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her-world-on-fire · 3 years

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Public Eye {Jason Todd x Reader}

MASTERLIST

REQUEST HERE

Word Count: 2,933

A/N: Sorry I meant to have this out weeks ago, but I ended up rewriting it entirely. <3

Request: Hi!!!!! I just started reading all your fics and i love them so much. if it’s not too much to ask can you write one where jason and like a rockstar or actress meet and have a thing, but hes not sure whether it will work out because of how much attention she gets from the media? Thank you so much and i hope you are doing well and staying safe❤️✨

JASON ADJUSTED the buttons of his shirt once more. His hands trailed to his collar bone, he undid another button. He hated wearing dress shirts. He knew Bruce would throw a fit if he didn’t. He had to try to blend in. He always hated going to these benefits. There was always a chance he could be recognized. That was the last thing he needed. Every time someone made eye contact with him, he tensed up. His face was scarred, there was no hiding it. His hands were calloused and full of cuts and bruises. He kept his hands crossed over his chest or inside the pockets of his slacks.

Bruce had asked him to come to his office, there was nothing good about that. He knocked on the door before entering. Bruce, Tim, Dick an Damien were already there. Each of them dressed for the occasion. Tim had finally ran a comb through his hair. Dick had shaved. Even Damian looked presentable. Bruce gave Jason a short nod. “I have assignments for each of you. We have several high profile targets all in one room.” Bruce was hosting his annual gala. He was raising money for charities by auctioning off several intricate gadgets produced by Lucius Fox. Some of the richest people in Gotham were to be in attendance.

“I’m giving you each a sector. I assigned tables with consideration. Make sure your guests stay where they are supposed to. Keep an eye on any suspicious guests.” The boys all nodded and Bruce showed a map on the screen. He had the room divided into 5 quadrants. He assigned the quadrants, “Tim sent the file to your phones. Do not loose your guests. They start arriving in 5 minutes. I suggest you get down there.”

The boys exited the room. All of them looking at their phones to see their guests. All but Jason. The last thing he wanted to do was babysit rich brats for the night. He knew most of them didn’t care about the charity. They were there to show off their money. They wanted the tech. Most of them were corrupt species of shit. They were born into old money and never worked a day in their life. A silver spoon in their mouth. They made him just as sick as the criminals he fought every night.

“Holy shit, look at Jason’s table.”

“Y/N and--” Jason didn’t hear the second name. He stopped in his tracks. He pulled out his phone, he had to be sure. He looked over the table. Y/N L/N. Dick looked back at Jason. The two boys went ahead. “Do you need me to talk to Bruce-” Jason shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Well you don’t look fine.”

Y/N was a family friend. They grew up together and were very close. That was until Jason took on the role of Robin. He became obsessed. He spent all of his time training, and he neglected his friend. Y/N had moved away to pursue a career in music. He read about his childhood friend in the papers.

Y/N donates 5 million for displaced youth.

The lists went on and on. Y/N wanted to help and make a difference. They spoke now and again when Y/N came back home. But they had been touring for the past 2 years.

He had never gotten a chance to formally apologize. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

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

I opened the door, and the flashes of cameras bombarded me. It was difficult to navigate. The flashes were extremely bright, trying to capture any imperfection. I kept my head forward and walked quickly inside the building. I tried to get out of the benefit. I left a generous donation and planned on staying in for the night.

Bruce insisted I attend. I caved. I still had jet lag from the trip back. I had just left Spain after wrapping up a tour. I didn’t anticipate I would be flying back home. The door man helped me in. Reporters were hollering over each other like vultures. I thanked the man and he handed me a card. Table B3. I walked down the corridor, my eyes still adjusting to the light.

The walls were covered in intricate art. Bruce always had an appreciation for the arts. I decided to admire it as I braced myself for a long night. Most just walked right by, not even giving a glance at the art before them. I took a closer look and admired the seamless blend. I noticed at the top of the stairs there was a group of men. I recognized all three. Dick Grayson, the eldest of Bruce’s adopted children. Tim Drake, the 19 year CEO and second youngest son. And Jason Todd. His eyes had been fixed somewhere else. Dick nudged him, and his eyes met mine. He stood up straight.

I looked back at the art work. We hadn’t had a formal conversation on years. We had just made passing conversations. Nothing intricate.

“Hey.” Jason called, and I looked at the bottom of the stairs where he was standing. I approached him. “Hey.” I replied.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here.” I shrugged laughing a little, “I didn’t either. I was going to stay in but Bruce insisted I come. I couldn’t say no.” He chuckled. It was definitely something he would do. Jason was sure he had his reasons. But more importantly, he knew that Jason needed to resolve a few things.

“You look great.” He pointed out. I smiled, as I felt the blood rush to my face. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Jason paused. He looked like he was in deep thought. Just as he was about to say something, Bruce’s voice came over the intercom. He requested that everyone be seated. Jason extended his elbow, and escorted me to my table.

“You’re not going to sit here?”

“I would love to, but Bruce has us working.”

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

We were 3 hours in and I was just on my last legs. My chin rested on my hand. The man at my side had been trying to talk to me. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but the jet lag was really effecting me. I didn’t have a chance to acclimate to the new time zone. The alcohol didn’t help much either.

I smiley politely, “Excuse me.” I got up from the table and walked back to the entrance. I had stayed 3 hours, that had to be enough for Bruce. I moved into the bathroom. I sighed as I leaned against the sink. The lack of sleep was starting to show. I had a hectic schedule back in Spain. Early morning shoots that lasted until late hours of the night. Publicity events and meetings with managers. I wanted nothing more than to just be in my bed for the rest of the night.

I decided I was leaving. I didn’t call my personal driver. I didn’t want to bother him. He deserved a night off. I exited the bathroom and pulled out my phone. I looked up, and saw Jason. The door opening turned his head in my direction.

“Everything alright?” He asked. I nodded, “I just needed a break from that table.” I joked, he nodded a small chuckle coming from his lips.

“These just aren’t really for me. I was just about to head out. It was nice to see you again.” I moved to the stairs. The few drinks I had were starting to take effect. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but the stairs looked wobbly. “Do you have a car coming for you?” He asked, and I turned back slowly. I looked at him and nodded slowly. Judging by the look in his eyes, not very convincingly. Somehow, he knew I was lying. “I could take you.”

I shook my head, “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

He walked over and raised an eyebrow, “I don’t think you should go out by yourself tonight.”

“I’m completely fine.” I turned to walk back down the stairs, and I hovered over the next step. I could feel myself loose balance. I left a strong arm pull me back. “What was that?”

I lost track of time. When I came to I was inside a car. I inhaled deeply and looked to my left. Jason looked over. “Look who’s awake.” I ran my hands through my hair. I could feel the headache in the back of my head starting to form. “I guess this isn’t how you imagined spending your night.” I looked over and he shook his head. “Those aren’t my thing either. You gave me an out.”

It brought a smile to my lips. I looked outside of the window. I had missed it. “Every time I come back, I forget how beautiful it is.” Jason turned to me, curiosity glimmered in his eyes. “What brought you back?”

“I have a project I need to oversee.” I tried to stay away. I had lived in a few different places, but none of them ever felt like home. I always found myself longing for Gotham’s skyline. Something just kept bringing me back.

We arrived not long after. I moved to get out by myself but Jason rushed to my side of the door. He helped me out. I leaned against him and held me up. I stumbled inside. “Do you think you can make it okay?” I nodded, and once again he saw right through it. He helped me up the stairs. “I’m so tired of all these goddamn stairs.” Jason laughed, he was handling this very well. He didn’t struggle supporting me against him. His breath didn’t falter as he walked up all the steps to my bedroom.

He opened the door and helped me sit on the bed. “I swear I’m not always like this. Jet lag and alcohol, but never again.” His blue eyes glimmered with fascination. “Get some sleep.”

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

I woke up to my head pounding. I began to regret those drinks. When I looked at my phone I saw I had a missed call from Jason. I called back and he informed me I had left a few things in his car.

I arrived at Jason’s apartment. I tried my best to be as inconspicuous as possible. I came alone, and wore dark sunglasses and a baseball cap. Jason greeted me at his doorstep. I walked in and he closed the door behind me. I hadn’t seen any press. It seemed we were in the clear.

He invited me to sit down. “How’s that headache?” I laughed, “I’m hanging in. I’m not sure if I thanked you in my drunken haze. But thank you for getting me home last night, I really appreciate it.”

“It was nothing, really.”

A silence washed over us. All the unresolved feelings that had been festering for years, rose to the surface. Jason sat up. “Listen, I want to apologize-”

“Jason, it was ages ago. You have nothing to apologize for.” He shook his head. “But I do. I just disappeared, without any explanation. I’m sorry.”

In truth it broke my heart. My best friend was gone. I didn’t know if he was okay, or even where he was. But he didn’t know any better. He had the chance to live a better life, and he took that opportunity. It would be selfish to expect him not to. “I understand, really I do.”

He was the reason why I did so much outreach work. I saw firsthand how much he struggled after loosing his parents. “Actually, would you want to help me with this project?” He knitted his eyebrows together. “Tell me about it.”

I explained my ideas to him, and he was in.

We spent the next few months trying to get through all the red tape. With Bruce’s influence, it went a lot faster. As expected, we spent a lot of time together. I thought I was being careful. Until I woke up to frantic calls from my manager.

"Jason. I am so sorry.” The voice cried out, he immediately sat up recognizing this wasn’t Bruce. He leaned his back against his bed frame and rubbed his face. “Woah, what are you talking about?” He asked, completely in the dark about whatever was going on. He heard a sigh on the other end of the line. His heart rate sped up as he waited for the news in anticipation. “The papers, they took photos of us and they’re spinning some kind of narrative.”

The blood in his face drained. His eyes opened wide and he held the bridge of his nose in frustration. He was quiet as he tried to think. He got up from his bed and took his computer. He opened up his browser and started typing.

Y/N spotted with unidentified man, sources suggest they may be together

He clicked on the article. He could see the pictures of them. One from the night they met. He held onto Y/N as they walked up inside together. He continued to scroll down. A source had claimed they were “all over each other” since the benefit. He scowled, did they have nothing better to do then micromanage every aspect of someones life?

“I can arrange an interview and clear it up-”

“You don’t have to do that, it’s not your fault.” He sighed and slammed the computer shut. “We can talk about it later.” He briefly said goodbye and then hung up.

He tried to calm the unease he felt deep down. His worst fears beginning to come true. He was always cautious. He never took photographs like the rest of the family. He tried his best not to give his name out. But he threw every bit of common sense out of the way the moment he met Y/N. He used his real name. He had gotten his picture taken. All of his own rules he had adhered to for 2 years were broken in one night. He never looked back.

He was thirteen when he died. He spent 5 years training and operating in Gotham before Bruce found him. He had changed a lot since then. His adoption wasn’t as publicized as Dick’s was. Jason’s name had hardly even been mentioned in the papers. It was going to take a lot of detective work to try and piece everything together.

Who was going to believe that he came back from the dead?

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

As soon as I opened my door I was met by Jason. I planned on sneaking away and meeting him. It would be easier to get away then to hide in my own home. The press frequented the streets, everyone hoping to make the next headline. “Please, come in. I’m so sorry-”

“Do you want this?” He asked quickly. I blinked in shock as I tried to get an answer out. I knew exactly what he was asking. He wanted to know if I had feelings for him.

Growing up I always thought we were going to be inseparable. I took it hard after he left. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why. People will come and go, that’s just the way it is. I just never expected him to go because I loved him. And I thought he loved me too.

I tried hard to push away my feelings until they finally went away. But some nights, I laid awake thinking about what could’ve been. What if I told him how I felt, would he have stayed? My biggest regret was never telling him how I felt. Now he was standing in front of me asking if I had feelings for him.

But now, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He hated being in the spotlight. but that was my entire life. Every move I made was put on public display. I traveled a lot, and my schedule was spastic. I would be in different times zones for months at a time.

Jason looked at me pleading. His blue eyes never broke contact with mine. “You don’t want to come in?” I offered, as I looked past him to assure there were no reporters. He stayed in place. I realized he wanted to answer here and now. I sighed, and closed my eyes.

“Of course I do, Jason.” I whispered. My eyes were still closed. I was too afraid to open them. What if I had just ruined everything? Jason placed his hands on either side of my face. I slowly opened my eyes.

“I do too.” He continued, “And I’m going to stop letting other people dictate how I live my life.” He leaned in and pressed his lips against mine.

“We’re going to figure this out. I promise.” He whispered against my lips.

“Come on, we’re giving the neighbors a show.” I said, making Jason chuckle. I took his hand and we walked inside, ready to handle whatever came next.

#jason todd reader insert #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #Jason Todd #Jason Peter Todd #red hood imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #batboys #Red Hood X y/n #red hood x you #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader

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kairos-polaris · 3 years

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Revelations and not so secret crushes

A little gift for @bunathebunny . Also @miraculousmelodies , like I promised

People make mistakes all the time. And it's okay! Failure is a part of progress and if you never fail, then you don't do anything at all.

One may argue that mistaking potions for milk and eating someone's special macaroons wasn't this type of mistake. "He should have been more careful," they say. But did you try to make coffee in a kitchen littered with potions while also being sleep deprived? No? Thought so.

The last paragraph was specifically written for Dick's younger brothers, Jason Todd and Tim Drake. Those two decided that it was a great idea to make fun of their dearest elder brother and his very unfortunate mistake. And even if Tim was perfectly aware of struggles that came with making coffee while being sleep deprived, he didn't have to worry that white liquid may be a potion, not milk.

But in the end Dick was very grateful for that small mistake. It has resolved several conflicts and had very unpredictable consequences.

***

It was morning. Just a normal winter morning. You know, when it's too dark and far too cold and you don't want to leave your bed? That was a morning like that.

Normal men don't get up at six a.m but Richard "Dick" Grayson wasn't one. And it's good, because his family was neither normal nor sane.

"Being normal is boring," his girlfriend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, would say. If it were someone else, Dick would wholeheartedly agree with them while hanging upside down from the chandelier in the manor.

But because it was Marinette, Dick had to immediately assume she hasn't been sleeping or eating healthy for the last 48 hours. Usually, he was wrong, but he did enjoy taking care of her.

Another proof that shows how much Dick Grayson isn't a normal or sane man is vigilantism. You see, normal people deal with trauma by talking about it with a therapist or their friends. And do you know what did Dick do? He donned his family's colour and decided to beat up criminals. What a great idea! And Bruce Wayne allowed it because, apparently, fighting crime is an appropriate hobby for a nine-year-old boy. (Don't worry, Brucie, we know that Dick Grayson is too stubborn and he forced you to make him your sidekick, we don't blame you much)

No matter how much not normal or insane Dick was, he was a good man who wanted to help people. That's why he didn't complain to Bruce about being tired after patrols. Much.

It didn't mean he didn't complain to Marinette though. Hugs and kisses were an added bonus to her being a very good listener. But that morning Marinette was too busy to even notice him. Dick tried his hardest to swallow his disappointment. He knew how important every commission was to Marinette. It was her passion and her life.

He sighed with the most miserable expression he could muster but Marinette didn't even look up. She continued sewing and ignoring his brilliant performance. Dick huffed with annoyance. How could she ignore him when he was sitting on their bed looking so sad and exhausted and hot?

***

Kitchen was the best room in their apartment. It was also the safest one because of Marinette's protection charms and spells. There was always a faint smell of pastry and delicious food.

Preparing coffee was completely mechanical. His tiredness didn't let him comprehend his own actions. That's why he didn't notice the strange taste of the drink as he should have.

Dick immediately felt better after finishing his coffee. He felt like a burden was lifted from his shoulders. It made him think about Marinette. His lovely girlfriend. He wanted to, no, he craved to see her. He could bet she smelled amazing.

Marinette was still working when he entered their room (she preferred her bedroom to any office). His heart swelled with tenderness at the image before him. Marinette was biting her lip, strands of hair in her face. She was also wearing his sweater, which made him roll his eyes, because it was the very same sweater he had lost. She was so concentrated that she didn't even notice him entering their bedroom.

Dick slowly approached Marinette to not spook her. "I love you, Cupcake," he confessed out of blue. Marinette jumped at the sound of his voice making Dick cringe internally. "I'm sorry for startling you, Mari." The woman just laughed and took off her glasses. Apparently, sewing in deem light isn't good for your eyes. And how could she know that?

"No, don't be sorry. I should pay more attention to my surroundings," Marinette suddenly stopped mid sentence. "I'm sorry for ignoring you earlier, Birdy. Do you want a hug?" Dick grinned at her offer and immediately scooped her in his arms.

"I know it's been a stressful week. What do you think about staying in bed the whole day? We can watch a movie. We can watch the Ladybug one and make fun of inaccuracies. Or any other superhero movie," he ranted excitedly. Marinette laughed a little and pulled back slightly. Dick's was adorable, but Marinette had a feeling that he wouldn't appreciate her laugh.

"I have to finish this dress for Clara, you know that," Marinette sighed tiredly. She really wanted to take a break and spend the day with her boyfriend. He always knew when she was too tired to continue working. Maybe, today was a day like that?

It was unfair to keep Marinette from her passion and Dick knew it. But! He wanted to spend some time with his wonderful girlfriend. It wasn't his fault she was the cutest person he has ever met. And he still couldn't make her choose between her passion and him. Dick sighed and started moving slowly to let Marinette out.

"Hey, I didn't say no," Marinette laughed at his hopeful gaze. "Yes, I would really like to spend more time with you."

And that's how Marinette found herself suffocating in a tight grip of her boyfriend. She actually didn't mind it. Feeling his weight on her body was the best feeling ever. It reminded her that he was with her, grounded her, when she was too concentrated on her work.

Marinette didn't really focus on the movie that was playing. Something was off and she couldn't focus. Dick was talking but she couldn't understand a word so focused on her feelings.

"...Marinette? Marinette?" Dick's worried voice drew her out of haze. She could see concern in his eyes so she tried smiling as reassuring as possible. Dick didn't seem convinced but hard lines on his face relaxed a little bit.

"I'm sorry. I dozed off. Cuddling with you always makes me sleepy, you know that." Dick sighed and hugged her even tighter. "What were you talking about?"

"I wanted your opinion about the next Titan's mission. You see, Wally has offered this strategy…"

Marinette listened to his every word very attentively. His excitement was obvious in every line and small movement. He was proud of Wally and his ideas, he wanted to share it with her.

"Do you know that you've spent more time complimenting Wally than actually relaying his strategy?" Marinette asked with a teasing smile. His face and neck were immediately covered with red spots.

"I… I… I have a crush on Wally!" Dick blurted out and Marinette felt like all air from her lungs disappeared. Colour left Dick's face immediately after realising what he had said. He started babbling how much he loved her, how important she was for him, he kissed her cheeks and hands. But all Marinette could focus on was that… she had lost a bet. Jason would be unbearable for the next several weeks. Or maybe even months. Marinette shuddered at the thought.

"Marinette, please, say something. Please. I'm sorry," Dick was clearly panicking and for a moment Marinette wanted to prank him. Pretend that she was hurt and then explain that it was because of her bet with Jason. But it felt too cruel, so she took his hand and smiled reassuringly.

"I knew it," she said, and Dick's bewildered expression was worth her honesty. "And it's okay, because it's possible to love multiple people at the same time. You loving Wally doesn't mean you don't love me." Dick stayed still for a long moment before leaning to her and knocking her breath out with a kiss. Marinette tried to lean away but he chased her lips every time, continuing kissing her.

"I love you so much. I don't know what I have done to deserve someone like you, but I will keep you until the end of the Universe," he whispered into her lips when they finally pulled a part.

"I love you, too. And falling for you felt like the easiest thing in the world," she said breathlessly, making Dick snort. He let out an involuntary whine when she leaned even further away.

"Why were you so upset?" Dick asked after several minutes of silence. Marinette murmured something into his shirt but he couldn't understand a word. "Can you repeat it please? I didn't understand a word you've said."

"Because I've lost a bet," she repeated just barely louder, but thankfully Dick heard her clearly this time.

"A bet?" he asked with the most confused and bewildered expression possible.

