#Tim thinks he's a evil Bruce pretending to be good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feywildfox · 3 months

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drowned dogs and chain fences

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)

Relationships: Roy Harper & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper

Additional Tags: #Dead Dove: Do Not Eat #Character Death #Violence #Blood and Gore #Trauma #Traumatized Jason Todd #Heavy Angst #Resurrected Jason Todd #You Have Been Warned

Word count: 1,587

Summary:

How do you forgive someone who let you die? Who buried you, six feet deep in the regret and grief of a lost child - and yet let your killer live. The person who expects you to greet them with a smile and open arms. Who's very visage inspires hatred and rage so great it leaves you breathless. How do you forgive? Jason can't. He doesn't know anyone who could I.E. jason todd has done a lot in his life. he's also been through some supremely traumatic things and has a perfectly valid reason for being an antihero who kills. changing that example of what happens when batman's "morals" cost the life of someone he supposedly cares about is boring. so here we are.

Chapter 1: fumes of tomorrow

Jason Todd is fine. He's fine. Really, he's totally okay. He hates Bruce Wayne, but it's fine. He's surviving. Maybe he's even healing or something dumb like "Accepting and moving on from his trauma" and whatever other shit Tim would say.

Tim annoys him, but Jason can vaguely see the good intent behind it. Damien is a complete ass though, and Jason likes that more. The ‘family’, if one could call whatever it is that, surrounds him sometimes. They care, or at the least pretend to. But Jason doesn't really care. He could do without Tim, or Damien, or Stephanie, or any of them. Especially Bruce, the self-righteous asshole.

Well. Except for Dick. Probably.

It's the whole reason, almost, for the changes; the rubber bullets and the restrained violence. It's all for Dick. It was the only way Dick would even look at him, much less talk. Years of restrictions, preventing himself from punishing those who deserved it. Evil just allowed to walk free because Batman didn't like doing what was needed.

And Dick, loosely, followed that. He couldn't truly understand what it was like.

The gasping pain, the dull ache that spread after the sharp crack of broken bone. The blood clogging his lungs, drowning in it the way one drowned at sea. It's the break of finally, really and truly begging for his life. For Bruce to save him like everyone else. To be rescued and carried away, to be loved in your moments of pain.

The hero never comes, in this one. It's the story of Jason's life.

So really, none of them understand. Dick doesn't, but he tried. Still tries, even if his affections and attentions are conditional. Jason is a beaten dog tied to his master, and he will crawl back eventually. Bruce just doesn't understand it's not he who is the master.

Maybe he'll never understand. Jason wishes he would. Bruce wont stop trying and it drives him nuts.

Jason can't. He doesn't know anyone who could.

(Maybe Superman, they guy is as close to a saint in patience as one can get.)

Jason's rage bloomed with his rebirth, and his morals broke in that filthy alley full of trash. The innocence and willingness to keep his hands "clean" stayed buried when he clawed his way out of the dirt above his coffin. The hole filled in with slushy mud, cold sleet steeped in Gotham's chemicals rinsed the silt from his mouth, wetted his lips anew, and Jason Todd knew he wasn't the same person anymore. He died that day, and part of him stayed dead. No one understands what that's like.

He doesn't think he'll meet anyone who does.

Jason can live with that, as long as Dick is there. Rose too. She is a flower that blooms once a year, but is still someone who he knows he can lean on; though Jason's a stubborn bastard and doesn't do it often. Artemis is similar, though more adamant about keeping in touch. It's a small group, and maybe even Kori counts, after Dick had reintroduced them.

Roy has been his biggest supporter, truly. Even when Jason was lost in the depths of his soul, the madness of dying and coming back but not like the Jason before - Roy was there. Bandages after one to many syndicate beatdowns, antibiotics to fight infections, even his support when Jason gave his rage more fuel. The deaths of the gang members feeding it like gasoline. Roy was there to watch his back. Always has that stupid shit-eating grin and the most asinine of quips. Roy is always there.

They're his family. That's all that matters to Jason. He would do anything, has done things, to try and keep them safe, happy. Jason would sooner gnaw off his arm than let one come to true harm.

Which frankly, is a herculean task with their line of work.

It's all okay though. He's meeting Roy and Dick for coffee, even though the two are genial and that's it. It's one of those rare sunny days in Gotham, the cloud cover light enough that blue sky is crackling through light grey. Weak winter light soaks into his upturned face, and Jason breathes the fumes of a rotten city. He gives a twitch of lips that might constitute a smile.

The coffee shop is across the street, he can see Roy sitting in the back corner next to the kitchen door. He's drinking what Jason knows to be the most outrageous coffee order he can think of, that he's sure to hear about when he makes it in. The windows are bar-free in this nicer part of Gotham. The part that gets the money to rebuild more than others. It's why he picked it. Somewhere totally unlikely for him to be. A hidden-in-plain-sight sort of deal. He won't be caught dead in this sort of place. Makes it perfect to get out of the house for a few hours, meet up, and pretend to relax.

The crosswalk light flickers half-heartedly and he begins to move. The windows dimly reflect the sun. His eyes dart around for a second, but end up back on Roy. Jason always keeps tabs on his family.

The door next to Roy opens as Jason makes it halfway across the street. He meets the eyes of the server that steps out, pale skinny legs awkward under the skirt of the uniform. Something sparks in his head, recognition that he can't place. The face mask the worker wears is a lurid purple, and the shit-brown eyes above it dart manically around after they meet his. It makes Jason's pulse race. It hits him moments too late.

No. His heart jumps to his throat, he shoves the person in front of him to the side but there's nothing he can do as the nightmare of his fantasies pulls a gun from the apron he's wearing, and then Roy slumps, dead.

The flash is so bright, a supernova of red mist as the side of Roy's face disappears. The patrons start screaming, running, Jason can't get inside. There's mad cackling as the spectre of his death does a pirouette and shoots indiscriminately, breaking windows and hitting pedestrians. A car screeches to a stop outside - lime green 1960s VW Bug his mind categorizes - and the Joker clambers over broken glass and bodies as Jason finally, finally, makes it inside.

He's torn, the raging sea inside quelled by the feral need to protect, to lick the wounds of his family and make sure Roy is alright. That wins out, and once again the Joker gets away. The man waggles his fingers at Jason, blowing a pantomime of a kiss goodbye.

Jason lets out a guttural scream, lost in the pandemonium around him.

The booth is red. The floor is red. The bodies that aren't Roys stain his shoes with death. It smells like viscera and iron, heavy on his tongue.

It's - it's a dream. One of his many nightmares he just needs to wake the fuck up from. Roy will pop up and laugh at him, the coffee spilled on the table drip drip drip dripping down his lap a lament on his tongue as he orders a new one.

Roy doesn't get up.

Exposed orbital bone peaks between jagged edges of flesh, grey matter and brain more mush than formed organ. Jason reaches a shaking hand to the - the body? Roy is dead.

A shake to the shoulder only achieves a limp arm sliding onto the seat. His left hand sits on the table, brown button up wet and dark. There's a ring on his hand Jason has never seen before. It's shiny, new. The band is silver. Jason wants to puke.

“Roy. Roy? Wake up. Did Dick put you up to this?” His voice is hoarse and rough. The blunt edge of panic is close to the surface. Jason's face is cold. Something drips down his chin. He ignores it.

The cuff of his cream turtleneck he'd stolen from Dick’s closet is pink. He grips Roy's soaked shoulder, tries to move him sitting up. The thing-that-should-be-Roy flops over, red hair in disarray, solitary eye unseeing. A garbled whine gets caught in Jason's throat.

The distant sirens scream, circling ever closer. Figures that Gotham cops would actually show up here.

A crunch behind him in the suddenly realized silence has Jason whirling, drawing the hidden gun. Roy is dead roy is dead hesdeaddeadead Protect hesDEAD -

It's Dick.

Or, rather, Nightwing. The blue bird stands starkly against the black, barrel of the gun firmly pressed to the center.

Dick - Nightwing - has his hands firmly up by his head, and Jason realizes that he's being talked to. The droning in his ears slowly turns to words.

“- it's me, you know me. We need to go, okay? I know you don't want to leave him but the cops are almost here,” the muttered ‘for once’ drags a gasping chuckle out of his mouth.

The gun wavers. Jason should see it coming but - hesdeadandtheworldiswrong - Nightwing is just fast enough to catch an off-kilter Jason off guard, and the world goes black.

#batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #dc comics #roy harper #nightwing #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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havendance · 11 months

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The overly-convoluted, self-indulgent, au where Tim has an evil stepmother that lives in my head goes something like this:

While Jack is in his coma, none other shows up than, uhhh need a name, Morgan, Janet's estranged half-sister and Tim's aunt shows up.

She's like 'It sucks that Janet and I never got over our issues, but now that she's dead I want to get more involved with her family' and stuff like that

Tim thinks that's cool and his mom never mentioned having a sister, but that was probably because of all the travel, and also the estrangement. When Jack wakes up, he also thinks it's cool. (And also doesn't remember Janet having a sister, but his memory's fuzzy because of the coma, so...)

Morgan is not actually Janet's sister. She is in fact a Sorceress who is the head of Gotham's magic mafia or whatever and she somehow became aware that Tim was Robin (maybe through magic)

Since Tim is Robin, of Batman and Robin, and has sucessfully integrated himself into the mythology of Gotham, he can be used a conduit to tap into the magical power of the city. Which is why Morgan wants to have control over him in the first place.

Then there's Knightfall and Jack's kidnapped and Tim's spending more time with his Aunt. He notices that he's tired more often and also loosing time some, but he figures it's due to stress.

(He doesn't notice the way that Morgan makes it easy for him to slip away and be Robin. The way she pretends not to notice any injuries and believe any lies. He just thinks he's good at keeping secrets. She doesn't want him to stop. He's no good to her if he's not Robin.)

When things go back to normal, Tim doesn't really notice that he keeps staying more exhausted. He's used to it.

insert whump here with all sorts of fun side effects that come from being used as a magic battery for organized magic crime

Tim falling asleep in class, not remembering what he always does on his nights off. He goes on a stakeout with Dick and falls asleep during it. etc etc

When Jack announces that he and Morgan are going to get married, Tim thinks it's a little weird because that's his aunt, but it's not like they're related biologically or anything and Janet's dead so. Also, it could be worse. He likes Morgan well enough.

(Why is his evil stepmother also his evil aunt? Because I felt like it.)

And then, oh I don't know, some time later, there's an accident and Jack dies. (Not identity crisis. Tim doesn't get his identity leaked in this AU)

Morgan gets custody because she's the obvious choice. They're related twice over. Jack left her custody in the will.

Now that she has complete control over Robin, things get worse. She can be more blatant in her use of him. The side-effects increase and Tim and everyone else can just blame it on grief.

And then, uhh, stuff happens. The Bats stumble upon it. Tim has a freakout because how long has this been going on? And he never noticed?

Bruce adopts Tim happy ending.

#tim drake #my au ideas #then because it's me and this also a vauge au with a bunch of different variations in my head #there's also the version where Huntress notices something's up #carthago delenda est #dc #bats + birds + affiliated

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bitimdrake · 2 years

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You know what. The biggest problem in Jason discourse is that so many people are insistent he’s just one thing.

Stans insist he’s a good guy with perfect morals who only did bad things because he couldn’t control himself. And it’s like, well, no, actually, he did many bad things and absolutely all of them he actively decided to do of his own volition. Fans want to make him someone who’s deeply devoted to his strict principles and I’m just, hm, I mean, sure there are some things he definitely believes in or detests, but he breaks those rules all the time. He’s not really a principle-driven guy or, at least, he’s a guy whose principles are regularly beaten out by his emotions.

DC pre-Flashpoint would be like “he’s an Evil Man who does things for Evil” and I’m like, hey, have you read your own comics because he’s clearly got more compelling motivations than that. But then fans will be like “everything he does is part of a moral plan” and no tf it’s not that either.

I’ve seen people insist that Jason’s work in UtRH has nothing to do with Bruce and is just about Jason doing what he thinks is right for Gotham, and I don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about!! I’m sorry, but if you read that storyline and truly think “nope, there’s no part of this that’s a kid lashing out at his dad because he feels unloved” you’re a fucking idiot!! It’s right there in the text!!!! It’s at the core of the climax!!

But just because that’s a motivation doesn’t mean it’s the only thing he’s ever motivated by, the only emotion he ever has. People don’t work like that.

Sometimes Jason does things to fuck with Bruce or Dick, or reach out to them in his own messed up way. Sometimes he independently does things he thinks are right. Sometimes he just does things he wants to do that fit neither category!

Why did Jason attack Tim after he came back? Well, I mean, it was established that he thought his death should have been the last and didn’t like kid sidekicks still existing, so maybe part of him was testing and pressing Tim. And also, he’s a deeply traumatized teenager convinced that his dad replaced him and fucking obviously he’s lashing out at the easiest target. The two things do not negate each other!

