#RayeWriting

[rayewriting]

Hurt and Left

Fandom: Batman

So, its been a hot minute. But you don’t care about my excuses, so here is a request that I got from an anon:

“Dick and Damian, “Don’t leave me.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers into the night. The rain and clouds making the city lights misty coating everything with a layer of water. It was almost beautiful, watching the light twinkle from the roof of a tall building. But this night, neither of them were watching the lights or weather.

The teen grips the railing, knuckles turning white.

“Why, pray tell, should I not? It is apparent to me everyone was perfectly fine leaving me. Why, why should I be the one that is always left behind? Between my parents, siblings, and friends, everyone was so preoccupied with themselves that they never remembered the one sitting alone at home.”

“I never wanted to leave you. Never wanted you to feel alone. Never wanted you to think no one cares,” the man explains, his voice layered with grief like how the mist layered water on his hair and face.

“Well, too bad. I was left. I was alone. I thought no cares. If I am being completely honest, I still think that way. I am tired of being angry, of being lonely, of being thinking that I am the problem.”

“Damian—”

“No!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the railing, “I’m done with this-this push and pull of family! Days where people walk in and out of my life like a revolving door. People you told me that should stay. You told me that family doesn’t desert each other. And it seems like that’s all this family does!”

“I’m sorry!” Dick yells back, hands clenched in fists, “Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry that I had to go save the world—”

“I’m not angry that you went to save the world!” Damian’s voice still raging against the night before dropping low, “I’m angry because you and Father put on a sham for making your family to believe you were dead. I’m angry that all that this family is not a family at all.  All we do is offended each other, abandon each other…” Reaching his small hands towards his face, he wipes the small amount to water gathering in his eyes.

“And I’m angry that I can’t seem to make myself leave. That I keep coming back, no matter how many times I pick up the pieces of myself that this family uses then discards like garbage.”

“Damian, look at me,” Dick begs slowly closing the gap between them, “please?”

Placing his large hands on the teen’s shoulders, Dick slowly, so slow as if too fast would make Damian run away, turns Damian around. Finally facing each other, Dick looks, really looks, at his little brother, taking in the changes since Dick left.

The bags under his young eyes that have seen too much too soon. The ashen sheen that means too little sunlight on his previously dark skin. The limp in his hair he used to take so much pride in. The shaking muscles that speaks to how much he is overworking his body.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you and everyone else by tricking you into thinking I was dead.”

Damian’s eyes widen at the word. Hurt. That’s what he felt wasn’t it? Hurt? He was hurt because Damian was becoming the scapegoat for everyone’s problems it seemed.

Drake was angry? Damian must have messed with something.

Todd was brooding? Damian must have said something.

Grayson was pouting? Damian must have done something.

Father was being abnormally silent? Damian must have disobeyed.

It seemed that being Damian meant being a failure.

And it hurt.

“I am as well, Grayson.”

#Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #RayeRequests #rayewriting #BatFam #batman fanfiction #batfam fanfic

[rayewritesfantasy]

Okay, so this is a little snippet of my WIP Sea Of Stars.

Thanks to anyone that pauses to give it a read. If you have any feedback, please feel free to let me hear it.

...

It's cold this far from the funeral pyre but I keep going, knowing exactly where Juliet is without having to be told.

She's sitting right where the cliff drops off to the sea, arms around her knees, hair blowing across her face as she looks out into the horizon.

Neither of us speak as I sit down beside her and wrap my arm around her.

There is very little light left but what there is touches her hair and makes it look like fire and flickers across her cheeks like a soothing parent shushing an upset child.

Night is creeping in and it clings to the water below and stretches up with shadowy fingers from the ground to curl around Juliet's dark jeans, making her look like she's made from it.

"Did I do the right thing?" she asks at last.

I don't know the answer so I just let her rest her head against my chest and stroke back her hair.

"I think you couldn't have stopped her even if you had tried." I admit at last. "She was decided on what was going to happen. You just didn't let her take you with her."

She shuts her eyes for a moment and breathes out a long puff of air.

"I wanted her to see me and be proud. I wanted her to think I was worth something. I didn't ever hear her say a single kind thing about me and I wanted to hear just once that my mother didn't think I was without redeeming qualities."

She's crying I realise a bit late.

Silent tears rolling down her cheeks and making her hair stick to her skin.

I don't know how to comfort her so I just wrap my arm around her and stroke her back.

That same old song finds my mouth and I sing it softly for her with the sea and the night as my witnesses.

Mo Bhean Chomain.

A love song that she doesn't understand.

She balls her fists in my jumper and holds me as she falls apart.

Together we sit in the dark, Juliet weeping and me holding her like she's going to break with the sea singing to us both.

Her mouth tastes of salt and smoke when she kisses the corner of my mouth softly.

"I wish you hadn't had to see me ugly cry."

I brush back her hair and press my lips to her forehead, "If I couldn't handle tears shed for the mother you lost and the one you wish she had been, I don’t deserve your smiles or your laughter."

She sniffles when I offer her a tissue from my pocket and accepts it.

She's noisy when she pats her eyes and cheeks dry and blows her nose.

"Thank you for being here. I needed to let it out and I appreciate that you didn't let me face it alone."

"You don't need to thank me. You would have done this and probably more for me."

She settles her head back against my chest, "Is it alright if we stay here a bit longer? I don't feel ready to face all those people who keep saying they're sorry for my loss."

I nod and move so she's between my knees with my arms around her waist and my head on her shoulder, "We can stay here all night if you need to."

#SeaOfStars #own writing #Rayewrites #writeblr #Kelpie #Witch #OCs #Hurt #Comfort #Relationship #Tynan #JulietNorthwood

[raye-writes-blog]

There I was. Shining, illuminating every dark part of your heart. Bringing light to the blackness of your soul. I was scalding hot, like a star, and bright, like the sun. I shone throughout your being.

For a moment, I blinded you.

And you wondered how this had never happened before. How you had never seen me like this.

But maybe that’s because, before, you weren’t looking.

You weren’t looking long enough, or hard enough. Or just simply, at all.

I’m radiant. I always have been. You just never cared enough to notice.

#for him #writing #writers #rayewrites #original work

[rayesimp]

I’m going to go head and say this.

My tumblr is going silent till TK and Pattinson drama is over. It’s becoming toxic and I am not here for that. My opinions are out there already and they may change within the next few months. I don’t know, that’s how I am.

I’m still accepting prompts on my writing blog as of (5/17/19), @rayewriting , but for about a week or two I’m out.

#batman stuff #rayerambles #sorry

[rayewriting]

Rain and Thunder

Fandom: Batman

This is a request from an anon (from a while ago):

" “Who did this?” For Jason and Damian or Tim and Damian "

Also if you think I need to tag something else (like triggers or something) please tell me! I want everyone to enjoy this site safely! Also also, I can't think of a good title for this right now, might change the name later (if you have a suggestion let me know).

“Now get going, ya hear? It’s going to rain soon.”

Red Hood was doing his normal routine swing around Crime Alley having just sending a couple street kids towards the Martha Wayne kids home for the night when he chances a glance around the old warehouse portion of the area when he hears a crash. He pats down his belts and does a mental list of what weapons he still had ammo for, then ducks into one of the nearest buildings. After looking through the first floor and finding nothing but layers of dust, he moves on to the second floor, from his spot on the stairs he sees a trail of disturbed dust. Staying to the shadows, Red Hood follows the trail, then he finds the reason for his unease: an unconscious Robin in a pool of blood.

But it wasn’t Robin, it was Damian. The little dude wasn’t in his traffic light color uniform, but his civvies surrounded by pushed over crates and boxes. Red Hood does not panic, so when he feels his heart stop and all his breath leave him, he keeps his ears open and eyes sweeping the room for any movement. Red Hood does not let himself be lost in his head, so when his mind starts asking things like “Where’s Bruce? What happened? Where’s the bomb? Where is the Joker?”, he shuts his brain off and goes off his instincts. They tell him to check the little guy and get them the heck out of there and deal with the ramifications later, so he checks Damian’s breathing, pick him up, and bolts out of the warehouse. He knows he should go to the Batcave, but he doesn’t know if Damian could make it there, so he plots the fastest way to one of his safehouses and jumps.

Red Hood does his best not to jerk the kid too much, but without any type of transportation, he is stuck with jumping across roofs and parkouring his way to a safehouse while keeping one arm around the bleeding tyke and the other on his grappling hook.

Just as it starts pouring rain, he lands close to one of his more stocked safehouses and undoes the locks in the least graceful way possible, but he gets the kid in, shucks off his gloves. When he starts to pull his head out of his helmet, a clap of thunder jars a thought: he should tell someone he has the kid. He ignores it for now, now is when he needs to focus on getting Damian stable enough to be left alone so he can call someone. Thus, he starts a basic examination; Damian has multiple cuts, a splattering of bruises, and enough blood loss that is the biggest concern. He starts an IV line and begins to get blood in the kids system, then checks Damian’s head for any major bumps and wraps it in gauze, after that he  disinfects and stitch the larger sword slices close before moving to bandage the smaller wounds close.

