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#hes the opposite of a scarecrow
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“How come in The Nightmare Before Christmas Jack hates Oogie Boogie,” well you see, Jack is a skelliton and Oogie Boogie is bugs and I can see there being a grudge there.
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blueish-bird · 10 months
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Denji, Power, and Aki are like a hype house for ppl who don’t know what hair conditioner is.
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Why is the zombie guy the best part of Hocus Pocus omg
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inamindfarfaraway · 5 months
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Batman fun fact! Did you know that Scarecrow’s toxin doesn’t always cause fear? Sometimes it does the opposite! In Detective Comics #571, he wields a variant that completely inhibits the biochemical fear response, preventing people from feeling any concern for themselves or using basic common sense. He runs a racket administering it to star athletes, who take huge risks and get badly injured. Then they’re willing to cough up a lot for an antidote. Batman and Robin - here Jason Todd - catch on, but Bruce is dosed with the reverse fear toxin; since his intelligence is his greatest strength, being too overconfident and reckless to think twice about anything makes him his own worst enemy.
This premise was adapted in the Batman: The Animated Series episode “Never Fear”. There we see that with no fear of losing his moral integrity, Bruce becomes cold and merciless to criminals. Robin - here Tim Drake - has to catch somebody he leaves to fall off a building, tie him up to stop him endangering himself and others and give him the antidote to prevent him murdering Scarecrow.
But in the comic book, Jason is kidnapped by Scarecrow. (He gets gassed, and hallucinates Bruce dying and telling him that it was his fault.) He isn’t around to keep Bruce in check as he goes to rescue him through a series of death traps that he can’t resist cutting it as close as possible in. So how does Bruce not go off the deep end? How does he not lose sight of what’s important? Not lose himself?
Because even a drug designed to shut down stress at the most fundamental level can’t overpower his true worst fear. The Dark Knight might feel fearless…
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but a parent never is.
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flamingpudding · 8 months
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Inherited Driving
A/N: Credits also to @escelia 💖 Thanks for helping flash out this idea even more!!
Bruce Wayne was going crazy about Gotham's newest rogue. He stared at the open case file, the reports were laid out all over the table. On the Batcomputer various images were displayed. Images from bent light posts, street sights that were found three blocks from their original position, buildings that were missing chunks of their walls, and even buildings that had distinct car-shaped holes.
Next to that various reports were open about hit-and-run cases. None appeared to be connected. All the victims appeared to be chosen at random, good or bad didn't matter. No connections. Mugger, Politicians, other rogues, or even his children when on patrol. And then there were also reports of apparently people going insane claiming they had seen a silver car come right at them but never hit them.
He looked at the reports of his children.
Jason complains about a drug deal busted by a car bursting in and nearly ruined it for him by knocking out the main targets before crashing through the opposite wall.
Tim claimed that the corrupted CEO he had been investigating both as Red Robin as well as Tim Drake-Wayne got run over on the open streets and was now hospitalized.
But the most absurd reports came from Dick and Duke.
Dick one night reported that a silver car barely missed him while out on patrol. Nothing strange so far. If his son hadn't reported that he was jumping over roofs when it happened.
And Duke? He just reported that he felt like he had a near-death experience and saw his life flashing before his eyes. The cause? A glowing car came straight at him.
Bruce gripped his hair in frustration. This new rogue didn't make sense. They went for bad guys but also good guys? What was their pattern? The connection? Their goal? Was he lucky that none of his other children had so far encountered them on patrol?
They appeared at night as well as during the day.
Who was going to be the next target? Would it be one of his kids or possibly another corrupted politician or maybe even a mugger again next?
Tim had specifically created software to keep track of this rogue in the news or any online posts. Barbara was not able to get any video feeds or photos of this rogue for some reason. All images or videos found for the areas of his appearance were either entirely static or corrupted to the point of unrecognizability. He didn't even have the damned silver car's license plate!
Then there was the car driver's description from witnesses, which also varied from person to person. One stated him to be black-haired and blue-eyed looking like a tired College Student, another stated the man had white hair and green glowing eyes and lastly a more crazy person stated it was like an Eldritch being possessing the car.
The software peeped and Bruce turned to click on it, a news article appeared and the man groaned at what he read.
Breaking news: Scarecrow in custody after getting hit by car through Starbucks!
Witnesses say that during what was shaping up to be a fear gas attack, the driver hit the man before swerving through the front window of a Starbucks.After confirming everyone was okay, the baristas on shift gave the driver an iced coffee and a croissant while waiting for the police to arrive on scene. One employee even insisted this reckless driver saved their lives. [...]
Bruce closed the news, not reading any further and ready to slam his head onto the table. Who was this rogue?
Danny blinked at the newspaper in his hand, sipping his coffee and wondering who that driver was. He would have to be more careful now on the streets with a driver like that, that's fine. Jazz wouldn't probably call him soon again to nag about these crazy drivers Gotham appeared to have. She had been naggingly worried ever since he started going to college here. He just had to assure her that he would be even more careful to not get involved. Though his parents had already reinforced his car as a stay-safe-son measure. So he would just have to get in the car, drive from point A to point B and not hit anyone or anything like his parents.
He glanced at his kitchen clock and spat out his morning coffee.
"Shit! I am going to be late for my classes!"
In a rush he grabed his keys and ran to his car. He needed to hurry if he wanted to be there in time without upsetting his professor. Good that he learned about some pretty neat short cuts from his classmates.
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byers-bowlcut · 1 year
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Mike’s love for El being platonic, and not romantic, and realizing it over the course of season 3 reconciles nearly every contradiction with his behaviour.
He stands like a gay scarecrow as she kisses him in front of Will’s closet. That's him realizing that when he blurted out "I love her and I can't lose her again!" he meant it platonically. But her saying "ily too” WAS CLEARLY NOT PLATONIC, so now he’s left very confused (If he was simply shocked by the fact that she overheard him, he would’ve been surprised initially, and then kissed her back, and been all emotional and happy. But he wasnt.) 
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In fact he probably realized his heart fluttered when Will said “not possible” to him in the scene literally 1 minute prior, but NOT when his gf was attempting to make out with him? That’s clearly a problem! lol
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This leads flawlessly into season 4.
Mike has apparently been refusing to even write the word 'love’ in his letters for 6 whole months. Why? Cause he didn't want them to look like love letters.
Meanwhile, he’s jealous of Will painting something for a girl. So he argues with Will about growing apart.
El argues with him about not saying ily. In the fight, he deflects romantic connotations with words like “care” and superhero idolization that he seems suuuper into this season.
He NODS when Will says “What if they don’t like the truth?”. That’s him thinking “Yeah, El won’t like the truth that I don't return her romantic feelings.”
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In the van, he says their meeting was dumb luck and anyone could've been there for her that night. That’s hinting that he was just being a decent human. Not that it was a fated love at first sight meeting.
Then Will says, “You’re afraid of losing her”. And THAT is the true issue here.
This whole concept of ‘losing El’ (be it in relationship/daily life, or in death), is scary to Mike, because of what he went through seasons 1-2. At 12 years old, he saw another kid that he developed a bond with, die right in front of his freaking eyes. But they didn’t have a body or anything. So Mike kept getting signs and intuitive feelings that she was still alive. So he questioned his own sanity. For a WHOLE YEAR. Can you imagine how traumatic that is? And then for a kid that age?? That’s exactly why he develops an unhealthy codependency with her in Season 3. And we see it have a negative impact on the unity of the party, and on Will.
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But a traumatic response doesn’t change the fact that Season 3 transitions us through the party’s puberty and growth into teenage hood. 
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And because of said puberty, Mike starts to realize what actual attraction towards someone is, or in this case… isnt.
Like if we think about the first two seasons, for a 12-13 year old living in that type of society, era, and a picture perfect white suburban American family, it would’ve been really really hard to figure it out back then! Like simply becoming very close friends with the opposite gender caused everyone (cough Nancy cough Lucas) to tell him that “ooooh you must like her”. So yeah, he thinks “I really must like her”. Because he does! He just can’t separate it from actual romantic attraction at that point due to age, and strong heteronormative standards, and no role models like Jonathan telling him “it’s okay to stray from the norm bro”. So of course he acts on it? That’s the NORM. He’s like, “You’re supposed to take a girl you like to the ball”, “We're supposed like girls now”, “This is what growing up means”, “This what old people do”. Like HELLO? Mike says stuff similar to that constantly. Dustin and Lucas do not. So yeah, it can be easily be read as heteronormativity. Not romantic attraction!
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And so despite wanting to spend every day in the summer with El because of copious amounts of trauma from S1-2, he can’t continue believing its romantic attraction when his hormones say otherwise. 
Like just look at their kissing scenes S3-4:
Seasons 3 starts with him pulling her hands OFF of him when kissing. He’s voluntarily kissing her instead of spending time with his friends, cause he thinks that’s what he’s supposed to do as he’s “not a kid anymore!”, yet he’s evidently not even enjoying it if he’s taking her hands off lol. Then by the end of the season he doesn’t even kiss back, and has his eyes wide open. Then six months later, when he’s way more self aware of his own feelings, this dude wears SUNGLASSES to the airport. We (and all the characters there) can’t even see his true expression when kissing her. And what’s more, he puts the bouquet of flowers between their bodies, to SEPARATE FASTER. When he could’ve very easily put that hand/arm around her, not between them (that's what he does with his other hand holding the bags).  
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And all of this: all this repression, the contradictions, the unsaid things... it all culminates to the monologue. Will told Mike in the van that El really needed him. And then Will reminds him of this again when El is in the piggyback, cause Will is annoying! (jokes lol). So of course, all rationality, all of Mike's realizations or progression, goes out the window. After all, he is THE HEART. He is needed by her. He can’t go through what he went through in season 1-2 again! It doesn’t matter if it’s not totally true. He needs to tell her what she wants to hear so she won’t DIE. The stakes are extremely high. So he delivers. He even takes all his knowledge of mediocre romance stories, and blurts out that it was love at first sight. It's silly to us the audience, cause if you actually go back and watch season 1 you can see that it's not even fucking true. 
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So why would he lie? Well because he doesn’t KNOW when he fell in love with El. Because he never fell in love with her. So yeah. It’s PLATONIC with a capital P.
(And to add a cherry on top, he gives his sister’s ring to her jfc) 
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Brotherly Love Pt.3 J.T
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Jason Todd x Al-Ghul/Wayne reader(platonic). Gender Neutral.
Brotherly Love Masterlist<-- Right here
Summary: Jason picks you up from school after Alfred and Bruce are busy.
Warnings: insecurity, scars, mentions Scarecrow, briefly mentions killing.
~☆~
Bruce had enrolled you and Damian into some higher-up Gotham Schooling, Damian had made nothing but threats to Bruce when the day came and ignored you throughout everything.
On the first few days, you and Damian were swarmed with people trying to befriend you, more like befriend Bruce Wayne's children, other than actually wanting to be YOUR friend. The two of you had done nothing but push them away and avoid their questions, however, Damian and yourself had found yourselves into respective friend groups.
Damian looked miserable throughout most of the school days, sitting at his desk bored out of his mind, however if you looked closely at him you would be able to see the fond look in his eyes when looking at his friends.
You yourself had been adopted into a group of two other people, the first one of them that you had met was Reign, he had been grouped with you in science, he was shy and smart. He had offered you to sit with him and a friend at lunch so you could continue your work. You accepted, and there you met the other piece of your group, Penelope.
She was the opposite of Reign, outgoing, you had noticed this when she smiled and shook your hand erratically, whereas Reign's hand was sweaty and barely touched your own.
The three of you had bonded that day, not once did they mention your father, just tried to get to know you personally. Reign kept inviting you to sit with him and Penelope, where over the days you developed a friendship with them, which eventually led to you having their numbers on your phone that Bruce gave you for "emergencies", and hanging out at their houses.
It was nice to finally have people that you could be loved by, people who actually like you.
Over time the school gave you and Damian pamphlets for after-school activities, Penelope begged you to join her in the Theater club, and Reign even tried talking you into photography. Bruce pushed you and Damian to engage in at least one activity, even if it was just for a week, and ultimately you joined Penelope.
~☆~
Bruce had informed you this morning that you would be getting picked up from school by one of your bothers, Bruce himself would be busy in a meeting and Alfred would be meeting up with an old friend.
Damian would be heading home at a normal time, whereas you were staying behind to help on set for an upcoming play.
~☆~
You walked down the halls with Penelope by your side, her blonde hair bounced as she skipped, her voice echoed off of the walls as she spoke, her upbeat voice filled you with serenity as she told you about things going on in the world. The two of you exited the front doors of the school, pausing at the stairs for a second to bask in the little bit of sun that Gotham rarely brung.
"Is that your brother?" Penelope quizzed as she marveled at him, her eyes shining as she stared at him.
You turned to look across the street, where one of your father's cars sat. Jason rested against it, his ankles were crossed, and he was staring down at the phone that rested in his hand.
As if he had some sixth sense he looked up after sensing eyes on himself, a smile broke out on his face as he pushed himself off of the car, with the raise of an arm he waved.
"Wellll I better get going." Penelope smiled, dragging out the L in her words.
"Yeah." You whispered still staring at Jason.
"Bye!" She beamed, leaning over to engulf you in a hug before running off to find her way home.
Your feet moved on their own as they led you across the street towards Jason, his smile widening the closer you got.
"Hey." Jason greeted as he slapped a hand onto your back.
You let out a tight smile as you acknowledged him, before getting into the passenger seat of the car. Jason sat himself down in the driver's seat, and glanced over at you one last time before driving away.
...
You and Jason sat in silence until he reached for the radio, and an upbeat techno song came on. Your eyebrows knit together as Jason smiled and danced to the music, his sixth sense kicked in again as he glanced at you, now singing the words to the song on the radio.
"This is Lady Gaga." Jason yelled over the music, laughing to himself when you shot him another judgemental look.
"You hungry?" He asked, eyes darting from the road to look at you once again.
"Yes." You sighed, subconsciously smiling to yourself as the thought of food came up.
Jason's eyes lingered on your face as he seen a smile spread on it, his own face mirrored your own in that very moment.
~☆~
Jason turned the car off after he pulled into Batburger, he ushered you out of the car and held the door open as you walked in. Jason asked for your order and told you to find a place to sit whilst he got your food.
You sat down at a table next to the front door and stared at Jason's back, watching as he talked to the cashier.
Even in times like this your mind still found ways to taunt you, making you think of all of your faults. You thought about Damian, how you wished he would apologize to you, at least acknowledge you.
You noticed Damians friends would give you snarky looks when you passed them in the halls, did Damian say stuff about you, or did he even know? The thought of your beloved twin brother saying things behind your back left a pit in your stomach, you've watched people die but the thought of Damian hating you left you with feelings of dread.
Jason slamming a tray onto the table brought you out of your thoughts, he smiled down at you as he placed your food in front of you. He himself finally sat in the chair across from you after placing his food down as well, he watched as you unwrapped your food before doing the same to his own.
As Jason ate his food you noticed a plastic bag, one that you knew didn't hold food. Now curious you picked it up, noting down that there was something hard inside. Your fingers worked at the plastic bag, attempting to open it. Once it was finally opened you took out the object inside, it was a figurine, it had a brown leather jacket and a Red Head.
"Is this you?" You whisper yelled to Jason, watching as a big smile overtook his face before nodding his head and taking another bite of his burger.
~☆~
After you and Jason got done eating you climbed back into the car and started your journey to the Manor. This time no music played as the two of you sat in a uncomfortable silence, you turned your head to eye Jason, watching his body as it breathed and how his eyes stared at the road.
As you looked at Jason you were tempted to ask where his scars came from, of course you know what he does, you yourself have a few from the work you did back at your home. Bruce and Dick even have a plethora of scars along their bodies, just like Tim who has a long noticeable scar along his forearm.
Jason broke the silence with a question. "So how's school?"
"Good." You lied, it would be much better with Damian.
"Any friends?" He asked hoping for an answer even though he had seen Penelope hug you as she left.
"Yeah, Reign and Penelope." You confessed, signing as you thought about the two of them.
"That's good." He hummed, liking the thought of you having friends.
"There's this girl in my theater class as well." You whispered, Jason perked up and let out a teasing "ohhh".
You let out a laugh before shaking your head "Not like that." You stated, staring out of the window next to you with a smile on your face.
The car fell back into silence as you and Jason collectively dropped the topic of school, your brain racked through topics that you thought would keep Jason talking, before landing on one.
"So what happened with Scarecrow?" You questioned, remembering about the case he, your other brothers, and your father worked on the last time you saw Jason.
"He just tweaked his fear gas." Jason sighed, thinking about how his weekend with the madman had gone.
You let out a hum to signify that you understood.
"Plus, I guess you'd also want to kill something if you thought it was after you." Jason humored, laughing to himself before abruptly shutting up and knitting his eyebrows.
The third silence of the evening filtered back into the car, wrapping its hands around your throat as it did so. This time Jason was trying to grasp onto a topic that would fill in the empty spaces around the two of you.
Jason's mouth moved faster than his brain as the one question he wanted to ask you briefly came to mind.
"Whats wrong?" He asked, like he could see through you and into your thoughts.
The question caught you off guard as it came from him, and your eyes widened as you stared at the side of his face. Your brain came rushing with answers to give him, should you lie and say you're fine, or should you finally tell someone about how you feel?
...
"I don't know, I just feel like I'm not" you paused looking for the right word "good?"
Jason's face portrayed Suprise as you finally answered him, he stayed quiet trying to find the right words to say himself. Jason turned the car off as the two of you finally pulled into Wayne Manor, before the man next to you could even get out something to say you hurriedly reached for the door handle next to you and opened the door.
"Thank you for picking me up, and thank you for the food." You quickly told him, before shutting the door behind you and running into the Manor.
Jason pulled the car into the garage of the Manor, his brain thinking over what you said, he sees so much of himself in you it truly hurts him. Even if you just came into his life, you are his dear little sibling and he loves you, your pain brings him anguish.
~☆~
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Bear with me guys. I'm not gonna lie when I got the idea for this series I was just gonna make it a short story about Damian and the reader's relationship deteriorating.
I hope this is a good filler to keep you guys happy!<3
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saintmuses · 1 month
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❝𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙬 𝙢𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧❞
Pairing:
Jonathan Crane x Abducted!Reader
Summary:
She spent time wondering why she wasn’t handed over to Ra’s al Ghul like a bargaining chip until the actions of Jonathan’s were revealed to her one night.
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Warning(s): SMUT. Implied minor age gap. P in V. Jonathan being soft for reader. Abduction. Minors, dni!
Word Count: 2.9k
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There was this flame, stronger than any of the fires she would and had witnessed it throughout her life, she would be dumb if she did not recognize the flame that was roaring in many ways between them. After all, there was that particular flame crackling and burning since they met a long time ago before Gotham collapsed even further with Jonathan’s fear toxin.
A dangerous mess that she and Jonathan had made upon the moment they met.
There was a negative aspect to this; no one was here or any limitations to stop the feeling that consumed her for the last few months. The last time she'd experienced it, she felt flickers of it. 
She was a student in Jonathan’s class three years ago during her first year at Gotham University. To her it was the position of authority that oppressed the flickers she felt towards him. They had remained on neutral grounds; he was very stoic towards her that she did not have to worry about crossing the boundaries because she would if he had shown an ounce of interest. It also helped that she was with someone at that time. 
However, it did not stop her wondering of what-ifs after she left his class. Somehow the distance between them other than seeing glimpses of him in the hallways of the campus did not oppress the flickers. Instead, it ignited like it was a gasoline to her feelings towards Jonathan which would be considered already flaming.
