#bruce confronts tim about it because he KNOWS he will fold | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trekkele · 4 months

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Hello! I'm the Anon who asked about Bruce being self-aware.

When I said "Also, there's something of a difference between being self-aware about himself and when it comes to his kids." I meant that he says or does super hurtful stuff that he just doesn't seem to think was wrong or reflect upon when it went downhill or realising too late or sb had to spell it out for him.

Examples being:

him reading Dick's diary after taking him in as a ward to figure out what Dick wants instead of just asking, thus creating the Robin suit after Dick's designs (God, it was a Batman or Robin: year one comic book, I'm pretty sure but I don't rememer which),

saying "commendable" instead of just "I'm proud of you" to Damian (basically his "emotional constipation" as a whole, like being unable to understand or even recognize his kids feelings and then failing to say just the most normal praising/comforting/loving things.),

ignoring (or acting as if) when Damian apologizes for direspecting/ignoring previous orders and holds a cute speech about trying to listen now but Bruce just turns around like "Did you say something?",

not telling Dick that Jason is now Robin or that Jason died even though Bruce said he would call Dick (yeah, he was being petty or grief stricken, but still)

Tim's sixteenth birthday "present"

I hate to bring this up but the whole Batarang to the NeckTM situation in UTRH. His resurrected son confronts him and he fails to show a single emotion, instead immediately debating ethics and morals with him.

anything with Jason in future comics where Bruce beats him up and acts like Jason asked for it or that Bruce didn't have a choice but to do that.

bringing Jason back to Ethiopia to the warehouse where he died, so Bruce could maybe find a way to resurrect Damian after Heretic killed him (I think it was Heretic, but maybe it was sb else)

beating up any of his kids for any reason. The most he should do willingly is defend himself with defensive moves only or seeking distance. But not charging in like he wants a fight.

sending only Damian to save Alfred from Bane, which just allowed for Damian to be captured and then having to watch Bane snap Alfred's neck, and then Bruce says to Damian's face "If I had been there, I could have saved him." (Bruce prioritised his own grief over his son's grief and trauma and all that)

Bruce tells Cass she doesn't need a real life and sectret identity, that she only needs a costume and a private batcave and she'd be fine

Bruce instigates a fight where he and Cass get drugged and can communicate about their feelings through fist fighting.

Taking/ Trying to take Robin away from sb for their "own good". I don't mean benching, but full on "You're not Robin anymore, never again." but then folding a few issues later anyway. (It could be seen as very shitty parenting ig)

Like you said, Bruce gets written very inconsistently and I tried not to cherry pick too much of what I wanted to say, so I made this mess of a bulleted list. While a lot of these examples do come from his communication issues, I still wanted to include them anyway because it's taken too far with some writers (can't say "I love you" or hug his kids, although he doesn't have a problem with doing that with Clark or Diana) or he doesn't reflect on those moments or he repeats them over and over again.

I swear I love Bruce, I'm not a hater!!! He's actually my favorite character!!! 😭😭😭

(Making this list really hurt. Just so you know.)

Hey listen, im going to answer these by number* and then probably delete this ask in a few hours because. I hate all of these!! Maybe 3 are in character!! I dont want this terrible Bruce on my blog!!! But also i dont want you to think i asked for clarification and then ignored you so feel free to send another ask when you see this lol. Or if I have once again missed the point.

* because I misunderstood this ask again and also most of these gave me hives lmao and also also I think like 75% could be answered with "we needed someone to mean to [character] and Bruce is convenient el oh el"

Anyways:

1. This one is in character, a little bit, because as much as we understand kids needing privacy now, i can see the way Bruce was raised (Alfred would have absolutely read his diary, that feels very in character for him) and the way Dick was (sneaking out to find Zucco) leading to him panicking and monitoring him as much as possible. That doesnt make it right mind you. The thing is if Dick hacked the bat computer Bruce would probably be proud of him, so not entirely hypocritical.

2. Also possibly in character, because again, thats how Alfred probably spoke to him. Not great, and i think the current Batman and Robin run does a much better job with their relationship, but can be chalked up to bad writing tbh.

3. No this is shitty writing. Sorry it just is!

4. This could be its own post but in summary: decisions made to launch another chracters solo or in order to make a different character look good are ignored. They wanted a Nightwing solo and decided a good launching point would be a big fight between Dick and Bruce. No thanks.

There have also been panels where Dick talks about ignoring Bruce’s calls during that time period, so this could be chalked up to mutual miscommunication if you insist. And i prefer the pre crisis origin for Jaybin, for multiple reasons.

5. I haven’t read this, ive heard of it, and its weird. It feels like point 4, but for Tim. The writers wanted a villain for his birthday comic, Bruce is right there.

6. Nah, Jason fucked around and he found out. He wanted a Batman that kills criminals, he just forgot he was also, now, a murderer and a criminal. Im only half kidding here, but the problem with UTRH is that exactly. Also the fact that Jason spent like six months doing absolutely horrible shit in Gotham, and that like 15 minutes before this showdown Bludhaven was blown up, Bruce has no idea if Dick is alive, and Jason mocks him for possibly losing another son. Also Jason is the one demanding Bruce cross his very personal boundaries here, ethics and morals are a very necessary part of the conversation!!

7. Anything where Bruce beats someone near death or uses lethal force is technically out of character. Jason comics outside of DITF and UTRH do not do enough work to give his actions the context necessary for them to be in character. RHATO #25 Is shit writing.

8. It was heretic, on Talias orders, and that whole storyline is dumb. This does feel in character, because Bruce response to grief has historically been 1 become Batman 2 attempt to commit suicide by cop/criminal so points for that consistency? I really hate this plot tho. Stop killing Bruce's kids!! The man is unstable as it is!!!

9. Out of character. I know it gets used for some god awful reason but it is so out of character unless the writer is willing to give it some serious work to provide context, (or unserious; see; Zur-En-Arrh in Gotham War. It's dumb, but it provides plausible context for Bruce beating his kids ie: it isn't technically him). Barring mind control, rejected.

10. No!! What the fuck!!! Bruce is not sending one of his kids alone against Bane there is an entire comic where he drugs them so that doesn't happen stop that!!!!

As a side note when I read that the first time I understood it as "I should not have sent you in alone because it was a task too big for you, If I had been there to help we could have saved him", but I am an optimist with too much faith in DC.

11. Absolutely bonkers statement from "please let me fire you from robin so you can have a normal life" McGee. Chalking this one up to racism and misunderstanding Bruce's character and that stupid "Bruce Wayne is the mask Hur dur" thing.

12. Ok this one feels in character actually. Somehow. At least they're talking?

13. Also feels in character actually. This one is weird because you'll see those stupid "child soldier" arguments side by side with "how dare Bruce take away Robin!". Pick a side. It's either bad parenting to let Robin exist or it's bad parenting to not let Robin exist, it can't be both!

And since these are comic books, and you need to engage with the genre in good faith or you'll have a miserable time of it, Robin exists! And is allowed to exist! At the same time, as a mentor Bruce has to be able to bench Robin, that is also a function of the mentor/mentee relationship! Basically - Bruce should be able to bench an injured/at risk Robin, but the writing for those scenarios usually wants him as a villain.

Taking away Robin completely only happens to Dick tho, and since it's after he gets shot on the job I do think it's in character.

As for "I tried not to cherry pick" babe please do so!! It's comics!! It's not canon unless you want it to be, and if you want these truly terrible Bruce's to be canon all the power to you! I want to set them on fire tho. And snort WFA like it's cocaine until all this is a bad memory jfc DC screen your writers for daddy issues I am begging you.

#asks #im sorry but heroes need to be good parents #its been a core part of Batman for years that he's good with kids this is such shitty writing #if you can't write conflict without assassinating someone's character you are ... a bad writer #you just are!!!#also your point where Bruce is perfectly fine with Clark and Diana is another tick ij the 'all this is daddy issues' column lmao

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brianwashere · 2 years

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Dawg Istg this took so long like—agh. But it’s done and the idea is out of my head now.

I’m actually really proud of it please like it

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from DC or Batman**

Pairing: batfam x poc!son!reader

Genre: found family and a lil sprinkle of angst but it ends up alright

Summary: Alrighty what do people thing about a one shot with a teen poc male reader ( older than Damian but younger than Tim ) and the Batfam. It’s the reader’s first time it this large fancy private school and they keep getting bullied for their ethnicity. By the end of the day a group of bullies writes in sharpie “go back to where you came from” and the reader doesn’t do anything for a few weeks but then on of the batbros finds out and they get super mad. Confrontation then it’s got a happy ending and stuff.

Tw: racism, no slur use but degrading comments about race, bullying

Maybe I’ll stick around

You didn’t know what to expect when Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham, adopted you. You’d lived years on the street and ran away from all of your foster homes at least once.

You definitely weren’t expecting him to put you in the same high class snobby rich kid school as his two youngest sons. When you asked why you were going to a “rich bitch school” he told you that you were his son now and that meant you didn’t get any different treatment than his own kids.

What a bunch of bullshit. You’re obviously just a charity case. You saw the article in the paper the day after you were officially adopted.

“Bruce Wayne adopts immigrant teenage boy”

You weren’t an immigrant.

You hated the media. Whatever. Soon he’s gunna realize how “troubled” you are and send you back to another home. You’ll run away from there too. You’ll run until they catch and deport you because, apparently, you’re an immigrant.

Your first day of school started out relatively normal. You tried to sleep in but Dick was still staying over and dragged you out of bed. That left you no choice but to get dressed into your uniform. Alfred had cooked you breakfast but you didn’t want any then he drove you, Damian, and Tim to school.

Tim looked like hell. Literal hell. His hair looked like it had never seen a hairbrush and the bags under his eyes could make Louis Vuitton jealous.

Damian…well—he was Damian. Snobby, rude, and flippant. His hair was perfectly combed and his tie was tied with precision.

It’s hard to remember he’s younger than you.

You were wearing the uncomfortable uniform but your shirt was untucked and your tie was barely hanging on ( it wasn’t your fault you never learned how to tie a tie ).

“You look trashy.” Damian spoke in a clipped tone.

“You represent the Wayne Family you can’t just go around dressed like the addicts on the side of the road.” He continued, arms folded.

You rolled your eyes and wondered how much trouble you’d get in if you punched his perfect teeth in.

Alfred scolded him telling him how he should be kind to his new brother and that “you were the new one once too”.

Alfred was too patient for his own good.

When you finally got to school Tim and Damian immediately left you to go do whatever Wayne sons do at school. Which left you and your school schedule with your locker number and code printed on the corner.

As you walked down the hall you could feel eyes on you. People would whisper as you walked by. You acted unfazed—for the most part you were. When you finally found your locker and managed to get the damn thing open you were shocked to see that there was nothing in it.

Ok ok you know that’s how it’s supposed to be but all the other schools’ lockers either had some mysterious sticky substance or so much rust it could give you tetanus just by breathing near it. But this locker was clean. Clean and empty.

You shook from your shock quickly and threw most of your binders and books into it with no particular order.

You closed the metal door and locked it again. When you turned around you came face to face with a small posse of sporty looking guys.

“You the new Wayne son?” He sneered.

“Yeah. What’s it to you?”

“You know you’re just for publicity, right? As soon as you give him lip he’s gunna toss you to the dogs of Gotham.” He chuckled darkly.

You rolled your eyes, great you get to meet the bullies.

“Your breath stinks. Leave me alone.” You say as you shove your way past him.

He grabbed your schedule from your hand.

“Hey! I need that.” You were getting annoyed now.

He shoved you against the locker and left with his posse. And your schedule. Shit.

You hate rich people.

After trying to ask people who wouldn’t give you the time of day you finally found the proper math class and you were only 15 minutes late.

The teacher looked away from the board she was teaching on and looked on her clipboard that was sitting on her desk.

“Wayne?” She asked with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t call me that. And yes, that’s me.” You hated that name. It felt gross on your tongue.

“Well Mr. Wayne, have a seat, I’m sure someone will give you the notes you missed.” She sounded less than happy to be teaching high school students.

One look around the room and you knew no one was going to give you the notes.

The rest of the day was boring. You are alone at lunch and finished the rest of your classes with relative ease.

You needed to get one last book from your locker before Alfred picked you up. Apparently rich schools don’t have buses.

As you walked down the hall you heard attempts to muffle giggles and lots of whispers. Oh no. This wasn’t good.

You walked a little faster. When you got up to your locker you stopped.

Someone had written with sharpie in large black lettering over the door of your locker.

GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM

The hall burst with laughter and snorts. You slowly unlocked the padlock and opened the locker. Out poured hundreds of white scraps of folded paper. You picked one up off the ground and read it.

ANIMAL

You briefly looked over several others. More racist comments. Jesus Christ. You grabbed your textbook and slammed the locker shut. You contemplated leaving it unlocked, ultimately you did lock it because you didn’t want someone to steal your stuff.

When you got the stairs at the front of the school you saw Alfred waiting in the car. Damian and Tim were already in there. You sighed, collecting your thoughts. You got in the car and Alfred took you back to the manor. He attempted to ask how your day was. You were quiet. That was the end of him trying to communicate with you in the car.

The other few days were similar: more scraps of paper, more comments. The days faded into a week and then two weeks.

You were getting your books for the homework assigned. You shut your locker and came face to face with Damian…well, face to chin. He was kinda short. Tim was standing behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Tim asked. He was using his gravelly voice. The one he uses when he’s trying to be intimidating.

“About what?” You knew what.

Damian spoke this time.

“You know what.” He scowled.

You shrugged.

“Dunno. Didn’t think to.” That was a lie. You thought about it multiple times. Something stopped you every time you seriously considered telling someone.

Both looked unconvinced.

“We told Bruce.” Tim deadpanned.

Your eyes widened.

“What? No! Why?” You gulped and looked around.

“Because this is racially motivated.” Damian said matter of factly.

“Well give the man a cigar! He connected the goddamn dots!” You raised your voice at him.

He growled. Tim grabbed his shoulder.

“You seriously should’ve told us, dude.” Tim looked slightly hurt.

“Whatever.” You grumbled and walked out to the car.

You got in. Tim and Damian soon followed. Alfred drove to the manor.

You got out and hoped to make a mad dash to your room.

He was waiting.

“Not so fast. We need to talk. In my office.” Bruce said sternly.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“Why didn’t you say anything.” He started.

It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged.

“Never occurred to me.” You lied.

“The real answer.” He sounded like he usually does.

“That was the real answer.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was.”

“We can go back and forth all day, but the bottom line is that you’re not leaving this office until you tell me why.” He was using a lawyer voice.

You weren’t sure if this was a threat or a promise. Maybe both.

“Did you think the bullying would get worse?”

“No.” You picked at your cuticles.

“Are you protecting someone?”

“No.” You tapped your foot.

“Were you scared of getting hurt?”

“No.” You ground your teeth.

“Then why. Why didn’t you say anything.”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“THIS ISN’T SOMETHING NEW, BRUCE! THIS ISN’T SOME ONCE IN A LIFETIME THING THAT I HAVEN’T EXPERIENCED BEFORE! Th-…this isn’t—“

Your voice broke. Tears were streaming down your cheeks.

“This is something I’m used to…” You sniffed and wiped your nose.

He hugged you.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s all he said. Not some revolutionary speech about how you’re just as good as anyone else. Just an apology.

But you felt heard. You felt noticed.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Of course Bruce had a talk with your school. He wasn’t letting anymore of that slide. You noticed that Damian and Tim also started hanging around you at school more often. You weren’t sure if this was Bruce’s doing but it felt…nice…to have your brothers around you every once in a while.

The bullying stopped for the most part. Sometimes there would be a comment or two but they’d always come in the next day with either the fear of God struck in them or a black eye.

You didn’t need to know who did it, but you’d guess it was Damian.

School may have been hard but your two brothers there made it a little more bearable.

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

“We have a problem,” Tim grumbled as he stumbled into the dining room. He threw the morning newspaper down on the table, letting it slide the last few feet until it stopped millimeters short of Bruce’s coffee.

Bruce sputtered his eggs and grabbed the paper, staring at the picture of him speaking with Marinette and Adrien that took up the entire front page above the fold. He threw the paper back on the table. “Son of a b…”

“We’ve been getting calls from PR all morning,” Tim interrupted him before Alfred got upset with Bruce for his language. “Because they’ve been getting calls from every newspaper, news station, blog, and interested citizen in the world, calling to ask them about it.”

Tim poured himself a large cup of coffee, larger than usual. He’d had patrol last night and gotten woken up at the crack of dawn this morning with calls about the story. So he was running on all of three hours of sleep and just wanted to crawl back into bed, but with this story, there was no chance of him getting to bed until after tonight’s patrol had already left.

It didn’t help that he was beating himself up for not picking up on the cues she was giving that night. He’d run into her. He and Stephanie had talked to her. He saw her freeze up when she realized who he was. He knew she was acting off, he just hadn’t thought it was nefarious. If anything, it seemed hurt, not scared. He should have caught onto her body language. He should have noticed how she seemed to freeze when he mentioned the family. She must have thought he was fishing, letting her know he was onto her and her plan to do this.

“You’d think after all the false alarms they’ve reported in the past that they’d know better by now. Not every black haired, blue eyed child is a Wayne. I’ve had PR draft up a statement that while we appreciate her support for the orphans, she is not, in fact, a Wayne,” he finished, taking a bite of his muffin, missing Bruce’s grimace.

Damian grabbed the paper, wrinkling it in his clenched fists as he scanned the text. “She must have orchestrated the whole thing to put this out. How else would they know these details?”

“No,” Dick commented thoughtfully, prying the paper away from Damian to take a look at the picture. “If she was in on it she would have put on a better act. Look at the image. She isn’t playing into it. She looks scared, not excited to ‘introduce her fiancé to her family’.” Dick quoted. He briefly scanned the paper for more information.

All the evidence appeared to be the picture, her physical features, and some call logs to her parent’s business. Dick scrunched up his face with concern. While not damning, it was interesting. He didn’t know any reason Bruce would have to contact a bakery in Paris. “Not to mention the story would have gone out yesterday for a bigger circulation boost. Sundays are the big press days. They wouldn’t have waited until Monday. That suggests they researched, or rather stole the information. And no quotes from her in here.”

“Fine,” Damian growled, acquiescing to his logic. “Maybe she did it after the fact. She saw the opportunity and took it.”

