#bruce allows more kids to get in the red and green and yellow and put themselves in harms way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

In Line at the Prize Counter

So this fic was originally intended to be part of Dick and Damian week, but life intervened and I didn’t end up finishing it anywhere near on time. That said, I found it too much fun to write and didn’t want it to live forever in WIP form. So, I hope you all enjoy this adventure featuring one Very Done Damian as he’s forced to rescue Dick from a Bomp n’ Stomp.

Characters: Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne

Words: 4,965

Summary: When Dick Grayson is kidnapped, Robin is the only one who really believes he's being held at the Bomp n' Stomp entertainment center. So he rolls up his sleeves, and heads into the dreaded building to rescue his brother from the likes of ball pits, twisted slides, and yes even go karts.

AO3 Link

Of all the places in the world Damian Wayne expected to walk into, a Bomp n’ Stomp was not one of them. In fact, he had argued viciously against ever entering the indoor playscape when his brother had suggested they spend a Saturday there.

To make matters worse, in an attempt to convince Damian of it’s legitimacy, Richard had called it an arcade.

An arcade .

The nerve of the man to sully that term by applying it to this ball pit filled, gum ridden, dirty carpeted, sticky establishment. A true arcade, like Shelly’s JoyCon, home of Cheese Viking, would never allow it’s door handles to leave a strangely greasy film on Damian’s gloves as he moved his search from a back room back out into the main area.

The inside smelled of old pizza, spilled soda, and that strange almost chalky scent of fog machines. It was, in a word, disgusting. Damian felt a pull at the bottom of his boot every few steps, like the carpet was coated in something sticky. He wrinkled his nose.

No, this was nothing like his favorite arcade.

Granted. It was also closed for renovations, with the promise of things like all new games, flooring, and yes even door handles. Still, Damian thought nothing could quite erase the smell of greasy pizza. That was a scent that stuck.

He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about greasy pizza and continue working on why he was truly here. Some odious criminal had thought it a good idea to kidnap Richard on his way into Gotham.

It would not be stood for. Not someone snatching his brother. Nor holding him up in a place as terrible as this. To top things off, whoever had taken Richard had deprived both he and Damian of a perfectly excellent evening that should have been spent at the Observatory.

Damian sniffed and picked his way past skee ball games, an overly large wheel with inane words like “Double Prize Winner!!” in bold peeling letters on it, and the playscapes namesake, a Bomp n’ Stomp game.

At the Bomp n’ Stomp, he stopped to peer down at the curious game. It was obviously broken. The machine was little more than a garishly painted box with various holes covering the top. Out of one peeked a chipped plastic facsimile of a mole. Hanging off the machine were two objects strung on cords that looked ready to snap at any moment. The first was a toy hammer, it’s fabric ripped and leaking stuffing, the other a boot attached to a stick.

“Tt.” Damian discounted it and looked back up.

Whoever thought a game designed around attacking moles was a good idea surly must be a criminal.

He’d neared the end of the ‘arcade’ portion of the building and was entering a larger more open space. The carpet changed from soiled red to blue spotted tile. At the change, the ceiling rose at least a second story above him, towering high enough to fit a series of large structures.

To one side of this new area rested a climbing wall. It, out of everything Damian had seen so far, actually looked interesting. Even from here he could see portions that might make for a mild challenge in climbing.

Next there was a multistory play set filled with slides, jungle gyms, large netted areas he supposed children were expected to crawl through, and so many tunnels it would put most professional guinea pig enclosures to shame. A sign outside the entrance indicated that somewhere towards the center of the structure rested a huge ball pit.

Damian really, truly, hoped Richard had not been placed within that. If the rest of the Bomp n’ Stomp was sticky and dirty, the ball pit must be truly foul. He could not even imagine what had happened within it or what--he grimaced-- fluids could have coated the orbs.

He turned to the last attraction, a small go kart area. Perhaps the climbing wall was not the only redeeming quality to the establishment. Provided of course that the carts actually moved quickly.

So far, he had seen no hint of Richard. His brother had not been hidden behind a garishly colored game, and he did not seem to be dangling from the climbing wall. After a brief examination (and admiration of the engines on the small cars) Damian determined that his brother was either being held in one of the staff areas indicated by the back wall or-- He glanced at the huge play place.

After a moment’s hesitation, Damian squared his shoulders. As detestable as it would be to crawl around in there, he would do it if it meant rescuing Richard from being trapped inside. He could not imagine being held within the structure longer than a few minutes. It would be torture indeed.

The truly strange thing about his investigation so far had been that no one had attempted to stop him. There were no guards at the front, nor the back, and the building was empty of signs of life. The power was on, with some games sluggishly lit or playing bites of music, but Damian had not seen anyone besides himself.

He considered this as he made his way to the entrance to the play structure. He knew for a fact that Richard was here, even if Father did not.

Damian pushed the plastic draping away from the domed entrance and stepped inside the structure. He was surrounded by net, his feet no longer on solid ground, but pressed into some kind of foam. Ahead of him was a rope ladder that looked designed to be as unstable as possible. He sighed and began to climb.

Of the three possible locations Richard could have been taken to the Bomp n’ Stomp had been deemed least likely by his Father due to the fact that it was not altogether abandoned. While, over the weekend no one would be inside, the possibility of a worker coming in was high enough Father had assumed any capable kidnapper would discount it.

The other two locations, an empty ice cream parlor, and an abandoned junk yard, had been deemed higher priorities and dangers. But something had told Damian that the Bomp n’ Stomp was the right location, and he had argued that it should be checked out.

So while his family was split between the other two locations, Father had reluctantly allowed Damian to check out his hunch, promising to meet up with him after they'd cleared their own locations.

The ladder exited onto a platform made entirely of the netting Damian had seen from outside the playhouse structure. Tentative, he pressed a hand into the thick black cording, and when it gave less than he’d assumed it would, he climbed atop it.

Balance was a tricky thing on the strange floor, and Damian could not help but think the League would benefit from installing something of the kind in one of their training rooms. It turned a normal floor into something to be treaded on with care or risk getting a toe caught between the net. If he was unlucky he might end up tumbling to the ground or twisting his ankle. Damian couldn’t imagine it filled with children.

He was keeping his ears open for any sounds of either Richard or the kidnappers. From the letter and accompanying picture Father had received there were at least three men holding Richard, but there were sure to be more.

Father had immediately identified the men as being part of a relatively new gang in Gotham. Their motive was both money and an attempt at scaring Bruce Wayne into cooperating with them in the future.

Damian scoffed at their foolishness as he hopped off one platform and onto another. His eyes went wide as, instead of the net he’d grown used to, the floor rolled under his feet.

He bit back a yelp as his feet slipped forward, and he went tumbling, hands pinwheeling out beside him in an attempt to catch his balance. He stumbled back, then forward, then one leg was in the air, followed by the other and Damian was staring up at the faded yellow ceiling of the play place.

For a moment, he lay there blinking up at it. Wondering about the strange flatness, and remembering this thing had another level above him. If someone was above him, would he see imprints of feet? Sections weighed down by a kid stepping over it?

It did not matter. What did, was finding Richard and escaping this cursed place.

Damian felt the floor under him, and realized it was not a single solid piece, but four cylinders that each rolled on their own. Whoever had designed this place was a madman. Putting a trap like this in a place where anyone could fall could only spell injury on a normal day.

He grunted, and carefully pushed himself up, moving off the shifting section and onto firm foam again. Well, not quite firm. It sagged with every step Damian took, but it was far better than the rolling part or the net.

The next hurdle came when Damian reached the tunnels. He had seen them of course, out looking up at all this. Plastic, colored brightly, sometimes one segment a different color altogether than the last, little windows dotting the sides. But he had hoped he’d find Richard before having to crawl through one.

He crouched and stepped inside. After a few moments he realized he was going to have to actually crawl. He wrinkled his nose as he pressed palm to plastic and began moving. At one point his palm stuck and after a moment, he pulled it up to reveal gum pressed into the green of his glove. Richard had better be thankful for what Damian was putting himself through to rescue him.

The space was tight, and as a defensible position it was terrible. If a fight took place within the tubes it would not be good. Even Damian, as small as he was, would have a hard time maneuvering within them. He’d have a better chance of winning a fight in some of the Batcave’s tighter spaces.

They were also impossible to be silent in. Every inch forward created squeaking or creaking or the echoing sound of a knee hitting against plastic with a series of thumps that were anything but rhythmic. Any chance of silently finding his brother was dashed a minute after he entered them.

Once Damian realized that, he no longer bothered trying to move slowly through. Instead he hurried, around turns, down dips, and up tiny plastic hills. He was thankful for the extra padding over his knees and the leather of his gloves. If not for them he was certain his palms would be red and irritated and his knees bruised.

Damian was in such a hurry to get through the tunnels that he missed the slide. One moment his hand was pressed into plastic, the next it fell into nothing. His momentum was such that he’d assumed it was another dip, a temporary fall.

But no.

His next hand hit nothing, with the other was still in air, and then Damian found himself staring down the tube of a slide, and hurtling down it face first. It twisted, and turned, and at one point his chin caught on a portion of the plastic that was raised. Damian winced, feeling the plastic scratch his skin, sure he’d be wiping blood away if he ever exited this terrible contraption.

At last, he burst out. He got one good look at a space enclosed by netting and more slide exits before he saw what was below him. To his growing horror, the ball pit waited. Staring at the pit in bullet time Damian decided this whole place was ridiculous. A death trap made for children . Even Nygma could not come up with something so fiendish.

Nothing Damian could do would stop his crash. Balls of yellow, red, blue, and green exploded around him, bursting up and into the air even as his trajectory took him down, deep into the pit. He was drowning, and yet not.

After a moment he realized he’d stopped moving. The balls around him had coalesced into a kind of solid form that still allowed him to move. It took some work, but eventually Damian righted himself and managed to semi-swim upward, kicking off against the ground before shooting back up. And at last, his head popped out into clear air.

“Robin!?” The surprised voice came from his left.

Damian shifted, careful not to sink again, “Richard!” he cried, then corrected himself, he was in uniform and Richard was a civilian. Even here, the kidnappers might be watching.

“Mr. Grayson, I am here to rescue you.”

Richard actually snorted, an aborted version of what would have been a startled laugh. He was half buried in the ball pit himself. His torso and head above the sea of color. Rope was tied around what Damian could see of his chest, presumably holding his arms back, but otherwise he looked fine.

It was a miracle Damian hadn’t plowed right into his brother during his wild exit from the slide. He’d landed a foot or so away from him, close to the middle of the pit. The problem was, figuring out how to get both himself and Richard out.

Damian glanced around the enclosed space holding the pit. He counted four slides at various sides of the netting, and two rope ladders leading up. One to another tunnel, and the other to what looked like a real ledge.

“So, Mr. Robin , what’s the plan?” Richard asked, his tone far too delighted with their situation.

A scowl crossed Damian’s face, “Do not patronize me. It is your fault we are in this mess at all. Do you know how unsanitary this all is? From the pit to those cursed tunnels. Even the door was sticky.”

Richard gave him a patient smile, “But it’s not all bad right?”

“Tt. It has been horrendous. I do not know how you have survived.” Damian said, and began wading over to his brother’s side.

It was difficult to push through the pit, but he found that thankfully, the closer he got to an edge, the higher the ground under him was. It went from almost nonexistent, to high enough he could stand on his toes beside Richard. It was not ideal, but at least he was no longer at risk of being swallowed whole.

“There has to be at least one redeeming quality about this place.” Richard continued, “Even Robin must have liked something the old Bomp n’ Stomp has to offer. Maybe one of the games?”

“Nothing.” Damian answered, defiant even as he thought of the go karts and climbing wall, “Especially not the games. This place is childish, Richard. Childish and demeaning, and even you would not stoop so low as to drag me here.” he ranted, forgetting that he was Robin with a civilian and not Damian and his brother.

His brother’s smile was full of delight now, “You protest too much. I bet at least one thing caught your eye.”

“I said nothing.” Damian declared again, and sending balls flying, “Now come on, we do not have time to waste speaking of such moronic things.”

Richard cleared his throat, “Uh, Robin, aren’t you forgetting about something?”

Damian turned to see his brother shrug, plastic balls rolling away from him, and Damian caught sight of the ropes still binding his brother.

Fire lit hit his cheeks. He swallowed down the embarrassment and moved again to hastily slice at the ropes holding Richard’s arms to his sides. Even in his rush, he slowed as the blade neared his brother, the night would only be worse if he accidentally hurt him.

The ropes fell away easily, and soon Richard was massaging his wrists and stretching his arms up into the sky, “That feels great, thanks, Baby Bat.”

Damian ignored the nickname, and Richard’s attempt to reach out and ruffle his hair. He ducked and turned towards the ladder by the platform, “Come along, I would like to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

Richard hummed, “Yeah, I have no idea when those guys will be back, so haste is probably a good thing. Unless you already took them out?”

“The building was empty when I entered.”

Damian scrambled out of the pit and up onto the ladder. He climbed up, only to realize Richard had not followed him. When he turned to frown at his brother, he could see the man had stopped at the ladder, his eyes focused on the rungs.

“Richard?” he asked, voice quiet.

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy. I’ve been sitting there a while, my arms and legs are tingly and just waking up.”

“What else is wrong.” Damian did not ask, but demanded the answer.

His brother shrugged, “I might have sprained my ankle when they tossed me in?”

Damian nodded, assessing the situation.

“Can you climb?”

If it were Damian in Richard’s shoes, he’d power through the ache, but he did not wish to press his brother into doing something he couldn’t. He could support Richard as they moved, and they could utilize a slide to exit this structure, but if he could not climb, getting him out of the pit might prove challenging.

Richard nodded, “I think so.”

He placed his hands on the rungs and started up. It was not an overly high ladder, but even so, Richard made it a few rungs before he paused wincing.

“Here.” Damian said.

He knelt down and reached out for his brother, “I will pull you up.”

Richard gave him a look that could only be described as incredulous. Damian glared at him in return.

“I can handle lifting you a short distance. Push off with your good foot and let us get this over with.”

After another moment of hesitation, Richard reached up and took one of Damian’s hands. His other, he kept pressed to the bars for leverage. Damian pulled as Richard pushed himself up. Below him the ladder wiggled a threat. However, he managed to grab hold of Damian’s other hand with a tight squeeze.

Richard was heavy, but together and with another awkward step onto the ladder, Damian managed to help drag him up. For a moment, they sat together looking at each other.

“Well.” Richard said, “I guess we should keep going?”

Damian nodded, “Indeed. I believe there is a slide exit in that direction.” he waved in the general area he remembered seeing one. At least he hoped it was there. His internal map of the structure felt a little turned around after his dive into the ball pit.

He helped his brother up, and they began moving through the rest of the structure. Damian stuck close to Richard, who insisted he didn’t need to lean on him yet. Still, he kept one eye on his brother, ready to assist if he showed the slightest sign of wavering.

They reached another area where solid panels switched to a rolled floor and Damian threw an arm out to stop their progress.

“Careful, that part can be deceptive.” he said, pointing down at them, “Allow me to walk you over them, so you do not injure your ankle further.”

Richard had an odd look on his face, a smile that seemed as if it hid another emotion, but Damian wasn’t going to worry about his brother’s reaction to his protectiveness. He always seemed to blow things like that out of proportion anyway.

They traversed the trap easily, and had just about reached the slide when a question that had been bugging Damian burst to the surface.

“Why were you in that ball pit? Surely there was an easier place to hold you.”

“Apparently, I talk too much.” Richard chuckled, “In truth, I was seeing if I could irritate them into letting me go.”

Damian couldn’t stop a surprised laugh at that, “It does not seem to have worked.”

Richard shrugged, “It was worth a try, it’s worked in the past.”

At last they reached the slide.

“I will go down first, so I can look for trouble and assist you if you have any problems.”

This time, Damian’s trip down a slide was a controlled one. It was a not altogether unpleasant experience sliding at a quick speed, and turning round and round in a spiral.

He couldn’t help but think back to watching Father, back when the man had lost his memory, playing with children on a large playground. A pang of want, not as strong as then, lodged in his chest. He tried to swallow it back as he popped out. Landing on his feet before he hurried forward to get out of the way.

Damian turned his attention away from lost memories and onto the rest of the Bomp n’ Stomp’s interior. His eyes ran from the go karts, paused at the entrance to the arcade portion, and moved over to the climbing wall on the far side of the room. Still empty.

“You may come down, it is clear.” he called up the slide. His voice echoed slightly up the plastic tube, sounding a little hollow and odd.

“Yeah!” Richard cried, his voice bouncing loudly down to Damian.

He could hear his brother swish and bump down the slide as he traversed it, the plastic rumbling as he reached the end. When he came out, he stopped himself with his hands at the exit, and carefully pushed himself to his feet, grinning.

“I don’t care how much you hate these places, we’re coming back.” he declared.

Damian rolled his eyes.

Before he could respond, there was the sound of metal on concrete. He spun on his heel and turned as a large metal door labeled Staff Only rolled up to reveal four very angry looking men carrying guns. By some stroke of luck, they hadn’t noticed Dick or Robin yet.

“We’re leaving now.” Damian said, grabbing Richard’s hand.

He made to run back towards the exit, but Richard yelped, his hand staying behind Damian. He froze, and turned on his brother, eyes looking over him. Richard was wincing and Damian remembered the man’s ankle. It must be worse than he’d let on.

Damian cast his eyes around him for something to get them out of there safely. He stopped when he saw the go karts.

“Can you make it there?” He pointed at them.

Richard’s eyes lit up, “Yes. That’s a big yes.”

Just in case, Damian hooked an arm around Richard’s waist to help support him, and together they hurried at a not quite run for the go karts. Just as Damian was helping Richard over the barrier separating them from the karts he heard an angry yell.

He glanced up to see the men running towards them, a cacophony of voices yelling at them to stop. Damian knew they had moments before the shooting started. He shoved Richard into the nearest kart that had two seats, and ran around to fiddle with the exposed engine. His earlier examination had been brief, but enough to tell him that the karts had safety measures equipped to limit their speed. That would not do.

His fingers were fast and clever, even working on an engine he’d never worked with before. It was moments and he was throwing himself into the open chair. Thankfully, a key was in the ignition and Damian had the kart roaring to life after a moment.

Just as he revved the engine, the gunfire started.

Damian threw the kart to the side, thankful the area the karts were in was somewhat open, and made a large loop, letting the cart pick up speed as he moved.

“Robin--” Richard’s voice was a question, “Just what’s the plan here?”

They were roaring towards the plastic partitions they’d only just hopped over. Damian was confident they were flimsy enough to ram, especially at the speed they were going.

He grinned, “We are going through them. I would suggest ducking. I do not wish for you to get shot while we escape.”

“Damian,” his brother hissed, “There’s an opening to the outside behind us.”

“To an enclosed area. The walls are high there, we would be trapped. This is our best option.” He'd seen the area when entering the Bomp n' Stomp earlier.

Even as he spoke they were nearing the path of no return. The kart raced towards the partition, the men racing towards them. Damian pressed his foot harder against the pedal and then the pointed front of the go kart was slamming through the short plastic partition, breaking apart the multiple pieces that kept it together and sending them flying.

Damian could not help but grin as one piece caught a kidnapper in the side, sending him tumbling to the ground.

He wove the kart through the remaining three as they yelled and one of them got off a shot. The bullet pinged off the side of the kart.

“Whohoo!” Richard cheered as they blew past the last man and sped through the building.

Damian pulled them back into the part of the building filled with various small games. The kart shook as it shifted from tile to carpet. The sound it made changing from a flat rumble to something more muffled. At the bump, Richard winced again. Damian frowned.

“We will be exiting soon.” Damian said by way of comfort.

He could hear the rumble of feet behind him, and even the sound of another go kart having been started. Damian snorted, unless they’d modified it, he and Richard still had the advantage. To make sure, he glanced behind him.

There was only one kart chasing them down, another two seater, with both seats filled. Unfortunately for them, it did seem to be running quickly. Damian swore as it began closing the distance between them. He threw himself back against the seat as the man who wasn’t driving leveled a gun at them and fired.

The bullet sped past them by a wide margin, but the danger was still there.

“Hold on.” he told his brother and pulled the cart around one of the games, twisting through the maze of Jurassic Park simulators and skee ball machines hoping they’d shake their pursuers.

“He’s still there.” Richard said, now taking Damian’s place in watching their backs.

“Lean back, you’ll get shot.” Damian hissed, “We need only make it out the front doors.”

Richard followed his lead, just in time as more shots rang out around them. Damian caught sight of Richard's worried expression out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t have time to turn to him. He kept the cart moving forward, dodging games left and right.

At last, the doors were in front of them. Damian prayed the cart would trigger the door’s automatic response. As they sped closer and closer he started to wonder what it would be like to just plow through those too.

Then they swung open and Damian and Dick burst through.

Behind them, Damian could still hear the squeal of the pursuing kart. That didn’t matter however, as Damian’s eyes lit on the Batmobile. Father was already out, Red Robin beside him. It took them a moment to understand the extent of the chaos Damian had dragged outside, but soon they were moving too.

Damian pulled the kart around them, and heard the distinctive pop pop of something exploding. The men in the kart behind them yelled with surprise, and the sound of the kart cut off with a sudden deafness.

Feeling safe, Damian pulled his foot off the gas, slowing his own kart and turning it to drive closer to Father’s car so Richard would not have to limp far.

Turned now, they could see the other kart coated in foam. One of Drake’s newest experiments, and a successful one at that.

As they stopped, Damian grinned over at Richard, “See. As I said, we only needed to make it outside.”

Richard was grinning, and Damian found himself relieved to realize his brother was fine. Their mad dash did not seem to have resulted in his injury.

They sat in the kart as Batman and Red Robin took care of the two men in the other kart, and then moved inside to deal with the other two goons.

Damian leaned his arms on the steering wheel and gave Richard a small smile.

Richard, leaned forward to mirror him, elbow bumping against Damian’s, “Admit it, you had fun coming through there to rescue me.”

Damian considered the thought for a moment, “Never.”

“Ha! I knew you did.” Richard sat up, delighted.

“I said nothing of the like.”

“But your face did.”

“The go karts were acceptable.” Damian admitted.

Richard reached out and tugged Damian into a half hug, “Good, we’ll do go karts when we come back, and try the rock climbing wall. And I’ll win you enough tickets to get one of those giant stuffed bears.”

“Father could buy me one for less than it would take you to get those tickets.” Damian pointed out.

“That,” Richard said sternly, “is not the point. It will be a thank you, for the rescue and one of the most exciting nights I’ve had in a long time.”

Damian snorted, but leaned a little closer into his brother’s side. Watching as Batman and Red Robin led the remaining two men out of the building.

“I can accept that. I will allow you to bring me back to the Bomp ‘n Stomp when they reopen. Even if the doors are still sticky.”

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Batfamily #fanfiction #humor #fluff #this one's just fluffy you guys #kidnapping #rescue #Damian is out of his depth but that's not stopping him #Dick is having a Great Time #Precious Posts

114 notes · View notes

batarella · 3 years

Text

3 birds 1 stone - RED

Never has he smiled for so many days, happiness without condition, love so pure, a life that no longer was filled of days he’d have to survive, and was now a life he wanted remember, love, and live.

WORDS: 7791 WARNINGS: Sexual Content, Mentions of Trauma

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | BLUE | YELLOW

-----

“I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”

- Great Expectations, Charles Dickens

You:

“Y/N?”

On peaceful days should there be chaos to be expected. With peace does not come promise. A flower with blooming red petals would eventually wilt, despite all else telling it not to. That same blooming flower would die the same from other natural, unnatural causes, like a wind too strong for it to hold onto its stem or a butterfly that came too late for its pollen.

But when peace was current, something you could see right before you knowing it wasn’t to last, it wasn’t much because of the artist you were why you’d resort to capturing that peace onto your canvas and make it last forever.

Two artists, that was. Someone joined you in your endeavor that day. Not so much of a student as he were a companion. An equal, perhaps.

Damian didn’t let his squinting eyes from where he placed the tiniest round brush on, the fabric that turned blue at his touch. You merely hummed at his call of your name and didn’t look to him as well.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Two easels set up at the manor’s back porch angled just right for most of the city skyline to be seen. It was far too small to be the focus, but everything else, the valleys that surrounded it, the actual forests going against the concrete ones, if you managed to get it right, you might want to keep this one for yourself.

Your thoughts complete left all that matter, however, when Damian asked you, “It’s a question about sex. More than one actually.”

“Oh.”

Not what you thought.

You might have had a lymph node in your neck, but still you nodded.

“Alright then. What do you want to know?”

He was painting the clouds. Didn’t even look the slightest bit uncomfortable. Good, you guessed.

“How old am I supposed to be before having it?”

Some wordless mutter rolled out your tongue at that. Eventually, the answer just came right out of you.

“Other than being of age, it really depends if you’re emotionally ready for it, Damian. If you know you’re not ready, nothing should push you to do it.”

“How do I know when I’m ready?”

That same calmness, the one that steadied your often shaking hands, allowed you to create the perfect cone for one of the hilltops at the horizon. You marveled over it for a while.

“When your doubts are encompassed with everything else,” you said. “When you know about what comes after.”

A dimming yellow sun, over at the far end. It was that sun, you told yourself, that was making those words fall of your lips. And not at all this series of resurfacing memories.

“When you meet the right person,” you told him.

You saw from your side eye how that remark made Damian stop with his brush. He set it onto its holder, placed his hands on his knees. “Other people don’t wait for that last one,” he said. “Do they?”

“It’s always different for a lot of people. Sometimes, they could only ever do it with people they love. Sometimes, it doesn’t even matter.”

“When I have sex with someo-“

You gave him a dirty look.

“When I’m a lot older,” he scoffed. “And I want to engage in the act of coitus.”

“Coitus?”

“How do I know they’re right? They’re the right person at that moment, then suddenly the next, they’re not.”

You reached over his easel to grab his brush, handing it back as you pointed at a raven that landed on one of the trees. It urged him to continue.

“You ask yourself then. If things won’t go the way you’d have wanted with that someone, would you regret ever doing it with them at all?”

“Obviously,” he snorted. “I wouldn’t want to waste my time.”

A bright smile, just as you settled the green of the wilting grass. Not so much was it green as it were this brownish orange, with it still cold enough for you to wear a sweater this uncomfortable when you’d have wanted your hands free.

“Is it really this…” he did some kind of motion with his hands. “…milestone in your life that’s supposed to be so important?”

“Wow, you’re really asking the right questions here, kid.”

That nickname made him snarl, back to his canvas. It took you a while, having to look to the sky for some kind of answer that wasn’t going to mess his head for the rest of his life.

“I used to think it wasn’t,” you said. “Sometimes, it’s only as important as you make it. It’s all up to what you believe.”

You turned your brush over just the right circle, which made of the red petals of a rose on one of the bushes that first greeted the day after months of a long winter.

Then there was this sinking. Something within.

“But your first time, at least. It should be with someone you love,” you said. “You’ll find that a lot of things will be easier for you.”

He seemed satisfied with that. Thankfully. He didn’t look so traumatized just yet.

Then he asked you one that no longer was so easy to think about.

“Was your first time with someone you loved?”

And you thought, with how everything suddenly weighed, not just your head or your hands but the whirring air, the leaves that danced along to it, the flowers still so young into their bloom, the misty clouds, the light, the brush on your hand and the paint on its tip.

What wasn’t so heavy, that is, was your voice.