Which made the fire more roaring.
It did not really help that his baser, predatory side was preventing her from slipping through the walls of his own creation he had for himself.
It was different last time, it only lasted momentarily when he had softened towards her few and far between after she was done with his class for freshman year. As if the sight of her presence chased away the dark gloomy iciness surrounding his heart. Somehow this time, he hardened himself more whenever he was around her.
It was quite a monstrous thing. His stoic expressions, his words were the buffer to dampen the interactions between them, treating her as if she was a package to be sent to somewhere. She'd suppose she was, after all there was something insidious that caused him to take her that night when Gotham collapsed completely.
It was quite a monstrous thing, to see him being the cold stoic human that he briefly once was when she first met him, and yet the monstrous thing was to feel him touching her skin, lingering as his words did the opposite. 
Cold, sharp, and cutting all at once, and yet warmth, possessive and electrifying too.
In moments like these, his fingers would brush her exposed skin. His cold icy eyes would follow behind, then the moment would be doused by his words.
As if to remind himself she was not worth it. It also did not help the fact she was never been inflicted by the chemicals he had made. Instead, she would notice his eyes tend to get a little dark whenever they linger on the sentiment, and he never lifted a finger to use it on her.
She was determined to put a crack in his armor, shattered beyond the point where he could not put them back together ever again.
She knew he wanted her to see him as a monster, as Scarecrow and not the man. Instead, she saw him as both. Perhaps in another life where she did not know him at all, she would view him permanently as Scarecrow.
It did not help her desires.
Whenever he showed his slightly monstrous side, it was a lure, like a moth to flame. She was drawn to him strongly when he was not disguising himself with farce. She knew he was capable of being a decent man whenever he wanted to be, but he was also a monster as well. The true decency where the monster did not intervene came few and far between.
It was debauching to her because she wanted him. All of him, and his treatment of her; keeping her at distance did not dampen it.
Neither will the flame they danced around since they met the first and the last time.
She was shaken from her reveries when she heard the door closing, following with the shoes touching the hardwood floors as he walked into the living room.
"When will you hand me over to Ra’s al Ghul?” She asked, staring at the book before she closed the binding. She then put it on the coffee table before pushing herself from the plush couch, turning her head to him.
She did go to sleep in her apartment one night only to wake up in his apartment to complete a deal with Ra’s al Ghul, but he had dampened her ideas by holding her hostage after the deadline which was not the plan. She had thought he was willing to hand her over when Ra’s al Ghul came to town that occurred two months ago, but she found out he had not said a word to Ra’s al Ghul’s lackeys hence holding her hostage longer.
"When it's time," he said stoically, eyes burning ice into her soul. She blinked away the sensation.
She snorted as she strode over to where he was standing which was not far from the couch. "You had time to do it weeks ago." She spat, reminding him as the incredulity coated her tone. She stared at him. "You need me alive so you can lure your Ra’s al Ghul out of his hiding spot, so you can complete whatever bargaining with him which should've happened two weeks ago." She hissed, her eyes narrowing into a glare before continuing. "I'm trying to prevent the catastrophic mess that could happen if you don't hand me over to him!"
He only looked at her with a slight amusement in his depths, which only made her more frustrated.
She crossed her arms, "do you even have the bargaining chip?" She questioned him, gritting her teeth.
He inclined his head. "Yes," he answered noncommittally. 
She scoffed, staring at him in disbelief before she spoke. "Yet, I don't see myself gone or dead." She did fight him like a vicious cat when she woke up in his place, but she was used to it by now.
Before she could breathe another word, he had his hand in her hair, fingers intertwining her strands before jerking her head back. She nearly gasped in surprise. Her neck was craning, but not painful as he asserted his power over her.
"Don't tempt me," he growled, his eyes flashing as coldness seeped into his gaze as his irises darkened in a true predator fashion with anger, the muscles underneath his skin around his jaw began to flex under strain as he stared down at her.
She stared up at him with fascination. It was the first time he ever showed his unhinged side. He eluded control and power with violence in disguise of soft words.
It was quite a monstrous thing. 
God help her, but she wanted him to consume her. 
"Then what do you want?" She growled at him. "You've got the fear toxin, you've got me, and I'm sure you can find a way to lure him out here.” She ticked off the vitality of the bargaining. "So, what the hell do you want!?" She repeated the question.
She heard the rumble in his chest before he snarled out the word, "you!" She reared back in surprise with a little distance due to his hand in her hair. "I want you. I don't want to give you over to Ra’s al Ghul because I want you all to myself."
The silence was loud. Somewhat a suspension in time with waves rushing towards the cliff sides, something like planets heading towards each other in the state of collision, or an atomic bomb aiming towards a piece of land before it exploded.
"Then do it." She breathed, staring at his lips before moving her gaze into his depths.
Then the silence broke, with waves crashing into the cliffs. Planets colliding into pieces, and the atomic bomb exploded with devastating effects.
Without warning, his mouth engulfed hers. Her gasp disappeared into his mouth as he towered over her, his arm that wasn't occupied took place around her waist. His lips devouring hers, tongue swiping across her lips before prying them apart to probe deep into her mouth, she felt herself responding with a level of desperation that shocked her.
His lips felt electrifying and home all at once.
She became aware of her own frantic moans and wondered who she'd become.
The one that met this wretched villainous of a man.
He withdrew from her lips; his hand released her strands as he took a step back. She wanted to protest, but the determined emotion that was painted on his face stopped her from saying something.
She then felt his arm moving across her waist onto her forearm before he gently enclosed his fingers around her hand.
He sat down on the chaise part of the couch before, tugging her towards him. She felt him releasing her hand as his fingers went to the top of his trousers where his belt resided.
A sensation of her abdomen clenching had her in a whirlpool of lust as she gazed at the movement of his hands.
His fingers pulled the leather out from the metal clasp, pulling upward for the pin to be released from the tiny hole before he loosened the metal.
She noticed he was staring at her, "come here." He commanded softly as he unbuttoned the top of his trouser before unzipping.
She breathed in sharply as she took a step closer to him when he lifted his thighs to move his trouser before pushing them off until it reached his knees.
The air became trapped in her lungs when his erection was revealed to her.
How is it going to fit inside her?
It was huge, bigger than her previous partners, and on the longer side. She realized she was becoming aroused from the sight.
Straying her eyes away from his cock. She had just noticed his hands moved until he unbuttoned his white shirt, releasing the buttons from the confinements, baring his chest under her gaze.
He smirked up at her as he leaned forward until his hands curled around her thighs to pull her towards him. She maneuvered her legs until she was sitting on the edge of his knees.
She shivered as his hands then glided upward on her back, warmth seeping into her skin then she raised her arms when he pulled the summer dress off of her, leaving her sitting in her lacy underwear.
He then backtracked his previous path until his fingers curled around her breasts, she moaned slightly, arching her chest as he craned his neck to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Her hands reached for his hair, gasping as he sucked harder, biting slightly before soothing it with his tongue.
His hands withdrew from her breast until they reached for her underwear. She jerked slightly in surprise when she heard and felt the scrap of fabric ripped away from her.
His other hand withdrew from the curve of her butt, then she felt his hand reaching the curve of her thigh, and he then dragged her from his knees to the top of his thighs, smearing her wetness onto his skin as he did so.
He pulled her towards him slightly until she felt the tip of his cock brushed against her lower abdomen, she shuddered at the feeling of it, feeling bold she pushed herself forward until she felt his entire cock onto her skin. It was trapped between her pelvic bone and his stomach.
Her lips curled up when she felt his fingers tightened on her hips as his breathing became ragged. Determined to make him lose control, she inched her hips in the air slightly, and started to glide along his cock, coating it with her wetness.
She then gasped lightly when she felt him pushing her hips down as he thrusted against her. The head of his cock nudged against the nerves of her clit, making her throw her head back.
A moment later, she found herself pressing against the fabric of the couch on her stomach. Her nipples pebbled uncomfortably as it chafed against the fabric.
She could feel his thighs on each side of her thighs, his chest was pressing against her back as he held her arms above her head as if he was caging her in.
His cock sunk into between her thighs, rubbing along her clit as he shifted his hips, not entering her. 
It was quite sensual. Almost as forceful, but so willingly.
He arched his hips just enough after pushing himself up only using her arms as leverage, and she moaned into the fabric as she felt the tip of his cock nudging slightly at the entrance before it pushed into her slowly then withdrew slightly.
Before she could protest, her eyes were glazed over as he pushed back inside her, forcibly thrusting in and out of her pussy. 
She whimpered while he purred deep in his chest, the noise triggered her walls into squeezing convulsively around his cock.
With a growl, he gripped her arms hard, and slammed into her with such brute force that she almost came. A noise escaped from her throat as her body shuddered from his immense size forcing her walls open, reaching her cervix.
Her whole body rocked with the violence of his thrusts. "More," she mumbled into the fabric, begging.
It was a monstrous thing, for her to want more. Somehow it was never enough when it came to him.
It was addicting.
"You're a greedy little thing," he breathed into her ear as he swiveled his hips into her before he bottomed out his cock fully seated inside her, stretching her walls beyond her limits. "So tight," he murmured, she could feel his fingers flexing into her skin, then she felt the slight emptiness as he pulled back slowly. She felt him pause, the head of his cock was nestled in her before he withdrew from her.
"Please don't stop," she whined, high pitched keen erupted from her throat as she felt his fingers pushing into her instead of his cock.
She hadn't realized that he removed one of his hands from her arms until then.
"No one gets to touch this but me," he hissed, pushing his digits into her, curling downward slightly before removing from her. 
She whimpered, her walls clenching the emptiness he left her with other than the fingers at the entrance, "only you." She agreed, nodding into the fabric. 
"Good girl," he rumbled into her ear as he snaked his left arm under her, gliding along her stomach, trailing up between her breasts until he wrapped his hand onto the curve where her neck and the shoulder met, gripping it slightly before trailing his hand towards her forearms, joining his other hand.
He curled his fingers around her skin, briefly pressing his chest against her back before leaning back.
She then moaned, the noise escaped from her lungs when she felt him slamming his hips back into her, forcing his cock into her once again.
She heard him groan, "you feel that?" He asked hoarsely. "You feel how your pussy takes my cock? Inch by inch until there's nothing left." He breathed; lust coated his tongue.
Her breathing hitched as she began to squeeze around his cock involuntarily in response.
She felt his fingers tightening around her wrists as he snarled, "fuck."
"Please, Jon." She whimpered, arching her buttocks into him to start fucking her again.
Wet, sloppy squelching sounds echoed through the room as he slammed into her with brutal heavy thrusts -edging on unhinged speed- that would leave fabric prints into her skin as her body chafed against the couch.
"You belong to me," he growled, grunting slightly. "Do you understand?" Feeling dazed, she nodded into the fabric. "I could have you like this all day, and I'll never get tired of fucking you." She only clenched around him; his hips then sped up. "Owning you, I'll never get tired of it." He grounded the words out through his teeth.
She whined in response, "please. Please" she repeated the word over and over into the fabric igniting a reaction. He exploded inside her with a guttural groan, eliciting a cry of surprise along with climax of pleasure from her when she felt his chest pushing down on her back as he gave up on strength.
He pumped load after load of his thick cum into her. "Fuck. Such a good girl." She nearly preened at his praise after he purred into her ear those words as he rocked his hips in short, jerky movements as he came, not stopping until he emptied inside of her. Until she overflowed with his cum. “You’re dead to the world, no one knows that you’re alive,” he inhaled deeply. “You're never going back, you’re staying here.”
She felt the thick fluids slowly begin to seep out of her, and she heard him chuckling before his hands grasped her hips to turn her over, facing him she sighed in relief as her body released the tension. Opening her eyes, she peered out to see Jonathan’s eyes gazing at hers, and her heart began to hammer as the blood pooled into her cheeks when she saw his lips curled up into a smirk.
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parisoonic · 2 months
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i really wish we got the tf2 tv show because i think, about your talk about how pyro ends up being a foil to the other characters, pyro is such a wildcard of a character that if you need someone for an episode to complete a dynamic it's pyro. he's designated driver. he's the mcdonalds employee. he's scout's ma. she's helping miss p dismember bodies. it's coming in through the dog door
your ask got me thinking about how i'd use pyro in a show and IDK if anyone else has seen Solar Opposites but how they split the Pupa's screentime between A + B plots in the first/second season would be spot on the money for me. Pyro could be there, in the A plot, in small ways (like you said, at the back of the bus or en rotue to the episodes mission) but then gets sucked into a 'mundane' B plot for some tonal levity within the episode. Pyro's gotta run that FTSE 500 company! They've gotta seduce the Ballicorn comic writer in order to read the never-published final issue! They've gotta earn an Astrophysics PHD in order to steal their Professor's Pokemon topped pen....that sort of thing. And then occassionaly they can show up with the deus-ex-mechina for the episode with the rest of the team being none the wiser (other than vaguely baffled as their flamethrower could've REALLY come in handy fighting those haunted scarecrows).
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superbat-love · 3 months
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Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to block the overwhelming dark memories. In the background, Scarecrow's cackling echoed, and Bruce struggled to anchor himself in the present. The grating laughter and the pain in his body weren't enough to keep the shadows at bay.
He felt the suffocating despair, cradling his son’s lifeless body in his arms. The pain and fatigue that seeped deep into his bones as he pushed his body to its limit. A voice, burdened with guilt, whispered apologies repeatedly, vowing to prevent such tragedy from happening again.
Something urged him to keep his fear under control, warning of consequences greater than his own well-being. His fears, if unleashed, would fuel a much darker force. So he fought to control his breathing, empty his mind, and slow his racing heart.
The room trembled as the opposite wall crumbled to the ground. When he opened his eyes, a shadowy figure with demonic eyes emerged from the ruins — Superman. Gripping Scarecrow's throat, Superman's eyes burned with rage. Behind the rage, Bruce sensed Clark's fear, a fear mirrored in his own. But unlike Batman, who suppressed his fear, Superman would act upon it without hesitation.
Suddenly, Bruce's worst fear became all too real.
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skullghoulz · 4 months
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hii!! this is actually my first time sending reqs to someone ( 〃..) i absolutely adore the way u write miguel and reading ur fics never fail to make me all warm and mushy ⸜(˶´ ˘ `˶)⸝ anyway here’s the prompt!! vv
gn reader x grumpy miguel wherein reader at some point saw miguel smile once and from then on they make it their mission to get him to smile again. so reader hangs out w him more and continuously tries to crack jokes around him.
miguel eventually catches on to what reader’s trying to do and actively tries to restrain himself from smiling at reader’s antics numerous times but at some point he ends up letting out a full blown laugh and reader is just. awestruck while miguel is rly flustered by reader’s reaction yeah!!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و
anon i’m flattered i’m your first req. this prompt is absolutely freaking adorable. ig reader is like.. sunshine reader? yes! i hope that's what you had in mind. ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ edit: tweaked errors😭
corny
It was known practically by everybody at the society that Miguel was not a "joking" spider-man. If he was, he either was using his usual dry humor or he was just being unintentionally funny. Like the one time he got flattened by the vulture, you loved it when Gwen told that story.
You were a happy little spider, and you often involved Miguel in your antics, much to his displeasure, your goal for the past couple of days was to get him to laugh or smile in some way, in the little time you had to interact with him. Today, you spotted him in the cafeteria, and he usually avoided it, only going to it when it wasn't full of spiders.
If he could avoid people, he would.
But he noticed that he couldn't avoid you, no matter what, he always seemed to run into you in some way, almost like the universe was purposely pushing the two of you together. Little conversations turned into going out of his way to schedule brief meetings with you, "necessary debriefs" as he liked to call it.
You had an inkling he did like to talk to you, finding your personality all endearing to be around. Which was in some ways ironic, because you seemed to be opposite of him in some ways, he was consistently frowning, and you were consistently smiling. At some point, you started to call him "Grumpy," and the nick-name stuck.
Today, you approached him with your usual smile, waving, and he tried his hardest not to have a reaction. It was hard for him when he liked you, even if he refused to accept it.
"Hi Grumpy, found ya." You say, looking up at him, and you look down at his hands, curious to figure out about what your boss is eating.
"..Hello, Y/N." He responded, frowning at the nickname. "I told you not to call me that."
And he was frowning again.
"But it's true, Miggy, you are grumpy." You poke fun at him, smiling a little. Hopefully you weren't about to annoy him out of existence.
"But I'm not, Y/N." He had an empanada in hand, and started to eat it, mid-conversation.
"Hey. I'm not done talking to you, big guy." He started to walk away to sit down and eat, and you followed. He had secretly hoped you would.
"Oh, but I'm eating, Smiley." He responded, speaking after he swallowed.
"Oh, I'm smiley, now?" You smile as you sit down next to him, sitting sideways while he eats, watching him.
"You know, I think you should hear one of my jokes."
You prod his suit-clad foot gently, wanting him to turn to look at you, and he did, his eyes slowly looking at your face.
"Yeah?" He wiped his mouth and stopped himself from taking another bite of his favorite food.
"Mhm. So, listen, listen."
"I'm listening, Y/N."
"So, why do you think the scarecrow won an award?" You had the corny jokes on speed dial, having one prepared for any conversation, no matter how corny the joke.
He took another bite and chewed vigorously, swallowing he opened his mouth to answer.
"Y/N, I don't know, why did the scarecrow win an award?"
"Because.. he was outstanding in the field." You laughed loudly, and he had to clench his teeth to stop from smiling at you. He was smacking himself in the face internally for actually finding your silly jokes a bit.. funny. Maybe it was the fact that it was coming out of your mouth, but he felt inclined to laugh.
"Terrible, Y/N, that was terrible." He responded, wiping his mouth off, and looking at your sitting form.
"Oh come on, it was a little funny." You nudge his arm gently, offering him a smile. He frowned at you more, and you couldn't help but jab at him again.
"See, you are grumpy, Grumpy."
"I am not, Y/N." He refused to accept that he was, even though he and everyspider knew it. He got up from the table, leaving you sitting there.
You didn't follow him, staying seated as you turned to look out the window, watching the floating cars speed by in the distance. Your main goal was to get him to laugh at one of your jokes, no matter how corny it was!
𓆏
It was raining outside, the sound of rain and rumbling surrounded HQ, as some spiders were enjoying the sounds of rain, while some were unhappy it was raining. You were content, just as long as you could speak to Miguel. It was a day of calmness for once, and you found him sitting leisurely on one of his lab couches. He had a couple to fill the empty room, but this was the one of the few times you had seen him sitting, the only time being to eat, or if Lyla had forced him to give his legs a rest.
He was reading a newspaper, you couldn't make out what he was reading. You were slowly approaching him from behind, as the couch wasn't up against a wall or anything. He didn't have spider-sense, so you made the most of that.
Slowly, you cover his eyes with your hands, and he opens his mouth to protest before you interrupt.
"Guess who!" You grin, and he sighs, unable to really be angry with you.
"Y/N."
"I know your hands, you know."
"..You know my hands? How? I blocked your eye-sight so quickly."
"..I just know." He decided not to elaborate any further, causing you to feel a certain way. Whether that be good or bad be up to you.
"Well, anyway- I have something funny to tell you, Grumpy." You move to his backside, and you sling an arm around his shoulder as he sits, smiling at his disapproving face.
"I told you not to-"
You interrupt, by slapping him in the face with another joke of yours.
"Miguel, why did the mushroom go to the party?" You're already smiling, trying not to laugh before you let the joke land.
