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octalove · 4 years

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III: We Met

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader goes out, and finds herself in an alley with no one to call. An old memory is brought up. Part one and part two.

Who the fuck leaves a batarang lying around when they’re spying on a supervillain?

A week had gone by. A week where every day I tried to wake up and smile at my family and go to school and do calculus, but all I kept wondering was what kind of idiot leaves a batarang when they’re spying on a supervillain? I glanced over at it; I’d left it lying on my desk as a reminder. Every time I looked at it, I felt the sharp edges biting into my palm as his hands closed around mine. I smelled leather and the musty scent of unsettled dust in the warehouse. It was the same shape as the angry red bat on his chest- eye level with me.

How did he know who I was? How did he know I was there? How was it he just knew I’d show up to that same warehouse four days afterward in the middle of a school day?

“Tell Batman,” He’d said. If the secrets weren’t ringing around my head already- there it was. The line that kept echoing. Tell Batman, tell Batman. Telling Batman wasn’t an option. He’d lock me in the cave until I was thirty and growing liver spots. I’d never be Batgirl again. No way in hell was I standing before that black cowl and confessing two weeks worth of bad decisions.

That blue evening, Gotham was alive and breathing with the heat of something organic; rhythmic heart-beat in the muffled cars on the street, and the jazz clubs, eyes wide open in the bright, excited lights dotting the spiring skyline. The breeze bit subtly as the city shook the shackles of summer, and moved into early September.

I stuck close to Batman, almost apologetically obedient for the night as I tried to convey some sort of negotiation on my part; I’m sorry for acting weird, I’m on my best behavior tonight.

Robin didn’t so much appreciate that sentiment, because Batman’s side was his place, but patrol began civilly enough. Car theft on Nettleton (Red Robin dealt with), some questionable sex work in the Row (I oversaw and made sure the women were safe and willing), a robbery call (Batman and Robin checked it out- false alarm). By one in the morning, we were all mostly still in one piece, and lulled by the mildness and coolness of the night. I was dragging my gaze over Haytham Parkway when Oracle’s staticky voice came through the coms.

“Batman. There’s been a Red Hood sighting at the H&P in Gotham Village. It’s Falcone’s men.” Swiftly and gracefully, the three of us scaled rooftops, pillars and cell towers. We arrived within twelve minutes, and then planted ourselves like gargoyles. Listening. The Village was one of the more quiet parts of Gotham. It was all settled with blue collar, passive criminals, instead of outright violent ones. A few minutes passed. The building looked undisturbed.

“Do you think-“

Bang.

A gunshot followed by glass breaking. In a hair’s width span of time, Batman, Robin and I descended on the building and swung through through the shattered display window. Inside, broken glass littered the floor, along with disheveled items from the shop, stung around haphazardly. Two men were dead on the ground, blood around them like a premonitory chalk outline. They were unassuming men, but I recognized the patches on their matching shirts as Hadley’s Deli. They were Maroni’s men.

“Robin- the back rooms. Batgirl- check the perimeter. If he left the building, he won’t be far.”

I shot past them and into the dark, grappling to the roof for a better vantage point. From there I swept my gaze across the northern and eastern neighboring streets. Movement. Like a twitch in the darkness. I raced down a fire escape and into an alley adjacent east of the H&P. It was quiet. The sound of my own boots on the asphalt as I halted. It was small and enclosed- the shadows weren’t deep. If he was here, I’d know.

Click. And now I did.

“Easy,” He said, a rumbling, buzzing sound that was becoming familiar. “Easy.” The second order was much slower. I felt his presence as it drew closer, but I didn’t turn around. I was a damn good martial artist, but a gun would always be faster and deadlier than me.

“I just keep findin’ you, don’t I, little bird?” He stopped a couple feet away from my back. “Where’s Batman?” He asked. I scowled.

“He’s with the men you murdered.”

A deep chuckle. “You saw that? Maroni and I have been havin’ a… disagreement. He’s comin’ around.”

“What, he won’t submit to you?” I pressed, hoping since he was so keen on entertaining me, I might be able to probe for some information- figure out his long game.

“Something like that.”

“So all this. Is it just to get to Batman?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward. I tried to look for something to catch his reflection in- a window or something. I felt the cool metal of his gun part my hair like a curtain and press against the nape of my neck. Then, slowly, his gloved hand ghosted lightly across the side of my face, slowly, slowly, upward toward my temple until he found the button. Click. And just like that, my coms were down. No Batman’s voice in my ear. No updates from Oracle. No calling for help. How did he know that was there?

“What do want? Who the hell are you?” I said, letting frustration and anger deep into my voice. I stood cemented to my place as he drug himself around to stand in front of me, until I was staring back at that angry red bat on his chest. He’d holstered his gun.

“Why don’t you find out?” It was one part threat, one part joke that I wasn’t in on, growled contemptuously in that electronic flare that masked his voice. Whether it was rhetorical, or a genuine invitation, I took the opportunity to cautiously raise my hands to his helmet, feeling along the edges of the jaw until I found a matching set of release triggers. The architecture of the helmet was oddly congruent with something Bruce would’ve cooked up. Another mockery- like the bat.

His passive stillness terrified me. Like he knew just what was under the mask and just how I would react. Like it was all part of his plan, and I was playing my dutiful role. I pressed. A hissing noise as the inner workings went slack and released, giving me the freedom to push it up and over. When I saw his skin, then his mouth, I stopped. I stopped because he was actually letting me- and there was no reason he should be letting me except if he planned to kill me afterward. There was a long strangulation of the air between us. Gotham City- the buildings and streetlamps and gaudy, glittering marquees- seemed to quiet just to watch in anticipation. In a very coy way, his lips battled a grin. I felt like saying something witty, but stayed silent for fear of pushing time back into motion. He leaned forward, and lightning leapt in my stomach, despite myself. The dusk had alleviated, leaving only black across the sky that was rather vapid in comparison to the shining city reflected on his helm, still covering his eyes and nose.