“No,” Bruce admitted quietly. “She wouldn’t have had to do that.” The room seemed to become still as everyone turned to face him. “If she wanted this story to go out she could have put it out at any time. And she would have played up the dance, would have sought me out at the gala. But she didn’t.”

“What dance?” Duke asked cautiously, his focus entirely on Bruce now.

“I asked her to dance. She said no. Ran away as quickly as she could actually,” Bruce chuckled self-deprecatingly as he stared at the paper in Dick’s hands.

Damian blinked at him as though the longer he stared the clearer what was happening would become. But no matter how hard he stared, the image didn’t become clearer. If anything, things became hazier. “This could all be a clever ruse. She wants to appear innocent so when you confront her she can point out that she didn’t do those things. It says she’s an aspiring designer. This could all be for publicity.”

“She wouldn’t have to go through all that,” Bruce stated again, more finality in his voice. He finally looked up, but still didn’t make eye contact with any of them.

Dick stared at Bruce, taking in his response, letting the words and their broader meaning sink in. The words he wasn’t saying hung in the room like thick smoke, winding their way into everything they touched, stealing the air out of the room. “What are you saying Bruce?” Dick asked cautiously

“The story’s true, isn’t it,” Tim observed. It was a statement more than a question.

Bruce nodded with a sigh. “Except for the meeting her fiancé part.”

Tim knew it was true even before Bruce’s verbal acknowledgement. The pieces suddenly fit together. It was the only thing that made sense. That’s why her reactions were off. That matched. He saw her face when they told her the gala was to celebrate family. He saw her body language change sharply when Stephanie joked about Bruce taking in everyone he saw. He wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time and didn’t really even try because it didn’t seem relevant and they had more important issues to think about, namely celebrating Duke. After the story, he thought the reactions were a tell. But now… now that he knew, they were a tell, but for something else entirely.

She was trying to be polite about it, not letting on how hard it was hitting. And oh God, didn’t that make it worse. Everything they said had been cordial, joking at Bruce’s expense, at their own expense. But with the new knowledge… it was at hers. They weren’t jokes, they were digs. They were attacks. They were him putting her ‘in her place’; out of the family. Tim took in a shuttering breath and collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.

He would have so much to apologize for. He would have to find her and make sure she knew he didn’t mean his words the way they must have come across. He knew how it felt to not be accepted. He knew how it felt to not feel loved by your parents. He knew how it felt to have your place in the family questioned constantly, to be attacked, to be unwelcome. He wouldn’t wish that on enemies, let alone family.

“Who is she, Father?” Damian demanded.

Bruce met his eyes, guilt swimming in his own. “She’s your half-sister. Her mother and step-father have been raising her in Paris,” Bruce answered calmly.

Damian fought the gasp his lungs demanded against his will. His father was confirming it. He was acknowledging her. But never trusted them with the information. “Were you ever going to tell us?” Damian finally asked with forced coolness

“I was letting the dust settle on introducing Duke before I broached it,” Bruce hedged.

“So you just found out,” Damian asked angrily. That would make sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, him. It was that he didn’t know until recently. Of course that was what happened.

“No.”

Damian gaped at him, his hastily built protective construct shattering with one word. “How long have you known?”

“Since she was born.” Damian gaped at him. He’d known. He’d known since before Damian came to live with them and still never told them. He didn’t trust him. Even after all he’d done, he still didn’t trust him. And now he was letting this unknown, this daughter, even just thinking the word made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, do whatever she wanted. He trusted her but not him.

“You have a daughter, a biological daughter you’ve known about for decades and that you never told us about,” Dick asked again in a daze. He fell into a chair staring at Bruce incredulously. There was no way. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He loved kids. He loved his kids. Why would he send one away? He hadn’t even wanted to do that to Jason.

“So I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know?” Duke asked. He looked around, taking in the stunned, disbelieving, hurt expressions.

“Not just you,” Damian gritted out.

Duke sucked in a breath and pulled out his phone, texting Jason and Cass to let them know what was happening. They were going to want to know as soon as possible too. All of them were going to have questions and issues with this information. And if the conversation went on much longer, they may want to be involved.

“Why was she there last night? What did she want? Surely she wouldn’t have come without a plan,” Damian pressed. Nobody had access to the kind of power and money they had and just walked away. If she was presenting herself and not to them, to the press, there must be a reason, a plot. They needed to find out more about her to figure it out. “How did she get a ticket in the first place?” That might be a place to start. It would give an insight into her accomplices and they could be pressed later for more information.

Bruce sighed and looked back down at his food, pushing the plate away, no longer hungry in the slightest. “I can’t answer how she got her ticket. As to why she was there, she was there to talk about a position for a friend of hers… with Lucius apparently, not me.”

“She was using her name to get her subpar friend a job,” Damian spat in disgust. There had to be more though. With their name, she could get much, much more. This had to be an opening gambit. The job must be placing an operative, loyal to her, within their institution. Next was the stunt with the press. They needed to figure out her next steps.

“No,” Bruce insisted. “She didn’t mention her association. He doesn’t know… well, he does now. He spoke to me after the gala, said he discovered one of our managers is stealing ideas and there was someone he was going to spend the weekend researching but he was excited about hiring him. Luthor is trying to hire him, so if we don’t act fast we’ll lose him. I’m betting that was her friend.”

“You don’t know that,” Damian growled out. “That could be a coincidence.”

“I’ll confirm with Lucius today, but it fits with what I know,” Bruce insisted calmly. “From what her mother has told me over the years, it’s the kind of thing she would do; go well out of her way to help a friend. And her mother let me know she was planning on attending the gala to talk about hiring her friend. I just thought she was going to talk to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us,” Dick asked breathlessly. He was staring at Bruce with hurt saturating his eyes. He heard nothing after Bruce admitting he’d known about her and never told them. He was aware Bruce had been saying things for the last few minutes but none of it had registered. None of it was what he needed to know.

Bruce sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Nobody knew. Nobody but me and her mother and step-father. It was easier that way.” Easier to pretend was left unsaid. Easier for Bruce to pretend like he hadn’t cut her out of his life, like he didn’t regret it every day. Easier for Bruce to try to forget.

“Not even her?” Duke asked.

“Not even her,” Bruce confirmed with a sigh. He ran his hand over his face.

“Why?” Dick was staring at him in wide eyed confusion. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He’d been with Bruce for twenty years and never heard a whisper of a biological daughter. But she existed. And he knew. Bruce took a deep breath and Dick scowled. “I swear to God, B, if you say some dumbass excuse like to protect her…”

“She has a happy life. Her mother and step-father love her beyond words. They support her, love her, encourage her. They’re there for her whenever she needs it. They never miss an event. Family dinners every night. She has friends… a good life. She’s safe. She never had to worry about defending herself. She never had to be taught what to do when she got kidnapped. Never had to… doesn’t remember seeing the people around her dead from the latest rogue attack. Not like what she would have here…” he again left the last part of the sentence off. The “with me” was left for everyone to fill in on their own.

“You’re a good father,” Tim assured him weakly, because at this point, with this information…

“I hope so.” Bruce gave him a weak smile. “But when she was born… I had an obligation. I had a responsibility.”

“She was your responsibility!” Dick yelled, his face suddenly contorting in anger and frustration with Bruce.

Bruce looked away stoically, face suddenly a mask devoid of emotion. “She had a better option and I made sure she got it.”

The room was silent for a few moments while his words settled in. The only sound was Dick seething in his seat. “But she doesn’t know you? You never visited. You never interacted with her. Even not telling her who you were to her,” Tim clarified.

Bruce shook his head. “I visited her final project for her degree a few weeks ago under the guise of research for the fabric project. She’s a designer. I was hoping to get her in on the fabric project. I thought it would be a good cover to get her comfortable with the family. But I didn’t talk with her while I was there.” He chuckled slightly at the memory. “I couldn’t even get close. There were too many people talking to her, congratulating her, offering her internships. Her work was beautiful.”

“But you’ve talked with her parents,” Tim checked.

He sighed and waved his hand helplessly. “I spoke with Sabine every so often to check on Marinette, make sure she was okay. I helped pay for her schooling, but even that was disguised as an investment into her parents’ company.”

“So her parents were having you pay for their company, holding the secret over your head,” Damian spat out.

“No!” Bruce growled. He knew Damian was having a hard time with this. Hell, that’s one of the main reasons he waited so long, because he knew Damian wouldn’t react well. Damian would have taken it as an attack on his position in the family. And after the way he treated Tim and Dick when he first found out about them… They could protect themselves against his attacks. She wouldn’t have been able to. He didn’t know how far Damian would actually go and he didn’t want Damian to have to find out either. He had been waiting until Damian was more settled, more secure in the family and their unconditional love for him before he reached out to her. But he wasn’t going to let him disparage Sabine and Tom. They’d been nothing but understanding.

“They only let me put in the amount for tuition. They wouldn’t allow me to give any more than that and Marinette got a scholarship for her university so she didn’t need any assistance. I tried to keep giving them money for her to at least have spending money but they refused. They stopped accepting the transfers. They only relented when I said it would look suspicious. So they’ve been creating a trust for her with it.”

Damian grumbled and looked away. Whatever their game was, they were certainly good at it.

Bruce dropped his head into his hands. “Nobody was supposed to know about her until I was sure it was safe,” Bruce grumbled into his hands. “Until I’d had a chance to talk to everyone about it.”

“Well now everyone knows, so maybe now is a good time to start trying to make that connection,” Dick growled.

“If she’ll let us,” Tim added. He remembered the look in her eyes when he talked about his… their family.

“It’s never too late to start trying to bond,” Dick insisted. His eyes were bordering on wild. They could bring this back, right? The family had come back from worse. They’d faced steeper hills. Hell, Damian tried to kill them when he first came. Jason had also tried to kill them all more than once when he came back. She couldn’t be that bad. They just had to make the first move. “We just have to let her know we want to.”

Tim shook his head and looked down, not at all convinced it really was as easy as that. Tim was awkward on a good day. He could make friends but usually they made the first move. He was pretty certain she wouldn’t make the first move in this instance. Damian wouldn’t accept her, period. Dick would crowd her. Jason would… whatever Jason did, probably disappear. She wasn’t a Robin so he probably wouldn’t try to kill her. Cass would try, but her success depended on Marinette understanding what Cass wasn’t saying. And Bruce… Bruce was never good at understanding emotions or sympathizing. Honestly, their best hope was Duke.

Duke breathed out a deep sigh and looked away. This family was not easy to get along with or find your place with. And bonding with each other? He managed because he fought next to them. They bonded in the field, in their suits. He wasn’t sure if they realized that about themselves. If they interacted outside the suits it was because of the bond they formed inside them. She wouldn’t have that opportunity and without it… The prognosis was not good.

“What are you going to do, B?” Tim asked tentatively. “Because whatever your plans were, now she knows and she’s dealing with it on her own. She… You need to talk to her.”

Bruce sucked in a breath and massaged his temples. “I know.”

“And you need to apologize,” Dick added firmly.

Bruce nodded. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick growled. “You have no idea what has to be going through her head right now.” He grabbed his bag and stalked out of the manor, slamming the door as he left.

“And you need to decide what we’re going to tell the public,” Tim added. “We need to put a statement out soon.”

“I know,” Bruce agreed. His voice this time was more detached. That was something he would have to decide, but that wasn’t the priority right now and not something he wanted to do without her input.

He needed to come up with a new plan and quickly. This was nothing like the one he had come up with. He was supposed to have more time. He was supposed to be able to ease into this. He was supposed to be able to feel things out before deciding a path. He was supposed to control the environment and how his family found out.

But now he was thrown into it, they all were, and he had no idea how to proceed. He didn’t know her well enough to anticipate how she would react to the situation or to him. He didn’t know her well enough yet to know the best way to approach her. He needed to come up with a game plan. He sighed heavily. He had to get into the office, not show anything out of the ordinary. And once he was behind his office door, he could talk to Sabine. She would know what to do.

Chapter 5

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - bonding

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sonicscrewdriver-hippogriff · 3 years

Text

Here, have two angsty snippets from a Batman/Batfam fic I’m too lazy to write:

/Batman has been very reckless lately and Superman actually had to save him on the last Justice League mission, because he probably tried to sacrifice himself or something/

"Are you crazy?” shouted Superman as soon as he and Batman stepped a few feet away from the rest of the crowded heroes.

Batman just gazed somewhere behind the Man of Steel, obviously avoiding his look. He even tried to turn away and leave but Superman just grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to face him.

“Do you actually want to get hurt?” he continued to shout. “It’s like you want to get yourself killed!”

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what I deserve!” bellowed the Dark Knight and Superman let go of him in surprise.

The rest of the League gave up on pretending not to listen to them and gazed at them, eyes wide with shock.

Batman just clenched his jaw, turned on his heel and left without a further word.

/then he probably avoids the whole League and, in fear that Clark has told something to the kids, he tries to avoid the kids too, which, together with his recent behaviour, obviously makes them turn to Clark who tells them/

/they decide to confront Bruce/

“You need help,” folded Dick his arms defensively.

“I’m fine,” waved him off Bruce, ready to pull on the cowl and leave for the night.

“No, you’re not,” joined them Tim sounding distressed.

The boy took a breath to calm himself and started in a calmer tone: “Look, I’ve been there and I have to agree with Dick on this one. You...you need to get help, Bruce. Please.”

Bruce just opened his mouth when Damian stood in his path and forced him to stop.

“Father-” he demanded but Bruce cut him off.

“I’ve failed you, ok?!” He sounded angry, but his children knew him enough to know that there was more to his tone.

“All of you! You’ve all gotten hurt or lost or-” his voice broke but he continued, “-or killed while I stayed. All of you got hurt on my watch and I should have...”

He took a shaky breath that somewhat renewed the vigor.

“My own father at least had the decency to die while protecting me. It was the only thing he’d ever done for me! And despite all of my training I couldn’t even do that...”

The end of the last sentence trailed off into the stunned silence of the cave.

“God, Bruce, you’re so stupid,” muttered Jason and stepped closer.

His father looked at him and at a moment when both of them were too lost for words, they embraced.

/idk, then the rest also gets a hug? I like hugging, what can I say. perhaps as they hug, Bruce realizes that he has to stay alive to make amends and stay with/help his kids and while huddled with them he promises to get help/

/I just made up the line about deserving it and the one about his father and I knew I wanted to write it down/

Hope you liked it!

#batfam #batman #bruce wayne #nightwing #dick grayson #red robin #tim drake #red hood #jason todd #robin #damian wayne #Superman #clark kent #batfam fanfiction #also maybe Batman and Superman have some feelings for each other but they don't have to #they can also be friends #I just want Bruce to break down and rebuild #ok?

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morgansunflower · 3 years

Text

Requested by anonymous, Outsider Beast Boy x Batsis Reader

🤦🏼‍♀️I'm still figuring out Tumblr and accidentally deleted the request as I was trying to figure out how to post it. Whomever did I apologize and I hope you find what I posted!

My turn to wash dishes, I walked to the kitchen. I see the near overflowing pile of dirty dishes and sigh. I open the dishwasher. As I wash the food off the dishes, I put them in the dishwasher. I see my older brother Jason. He sat on the counter with a bag of chips. I didn't say anything. I just got back from my date with Garfield. No one knows we're dating. Because I love him and my family is very overprotective. It's going to stay a secret for at least a while. Jason, takes a bite as I continue to clean dishes.

"so what's up, lil' Bird" he says using my nickname as he munched on the chips in his mouth

"nothin' at all, how was the date with, your girlfriend?"

"it was.." he looks away from me with a wry smile, gross

"no details needed" I said shivering gross

"thanks, anyhow. I'm bored any dumbass's who been looking your way I can beat the hell out of"

I sarcastically laugh, and roll my eyes "no it's a little hard to date when your brother's are threatening to kill whomever you bring home or who you date"

"we do not" he defended appalled

"sure, Jaybird sure. What is exactly was the first thing you said to me, when you sat on the counter?" like hell I'm telling him about Garfield and I

"were not talking about me and you're fucking lying to me!" he exclaimed

I halted no! Shit! He can't find out! I took a deep breath holding the plate looking at him, don't blow my cover! "I would never lie to you"

"you're blushing! I'm go to find out who he is!"

"no you're not!" I demanded

"oh, yes I am!" he jumped off the counter and bolted out the room

I hit my foot on the ground "dammit, Jason! Just for once stay out of my life"

He left the kitchen "ouch! I wish that hurt" he mocked

"Jason, I mean it I'll kill you!!" I threatened

"good luck with that!" he yelled back at me

I grunted loudly. Dick walked in with a chuckle at my demise.

"what did Jason do now?" he asked laughing

"nothing" I groan under my breath, irritated with Jason

I continued cleaning. Dick, put his chin on my my head.

"come on, Y/N talk to your favorite big brother. I can help ease your troubles and we can prank Jason for bothering you"

I sigh deeply looking up to my brother "drop it, Dick and get off of me"

He moved leaning on the counter "oh, don't be so grouchy you sound like Dami. I'm just wondering why you're mad so I can help fix it"

"I'm not mad" I say irritated

"you sit on the throne of lies, you sicken me" he jokes

I roll my eye's of course he's phrasing, Elf. I sigh, I could tell him. No! Definitely not. Dick, would go all overprotective brother mode. Jason would threaten to kill Gar or actually do it. Tim would hack security cameras and my phone to make sure Garfield treats me right, which he does. Damian would resent me and kill him. Or he would hate his only second best friend Garfield. It would probably ruin their friendship. I can't risk it. The following day at the hub. Garfield and I holding locked arm's on the balcony. He moves his arm over my neck as I lean into him. We both stare out at the beautiful sky above. He kisses my head. I can't stop worrying about what our future holds.

"babe, you doin' okay? You're being real quiet" he said with a genuine sweet tone

"I know I just am thinking about us.. You know I love you. I'm very addicted to you--" he cut me off

"and I'm insane bananas for you" he said kissing my cheek

I softly chuckle with a blush. I clear my throat "I just am really nervous about my family.. Knowing about us. I really care about you and I don't want you to worry about my brother's using something or anything to hurt you bec--" he shushed me moving to my lips with a kiss

He parts "hey, don't worry" he lifts my hand to his lips kissing it "I can change into any creature, remember?"

I chuckled and kiss him "and my dad is Batman" I said with worry in my tone

"Y/N" he sighed cupping my cheeks. My arm's wrapped around him

"yes" I said taking a deep breath

"relax it'll all work out I promise" he softly said

I touch his cheek "you're carefree nature worries me darling"

He changes into my favorite animal. I chuckled he always made me happy when no one else could. He changes back. We held onto each other knowing this moment will sadly not last long enough.

