his cup and turned around to glare at the older man "What it really is about?"

"Bruce saw you with Harley and Ivy and their kid and he wants to know what you all doing"

Jason saw red for a moment and them took a calming breath, a long sip from his tea and walked his way toward the island, putting his mug down and glaring at his so called brother.

"So you're here on a mission?" His voice was cold and full with venom.

"N-no!"

Jason raised an eyebrow "You just said it"

"I don't care what B wanted, I came for my brother"

"Damian isn't here"

"Jason!"

"What? You want me to say that you didn't came because Bruce said something on me? You don't want to know what I'm doing with Harley, Ivy and their kid? Ah? That's what you're telling me?"

"I-"

"Ha! And you just said we're brothers!"

"We are Jason"

"No! You have your own little family, I'm not part of it, never was!"

"You are! You always were and you always will be!"

And at that moment Jason saw green, throwing his mug down on the island, the shatterd flew everywhere and the hot water started to drip down to the floor.

And as a last resort Dick yelled "TIM DRAKE!"

It made Jason blink, and look at Dick, "What did you just said?"

"Tim Drake, it's this boy Joker kidnapped, Harley and Ivy's kid"

"How do you know this?"

"Well, family of detectives and all"

"What do you want?"

"Is he threating you?"

"What? No!"

"Jay, you can tell me the truth"

"Oh I can?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Okay so fuck off"

"Wh-what?"

"The truth is that I want you to fuck off and don't ever come back. Bye."

"..Jay.."

"I'll throw you out of the window"

"Okay, okay. But.."

"Go!" _____________________________________________

Tim sat on an air conditioner motor that was on the roof of a building, his legs tangling down, one shoe red with zigzag lines on it and the other one yellow with glitters. His pants in a fading green colour and a black-blue t-shirt. And Jason just looked, glad that his helmet hiding his face as a stupid smile crossed his face.

"Hoodie hood!" Tim's cheerful voice made Jason's smile wider, and Tim pushed himself of the air conditioner motor, when his feet touched the roof his yellow shoe started to sparkle with light, like little kids shoes.

"Hey clown kid" Tim smiled, something sweet and beautiful that made butterflies fly in Jason's belly.

"I don't like this helmet today" Tim said, his hands touching lightly at the sides of the red helmet.

"And why's that?"

"I can't see your hair. I love your hair!"

Jason smiled, Tim was just... just.

"Thanks baby clown, I love your hair too"

"Baby clown?"

"Yup"

"I like it"

"Good"

Tim took Jason's hand in his and started walking them to the air conditioner motor.

They both sat down, Tim's hands now in his lap and Jason opened his helmet, setting it next to him.

Tim looked at him, his blue icy eyes glinted and a small smile on his face. Jason looked right back at him, the blue-green eyes looking like some amazing place that kids are being told about in fairy tales.

Jason don't know who moved first, or what exactly happened. All he knows is that Tim is sitting in his lap, Tim's hands in his hair and Jason hugging him close. There mouths pressing against each other's. Tim's mouth have this amazing chocolate taste, a hint of coffee and Tim.

In the dark sky above of them, the fireworks draw the 18 days.

_____________________________________________

Jason is happy. Like really truly happy. He couldn't stop smiling this stupid love sick smile since the kiss.

He met Tim every patrol and those small kiss were the best, 10/10 would definitely do again.

Tim's cute and smart and he seems to really like Jason which is amazing because Jason really like him too.

None of the Bats came to annoy him, and everything is just amazing. For once in his life everything is just good.

His grapple gun shot to the next building and the cold wind never felt better. As Red Hood's boots hit the roof a "Hey there, love bird" greeted him.

"Cat," He called back, doing a small '*hi*' with his hand "'sup?"

"We need to talk"

"About?"

"Tim"

Jason sat next to her, his legs tangling down from the roof, "You here to give me the talk?"

"Not the talk you think about, I'll that to his moms"

"Then what talk?"

"Are you serious with him?"

"For now.. for now yes" he said with a bit hesitation.

Selina nodded "That's good for me"

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome sweetie, anyway you nrrd to be careful with Timmy"

"I know that, I wasn't born yesterday Cat"

She huffed a laugh, "Oh I know that sweetie, but you still need to know about Tim's past"

"Isn't he supposed to tell me about it? In his own time?"

"He will, I'm going to tell you only things that he won't because it's a trigger for him"

"The torture?"

"Yes, the torture, and what lead to his kidnapping, and it'll give you an idea yo what his parents were like"

Jason looked at her in the eyes, seriousness burns in them. "Okay, let's hear the story" _____________________________________________

His parents left again, it has been hours since the screaming stopped, his cheeks were wet from tears and his eyes red.

He was hiding in the closet, his hands holding his stuffed Kola close, his left arm is numb except for the cut on it, but it's a small cut and he deserved it. He isn't supposed to talk back to his father.

The dry blood on his arm itched and he needs to treat the cut, but he don't want to move. The closest is a safe place because mother and father can't get in.

New tears slipping down his face and he hugs the Kola tighter.

_____________________________________________

When Tim woke up his neck hurt and his left arm felt like a million fire ants stung her.

He opened the closest door, stumbling out of there holding the Kola in one hand, dropping it on his bed and walking to the bathroom, pulling the first aid kit from under the sink, treating his wound with a hiss of pain.

A quick glance out of the window and he knows it's in the middle of the night, and his parents were supposed to stay home for more couple of days but once again they just left the town. Without telling him. Again. And it's fine, he can't be mad at his parents for leaving him -he is, like his mother says, rotten child- all the time.

But he doesn't have something to do now, and his arm's fine, he can go out and see Batman, and maybe Robin too. Though Robin isn't around a lot now, maybe something happened... _____________________________________________

The streets lamps flickered on and off every couple of seconds, and the stars were hidden in the sky, behind the clouds.

The cold wind hit him merciless, but it just made him smile, he loves the winter. It always made him feel better with himself.

His camera clutched in his hands, his black stocking cap falling on his eyes every couple of minutes, and yes it may be annoying but it's also letting him something to do, because tonight he can't find Batman...

What the hour anyway? Maybe he's late and Batman's back in the cave...

And then he could hear it, some quiet voice singing.. Maybe a kid.. What if the kid need help?

"Hello?' he called out, moving closer to the voice, he can hear the words now.

"Mary had a little lamb Little lamb, little lamb Mary had a little lamb..." _____________________________________________

He cried out, pain strobes through all hid body, tears on his face and blood run down his chine and neck

This psycho laugh making him shiver and try to run away. This hateful song in the background..

And this voice.. "Come on Little Lamb, be a good son for little old me, and tell me. What's. Your. Name?"

"T-Tim"

He screamed as he got electriced again. _____________________________________________

He is shacking, scared out of his mind, tears rolling down his face. And it doesn't stop.

He can barely breathe, the electrical shock isn't stopping. And Tim is honest to God scared.

He don't know what's next to come, he can't actually believe it's happening and everything- everything hurt.

He can feel himself leaving his body, his heart- _____________________________________________

He woke up, everything is hurting again and the fucking Joker is looking at him, this psychotic smile on his face-

"Welcome back my Little Lamb"

-And this horrible song again

"Mary had a little lamb Little lamb, little lamb Mary had a little lamb..." _____________________________________________

"What's your name?"

"Tim!" _____________________________________________

"What's. Your. Name?"

"Ti-" _____________________________________________

"Your name?"

He don't even* know *anymore, and it's really frustrating... _____________________________________________

He is laughing. A manic good laugh. Happy laugh.

He's happy because he remembers who he is and it's funny- why did he forgot anyway?

"What's your name?"

"JJ!" _____________________________________________

He laughed as his dad cut his face open do he'll always smile. He laughed as dad throw him to the acid. He laughed as dad painted his hair.

He laughed and he laughed, and laughed and laughed-

But it's not funny anymore- dad isn't here and his hair is black... JJ scowled at the mirror, dad don't like his hair black. He like green. Yes, green hair and purple suit, and red- red, red, red blood. And it's funny- everything funny so hr laughs, but the mirror- The shattered glass flew everywhere and it's so funny that he can't stop laughing-

"Timothy!" Mother's standing by the door, she looks horrified.. it's not funny anymore- it's not-

He can't breathe, he stumbles backwards, tears rolling down his face and he. Can't. Stop. Laughing. _____________________________________________

One night he heard his mother and father talking. It's not fine, but what is fine anymore? He's finally Tim but he's also JJ and it's so confusing.

"I can't look at him anymore Jack, he is pathetic!"

"I know Janet, don't worry"

Tim chokes a whimper. _____________________________________________

The next week Ivy and Harley found Tim trying to drown himself and took him in... _____________________________________________

Jason took in a deep breath, his eyes wet and his heart ache for his little clown.

"It's..."

Catwoman gave him a small smile, "A lot? I know. Those are once of the memories Tim still have"

"I'm- I can't even-" Cat smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder.

The words 13 Days shined in the sky above them.

_____________________________________________

"Hood" Oracle's voice filled his helmet.

"O, how many times do I need to ask you not to hack my helmet?"

Oracle completely ignored him "How's Tim been?"

Jason swallow, he forgot that Babs is actually one of those people who really care about Tim (and him. Because Babs amazing).

"He's been good, happy" Just like Jason. It's like they feel the same thing. He can see Babs smile in his mind at that, like something changed in the weather just because of what he said, and it pulled a smile in his face.

"That's good, how are you?"

"Same as Tim"

And now he can hear her smile when she talks "I'm happy to hear that."

"How are you O? Does Dick head annoying you? 'cuz I can beat him if you need"

O snorted, "Two days sleeping on the sofa and he'll be begging for my forgiveness"

Jason laughed. And they kept talking about nothing for two more minutes, before Babe had to go.

And that's when Jason shot his grapple to another roof and went flying in the sky, the feeling of happiness all over his body.

But it all stopped when hr heard it.

It came straight out of his nightmares, something from his deepest fears.

This manic laugh. Joker's laugh.

And no just no. Thete's no way this stupid fucker got out again.

He dropped to the ground with a thud sound, looking for the fucker but instead seeing a group of teenagers, kicking someone on the ground.. someone who couldn't stop laughing like the Joker and his heart stopped beating for a second when he realised who it is.

A shot noise ripped through the air and the teens stopped, looking back at the red hood holding a gun at one of them.

All he needed to do wad to say "Go. Away" and the teens ran away, leaving Tim on the ground, hugging his legs to his chest, blood and tears mixed together on his face, and he couldn't breathe because the laughing wouldn't stop.

Jason hurried to him, helping him to sit up and uncurl himself, unable to look over Tim's face since he wouldn't let him.

"Tim, sweetie, my baby clown," Jason kissed his cheek, hugging him close to him "It's me, remember? Red Hood"

And at that Tim's head moved, looking up at him. Eyes full of tears and his face twitched in this manic smile, blood dripping down from the now open cuts in his chicks to his chin.

"Timmy babe, can you hear me?" He received a small and hesitate nod that he took as yes.

"Can you give me your hands?" He asked, showing Tim his gloved hands. The smaller man put his hands in his, feeling the fabric.

Tim relaxed, his eyes fixed on the red helmet, the tears stopped rolling down his face.

The laughing quiet down a bit, but still were there.

"You remember me, right? We are friends, hell I'm hoping even more than friends"

Tim nodded, but Jason wasn't sure what he was agreeing with so he just kept talking.

"We have this amazing plan, because you are my little smarty boy right?"

Tim could take in a breath and that was good, he wasn't laughing anymore but he also didn't talk exactly, just watched Jason and every couple of seconds squeezed one of his hands (never the both of them together for some reason).

"Hell I even kissed you that night and it was the greatest thing in the whole world baby clown"

"No." Tim's tiny voice waved on the air.

"Hah?" If Tim didn't like Jason like that... It would be ok, he will be heart breaked for a few days but he would be fine at the end... Somehow.

"I kissed you" Tim said, looking at him with this witty little smile that Jason grew to love so much.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah" a small smile tug on Jason's lips, and their lips met. It was amazing just like the first time they kissed, and it sent sparkles down Jason's body.

And after a minute he let go, both of them taking deep breath.

"Come on baby clown, let's go to my home"

Tim took his hand and he pulled him up, hugging the smaller man.

The words 7 Days exploded in the sky exactly when they reached Jason's apartment.

_____________________________________________

Waking up with Tim by his side is amazing.

The smaller man was curled next to him, a hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt. The long black hair messed up but still so beautiful. Tim's face relaxed, a samll smile on his face.

Last night Jason gave him one of his own shirts, and the younger basically swam in the white shirt.

Jason looked at the paler than normal skin that was now available. It was in the same colour of the shirt.

He pulled Tim closer to him, kissing the beautiful man's forehead and closing his eyes.

Immediately going back to the welcoming blackness of sweat dreamless sleep. _____________________________________________

The next time he woke up was because Tim wasn't next to him.

Jason didn't know exactly why he woke up because of that, but the moment Tim's weight left his body his eyes snapped open, meating beautiful blue eyes.

Tim smiled at him, a sleepy smile. His hair a whole lot of mess and Jason's heart beated faster as he smiled back.

The sun was already in the middle of the sky and the clock on the wall said it was already one A.M.

"Mornin' Jay" Tim whispered.

"Morning baby clown" _____________________________________________

They ate together, silence surrounding them in the most comfortable way.

Jason couldn't exactly point it out but something about Tim made him.... just feel whole. Like he didn't felt since he woke up six feet deep.

Both of them were in Jason clothes and Jason found out that for some unknown reason, white looked better at pale skin.

And Tim.. Tim was the most beautiful human he saw. His blue eyes, his black long hair, and this perfect smile. Jason started asking what he fucking did right to get this angel. _____________________________________________

He didn't knew how it happened but Tim's hot wet mouth was on him and he was practically in heaven.

His hands gripped the black hair and pulled slightly, making Tim moan and himself gasping as the moans vibrate on him.

He was definitely in heaven and this angel between his legs was the most perfect thing to ever happen to him.

"Oh God" he said and moaned Tim's name, his legs shacking.

"Tim I'm about to-" and with that he came down Tim's throat, the angel swallowed it and looked him in the eyes, giving him this beautiful smile. And well, Jason might die happy this time around. _____________________________________________

This night he hugged Tim closed to him, the smaller man hugging him back.

Outside the words 6 Days colored the black sky with pink, green and yellow.

_____________________________________________

It was simple. Very simple, and Jason did it already so why the hell is he freaking out?

Harley and Ivy started a riot somewhere in the city while Catwoman helped them in Arkham and said that she's going to take care of the security. So from there they were alone.

And it wasn't like he didn't knew the plane by heart, it's just that it really is happening. He's going to kill the Joker. They're going to kill the Joker.

And it's not a dream. The mother fucking clown is going to laugh for the last time. _____________________________________________

Each floor has a minimum of two guards, thanks to Killer Croc Arkham was down six guards, so floors 1-3 only had one guard each during the day (Because Gotham’s criminals are all geniuses and think that night is the best time for a breakout).

So doubling up only happened at night on these floors until the guards either recovered or replacements were vetted and hired.

Floors 4-5 had double guards at all times and floor 6 was more storage and extra holding cells than anything else right now.

Thanks to Harley and Ivy's riot there weren't a lot of guards where they were, everyone waiting to catch the two. Catwoman didn't lied about helping them from afar as every door opened to them without problems. _____________________________________________

The elevator doors opened at the fourth floor, Jason noted that there weren't any guards around, wondering what Catwoman did as he heard the muffled noise of an alarm from the floor above them.

Jason walked to the guard station and peeked in to see two men slumped over and unconscious. From the looks of it they have been knocked out, 'help from afar ha?' he thought to himself, smiling a little. Looking over at Tim, the little clown being too quite for so long, the teen smiled, his skin somehow more pale than normal, and his gun at hand. Jason nodded to him and Tim did the peace sign.

They followed a hallway around behind the booth and came up on a large metal door. They waited couple of seconds and the door opened, revealing another hallway with another large metal door several yards down. There were three such doors in their's way and each one opened and closed behind them, making them closer and closer to the goal.

Jason paused and took a deep breath before the final door. This is it. This stupid clown is as good as dead. The door opened.

And there was the Joker, laying on a thin metal like bed that was bolted to the wall.

All that stood between them and the Joker was a wall of bulletproof wall with several inches thick with small round air holes cut evenly to allow air to flow into the (if it could even be called that) room.

The Joker slowly rolled off the bed when he saw them, and came to stand in front of the clear wall, a sick smile on his face. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Visitors? Oh, I know you!" He said as he looked at Tim, his grin getting wider "You're my little lamb. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!”

Jason's heart started to beat faster, looking at Tim's hand gripping the gun so tight that his fingers turned whiter than usual.

"I'm not" Tim said, his voice quite.

"What did you said little lamb? Talk louder for papa"

Tim smiled, a small smile that made Jason question if he's going to follow the plan or not.

And of he really think about it, he was never told about this part of the plan... How will they kill the Joker?

"JJ?"

"I'm not a fucking lamb you old fucker" Tim said and shoot.

#jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #the joker #joker junior #Tim Drake #harelyquinn #poison ivy #Selina Kyle #fluff #angst #falling in love #this is so long #JayTim #thanks for reading #it took me so long because i got adiccted to anime

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batfoonery · 3 years

Text

No Matter the Weather....

Doing this on my phone whilst my chrome book gets repaired..... fingers crossed the formatting isn’t too funky!

Anywho. Here’s my thoughts on the Batfam’s weather preferences. Stupid? Possibly. But we all have them.

Bruce

Likes clear nights. Easier to patrol, bc visibility.

Wont admit it, but prefers spring nights. Not too cold, but cool enough that he isn’t overheating in his armor. And the few trees in Gotham don’t trigger his allergies until autumn so....

Abhors smoggy/foggy nights because Trauma. He is always extra vigilant on nights with lower visibility—refuses to let his Robin (whichever one it may be, even if he’s on patrol with a no-longer-Robin like Steph or Tim) go more than an arm’s length away. Everyone is irritable by the end of patrol because of it.

Dick

Also prefers spring nights, but of the lightly misty variety. Not full on rain, and he’d rather not patrol in the mist (the dampness brings oil to the surface of cements and pavements, and makes it tricky to get a good grip, making it a dangerous patrol).

Likes it best in evenings or early mornings, when the sun would be hazy anyways. It reminds him of being a kid, when they’d had a few high altitude venues and he’d wake up, walk out of the trailer into a literal cloud.

Not fond of thunderstorms. As a kid they wouldn’t ever perform in storms, because they risked the poles being struck by lightning. He’s still wary of it as an adult, because it was one of those safety rules drilled into him so heavily (childhood swim team people—you know what I mean?). Has adjusted his patrol routes so that he has a safer route on storm nights—he goes by the streets rather than rooftops those nights.

Jason

Likes storms—they provide good cover and all that. But also, there’s something innately soothing about the storms outside reflecting the general chaos of his mind/emotions. Likes to sit and just. Watch.

Probably a summer child. Likes the way that sitting in front of a window lets the sun seep into his bones and soothe old aches.

Not fond of the muggy weather before or after a storm. The humidity messes with his hair and his helmets get all sweaty, which is really really gross tbh.

Cass

Likes crisp, clear autumn nights. She doesn’t seem to have any allergens in Gotham, so she enjoys the full benefits of autumn.

Gotham has a few autumn celebrations and street festivals, so clear nights filled with the lights and smells of fried festival foods bring her joy. Watching from the shadows as kids shriek on the tilt-a-whirl and parents take pictures and eat funnel cake... everyone knows Black Bat is watching their backs. Batman is scary, but Black Bat is a nightmare when crossed, so major villains steer clear of these smaller festivities, and the rogues that do intrude quickly learn why it is a bad idea.