“Scared?” He asked; quite spitefully considering my hands were trembling. Of course I was scared. But his voice was so human- smooth, but a little raspy, like anyone who gave orders for a living might have. It was low and deep, and I preferred it to the voice scrambler.

A dog barked from somebody’s fenced balcony, and some passing car shook with jaunty bass. Loud engines, sirens, honking, distant voices. The sizzling of a street taco stand. And still, somehow I was close enough to hear his drawing breath as his chest rose and fell. I went to push my fingers along the bottom of the helmet, to remove it entirely, but he grabbed my wrist.

A tiny, pinpoint red light was flashing on the breast of my suit. Batman was trying to contact me- unable to reach my coms.

“Daddy’s calling.” He looked wolfish there in the dark; featureless but a mouth displaying a cheshire grin that was wickedly snide. In a fluid motion, he released his grip on me and replaced his helmet, turning on his heel into the shallow shadows.

6 years prior

I hated this. The music, the marble, the champagne- all of it. I caught Alfred’s eye as he exchanged formalities with some distant-cousin-twice-removed of Bruce’s. I knew what he was looking at me for. The glint in his eye said it all.

Please behave, was the message. I’d already heard it twice this evening; Bruce told me how important this party was for the investors (aka, please behave), and Dick gave me some casual line about how he’d been looking forward to tonight all month (aka, please, please fucking behave).

It’s not like I had anything better to do. I couldn’t drink (no, not even the wine), and the only thing I had in common with company investors was that I was under Bruce’s thumb, too. Occasionally, some sweetly overbearing lady would appear, pinch my cheeks and pat my head, then disappear just as quickly. Thirty minutes passed as I sipped my ginger-ale and counted untied shoelaces, until I decided to find my brother. It was easy, really- just follow the laughter.

Dick wasn’t born in Gotham- not like me- but his rearing in the city had no doubt left a strong imprint. Everything about him proposed Gothamite glamour- even his voice. Far removed from the expensive private grammar lessons Bruce had bought him, he swung his vowels, and let his ‘a’s hang in the air, leaving an irresistible air of cocky, laid-back swagger. Some equilibrium between wealthy socialite and ‘man of the people’ he seemed adept at finding.

I found him at the snack table. He wore a perfectly-fitting suit of all black with navy satin accents, dark hair slicked back, and a very beautiful woman (I would come to know as Maya. Or was it Moira? Mara?) on his arm. A couple of his academy friends stood around him- freshly graduated, and so much wiser for it. It all suited him well. Not as much could be said for me.

“Hey.” He said, throwing me a grin.

“Hey.”

Maya Moira Mara excused herself to freshen up for a moment, and Dick put his hands in his pockets.

“Make any friends?” That was always his first question. I rolled my eyes.

“No. But you have.” It was a pointed jab- he and Babs had just taken a “break” and Maya Moira Mara’s silky red hair marked her as a painfully obvious rebound.

He sighed, decidedly ignoring me. “What about uh... what’s her name?”

“Who?”

“Ah, I forget. Her parents are international law something or other. Bruce works with ‘em. They have a daughter about your age.”

I just grunted. No use in making it seem like I was desperate for company now, considering I’d spent the last hour alone.

“There-“ He pointed to a girl standing alone, apparently abandoned by her respective international lawyer parents. Before I could slap his hand down and tell him it was rude to point, she spotted us. Following that, I’d look even weirder if I didn’t say anything, so after a nudge from Dick, I walked over to her.

“Hi.” I said, immediately wishing I could take the monosyllabic word back and try again. “I’m Jason.”

The girl smiled at me. A small, bashful sort of smile that you give when you’re the only people your age at a christmas party, so you slam together like two magnets.

“I’m Y/N.” She replied.

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 4 years

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How time flies by when you're in love

Warnings: None, only hell of a lot of fluffffff Word count: ~2024 Summary: A timeline of your time with Damian and how you became a couple...

This was requested by an immensly amazing Anon: Hiya! I was wondering if you could make a one shot of Damian Wayne x reader? Just some fluff involving him and like a time line of his and the reader's relationship?? (like friends then so on??) although I'm fine with just some fluff. Thanks! Best wishes!!! A/N: I kinda left out the friends part, but I still hope you like it 🥰

How you met: Your family has been close to the Wayne family for longer than anyone remembers. Your Grandmother and Martha Wayne had been best friends since they were born and Bruce and your Father played with each other on the playground. But when the Wayne's died that friendship was tested. Your grandparents tried to take care of Bruce but after a tragedy in your own lines, they abandoned their estate in Gotham for a later time and moved to England with their son. They never moved back to Gotham. Your father took over their business, making it even more successful and having it take new roots in Britain so that he could stay there. And then Bruce came back from his time "off" and in a weird turn of events he and your father reconnected and their childhood friendship blossomed again. It wasn't like his friendship with Clark or Diana or any other members of the league (he considered friends), but Bruce just enjoyed having a friend who wasn't involved in all the Superhero business. Someone from his "normal" life that wasn't friends with him because they want something. Even though they didn't see each other in person very often, with your dad living in England and Bruce in Gotham, they stayed in close contact. Because of that, you knew about him and his life, even though you've only seen him a few times when your dad visited him on vacation or Bruce visited your family. So, to set the scene, you knew about his family, but you didn't know his family. Then your dad decided that it was time to go back to his root and move back to Gotham. So, after you had settled into the newly renovated family Estate not far from Wayne Manor, your father took you and your mother to Wayne manor for dinner and catch-up with Bruce. Then you actually met Damian. And boy... It was the start of a wild ride. During the whole dinner, he seemed physically in pain by how much he didn't want to be there, but you being raised to be polite and follow all rules of manners there are, didn't speak of it...or at all. You answered when you were asked, laughed when something funny was said and displayed an interest in the topics, even though it was mostly faked. You knew the drill from years upon years of playing the perfect little princess that you were and making your dad happy. Other than the Wayne's who had the dark secret that connected them, your family was just as business-directed as you usually think the Wayne family is. So you played your part like you always did. But you couldn't help but sometimes gaze at Damian who sat there and, even though he was somewhat polite and followed manors, showed his rebellion against the situation and his un-comfort. The boy had something about him that made your stomach turn in confusion and excitement. You didn't notice that his behaviour mirrored yours to some parts.