"Mm. I don't know this one, why did the mushroom go to the party, Y/N?"
"Because he was a fungi!," you giggle, "Get it? Do you get it?" You're smiling at him and he poorly covers his smile, unable to keep a straight face at your pure excitement. "That one was.. better." You peered to look at his face, and his lips were curved upwards into a little smile. You tried to not melt right then and there. That was a step in the right direction.
"You look cute when you smile." It faded as fast as it came, and he turned to look at you.
"What do I have to smile about, Y/N?"
"Don't do that! You just did, just.. a smidge." You squished your fingers together proudly, and he couldn't help but chuckle a little.
Your eyebrows raised, and you swore that was the hardest you'd smiled ever.
"Did you just laugh?!" You beamed, staring excitedly into his red eyes.
"No, Y/N." He started to laugh a bit more at your reaction, covering his mouth a bit. He flashed a fangy smile now, his face warming now, he had gone too far.
"You're smiling!" You laugh, moving over to him to sit down next to him, which only made him feel worse. He felt hot all over, like his heart was going to pound out of his chest. A grown man and he still could bash like a teenager with a crush.
"No, I'm not." He avoided your gaze, turning his gaze away from you.
"Oh, Miggy, I just love your reactions." You scoot closer to him, and he physically tenses. You don't move any closer, feeling bad for overloading him like this.
"Sorry. I just really like you." You hold your teasing, and you look at him apologetically. "Really I-"
He turns to look at you, with an expression you'd never seen before. He looked happy. Like he hadn't properly let himself feel in a long time.
"I like you a whole lot too, Smiley."
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phantoms-lair · 1 month
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Freelancers
People called them henchmen or thugs. They called themselves 'Freelancers'. Like Mercenaries, but cheaper and more all purpose. Good luck getting a mercenary to guard a door all night long.
Back in the old days, going from a freelancer to working for one specific group was reason to celebrate. Better job security and benefits. The Bosses looked after you more if you were one of their own.
That was before, when Gotham's crime scene was run by mobs and old money. Now it was run by whackjobs.
Make money, edge out the competition, he understood that. Freeze the world into eternal winter? Less so.
But freelancers take the jobs that were there, they just had to be not so invested. You took the job for the pay and did your best not to make the wackadoodles mad. You taught the new guys to put on clown makeup if they worked for the Joker so he wouldn't recognize you out of it and reminded those working for Freeze to wear an extra layer of thermals. Don't get attached, you'll never mean anything to them. Look at what happened to Quinzel.
There were always some who did get attached. And it wasn't like the old days where you were just looking to be a made man. There were those who want to help Scarecrow develop his toxins and study it's effects or got asymmetrical face tattoos to symbolize Two-Face's dichotomy.
These former Freelancers were mockingly referred to as True Believers and hearing someone had permanently decided to follow one was referred to as them 'Finding their forever home' like they were a stray dog. Because let's face it, you were worth less than a dog to them.
He'd been accused of it himself, when he'd expressed a preference for working for Penguin. But the plain fact was for all he used the theming like the wackadoodles, he operated like the old days. The old system of selling intel and edging out the competition and earning money and look, he may not have particularly liked Cobblepot, but he knew where he stood with him and he would take it. As long as he did what he was contracted to do, Cobblepot would pay him and he didn't have to worry about being shot at the flip of a coin or, dunno, maybe because smog was the wrong shade of gray? Who even knew with the Joker?
But he was still a Freelancer and he took the jobs he was offered. So when some new up-and-comer calling himself Red Hood made an offer? He took it.
First thing his new boss did was sit him down in an interview. And he actually took this as a good sign. The only other one to do that in recent memory was Cobblepot, who wanted his operations to run with maximum efficiency.
There was a little more to it than Cobblepot. Penguin just wanted to know how to use you best. This guy wanted to know a bit more. Didn't take him long to figure out this guys had some lines, especially where kids were concerned, and wouldn't take on anyone who was tempted to go outside them. 
Still, he was deemed a good fit and got to work. And it turned out Hood was basically the opposite of Penguin. Penguin appeared to be a wackadoodle, but operated old school. Hood appeared old school (no theming unless you counted his helmet, which was practical in both terms of protection and not letting the Bat see your face), but didn't take long to start acting out like a wackadoodle.
The difference between him and the rest, though, was it was just him. He didn't theme the freelancer's working for him or even bring them along when he taunted the Bat or made moves at Black Mask. He basically established his crime empire and then had the freelancers run it while he did his thing. Kept tabs on it, of course, so no one got any ideas.
It wasn't hard to see Hood was playing a slightly different game from most of Gotham. He wanted something from the Bat and the big names. But it wasn't attention or a piece of the pie. Hood was angry about something and he was going to get his pound of flesh over it.
Well, no skin off his nose. He did his job, did it well, got paid and that was that.
The first thing he noticed as off (well, more off than Gotham usually was) was that things around him were getting...better? The girls on the streets looked healthier and had less bruises. The kids looked better too, both the ones on the street and those 'lucky' enough to live in the housing here. 
Things getting better were always a prelude to them getting worse, so he was on his guard. Some would call him paranoid. He'd just say he'd lived in Gotham long enough.
It came to a head for him when Hood came in to pull a few boys, including himself, because someone needed to be taught a lesson.
Thankfully with Hood, someone was never a Rogue or a Bat if he brought the boys along (That's the term, Gracie. We know you're a woman. We know you can Freelance as well as any of us, geeze). So he wasn't quite fearing for his life, even if he'd take it as seriously as it was.
Their target was a big name supplier-dealer group who worked right at the edge of Hood's territory. It had been a long time since he'd been involved in a bloodbath like this. It was like back in the worst times in Chicago history. Gunsmoke and blood and it all crescendoing with a building ablaze, merchandise and bodies (not all of them dead yet) still inside.
"The fuck did these guys do?" Gracie whistled.
"Sold prescriptions at a discount to Alley residents who couldn't afford their meds normally." Hood growled. "Except he cut them with heroin."
He couldn't help but wince. Yeah, getting people addicted to your product was the first step as a dealer, but even for Gotham that was a scummy way to do it.
"Including some meds for prenatal care." 
Oh. Oh that was vile. He felt the sheer hatred in Hood's voice reflected in his own heart. "Sorry I killed as many of them as I did. Shoulda left them to die slow."
Hood looked at him and though it was impossible to read through the helmet, he could almost feel an appraising look. "Good work tonight. All of you take tomorrow off. And Gracie, you raised a good point. Spread the word. They make a shit example if no one knows why they had to die."
It was on the following day off, drinking in a bar, that several things came together for him. His first interview with Hood sending out feelers for lines. The solid and lethal enforced rules about kids. The improved state of the alley.
Hood was trying to help. This whole criminal enterprise was about helping the people of Crime Alley. Hood wasn't naïve like the Bat. He knew putting people away wouldn't end it. So he did what any of the old families would have done and took control. You couldn't stamp out crime. That was true everywhere but even more so in Gotham. But if you could control it, you could aim it. 
The gangs still fought and died, but they kept it to themselves. The pimps learned hitting their girls would come back on them tenfold. People had even stopped trying to traffic the street kids from the Alley.
And now a big name group was wiped out. Not because they had invaded Hood's territory, but because they'd targeted pregnant women.
Hood was trying to make things better and it was working. And he was a part of that! It made him feel...respectable.
It was a terrifying feeling.
But all good things come to an end. The Bat arresting his current boss was something they all were prepared for.
The Bat courting him was something different altogether.
Not romantically. Lots of his coworkers were glad Catwoman didn't usually hire freelancers, no one wanted to see that. But the Bat obviously had figured out Hood was trying to help and wanted to recruit him.
And Hood was starting to fold. It was small things. Less vehement refusals. Chatting with Nightwing. Hood was considering.
And Bats and Birds didn't need Freelancers.
But he knew Hood respected them enough that he wouldn't make turning them in his initiation. And there was writing on the wall this time. Not just needing to find a job quick after an operation went bust. He'd brush up on his resume, and he'd heard Penguin was trying to expand, so there was sure to be an opening.
Why didn't that feel as good as it used to?
He'd worked long term jobs before, but he'd never felt bad about leaving. Hood paid well, kept his expectations reasonable, and...and...
He'd liked feeling like he was respectable. That his work was doing more than lining a boss's pocket. That he was helping and he wanted to keep it up.
He slumped down next to Gracie who was going over some documents. "Gracie, I think I found my forever home."
"There, there." She patted him on the head in condolence. Or like a dog. He wasn't sure and he wasn't in the right emotional state to care.
"I never wanted this, Gracie. I was proud of being a freelancer. And now I got a place I want to stay, but the writing’s on the wall. Bat's don't use freelancers!"
"Our boss ain't a Bat."
But for how long?
~
"Monthly reports looking good." Hood looked over the documentation. "Any other business we need to look into tonight?"
Gracie slid another folder in front of him. "We need to start planning our reorganization. Getting it out of the way now will make it less of a bitch when it happens."
Hood tilted his helmet to the side like a curious dog. "Reorganization?" he said, something dangerous in his tone.
But Gracie had no fear. "Batman's been trying to get you on his side for months. But the fact that you've started altering your tactics in the last few weeks to be more in line with his ideals means you've decided, at least subconsciously, to go along with it. So if we're changing this gang from a criminal organization to a vigilante one, there's going to need to be restructuring and procedural updates."
Hood was quiet for a moment and he was worried Gracie had just really, really overstepped. "How many of you feel this way?"
He shrugged. "Either way, you know. Stay a Crime Lord or work with the Bats. I'm with you, Boss." he said like it wasn't the most insane and dangerous statement he'd ever uttered.
He was even more surprised to hear more agreements at the table around him.
"That so?" Hood leaned back in his chair, relaxed, but there was something pleased in his tone. Almost like a child that had been unexpectedly praised. "So what were you thinking?"
Gracie shot him an 'I told you so' look. Because she had been right. The Boss wasn't a Bat. From the beginning he did things his own way.
And from the beginning that way had always involved them.
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soapskies · 7 months
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Could I request a yandere nolanverse scarecrow with a reader who is a patient at Akrham. Maybe reader has anger or trust issues and only interacts to certain individuals because most people aren't very affectionate or kinds (platonic if possible please since I'm a sucker for your teen/kid reader fics)
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YAN. NOLANVERSE SCARECROW W/ TROUBLED PATIENT
MALE READER. PLATONIC HCS. READER IS AN OLDER KID.
— Nolanverse Jon is a psychiatrist, not a psychologist, but I thought it would be more interesting if I wrote him to have one-on-one sessions with reader. So suspend your disbelief. :P
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You learned early on that the only way to survive your situation was to shut down, or fight your way through it.
One of the youngest patients at Arkham, you were infamous among your doctors for being very uncooperative during your sessions
Most of your issues exacerbated by the conditions at the asylum, and inmates who had no trouble walking all over you.
Your therapists (who didn’t care much for juvenile delinquents anyway, when villains like the Joker were housed in the opposite wing), were quick to walk out on you when you lashed out, all except one.
Dr. Crane was the only one who stayed in the room with you, even when you were screaming until your throat burned and spent entire sessions curled up on the floor.
Although you glared daggers into him, he met you with an even tone of voice and a self-assured demeanor that couldn’t be matched, scribbling away on that notepad of his when you thought there was nothing of importance to note.
Dr. Crane seemed to make all the time in the world for you, always first on the scene when you broke down, and never treated you harshly, no matter how cold you were towards him. No matter how many other doctors looked at you with contempt, as if counseling you was a chore.
Maybe if you were paying attention, you would notice that you ran into him a lot outside of sessions, in which he would prod about your well-being and insist on walking you wherever you needed to go, like an overbearing father.
Not to mention how his actions went far beyond a normal doctor-patient relationship, whether it was holding your shoulder steady to look you sternly in the eye or the tight, awkward squeeze he would give you briefly before parting ways
He seemed to prod you about everything. How you slept, what you ate, who you talked to, what your family is like…
Come to think of it, you haven’t heard from your parents in a very long time, since you started your sessions with Crane. Not that you wanted to hear back from them anyway, when they were the ones who sent you there in the first place.
Miraculously, you were eventually released for “good behavior”, despite your headspace not feeling any clearer, and in none other than Dr. Crane’s care.
Nobody seemed to question it, or give you a second glance as you walked out the doors with him. You were under the impression you were going home, only to be herded into the doctor’s car and driven to some secluded house in the countryside, a good long ways away.
Suffice to say, you never left out of his sight again.
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roses-r-rosie3 · 7 months
Text
Baby I
Jason Todd x M!Reader
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Warnings: Fluff, Slow-burn, swearing
Summary: Jason and the reader (Katana’s younger cousin), having a frenemies relationship and they both slowly start catching feelings for each other but they don’t want to admit it to each other
Quote: “Wait- hold on- you beat me by kissing me?”
A/n: I was very inspired by Kitana from Mortal Kombat (what a coincidence)
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A lot of people knew you as “Gunsen” or (the one you hated the most) “Katana’s sidekick”. But what people didn’t know, was that you were Katana’s younger cousin. She took you in when your parents died. Of course, she taught you how to defend yourself.
After she took you in, she trained to become her sidekick, which basically meant you had to practice with 50 different weapons. And you learned all of them pretty quickly, but one weapon stood out to you, the war fans, also known as a Gunsen, which is where you got your vigilante name from. You knew how to use other weapons, but the war fans felt more natural to you.
So after years of you training with her, she decided that you were ready. She didn’t let you go out on your own at first because well… obviously why would you let a teenager out fighting people in the streets by their self? But boy, when you were in action, you were more than capable of taking care of yourself.
Katana was like the older sister you never had. The two of you would constantly take care of each others wounds when you got home, annoyed each other, and overall just took care of each other.
When Katana knew you were trustworthy enough (which took years), she let you go out on patrol on your own. You eventually moved out of her house to make a name for yourself, and she completely understood. You still kept contact with her because, one, she’s your family, and two, she was more experienced than you.
When you were finally used to going solo, you stopped going after henchmen/goons, and started to go for the actual villains of Gotham. You were not ruthless, but you weren’t known as merciful either. If you killed someone, you killed someone, if you didn’t, you didn’t. But yet, you were still the opposite of Katana, you were a bit more cockier/sassier than her.
On one certain day, you were informed that the penguin had a plan to smuggle illegal weapons to his warehouse, and you couldn’t let that happen.
That night, you snuck into the warehouse, and you listened in to the conversation with the penguin and his henchmen. Unfortunately, you couldn’t listen in for long because someone with a red helmet came bursting through the window.
You took a closer look and realized it was the vigilante, red hood. You’ve heard of him, but you didn’t really know him all too well. But what you did know, was that he had some temper problems, and that meat-head was going to ruin your plans.
Shit.
You had no choice but to go down there and help him fight the Penguin’s henchmen. As soon as you dropped down you pulled out your war-fans and started to fight, trying to make your way to Penguin.
“So are you here to stop Penguin or do I have to kill you too?” Jason asked.
“You? Kill me? Don’t make me laugh. But yes, I’m here to stop Penguin” you chuckled.
“What are you gonna do? Fan me?” Jason laughed.
You were annoyed with him at that point, so you opened your fan and sliced one of the goon’s throat.
“Now what do you think?” You smirked.
“Whatever” Jason mumbled.
After the fight was done, and the Penguin was sent to arkham asylum. You and Jason started to build a “frenemies” type of relationship, weither it be beating each other to the other’s missions. But as the rivalry grew, the more you two grew closer to each other.
It wasn’t until you had a mission to go to one scarecrow’s warehouse and stop him from releasing one of his new fear chemicals. You never took scarecrow seriously, even with all the things that Katana warned you about. I mean, he was just a normal guy at the end of the day.
When you entered the warehouse, Jason immediately landed next to you. You rolled your eyes as you looked at him.
“Hood, still copying me I see” you said as you snuck deeper into the warehouse.
“I didn’t even know you were coming here, so technically, you’re copying me” Jason smirked as he followed you.
“F-”
“Shh” Jason shushed you as he pointed at a door that was left wide open.
You both snuck into the room and the door immediately shut behind you. Jason quickly pulled out his gun and pointed it towards the door, but no one was there. You looked cautiously around the room and you noticed that there was a safe and different viles with what you assumed was scarecrows failed attempts of his new fear gas.
You walked towards the safe and tried to unlock it with all of the combinations you could think of, while Jason stood there watching the door. You tried everything you knew, and none of them were working, and you were starting to get more and more frustrated.
“Did you try 1234 yet?” Jason asked.
“What type of psychotic villain would hide their new fear gas into a vault, and make the passcode 1234? It’s can’t be that easy” you mumbled.
“Would you please just try it, I’m getting impatient” Jason said.
You just rolled your eyes as you typed in the passcode.
“I’m telling you it’s not gonna-”
The safe unlocked and you were shocked. Wow, even the joker would have been smarter than this. You could just feel Jason’s cocky little smirk.
“What did I tell you?” Jason smirked.
“Shut up ho-”
As you opened the safe, you were sprayed with a gas, and it burned. You yelled out in surprise/pain. Jason immediately turned to you and tried helping you. But when you opened your eyes, Jason’s face was all mask was cracked and destroyed and his face underneath was mangled.
You screamed out in fear and Jason tried to comfort you the best he could, but you just kept backing away from him. Jason even took off his helmet to try and comfort you. But all of a sudden the intercom blared and a voice started talking over the speaker.
“Hello there hood, I assume that you have Gunsen with you, and if things went according to plan, he opened up my safe, and got a taste of my new fear gas” Scarecrow’s voice said.
“Shit” Jason cursed under his breath.
“You might be wondering why this is my new fear toxin. Well, it works like normal, but, there’s a little kick in the end” Scarecrow laughed and then the intercom stopped.
Jason looked back at you, and you opened your fan and tried to swing at him.
“Gunsen what are you doing?!” Jason shouted.
You didn’t respond at all. You just tried to kill him. As much as Jason hated to admit it, he cared for you, and actually liked you back.
“Gunsen stop! I don’t want to hurt you!” Jason said.
When you tried attacking him with your fans again, but thankfully, Jason managed to knock both of your fans out of your hands. You growled in anger as you charged at him. Jason dodged all of your different attacks, when he saw the opportunity, he grabbed you around the waist held you in place.
He didn’t know what to do, but he could tell you were about to break away from his grip. He instinctively pushed his lips against yours. Neither you or him pulled back. It took a while for Jason to realize that you were still affected by the fear gas, so he pulled out a tranquilizer he brought (don’t ask why) and hit you with it and you passed out.
When you woke up, you were in a bed, and you felt your face.. your mask was gone! You also had a major migraine, the only thing you remembered was opening the safe and everything went black. You quickly got out of the bed, your suit was still on, but where was your mask?! You walked out of the bedroom, and you saw a guy, a very handsome guy, making breakfast.
“Where am I? And where is my mask” You asked.
“Relax, when you opened the safe you got sprayed with scarecrows fear chemical, we fought a little, but me being better than you, I beat you” the man smirked.
That’s when it hit you, that was red hood! You’ve only seen him with his mask on, and he was hot even then, but with his mask off, he looked hotter than you imagined.
“You want any breakfast?” Jason asked while having a cocky smirk on his face.
“Sure” you said.
After the both of you were done eating, you helped him clean up with the dishes. After you were done cleaning, you both sat on his couch watching his tv in silence but all of a sudden a thought popped into your head.
“How did you beat me? From what I’ve gathered, not to toot my own horn, but I’m way better at combat than you” you questioned.