Doesn’t like snow. It makes her joints stiff.

Tim

Winter baby. He’s allergic to everything, so in winter when everything is dead or sleeping and he doesn’t have to worry about his eyes itching while on patrol he’s happiest to be on patrol.

Likes snowy nights. When it’s dead outside, everyone tucked away unwilling to embrace the cold. If things time out just right, in the wee hours of the morning Gotham looks like something out of a fairy tale, snow undisturbed and air quiet. He’s gotten some of the best shots of the city at these times and looking at them makes him nostalgic.

Doesn’t like sunny summer days. He thinks he’s melting in his suit, and there’s always something making him sneeze. Probably has to carry around a parasol.

Steph

Likes winter nights too. Likes the clear nights when the air just feels clean (even if all the pollution means it isn’t ever clean anymore). It feels like she could be anyone on these kinds of nights—go anywhere and start over, be someone new. But then morning comes and she remembers that she doesn’t know how to be anyone else, deep down.

Not crazy about spring. It’s a different muggy than summer, and all the bugs come out.

Hates fog. Scary things lurk in the thick mist, and B gets even more annoying and controlling than usual. They aren’t allowed to patrol together on foggy nights anymore, as per Alfred.

Duke

Likes early late spring/early summer mornings. The air is still cool and crisp, and the morning dew clings to the grass as he heads out for patrol. There’s no worry about overheating and the world is still sleepy and silent enough for him to have space to think.

Probably lowkey terrified of hurricanes. Has a stockpile in the house specifically built up for hurricane season. Every year it is dutifully checked and batteries refreshed etc etc. Gotham doesn’t get them often, but it still haunts him.

If one does hit, all the kids stay in from patrol (and Bruce too, if he isn’t away on JLA business) and they let him herd them into his designated safe room and they ride it out together. They don’t get much flooding because of where the manor is situated, but sometimes Batcow’s pen gets a bit soggy.

Damian

Likes misty weather, especially in the fall or spring. Weather is nicest then anyways, and he likes the way that the city looks when it is overcast out. The lights seem brighter and the shadows darker and the buildings both stand out and blend into the sky..... a place full of adventure. A siren song for a little boy.

Hates hail with a burning passion. Hadn’t experienced it much before moving to Gotham. It makes no sense! Ice from the sky?! In summer spring and fall but NOT winter?! He knows the science of it but it’s still annoying as heck and he hates it.

Clear nights make him sad. It’s one thing when he’s out in the Midwest with Jon, and the corn fields stretch out for forever and they can spend the evening pointing out stars and he can recall all the stories about them from his childhood (secret whispers, his mother’s voice hushed so no one else would hear as she told him about sailors and heroes and gods, whispered promises about how he would be the greatest among them someday.....). But in Gotham, there are no stars even when the sky is completely cloud-free. There is too much light pollution and it makes his heart heavy.

Babs

Likes when it just starts to snow. She’s got all these cozy afghans all over the clock tower, and it’s kind of nice to curl up with one and a mug of coffee or cocoa in the windows and just watch the little flurries flutter down.

Rain is the same, she likes watching the drops race down her windows, leaving little paths behind.

Probably doesn’t have a season or type of weather she doesn’t like. She just prefers ones that give her an excuse to get cozy at home. And ones that provide white noise that help her sleep.

#batfam #batfamily headcanons #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #tim drake #stephanie brown #duke thomas #damian wayne #barbara gordon

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

From Baby to Babe~

I once wrote this https://miss-choco-chips.tumblr.com/post/190983954737/theres-a-point-in-all-the-rouges-gallerys-lives and @theturdis wanted a fic about it, so... Just remember, you asked for this hon. This ain’t my fault.

Tagging @animemangasoul who just told me to tag them the next time I wrote something.

Fair warning everyone, I somehow did this in one sitting, and, I can’t stress this enough, there’s no edit whatsoever. Like, none. Enjoy, if you can ignore the eyesore of my multiple mistakes.

----.----

Bruce despairs in the knowledge of his sons growing up hot.

---.---

When Dick came back to Gotham as the new Nightwing for the first time ever… well.

Bruce didn't like to think about the first suit, back then. All those feathers and glitter, the plunging V neck, the mullet… His son had insisted on it being the trend at the time. Bruce just couldn't grasp how was he supposed to blend into the night and take anyone by surprise. There was too much... everything, and not nearly enough stealth.

He was an innocent man, back then. He looked at a horse gift in the mouth and was completely blindsided when it raised on it’s hind legs and kicked him where it hurted.

When Selina approached him a few weeks after N had come to him with the blueprints of his new suit, he had been quiet relaxed. Or as relaxed as one can be when crouched like a gargoyle and looking over the city. He was just getting back on track after… Jason (it still hurted, and probably always would, to think about him), his new partner helping in ways he couldn’t foresee, violence tampered by Tim’s brilliant smile every time he came to Bruce with the answer to a particularly difficult riddle he had been having trouble with. He had to get his act together, because Tim was so bright, mind so beyond what Bruce could ever aspire to, and he was at such an impressionable age… If Batman allowed himself to fall deeper into despair, he would set a dangerously bad example to the kid, which could be really damaging… to the world at large. He was the kind of kid that B wanted on the side of Justice, because the opposite would be quite catastrophic.

So yes, he had been very distracted lately, merely glancing over Dick’s blueprints, noticing the lack of brilliantine and gold, and giving his wholehearted approval.

Stupid, innocent man he was. He had needed Catwoman of all people to open his eyes.

(To this day, he still wondered about Alfred’s reason for not warning him sooner. Perhaps, and this was the theory he had running, the old butler had been just so delighted at seeing the Disco suit gone, he would approve almost everything in its place, and Dick’s virtue had never been his responsibility to preserve, so to hell with it.

Betrayal always hurted the worse when it came from those closest to you)

-Hey handsome.

-Cat.

She rolled her eyes, already beyond his brood, and just walked out of the light, joining him into the shadows with a sigh at his dramatics.

-No theft today?

The woman grimaced a bit, letting herself fall at his side with as much grace as she did everything else. Diamond claws scratched at her scalp, carefully not tearing the frail skin, and Batman finally conceded and turned his head to look at her directly. She was never so hesitant.

-Look. I really, really don’t want to be the one telling you this. I would literally rather leave this to anyone else, but… it’s getting out of hand.

-What is it?

-Nightwing. Hadn’t you noticed anything about him?

That got whatever rest of his attention she hadn’t already caught. Speaking of his sons always had that effect on him.

-What happened to him?

-Nothing, just… He’s been out a lot, hasn’t he? I thought he didn’t operate in the city as much…

She was stalling, which was worryingly out of character for Selina. But since this was about Nightwing, he had to be patient and let her talk her way into whatever information she was going to lay on him.

-I’ve been… -training a new Robin, not that he could tell her that- busy, lately. He’s picking up the slack while I’m focusing on it -a.k.a helping him both patrol the streets and teach Tim.

-I noticed the changes, yes, whatever therapy you’re doing is great for you -she encouraged, more honest than he thought her capable of. He could already see her deadpan when she figured out the reason for his change, his ‘therapy’ as she put it, was an eleven year old thrusting himself at this dangerous life of his.

-Hm.

-Well… Anything noteworthy about him lately? Crime Fighting related?

Since she was stressing the words so much, he gave them deep thought.

-He has been on a streak lately. A lot more arrests… What’s your point?

He could almost see the second she internally said ‘fuck it’ and just blurted everything out.

-That’s because his new suit is, and this is coming from me, B, indecent, and every criminal out there is focusing more on his ass than his punches and flips so he’s kicking ass easier.

Bruce kicked his way to the forefront of his mind, the father in him hip checking the vigilante out of the way so he could properly freak out.

What? He knew the suit was a lot more tight than the former one, but he’d been so relieved at it being mostly black he hadn’t given more than a cursory look… and he barely saw the man in it, often training together in workout clothes and coming and going to patrol at different times. He… wasn’t prepared for this.

-Excuse me?

-I’m sorry, someone had to tell you. Normally, I’d be completely on board with a suit change from boring to daring, and you know of my good relationship with leather, but I’ve literally seen that kid grow up. If I have to listen to Harley talking about Nightwing’s ass one more time, Ivy won’t need to worry any more about the Joker killing her, because I will do it myself.

He wanted to thank her for standing up for his son, but he was still busy internally screaming.

-You want to hear Riddle’s last work? While looking directly at N, he asked ‘is buttcheeks one word? Or should I spread them?’. And then he winked. Winked, B. At your eighteen year old kid. You need to get your ass on gear and make sure Nighting changes his. I mean, I’m getting used to it, but you’ve been doing great lately, violent wise, and I’d hate for you to relapse because you heard Zsaasz asking N to tie his ropes tighter and harder.

B… needed to go back to the cave and call N back early. They had to talk.

----.----

When Jason came back, the first thing to break past the ‘holy shit my son is alive’ wall surrounding his brain was just how tall he had grown. How strong, how broad, how big. The little boy he had picked up from the street, underfeed and hurting everywhere, had turned out almost bigger than B himself and twice as brave. The wave of pride he felt was massive, but the feeling was short lived.

Jason was killing criminals, had even attempted to murder Tim. Even if the father in him could, in his desperation, try and overlook the first bit, the same side couldn’t get past the second. Tim was as much his as Jason, and he couldn't turn a blind eye to it.

The relief of him being back that overflowed from Bruce clashed horribly with Batman’s unbending morals, and the two sides warred for days for control. The attack on his youngest son had been the deciding factor in who finally won; Bruce couldn’t fight the darkness in him when he needed it to help protect Robin from his predecessor, as much as it pained him.

Theirs was a long road, a difficult path to come back together as a family after so many mistakes on both parts (more his than Jason’s, he knew, but admitting so was so hard…), but they had finally, finally came back together. All his children, sitting around the dinning table at the manor, throwing food at each other behind Alfred’s back, Dick failing to give Jason a noogie, Tim succeeding in elbowing his way past both of them to claim first picks over the brownies, Damian rolling his eyes while sneakily drawing in his notebook what B suspected was a portrait of the three of them, Cass and Steph laughing at their antics… His heart felt like it could give out.

Again, his mind was anywhere but in… that. Already used to the dirty looks aimed at Nighting, he focused his anger into strength behind every punch, taking care to kick specially hard when aiming at the criminal’s genitals as light punishment for the lust they aimed at his oldest, but not longer trying to essentially castrate them.

He had the hang of it, and it was just one child. He could do damage control with one, it wasn’t that hard. Stephanie wasn’t really his, just under his protection as a mentor, and even then, she was mostly Barbara’s; Cass could and would take care of anyone who dared look at her in a way she didn’t like, so she was also good. Seventeen year old Tim and thirteen year old Damian were babies, so they wouldn't be an issue for a long, long time.

And then. And then, Steph had opened her mouth.

-Why can’t Tim do this? -she had whined, raising the heels to eye level and studying them with profound distaste- I hate fighting on these. He’s much better than me at that anyway, and he makes a hotter chick than I when he goes full out on his undercover gig.

Red Robin, who was walking past her on his way to the training mats, high fived her.

Barbara’s voice came from the Batcomputer, Oracle’s voice filter not needed while they still were on the Cave.

-Because he and Jason can’t act like a couple for more than two hours before one of them breaks into hives or laughter, and this is an all night long gig.

-Then why can’t Tim and Dick go? You just need a girl as pretty arm candy distaction, the guy is the one who’s gonna do the work, and Nightwing can take care of a few drug dealers himself.

-While Dick is certainly pretty enough to gain permission to enter this very private party -the man, stretching with Tim, stopped mid motion to give the computer finger guns. Barbara coughed to cover a laugh and kept going-, the goal is for him to be invited into the boss’s personal office, and we can only do that if he’s interested in what he sees. From what Tim gathered for me on his last recon, he favours… Jason’s body types more than Dick’s.

Bruce, who was just getting out of the locker room, suit fully in place except from the cowl, raised an eyebrow at that, stopping to analyze his second oldest. Tilting his head, and still as confused, he asked what would undoubtedly bring him an unhealthy amount of regret in the very near future.

-What does that mean? Jason’s...body type? You mean tall? Dick is also pretty tall.

There was total silence in the cave for a few moments. Dick and Tim got up from their positions, shared a look, and made a run for the showers, claiming they were ready for patrol (they weren’t, not warmed up enough, but he had other things to focus on now). Damian, already fully suited, tutted and dragged the hood of his cape over his face, almost completely covering it. Cass looked on impassively, and Stephanie seemed to be getting a worryingly amount of glee from whatever this was.

Jason himself was… blushing? What?

-Who’s gonna tell him? -finally asked Barbara, amusement breaking her professional facade.

-Oh, me, me! Let me do this!

Apparently still a naive man, he nodded at the blonde, ready for someone to clear this up for him.

He was regaled with a half an hour long rant about biceps, pecs, and thighs that could compete against tree trunks and win. It was supported by apparent citations from different criminals that ranged from appreciative to full on scandalous.

In the end, everyone left the cave, Batgirl with a notorious spring on her step, and Bruce had to stay home instead of going out, needing the night to fully process about his second son, almost twenty one but twelve in his mind’s eye, apparently featuring in multiple Arkham calendars.

He came out of that realization a scarred man, to say the least.

-----.-----

It was barely a few months after his traumatic chat with Stephanie when it happened again. He’d like to say he was ready for this.

He wasn’t.

When Conner Kent found him, he was completely focused on his WE’s work. For once on the office, with the TV providing some white noise in the background, he was fully prepared for a day catching up. He couldn’t keep letting Tim take over most of the work, the kid deserved to have a normal (or as normal as any of them could achieve) teenage life.

He was of course notified the moment the meta breached the city’s limits, but figured he was here on Titan’s business or hanging out with Tim. The light knock on his office window was a big surprise.

-This is unexpected, Conner. What can I do for you? -he greeted after letting him in- Tim isn’t here today, he’s giving a press conference.

-Yeah, I know. I’m actually here for you. We, the team, heard from Tim you’re making the blueprints for his next suit.

This conversation was already going in a very confusing way. Why did they care about Tim’s gear?

-Yes?

-Well, you need to double check with us before you show anything to him -something akin to indignant surprise must have shown in his face, because the meta quickly raised both hands-. We don’t mean that as you needing our approval, of course you’d know better how to keep a non-meta well protected. We know jackshit about kevlar and armor. But it’s the… style, that has us worried.

He let the anger bleed out of him, replaced with puzzlement.

-What do you mean?

Conner looked down, as if gathering strength, then up and straight into Bruce’s eyes, a feat very few younger heroes could achieve. This was serious.

-Tim isn’t big like Jason, or as… stretchy as Dick, but he has… very, very attractive features. I won’t go into detail with you about how thin his waist is, how shapely his legs or cute his ass. That’s not something I need to say or you to hear.

Yes, it definitely wasn’t. Bruce was having an inkling as to where this was headed, and he didn’t like it. Tim was a baby! Barely eighteen and so damn small!

-But I do need to tell you, his ugly ass suits have been good at keeping that all on the downlow. We made fun of him for them, sure, but never encouraged him to change, because we know what will happen if he does. It would be awful. You think Nightwing and Red Hood have it rough? Tim has Ra’s Al Ghul’s undivided attention and appreciation. If we add attraction to it? Mayhem. Absolute mayhem. We can barely keep him from being kidnapped by older, nasty villains as it is. We don’t need the extra work, sir. I’m begging you on behalf of the team, don’t let him get anything that would look good on him. Like that Untranet suit he told me about, for example. That one would be so bad. Or the Red Robin one with tighter pants and a domino under the cowl so he can take it out and flash the world his luscious hair.

Bruce fell back into his desk chair. Elbows resting on the table, he buried his face into his hands.

A long silence filled the room.

-You already approved and made one of those, right?

A small, shaky nod.

-...The Ultranet one?

A firm shake.

-Fuck me. The Red Robin with tighter pants and domino?

Another nod. Conner sat abruptly on the empty chair in the other side of the desk, like a puppet with its strings cut.

-Well, fuck.

Fuck indeed.

Bruce despaired.

----.----

This time, he would be ready. He swore it on his honor, on his oath, on his parents.

So when Damian turned sixteen, growth spurt kicking in (he towed over Tim, and it wouldn’t be long until he left Dick in the dust as well), he made a thought but necessary call.

He phoned Talia.

-We need to talk. About Damian, and… sex appeal.

Her shock was evident even through the phone.

-Excuse me? My son is a child. He has no such thing.

He closed his eyes. Once, a long time ago, he’d been just as naive. Now he knew better.

It was a hard lesson to learn, but she needed to. And quickly. Damian was growing faster than his other children. Time was of essence.

-Let me tell you what I wish I knew years ago, when Dick decided to change his Nightwing suit.

She was probably going to hate him for opening her eyes like this, but Bruce just couldn't do this alone.

He could deal with Talia’s hate, but criminals lusting after his baby son? Hell no. He might actually go rouge.

#my writting #I have no excuse #no edit #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #Cassandra Cain Wayne #Stephanie Brown #selina kyle #barbara gordon #Alfred Pennyworth #conner kent #kon el kent #batfamily

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

Death Do We Part (Part 15)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 2,700+

You rest your head on your knees as you look at Tim. Your lips tremble as you watch him struggle with his thoughts.

He stares at his hands with narrowed eyes before you hear his broken voice.

“... I don’t know if I want to be Robin anymore.”

The morning dragged on agonizingly slow with Tim hiding in your room, Bruce nursing a drink in the kitchen, and Alfred sitting beside him. But when Bruce’s phone rang and the hospital told him that his son, Richard Grayson, was just admitted into Gotham General, everything sped past like a blur.

The city traffic buzzing through the car’s window. The loud reporters hounding you at the entrance. The doctor’s mouth moving in silence as he reads from a chart, explaining Dick’s condition. You were only picking up words like critical and surgery.

The first thing you became conscious of was Alfred’s hand on your shoulder. “Y/N. He’s going to be okay.” You didn’t even notice your tears until he was wiping them away.

It’s past midnight in the hospital room. Tim is sleeping on the couch. Alfred is in an extra bed. Bruce had just stepped out for coffee. And you’re still awake, curling up in the armchair closest to Dick. You’re holding his hand and looking at the fringes of his hair lying on his forehead. Slowly you loosen your grip to brush them back, but Dick’s fingers curl around yours.

You’re too busy staring at his hand when he opens his eyes.

“Hi…”

You cover your mouth to trap the sob that’s lodged in your throat. “Dick--”

He smiles. “H-hey hey. I’m okay.” He sounds exhausted but he still tries to laugh. “It’s just-- what? Like broken ribs again?”

You frown at him, “One punctured your spleen, Dick. They had to stitch it up during surgery.”

Dick chuckles, “Another one? Man. I swear I get one every other month. I probably passed out on Jason.”

“You were with Jason?” your voice hitched a little but you lower it right away and check on Alfred and Tim.

“Oh yeah… we had a nice little chat…” Dick’s looking at you now while frowning. “So… you’re leaving.”

You pause and then look down when you answer, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Jason since yesterday morning.”

Dick raises one eyebrow and teases you, “The morning after?”

“Shut up,” you snap at him in a whisper, making him snicker quietly. You blush but you can’t help give a small laugh as well.

Dick smiles at you.

“He told me you were leaving and I was hoping to charm the two of you into staying.” He gives you a look, one that’s both sad and disappointed. “But I don’t really think that’s an option, huh.”

Dick squeezes your hand and your voice is a lot softer when you answer, “He killed the Joker, Dick. In front of Bruce.”