Dick's P. O. V

Damian ran to get Beast-Boy off our sister though was stopped by me grabbing his collar. My brother's and I look through the sliding window doors onto the balcony. Jason, had said she was probably seeing someone I just didn't want to believe it. But we decided to keep a close eye on her not knowing how to confront her. It was not the best idea but it worked.

"Grayson unhand me this instant I must--" I cut him off

"Damian, stop! Let her be. It's, ok" I softly said as I feel like I am losing my sister.

"is it?" Jason scoffed his glare remaining on Garfield

"no it is not. You are a fool Richard! She is just a child!" Damian appalled

Tim, gazed with a soft smile as if he's happy for her. It kills me, absolutely hurts to know she's growing up. She for sure is still my baby sister but it hurts to know she needs be a, little bit less as she gets older. I've never seen her smile like that. Steph, walked to us delightful as always.

"what's got Dami so angry and what the hell are you all--" she gasped and looked at, Garfield with our sister "Aww! Y/N, has a boyfriend! Aww she's so happy"

"yeah she is" I softly said

Damian, finally calmed down I put him down. My girlfriend rolled in her wheelchair by me. Seeing my saddened smile she holds my hand. I softly smile to her. Cassandra, steps to us she genuinely smiles to Y/N and Garfield. Both of them unaware we were all studying them intently. From what I can see she's happy and that's what matters to me most.

Y/N's P. O. V

I kiss Garfield's cheek. I turn around seeing every single one of my siblings. Shit. My eyes went wide I swiftly push Garfield away.

"oh! This is so not whelmed! All of them at once, ok!" Garfield nervously said "I can handle this. I'd risk it for my girl!" he tried to sound confident in his voice but failed miserably

Dick, erupted into laughter. The doors slid open as he stepped onto the balcony. OK, he's not mad that's good. I so need to work on hiding my love better. It's out in the open now. They all stepped onto the balcony with Grayson. All of my siblings surprisingly here and at the worst possible time.

"don't worry we won't kill him unless he breaks your heart" Dick assured

"you better fucking not" Jason threatened arm's folded

"tt, I'm disgusted to say this, but I agree with Todd" Damian added

"you boy's quit being juvenile. They're happy together obviously so don't mess it up, or I'll stick Cassandra on your asses!" Steph threatened

Cassandra nodded in acknowledgment. She then smiled to me.

"no more secrets Missy" Barbara said to me

"ok mom" I chuckled with a breath of relief

I smile letting out a deep breath. With the girls on my side I'm honestly not as worried as I was. Still just a bit worried about Bruce but that'll be for another day. Garfield chuckles

"whoo! You were so worried babe. See told you it would all work out!" he gratefully said with smirk deeply exhaling with relief

#batfamily #protective batfamily #garfield #Garfield Logan #Garfield Logan X Reader #Garfield Logan X Batsis! Reader #Batsis! Reader #Batfamily #Protective brothers #Secrets #Good big brother Dick Grayson #Overprotective Damian Wayne #Young Justice #Young Justice Outsiders #Beast Boy #Request #Requested oneshot #Hope you liked it!

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020, Day 1

Waking Up Restrained / Shackled / Hanging

Ao3

Warnings: descriptions of torture, violence, dislocated shoulders, referenced child trafficking. This fic is mature. Please read responsibly.

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick wakes up, he's on his side; his cheek pressed against cold and grimy cement and his shoulders pulsing with a discomforting ache.

He groans, his body feeling like tar has been stuffed between each of his joints—which makes it difficult to begin moving. His stomach rolls, and the sharp pain near the temple of his skull isn't helping much.

What… happened?

He remembers… he remembers patrol. Leaving his apartment and swinging towards the streets to fight the constant stream of crime Blüdhaven is so willing to supply. His memories get hazy the more he tries to think about what happened during and after the patrol, making the pain in his head twinge torturously.

Deciding that there's not much he can remember at the moment, he resolves to try and figure out his situation—because even though he has little memory, just the information that he was on patrol is enough for him to realize he's in his Nightwing suit. He recognizes the familiar skin tight feeling of the kevlar.

What he notices immediately with just a few agonizingly slow movements is that his gauntlets and boots are missing. Which is not good. He twitches his nose and he relaxes only slightly when he feels the sharp edges of his mask. His anxiety, however, only rises when he realizes that his hands are stuck behind his back.

Okay. Captured and restrained. The cuffs are heavy and thick, at least a few centimeters thick. There's a small length of chain between the cuffs that can hardly be called a "length". There's not much space between his two wrists, perhaps only three or four thick chain links spanning between the shackles.

He goes to move his fingers and test just how tight the shackles are on his wrists, but he realizes quickly that his fingers are stuck; curled into an uncomfortable fist and held in place with something cold and plastic.

Okay. Alright. This is fine. Dick can still work with this.

He opens his eyes, slowly, to not agitate his headache nor his rolling stomach. He figures that if no one has revealed themselves to Dick so far then he must be alone. He hasn't exactly been quiet walking up, which is something Bruce might be disappointed by but come on. There's only so much Dick can do when confronted with what's definitely wavering effects of some sort of tranquilizer. Nausea, aches, groggy and slow movements, feeling like shit in general.

The first thing he sees through half-lidded eyes is the grimy floor he's laying on top of, and since there's really not much to see here he moves on to the rest of the room.

And scratch that. There's not a whole lot to see in the room at all… at least, not from his position on the ground. Nothing but walls in front of him that are made of dark brick stone.

Dick shifts, curling up slightly to get his shoulder positioned under him so he can work his way up so he's sitting. It takes a minute, a minute filled with panting breaths and barely contained gagging that makes his stomach want to show him what he had for dinner. Eventually, he makes it, his back pressed against the wall and his legs strewn out in front of him and his head leaned back so he can catch his breath and try to make his stomach settle.

Don't throw up, Dick. He doesn't want to be covered in his own sickness by the time his captors decide to show themselves. It will be totally embarrassing and Dick had a cool, pretty boy reputation to keep up after all.

And besides, when he blinks his eyes to look at the rest of the room he's in he finds that it's rather small and compact; throwing up here would make the smell linger horribly.

His stomach rolls and he decides to do his best to not think about throwing up. Starting… now.

He brushes his eyes throughout the room he's woken up in. Besides the stone wall and the heavy looking door, there's not much to see besides a singular bulb installed in the center of the room above him.

That; and a chain hanging right besides it.

He frowns at the chain. The end has a singular clip hook attached to it. From where it's hanging—about three feet from the ground—it travels up to some sort of makeshift pulley system; composed of various eye hooks that run along the ceiling so the other end of the chain latches next to the door.

The clip at the end looks strong too. Something that would be used for lifting heavy equipment.

Now that he's studied the room to its extent, he shifts so he's looking over his shoulders to his hands. Duct tape, he finds, is what's keeping his hands in a fist; multiple layers of aluminum colored tape preventing him from messing with the shackles or breaking a joint to slip out of them.

Alrighty then.

He should probably work on getting his hands in front of him. Just to give himself a little bit more of a fighters chance.

And of course, when he goes to do so, his hands are stopped by another freaking chain that he hasn't noticed till now. It's attached to the tether between his wrists and then it connects to the wall; like a leash, but an infuriatingly short one. There's hardly any give. He's stuck to the wall and he's not going anywhere.

He lets his head fall back against the bricks behind him once again, cursing that sometimes criminals are smart about things.

Then, with that flawless dramatic timing most criminals often have, the door opens.

Dick brings his legs up to his chest, positioning himself so he's less vulnerable, as a group of three masked men—judging by their body types—make their way inside the room he's trapped in. He glares at the one that steps closer to Nightwing as the other two hang back. One by the door, one by the chain connecting to the wall.

One man, who must surely be the leader, stops just outside of Dick's kicking range and kneels down to the balls of his feet. The balaclava he's wearing covers his entire face besides a section for his dark eyes, but Dick gets the feeling he's smirking.

"Alright," Dick says, shifting so he's sitting straighter while making sure his tone is unbothered and bored and not at all as groggy as he feels, "let's get this out of the way. M'names Nightwing, I like long walks on the beach, and I'm not going to tell you any secret identities."

"Which would be a shame," the man in front of him says, "if we cared for secret identities."

A bolt of confusion shoots through Dick at the sentence as the man stands up, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head. He isn't interested in secret identities? That's… a new one. Most villains who capture him practically beg for his name, that way they can get Batman's name. The first time Dick's been beaten with the reasons of secret identities, it was scary, sure, but now that he's older he's just sorta… gotten used to it at this point. A villain who wants to know his name is a predictable villain.

One who wants something different is a dangerous villain.

"You see, Nightwing," the man continues, "all we want is information. We have a couple questions for you, and if you cooperate you won't be hurt."

There's no we'll let you go . Just you won't be hurt . Dick doesn't know who these guys are or what they want, but whatever it is, it can't be good.

Dick flashes a toothy smile. "Oh, a few questions? Is that all? Ask away."

"Does the name The Silence ring any bells?" The man asks, and Dick fights a scowl because it does ring a few bells.

They are an international, underground human trafficking organization. Grabbing kids from all over the globe and selling them to various rich assholes for a multitude of disgusting reasons. Dick's fought them before, in fact, they had a station in Blüdhaven that he worked with the police to raid and rescue the kids trapped inside.

But that was three weeks ago.

"It sounds familiar," Dick replies slowly, wishing the man wasn't wearing the stupid balaclava so he could judge the facial expressions better. He can't tell anything with just the eyes. "But they were taken down weeks ago."

Keep it vague. Do not let them know that you know more than the bare minimum.

"We both know that's not true, Nightwing," the man says with a sigh. "The Silence has reaches across the entire globe and for the past decade they have gone entirely unnoticed. Until now, where you took down the base in Blüdhaven twenty days ago." He pauses, then gives Dick a hard look. "Until when, just a day ago, another base in San Francisco was taken down by none other than Red Robin and all those other powered brats."

Shit. Shit . They caught on way quicker than what anyone was planning. The moves on them were supposed to be "accidental". Like Dick "stumbling" upon the warehouse, expecting to find some other crime and instead finding a massive group of child kidnappers and sellers. Like Tim and his team just happening to catch wind of the base and taking it out because it was in his city. Bruce really isn't going to be happy about this one. Dick really hopes Jason's okay. He's the one who's undercover and getting the base locations.

"Look, I don't know anything about this, I just saw what was happening and took it out of my city," Dick says, flexing his fingers in the tape they're wrapped in. This is going to get messy fast, he can tell.

"Anyone with a brain can see the bats are connected to this," the man says with a sharp edge to his voice. "And I'm not in the mood to pretend you don't know anything. What we want to know, Nightwing, is where you're getting your information and how many other bases you know about."

So… Jason hasn't been found out yet. Good. That's good. There's no way Dick will sell him out, not when they have close to fifteen other major locations and are currently working with the local authorities to take them out in one fell swoop.

Dick takes a breath. "I really have nothing to tell you."

The eyes of his captor hardens and Dick fights to keep his heart steady. He knows where it goes from here. Even before the leader motions to the other two men. "Then you have decided to make this difficult for yourself."

Then, the two other men approach. The moment one of them gets close enough, Dick lashes out with his legs, kicking him in the shins. But, because this guy is 1. Huge and 2. Has a friend , Dick's quickly overpowered as his shoulders are grabbed and he's shoved so far forward his nose almost slams into his knees. His shoulders protest angrily as his wrists remain attached to the wall by the short leash, but that discomfort doesn't last long before his shackles are disconnected from the wall and he's hefted up to his feet by two pairs of meaty hands on his biceps.

His head spins as they frogmarch him past the leader into the middle of the room, right next to where the chain is dangling. The lightheadedness quickly fades though with a dosage of adrenaline as he's held stiffly in place.

When his hands are grabbed and he's turned so his back is to the chain, he fights down a fit of panic and desperately ignores his rolling stomach. "What are you doing?"

There's the clinking of metal links, a snap, then one moment turns into another and Dick is left standing in the middle of the room with the slack between his shackles attached to the hanging chain.

He glares at the leader and watches out of the corner of his eyes as the two other men return to their positions—one by the door, the other by where the very chain Dick is now tethered to is latched to the wall.

He has a very bad feeling about this.

A very bad feeling that he knows exactly where this is going.

"Last chance, Nightwing," the leader says, "tell us what we want to know and you won't be harmed."

Dick shuffles his feet and rolls his shoulders, mentally preparing himself for what's about to happen. This is going to suck .

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything," Dick tries, making his voice sound as genuine as he can so hopefully they believe him and not torture him for the next who knows how long. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, he has no such luck as the leader turns towards the man by the chain and nods.

Now Dick, he isn't lightweight. Sure, he's short for his age and quite lean compared to most people, but that flat stomach and slim shoulders are made entirely out of muscle . And muscles are, in fact, heavy . Yeah, he's nowhere near Bruce's record weight of 210 pounds, nor around Jason's outstanding 230, but come on. Dick's almost six feet of pure 145 pounds and that's heavy .

Which is why it shocks him so much that Mr Man over there takes the chain from the wall it's connected too and manages to successfully yank the chain down so hard that Dick's feet leave the floor for a minute. He just manages to curl up with his back keeping contact with his fisted hands, but without the purchase of his fingers added with the weight of his own body, he quickly finds his shoulders burning with strain.

Dick's an acrobat. He can hang from many positions safely for long periods of time, but there's nothing safe about strappado. His shoulders are on fire, and it's only been a few seconds. His chest is tight and the metal bites into the skin of his wrists, and just when he feels like his ribcage is going to burst he finds his knees hitting the floor roughly.

He's painfully aware of every nerve and cell in his shoulders, he can feel the blood pulsing with a sharp agony that has him swallowing gasps.

And of course, before he can even recover, the chain is yanked again loudly and violently that has him stumbling to his feet, his wrists held so high above him that he's forced to bend forward and stand on his tip toes.

Dick's flexible. He can twist and contort unlike anyone other.

But let it be put on the record that some joints are not meant to bend certain ways. The shoulders shouldn't be pulled back and up like this.

It's agonizing. A pain that's way more biting than what he expected. He hasn't been tortured like this before—which admittedly is a terrible thing to say because it implies he's been tortured before but in other ways… which is a correct assumption, but still —and honest to the gods and to mother nature, it's like his entire upper body is on fire.

His stomach threatens rebellion as he's held upright in this new stress position. His chin is suddenly grabbed and Dick soon finds himself glaring through the strands of his bangs at the man in charge of this fun play date. Dick wants to vomit on him.

He keeps that just to his thoughts. He'd actually rather not.

"Where did you get your information?" The man asks, eyes cold and glaring. Dick bites back a wince as the chain jerks slightly, sending pings of pain into his shoulders and neck.

"No one," Dick hisses through clenched teeth. "No one told me. I was scoping out the warehouse and just happened to find- Ahg-!"

His chin is released and he's in the air with one mighty tug. He chokes back a cry as he's suspended awkwardly above the ground. It's even more painful this time. It came more of a surprise and he didn't get to prepare himself. His abs strain as he attempts to curl up to relieve a little bit of the tension in the socket's of his shoulders that are bending way too far in the wrong direction. He just manages to catch sight of the two other men both holding the chain before his vision is obscured by the leader approaching him.

If Dick wasn't so concerned with not having his shoulders ripped from the socket's, he could kick him in the face right now.

But he doesn't, he can only force himself to not cry out and keep his face a straining level of nonchalant as the man speaks above the ringing in his ears.

"Where did you get your information?"

Dick grinds his teeth and shakes his head.

Which is thankfully answer enough, Dick's pretty sure if he opens his mouth he'll scream.

Though, because it's the answer they don't want, Dick's lowered just a bit and then jerked right back up.

He'd be lying if he says he doesn't release a choked off shout. It's horrible . The strain, the tugging, the constricting, the weight. It's a miracle he hasn't dislocated a shoulder or two yet.

He's held up there for what feels like an eternity but in reality must have been just another minute or so before he's lowered back to his feet. He tries to keep standing, but his mind is so hazed over with pain that he falls to his knees once more, his heels hitting his ass as he leans forward and gags—the nausea in his stomach finally winning.

Thankfully, it's more like just an acidy spit-up. No past meals to be seen. Regardless, there's a horrible taste in his mouth to match the horrible ache in his body and the humiliation of throwing up at the feet of a captor.

A hand in his hair. A tug on the chain.

"Where did you get your information."

Dick doesn't bother answering, and the force of the chain lifting him up is so great that he feels the back of his biceps hit his head right before…

Crack .

Pure, unhinged agony pounds into him as his left shoulder finally gives out. He yells through clenched teeth, his feet scrambling for purchase that isn't there, and then, there's a second horrible pop as his other shoulder dislocates as well, and he's not able to hold back this scream.

Dick's hanging now, his wrists fully above his head in the worst way imaginable, gasping choking on his spit—his upper arms and the area around his neck burn like hellfire. He can't breathe. He can't even try. It's all pain pain pain pain that sends bolts to his fingertips and down his ribs. The meat of his shoulders press against his ears, and all he can do is dangle as his brain tries to process the horrible signals that's being sent though every burning nerve.

"Was wondering when that would happen," someone says all faraway. The leader or one of the other two, it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that his eyes are blurry and he can't focus on anything other than the dislocated joints that are already becoming oh-so-worryingly numb.

He's dislocated his shoulders before. He has . But this is different. This is awful. This is… this is…

"Where did you get your information, Nightwing," the leader yells through the haze. Dick blinks rapidly, trying to focus, trying to find the present though the maze that is torture. His head hangs, the nerves in his neck feeling like he's pinched them all individually, but he does manage to at least look up and mumble.

"What was that?" Someone asks.

Dick tries again, but only mumbles and grunts escape.

The leader leans forward and Dick does the only thing he can do, he spits the biggest wad of phlegm he could gather right onto his enemy's face.

The leader howls in disgust, yelling something too loud for Dick to process. He only has a moment to silently celebrate a victory when the tension holding him suspended in the air is suddenly lost, causing him to once again fall to the floor. Only this time, he crumbles all the way down, landing awkwardly onto his feet, down to his knees, over to his side and right on top of his right shoulder.

Everything goes white then. Ringing. Nothing but lightning bolts of angry, poisonous red as the pain envelops him.