And it happens with his time as Robin too. DC pretends he was always angry, reckless, unprepared, not good enough to be Robin; that he was doomed at the end and doomed from the start; that his death was inevitable. And that ignores that he wasn’t a bad Robin at all, that every Robin has had pretty much the same amount of anger and mistakes, that his only mistake on the day of his death was trusting the wrong person.

But then fans do the same thing the opposite way, and insist Jason as Robin was a pure sweetheart who never did anything wrong, that he was the least angry Robin ever, that if he ever did do anything bad it was just bad writing and editorial vendetta because surely he could not have had flaws. And that ignores that Jason was just as much of a messy, struggling kid/teen as any other Robin; that he was regularly righteously angry, and occasionally acted on that anger in unfair or reckless ways; that being a good kid doesn’t mean being A Perfect Ball of Sunshine Always.

Jason as Robin was a full person with strengths and flaws and coherent motives and acts. He was neither a cautionary tale nor a pure angle.

Jason after his resurrection was a mess of contradictions who believed many things and wanted many other things and couldn’t even admit all of them to himself. He did a lot of reprehensible shit, but his motives were understandable, and often sympathetic, and occasionally even convincing, because that’s what made him an interesting character and foil.

To flatten him is to miss the point.

#i want to say if you think anything jason did had only a single motive you're wrong #although i'm SURE there's a counterexample to that #....i just cannot come up with it #*#*dc #dc #dc meta #jason todd #10to2

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songbirdblues · 2 months

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theres much to be said about the woobification of tim drake as a character entirely in fanon, but one thing in particular that tends to irk me is the misinterpretation of this scene.

now, i generally dont have a problem with fanon interprets of events like this!!! in fact, im an avid fanfic reader and i can honestly say i dont mind when comic events get squashed or stretched out of proportion. people want angst and fluff, and hurt and comfort, and i can respect that a lot of dc fans get their info from fanon and dont bother/simply dont want to read comics because they lack those feel-good moments/that emotional depth that fanfics have. thats fine, thats none of my business, and thats perfectly valid!

...but i think it does get to a point where a comic is SO misinterpreted, like this one (or just this series in general, really), that it loses all that makes it good and interesting in the first place.

dick isn't a bad guy here. whether you think what he said was warranted or not, or if you think him saying that he thinks tim should seek help is insensitive or wrong, he's not some evil abusive guy who hates tim (tim literally calls him his brother in the scene???? in a positive context??)

i just see a lot of people think dick is some terrible villain for this event (and for the "firing and replacing tim just so damian can be robin for no reason" thing which is also a misinterpretation of what happened, but thats something else). when in reality dick himself is already struggling to keep his family from falling apart even more than it already has, has been forced to become batman, and has to raise this random, murderous kid that just popped into his life (i love damian but bro was giving dick gray hairs in his twenties in the beginning lol), all while dealing with the loss of his father for the second time in his life. on top of this, to him, his 16 year old brother is off doing god knows what across europe going on a wild goose chase looking for their (presumably) dead father and doesnt know what to do about it.

but despite all that, in tims eyes, dick massively messed up. we know he thinks this by what he says in the comic.

which leads me to my last point; tims own thoughts. this is a bit more of my opinion on tims character rather than objective fact so bear with me. tims internal monologue and emotional journey across red robin are why i think this series is so heavily (sorry to keep using this word) misinterpreted by fanon.

throughout the course of the story, tim is being forced to suffer with a grief that that he doesnt know how to deal with. like dick, this is the second father tim has lost. but the difference between them is that when tim experiences loss he... doesnt really know how to deal with it, like at all. he goes crazy when he loses someone close to him. at least dick can kinda sorta keep it together. after jack died and bruce tried to adopt him, tim literally hired a man to pretend to be his uncle to avoid it. when kon died, he tried to clone him 99 whole times with old luthor tech, (and later when damian died, tim hallucinated hugging him, or at the very least pretended to, which while a lot tamer than these other instances i still think it speaks to how deeply he feels these losses and how badly he handles it). i dont know the specifics of how he acted about other people hes lost like bart, stephanie, and his mom, but tim even says himself that part of the reason why he's doing all this is because of how many people he's lost, so it can be assumed he reacted harshly to their passing, too.

tim also admits, multiple times throughout red robin, that he knows he sounds/acts crazy, he admits that he goes farther than he ever went as robin when dealing with criminals and cases because as red robin he's now "tainted" and agrees with connor in a later issue that "red robin" is his punishment for himself.

so what i mean by all this is that, simply put, tim is an unreliable narrator. of course we as the readers feel angry at dick and cassie, tim himself is angry at them. he feels hurt and betrayed, and it could even be assumed at that point that he feels they abandoned him, and he thinks that they think hes crazy. he isolates himself from everyone, he feels unworthy of everything, and he "knows" hes lost it. "except for everything, im perfectly fine." is a quote he says, and there are plenty more like it in the series.

my point is that in tims eyes for the majority of his character arc as red robin, nearly everyone hes ever loved has either died or abandoned him, but as the audience we know thats not the case. cassie loves him, dick of course loves him, they just both made mistakes and hurt him, but that doesnt make either of them irredeemable or mean that they dont care about tim. tim himself, in that moment, just doesnt believe that, or doesnt even seem to consider that. he sees the bad, and blinded by his own grief and anger, doesnt see the good.

i just think a lot of people miss that, and just write dick off as borderline abusive or purposefully hurtful in red robin fanfics, because comics tend to get telephoned so much in the fandom that thats what people see him as, when it's not the case, which is how we got the "dick threatens to send tim to arkham" thing. (but thats just gonna happen i guess. did you know that in the actual jasons attack on titans tower comic jason wears his robin costume?? yeesh i'll have to stick with fanon on their interpretation of that whole thing. see its not bad all the time)

besides the idea of the whole arkham trope thing, theres still plenty of canon angst to pull from in red robin! you can write about how tim thinks hes losing it, ra's weird infatuation with tim and everything that comes with that, tim being forced to deal with losing robin, tims rocky relationship with tam fox, tims super rocky relationship with damian, any interaction between kon and tim, OH. the fact that at one point tim got kicked out of a tall building and accepted his death (only thinking about how bruce would be proud), only to be saved by dick last minute and then lying about knowing dick would save him (yeah right buddy) ((its issue #12)). theres also the idea of bruce and tim talking after tim finds him (canon bruce hug!!!). and theres more im forgetting for sure. all that to say theres plenty of ideas already there for the taking!!!!! red robin is a great comic filled with plenty of emotional moments.

moral of the story, dick isn't a terrible person, tim needs help but he isn't a little baby incapable of doing anything, and i believe writing them differently in the context of red robin (2009) is a disservice to their characters and their relationships with each other in the actual comic.

...but i mean, im not your dad. write what you want

#dc comics #tim drake #dick grayson #red robin #batman #nightwing #bruce wayne #rant #omg please dont kill me for this #also i did not mean to practically write an essay oops #this isnt directed at any fan work in particular btw #its just something ive noticed

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preyofolympus · 1 year

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Worried About Bernard (You know that I won't let you fall) Chapter 1 by etpereatmundus on AO3

Summary:

Everything was normal after Bernard Dowd left the chaos cult. well, it was expected. The nightmares weren't ideal, but they weren't a complete surprise, and with Tim and his family close by, he could work through it. But soon the nightmares break through into his day. Soon he can interact with them. Soon he can affect others through his new visions. Soon he realises that he might have taken more than just nightmares back with him after the chaos cult. Taking to the streets as a vigilante, Bernard will have to combat criminals, hiding his powers in case Batman kicks him out of the city, training with the Red Hood, and making it to his dates with Tim. When other ex-cult members turn up dead, Bernard and Jason decide to team up with Constantine, and investigate the origins of the Chaos Cult. And maybe get some half-baked therapy along the way.

Chapter 1- You Say You Want Your Freedom

Suffering is holy.

A lot of people seem to think that. It brings you closer to some god or other, elevates you above others, lets you repent for your sins. It's all bullshit, of course, but it's easier to hide behind a belief system to justify hurting yourself or others than to admit you just want to for the sake of it. Right?

Three weeks on from leaving the Chaos Cult, Bernard Dowd had had enough time to contemplate the whole affair fifty times over and more. He’d mainly tried not to think about it, but it's kind of hard to ignore being in a pain cult, go figure, so the thoughts tended to creep up on him- at night, trying not to toss and turn as to not disturb whoever had taken the shift of staying with him the night, or at breakfast when his mother fussed over his appearance and his father started a fight because his stocks were low and he wanted to feel better about himself, or when he was stuck in biology pretending he wanted to dissect the frog instead of himself.

He’d become good at that- at dissection. Opening yourself up, poking around, laying it all out on a table and asking questions with a scalpel in hand.

“Bernard? You all there, doll?”

He looked up, and smiled at his hosts- Alfred Pennyworth, the butler of the Wayne and co. family, and Harper Row, the sort-of-adopted sister, or more accurately cousin figure of the family, who'd asked if he was all there. She looked at him expectantly, but not in the way his father tended to be expectant- like there was a certain action Bernard had to make, and he’d be in deep shit if he chose the wrong one. With her, the expectation was just expectant, not demanding. Maybe she wanted him to talk.

“Present and correct, mostly,” he grinned. “Just please don’t quiz me on whatever you were saying, I don’t think my frazzled ass-“

Alfred cleared his throat.

“Sorry, I don’t think my frazzled self could deal with using that much brain power right now.”

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Dowd. We were just discussing tonight’s dinner plans, and whether we believed the family would all be in attendance at the gathering.”

Harper groaned. “I was trying to goad Alf into a bet over which supervillain would ruin our plans tonight.”

“Master Row, you will have no success in ‘goading me’ into placing any bets, and I believe you forgot the second part of your bet where Master Bruce would be late because he was adopting a new orphan.”

“Am I wrong?”

“I will not contest the accuracy of your claim, Master Row. Now, we have half an hour to complete our preparations, and the Yorkshire puddings are not prepared yet. Would you like to assist Mr. Dowd?”

If Tim were here, he’d have a stroke, what with him being banned from ever cooking in the kitchen at the same time as Alfred.

“Sure,” he grinned, jumping from his seat. “Just point me and shoot.”

For once, no villain, no orphan and no sort of evil love interest had stopped the Wayne clan from getting to the meal sort of on time- on time being anywhere from five to thirty minutes late. But in Gotham, schedules tended to be more of a suggestion. Hell, whenever Bernard thought he’d given away that he knew the Wayne family was also the bat-family, they’d all brushed it off with a laugh, assuming he was being wry about the state of civilian life. Harper’s bet never even risked revealing anything to him in their eyes because while she (and he, secretly) knew that this was an allusion to them fighting the week’s Big Bad, Bernard was just meant to assume she meant the buses had been stopped because Dr. Freeze was having another breakdown about his wife or something.

Tim had been the third to show up, closely followed by the legally dead Jason Todd, or ‘cousin Miguel’ as Tim had tried to tell Bernard in a panic when Bernard had had his first encounter with the zombie Wayne. Or vampire, maybe even Ghost, he didn’t really know. It would make sense if he came back recently, and was Ghostmaker, but Bernard had a few too many theories to really settle for anything conclusive yet.

Tim made a beeline for Bernard the second he’d kicked off his shoes, arms spread wide, and Bernard did his best to avoid the ribs he knew were fractured. Stupid vigilante boyfriends and their stupid hidden injuries. Sometimes he had to wonder if Tim’s secret identity was kept a secret for Bernard’s sake or Tim’s.

“Hey Bear, you good?”

Tim sank into the embrace with a sigh, and Bernard tried his best not to scrunch his nose at the smell of singed hair that brushed past his nose. So Firefly had been the reason Tim was late. Dick.

“Always better to see you.”

“Fucking hell, get a room for you two,” groaned Jason-Cousin-Miguel-Todd.

“Boys, please behave. Just let me get my shoes off at least before you start fighting. Please?” Somehow towering over Jason, Bruce Wayne struck an imposing figure despite the harried expression marking his features. Exhaustion etched lines into his face, designer eyebags sat snug under his cold blue eyes, his skin a pallid colour doctors would call ‘interesting’, a loosened tie marking him as the patriarch of the Wayne family. He ruffled Tim’s hair in passing, and laid a loose fist on Bernard’s shoulder, his own little tell of affection. His coat was flung onto the nearest stairway bannister, only to be quickly picked back up in a panic when Alfred rounded the corner. A sheepish expression crossed Bruce’s face.

“Hello Master Bruce. Master Tim, Master Miguel. I’m glad you were able to be in attendance.” Bernard tried his best to keep a straight face, then settled for hiding his face in Tim’s neck to collect himself.

“You ok?” Tim murmured.

“Always,” came the response.

