#maybe lick it and wag my tail a little if im not on edge. be docile and pliant or whatever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tigerdrop · 3 years

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in lieu of doing more strenuous hand-based activities heres the Dogboy Gordon In Heat Megamix ive been talking about. i wrote this over the course of a couple months in an effort to feel okay about writing horny shit again and i only just realized there are nearly 6 thousand words here. and they only really fuck for like 10% of that

ta-dah

ive thought a lot about gordon being stuck back at gordonhouse after getting kicked out of barneyhouse. i think its ripe for a lot of pining. (and yes, he is pining over the guy hes actively banging. hes being a big mopey idiot over the fact that he doesnt get to have his fuckbuddy around 24/7.) absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever and gordons already at a baseline of "wheres benrey. wheres benrey"......and now i am about to turn it up to 11

so lets say......gordons starting to feel weirdly under the weather. sweaty and irritable and tired. hes holing himself up in his room a lot, wrapping himself up in blankets to fight off a chill and a sniffliness that wont go away. and hes gettin awfully moody, too. real fuckin testy. starting shit with freemind for no reason and snapping at og gordon like hes a teenager. and......hes nesting, almost, or at least, gathering up a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and anything that smells vaguely like benrey. (hes not really aware hes doing this last thing.)

basically, long story short, feetman is fucked up. hes pathetic. hes being a huge bitch. at least og gordon feels vaguely sorry for him, and expresses this by way of observing him and trying to treat it. for science. its better than freemind, who just loudly complains about him being a huge bitch and reeking up the place. theres something weird coming from vr gordons corner of the house.....a musky, heady, hormonal kind of thing that makes freemind act simultaneously territorial and irritable and more lascivious than normal. and that also piques og gordons attention, because having both of them be wound up little freaks at the same time is enough to make even the most resilient person pull their hair out

now gordon primes got his suspicions as to whats going on, but hes not gonna tell vr gordon that he suspects hes going into heat. that would compromise the experiment, and all that. so poor gordons just going thru all this shit not knowing what in the fuck is wrong with him and getting more worked up and irritable about it by the day. hes convinced that hes just got the flu, or something......except, uh, haha, jesus christ he is horny all the FUCKING TIME

he doesnt get it! he feels like shit all the time, so why is he constantly fighting off boners and having weird wet dreams and thinking about-- well. his fucking boyfriend, he guesses. (are they boyfriends?? he doesnt know. he gets a weird, sharp pang when he thinks about them not being boyfriends, at this point, but its not like theyve ever talked about it!) gordons half-convinced that hes just losing his mind from being stuck inside all the time and he really just wants to see benrey again. its, like, all he thinks about. (see? hes losing it. theres the proof.)

the sucks thing for everybody else is that gordon is also Extremely Vocal about how shitty he feels and how much he wishes he didnt feel shitty so he could go see benrey and how much he cant stand benrey for not being able to read his mind and come over when he feels bad. eventually freemind gets so sick of his shit that he decides to cut out the middleman and get benrey involved directly. "come take care of your fucking dog before i call the aspca! animal neglect is a crime, asshole!"

(if pressed, freemind would adamantly reject the idea that hes being nice to gordon. but on some level, hes kinda sympathetic. the guys clearly miserable, and he just keeps asking for the same fucking thing. might as well humor him to shut him up.)

vr gordon is completely unaware of these machinations, however. hes just holed up in his room trying to work out what makes him feel better because, uhh, powerade isnt helping

jacking off doesnt do a whole lot for him anymore. like, it feels good, but its not very satisfying. gordon just ends up feeling more restless than anything afterward. and hes always stupid horny. more blankets. a box fan. less blankets. sleeping with one of benreys shirts pressed up to his face. grinding into his pillow when he wakes up hard from yet another weird dream. theyre all a little helpful, and he feels like hes working towards the right thing, somehow, but its never really enough to take the edge off

and then.....he tries......jerking off more. especially when he realizes that its bizarrely soothing to do so while he can smell benrey up close and personal on that stupid shirt of his. better still when he rolls onto his side.....and then his stomach.......rocking his hips into the mattress until he gets the idea to lift his hips a little. and......oh. cool. something kind of......clicks. in his head. as he raises his hips higher while he keeps his arms wrapped around a pillow and benreys shirt jammed against his nose. hes got that lil moment of realization that this is good, actually. this feels like a good move. and its making some of that discomfort melt away

and gordon thinks about.....how it felt. earlier. when they were with barmey. and benrey had him just like this, ass up, face down, and was spreading him apart and licking him open and making him submit and he groans so fucking hard that embarassment just rips through him like lightning. but his tail starting to wag a little faster.....electricity shooting through his belly......and he cant help but wonder. what if benrey had kept going? pulled back and-- maybe, replaced his tongue with his fingers, one at a time, curling them inside him and telling him how well hes behaving and-- and his dick throbs, hard, and gordon realizes he wants fingers inside of himself right fucking now, thank you, hes not fully certain how to accomplish it be he is going to fucking try

(sigh) so my guy figures out about the old fingers in the ass trick. and i need you to understand that i am fully convinced that this is one of those guys who has an uproarious reaction to getting fingers in his ass. mr repressed and uptight over here doesnt really get what the big deal is until he gets braver and pushes a little deeper and hes rock hard in an instant, goodbye, just like everybodys favorite creative writing exercise

and this is what he decides to do for a solid day or two without leaving his room, because, honestly, this is awesome. and the longer he spends jerking off the less time he spends stressing about the fact that his imaginations getting really vivid, here. sure, like, hes no stranger to weird dreams even before this, but this is the first time hes really letting his mind run wild and this dude is nonstop thinking about being bred and gordon still has no fucking idea that hes in heat. doesnt even occur to him

unfortunately this also does not solve his problems but at least it feels baller and it keeps him occupied. also, unfortunately, the increased rate of jerking off is causing a serious uptick in Dog Smells, the effect of which is turning freemind into a nightmare. its just not good vibes in this house. enter: benrey

now i need you to understand that when these two meet up again i want gordon to get Emotional. think about how genuinely excited he gets to see some of his pals in canon. the like......excitement and disbelief when benrey shows up outside his window throwing rocks at it before noclipping in. he forgets to even act pissed off at first. i think it would be super fucking cute for him to drop the game for a moment just out of shock, basically. his tails waggin, his ears are perked up, and hed probably tackle benrey to the ground if he wasnt also a sweaty, trembling mess whos been holed up in his room for days.

and benrey has No Fucking Idea what he has walked in on here. as far as benrey knows, freemind just demanded he get over there and take care of his dog.

(INTERLUDE: here is the part where i gin up a freemind POV of this exact scene. b/c i am out of my fucking mind

so. i had the thought of a freemind POV chapter where hes spying on gordon and benrey.....because. gordons in heat. ive talked about that scenario before too (literally so many FUCKING times okay i just need this dude to have the uncontrollable urge to be bred like a little bitch! and for benrey to take pity on him and make him feel better by nutting in him literally as many times as is physically possible!!!)

but i wanna manifest it in this specific way: from an outside perspective. voyeurism is great and also i have a one track mind and basically the only time i traffic in Other Guys in this fandom anymore is as a participant in gordon and benreys horse shit. Im not apologizing for this

lets say.....vr gordons behavior has been getting worse and worse for "unknown reasons" and freeman prime just sees it as a key observational opportunity for his research. while freeminds getting really irritated at how much its cutting into his normal way of life. for one thing, vr gordons room reeks, and he cant even escape it in his own room! and its turning him into a feisty, aggressive, and loud son of a bitch. but he cant even resolve it in his usual fashion at this point (baiting vr gordon into another competition/fuckfest) b/c gordons being a little sadsack holed up in his room and doesnt wanna play

but also.....he kinda just feels bad for the guy at a certain point. hes clearly really miserable and looks downright ill and all hes asking for is to see his boytoy again. (gordons convinced that hes dying, and feels the need to dramatically speak to benrey one last time before he croaks.) so freemind decides, in all his benevolence, to go over gordon primes head and drag the guy over there anyway. (with machinations, not his literal bare hands. what is he, a caveman?) he reasons that itll be a good opportunity to twist gordons arm into groveling at his feet later

and he spies on the two of them in gordons room.....why? idk. possibly something to do with investigating this relationship between a gordon and a barney that he had yet to fully analyze. tl;dr he gets trapped in their closet for a remix of that one barmey voyeurism chapter b/c why the fuck not

i just.....i dont know.....i think theres something really charming about a 3rd party not being able to fully make out what theyre saying or doing but piecing things together anyway.....like benreys weirdly soft tone of voice when hes talking to a super agitated gordon. as far as any of them know, hes not really like that. he either sounds bored or smug, but either way, its usually straight-up antagonistic

it would make freemind bristle to hear it b/c its almost a mocking tone, but.....it makes gordons shoulders drop and gets him to let go of some of that tension and thats probably fascinating to watch. literally soothing him like a stressed out dog, huh. smoothing back his hair and murmuring things in a low, even tone that freeminds enhanced hearing still isnt good enough to make out. (the guy mumbles, okay? he needs a fucking toastmasters meetup.)

it would equal parts horrify and fascinate freemind, in my onion. watching a version of himself fall that hard into the loyal pet role.....its pathetic! for all that gordon goes on about not being a slave to his instinct or whatever, he sure is doing a bad job of acting like it! its like watching himself, but worse.

and benreys having to soothe him like a startled animal b/c he doesnt even know whats wrong with himself, but theres something thick enough on the air that even benrey can smell it, and hes taking some stabs at the dark. especially with how charged some of the shit gordons saying is......"i cant fucking take it anymore", "you smell so good", "i dont know whats wrong with me, man, my dick hasnt gone down for days and im pretty sure i need a doctor-- no, a real one, not the other gor-- NOT a vet, JESUS"

and the whole time.....freeminds peeking from behind a closet door. watching them devolve from outright hostility into "gordon climbing into benreys lap and shoving one of benreys hands up his shirt and demanding that he fucking touch him already"

normally i dont think freemind would be averse to a little bit of voyeurism, here. if it was anybody else, hed probably at least engage in a little heavy petting. but this is getting weird, man. he cant shake the uncanny feeling that this is something too intimate for him to be watching. for one thing, gordons whimpering like a goddamn dog just from a little necking, and for two, hes never really been the kind of guy to watch people make out for 15 minutes before they get to the good stuff

its just kind of unsettling how much these two clearly really, really like each other at this point. its not like watching gordon prime give vr gordon a handjob as part of a "test". freemind expected more of a hatefuck kind of deal out of these two, what with how often gordons normally going on about how much he hates the guy, what a pain in the ass benrey is, how he just wishes benrey would stop jerking him around.....etc. freemind could shit himself right now. that lying bitch!

i imagine its also kind of painful, on a personal level, for him to watch this borderline-sappy shit. he cant even fathom being on the receiving end of that behavior, let alone from......well. theyve all got their barneys, right? and gordon primes basically doomed himself to incel status b/c he wont nut up and do anything about it. freemind just assumed they were all in the same boat: cursed to casual sex with their roommates/clones, forever, and unable to achieve any kind of intimacy b/c all 3 gordons are fucked up in the exact same way. since theyre all just diff flavors of the same fucking guy, right?

well, theres the evidence that hes wrong. and that vr gordons better than him, somehow. thats gotta suck, bro

anyway then he watches vr gordon get railed in the ass a bunch and jerks off anyway b/c its still hot. see ya)

“take care of your dog”. huh. hes got no clue what that means but, yknow, he does kinda miss his dog. hasnt seen gordon in awhile. and he immediately comments "wow. you look fucked up" in as blunt and unsympathetic a way as possible. but gordons so far gone that he cant even work up a good anger about it. he is pretty fucked up, man. and benrey sits on the bed and slaps his forehead with a palm to take his temperature (and that gets gordon to bitch at him, finally, that thats not how you do it, asshole) and judges that, uh, he is hot. in his expert opinion

and thats when gordon kinda grabs his sleeve and tugs it and starts tryin to say something. hes really bad at it, because he is having to perform the mortifying task of Owning Up To It, but eventually he manages to grind out that he needs benrey to touch him, please. just pet him. something. he feels really bad and he just needs benrey to scratch his fucking ears. this is the most gordon can cop to in one go, and it is such a sad struggle to watch, but benreys caught off guard by it and he feels weirdly bad for gordon upon hearing it so hes just like "whoa, okay" when gordon tugs his hand to his head

gordon groans the moment his fingernails start scratching behind the ears and digging into his scalp. even just that much feels really fucking good. its comforting, for one thing, and its benrey, for another, and the physical touch feels so fucking good right now that goosebumps are crawling down his neck. gordon cant help but lean against benrey and bury his head in the crook of his shoulder. he wants to hide his face from scrutiny and he wants to get closer but he doesnt know how to say what his fucking problem is

and benreys weirdly quiet. just kinda mumbling and shushing him intermittently, awkward and not sure what to do b/c this is a level of intimacy he was not expecting but gordons sure is responding nicely to a second hand in his hair

so having both of benreys hands scratching at his scalp is really getting to gordon. hes scritchin behind the ears and gordons tails wagging at a mile a minute. the feelings making goosebumps race down his neck and arms. he starts kind of mumbling something into benreys shoulder, how hes been feeling so fucked up lately, and he squirms a little closer. hes not really aiming for anywhere in particular but every neuron thats firing in him right now is telling him to get closer. make contact. he missed the fucking guy, what can he say.

and one of benreys hands......slips down to gordons face. his jaw. a thumb pushing into that soft little divot between his jaw and neck, like hes trying to push up into gordons fucking teeth. its weird and bizarrely intrusive, but benreys hand is broad and warm and gordon leans into it anyway, groaning with relief. its not like its not doing anything for him. kind of the opposite, actually. then he palms at gordons neck, and gordon starts breathing harder. he can feel his heartbeat rabbit-fast, pushing against benreys skin (and theres no way benrey isnt feeling that, too).

benrey eyes are lidded and his breaths starting to get heavier, too. naturally, yknow, since gordons practically draped over him right now, melting all the more the longer benrey keeps petting him. oxytocin is crazy, man, especially when a guys in the full throes of some kind of chemical meltdown of the glands. gordons eyes are screwed shut, tail thumping furiously against the bed, and hes panting at benreys neck like hes a fucking dog. he just doesnt know how to articulate what the fuck his problem is

benrey smells insanely good to him right now, and gordon just blurts that out. benrey gives him some shit for it, but when gordon only makes a weird noise in response and fists his hands in benreys hoodie, it makes him shut up real quick. hes squeezing out words about feeling like he needs something, but its clearly a fucking effort. its almost pitiful

so. gordons crawled right into benreys lap, too impatient after days and days of feeling like this (you know, being in heat, in so many words). hes been pounding off like crazy, that brand new collar of his strapped to his neck nearly every time b/c hes that desperate to feel… well. *benrey*. he cant fucking jerk off to thoughts of anything else - porn doesnt do it for him, and his fantasies slip right back to the same thing every single time. its frustrating! hes bisexual, for gods sake! its not like hes normally immune to the wiles of the Phat Ass White Girl, but lately he just keeps ending up on his hands and knees and whining benreys name into his pillow and he couldnt focus on a girls rack if he tried

point being. hes being awfully fucking demanding. (and also, hes wearing the collar *right fucking now)*. he shoves benreys hand up his shirt and shivers the moment he makes contact with gordons burning-hot flesh. and hes demanding that benrey touch him already, jesus, hes losing his mind! and benreys just crooning at him, “bossy, huh,” but hes scritching gordons ears and palming at his side and nosing at gordons neck and gordon starts to feel like hes melting into it. his protests at being talked down to are perfunctory at best

benrey licks a stripe up gordons neck and starts muttering his stupid horseshit right in gordons ear and it makes gordon clutch his shoulders so tight, claws digging into the meat of him. benreys kind of into it, though, and it just makes him laugh, low and harsh and right in gordons ear. that just makes gordons problem worse. he lets out quiet, nasal whines on every exhale, like a literal fucking dog.

he starts teasing, like, “haha, you’re *gagging* for it, bro,” but gordon doesnt respond with the defensiveness he expects. instead, its like opening a floodgate - he is, hes fucking *desperate*, okay, his dick hasnt gone down in days and he wants benrey so bad he cant see straight and he cant stop thinking about him and all of this comes tumbling out of him at once. gordons trying to press himself as close to benrey as he can physically get, legs straddling benreys lap and arms clutched tight around his back. and when benrey prods a little more, tells gordon to say what hes been thinkin about, gordon starts to pant, squeezing his eyes shut. but he cant bring himself to do anything more than choke and stutter on the words

hes half-hard in his underwear already (and, lets be be clear, he was only in boxer briefs and a tank top to begin with. hes sweating buckets and its the least amount of clothing he could get away with wearing around the house) and his tails thumping a mile a minute and hes so far gone, just from benrey talking down to him and kissing his neck and scratching his ears. but hes not budging yet, so benrey slides that hand on his ears over to his ponytail and *yanks*. tells him, “speak.” gordons dick twitches rapidly, and he lets out a sharp sound, and he finally says it: he needs benrey to *fuck* him, jesus

benrey lets out a harsh breath at that. “yeah? thats what puppy wants?” and the nickname should blister him, make him feel to embarrassed to continue, but gordons too desperate to care. he just starts spewing a litany of “god yes”s and “please”s. hes getting harder and harder, pressed up against benreys belly, and benrey can *feel* it. “good boy,” he mutters, and those claws dig harder, that panting gets louder and harsher

he slips a hand around to gordons back, rubbing slowly for a moment as if to soothe him, and then slides it under the back of gordons boxers. and lower still. starts rubbing at gordons hole. that gets a quiet “oh god” out of gordon.

gordon cant help himself - he rocks forward against benrey, just a little, rubbing his bulge against what he realizes is benreys *extremely* hard dick in his sweatpants. hes not the only one whos got it bad. but he *is* the only one whispering, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as benrey pushes a little further, makes as if hes about to breach gordon dry. the poor guys so needy that he probably wouldnt even argue!

but benrey just stares at him, wide eyed and flushed, mouth hanging open a little. gordons so hot for this that it surprises the both of them.

anyway after some boring position finagling benrey coaxes gordon onto his hands and knees, running a broad hand down gordons shaking back. and he pulls back gordons tail, exposing him. its so fucking humiliating - gordons got his face buried in a pillow, and his ass in the air, and hes never felt so *vulnerable* before. he wants to argue, he wants to lift his head and look back to make sure that everythings, like, okay back there - benreys staring at his entire asshole, okay, and he wasnt exactly anticipating benrey making a house call to fuck him in the ass - but every time he lifts his head, or starts to say something neurotic about it, benrey chides him about it. clicks his tongue. tells him, “hey. dogs dont talk” or “i said *bow*, bro”.

for all his insisting that hes a real guy, that hes not just a dog, gordons feeling less and less like a human and more like something in thrall to his instincts. the condescension rankles like it always does, but doing what benrey tells him to feels good. feels natural. presenting himself like this feels like what hes *supposed* to do. it doesnt stop him from running his mouth entirely, but it helps to mitigate some of the embarrassment.

and then… benrey *licks*. gordon tenses and gasps. he doesnt know how benrey can stand it, its gotta be, like, unhygienic! but that didnt scare him off the last time they tried this, and its not like gordon hasnt thought about it since. hes thought about it a lot, actually. but hes been too neurotic to ask for it. benreys not stupid, though. hes a good dog owner (at least, so he thinks) and hes gonna take care of his dog. so he licks again, and again, pressing a little harder against gordons hole on each pass with the broad side of his tongue until he dares to breach it with the tip.

gordons rock hard again in an instant. his dick hangs between his legs and drips onto the sheets. he digs his fingers into the pillow now, tearing holes in its surface with those sharp nails of his, and he makes embarrassingly high noises that he muffles into into the pillow, too. hes tense, hes so fucking tense, he should be clamping down and making benreys task really fucking hard, but theres bright pink sweet voice dripping from his hole and benreys rubbing the side of his thigh in an effort to soothe him and both of these things work in tandem to get him to relax. and benrey works his tongue in further, further than a human ought to.

the tip was one thing, but it gets wider as benrey pushes it in, and its just as good as it was before - better, even, because now its just the two of them, just a master and his dog, and benreys the only one he wants to see him like this. bent over and whimpering. he cant— he cant stomach the thought of anybody else doing this to him. hell, there was a point once where the idea of stomaching *benrey* doing this to him would have made him laugh. but here he is. benreys fucking him open with his tongue and pressing against something thats making him see stars and gordon just wants *more*. he says it so sweet, too, voice growing hoarse and raw as he begs benrey to just fucking do it already, he doesnt wanna come like this!

gordon gets so worked up and emotional about it that benrey takes the time to scratch behind his ears again, shushing him and telling him to chill. benreys got him. hes been a good dog, and good dogs get treats. hearing the words “good dog” makes gordons entire body flush. thats all he wants, really. he wants to be a good dog. he wants to be *told*. he blurts out, “oh my god— say it again,” and benreys like, “huh? say what? youre gonna have to be more specific,” clicking the last syllable. it makes all the hairs on gordons head rise and prickle with shame. the best he can do is mumble it into his pillow.

benrey hears it, though, and tugs at gordons collar from behind, just enough to raise his head. “whassat? you want me to call you a good boy?” gordon cant bring himself to answer that directly, but his stupid body betrays him by making him whine. jesus christ, yes, thats all he WANTS! he needs benrey to be good and nice to him for once in his fucking life and give him what he wants instead of taking, taking, taking! but benrey just tells him that hes gonna have to earn it. gonna have to be *real* good for him. gordon could fucking snarl at that, but benreys pulling back to rub his dick between gordons cheeks and against his hole and that shuts him up pretty fast because hes *so close* to getting what he wants and hes not about to fuck it up now by running his big dumb mouth

and then… he starts to push in. that sweet voice has loosened gordon up enough to take even benrey, who, uh, is definitely the bigger of the two, in that regard. he goes slow, uncharacteristically so, and gordons chest heaves with the force of how hard hes breathing. a quiet string of “oh god”s spills out of him as he tries to crane his neck back to watch. the head breaches him with a strange popping sensation, and benrey groans, loud, as the rest of him slides in with little resistance in comparison. “good,” he pants in turn, “youre takin it so good,” and—

and gordon comes, in weak, aborted spurts. it snuck up on him. he clenches so fucking tightly that it winds benrey a little. he breathes out, “whoa. did you—” but gordon just begs him to shut up, keep going, hes not— hes not done yet, its always like this, its not *enough*. his dick barely even flags afterward, it just hangs there, achingly hard and dripping with cum. benrey cant even find it in himself to make fun of him. he wants it so fucking bad, doesnt he? and he feels so good, so fucking tight and slick around benrey that the only thought running through his head is “gotta take care of my dog gotta fuck my best friend gotta nut in him and make him howl”. so he pushes himself alllll the way in until theyre pressed together, skin to skin.

then he starts to move. slow, careful thrusts, more for benreys benefit than gordons. if hes not careful, hes gonna blow his load, right then and there, and hes trying to make it good for gordon, too, okay? unlike *some* of them, hes not gonna bust in two minutes and then spend the next half hour crying and trauma-dumping to the guy hes still got his dick inside of.

once he thinks hes got a grip, though, benrey starts fucking him in earnest, and that changes gordons vocalizations from weak little whimpers into something louder. less restrained. hes given up any pretense of being quiet so that his other selves dont hear that hes snuck his boytoy into his room. just loud, wordless moans on each thrust, initially muffled into the pillow but soon spilling into the wider room when he turns his head to catch his breath. the only words hes managing are “oh god” and “please” and “benrey, benrey, *benrey*”, and benrey just responds to him like, “yeah? thats good? fuuuck, bro, so good for me,” all short of breath and barely able to speak himself

he wants to see gordons face. he *needs* to see gordons face. needs to see what hes doing to him, needs to see that cute fuckin blush of his. so he tugs on gordons collar again, bringing him to his hands and knees properly instead of that bowing position. and then further still - pulls him back so that benreys on his knees, and gordons on his knees in turn, on his lap, cock still buried inside of him and fucking him in short, hurried thrusts. “paws up,” benrey tells him, and gordon does it. instantly. no resistance. just folds them at his chest like a real dog would.

“whos a good boy?” benrey croons, right in his ear again. gordon gasps, “i-i am!”