He gasps, choking on air, trying to crawl back to his eyes and ears to see what is going on around him, trying to ignore the invisible knives that slice into his upper body.

He fails. Dramatically so. He passes out from the pain, and the pain remains even in sleep.

So much so, that the only reason he can tell time has moved when he wakes up is that he's no longer in the middle of the room, but shoved back against the wall. He's laying on his side, but he can't feel anything in his shoulders. His fingers itch below the layers of tape and he doesn't have any strength left to even check to see if he's connected to the wall again.

He releases a shaky breath and remains limp on the ground, praying that someone will come and that this will all be over soon.

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animemangasoul · 4 years

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Save Him From Him!

Summery: The team thinks the bats are marrying Tim off to Ra’s al ghul, so they confront them. The bats unfortunately don’t know what the hell is going on.

Me and the lovely @miss-choco-chips are hopefully going to make a coherent fic out of this

Chapter 1

Kon had never liked Tim’s family.

His best friend might find redeemable qualities in them, but Kon has always known the kind of people they were. Sleazy, weird, neglectful and frankly very very creepy.

Tim of course never noticed because he too was very creepy and in the kindest of terms, also a weirdo who came off as a stalker.

Not that he was. Following a vigilante in the dead of night with a camera was more in the brackets of observation than stalking and Kon would stick with that till the day he died.

Anyways, as he was saying. The batfamily were irredeemable blotch in Tim’s life and while Kon has resigned himself to share his friend with them because custody and all that, he had never ever imagined that they would sell him off! That they not only would grow tired of him but would actually take the offending and criminal actions to do something about his quote on quote unwanted “presence”.

Bruce Wayne had come to an agreement with Ra’s Al Ghul according to Bart’s sources and the agreement was set around their Tim.

Bruce had promised their Tim to the demon head! In exchange for three years of peace. As if that even mattered to Batman. If that man cared so much about peace and justice he would have advocated for the death penalty in Gotham a long time ago. No, Kon had his sneaking suspicions about Bruce’s relationship with the Joker, but it wasn’t his place to say so he kept his mouth shut.

Poor Jason would be heartbroken if he knew after all.

So for what other reason was this arrangement made under? Kon couldn’t quite tell. Sure he knew they didn’t like Tim, but if Bruce disliked his best friend and wanted to get rid of him, why hadn’t he promised to wed him to any of them? Kon was sure Cassie or Bart would be up for it, or even Miguel and Cissie? So why?

Kon is angry, furious, horrified about this whole uncovered plot.

Bart and Cassie aren’t any different.

Tim of course doesn’t know, and if Kon gets his way he never will.

“Maybe this is a misunderstanding?” Someone says.

Kon turns to glare at Miguel. ‘How naive’ he thinks. ‘How little you know.’

“It’s not a misunderstanding dude,” Bart jumps out of his chair, a stack of paper in hand which he promptly shoves at the other hero. “Read.”

Miguel does. Eyes quickly skimming over the report Bart’s spy had so generously provided them. And it’s a lot but the front page summarizes must of it.

Batman had visited the league, him and Ra’s had talked.

“And Ra’s said he’ll back off if he got Tim,” Miguel reads out loud. “What the--”

His eyes are wide as he throws paper after paper over his shoulder trying to grasp the context of the file. Bart is darting behind him catching each flying paper, spluttering in indignation as he does so.

“Can you not do this!”

“That’s exactly what Tim’s siblings should have said to Bruce!” Miguel bursts out, eyes as wide as dinner plates. “How could he just promise him Tim! My Ti-- I mean our Tim! He could have given him anything else..... like that Jason fellow!”

“Dude, that’s not---”

“Like Ra’s didn’t even ask for Tim specifically!” Throwing another three leaflets he points at a paragraph on page fifteen. “He just alludes to it, so why did Bruce decide to give him--”

“Cuz he probably did that weird thing with his eyes,” Cassie scoffs, demonstrating the action by wiggling her brows and squinting her eyes in that distinct way Ra’s always-- “Batman,” she slurs. “I have missed a certain someone’s company~”

Kon feels sick. Miguel turns green and Bart grimaces.

Yeah, that did not need to happen.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Kon tells her, eyes watering with pained memories. “Just.... don’t.”

She snorts. “I’m just saying.”

“Yeah don’t,” Miguel mutters. “There is already enough memories about that guy burned in our heads I rather you not add to it.”

Trauma was really a powerful thing.

“So,” Bart interrupts Kon musing. “What are we going to do about this?”

Kon folds his arms. “We need to confront them. No way we can let this go through. I think the reason why Bruce agreed so readily to this exchange was cuz he hates Tim’s guts and wants to get rid of him.”

“But Tim is so wonderful,” Miguel mutters. “Why would anyone want to get rid of him?”

Shrugging, Kon grimaces. “Beats me. The bats are a strange bunch. Anyways, it doesn’t really matter now. We just have to go there and,” his reaches out and clenches and unclenches his fists

“Squash their heads?” Cassie guesses.

“What, no!” Kon snaps.

“Kidnap Beelzebub and hold him for ransom till they change their minds?” Bart pipes up.

Kon shakes his head, pauses and shakes it again. “No, but that’s a good one. Hold that thought.”

“Talk to them reasonable and maybe.... hopefully it’s all a misunderstanding?”

Oh Miguel, you innocent naive, Tim loving soul you. “Fuck no,” Kon mutters. “We can trust their evil conniving hearts. When dealing with the bats always assume the worst.”

“Then what?” Bart asks, half of the papers clutches to his chest while the others dangle from Miguel’s hands.

“We confront them, threaten them,” Kon starts. “And if they won’t take it back, we...” snapping his fingers he points at Bart--. “We kidnap the gremlin and threaten to squash his head.”

Cassie looks both annoyed and skeptical, but the other two look onboard so Kon grins. “Sounds like a plan?”

They nod, he nods back. “Let’s go then and break that engagement before Tim wakes up for his hourly coffee!!”

A shouts of yeah ok and yes and oh God sounds all around, but Kon is glad for the general moral optimism. Maybe this exchange with the batfamily wouldn’t end in a disaster.

Kon had to thank Prue later for providing Bart this crucial intel. Without her, they would have never known of this evil scheme.

@miss-choco-chips Do take it from here!

#kon el kent #bart allen #cassie sandsmark #Miguel Jose Barragan #Young Justice #tim drake #batfamily #crack fic

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kgraces · 4 years

Text

Surprise Siblings

A follow up to Tire Iron. Also available on Ao3!

Dick sighed, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He really didn’t want to get out of the car, because that meant going inside the manor, which meant dealing with Bruce. He’d already had a long week at work, so a worse weekend was not something he had in mind when he clocked out this evening. His plan had been to do nothing but sleep and patrol, that is, until Alfred had called and told him it would be prudent for Dick to come back to Gotham for the weekend, which Dick took to mean: Richard John Grayson, get your ass home, now!

So he went. The inevitable confrontation with Bruce aside, it would be nice to catch up with Alfred. Dick unbuckled his seatbelt, slung his duffel bag over one shoulder, and made his way to the front door. He stepped into the foyer, only to be greeted with the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. His brain stuttered to a halt because the sound was so out of place. Baffled, Dick wandered into the kitchen, feeling his jaw drop as he took in the scene before him.

Two kids were sitting at the counter, watching as Alfred baked a batch of Dick’s favorite chocolate chip cookies. The smaller of the two boys chattered excitedly, hands waving around as he talked. The other boy watched him in amusement, only cutting in to make sarcastic remarks, which set the littler one into giggles every time. Every now and again, he’d try to sneak a bite of the batter, but Alfred caught him each time with a gentle admonishment. Dick stood in the doorway, frozen in place. Alfred noticed him first.

“Ah, welcome home, Master Dick. How was the drive over?”

“Fine,” Dick said slowly. He couldn’t stop staring, wondering if he was hallucinating. The small boy smiled shyly and waved, and Dick waved back, feeling dazed. “Alf, why are there two tiny humans in the kitchen?”

“Meet Masters Jason and Tim,” Alfred said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid Master Bruce found them in a spot of trouble and decided to step in.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dick said, still a little dumbstruck.

“We’ve actually met before,” the little one—Tim—said. “Did you know you gave me my first hug?”

“What.”

Tim’s face and ears turned scarlet, but it was Jason who broke the awkward tension, dragging Tim from his chair and into a hug. Tim gaped a little, startled, but he quickly melted into the hug. Dick’s heart twisted in his chest at the sight. He crossed the room and joined them, drawing the two boys into his arms. Jason shied away from the contact, but Tim leaned into it, smiling sweetly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jason. And it’s nice to meet you again, Tim. Is that a thing people say?” Tim laughed a little, wrapping his skinny arms around Dick. “So,” he said, turning to Alfred. “I haven’t visited in three weeks, and B goes and adopts two kids in the meantime.”

“His impulse control is abysmal,” Alfred replies sagely.

“We’re not adopted,” Jason said. “He just has custody of us because my parents are dead, and Tim’s parents suck.” Tim pouted at him, but Jason rolled his eyes. “C’mon Timbit, we’ve talked about this.”

“At least you two are here now,” Dick said. “Wanna tell me how that happened?” Both boys nodded, and Dick noticed Tim brighten a little.

“Jason stole the tires off the Batmobile and knocked me out with his tire iron. Then Batman kind of caught us, and I blackmailed him a little bit.”

“You stole the tires...and blackmailed…” Dick looked at the boys, both smiling sweetly at him, and burst into laughter. “My new little brothers are amazing, oh my God.” He paused, as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, how exactly did you blackmail him?”

“Oh, I figured out yours and Batman’s identities last year,” Tim said proudly. “I didn’t actually threaten him or anything.” He wrinkled his nose. “That would’ve been mean.”

“How’d you figure it out, Timmy? That’s really impressive,” Dick said, ruffling the kid’s hair. Tim’s blush darkened again. Jason’s grin turned a bit wicked as he nudged the other boy in the ribs.

“When we met, you promised you’d do your quadruple flip just for me, so I recognized the move when Robin performed it a while later.” Dick’s eyes lit up.

“You’re that Tim? I still have the photo of us!” He smiled broadly at the boy, but he was internally fighting back an undercurrent of sadness, thinking of the last picture of his parents, given to him by a small little boy at one of Bruce’s galas, years ago. Tim blushed to the roots of his hair, but his smile never wavered.

“Timmy’s a genius,” Jason said, grinning widely and slinging an arm around Tim’s bony shoulders. “Ain’t that right?” He asked, and Tim, somehow, managed to get even more flustered. He sputtered out a few unintelligible syllables, and both Jason and Dick broke into a fit of laughter.

“Hey,” Tim complained, pouting adorably. “Jason’s awesome, too!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Dick said, grinning. Jason stuck his tongue out at Tim, who just giggled in response. These two kids were adorable, and Dick couldn’t believe Bruce didn’t tell him about them. “I’m gonna go say hi to B, okay? Then maybe we can watch a movie or something.” The boys grinned at him, and Dick wandered up to the study, where Bruce was working on some paperwork for WE.

Dick leaned against the doorframe, tapping his knuckles against the solid oak. Bruce looked up and grinned at him, eyes alight with amusement. He set down his pen and folded his arms atop his desk.

“I take it you met Jason and Tim?” He asked. Dick nodded and moved into the study. He sent an annoyed look at Bruce, but the wide grin on his face diminished the effect.

“You should’ve told me. I would’ve brought presents,” Dick said. “It’s not every day a guy finds out he’s a big brother, after all.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but the fond look on his face didn’t go away. “Seriously though, where on earth did you find those two?”

“Crime Alley,” Bruce replied. “Jason was stealing my tires. Tim tried to stop him at first, but as soon as I showed up, the two of them banded together. They’ve been inseparable since.”

“Sounds like I’m going to have to come home more often,” Dick said. “We’ll be the Terrible Trio, and you’re never going to know a moment of peace ever again.”

“You boys are going to make me go gray far too soon,” Bruce grumbled. He stood, stretching his back as he crossed the room. He patted Dick’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Dick hesitated. Things with Bruce hadn’t been the greatest lately, but he was willing to take the olive branch offered to him. He smiled and pulled Bruce into a hug, and he was fiercely pleased when Bruce relaxed against him. He heard the sound of footsteps bounding up the stairs and stepped back, glancing over his shoulder to see Jason and Tim peering through the doorway.

“Alfred sent us to check on you,” Jason said. Tim nodded in agreement, like a little shadow. “He said the lack of yelling was suspicious.”

Dick snorted a laugh, and even Bruce cracked a smile. He waved the boys into the study, and they came trotting in together. Jason flung himself onto the couch, and Tim moved over to Dick, who wrapped an arm around him and dragged him into a hug. Tim smiled up at him, leaning into the warm touch. He sighed a little, resting his cheek against Dick’s shirt.

“He needs lots of hugs,” Jason said sagely, rolling his head to look at them from his spot on the couch. “Like, all the hugs in the world.”

“I think I can help with that,” Dick said. His heart twisted a little at the sight of the little boy clinging to him, but he resolved to do what he could to be there for him. He seemed too tiny to have such a somber look in his eyes. He hid it well, but Dick could still see the loneliness clinging to him. “Do you two troublemakers want to watch that movie now?”

Jason and Tim both nodded, and Jason leapt up, grabbing Bruce’s hand and dragging him out of the room. Dick laughed at the startled look in his eyes as he was pulled away. He glanced down at Tim, who still had his skinny arms wrapped around Dick’s torso. The boy looked up at him with a sheepish smile. Before he could move away, Dick knelt down to offer him a piggyback ride. Tim climbed up onto his back, clinging to his neck.

Dick carried Tim down to the theater room and set the boy down on one of the plush couches. He tossed a blanket over Tim’s head, laughing as he struggled to free his arms and face. Dick sat down on Tim’s left, and Jason plopped down on his other side. Tim wrapped the blanket around himself, all but swallowed by the fluffy material. Bruce turned on one of Dick’s old childhood favorites and settled in on one of the squishy armchairs. Dick passed Jason another blanket, taking a moment to steal a corner of Tim’s for himself. Tim curled up next to him, leaning his head against Dick’s arm as the opening credits began to play.

Alfred brought them a bowl of popcorn a few minutes later, smiling fondly at the sight of all four of his boys relaxing together. Dick draped an arm around Tim, and he wasn’t surprised when he realized Jason had already looped his arms around the boy in a side-hug. He also wasn’t surprised when Tim fell asleep halfway through the movie, still draped against Dick’s side. Jason lasted three-quarters of the way through before he fell asleep, too. Bruce and Dick exchanged amused smiles over the heads of the two sleeping boys. Everything felt warm and affectionate and absolutely perfect.

Sure, he hadn’t expected to come home to two little brothers, but Dick wasn’t complaining.

#dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #dc #batfam #my writing #nightwing #red hood #red robin #batman

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astyle-alex · 3 years

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[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

Museum Mishap | Chapter 5/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

|| Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon ||

Museum Mishap Chapter 5: Checking Up

Dick is the first to notice something’s different about Jason.

Which is fair, because even though Bruce is the first person to see Jason after he wakes up on Saturday, a full 27 hours after being rescued from Sabini (ten of which he’d spent sleeping peacefully in his own bed instead of the Cave’s infirmary) – and even though Alfred is the first person to talk to him after he comes downstairs for breakfast – the bulk of what is actually noticeably different about Jason is aimed directly at Dick.

Literally.

Because Jason is starting.

At Dick.

From across his plate of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast piled high with strawberry preserves instead of the peach marmalade Dick likes and has on his own plate, Jason is staring. At Dick. Directly.

He’s not even glaring at him, he’s just… watching.

Which actually makes Dick more self-conscious than if Jason had been glaring, makes him think he’s done something wrong. Something especially wrong.

Dick had never asked for a little brother, and to be perfectly honest he could admit that he hadn’t exactly been very nice to the one he’d acquired unexpectedly. While he had concrete and valid reasons to be pissed at Bruce for how he’d handled things, Dick wasn’t quite self-centered enough to miss how he hadn’t done right by Jason either.

He’d screwed up their relationship in the beginning and now he spent most of his time trying to avoid making it worse. Which meant most simply that he spent most of his time straight up avoiding it…

The longest span of time Dick had spent alone in a room with Jason since storming off to California a few weeks before his sixteenth birthday – to go be Robin with people who appreciated him and his skill and his right to wear the R, because it was his and always would be – was about the length of a Star Wars movie. The longest they’d spent together without such a specific and effective distraction was about twenty minutes.

In which Alfred usually checked in on them halfway through.

Because Jason does deserve the R.

And he’s always resented that the older brother he’d never asked for thought he didn’t.

Which isn’t exactly true, but Dick has never been able to explain that before Jason – brilliantly observant, woefully astute, and brutally willing to cut to the quick as he was – said something that made Dick get defensive. Which is when the yelling always started.

And the quiet moments in between the yelling had always been punctuated by glaring.

But now Jason is staring – and distinctly not glaring – and Dick doesn’t know what he did, or what he should do now. So, he sits in silence and plays with his eggs and worries.

Because something is different about Jason this morning, and he doesn’t know why – or what it has to do with him. Or what Jason thinks it has to do with him.

Because if Jason’s pissed with him for not getting to him quicker last night, for not jumping in earlier – early enough to stop Sabini from breaking his leg perhaps – then Jason would already be yelling. But he’s not. He’s staring.

And Dick doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you have a driver’s license?”

Dick is so startled by the question he nearly drops his fork.

Actually, he does drop it. He just manages to catch it before it skitters off the counter.

“B won’t let me in the Cave with my leg and Alf won’t let me have the keys to any cars topside until I’m legal,” Jason explains – without explaining anything.

“Yeah, I’ve got my license.”

Dicks voice doesn’t squeak or waver. He’s moderately certain that some sort of magic or robotic voice replacement tech is behind the phenomenon. Or maybe his Robin conditioning is finally proving useful outside of the dark allies where his calm could comfort victims.

Jason nods. He’s still staring.

But now he’s squinting, evaluative. Not quite a glare, but closer.

“Cool. Can you drive me somewhere after breakfast?”

Dick nods. He decides not to ask to ask why Jason isn’t asking Alfred to drive him.

He also decides not to ask where Jason wants to go until they’re already in the car.

They don’t speak again until after Dick pulls into the circle at the end of the Drake Estate’s mile-long driveway, and even then, it’s just a gruff C’mon to hurry Dick along while Jason hauls himself out of the car on his own.