A full sunday roast dressed the table- mountains of golden potatoes, gravy boats that could be called ships, silver utensils stood sentry at each place. The dining cloth was a rarely seen silk piece that Bernard suspected to cost more than his car, a soft but dark red embroidered with a blue-grey thread. The chandeliers hung low over the table, dimmed to create an atmosphere reminiscent of some Mediaeval drama Bernard would watch.

He sat in between Tim and Cass, hands tucked in his lap. His eyes flitted across the each face as the family sat, now all present, taking in the scars, the bruises hidden by day-worn make-up, the near-military posture all of them seemed in various stages of having- Alfred wore his with a near lifetime of experience, whilst Duke wore his stance like a fledgling with adult feathers growing in. It was there, visible in the turn of his head of the stiffness of his shoulders, but only just. Tim, more seasoned, wore it like it was natural, now moving with the combined fluidity of their training and the military-like tension that had him ready to respond to anything near-immediately. His movement defined him, something that had drawn Bernard to him on the first day. He just looked ready. Everything down to the smallest expression reflected this- the slight furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw, the smooth way a smile grew on his face when a joke began to form in his head-

“Earth to Bernard!”

He jumped, eyes snapping to Steph across the table, who held out a bowl of potatoes.

“Want any? Or are you too busy staring at Tim’s lips? Hey- I’m holding potatoes, careful!”

She glared at Babs, whose elbow had jabbed the blonde’s side.

Bernard laughed, shaking his head as he took the potatoes. “Thanks Steph. I’m sure you can see the appeal.”

Tim sunk down into his seat, head buried in his hands. “Why did I ever introduce you two? I think I'd prefer you to be the bitter ex Steph. Can we try that?”

The blondes shared a look.

“Nahhh.”

“I hate it here.” He leant in. “But are you sure you're ok..?”

“Yes, promise!”

“It’s just the last time you were ‘just tired’ you keeled over from a migraine.”

Bernard huffed. “You make it sound like I died or something. I only passed out.”

“For twelve hours and thirty one minutes, but who’s counting?” Tim bumped his shoulder into Bernard’s, taking the bowl of potatoes to pass over to Damian, not even bothering to fill his own plate.

Something slipped in Bernard’s memory, and he just… he just… stared. Down. his eyes felt wide yet everything had begun to dim. Was something wrong with the… the… his words, where had his words gone? They’d gone. They’d gone. They’dgonethey’dgonethey’dgonethey’dgone.

Something knocked him, and he picked up his fork, blinking. How long had he been staring? He looked up.

The word was lights. Was something wrong with the lights?

“How is your biology going, Bernard? I heard you’re beginning to look for training placements in animal rescue.”

At the head of the table, Bruce craned his neck to see above the heads of a handful of bickering Wayne-and-co children. He nodded, mouth pursing in his approximation of a smile.

“Oh, uh, I am yeah… I… I…” he swallowed. “I am. Yeah.”

Dead. Silence.

Tim leant over. The fabric of his jacket brushed the back of Bernard's hand. It was rough. Was it rough before? No. no it wasn’t it wasn't rough before. It wasn’t.

He scratched his hand until the feeling went away. The creeping feeling. Tried to smile. “Yeah, I’ve applied to a few places. With my… my… resume, with my resume, I’m pretty confident I’ll get into where I want to go.”

“And where would that be?” Bruce asked, head no longer craned since the table went quiet. “I’m not too sure yet, really, but I think I want to go to a smaller rescue team, one that isn’t run by a big company, so I can focus more on helping the animals, on community outreach, that sort of thing.”

“Community outreach?” Jason-Cousin-Miguel scrunched his nose. “For animals?”

“Well, sort of. It's for the owners, helping people understand how to care for their animals, safety precautions they should take in case of villain attacks, and helping homeless people keep the pets they have healthy. So in the end it is for the animals, really!” he grinned, his leg beginning to jiggle gently. “And, this kind of community outreach can help people too, because pets tend to have health benefits. Really good at improving mood, especially in the elderly. If I could do anything, I’d help get places like care homes more involved with local shelters, possibly alongside fostering or adoption regimes to help the animals find homes and the elderly to find some companionship, as age tends to separate you from others, and it can be quite lonely. Did you know, cat’s purrs can lower blood pressure? And keeping fish helps with your focus and attention span, because they tend to require regular care with set tasks, which is funny because people always say fish have bad memories.”

A few laughs raised up around the table, but not from Damian, who stared at Bernard with… fascination?

“I didn’t realize you had such high aspirations Dowd. I assumed you wanted to be something dull, as tends to be the case with…”

Civilians. Bernard tried not to smile. How was he going to get himself out of this one? “...Tim’s companions.”

Ouch. Nice recovery. Well, maybe not nice exactly, but oh well.

“Ever the charmer,” Dick groaned. “Go on Dami, you know that’s not something you say to a guest.”

“Of course, forgive my manners, Dowd. If it helps-”

“It probably won't,” Jason muttered.

“-If it helps, I was trying to compliment you. Not only do you aspire to work with animals, which I find to be an appropriate aspiration for a mind such as your own, but you have also taken this further and devised a plan for your own programme. As far as I’m concerned, your caring for both humans and animals is rather selfless, genuine and heroic in a way that doesn’t require a cape, unlike what most people in this age of superheroes believe. You’ll fit in well with this family.”

Stunned silence filled the room, only permeated by the smells of Alfred’s cooking, as each Wayne member stared at Damian with varying levels of confusion, fear, distrust and awe. This time, when Bernard’s words escaped him, it wasn’t as concerning as the last time. Just… deeply confusing.

“What?” Damian scowled, much more in character as he assessed his siblings.

Then, the most unexpected of all- Bruce beamed. “Nothing Damian. It’s just nice to hear you getting along with someone new. That's all.”

“You do realize I enjoy the company of intellectuals.”

Jason spat out his drink. “You called mar- um, John Jones a fool, and he’s, like, a scientist, right?”

“A poor scientist,” Damian huffed. “Besides, I can appreciate Bernard's ambitions, he-”

A spasm ran through Bernard’s arm, and he dropped his fork. He tried to pick it back up, but heat blossomed in his palm the higher he lifted it, pain pricking his fingertip. His nails felt as if they were about to tear off. Was there blood? No, just heat. He squeezed his eyes shut.

The smells of the dinner table had begun to change, and with his focus on the pain in his hands Bernard almost didn’t notice until the unmistakable stench of melted flesh met his nose. Growing up in Gotham, where fires and bombs and all manner of gas attacks occurred on a regular basis, it was a smell he’d become well acquainted with since a young age. The first time he’d smelt it was going for ice cream with his mum. The last time he’d smelt it, he was holding a handful of matches and seeing how long he could hold his hand out flat with his friends. His cult friends. Smoke. Smoke and flesh. Were his hands burning? They were. They were burning right up, and it was all because he left the cult-

“Bernard! Someone help me, I think he’s having a panic attack! Bernard? Bernard, can you hear me love? We’re going to help you, just breathe with me ok. Crap, he’s crying. Bernard?” Hands grasped him seemingly everywhere- his arms, his shoulder, his back, bunching up his hoodie. The fabric seemed like sandpaper, and it was bound to peel his skin off. Good. “Tim, calm down, you’re just going to stress him out more. Let us take over.”

Cold. So cold. Like that time he tried to see how long he could sit in a bath of ice with his cult friends. Hadn't Johnny drowned doing that? Can you even count them as friends if they were just in the same cult as you?

“Who’s Johnny, Bernard? Come on, talk to us.”

“I think he’s having a flashback. We need to help ground him- Jay, pass that candle. Thanks.”

Warmth. Light. Vanilla air. Had he forgotten to breathe? He wanted to try doing that again. Music filled the room, flute sounds floating around his head, blurring out the words that Dick tried to tell him, a hand gripping his shoulder, blue eyes assessing him for something- injuries? Had he hurt himself? He didn’t feel anything. Did he? He was meant to feel it, right? No. no, that was before, and he wasn’t really meant to feel it then, he was just told he was. Told to be holy. The flutes pulled him away, though he tried to reach out for- who was he again? The guy with the funny name.

He held his hands over countless candles before. Seeing how long he could last. They always had to test their endurance. How long can you stay there? Can you feel it? Can you see your skin begin to bubble? Candles. So small. Why was he thinking about candles? Oh. the guy with the funny name held one out. Warmth, light, vanilla. Warmth. Light. Vanilla. Warmth… light… vanilla…

He stuck his hand out and gasped, bolting upright.

Yells rode around the room, bodies rushing to either him or Tim in the corner, who needed holding back by Bruce, Jason-Miguel and Cass just to stay in place. His face twisted in pain. Why? Sympathy pain.

A rooftop at dawn, watching red skies. Tim held Bernard close, one blanket wrapped around both of them, Bernard pretending not to know there were plenty more blankets, and Tim just wanted to be close.

Bernard held his phone in between their tucked up knees, showing Tim a video in youtube while they waited for a sunrise to come. It was some compilation, laughing at the failures of other people. They'd been maybe fourteen, fifteen then, just before Darla, before her past caught up to them all.

At one video, Tim winced, rubbing the back of his knees.

“You ok?” Bernard half laughed.

“Yeah, just the sympathy pain.”

“Sympathy pain?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced, “Like when you see someone else get hurt and feel the weird tingly pain behind your knees.”

Bernard laughed, and not just by half this time. “I’ve never heard of that. Maybe you’re magic.”

“Eh, I don’t think that’d be so fun.”

“Booo, magic is always cool. Who plays the human in DND, without even becoming a sorcerer or something?”

“Me. Magic isn’t all fun and games, you know.”

“You tell yourself that, Mr. Magic knees.”

“Bernard! Are you ok?”

He clutched his hand, where a small but angry blister had begun to form. Sucking in a breath, he nodded. “I’m back. Sorry. Sorry, I… Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, don’t do that, you did nothing wrong. It looked like a flashback.” Dick hadn’t moved his hand from Bernard’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Grounding him, of course. That's what the smell of the candle was meant for. Well, it sort of worked, at least.

“My parents will want me home soon.”

“Not until we have that hand sorted, Mr. Dowd. Forgive my demanding attitude, but you must at least let us tend to your injuries.”

He shrugged, brushing his thumb over the forming blister to feel the smooth skin. Aside from the stinging pain, it was a soothing sensation, like running his fingers across silk. He felt as fragile as silk, like one small tear could shred him in two with a single pull. Embarrassment heated his cheeks.

“I’m fine, it’s only a little burn. I just needed something to pull me back to reality, and it worked! I’ll slap a blister plaster on it when I get back. Easy peasy.”

Instead of the agreement he expected, the butler’s lips thinned. “Mr. Dowd, you hit your head, and though it's only a small amount, you are bleeding.”

“Just let one of us help, Bernard,” Babs implored. “Then we’ll take you home. Promise.” “Cross out hearts and hope to die.” another gentle smack landed on Dick’s shoulder, and he grinned up at the redhead. “I really need to get out of your range whenever I'm being funny.”

“If that's what you call it. Come on, Bear, up you get hun.”

Of course there was a room in the house specifically for keeping medical supplies. Not a cupboard in a kitchen, where you’d have to put on bandages propped on the end of the bath, but a small room with a table to sit on, blanketed with blue cloth.

Alfred dabbed at the small cuts on Bernard’s head, where he’d apparently hit his left side into the floor during his scramble towards the wall. Little cotton buds speckled red lay asleep in a metal tray next to him, like sheep in a pen. He poked one.

“Mr. Dowd, please don’t play with medical waste covered in your own blood. It’s not entirely sanitary.”

Sheepish, Bernard pulled away, and began stroking the back of his finger over his blister. It had lost some of the redness already, but the smoothness of his now clean skin still captivated him.

“Sorry.” “Didn’t I request you stop apologizing after the first dozen times you said sorry?” a hmmph, and another cotton ball fell into the bowl. It landed blood side up. “Mr. Dowd, I understand that I am not as close to you as other members of the family are, though I wanted you to know that if you ever want to discuss anything, whether that be issues of just the weather, I am here for you. I also invite you to speak now, if you’re ready.”

A pause.

“Is it melodramatic if I say it doesn’t feel like I ever will be ready?”

“I believe melodrama tends to be lessened when paired with self awareness, however, your belief isn’t melodramatic in the slightest Mr. Dowd. I understand. But as someone who felt the same, and has felt so many times, I can tell you you will be. I see it in you Mr. Dowd. you’re strong, and can take on much more than you should. Perhaps your issue lies in your strength.”

Bernard scrunched his nose. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t, these things tend to be quite difficult to grasp. I admit, I still find it hard myself.”

“And you’re ancient, so I have years to catch up on you. Decades even.”

A rare chuckle burst out of the old man, and he pulled the cotton bud away from Bernard’s temple briefly. “My, you are familiarizing yourself. You’ve definitely had too much influence from the boys, and Miss Stephanie I suspect. Now, I believe your head will be ok now, though I suggest you be careful about washing your hair for the next few days, until the scabs have formed at least. Would you like to stay for a while? I am quite enjoying our chat, wise remarks aside.”