"You see, both Jason and I knew about your crush on Wally. And one day we were bored, so we started talking about you two. Jason said that you would blurt it out during an inappropriate moment but I thought you would sit me down and explain everything. So now, because of you I will have to give Jason 10 dollars," Marinette explained, carefully gouging hir reaction.

Dick prepared himself to hear a lot of different explanations. They varied from "I was surprised and didn't know how to react" to "I am unhappy with this and everything I said was for your comfort". He did not expect that the reason for her surprise was a bet. A bet. With his brother. His brother who also knew about his crush on Wally.

"How… How did you two find out? I thought I was doing a great job concealing my baby crush."

"Oh, it was so hard! You totally don't look at him with a stupid lovesick grin. And you totally don't laugh at his stupid jokes. You don't hold hands and touch each other all the time. You don't look both at me and him when you make jokes or laugh. Oh no! You do all of that and more!" Marinette exclaimed with a fake surprise.

"...I do?" Dick asked, his voice so small. "And you really don't mind it?"

"I really don't mind. As I said before, I'm secure in our relationship and I know that you love me. Also, I really like Wally. You have a good taste," Dick's smile at her words was brighter than thousands of suns. He picked her up and started spinning her around. Marinette's laugh filled their apartment, and in that moment Dick knew everything was going to be alright.

***

Later, much later, Dick was panicking. Everything sounded so easy when Marinette was with him. "Just go and confess to him,"she said. "I'm sure he feels the same," Marinette said, patient as ever, when Dick was panicking about every possible negative outcome.

"What if he rejects me? What if he wants me to break up with you?" he asked Marinette then. He tugged his hair from the frustration, but Marinette just smiled and took his hands.

"If he rejects you, I will hold you until you feel better. We will eat ice cream and watch cheesy movies. And Wally is a good person, I'm sure he would never ask us to break up." Dick briefly thanked all gods for giving him Marinette before leaning in to kiss her.

"I love you," he murmured into her lips.

But now he was alone in their apartment, because, unlike him, Marinette had a job to do. Dick sighed the tenth time in a row. He didn't have to worry about Marinette's reaction to his confession, because she was the one who had asked him out. "I don't hesitate anymore," she had said with a brilliant smile.

Well, Dick knew one thing for sure: he was a coward and would never confess to Wally without Marinette being there. And he couldn't ask anyone for advice. How does one explain that they are in love with two people at the same time? Should he just google it?

His musings were interrupted by a series of long knocks and a loud voice. Was it Jason screaming. "Hey, Dickhead, asking someone to hangout with you and then not showing up is such a dick move!" Yes, that was Jason. Dick scowled before remembering that he had invited Jason and Tim to spend time together.

He grinned and leaped out of the bedroom. Hanging out with his brothers would be a perfect excuse to not confess to Wally! A great timing on their part.

"Hey, guys..!" he was rudely interrupted by a shirt thrown into his face.

"Get dressed, Dickie bird. I don't want to see proofs of you and Pixie having a healthy sexual life." Dick flushed bright red when he realized that he was naked. He ran back to his bedroom followed by both Tim's and Jason's laugh. God, how embarrassing.

***

Wally was bored. He felt like he could die from boredom. And the day had started so nicely. He woke up early and prepared himself a very tasty cup of tea. Wally finished every small task around his apartment. He started reading several different books but none of them piqued his interest. There was nothing interesting on TV.

Wally sighed again. And again. And again. He felt like an aristocrat, laying on his coach with a wine glass full of water in his hand. The only thing missing was a manor. And nicer clothes. And servants. And wine. Actually, a lot of things were missing.

Jason's invitation to hangout felt like a blessing. Finally, something interesting to do. His heart totally didn't flutter in his chest when he found out that Dick would be there, too. No, sir, no. Dick was his best friend and nothing more. He was also dating Marinette, Wally's another very good friend.

Wally was the first one to arrive at the bar Dick had offered to meet in. It took all of his mental strength to not start bouncing from all the energy.

"Hi, Wally," Wally's smile dimmed a little when he realized it was Jason, not Dick. "I thought Dickie would be here first. You know, considering it was his idea."

Wally nodded at Jason's words. He thought he would have at least several minutes alone with Dick, who seemed to avoid him lately. And if he did pay attention to Wally, Marinette would always be there. It wasn't a bad thing per se, because Marinette was amazing, but Wally wanted some alone time with his best bro.

"I wonder why," Wally mussed at loud. Jason smiled in agreement and started talking about neutral themes. Wally could do that. After a day of pure boredom everything was interesting.

Twenty minutes later Tim was there, but Dick was nowhere in sight. Wally frowned. Did something happen? Dick would never miss family hangouts.

"You are late, Replacement," Jason chided Tim, conveniently forgetting he himself came later. Wally laughed at the sheer hypocrisy, but it was a very Jason move.

"Well, Dick is not here, so I don't think it counts," Tim shrugged. He was holding a half-empty cup of coffee (what else could it be?) and clearly needed more sleep. Wally internally shook his head. Sleeping as little as Tim was surely wasn't good for his health. Where were Dick and Bruce looking?

"Where is Dick anyway?" Jason asked, letting out an annoyed huff. "Did he do that so Timmy and I could hang out together? Not a very smart move, because I can just leave now and he will never know."

"He could have just forgotten about it," Wally suggested. He was met with two doubtful gazes. "Yeah, it's very unlikely. Something has happened and he can't leave?"

"Why didn't he say anything then?" Jason asked. He was leaning down on the wall of the bar with a small frown. "We should call him or Marinette."

"Marinette is working so she can't know where he is. We should call Dick directly," Tim said, already holding his phone. He was the one who dialed Dick, but Dick didn't answer not after the first call, nor the second, nor the third. Wally was worried. Dick always answered when someone called. Something must have happened.

"I was right. We should go and check on him. Should we walk or should I run to his apartment?" Wally asked, worry laced in his voice.

"Let's ride. I parked my car nearby," Tim said and turned around, walking to his car. Wally looked at Jason who just shrugged and went after Tim. Well, it seemed like he didn't have a choice then.

The ride to Dick's apartment felt longer than it should have. Wally was burning from all the anxious energy. What if something has happened to Dick? What if they were too late? What if Dick just didn't want to see them? Wally didn't know what would hurt more.

The apartment's doors were locked, which was a good sign. It meant that nobody had broken inside. It also meant that they couldn't enter. Fortunately, Tim had his own key so it wasn't a problem. ("Marinette gave it to me," Tim answered Wally's silent question. "She wanted me to know that I'm always welcome here". "Oh, Pixie didn't give me my own key! Does she not want to see my handsome face?" Jason asked more dramatically than needed. Wally totally wasn't disappointed that he didn't have his own key. It didn't mean that Dick didn't trust him, right?)

The apartment was clean, no visible signs of someone breaking in. Wally looked around, trying to find some clues that would help to understand the situation. Jason yelled something, but Wally didn't pay enough attention to understand him.

Wally turned around at the sound of Dick's voice only to look away immediately. He did not expect to see Dick naked. Wally blushed, thinking about the man's muscles and biceps, small scars on his chest and arms, scratches, and hickeys… Wally paled immediately. Oh, yes, hickeys, because Dick Grayson, his best friend, was dating Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Wally couldn't let himself forget.

It was easier to think after Dick had left. Now, Wally didn't have to use all of his mental strength to not ogle his best friend. Wally wondered why he had reacted this way. It's not like he had never seen Dick naked before. "You saw him when you were changing. You were both naked then. But here, it's much more intimate," his traitorous mind whispered.

"I'm not waiting for the golden boy to get dressed. I'm going to the kitchen. Pixie always has something sweet there," Jason said and walked out of the living room. Wally looked at Tim who just shrugged and followed his brother. Well, it seemed like he had no choice but to go to the kitchen.

The room was full of light and delicious smells. The table was littered with numerous vials, pastry, herbs, and other things Wally couldn't identify. He breathed out, feeling more relaxed than ever, despite his complicated feelings. Marinette's presence and influence were obvious there, and she always had the way to make people feel better. She was just magic that way.

"Wally! I didn't know you were here," Dick's excited voice interrupted his thoughts. Wally didn't even hear him coming in. Do not think about his body. Do not think about his body. Do not think about his body. "I'm really sorry about forgetting our hangout. I'm deeply ashamed."

"You wish I said "it's okay, I forgive you". But I won't! I will always tease you about it, so get ready!" said Jason, while rummaging through a freezer. "Where is milk, Dickhead? I wanted to make a cup of tea for myself, but I can't find anything here."

"Oh, we ran out of milk," Dick replied easily before a panicked expression settled on his face. "Wait… If we ran out of milk, then what did I add to my coffee this morning?"

"Welp, I hope it wasn't one of Marinette's potions," Wally offered sympathetically, but one look at Dick's panicked expression hinted that it was most likely what had happened. And wasn't that funny? Judging by Jason's laugh, he also thought it was hilarious.

"We can call her and ask about the effects of that particular potion?" Tim offered, trying to be serious but burst out laughing. Dick did not appreciate the lack of concern from his brothers. What if the potion hurt him and the effects could never be reversed? "It's very funny, but we really should call Marinette. We don't know how it can affect Dick. It could be really harmful," Tim said after calming down. Even Jason stopped laughing.

They did call Marinette. It must have been the smartest decision in several hours. But she didn't answer. Calling her five more times didn't help. They just were directed to voicemail. Marinette's cheery voice telling them "Hi! You've reached Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I'm very sorry, but I'm busy and can't answer you right now. You can leave me a message and I will call you later! Bye!" didn't help.

"And what should we do?" Wally asked, interrupting the awkward silence. Well, it wasn't awkward per se, but Jason desperately trying and failing to suppress his laugh did make Dick feel uncomfortable.

"You can try and recall everything that happened. This way we can know how exactly the potion affected you," Tim offered with a small shrug. "Start from the morning and up until this moment."

"I was really tired after patrol last night, so I tried complaining to Marinette, but she was too busy so she ignored me. I decided to make a cup of coffee. I actually felt better after it, but I had this strange need to go and hug Marinette, tell her how much I love her." Wally totally didn't feel a pang in his chest. He wasn't jealous. He didn't want Dick to confess to him, because they were best friends and nothing more.

"What happened next? Or are you hiding something?" Seemingly innocent questions (especially, considering it was Jason who asked) flustered Dick so much he was completely red. He's so handsome…no, bad, Wally, stop. "Oh, you are hiding something."

"Marinette and I cuddled, while watching movies," Dick answered, still as red as a tomato. "And then we had sex!"

Wally wasn't jealous Wally wasn't jealous Wally wasn't jealous Wally wasn't jealous Wally wasn't… Oh, he was so jealous

This time silence was certainly awkward. Very awkward. Dick was burning from embarrassment. Wally was trying to convince himself he wasn't jealous. Tim was thinking about anything other than his brother's love life.

And only Jason was amused. The day was working out great for him. He won 10 dollars. Yes, it wasn't much, but the satisfaction of winning the bet with Marinette was worse so much more. It would be even better if Dick blurted out that he has a crush on Wally with him nearby. But it seemed that his dearest older brother would rather embarrass himself than confess.

"Is it everything? Because I think you have left out something," but Dick just glared at him. Well, time for big guns. "Were you and Pixie talking about something? Something very important? Something that will have a big influence on your relationship?" he then feigned a scandalised gasp. "Did you confess that you have cheated on her?! Did you cheat on Marinette?!"

Dick's glare was the funniest thing in the world, and Jason's snickers just made him angrier. "Nothing like! I just told her that I have a crush on Wally!" His satisfied expression slowly morphed into one of shock. "I meant to say that I had told her about my crush on Wally! No, not that! About patrol! Yes, patrol!"

"Your crush on me?" Wally asked, his voice small and soft. He clearly was shocked by Dick's confession. He looked even more surprised than Dick was. "Are you serious?"

Tim felt like he was in a tv drama. Secret crushes? Check? Oblivious main characters? Check? Mean brother Jason? Check. The drama of the reveal? Check. Friends to lovers? Check? Another love interest? Check. The only difference was Marinette. That woman certainly wasn't the "evil and annoying wife". He briefly wondered how she had reacted, but judging that Dick was still alive she was very nice.

"How unpredictable, how surprising," Jason stage whispered, leaning down to Tim. This time both Wally and Dick glared, which was somehow even more amusing. Even Tim was cackling.

"Get out of here. I… Wally and I have to talk about my stupid slip. Go!" Dick shouted, basically throwing them out of the kitchen. Tim and Jason exchanged a knowing look and burst out laughing. Knowing that it pissed Dick off made them laugh even harder.

Dick didn't know what to say or how to react. He wanted to wait for Marinette to confess to Wally. She would know what to say and how to explain his feelings better than he could ever do. Her presence would give him strength and courage. He didn't want to blurt it out. Again. He was an idiot and Wally would never like him back.

"So, you like me?" Wally asked with a nervous chuckle. His crush liked him. His crush liked him. His crush liked him. Wally could not believe it was real and he wasn't dreaming.

"I..yes. Yes, I do," Dick stated, more confident than before. "You are smart, amazing, and incredible. You have a beautiful smile that lights up every room. Your plans are brilliant, but you don't always see it. You are very important to me so yes, I like you."

Wally felt like his head was spinning from Dick's compliments and the sincerety in his eyes. Blush rised to his cheeks. He was at loss of words. How should he react?! Compliment him back?

"I… I really like you, too," Wally finally answered, his throat dry from nerves. Dick broke in a brilliant, brighter than the sun grin. "How did Marinette react to that?"

"Do you want her exact words or just generally?" Dick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Generally."

"Well, she said that polyamory exists and that me loving you doesn't mean I love her any less," Dick answered with the same gentle smile he always had when talking about Marinette. But this time Wally didn't feel envious or jealous. Dick suddenly looked more nervous than before. "Would you date me? You don't have to date Marinette, but I don't want to break up with her, you know?"

Wally didn't know. He has heard about polyamory and open relationships before, of course. He didn't know what to do or how to act. Would he and Marinette have to share Dick? Would they have a schedule, so they could spend time with Dick? Would they have to be together all the time? But Wally did know that honesty was important in every type of relationship so he took a deep breath and explained everything to Dick.

"Well, neither I nor Marinette have the experience of dating two people at once, so we will have to figure it out. Trials and errors, you know?" Dick offered with a small 0shrug. He looked away, suddenly more nervous than before. His main concern was confessing to Wally, he didn't think how the whole thing would work. "We can try anyway."

"We can try, yeah," Wally repeated with a small smile.

"Now kiss!" Jason groaned from annoyance and lack of patience. Dick felt blush from embarrassment (the amount of times he blushed today was concerning). Jason was not affected by his glare at all. "Well, I'm waiting. Marinette wanted to see your first kiss and I promised her to take a picture," he said gesturing to his phone.

"We won't kiss on camera. We can wait for Marinette," he growled before realising that he hadn't asked Wally how he would feel. Dick could hope the sudden realisation wasn't obvious, but judging by Jason's and Tim's expressions they both have noticed. Nothing to lose then. "Would you mind kissing me with Marinette there? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Wally was silent for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly. "We can try, I guess," he said before realising one very crucial detail Dick had missed. "When did you two return? Because I remember Dick throwing you out of here."

"When Dick confessed to you? I'm not sure," Tim said with the same tone one would discuss weather, not their brother's love life. Jason nodded in agreement. "Now, we can leave you two alone. Right, Jason?"

"Eh, we all have to make sacrifices for the happiness of our elder brothers," Jason said with a dramatic gasp, but nothing new, nothing new. "Let's go, Timmy, let's go. We are not welcome here." Wally could swear he had heard Tim mutter "it's not like I am the one who suggested to leave" under his breath.

"So, are we waiting for Marinette?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. God, having Dick's undivided attention and being completely alone with him was a nerve-wracking experience. Wally locked his eyes on Dick's lips. They looked even better than usual. Was it because he could kiss him now? Must be. "No, I wanted to kiss you for too long to wait even a second more," Dick murmured before leaning towards Wally.

Kissing Dick blew up his mind. It wasn't something Wally hoped would ever happen but desperately wanted to. Dick's lips were a little bit chapped, just enough to notice but not enough to make their kiss uncomfortable. Wally didn't want to lean away even for a second to take a breath. If it was his last kiss with Dick (and it certainly wasn't), he would enjoy for as long as he could.

"It was just like I imagined it," Wally blurted out when they stopped kissing. He felt breathless and higher than ever.

"So you imagined kissing me?" Dick asked with a smug smile. "Well, I am me and I'm awesome."

"Where was the confidence when you were panicking about confessing to Wally?" Dick and Wally immediately wiped their head towards the voice. There was standing Marinette with a teasing smile and a Polaroid in her hands. "Don't worry! I wasn't standing here creepily and watching you two make out! I just took a photo and left immediately. Didn't want to intrude," she explained upon noticing Dick's and Wally's reaction.

"Why did you take a photo?" asked Dick.

"For my scrapbook, my heart. I have a photo of our first kiss, our first date, from the day we moved in, and when we finally organized everything. And I wanted to have photos of every important milestone in your relationship, too," Marinette explained, while moving gracefully around the kitchen. Her chaotic moves seemed to have a complicated system Dick couldn't understand.

Wally… didn't know what to say. Sure, he knew that Marinette wasn't against their relationship, but he didn't expect her to be so supportive and kind. He felt warmth bloom in his chest. He wasn't in love with Marinette, but right at that moment, in hers and Dick's cluttered kitchen, he felt like falling for her was the easiest thing ever.

But they still had some questions for Marinette to answer.

"Marinette, you love me, right?" Dick waited for Marinette to nod in agreement before continuing talking. "I may or may not have drunk one of your potions! But it was an accident!"

Marinette sighed tiredly. Then she sighed again. And again. And again. Wally stopped counting after five consecutive sighs. She pinched the bridge of her nose before talking again. "It's okay. I shouldn't leave my potions in the kitchen if I don't want anyone to accidentally drink them. I'm not mad, not disappointed. Accidents happen and it's not your fault. I just need you to tell me from what vial you took it and how it affected you, okay?"

It didn't take long for Marinette fo realise what potion Dick had taken. And when she did, she burst out laughing. Unfortunately, Dick and Wally didn't share her knowledge of magic, so they couldn't appreciate the irony of the situation without her help.

"I've been trying to make a way to free kwami. Tbe potion you've drunk? It's a result of my experiments. It didn't free kwami but it freed you," Marinette explained before laughing again. And this time Dick and Wally did join her.

#maribat #dickinette #birdflashbug #birdflash #fluff #and even more fluff #love confessions and oblivious idiots #I hope it's a good gift

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poepoe-thebunny · 4 years

Text

Damien The Littlest Brother

Or: Stuff Damian does with his siblings.

Dick

Dick in some ways was another form of idolization for Damian. Damian was so very young when they first met, younger still when Ra's and the league sunk their teeth into his heart and tried their best to tear it to shreds. Dick's role, part sibling part guardian, was the first major form of stability Damian had. Little Damian had been born with the mythos of The Bat hanging overhead, and the hope of measuring up to first his grandfather's and then his father's standards had nearly broken him.

Like a lot of children Damian didn't necessarily understand or appreciate what Dick was trying to do for him until he was older. But just like other children Damian clung to the emotional support and care Dick gave him, the care he had so often been deprived of.

Damian wasn't necessarily there for the events that shaped Dick and the rest of their family, but he is growing up in the aftereffects of it. Dick chose to give Damian the love he deserved, Dick chose not to punish a child for the situation he was born into. But Dick isn't perfect. He loses his temper, he gets frustrated, he gets things wrong, he makes mistakes, he bleeds. Dick, at least initially, was real and human in a way Bruce wasn't to a little boy who already had his future decided for him.

While he may not admit it, Damian looks up to Dick because in a lot of ways Dick is a better person than most. Dick is a good man, a better man than Bruce in some ways. He shows Damian what a hero actually is, and that the concept of being a hero isn't tied to the suit. Dick shows Damian that he can and is a good person, that he can make those decisions for himself and that his own emotional needs are not anything to be ashamed of. Damian is a boy first, not a weapon.