Jason froze for a second. He couldn’t just tell you that he kissed you!
“I don’t know, I just beat you” Jason mumbled.
“Come on! You were just bragging about how much better than me you were! Tell me how” now it was your turn to wear a cocky smirk.
“I just beat you okay?! That’s all you need to know” Jason said.
“Come o-”
“God you need to learn how to shut up” Jason grumbled as he pulled you into a kiss.
You were shocked at first, but then you started to kiss him back.
“That’s how I beat you” Jason said as he looked into your e/c eyes.
“Wait- hold on- you beat me by kissing me?” You stuttered.
“Do you want another example or something?” Jasons smirked.
After that, you two didn’t start dating yet, but your interactions with each other started to get more flirty. So it was sort of like a friends with benefits type of relationship. It also started to become a normal thing for the two of you to go to Jason’s place after patrol and “hang out”. Hell, you two even knew each other’s secret identities.
You two would never want to admit to each other that you had feelings though. It got bad to the point where it was awkward to even talk to each other. You hated this feeling, you wanted to tell him that you liked him, I mean you two have kissed countless of times! But you still haven’t dated yet! And you couldn’t take it anymore. So after one of your regular hang outs, you finally decided to confess.
“Jay, I have something to say” you spoke up.
“I actually do to” Jason said.
“You wanna say it together?” You asked.
“Sure”
“3…”
“2…”
“1…”
“I want us to be more than just ‘friend’s with benefits’ and I’ve liked you for a while now”
“I’ve actually had a crush on you since we met”
You both sat there in silence, processing what the other just said.
“So… Are we like.. a thing now..?” Jason said awkwardly.
“I guess so” you smiled as you leaned in for a kiss.
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A/n: Sorry that I have not been posting very often :( summer is over now so I’m busier than usual, but my requests are still opened for people who want to request :)
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nocturnest · 3 days
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The y/n that nervously asks if she can marry Jonathan instead of death or exile, would be the opposite of Jonathan, she’s shy and sweet, and Jonathan would find her puppy dog eyes to be so cute that he can’t help himself but to agree which is why he’s just like, “Hmm. Interesting. Why not”
@kpopgirlbtssvt This is one of my absolute favorites now! ahhh! please enjoy!
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In the dimly lit chamber of an abandoned courthouse, Jonathan Crane, Gotham's infamous Scarecrow, held court with an air of authority that sent shivers down the spines of those gathered before him. The room buzzed with nervous anticipation as citizens awaited their fates, their faces drawn with fear and uncertainty.
You, amidst the sea of anxious onlookers, found yourself unable to contain a nervous laugh as the tension in the room weighed heavily on you. You were on trial for attempting to steal from the city's food stash, which Bane had accumulated for criminals and the like. It wasn't exactly your fault - you were desperate. You just wish you hadn't been so foolish to have gotten caught.
As you were shoved into a brown leatherback chair, you observed your surroundings. Criminals of all kinds gave you harsh looks of disgust and disapproval. They looked practically ravenous and hungry for a new form of entertainment, which some of them had found in you. Their attention made you uncomfortable.
You gazed up at the stand and your eyes widened in surprise. You'd heard rumors, to be sure, but you had never seen Jonathan Crane in person. And even from afar, you could see the bright blues of his eyes, like a beacon of hope in this horrendous situation that you found yourself in.
He looked bored, glasses in his hand as he cleaned its lenses. A lackey of his taps him on the shoulder and Jonathan rolls his eyes, putting his glasses on to read the papers in front of him.
He clears his throat and announces your name, which sends shivers down your spine. His voice was gravelly and hoarse from yelling yet calming all the same. You find yourself wishing you had met him under other circumstances.
"Guilty of attempting to steal food from the people of Gotham. Now what will it be, Death or Exile?"
"Isn't there another option?! I mean...can't I just marry you instead?" you blurted out, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. Your attempt at humor was feeble, a desperate bid to lighten the oppressive atmosphere.
To your surprise, Jonathan's sharp gaze snapped in your direction, his pale blue eyes glittering with intrigue. "Hmm, interesting. Why not?" he responded, his voice carrying an unexpected hint of amusement.
Your heart skipped a beat at his unexpected reply, your mind reeling with disbelief. Surely he couldn't be serious. But, before you could gather your thoughts, Jonathan pressed on with his characteristic bluntness. "Would you rather death or exile?" he inquired, his tone matter-of-fact yet oddly playful.
Caught off guard by his question, you stumbled over your words, unable to form a coherent response. "...No," you managed to mumble, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Great," Jonathan exclaimed, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, "Exile! By marriage."
With a swift motion of his gavel, Jonathan sealed your fate. He beckoned you forward with a wave of his hand, his expression betraying a hint of sly amusement.
You padded across the room cautiously as a wave of confusion swept across the spectators, who watched in bewilderment as Jonathan Crane orchestrated an impromptu wedding ceremony in the midst of what was supposed to be a trial. As you approached the judge's area, the whispers of the onlookers swirled around you like a whirlwind of uncertainty.
Jonathan took your hand in his. It was soft and warm. The emotions in his face were guarded but you could see what seemed like sympathy in his eyes, as if he knew you knew how you were feeling - with being married to a complete stranger and all that.
Though, you weren't entirely complaining...Jonathan was much taller up close and practically towered over you. Not to mention, he was quite attractive. His eyes were as clear as ocean waters and his brown hair looked so soft that you fought the urge to run your hands through it. His suit was tattered and feathers were sewn into it, its cut tailored remarkably well to his figure.
As you stood beside Jonathan, his grip firm yet oddly comforting, he began to recite the vows with a surprising eloquence. His voice, smooth and commanding, filled the room as he spoke of love, commitment, and partnership. You found yourself mesmerized by his words, drawn into the enchanting rhythm of his speech.
As the ceremony continued, you couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, standing in a courtroom turned makeshift wedding chapel, about to marry a man you barely knew—all under the watchful eyes of a room full of criminals.
And yet, despite the unconventional circumstances, there was something undeniably captivating about Jonathan. His confidence, his intelligence, his sheer audacity—all combined to form an irresistible allure that left you spellbound.
As Jonathan pronounced you husband and wife, a sense of disbelief washed over you. You stole a glance at him, unable to suppress the awe flickering in your eyes. How could one man possess so many talents, wear so many hats? Psychologist, villain, minister, judge—each role seemed incongruous with the next, and yet, Jonathan Crane embodied them all with effortless grace.
As the ceremony concluded, Jonathan flashed you a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes sparkled with mischief as if he knew the effect he had on you. You gave him a shy smile in return.
Your brief moment of peace was interrupted by Bane, who had a foreboding presence about him. He was large, and the breathing mask that masked most of his face intimidated you.
Suprisingly, he seemed to be in good spirits, his deep voice booming, "Now is a time for celebration! Let the newlyweds have the day off and trials shall commence again tomorrow."
As Bane's booming voice echoed through the room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. With the trials postponed, you and Jonathan were free to escape the chaos of the courtroom and retreat to the sanctuary of his world.
Jonathan led you out of the courtroom, his hand warm against yours as he guided you through the labyrinthine corridors of the building. As you stepped out into the crisp night air, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of your mind. Bane's presence had cast a shadow over the proceedings, his intimidating figure a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of Gotham.
But as you climbed into Jonathan's car and he started the engine, the tension began to melt away. The warmth of the car enveloped you, cocooning you in a sense of security as Jonathan navigated the familiar streets of the city.
As Jonathan drove you through the bustling streets of Gotham, you couldn't help but get lost in your thoughts. What now?
Jonathan's voice broke the silence, his tone gentle yet reassuring. "You're safe now," he said, his gaze flickering to meet yours briefly before returning to the road ahead. "I'll make sure of that."
You offered him a grateful smile, though the weight of the situation still hung heavy in the air between you. The thought of being married to Jonathan—albeit in name only—was both exhilarating and daunting. You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him, the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer with each passing moment.
As you arrived at Jonathan's surprisingly luxurious apartment, you couldn't help but be impressed by the opulence of his surroundings. The spacious living room was bathed in warm light, casting soft shadows across the elegant furnishings.
The warm glow of the lights bathed the room in a comforting ambiance, momentarily easing the tension that still lingered in the air.
Jonathan led you further into the apartment, his demeanor calm and collected as he gestured for you to take a seat on the plush sofa. As you settled in, he turned to face you, his expression thoughtful.
"Listen," Jonathan began, his voice gentle yet firm, "about what happened back there... The marriage isn't official unless I make it so. I don't have to, but only if you want me to."
You blinked, taken aback by his words. "But why would you even consider it?" you asked, confusion evident in your tone.
Jonathan's lips curled into a sly smile as he tilted his head, his gaze piercing yet playful. "Ah, now that's the question, isn't it?" he replied, his voice laced with intrigue. "Why were you so ready to marry me, hm?"
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Jonathan's playful gaze seemed to penetrate straight through you. "I... I don't know," you stammered, feeling completely out of your depth. "I mean, it was just a joke... I didn't think you'd actually..."
Jonathan chuckled softly, his laughter echoing in the quiet apartment. "Perhaps it was more than just a joke," he mused, his tone teasing yet strangely sincere. "After all, why else would you propose marriage to a man you barely know?"
You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze, unable to meet his eyes. "I... I guess I was just caught up in the moment," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're... you're not like anyone I've ever met before. And when you looked at me in the court, I don't know, something just... clicked."
Jonathan's expression softened, a hint of warmth creeping into his eyes. "You find me intriguing, don't you?" he observed, his voice low and measured. "Admit it, there's something about me that draws you in."
You swallowed hard, unable to deny the truth of his words. "Yes," you whispered, your admission hanging in the air between you. "Yes, there is."
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Jonathan's lips as he reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then perhaps this marriage isn't such a far-fetched idea after all," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft hum of the city outside. "But only if you want it to be real."
Jonathan's fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. You could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was searching your soul for answers.
Taking a deep breath, you mustered the courage to speak. "I don't know what I want," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I do know that being with you feels... different. Exciting, even."
A soft smile graced Jonathan's lips, his eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and something else, something deeper. "Then let's take it one step at a time," he suggested, his tone gentle yet reassuring.
You couldn't help but return his smile, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through you at his suggestion. "Dinner sounds wonderful" you replied, your voice tinged with anticipation.
~
Jonathan was methodical in the kitchen. You insisted on helping him, but he assured you he could manage. Rather, Jonathan urged you to explore his bookcases after hearing you mention that you enjoyed reading.
He directed you to the room that he considered his library. At which you muttered, "Of course, you have a library." He merely grinned at that. Even though you had just met the man, the room seemed so remarkably him.
The library was a reflection of Jonathan Crane's meticulous nature and intellectual depth. As you stepped into the room, your eyes were immediately drawn to the hundreds of books lining the shelves, meticulously organized by genre and subject matter. There were classics, modern literature, and an extensive collection of texts on psychology, each spine neatly aligned in perfect rows.
The air was imbued with the scent of aged paper and leather bindings, creating an atmosphere of quiet reverence. Soft light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room and illuminating the countless volumes that filled the space.
You ran your fingers along the spines of the books, marveling at the wealth of knowledge contained within their pages. Your gaze lingered on a particular title, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, a classic novel that seemed to echo the complexities of the world you found yourself in. You had read it countless times before. You, like Raskolnikov, had found yourself on trial for criminal acts, except that stealing food and committing flat-out murder, like Raskolnikov had, weren't exactly comparable. Nevertheless, his story of redemption and overcoming guilt after such an act continually resonated with you.
You settled into a chair and found yourself whisked away into the novel. Lost in thought, you barely noticed Jonathan's presence until you felt his eyes on you. Turning, you found him leaning against the doorway, his expression unreadable yet open and somehow inviting. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze as he watched you.
You marked your page with a spare slip of paper you found in your pocket (rather than dog-earing the antique book like a heathen) and felt Jonathan's gaze upon you.
"Find anything interesting?" he asked, his voice quiet yet filled with genuine curiosity.
You turned to face him, holding up the copy of Crime and Punishment. "Just considering some light reading," you replied with a hint of amusement, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his presence.
Jonathan chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "An excellent choice," he remarked, stepping further into the room to join you. "Dostoevsky certainly had a way of delving into the depths of human nature."
You nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie in your shared appreciation for literature. "It's fascinating how universal and timeless his insights are," you mused, trailing your fingers along the rows of books.
Jonathan's gaze softened as he watched you, his expression thoughtful. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice tinged with a hint of what might have been nostalgia. "There's a certain comfort in knowing that some truths remain constant, no matter the passage of time."
He reaches his hand out, inviting you to join him for dinner. You place your hand in his. You and him discuss your lives and interests over dinner and it feels like you have always known each other.
~
It's late. You don't quite know what time it is, and all you do know is you can't sleep. Rain patters on the windows of what is now your room. You have a nice view and notice that the city is less lit than usual. It seems that most people have either fled or gone into hiding, if they haven't already been taken by Bane's men.
You can't help but feel unease. Maybe it's the whole situation, or being in the menacing presence of Bane, even if only for a short time. But you can't help thinking about your apartment or the friends you haven't seen in months. You wonder if the elderly neighbor of yours who you often check on and her cat are alright.
You pad through the room feeling chilly. You pull on the sleeves of your sweatshirt. Jonathan gave you some of his clothes in the meantime, or at least until you both can stop by your apartment for your things. You're thankful for him being so accommodating but have a small internal voice that tells you that you're intruding, that you're a burden to him.
As you approach Jonathan's room, you hesitate at the doorway, feeling a sense of guilt for even considering disturbing his sleep. But then you remember the kindness he's shown you, the way he's gone out of his way to make you feel safe and comfortable. With a soft sigh, you push open the door and step inside.
Jonathan stirs from his slumber as you enter, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His hair is tousled and his eyes are like beacons in the night. There's a moment of silence as he takes in your presence, his gaze softening with understanding.
"Can't sleep?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, unable to find the words to express the turmoil swirling within you.
Without hesitation, Jonathan lifts the covers beside him, inviting you to join him. "Come," he says gently, his expression warm and inviting. "You're not intruding. I want you here."
You hesitate for a moment, your shyness holding you back. But the offer of comfort is too tempting to resist. With a grateful smile, you slide into bed beside him, feeling the warmth of his embrace enveloping you like a protective shield against the darkness outside.
As you nestle against him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you into a sense of peace you haven't felt in a long time. And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos that surrounds you.
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@kiss-me-cill-me hope you enjoy this take on the dark knight rises court scene!
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borntobewondering · 1 year
Text
sorry, i love you
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Dick Grayson x Female!Reader (20.1k) The complicated story of two fated lovers on opposite sides of the law.
Warnings: Cursing. Violence. Injury. Fighting. Mentions of sex. Mentions of drug use. Withdrawal. Scarecrow and fear toxin. Guns. kinda angsty
Author’s Note: We’re back with another Dick Grayson one shot. It’s been a minute, but I’m glad to be back and I hope you like this half as much as I do. Also, p.s., Hank is not dead in this because I’ve decided that was stupid. Enjoy!
Note: My work is not to be posted on any other platforms (aside from ao3 account)
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“Leaving already?”
You look over your shoulder to find the one and only Dick Grayson, an old friend, a current nemesis, staring back at you. You’d recognize that man anywhere. No matter the disguise, no matter the alias. He’s a person who is so very burned into your brain, he plays a starring role in your most important memories. 
And he just can’t seem to stay away.
“I got what I came for.” You say, turning to face him as you toss a precious jewel in the air only to catch it without breaking eye contact. Treating it like it's a toy. Like this is a game. “You know how I hate to be left waiting.”
The beginnings of a smirk flicker across his features, and you can’t help but return the gesture. But only for a second, those pesky security cameras pick up too much these days. 
And you just know that Bruce will be on his ass for fraternizing with the “enemy”. (Like Bruce has any room to talk.) But you’ve always been amused by the Bat’s selective hypocrisy.
“You know I can’t let you leave.” He says, escrima sticks at the ready as he stares you down. Almost like he’s hoping that this won’t end in a fight, but he knows it will. It always does.
“Let me?” You say, not even bothering to bite back the chuckle on the tip of your tongue. “It’s cute you think you have the upper hand.”
You slip the jewel into a compartment on your belt, taking a step closer to him without much of a care in the world.
“Let’s test your theory.” You say, mere seconds before lunging in for your attack.
And he’s quick to reciprocate, quick to block every punch and meet each strike halfway through its journey. And you feel like you’re a teenager again. Training in the gym of Titans tower, Dick Grayson being the only person you ever really wanted to learn from. He was taught by one of the best fighters of the League, he was the only person who could turn you into the skilled hero you hoped to be.
Oh how times change. How dreams evolve under the pressure of people who believe they know better.
But there’s one thing that still hasn’t changed. You’re still just as enamored with Dick Grayson as you were when you were sixteen. And it only takes one look at him to know that his brain is exactly where yours is. So much so that you seem to end up in the midst of a living memory when he lands on the tile floor beneath the both of you, you settling on top of his hips as you pin him down.
Your knees on either side of his body as you lean over him, hair cascading down one side of your face like a curtain blocking any prying eyes from the two of you. It’s reminiscent of the peak of your juvenile infatuation that you’ve never really been able to shake.
And the perfect picture of two teenagers in this same position, after your first time besting Dick in a sparring match, runs through your mind as you stare down at him. As his hands come to settle on your hips in a movement that is so far removed from anything with ill intent. He’s holding you steady instead of figuring his next move, and you feel those old instincts coming back to you.
And you don’t bother to stop them.
You lean down and close the space between the two of you, your lips pressing against his as his hands squeeze into your hips.
And it’d be so easy to get lost. To pull him all the more closer, arms sliding to hook around the back of his neck and live in this moment for the rest of time. It’d be so easy to lose sight of yourself and let him take the victory this time around.
But you can’t. Not as his hand skates down your thigh while the other rises higher on your side. Not as he leans up slightly to get even closer to you, and close the very, very small gap between your bodies.
Not as your hand slips between the two of you and latches on to his wrist as you pull away from him. Eyes catching the glimmering nature of the jewel he’d snatched while he had you distracted.
“I thought you knew better than to take things that don’t belong to you.” You tease, a smirk taking up residence on your lips as you pluck the gem from his hands. Slipping it into a different compartment.
Your hands ease down his arms, pulling them away from your body as you look down at him. Knowing those eyes better than anything on this earth, and you wish that you had a more unobstructed look at one of your favorite views ever created for this dreary world. But there’s no time for that, at least not right now.
“I wouldn’t fret over this loss if I were you, baby.” You say, thumb rubbing across his wrist as you sit up a little straighter. “Going up against someone out of your league, you’re bound to lose.”
You hear the door being bust open from the floor below you, and you stand from your position. Walking backwards toward the window at the other end of the room. Never taking your eyes off him as he supports himself on his elbows as he watches you. Not even bothering to do anything to try and stop you.
“Don’t worry,” You chide, a mischievous grin on your lips as you stare back at him, “I’ll see you soon.”
And, just like that, you’re gone mere seconds before the cops come running in to find Gotham’s beloved Nightwing on the ground and the crook nowhere in sight. Like you were never even there.
— — —
“What are you doing up here?”
Your head snaps up at the sound of the unexpected, yet not unwelcome, voice from the doorway.
“Nothing.” You say, before bringing your attention back to the sketchbook in your lap as Dick moves closer to you.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He says, hopping up on the ledge beside you as his eyes fall down to your sketchbook. It’s just a drawing of the San Francisco skyline, but it’s pretty great. He didn’t even know you drew. Much less that you were so good at it. “Besides, I thought you were afraid of heights.”