Dick is slightly distracted as he cuts the engine. He nods to Jason – who’s paying him zero attention – as he marvels openly at the fact that they do, apparently, have neighbors.

The Drake mansion isn’t quite a massive or effortlessly grand as Wayne Manor, but it’s a decently imposing imitation. There’s wealth here, excess. And no hint of the soft touch that Alfred has to bring a human element into the aching chill of life with money.

Dick wants to ask what they’re doing here, of all places, but Jason is focused.

It’s a feat for Jason to wrestle his crutches out of the car and limp his way up the wide steps of the ostentation front stair, but he manages. He does it without even making Dick feel terrible about not offering to help – though he knows if he did offer, Jason’s only response would be to curse and try to whack him with the pointy end of his crutches.

Dick follows silently up the stairs after him and waits as Jason rings the doorbell impatiently, pressing it again after only a few seconds of silence.

He’s not quite scowling at the Drakes’ front door, but he’s not smiling either. Whatever he’s thinking about is serious enough to warrant asking Dick for help instead of Alfred. Dick is definitely concerned by that, but there a hopeful anxiousness twisting in him too.

Because Jason needed help, and he asked Dick to provide it.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

Jason’s leaning on the doorbell again when Dick hears a shuffling inside that indicates someone coming to check the matter. Dick hopes it’s not an elderly butler – Alfred moves around pretty well for his age, but it’s a big house and it takes even him a minute to get to the door on the bizarre occasion Wayne Manor has unexpected security-approved visitors.

The Drakes’ equivalent can’t possibly be as light-footed or quick and Dick wants to tell Jason that it’s not whoever’s fault that it takes a while getting from one end of a mansion to the other on a Saturday morning for an unanticipated guest.

There’s the sound of the lock being turned, but the door doesn’t open immediately.

Jason is about to lean on the bell again – and Dick is seriously considering how counter-productive it will be to stop him from being overly rude – when the knob finally spins and the massive solid-wood structure sweeps inward.

Dick plasters a smile on his face and –

It’s the kid from Thursday night.

Dick’s whole being freezes.

It’s the kid that took a beating because Sabini thought he knew something about Batman.

Dick is stuck in a sudden mental rut of wondering why this kid – and Dick know he’s a tough one, he’s seen it, but he’s a head shorter than Jason and probably weighs as much as Dick’s leg and he’s just survived a torturous kidnapping and should be on bedrest with soup and blankets and stuffed animals – why this kid is answering his own door.

Especially in a house like this. His family is clearly rich beyond reason and could have a flurry of staff to care for the household’s daily needs and to fawn sweetly over the poor injured young master. So why is he answering the door?

When his door costs as much as the entire Trailer the Flying Graysons called home in Haly’s Circus. When there are still bruises on his face where Sabini’s fingers gripped him that haven’t quite gone ugly and greenish from healing. When the butterfly bandage on his cheek is still the only thing holding the skin together beneath the antiseptic goo.

Jason’s brain is clearly doing the same acrobatics as Dicks, asking questions it’s not really keen on getting answered because the answers can’t be good, but Jason recovers faster.

Which is good because the Drake boy – Timmy, Dick remembers, except no, that’s just what Jason called him, he introduced himself as Tim in his brief moment of lucidity on Friday morning – is looking between the pair on his doorstep like one of the rescue dogs Dick remembers Haly bringing into the circus fold on their first days of being treated well.

They were cautious and skittish and quick to shy away, but also a little bit awed by the care and attention being paid to them – slightly overwhelmed to say the least. And Tim Drake is clearly in a similar state of mind.

Dick is frozen on the doorstep.

Tim is frozen in the doorway.

Jason falters too, but only for a moment. Then he’s using his crutches to nudge Tim out of the way, so he can swing himself through the door and into the Drakes’ imposing foyer.

Dick follows.

Tim remembers to close the door – and lock it too, with a sturdy deadbolt that Dick knows will provide actual security – and then shuffles after Dick and Jason.

Silent on his feet – impressive, given the floppy sneakers he’s wearing – Tim allows Jason to lead the way through the mansion’s sprawl to its kitchen. Tim is watching Jason’s back as he swings forward on his crutches, which gives Dick time to look around the mansion as they walk. He knows Jason’s scoping the place out too, and he’s glad Jason can manage it with that subtle street-wise skill he’s got ingrained. Dick could probably be subtle – he was trained by Batman – but he’s finding it hard to rein in the reaction he’s having to the place.

It’s absolutely sterile here.

More like a museum than like a house.

Nothing looks soft, or like it’s meant for people to sit on, and the few chairs and cushions Dick has clocked as they move through the sprawl don’t look like anyone has ever used them. There’s not a speck of dust, but honestly that just makes it worse. There are people that come through here, in order to clean it at least, but nobody lives here.

“What’re you saying about your face,” Jason asks bluntly when he stumbles upon the masterwork that is the Drake kitchen. Dick can tell that finding the kitchen has help Jason relax a little, that being in a place that’s meant to be sterile has helped at least as much as the prospect of diving into the soothing rhythm of cooking, but Tim doesn’t pick up on Jason’s new degree of ease and relax himself. If anything, he tenses more.

“I’m going to say that I tried to launch a rocket in the back yard and it blew up in my face,” Tim explains. He watches as Jason moves to investigate his fridge.

He notes when Jason stiffens, flinches as he realizes what he just said to prompt it, and he whips his head around when Dick is the one to speak up about it. “You’re ‘going to say’?”

Dick knows the way he blurted it in aching disbelief is rude. Not calm. Not helpful.

But he’s lost sensation in his limbs and his stomach is still sinking towards the center of the earth at supersonic speeds.

They had dropped Tim back into his bed at 2pm on Friday afternoon, once Bruce had convinced Alfred that he was stable and well on his way to healing. That was almost 20 hours ago. Dick’s stomach churns as he realizes that no one’s been to check on him in almost a full day.

Tim survived a brutal beating, and he’s been dealing with the mental fallout of his kidnapping – not to mention the physical aspects of his recovery – entirely alone.

Dick is staring at Tim, wide-eyed and worried, and he knows it isn’t helping as Tim looks down and toes at the marble floor.

“Mrs. Simz doesn’t work on Fridays,” he mumbles. “She thinks I spend Friday nights with my school’s chess club.”

Jason snorts. “Of course, she does. That sounds perfectly reasonable.”

He pauses. Anyone but Dick probably wouldn’t be able to catch the way he steels himself and forces down a mix of rage and worry before he asks lightly, “Hey, kid, you got any flour hiding in this joint? Baking soda?”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna make pancakes, obviously,” Jason replies, shouldering open the fridge and pulling out milk and eggs. He spreads his haul on the island and shoots Dick a look that he hopes means that he should start investigating the Drake cabinets for mixing bowls and a griddle and such. Because that’s what Dick starts doing.

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah, they’re kinda like pizza – you eat them,” Jason replies, a gruff amusement in his voice that tells Dick there’s some sort of inside joke involved.

Dick wants to think that there’s no part of the joke where he should be legitimately concerned that Tim doesn’t eat, but he also remembers how easy it was to pick the kid up when they rescued him. Sure, he’s only twelve, but Dick is fairly certain that he weighed at least twice what Tim does when he was twelve. Comparing him to Jason – even the emaciated twelve year old Jason that had first been brought to the Manor – would be too tragic to let him keep the smile on his face, so Dick consciously fights the urge.

Tim jumps in to help direct Dick and Jason around his kitchen, Tim acting as Jason’s legs while Jason barks orders. Dick didn’t know Jason could cook, but he’s not as surprised as he thought he’d be – even when Jason whips out the fancy tricks like cracking the eggs one-handed and twirling his spatula as he times the flips perfectly.

Butter and syrup appear on the island as Dick tries to help put the finishing touches on their meal. It’s been over an hour since breakfast, so Dick can definitely eat – and he knows Jason is probably already starving. Tim is looking at the looming stack of pancakes warily, however, and Dick is pleased with himself for not shooting Jason a worried look.

It gets even harder to resist when they actually settle down to eat and Tim expends a painstaking amount of effort on arranging the careful stack of pancakes on his plate instead of making any move to dig in.

“So, Timmy,” Jason says around a mouthful of pancakes, “Find any cool new toys since you’ve been home playin’ with your rocket?”

Both confused, Dick and Tim look blankly at Jason – who rolls his eyes. Then he taps his ear and makes a wide gesture about the kitchen. He’s asking if Tim’s found any Bat bugs.

Dick knows Batman must’ve left some – Tim was suspected of knowing his secrets for a reason, after all, and Bruce would certainly want to keep tabs on any future developments that might potentially occur. What Dick does not know is why Jason’s asking Tim if he found any listening devices hidden in his home – why he’s referencing the plausible option so casually, so openly. Unless… unless Tim knows.

Scandalized, Tim looks between Jason and Dick – redness creeping up his neck until his ears are bright ruby – and then stares down at his pancakes. He nods.

Like he’s pulling teeth, Jason waits a beat to make sure Tim is still alive and then asks with the same casual air, “Find any in here?”

This time, Tim shakes his head, still staring resolutely at his pancakes – and still making no move to actually eat them.

Jason nods, satisfied.

Tim waits, but Jason doesn’t say anything else.

Eventually, peeks up. Looks at Jason. Waits.

Then he slowly, sheepishly turns his head to look at Dick. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the accusations and yelling to start. Tim does know their secret, and he expects to be in serious trouble for it.

Jason levels his own look at Dick, daring him to break the tenuous trust they’ve developed in the last few hours by voicing any sort chastisement.

When they’d first brought Jason and Tim back to the Cave, Batman had been on Jason about getting to the truth of the rumors around Tim – to the point of absurdity, considering that there were two traumatized and injured kids to care for, considering that Jason himself was being questioned before Batman would give his broken leg the medical attention it needed…

Dick had spoken up in defense of Jason – asserting his own opinion that Tim was ignorant of the secret that got him wrapped up in this mess – mostly because he was pissed at Bruce for being so callous. Dick knew that Bruce cared, that he cared so much he buried all of his feelings deep beneath an impenetrable layer of cold practicality so he could deal with the pragmatic details of resolving the situation.

But it was really hard to remember that he cared when it felt more like he wanted answers in his own interrogation rather than to help the adopted son he’d just rescued from a drug-lord who’d been asking the same questions.

But Dick had defended Jason’s stand against Bruce.

At the time, he hadn’t realized Jason was lying – that Bruce honestly did have a valid reason to worry about Tim’s ability to threaten Batman’s secrets. He knew Jason wasn’t being entirely honest, but he’d brushed it off as embarrassment at getting caught and needing rescue.

Knowing what he does now, that Tim is aware of much more than he should be, Dick isn’t certain he would’ve made the same call. On the one hand, he wants to trust his brother’s judgement – to stay focused on Tim as a victim rather than a threat – but he also feels the urge to trust his mentor’s trend of caution, because if Tim threatens Bruce’s secrets he’s also threatening Dick’s. And Jason’s. And possibly Barbara, and the Titans, and any other mask they’ve ever worked with… Tim could be very dangerous if Jason’s wrong about trusting him.

But Tim is waiting to be yelled at – waiting to face the good guys’ wrath for simply being clever. And Dick had seen the R on Tim’s sweater. He’s a fan, and he’s been clever, and he’d taken one hell of a beating for a twelve year old kid to be expected to handle.

And he hadn’t talked.

It was more than Dick would’ve expected from most grown-ups. It was as much or even more than he’d expect from adults trained to withstand interrogation.

If Dick needed proof that Tim wasn’t a threat, that was it.

Tim was still staring at him – waiting for his anger. Waiting to be punished.

Jason was staring too – waiting for a reason to get angry himself.

Resolved to let Tim continue to fly under Batman’s radar, Dick doesn’t say anything. He just takes another bite of his pancakes. The bite goes down easier than he expects, validation that his gut trusts Tim on a level beyond instinctual. Something more like kinship.

Tim keeps staring – like he doesn’t quite recognize what it means that Dick is just going on with eating like a major secret affecting both of their lives hasn’t just been exposed – but Jason relaxes. He even flashes Dick what could pass for a smile.

It makes Dick feel like he’s made the right decision all over again.

He’s got very little good history with Jason, but he’s working on his own issues and he thinks that, just maybe, he and Jason can work with this – can use Tim’s hush-hush existence as a bit of common ground to try standing by each other instead of against each other.

Tim is still staring, though.

Still waiting, still worried, still convinced that he’s in trouble.

“Pancakes not to your liking, Tim?” Dick asks, flashing him a grin. It’s not the dazzling, thousand-watt smile that’s always made him shine as a media darling, but it’s still bright and teasing enough to startle Tim. And genuine.

Jason growls before Tim recovers, retorting, “Hey, my pancakes are fantastic, asshole.”

Dick gives a shrug, his smiling building as he feels out Jason’s grumble and realizes that there’s almost no real malice in it – none of the gritty defensiveness he’s used to from Jason.

“They’re, um, great,” Tim replies in a squeak.

With another snort, Jason says, “You haven’t even tried them yet.”

He reaches across the island and swoops a smear of butter onto Tim’s topmost pancake, giving the terrified youngster a mild heart attack. He pushes the syrup across the table with his fork – it’s good stuff, real maple in a ceramic jug – until it clicks pointedly against Tim’s plate.

“Eat.”

Tim picks up his fork, obedient but still anxious and pushes a few bites around before he finally picks one up and forces it into his mouth and down his throat.

Watching as Tim swallows and waiting until it looks like he might take another bite of his own volition, Jason says, “You gotta relax, Timmers. We’re the frickin good guys.”

Dick gives a supportive smile as Tim forces himself to nod.

His eyes jump guiltily to Dick for a moment but then he settles and takes another bite of his pancakes. This time he looks much less like he wants to throw the food back up immediately.

“How’s, um, how’s your leg,” Tim asks. Guilty, which makes Dick’s lungs tighten, but at least he’s speaking up – which means he might be able to be convinced he’s not at fault.

“It’s good,” Jason replies with a shrug. “I’ve gotta stay off it completely for the next week, and I’m benched for the next three, at least, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Dick snorts. “You’re supposed to stay off it for three weeks,” Dick counters automatically. He lets himself fall into older-brother over-dive to add, “And B wants to keep you benched for the next two months. Alf might actually put you in a coma if he sees you trying to go down to the Cave before the cast comes off.”

With a shrug, Jason says, “So like two weeks and we call it even.”

Dick tries to claw back the sigh that’s threatening to cut off all his air.

“It was a pretty bad break,” Tim pipes up. He looks slightly guilt-ridden, but he forges on to add, “But it was direct contact to the bone, instead of to a joint, and I’m guessing it was a stable, simple tibia fracture – no skin penetration or muscle tears – and it was either transverse or very slightly oblique, so it should heal cleanly.”

“Not if he bungs it up by trying to do cartwheels on it too quickly,” Dick counters.

“I’m gonna leave the cartwheeling to you, Dickiebird,” Jason replies with a chuckle that’s warm and teasing and so much nicer than the conversations he’s used to having with Jason.

It almost sounds like they’re just talking about your average sports injury, and Tim even joins in a few more times as the discussion shifts to Dick and his penchant for cartwheeling down the long halls of Wayne Manor. Tim’s a fan of the Flying Graysons, and after a little figuring, Dick actually remembers meeting him before – before the show for a picture and a hug and a somersault promise, before Zucco, before his parents fell… before life got so complicated.

Dick and Jason and Tim stay gathered around the island in the Drakes’ kitchen until Tim has completely finished his plate of pancakes without needing to have Jason force him through each bite. And they stay an hour after they’ve cleaned up, and an hour after that too.

They stay until Alfred sends Dick a text to warn him that Bruce is getting antsy with their absence, antsy enough to start wondering where they’ve gone.

Tim looks sad as they start gearing up to head back to the Manor, but Jason assures him that they’ll be back tomorrow – and after school on Monday, assuming Tim actually goes to school on Monday. Neither vigilante would blame him if he wanted to take a day off.

“Why?”

“Because you got beat up by a drug-lord,” Jason told him with a gruff, but affectionate exasperation Dick can hardly believe he’s hearing from the ill-tempered teenager, “That totally warrants a fucking vacation day or two.”

Tim shakes his head. “No, I mean why are you gonna come here? Why’re you here at all, if I’m not in trouble for… you know.” He mumbles through most of the words, falling back into the timid little thing he was when he first saw Dick and Jason standing at his door.

It’s only now that Dick realizes how much he’d managed to come out of that shell.

“We’re checking up on you, baby bird,” Jason huffs, “Duh.”

“But why?”

Tim stands there like the question is perfectly innocent, like it’s not one of the most heartbreaking thing Dick has ever been asked.

If Jason didn’t have a broken leg and crutches to wrestle with, Dick is sure that Tim would be trapped under Jason’s arm getting his hair mussed beyond all possible repair. As it stands, Jason looks halfway to smacking Tim with one of his crutches.

Or smacking whoever made him feel like his current state of being is somehow one that is in any way an acceptable situation for a child.

But Dick smiles and slings an arm around Jason’s shoulders.

“Because we’re Robins,” he says, promising, “And that’s what we do.”

There’s a pause.

And then Tim nods, smiling back in a way that makes Dick’s limbs feel gooey as he goes all warm and fuzzy. He can feel Jason lean into his side, can see that he’s smiling too – not as broadly as Dick is, but the expression is just as genuine. A bit surprised, perhaps, but happy.

The door closes behind them and Jason clambers into his side of the car without beating Dick with his crutches for helping. The drive back to the Manor is just as quick as the one away from it this morning, but not as quiet.

The Robins get themselves on a united platform about having gone to visit Drake as civilians – he’d recognized Jason as a Wayne and they’d gone to commiserate with Jason as a fellow victim of random, rumor fueled violence. They explain again to Bruce that Tim doesn’t know anything about Batman and latch onto Alfred’s concern that the boy’s parents are still out of the country. The Robins volunteer to go over and check on him tomorrow.

At Alfred’s insistence, they agree to spend most of the day there, and several days next week – and bring over some of Alfred’s amazing, high-nutrition cooking.

With all three of them set against Bruce in this, he relents to giving full approval to their plan – assuming that Nightwing patrols with Batman for the next three weeks while Robin remains obediently on bedrest.

The butler sides with Bruce on that one, but he gives the boys a wink behind Bruce’s back and it makes Dick get that warm and fuzzy glow again.