He asks you out: Your interest in Damian didn't last very long, since the moment your parents and Bruce left to talk about something in his office, he turned into the entitled little brat he was for the public. It took you aback and you stayed quiet for the rest of the night, keeping your facade up and having a forced, but extremely polite conversation with Tim. When you left with your parents a sigh of relief left you. Your hope that you could forget about the boy until you were forced to go with your parents to a shared Gala or another Dinner quickly vanished when you entered your first class in Gotham academy. There he sat in the back, looking as bored as ever and staring out of the window. When your teacher introduced you to the glass you could feel his gaze on you, but tried your best to ignore it. You didn't want any trouble with him, especially with the small butterflies that still fluttered in your stomach while seeing him. You really could do without them. It took months for something between you two to actually happen. Not soon after you enrolled in the school you became quite popular thanks to your skill to fit in. Something you had also learned very early. But, even though you enjoyed hanging out with them and didn't have anything against them, none of the girls and boys you spend your lunch-breaks and free-time together were the type of people you actually wanted to be friends with. So when you had a free period you often sneaked away into the library to spend some time alone. Did was exactly what you did the day it happened, just that on that day, the corner you had made yours was occupied. And when you got close enough, you saw that it was occupied by no other than Damian Wayne himself. You stopped in your tracks, hoping he wouldn't notice you, and turned around to silently leave and search another place to be on your own. "Y/L/N!" You stopped yet again, but couldn't turn around. You had no idea what would happen now. You haven't talked to him in months for god's sake. "I wanted to talk to you," he said, quieter now, and you felt his presence behind you. Did he wait for you? Did he know about 'your place'? Slowly you turned around and caught sight of him standing only a few feet away from you, his hand buried in his pant's pockets. You forced yourself to smile at him neutrally and asked: "How can I help you?" "What is your plan here?" "Excuse me?" "Why are you acting?" The question confused you and caused you to quirk your eyebrow at him. What was he going at? "I- I don't quite think I'm catching on...What are you talking about exactly?" "Ttt," he scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, "You know what I mean. You're not letting anyone know you. You're acting like a chameleon." Your breathing hitched. He had noticed. Of course he had, he did the same after all. "Who're you to talk about that?" you asked slightly defensive. "It's not like you're exactly open about you either. As far as I noticed no-one in the school knows anything real about you." "And about you they do or what?" "N-No...but that's not really any of your business is it now?" Damian opened his mouth as to answer, but couldn't. You didn't know that he had started to stay close to you, hidden in the shadow, after the first few weeks off you being in the school. You didn't know that he felt a pang off jealousy in his gut every time you talked to one of the other boys who he heard talking about you like you were a price to be claimed whenever they were out of your hearing range. You didn't know that something deep inside him wanted to get to know you, to be able to protect you. "So? What exactly do you want now?" you asked, ripping him out of his thoughts about you. What was he supposed to answer now? How had he forgotten about all the things he had planned to say, to tell you? An uncomfortable silence filled the room between you and you sigh, shaking your head, before you turned around, ready to leave yet again. Then his hand grabbed your wrist. "I want to get to know the real you," Damian said the thing he had thought this whole time but swore to himself to not let you know about.

Your first date: The next week flew by like it was only a few seconds. In the heat of him asking, you had actually managed to say yes and somehow the two of you managed to passively-aggressively organize a meet-up. Deep inside you, you had hoped it was a date, but you were too afraid to ask. The question sticking in your mind like gum, never leaving your mind. The answer came when you heard a ring of the door-bell on Saturday after. You quickly got up, sorting through your outfit for the last time, and practically ran over to open the door. There he stood in all his glory. He wore a pair of plain black pants and a white shirt with cuffed sleeves. God, they don't lie when they say boys get more attractive with cuffed sleeves... He looked at you and you could have sworn that a small blush made its way onto his cheeks, making you blush as well. Should you tell him that he looked good? Wouldn't that be to Date-y? You were questioning the sense of this meet-up again when he took something out from behind his back. You hadn't even noticed that he had hidden something. In his hands was a bundle of your favorite flowers. "They're gorgeous," you breathed out and took them, breathing in their sweet scent. If you had looked at Damian you would've literally seen the gears turn in his head. "They're not as gorgeous as you," he said before he could stop himself. The blush on your cheeks got even bigger and you really wanted to return the compliment, but you were quite literally speechless. After you had put the flowers in a vase, you rejoined Damian and almost turned into a tomato when he took your hand and lead you to the car that waited for the two of you. The way your hand was lying in his felt so extremely natural that you didn't even notice that he kept on holding it the whole way to the cafe the two of you had agreed to go to. After a while of embarrassed silence, the two of you somehow actually managed to start a conversation and not long after the two of you talked like you knew each other for ages. It was nothing like the way he acted around others (even his family) and he also noticed how you seemed to be way more natural than you acted with others. It felt like it was really meant to be.