Finally, roughly an hour later, when he can take a break, he takes stock of his bedroom/mini med center. Damian is laying on the bed, more bandages than skin showing, no doubt with a concussion, a few broken ribs, and a makeshift IV line working through another bag of blood. He picks up a couple of empty saline and blood bags throws them in a bag to dispose them when lightning strikes and the clap of thunder follows shortly after and his eyes land on his thrown helmet and remembers the thought from earlier. He needs to call someone, so he picks up his phone with a secured line and stumbles to a chair in the corner of the bedroom, before he calls the first person he thinks of.

“Wayne Residence, I’m afraid that we are very busy at the moment,” the British voice comes from the speaker.

“Hey Alfred.”

“Master Jason, I-“

“Its fine, Alfred. I actually called with some good news, I found something of yours. About 4’10” black hair-“

He can feel the relief through the phone, though Alfred does not sigh or raise his voice, “You found Master Damian? I’m so glad, someone took him from school during lunch today. But nevermind that, where are you both?” He tells Alfred the address of the safehouse, about Damian’s injuries, then they both make a plan to get Damian to the Batcave.

After finishing his call, Jason slumps his shoulders, he feels his thoughts finally attack.  Where was Bruce? Dick? Everyone else? Did Damian run off again? Damian was more important than Jason so were they looking for him? Why didn’t they call him? Did he get to Damian in time? What if he didn’t get to Damian in time? What if Damian ended up like Jason did? Alone in a warehouse, waiting for someone to help, bu—

“-dd. Todd. Breathe, Todd. Can you hear me?” a voice was calling out to him. Jason’s head shot up and forced his breathing and heart to slow to a normal pace. He holds up a finger, he just needs a second. He sees the IV drip from the bag to the tube (he ignores the sight of green hair). He listens to the rain hit the glass of the window, the clap of thunder, Damian’s breathing (he ignores the sound of a laughter). He tastes the copper of blood from his bitten lip (he ignores the taste of ash). He feels his heart beat in his chest, the cold vented air prick at his skin (he ignores the feeling of a strike from a crow bar). He smells the dirt on his uniform (he ignores the smell of smoke).

After a few minutes, with his heart and breathing slower, Jason chokes out, “Yes, I can hear you. How are you feeling?”

“I am better than I was earlier,” Damian says, though that does not comfort Jason in the slightest. Once Jason feels less lightheaded, he stands and sweeps his eyes across Damian. Damian lays stock still, though the blanket has shifted so Jason can tell that Damian tried to sit up at least.

“That’s good, I guess.”

“What time is it?”

“From what I can tell, you hit your head pretty hard, do you have problem remembering anything?”

“My memory is fine, thank you, Todd.”

“That’s great. Who did this?” Jason asks, expecting a fight for an answer, but willing to go a few rounds, Crime Alley was his no matter what Bruce said. However, what Jason did not expect was Damian to look at the blanket covering him and beginning to mumble into the fabric. So instead of letting go of a sigh, Jason asks, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“… my mother…”

#RayeWriting #Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #batman fanfiction #batfam fanfiction

[rayewriting]

Here is the next chapter for my Star Wars AU!

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #Anakin Skywalker #Shmi Skywalker #Shmi Lives #Star Wars AU #rayewriting #Still need a beta for this

[rayewriting]

Batfam Headcanons #1: Scars

No one asked for this, but I just had to get this out of my system.

The Batfam are the most famous family in and out of Gotham, therefore have a huge media presence. Almost everyone with a camera is willing to just about anything to get a picture of or with them, the down side is that each family member has scars, some on places where you can cover up with clothes and make-up gets wiped or sweated off.

Most Noticeable by Strangers:

Bruce

Small cuts around his eyes and nose

From wearing the suit when he fought Darkseid over Damian’s body

When asked, blames it on a freak skiing accident

Dick

Cuff marks on both his wrists

From undercover mission with Spyral

Blames an undercover case from being a police officer

Barbara

Cuts along the top of her thighs

Crawling in glass from a broken window when she was still paralyzed after someone attacked the Clock Tower

Blames a kidnapping when she was in her late teens (because her dad was the Police Commissioner- and James’ heart hurts when he hears it)

Jason

Burns along both his arms

From the explosion when the Joker killed him

Blames his abusive father (when Bruce hears this he wonders if Jason means Willis or himself)

Cass

Bullet hole in her left shoulder (usually only when she wears cold shoulder/sleeveless tops or dresses)

From David when she was “training”

Blames a kidnapping before she was adopted by Bruce

Tim

Burns on the top of his thighs and elbows

From the holes in his uniform when heat of the lasers from the military drones before “Mr. Oz” teleported Tim away

Blames a kidnapping that Tim staged when he returned from the prison (Bruce was horrified when he saw them for the first time and gave Tim a BatDad hug)

Stephanie

Cuts along her forearms and thighs

Black Mask’s torture

Blames kidnapping while dating Tim (Media gave Tim crap for this, but Stephanie blasted all the reporters so they lost their credibility and Bruce got them blacklisted from the industry) 

Damian

Cut on the right side of his head from the top of his hairline to the top of his cheek

From “training” in the LOA (under Ra’s instruction when Talia was in a different part of the world)

Blames abusive maternal side of the family when he comes back from the dead after Talia ordered his death

Duke

Horizontal cut along his right cheek

From “We Are Robin”; there was a small piece of glass in the cut from escaping the Talons the first time but when Damian punched him, the glass got lodged deeper therefore leaving a scar (Every time Damian sees it, the guilt settles deeper into his chest and has to take a deep breath to keep himself grounded in the present)

Blames the back alley fights he used to get into when he was searching for his parents

Who Has the Most Scars:

Depends:

Bruce has the most in shear number.

Jason has the largest amount of scarred surface area.

Cass the most showing on a day-to-day basis, as a result, the media thinks its her.

Damian has the most before joining the family.

Again these are my personal thoughts and opinions, also, not in canon but has ties to it. Feel free to add your own!

#Batfam Headcanons #Batman Headcanon #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #Jason Todd #Cassandra Cain #Tim Drake #Stephanie Brown #Damian Wayne #Duke Thomas #rayewriting

[rayewriting]

This is the beginning of the Star Wars AU I hinted at a long time ago!

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #Anakin Skywalker #padme amidala #SCHL #rayewriting #tw slavery

[rayewriting]

#star wars #Anakin Skywalker #Padme Amidala #star wars fanfiction #rayewriting

[rayewriting]

A Regular Patrol Night

Fandom: Batman

Note: This was a gift to my discord wifey, @a-dreamed-dreamer , to make her feel better, and she requested something with Dick and Jason. Keep in mind that this is the very first time I am writing Jason and Dick without Damian, so if I didn't quiet capture their relationship right, please let me know.

It was a regular patrol, sadly; Dick thinks as he shoves one man and woman to the side as rifle bullets start to rain down from an abandoned office building. “Run to safety, and call 911!” he says to the couple before they take off down the sidewalk. He taps his earpiece and begins to talk, “Hey, O? You there? I’ve got a shooting in progress, unknown number of hostiles.”

Barbara’s voice is slightly miffed as she answers, “Of course I’m here. Someone has to watch out for all you, or else you will depend on 911.” She lets out a sigh and begins to deal out information while Nightwing begins to direct civilians to cover, “Okay, so it looks like you have a raid. I’m counting ten hostiles and they don’t look armed, so I don’t know who is shooting, yet. I’m going to send someone to— Oh.”

Nightwing was about to ask what “Oh,” meant when hears it, dropping from a rooftop.

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this,” Red Hood yells out as he swings from his grapple, picks up a child then slides across a hood of a car, hiding from the incoming bullets.

Nightwing grabs a lone, elder man and ducks behind a wall and calls out, “But this is so exciting, Little Wing!” After giving the civilians directions to protection, they disappear.

During a pause in the enemy’s fire, Red Hood stands and shoots back at the sniper, slowly walking towards the building where the sniper is hiding in. “If by exciting, you mean ulcer-inducing then I agree, Dickwing.”

“You know you love it,” Nightwing responds as he jumps away from his cover, then begins to engage with the thugs on the ground as Hood draws the sniper’s attention, both men temporarily taking interest away from the potential goods the criminals were going after.

Red Hood scoffs at Nightwing before saying, “I need to reload, get behind something,” then he throws a thug into two other ones and flips a metal table to crouch behind. He sees Nightwing drag one man behind another wall and tie his arms together. “Hey, O, do you have an idea what these dirtbags are after?” Jason asks as he reload his guns.

“The building used to be a weapons facility that was scheduled for clean out later this week. The government already sent all workers home, except the security, but looks like whoever these guys are already got past them since the sniper is on the second floor. I’m pulling up blueprints for the building now.”

Red Hood begins to fire back at the sniper as Nightwing is pushed out into the open by three thugs, but Nightwing ducks out of the way of an incoming punch and calls out, “I’ll keep these guys and the sniper busy, just get him to stop shooting, for all our sakes!” as he finishes speaking, he decks a thug in the face and knocks him out, “Now, go!”

Red Hood does a quick glance and sees that nearly half the ground force tied up already. “Okay. Call in when you are finished taking out the trash.”

Nightwing lets out an affirmative noise as he slings his body around another man and brings him to the ground head first and leaves him unconscious. When he sees that Red Hood has seemingly vanished, he engages the rest of the thugs and therefore draws the attention of the sniper away from the missing vigilante. It is a little difficult to keep everyone focused on himself, but he has been in worse situations with less help and managed to get out of them alright. So, Nightwing begins his dance of punches, kicks, and bullets with the grace of a Flying Grayson and also the ferocity of a bat, listening to Jason as he deals with the sniper and their guards.

