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avaritia-apotheosis · 8 months

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Bid A Strong Ghost Stand at the Head Ch. 4

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3]

← Previous Chapter // MASERLIST // END

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One of the windows in the Manor was open.

Not an unusual occurrence. While the smog and the threat of experimental gasses from Gotham’s usual rogues (among other threats) meant that regular citizens usually kept their windows shut, Wayne Manor was far enough on the outskirts of the city that one could enjoy the fresh crisp breeze from the open window. At night, the ground would be dark enough that Martha Wayne made it a family tradition to rouse her family out of bed to spy at whatever constellations decided to make their presence known.

But the seventh window on the third floor hadn’t been open in almost eighteen years. Not since Bruce had thrown away the key. Not since Alfred had sealed the doors shut and buried it under art-deco wallpaper.

Even when the truth came out— the truth of that painful secret Bruce thought time had scarred dull—Bruce hadn’t found the strength to open those doors.

If he was honest with himself, he still didn’t.

That’s why he scaled the walls of the mansion instead and crawled in through the open window.

A thick layer of dust stained a gray streak on his dress pants as he passed through the window sill. He waved away a cloud of dust from his face with a soft grunt.

“You know,” a soft voice drawled emanated from the far corner of the room, “for some reason I didn’t expect you to come in that way.”

Expected—yet at the same time unexpectedly— the voice belonged to Danny.

Bruce’s errant son.

(His son? His mind questioned. Can you call him that? )

(While Damian happily called himself Damian Wayne, puffing with pride every time someone commented on his similarities to his father, Danny had smiled and introduced himself as an al Ghul. Had called Bruce Mister as opposed to Father. Had gone through an entire life where Bruce was not there to watch him learn to walk and talk and live and live and live— A life where Danny was not Bruce’s son but someone else’s son.)

He straightened, shifting his posture to convey that he was non-threatening but alert. “Why are you here?”

Danny appeared to dismiss his presence entirely. Whether that would prove beneficial or otherwise to Bruce remained to be seen. The boy hummed, hands tracing the faded pastel-green wallpaper as he circled the room. “I was curious,” he said. A simple answer. Almost matter-of-fact. Bruce didn’t know if he expected otherwise.

(He’s beginning to understand Damian, now. Danny was as easy to read as an open book written in an unbroken cipher.)

The boy pushed himself away from the wall, twisting between the scant few pieces of furniture that sat in the room. Every so often he’d stop, lift the white dust sheet high above his head to peer at the piece underneath. “Damian told me about this place once.” He dropped the sheet, staring at Bruce from the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t been inside. I guess I was just curious about what was in here. I wanted to know…”

He threw off one of the sheets to reveal a toy chest. It was open. Had never closed, to Bruce’s memory. Bruce had filled that toy chest to the brim with all manner of things he thought that—

He halted that memory in its tracks and pushed it away. Watched as Danny reached down to pick up the first stuffed animal in the pile. It was a brown bear; There was a bow-tie around its neck from what little Bruce could see in the dark. What scant light there was from the moonlight shifted with the clouds that rolled by.

“Does Damian know you’re here?” Bruce asked.

“No.” Danny turned the bear around in his hand. He played with its floppy limbs, patted down its rounded ears. “Does that make you angry?”

Bruce shook his head. “Though it…worries me that you don’t seem to realize how much he hurts when you leave.”

“You’re wrong.” Gingerly, Danny set down the bear back to where it belonged, keeping vigil over a child that never was. “I know all too well.”

“Do you?” Bruce pressed on. He steps deeper into the nursery, deeper into the shadows in hopes that he’ll scrub away one grain of truth from all of Danny’s half-truths and avoidances. “Then why do you do it?”

“He’s my brother. Doesn’t that explain enough?”

There’s something brewing behind Danny’s eyes that Bruce, for all his experience in reading people, could not piece together. So Bruce watches, instead. He’s good at that; watching, waiting, observing. He lets the heavy silence weigh down on the room because Bruce does not know what to say, and Damian and Jason had mentioned how much Danny hated silence.

But Danny doesn’t talk. He stared straight back.

And so they watch each other.

There’s a wrinkle between Danny’s brows that is so reminiscent of Damian’s. A high forehead set above Martha Wayne’s frosted blue and cutting eyes. The same slant of the lip that Thomas Wayne had whenever he read something unpleasant but couldn’t find the exact words to express why. In this boy—this son but not son — he saw the distorted facets of his family reflected back at him. Similar but so undeniably different.

Everyday he saw his parents’ faces reflected back in Damian’s features. Saw Talia’s grace and poise embedded into the very marrow of Damian’s bones. Happy to have Damian in his life despite their rocky beginnings; content to have a remainder of those he loved with him with Damian’s existence.

It should not feel so different with Danny.

It shouldn’t.

But here, in this nursery, this monument to what might have been the beginnings of a future, all Bruce could see was the open wounds he thought he cauterized long ago. And Danny— this boy that might’ve been named Thomas, that might’ve been Bruce’s son first— was but the knife that reopened that wound.

Danny raised an imperious brow— so like Talia in that moment. “I know what you’re doing. Psychology tricks 101, let your opponent fill silence with talk so they reveal more about themselves.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Do you see me as your opponent?”

“Reflecting answers too, huh?” He chuckled, crossing his arms beneath his sternum. “‘Opponent’ implies a level of challenge. No offense, but you just aren’t one.”

“Because you’re the best the League of Shadows has ever produced?”

His smile flattened into a sharp line. Bruce thought he could almost see a glint of teeth in the shadows. “Is that what Damian’s been telling you?”

“Do you deny it?” Bruce asked, an eternity later.

“No. Not necessarily. But Dami’s hardly unbiased on this.”

“Because he adores you?”

“Because he hated me.”

Bruce drew back, the answer catching him off guard.

“Well— no, that’s not the right word for it,” Danny retracted. “Let’s call it resentment, then. It might be hard to believe considering how he’s acted around me ever since I came back, but trust me when I say that Dami was the furthest thing from the ‘adoring little brother’ back in the League.” He paused, considering something. “Unless you count getting ambushed and challenged to a duel once a week ‘adoring.’”

That…sounded like Damian, alright. Even if the mental image of Damian treating Danny of all people like that was a little hard to imagine, given the boy’s string of clinginess towards his brother.

“I blame Ra’s for this whole one-sided rivalry,” Danny sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “You can probably guess why.”

Bruce could see it as plain as day. Ra’s al Ghul attempted to pit his two grandsons against each other, dripping poisonous words in Damian’s ears and letting him fester with that envy. He’d tout Danny as the golden child. The Ideal. The ever-moving standard that would make Damian scramble to keep up and eager to please.

“Damian spent all his life being told I was the best,” Danny muttered. “I wonder what he’d think if he knew that Ra’s considered me the League’s greatest disappointment.”

Then he paused, eyebrows scrunched, before alighting in realization. He gave a lopsided grin. “What do you know? You did get something out of me.”

“Do you?” Bruce prodded.

“Do I what?”

“Do you consider yourself the best or a disappointment?”

Danny stopped, hands braced on the covered furniture that stood between him and Bruce. “That depends. Disappointment requires expectations. Ra’s expectations for me were never-ending and impossible to fulfill without breaking myself first. Damian’s expectations for me shifted depending on what he wanted me to be at the time. And mother…” He trailed off, eyes darting away to the corner of the room. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You, though,” Danny hummed. “I probably disappointed you.”

“I could never be disappointed in you,” Bruce narrowed his eyes. “You said so yourself: it requires expectations.”

“But didn’t you?” Danny yanked away the dust sheet between them, throwing a cloud of dust into the air and revealing an empty bassinet. The bedding remained untouched. Pristine. (Like the scarless expanse of Danny’s skin; unharmed by time, unmarked by history.) “What is all of this, then, but unmet expectations?”

“Did you cry, Mr. Wayne, when you found out who I was?” he sneered. “You have a tendency to memorialize the dead. Put them up on a pedestal as a reminder of all the good they were, that they might’ve been. Display them as a constant reminder of your failures and all that’s wrong with the world and how you need to do better. Be better.”

With the precision of the fighter he was trained to be, Danny dug his sharp words into Bruce’s skin, clawing at old wounds with the intent to hurt. But old wounds were old wounds, and familiar in their pain. Bruce has heard much the same from Dick. From Tim. From Jason. Even Alfred. (He suspects he’ll never stop hearing it.)

“You must’ve hated it when I came back and ruined any illusion you might’ve had about me." A shard of moonlight cut through the room, gleaming against the sharp sickle of Danny’s smile. “ Don’t you wanna know, Mr. Wayne? Don’t you want to know how much blood your dead baby had on his hands?”

So instead of focusing on Danny’s words, Bruce concentrated on what Danny wasn’t saying. There were the stiff lines in his pseudo-nonchalant stance, the fidgeting of his hands, the subtle mechanical quality in which he spat his forced vitriol as if he’d practiced it over and over without pausing. Then there was the resolute way in which he’d lock eyes with Bruce, like if Danny poured enough conviction into his stare he’d find a way to superimpose his thoughts into Bruce’s mind.

(“The thing about Danny,” Jason once said, “is that he’ll say a whole lot of nothin’ first before ever telling the truth.”)

A whole lot of nothing.

An open book that gives nothing away.

Looking back on their conversation, it was clear now how little Danny actually answered the questions that were directed at him. They were always deflected, turned around. Nothing he said ever gave a clear answer.

Bruce tilted his head, assessing this interaction now in a different light. “Danny, why are you here?”

Danny paused for a fraction of a second before recovering, mouth stretched in a cheeky smile. “Your hearing’s already giving out, Mr. Wayne? Pretty sure I told you before: I was curious.”

“That might be part of the reason, but not the main one. For one thing, you’re skilled at stealth and infiltration. If you wanted to remain hidden, you could’ve. But instead, you tripped the alarm into the manor and alerted Alfred to your presence.”

A shrug. “Maybe I was just sloppy.”

“It’s a possibility. On the other hand: You’ve made it clear on multiple occasions that you wanted as little to no dealings with us as possible— Damian excluded, obviously. You don’t interact with us unless extenuating circumstances require it, or Damian begs you to. As far as I know, there’s no emergencies that would cause you to seek us, and if Damian was the one that asked you, he would already be here and not out on patrol.”

His smile faltered. “Maybe you caught me off guard.”

Bruce splayed his arms wide. “I’m unarmed and dressed in a ten-thousand dollar Armani suit—”

“Which means nothing coming from The Batman.”

“—and you’re a prodigious assassin with a ridiculous healing factor and possibly other meta-like abilities. I’m sure you could’ve hidden yourself or escaped long before we got to this point if you wanted to.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Let’s cut to the chase, then. What do you want, Danny?”

“You didn’t come here out of some sudden curiosity about your past. You probably couldn’t care less about it. No— you came here because you needed to talk to me.”

Danny leaned forward, propping his arms against the bassinet. “I’d say that’s awfully narcissistic of you.” He cupped the side of his face with one hand. “But, well, you aren’t wrong.”

“You’ll hate me when I tell you.”

“Danny.” And with all the sincerity and vulnerability he could muster, Bruce reached across the empty bassinet to place his hands over Danny’s shoulders, telegraphing his movements in advance so Danny would have plenty of time to move away if he chose to. He didn’t. “Danny, I have loved you since the moment Talia told me about you. No matter how many years go by, whether you’re dead or alive, that will never change.”

For a minute, Danny stalls. His face became blank, arms falling slack at his side as he took in Bruce’s words. Bruce could see the moment that it all registered; the confusion, the understanding, the uncertainty. Danny’s gaze dropped, the tips of his ears burning pink, expression sheepish. Here, Bruce was finally struck with the realization that this boy—his son — was still so…young.