Because if anything surprised you that day, more than the questions and the apparent peace, was how easily the answer came out of you.

Easy, because it was true.

And it was true, because when you lied, your clammy hands would be stuck to your back, shaking just as much as your eyes would be frantic and searching for something that wasn’t there.

But your voice was as light as your hands were calm and dry, your eyes fixated on the beautiful sight of the city and nothing else.

“Yes,” you said. And with it, came a smile that lasted for days.

Jason:

Two thousand dollars sounded a lot more inviting after a failed drug raid, not so much after the seeing all the evening gowns and diamonds and Bruce using his almighty charm with investors in sharp-needled stilettoes.

He did not, for his own sanity’s sake, want to sit through any of it, not even for a whole inheritance from the enterprise. Nope. Not even ten million dollars was worth putting on this god-awful suit poking through his neck like a knife, a jacket supposed to fit but had popped off one of the buttons, and of course, his hair. Swept back. Ruled over by mounds of gel and whatever it was the rest of his brothers had on. They all looked like elves in a Christmas workshop assembly line with the red tie over his chest.

Whatever trouble would happen, they’d call him. Now that they’ve blocked off his room, however, he came to not much resort.

The manor’s pool, to his luck, was unguarded. Unused for the last few months, but still clean.

Whatever silence was, and whatever silence could be, it was just that when he shut the door behind him, not bothering to latch on the lock, and turned on one of the lights, the purple and blue ones that shone from underneath the pool’s floor, like some magical lake that would speak to him in rhymes, maybe hand him a sword floating on a lily pad, but not even that was enough to impress him. As if anything impresses him still.

He stood by the poolside, hands in his suit pockets. Audibly he cursed that he forgot to bring a cigarette pack, but even that thought didn’t last long enough to bother him too much.

Jason stood there, right by the water, and watched the lights change like they told much of a story.

Something. Anything, to intrigue him.

Anything to make him feel again, to interest him, to cry out to him and actually hold his attention long enough for it to not be whisked away from his mind by his own hands because thinking or feeling was too much work.

But even those very lights, that didn’t seem so bright at all, were silent. The same silence for so many months.

He wanted noise. He wanted to hear again. But nothing, nothing was loud enough for him anymore. Someone could be screaming into his head and so much of it would disperse before it even reaches his ears at all, much less his brain. It wasn’t that he was being dumb, though that would be quite the reason.

But it was that nothing was bright enough anymore.

No one was attractive, or intriguing, or entertaining. Not by a mile.

Nothing. He cared about nothing.

Everything, all except her.

And it had to be just that, no room so bright, no smile so true, then when it was with her.

He hated the truth, perhaps just as much as he hated the rest of the world. The only thing he didn’t hate was someone he couldn’t even be with, much less love. But here he was.

Some noise from the door he came in from. He should have locked it. Now someone else was here.

More so did he wish that when he turned and saw who it was.

“Here?” Y/N’s shoes against the empty ground. That, he heard. Fuck him. “Really?”

“They closed off my room.”

She looked really pretty, lipstick on her already red lips, jumpsuit dragging along the tiles and her hair down her back. And she didn’t stop walking until she was right by his side, much to his dismay. Still, he didn’t move. Though god forbid he allow himself another look after the first one.

“You’re just gonna stand here and stare at the water?”

“Better than that shitshow outside.”

“Every party’s a shitshow for you.”

“Finally, one of you caught on.” He shifted his arms as if he had a drink he was holding, which he didn’t. He needed one badly.

“Then why accept the job?” she shrugged. “You could have just said no.”

He didn’t expect her to look at the water like it were at all interesting.

But suddenly, the lights from underneath didn’t seem so dull anymore.

Because even having to swim through the lavas of literal hell, I’d leave the comforts of isolation if it means you’d be anywhere within the room.

“Two thousand dollars,” he said.

“Ah.”

Everything did get easier to understand, once he stopped with the moping and the denial and actually allowed that stupid little voice he hated to speak up loud enough so he’d listen to it.

“Maybe you’re right,” she laughed. “The water actually is a lot more interesting.”

Right then, he allowed himself a second, subtle look. At her face. The thin straps over her shoulders that laid so well against her skin. Her hair she’d purposely made unruly but still styled enough to be classy.

The next thing to notice were her hands. They weren’t shaking, though they weren’t unmoving either. Her thumbs were rubbing over the backs of her palms, much like fidgeting her fingers would as if she were nervous. But there shouldn’t be anything to be nervous about. Nothing he could see, at that.

But after a look at her hands, it was her eyes that told him the whole story of her trailing thoughts, thoughts that maybe she didn’t know about as well.

Three years since she’s last stepped into a pool, since she’s felt that much water around her, dance along every bit of her skin when she’d push through the waves and move about as if she were floating, or flying, suspended from the ground and not have a string to hold her up.

She wanted to. He could see that. But it was doubtful that she’d admit to that. She’d never admit to that, not when it would only cause so much disappointment when she’ll ultimately cower away.

But her wanting to swim made him want to swim.

Some first step. To have someone to help her. He could be that someone.

Not even thinking for himself anymore. Jason was off to the benches at the side, and had taken off his tie and slid it off his neck.

“What are you doing?” she asked, just as he took off his suit jacket.

“I’m going in.”

She looked at him like she would to a troll that had climbed out of the sewers, though it wasn’t much out of disgust as it would be of disbelief. At least, he hoped it was. That wasn’t even to matter. He’d taken off his dress shirt before he even realized what he was doing at all.

Not something he’d do so suddenly, but then again, some of the most stupid things he’s ever done the past year were all for her sake. This didn’t surprise him at the least, not even the fact that the more rational part of him was watching him move like some hamster in a wheel stupidly trying to run away.

“You’re gonna swim?”

He unbuckled his belt. “Mind turning around?”

Her eyes flashed wide open, and she did as told.

Jason took off his pants, his shoes, everything save for his boxers. This wasn’t so stupid. It shouldn’t be.

He stepped into the pool, one foot first, then he slid in. He wanted to feel the cold. He wanted it to go against his heat and make him feel something and actually overwhelm him. And it was just that, that very feeling he’d long craved, when he spread his arms and let the water seep into his flesh.

Then he found himself smiling, just as he looked up and caught Y/N watching him do all that, lips between her teeth and beaming back so wonderfully bright, every part of him ached for that sight to last so much longer.

He sat back, waved through the water, inviting her even when he wasn’t asking her, telling her that this is all okay, that she was ready.

A million voices were screaming at him that none of this added up to just about every thought he could muster, that it wasn’t in him to just jump into the water, half naked and alone with the woman he loved. So many asking him what the hell he was doing, that all this was going to scare her away.

But it was, in fact, in him to know what went on in her head, as she longingly looked at the pool like it were so much more than that. It was in him to know that there’s so many more steps in this staircase of healing, to being that very person she’d sought out to be, away from the incident, who she no longer was, and never has been.

Jason swam over to the side of the pool, at the side where she stood.

And with that, a smile so beautiful, she crouched over and set her legs to the side so she could sit on the ground. Her hand was too near from where he laid his arms, but he didn’t reach for it. He just watched as the droplets that fell from his skin onto the ground nipped at her fingers.

“Is it cold?”

His voice was low and husky. “Yeah…”

“Is it nice?”

Jason looked to the wall behind her and laughed. “The water’s great.”

She hummed.

Her hands. Something about them. He couldn’t look away. Like they were so much more than her soft fingers and her gentle touch. With his chin buried onto his folded arms, he kept looking.

Not from her hands that were reluctantly reaching for the water’s surface, shy, bashful even, like it would sting her if she inched too close. Y/N stretched out her fingers and touched it, enough to drench just the tip of it, then she twirled it about to create wonderful ripples that waved to his body.

Jason reached over to hold her wrist, stopped just in case she were to pull away, but she didn’t pull away.

Y/N’s eyes were on him, just as silent and curious, and he felt her relax.

He led her hand further into the water, deeper, colder. He felt the hair on her skin stand, bumps over her pores. She was breathless, over something so small. He pulled gently enough until the water reached up to her elbow.

Then the smile he earned out of her, the love he so wanted to earn as well, it was all he could see, with her toying with the water and swerving it about. Right then, he could hear everything. The droplets that danced, the splashes against their skin, her subtle laughter, her teeth over her lips. He heard it all, and it was beautiful, so much more than songs or tunes played by the most skilled hands over piano keys.

If he could just let himself watch her, for longer than he hoped, he’d fall deeper in love than the depths he’d already fallen into, and had tried, relentlessly, to escape from, but couldn’t. Denial didn’t help much, but neither did admittance. He was stuck. And if only things weren’t so hard, he wouldn’t dare complain. Not when that very woman he loved was this beautiful.

She drew her hand away, her other one soothing the damp skin and ruining her jumpsuit with the water, which she didn’t even care about.

He wasn’t even thinking anymore. His heart open and his mind shut off. From how she sat, her ankle was exposed, and it was close enough to the water to feel the splatters but not enough to get wet.

Still, without a word, Jason cupped his hand, drew a bit of water up to the surface.

Then he played those drops right onto her skin, close to her feet where her shoes were strapped around. She clenched her toes at the cold, but she seemed to have liked it. He did it again, the droplets falling from his fingers, until her skin was stiff from the air so cold with it drenched.

That’s when she sighed, went on to stare at the little waves he’d created.

“I want to go in.”

He backed away from the pool side, waved his arms about to show her further that it was safe, and wonderful. Then he nodded at her. “If you think you’re ready…”

He saw her throat hitch, but it wasn’t out of doubt.

“I’m ready.”

He didn’t even have to try so hard to show her that everything she was going through, right then, he knew every second of what it was like. His face was soft, his look on her was soft, every bit of him had to be soft for this to be easy on her.

Then things weren’t so soft anymore when she started pulling down her straps from her shoulders. He gulped.

“Could you uh,” she twirled her finger around, motioning that he turn the other way. He did.

It was, both to his fortune and of not, that the wall in front of him was a mirror, reflecting all that went on behind his back. Everything in him stopped, even the blood down his every vein, and with that he watched as she exposed her temple of a body, one he’d worshipped and cherished and made feel every ounce of a sensation there could be, and continue to dream about even with her no longer being there.

But she was here now.

You:

The hardest to take off weren’t the straps on your shoes.

But all you ever had to know, was that the one you were with, the one you were hopelessly in love with, was there to help you through all of this.

“Do you, uh,” Jason coughed. “Need some help with that?”

You knew he was watching. If you actually didn’t want him to watch, you would have gone to the other side of the pool and took off your clothes where there wasn’t a mirror in front.

“Yeah,” you said.

As his eyes laid on you, relaxed, calm, just as you remembered he once watched your body so bare, with just a strapless bra over your chest and seamless panties, what contrasted the very cold that stemmed from the water was the burn underneath your flesh, the burn in your chest, the burn on your face and every nerve ending there was. Every nerve ending.

Suddenly you were limbless when he swam over to you, right in front from where you sat at the poolside, and his fingers were on the skin of your thighs, both of them. The water from his skin, falling and absorbing into your own. A sensation in itself.

You unlatched your leg, and he pulled it off and set it to your side.

Now, you were bare.

Jason was looking up at your eyes, however, and not at anything else. Not at the parts so incomplete. Not on places so ugly. As if you were so beautiful. And from that look alone, you started to believe that you were.

One at a time.

With his hands held out, you let him take your right leg, the one covered in burns and healed stitches, but still with toes and skin at all, and carefully, laid it into the water.

It was cold. Colder than even ice. But god, was it so heavenly.

Now, the other.

Jason, from what you could tell, tried not to look nervous just as you were, but you both smiled, and that was all there is to it to make you step into that very threshold once so frightening.

Your left leg, ending just three inches below your knee, dipped into the water’s surface.

You were here.

You were free.

You could feel the cold, the water, the waves, and the rush up to your head.

“Take your time,” Jason breathed, and his voice was all the more wonderful with everything else you could feel.

Any more, and the tears might start to defy your efforts.

He was as gentle as you knew him to be, and with that, it urged you on. You wanted to be the freest version of yourself. You wanted to be in the water with him, and hold him.

“Jason-“

“I’m here.”

You slid off the poolside, and he was there to hold you up before you could even think to move. His warm hands were so different from how cold the water was, but as equally burning as the heat that spurred everywhere else. They held your waist, and you did not want them to move away at all.

“It’s okay,” he said, with his grip still strong. “I’ll let go only if you tell me to.”

So you didn’t tell him to.

Your hands, already they found their ways resting on top of his shoulders, holding onto him a lot firmer than you actually needed to. Your right leg touched the floor. Your left one waved about in the water. You looked down. They were there. They were alright. They didn’t sting, nor hurt, nor did you feel so exposed that you’d never want to step into any light again.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you frantically nodded, still looking down at the prettiest lights that shone beneath you and Jason’s feet.

You were laughing. “This is so great…”

“It is…”

With you so distracted marveling over the water, he thought you wouldn’t notice if his hands rubbed over your waist, circled them tighter, enough for his fingers to rest delicately on your spine. He was holding you so tenderly, yet you could feel how much he was holding back. And you just went on pretending not to notice.

“I want to go there.”

You pointed at the middle of the pool, where the lights were centered on, littered about to form this spiral that stretched out like a firework that burst into the sky.

“Alright,” said Jason. “Hold on, okay?”

You nodded, and again that wonderful sensory outburst that were supposed to overwhelm you, but didn’t, when Jason led you both to the center of the pool, the waves flowing against your flesh and skin. Oh, was it so beautiful. The water, touching your every bit, it was so much more than you remembered, and so much better than you’d have imagined.

As you reached that very center, and with you having to take in both the feel of this flight, the breath that had escaped you, the lights, ones you had to watch from afar, were now beneath and around you, like you stood right in the core of a star that exploded, a supernova, right at the flares and the burst of light and sound, just as it was on your flesh.

You were swimming on stars, on clouds, on a bed of petals so sweet. You were afloat in this wonderous space, the sun so close but not burning you with its light. There were tears. Wonderous tears. Ones you couldn’t hold back with your heart in full and your chest in this tug that pulled it in all directions. You splayed your arms out, and tilted your head back, enough for your hair to be dipped into the water. And you closed your eyes. Everything. Everything. This was everything.

You looked back up, and no one, not even the moon itself in the midst of a dark sky, had ever looked at you the way Jason did.

Oh god, how you loved him.

Then that music, one that was playing so sweetly the moment you stepped in, it blurred out when you circled your arms around his strong neck.

He kept with his promise and went on to keep holding you so close, closer, until your chest met his so solid, all the cold from the once freezing water was whisked away.

Fingers tangled onto his hair, breaths battling as they met in the space in between, a space that shouldn’t have been there at all. His own hands trailed down to your hips, further down until it made you jolt.

Then your legs were around him. You were flying, so high up in the sky not even the clouds would reach you.

He pushed back your hair.

You didn’t know at what point your lips had met, your warmth uniting into one, single flame, but everything was so much of the speed of a moving picture, that none of time, nothing of the sort that wasn’t him and him alone, ever even mattered anymore.

Jason:

What was it called, when something unfolded before you, and everything happened so fast even when you’d try to make it slow, flashed into this bright, white light, and suddenly you couldn’t move, nor say anything to protest?

That wasn’t even much to think about anymore.

Everything was paced, so slow, slow enough that he could feel every movement she made, every flick of her fingers, every sound that escaped her lips. It heightened to so much more than it actually was. Those months, where he no longer felt even just a splinter, now all those feelings collapsed into the now.

He was kissing the world, his world, and so much of her beauty manifested into this glorious flow. He was hungry, digging into her skin as if there were more to be undone. His lips were no different. Over her lips, her jaw, her neck, licking over her shoulder and back over to her lips where she tasted the sweetest.

She did not hold back either, and he didn’t want her to. She pulled on his hair enough to make it hurt and so perfect was that pain, the growl that came out of him so animalistic, even more so did he starve. Starve for her. He wanted to taste every bit of her.

And so he did, pushing her to the edge of the pool and turning her around so no longer could anything restrict his shaking touch, on every part of her that would spark a fire engulf larger than the one within his chest. He pushed himself inside her, over and over until it hurt.

He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t hide behind this mask of gentleness any longer. For that same gentleness and touches so soft, only could be when his efforts to conceal what his desires truly manifested into, and it comes with deep want, so much lust, fire that burns, skin being drawn in red by the hungriest nails and teeth that dug into flesh. His hips started to hurt, so did his hands. It was starting to hurt her, too, with there being marks on just about every sweet spot there was. But it was just those marks that pushed them both further into fulfillment.

His name, Jason, the most beautiful thing to ever escape her lips, his hands holding her still, holding her neck and squeezing just enough to let her know that only he could ever give her that perfect mix of pain and gratification so immense, that only he could touch her and make it last, and for the whole of the night, his name was the only thing she could ever cry out.

You:

Oh.

Oh, was it all so wonderful.

The strain, the pull of every muscle, the purple marks on your neck, the bruises on your hips, the aches down your cunt, and every bit inside you, still with the many releases, bursts of avalanches and numbs that faltered into lingering buzzes, and eventually this humming that continued like some song you couldn’t remember. Wonderful. Magical. Even if you could think straight, which you couldn’t do much with what happened, you couldn’t describe it with enough justice.

You’ve never slept so well in so long, your head up far beyond the clouds, into space and the stars above, the gas giants that make you even lighter. With not even gravity to pull you down, you were soaring up above.

In some idealistic perfection, a world without the cruelties you knew all too well, it would be that you’d wake up, satisfied at that, to a bed that wasn’t empty, next to a man you loved whose body was filled with the deepest scars, and that would have been the end to the story and all else, the chaos most especially, would cease.

But as it were as cruel as it were kind enough to grant you that moment of bliss, you woke up, still with the sky so dark, and your arm outstretched for a naked body no longer there, but instead you found that very body already with his clothes on, moving as quiet as he possibly could outside the bed.

“Jason?” you sighed, then you sat up holding the thin sheet up to your chest.

Jason was startled. Wasn’t expecting to wake you. Or that, he was trying not to.

“Why are you up?” he asked. He was in a hurry.

And his face, from what you could read, it told you everything you needed to know.

“Are you leaving?”

Again? You wanted to say.

But even if you did, his response wouldn’t have changed. For the better, that is. Because he didn’t have much a response at all.

“Go back to bed.”

“What’s going on-“

“I’m sorry.”

He zipped up his pants, put on his jacket and just like that he was headed for the door.

His face was too grim and blank for him to leave with intention to come back. His hands were too fast reaching for the door. His voice, too low as if he were hiding something from eventually spilling. No. He was leaving. And he wouldn’t want to be found. Not after that look he just gave you before he opened the door.

You took all the sheets and reached for his shoulder. Already, you were shattered. Already, the weight had befallen, on your arms and your chest. He was so stiff that even to just turn, it was hard for him to do.

But you held his face, really held him so he wouldn’t dare pull away. The air had been sucked out of that very room and so much of your body would have broken apart, fallen to the ground and no one would be there to pick them up.

“You don’t have to leave,” you whispered, pushing your forehead against his so your breaths would meet again. “Please, be with me-“

“Y/N -“

“What did I do?” You met his eyes.

“Nothing. Please. We’ll talk about this later-“

“When?”

He sounded so solid, so unaccepting of anything to be hurled at him.

“I have to go-“

“You’re not coming back, are you?“

“I said we’ll talk about this.”

“Don’t walk away from me-“

He didn’t even let you finish.

He was strong, and he never used that against you. But that time, he did. He grabbed you by the wrists and pulled you off him. In less time than you would have hoped, he was gone.

The man you wanted. The one you loved. The one you chose.

Wouldn’t choose you.

Another of the hurt, that descent, when you’ve slipped into this hole so familiar yet the pain wasn’t something to get used to. Tears on the sheets, broken, so many of them spilling out of you and onto the floor, your skin, the bed.

You can’t shatter again. You can’t break any more.

This was the choice you made. No one told you it was all going to be easy. That all this would be handed over just as you called the moment you wanted it. No. Not with him.

Go after him.

Tell him everything.

Go after him.

You grabbed everything you got, put on your clothes and rushed out that door before you were even fully awake enough for your eyes to adjust to the light. Straight down the stairs, out into the garage where you knew Jason parked his bike. He wasn’t there. He already left.

So you took one of the keys that were hung on the wall, started up one of Bruce’s many cars and drove out of that manor.

You weren’t going to let go. You’d chase him if you had to.

You knew this would happen, the moment you realized you loved this asshole. You saw this coming. And you were prepared.

You were as fast as if you flew, if you were no heavier than a speck, a particle that would let even the flap of a butterfly’s wings change its course and move so fast, no one would have seen it.

You called him. As you drove and reached the city, you did not stop calling. Five. Six. Ten times. He didn’t answer.

Once you reached his apartment, seeing that his bike wasn’t where he’d parked it, you called again.

At the fifteenth call, he picked up.

“Jason, for the love of god-“

Your hands were shaking as it held the wheel, and nothing, not even the rain pattering onto the windshield would have calmed you. Everything happened just as fast as the rest of the night went on. And here you were, at the end, and you tripped just as you saw that very end of the dark tunnel.

“Y/N…” he said. And his voice a lot softer than it had been just then.

“Please, just talk to me.”

“We’ll talk. I promise you, we will-“

“I want to talk to you now-“

“You think you know what you want,” he said. “But you don’t. Give it time. You’ll change your mind.”

You slammed your fists against the wheel and the horn blew under the impact.

“You said you’d never make decisions for me-“

“If this is your decision, you need me to make it for you.”

So close. So close to driving away and leave him for the rest of forever.

But it wasn’t close enough.

You turned to the screen right by the car’s dashboard, pressed onto the button to turn on Bruce’s many trackers. There was a red dot.

‘No,’ you whispered. ‘No, you won’t.’

Jason:

“I’m sorry…” he pleaded. “I’m so sorry… but I promise you. Everything will get better.”

Up a rooftop, where he thought she’d never find him. It was hard to ignore the quake in his voice, his hands, how every word he spoke was like driving a knife down his throat, neck, and chest.

“No,” she screamed, and her cries hurt more than that very knife ever would. “It won’t. You’re a coward. What are you gonna do? Leave for another four months?”

“That’s not true.”

“Tell me it is!”

“Y/N.”

He let the skyline distract him, the buildings that soared up, higher than he could ever stand, then locked his eyes onto one of them so they wouldn’t defy him and break apart.

“Whatever it is you think is going on, it isn’t. I already told you how I felt. Why didn’t you just lis-“

Of course, she’d find him.

To be frank, even if it were one of the other safe houses he’s picked that wasn’t on any map of the city, she was bound to find him. He left her at Wayne Manor, for fuck’s sake.

The minute he heard her footsteps, coming in from entryway, he stopped talking, breathing even, and put his phone down. Trackers. Of course. Bruce had five of them on him at least.

He turned around.

“You actually fucking followed me-“

“Why?”

She wore the same thing from that night, the same suit he’d lustfully watched her take off, straps down those very shoulders, baring herself. Her hair, up in this beautiful mess, makeup no longer there and her face beautifully bare. Still a sight, she was, a sight he no longer wanted to get lost in.

“Why is this so hard for you-“

“Because it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?“

“Because, I-“

Every word out of him, a fire that couldn’t be put out. Flames uncontrollable, and his breath nothing but encouraging winds.

“Because you’re gonna wake up one day and realize I’m not any of my brothers… I was the one who never stood a chance,” he said. “No one would think you’d want me, out of the many other things you could have had. One day, you’re gonna realize that I’m not what you wanted-“

“I love you-“

God, it was everything he ever wanted to hear.

“You had Dick and Tim. They’ve loved you for so long… And you’re actually choosing the one guy who doesn’t?“

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

Another step forward from her. Another step back from him. He can’t stand too close or all this would be as close to the world’s slowest, most painful death.

“Nothing could have pointed you to me. Everything was telling you to-“

“For fuck’s sake, stop listening to everything else and just listen to me.”

A struggle at that.

But he’s never been so cold.

It wasn’t even from the wind from such a height, if there were any at all. But he was shivering, his teeth were gritting. Everything he said, he didn’t even mean. And all the more was it excruciating to hear himself say it all.

But he could listen. Even if it’d hurt. He’ll listen.

She was crying. To just reach over and hold her hand. He couldn’t even do that.

“Three years ago,” she whispered into the cold night air. “I was at the manor. Two weeks out of the hospital. I was just learning how to walk again but that day was hard on me. I couldn’t make a step. I was on my bed, and I was just staring at the ceiling because I couldn’t get out of it.”

It pained him all the more, when he knew nothing of what was to come to him, that all this was going to catch him before he’d even realize what it was.

“You never visit me at the manor but that day, you were there. I don’t even remember what for, but you stopped by and you caught me reading A Christmas Carol because it was the one book in my room that I actually liked. Because I couldn’t go down to the library and get more, and I didn’t want to ask from anyone.

“We ended up talking about Dickens. I didn’t know shit, but I remember you talking about him like he was your uncle and I just listened to you. I told you I liked reading his books. You said you’d bring me more when you’d come back. Three days later, you did. You got me Great Expectations.”

Great Expectations.

Why can’t he remember this?

“You left, and I read it that same night. That’s when I found a quote that you highlighted.”

Jason took a step back, away from her.

“I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”

Everything. Everything that devastated, all suddenly came to place.

“The book was new. Store bought. The tag was still there. You bought it for me a day after you visited. Then you read it yourself and highlighted that quote.”

“How did you-“

“Remember that?”

She ignored the streaks down her skin, the droplets that fell down her neck.

“It was just a quote,” she shrugged. “It easily could have been nothing… but if I think of it differently now, it all makes so much sense.”

If he took another step back, he’d fall over the ledge.

He should have done that, now that she had walked close enough for him to get so lost into her face.

“If you loved me then,” you whispered. “Did you even know about it?”

This. This was worse than a fall.

He closed his eyes and everything fell through. The tears. The sobs. Everything. Because he did love her then. He’s always loved her since. But to admit it was close to writing his own death sentence.

This. This was death. And he’d happily jump back into that abyss.

“I didn’t want to believe it…”

You:

You reached for his face and for once, he welcomed it.

“If you tell me to leave right now,” you swallowed. “I’ll leave. I’ll never look for you again.”

Even if it hurts, even if I’ll have to live without you. If it’s what you want, I’ll let you go.

His hands found your wrists but it was to hold you, not to pry you away.

“Do you love me?”

It wasn’t in his words.

It was how he said yes that made you soar past the birds and the thin air from above.

It was when he finally took a step forward, to hold you in place, to keep you from falling apart and keep you so close, that acceptance of what truly went on, the love you’ve long known about and continued to believe in, even when he didn’t believe in it himself. It was there. It was what moved you. You could have fallen in from one of the many spaces above and still, you would end up in his arms.

“Of course, I do…“

Just as the sun rose, to greet you both into this morning anew. So new a life, waiting for you to come welcome it. And you welcomed it with the widest arms. He kissed you, so tender and real. Up where the city could see you, where you wanted to be seen, only to be with him.

Epilogue

Jason:

One box would have been enough for his clothes. He didn’t have much anyway. But as it turns out, leather jackets aren’t exactly as compact as he’d liked.

��Where do you want me to put these?!”

She was in the bathroom. He saw her peak her head out from the door to look at the jacket he was holding up.

“I set up a new closet for you!” she cried out, then she went back to brushing her teeth. “It’s beside mine!”

“Got it!”

He took the boxes of clothes, set it just outside the closet which he’ll definitely get into after he deals with everything else. Moving wasn’t something he liked doing, even when he’s moved around a single city so much before his lease would have allowed him to.