He’s halfway giddy all through that night’s patrol.

Batman notices.

But Dick doesn’t explain when he’s asked about it.

He just says that he and Jason are finally seeing eye to eye about what it means to hero in Gotham, to be Robin… to be a good Robin.

He smiles into the sunrise after a long night of beating up petty thugs on Gotham’s street corners – of looking into and utterly quashing any remaining rumors that Timothy Drake has any information on Batman. And maybe the throws a few extra flips into the maneuvers that carry him from rooftop to rooftop of Gotham’s city skyline.

It’s a beautiful day and Dick resolves to make the most of the chances he’s been given – however unfortunate the circumstances around them. The world is already a slightly better place, and Dick is determined to make it more so, bit by bit.

Because we’re Robins. And that’s what we do.

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#BatFam #Batman #Batman & Robin #Jay x Tim #Jason Todd #Jason Todd x Tim Drake #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson

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rhub4rb · 5 years

Text

Home is Where the Heart is

AO3

[First chapter] [Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

-_-_-_-

It was awkward in the living room. Marinette and Bruce were alone, for some apparent "bonding time" that was very much needed according to Alfred. Marinette scowled inwardly at the butler.

Bruce had gone along with adopting Marinette for Alfred, which she didn't quite understand. If anyone had any reason to be distrustful of her, it should be Bruce. She was in his city, fought his kids, had no history. Apparently adopting black-haired, blue-eyed kids was a habit of Bruce's.

She didn't really understand, but she appreciated it, if only somewhat.

"So..." Marinette said. "You adopt kids a lot?" Smooth Marinette, real smooth.

It worked, at least slightly, as Bruce raised an eyebrow at her. It was a reaction! But nothing more came of the topic. They went into silence again, and for a moment, Marinette wondered if he was considering taking back the adoption.

"I lost my parents too," Bruce suddenly said, and Marinette blinked, not even sure if he said anything at all. "I was 8 years old. Alfred took care of me growing up."

Marinette stayed quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. Comfort, even if well-meant, didn't seem appropriate. So instead, she shared.

"I lost my parents a week before I came to Gotham," Marinette said, looking at her hands folded in her lap. "I stayed with my grandfather, and then he... he passed away too."

"Were you close?"

Her hands tightened.

"Very."

A moment passed before Bruce said, "No one can ever replace them." Marinette shook her head, feeling her nose starting to tingle as tears built up. She just wanted to go home. To France, to the bakery. To the ever-present scent of baked bread and bear hugs, to flour fights and game nights.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know you only did this because Alfred aske-"

"I didn't do this because Alfred asked me to," Bruce said, cutting her off. "He was going to have you under his custody, I was the one to request adopting you."

Marinette blinked, finally looking up at the man who had let her stay in his home, despite knowing that something shady was going on.

"But... why?"

"Do I need a reason why?" He asked, and Marinette was hit with how similar it sounded to what she told Tikki, once her plan against Hawkmoth had been solidified.

A tear slid down, followed by another one, and before Marinette could even think, her weeping echoed through the halls of the manor, leaving behind a ghost of what she was feeling. She didn't even notice him hugging her until he started shushing in her ear, rocking her back on forth, and it felt so similar to what her papa would do that she just started to cry harder.

It seemed like Bruce understood though. He said nothing, just tried to calm her down, yet still let her cry, let her grieve.

Breakfast the morning after was a quiet affair. Marinette was certain that the other members of the family had heard her weeping, but none of them made a comment. It seemed that grief was a common feeling in this household, and Marinette didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

It eased the awkward tension that was usually in the dining room, but the fact that Jason was gone somewhere probably helped too, though Marinette had the distinct feeling that he was avoiding her as much as possible.

She couldn't say, it wasn't like they had spent time together as she and Tim had, but maybe it was the looks he would sometimes send her way when he thought she wouldn't notice, questioning and doubtful.

Maybe she wasn't the most forthcoming with him either. Whatever magic that was used on him, used to bring him back, was reeking off of him, pulsating and angry, as if trying to scare her away. It could perhaps be the magic that was causing him to avoid her, and he simply didn't realize it. Or maybe he did, but refrained from saying anything.

Doing a cursory glance around the room, it seemed like almost everyone present had at one point passed away, save for herself and Tim.

Marinette wondered what caused these people to be so willing to give up everything to save lives when they got nothing in return. But then she looked at herself and realized that it was quite simple really.

The feeling of it just being the right thing to do could be strong at times, and maybe this family of vigilantes felt that too.

From what Tikki had told her, Marinette had been destined to be given the miraculous, that she was a true Ladybug. Marinette wasn't sure how to feel about that, that the fates had made such a decision about her before she was even born.

"What are you spacing out about?" Damian suddenly asked, cutting her thoughts off with a harsh tone.

"Nothing," she stated simply, to which he scoffed and turned up her nose.

"Figures you're empty in the head. Are you sure that you actually went to school before coming to Gotham?"

Marinette knew there was more to that question. They had looked her up by now, tried to find her, and they got nothing. All Damian was looking for was some type of confirmation, for her to deny any schooling so he could bust her on something he already knew the answer to.

"Yeah," Marinette said. "I've gone to the same school all my life. I skipped a grade back in elementaire."

This seemed to catch the attention of the other table occupants, Bruce looking up with raised brows.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I did pretty well in college too, though I don't really know what I should do now," she admitted a little reluctantly.

Her dream had always been to design, but now... that dream felt far away, like it was part of the life that she erased, along with everything else. Marinette shrugged.

"It's not like I'm an idiot or something, I did well in school and I worked hard for my grades, it's just... school hasn't exactly been on the forefront of my mind."

"We can discuss what you want to do later," Bruce said, and Marinette nodded, just glad that the topic was dropped for now.

Damian just continued to scowl.

"Why did you let her stay?"

Bruce let out a tired sigh as Damian asked him the question again, not the first time in the week that Damian had cornered him.

"You know, she asked me that question too," Bruce said. Damian just scoffed.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Why do you have such a problem with her staying here?" Bruce asked instead of actually telling Damian what he wanted to know.

"I feel like it's obvious! She shouldn't even be here in the first place!" Damian exclaimed. "You trust Alfred too much sometimes."

Bruce felt a spike of anger grow at this, protectiveness of the father figure of his life rising.

"I have a reason to trust Alfred as much as I do," Bruce said with an air of finality that Damian ignored in favor of continuing the argument.

"He's human, he makes mistakes," Damian said. "How do you know he hasn't misplaced his trust in that girl? How do you know she isn't just playing him to get to us?"

"There are certainly more effective ways to do that than to go through the butler, don't you think?" Bruce asked rhetorically. "If she wanted to do something to us, she would have done so by now."

"I still think you're being a fool for trusting her so easily."

There was silence between the two, Bruce refusing to answer his son at this point, and Damian refusing to step down on the idea that Marinette could maybe be trustworthy.

Of course, Bruce didn't trust Marinette. He hadn't told her about the Batcave and their nightly activities for a reason, but he wasn't about to throw her out either, not after what happened the night before, not after Alfred had already told him that the girl had nowhere to go.

Maybe he really did have a bad habit of adopting kids, but he gave them lives that were better, didn't he? An outlet for all their frustrations against the world. Heck, according to Alfred, Marinette slept in an abandoned building somewhere until she found the butler.

Leaving her now felt wrong, and besides, this way they could keep an even closer eye on her, even if she did hardly leave her room. She and Tim frequently talked apparently, not that Bruce would know. Tim was awake at the most absurd of hours, but his third son seemed to trust her well enough.

It made sense to keep her around.

She was a mystery waiting to be solved, and they were supposed to be the world's greatest detectives. If that was the truth, then they should be able to figure out what was really going on.

"I still think it's a mistake to let her stay."

"Then it's a good thing that this isn't your decision to make."

Marinette and Tim were once again in the kitchen in the middle of the night, neither of them able to sleep yet. It had become an almost nightly ritual at this point, not that Marinette minded much.

"Damian really doesn't like me much, does he?" Marinette noted absentmindedly while she was sketching. She hadn't talked about her shaky relation with Damian to anyone, but it was really starting to get on her nerves.

After their last confrontation, Marinette largely left him alone. She didn't feel like getting yelled at by someone who was only a year older than herself, but she still felt the stink-eye he would send her way, the way he would complain about her to Bruce.

"Don't mind him, he's a brat most of the time, even when he's in a good mood," Tim said, typing away on his computer.

Marinette just hummed, though her sketching slowed. It was weird. She hadn't had this much trouble with a person since Lila, and that was years ago. It didn't help that Marinette already felt like a burden to the family, she didn't tell Bruce to adopt her, she didn't tell Alfred to look out for her this way.

She didn't even realize that she had stopped sketching completely until Tim called out to her.

"This is really getting to you, isn't it?" Tim asked.

Marinette bit her lip before reluctantly nodding.

Tim sighed. "Damian didn't have an easy childhood," he told her. "He might feel threatened by you here."

"But why would he feel threatened? I'm not trying to take his family from him or anything."

"Of course!" Tim admitted. "But Damian is used to things being taken from him, all of us are. He doesn't want to lose it all."

Marinette could understand that. After Paris, after losing everything, even herself, she could only understand it too well.

"I just don't know what to do," Marinette whispered, her voice cracking.

"Give him time, it took a while before he started trusting us too," Tim said, putting a comforting hand over hers. "He'll come around at some point."

Marinette wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't say that to Tim. Instead, she nodded and went back to sketching. Peace once again entered the kitchen, though Marinette's mind was still swirling with the Damian issue.

Suddenly, a box is placed on her sketchbook, and Marinette looks up at Tim questioning.

"Don't take what Damian says too seriously, he really is just a brat most of the time. As for that," Tim said, nodding towards the small black box he placed on her sketchbook. "That's a gift from me to you."

Slowly, Marinette lifted the lid of the box, revealing a sleek black phone.

"I figured you might need one," he explained.

Marinette looked wide-eyed at the phone, then back at Tim, before looking at the phone again and slowly shaking her head.

"I can't accept this-"

"You've had a rough couple of days. Take it."

A second passed, two, before Marinette lunged herself towards Tim, engulfing him in a tight hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She squealed quietly, mindful of the others still sleeping.

-_-_-_-

@constancetruggle @mojos-biggest-fan @lysslovesanime @heredmaquam @luciferge @scribblinggraveyard @thatfandomsgirl @eliza-bich @ki77h3dr4g0n @crazylittlemunchkin @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @skyel0ve @serenacross200 @valeks-princess @thebananathatwrites @aurordraws @nothernbluetongue @bluerosette23 @xxmadamjinxx @graduatedmelon @tritaledkitsune @tinybrie @shamefullove @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @danielslilangel @vivilakitty @kurogaya913 @elspethshadow @theatreandcomicfreak

#marijon #joninette #jonette #home is where the heart is #maribat

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the-shadow-of-atlantis · 4 years

Text

Truth in Blood (Pt 8)

Summary: Annabella finishes her goodbyes, Faith belongs to @melyaliz

Tagging: @thespacebuns @melyaliz @coffee-randomness @speedypan

Read Earlier Parts Here

The sun was starting to set by the time Annabella arrived at the manor. She paused a few yards from the gate, her nerves starting to come undone. What should she do? Where should she start? Should she pack first then confront her father? Or father then pack? Taking a deep breath Annabella sighed, she needed to do this, slowly she edged the car forward until the gate opened.

The first place Annabella decided to go was the cave, given how it was getting close to night time no doubt everyone was suiting up. Sure enough as she came down the steps she could hear Tim and Faith doing some warm up fights while Barbara and Dick studied a map on the computer along with her dad who was already in his batsuit. Faith stopped swing and completely missed Tim as she looked up and spotted Annabella. Within seconds Annabella was pulled into a bear hug and she hugged her cousin back.

“You're back.” Faith breathed holding Annabella closer as if that were possible.

“Yeah.” Annabella said though as happy as she was to see her cousin she hated what was going to come next. “I need to talk to dad, alone.”

Every one turned to look at Bruce who was expressionless behind the cowl, he simply nodded and everyone filed out. Dick and Barbara both paused to pat Annabella on the shoulder though she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they knew something about what her father did. Though everyone was out of the cave Annabella had a feeling they’d more than liking would be listening in.

“Can you at least take the cowl off?” Annabella asked crossing her arms and glaring at her father.

Slowly Bruce reached up and pulled the cowl back. Annabella nodded trying to keep herself together.

“You want to know what's the worst part of all of this?” Annabella asked, opting to look around the cave. “I grew up watching you lie to everyone in your life. I grew up watching you sabotage relationships, friendships. All because of this… this life. And for what? For you to be alone? For you to lose everything? I knew what you were capable of… I just never thought you’d do it to me… that I would be the one you would go this far.”

“Annabella.” Bruce whispered his voice gruff.

“Don’t.” Annabella breathed, taking a step back and holding a hand back. “I can’t… I can’t look at you right now. I can't be here… you didn’t just lied to me dad, you messed with my head. Protection or not you went too far, you understand that right?”

Bruce said nothing as he stood there motionless but Annabella could feel the pain, regret, and guilt he felt.

“I’m leaving.” Annabella said before she could stop herself. “I have to go figure all this out, and I can't do that here. Not with you around, not where you can watch me.”

Annabella quickly turned and headed out of the cave. She closed her door and took a deep breath fighting away the tears that threatened to spill. She headed into her closet and began sifting through her clothes. Annabella was halfway through folding them when she heard a knock and her door open. Looking up she saw Faith come in and quietly close the door.

“You’re leaving?” She asked quietly, Annabella sighed her hand resting on the pile she just finished folding.

“I have to Faith.” Annabella whispered afraid to look her cousin in the eyes. “I have to get away from here.”

“Well then come with me and Jen.” Faith offered walking up to Annabella. “We can share my room at her place, it’ll be like having a sleep over every night.”

Annabella couldn’t help but smile as she hugged her cousin back though Faith could see it didn't reach her eyes.

“I can't stay in Gotham Faith.” Annabella explained rubbing her cousins back. “I've got to figure this thing out, and I’m not going to get answers here.”

“Well then ill go with you.” Faith offered instead but Annabella shook her head gently.

“You have school you need to focus on.” Annabella reminded her, making Faiths face wrinkle in disgust. “And you should be here for your sister, you two need each other.”

“Does she know?” Faith asked and Annabella nodded.

“Yeah she knows.” Annabella said, pulling back a bit her eyes focusing on her bed.

She remembered a moment, a day when the world seemed so bleak. Her aunt and uncle's plane went missing. It was weeks before they finally decided to hold a funeral with empty coffins. The three girls had huddled together in Annabella’s room, none of them wanting to let the other go. An understanding seemed to pass through them, they would always be there for each other, Annabella couldn’t help but feel like she was breaking that promise. No, she’d be back, she just needed a break from her father.

“I honestly don't know how long I’ll be gone but I do promise that I will be back.” Annabella said, placing her hands on Faith's shoulders. “I’ll always come back.”

Faith hugged her again snuggling her face into Annabella’s shoulder. Annabella stood there letting Faith take her time.

“You better bring me back something cool.” Was all she said when she pulled away then helped Annabella finish packing.

Annabella hoped she wouldn’t run into anymore family as she came down but of course Alfred was waiting for her with a lunch bag of food. Her steps slowed down as she approached the old man who simply held the bag out for her to take.

“I witnessed your father do a great deal of many things. I wish I didn't just stand by and watch what he did to you. But you must understand he put so much protection on you it was difficult to break.” Alfred explained his hands made sure everything was well in place.

“It's okay Alfred, you’re not the one I’m mad at.” Annabella hugged him tightly.

She had planned to take one of the bikes, but given all the things she had to carry and she wasn't sure how much she would be traveling she settled for one of the more small and inconspicuous cars. The last bag was settled into place when the rest of her family showed up. Stephanie and Cassandra had already been out on patrol when they heard the conversation over the coms, they decided to come back in hopes of catching her before she left. She said her goodbyes hugging each and every one of them before they turned to leave for patrol.

“Keep an eye on Faith for me.” Annabella whispered as she brought Tim in for a tight hug. “Believe it or not she looks up to you.”

“I’ll do my best.” Tim whispered reassuring her.

“You know you could stay with me in Bludhaven.” Dick said as he leaned down to hug her and proceeded to lift her up.

“You know that won’t help.” Annabella said with a sad smile.

“Worth a shot.” Dick sighed as he set her down.

“You got that laptop I gave you.” Was all Barbara asked as she hugged Annabella.

As much as Annabella contemplated having no communication with anyone here in Gotham she had secured the laptop that she no doubt would work very well, no matter where she found herself going. Besides she still had college classes to get done.

“I’ll keep you updated.” Annabella whispered back softly. “Keep everyone safe.”

“I will.” Barbara nodded as she pulled away.

With that Annabella slipped into the car and peeled out of the garage leaving the manor in her past, trying to ignore the tears that threatened to spill.

#batsis x batman #batsis x bruce wayne #batsis x batfam #truth in blood

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amazingflyingdick · 4 years

Text

the toxin.

WHO: Dick @amazingflyingdick, Jason @thatsjasonfkntodd, Tim @redrobin-timdrake, Barbara @the-orxcle, & Slade @terminator-deathstroke WHERE: A random warehouse WHEN: May 17th, 2020 WHAT: Jason, Tim, & Barbara put out a fake hit on Dick to lure Deathstroke into a trap

Jason: Coming up with the details for the fake job hadn’t taken him too long in the grand scheme of things. He had not shared those particular details with Dick ahead of time, though, not wanting to deal with a back and forth when what they needed to do was get moving. He’d passed them along to Tim to get up on the Dark Web, and within a couple of days of the conversation in the Batcave, there was a hit up for Dick Grayson himself, aka Nightwing, and the buyer was offering payment up front rather than upon completion. If Slade was willing to take the contract legitimately, offering the money straight away would get him there. If, somehow, a streak of sentimentality Jason found it difficult to believe he possessed made him act instead to prevent the hit from happening at all, he’d certainly show up to meet the buyer. Either way, it got him where they wanted him to be. Dick, as they’d agreed, would be the ‘buyer’ he ended up meeting, and he even had the cash to play the part.

That was the easy part. The real difficulty had been deciding how the fuck to take Deathstroke down. Dick claimed he knew how he fought, and maybe he did, but that didn’t erase the fact that Slade was not only a prolific assassin and an absolute tank of a man, but was metahuman to boot. He wasn’t banking on Dick knowing him to be enough. Especially when Slade has personally handed Jason enough information while taunting him to make things much easier.