With a last kick to a man’s face, Nightwing begins to tie them up and notifies over the comms, “I’m done here, how is everything on your end, Hood?”

“I’m all good here, Big Bird. Just started a very enlightening conversation with my new best friend, would you care to join us? I’ll be sure to save some questions for you,” Jason informs in his ear.

“Yeah, I could use some brushing up on my interrogation skills, Little Wing. I’m on my way,” Nightwing says as he jogs up to the building and enters through the door following the unconscious bodies to the correct room. “Damn, just leave a trail of breadcrumbs next time, Gretel,” Nightwing utters as he pushes the door open and walks up to Red Hood.

“Screw you, Dickhead—”

“Hate to interrupt a lovely conversation, boys, but the police are almost there. So, if you want any information, get a move on,” Oracle’s voice pierced through their comm links.

So, Red Hood copies the sniper’s phone while Nightwing finishes the interrogation before the police show up. handing him and the other criminals to the police, the pair of brothers head to the roof, bantering together at each other’s quips and jokes. Once they reach the ledge of the rooftop, Nightwing says to Red Hood while aiming his grapple, “Don’t forget to give the evidence to O. She is updating the Batcomputer tonight and that needs to get to B.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Red Hood utters as he digs through his pockets.

Nightwing smiles then asks, “I’ll see you at the next family meeting, yeah? Alfred’s making chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies.” Then without waiting for a response, jumps with a shout of joy as he disappears into the night.

Red Hood watches Nightwing seemingly fly his way back to Bludhaven, weaving his way between building and alleys, and he whispers with a small grin, “I’ll see you there, you dick,” and disappears to finish his patrol.

#Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #I don't know how to feel about this #But I've been staring at it for 2 weeks now #rayewriting

[rayewriting]

Safe With Each Other

Fandom: Batman

Another request done! This was from a lovely anon: 

“ “I’ll keep you safe” Tim & Damian ”

I did a variation of this, because otherwise it would sound wonky, so I hope you enjoy!!

Take stock of what you have before choosing a plan. This lesson was one of the first things Damian was taught when he began his tactician training under his mother’s and father’s instruction, so that is what he did as he was shoved onto the sand below him. He had his sword and a knife in his boot still but no utility belt, the left side of his mask was shattered and showing his bruised green eye, his uniform was torn and stained with mud, blood, and sweat in various places, and Tim was laying in a pool of his blood and unconscious. Damian can feel the exhaustion in his bones, blood pumping in veins, and adrenaline fading from his system. As he moves to stand his muscles protests, but his mind screaming at him to keep going, racing with various plans, odds, but most importantly, Tim.

How much time does he have? How much blood left in his veins? He can’t last much longer before he—

He cuts that thought before it can fully form. Because Tim can’t. He just can’t. Damian won’t let him go.

With aching feet, he stands and lifts his sword with throbbing arms and hands, pointing the tip of his blade towards his opponent.

“Oh, you are so foolish, Grandson. You have no way out, or contacting anyone. Why do you think you can win?” Ras mocks, his voice smooth yet Damian can feel it grate against his skin.

Damian keeps his eyes trained on Ra’s, and begins to place his plan into action. “I do not expect to win,” he says with a calm, confident voice.

Ra’s raises an eyebrow at his words, intrigued by the teen’s words. “Then why do you fight, if not to win?”

“I fight to keep my family away from you and your evil plans and excruciating manipulations. No one should suffer as I and my mother have. I will make sure of it.”

“So, you are delaying the inevitable?”

“Perhaps, but it will be enough,” Damian speaks with assurance, akin to someone pointing out the obvious. Because Damian knows that what he does has to be enough, otherwise Damian is going to die and he is not interested to do that again, at least not until he reaches his twenties.

Maybe he could live to his thirties, that would be splendid.

Ra’s gives Damian a disappointed look, and when Damian was younger that look always made him feel worthless. However, now it drives him and gives him the strength to continue, because if he was disappointing Ra’s then Damian knew he was doing something right. When Ra’s speaks again his voice is oozing with disgust, “You have become more foolish every time I see you.” Then Ra’s brings his sword against Damian’s, then his voice morphs to a calm tone, “But if you are determined to act this way, it is up to me to punish you.”

“At least I have a family. Since Mother has left your cult, you have no family, no heir,” Damian says, beginning to put his plan into action, “You have no one. Is why you dragged Timothy out here? For you to have a protégé? Or a second in command? Perhaps you were going to take his body over instead, since you could not have mine.” As he continues his speech, Damian backs up, slowly making his way to Tim. He hears Tim’s shallow breaths and a glance down tells Damian that Tim’s eyes are beginning to open.

Perfect.

“I think when you took my brother, you were not only trying to pick a new participant for your pathetic council, but also trying to hurt my family by taking a vital member of it. But there is one problem with your plans.”

“What is that, Grandson?”

Damian runs at Ra’s sword swinging, but dropping at the last second and slides between Ra’s’ legs, then swings his sword to block Ra’s’ sword coming down on him.

Ra’s eyes grow wide as a knife was sunk into his back.

“We keep each other safe,” Tim says as Ra’s turns to face the older Robin, “and you never seem to learn that lesson.”

Ra’s shoves Tim off of him, Tim rips the knife out of Ra’s back, and Damian swings his sword causing Ra’s to jump back. “I will not let you children stop me!” he shouts and begins to hack at both the Robins. Damian and Tim split and surround Ra’s, fighting in sync, where one would block the other would attack, and when one would get hit the other would distract Ra’s till the he recovered. The three fought with fluidity, as if this was a routine dance that they have practiced hundreds of times.

Soon the wind picked up and sound of a gun being fired echoing through the battle field, causing the three to halt their dangerous dance. Tim could see a red helmet stick out of the door, blue flash jump out of the helicopter and run to them, and he feels Damian and himself relax slightly to see their brothers.

“Hey! You took some people that aren’t yours!” Jason shouts from his place.

“I didn’t know you collected little birds, Ra’s. Too bad these already have a perfectly good home!” Dick quips as he lands a kick to the old man’s jaw.

 ***

Later, after reaching home and Alfred does a complete medical exam, the youngest boys are laying in the living room watching some HGTV to bore them to sleep. After Damian is almost asleep, head resting against the couch arm and legs curling underneath him, Tim looks at the youngest of his family. Taking a deep breath, Tim throws his favorite fuzzy blanket over Damian’s lap, and says, “Thanks for saving me, Damian,” then he stands, squeezes the youngest’s knee, and drapes himself across the couch, “You better not kick me off this couch.”

#rayewriting #RayeRequests #Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #ra's al ghul

[rayewriting]

Why Did It Have To Be You?

Fandom: Batman

Note this is dedicated to @schweeeppess​ for her general amazingness and to celebrate her new discord server (yes the one that I’ve been posting about). And it was requested by a lovely anon:

“ “Please, I didn’t mean it” Tim & Dami “

The sound of rain hitting puddles and the remorseful feeling fills the gated area. The vicinity’s stones have dates that vary, some a couple centuries past and others fairly recent, few are owned by people with names handed down through a few generations and majority are differing from one another. However, each marker tells their own story; stories of Wayne generations, close friends- of sons.

But there are a few unmarked gravestones in the back, away from outside eyes, for the unexplainable stories and for the people that need a place to grieve. Because with their family, there are always going to be unexplainable things- no matter how hard they try to not let that happen. No matter how young they are, how trained they are, how much they get along -or don’t- they all seem to leave their lives too short to be complete.

As the storm continues, in front of one of the unmarked stones is a boy with black hair and unhealthy pale skin, he is shivering yet makes no move to conserve heat, only in his t-shirt and jeans. Tim’s eyes dart around and he looks defeated yet determined, like he doesn’t know he should be here but needing to do something. Suddenly he falls to his knees, pants soaking in the mud and puddles, hands are clenching so hard his knuckles turn white and resting on his thighs, his shoulders where hunched and his head bowing, facing the grass. “I didn’t want you to leave, no matter what I said—I swear, I didn’t mean it, Damian…” his voice is hoarse like he’s been appealing for hours, yet receiving no reply.

 Why did you leave? Why did I say I wanted you to leave? How come we never gave each other a second chance?

 Why did you protect us, when most of us wanted nothing to do with you? I can understand with my head- you wanting to protect your family- but I can’t force my heart to believe that you actually cared about us- about me.

Why do I always get left behind? Here alone, attempting to pick up the pieces of the fractured family that I forced myself into, again.

 For a while, Tim just kneels there, letting his emotions come to the surface of his mind and heart. His anger at the twerp for every interaction that ended with emotional, mental, or physical damage-cause even after his death, Damian was still a brat that tried to kill him-. His guilt for how he never saw what Damian actually went through under his mother’s care- how that affected him so much, yet Tim didn’t care. His dashed hope for what they both could have been in the future. They were brothers, dammit, and no matter what people thought both Damian and Tim grew to care about each other in some capacity.

 His eyes grow hot at that thought for what seems to be the millionth time that morning.

 But Tim’s former hope didn’t matter. His old dreams of having a caring family didn’t matter. His want of having a little brother didn’t matter.

 Tears start to swell in his eyes once more.