(It was easy to forget with Danny. His temperament always seemed to fluctuate between extremely childish to wise beyond his years. It was easy to forget, with the blood that stained his hands and his reputation, that Danny was still just a boy . One not even old enough to legally drink.)

Danny jerked back, the back of his hand covering his mouth. “That’s…ok, then. That’s nice. Um…good to know.” He raked his hands through his hair, eyes not meeting Bruce’s. “It’s— I’m not lying this time, you’re really gonna hate the answer.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t know.”

Bruce blinked.

“Haha…yeah, anticlimactic, ain’t it?” Danny chittered nervously. “I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but I am terrible at planning ahead. I’ve always been more of a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy. I’ve been going with the flow ever since I’ve been born , really.”

He pulls the loose threads at the hem of his t-shirt. “I stayed in the League because there was never a reason for me to leave it. Then Damian came along, and he was adorable , really, as a kid, even if he was a punk kid. Still is. I stayed because he needed me there—even if he doesn’t want to admit it—and now that he has you, he doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Danny, just because Damian is here with us, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want his brother.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the exact opposite of what he needs right now.”

“What makes you say so?”

“Damian feels guilty. About me, I mean. He thinks it's his fault that I died, and once he figured out that I could’ve upped and left the League at any point, he feels guilty for being the reason that I stayed. He shouldn’t, though. I don’t blame him. I’ve never blamed him, and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise, and now he’s gotten it into his head that to ‘fix’ everything, we all need to become one big happy family and that is the last thing I want.” He’s heaving by the end of it, and takes a minute to calm himself. “No offense, though. I’m sure your family is nice, and maybe if I gave it a chance I’ll eventually love being a part of it. But I don’t…I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be, sometimes.”

There was a part of Bruce’s heart that he thought died years ago in that hot desert sand. A part that shriveled and died from the grief of losing a child he wanted so, so much. And in the face of that child coming back to life—no matter how bloody or cruel or lost he became—how could he feel anything but heart-wrenching love?

Danny was his son.

“That’s alright,” Bruce said. “You have a home here, if you want it. The door will always be open to you, even if you don’t want to think of us as family.”

Danny held his gaze, eyes bright blue and gleaming wide. Mouth dropped open in a small ‘oh’ as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You actually mean that, don’t you.”

Bruce held a hand over his heart. “You’re my son,” he said. Simple. Matter-of-fact. “Whether you call yourself a Wayne, an al Ghul, or just ‘Danny,’ whether you stay in Gotham or anywhere else in the world, I’ll care for you all the same.”

“Even if…even if one day I say that I want nothing to do with you guys?”

“That’s ok. Be honest with him. He cares about you, Danny, he really does. He’ll understand.”

“Even then.” His gaze softened. “You don’t have to burn bridges just to stop Damian, you know? It might be hypocritical coming from me, but you’ll have better luck just talking it out with him.”

“I’ve tried,” Danny scoffed. “But I’m not…I’m not very good at it.”

“I feel like all I do is hurt him.”

“He’s your brother, of course you will,” Bruce said, echoing Danny’s earlier sentiments. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make amends, nor does it mean that he’ll hate you forever.”

“Forever is a long time…” Danny let out a shaky breath, before straightening. He smiled. It was a small smile, hardly as bright as his other ones, but it felt real. He put out his hand. “I’ll try to talk to him again. Thank you, though, for putting up with me.”

Bruce shook Danny’s outstretched hand with a quiet sigh, accepting the line that Danny drew between them. “I’ll always be here, if you need me.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up again on that, one day,” Danny laughed. And then, with a more contemplative look, said, “you know, I think…I think I would’ve liked to have had you as my dad.”

Suddenly, a bright flash of light engulfed the room.

Bruce instinctively shielded his eyes, heart jumping to this throat as he suddenly lost Danny’s hand.

When the light disappeared, so too did Danny.

And like that moment, almost eighteen years ago, Bruce was left alone in an empty nursery.

The silence—the quiet— no longer seemed so oppressive.

Bruce stares at the slip of paper Danny pressed into his hands and raises it towards the moonlit window. Two lines: an address and a phone number.

With a soft smile, he turns from the window, crossing the room in a few short strides.

Bruce turns on the lights—

—and unlocks the door.

#dpxdc #hey brother au #my writing.txt

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sardonic-sprite · 1 year

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Update

Sooo hopefully y'all have seen ch 3 of 20th Annual yada yada Egg Hunt, which begged people to come stop by here to see what is up. Basically, i just decided im gonna try something new, which I think some other writer pals do? Anyway, my plan is to basically write a month in advance. This would mean that whatever I write in April gets saved and posted gradually throughout May, May writing gets spread through June, etc. Im thinking this will help not make you guys wait as long for new content, not make me wait as long for the sweet, sweet dopamine boosts of comments and kudos, and also let me feel freer to bounce between many ideas over the course of the month as my inspiration/attention waxes and wanes.

That being said, it means essentially no new stuff posted during April so I can stock up for May. The one exception for this is naturally my easter fic bc TIMING.

Anyhow, that brings me to tumblrs favorite craze, POLL. Since I've made it a THING to do holidays, please inform me which Mother's Day concept you'd most like to see:

I don't usually get tons of poll responses which may simoly be lack of tumblr/ao3 overlap, so if yiu can't vote as a guest, drop a comment on Second Sunday of May please!

#sprite's plan #new model for publishing lmao #also #poll #mothers day fic #incoming

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kittymaine · 2 years

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Monsters Need Family Too Ch. 1

// Summary: What if Bruce was a mopey little Mothman and Alfred was the ghost haunting Wayne Manor and Dick was a sad little changeling abandoned by the circus and Jason was a literal Frankenstein's Monster and Tim was a witch just trying to get his iPhone to run off the spirits of the dead? And so on and so forth.

A fun little series of ficlets about monster!Bats and how they find and love each other for the holiday season. //

Gotham as a city is one of the worst cities in the world. Everyone in the city knows it. Everyone in the country knows it. Even the low level consciousness that thrums beneath the city knows it and basks in its well earned reputation.

Not only is it one of the most violent and crime ridden cities in the world, it is also home to more strange and supernatural occurrences than anywhere on the globe. If people weren't so afraid of being shot or stabbed, it would probably be the paranormal capital of the world and a hub for paranormal investigators.

There are a lot of places in Gotham that purport to be haunted. Most of them are even legitimate. After all, murders and grisly deaths are common place in the Gotham, which makes the creation of ghosts pretty commonplace. But, nowhere in Gotham is more feared or haunted than Wayne Manor.

Wayne Manor sits in the middle of historic downtown Gotham. It's a huge gothic structure made out of sandstone bricks and slate roofs with parapets and arched stained glass windows and huge heavy wooden doors. Despite being in the middle of downtown and packed on all sides by huge office buildings and apartment complexes, it manages to have a small measure of green yard on all four sides that grows riotous with green vines and gnarled oak trees all fenced in with high rock walls topped with wickedly sharp spears to make climbing over them nearly impossible.

Officially, the extremely wealthy and extremely reclusive Bruce Wayne is the only person who lives inside. The only son of Thomas and Martha Wayne and their only surviving kin, Bruce is rumored to be strange, eccentric and terrified of the world outside his parents mansion. He very rarely ventures outside and is treated like a ghost story already by the young people who share his city.

He’s part of what makes Wayne Manor so terrifying. The other part is the rumors of the ghosts that can sometimes be seen from the windows that face the street.

People say they sometimes see an old man in old fashioned clothing in the yard or on the front porch or looking out the front facing windows sometimes. They say that he has a thin mustache and a fading hairline and that he is usually dressed in a bow tie and tailcoat. People only ever see him for a second before he disappears. But, it’s impossible for him to really be there. The only person who lives in the Manor is Bruce Wayne and he’s nowhere near that old.

The other bigger rumor is of a strange creature sometimes seen haunting the parapets and slanted roof of the Manor. Its huge hulking form merges well with the shadows, but sometimes photographs catch its supernaturally glowing red eyes or the hunch of huge wings extending from its back. They call it the Mothman of Gotham City and it's often seen gliding over the dark cloudy skies to and from the Manor. No one knows what it is or what it wants, but the rumor is that if it ever comes for you that death or madness are soon to follow it.

Nobody knows why it’s so often seen on or near Wayne Manor, but it’s more than enough to keep the natives of the city far away from the old crumbling building.

That’s what the people outside the Manor know of it. But, that’s not the whole story of Wayne Manor or its master, Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was never a normal boy. There was almost no chance that he would ever be one even from the start.

After a wedding that was so huge and magnificent that people still talk about it to this day, Thomas and Martha Wayne left on a year long tour of the world. When they returned at the end of that year it was with a tiny squealing baby wrapped in their arms. Alfred had been surprised by the little addition, as neither of them had mentioned anything during their weekly phone calls. When Alfred had asked if the baby was hers, Martha had smiled and only said that he was now. Everyone in Gotham assumed that Bruce was their child together and neither Martha nor Thomas ever said anything to the contrary.

Alfred never asked either of the Wayne's where the baby had come from and they had never told him. It wasn't his place to pry into his employer's private affairs and Alfred was always very aware of his place and how to mind it.

Bruce was a strange baby who only grew to be a stranger boy. He barely ate and had little interest in any food. Sweets and chicken and crackers were barely picked at, dinners were often left largely untouched and yet the boy was always on track with his growth. Thomas especially fussed and worried over Bruce, but every time he was weighed and measured he was on track for his age.

He was a quiet baby that never cried and barely babbled and grew into a quiet boy who didn't run or play or get into trouble. He was always watching and listening, absorbing and remembering everything that anyone ever said in front of him. Alfred was shocked many times by the boy's sudden appearance in a dark corner or behind a cracked door, despite Alfred's own military training. More than that, sometimes it seemed like the shadows enveloped the boy and blurred his edges in a way that Alfred could not always blame on his old and fading eyesight.

Despite how unnerving Bruce could be, it was hard not to fall in love with him. Whenever his parents weren't home, he would trail after Alfred with big pale blue eyes and curious looks until Alfred explained to him what he was doing and why. Bruce would listen quietly and ask thoughtful questions and continue to trot along after him quietly, always watching, always listening.

School was a disaster. Bruce was incredibly intelligent and his parents were part of one of the founding families of Gotham, so getting Bruce registered with Gotham Academy was not a problem. But, as soon as he began attending, things went downhill quickly.

Both Bruce's classmates and teachers found him unnerving. It didn't matter how gentle or quiet he was, by the end of the month they were all terrified of him. The administration, frustrated with the teachers who couldn't explain exactly what it was about Bruce that was so upsetting, moved him to their only other kindergarten class. Before the next month was out, the new teachers and students were also terrified of Bruce.

Before Bruce could be expelled by the most prestigious school in Gotham, his parents took him out. Unfortunately, it was too late to contain the fallout.

The teachers might have signed contracts agreeing to never discuss their students with the press, but the students and their parents signed no such documents. The press went wild with stories of the creepy child of Gotham's royal family. It was to be the beginning of Bruce Wayne’s urban legend. To protect Bruce, his parents squirreled him away in the manor, paying exorbitant prices for the best teachers to come to the Manor and teach him there.

And then, Thomas and Martha Wayne were gunned down after leaving a gala just a few blocks away from their home. Bruce was eight years old.

They left the care of Bruce to Alfred, likely because he was the only person other than themselves who obviously loved the boy. The other staff were all terrified of him. Thomas and Martha's family members had barely shown any interest in him at all. Though, they sure kicked up a fuss when they realized they weren't getting a dime from Thomas and Martha's estate. It was all Bruce's, or rather it belonged to Alfred until Bruce was old enough to take ownership of the home and the bank accounts. It was the social scandal of the year, all the Wayne wealth left in the hands of a butler of all things.