“Yeah. He told me.”

“And you almost died, too.”

Dick laughs, “Ye of little faith in me, Y/N. I had those guys--”

“But the bomb. That one was real--”

Dick shushes you. “Jason’s friends got me off the bridge before it went off. Guess you guys were too busy watching Jay and Bruce’s fight.”

Dick slumps back against the pillows and stares at the point where the ceiling and the wall meet. “I hate to say it but Jason thought of everything.”

Tim grumbles in his sleep and you both turn to him. Once the rise and fall of his chest becomes even, Dick speaks again.

“This must be hard on Tim, huh?”

Tim has been tossing and turning in his sleep. When he was in your room, he checked on his wound and was surprised to find that Jason had changed his bandages when he was unconscious.

You watched Tim’s surprised look slowly morph into one of anguish. He didn’t know how to believe that Jason and the Red Hood were one and the same. Or is he just a persona Jason created to do what he can’t do. To protect the hard truths he wanted Bruce to realize.

You close your eyes and slowly climb into the bed next to Dick. He makes room for you and you carefully curl up next to him.

“He told me he didn’t want to be Robin anymore,” you whisper.

Dick pats your head and hums to himself.

“If I was Jason and Tim-- I was them. I was Robin and I always thought… I always saw Bruce as more than just Batman. He was my dad and my friend. He was my protector.”

When Dick’s hand stops moving, you wrap your arms across his chest and hug him tightly. You can feel the even breaths he’s trying to maintain but failing.

“But after what Jason did--” you can hear him clenching his teeth as he speaks, “After realizing that Bruce will always be Batman--to everyone-- more than anything else in the world… it shatters something in you, like you’re not special...”

Before your life turned into this living tragedy, you always thought Batman was just a myth. You’ve seen him sure, leaping and gliding over rooftops from your window and from the streets, but you always knew he was just a man playing pretend. Maybe a police officer finally fed up with the red tapes and the joke that is the Gotham justice system.

You always thought Batman was just another Gothamite who just got sick of being battered and bruised.

“It doesn’t mean I agree with Jason, though.” Dick’s voice is a little lower. He’s giving you a long look with the same sad and disappointed expression. “His heart’s in the right place but Y/N, he’s the one who doesn’t understand.

“When Bruce first brought me in, my parents were murdered by this guy-- Tony Zucco-- just a typical low life mobster in Gotham you know-- no one like the Joker. But when I became Robin, Bruce’s greatest concern was whether I would seek vengeance against that guy.”

Dick’s gaze strays away from you. He’s looking somewhere past his feet, seeing something that’s not there.

“I had him, Y/N. I tied him up and suspended him over a ten-story building, half hoping he would die, or break every bone in his body from that height and live out the rest of his days as a vegetable.

“Then Batman came out of the shadows. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t talk to me-- he just put his hand on my shoulder the whole time, while I stood there and held this man’s lifeline in my hands.”

Dick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath but he doesn’t open them again. The skin at the corner of his eyes crease and there are folds in his brows. When he speaks again, it’s rushed and he sounds exhausted.

“In the end, I couldn’t do it. I dropped him from the third floor. He broke a few bones and that was it. It didn’t make me feel better. Killing him wouldn’t have brought my parents back-- it also wouldn’t prevent another family from ever being murdered…

“Jason thinks he can get rid of evil in the world by killing criminals but he can’t. Because everyone is nursing evil inside of them-- I have something evil inside me.”

Dick’s lips are quivering when he opens his eyes again.

“Batman is the only one that doesn’t because all he wants to do is protect... everyone.”

Bruce has heard enough. He’s been standing outside the hospital room with his hand on the handle when Dick started talking about avenging his parents. Desperately, he wants to go in there and join you and Dick. But the writing on your arm pushes him to visit the rooftop instead.

He steps out to meet Gotham’s foggy air and reaches the end of the ledge when he calls out, “Worried about Dick?” He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t hear Jason’s footsteps approaching him from the shadows, but he knows he’s there. “You should be. He’s here because of you.”

Jason stops abruptly and clenches his fist. “Wrong. He’s hurt because of your self-righteous courtesy toward the psychotic filth of Gotham.”

Bruce turns around. Jason doesn’t have his helmet or his mask. He’s wearing a black trench coat but Bruce can still see the Red Hood symbol peeking from his chest. Bruce lifts one corner of his lips. “How does it feel?”

To Jason it looks like a smirk on its ways to becoming a snarl. Any semblance of a smile on Bruce is unsettling.

Bruce faces him fully with his hands in his pants pockets. “Now that you’ve killed half of the inmates in Arkham, how does it make you feel?” He watches Jason and lowers his brows and his mouth turns into a straight line. “Like it’s not enough. Right? Like there’s still a few more loose ends-- and you just have to be sure.

“I know you went after Penguin and Dent after the club last night. I also know you’re still after Harley.” Bruce eyes his clothes.

Jason tips his head to the side and replies to Bruce with a small smile.

Bruce tries to control the urge to arrest Jason then and there. He tries to stop being Batman for just one second before he loses his son for good. He takes in a breath and releases it like a sigh. He takes out his hands to gesture to Jason.

“If I could give you one last piece of advice. As a father. As a friend. Ask yourself if this is the type of person you want Y/N’s soulmate to be. Do you want her to be with a murderer?”

Jason didn’t expect that. He was ready to have another go at Bruce, maybe their last showdown before he leaves town, but now he just feels insulted.

“Fuck you, Bruce. I just want her safe-- To do a better job than you did for me. Be better than you.”

Bruce shakes his head. “You can do that without taking another person’s life, Jason. Killing people will only put your lives in more danger.” He points to Jason’s chest. “And you-- the Red Hood-- are a testament to that.”

Jason looks down, the crimson symbol on his chest peeking at him from his loose coat. The Red Hood is supposed to be just a means to an end. A myth strong enough to withstand the Bat’s. A new player to hook in the Arkham villains. Not someone who’ll join their ranks.

Jason looks back to glare at Bruce.

“I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

The pause Jason gave didn’t go unnoticed to Bruce.

“I assume you’re here to see Y/N,” Bruce replies. “She’s talking to Dick. She hasn’t noticed your message yet.”

Bruce walks up to Jason and sizes him up. Jason watches as his demeanor changes. Bruce stands taller, his shoulders seem to go wider. Jason doesn’t need to see the cape to know who’s standing in front of him now.

“Leave Gotham before sunrise.”

Jason can see himself reflected in Batman’s eyes. He suddenly looks like a child. The kid sleeping on the streets of Gotham. Scavenging in the garbage just to get by. Stealing to survive.

Bruce sees his own reflection in Jason’s and it terrifies him. He relaxes his shoulders and leaves his eyes half-lidded. Slowly, he lifts his hand and places it on Jason’s shoulder.

“Take care of each other, son.”

Bruce takes back his hand and starts walking to the door but Jason slaps something against his chest. Bruce looks down and sees that it’s an envelope. He looks back at Jason but he’s looking away from him.

“Give it to Alfred… please.”

Bruce smiles. He gives Jason a small nod before he takes the letter and leaves the hospital rooftop.

When Jason hears the doors close shut behind him, he lets the panic settle in. He first feels its claws scratching at his throat on its way up to his mouth, prying it open, making him gasp for air. Jason jumps when the door slams open.

You see your soulmate standing on the rooftop.

“Jason?”

You run to him and wrap your arms around his shoulder, as far as you can reach. He bends down and you hold him tighter. “You’re okay!” you exclaim against his coat. “I passed Bruce on the way here and I thought--”

“Y/N.”

Jason’s voice is shaky. You pull away to take a look at him but he holds you tight against him. You feel it now, the way his lungs are expanding rapidly and his heart is beating hard against his chest. He’s gripping your clothes as he pulls your body closer to him, afraid to let go. Afraid you’ll let go.

“I want to stay…”

The Joker had killed him and it killed you. The League had planned on using you against Jason. Scarecrow poisoned you. But now they’re gone. Dead. The Joker. Scarecrow. Black Mask. Bane. Croc. Clayface. Penguin and Dent.

Jason killed them all.

“You told me to find a better life. Away from all of this, remember? And I wanted that.” Jason hides his face on your shoulder and you can feel his tears seeping through your shirt. “I wanted that for both of us. But how could I do that if we have so many enemies? How could I do that if they can come after us at any second?”

Battered and bruised.

Dick’s wrong. Jason doesn’t have evil inside of him. None of them do. Everyone is just broken. Cracked under the pressure of the city’s heavy fog and manipulated into playing a never ending game of survival.

You glare at the horizon of the drab cityscape. Yellow lights left on all night. Sirens blaring at every corner. Sewer stench wafting toward the roofs. If Gotham hasn’t broken you yet, it will tomorrow.

You hold on to Jason tightly.

“It’s okay, Jason. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not, Y/N. We can’t stay-- I can’t stay.”

“I know…”

You rub Jason’s back to soothe him.

“It’s not just the Joker,” you whisper. “Gotham did this to us. It’s taken something beautiful from us-- our link-- and used it to abuse us. It tore us apart and made us forget who we are.

“We can’t stay here. We need to leave Gotham not because we’re not welcome. But because we need to heal, Jason.”

Slowly, you pull away from Jason to take off his coat. He watches as you unzip his kevlar vest and lets you take it off of him.

You stare at the symbol in your hands and silently thank it. Then you drop it on the floor. Jason is too stunned to stop you when you reach for one of his guns inside his coat. You fire two shots into the vest.

This is something you feel you need to do. Jason got to kill the Joker, the phantom menace that has haunted your dreams and waking moments. You only get this. The barrel is still smoking when you return it to him.

You pick up the vest and walk to the ledge of the roof. You pull back to gather as much momentum as you can and throw the vest out and down into the busy streets. You watch the Red Hood fall to its death until you can’t see it anymore.

Jason holds your hand and you turn to face him. He watches the look on your face, determined and unmoving. As if you hold all the cards and you know exactly where to go. He’s never seen such an expression on you.

He squeezes your hand

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Y/N.”

Just before the sun rises over, you’re already on a bus heading West, far enough away that even Wayne tower’s shadow can’t reach you. You pat the bag on your lap that has some clothes and your new identities.

As the bus crosses the bridge, Jason is watching the subtle pink and orange light peeking over the ocean that meets Gotham harbor. It’s a rare sight and one you’ll both miss. He turns to you.

“Hey,” Jason calls. “Look at your arm.” He takes out a pen. You watch as Jason writes on his arm and finally finishes his last words to you.

I love you.

END.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #jason todd #red hood #superhero soulmate au #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd x reader #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood fanfiction #Red Hood x reader #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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bearly-writing · 4 years

Note

So that gunshot wound fic you wrote was AMAZING. While savoring every word, I was thinking that I’d really love to also read something with older, Red Hood era Jay being protective of Dick. So, if you don’t mind, could I request the Burns square for Dick with Jay??

Thank you very much for such a lovely compliment! I am so sorry that this is taken SO long to write! I hope that it’s at least slightly what you were looking for and that you enjoy it :)

All of my prompts have now been requested! Thank you everyone who’s requested something - I know I’m getting through these painfully slowly, but I promise I am getting through them! :)

Under The Skin

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: Burns

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Violence, Blood and Injury, Gun Violence, Gore, Burns, Acid burns, Torture, Permanent injury, Career-ending injuries

Summary: This is exactly what Jason means about Gotham’s villains. Two-Face can’t just shoot Dick, or beat him, or, hell, mutilate him a little. It has to be a fucking performance. It has to be totally goddamn insane.

Read it on AO3 here!

There will be a second part to this. I’ll add the link in here once it’s been posted!

The problem with Gotham, Jason thinks bitterly, is that everyone has a fucking gimmick. No one seems capable of doing anything in this city without putting on a goofy outfit first: Freeze, Catwoman, the Riddler, the Joker – fucking Batman can’t fight crime without his fur suit. It wears thin after a while. Jason is tired of the overwrought jokes and the overly-contrived crimes. What happened to the good old-fashioned thugs? What happened to a classic get-your-hands-dirty beating? Jason would take that over Batman’s rogue gallery any day. He would take a punch to the face over sitting here listening to Two-Face rattle on about chance and probability and rolling that fucked up coin between his fingers in a heartbeat.

“I’m a fair man,” Dent is saying, the coin flashing beneath the glare of the bare bulb above them: warehouse-torture-room aesthetic at its finest.

Jason snorts and Dick throws him a look that’s almost physical. It’s easy to ignore, though – Jason’s had plenty of practice.

“If you want it to be fair, then untie us and fight us properly.”

That earns him a cold look, but not much else. One day that sort of goading will work – until then Jason will have to make do with tugging fruitlessly at the cuffs binding his hands behind him again and snarling.

“I’m a fair man,” Dent repeats. He smiles with the side of his face that isn’t mangled flesh and exposed bone. “You’ve both been poking around where you shouldn’t be. I should kill you for that, but I want to give you a chance.”

Flash, flash, flash, goes the coin. Watching it makes Jason feel dizzy and he has to shut his eyes to stop the room from spinning, has to tighten his throat against the anxiety that’s slowly expanding in his stomach. A 50-50 chance. That’s Two-Face’s shtick. Not the most inventive gimmick in the world, but with a face like his, Jason supposes there aren’t many other options. Except not becoming a homicidal maniac, of course, but then, Jason doesn’t have much room to judge on that count.

Footsteps, loud against the concrete floor. A shadow falls across Jason. When his eyes snap open, almost automatically, Two-Face is standing over him, leering down at him. Jason tries to jerk away but there’s not much space to put between them whilst he’s tied to a chair.

Two-Face grins. Scarred fingers grip Jason’s chin, tilting his head up. “You first, I think.”

Flash, flash, flash.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason can see Dick’s face, pale and tense, attention focused like a laser-point to the press of fingers against Jason’s skin.

“Red Hood doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Dick snaps, because he’s too stupid and self-sacrificing to not draw attention to himself. “If you really want to be fair, you’ll let him go.”

Because that has always worked for them.

Two-Face ignores him, of course.

“This side –“ The coin stops spinning. Two-Face holds it up between his fingers, the smooth side facing out. “- and you get to go unscathed. This side –“ A twist, then it’s the scarred side facing them. “- and I leave you with a little reminder of exactly why you should stay away.”

Jason rolls his eyes. Which came first, he wonders? Is it Batman’s fault that all of the villains in Gotham are like this? Or is Batman a product of whatever chemical is clearly floating around in the air too? He wishes Two-Face would let go of him. Wishes that he and Dick hadn’t crashed the villain’s party in the first place.

“Get on with it,” he snarls, because he can’t figure out how to get out of his bonds with Two-Face standing so close, and he’s been sitting in this chair for long enough that his ass has gone numb.

The coin flips up into the air and Jason tightens his gut to prevent his stomach from doing the same. It lands in the palm of Dent’s hand with a soft thud. The villain glances at it, and Jason struggles to read his face, but it’s difficult to parse an expression from the mess of scars. Then the coin is extended towards him. Shiny side up. Jason breathes a soft sigh of relief. Beside him, Dick strains in his own bonds, trying to get a look at Jason’s fate.

“Lucky,” Two-Face murmurs, but he’s smiling that creepy half-smile. Jason can’t tell if he’s angry or not. At least he lets go of Jason’s face, finally, if only to stalk across the warehouse towards Dick. “Your turn.”

“Let Red Hood go first – that was your bargain.”

“No,” Jason snaps, because he’s tired of feeling so out of control here and he’s tired of Dick throwing himself on the fire every fucking chance he gets. Jason doesn’t need anyone to coddle him, and he definitely doesn’t need Dick martyring himself for his sake – if only because the others would never forgive him for letting golden boy get hurt when Jason’s here to take the punishment instead. “Take that as Nightwing’s toss and do mine again. Or better yet, let us go and fight us properly.”

Two-Face just shakes his head, still smiling. The effect is unnerving – that bright flash of teeth that shouldn’t be visible even in the widest grin.

“Cute.” He stops in front of Dick’s chair. The vigilante glares up at him with a surprising amount of venom. “You both get your own chance with fate. Then you can both go free when I say you can go free.”

There’s another flash. The soft thud of metal against flesh. Jason can’t help straining forward, even as he works desperately at the cuffs around his wrists whilst Two-Face is distracted. The metal is digging painfully into his flesh, scraping the skin raw. Something warm trickles over his hands – blood probably, but Jason doesn’t have time to care about that. If he can just get the leverage he needs to break his thumb…

“Oh dear.”

One hand stretches out towards Dick. For a long moment, Dick just stares into Dent’s face, gaze locked resolutely on his. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he looks down. Dick recoils. It’s not hard to guess which side came up.

Shit.

Shit, this is bad.

“You cheated,” Jason manages, voice a low, gruff growl. It makes him sound uncomfortably like the Batman, he knows, but he can’t soften his voice when his anxiety is crawling up his throat and choking him. “You fucking cheated.”

Two-Face is on him before Jason even registers the movement. An arm slams hard into Jason’s throat, jerking his head up and rocking him backwards. Pain spears from the point of impact, racing down his spine, setting alarms blaring through Jason’s head. He tries to gasp a startled breath but he can’t suck any air past the press of Harvey’s arm. Pain and pressure lock his throat tight.

“Say that to my fucking face,” Two-Face snarls, inches from Jason’s nose.

Jason struggles. Gasps. The chair is tilted back dangerously, threatening to spill him onto the floor at any moment, but Jason can’t pull himself upright with Two-Face holding him down. Can’t drag in enough air to get the words out.

“Hey! Red Hood goes free. That’s what the coin said. You can’t touch him. Hey!”

Even through the fog of panic, Jason can hear the fear in Dick’s voice. It sends his heart rocketing against his chest. Has his pulse throbbing beneath Two-Face’s arm.

For a long moment, the villain doesn’t move. Then, finally, he pulls away. Jason rocks forward at the release of pressure, gasping in a solid breath of stale, dusty air. Instinctively, he tries to reach for his throat, but the cuffs hold him just as helpless as Two-Face had.

“You’re right,” Two-Face says, calmly, smoothing down his suit, as if he hadn’t just launched himself across the room to strangle Jason. As if he isn’t holding them captive in a sketchy warehouse, threatening them, hurting them. “The coin has decided you go free, Hood. But don’t test me. I can always flip again.”

Jason’s throat is still too tight to manage a scathing reply. He settles for baring his teeth, glaring as darkly as he can manage. Two-Face seems entirely unconcerned, turning away from him to focus his attention back on Dick.

“You’re not so lucky, huh?”

One hand braces against the back of Dick’s chair as Two-Face leans down until he’s right in the vigilante’s face. Dick doesn’t react, just stares back evenly. It’s hard to tell if the confidence is fake or not. Jason knows that Two-Face scares his brother. Knows that Dick still has nightmares, sometimes, from when the villain had beaten him senseless with a baseball bat well before Jason’s ill-fated turn as Robin. Jason understands that.

“Cat got your tongue?” Two-Face smirks.

Scarred fingers twist through Dick’s hair and jerk his head back, forcing his neck into a painful-looking arch. Dick snarls, teeth flashing, the muscles of his arms bunching as if he’s tugging on his restraints. From where he’s sitting, Jason can only see half of his face. Something cold and frightened blooms in Jason’s chest, an awful paranoia born of Two-Face’s proximity, Two-Face’s threats.

“Don’t touch him,” Jason snarls, and Dick’s head jerks, as if he wants to look over despite the hand in his hair holding him still.

Two-Face straightens but he doesn’t let go.

“Stop me,” he says, mildly. “If you can.”