A short summary of what followed: After the date and Damian bringing you home you couldn't stop yourself from asking him to be your boyfriend, even though you slightly feared the answer. Luckily for you, he immediately said yes. In fact, so fast that he almost stumbled over his words. For a while, you two agreed to keep it under the covers, which worked more or less good after Tim caught you making out in Damian's room under the cover of 'doing a school project together' and not very long after, all his siblings knew and teased him about. But other than you might think, he wasn't really annoyed by it, but rather shined with proudness of calling you his girlfriend and being able to show you and your relationship off. You had been dating for quite a while when Bruce and your parents found out about the two of you. The two of you were attending a Wayne/Y/L/N-Gala, both almost visible being in pain by not being able to openly being with each other when some guy started obviously flirting with you, only a few feet away from your parent's and Bruse. Damian felt his blood boiling but was able to keep his posture until the guy dared to touch your arms with his filthy hands. In seconds Damian stood between the two of you, raised fist ready to turn the guy into a pulk if you weren't clutching onto him, hugging him from behind. He managed to calm down and turned around, embracing you and giving you a small peck onto your forehead. Let's just say you had to explain your parent's quite a lot (even though they low-key shipped you). All in all, your relationship is truly something else. It was like you knew the other one better than yourselves and felt what they felt. No matter what obstacles you met, if it was you finding out about his secret identity and what followed or simple, even though seldom, fights, you got through them together.

#Damian WAyne #Damian wayne x reader #Damian x reader #robin #robin x reader #batfam x reader #dc x reader #x reader #Oneshot #love #Y/N Y/L/N #x y/N

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rayewriting · 5 years

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I Remember You (I Never Forgot You)

Fandom: Batman

Day 7- Reunion/Separation So, I probably could have posted this on time, but after church I had told people on tumblr they had till 3 to get votes on whether they wanted a Reunion or Separation fic, lunch, then the late nights caught up to me and I took a three-hour nap. This is also an unintentional third part to Being Enough and You Deserve More (More Than I Have). I'll put them all in series later So, here we are. I am sorry I am late for the last day. But I have been reading other people’s entries to Dick and Damian week and just 😍😍. I’ll have go back and bookmark some of my favorite ones!

Damian was at a restaurant, a five-star, high end, black tie only, type restaurant. When he received a letter- with a distantly familiar perfume that his heart aching, his mother’s preferred scent- with a time and location, he knew that this was not a request, but a warning. Of what he did not know, but it was serious enough that she left with traceable evidence. Evidence he had in his pocket right now. But he wasn’t focused on the letter, but the person in front of him. Talia.

Dear Richard,

“You have to return and be my Alexander, the ruler I have always wanted you to be,” Talia begins, reaching out her hands and placing them on the table, palm up, “In fact, Alexander was twenty when he became king of Macedon, as well.”

Damian makes a face at her hands and pointedly crosses his arms, hands tucking into the bends of his arms, then he speaks, “I do not have to do anything, Talia. The last time you forced my hand, I ended up with a sword in my chest, and I do not want to have a repeat performance.”

You should not search for me.

The frown on the older woman’s features did not make her unattractive, but her lips go from the frown to a small grin as she continues speaking, “I was not in a good place at the time, my son, for that I do regret. However, I do believe I have… motivation for you to come back under your grandfather,” Damian did not show outwardly but his heart was pounding at her words, “A certain circus boy and two aliens ring a bell? And you are searching for a recent nanotechnology theft, correct?” Talia watches as her words sink into Damian’s head, then reaching his heart, “Perhaps I know where the stolen technology went.”

Damian’s face is still impassive, but his fury was raging- demanding that Damian take his hidden dagger and stab the woman in front of him. This woman was not the woman who gave him life, she had died long ago, perhaps before he even left the League all those years ago. But Damian did recognize the person in front of him, this was the person who had no qualms in taking lives, did not care that she was going to kill her own child for revenge- that she was going to kill her son’s family if he did not follow her. “How do I know that you are not bluffing?” Damian asks.

“Are you going to risk them by calling a bluff?” Talia asks smugly. She pulls out a small remote with a few buttons and Damian feels his blood pressure rise, “Think about it, Damian.”

Then she stands, and begins to leave the restaurant, but when she reaches the door Damian pulls himself out of his chair, grabs her arm and pulls her out of the establishment and into the snowfall, “Fine. I will go with you.”

Talia smiles, “Very well, Damian. We will head to the airport.”

I am sorry, missing Mar’i’s birthday was not ever my intention. You should tell Kor’i and Mar’i my apologies.

Dick answers the apartment door with a smile on his face, but it quickly drops into a confused frown, “Umm, do I know you, ma’am?”

The person in question is a pale-skin blonde woman in her early twenties, wearing a wine and golden tank top, denim shorts, white slip-on shoes, and wearing a cross-body purse, “No.”

Dick’s eyes harden as he asks, “Then can I ask why you are at my door then?”

The woman takes a deep breath and blurts out, “I had a customer and he left this note at the restaurant with a huge tip and instructions to come to this apartment today and give it to a “Dick Grayson” while wearing red and gold.” She continues- after pointing at her shirt- with, “I don’t know why he gave it to me or what it says but he gave me enough money to finish paying for my college degree and I couldn’t not do what he asked.” Then she dug into her purse and pulls out the envelope and hands it to Dick.

Dick was taking in all the information quickly, takes the letter, and opens the door, “Come in.”

The woman eyes widen as she steps through the door with, “Uh-okay?” then stops as she spots all the decorations. The balloons and streamers are purple, the table has green cups, plates and utensils, and a colorful banner was hanging in the doorway reading “Happy 2nd Birthday!”

“Dick, who is at the door? Tim said that they won’t—” a tall female with tan skin, wild hair, wearing a purple shirt and blue athletic shorts, steps out of a room, but stops seeing the younger woman, “Hello, I don’t think we have met before, I am Kor’i.”

As Kor’i sticks her hand out, the blonde squeaks out, “Blyss,” and shakes Kor’i’s hand.