Alfred paid all the press and interviews with Bruce’s distant relatives with very little mind. He suspected they wouldn’t be kicking up such a fuss about being the boy’s real family if they saw how Bruce had been changed by his parents' death. He would have been no easy child to care for.

He was wild, broken in a way that Alfred didn't know how to deal with. He was still quiet and reclusive, but now that silence simmered with barely controlled anger. He stopped eating completely. Alfred even inventoried the pantry and refrigerator, but if Bruce was eating he wasn't getting food from the Manor kitchen. He barely spoke and when he did it was by screaming and railing.

One night, almost a month after Thomas and Martha Wayne had died, Alfred caught Bruce sneaking out of an upstairs window. The fight they had when Alfred stopped him was one for the history books.

"You don't understand!" a tiny Bruce Wayne screeched at Alfred, his voice ringing through the dark wood paneled halls. "I have to do something!" he screamed before choking off a sob.

Alfred kneeled down on his aching knees and pressed his hands to Bruce's little trembling shoulders. His bones were sharp and the pale skin around his eyes looked bruised and red. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear boy," Alfred said as gently as he could.

"You don't understand!" Bruce wailed again, his pale eyes welling with big heavy tears that slowly overflowed to run down sallow hollowed cheeks. "I could have done something. I should have done something!"

"Dear child, there was nothing you could have done," Alfred soothed, attempting to pull Bruce into an embrace that he rejected forcefully.

"I mean it!" he shouted. "I'm not normal! I could have stopped it! I could have saved them," Bruce said before collapsing into tears and Alfred's arms at the same time.

Alfred did his best to comfort Bruce as he screamed and cried and railed against the world. His small fists beat against his chest and his teeth dug into his coat. The tears ran and ran and Bruce gasped and cried and sobbed for almost an hour before finally going limp and drained in Alfred's arms.

He carried the boy as gently as he could back to bed and tucked him in. He always looked so small and helpless in the huge four poster bed.

"I could tell something was wrong," Bruce murmured as Alfred tucked the blankets against him tighter. "I could feel something coming for weeks. I tried to tell mom, but I didn't know how to explain it. I've never felt something like that before."

Alfred stopped with a hand pressed over Bruce's chest and felt the steady rise and fall of his rib cage under his palm. Bruce’s eyelids were drooping and he looked like he would pass out any moment.

"I should have known it meant something bad would happen. I should have known to look harder and find the bad thing before it could happen. I'm a bad son," Bruce whispered with a wet wobble of his lower lip. But, there were no more tears to cry.

"Oh, Bruce," Alfred sighed. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

"You know I'm not a real boy, right, Alfred?" little Bruce turned big tortured eyes up at the old butler. "I'm strange. I’m not normal. Sometimes, I think I'm probably not human," he whispered.

Alfred pressed the hand not on Bruce's chest to his cheek. He stared into his charge's haunted eyes. Eyes so pale blue they were almost white, ringed in red skin and thick dark eyelashes.

"I know that you are a kind and gentle boy. I know that you loved your parents and were loved by them in turn. I know that I loved you hardly before I even knew it. You are smart and strong and even if you could have prevented the death of your parents, that was not your responsibility. It is the responsibility of parents to protect their children, not the other way around, certainly not while those children are still young," Alfred said all this very sternly. "Whatever you are or are not, these things will always be true."

Despite what must be a good bit of dehydration, a final silent tear slipped from Bruce's eye to land in the crevice between Alfred's wrinkled hand and Bruce's soft cheek.

"I love you too Alfred," Bruce choked out, lunging up to throw his arms around Alfred's neck in a brutal hug.

Alfred was startled for a moment before warming and wrapping his arms around the small precious boy in his arms. They embraced for a long time and when they finally disentangled Bruce dropped off to sleep within seconds.

Alfred stayed for a long time, long after Bruce finally fell asleep. Alfred felt very old just then.

He was perfectly aware that he was old, of course. He had served the Wayne family for years, ever since he was a young man just out of MI5. When he first started working for the Wayne's, he had worked for Thomas' father and Thomas was just a boy himself still in short pants. Now Thomas was dead, a fact that still felt untrue while everything else about the Manor felt normal and familiar. Now, Alfred was in control of a huge manor and held a controlling stake in an even bigger company as well as being the only family and guardian of a strange heartbroken little boy.

At that moment, Alfred felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and sagged beneath it.

But, he only let his grief overwhelm him for a short while. There was nothing for it, really. Things needed to be done and Alfred had to be the one to do it. That was all there was to it.

So, after allowing himself a quiet little crisis in Bruce's dark silent room, Alfred slowly struggled to his feet and made his slow ponderous way out into the hall. The hall door clicked shut quietly behind him.

Bruce's room was on the third floor, two sets of curving staircases led down to the open atrium at the bottom floor. There was also a narrow hidden staircase at the end of the hall that led up into the small claustrophobic rooms of the servant quarters located in the attic. Though his worn body called for bed, Alred didn't think his mind would be able to rest just yet. Not after all of little Bruce's talk of his own inhumanity. No, maybe a cup of tea would calm him down enough to finally rest.

Alfred made his cautious way toward the tall carpeted steps which would lead down to the bottom floor. He was only a few steps down toward the first staircase when his knee gave out. It was an old war injury, one that only usually bothered him when he had been on his feet too long. But, it had never chosen such an inopportune time to make itself known.

Tumbling down the steps, Alfred did his best to tuck himself into a ball. Unfortunately, that meant that when he hit the bottom of the steps he kept rolling into the banister which cracked and gave way under the force of the hit.

And then Alfred was falling.

And then, he was standing looking down at his own broken body crumpled in the middle of the atrium.

He looked incredibly frail, tossed limbs all akimbo on the polished parquet floors. A tiny trickle of blood made its way between his pale lips, probably from biting his tongue or a hit hard enough to knock a few teeth loose. His head was bent the wrong way, a snapped neck that would have been quick and painless.

Remembering his young charge slumbering above, Alfred quickly looked up but there was no movement from the floors above. It was only he and Bruce in the manor at night, the other servants much too terrified of the boy to sleep in the attic right above him. Alfred knew his tumble must have been very loud indeed, but Bruce was likely also very tired from his breakdown. He must have slept through it all.

Alfred thought of how devastated Bruce still was by the death of his parents. He thought of how he was the only person who knew and loved the strange boy sleeping above. He thought of how much it would destroy him to wake on his own and come downstairs to find Alfred's crumpled corpse. He wished that there was something he could do.

Well, maybe there was something he could do? There certainly was no harm in trying.

So, Alfred reached down and tried to pick up his body. He found that he could. Easily, in fact. His body felt strong and young and the weight of his own corpse felt like hardly more than an unwieldy rug. He gathered the body up and carried it down into the basement and dropped it on the cracked cement in front of the furnace. Something to deal with disposing of later.

He returned to the atrium with a mop and bucket, though there was really very little to clean. Still it felt better to be sure there was no evidence on the floor for the observant little boy to find in the morning.

After the floor was clean, he briefly washed out the mop and bucket and stored them in their appropriate cleaning closet. He made himself a cup of tea and drank it, no adverse effects there either.

Then, he went upstairs and got changed for bed. He laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling of his small room and wondered what was happening to him. It didn't seem possible that he could die and then clean up his own death as easily as he might chuck a German soldier into a hotel basement incinerator. If his body was in the basement, then how was he upstairs lying in bed? Or was the whole thing some kind of traumatic episode? It really just defied explanation from every angle.

The next morning, Alfred woke to his alarm going off. He couldn't say he really slept, per se. More like he blinked and it was morning.

He went through his normal routine of preparing breakfast and greeting the staff as they came in and making sure they had what they needed. He took a small detour to check the basement and yes there was his body just where he left it propped up against the old furnace. No time to panic, though, it was nearly breakfast. He roused Bruce at his normal time and here was his real test.

Alfred wanted to say he believed with 100% certainty that Bruce was a normal human boy. But, there were just too many strange things to account for. The way he survived without seemingly any food, the way he seemed to appear suddenly in rooms that he couldn't possibly have snuck into, the strange wavering of his image when he was cast in shadow.. It was too much to dismiss as mere eccentricity.

If Bruce really was something more than human, then there was a chance that he would take one look at Alfred and know what happened. If anything had happened. Alfred still wasn't sure if it wasn't just a strange hallucination.

But, Bruce was just quiet and exhausted the next day. If something was different about Alfred, Bruce didn't seem to notice.

Death was certainly a bit over exaggerated in the old butler’s estimation. If Bruce was fine with him this way and he could do his job just as easily as before, he saw no reason not to just continue with things just as they were. After all, Bruce needed him. And, so long as he did, Alfred would endeavor to be of service.

#dcu comics #batfam #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #fanfiction #halloween #ghosts #temporary character death #canonical character death #monsters need family too #kittywrites

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wutbju · 4 months

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With heavy hearts, we announce the passing of Mary Ann (Blom) Berry. To so many, she was a skilled caregiver, a caring friend, and a loyal supporter. To us, she was mom, grandma, sister, and Aunt Hon. She peacefully went to the Lord on May 13 at the age of 81.

Her memory and legacy will live on through those who loved her, including her children, Michael (Cindi) Berry, Kristin (Brian) Kertin, and Karen (Sean) Gardner; her grandchildren, Justin Berry, Madison Kertin, Andrew Berry, Katelyn Kertin, Joseph Gardner, and Ryan Gardner; her brother, Wayne (Susan) Blom; her nephews, Jason Blom and Brian (Michelle) Blom; her great nephew and niece, Lincoln Blom and Monroe Blom; and many extended relatives, including cousins, Margaret Iles, David (Katriya) Carlson, Donald (Sherry) Blom, Doug (Jan) Blom, Richard (Martha) Blom, Daniel (Jeanne) Blom, Jerry (Lorraine) Hyatt, Becky (Johnny) Long, Laura (Troy) Fraebel. Katherine (Hans) Crump-Wiesner, Judith (Vincent) Fala, Margaret Ann Rutledge (G. Stuart Ackman), Albert Turner Rutledge (Anne Marie Carry), and Martha Holden Rutledge (Richard Young). She is preceded in death by her father, Grant Blom, and her mother, Marian Blom.

Mary Ann was born on November 25, 1941, in Natchitoches, Louisiana, and was raised in Terre Haute, Indiana. She lived many places throughout the United States, but spent her retirement years in Noblesville, Indiana.

Mary Ann built a life that was centered in her faith, dedicated to service, and committed to her loved ones.

She grew up attending Bible Center Church in Terre Haute where she established friendships at a young age that continued into her adult years as they attended nursing school together at West Suburban College of Nursing in Oak Park, Illinois. These friendships remained to be some of the most valued relationships in her life up until her passing.

After graduating from nursing school in 1962 she briefly taught younger students at West Suburban before pursuing her Bachelor of Science from Bob Jones University. At Bob Jones, she met, and later married, Herbert Berry. Together, they had three children. She poured her heart into service as a nurse. Early on, she served as a missionary in South Korea, supporting an orphanage and helping to place babies into loving homes. Her nursing career spanned 40 years, including 15 years with the VA in Marion, Indiana. Even in her retirement, she continued working in the healthcare sector part-time with Sunrise Senior Living in Carmel, Indiana until she died – an experience that, in her words, was the best job she ever had.

A lifelong Christian, she regularly participated in prayer circles, bible studies, peer ministry, and as a member of the alter guild. She was an active member of Spirit of Joy Church in Indianapolis, Indiana and a regular volunteer at The Sharing Place.

She was dedicated to her family – dog sitting (even though she didn't particularly like dogs), attending her grandchildren's sporting events, and traveling many miles to help with her children's various moves and home projects.