“yeah? youre a good boy?” nod, wail. “whose— whose good boy are you?”

and gordon chokes on his response. he cant say it, he *cant*, he doesnt want to be benreys but he does, he *does*. he doesnt want to be benreys because its not fucking fair! he cares so fucking much! so much more than benrey does, it feels like, obsessing over the guy like hes wrapped thorny vines all around gordons heart and he cant so much as shift in his seat without feeling the tug and the ache and thinking of benrey again. and benrey doesnt care, he never fucking cares, except—

except he showed up at gordons house, in his room. without even being asked. like he knew something was wrong. and he— hes always talking to gordon, shooting him stupid texts just to make him laugh. scheduling *date nights* for them. date nights where, yeah, maybe they couldnt see each other in person, and maybe they always end in some kind of depraved sexual act, but its not like gordons not into it. hes frighteningly into it, actually. and hes *so* into hearing benreys voice, low and crooning, right in his ear, and seeing him lean on an elbow and smile at him afterward. its— its practically genuine. and benreys always making excuses to talk with him, do things with him, watch stupid fucking movies that only gordon cares about and stream with him on twitch to help boost his subscriber count and—

and—

oh god. maybe he *does* care. that might be more terrifying than the alternative.

then benrey yanks the collar again. presses the whole of gordons back against his front in one hot, unbroken line. and asks, “i said, whose good boy are you, bro? *speak.*”

“benrey,” he blurts out, a ragged moan, “d-dont make me sa-AY it, oh god—”

“no?” benrey stills suddenly. his hands keep gordon stuck in place, unable to move or bounce or feel benrey shift inside of him. “thats, uh… thats too bad, friend. this trains for good boys only. good dogs go to heaven 2. no bad dogs allowed. gonna have to, uhh, escort you off—”

“im not a bad dog!”

“i dunno, gordo. bein’ kind of, uh… disobedient.”

(sorry. thats all i got . byeeee)

#this is so far from finished b/c A) im a coward now and B) typing qith my left hand sucks so i dont wanna do it right now. Sorry #writin stuff

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theravencawsatmidnight · 4 years

Text

Drag Me To Hell...

Monster Prompts #3 “i'm going to breed you” #11” look at you… I thought you wanted me to stop?” With Demon! King Bakugou.

Warnings. NonC. Group NonC. First Time. ImPreg. Mind Break. Blood.

You loved the supernatural . The Mercy Thompson Series, The Vampire Diaries. The TV shows, Lost Girl, Supernatural , Being Human . Even horror video games like Until Dawn. Anything horror and supernatural you loved. But you were taking that interest a little too far according to your friends. When you told them you wanted to try practising the Dark Arts and they just looked at you. ‘That's not a real thing ya know y/n’ is what they always told you. But who were they to tell you how to live your life?

You also wanted to buy a ouija board so you could see if you could talk to the dead. The website you ordered the board from seemed really into demons and hell but you paid no mind really. It would be cool to summon a demon but you were just a beginner . Before you were about to check out the site suggested a seance book. It was black and orange with an interesting star crest in the middle. You shrugged adding it on , smiling at that Free Shipping you just unlocked.

••

It arrived the very next day . In a pretty well put together purple box with a bloody red ribbon you couldn't see throwing away. So you made it into a bracelet and a necklace. It burned your skin once it made contact. But when you checked in the mirror nothing was there, no singes, nothing. So eh , what the hell. Right?

You sat down on the floor setting up the board and pulled the book on your lap to read it. You raised an eyebrow at the summoning items. Where the hell would you get goat's blood? A virgin sacrifice? Well.. you shrugged that off and found a chapter about the board. You set the book down and lit some candles, turning off the lights.

You grabbed the dial and held it over the board repeating the words in the book. The dial shook and you couldn't help but have a stupid grin on your face.

“ is anyone there?”

‘Y,E.,S”

You shook all giddy. “What's .. your name?”

“S.E.E. F.O.R Y.O.U.R.S.E.L.F”

You tilted your head. What did that mean? “How can i see you.?”

“B.L.O.O.D.C.H.A.L.K.”

“Blood and chalk? Like a chalk circle?”

“Y.E.S.”

You hopped up running to find some chalk and the dial spazzed out hovering over “M.I.N.E” .

••

He was sitting on his throne when you weakly summoned him. He looked up from his claws to see a wavy cloud of you reading a book. Oh look at you.. this might be fun. And you even have the ribbons on.. perfect.

He leaned on his knuckles while he talked to you. His long lizard tail slapping all around the hot ground. He was a Demon King in Hell. He had thousands of goblin minions who waited on him claw and foot. A giant red dog slept at his side , his fur was spiked on his back and the tips were black. The King though. Was at least 6’5. Lean, muscle, scary charred feet and legs that he covered with some kind of fur cloth. His chest was bare with scratches going in every direction along with the charred skin creeping up like hands up at his pecks. He had strong charred arms equipped with curved claws. The ashy blond hair traveled down to the middle of his back and his horns were long and mighty with a blood red crown hanging off the left horn. Curling back at the edge. Piercing red eyes stared into your soul. He chuckled deep at how innocent you were. He was going to break you.

••

You returned with the items and sat back down to see the dial where you left it. You made the circle on your carpet, placing the candles down on each tip. He grinned watching you.

“The knife. Use the knife my pet.” He said to himself leaning forward. His dog also woke up to see his master looking excited and hungry.

You held the knife to your head making a small cut . You winced, tipping your hand over and the blood fell in the center while you repeated the words in the book.

Bakugou grinned standing up as the cloud of you turned into a portal. He laughed alerting his goblins and they all ran over cheering for a new toy to arrive.

“Tonight we dine!!!” Bakugou yelled as his bat wings spread out bringing him to the portal.

The floor shook and you got very hot all of a sudden. The candles tipped over starting a fire and you backed away screaming. The circle opened up and a long charred claw rose out scratching at the floor .

You screamed again looking for the door but it was on fire. You started to cough and get dizzy. This wasn't actually happening was it?!? You summoned a DEMON? No no, i mean you CANT. A second claw appeared clawing up the floor and you saw two long horns along with a crown.

Bakugou pulled himself up stepping into your world with a very hungry grin on his face . His tail flicked around crushing your tv . His horns dug into the ceiling scratching it all up and his claws reached out to you, offering his hand. “Come. My little Feast. come meet your new Husband” He hissed at you , almost mocking you.

You backed up more and his tail shot to you grabbing your ankle making you scream out . He dragged you to him , his wings spreading out knocking everything over. You were getting hotter, burning. You could smell burning skin. You dug your nails into the carpet as if it would do something. Bakugou snapped his claws and the ribbon glowed making the burning flesh heal . You didn't feel any heat all of a sudden, you didn't feel like you were burning alive.

Bakugou grabbed your ankle and his tail let go . He laughed and laughed flipping you over, ripping your clothes off and licking your stomach to your face with his very long tongue. “Lets go , shall we?” He dragged you down with him, right down to hell.

••••

Bakugou grabbed your ankle yanking your clothes off and threw you right down once the portal closed. Right down to his minions and dog . The goblins caught you and immediately started touching you all over. Little slimy hands covered every inch of your body , touching your chest, pulling at your nipples and digging into your pussy. One of them tried to pry your mouth open and you shook him off , you rolled over and one of them humped your rear trying to get himself inside you.

You begged for this to stop but one of the goblins shoved his slimy cock down your throat and began to face fuck you. You screamed and he just went faster. another goblin went for your pussy and Bakugous tail grabbed him, tossing him into some lava. “No one touches my feast there. That's mine.” He said sitting back down on his throne watching the goblins stomp around forming a line at your mouth.

Bakugou laid his leg over his knee watching with satisfaction on his face. His dog rubbed on Bakugous side and Bakugou reached up to pet his nose. “Hungry?” He waved his hand and some meat appeared. The dog wagged his tail pouncing on the food and Bakugou turned his attention back to you.

••

Every single one used your mouth , and if one tried to sneak back in line Bakugou tossed them into the lava. You had cum falling out of your mouth forming a puddle at your chest. It was starting to form a bump in your stomach and your jaw was aching .

By the time they were all satisfied Bakugou got up and they all ran off on little short legs going elsewhere. Bakugou kneeled down grabbing your hair so he could see your face. You coughed up a bunch of cum heaving hard. He smiled at you showing off his fangs, talking deep.

“That was fun right? I'm surprised you lived through it. Most women dont. “

“I…”

“Hm? Why are you here? Why you summoned me of course. “ he licked at your face cleaning it all up from tears and cum. He spit into some lava and lifted you up more. “ Those words you repeated in the book? Were vows. Your mine. Forever. And if you think you're gonna die down here then guess again.” The ribbons glowed a shiny red. “Your immortal now. And I'm gonna breed you. Every.Single.Chance i get. “

“But im-...”

“But what.?!? A lonely little human? You thought you could .. play around with a little book?!? Practice some dark arts like they do in those fantasies of yours?!? Well guess what honey it's real. And you're never leaving this place.”

He dragged you to his throne sitting down and pulled you up, you tried to fight him but as soon as he grabbed hold of you he slid you right down on his hard cock all the way down. You screamed. It echoed all throughout hell . The smell of your blood made him go nuts. Fucking you hard and fast , he didint care if he was breaking you, didint care if it hurt. He only wanted to fuck you till your mind broke . Till you were begging him for his cock like a bitch in heat.

••

The days went on . And the goblins demanded service at least every other day. But fewer and fewer showed up since Bakugou had to toss them in the lava. Other demons showed up too, creatures you've never seen before. Wanting the same treatment. Your jaw broke a few times and Bakugou had to snap it back into place each time with an annoyed look on his face.

You were free to walk around Hell as you pleased, but if you did you had to service anyone you came across. And Bakugous dog had to go with you just in case anyone tried anything with your pussy. They could have your ass though, no matter how loud you screamed no one helped you. Just waited for their turn while the big demon dog wagged his tail watching the lava burst nearby .

Why exactly were you walking around Hell?!? A very small part of you.. the part that wasn't broken. Was fascinated with everything you saw. It was all you had left of yourself, your real self. You even found a quiet spot away from creatures and goblins. A shady spot with no lava , it looked like a little cave almost. You crawled inside hugging yourself . It had been a month? Maybe? Did anyone know you were gone? You looked down at your stomach rubbing the small bump. You had fallen pregnant at some point. All you could think about was what it would look like. And the king.

Your hand dipped between your legs and you rubbed your clit in circles , leaning back on the warm rock sighing with relief. The demon king rushed all around in your head causing you to breath hard and slip a couple fingers in. “My king..” you sighed into your shoulder. The dog howled and minutes later he was there, crouching down watching you with a smile.

“Look at you.”

“King..” you crawled to him in between his legs fishing his cock out and hugging his hips. He smirked turning you around to run a claw down your rear watching it shake . You offered your dripping pussy to him and he rubbed your stomach. “Look at you… I thought you wanted me to stop..,?”

A whine left your mouth and Bakugou got up on his knees rubbing his cock on you . You came hard just from that and Bakugou grinned, rubbing his cock on your clit . “Oh you little slut. I'm glad you saw it my way” He shoved all the way inside you and you looked up grinning like an idiot. You came again and Bakugou tipped his head back laughing into the dark.

••

@crushonkatsuki @knifeewifee @squeaky-ducky @maron-k-rh @lady-bakuhoe @kittifer @redflannel

#bakugou x reader #demon king bakugou #monstermonth2020 #bakugou katsuki #DragMeToHell

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

Note

Hi love! Can I request a part two for the cevans x reader where the reader misses her period again and she takes another pregnancy test? Only this time it's positive?? You would melt my heart

A/N- I so hope he gets to be a daddy one day, cause he really would be such a great father! I so entirely want this for him one day.

You and Chris decided after that first pregnancy test to really give it a proper try. And Mr.Christopher Evans, well he was all about giving it every chance the two of you could.

Your house, well if it wasnt christened before, it certainly was now. And afterwards, he was more caring and gentle then even before if that was possible. He would feather kisses down your body, while he eased your hips up with a pillow and stretch out next to you, nuzzling your neck with the slight scratch of his beard and whisper how beautiful you were to him, all while massaging any sore spots you might hint you have.

“Im so lucky to have you” He would say as you were still coming down from your orgasm. His fingers brushing through your hair that had fallen out of your ponytail out of your face. Your cheeks would go slightly red at the compliment.

“Your just saying that Chris”

“I certainly am not just saying that.” He would huff slightly and grasp your chin to place a deep kiss on it, slipping his tongue around yours and inhaling your sigh as you were still recovering from before. “Baby or not, I am the fucking luckiest man.” Your eyes would glaze in between lust and love for him, for you felt the exact same way about him.

Time passed, and a few drs visits, they informed you and Chris that it might take a while, and not to get discouraged. It was hard sometimes to take it to heart though, and every negative test you got, having to step out of the bathroom to see Chris look so hopeful, it broke a little bit of you. But he was good about it, everytime.

“Babygirl, you know he said it could take a while.” His arms would ease you to sit in his lap, your own loping around his neck to balance, and he would tip his forehead to lean against your own, blue eyes filling your gaze. “How about tonight you pack a bag, and we will drop Dodger off at Scotts?”

You slide your arms around his neck and give a small smile. “I would really like that Chris.” His arms tightened around you and give you a loving kiss, letting you go about packing an over night bag for the two of you while he went to drop off Dodger.

That night was exactly what you both needed, the two of you took the few hours to go into New York City, Chris had reserved a beautiful hotel room, a night out at one of your favorite restaurants in the city, along with dancing. Chris was pulling out all your favorites, to finish the night, the two of you walked to times square, just to admire the sight of it all.

Later that evening, your love making wasnt about trying to reach a goal. That wasnt the purpose of your fevered kisses, the way Chris’s body traveled down yours, and loped your legs to brace against his shoulders as he kissed you so intimately, you came crying his name, hands fisting in his hair. Nor the next time when he had you pressed against the hotel rooms floor to ceiling windows, your gaze filled with the dark skyline glowing softly in shades of purples and gold twinkles with the thousands of lights, of others unaware you were on display should they take the time to look. Nor when he laid you out on the bed, and took his time exploring you, unraveling you for the third and final time, both of you spent. No this night was all about appreciating one another, and as you sunk back to his chest, his kiss were hard and possessive against your neck, breathing out. “I fucking love you always Y/N”

Weeks later your sitting on the bathtub edge, thrumming your fingers against the ceramic, staring at the box. Should you take it, maybe just another week? Its not uncommon anymore for your period to be out of whack, and you just didnt want that disappointment again. Dodger sits with his head in your lap, sighing softly as your hand moves to rub his ears, confessing to your favorite Good Boy.

“Buddy I dont know if I can handle another heartbreak again.” You whisper and press your face into the softness of his fur, looking to find peace in the canine. He grew impatient and started to wriggle, in which you let him go. Dodger lifts to place his front paws on the edge of the tub and licks your face, causing that sorrow to uplift a bit. Laughing, you wrap your arms around him and hug before letting him go to race and jump up on your bed, his fluffy tail wagging, slapping his front paws in a invitation to come play.

You reach down and grab his lion near your feet where he ditched it earlier, and toss it for him to catch on the bed, which he snatched and raced out of the bedroom to collide into Chris’s legs. “OOF!” He stumbles into the bedroom just as your coming out of the bathroom. “:Whats gotten into him?” He asks as he looks over his shoulder at Dodger tossing the lion up in the air to catch it.

“I think he was trying to cheer me up Handsome.” You wrap your arm around him and the two of you watch Dodger continue playing in the upstairs hallway before loosing it down the stairs. Your head rests a bit on his chest, and you giggle when he seems a bit lost staring down the stairs, and launches himself down.

“And why do you need cheering up Babygirl?” Chris ponders, his fingers sliding under your chin to tilt to look up at him, you bite your lip and shrug.

“Well I still havent gotten my period, and just ‘fraid you know? What if its negative again Chris?”

“Then its negative baby and we will go back to normal. If you want me to stop loving on you all the time, I will. Theres really no pressure for us to get pregnant.” Chris turned you to face him, covering your cheeks and across your nose in gentle kisses. “Y/N, baby or not, I just love being with you and that will make me just as fucking happy to.” your hands fist in his shirt, and you listen to what hes saying. You know kids mean alot, you both got caught up in this rush, but maybe hes right. You give a nod and move to tip toes to press your lips with his, his hands tightening a bit along the curve of your waist and moaning softly at the sweet taste of your lips. He growled out softly afterwards in a tease.

“Although Im not complaining these past couple monthes have been mindblowing.”

You laugh softly, and rub his chest, winking at him. “You know what, Im not upset about it either, it really has been. How about we check this last one, then... we just enjoy what were doing, and if it happens, it happens?”

“Its a deal babygirl.” He gave you a encouraging smile and once more, for what felt like the hundredth time, you went to take the test. Chris moved over to lean his shoulder against the wall, waiting for you to step back out, and when you did, he drew you into the circle of his arms, while you two waited. This time your head laid on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. You timed it that way, counting with each one. This time no words were shared, neither of you wanted to really get the hopes up of the other one. His hands though told there own story, heavy in the small of your back, they followed up your back, and down, his chin resting atop of your head, and you could feel the scratch of his beard tangling in your hairs, his adams apple bob up and down when he swallowed, you burrowed in closer. Praying, please let it be this time for us. You knew Chris would make a wonderful Daddy, and you wanted to give him that. You wanted to be his childrens mother.

“Okay baby, lets go take a look” He sounded calm as ever and you fidgeted your hand in his shirt, nodding. Together you two went to go peer at the stick. Lifting it up, the both of you studying it. Were you.... Your eyes dart back and forth to the box to confirm.

“Handsome were....” You start breathing in deeply. Chris’s holds tighten on you and turns you to look up at him.

“Y/N, Babygirl, your pregnant, we did it! Baby you got a little Boston Baked Bean growing in you!” His voice had lifted in its excitement, and your bust out in tears, streaming down your cheeks and your laughing in your joy while he encases you into his hold, lifting you off your feet in his joy.

“I cant believe it Chris!” your nuzzling in against him as he covers your tear covered face in loving kisses and nips to your lips, pulling you into a deeper kiss, his tongue tracing yours, tangling and you can feel your head rushing at it. Panting when you part, you pause the two of you with a brace of your hand against his chest.

“Did you call our baby... a Boston Baked Bean?”

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “Uhhh, its kinda been stuck in my head since we started really talking about it.

Only your man would ever think that, but you loved him all that much more for it.

#amber request

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rawritzrobin · 3 years

Text

Seeing Red Chapter 4

Title: Seeing Red

Master List

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stella Covington (OC)

Warnings: Cursing, major character death, a little bit angsty, fluff.

Summary: As Stella's surrogate big brother, Dick freaks out when he hears about her encounter with The Red Hood. Stella seems to have a secret admirer.

Chapter 4: Valentine's Day

After cleaning the puppy and giving him some food, Stella sat on the floor watching the pup run circles around her room. He would spend a second sniffing around, and then instantly take off to another part of the room. Everything was fascinating to him. Stella laughed when he started to bark at a stool.

At first, Stella was going to drop him off at a shelter. She didn't feel she was ready to take care of something alive at the moment. But after spending a few hours with him, she fell in love. After deciding her new pup was in need of supplies, Stella went on a shopping spree. A few hours later, the brown pup had a new collar, new bowls, some shirts, and even matching booties.

She watched the puppy climb onto the table in the middle of her room and sniff the crackers sitting on the edge. She pulled the puppy away before it was able to snag one of them. She brought it up to her face and it licked her nose and wagged its tail.

Once she placed him back onto the floor, he went straight for the crackers once again. Stella laughed at his attempts to get the crackers on the table. She was very impressed by his ambition and his energy.

“With all that energy I think i’m going to name you Latte.“ The puppy looked up when she said the name and wagged his tail. Stella smiles. “You like that don’t you? It’s official Latte. Welcome to your new home!” She threw out her hands and spun in a happy circle. Latte danced happily around her.

Unbeknownst to Stella, she was currently being watched.

Jason was two buildings over with a pair of high tech binoculars. He had to make sure she made it home okay. Something about seeing her in potential danger triggered his protective instincts. Jason put down the binoculars and looks down at his watch. He was already late for his meeting, but it didn't matter. Making sure Stella was safe was more important than some stupid hidden meeting with a bunch of drug lords.

He picked up the binoculars one last time and watched as the dog ran around in circles. Stella has a smile painted on her face the entire time. He could practically hear her laughs from where he was. The longer he watched her, the more Jason’s heart ached. He watched her pull out her phone and laugh at something on her phone. A text maybe? Who was it from? Her lover? Tomorrow was Valentine's Day. Has she moved on already? He put the binoculars away and turns away from her building. He didn't want to know. The more he knew the more his heart hurt. He took a deep breath and hopped onto the fire escape.

That night Stella fell asleep earlier then usual with Latte cuddled up against her chest.

—————————

Stella woke up to a flurry of text messages. She blinked open her eyes and lazily reached for her phone. It was 2am. There were 9 Messages from Dick, and six missed calls.

Stella opened the messages.

Are you serious?

What did he do?

Where are you?

Stella are you okay?

Did he hurt you?

Shit. Sorry I didn’t check my phone earlier.

Stella!?!

Stella?!

STELLA?!?!?!

Stella texted back immediately. 'Im fine Dick. He saved me actually. From some creep trying to steal my purse.' Stella stared at the phone for a few moments before a call from Dick came through.

“Oh thank god Stell! I was on my way to your penthouse! You’re okay? He didn’t hurt you did he?” Stella had to pull the phone away from her ear. He was basically screaming into his phone.

“Hi Dickie. I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. He stopped a guy from robbing me. Not much of a talker. He seemed nice.”

There was a pause on Dick’s end. Before he could say anything, Stella remembered the small creature snoring next to her.

“Oh yeah! I have a puppy now. His name is Latte. I found him on the street all alone. That’s where I met the Red Hood.”

Dick’s voice dropped. “You should be more careful Stella. He’s dangerous. We still don’t know what he is capable of.”

Stella frowned at his words. He didn’t seem dangerous. He was alone with her in that alley way. If he really wanted to he could have hurt her.

But, he didn’t.

“Okay, I will.”

In the back, Stella could hear some shouts and some sounds of gunfire. “Gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye Dick!” She managed to say before the call dropped. She looked down at Latte who managed to stay asleep throughout that entire phone call. His small belly rising and falling from each breath he took. Stella bent over to kiss him on the head. He moved slightly, but did not wake. She brought her head to her pillow, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

That night she dreamt of puppies, coffee, and a man in a red hood.

———————

“Isn’t he just the cutest thing.” Stella said as she walked through the doors of the manor. She brought the pup up to Alfred’s face and Latte did not hesitate to lick his nose. Alfred smiled at the tiny creature and patted his head.

“He is quite adorable.”

Stella handed Alfred the dog while she took her shoes and coat off at the door. “Where’s Dick? I texted him the information for his date tonight. He never wrote back.”

“I’m afraid he is rather incapacitated at the moment, but rest assured he is fine. He managed to sprain his leg during patrol last night. I gave him a few sleeping pills so he could rest. He should be awake by now.”

Stella looked worried. “Are you sure he’s okay? Can I see him?”

“Of course. He’s in his room.” Alfred handed Stella back Latte and she proceeded to make her way up the stairs towards Dick’s room. The manor was eerily silent. Stella could hear her steps echo through the manor walls.

Stella knocked gently on Dick’s door. “Dick?”

“Come in!” Dick said with a cheery voice. He sounded okay. Stella let out a sigh of relief.

She opened the door to reveal Dick sitting in bed. He was in a plain blue t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. On his right leg sat a large array of bandages. A pair of crutches leaned against the side of the bed. He was playing some sort of video game on his phone, he looks up when he hears the door open.

“Hey baby bird!” He said smiling even wider.

“Hey Dickie. You okay? Alfred told me you got hurt last night.” Stella said taking a seat on the bed. She brought her legs up and crossed them together, tucking Latte into her arms.

Dick nods. “Yeah i’m okay. I’ll be out of commission for the next few weeks, but i’m good. Ran into The Hood last night. He did quite a bit of damage to the city. Bruce and Tim will be pretty busy for the next few days.” Dick looked down at the small furry ball in Stella’s arms. “Is this the little guy?” He said extending his arms towards the puppy.

Latte immediately tried to wriggle out of Stella’s arms. She let him go and he went straight into Dick’s lap, jumping up onto his chest. Stella smiled as Dick began laughing and playing with the pup.

“Glad you’re okay. I-I got kind of scared when you didn’t answer my text.”

Dick rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry about that. I saw the reservation. Thank you so much. I already sent the info to Barbara. She’s coming over tonight.”

Stella giggled and clapped. “Oh I’m so excited for you two. I have always wanted to try their Valentines day fixed menu. But I never got the chance.” She shrugs, her mood dropping slightly. Latte senses Stella’s sadness, and makes his way over to her. He climbs onto her lap and wags his tail.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? I’m sure Barbara won’t mind.”

“No way! You two barely have enough time alone together as is. Just go. I’ll hang out with Alfred tonight. Plus, who’s gonna hang out with this little guy if I leave tonight.” Latte perked up at the mention of his name. He jumped onto Stella’s stomach and licked her face. She looked down at her phone. It was nearing 4:30pm.

“You should start getting ready. Babs will be here soon.” She said as she placed Latte onto the floor. He immediately began sniffing the floor, and ran out the door to explore the rest of the manor. “See you later Dick! Let me know how the food is.” She said, running out the room to chase after the little puppy.