“Please take a seat,” Dick says entering the living room, guiding Blyss to the couch and giving the letter to Kor’i, “I’m sorry for acting weird, but do you remember anything from that night?”

Blyss, sensing the serious turn of events, sits on the couch, begins to think for a minute, lips pulling into a slight pout, “He was with another person. She was older than him. They both seemed tense, but it wasn’t a business meeting, it was personal.”

Dick looks at her questioningly and sits on the other side of the couch, “How do you figure that?”

“I’ve worked there for a few years now; I have served food during business meetings- tense meeting- but the air was charged with different type of energy. Plus, not many businesses have dinners that late, usually those times are reserved for dates, engagements, or- a couple of times- divorce meetings. Things like that.”

“Do you remember overhearing anything?” Kor’i asks, finished reading the letter.

Blyss shook her head, “Everytime I walked over they would stop talking, like they did not want anyone listening.”

Dick and Kor’i look at each other, then a loud knock on the door resounds through the apartment, startling the three adults. Blyss and Dick stand up and Dick offers her a smile, “Thank you for the information,” he says as the adults begin to walk back to the door.

Following Kor’i, Blyss smiles, “I hope you find your son. He really saved me with the money.”

Dick flounders for a second then finally gets out, “He-he isn’t my son, he is my brother.”

Blyss stops for a minute then turns to him, “Sorry, it just- when you got that letter- you looked like I did when Nightwing and Flamebird saved my son from the guy who— who kidnapped him.”

Dick though back to the last couple of kidnapping cases and then it hits him. Blyss Hayes, victim of Jaxon Zhao- resulting in the birth of Xavier Hayes. After being released for good behavior, Jaxon kidnapped the one-year old from the park and held the infant hostage till he got a plane to Colombia. Of course, Nightwing and Flamebird snuck into the building, Nightwing taking down Jaxon as Flamebird took Xavier to the ambulances. Then he just nods his head at the young mother, opening the door, “That’s alright.”

Blyss smiles at Dick and Kor’i then says, “Come to the restaurant when you find him, I’ll treat everyone to a free meal.” Afterwards, she ducks around Tim and Mar’i with a small, “Happy birthday!” and runs down the hallway.

Tim, looking where the blonde left and asks, “Who was that?”

It’s been made clear Todd’s infectious old behavior of disappearing has spread to even me.

“Yeah, no shi—” Jason says, reading Damian’s letter, before Dick and Kor’i throw a dark look at him, in response he grins sheepishly, “Sorry.”

Everyone was gathered in Gotham, Bruce, Cass, Barbara, Steph, Tim, Jason, Kor’i, and Dick in the Batcave and Alfred and Mar’i were in the Manor. Bruce and Tim running scans over the paper, ink, and handwriting- Cass, Steph, and Barbara watching security footage from the restaurant leading to the airport- Jason, Kor’i, and Dick were reading the note again.

“The problem is that it doesn’t sound like how normally writes!” Dick shouts at no one particular, running his hands through his hair for what seems like the hundredth time, “But it is his handwriting! And one sentence doesn’t make any sense!”

With your life getting so hectic, I took over the nanotechnology theft case. It has taken me overseas, perhaps an island off a coast.

Damian grits his teeth at the pain on his back, “Five for every year he has been away from us,” came from his Grandfather’s throne. Fifty strikes from a whip, fifty miles to run, fifty new cuts, fifty new burns, fifty miles to swim. Damian never thought having a favorite number was logical, but he hated the number fifty now. No matter how illogical it was, he hated it.

But he had to- to save his family. To save Richard, Kor’iander, and his Qalbi.

So, he grits through strikes, runs the miles, accepts the cuts, grows numb to the burns, and swims the miles. He perseveres through the pain, with the thought of his family on his mind and in his heart.

He has done it for six months, what’s another day?

But he refuses to kill, when they bring him an assassin, he knocks them out, drops his weapon and sits down. His Grandfather then decides that electrocution should be added for his response. When they bring him his meals, he does not eat the meat. He doesn’t eat for two days when that’s all they give him.

He dies once, his heart just giving out from exhaustion. Grandfather throws him the Lazarus Pit.

Damian can hear the waters whispers when he is pulled out. Telling him to crush the larynx of the person in front of him. He sees the green and remembers the color green. Green eyes, surrounded by black lashes, chubby cheeks, and a button nose.

His Qalbi.

He cannot forget about his Qalbi.

That night he takes comfort in the darkness, the black surrounding him reminds him of his Qalbi’s hair, she has her father’s hair. His Qalbi reminds him of his baba. Of Richard. Richard, the person that always comes for Damian- no matter what.

Soon he remembers everyone else. The wild roses of the courtyard remind him of Kor’iander’s bright hair when she walks into the kitchen for the breakfast Damian cooked holding his Qalbi on her hip, the graceful swans swimming in the pond remind him of Cassandra dancing in the ballroom, the sun of Stephanie’s smile when she looks at Timothy, the library of Jason’s voice when the older man read to his Qalbi before Damian put her down for a nap, the smell of chocolate coming from the kitchens of Alfred’s cookies after a hard night of patrol, the sound of a keyboard clacking down a hall of Barbara’s superior computer skills, the pearl necklace resting on a jewelry stand reminds him of Father’s face when he gave Father one after searching for days.

When he remembers everyone, he can- Colin, Jon, Maya- he begins to draw them in the sand of his cell. A few people a day, whoever he misses the most that day.

Most of the time, it is his baba, Kor’iander, and his Qalbi.

The placement reminds me of the infinity charm you bought me when I was, perhaps, a ten-year-old boy.

“I never bought him a damn charm!” Dick screeches, punching the console of the computer. Kor’i puts a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down- she knows words won’t help- and Dick whips around to her face, “Kor’i, its been six months since he has left! I've been going crazy since he never showed up for patrol, I have looked everywhere I could think of. And he is writing about charms?”