But, this new apartment, her apartment, covered in paint and canvases and rags all over the place that nipped at his neat freakiness he’d soon have to overcome, he might actually stick around.

“What about this!?”

He held up his box of books.

“I emptied a shelf for you, too! It’s next to my sketchbooks.”

“Sketchbooks, sketchbooks…”

Her sketchbooks were all over the fucking place.

He found that shelf, at least. Just enough for all his books. That is, if the paint cans above wouldn’t collapse.

“Do you clean up even just a little?”

“Shut up. It’s organized mess.”

“It’s always organized mess with you artists…”

“What?!”

“Nothing!”

She stepped out the bathroom, in nothing more than just a thin shirt and pajama shorts, then she watched him fumble with the last of his boxes.

“And, uh,” he coughed. “Can I put these somewhere?”

The look on her face, playfully annoyed as it was pleasantly unsurprised, she wanted to laugh that he’d resorted to storing his whole arsenal of weapons in a single cardboard box.

“That floorboard over there,” she pointed. “I loosened it up for you.”

“You’re a doll, pretty bird.” Jason put the box on the floor, ran up to her and grabbed her by her thighs, hoisting her whole thrashing body up his shoulder.

Her screams turned to laughter, then he spun her around, slammed her into her own bed like it was a wrestling ring and held her down with a headlock.

Everything he’s ever thought how this would have ended wasn’t so much of a fraction of how it went. Never has he smiled for so many days, happiness without condition, love so pure, a life that no longer was filled of days he’d have to survive, and was now a life he wanted remember, love, and live.

This was how it ended.

And he never wanted it to end.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | BLUE | YELLOW

-----

MAIN TAGLIST:

@idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @multifandomgirl-us, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @lucy-roo, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @river9noble, @zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho, @thatonecroc, @trixie-bb, @daddyissuesmademe, jasonsbitch, @shadowsndaisies @jaybirdbooty @writing2sirvive

SERIES TAGLIST:

@spaceservicestation, @thedeadlythoughts, @vanessafabricius, @pinkforest05

277 notes · View notes

bluegarners · 3 years

Note

Oooh for the bingo card can I pick survivors guilt with dick feeling guilty cause he ran away from home just like Jason but he lived while Jason died 😢

ahhh sorry this took awhile to get to!! i hope you enjoy this though~ requested for my Bad Things Happen Bingo ; it is also on ao3

Survivor's Guilt

The days bleed into one another to the point where it’s almost offensive, how indistinct and indiscriminate each sunrise and subsequent sunset is. A little boy died and the world carries on like nothing happened. Like his life was nothing less than the lawn being mowed or a tree being cut down. Is there an analogy Dick’s forgetting about, comparing dead children to nature? He’s not sure, he’s just tired, and the days continue to bleed into one another.

Monday is actually Thursday and Dick looks in the mirror and traces the bruise on his face. There’s a line in the fading purple blob that’s just the slightest bit darker. Knuckle indents. He saw it coming but he didn’t do anything. It was… just a punch. He applies some ointment and looks away. A little boy died and he’s still taking care of a tiny little injury, hardly an injury, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, because-

It’s four in the evening and Dick just woke up. It’s not a good habit to fall into, to sleep so late, do so little, think about dead little boys and missed funerals, but Dick can’t help it. Sometimes, he loses time within the bleeding days, just sits down for a moment and then an alarm goes off to remind him that it’s morning now and that he should be getting up to do… something. Go somewhere. Take care of things. But what? But what? Dick only just sat down, it doesn’t seem fair for the world to demand he be pulled this way and that when it already took a child, already took someone that never graduated tenth grade.

What do people learn in tenth grade? They’re just children, and Dick can’t remember much from his Gotham Academy days, so he really hopes they aren’t put under too much pressure. They’re all just so young, tenth graders, so young and youthful and there’s really no reason for them to be bogged down with work or stress from education. Life was infinitely more important than some late homework and Dick wonders if the school requires missing assignments from dead children. Wonders what they do with that extra, empty desk or the absent name on the roster. Wonders if they just shove another kid into their place, cross out the name for attendance, and carry on like the rest of the world seems to have.

What’s more, what do the friends of the dead child do? Do they mourn? Mourning seems so sad for the young, it's got no place in their view, and yet Dick remembers mourning, grieving when he was just nine but it was all so wrong. Dick hopes that the friends of the dead child are okay. Dead child. Dead little boy. Dead tenth grader.

He heard the funeral was nice. Heard that the school hosted a vigil. Of course, he wasn’t able to attend. Wasn’t extended the invitation to attend, but it’s not about him. It’s about the dead boy.

Dick has never been comfortable with children. Not in the sense that he finds them strange or annoying or that he can’t stand youth. He’s just not comfortable with the sheer light, with people who possess so much of it that it literally oozes out in all the things they do. Leaks out from their innocent smiles, their troubled and off-handed questions, their zest for adventure, yearning for dreams so much larger than themselves, their endless compassion for others, their infinite amount of crushes, their worry about deadlines and asking someone out on a date, their constant need to keep up with trends of the day; so many light things that Dick hasn’t touched in so long. So many things he feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to touch.

You were lucky.

Was he? Dick doesn’t think he was, but then again, he’s not a dead little boy with a specially made coffin to fit his small, under-developed, never got the chance to reach a growth-spurt, body. Being Batman’’s partner was terrifying. He remembers it being scary, not knowing if he was going to live through the night or if Batman was going to go off on another rampage because Dick screwed up. Not knowing if screwing up as Batman’s partner meant no longer being welcomed as Bruce’s ward.

How many times has it been now? Twice? Three times?

A key is gone from his chain now and its missing weight burns holes in all of Dick’s clothes. It’s a finality that feels just as permanent as the dead little boy’s gravestone.

A size six and a half pair of sandals sit on the edges of Dick’s tiny balcony. He has a no shoe policy in his apartment, hardly cleaner than the streets below, but it was the principle that counted right? No muddy boots, no dirty sneakers, no rain logged socks, none of that. So Dick keeps a pair of size six and a half sandals on his balcony in case a size six and a half wearer decides to waltz in.

Dick wears a size eleven.

He’ll have to get rid of them at some point. There’s no reason for them to stay there, collecting dust or peeling away whenever it rains. They weren’t even that good of a pair, just some knock off brand he found at a convenience store once, so keeping them for their worth isn’t that important. He spent the entirety of seven dollars on them, so really, he’s not strapped for cash and he can’t wear them himself and he’s sure that some homeless kid or anyone really would be happy to have them. He could just donate them, throw them in a box and leave it outside for the trash to pick up. He could. He could.

He can’t.

They aren’t his. They belonged to someone, someone very important, and he can’t just throw them away. You don’t throw away a dead little boy’s shoes just because they can’t wear them anymore. His parents always taught him to respect the dead, respect their belongings, and those sandals aren’t his so he’s got no say in what to do with them. It’s fine if the dead child’s shoes stay out on Dick’s balcony. It’s fine. He doesn’t go out there much anyway. The shoes are so tiny, only a size six and a half, and Dick can hardly get half of his foot in a size so small and they belong to a dead boy anyway so he shouldn’t touch them. Shouldn’t touch the dead child’s shoes.

He’s distancing himself on purpose. It’s a lot easier to say a dead little boy, a dead child, than it is to admit a name belongs to such a ghastly title. There are so many other words, so many other titles infinitely more fitting for a child than dead, and yet it’s the only one that describes him in this moment. Dead. Gone. Passed.

There used to be a box shoved away in the back corners of his closet. A cramped and banged up cardboard box containing every memory he had from being Robin. There used to be a picture of his parents in there, a cracked glass frame and a stained photo all he had left from Haly’s; there was his old costume from the circus, the same one he wore on the night where the sawdust turned black and he learned what sounds a body makes when it hits the ground; there was a small photo album in there too, pictures Alfred took of Dick’s time at the Manor, of his time as Bruce’s ward. Sometimes he’ll flip through its pages and feel that sting in his eyes, feeling the ghostly fingers of longing cradle his head through each memory every pristine photo contained.

And, most importantly, in that old, worn out, and beat up cardboard box, was Robin. Red, green, and yellow. Shorts and a velcro cape. Boots he doesn’t know how he ever fit into. A vest that would be impossible to get around his shoulders now. The crest, the emblem. Robin.

It was supposed to stay in that box. Remain there for the rest of his days, leave behind a child soldier and trade it out for a freelancer looking for a new war to fight. A new landscape to reshape and hone as his own. But then another little boy, taller than when Dick started out, appears in the night and leaps and frolics and laughs by Batman’s side. Stands over Gotham and gloats and jeers and grasps Robin almost perfectly.

And for the first time, Dick understands the horror that plowed into every other superhero out there when he first debuted as Robin. Understands the numbing terror of the thought of a child, someone who probably didn’t know how to do calculus or read Shakespeare or tie their shoes correctly, out there fighting the dirtiest and darkest sides of the world. That someone with a shoe size of six and a half was out there punching rapists, getting up close with drug lords and traffickers, witnessing and investigating crime scenes and analyzing gore and blood spatters.

Just a child. Just a little boy.

It feels wrong. So, so wrong, to give his blessing to someone who’s just barely hit puberty. Who’s still struggling to perfect a Robin cackle or speak without his voice cracking and pitching wildly. It’d make him a hypocrite not to though. He was younger, so much younger, when he started out as Robin, so who is he to stop an almost teenager from being Robin?

Well, actually, Dick is an adult. His frontal lobe is completely developed, he can pay taxes, drink, vote, organize his own affairs, drive, buy cigarettes, make his own decisions. Help others make decisions. Jas- the dead boy was just that. A boy. He had no idea how to do any of those things, much less think about them for the next few years, so how can he just allow a child to decide if they want to traumatize themselves, bleed themselves dry, for a city that doesn’t love them and devote themselves to a man’s mission that hasn’t changed in over a decade?

But even if he hadn’t given his blessing, the boy would have been Robin anyway. Remember? Dick has no say in anything to do with Robin. Anything to do with Gotham. No, all that was taken away the moment he stepped out of line, stepped out of the conformity and obedience Batman demanded. The blessing… it was just a formality for something Dick had never wanted to continue. Robin was supposed to disappear with him, die with him leaving Gotham, and yet…

Robin died anyhow.

There’s a dead little boy that used to be named Robin buried in a cemetery with a beautifully carved gravestone that just wanted the child to rest in peace, sleep well, and dream of a better life. And Dick gave his blessing for him to die as Robin.

The days still bleed into each other, melting and drifting over and mixing until the sunrises and sets in the same minute. Dick keeps losing time and people keep calling him but he just forgets to pick up the phone to answer. He can’t help but stare at his balcony, can’t help but stare at the empty space in the box, can’t help but listen to his own heartbeat and watch the way his chest expands as his lungs do.

He is alive. Alive when he probably shouldn’t be.

Robin was not meant to last. Dick has told himself that over and over again, the clear and simple fact that Robin was not meant to carry on. Born through the same circumstances as Batman, Robin was supposed to be nothing more than a temporary outlet but Dick got addicted and now he can’t stop. Now his thoughts loop around and around and all he can think about is a dead child wearing his Robin uniform and running out in the night with his blessing.

You were lucky.

Bruce was right. He was lucky. Lucky beyond belief that he survived being Robin. Lucky he stuck around long enough to learn what he needed to and then some under Batman’s tutelage, only to be fired and leave a gaping hole behind that was just calling for a replacement. Screaming for someone to fill the void, beckoning the ears of the young and naive to answer its call. Of course a child would answer. Of course someone eager and looking for love and praise and meaning would find their way there.

And perhaps Dick used up all the luck, all the magic, Robin gave. Used it all up and without a care in the world for who would be next to wear the cape, parade the emblem, because now there’s a dead little boy in the ground and his blood stains Dick’s hands.

Maybe if he had died as Robin instead, died in those early days where he was nine and filled with moxy undeserved, it would have served as warning enough to stay away from Batman. Stay away from Robin. Stay away from the beckon of being a child soldier. And, really, it wouldn’t have been all that bad if he had died so young. If he had died after Zucco was found because then he would have been with his parents, would have been reunited with his family again.

Dick isn’t sure he believes in the after life, if there are places like Heaven and Hell, but sometimes he hopes there is because there is a dead little boy in his arms and he is desperate for the hope that he has a good place to go to. To move on to.

But Dick’s not dead, still very much alive and breathing through working lungs with blood pumping through his veins, and now he’s not only outlived his time as Robin, but the next as well. He has outlived a child.

How do you outlive your own legacy?

He can’t call the dead child his brother. They’re not, legally, and Dick didn’t bond with him like brothers should. He tried, tried to after the initial shock and horror, bought size six and a half sandals, helped with homework, lent an ear to vent to, but it wasn’t enough.

Somehow, a dead little brother is so much worse than a child and Dick can’t give him another title to cling to. Can’t assign another name and still…

Jason is dead. Dick missed his funeral, missed it all, and his name is Jason Todd and he was only fifteen when he died and god, Dick wishes he had been a better brother. Wishes so badly he had never given his blessing, never lived through being Robin, because that would mean Jason would have never had to die and he would be in Dick’s place, simply breathing and alive and that’s… that’s all he can ask for.

The days continue to bleed into each other and the bruise slowly fades away into his skin.

The sandals remain on the balcony.

#bad things happen bingo #survivor guilt #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Jason Todd is Robin #Robin #Nightwing #tw: canon death #i posted this same thing earlier but i thought i lost the ask for it #turns out it was just buried #fanfic #my fic

37 notes · View notes

mrsbarnes107 · 3 years

Text

Secret of The Widow

-Part Two-

Summary: Peter is an oblivious little bean, Bucky is a little pissed, Wanda can’t keep her mind to herself, and who the hell is the girl giving orders to everyone anyways?!

(Post Endgame time period. The team is healing, trying to navigate this new normal they’ve found themselves in when Bucky and Sam bring home a stray with an attitude.)

Warnings: language, *eventual* violence and smut, death

Pairings: Bucky X OC

DISCLAIMER: this is posted to Wattpad as well and it WILL HAVE PLOT. I’m a Bucky hoe so there will be smut and romancy stuff but this is a series, so plot plot plot.

"What are you talking about?! Baby Dory is WAY cuter than Baby Yoda!"

"Have you SEE-" Barnes came storming in, rudely interrupting my education of young Peter.

"What the hell are you doing Parker and how the hell did you get those cuffs on us Red?" Well he looks upset.

I lean back in my spiny chair. These are way more comfortable than the ones on the jet, thank goodness. My feet propped up on the table, crossed at the ankles.

I take a slow drink of water and glance up at the, now two, very annoyed looking men. "Hi boys, glad you could join. Told you I had people to meet and a schedule to follow. Petey here was kind enough to keep me company while you both were occupied though."

"We're gonna have a talk later about stranger danger man." Sam says with a shake of his head. Well Peter looks properly chastised and that's just rude.

"Petey you did nothing wrong. Although you really should vet out who you let into the Tower a little better." I shrug at him with a smirk.

Before the men could berate us any more, in strolled Bruce and Wanda.

The witch just eyes me before shock passes across her features for a moment. I shake my head discreetly and she gives a little nod before sitting beside Peter.

Jolly Green looks at me, sprawled in the head chair and flicks his eyes to the still very annoyed guys standing beside the table. "Uh is this the meeting?"

"Bruce. Wanda. Glad you could join. We're still missing two though."

Sam throws his arms out and huffs in exasperation. "Girl who the hell are you? I'm getting real tired of these unanswered questions. And get the hell out of that chair and back in these cuffs."

I glance at Peter and roll my eyes, "you and I aren't done with that discussion just so you know."

With a look to Sam and the rest of the group I continue, "look big bird" -this earned a snort from Peter- "if you two will just sit down and untwist your panties all will be answered, but in my time and my terms." I arch my brow with a straight face as they eye me, Sam with very obvious annoyance. He goes to sit at the end of table huffing about being macho and a soaring eagle not a stupid yellow bird. Bucky just continues to stare at me seemingly lost in his own head, confusion evident in his blue eyes and creased brow.

"And to be clear, I did not blow up that museum. Now if you would be so kind and sit, it's story time kids."

As I say this in walks Clint, late obviously, "sorry guys, I was stuck in a vent. What's this all about-"

"Hi Clint, sit." I say when he finally sees me and stops walking to the seat.

Clint was looking a shade paler than he did a moment ago, staring at me with a lost look in his eyes.

"Wh-who is that Barnes."

Bucky just shakes his head, eyes still on me and feet still planted by the table.

"Sargent Barnes, please sit down." I say with a nod at to the chair at my left. No more smiles or ribs, I wiped my face of all emotion and allowed a serious mood to take over. "You too Clint."

He finally fell into the chair beside Sam, looking lost and confused. Bucky slowly sitting beside me, rigid and ready for attack.

With another glance around the group I began. "Okay, I believe the first question you asked was why did I blow up the building. I didn't. I was tracking the group who did and evacuated the museum before they were smart enough to notice."

"If you weren't apart of the bombing then why did you attack me." Bucky interrupted, crossing his arms and tilting his head in curiosity.

With a very elegant arch to my brow I respectfully roll my eyes at him. "Sargent, I know you have memory issues but I'm certain you can recall being the one to put a knife to my throat and throwing me down a hall after I disarmed you. I didn't attack you, I defended myself." With a huff he sat back and nodded for me to continue.

"Now the second question, how do I know the Sargent here? We met before the snap. Before Steve ever found him. We met before he was really Bucky again." I say, eyes locked with his. Barnes looks startled with the mention of his Winter Soldier days. I give him a tiny smile and shrug. "Gotta admit, while the short hair suites you, I kinda miss it long."

"Wait. You knew the Winter Soldier? How old even are you kid?" The good doctor questioned from the other end of the table.

I give him a small smile. "I'm twenty-six, eighteen when I met Bucky."

Peter nudges my arm. "If you were helping the people escape the attack... that means your good right?"

I give him a long look, "Petey, I think you're the only truly good person in this room. We all have baggage, pretty sure it's a requirement for your little ragtag group."

Turning away from his sad look I continue. "Like I said, my first interaction was with the Winter Soldier. It actually went a lot like today's. I was tracking a group of HYDRA agents in Jordan, they were at a warehouse getting supplies. I took them out and was gathering intel when I was suddenly flying across the room." I throw a glance at Barnes, he's now leaned forward, elbows on his knees listening intently.

"I grew up learning about all of you, your past, your powers, everything. I knew about the Winter Soldier long before the Avengers did." I held a hand up before Sam could interrupt. "My recon didn't show him being a part of that mission though. Considering Sargent Barnes here abilities and strength I didn't waste time trying to fight him. I did however manage to send a cinder block to his head." I sent a shrug Buckys way.

"Keep in mind you hadn't met Steve yet, so Bucky was very hard to access. The blow to your head broke the connection to HYDRA though, so you were less murderous and more observant and trying to return to your base."

Bruce interrupts again with a raise of his hand. "I'm confused on how you seem to know everything about us. How you know exactly when Steve and Bucky met again. Or that knocking him out would help your situation. What does it have to do with your raising?"

With a sigh I pull my legs into the chair and sit up. "Well doctor, the thing is, I knew Bucky was the Winter Soldier before SHIELD, the Avengers, or he himself did."

#avengers #avengers fic #black widow #bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #captain america #marvel #endgame #spiderman #wanda maximoff #wandavison spoilers #the falcon #bucky x oc

31 notes · View notes

gayforcaroldanvrs · 4 years

Text

Honey

Avengers x Teen! Reader

Warnings: None

37 days. That's how long you've been here. That you know of. That you can remember.

You hear loud banging noises as the doors to the facility break down. There are voices. 4 of them. One female and two loud male voices. There is also a robot type voice that the others are talking to. You only hear 3 sets of feet so you have to assume that the 4th voice is AI.

"Guys! We've got company!" The woman yelled into her wrist.

She walks over close to you as you cower into the corner that you were hiding in.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a much softer tone than before.You don't answer. You look into her eyes, and keep your face very still. You think that if she can't tell how scared you are then she can't see you.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm gonna have my friend come in here and help you okay?"

You look at her confused.

You speak in the only language you know, "Мне так страшно. Пожалуйста, помогите мне." (I am so scared. Please help me.)

She looks at you with sympathy and says, "Мои друзья уже в пути. Мы выведем тебя отсюда, милая." (My friends are on their way. We are going to get you out of here honey.)

You nod and let a tear fall. She put an arm around you careful to make sure you are comfortable with her touching you. When you flinch away she retreats her arm.

"Как вас зовут?" she asks.

"Y/N" you respond.

"Хорошо, Y / N, вы знаете, какой год это?" (Ok, Y/N, do you know what year it is?) she asks. "Да, это 1987" (Yes, it's 1987) you respond.

"Bucky, Steve. I'm in the east wing. We may have a situation."

You hear footfalls coming. Soon enough you see two very large men coming towards you. You do what you think you should to keep them from getting any closer. You hold your hand out in front of you and they stop in their tracks.

You look at the lady in front of you as she looks at you with a worried look on her face. "Вы готовы пойти с нами?" (Will you come with us?) she asks.

The man with a metal arm looks over at you and says, "Вы говорите по-русски?" (You speak Russian?) He looks over at the blond man and says, "They did it again Steve."

"Ты кто? Почему Вы здесь?"(Who are you? Why are you Here?) You ask. You are looking more scared by the second. Afraid that the men who took you would be back.

"Меня зовут Джеймс. Это Стив, а это Наташа. Мы здесь, потому что некоторые плохие парни делали вещи с такими детьми, как ты." (My name is James. This is Steve, and this is Natasha. We are here because some bad guys have been doing things to kids like you.)

You look back at the woman, Natasha. You see how caring she looks and you nod your head.

"Я хочу уйти сейчас, пожалуйста" (I want to leave now please.) You say to them as you stand up. You take your hands down and the men move again.

They are careful not to touch you after the woman tells them something you don't understand. You get on the Jet with them as they make their way back to the Tower.

You fall asleep on the ride back. When you land Natasha gently wakes you up and gestures for you to follow her. You follow her into a room full of people.

Instinctively, you duck behind her, holding on to her arm.

She looks at you and says “Всё в порядке” (it’s okay.)

You look at the people in the room. One sticks out to you. A young girl, around your age. She has red hair and a lovely smile.

“she speaks Russian.” Natasha says to the young girl.

“Привет. Я Ванда.” (Hi, I’m Wanda.) She says to you.

“Y/N” you reply.

She holds her hand out to ask if she can hold yours.

Cautiously, you hold our your hand. When her hand touches yours, you see your mother. You see her laughing. You see her speaking a language you don’t know. You feel warm and happy.

When she releases your hand, she says, “Did that work?”

“Yes.” You respond, startled at your sudden language change.

“Don’t worry, you can still speak Russian, but only three of us here understand it.” She says as she smiles.

You smile back and she reaches for your hand once more. This time to lead you to the other room so that the adults could talk.

You however were cursed with superhuman hearing. So you could hear everything that the adults were saying anyways.

“Was anyone going to tell me that we have a teenage Hydra experiment in the Tower or am I just supposed to find that out from Vision?” A man said. You could tell that he was the sort of leader of the group.

Wanda asked you what you wanted to do.

“I just got here. Why does everything look so weird? Why did Natasha ask me what year it is?” You asked.

“Well what year is it?” Wanda retorted.

“It’s 1987, why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Y/N, it's 2018.” She says calmly hoping to not set you off or freak you out.

You stare off into space. There is no way. It was 1987 the last time you checked.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Can you send Bucky in here please?” Wanda said to nobody.

“Yes ma’am, Ms. Maximoff.” Said a voice.

A few moments later the metal armed man came in. He told you his name was James. Why is she calling him Bucky?

“Yes?” He asked Wanda.

“She thinks it’s 1987,” She whispered to him, unaware that you could hear her clearly.

Bucky nodded and left the room.

A few moments later Steve came into the room

“When was the last time you had memory loss? When you wake up somewhere unfamiliar and have no idea how you got there?” Steve asked you.

“I don’t remember.” you answered.

Steve looked at Bucky and they both nodded.

“Y/N, will you come with us please?” Bucky asked.

You nodded and followed them to an elevator. Steve hit a button and the elevator went down.

“Banner?” Steve said as he exited the elevator with you and Bucky in tow.

“Hey Steve.” a man said without looking up from what he was working on.

“We have a situation.” Steve said before looking at you.

“What kind of situation?”

Banner, you assumed was his name, looked at you before looking at Steve with a confused look.

“We think Hydra did it again. She thinks that it’s 1987.” Steve answered.

Banner looked at you again. He gestured for you to follow him. You looked at Steve for permission before he nodded. You followed Banner back to a room with a medical looking bed.

“What’s your name?” He asked as you sat on the bed.

“Y/N” You responded.

“Hi, Y/N, I’m Bruce. Steve said you came from Hydra? Do you know who that is?”

You shook your head. You knew some people took you from your mother when you were small but you didn’t know who they were.

“All I know is that when I was little I was taken from my mother. Some people made me get into a big fish tank kind of thing. Then the memories get fuzzy.” You said.

Bruce looked at you with almost as much sympathy as Natasha gave you.

“Okay, can I do a quick scan of your head?” He asked.

You nodded. He brought over a big tube like thing and was about to place it near your head when you flinched away and held up your hands. The machine flew across the room and hit a wall. You were breathing very hard and could feel the walls getting tighter.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m sorry, I should have asked before I did that. Are you okay?” Bruce said, feeling horrible.

You lowered your hands. You could feel tears falling down your cheeks and did nothing to get rid of them.

You nod slowly allowing him to put his hands over your own.

“I’m gonna try this again and you just squeeze my hand if it gets to be too much okay?” He asks.

You nod. He brings the machine over again and very slowly brings it over your head. He plays some classical music to help calm you while he runs the tests.

“This is just to check your brain functions. See this green part here? This is showing active brain function. This yellow bit is showing the frontal lobe of your brain. This means that it is working. It helps with cognitive and memory functions. The yellow seems to be kind of dull here. Which probably means that some of your memory is tucked away. Which is nothing to be worried about.” He explains while the machine finishes the task.

“Is there something wrong with my brain?” you ask.

“No, Y/N, there is nothing wrong with it. It just means that some of your memories are hidden. Bucky was like that when he came to us too. It may take some time, but they should return.” He explains with a smile.

You finally get to have the machine taken away. You look to Bruce and give him a kind smile as you follow Bucky back to the elevator.

“I’m gonna let you get some rest okay doll?” He says as you get to the floor you share with Wanda.

You nod and follow Wanda to your room.

“Is there anything I can get you? Water, snacks?” She asks as you sit on your bed.

“What kind of music was Mr. Banner playing down there?” You ask.

“Oh, that’s his classical music. It helps him stay calm.” She says.

“It was really pretty. Do you think we could play some of that in here?” You ask.

“Of course. F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Can you play some classical music in our room?”

“Now Playing: Classical Music from Stark Music.” The voice says.

You lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

37 days. That’s how long you had been awake. Afraid that someone would come back. Afraid that they would make you do something again. But you are safe here, you are in a place where those people wouldn’t even dare coming.

You finally close your eyes and in a few minutes you fall asleep. For once in your life, unafraid of waking up.

#avengers x teen!reader #avengers #tony stark #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #peter parker #bruce banner #wanda maximoff #clint barton #thor #avengers x Hydra!reader #hydra teen

332 notes · View notes

black-streak · 4 years

Text

Waiting for the Worms - Run like Hell

Part 21

Turns out, I was so put off by my lack of writing over the last week or so and annoyed at my sickness that I decided to shove through this chapter as well. Took me so much less time to write than usual.