Dick watched her exit the room. He didn’t get the chance to bring up her meeting with The Red Hood. He got up from the bed and placed the crutches under his arms.

He just prayed that Stella wouldn’t end up getting hurt by the masked man.

———————— Once Dick and Barbara left for their reservation, Stella and Alfred spent the entire night baking cookies and making cupcakes. Each baked good was decorated with flowers and hearts.

“And done!” Stella said as she placed a chocolate heart on top of a pink frosted cupcake. The kitchen was covered in baked goods. Dozens of boxes lined the tables. Stella plans was to to stop by the soup kitchen on her way home to hand out the treats.

“Beautiful as always Miss Stella.” Alfred smiled down at her. Stella cradled a single cupcake in her hands.

“I think I’ll give this one to Jay.” She said as she jumped off her chair. “Be right back!” She opened the door to the backyard and made her way towards Jason’s gravestone. The sun was just beginning to set. Stella shivered as the temperature was beginning to drop with the setting sun. She quickly ran to the gravestone and placed the cupcake in front of it.

“Happy Valentines Day Jay. It’s chocolate, your favorite.” She smiled down at the grave. After a few moments her face dropped as a familiar feeling of pain rocked her heart. Tears pricked her eyes. She took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “Miss you Jay.” She whispers. She gently wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and heads back to the kitchen.

Alfred was cleaning up when she got back. The cupcakes and cookies were perfectly packed inside various sized boxes. She looks down at her watch and saw that it was getting late.

“Hey Alfred, I’m gonna head out.”

Alfred turns to look at her. “Okay. Let’s start getting the boxes to your car.”

It took a few trips, but they managed to get every single cake and cookie safely into the back of Stella’s Porsche. She placed a sleeping Latte into the passenger seat inside his carseat. She ran up the steps and gave Alfred a hug before thanking him and waving goodbye.

It took 10 minutes to get to the soup kitchen. Stella regularly stopped by, so she was greeted with warm smiles. She was inside the office speaking with the workers when she feels someone tap her shoulder. She turns around to face a young man.

“Someone left this for you.” The young man said.

In his hand was a single red rose with a note attached and a cute coffee shaped dog plushie. Stella tilted her head in confusion.

“It was on the hood of your car.”

Stella took the rose and plushie from him. She opened the small card attached to the rose.

Happy Valentine's Day Stella. ~RH

Stella looked down with confusion at the rose. RH? Who could that be? She began going over about all the boys she had class with and the ones Dick had introduced her to. No one with the initials RH came to her mind. She shook her head and came back to reality.

“Thank you.” She said to the young man.

Stella said her goodbyes to the team and made her way back to her car. Latte was happily waiting for her in his seat. She handed him the coffee plushie and he immediately started chewing on it. She smiled down at the dog and got into the drivers seat. She looked down at the rose in her lap. Her mind wandered as she drove home.

Who was RH?

#Red Hood #jason todd/original female character #Stella Covington #jason todd x oc #DCU #batman #original female character #alternature universe #AU #Dick Grayson #DC #Under the Red Hood #iwritethings #fanfiction #seeing red #nightwing

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Note

requests are open? 🥺 angel! can we please get a lil thing about luke taking petunia for a walk/to a dog park and a little puppy runs up to petunia to try and play with her and luke grabs the puppy to make sure it doesn’t get away and reader comes running up apologising bcos it’s her dog and they have a cute little puppy date for their dogs? xx 🌸

hello my lil luke anon, your requests always make me feel warm and soft and i’m always a softie for luke.

ALSO..... maybe this is how luke and lovie meet??? like when michael met kitty at the hair salon?? that okay?? we all like that??

and this is the puppy

• • • •

The park was a wide spacious place with lush green grass, and surrounded by fences and gates so that the dogs could run freely without fear of darting into the road or running away. It’s Luke’s favorite spot to take Petunia where he plays fetch with her favorite pink frisbee. Bubblers were set up all around so Luke could give her fresh water when she got a little too hot.

Luke and Petunia were walking to their favorite little corner by a large tree that provided the best shade and the best breeze when he heard an excited little puppy bark. He smiles at the noise then unclips Petunia’s leash from her collar and tosses the frisbee easily.

She scampers off, grunting in her way as she does and Luke sets her things by the base of the tree. She comes back with the frisbee held joyously in her mouth and she drops it at his feet.

“Good girl,” he praises petting her head. He throws it again then sits down by the trunk of the tree.

Petunia runs back but this time with a little golden haired weiner dog that is miniscule compared to his piggy girl. The puppy is yipping with their ears flopping.

“Hey, who are you?” Luke greets the little dog and it pounces in his lap. He’s never felt more like a giant with this little pupper attacking his hands in licks of kisses.

Petunia drops the frisbee and the puppy’s ears perk up then launches herself (Luke saw she was a she while she was rolling in his lap) at Petunia. She darts from side to side trying to get Petunia to interact and Luke laughs at Petunia’s patient yet bored expression.

Fed up, the puppy darts away and Luke jolts from the ground going to catch it, which is easy because he’s such a damn giant.

“Let’s find your owner, hm?” Luke asks and the puppy wriggles in his arms trying to lick his face.

Luke scans the area for a distressed doggo owner when he hears a voice calling from behind, “Honey! Come here, girl where are you? Honey!”

Luke turns and sees you running frantic by the edge of the fence looking for--he’s assuming--the little one in his arms.

“Is this who you’re looking for?” Luke calls making his way over to you.

You look his way and the relief that floods your face makes Luke really look at you. A little frazzled and a little breathless but you’re cute as hell nonetheless.

“Thank you! I was scared she got through the fence cause she’s so tiny, c’mere, baby,” you scold in a cute voice and take your puppy from his arms.

“You’re welcome, she’s a feisty little thing,” Luke grins, “What’s her name you were calling her?”

“Honey,” you smile proudly kissing her repeatedly. Honey’s little tail wags excitedly at your love.

“That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard,” Luke deadpans staring at the interaction. “Um, I’m Luke by the way.”

“Y/N,” you smile then glance down at Petunia who’s sat herself right on your feet. Luke notices your toes are painted sky blue and for some reason he really likes that. “Who’s this?!”

“That’s Petunia,” Luke introduces proudly, “but she’s also piggy to me.”

You drop to the grass petting her excitedly, praising how pretty she is and how you love her soft ears. Honey sniffs Petunia and Luke is just melting at the sight.

“You wanna join us by our tree? I’ve got some of Petunia’s other toys that Honey could play with, even if they’re her size,” he laughs.

“That sounds like fun! Honey loves new dog friends.”

While your dog children play (well, Honey hops around Petunia who tries to catch her and then they both end up falling asleep, Honey nestled against Petunia) you and Luke get to know each other.

You admit you’re a fan of the band, but then you continue asking about his favorite food and his family and how he found Petunia. It’s only when Petunia lets out a loud snort you both realize it’s getting dark soon but you leave the park with each other’s phone numbers to have another doggy date.

• • • •

Taglist: @galcalirwin @cashtonasff5sos @wokeupinjapanisabop @myloverboyash @rotten-kandy @tea4sykes @jannimoeller3 @loveroflrh @iovehemmings @cxddlyash @princesslrh @here-for-the-uproars @katiaw2 @g-l-pierce @fairyintheglass @gosh-im-short

#luke blurbs #luke hemmings blurbs #luke fluff #luke hemmings fluff #luke x reader #soft!luke #luke 5sos #🌸 lil luke anon

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lickstynine · 4 years

Text

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Thirty

written with @ocsickficsideblog

---------

Everyone continued to eat and chat for a while, save for Kit, who was just sipping his one cup of tea and occasionally throwing out quips. Finny had taken a seat under the table, his ass on Alistair’s feet, his tummy on Riagán’s, and his front feet on Siofra’s. She ruffled his ears, sending Cillian to go get more beer so she wouldn’t have to bother the dog. By the time everyone was full, there was an astonishing dent in the buffet that had been filling up the table. There was enough food for maybe a few normal-sized people to have lunch, but that was really it. Kit stared in astonishment for a moment before helping to gather empty plates.

“What, never seen a functional family before?” Siofra smirked.

“Well… no. But I was more shocked at how much you all eat. I would actually die if I tried to eat that much.”

Siofra snorted, patting his shoulder as she set the remaining ham on the counter. “Yeah, well you’re tiny, an’ ye sit on the couch feelin’ sad an’ dramatic all day. We’re big, an’ we fuckin’ work out. Calories in, calories out, an’ all that shit. C’mon, we’re gonna watch whatever dumb Christmas film is on, then dessert.”

Kit’s jaw nearly fell off his hinges. “We’re still having dessert after that?”

“Well, yeah. It’d be a right lousy holiday if we didn’t.” Siofra shrugged, wrapping up the leftover ham before dragging him to the couch. Kit looked hesitant to take up space when there were so many family members not seated yet, so Siofra just pulled him onto her lap. He yelped in surprise, but didn’t move — she was soft and warm and remarkably comfortable. Riagán snorted and plunked down next to them.

“Ye lovebirds havin’ fun?”

“Mm… not till you go to sleep.” She grinned.

Cillian fake-gagged, squeezing into the remaining corner of the couch. “Gross!”

“At least I have a boyfriend, not a pillow I kiss at night.” Siofra said. Riagán snorted and Cillian smacked at them both with a throw pillow. He mostly just hit Riagán and Kit, since Siofra was being blocked from the front and the side. Riagán grabbed a cushion and smacked back, while Kit just yelped again.

Gran shuffled in with a mug of tea. “Boys! Not my good pillows! Beat each other with the ratty ones.”

Alistair just sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. He was starting to wish he’d just gone with Julius instead. He wanted him so badly. Siofra’s family were all friendly and boisterous, but Alistair wasn’t really attached to them like Kit was, being Siofra’s boyfriend. He was only there for Kit, and Kit seemed to have had enough of him too. He felt squeezed out on the edge again.

Kit was doing his best to play along, but he didn’t really feel any more at home than his cousin. He felt like an idiot jumping out of his skin every time a pillow flew at him, but he would’ve felt like more of an idiot asking the boys to stop. He slouched down, resting his head on Siofra’s chest, and she ran her fingers through his hair. Finny trotted into the living room, looking quite offended to see his owner’s lap taken. He laid down on the ground with a deep doggy sigh.

A moment later, Mr. Rafferty finally came to sit, taking the armchair opposite Gran’s rocking chair. He turned on the TV, flicking through channels of useless sludge until he hit the opening credits of A Christmas Carol. Kit knew every version of the story, inside and out, and before long, the familiarity was going in one ear and out the other while he stared off into the abyss. Alistair was similarly preoccupied, sitting with his chin on his knees. He kept his eyes closed, trying to blot out this other family he didn’t belong to. He was rudely interrupted by a wet nose snuffling his face. Finny was similarly peeved about his favourite human being preoccupied, and wanted attention.

Ruff.

Alistair smiled at him, letting Finny cuddle on his lap. He suddenly felt dangerously near tears, and blinked fiercely to stop himself weeping, hiding his face in Finny's fur. A large, pink tongue that smelled of gravy and mashed potatoes lapped at Alistair’s hair and the exposed parts of his cheeks. Alistair smiled a bit, ruffling Finny’s ears. “Ugh, gross,” he said fondly. Finny just licked his face again, letting out a low, cheerful boof. The sound caught Siofra’s attention and she nearly broke her neck turning to face Alistair without knocking Kit off her lap.

“Ya wanna take ‘im outside? He’s been in all afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Alistair said, desperate to escape. “Come on, Finny.”

The dog hopped up at once, wagging his tail and running to the front door. Alistair got his leash on, stepping out into the frigid winter air. Soft snowflakes were falling, and Finny was delighted, running around trying to catch them in his mouth. Alistair watched him, laughing — and then the giggles turned to tears so suddenly even Alistair was surprised. He didn’t even really know what he was crying about. It was just that it was Christmas, and he was lonely.

Finny immediately turned around, running back to Alistair and tackling him into the snow. He laid down on top of the now-prone Alistair, snuffling and licking his face. Alistair squealed and wrapped his arms around the wriggling lump of fur, half laughing, half crying. Finny continued to lick his face — that was the only way he knew how to fix crying humans. Snow was gathering on the tips of his dark ears, making them look like tiny mountains. Alistair tried to sit up, gently brushing the snow off. “Come on, it’s freezing. We should better go inside to play gooseberry.”

Finny shook himself off, hopping off of Alistair to run in circles around him. His fur kept him plenty warm, but he still returned to the front door after a minute, nudging Alistair along. Alistair laughed. “It’s like you’re looking after me,” he said, taking him back inside. Finny ran back inside, sniffing around to see if more food had come out in the interim. When he found nothing, he flopped down on the rug. Kit hadn’t moved an inch, still staring vacantly into the same spot on the wall. Gran waved when Alistair and Finny came back in.

“Hello, boys! How was the wretched tundra?”

“Bloody freezing, as expected. How’d you live out here? I thought old people got more cold,” Alistair said tactlessly.

Gran snorted. “That’s what alcohol is for. Why d’ye think the Russians are known for vodka?”

“Because it originates there?”

Gran paused for a long moment, then turned back around to watch the movie. “What a sheltered child…”

“I’m not sheltered,” Alistair grumbled.

“If ye don’t like shelter, ye could go back outside.” Riagán offered. Siofra elbowed him in the stomach.

“There’s hot chocolate on the counter.” She told Alistair. “Cilli wanted some, so we made a bunch. Knew yer fat arse would drink the rest.”

“My fat arse will,” Alistair said gratefully, going to grab a cup. Finny followed him, hoping for food. Alistair ruffled his fur. “Haven’t you eaten enough, greedy-guts? You’re as bad as your Siofra.”

“Oi!” Siofra called from the living room. Finny boofed in response, then turned back to Alistair to beg. Alistair couldn’t resist him for long, ferreting in the cupboards for a treat.

“You’re a menace, Finny. Giving me those big eyes.”

Ruff. Finny snuffled Alistair’s hand, happily crunching the treat. Alistair squatted beside him, sighing. “How come I can only make it work with you guys..? Animals. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be flipping human. My mother used to say I was half wild.” Finny licked his face.

Ruff.

Alistair stroked him fondly. “We should probably go back to the room…” Finny turned around obediently, thumping Alistair’s legs with his tail before returning to the living room. He stared indignantly at Kit, who was snoring on top of Siofra, flopping down on the rug again. Alistair flopped in a similar fashion beside him, curling around Finny like they were two dogs together. Finny wrapped his tail around Alistair, giving his face a big, sloppy lick. Siofra chuckled.

“D’you two need a room?”

“Bugger off,” Alistair said lazily. Finny licked his nose again, happy to have attention since his owner was preoccupied. Siofra just chuckled.

“He seems pretty happy with ya.”

“It’s only because Kit’s purloined you.”

“Oh, so you’re both jealous?” Siofra grinned.

“Evidently.”

“I mean, there’s space on my lap for two more. Kit is like the size’o my leg.”

“It’s a lovely offer, but I think I’ll pass,” Alistair said, rolling his eyes. “Kit’s happy there anyway. It’s nothing against you, I’m just...protective. Trust me, if you were a lanky streak of piss like Kit, your brothers would be the same.”

Siofra snorted so hard she nearly woke Kit, and her brothers laughed as well. Gran just chuckled and shook her head. Alistair grinned, curling back up with Finny. He could hear his soft heartbeat through his thick fur. The dog licked his nose more gently before curling up to sleep.

By the time the movie was over, Finny, Kit, and Cillian were all sound asleep. Siofra finally nudged the snoring red lump in her lap. “Oi. Get off, I want dessert.” Kit groaned dramatically and didn’t move.

“Come sit with me and Finny,” Alistair mumbled sleepily.

“I’m not sitting on the floor with the dog.” Kit sighed.

“I thought your fat arse would get up when ye heard ‘dessert.’” Siofra teased.

“Depends on what you’re eating.”

Siofra looked at him strangely. “Pudding, soda bread, cake, tarts. Y’know… dessert?”

“We always had just one dessert at home, they’d just be like “it’s meringues” or “it’s banoffee pie.” I am aware of what dessert is,” Alistair said.

“We had lots of desserts at parties.” Kit mumbled.

“Course ye did, Princess.” Siofra lifted him off of her, setting him in the warm spot she’d left on the couch. She kicked Cillian lightly. “Oi. Dessert.” He popped up like a jack-in-the-box.

“Dessert?”

Riagán was already barrelling past his little brother into the kitchen, while Mr. Rafferty helped Gran out of her chair.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Like Pavlov’s dogs.”

“Yer mum’s a dog.” Siofra mumbled. Finny lifted his head and barked. He’d heard ‘dog.’

Alistair was distracted, ruffling Finny’s ears. “Ooh, you’re so clever!” Finny licked his face and trotted off to the kitchen as well. Alistair followed Finny, walking two steps behind him, as if he was the dog and Finny the human. Everyone was crowded around the counter, piling plates full of dessert. Meanwhile, Kit pattered off down the hallway, in search of his guest room. Alistair backed away from the crowd too, anxiety overwhelming the desire for dessert. He made a dash for his room. Kit was already there, rooting in his suitcase, and he yelped in surprise.

“Al! What are you doing here?”

“Getting away from everybody. It’s all a bit intense. What’re you doing?”

“Looking for a handkerchief.” Kit mumbled. “Are you really so scared of Siofra’s family that you’re avoiding dessert?”

“Not just all the people. It’s Christmas itself,” Alistair mumbled, flopping back on Kit’s bed. “It freaks me out when I see all these families being all happy and jolly together. I used to do it with Jules too.”

Kit rolled his eyes, but he didn’t comment. He needed Alistair to leave, but he wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m surprised Finny didn’t follow you.”

“He’ll be wanting table scraps. What’re you doing hovering by your case?”

“Trying to find my… handkerchief.” It took Kit a minute to remember what he’d said he was looking for.

“Just blow your nose on some bog roll. Do you want me to get some?”

Kit had to swallow a sigh of relief. “Yes, please. Meet me back in the living room.”

“Okay…” Alistair was a bit perplexed by that, Kit was the type who’d leave the room to blow his nose in private, but he left to grab some toilet paper anyway. By the time Alistair found the bathroom and got back, Kit had stumbled back to the living room, arms piled high with wrapped gifts.

Siofra had just finished fighting her brothers over a particularly large tart, and she turned to walk back into the living room. When she saw her boyfriend staggering under a heap of gifts, she nearly shrieked.

“Where in fuck did those come from?”

“What the fuck are you yelling about..?” Alistair mumbled, trailing into the room. His jaw dropped when he spotted Kit. “Fuck me! Did you loot a whole shop?”

“It didn’t all come from one shop. Even Amazon wouldn’t have the right things for everyone.” Kit huffed. He was setting down gifts by everyone’s seats, and there was a stack of several boxes where Alistair had been laying on the floor.

“Can we open them now?” Alistair asked excitedly.

“Wait for everyone to get settled. Go grab dessert or something. I know you’ll bitch if everyone is sitting here with sweets but you.” Kit said. Alistair poked his tongue out at Kit, but did as he was told. Finny was still lingering in the kitchen, trying to appeal to Gran for sweets. She rolled her eyes.

“Ye can’t eat tarts, ye great foolish beast.”

Finny barked in protest. Alistair slipped him a bit of pastry when he thought she wasn’t looking. Gran saw it, but she just smacked him with her napkin and shuffled back to the living room. There was still a fair amount of dessert left — she always made more than enough for the group she was hosting. Alistair grabbed a few more tarts and then hurried back to the living room. He was curious about the gifts. Finny padded after him, sniffing curiously at the small package that had been left where he sat.

Kit shifted nervously on his feet. “Er, if it’s alright, I’d like Siofra to go first. Since she’s the one that brought me here and all…”

Mr. Rafferty was staring incredulously at the tiny, neatly-wrapped box in his seat, still gobsmacked that he’d gotten a gift from this borderline stranger. He looked up when Siofra threw a pillow at him.

“Dad? Can I open mine?”

“Oh, uh, go ahead.” He nodded.

Siofra tore into the box at once, revealing a gold pendant with green gemstones clustered into a loose circle. The gems ranged in colour from pale and yellowish to deep blue-green, and many of the hues reflected in her eyes as she held it up. She couldn’t hide the grin spreading across her face.

“Bloody hell… this is stunnin’. Don’t tell me how much ye spent on it. I might have to kill ya.”

“Well, then it suits you. It’s a one-of-a-kind piece. I like the arrangement of gems, it almost reminded me of freckles.” Kit murmured.

Siofra scoffed. “Ya sappy piece’o shit.” She was grinning even as she said it, and she yanked him closer for a suffocating hug. Once she released Kit to breathe again, she looked around the room. “Alright, who’s next?”

“Um, let’s do your brothers. I want Al to go last.” Kit said.

Neither Cillian nor Riagán offered to let the other go first; they tore into their boxes nearly simultaneously. Cillian’s gift was a pair of blue, black, and white Air Jordans, the colours almost identical to his favourite jacket. He gasped. “Shit! Siofra, did ye tell ‘im to get these?”

She shrugged. “I just gave ‘im yer size. He did the shoppin’.”

Riagán was similarly awestruck by his gift — a glossy William Henry pocket knife that looked more like a piece of jewelry than a weapon. This time, Kit spoke for himself.

“Siofra told me your old knife broke last time you were camping. This one should be a bit more… resilient.”

“Fuckin’ hell…” Riagán was staring slackjawed into the box. “I… shit… I mean… thanks, mate. That sounds pathetic, but, I just… I dunno what to say.”

Kit just smiled and shook his head. “It’s okay. As long as you like it, that’s all I need to know.”

Siofra was bouncing on the edge of her seat, just as delighted by the others’ gifts as her own. “Dad! Yours now!”

Mr. Rafferty chuckled and shook his head. He wasn’t sure what to expect; he didn’t know Kit personally like his sons, so it would probably just be a really expensive gift card or something. His beard and lower jaw nearly dropped off his face when he unwrapped the tiny box to see tickets to Yo-Yo Ma’s Bach Project performance in Barcelona, with accompanying plane tickets to Spain for the week of the show. He looked at Kit like he was expecting it to be a joke, but Kit just smiled.

“Siofra’s told me a lot about you. I tried to find something I thought you would like. If it’s not to your interest, I can get something else.”

“No, no no no. This is… amazin’. I’m just wonderin’… why?” Mr. Rafferty was still staring at Kit in utter confusion.

“It’s nice to make people happy. I have more money than I could ever spend. Why not do something decent with it?” Kit shrugged.

Mr. Rafferty still seemed a little blown away by the whole thing, but he nodded. “That’s… I suppose that’s fair.”

Kit was already turning to smile sheepishly at Gran. “I’m sorry, I know the wine must seem a bit anticlimactic. Siofra didn’t give me much notice I was going to be meeting you.”

“Dear, yer pretty arse stayin’ in my house is enough to make my Christmas merry. Wine is just the icin’ on the cake.” She grinned, her eyes scrunching and sparkling much in the same way Siofra’s had.

Kit chuckled. “You’re too kind. Al? Would you like to help Finny open his gift?”

Alistair did as he was told silently, a little awestruck by all the other gifts. He put Finny’s paw on the package as he ripped the paper to make sure Finny knew it was his present. Finny snuffled it curiously. At first the box looked like it held fancy candy, but upon closer inspection, they were actually gourmet dog treats. Finny was nosing at the box, clearly eager to examine its contents.

Siofra laughed. “Now ye can have dessert too, ye fat furry bastard.” Finny barked at her. Alistair opened the box for him, letting Finny stick his nose in and rootle around. The dog scarfed up a treat at once, trying to eat a second one before he’d even finished chewing. Siofra let him have a second, but then she took the box before he could devour them all. Kit was hovering nervously by his cousin, watching as Finny settled down.

“Alright, Al. Your turn.”

“Finally!” Alistair said, but he sounded nervous too. Maybe it was just everyone watching him. He started tearing the wrapping paper off the top box, struggling with the sellotape with his bitten nails. It finally gave, revealing a book of cold-press cotton paper and a tray of sixteen high-end watercolours.

Alistair had been preparing a thank you on his tongue, but he couldn’t speak now. He’d have never been able to afford these himself, but he’d always wanted to try them. He leapt over the box and hugged Kit hard — and he was still only on the first box. The older boy let out a strangled squawk.

“Al! Don’t choke me yet. I’d like to see you at least open your other gifts…”

“Okay, but I’m choking you afterwards,” Alistair said, tearing at the next box. This one was something Kit had researched for hours before picking it out — a 24-inch Wacom Cintiq Pro drawing tablet.

Alistair looked like he was going to have a heart attack. “Kit, you’re fucking amazing.”

“Open the last one, then suck my dick.” Kit grinned.

“You’re awful. I love you.” Alistair couldn’t sort through his emotions when he was this excited. He eagerly opened the last box. It was smaller than the Wacom, a sleek silver Macbook Pro.