 Because Damian— he was— he wasn’t coming back.  Because Jason was the exception, not the standard. And Bruce was never gone like that in the first place.

 Tim hiccups start again.

 Because he is dead.

 The tears stream down his cheeks.

 Say it.

 He slams his hands on his knees.

 You coward.

 “You’re dead! No matter how much I did, how much Bruce did, how much Dick did, you still died! You were a child, a child, and yet you were killed for stupid ambitions. You were killed because your mother’s insanity and your family’s inability to protect you. If we can’t protect our own, how the hell can we protect the world? Is that what you want to hear?” Tim’s voice cracks as he yells. “And, dammit, its not fair! You little brat, you go off and die on us, just as you and I were getting along!”

 “Why did it have to be you?”

#rayewriting #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne

[rayewriting]

I Healed You (Now You Heal Me)

Fandom: Batman

Note: (I am already in the middle of writing Damian and fear gas fic). This was inspired by a Batman Detective Comics #995 comic panel that I saw once on tumblr, about Damian operating on Bruce’s and Alfred’s lungs.

Shout out to @cdelphiki for helping me find the panel! She is an amazing writer and did not mind helping me in the slightest, so go follow her on tumblr and AO3 (same name for both)! <3

I don’t have a set time for this one so let’s say, after Super Sons and the Grayson comics. Maybe after Things Left Unsaid? If you want this to be in the same verse. 

Robin was patrolling with Superboy when the call came in from Alfred, “Master Robin, your skills are needed immediately at the Cave, there is a medical emergency, and I am afraid of it being beyond my abilities.”

“Understood. Will report ETA as soon as possible. Keep them stable till I get there,” Robin’s quick reply, then turned towards to Superboy, “We are going to test your flight ability with a passenger. Get me to Gotham, more specifically the Batcave as fast as possible,” he ordered.

Superboy looks startled, “But—"

“Superboy, there is an emergency that is above Penny-One’s abilities, with Dr. Thompkins out of the country, means that I am the closest, capable hands, if you cannot get me there in under five minutes, I will call your father,” Robin informs.

Superboy’s face hardens with determination, “Under five minutes? Easy.”

When the boys reached Gotham, Robin directed Superboy a hidden entrance to the Cave and began to tear off his gloves and mask. By the time they reached the actual cave, Bruce was waiting for them and Robin was already asking, “What happened? I need to know every detail.”

“It’s Dick, he was working on a case when Deathstroke got a hold of him,” Bruce recited, “Multiple defensive cuts on his arms and legs, heavy bruising on his chest, arms, and legs, one stab wound to the lower abdomen.” Both bats were running to the medbay as they spoke, not wasting any time, because if they do Dick could die.

“Any poisons? Any previous injuries to that area?”

“None, and not that I know of.”

“Wait here, I will get you when I’m done,” Damian ended the conversation curtly and before Bruce could protest, “More people in there, the bigger risk for infection, Pennyworth is the best to help me succeed. Stay out,” then he walked through the curtains that separate Dick from the rest of the Cave.

Damian enters the curtained off of the medbay expecting blood, much blood in fact- but when he doesn’t, he lets a small breath go and begins to sanitize his hands, last thing Dick needs is an infection. “Report,” he says curtly, needing something to fill the silence.

“Stab wound, just below and right of the navel, nicking the ileum part of the small intestines- no major damage, but bleeding heavily, I have tried my best to replace the blood he has lost,” Alfred lists quickly as he prepares everything Damian could need, Damian puts plastic gloves on and Alfred wraps a surgery gown over his uniform.

“Hrn… the other injuries?” Damian questions, needing something to focus on other than his panic. He can panic after he is done, when Dick is not bleeding out on the table in front of him, when Damian is alone and free of other people.

Alfred seems to realize this and continues on, “I have them either stitched up or covered with a liquid bandage, cannot have him bleed anymore.”

“Agreed, thank you Pennyworth. Now, let’s begin.”

“Of course, Master Damian.”

Halfway through the surgery Damian can hear Jon and Bruce arguing and spares a look over at Alfred and notices that Alfred is just as annoyed, “If you could inform our audience that Grayson is about fifty percent finished and their silence is requested, I would appreciate it, Pennyworth. Though I am trained to work with distractions, I would rather not.”

Alfred swiftly nods his head and turns to the curtain, “Of course, Master Damian. Anything you require before I leave and return?”

“Some music, if you could. My phone is resting on the counter, just put it on shuffle. If Father and Kent do not quiet down, then I can drown them out.” Alfred leaves when the smooth notes of a violin begin to play and Damian’s shoulders begin to relax after a couple of minutes. “Now, Grayson, do not die on me again.”

When Alfred returns, Damian is stitching up the last of Dick’s wounds, and leaves the tools on the tray, feeling heaviness in his bones- his exhaustion finally taking precedence in his mind. “I have finished, Pennyworth. You should look over everything, of course, but my recommendation is one month of complete bedrest then light exercise. I would say two months of bedrest but with it being Grayson… However, when Dr. Thompkins is back in the Untied States, she will need take a look and an official plan,” Damian informs the caretaker, taking his gloves and gown off, then washing his hands again.

“Thank you very much, Master Damian. I will take your consul into consideration,” Alfred says warmly, then placing a hand on the teen’s shoulder, “Perhaps it is time for bed?”

Damian nods his head, “I will write my report, shower, then sleep. I do not know when the doctor is going to be here and I need to be as through as possible. Would you mind if I take my phone?” At Alfred’s refusal, Damian grabs his phone and exits the room, immediately surrounded by Bruce, Clark, and Jon, “The surgery was a success, the stab only nicked the ileum, so heavy blood loss and no septic shock due to the quick response we all had. I expect Grayson to make a full recover and at least one month of complete bedrest then light exercise. Father, Dr. Thompkins needs to look over him for an official order, but it looks like we all were lucky tonight,” Damian reports. Bruce’s and Clark’s shoulders slump slightly at the good news, but Jon still looks worried making Damian curious, “What is wrong, Kent?”

“How are you doing Damian? You just operated on your brother,” Jon inquires, making Damian eyes widen ever so slightly.

“I am fine, thank you. Now, if you excuse me, I have to make a report,” Damian’s voice is not harsh but is hard, and that usually means he is lying.

Jon’s eyes trail after him as Damian walks away.

Dick wakes up the next afternoon, feeling off-balance and in pain. He takes a minute to organize his thoughts and his senses: smells fresh laundered sheets, Kevlar, sweat, and blood, hears the beeping of a heart monitor and deep, heavy breathing, feels a slightly hard mattress, soft sheets, a weight in his hand, and pain everywhere. When he pieces it together he knows where he is: the Batcave medbay. So, he opens his eyes and feels the light pierce his eyes and grumbles, “Ow. What the—”

Apparently, that wakes Damian up and he bites out, “You were stabbed in the abdomen, nicked you ileum and had surgery to sew it back together. Do not get up.” Dick nods at the order and Damian stands up turning the light dimmer lower then brings a small straw to Dick’s lips, “I’m going to ask you questions, answer them as best you can. What is your name?” Dick answers, Damian asks a couple more questions which Dick answers correctly- then, “I will inform Father of your progress.”

But Dick doesn’t want to be alone, so he requests, “Can that wait? I—I’m not in the mood for a lecture at the moment and my stomach is all I can think of at the moment.”

Damian huffs a breath out and ups the morphine drip, “I will hold off on calling Father, but only because I am too tired to get up.”

That makes Dick raise an eyebrow, “What have you been up to, Dami?”

Damian scoffed and replies, “Saving your utter ridiculous ass, Grayson. Who do you think sewed you back together? Dr. Thompkins is out of the country and Alfred’s hands could not stop shaking; so, they called me for emergency surgery.”

Dick’s eyes shoot open, “You did- on me- but that—”

Rolling his eyes at Dick’s stuttering, Damian stood from the chair, “Scoot over, Grayson, I refuse to sleep in that chair any longer.” After processing all of the information, Dick moves to one side of the bed, inviting Damian to lay down beside him. Which is exactly what the teen did- laying his head on Dick’s uninjured shoulder and grasping Dick’s wrist in his hand, feeling the older man’s pulse against his fingertips, “You will be on bedrest for one month, at least, no complaining. Dr. Thompkins is on a flight back to Gotham as we speak and until then you have to listen to Pennyworth and me.”

Dick smiles into the boy’s hair, “Okay, Little D.”

“Of course, Grayson, I was not about to let you die on my table.” After a few minutes, and Dick thinking about going back to sleep when Damian’s voice spoke up quietly- hesitantly, “Grayson?”

“Yes?” Dick whispers back.

“Do not leave me again.”

Dick feels Damian’s hand tighten around his wrist, feels his chest wet with tears, prompting Dick wanting nothing more than to promise the world for this boy in his arms, but can’t. So, he does his best and brushes his hands through Damian’s hair and says, “I promise, I will do everything in my power to return to you, Damian. But that means you can’t leave me either.”

“TT. Fine.”

#DickandDamiweek2019 #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Hurt/Comfort #there is closure this time! #i wrote this instead of sleeping #Forgive the errors #Am tired #zzzz #Good night #RayeWriting

[rayewriting]

Being Enough

Fandom: Batman

Note: This fic is ignoring the crappy “Ric Grayson” plot line and Damian’s Teen Titans disaster. I did not like those ridiculous character developments at all so I’m blatantly throwing those out the window. So, Dick did die, was sent to Spyral, before going back to Bludhaven to see how his dumpster fire is holding out. Damian was resurrected, and has met Jon, Maya, and Suren (because they are my babies) but does not have a TT team. Damian is fifteen and Dick is twenty-*mumble mumble* in the first scene. I also tried to write it as if Damian was writing it from third person and I don't how it turned out so... yeah.