In addition to her commitment to the church, volunteerism, work, and family – she loved spending time on her hobbies, particularly decorating her home, sewing for children and grandchildren, and tending to her garden.

When we celebrated Mary Ann's 80th birthday in 2021 or attended her Blom family reunion that was 70 years in the making last year, we certainly thought she had decades left to live. Though Mary Ann's earthly life ended earlier than we expected, we know she lived it to the fullest and is now in the heavenly home God has promised.

A Celebration of Eternal Life for Mary Ann will be held at Spirit of Joy Church (3535 Kessler Blvd E Dr, Indianapolis, IN 46220) on May 18 at 1:00pm with visitation immediately preceding, beginning at 11:00am. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that gifts be made in her memory to one of Mary Ann's causes: The Sharing Place (through Lutheran Child and Family Services), Spirit of Joy Church, or Compassion International.

#Bob Jones University #BJU Hall of Fame #2023 #Obituary #BJU Alumni Association #Mary Ann (Blom) Berry #Class of 1965

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ittybittytatertot · 3 years

Text

Batman & The Flying Graysons Chapter 10

Prev | AO3 Link

“Oh dear, what happened?” gasped Martha when John tried to sneak past her into the kitchen for “breakfast” (though it was well past noon.) Of course, she was referring to the bruise from Zucco last night, which had blossomed colorfully across his chin and kept him hiding out in his and Mary’s bedroom all morning.

John swallowed, thinking on his feet he could do, it was the lying he struggled with. Opening the fridge only bought him a little time.

“It’s nothing. Just bumped myself last night.”

“During salsa? I’m sorry, Brucie can be such a clutz, I swear.” Martha said, and John buried himself further in the cold cuts and fancy cheeses to hide his flushing face. He’d forgotten the cover story they’d given for being out so late. Date night. Dancing. Oh sure, he and Mary could dance the night away, but him and Bruce? Or Mary and Bruce?

“No, no, it happened after.” John said, unthinking. Well, not unthinking, but the images swirling in his head at that moment were unhelpful to say the least.

“Oh- oh. I didn’t mean to pry.” Martha said, and shit John hadn’t meant to imply something like that. “Still, maybe you should have Thomas take a look at it.” She was sweet for worrying, but he couldn’t meet her eyes as he closed the fridge door.

“Dad’s an acrobat. He gets bruises all the time.” Chimed a little voice.

Sweat formed at the base of John’s neck as he looked down at his young son, who he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Little Bird!” He exclaimed, “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Dick lifted one eyebrow with sharp judgement. “It’s 4:30.”

“Huh, maybe your old dad needs to get his eyes checked.” He crossed his eyes and pulled a goofy face that thankfully got Dick to giggle. John stuck out his tongue, hoping to get another laugh from his favorite audience. When that didn’t work, he went for tickling.

“Ha! Dad!! Stop!” Dick giggled, and John backed off.

“You want to hit the gym?” He offered.

“I have homework.” Dick said--John couldn’t believe he was raising a nerd.

He waved his hand dismissively, that can wait! “C’mon the balance beam is calling your name.”

“Okaaay, but don’t fall on your face.” Even though his son acted like he was humoring him, John noticed how Dick all but bowled Thomas over.

“Woah! Where’s the fire?” The mustachioed man asked, watching Dick sprint out of the kitchen towards the Wayne’s home gymnasium.

“Not in my kitchen I should hope!” Pennyworth’s voice called from somewhere nearby.

“You know we would never.” Martha said going to cajole her other husband.

Thomas laughed until he sighed, his brightness turning into something more wistful. “It’s been a long time since the house was this lively. You’ve got a good boy there, John.”

“Thank you, Tom.” John bit his lip, an image of Bruce and Mary once again coming to him. But this time the memory of Batman flying to Mary’s rescue.

“So do you.”

Thomas’s eyes shone with mirth as he winked. “That I do. Now go on. Don’t let me keep you.”

John nodded and hurried after his son, so grateful for the escape that he forgot all about food.

#earth 386 #ch: john grayson #ch: martha wayne #ch: dick grayson #ch: thomas wayne #fanfic #we're back babes #no beta we die like meh

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dcmultiverse · 5 years

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The Batman myth is so much about fathers and sons and that male legacy, but in real life, what’s more important than your mother, who has a bigger influence on you? [Martha Kane] is the side of Batman that is fearless and vengeful in the kind of heroic Greek vengefulness. Not in a kind of sorted, gory lust for vengeance, but a lust for justice. A lust to put the world right. She’s that idealist, zealous side of the Batman psychology, which is what makes her son so extraordinary. Thomas [Wayne], on the other hand, is much more the more proper, upright, dutiful, analytical detective side. Batman is both a detective and a vigilante. So Thomas is the detective, Martha’s the vigilante. That’s a bit schematic, but that’s the underlying notion. And then you’ve got the delicious thing that the audience knows they’re going to end up together, but they don’t. And it’s the last thing they’re expecting, so that’s a fun journey to go on.

---EP Bruno Heller on Bruce Wayne’s parents in PENNYWORTH (2019--)

#dcedit #pennyworth #userjorel #userstream #bbelcher #pennyworthedit #ch: thomas wayne #ch: martha wayne #tv: pennyworth #tv #gif #mine #by lily

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marauderundercover · 3 years

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Taking Chances Ch. 2 Finding Out (Family/Friends)

AO3

@maribat-bdbwm

“Mari!” Adrien yells, running past Batman to sweep her up in a hug. Marinette’s face instantly heats up, but she buries herself into the hug. After all, it’s not every day she faces a supervillain determined to kill her with a dangerous weapon...without her suit, anyway.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Marinette reassures him, relishing in the comfort. A cleared throat makes her jump back and look at Batman who, despite clearing his throat and cutting off the most amazing hug ever, has no emotions on his face. Whatsoever. Cause that’s not intimidating or anything.

“The police will need your statement, Miss Dupain Cheng.” Batman says. Marinette nods, squeaking when Adrien reaches down and entwines his fingers with hers. Following Batman’s directions to the awaiting police, Marinette feels nerves flood her systerm as she sees the sheer number of officers on the other side of the door. Sucking in a deep breath, she feels Adrien squeeze her hand. Shooting him a thankful smile, Marinette uses her unattached hand to open the door and step out into the mess of personnel. A man with a mustache and square glasses steps forward immediately, his hand extended.

“Hello Miss Dupain Cheng. I’m Commissioner Jim Gordon. We were in communication with Batman while he was inside so we heard some of what happened. Would you be comfortable telling us what happened? We can get you checked over by paramedics first, if you want.” Commissioner Gordon says.

“Oh, no, no. I’m fine. I don’t-” She starts to say, but a gruff voice cuts her off.

“She should be examined immediately, Gordon. She may have inhaled smoke from the smoke bombs due to proximity. She also could have burns to her face or ears from Joker’s gun. He shot it and then proceeded to prod her with it.” Batman says, the last part of his ‘report’ slightly more gruff than the first. Was he…..worried about her? Marinette shakes that thought off almost immediately. Why would Batman be worried about her? Wait, was he really going to make her see the paramedics when all she wanted to do was talk to the officers so she could get back to the trip?

“I assure you, Monsieur Batman, Monsieur Gordon, I don’t need to see the paramedics. I’m a little shaky, but that’s all. I mean, I was held at gunpoint. I think shaky is appropriate, non?” Marinette asks, flashing the two a bright smile. Gordon raises an eyebrow and glances at Batman who shakes his head stiffly.

“She gets examined.” He says, leaving no room for questions as he pulls his grappling hook (?!?!) out and retreats to the rooftop.

“You heard the man. We can talk as you’re examined, if you’d prefer. I’m sure you just want to put this whole business behind you.” Commissioner Gordon says kindly. Marinette sighs in relief and nods, smiling again at the man. Hopefully this would be taken care of quickly. --- Bruce Wayne was slightly panicking, though he would never admit it. When reports of the Joker being spotted at the Gotham City Museum of Modern Art first rolled in, he assumed his biggest challenge would be keeping Jason from murdering the clown. He did not expect to see a small girl being held at gunpoint. A girl who looked like a strange mix between his mother, and someone else. But he couldn’t place his- of course. Memories flood his mind as he thinks back to the woman who was so clearly related to the small girl. Bridgette Le. A woman that he, at one time, thought he would be able to spend the rest of his life with. Until she left Gotham and cut off all contact between the two. Oh god. She wouldn’t….would she? --- “I don’t understand why that older paramedic looked like she’d seen a ghost.” Marinette says with a pout as she continues working on the embroidery for a jacket for Jagged. Design never sleeps.

“What d’ya mean?” Adrien asks from his nest of blankets on her bed. Marinette tries to focus on keeping her blush down. Apparently, the attack at the museum had scared Adrien more than her, though she imagined he was scared on her behalf. But she couldn’t quite understand why...nevertheless, he had become attached at her hip and hadn’t left her side since they got back to the hotel. Even though all she really wanted was a little alone time to talk to Tikki. Especially about the chance of the Miraculous Cure working here. Maybe if she was in the battle…

“Didn’t you notice? He was fine til he looked into my eyes and then he got super pale. He looked like he was going to say something, but Monsieur Gordon stopped him before he could.” Marinette recounts, remembering the way the paramedic had to switch out since his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I didn’t notice that. That’s weird. Anything else happen like that today?” Adrien asks, finally sitting up and giving her his full attention. Marinette pauses her stitching and purses her lips as she runs the days events back through her head. The paramedic. Batman. Joker. Arriving late to the museum. The cab ride. Being left at the hotel. Coffee-

“Well,” Marinette starts, furrowing her eyebrows as she tries to rationalize the man’s actions in addition to the actions of the paramedic. But something wasn’t adding up. “There was my cab ride to the museum.”

“What happened? Was someone creepy? I can fight them for you!” Adrien offers, a little too cheery. Marinette freezes as she studies his face, searching for something. Adrien had been off all day. More protective than he’d been in awhile. And the few times Lila had spoken, he had scowled at her instead of ignored her. Was he finally coming around to the idea that the high road would not work with Lila? Pushing those thoughts off for another time, Marinette shakes her head.

“No, no. Nothing like that. But as I was leaving, he called me Miss Wayne.” Marinette admits, not expecting Adrien’s uncontrollable laughter.

“He, you, oh my god!” He laughs, clutching his sides. Marinette’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as she sets the jacket down on the desk.

“What?” She asks, completely and totally frustrated with the situation. Adrien laughs for another minute before calming down, wiping tears from his eyes and shooting her a blinding smile. Not his model smile. An actual smile that warms her heart and her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Mari. It’s just, I think he was referring to the fact that you look like the typical kid Bruce Wayne adopts.” Adrien says and Marinette’s blood freezes.

“Did you say Bruce Wayne?” Marinette asks and Adrien nods, his previous mirth wiped from his face.

“Yeah, Mari, are you okay?” He asks. Marinette nods, then shakes her head, then groans and throws up her arms in frustration.

“I don’t know! I just- you remember how I told you I’m adopted?” She asks. Adrien nods, then stops. A look of mixed terror and awe flooding his face.

“Oh god, Mari. You never told me the name. Your birth father-”

“His name is Bruce Wayne. But there’s gotta be hundreds if not thousands of Bruce Waynes in the US right?” Marinette asks, even as her hope in that idea dwindles.

“The US? He’s confirmed from the US?” Adrien asks, already pulling out his phone.

“Yes. Adrien, what are you doing?” She asks, suddenly worried as she jumps onto the bed next to him, desperately trying to see his phone.

“I’m googling Bruce Wayne and Bridgette Le as a combined search. Wayne is one of the most prominent figures in Gotham, all of his previous relationships have photographic evidence. Except for whoever the mother of his youngest is. But that’s probably because he wasn’t in the country at that time.” Adrien says, typing away furiously on his phone. Marinette’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement.