“Fear leads to weakness.” And you can’t be afraid, not in this line of work. You have to be willing to step up and step in when everyone else is afraid. So, you’ve decided it’s best to face your fears. Even the little ones. To be able to stand up in the face of the bigger ones. You figure it’s what the league would expect from you. Even at your young age.
“Fear makes you human.” He says, even though he’s the biggest daredevil you know. You find it hard to believe that anything scares him at all.
“Yeah?” You ask, looking up from your sketch to get a good look at him. He’s not quite the impish preteen you met a few years back, he’s grown into his teen age. It suits him, you think. He’s still a little shit, but you don’t think that gets any better with age. “What are you afraid of?”
He hesitates, and it’s silent for a few minutes so you just assume that he’s not going to answer and you turn your attention back to your drawing. Until you hear a slight rustling sound, and bring your eyes up to see him rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt.
To reveal a small bird tattoo at the top of his arm near his shoulder, and you just about freeze at the sight of it. You know what it is, of course you do. You’ve been hearing all about this shit for your entire life.
It’s a soulmate tattoo. You know the lore, the tattoo appears on your skin, at age fifteen, and your soulmate will have the same tattoo. Not necessarily in the same place on their body, but they’ll have the same tattoo. That’s how you’ll know that you two are meant to be together, you’ll be a matching set.
You’ve always kind of hated the idea of it, you’ve always thought that it made falling in love seem a lot less organic. Especially in the high school world that you’re currently caught up in. Everyone seems to be running around hoping that the cute, popular guy they have a crush on has the corresponding mark. Like that’ll convince someone to go out with them.
Of course you’re aware that high school is all about vanity and the tipping scales of popularity, but that doesn’t mean that the universe and its “rules” are enough to convince any teenager of what they should be doing with their life.  
Fate can be a real pain in the ass, if you even bother to put much faith in it, and you’re not surprised to find that pretty much no one in your neck of the woods are destined to be high school sweethearts. You don’t even want to imagine how obnoxious those hallways will be if that were to happen.
Besides, you’re not sure if your dislike for the entire idea of soulmates solely stems from the fact that you never expect you’ll meet yours. Or the fact that you think the love they feel for you won’t be real because they’ll be so convinced by the tattoo. They’ll take it as a sign from the universe, it doesn’t mean they actually love you.
And you can’t help but wonder if that’s what Dick is afraid of, too.
“You’re scared of a bird?” You joke, leaning forward slightly as you close your sketchbook in your lap.
“I’m not scared of a bird.” He says. He’s Robin for goodness sake, no he’s not scared of birds. That’d be slightly unfortunate if he was.
“Really?” You ask, leaning forward with a teasing smile, “Because it looks like a little birdie has you scared shitless.”
He rolls his eyes, scoffing at the sky as he lets his sleeve fall back down. Clearly you’re not willing to be adult about this. And how could you? Because if you act like a mature adult about this it means it’s a serious conversation, and it means that the both of you will be honest with each other beyond teasing remarks and vexation.
And that just seems like something that’ll lead to trouble.
“You know, it’s a little disappointing to see the Bat’s big bad sidekick bested by a little ink.”
And you can’t help but wonder how the great and powerful Bruce Wayne feels about the very idea of soulmates. You’ve known the man to often have a new woman on his arm, except there’s one woman he can never seem to stay away from. 
A woman who you hold great admiration for, not that you’d ever breathe a word of that to the so called heroes that you’re in cahoots with.
You can see that he’s clamming up slightly, like he regrets saying anything at all. And some part of you, really deep down, feels bad that you’ve just hurt his feelings. Dick Grayson isn’t the most forthcoming with his thoughts when they don’t pertain to the mission at hand. And, so, you find yourself asking:
“Why are you afraid of it?”
And you’re sure there’s an incredibly pragmatic answer at the tip of his tongue. Something that is so clear cut, and logical. Which is everything that the entire idea isn’t. Nothing about love, true, bone deep love is intended to be logical. It just is. For better or worse. And you have to decide whether you want any part in it or not.
Sometimes the decision isn’t a conscious one.
“I’m not really scared of it.” He says, fiddling with the zipper at the bottom of his hoodie. “I’m scared of the person on the other side of it.”
You have the feeling that he’s never really said any of this out loud before. Never admitted it to anyone, not even to Bruce or the therapist that Bruce has on staff. It’s his first time trying to get the words out, and he’s going to stumble. And they won’t be perfect, or the most exact depiction of what’s going through his brain. But they’ll be something. They’ll be a start.
“I’m scared that I won’t be able to be enough for them. Fate or not, universe or not. They’re going to be brought into this life, and all of the danger that goes along with it, just because they’re told that I’m supposed to be the one. If I even tell them my secret at all.”
You’ve never even entertained the idea of keeping your secret to yourself if you were to ever meet your soulmate. You figure, in one way or another, they’ll end up being an important person in your life. And that’s beyond the acceptable level of little white lies. That’s an earth shattering piece of information, and it’d be unfair to hide that from a person you claim to love.
“I don’t want to shortchange them, you know.” He says, and you do get it. “I don’t want to only give them half of me, but I don’t know what might happen to them if they end up being a part of this side of my life. The last thing I want is for that person to get hurt because some greater power decided that they’re meant to spend their life with me.”
And that’s actually more thoughtful than anything you expected him to say. It’s clear that he already cares for this person, whoever they may be. And it proves something that you’ve had an inkling about for a few years now. Dick Grayson is a lot sweeter than he’d ever give himself credit for.
“You know,” You say, fiddling with the edge of one of the pages in your sketchbook, “I think that, whoever they are, will be very lucky to have you. And if they really love you they’ll decide to step into your chaos with you and they’ll understand if you decided to keep it from them. If they’re the right person, if the universe actually has some merit in their picks, I think they’ll be able to take any of the obstacles so long as they get you in the end.”
The two of you fall into this slightly awkward silence, holding eye contact until you break it off as you clear your throat.
“If I didn’t know any better, it’d sound like you just complimented me.” He teases, smirk in place as you look back up at him. And you roll your eyes.
“Get out of here.” You say through your laughter as you hit him in the arm with your sketchbook. And he obliges. He puts his feet back down on the balcony.
“Fine, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” You scoff, rolling your eyes slightly. “Besides, I have to meet up with Bruce anyway.”
You nod, turning your head back to your lap as you reopen your book and hear his footsteps get further away.
“Hey, Y/N,” You look up at him, pencil stopped midline as you continued to draw. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” You say, a shy smile on your lips just as he walks back inside the tower. The door closes silently behind him as he rounds the corner to the point that you can no longer get a glimpse of him.
You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as you flip forward a few pages in your sketchbook. Seeing that same damn drawing of a bird littered across the page. The bird that rests on Dick’s arm. The same bird that rests above your left hip.
You are so screwed.
— — —
He knows that to prying eyes he probably looks a little off his rocker right now. Like one of those conspiracy theorists who claim that everything is connected and they have proof. But he actually does have proof. And he knows there’s a way to connect it.
He’s trying to connect you to the most recent heists in the area because he refuses to believe that several jewelry thefts are mere coincidence. Not in this town. Not when your mentor is Selina Kyle. A renowned thief with a deep appreciation for shiny things and a long running memory of the blueprints of every museum in Gotham.
And the batcave has never looked more of a mess than it does at this very moment, but he’s chasing the end of his leads and he’ll make sure to clean up once he’s done. Some people would say he’s chasing loose ends and that he should just give it up. But he’s never been good at that when it comes to you.
He’s been chasing after you his entire life, even when you were right next to him it still feels like he’s always been running after you. You’ve always been a little out of reach, always too afraid to let anyone know what’s going on in your mind. At least until you can’t hide it anymore. Until it’s ripping at the seams to make itself known.
And he’s bared witness to that, to that fracturing of self, a few too many times for his liking. And, believe me, he knows that he’s not the person to be discussing how to be open with one’s emotions. But he just hates seeing you like that, he’s hated it since you were kids.
And he knows if Donna were here she’d be her own fair share of disappointed. But more so in him. Because Donna, rest her soul, was used to you. She was used to your games and your tactics. You’ve practically perfected the art of evasion, in all the possible realms. Especially when it comes to your emotions. Hell, you’d win gold if it were a competition. If anyone was keeping score.
And he knows that there is something waiting at the end of this tunnel. Some sort of happy ending, some tie off to this twisted fate you two have been caught up in. He has the feeling that the road itself isn’t leading to anything good in the immediate future, but one day he’ll have what he’s always been waiting for. When you’re ready.
He just has the feeling that there are a few people standing in the middle of all of this. People you’re not ready to cut loose. Despite the intentions you believe are good. He knows where your heart has always been, it’s been in helping the people who need you. And you must think that there is someone out there who needs your help, and it’s someone you can’t give up just yet. Someone you can’t tell him about.
But he thinks he already knows. Because you’re not the only dead end he’s been chasing.
He’s had his suspicions about the man in the red mask that’s been popping up all over Gotham. Usually at the behest of one Jonathan Crane, who Dick made the stupid mistake of letting loose from prison.
And he can’t help but feel like there’s something compelling you to keep up with your tricks. And that you’ve almost suctioned yourself to the Red Hood’s side because you feel he needs protecting. And it gives more away than you ever could know.
When you walked out on the Titans, when you walked out on Dick, you swore off whatever piece of your heart had made the foolish decision to care about any of them. Except for one person, the person who had been by your side for as long as you can remember. He’d always been under your wing, and you couldn’t just leave him high and dry.
Jason Todd.
You had been that kid’s best friend since Jason was in middle school. When he was first thrust into this weird world you’ve all decided is normal. You made his life seem normal, and he knows that it made your life a little more normal too. A little more bearable in the face of all the two faced bullshit you’ve had to put up with solely because you’re different. Because you’re dangerous.
And he knew that coming back to Gotham in the wake of Jason’s death was going to be hard enough as it is. But he also knew that it’s where you’d be. And he wasn’t wrong. 
He saw you hiding out in the back of the church during the memorial, and he saw you taking a few moments to yourself before the freshly refilled grave. And he didn’t bother you then, he felt you were entitled to a few moments of privacy to stand knee deep in your grief.
It wasn’t until a few nights later that he finally saw you. And he kind of wishes he hadn’t.
The sight of you damn near split his heart in two when he found you in that warehouse. He knew that you weren’t going to let any of this go, and the morals that kept you from killing had been buried with Jason. He knew if anyone was going to go after the Joker, and actually finish the job, it would be you.
And pulling you out of there was one of the most heartbreaking things he’s ever had to do. Because you’d succeeded. You’d put an end to the biggest blight on Gotham’s sullied name, and it didn’t do anything. You were on your knees, half bent over with tears streaming down your cheeks when he’d found you. He was too late.
He didn’t care about the Joker, he’d have a spot in Arkham reserved for him if he did, but he cared about you. He knew that it felt like the only way to make Jason’s death not be in vain. But it did nothing to kill the ache in your chest, and he knew better than to expect it would. But a grief driven brain defies logic in a way he’s never been able to combat.
He’d taken you home that night. Back to Wayne Manor, and he didn’t have to say a word when Bruce saw the state of you. He knew. And Dick didn’t have it in him to care about Bruce’s opinion when he had barely gotten a coherent word out of you in the last hour.
He’d helped you into a hot bath, and then he’d set you up for the night in his bed, spreading out a few blankets on the floor beside you in case you needed him. In case you decided you needed anybody. 
He told you to wake him even if you thought it was stupid, but you didn’t. Instead he woke up the next morning with your head on his chest in the mess of blankets on the floor.
And you slept like the dead, he laid there like that for hours because he didn’t want to chance waking you up. He had the feeling you weren’t operating on many hours of sleep in the first place. It had been two weeks since Jason died, and there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind that you’d spent the fortnight hunting your prey.
And you’d all but disappeared after that. He couldn’t find you for months, and you had practically hung up your cowl. It was like you’d dropped off the face of the earth. Your resurgence falling in step with the appearance of the Red Hood only pointed in one direction. And he’s pretty sure you meant for him to catch on.
You’re not the type for riddles, not really a big fan of games. Unless of course you count the strange courtship the two of you have found yourselves tangled up in since you were teenagers. But a little bit of flirting never hurt anyone.
And he knows that everyone probably thinks there are bigger fish to fry, and that his focus should be more centered on Crane and the Red Hood, but he isn’t giving up on his inkling that you have something to do with all of this. Even though a jewelry robbery feels like small potatoes compared to everything else at large, no one should be surprised that his mind is revolving around you. But that doesn’t mean they’re not disappointed.
“I should’ve known you’d be down here.” He doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder at the sound of Dawn’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. He’s already been caught in the act, so what’s the point in pretending he was working.
“I’m really not in the mood.” He says, knowing that this is heading towards some convoluted I told you so. Because she had told him so, she’d told him that all of this was a useless endeavor. That you wouldn’t be found unless you wanted to be, the both of them had fought alongside you long enough to know that every near miss or capture happened because you’d already anticipated the outcome. And no one can anticipate Dick Grayson quite like you.
“You’re never in the mood for someone to call you on your shit.” She says as she walks over to the desk and leans against it. “You know you can’t spend the rest of your life chasing after her.”
“One of these days I won’t have to.” Because he still has hope that one of these days you’ll change your mind. That one of these days you’ll realize that what the two of you have is something worth fighting for. Even when you wholeheartedly believe you’re not.
“You can’t possibly be that naive.” She says, leaning forward conspiratorially as she looks at him. Has he totally lost it?
“Spare me the lecture, alright?” He says, turning in his chair to face the monitor as he rolls away from her. “You never really knew her anyway.”
“She was my friend too.”
“She was your teammate.” He corrects, turning back around to face her. “You were coworkers. She was actually my friend.”
“She was a hell of a lot more than that.” He rolls his eyes at her insinuation and turns back to his board. Taking a step forward to be a bit out of Dawn’s space. But it doesn’t seem to matter, Dawn leans to the side to still get a good look at his face.
“She betrayed us, Dick. She sold every last one of us out to a bunch of no good crooks who wanted our heads on a silver platter. She’s nearly gotten you killed more times than I can count, and you still defend her at every turn.”
“She’s not a bad person. She’s just lost. She made some mistakes, that doesn’t mean she’s beyond redemption.”
“I’m sure you’ve gotten real good at redeeming her. In Gotham, in Bludhaven, in San Francisco.”
“Dawn.”
“I’m sure you’ve gone long into the night creating a hero out of her inside the confines of your own four walls.”
“Stop.”
“I’m sure she’s why you go off the grid for days at a time because you’re trying to convince her that you’re worth staying for. But it’s never going to work. Because she’s a little too far beyond saving. And I think you know that.”
The silence is nagging at him and he still can’t bring himself to look at her, but she seems to have backed off slightly. Leaning back so that she’s out of his peripheral and he can hear the shifting of her weight on the desk.
“This story does not have a happy ending, Dick. It’s about time you figured that out.” There’s an ounce of sympathy in her voice, like she really does hate to be the bearer of the bad news. Like she knows the messenger gets shot and she doesn’t want to be the one paying for the damage you’ve done. But somebody has to do it, somebody needs to make sure he knows.
“She’s not a bad person.” He says again as she’s heading back for the staircase, and it’s like he’s trying to convince her despite knowing it’s a lost cause. Each word is coated in its own little shred of defeat.
“I know you believe that. Honestly, most days I wanna believe it too. But she is not the kid we knew. And one of these days, sooner than you think, you’re gonna have to learn to accept that. You won’t have any other choice.”
He hears the door shut behind her, and only then does it feel like he’s regained the ability to breathe as he falls back into his chair. He turns away from the board, not being able to stomach the possibilities any longer. Instead he turns to something familiar, something he knows every detail of. Something he’s been playing over and over again in his head.
He wheels over to the computer and pulls up the security footage from the museum, from just a few hours ago when you’d been back in his orbit for the first time in too long. And he watches you. He watches every familiar movement and hears your voice in his head despite the footage’s lack of audio. He doesn’t see a stranger when he looks at you, not even when your suit no longer resembles the brightness of your teenage years.
You were a beacon back then. A thing of hope for the people to look up to, with a kindness that almost knew no bounds. You were the beating heart of the team, and something died when you left. Something he has never been able to regain no matter how hard he chases after it.
He doesn’t see an enemy on that footage. He just sees you. He sees the same person you have always been, he sees that kid that Dawn was talking about. The person who just wanted to do good and to help people. Someone who has gotten better at hiding in plain sight. Someone who has found a friend in the darkness of the night. Someone he wishes would just step into the sun.
But you’ve been hiding for too long and the shadows have basically become a second skin. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to fix this. And he can’t help but wonder if Dawn is right. Maybe you are beyond saving.
— — —
The sound of fists hitting the heavy bag is the only thing he hears as he turns the corner towards the gym. And it’s not just training, it’s three o’clock in the morning no one in their right mind would be training right now. Especially on a school night, even though he has the distinct feeling that you’re going to call out anyway.
No, this is pure, unadulterated anger. He can tell by the quick, scattered, loud nature of each hit. The bag is taking the place of someone very real, someone you feel has gotten in your way or screwed you over. And he thinks he has every idea as to who that person is.
He stops in the doorway as he watches you over in the corner. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so pissed, and he’s been around through a lot of your phases. And he gets it. Really, he does understand it. The first loss is always hard.
Not that that ever really goes away. It’s always hard. And you always ask yourself a million questions after the fact. You place the blame solely on your shoulders and wonder what you could’ve done differently to get that person out. You never really forget about it, it never really stops weighing on you. And, in complete honesty, it’d be concerning if it did. If you were able to just let go of something like that it’d give him pause.
“I’d ask if you’re okay, but I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.”
“I’m not really in the mood for a half baked pep talk, Grayson.” You grunt as you go for yet another swing at the heavy bag.
“It must be your lucky day. I’m fresh out.” He steps further into the gym and you shake your head slightly as you throw another punch.
“Really?” You ask, an acidic disbelief bleeding through your tone. “You’re not itching to tell me that it’s not my fault? That I did everything I could?”
“I know you won’t believe me. I don’t expect you to.” He starts, stepping down onto the mat in the middle of the floor. “But there was nothing more that could’ve been done. We can’t save everyone.”
And what a hard pill that is to swallow. Especially for someone like you. Someone with powers, someone whose genetic code has been rewritten in such a way that impossibility seems possible. So how are you supposed to believe that this outcome was inevitable when you know that the impossible is not nearly as impossible as it’s made out to be?
“Those sound like platitudes to me.” Another punch is thrown, and he can just tell that the skin on your knuckles is going to be broken and bruised tomorrow morning.
“Yeah, well, the person I got it from isn’t the best with words.” He’s telling you something he’s heard a million times over, practically verbatim. One thing Bruce is good for is trying to assuage the guilt that comes from failing someone in need of your help. But his word has never really been good enough.
“The last thing I need right now is Bruce’s words of wisdom. So sue me for not being in the mood for your trite bullshit.”
“Then maybe you can unclench your fists and actually talk to me.” He knows he’s pushing it. He knows that he’s lucky you’re even giving him the time of day right now. But he also knows that this is eating you up inside, and it never does anyone any good to let these kinds of things fester. He should know, he’s kind of a pro at it.
“It’s better for the both of us if I don’t say a word.” Because as tough a time as Dick Grayson may have had with his tragic backstory, at least he still has the league’s trust. More importantly, he has the Batman’s trust. Something you’ll never be able to say.