Did I mistype and write out “Might wing and Flame burg” for the prompt in my draft and laugh about it off and on for the better part of an hour? Yes, yes, I did.

Two sets of combat boots race across Bludhaven roof tops, both sets were similar in size, one just barely bigger than the other, “Okay, Flamebird, lets see take tonight easy, just a regular patrol, then on home, sound good?” the smooth, tenor voice is from the one wearing midnight black suit with a cobalt blue bird across the front extending to the tips of his fingers.

“Considering the arsonist from the last month’s fires has finally been arrested, that seems reasonable, Nightwing,” the other male agreed with a tenor-bass voice. He was wearing something similar, but his suit was wine red with a marigold bird across his chest, giving the impression of fire when he moves.

“Great, after all it’s your second anniversary, we have to celebrate!”

“I told you, Nightwing, I—”

“’Don’t want a party, and find it pointless’ but I think some people disagree and are waiting for your presence at home,” Nightwing replies with a smile gracing his face,

“TT,” let out Flamebird, but he did not complain as they began their track across the city.

When both vigilantes return home after a quiet patrol, Flamebird opens the fire escape window and upon entering sees a banner with “Happy 2nd Birthday!” and immediately releases a big groan, causing laughter from the others in the apartment. Titus runs over to the two and sniffs at them, then headbutts Damian for pets, Alfred the cat walks over to Dick walking between his legs, wanting attention.

“Go ahead and change, masters. Then the party shall begin,” Pennyworth instructs. Grayson thanks Pennyworth, throws his arm over Damian’s shoulders, and drags the teen down the hallway to change.

When both return to the living room in lounge clothes, the teasing begins, “So, how does it feel like being two, Demon?” Todd jeers at him from the couch.

“You should know, isn’t that how old you are, Todd?” Damian snarked back, sparking laughing in the room.

But Damian wasn’t paying attention to the room, his mind was roaming because Damian remembers the last time of wearing Robin’s colors.

Two and a half years ago on the rain-soaked roof across of Grayson’s Bludhaven apartment building, an equally soaked Damian picking out which apartment was Grayson’s, when he felt the presence of someone else on the roof, instantly alert. “Where are you supposed to be, Little Bird?” a familiar timber asked, instantly letting Damian release the tension from his muscles, he turned around to face his (brother? …father? …mentor?) mentor.

Grayson was in his Nightwing gear, a comforting sight compared the last time Damian saw him with his spy garb. Damian looked down and was reminded that he was not in his Robin uniform, he was sporting his black under armor long sleeve shirt, tights, thick green boots, and green domino mask.

Damian tried to explain, he really was, but he is still reeling from another (conversation? … lecture? … grilling?) conversation, “I—I have no place anymore.” He felt the burning behind his eyes, holding himself together with anger since leaving Gotham; however, his anger was fading, and Damian’s composure was wavering. “I am requesting shelter, Nightwing, I will be out by morning.” Damian requested, trying to pull himself together.

Damian knew Grayson was immediately picking apart his tense stance when touched the roof, “Why don’t we talk about what happened, huh? I was going to cut patrol short today anyway, slow night,” the vigilante gently answered. As Grayson was reaching for his grapple, he noticed Damian about to jump off the side of the building. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Little One, come here, we will discuss where your things are when we get home.” Damian shrugs and wraps his arms around his neck, legs around his waist, trusting him to swing them to the alley behind his apartment building to enter his apartment. “Okay, first things first- any injuries?” Grayson asks, taking off his mask waiting for Damian’s answer, which is a shrug, “Alright, go head and take a shower, okay? I’ll set some clothes out in front of the door, then we will patch you up,” he requested, knowing Damian needs to find his composure and demanding an explanation now will amount to nothing. Damian nods slowly and begins to head to the guest room and bath.

As Damian walked into the wash room he took of his final layer of armor and turns on the shower to his preferred temperature, he looks himself in the mirror. He has one black eye forming, a few bruises across his arms, and small cuts marring his olive skin, all things that can wait till he bathes to be dealt with. He is stepping into the shower when Grayson knocks on the door and speaks loudly, “I’m leaving the clothes right outside the door, okay, Little D?”

Damian gives a grunt of acknowledgement through the water streaming from the shower. He takes his time, making sure he was thoroughly clean and time to collect his thoughts for himself. When he exits the shower and opens the door, he spots a Cheese Viking sweatshirt, black lounge pants, socks, and undergarments piled on the clean floor. He pulls on the undergarments, bandages his cuts, puts on his socks, sweatshirt, and pants, then exits the wash room.

When Damian enters the living room, Grayson turns to survey his injuries, but he already treated himself and covered by bandages, defiantly not the worst he has gotten physically; however, his emerald eyes must show his pain and grief, because Grayson’s smile dims slightly. “Let’s go get some ice on that shiner, Dami, pick out what you want for dinner, then we can discuss what happened with B when it gets here, alright?” Grayson asks slowly getting up and guiding Damian to the kitchen, grabbing the first ice pack he sees and take-out menus from the freezer door, passing them to Damian, “I haven’t been able to go shopping this week with a gang war breaking out, so choose what you want to eat and I’ll call it in.”

Damian sits at the bar, looks through the menus while placing the compress to his face, wincing slightly. Pizza, Chinese, burgers, Vietnamese, Indian- he picks the Chinese and points out the vegetable fried rice for him to eat, passes the menus back to Grayson, and waits for the older man to make the phone call. “Anything to drink, Dami?” Grayson asks him, causing Damian to look up at the older man- still not speaking, causing Grayson to place his hand on Damian’s shoulder- “Juice, water, tea—” and Damian cuts Grayson off with a nod, “Okay, I have chamomile tea, and I remember how you like it- brown sugar, lemon, and a china cup. Which is perfect because I just bought a tea set…”

As Grayson walks around his kitchen, talking aimlessly, Damian relaxes slowly, the final bit tension draining from his shoulders. When he comes back with both of their tea and takes a seat next to him, Damian slowly move his hand till it rest near Grayson’s- not touching but absorbing the warmth and comfort from his brother.

Damian always knew wherever Grayson was, he had a safe place. Away from prying eyes. Away from extreme expectations. Away from the harmful things of the world. Grayson was Damian’s place of comfort. A place where he was free to feel, even if it was childish. A place where Damian could be Damian, not a Wayne or an Al-Ghul. Damian did not know how much he wanted (needed) that till he was resurrected and asked where Grayson was. Damian could not describe the feeling of being so overwhelmed that he shut down, did not sleep, eat, drink, anything for a week- just sat in his room with glassy eyes- till he walked into Grayson’s room and began to weep loudly, grasp the edges of Grayson’s blanket and tug and tug till the comforter was free, only for Damian to fall backwards onto the floor and wrap himself in the faint smell of Grayson and slept.

The doorbell interrupted Damian’s thoughts, prompting Grayson to get up, answer the door, and return to Damian’s side. “Okay, Little D, what happened?” Grayson prompted him.

Damian took in a deep calming breath, twirled his fork in his rice, and began slowly let the breath go. He went on to explain how Father had reacted to Damian ignoring his order to save a child from the Joker, “I saw things that Father did not. Father was dealing with Joker’s men, and I had a clear path to save him. So I did what I thought was right,” only for Bruce to rant when they got home, sparking a fight, eventually telling Damian that he has not changed since he arrived to Gotham, “I have proved over and over that I am different. I died for this—I died for him and his crusade for that city, yet it is clear that no matter how much I adapt my teaching and curb my upbringing, it is not enough—I am not enough…” Damian patters off, anger giving way for the hurt to set in, overwhelming the small boy for a couple of silent minutes and Grayson brought Damian into his arms, “Father made it clear that I am not welcome in Gotham for the foreseeable future. So, I came to the safest place I could think of… here.” Finishing his tale of woe, Damian felt his eyes burn again, but felt powerless to stop them, “Grayson, why am I not enough? Why am I never enough?” Finally, Damian’s tears spilt from his eyes, and Damian lost himself in his anguish, letting out sobs against the man’s chest.

“Oh, Dami, you are enough, you always have been enough. You deserve the world, and I am sorry that I can’t give it to you. You are alright…” Dick consoled the shaking teen, setting Damian on his lap, rubbing his hands in soothing motions on the teen’s back. After Damian’s tears slow and pulls back slowly, head bowed, Dick begins his plan, “You can stay here, okay? I keep Bruce from the apartment, away from this city if I have to. Damian held on to Dick the entire night, feeling peace for the first time he could remember.

Damian was shaken from his thoughts as Dick throws his arm around his shoulders, “Come on Little D, there is cake! Your favorite!”

“Red velvet and cream cheese frosting?”

“Exactly, Jason baked the cake and Alfred made the frosting, says his own secret recipe.”

After everyone said their hello and congratulations, Alfred sliced the cake, and began to pass them around- Damian getting the first slice. “Thank you, Pennyworth. I am appreciative of your presence tonight,” Damian spoke.