“I figured your old computer wouldn’t hold up to Photoshop very well. Or rather… the salesman who helped me pick out your tablet figured.” Kit said.

“Dude. Kit.” Alistair almost did throttle his cousin when he hugged him this time. “They’re the most perfect presents I’ve ever been given…”

Kit made a louder squawking noise, trying to pull away enough to breathe. Finny was nosing curiously at Alistair’s things, but he knew better than to lick or chew on them. Alistair went and hugged him too. “Look at the stuff Kit bought me, Finny! Now I can do art like a real artist! Isn’t he fucking awesome!”

Kit just smiled, sitting on the couch to help Siofra with the clasp of her new necklace. Finny boofed, excited because Alistair was excited. He gave the boy’s face a big, sloppy lick. Alistair romped on the floor with him, bouncing off the walls now. He was like a kid on a sugar high. Finny rolled around, delighted to be getting so much attention, while Siofra and her family settled on the couch to eat dessert. Gran was pouring wine for those who wanted it, and Kit gratefully took a glass. He leaned on Siofra, but stayed awake this time, quiet and watchful.

“What about your presents, Kit?” Alistair said under Finny.

“Me? What could I possibly need as a gift?”

“I’ll give you mine later,” he whispered. “I don’t want everyone seeing it. Don’t get excited though, like you said, you’ve got everything.”

“I mean, I have somethin’ for ye, too, but it’s also not somethin’ I can give ye in public.” Siofra grinned. Kit’s cheeks flared red, but the Rafferty boys and Gran just laughed.

“Gross, Siofra,” Alistair mumbled.

“Yer mum’s gross.” She smirked.

“True.”

Finny boofed, and Siofra smiled. “Don’t worry Finn, yer mum was lovely.”

“You knew her?” Alistair said curiously.

“No, but I did. She was quite the charmin’ bitch.” Mr. Rafferty grinned.

“Well. That’s good,” Alistair said awkwardly. Finny saved him from further conversation by trotting over to the door and whining. Alistair leapt up at once. “I’ll take him out.”

“Thanks.” Siofra smiled at him. “Take a jacket, it’s bloody baltic outside.”

Alistair grabbed the first one off the rack, which must have belonged to one of the Rafferty men, since it looked like it was trying to swallow Alistair whole when he put it on. “Come on, Finn.”

Finny boofed delightedly, barreling out the door as soon as it was open. Snow had been falling heavily, and it was up to his belly fur, but he ran through it without hesitation.

“Jesus! Look at this!” Alistair ran out into the show, shivering. He’d shoved his bare feet into somebody’s gigantic trainers, and they were offering little protection. “Fuck, my feet are cold, Finny.”

Finny’s fur seemed to be doing a stellar job of keeping him warm. He ran around chasing snowflakes for a while before even remembering he’d been let out to piss. Alistair tried to run after him, but the borrowed shoes were so big he kept stepping out of them and stepping into the snow in his bare feet. “I am losing toes here, Finny,” Alistair called, but he still didn’t go inside.

Finny eventually wore himself out, running back to Alistair and snuffling at his legs. He was full after being spoiled with snacks all evening, and not as hyper as earlier. When Alistair let the dog back inside, Siofra and Cillian were helping clean up dessert dishes, and Gran was asking Kit about his travels. He seemed a little flustered to be in the spotlight, but once she got him going on a story about visiting Japan, he rambled enthusiastically, telling her about the temples he’d seen. Alistair staggered into the kitchen with snow in his hair, his feet practically blue.

Siofra snorted. “Jaysus, who’s the Ice Princess now?”

“The bloody snow outside is deep.”

“Ya coulda taken my boots.” She grinned, “They’d fit just fine.”

“I just took the first shoes I found,” he grumbled.

“Figured. Would some hot chocolate warm ya up?” Siofra asked.

“God, yes please.”

Siofra laughed, going over to the stove to make fresh cocoa. Finny had joined them in the kitchen, hoping to catch any dropped crumbs. Alistair didn’t have food to offer, but he pet Finny’s ears. The dog wagged his tail, thumping Alistair's legs. He watched Siofra eagerly as she worked on the stove.

“This ain't for you, fat-arse. You've already had fancy treats and all sorts'o scraps.” She told him. Finny sighed, laying down right in the middle of the kitchen floor.

“Can’t he have a little bit of something?” Alistair asked.

“No. He's already had way more than usual. Don't want ‘im gettin’ sick, or fat.”

“Fat dogs are super cute.”

“They're also super unhealthy.” Siofra replied sternly. She finished the cocoa, pouring some into a fresh mug.

“Sorry, Finny. I tried.”

Finny boofed, continuing to lay right in Siofra's way. She just stepped over him and handed Alistair the mug. He took it gratefully, trying to warm his freezing hands.

“Go sit on the couch. We got plenty'o blankets.”

“Who else is there?” Alistair asked warily.

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Yer cousin. Riagán maybe, but ‘e's probably gone to set up sleepin’ bags.”

“Okay.” He mooched off to the living room, going to cuddle up with Kit on the sofa. Kit was still nursing the same glass of wine, and he yelped when his cousin sat down.

“Good Lord, Al, you're freezing!”

“I know. My feet are numb.”

“There’s blankets on the back’o the couch!” Siofra yelled from the kitchen. Gran and Mr. Rafferty had left the living room, so Riagán had taken over the armchair.

Alistair grabbed a couple of blankets, wrapping Kit up too. “Thank you so much for those gifts, Kit. You spoil me.”

“I try.” Kit mumbled, leaning on Alistair’s shoulder. He was still holding his wineglass, but he’d stopped sipping from it a while ago.

“I wish I could get you something as special,” he sighed.

“Like what, Al? You’re not being rude by not spending money you don’t have.”

“I’m just saying, I wish.”

“I wish I was in bed.” Kit mumbled. His eyelids were fluttering as he fought to keep them up, and he had to set his wine down before he dropped the glass.

“Want me to carry you?” Alistair offered.

Kit nodded. “Mm. Come to bed with me. Get warm.”

Alistair snorted. “I thought you and Siofra were having a holiday hump?”

“Tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“Glad to know I’m valued!” Siofra called from the kitchen. Alistair grinned, hauling Kit up in his arms. Cillian waved as they walked off to the guest room.

“Night!”

“Night,” Alistair said back, plopping Kit on the bed carefully. Kit held his arms out, hoping his cousin would crawl in bed with him. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes. Alistair couldn’t resist him, climbing under the sheets beside him. “Don’t you want to change?”

“Oh… I suppose I should.” Kit was so tired, he hadn’t given it the slightest thought.

“Do you want me to just do it? It’s not like I haven’t dressed you for bed before.” Alistair offered.

“...please?”

Alistair grinned. “Okay. Stay still then.”

Kit just flopped on the bed like a dramatic ragdoll, allowing his cousin to dress him. He heard snickering and looked up to see Siofra in the doorway.

“I didn’t think nobles still needed servants to dress ‘em.” She grinned.

Kit’s cheeks flared red. “I… it’s not like that!”

“Really? Didja go quadriplegic in the last five minutes?”

“...no.”

“Then what’s it like?” Siofra asked.

Kit hung his head, clearly embarrassed. “...I’m tired.”

She snorted. “Too tired to put on yer own pyjamas!”

“He offered!” Kit cried.

“This is quite a usual thing,” Alistair agreed. “It’s just easier than forcing him up to do it himself.”

“Christ. Ye rich folk are really somethin’ else.” Siofra shook her head, but she was smiling.

“I’m not a rich folk anymore.”

“Ah, right. You’re just weird. Well, I’ll leave ye weirdos to it.” She walked off down the hall, and Kit could hear her talking to Finny out in the living room.

“She’s the weird one. This whole family is weird,” Alistair said. He didn’t sound mad, just perplexed. “They all like...love each other.”

Kit laughed so hard, Alistair had to let go of his sleeve. “Al… that’s how normal families are.”

“It’s weird! They’re not any bit of drama or resentment. Even Jules’s dad has been screwing someone else. Even his family is a bit fucked up.”

“Well, I mean, Siofra said she never liked her mum much. But it’s really not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’m sure they fight sometimes.” Kit shrugged.

“Oh god, I bet that’s a riot.”

“You’re a riot.” Kit mumbled, flopping down on the bed with a sigh.

“Are you too tired to open my present tonight?” Alistair asked quietly.

Kit sat up, trying to smooth himself out. “Oh, no. I just forgot. Sorry.”

Alistair grinned. “Shocker. Like I said, don’t be too excited… I wish I could afford to get you something really nice.” He rifled in his case and pulled out a little oblong parcel wrapped in deep blue paper.

“I can buy myself nice things. I’m just curious to see what you thought of.” Kit took the parcel, peeling off the paper slowly and carefully.

It was a necklace, very dainty and delicate, the chains so fragile they seemed as brittle as a daisy chain. There was a rose pendant at the bottom, uncannily similar to the ring Kit wore to remember his mother: same design, colour, roughly similar in size. Alistair had bought it second-hand, but he’d polished it up until it shone like it was new. Kit immediately looked down at his ring, stricken by the similarity. As far as he’d known, the ring didn’t have a companion piece — it was an old heirloom, one of the few remnants of when his mother’s family was wealthy. He was quiet for a long time, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip.

“How… where did you find this?”

Alistair nudged his shoulder gently. “You know, you do still have an aunt…”

Kit nearly dropped the necklace. “It’s actually…” he stumbled over his words, too choked up to articulate himself, “It was hers? Or… the family’s, at least?”

“Yep. I would’ve told you I’d been in touch sooner, but I wanted to give you this first,” Alistair said. “Máire wants to talk to you again, too.”

Kit clutched the threadlike chain, his hands too shaky to put on the clasp. He was quiet, save for small, shuddering breaths, before collapsing against Alistair, sobbing and hugging his cousin tightly. Alistair held him just as tight. “So yeah… Máire was kinda part of your present.”

Kit shook his head, burying his face in Alistair’s shoulder. “She won’t want to see me. Not like this.”

“Of course she will! She was dead excited to hear from even me, so she’ll be really happy. I showed her a picture of you and she couldn’t believe how much you’ve changed,” Alistair laughed.

“I’m sure that picture looked worlds better than I do now.” Kit sighed. He was all too aware of how corpse-like he’d looked as of late.

“Well, it’ll probably make her auntie instincts come out. She kept telling me I hadn’t changed a bit.” He rolled his eyes. “Mnn, flattering.”

“You still don’t brush your hair.” Kit was chuckling through the tears now.

“She kept trying to smooth it down just like when we were kids,” Alistair said, grinning. “She said how handsome you are now.”

“When did you go see her?” Kit asked.

“Not too long before we came out here. I found her on Facebook and we chatted for a bit first.”

Kit nodded. “Does Julie know?”

“Yeah. He’s the only thing that kept me from telling you. I almost caved a hundred times this week.”

Kit couldn’t help giggling. “You were always awful with secrets. It’s probably good you didn’t realize you were gay sooner.”

“I know, I’d have told everyone in a heartbeat. I’d have had to live in your cupboard or some shit like a fucking war criminal.”

"Virgin war criminal more like." Kit smirked. He was no longer crying, and he sat up enough to put the necklace on.

“I could’ve seen your hair during your Draco blond phase,” Alistair said, helping Kit do up the clasp.

Kit cringed. "Oh god. I think I burned my yearbook from that phase."

"What phase?" Siofra popped her head into the room, as she'd walked over to check on the boys.

"Doesn't matter." Kit replied hastily.

Siofra smirked. "I'll be nice enough to pretend I believe ya. I thought ye came in here to sleep?"

"I did," Kit said, "I forgot Al still had a gift to give me."

"Ye know I do too, right?" Siofra asked.

Kit shook his head. "Not while we're sharing a room with him. That's just cruel."

"A real gift, ye twit. I was jokin' ‘bout fuckin' bein' yer gift. I'll fuck ye anytime, holidays be damned."

"Oh." Kit blinked. "Do… do you want to give it to me now?"

"Nah. You're havin' a moment. I can leave ye two here. D'ye need anything before I go?" She asked.

"Er… I don't think so. Al?"

“No thanks. But you can do the gift exchange if you want,” Alistair said. “I’ll go piss or something if you want privacy.”

"Nah, I'm not that fussed. It's nothin' fancy. I just thought I oughta offer more than a shag." Siofra shrugged. She dug through her own bag, which was sitting on the floor, and pulled out a wrapped box. Kit opened it as meticulously as the last gift, eventually revealing a small wooden box. He undid the latch, revealing an ornate silver hairbrush, with a matching mirror and comb.

"It's lovely," he smiled, lifting the mirror and turning it over. The back had delicate scrolling detail like the brush, and it was immaculately glossy.

"Oh, good." Siofra grinned, seemingly relieved.

"What, did you think I wouldn't like it?" Kit asked.

"Honestly, I was afraid you'd already have ten."

“You are a nightmare to buy gifts for, Kit,” Alistair agreed. “Just cause you’ve got fucking everything.”

"Well, that's why I don't ask for anything!" He cried defensively.

“I’m just teasing you, dope,” Alistair said fondly.

"You're a dope," Kit mumbled, leaning against his cousin with a drowsy sigh. Siofra took the box off his lap, clasping it shut and setting it aside.

"You lot get some sleep. I'll be to bed in a while."

“I’ll look after him,” Alistair promised.

Siofra nodded. "Ya got enough blankets?"

“For me, yes. For Kit, we could probably do with a couple more.”

"Figured. I'll be right back." Siofra stepped away, returning a few minutes later with some soft throw blankets and a handmade quilt. "This oughta do ya." She dumped the blankets on the boys, and Kit groaned dramatically. "Sorry princess, no peas in the mattress."

Alistair snorted. “That really is you.”

"Is not," Kit mumbled, "my servants know better than to leave peas in my mattress."

“Who the hell would do that in the first place?” Alistair muttered.

Siofra snorted. "Get some sleep, idiots," she said, closing the door quietly and walking off down the hall. Her brothers and father were in the kitchen, drinking beer and talking rugby, but Gran was sitting in the living room, peering through her coke-bottle glasses at a book. Siofra walked through the living room, stepping into her boots to take Finny out.

"Ye really like that lad, don't ye?" Gran's voice behind her made Siofra jump.

"I like 'im well enough." She shrugged.

"Better than enough, I'd say, if ye bothered to bring 'im all the way out here."

Siofra huffed, shaking her head and lacing up her boots. "I'm feelin' it out, Gran. I ain't committed to nothin' yet."

"Well, feel him out a bit extra for me. He's a good-lookin' one." Gran said, her magnified eyes twinkling with mischief.

Siofra couldn't help snorting. "I will. Just don't harp on about nothin' in front'o him. He had a bad breakup not too long back. You'll scare 'im off if ye get too serious."

"I'm too old to take things serious. Just have fun with 'im." Gran shrugged.

"I plan to. I gotta take Finny out now, alright? Get some sleep." Siofra bent down, hugging her grandmother tightly before standing up and whistling for the dog. Finny bounded over at once, tail wagging eagerly as Siofra clipped his leash on. "C'mon, lad. Let's see what the forest looks like tonight."

#misadventures of Kit #chapter thirty #kit #raycraft #alistair #siofra #riagan #cillian #rafferty

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onkeywritings · 7 years

Note

can i request onkeys experience with their first pet together :)

yes you can! and i honestly have so many ideas but im so slow at writing so .. uwu sorry its been a while. thanks for requesting.

Of Puppies and Treats

When Jinki enters Kibum’s apartment with a large box in his hand, Kibum eyes him skeptically. When the box yips, he raises an eyebrow in question. Jinki just smiles sheepishly and puts the box down and out jumps a small puppy, small legs getting caught on the edges before it tumbles to the ground.

Kibum just stares at the canine in their living room as Jinki sits down on the floor and reaches a hand out towards the puppy so he can sniff it.

“A dog?” Kibum questions when he deems the silence has been going on for too long without an appropriate answer to his silent question. J

inki looks up from where he’s letting his fingers over soft fur and sends Kibum another sheepish smile.

“Happy birthday baby.”

Kibum rolls his eyes and returns to the office.

A dog is not what he had written on his wish list. In fact, it was probably the only thing he hadn’t expected to get from Jinki. Kibum hasn’t ever really taken care of animals like that and he’s not entirely sure how to feel about the gift.

Sure, they’d been talking about doing something together but Kibum had been expecting a month off to travel Europe or go on a safari in Africa. Hell, they could’ve gone on a road trip in the America’s, Kibum doesn’t care.

He just wasn’t expecting to raise a dog with Jinki.

If Kibum is honest, this seems like such an awful idea. Getting a dog is like getting a child, something they’ll have to love and take care of for the next 10 years minimum.

He just doesn’t know if he’s ready for the responsibility, really. He’s young and - oh right, they’re both idols and ridiculously busy at times. This is a bad idea.

He walks towards the living room again when he hears Jinki laugh and when he’s close enough he peeks inside and watches as the puppy smothers his boyfriend with unconditional love. Kibum frowns a little.

The puppy is cute but they have to hand it back. It can’t stay with them. If anything just because Kibum will feel horrible for neglecting the dog when he’s at work. Jinki looks up and notices him and waves him inside.

Kibum crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door frame.

“Babe, this is a bad idea,” he says. Jinki looks confused for a short moment before he smiles wide when the puppy tackles his toes and yips when he moves them back and forth.

“Oh, come on. You’re going to love him! You always look at Jonghyun and Roo with such jealousy, don’t be so negative. We can do this. Together.”

Jinki grabs the puppy and brings it onto his lap and the dog wiggles free and starts running in circles around their living room. Kibum rolls his eyes a little and sets his gaze on the small creature that is roaming their living room.

When the dog pees on the floor and Jinki yelps in distress Kibum suppresses a snicker.

“Your dog,” he says, indicating that Jinki has to clean up and leaves them again.

Kibum is reading up on a script for a new musical he has been offered a role in and it’s been a few hours. Jinki and the puppy has quieted down, no more groans when the puppy does what Jinki doesn’t want it to and no more laughter when they play around.

Kibum suspects they’ve both fallen asleep. It wouldn’t be surprising in any way, Jinki often snoozes on the couch in the afternoon like this.

Kibum is so into his script-reading that the cold snout that touches his ankle surprised him and he lets out a low shriek.

The puppy is wagging its tail, looking expectantly at Kibum. The big wide eyes are staring at him, begging for him to love it and Kibum surrenders a few seconds in. Damn puppies and their cuteness.

As he puts the script away on the table and sinks from the chair to the floor, the puppy finds a spot in Kibum’s lap and curls up after having licked his hand a few times. Kibum stares at the soft brown fur of the poodle puppy and automatically lets his fingers run over it. It’s as soft as it looks and Kibum continues petting the puppy.

He can practically feel his heart melting at the sight of the unconditional love he’s given and the fact that the small puppy is now sleeping in his lap like it decided the best place to sleep is beside Kibum, slowly wins him over.

When Jinki wakes up an hour later, Kibum sits on the kitchen floor, puppy treats in hand while he tries to train the puppy to sit. Jinki watches his boyfriend for a few moments before he makes his presence known and Kibum looks up and the puppy snatches the treat from his fingers.

“Hey babe. I named him Comme Des. Isn’t he cute? He already knows how to sit!”

Kibum lifts the treat above the dog’s head and the puppy sits when it can’t follow the treat anymore while standing. Kibum glowers with pride as he showers the puppy with love. Jinki sends him a soft smile, the sight only making him love Kibum even more.

“Wait, Comme Des?” he asks and Kibum looks up to meet Jinki’s gaze.

“Yeah, he’s my birthday present so I assumed I could name him,” he says and Jinki sighs a little.

“But a fashion brand?”

Jinki sits down in front of his boyfriend and the puppy but Comme Des stays focused on Kibum and the treats. Kibum nods a little.

“He will be the most fabulous of all puppies in the neighbourhood.”

Then he scoots towards Jinki and leans in. Before they get to kiss, however, Comme Des leans on Kibum’s shoulder and forces his hand open so he can get the treats. Jinki starts laughing and grabs Kibum’s now empty hand.

Maybe this is not such a bad idea after all.

#onkey #shinee #fanfic #mine #fluff #romance #cannon #pets #comme des #boyfriends #key #onew #kim kibum #lee jinki

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lusilly · 7 years

Text

streets of gotham: secret origins

finally a complete introductory fic for the Streets of Gotham 2 team: Colin Wilkes (Abuse), Ellen Nayar (Ember), Nell Little (Spoiler), Jordan Joyce (Jabberwock), and Niloufar Ghorbani (Seraph). (lucas comes later lmao)

Since Jordan’s got the most complicated backstory, xe has xyr own intro fic you can read here. The SoG2 team is featured heavily in Fiat iusticia and in Wheel in the Sky.

This fic was an exercise in Mark Waid’s advice on how plot is nothing more than setting upon which to hang emotion.........and that was Tough lmao. extremely unsatisfied with the ending. Relies heavily on story from Batman: The Black Mirror. Damian is about 16 here. My fav part of this is damian beating the shit out of a joker stan. Enjoy!

NAME: Damian Wayne ALIAS: Robin DATE OF BIRTH: 5 September 1996 (approximate) BLOOD TYPE: O- (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: BW, DG AFFILIATIONS: Teen Titans, Team Ember EVAL: [File Encrypted] NOTES: |Robin| Eval needs to be de-encrypted. Any information contained therein cannot possibly be worse than not knowing |Nightwing| Yeah thats kind of a dick move B. Lol |Batman| Notes are to be relevant to the file in question not a space for airing personal grievances |Red Hood| Im airing my personal grievances here just to spite you. You suck |Batman| If this continues I will remove editing privileges for all of you |Red Hood| You still suck Editing on NOTES is locked

----

Damian got up early; patrol had ended before two AM last night, the city quiet and still in the early winter lull. A cold snap had settled across Gotham this past week, creeping in from the bay. Though it did not snow, the clear skies brought the temperature to well below freezing, which led to slow nights on patrol. The heat of summer pushed people outside relentlessly. The cold, on the other hand, made criminals lethargic and cautious, preferring to stay inside with their families.

So Damian rolled out of bed around nine in the morning, the sunlight shining into his window through blinds he had forgotten to draw last night. The first thing he did was take his phone from its perch on his bedside table and scroll through any new notifications. Both Iris and Lian had texted him. He responded to Iris’s but not Lian’s, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Not ten minutes later he was in the drawing room downstairs, where Titus slept before the great brick fireplace, which was empty.

Damian patted his dog on the stomach, whistling through his teeth. “Come on,” he said, getting down on his knees and drumming his hands on Titus’s sturdy body. The dog lit up with energy, reaching up to lick Damian’s face, tail wagging furiously as he got to his feet. Damian scratched him behind his ears. “You ready for a run, boy? Come on, let’s get some exercise.”

Alfred appeared, hot coffee in hand. “Good morning, Damian,” he said. “Taking the dog for a walk?”

“Yes,” answered Damian, glancing around. “He’s been indoors too much lately because of the cold, he needs to stretch his legs.”

“You too?”

Damian offered Alfred a little grin. “Me too,” he agreed. “It’s slow out there.”

“And here I thought that was a good thing.”

“It is.” Titus bounded across the room excitedly, chasing his tail, ready for a walk. He started to paw at Damian’s leg, and Damian only held up one hand to indicate Stop. “Down. One moment, alright?” To Alfred, he asked, “Do you know what time my father got home last night?”

Alfred gave sort of a shrug. “Not long after you.”

“Oh,” said Damian. “When he wakes up will you tell him I’m heading to school later today? I’ve got an exam at three.”

Alfred made a face of enthusiastic pride. “Your first university exam,” he said, sounding impressed. “In which subject, may I ask?”

“Multivariable calculus,” Damian answered, kneeling down to rub Titus’s big head. “It’s simple stuff. A pre-req for applied math.”

“Not finance?”

Damian flashed that grin at Alfred once more. “I’m just testing out my options,” he said. “I have time.”

“Indeed you do,” agreed Alfred, with an approving nod. “In any case, good luck and I shall inform your father as soon as he wakes. Which,” he glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway, and took a disapproving sip of coffee, “should be quite soon. He’s quite worse than you, isn’t he?”u

Damian opened the French doors to the back garden. With a wave to Alfred, he said, “We’ll be back,” and he whistled for Titus to follow him, then took off jogging past the flowerbeds. Coffee in hand, Alfred watched him go.

The morning was brisk, but Damian felt warm and alive underneath the early wintertime sun. Taking it slow, he scrolled through his phone, searching for an appropriate playlist, then tucked earbuds into his ears and his the phone itself into a holder at his bicep. Whistling once more at Titus, he took a wide berth around his vegetable garden, knowing that Titus was prone to digging around in it sometimes, upsetting his crops. From there he stayed close to the tree line, heading out across the Manor grounds. The route he liked to take eventually led to a field and a set of rolling hills littered with public paths; he preferred, however, to take a less intuitive path, slightly different every time and designed to get the most out of the slope of the hills.