I only have... Two more chapters planned out for this fic and I'm pretty sure that'll be the end of this. Maybe snippets that didn't fit the story line or the likes will come after, but the official end is almost upon us.

CLOSED LIST of the following dedicated readers: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Old habits die hard when you try for cold turkey. Jason and the team knew that for a fact. It's why they ended up switching up miraculouses and patrolling random cities on intervals. It also helped in that it made their existence more world surfacing. Random sightings across a global scale of humanesque animal figures prowling the nights, taking out petty crooks and villains alike. Lurking in shadows and watching the nightlife unfold below them. Guardians to all. One miraculous never appeared with the same figure in one city for more than a few nights, not since Paris.

No one needed to know it was just their group becoming restless from inactivity.

For that same reason, it came second nature to switch hands and even travel to collect different kwamis that night for a patrol around the Gotham rooftops. Not a one of them commented on the assassin or little bird that followed them from a mile off. Marinette and Tim had the right to their own restlessness and surely Tim wished to study their team further. To determine how they worked together, their dynamic, their morals.

Damian had pitched a fit until Mari made him promise to stay home so as to keep his existence unknown to the Bat, allowing him to stay watch over the remaining kwamis for the night. The boy had settled down right away and curled up on the couch with his pocket sized pets.

Occasionally the two behind them would stop a little ways off, the assassin pointing out their figures as they made specific choices or movements and explaining how it worked, how they made the decision, and how to replicate it. The sheer trust she instilled in her bird companion threw them all for a loop, but they refused to question her in this, especially in front of him.

Other times, he stopped her to point out different aspects of the city that had changed or ask an opinion of her. They couldn't help but wonder if the boy knew they all had enhanced senses in this form and knew every word that came from their lips. If he did, he made the choice to allow them to hear, obviously trained enough to keep out of even animal hearing ranges if need be. Otherwise, he thought them far away enough or simply didn't care if they could. Jason hoped he knew, hoped Mari informed the bird and allowed him the choice. It was always a toss up on if she felt the need to be open and honest or to deceive those around her. Normally, Jason could tell, but not quite from this distance.

The comm unit Marinette picked up from Babs picked up halfway through their night, "B's in your route," Oracle informed.

"Any chance you can derail him?" Mari asked, as Jason turned to stare back at the twitching form of Robin. Nothing else gave him away, the face emotionless and stance as relaxed as a vigilantes could afford, except the slight twitch at the words being spoke into the two's ears.

"Not a chance. He's caught sight of a curly tailed figure in pink ahead."

Chloe.

"He's likely to run in to the bunch then. We'll split from here and make our way around," Mari responded as the bird took a step closer to her, hand reaching for his own ear.

"He's livid, isn't he?"

"Beyond so."

"Presumptuous over my disappearance?"

"Barely took note until a few nights ago. Now under the impression they stole you to get back at him."

Jason watched as the kid suppressed a flinch and ground his jaw instead, "He thought I went to the titans, didn't he?"

"Yup. Only made his second theory after a check in with them revealed you never came by. You know, for the world's supposed greatest detective, he refuses to use even a quarter of his brain towards people he claims to care about."

"When has he ever claimed to care about me?"

"Touche," the comm went quiet again as the two started in another direction and Jason began to turn towards where he knew Chloe would run into the man soon enough.

"Shit!" He whipped back around at Oracle's curse.

"He's caught sight of you, Robin. Sorry Tim, you've got to make your choice now, he's headed your way," she let off a stream of curses as everyone froze for a moment before everything went into motion once more.

Jason directed his team to intercept as the assassin gestured the bird forward, allowing him to run ahead of her away from Batman as the others took on the Bat, attempting to distract the man from his goal.

He hated the idea of forcing Tim into facing off with Bruce at this point. He deserved the time to make his mind up first. That however seemed to be off the table as the bat evaded them all as best he could, taking advantage of their using miraculous they were less familiar with to escape and continue his pursuit of the red, green, and yellow suit running away from the scene. At his juncture, all he could do was keep on the man's cape, following him leap for leap towards the two getaways.

The two were lithe and agile, keeping pace together as they bounded from rooftop to rooftop, slipping around corners and scurrying up walls with not a moment to spare as the Bat's size prevented him from making the same moves.

Robin would yank her down side alleys and up hidden ramps he left about the city as she guided him through the less savory parts of town that she grew up with Jason in, knowing hidden pathways and spaces too small and unknown for the bulk of the larger pursuants to follow, losing distance while trying to relocate the two without slowing down. Sure, Jason knew those paths as well as she did, but there was no way he would give that away, forcing the man to continue moving to evade him, even without a clear direction of which way they went.

At one point, Batman landed a hair too close, hand snagging into the cape of Robin's uniform. It was sheer luck on all of their parts that his companion noticed a second earlier and unclasped the damned thing a moment before, the cape coming loose in the man's hand right above a hundred foot drop, fueling the anger in Jason's blood at the blatant disregard for the boy's safety. He felt his eyes tilt green, but fought off the urge, forcing his focus on keeping up with the three to ensure the man never caught up with the two.

They swerved off path and Jason wished he could say he realized what was happening, but unfortunately couldn't as they landed directly in the path of the two, cutting them off from their escape.

Robin lurched back into the Assassin's chest, where she steadied him before offering for him to hide behind her despite the similarity in stature not offering much in the way of coverage. Jason gave props for the way Robin shook his head and stood firmly in place, once more emotionless. Not guilty as the first Robin might've been, nor defiant as he would've. Simply closed off in a glacier ice in contrast to Batman's thunderous storm.

"Robin. You look well," the bats eyes narrowed.

"Well thank you, I appreciate your noticing," he responded in the clipped tone of the backhanded socialites he was raised around, knowing how it irritated Bruce when the sarcasm was laced with sincerity.

"With such health, I must wonder why you've yet to return," Batman hedged, starting to put together the pieces.

"Simply observing all my options as I was advised. Would hate to miss out on a better opportunity due to negligence."

The man growled, hearing the accusation for what it was. Jason moved closer behind him, ready to intervene if needed. The figure behind Tim closed in as well, resting a careful hand on the boy's back. The man before them only seemed to tense up at this, lurching forward, only for the way to be blocked.

"Oh hey, Birdy. Looks like you have some interesting company here, mind introducing me?" Nightwing casually strolled over to Robin, draping his arm across smaller shoulders and leading him away, smiling at the assassin, eyes cutting to Batman in a challenge, "I'm sure the Bat won't mind seeing himself out so I can catch up with my baby brothers."

The man tensed up, taking in their figures, three of which he trained himself, another that received the same, if not more training than him. Then glancing up to the four dark figures watching from further up, ready to descend at a moment's notice. Looking back to his eldest, his scowl deepened, but he nodded and took off from the group.

Jason couldn't help but wonder if it were due to the likelihood of his loss or just not thinking Tim worth the effort. As much as the latter pissed him off, he couldn't help but be glad for the lack of a fight. He's not sure how long he could hold off the pit madness had it come to blows.

As soon as the Bat fell out of range, Robin looked up towards Nightwing, "You're here as well?"

"Oracle sent me in. I think we have some catching up to do," he smiled at the boy, then looked up towards Jason as though to include him in his words.

Marinette chose this moment to speak up from under her guise, "Oh hey, Richard. Fancy seeing you here."

#jasonette #maribat #ml x dc #WFTW #part 21 #two chapters left #has it really been two and a half months since i started this?#woah

338 notes · View notes

bluebirdwrites · 4 years

Text

j stands for joker; batfam

warnings; language, violence, injury, non-consensual touching (nothing extreme), descriptions of death.

author’s note; so,, this is based off of Arkham knight slightly where jason gets branded by the joker. except!!! in this universe, the normal thing where jason died happened, and it’s batsis that this happens to during an unexpected situation.. if that makes sense? hopefully this isn’t too sucky :’) fem!reader too, btw (: here’s my dc masterlist in case you wanna, you know, check it out! requests the opennnn ;)

summary; with time, you hope that Joker will burn. that he will be marked by death the way that he has branded your skin.

Being held up in the bank with your brother on the way to get lunch is not how you expected the day to go. Not to mention, being Wayne kids had massive targets immediately on your backs in the case of bank robbers.

If only they knew Bruce Wayne was Batman.

“Fuck’s sake,” He drags a hand down his face, palming at his cheeks looking rather like a spoilt child with an angry pout on his face at a time like this. “Of all the times that I don’t carry my guns. This shit happens.”

You glare at him over your shoulder, making sure to thump him up the side of the head watching as the white strands mix with black, “Not the time when we’ll probably be the ones offered up as rich people bait Jason.”

It’s not the people that turn you in surprisingly enough, it turns out to be the white streak of hair that flops over your brother’s forehead that gives him away as the a Wayne boy, and in turn you as a Wayne girl.

The thugs parade around you both in a circle making sure to taunt you both, roughly shoving your brother to the floor even as he glares up with such a ferocity you know he’s itching to lose it. So, stupidly- bravely maybe, you step in, completely ignoring the glare that is now focused on you.

“Well aren’t you boys just precious? Look,” you let out a whistle and press the emergency button on your necklace that would alert the whole family. “How about you take your hands off of my brother and shove them up your ass so I don’t have to do it for you.” It is said lightly, even as Jason continues to give you a look of exasperation that says to shut up, it’s too late now.

The men laugh as the leader- seemingly a member of Jokers crew by the white clown makeup he wears- steps toward you and lifts your chin with a gun. “Listen rich-bitch, I don’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours,” the gun stays put as the man grabs your waist and brings you towards him by the hips. “That and I always like a woman with a mouth. I think I’ll take you with me sweetheart. Make everyone else leave, let’s keep the girl here for when the boss arrives.”

You can see three guys grab Jason and struggle to hold him as the guy turns you so your back is to his chest. “Everyone out,” the guy rubs the gun in circles on your temple and cocks it as you give a fuming Jason a hard look telling him to go. “Or her brains paint the wall a nice shade of red.”

Everyone leaves, and you’re sure your family will be here soon as the guy feels you up. You growl low in your throat and drive your elbow backwards as his hand grazes over your ass.

“Touchy, touchy,” the guy ties you up on a chair in the bank ripping your shirt from your torso. The gun is still pointed to your temple and your impatience grows. “The boss is here rich-bitch, and he’s going to have some fun with you.”

The clown is pasty white and scarred as always. Still wearing a purple suit and an orange plaid dress shirt. Still a psycho with green hair and an unflinching smile; this is your first time meeting him in civilian clothes.

“Well, well, well. Whatever do we have here? You wouldn’t happen to be Miss Wayne would you? My, my, my,” the Clown’s cackles bounce off of the walls as he claps his hands in glee. “Now you’re all mine, mine, mine, to do with as I please. Can’t harm that pretty face can I? I’ll have to get creative.”

He turns to the thug in the room, gun still hesitantly trained on you. The clown smiles, mouth gleaming yellow and bared as he purrs approaching his henchman holding out his hand expectant. “Such a good boy, give me the gun,” the goon is wary as he gives Joker the gun. “Time for the fun, pull my finger.”

The sound of the bullet ripping though the man’s skull is wet, spraying blood and brain matter from the impact of the bullet. The henchmen’s eyes are glazed as his body dully falls to the floor and pools with red. The clown cackles and jumps with glee, clicking his heels and shimmying around the fallen body.

Soon after, Joker brings forth a battery and generator that one would use on a car from a storage closet. He unhurriedly connects a wire to each arm and each leg and steps back chittering to himself as you wonder what in the hell is taking your family so long.

“Now pet, I’m not going to kill you! Of course not!,” his voice lowers an octave as the first circuit of electricity goes through you with the press of a button in his palm causing a loud groan to escape you and buzzing noises to fill your ears. “I’m just going to hurt you. Really, really, bad.”

A mere few minutes later, he stops the surges of electricity, seemingly frazzled as he approaches you with a metal rod and an unfaltering grin and twitching, deranged eyes. You begin to struggle, as it looks akin to that of a branding iron with its red hot end at one end of the metal.

“It seems that we’ve run out of play time dear, I’ll leave you something to remember me by until our next play-date since we’ve had so much fun together.” The clown lifts the iron poker for you to see, red hot with the letter ‘J’ held close to the side of your neck.

You’re straining in your chair as you think you can feel the buzz of your necklace on your collarbones, alerting you that they are coming. They’ll be here soon is all you can think as you try and stall.

“Go to hell you” it is said, and it is said with venom lacing your voice. It makes the clown all the more eager as he pushes the brand into the side of your neck. The pain is searing and it makes your toes curl as a scream rips through your throat as you become branded with him. His name on your body forever.

He soon stands back and claps his hands as he reheats the brand placing the mark multiple more times against your bare torso, becoming increasingly gleeful as you scream and cry. “You’re mine now girlie, got me all over you.”

The sound of glass raining from above like a hurricane is reassuring as the pain throbs and your body is searing and sizzling where his brand has been. The clown stands behind you, lifting your head by your hair. He’s leaning over your shoulder as he shows you off like a sick prize to your family in costume.

“Look at how pretty she looks all marked up,” he yanks your head to the side showing one of his brands and slides his hands up and down your torso where the rest of the brands lie. “Now she’s all mine, mine, mine. I had fun with her today, we’ll have to do it again sometime! Tell her daddy I say ‘Hi’!”

Tears are in your eyes as you look at the members of your family currently in front of you. Varying levels of anger are displayed, as they all twitch and glare looking ready to rip the clown behind you to shreds. Joker leans down to rest his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your neck and giggle as the lights go out and he is gone. Just like that becoming a ghost.

There is a beat of silence where your head rolls harshly to the side as you stare blankly with silent tears. There is a beat of silence as they realise that Joker is gone and of the pain that you are in and the state of your body. The beat of silence is the calm before the storm. In that beat of silence you are scared, utterly terrified. Not of the clown but of what he has done to you.

You don’t move and neither do they, too paralysed and too numb and in that moment you just want your family. The tears come faster, they come in fat salty rivets that cover your cheeks and drip off your jaw. The panic and the pain sets in next, overwhelmingly so, and it crushes you.

Your dad is there first, not as Batman but as Bruce Wayne- he must have come through the front entrance judging by the wide open door and police escort- as he reaches you, his daughter. The restraints are gone as you fall forward into him as he allows himself to run his hands through your hair and kiss the crown of your head.

“Dad,” you cling to your father and you are aware as he picks you up and wraps you in his suit jacket being careful of the brands that cover your torso. “Can we go home?”

Your brothers are in costume you realise, as they vanish in quick succession, one after the other. When you get outside, there is press and police and sirens. There are flashing cameras and yelling. The police force a barricade around yourself and your father make press leave.

The next thing you remember you’re in an ambulance and there are four people rushing towards you and your dad. Damian reaches you first, where an out of character hug happens as he leaps on you minding the bandages on your torso. He has his head resting on your shoulder and all you can think is, ‘I’m glad it was me and not anyone else.’

“I’ll kill him,” it’s said as a snarl and you know he means it. There’s no playing around with what he’s saying, with the sincerity of it. “He hurt you. Branded you, and I know you are not okay before you even say it. I was worried and I am glad that you’re okay.”

With glassy green eyes, he gently lets go of you standing slightly to the side and then Dick’s there, half picking you up and still being careful with you. But you can feel the anger bubbling in the trembling of his arms and the ticking of his jaw, the familiarity of the dangerous temper hiding under the surface. You can see the fear too, within the tears ready to drip down his cheeks and the shaky breaths he takes.

“Had us worried there pretty bird,” and he’s letting you sit back down fully and kissing your temple. “Don’t taunt the guys holding you hostage again please. Don’t take after Jason. Cass, Babs and Kate are going after Joker at the moment.”

He now stands to the side with his jaw locked talking to Damian. And Tim’s looking at you with tired, worried eyes as he takes large steps forward to hug you. He’s hugging you as tight as he can; so tight you can feel the racing and stuttering of his heart in his chest. He seems beyond relieved that you’re okay.

He’s pulling back to look you in the eye. “When I saw you before, I-,” he’s now gripping your shoulders forcing your eyes to meet the smouldering steely blue of his own, that show the distress within them. “I thought he was going to kill you y’know? I thought that- well, I’ll tell you later. Just know that I’m glad you’re safe pretty bird.”

As Tim joins your other brothers, it is only Jason with you now. You can see it in his eyes- he’s tearing himself to bits. He looks like he’s been crying, his face is puffy and his cheeks and nose are flushed pink. He strides towards you until he’s standing so close he’s towering over you wringing his hands looking like a kicked puppy.

“Why did you talk back to that thug in there? I had it under control! You were hurt by him, it should’ve been me! Why the fuck? I will kill that son of-“ he’s ranting and running his hands through his hair, mussing it up beyond belief. His eyes are blue green and darkening with his anger, and his lip is beginning to wobble the way it always does before he either explodes or is about to cry.

And you’re the one pulling him to you this time, tired arms around broad shoulders. You’re the one making him cling to you as he hugs you as tight and as tenderly as he can while his eyes water and he’s shaking like a leaf. Only when he’s ready, he’s pulling back and silently asking to look at the brand on your neck.

When he sees it, he looks green and he gags. Not because the wound is that bad, but because of what it stands for. Because of who had branded you, of the promise Joker made, of the fact you both knew Joker would be back for you.

The ‘J’ covers the entire column of the left side of your throat, it looks red and angry and painful. Jason is tentative as he runs a finger over it and you look each other in the eye. It burns. And with time, you both hope that Joker will burn too.

291 notes · View notes

teentitanimals · 4 years

Text

Batfamily Switched AU

Not sure what to call this AU, but basically, what if the Core Kids (Dick, Babs, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Damian) switched places with the New Kids? As in, the New Kids are the ones Bruce adopted, Bruce met first? Anyway, I wrote this at 3am

How the New Kids become the Core Kids

Harper and Cullen Row are the first kids. Harper is age 14 while Cullen is 8. Batman had saved them from getting gaybashed and beat up. Instead of returning them home, Bruce's heart is moved by seeing Harper cry her eyes out about not wanting to go back to her abusive dad, and then of Cullen crying about missing their dead mom. So, he finds enough evidence to put their dad in jail, and then Bruce Wayne adopts them. Harper ends up becoming Bluebird, figuring out on her own that Bruce is Batman.

Duke is Harper's Babs. An incident that happened during the day left his parents Jokerized, and his cousin Jay got custody of him. Duke became the Signal and started working during the daytime due to what happened to his parents. Batman and Bluebird would eventually confront him and officially let him be a member of the team. Duke would be age 14 when he becomes the Signal, and Harper is 16.

Henry Jr. and Claire come next. They were saved by Batman when they were younger, and had gained superpowers that drained their life force when used. They called themselves Gotham Guy and Gotham Girl, and Henry killed himself when he overused their powers after death. Claire, left broken and alone, was adopted by Bruce at age 14.

Carrie is Catgirl. Not Robin or Batgirl, as those mantles don't exist. She's more OOC in this universe. She's spiteful due to her parents lack of attention towards her and seeks to gain that attention by becoming a thief under the name Catgirl, inspired by Catwoman who does slightly take her under her wing, but encourages her to go home and stay safe. After she nearly dies and gets saved by Batman, she realizes she's on the wrong side of the fight. She starts fighting for good, and when Batman hears about her home life, he gathers enough evidence to jail her parents for child negligence, and Bruce Wayne adopts her. Carrie is age 12 when she first starts, and when Harper and Duke are 18 and 16.

Lance Bruner is the Jason Todd of this au. Canonically, he died and stayed dead. Here, he gets ressurected. He got adopted by Bruce due to the agreement between their two now dead fathers. Harper was 19, Duke 17, Claire 15, Carrie and Cullen are 13. Lance was adopted at age 14. In this au, Cullen has been managing the comms under the codename Oracle, and Lance, having found out the big secret, managed to get a voice changer and pretended to be Cullen on the comms. He thought Bruce didn't care about him, and that he never payed attention to him due to his other "siblings". He purposely put the Batfamily in danger, before realizing what he had done. He rushed out to save Batman, sacrificing himself on the process. He dies at age 14, nearly 15.

Helena Wayne crosses over from her world (Earth-2), but she's much younger, only 12. Her world was war torn, and her mother had used a Boom Toom to have Helena escape. Helena discovers and joins the Batfamily when Harper is pushed 20. Wanting to connect with her mother more, she asks Carrie if she can be the next Catgirl, and Carrie agrees, allowing Helena to become Catgirl while Carrie took on the new name of Huntress.

Next, Alina Wayne enters the picture. Her mother, Mariah Shelley, confronts Bruce about Alina being his. The canonical events happen where Mariah gets hit and put in a coma by the Joker, Joker kidnaps Alina, Batman rescues her, and she gets adopted by Bruce at age 9. Alina at age 11 wants to become a superhero, and Harper passes on the Bluebird mantle to her, becoming Nightwing, the name inspired by Superman's stories. Cullen becomes her Flamebird, leaving behind his days as Oracle.

When Lance is 16, he gets ressurected and then trained by the League of Assassins until he is 18. By then, Harper is 23, Duke is 21, Claire is 19, Carrie and Cullen are 17, Helena is 16, and Alina is 12. He takes on the name Red Hood and basically follows the same path Jason did. He feels as though his sacrifice was for nothing- Batman did nothing to get revenge for him, and he just replaced him with new kids, two biological daughters, anyway.

Run down of current positions: Harper is Nightwing (23), Duke is the Signal (21), Claire is Gotham Girl (19), Lance is Red Hood (18), Carrie is Huntress (17), Cullen is Flamebird (17), Helena is Catgirl (16), and Alina is Bluebird (12).

Now onto how the Core Kids become the New Kids

Dick comes in three years before Alina gets adopted. His parents are killed in the same manner, except there is no Bruce Wayne watching, although there still is a Tim Drake watching. He gets adopted by circus family that remains in Gotham. He gets inspired by the Batfamily and decides to strike out as Robin, age 10 (Harper is 20). Batman starts training him alongside Alina, and the two become good friends. The Robin mantle functions a little differently in this universe.

Barbara comes next. She comes in when Dick is 11 and she is 13. She wants to help fight crime, but she starts fighting in the daytime like Duke, just as Batgirl. She sort of becomes his sidekick, in a way.

When Dick is 15, Jason is 11 and living on the streets. Robin discovers him when he tries to steal his R-Cycle's tires. Dick gets Jason to go into the system in hopes to get him in a good family, but then they discover that this orphanage is actually a human trafficking ring. They both defeat it, and before Batman can even think to adopt Jason, Dick convinces his family to do so. Jason eventually dubs himself Red Robin, partner to Dick, who changes his alias to Blue Robin.

Enter Tim, who is still out stalking all of the Batfamily. He realizes that Dick is Blue Robin and deduces that Jason is Red Robin after that. When Dick is 17 and Jason is 13, Tim is 11. He chases down Dick and Jason and asks to join their "Robin group". Since We Are Robin does not exist in this universe, this is basically it's equal, in a way. Tim has to convince them by then deducing the rest of the Batfamily's identities, but they eventually allow him aboard as Yellow Robin. He functions more as an Oracle at first since Dick and Jason don't let him out until he has proper training.

Cassandra was raised by her father the same way as canon, and she ran away same way as canon. She pops in just around the same time as Tim, and she does it by saving Commissioner Gordon's life when she's 13. Barbara, age 18 at this point, is impressed, and takes her in legally as a ward (not adopted sadly due to the 5 year gal- they're more like sisters here). Cass works best at night, but since she is trained by Babs, she does operate during the daytime as well. Babs gives her the Batgirl mantle while she becomes Black Bat.

Also around the same time, Stephanie, age 12, becomes Spoiler for the same reasons as canon. She runs into the Robins more frequently than the Batfamily and therefore becomes closer to them. After her mother is killed, Dick gets his family to adopt her and she decides to become Purple Robin.

After her adoption, Tim's father is killed (his mother was killed awhile ago), and Dick's family adopts him.

All is well and easy going, until we enter Damian Wayne. Harper is 30 and Dick is 20. Damian is given to his father at age 10, but unfortunately, Batman is 'killed', and Harper takes up the mantle of Batman. Harper offers for Damian to stay with the family, and even briefly gives him the Bluebird title with Alina's permission, but he's too… well, Damian, and Harper is not Dick in this universe even if she's Nightwing. Damian runs away, but is hesitant to return to the League of Assassins. Luck would have it, the Robins find him. With a lot of push and shove, Dick eventually legally makes Damian his ward, giving him a reason to stay in Gotham since he was never made public as Bruce's child, and never adopted (although there was paperwork).

By the time Bruce comes back 'from the dead', Damian has made a name for himself as the Green Robin, and he doesn't want to leave his ragtag group of… siblings? Uncles and aunts? Family. Not sure exactly what they are, but they're family. Since Helena and Alina exist as Bruce's bio-kids already, Damian's "I am the One True Heir!" doesn't work, and his arrogance is stunted because of that. He found a place in the Robins where he never did in the Manor. So, Dick legally adopts him and he changes his name to Damian Grayson.

Eventually, the public would know Damian is Bruce's blood son, but the cover story would be that he was put in an orphanage and adopted by Dick. Damian eventually creates a relationship with his father. Other events that happen is Claire stops being Gotham Girl and becomes Oracle, as she realized being out on the field made her more likely to use her powers instinctively.

The final positions: Harper is Nightwing (31), Duke is the Signal (29), Claire is Oracle (27), Lance is Red Hood (26), Carrie is Huntress (25), Cullen is Flamebird (25), Helena is Catgirl (24), Barbara is Black Bat (23), Dick is Blue Robin (21), Alina is Bluebird (20), Cass is Batgirl (17), Jason is Red Robin (17), Steph is Purple Robin (16), Tim is Yellow Robin (15), and Damian is Green Robin (11).

Legally adopted by Bruce: Harper, Claire, Lance, Carrie, Cullen, Helena and Alina.

#batfam #batfamily #batman #damian wayne #dick grayson #batman and robin #jason todd #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #tim drake #batfamily headcanons #batfamily au #batfam au #batfam memes #batfamily switched au

42 notes · View notes

zayray030 · 4 years

Text

Why can't you understand? I didn't want this.

Summary: Bruce wanted to cry. Or die. Whichever came first really. He was just so tired. Why couldn't anyone understand that he didn't want his kids to have this life? Why couldn't his own kids understand that?

Bruce wanted to cry. Or die. Whichever came first really because he really wanted to get out of the cave.

The reason why he didn't want to be in the cave was because of his kids.

Now, he loves his kids. He never wants anything bad to happen. He never wants to see them cry or get hurt. He just wants to see them happy and living happy normal lives. And if he actually had a say in it, then they would have normal lives. But they were all dumbasses. Lovable dumbasses, but dumbasses non the less.

Currently they were all ganging up on him for taking them into this life.

It had all started when Bruce was typing in the report for the night. He had the costume off and the place was silent. Normally meaning that it was going to be interrupted one way or another and one of his kids will storm away from him or in tears and shouting at him. Well he got the first one right, just not the last one. He would be the one in tears shouting at them.

“Hey, Bruce!” exclaimed his oldest son as he walked into the cave, while Barbara wheeled along with him she gave him a small smile before going back talking to Dick.