Poison, he’d said. It had to be one hell of a poison, too. Bruce had access to a whole cadre of neurotoxins, and if he had access, so did they. He’d let Tim run with the idea to mix up something that would have killed an elephant but probably not Slade Wilson. Hopefully. And if it did, Jason wouldn’t be losing any sleep over it.

Dick: It wasn't until Dick rendezvoused with Tim and Jason that he realized he was the target. He hadn't been involved with generating the hit or getting it out there in Slade's sphere. The Dark Web was familiar territory, but it might as well be Tim's backyard. There was no reason to check up after them when he trusted they could handle it themselves. Babs’ involvement made things a little weird, even though she’d known about his past with Slade for years.

The covert location was set up in the basement of the warehouse, just in case Slade already had eyes on it. That was one thing Dick was sure to arrange ahead of time. They needed to get inside first, unseen, so Slade wouldn't bail the second he realized it was all a trap. There was no way he could disguise himself well enough to not be recognizable - at least not to Slade - and he didn't even entertain the notion.

"Can't believe you ordered a hit on me," he said for about the fifth time, eyeing the toxin with a faint frown. "You said this is what was used on him last time?"

Tim: This was going to work. He reiterated it to himself yet again as he stood with Jason and Dick. They had planned it out and he had brought up every hole he could find in the plan so they could come up with contingencies. He'd been the one to get into Bruce's records of toxins, find the ones he thought would work together. He'd mixed up the cocktail that was going to slow Slade down. Deathstroke was difficult to take, but Tim had meant it when he had said they were capable of doing it. Deathstroke was just one man. They were a well-oiled machine.

"It had to be you," he said to Dick for the umpteenth time. "Either he gets off on taking you out, and we know he's tried before with Rose and with his fake Titans, or he comes here to see who's trying to take you out." If it was that latter... well that would be awkward but the potential for Deathstroke to do something or hurt someone was enough to justify the pre-emptive action they were taking. And Tim wasn't sure Deathstroke would ever say he came to protect Dick. So they'd never really know. It was an infuriating thought, as Tim deeply hated not knowing things, but it was a thought nonetheless.

He looked over to Jason. "Do you have the dart ready?" He asked. "Best case scenario, he takes his mask off and you can get him from a distance. Worst case, we'll have to jump him first and you'll have to stab him with it." He gave a little smile, teasing lightly, "Think you can handle it?"

Babs: She had cameras not only unseen on the three of them, but control of all the security cameras on the premises. To anyone but her, they were conveniently malfunctioning for the duration of this meeting. She wasn’t sure what to feel with all this, so instead of feeling, she focused on the job ahead of them. Deathstroke needed to be taken in, it was as simple as that. No matter how much she wished she could be physical backup, she’s more than relieved to have Jason and Tim with him. There was backup if, somehow, things went south and the assassin got the upper hand.

“Let’s just not make putting hits out on each other the usual, deal?” The smirk is practically audible through the comm as her eyes are trained on the cameras outside the property on her screen. After Damian’s slip up, she wasn’t looking away for a moment, not when everything was so important, “Tim’s right, for a master assassin, this was pretty predictable of him,” even if they didn’t know how he’d want this to end, getting here was predictable.

Jason: “We couldn’t risk him passing the contract up. It had to be something that had some kind of pull besides just cash.” Because when it came down to it, he had difficulty believing Deathstroke actually needed most of the money he raked in. “Can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind before though, Babs. No guarantees.”

Jason had his mask on, not to protect his identity anymore, but because it afforded some extra layer of protection if things boiled down to a real fight. Let Tim get his nose broken. Jason didn’t feel like it. In any case, it prevented either of them from seeing him roll his eyes. “Yeah, Tim, I’ll do my best to handle one dart.”

Dick: Now that things were getting down to the wire, Dick was quieter than usual. He kept looking at the time and he couldn't sit still. Instead he paced, his arms crossed over his chest, and tried to appear as calm as possible. He'd already taken a look at Slade's file and told Jason that Gordon might not be able to hold him. There was no evidence against Deathstroke and eyewitness testimony was shaky at best. This was a huge risk for what could possibly be very little payoff. It was one reason why Dick was second guessing the entire thing.

He did know that he didn't want either of them in a physical confrontation with Slade. "Don't move in unless you absolutely have to," he said sternly. "I'll get him to take his mask off."

Tim: Tim was about to speak when a piece of equipment he had rigged up to the security systems he'd placed around the warehouse pinged and he looked up. "He's here," he said simply. "Positions." Honestly, he was praying that the tranquilizer he mixed was as fast acting as it was supposed to be. If not... Jason was going to get the fight that Tim could see he was ready for by the way he was standing. "Right in the neck, Jay," he reminded, letting his calm settle over him as his eyes scanned the room for the umpteenth time for any contingencies they could use if this went awry.

Babs: Barbara sees movement on her cameras the exact moment she sees Tim perk up. “Alright, my mic’s off. Good luck.” she reminds everyone, and mutes herself. She knew they couldn’t be too careful with someone with the senses of Slade Wilson. She wasn’t convinced the other two would go unnoticed in the same vicinity, but this was the best bet they had, so she’d kept silent on that front. Not every plan was faultless, this one was no exception. As she watches Deathstroke enter, she folds her hands in front of her mouth and looks on.

Slade: Slade had taken the job not to kill Dick Grayson. That would be counterintuitive to every move he had made ten years ago. He had wanted a message sent so that he could quash the sentiments Nightwing had expressed to him that last night together. He had needed to do that so that Dick didn't end up scrubbed into the concrete by Deathstroke's boot or that of one of his enemies. He wasn't showing up to kill him if he wanted him to live.

Still, someone had had the audacity to take out this hit and someone had had the audacity to ask for Deathstroke specifically. Billy had told him what the job entailed, and the payout had been almost absurd. Dick was good, but he wasn't sure what he had done to land this kind of hit with this kind of payout on him. Not recently, at least. Regardless, Slade was going to find out. Because, in spite of himself, he had managed to shake off Dick having any kind of warm feeling beyond caring enough not to compromise his moral code so he could blow Slade's brains out when he was vulnerable. But that didn't mean that Slade had successfully shaken his own bullshit off. He had just known how to bury it. He wasn't going to turn down the job and let some other asshole get lucky. He could picture some blowhard like Floyd Lawton as the second choice. Not a chance Slade would take.

He should have known something was off when he stepped into the warehouse and it was quiet... removed, almost. He didn't trust it and he reached up to draw his katana even as he moved deeper into the facility. His heightened senses were on full alert and Slade's danger sense could tell that this was not some run of the mill business man. Who the fuck had called for him?

He figured it out mere moments before he pushed open the door to the next room. It was a steady thumping that he had all but memorized that tipped him off. Slade had heard Dick Grayson's heartbeat close to his own every day for a year. And before that he had known it in a less intimate sense as well. He was nearly certain he'd be able to pick it out of a group.

His eye confirmed what his mind already knew as he took in Dick Grayson not in his Nightwing suit, but in plainclothes. Two other heartbeats confirmed that they were not alone but he didn't belie he knew that yet. What was this about? Suddenly, it was not about protecting Dick. Now he was just curious. "What happened to call or text if you needed to tell me something, little bird?" He asked as he approached, eye on Dick even as he tried to pinpoint where the other bodies were.

Jason: He and Tim were to stay out of sight unless it became clear that Dick couldn’t handle himself. The toxin that Tim had mixed up was supposed to knock him out, but there was always a chance that Deathstroke wouldn’t go down as fast as they were anticipating or that somehow it wouldn’t work as intended. Still, Jason was up high in the ceiling until then, just close enough to where Dick was standing to have both a clear visual and the right distance for the dart to really stick.

Dick: The warehouse had a table and chair, but Dick knew he wouldn't be able to stay sitting. He was leaning against the table instead, the suitcase behind him, and when Slade walked in he tried not to show any outer signs of the tension he was carrying. He didn't want him to know Jason and Tim were also here. The fact that he was meeting up with him alone was only suspicious if he acted terse and professional, as if he were trying to hide something.

So he remained relaxed, not even reacting to the nickname he was sure would come up later. Jason and Tim might not be able to hear from their vantage points, but Babs heard everything. "I couldn't do this over the phone," he said simply. "And I wasn't sure if you would meet me. Besides, I guess it's always nice to know how much my life is worth." Dick had checked his phone plenty of times that day. Slade never bothered to warn him that someone had a contract on his head. It should come as no surprise, but it was a thought he couldn't shake even as he unzipped the suitcase to show the money inside. "Count it, if you want."

Slade: Slade didn’t take that bait. There was something going on here. “What’s this about, Dick? Did you miss me?” Was that why he was trying to get Slade to take a kill contract out on him? He might be the only one in the world who understood that, given that he had done the same thing to Rose not too long ago. Only he had taken out the hit.

“I haven’t agreed to the job yet,” he said simply. “Call me even showing up here curiosity.” It wasn’t that, but he wasn’t telling Dick that he had come here to possibly dispatch the moron trying to hire him. The moron was Dick. Go figure.

Dick: Something flickered across Dick's expression, but it was brief and he pushed past it. Instead of forcing apathy, he used the moment to turn away from the suitcase so he was facing Slade instead. He didn't answer the question. "I'm offering you a different job. Take the money. If you need more, I'll get more. Let me buy out whatever contract you have in Star City." As he spoke he moved closer, but was sure to keep his hands down by his sides. The way he was dressed made it nearly impossible to be hiding any weapons, unless he had a gun strapped to his calf. "I know you're lying about why you're here. I don't want to fight you, Slade. Just... take the out. For old time's sake."

Slade: Old time’s sake. Slade narrowed his eyes under his mask. Honestly... if Dick had the money, it was a valid way to get out. No hit to his reputation because Slade had never indicated that he couldn’t be bought out. Money was the point of the business. He had nothing against Kara. Why should he? He had wanted the 60 million. It was the only reason he had bothered to take on a Kryptonian. That and the desperation for any kind of challenge. Otherwise... there was nothing.

And... Dick had that annoying way about him. He still remembered how Dick had looked into his eye ten years ago and with every speck of earnestness asked Deathstroke to change... just because Dick wanted him to. It had struck him so deeply then. It still struck him now.

He could refuse it. After all, he hadn’t confirmed that he had a job at all, even if Dick was right. But there was no reason. Not beyond the consideration that there were two other people waiting here. Was Dick making a play?

Moving into Dick’s space, he cocked his head. “The buyout’s 60 million, little bird. And if I take it, I have your word that I’ll walk out of here? No questions asked?”

Dick: Even after finding out he'd been lied to and the fallout that happened afterward, Dick never felt afraid in Slade's presence. He wasn't in costume and he had no real defense against him, not physically, but he knew Slade wasn't going to kill him. What he believed years ago might not be true, but there was some reason Slade chose to let him live. Perhaps it was because he assumed Dick would be malleable enough to believe the lie he'd given him on the rooftop. Maybe he thought there was still something he could get from him.

"Take it, leave Star City for good, and I won't lift a finger to stop you." His voice was quiet and direct, even though having Slade all up in his space was disarming in ways Dick hadn't experienced in many years. He took a slow breath before saying even more softly, empathetically, "Please."

Babs: She’s silent to everyone on the comm line, and even in her apartment, but she bristles at the nickname and her eyes widen when she hears the offer. Still, she says nothing. She knows Slade would hear. But she also knows exactly how Dick was an idiot when it came to impulse and the heart, and it couldn’t exactly be described as soundly logical. She wants to speak up, tell Dick to focus, but she knew it was too dangerous. She knows she had to let this play out until things really escalated, and she still prayed they didn’t. Jason was there. Tim was there. He wasn’t alone. She continues to listen, suddenly quite relieved she was the only one that could hear all this.

Slade: "I'll take the money," he said. "But I won't leave Star City. Not with Rose here." He really would cancel the job, but he was tired. He had been doing this for so long now that he wanted the opportunity to stop for a while. Perhaps actually buying property in the city, going straight for a while until the money began to run out... maybe he might have a chance with his kid. Billy had berated him for weeks after the hit he had taken out on Rose. She was angry. And he had made her that way. However, his increasingly more common thoughts about his legacy had been dredged up even further when he'd been vulnerable. If someone had tried to pop him then, that would have been it. He would have left behind a whole lot of money and little else to show for it.

"But if I take it, I will drop any business in Star City." When he started to work again eventually, he could have the decency to not work in Dick's city. He had done it in Bludhaven. There were plenty of other places in the world where he could make money. "I'll give you my word." If Dick knew him at all, he would know that those five words were about as strong as a legally binding contract. Stronger even. "60 million dollars and you letting me leave here to try to set up something with my kid, and I will never do business here."

He only wondered if Dick would take it.

Dick: Dick wasn't sure if Slade would agree or not and he was both shocked and relieved when he did. He stared at him for a few seconds, thinking back to the conversation they had on the roof, and even though Slade didn't specify having a contract it was clear what business he referred to. It was still a strange choice that he would want to stay in Star City, but that wasn't something he would question right now. It didn't matter. He couldn't focus on anything beyond the situation at hand.

"Okay," he finally agreed, even though he half-expected Tim or Jason to take a flying leap from the shadows. He was relieved when they didn't. This could still be handled with minimal confrontation and conflict. No one was going to get hurt. There were too many thoughts in his head as he took a step to the side so Slade could get to the suitcase. "It should all be there."

Slade: Slade didn't move toward the money, watching Dick for a long moment before reaching up to pull off his mask. He had Dick's word that he was walking out. In spite of Slade's paranoia, he trusted Dick Grayson, so he set the helmet aside and reached up to catch a hand in the other's hair. Old times' sake. Did Dick still think of old times? He had hoped the answer was no, but Slade needed to confirm it. Was the lack of distance between them right now as palpable to Dick as it was to Slade.

"I'm doing this for old times, little bird," he told him quietly, the fingers in his hair tightening. "But I hadn't realized that you thought much of those at all." Was Dick showing some kind of hand? Slade might be, but he'd deny it if pushed.

Jason: Jason had the dart gun up and ready the second he saw Slade’s hand move up to his mask. They’d spoken a lot, longer than Jason had expected to need to wait, words he couldn’t hear, but he finally had his shot. Watching Slade actually reach out and touch Dick was like a signal on top of a signal.

With all the practice he’d had, Jason was an impeccable marksman, and he had a clear shot of Slade’s neck. He took it, and the dart cleared all the open air in a matter of a couple of seconds. As soon as the tip made contact with flesh, the neurotoxin would start working its way through him.

Dick: When he realized Slade was removing the helmet, Dick turned back to him suddenly, surprised, and his eyes widened when he touched his hair. He didn't say anything, but he wouldn't have warned him even if there were time to do it. That would have meant betraying Jason and Tim. He was so shocked by the barrage of thoughts and emotions that he didn't even know how to react, or what he would have said if he had the chance to give Slade an answer.

Jason was fast. Accurate. Dick winced when the dart hit its mark, his hand flying up to the side of Slade's arm as if he expected him to topple over right there. He shook his head, even though it was much too late. "Wait!"

Tim: Tim watched Jason fire from his own vantage point, zooming in on his mask to watch the hit land. Bullseye. Perfect. Now they just had to see if the toxin he had mixed worked. He moved to lithely get himself down, landing on his feet on the floor as he waited.

Babs: She turns her mic back on as soon as the dart was released, smirking only a second later, “Contact.” she confirms to the group as a whole. She’s careful to keep her voice even, because at this moment only her and Dick knew what was said to Slade. Considering she was already working from a new monitor, she wanted to keep it that way for a while, at least. After all, she’d had years to accept this, and she couldn’t blame Tim and Jason in this case. As soon as Dick speaks, she’s quick to respond, “He’s going down… damn, Tim,” She can see even the early stages through the camera, and she can’t help but be impressed. It sure took something to knock a man like Slade out cold.

Slade: Slade felt the bite of something in his neck and reached up to close his hand around the dart. He didn't have time to really figure it out, but he wasn't a moron so when his vision went double and then triple, he met Dick's eyes. "Didn't think... you had it in you, little bird," he slurred out before he felt a heaviness in all of his limbs that had his knees buckling. Shit.

Clumsily, Slade pushed back from Dick, trying to reach for his katana. What the hell had been in that dart? He didn't have time to ask before his knees struck the floor and then he landed in a rather ungainly sprawl on the floor of the warehouse, the sword skidding as it fell from his hand. He managed a final groan before he was out.

Tim: Tim watched the toxin take effect with no small measure of pride. "Awesome shot, Jason," he said as he came out of the shadows and pulled out a set of specially crafted manacles so he could cuff the unconscious Slade. "What did he say to you, Dick?"

Jason: Jason let himself down with a cable to make up for the distance and retracted it around the same time Deathstroke went down. “That was some potent stuff, Timbers. You could make a killing with that if it can take down Deathstroke.”

As far as he was concerned, the plan had gone off without a hitch, but he’d not entirely missed Dick reached for Slade’s arm in that last second. “One assassin, as agreed.” For his part, he walked over to the katana that Slade had no doubt meant for one of them and picked it up. With his free hand, he unclipped his mask and whistled. “And a bonus for me.”

Dick: Dick turned away without saying anything, zipping up the suitcase just to have something to do with his hands. "Good job." He couldn't make himself sound as enthusiastic as Tim even though he meant it. They listened to what he'd asked and didn't rush in before they had to. It could have been a lot worse. "I told him I wanted to buy him out of the contract," he finally said quietly. "And he agreed not to do business in Star City."

Frowning, he watched Jason with the katana and then looked over at Tim. "Remember what I said about his file? He's only wanted for questioning. He could walk out of jail today and we're back where we started, only he'll have it out for us. Maybe it would be the best option, under these circumstances..."

Babs: She watches them work, though continues to check the perimeter. When Tim asks what was said, she listens carefully and simply closes her eyes a moment. They’d talk later, she knew that much. They had more work to do, now. They had Deathstroke to get to the police department,which was a huge task in and of itself. She’s quick to chime in, “Well, you know, I know a guy. He’ll keep Deathstroke in there for as long as he can.” Though her voice holds a bit of humor in it, she scowls silently in her apartment. She wished privately that this one time they could just lock him up for good, technicalities aside. Still, that wasn’t reality, and the image of Jason ogling the swords makes her snort and brings her back to the present.