“No thanks,” Bernard shook his head. “I really need to get home. Though this has been… helpful, even if it has left me with more questions than I had.”

“The best teacher tends to question the student, Mr. Dowd, rather than give them the answers. Some things you need to understand independently, and some you need someone by your side for.”

“So what’s the best question you could leave me with before I go asking myself all these questions?”

A glint formed in the old man’s eyes, and he began to clear away the mess. The cotton balls tumbled in the bin.

“Well, I believe it would be best to ask you this- who do you believe is the best person to be by your side throughout this journey? And do you think your first choice is really the best?”

Tim drove the two home, hovering so close to Bernard on the journey to the car he was practically stepping on his toes. Bernard was almost sure he had been given a pep talk by Bruce to not pick him up and carry him to the car, which was likely enforced by Cass lurking in a corner, Harper waving a wooden spoon at him, and Jason taking the piss out of him, because god forbid the guy be direct with expressing his emotions. Just to shut him up, and partly because he wanted to share the warmth Tim always seemed to lack, Bernard took his arm.

He didn’t remember most of the car ride, but he did remember the golden fields rolling past, the harps playing on one of Tim’s CDs, the drone of Tim’s voice, sounding like he was underwater.

Then he was home. The house. No welcome mat at the entrance, that had been stolen years ago, one night when he was maybe twelve or thirteen. It had a cat on it, ginger, and waving a pink paw as each guest stepped over it.

Tim offered to walk him up to the entrance, Bernard refused, kissed him goodbye, just a peck on the cheek in case anyone was watching, and ran off. Routing, really, a regular dance they tangoed in the fortnight since Bernard had first broken into the Wayne Manor. Ever since he began to integrate into the family, sneaking out at night when his parents were gone or asleep, making sure to be back before they returned or were awake for the first week, then not even bothering with that. Indifference isn’t something you really need to run from. Indifferent people never chase you.

His bed greeted him more warmly than either of his parents had, cool covers folded neatly from the previous evening. The last two nights, he didn’t even bother to pretend it was slept in before he left. No point, really.

He pulled the covers up to his chin, back pressed against the pillows between him and the wall, clutching the corner over his mouth. Was he hiding? This felt like hiding. Though his room wasn’t dark enough in the dawning autumn evening for the dark shadows to cast shapes on his wall, something that would have prompted his younger self to turn on the night life his mother had bought him. It was shaped like a frog, and he stared at it each night until he fell asleep, safe under his little green guardian’s unblinking watch. When he was ten, he’d come home to find the little guardian gone. He’d already learnt not to cry when he saw his father in the doorway, shaking his head. Don’t be so childish, Bernard. You were named after your grandfather, and he never cried. Don’t you want to be strong like him? Like me?

He woke up trapped, legs kicking against the blankets weighing him down, his arm trapped between the bed and the wall. His head screamed, and the plaster on his blistered hand had long since been scraped off in his blind panic to get out of his trap. Finally, he was free. Scrapes and splinters littered his arm and palm, the heel being the main victim. Elbow scraped to pieces.. But he was free. He was free. Right?

When he woke up the second time, with the pillows lodged firmly in the gap and his covers torn off and thrown on the floor, Bernard realised why he’d work up in such a state. He hadn’t fallen asleep alone in two weeks.

You’ll wake up alone too. Come back home, Bernard.

“BERNARD, GET UP!”

With a gasp, Bernard shot up out of bed. His heart seemed to be trying to hammer its way out of his chest, so loud he felt his blood roar in his ears.

The sheets on the floor tangled his feet as he tried to get his bearings, and he slammed into the floor, only saved by whatever soft thing he’d fallen onto. He was fairly certain he’d collected all the pillows in his room to shove between his bed and the wall, but maybe he’d pulled on out in his panic.

But when he looked, he saw the sheets were on top of it. The sheets that had been lying flat last night.

He poked the pillow that hadn’t been there last night, brow furrowed. It was firmer than his pillows tended to be, like the decorative pillows on his parents couch he never sat on. It twitched.

Bernard screamed.

He threw himself back, jarring his back against the wooden bedframe, kicking out at whatever the fuck had wormed it’s way under his bedsheets.

“What the fuck what the fuck what the FUCK.”

Frantically following the tube-like shape of the thing under his bed sheets, Bernard's eyes travelled further… further… further. Oh. Oh. What the fuck.

What looked like a long, thin slug trailed out of the end of the blanket, covered in a black tar-like substance, which seeped across the wooden floorboards, staining the bottom of his cabinets, darkening his rug. The slug itself trailed across his floor, up the wall, looping around three walls until it reached his door, where it disappeared from view. The walls dripped with the tar-like substance, brown bleeding across the once white surfaces. The slug thing went left out of the doorway.

In the direction of his parents’ room.

Bernard bolted up, ducking low as he sprinted out of the room to warn his parents. The hallway was full of more of the Things lined the walls and ceiling of the hallway, crossing over each other, looping around furniture, sometimes in such thick bundles Bernard couldn’t even avoid brushing past them as he ran, his skin crawling with revulsion at the sensation.

“Mom! Dad!”

Their room was empty.

Taking a second to assess the amount of Things crammed into the staircase, Bernard decided he was already covered in enough of whatever the gooey substance was that any more wouldn’t really matter. He sucked in a breath, braced himself, and dove headfirst down the tubes. He slid down, tumbling just at the bottom, landing in a heap in the only bare patch of floor.

His head screamed with pain.

No. His mother screamed, voice wretched, ripping out of her as she sprinted closer. “No, mom, no, get out! Get out! You need to run!”

“Darling, you hit your head, stay still!”

Footsteps approaching, almost running, but they weren’t allowed to run in the house. “MOM, RUN!”

“I’m here darling, I’m coming.”

She rounded the corner.

He reached out a hand, wishing he could stop her but knowing he was helpless.

And she ran through the Things.

Not over, not around. Through them.

The Things recoiled as she ran through them like they were nothing more than smoke, bunching up, darting away, tar spraying everywhere.

But Bernard had touched them, had slid down them, and fallen on them. He was still covered in the tar, and the bits that were drying had even begun to pull his skin tight, tacky like the tree sap from the trees he’d play on as a kid, pulling off the bark to reveal the bloody syrup beneath. The Things, the substance they secreted, it was just as real as those trees all those years ago. Wasn’t it?

Emmeline Dowd, his mother, his frail, reserved mother, ran through the Things, falling to the ground beside him, cupping his cheeks as tears welled in her eyes.

Why was she see through? Was she a ghost? Was she… no, she couldn’t be dead. She was his mom.

“Oh love, what happened? Are you ok?”

“Mom, there were- there were these things- tentacles, or slugs, I don't know- I don't know! I just woke up, and then they were everywhere, and I thought you were-” he choked, sobbing as he tried to warn her. “They’re still everywhere, can’t you see them?”

“No dear, there’s nothing there-”

“What is the boy rambling about now?”

The hands cupping his cheeks twitched, then pulled him in, burying his head in her shoulder.

“He’s saying he’s seeing monsters dear, he’s scared, I think-”

“Oh damn what you think,” snapped Robert Dowd, somewhere to Bernard’s left. “If the boys got into some ridiculous new age drugs I’ll be ringing up that’s kook school of his and be giving them a piece of my mind. It’s that scholarship program, I tell you, letting all the wrong sort from the wrong parts of Gotham in.”

“Robert, you can’t say things like that,” Emmeline hissed, her posture tensing, like a snake coiled to strike. She never usually stood up to her husband, but having a more open mind than Robert, her own friendship circle expanded outside of the upper middle class areas of Gotham, and was one of the few things she stood up to him for. Sometimes Bernard made it onto that short list too.

“I can say what I bloody well please, I’m the man of the house, aren’t I?”

“You’re the prick of the house,” Bernard mumbled.

A crash, and a photo frame landed just at his feet.

“Don’t start thinking you’re smart, boy. You’re going to end up just like your aunt, a disgrace! You have no clue how good you have it!”

“You mean the aunt who has two doctorates and has a published research journal every other month? Yeah, a real disgrace-“

Something, or rather someone, ragged on his by pajama sweatshirt collar, yanking him up. His mother cried out behind him, and his father towered over him.

“I don’t know where you all of a sudden decided you’re a comedian, but I’d suggest you stop.”

Bernard scowled, biting back his own suggestion to cut back on the brandy that rolled off his tongue in noxious fumes.

“Did I make myself clear?”

“You articulated yourself well for a drunk.”

The next second he was on the floor, his mother yelling. Screaming.

She was crouched over him, berating the ‘man of the house’, hand swiping at his legs whenever he came near.

For once, he made it onto Emmeline Dowd’s list of people to stand up for.

Warmth swelled in his chest, despite the heat stinging his cheek.

Bernard stared at the Things around him, which recoiled at the slight light that emanated from above him. He tried to open his eyes, despite the pain in his left, and saw his mother was now fully opaque, a warm glow emanating from her bunched fists. He reached out, stroking one of her small hands, wondering if his aunt wasn’t the only odd one of the family.

“Mom?”

“Quiet Bernard. Your father and I are talking. Get out, Robert, or put down that glass. You’ve gone too far this time.”

A laugh. “Ohh, I’ve gone too far, have I? What are you going to do, Emmeline? Leave me? Take the boy? Talk to your tramp friends about how mean I am? Get over yourself. This is my house, my drink, my sweat blood and tears I put into trying to raise a good young man. But here you are, insisting on belittling my efforts, raising a soft little boy who still thinks what he does matters. He’s nothing without our name, without my family name, and neither are you. My father got it wrong with my sister, he was too soft with her, always treated her. But me? He knew what to do with me, and now look at me! I’m a real man, I provide for your lavish lifestyle, give him a good education for him to waste it on wanting to be a vet of all things, and I now have enough money I could retire and never run out of money for the next century. I always go far, but it’s never too far. I’m always right where I want to be, and have everyone else right where I want them to be. So either he gets in line, or he gets out of my house.”

“Go to your room Bernard, your father and I clearly need to have a conversation when our heads are more clear.”

A gentle push, and he was in his feet, stumbling up the stairs as his parents Carrie don beneath him.

“Clearly he got caught in a fear has pocket yesterday, this are always a problem in the weeks after attacks-”

“-Always another excuse-“

“-I’m sorry-“

Those last two words always came. They meant Bernard would just be in his regular level of trouble, and nothing would change. His father was off the hook, and he was on it in his place.

The Things in his room bristled nearly constantly, more filling the old oak-lined floors as the voices below fell off, the tensions yet again going nearly unaddressed. They’d stick around, no getting away from them, hallucinations or not.

Well…

‘…either he gets in line, or he gets out of my house’

Had he ever really been in line?

Maybe it was time to fully commit, play his part as the newest Dowd that no one talks about at the dinner table, join his aunt as one of the different ones. There was something appealing about only being mentioned in quiet voices, like he was some monster they didn’t want to manifest.

He flipped open his phone, and before five minutes was up, he’d opened a new bank account, transferred all his funds, and begun looking up the cheapest housing areas in Gotham. Crime Alley was the obvious answer, and not one he was entirely against. No one would care who he was there. If his parents came looking, they’d mind their own business. If his parents came looking.

Finally, he found somewhere. A one bedroom apartment, close enough to the dangerous bit of Crime Alley to be near criminally cheap (he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth), and far enough from where Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed to not be weirdly pricey for the area. Only in Gotham would a public murder raise the value of the property around it. Either way, he was only a half hour walk from the Gotham Community College, so he could drop out of Gotham Prep no issue. Maybe he’d even change his degree, commit to the whole new doing what he wanted thing.

So, after three hours of arranging funds, hunting for both university courses and nearby jobs, and placing an offer on somewhere to live, Bernard finally knelt on his floor. The Things still bristled, but seemed to retract whenever he neared.

With the housing possibly sorted, his money all quietly transferred, and his new place on the GCC animal management, behaviour and welfare course already applied, finally Bernard came to the last part of his great escape.

An empty suitcase sat expectant in front of him, open and waiting to be filled with whatever Bernard decided to take with him into his new life. He was torn between reinventing himself and still wanting to stay the same. The guy he was now was the guy who survived the cult, the guy who lasted eighteen years under the same roof as Robert and Emmeline Dowd, the same guy who Tim Drake fell for. Why would he want to lose that?

His head turned fuzzy, and the single lamp on his desk seemed a hundred times brighter, the light splitting into his head behind his eyes. He groaned, stumbling up to turn it off, not even noticing the Things retract as he practically fell across the room. Even with the light off, the soft autumn light filtering through his window seemed to drive nails into his face. Across the room. Blinds shut. Things shifted. He rose. No. He fell. Hit the ground. Crawled to his bed. Crawled in. Pulled every blanket, pillow and stuffed toy he could find over his head. The static that came with shadows filled his senses, replacing the pain. He curled up, tucking his knees so tight he couldn’t breathe without gasping for air.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of fighting for air, for the pain to go away, his exhaustion chased off the panic, even if the pain didn’t fully dissipate.