“Since when were you a master researcher?” She asks with a grin.

“Since one of my best friends found out she’s adopted and it could be the man who hosts the only palatable high society parties. Seriously. And they’d be much better if you were there and-holy shit. Your bio mom looks just like you!” Adrien exclaims, turning the phone to her. Marinette inhales deeply and thanks whatever power there is that she’s not in Paris right now. The emotions running over her at an indescribable speed...not all of them are positive. And they’re all overwhelming as she looks at a picture that very clearly shows her bio mom with Bruce Wayne. As in the Gotham Bruce Wayne. Not a different unknown Bruce Wayne across the country somewhere. Nope. A man who is apparently prominent enough that Monsieur Agreste makes his son go to the man’s parties.

“I don’t suppose she just had a type for men named Bruce Wayne?” Marinette says weakly. This was not what she expected. --- This was exactly what he expected. Looking at the birth records for one Marinette Le, where he’s noted as the father. Though why he wasn’t notified before the girl’s custody was signed over to Sabine Cheng, he’ll never understand. His jaw clenches as he continues reading, eyes scanning over Bridgette’s death certificate before glancing back at Marinette’s birth certificate. A daughter. He had a daughter. Another child that he would never be able to hold when they were small. Another child that grew up without him. Another child that he didn’t meet until they were already a person. Someone with their own experiences individual from his own, someone that may not even know he had found them. And that he wanted nothing more than to get to know someone who was brave enough to stand between the Joker and her friends. Someone who was determined not to let what should have been the most traumatic experience in her life be a set back. He had a daughter. And he wanted to meet her.

***

Note, my headcannon is that the paramedic that panicked did so because he was one of the first responders the night that the Waynes were murdered. And while she looks a lot like her birth mom, Marinette also definitely has Martha Wayne’s eyes and the paramedic could NOT deal. Also, let me know if you want tagged!

Tag List: @jjmjjktth

#maribat bruce wayne #maribat #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #mbdbwm2021 #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat adrien agreste #day two family/friends

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hettiesworld · 3 years

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Name of fic: (haven’t got one yet)

Pairing: None.

Plot summary: The Marvel cast have been transported to the DC universe and they are confused as to who they are playing. So they try to find their way back to their universe.

Warnings: Moderate language.

Author’s note: If you have any suggestions on which Marvel actor/actress should play the characters with the question marks, let me know! This is combining the Dark Knight trilogy and the DCEU Batman as well as, the new Batman movie coming out with Robert Pattinson.

Cast list for Ch.2:

Robert Downey Jr as Bruce Wayne/Batman

Jon Faverau as Alfred Pennyworth.

Tom Hiddleston as The Joker

Tom Holland as Dick Grayson/Robin

Gwyneth Paltrow as Selina Kyle/Catwoman

John Slattery as Thomas Wayne

Hope Davis as Martha Wayne

Tom Hardy as Bane (because he plays Venom and he is kinda part of the MCU, if you think about it)

Chapter 2 - IronBat

Attending the opera with his parents, Thomas and Martha, Bruce becomes frightened by performers masquerading as bats and asks to leave. Outside, mugger Joe Chill murders Bruce's parents in front of him, and the orphaned Bruce is raised by the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.

Running. Running from his parents' funeral while remembering the night they were murdered. He fell into a cave, and a circling vortex of bats surrounded him. He then developed a fear of bats.

That’s when he became Batman.

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

There was no back wall to the interview room, only tempered glass.

“Then why do you want to kill me?” Batman asked the interviewee opposite him. Exactly opposite him was a crazy man. A psychopath with green hair and red makeup on his chapped lips. White paint all over his face.

It was the Joker.

He giggled as he said to the Bat, “I don't, I don't want to kill you! What would I do without you? Go back to ripping off mob dealers? No, no, NO! No. You... you... complete me.” “You're garbage who kills for money!” “Don't talk like one of them. You're not! Even if you'd like to be. To them, you're just a freak, like me! They need you right now, but when they don't, they'll cast you out, like a leper! You see, their morals, their code, it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these... these civilized people, they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve.”

Those words haunted the Bats. Of course he didn’t feel like himself.

He went back to Wayne Manor after a long fight with the Joker to talk to Alfred. Alfred looked quite familiar to Bruce’s eyes. Something was wrong with him.

“Alfred.” He began to speak as he took off his Batman suit. His deep voice was gone as his helmet was removed from him. “Why do I suddenly feel different?”

“I don’t know sir. But you don’t look different...?”

The mirror had that patina of age over the bronze frame, likewise the surface of the glass was splotched black in places. Bruce stood and stared at himself, or at least the different image of himself.

Black hair, brown eyes and a goatee.

He then gasped.

“Oh my God... Why am I Batman? I don’t play Batman, I play --”

Suddenly, an explosion rent the air as if it was intent on shattering the universe by ripping apart every atom.

“Bane.” “You don't fear death... You welcome it. Your punishment must be more severe.”

Just then, both a male and female figure walked towards ‘Bruce’ and Bane. “Gwyneth? Tom?”

Well, ‘Robert’ wasn’t wrong. It was actually Catwoman and Robin. ‘Robert’ was trying to figure out why he was dressed like Batman and ‘Holland’ was dressed as Robin, ‘Gwyneth’ as Catwoman and...

“Oh my God... Hiddleston was the Joker!” He thought to himself. “I have to get out of here and to my own universe! I guess I have to live out... whoever is playing Batman now... I have to live out their story. Great.”

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

Author’s note: Chapter 2 is done! Wasn’t sure how to do Robert as Batman, but I will get back to him in Justice League where they all meet for the first time (that’s the OG Avengers except Mark - sorry Mark!)

@jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @yavanna80 @princess-evans-addict @pegasusdragontiger @averyrogers83 @navybrat817

#robert downey jr #marvel vs dc #nbarnes #masterlist

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marthaskane · 1 year

Photo

You want to save your daughter? Do what you were supposed to do the night everything went wrong. Kill Martha. I won't do it.

PENNYWORTH (2019-2022) ↳ Rag Trade

#pennyworthedit #pennyworth #martha kane #martha wayne #thomas wayne #bat parents #pennycentral #usererry #userkraina #dcmultiverse #mine #mine: gifs #mine: pennyworth #ch: martha kane #ch: thomas wayne #tv: pennyworth #pennyworth s3 #pennyworth 3x09

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atasteforsuicidal · 3 years

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WIP Challenge

Thank you @irolltwenties for the tag ♥

WIP Challenge 😁❤🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍❤😁🤩🤩

Rules: tell us the titles of all the WIPs you are currently working on right now and a little about them. Then tag five other writers.

I am... only going to include WIPs I've actively worked on in recent memory or that are supposed to be coming up soon, because otherwise, we'll be here all day. Also, what are titles before posting? You can have the GDoc titles XD

[Warning for rape mentions and incest mentions]

JayTimWeek Fic - Day 2

A BDSM AU, with Dom!Tim and sub!Jay.

Tim has been Jason's most stable and preferred partner for being regularly put down, but it's always been platonic. In fact, Jason hasn't done a sexual scene in years and years, and the ones he has done haven't really been consensual. But his feelings for Tim have been changing, and he's been thinking about taking that step... only he has no idea how Tim feels about him.

JayDickWeek Day 1: Jealousy/Protectiveness

One of two installments that I'm hoping to get out for my dna verse between this event and OJTW (if I don't finish them in time for JDW). This one is set probably a month or two into the pregnancy, and Dick has gotten weird about letting Jason leave the apartment "because Bludhaven is so unsafe, and I just can’t stand you going out like this, Jay. I’m sorry, my instincts are just going haywire with wanting to keep you both safe." Finally, he caves and agrees to a weekend at the Manor to appease Jason.

But then he gets jealous when Jason lets Damian nurse from him, which kind of sets up the second story I want to write.

JayDickWeek Day 4: A/O/B

The second dna verse fic I'm working on. This one is likely to be much longer, so I'm worried about time constraints. It follows probably less than a month after the one I just talked about, and is essentially just Dick's not-so-slow descent into being That Kind of Alpha. You know, the kind he promised he'd never be? Yeah.

JayDickWeek Day 5: Never Adopted

Jason is a college-aged Omega, who was attacked by a serial killer who has been raping and murdering male Omegas. He manages to kill the Alpha in self-defense before he's murdered (but after he's been raped), and it's Nightwing who finds him. Dick finds out it's not the first time he's saved Jason and that Jason grew up in a boys' home run by the Martha Wayne Foundation. He takes an interest, initially as Nightwing, checking in and making sure Jason's okay, etc.

Then he starts showing up as Dick, and I'm looking forward to playing with identity issues. Can't wait for Jason to go to Nightwing and confide how he's scared that he has a stalker and that that stalker is Dick Grayson. Also thinking about making him a med student and having him be friendly with Steph/having Dick ask Steph to befriend him because he’s just so worried about this poor, traumatized, packless Omega.

JayDicksequel

The mythical sequel to my JayDick pet play fic that I've been insisting will exist for far too long now. Theoretically, it's supposed to be their first attempt at a 24-hour scene. Or, well. 24-hours, less vigilante time.

OJTW Day 2: Ra'sJay Sequel

A follow-up to the Ra'sJay thing I wrote during kinkmas. It's a 4 + 1 of Jason's heats, with the +1 being the truth about the heat where Ra's claimed him.

OJTW Day 7: Incest Kink

Probably going to use this to write a JayDick thing that's been Haunting me. It's pretty heavy on both breeding and incest kink. Hopefully I can keep this one on the shorter side, because it should just be a single sex scene. I just want to write Dick talking about breeding Jason until his womb breaks and then keeping him around to be their pups' practice omega 🥺

ra'sjaytim aob thing

Something I've been picking at for a while and am now hoping to finish in time for Day 6 of Ra'sBat Week. Basically, it's set post RHATO 25, except Roy never saved Jason and, instead, Batman left him on the streets, outside city limits, while he was going into a critical heat from the beating/breaking pack bonds. Jay chose calling in the League over death or being raped and mated by whatever random Alpha(s) caught his scent or stumbled across him, even though he knew what it likely meant for him.

That's the backstory, though. The fic itself is the Batfam finding out about all this after Tim is assigned to look into rumours about there being a new Heir to The Demon. Tim, in particular, is livid, because Bruce had led him to believe that he was keeping tabs on Jason when he wasn't. Naturally, Bruce insists on showing up to take the child so Ra's can't abuse it like he did Damian, and Jason makes a counter-offer to Tim, half-inviting/half-begging Tim to stay, to be his and Ra's' beta. To help Jay raise his pups, to help Jay /protect/ his pups...

sounds so sweet, ch. 2

More JayKyle smut. Moving to the bedroom. Rough sex. Paddling. Probably some lantern constructs as sex toys. Putting Jay down deeply enough for him to rest well, and then Kyle staying awake to watch over him and wait up for Roy to confront him, which will be chapter 3.

edge of a knife, ch. 4

The final chapter of my fem!Dick kinkmeme fill. I know for sure that it starts with Dick going back to Gotham so she can go to Leslie's clinic for the morning after pill, but there are two very different ways that I've considered ending it, and I can't decide which way I want it to go - either she goes to Bruce and confides in him about what happened... or she goes back to the Tower.

Just tagging whoever feels like doing it, tbh. If you have wips, pls do it. I'm nosy 🤣

#wip meme #fanfic*#cw incest #cw rape #cw abuse #and then ofc i'm overdo on updates to if i should/sure as a wave/broken smile #and then i do have plans for dc dark week and another ra'sbat week fic #and this convoluted af red robin au #and a dozen other things that are more vague plans than anything concrete yet #writing*

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starkandthewaynes · 3 months

Text

Bengal & Lynx

Ch. 1

"Kyo, I think this final is gonna drive me insane." Lennox says to her cat, who looked at them and then just bit their laptop. "I know, you don't like it either." Lennox says as they get their phone out for a picture. They quickly took to Insta, but just shook their head.