Jason yanks harder on his restraints, feels the skin split beneath unforgiving metal. Snarls. There’s no more give than there was before. As hard as he struggles, he isn’t getting out of these cuffs.

A smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

***

This is exactly what Jason means about Gotham’s villains. Two-Face can’t just shoot Dick, or beat him, or, hell, mutilate him a little. It has to be a fucking performance. It has to be totally goddamn insane.

“This is a joke right?”

Jason tugs harder on the cuffs. It won’t get him anywhere, but it makes him feel a little better and it’s the only thing he can do with Two-Face standing behind him, scarred hand resting heavy on Jason’s shoulder.

He isn’t in the chair anymore, although they haven’t untied his hands. Instead, he’s kneeling on the ground, cold concrete leaching the heat from his knees. There are about fifteen of Two-Face’s men milling about, waiting for the entertainment, and Jason had been stripped of his helmet and most of his gear before he’d been strapped into the chair, but he thinks he could still make a good go of it, if he could just get his hands free. Or even without his hands, if Two-Face wasn’t holding a gun, resting it casually against the back of Jason’s head.

Dick won’t be much help either, and Jason isn’t sure he can take on sixteen people on his own. His brother is more securely bound, ropes wrapping tight across his chest, winding around his arms and cinching his legs together, tethering his ankles to his bound hands to render them immobile. Oh, and he’s also dangling in the air above a wooden platform covering what Jason strongly suspects is a vat of goddamn acid.

Honestly, Gotham. Sometimes Jason feels as though he’s fallen down the fucking rabbit-hole.

“I don’t joke,” Dent says from above him, voice mild, as if he’s commenting on the weather rather than someone dangling over a vat of acid. “I do like to keep to a theme though.”

A theme. Fucking hell.

“You would think you’d stay away from acid,” Jason says, nastily. “Don’t want to fuck up the rest of your face too.”

Two-Face doesn’t rise to the bait. Jason wonders if the theatrics are just for them, or if he’s always like this. There certainly hadn’t seemed to be any themes involved when Two-Face had shot Jason’s good-for-nothing dad dead. Just a short fuse and a gun.

But then, a thug is a thug – maybe caped crusaders require more pizzazz.

“He’s obviously jealous of my good looks,” Dick interjects, surprisingly calm for someone who’s good looks are in imminent danger.

Jason sneers – his skin feels too tight to manage any other expression, pulled taught across the bones of his face. “Well, you could always scar the other side Harv – if you’re looking for a way to improve that mug of yours.”

The gun presses hard into Jason’s skull, rocking his head forward until his neck aches, chin pressed into his chest, staring down at his own lap. It’s an uncomfortably vulnerable position.

“Shut up,” Two-Face orders, voice still mild. There’s no hint of the snarl from earlier, although Jason feels the phantom press of an arm against his throat all the same.

Jason kind of wishes he would lose his temper – Jason can work with anger, particularly if it’s aimed at him. Anger makes most people sloppy. Makes them react without thinking. All Jason needs is the opportunity. But Two-Face has pulled cool and collected Harvey Dent to the surface like a flip of the scarred coin that had doomed Dick earlier.

“My boys have been promised entertainment. The coin has decreed a punishment. Nightwing is taking a little dip and you’re going to sit here and watch it. Isn’t that right boys?”

There’s a ragged cheer. The pressure against Jason’s head lessens. For a moment he doesn’t look up, just keeps his eyes fixed on his legs, feels his heart punching against the curve of his neck. If he can’t see it, maybe it won’t happen. Maybe this is all in his head.

Except, when he finally lifts his head it’s all still there: Dick’s still dangling from that fucking rope like a rat caught in a trap; the vat of acid is still sitting underneath him; the goons are still milling around, watching Dick with hungry eyes. The gun is still hovering close behind Jason’s head.

There’s a flash of light at the edge of Jason’s vision. That stupid coin turning over and over in Two-Face’s fingers. What Jason wouldn’t give to snatch it out of the air, toss it down a drain or bury it under the earth, or maybe throw it with enough force to bury it in Two-Face’s head.

“Take him down,” Dent says. He could be closing a case in court, listening to his voice, rather than sending an innocent man to his death.

Or maybe there’s not such a difference there after all - Jason’s never much liked lawyers.

Across the room one of Two-Face’s goons closes their fist around the lever connected to the winch system Dick is dangling from. There’s a metallic clank. A suspended moment where even the air feels still, as if not a single person in the room is breathing. Then there’s a jolt as the rope holding Nightwing in place starts to unravel, dropping Dick down towards the vat.

“Stop!” Jason snarls.

Panic shreds his voice to something rough and painful. He strains against his bonds, against Two-Face’s looming presence, against the fact that this is happening. A heavy hand layers over his shoulder, pressing him down as he tries to struggle to his feet. Dick drops steadily downwards.

“It’s fine, Hood. I’m fine.”

Because Nightwing is a martyr to the end. Because even as he’s being lowered to his death, he can’t keep his mouth shut, can’t let a moment go by without nobly sacrificing his own wellbeing.

“Shut up,” Jason snaps.

Behind him, Two-Face chuckles, a low, awful sound. If Jason can just get out from underneath him. If he can slip his cuffs and get across the room and pull that fucking lever back up.

“Don’t do this, Dent. You bastard. Let him go.”

As if begging has ever helped anyone. Two-Face ignores him. He’s breathing heavily, fingers pressing savagely into Jason’s shoulder without the protection of his leather jacket between them. Around them, Two-Face’s men jeer and laugh as Dick inches ever closer to the acid beneath him.

His brother’s face is tight with fear now, that strange calmness completely gone, eyes huge and dark. He’s struggling, trying to gather enough momentum to swing himself out of the path of danger, but he’s bound too tightly to have much success. By now, his knees are almost touching the surface. Dick tries to pull them up, to curl them safely against his chest, but the rope between his wrists and ankles pulls taut, holding him in place.

A hollow, frightened sort of hope carves out a space behind Jason’s ribs. It’s the same sensation he had felt, through the agony of his broken bones, his ruptured organs, as he had leaned against the locked warehouse door, waiting for his father to rescue him. It’s stupid. It’s childish. Jason, of all people, should know that you can’t rely on a last-minute rescue, knows that even Batman can be too late. If they’re going to get out of here, Jason can’t rely on the bat. The only person he can rely on is himself.

“Wait,” Dick shouts. The whites of his eyes are bright against his dark skin. “Stop, please! Don’t-“

Batman isn’t going to make it. Jason isn’t even sure if Batman knows they’re here. It’s down to him. No one else is going to save them.

There’s a sharp crack as Jason’s thumb gives way. To Jason, it might as well be loud as a gunshot, but it’s mostly lost beneath the jeers of Two-Face’s men and Dick’s terrified shouts. Jason’s heart is punching so strongly against his throat that it feels a little like it might leap right out of him. He can feel the frantic throb of his pulse in his wrist. There should be pain, Jason thinks, numbly, as he slides his damaged hand out of the cuff, but instead there’s only adrenaline, bunching every muscle in his body, setting his heart ricocheting against his chest.

Two-Face isn’t looking at Jason. Instead, he’s focussed on Dick, exposed teeth and eye gleaming in the harsh light. Jason doesn’t spare any time following his gaze, or hesitating, or waiting for a better opportunity. He acts. Sweeps one leg out to catch Two-Face by the ankles. Rocks him back. Surges up to catch his flailing wrist. The arm in Jason’s grip gives with a satisfying snap beneath the pressure of his elbow and Two-Face howls. Jason lifts one leg and plants his foot solidly against the villain’s chest. The kick sends Two-Face flying, crashing to a groaning, hurting heap against the far wall.

In a matter of seconds, Jason’s arms are free, Two-Face is across the room, and Jason has a gun in his hands. When he spins to face the rest of the room, Two-Face’s men are staring stupidly, attention drawn by the sound of their leader’s scream, but no one has reached for their weapons. No one is prepared for Jason hefting the gun in his hands and opening fire.

There’s green crowding close at the edge of Jason’s vision. A wavering, blurry quality, as if Jason is under water. As if he’s back in the Lazarus pit, drowning in toxic green, water in his mouth, his nose, his throat, pressing in against his eyes. There’s a roaring in his ears, a swelling wave of noise crashing against him. And underneath that, the sharp rapport of gunfire – his and the thugs who haven’t yet been dropped like flies.

“Hood!”

The cry cuts through the strange, tinnitus-ring in Jason’s ears, the green-tinged fog in his head. He blinks. The voice is frightened. Someone’s in danger. There was something Jason was supposed to do.

Then Dick screams and Jason slams back into his body with a jolt like an electric shock.

The lever. Jason needs to get to the fucking lever, now.

Jason isn’t sure if he’s ever moved as fast as he does now, launching himself across the room. He gets a flash of a white, terrified face - the thug’s mouth dark and wide as Jason barrels towards him - before they collide with a force that knocks the breath out of him.

That terrible, agonised scream cleaves the air in two. Jason fumbles. His hands are slick with sweat and blood. They slide hopelessly against the rusty metal of the lever.

Beneath him, the thug struggles for his gun. Jason smashes his fist into his face. Ignores his gurgling cry - barely hears it under the siren-pitch sound of Dick’s pain. Reaches. There’s metal under his hands and something gives and somewhere in the distance Jason hears the rattle of mechanical movement and please, please let that be Dick being pulled free.

The thug is limp beneath him. Jason pushes himself upright in a sort of daze, feeling both very far away from his body and yet strangely present at the same time. The world seems to spin around him. Some of Two-Face’s men are still standing, but no one is firing at him. Most of them are on the floor, lying groaning in pools of blood, or clutching wounds, or crouching in fear.

Above them, Dick is writhing on the end of his rope like a worm on a hook. The black material of his suit is dark around his knees. Liquid drips off of his legs in a slowing stream, splattering across the wood and concrete as he jerks and twists in his restraints. The scream has tapered into a high, choking keen. It’s...it’s a noise unlike anything Jason’s heard before. It pours icy water down his spine, tightens his skin until he feels claustrophobic in his own body, twists cold fingers through his gut.

Dick was dunked - that much is obvious. Dick is hurt. That’s acid clinging to the weave of his suit. Acid darkening his legs. For a long moment, Jason feels paralysed by the realisation. Dick is hurt, Dick is injured, and Jason doesn’t know what to do.

Get him down. That’s the first thing. Jason needs to get him safely on the floor and away from that goddamn vat. He moves almost without meaning to, as if his brain is trailing behind his body, still caught up a few seconds ago. One of the goons, startled by Jason’s sudden movement, fires off a shot. It goes wide, splinters the wall somewhere behind him. Jason doesn’t turn to look. He doesn’t care. If the bullet had ripped through his shoulder, he’s not sure if he would even have noticed.

The gun in his hands comes up automatically to return fire, but Jason doesn’t stop to aim or to check if it hit its mark. He keeps his eyes fixed on Dick. There are a set of shallow steps leading up to the platform. Jason scrambles up them. His whole focus laser-sharp on Dick, his world narrowed to the dark shape of him, the contorted twist of his legs. The rest of the room might as well not even be there. But no one fires on him.

Jason has nothing. Nothing but the gun and his own hands - his jacket, his knives, his fucking boots are all in the other room. Jason could shoot him down, but the acid is still beneath him, and if Dick falls…

But it’s not like Jason has any other choice. If he doesn’t get Dick down now, who knows what could happen. He’ll just have to catch him. He’ll haveto.

Jason launches himself at Dick a second before his gun goes off. For a breathless moment, Dick is free falling, dropping like a stone towards the acid below him. Then Jason collides with him, hard enough to knock the breath from both of them, sending them both crashing to the wooden platform.

Beneath him, Dick makes a choked, breathless sound of pain. Jason rolls off of him as quickly as he can. Fumbles with the ropes holding him tight. Doesn’t look at his legs even as he frees Dick’s arms and torso. Carefully avoids touching where the rope is damp and already falling apart.

Dick writhes. It’s hard to tell whether he’s trying to free himself, or just too caught up in the pain and fear and confusion. His eyes are wide and white, his mouth dark where it’s stretched around the awful little sounds of pain he’s emitting. When he finally frees his arms from the ropes, he reaches automatically for his legs, blindly, and Jason catches his wrists and holds them tight.

Dick’s pulse thrums like a desperate bird beneath his fingers. Jason’s own pulse is beating almost as hard, a sick, throbbing rhythm at the hollow of his throat. When Jason finally glances down at his brother’s legs, his heart almost leaps right out of his mouth.

The fabric around Dick’s knees has melted away almost entirely, leaving ragged, bald patches in Nightwing’s uniform. The skin underneath is already blistering. The flesh is raw and wrinkled, pink and wet in some places, bone white or blackened in others, as if the skin is already dead. Jason has to swallow bile at the sight of it. Feels acid burn at the base of his throat.

Water. He needs water. Needs to get the acid off Dick’s skin. He should cut the uniform off too, get the contaminated fabric away. Or should he? Would removing the fabric, practically melted onto Dick in some places, only make the wound worse? He doesn’t know. He can’t remember. Jason knows that Batman taught him this - knows that first aid for burns was one of the first things he had learned. But the fog in his head is too thick and he can’t think.

Not that there’s much Jason can actually do. There isn’t exactly a handy water source in the middle of the huge concrete warehouse and all of Jason’s gear is piled in the other room: his comm, his jacket, his gloves. Jason is scared to touch Dick’s legs. Scared to hurt him and scared to disable himself. The last thing this situation needs is Jason with acid on his hands.

All he can seem to do is clutch at his brother’s wrists and stare, helplessly. Dick’s face is white, a wet sheen of sweat glimmering in the bare orange light. His mouth is just as wet, parted around his ragged breaths. Each exhale comes out as a whimper, little helpless noises of pain.

“Hood.”

Dick’s eyes roll sightlessly. Jason can see the whites all around them. The words are pressed out between gritted teeth.

“Hurts. Fuck. Fuck. Help. Jay, it hurts.”

It trails off into a high whine. Dick jerks, all of his muscles tightening, knocking his head back against the metal floor of the walkway. It looks a little like he’s having a seizure, his entire body tight and twitching. Jason tightens the fingers around one wrist and tries to cushion his head with his other hand.

“You’re OK, N,” he babbles, feeling useless. Panic draws his stomach tight, a hard, heavy ball in his gut. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna...B will be here. He’ll come. It’s OK.”

It’s all meaningless, but Jason doesn’t know what else to do. They can’t rely on Batman, as much as Jason might want to. Batman’s only human. It’s Jason who needs to get Dick out of here. He needs to get water. Needs medical attention.

His hands flutter over Dick’s legs, his chest, too frightened to land. Dick moans, a low, rattling sound. Jason could get him under his arms, but the last thing he wants to do is drag Dick’s ruined legs across the ground.

“Who’s cheating now?”

The voice is surprisingly close. Jason hadn’t heard Two-Face get up. Had missed the soft thud of his footsteps beneath the sound of Dick’s pain. But the voice comes from right behind them - as if Two-Face is standing over them, and suddenly Jason is painfully aware of the fact that he had slung the gun onto the floor beside him in his haste to get to Dick. That he doesn’t have any of his gear and Dick is incapacitated and not all of Two-Face’s goons are out of commission.

He crouches low, trying to cover as much of his brother as he can. Beneath him, Dick writhes, staring blankly up at the ceiling high above them. Two-Face steps closer. Jason can feel the heat of him against his back. He tenses.

There’s an ear-splitting crash - splintering wood and glass - and a huge, dark shape barrels through the boarded-up window. In that moment, Jason understands exactly why so many people are terrified of the Bat - his almost mythical status. Because now, a shadow against the shattered window, cape spread wide, face grim beneath the cowl, he could be a demon. A nightmare. Despite knowing that Bruce is on his side, for a moment Jason is terrified.

He ducks and Batman flies over his head. There’s a dull thud as he collides with Two-Face, then a garbled cry as the two of them shoot over the edge of the platform. Jason doesn’t turn to watch. Beneath him, Dick’s face has gone slack, his eyes half-lidded and Jason is too preoccupied with fumbling for Dick’s pulse. It’s too fast. Too weak. But it’s there, still, threading beneath his fingers.

“What happened?”

Jason starts at the sound of Batman’s voice. It’s low and strained, even gruffer than normal. Jason recognises it as panic, although not many people would. It touches Jason’s own fear, sharp and bright in his chest.

“Acid,” Jason murmurs. “Two-Face dunked him. I got him out before...but his - his legs…”

A hand lands on Jason’s shoulder, warm and firm and reassuring, and Jason hates how grateful he is for that small touch. Hates how, despite everything, Jason was relying on Bruce showing up.

Batman crouches beside him. There’s a water pouch in one hand, drawn from the recesses of his cloak. His mouth is tight and pinched as he pours most of its contents carefully over Dick’s legs.

Jason can’t help himself. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Batman ignores him. Reaches up to touch the comm hidden in his cowl before sliding a knife out of his utility belt and slicing it carefully across the ruined fabric covering Dick’s legs. Batman’s gloves are thick black leather. Jason wonders if it’ll be protection enough, or if Bruce just doesn’t care.

“Agent A?”

Jason can’t hear Alfred’s reply without his own comm but it must be immediate, because Bruce launches right into the situation with barely enough time to draw breath.

“Nightwing is injured. At least second degree acid burns, possibly third degree. Basic triage applied.”

The knife slices through fabric like butter. The dark exoskeleton of Dick’s suit peels away beneath his hands. The flesh underneath is raw and wet - an awful, gory mess. Jason has to stare hard at Batman’s hands to keep from gagging.

“We’re heading back to the manor, but we’ll need an ambulance to meet us there. I think this is beyond our capabilities.”

Can Alfred hear the muted terror in Bruce’s voice? The little tremble? The low rasp at the back of his throat? Probably better than Jason can, but Jason hears it well enough to have his skin prickling, to have his heart rocketing against his chest.

Most of Dick’s suit, from the top of his thighs to his ankles, is stripped now, lying in tattered, half-melted shreds around him. Some of Dick’s flesh had gone with it, adhered to the fabric in a way that has bile surging up the back of Jason’s throat. Dick is still unconscious, thank God, face loose, chest rising with too-shallow breaths.

“Help me with him,” Batman murmurs as he rinses his gloves with the last of the water. Then he unclips his cloak, tucking it carefully around the open wound that is Dick’s legs.

Jason moves dumbly as Batman orders him. Hooks his arms under his brother’s armpits. Batman cradles Dick’s legs as carefully as he can, fumbling to find a spot that isn’t as badly damaged. Still, when they lift Dick into the air it must hurt, because he jerks back into consciousness as if electrocuted, eyes white and wide and rolling in his head. Jason tightens his grip to stop Dick writhing right out of his arms and Dick lets out a punched-out little noise of pain.

“Calm down, Nightwing,” Bruce orders, voice a low growl, and Dick goes still and quiet with a strangled whimper, as if he can’t help himself obeying.

“B? Hurts. My - my legs -“

“You’re OK,” Batman reassures - or maybe that’s an order too. Maybe if Batman says it sternly enough, Dick will be forced to make it true.

“Told you B would get here,” Jason murmurs. His own pathetic reassurance.

Batman’s head jerks up. Through the flat white lenses of his cowl, it’s difficult to read his expression, but Jason thinks that’s something like grief in the tight lines around his mouth. Something like guilt in the way he ducks his head.

“I’m here,” Batman agrees, although it’s clear that Dick isn’t listening. “Hold on Nightwing, we’re getting you home.”