Bruce just gave a small nod of acknowledgement and continued typing on the batcomputer. Soon, all the other others began joining in and they were all huddled around Barbara and Dick. Normally such behaviour would have worried Bruce, considering the fact that a fight would have broken out now, but he didn't pay attention to it. He really needed to finish his report to get some rest for tomorrow.

How naive could he be to hope it would be that simple?

“Hey Bruce? I have a question.” said Tim as he walked over to him, the others following suit behind him, their faces holding anything but innocence.

“I'm sure it can wait, Tim. I have to finish this report and-” started to say Bruce before he was cut off by Jason.

“Nah it can't wait, actually old man.” snapped his second oldest son as he crossed his arms and glared at Bruce. So it was going to be one of those nights. Bruce really didn't want to get onto a fight with his son, especially after they've been doing so well.

“I just need to finish this report. I'm sure he can ask one of you.” replied Bruce, still focusing his attention on the screen and trying to remain calm. However, it was proving harder than he thought. Maybe he should have listened to Alfred when he said to go and sleep earlier.

“He can't exactly ask us on why you insist on having child soldiers.” Dick replied, slightly peaceful. He was clearly trying to be the meditator while also making it obvious on whose side he was on. However Bruce could really care less right now. He was just trying to stop himself from crying as the question was asked again.

Why can't they see he didn't want this life for any of them? Why can't they understand it wasn't completely his fault?

“Grayson. Say it nicer.” snapped Damian. Even his own son thought he had child soldiers. He would have at least thought he would be on his side, but no such luck.

Bruce fully turned from the computer, his report half finished. He would continue it later when everyone storms out after he accidentally says something emotionally constipated.

“We are not going to have this conversation right-” tried to say Bruce but he was cut off again, this time by Barbara. She looked slightly guilty by what she was going to say, but it was also obvious that she had wanted to say it for a long time.

“I'm sorry Bruce, but we need to have this conversation right now. It's not safe for you to put a child in a costume and force them to go out and save Gotham. It's not sane either.” she added. That little…

“I-” he tried to say something, anything, to defend himself, but he was interrupted yet again. This time by Cassandra. Even her? She thought he would willingly put children in harm's way? His heart started breaking even more.

“I love dad, but dad hurt others.” she said with the limited words she had learnt. Bruce had to hold back a sob at the fact his daughter said she loved him but had yet again thought that he would harm a child.

“If you let-” tried to explain Bruce. He just wanted to explain that he hadn't wanted all of them to go through this shit. He had wanted them to stay happy and love others as much as he loved them. Why couldn't they see that?

“Let you what? Kill another child in your regime. It's bad enough it happened to me, but it also happened to others because you forced them into this shit show.” snarled Jason, looking at Bruce like he was worse that the scum that he fought nightly. Bruce felt his heart crack even more at the look but he kept his face stoic.

“Would you ju-” tried Bruce again, his temper rising. But instead of steam wanting to come out, it was tears. However he was interrupted by Duke. Why did they have to turn Duke? Duke and him were finally connecting. He may never be able to replace his parents, but he could at least be a good guardian.

“Sorry boss, but why? Like yeah, I get it's hard to navigate life at night, but they were just kids.” he asked, looking at him in disappointment. Bruce felt his heart cracking even further but he just continued to remain stoic.

“Can I just-” he tried to snap but Stephanie cut him off. Poor, sweet Stephanie. The one who had the most horrible relationship with him when she was Robin.

“No, you don't get to be pissed with us when it's your fault for starting this fuckery.” snapped Stephanie. Bruce wanted to cry or hit something, say it wasn't his fault, but he just took it. That's at least until Dick’s comment.

“I mean, you had to weaponize my childhood to start this ridiculous thing-” but Bruce cut him off. If they where going to demand for answers then they would fucking receive.

“Excuse me!?!” he snapped at his oldest,causing a look of surprise to be etched on his face. “I didn't even allow you to go out at night.” when it looked like he was going to get interrupted, he just raised his voice. “You were the dumbass to put on a bright red tunic, green panties and a neon yellow cape on. You decided to go out there and try to find your parents killer and kill him. You decided, without any sort of training, to go out there and find a mob boss, who has more experience than you. I told you multiple times not to. However you wouldn't fucking listen so I decided to make sure you didn't die in the fucking process!!” he yelled at Dick, who just stood there, shocked and if he looked just slightly longer he would have noticed the guilt, but he was already moving on to Barbara.

“You decided after solving one fucking mystery at a fucking Halloween party, while dressed in a ridiculous costume, that you would start fighting crime. You continued trying to fight crime, even after I told you not to. You continued even after I threatened to tell your father. I just fucking decide to make sure that you didn't die, giving the commissioner major heartbreak, so be fucking grateful.” be snarled at Barbara. The normally quick witted woman had nothing to say, just stared at Bruce guiltily. He could barely give a shit as he turned to Jason.

“You decided to steal the tires of the fucking batmobile when you saw it, instead of turning around and going somewhere else. You decided to hit me with a tire iron, instead of just giving me my fucking tires back.” he practically screamed at Jason. Jason was looking at Bruce in horror and that's when he realised that tears were running down his face. Fuck, he hadn't even felt it. “I tried teaching you how to put your size to your advantage by using speed, but you fucking insisted just to punch the villains.”

He then turned to Tim, on a roll now. “I told you to fucking go home! I told you not go out there on the streets of Gotham and fight crime. But NO!! You had to fucking take pictures of me and insist that you be my partner even though you had a good life going for you. You had no fucking training prior and since you were obviously not going to fucking listen to me, I decided that the next best thing was to fucking teach you how to defend yourself.” he screamed at Tim. The coffee addict had the sense to look down guilty and look ashamed of himself. But he didn't care. They asked and he would fucking deliver.

“You decided to instead of turning your father to cops, when finding out he was a supervillian, to dress up in a purple costume and fucking fight crime, even after I told you to fucking go home. Even after I was a dick to you, you decided to stay and not take a fucking hint!” shouted Bruce at Stephanie as he turned to her, not caring at the fact that he was crying openly now. Stephanie just stared at him, horror growing in her eyes.

“I told you not to go to Shiva, but you didn't listen to me! I told you not to insert yourself into dangerous situations but you fucking decided to ignore me and go out to Hong Kong!” he yelled at Cassandra. He didn't bother lowering his voice. He was upset and he wanted his mother telling him that he was doing good and he wanted his dad telling him that he'll protect him.

Cass looked at him with wide eyes but Bruce didn't have it in him to care. He just wanted to go to sleep. He quickly turned to his blood son and softened just the tiniest bits.

“I benched you multiple times after I found out your mother had put a hit on you but you decided to change your name to Red Bird and continue to fight crime! Even after I benched you multiple times and explained to you the dangers of going out there. I told you to stay in the cave and away from the evil zombies invading Gotham but you didn't fucking listen! And that's not even scratching the surface!” he yelled at his son. Damian wasn't crying, but he was frowning and looking mighty guilty but Bruce didn't care. He wanted his own dad and he wanted him now.

“You decided to challenge the riddler when you were barely even in the double digits!” he snapped, turning to the newest member of the family and Duke had the sense to look ashamed of himself as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You continued to fight crime, even after I told you to leave it to the professionals and not to get involved with his shit! But you wouldn't listen, so I had to turn you into a professional!”

“I may not have been the best fucking parent out there, but I damn well tried to make sure you lot didn't die! Was I the best at it? No! But I fucking tried to stop you! So don't you fucking dare say I put you in that costume willingly!” he finally screamed. “I just wanted to be a normal dad! I just wanted to give you guys the experience I never had! I tried my hardest to be a good dad to you all, like my parents were to me.”

Slowly he was trailing off, mostly just half sobs and barely even standing, already on the floor, face in his hands as he cried.

Suddenly he felt small arms wrap around him and he didn't have to be the World's Greatest Detective to know it was Damian.

“I apologise to have caused you such great distress, father.” mumbled Damian into his chest. Bruce didn't care, he just cried into his son's hair.

Slowly, other arms wrapped around his shaking figure and there were a multitude of sorrys coming, but he couldn't pinpoint who said what, he was just so, so, so tired.

Later on he woke up on his bed, but he felt a small weight on his chest. Looking down, he saw Damian and when he looked around he saw the rest of his children. Even Barbara was on the bed.

Looking around, he saw Alfred walking in and suddenly everything that had happened last night hit him like a train. Alfred just looked at him in sadness and handed him a cookie.

“I see you have decided to join the land of the living, Master Bruce.” said Alfred, the butler not breaking out of his stoic tone and the only way to know that he was actually worried was if you knew him personally.

He just hummed slightly. “Shit, Alfred I had a meeting and-” Bruce began as he tried to discreetly move Damian, however the child was not budging whatsoever.

“Don't worry, Master Bruce. Everything has been taken care of already. You have no work to do for a week and the children have decided, for their own punishment, to take care of everything for you.” replied Alfred already pushing the man down. Bruce just grumbled and ate his cookie.

“What am I supposed to say Alfred? Nothing I say is going to take back how awf-” began Bruce as sudden guilt began to consume him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Master Bruce. If anything, the children and I have to give our apologies for berating you for so long.” Alfred said, cutting him off. Alfred had a slightly guilty look at the confession and Bruce wanted to soothe him but he was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

“Sleep some more, Master Bruce. I will inform you if you need to worry about anything.” said Alfred. The old butler walked out but cast one last mournful look behind his back.

“He's right you know.” said a muted voice to his right. Bruce turned around and his eyes caught Jason's blue green eyes, which were swimming with guilt.

Bruce didn't say anything, just draped an arm around Jason and brought him closer to him. He felt his jumper wetten a bit but he didn't care. He just let his son cry on his shoulder. Soon all of his other siblings started to wake up and when they all turned to look at Bruce, he could see the immense guilt in their faces.

There were a lot of sorrys going around and when finally he heard Damian say sorry he spoke.

“We all said hurtful things last night. And it might take a while for us all to get back to where we were, but I forgive you all.”said Bruce. He could still feel their guilt but they'd deal with it. Like a family this time.

“Get some sleep old man.” Dick finally said.

“Yeah! I've already taken care of WE.” said Tim.

“Just get some sleep Bruce.” said Stephanie.

"Sleep, father." said his son nuzzling into him.

Soon he was lulled by his children's quiet voices and his world was consumed in darkness

48 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 4 years

Text

I know the usual go-to boy names for Dick having a son tend to be some variation of Tommy, John or Jake, after either Dick’s father, Bruce’s or Jake from that future timeline he had a son in after Ma’ri.

I’m however reeeeeally attached to the idea of Dick naming a son after his paternal grandfather, whatever name you go with for him. For me, its Daniel, though I have NO idea where that came from and I could have sworn it was canon but apparently its something I made up which is weird because usually I have a reason for names I make up and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I would have deliberately picked Daniel specifically, if I didn’t already think for sure that was his name? But whatever, that’s just a weird me thing that’s been bugging me forever.

ANYWAY.

Yeah, I could see Dick naming a child after his grandfather, Cobb’s son that he gave to Haly’s Circus to be raised....the direct ancestor of Dick’s who in his perception was the true patriarch of Dick’s first family....the Grayson trapeze artist lineage.

I actually have a lot of headcanons about Cobb’s son as part of the completely gratuitous expansive backstory I have for Dick’s first family and their history in the circus over the past century, that hopefully will make it into some fic or another one of these days, lol....but in a nutshell, I’ve always been drawn to the fact that Cobb handed his son over to Haly’s ancestor while describing him as the Gray Son, someone destined to live between the opposite extremes of Gotham’s starkly differentiated classes or whatever he was babbling on about, I fell asleep, shut up, Cobb, nobody cares....

But point being, he didn’t actually ever claim that the baby’s last name was Grayson. So I like to headcanon that everybody in the circus as that boy grew up there just called him Gray Son or the Gray Son, and he embraced that and willfully made it his last name....and that this directly ties into him becoming a trapeze artist and the bright colors that became the Grayson family legacy.

Because imagine an unclaimed orphan boy being raised in a circus a hundred years ago with nothing but mysterious rumors about where he came from, who his parents were, and maybe some quietly muttered rumors here and there about some mysterious destiny he had that tied into the title Gray Son.

Imagine being a boy who likely spent most of his childhood invisible....an eagerly helpful pair of hands trying to make himself useful, trying to make himself seen, as eyes continually skittered away from him because the tidbits about his past and origins made people nervous and wary.

Imagine that boy, who had no parents inducting him into a legacy of acrobatics himself, who had to willfully and with purpose decide himself to learn how to fly, maybe even largely to teach himself how to fly....practicing in secret and with every acrobat or passing troupe willing to teach him little tricks of the trade...

And then imagine when that boy becomes a man and finally makes his debut as a talented trapeze artist himself, takes center stage, all eyes on him....because he ensures that. He works to draw all eyes to him, to keep all eyes on him....

To never be lost in shades of black and white or fade away into some lackluster gray.

Because this man rejects any destiny he’s supposed to have, any destiny that required he grow up alone and unloved. If no one wanted to claim him as theirs before now, then no one gets to lay any sort of claim to him ever.

And he broadcasts that to the world, via his stage, in every way imaginable...

With even his clothes, his costumes always being brilliant colors, the brightest hues of red, yellow and green...eye catching, eye searing, forever popping against the background, whatever that may be....

The complete antithesis of everything gray.

Because that may be the only name he has any tie to, the only piece of his mysterious past he has to carry with him, like it or not...

But he will not be defined by it. He defies the very idea.

And he makes sure everyone knows that as he soars above crowds, drawing all eyes to him, the highest point in everyone’s vision, making them look up, forcing them to see him, to acknowledge him, a master of the sky no matter that he and his descendants’ ‘true destiny’ was to be as servants hidden away in secret labyrinths beneath the earth....

And always, always, always the brightest thing in sight.

Never to be lost and muted in shades of gray.

I think this headcanon of Dick’s grandfather, who I view as the one Dick would truly see as the true originator of the Grayson family line, not Cobb himself, never Cobb...

I think someone like this, Dick would view himself as having a lot in common with.

Because after all, wasn’t that as much Dick’s motivation when he became Robin?

Not just to fight crime by Batman’s side....but to be seen while doing it. To stand out, even as Batman sticks to the shadows. To never be dismissed or banished and locked away in some juvie center or orphanage like the people who looked down on him and his circus family tried to do. Never to be erased or forgotten or overlooked.

Soaring above Gotham in colors that drew attention, demanded attention. Recognition. Acknowledgment.

Forever declaring:

I am still here. My family is still here. Our legacy still matters....no matter how many people tried how many times to stamp it out or make it otherwise.

They said Dick wasn’t allowed to leave Gotham, that the circus was no place for him, inferring that how he’d been raised, how he’d been HAPPY was wrong and somehow more objectionable than the way Gotham treated him. They tried to clip his wings and force him to remain on the ground, take away what made him special, what made him not the Gray Son, but a Flying Grayson.

And Robin was Dick’s way of saying: “Well here I am! Still flying, still free, still making everyone crane their necks and look UP to see me, unable to miss me cuz I’m the brightest speck of light in Gotham’s night sky.”

Its always been significant to me that Dick so often insists that he’s Batman’s PARTNER as Robin, rather than sidekick. And yeah, that’s easy to look at and think oh that’s so cute, in the sense of kids trying to put themselves on the same level as an adult counterpart....

But I think it takes on an entirely different connotation when you consider that Bruce and Dick’s approaches to vigilantism, the specific mantles and methodologies they created for THEMSELVES....were deliberately distinct and never aiming to be interchangeable or cut from the same cloth.

Dick always considered himself Bruce’s partner, because he didn’t see himself as being Robin to assist Bruce with Batman’s mission....because Dick had his own mission. Batman and Robin were each their distinct ways of honoring their parents and fighting on in their name....its just those took different forms for them. Bruce ultimately saw his mission as honoring his parents by fighting to ensure what happened to them didn’t happen to any other family so long as he stood a chance of preventing it. Dick, on the other hand, I think ultimately saw HIS mission as honoring his parents by fighting to keep their memory alive, their spirit, in a city that seemed to have no place for that. By bringing light and laughter to the shadows of Gotham, and hope for the future.

With Robin more naturally suited to stopping to lend a helping hand to the Gothammite they just rescued while Batman fought off the last of their attackers. The younger hero practically carrying his own spotlight with him as he shone it on everyone they helped, as a promise that nobody was going to be forgotten or overlooked or left to slip through the cracks on his watch, even as Batman used the shadows to overwhelm and intimidate and drive off the dangers threatening those they saved.

Two distinctly different, but extremely complementary pursuits, personal missions. Neither mission actually in service to the other, but both enabling both at the same time.

And bringing it back around to Dick’s grandfather, the baby Cobb handed off to be raised in the circus and pave the way for future generations of Gray Sons to be mined as future Talons whenever the Court decided they needed them......

Think of the poignancy inherent in the fact that his entire EXISTENCE was intended to be nothing more than a bloodline of talented athletes for the Court to use.....and he basically said well fuck THAT nonsense, and without even knowing what his supposed ‘destiny’ and that of his descendants’ was supposed to be.....he took his existence and accidentally sculpted it into the very antithesis of everything they meant the Gray Son to be. Because all he needed to know is nobody but him was going to get to define him, decide what his future was, and his past was only as relevant as he decided to let it be.

(Remind you of anyone?)

And then think of how completely and firmly OPPOSITE the Court’s intentions for Dick were....to his personal crusade as Robin.

And the dramatic irony in how Dick has so often been instrumental to thwarting the Court’s plans and bringing them down....by doing nothing more than adhering to the same path he’s walked ever since his first days as Robin.

The path he chose to honor and keep with him what he could of his family....his parents before him....and theirs before them.

I maintain that Cobb never actually had a prayer of getting his great-grandson to follow in his footsteps.....

Because Dick had already set out to emulate his grandfather’s path instead, before he was even ten.

*Shrugs* Anyway, just random headcanons I have about Dick’s family, but yeah, I really like the idea of Dick naming one of his kids after his paternal grandfather at some point, because I think for Dick that would be an extremely auspicious and symbolic name....a tie to the family history Dick welcomes and claims as his own.....and an homage to the ancestor who first willfully forged a path for himself that turned out to be the complete opposite of what the Gray Son’s destiny supposedly was always meant to be....and exactly what Dick, his descendant, needed to fight off his ‘fate’ when it came calling for him, and to stay in the spotlight of his parents and grandparents no matter how much his great-grandfather tried to drag him into the dark.

116 notes · View notes

eastonia-blog · 5 years

Text

Let's Chat about these Reversed Aged!Robins AUs

So recently I replied to @gentlemenpaws generalask!post which said…

And I thought I would go a little into my reply to him. Because and hear me out.

I can never take reversed ages Robin headcanons and stories seriously. Without turning off my brain a little. And please, please, please just hear me out.

There is a reason why.

(TLDR at the bottom of this long post)

1) This is the most important reason. Say it with me. THERE IS NO ROBIN WITHOUT DICK GRAYSON.

Think about all other ‘sidekick’ or 'junior partner’ characters. With the exception of maybe Speedy, what are their names and costumes? Aqualad, Kid Flash, Wonder Girl, Super Girl, Super Boy, Bat Girl, Miss Martian... You know, the famous ones? The ones that all based their costumes in echo of their mentors (and yes, I’m including Roy Harper here, Speedy’s costume is a mirror of Green Arrow’s - in red).

So why doesn’t Batman’s apprentice call himself Batboy? Why is his design so divergent from Batman’s? (Okay I understand there’s other reasons but I’m trying to stay in universe/lore here). Depending on the continuity, when Barbara Gordon/Betty Kane became Batgirl she followed the trend. Robin’s identity although associated with the Bat, can stand alone without context.

Why Robin? Why the traffic lights? Something that has been shown time and time again (despite continuity differences and all) is that Robin was Dick’s pet name, from Mary Grayson, his mum. Again depending on the continuity, Mary Grayson called Dick Robin because:-

1) He was “...always bobbin’ along.” (Pre-Flashpoint Robin: Year One)

Interesting because it could either refer to his skill in acrobatics or a tendency to get underfoot because of his curiousity.

2) Born on the first day of Spring.

Or...

3) Just as a tease because he just really, really loved the stories of Robin Hood.

The traffic light colouration he chose for his costume, even the design of his costume? Well if you take a look at most of the Dick Grayson origin stories (Pre-Flashpoint: Robin Year One, Batman Year Three. Post-Rebirth: Batman #54 just to name a couple examples) the Grayson aerialist costume is... Red, Green and Yellow. The proportions of the colours and presence of a cape vary but traffic lights are Grayson colours.

Robin was Dick Grayson’s tribute to his dead family.*

*Part of the reason why Dick got so hurt that Bruce gave Robin away to Jason was because Bruce forgot that Robin was not his to give. This is why the other Pre-Flashpoint comics had Dick give Tim his blessing to become Robin. And then outright have Dick give the R to Damian. Jason eventually got Dick’s blessings but by that point, the relationship was never going to start from the best place.

2) Damian as the first 'apprentice’ would not work. Why? BRUCE WOULD NOT HAVE SURVIVED LONG ENOUGH. (I can hear all the cries of ’But he’s Batman!’ ring out).

Dick and Bruce met super early into Bruce’s career as Batman.

Remember how pre-Batman Bruce went about as a generic vigilante without a moniker or anything? And got his butt kicked so hard by the Gotham streets that it took a bat crashing through a window to convince him to try again?

Pre-Robin Batman was characterised by one thing:- Recklessness. He knew sooner or later Gotham was going to claim his life and that he would probably be going sooner rather than later.

He spent a lot of time recovering in those days. Maybe more than he did catching lowlifes or solving crimes.

And then everything changed when the Flying Graysons fell.

The crime that touched Dick mirrored the crime that affected Bruce. (It’s actually pretty interesting from a meta standpoint. The Waynes died in a circle of light - under a Park Row streetlight and the Graysons paralleled that with the spotlight remaining on them long after they hit the ground.)

And Bruce looked into the eyes of little 8-10 year-old Dick Grayson, and saw himself. But more than that, he (Bruce) saw an opportunity to change things for him (Dick). So that Dick would not end up like him.

(Want to know a cool thing? The reason why Dick’s relationship with Bruce is different to the approach Bruce took to Jason, Tim and Damian? Age difference. Bruce is about 14-18 years older than Dick. Putting him in that weird spot where you could simultaneously be a teen parent or an older sibling. Bruce has a more Older-Brother-Promoted-to-Parent relationship with Dick than father-son. It’s why in the Rebirth Nightwing vs Hush Prelude to the Wedding issue, Dick thought he could be a candidate for Best Man).

This is also the reason why I love Dick’s and Damian’s relationship so much is because it directly parallels Bruce’s and his. I don’t quite know what the age difference is post-Rebirth (and I tend to outright ignore the New 52 at times) but since Rebirth tends to mirror Pre-Flashpoint more than not, I think the age difference between Dick and Damian is about... 14-16 years? Again, simultaneously a teen parent and older sibling.

This is also why I don’t think a Damian as the first Dark Squire would work, because Bruce would not be in a good place to help out a child. Nor will there be the same connection that there was between him and Dick. Damian being first would probably ruin Batman for ever taking on someone in the ‘apprentice’ role.

So after Bruce (eventually, inevitably) takes Dick in, Bruce is forced to realise that he has to be more careful because he has to be there for Dick.

This is when Bruce fully embraces the amount of Crazy Prepared he’d need to be to be.

And then Dick (at 8-10 years-old! Seriously we talk about the amount of detective skill Tim has to figure out Batman’s and Robin’s identities... But we don’t talk about the amount of charisma, courage and will it takes to out-stubborn the Batman???) makes his way onto the streets (and Bruce can’t stop him so he has to help him). So now what does Bruce have to do?

There is a rule medics and first responders have to follow: Protect yourself in order to save others.

Bruce is no longer allowed to accept dying as an option (until Dick is old enough to take care of himself). This forces Batman to work situations to his advantage so Batman and Robin can both come home.

Basically, Dick made Batman evolve into the Batman we know and expect today.

Batman’s relationship with the police significantly improved after Dick Grayson debuted as Robin. Batman’s relationship with other Justice Leaguers improved after Dick Grayson debuted as Robin. Batman’s relationship with Wonder Woman and especially Superman/Clark Kent improved after Robin.

So let’s remove Dick from the lineup and stick him at the end as the youngest then. And... put Damian as the eldest son... that’s... not going to work.

Hey Damian. Where did you go?

Remember the timeline. Without Dick as the eldest Bruce can continue to be reckless. Batman was a suicide mission until Robin stepped in.

No Dick? Batman continues to be reckless. Reckless Batman? Dead Batman. The Al Ghuls and the League of Shadows/Assassins? Probably would have nuked Gotham and Bludhaven. Also Damian Wayne will not have his male genetic donor because... Without Dick Grayson as the eldest son/brother? Batman would not have survived to catch the eye of the League of Shadows/Assassins.

It is necessary for Dick to be the ‘eldest son’ otherwise the rest of Bat!Lore will not fall into place. Dick was Bruce’s more traditionally heroic foil from the start without which we would have a dead Bruce Wayne before Batman could take off.

TLDR:

Robin was created as Dick’s Tribute to his dead family. If Dick wasn’t the oldest - Batman’s partner (if he would even have one!) would NOT be called Robin.

Bruce and Dick met very early into his career as Batman. If they didn’t meet Bruce would have carried on his reckless path and possibly DIED before Damian could even be ‘conceived’.

And that, my friends, is the tea.

Tagging @theflyingwonder as inspiration of this particular meta

#batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #dc comics #robin #meta #analysis #the rally cry #the multiverse constant #why I find reverse robin ages problematic #eastoniarants

179 notes · View notes

batarella · 3 years

Text

3 birds 1 stone - BLUE

From a world once so cruel, that never seemed to have granted them the time enough to be together, it’d never built up into anything more perfect.

WORDS: 7785 WARNINGS: Sexual Content

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | YELLOW

-----

Dick:

It was concerning how at the moment he stepped into the narrow elevator, he wasn’t the least bit surprised at the pile of animal shit at the corner. It wasn’t until the doors closed when he noticed it, or rather his nose did, and he had to clog his nostrils just so he doesn’t pass out on the floor.

“Gar!?” he yelled just as the doors opened. No one was there, save for Raven with a book sitting at the couch. She didn’t glance at him. “Gar, I swear if you took a shit in the elevato-“

“That wasn’t me!”

Gar’s voice came from the kitchen, panting and occupied with something unruly. Then he heard plates falling to the floor, breaking, then there was a whimper. Not one that came from a human.

“Then who was it!?”

His question was soon answered, when a dog, a brown-furred mutt, sprinted out into the living room with a strip of bacon lodged in its teeth. “Gar!”

“I told you!”

Gar came out of the kitchen with a leash that had been ripped. “It wasn’t me!”

“You brought a dog into the tower?!”

“It was hungry!”

The mutt had finished off the bacon and headed straight for Raven’s lap. She gave it a scratch under its ear.

“Not on the couch,” Dick said.

“But Dick-“

“You’re not allowed on the couch either,” he told Gar. The boy murmured something Dick couldn’t hear, and after a second, no longer was he a boy but a green parrot. It squealed against Dick’s ear before it flew to Raven’s book.

“Jesus-“ he rubbed his ear. “I’m not in the mood.”

“SQUAWK-,” the parrot said. “WHAT’S UP WITH YOU?”

Having some coherent answer to that would only cement it as some grueling reminder. Hell, even thinking about it hurts more than the coward’s way out of pretending the past year never even happened. But then again, here he was, back in the Titan’s Tower to escape from the love of his life he could never be with and force himself into this infernal damnation of having forever to get over her. Here. Thousands of miles away. Where he’d only have his thoughts to battle and nothing else.

