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collectivefandomstuff · 4 years

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Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him.

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

#fanfic #batfamily fanfic #batfam fic #pov:#jason todd #humor #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #Stephanie Brown #special appearance:#Bruce Wayne #rated t #for language #4k+ words #1-5k #oneshot

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dashingdcboys · 4 years

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stupid thought but since wayne manor’s rooms are all so HUGE, I feel like the batfam would all end up using the same port for charging their phones despite alfred’s warnings.

“What do you mean the other electric port’s on the other side of the livingroom? I need it next to me - I’m waiting for a text from Babs and my phone’s on 5%!” Dick’s frustrated voice rung throughout the manor.

Jason didn’t even look up from his phone as he sat comfortabley on the couch beside the electric port which his phone was plugged into, watching a fails compilation on YouTube from it. “Then quit wasting so much time on instagram during patrol, I’m doing important work here.” he claimed.

Dick narrowed his eyes at his younger brother, ready to throw hands as he spared a quick glance at the said ‘important work’, only to get distracted by Tim’s voice, who was sitting further along the couch. “You know using your phone while it’s charging damages the battery, right?”

The second middle-child was also on his phone, scrolling through reddit. It was one of the rare times he felt relaxed - lazily sprawled on the couch in one of Steph’s over-sized sweaters, superboy-themed-boxers and mismatched socks. He was having a good time, so imagine the shock that pulsed through him when his device vibrated, notifying him that he had a minute until the phone shut down from low battery. “Fuck.”

Jason’s grin couldn’t be wider, “So mr. ‘too good for chargers’, how’s the start of your new philosophy going?” The younger brother and scowled at Jason. “Well maybe my battery wouldn’t have died so fast if someone hadn’t used it to play games on it all night.” Tim argued, now re-directing his scowl to Damian.

“Wait, so was Tim really the only one actually paying attention to that stake-out on condiment king?” Dick asked, to which Jason arched a brow. “It’s condiment king, Dick, what do you expect?” The eldest couldn’t help but shrug in agreement.

“>tt<.” Damian’s unamused voice sounded from the floor where he lay on his stomach on the carpet beside Titus and Pennyworth the cat, playing games on his phone. “Don’t blame me for your incompetence, Drake, hasn’t father taught you prepare for anything in any given situation or was I the only one who actually listens to him?” the boy stated, sitting up as he held up a portable battery pack. The youngest turned it on, only to reveal that . . the battery pack had no charge either.

Jason was the first to snort while Tim’s grin became more and more apparent. “Have a contingency plan for that, robin?” Tim teased.

“This deserves to be number one in this Fails Compilation - 2020.” Jason added, which earned him a small chuckle from Tim.

Dick noticed Damian’s rage level rising and he could have sworn he saw the boy beginning to actually vibrate in restraint from pulling out whatever weapon the kid keeps on his person and killing the other two. Since he doesn’t want Tim to suffer any longer, nor to deal with Jason’s bitching about getting stabbed (again), he did what any self-sacrificing, older brother would do and plugged out Jason’s phone from the port.

“Hey!” His retort soon came. “What the fuck dude, I don’t know what they taught you in the circus but it’s first come first served here!”

“Technically, I was the first here, before all of you - it’s siblings hierachy. I get the port.” Dick claimed as he bent down to plug in his own phone.

“I mean . . “ Tim mumbled, “He has a point.”

“No, there is a second option.” Damian announced in a tone sinister enough to get his brothers’ attention. “We plug out father’s phone charger.”

All three boys looked over to the second port above the one they were arguing over, from which Bruce’s phone was charging from with the mobile device left neglected on the coffee table.

“You’re insane.” Tim stated.

“I say we do it.” Jason insisted, “I mean, isn’t like B has the thing booby-trapped, right?” After receiving three disapproving glances, he then added, “Okay, good point, he definitely has the thing booby-trapped. But even then two of us would still have to fight it out.”

“So?” Damian queried.

“So, what?” Dick asked.

“What are the rules for the fight? No knives? Fists only? Can’t touch the floor - ?”

“We are not fighting over a charging port !” Dick exclaimed though his authority was unsurprisingly ignored.

“I say, teams of two. Winning team gets to comfortabley scroll through their phones while losing team has to keep themselves entertained by miserable day-time TV shows while their phones charge on the other side of the room.” Tim suggested.

“Tim.”

“So you’re not scared of plugging out Bruce’s phone?” Jason questioned.

“Please, I learned how to remotely hack into that thing and turn off the electric-shock-inducer when I was fifteen. How do you think I was able to send those false tweets from his account on that dare you gave me a couple of months ago?”

Damian cackled, “Calling out father’s habit of adopting strays on his own account was one of your rare moments of genius, Drake, I must admit.”

“The electric-what-now?”

“Guys.” The oldest’s booming voice echoed throughout the room. It appeared that while his brothers were conversing, he had went out and brought Alfred. The old man was holding two connecting ports in his hands and looking over all of them with his usual indifferent yet judgemental gaze.