Kor’i wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a hug, “I don’t know, Richard. Perhaps Damian meant something else?”

Dick’s, Tim’s, and Bruce’s shot up at Kor’i’s words, then towards the note.

“He gave us a number, ten, so maybe every ten letters spell something out?” Tim asks, “No, unless the first word is ‘Ddn’ or something bizarre. Every ten words maybe…? ‘Dear sorry tell clear’. No! For f—”

Dick steps grabs the note and reads out loud, “You, Mar’i’s, Kor’i, infectious, with, nanotechnology, island, infinity, ten.”

“How did you know?” Bruce asks.

“Damian finds the address and salutations unnecessary. So, I took that out,” Dick explains without looking at Bruce. “So those are our words.”

Everyone took a minute, to collect their thoughts, before Bruce speaking, “Assuming ‘You’ meaning is Dick, it seems that Damian wrote a warning that you, Kor’i, and Mar’i have been infected with nanotech. And then Damian gave us a location of Infinity Island and ten would be the number we used to get the message.”

Kor’i and Dick froze at Bruce’s words, then Dick was running up the stairs and Kor’i was flying alongside him, “Mar’i!”

Bruce turns to Barbara, “Get in contact to Captain Atom and Cyborg, I want them here ten minutes ago,” then to Tim, “When I bring them back here, I’m going to get blood samples of all three of them, as soon as it’s drawn, I want you running scans on them.”

Then Bruce was following Dick and Kor’i up the stairs to the living room, where Mar’i was playing with some blocks. He watches with Alfred, Kor’i and Dick holding their daughter tightly between them, deciding to wait a minute before interrupting them, then “We need blood samples; so, we can neutralize the tech.”

Dick glances up at Bruce with tears in his eyes, “O-Okay. Let’s go, my girls.” Dick stands up and Kor’i picks up Mar’i to bring to the Cave.

As he passes Bruce, Bruce places a hand on his shoulder and says, “We are going to fix this, Dick, I promise.”

“I know, Bruce. I know.”

Love,

Damian Grayson-Wayne

“Baba!”

Yo, @doc-scrawls and @nxxttime sad/angst enough?

#DickandDamiweek2019 #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Dick is Damian's dad #its 3am

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fordarkisthesuede · 5 years

Text

Batman the TellTale Series: The Tolls of Justice - Prologue

Welcome back to Part 2 of my Perseverance Project!

The one solid truth about the world is that it is always changing.

But things were going according to plan, for once. Tiffany was training to become Bruce’s protégé. Iman was settling in as Wayne Enterprises’ CSO. Alfred was traveling the world. John was slowly moving back into the world outside of Arkham. Bruce’s life was climbing in a steady, uphill line.

That is, until fate throws Batman a wrench. With every new death he finds, the case grows more chaotic, and the bigger it gets, the more dangerous his lifestyle becomes.

Soon Bruce’s life is more uneven than ever, and the only real constant seems to be John.

But can he even hold onto him, when their worlds are changing so much?

{Next chapter}

Continue on Ao3 or read below...

[Prologue]

Gotham Harbor always had a peculiar smell. There was the scent of the river, rotting wood, and seagulls with the odor of diesel and bunker fuel from the variety of ships in the docks.

And of course, there was the stench of dead fish that carried on the wind. It was that sickening sweet odor of death that Bruce always picked up on first, and it always made him think of his first case working with then-Lieutenant Jim Gordon. He’d never forget the sight of the dead salesman buried under a pile of yellow perch.

Bruce always hoped he’d never see another body around there. He was usually proved wrong.

“Any sign of them yet?” Tiffany’s voice asked over the communication link in the cowl.

“No, not yet,” Bruce answered, adjusting the focus on his cowl’s lenses. He sat perched near top of the nearby cell tower, watching the harbor line for the sign of the cargo ship drifting in amongst the fog. “Any movement down below?”

Tiffany snorted. “I think ‘Dice’ is going to lose his round to ‘Muddy’ at the table, but other than that the only thing going on down there is the weird tension between the two lookouts and ‘Four-Ears’. I swear he’s not actually reading that book…”

“Their delivery is late. They’re bound to be tense.”

“I dunno… What kind of name is Four-Ears for a leader of a gang, anyway? It sounds more like an insult than anything.”

“He’s not the leader, he’s a leader. Black Mask is the leader. He gives all his major subordinates nicknames to distinguish them from the rest of the group, unless there’s two of each name within the lower ranks.”

“…are you telling me ‘Muddy’ is that guy’s real name?”

“Yes.” Bruce answered, looking back out at the harbor. The fog was fairly dense, rolling over the water in slow streams, covering everything like a delicate blanket. The warm air of late May caressed the exposed skin of Bruce’s face, reminding him of the last time he’d been so close to the harbor on a case…

It had been over a year since the travesty the Riddler and the Pact brought to Gotham. Thirteen months and nine days.

Bruce heard the message tone in his ear like a small sonar beep. It wasn’t often he got a text message that late at night. He knew who it was from before he even glanced down at his gauntlet to read it.

Still on night duty?

Yes, Bruce typed back. It’d be better if you were here, he added honestly. Tiffany was still at the base, keeping lookout via camera drone, but it wasn’t the same as having a physical presence there.

The feeling’s mutual! I keep hoping I’ll wake up next to you…

Then I’d be able to make EVERYTHING better ;D

Bruce felt the corner of his mouth curve upward, despite the roll of eyes. I gave you that phone for emergencies. Sweet-talking me doesn’t count.

My heart burns for you like a match thrown on a box of oily rags!!!!

Doesn’t THAT count??