Sleep crept up on him, accompanied by the soft tones of flutes as he drifted off.

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iriswords · 1 year

Text

Febuwhump Day 17 - Silent tears

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: light mentions of past child abuse, overall really bad mental health

Fandom: Batman

Words: 2036

Tim was taught not to be an inconvenience. Good children are to be seen, not heard. For years, he's cried silently and unseen and as time passed, he got better at repressing his tears altogether. But as a rough week leaves him emotionally vulnerable, Tim struggles to keep his mask on around his family.

Tim has always been a quiet, compliant child. He learns from a very young age that good children are to be seen, not heard. That good children do not talk unless talked to. And, most importantly, that good children do not cry, because crying is making a scene, and good children do not make scenes.

He makes the mistake of complaining because his parents drag him to a gala that stretches out late into the night only once. His cheek burns with the fire of a vicious slap as soon as the Drakes are in the secrecy of their mausoleum of a manor. He cries himself to sleep that night, his tiny body curled onto itself, fists tightened in the sheets. When he wakes up the next morning, his parents are long gone, their bed cold and neatly made. They do not come back for another six months.

During that time, it does not matter, how loud Tim is or isn’t. There isn’t anyone around to hear or be bothered by his noise. But silence is ingrained in him, as some kind of survival instinct. He swallows his tears and sobs and clasps a firm hand over his mouth when they come out despite his efforts. He cries silently, painfully, too scared of being an inconvenience even when there is no one around to inconvenience.

He sobs loudly once, in a strange idea of rebellion no one is there to witness. His cries echo in the empty house and come back to him tenfold. He decides it is worse than feeling like he is imploding, and he reverts to crying silently, his body straining with the effort of keeping it all in.

It becomes a useful skill after that, to be able to cry silently. But as he grows and perfects his mask, as he masters the art of repressing his emotions so far down he can barely feel them, he uses that skill less and less.

Tim nearly falls asleep against the door of the Batmobile on their way back to the Cave. This last month has taken a toll on him. No, this last year has taken a toll on him, what with the whole Bruce-died-but-he-was-actually-stuck-in-time thing. In the meantime, Tim has lost a spleen, what little mental health he had left, a brother, and a home. All of that to bring back a dad Tim has done his best to avoid ever since the whole ordeal came to an end two months ago when Bruce finally came back to Gotham.

Tim’s body feels full of lead as he drags it out of the Batmobile and toward the debrief table. Beside him, Jason and Damian are half bantering, half trying to dismember each other. Dick sends Tim a tentative smile as they settle opposite each other around the table, and Tim pretends not to see him. He cannot deal with this tonight.

“What are the updates on the drug ring, Tim?” asks Bruce to start the debriefing.

Tim winces. “They got away. They were far more numerous and prepared than I had anticipated. I think they allied with one of Gotham’s bigger villains, but I haven’t figured out which yet.”

Damian tuts. “Of course, the Pretender failed. You should have let me take this mission, Father, I would have done better.”

“It’s not about doing better, Damian. Clearly, we didn’t have all the information we needed. That’s alright, Tim couldn’t have known.” But Damian’s words hurt nonetheless. Tim single-handedly found Bruce and survived Ra’s evil schemes and his weird obsession with Tim, yet it isn’t enough to prove himself to the brat. Dick says Damian just needs time, that he needs to realize Tim isn’t threatening his position. But Tim is tired of giving everyone time and second chances, especially to the brat who took his mantle and tried to kill him multiple times before that.

“Did they all get away?” asks Bruce. His face is impassible, betraying no emotion, but Tim can easily imagine the disappointment and reproaches he doubtlessly wishes to throw at Tim. ‘Did they all get away, or are you somewhat useful?’

“No,” answers Tim. “I handed about fifteen goons to the police, but those I interrogated didn’t know much. Gordon will send me any information he manages to get.” Bruce nods, and Tim swallows around the growing lump in his throat.

Debriefing continues, a litany of off-handed comments directed at Tim. He doesn’t know if it’s just him, if he’s overthinking it, if he’s reading between lines when there is actually nothing vicious about his family’s words. Anyhow, Tim’s chest grows tighter and tighter with suppressed sobs fighting to get out. He keeps blinking back tears as discreetly as he can. No one notices anything.

Finally, the debrief comes to an end, and Tim hastily heads toward the showers. He nearly bursts into tears under the spray of the shower but clasps a hand against his mouth at the last second when he remembers the rest of his family are in the stalls next to him. He isn’t sure they would hear him over their loud bickering, but he would rather not take the risk. He stifles the pain inside him as well as he can and hurries through the rest of his shower.

His fingers shake as he grabs his clothes, and he barely manages to put them on. His entire chest quivers from suppressed sobs, the ache so deep it seems physical rather than emotional. He wishes it were only physical pain. This way, he could hope to heal, he could just go to Alfred and explain his predicament. But it is an all-too-emotional pain, and nothing will solve it.

Tim makes his way to his room a hand pressed against his mouth and his eyes brimming with tears. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot put his mask back on. He keeps his feet silent and quick and checks there is no one before rounding corners. He can’t risk being caught, can’t risk having to explain himself. It would make matters worse, that much he is certain of. He sees enough of Dick’s sad face already, hears enough of Damian’s derisive snorts.

The door of his bedroom slams shut behind him, and Tim collapses. He crumples to the floor, curled in on himself, his mouth distorted in the horrible grimace of sobs. Tears run from his eyes onto his cheeks, a dam opened and never to be closed again. They pool at his chin and soak the hem of his shirt. Painful sobs claw their way out of his chest, his muscles trembling under the effort of keeping them quiet. Crying out loud terrifies him, but silent sobs are so very painful. They feel like being torn apart, like he is imploding on himself. Like he is letting out his pain without truly letting it out. Like voicing it is the only way to free himself from it, and by keeping it silent, he only makes it harder on himself.

Someone knocks on Tim’s door. He freezes, eyes wide, tears still rolling down his cheeks. He wills himself not to make a sound as he clumsily tries to dry his tears and stop his sobs.

“Tim?” comes Dick’s voice through the wooden door. “We’re gonna have a movie night, buddy. It would be great if you could come.”

Tim doesn’t answer immediately. The last thing he wants right now is to have a movie night with his family. To repress his emotions again and act like everything is fine when it really isn’t the case. But what excuse can he give? If he says he has work, Dick will forcibly drag him to the movie room. If he says he is tired, everyone will know something is up with him because he rarely goes to sleep willingly.

“Tim?” asks Dick again, worry tainting his voice.

“Sure,” answers Tim, trying his best to hide the quivers in his voice. “I’ll be down in five.”

The answer must satisfy Dick because his steps fade down the corridor. Tim gets up on shaky legs and walks to his bathroom. His face is red, and his eyes slightly bloodshot, but he can easily blame it on exhaustion. He splatters his face with cold water, inhales deeply a few times, and pushes down his pain as far down as he can. His composure comes back, distressingly flawless. Nobody will know. Tim doesn’t know if he is glad or not.

Everyone is already in the movie room by the time he arrives, piled up on the couch. Somehow, Dick managed to drag both Jason and Damian on the cuddle pile without getting himself stabbed. Bruce looks fondly at all three of them and motions to Tim to join him on the end of the couch. Tim’s step falters for a split second, but he corrects it and pasts a fake smile on his face before Bruce can notice his reluctance.

Tim sits down in between Bruce and Damian and braces for any mean comments directed at him. None come. Instead, everyone’s attention turns to the screen as the movie starts. The Lady and the Tramp. It must have been one of Damian’s picks. Or one of Dick’s picks, made on Damian’s behalf since the brat would never admit to liking Disney movies, even if they are centered around animals.

Tim tries to settle and relax, to forget his episode from earlier. But his brothers bicker good-heartedly with one another, their quips easy and light, and the pressure in Tim’s chest comes back. His composure proves to not be as flawless as he thought, and cracks run through his mask. Tim hugs his knees to himself, focusing on the movie instead of his brothers or his hurt but his attention inevitably comes back to these two and their relation to one another, the movie completely forgotten.

A solitary tear rolls down his cheek. Tim ignores it. No one has noticed yet, but if he wipes it away, he is certain he will draw all the attention to it. But that solitary tear is soon not solitary anymore, and the dam reopens. He is entirely silent, his tears thankfully unaccompanied by sobs. He dreads the moment the movie will come to an end and everyone will see him, or the moment someone’s attention will turn to him. He knows he cannot avoid it. The outcome is unavoidable. He should just have gone back to his apartment for the night, should have braved his exhaustion, and made the trip all the way there. It would have been worth the effort, if only to avoid the utter disaster this night is becoming.

It is Damian who notices. Damian, of all people. Tim thinks the universe does not like him very much. Damian’s tiny head turns toward Tim, and Tim knows he has seen the second his eyebrows pull together in a frown.

“Why are you crying, Drake?” he asks, voice snippy and dripping with disdain. Underneath it all, Tim imagines the tiniest note of worry. “This is hardly a movie to cry about.”

Tim’s family turns to him all at once, and a sob breaks past the barrier of Tim’s throat. His hand flies to his mouth to seal it shut, but it is already too late. He presses himself against the couch, willing it to swallow him whole and never spit him back out. His wish is not granted.

“Tim,” says Bruce gently, “what’s wrong?” Tim sobs harder in response. He hasn’t cried so badly in years. He hasn’t been unable to stop in an equally long time.

Bruce’s hand cards tentatively through his hair. In the background, someone stops the movie, and Damian does not complain.

“I’m sorry,” Tim chokes out.

“I’m certain you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” replies Bruce. “What is wrong?”

Tim shakes his head and lets himself be pulled into the comfort of his dad’s arms. The cuddle pile rearranges itself around the two of them and later, when Tim finally explains with trembling words what made him cry, his brothers and father hug him tighter. Unlike what he had feared, his family is nothing but understanding.

@febuwhump

#my writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanfiction #whump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday17 #dc #batman #batfamily #tim drake #hurt tim drake #tim drake whump

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just-an-enby-lemon · 1 year

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I was probably not gonna talk about my OUAT/DC AU were Emma is adopted by Bruce and becomes his first child/sideckick (witch in retrospect would likely improve Dick and Bruce's relationship at leaat a bit) because I just didn't like what I had planned and didn't have any better ideas. Until today more than one year later and out of nowhere I got two really good ideas:

1. Lilith. The thing is Lilith meeting Emma had to happen, they are soul-bond, is inevitable. And hey Lilith family are rich uncary people and the Waynes are rich. So this time instead of shoplifting Lilith meets Emma at 13, after Emma runs away because she thinks Bruce adopting Dick means he doesn't want her anymore (she knows it is unfair, she saw his parents die at the circus but she was abandoned to many times for the new younger kid).

Now normally Bruce would have found her already but it was the same day 10yo Dick Grayson runned away to kill Tony Zucco. And at least Emma knew how to protect herself. So she asked Babs to find her bestie and went to stop his newly acquired child from dying.

But these are the details. And details are nice. But the idea itself it's the thing: inspired by Emma by the end of their friendship Lilith decides to run away thinking it is easy. Emma thinks she suceeded in stopping her but after they big fight (in this universe because Lilith putted Dick in danger and if Dick wasn't Robin - I thing Lilith doesn't know, he would have died) Lilith decides to run away because fuck Emma that's why.

Now there is someone who has a soft spot for eager to learn, evil, lonley childrem who terrorize others and my headcannon that Lilith dragon biology makes her resistant to substances like alcohol, smilex... fear toxin. Yeah. Emma is a Wayne and Lilith is a Crane (Jonathan preffers the term apprendice)

Now this creates a new interresting connection between them but also a new flavour for their prexisting one. Can you imagine how complicated Regina and Emma's field trip would be? But more important Maleficent having the extra step of not only having to bond with her now adult lost daugther but learn how to co-parent with the "Master of Fear".

2. My other and favorite hc was: if Emma is raised by Bruce even if she gets pregnant too young, she would not be in jail and would have a support system and money. Now my first idea was to give Emma and Bruce a falling out. But that's a cope out. And I wanted to write "good parent Bruce" and that means that even if they fought Bruce wouldn't let his teen daugther on the streets.

In this timeline Emma still date Neal - Bruce didn't knew - and got pregnant but she kept Henry (except his middle name is Jason instead of Daniel). So who is the kid Regina adopts?

Damian. Now in Damian's debut story Talia did pretend to have had an unplanned abortion and gabe Damian to adoption. I am changing her motives: Jason had just died and Bruce just got Tim and Talia knew he wouldn't stop and Ra keept talking about an heir and Talia might be loyal but she is self aware and she wants the best for her son so she pretends she lost the baby and gave him to adoption. Her plan was to fake her own death, move and adopt her son back (and get money as a mercenary). She had contacts and bribes to stop her kid from being adopted and eyes everwhere to trail him and update her. Bur somehow it wasn't enough.