“I see you have all resorted to violence for those brain-melting devices of yours.” He announced as he plugged in the connector and the four boys shamefully lined up to give him their chargers, one after the other.

The butler sighed as he glanced down at the mess of plugs. “One more and it will be considered a fire hazard.”

In that moment, Cass walked in wearing her bat onesie, clearly ready to spend what was left of the evening relaxing in the living room with her brothers. Of course, Alfred couldn’t refute the unofficial-yet-official family favourite and heaved a sigh as he plugged in her phone charger beside the others’.

The girl smiled in delight as she sat down on the ground beside Damian, listening to the abrupt conversations as Tim shared an occassional meme he found, Dick announced some friend he was texting said ‘hi’, Jason talked about some event on the news and Damian celebrated his new highscore in the brand-new cheese vikings app. And they immediately stopped what they were doing to listen to what she had to say about this make-up tutorial for sparkly purple eye-shadow she found on Stephanie’s instagram.

Alfred couldn’t help but smile, who would have thought they were at each others’ mere minutes ago?

#dc #batfamily #batfamily headcanons #alfred being the glue of the family as usual #my dumbass thoughts #shorts #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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Tales from the Future - Batflash Week Day 1: Wards & Didn’t Know They Were Dating

After a tough mission in the future with the Titans, Damian and Wally discovered something very shocking. They couldn't keep this information to themselves, though, and decided to tell their families - save the very people the information is about.

Will the group of Robins and Speedsters stay focused enough to come up with a plan or realize that the future isn't as bad as they're fearing?

Damian watches Jason casually stroll in through the window, one leg swinging in after the other with practiced aloofness. “Tch,” he scoffs, “nice of you to show up.”

“Buzz off, Bat Brat,” Jason says, squeezing in between Dick and Tim on the couch. “I was busy .”

“Who was busy?” Dick asks.

“Me, I just said -”

“No, who was busy,” he clarifies, leering at Jason. Groans erupt from across the room, Damian hiding his face in his hand. Duke huffs from the armchair, mirroring him.

A smack echoes, Dick cursing. Tim glares from the other side of the couch, frowning. “None of us want to hear about Jason’s sex life.”

“I don’t know,” Dick says, rubbing his head, “I could use a good laugh or two.”

Sighing, Wally steps behind Damian. He turns to face his friend. Wally looks unimpressed, a similar expression to the other speedster guests who joined them this afternoon. The older Wally sits on the other armchair across from Duke, closer to Dick. Bart vibrates around the room, not really staying in one place for too long. “Is this how every meeting starts?”

“No,” Damian admits, “sometimes we do more than slap the other.”

Wally’s eyebrow climbs further up his forehead.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” Damian calls. His brothers quiet immediately, giving him their attention. “We didn’t assemble to tease Jason.”

“But it’s such a fun team building activity.”

“Fuck you, Bubble Butt.”

“How dare you -”

Another clap silences them again. “Do I have to separate you two?” Damian asks, glancing between the older Robins. They dart their gazes towards one another for a brief second before relenting, a white flag waving from their stations. “Good,” he continues, running his hands across his chest. Smooths invisible wrinkles on his charcoal black button-down. “Now we’ve gathered you all for a reason.”

“A very important reason,” Wally preempts Bart, the latter’s jaw hanging. Offhand comment still cocked in his chamber, pulled from the trigger. “That has to deal with Barry and Bruce.”

Their family sobers immediately at the mention of their respective elders. “Really?” Dick asks, “What is it?”

Damian and Wally glance between themselves, silently discussing who would start. Taking too long, Jason breaks their debate. “Someone just freakin ’ start already!”

Taking point, Damian clears his throat. “We’d finished a mission with Jon, saying our goodbyes to him and his team in the future…”

A mission to the future seemed too early for Damian’s ragtag team of Titans. He could barely get them to stop fighting each other to handle villains of this century, there was no telling how they’d fare against criminals with advanced and alien tech. Yet Jon came for him at an inopportune time. Bubble bursting in during a team meeting, popping out with his friend , Saturn Girl.

“Damian,” he panted, ash smudged across his face, “I need you.”

That was all the convincing needed. Except the moment he set a foot into the time bubble a gust of wind sped past and snatched his wrist.

Wally wouldn’t let Damian leave them, the others gathering round demanding to be brought along. Damian scowled, trying to figure out a quick enough argument to shut the idea down without offending them. Because he promised them he’d be kinder . Kindness cost him dearly, since Saturn Girl gave them a free pass by saying, “Of course you can come along.”

Carried into the time bubble by the incoming stampede, they squished together to travel to the 31st century. He squirmed between Crush and Roundhouse, annoying Wally given the timed puffs of air he breathed through his nose.

“You were tickling my chin,” Wally scoffs, “And it was taking too slow.”