He was tempted to ask if John couldn’t even wait three days since he’d last seen him, but truthfully the time between their visits had gotten shorter and shorter as weeks passed. Bruce didn’t like keeping away for long, either.

A box of oily rags, though? That was a bit far, even for him. Almost concerning.

But he wouldn’t be John if he didn’t go a little overboard.

Bruce was halfway into typing ‘I don’t think I have enough burn gel for that’ when another text stopped him.

Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in your sight, fair Bruce ♡ ♡ ♡

He stared down at his gauntlet. He was getting quoted Shakespeare.

No, that wasn’t quite right - he was being wooed with Shakespeare.

That was…definitely a first. It was bizarrely pleasant, leaving a warm feeling in its wake.

I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, Romeo.

So soon?? :o

Stay safe for me, then, Brucie ♡

“Batman?”

Bruce blinked, closing the message system on his gauntlet so he could resume looking at the horizon. Sure enough, there was a shadow of a boat finally showing behind the fog.

“You got awfully quiet there for a moment. Who was the text from?”

“…how did you know I got a text?”

“I see the notifications for your gauntlet on this thing, remember?” Tiffany answered with a laugh. “Eight texts on duty, huh? Someone special you’re not telling me about?”

There was no way he was going to tell her he was texting John. “You said the heroin was coming in disguised as fan merchandise. What kind was it?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. This is the fifth time in two weeks you’ve gotten texts while I’m manning the cave. You have to tell me about them sometime.” Bruce winced, his good mood quickly disappearing. “Anyway, it’s all Sunset stuff. You know, that vampire thing from a couple years ago? I’m pretty sure they said it’s inside those weird plastic figures with the big heads. The heads are hollow, so they probably filled them with heroin and put them back in the collectible boxes.”

Bruce zoomed in on the ship in the distance. It didn’t seem to be in a hurry… It was a commercial fishing boat, not overly large, but it could certainly move faster than that. Bruce tried to watch the waves crash against the crest of the boat, but the water lapped at it as if there was no propelling force. “I think it’s stationary.”

“What, you think they’re going to take a lifeboat to the dock?”

“That’s possible.” If they did, it meant they would not be dropping off the heroin shipment right away. What would they come for? Payment first? That seemed like a poor decision…

Bruce scanned what he could see of the deck. Nothing out of the ordinary… But no sign of life. Even the dim light in the captain’s cabin showed only the silhouette of a man in the chair.

Warm wind hit his back, and Bruce heard the ends of his cape flap whip at his ankles.

Something was wrong. It was too lifeless. Too simple. There should be someone on deck when the boat was that close to the docks, keeping a look out for any signs they would be disturbed.

“I’m going out there,” Bruce said, gaging the distance between the tower and the boat. With the wind, he should get a good enough glide. Getting back would be harder – he might have to swim.

“Wait, what?”

“Something’s not right. The boat’s not running. I’m going to go check it out.”

“…normally, I’d ask if you were insane, but I already know the answer to that.” He could practically hear the light frown she was wearing; he narrowed his eyes at the light ableism. “You’d go even if I told you not to.”

Bruce frowned. “I wouldn’t go if you had a good reason for stopping me.”

Tiffany sighed over the communicator. “Do you want me to call Gordon?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell you the second I think we need backup.”

“So, what, two seconds after they start shooting you?”

Bruce ignored the comment and took a running leap off the tall warehouse, his cape outspread as the wind picked up, gliding him towards the small ship. He was almost weightless, flying freely through the foggy night.

It was simple and short, but the moment was always worth living in.

He landed on the edge of the boat, his boots hitting the metal of the front as he grabbed the railing with both hands and hoisted himself up as quietly as he could, his cape fanning out behind him.

Just as Bruce had thought, the motor wasn’t running. There were no footprints or signs of movement on deck. There wasn’t as much as a whispered conversation.

It was all quiet, and quiet on a boat like this meant something was seriously wrong.

He ran through scenarios in his mind. The motley crew of Black Mask’s lackeys back at the dock might have rigged it to explode. Or perhaps it could be an ambush job for him; they could be hiding, waiting for him to go below deck and then spray him with bullets.

It would be best to investigate the captain’s cabin – he could easily get there by hooking onto part of the roof-line and grappling up to the door. The lack of lights on deck would make it impossible for the captain to see him there now, so he should be safe…

The whir of the grappling line cut through the silent fog like a piano wire through butter. With still no noise out there, Bruce was getting that creeping feeling at the back of his neck.

The cabin creaked open in a rush as Bruce readied Batarangs in each hand, primed to throw at whoever was behind the door.

No one was there, aside from the captain, stiff in his seat, the dull yellow light of the control panel barely illuminating him.

It wasn’t the eerie stillness of the person in the chair that clued Bruce into what really happened, but it was the unpleasant smell of urine that lingered as Bruce stepped closer to examine the man.

A dark red line ran across the man’s pale neck. The crew-neck shirt was soaked with blood. Slight bruising on his forehead, suggesting he’d been held still. The man’s eyes were still blown wide in surprise. It was almost comical, with the small o-shape his mouth was set in.

His death been fairly recent. About an hour. A quick scan with his glove turned up no trace evidence.

“Oracle – the captain’s dead. His throat’s been cut.”

“Uh, there’s no chance it was mutiny, was it?”

“Doubt it. Call Gordon; I’m going to look below deck.”

“Got it.”

Bruce swept away, not seeing anything else of note in the cabin.

The lower deck was also suspiciously silent. Bruce made sure to walk slowly, wary of any trip wires or traps, and keeping his eyes and ears open for any hint of sound. It could still be an ambush.

The cargo hold had piles of cardboard boxes, all with the Sunset logo printed on top next to the word FIGS in a spiky word balloon. Bruce understood the collector’s value of such things – he still had pieces of Gray Ghost memorabilia stored in their original boxes in his media room’s display case. There must have been a few thousand dollars’ worth of figures alone, but with the price of heroin, it might have been a several hundred grand more.