But all he said was: “Nothing.”

Dick should have told her, at least. Given her that kind of closure instead of his current disappearing act without so much as a note or a text or even a notice memo at the manor’s announcement board, which Alfred insisted with there being eight kids around.

But being away will be good. For her. For him. The first step to moving on. And with that, cutting all ties. Make it hurt less for both of them.

Maybe not all ties. He’ll have to go back to Gotham soon enough. But at least he was trying something. Not like the past five, six, seven years. God, has it really been that long?

She was probably over at Tim’s office, or Jason’s apartment doing whatever. Thinking about it won't do him any good. Doesn’t mean he subconsciously won’t.

It was apparent, and out into full consciousness, when he pulled out his phone and saw her name in five missed calls, with voice messages she’s left behind. A whole lot of minutes of them, too, it seems. She’d called while he was on the plane.

He could listen to them. Hear her voice one last time. Let his mind trail away. God, he was pathetic.

Dick put it up to his ear, his other hand stuffed to his pockets as he went out to the tower’s highest balcony so at least the air wasn’t so stuffy and he wouldn’t choke so much.

He wasn’t even nervous when he heard her speak. “Hey, Dick.”

A plane. A helicopter. Some folks over at the apartment building nearby partying it out. At least he’d have something to look at. He was exhausted, too. It was eight am over at Gotham. Shouldn’t have taken the overnight flight.

“You weren’t at the manor. I tried calling there first. I wanted to see you. Call me when you get this?”

He might. After he listens to the four other messages she’d left behind.

“Hey. I know it’s only been an hour. But please call me.”

Another one.

“Dick, where are you? I hope you didn’t change your phone. or I’ll look stupid leaving all these messages behind, which I’m not about to stop doing. Call me. Please. No one knows where you are but no one’s panicking either. It’s worrying me.”

Next one. From another hour after. He’d been gone a little over ten hours since he left. If Bruce didn’t have a tracker on him, they’d have called the police by now. But he highly doubted Bruce would take the time to announce his little trip to the West Coast to everyone in the house.

“Dick, if this is you ignoring me, you’re doing a hell of a good job at it. Did I do something?”

He heard her huff over the phone. No one else seemed to be around her.

“Please, I just wanna talk. Call me.”

The last one. Sent just four hours ago, which meant she’d been awake at four in the morning.

And, on top of that, the last one was five whole minutes long.

A call to tell her she was dating Tim again? Explaining how there are no hard feelings? Catch a movie sometime? An ass of him to think she’d be that cruel, but he was jetlagged and exhausted and the smell of dog shit still hadn’t left, which could be explained because that mutt had made a home just a few feet away from where he stood.

Dick played the message despite all that. Even if she called to tell him she’s getting married. He’d answer it.

“Dick…”

He could hear the rain, sheets shuffling under her feet.

“I’m sorry…” she said. “I… I probably took too long… I guess, if you’re ignoring me, you still deserve to know. I hope you get this message. I’ll tell you now, I guess. So you won't have to respond if you don’t want to.”

Tears. He could hear her wipe them off her skin.

“I kept you waiting for… I wanna say months but it’s a lot longer than that. Years… God, and I didn’t even see it… I took too long trying to figure this all out for myself, and you just kept waiting for me. No one should be worth waiting for that long.”

He was laughing as if it were one of her god-awful jokes. Funnily enough, it was worth it. Even when it sent him nowhere in the end. All that waiting was worth it. Somehow.

“Which is why I don’t blame you. Because you shouldn’t have taken this long. I thought even if I took another few weeks before I’d have enough courage to finally ask you to be mine, you’d still be there waiting for me. Selfish as it is, but I guess that’s your fault, too. Spoiling me and whatnot. Now my expectations for men are out of hand. Sorry.”

She even fucking laughed all the while he could hear her biting back her sobs. If he were there, he’d hold her by the shoulders and squeeze the fucking sense back into her and tell her yes, I did wait for you, and I’d wait for you for a hundred more years if I had to but I know you love someone else and-

Wait.

Backtrack.

What the hell did she just say!?

“I mean, I’m…” she continued, completely ignoring his panic. Was there a rewind on this thing??? “The past two days all I did was read your letter. Over and over again, trying to find something I could have missed. I memorized it by now. I’m a wreck. I’m sorry. I know it’s all so complicated, but I can't stop thinking that if the timing had just been good to us the past few years, all this would have been so different.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT, is she actually saying she-

“I’m so sorry, Dick…” she sighed. “I kept you waiting. But even if… even if you’re not anymore, I already made up my mind. I’ll be here. It’s my turn to wait for you. As long as it takes. I love yo-“

Something hit the back of his knees.

Which, unfortunately, with him not in some defensive stance, caught him in a rather vulnerable position.

And with that, Dick tumbled off his feet, almost fell off the railing, and failed to catch his phone from slipping right off his hands.

“NO!”

“DOWN BOY-SQUAWK!” Gar the parrot cried and followed the obnoxiously unruly dog running around the terrace. “SORRY, DICK!”

The dog kept running around and almost crashed to his feet twice with it being too fast even for Gar's supposedly swift wings, and if he wasn’t so frozen and horrified, watching his phone descend from almost a hundred stories above ground, he would have grabbed that mutt by the neck.

“GAR, I SWEAR TO GOD-“

“I’m sorry!” He turned back into a human and caught the dog. “It was him!”

“My fucking phone just fell over the railing!”

“Want me to go get it-“

A car alarm. He could hear it even from above. Or Gar did. Because he went to look over and caught sight of his phone breaking a car’s windshield below. He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“I have to…” Dick pulled on his scalp. “I have to go call her.”

“Call who?!”

“Give me your phone!”

“I don’t have a phone!”

“Give me Raven’s phone!”

“She talks to people with her mind,” Gar twirled his finger against his temple. “She doesn’t need a phone!”

“Just get- UGH!”

He stormed back into the building. “Where the hell is everyone else!?”

“They’re all out of town!”

“So it’s just you and Raven in here?! Without adult supervision!?”

“Why do you think we got a dog into the building?!”

Said dog stuck his tongue out at him like it was just so awfully adorable.

“Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok.” He can do this. He can calm down. “I have to go back. Or call her at least.”

“You’re going back to Gotham now?!”

She said she’ll wait. But to hell with keeping her waiting. “Yes. I do. I’m going back now. As soon as I can call her and tell her I’m on my way-“

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Raven didn’t even look up from her book, legs up on the couch as seemingly relaxed as if the whole wreck of a home they lived in wasn’t a mess at all.

“Next flight to Gotham’s in an hour.” She levitated an apple to her mouth and took a bite. “And the one after that’s in two days.”

“Two days!?”

“Airline shutdown. Some strike is happening,” she pointed at the TV playing the news. “I’d hurry if I were you.”

“God fucking dammit-“

“Good luck.” Raven took another bite.

Of course. Of course, this would fucking happen.

But, fuck, he didn’t know if he should just leap out the window to keep up now that everything he’s ever wished for had finally come to be. Because, to his own beliefs up in the clouds, he could probably fly with just the flap of his measly arms.

Y/N chose him.

He left for the elevator, just before Gar stopped him for leaving his wallet, then he was sprinting his way back to the airport.

You:

“I already made up my mind,” you said to your phone as if there were anyone else on the other line. As if he was there, listening to you. And that in a few seconds, he’d respond.

“I’ll be here. It’s my turn to wait for you. As long as it takes. I love you, Dick.”

Quite haunting how easy it was for those words to just roll off your lips, because as much as you thought all this to be so complicated and difficult, it was the easiest thing you’ve ever had to say.

At four am, alone in your studio with all your lights off and your sheets in an unkempt mess. You stuck your knees so close to your chest, trying to conceal at least some kind of warmth against you. But even with it so easy, it didn’t mean it wasn’t hurting.

“I can't,” you stuck your palm to your forehead. “I know things are so hard between us… and this past year is just…”

You breathed, longer than you’d hoped, just to get enough air into your lungs just so you wouldn’t collapse.

“God, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore. It all just… It feels like it’s too late. Everything went so wrong between us and I can't stop but think maybe it’s the world saying we’re just not meant to be,” you swallowed. “And the scary thing is… I don’t even care.”

The blue rose you painted, staring back at you once so bright, but as the passing days of you still wondering if were brave enough to do this at all, it had dried up and was now blank, patronizing even, that maybe it just wasn’t right, even when you wanted it to be.

“I don’t care if it’s so complicated, I want you…”

On the bed, just by your feet, you locked your eyes onto Dick’s beautiful handwriting, some that had been smudged with the sweat from your hands with the paper now crumpled up after all those months of reading and rereading.

You closed your eyes.

“You sent me an awfully painful, heart-breaking letter,” you said. “This is my awfully painful, heart-breaking reply.”

‘I usually just say all this in my head. That’s when I get poetic. Sometimes I write it down. Most of the time, I try to paint them. I think of galaxies and meadows and skies and flowers and all that, metaphors as they are, but I’ll say everything I’ve got. Right now. Because you deserve to know that all those years of you thinking nothing could ever go how you wanted, that it could end being just that.

Dick:

“Hey.”

Hands on the counter, the attendant looked startled at the least.

“I need a ticket for the next flight to Gotham.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, after taking a while to look at Dick’s handsome yet frantically uneasy face. “You just missed it-“

“I know, I know, I missed the last one.” The one that left just five minutes ago because of fucking California traffic. “But I need to get on the next one. Please.”

“All flights from San Francisco after the next hour are canceled I’m afraid.”

“Any connecting flights? Anything that leaves before that?”

“Sir, I-” she stretched her fingers. “I’ll look for something.”

His fingers, tapping onto the counter until the tip of his nails started to hurt.

“The best option’s a connecting flight to Denver, then to New York.”

“New York!?”

“Then there’s the railway transits to Gotham. I can book you a ticket for that, too.”

From a seven-hour flight to a seventeen-hour trip with layovers and a crowded train.

But as soon as he heard best option he pulled out his wallet quicker than when they told him his rent was three months overdue and that if he weren’t to pay the doorman that very instant they’d evict him.

He rushed to the first plane, closed his eyes, and prayed she hadn’t said anything in her voice message too important for him to miss out on.

‘The universe, or whatever it is out there that has a say in all this, they didn’t make it easy for us at all. If they did, we would have met long before we went too far into this mess. We were friends, sure, and you have no idea how much I value our friendship.

But I guess not even that friendship’s strong enough for us to deny what’s really going on. And that’s why it’s all so hard. I can't even look at you without thinking about kissing you, or holding you, or touching you. I can't hold your hand without wanting to never pull away. I can't even be in the same room with you and not stare, even when you’re just reading a book or talking to someone else. You are… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re just as beautiful within, which is why it was so easy to love you, and so hard to keep it in.’

You:

Morning. Eleven am at that. You slept before the sun was up, at least. But you were up all night.

Nothing. Not a call, not even a text from him.

Everything shattered, and you were still half asleep. The next thing you did, and the next thing to do, was wrap yourself up with the thickest layer of your blanket and hide in the dark, even with it such a lovely day.

Another message wouldn’t be such a good idea if he still hadn’t opened the last five, which seemed highly unlikely with him gone for almost a day now.

A day. It had been a day.

But nothing on GCPD’s notices reported a missing person’s file of an utterly gorgeous, half-Romani hunk of a man in any of their websites. You called the manor, again. Still, there was nothing.

Twelve at noon. All you had for lunch was a bagel from three nights ago. It stuffed you, at least.

You sat at your dining table and stared at your phone.

If there was a moment for so much love to come crashing at once, it would all have been too great for that to be possible.

But the moment you realized it was there at all,

A few weeks ago. Steph’s birthday.

A party at the manor. It wasn’t much. Just a little get together with everyone at the parlor.

Everyone was talking, laughing, and frankly you wished you’d joined them. It looked like fun.

But instead, you were looking out the window, at the gardens white with melted snow and winds strong enough to knock the leaves out the branches. But you couldn’t hear any of that, which made it peaceful. It was the trees that danced, birds instead of planes that hovered over the sky, not a star above but perhaps it was because it was so full of clouds. It looked cold. Cold always looked so beautiful when you were looking out from the warmth of the inside.

Dick walked up to your side, just a reasonable distance away so he wouldn’t touch your shoulder, but close enough that you’d smell the jasmine from his neck.

“You’re just gonna stand out here and watch the glass fog up?”

You remembered laughing, probably at something else he’d said after that.

“It’s pretty when you look hard enough.”

And all the while, he didn’t pull your arm and drag you over at the crowd. He didn’t tell you to join them, to loosen up and have fun or have a drink or in any way stop you from what you were doing.

He just stood there and joined you, instead. Ditched his family. Didn’t even speak much.

He stood there because he wanted to. Because you staring out the window was more interesting to him than a whole crowd of kids doing whatever.

When he balled up his fist, covered it with his sleeve, and wiped the window right in front of you to rid it from the fog so you could see the gardens clearer, you knew you loved him.

Such a small act that was, but it was the finality of everything else that built up to that moment.

Then, you remembered what you told him last night, in a voice message that lasted way too long and sounded far too painful.

‘I don’t regret what I had with Tim… but I do regret not saying anything the past four years when I had the chance. You were there. You were there and I could never have had it any other way. When we’re not trying so hard for everything to be alright, everything’s at its best. I’m not even your girlfriend, and already I think about every minute I spend with you and laugh before I’m off to bed. I think about your jokes way too long than they should ever last. And your smile, god your smile, saying that that it’s all I could ever think about wouldn’t do it any justice. You have drawn out the ugliest laugh out of me that never should have come out of any human in existence. And frankly, I’m glad you do. Because just when I thought I could never smile again, you made me the happiest I could ever be.’

Dick:

Of all days. Of all times.

His survival rate at that point, rushing through Denver Airport with just a fifteen-minute layover period, with his shoelaces undone, probably wasn’t one he should have relied on. He was starving, but he had the appetite of a mammal in hibernation with the horrible airplane food costing a hundred dollars and everything else taking too long to prepare.

With just thirty seconds to spare, he fell to his too-narrow coach seat, shuffled along so his large ass-damn this cursed asset-would fit through the aisle and breathed just as the air hissed into the cabin after they closed the service door.

Head against the back of the seat, eyes up the ceiling, at the smoke that blew in through that gap outside the overhead locker, he ignored his dried skin, his dry mouth, his feet that were close to standing on a thousand knife tips, his eyes so close to just shutting out, his wallet painfully thin with this whole trip costing the equivalent of a round trip to Shanghai, and his whole body about to collapse. He hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours. It didn’t look like he was ever going to sleep at all.

And he hasn’t even called. God, what was she doing at home? Is she okay? Is she eating okay? Is she worried about him, staring at her phone wondering what she did wrong when she was nothing less of a perfect creation of all the gods that existed, an angel the earth didn’t deserve?

He really, really had to call.

Someone just sat next to him. A child. And next to him was his mother, who just put down her phone from a call.

“Excuse me.” Dick put on his award-winning smile, pretended he wasn’t sweating his balls off or that he was in any way close to psychological death, and hoped he looked the part as well.

“Yes?”

“Is it okay if I, uh, borrow your phone? I have to make a call. It’s sort of an emergency.”

“The plane’s about to take off.”

“It won't take long. I promise.”

He probably didn’t look as charming as he’d hoped. His hair was a mess not even a bird would settle into. The woman looked at him quizzically, up and down, and shrugged. Like it was handed to him on a silver plater, she gave him her phone.

The aircraft was about to take off. He only had so long.

He called Y/N’s number that he didn’t even know he memorized and settled back. It started ringing.

“MOM!”

The kid beside him. He was tugging on his mother’s shirt.

“MOM, I’M BORED.”

“We’re in a plane,-“

“I’M BORED. I WANNA PLAY ROBLOX-“

“Not now, we’re in a plane. Sit down.”

“GIVE ME YOUR PHONE-“

“That man has my phone.”

Fuck.

Y/N, fucking pick up.

“HEY, GIVE ME MY MOM’S PHONE BACK-“

“Kid, I hear ya. But you have to give me this one-“

“GIVE ME THE PHONE-“

That kid, a chubby one not older than six, stood up from his chair and was wild enough to grab Dick’s hand away from holding the phone up his ear. If he weren’t so desperate, he would have let him have it.

But god almighty, he’s never been as desperate as a starving man in a desert.

“Kid. Just one minute.”

“NO, GIVE ME!”

The mother put on a sleeping mask and faced the other way.

“KID-“

“GIVE ME MY PHONE-“

Back and forth, both grabbing onto the phone and the kid having the strength he did not at all expect, they ended up wrestling it out in the cramped-up economy seats until the kid was screaming out his ears.

He’s never looked so ridiculous but jokes on everyone else if they thought he could care less.

“Excuse me.”

An attendant, bags under her eyes and giving both of them, not just the kid, a dirty look.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the other passengers have complained about the noise. I’m gonna have to ask you to take your seat.”

“NO!” the kid screamed.

“DID YOU JUST BITE ME!?” Dick cried out.

“GIVE ME THE PHONE!”

“I NEED TO CALL SOMEONE!”

Dick grabbed the phone off his hands, palm to the kid’s face to stop him from reaching out to his outstretched arm. “Don’t you have some kind of coloring book you can give him?”

The attendant smiled, albeit forcefully, and walked back over to the back of the cabin. The kid did not stop trying to grab it off Dick’s arm.

She gave the kid a bag that probably had books and crayons and whatever stuffed inside. It looked so old. It had to have been in storage for the past ten years.

But as if some miracle heard him, the kid shut up, took the bag, and settled on his seat. Then he was as quiet as a mouse.

Fucking finally.

He held the phone up his ear and closed his eyes, fingers easing the tension on the nerve on his forehead.

“And sir?”

The attendant smiled at him. It didn’t look so much of a smile as it was a death threat.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to turn off your mobile device.”

To say he wanted to squeeze the life out of everyone in the whole aircraft, including himself, wouldn’t cut it.

And he didn’t even have it in him to protest.

“Hello?”

Her voice. At the other end of the line. That word was all there is to it, the only thing he heard.

Dick sighed, closed his eyes, counted to three, then ended the call after just two seconds.

The next thing he heard, for the next three hours, would be the screams of the child at his side, kicking on his seat like a fucking soccer ball.

‘That call from a year ago. The one about Kori. Fuck, I don’t even know where to begin. I overreacted. By a mile. Did some stupid shit to make up for that guilt and masked it over as another heartbreak when really, it was me refusing to have to go through all that again. I had to see you with that woman when I was in love with you for three years. Of course, it hurt. But I shouldn’t have an excuse. It was so stupid. Just thinking about it makes me want to break. I’m so sorry about that, Dick. I know we’ve already been over that months ago, but I just want to clear everything while I still can. God, I don’t even know if you’d listen to all this. I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I put all the blame on you when I had my share of mistakes. A whole lot of them. I’m sorry. I love you. And I’m sorry.’

You:

Hung up after two seconds. All you heard on the other end of the line was breathing and huffing, and nothing else. Whoever it was, they’ve been calling the past two minutes, just as you stepped out of the shower. And you almost cracked a rib flying from your bathroom to your kitchen table with just a towel around you, hoping to see his name on the screen. But alas, your luck just wasn’t at its peak.

You put your phone down, still with nothing to do, nothing else you could think of doing, than to just wait on that seat, stare at your phone, and hope Dick hadn’t hurt himself going after some goon alone the night before. Still no missing persons report. Nothing from the rest of the team, either.

Maybe just once more. You could call him. It wouldn’t annoy him too much. It had been hours since the last one.

You called, put the phone up your ear.

No ringing. It went straight to voice mail.

You opened your mouth, thinking you had something to say.

But you didn’t have anything to say. Not anymore. Not after you poured your whole heart out on the last one and now your throat was as dry as your palms were sweating.

You put your phone down, facing away from you, then you sank to your arms, burying your crumbling face away even with no one to see you.

‘That’s why I hate myself for not caring if this was difficult. Because I know, somehow, that’s it’s all still gonna be worth it. With you. Just thinking about the things we’d do, you’ve been the light of my life, the one person I look for not just because I need it, but because being with you makes so much of my day, every day that I see you. I look for you in crowds. I turn to your face when I want to look at something pleasant. I stare at doors, constantly hoping you’d be the one to walk in. I seek out for your voice, call you even when I know it’s a bother, find the most ridiculous excuses and the most stupid questions just so I’d have a reason to stand close to you, to have you talking to me, wanting all that everyday. I’ve never met anyone like you, Dick. I’ll never get used to you, and there’s no way in hell that I’d ever get tired of you. And maybe that’s the price to pay with all this being so hard. As complicated as it is, the troubles aren’t half the worth of the happiness it comes with.’

Two flights, three within the past thirty hours, jet-lagged far beyond a night’s repair, and his stomach in so many knots that even the bag of peanuts from the plane was too much to digest. And it wasn’t from poisoning or hunger or whatever it was. Everything in a whirlwind, one he can't even track.

He got to New York before it was dark, and he wanted to kiss the floor.

But he wasn’t at Gotham yet. This trip wasn’t over.

And if it weren’t for the half a million people crowded over at the airport, he would have been in Gotham right at that second.

Past the crowd, fumbling and running for whatever life he had left that wasn’t a spirit descended into something infinitely better than this, he made it over to the other side of the terminal, with his pits sweating his shirt off and his legs made of cooked chicken drumsticks and dough.

He got to the railway station, over at the attendant behind the counter.

“Excuse me,” he panted, and just like the one at the San Francisco airport, it startled her. Except now, there was no using his charm or his looks when he looked like he crawled out of a swamp.

“To Gotham,” he said.

“Ticket?”

He reached for his wallet, hands shaking so horribly it was worrying if he hadn’t known it came with his mind being as much of a mess as a wrecked ship from the 1800s.

And all the more did they tremble, down to his sorry knees, when he opened every flap there was on his wallet to find every pocket empty.

No.

No. no. no. no. no.

He searched his pockets. His jacket. His pants. His fucking shoes. If he had a hat he’d probably look into that too.

Nothing. Not a stub. A tiny stub that would have easily been blown by so much as a gust from a fan, let alone running a marathon in three airports in a single day.

“I,” he swallowed. “I seemed to have lost my ticket.”

Yeah. He wasn’t getting out of this one. The attendant looked at him and snarled like the annoyance he was.

“All the trains are sold out. And I’m afraid you can't board the train without a ticket.”

“Ma’am, I really, really, have to get to Gotham-“

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to step out of the line.”

Like every force in the universe was out to get him.

“Do you have a phone? A payphone at least? I really need to call someone-“

“Sir, please step out of the line.”

“Please, ma’am, there has to be some way you can squeeze me into one of those trains-“

The attendant waved at someone behind him.

Two security guards were at his side before he could even turn around.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” he huffed. “You guys don’t happen to have a phone I could use?”

Both guards ignored him, set him aside against a pillar.

And, with the excruciating exhaustion finally crashing into this one blow to the face, he stuck his back against the column, head up to the ceiling, then fell on his ass.

God, what does he even say to her after this?

If he actually gets to talk to her, that is.

“Final call for boarding!”

That light. One, single light. Or two, if he focused his eyes. The headlights from outside the revolving doors, from a bus that just opened its doors. It was a light, because it had GOTHAM in bold letters pasted onto its windshield.

And a line of people stepping inside. Kids and adults, old people alike.

He sat up from the floor, hungry, tired, and in pain.

But this was all going to be worth it. Every minute of this.

He just knew, that one last push, after this tormenting, inferno of a day, would all come to an end he’d dreamed about since he first laid eyes on her that day at the Wayne Manor’s library.

Dick got in line outside the bus, told the conductor he’d pay when they get inside. And after he did, he had just a quarter in his wallet to spare. No one sat beside him. The others were at the back. The one across was fast asleep. He couldn’t call her.

He’ll just have to hope, that whatever worries she had waiting for him to come up, that she’d forgive him enough for all this to end the way he hoped it would.

Three hours on a bus.

Didn’t even sound like it was remotely a long time.

The moment he took his seat, the bus doors hissed closed, and the air so silent, so did everything else calm.

He’s waited so long.

But he just had to wait for another three hours. In a bus. Then he’ll see her.

He closed his eyes.

‘I don’t even know why I rambled so much about all this being so complicated.

Because even if I had to walk up to the sky, I know there’s a galaxy waiting for me at the end. You are worth it. You are worth everything. I’ve never been so obsessed with anyone my whole life. You are, with my whole heart, my greatest love. And you are so beautiful that I never want to look at anything else ever again. And I never thought I’d get know beauty the way I do when I talk to you. You are everything I could ever want. And so much more.

And that pain, that hurt we both had to go through after all those years. That pining and waiting, and the heartbreak just because I was too stupid to understand that it didn’t have to be so hard after all, it doesn’t even matter, when at the end, I get to be with you.

I’d go through all that again if it means I can be with you.

You are the man I’ve dreamt about since I could first dream, and I’m lucky enough to have you in my reality. It’s you I want, Dick.

So I’ll wait for you. As long as I have to.

I love you so much.

Please, for the love of God, call me.’

You:

That message.

The longer you stared at your phone, the more you wondered if it was the right thing to do at all.

It was four am. You were tired. And worried.

And it was four am now, a whole day after.

Not a single call.

You’ve done it this time. You tripped at the finish line.

You were selfish enough to keep that man waiting for so long hoping he’d keep going, just as he had been for years.

And now, this is what you get.

You have yourself alone, in your apartment, one you haven’t cleaned in a week, and your heart in the same shatters as it often had been.

Your phone rang. You weren’t so excited to pick it up. Rightfully so when you saw it was just Bruce.

“Hello?” you said, your weight against the table’s surface, also surprised that it hadn’t broken.

“Y/N,” Bruce said. “I heard you were looking for Dick.”

“Mhm?”

“Sorry I haven’t called. Anyways, the last location I can point him to was at the Titans Tower in San Francisco.”

Okay.

You’ve had your heart broken before.

But it wasn’t just that that had broken right then.

Everything else, every bone, every bit of flesh there was, it was this numbing buzz you couldn’t even fight.

“What?”

Just then, someone knocked on your door.

And it wasn’t just a knock. They were pounding against the wood.

The ringing in your ears hadn’t even subsided, and you were breathless, muscles stiff. You just let the pounding go on until you heard Bruce hang up on the other line.

Life didn’t even give you so much as a second to process all that, of what he could be doing there, who he was with.

Your walked to the door, and without looking into the eyehole, you unlatched the lock and opened it.

Some glitch there was if all this were nothing but a simulation.

But it was as if the last five minutes-no-the last two days hadn’t happened at all.

Dick never looked like such a mess.

But, nonetheless, the way you stared at him was as if he was as beautiful as he ever was.

Everything that had broken, the moment you looked into his eyes, had fallen right back into place, into an entity far stronger than any quake could knock it out of.

Dick shut the door behind him.

He grabbed your face.

Then he kissed you. Without words. Without letting so much as a speck of time, however it worked now that it’d stopped, pass and waste away.

Dick:

Whatever she told him in that message he never got to hear, everything she ever had to say, the instant he felt her kiss him back, it was like every word flew out of her lips. How she wanted him. How she chose him. How in love she was with the mess of a human being he could be. How all the trials they’d been forced to go through, all the misunderstandings and the fights and the long months of this troubling, awkward place they wanted nothing more than to climb out of. He got all that with the way her lips molded so wanting and harsh, pressed so hard against his dried, chapped pair that have never witnessed anything more beautiful and so awfully perfect.