Someone got her baby and disapeared of the face of earth (Storybrook is hard to find) and after ten years trying to find him and failing. She decides to tell Emma. She doesn't want to tell Bruce that their child isn't dead and she lied and she is afraid one of her father spys pick up on the news about his heir surviving. And since Emma is the best member of the batfam in finding people and a mother herself can help Talia (that at this point only wants to know if her son is happy and well).

Also Damian Mills (Talia named him before giving him to adoption is aware of the fairy tale bs and that he is different than Henry in strategies.

#ouat #once upon a time #batfamily #batfam #emma swan #bruce wayne #bruce addoption addiction #lily page #henry mills #bat adoption au #damian wayne #regina mills #talia al ghul #jonathan crane

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reddtea · 2 years

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A Different Batman

I want a Batman story where he starts off as a cheerful and a bit socially daft guy. Where Bruce Wayne is a complete goof and hopelessly romantic fool. He tries to court Talia or Selina with the extravagance and thoughtfulness of a man with the means and mind to try to give his love the most fantastically romantic time ever. He'd be so proud and happy for Dick and his team of superheroes, and all he can imagine is the good they'll do when they become the next Justice league. Even the criminals in Gotham aren't too violent, just people looking out for their own. Then Jason comes into his life, He loves this child so much. The kid adores Alfred and follows him around like a duckling and is quietly delighted with all the toys, books, schooling, ect. that Bruce can provide. He's smart, studious, sassy, curious, and adorably enthralled with magic (magic!Jason) practically a prodigy but still playing little pranks here and there. He can imagine Jason fitting in very well with Justice league dark if he wants to follow his big brother's footsteps. Though that plan doesn't quite play out as he'd hoped. (I'm just so done with Jason only ever being destined for death and nothing more, and the death of a child being treated like no biggie or a goddamn joke. That shit should be goddamn traumatic and serious.)

However Jason is mercilessly murdered by the Joker, then Barbara is paralyzed, Talia doesn't want anything to do with him, and Harvey well...Harvey went insane chasing shadows before killing himself. Bruce then starts to spiral into his dark and broody, emotionless, cold and calculating Batman. Turning paranoid and controlling, because if he could have planned for everything then he would have prevented the worst from happening to the people he cared about.

I want Batman's closed off and harsh personality be a result of his life getting to a point of falling apart instead of the insanity of "dead parents" because frankly I'm sick of those damn pearls. I get it as a motivation to start being a hero but the rest of why he's a dick to his allies and so damn standoffish about being in control all the time shouldn't be tied to that. I think it should be a process of him losing his hopefulness to the thoughtless acts of cruelty later down the line.

Give me a batman that starts with everything to lose, a hopeful man who believes that people can change for the better if they were given a proper chance. That goodness is inherent because superman who has all the power to do anything still decides to do good. A batman who thought people were only evil because of desperation, or needed/wanted something but is proven so wrong that it slowly breaks him, into the batman we're familiar with. (the kind of batman that lashes out at Dick, ignores or doesn't care for Tim and Steph, beats & banishes Jason from Gotham, and makes contingencies & plans to be able to take out his JLA friends)

Maybe even have the parents be secretly not the best people. I've been thinking about Martha Wayne being a high ranking member of the court of owls, and his father sharing a hand with Hugo strange to make Arkham asylum a hell on earth. Lemme know what you guys think because frankly I kinda hate how toxic Batfam is and I really don't care for trying to pretend it's a good time to be with the kind of batman we have. Straightup fanon gooddad!Bruce is so far away from what Batman is, I can't imagine them being the same person at all. At least with this kind of timeline I feel like it could possibly work.

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ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole · 3 years

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Tea Leaves & Coffee Beans

A Re-Meet Cute Monday 14

Ok so kinda freaked out that I've now written 14 MCMs over 4 months now when it originally was meant to be a 'one off' occurrence. I completely fell into a writting trap.

This one is a slightly different approach as is a 're-meet' and I've added another cross over just because.

ML X DC X Crazy Rich Asians

Masterlist

MCM Masterlist

.............................................................................

Taking a moment to escape the madness with Dick, Tim stared out across the gala room. Guest's milled about, drinking champagne, talking business, pretending to donate money. The normal over the top extravaganza, fake laughter as one up manship competitions took place amongst Gotham's socialites and upper elites. Sighing, Tim looks back down at the drink held in his hand wishing it was caffeinated instead whatever Dick had given him. He really hated these events Bruce insisted they all attend to 'keep up appearances' but neglects to remember, or perhaps because of it, that he had done this since a child with his parents and he'd done over his fair share of 'schmoozing' for a lifetime.

Glancing up out of the corner of his eye, Tim thought he caught a glimpse of a ghost of his past, but that didn't make sense though. That ghost had disappeared years ago, why would it reappear now. Thinking analytically, it was more likely to be a trick of the light and he was jumping to conclusions due to thinking back to his parents. Shaking his head and focusing back at observing the room he couldn't see any signs of what he was looking for reassuring him that it was his mind playing games. Which wouldn't have happened if he had caffeine. Tim sent Dick a dirty look as if it would support his thoughts.

Tim downed the non caffienatied beverage and placed it on a passing waiters tray before turning to see Bruce approaching. Colour drained from his face and dread built up in his stomach. '$h1t! $h1t! $h1t!' chanted through his head. Tim glanced around looking to escape but Dick suddenly deciding to rest an arm on him he found he was trapped.

"What's with the look Timmy? You've been giving me the evils all evening and you now look like you've seen a ghost. What's up?"

Dick questioned Tim trying to work up what was up with his brother. He had been out of soughts all evening and right now he looked like he was about to pass out.

"Nick, let me introduce you to some of my son's. Richard and"

"Timothy. It’s a surprise to see you here. Last I heard you had disappeared out of the spotlight for a few years after your parent’s untimely departure. The Young's and Cheng's sent their regards back then, but please accept my personal condolences now that we've met in person again."

Nick smiled charmingly at Tim, who could only stare. Bruce and Dick gawked at the pair before them trying to make head or tail of what was happening.

"Nick, you... know Tim?"

"Yes. Rachel and I spent some time teaching Timothy here and my cousin's daughter while both their parents were visiting the Young family home in Singapore. Timothy was a similar age to Marinette. They were thick as thieves back then. You've grown well, and you seem much happier here, Timothy."

After getting over the initial shock of Nick being here, in Gotham, and that maybe his early thought about the ghost may be real, Tim breathed in deep and detached his internal panic to focus on the moment.

"Thank you Nick, living with Bruce is … different from what it was like at Drake Manor.” Tim frowned a little, “Not to be rude, but why are you here?"

Taking Tim’s question in stride Nick smiled understandably at him, "Marinette is over in the U.S due to working with her self-claimed 'uncle'. Though Sabine and Tom trust him, they wanted a familiar face to ensure she's ok over here. It is Gotham afterall. Plus it seems like a good opportunity to maybe to investigate a joint business venture with Wayne Enterprises since the original proposal with Drake Industries seems unlikely now."

Nick grinned at Tim and looked back out into the room. Tim tensed subtly at the last statement, and he knew it didn't go amiss from his family. Bruce taking the lead,

"The Young's and Drake's had a business proposal?"

As Nick and Bruce engaged in deeper conversation of the Drake's past involvement and agreements, Tim gaze swept the room. At the edge of the room he caught sight of his ghost. It wasn't his imagination at all, she really was here. Dressed in her typically pale pink, but much like a sunset, the pink slowly blended into a deep maroon almost black, dress causing a small smile and to break Tim's attention to the older men around him. Just like him, Marinette had grown a lot since they last saw… spoke to each other, but it was nice to see she still had threads of her past character about her.

Tim looked at who she was engaged in conversation with and grimaced. He recognised the guy from school and knew he was a pain who didn't like not getting his own way. Noting the way Marinette was slowly flexing her fist, Tim moved.

He slipped out Dick's grasp swiftly, ignoring the calls of his name from Dick, he walking directly towards his ghost. Upon approaching the pair Tim could easily see the guy leering at Marinette trying to encroach into her space.

"Go on Sweetheart. You know you want to dance with me. Being seen with me will give you a huge popularity boost."

Suppressing his anger towards his class mate Tim glided in to greeted the girl from his past ignoring the twerp from school.

"Tea Leaf! It's been so long. I bumped into your cousin who mentioned you were here. Can I interest you in that dance I owe you and chance to catch up?"

Turning to him, she looked up and blinked in surprise. Recognition slowly filtered across her face causing Marinette to burst out into a huge smile.

"Coffee Bean! I almost didn't recognise you. You're missing a coffee cup. A dance would be lovely, especially the one you owe me from Uncle Alistair's wedding anyway."

Tim took hold of Marinette’s hand and kissed the back of it before tucking it into the crook of his elbow as he led her to the dance floor. It wasn’t often that he danced at these events. He could dance perfectly fine and along with all the training for his 'night-life' meant that navigating a dance floor was a breeze, not that those at this gala knew this. This meant that as he led Marinette around the dance floor in a slow waltz the pair could feel eyes all on them. Not so subtle whispers as to who she was and how did she ensnare a Wayne.

Her brilliant eyes stared up at him twinkling with mirth as she returned from a graceful twirl he’d spun her into.

"Ignore them Bean. They will always gossip about something. Though I must say that I’m rusty in dealing with the paparazzi and gossip mongers for are interested in what *I’m* up to.

It so nice to be able to dance with you again. Somehow you make this feel effortless."

Tim grinned down at her, the pressure and anxiety that he felt building this evening melting away.

"You always say that Tea Leaf."

"If I always say that, then it has to be true."

Tim barked out a laugh at her statement as he dipped her before slowly lifting her, letting her do another spin which showcased her dress. Their time apart feeling like it was shrinking as they reconnected.

"Never change Tea Leaf. It's… it's good to see you. So what's new since we last spoke? Last time I heard you were in Paris?"

"Still the great conversationalist as ever Bean, but yeah, I've been in Paris 8 years now I think. It was a huge culture shock compared to Hong Kong and Shanghai and well as well from being at the Great Grandma's.”

She let out a small huff at that, “Everywhere is different from Great Grandma’s. What about you? A Wayne now… I hope it's different from your parents… like I know they were your parents but still…"

Tim grimaced slightly as she hit a sore subject but then he recalled in the last conversation he had with her was that she didn't want to be in Paris, having left the safety of her family… her friends. To leave him, but he had put the distance between them after his parents death. He pushed her away. Maybe that dig wasn’t unjust and he still didn’t know how Paris went she tactfully bypassed the details.

They continued to waltz around the room carefully catching up. Re-learning to navigate each other. Re-learning the boundaries and understanding they once had. Falling back into the natural rhythm they had as children.

Eventually the latest set the band was playing came to a pause. Tim, holding her gaze, gently lifted her hand up and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Thank you, Tea Leaf.”

The pair meandered without care off the dance floor over to where Bruce, the rest of his siblings who hand now congregated, Nick and now Jagged Stone were standing.

"There's my little Rocker!! Cool moves on the dance floor. You never told me you could dance!"

"You never asked Uncle J and to be honest I can only really dance with Bean. He’s the star really, I’m still the clutz you know without his dance guidance.”

"Tea Leaf!! You know Jagged Stone?!?!"

Marinette smirked at Tim "Of course, Coffee Bean! He's my Uncle that I came here with. Nick is supervising as Maman doesn't trust Uncle J not to get distracted. But given that I met you again, it's probably best that Nick is here."

Before Tim could get distracted and hyped up over Jagged Stone (which the rest of Wayne's had already done earlier while freaking out about Tim dancing with someone), Jason cut in.

"Oi! Timbo, are you not going to introduce us to your… companion?"

Rolling his eyes at Jason, Tim turned to Marinette.

"Tea Leaf, these are my adopted family. Bruce, Dick, his partner Babs, Jason, Cass, Duke, Steph and Damian. Guys, this is my betrothed, my Tea Leaf, Marinette."

There was a moment pause. All that could be heard was the background noise of the gala before Dick proclaimed, “BETHROTHED!”

Chaos followed.

Bruce glared and Nick as ‘betrothal’ obviously hadn’t come up in the Drake/Young-Cheng business discussions. “Explain!”

Jagged turned to Marinette looking hurt, “Little Rocker… why didn’t you say anything… that explains why you ended it with Luka…”

Tim was hounded by his siblings. Questions on top of questions. All speaking at once so blurring into loud noise. None were letting him get a chance to reply anyway as another would come up with something they wanted to know.

Tim and Marinette shared a glance at each other. Much like when they were 8 when they were trying to escape their home-school lessons, a silent understanding passed between them.

“Uncle J, weren’t you meant to leave Fang at home?”