Damian took great joy in his morning runs with Titus: it was productive and refreshing and outside, instead of careful training in the facilities under the Manor, which, though state-of-the-art, could feel a little claustrophobic. It was good, he thought, to get out of the house for a little while, out from under his father’s watchful eye. This was the same reason why he’d been spending so much time with the Titans lately.

Cutting through the edge of the woods, where the trees were sparse, Damian suddenly realized that Titus wasn’t following him anymore. When he glanced around, Titus was nowhere to be seen. He came to a stop and turned around, tugging his earbuds out.

It was mostly quiet, except for the wind shuddering the tree branches. Damian whistled. “Titus!” There was no response. Muttering an oath under his breath, Damian jogged back down the path he’d just cut. “Titus!” he called again, searching between the trees on either side of him. “Titus, come!”

His heart jumped as he heard suddenly a piteous whining, as if Titus were afraid of something, cowering in fear; with a little more urgency he headed into the woods, following the source of the sound. “Titus!”

Off the beaten path, obscured by some low underbrush, the scene Damian found jolted his stomach, making him feel immediately sick before his well-practiced professional instinct took over. “Titus,” he hissed, approaching the dog, who laid whining beside the ugly sight. Grabbing Titus’s collar, he tugged the dog away, retreating to a nearby tree. Titus whined as Damian took out his phone, but Damian just said, “Sit. Titus, sit,” and the dog did so, albeit reluctantly.

In Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne’s personal cell phone, which sat neatly in a charging device by his bed, started to ring.

Bruce, raised his head groggily from the mess of sheets and limbs in which he typically slept. Narrowing his eyes at the screen of the phone, which displayed an close-up selfie of Damian’s annoyed face that Dick had assigned to his civilian contact, Bruce started at it for a moment before reaching out and plucking it off the charger.

“Damian?” he said, masterfully masking his confusion.

“Father,” replied Damian shortly, heading back to the path by the edge of the woods. “Did I wake you?”

“I – where are you?”

“A few miles away from home, almost at Brentwood. I took Titus for a run.” This was not unusual, but it was unusual for Damian to call home halfway through. Unsure what was happening, Bruce began, “Is…everything all right?”

“I found a body,” he said bluntly.

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”

“Well, Titus found it, really. It was sort of tucked off the main path, we never would’ve seen it had I not decided to loop around past the Kai estate. A boy,” Damian informed his father automatically, pausing to bark, “Titus, come,” before continuing, “maybe my age or slightly older. Wearing a Brentwood uniform.”

“Signs of assault?”

“No,” answered Damian. “Dead for a few hours now at the very least, but I can’t determine COD. Suppose we’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report.”

Sitting up in bed, calm and alert, Bruce began, “All right. Bring anything you’ve gathered back here and we can look into it tonight. Good work so far but for now the best thing to do would be to call the police-”

Damian interrupted him. “I already did,” he said. “Father, I’m sorry, I think you may be misunderstanding me? I wasn’t actually calling about the body, I’m calling to ask if you can come pick me up.”

Bruce blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked. “Why?”

“Because I already called the police and they’ll be here any minute, and I’ll have to act all traumatized because of the dead body, and anyway you know I don’t like civilian encounters with police without you.”

This more or less made sense, but it wasn’t what Bruce had meant. “What do you mean you aren’t calling about the body?”

“Oh,” said Damian, as if he hadn’t even thought of this. “Well. It’s by Brentwood.”

Again, Bruce did not immediately understand. “So?”

Almost apologetically, Damian said, “A five mile radius beyond campus limits…isn’t your jurisdiction, Father.”

It hit Bruce then with the force of a freight train: he, like a goddamn amateur idiot, had ceded actual turf to Damian’s pet side team made up of Gotham natives and sometimes headed by Damian’s closest friend in the city, Colin Wilkes, who boarded at Brentwood Academy on a Wayne Enterprises scholarship. The agreement itself had been a bit of a farce meant to keep the team out of trouble, given the specific area the Batman had permitted the team as their responsibility was located in the richest neighborhood in Bristol County, slightly outside Gotham city limits. He had not imagined that any terrible crime might go down five miles away from a wealthy private school, but in retrospect, of course it would.

“Damian,” said Bruce matter-of-factly. “I appreciate your loyalty to your friends,” he didn’t want to legitimize it by saying your team, and besides the Titans were more Damian’s team in any case, “but even you need to admit, this is out of their league.”

“This is one dead body,” answered Damian skeptically. “If that’s out of their league, they shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

“Well, perhaps that’s a fair point-”

“No,” said Damian shortly. “It’s not. You wouldn’t have given Ember her uniform if you really believed that.”

This was true enough, but frankly Bruce thought Ember was the only member of that team capable of joining the fight, and ideally he’d absorb her into the Batfamily at large before she got too committed to her own team. But this was not a conversation he wanted to have over the phone, so he shoved the sheets off the bed and said, “Don’t move for now, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Will you hurry, please?” Damian asked, sounding bored and slightly annoyed. “I hate calling the cops.”

Getting out of bed, Bruce reminded him, “You should be used to it, it’s half of what we do on patrol.”

“Yes,” muttered Damian, hearing the distant wail of sirens. “But I’m not exactly in uniform at the moment, am I?”

Feeling a little awkward at the reminder of the constant presence of race in Damian’s life which Bruce could never really fully grasp, Bruce assured his son that he would be there very soon. As soon as he hung up Damian sent him a pin dropped into a map at his location.

Bruce arrived not long after the police; a detective was talking to Damian, taking down notes. Titus got anxious around people he didn’t know, so Damian had his fingers hooked around his collar, keeping him close. The detective – a rookie who Bruce didn’t recognize on sight – had a few questions for Bruce, then patted Damian’s shoulder reassuringly. Taking Bruce aside, he recommended considering having Damian speak to a professional about the trauma of the sight he’d just witnessed, and Bruce nodded in what he hoped looked like naïve paternal concern.

Damian coaxed Titus in the backseat of the car, then got in himself. Titus hung his big head in between the two front seats, panting from exertion and excitement.

On the ride back to the Manor, Damian mercilessly mocked the police. “Now, this is so traumatizing, but you’ve been awfully brave – for Christ’s sake, it’s like none of them have ever seen a dead body before.”

“Well,” said Bruce fairly, “most sixteen-year-olds haven’t, Damian.”

“It’s not as if it was violent,” Damian pointed out. “There wasn’t even any blood or anything.”

“Which is…curious,” said Bruce thoughtfully. “No external evidence of foul play. Suicide?” Phone in hand, Damian replied, “I already sent photos to Colin, he should be able to identify him and pull his school records. We’ll check for a history of depression or mental illness, but my gut tells me a Brentwood student wouldn’t stagger into the woods to kill himself unless it was going to be uglier than that.”

Bruce nodded; this made sense. “Could’ve been an accident. Alcohol poisoning, or an overdose.”

“I’m leaning towards overdose personally,” answered Damian, texting something on his phone. “Colin’s files should have any record of drug activity at the school. I’ll meet up with him and the others tonight and we’ll get started.”

There was an awkward sort of pause. Bruce began, “You know, if you or the rest of the team ever require any help-”

As the car came to a stop in the Wayne Manor garage, Damian shook his head, interrupting his father. “You’re micromanaging,” he pointed out. “I told you, they’re never going to get better if you keep stepping in and taking over their investigations.”

“I understand that,” replied Bruce, turning the car off. “I’m merely remarking upon the fact that they lack experience, and therefore could benefit from guidance.”

“Namely, me,” said Damian, watching his father. “I’m their guidance.” He waited for a moment, eyes on Bruce, as if expecting confirmation. Little tink-tink-tink sounds came from the car’s engine as it cooled. “Right?”

Bruce began, “You already have a team-”

“You have, like, four teams,” Damian countered. “Not to mention whatever secret society you’re funding this week.”

“A murder is serious business.”

“You don’t even know if it’s murder yet.”

“If it were-”

“-then you still wouldn’t be in any position to take this from them. Just,” Titus stuck his head forward again, whining, and Damian reached out to scratch his face. “Unclench, alright?” Damian asked his father. “I can handle this.” Bruce didn’t reply to this, so Damian got out of the car and opened the door for Titus, who happily jumped out and followed him back into the house.

Later that day, Damian drove to Princeton for his first college exam. He finished early, and called Colin on the drive home.

---

NAME: Colin Wilkes ALIAS: “Abuse” DATE OF BIRTH: 9 December 1996 BLOOD TYPE: AB+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Jane Brown LSW, Caseworker AFFILIATIONS: Team Ember EVAL: Behavioral history of paranoia and violence in multiple foster homes, though likely a result of instability in childhood rather than pathological root. Experimentation by SCARECROW led to increased physical abilities through transformation which includes augmented strength (no evidence senses are affected) as well as moderate invulnerability. Venom appears to have had long-lasting effects on body chemistry despite its degradation.

Decent field skills complemented by extreme strength. Only cleared for patrol if transformed. hand-to-hand and weapons training negligible. Defense training and development of damage-resistant uniform necessary to compensate for tendency to take fire. Precision training vital for development of fine offensive skills.

NOTES: |Robin| Consistent attitude improvements since enrollment at Brentwood. Some instability with transformations likely due to a mental block, have seen improvement past 2-3 months

---

“You’ve got to get a permanent HQ,” said Damian, in full Robin uniform, standing before a laptop computer in an empty Brentwood Academy classroom.

“This is good though,” Colin insisted. “This way we’re close to the action, right?”

“Well,” Damian replied, trying not to hurt Colin’s feelings. “Yes, though it really isn’t worth the lack of security or tech resources. Batman operates almost solely out of the Cave, and you know that’s a bit removed from the city.”

Colin said, “I don’t have a house to stick a secret lair underneath, though.”

“I mean, yes,” Damian admitted, nodding. “But the point stands. Besides, most of your team has trouble getting all the way out here. Spoiler’s bike can only hold two people.”

“That works fine anyway, Jordan doesn’t need a ride.”

With a long-suffering inhalation, Damian gently corrected, “Jabberwock, Abuse. Jabberwock. We use codenames in the field.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Colin, clicking through some files on the computer. “My bad. Anyway.” He gestured towards the screen. “This is what I got so far.”

“Aren’t we going to wait for the others?”

“Oh, should we?”

“Ideally, yes, we should. But if you’ve any sensitive information to share with me first,” he gestured at the screen, “by all means.”

Colin hesitated for a moment, watching Damian. Then he began, “Well, you know how I was kind of sort of maybe dating Ethan a while ago? So it turns out-”

“Abuse,” interrupted Damian loudly, holding up a hand. “I don’t mean – I meant sensitive information related to the case. You can call me and update me on your social life any time, so let’s try to avoid it while in uniform, yes?”

A little hurt, Colin replied, “This is related to the case. The dead kid is Joey Fremont, OK, and his roommate is on the wrestling team with Ethan, and so a while ago Ethan asked me to go to one of the wrestling team parties after the meet, and I didn’t go ‘cause he was being weird cagey about us and I could tell he wanted to go as ‘friends’ and it was annoying because like I asked him out and everything so it’s not like he didn’t actually have like feelings-”

Softly, Damian reminded him, “The point, please.”

“OK, OK, so – Ethan heard from Joey’s roommate that he was dealing in some shady shit.”

A frown creased Damian’s brow. “Define ‘shady shit.’”

“Dealing,” Colin emphasized, as if that had made it obvious. “Like, drugs.” This seemed a little far-fetched. “Joseph Fremont, seventeen-year-old trust fund baby, was a drug-dealer?”

“Yeah. Some shady stuff.”

There it was again, shady, Colin’s favorite ambiguous descriptor. Damian felt a migraine coming on. “We’re still waiting on the tox report,” Damian told him. “But it’ll be easier if we know what to look for. Do you know what he was dealing?”

“Drugs,” said Colin.

“What kind of drugs? Cocaine? Heroin?”

“What the fuck, you think I know? I didn’t buy any shit from him.”

This was going to be harder than Damian thought. “Do you know anyone who did buy it?” he asked. “Maybe Ethan, or someone else on the wrestling team?” Offended, Colin told him, “Bitch, Ethan isn’t a fucking junkie.”

“Right, since you have impeccable taste in guys.”

“Wow,” said Colin, even more insulted. “That’s fucking rude.”

Damian was saved from trying to apologize for his completely correct and true reading of Colin’s limited dating history by a knock on the window. “Cavalry’s here,” he said, heading to open the window.

Ember and Spoiler slipped into the room. “We weren’t sure if we were supposed to use the door,” Spoiler explained. “We thought there might be cameras and stuff.”

“Abuse disabled them,” Damian said. “And we’re far enough from the center of campus that security doesn’t patrol here.”

“Oh, cool,” said Nell. She waved behind Damian. “Hey Colin.”

Before Damian could correct her, Colin impressed him by chiming in. “Abuse,” he said, grinning at her. “Only codenames.”

“Oh, shit, sorry!”

“It’s OK,” murmured Damian, going back to the laptop. “Is Jabberwock coming?”

“I haven’t heard from her,” answered Ellen, shrugging. “But I imagine if she was, she’d be picking up, um,” she gave a pointed pause, “you-know-who on her way over.”

“Who?” asked Damian.

“Voldemort,” said Nell, giggling.

He looked around at Colin, expecting an answer. Colin made a beckoning gesture with one finger, and Damian went over to him and leaned in. “Niloufar,” he whispered.

Damian pulled away, frowning. “Niloufar?” he echoed.

Colin took great pleasure in going, “Shh! Codenames only!”

“I don’t know who that is,” said Damian honestly. “Do they have a codename?”

“Not yet,” answered Nell, taking a seat on one of the desks. “She said she liked Angel or something, I think.”

“No, it wasn’t Angel,” Ellen said thoughtfully. “It was something Muslim I think. I can’t remember right now.”

Damian hesitated for a moment, then said to Ellen, “Whether or not Jabberwock brings her, can you send me her information later? We’ll do a background check.”

Ellen watched him for a moment, but beneath the scarlet mask her expression was indecipherable. “I can relay it to Oracle, if that’s what you mean.”

It wasn’t exactly, but it would do. He nodded. “Now. Let’s get to business. Abuse, would you brief your teammates on the case?”

Quickly, Colin got back to business. He did a decent job, though Damian interjected a few times with details that seem to have slipped Colin’s mind. Nell, in her caped eggplant-colored Spoiler costume, sat on one of the desks, whereas Ellen, her crimson-and-black uniform, took a seat, leaning forward over the desk thoughtfully. Her body language was tight and measured, inscrutable. When his mind wandered Damian found his gaze occasionally drawn to her, though it wasn’t really in attraction so much as curiosity. He still wondered exactly what she had done to prove herself to his father, who trusted her far beyond any other member of this burgeoning team.

The specifics of the case were this: Joseph Fremont, seventeen years old, white male, five-foot-eight inches, approximately a hundred and ninety pounds, had according to his roommate never made it back to his bedroom on the night of November the thirtieth, and had the following morning been discovered dead one-point-eight miles away from campus. They were still waiting on the physical evidence, but Robin had called them all together tonight so they could hit the ground running. Colin’s revelation that Joseph Fremont might have been dealing was kind of disappointing to Damian, as it suggested that the kid might’ve just been sampling the product and accidentally overdosed. Not that he wished a murder had occurred or anything, but a good old-fashioned mystery would’ve been perfect training for the young team.

When Colin told Ellen and Nell about the drugs, sparing them the details about how he knew, Ellen spoke up. “If he was dealing and there were no external signs of a struggle, don’t you think he probably just OD’d?” “Perhaps,” said Damian, chiming in from his spot in the shadows behind Colin. “But we have to consider all the possibilities.”

“What if his tox results come back positive for a shitload of heroin?” asked Nell.

“Then we’ll rule it an overdose,” Damian told her, feeling like he was talking to a bunch of infants, “unless we find evidence that suggests otherwise.”

“But what if it’s an actual murder but someone just like coerced him into taking a shitload of heroin so he died?”

“That’s why we look into anyone who might have motive,” said Damian. “Even if this looks cut-and-dried on the surface, if there’s someone who would benefit from Joseph Fremont’s death, then we tug on that string. Tug hard enough, and something always unravels.”

“The Fremonts are Wall Street money,” Ellen commented offhandedly. “I’m sure a lot of people would have motivation to target their family.”

“Right,” said Damian. “Ember, you look into potential suspects. Colin, dig into the drug connection. Maybe something went awry with his supplier.”

Nell asked, “What can I do?”

“Stay plugged in to our contact in the coroner’s office,” Damian told her. “We need to know what killed Joseph Fremont. Until we have that, there’s only so much we can do.”

“So you’re saying all we can do now is wait.”

“No,” said Damian coolly, turning to Ellen. That blank red mask was starting to bother him, making it impossible to read her. “I’m saying you can look into potential suspects so we can get ahead of the game.”

She watched him for a moment. “So you do think it’s a murder, though?”

“I think it’s suspicious that our victim wound up two miles away from campus, in the middle of the woods,” Damian told her. “And I find it unlikely that no one knows any specifics about what occurred. Our job is to apply pressure until the cracks become evident, and then plug the leaks when we find them.”

Ellen ran her hands down her long braid. “I think that’s a mixed metaphor,” she said.

It wasn’t, though it admittedly was kind of clumsy. He ignored this comment, turning instead to Abuse. “I’ll find somewhere more secure to use as headquarters. In the meantime, collect your research. Remember to keep it all under secure encryption using the tech I gave you.”

Nell raised her hand. Damian looked at her, then did a double take, then Ellen reached out and pulled her wrist downwards. “You don’t have to raise your hand,” Ellen told her.

“Oh,” said Nell. “OK, sorry, but sidenote, are we allowed to use the computers you gave us for like, other things?”

“They’re yours,” said Damian. “Use them for whatever you need. All of your encrypted files go to a drive that Batman and I can access, but other than that you can do what you want with it.” “OK, cool,” said Nell. “I was just asking because I use it for homework.”

Colin threw his arm around Damian’s shoulders, hanging onto his neck. Poking him in the ribs, he told Nell, “Just ask Robin for another separate homework computer, that’s what I did.”

Though Nell’s eyes lit up, Ellen spoke before she could. Leaning back in her seat, she said smoothly, “I’m sure Robin doesn’t have the time to play sugar daddy to all of us, Abuse.”

“No,” agreed Damian. “Fortunately Batman plays the part very well for you, doesn’t he, Ember?” There was a silence so deep they could hear a pin drop. Damian felt belligerent and annoyed, and didn’t immediately regret the comment. He knew the grants and the scholarships and the job offers that had been extended to Ellen Nayar, and he didn’t think she had any right to sound so dismissive of his family’s generosity.

Though Damian could not Ellen’s gaze behind her mask, she turned her head away from him first, indicative of breaking first.

When she and Nell left, Ellen did not say a farewell to Robin.

---

NAME: Danielle Little ALIAS: Spoiler DATE OF BIRTH: 29 June 1997 BLOOD TYPE: O+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Rhonda Holmes Little, Mother (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Batgirl (Formerly), Team Ember EVAL: Promising but untrained. Investigative instincts are excellent, but more practice is necessary. Very young and inexperienced, though a strong devotion to local community and neighborhoods is a good foundation for future efforts. Potentially a place for her in the Batman Inc. hierarchy whether as an official agent or otherwise.

---

As dusk arrived the next night, Bruce sat in front of the computer in the Cave as Damian worked on some complex tech designs at the workstation below the computer hub. There was a comfortable quiet apart from the usual whir of machinery and fluttering wings of the bats in the eaves. All at once, the silence was broken by a gentle beeping notification coming from both the computer and Damian’s phone.

Not a moment later, Damian was skipping the stairs two at a time, practically sprinting to the locker room area where his uniform was kept. “Oracle,” said Bruce, hitting a button on the panel before him, “get Jim on the line.” Damian emerged, in full uniform except for his mask though his cap was only half fastened and his boots weren’t laced yet, while Bruce was still on the line with Commissioner Gordon. “I’ll look into it personally,” he was saying. “I’ll be in touch.”

Bruce closed the line and turned around in his seat to look at Damian, who stood there defiantly. He pointed at Bruce with one accusatory finger, then began, “You promised-”

Stoically, Bruce replied, “This could be very dangerous, Damian, and it would be irresponsible to let a bunch of inexperienced teenagers deal with something of this magnitude.”

“You promised,” repeated Damian stubbornly. “You told me this would be our jurisdiction, and that you would allow us freedom to pursue this mission on our own time.”

“Us?” echoed Bruce mildly. “So as soon as the mission interests you, it becomes us rather than them?”

Rolling his eyes, Damian headed down to the garage below, where his motorcycle was kept. Raising his voice to be heard, he called, “I’m their leader, so-”

“Ember’s their leader.”

Damian stopped on the staircase, then went back up so he could look at his father. “I’m their leader,” he said again, offended.

Bruce shook his head. “This team is designed to be closer to the ground than we are. You don’t have their experience when it comes to the city itself.”

“I patrol the city every single night,” Damian protested. “I know it just fine.”

“That may very well be true, but you still don’t have their urban expertise.”

“Urb-?” Damian broke off suspiciously, watching his father. Then he leaned against the rail of the stairs slightly and asked, “Is this a race thing?”

Bruce glanced around at him, an eyebrow raised. “A what thing?”

“Are you being,” he paused, didn’t know what else to call it, so went with, “…racist?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Urban is just one of those dog whistle words that means people of color,” explained Damian; he was taking a sociology class at Princeton, and he’d just read a chapter of a book about this. “And since this team is mostly that, you emphasizing that their street smarts and inner city experience feels almost as if…” he trailed off, feeling suddenly uncertain under his father’s gaze. “I’m just saying,” he said, unwilling to admit his doubt. “You may want to…think about the way you talk about them, is all.”

Bruce watched his son, surprised. Despite the fact that Damian’s words weren’t exactly flattering, he felt an odd stirring of pride. He nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I will.”

There was an awkward sort of pause, and then Damian headed once more down the stairs. Though it was just barely dark outside, he took his motorcycle to the hidden entrance to the Bunker, where he did some minor rearrangements and set up what basically amounted to parental controls on the computers. Satisfied, he alerted the entire team that they would be meeting beneath Wayne Tower tonight.

This time, Jordan and Niloufar were there first. “Ms. Ghorbani,” he said, holding out his hand to the girl in the headscarf, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Niloufar shook his hand warily. “We’ve met before,” she told him shortly. “One time you and Batman saved a school bus I was in from tipping off a bridge.”

When in uniform, Damian got comments like that all the time. Though a school bus falling off a bridge was far more memorable than most of the everyday encounters he had with citizens of Gotham, it still didn’t ring a bell. “That sounds like us,” he told her, with a killer smile. She just watched him suspiciously.

Jordan, who had been using her powers of flight constantly since they manifested, floated near the low ceiling of the Bunker. “I don’t like it in here,” she said. “Feels cramped.”

“It’s merely temporary, Jabberwock,” Damian informed her, heading to the computer. “It’s not an ideal location for your team, but I needed some place with the technical capabilities to fill you in completely on the status of your mission.”

“Our mission?” Jordan echoed. “You mean the dead kid from Brentwood?”

Damian nodded, typing something into the computer. “Joseph Fremont.”

Niloufar asked, “Is this about the results from the tox report?”

The file on the computer unopened, Damian stopped and turned around to face her. “What do you know about the tox report?” he asked her.

“I’ve heard things,” she said shortly.

He eyed her, then began, “How do you-?” but before he could finish, the doors to the garage opened and Ellen arrived with Nell and Colin.

“Hey,” said Nell breathlessly, her laptop underneath her arm. “I might have to leave early, I have a lot of homework to do.”

“That’s fine,” Damian said, looking past Niloufar and Jordan at her. “There’ve been some new developments in the case and I just need to make sure we’re all on the same page about it.”

“Hey,” said Jordan, floating upside-down, her ponytail hanging down from the back of her head, “I have a question.”

Suppressing a roll of his eyes, Damian looked at her. “Yes?”

“This kid OD’d, right?”

“Yes,” repeated Damian, “and I’m about to get into the specifics of what exactly he-”

“But like. Why should we care about him?”

The silence that followed this comment deepened considerably, broken only by the hum and whir of the high tech machinery surrounding them. “Jabberwock,” he said, “if you have to ask that question, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Before Damian had even finished this sentence, Jordan was shaking her head. “No,” she said. “I mean like, specifically him. There’s a dozen cases of this same thing every day on my block, and no one’s investigating that shit.”

Damian explained, “This death occurred in your team’s jurisdiction-” but Ellen interrupted him.

“She has a point,” she said, glancing at Damian. “It does seem a little biased that we suddenly care about an overdose as soon as it happens to a rich white kid. And I have wondered before why Batman decided we don’t get jurisdiction,” she framed it in air quotes, “over our own neighborhoods, especially because Jordan’s right, this kind of thing happens all the time in the city.”