“We were advancing 1000 years in a blink of an eye!” Damian cries, “There’s nothing slow about it -”

“Guys, focus!” Wally says, “What does this have to do with Barry and Bruce?”

“Well, when we got there it turns out this villain had taken control of their head quarters,” Wally says, ignoring his cousin.

A green, floating eyeball paraded around the Legion of Superheroes’ Clubhouse. Members with glowing, verdant gazes stalked the halls like zombies. Unfortunately they proved much more resourceful and smarter than their appearance.

An accidental sneeze from Roundhouse alerted their presence, and heroes descended upon them. Damian found himself holding off a wolf-man with his staff caught in his sharp jaws. When he flipped the beast off him, Damian saw the rest of his team separated and battling in their own small groups. And the eye, watching them. Waiting.

“Its owner entered with fanfare,” Damian tells them, “using this boy who shoots lightning for special effects.”

Tim yawns, “Why does this matter?”

“It does! Now, she entered…”

The Emerald Empress immediately captured Roundhouse with her Eye, trapping him in her spell like all the others. Saturn Girl shouted for them to retreat, falling back towards a secret tunnel. Except on their way Djinn snagged her ankle on a waiting hand, phased through the floor.

“Go!” she says, “I’ll be fine!”

Damian froze, only Wally’s fast reflexes pulling him out from falling debris dropped by a gravity manipulator. They left Djinn and Crush - the latter shoving past Emiko to help the other girl. Behind the shut door of the secret entrance Damian saw emerald light flash and his heart sank.

“This is why you should have stayed in the past,” Damian growled once they snuck far enough away, “Not even five minutes and we’ve already lost half the team!”

“We’ll save them, Damian,” Wally said, a steady calm to the raging storm brewing inside the smaller boy, “We always will.”

“Don’t see how,” Emiko added, the first few words since travelling to the future. “Her Eye looks kitted to the max. Coupled with the heroes she already has under her thrall and the ones we gave her… I don’t think we have much of a chance.”

Damian huffed, “Especially once she combines her Eye with Djinn’s magic -”

“Djinn?” Bart asks, “Who’s Djinn? You keep mentioning her.”

Flushing, Damian glances at the grandfather clock ticking ceaselessly in the lounge. “She’s a team member of ours… very powerful magic, one of our strongest assets, and -”

“Damian’s got a total crush on her.”

He whips his head to glare at Wally, the other boy standing nonplussed. Instead of a smirk, a harsh line cuts across his face. As if his words were more of a tiresome fact than rope to hang him with.

His brothers gladly string him up. Dick coos, “Aw, you’ve got a crush Damian?”

“Thank God,” Jason says, “Maybe you’ll finally get that stick out of your ass.”

“Does this mean we have to chaperone you?” Tim asks, “Because I don’t want to double date…”

Duke leans forward in his seat. “Are we going to ever meet her?”

Damian waves their comments away. “This isn’t about me. And for the record I don’t have a crush.”

Jason scoffs, “Sounds like what someone with a crush would say.”

“I don’t!”

“Jason knows what’s he’s talking ‘bout,” Dick nods, clapping Jason’s shoulder, “Guy’s king of unrequited crushes.”

He brushes Dick’s hand off him. “Fuck you, at least half of them were requited.”

“Sure, and I made it to fifth base with Harley Quinn…”

Bart zips over to Tim, whispering. “What’s fifth base?”

Tim shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Wally pinches his brow, reclining into his armchair. “Can we please get back to the story?”

“I would be glad to,” Damian says, “if people would let me.” Given the floor once more, Damian carries on where he left off.

They regrouped. Jon led them in a motivational speech, every word and gesture oozing small town sensibility. His father would be proud. After he rallied the troops, Saturn Girl presented schematics of the Legion headquarters. Damian and Emiko poured over the holograms, planning their assault. Satisfied with a course of action, the group returned.

Although their plans strayed early on from the course they laid. A few heroes that Saturn Girl thought were off-planet appeared and forced them to separate. Damian and Jon fled down one hallway, followed by a barrage of shrapnel. Cosmic Boy, as Jon told him, barreled their way with a Lantern and an orange lizard-creature at his side.

Jon handled the flankers, Damian keeping Cosmic Boy occupied. With power over metal most of his arsenal was useless, and he dropped it so he wouldn’t be controlled. Instead Damian relied on his training, utilizing the environment to his advantage. Waiting for Leading Cosmic Boy into a narrow hallway, snaking around the metal he pulled. Pushing his reflexes to the limit, Damian dodged each swipe until Cosmic Boy trapped himself in a cage of wires and panels.

Unable to move, Damian rabbit punched him.

Jon dumped his attackers to the floor when Damian returned, and together they advanced to the main room. Regrouping with the others, they stormed where Emerald Empress hid.

More heroes awaited them, guarding their queen while she mixed the emerald energy from her eye with Djinn’s unique purple magic. This timeline’s Doctor Fate underneath like a scale, helping to balance the power.