No more time to be wasted.

Not another second.

He had her. He finally had her.

He got the girl.

Not a chance that he wasted so much as another second.

He pushed her against the wall and the gasp that came out of her wasn’t at all out of pain, but at the sheer desire that had sparked at such impact that only knocked her into the same place he’d long settled in. And he could just feel, how much she wanted so badly to speak, to tell him what was raging in her head that was as much of a mess as his. But they’ll talk. Eventually. After.

All he wanted, right then, was to have her. Love her. Love her. To send her off to some paradise that long surpassed oceans and mirages and heavens that stood on clouds, to culminate that seemingly endless torture into a reward so great, that to say it would have been worth it would be so much an understatement. To play every instrument there was and let the song resonate into her body, and make it last for the rest of his life for so long as he could touch her. All that, he was going to give her tonight. Tonight. Right then and there.

Grabbing her legs up to his hips, her hands pinned to the wall above her head, it was too much of a flash for him to rush into this beautiful thing that shouldn’t be rushed at all. But he couldn’t slow down if it meant that he lives. Even if he died right after, he just couldn’t hold back.

He was pushing himself into her and the sounds that he earned out his lips were more than any songbird could cry out. After just having her against that wall, he finally got the sense to take it to the bed. It was dark. Not a light was on. And it was raining outside the one window she had near the bed and just the streetlight outside was enough to make him see her face. Dick placed her on top of his lap, on which she enjoyed herself to her own pace. Her hips were like waves, the ocean that rocked about, and the stain on his pants that she’d left behind was just as wet as so.

At that moment even she didn’t want to wait and talk any longer.

He took off her clothes, lied back.

Then he hoisted her up so the sweetest part of her body was just hovering over his mouth, her strong, beautiful legs, one of skin and the other of metal, on either sides of his head.

You:

You were made of gemstones. You were shimmering.

Of diamonds and rubies and emeralds, of the most precious rocks that could be found on every soil on earth.

Everything. That pain. That darkness. All the troubles and hardships, the disputes and every tear you’ve ever had to shed. Gone. Gone when he drew out this wonderful melody of sensations from his sweet, sweet tongue quivering you to every core. You were rocking, shaking, trembling, barely keeping yourself up. Not long after you screamed, and like the skies heard you it screamed back with a thunderous roar.

Then Dick shed his own clothes and moved inside you, rolling your hips with your two bodies now this one, beautiful entity, like you were holding his hand, just as you did right then, as you both ran through the darkness of a cave that has long haunted you, with creatures and bats and ghosts flying about, just to reach the end that was a light so close and so bright, you chased yourselves, chased that very light.

And once you reached it, that blinding, flashing white light that shone with this painful, glorious sting to every bit of your flesh, to say you found that end would be wrong. It wasn’t an end. It was this continuous, tantalizing aroma that would last a lifetime. It was beauty. You felt beauty. And it was in ripples you couldn’t see. A blur you couldn’t comprehend.

You had so much to tell him and ask him about.

But just as that wonderful night showed you, you had the rest of your life to do just that.

Epilogue

Dick:

Life could only ever be so cruel.

But life gives its niceties. Sometimes, to the people so used to it that they take it for granted.

But it’s even more so of a nicety when it’s the people who’ve long deserved it.

Not to say he deserved the world, but it was just that he’d gotten. From a world once so cruel, that never seemed to have granted them the time enough to be together, it’d never built up into anything more perfect.

Watching her from his car’s driver seat, from where he had a perfect view of her looking at the wondrous scenes flash by outside the window. It was even more beautiful, more than ever before, now that he could take just a second off his time from the steering wheel just to kiss her.

Just a little over six months together. Never has there been anything so rewarding in his life. A rainbow, ten of them at least, that filled what was once this depressingly grey sky. He always knew it’d be worth the world. But even he surprised himself.

When they parked the car, got out into this wide, orange field, a farmland just outside of Jersey with a valley at the farthest end, the only thing that battled the brightness of her smile was the sun itself.

“It’s beautiful, Dick.”

Her voice, even more so.

He set up her canvas, all her paint, and her brushes. They found a spot on the grass that was clean enough for them both to sit on. She didn’t use her easel. Instead, they both laid on this plaid red and white sheet over the grassy soil, her using her own knees to hold it up. And Dick sat beside her, watching her as the hours ticked. Without looking away, no longer ashamed when she’d catch him.

Just before the last of the sun had set, he pulled out from his pocket a ring, one with a diamond a shape of a white rose on top.

He got it a week after they got together.

Her face, her lips wide open as she realized what came in front of her, then he asked her to be his. Forever.

She said yes, just as the sun fell.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | YELLOW

-----

MAIN TAGLIST:

SERIES TAGLIST:

@spaceservicestation, @thedeadlythoughts, @vanessafabricius, @pinkforest05

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #tim drake #jason todd #tim drake x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson smut #batboys #batfam #batfamily #3 birds 1 stone #3 birds 1 stone series #batarella #batarella series

224 notes · View notes

disgrays-on · 5 years

Text

kiss the rain

Word Count: 4.0k

Pairing: Jason Todd // Fem!Reader

Summary: AU of sorts? pre-established relationship, jason and reader have been together (married?) for a few years already. news of a new addition to the wayne family puts all sorts of ideas in the reader’s head. jason’s just a bit all over the place.

A/N: I'm supposed to be working on a reincarnation/25 lives au but got distracted by this instead lol. This is self-indulgent stuff that's vaguely ooc and incredibly messy but I enjoyed writing it. Also, I have no shame in admitting that the only reason Babs is in this fic is because I needed her as a plot device ashdhdj. I’m not familiar enough with her to be writing about her tbh but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

A new addition to the sprawling Wayne family comes in something like a decade later. It's an invitation from Barbara that leads both Jason and you to a comfy little restaurant a while away from the apartment. The invitation is certainly not the first of its kind – you find Barbara’s company just as delightful as Jason does, especially now that everyone’s mellowed out and feeling slightly more appreciative of each other – so it doesn’t really take much for Jason to agree. Still, it is awfully curious, just a touch out-of-the-blue, and Jason isn’t naive enough to think that it’s not without reason. He flips through a couple of reasons, but all of them come up short.

The sun is just barely up in the sky when you clamber into the front seat, right next to him. You take a moment to fiddle with the radio before leaning against the window. The trip is filled with only the lull of the songs you've chosen, but it’s nothing new. You take a while to warm up, Jason has learned, slowly, quietly, like the cool morning air. The early sunlight pours over you, splashes of a subtle gold contrasted with quiet shadows, a sigh of something quiet leaving your lips. It would have been nice, he thinks, and it’s a stray thought, it would have been nice to still be wrapped around you in bed.

It’s an odd feeling. Preferring the warmth and peace of your company over the desolation that he wanted to need. Watching as rays of the morning sun spilled across soft sheets, hearing your quiet snores, a soothing change from coming back home to a cold and empty bed. Trading the violent nights for calm ones, tangled together on a lumpy old couch whilst catching up on shows he missed. He’s more settled now. He’s carved his place beside you where he’s found more joy than he has elsewhere. This is a different pace, a different track, a different life altogether. All the years together with you have made him soft, he realises, catching himself in the clouds of fondness with a slight curl to his nose. You’ve made him soft.

(memories of the distant past always seem to stir up the dark and heavy sludge of his old heart, but you've always known him more than he'd like to admit. there are still sweet little flutters in his stomach when you reach over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, knowing, comforting, as if tracking his train of thoughts. the action is slight but it's just enough to make affection roll like crashing tides in his stomach.)

The parking lot is unsurprisingly bare this early on in the day, and both of you are seated across Barbara in no more than ten minutes. She's glowing, Jason notes as he slides into his seat. It’s...weird. It hasn't always been there but it is the first thing he notices now. It’s not anything so obvious, nothing so palpable, but it’s there. You press comfortably into his side, picking up the conversation as if you’ve only been gone for a quick second. Jason orders breakfast, you order breakfast, Barbara orders something heavy and she eats it heartily.

“You alright?” You ask, head tilted slightly, eying her plate of grease and meat and potatoes, top of the ceramic mug pressed gently against your lips. It’s that glow. You’ve noticed it too maybe. He squeezes you close, sliding his plate over to you slightly and you happily trade the mug for a fork to slice into the stack of fluffy pancakes that he’d ordered. Not because he has a preference for them, particularly, but because he knows that you’d want them too. He steals bits from your plate in return.

“Just a bit hungry,” She answers earnestly, sipping on her drink quietly, “I've been craving this.”

She's still glowing. Jason knows this. She has cravings. His brain tells him he should know this. He's seen it before, on some of the women that he's come across over the years, on some of the women he knew. And she's always been a wicked sort of thing, Barbara. Piercing green eyes and blazing red locks, an unnerving smile and a balance of authority and softness to her that has always had Jason flipping between fondness and a deep familial annoyance for the woman. Her insane cleverness has always allowed her to hide things that needed hidden when imperative and nothing of Jason's would have ever been able to crack it.

But this time around, something just clicks into place and he realises.

“I’m going to be a mother,” She confesses, in the same moment. It seems like it's a quiet admission to herself more than anything, like she’s still trying to come to terms with it herself, breathy and in hushed awe, before she says more firmly, “I'm pregnant.”

From beside him, Jason hears your strangled choke at her sudden words, the spluttering of your drink and the clattering of your mug as you slam it back down onto the table. Take care of you first, his mind instantly moves, the news afterwards. He pushes the plates and cups to the centre of the table, grabs a couple of tissues for the spill, hands you a few more as you gather yourself. It makes sense, he supposes, it’s been quite a long time coming so it’s not too surprising.

“You’re pregnant?” You say, a sunny grin blooming across your face. You turn to him, and it's infectious. He finds himself smiling as you reach over to grab at his arm, “She's pregnant!”

A baby. Jason's not really sure how he's supposed to act, what he's supposed to say or supposed to do. It's not what he thought it would be and he's never really been in this position before. There's a rush of emotions swelling in him, but they're all quick and fleeting and there doesn't seem to be enough time for him to stop and examine each one. Jason watches you move around the table to give her a hug, a congratulations on the tip of his tongue. You’re going to be an uncle, you tell him excitedly afterwards. It’s an odd thought but you seem to love the idea. The rest of breakfast is less messy, but the air around the table still vibrates with eagerness.

(later on, cast in the silver spears of moonlight, you sigh out pleasantly, a sparkle in your eyes that rivalled the stars, “A baby, Jay, can you believe it?”).

❀❀❀

“How about this one?” You hum, holding up a ridiculously tiny yellow shirt up for Jason to see. He’s not sure how long the both of you have been in this part of the store. He’s not even sure how you managed to drag him along.

(he does know, to be honest. he’s weak for you, starshine eyes and sunny smiles, and what you want, you get.)

He’d been happy enough, at least at the start, to go along with your whims, but now all the stores and the items of clothing were starting to blur and look the same. He’s not really sure why the baby would need so many shirts when they would outgrow it quickly enough. You seem pretty insistent on spoiling the little one though.

(you and jason have bickered about all the shopping once or twice, late-nights, exhaustion-fuelled. it isn’t like he’s not happy about it all, he is, but he can’t seem to be as thrilled as you are. still, he doesn’t mind spending money on the child if it makes you happy. you refuse to take it, huffing and frowning. slipping a couple notes, some hefty amount that he doesn’t even care to count, into your pocket is an easy enough task.)

(you slump into his shoulder at the end of the day, muttering over how unfair it was of him to do so. jason readily wraps his arms around you, and tells you that all he’s ever wanted is for you to be happy.)

“I knew I should have just gone shopping alone,” You sigh, knowing him best. Your lips are pursed as you pull out a tiny little onesie next, white with small little blue and green and yellow triceratops, similar to all the ones that you’ve already dumped into the basket he’s holding onto, “I wonder if you’d be more enthusiastic if this was our kid.”

The both of you have talked about this before, however sparingly. They’ve always been more of a distant possibility than a definite probability. The idea is always incredibly novel to entertain: you with his child, his eyes maybe but most definitely your smile, the smarts that everyone in his family is known for. And if, for whatever reason, that wasn't possible, adoption was always an option on the table. But faced with the chance of dealing with one now scares Jason to a level he has yet to comprehend. Still, all you could seem to think about now were babies and it’s a bit confounding. It’s all the baby talk, all the excitement around the kid. It’s caught on to you.

“Humor me, husband dearest,” You say as you flick through the rack of clothing, eyebrows furrowed as you examined each one with thorough precision, “You’ve never had an issue with it before.”

“But I’ve also never said yes either.” Cowardly answer, sure, but it’s true. It isn’t as if he has a deep hatred for them or anything. Jason has always liked kids, has always felt the need to look out for kids, the ones he sees scampering around on the streets, but they’ve always been much older. Not so new and small and terrifyingly fragile.

You move on to a different section next, an array of tiny little shoes for presumably tiny little feet. Jason slips the metal handles of the basket over his wrist, trailing along after you.

“Bet you Bruce would love another grandkid.” You tell him, a playful little smile playing on the corner of your lips. As if he cared about what Bruce wanted. He presses his lips together and throws you a pointed look as a pair of shoes make it into the basket.

(he does care, maybe, deep down.)

(and it's not like he doesn't want his own kids. he does, maybe, deep down.)

“Can you really blame me for being a little excited?” You ask him, lips pursed, after much bickering over who would pay - Jason had won, so he'd paid. You’re by his side, of course, the bags at your side swinging with the rhythm of your walk. You’ve deflated slightly, and there are tiny specks of hesitancy in your tone.

It’s cold outside, a bit too much for his liking so he slinks closer. Swaps the bags to his other hand, drapes the free one over your shoulder to pull you close. He doesn’t like upsetting you, but he doesn’t see this one ending too favourably. Jason’s changed, sure, not so angry anymore, not so wrapped up in his own world, but a child? It isn’t something that he’ll allow himself to think about so lightly.

“All of it’s just a bit sudden, don’t you think?” Jason replies. You haven’t looked at him ever since you left the store. It unsettles him.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” You frown, shoulders drawn in, “It’s just. It’s not like we’re getting any younger. And besides, it’s you. It just doesn’t seem all that right not to have them.”

His eyes, your smile, the smarts that everyone in this family is known for. He releases a small puff of air, ice cold in his lungs.

“How about a pet instead?” Jason offers.

“A pet,” You echo, blinking, before quiet laughter bursts out of you, a grin creeping up onto your face. You turn to him, finally, and Jason’s heart soars. He wants to keep your smile. You roll your eyes playfully, “That dog you’ve always wanted?”

“Not the worst idea I’ve had,” He admits with a shrug.

“Think about it for me?” You whisper to him, just before entering the car, fingers curling around the hem of his jacket. Starshine eyes imbued with hope and sunny smile filled with affection.

There was a time when he thought he could never quit the vigilante life because Gotham needed him. There was a time when he thought he could never have you. Oh, it’s just comical now, how wrong he was.

He doesn’t say no. He doesn’t know how to when it comes to you. Soft, he reminds himself. “I will. Promise.”

❀❀❀

“I don’t know what this is supposed to be,” Tim says, after he spends a good twenty minutes examining a bright yellow and pink box. Once again, Jason finds himself in a similar store like the one you brought him to a month or so ago. Why him, he’s not sure but he’s as interested as he was when you were the one he followed around like a lost puppy.

Jason shrugs carelessly, pushing the cart along. He didn’t exactly have a model childhood - none of them did, actually - so it’s not like he’s particularly versed in any of this. One thing is for sure though, this child’s already so spoiled, having so many aunts and uncles and relatives who had more money than they know what to do with.

“Heard the both of you are looking at new apartments,” Tim sets the box down and moves on to a different section. This time there are baby furniture, cribs and highchairs and swinging chairs. Jason pokes one, and it jostles pleasantly, “Should I be expecting another kid soon?”

“We’re not having any,” Jason answers, clipped. You’ve been floating up in the clouds, in threads of daydreams. There's a new three bedroom apartment that you've been looking into. You want a kid, that much is clear. As much as he loves you, however, as much as he enjoys entertaining the sweet fantasies of him and you and a child, he needs to be more grounded. Needs to stop this before it gets out of control. It’ll only hurt more when both of you don’t have it.

“I thought you liked kids,” Tim hums as he easily tugs out a big box, a crib of some sort, before he crouches down to inspect it further.

“It’s just a bad idea,” Jason bristles. You tell him that he would make a great father but it isn't like he has many points of reference.

“Well,” Tim answers distractedly mulling over the printed details, sparing glances up at Jason from where he’s crouched, “Do you think they’d mind if we modified this a little bit?”

Jason shrugs, nothing wrong with that. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing, not when the baby was being born into this family. “Why not.”

“Babysit the kid in a while, and see how it goes,” Tim says unhelpfully as he loads the box up into the cart. Jason holds it steady, wishes life was as simple as that. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe you’ll give in.”

Jason glares at the younger man. This is what he gets for spoiling you so often.

“Work your issues out,” Tim says, before he steals the cart and leaves.

❀❀❀

“Catherine’s not a bad name.” You tell him, eyelids heavy, a sleepy smile on your face and it tugs at his heartstrings. He’s not sure how to feel about that. It's been long enough that he's not so bitter about his rocky start in life anymore. He's come to terms with most things in his past. But the tenderness in your voice catches him off-guard, makes his already soft insides all gooey.

He hums, tugging you closer by your waist, “Is it?”

You hum in agreement, a rush of soft air brushing against his collarbones with your every breath, “What would you name her then? She’d be a Todd too, no?”

He’s never thought of it really because it’s never mattered much to him. Catherine’s not a bad name, sure, but he knows that regardless of what his kid's going to be or what they're going to be called, he’d love them just the same. And he may be Jason Todd to most but legally, he is a Wayne. He supposes that’s a better name than any. Being a Wayne comes with it pros and cons, but the both of you could sort it out later. The child would have a better life than any of them, that much too he's certain.

You pull back when he says as much, brightness seeping through the crescents of your eyes, “You spoil me.”

He does. Talking about kids when he's uncertain whether he wants them or not. But it makes you happy, for however short that break of time may be. Still, you understand, not wanting to push him, not wanting to force this on him.

It's okay, you tell him, kind. We'll be fine, you and I.

It'll be the last of this talk, he thinks, at least for a while.

You smile, “Thanks, Jay.”

❀❀❀

Barbara’s due date is about two weeks away so an ultrasound is a reasonable course of action. Things like this were more of your thing but you’re pulled away by work today so Jason makes time. She sits down, slowly so late in her term, a hand in the crook of his arm. He’s seen pictures of the kid, remembers you grinning as you shared it with him.

Look at it! You coo to him, pointing out what you think is his nose, isn’t this exciting?

But it’s this that disorients him slightly, being here now, in person. Barbara’s different now. The glow is there, just about. She’s softer now, stern in the way that reminds him of how a mother would be. And isn’t that a thought. She is going to be a mother. She’s well into the role already.

“You okay?” She asks, green eyes searching his face. She shouldn’t worry, not about him at the least. It’s been interesting to see her, to be around as she deals with the pregnancy. She’s excited, he thinks, a tender smile whenever her baby is spoken about, hand splayed on her stretched belly. It’s a boy, he remembers discreetly, one whom he’s sure will be blessed with the good looks of his parents.

The team of people they have for Barbara - all vetted a few times over before they could even think about coming near her, all paid for by Bruce, of course - bustles around the both of them today. He remains quiet for the most part, but he interjects when needed. She talks comfortably with her technician as the ultrasound goes underway, cold gel against her belly, the glow of the screen cast over the room.

It happens quickly. The furrow of the nurse’s eyebrows, the spill of emotions as she tried to control the emotions showing on her face, the professional smile as she excused herself. Barbara’s always been a rational person, could always keep her head clear, but her trepidation is in the little things. She reaches out to squeeze his arm, her forehead sweaty, her face stormy. It’s a scramble of doctors and nurses and phone calls and family.

Jason's meant to be here to accompany her for an ultrasound, but he's here for the birth too. Many hours later, her baby is born, greeting the new world with a loud, healthy wail.

❀❀❀

“Have you seen him?” The first thing you ask as soon as you see him, visibly tired as if you’ve just ditched work and ran all the way here, but you’re happy. An excited smile creeps up your face, arms coming up to rest on his sides. Jason takes his hands out of his pockets to give you a small squeeze. You fit nicely, all the years have told him, so he’s kept you, because you’ve always been meant for him.

“A bit. Came out here to give them space.” He says, breathing slow and deliberate, as if trying to fill your lungs up himself. The room’s big but it still felt too crowded with the amount of people trying to get a glimpse of the new baby. He was getting restless, a bit suffocated.

Your fingers come up to caress his face, knowing him best, “You’re okay?”

He nods, sneaking a kiss on the tips of your fingers before they move up to run through his hair. If he leans into your touch, no one has to know.

“Is he cute?” You ask him, quick, spritely like sparks of flames. “You’re cuter,” He shoots back because it’s the only truth he’s ever known, even if you roll your eyes at him after each time he says it.

❀❀❀

Jason’s in trouble.

Both of you see the baby every other week and it’s bad for him. Bad for his thawing heart. Bad for his mushy insides. Seeing you with the baby, cooing and talking sweetly and smiling softly, is different sorts of bad for him. It’s not just him that’s soft, your adoring eyes lit up like the dawn sky looking at Jason whenever the baby does anything remotely cute. You’re vying for the title of favourite and you’re doing excellently if the times that he’s left in your care is anything to go by. You insist it’s him that the baby likes more but he would understand if it wasn’t. It's still a mystery to him too sometimes, the how and the why, but he’s absolutely enamoured with you.

Predictably, the baby grows on him, with his pudgy cheeks and his light laughter. He pads around the apartment, not too long after his second birthday, giggling with high glee as you chase him around the apartment. You cuddle with the kid, reading him a quiet little bedtime story. It’s sweet. And it makes him want.

He’s in trouble.

❀❀❀

“You have some other names that you’ve thought of?” Jason asks, curling his arms around your waist. You’re busying yourself, sorting papers and books scattered around, the errant crayon and the stray loose papers after another day of babysitting. He has half the mind to have his way with you sometimes, flashes of you with his child urging him on but this much he has to get off of his mind.

You whip around as soon as the words leave his mouth, and he makes sure to pull back a bit to avoid the crash. He's known you for long enough to recognise the hope that's trickling into your eyes, slow but steady.

“Jay,” And it's as much of a plea as it's a hesitant warning, he hates that he's made you feel this way, “Don't joke about that, please.”

“I’m not,” He admits, one hand slipping down to cup your hips where it's warm and wide against you. The other moves to cup your cheeks. He musters up a smile and it's shaky, at best, but he hopes it's enough to convey what he's feeling. After all, you did know him best.

“Really?” You ask, starshine eyes looking a touch glossy and sunny smile trembling. You were always his centre, the one he revolves around, his own sun. You lean into his touch, looking at him with so much adoration and love and he basks in it all.

“We have to talk about it some more, but if it happens, it happens.” He says, a bit sheepishly, “Is that okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes, Jay, of course, my god. I love you,” You ramble, before giving up with words altogether and just pulling him into a kiss, fumbling, squeezing, spoiled.

Something like flowers bloom in Jason's heart, explosive and bright. He sighs, when you grin up at him excitedly, watery eyes shining with hope like the dawn of a new day. As much as you always get what you want, it’s always aligned with what he wants. What’s the difference this time around.

434 notes · View notes

forever-more-never-again · 5 years

Text

Molecular Thingamajig

Requested: Anonymous

Word Count:2778

Pairing: None, Avengers X Teen!Platonic!Reader

Warnings: Swearing? Violence, blood, mention of panic attack

Request: I love your fics and I was wondering if I could have a platonic avengers x teen reader. She has the power of invisibility and maybe she is left alone with Bruce and he gets angry and turns into the hulk and she's terrified and she gets hurt but fluffy ending? Thank you.

Masterlist

You threw your head back in laughter as Clint tried to convince Natasha to stand with an apple on her head for him to aim at.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Come on Nat! You know I won’t miss!”

“Be that as it may, I will not allow you to put more holes in my wall Barton!”

“Aww Tony! You party Pooper!”

“[Y/n]! Help me convince these guys!”

You put your hands up as you struggled to speak between giggles, “No way Clint. I don’t want my suit to ‘magically’ disappear again.”

Tony and Natasha shared a sinister smirk.

Clint frowned and flopped back onto the couch next to you, crossing his arms, he pouted, “No fun.”

Leaning over, you ruffled his hair, “Aww come on Clint. It’s team bonding day! No pouting allowed!”

Steve and Bucky walked in from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in their arms, “So what movie did we decide on?” Steve asked, Throwing himself onto a beanbag, some popcorn spilling onto the floor.

Wanda, Vision and Sam walked in from various hallways. Sam frowned, “I can’t find him.”

Vision spoke as he floated to Wanda’s side, “I had no luck in uncovering the doctor's whereabouts either.”

Tony scowled, “FRIDAY, tell Bruce to get his ass down here or else I will restrict his access to the lab.”

A few minutes later, a disgruntled Bruce Banner stumbled into the common room, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and sweats.

Rubbing his eyes, somehow without smudging his glasses, he glared at Tony, “You could have told them I was in my room. Save a lot of trouble.”

Sam glared as well at Tony. But Tony merely smirked, not troubled by the men angry at him.

Natasha moved to sit on the other side of you, “Are you sure we shouldn’t invite Peter? Since he and [Y/n] are close in age..”

You turned your own glare onto the redhead, your hands flickering as your invisibility surged with your emotions. She smiled at you innocently.

“Peter said he had to study for a test and couldn’t make it. Aunt May made it...very clear...he was not to be disturbed during that time.” Tony winced under the reminder of the angry Guardian.

You sighed. It wasn’t that you disliked the young spider man, it was just that you were jealous. He had a home and a family. You only had the avengers. They had rescued you as a kid from the clutches of Cronus, an off branch of Hydra. And you had grown up in New York with them since.

“Look! It’s Casablanca! You guys are all jerks.” Bucky grumbled as he saw the movie title roll across the screen.

Steve merely chuckled and threw popcorn at the man, who retaliated by throwing pillows at him from his seat on another couch.

You sat between Natasha and Clint with a smile on your face as you watched your pseudo-family argue.

“Attention Avengers!”

Everyone froze and it grew deadly quiet as FRIDAY’s voice echoed throughout the tower.

“A group of Mutants has just broken into the UN. T’Challa, who was in attendance, is asking for your help in dealing with the situation.”

Everyone rose with grim expressions.

You jumped up, ready to put on your suit and help, but Natasha and Clint held you by your shoulders.

You looked at them, confused.

“Don’t even think about disappearing. Stay here [Y/n].” Clint ordered, sounding stern, at odds with his happy go lucky attitude normally.

You got angry, “What? No! I want to help!”

Natasha agreed with Clint, “[Y/n]. Stay here. We can handle this. You’re not ready for a mission of this type. If I find out you snuck onto the jet, I will not hold back during training.”

You folded your arms across your chest and glared at them. Debating whether or not to sneak on board despite the threat.

Bruce piped up from behind Tony, “I’ll stay as well. Probably don’t want the big man there. Might make things worse.”

Tony smiled gently at his friend, before nodding and leading the rest of the team to the jet hangars.

Throwing yourself back onto the couch, you growled, “Why can’t I go!? I could help…”

Bruce came to sit next to you and you tensed up. While you had lived with the Avengers for years now, you and Bruce were almost never left alone together. He always secluded himself and you knew why. The Hulk.