#badthingshappenbingo #prompt: burns #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #nightwing #redhood #fanfiction #my writing #violence tw #guns tw #torture tw #gore tw #burns tw #permanent injury tw #injury tw #hurt/comfort #angst

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onewfantaesy · 4 years

Text

When Taemin is twelve in super bats au, he and a few other sidekicks join a team. It’s just him, Kai, superboy, Aqualad, Miss Martian, and Artemis. They’re a covert team. They don’t meet super often for missions, but they train together frequently.

Then on one mission, Taemin is heavily exposed to fear gas. The whole team had been there, but Taemin pushed them all out of the room as soon as he realized what it was. He’s been exposed to it a few times just from his patrols with Minho, but he had always immediately put on a gas mask to filter it out. Taemin has given his to Miss Martian, not wanting her psychic abilities mixing with the fear gas and making everything worse.

It took him longer than it should have to get everything under control. He was starting to see things he knew couldn’t be real - monsters in the corner of the room, villains who particularly get under his skin advancing on him from the shadows, his fingers melting off as he tapped away at his hologloves to turn off all the air vents to stop the gas from spreading.

He was completely fucked by the time he walked out, basically. The other team members had a brief moment of panic from the fear gas, but it had already left their systems by the time taemin met them at the ship.

He was shaking and his eyes were wide - his pupils blown beneath the mask - and he was muttering under his breath about people following him and chasing him and trying to kill him.

“Robin - Hey, buddy! Don’t you have an antidote in that stupid belt of yours?” Kai asked, poking at the utility belt around Taemin’s waist.

“All out,” Taemin whispered, his voice strained as he stared at the space beyond Kai’s shoulder. “Used it last week in Gotham. Forgot to restock.”

“Last week?” Kai asked, pushing his goggles on top of his head. “Holy shit. Get us back now! Quickly!”

The ship takes off and books it back to their training quarters at Mount Justice. The whole trip, Taemin is writhing in his seat, clawing at his arms and neck and legs. He’s freaking out. A voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Minho is telling him he’ll be fine, he just needs to ride it out, it isn’t real, but Taemin can’t help it. He’s trapped inside the fears of his own mind and nothing will stop now, it being too late for an antidote. It will subside in a few hours. At the very most until tomorrow afternoon.

“What happened?” Minho’s snaps when they get out of the ship, Kai holding Taemin up and helping him walk.

The moment Taemin sees him he just starts crying. None of the team has ever seen Taemin cry. They weren’t entirely sure what fear gas did to you, having never been truly subjected to it, but it had to be bad for him to be reacting like that.

“Don’t leave me!” Taemin cries in a strangled sounding voice. “Don’t leave, don’t leave!”

“I’m not leaving,” Minho says, his voice gentler than any of the other sidekicks had ever heard. And he swooped over to take Taemin from Kai and guide him to sit down somewhere. Then he turns to the team and demands, “What happened?”

“Fear gas!” Kai stutters. “There was a ton of fear gas. He kicked us all out of the room and was in there for a long time to stop it and he’s been really out of it the whole trip back!”

“Don’t get rid of me,” Taemin cries, holding on tightly to Minho’s cape. “Please don’t, you can’t, I can’t, I need you.”

“Go,” Minho orders the rest of them, and then all of his attention is on Taemin. Whether or not he knows the sidekicks are all huddled around the corner listening in, he doesn’t show it.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I would never get rid of you. You know that.”

“No, you would!” Taemin argues, still crying and struggling to breathe properly. “When I become a teenager and get annoying and I’m not cute anymore you’re gonna get rid of me and trade me in for a newer, cuter kid and you can’t do that you can’t I can’t I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

“That’s not true,” Minho insists. “I would never get rid of you.”

“Yes you would,” Taemin whispers, his voice hoarse. “Yes you would yes you would you’re gonna get rid of me you’re gonna get a new kid you’re gonna get rid of me you don’t want me anymore you’re not gonna want me when I’m older when I’m not little and cute all the time I don’t wanna get older I don’t wanna be a teenager I don’t want you not want me anymore.”

“You need to try and breathe,” Minho says. “Slowly. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Then you really won’t want me anymore!”

“I don’t know why you would think that.”

“Because everyone at school says so!”

Taemin had screamed it. His voice was broken and cracking, and he was quiet and completely still for a moment before he starts crying again.

Minho is completely frozen. He knew Taemin got insecure about their relationship sometimes, but he had no idea that it was fueled by kids at school saying such things about him. And thinking about it, there are certain kids who have always given Taemin problems that would most certainly use phrases like “trading him in” and “getting a newer model”. Because that’s what their parents whispered at parties whenever Minho showed up with Taemin. Minho was furious, but he had to calm Taemin down and get him through the fear gas before he could do anything about it.

“Well everyone at school is stupid,” Minho tells him in a fierce whisper, and he squeezes Taemin in a tight hug. “You’re my son. You’re my son. I would never get rid of you, I would never kick you out, and I most certainly would never trade you in for a different one. Look at us, bud, really. Do you think any other kid could put up with our level of crazy? I don’t think so. I’d be a fool to get rid of you.”

Taemin is still crying, still breathing erratically, but he’s quiet. He’s gripping Minho’s cape so tightly that his knuckles might pop out entirely, but Minho just holds him closer.

“Try to breathe with me, okay? Just breathe.”

Minho helps him regulate his breathing for a full ten minutes. It helps. It gets Taemin to focus on something else, to forget the fear gas induced tangent of being afraid of Minho abandoning him. He goes back to whispering about how there are monsters lurking in the shadows.

Minho has half a mind to say it’s just the team that’s obviously eavesdropping, but he holds his tongue.

“I want you to take something that will help you get to sleep,” Minho tells him, pushing Taemin’s sweaty bangs out from us face. “Do you want to come with me to get it?”

“Don’t leave,” Taemin whispers. Minho takes that as a yes.

“We need to go down to the infirmary,” Minho tells him, and he gets up and helps Taemin stand as well. When the boy’s knees buckle, Minho scoops him up instead, and Taemin’s gangly arms and legs wrap around him. When they pass the still-terribly-eavesdropping team, Minho glares at them. “No one steps foot in the infirmary tonight. If you actually need anything, call someone else.”

Taemin hands are gripping the ears on top of Minho’s cowl. It makes Minho look a million times less threatening, but none of the sidekicks dare to argue. That doesn’t mean they can’t have Superboy listen in from a vent connected to the infirmary. Under the guise of being concerned. And they are, but they’re really just curious. They’ve never seen or heard Batman be so sweet. It was like an alternate dimension.

“You’re going to have some pretty scary dreams tonight, bud,” Minho tells him after he pries Taemin off of him and settles him in one of the beds. “But they’re just dreams. They’re not real. No one can hurt you right now.”

“Don’t leave,” Taemin repeats, like it’s become a mantra.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Minho assures him, holding onto his hand. “I’m going to stay with you, right here, all night. And when you wake up, everything will be a lot less scary. And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Minho gives him a couple sleeping pills and just sits by his bed. While he waits for Taemin to fall asleep, he whispers passages from The Little Prince that he has memorized after years of reading it to Taemin at bedtime.

Once Taemin is completely knocked out, Minho slumps in the chair he has next to the bed. He runs a hand over his still-masked face and gets ready for a night full of night terrors. But he keeps Taemin’s hand held in his all night, letting him know he’s still there. That he isn’t leaving.

#taemin #shinee #minho #super bats au #angst angst angst angst!!!!!!#i love making taemin Suffer #anyways is this how fear gas work? idk snd i dont care #taemins greatest fear for a very long time in this au is that minho will get rid of him when hes no longer young and cute #will i write more abt this fear? most likely. and it will pribably include truth serum training w the team bc that was my original idea

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psychovigilantewrites · 5 years

Text

Chapter 9 - 5 Things

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Genre: Smut/Action

Word count: 7,211

Ao3

Masterlist

A/N: Wow, two chapters in one week! Don't expect this to keep this going lol! This chapter has major trigger warnings for: non-consensual acts, anxiety/panic attacks, mentions/implications of r*pe, violence, drug/sedative use.

Amazing mood board by: @brokenblossoms36

Your head was spinning.

Your eyes were watery, your heart palpitating. You struggled to open your eyes, but all you saw was a blur of blinding light. You saw a shadow, a movement, but it was still unclear as the light was piercing your eyes. You tried to shield them with your hand, but found that you couldn’t move it.

You were seemingly tied to a chair.

How did you get there?

Your throat felt dry. A wave of nausea came over you and you gagged, but nothing came out. You blinked away the tears and squinted at the figure now looming in front of you, blocking the light.

It was all coming back to you now.

You were walking from the Academy to the nearest metro station, heading to the public library in Old Gotham- since your usual one burned down. You had noticed a hooded man following you from behind as you turned into a secluded street.

You remember slightly panicking, because despite your training and reflexes, he was much much faster than you were. The next thing you knew, you woke up right where you were.

Your vision cleared as the cloud in your mind disappeared.

Red Hood was looking down at you, arms crossed. This close and vulnerable, he seemed taller than you remembered.

You also remembered that you weren’t Robin at the time. You were a spoiled girl adopted by the billionaire Bruce Wayne.

“W-where am I?” you squeaked, “Wh-who are you?”

Red Hood simply stared.

You tried on the ropes that he tied you with. It was tight, well knotted. You wouldn’t be able to get out of those without assistance.

“P-please,” you quivered your bottom lip, “Please don’t hurt me.”

Silence.

No windows. You couldn’t see a door either. The bright light almost completely blinded you to the dark room you were in.

“My dad is Bruce Wayne,” you pressed on, “He’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me.”

You started sobbing, going hysterical in panic.

Then, Red Hood started chuckling. “You’re not a bad actor,” he said.

“I- I- I don’t know what you’re t-t-talking about,” you stuttered in breaths, “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I p-pr-omise.”

“Quit the act, baby girl, you’re boring me,” he turned around and walked away from you.

Despite your commitment to acting, you couldn’t help but notice his well sculpted ass that was on your eye level as he strutted away.

“W-wha?” you continued, “Please, mister, I don’t know anything. Please let me go.”

Red Hood leaned against a metal table you only just noticed, “I prefer you snarky and bitchy. This isn’t fun. Quit the act before I make you.”

He was calm, as he always was.

You did suspect that he knew your identities, but you couldn’t risk it.

“You’ve got the wrong girl,” you wailed, “I’m not who you think I am! Please, sir, you have to believe me!”

“You know, I never asked,” he began, “How’s Nightwing?”

“N-nightwing?” you gave a watery hiccup.

“Yes, Nightwing, your older brother, Dick Grayson, ex-Robin, Boy Wonder, et cetera et cetera,” he waved his hand, “What else must I tell you to get you to stop? Bruce Wayne is Batman? How about Barbara Gordon is Oracle? Ring any bells?”

You couldn’t help the shock that appeared on your face. If he knew about Barbara, he was more than just a crazy conspiracy theorist. You decided to drop the act.

You gave one last sniffle and looked at him coldly, relaxing against the cool metal chair that you noticed were bolted to the cement floor.

“There she is,” he walked nearer to you again, noting your immediate change of expression when you conceded.

“He will find me, you know,” you told him.

“I disabled the GPS tracker on your phone. Also the one in your pendant,” he nodded at the jewel around your neck that you wore every day. Bruce had gifted it to you on the first year anniversary of your adoption. It was a silver robin with a small diamond glittering on its breast.

You didn’t even know there was a tracker on it. You mentally cursed Bruce for disguising it in a form of sentiment.

“So what do you want, Red?” you demanded. Surprisingly, you were calm. You didn’t feel any fear. Something told you that he wouldn’t hurt you.

“Nothing in particular,” he shrugged, “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself.”

You scoffed.

“What?” he bent down to meet you in the eye. You could see your own reflection on the white lenses of his mask. “Can’t I just want you? I haven’t seen you in so long. Didn’t you miss me?”

You glared at him. The fucker was mocking you. He was right about you missing him, but still.

“Because I missed you, baby girl.”

Even with the voice scrambler, you noticed his voice had dropped an octave. You gulped, and for some reason, butterflies filled your tummy.

He straightened up, “You look so cute in your uniform. The skirt. Which sexist pig designed it that short and made underage girls wear them?”

He squatted down in front of you and tilted his head. “Pink? Adorable.”

You grit your teeth. You could practically hear him grin. You tried to close your thighs but your legs were tied to the chair, forcing them slightly apart.

“Don’t tell me you kidnapped me just to tie me up and take a peek at my panties, Red,” you scowled.

“I’ve done crazier things, baby girl,” he stood up, “What’s wrong with a little talk?”

“So. Talk,” you hissed.

He reached out an arm towards your face. You forced yourself not to wince and maintained eye contact. He caressed your cheek with his gloved hand, his thumb trailing down to press against your lips.

You bit it.

“Fuck!” he recoiled, and then chuckled, “Should have expected that. I do love your feisty side anyway.”

“You don’t know me, Red. Just because you know my identity, it doesn’t mean shit,” you spat.

“I know you’re not who you pretend to be,” he gripped you by the hair and forced you to face him. The slightly rough pull made your breath hitch. “I know you try to hide it from everyone. You're not the good girl people think you are.”

“The same could be said for every other angsty teen. Try better,” you retorted.

He released your hair and chuckled again, “I really did miss you.‘’

“I’ve been busy, you see. Things to do, people to kill, the usual,” he went on, “Did you see what I left for everyone?‘’

“You mean Black Mask? Sorry to break it to you, but it wasn't much of a surprise. It was either you or him eventually,” you rolled your eyes.

“You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” he hummed.

“That's what you get for tying me to a chair,” you snapped.

“You people ought to be more grateful towards me,” he stated.

“Grateful? Really?” you condescended.

“Black Mask was a gift,” he claimed, “Now you have one crime lord less in the streets.”

“Yet here I am tied to a chair,” you sassed.

“Get over it, even the Bat’s done worse than this,” he chided.

“So what makes you so different from Black Mask? You think you're better than him?” you stated. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't tried to answer that question yourself. That you didn't lie awake at night justifying his actions.

“My, oh, my. Don't tell me you still haven't figured it out?” he mocked you, “I don't do this for any profit. In fact, I'm just like one of you.”

“You are not one of us,” you growled, “We don't kill. We're not barbaric like you are.”

“Which is why you won't ever get anywhere!” he argued, “That's what the Bat always failed to get. You can't stop crime. But you can control it. Thats what I'm doing. And I take the necessary steps to achieve it. The Bat is a coward.”

“You're wrong,” you defended, “He doesn't kill not because he's a coward. It's so much more than that. A person like you would never understand.”

“A person like me, huh?” he suddenly said quietly, the direction of his gaze fell towards the side, as if he was reminiscing. The change of tone surprised you. It made you think that maybe he wasn't always bad.

But it didn't matter who he used to be. What matters is who he is now.

“I'll make you see eventually, you'll understand soon enough,” he squatted down in front of you again, “but for now, let's talk about us.”

“Us?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, baby girl, us. Don't you feel like there's something between us? I feel like there's a spark,” he adopted his tone of mocking again.

“Fuck off,” you snarled.

“I'd be lying if I said I don't think of you as I lie in bed, touching myself. You'd be lying if you said the same right?” he put his gloved hands on your bare thighs. You could feel his heat beneath the leather.

You'd be lying if you said that didn't excite you just a little bit.

“You're too full of yourself,” you responded, “And I happen to have a boyfriend. You're the only pervert here.”

You obviously lied about the boyfriend part. You wanted to seem like you had other things better to do than think of him.

Which, for some reason, seemed even more pathetic.

“Boyfriend?” he laughed, “So what? I bet that doesn't stop you from thinking of me.”

His hands slid up your thighs slowly, bunching up your skirt in the process.

“What are you doing?” your voice went high, “Stop that.”

“When was the last time you told a bad guy to stop and he actually did?” he asked.

He had a point.

Still, you didn't like the way that he didn't disgust you. You didn't like the way that he made you want him to go further up.

And further up he went.

Until he paused at the crease of your thighs, and then suddenly pressed a thumb on top of your clit. A jolt of pleasure shot through you.

“Stop it,” you repeated.

He ignored you again, this time pulling aside your panties and ran his middle finger up in between your lips. The middle finger you’ve thought about countless of times.

With the same thick finger, he pushed inside you slowly, all the way to his knuckles. You felt yourself automatically squeezing around him. You bit your lip.

He started sliding it out, and then back in again. It felt so different, having someone else's finger inside you.

Having his finger inside you.

Then, he curled his finger, hitting a spot inside you that you've never touched before, eliciting a soft moan from you.

Your eyes widen when you realised what you just did, and you turned your head away, blushing.

With that, he took his finger out, and then stood up. His crotch was at your eye level, and you could see his hard on straining against his pants. You didn't realise that your mouth watered at it.

“If only you wore skirts as part of your uniform, we could do that again whenever we meet,” he taunted you.

He didn't comment on your moan, nor the wetness that was left on his finger. Instead, he took off his glove and walked towards the table. His back was towards you now, and you couldn't tell what he was doing. You heard a rustle of plastic. He came back with a piece of black cloth from it and walked behind you.

Suddenly, you saw darkness. You began to struggle as he tied the blindfold, but his grip was too strong.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you yelled.

“Relax, I'm blindfolding you so I can take off this stupid helmet,” you heard him say, and then you heard a heavy thump on the floor next to you.

“You motivate me, you know?” you heard him breathe in your ear, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. He masked his voice similar to the way Batman did- it was raspy and gravelly. That close, you could smell him. He smelled like sweat, and leather, and gunpowder.

“You make me want to kill more and more,” he nipped your earlobe, “I killed someone for you, you know that? Did I get a thanks? Of course not.”

“What the hell are you on about?” you snarled.

“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he continued, ignoring your question. He used a hand to grip your hair and pull your head to the side, exposing your neck so he could lick a strip on your pulse. He then started sucking on your skin. “I’ve always wanted to mark you like this.”

You felt hot. You were panting, and the worst part was that you could feel yourself dampening your underwear more than before.

His other hand ripped your shirt open, buttons popping all over the floor. He pushed your bra upwards and grabbed a fist full of your right breast, squeezing hard.

“Mmm,” he moaned, “Finally, I get to feel them. You usually wear too much armor.”

You felt dizzy, hazy, blurry. You were utterly consumed by his heat. You tried so hard not to get turned on, but your body betrayed you.

“Tell me, why do you wear lip gloss while on patrol?” he continued sucking on another spot while he started rolling your nipples in between his fingers, “It makes me wonder how your lips would look like around me.”

You whimpered, and cursed internally. Who knew dirty talk would be your downfall.

“I knew you'd like this,” he chuckled at your reaction, “But I feel like you need a reminder of how scary I can actually be.”

You didn't need one. You knew how terrifying Red Hood was. You felt that fear the first time you met him, and again when he pointed the gun at you in that alley behind the bank. It seemed so long ago.

But that fear had long turned into curiosity. You weren't afraid anymore.

“Black Mask couldn't beg,” he rasped, “Because he was suffocating. I wonder what I should do to you.”

His hand went from your tits to around your neck. And then, and then, you felt it. The panic you felt the first time he got his hand around your neck.

You started thrashing about, anything to prevent him from getting a proper grip on you. But unfortunately, you were tied down.

And he was standing behind you, strong hands around your neck.

“Remember this, baby girl?” he started squeezing, “Doesn't this feel nostalgic?”

He was pressing on your carotid arteries, making you even dizzier than you already were, but you could still gasp for breath.

“I still have a syringe of what I gave Black Mask to paralyse him, I wonder what I should do to you?” he then suddenly released you, making you cough and gag, tears streaming down your face.