“Of course, Master Damian. I would not miss this for the world,” Alfred acknowledged, bringing his tea cup to his lips taking a small sip.

Damian took in all the guests that had shown. Wilkes, Kent, Darga, and Ducard were debating various team names that they thought could work. Todd, Drake, Brown, and Gordon were discussing a situation brewing from the docks of Gotham. Pennyworth and Grayson were sitting next to Damian in simple silence, soaking in the warmth of the small apartment, the peaceful atmosphere. Damian once again lost in his mind.

Two years ago in Grayson’s living room, sitting on the couch was both males, pouring over Damian’s sketch book, “Flamebird? A goddess?” Grayson asked.

Damian nods his head, “Based off the Kryptonian myths I have heard from Kent, yes. But this mantle does not depend on a person being male or female, like Superman or Wonder Woman. Also, the myths describe the entity as a destructive force, but for the betterment of life, such as farmers burning an old field before planting again the next year.”

“Okay, but what’s with the color scheme and no hood? It’s cool and all I’m just wondering, you loved the hood of your previous uniform.”

“The name is Flamebird, so black does not match with the name I am presenting, the color, wine, is dark enough to be concealed if need be. I have decided against black and a hood because I feel, perhaps… tired of being swallowed by shadows and darkness. Is that acceptable, Grayson?”

“Of course, it is, Dami. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not,” Grayson spoke softly, slowly wrapping his arms around the teen. Damian leaning slightly into the older man’s chest, nods his head, then slips out of the hold, and Grayson lets go. “We need to get these to Barbra, and you need to tell your friends about your name change, so they aren’t surprised next time you see them in uniform,” Grayson gently instructs, gathering the papers in his hand and phone up to his ear, “Hey Babs, I have a thing…”

Damian is suddenly jerking from his thoughts again as Grayson stands and announces, “Attention, attention, everyone near and far, I propose a toast! To Flamebird!”

“To Flamebird!” responds the small gathering, lifting their various beverages, smiles on their faces.

Then Grayson loudly says, “Speech! Speech!” thus sparks everyone as well, “Speech! Speech!” Damian looks at Alfred for help, but he just smiles and raises his cup.

Damian then rises from his seat, causing people to cheer, “I do not have anything planned, so this is the best I can do,” he begins turning to Alfred, “Pennyworth, you have taught me the value of tact and how manners are just as, if not more effective, than threats, but also the value of being a supporting person in someone’s life”, Alfred gave a quiet chuckle and grasps his hand in a quiet thanks, then Damian was twirling to his friends, “Wilkes and Kent, both of you have instilled in me the sense of friendship and how I can be even more effective and how I can rely on people if need be. Ducard showed me forgiveness, when no one else would look at me, you showed me how to be merciful in a world that is so cruel. Darga, you have been my example of perseverance, you and I have similar backgrounds with our families, but we have work on the same side of good.” After Damian’s speech Wilkes, Kent, and Ducard wraps him in a group hug, and Darga looks a little off put till Ducard grabs his arm and shoves him underneath her head, trapping him in the hug.

Damian’s cheeks turns red as he takes in a breath and walks towards his family, Gordon raising her eyebrow, “Gordon, you have given me many lessons, but the best one is you should never let others define your worth, so thank you. Todd, you have given me the best piece of advice from my time with my mother,” after Todd’s confused look Damian explained, “if you cannot beat them, give them hell,” at Damian’s words, Todd’s jaw drops.

“That was you! What the f—”

“Jason, shut up, it’s my turn!” Brown shouts and bounces on her feet.

Damian’s face began to turn even more red, “Brown, I have one lesson that you taught me that I treasure more than most, and that is your past does not define you, that you have a choice in how you act or react to a situation, that I always have a choice,” Brown wraps him in her arms and Damian feels a tear against his shirt, then she let him go, this gives Damian time to collect his thoughts. “Drake, I cannot explain how I feel when I think of our first year together, the things racing through my mind at the time we met, but I think you taught me something that will stick with me forever,” Drake looks uncomfortable, and Damian would agree, but this needed to be said, “I believe you taught me that it is acceptable to leave when someone is hurting you- that you should not have to accept someone’s behavior because they are ‘family’. And—” Damian sucks in another breath, “And I am sorry for the pain I caused and hope one day we can heal from the past, and slowly build a relationship- perhaps not brothers but—”

Drake grabs his arm, prompting Damian to look him in the eyes, seeing the tears swimming in his eyes, “I accept your apology, Damian, and I think—I think I would like to start over too,” the smaller man agrees quietly, looking down.

“Just hug each other already!” Brown shouts still wiping at her eyes, causing Damian and Drake to spring apart, both flushed out of embarrassment. The two looks at each other, reading the body language and eyes of the other, and slowly Damian reaches his hand out and letting a small grin on his face. Drake smiles and grasps the younger’s hand, giving it a small shake, and Damian feels a heavy weight drop off his shoulders. “You two are ridiculous…” Brown mumbles, and shoves Drake into Damian forcing Damian to catch the smaller man, “There, you are welcome.” Both males roll their eyes at Brown’s actions and Damian helps Drake up.

Finally, turning to face Grayson, Damian felt his face heat up to his ears as Grayson let a gigantic, dazzling smile. Damian takes a final fortifying breath and his voice was slightly rough with emotion, “Richard, you have let me have a childhood, when I had none to begin with. When I did not know how be a child, you taught me how, provided opportunities, and encouraged me to do so. You showed me care and affection from the start- even when I did not want it, but when I unknowingly needed it, and you took an interest for my wants and needs when no one else would or could. You provided for me when I could not for myself. You treated me with respect, but also did not let me hurt myself or others. You taught me I am enough just by being myself, that I did not need to adapt, but let myself grow up of that I am still doing. You gave me a safe place, a peaceful place, that I can express myself with no fear of pain, harshness, or disappointment. There are no words to describe how that kindness—no that love means to someone like me, someone that felt beyond repair, holding on to anger and pain, because that was all I knew, that was all I was taught. Until you, Richard John Grayson, gave me a chance to become something beyond myself, beyond my pain, hurt, and anger. So, thank you for being my Batman, my mentor, and my partner. Most of all, thank you for opening your arms and welcoming me as part of your family. I can honestly say, I would not be here today if not for you.” Grayson started crying somewhere early in the speech and has not stopped.

Damian looks at everyone in the room, “I appreciate and care for all of you and I only pray that all of you can continue let me be by your sides for as long as I can.” Most eyes were wet, causing Damian to feel uncomfortable and wanting to fidget, but his hands were still till Brown and Ducard pulls him into another hug, then Kent, Pennyworth, and Gordon.

Lastly Grayson pulls Damian into a hug so hard the younger falls and his partner shove his head into the Damian’s neck and Damian feels tears against his neck, “That was so beautiful, Dami, you always make me happy. You are the best, Dami.”

Damian wraps his arms around Grayson tightly, slightly burying his face, “We are the best, Richard.”

“Hey, we can’t help being great.”

#DickandDamiweek2019 #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Batman Fanfiction #tw: abandonment #Dick is Damian's dad #why is Bruce like this #Damian just wants to be loved #Why can't people see that #I broke my own heart #but then mended it again #RayeWriting

[rayewriting]

Things Left Unsaid

Fandom: Batman

So… I’m using Damian’s new Teen Titan group. Or parts of it anyway. But I absolutely refuse to touch the “Ric Grayson” bull DC was shoving my way. So, Damian is just beginning with this new group, Damian’s first team (I use that phrase very lightly), of Starfire, Raven, and others did not happen—but Wallace did work with Robin from sometime, I don’t know, like a one-time-off-deal-type-thing, okay? Okay.

Dick finished his Sypral mission and is recovering at the Manor with some type of injury.

Damian Wayne, Troublemaker?

Dick picks up the Gotham Gazette issue, lets out a sigh, and begins to read the article, wondering if he should call the lawyers, his sides protesting from the lingering injuries from his long-term stint as a spy as he takes in a too deep breath to release another sigh. The paper in his hands already rustled from Bruce’s reading when he was eating breakfast before he left for the office with Tim.

Damian Wayne was seen in Brooklynn, meeting with at least two other unidentifiable people. Witnesses say they had skin so pale it looked blue, the taller one had a chain and the other one wearing a bizarre suit. Rumors are spreading about the youngest Wayne…

Dick’s reading was cut off as Damian rushed into the room, grabbing a spare apple from the fruit bowl and lunch from the counter before Damian was about to leave the room, but Dick spoke up, “What, no hello?”

“Hello, Grayson. Now I have to get to school, Alfred is waiting for me at the helicopter pad,” Damian informed, running out of the room. Dick rolled his eyes and finished reading the article and eating his breakfast. The article was full of lies, but Damian was spending a lot time in Brooklynn, and Dick can’t remember the last time Damian had free time. Obviously, this caused Dick to feel anxious for a second opinion, maybe he was being paranoid? Or Damian more friends than just Jon? Why was Damian even in Brooklynn?

By the time Alfred returned, Dick was in the Cave, finishing his reports from the Sypral mission, prompting Alfred’s frown of disapproval. But Dick could not stay in the Manor all day doing nothing and he was going to worry himself crazy until someone told him what Damian was doing, because last time Damian was acting this secretive there was a clone. Speaking of someone knowing what was going on, “Hey, Alfie?”