“It’s not so bad. They care about you, [Y/n].” His voice was small. As if you were the one who would freak out.

Sighing, you relaxed into the comfort of the couch, “I know. But I want to be able to help somehow.”

Bruce breathed out and it sounded funny. It took a glance and a second for you to realize he was trying to contain his laughter.

You felt your lips quirk up into a smile, but fought it, keeping your expression neutral, “What are you laughing about?” you asked, poking him in the side.

Bruce stiffened and you froze, thinking you did something wrong. But then Bruce turned to you, his eyes wide under the glare of his lenses, “Hey...what say..you and I mess with Tony’s stuff in his lab?”

You startled, and then broke into full belly laughter, “You really are evil!”

Bruce merely shrugged, before standing and holding a hand out to you.

That was how you found yourself in Tony’s lab ten minutes later, as Bruce tried to describe some weird molecular machine to you.

“So you and Tony try to create a lot of new things, huh?” You asked, walking over to where jars sat on a shelf. Peering into one, your lips turned to a scowl of disgust at the eyeballs staring back at you.

“Yeah. It started out with his suits, but when I came onboard to the Avenger Initiative, he agreed to help me find a cure.” His voice was measured, careful.

You nodded, moving along, you came to a table covered with papers filled with sketches and equations, “And have you found one? Or gotten close?” You picked up a piece of paper showing a syringe on it with numbers and periodic elements next to it.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, even not looking at him, you knew he would be frowning, “No. He...When the parasite fights to stay, it's hard to get rid of it.”

You jerked, the piece of paper fluttering to the ground, as you turned in shock.

A Parasite? You had never heard Bruce..or anyone refer to the Hulk that way.

Bruce suddenly doubled over, hands reaching out and white knuckle gripping the table in front of him.

“No!”

You raced to his side, hands hovering, unsure what to do, “What’s happening?” You worried you might have triggered a panic attack. Those happened at the tower occasionally.

Bruce’s skin rippled and you watched in amazed horror as his bones seemed to shift below his skin.

Wrenching his head to the side to look at you, he spoke between gritted teeth, “Get out of here. [Y/n]! Run!”

You stumbled backwards as his eyes changed color. Shifting rapidly between brown and yellow.

And then he seemed to grow. Larger, and taller, his back hunching over. His skin ripping. His clothes falling in tatters.

“RAAAAAOWWWWRRRR!”

A Giant scream that shook the glass windows.

You gaped up at the towering giant. The Hulk. You had never come face to face with him.

“Bruce?” You whimpered the name.

The giant turned his attention to you, a snarl showing blackened, wide teeth.

“No Bruce! Only HULK!”

The table that Bruce had been holding onto, was suddenly in the air, and you knew without a doubt it was going to come down on top of you.

Squeaking in fear, you shifted, turning invisible and running out of the way right as the table hit the ground and splintered into a thousand pieces.

“Where did you go!” Hulk screamed in anger, spinning in circles, looking in the tiny lab for you.

You, meanwhile, were cowering in a corner, on the opposite side of the door. Being Invisible took a lot of your concentration since you hadn’t practiced it for long. And you knew you wouldn't be able to keep it up for long.

You needed to get out of the lab and get ahold of FRIDAY. Curse Tony for removing the AI from his lab.

Hulk continued to scream and throw various tools and tables around the room.

Keeping yourself as small as possible to risk the chance of getting hit, you waited for him to walk away from the door.

Once he did, you decided to make a break for it.

But in your fear, you hadn’t realized the Hulk had stopped throwing things and stood with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air.

“Found you!”

“Agh!” You screamed in terror as a large green hand wrapped around your waist, picking you up from the ground.

The sudden shock made you lose concentration and you became visible again.

You struggled against the tight grip as complete terror overcame you.

Tears streamed down your face as you gasped for breath, the grip around your middle threatening to crush you.

“Let me go! Please!” You words were barely legible between your gasps and tears and terror.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt the rancid heat and smelled the breath of the giant as you came up to his face.

“Hulk powerful. Hulk not parasite!”

You trembled, nodding your head, you rushed to agree, “Yes! You’re strong! You’re very strong! Please-let me-go!”

Your eyes flew open as a shrill scream broke through your lips.

Somehow you had ended up upside down on the floor. “Ugh….mmhmmphhmmm.” Sliding, you ended up on your side, staring bleary eyed as the Hulk continued to rampage and destroy the lab.

“Bl-blood?” You voice a thread as a finger rose from the ground, coated in a sticky red substance.

Then the pain hit your head, “Ouch.” The word just a soft sound. A reflex to the pounding and realization that your head was now spilling the blood in a circle under your body.

“Bruce...help..” Black spots began to fill your vision as you prayed for the green giant to disappear and bring back the doctor. The only one in the tower. The only one you could hope to help you now.

“[Y/n]!”

“What happened!?”

“[Y/n]!”

“How could you-!”

“No time for blame-!”

“[Y/n]! I’m so sorry!”

“Stay with us!”

“Fight!” “You’re so strong.”

“Please.”

“[Y/n]...stay…”

Consciousness returned to you slowly. Squinting against bright lights, you began to sit up before blinding pain hit your head.

“Ahhh!” Wincing, you raised a hand to your forehead but stopped as you saw the heart monitor attached to your hand.

“What?”

Finally waking up to look at your surroundings, you realized you were in the tower’s infirmary.

“Oh good. You’re up. You had everyone worried there for a minute.” Dr. Cho walked in, looking pristine and as if she stepped right off of Vogue.

“What? What happened?” Your throat was dry and felt like sandpaper as you attempted to ask her why you were in a hospital bed.

“Here. Drink.” She smiled fondly at you as she held out a plastic cup full of water.

Taking it, you drank greedily, uncaring of the water that spilled over the sides of the cup and your mouth, soaking the front of your hospital gown.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you smiled sheepishly at Dr. Cho. “Sorry.”

She laughed and waved it off, writing in her clipboard as she looked at your monitor next to the bed, “Nothing to be sorry for sweetie. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

Frowning, you fiddled with your fingers, wincing as pain pierced your head again.

“Oh sorry. Are you in pain? Let me get you some medicine.” Dr. Cho fiddled with the saline bag hanging up.

And your eyes widened, “The Hulk!”

You remember Bruce and you in the lab and the giant green man throwing you against the wall. The sickening crack of your head splitting open. The copper smell as your blood pooled beneath you.

“Is he? Okay?” You asked quietly, hesitantly.

Dr. Cho wasn’t who answered.

“Bruce is okay. He feels really guilty about losing control around you like that.”

Clint walked into the room, followed by Natasha and Tony.

You waved at them, frowning, “Quilty? Why? I know he didn't it meant to. It’s not his fault.”

Clint had tears in his eyes as he ran and hugged you, causing you to chuckle, “You big baby.” You said affectionately.

“You had us scared there, [Y/n].” Tony spoke up, watching from the doorway.

Natasha nodded as Clint untangled himself from you but continued to sit on the bed by your legs, “When Bruce finally managed to calm back down, you were unconscious in a puddle of blood. He got ahold of us as he rushed to get you stabilized. You lost brain activity there for a while. We thought you were a goner.”

Tears pricked at your own eyes as you heard Natasha talk about what occurred after you passed out.

“Can I see him?”

The three people shared their own looks, and you got impatient. Swinging your legs past Clint, you made to stand up, “I have to see him. I have to tell him it’s not his fault. That I don’t blame him!”

Clint immediately blocked you, with Natasha rushing over and placing a hand on your shoulder.

You glared at her, “I’m not going to disappear to sneak out of the hospital room.”

Natasha merely shrugged, “Just have to make sure.”

You went invisible just to mess with her. Her hand tightened on your shoulder so that you couldn’t move. Returning back to visibility, you sagged under her hand, “I have to see him.” Your voice was plaintive. A plea.

“I know you think it wasn’t my fault.”

You raised your head with a gasp, the tears finally, slowly, falling down your cheeks. Because next to Tony, in the doorway, stood Bruce. He was wearing a different sweatshirt and sweats, and he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

His hands wrung together in front of him as he averted his eyes, seeming interested in the floor pattern, “But I should have had more control. I hurt you. I put you in this room. I’m sorry [Y/n]. You shouldn’t go near me.”

He turned to leave, but a strangled shout from you had him pause in his retreat.

Natasha retracted her hand, and you slowly took the few steps towards the trembling scientist.

“It wasn’t you Bruce. I know that.”

“It was me though! [Y/n]! You should hate me! I’m the monster who hurt you!”

Grabbing his shoulder, grounding him the way Natasha did so often with you, you lowered your voice to a calm, understanding one, “No. It wasn’t you. It was the Hulk. And he also didn’t mean it. I’m not going to get mad at you. You know why?”

You didn’t think he would answer, he just stood, the trembles growing, his breath coming in gasps. Your tears slid silently to fall to the ground as you continued, “Because you’re my family. And Family forgives, and Family moves forward. Family heals and Family shares in their pain and triumphs. You’re part of my family Bruce.”

With a violent shudder, Bruce turned and wrapped you in a tight hug, bringing you both to the ground with the force of it.

Laughing, you patted his back soothingly, “You’re family. And that means so is the Hulk. What happened was an accident. But I don't want you to close yourself off because of it. And I definitely don’t want you to stop spending time with me. After all,” You decided to lighten the atmosphere, “You still have to show me how that molecular thingamajig works.”

Bruce let out a wet chuckle, Clint and Natasha and Tony following with their own.

Looking up over Bruce’s shoulder, you shared a look with Tony, before craning your neck to see Clint and Natasha wiping away their own tears.

“Now. Can I get more Morphine? I have a killer headache.”

Bruce stood up, immediately turning into mother hen mode, “Does it hurt? Where? Dr. Cho! Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”

You laughter and happiness continued as he led you back to the bed and Dr. Cho checked your vitals.

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @mcuimxgine @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc

#Avengers #avengers tower #avengers x reader #avengers x you #hulk #bruce banner #bruce banner x reader #bruce #the incredible hulk #imagine #imagines request #avenger imagines #reader insert #tag list #rose writes #please give credit #please give feedback

725 notes · View notes

jasontoddiefor · 5 years

Text

Manor-Dad lets me drive the Batmobile

Summary: Bruce had two options when Dick found the Cave. 1) Tell him the truth. 2) Go along with Dick’s excited “You’re dating Batman!” until he figured out the truth.

Several children later Bruce wished he’d gone with option 1) or he wouldn’t have to deal with all his kids believing he and Batman were separate people. Yes, even Damian.

Tagging @3rdrandomthing for reading the unpolished version of this mess.

A tiny excited nine-year-old boy was jumping around the Batcave, dressed in dark Batman PJs with little yellow bats printed on them. They had been a gift from Clark and Bruce hadn’t had the heart to deny them Dick after the child had accepted them so cheerfully.

Much the same, Bruce now didn’t have the heart to use his short-term memory eraser on his young ward. Dick hadn’t cried much after his parents’ death and, unlike Bruce had been after the loss of his parents, he was a rather happy child given the circumstances. Nevertheless, Bruce wanted Dick to smile as many of those genuinely cheerful smiles as possible, and let him make a lot of good memories.

Discovering the Cave below the manor was most certainly a glorious memory for Dick, and Bruce didn’t want to take it away. Certainly, he could be convinced to keep it all a secret? Dick was smart, he knew when something was important.

Once he had made up his mind, Bruce stepped out of the shadows. The Batsuit was already back in its case, so he was sporting sweat pants and a comfortable hoodie. They didn’t heat the Cave and for all the hours Bruce spent sitting in front of the computer, a tank top didn’t suffice according to Alfred.

“Bruce!” Dick shouted when he finally spotted Bruce. “Look! This has to be the Batcave! Can you believe it? Did you know it was right here under the manor all this time? Have you met Batman…”

Dick trailed off and studied Bruce cautiously. His gaze lingered on Bruce’s neck, where this night’s fights had resulted in a small bruise and the coffee mug in Bruce’s hands.

“Look, Dick, I know this is a lot to take in-“ Bruce began to speak, but Dick interrupted him.

“You’re dating Batman!” he exclaimed.

Bruce blinked.

That wasn’t the conclusion he had expected Dick to reach. Before he could set the boy on the right path, Dick was already talking again.

“Of course! It makes so much sense! That’s why he immediately knew who I was and found me so fast when I was trying to find Zucco. You sent him after me, right? Can I meet him again? Please, please, please, I haven’t thanked him properly yet, and Alfred said it’s important to do that always.”

Dick jumped up and down, vibrating with energy. Behind him, Alfred stood with another tray of treats for Bruce and for once he looked about as caught off-guard as Bruce felt.

Bruce shared a look with Alfred, but he just shrugged in turn and indicated with a hand wave that Bruce should reply to his still rambling ward.

Right.

Looking back at Dick, Bruce could see him smiling brightly. He should correct Dick’s thoughts, but then again, it would be a good cover.

If anybody ever got too close to the truth and Dick accidentally talked – not that Bruce assumed he would, but he didn’t earn his title as ‘The World’s Greatest Detective and Most Paranoid Bastard’ by being unprepared – Batman’s identity would be safe still. Once Dick got older, Bruce could tell him the truth. For now, though...

“It’s a secret,” Bruce said seriously. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t!” Dick promised eagerly.

“You have to swear an oath.”

Bruce had loved swearing oaths as a kid. Nowadays, he knew that they had just been his parents’ convenient way of getting him to avoid telling Alfred about how many sweets he’d already eaten before dinner, but they had been fun regardless.

“Say, does that mean I can accompany Batman in the future?”

“No.”

“Bruce said I could join you on patrol.”

Bruce, dressed as Batman, nearly burned his tongue on his coffee. Dick’s expression was utterly innocent like he wasn’t lying directly to his face. Lately, he’s been spending a lot of time in the newly christened Batcave. Whenever Bruce was supposed to be sleeping or out in the city working for Wayne Enterprises, Dick went down to the Cave.

Sometimes Bruce thought that Dick had finally figured it out and was trying to prank him by feigning ignorance, but then he’d paraphrase something to Batman or Bruce that neither had said, and Bruce would know Dick was still in the dark.

“He did not.”

Bruce enjoyed Sunday mornings. They all slept in and ate breakfast together. He didn’t have to go to WE, Alfred allowed himself to relax for once, and Dick didn’t have school.

The manor had always been a quiet place after his parents’ passing, but it had never been calm. And even though Dick’s gleeful shrieks were echoing through the halls, Bruce felt at peace.

“Batman said I’d be safe in the city patrolling with-“

Bruce opened his eyes, staring directly into Dick’s blue ones. He had wondered about the sudden weight on his chest.

“No.”

“Awww, come on, B!”

Dick kept on asking, Bruce kept on protesting, and somehow it ended with Robin following Batman on the streets. Bruce still couldn’t believe he had let a child, practically a baby, talk him into taking him out to fight crime.

Not that Dick was doing any of that until he was at least thirteen. For now, Batman would make his rounds first, then take Dick out for an hour to accompany teenagers and women home in the dark, carry food to homeless people and track down lost pets.

Dick didn’t complain about it at all but poured all his energy into his task. He knew his job was serious and that the goal was to help people. If Dick dedicated about as much motivation to his homework, he could skip several grades. Honestly, it was like Dick simply enjoyed spending time with Batman, which was weird to say the least.

Bruce didn’t think he acted all that different around Dick as the Bat. He certainly got more careless about his posture as well, the more often they patrolled together.

And then, one night, after an actually fun patrol, he took off the cowl. It would be better if Dick knew the truth, even if he hadn’t deduced it himself. After all, his detection skills were something they were still working on.

“Bruce!” Dick gasped. “You were fighting with me tonight?”

“Of course. It’s always been-“

Dick rushed over to Bruce’s side, worry written all over his face.

“Is Batman alright?! Has he gotten hurt? He should have told me, I’d have been fine without going on patrol, and you shouldn’t endanger yourself. You’re already doing enough for Gotham during the day. Can I see him? Do you always jump in for him when he can’t fight? Has he gotten hurt often?”

Bruce took a deep breath and pinched his nose.

Maybe it was too early still.

“Sure,” he said, unknowing that this would be the beginning of a life-long commitment to self-love. “I stand in for Batman when he can’t patrol Gotham. What’s the purpose of funding all of this, if I don’t contribute?”

Dick nodded, though Bruce could tell he wasn’t satisfied with his answer. Maybe he would try again in another six months.

“Do you think Dad’s worried about us when we’re out on patrol?”

Batman very nearly crashed into the next building. Only his iron grip on his grappling hook and his years of training made his landing on the next roof look as professional as always.

Robin settled on the gargoyle next to him, still deep in thought.

“I mean, we don’t come back hurt often, but he always makes sure to check me for injuries again after you’ve done it. He is worrying, isn’t he?”

Batman was still stuck on Robin’s first sentence.

“… Dad?” He questioned.

Robin looked up at him in confusion before promptly blushing red.

“Don’t tell Bruce I call him that! I’m practicing it still ‘cause it sounds weird, and the first time I say it to his face needs to be perfect. I know I told him I don’t want a new father, and I don’t, I love my Papa. But he could be another dad, you know? Like, everyone has two sets of grandparents as well and I know that’s not the same, and I know he hasn’t adopted me, but I’m pretty sure he does love me like a son, he has called me that before. I know he didn’t do it consciously or whatever, and Grayson-Wayne would be like super duper long, and all teachers would hate it but-“

“Dick.”

His ward, his son, stopped talking, nervously looking down at his gloved hands.

“I’m sure Bruce will be absolutely happy to hear that and call you his son. You just have to tell him.”

Okay, so maybe this whole ‘Batman wasn’t Bruce’ thing did have some positive sides.

Dick grew with every month that passed. He got stronger and taller and Bruce trusted him with more and more responsibilities. He even took Dick to the Watchtower and it was a delight to see him collect clues about everyone’s identity, remembering even small details like Green Arrow’s preferred coffee brand, and inform Bruce of everyone’s identity within a week.

At thirteen, however, Dick still hadn’t figured out who Bruce was.

It was a little frustrating. Nothing seemed to shake Dick’s belief that they were two separate people.

“Robin,” Bruce growled in his Batman voice, before switching to his actually softer and more melodic tone. “I’m Batman.”

Dick stared at Bruce, cowl-less and serious, before being overtaken with laughter.

“Oh, jeez, B- you- Holy hell-“

“Language.”

“That was perfect. Exactly how Batman would say it!”

The direct approach really wasn’t working out for Bruce.

Even worse, Dick didn’t even seem interested in who Batman was. As long as he was kind to Dick, spend enough time with him and “treated Bruce right”, he didn’t care whatsoever about who was behind the mask.

“The Bat’s the Bat,” he had heard Dick tell Barbara once like that was a proper explanation for anything.

Barbara Gordon was a menace. An intelligent, blackmailing, smart, and confident menace hell-bent on putting herself in danger.

Bruce could go to her father, he really should, but Barbara hadn’t even been fazed by the threat.

“I know you’re just trying to look out for us, Mr. Wayne, but I promise you, we’ll be safe with Batman. I just need him to teach me some more kick-ass moves. Training with Dick is good, but he’s only learning himself still.”

Bruce didn’t even know where to start with that line of argumentation. He most certainly could keep track of two children at night, but he didn’t want to.

Yet, somehow, he found himself keeping watch over a little bird and a bat during nighttime, and playing Mario Kart with his son and his best friend during the day time.

#batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #Barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #fanfic #batfam

40 notes · View notes

dibs4ever · 5 years

Text

From his View

The first time Barbara spends time with Dick Grayson she’s 13 years old. He had come home after a particularly lengthy shift, it was one of the first times he allowed her to be home alone and she was getting ready to go to bed.

“Hey sweetie” he smiled

She shot him a grin “Hey dad, glad you made it home okay”

He nodded “I talked to Bruce Wayne this afternoon”

Barbara rose an eyebrow at his random conversation starter

“Ya know the boy you met at the gala last week? His new ward?” He continued

Barbara nodded

“Well Bruce was wondering if you’d go to the Manor after school, tutor the boy and spend some time with him maybe” he explained

Barbara shook her head “You didn’t tell him I would did you? Dick is 10 years old. The last thing I want to do is spend all my free time with a 5th grader”

Jim smiled picking up a cup she had left on the coffee table and set it on a coster “He’s actually in 6th grade, he tested a grade above”

Barbara sent him a glare

“It’s not babysitting, the kid knows nobody his parents just died and Wayne enterprises keep Bruce busy. Plus honestly, I’d feel better knowing you aren’t here alone for such long stretches” he sat beside Barbara on her bed

“So it’s babysitting for me? Dad, you just stopped making Mrs.Andrews watch me” she waved

Jim shook his head “He said he’d pay you for your ‘bus fee’” he used air quotes “Which means in Bruce Wayne code it may be worth your while” he nudged her

Barbara thought for a moment before letting out a sigh “Fine tell him I’ll be there tomorrow” she reluctantly agreed

It doesn’t take long for Barbara to grow fond of Dick. Two weeks later Jim is sitting across from Barbara having dinner listening as she goes on and on telling a story Dick had told her about how he had helped the elephant tamers birth a baby elephant that he even got to name.

She continued to spend time with Dick for another 6 months. Bruce pays her $200 a week but after 3 months Barbara finds herself enjoying spending time with the younger boy so much that she tells Bruce not to pay her to hang out with him, that she’ll do it for free. He thinks she’s slightly disappointed when Bruce tells her he doesn’t need her to come over anymore because Dick has joined an after-school club. Jim doesn’t have time to question her though because he has work issues to focus on. It seems that The Batman added to his crime-fighting in the form of a kid dressed in Red, Yellow, and Green.

He meets new sidekick “Robin” as Batman seems to be calling him one night on the rooftop. Unfortunately, this is also a night that Barbara comes to the station with her. She runs up to the roof startling both him and the spandex-clad youth I front of him. Barbara stops talking mid-sentence and just stares at the boy. Do his demise the boy stares back at her, both of them silent. Feeling uncomfortable with the “Staredown” Jim quickly rushes his daughter off but not before mumbling under his breath “Not on your life Boy Wonder”

A year later a new vigilant makes it on the scene, this one a female. Batgirl her name is. Or so hers heard. He hasn’t actually seen this one. He figures Batman thinks he’ll start questioning his motives, smart move on the Dark Knights part.

At the Wayne Christmas Benefit gala, he notices how Dick and Barbara seem closer. Their ages are still quite different, she’s 15 almost 16 and he’s 12 going on 13 in the spring. He’s in 8th grade she’s in 10th. He doesn’t understand what it possibly could be that has brought them closer as friends but he’s happy she at least has someone to pass time with during Galas. He chuckles to himself when he notices the secret glances Dick is sending to his daughter. A cute little childhood crush he thinks to himself “In your dreams boy, she’s far too old for you”

That same year Barbara gets her first boyfriend. Charlie a blonde haired boy in her pre-calculus class. It doesn’t last long. He breaks up with her when she won’t “Put out” at first Jim is outraged but then he smiles when Barbara tells him she gave him a black eye.

Not too much changes over the next year. Gotham is crazier than ever keeping Jim very busy and away from him most days. Which is why he’s startled when he comes by the apartment really quick to grab his back up glasses. He pauses when he hears voices coming from Barbara’s room. He knew Barbara was home but figured she’d be asleep by now. He listens in from the other side

“Would you relax?” He hears Barbara say with a giggle

Who is she talking to? He thinks to himself

“Are you sure your dads not home?” He asks—-he is the voice of Dick Grayson

What’s he doing here? He’s about to open the door when the conversation continues

Dick shakes his head “Your right I thought I head something. I just can’t believe you’ve kept this from him as long as you have.”

“Admitting I’m better at you at something”

“Never” Dick responds with a chuckle

“Why don’t you prove it” Barbara responded lightly

Dick chuckles “Oh believe me I will”

What is going on? Barbara is 17, Dick is 14. Yeah he knew they had gotten closer after he started high school and they began going to the same school but he didn’t think they were- he hears a squeaking and quickly flings the door open

But what he sees is not what he expects. He catches the tail end of a black and yellow cape. The curtain now flapping in the wind. He walks over and shuts the window causing the squeak to come again. Five minutes later an officer over the radio reports a possible Batgirl and Robin sighting

My daughter is Batgirl, Dick Grayson is Robin

Jim decides not to let on that he knows.

Barbara begins college the next year, Dick is 15 but a junior in high school. Robin, Batgirl and Batman are still going strong. They’re at the Manor for a private dinner Bruce is hosting. Dick doesn’t join them, something about not feeling well Alfred mentions.

He buys it until he overhears Barbara and Dick in the living room after dinner

“Hey Dick calm down,” she says softly

They’re both sitting on the couch

“I can’t Babs I don’t know how much more of this I can take. We fight constantly about everything” he says his face in his hands

Barbara shakes her head resting a hand on his back. He’s grown a lot over the last year but she is still taller than him. “Hey it’ll pass you two care about each other”

“I’m always going to be in his shadow” he stuffs his face further into his hands. “I feel myself turning into him and that’s not what I want to be”

“Hey” Barbara touches his cheek causing him to look up “You are not living in his shadow, and you aren’t turning into him. Dick, you are kind and sweet. You make me laugh. You might up the room when you walk in” she leaned forward pecking his cheek lightly

“I better go, my dads, gonna be looking for me” she stands

Dick nods “Yeah, thank Babs for everything”

She nods and walks out the living rooms other exits

6 months later Dick is gone. “Boarding School” is what Bruce tells Jim and the public. But Jim feels it probably has something to do with his Robin duties. Barbara doesn’t say much about it but Jim knows she has to be upset about her friend's sudden leave of absences

It doesn’t take Batman long to find a new protégé. Six months later a new Robin is on the scene. Batman doesn’t introduce him to this one.

It’s not for 2 years that Dick Grayson returns. He’s 18 now and grown quiet immensely in the past 2 years. He’s taller, broader and more masculine.

“Dicks taller then me now,” Barbara says with a smile. She’s sitting at the table across from him at the cafe they met at for lunch. With his job at the department and hers at the library, they don’t see each other much. Not to mention she lives in her own apartment now. She’s 21 and recently gotten out of a relationship with Jason Bard. Jason worked for the department, he was an alright guy but Jim wasn’t too devastated when they called it quits. Jim nods “Oh yeah?”

Barbara smiles “Yeah but only by an inch. He’s grown a lot don’t you think?”

Jim nods “Yes he has he’s not that scrawny boy anymore”

Barbara laughs “Dick was never scrawny, but I agree he’s grown into his features.”

Jim takes a swig of coffee “Where is he living? With Bruce again?”

Barbara almost chokes on her coffee cake “No he’s uh staying in Bludhaven. Actually, he is joining the police academy “ she explains

Jim nods “Wow well tell him if he needs any help I’d be more then willing to give my advice”

Barbara nods “I definitely will”

It’s a few months later that he is at a Gala. Everyone beautifully dressed. Dick and Barbara are attached at the hip. Just like old times. But now it’s different. They are laughing and giggling and there’s a gleam in both their eyes. They’re both exchanging glances. Barbra is touching Dick's bicep and occasionally running her hands through his hair, He catches Dick checking out his daughter more than once. He wants to be mad but he catches her doing it to him too. This isn’t cute like it was when Dick was a child. No, it worries him. His daughter now has feelings for Dick Grayson and he can’t do anything about it.

#Dickbabs #DickBabs fanfiction #dick grayson #barbara gordon

133 notes · View notes