Knocking away a ball boy into identical triplets, Damian noticed the colors mixing together hideously. Terribly foreboding, a chill shot through his spine. “We need to stop this!” he yelled, tumbling underneath lightning.

Wally wrapped up a talking raccoon and hurled him towards a green-skinned boy. Being the only one who heard Damian, he tracked his gaze to the makeshift throne. “Okay,” he said, “let’s stop this.”

“So?” Bart asks, “How’d you stop it?”

Damian pouts, crossing his arms. “He threw me.”

“What?”

“He threw men,” he repeats, “at the Emerald Empress.”

Wally nods, smiling. “While I dealt with Doctor Fate.”

With those two erased from the equation, it was only Djinn and the Emerald Eye. Their auras swirled in battle for dominance. When it looked like the green would overtake Djinn’s purple, her eyes flashed brilliantly violet and swept over the encroaching light like a tidal wave. Purple energy coursed through the Emerald Eye until it short-circuited and turned grey. It fell to the floor, powerless.

Spell broken, the others woke from their trances. Some moaned with pain while others blinked in confusion. Their friends, Crush and Roundhouse, staggered away from Saturn Girl and Jon while returning to their senses.

“You beat the villain, big whoop,” Jason says, “still don’t see what this has to do with Bats and Flash.”

Wally rolls his eyes. “After the fight, when we were saying our goodbyes to the team…”

Roundhouse bounced between Jon, Saturn Girl, Wally and him, drawing the Legionnaires attention towards him. Asked questions with blazing speed that surpassed their speedster. Jon led him away from the group, Saturn Girl at his side while explaining a few of the concepts to sate his curiosity.

Leaving Wally and Damian open for an ambush.

“Excuse me?” someone cleared their throat behind them, “I… I can’t believe you’re actually here…”

Startled, Damian brandished a bat-a-rang immediately and spun on his heel to attack. Before he could launch his weapon, though, Wally gripped his wrist in an iron vice. “Damian, no ,” he scolded, nodding towards the frightened teenager in front of them, “ friend .”

He glared at the speedster, unrelenting in his combat stance. Wally didn’t back down either.

The newcomer looked between them, nerves dying as each second ticked on by. “Uh… is he gonna put that down?”

“Yes.” “ No .”

Wally sighed, lowering Damian’s hand. “Sorry, we’re a little on edge…”

“Yeah, yeah,” the teen said, “Emerald Empress took a lot out of all of us… your team did a great job.”

Nodding, Damian used his silence to study the newcomer. Recognizes him from their previous battle as the one with lightning powers. If he hadn’t witnessed his powers in action the costume would telegraph immediately what he can do. Lightning bolts mean two things - and he didn’t rush away like any other speedster would when presented with danger. So that meant the only other option was electricity manipulation. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right, uh -” the teen chuckles awkwardly, scratching his head, “the name’s Garth - or, uh Lightning Lad.”

“Cool. I’m Wally, Kid Flash. And my trigger happy friend is Damian -”

“ Robin .”

“...I was getting to that.”

Garth beamed, “I know, I know! I… kinda know a lot about you, actually…”

A chill raced down Damian’s spine at the giddiness crackling across Garth’s face. Being trapped with a fanboy is not what he needed. Wally tensed as well, darting his gaze over in silent communication. However a different emotion flickered behind his eyes, telling Damian to suck up whatever outburst bubbled up inside him. He snapped his jaw shut. Agreeing to play nice only because he felt too tired to cause a scene.

“Hey,” Wally started, “it’s always great to meet a fan -”

“A huge fan,” Garth cut him off, “Like, you’re such an inspiration. I remember growing up, whenever a dust storm tore through our settlement and we’d be locked inside for days , my brother, sister and I would read up on all your classic adventures.” He turns to Damian, “Both of yours.”

“I’m surprised you had time to even read about his ,” Damian smirked, “ my adventures - that have passed and are yet to come - should have been enough entertainment.”

“...Actually you’re featured in a lot of Flash’s stories.”

Damian bristled again, not caring for how Wally’s chest puffed up. Only to deflate slightly, with a sigh. “Looks like I’ll never get rid of you,” he mumbled.

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky I still hang around you after all these years…”

Garth chuckled. “Oh, man… the banter is just like they said it’d be.” He bounced where he stood, sparks jumping off his shoulders. “I really can’t believe… you two. Some of the best teen heroes. You are part of the reason I am who I am today. I’ve met Superman and Jon already… all I’ll need for my life to be complete is to meet the originals and I’ll be set!”

“Originals?” Damian asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You know, your mentors. Batman and Flash ,” Garth continued, eyes glowing blue, “Those guys, I mean… Growing up where I’m from there were some pretty strict rules on how to live your life. If you didn’t fit the mold you’d be ignored and cast aside. My brother Mekt… being born without a twin… Anyway, Batman and Flash were in your face with who they were. When they came out they didn’t bat an eye -”

“What?”