“Yes, Master Dick?”

“Has Damian been around the Manor very much? Because I can’t remember the last time he actually sat down,” Dick asks.

“I believe Master Damian is usually in the cave by eight to prepare for patrol and eat dinner. However, between dropping him off at school and him showing up for dinner, I do not see him. He requested that I only pick him up on days when the young master patrols with the younger Mister Kent, on other days he brings himself home,” Alfred informs.

“Do you know what he is up to? Because the paparazzi figured out he is in Brooklynn,” Dick’s voice is hesitant, not wanting to cross a line, but willing to find any evidence that Damian might not be safe.

“No, what Master Damian does outside of the Manor and city is his doing, unless I am informed otherwise. Is there anything else you need Master Dick? Perhaps a cup of tea, or sleep?”

Dick’s head drops in embarrassment, “Um, a cup of tea would be nice. I’ll be up in half an hour, okay?”

“Splendid, Master Dick, I will set it out for you then.”

Damian’s pattern of rushed mornings and staying out all day continued for a couple of weeks, sometimes resulting in more Gotham Gazette articles and Dick read every single one of them. But this last one was the last straw.

Confirmed, Damian Wayne, Brooklynn Bad Boy

The article in question was describing Damian’s actions in Brooklynn- ranging from rooftop meetings with a dark-skinned girl, meeting in alleys with two males, and even meeting Emiko at a small café. It also has a picture of Damian with two dark figures, Damian holding out his hand in a handshake with the tallest figure. Dick was beginning to worry about his brother, needless to say, not that Damian was getting into trouble or anything like that, but that Damian would feel he could not come to Dick with his problems and needs to run off to feel better.

So, Dick called Damian’s school, saying the thirteen-year-old is sick and would not be in today. And when Damian runs in the kitchen Dick calls out, “Damian, sit down, please.”

“I can’t, Grayson, I—”

“I called you in, said you were sick. Now please sit down and eat something better than an apple. You look thinner than normal,” Dick gently demands, pulling out a chair for the teen. Now that Damian was in Dick’s view for more than a minute, Dick notices Damian’s physical changes from the last time he saw the teen. He was thinner, shirt and jacket hanging off his frame slightly, bags under his eyes look like bruises, and his hair-though perfectly styled- had lost part of its shine. Dick calls out to the kitchen, where Alfred is, “Alfred, can you make Damian something to eat, I would try, but—”

Damian cut him off, “As I would eat anything you make, Grayson.”

“Exactly.”

“Of course, masters, in fact I already have something prepared,” Alfred walks into the room, with an omelet with green bell peppers, tomatoes, and onions and a small cup of Greek yogurt with strawberries and granola, then places them in front of Damian. Alfred’s eyes shine in a way Dick knew that Alfred wants to smile as Damian began to eat, so Dick smiles at both of them instead. “What would you like to drink, Master Damian?”

With cheeks turning a slight pink, Damian finishes his bite of egg and requests, “Anything is fine, Pennyworth. I appreciate it,”

“Of course, I believe tea with brown sugar, fresh lemon, in a china cup would be best,” and with that Alfred walks away, leaving the younger men alone.

Dick lets Damian eat silently for a few more minutes before bringing out the newspaper and placing it on front of the teen, “Anything you would like to say, Little D?”

“Nothing that you need to know of, Grayson,” Damian answers as Alfred places his tea on the table and exits the room again.

“Really, Damian? Because I can list multiple reasons why I would need to know why you are being spotted in Brooklynn.” Damian gave Dick a dark look as he finishes his eggs and begins his yogurt, but Dick did not let that detour him from his goal, “I could be asked why you were in Brooklynn by reporters, like Vicki Vale. You could be having an emergency and I wouldn’t be able to find you. I could—”

"Father does not care about my afterschool activities, so why should you?" Damian says, then he takes a sip from his tea.

Dick’s shoulders slump slightly at that, "Bruce does not have a good track record of asking his family what they are up to. I just want to make sure you are safe. Because if something happ—"

Damian stands up from the table, food forgotten, and yells, “I get it! I do! But it is not like you have not kept secrets from me! Perhaps it is my turn to keep you in the dark, make you feel unnecessary emotions and think of 'what if's!”

Dick’s temper is beginning to spark, but Dick stomps it out before he says something stupid, “I’m sorry that I hurt you—”

“It was not just me your fake death affected! Todd went off on a killing spree, Drake left the Manor to work with the Titans, and if Gordon visited- she would not look me in the eye! But the worst was that I came back from the dead—the dead to find out that you were never coming back! I could do things people could only dream of! I could fly, I could lift the Batmobile, I was bulletproof! But none of it mattered- nothing mattered because you were not here…” Damian screaming pattered off into whispers as he looked down, as if these thoughts were sacred, as if this was the first time he ever spoke them into existence.

“Oh, Dami…” Dick starts to get up pushing his chair back, but Damian leaps backwards as if burned and turns his back to Dick.

“So, I do not think I can trust you, at least not yet. Perhaps it can be recovered- over time and space- but not—not right now,” the teen’s voice wavers and hiccups at the end.

Dick can see a tear hit the carpet, feels his heart shatter- all the pieces jagged and sharp, but he accepts this- this distance if it means that one day Damian can trust him again, “Okay, Damian. Take the time, all the time you need. I’ll be here when or if you are ever willing to give me a second chance.”

#This was not how I pictured this prompt #It was supposed to be fluffy #But the angst grabbed me and said NOOOOOO #so here we are #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #DickandDamiweek2019 #might post a sequel later\ #RayeWriting

[rayewriting]

You Deserve More (More Than What I Have)

Fandom: Batman

Note: I know I'm a day late! Please forgive me, I got home at six, sat down at seven and been working this out till 1AM. Qalbi means “my heart” and Ekhwah means "older brother" in Arabic and Chikno means "son" in Romany (at least that’s what I found online!) I loved the idea of Damian taking care of Mar’i and him giving her a cutesy nickname and Damian and Dick openly acknowledging their relationship is different than just a brotherly bond so… I edited this chapter to make Mar'i call Damian "Ekhwah" instead of "Uncle D" to get that across. If I am wrong about the translations- PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!! I am not meaning to offend anyone, just trying to tie in Damian's and Dick heritage!

This is also an unexpected continuation of my Nightwing and Flamebird fic "Being Enough"! (find it under my DickandDamiweek2019 tag, its Day 1!)

Scars, so many scars on the little body that Damian possess.

“They are from training, Grayson,” his Robin says. But Dick knows better.

The scars come from abuse, the torture, he faced in his time with his mother. And Dick- Dick is appalled that, within ten years, Damian acquired so many. So many that Dick hasn’t heard all the stories and some of them Damian doesn’t remember getting- because he was to young to even try to remember. And the worst part is that Damian refuses to see them anything more than training mistakes, that they were not his fault that others hurt him. But Dick tells Damian every night, every time he sees one that Damian is not the one at fault, that Damian is an amazing, beautiful child that deserves so much more than the world has to offer.

His face has two, both difficult to see, but Dick does so immediately. One jagged cut on the left side reaching from his ear to his jaw.

 “The one on the left was from one of my instructors that got too close and tried to kill me,” Damian explained, in the middle of a night where Dick was still Batman and Damian his Robin, shaking in Dick’s arms after a nightmare, “I was sad because he was one of the few people nice to me. He said I reminded him of his child. Later that year, I discovered Mother forced him to do it for my training. I killed him, I did not know his real name, but he was called Khalil… for he was the friendliest in the League.”

The other is straight down his right eye, cutting through his eyebrow-

 “Grandfather did it. To train me to have me get acquainted to feeling pain,” Damian continued into Dick’s chest.

 “What they did is not your fault,” Dick said into Damian’s hair.

His left arm held a few, two parallel puncture holes near his wrist-

 Damian whispered, in the quiet after a rough night of patrol- neither of them ready to be alone, “I was bitten by a poisonous snake and the antidote was on the other side of a mountain. It was for training.”

 Dick wraps his arms around Robin, enclosing his partner in his cape, “That should not have been forced on you.”

In the bend of his right elbow, uncountable needle marks-

 “I was regularly injected with varies poisons and drugs, Mother said to grow immunity to them. Too many to count. It was part of my training,” Damian-in a t-shirt and shorts- spoke at the Batcomputer, when he noticed Stephanie looking at his arm for a good minute and a half. He kicked his legs out, and looks just like a regular twelve-year-old, except the words coming out of his mouth.

 Dick placed his hand on Damian’s shoulder and retorted, “It should not have been.”

Connecting Damian’s shoulder and elbow on the back of his right arm is a slice that Damian refuses to talk about, no matter how much Dick tries to whittle it out of him. (Damian’s cousin gave it to him, when he was sleeping in his quarters. Damian remembers his resulting actions every time he turns around to get ready for his day.)

His left leg only has one scar, a large burn covering the back of his thigh-

 As Damian changed into his suit for patrol with Dick and Bruce, saw their glances towards his legs and went on, “It was part of my torture training,” glanced at Bruce then continued, “Mother said that I was to be subjected to it for multiple weeks.”

 Dick left his Nightwing suit to pool around his waist, then pulled the fourteen-year-old into his arms, “She should not have done that. You are amazing just the way you are, Dames.”