“What?!” “Whose Fang?”

“Fang’s Uncle J’s pet crocodile.”

The Wayne Clan and Jagged looked in the direction Marinette pointed. Tim used the distraction to grab Marinette’s hand and off they ran, weaving between the crowds, darting behind groups to hide from their family. Tim eventually led them to a quiet hidden nook to avoid the drama they had unleashed.

“So, Bean, betrothal? You… you still want that? Nick and Maman wouldn’t mind if we decide against it. It was your parents pushing for it in the first place… not that I’m against it… I mean… I… It’s our choice now…”

“Tea Leaf… I…” Tim stared at his first best friend trying to work out what he wanted to say.

That though he, and by the sounds of it her as well, had dated. It never lasted as they were never *her*.

That he had concluded a long time ago he’d end up single alone since he pushed her away.

But she was here.

And that despite the hurt they both carried, it felt right.

That their friendship was still there. That despite it all, it was natural to pick up again.

That he always knew if he was going to end up with someone it was always going to be her.

Unable to find the right words to express what he was feeling, Tim leant down and kissed her forehead before resting his chin on her head as he brought her into a hug. Cherishing the moment where he could feel her in his arms.

Sighing, “What do you want Tea Leaf…? I’d happy if we can go back to being best friends again, but I…”

Again, he struggled to say what he wanted. That he wanted to be betrothed to her, it took the pressure away and they could be themselves and he knew where it would end up. There were very few unknowns. But then there was his vigilantism which would get in the way and the impact. Maybe it would be best to take Nick and Sabines offer.

It wasn’t fair that Marinette had a magic way of making him accept that it was ok to think about what HE wanted not just what was expected of him. That he could be selfish and not think of duty.

“What if we try dating and take it from there?”

Her question broke his thoughts as they shifted to look at each other. She bit her lip in nervous worry. Tim smirked as he processed her solution which was a perfect medium. Neither accepting nor rejecting the original proposal.

Lifting his hand to cradle her face, Tim used his thumb to stop her worrying her lip. Leaning down slowly, giving Marinette plenty of time to back out if she wanted, Tim whispered, “Sound’s perfect,” before pressing his lips to hers.

.............................................................

Ok, so below is Young family tree (apologies for dodgy insert but doing this on my phone). Sabine is Lady Young's youngest daughter 'Alix's daughter. Nick is Sabine's cousin.

Lady Young

|---------------|--------------------|

Felicity Eleanor Alexandra (Alix)

Young Sung-Young Young-Cheng

| | |-------|----------|

Astrid Nick Alistair & Eddie Sabine

#maribat #maribat au #ml crossover #MLxDC #DCxML #MLBxDC #DCxMLB #timari #marinette x tim #tim x marinette #MLxCrazyRichAsians #CraxyRichAsiansxML #meet cute monday #meet cute #MCM #timinette

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remakethestars · 3 years

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Being Damian Wayne's Twin Sister Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Exactly. I don't ask my dog to drive, and I don't ask the Justice League to solve my problems.❞

— Damian Wayne, Adventures of the Super Sons #9: Showdown on Hexworld

TRIGGER WARNING: Cursing, (Damian’s) death. Mentions of toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny, nightmares, blood, knives.

Headcanon masterlist.

When people ask you, “So, which one of you is the evil twin?” Damian always glowers, and you always motion to him.

You look disturbingly alike when only your eyes are showing; Damian’s got long lashes. Talia taught you a good tactic for tag-teaming in combat as kids was to pull up your hinged balaclavas and make the enemy think there was only one of you, that they’re seeing double.

Or for one of you to hang back while the other attacks as a distraction before the other knocks them out from behind.

Obviously, this won’t work when the two of you start filling out, but it works when you’re kids. It’s the reason why, even off the field, the two of you usually wear a matching outfits with hoods.

You utilize the same methods when she sends you to live with Bruce.

You don the Robin costume just like he does, much to the rest of the Batfam’s confusion (both because they weren’t expecting it and because they can’t tell you apart either), but sticking with the “red” theme, you go by Redstart.

There’s a rumor on the street that Robin V. is a meta that can teleport.

The two of you are freakishly good at mimicking the other’s voice and mannerisms, which makes it even harder for your family.

Jason tells you two about April Fools Day, and you make the most of it. Of course, Damian’s a pain in the a$$ and decides to go around pretending to be you and getting into trouble. You’re banned from the mall, and you still have no idea why.

The two of you can communicate with just an impassive expression (Dick says it looks like a prime example of twin telepathy to anyone else), but anyone close to you knows sh¡t’s about to hit the fan when the two of you look at each other and smirk.

If it’s something you can’t communicate nonverbally, you use your cryptophasia.

Cryptophasia is a language developed by twins when they’re learning to talk. Most of them grow out of it, you and Damian decided to keep developing it so it became more of a conlang. No one else has been taught to speak it, and they never will be. It’s for emergencies only.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was your Bible growing up, and the two of you call out verses when you fight together and need the other to understand a tactic (you both inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory, so you’ve got it memorized).

When you get too big to pull off the which-is-which game, you make your own costume and become the true Redstart.

It’s basically Damian’s Robin uniform (the Super Sons’s version is the only one I’ll accept), but the boots and gloves are black, the biceps have a white stripe, the lining of the cape is white (the lining of the hood is black), the gold accents become white, it has a zipper down the front instead of clasps, and the mask becomes black (including the eyes). The waterline of the eyes is white. Like a painted redstart.

If Damian’s into animals, you’re into plants. The two of you find common ground on the fact that pollution sucks, so when you walk Titus, you take a trash bag and gloves with you to pick up litter as you go.

You did not want to go to Jon’s school.

Not because you don’t like Jon (because you do), but because you know you could run intellectual circles around every one of those snot-nosed brats.

School is stupid. Especially because the American education system is subpar; everything about it is.

You hardly pay attention in class. You do all of the homework a week ahead of time incase something comes up. Usually you’re doing next week’s homework in class. You’ve written entire papers on your phone in Google Docs in the middle of class to be printed out later.

If you’ve already done everything, Damian’s usually drawing and you’re daydreaming or you’re working on a case on your phone.

The teachers are always trying to catch you not paying attention, but you little sh¡ts can always answer their questions.

Damian’s closest with Dick, but you’re closest with Tim. You admire his ability to plan ahead (see the entirety of the Red Robin comics), and you know that he’s better than both your father and your grandfather; you want to be as good as him when you grow up.

It takes a long time to wash the toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny our of your head, to learn that your grandfather’s ideas of “strength” were wrong, that it’s okay to lean on someone besides Damian, that you can be just as strong as your brother and still be feminine, that there are acceptable emotions besides anger.

Actually, your father teaches you that anger is more likely to get you killed. He won’t let you go into the field when he knows your angry.

It’s harder to drill out of you than your instinct to kill.

There’s a Lebanese restaurant called Tarbooshes (Teen Titans Special #1) the two of you go to when you’re feeling homesick. They make ox blood soup the same way your mother did, and it’s the only non-vegetarian thing Damian will eat for that very reason.

It’s nice to have a place to go where they know you by name and know what you want when you tell them “the usual.” It’s nice to have a place where you’re not a Wayne or an Al Ghul, where you’re just [Y/N] and Damian.

You disappear for an hour on your birthday to eat there. Bruce has asked you were you go, but you kept that between the two of you.

Speaking of birthdays, you’re eleven minutes older than him. He was six pounds and ten ounces (Batman & Robin #0?), and you were a solid seven.

After Damian died, you go to Tarbooshes to feel close to him.

You were doing all right with the no-killing thing until the night Damian died.

Heretic never stood a chance.

He looked so much like Damian it gave you nightmares, though. Nightmares where you killed your twin brother and woke up sobbing.

Damian didn’t give you a speech in his last moments. He just looked over at you and said in your cryptophasia, “I’m sorry.”

Not “I love you.” Not “Take care of them for me.” You knew that; you’d do that. He didn’t have to tell you, and he didn’t have to ask.

Just “I’m sorry.” Sorry that you were the one that was left behind.

It’s one thing to lose a family member, to lose a friend, or to lose a lover. It’s another to lose half of your soul.

The two of you had always feared you would die apart. It had always been a possibility; you weren’t stupid enough to think, “It’ll never happen to me.” Because it definitely could.

And it had.

You wanted to run away from everything. Even just for a while. Go to one of your safe houses in London or France or whatever and just — you didn’t know — stare at the wall until you felt better? But you’d made that unspoken promise to Damian — “I’ll take care of them for you; don’t worry.” — to take care of Titus and Catfred and Jerry and Batcow and Goliath, to take care of Alfred and Bruce and Dick and Jason and Cassandra and Tim, to take care of Jon and Colin and Maps.

You avoided the cave. And if you had to go down there for some reason, you refused to look at the Robin suits.

Dick noticed. He asked if you wanted them taken down, even just for a while. You gave him a look like he was nuts and said, “No.”

Jon was a mess. More of a mess than you were, somehow.

You’d shown up at the Kents’s. Jon was out doing Superboy things with Clark and Conner. Lois was the only one home.

You nearly scared her out of her skin when you materialized behind her and asked, “Is Jon home? It’s important.”

He had to know first. He deserved to.

For all he put up with from you two, he deserved to be the first to know when one of you was f*cking dead.

Lois, of course, bless her heart, had the mom instincts to know that you were in no way, shape, or form okay even when you were trying so hard to hold yourself together. She asked you what’s wrong, and it’s what made you break.

Your lip trembled. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Damian,” your voice broke. “He’s dead.”

Jon came home to find you in his living room in your Robin uniform, covered in Damian’s and Heretic’s blood, snot running down your lip, sobbing in his mothers arms and knew what happened without having to ask. He did anyway.

When you and Jon both finally passed out, your Uncle Clark flew you back to the Batcave. No one was in any condition — not even Alfred — so he carried you up to your room; took your boots, mask, cape, and gloves off; and tucked you in. Then he went to find Bruce because there was no doubt he was losing it too.

Bruce doesn’t tell you anything about trying to find a way to bring him back without the Lazarus pit because he doesn’t want to get your hopes up.

You walk into your room one day to find Damian sitting there reading the dissertation (the requirement was three pages, not 120, but your teacher would just have to deal with your coping mechanisms) you had been working on for your World History class and left up on your laptop while on patrol.

He said with the utmost indifference, “You’ve made some good points, Sister,” and, of course, you pulled out a knife and attacked him because this was — was — was some shapeshifting alien or hologram tech or a cruel joke — your twin was dead, this wasn’t funny, whoever did this was going to pay.

He met you blow-for-blow and flipped away from you before saying, “And here I was expecting a warm welcome,” in your cryptophasia.

“Brother?”

“Tt. Obviously.”

Yeah, a college level thesis. You’re smart. You inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory and were raised by assassins.

You learned seven languages and wrote five doctoral theses by the time your teeth came in, wrote your first letter to a newspaper editor when you were two, could’ve had a geology doctorate when you were seven (Super Sons #1), and it only took you a week to learn the language on Takron-Galtos. You’re smart.

You’re also incredibly skilled. You learned to drive when you were five (Super Sons #1), your mother trained you to go for weeks without eating (Adventures of the Super Sons #6), you can micro-sleep for days and converse with half your brain asleep, can use a muscular contraction to move your liver out of the way of a blade (Nightwing #20), and can place yourself in a deep trance to heal damages caused by a hematoma (also #20).

(My dumba$$ didn’t note what Super Sons/Adventure of the Super Sons comic I was reading when I took notes, so I don’t have all of them noted in the two above bullet points. But that’s where they’re from. If I end up rereading them, I’ll edit this and add the comic numbers.)

The first time on patrol you thought Bruce was gonna die, you called him Baba.

The next evening, when Dick came to visit the cave, he turned to you and Damian and asked, “So, which one of you called him Dad?”

“How’d you know?” you asked.

“He’s smiling the way he did the day I called him Tati.”

“He’s not smiling,” Damian pointed out.

“He is on the inside.”

Can we talk about how royally the Arkham Knights game screwed up Tim Drake? (Though, everything seems to screw up Tim one way or another, I guess.) Why does he look like a quidditch player in the gif above the cut?

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ I’m a dumb white American, and I don’t know much about Arab or Romani culture other than what I’ve learned online. I hope I got it right?? If I didn’t, please drop a comment or P.M. me or something to let me know!

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

A Discowing at the Wayne Gala

Summary: Getting Jason to go to the Wayne Gala each year was more difficult than putting the Joker away in Arkham; he insisted the part was full of pretentious, rich social climbers who were horribly boring. As it turned out, all he really needed to persuade him was an upset, drunk girl rambling about how much she was going to deck her highschool enemies there to convince himself that he’d be in for a great show. (AKA the extremely chaotic and nonsensical salt/crack fic)

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“I, Mar--” she hiccupped, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng solemnly swear to rip Lila a new one with Discowing’s godawful costume.”