So Damian leans into his affection. There are shared naps after patrol, and days out getting ice cream or going to the zoo. Damian wakes a tired Dick up with a pillow to the face, and pillow fights and laughter ensues. Dick comes along to the school showcases, where an embarrassed Damian has pictures and paintings of their family up for all to see. He never once mocks Damian's desires, instead listening with seriousness to every moment of Damian's vulnerability.

That's what sticks with Damian the most. That Dick wholeheartedly believes Damian is a good person, that Damian can be good and kind and soft. He sees Damian fumble with his cool demeanor, growing shy and embarrassed when chatting with students his own age. Damian knows the names of most of his classmates, takes down random details that shouldn't be important to a stranger "We're NOT friends Grayson," but Damian talks to the youngest students about animals, and how to properly hold puppies. Damian has lists of underfunded animal shelters and regularly sends them to Bruce and Tim when preparations for the Wayne Foundation charity events come up. Damian knows most of the officers in Bludhaven since he occasionally stops by with something for Dick, a late lunch or hot drink or Dick's spare clothes in case he needs out of his police uniform. After many coos, head pats and cheek pinches, Damian is occasionally "babysat" by some of them while Dick is out on patrol of the police variety. He does not realize how much he has charmed Dick's co-workers, talking about his pets or his brothers.

Dick is the kind of hero, the kind of person, Damian was told wasn't real. That heroes were childish nonsense, that mercy and love were weak. The concept that someone could love him, that he was deserving of love instead of being forced to earn it, was foreign. But Dick Grayson was all of that. So Damian puts up less and less of a fight over the silly pictures they take together. Dick buys books about animals, and Damian grudgingly wears the cute stupid animal ear headbands Dick buys him. While part of Damian knows he won't be, the part that viciously beats "heroes" and "love" and "ice cream" back with a vengeance, another part of Damian, a very small fragile part, thinks that maybe if he grew up becoming like Dick Grayson the Person (TM) it wouldn't be so bad. "Awww thanks Dami!"

Jason:

Next to Tim, the Cain Instincts are strongest with Jason. Jason is constantly ruffling his hair, calling him names, and sitting on him. Jason does not give a single iota of a damn for any sort of authority except Alfred. Jason is not afraid of Damian.

So when Damian latches onto Jason's neck ready to strangle him, he laughs like it's the best thing he's ever seen, and a wrestling match ensues. They bond over it, over the goading and the competition.

They bond over books too, over stories and musicals and words Damian shouldn't care about but he does. Damian says he's too old for fairy tales even though he never had them to begin with, never had stories told when tucked into bed unless it was for a harsh life lesson. And yet Damian will find books as gifts for Jason, and Jason will read them aloud after Damian annoys him by pressing his feet into Jason's side. He swears up and down that the exaggerated voices and accented narration from Jason are done purely to annoy him. Damian constantly interrupts him, always asking questions and Jason tells him to shut up and be patient, "learn to listen demon brat."

They watch Disney and Ghibli, Laika and Illumination, and after a very enlightening conversation with one Tim Drake, Jason introduces Damian to theater. From Antigone to Romeo and Juliet, from West Side Story to Hadestown to Heathers the Musical. Bruce has walked in on them recreating various iconic sword fights too many times to count, quoting lines while dressed in blanket robes and crowns made of craft feathers and stick on jewels. Alfred thorough enjoys their riveting performances.

Like a lion teaching his cubs through play, Jason teaches him that he's never too mature for anything and screw anyone else who doesn't like it. Jason teaches him fun in a way Damian never allowed himself to have before, to look past his mission, and do things for enjoyment. He teaches Damian defiance and rebellion, two very important things for him to learn even if it's only interrupting rude rich people and disagreeing with his father over whether he needs to attend another gala.

Damian and Jason have a strange relationship, and initially aren't quite sure how to act around one another. Such large parts of their identity and experiences were formed by an indirect overlapping influence. Jason's death and the effect it had on the family and how they treat Damian, Jason's time with the league and the lazarus pit. But at the same time they understand each other in a way some of their other siblings don't. The strength and struggle in establishing their independence and identity means that their grudging respect turns into fondness with time.

Tim:

It appears that Cain Instincts don't particularly care if one is related or not, given the sheer amount of times Tim and Damian are at each other's throats initially. But with time they settle and grow more comfortable with each other, the words turn from anger to a grumbly sort of discontent, like irritated puppy's more than anything.

They bond over pride. They bond over failure. The two aren't that different really. They've seen each other at their worst. Missions with too many close calls, where the knife wounds cut too close and the bullets bit to deep, when the snap of Gotham's jaw came to close to closing over them and the only thing saving Gotham's Rogues from the collective wrath of two angry Robin's was the weight of their family's morals.

They had to learn to trust each other. But they do.

The insults are more to fill the silence, partially affection and partially with the need to annoy. They watch reruns of Star Trek and play Legend of Zelda in pajama pants (Tim) and hoody's (Damian), half draped over each other with his feet in Tim's lap. When Damian couldn't find one to his satisfaction, he gifted Tim a new skateboard with his own hand drawn and painted design. He sends a video to the family group chat of him laughing when Tim faceplants.

They are the DEFINITION of annoying to each other. Damian chucks clothes at Tim to make him shower, they get into slap fights over breakfast, they sneer at each other's drinks. "With all the coffee it's no wonder you don't grow Drake," While handing a sick Tim herbal tea for his throat.

It's an underlying trust that rarely needs to be affirmed. But when it does Damian won't hesitate to let his opinion be known. Whether it be high school bullies mocking his gangly brother, reporters trying to pit the "blood son" against the "Boy CEO", or shady members of the Gotham elite with too much interest in his family and his company, Damian's blunt attitude comes back with a vengeance. There will be no Wayne Charm, no shop talk, no backhanded compliments, when Damian Wayne gets between them and his brother. It's "I trust my brother," and "No business with the likes of you," or even "When I said you two weren't on the same level, I meant that you were the incompetent one."

Tim always tries to scold him, tells him he shouldn't be petty, I can protect myself demon, but he smiles while he says it.

Stephanie

She teases him mercilessly, will smile sweetly while "blackmailing" him and challenges him to do things he has never done before. Damian won't admit he enjoys any of it even upon threat of death. She's loud, annoying, and demanding and unapologetically so and Damian is convinced she was dropped on her head as a child. Stephanie is his sister and he loves her as a younger brother would, hurling insults at each other while fighting over french fries drinking smoothies in some fast food restaurant at 2 in the afternoon on a day out.

What strikes him about Stephanie is that she demands respect because she knows on a fundamental level that she deserves it, that all of her hard work was her own and she knew she could do it even when everyone else thought she didn't belong. As he grows Damian comes not only to admire her, but finds this a very important lesson to learn for himself.

Stephanie pushes him, she encourages him even if it's hidden under mutually shared insults. On days where she "babysits him" (she does not, Damian tells himself he doesn't need a babysitter he doesn't) she's perfectly happy to work on their motorcycles together, or have random picnics in the park with bags of fast food, or challenge him to rounds of ping pong. They learn eventually that they make a very good team together. Either destroying Tim and Jason in video games, the occasional local ping pong or DDR tournament when visiting Gotham U, or spur of the moment plans in a night time fight. Stephanie is crazy enough to believe it will work, and Damian is crazy enough to believe Stephanie will follow.

Stephanie understands what it feels like to constantly have to justify yourself, to be told you can't measure up and that you're place isn't here, even though you know it is. To have the weight of your family's decisions hanging overhead for the judgment of others.

So they learn to love each other through healthy competition and teasing remarks. Stephanie shoos him off to "talk to kids your own age, don't be so serious!". It's normal, in some ways the closest to normal Damian has had in a long time. And though they won't say it out loud, it's nice to know someone else agrees that they are entitled to these moments of happiness, these moments they were stripped of and denied for so long. They believe in each other and their right to happiness. Damian will never doubt Stephanie's strength, as spoiler or Batgirl or robin or Stephanie, and in return she will never doubt him or his place in their family.

...

Even if that means trying to escape when she wants to play dress up. "I am not your doll Brown," "Fine fine, whatever you say short stack."

Cass:

The moments between Damian and Cass are silent, but if you believe nothing is said then you are entirely wrong. They speak to each other quite often even if they don't use words.

He watches her dance, and thinks she is so strong. Damian swears she could have been a princess in another life, if life had not sunk its fangs in and poisoned her with pain instead. Just as he would have been a prince. While he initially tried to hide it, Cass always knew he was there. Damian watches her. Damian hears her words, her joy and her tears, and puts it down on to charcoal and paper. I hear you, and he shows them to her, how her form litters his pages as she pats his head. There is, Damian thinks, a poetic irony in seeing something so dangerous create something so beautiful. She is art and deserves to be heard, and Damian is grateful that she hears him too. He lets her look at pages of charcoal and ink, at canvases of paint full of everything Damian can't put into words quite yet, and finds understanding.

But while he is a Wayne, he was an Al Ghul at one point and his mother gave him the training every prince should have, skills beyond his sword. So one day, as she stretches, he brings in a case and sets it down with a clunk. He tunes the strings and plays Tomaso Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor, as she watches him with eyes that understand far too much, eyes that say I know, I hear you baby brother. Damian almost wishes she didn't, partially due to the struggle of his own pride, but also because no one should ever have to understand that kind of pain.

Moments with Cass are quiet, but they are never silent. Cass teaches him understanding, helps teach him empathy. And while Damian knows he can never dance the way she can, he can play and sketch and paint and between them their secrets can no longer be secrets. Cass doesn't teach him how to feel ,no, he's always been too good at that. Instead she teaches him ways to coax them out when the words won't come, to look around him with the wonder he wasn't allowed to have before, to let him be defined by a different set of skills that shows he can create something beautiful too.

Duke:

Damien thinks Duke is "cool", like the kind of cool you see in movies and TV shows, the average teenage boys in jeans and sneakers who fight for the underdog and stand up to bullies in a 3-on-1 fight even if they know they won't win. There is a conviction in Duke that rivals Damian's own, and Damian can't help but admire someone willing to strike out on their own and do something when they felt others were failing.

Duke is "Chill" as Jason likes to say, he's low pressure and not pushy in a way that Damian appreciates. He's calm, not in the stoic way of some of the others, but in a way that doesn't put Damian out of his comfort zone with expectations.

Time spent with Duke often consists of puzzles and card games, or movies. Duke is very good at using Damian's own pride against him to "trick" him into playing, but together they do everything from DnD to Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters. It's relaxing.

Duke tells him about school and if Damian is having trouble with the more normal things of being a tween, like worrying whether other kids like him, or wearing something embarrasing, Duke brings him out of his own head. Duke plays along with his competitive nature, challenging him to races the few times they patrol together. He finds Damian outside drawing, and teaches him soccer. Other times they sit there together, Duke writing whatever comes to mind while Damian sketches. Damian gifts Duke a detailed portrait of himself; standing in the center of the crowded streets, body spliced into neat clockwork-style segments with patches of his Signal uniform, the red jacket from his time in the "We R Robin" crew, his sports uniforms, and casual clothing, the bright light of his powers bursting from within in a halo under the Gotham smog. He is Gotham's daylight protector, unique and gifted, and Damian respects that.

It's not easy, Damian is still young and cocky, still isn't very good at saying what he feels. But Duke sees right through his attempts to play it off, and it's always met with head pats and a "Whatever you say lil' D." Damian won't say it out loud but he thinks that the sheer conviction Duke has for doing what's right bleeds into every aspect of him, and that maybe with time it will do the same for himself. Damian admires his strength of will and determination, and the work Duke is willing to put in to get what he wants.

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heartless-error · 4 years

Text

Broken, not perfect, but together. - Chapter 10

Fandom: DC comics, Batman

Pairings: Jonathan Kent x Damian Wayne (JonDami) & Jason Todd x Timothy Drake (JayTim)

Rating/Tags: Family feels, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, running away, unresolved romantic tension

Other(s) links: AO3

Broken.

The Batfamily was broken.

It was six years ago, and they had barely stood together since then, trying to stand up despite guilt and regret.

Damian was sure there was nothing to save, not after losing something that he didn’t know he cared about. But when a new opportunity to get back what they had lost appeared, he cannot help to doubt as his past decisions haunt him again.

If you love somebody, set them free. But you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Chapter Summary: He knew he wasn't a good father, he had always knew. But he was trying, like always. And he knew he couldn't get rid of all his mistakes too, but at least he wasn't alone facing them. He had Clark, he always had Clark, even commiting the same mistakes.

Chapter 10

Six years ago

Contrary to what many people seemed to think, Bruce didn’t always have everything under control.

He was trying, what was different. With all his strength, every day, with all the means and knowledge he had. Even if it was never enough, over and over again. The key was in that, in trying. It didn’t matter how many doubts were around him, how many problems arose against him or how much they tried to stop him, he had to keep trying, to solve it, showing a calm and in control facade so others didn’t know how much his mistakes or indecision haunted him in every step he took.

Bruce knew there was no need to do it, to be so controlling or to bury his insecurities so deeply and hidden from anyone who dared to look. But he also knew where those problems came from, everything that had fed them, and what brought them to light.

The desire to control even what he couldn’t born in him from the moment in which the sound of the lifeless bodies of his parents resounded in that alley, that fateful night, and since then he lived with it. That desire to watch, intervene, and always be prepared for the worst grew as he did too, and became the man, the supposed hero, he’s now. And it was when those closest to him suffered or were injured by his decisions or failures, which reaffirmed more and more in his being.

That feeling, that need, was like a vine with thorns. Pointy, infinite, dangerous, and sturdy, rooted within him without any limit, pressing and suffocating him everywhere, ready to hang him. It scratched his scars so that he would always remember them, suffocated his mind so that he would never forget it, and strangled his soul and that of those around him, because it was a double-edged sword where the line of protecting or controlling was easily blurred.

He couldn't get rid of it either, because then, what would be left of him? He was Batman. Batman. The one who always had a plan, a contingency, who stood out for his critical sense and his mind, what always had another alternative. He was the one whom the others looked at when they were trapped in a situation with no way out, the one who kept calm in extreme situations, the one who was able to save the day or the world thanks to his control.

He couldn't lose that, but it's not like he wanted to, or knew how, either. So, doing his best was all that was left. Keep calm, control. He tries it.

He tried but the manor was quiet. He knew it wasn’t something unexpected after what happened three nights ago, but it kept worrying him because it was as if everything had turned off suddenly.

Damian's firm, light footsteps were no longer heard in the hallways, his youngest son hadn’t left his room since that night, he had also refused to receive anyone and was recovering from his sprained ankle. The soft Richard’s laugh had also vanished, he was like a ghost, he knew that he walked around the corridors from time to time because he couldn’t bear the confinement, but he was impossible to detect. Alfred's courtesy couldn’t be seen either, he knew that the man was not only angry, but that he respected his desire to be alone right now. The presence of his daughter, Cassandra, was also lying much in need, as much as she was silent in itself, her stay was always appreciated. Stephanie's jokes had been replaced by cautious and angry looks upon learning what happened. Barbara hadn't even deigned to answer him when he asked for a certain favor the night before. Timothy and Jason had fallen into complete silence, nothing unexpected.

It was afternoon, but Bruce was in his office in the manor, thinking about how the place he had managed to fill with laughs, footsteps, and life over the years was now as empty and silent as when Thomas and Martha Wayne died.

He hadn't moved much, from the big chair in front of the expensive office desk, because he was still thoughtful and analyzing the argument that had happened in the cave three days before.

Bruce knew he wasn’t a good father. Like all of him, he was trying, but he was very aware of reality. If someone asked him about the mistakes he had made regarding his children, he could list each and every one of them by heart, classify them by different categories, and then recite them out loud almost without thinking. This, obviously, was because he had them in his mind and insanely at all times and, of course, feed again those cravings for control that dominated him. The fear of losing them was too much, he couldn’t bear it, and that led him back to enter that infinite cycle that dominated his life.

The more he loved his children, the more he needed to protect them. That, in one way or another, involved controlling them and their environment, and the more he tried to do it, the more damage he did directly or indirectly. He always ended up failing, making mistakes. And these mistakes were present again, trying not to be repeated for then commit others instead.

He was also aware that most of his children hadn’t had an easy life. Everyone came to him as children whose circumstances had been difficult and unfavorable. He couldn’t be responsible for the trauma or abuse that others had done to them, he just helped to mitigate it, give them the happy, healthy home they deserved and tried to change things where possible. But at the end of the day, the adult who took responsibility for them was him, and definitely had made mistakes.

The worst and what tormented him most at the moment, is that if he listed those mistakes and removed the most obvious and indisputable of the list -how, for example, involve all of them in their crime crusade - most of them involved Tim and Jason in some way or another.

That certainly didn’t help him.

If he initially wouldn’t have been so hurt by Dick's departure to the Titans, perhaps he would have considered not controlling Jason the way he did when he adopted him or making the same mistakes as with his first child. If he hadn't been so convinced that the wounded but brave boy from the Bowery, needed Robin, he might not have felt like he needed to fill his older brother's shoes and run away later. If he had made it to Ethiopia in time, to the warehouse, Jason wouldn’t have died. If Jason hadn't died, he wouldn't have fallen into the spiral of self-destruction that Tim had to save him from, and he wouldn’t have turned him into Robin. If he hadn't turned Tim into Robin, maybe his parents were still alive, maybe he would have had a normal and happy life. If Tim had a normal life, Jason wouldn’t have risen with so much hatred and resentment towards them and wouldn’t have tried to kill him. If he hadn’t "died" later, Tim wouldn’t have lost another person, nor fallen into the same self-destruction from which no one could save him now.

If... If not...

There were so many events that he could have changed, and others not. So many mistakes, so many things could have been better. Everything turned in his head and had harassed him for three days. His bad decisions, the possibilities, the memories, all of that filled him with guilt and uncertainty, blamed him that it didn’t matter how human he was, how much he felt, because his mistakes always had more weight and consequences in the people he loved, whatever he did.

He remembered the despair he felt while holding Jason's corpse, bloody and broken as the warehouse burned and collapsed around him. The fear that ran through him when he helped to trait Tim's wounds after Red Hood's beating him up at the Titans' tower too, knowing who had done it. He remembered the disappointment and pain that Jason's spiteful words provoked him when he was ready to kill the Joker. Also, the understanding of Tim's tears after his father's death.

They were his sons. His sons. He felt and suffered more for them than for himself, and for the fact that because of his own crusade their lives have been so affected.

They had big hearts, unshakable will, and unmatched bravery. A potential within them that drove them to help others innately, to fight with everything they owned. It was that light, that ability, why they were Robin.

However, that didn’t take away the fact that his field-acquired wounds, both emotional and physical, could affect them on a deeper level than they could think. Endangering themselves, the other, and the rest of them with that hidden relationship that was revealed three nights ago.

Jason was the brave and fighting boy from the streets who decided to fight the crime he experienced firsthand. But the trauma related to the abuse, the streets, and his own death was still very entrenched inside him, shaping his decisions both inside and outside his vigilant life. The Lazarus Pit had made him violent and angry, a killer who lost control when one of his triggers of said trauma appeared, including the bats themselves. As much as he had improved his control, they still had no guarantee that the Pit Rage would appear at any time and become a threat for all of them again.

Tim, the sweet little Tim, was still the smart and kind boy who threw away all opportunity to live a normal wealthy child life to become an extraordinary hero, someone who cared for and saved people in a selfless and sacrificed way. But the experiences that came along with that decision were not as kind as he was, and while Tim gave his all, without contemplation, in exchange he lost family, friends and stability. Bruce was not stupid, he recognizes a severe depression when he saw it, and although no one knows what happened to his third child during the time he was lost in time -or what he had to do to get him out- it had to be bad enough for Timothy became the lifeless emotionless shadow which was now.

“You’ve been years without knowing anything from us!” Jason said three nights ago.

It wasn't true, but it wasn't false either. He couldn't deny it with the same force as Richard did, because as much as he would like to say that both of them were still integrated in the family, it wasn’t true. They hadn't been in a long time, and they couldn't run away from it.