A small fortune worth killing over. But the boxes seem untouched. Why?

Even simple revenge between a rival gang wouldn’t have justified leaving several grand worth of drugs behind. There were some gangs that didn’t like dealing with illegal substances - either for fear of getting their hands too dirty, or the fact that such things were so often stolen or seized that it wasn’t worth the investment. Surely a group like that would have shot up the place… And it wasn’t like those groups to go head-to-head with the likes of Black Mask. At least not alone.

Bruce heard the light patter of tiny feet on wood. Rats. The sound was coming from his left. Past the tower of boxes.

And tucked away behind a stack, another corpse, accompanied by a pair of rats trying to nibble away at his hands and face. They scampered away behind the boxes at the sight of Batman’s shadow.

This second man hadn’t died so cleanly. There were several puncture wounds, as if he’d been stabbed by someone playing five finger fillet on his torso. There was no instrument left behind, no broken blades or anything helpful. The size of the wounds and lack of torn flesh suggested something small and straight-edged, like a traditional switchblade or dagger.

Bruce ran his glove’s scanner over them, hoping to find any trace elements. Paint chips, hairs, fibers – anything.

“Another body, huh?” It wasn’t really a question. Just subtle disgust from Tiffany. “Randolf Barron, age 44, did time for smuggling, possession, and assault. Pretty sure the cotton-poly blend fibers sticking in the wounds are from his shirt.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nada. Where’d you find him?”

“Cargo hold. He’s been here about an hour.”

“God… I hope you find someone alive tonight.”

Bruce doubted it. “So do I,” he muttered, hoping he was wrong in thinking it would be a very long night.

He treaded carefully, hearing only a few squeaks and scampers of rodents. The kitchenette had two people, sitting in plastic chairs with very bloody eye sockets on the sides exposed to the door. If the blade was long enough, death would have been instantaneous

Bruce unclipped the miniature-drone from his belt and let it fly into the air to take an aerial shot. He didn’t want to risk contaminating the scene too much, and if there was someone hiding behind the counter…

There wasn’t. He frowned, zooming in on the wounds to the eyes – the blades were long, shoved or thrown in at an angle so they hit the brain. Near-instant death.

“Jack Whendleham and Kirby Noltz,” Tiffany repeated with a slight strain in her voice. “Both 39, Gothamites, tried for breaking-and-entering, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, cocaine possession… Ugh. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, but there’s probably more. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine… Just… I have this thing about eyes getting poked.”

No knives were left behind...but there were partial bloody shoe-prints moving from the doorway to the table. He’d need a closer look, but at least it was something. He might be able to piece together a full size, analyze the wear on the treads…

The killer could still be on board.

Bruce swept away, letting the drone fly in front of him as he kept a vigilant watch. There was no other sound aside from his muffled steps and the low hum of the drone.

There was a storage room, packed with more boxes…

And four more bodies, laid out in the middle of the floor with their heads all pushed together.

“Oracle, send your drone out here to check-”

There was a slight noise coming in over the ear-piece, like a firework had gone off in the distance.

“I can’t, Black Mask’s gang is on the move!”

“What?”

“Their van exploded, they’re leaving the warehouse! I can follow them but-FUCK!” Tiffany shouted, and Bruce heard the tell-tale sound of her fist hitting the desktop. “My feed cut out! It’s...UGH! Fuck them! They took it out! I’m not getting a power signal!”

“Oracle, send Unit Three out to try and track them. I need to finish searching the ship; the killer could still be on board.”

“I can’t, Three’s too far away, it’ll be too late,” Tiffany explained frantically, “What do we do?”

Bruce cast a look at the bodies. “The shipment will be in custody shortly. We’ll get other chances at the Black Masks; this takes priority.” He took a breath, trying to clear his head. “Alert the G.C.P.D. about the warehouse. Get Three out here and try to scan the area.”

“...I need bring it in for repair; the bio-scanner is malfunctioning.” There was a split-second pause. “I could throw on my gear and be -”

“No. Surveillance photos will do. We’ll look over the C.S.I. findings later,” Bruce emphasized, his voice-modifier grumbling over the line.

He let the drone fly up and get an aerial shot of the four dead men, hearing the whir of the machine and the light ‘click’ of the camera, and sighed to himself as he looked at the image on his gauntlet.

“It’s going to be a long night.”

Edits: added Ao3 link; re-formatted John’s texts to blockquotes (tumblr undid that formatting before I guess)

Notes: Welcome back, my friends, to the middle of a new series I call “The Perseverance Project” - as At the Brink of Midnight was my Season 3, consider The Tolls of Justice my Season 4; and an unnamed Season 5 will be released sometime after 4 wraps up. I have such sights to show you… A new “game mechanic” that will be introduced next time, old characters returning that I won’t spoil yet, new relationships to grow, fresh villains to introduce - we’re going to have so. much. fun! (ʃƪ¬‿¬)

If you’re ever in doubt of my new bi-monthly update progress, please visit my profile page on Ao3, or check my “bttts s4” or “ttoj” tag here on tumblr. Please keep in mind that I have much less time to write now that I’m fully employed - but the drive I have to finish what TellTale could not is currently shifted into the steady high speed of fifth gear. But I can’t stay at that leisurely cruise forever, so it’s bound to shift now and then to slower gears, and I know there will be days where it’s stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So I hope you’ll bear with me, and give me some encouragement on the way.

And since the next chapter is already written, and I love you guys so much that I don’t want to keep you in suspense for too long, it will come out early - so I’ll see you same time next week! (๑˘̤ ॢᵌ ू˘̤)*౨˚ൗ

*PS - Please reblog/like, or give kudos/comment/subscribe on Ao3! Your feedback feeds me!!

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