Jason was right only 3 more days until Kyo and them were on a plane to Gotham City, New Jersey. They couldn't wait. Last time they had seen Jay, he hadn't died. When he did die, Bruce hadn't known what to do with Lennox so he shipped them off to boarding school in London, England. Yeah, that hadn't been a fun time for anyone. Dick had reached out several times, but it had turned into more of an annoyance than a help.

And when Jay did return to the land of the living, and re-joined the family, Lennox had also changed. They had always been able to see shades and ghosts, but when they moved to London, it had gotten worse, and this side of the pond the best person they could call was John Constantine. That had been a fun phone call.

"No way kid, I am not teaching you magic, I didn't even teach your brother, I ain't teaching you." John had said on the phone, but then they'd replied with; "Uncle Johnny, please, I keep seeing shit in the teacher's lounges. I need help." Who knew Johnathon Constantine, Hellblazer, Laughing Magician, Conman had a weak spot for kids who had supernatural gifts.

Lennox shook their head, thinking about the past was not going to help them study for their last final, or help them pack for summer. Luckily they didn't have to pack up the whole flat, Bruce had bought it for them. Nah, they were just heading to Gotham for the summer, before they came back for their senior year of college. Sure they were graduating early, but they had a plan for after school. They we're gonna help run the Bengel & Lynx foundation, a subject of the Martha Wayne Foundation that helped impoverished areas get help for local theatres and libraries. It's why they were triple majoring in Theatre, English, and business, while also minoring in art and history. Or They will once they pass these finals then two more semesters.

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

Lennox was checking everything to make sure they had everything. Kyo was already in his little bag ready for the flight. He was so cute and ready. They took a picture. They couldn't help it, their Instagram page was practically dedicated to Kyo, at this point they really should just make it his page, but then all the press would get uppity. The only bad thing about having Wayne attached to Pierce was the press.

Lennox laughed. They had met Steph when she, Duke, and Cas had come over to London with Tim on a business trip. Or at least that was the official public story. The real reason was Spoiler, Orphan, and Signal had a joint case. It was still a fun trip where Lennox had gotten to meet their older sister and younger brother and pseudo sister.

Lennox took a cab to the airport, just because their family had money doesn't mean they needed to use the private jet. As soon as they were through security and on the plane, they could finally relax. They pulled out an old warn copy of Treasure Island, a comfort story.

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

Lennox liked Jay's, duke's and Tim's tweets as they picked up their bags, and looked around for Jason. They heard a loud engine and saw a pretty badass bike show up. They driver skided into park, got off and held up a sign. Lennox couldn't help but cackle as they read it. In Jason's chicken scratch blown up were the word's "Welcome Home, Lynx!" They loved and missed their twin so much. They couldn't help it when they ran into his arms. "Bengal!" They shrieked as hepicked them up, careful of Kyo, and spun them around. "I missed you so much, Lynx." He whispers as the two just stand in one another's presence. "By the way, do you know how to ride a bike?" Jay asks, grabbing their bags. They chuckle. "Yeah, Bengal, I know how to ride a bike; Dickie made sure of it." So did working with Cinstantine, made for quick getaways. Lennox adds in their head. "Right." He says, handing them a spare helmet.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"You totally forgot Bruce had all of us on twitter, didn't you?" Lennox asks, Jay, Dick and them are in the family room. "I tried getting him to stop, but he was being Jason." Dick whines, as three of the oldest Waynes sigh. "How long you think we got?" Lennox asks, as Dick looks at his watch. "Well, Bruce tweeted that 30 seconds ago, so I think we got probably-" "Twins! Dick! Study now!" "Now, we got until now." Dick sighs, getting up. On the way there they passed by the others, who were snickering. They weren't in trouble.

"You three wanna tell me something?" Bruce asks, as the three kids rock back and forth on their toes. "I'm graduating next winter?" Lennox tries, as the three men stare at Lennox. "You have been working hard huh?" Jay asks as they shrug. "Got myself a plan Bengal, and Tim's been helping me get a jump start." Lennox says, as Bruce nods. "I wanna hear when we're done here, Lynx." Jay says as Lennox nods. "

Yes, well, firstly I wanna know how old you all were." Bruce says as Lennox smiles. "Well, Bengal and I weren't here that's for sure." Lennox says as Jay turns wide eyed. "What are you doing?" He hisses as Lennox just smiles. "What?" Bruce asks, as Lennox nods. "Yeah, it's what happens when you grow up in the Alley, cigs are just apart of the ambiance. So yeah, Jay bought us our first pack three days before you picked us up, we we're celebrating that we had gotten ourselves a job." Lennox says as Bruce stiffens up, just like Lennox knew he would. Bruce doesn't like to be reminded of how hard some of his kids have had it. They walk out of the study, and all their siblings are staring. "Check Twitter." Is all Dick says

Yes this is another new batfam smau I need to spice things up sometimes leave everyone on their toes (PS if you saw this earlier no you didn't)

Masterlist

#batfam #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #steph brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #batfam social media #my ocs #Lennox Pierce #barbara gordon

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 7

Massive thanks to my awesome betas for this chapter!

In Which: A Story is Given to the Locked Room

AO3 | Prologue | 6 | [ 7 ] | 8

DICK DOESN’T REALLY KNOW WHAT TO FEEL. Surprised, maybe? Though he really isn’t all that shocked. Not that the revelation of another Wayne kid isn’t surprising, it’s just that—well…

Bruce has a tendency to attract foolhardy kids with a strong sense of justice and a willingness to harp on Batman until he gives them wings and teaches them how to fly. It’s the way of the world. The sky is blue, the sun sets in the west, and little Robin-hopefuls flock to Batman like ducklings to their big, brooding, mother duck. (That most of them are black haired and blue-eyed with some sort of traumatic backstory is a coincidence. Probably. The universe is just weird that way.)

And Bruce, bleeding heart that he is despite all the steel walls and nuclear spike fields he placed around it, always had a soft spot for children. It’s what people don’t get when they call Robins and Batgirls, former or current, child soldiers. They think that Batman picks these children up from gutter alleys and unfortunate homes, breaking and reshaping them into crusaders for his war against crime.

(What most don’t get is that the easiest way to gain ‘favorite child’ status in the Wayne household is to just stay home and live the most normal life possible. All of them—with the exception of Damian and Cass—chose this life. And even those two chose to stick with it, even when Bruce was more than happy to give them a way out.)

Dick was one of the first to stand at Batman’s side. The original. The ‘golden boy’ as Jason always put it. He’d been there so early in Batman’s career that, years later, it’s nearly inconceivable to imagine Batman without his Robin. He’s been there for Bruce’s soaring highs, his crushing lows, his mundane middles, just as Bruce has been there for him. Sure, they’ve had their fights, but Dick had always settled himself with the knowledge that he was one of the few people that knew everything about Bruce Wayne.

But this . This nursery—no, this memorial . This monument that spoke of a life that could have, should have, would have been, is something that predates Robin’s existence. A story, a memory that had hurt Bruce so badly that he would rather hide it away than breathe even a word of its existence.

Until now. Until Bruce had no choice but to rip the wound open once more.

“Bruce. I—what’s going on?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred interjected. “Perhaps it may be best to take this to the cave. Such a story should be told once.”

Bruce laughed, a broken, shuddering thing. “What is there to tell? I was naive with a heart too open and full of longing. I let myself hope, and I let myself get crushed . I picked myself up, moved on, end of story.”

Alfred raised an imperious brow. “As you are the one who always insisted on detailed reports, I do hope your summary to the boys downstairs would have a little more detail.” His face softened as he placed a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “What recent information that has been passed to us paints a worrisome picture, given what little you have shared, but know that this time you are not alone to deal with this matter. Regardless of what you do, the rest of the family is involved by proxy."

Bruce seemed to release some of the tension in his shoulders at that. “Yes. Of course. Dick, why don’t you see if Tim is back yet. I don’t want to explain this more than once, if possible. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that.”

“And, Dick?”

“Yeah?”

Bruce’s gaze was intense. “How is Damian doing?”

He remembered the way Damian sunk deeper into the chair, hands clasping and unclasping at air. The white of his cast hanging limply as Damian’s legs could just barely brush against the cave floor. Dick swallowed a lump in his throat. “I don’t know. But I do know that he could really use his father right about now.”

Bruce gave a shaky nod and Dick left.

_______

Everyone has heard this tale before.

His boys have learned about the birth of Batman, of how a boy lost his parents in an alley at the age of eight. How at 14 he took to the study of criminology to an almost religious fervor. He took and aced every AP test, graduated high school at 16, headed off to get a college degree, then disappeared off the face of the earth.

Batman may have been born kneeling in the shadows of a dirty alley, but it was on the streets abroad where Batman grew up. Learning and studying and fighting until he knew what made the criminal underworld tick, how to escape almost every type of restraints, how to solve a murder with only the smallest of clues. He trained under a demon and met his daughter. When their ideas of justice clashed with each other, he tried to leave, they tried to stop him, and he set their base on ablaze.

He returned to Gotham the prodigal son, the favored prince, the charming socialite. Bruce Wayne took his place at the center of Gotham’s solar system, shining and bright and unbelievably foolish. Batman put on a cowl and learned the shadows of Gotham’s streets, and built himself up to be a symbol of fear and justice. Soon, he acquired a Robin to temper that darkness. To bring a light of hope, to instill a sense of peace— something more than vengeance and the night.

The rest is history.

Here is the part of the story that Bruce had omitted:

Early in his career as Batman, a man named Quayin had plans to steal a weather modifying US satellite. This, and certain other events, led to Bruce and Ra’s al Ghul crossing paths—and working on the same side. The details of that mission, in the long run. do not matter. Not anymore. What’s important is that accompanying him is his daughter, Talia al Ghul. She was as deadly as she was beautiful—and Talia was very, very beautiful.

It was a whirlwind romance. A storm of passion. Gotham’s Bruce Wayne and socialite Miranda Tate. * Batman and the Daughter of the Demon. The tempest reached its peak on that fateful day in the gardens of Wayne Manor. The hot summer sun and buzzing insects fading away as she pulled him aside and said “Beloved, I am with child. I am pregnant.” **

Bruce was caught unawares by the news. Stared dumbfounded at her until his brain caught up with his ears and he felt such unbridled joy bubbling in his chest. He laughed, clear and bright. He held her tight against him as if she held the world in her hands—because she did . Talia held his world within her and Bruce vowed to protect it with every fiber of his being. He called Alfred immediately to tell him the news and started arranging for discreet interior decorators and shipments for everything they needed for a nursery.

Thomas, for a boy. Martha for a girl. He swore that very day that it would be the happiest baby in the world. **

And then—

And then…

As Ra’s and Bruce planned their next move to stop Quayin from initiating a war between America and the USSR, Talia collapsed.

Talia collapsed and the baby was just…

Gone.

And suddenly Talia wanted nothing to do with him. Told Bruce to leave her alone, that their relationship would never be the same.

His child was gone .

By the time the rogue satellite was recovered, Quayin defeated, and all loose ends tied up, the nursery was fully furnished. Bruce took one look at it and then turned away. Locked the door and hid the key god-knows-where.

His child was gone.

Batman continued to work.

There was no use for an empty nursery.

--------

End Notes:

The story I'm using for the circumstances surrounding Danny's birth is basically a modified version of what happens in Batman: Son of the Demon. Modified so that people knew that Bruce Wayne and Miranda Tate were a couple and to give enough time for a nursery to be built along with the rest of the events of that comic.