For him, it was always easier to treat Jason as if he had been a fallen soldier in battle because doing it as the son he left to die was too painful, it kept shaking him to the depths of his existence, perhaps that was why he hadn’t been able to integrate him among them again, in addition to all the history resulting from those events. He couldn't ignore his morality and methods, destructive and totally different from his. Neither the numerous attempts to harm him or the rest of the family, especially Tim. There was the fact that Red Hood operated in Gotham apart from the Outlaws, yes, but they hardly worked together or cooperated. They had their territories very defined, but he could barely catch a glimpse of Red Hood without twisting things, neither Jason. He knew that sometimes he was in the cave or the manor, but he always made sure not to see him and not stay long unless it was necessary.

For his part, Timothy, after he returned from his "death" and accepted Damian as Robin, he adopted the Red Robin alias and seemed to disappear entirely. He claimed to be in favor of carving out his own name as a hero, but he was elusive, smart, and determined. He went to live alone, to work with the Titans or at WE. It didn’t matter how many calls they made, how many emergencies or meetings would be held. Tim barely stepped on the manor, he didn’t stop to talk about anything other than the vigilant job, and long periods passed without seeing him. He hid his wounds very carefully and his habits began to be dangerous for him. They knew enough to realize that he was trying too hard and something was going very wrong but reaching out to help him without scaring him in the process was hard, complicated.

Maybe for all that and more, his sons didn’t trust him enough to reveal what was going on between them, that they were dating. He didn't blame them, he really deserved it, because he couldn't figure it out either. He also deserved they were angry with him and his opinion on the matter.

They could get mad at him, hate him, or yell at him. But he really believed that he had reason to say that relationship was something that should be discussed or thought more carefully.

Relationships on the field were dangerous, he knew it personally, and he still remembered the discomfort that had plagued the team when Barbara and Dick broke up so many years ago, not to mention Tim and Stephanie too. And he also remembers the serious injuries Jason inflicted on Tim, how much Red Hood lost control around him, and how little Tim has always valued himself and his injuries.

Jason's problems along with Timothy's emotional state were not a good combination at all. It wasn’t. It didn't matter how they looked at it, nor how many years will pass. Their story was too rough, there was too much torment, too much tension between them. They themselves were not in a position to have such a relationship with anyone, much less with the other. And if he already doubted the red team itself -despite its efficiency- he also couldn't help but doubt this.

He couldn't leave them to destroy each other, he couldn't. He knew that was how it would end, and the simple possibility that it might happen made his cravings for control beg him to take the reins of everything again, to fix all this and do it now.

However, he had already been too carried away by that feeling to know that it wasn’t a good idea to follow it. So, before he could do anything, he received a call. A call that lasted for hours, most of the night, where he got another perspective on the matter and helped him to decide and ask that favor from Barbara that he hadn't heard from yet.

Despite knowing there would be no response yet, he couldn't help but check his phone again to make sure, eager to be able to do something about it instead of sitting for hours in that office evaluating and planning the best course of action.

He was just going to think about that when a few firm touches on the window caught his attention, causing him to straighten and look at the window on his left suspiciously.

Even though he had told him that he didn't need him to come, there he was, his call.

Frowning, Bruce got up from his seat and went to the window to open it wide, looking at Clark Kent, who floated in front of him in his civilian clothes as if it were the most normal thing in Gotham in the middle of the afternoon.

Holding back a sigh, he opened the window and stepped aside to let him in, trying to decide what to say first.

He was debating between a "What the hell are you doing here?" or "I specifically told you not to come here.” before the Super raised his hand and talked.

“When was the last time you slept?” He asked, looking at him closely.

Not even a "Hello, how are you?" before starting to enter the matter. It wasn’t necessary, they had already overcome that phase of their relationship for a long time. What's more, Clark didn't have to ask how he was doing, he already knew it, he knew it very well.

It had been him who had finished calling after the discussion in the cave with Tim and Jason because he knew that something happened to him only by his heartbeat. It's not like he could have hidden it from him, because not only would he have found out sooner or later, but because he already did, and he was his best friend, so he finished telling him everything. They talked too much, and the call lasted for hours, with both locked in their offices for more privacy and with Clark insisting on going to see him.

He said there was no need, but he had ignored it, as always.

“That’s not relevant.” He replied, frowning further.

To Clark, that was the fragrant confirmation that -indeed- he hadn’t slept for three days. In his defense, Bruce would say he was too busy thinking about other things to allow himself a little rest. What's more, he wouldn't even have done it if he tried.

Every time he closed his eyes he listened to Tim's choked sobs and his weak voice begging him to leave them alone.

Clark wasn't going to know that, but didn’t seem to like his answer at all, because he crossed his arms and looked at him the way he always did when he had no idea what to do with him.

For a moment, Bruce had the slight hope that Clark would let him go, but it was Kent. So, when he grabbed his arm and dragged him onto the couch in the office to make him sit down with him, he wasn't even surprised. He just rolled his eyes and reminded himself that trying to fight Superman for this was not worth it, because he already knew the result, he had tried too many times. So, he ended up sitting next to him on the sofa and sighing heavily.

“Sleep.” Clark said simply and shrugged. As if it were that easy.

“I don't think it works that way, Kent.” He replied with a snort.

Clark looked at him again disapprovingly a few seconds, then his annoyance softened, and his look turned into one of pure concern.

“Rest, please.” He asked softly. “I know you, and I know there have been rough days, but it wouldn’t be better like this.”

After a moment of silence, Bruce decided not to answer that and instead leaned on the sofa to look at the ceiling in silence, closing later his eyes and completely ignoring the tug on his chest that Clark's concern caused him.

That seemed to be an acceptable move for the Kryptonian, because then they were completely silent, together. Bruce could feel the warmth of the other's body, sitting too close. Also, how he tried not to move too much so as not to distract him or disturb his rest, which didn’t help much because he couldn’t rest by himself, but the effort was appreciated.

He didn't keep track of how long they were quiet and just being aware of each other's presence, but Bruce found himself breaking that peace after a few minutes without even hesitate.

“Why are you here?” He asked without changing his position.

He felt Clark stir in his seat and his bluish gaze fixed on him.

“I wanted to see how you were.” He replied directly. “Do I need something more to see you?”

Again, he remained silent, that tug on his chest appearing again. However, unlike a few minutes ago, this time he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him too, meeting his face closer to his than he had originally thought.

He didn't look away, neither did Clark. They just looked at each other intently and waited for the other to say something. A tension already known between them leaked into the room.

If someone had told Bruce years ago that Superman would be his most supportive person in his life, who he would trust the most, maybe he would have laughed, a lot. Now, he would have no choice but to agree and say thanks for it.

Because if it hadn't been for that call and those hours of conversation, things would have been much worse, and the situation would have only exploded after he had done something crazy. It was Clark who helped him see that it wasn’t necessary to carry the burdens of his mistakes alone, but that it was easier to do it together. It made it lighter. It was Clark who told him that even Superman made mistakes, everyone did, and the thing was learning to live with them and fix them after all, but don't let them dictate your life. And, above all, it was Clark who convinced him not to take hasty actions and try to clarify things with Tim and Jason without emotions clouding his judgment.

It was Clark, it was always Clark. The one who managed to make him reason, the one who broke each and every one of his barriers with ease, the one who gave him hope, the one who saw beyond the calculating and calm façade he showed. Clark, always Clark.

“My son was here yesterday.” The Super ended up saying in a whisper, they were close enough to hear it.

“I know.” Bruce answered.

He always knew when Jonathan showed up at the manor to visit Damian. This time he even thanked him, because he didn’t know the state of his younger son, but he did know that Superboy could cheer him up. As much as he broke Gotham's “no meta” rules and the limits set by his parents, he decided to let it be.

“And you were okay with that?” Clark asked, more curious than annoyed.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What do you think?”

His answer made that tension, known but unsolvable, grow even more. Clark swallowed hard and Bruce didn't look away.

The truth is that they would have had to be very blind not to have realized that their sons were in love for a long time and hopelessly they were going to end up together. After all, it was something that had been happening and developing in front of them since they made them team as children, and what they also had avoided talking at all cost.

If Bruce at this time wasn't so worried about what had happened with Tim and Jason and how to solve it, maybe he could stop to think about how unfair he and Clark were being not wanting to recognize the feelings that their sons had on the other.

They would like to; they would really like to. But admit that would openly lead to mention Conner's fixation with Timothy, which would lead to the conclusion of that, for some reason, always has existed a connection/fixing between the Supers and the Bats. And to admit this fixation would mean declaring that it really exists, along with that... Something, between them.

There was something. Something between Bruce and Clark which didn’t want to admit, speak, or recognize. They've been ignoring it for years and had always worked like this, they had no reason to bring it to light, nor act on it. However, recognizing the situation of their sons not only will make it much more real, if not that -in some way- impossible.

That doesn't make sense because it was already impossible anyway. Clark was married to Lois, Bruce was dating Selina, they have been best friends since the League was founded, and their children were going to end up together, so there was no way they could... What?

Do what? To say what?

There was nothing to do, nothing to say. It wouldn't do any good because it was too late. No matter how much they tried to ignore it, it was something that hung over their heads and the moment it arrived they had to impose their sons' happiness on theirs, because that was how it worked, that’s what it meant to be a dad.

Although maybe that's why they didn't want to admit it, maybe that's why they tried to postpone all that until they could no longer, because they knew that the moment their children spoke for themselves, the decision of both of them was made, and it was like closing a door definitively that they had never dared to cross, but whose existence knew.

But that wasn’t the important thing at the moment. The important thing was Tim, Jason, their relationship, making sure they were safe and secure, and waiting until Oracle managed to contact them in order to see them. But that was a matter of time, he just had to wait.

So, ready for it, Bruce turned away from Clark, snorted wearily, settled back on the couch, and closed his eyes to get some sleep after three days without rest.

And if Clark's hand held his in the process, was something between them and no one else.

~0.0~

When he woke up, he was alone.

The office was dark, it was already night, the window was closed, and Bruce was lying on the couch.

There was no sign of Clark, but before thinking about how he had taken advantage of the fact that he had fallen asleep to accommodate him and leave without saying anything, he focused on the light of the flashing notification from his phone that he had been waiting all day.

"Don’t thank me. Say hi to Hood before the patrol.” Barbara's text said.

She had done it; she had granted his request and had been successful. Oracle had managed to locate the red team to take them to the Cave and sort things out. To have a conversation about it without surprises or threats, just leaving the cards on the table at once. There were situations and secrets in the family that could no longer be ignored more, and this was one of them.

Bruce didn’t have time to be surprised that it was precisely Jason who agreed to attend that appointment, because he realized that he should head there. It was time to prepare for the patrol and it was better not to make anyone wait this time. He was determined to make his position clear and protect his sons, as necessary.

He was halfway to the cave entrance when a loud sound made his world stop and a jolt of terror prick him.

Bang!

He breathed for a second, and then, recognizing the sound as a shot, he went through the entrance and down into the cave as fast as possible. Everything in a pure ingrained instinct that he had acquired after so many years in the crusade against crime, which tightened his muscles and contracted his bones.

With his heart hammering hard and thousands of possibilities and explanations piercing his mind, when he arrived at the cave precisely the least expected received him.

The vision of Dick Grayson, gun in hand, with Jason Todd bleeding out on the floor, made him realize that everything had gone too far.

There was no longer a solution.

#myfic #jaytim #jondami #timjay #damijon #dc #dc comics #batman #superbat #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #jon kent #jonathan kent #red robin #red hood #superboy #robin #supersons

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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What do you think of dick hability to read the body language in new 52 People act as it doesn't exist and it really bugs me because thats one of the few things i really liked from new 52

I actually really like it, and it fits with some longtime headcanons of mine, but it hasn’t been touched on enough that I can understand it rubbing some people the wrong way, due to Cass.

But its like I said in that post earlier this week, about how I think its pointless to be ‘possessive’ of character traits…..I think Dick is an expert hacker himself, but I don’t think he’s on Babs’ level. Nobody is on Barbara’s level. But his own expertise isn’t diminished because he’s not on the level of the pretty much undisputed best hacker in the DC Universe. Neither is Barbara’s expertise lessened by virtue of Dick, as well as Tim, Bruce and most of the rest of the Batclan, all being damn good at it in their own right.

I see it as being the same thing here. I like the idea that Dick is intuitive and highly capable when it comes to reading body language, for a number of reasons, but I don’t think it suddenly makes him Cass, means he’s as good at it as Cass, or that Cass being on a whole other level with that, being like…lessened or threatened because Dick’s own capabilities in that regard are touched on every now and again.

I’ve actually said this many times before, but I think this insistence so many fans have about their faves being the only ones associated with certain traits, stories or characteristics actually does them a disservice, because when you stop viewing things as a competition and instead look at it as a chance for common ground, you unveil SO many possibilities.

For instance, I’ve always felt, long before the New 52, that it makes sense for Dick to have a strong, unconscious understanding of body language….as in, he’s at the upper levels of what humans are naturally capable of having in that regard, which of course still puts him at an entirely different level than Cass, whose mastery of it is deliberately BEYOND peak human levels because of her own backstory.

But if you think about it, Dick having skills in that direction makes sense for him AND opens up a lot of areas for Dick and Cass to bond more AND have occasional conflict.

Dick is one of the only other Batkids aside from Cass AND Damian, who knows what its like to be raised literally from the time he can walk, to be a proficient athlete with complete control of his body as like…a lifestyle. The kind of demands that makes of someone, the way that instills certain work ethics and instincts in someone practically from birth, to such a degree that it probably NEVER becomes something he can wrap his mind around, that for some people, these kinds of habits AREN’T second nature, practically built into him….that’s something that I don’t think even some of the other most highly capable athletes in the DC universe are fully capable of grasping…like Bruce, Tim, Jason, Dinah, etc. Obviously this doesn’t lessen any of their skills or proficiency as athletes, just as professional athletes who don’t start training in their chosen fields until later in childhood can be just as capable as ones who started in early childhood. But it makes I think, for a slightly different mindset.

I think this is part of why Dick understands Damian so much better or more easily than a lot of others do. Because Damian was raised this way too, just with different end goals than Dick. Dick can’t relate to being raised to kill, to stamp down on his urge to show affection, the specific training methods of the League with someone as young as Damian, no. But that unconscious, built in awareness of his own body in ways that even a lot of other athletes or fighters never develop just because they approach their bodies and training so differently…that I think Dick gets, and because of that he gets Damian and his own work ethic, and the way that telling him to not push himself so hard or take it easy at times….like is going to be totally wasted on Damian, FOR THE SAME REASONS those things have so often been wasted on Dick.

Telling someone to be careful not to strain or overwork their body is not going to carry a whole lot of weight with a twelve year old kid who has spent ten of those twelve years being instilled with a greater awareness of his own body and capabilities than anyone else will EVER grasp….let alone someone who only met them a year or two ago (notice how this applies to both Damian AND Dick).

Similarly, causing people to worry when they go throw themselves into an extremely rigorous workout routine in the name of ‘relaxing or de-stressing’ is always going to be a thing, when other people just fundamentally don’t get that for someone raised from birth to eat, sleep and breathe their own physicality….this IS relaxing.

So IMO Dick and Damian have at least that much in common, which has given Dick particular insight into Damian that others don’t have, and helped him get further in reaching Damian and developing a bond with him. And extend this to Cass and her own backstory, and I think they all three have this in common, and thus could share this understanding between all three of them….thus giving Cass more opportunities and ways to bond with Dick and Damian in particular.

Continue on for ten thousand more words (lol, I wish I was exaggerating. Oh, me) of Dick Meta, Cass Meta, and Dick and Cass Meta, below the cut:

Now, add in the fact that Dick wasn’t just raised from birth to be a world-class athlete, like Cass was…..but as I often stress, just as important….he was raised from birth to be a PERFORMER. This is where I think his instinctive awareness of body language would have come from. Because he was raised to do all of his athletics with apparent ease, to show none of the strain it takes, to make it look like art, like the performance that it so usually was. And he was also raised to not just perform for a crowd, but to command their attention, to draw eyes, to feed off their energy and use that to tailor his own performances, his every action, to achieve maximum impact.

Don’t forget Dick was a world-class acrobat as a CHILD. He was quite literally a child prodigy….and people LOVE meeting a child prodigy. Something like the encounter with the Drakes’ that’s part of Tim’s own backstory would have been an every day occurrence to Dick. Which means it was every bit as likely a part of his early training to be able to glean from the rich strangers that wanted a photo op with the young, exhausted child performer that probably just wanted to go to bed now….exactly what would go over best with those strangers, expedite this encounter, and enable Dick to move on to the next one or better yet, out of the tent ASAP.

I’ve talked about the classism Dick endures just by virtue of being a circus performer…its never been about how much money he and his parents did or didn’t have, its about the fact that most people look down on circus performers as like…an amusement to enjoy, not athletes to respect. You can’t deny that people summoning to mind an Olympic level gymnast would view that gymnast in an entirely different way than they would a Cirque de Soleil acrobat they called to mind, even if they had similar levels of athletic skill….because as a society, we regard something like the Olympics as a WORTHY pursuit for an athlete of that caliber….whereas one might sit in the audience of a circus and enjoy the performance, but that doesn’t mean most people walk out of that tent thinking of what they just saw in terms of the SKILL rather than their entertainment, because there’s this unconscious bias that like….if one wanted to actually be respected for their athletics, they’d aim for the Olympics, not to wear gaudy costumes and face paint and travel around in a caravan and never put up roots in any one place, etc.

Our view of the circus goes well back before Dick’s creation, even, but its very much there. You simply can’t argue that most people give circus performers the respect their skillsets deserve and would merit in other situations…..and you bet your ass, someone like Dick who was raised as one, would have been instilled from a very young age with an awareness of how to glean when someone was treating him with disdain…and respond without offending them, but still not necessarily letting them impact him with their disdain.

Because one of the things I don’t think I’ve ever talked much about is how for as much as we talk about Dick’s self esteem issues and insecurities in regards to Bruce…..the boy Bruce first took in as an orphan was NOT overly insecure. If anything, Dick was the complete opposite. He knew EXACTLY what he was capable of, and was not shy about insisting upon it. I would say by all accounts and reading between the lines, the Graysons did a tremendous job in instilling in Dick from a young age an amazing degree of self-confidence….WHICH probably accounts for a LOT of the later conflict between Dick and Bruce, because it was never just a matter of Dick not getting the vocal or visible respect or appreciation from Bruce that he wanted….it was that Bruce wasn’t giving him it in the forms he’d been raised with, and grown accustomed to.

Its that disconnect that I think Dick has always struggled with…where he KNOWS, on some level, that Bruce loves and respects him, and holds enormous appreciation for Dick’s own skills….but Dick only knows this because of….well, what he gleans from Bruce’s body language and his own awareness of Bruce and his nature. He has to read between the lines, and still be left guessing (since Bruce is himself pretty much a master of obscuring his own emotions and body language, in as much as anyone is, to the extent that only someone like Cass can willfully pierce that shroud).

But my point is, there’s every reason in the world to think that Dick’s parents were very good at preparing their world-class prodigy son for the pressures of the spotlight he grew up in, and heavily prioritized making sure he wasn’t going to be diminished by the disdain of whatever snobs he encountered during the meet and greet portion of that lifestyle. And to be good at that, to know how to manage people who make you want to put your fist in their face while giving away nothing but a nod and smile, and still manage to seize enough control over the encounter to walk away with your head held high rather than feeling like you were just thrown to the wolves….that takes a high mastery of body language and an instinctive grasp of how to read people and put them at ease, to seize control of a conversation from someone who is used to having control at all times in all places. You have to know how to PERFORM, at all times. And in this regard, Dick was every bit as much a prodigy as he was in his acrobatics.

IMO Dick Grayson on his A-game could make Brucie weep in envy. I think this training, this ability to read people with just a look and adapt himself accordingly, to make the most of the encounter while giving up the least along the way….I think its absolutely nothing that Bruce himself taught him, that Dick already came to Gotham with, and its what ACTUALLY enabled Dick to survive the lifestyle and spotlight that Bruce’s lifestyle and spotlight made Dick grow up in. Its what enables Dick to handle the pressures of leadership and get along so well with his various teammates, coordinate dissenting personalities well enough to create teams that are famous for how well they gel and work together in battle no matter what they’re like when interacting in civilian arenas. Bruce, for all his skills, is notoriously not a people person. He knows how to manage people. He struggles with understanding them. And this has always been where in comparison to Bruce, Dick soars.