“I wouldn't want to ruin that pretty face,” you heard his voice move in front of you, “Maybe I should just keep you here to myself and use you. This job gets stressful. You'd be my own personal fuck toy. I'd ruin your cunt over and over again. You want that?”

Your mind began to race. Would he actually do that? No. No, even if he did, it didn't matter. Because Batman will-

“And then you will know how Batman really is,” he stressed, “You'll cling on to the hope that he's out there looking for you. That he won't give up on you. Batman would be the only thing keeping you sane.”

Yes, yes he was right. Bruce would find you.

“But you know what he’ll do instead?” he continued, voice shaking in evident anger, “He will just forget about you. Even after you're dead and he catches me, all he’ll do is lock me up behind bars. And then he’ll replace you with another child soldier to brainwash.”

No. Bruce wouldn't do that. He loved you. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn't move on.

Would he?

Panic started to rise again, you felt yourself hyperventilating for the first time. What was wrong with you? You couldn't break down just after being kidnapped. Why would you feel this sense of impending doom?

No, it's just Red Hood getting to you. You were just giving him what he wants.

“That's more like the reaction I was looking for,” you heard him growl. You flinched when you felt his hand on your cheek. He was wiping away at your tears, and he was surprisingly gentle.

“There, there,” he sighed, “I’m not going to do that to you. I don't hurt innocents. Though you're far from it.”

You tried to calm yourself down. He was just looking for a reaction?

“I just want you to see Bruce for who he really is, baby girl,” he explained, still caressing your cheek. You found yourself leaning into his warmth, “And I want you to see me for who I really am, and what I've been doing for Gotham.”

Before you could even think of responding, you felt something spray on your face, and then everything faded to black.

***

The first thing you noticed was an annoying beeping sound.

And hushed whispers.

You opened your eyes, blinking away the grogginess. You were on a bed that wasn’t your own, in a room that was unfamiliar.

A hospital room. Private, high end. You tried to prop yourself up, suddenly-

“No, no, lie back down, honey,” an aging woman pushed you gently back into the pillows, where you laid back reclined. “I’ll go get the doctor and your father for you.”

Shortly after, in came Bruce, who rushed to you immediately.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? What happened?” he bombarded you with questions and more than just his usual serious look on his face.

“I-”

“Mr. Wayne, please,” said a man in a white coat behind him, “She needs to recover first.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry,” Bruce stepped back and cleared his throat.

You were taken aback. You’ve never seen Bruce this way before.

The doctor flashed his penlight in both your eyes, and told you to follow it. He then performed a thorax auscultation on you.

“Hello, Miss Wayne. I’m Dr. Kevins. I’m going to have to check several things to make sure you’re doing well. Is that okay?”

You nodded.

“Do you feel dizzy?” he asked you, “Does your head hurt?”

“I feel a bit nauseated actually,” you croaked, “And thirsty.”

“We’ll get you some water just a sec,” he smiled kindly. He looked like he was around his late forties, with greying hair and sunken eyes. “The nausea is probably caused by the sedative he used on you. It’ll go away in an hour or so. But most importantly, do you feel any pain anywhere else?”

“No,” you shook your head, “My neck is a bit sore, but that’s it.”

The doctor pursed his lips, and then looked at Bruce, “Excuse me, Mr. Wayne, but would you please step outside for a moment?”

“Why?” he protested.

“It’s okay, doctor,” you voiced, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

“Okay then,” he sighed a breath of relief, “We did a physical on you while you were unconscious. It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong, except for a little dehydration. We just wanted to make sure.”

“Cool,” you shrugged, “Can someone tell me what happened?”

“We found you unconscious outside our emergency room on the floor,” the doctor responded, “We checked the security footage and saw a man in a red helmet walk in and left you there. He is a wanted criminal. The police are right outside to ask you a few questions. If you’re not ready for that, I’ll make them wait.”

“I’m fine, you can call them in,” you told him.

The doctor left to get the cops, and you and Bruce shared a long eye contact, silently communicating. I’ll tell you everything later, you tried to convey.

He gave you a stiff nod.

“Mr. Wayne, Miss Wayne,” Gordon himself came in through the door, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m hungover, Commissioner,” you smiled.

“I’m going to ignore that, since you’re underaged,” he chuckled, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Shoot.”

He took out a pen and a small notebook from his trench coat.

“What was the last thing you remember before you blacked out?” he began.

“I was walking to the metro station,” you explained, “It was around two in the afternoon. I noticed someone following me, but didn’t think much of it. I remember turning into a secluded area, and then I heard him running towards me. Before I could turn around, I just… Went black. It happened so fast.”

“And this man, what did he look like?”

“He was big. Maybe around Bruce’s size, but I can’t be sure. I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a baseball cap and had a hoodie on,” you struggled to remember any other details about the man behind the mask.

“What happened next?”

“I woke up in a dark room, with this really bright light shining at me. I couldn’t see any windows, or doors. I was tied to a chair,” you pretended to tremble, “I was so scared.”

“I know, Miss Wayne,” Gordon comforted you, “I’m sorry for doing this, but I absolutely have to ask you to recall everything, before you forget. It’s essential to catch the man responsible for this.”

“I know,” you wiped away a single tear, “It’s okay. I saw a man in a red helmet. But not like a motorcycle helmet. It covered his whole face. And it had white eyes. It looked weird.”

“Did he have a red bat symbol on his chest?” Gordon pressed.

“Uhm,” you bit your lip, “I think so. I can’t- I can’t be too sure. It was dark, and the light blinded me.”

“That’s okay, you’re doing real good Miss Wayne,” Gordon smiled.

You held back a smile at how well Gordon treated you. If only he knew you were the same girl who witnessed Black Mask’s peeled face.

“I- I’m not sure what he wanted,” you stuttered, “He t-touched me. But not there!”

You had to reveal it. There was no hiding it from Bruce this time, thanks to the probable hickies on your neck.

“He… I think he didn’t know who I was,” you invented your lie, “But when I told him I was Bruce Wayne’s daughter, he immediately stopped whatever he was doing. Maybe he didn’t want to mess with Bruce, since he’s… rich and all.”

“There’s no doubt your father is rich, Miss Wayne, but I don’t think something like that would stop him,” Gordon huffed, his forehead scrunched up in a frown deeper than before, “This is interesting. Why would he be scared of you, Mr. Wayne?”

“Maybe he thinks I’m Batman,” Bruce simply shrugged.

You coughed out loud in shock.

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first person out there,” Gordon smirked, “No offense, Bruce, but you’re hardly the crime fighting type.”

“None taken, Jim,” Bruce grinned, “I can’t afford to get my face injured. It’s what gets investors after all.”

“What happened after that?” Gordon rolled his eyes at Bruce and turned back to you. “Did you hear any sounds? Maybe water, or vehicles? Was there anyone else there?”

“Th- that’s all I remember,” you scratched your head, “Next thing I knew, I was here.”

“Okay,” Gordon closed his notepad, “Thank you, Miss Wayne. I’m sorry that something like this happened to you. This one’s a bit tricky but I promise we’ll catch him.”

“I don’t doubt it, Commissioner,” you have him a big grin.

He paused for a moment, suddenly staring at you with an intense look in your eyes, as if he was searching for something.

“What’s wrong?” your smile faltered.

“No- nothing,” he shook his head, “You just- remind me of someone.”

“Your beautiful daughter perhaps?” you suggested.

“Y- yeah,” he nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’s it. You and Barbara both have the same smile.”

“What a compliment,” you giggled.

“You get well soon, Miss Wayne,” he nodded at you and at Bruce, “Mr. Wayne.”

“Commissioner,” Bruce nodded back.

Gordon left.

“That was close,” you breathed a sigh of relief.

Bruce pulled the sofa nearer to your bed.

“Are you really okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, “Just tired.”

“I’ll let you rest. We’ll talk when we get back,” Bruce got up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the press,” he fixed his hair and tie at the glass window, reflecting his handsome face, “Bruce Wayne’s daughter missing for 24 hours and then found on the emergency room floor? The media is going crazy.”

“I bet,” you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, drifting to sleep once more.

You thought you felt a pair of lips press themselves on your forehead.

*** “So. What really happened?” Bruce asked once you settled down in the manor.

You finally got discharged from the hospital after another day they kept you under observation. The both of you were now in the dining room, finishing up a light dinner.

You put down your cutlery and took a deep breath.

“How he got me was the truth, and I woke up in a dark room with a bright light shining in my eyes. First I acted like a civilian, crying and begging. I told him that my father was Bruce Wayne and that he would give him anything for my release,” you began your story, “But he told me to drop the act. I didn't. I acted dumb. And then he asked me how Nightwing was. How Dick Grayson, my older brother was. He told me he knew you were Batman. But what really hit the jackpot, was the fact that he knew Barbara was Oracle.”

Bruce leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table, his chin on top of his knuckles.

“So I decided to drop it,” you continued, “I figured if he knew that, he was more than just… One of those crazy conspiracy theorists. Anyway, I asked him what he wanted and he… He was just playing around.”

“Playing around?”

“Yeah, like he wasn't being serious about it. Like he kidnapped me just to mock me. He told me that… He missed me,” you avoided eye contact with Bruce, “He also said something about how we should appreciate what he does for Gotham. That he was technically one of us.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, exactly my thought,” you agreed, “He has this delusion that he's doing good, more good than we are. He mentioned Black Mask, and how he was a gift. Because now there's one less crime lord in the streets. I told him that he's not like us. We don't kill. And then- and then he got a bit emotional.”

“How so?”

“Well, the whole time he was relatively calm. But when we got to the topic of you,” you hesitated, “He seemed frustrated. He said it's the one thing you will never get. He said that you can't stop crime, and you can only control it. And that's what he was doing.”

“He thinks he is controlling crime?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“And what about… All that,” Bruce gestured to his own neck instead of yours.

You thought of how he touched you, how he had his hands underneath your panties and put his finger inside you. You decided to leave that out.

“He came up behind me and blindfolded me,” you started blushing, “He took off his helmet and-”

“He took off his helmet?” Bruce looked at you, the creases in between his eyebrows deepening, his shoulders suddenly tense.

“Yes, but I couldn't see anything,” you told him, “I was blindfolded.”

You noticed how Bruce relaxed his shoulders- very slightly.

“He said I motivated him,” you continued, “He masked his voice- like how you always do. I didn't recognise it.”

“Go on.”

“He said he killed for me,” you frowned, now remembering that odd statement he made, “I don't know what he meant by that. He never clarified. And then- he started to- do this.”

You waved at your neck, still avoiding eye contact.

“And then he started choking me,” you quickly went on, “He said he was considering keeping me there and… Tormenting me. And that the only thing that would keep me sane is the thought of you coming for me. But then he said that you wouldn't. That you would just… Replace me.”

You glanced at Bruce now, who was just silent, absorbing in everything you were saying. There was on odd expression in his eyes. Was it sadness?

“The last thing he said to me was that he wanted me to see you for who you really are, and see him for who he really is and what he's doing for Gotham.”

You waited for a response.

Finally, Bruce said “I see.”

Very anticlimactic.

“What do you see?” you prompted.

“It's even clearer now that he targeted you to get to me. He's trying to turn you against me,” Bruce spoke.

“I think I got that already,” you rolled your eyes, “But why? And what's this about replacing me?”

He remained silent, staring into space.

“Bruce,” you began, “We’ve been through this. You need to tell me things.”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“There's obviously something to tell,” you argued, “I just got kidnapped by him! Isn't it time for you to tell me who he is?”

“I don't know who he is,” he insisted.

“That's a big fat lie and you know it,” you accused.

“I'm lying for your own good!” he started to raise his voice.

“My own- my own good?” you scoffed, and then stood up, “Haven't you been paying attention, Bruce? I. Got. Kidnapped. By. Him. Obviously keeping me in the dark is not helping.”

“Back down,” Bruce rose from his seat as well to tower over you, “Now.”

“Don't you care about me Bruce?!” you yelled

“Of course I care! Which is why-”

“Don't give me that bullshit!” you fumed, “You keep on telling me to trust you-”

“I said back down, Robin-”

“But trust goes both wa-”

“BACK DOWN, JASON!”

You gaped at him, not believing your ears. You've always been insecure. You always thought that Bruce either adopted you out of guilt, or worse.

As a replacement.

It was the first time he ever mistakenly called you him.

The ghost of Jason Todd had caught up to you.

“I mean- I meant-” Bruce tried to correct himself, horrified at what he had just said.

You turned and left.

***

He was tired.

Jason was tired.

The rain made his bones ache.

The past few weeks had taken a toll on him. He went out almost every single night to do his job- be it kill a few people, extract information, deal with Moehler’s international contacts, and also deal with the people under him who has broken rules or planned to start a coup. They thought he didn't know. He’ll deal with them later.

He had gotten back from his money collecting run, taking the profits from the people beneath him. Through whispers and some interrogating, he found out about some insignificant rebels. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with those now.

He took a shower, and laid naked in bed, splayed on his back.

He probably should put on some clothes. It was getting cold.

Though, he was used to it.

There were so many times when he was a kid living in the streets that he had to deal with the cold without much insulation. Even when he had a roof over his head, it wasn’t like his parents paid for a heater.

Parents.

The reason why he became Robin was because his parents were bad. The reason why he died was because his biological mother betrayed him. And the reason why he was who he is now-

No. Bruce was never a father to him. He refused to admit it.

Bruce was just looking for a soldier to brainwash.

A soldier like you. He had brainwashed you pretty well. Jason wondered what words of encouragement Bruce had given to you, that he probably gave Jason as well, all those years ago.

When Jason saw you start to panic, he knew. He knew that you knew deep down, Jason was right. Which meant that Bruce probably had not changed since Jason died.

Did Bruce ever tell you “good job”? Did Bruce ever fuss over your injuries? Did Bruce ever gave you affection?

He doubted it.

After all, Jason knew Bruce. The only thing Bruce cared about was his past.

Justice.

Or so Bruce liked to call his own insecurities, an excuse to not move on from the traumatic childhood he faced.

Bruce was the fucked up one here, not Jason.

Jason was perfectly sane.

Not that he cared about how Bruce raised you. Not that he cared that you were probably facing the same problems he did, all those years ago. After all, Jason was just using you to get to him. He knew what he was doing was obvious, but it didn’t matter.

It only took one trigger- and you would spiral. As long as you had any doubt about Bruce, Jason’s plan would work.

“Fuck,” he said out loud. The rain outside was hitting hard like pellets on his metal roof.

Jason was tired.

He closed his eyes, and remembered how you looked when he started touching you. How your breath hitched, how your voice went high, how you let out the tiniest moan.

Jason smirked to himself.

You were probably craving him all those weeks you didn’t meet- it was part of his plan after all. And the moment he gave you all the attention you wanted, you got wet.

Withdraw, and then attack.

It was an excellent strategy. To get you to miss him so much that you welcomed his touch.

And welcome him you did.

Jason wasn’t blind. He saw how you looked at his hard on straining against his pants.

Remembering those scenes again made blood shoot to his cock. He remembered finally being able to feel your tits.

Fuck.

He reached down and fisted his cock- now hard and leaking. He gave himself a few light strokes, remembering how much he wanted to fuck you right then and there.

The glove.

He opened his eyes and walked towards his backpack, his erection slapping his lower belly with every step, and took out the ziplock he had put his glove in. He took it out, and collapsed on the bed again.

He was wearing the glove when he fingered you.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the glove.

The smell of leather was overpowering, but faintly, he smelled you. He kept it in a ziplock bag for a reason.

It was equivalent to panty sniffing, and Jason thought about how absolutely pathetic he was being- but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Because you always drove him insane anyway.

His cock was leaking on his stomach, and he stroked himself to the faint sweet tangy smell of your juices on his glove. Maybe he should have taken a taste instead.

Would that have driven you wild as much as it would him?

God, and your tits. It was so soft, so supple, and it was spilling in his hand. He just wanted to see it bounce. Why must you wear so much armor?

Jason was sweating now despite the cold, the sound of rain outside drowning his pants and moans.

He wouldn’t call it backfire, but Jason’s plan to not see you for so long also affected him more than he thought it would.

He stroked himself faster, and squeezed himself tighter, imagining your mouth drooling over the head of his cock.

Fuck. He told you your lip gloss made him think of that, didn’t he? And what did you do? You fucking whimpered.

“Fuck,” Jason groaned. He loved how much you liked it when he talked dirty to you. He loved how you tightened around his finger.

Pleasure and heat built up and spread, making his toes curl. Finally, he came all over his fist, spilling onto his abdomen.

He huffed.

After cleaning up, he decided to text you. It was about time anyway.

Hey, Princess. I'm sorry I haven't texted you in so long. Life just got in the way, and I was facing some personal issues. I hope you're not mad. Anyway, I read about what happened in the papers. Putting the fact that you didn't tell me you were THE Wayne kid aside, are you okay? he sent the text.

He was hoping to prey on your kindness and understanding.

And he saw you typing back almost immediately.

Hey, Jason. Don't worry, I'm not mad. I completely understand. I've had times like that too. And I'm okay, a bit shaken up, but still okay. Also, you didn't tell me your last name so why would I tell you yours? you replied with a winky face at the end.

Touché. Would you be up to meeting me at Robinson Park tomorrow? I'll get you ice cream. It’s the least I could do, he asked.

That would be great! I’ll see you around three? you texted back.

It’s a date, doll, Jason sent with another winky face.

He knew that one text would make you giddy with excitement.

*** Jason was self-conscious in public.

Whenever he walked in the daylight without his helmet on, he felt like everyone was staring at him, judging him. His scars, his scowl, his crooked nose that had been broken and reset again so many times.

So he usually kept his head down, and his calloused hands in his pockets, avoiding the glares he knew deep down was just part of his imagination.

Until he saw you waiting at the park bench wearing a white sundress, the slight breeze blowing your hair, the sunlight shining on your skin.

He straightened up, confidence returning, and even before you saw him, he smiled.

It wasn’t like you made him happy, it wasn’t like he was looking forward to seeing you. Nor was it because you made him feel like the Jason Todd who never died.

No, he was just getting into character in advance.

A character to fool you, manipulate you, corrupt you.

“So, do you come here often?” he said when he crept up to you, making you jump.

“You scared me!” you laughed, slapping him on the arm lightly. And then, your smile faded ever so slightly, and a slight crease between your brows formed, “Not many people can sneak up on me like that.”

“My friends always did say I was light on my feet,” he shrugged, sitting down on the bench next to you, “Could be useful in the force, actually.”

“Definitely,” you grinned.

He noticed the bruises he left on your neck were absent- probably hidden by layers of makeup. He was slightly disappointed. His hickies on your skin would have looked amazing as a contrast to the low cut sundress you were wearing.

“So how are you?” he asked, “Wayne?”

You rolled your eyes, “Like I said, you didn’t offer me your last name, too. Plus, my picture’s everywhere.”

“I don’t really keep up with the news, sweetheart,” Jason replied, “Why would I care about other people’s adopted daughters?”

“I guess that’s true,” you conceded, “You’re one in a million, then. Everyone’s obsessed with that kind of information these days.”

“So enlighten me then,” Jason said, “How did Bruce Wayne come to adopt you?”

“Well,” you started, “My parents have always been trying to get close to him. They invited him for those fancy galas and charity dinners. I remember always seeing him around. When they died, and I was left with nothing and no one, he decided to adopt me.”

“Any particular reason he chose to adopt you?” Jason prompted.

You bit your lip. And then, Jason noticed that your eyes started tearing up.

“Oh, no,” Jason responded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. We don’t have to talk about it.”

What was up with you?

“No, no,” you sniffed, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so stupid. I’ve just… been wondering about that too.”