*Miranda Tate is the name Tahlia al Ghul went by in 'The Dark Knight Rises'

**These lines are taken from Batman: Son of the Demon

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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persephonescat · 4 years

Text

Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons

Chapter 3!!!!!!! Wow.

Ch. 1 Previous Next Masterpost AO3

________________

Ch. 3: I Came Here to Have a Good Time...

The problem with making friends with a villain past midnight and getting into an hours-long debate on psychology with them?

Well, you know the thing when you lay unconscious in your bed in order to function? It kinda gets left out.

Marinette drank two cups of coffee in the morning - she didn't even like coffee -, and she still wanted to kill everyone she laid her eyes on and then herself. (Guess who spent their practically non-existent free time reading memes?)

It was too early to check on Luka and Kagami, plus they made her promise she would at least try to have a good time, and Kaalki had absolutely no interest in taking her to Paris if there wasn't a clear threat. Normally, she wouldn't have thought about going on a school trip at all. For two years, she managed to "get sick" every time there was an outing on the horizon, and she took no pleasure in going to a different continent for two months, while Paris' population was completely vulnerable to a terrorist.

However, Gotham might've had been even more dangerous than Paris, and she couldn't let her classmates go without protection either. Not to mention how the whole trip was... kind of her fault.

In her protection, last year, when Mrs. Bustier presented the class with the opportunity, she didn't think they had any chance. So when the woman said she was going to speak to her colleagues in her favor if Marinette filled out the application and convinced the class to reach the requirements, the girl didn't think twice. They shot a cool campaign-video, got recommendations from Jagged Stone, Cheng Shifu, Nadja Chamack, Penny Rolling, Gabriel Agreste, Audrey Bourgeois, the major, the principal and even the Kitty Section for good measure, then she wrote a five pages long essay about the ways they could spend the vacation and the money that came with it. Now that Marinette was thinking about it, they might've overshot the mark a little.

Thanks to Mrs. Bustier, this way she could at least maintain her grades a bit, which came handy after the late-night patrols she was still getting used to at the time.

Giving the Miraculouses to Luka and Kagami after swearing never to use them again was hard, but necessary. As Ladybug, she fed them a story about having to go to the east for a Miraculous-mission two weeks before Marinette actually left, so she could see them in action - Hawkmoth was getting sloppy; he only sent out one akuma during that time period, and it was a pretty weak one too -, and so it wasn't that easy to connect the dots, 'cause... Ladybug and your friend, who magical camouflage or not, look pretty much alike, leave and come back at the same time. You have three guesses.

She made them promise to call her if there was any damage she had to "Cure" or if an akuma was too difficult for them to handle, and she hoped that at least Kagami, being the more responsible one, would keep that promise.

Alya's voice, still hoarse from waking up, pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Mornin'." She stopped to yawn and tried to smooth her red tornado of a hair out. "Where did you get coffee?"

Marinette pointed at the pot on the counter. Alya shuffled towards it with closed eyes, muttering "coffee" under her breath over and over again, her hip hitting every chair on the way there. She might've cursed a few times, but it came out so tangled, Marinette wasn't sure.

Then came Nino storming down the stairs, probably waking the entire city with his steps, humming Jagged Stones' Jeudi soir. He put a hand on Alya's back, lead her to a chair, then poured her a cup of coffee and smiled at Marinette while mixing two spoons of sugar into it. She smiled back fondly.

She wasn't sure when she and Alya stopped being best friends. Things just... changed. Marinette started growing out her hair, wearing it in a braid instead of piggy tails. Alya's usual shirts were swapped to fandom T-shirts and crop tops. Marinette's clothes got more red and black, Alya started running another website beside Ladyblog, about her everyday life and various topics from movie-critiques to the art of journalism. Marinette ran out of pink lipstick and purchased a cherry one instead. Alya went to a festival with Nino and it was the best week of her life. Marinette's crush on Adrien disappeared, while Alya's relationship with Nino got more and more serious.

It was slow and painful at first, but she didn't realize how much changed over a few months until one day she reached for her phone to call her friend and tell her something about a commission she got, then it hit her: they were not like that anymore.

It was comforting, on some level, that she no longer had that responsibility. Or that's what she told herself.

When the rest of her class arrived, she stood up and left the cafeteria.

***

In the morning, they went sightseeing. Not as if Gotham had a lot of sights, they might've been the only people stupid enough to go there for fun.

No, it was more like two hours of "don't go here", "don't go there", and "please, don't go there either" as they were shown around the city by a young lady whose posture was radiating stress all the time. Marinette could understand why. Their last stop was the Wayne Tower, where they were told to pair up with each other and discover the shops, cafés, and restaurants around the square.

She locked eyes with Adrien and mouthed "cover for me". The boy nodded, then Marinette quickly turned around the corner and walked around the square a few times before finding a sympathetic café, only one street away from the tower (technically, it wasn't on the square, but close enough).

She took a seat and ordered her third cup of coffee that day (she was healthy like that), before pulling out her phone and researching Wayne Enterprises. She checked it out back home of course, but there was a lot more material there than she had time for

She was reading yet another biography on Bruce Wayne and pretending her tired eyes weren't constantly tearing up and stinging from the screen when she heard it.

"I can't believe it. Have you read this?" an old man asked his wife sitting at the table next to Marinette's.

"Please, Robert, you can't throw a tantrum every time someone gets killed in this city," the women answered flatly.

The man turned a few pages in his newspaper then pushed it under her wife's nose.

"Not just someone, Martha! A girl! A young girl! She was barely older than Katie!" That seemed to pique the woman's interest.

"A girl, ya' say?" she murmured, pulling out her glasses. "Who did it?"

"You'd think they know, right? I mean, they have a list of all the psychopaths rummaging the streets, it can't be that hard to figure out, but no-," the wife shushed him just by raising a finger.

She took a few seconds to read the article before speaking up again.

"This says it was near Crime Alley. No girl goes near that just by accident."

"She was stabbed twelve times in broad daylight! She wasn't that near Crime Alley, look-," he turned the newspaper, searching the lines then he pointed at something, "-she was found on St. Anthony Street! That's five streets over!"

The woman hummed.

"What did ya' say, how old was she?"

"Sixteen. Katie might've seen her a few times, they went to the same school."

A waitress came and interrupted them, giving them their check. Marinette, who was pretending to drink her coffee peacefully all along now turned to them just as the man opened his wallet.

"Excuse Moi? May I ask what time it is?" She asked with a thick French accent.

The man stopped halfway in paying the waitress and glanced at his watch, giving Marinette enough time to study the wallet in his hand. It was small and black leather, probably a gift. There was a picture too, just as she expected. It showed a girl around thirteen with blond hair and bangs, smiling in her school uniform. "Katie", if she had any luck.

"Half-past two," the man told her helpfully.

The girl thanked him with a smile, paid for her coffees, then left the shop.

She walked around the block to get out of the old couple's sight before visiting the Gotham Gazelle's official website on her phone. The dead girl's name was Joanne, but her surname wasn't published and there was no photo of her. She was found the day before yesterday, with twelve identical knife-wounds on her body. The police said they were looking for the culprit, but they clearly didn't have much to go on, given their lack of suspects.

Marinette took out her sketchbook and started scribbling down some notes.

Joanne

16 yrs old

Lives in Gotham

Student

She paused. The uniform on Katie's picture was blue with a red tie. Gotham didn't have many schools, but they all had different uniforms. Blue and red meant Gotham Academy.

Student in Gotham Academy

A quick Facebook search later she had the girl's last name and profile picture. Bless the modern age.

If she had to be in Gotham, she might as well not die in boredom, right?

St. Anthony Street was a little over thirty minutes from the Wayne Tower. She had time.

________________

As always, coffee is my nectar and comments are my ambrosia, so penny for your thoughts!

Ch. 1 Previous Next Masterpost AO3

Tag list:

@northernbluetongue

@vgirl-10123

#Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons #maribat #damiette #daminette #damari #dcu #mlb #batman #damian wayne #fanfiction #writerblr #I Came Here to Have a Good Time

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kittymaine · 2 years

Text

Monsters Need Family Too Ch. 2

// Summary: Bruce Wayne is eighteen years old and he wants to know what he is. //

At eighteen years old, Bruce Wayne left Gotham for the first time to travel the world.

He had gotten his GED at the age of sixteen and afterwards he briefly attended classes at Gotham University on the pre-med track hoping to follow in his father's footsteps and become a doctor. But, the outside world was so strange to him and any kind of interaction with others was difficult. He had spent most of his life inside Wayne Manor only interacting with Alfred and the few servants willing to get close enough to speak to him. It was obvious based on the reactions of his classmates and teachers that they found him unnerving and off putting. He quit after only a year.

After dropping out of university, he decided that he needed to work on his social skills before trying to re-enter society. Alfred assured him it was a skill like any other and needed to be trained. He advised him he was only off putting because he was so behind in this skill compared to other people his age.

Alfred helped him make an appointment with a specialist who worked with him over the next few months. Bruce privately called it human training in his head.

His therapist was very kind and patient with him. She was convinced there was something off about him, but was polite or jaded enough by the strange behavior of her clients that she didn't seem put off by him. Almost every other week she would tell him that he might have this or that disorder and that he should consider seeing this psychologist or that neurologist. He tried once to ask her if his problem might be only that he was not human and had received a very stern talking to about something called 'negative self talk'. He didn't try to bring it up again.

The human training helped a little. He found that he could make small forays into human society and blend in seamlessly for short periods of time. But, there was always a timer. Keeping up the facade of normal humanity was taxing and after a few hours he could feel his focus slipping and some of his more strange mannerisms sneaking out. It helped to pretend to be someone else. Sometimes he would shrug his shoulders or twist him mouth and brow in such a way to appear to be someone else. He would attribute fake names and pasts to these personas, creating whole characters that he could slip into easily. This was easier on him than trying to just be a human version of himself. He could sometimes spend a whole day as say Matches Malone while sometimes just a short trip to a coffee shop as Bruce Wayne wore him out.

Bruce felt his inhumanity more and more as he grew older. When he was a child, his strangeness felt instinctual, like something that was a part of him that he didn't question. He knew things he shouldn't know, saw things it made no sense for him to see and he felt death and malice on the wind like a bad scent. He didn't really need to eat or sleep as much as normal people. He didn't crave human interaction even if he did find other people interesting. That was just him as he had always been and it rarely occurred to him that this was something to worry about.

His parents' death had awakened that worry somewhat, but Alfred had smoothed it over again. Alfred was strange too after their death in a way that Bruce hadn't been able to understand for years. He also seemed to know things about the Manor that it didn't seem possible to know. Comparing himself to Alfred, Bruce didn't feel so strange.

But, the other common people of Gotham reminded Bruce that he was strange. He knew that he made too much eye contact, that he didn't know how to respond correctly to common questions and one more than one occasion he had been told that he 'moved strangely'. He was unaccountably strange. There had to be some reason for it, some explanation.

He had always known that, while there was a chance that he was Martha and Thomas Wayne's biological child, there was a better chance that he was not. Alfred had always been upfront with what he knew and suspected about Bruce's origins, but that didn't give Bruce much to go on. Bruce knew that Martha and Thomas were, by all accounts, normal happy people. His mother had been small and petite with thick wavy blonde hair and dark blue eyes and a spray of freckles across her small upturned nose. His father had been tall and muscular with fine dark brown hair and warm brown eyes and a mouth that looked like it was always on the edge of smiling. At eighteen years old, Bruce was already taller and broader than Thomas had been, his hair was thick and straight and ink black and his eyes were such a pale ice blue as to almost look white in the right light. He didn't look anything like either of his parents.

"If I retrace their itinerary, I might find some answers," he had theorized out loud to Alfred as he looked over the thin yellowed papers that the butler had produced at his request. Copies of his parents planned trip around the world.