Damian and Wally leaned forward with vested interest. “What?” Wally said again, “What do you mean, ‘came out’?”

“When they publicly announced they were dating?” Garth answered, “Well… it’s not like they had a choice, what with that picture in the Gotham Gazette but - hey, they didn’t deny it! That’s…” He stilled, finally noticing the expressions of the others. “You didn’t know? But aren’t you from… wait, what year are you from?”

“2019.”

Garth paled, stepping away from them. “Oh… oh frack . I - I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

It didn’t matter. The future dropped upon them like a bombshell. Damian’s vision whited briefly until he blinked into awareness once more. Wally’s grip on his wrist tightened, reminding him that throughout the conversation he latched on like a vice. Wrenching free, the bat-a-rang fell with a clatter.

“Please,” Garth whispered urgently, “forget I said anything. Brainy’s all about not interfering with the timeline. If he finds out I outed them he’ll kill me… and that’d really hurt my chances with the guy.” He looked between them. “You don’t have any questions, do you?”

There were a million. Except Jon returned, telling them how it was time the Titans returned to the present. Herded into the time bubble, Wally and Damian didn’t say another word about what they learned. Waiting for the perfect moment to discuss it.

With others who deserved to know.

They watch their family process the information, breath held, waiting for a response.

Bart reacts first. He snorts, drawing all focus to him. A single laugh blossoms into a full-body heave until he tips over the couch, sprawling across Damian’s brothers’ laps. “That’s really funny guys,” he wheezes, “Seriously… amazing.”

Damian scowls. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s not true?”

“We were in the future, Bart,” Wally says, “How can it not be true?”

“Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m from the future?” he says, “Because I’m Barry and Iris’s grandson . If they somehow didn’t end up together d’you think I’d still be here?”

“Then again,” Tim interrupts, “you are from a timeline that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Bart’s good mood shatters into a million pieces. Pouting, he glares at his friend. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Jason shifts under his heavy weight, rolling Bart off. “So,” he says after the heavy thud , “What are we gonna do?”

“Who says we have to do anything?” Duke says, “It sounds like them getting together is a good thing - hey !” He whacks the pillow thrown at him from its target, his face. Jason, the guilty culprit, looks remorseless. “What was that?”

“You were speaking crazy,” Jason tells him, “How can Bruce dating Barry be any good .”

Dick smirks, folding his arms across his chest. “Wow, Jason. Didn’t know you were a homophobe .”

“Fuck you, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Jason sinks into the couch, mirroring his brother. “If Bruce really is gay, bi or… queer than… it’ll be another thing we have in common,” he whines, “The more that happens the sadder I get.”

“Wow,” Dick says, voice thick with emotion. He reaches across to squeeze Jason’s shoulder. “I can’t believe… you actually followed through whenever I told you to suck a dick. I’m proud of you.”

Slapping Dick off him, Jason bares his teeth in a growl. “Keep talking and I’ll show you how I beat Dick .”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Wally zooms from his seat and breaks the two apart, hands firm against their chests. “Knock it off you two, we’re getting distracted from the bigger picture… how to make sure this doesn’t happen.”

“You mean you don’t want to be brothers, Wall?”

He rolls his eyes at Dick’s artificially sweet expression. “Batman’s creepy enough without imagining him all domestic with Barry.”

“Or all sex-like ,” Jason adds, making every wrinkle in the room crease with agony.

Damian shakes the image from his mind, switching back onto the topic at hand. “Now we’ll have to be very careful so they won’t find out we’re on to them -”

“Which’ll be hard,” Tim adds, “they’re two of the best detectives in the world.”

“But they’re only two people,” Wally says, stepping closer to Damian, “we’re a team . Trade shifts - always knowing where they are. Making sure they’re not alone together.”

Wally raises a brow at his cousin. “I bet you want to tell Superman or Wonder Woman, too… have an inside operative during Justice League meetings.”

“...That could work.”

Duke stands with a shout, interrupting the planning. “This is crazy! If Bruce and Barry want to be together than why should we get in the way? It seems like the future’s pretty good when they’re a couple. Are we really gonna get in the way of that?”

His outburst brings an unexpected bout of clarity to Damian’s plans, parting the cloudy skies for sunshine to burst through. Reminded of Garth’s casual openness about himself and his reverence to Damian’s father, he winces.

Like dominoes everyone else sobers into quiet reflection. The energy fueling the crazy planning in the room deflates, letting everyone return to their senses. Damian feels the tightness of his bones over hearing the shocking news finally settle, as if coming to terms with the future.

Dick clears his throat, the first to break the silence. “But if they do get together,” he starts, waiting until he’s found every eye in the room before continuing, “... then Jason won’t be special anymore.”

“That’s it !”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce adjusts himself on the Batcave’s examination table, eyes fluttering shut as Barry runs careful fingers across his temple. When they stumble over the cut he hisses, a hand darting over to squeeze his.