His right leg has a matching burn and line down his shin-

 “I broke my leg, the medical staff had to do surgery to repair it,” Damian said to Jason. Damian, Dick, and Jason had ducked into a safehouse to wait out a thunderstorm that broke out in the middle of patrol. They had been in the middle of a change when Jason asked about it.

 “How did you break your leg?” Dick inquired.

 The fifteen-year-old paused for a few minutes- face contorted as if he was trying to remember- then, “I was being tortured by an enemy of the League. She broke my leg, so I broke her spine, then ran to the sea and swam twenty miles to a League ship I knew would pass at the time. They sent me to one of their medical facilities and I finished the mission in a week.” As he spoke the three of them rested on the couch, Dick stretching across the middle and left cushions, Damian sitting on the left on, and Jason walking into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

 “They did not deserve your loyalty,” Dick said softly, foot poked at Damian’s thigh.

His neck had one—

 Damian threw Dick’s door open, ran into Dick’s arms, and pointed to his neck, “It killed me… I think? Grandfather often put Mother in the Pit if she died during training. I don’t think Mother could stop him if I died. I-I can’t remember it very well… But when I woke up, Mother said I failed my training and had to do it over again. I didn’t remember till I had a nightmare last night.” Damian expounds, as if he had to get if off his chest, then broke down on Dick’s chest.

 “You deserved better than that. You deserve more than I have,” Dick said to the sixteen-year-old. Dick threw up that night and every time the light caught Damian’s neck just right, he- he grew green.

His hands had too many to count, burns, cuts and scrapes-

 “The only one I remember is the one Mother gave to me,” Damian quietly lets out, tracing his index finger over the small cut on the back of his hand. Dick, Kor’i, and Damian was in the middle of a movie at Dick’s apartment. Kor’i had visited during Damian’s visit- Dick hoped his girlfriend and Damian would get along- which they did, much to Dick’s surprise the first time, so they started monthly movie nights.

 Dick removed his arm from around Kor’i’s shoulders, clasped the seventeen-year-old’s hands in his and responded, “I’m sorry she hurt you. But I’m proud you don’t let it rule over you,” then placed kisses on all the scars he could find on the fingers and palms, when Dick was done, he wiped the tears that fall from the younger man’s eyes and the female alien wrapped her arms around Damian’s shoulders.

His chest is blanketed with multiple cuts and burns-

 Damian points to a small cut on his right pectoral muscle after Cass brushed her hand across his chest in questioning manner as Dick finished up stitching a knife wound on her forearm, “This is from a training with one of Mother’s guards,” long slice across from his right shoulder to left hip, “Grandfather wanted to know how many people I could take at once, I reached twelve before I passed out,” medium burn across the abdomen, “I was defending Mother from an inflamed log falling on her,” puncture marks on his left shoulder, “I was blindfolded and shot with an arrow, it was supposed to help with my spatial awareness,” then finally the long cut in the middle of his chest, “You remember this one, but the Heretic.”

 Cass nodded and grasped his hand, gave it a quick squeeze before she hopped of the gurney in the Batcave. Dick turns towards his twenty-year-old brother and pulled him into his arms, “You are so amazing, Dami, and these marks are just reminders. And I am so proud.”

Damian’s back is covered with bumps, cuts, burns-

 Dick rubbed Damian’s back as the twenty-three-year-old retched into the toilet, he could see the scars on Damian’s back and felt them under his palm. When Damian finished, Dick brought a glass of water up to his lips, Damian took a small sip, then spit it into the toilet, then flushed it. “Which one do you want to know about?”

 “Any of them, all of them.”

 “There are too many whip lashes for me to remember; everytime I passed out Grandfather would tie me to a post and ‘whip the exhaustion out of me’, there is the spinal replacement cut and the Heretic sword exit wound you remember, but I think…” Damian grabbed Dick’s hand moved it to the middle of his back then to the side just a bit, “I got stabbed there by a rogue assassin, had to replace my kidney,” Dick’s hand was guided to the opposite side but up some, “That was… one of Grandfather’s men, I think, I was walking to my next lesson and one of them threw a throwing star at me,” a burn mark on Damian’s right shoulder, “One of my instructors began to burn my clothes, and if I flinched or made a noise, she cut me with her knife.”

 Damian dropped Dick’s hand and threw his head back into the toilet to wretch again, and Dick resumed his massage, “You, Damian, are so amazing. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. You make me so happy for you to be a part of my family.”

 When the bathroom door opened, Dick’s head spun till he saw his daughter, “Mar’i what are you doing up, sweetie?” he asked.

 Mar’i looked at Damian as he rested his cheek against his arm that was on the toilet seat, “I had to potty, and I was wondering what was going on,” she said, “Is Ekhwah okay?”

 Damian smiled at the child, “I will be fine, Qalbi, and I am sorry you can not use your bathroom right now.”

 Dick stood up and washed his hands in the sink as Damian was talking, then turned to his daughter, “Why don’t you use Mommy and my bathroom? Come on.” Mar’i nodded and Dick grasped her hand, walked her to the master bedroom.

 When he opened the bedroom door, he saw Kor’i was blinking her eyes open and looked around, “Dick? What is happening?”

 Dick offered a small smile and opened his mouth to answer but Mar’i spoke first, “Ekhwah is sick and I had to potty. But, Daddy, I have a question,” then with all the seriousness a five-year-old can possess, she asked, “Why does Ekhwah have so many marks?”

 Couple of weeks later, Damian finds himself babysitting Mar’i, Kor’i and Dick trusting him to protect and care for their five-year-old daughter while they have a “date night”, she asks him, “Ekhwah, when did you get your scars?” tracing the marks of his arms up and down.

Damian just looks at the small child in his lap- as she was tired playing with her toys and wanted her Uncle D to talk to her, “Well, Qalbi, I got some of them when I was your age. Others I got when I was older.”

“Did your mommy and daddy not kiss them better? ‘Cause my mommy and daddy always kiss my boo-boos till I feel better.”

“No, my mother did not care for kisses and the like, and when I met my father, I was too old for kisses,” Damian explains, much to Mar’i’s surprise.

“Too old for kisses? How old is too old for kisses? I love kisses!” Mar’i exclaims, arms wrapping around Damian’s shoulders, finding comfort in his arms- as if thinking one day she would be refused kisses.

Damian’s heart seizes in his chest, the child’s innocence making him love her even more and he squeezes her to his chest, “I do not think you will ever grow too old for kisses, Qalbi. Your parents will give you kisses and hugs for as long as they can, as long as you let them.”

“Good, I love hugs and kisses. But, Ekhwah, where did your scars come from? They have to have hurt.” Mar’i asks innocently, green eyes wide and tan face scrunching in a pout.

The question causes Damian to stop, collecting his thoughts, then gently saying, “My scars come from my time in the League of Assassins. I was hurt a lot, everyday. My mother said that it was training; but, it was not. It was abuse; do you know what that means?” Damian looks at Mar’i, the small one shaking her head, “Abuse comes in many forms, but mine was mental and physical abuse. My mother- she was not a good person, when I was small, she hit me many times a day, forced me to do things that I did not want to do, and did not let me have my own opinions or thoughts. It is a very serious issue, and not to be treated lightly.”

Damian pauses and gives Mar’i a serious look and tells her, “Mar’i, if anyone—anyone—hurts you on purpose, it is not training or playing. Your mother and father will not hurt you like mine did, but know that if you get hurt by anyone or anything, I will help you. Promise me that if you feel hurt, scared, or angry, you talk to your parents- or me if you want- because I can grantee that we will always care for you.”

Mar’i nods, face serious and voice having a determined tilt, “I promise, Ekhwah, if I feel scared, hurt, or angry, I will tell Mommy, Daddy, or you.”

Damian hears a sniffle from the doorway and swivels his head to see Dick and Kor’i, both having watery eyes, walking into the room. Mar’i gets off Damian’s lap and runs over to her parents giving them hugs, “Mommy! Daddy!” Then she tugs on Dick’s pants, causing him to kneel in front of her, “Ekhwah said that his mommy didn’t like kisses and when he met Grandpa Bruce, he was too old for kisses! But he also said my parents aren’t like his; so, I won’t ever be too old for kisses.”

Dick looks at Damian with inquisitive eyes, which causes Damian roll his eyes and nod. Kor’i looks in between her husband and the person she has grown too love as a son, then tells Mar’i “Mar’i, you need to pick up your toys. It’s almost bedtime.”

Damian and Dick step out of the room and Dick wraps Damian into a hug, “I’m so proud of you, Chikno.”

“Why?”

Dick takes a step back and explains, “You openly acknowledged that your childhood was not training. That is a huge step and you took it. I’m just so happy you can see it now.”

Damian tilts his head to the side then shrugs his shoulders, “I guess.”

Suddenly Mar’i runs into the hall and flies, literally, into Damian’s arms, “Ekhwah! Can you tell me a bedtime story? I want to hear one about Nightwing and Flamebird!”

“Of course, but perhaps your father should join us, he is half of those stories.”

Dick watched as his two kids walk ahead of him, let’s a smile slide across his face, and follows them into Mar’i’s room.

#DickandDamiweek2019 #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Dick is Damian's dad #Dickkory #Mar'i Grayson #I'm trying to keep up I swear #I hate how I ended this #But I'm tired #Forgive me lovelies #My dad is blaring music right now #I want it to stop #What the H e c k dad #Its 1am #RayeWriting