Because you’re not like Dick, you actually have powers. Powers that could be pretty damaging if they fall into the wrong hands. Which is why the league scooped you up in the first place. They figured that if you were under their thumb then they wouldn’t have to worry about your powers backfiring on them.
But they won’t have to worry about that anyway since they haven’t actually been training you to use your powers.In fact they’ve done everything in their power to keep you from the only member of the league who might be able to teach you a thing or two about how to control your powers. Black Canary.
Now, her powers are a bit of a different nature. The woman has a super sonic scream, which you do not. But you figure that it can’t be that different from controlling a siren’s song.
No one really knows how you developed this power. The running theory is that it was laying latent in your DNA for several members of your family and just wound up presenting as an ability with you. Isn’t that fun? The first in a very long line to be cursed with the voice of death.
“I know tonight was hard-”
“This isn’t just about tonight.” You snap, finally turning over your shoulder to look at him. “This is about everything that has happened since Bruce showed up on my doorstep.”
Bruce had been looking to create a team of young heroes so that Dick could get some much needed practice for working as part of a full fledged team. Of being something more than just Batman’s sidekick. 
All of this was for him, every last bit of it even though you know Dick harbors his fair share of resentment towards his father figure. He can’t say that Bruce has never done anything with Dick’s best interest in mind. Even if he doesn’t go about it in the normal way.
Dick has no idea how this feels. He has no idea that this life you’ve been brought into, a life that is supposed to be better than one of mortal standards, has been nothing but an ongoing nightmare. And no matter how loud you scream no one ever seems to come and wake you up. No one cares enough to bring you out of it or even look up.
They figure it’s all a part of the job description. These bumps and bruises that one just has to get used to because it’s part of the gimmick. But you’re tired of playing into it. Especially when it doesn’t feel like anyone actually values your abilities in the first place. They’ve done nothing to make you feel like any less of a freak than you already do.
Sure, they’ve made you an expert in hand to hand combat. Which, really, is their mistake and someday soon it’ll be to their detriment. Because you can go toe to toe with the best of them, having taken down the boy wonder more than a time or two without breaking a sweat. They have no idea what’s in store for them. It’s only a matter of time. And you really don’t know how much sand is left in that hourglass.
“I used to think I was so lucky that the Justice League wanted me. Even for their junior team. Because it meant that I’m so much more than every terrible thought I’ve ever had about my powers. Maybe they’re not as much of a curse as I’ve always thought they were. Because the world’s greatest heroes thought I had potential. They thought I could be like them. I was so stupid to ever think I could be anything like them.”
And you can tell that he’s itching to tell you that you’re wrong. But you know that he also feels the need to establish a distinction between him and them. Because he decided a long time ago that the last thing he wants to be is like Batman.
“They never thought I could be a hero. But they saw potential. Potential for destruction, and they figured it’d be better to have that potential under their thumb rather than giving it the opportunity to fall into the wrong hands. My spot on the team is purely for security reasons. And it’s pitiful that it took me so long to finally piece that together.”
At least this way they know that your powers aren’t growing. They aren’t festering or conjuring themselves into something that is beyond their control. And, if they ever did, there are contingencies in place. 
Bruce, in the vein of transparency and bluntness with his back against the wall, let you in on that piece of information after you’d hacked into his most secure files. And you’ve already been introduced to a few of those.
“Bruce has done everything he can to make sure my powers don’t develop. Every time I’ve asked to meet Black Canary he just tells me he’ll think about it. But I know his mind is made up as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I’m never going to meet the Canary. It’d be too dangerous if someone actually told me how to harness the true extent of my abilities. And they know that if I got too powerful I could overthrow even them. And then where would we be?”
No one really knows the extent of what you’re capable of, not even you. So you take every precaution because at the end of the day you really don’t want to hurt anyone. That’s never been who you are. The league has just never bothered to actually figure out who you are beyond your possible threat level. They know nothing of who you are at heart.
Hell, you asked to be able soundproof your entire bedroom just so you can indulge in one of life’s simplest and most mundane joys: singing in the shower. Because god forbid you let out a single note and it accidentally be caught by the ears of another teammate. Does that really sound like the kind of person who would purposefully put people in danger?
You turn back towards the heavy bag, squaring your shoulders before sending another punch towards the bag.
“I could’ve been a hero tonight. And he took that away from me.” You could’ve made up for every terrible thing that makes you a liability, and it was all stolen from you in one fell swoop.
“That building was coming down. If he’d left you in there you would’ve died.” He says it with an exhaustion like you’ve already been over this a thousand times. And maybe it already feels like you have, maybe it’s been spinning in his mind as much as it’s been spinning in yours.
“And we orphaned three kids in the process.” Their little faces are going to be burned into your brain until you take your last breath. One of them was just a tiny little thing, maybe only two years old. And you could hear her asking where her mom was, and the eldest of the kids, who was probably around ten years old, took one look at you, the person who got them out, and just knew that their mom wasn’t coming back.
They knew that you failed them, and that’s something you know is an unforgivable offense. And you will spend the rest of your time trying to somehow make up for the way you let them down. That young one probably won’t ever even remember their mother, and you’re not sure if that’s better than being able to remember it all.
“Did you know their father served?” You ask, although it’s entirely rhetorical. “He died overseas about a year or so back. And their next of kin, his parents, live in New York. Those kids are going to be uprooted and sent across the country.”
He doesn’t need to ask how you know all that. You’re a creature of morbid curiosity, and he’s guilty of the same thing. He’s looked up the people he couldn’t save to get a better idea of the level to which he failed. Something else to keep him up at night. He just didn’t expect you to get to that point so quickly.
And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does he knows that you’re never really going to be able to move on from this. And some small part of you is going to be keeping tabs on those kids as they grow. Just to be an eye in the sky, someone looking out just to make sure that their lives aren’t completely destroyed by all that they’ve lost.
“Something’s wrong with me, Dick.” You say, and that gets him out of his head in an instant. “I feel like I’m fighting myself every second at every turn. I’ve been trying to dampen my powers for so long without actually knowing how to control them, and someday they’re going to get the best of me. And I don’t know how much of me will be left when that happens.”
And he doesn’t know how he let all this fly by his radar for so long. How he didn’t take more notice of the fact that you’re not the same girl you used to be. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw you up on the rooftop doodling the skyline for a worthwhile way to pass the time. 
And all of these little things did strike him as odd, but he figured they were just the result of growing up and outgrowing the things that used to bring us joy. He never thought it was because there was so much more going on that you hadn’t let him in on.
“And I think it’s beyond intervention. It’s beyond bargaining. Bruce is beyond convincing.” And you don’t think there’d be enough time to figure it all out in the first place. Even if Bruce were to change his mind, which he isn’t known to do, you doubt Dinah would be able to train with you enough that you’d be able to fully get a lid on this.
“Bruce’s heroics were a waste of time.” You say, dropping your hands to your sides as you look over at him. “Today or a few months from now. It really won’t matter when I go.”
The point is you’ll be gone before either of you know it. Before you can even blink. And you’re not sure you’re ready for that. You’re not ready for goodbye. But it feels like it’s out of your hands.
You unwrap the tape from your hands as you walk over to him, shrugging your shoulders and trying to keep the tremor from your voice as you say what’s really been eating at you.
“I never really belonged here, Dick. I didn’t. No matter how hard you tried to make me feel like I did, I know that I didn’t.” He starts to shake his head, like he’s going to speak but you really need him to be quiet just this once.
“I’m glad you tried. You always tried. And I can’t thank you enough for that.” There’s a melancholy over the moment, and he knows what this is. Just like you do. This is goodbye. Whether you like it or not. So you better make it count.
And you do.
You lean up to close the distance between the two of you. Your sweaty hands on his cheeks as you capture his lips with yours. And the moment stops, like it’s really fighting to last forever. Seems like borrowed time always tries to borrow a little more. You commend the effort.
A sad smile plays on your lips after you pull away, his hands resting on your wrists as he tries to make this last just a little bit longer. But it can’t. Tears are swimming in your eyes as you look at him.
“I’m really gonna miss you, Dick Grayson.” You huff out the saddest laugh you’ve ever heard and try to ignore the tears that are shining in his eyes as he looks at you. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.
You take a step back and his hands momentarily tighten on your wrists. You hesitate, looking at him until he finally gives in and his grip goes slack. Your left hand slips from his face, but the right lingers for a few moments as your thumb rubs across his cheek. But then it follows in the footsteps of your left and you separate the tether to Dick Grayson, the physical one at least, as you step away.
You leave the gym and you don’t dare to even spare a look over your shoulder as you do.
— — —
He’s down in the basement for longer than he’d care to admit after Dawn made her departure. And maybe he’d let his paranoia get the better of him and kept dragging his eye to the security feed on the off chance that it was being tampered with. But he eventually makes his way back up to the living room and turns off the lights in his wake.
He checks over the banister to see that all the doors upstairs are closed as he walks down the hall towards his childhood bedroom. And he can’t help but think about how different this place is now. Sure, it holds more memories than he could possibly ever count and most of them are more bad than good. But it feels like that has changed since they’ve come back to Gotham.
It feels like it actually houses a family. A place where the people inside actually care about one another and are there for each other on the nights when their losses become too much to bear. It doesn’t seem as cold as it used to. It actually feels like a home, which is more than he can say for what it was like when he was growing up.
He’s just about to cross the threshold of his bedroom, ready to open that door and fall right into bed at the expense of the exhaustion of the day, when the alarm bells start going off in his head.
He can see light filtering out of his room from under the closed door and just knows that there’s something waiting for him on the other side. Something that doesn’t much care for the element of surprise. But he braces himself anyway, despite a fight being the last thing he wants any part of at the current moment.
He reaches out for his doorknob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. Only to find you lounging on his bed and an open window to your left. A smug smirk on your lips as you say,
“You know, I figured a billionaire would have a better security system.”
And you must be able to sense his lack of amusement because you push yourself off the bed and walk over to him. Arms skating up towards his shoulders once he’s in reach. Your toes almost touching his as you lean a little closer.
“What?” You ask innocently, “I said you’d be seeing me soon.”
“I figured you’d be behind bars when that happened.” He says, not a hint of humor in his tone as he looks at you. But his heart starts to budge from its bad mood at the sight of the smile forming on your face.
“Don’t be silly.” You say, leaning just a smidgen closer so that your nose brushes his. “Then I wouldn’t get to drop by for visits like this.”
And by the way your eyes fall to his lips he knows that you’ve really only come here for one thing. And it’s the usual reason that he sees you. The mutual benefit of this age old dance the two of you are caught in.
He’s just waiting for the day he gets to leave the floor. Hopefully with your hand clasped in his as you decide you finally want to go home. And you can finally admit that he is something you want in a real way. That you’re finally willing to succumb to the fine threads of fate that had been spun eons ago. When you were just a storyline a thousand pages on, when the ending was already decided.
And that’s one reason he hasn’t lost his faith in you. He believes that the universe has it all planned out. And that these are just the bumps in the road before you get to bliss and happily ever after and all that jazz.
But these days he takes what he can get. Because he’s aware that all of his time with you is so fleeting. So he usually gives in when you come knocking. And he opens the window and he lets you in. Despite his better judgment.
You know what they say, old habits die hard. And, god, he’d let you put him six feet in the grave if you wanted to. You’ll probably be the death of him no matter what happens, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Come on boy wonder.” You jest, your hands pulling back from his arms as you take a few steps back toward the bed without breaking eye contact. A teasing smirk on your lips. “Don’t keep a girl waiting.”
And he savors the grin of victory on your face as he closes his door behind him and starts towards you. A giggle falling from your lips as your back hits the mattress, but it quickly disappears as soon as his lips are on yours.
No one ever said there’s anything wrong with throwing old habits a wake. You know, just for old time’s sake.
— — —
Dick really isn’t the kind of guy who likes to admit when someone has gotten the better of him. But he figures it’s damn near impossible to care about his pride when he’s hanging upside down in some shady warehouse with Deathstroke’s eyes trained on him. Not with the rest of the team only a few feet away in the same position. Except for one of them, except for you standing up in the rafters looking down on them without any inkling of moving to their aid.
And he wishes that he didn’t know what all of this is about. He wishes he had the wrong idea about how this had happened, but he knows he’s dead on.
You’ve been isolating yourself the last few months, since that day in the gym. Trying to hide yourself from the watchful eye he’s been keeping. Constantly signing up for every solo mission, especially the ones that’ll take a few weeks. And you keep your distance whenever he ends up being your partner on a mission. He should’ve seen this coming, you’d said it yourself. You didn’t know how much more of this you could take.
You’ve been breaking, fracturing at the seams, for months now. And he thought he was helping. He thought he could rescue you, despite your claims about being beyond the point of return, but he had it all wrong. And he doesn’t know how much of the girl he knew is left in there.
And he’s kind of checked out on Deathstroke’s whole woe is me, I’m evil, super secret plan speech. Because really it doesn’t matter. He wants to kill them, plain and simple. There’s nothing else to talk about it. He’s been trying to kill Dick for years. And for good reason.
But he has absolutely no concern for whatever it is that is going on with Deathstroke. That’s a whole box of cats that Dick doesn’t want to get caught up in. He only cares about you, up in the rafters with your hands gripping the metal so tightly that it’d definitely be warped if you had super strength.
And it’s then that he realizes that there is some part of you still in there. Some part of you that doesn’t like any bit of this and wishes that you’d made a different call. 
Despite the fact that everything has bubbled over and is now just a borderline hellscape in your mind, you know that there had to be a different option. Mainly because the people in chains aren’t the people who have wronged you. And this won’t really be getting back at those people. It’ll just get you arrested.
And he’s getting tired of the white noise of Deathstroke’s voice, and he figures it’s about time he takes matters into his own hands. Because, really, everyone in this room knows that they’re making it out of here alive. He hasn’t been able to beat them yet, right now they’re just at a slight disadvantage.
“If listening to you talk is the only torture you have up your sleeve, you’re gonna have to try a little harder.” He sees Deathstroke stop, turning his head back towards him and even through the mask he can tell that he is unamused.
But it pulls his attention from the rest of the team and focuses it on Dick, which is exactly what he wanted. Because he knows that this issue isn’t about the team, the vendetta is squarely on Dick’s shoulders. And he figures that they should just cut out the middleman and get this over with.
“You always were a mouthy little brat.” He says as he takes a few steps closer to where Dick is dangling from the ceiling. His steps are slow in an attempt to create a menacing effect and strike fear into Dick’s heart. But it’s not going to work. Deathstroke isn’t as scary as he might like to believe. “I don’t know how Batman puts up with you.”
Because he knows who he is beyond the costume, and he knows about his father figure. And he’s sure that should hurt. It should hurt to imagine that he’s a let down in Bruce’s eyes, and, hell, maybe he is. But that’s something he came to terms with a long time ago. He can’t be the Batman, and he doesn’t want to be. He doesn’t want to lose himself in the cowl in the way that Bruce has.
He’s not willing to cross the boundary into that level of sacrifice. Only one man should ever have to do that.
“And you’re pathetic enough to rely on a teenage girl to enact your great plan. So which one of us is really the lesser man?”
Your eyes find his in that moment, not that you’d really been able to tear your gaze from his face since he’d woken up. But meeting his eye felt like too tall an order with the weight of your actions on your shoulders. How could he ever forgive you for this?
You’re a turncoat. A traitor. And there’s no coming back from that. He’d be foolish to let you back in after this.
You can feel Hank’s disappointed gaze on you from down below, and it practically burns a hole in the side of your head. You know everyone is shocked, you know that they can’t believe you’d ever stoop so low. But Hank was a little different. He was like the brother you’d never had, kind of like Jason. But Hank was protective, and he prided himself on knowing you like the back of his hand.
So how could he not have noticed?
You can see them all trying to find a way to slip from their binds without Deathstroke noticing, but none of them have had any luck thus far. And you know that there is no getting out of this for them, at least not without a little help.
So, as covertly as possible, you press the panic button embedded in your sleeve. It’ll send a signal to the League, and you’ve never used it. Because you know just how important it is to invoke that privilege. The world needs to be ending, actually splitting down the middle with entire continents falling into the gap.
They need a distraction, and a one woman show isn’t enough to bring an end to this. You need backup, you need cavalry. And they’ll be here before you know it. You just hope that they have enough sense to keep Slade distracted until they arrive. 
You can see the unadulterated betrayal burning in Dawn and Donna’s eyes as they look at you. And you can’t really bring yourself to blame them. And you know that their forgiveness and trust isn’t something you’ll be able to win back, but that implies that you believe there’s even a chance of you keeping your spot on the team after this little stunt.
They’ll ship you off to god knows where and you’ll be punished for what you’ve done. Bruce always believed you were a threat, and that’s exactly what you became. You played right into his hands.
But maybe blowing the whistle on your own setup will get you a little bit of leniency when it comes to the jury of your peers. If you’re lucky enough for it to even get that far.
You take a few careful steps to get to the end of the railing and to the top of the stairs, walking halfway down the stairs as quietly as possible.
You can feel Hank trailing your movements, and you send a pleading glance his way so that he doesn’t make this worse for any of you. Because you’re just about to get the drop on Slade when you hear an explosion sounding from a few rooms over. And you know that backup has arrived, and Deathstroke knows it too.
“You little bitch.” He sneers as he turns to face you, and doesn’t hesitate to fire off a shot as soon as he has his eyes trained on you. And you go to duck out of the way, diving to your left, but you’re not quick enough to avoid the shot. It lodges in your abdomen, just a few centimeters shy of your hip.
And that seems to be enough to have everyone else flipping into action. Dick seems to break free from his binds at an entirely impressive speed, as does Hank, and you knew in your gut that they were never really as incapacitated as they made it seem. They just needed to bide some time. Slade would’ve slipped up at one point or another.
But, unlike Hank, Dick doesn’t stop to entertain his time with taking out Slade Wilson. He’s racing up the steps to get to wear you lay, kneeling beside you without a second thought. His one hand moves to apply pressure to the wound while the other tries to prop you up.
“Can you hear me?” He asks, tapping lightly on your cheek in the hopes that it’ll get you to open your eyes. He can see the rise and fall of your chest, he knows you’re still in there. But he doesn’t know what level of consciousness you’re currently living in.
He can hear your shallow breaths, but he still hasn’t gotten any kind of response. And it’s unsettling to say the least.
“You gotta open your eyes for me, sweetheart.” He begs, tapping on your cheek lightly, blood smearing across your cheek in the process, to hopefully see some kind of movement behind your eyelids. “Just open your eyes.”
His attention is pulled from you momentarily at the sound of a door being kicked in, and as he lifts his head he finds that he’s never been happier to see Bruce than in this moment. Not when you’re lying in his arms like this.
“It’s gonna be okay.” He whispers, shifting you a little closer to where your head is resting against his shoulder. “Everything is gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”
He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, pressing a little harder on the wound as he hears footsteps approaching the two of you.
“You’re gonna be fine.”
— — —
The Wayne kitchen is empty as the sun rises in the early morning sky. You’re pouring yourself a cup of coffee as you hear footsteps over your shoulder coming from the back door. You don’t have to look to know who it is.
“When I said keep an eye on him this isn’t what I meant.” He’s unamused, and you know an unexpected visit from the Red Hood would probably scare anyone else. But you’re more than used to his teenaged temper tantrums.
“You said you wanted him distracted.” You say, turning with your coffee mug just about poised to your smirking lips. “Mission accomplished.”