“Sorry ‘bout that, babe,” Barry says, “that’s one well hidden wound.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “It’s my fault for letting Kite Man get the drop on me.” The mediocre villain swooped in and sliced open his cowl with the tail of his giant kite, catching the Dark Knight in a moment of weakness. If Barry hadn’t been at his side, he would have walked away with much worse.

“I’m surprised he got a few good swings in,” Barry says, dabbing at the cut with some peroxide, “You feeling okay?”

“I’ve… got a lot on my mind.”

Barry pauses, pulling away. Bruce cracks one eye open, frowning at the seriousness weighing on his lover’s shoulders.

“Nothing bad,” he continues, snaking his arms across Barry’s waist to bring him closer. Spreads his legs open so he can fit between them. He nuzzles at his chest, enjoying the frantic heartbeat that is normal for Barry Allen. “I… I’ve been thinking about us and… the future .”

“...Wanna elaborate on that so my mind won’t fill in the blanks?”

Bruce takes a steadying breath, the words rushing from his mouth afterwards. “I want to tell the boys about us.”

An eternity passes in a second, Bruce clinging tight to Barry’s body. Afraid the other man will vibrate free and out of his life. That never happens. Instead the opposite, Barry settles further into the moment. Tips Bruce’s head so he can see the beaming smile on his face.

“What brought this on?”

“I… I just think that we've been really good,” Bruce explains, hating how his nerves easily expose themselves in the tremble of his voice. “And I understood why you wanted to take this slow, in case things don’t work out. It wouldn’t be the first for either of us, to have a relationship fall apart. But everyday you stay by my side and I… I feel different. Better. Happier . And I think the same is true for you. We’re making each other better people. I love you and I love the person you inspire me to be… And I want my family to know.”

Barry offers a wet chuckle, hiding in Bruce’s hair. He kisses the cut he grazed earlier, a few tears trickling into it. Composing himself, Barry straightens in Bruce’s embrace. “I love you, too,” he says, “And if you want to tell your boys then… I want to tell the Flash family, too.”

“Really?”

“We should do it together, actually,” he continues, skin vibrating in excitement, “have some sort of family dinner!”

“They’ll immediately sense something’s up if we do that,” Bruce laughs, “You sure we can’t just call a meeting down here and… rip the band-aid off? In costume?”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Come on, it won’t be so bad. I mean what’s the worst that can happen?”

Bruce readies a response, only the clacking of Alfred’s heels interrupts him. His butler speeds over with anxious haste. “Master Bruce? Barry?”

“Yes Alfred?”

“It’s the boys.”

A headache tickles his head, adding to the pain already camping there. “Which boys.”

“All the boys,” he says, turning to Barry, “even your boys.”

“What?” Barry asks, “What are they doing here?”

“I don’t know, but a fight’s broken out!”

Barry tenses against Bruce. “A fight?”

Bruce, disappointed, sighs while sliding off the table. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. One moment I was in the kitchen readying dinner and the next I knew there were crashing sounds coming from the parlor. When I got there Duke had a speedster in a headlock, Dick and Wally were fighting, and Jason hung Damian off the chandelier… again .”

Frowning, Bruce fixes his cowl. He looks to Barry, “Looks like family dinner will have to wait.”

Barry shrugs, mirroring him. “I can hope. Besides… that wouldn’t have been very us , would it?” He slips his hand into Bruce’s waiting one, squeezing.

“No it wouldn’t,” Bruce agrees. “Now come on, we have a fight to break up.”

#Batflash #Batman x Flash #Batman/Flash #bruce wayne x barry allen #Bruce Wayne #Barry Allen #Batman #Flash #Robin #Kid Flash #Damian Wayne #Wally West #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Bart Allen #Duke Thomas #Batflash fanfic #Batflash week

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jewishclarkkent · 7 years

Note

superbat #19!

things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

Heavily inspired by this incredible scene from Batman: Mask of the Phantasm

Raindrops pattered against the windows, thunder rolling in the distance. Bracketed by the warmth of Clark’s body lying next to him, Bruce stared at the ceiling, unable to find rest. With a frown, he listened to Clark wheezing, lungs struggling to regain normal functioning after inhaling copious amounts of kryptonite powder. Carefully shifting his weight, Bruce disentangled himself from the covers and got off the bed, stretching his arms over his head to ease the tension in his shoulders. After turning Clark onto his back and sliding a pillow between his knees, Bruce turned his attention toward the sun lamps he’d set up around the bed. Though Leslie assured him Clark had received optimal exposure on the Watchtower and simply needed rest to regain his strength, Bruce preferred to err on the side of caution. He fiddled with the settings and positioning of the lamps. Clark did not stir once. Bruce walked to his side and reached to touch his face, noting the fading bruise high on his cheekbone, not quite healed.