He didn’t learn any of what he knows about being a people person from Bruce. But he sure as hell learned it SOMEWHERE.

And I think that somewhere is in the circus, with his parents and whatever other various babysitters he picked up things along the way from. A kid as friendly and outgoing as Dick would have been soaking things up from all the circus performers like a sponge, I bet. Little tips and tricks of the trade from not just the knife-throwers, as is occasionally referenced….but also the fortune teller and ringmaster and clowns and magicians and escape artists. A couple dozen varieties of different masters of their own crafts, with one thing in common of all of them….all their crafts rely on performing. On reading an audience, even audiences of one. And selling that audience exactly what they’re looking for from that performance.

Let’s not forget that for all Dick’s insecurities and self-esteem issues as an adult….those almost unilaterally exist in regards to his family and closest friends. For the same reasons as he struggles with these things with Bruce….because they’re not great at showing Dick the respect and appreciation he needs from THEM, SPECIFICALLY….in the forms he would recognize, the forms he was raised since birth to receive and recognize as such, when his parents and circus family gave him these things.

Outside matters pertaining to just his family and closest friends, however, Dick is not remotely insecure. There’s a huge chasm between the former and the latter, in terms of how Dick acts and conducts himself. And its probably a large part of why Dick is so adept at not giving away to his family that he’s more in need of their acknowledgment and support than they realize….because Dick spends so MUCH of his life genuinely not giving a shit what most people think about him or say about him….he’s that much more proficient at wearing that as a mask when interacting even with his family of detectives, who are pretty good at reading even him in a lot of other aspects.

Because I maintain that Dick absolutely endured a hell of a lot of classism and racism growing up, and still does….which is not okay no matter how well he endures it….but he for the most part clearly doesn’t let this constant barrage effect his general self-esteem, and that is fairly important to note. Just as is the fact that like….he calls himself Dick, by his own choice, because its more important to him that he hold on to what he can of his parents, every last physical reminder he has available to him….and thus I think its especially shitty to write his second family using his parents’ fond nickname for him as a joke or insult, and probably hurts Dick when they do it….but the rest of the time? The general public making him a punchline for it? Dick could give a fuck. Same with general opinions of his costumes and what he looked like as Robin or early Nightwing, etc, etc.

Dick Grayson is not an insecure person overall….and that I credit entirely to his first parents, the Graysons.

All of this feeds into that overall awareness of body language, reading people for emotional cues and ways to survive a lifetime in the spotlight without being consumed by it…and without alienating people in the process, because a performer needs an audience, and growing up in a circus taught Dick early on that he had to find a way to end these encounters with asshole patrons in a way that kept his head held high but DIDN’T cost the circus - his family - their patronage in the future.

(Another reason I maintain Dick’s oh so infamous temper has been vastly more inflated than fits either canon evidence of it OR his overall characterization…..a man who has been raised from birth in the spotlight and constantly exposed to people who look down on him….like, KNOWS how to control his temper. I’m sorry, he just does, lol. This is basic understanding of human awareness. If your entire life is in one spotlight or another, be it the circus then Wayne Manor and Page Six, as well as being one of the most focused on superheroes in the entire cape community….and you’re somehow overall regarded in all public perceptions as charming….you do NOT have an infamous temper. You just don’t. People love to shove public figures off their pedestals whenever possible….and in both his civilian and superhero personas, Dick Grayson is on very high pedestals. There is no way in hell his general reputation in any of his communities would be anything close to what it is if he actually has as short and nasty of a temper as people love to spin him as having, because of a dozen scenes taken mostly out of context, over the course of 80 years as a high profile character. I’ll stop harping on this one when it stops being the first thing to come to mind when people cite a ‘flaw’ of his.)

Going back to reasons for him to have such a mastery of body language in his own right….Dick was also raised from birth to do his routines as part of a TROUPE, a group of athletes, not just singular by himself. Thus, a TON of what he was raised practicing every day….would have included reading his family’s body language for cues on what to do next. Watching for signs that something might be wrong or off even just by a second and requiring that he adjust his own movements to compensate for that, when they’re all fifty feet in the air and with the crowd cheering so loudly they couldn’t possibly communicate with words….this could literally be a matter of life and death for a troupe of performers whose reputation hinged on them being death-defying in their stunts.

Yes, in most continuities its stressed that his parents didn’t let Dick perform the most dangerous routines with them yet, due to his age…..but that doesn’t mean they weren’t preparing him for them as early as humanly possible, given that its never too early to start working on various skills that are integral to these kinds of things.

And with one of the most fundamental and essential skills needed to be part of a group of performers who excel at dangerous routines being communication, this is all the more reason to think they were probably teaching Dick from a very young age to pick up on body language and watch for even the slightest hints of different indicators of stress, fatigue, anxiety, fear, etc.

Because compensating for something going wrong with a partner’s part of a routine can be essential in matters of teamwork. (Again, just gotta give a shout out to the Flying Graysons here, because its not stated enough that everything Dick knows about being a solo vigilante, he learned from Bruce, but everything he knows about teamwork is either instinctive or built in, OR learned from his parents, part of a team). And most of the time, when we’re talking about shifting position just enough while fifty feet above a crowd in order to make a catch of a partner that launched with not quite enough momentum or is overshooting their mark….compensating or cheating one’s own routine just enough to be there for your partner is the kind of thing that needs to happen in a SPLIT-SECOND…..like, with you making the adjustment the micro-second you realize its necessary….which means you have to be picking up the slightest hint of it the second it shows up in their body language, like a….what’s the word…oh yeah. A pro.

And given that these acrobats were all performers as much as athletes, with it being a given that their performances needed to appear as light and carefree at possible at all times, for the sake of the crowd….they couldn’t afford to give away obvious tells of anxiety, stress or exhaustion, had to keep a performer’s mask of total poise and control at all times throughout their routines….which makes it all the more likely Dick’s own ability to read body language and instinctive or hidden cues is exceptional….as he had to be trained from early on to be able to see behind those masks and read his parents and family for tells even while they were doing their professional best to keep those very tells hidden so that nobody would pick up on them…unless they were a master of reading such things.

So all in all, I believe that among however many languages Dick Grayson was taught from a very early age as part of a globe-trotting circus….one of those was body language itself, even if it was never actually couched in those terms, as though it were an actual language being taught the way it was regarded as such for Cass….as for Dick and his family, it was probably just regarded as tools of the trade, a necessary component of the performer and acrobat toolbox Dick was raised familiarizing himself with from as early as he began walking and talking.

Which brings us back to Cassandra…..as stated, I think Dick is exceptional at reading body language, with as much mastery of that as is possible at peak human potential…..but, that doesn’t make him the equal of Cass, whose own skills in that regard are beyond even that, due to the precise and comic book nature of her own origin. And how her father did something similar but for totally different reasons and no regard whatsoever for Cassandra’s well-being.

So I don’t think there’s any reason that Dick being the next best at reading and reacting to body language takes anything away from Cass being the undisputed master of that, and interpreter of the Batfamily’s hidden emotional cues.

In fact, allowing Dick to be acknowledged as adept at reading body language benefits her character….as she’s so often solely used as the interpreter of the emotionally stunted Batfamily’s attempted repression of their emotional cues. Basically just being treated as a plot device rather than a character in her own right.

As much as I project onto Dick and thus talk about fandom’s neglect of various facets of his character, it can’t be denied that the same is true of Cass….times ten.

Fanfics spend WAY more time using Cass to establish or well, tattle on various Batfamily members’ emotions than they spend on giving Cass emotions of her own in regards to whatever situation is going on in a given scene.

And since Dick is so often used as the family mediator or peacemaker anyway, this doesn’t actually change anything about his own role in things….it merely supplies a concrete reason for why he so often is defaulted into that position, and so good at it, despite his family’s overall emotional constipation. He has to be amazing not just at teamwork, but reading hidden emotions as well, in order to manage his family and their various arguments even just as well as he does already.

(Just a quick clarification…earlier when I noted that Dick’s own insecurities largely stem from the Batfamily and not always knowing or trusting where he stands with them….its not that he has no ability to read them despite their own very well crafted performer masks. Its just that as good as he is, he’s still never going to be as good at this as Cassandra is, and there’s still going to be things he misses, or things he misinterprets. And additionally, the problem remains, that he shouldn’t HAVE to glean any hints of familial love, respect and appreciation from his family’s body language. When he’s constantly relying on subtext and body language to reassure himself that they really do love and appreciate him, its inevitable that sooner or later self-doubts and second guessing are going to start to creep in. So its not that Dick doesn’t ever see these things in his family’s body language. Its that over time, I believe this has progressed to the point where even when he sees these cues, he second guesses himself as to whether he’s actually seeing things that are there, or just seeing what he wants to see. And since none of them are exactly making a point to validate what he sees or thinks he sees with actual validation in indisputable forms, like verbal confirmation of this…eventually, Dick’s own skills reading body language become irrelevant here, since he himself is aware he’s an unreliable narrator when trying to narrate what his family’s body language is saying. He wants it to be saying all the things he uses to assuage whatever hurt he feels for not hearing them tell him these things…thus he’s too aware of his own bias when reading them for cues to actually trust any of the cues he reads, that could otherwise confirm this.)

Anyway. So acknowledging or even emphasizing Dick’s own exceptional abilities with body language would actually be to Cassandra’s benefit, I maintain. Because without expecting anything of Dick that isn’t already expected of him and his role in canon and fandom, it merely provides additional support for the idea he’s good at playing family mediator even with as emotionally repressed most of their family is. Thus freeing up Cass from constantly being looked to as the interpreter for all the things most of their family have trouble saying….and allowing for more focus to be paid to her own emotions. And letting her HAVE them, in the first place.

Because we have to talk about the elephant in the room here: racism in regards to Cass. The quiet, stoic, normally serene and beatific Asian martial arts master is a racist as hell trope, and its one that makes all too frequent an appearance when Cass is used at all in fics. AND canon.

Its not that Cass can’t be all those things at various times. Its that they can’t be ALL that she is. At ALL times. (And that, for the record, she’s not usually ANY of those things in canon that actually tries to develop her rather than use her as a one-note trope in its own right. Cassandra Cain…serene? LOLOL. Please, I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it ain’t the Cass I know and love).

First of all, give her a sense of humor, because she has one, and its amazing. You’ll note I make a point whenever I write her to emphasize her having a kind of dry, sardonic wit that is not at all opposed at being at her siblings’ expense, lol. I mean, its not like that’s the only take possible on her, or even just her sense of humor, I just mean…have one. Humor is one of the most telling representatives of a person’s characterization. By that I mean, a person’s sense of humor is one of the things we most initially associate with them in our mind, and a character having a distinct sense of humor is one of the easiest and best ways to develop them as having their own character voice, something that marks them as distinct in your awareness from other characters. Where if you close your eyes and picture them in a scene, what comes out when they talk, like, to make a joke….isn’t interchangeable with just any other character. It sounds or feels like them, specifically.

And just FYI, you might have an easier time writing Cass making jokes if you allow her to form full sentences. She can speak English, has been written speaking English quite well in the past, and the insistence on broken English when writing her that way in canon is shitty and racist in and of itself anyway, so those particular takes on her don’t need to be respected let alone emulated in fanfiction. Let Cass Speak English In Complete Sentences 2KForever. She’ll still be Cass, I promise you. But the changes made to her brain in canon that allowed her to finally learn spoken languages years after her brain had finished developing, like, that happened early enough after Cass’ debut that there’s really no excuse for writing fic where she’s been part of the family for years and still hasn’t picked up a strong grasp of English.

Y’know how I’m always saying the entire Batfamily are ALL Mary Sues, they are a family of Mary Sues, that is pretty much their high concept as a group, that they’re a composite of the most otherwise competent people in the world and completely emotionally incompetent at the same time? Like, it applies here, because as I also harp on a lot about, I think all of the Batfamily are actual literal geniuses, and I do mean all. Cassandra included. She’s a master of her own many areas of expertise and thus IMO more than capable of picking up languages fairly quickly once the canon barrier to her doing that earlier in life is removed. It just looks and sounds weird and suspect, to insist on writing her as never moving past broken English, IMO.

And also, like, she doesn’t need to ever be as talkative as Steph, nor do I think would it fit her to be written that way either, but there’s a very wide range of options between that and hardly ever talking at all. I do think she defaults to being one of the more quiet ones in a room, as in one of the last to speak….but give her reasons to be that way, instead of just more imitation of our media’s racist insistence on treating Asian characters as the quiet, all-knowing keepers of sage wisdom who only share their truths once you’ve made the trek up to their mountain top.

So again just in terms of my own personal take, I tend to write Cass as being one of the last to speak up when around people she’s not as familiar with, because its her version of keeping her back to the wall of a room so no one can sneak up behind and surprise her. She’s only quiet at first in my stuff because focusing on using conversations to glean as much information as she can about the people in them before jumping in is just like, a form of intel-gathering for her and her past left her with a tendency to be as overly cautious in her own way as the rest of her family, and this is what her way looks like.

(Dick puts on his performer’s mask, Jason blusters and leads with bravado, Damian adopts a position of superiority and will only climb down once you sufficiently peak his interest, Tim recites facts and trivia and likes to bore people he dislikes into submission so you give up and go away, Duke is the family member who really makes friends so easily that any time he makes enemies, his friends have already plotted to destroy you before Duke even gets around to trying to do that himself, Babs has already hacked your bank account and credit rating by the time you open your mouth and thus feels no social anxiety whatsoever as worst comes to worst, she can always just tank your credit score to make herself feel better, and upon meeting you for the first time, Steph either adopts you or punches you in the throat, depending on which way her gut is leaning. As for Bruce, well. He’s terrified of pretty much all social settings, but he’d have to actually admit to that for the first time in recorded human history before anyone could actually cite what ‘his way’ of dealing with social interactions he’s wary of might be. I mean, its basically just ‘Brucie’, but you get what I mean.)

So I mean, its not inherently bad to write Cass as being quieter than the rest of her siblings, and you don’t need her quoting Shakespeare back and forth with Jason in order to prove you’re not writing her speaking broken English. Its just. Do some digging in her head before settling in and writing what you’ve found there. Actually TRY getting in her head in the first place. Spruce it up a bit, redecorate your surroundings, make it feel lived in and homey. Give it CHARACTER. Whenever you write a character choice, in my personal opinion, you should, if asked, be able to back up that character choice by having a reason you feel the character would choose that.

For me, I write Cass being the quietest of her siblings in social settings simply because she’s doing recon first, and of her various skillsets, spoken language is the one she’s mastered most recently and thus she has the least familiarity with….and thus is the last thing she turns to in any given situation, because she’d rather go down the list and run through every other skill she has to see if it could apply here, before resigning herself to having to converse with the person in front of her because she doesn’t think Bruce would accept “I didn’t know how else to change the subject” as a justification for stabbing someone in a non-vital and easily healed location that had the fringe benefit of rapid bloodloss leading to them passing out fairly quickly.

And of course, none of this applies with Batfamily, because she is comfortable with her family for the most part, and thus when I write her being the most quiet in those group scenes, its because she prefers listening their just purely because she finds her siblings’ antics entertaining. And also because I view her as being as batshit competitive as the rest of them, so IMO she’s always plotting the perfect conversational one-hit KO to have at the ready before she wades in. Because in the Batfamily, even ordinary conversations are something you can and should win. Otherwise, what’s even the point? LOL.

Also in terms of my own stuff, I tend to write Cass and Tim as having very similar forms of wit, and my personal take on them is that they both have just slightly different degrees of that same dry, sardonic kind of commentary, as their primary display of humor. This doesn’t necessarily always match their canon characterizations and how they display humor there - but its due to the fact that they’re two of the characters canon most rarely allows to show a sense of humor in recent years, and it tends to be all over the place more often than not. This is a major departure from how they both were portrayed in the 90s, where Tim’s humor was much more consistently in line with what I’m describing…and thus, so was Cassandra’s, when she debuted and developed her own primary characterization.

So basically, I consider Tim to be a major influence on Cass’ humor….or more accurately, in the shape her own sense of humor more commonly takes. Because it was with and around Tim that Cass first started to pick up a lot of social cues and explore her own sense of self for pretty much the first time in her life.

Stephanie’s humor, by contrast is a lot more loud and gregarious and in your face….which when you put the three of them in scene together as a trio, like they once spent a lot of time as, positions her as an extremely different version of the ‘straight man’ to their comedic duo. Because Steph doesn’t need anyone to back up or appreciate her own humor, she’s already landing the punchlines way before anyone else has even had time to think of any, and she doesn’t care what the reception is, the lovable loudmouth goof that she is. Which allows for Cass and Tim to sigh behind her and exchange sidelong glances and kinda….narrate her theatrics in that ‘faces the camera like they’re on The Office’ sort of way, which I mean, I personally find hilarious when they do it, and she’s not remotely bothered by, because like, she’s fucking hilarious and anyone who doesn’t get that is simply wrong and needs to be pitied, if you ask her.

Anyway, that’s just why my own depictions of Cass and Tim share a lot of their humor in common and some of their other characteristics….they’re the ones Cass either consciously or unconsciously picked up from Tim, as he was one of the first people for her to genuinely feel comfortable around and thus someone she trusted to both have knowledge of and mastery over the various social cues she was now finding she needed to learn because of her new environments.

(Of course, this is one of the times where Cass was dead wrong about something, IMO, as she might have overestimated Tim’s mastery of certain specific social cues and her body-language reads have her aware people aren’t responding her own attempts at mimicking them in the way she’s fairly confident they should be, and she’s not sure what she’s doing wrong there. Oh well. She’s still better off than if she’d picked Bruce to emulate there. When she asked him, he’d stiffened and radiated such intense discomfort, even Steph froze in mid-ramble as she sensed it on even the complete opposite side of the Cave.)

ANYWAY. Wrapping up THAT particular tangent and cycling back around to Dick and Cass having skill with reading body language in common….I think this could also be a huge opportunity to write Dick having a dynamic with Cass that’s unique to just the two of them and distinct from the dynamics they have with the rest of their family. Not to give them a super special bond but just because I mean, all the sibling dynamics between the various individual Batkids should ideally have their own flavor, because nobody interacts with two different siblings in the same way. Each sibling is their own unique individual, and thus should have their own unique dynamic when interacting with them.

So I like to headcanon Dick and Cass in private being the family gossips. They love dishing on the rest of the family with just each other….and being the two most skilled at seeing behind their family’s masks (and thus what their family most wants to keep hidden, to varying degrees), they have more dirt on everyone else than most intelligence agencies have on their nations’ enemies. Of course, they’re both staunchly moral, so they would never ever use their powers here for evil, or to hurt or embarrass their family.

They would, however, occasionally indulge in snickers and giggles about it behind closed doors. Look, shut up, they’re BONDING, they have childhood trauma, its fine.

And if Cassandra’s superior skills with body language means she inevitably has more gossip to share with Dick than vice versa, that’s okay, she’s still more than happy to share. He’s the one who introduced her to the joys of gossip, after all, so if anyone’s entitled to it, its him.

I also headcanon that because they’re both the best at reading body language, there are occasions when in group environments or just at the dinner table with the whole family, they both happen to pick up on certain cues or be aware that a sibling is lying through their teeth about something or being full of shit, and then catch each other’s eye and give the faintest of eye rolls or ‘can you believe they’re falling for this.’ Which sometimes other siblings catch, because Cass and Dick have forgotten to be subtle about it. Or did they not forget anything, and are just being trolls and instigating shit for the giggles? Who can say. Probably just them, which they find quite fun.

In fact, its slightly possible that the rest of the family, ever since Cass joined them, have developed a slightly inflated estimation of Dick’s own skills with reading body language, and now credit him with more of a mastery of it than even he actually possesses.