“You’re disgusting.” He grumbles as he grabs the bottle of orange juice out of the fridge. And you look at him with a barely contained laugh before taking your first sip of coffee. Noting the fact that he decided his little disguise wasn’t necessary at this hour in the house he’s grown up in. Finding him sans his red mask and bat plastered armor plating. His only added means of disguise being a black leather jacket and baseball cap over a tshirt and a pair of ripped jeans.
It’s nice to see the glimpses of the kid you’ve always known, despite the newly acquired tough exterior. Because, whether he’ll admit it or not, this is still his home. The roof that Bruce gave him, and the life that he has acquired is so deeply etched into every single brick of the manor. And he fits right into it like he always has. Like that final piece fitting perfectly in the middle of the puzzle.
You don’t know what’s been going on with him lately, he’s been acting so differently. Hell, he’s been hanging around Jonathan Crane by choice, that’s not exactly something someone in their right mind would do.
“Did you not trust me enough to get the job done?” You ask, eyeing him over the rim of your coffee mug as he grabs himself a glass from one of the cupboards. He should know the quality of your work better than that. He knows you never leave a mission unfinished, and you’d never dare leave him in the lurch. You’d never want to be the one responsible for something bad happening to Jason. Not again.
“You have a habit of getting lost when Dick is around. He clouds your brain.” Much like the drug coursing its way through Jason’s veins at this very second. Except Dick doesn’t make you fearless, he just lulls you into the security of false ideals. He has the uncanny ability of making you believe that the future isn’t such a hopeless place. And the comfort buried within that notion borders on inhumane.
How can one thing bring such peace to someone’s heart? And how are you meant to believe that you are deserving of such peace? After everything you’ve done you don’t think there’s any level of redemption that will make you deserving of the beauty that is meant to unfold in Dick’s future.
And this just might be the last straw before he cuts you loose for good. And you can’t really blame him if it is.
“Luckily for us, you have the same effect on him.” He says, placing his glass down on the island as he looks at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so lovesick, I mean he walks around every night with his love for you plastered across his chest.”
Yeah, that definitely was a staggering moment when you saw his new suit for the first time. The first time you ever came face to face with Nightwing and saw your tattoo imprinted in blue on his chest. It was jarring, it was also stupid. But the gesture was sweet, carrying a piece of you with him even though you weren’t actually around. Another reminder of the many times you’ve left him alone.
“Not that you’re much better at the moment.” He says, gesturing at your current attire. And you try to fight the heat rising to your cheeks, to no avail, as you realize that you’ve been standing around in nothing but Dick’s black t-shirt this whole time. Not that you have anything to be ashamed of.
“Oh, cry me a river.” You jest, putting your mug down on the counter as you make your way closer to the island. “You can throw stones once you stop hiding out and letting your soulmate believe that you’re six feet deep.”
“I’m not here for sisterly advice.” He says, a sharpness to his tone that has you rolling your eyes as your elbows rest on the countertop. “I just want to make sure you remember why you’re here.”
And that seems to be enough for him. A warning that is thinly veiled as a reminder. Everything is littered in threats these days, and you thought you were used to that. But it’s still strange to see Jason be someone other than Jason. And you still don’t understand how he can be someone so drastically different from the kid you knew.
The statement seems to suffice as he walks back out the back door, eyes trained on you until he makes it to the doorway. Walking right out the door with the glass of orange juice still in hand and closing it with a quiet click.
Your scoff echoes the click, and you roll your eyes as you turn to grab your coffee mug off the counter.
“I just want to make sure you remember why you’re here.” You mock, rolling your eyes once more as you walk into the living room. Your eyes fall on the grandfather clock on the back wall, and soon your feet take you in its direction.
You remember exactly why you’re here. You don’t need any reminding.
— — —
Getting back to Titans tower is nothing less than a blur. He doesn’t remember how they got there, he doesn’t remember you in his arms. All he remembers is setting you down on a bed in the infirmary and watching as the doctors immediately get to work on saving your life. And he doesn’t have to turn to feel Bruce’s disapproving stare on his back, but he doesn’t really care at this particular moment.
Not when you haven’t opened your eyes this entire time. Not when your breathing has become increasingly more shallow with each passing minute.
He doesn’t need any of Bruce’s commentary or his expectations. None of that matters, not as long as you’re lying in that bed.
He remembers the dirty looks the rest of the team was sending you both. They couldn’t really understand why he still cared about you when you’ve just put them all up a creek without a paddle. But he can’t help it, he doesn’t really know why he still cares either.
But he knows that you’ve been screaming for help this whole time. That you’ve been fed up and that they’ve practically been leading you to this cliff and cheering for you to swan dive off it.
So, yes, you sold them out. You lured them into the lair of a man who has wanted Dick dead for as long as he’s known he existed. But you also called in the cavalry. You called for help and you saved their asses. That has to count for something. It has to redeem you in some capacity, otherwise what’s the point.
His eyes are glued to you on the bed as the team works around you. And he watches as they cut off your shirt to get a better look at the wound. And that’s when every thought of your redemption leaves his brain. Because he catches sight of the tattoo on your hip, the bird that matches the one on his arm.
And, all of a sudden, it’s like he doesn’t even know you anymore.
— — —
You find your way back to Dick’s bedroom quite easily. Like you’ve walked the path a million times before with two equally full mugs of coffee in hand as you make it to the bedside table. And you go through the same motions as you have time and time before. You place the mugs down on the table and take a few seconds to get a nice look at Dick’s sleeping face. Because what other chance will you have to see him so peaceful.
And then, with a little too much joy, you climb back onto the bed and swing one leg over his hips and lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. And then another because then he finally starts to stir, and then you press a kiss to the tip of his nose. And then his eyes are blearily opened, barely even open at all. But you can’t fight the smile on your face at the knowledge that you’re the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. Not that you’re going to let yourself get used to it.
“Morning.” He says, and you smile down at him.
“Morning.” You lean down and press a quick kiss to his lips before leaning back to put a bit of distance between the two of you. “I brought you coffee.”
“You always do.” He blindly reaches out towards the bedside table, and his fingers wrap around the handle. He sits up a little bit, and brings the mug to his lips. Once he puts it down he pushes himself up on his elbows and presses yet another kiss to your lips. “Good morning.” 
“You said that already.” You say, smile on your face as you look at him. And you almost wish it didn’t have to end, but you can’t let him get used to it either. That’s too dangerous, too risky. It’d be too sweet, too tempting. 
“Well, it is a good morning. You’re still here.” He grins at you, one of those blatantly flirtatious things that he knows you’ll pretend not to buy. You’ll pretend it annoys you but some days it feels like you live and die by that damn smile. And you do realize how pathetic that sounds.
“You know I can’t stay.” This is a well rehearsed dance by now, he knows what’s going to happen next. You get him a cup of coffee. You crawl back into bed with him and bask in those last few minutes of his presence. You steal a few more kisses before you’re climbing back out the window and heading off to god knows where.
“You could.” He says, and you hum as he leans just the least bit closer. “You just won’t.”
And he seems like he’s trying to convince you, even though you both know it’s pointless.
“And there’s good reason for that. Can you imagine what would happen if Hank walked in on us? Or, god forbid, Dawn got a little nosy and came barging in? She’d have your head on a spike.” You say, climbing back off the bed and walking over to the puddle of clothing on the floor. “Or mine.” You mutter.
“Like you care what Dawn thinks.” He muses, smirking as he watches you pull your jeans back on.
“But you do.” You counter, eyeing him with a knowing glance as you reach down to pick up your sweater. “And you’ve made something pretty great with these people, and I don’t want to ruin that.”
“You wouldn’t ruin it.”
“I ruined it a long time ago.” And that seems to be enough to shut him up, because you say it with such certainty that there is no arguing this statement of fact. You screwed it all up, and there is no coming back from that. There never has been.
You pull your sweater over your head and stuff your feet back into your boots, and nothing passes between the both of you but comfortable silence for a few seconds.
“Is there ever going to be a time where you don’t rush out the window the next morning?” He asks, and it stops you in your tracks as you’re pushing his window up.
You walk back over to the bed, lean down and take his face in your hands as you press one last kiss to his lips.
“Someday.” And you stay there for a few more seconds before your hands slip from his face and you’re walking back towards the window.
— — —
The beeping of the heart monitor is the first thing you take note of when you wake up. Then the soreness in your stomach. And then, a few seconds later, you notice that someone has your hand in theirs. You feel lips press against the back of your hand, and you just about freeze in your spot.You go to move your hand away from this person, tugging slightly only to feel something digging into your wrist. And that’s what brings you to finally open your eyes.
And you can’t say you’re surprised about the handcuffs attached to the side handles of the bed. You’d be more surprised if they’d left you untethered.
The thing that has you thrown for a loop is the fact that there’s anyone waiting vigil at your bedside. But it shouldn’t be surprising. Not when you get a good look at the brown eyes staring back at you.
“Hey.” You say, but it’s drier than anything you’ve ever heard in your life. Your free hand reaches towards your throat only to come in contact with a hard plastic collar. Probably a power dampener, just like the cuffs on your wrist.
“Hey. He says, thumb rubbing across the back of your hand. “You, uh,” He sniffs and rubs the back of his free hand under his nose as he looks at you. “You were out for a long time. How are you feeling?”
Sore. You’re feeling sore. Anyone with half a brain could take a stab at that answer. But that’s not really the elephant in the room here. Not a one of them cares about how you’re feeling. Not in this room, and not just down the hall where they’re all figuring out what to do with you.
“That’s not what you want to ask me.” Nothing needs to be said. You know. You know Dick Grayson well enough to know that if he carried you all the way back here that he wasn’t going to leave the room while they operated. Not today. Not under these circumstances.
You know that they cut you out of your suit, you know they stuck you in a flimsy paper gown and that your hip bone was on full display. And there’s no way he didn’t see it. He saw the thing you’ve been diligently hiding for the last four years.
He doesn’t care about how you’re feeling, after tonight none of them should. He cares about how you could possibly keep this from him. He wants to know how you could just stand by and watch him go down every wrong road when the answer to his question was right next door.
He wants to know how you could stomach that, how you could stomach him making a fool of himself with failure after failure. How you could watch him with Dawn, even though that has always been on borrowed time. When you know who your soulmate is you’ll go back to them, even if you need a break sometimes.
Maybe that’s why he went after Dawn in the first place. He knew that each second they spent together was sand spilling through an hourglass. It’d be over before it ever really began. There was so no getting attached. So, if the right person came along there would be no real consequence to the cut and run. It was easier that way.
But he could’ve saved himself a lot of wasted time if you’d just been honest all those years ago. So, what kind of person does that make you if you were willingly putting the both of you through hell? Masochism doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Have you known this whole time?”
“Since you showed me.” But what were you supposed to do? Make that entire moment even more awkward than it already was? Pull up your shirt, and pull down the waistband of your pants to show him the same symbol inked into your skin? Try and turn this into some big moment of realization where his teenaged, soulmate addled brain would feel like this was right because the universe deems it so?
It didn’t seem like the right move then, it still doesn’t seem like the right move now. But you’re beyond having options at this point. Everything is royally screwed, and you made it that way. Facing the music is the only choice you have left.
“That was four years ago. You could’ve told me at any point, why haven’t you?” He asks, and you have to hold back a scoff at the inanity of the question.
“Because what good would that have done? You were always chasing somebody else, and then you were with Dawn and that lasted longer than anyone expected it to. I just figured it’d be better to let you figure your stuff out on your own before I dropped the bomb that you’re stuck with me.”
And, sure, maybe none of those relationships would’ve happened had you just been up front from the get go. But it’s scary to put your heart on the line, especially when the real prospect of forever is looming over your head at the young age of sixteen. It’s terrifying to take a chance on that, and you just weren’t willing to risk it just yet.
“Remember back then when you told me you were scared? How you were worried that maybe they wouldn’t want you?” You ask, and he nods, albeit belatedly, which feels like enough breathing room to continue. “Well, I was scared too.”
And he seems to get it. He has to get it, it’d be a little hypocritical if he didn’t. And it seems like neither of you know what else to say because your voices are replaced by the beeping of your heart monitor and the ticking of the clock.
Because this situation feels like it needs to be handled with kid gloves, but neither of you seem to possess the gentle nature required to truly dissect the shitshow clogging up the air between you. And maybe that nature will miraculously come to you if you just sit here long enough, but you don’t have enough faith in the universe to believe this can end any other way than shitty.
“Do you?” He asks, and you startle at the sound of his voice as you figured that the both of you were still floundering for the next right thing to say.
“Do I what?” And you’d expect some level of timidness to seep through his stare, but it doesn’t. Everything about him in this moment is backed with the most quiet confidence. The kind of confidence you’ve always been in awe of. 
“Do you want me?” And what kind of question is that? A redundant one. The kind that he should already know the answer to. How, after all these years, can he think that there is any other possibility. Why would you want anyone else?
You’re not like him. Not at all. You haven’t been running around trying to push off meeting your soulmate by sticking your tongue down other people’s throats. You’ve always wanted Dick Grayson. You’ve just never really known how it could be possible. 
And right now, with the hot mess of your own creation that you’ve just submerged everybody knee deep in, it doesn’t feel like the right time to take a real worthwhile shot at any kind of romance. Especially not one that you don’t want to screw up.
And as you turn to look at him, as you go to try and say something, anything, you notice something just beyond him out in the hall beyond the glass. You spot Bruce lurking at the end of the hall. Knowing that he’s trying not to intrude on whatever moment the two of you are having. Solely because he knows that it’ll be the last one you two have before you’re behind bars for probably the foreseeable future, if not the rest of your life.
At least he can extend you that courtesy. But right now you don’t really want courtesy. You need an out. And this is the perfect opportunity.
“I think someone’s looking for you.” He turns over his shoulder and there isn’t another word that needs to be spoken. Not between the two of you. Not between him and Bruce. He’s lived with the man long enough to know what the look means. Your window is coming to a close. Bruce has come to seal your fate.
“I’ll be right back.” He says, standing slowly and pulling his hand from your grasp. But leaving something in your palm that you only take a look at once he’s made his way into the hall with the door properly shut behind him. And you bite back a grin at the sight of the lock pick that he’d left for you. Because he had no intention of playing any part in getting you sent away to god knows where.
And you hesitate only a few seconds as you watch Dick walk over to Bruce, going on the other side of him so that Dick can keep you in sight over Bruce’s shoulder. And his eyes flick back to you after a few seconds as he watches you pick the lock on the handcuffs keeping you tethered to the bed.
And then you’re up off the bed, grabbing a hoodie from the bedside table and slipping it on in place of the paper gown they’d dressed you in. And then you’re out the window, but not before turning back to Dick and sending one last wave in his direction.
— — —
The manor feels hollow in the hour after you left. It doesn’t matter that everyone is up and already starting their day. It doesn’t matter that the house is bubbling with life, it just matters that his good mood went out the window.
He stops his path to the kitchen for his second cup of coffee when he hears voices from just beyond the doorway and decides that he really isn’t up for small talk at this early hour of the morning.
So he takes a last minute left turn and makes a beeline for the grandfather clock in the back of the room. He opens the glass panel and moves the hands of the clock just so that everything clicks into place and he can descend to his cave once more for half a stab at solitude.
It gives him a better chance at solving this Red Hood/Jonathan Crane issue, besides he’s not all that ready to deal with Dawn and her disapproving stare either.
Because there’s no doubt in his mind that she knows. Of course she knows. And there won’t be a shadow of a doubt in her mind. No matter what he might say or do to try and prove her point to the contrary.
His footfalls echo with each step further into the basement. And the sound shouldn’t be as comforting as it is. But he can’t help the fact that solitude, that the rarely present reprieve of silence, is a wonderful commodity to come by. He is a product of his upbringing, despite how much he tries not to be.
He plops down into the rolling chair by the computer and logs into the security feed. Rewinding to last night outside his window as you crept your way into his home. And he can’t help but chuckle at the sight of you sliding over the sill and touching down on the floor.
It’s not the craziest of lengths the two of you have gone to for each other. And he follows along to the early morning hours, switching to the footage from the kitchen that morning.
And he should be a smart enough man to know when he’s being played. And two encounters within twenty four hours is a rarity in your relationship. And he should’ve known better. It should’ve taken less than the sight of Jason Todd in his kitchen, acting like he owns the place, to let him know that he’s just a pawn in their game.
He tracks your movements through the rest of the morning, expecting that you’d return right back to his bedroom. But any ounce of hope and faith he had in you drained at the sight of you standing in front of the grandfather clock and making your way into the batcave.  
“Shit.” He mutters, pushing away from the desk as he prays to all that is good in this world that Dawn is not right about your motives. He twists in his chair in an attempt to find any evidence of your presence down here. And he doesn’t find it, he doesn’t know where you’d leave a trace. You wouldn’t be foolish enough to let him know you’d been down here, the fact that the security footage is intact is a miracle in and of itself. You don’t leave those mistakes.
Which means this can’t be a mistake. If you’d been down here, and you didn’t want it being known, you would have wiped the footage yourself. You would’ve made sure that it was like you were never here. Which means there has to be something down here, he just has to be missing it. You have to have pulled the wool over his eyes just enough that it’s not easy for him. You would want to leave him a challenge.
And that’s when he notices it. His conspiracy board is turned the other way. And that’s the ticket. He rises from his chair and marks the few feet from him and the board. He spins it around to find something added to his map of Gotham. A warehouse near the water that has been abandoned for ages is circled in red marker. With a little note scrawled just above it and to the right:
Don’t say I never did anything for you babe.
And then you’d drawn a bird underneath the message. One just like the one on his arm. The one on your hip. The very same one that is emblazoned across his chest every single night.
And it’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s a clue. A lead and a means to an end. And you’re plotting for the end of a madman’s rule. And you’ve just given him the means to make it happen.
— — —
“Leaving already?” You look over your shoulder to find him staring up at you. And you bite back a smile at the look on his face. Like he wishes you were both still sleeping, and, for once, he could wake up with you in his arms while the sun is already shining high in the sky.
And it’s a nice idea. A lovely little pipe dream. The idea that one of these days the two of you could commiserate over your morning cups of coffee. And you could talk about what your days are going to look like, and help him get ready for the work day. Fiddle with his tie before he heads to the precinct. And he could get a little handsy in the kitchen, just to get a laugh out of you.
It could be beautiful. Like a long overdue dream. Too bad you’re already awake.
“I think it’s better for both of us if Bruce doesn’t know I was here.” Because then it’d get back to Selina, and then you’d be on the receiving end of that disapproving look. And you really don’t need anymore of that. Not with the day you’ve had.
She thinks this whole little thing of yours is a little silly. The guy is your soulmate for goodness sake. The universe clearly has every intention of the two of you ending up together, yet you still manage to keep him at an arm's length except for on the nights when you could really use a little company. It’s definitely the pot calling the kettle black, but would she really be Selina if she fessed up to her own feelings?
“Bruce is in Vienna.” And he has the nerve to be smug about the way you freeze. At the fact that he’s just poked a hole through your, admittedly, already very thin excuse and has left you to scramble for something else to say. Aside from the fact that you could actually use the front door tonight instead of his bedroom window.
“Selina is expecting me.” You try, but he just raises an eyebrow waiting for you to let go of this futile attempt to skirt around the real reason you’re trying to make a quick exit. With a huff you say, “You’re infuriating, you know that.”
You punctuate your words with a little shove to his chest, and as you’re going to retrieve your hand he grabs hold of it.
“Only when it comes to you, babe.” He says, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before holding it against his chest. Keeping it in place so you can feel his heart beating beneath your skin.