Legs restless, Bruce came to stand by the window. Outside, the storm raged on, wind howling, causing the trees to sway in a mesmerizing dance. Maybe, Bruce thought as guilt churned in his stomach, the severe weather would be enough to deter most criminal activity. His mind was already making calculations for the hours he’d have to put in to make up for the lost night, cycling through his active cases and predicting the complications that could arise. Most importantly, though, he’d have to assure Luthor’s kryptonite supply was truly destroyed, and find out who had been selling it to him; then, he would bring down the full wrath of the Bat on them.

With one last glance at Clark, Bruce exited the room and walked downstairs. A clattering sound greeted him in the hallway and he followed it to the kitchen, where Alfred was stacking dishes, rearranging the content of the cupboards. A habit Alfred only engaged in when someone had been injured or fallen ill.

At the sound of Bruce’s footsteps, Alfred turned, lips drawn tight. “How is Master Clark?”

“Resting,” said Bruce, rubbing a hand over his face. The bedsheets had left deep creases in his cheek. “He should be completely recovered with a few more hours under the lamps.”

The tension eased from Alfred’s shoulders, betraying the extent of his concern even as he schooled his features back into British stoicism. “That is quite a relief.”

Putting his hands in his pockets, Bruce looked down to hide a furtive smile, touched by Alfred’s concern. He’d come to care for Clark like family. “The kids?”

“Master Damian is sleeping,” Alfred reported. “He’d be loathe to admit it, but he appeared relieved to learn you’d be staying in to watch over Master Clark and was quite eager for updates on his condition,” he said. “I believe he’s becoming rather fond of him.”

This time, Bruce didn’t try to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“However,” Alfred continued, “Master Timothy and Ms. Cassandra were substantially more averse to the idea of taking a night off. They were quite insistent on the need to pursue Mr. Luthor.”

“Not without me,” Bruce sighed, running his fingers through his hair. The information didn’t surprise him; both Tim and Cass needed to feel useful when someone in the family had been injured. “They know the rules. Besides, they should be focused on studying for their exams.”

“Indeed, Sir.”

“Why don’t you head to bed, Alfred,” Bruce suggested, noting the exhaustion on his face. Raising his brow, Alfred tilted his head towards the dishes lining the counters. “It’s nothing that can’t wait until morning,” Bruce said in response.

“Very well, Master Bruce,” said Alfred. “Do wake me if you or Master Clark require anything.”

Bruce nodded, watching Alfred retiring to his quarters. He waited for the telltale squeak of the stairs before he picked up the dishtowel and turned to deal with the dishes.

When he finished, Bruce returned upstairs to check on the kids. He found Damian sound asleep in his room, the heavy blanket reaching up to his chin. Titus was curled at his feet, taking up the expanse of the bed. Ears perking up, the dog lifted his head to examine Bruce before returning to his slumber, determining his owner was safe. Even in sleep, Damian’s nose was scrunched up in concentration, a furrow between his brows. Bruce ached to reach over and smooth it, but knew Damian would wake at the lightest touch. For a long moment, he simply stood at the threshold and watched the rise and fall of his son’s chest.

Panic unfurled in Bruce’s chest when he discovered Tim and Cassandra’s rooms empty. He raced down the stairs to check the common areas, finding the pair asleep in his study. Tim’s head was tipped back against the couch, mouth open, yellow highlighter smudged across his chin. Cassandra was pressed to his side, head on her brother’s shoulder. Their textbooks were strewn across the floor. Relief washing over him, Bruce picked up a blanket and covered them both, bending to lay a kiss on top of Tim’s hair and Cassandra’s forehead. She opened one eye and they exchanged a silent look as she searched his face. Whatever she read in his expression was enough to put her at ease and she closed her eyes, breathing slowing down as she fell back asleep. Heart aching at the show of trust, Bruce took it as his cue to slip out of the room.

Back downstairs, he pulled on his boots and coat. The storm had not eased and a gust of wind greeted him when he opened the front door. Still, he did not hesitate stepping into the downpour, picking up a small pebble from the driveway before trailing through the sodden gardens.

When he reached his parents’ graves, he fell to his knees, mud sticking to his trousers. In that moment, the sky opened up and the rain turned into blinding sheets, hail pelting against his skin. Bruce reached out with both hands until he found contact with the headstones, reading the engraved names with his fingertips. He let them linger on the Hebrew inscription on his mother’s grave before placing the pebble on top of it with his left hand.

“I made you a promise,” he said, tongue heavy in his mouth, voice hardly carrying over the angry storm. He did not know what he’d come to say, only that an inexplicable weight compelled him to. “But I never thought —” he tried, shutting his eyes as the wind razed across his face. He grasped the blades of grass beneath his fingers.“It still hurts, but — it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.” He bowed his head at the admission, breath hitched, shame caught in his lungs. “I never expected… I thought — I didn’t count on being happy.”

A painful constriction pierced his chest, and Bruce clenched his jaw to work through the sharp pain, taking a deep breath. When the attack passed, he turned silent, biting his lip until he could taste blood. The wind picked up its howl, violently slamming against his eardrums.