“OK,” said Damian, trying very hard to exercise patience, “well. When one of your neighbors overdoses on recreationally-developed Joker Venom, then perhaps we can look into that.”

A frisson of excitement went through the Bunker, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Joker Venom?” echoed Colin, sounding almost delighted. “Joey got offed by the Joker?”

“No,” said Ellen, a slight frown on her face. When she watched Damian as intently as she was doing now, he could almost tune out the scar, imagine exactly what she might look like without it. “Robin said – recreationally-developed? You think this kid was using Joker Venom to get high?”

Damian nodded. “It gets worse.”

Seated at one of the specimen analysis desks, her laptop computer already open, Nell asked, “How could it get worse than the Joker?”

Damian pulled something up on the computer screen. “A few years ago – back with the previous Batman – there was a case that involved a drug called diaxamene which was reverse-engineered to attack the part of the brain which controls emotion, blunting the ability to feel empathy.”

“Turn them into sociopaths,” Jordan said, sounding almost impressed.

“Psychopaths,” Damian corrected. “But, yes. Essentially.”

“Diaxamene,” echoed Niloufar, her gaze far away behind her thick glasses. “That sounds familiar. Didn’t it have something to do with a baby formula recall?”

Clearly surprised that Niloufar knew this, Damian stopped short and looked around at her. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “The perp claimed to have dosed baby formula, though no evidence could confirm this. There was a recall just in case, though, which led to a shortage.”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Niloufar, nodding. At Damian’s curious look, she finally added, “My younger brother was a baby at the time. I remember formula got really expensive.”

Without replying to this, Damian nodded, then looked at her for a moment longer.

Then he returned to the computer screen. “It looks like small amounts of Joker Venom were added to the reverse-engineered diaxamene. Because Joker Venom produces effects similar to psychopathy before resulting in death, diluting it with the diaxamene can reproduce the same feeling while decreasing its lethality.”

“He still died, though,” Nell pointed out.

Damian nodded. “It’s called an overdose for a reason, Spoiler.”

“Oh,” she said. “Right.”

“The modified diaxamene is a pharmaceutical, though,” said Niloufar, considering this. “It’s supposed to function long-term, not for a temporary high.”

“Exactly,” said Damian. “For a young person like Joseph Fremont, the mild Joker Venom would have a slight narcotic effect while the diaxamene, if he even knew it was part of the drug, would be – nothing more than a placebo. At first.”

Ellen nodded. “So what his death tells us,” she began, “is that this drug is on the market. That people are using it, and the more they use it, the more psychopathic they become.”

“Yes,” said Damian, feeling an odd rush of pride at how quickly the team put this together. “That’s the real problem here. Someone’s pulling the same stunt as the baby formula plan, but aging up their demographic.”

“Why not cut it with coke?” asked Jordan, seriously. “Or dope or something?”

“’Cause it’s Joker Venom,” Ellen said, looking over at her as if this were obvious. “It has sex appeal.”

Nell giggled, and Colin asked, “What about the Joker says sex appeal to you?”

“Ember’s right,” said Damian, shutting the others up. “How many of you have seen firsthand some result of the Joker’s crimes?”

Everyone except for Niloufar raised their hand without hesitation, but Niloufar eventually followed suit, making a noncommittal kinda sorta gesture with her hand.

“Joseph Fremont never lived in the city,” Damian continued. “If you live in the wealthy suburbs your whole life, the Joker is something of a myth, and as a result anything with some proximity to him has a certain thrill to it – like forbidden fruit. It’s the perfect new drug to introduce to a privileged private school like Brentwood.”

“Plus rich white boys are already a little psychopathic,” Jordan added.

Damian decided to give her that one. “And that.”

Despite this, Ellen didn’t seem fully satisfied. “But no one bothers to do a full tox report on a bum who OD’d in an alley in Midtown,” she pointed out. “This drug could be way more rampant than we thought.”

Considering this, Damian answered, “True, but we haven’t seen the resultant wave of crime or violence you’d expect from that.” “That’s assuming the drug has been out there for long enough. And Gotham streets are always full of crime and violence. How would you be able to tell the difference?” He shook his head. “There’s no difference on patrol.”

“You haven’t been on patrol all that often lately, though,” Colin said fairly, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You’ve been with your other team a lot.”

Inwardly, Damian cursed Colin’s lack of filter. Ellen’s eyebrow cocked, but it was Nell who asked, “What other team?”

Jordan grinned at him. “Are you cheating on us, Robin?”

“It’s the Teen Titans,” he said stoically. “Yes, I am frequently away with them. But Batman and Oracle keep a careful record of nightly criminal activity, which has not shown any major spikes lately.”

“What’s Superboy like?” asked Jordan, legs crossed, sitting in air. “Just like a mini Superman?”

Chris was in fact very dissimilar to his adoptive father, so Damian replied, with a hint of annoyance, “No, actually. Now if we can get back to business-”

“What about Arsenal?” asked Nell, from her computer. “She seems cool.”

With a knowing grin, Colin added, “Not as cool as Impulse, huh, Robin?” Damian shot him a dirty look. “Let’s try to focus, shall we?”

“Ohh,” said Nell, laughing. “Wait, Robin, is she your girlfriend?”

For fuck’s sake. As he opened his mouth to shut this down for good, Ellen mercifully came to his rescue. “Come on,” she said, sounding sympathetic. “Don’t tease him, Spoiler, that’s mean.”

Which, naturally, set his blood boiling again. “Ember, please,” he told her. “It’s fine. Now. Back to the case?”

She gave him a wry, enigmatic smile, but nodded all the same, gesturing for him to continue.

His face felt warm, and he felt stupid for allowing himself to feel even the slightest bit self-conscious. “Some excellent thinking happened tonight, team, so thank you for that. Now that we all know where we stand, it’s time to get serious about this case.”

Doubtfully, Colin asked, “We weren’t serious until just now?”

“I mean we have a lead,” said Damian quickly. “That’s all. Niloufar, Jabberwock, I want you two looking into other recent overdose cases throughout the city, see if we’re missing something.”

“Seraph,” said Niloufar.

Damian blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Seraph,” repeated Niloufar. “That’s my codename. I mean, it was Hafaza, but then we figured that was a little harder for people to remember and the key to a good codename is its memorability, right? Like, branding.” She paused, a little awkward. “So. Seraph.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Seraph, then. Usually the codename is accompanied by a uniform, though.”

Apologetically, she admitted, “I’m probably not…super useful in the field.” At Damian’s expressions, she explained, “I failed P.E. last year.”

Damian only had the vaguest notion what P.E. was, but he waved it aside. “Fine,” he said. “If you do need a uniform, Batman and I can help. Abuse,” he said, turning to Colin. “Have you dug up anything else at Brentwood?”

Colin shook his head. “Not really? I think Joey’s roommate was clean, actually. He wasn’t dealing anything hard, just weed. I lit up with him the other day and he told me everything. He’s kind of fucked up over it actually, it’s kind of sad.”

“Great,” said Damian. “Generally I would request that you try to avoid partaking in illicit substances, but otherwise, sure.”

“Robin,” said Jordan, with a grin. “C’mon. It’s just weed.”

“OK,” said Damian, ignoring this. “Keep pushing, Abuse. If you need backup, call me.”

“Or me,” offered Niloufar. When Damian glanced at her, she added, “I go to Brentwood too. So I can help with that.”

This was a relief; Colin was competent enough in the field, but his investigative work was still spotty. Damian had been considering an undercover mission in Brentwood himself to get the intel they needed, but if Niloufar also attended the school then she might be able to bolster Colin’s mission. “Perfect,” he said. “Seraph, you get double duty – work with both Jabberwock and Abuse.”

Niloufar practically glowed at the extra responsibility.

“Ember, Spoiler, you’re going to be investigating the Joker connection,” he continued. “Ember, I understand you have some familiarity with Arkham? This is your chance to demonstrate that. Meanwhile, I’ll-”

Just then, he realized Nell’s hand was up in the air again.

“Spoiler,” he said tiredly. “I’ve told you this a dozen times, you don’t need to raise your hand to ask permission to speak.” “Oh,” she said, lowering her arm. “Sorry! I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Damian told her, waving this away. “What is it?”

“Would it be possible for me to sit this one out? I’m failing geometry.”

Damian blinked at her. “You’re failing what?” he asked.

“Geometry,” she repeated. “Tenth grade math.”

Damian, who had mastered geometry when he was seven, felt suddenly and abruptly out of his depth. “Oh,” he said. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. All of you, never hesitate to tell me if you feel like you’re taking on too much. It’s fine. Civilian responsibilities come first.”

There was an awkward sort of pause.

Then he restarted, “Ember, I suppose that means I’ll be with you. We’ll also look at the previous case regarding diaxamene, but I’ll need a few days to round up my resources on that. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

“Fine,” said Ellen. “Anything else you need to update us on?”

Thoughtfully, Damian looked back at the screen. “No, I don’t think so. We’re dealing with a high tech trafficking ring by the docks again so if any of you find any unfamiliar weaponry or anything let me or Oracle know. Oh,” he said, turning around to face them again. “And I suppose I should warn you about something.”

They all leaned in a little, as if intrigued by the hint of danger.

Almost regretfully, Damian informed them all, “Batman is likely going to try and edge in on this case. He takes everything involving the Joker very personally, so I can almost guarantee he’ll try to take over. At the very least he’ll try to insert himself in an observational role.”

“That’s not so bad,” countered Jordan. “Batman’s welcome to observationally roll me whenever he likes.” Colin laughed, obviously in agreement.

Damian tried to keep his expression level. “My point is,” he restarted, “this is your mission and you all can take care of it perfectly well without his help. Don’t let him take this one from you.” He paused, looking around at them. “So. We’re all clear?”

“Super clear,” agreed Colin. “I’m gonna head back to school and get a jump on this.”

“Hold on,” said Niloufar, her gaze swiveling around towards him. “That’s not fair, I don’t board at school so I won’t be able to help out until tomorrow.”

“Um, I just said get a jump on it,” Colin pointed out. “I didn’t say I’d solve absolutely everything so you don’t have anything to do.”

“Abuse is right,” added Damian. “He can probably get a lot more done after hours than you can during classroom time. I’m sure he’ll fill you in on any developments in the morning.”

Niloufar shot a glare towards Colin, but he shrugged and relented. “Yeah, for sure.”

“We’ll get started, then,” said Jordan. “If we find anything out we’ll ping you or share it on the vigilante cloud or whatever.”

“Thank you,” said Damian, as Jordan and Niloufar began to leave. “Good luck.”

After them Colin headed out to return to Brentwood and Ellen, the only one of the team cleared for patrol on her own, also took off. Damian went over to where Nell still worked on her laptop. “If you need a tutor,” he said, peering over her shoulder, “I’m happy to help.”

“You kind of already are,” she told him distractedly, focused on her work.

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Glancing at him, she explained, “I’m going to the Neon Knights center in my neighborhood for tutoring, so it’s cool. I guess I meant your family’s already helping out.”

Damian stared at her for a moment. Though he knew rationally that the entire team had enough information at this point to deduce Batman’s identity and therefore his own, it was still a new and unfamiliar feeling, like danger. It set him on edge, despite the fact that they never would have let Nell or the others into the game in the first place if they didn’t trust them enough to be discreet.

“Sure,” he said, straightening up. “Though I shouldn’t have to remind you not to talk like that when we’re in uniform.”

This seemed to confuse her, as she finally took pause to glance up at him. “But…nobody’s here.” “I know, but it’s a matter of developing a habit. If the mask is on,” he pointed to his face, “then I’m Robin. Only Robin. Do you understand me?”

She nodded. “I got you.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then added, “If you’d like you can stay here to do your work. I can program everything to shut down and lock up after you leave.” This too drew her gaze away from the computer. She looked at Damian with big eyes, surprised and a little touched. “Wow,” she said. “For real? That would be super great.”

“OK.” He shrugged, feeling a slight twinge of self-consciousness he normally only felt around Iris. He tried to push that out of his mind. “It’s no problem. And again, let me know if you need help.”

“Yeah,” she said, beaming at him. “I will.”

---

NAME: Jordan Aguilar Joyce ALIAS: Wonder Girl / Jabberwock DATE OF BIRTH: 17 March 1995 BLOOD TYPE: B+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Maya Aguilar, Sister (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Wonder Woman, Team Ember EVAL: Flight, augmented senses and strength from Themysciran heritage. Will follow-up with Diana. Deeply resistant to authority, but loyal to team. Need to develop discipline before regular patrol is instated.

---

“So Abuse and Seraph managed to get a lead on the Brentwood supplier – turns out a few of the older boys had been recruited by someone called the Dealer.”

“Not very creative,” replied Ellen through her commlink, peering down at the city from the corner of a tall roof.

“Yes,” answered Damian, “particularly because we dealt with someone using that name a few years ago, around the same time as the diaxamene case. In fact, the man who reverse-engineered the diaxamene actually bought outdated Joker Venom from the Dealer.”

“Oh,” said Ellen, a little taken aback. “Then – that should sort of blow the case open, right? It’s the same guy.”

“Impossible,” said Damian grimly. “The man in question has been locked up in a mental facility for years.”

“In Arkham?”

“No. I believe it’s somewhere in Chicago, far away from here. Besides, the version of the Joker Venom found in this new drug isn’t old or decayed at all, it’s very new, something we haven’t quite seen before, impossible to build up a resistance to. Enough of it would probably poison even the Joker himself.”

“If our guy can reverse-engineer a prescription drug, I’m sure he could figure out how to update Joker Venom. And if he’s not at Arkham why are we even going there in the first place?”

“Because,” Damian answered shortly, “sometimes you have to play with vermin to sniff out a rat.” This was cryptic and annoying, and beneath her mask Ellen rolled her eyes. “OK. I can meet you there in an hour if-”

“No need,” he said, just as the sleek and quiet hum of an energy-efficient stealth motorcycle came buzzing down the alley beneath the building on which Ellen stood. Robin stopped the bike, got off, and waved at her.

She let out a sigh, then made her way down on the fire escape, jumping the last few feet. “How did you know where I was?” she asked, as he got back onto the motorcycle.

“The tracer Batman put in your suit,” he answered; when she gave him a look, refusing to get on the bike with him, he grinned a little and added, “I’m kidding. But only a little. When you’re on a direct line, Oracle can pinpoint your location. If you toggled a private line or turned off your commlink, we’d lose you.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” muttered Ellen, finally relenting and climbing onto the back of the motorcycle, behind him. She sat further back than was entirely necessary.

They went most of the way in relative silence. They’d worked enough together – Damian had spent enough time training with her – that it wasn’t particularly awkward, but there was an odd degree of discomfort that neither of them were used to. When they made it to Arkham, stowing the bike in the woods behind it, Damian asked, “That reminds me, when are you going to get a motorbike of your own? You can’t rely on rides from Spoiler and Abuse and me forever.”

“I don’t have my license,” she explained. She wanted to add, And I can’t afford one, but she knew that he would offer and insist and that would be unfortunate.

“Oh,” said Damian, as if this hadn’t occurred to him. “Well. You don’t really need one, in our line of work.” “Thanks,” she said, though her smile was not visible beneath her mask. “But I’m already toeing the line as is. I’d prefer to break as few laws as possible.”

“She says,” he added, grinning slightly as they headed towards Gotham, “as we break into a private mental facility in order to interrogate a patient.”

“He’s a criminal,” she replied smoothly. “Not a patient.”

Damian shrugged. “They all are.”

This wasn’t true, and Ellen wanted to fight him on it, but this wasn’t the time or the place. With the help of Robin’s gadgets and expertise, making it into Arkham was easier than it had ever been for Ellen – he did it with such nonchalance and finesse that it seemed positively casual for him. That sort of annoyed her.

They made it to the Wayne Ward, which is where the most dangerous criminals were held, cut off from the rest of the world by thick steel doors. Somewhere in one of the cages, someone sang a children’s song. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hopping through the forest…”

Another inmate moaned, “Shut the fuck up.”

Damian brought her to an unmarked cell that looked no different from any of the others, and put his hand on the door, behind which the Joker still sang. “Scooping up the field mice and boppin’ them on the head…”

Quietly, he asked, “You ready?” She nodded, but didn’t speak. Looking away from her, he punched a series of numbers into the keypad by the door, and it slid open.

He gestured for her to enter, and she did. He followed behind her, and the steel door clanged behind them.

A pale man in an Arkham uniform sat cross-legged facing the wall across from them. “Down came the good fairy, and she said…”

“Joker,” said Damian.

The Joker’s head lolled back on his shoulders, his dirty green hair hanging down from his scalp. He did not look around.

“Ah,” he began, his voice sickly sweet. “It’s my second-favorite little birdie. You’d be third favorite,” he said, almost reasonably, “but the dead one came back, and that’s no fun.”

“Joker,” repeated Damian. “What do you know about a new version of your Venom?”

Though he still did not turn around, the Joker made an unpleasant sound in the back of his throat, as if displeased. “None of that faker stuff. I’m no street corner dealer, little Robbie! I only have big plans, big shows, big-” he threw out both arms theatrically; in his left, he held a crowbar stained with blood, “-drama.”

Without hesitating, Damian moved forward and grabbed hold of the crowbar, kicking in the Joker’s elbow as he did so. As Damian inspected it, the Joker started to laugh, then collapsed and rolled around on the floor so he was facing the door.

“Where’d you get this?” asked Damian stoically, raising the crowbar.

“Beirut,” answered the Joker.

Damian shook the crowbar. “Whose blood is this?”

“Yours,” answered the Joker. “Robin’s. Doesn’t matter which one, best not to get attached,” he looked past Damian, as if addressed Ellen directly, “they’re just gonna break your heart and move on. They always do.”

Uncertainly, Ellen glanced at Damian, who only stared at the Joker.

He raised the crowbar, and hit the Joker across the face with it. Again, the Joker laughed. “What do you mean that fake stuff?” asked Damian. “So you know someone’s dealing.”

“Everyone’s always dealing,” Joker answered, with a shrug. “You know, dealing, coping, the human condition.” “How do you know about the drugs?”

The Joker lunged suddenly, throwing himself at Damian, grabbing hold of the crowbar tightly. Ellen instinctively moved to help, but Damian dodged, gripping the crowbar tightly and wrenching him away so that the Joker lost his balance and fell, half laying on the ground, still clutching the crowbar. He laughed and laughed.

“The drugs?” he screeched, ecstatic. “You mean the Xanax? Oh, no, you mean the painkillers? Or are you talking about the meth, because that was what really made her spiral, huh? Just took a little while to get there, step by prescription step, and then all of the sudden bam!” His laughter turned higher, more frantic. He held up one hand in the gesture of a gun and pointed it right at Ellen’s face. “Right in the kisser!”

Horrified, Ellen stared at him, frozen. It took Damian a moment to realize what was going on, and then he kicked the Joker square in the chest, sending him reeling back to the floor. “I miss Divya!” he called, as Damian, turned around returned to the door, taking Ellen’s wrist in his hand as he did so. “She was so much fun! Good stories! She missed you bad you know, she missed her beautiful son, her beautiful little-”

A name came out of Joker’s mouth that Damian didn’t know, but he could guess what it was. “Come on,” he murmured to Ellen, who said nothing, her face obscured and made unreadable by her mask. As the Joker laughed and laughed and laughed, Damian led Ellen out of the Joker’s cell, ensured the door was closed tight, and they retreated out of Arkham. After a while Ellen pulled her hand away from Damian’s. He said nothing until they were outside.

In the darkness, he turned to her heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought you in there.”

“No,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I had to meet him eventually.”

“I don’t know how he knew that about you.”

“It’s fine,” repeated Ellen, with a little more urgency. She tried to smile at him from underneath the mask, but obviously he couldn’t see it.

Damian watched her cautiously for a moment longer, then suddenly jerked his head around, obviously hearing something at his commlink. Then his gaze lengthened past Ellen, behind her, and under his breath he muttered, “For fuck’s sake-”

Despite the fact that Batman, from behind Ellen, should not have been able to hear this, he growled, “Language, Robin,” and Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Ellen turned around uncertainly; she had only very infrequently been in the presence of both Batman and Robin, and didn’t really have the hang of their dynamic yet.

Batman stood impassively before them both, watching them. “Are you here to talk to the Joker?” he asked, as if reserving judgment.

“We already did,” Damian told him. “He didn’t have anything useful to say.”

Thinking this was underselling the encounter a little, Ellen added, “He seemed to know a version of his Venom was being used on the streets,” Damian gave her an urgent look, like betrayal, so she continued, “but Robin’s right. He didn’t sound like he was involved in or even really approved of its production.”

Batman gestured at the crowbar in Damian’s hand. “What’s that?”

“A crowbar,” answered Damian.

Batman only watched him.

Damian held it up. “A man known as the Dealer tried to auction off an item just like this a few years ago,” he said, almost defiantly. “Nightwing brought it home, but he never entered it into evidence. He just got rid of it.”

“Why?” asked Batman.

“So you wouldn’t find out,” said Damian, “for obvious reasons.”

Ellen wasn’t sure what that obvious reason was, but she just glanced in between Robin and Batman, sensing the tension there.

Stubbornly, Damian continued, “The Joker was a red herring last time and I believe it’s the same thing this time around. We should be focusing our efforts elsewhere.”

“Hn.” Batman headed past them, towards Arkham. “I’ll talk to the Joker.”

As Batman passed, Robin reached out and physically took hold of his arm. “No,” he said. “You won’t.”

Batman twisted around to look back at Damian, and there was a moment of deadly, pin-drop silence.

“It’s my case,” insisted Damian.

Batman glanced up at Ellen. “It’s her case.”

Beneath her mask, Ellen’s eyebrows shot up. Reluctantly, Damian let go of Batman and turned to her. “Fine,” he said. “Ember. What do you think? Do you want a second opinion on the Joker, or do you think we should be able to proceed on our own from here?”

There was no expression on Batman’s face, but then again Ellen didn’t think there was ever really any discernible expression on Batman’s face. Once more she glanced in between Batman and Robin, before finally admitting, “I…think we should be OK.” To Batman, she said, “I’ve studied your case files and I don’t really think this fits the Joker’s M.O. Right now selling drugs to rich kids sounds a lot more like this Dealer character, or maybe, um, what’s his face, that guy who poisoned the diaxamene.”

Damian winced slightly when she said this and she suddenly feared she’d said too much; maybe there was something he’d been trying to keep from Batman. Though she didn’t really think that was all that smart – Robin’s pride be damned, this was about solving the case, not who got the glory of figuring it out.

Batman watched her for a moment, then nodded. “I expect a mission report,” he said.

“Of course,” responded Damian sourly.

Without looking around, Batman added, “I meant from Ember.”

Damian looked almost ready to blow a gasket, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded. Batman lingered for a moment longer, then swept away.

There was an awkward sort of pause. Damian turned and headed back to where the motorcycle was stowed in the woods. “C’mon,” he said.

She followed him, secretly a little pleased at this indication of Batman’s trust but also not wanting to push Damian at all. It was a weird place to be, staying quiet for fear of hurting Robin’s feelings – but then again, he was only a kid, at least a couple years younger than her. There was no need to be cruel.

A minute or so after he revved the bike and they started heading back towards the city, he asked, “Are you hungry?” His words came through clearly on her commlink, and yet she was still certain she had misheard. “Um. Sure?”

“I know a place,” he continued, taking a sharp left. “Up by Amusement Mile.”

Amusement Mile meant carnival food of some sort probably, which was fine by Ellen. Late at night as it was, the boardwalk was still all lit up neon, but Damian avoided that, heading instead for the less touristy area. There was a little shop – not much more than a booth – where he ordered falafel. Ellen got a kabob. The woman working there spoke warmly with Damian in a language Ellen didn’t know, but eventually she picked up that the woman was refusing to accept payment when Damian tried to pass it over the counter to her. He just grinned and stuffed a twenty dollar bill into the tip jar, and the woman laughed.

They sat together on the rail of the pier, which was already closed for the night. She lifted her mask to eat, then took it off completely, leaving only a domino mask around her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, nudging him a little. “Are you OK?”

He looked around at her, confused. “What? Why?”

“Your dad was kind of harsh on you. He didn’t really need to be, I know you have more experience at this than I do.” For a moment he said nothing, just watching her. Then he looked back down at his falafel wrap. “You shouldn’t refer to him as my father when we’re in the field,” he said. “Things like that are supposed to stay in a civilian context only.”

“Mmm, be careful about that. Everybody knows Robin is either Batman’s son or something a whole lot less wholesome, so I really think you should take what you can get.”

She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back, only looked at his wrap unhappily.

When he didn’t reply, she too looked down at her food, picking at it. She hadn’t been that hungry, but would’ve felt stupid turning down free food.

Softly, she asked, “How do you think he knew all that about me?”

Damian glanced at her. “Who?” he asked. “The Joker?” She nodded, and he considered this for a moment. “He knows everything about everyone. Don’t take it personally. He knows how to get under everyone’s skin, we’ve all been there.”