And it’s like the wind is knocked out of you for a moment. Because this here feels far more intimate than any other moment you two have shared. Just the two of you in the quiet of a bedroom in the middle of the night with your fingers intertwined.
It’s juvenile to be giddy over holding someone’s hand, but you never had the opportunity to appreciate those little simple joys. All you know is you need to put the kibosh on it right now. Lest you let yourself get carried away.
“You wanna tell me why you’re always so eager to slip away?” He asks, appraising you with a careful eye as he squeezes your hand just slightly. The only sound passing between the both of you is the hum of the air conditioner.
“Maybe I like the chase.” And a part of you does. Because this, this game of cat and mouse is comfortable. It’s familiar. You’d learned how to play it from the very best. And you don’t really know what you’re supposed to do when it stops feeling like a game.
So you refuse to let yourself let it get that far.
“You and I both know that looking over your shoulder gets exhausting after a while.” You know it well. You’ve been running for the past four years, evading the laser focused eyes of the League. And sometimes you wish things were simple enough that you could just stop. “And one of these days sneaking around isn’t going to be all that fulfilling anymore.”
“Sorry.” He has no idea how sorry you are. He has no idea how much you wish this could be easier. That you could make this easier. He’s been through enough, the least he deserves is a simpler love story.
You’ve thought about it before. How the universe had the gall to give Dick Grayson, a covert romantic, a soulmate who turns and runs at the first hint of something real. How they’ve trapped him in this eternal chase for even half a chance of getting anything close to what he actually wants from you. A future.
On many nights like this you’ve let your mind wander to a reality where Dick Grayson was given a more fitting soulmate. When his arm is wrapped around your waist and his chin is resting atop your head you let yourself dream of a world where the wasteful idea of loving you never would’ve crossed his mind.
And you can’t figure a way past the joy that settles in your heart at the vision of him getting everything he’s ever wanted. A family with Kori, with a few half alien children to raise. Or a beautiful life with Dawn, the stuff he dreamed up when the two of you were kids. The endless stories he’d thought up when the two of them were together, each and every last one of them playing on an endlessly suffocating loop in your brain.
And it weighs you down. Every part of it. Because you know you can’t give him any of that, you’re not sure you want any of that. The only thing you know that you want is for him to be happy. You’re just not sure if you’re capable of being the cause of it.
“I’m sorry too.” He says, and that feels like the end of it. At least it’s what you feel should be the end of it. Before he really can ask anything else. Before he can dig any deeper. He’s a detective, it's in his nature.
You stand from the bed and slip your feet into your shoes and pull your dress back on. You walk over to the window and grab your jacket hanging from the back of the chair right by it.
“Is there ever going to be a time when I don’t wake up to you climbing out the window?” He asks, and you shake your head with a smirk as you walk back over towards the bed. And you lean down for a fraction of a second to press a kiss to his lips.
“Someday.” You say, fully committing to playing coy as you take a few steps back towards his bedroom door.
— — —
The warehouse is bustling with activity when they show up. Shipments are being moved, product is being made. Crane is inside. He knows that much for a fact. And, if he knows anything at all, he knows that you’re in there too.
He’s counting on that. He’s counting on your clue being legitimate. He’s counting on being able to get the both of you out of there. Bringing you and Jason home and getting Crane back behind bars where he belongs. Where he can’t hurt anyone ever again.
Especially not the people Dick cares about.
The team has already been briefed on the game plan, the main aspect of it being that they make sure to apprehend both you and Jason away from Crane. Because he has plans for the two of you. And they don’t involve sending either of you to Arkham with Crane.
It took a bit of convincing to get the team to come as his backup. He at least had enough common sense to not go it alone. But Dawn was less than thrilled about where he got this not so anonymous tip.
He could tell by the way her eyes bored into the back of his head. And he was met with nothing but a disapproving shake of the head when he decided to bite the bullet and just look at her.
But it doesn’t really matter what her opinion on the subject is because this is a good lead. And it’s an opportunity to kill three birds with one stone. It’s an opportunity to take down Gotham’s current antagonizers in one fell swoop. It’s ingenious.
She’s just going to have to trust his gut feeling that you aren’t going to let him down.
And judging by the looks of the warehouse he knows that you haven’t. Because everything would be very different if this were some sort of trap. It’d be quiet, possibly empty. The entire operation would’ve already been moved elsewhere.
Besides, he knows you well enough to know that there are plenty of levels you’d stoop to but willingly working side by side with Jonathan Crane is not one of them. And you’d pretty much die if it meant you saved Jason Todd’s skin. 
And you very well might after all of this. 
If Crane knew you betrayed him, well the man isn’t exactly the type to forgive and forget. Especially not when he’s still grieving the knife in his back.
But he can’t let himself be too worried about that. He has to rely on the fact that you’re more than capable of handling yourself in the face of danger. Especially in the face of psychopaths with a grudge.
So they go in, and they keep to the dark corners where the shadows are the only things left to keep you company. And he can hear voices, he can see product being moved across the warehouse. And he knows now more than ever that they need to put a stop to this tonight.
If they do nothing there will be too much out there for them to be able to combat it on the streets. Gotham will get ten times worse, and there’s not enough of them to realistically be able to handle a bunch of fearless idiots ready and willing to test the limits of mortality. Gotham can’t afford to get more dangerous.
“Does anybody have eyes on Crane?” He asks, voice low as he creeps closer to the center of all the activity.
“I do.” He hears Kori’s voice come down the line.
“And Jason?” He’s hoping that Jason isn’t going to be his problem, that maybe for once he’ll learn to stay out of something that doesn’t concern him. Something he never should’ve concerned himself with in the first place.
“I think he’s the least of our problems.” That’s Dawn. “He’s busy with your girlfriend.” And he can hear the judgment through the comms unit in his ear. And, god, she really needs to learn to pick her moments better.
“Not the time.” He grumbles as he creeps all the more closer to the machines.
With his eyes on the prize, he figures now is as good a time as any to get this over with. God, for once he’s really hoping this doesn’t end in a fight. He tightens his hold on his escrima sticks anyway because he knows better.
“On my go.”
— — —
Most missions involve donning a suit of some kind. But they’re usually not quite so black tie. It’s not a full tuxedo to go prancing around in to try and scope out this shitty new installation at a Gotham art museum.
The only good thing about the place is the collection of jewels a few floors below. And there was an anonymous tip that they felt someone had been casing the place. And it’s safe to say that Bruce had zero doubts about who that cat burglar could be.
And he brought Dick along for the ride because Selina’s newest protege was someone that Dick was very familiar with handling. And he can’t deny that he might’ve, you know there’s really only the slightest of possibilities, that he jumped at the chance to go on this mission.
He jumped at the chance to be in the same room as you.
It’d been a little too long since the last time you came through his window, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to see you again.
Not that he’d ever be stupid enough to tell Bruce that. The man was still the kind to ignore the tattoo on his ribs just because it made life so much harder. At least he thought it did. He thought it added in yet another complication to an already overcomplicated livelihood. Clearly the two had differing logics on the merit of love in one’s life.
But, luckily enough for Bruce, at least he and his soulmate are on the same page. They have different views of what life should look like and their ideas of what is right. More specifically they differ in the ways they’re willing to achieve their own imagining of right. But at least they both agree they’re better off without each other.
Dick just hopes that there will be a day when the two of you finally see eye to eye on the subject. And one of these days it won’t just be about the stolen moments in crowded rooms. Or secret moments under the cover of darkness, and his bed sheets, that keep him up at night. He wants more than that. He’s been engineered to want more. He can’t help it.
And he doesn’t think that has to be a bad thing. He just wishes he could understand why you do. And he means really understand.
He gets that the lives you lead aren’t exactly the simplest and the fact that you fall on opposite sides of a moral line complicates things a bit. But he also knows you well enough to know that none of this has to do with a desire to hurt people. Or a desire to grow old and rich.
It’s a bit of a fuck you to the people you thought you could trust and everything they tried to box you into being.
He has respect for your sentiments. He understands that you were more than a little screwed over and you feel like you could never possibly belong on this team again because they never really tried to make it seem like you did.
He knows all of that. He knows that the past is riddled with a million different reasons for you to decide that this isn’t right. That the universe got it wrong and there’s no way the two of you can work. But the two of you do work. Even if you wish you didn’t.
And even if you don’t show up tonight, even if their little tip was wrong and Selina Kyle and her protege are nowhere in sight it won’t be an entirely wasted night.
As much as he doesn’t pride himself on it, he is Bruce Wayne’s son and that does attract a certain level of attention at parties from the women in attendance. It won’t all be for not, even if it would just be temporarily taking his mind off you.
It’s not really the healthiest option, but he’s used to the example that has been set for him. And he could use a distraction in spades.
But, tonight, he thinks that distraction will come in the form of a drink. In a glass of scotch that will be generously refilled as the night goes on. He leans against the bar, elbows on the countertop, as he waits for his drink. Only to be interrupted by a voice he’s been dreaming of for months.
“What’s got you so down, handsome?” He turns to look over his shoulder to find you standing just a few feet away down at the other end of the bar. A smirk on red painted lips as you look at him, giving him a quick once over as you take a sip of your martini.
“Who said I’m down?” He asks, taking the glass off the counter as he drops a tip for the bartender.
“Well, I should hope that a frown as sour as that doesn’t frequent such a pretty face.” You say, a coy smile perfectly in place as you take a step towards him with your martini glass long forgotten. “But I think I know just the thing to put you in a better mood.”
“And what would that be?” He asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself.
“A dance.” You extend your hand, a perfectly tamed smile on your face as though you’re prepared for a possible rejection. But he knows you know that isn’t coming.
Like he’d ever say no to you.
He takes your hand and lets you escort him to the floor as the band plays a slower tune. Your left hand skates up his arm to rest on his shoulder as your right finds itself at home clasped in his hand.
It’s a moment he’s imagined countless times just in a slightly different setting. He imagined it in a real ballroom with you in a white dress. And, naively, he hopes that one day he’ll actually be able to see it.
“I thought I might find you here tonight.” He says, voice low so as not to disturb the moment.
“That’s quite the compliment coming from a fellow art connoisseur.” Your lips curl up despite yourself as your eyes meet his.
“Well, I know how much you like shiny things.” Your eyes lose their shine for a brief moment and your smile loses some of its smugness.
“And if I were to tell you I’ve changed my ways?” Your grip on his hand grows the least bit tighter, but it’s a show of your hand.
“I wouldn’t believe you.”
You smirk and he finds himself shaking his head with the teeniest of smiles as he briefly pulls his gaze from you.
He’s lost track of Bruce’s presence at the party, and he knows that means he’s running out of time.
“The word on the street is the Wayne boy has grown insatiable these past few months.”
“You know better than to believe the grapevine.” He says, but he also knows you know him well enough to know better. You also know that he’s usually more careful about not getting caught.
You’d undoubtedly seen the paparazzi photos. You’d seen the different girls on his arm after many trips to the local clubs. He’s always been a book that only you seem to know how to decipher.
And you can’t be mad at him about this. It’s his life, his decisions. Sure, you’re going to make sure he gets tested before the next time you come through the window. But that’s just a good sexual health practice.
The two of you fall into a companionable silence as the band drags on. You inch just the least bit closer to him as your arms come to wrap around his neck. Your cheek is pressed to his shoulder as the two of you sway.
And you really don’t want it to end. You wish it could last forever. But the clock is running down and you have an alley to get to.
The moment is broken by the sudden commotion from a few floors below. It brings everyone to the stop, with violins screeching to a crescendo. And your dance is over before you know it.
“Don’t worry babe.” You whisper, your lips brushing his ear. “You’ll see me soon.”
Your hands slide down from his shoulders until you’re grasping his wrists and pushing his hands from your waist.
You take a step away and your fingers seem to linger against the back of his hand for a moment too long before you put any effort into putting some real distance between the two of you.
And then you’re slipping into the ever growing crowd as Bruce’s voice comes through the comms unit in his ear. But he stands there as orders come down the line as he watches you until he physically can’t anymore. Until you’re gone.
— — —
The only bad thing about your current captivity is the incessant knocking from a few feet away. It’s from the cell right next to you in a pattern that will probably echo in your sleep. Glass walls for these damn cells was a real design failure.
It can’t realistically be that thick. You could probably break through. And, if you did, the first thing you’d do is kill your cellmate. Because, god, as much as you may love him, he can be so damn annoying.
“For the love of God will you stop that?” Finally, the knocking stops. And you breathe in a sigh of relief at the silence. Only for it to start back up a few seconds later. “Seriously?”
You push yourself off the cot that has been attached to the wall and walk towards the nearest pane of glass. The one that connects your cell to Jason’s. The little shit has the nerve to look at you like he has no idea what’s got you so upset. His arm is raised, hand poised to bang on the glass once more, and if looks could kill he’d be six feet under by now. But, sadly, that’s not really an option in your arsenal.
“It’s bad enough we’re stuck in here, the last thing we need is you and your damn knocking making it worse.” He levels you with a glare, which you don’t even bother acknowledging. In fact, you honestly have every intention of ignoring it until he decides that he actually wants to put the final nail in the coffin.
“I wish you’d stop acting like you’re mad we got caught.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest as you watch him. And he seems to momentarily give up, trying to think better of the moment. He tries to come to the conclusion that right now, while that chemical concoction is still playing tricks on his brain, is not the right time for this conversation. But he clearly thinks better of it because he decides to barrel on anyway.
“I don’t have to. I already know that you did this. You disobeyed orders, you told Dick. You broke the rules.” And that’d all be so much more compelling if you actually gave a shit. “You know, Crane always said that you weren’t really in this. He said you were just biding your time until you could get him out of the way. I should’ve known he was right.”
“He was.” You say, and he seems almost a little taken aback that you actually fessed up. “You think I really wanted anything to do with Jonathan Crane? I did this for you, Jason. I did it because you have no idea what the hell you want. You’re fine to just go around acting like a bullheaded idiot without any care for the consequences. And if I hadn’t stepped in you would’ve gotten yourself killed. Again.”
And that seems to be the right thing to make him go quiet. He suddenly can’t meet your eye, and it has something slimily familiar curling in your stomach. And then you feel the quiet rush of rage in your bones.
“That was the plan all along, wasn’t it?” You don’t expect an answer. “That’s why you started taking the fear drug. That’s why you became Crane’s bitch. You don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do with yourself, so the least you can do is make yourself useful. And if that risk comes at cost, then so be it.”
Because no one would miss him, right? You’re so damn tired of his whole ‘no one gives a shit about me’ routine. Because it’s just not true, and you’re sure he can’t see it. You’re sure that he truly believes that rhetoric. But you just can’t take it anymore because if his stupidity got him into yet another situation that had him dragged away from you you just might have to kill him yourself.
“You’re writing your own death sentence.” You say, moving closer to the glass until there’s barely an inch of space between your body and the surface. “Is that what you were going for?” You ask, voice raising a few levels as you slam an open hand against the divide.
In the midst of your anger you didn’t hear the descending footsteps as Dick, Dawn, Hank, and Kori made their way into the cave. They’d stopped right at the foot of the stairs as they watched you. Yet they don’t seem to do anything to step in.
“The kids are fighting.” Hank mutters, nudging Dick in the side as he watches the two of you like it’s a tennis match. It’s only when your hand meets the class that he decides to do anything.
“That’s enough.” Dick says, watching as your heads whip in his direction. “Back to your corners. Both of you.” He says that last bit with a pointed look your way, and you roll your eyes but you listen as you take a few steps back until your knees bump the cot.
Jason takes a little longer to cooperate, and Dick just stands at the foot of the stairs with his arms crossed until Jason takes a few steps away from the wall. Then, and only then, does he take the last few steps into the cave as he places a case file down on the desk.
Everyone else is a little hesitant, well, except for Hank. He doesn’t even bother to spare a glance in Jason’s direction as he walks over to your cell. You’re slightly shocked at the lack of coldness in his body language. Although you’d never admit it out loud.
You have always felt like Hank didn’t hold your choices against you, not in the same way his girlfriend did. You’re not sure if they’re even together anymore. That’s one relationship that even the universe couldn’t keep intact.
Dawn makes herself at home in one of the spinny chairs as Kori keeps a cautious eye on Jason. She keeps a steady gaze as he leans against the wall like a petulant child on the verge of a tantrum.
“What’s wrong with him?” She asks, skepticism clear in her tone. Though, if you didn’t know any better, it could even border on concern. But you knew the Titans were fresh out of that when it came to Jason.
“He’s detoxing.” You say, head leaned back against the wall as you stare at the agonizingly blue ceiling of your cell. “It makes him a little bitchy.”
“A little?” Hank mutters under his breath, and you shoot a small smirk his way as you tilt your head just slightly to the left.
It feels a little like old times, you know sans the cell. It’s nice. As much as you hate to admit it, it really is nice. And you kind of don’t want to let it go. But it never really belonged to you to begin with.
“Crane is nicely settling back into his cell at Arkham.” Dick says as he takes a few steps closer to the cells. “Barbara has been kind enough to let us decide what to do with the two of you.”
You already know that whatever he has in mind isn’t going to be that bad. Besides, you’ve already cooperated. They wouldn’t have been able to raid the factory without your intel. You’re golden as far as they’re concerned, but Jason isn’t. Jason was a semi willing participant in Crane’s reign of terror.
You’re not sure how easily they’ll be able to forgive him for all the things he’s done these last few months.
But Dick surprises you. He taps his finger against the screen and types in a quick code before the door locks disengage. The glass panels pop open and you hesitate for a few seconds before you walk out into the cave. 
Jason is even more reluctant because he knows there’s a catch. And he’s more unwilling than you are to take whatever offer may be on the table. But, eventually, he takes his newly offered freedom.
It’s tense. With the history confined within these walls between these people how could it be anything else? But it’s something that you’ll all just need to get over. Hank seems to be the one to take that first step forward as he clears his throat and tilts his head towards the staircase.
“Come on.” And he leads the way with Dawn following slowly behind. Kori waits for a few seconds as Jason looks your way, seemingly waiting for your permission. He trusts you more than anyone else in the room. If you think it’s the right move, if you think it’s his only move, then he’ll take your word for it. He’ll bide his time until he can find his way out.
So you do the only thing you really can do. You nod. And something dies in his eyes. You’re not quite sure what, but it breaks your heart all the same as he hangs his head and goes up the stairs with Kori following a few seconds later after sending one last glance in your direction.
“You know I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” And it’s a thank you. Well, it’s the closest you’re ever going to get. And you know how to take what you can get.
“I know.” There’s a lot more to be said, and eventually you’ll say it. Just not now. Not today. Timing’s a real bitch, and you’ve become very familiar with her old song and dance. And you’re okay to wait. You’ve waited this long, what’s a little bit longer?
Your hands are stuck in your back pockets as you look at him, and he can’t seem to pull his gaze away from you either. Until he decides that he doesn’t really know what to say. He always seems to think he needs to know the exact right thing to say. He never seems to realize that there’s so much power in admitting that the silence does more than words ever could.
You shake your head as you start your walk towards the stairs, your hands coming out of your pockets as you get further away. You can feel his gaze fall from your back with each step of distance you put between the two of you. And that just won’t do.
“You coming or not Grayson?” You know he can hear the smirk in your voice, and it’d be so tempting to look over your shoulder and get a peek at his face. But you’re okay with not knowing.
Because you know enough. You barely even make it to the first step before you hear footsteps against the tile behind you. Footsteps that end up just a breath behind yours as you make your way back into the manor. It’s all you need to know.
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