Finally, Jason thought. He thought you would never have figured out you were always meant to be his replacement. He wondered what happened between you and Bruce. He had no doubt that the kidnapping triggered it.

Just as he planned.

“Hey, look at me,” he took your chin in his hand and tilted your head to face him.

Fuck.

It was the wrong move. Because seeing you teary eyed, red nosed, lower lip trembling, so close to him. So vulnerable.

It made his cock twitch.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jason tried to pull himself together, “Or if you just want a shoulder to cry on, I’ll gladly offer you mine.”

With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that fell on your cheeks. He could see how your long lashes clumped together in the wetness, how your skin was slightly flushed.

He wanted to kiss you and tell you everything was going to be okay.

The thought shocked Jason. So much so that he jolted away from you.

“I- I’m sorry,” Jason sputtered, “I probably crossed a line, or something.”

He looked away, not wanting you to see the panic that was rising. No, no, not here. Not now.

“It’s okay,” he heard your voice, but it seemed so far away, “Jason?”

He tried to calm his breathing. He fisted the material of his jeans and took deep breaths. 5 things that he could see.

The green grass. The blue sky. Someone’s red frisbee flying. Little yellow flowers. Kids running around.

4 things that he could touch.

His denim. The wooden bench. The gravel beneath his feet. Your warm hands.

3 things that he could hear.

A dog barking. The bells from the ice cream man. Your voice calling him out, getting nearer.

2 things he could smell.

His own cologne. And your shampoo.

1 thing he could taste.

He turned to face you and crashed his lips against yours, surprising you. But Jason felt you relax against him, and kissed him back.

Your lip gloss was strawberry flavoured.

Jason broke the kiss, and blushed at you, “I’m sorry. I never know how to act when I’m with you.”

He saw you take the bait. Your wide, curious eyes fluttered downwards in embarrassment.

“That’s okay,” you tucked your hair behind your ear, “I feel the same way.”

“I promised you ice cream didn’t I?” he stood up, and offered you his hand, “Shall we?”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd reader #jason todd #red hood #red hood and the outlaws #batman #dc #bruce wayne #batfamily #dceu #dc universe

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sick-raven · 4 years

Text

Ghosts of the Past - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 6

Banshee had enough of everyone’s shit. It was a week since the wild night. She’s seen Jonathan two times since. They talked about what happened thoroughly. They were adults and as adults they faced the new relationship. First time they met in his office for an appointment. So, they talked hard on the table. The other day he visited her in the shop. So, they also talked through and through in the backroom.

Always so weird. He didn’t want her to touch him and he never took any piece of clothing off. He had issues.

And then there were these motherfuckers. It was clear the hunt wasn’t over, but now they came hard as if the bounty doubled. She fended of three just this week.

“Tell me who sent you,” she demanded dangling a man of the roof. She held him by his shirt over the edge. One wrong move and they will both fly down and pancake on the pavement.

He whimpered but didn’t say anything.

“Talk, or you are flying off here!”

“I don’t know! They never told us who they are!”

“Bye then.”

“No, please!!”

“Banshee, stop.”

And now this jerk tried to ruin her day too! Why did she ever thought she liked Gotham? This was a hellhole that painted a target on her back and sent the Bat to stop her from scratching it off.

“This is self-defence,” she said and looked at Batman. “You can’t blame me for that.”

“Let him go.”

“Not until I know who made bounty on me!”

“I don’t know, please, it’s online!” cried the man. His face was red and wet. Only thing missing was him calling for his mommy.

“Where?”

“The Gotham bounty.”

“Are you serious? You have a page for that?” Banshee turned to Batman.

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“Now you do,” she snapped. “One has to be a hacker in this fucking town.” She tucked the man in and let him go. He stumbled on his legs and ran as fast as he could. Two shadow figures let him pass through them and disappeared in puff of smoke.

Oh, yeah, the shadow figures were prominent now. She felt them breathing on her neck. That also pissed her off.

“Leave me alone. I didn’t kill anyone,” she hushed the Bat.

“I know. I wanted to talk to you about your contact with Jonathan Crane.”

“You are a voyeur now, great.”

“He’s a dangerous man, Miranda. You shouldn’t get close to him.”

“So am I. Next?”

“I’ve seen this before. I don’t want you to fall in the trap of wanting to change him.”

“Oh, for fucks sake!” she shouted throwing her arms in the air. Metropolis sounded great. Calm city, no targets, no Batshrinks to assume what she thinks or does. No crazy guys and no… who is she kidding, the shadows will follow. “I am not stupid, B. He is not fixable. Just like me. Or you. None of us gets better, that’s why we do what we do!”

He went silent and changed the subject. “About the ritual…”

“It went nowhere.”

“I think it cleared many things.”

“Magic doesn’t exist. I am just schizo or something.”

“Magic is real, Miranda. In this world it shouldn’t surprise you.”

“Are you finished? I have forums to find.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Everyone tries to help, and nobody asks if I want it. I don’t. Get off my back.”

She stomped away like a small angry child. She wanted to blame her mood on a moon, or the period, or the fact she didn’t sleep two nights. She couldn’t. She was angry at her incompetence to find the fucker trying to kill her.

And maybe also Jonathan.

Fuck it all.

She just wanted to sleep.

***

That’s how Jonathan found her. Bend over her laptop, hell in her eyes, typing furiously a step away from punching the keyboard.

“Is this how you scare off customers?” he asked.

She nearly killed him with her stare. “Get out. Now.”

“That’s no way to greet guests.”

“I sweat to god, Jonathan, leave now. I have no control,” she snapped at him.

“Yes, I noticed. I will leave the talk for later.”

She turned her attention back to the laptop, hitting enter so hard it was a miracle it didn’t jump out.

“What are you searching?”

“Will you just shut up?”

Jonathan was not phased. He came here with semi-good intentions. Now she ruined it. She was confrontational before, but this was another level. He didn’t know what stressed her that much, but he hated this. Raw anger was disgusting and made his skin crawl. He despised the lack of self-control. Grandma used to be angry a lot, but never for the reason she claimed. And it was Jonathan who got hit by the fury.

That’s why he didn’t bother listening to Miranda. Her fury hurt, but not as deep as grandma’s.

He walked around the counter and looked over her shoulder. She stiffened. Jonathan would take a punch if necessary.

“What do you need bounty for?”

“None of your business.”

“This is not how you look for it,” he commented. “Let me.”

She watched his fingers run on the keyboard. He knew the site very well. He got paid many times through this and he also found many henchmen there. People in Gotham were willing to take money for anything.

“What are you looking for?”

She stared at him enraged.

“I am trying to help, Miranda.”

She scoffed and folded her arms on her chest.

“I wanna know who’s trying to kill me.”

So that’s what’s been eating her out. For a minute he thought he had something to do with this. Shame, he didn’t left much impact on her. “Let me see.”

He ran through the website. “You cannot find names here, just information. But I know a guy who knows a gal… you know how it is. Hm, the bounty on you is solid. I would be interested if I didn’t know better.”

“Do you ever get tired of listening to yourself?”

“Sometimes. I will get the name for you.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He closed the laptop and turned to her. “You need sleep.”

“I am…”

“Doctor’s order.”

“That bad, huh?”

Yeah, she really looked exhausted. Black circles under her eyes and tremble in one hand. She broke herself to avoid breaking herself. He wondered whether the bounty was only thing that bothered her, but he didn’t ask. She will spill the beans eventually, she had talent for going straight to the point.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I cannot sleep, they…”

“Nobody will hurt you, I’ll take care of it.”

“Unless you do it.”

He sighed. He was a fiend. Fucked up in the head. But he wasn’t this. Using visible weakness was tempting but breaking them strong had more appeal. He wanted to help. He liked her fighting spirit, not this.

“You don’t need to trust me. But you do need sleep.”

Miranda shook uncomfortably and surrendered. “Fine. I will go home and have a rest. Your out of character care convinced me.”

“Let me take you there.”

She looked at him resignation in her eyes. “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

That’s how he ended up sitting on her couch, reading her disturbing collection of slushy romance and watching her over as she collapsed on her bed with silent ding.

***

This was embarrassing. Miranda got up early in the morning feeling much better just to find Jonathan sleeping in her living room. Good way to get them both killed, but also very awkward because she didn’t really believe he will stay there.

He looked almost innocent.

Why is everything in her life an almost?

Silently she moved to the kitchen to prepare quick breakfast for both. She tried to be as silent as possible but when she entered living room Jonathan was already up. Miranda didn’t know what to say so she just put the plate down.

“Do you feel better?” he asked after a minute has passed without a word.

“Yes,” she warmed her hands on a cup of tea. “Thank you, Jonathan. I snapped.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Yeah, I do. Some small shit goes wrong, I get angry and I start to make mistakes. That’s why I move places so often.”

He nodded. “Have you taken the pills I gave you?”

“No.” He left that without comment, but Miranda felt need to defend her decision. Did it really matter what he thinks? “I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t trust you either,” he agreed, “and we shouldn’t.”

This mutual agreement calmed her a little. They understood each other. “I owe you one.”

“You shouldn’t say that, or I will take you seriously.”

“You are right. I will owe you one if you get me the name.”

Jonathan smiled amused. “Miss Bradbury, we just talked about trust.”

“Business works differently.”

“You do not have sex with your business partners.”

“Says who?” she laughed, and he raised his eyebrows. “I’m just kidding. Maybe.”

“Anyways,” he continued with coldness in his voice – just a bit, she would almost miss it. “I will see what I can do. You take care of yourself, Miranda. And take your meds.”

“Sure, doc.”

***

Terry Borrows entered their shitty apartment with even shittier mood. Another day, another failed job hunt.

“I’m sorry, your crime record speaks against you.”

“Here you write you can’t stand loud noises. This work position is not for you.”

“Sorry, mate, not enough experience.”

“Are you Mexican?”

“We don’t hire killers.”

Terry collapsed in the armchair and sighed in frustration. You witness one fucking murder and you are fucked! You have to lower yourself to work for crime lords. Terry didn’t want to. They wanted some normal work without heavy machinery.

But no, the police still suspected them, so now they were unemployed, in debt and with eviction note on the table.

“Fuck this,” Terry said to the room. “Fuck it all!”

“You won’t suffer for long,” said a voice.

Terry jumped on their feet and turned around. Nobody was there. What? They searched the room with their eyes. Empty.

“Who said that?!”

Feeling of being watched crawled on their back. The room was lit and nobody else was there. Terry shook scared. They had to be hearing things. Nothing happened. Everything is fine.

They finally calmed down a bit although the tight chest, bound by nervousness, stayed. They’ll make coffee, and all will be fine.

Ding.

Terry froze.

Knife appeared on their neck and Terry screamed. Hand held their mouth.

“You do not fuck with death ghost, haven’t you heard, Terry?” whispered Banshee behind them. Terry whimpered ready for a pain and the end. “When you hear her come, you die.”

Tears ran on their face.

“I am a curious ghost, you know? I will let you talk. But you scream once and you die, Terry, understand?”

They nodded carefully not to cut their neck. Tight grip disappeared and a shove sent them on the ground. Terry turned. Over them stood a woman with scarf. The same one they’ve seen weeks back.

“Please, I…”

“Terry Borrows,” she said their name as if she was tasting it. “Who are you? You are not the League, or you’d find me right away. I don’t know you. Why do you want me dead?”

Terry felt their body tremble to the bone, but they felt like they are not there. The body wasn’t theirs. They focused only on her. She found them. She will kill them. Like she did to that guy before. No mercy. Their damn shitty life will be over.

“Speak!” she commanded.

Terry yelped and then unsure of what to say, tears started to pour from their eyes. The woman stood there, waiting, her stare ready to give them heart attack. Terry opened mouth several times, but shock wouldn’t let them speak so they looked like a fish out of water gasping for air.

Banshee put the knife to other hand and took out a gun.

“Please!” Terry finally managed. “I… I…” They couldn’t say it. She will kill them. “You…”

“Yes?”

“You ruined my life. Everyone… Everyone think I killed that guy! I got fired! The bill are crazy!”

“So you have money to pay for bounty and not for life, hm?”

Terry fell silent. How could they explain they got drunk and in revenge fit put out the bounty? And when they sobered up, they decided to leave it there and decided to run away or die trying without paying it?

“Sob story,” commented Banshee. “Your life turned bad, so you want to blame someone. I don’t do those. You fucked with wrong person.”

Terry closed their eyes.

“Oh no, not so easy. You take down the bounty first.”

“I can’t…”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t do it from here. I can’t…”

Banshee frowned. Then she hid her gun and knife.

“You might have bought a day. Pull down the bounty. Don’t try to run. I will find you. I will…” just for a second she turned her gaze to corner and shook her head. “I will hunt you down. You better do what I say, and I might feel generous.”

Terry nodded fast.

“I will find you later.”

Terry sobbed a bit and their vision blurred. When they cleared the tears from their eyes, Banshee was gone.

***

Visiting Jonathan now was a lottery. Before she didn’t know what to expect but the options were limited. Now they grew and Miranda never knew what to prepare for. But what he started today, she wouldn’t foretold at all.

“We need to talk.”

She nearly choked on her drink. Talk? Now? Really? She took him for the type that will do things and when they stop being to his liking, he will just stop. No need to talk there.

“About what?” she cleared her throat.

“There are more things. Let me start with the simplest one. Did you find them?”

“Terry? Yes,” she nodded. “I have yet to kill them, but the bounty is off. For now.”

“I took you for hit first, ask question later kind of woman.”

“It depends. I needed to cancel the bounty. Terry doesn’t really bother me. Plus, I am sucker for helping poor. Kill, earn money, donate to charity sort of thing. Terry is in bad place. I might reconsider. I will see.”

“Interesting.”

“You are starting to scare me now with these comments.”

“Nervous, are you?”

“I didn’t expect any serious talks. What’s next?”

Jonathan smiled a little. “What are we doing?”

“You tell me. I don’t mind continuing with this. But I feel there is more in the air. I just don’t know what.”

“Can you even feel attachment, Miranda? Affection?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“I try not to.”

The words were said. They left her a lot to think about. Could she like him? Could she replace the common feeling she lacked with something? Loyalty maybe? Damn him and his stupid mind games. She liked him more when he fucked her in the backroom. No questions, no talks.

“Let’s not push anything, Jonathan. It’s not worth it.”

“I agree.”

Relief. Yes, it’s better not to overthink. Just let it flow, it will sort itself out eventually.

“Last thing.” He didn’t even stop to think. “You should take the pills.”

Miranda never opened the bottle. Reason stopped her. Possible consequences too. Jonathan could have lied. He wouldn’t poison her, just mess her up. Miranda, you wanted that, remember? But right now, that was low on her list. Shadows occupied the first five positions and she worried drugs would only worsen them.

“I don’t know what they will do,” she avoided saying the truth.

“I told you. They can awake your emotions.” He poured another drink just to put his hands to work. “Don’t you want that?”

Again, that weird idea she had – he also avoided something. Didn’t they just agree to let it flow? Damn him. “Maybe. But are you telling the truth? Remember the trust?”

“I do. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I have a suggestion.”

“Your suggestions always end up either in a fight or sex.”

“I would like to avoid both tonight.”

“Now I am curious,” she laughed.

“I’ll take it first.”

She fell silent. That was… unexpected. She never heard of psychiatrist just suggesting that. Then again, she never fucked her shrinks. This was also the first time she has became a pet project. Somehow she felt she needs to accept just to make him happy. And to bring herself to trust him. Enforce the bound.

She would rather go for that fuck now.

Aaaagh, think, Miranda! Is this a game again? What will be the consequences? Can you even afford consequences when the ghosts are following?

“Are you okay taking your own medicine?” she asked.

“I test it on myself sometimes when I am sure there are no side effects. If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have suggested it. I want you to trust the meds. Not just my word.”

“Okay. I think I would like that.”

“I just have to warn you. I talk way too much when drugged,” he joked.

“All you say will be used against you hundred percent. Just so you know the risk.”

“It’s worth it.”

“Enough of this sentiment,” she grinned with arms folded. It made her think, she hated that. She felt she could get attached, if the ghosts just left her alone. “I still have them, if you want to do it now.”

“Are you just carrying them around?”

“Have you never heard of woman’s purse?”

“And its never-ending space?”

“Yes!”

Jonathan laughed a little. “Yes, I am willing.”

Miranda was still unsure, but she fetched the medication. Questions ran through her head. Manipulation was one of them. Be wary of the good doctor. The good doctor is a freak. Shadows hoovered at the back of the room and silently agreed.

She needs them gone!

Jonathan accepted the bottle and just took one pill. So simple. Hard evidence that he didn’t give her anything bad. He handed her the bottle back.

“Did you test this one before?” Miranda asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you keep composure?”

“Partially. It doesn’t change your thinking, it just mixes your emotions. Often positively but not always.”

“Okay.”

They didn’t talk for a while. Miranda was waiting for anything to happen. Jonathan just rested in his chair. At one point he frowned and clenched his fists, but that was it.

“You make it look easy,” said Miranda.

“It’s just uncomfortable since you are watching.”

“I noticed. You don’t like people, do you?”

“Are you using the talking against me, Miranda?”

“Yes,” she grinned. “Spill the beans, Jonathan.”

He scoffed. “No, I don’t like people. They always turn on you, always hate you. There is no good. All is just façade helping them to get something from you.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I never met anyone who wouldn’t use me. Did you?”

“I am a tool.”

“See,” he said victoriously.

“Is that…” she waved her hand a bit. Jonathan gave her weird stare, but the ghost disappeared. “Why you don’t like being touched?”

Jonathan rested his head on his hand. “No, you misunderstood. I like getting touched just like any other man.”

“So, what’s the deal?”

He really tried to hold himself together but little tick here and there and foot tapping gave away his rising emotions. Annoyance? Excitement? She couldn’t tell.

“My grandma was a fanatic. Religious zealot. She…” he reached for a glass and drank away the sore throat. “When she didn’t like something, she decided to shun the devil away.”

Jonathan fell silent, nervous ticks more often. He avoided eye contact. That was a first. He always held it over her like a weapon and now he was looking anywhere but at her.

“She’d close me in the old church. And the crows there would attack me. She trained them like dogs. Pecked meat of the body.”

Now it was her who shivered.

“So,” she said, “lanky and scarred.”

He raised his eyes with spark of anger.

“That’s what you don’t like. Being seen,” she concluded. “I just thought you were kinky. You are not really into unconscious ladies.”

“No.”

“You could just turn off the light.”

“The feel is still there. You can recognize the scars by touching them.”

Miranda scratched her head awkwardly. “You go to great lengths just to hide that. Just… it’s all fucked up, sorry.”

He shrugged but looked out of windows. Miranda felt like shit. She opened the can of worms and now they were crawling everywhere, and she tried to pick them one by one. Say something, girl. Can’t you see this is your only chance to pry?

“Are you okay, Jonathan?”

“No,” he answered.

“I will leave you alone.”

She was ready to leave. “No, please, stay,” he stopped her and reached his hand to her. She hesitated for a second. They cannot be saved. They cannot be changed. Nothing in this world will fix whatever they became and why they became it didn’t matter.

She just sat next to him, held his hand and let him suffer in silence

Next chapter

#batman #fanfiction #jonathan crane #writing #writeblr #ghosts of the past #sick raven writing #this is my favourite chapter because Jonathan is emotional #or as much as he can get

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iphoenixrising · 4 years

Text

Sub!Tim Omake: Superbats

SO. So, an anon once asked me about Sub!Bruce, Dom!Clark dynamic from the Sub!Tim au. Some of how the power dynamic, what type of Dom Clark is with B, how they can work it out, like those kinds of things just really interested me because I feel their dynamic would be just completely different from Dick and Tim’s. And, well, since this is really my first foray into a universe like this, I just thought I’d try to explore a bit more, so this could really be a fail :(

“B, can you spare me a few minutes? I need to run through this speech with someone.”