“He knew my…” she trailed off. “He knew my mother’s name.” He gave a shrug. “She was in Arkham, right?”

“Yeah, but – not in the Wayne Ward. Not with him.”

“No?” asked Damian, with mild interest. “What was she in for, then?”

Glowering, Ellen muttered, “As if Batman doesn’t have a file with all the sordid details.”

“He doesn’t,” answered Damian. “Or at least not one I have access to.”

For a while, so long that Damian didn’t think she was going to answer, Ellen said nothing. Then, her eyes fixed out across the black water of the ocean, waves lit by moonlight, she said, “She…was transferred. For the Wayne Enterprises drug rehabilitation program.”

“Ah,” said Damian, nodding. “Yes. I understand that whole project was – a massive PR disaster.”

“You could call it that,” Ellen agreed. “It’s what happens when rich people throw money at problems and expect results. At any cost.”

“We didn’t know it was going to go as badly as it did.”

“I know.”

“Arkham’s always been a mess. We really did want to reform it into something good. Something productive.”

“I mean, it was productive,” said Ellen, her voice sharp. “Lobotomizing addicts did help them kick the habit, it just also had the unfortunate side effect of, well, I mean, lobotomizing them.”

There was a short silence. Damian asked, “Is she alright?”

“Kind of,” answered Ellen shortly. “She’ll be in assisted living for the rest of her life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Probably not even your fault. She OD’d a couple times before, so she wasn’t in great shape to begin with.”

“This can’t be an easy case for you.”

“Why?” she asked, looking at him. “Because it has to do with drugs?” He returned her gaze, then gave a little shrug.

“If I couldn’t handle an overdose now and then, Batman wouldn’t have given me the mask.”

“Why did he?”

Ellen leaned forward slightly, setting aside her food and holding the blank scarlet mask in her hands. She shook her head. “When you figure that out,” she said wryly, glancing at him, “let me know?”

When they finished their food and headed back to Damian’s motorcycle, Ellen nudged him again. “Hey,” she said. “Thanks for not asking.”

He didn’t know what she meant. “Not asking what?”

She gestured across her face, at the diagonal scar there. “If this was what she was in for.”

Damian had of course assumed this, but he had been pointedly trying to ignore the scar at all costs since he met Ellen, so he’d avoided saying it outright. For some reason the scar across her face reminded him of his own hidden scar down the length of his back. How he got that was a sensitive story, and he didn’t imagine Ellen’s was any less sensitive.

He took her back into the city, and they parted ways for patrol.

---

NAME: Ellen Nayar ALIAS: Ember DATE OF BIRTH: 26 August 1993 BLOOD TYPE: A+ (Relevant Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Kiran Kaur Nayar, Grandmother AFFILIATIONS: Green Arrow II (Former), Team Ember EVAL: Mastery of basic defensive techniques at a young age provides a solid foundation for future training. Has a tendency to fall back on defense when cornered, relying on tools to compensate. Capable of much more but struggling to balance training as well as other civilian commitments; requires more investment both in and out of uniform. Significant pain tolerance. Easily identifiable due to the scar and also hair/body type, any uniform designs must compensate.

Strong field skills, hand-to-hand improving and introduction of nonlethal weapons going well. An apparent preference for the staff though she lacks martial arts training in that area. Sharp mind and eye for puzzles. Potential for leadership role assuming increased confidence in her abilities. Imperative to firm up her loyalties or risk alienation. Family history of addiction.

NOTES: |Robin| Hand to hand is fine but she needs to work on weapons and tech. Uniform needs an upgrade, face mask restricts breathing |Red Hood| She smokes

---

“I have good news,” said Oracle, on the screen, “and bad news.”

“Good news first,” said Nell, at the same time Damian said, “What’s the bad news?”

They looked at each other, and then Damian gestured for Nell to continue. She beamed at him and asked, “Good news?”

“We got a lead on our guy,” said Oracle, a big globular green head taking up the screen in lieu of her real face. “The one who reverse-engineered the diaxamene.”

Ellen sat up a little straighter, alert. “I thought he was in some mental facility somewhere.”

“Yeah,” continued Oracle. “That’s the bad news. I, uh – had a friend in Chicago drop by to see him.”

“Oh?” interrupted Damian, with a tone that sounded unlike him. It was half intrigued, half snide. “Interesting. What kind of friend?”

“Just a friend,” she said snippily.

Damian just made a face, but didn’t protest. Ellen glanced at him, wondering what that was about. “What’d he have to say?”

“That’s just it,” Oracle told them. “It wasn’t our guy, just some decoy checked in under his name.”

“A decoy?” asked Niloufar, a frown on her face. “For how long?”

“Presumably since he checked in,” said Oracle darkly. “Which means James has been out this entire time, no doubt plotting his next step for years.”

At the name, Damian lifted his head slightly, as if surprised she would use it. He leaned against the wall of the Bunker, a little away from the others, his arms crossed over his chest. “James?” asked Colin. “Is that his name?”

“Yeah,” sighed Oracle. “OK, confession time, you guys.” The green icon which represented Oracle disappeared from the screen, replaced with blackness and then suddenly a crystal clear image, as if a window to another room. An older woman with ginger hair and glasses on sat before them, computer glare lighting her up.

She waved at them. “Some of you have met me,” she said, “but I guess it’s time to make this official. My name’s Barbara, but I’m still O in the field, OK?”

Nell and Niloufar looked a little starstruck; even Colin seemed impressed. “OK,” said Jordan, glancing with what may have been a tinge of jealousy over at Niloufar. “What does that have to do with our case?”

With a look that was tight and worried, almost apologetic, Babs continued, “The guy we’re looking for – his name is James Gordon, Jr. His dad is Commissioner Jim Gordon of the GCPD.”

Everyone’s eyebrows raised in surprise, except for Damian. He watched as Jordan asked, “Gordon? The cop?”

“Commissioner,” Damian corrected, echoing Babs.

“Didn’t he retire?” asked Ellen, glancing around at Damian, who shook his head.

“He was on leave a few years ago, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” continued Barbara, nodding. “He took some time off after what happened with James the first time. I mean,” she paused, adding, “first is relative, but – anyway. Here’s where it gets personal. Jim Gordon is my dad.”

In a little bit of awe, Nell asked, “So this guy is your brother?”

Making a face, Babs said, “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” echoed Jordan derisively. “How can it be kind of-?”

Abruptly, Damian noticed Niloufar; she kept glancing in between him and the screen suspiciously, as if she was just putting something together. “What?” he barked at her.

Again, her gaze flickered in between him and Barbara. “You’re Robin,” she said, then pointed at the screen, “she’s Oracle. Aren’t you two…?” she trailed off. “Does that mean Commission Gordon is your…dad…too?”

Damian just stared at her for a moment, arms still crossed over his chest. Then he pointed at the screen, and asked doubtfully, “Do I look like I’m related to her?”

“You could have different moms,” offered Nell helpfully.

Rolling her eyes, Jordan said, “Come on, Nilou, everybody knows Robin’s dad is-”

Both Damian and Babs said, “Jabberwock,” and even Ellen added a scolding, “Jordan.”

At these reprimands, she threw her hands up in surrender. “Nevermind.”

“OK, so,” said Nell, turning back to the computer screen. “If we’re pretty sure it’s this James guy, then we at least know where to start, right? When was the last time time he was in Gotham, and did he have any favorite haunts? We can start there.”

A little taken aback by Nell’s sudden professionalism, Damian snapped his gaze away from her and back to Babs. “Spoiler is right,” he said. “We’ll dig into all the leads we have on James Gordon Jr.”

“This is the guy who poisoned the baby formula, right?” asked Ellen doubtfully, glancing around at the group of them. Returning her gaze to Babs on the screen, she added, “Of course you know more about him than I do, Oracle, but somehow that kind of crazy complicated scheme just doesn’t seem to fit the M.O. here. Why would he downgrade to selling to rich kids?”

“Actually,” piped up Niloufar, “we went through a couple overdose cases in the city over the past few months and came up with three positive reports for the same Joker Venom-diaxamene hybrid that was found in Joseph Fremont’s body.”

“We?” echoed Damian sharply, watching her.

Instead of shrinking under his gaze, as Damian had expected, Niloufar turned to look directly at him, straightening up slightly. “Me and Jor- Jabberwock.”

Damian watched her for a moment, then his eyes flickered over to Jordan, who nodded.

“So it’s not just Brentwood,” said Ellen.

“But it’s still a valid point,” said Babs, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “James is more psychological than that. I don’t really see him getting off on handing out drugs like some kind of common pusher.”

“You think he’s working with someone,” said Damian.

It was Colin who spoke up then, from where he was leaning against one of the specimen analysis tables. “The Dealer,” he said earnestly. They all paused and looked around at him, and he returned their gazes, nodding slightly. “It’s gotta be this Dealer guy,” he continued, “the one who’s been selling to the older kids at Brentwood? That’s his partner.”

Babs considered this, twisting her lips thoughtfully. “That would make sense,” she admitted. “James can’t exactly hang around the schoolyard, but he could manipulate someone younger into working for him. He manufactures, the Dealer distributes.”

“Then that makes things a lot easier,” said Nell. “If this Dealer guy’s younger, then he’s more inexperienced, which means he’s more likely to slip up.”

“Exactly,” said Babs, nodding. “I think the important part now is to split up-”

Behind everyone, Damian cleared his throat loudly.

When the others looked around, he seemed a little apologetic. But on the screen, Babs hesitated for a moment before letting out a short sigh. “It’s your team’s case,” she admitted. “This is really important, you guys. Batman’s really taking a leap of faith by trusting you with this one.”

“They’ve earned it,” said Damian, in protest.

“Yeah, but.” Babs shrugged, her empty hands turned upwards. “This is Batman we’re talking about. It took him about ten years to even start trusting me.”

“Well,” said Jordan shortly, shooting a slightly too-friendly grin up at Babs, “all that means is that Batman’s one stupid motherfucker.” “OK,” said Damian loudly, moving forwardly to the computer. “Thank you, Oracle. Send anything you’ve got our way, we’ll get ahead on this.”

Before she said anything else, something else seemed to occur to Oracle, and she said, “Oh, one more thing. Which one of you keeps saving your math homework to the encrypted file database?”

There was a beat of pause as Damian turned to glance around at his team. Nell was staring up at the screen with her mouth in a little ‘o’ shape; Ellen nudged her. “That – might be me,” she squeaked, obviously humiliated. “I’m sorry! Robin said we could use the computers he gave us for homework!”

Damian tried not to roll his eyes as Babs explained, “You absolutely can, but you don’t need to put it in the encrypted file drive. Just leave it on your desktop or something so it doesn’t get uploaded to our databases.”

Mortified, Nell nodded. “Sorry,” she said, again.

“It’s fine,” Babs told her. “Anyway, I’m here if you guys need anything. Keep me updated.”

“We will,” promised Damian, and then the screen before them went blank. In the white glow of the Bunker, he turned around to face them all. “Jabberwock, Abuse, Spoiler,” he began, with no hesitation, “you three need to fan out, comb the city for James Gordon Jr. He’s got to be hiding somewhere. Take a look at the information Oracle sent, and then head out. This is our top priority for the time being. Ember,” he added, turning to her, “you’re with me.”

Snidely, Jordan muttered, “Wow, what a surprise.”

Glancing at her then back at Ember, he explained, “We need to figure out who this Dealer person is. If he’s dealing in Gotham, then it can’t hurt to check in with Red Hood.”

Already, Ellen was shaking her head. “Hood doesn’t let his people deal to kids,” she told Damian. “If the Dealer’s been selling to Brentwood students-”

“Based on Seraph’s intel, he’s been dealing on the streets as well. Anyway, I’m not saying Red Hood will know who the Dealer is, just that he may be able to point us in the direction of any suspicious activity lately.”

Ellen considered this, then nodded. “Is he in town?”

Damian nodded. Earlier that week the entire family had gathered to celebrate the final night of Hanukkah; Bruce wasn’t particularly religious, but as he grew older he started to take every opportunity he could to gather everyone under one roof. This had been the first Hanukkah celebration at the Manor Jason had attended since before his death. He had spent most of the night messing around with Damian and Cass, more or less refusing to talk to Bruce directly. All things considered, it went well.

Anyway, Damian knew that Jason was still in Gotham because he’d been in a group chat with him, Cass, and Stephanie since. Steph, offended that she hadn’t been invited, had been alternatively demanding all the details and simultaneously assuring them she wouldn’t even have gone anyway.

Instructing the others to review Oracle’s information then spread out across the city, he made contact with Jason before riding out into the dark streets with Ellen on his motorcycle behind him. “Hey,” she said, her commlink transmitting her voice clearly into Damian’s ear despite the rushing wind, “what’s your deal with Red Hood?” He didn’t answer right away. “What do you mean?”

“He’s, like. One of you guys, right?”

“Oh,” said Damian, taking a sharp right turn that nearly scraped the side of their legs against the street. He had thought she was speaking emotionally, as if she could detect faint strains of annoyance he thought he’d gotten past. But Ellen knew his identity and that of his father, so he wasn’t shy about admitting relation. “He’s my brother,” he told her, his voice a whisper in her ear. They entered the old block of Midtown, edging into Red Hood territory. “Adopted brother, actually, not that it really matters.”

Ellen knew vaguely of Damian Wayne’s adopted brother, but she hadn’t realized he and Red Hood were one and the same. “Damn,” she said. “The papers would have a field day if they realized the founder of Neon Knights was a drug lord on the side.”

This took Damian by surprise; he glanced back at her, confused, and then realization dawned on his face. With a laugh, he slowed the motorcycle, drawing close to their destination. “No, not that brother. Red Hood is older than him.”

After a beat of hesitation, Ellen asked, “I thought the other guy was Nightwing?”

“He is,” sighed Damian, pulling the motorcycle to a stop in a tight alleyway. Getting off, he explained, “Not very many people know this, but I actually have four siblings. Three brothers and a sister.”

“Oh, shit,” said Ellen, impressed. She too got up, slipping off the bike. “And I thought you were an only child.”

“In fairness,” he said, shooting a grin her way, “I do act like one sometimes.”

There was a loud thump before them, and a red helmet shone in the darkness as Jason Todd descended from the fire escape above. “Sometimes?” he echoed, teasing. “More like all the damn time.” He jerked his thumb at Damian and to Ellen, he said, “Kid’s insufferable.”

While Ellen gave Jason an uncertain smile, Damian got straight to business. “You heard about our case?” he asked, his voice low.

Jay gave a shrug, shaking his head slightly. “Rumors, mostly. I heard some evil assclown is selling Joker Venom pills to kids.”

Damian nodded. “We’ve pursuing all the leads we’ve got, but we’re trying to pinpoint a distributor. What do you know?”

“Nothing, really,” admitted Jay. “Nobody on my payroll goes anywhere near kids, definitely not all the way out to the suburbs. Besides, I have kind of a,” he paused, and though Ellen could not see his face behind the helmet, she imagined she could hear him smiling, “thing when it comes to the Joker, so most of my people know not to touch that shit with a ten-foot pole. Sorry,” he said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic. “Wish I could help more.”

“It’s fine,” murmured Damian thoughtfully, taking this in. “Have you caught anyone selling to kids lately? Maybe this is someone you dismissed?”

But Jason was already shaking his head. “Nope,” he said. “My reputation is pretty well-known by now, Robin. People don’t usually try and test me.”

Glancing in between the two heroes, Ellen moved slightly forward. “Is there anyone who left your operation lately, maybe for unrelated reasons? I don’t think a street pusher goes straight to working for a supervillain, if you know what I mean – it’d make sense if our guy had some exposure to you and yours before he ever made it to where he is now.”

Jason considered this for a moment.

And then he let out a very small groan. Though the helmet obscured his expression, Damian’s pulse quickened, sensing and impending revelation. “Yeah,” said Jay, nodding ruefully. “Now that you mention it, yeah. There was this one kid – I didn’t exactly, like, kick him out, ‘cause he never really did anything wrong, but he was just…” he paused for a moment, as if searching for the word, “…creepy. Not like, in a big-bad-supervillain anyway, but he was just kind of a creep. A lot of the women who worked around him had…complaints. He never did anything,” he added mildly, “but they just got weird vibes from him. Women’s intuition, huh?” Ellen heard the grin in his voice, and imagined he may even have winked her direction.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Yeah,” answered Jay, his voice turning serious once more. “This guy – his name’s Scott Morrison, he’s maybe your age, Ember. But I caught him following me around on patrol a few times. Not following,” he continued, qualifying himself, “but – showing up in suspicious places. Like he memorized my route, which is weird enough, but then he’d start asking if I ran into any of the Big Bads. He asked me about Joker maybe once before I put my fist through his front teeth.”

Disappointed, there was a reprimand in his voice when Damian began, “Hood-”

But Jay just laughed and held up his hands. “Wasn’t that bad, li’l wing, just scared him a little. Anyway, haven’t seen him since then.” Damian nodded, but before he could say anything Jay added, “OH! I almost forgot – there was this one time, super fuckin’ weird, I kind of tuned it out.”

At this, Damian and Ellen exchanged looks. “What happened?” she asked.

“OK,” he began, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “Now this is super weird, and don’t tell your old man, Robin, ‘cause it’s the kind of thing he’d whoop any of our asses for – but one time, I got, you know,” he mimed gunshots with both hands, “beat up, a little, and I was bleeding all over the place try’na find somewhere to hang out and lick my wounds, and I swear to you this guy – I caught him, like, on his hands and knees on the ground following me with a fucking sponge in his hands.”

Both Damian and Ellen stared at him. “A sponge?” Ellen echoed, with a hint of disbelief.

“Yeah,” said Jay, nodding his head. “A fucking sponge. Blood is literally dripping off of my body, and he’s on the ground sponging it up. It was like, the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

More heatedly than Ellen really thought was necessary, Damian demanded, “And you just let him take it? Why didn’t you tell Batman about this?”

“Because,” answered Jay, rolling his head in a way that suggested he was also rolling his eyes, “no motherfucker’s dumb enough to try and clone me. You and your dad-” he broke off, glancing at Ellen, then corrected, “-I mean, the Big Man, sure, but me? Nobody gives a shit.”

“It’s protocol,” said Damian stubbornly, but Jason shook his head.

“Believe me, this guy wasn’t smart enough for anything like that. He was just fucking creepy.”

There was a suspicious pause, and then Damian asked, “When did this happen?”

“Like, maybe a month ago? But he quit working for me before that, maybe half a year or so.”

Ellen glanced at Damian. “That fits,” she murmured. “Our first recorded overdose was almost four months ago. That leaves time for recruiting and initial distribution.”

“Right,” said Damian, with a nod. The expression on his face was still severe. “Hood, we’ll need all the info you can get us on this Scott Morrison character.”

“He used to have a place over in Midtown,” Jay said. “I think it was a motel or something, nothing permanent. Riverview, or something?”

“Riverview,” repeated Ellen, with an urgent look towards Damian. “That was on Oracle’s list.”

With a nod, Damian touched the commlink at his ear. “Thanks,” he said to Red Hood, and then into his comm he said, “Spoiler, come in.”

Returning to Damian’s bike, they headed back through the city. By the time they reached Riverview Boarding House, Spoiler was waiting for them in Room 7. “I talked to the owner,” she said, as Ellen and Damian entered the room. “Somebody’s kept up-to-date on payments, but he hasn’t seen anybody come in or out for a couple weeks now.”

“Probably since we started investigating,” said Ellen, as Damian moved forward to search the room. “He knew we were on to him and wasn’t about to get caught with his pants down.”

“Robin,” said Nell, watching him search the walls for hidden compartments. He glanced around at her, and she jerked her head towards a door in the wall. “The closet.”

For a moment he did not move, only stared at her. And then he turned to the rickety wooden door, and he opened it.

Peering in behind him, Ellen made a face. “Gross,” she said.

Damian said nothing, taking in the sight before them: a veritable shrine to the Joker, littered with newspaper clippings and amateur art and low-res photos printed from the internet. In the center, there was a small Robin action figure, the kind of thing sold at tourist traps in Gotham. The plastic Robin’s limbs and his head were all removed from his body.

Gravely, Damian said, “He’s a Joker fan.”

“That explains why he’s working with JGJ,” offered Nell, from behind them. When both Ellen and Damian glanced back at her, she clarified, “Uh, James-Gordon-Junior. He needed a snappier name.”

Looking back at Damian, Ellen said thoughtfully, “It does explain the connection. Gordon used the lure of Joker Venom to recruit Morrison as his Dealer.”

Still staring at the shrine, Damian’s brown skin had gone wan with disgust, and his lips were pressed tightly together. “I don’t understand these people,” he said lowly, then he stood up, getting to his feet. “The Joker is responsible for the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of people. He’s a criminal. He’s not funny, he’s not interesting, and I don’t understand people who find him compelling.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nell sympathetically. “I mean, the guy’s basically a terrorist.”

Ellen caught the brief flicker of emotion across Damian’s face, a momentary tell that betrayed how much Damian disliked that word. Still; Ellen didn’t think Nell was wrong. “This is good, though,” said Ellen, to Damian. “It means we can bait him.”

Damian paused, then, very slowly, he turned around to look at Ellen.

----

“No,” said Bruce, shaking his head.

“It’s an hour, tops,” Damian insisted, leaning against the computer’s control panel in the Cave. “The entire team will be on top of him the whole time. It’ll be fine.”

“No,” repeated Bruce, shaking his head. “You are not removing the Joker from Arkham custody for any amount of time. He is in solitary confinement for a reason, he’s too dangerous-”

“A hour,” Damian repeated, practically begging his father. “Tightly contained and surveilled. It’s the easiest way to smoke out the Dealer.”

“The easiest is not always the wisest,” said Bruce shortly, “and I will not permit you to play games with a dangerous criminal. He always has a plan, and he’s bested you before.”

“But the entire team-”

“My answer is final,” Bruce told his son. “Harleen is out on parole, perhaps she may be of some help.”

As if disgusted by this suggestion, Damian began, “I’m not retraumatizing Doctor Quinzel on the off chance that she completes Scott Morrison’s Joker fantasy. Most Joker-philes like him think she’s a meaningless distraction anyway.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow the alternative, Damian. It’s too dangerous.”

“We’re so close.”

“Then find another way.” Bruce’s voice was not unkind as he said, “I believe in you, and I believe in your team. But this mission has already exposed you and Ember to that monster enough. It isn’t going to happen again.”

For a moment, there was silence in the cave except for the constant whirr of machinery and the far-off drip of slowly-forming stalactites. There was a profound tension between father and son, thick enough to slice; Damian was once more angry that his father was blocking the team’s ventures, and yet Bruce would not budge. There was no compromise here.

On the specimen analysis table, unceremoniously contained in a plastic box, the crowbar remained. Bruce had not been sure what to do it, and so as he ran his tests he had kept it there in full view for all to see. Mercifully, Jason had not ventured into the Cave the last time he was here.

A part of Damian wanted to tell Bruce about Scott Morrison, known Joker fanboy, on his hands and knees, sponging up blood. He wanted to tell him that he’d dug up records that someone fitting Scott Morrison had made a clandestine visit to the Joker’s cell in Arkham, presumably leaving him with a gift. He wanted his father to know that the crowbar was a complete plant, and if the crust of bloodstains on its curved end matched Jason Todd’s, it wasn’t because this was the weapon that had been used to kill him.

But Damian was still a sixteen year old, and he was still petty. Perhaps Bruce was being especially strict because of this painful reminder of his own failure at the Joker’s hands, but Damian was just spiteful enough to keep this small knowledge from his father anyway, let him simmer in his own guilt and shame.

“Fine,” Damian said curtly. “Then any further deaths due to this Dealer character are on your conscience, Father.”

Later, he updated Ellen on the situation via commlink while on patrol. She sounded somber. “So that’s it, then?” she sighed. “That plan is out.”

“Hm? Oh, no,” said Damian, leaping from one rooftop to another, his boots absorbing most of the shock of impact. “We’re still going to do it. We just need to keep it a secret from Batman.”

“What?”

He fiddled at his commlink. “Ember, can you hear me? I said we need to keep it as secret from Batman.”

“No, I heard you, I just – that’s impossible.”

“Not impossible,” he corrected, “merely difficult for the inexperienced. Luckily you have me, and I happen to be extremely adept at keeping secrets from Batman. You have to learn that kind of thing,” he told her, offhandedly, “when you live in a house with him.”

“Breaking the Joker out of Arkham is a little different than sneaking out to meet your girlfriend, Robin.”

Without hesitation, Damian said coolly, “That’s not what I meant.” It had been, actually, almost exactly what he meant. “All I’m saying is that I know him well enough to anticipate where he’ll be watching. We do this quickly and effectively, and it’ll be over before he knows it.”

“That’s…optimistic.”

“I have been told I have a very glass-half-full demeanor, yes.”