See, I have this one headcanon that every now and then, just to mess with their family, Dick and Cass make a point to hold a silent conversation in front of them. You know that thing people who know each other really well do with just their eyes, like managing to convey certain impressions to each other just by being expressive enough in ways and about things they’re pretty sure the other person will get and be on the same wavelength about?

Yeah, that, but Cass and Dick do it without exaggerated facial expressions. And for like. Ten whole minutes. Meanwhile, Tim’s like: “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not buying any of this” and then determinedly ignoring them. Jason’s annoyed because he can’t actually ever seem to ignore them, and then this builds into something like: “You guys better not be talking about me behind my back. Or I mean, right in front of my face. Whatever. And you definitely better not be talking about Tim right in front of his face and not including me!” Steph just keeps continuing on with whatever she’s doing, entirely unbothered, because she knows if they’re actually communicating anything important (or even slightly of interest to her), she’s sure she can get Cass to tell her later. And she’s not wrong, of course. Duke just shakes his head and feels better about being slightly jealous due to how funny it is watching it get under everyone else’s skin, but in the name of not feeling left out, he joins in on shit-talking Dick and Cass in order to have Vengeance. “B, didn’t you ever teach them its rude to exclude people from your conversation? You know, some people would say its never to late to ground your children.”

Damian, by stark contrast to the rest, completely abandons whatever else he’s doing to watch them both as intently as he can for as long as they persist. As he’s probably third in line behind the two of them when it comes to instinctive grasp of body language, due to the whole ‘being raised to read/scan others for as much information as possible just from their movements. Y’know. In case you have to kill them.’ In his case, his full grasp of it was hindered by seemingly being taught to dismiss certain specific emotions as irrelevant or a weakness, and though Dick and the rest of the family have by now done a pretty good job at getting him slowly but surely past all of that, its like retraining himself, trying to consciously now pick up on cues that he spent a decade discarding and moving past the second he saw them.

But he’s determined to become as adept at reading body language now as even Grayson is, at least, even if his implicit acceptness that he’ll never have the same mastery their sister does is fully internalized and something he’ll never admit to, even on pain of death. Both Dick and Cass have at various times offered to help him with it, but he refuses as a point of pride….he wants to do it himself. So every time they have one of these ‘conversations’ in front of the family, he drops everything else he does and scrutinizes them for the whole thing like he’s a codebreaker sure that in time, he’ll crack the code and all its secrets will be revealed. (Mostly, its more like he dreams of the day he’s become good enough at it that he and Dick can hold silent conversations like this and he can rub it in Drake’s face. Hah! It will be glorious, Internal Damian insists).

Even Bruce himself isn’t entirely sure whether or not Dick and Cass are fully communicating the whole time they converse like this, or just faking it for funsies. It frustrates him to no end that he’s yet to figure out a way to just…ask them, without giving away that he doesn’t actually already know the answer, and that’s BUGGING THE CRAP OUT OF HIM, C’MON!!

(Of course, both Dick and Cass have fully picked up on his frustration and thus realized he’s as clueless as the rest of the family, and its this precise thing that they spend most of these ‘conversations’ silently giggling about to each other).

And in terms of fleshing Cass out…..part of what frustrates me so much about the excuse people give for focusing on certain negative fanon takes on Dick, that its done to make him more interesting, because no one’s perfect….

Its never been that this claim, in and of itself, is untrue. The problem I’ve always had with it is they add in ‘flaws’ in the name of making Dick more realistic, while at the same time ignoring plenty of material that’s already present in Dick’s character…but which focusing on, would require people spend more time and insight on him than they want to. Just making Dick angry and ‘remind people he has a temper’ is quick and easy, in comparison.

However, the other part of why this claim bugs me so much is because it IS valid and applies to fanon’s two dimensional takes of two other characters….who are never written with any kind of flaws which is part of why they come across as fairly superficial in a lot of works. And that’s Duke and Cass. When they show up at all, their usage is VERY superficial, and like….I don’t think I’ve ever read something with either of them, where they were written having a conflict with another member of the family, other than just sometimes Cass not liking Jason because of his stance on killing. (And usually this is in Jason-centric fics, so its not really in the name of fleshing out Cass so much as making Jason more misunderstood and Cass the bad guy for not respecting that okay he kills people, but only because he’s very sad, she should be able to see that, ugh have a heart).

So, I also headcanon there is a slightly negative dynamic between Dick and Cass specifically, albeit one Dick himself is not aware of.

(And also complicated by the fact that as much as I gripe about Dick being perceived as having negative dynamics with the rest of his siblings that are all his fault, Cass is the ONE sibling this is ACTUALLY true of, even if it was only really in one story, Redemption Road. I go into that in more depth in another meta, but long story short it was after she was brainwashed by Deathstroke and killed because he made her, and Dick was written as wary and untrusting of her return, not because he didn’t like her - they’d already spent a lot of time in years before this bonding - but rather because he didn’t trust that they could be totally sure the brainwashing was gone yet, and thought Bruce was being too relaxed about that. I maintain this is a callback to his own issues with that time he was brainwashed by Brother Blood and people were a lot less great at understanding in the aftermath that a lot of his choices hadn’t been his to actually make, and that there was bitterness here on his part for Cass getting the understanding and support from Bruce that we never saw Dick get when it was him in a similar position. Kinda a Prodigal Son type vibe. But point being, this was a brief period and it didn’t last, but it is there so there’s interesting potential to have Dick and Cass not DISLIKE each other by any means, but just at times be slightly uncomfortable around each other and trying their best to hide it...from the one other person in the family most capable of/likely to pick up on it).

So what I think it is on Cass’ part, the discomfort/slight ‘not quite sure how I feel about this’ aspect of things.... Like, its just a headcanon, and one where in my head she’s put a lot of effort into making sure he never ever picks up on this particular thing from her. Because she’s not proud of it. At all.

Even if pride is really the problem.

See, I’ve long believed that out of the entire Batclan, Dick is the only person who can ever beat Cass in a fight. Even compared to Bruce.

And to be clear, its not like Dick can always beat Cass. Or even often. At most, its still maybe like, two fights out of ten. And its not deliberate, like something he can do or capitalize on consciously.

But for someone like Cass, who otherwise is pretty much undefeated unless she’s going up against her own mother, Lady Shiva….even two fights out of ten is a lot.

And it bugs her, more than she cares to admit.

Because she is as competitive in her own ways as the rest of her family. She does have her own ego about certain things, like everyone else does. And David Cain, monster that he was, raised her to be the best there is, at one thing and one thing only: fighting. As much as she hates him, as much as she hates her childhood and what was done to her, how much she missed out on and the things she still feels left out for not understanding or grasping the way she thinks she should…..alongside all that has always been at least an awareness that at least there is one thing that came out of it: she is the best. Absent her mother, who one day she will fully and consistently surpass, everyone including Lady Shiva believes…as much as Cass hates her father and everything he did to her and why, she’s still at times taken a certain sort of pride in her skills in fighting. At least in that one slight respect, even if its not something she would have chosen, had she ever been given a choice….at least it had worked, had done what it’d been intended to.

Except for when it comes to Dick. Who will probably always be able to beat her, maybe two times out of ten. No matter how much more she grows in her skills. There’s that one or two times every now and then, where it will always be a toss-up, as likely to go to him as to her.

And its not something that Dick’s even aware of giving him a specific edge when it comes to fighting her, and its not something he could capitalize on even if he were aware of it.

See, as much as fighting is second nature to Cass, as instinctive as breathing…it goes hand in hand with her ability to read body language. That’s her edge, the one variable that no one else can compete with or match her on, the thing that will always put her in a class of her own…..the one result of specific training that was crafted specifically to create this one result.

You can’t separate Cassandra’s fighting prowess from her ability to read body language. They are one and the same, even if she can use the latter for other things too, and even if her fighting prowess isn’t JUST due to her ability to read body language. Which its not, by any means. BUT, regardless, she can’t train herself out of a reliance on body language while fighting….especially not to fight one person in specific, her own brother, and even there pretty much just out of pride.

Because the slight advantage Dick has over everyone else when facing her, is that like her, he’s one of the only fighters out there who was trained from birth to have an almost inhuman mastery of his own body, to be at the peak of human capability in specific regards. Even though his training wasn’t at all in the arena of fighting, at least not before he was taken in by Bruce. For Dick as well as Cass, there are certain things that are so fundamental to him, so ingrained into his movements because they were taught to him at the same time as he was taught to walk, the one being every bit as natural as the other.

And acrobatics was only one of these things. Performing was the other.

Y’see, the one variable Cass can’t totally account for every single time she spars with Dick….is that Dick’s body lies.

Like I said earlier on….its not just reading body language that Dick was likely raised to do, albeit in different, less rigorous ways than Cass. He was also taught from an equally early age how to DISPLAY body language. Or rather, a specific kind of body language.

My headcanon is that because as early as he began learning acrobatics, Dick was taught acrobatics with an eye towards performing, specifically. Since that was what his family did. And the one thing performers like the Flying Graysons always, always have to do…is perform with a smile.

So it was probably drilled into Dick from an early age, even if it wasn’t couched in these terms or even consciously thought of in this specific way…..but while taught the fundamental components of a flip, breaking it down into each individual micro-movement expected of his body in order to achieve the optimal flip for performing in front of a crowd…..one of those micro-movements, for Dick…was a smile.

Its as fundamental to his acrobatics as every other command his conscious AND subconscious mind sends to the various muscle groups he uses in his routines and now in his fighting even. I think its a large part of why quips and banter and grins are so intrinsic to his fighting as well. He doesn’t KNOW how to be anything else. Bruce probably tried to train it out of him before realizing or accepting that focusing on just making Dick not smile while backflipping over an opponent was detrimental, if not merely just unnecessary. Its just second nature to Dick, as much as reading body language is to Cass.

His own training from the time he could walk, put just as much emphasis on ensuring that no matter how he felt during a performance, no matter how exhausted he was or how stressed, whether he was having a bad day or was just cranky or mad at his parents or mad about something someone in the crowd said or just didn’t feel like practicing his routines today….he did it all with a smile, an easy, effortless grin, as though he was lighter than air and nothing he did was taking a toll on his body, it was all equally effortless.

Combine that with the fact that for Dick, because of what his training was FOR….because it was all done in the name of being with his family, being like his family, it was so he could do what nobody else could do, so he could fly….unlike Cass, Dick’s early training instilled in him an intrinsic pairing of movement and joy. To him, movement IS joy. Its essential to his core, to who he is.

Where other people see him throwing in unnecessary flips to his fighting to show off, Dick’s always just grinned and shrugged his shoulders at this, unable to explain what’s not even a matter of conscious thought….to him, saying he added an unnecessary flip is like saying to someone else they took an unnecessary breath. He can understand what they’re saying….just like you can take note of taking an extra breath that you don’t really need…but he can’t link that to the ‘show off’ part of things anymore than you could understand someone accusing you of showing off for taking shorter, quicker breaths than you need to.

Because Dick doesn’t throw in unnecessary acrobatics while fighting because he wants to show off, IMO. Who is he showing off for? The people he’s fighting? Why on earth would they be more impressed by him doing an extra fancy flip than they would just by virtue of knowing his reputation as a fighter and seeing it proven true as he kicked their ass? No, I think he does it because he’s not even thinking about it, and he certainly can’t think of a reason not to. Its just what he does. Flipping out of the way of an incoming punch in such a way as to make that flip as aesthetically appealing as it is functional, is every bit as instinctive to Dick as every other part of the flip.

Because that’s WHY he was trained to do all this. That’s what its for. Not fighting and superheroics. Those are what he adapted it to do. First and foremost, it was done, taught to him, perfected by him…..so he could fly. And show everybody just how much he loved doing that, when you get right down to it. Because he loves being able to do that. For Dick, the heights he can reach are his higher power, and every single movement he makes is like an individual prayer given in thanks of the gift given to him, that enables him to do that in ways nobody else can match.

But in terms of fighting, and in terms of body language that Cass reads on an equally unconscious level….this has the unexpected and accidental side effect where every so often…Dick’s body lies. At least, I imagine that’s how Cass would describe it, if she ever put it into words for someone. Because he links his joy, his happiness and pleasure at being able to do the acrobatics he does with the movements themselves, because its so ingrained in him to do it all with a smile, to sell for the crowd that its all done with the greatest of ease, and because its inevitable that on some basic level, there are some flips or techniques that the mere act of doing brings to mind - even just his subconscious - memories he associates with that movement, that are largely, more often than not, pleasurable memories….Dick’s body language every so often doesn’t quite read the way everyone else’s does. The way Cass expects it to, knows how to interpret.

And this is nothing deliberate on his part. Nothing he could capitalize on, even if Cass did ever tell him what it reads like from her perspective. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t train himself to use this to his advantage in fights against Cass, any more than Bruce for all his mastery of his body, can effectively train himself to not broadcast certain body language tells when sparring with Cass. Because Bruce’s training, as extensive and intense as it was, and as he commits himself to it, still only started later in life. When his movements and how they pair with each other and his emotional states, they were already set in stone. Because those things go deeper than conscious control….even if Bruce made an effort to hide his next punch from Cass, she’d see the indicators of him preparing to deceive and adapt just as instinctively.

But Dick, because his training began as early and was so 24/7 in its own way as Cassandra’s, when they were both just learning their basic fundamentals and their body was building connections between their muscle movements and emotions they felt when using each precise combination of each specific muscles to achieve each specific end result….with Dick, the times his body language misleads Cass is as unconscious as breathing to him, as instinctive as every other of these movements, and the urge to smile while doing it. He’s not aware of doing it, couldn’t consciously command himself to do it more without giving that away in micro-expressions in his face….but its there, nonetheless. Because its not like it was done or trained into him in order to lie to Cass or someone like her….that’s just an unanticipated side-effect. It was done for one reason only: to make even the most rigorous of efforts look as effortless as skipping.

And it being that instinctive is WHY Cass occasionally falls for it, every now and again. Even when she tries to prepare for it sometimes. Because its like a lie spoken in her own first language. Every so often, she misreads how exhausted or worn out he is while in the middle of a spar, because Dick’s body language while flipping around so often reads as easy, light-hearted, happy. None of the things associated with being on the verge of his legs giving out, even if they are. And every now and again, a punch catches her off guard, because its not telegraphed in any of the normal ways, his body language is too focused on what’s coming after the punch, the preparation to make a leap or a vault that its particularly excited for, that always paired with anticipation, from as early as he could attempt it. Every once in awhile she fails to capitalize on a moment of weakness he has or an injury he’s nursing…because she’s missed the signs for it, its so buried deep beneath the performance mask he was trained to wear specifically while continuing through a routine even while feeling an ache or pain in that particular muscle group.

Even if no one else entirely knows why, Dick can beat Cass every once in awhile, even more often than Bruce can. Because the LESS Dick focuses his conscious thoughts, the MORE instinctive he makes his movements, basically when he MOST relies on just muscle memory and lets his body take over on autopilot, trusting it to get him safely through a fight while his conscious mind and troubles might be otherwise distracting him…..that’s when Cass has the hardest time reading him reliably. Because when he gets like that, everything else vanishes. Its like no other emotions exist for him. Even while being otherwise miserable or unhappy or grieving or tired….when he just lets go and trusts his body to do what its been trained to do so often and extensively its just pure instinct at this point….all of her brother’s movements at that point just sing. The brutality of a fight gets lost in the beauty of his acrobatics, even on the very same level and in the very language she most relies on…because they were meant to be ‘spoken’ even that bone-deep, they were meant to look like and indicate pure joy of movement in even the most primal of languages.

On a certain level, Cassandra has always been the least surprised of any of their family, why people like Deathstroke and the Court of Owls and countless other villains have always been so intent, so focused on making Dick specifically turn to their side, become one of them…become a killer. She understands the draw they feel towards him perfectly, probably even better than they do. Because the language these villains speak most naturally is violence. And her eldest brother takes violence and makes it art.

And even villains are drawn to art that speaks to them in a language they can understand.

So, even though she doesn’t want it to, even though it shouldn’t bother her, even though it ultimately doesn’t even matter that much….it bothers Cass, a little bit. That Dick has just enough of an x-factor in sparrings specific to just the two of them, that no matter how much Cass tries to adjust for it, she can still be thrown or fooled as easily as anyone else can fall for a lie spoken in a shared language. Its actually probably for the best that her own unique form of Kryptonite belongs to none other than her very own big brother, protective to a fault. Someone who would never hurt her.

Except…

Even with all that, she can’t help herself. Every once in awhile, she looks at Dick and can’t help but be wary. She doesn’t like having a potential blindspot she knows full well is there and can’t do a damn thing about. She doesn’t like that it bugs her so much either, but it does. She doesn’t like that the fighting and body-language reading that are the end results of her father’s abuse have become in different ways just enough of points of pride that she finds her pride pricked at the reminder she’s still fallible. Still human. Can still be fooled, even if unintentionally, even if not that often.

Because given the price she paid - that she never asked to pay, never was asked if she WANTED to pay it - to be so foolproof, at least where everyone else is concerned, she at least wished the damn training had worked as intended, instead of one specific monkey wrench her father hadn’t accounted for. All because who was prepared for an acrobatic vigilante who’s happy and gleeful on a primal level even when fighting for his life, because his body can’t help but be glad it can fly?

So she fights that feeling down any time it arises, becomes all the more determined for it not to create a wedge between her and the big brother she honestly adores and she knows honestly adores her too.

But sometimes when he smiles at her, Cass hates the way she is. What it makes her. Because all of them by now are used to people like the Court constantly trying to repurpose Dick, turn him against everything he holds dear. And each time everyone else is reminded of that, they turn to cast glances at Cass, without even thinking about it. They’re all just as aware of Dick’s own fighting prowess, after all. And how deadly he could be if he ever put his mind to it and set aside his morality.

She knows full well that if that ever happened, if any villain ever did manage to get their hooks in deep, she’s the one it would ultimately fall to. The Break Glass in Case of Emergency, Plan Z, final failsafe. She was who they would sic on the big brother that’s always drawn the darkness like moths to his flickering flame.

And she alone nurses the knowledge that if it ever came to that….she’s not quite as certain as the rest of their family, that she could infallibly win.

It bothers her more than she can say, more than she will ever dare say….that one of her greatest fears wears her doting eldest brother’s face.

Because if the Court of Owls ever did make a Talon of him for real, there’s no one who could sink a fatal blade past her guard more easily than he. She might never see it coming, too busy looking at him and seeing nothing but poetry instead.

Dick held her once while she came down from a lungful of Fear Toxin. Even as she shook the last of it from her system and looked at him with fresh, clear eyes again, she couldn’t help but flinch. He asked her what she’d seen while under its influence. She didn’t answer, and hated how sad he looked while covering up. No doubt thinking that it was because even now she didn’t trust him, her own family, wouldn’t let herself be completely vulnerable with them.

Still, she’s certain he would have looked far sadder if she’d told him the truth.

So each and every time her big brother’s body tells her a lie, she tells him one right back.

After all, the flip side of being the two best truthseers in the family, is there’s nobody better at being lie-tellers at the same time.

Who else is ever going to know?