The Dark Knight pauses, fingers splayed over keys.

No one in the Watchtower’s Control Room gives them more than a glance, but J’onn waves him out of the way and goes back to searching for the missing mystical item the DaDa’s were after in the first place when they came upon the Titans.

“Sorry, but the UN meeting is tomorrow and I know I’m missing something,” the Kryptonian’s guilty expression is suitably apologetic as the Batman trades places with J’onn. The visible part of his face under the cowl giving nothing away.

“It’s fine. These data sets can wait until I’m sure you aren’t going to say something suitably embarrassing like you did last year.” the vigilante returns, already moving with the cape pulled around himself to be nothing more than darkness.

“That wasn’t my fault, you know,” the alien returns lightly, eyes sparkling. “I’m just a simple farm boy from Kansas. Not everyone can be a smooth talker like you, B.”

“Hn. This coming from a Pulitzer winning journalist?”

“Now I know you’re making fun of me.”

“I didn’t tell the representative of Kazakhstan it was nice to meet his feet.”

“Details, details.”

Superman floats serenely beside his best friend, secretly amused when junior members of the JLA move when the Batman strides forward on their way to the elevator.

He doesn’t blame them, really. At one time, he’d been pretty terrified of Batman, too. Regular human without powers be damned.

Even without X-Ray vision and super senses, he would be able to tell how stiff B’s shoulders are, how his carefully controlled movements have some kind of underlying tension. Maybe it’s years of friendship and comradery protecting their world. Maybe it’s because he is one of the few people on the planet that knew more than just the sheen of Bruce Wayne, maybe it’s because he had personally seen the depths behind the cowl.

Maybe it’s because his heart is striding in front of him, and no matter how long he’s tried to deny it, there won’t be another relationship in his life like this one. Not with the mutual respect and admiration, not one with collaboration and negotiation. Not one where he’s literally, essentially powerless until he hears the right words.

(“You don’t take control until I say the word,” was the original agreement, after months of trying to get Bruce to take him on as his Service Dom.)

The itch under Clark’s skin had been getting worse since the moment Batman walked out of the MedLab of Titan’s Tower, leaving Nightwing to deal with Red Robin. It had been getting progressively worse, even after he checked on Conner and the rest of the team, then grudgingly made his way back up to the Watchtower with the rest of the Justice League.

It was still there when Batman was doing the background research on why the DaDas were moving in San Francisco, a hum in his senses at the tight, controlled movement, with every logical observation, with every moment he isn’t taking care of his Submissive. Even now, as the elevator takes its sweet time, he has to put conscious effort into not reaching out, not using the Dom Voice, not laying a hand to the back of B’s neck under the cowl.

He has to wait for it. Luckily for both of them, Clark is one of the most patient people on the planet – when it comes to Batman, of course.

(“I can take care of you without compromising anything,” he’d pleaded way back when, torn just at watching Bruce’s hand tremble slightly while holding the Bat-a-rang posed to fly. “Bruce, let me give you what you need. Just this one time. If you never want me to do it again, I won’t bring it up. Nothing between us changes, I swear it. Please, Bruce. Please.”)

He’s too distracted to keep up with small talk or pretenses, just turns slightly into B’s side, hands fisted to keep from pulling at an arm so B can list into his side, can’t do anything to push–

–until he gets to hear it.

Batman, however, obligingly reads his notes for the speech he’s giving at the UN in two days, skimming over the bullet points, talking pointedly about a few things while the elevator carries them deeper into the space station.

The reporter in him files away the observations for later, but his primary attention is on every inch of the Batman from booted feet to pointy ears, refusing to use his enhanced hearing or vision to see if there are injuries and pulled muscles, deep tissue bruising or stitched lacerations under the suit. No, no, there’s going to be space for all that soon enough.

After he hears the words.

And like they’ve played in public for years, since before Dick came in Bruce’s life, he trails along in Batman’s wake like a devotee, making jokes and keeping the space between them lighthearted with witty banter and the humor of their long-time friendship. He plays it like his inner senses aren’t focused and ready, like he isn’t fairly starved to care for his Submissive, to give him everything he needs, to be a Good Dom to such an incredible man.

His mouth waters when B pointedly braces the palm of his hand on his chin and cracks his neck with a soft sound.

(His Sub chained with promises not to pick the locks while Clark slowly works out all those tense muscles, forced Bruce to stay still while he’s completely worked over, until muscles are loose and pliant, until the sounds escaping the gag are soft and sated, until he hears the heartbeat settle, until all points indicate his Sub is ready to drop down where he’s safe in Clark’s care, ready to give himself over.)

As usual, Batman is smooth about typing the password to his personal suite in the WatchTower’s dormitory section, not bothering to glance behind him to make sure Superman is following (he doesn’t need to. At this point, he knows Clark. Even if he’s hidden parts of himself in the shadows most of his life, Clark is one of the few people that can always see through him somehow – X-Ray vision notwithstanding).

Once the door softly slides closed behind them, B squares his shoulders and gently lays the speech draft down on the standard end table by the small kitchen.

Without the need for pretenses, Clark lets his feet touch the ground, less than a few inches separating his chest from Bruce’s caped back.

“How’s Tim?” is deceptively soft, a tactic to start bringing Bruce out of the cowl, out of the Bat, just a little diversion to call to his human nature over the vigilante.

“…Dick said he tried to run. He misunderstood what was happening, probably because I didn’t come clean until now,” is so obviously dipped in a large serving of self-loathing.

“I thought we talked about this,” Clark keeps his voice soft but firm, “how none of this is your fault. Tim presented while you were lost in time, remember?”

Without giving his detective the chance to argue back, Clark steps around for some face-to-face, has no problem tilting his chin up just the tiniest margin so he’s looking right through those whiteout lenses into the Dark Knight’s blue, blue eyes underneath.

“Still–”

“Still nothing, Bruce. you aren’t a God, and you absolutely did the right thing by calling in Dick to help. He would have had a bad drop if you hadn’t intervened, right?” And Clark doesn’t give B any time to deflect, to parse out the emotional ramifications with logic, to divert so he can take the easy way out and blame himself.

The sigh is large enough to lift those shoulders, the weight he mainly puts upon himself pressing down enough that Clark can almost see it on the caped shoulders.

“That isn’t–”

“It is,” and even though his hands are itching, his arms aching, he makes himself keep a foot or so of distance, stares into those whiteouts. “If you had been on-world, just fighting crime in Gotham, then I would say it’s not like you to miss something like Tim’s obvious change in behavior when he must have presented. Since you weren’t even in this time, I can safely say he probably had himself under control by the time he brought you back.”

A subtle creak of leather, hands tightening into fists while the visible part of his face remains impassive.

Playing it very, very carefully, Clark makes it firm but gentle, “Bruce. I want to see your face.”

Because he knows all about the inevitable struggle. Of Bruce’s internal fight against what the Submissive in him needs and the vigilante that can’t bend or else he’ll break. It’s Bruce trying to find a middle ground, trying to find the space he needs to hand over control, and even if it’s to one of his oldest friends, one of his most trusted partners, the only Dom in over two decades he’s trusted enough to take him down, there is always a struggle against giving even an inch.

Clark is entirely patient, waiting just on the edges of Batman’s peripheral, still except for steady breathing, the utter picture of calm.

And whether it draws out the meditation training or is just something Bruce needs, it’s effective enough that hands eventually go to the cowl and deactivate security protocols.

(Step One in caring for the Batman. Take away the Mask.)

“Thank-you.” A physical step closer, not enough to even touch, and his smile might be a little dim around the edges, but it’s a step closer to the Dom that wants to care for his Sub. “I know you suspected Tim’s orientation, but if that wasn’t something he was comfortable telling you –regardless of his reasons– then that is completely his call. So for that, at least, you can stop blaming yourself.”

Bruce’s eyes, however, give him away.

And since they’re this and alone, away from prying eyes, Clark can reach out, slow enough for Bruce to stop him, and grip the gloved hand.

“Besides, you’re you, so I know how this is going to play out. Want to hear it?” Gentle tug to get those feet moving out of the common area of the suite, down the hall to the door leading to the bedroom.

He doesn’t wait for a reply, already knows there won’t be one, not when he’s got his thumb and forefinger around a wrist, just tight enough Bruce will be able to feel him through the supple leather.

“Dick is going to catch him if he tries to run again and keep him from going out until he’s stable enough. If there’s any issues, the first thing he’s going to do is call you because he’s Dick and he knows how you worry.”

To ease him down, ground him further, Clark easily snags the other wrist, brings both hands up to his shoulders, presses down, to give B something solid under his gloved palms. His intent is to makes those blue eyes focus again, to get his Sub’s attention.

“Once he makes Tim stop running, gets him balanced, then you can swoop in to Dad all over everything because, let’s face it, that’s what you always do for your Robins, isn’t it Bruce?”

He doesn’t need super hearing to know B’s back teeth are grinding because yes, Clark does know him that well.

“They’re grown vigilantes–”

“Which doesn’t make a damn bit of difference,” Clark retorts gently, using just a little more pressure to make B step over the threshold with him. “They’re your sons, no matter how old they get.”

“Clark–”

“And if you’re going to take care of them and be Batman, then you need to be on your game, don’t you?”

Grim silence and those eyes narrowing means he’s getting through, getting closer to giving them both what they obviously need, and the Dom in him, waiting and pacing on the inside, is so, so close.

Clark’s voice automatically lowers, his feet shuffling inches closer with both hands still pressing down lightly, but he’s itching to palm the back of that neck, to feel the strong chords loosen under his grip, to know he’s doing something to help Bruce step away from the stress and strain and pain that comes with being the Dark Knight.

“Bruce, let me help you. Please.”

And like the caped vigilante had been waiting for just that, for Clark to make the offer, his eyes briefly flutter closed, and a deep breath lifts his shoulders under the cape.

Gently, Clark smiles as the tight features soften.

“…all right.”

And oh, so so close.

“All right what, sweetheart?” Because he has to be sure, and Bruce knows it. Knows it always has to be his call or Clark would play the boy scout, get him out of the suit, make him eat and sleep, just be generally annoying. Those hands would stay on his shoulders instead of move to the back of his neck. Bruce knows Clark won’t push any harder to scene, won’t try to convince him they should try to take him down. He won’t even sit to let Bruce kneel, but will (and has) tuck him in bed, stay to talk low and steady while pretty much sprawling over B’s chest to pin him down until he passes out from sheer boredom.

(Those travelling salesman jokes are only so entertaining.)

But as much as he hates to admit it, B is still the most pragmatic person in the League. He knows himself, is comfortable enough with himself and his Submissive to know when he’s walking a fine line. Seeing Tim so far gone, that he’d rather suffer and hide than come to him had hit too close to home.

“I want you to take care of me…Sir.” Gruff and low, but those blue eyes are lighter, lacking some of Bruce’s inner darkness.

“I would be honored,” is Clark’s usual reply, hand already moving up to slide his fingers around the back of that neck until his palm fits the perfect niche. “You know that, don’t you? You believe me when I say it?”

He might have to pull it back a little, to give just a slight squeeze, see where Bruce is at before he pulls out real strength.

(He’ll never admit it outside of their scene, but being pinned without being forced to think of an escape is one of Bruce’s triggers. So few people can manage it, and every time it happens in their time together, Bruce sinks close to Subspace without much more effort. Something about being held down, no way to get out, real strength beating his own, is enough to put him close to the edge, ready to fall over…)

The blink is a little slower, a long breath out is the signal Bruce is losing the Bat, probably repeating one of his self-dropping mantras, more of the tension sliding out of his back and shoulders.

“I believe you,” is Clark’s second step, making his Submissive say it out loud, to admit to himself it was okay to finally be at ease.

“Thank-you, sweetheart,” he can say softly, can start to sink into his inner Dom. All they both need is Step 3. “Now. Tell me your safewords.”

#sub!tim #winter writes #sub!bruce #dom!clark #superbats #bruce wayne #clark kent #Superman/Batman #just a little side thing to the main story #i hope you like it babe #my writing

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ty-talks-comics · 5 years

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Best of DC: Week of June 26th, 2019

Best of this Week: Batman: Damned #3 - Brian Azzarello, Lee Bermejo and Jared K. Fletcher

It ended as it began; with a fall.

Barman: Damned has finally reached its epic conclusion and it was absolutely worth it. Brian Azzarello wrote this to be his most haunting and dark story to date since Joker and Lee Bermejo gave everything he had to make the art in this book better than almost everything in the previous issues.

Constantine starts the issue with a monologue about control and how no human truly has it. We’re surrounded in a constant maelstrom of chaos and those that seek true control know this fact better than everyone. Obviously as this speech is being made, Batman is the one being referred to as a heart forms from the body of a bat inside of a decayed skeleton.

This imagery, gruesome and disturbing, let's on more than it appears, making a lot more sense by the end of the book. Batman awakens in a coffin and struggles to get out before being saved by a gigantic Swmap Thing as his roots break into the coffin and lift the grave from the ground, mostly destroying the cemetery. Swamp Thing is a very ominous force in this story, staying large and speaking slowly, with some questionable statements about what’s truly at stake in the search to solve how the Joker died.

Constantine shows up and immediately starts bickering with Swamp Thing with the Avatar of the Green telling Batman not to trust the con-man as a mysterious figure works their way through the darkness, bringing angel statues to life. Striking as much fear as the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who, the statues spring to life and attack Constantine only for Swamp Thing and Batman to fight them off. They scream for Batman to be theirs, the lettering indicating that the being that had been speaking to Batman in the past was talking through them. One of them creates a nasty gash on Batman’s face, leading towards his mouth and he smashes it and chases after the woman in the shadows. She whispers of fates written, promises made and secrets kept, which sends Batman spiraling out and causes the angel statues to fall.

Constantine jokes about beating the Angels and Batman says that he wishes that he could find answers to what’s plaguing him and Gotham City to which Constantine relies of the veil between life and death being thin as he takes him to someone that may be able to help. The pair arrive at a club hidden from humanity, but not those that have magical knowledge or seek it. Zatanna appears and, at Constantine’s request, acts as a medium with Deadman joining them all as just a guest.

Things start to take an even darker tone as Zatanna’s spirit calling appears to be very painful, washing the pages in a harsh red. Batman believes that she’s calling the spirit of the Joker or the woman that’s been following him and instead the spirit of a young Bruce Wayne appears, pulling Bruce, Constantine and Deadman in the body of a rat into Bruce’s memories. There, they see the young Bruce being caressed by a horrifying Enchantress who reveals that Bruce made a deal with her. I think all the way back in the first issue, she would make him fearless and the only payment that she would need was his tears. I think the implication was that she had some sort of hand in the death of the Waynes and symbolically Bruce Wayne died as well.

I have never been more afraid of Enchantress that I have of Bermejo’s interpretation of her. Her hair is scraggly, her mody is meatless, all skin and bones. Her fingers are gnarled and her face… mannequin-like with her mouth connecting to her eyes, all of it hollow with terror and malice with her teeth falling out and the skin cracking, almost like porcelain. Deadman bites her foot to distract her while Constantine picks up Joe Chill’s gun and shoots her three time. To me, this seems to be a clear mirror of the deaths of the Waynes as she is shot in the head, chest and in one last unseen place. Thomas was shot in the head, Martha in the chest and we never see how the Child Bruce dies, but with Enchantress’ death, Bruce’s spirit is released from her deal.

Batman sees his dead body and thinks that he’s dead and Constantine says that it’s likely the past that he needs to let go of that’s dead. Batman rebuffs him and decides to head to the one place that he hasn’t since going on this adventure with Constantine, the Gotham City Morgue. Constantine departs and tells Batman to be careful what he says to some “Almighty force.” Once inside, Batman meets the man in the green hood that ran away from him in the first issue who tells him that he “fought hell for his soul and stands before him in judgement,” and his identity is made clear; He is The Spectre, the embodiment of the Rage of God in the form of a man.

*Spoilers Ahead if you wish to read on your own and don’t want to know how things turn out*

It is here that we understand the grand picture of what happened and how Joker dies. In what turns out to be their last fight, The Joker simply stabs him. One stab to the left side of his body, likely puncturing the lung, and he knew that the injury was fatal. He fights the Joker, sending him over the ledge of The Gotham Bridge where he holds on for dear life. Batman holds out his hand, thinking of saving him because that’s what he does… but in fear of what Joker will do if there’s no Batman around, he closes his hand and the Joker plummets to his death, leaving Batman to die of his wounds.

This was Batman’s figurative fall. His moment of embracing fear, breaking his deal with Enchantress and allowing her to try and take his soul, was what caused all of this. He chose weakness and all of Gotham suffered for it, but Heaven was watching too. A drawer with an unknown body is opened and Batman is told that he will be judged as he has judged others and after peeking under the white sheet over the body, he laments that he wishes the Joker were still alive before his soul is sucked into the drawer and presumably the body.

The next scene we see if the fall from the start of the series and a Joker with much shorter hair rising from the water and laughing. I believe that this is a reincarnated Joker with Bruce’s now tortured soul at the helm of it as we see a final shot of Joker running his hands through his hir much like in The Killing Joke as in the final page, the heart from the opening is paid off as the final bits of panel bordering resembles a heartbeat monitor as they form the laugh “Ha” over and over.

This book was a stellar package of amazing. Bermejo’s art and his photorealistic style continues to amaze in his representations of our favorite characters. Constantine looks like a lithe snarky prick as he always should. Swamp Thing looks imposing and terrifying as more of a formless creature of The Green with a face that occasionally forms fists and his wooded, mossy appearance almost makes you feel like you touch him. As previously stated, Enchantress was horrifying and made to feel like more of a threat than she ever has. Zatanna was more beautiful than her first appearance, if only because she was in her classic costume.

Everything had an unsettling tinge of horror to it. The bat in the beginning as he opens to form the heart was very creepy. Swamp Thing, while being a good guy, still came off as terrifying with his glowing red eyes and lack of mouth. Zatanna’s spirit summoning aroused more thoughts of possession than anything else has either her face or the faces of the spirits were superimposed over hers. Bruce, as he was entering his memories slumped over, looks like he’s died, especially with the page being colored red.

Brian Azzarello crafted a great horror mystery that tied in so much of the magical community that Batman does his best to avoid and what circumstances would cause him to fall from grace. Batman comes off as heroic still, but he’s unfocused, something is in his head. He’s uncertain, especially because he doesn’t want to acknowledge what he did, so much so that it’s blocked from his memories. It’s a head trip to read because by the end you feel an unfortunate feeling of disappointment in the Dark Knight.

He’s supposed to be a hero, standing for justice and never giving in to his fears, but watching him close his fist and seeing the Joker’s fingers disappear from the ledge just sends a shock to the senses. Watching him take this journey, as Constantine keeps him from the Morgue as he was originally supposed to go to first, seems like he’s suffering through trials or stages of grief after what he’s done.

This story is truly the quality of what I expect from DC Black Label. With this stellar debut and it’s amazing ending, I only hope that future releases are this good. Batman: Last Knight and Superman: Year One have had amazing first issues and as long as they remain consistently good like Batman: Damned then this imprint will go down in history as one of the greats in prestige books. High recommend.

#comics #dc #dc comics #batman #batman damned #john constantine #swamp thing #zatanna #enchantress #joker #the joker #brian azzarello #lee bermejo #dc black label #horror #prestige comics

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