Ellen laughed, and despite himself Damian caught himself grinning. “If you say so. When’s it going down?”

Good question. Damian considered this, standing above a stone gargoyle, scanning the cold city streets below him. “The longer we wait, the more drugs the Dealer gets out on the streets.”

“Fair enough. What’s the plan?”

“Meet the others at the Bunker. I’ll explain everything there.”

When all was said and done, it did take a little more time than Damian had anticipated. The first phase was dependent on the speed and inertia of rumor, which was spread both throughout Brentwood via Colin and Niloufar and throughout the rest of drug-dealing Gotham by Jason and a select few on his payroll. The rumor spoke of an anniversary: the birth of the Joker, or the rebirth, rather, when a man was swallowed by acid and spat back out as something else. It was a trap, designed to target the biggest Joker fanboy who frequented those circles, who, of course, naturally knew the apocryphal location of that fateful warehouse.

All they needed was one night. It had to work perfectly, smooth as silk, precise as clockwork; but Damian had faith in his team. Well. Ember’s team.

Ellen herself was stationed at the warehouse, staking it out. Colin and Nell were off on the other side of the city, waiting for their cue; Niloufar was spearheading operations out of the Bunker, and Jordan was with Damian, her speed, strength, and flight, a necessary part of his plan.

Hidden inside the bowels of Arkham Asylum, Jordan hovering slightly above him, Damian watched the seconds tick by on his mask’s lens display. For a minute or so, there was nothing but tense silence.

And then Damian touched the commlink at his ear. “Abuse, Spoiler,” he said, “you’re good to go. Seraph, how are we on security?” “All disabled and looped,” came Niloufar’s voice, without hesitation.

“Perfect,” he replied. “Ember, Jabberwock’s on her way.” He nodded towards Jordan, then took the lead, expertly navigating through the high-ceilinged halls of Arkham, avoiding guards.

In his cell, the Joker was still singing. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hoppin’ through the forest…”

Disabling the door’s security, Damian gestured for Jordan to take over. “Go.”

She did so, wrapping her arms roughly underneath the Joker’s shoulders and heaving him up and out, shooting back the way she and Damian came, disappearing into the night. The Joker’s fading laughter echoed in Damian’s ears as he locked and secured the door once more, then slipped away, hoping no one would notice Joker’s sudden silence.

As Damian headed back out to where his motorbike was stowed, he checked the open channel; the shit had, to put it delicately, apparently hit the fan, and Batman was barking orders at other Gotham heroes following an incident on the other side of the city, which meant he was far away from Arkham and from the docks where their plan was about to go down.

It took him almost twenty minutes to make it to the warehouse. Leaving his bike some ways away, as he approached the empty, abandoned building he was certain he could hear that faint, familiar laughter. Their trap was lain.

He found Ellen and Jordan in the rafters, high above the walkways which crisscrossed above vats which were now mostly empty. Jordan had dropped the Joker in one which had a foot or two of (probably?) nontoxic sludge at the bottom, and his laughter was so manic and so loud that its reverberations started to hurt Damian’s ears. He activated the dampeners in his commlink, relying on his teammates’ comms to hear them.

“Nice work,” he told them both. “Abuse and Spoiler gave us an hour, tops. After that Batman resumes his normal patrol around the city, but we caught him as far away as we could, so it should be at least another hour after that before he realizes there’s anything amiss.”

Though Ellen’s face was obscured, the sound of her voice betrayed her concern. “So Morrison better show up in the next two hours.”

“He will,” said Damian, watching the dark and empty walkways below them. “He won’t be able to resist the lure of legend, and there’s no way he’ll stay away once he hears that.”

“No kidding,” muttered Jordan, following his gaze.

“That’s still leaving an awful lot to chance,” Ellen added, sounding uncertain. “The timeline seems kind of arbitrary, and I’m still not completely sure why we needed the Joker himself for this anyway? Seems to me we could’ve just used, I don’t know, a recording of his voice or something-”

“Ember, please,” said Damian shortly, waving away her concerns. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, OK,” she replied, maybe a little insulted. “I don’t doubt that, Robin, but I’m pretty sure Batman said that this isn’t your team, it’s mine, and part of me is starting to think the only reason you wanted to go get Joker in the first place was because your dad told you not to-”

But before Ellen could continue or Damian, suddenly livid, could open his mouth to defend himself, Niloufar’s voice echoed in all of their ears. “Someone’s approaching the warehouse,” she told them, via commlink. “Good luck, you guys.”

They didn’t reply, because at that moment they heard the big sheet metal door to the warehouse creak open. All at once, the Joker’s laughter suddenly stopped.

Scott Morrison was not at all what Damian had been expecting. He was somewhere in his twenties, tall, slim, good-looking. His blond hair was gathered into a topknot, and he wore wide-brimmed glasses which appeared to have no magnifying effect on his eyes, and so therefore were probably only worn for the aesthetic appeal. Both he and Ellen shifted uncomfortably at the same time, perhaps coming to the simultaneous conclusion of, Oh no, he’s hot.

“Hello?” he called into the vast warehouse, which Damian thought was a pretty stupid move. He went to the stairs which led to the walkways above the giant but now-empty vats, climbing them slowly, cautiously, peering around. “Joker? Mister J?” he called, which caused Damian to cringe slightly and Jordan to whisper, “Yikes.”

Morrison continued, making his way across steel catwalk, his hands on the railing on either side. “I heard you laughing,” he called. “Are you here? Joker?”

A low, sickly chuckle emanated from one of the vats. Morrison’s eyes went wide behind his fake glasses, and he darted across the walkway, leaning over the railing.

The Joker leered up at him. His voice was low and frightening, like a purr in the back of his throat. “Who’s asking?”

“Oh, shit,” said Morrison, in obvious excitement. “Holy fuck, OK, oh my God, Mister Joker, woah. Hold on,” he said.

Morrison dug into his pocket, and Jordan muttered, “Oh, Christ,” as he took out a phone and literally posed for a selfie.

“Oh my God, Mister Joker, big fan,” said Morrison, once he’d taken the picture. “Like, holy shit, I can’t believe this is actually happening-”

Ellen gently nudged Jordan. “Go,” she whispered, but then Damian held out his arm.

“Wait,” he said.

In disbelief, Ellen blinked at him. “We have him,” she whispered angrily at him, “he’s right there, if we don’t move now then the Joker could tip him off to this whole operation-”

But Damian was already shaking his head. “Wait,” he said again.

This infuriated Ellen. Jordan just gave her an apologetic look and a shrug. Knowing Robin was the most experienced vigilante between the three of them, she forced herself into silence.

In the vat, up to mid-calf in a thick yellowy-gray sludge, the Joker just stared up at Morrison, unimpressed. “Big fan, huh?” he echoed. “What era?”

Morrison stared down at him. “Uh, what was that?”

“What era?” repeated the Joker, sounding as petulant as a child. “Nicholson, Ledger, Leto? Who was your favorite?”

“Um,” said Morrison uncertainly, “uh, no, sir, I think you misunderstand me, I’m just saying that like, you know, out of Batman’s whole rogues gallery, out of, you know, out of everything in Gotham that makes up the soul of this place – I mean, you’re it, man! Your presence is stamped into the very fabric of Gotham City! You’re everything!”

There was a silence. The Joker stared up at him. “Not very funny, are you?” he asked, his lip jutting out in a pout.

“What – I mean, no one’s as funny as the Clown Prince of Crime! But, like, I do have some stand-up material, if you like, want to hear?” He paused anxiously, then began, “OK, so, like, here’s one – why does Batman’s sidekick keep getting younger and younger?”

Sounding bored, the Joker drawled, “’Cause the older ones keep dying.”

“No,” said Morrison, “but – that’s funny too. No, it’s ‘cause – ‘cause he’s Robin the cradle. Get it? Like robbing?”

There was a long, tense silence. And then the Joker let out a chuckle. “Hey, kid,” he called up, “that is pretty funny.”

Beside her, Ellen could feel Damian tense, his entire body coiled tightly. He was aching to jump into action, she could tell. She didn’t entirely understand why he hadn’t already.

“Hey, kid!” Joker called once more. “Why don’t you come on down here, and tell me a couple more of those funny jokes you got there?”

A flash of uncertainty crossed Morrison’s face. “Oh, I – I don’t know-”

“Aw, come on,” said the Joker, kicking around at the sludge under his feet. “Hey, wanna hear another one? What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the Batmobile?”

Jordan leaned over and whispered, “I know this one!”

“Get in the car, Robin,” said Joker, and then he wheezed with laughter, breathless in his own hilarity. A grin spread across Morrison’s face. Once more he dug into his pocket for something, then pulled out a plastic baggie full of pills. He snagged three or four out of the bag, and stuffed them into his mouth, swallowing them down.

Then he climbed up on the railing, and he jumped down into the vat below.

He hit the bottom with a sickening crunch, and let out a yelp of pain. “Got him,” muttered Damian, but once more he stopped Jordan from moving. “Wait.”

The Joker stalked towards Morrison, who misinterpreted this as intent to help him up. “No!” he barked. “No, no, no! This is good! Pain is good, it’s freeing, like chaos of the mind!” He let out a loud, manicured laugh, as if it were something he practiced in the mirror. “See, Joker, man, I get it! I get you, the big joke behind everything, the ultimate gag! Laugh in the face of an indifferent universe! It doesn’t matter anyway, so why not try to burn as many bridges as you can on your way out, right? We all die in the end!”

“That’s not very funny,” said the Joker.

“It’s all funny!” insisted Morrison, as the Joker slowly neared him, like a shark stalking his prey. “That’s the point! It isn’t real! It doesn’t matter! That’s what makes the joke so damn funny-”

The Joker grabbed Morrison’s topknot; his wide grin, usually so gleeful, was downturned into a comical frown. Though the slimy sludge at the bottom of the vat was only about a foot high, he shoved his face into it, sticking a knee on Morrison’s back to keep him down. Morrison started to struggle wildly, his shouts unintelligible as the ugly goo slipped into his mouth and nose.

“It’s like babies in bathwater,” the Joker said, cocking his head, watching Morrison struggle. “Never understood it! You leave the kiddies alone for two minutes and suddenly they’re floatin’ on their bellies like a bunch of goldfish. How do they drown in that!” He let out a guffawing, belly-deep laugh, which sent a chill down Ellen’s spine. Pushing Morrison’s face deeper into the sludge beneath him, he roared, “It’s not that deep!”

At that, Ellen disregarded her orders and moved. She leapt onto the steel walkway, sprinted down towards the vat, and jumped in, her feet landing squarely on Joker’s shoulders, knocking him off his feet. As Morrison lifted his face and gasped for breath, the Joker turned around to see her, and his face lit up. He laughed maniacally, gleeful.

“Look who’s back!” he screeched. “How nice! How soon! Tell me, how’s Mama?”

Ellen drew her fist back to throw a punch, but in a split second, the Joker had disappeared; she glanced up to see Jordan spiriting him away, presumably back to his cold cell in Arkham. There was a squelching thump behind her, and she turned around to see Robin glaring at her. As Morrison coughed, Damian said, “I had it under control.”

Pointing towards the pathetic figure on his hands and knees, Ellen said, “Joker was going to kill him.”

“He was going to scare him,” replied Damian pointedly. “Nothing like a healthy dose of trauma to cure you off your obsession with a criminal like the Joker.”

Still wracked with coughs, Morrison’s head swiveled towards Damian, sludge dripping down his face. “S’not a – criminal – he’s an – artist-”

Damian turned around, looking only mildly interested. He kicked at Morrison’s torso with his boot, and the man toppled over. “The eight-year-olds finger-painting at Neon Knight Centers are artists,” he told him. “The Joker’s just a two-bit con man who somehow stumbled into mythologization.”

Gasping for breath, Morrison refused this. “He’s the – beating heart – of Gotham City! He’s Batman’s binary star! He defines the Batman!”

Damian grabbed the man’s collar and swung a leg over his head so his feet stood on either side of him. His gloved fist connected solidly with the front of Morrison’s face. “He’s not that interesting,” Damian said shortly.

“Where would Batman be without the Clown Prince of Crime?”

Again, Damian punched him. “In better mental health than he is right now, that’s for sure.”

“Who would he be? He’s the Batman’s greatest match! His greatest foil! The only other man he’ll ever truly understand!”

His fist connected for a third time with Morrison’s face, and Damian looked over his shoulder to address Ellen. “People use that one a lot,” he said, sounding genuinely perplexed. “It really says something concerning about how people interpret empathy and intimacy in male relationships.”

Once more Morrison attempted that terrible, overly-practiced laugh, and Damian turned around again to hit him in the face again. It was then that Ellen moved forward, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “As satisfying as this may be,” she told him, sympathetically, “we’re here to get information out of him, remember? We need to know about Gordon.”

“Gordon?” echoed Morrison; there was incredulity in his voice, even through the blood running out of his mouth. “J-James Gordon?”

“That’s the one,” said Ellen, turning to him. “Junior, that is. Is he the one who’s been supplying you with the modified diaxamene?”

“Diaxamene?” he repeated, but Ellen was already digging through his pockets for that plastic baggie full of pills, which she quickly found and removed. “I don’t know what the fuck diaxa-what is, that shit’s diluted Joker Venom!”

“Yes, we know,” said Damian shortly, clearly still irritated. “You’re the one they call the Dealer, aren’t you?”

“I – I don’t know, man, James just said to tell people that!”

“James,” said Ellen, seizing hold of this. “He’s your supplier, isn’t he?” His whole body trembling, he tried to nod, but it came out looking more like a seizure. Spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth, and his skin was quickly draining its color, turning pale. Quickly Damian pulled open one eyelid, inspecting his pupils. Tightening his grip on Morrison’s collar, Damian asked, “How many pills have you taken tonight?” Morrison started to shake violently, his eyes rolling back into his head, and through his teeth, Damian snarled, “No!” Removing one hand from Morrison’s collar, Damian flipped open a compartment on his utility belt, popped the cap off a tiny syringe, and plunged it into Morrison’s neck.

“Anti-Venom?” asked Ellen. Damian nodded as Morrison’s shaking subsided, and he grew limp in Damian’s grip. “Robin,” she said, lowering her voice. “You can OD on diaxamene too if you take enough of it. The Anti-Venom may not work.”

“Maybe not,” grunted Damian, “but it’ll give us more time.” He shook Morrison bodily by the collar, and the man’s head lolled on his neck, his eyes blinking out of sync. “Scott Morrison,” he barked, “we know you’re the Dealer, and we know you’re working with James Gordon, Junior. Listen to me. Tell me where he is, and I’ll do my best to save your sorry life. If you have nothing to give me, then I will leave you here, and you will die alone in a warehouse where no one will find your body for weeks, if not months, and you’ll go to your grave knowing that Joker himself thinks you’re not fucking funny. Now,” he said, his voice calm and collected. “Where is James Gordon Junior?”

Something was catching in Morrison’s throat, making it impossible to reply; Ellen had a suspicion that it was vomit, his stomach protesting against all the poison he’d swallowed. Incapable or unwilling to form words, he merely lifted his hands, and he pointed out of the windows which lined the walls, just below the ceiling.

Damian paused, then he twisted around, following the direction of Morrison’s finger. Ellen did as well, but she didn’t understand: all that was visible out of the window was the night sky, stars faded above the lights of the city, and the shooting spire of the tallest building in Gotham City – Wayne Tower.

Grabbing Morrison’s hair, Ellen hissed, “Is this a game to you?” but Damian had already let him go, shooting his grappling hook out onto the walkway above.

He touched the commlink at his ear. “Seraph!” he called wildly. “Seraph, come in!”

Something dropped into Ellen’s stomach as she understood. Following Damian, she sent out a 911 call with Morrison’s location and status, then quickly followed Damian onto his bike. Niloufar had never responded to Damian’s call, and when he tried Jordan, he heard nothing from her either.

As they raced through Gotham, Ellen asked, “You think Gordon knows about the Bunker?”

“Maybe,” murmured Damian. “I know he knows about my family, and he knew about Batman back when we were based out of the Bunker. It’s a tease, Ember, don’t you get it? The diaxamene, the Joker Venom, the dead child so close to the Manor? He’s been playing us this whole time.”

“How?” asked Ellen, confused. “What do you mean?”

The bike shot into the secret entrance to the Bunker, and Damian was off of it immediately, sprinting into the main computer hub. “Seraph!” he called, looking around wildly, but there was no one there. “Seraph!”

Before them, the computer screen glowed a blank white. Something blared on both Damian and Ellen’s comms, Batman sending out an emergency signal for something going down at Arkham. “Jabberwock,” said Ellen to Damian, fear tight in her voice. “Something’s gone wrong-”

For a moment, Damian did nothing. On either side of him, he squeezed his fists tightly, gloves still stained red with Scott Morrison’s blood.

Then he turned to Ellen and said, “We can’t leave. Gordon’s here.”

“Where?”

Damian gestured for her to follow him, then took her through a set of doors she’d never seen open; he peeled his mask off his face, then lowered his eye down to a retina display. It blinked green, and an elevator opened. He held out one hand as if to say to her, After you.

“Where are we going?” she asked, unmoving.

He shrugged, then stepped into the elevator first. “The Penthouse,” he said shortly. “It’s where Nightwing and I lived back when he was Batman. If I’m right, it’s where Gordon’s set up camp.”

In disbelief, she finally boarded the elevator with him. “And how is it possible that none of your fancy security features ever picked up on anything up there?”

“I don’t know,” said Damian shortly, pressing his mask back onto his face. The elevator moved so rapidly with such sudden force that Ellen almost stumbled. “But it’s stupidly obvious – where’s the one place we would never look? Right under our noses, of course.”

Ellen glanced up at the ceiling of the elevator. “Or – above our noses, I guess,” she mumbled.

They emerged in a hallway; Damian jogged to the door and took off his glove, pressing his thumb against a scanner, and then he said aloud, “Voice recognition, Damian Wayne,” and the lock of the door let out a little click.

Lowly, Ellen asked, “If your security’s so tight, how’d he get through?” but Damian ignored her, pressing his gloved hand against the door and pushing.

The Penthouse was dark, but a light was on down the hallway, coming from the kitchen. When Ellen and Damian entered, a voice called, “In here!”

With a wary glance at each other, they followed the source of the voice. Turning the corner into the big modern kitchen, they found James Gordon Jr. sitting at the counter, glasses on his face, a spoon tucked into a pot of yogurt.

“Hi,” he said, waving at them. “Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you, Damian.” To Ellen he said, “I don’t know who you are,” then continued, “Nice digs, huh? Dick could’ve decorated more probably, but personally I like it.”

“Where is Seraph?” asked Damian, his voice flat.

“If you mean the girl downstairs,” James answered, scooping up a spoonful of yogurt, “she left a while ago. Probably to help her friend with the Joker.” Blandly, he looked at Damian. “Really nice of you to break him out and everything for me, Damian. I didn’t even have to lift a finger.”

“You’re done, Gordon,” Damian told him. “Your operation is shut down.”

“What operation?” asked James, looking mildly interested.

“The drugs.”

“I don’t have any drugs,” said James, innocently.

Damian stared at him, his expression stony and unreadable.

“Go ahead, search the place,” James continued. “Not a lot around here except some personal mementos. Sorry for squatting, but, hey, life’s tough when everyone thinks you’re a psychopathic murderer, right, Damian?”

Color dropped out of Damian’s cheeks, then suddenly rushed back in, flushing his brown skin. Sensing they had to take control of this situation, Ellen stepped up. “We’ve got you, Gordon,” she said simply. “We got the Dealer, too. We know what you’ve been putting out on the streets.”

“I haven’t been putting anything on the streets,” James said smoothly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Feeling a surge of anger, she suddenly sympathized with Damian’s fury. “Scott Morrison-”

“-OD’d,” said James flatly. “Right?”

Damian and Ellen exchanged a look. For all they knew, Morrison had died before the paramedics reached him.

“Scott Morrison was a crazy man with a Joker fetish,” James said, with a shrug. He ate a spoonful of yogurt. “Nothing to do with me.”

“The diaxamene-”

For the first time, a hunt of frustration entered his voice. “Any idiot could’ve gotten ahold of that. Haven’t you heard, Miss Nayar? Prescription pills are all the rage nowadays. Oh,” he added, picking up a remote from behind him, pointing it at the television on the wall. “Would you look at that.” A Breaking News broadcast played, informing viewers that a potential catastrophe at Arkham Asylum had narrowly been avoided, and the Joker, who had mysteriously vanished from his cell, was back in custody.

James smiled at Damian and Ellen.

“All according to plan,” he said.

Damian’s eyes were glued to the screen, slightly in shock as the news showed shaky video footage of a slim figure shooting into the sky, holding someone else in their arms. It was obviously Jordan, and it looked like she was carrying Niloufar, who had covered her face with her headscarf against the cameras. Despite himself and the absurdity of the situation, he somehow found himself taken by surprise that they had managed to solve the situation on their own, without his help.

James Gordon Jr. did not fight back. He did not protest; when the police came, they arrested him, but found no evidence of wrongdoings in the Penthouse except, obviously, trespassing. Later, into his commlink, Oracle informed Damian that they were holding her brother temporarily, but they may not have enough solid evidence to put him away.

Meanwhile, Ellen got a quick status report from the other members of the team, then checked on Scott Morrison. He was alive, but comatose.

As the late nighttime hours began to bleed into the impossibly early morning, Damian and Ellen sat on the rooftop of a building, their legs hanging down over the side.

“I know – technically – we won,” said Ellen, peering down at the city streets below them. “So why does it still feel like we got played?”

“It usually feels like that,” Damian told her dully, without looking around at her. “Especially with filth like the Joker and Gordon, Junior. It always feels like there’s something we missed.”

“We didn’t need to take the Joker out of custody.”

“No,” agreed Damian. “I…suppose I just hate it when people think the Joker is bigger than he is. He’s a lowlife criminal. I wanted Morrison to understand that.”

“I think that’s the problem,” said Ellen, glancing around at him. “It…strikes me that you really can’t take these things personally in this business.”

Damian didn’t answer for a moment. Then, slowly, he got to his feet. “I understand that,” he announced, with some finality. “But…I don’t think it’s right to remove your own feelings out of these kinds of situations. I think that’s how you end up like Batman.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s the worst thing,” he told her, his gaze flickering over to her. “A terrible option. The bad ending.”

“I don’t know,” she challenged, with a shrug. “He took care of this city for a long time before you came along. Maybe he knows something you don’t.”

This obviously troubled Damian. He bade her farewell, and then he made his way back to Wayne Manor, arriving in the Cave just as the very first edges of dawn began to break. His father was already there, seated in his throne before the computer, as always. Damian noticed the crowbar was gone from its place on the specimen table.

He removed his mask on his way up from the garage, passing his father at the computer and heading in the direction of the stairs that led up to the house above. Before he reached them, though, he paused, and he turned around.

“Father,” he said.

Bruce moved only slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted, like pulling teeth.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Bruce turned back to the computer, his fingers clacking away on the keyboard. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked. “You won.”

“The Joker-”

“Is back in Arkham.”

“But I-”

“Maybe you made mistakes, Robin,” said Bruce, still facing the screen, “but your team was there for you, and they took care of it. I was impressed with Jabberwock and Seraph in particular tonight. Jabberwock should do very well on patrol, though I believe Seraph would benefit from a more permanent headquarters.” On the screen, Bruce flipped through a series of safehouses he’d long kept on reserve. “The Haven, perhaps?”

Damian gaped at his father. “Headquarters?” he asked. “Patrol? You mean to say – this is it? You really trust them?”

“I trust you,” said Bruce, “and I trust Ember. That’s got to be enough for now.”

Still, Damian felt discontent. “Father,” he began, “I still think – if we had just-”

“Ifs and should haves are poison, Damian,” said Bruce, without looking around. “You won. Red Hood and some of his contents are working on getting Gordon’s drug off the streets, but without a supplier, it should dry up on its own.”

“And Gordon?”

“From what I hear of him, he’s no criminal mastermind. He just likes toying with people. If he can, his father will put him away.”

“His father,” echoed Damian, trying to ignore the obvious parallels suddenly rearing his mind. “I imagine you might be feeling some…empathy, for his situation.”

“None at all, Damian. None at all.”

Damian rolled his eyes, then turned to head up into the Manor, taking the stairs two at a time.

----

NAME: Niloufar Ghorbani ALIAS: N/A / Seraph DATE OF BIRTH: 16 October 1996 BLOOD TYPE: O+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Nazanin & Mahmoud Ghorbani, Parents (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Team Ember EVAL: Observe for further development of metahuman abilities

#sog2 #earth 28 #damian wayne #colin wilkes #nell little #ellen nayar #bruce wayne #jason makes a cameo!!!!!#also i hated writing the joker #and this fic officially makes jewish!waynes canon #i'll fix some shit in here before i upload it to ao3 but i just had to power thru it and get it Finished #oh babs is also there

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