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lomldrake · 4 years

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tim drake, who is just a little in love with everyone he meets.

tim drake, who as a young child saw jason todd and has not since let go of the image. who, even when jason presses a knife to his throat or a gun to his scalp, has a lingering sense of worship left for the man that was robin, his robin. who, even though life has moved on and they're not little kids anymore will always see jason as a robin, will always hold him to the regards of a robin.

tim drake, who met stephanie brown as a teenager and was intrigued from day one, despite getting a brick to the head. who knew it was love, when she asked him to go to birthing classes with him, and he didn't think twice about it, despite it not even being his child. who knew he had found his soulmate when he was 18 and she pushed him onto the hood of his car in front of the hall of justice, as if her life depended on it. maybe it did. who, despite thinking marriage was a scam for years, cried on his wedding night because he was so overwhelmed by how much he loved her.

tim drake, who saw kon-el kent in the teen titans tower and immediately knew he was fucked. who, saw the tinted sunglasses and patched up leather jacket and not for a second doubted that kon and him would get along perfectly. who, despite keeping his identity secret for years, always knew he could count on kon for everything. who, knew that going along with kon's stupid ideas was reckless and idiotic and did it anyways because it was fun and he liked having fun with kon, because it was just so easy.

tim drake, who at first had a hard time getting closer to cissie king-jones, because they were both private people at their core, but who ended up understanding her on a much deeper level than he did most others. who, even after she left the team was oh so willing to drop everything if she was to call and need help. who never once judged her for needing a break from the lifestyle because he understood it. who, even years later, still knew he could trust her no matter what.

tim drake, who hadn't slept properly in three days when he met bart allen and should not have had the energy to keep up with the speedster, but who did, because bart made it so easy to keep up with him. who, no matter how busy he was, would always try to make time to listen to bart talk about all the things he discovered now that are just 'so different' in the future, just because tim liked the way bart's eyes would glow when he saw people were actually listening to him ramble.

tim drake, who spend night after night sitting in cassie sandsmark's childhood bedroom, doing his best to somehow help her. who, even when everything went to shit, when they had lost everyone else, knew cassie was there for him, and was there for her just as much, because he knew she deserved someone to be there. who, without even thinking twice would attack anyone she told him to, because he trusted her judgement like not many others.

tim drake, who from day one idolised dick grayson, because he was the one who invented robin. who, despite jason being the robin he grew up with mostly, appreciated dick grayson like not many others did. who was willing to call dick out on his mistakes and flaws while still adoring him just the same. who, even when dick hurt him, when dick took away the mantle for him, never fully got mad, because he couldn't, even if he would have wanted to.

tim drake, who met tam fox, not as robin, not as red robin, but as tim drake, ceo of wayne enterprises. who for the first time in ages let himself be just tim around her, let himself relax a little, despite everything going on in his life. who, seconds after meeting her, was willing to risk his life because he knew she was something special to him, even if he couldn't quite tell how or why.

tim drake, who is just a little in love with everyone he meets.

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 years

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To Love, Honor, and Support (Batdad!Reader x Batman Headcanons)

Requested by @yesthetrashbin for “the batboys being tasked to clean the attic (without Alfred's help cuz that man deserves a day off!) and finds Bruce's and Reader's wedding tape and watch it.” Love this idea so much and I just had to do it!

And please, if you’ve got requests, keep ‘em coming! I always love getting ideas!

I really like this guy for Bruce Wayne. Who is this? Anyway...

No one likes the idea. Not even Alfred. But you have to corral these crazy kids somehow.

“But - Pops!” Dick whines.

“I don’t even live here.” Jason scoffs.

“TT, is this really necessary, Papa?”

“It’s our day off!” Tim sighs.

“Really, Master Y/N, I’d much rather do it myself-”

“Silence!” you cry. “Alfred, seriously, you haven’t taken a rest in months. I need you to rest, or I’m gonna go crazy from sympathy exhaustion. We have four perfectly healthy and strong young men to help clean this attic, and clean the attic they shall. Jason - you like eating here, right? And the rest of you who live here, this is not optional.”

Everyone reluctantly shuffles onwards. You smile. For once, it seems like you’ve actually done the impossible and wrangled all four of your sons.

Congratulations, you.

You consider going to find Bruce and telling him all about today’s triumph. Now where could he be...

Meanwhile, in the attic...

Tim finds a bunch of old tapes. “Oh my god... this place hasn’t been cleaned in years..”

“What are you yammering about, Drake?”

“They’re video tapes, demon spawn.” Jason says knowledgeably. “Before phones, people used to put stuff on video cameras.”

“I am aware of what they are, Todd.” Damian snaps.

Dick is looking at the little strip of white tape on the cassette: Bruce and Y/N - Wedding. “Guys, its Bruce and Y/N’s wedding tape!”

Jason gives an exaggerated groan, but Dick organizes them all into action, because it’s easier to look through the mess for a video cassette player than it is to actually do what they came up here for.

And eventually they have the player hooked up through a mess of universal adapters so that they can watch the video on Tim’s laptop.

And your face pops up. You look so young, it’s incredible.

“That is Papa?” Damian asks in surprise.

Alfred was the one to make this video. He even spliced it in with some footage of the official wedding tape, making it almost like a documentary.

You’re dressed in your suit, a white rose in your lapel, and young Dick is there, and you’re helping him tie his tie.

“I can’t get it right! It’s under-over-through-over-” Dick looks so adorably frustrated by the tie. You lightly push his hands away.

“Here, let me. I got you.” Dick huffs as you expertly tie the tie and straighten it. “Ooh, you look so handsome, little man!”

“Really?”

Jason playfully punches the present Dick in the shoulder.

“You were so needy.”

“Shut up.:

Alfred has cleared his throat. “Everything alright, Master Y/N?”

“Yep, just making sure my little ring-bearer is all set to go!”

“I’m not that little, Pops.”

You give him a high-five. “Just let me savor it while you’re still shorter than me, okay?”

“...Fine.”

Dick runs off to play and likely rumple his nice wedding suit, but you let him.

Alfred asks you questions about how you’re feeling.

“Oh, no, this is gonna be something you and Dick watch later and make fun of me for, isn’t it?” you suddenly ask, and give a mock glare directly at the camera, making present-day Dick feel slightly scared.

“Come, now, sir. Something to tell your future children.”

“Children? Alfred, do you know something I don’t?” you joke.

“For posterity.” Alfred insists.

“Okay, okay. Look, kid or kids watching this in the future. I - I hope I’ve been a good parent to you. I mean, I know your lives probably haven’t been easy, if Dick’s example is anything to go by.

All of them give an appreciative chuckle.

“But, you know, I promise that I’ll always be there for you. Me and Bruce’ll always be there for you. So, uh, don’t worry about that. Love you guys. And uh, stop watching this now before it gets really embarrassing.”

Alfred chuckles as you wave your arms. “Stop watching, parents kissing ahead!”

And then Alfred is in Bruce’s dressing room, where he’s also having trouble with his tie.

Damian is again astonished by the youthfulness.

“This - stupid- thing! I’m trained in every single kind of knot imaginable, Alfred, why can’t I get this one right?”

“Because you’re nervous, sir?”

Bruce scoffs. “That’s ridiculous, Alfred. There’s nothing to be nervous about. Y/N loves me, and I love him. There’s nothing more to it.”

Alfred sets down the camera. Thankfully it’s facing the mirror so that the kids can see Alfred helping Bruce with his tie in the reflection.

“That’s absolutely right, sir. No reason at all to be nervous. I must’ve been mistaken.:

“I know what you’re doing, Alfred.”

“I know, Master Bruce.”

It cuts to wedding footage. You and Bruce take turns walking down the aisle. The kids can see Jim and Barbara Gordon in the front row. Dr. Leslie Tompkins walks Bruce up the aisle, and Alfred walks you up.

Little Dick walks up proudly in his rumpled suit, his hair mussed, but the rings on the little pillow he holds still in perfect condition.

Neither Jason, Tim, nor Damian can recall Bruce ever smiling so happily

You and Bruce take turns going over the vows to love, to honor, and to support one another, you first.

“Y/N L/N, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

Cheers come from your present-day children, even Damian.

“And do you, Bruce Wayne, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Bruce gives a firm nod, still smiling like a dork. He doesn’t seem to realize that he hasn’t spoken. A second passes, and he glances at the priest, then back to you and quickly says “I do.”

Dick and Jason are laughing so hard.

“You may now kiss your husband.”

Jason automatically covers Damian’s eyes as you two kiss, and Damian struggles.

The last shot is of you and Bruce walking down the aisle hand in hand, people cheering all around you

And then your voice rattles the attic.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Everybody whirls to see present-day you looking at the attic - which has not been cleaned one bit. Bruce stands behind you looking amused, probably because you.spent the whole time talking about how you finally got them all in line. But he notices something.

“Is that Alfred’s tape?”

Dick gets up and hugs you both tightly, surprising you. Jason, Tim, and even Damian join in

You and Bruce share a look that is at once shocked and joyous.

And unseen by anyone but you, Bruce gives a smile that is just as happy as the one on your wedding day.

#male reader #batdad reader #batman x male reader #batfamily x male reader #batman headcanons #dc headcanons #headcanons

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afni-fics · 3 years

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Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 17: Dragon Rising (part 1)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 17: Dragon Rising (part 1) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

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Summary:

Tim and Lucien make it back to Dragonsreach with the intention of dropping off the Dragonstone and then going to the Temple of Kynareth for some well deserved and long overdue rest and recovery... But then again what is it that they say about the best laid plans of mice and men...?

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

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

At the annoyed look Jarl gave him, Tim realized his "Timothy Wayne" mask must have slipped a bit. He slipped his "mask" back on and gave the Jarl an apologetic look. "Forgive me, Jarl Balgruuf," he said, speaking up a little louder than before and motioning vaguely toward the right side of his head. "I took pretty nasty blow back at the Barrow and I'm still can't hear well out of this ear. Can you repeat what you said?"

Balgruuf sighed. He looked at Tim and repeated his last statement, a little louder this time so Tim could "hear". "I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon!"

***

At first, everything went along as both Tim and Lucien had expected once they left the camp they'd rested in after leaving Bleak Falls Barrow. They spent nearly the entire day walking back to Whiterun, with a brief stop by Riverwood to drop off the Golden Dragon Claw with its original owner. Of course it was well past sunset by the time they entered Dragonsreach, but not so late that the people they needed to speak to were asleep.

Once inside Dragonsreach, they immediately delivered the Dragonstone to a very pleased court wizard Farengar, who had been speaking with a strange hooded woman before their arrival.

Tim only halfway paid attention to Farengar and his guest. He barely stifled a yawn as he felt a touch on his good arm.

"Finally," Lucien whispered behind Tim with what sounded like a great amount of relief as Farengar was distracted speaking with the woman. "I know it's late, but let's get out of here and to the Temple. If we're lucky, a priest or priestess will still be awake and can take a look at your injuries."

Tim nodded wearily. This most recent journey to Whiterun felt longer and more taxing than his previous travels to and from the city. He knew his body was close to his limit, and he could feel the fever from the night before creeping up again.

Unfortunately, Tim had no luck to speak of that evening as Jarl Balgruuf's guard Irileth stormed into the wizard's room, announcing that a dragon had been sighted nearby.

***

Tim bowed his head to the Jarl, shaking his head slightly. He didn't even bother masking the apologetic disbelief in his tone. "I... I would love to help. I really would. But--"

Jarl pointed at Tim. "You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here."

"More experience? Is that what we're calling it now?" Tim echoed under his breath as he found himself unwillingly reliving memories of the disaster at Helgen and his first-hand trauma due to the flames of that black dragon. He wanted to snap at the Jarl, to tell him that he was an idiot and he was not going to go anywhere near any more dragons. He wanted to storm out of Dragonsreach and put as much distance between himself and this castle as he could.

Instead...

"I... I'll do what I can, Jarl Balgruuf," Tim muttered in a defeated, obedient tone with his gaze lowered before turning on his heel and walking down the stairs as quickly and politely as he could towards the doors that would take him back into the city of Whiterun proper.

***

"Timothy! Wait! Tim! Stop!"

Once outside Dragonsreach, Tim didn't stop walking until finally, at the base of the large tree in the courtyard of the upper district of Whiterun. Lucien caught up with him and forced himself directly between Tim and the path leading down another flight of stairs to the marketplace. Lucien seemed a bit winded, as he'd had to dash to catch up to the young man before he got completely out of reach.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Lucien demanded after he caught his breath enough to speak.

"Please Lucien... Just get out of the way. I have to catch up with Irileth."

"Why?! You are in no condition to face down a rabid skeever, let alone a full blow fire-breathing dragon!"

"The Jarl asked--"

"The Jarl is an idiot!"

Tim looked at Lucien with a startled expression.

Lucien appeared absolutely beside himself with frustration as he continued on his rant. "Just because you survived the dragon at Helgen doesn't mean you have anything significant to contribute to a fight against it now that's reared its ugly face again. Clearly you are not fire-proof, and you are in no way armed or armored enough to face down a monster of that magnitude, ESPECIALLY after everything you went through in Helgen and in the Barrow and after an entire day's travel on foot from the wilds of the hold all the way to the city!

"Besides, anyone with eyes can see you're not well! Even Irileth gave you a look before she went out to gather the rest of her soldiers after the Jarl made his ludicrous demand!" Lucien took a moment to pause and catch his breath again. When he spoke, it was with a more even tone. "If the Jarl wants extra bodies and blades to throw against that beast, he's got a whole boatload of Companions waiting right there who would be more than happy to add dragon-slaying to their list of accomplishments." Lucien threw an arm at the nearby mead hall of the Companions' guild made from what looked like an overturned viking longboat. "All he has to do is walk down the damned hill or send a messenger if he's too lazy for even that."

Lucien gave him a pleading look. "Timothy... You're not even a citizen of his Hold. You're just... passing through... and you owe Balgruuf no allegience."

Tim wavered. If he was healthy, if he wasn't sick, if he had his Red Robin gear, he knew he could help the soldiers of Whiterun fight this dragon and win. It was what he did as a Titan. It was how he was raised as a Bat. But he was sick and injured and if he tried to fight in this state, he could very well find himself dead, or responsible for the death of others.

Lucien could see the conflict warring on Tim's face. It confused him. Why would anyone suffering as much as he was right now with illness and injury want to continue fighting when the should be resting and healing?

"You don't have to follow the Jarl's orders," Lucien said gently. "It's not like you're a soldier and he's your comman--"

The scholar's eyes widened as he had a flash of insight. He immediately thought of Tim's skillful fighting style both with his quarterstaff and bare hands as they went through the Barrow. He remembered the young man's strategizing as they came upon bandits and traps and draugr. He recalled in his mind's eye not just the burns on his arm and back, but also an odd collection of other far older battle scars peppered across his torso and limbs. He gazed at Tim as if seeing another part of him for the first time.

"Wait. You ARE a soldier... of some sort... aren't you?"

Tim nodded reluctantly. "In my homeland, I-- well my entire adopted family really-- we're..." He trailed off a bit as he tried to figure out the best words to give to Lucien. "... peacekeepers for our city. For Gotham." He raked his hand through his hair. "It was our mission to protect the citizens from threats both inside the city and beyond. The mission... always comes first."

Lucien sighed. "Well that explains a bit," he murmured with a small groan. "The way I see it, Timothy, you have two choices before you right now. One... You can disregard the Jarl's order entirely. You're not his citizen or his soldier. You've gone above and beyond already getting that Dragonstone for him. He technically owes you a favor, not the other way around. We can either go right now to the Temple over there so you can start the healing process, or we can just leave Whiterun altogether. I'll pay the carriage driver whatever he wants to leave tonight for Solitude. It may take a couple of days, but at least this way there's no risk of being dragged into any more of the Jarl's nonsense. We'll either find another priest in another town along the way, or we can go straight to the Temple of the Divines in Solitude once we get there."

"And the other choice?"

"The other choice is..." And Lucien returned his pleading look to Tim as he continued reluctantly "... you continue after Irileth and complete the Jarl's ridiculous unreasonable request. You do your best to assist against the dragon, but knowing you're likely to get yourself hurt even worse or killed in the process."

Tim stood for a long moment in silence. He looked to the doors of the Temple of Kynareth with a longing expression, and for a moment Lucien was hopeful that the young man would choose the path of self-preservation.

Then Tim bowed his head solemnly.

"I'm sorry, Lucien," he whispered as he turned away from the Temple and walked around the scholar to go down the stairs leading toward the marketplace and the path leading out of Whiterun. "If there's some way for me to help Irileth and the soldiers, I have to at least try. If I don't at least try, I don't think I could live with myself."

He did pause and looked up at Lucien from the bottom of the stairs with sad, apologetic smile that frankly broke the poor scholar's heart. "Thank you for worrying about me, though, and taking care of me the past couple of days. I... really appreciate all you've done. You're a good man, Lucien Flavius. I'm lucky to have met you." Then Tim gave him a half-hearted farewell wave and continued on the path to catch up with Irileth and her soldiers, leaving Lucien behind.

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

Warning: This is being pantsed more than plotted, and this is not beta read. We'll see where this journey takes us. Mostly I'm just doing this for my own amusement.

Note1: If you have any questions about the playthrough and Tim's feelings/experiences that aren't described in the chapters, please ask me in the comments. I'll do my best to answer your questions as best I can.

Note2:

And so we start the "Dragon Rising" questline of the main story arc of Skyrim. Lucien gets more insight into Tim's character as a person as his disdain for the Jarl of Whiterun grows.

Honestly, even in previous playthroughs of Skyrim, it always struck me as kinda stupid that the Jarl would ask our Dragonborn to go help Irileth fight the dragon at the watchtower before even considering reaching out to the Companions that are right down the street from him. Balgruuf, as a character, never struck me as especially bright either in matters of politics, war, or governing. Clearly the ones managing to hold Whiterun Hold together are Irileth and Proventus.

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

#elder scrolls dc #fanfiction #tim drake #skyrim fanfiction #batfam fanfic #red robin #batfam #crossover #lucien flavius #wip #afewnovelideas

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

Text

An Endless Hope (7/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces who seem awfully familiar along the way.

Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

Stephanie grew angry, frustrated that this world seemed determined to take her through one long extended metaphor of her interpersonal relationships. Whomever this old woman was supposed to be, she had no time for it.

“Yes, yes. ‘Tis me. A human being. I am trying to get to the ice witch’s palace, but this lovely creature decided here was a better stop. Not to be rude but… I’m not here willingly.”

The old woman smiled at Stephanie’s attitude.

“Come in. Warm up. If you want into that palace I can help, but I’ll need to know your purpose.”

“No,” Stephanie stubbornly pushed back. “I can find my own way in.”

The lady was not impressed, trudging up to Stephanie and Abie. She grabbed Stephanie’s ankle and tugged hard, making Stephanie tumble off the reindeer and land face first in the snow.

“You will die if you just barge in with no idea how that magic works. Only a fool would do such a thing.”

Raising her head, spitting out snow and glowering at the woman, Stephanie sardonically replied, “Maybe I am a fool.”

“A fool in love?”

Stephanie’s jaw twitched and the lady sighed. She held out a palm for Stephanie to take.

“You haven’t gotten this far on your own. The final steps will be yours, but you will need one last push to get you over the edge.” Chewing her lip, Stephanie took the woman’s hand and was hauled up. After being allowed inside the sweltering hut, Stephanie perched herself on a little wooden bench, taking off her cloak and shoes. The old woman looked back at Abie, “You can come in too Mr Reindeer.”

“His name is Abie,” Stephanie interjected.

Abie trotted inside. He was a little bit too big for the space, but it seemed he appreciated the warmth as much as the plate of beetroot that the lady placed in front of him as he settled on some hay near the fire. The lady pat his large head and looked to Stephanie,

“A good name. What’s yours?”

A plate of cheesy potatoes was pulled out of the oven. Stephanie’s stomach once again grumbled, and she swallowed sorely.

“Oh no. I’m done playing that game. Last time a nice old lady offered me food and help and asked my name I ended up brainwashed for weeks.”

The woman seemed amused at Stephanie’s short fuse temper and asked, “Which old lady?”

“Who knows. A cottage by a big river. I was drowning and she picked me up…” Stephanie looked down at her gloves, feeling a stab of sympathy for the old lady. “I think she was lonely and wanted the company. I must have looked like a gift from God.”

The old lady snorted, unimpressed.

“Good thing I have no interest in letting you stay here very long then,” and Stephanie watched as the old lady piled two plates high full of cheesy goodness. “I am a witch, not like the one whose castle you are hunting, but I look after the land surrounding. There’s a couple of us here and there. We maintain our little plots of land and try to keep out of trouble from people like the Princess of Summer or the Snow Queen.”

“I met the Summer Princess, I think. She’d just gotten married.”

The old lady made an impressed face. “Red hair? Green eyes? Jaundice skin?”

Stephanie nodded, “Yes. A palace in the trees?”

The old lady whistled, sitting down next to Stephanie, and tucking into her meal. She placed the second plate and fork on Stephanie’s lap.

“Took her long enough. She’s a good girl really, a little proud, but when things get hard our pride is all we have. Her pride prevented her happiness for some time though.”