“Jason, are you really going to--” she pauses, sighs, and rolls her eyes, “...nevermind. Just hurry up. I don’t like an advanced metabolism and toxins combined.” Babs thrived on predictability, and though Tim had already more than proved he was fine, she was obviously antsy to get the job done.

Tim: Tim rolled his eyes as his middle brother. "Too bad I don't supply mercenaries. That was a one and done." He had the recipe and all of the ratios figured out, though. He could absolutely recreate it.

"All you have to do is give him money?" Tim asked Dick as he spoke. That... was that ethical? Would Slade actually keep his word? He looked down at the man before shaking his head. "I don't want him to just walk... But... How much would we need?" Bruce would kill them for this, though, wouldn't he?

As he watched Jason lift the sword, he shook his head. "You can't just steal from the guy, Jay. He's already probably going to try to kill us now."

Jason: Jason seemed undeterred. “So what, you buy him out, he leaves the city, keeps taking contracts somewhere else? Don’t tell me you’re getting Batman levels of narrow and only giving a shit about one city. How’s it better if we let him walk and he goes and kills...I don’t know, the daughter of a King somewhere. Is that cool because she’s not in Star City?” Was Dick’s problem that he didn’t want to have to look at it? That was cheap.

Jason tipped the blade back to rest it across his shoulder. “Yes, I’m really going to. Finders keepers. He’s going to jail.” And...he’d been thinking about that since Dick brought it up, but not in a way he wanted any input on. He’d come to some conclusions on his own.

Dick: Even though he wanted to say no, Dick knew he hadn't gone after Slade in all the years he was out in the world, taking contracts and doing hits, and that was something he tried not to dwell on. He knew Jason was right, so he just shook his head slightly at Tim's question since it wasn't an option they would be entertaining. He knew Babs was right in that Gordon would keep him for as long as possible, but it wouldn’t take long for Slade’s lawyers to show up and unravel everything.

"Okay, let's go," he said, handing Tim the suitcase before kneeling next to Slade. "Help me with him, Jay." His mood was still strangely subdued as he replaced the scene over and over in his head, but there was nothing uncertain in his demeanor.

Tim: "I have a car outside ready to transport us to the station," Tim said as he moved to grab a leg. "This went... so much easier than I expected." He was still trying to figure out what to do about the fact that Slade would probably walk the moment his lawyers showed up.

"What are you going to tell Jim?" He asked Dick. This was bound to look like something if they hauled Deathstroke in.

Babs: “Knock on wood with that comment,” Babs says wryly, but she can’t help but agree. This went… amazingly smooth, even if she had moments to talk about. At the end of the day, Deathstroke was in custody, and no one was bleeding. That was a resounding success.

“Somehow, I think the commissioner is going to accept the fact that he gets to question him and figure it out,” once again, the amusement is clear from her tone, though it doesn’t lose any seriousness, “Don’t count on too long, but it’s something.”

Jason: Not that Tim or Dick weren’t strong, but since neither of them put quite the same emphasis on brute strength that he did, Jason shouldered the bulk of Slade’s body after he’d secured the katana (which he was keeping) and headed out.

“How long do you think he’ll be held?” he asked Dick on the way out. He wasn’t counting on having more than 24 hours, but he needed at least a few.

Dick: Once they had Slade situated in the car, Dick sighed and rubbed his head. "I'll tell Gordon I came across him while patrolling the warehouse district, remembered he was wanted for questioning, and decided to take him in. I'll tell him a vigilante helped me get him subdued. No names." He wasn't bringing Tim, Jason, or Babs into this in any capacity. “As high profile as Deathstroke is, it makes more sense for Gordon to handle the interrogation.” There was no way he was going to do it.

Hesitating, he shook his head slowly at Jason’s question. "I don’t know. Not long. Gordon might hold him on some bogus charge, but I'll say a couple hours at least. He needs to sleep this off first. How long before he wakes up, Tim?"

Tim: "Couple of hours at least. At least... by my calculations." It seemed to be functioning as planned so far. So he assumed that it would keep doing so. "What are we going to do to make sure he stays in jail? I figure that's the goal?" He shrugged. "We have a little time to figure out what to do."

Jason: Jason said nothing else until they had Slade in the waiting car and he could stand up straight. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Gordon will get enough to hold him.” And even Slade’s lawyers weren’t going to be anticipating it. “I’ve got something else to take care of if you’ve got it from here. Won’t be long.” He needed to speak with Roy and dump his gear. All told, he could get to the station within the two-ish hour window.

Babs: She was quiet as they got Slade into the car. She listened, but she mainly thought quite a bit. Her mind was already preoccupied, and add on the things she heard in the conversation, she was worried. Still, more talk of her dad snaps her back to the present moment. She appreciates Jason’s vote of confidence, though doesn’t know where it’s coming from exactly. Still, she respected his privacy, and figured that getting him to go into detail wasn’t going to happen. “Call if you need anything,” she reminds him, “I have the cameras ready to go back on as soon as you all leave the area. The car being seen will be enough to back up your story. Nice work, everyone.”

Dick: “Thanks, Oracle.” Dick blinked when Jason said that and just stared at him. "Do you have something you think might incriminate him?" Or maybe Jason was going to get an eyewitness? That was possible, but he'd been right there with Slade that night. Maybe not at his side, but still. The thought made him wary. "We got it from here. Don't come to the station, Jay. They're looking for you, too, you know."

Tim: Tim looked down at Slade before nodding. "We can handle it, Jason," he agreed. "We don't want you in a jail cell too." He didn't know what Jason was planning, but he seemed to be acting shifty. What was going on? "What are you planning?"

Jason: “Don’t worry about it. See you guys later. Red Hood out.” With that, he cut his mic and silenced the three of them in his ear. He’d get Alfred to feed his dog. It’d be alright. Jason threw up one hand in a dismissive kind of goodbye and headed the opposite way, taking his phone out of his pocket as he did.

Dick: Frowning, Dick started to call after Jason to push for a concrete answer, but he already knew they weren't going to get anywhere. He slipped into the driver's seat and held his hand out for the keys. "Let's go. I don't want to take any chances of him waking up."

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #slade wilson #barbara gordon #c: discord

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callmesteve · 5 years

Text

sneak peak at what i’m writing?

for real this time, sghlidugh.

so, that post i just posted? yeah, i started a rough draft. here’s the first half! (not really any dami yet, sorry folks :((. also, note: i’ve made jon and damian the same age, i think there’s an age gap normally, but this works better for me.)

do i continue it?

(fic below the cut)

Dick and Bruce go back in time to save Damian before he was killed. They end up in the wrong time. There’s so many ways it goes wrong.

Dick crosses through the portal to dusty air and ashes scattered amongst the ground. Buildings crumble around the torn up street. Markings all over the remains of Gotham tell Dick all he needs to know. Green and red spray paint curl heavenward in a sick imitation of Joker’s manic grin. When he hears Dick grunt, he whirls around, already gesturing to their belts. “We’ve hit the wrong time,” he says, voice carefully low. “I think we went forward, not back.”

It’s just like Bruce said, before they left. Time travel is a fickle thing. There’s no right way to do it with the resources they’re working with. Plus, it doesn’t really help that ever since Bruce’s whole incident with Frankenstien, Tim’s been hellbent on not helping their efforts to get Damian back.

God, Dick knew this wasn’t going to work. There had been too many variables in the beginning. Too many what if’s, too many maybe not’s.

He just had to agree to go with Bruce anyway, hadn’t he?

With a groan, he drops his head into the palms of his hands. Ever since Damian died, all Bruce could think of doing was bringing him back to life. He hadn’t been like this with Jason, but with the knowledge that Jason had managed to come back to life- Bruce took it and ran and somehow ended up coming across time travel. Their plan was simple. Go back to the fight that took Damian’s life far too early, stop Heretic before he was able to slide that sword through his little brother’s chest. They’d open themselves a new life where Damian lived and breathed and-

And Dick swallows a sob, fixing his domino mask to make sure it covers his teary eyes. He was just like Bruce, in the end. All Dick wanted was to wrap his arms around Damian one last time, to hold him close and breathe in that stupid strawberry shampoo Dick decided to buy him. Why wouldn’t he want to help Bruce with this? Dick and Bruce, although they both avoided the conversation, knew that Damian and Dick were closer than the title of brothers allowed. (Father and son fit better, Dick dares to think.)

“Should we stop by the Batcave in our time?” Bruce questions, as he fiddles with his wrist computer. While the actual portal-opening-thing-a-ma-jigs were attached to their belts, all the information they needed rested in their batcomputer’s archives, for Alfred to monitor over. “Or should we just skip to the next time we have queued up?”

Home rests on the tip of Dick’s tongue. They’ve only just started this time travel task, and Dick already feels weighed down by his grief. He’s still mourning, naturally. At this rate, he knows he’ll end up compromised by the time they make it to the time they’re shooting to find. All he wants to do, (besides save Damian and hold him again), is to go home to the manor, make tea, and cry as Mean Girls plays in the backgr-

“You’re not Batman,” someone scoffs, voice laced with a pout. They sound offended, almost, and- And Dick knows that voice. It’s older, sure, but- “It’s rude to pretend to be a dead man- and to dress up as someone who’s still around. I think. Technically. Okay, okay- Didn’t your mom’s ever teach you not to play pretend as dead men, guys?”

Dick’s eyes shoot up, to a familiar little getup. The red cape, cropped so it doesn’t pass the knees, the ripped jeans still baby blue, the same old Superman t-shirt, long since faded. Beat up converse, double knotted on his feet. He’s a few years older and a whole lot taller than when Dick last saw him, but it’s all the same.

Jonathan Kent stands before Dick and Bruce, hands folded across his chest.

Dick still remembers the days that Jon and Damian raced around the manor, (and the penthouse, while Bruce had disappeared). Years ago, Clark had decided it’d be a good idea to get the two to be friends, given the fact they were around the same age. It’s just a shame that they never got the chance to grow up as complete heroes together. Him and Damian had been close- really close. Their time’s Jon was still torn up about Damian’s death.

This Jon blinks as he takes in Dick and Bruce, before tutting an all too familiar tut. “I’m gonna have to bring you guys in to the base. No running away.” He purses his lips, regarding Bruce closer for a moment. “B-boy doesn’t like it when people do that. It always attracts the Joker’s attention, and we don’t need that.”

Dick looks back to Bruce, and they both share a nod. No confrontation until Heretic- not unless it’s totally needed. That was their agreement. Besides, from Jon’s reaction of them, this time’s Nightwing and Bruce-Batman are obviously dead. It’s a dull thought, considering that Jon’s only a few years older. Dick can admit that he’s at least curious about who dawns the cowl now, though. Dick had done it last time- Jason probably refused to this time, too. Especially with Joker leading this whole thing.

Tim, then? He’ll be the smartest Batman there ever were, that’s for sure. It’s just a shame he had to do it so young.

A pit forms in Dick’s gut. If Bruce, Dick and Damian are dead, there’s a big chance that all Tim really has left is Alfred. (God, Dick hopes Alfred’s still alive.)

“We’ll go,” Dick says, raising his hands in the air. “You’ve just got a misunderstanding about us, is all. We’ll clear it up and explain it to- uh- B-boy?”

B-boy could mean Beast Boy, really, but Dick’s pretty sure it’s just Batman. He’s confirmed as correct when Jon amends with, “Batman. He’s so uptight and serious now-a-days. We like to make fun of him- All friendly teasing, y’know- But- You probably shouldn’t- He’ll feed you to Ivy’s plants the next time she decides it’s time to swarm the city.” He winced at his own words, the nod to Ivy sending the conversation and joking cold.

Dick has a feeling the new Batman might just be Jason. Prickly and serious could fit with Tim, but- Hey. Who knows. Grief and mourning do things to people that you can’t always explain. Time travel included.

Jon leads them by the wrists after slapping cuffs on their wrists. They’re the plastic kind you can buy in toy stores for your kids to play with, but they’ve been modified and bulked up with metal, steel and tech. The locks have been changed from a key to a fingerprint scanner. When Jon’s fingers brush over it, the little screen beeps red. He clearly can’t unlock it. (The Bruce-influenced part of his mind thinks that it’s good- if he needs to, he can put a pair on Jon and not need to worry about him getting out. They seem pretty solid. Though, there’s always the chance that he could break out, Super-something’s always seem to surprise him.)

“These are pretty high tech,” Dick remarks, more for the sake of something to say and to focus on, than to learn about the cuffs. Not that it’s not cool, or important to hear about. “How’d you guys make them?”

“I’m not as dumb as I look,” Jon scowls. “I won’t hand away free information just because you think I’m stupid and easy to trick.”

It’s a completely valid concern. Dick gets to work shooting it down. “We’ve been compliant! If I wanted to cause trouble, I would’ve already. As soon as we get to Batman, we’ll explain that this whole thing was a mistake and that he doesn’t have to worry about us! Or- Me, at least.” He gestures to Bruce. “He’s pretty shifty. We’ll be fine.”

Surprisingly enough, Jon gives. “B made them,” he half-beams. Tim then. “Only his fingerprint is recognised. Way too many times have we had traitors in our midst that free our prisoners, or just plain old teammates who are super gullible. He was gonna let me be one of the only other people, besides- uh- someone else. But.” He adopts a sheepish grin. “Stuff happened, I guess. It was really bad. I trust his judgement, though!”

“If he’s good, then all power to you,” Dick grins back.

Bruce hunches his shoulders. “What the hell happened to Gotham?” he asks, and Dick winces at his wrecked tone. It’s their city, to be reduced to ash in a few years time. There’s no point in asking the year instead, anyhow. Jon’s no older than sixteen now, no younger than twelve or thirteen. They can take a pretty good guess. “We were just here-” Bruce pauses, piling on an alibi fast. “-a few years ago.”

Nice save, B.

“B always says a lot can happen in a few years! You’d be surprised. And- Everyone’s heard of the old Batman’s loss at the hands of the Joker and his Arkham crew. He didn’t die in the battle- He came close. Present day Batman took up the cowl while the villains reaped their spoils of war. Old Batman died pretty soon after that. Health complications, I think?” Jon hums. “I thought you might’ve been posing as the old Batman. I guess I was wrong then, since you didn’t know?”

“I’m not posing as anyone,” Bruce grinds out. Dick chokes back a laugh, which goes sour as soon as he grumbles, “Fuckin’ Joker.”

Dick steps over a stray piece of rubble on nimble feet. “See?” he whispers to Bruce. “You should’ve let Lil’ D beat up Joker when he had him in that damn room.” He scowls low, matching Bruce to a near perfect T. The Joker has messed with their lives way too much, at this point.

Jon stiffens.

Shit.

The Supers have super hearing, and Damian’s still probably a sore spot for everyone.

Just before Dick can question about Nightwing’s death, on rolls to a stop. “Close your eyes,” he says, tacking on a sorry soon after. Dick obliges. He hopes Bruce does too. Jon drops their hands, but reaches back a moment later. Something rolls open. He doesn’t tell them to open their eyes, so Dick keeps them close. Jon leads them forward, and immediately, Dick recognises the smell of the place they're in. Musty, damp. The Batcave. They’re using the cave as their base of operations?

Of course they would.

“Hey, B-boy!” Jon yells, before saying, “you can open your eyes.”

Dick does, expecting the same old vave. What he gets is something nearly three times larger. There’s more space in the center, lined with more vehicles that Dick cares to count. They’ve all got a reoccuring theme- Beat up, covered in spikes and neon green spray paint. Undercover vehicles, no doubt. The Batcomputer ahead has grown a few sizes, monitoring different sectors of Gotham and others displaying some of Arkham’s more dangerous ex-patients. Bane’s profile is marked with a deep red stamp, right over top his picture, that reads off deceased.

The glass cases hosting the Bat-clan’s fallen uniforms has been moved, now showing Bruce’s old cowl, Dick’s Nightwing uniform, and so many others he can’t name. One’s nothing more than a brown one piece with orange stripes on the side, gloves and a mask. Towards the end is Damian’s old Robin outfit, shoved over there like it doesn’t even matter. It should be in the dead center with the rest of the Batfamily’s fallen members, Dick thinks, and makes a note to yell at Tim/Jason/Batman for it. Family should stick together, even if it’s only their old legacies that stay by each other's sides.

The other platforms scattered around the cave’s walls are hard to see. There’s more than there used to be, all covered with discarded training weapons and dummies, with cots for sleeping. What an upgrade.

“B-boy!” Jon tries, cupping his hands around his mouth “I know you’re here! We’ve got prisoners!”

The voice that responds is low, older, but not overly so. It can’t be Tim or Jason- then who? “Then send them to the cells,” this Batman says. “Why on Earth do I-”

Oh, Dick knows the exact moment that Batman sees the two of them. Is it really that big of a crime to dress up as Nightwing or Batman around here? Jeez.

“Take off those damn masks,” Batman hisses, dropping from his perch atop one of the lower platforms. He’s- He’s tiny. Smaller than Jon by nearly a whole foot! “How dare you tarnish the fallen’s legacies like this! Did the Joker put you up to this? Harley? Catwoman’s not normally this cruel.”

“We can explain,” Dick defends. Bruce gives him a grunt and that’s all the conformation that Dick needs. He tears off his mask. Bruce pulls down his cowl.

Jon recognises them immediately, taking half a step back. “Mr. Wayne?” he says, soft. “And- And Dick-? They weren’t- You two weren’t imposters-? How did you survive? We saw both of you die-”

Bruce steps up, holding out his cuffs to Batman. “We’re not your Batman and Robin,” he explains. “Not yet. We’ve come from the past. A miscalculation while trying to travel through time brought us here.” He waves his wrists. “Now, Batman. If you’d be so kind as to let us know who decided to carry on the cowl? You aren’t Tim or Jason.”

“B-” Jon whispers, and it sounds wrong. “You should-”

“I know,” Batman interrupts. He reaches out, pulling off his glove, and unlocks Bruce’s cuffs. He does the same for Dick, with shaking hands. Then, his hand snakes up to his mask.

“You don’t have to,” Jon reminds.

“I know.”

Batman pulls off his cowl. Glassy green eyes- for the first time in near months- peer right back at Dick.

#potato writes #damian wayne #dick grayson #jon kent #bruce wayne #dcu fic #fanfic #this is a reblog blog tf am i doing #AW YEAH HERE I GO AGAIN #sadghlaslgh read it and weep it #i'll maybe post it on archive?? chapter one out of something #yeah

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