“I made you a promise,” he repeated, throat raw with the effort. A promise to dedicate his life to pursuing justice, to honour their memory. To allow no distractions. To always put Gotham first, above his own needs. But she no longer was. Bruce had broken his promise tonight and on countless others, leaving the city defenseless. He had been weak, allowing anger and resolve to recede and something else to take their place. Worst of all, he did not have the strength to uproot these new feelings, no matter how detrimental to his mission they were. “I’m sorry,” he tried, hands trembling. He clenched them into tight fists, knuckles turning white, nails digging into his palms. A bolt of lightning split the horizon. “I’m sorry I failed you. I never knew… I didn’t think I could have a family again.”

Minutes or hours passed as he sat on the wet ground, frozen and catatonic. When he found the strength to rise, his feet felt unstable, knees wobbly. The walk back seemed long, each step a greater betrayal, putting more distance between him and the ten-year-old who’d set out to achieve the impossible. Bruce pulled his coat closed against his chest, ice forming in his lungs.

When he reached the Manor, he paused in front of the grandfather clock. He thought about heading down to the Cave, getting to work on tracking Luthor’s supplier. The image of Clark waking alone stopped him, and he headed instead for their bedroom, rubbing the Kryptonese words tattooed around his ring finger.

In the bathroom, he peeled off his sopping clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, wet hair plastered to his forehead and dripping onto the floor, accentuating his pallor and the sunken shadows under his eyes. The raised scars on his torso stood out against his damp skin. He averted his gaze and ducked out of the room, desperate to escape the ghost that haunted him.

The glow of his phone caught his attention, and Bruce grabbed it from the nightstand, glancing at Clark to make sure he hadn’t woken before opening the notification.

All quiet on patrol, read Dick’s message. Calling in an early night.

He’d attached a picture of himself parked on his couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, Barbara and Jason on either side of him. Bruce stared at it with a longing that terrified him, studying every detail. Jason’s expression was bored, caught in the midst of rolling his eyes, but he was there, spending time with his brother. That was the real reason for Dick’s text.

You’ve got to have patience, B, Clark was constantly reminding him. Give him time. He’ll come back to you.

Bruce brushed his thumb over the screen, lost in thought when his phone vibrated with another text from his oldest son.

How’s Big Blue?

On instinct, Bruce glanced back at Clark. The bruise on his face had faded completely, a healthy glow returning to his cheeks. His breathing had returned to normal.

Recuperating, he typed back. Should be back to full strength by morning.

Good, was the response that followed. Keep him out of trouble.

Bruce placed his phone back on the nightstand, walking to the dresser in search of underwear. A low groan accompanied by the rustle of sheets caught his attention, and he turned to watch as Clark stirred and sleepily opened his eyes.

“B?”

“Go back to sleep,” Bruce said gently. “You need rest.”

“I feel fine. Come here,” said Clark, reaching his arms from under the covers. He looked warm and inviting, and Bruce wasn’t able to resist, dropping the clothes he’d picked out back into the drawer. He climbed onto the bed, carefully propping his elbows to hold himself on top of Clark.

Clark cupped Bruce’s face, his hands comforting and familiar. “Why are you all wet?” he asked upon coming into contact with cold skin, just as another crack of thunder echoed outside. Bruce shivered in response, teeth chattering. Clark rubbed his shoulders to warm him up. “Jesus, B, you’re freezing.” He lifted the duvet so Bruce could get under the covers, their naked bodies pressed together. The light from the sun lamps shone bright, and Bruce turned to burrow his face into Clark’s neck.

They laid like that for long minutes, saying nothing, Clark’s fingers carding through Bruce’s wet hair. His other hand trailed up and down Bruce’s spine, the touch intimate. Clark always recognized when Bruce needed time to gather his thoughts, never pushed for explanations Bruce wasn’t willing to give. Instead, he allowed him the space to work through his turmoil, his presence a silent support. Never demanding, never asking for more than Bruce could give. It was precisely why and how he’d knocked down all of Bruce’s carefully-architected defenses.

Finally, Clark hooked his thumb under Bruce’s chin and tipped it up so their eyes could meet. “What’s going on, B?” his voice was gentle as he caressed Bruce’s cheek, scratching the hint of stubble on his jaw.

Bruce swallowed, struggling to find the right words. He averted his eyes, staring instead at the delicate curve of Clark’s collarbone. “I never knew.”

“Knew what?”

Bruce brought his hand to rest on Clark’s chest, fingers splaying over his heart, comforted by its strong rhythmic beat. “That it could feel like this.”

Clark’s hand came to rest over Bruce’s, lacing their fingers. “I never knew, either.”

#superbat #bruceclark #manman #bootycap #batfam #superbatfam #my fic #batfam feels #superbat feels #jewish bruce wayne #otp: make me believe #otp: because of you i know a man can be anything he wants to be #otp: we'll never give up on each other #fanfiction

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