Stephanie sighed, looked at the potatoes, then Abie resting against the fire, and turned to eat. It was very tasty.

The two ate in silence for a while, and when Stephanie was finished, the lady took her plate and placed it in the sink.

“So,” the woman said gripping her counter. “A human crossed the border and is trying to get to the Snow Queen’s palace. There is strong magic around her home. I can help you cross, but I need to know why.”

“She took someone.”

“Another human? Yes, she does that sometimes.” The old lady turned, a suspicious eye on Stephanie. “But no-one has ever been followed. No rescue attempt has ever been made. You jumped borders to find them. Who is this person to you?”

“He’s my… he’s mine. My person. My boy.”

The woman’s suspicious look grew soft, “Your heart?”

“I love him very much,” Stephanie said simply. “He doesn’t deserve to be abandoned or forgotten.”

The heat was becoming uncomfortable, so Stephanie looked for permission to take off her tights.

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I have to keep it very warm here.”

“Understandably.”

The woman with a sigh sat down opposite Stephanie once more. She grew solemn.

“It is good, that you are motivated by love. She doesn’t understand such a thing. It means you can get inside.”

Stephanie could not let go entirely of her suspicion of witches, and asked, “Why would you help me? Surely it won’t matter to you if I fail or succeed. Actually, if anything, if I do succeed… she might hurt you.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t dare. Don’t you worry about that. It’ll be nice for her to learn a lesson about humans and their tenacity for once. I’m tired of her taking and taking with no thought to the consequences. She sees you all as so weak.” A breath, a stilted silence, and Stephanie waited patiently. When the woman spoke again, it was with a quiet urgency, a need to make Stephanie understand the severity of her quest. “You're going to have to give something up, something you love, something he loves, in order to reach the throne room."

Stephanie thought for a moment, then offered her hands entreating, "My gloves. I made them for him. Took me weeks. Would these do?"

The lady sighed, then pushed Stephanie's hands back towards her chest.

"No. I'm afraid that's not enough." She inspected Stephanie from head to toe, and Stephanie fought the urge to push that there was nothing else on her that Tim loved, outside of her own life.

Oh. Was this where it had all been heading? Childhood, first love, parenthood... Death?

Clasping her hands to her chest, she begged, "There has to be something..."

Reaching forward, the lady tugged the at the hair tie that held in what remained of the fantastic braid the Summer Princess had given Stephanie. It had mostly fallen out during the fight and flight from the robbers, but still. The lady lightly combed her trembling wrinkled fingers through Stephanie’s hair. It was still curly and wavy, a little bit wild, but soft and shining.

It really was too long. But Tim liked it, even if he had never said so aloud, so she had put off getting it cut for over a year. She liked that he liked it.

Stephanie’s breathing stilled. “Take it.”

“You’re sure?” The lady brushed Stephanie’s cheek as she stood up. Fumbling through some cabinets, it seemed she was looking for a pair of scissors.

“It’ll grow back,” Stephanie pushed. Grabbing the curls in two bundles, she shook the golden strands. “It’s like twenty inches at this point. I don’t need it. Not if it will help Tim.”

Panting with panic, Stephanie watched the lady struggle to find anything to chop her hair with. There was a spinning wheel in the corner but the woman honestly didn’t have a pair of scissors?

“A simple pair of scissors will not do,” said the woman, seemingly reading Stephanie’s mind. What else would work?

“Wait, here,” and Stephanie pulled out from her belt the knife the boy had given her. “Can you use this?”

The woman looked shocked that Stephanie even had such a thing. “Where did you get this?”

“A little boy gave it to me. The robbers who live by the edge of the forest.”

The woman took the knife. “This is a very special weapon. He would not have let go of such a thing so lightly.”

Stephanie resolved to find the precious boy and return the knife once her and Tim began their journey home.

Moving behind Stephanie, the woman twisted up her hair into the beginnings of what would have been a French twist. Holding the knife near the base of her neck, Stephanie prayed she hadn’t made a mistake of trusting the wrong person.

The woman paused and asked for one last confirmation, “This isn’t just hair, you know? Well, it is for you maybe, but over here –”

“I’ve cut it short before. He didn’t care. Hurry up,” Stephanie snapped. “I need to go to him, he needs me. Long hair or bald.”

“Well you won’t be bald,” the lady reassured, tone teasingly pleasant. “Just a little bit of a choppy cut. But still, I’ll ask again. What’s your name? And what is the name of the boy you are hunting for?”

Stephanie gulped, knowing she probably didn’t have much of a choice, especially with a sharp knife very close to her spinal cord.

“My name is Stephanie Brown. And I’m wanting to find Timothy Drake and bring him home.”

The woman whispered to herself, and then the sound of the sharp knife cutting through her hair like hot butter made Stephanie shiver and cry out, almost as if someone had pulled one of her fingers from its joint. For an unknown reason she began to cry. She felt the short strands of hair fall down and frame her face. Her right hand went up to feel the damage and the woman stepped in front of her. She placed the knife back in Stephanie’s lap and shook the thick and long clump of hair in her other hand. Stephanie looked up at her, eyes wet and red.

“You’ll have to wait a bit longer,” the old woman said as she trundled over to the spinning wheel. Feeling unsteady on her feet, Stephanie got up and watched the old woman whisper at her chopped off hair and begin to thread the machine.

“You can’t make yarn out of human hair,” Stephanie protested, voice thick with phlegm made by her tears. “It’s not good for that.”

“Ahem. Who is the magic lady here? You’ve heard stories of people turning hay to gold right?”

“Rumpelstiltskin?”

“That’s a terrible name. But if we can do it with hay, imagine what we can do with hair…”

And she began to spin, muttering to herself every now and then, whilst Stephanie repeatedly ran her hands through her short hair. Shortly after her first pregnancy she had chopped most of it off and obsessively straightened it. Back then she had told herself it was because it was getting difficult to manage its length under her Spoiler mask, but in hindsight it made just as much sense to blame it on wanting to start fresh. She had her baby, she knew Tim’s name, and they had begun their relationship in earnest, both as Robin and Spoiler and Tim and Steph. New beginnings and all that. She’d also wanted Dana and Jack to take her more seriously. Short straight hair belonged to a more responsible lady. Not a frivolous teen mom. Fat lot of good it had done her, but she had tried.

She had tried.

“Listen closely,” the woman said, twisting the hair and pressing the pedal as she worked. “I know what she does to the humans she brings back with her. She longs for their fragile beauty to be preserved, but the entire kidnapping process is just too traumatic for humans, so they quickly die. From the cold, from grief… doesn’t matter. They can’t survive with her. So, in recent decades, she’s been testing freezing their hearts. They can survive longer in the cold that way. But freezing their hearts strips them of what she loves about humans. But she’s too foolish to understand why she loves them so.”

She paused and looked at Stephanie. A moment passed of uncomfortable silence, and the woman narrowed her dark eyes at Stephanie.

“You know why you love this boy, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Does it matter? Is chopping my hair off and coming all this way not proof enough that I love him?”

The lady was having none of Stephanie’s bashful anger, and pushed harder, “I need to know why.”

Stephanie grabbed a tuff of her short hair and walked away, over to Abie and the fire. She was sweating, she was so warm.

“Because he understands. He understands what I’ve gone through and he doesn’t think me weak or foolish for it. He’s watched me grow up and he’s proud of me. He’s grown up too. He doesn’t make me do things I don’t want to do. He indulges whatever stupid fancy I get into my head. Like me growing flowers as a substitute for children because he knows that it’s just what I need to do at that moment to work through something in my head. I’m not a victim to him, I’m a hero. He’s beautiful. He has breath that smells like coca cola and he holds me like if I’m not there with him nothing in the world makes sense. He told me once I keep him on the straight and narrow and I like that what I think matters to him. He’s so smart and he’s so kind and genuine and when we argue it’s not over whether or not I forgot to do the laundry last night… Because he’s been through so much pain, that it leaks out in odd ways… he tries so hard to not let it colour the good times. And yet he tries to be better. And I want to help him be better because he believes I am better too. And he’s gentle. Oh my God… he’s so gentle with me. I can't give that up. No-one else has ever come close.”

The sound of the fire crackling and the reindeer snoring filled the cabin, and eventually the cranking of the spinning wheel stopped. Stephanie looked up to see gold embroidery thread in the woman’s left hand and a needle in the right. She looked at Stephanie like a proud grandmother.

“Sew this into your gloves. You’ll be able to open the doors of her palace then.”

Brushing her cheeks clear of tears, Stephanie nodded, sat down, took off the gloves, and set to work.

“You’ll enter the palace, and then you’ll find him. Then what?”

“We’ll go home.”

“He may not be able to leave. He may not want to leave. He may not remember you, or home, or your family. Any of it.”

“Magic?”

“Magick,” the lady corrected, and Stephanie rolled her eyes. “When his behaviour changed, what preceded it?”

Stephanie paused in her sewing, thinking out loud. “He’d seen a figure in the storm. It must have been her watching him. We were playing outside, and the snow picked up. He was looking upwards, sticking his tongue out to catch snowflakes. Something got in his eye. It was so sudden.”

“It’s a speciality of hers. A type of glass. It gets in your body and freezes everything. No love, no warmth. It fades away. All that’s left is an insatiable boredom and coldness in both mind and body that can’t be relieved.”

“He kissed me,” Stephanie remembered. “Right before he left. I think it was him, one last burst, before he slipped away.”

The lady smiled and wrapped up the cooled dinner she had made, setting it on the windowsill.

“True love’s kiss? Clever boy to try. It works in some instances, but not here. This is a physical object that needs removing.”

“From his eye? What can I do? Aside ripping out his eyeball.”

“Don’t… don’t dismiss the possibility entirely.”

“I will not hurt him.”

The lady tapped Stephanie’s breastbone. “You humans. All so soft. So warm. I believe you know what kind of world you are in Stephanie. Play by our rules. It will get you there. I believe in you, for what an old lady’s opinion is worth.”

Stephanie watched at the lady settled in a rocking chair and closed her eyes to rest. Tilting her head, Stephanie smiled.

“I know who you remind me of.”

“Someone nice I hope.”

“A doctor. Back home. She gave me a second chance. Made me realise I’m not a total failure.”

The lady smiled in response. “Who else have you met on your journey?”

“Mother…best friend… mentor… family of maybe one day in-laws? And you.”

“Who is left then?”

Stephanie’s smile faltered, and she returned to sewing. “No-one good.”

She wasn’t intending to make a pattern with the thread. She didn’t have time. She did the hems of the wrists and fingers and made several lines of hidden stitches up and down the ribbing. She worked until she ran out of thread.

She put the gloves back on. In the dimming light of dusk, they glimmered. Golden lines shooting through the pitch black. Stephanie stood up and announced,

“Done.”

Abie looked up, sensing she would be setting off soon. The old lady rose up and opened the front door, letting the cold flood in. The sun had nearly set.

“It will not rise again for you. Eternal winter from here on out. Which is good news for you, hate to have you go snow blind.” The lady walked to Abie and pat his nose with careful deliberateness. “Drop her off at the red berry bushes. Then come back here.”

In a flurry of excitement that panicked Steph, the reindeer bucked up and thrust his big snout under Stephanie, pushing her up and over onto his back.

“No wait! I need to get my coat and shoes and –”

“Good luck Stephanie!” The lady proclaimed at the door, gesturing for Abie to set off once more. “The gloves will keep you warm for a time, but not forever. You'll need to gift them over to Timothy if you want to leave the palace. Be swift!”

“I’ll freeze!”

She tried to get off, but the reindeer once again began to canter, causing her to shriek in fright and pain. No cloak, bare legs and toes, with only a peasant blouse and a purple pinafore dress to protect her from the cold. Her mittens wouldn’t even protect her fingertips.

“No, no, no. I’m no good to anyone if I’m dead,” she howled over the wind, which stole her voice away. “You have to take me back.”

The reindeer ignored her and continued onwards. Feeling like she was being stabbed thousands of times by the smallest of needles, she continued to cry out in pain, fingers tightening in the reindeer’s fur in an attempt to focus her brain.

Eventually Abie slowed to a trot, unable to keep up the pace, and Stephanie was allowed to catch her breath. She was cold, of course she was, but not enough to fear for her life just yet. Maybe she had a bit of extra endurance thanks to the old lady and the gloves, but still; she would have had a lot more time if she had been allowed to put on her tights.

They continued along in the darkness. The sky was clear, and Stephanie spent most of the journey looking up at the sky. Moonlight did its job enough to let her see shadows and adjust so she was not riding blind. She’d seen the Milky Way from her time in Africa, but still. This was another planet, so their stars and galaxies were different. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes adjusted, and she laughed with joy at the sight of the night sky in full.

She had no idea for how long they ran. At some point the equivalent of the Northern Lights sprung into life, dancing across the sky. It was the first time Stephanie had seen such a thing, and she marvelled at the dancing blue, green and purple lights, shimmering like curtains in the breeze. They were so bright they lit up the snow as they crossed hill after mound, up and down across sweeping valleys. Abie chuffed and sped up a little.

“Are we getting close? We must be…” Stephanie asked. Her heart stuttered, and she knew her question to be true.

They finally crossed the summit of one final peak, and Stephanie gasped loudly at the sight. Where the Princess of Summer had seemingly taken care to integrate her home into the surrounding environment, the palace that Stephanie gawked at in the centre of the valley was anything but incorporated.

It was far too large to be occupied by one creature. It spanned the width of the valley, seemingly hovering a hundred feet from the valley basin, a frozen river flowing underneath. There was one path in and out of the structure, the road built into the hillside. Numerous towers in sharp angular shapes pierced the lit-up atmosphere, and the entire fortress glowed and reflected the dancing night sky.

Very distantly, Stephanie could see a purple blob on the river. Tilting her head, she realised it was her car, half buried in snow and ice.

The pair slowly made their way down the pass. Stephanie brought her feet up, her toes burning from the cold, to tuck them under her legs. The reindeer had a broader back than any horse, so she tried her best to perch delicately. Her shivering had gotten painful, teeth chattering and breathing difficult. She readjusted her grip on his neck, and lowered herself down, trying to take some of his warmth. What had that woman done, sending her out here with none of her warm clothes?

White bare trees marked the beginning of the bridge, which was lined with red holly bushes. Abie stopped, and Stephanie knew this was where she was on her own. Looking down, at the snow and ice that she would have to plant her feet into, she gulped. Slowly, bracing, she lowered herself down, crying out when her toes reached the floor. The snow was so tightly packed she did not sink in, but her body temperature was still warm enough to melt it slightly underfoot. She very quickly felt chilblains developing. Much more time here and she would be frostbitten.

She looked to the reindeer, who seemed a little mournful, like he was sending her off to her doom. She smiled shakily and smacked a wet kiss to his snout.

“Thank you, Abie. Be good!”

Abie chuffed, then turned around and left her. The sound of his snow treading hooves filled the valley, and Stephanie heard her own pulse throbbing in her head. She watched him go, just for a moment, then turned back towards the road. Shaking her feet like she would before a sprint and taking several icy breaths, building herself up for her task, she sprinted across the bridge. Going through the front door was perhaps not the most sensible option, but it was the only entrance she could see. She wasn’t about to go smashing her way into an ice palace (yet). She tried to keep quiet as she bolted across the several hundred-metre stretch, but the cold stung, and she cried out in pain.

There was no wind. There was no life. Empty and beautiful and cold. The purple and green sky made her feel like she was in a nightmare, the feeling akin to when she had been in and out of fevered consciousness during her time with Black Mask. The visuals made no sense and she was cold. Very cold.

Death. It was just like lying on that hospital bed, Leslie forcibly restarting her heart the few times it found the strain of living with a broken body too much.

She crashed into the huge door, slipping when the snow turned to ice, and the sounded reverbed over the valley. She fumbled with the huge doors, trying to locate something to grip and push or pull so she could slide in, but it was perfectly smooth and clear – clear enough to let her see the inside. There was no-one, nothing. No sign of life to be found.

She banged on the door hard, shrieking,

“Hey! Hey! You have someone who doesn’t belong to you! Give him back! Hello! Let me in!”

Kicking did no good, nor did body slamming it. Hot tears began to form again, and after one ill advised head butt, she slumped forward on her knees. There was not even a crack in the ice from all her efforts. It was ice, not diamond, why couldn’t she make a dent?

“I haven’t come all this way to be beaten at the front door,” she hissed. She pressed her gloved hands against the ice. “You can’t… you can’t keep him from me. Let me in!”

Something in the ice gave way, and she stumbled forward onto her thighs. Her hands, or rather the gloves, had melted all the way through. Squealing, she got a grip on the other side, and ripped through a hole. She did it again and again, opening up a space near the ground that was big enough for her to crawl through.

She scrambled inside ungraciously, and to her disappointment it was no warmer inside than outside. She remained on the floor, strength leaving her, until she was able to grip what she supposed was a side table and haul herself up. Movement caught her eye as she rose, and when she looked to the side, tense, she screeched. The sound echoed through the empty high-ceilinged antechamber. Stephanie cringed at how girly she sounded as she lost her footing on the ice and slipped, smacking her head again.

Well, now everyone knows you’re here.

Everyone being no-one, as no movement or noise appeared in response to her antics. Grunting, she pulled herself up to look in the mirror which had frightened her. Still not quite to grips with her appearance, she again reached up and curled her fingers into her hair.

It was lopped so choppily into a bob that, coupled with her full bangs, it made her look like she was six years old again, when she had found a pair of scissors in the bathroom and deigned to give herself a haircut. Crystal had found it funny. Arthur had not.

Her nose was red, as were her cheeks. Her lips were cracked and raw, and the skin around her eyes were stiff and sore. The water she had cried had quickly frozen in the wind as her and Abie ran, and it had not been kind to her skin. There was a giant red mark on her forehead from headbutting a solid ice door. She looked a mess.

“Keep going,” she breathed, trying not to falter. “Nearly there. Keep going, Steph.”

She stirred up enough energy to jog through the palace, occasionally losing her footing on the slippery ice.

Stephanie followed the corridors inwards, the refracting and reflecting light from outside disorientating and confusing. No matter which way she turned, no matter which empty rooms she entered, they all seemed to be pointing towards the centre of the structure. She cried out for Tim every now and then, in the empty hollow rooms, seeing as there was nothing living in the castle, but in her heart she knew, even if he could hear her, he probably wouldn’t care enough to answer.

As she continued, her pace slowed. Her limbs grew heavier and her walking faltered. It became her pushing herself upwards and onwards, only to make it a few steps before collapsing to her knees again. She used the walls and what little furniture there was as support, but she was sluggish and tired. Her limbs burned and breathing was laborious.

Finally, she reached another set of doors, these ones made from a crystal rather than ice, so she could not see what lay on the other side. Her heart thumped erratically, and she was sweating. She was so close. This door had handles thankfully, so Stephanie managed to grip it, getting to her feet one last time, and shove it open.

A huge amphitheatre opened up before her, dozens of meters high. There were steps down leading to the main open space which circled around a throne, suspended on what looked like a gravity defyingly crooked and thin staircase.

At the base, sat very neatly with crossed legs, was Tim.

“Tim!” Stephanie cried out. He looked up at her, face confused, and even from the distance, Stephanie could see he did not look well.

Her heart jerked, throwing her forwards. Stephanie took a step to run down to meet him, but her feet had grown numb from the cold, and she stumbled.

Tim watched, disinterested, as a blonde girl wearing a thin blouse and woollen dress fell down the clear stairs. She was not quiet in her descent, crying out and cursing at each solid smack and crack. She tumbled head over ankles before coming to rest for a moment on the flat ground. Tim watched as she whimpered and lay still for a moment, apparently catching her breath.

Feeling nothing more than confusion over the bizarre appearance, his attention returned to his task of spelling a word from broken mirror shards.

“Tim!”

When he looked up at the sound of his name, the blonde girl crashed into him, wrapping him up in the warmest embrace he had felt for weeks. Her hot breath moved through his hair, and he felt a solid, tempting heat emanate from the centre of her chest.

“Tim,” she sobbed. “Tim! I found you!”

#dc #stephanie brown #tim drake #timsteph #my fic tag

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