“You say it girl!” called some random person from across the bar.

“I will--” another hiccup “--use Batman’s Batmobile to run over Kim. And slam Red Hood’s ugly ass helmet onto Adrien’s stupid face.”

“Better yet,” Marinette pounded the table, “I will use their stupid utility belts to dismantle Gabriel’s empire. Somebody give me a yeah!”

“Yeah!”

All in all, the sight wasn’t that atypical for a bar in Gotham, if it weren’t for the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was barely five feet, wore pigtails, and knocked five men on their asses when they tried to approach her.

“Take that, Hawkass,” she hissed. “Think you can pull a fast one on me when I’m drunk, do you? Well I’ve got news for you!”

Her words slurred together, and she leaned on the bar for support. “When I get my way, you’re going to be tied up into a pretzel and dumped into a volcano, then the tundra and then we’ll see how you like your stupid little jewlery touched.”

“Dupain-Cheng,” her blonde companion hissed. “Get yourself together. We don’t need another one of your breakdowns now. You know we’re going to be busy tomorrow night, and I don’t want to deal with you completely hung over all throughout the gala.”

“Aww,” Marinette squished her cheek onto Chloe’s “You know you love me.”

“Yes, yes, but I’m not going to tolerate this bullshit. If you want to make good on your plans, you need to be in tip top shape.”

“Ughhhh, why are they even invited to the stupid gala? It’s not even like they’re rich! Oh wait, I guess they are…” Marinette pressed her face to the bar, which was undoubtedly dirty. She reveled in it’s coolness, brushing her bangs out of her face. “And why do you have to be right? I guess I have to stop drinking if I want to make any of my plans work.”

“Your plans will work, hungover or not. It’s just a question of how much you’ll be able to enjoy them. I don’t want you complaining for months after the fact that you don’t remember half of what happened.”

“I guess you’re right. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I'm feeling a little too warm to ice them out.” Staggering, Marinette got to her feet. “Call an Uber?”

“It’s already here.”

“What made you change your mind?” Tim frowned at Jason, doubtful that he wasn’t going to cop out at the last second. He was sure that he was only putting on his suit as some sort of deliberate ploy to get out of the Gala. Truthfully, it wasn’t required that all of them attend the Gala, but it was one of the few events that brought together most of the Wayne family.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Let’s just say I’m expecting quite the show.”

Jason kept a hawkish gaze on the entrance, waiting for the appearance of one short, pigtailed girl, and a taller blonde. They arrived almost forty five minutes into the Gala, which was good timing; not late enough to be considered rude, but most people have already arrived and have made their rounds.

Marinette looked different out of the dim lighting of the bar, and even though she definitely looks like she’s nursing a light hangover, she still managed to look stunning. With a matte-black floor length dress that attracted all light in the vicinity towards it, it’s hard not to look her way; Tim, for one, stared at the outfits that Marinette and her companion are wearing with stars in his eyes. Any moment now, he’s going to approach them. Or he would if he weren’t on Jason-sitting duty.

“I’ll play nice,” Jason promised.

“You? Nice?” Tim sounded incredulous, and it’s not like he can fault him. Whenever Jason did successfully get roped into coming to the Gala, it’s a sure thing that he gets at least one fist fight started, if not an everyone for themselves sort of situation.

“They’re the reason I decided to come. It’s not me you have to be worried about.”

Tim groaned. “Really? They’re trouble makers? But they’re wearing MDC!”

Jason chuckled, slipping a hand into his pants pocket. Tim was weirdly obsessed with the highly secretive French designer. Nobody ever saw them in person. “Wearing your fashion icon doesn’t mean they can’t kick ass.”

Tim rocked back on his heels, looking at the two girls calculatively. “That’s right. If anything, they’re more likely to kick ass, because that’s the kind of confidence that MDC inspires in their designs. Well, if you’re not going to fight them, I’m going to introduce myself.”

“And I can’t leave my little brother alone.” Jason said, watching the blonde girl point in the direction of, if he wasn’t mistaken, Gabriel Agreste’s son and his plus one.

Who knew that doing a preliminary reading of the guests would be so informative? He could only guess what kind of beef Marinette had with Agreste Jr.--Bruce had enough problems with Gabriel; even though Wayne Enterprises only dabbled in fashion, Gabriel was a ruthless man when it came to his competitors, and tried to edge them out of the market multiple times. Foolish on his part, not taking into consideration that both Bruce and Tim were very, very stubborn people who only get more difficult to face when dealing with a challenge.

Wayne Enterprise might primarily be considered with R&D and technology companies, but underestimating the amount of influence Tim could gather when someone pissed him off was just a bad idea.

“Hi, I’m Tim--”

“--and it’s lovely to meet you, but we’re on a mission right now,” finished the blonde girl, who Jason was now 98% sure is Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of Paris’ mayor and Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois. “Dupain-Cheng, it’s your time to shine.”

“God,” Marinette muttered underneath her breath, ducking her head. “I can’t believe you’re holding me to what I said while drunk last night.”

“It’s not just what you said drunk last night, it’s the most effective way of dealing with that liar. She’ll be so embarrassed she’ll hide away forever. Maybe get some plastic surgery and change her name. Daddy will make sure she can never step foot in Paris again.”

“Chloe,” Marinette groaned. “We all know how that panned out last time. Do you want a repeat performance?”

“By that time Hawkmoth will already be taken down. No need to worry about evil butterflies.”

“Evil butterflies?” Tim frowned.

“We can fill you in later, Marinette has a car to steal.”

“Chloe!”

“Oh stuff it, Dupain-Cheng, you’re no goody two shoes, even though you pretend to be one.”

Marinette whispers into Chloe’s ear, eyeing Jason and Tim. “Do you have to discuss that with other people around?”

“Well,” Chloe crossed her arms. “You boys aren’t going to rat us out, are you? They’re part of the infamous Wayne family. They’ll definitely be in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You know they already reached out-- I can’t risk--” Marinette kept cutting herself off. “Fine, but if you-know-what falls through, I’m putting it all on you.”

“Like they’re going to pass you up just because of what’s going to go down at this gala. If anything, they’ll be glad to know that you’re as vicious as you are creative,” Chloe checked her nails and touched her hair, making sure it was in place.

“Sorry, what? I’m a little bit lost.”

“Keep up, Drake. I’m beginning to doubt your title as child-genius.You have the unique opportunity to watch history in the making.”

“Wait,” Tim’s jaw almost dropped at the display in front of him. “How did you even--”

“Trade secret. Marinette doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“But that’s the Batmobile.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jason laughed. He stole the hubcaps off the Batmobile, Marinette stole the whole thing. What a sight.

Here’s how the rest of the night went: Chloe plied Marinette with copious amounts of water, trying to get rid of her headache. Marinette hopped into the driver’s seat of the Batmobile (to which Chloe cackled, “And she doesn’t even have a driver’s license yet,” and Tim paled to the shade of freshly fired ceramic plate.) They ran over Kim, who, somehow managed to get into the event as a server of sorts, at which point Tim swore that the background checks would have to be upped again. Marinette landed the Batmobile in the middle of the gala, barely managing to avoid several innocents who were in her path. She reached into the convenient storage compartment that Jason was previously unaware of and pulled out the Discowing outfit and his helmet-- seriously, how did she get those?-- and slammed the car door.

Security, of course, was waiting for them. How couldn’t they, with that big of a disturbance? Half of the guests were up in a tizzy-- mostly the ones who were experiencing their first Wayne Gala-- and the other half were looking on, amused. Tim waved the guards off as Marinette made her way to Lila and Adrien, like a vengeful Valkyrie.

“You,” Marinette grimaced. “Chloe, say the words, I forgot them.”

“We decided that words were useless, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marinette said, before promptly slamming Red Hood’s helmet onto Adrien’s head hard enough for him to fall to the ground, likely concussed. Lila, who started screeching and running away made for a surprisingly difficult target. Well, difficult in the fact that she was using other people as shields, but once she came across a group of Experienced Wayne Gala Goers, she got pushed out of her comfort zone.

In eight inch heels and with her hair down, Marinette stalked towards her prey.

“Lila Rossi,” Marinette intoned. “Your sins will be judged.”

“What are you going to do, Marinette? You have no power here. We’re in America now. No Ladybug to back you up. No public opinion in your favor.”

Marinette shuddered. “Ugh, your voice makes me want to vomit. In any case, I sentence you to life in Discowing’s costume.”

“You can’t make me wear anything!”

Famous last words, Lila.

“I’m still so confused. What just happened?”

“Don’t worry,” Chloe gave Tim a pat on the back. “You’ll get used to this kind of thing if you end up hanging around Marinette more often.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jason.

“Get in the back of the line. The only thing Marinette has time for now are her plans to take down Hawkmoth.”

“I’m not opposed to joining you. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jason paused. “By the way, has she already stolen the utility belts to take down Gabriel or does she need more? I’ve got contacts.”

"Fair warning, everything in Paris is at least twenty times crazier than what you’ve seen here today.” Chloe swiped through a few notifications on her phone. “And please, do you think someone who hotwired the Batmobile needs your help getting her hands on a couple utility belts? If she really put her mind to it, she could get the Lasso of Truth from Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, Jason, I’m definitely not going to join you on that trip.” Tim turned his attention towards Marinette, who was currently passed out on the hotel couch. “Anyways, You two are wearing MDC, right? I have a meeting with them tomorrow!”

Chloe looked at the poor boy with pity. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

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i’m really churning out these jasonette prompts like butter (god butter is so freaking good you ever eat butter straight? i do. heart attack city & the next paula dean) even tho i only thought about joining in right when july was ending but here we are

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havendance · 1 year

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I think it’s time to revisit the reverse robins AU. Namely, it’s time to address Damian. Only to address Damian, first we have to talk about Knightfall. I promise this’ll tie back in.

So Batman: Knightfall. The key thing about Knightfall in this AU is the fact that Jason and Tim are two different people. Tim bought into Batman and Robin as an idea, Jason stumbled into becoming Robin and may or may not be blackmailing Batman. He really isn’t sure anymore. Regardless, when Bruce rolls up and is like ‘hey, I found this ex-brainwashed assassin, could you show him the ropes’, Jason is like ‘no wtf, that’s not my job’. And then we’ve got the Bane-gauntlet, back-breaking etc etc.

Rather than accept that Bruce is going to make him work with random ex-brainwashed assassin dude (and seriously, Bruce, this is not what he signed up for), Jason gives Steph a call and is like ‘hey, you said that I could ask you for help if I needed it. Can you talk some sense into Bruce, he’s being an idiot?’ and Steph, who is in the middle of the Titans imploding is like ‘yeah, why not’. Basically we just skip Knightquest and Knightsend and go straight to prodigal. (Idk how Bruce gets his back magi-cured, it’s not important). Steph is not Batman. For one thing, Bruce has about a foot and least a hundred pounds on her, for another, why should she have to pretend to be a dude to kick ass? Steph is the first Batwoman and her and Jason kick ass together and take on Bane and just have a rocking good time while Bruce is doing who know’s what.

But back to Damian. Damian gets to stay the same in this AU.

Let’s recap where we left off: Stephanie Brown is operating as the Spoiler, primarily in Gotham, and working with the Titans as her side-gig. Tim Drake just came back as the Joker 2.0 and is living it up in his villain era. Jason’s mom died due to long-term health problems and he was adopted by Bruce. Dick recently got de-talonized and is now running around as Nightwing. Which means it’s not time for Bruce’s surprise kid with Talia to show up. He does his thing and oh no, Bruce just died.

So look, Steph is trying to hold things together. She’s trying to hold Gotham together, she’s trying to look after Bruce’s legacy (because for all that their relationship was rocky, she did love and respect him), she’s trying to look after Bruce’s kid. She fumbled things with Jason during the whole mess that went down and now he’s off, convinced that Bruce is still alive out there and, hmmm, let’s say he took Barbara Gordon, fresh off of her widely-hated evil-arc, with him, because I think it would be fun.

So now Steph is Batman and it’s different from the last time she wore the Bat. Last time Bruce was still alive, last time she was doing it on her terms. But now, Bruce is dead and she’s pretending that she’s actually him and he isn’t and she’s isn’t sure if anyone believes it, but it feels important, okay?

Ummm, I’m running out of juice here. Anyway, Damian is Steph’s Batkid first and she teaches him to drink respect-women juice and gets him to stop killing as much and relax and be a kid a little more. And he also hangs out with Nightwing who’s like the cool, chill older brother and he insults Nightwing’s fashion taste (because it’s the discowing suit) and Nightwing teases him right back (because Steph said that the pink was traditional and he wasn’t getting out of it) and the get along and it’s great :)

#stephanie brown #damian wayne #batman: knightfall #reverse robins #the one where steph is the oldest #my au ideas #carthago delenda est #dc #bats + birds + affiliated

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go.

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you.

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome.

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily.

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did.

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame.

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later.

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

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