"I certainly can't fault your logic, Master Bruce," Alfred agreed, though he looked less than enthused by the idea.

"But, you won't be able to come with me," Bruce said slowly, looking up at Alfred who only looked back sadly.

"No, I will not," Alfred agreed. He had never managed to make it beyond the front gates of the Manor without waking back up on the atrium floor.

Alfred took a hesitant seat at the round table across from Bruce. He folded his thin wrinkled hands in front of him on the heavy dark wood. "Loathe as I am to admit it, it might be just what you need. It will afford you the chance to see the world outside of this manor and outside of this city. It may allow you to become closer to your parents in a way, following in their footsteps as you would be. And, you are right that you may find a hint to how your parents came to be responsible for you.

"I ask only one thing of you, if you decide to do this," Alfred said, his dark eyes serious as he reached across the table to grasp Bruce's hand in his own. His skin was cold and dry against Bruce's hand, but Alfred always felt like that. "Promise that you'll come back to me, my boy. I know I will be waiting for eternity, if you don't."

A stronger tether Bruce couldn't imagine. Alfred's eternity lay in his ability to come back to him. Bruce made that promise more seriously than he had ever promised anything before.

With that, Bruce's decision was set and plans were made for his trip.

Traveling was a lot more than Bruce had bargained for. He had gone in knowing that this kind of travel was going to stretch his ability to mask his strangeness, but he hadn't anticipated how quickly he would crumble. It took very little time for him to give up on all but the most basic masking. He knew he sent more than a few people in dim hotel hallways running screaming just from the sight of him. People wouldn't sit near him on the trains or planes. It didn't bother him. Most everyone was polite enough in their cautious flight from his presence.

His constant movement also allowed him to really start looking at the people around him in a way he hadn't allowed himself before.

When he was young, if he wanted to know something about someone it seemed like he could gain that knowledge with very little effort. If he concentrated on that person, even if they were in another room, it seemed like the knowledge just popped into his head. But, after his parents' death, it seemed like he lost the knack of it somewhat. He could admit to himself that he may have been afraid to look at people again after missing what was going to happen to his mom and dad.

Now, Bruce started to look at people with purpose again. He would examine the people at his hotel and on the subway and on the street. He figured out that he could give someone a passing look and gather a few things quickly. Things like their name, age, who they cared about the most and usually a few other strange tidbits. It was like skimming the surface of a murky pond, picking up just surface information that any casual acquaintance would probably know about them. He also discovered that if he really LOOKED with a capital L he could learn everything there was to learn about someone. He would suddenly know every event in their life, both what had already happened and what was to come, know all their fears, all their passions, all the little quirks of their personality. But, he also found that when he Looked at someone they immediately could tell and would turn to look back at him without fail. Whatever they saw in him at that moment, when his eyes were fully open and focused on them, almost without fail scared them out of their poor fragile minds. He made more than a few people faint by experimenting with that.

It was a useful skill and one he was glad to realize he could do. But, he ultimately decided to put it away unless he really needed it. The importance of privacy had been a big topic in his human training. His very nice therapist had explained to him at length multiple times that it was a generally accepted truth that people would feel violated if he gained knowledge about them that they did not freely give. It was an idea that Bruce struggled with, but he at least understood that it was something that was important to most people. After working out as much as he thought he could about Looking and how it worked, he decided to knock it off for the rest of his trip. Moving around prevented him from gaining a reputation, but he was starting to worry about the trail of strange occurrences he was leaving in his wake.

Still, he traveled for months following his parents’ path and found no hints of his origins. Each place he went he tried to stay in the room they stayed in if he could and visit the places they planned to visit. He saw beautiful buildings and landscapes all over the world and spoke to more people in those few months than he probably did in his whole life until that point. Everywhere he went, he showed people the photo that Alfred had given him taken just after they had returned from their tour. It was of the three of them, his mother and father young and vibrant and grinning wide at the camera with a tiny baby bruce bundled in a yellow blanket held between them. The few people he spoke to who remembered his parents did not remember them having a baby with them, so at least it seemed like they didn't find him until later in their trip.

And then, Kazakhstan happened.

Kazakhstan was a beautiful country. Bruce started in Almaty, a bustling city nestled between snow capped mountains. It was a city that was aggressively alive with history layered on top of history. Big Almaty Lake reflected the thick evergreen forests that ran from snowy peaks down to the canyon below. Beautiful modern architecture sat right beside hundred year old buildings. There were new hip restaurants right beside little old cafes serving sweet coffee and hookah that looked like they probably hadn’t changed in over 100 years.

In Kok Bazaar, Bruce Wayne met Talia Al Ghul.

The bazaar was filled with stands selling everything and anything you could imagine: food, spices, clothing, furniture, even building materials all shoved up right next to each other with the vendors leaning across the aisle to chat while tourists and locals alike milled between the stalls.

Talia saw him from two aisles away and the second he felt her eyes on him he looked up and was arrested by the mere sight of her. She was gorgeous in a way he had never considered anyone to be before. She was obviously a traditionally beautiful woman, tall with a curvy figure, long dark hair that shone like silk under the bright lights of the market, big vibrant green eyes under strong brows and a stronger nose. But, even at a glance, Bruce could see that she was different from any human he had met before. There was something about her that made her hard to See. Something about her smelled of dewy nights, and wild animals, old as an ancient forest and running just as deep.

Talia was confident and beautiful and, most of all, thought that he was fascinating. She took one sniff of Bruce and immediately made him her complete focus. It was disorienting to be on the end of that kind of intense focus. No one by Alfred could look at him straight on the way that Talia Al Ghul did.

Within seconds of seeing him in the market, she had approached him with a barely hidden hunger to her stride. "What are you?" she had asked in fascination.

"I don't know," Bruce answered honestly. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

Talia's expression had shifted minutely from curiosity to determination and Bruce felt something turn over in his stomach at the sight.

Bruce stayed in Kazakhstan for months, stretching his stay out more and more in order to spend more time with Talia. She did the same for him, rearranging her schedule and meetings to stay with him longer.

Not only was she beautiful, but she was terrifyingly intelligent. She seemed as invested in determining who and what Bruce was as he was himself. He found himself confiding in her more than he had ever confided in anyone, even Alfred. Being with her there among the beautiful mountains of Kazakhstan, he felt like she was the only person who had ever understood him for who he really was. He tried his best to do the same for her, embracing her hardness and her sharp edges just as she embraced his strangeness and unexplainable knowledge.

But, it couldn’t last. After six incredible months together, she had to send him away.

"My father is coming," she said hurriedly, barging into his hotel room one mild autumn evening. It was unlike Talia to hurry anywhere, so Bruce was immediately on edge.

"That is bad?" Bruce asked with uncertainty, carefully getting to his feet and sitting aside the sweetened coffee he had been enjoying.

"It is terrible. You must leave immediately," she said decisively, passing him by as she moved to begin packing his bag for him.

"Leave? But-" Bruce struggled to find his words, his mind struggling to wrap his mind around this sudden change to the comfortable routine that he and Talia had been moving in. "What about you?" he settled on eventually.

"I must stay, of course. He is ostensibly coming to meet with me. Of course it is only a ruse for him to confront you. We have been too public and seen too often together by his spies. The only solution is for you to continue on your journey and for me to do my best to direct his attention elsewhere," Talia explained bluntly, packing shirts and pants and socks together deftly and quickly.

"Or," Bruce said hesitantly. "You could," he stumbled, raising a hand to touch her and then thinking better of it. Would touching her seem manipulative? Too aggressive? Since they were in a romantic relationship was that kind of touching expected? It was too difficult to determine, so Bruce erred on the side of caution and did not touch her. He was a large man and the optics of him touching anyone was usually pretty bad. "We could," he stumbled through, trying to get the words out and knowing he was failing miserably. "Together," he finally coughed out.

Talia paused and turned to him, her usually stern features melting into something warm and kind that he never saw her express outside the confines of their rooms.

"Beloved," she breathed, pressing her strong calloused palms to his beard roughened cheeks. "You are, as always, so sweet. But, I cannot." She turned back to packing, her movements brusque but not as rushed as before. "I have spent too long slaving in my father's shadow to throw it all away, even for a creature as strange and beautiful as you."

"You are also beautiful," Bruce sighed, leaning forward enough to catch a whiff of her shampoo and feel the brush of her hair against his cheek.

Talia clicked his suitcase shut with a decisive click and then turned to loop her arms around his neck, looking up just slightly to lock eyes with him. Her body was tight with barely leashed strength, her breath was hot across her face.

"We have some time," she hummed quietly.

With practice, Bruce had learned what that meant. He was glad they at least could have that. Just a little time together before he left.

Bruce left Kazakhstan with an ache in his chest that he had never felt before. It wasn't like the all consuming pain of his parents’ death. Talia was not dead, only far away from him and getting farther with every train transfer. But, she was still gone and nothing could fill the terrible pain the loss of her left behind.

He kept traveling the same paths that his parents took, but his heart wasn't in it anymore. He had stopped asking strangers if they remembered his parents. He had started instead to imagine himself and Talia in their place. What if they had been the happy newlyweds traveling around the world together? What if they could move from city to city every week? What if it was them exploring new countries together and enjoying new experiences every day? Would they find a small strange child to take back home to Alfred and raise together? He knew he was just torturing himself thinking like that, but he couldn't help himself.

Two weeks before Bruce was set to go home, he received a strange message delivered to him by a bewildered bellhop in London.

"For you, sir," he said, handing Bruce a small slip of paper. "An old woman paid me fifty quid to hand this to you myself."

"Thank you," Bruce said with a frown, shutting the door in the face of the young man without another word.

He opened the slip of paper and found a short message in Kazakh inside. It read:

Beloved,

You might find what you are looking for in PP, WV.

- T

Talia. Just the sight of her initial at the bottom of the note ripped the barely scabbed over hole in Bruce's chest open again. He missed her. He missed the sight of her, the smell of her, the feel of her hand in his.

But, she had sent him this. She had been so invested in his search for his origins. She must have continued looking even after he had left. That soothed something deep inside him.

It was the work of an afternoon to decode the message. Usually he would have let himself struggle with it longer, but after a few hours of wracking his mind and checking the few reference books his hotel had on hand, he gave up and called Alfred.

"I'm unsure what the 'PP' might stand for, but I know that the state of West Virginia goes by 'WV' for short," Alfred had said with only a little consideration.

"West Virginia," Bruce repeated in confusion. "Would my parents have gone through West Virginia on their world tour?"

"It's possible. They spent the last three weeks of their tour driving across the United States stopping wherever they fancied."

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce hummed before quickly signing off.

West Virginia felt like the last place in the world he should be going, but it was his only lead. He was able to dig up a United States almanac from the dusty bookshelf shoved into the corner of the hotel lounge and flipped right to the section on West Virginia. He skimmed past main exports, average weather, state bird and flower and on to the list of cities.

He skimmed down the list of cities, on and on until he saw it. Point Pleasant, West Virginia.

Bruce wasn't sure what he was expecting of the town of Point Pleasant. If this was the place he came from, there wasn’t anything about it that he remembered or that even made it especially noteworthy. It was a perfectly beautiful little American town. Tucked between two fast moving rivers, Point Pleasant was perfectly pleasant with clean sidewalks and painted wooden storefronts and friendly quiet people going about their business.

The only thing that seemed to make Point Pleasant different from any other quaint American East Coast town was Mothman.

Everywhere you looked, there was some allusion to the legend of Mothman on the main street. The pizza shop's most popular item was a pizza with toppings arranged to look like a giant moth. The coffee shop on the corner had all moth related names for their drinks. In the center of town a giant silver statue of a man with moth wings and huge insectoid red eyes stood on a platform in front of the only hotel in town.

Bruce stood in front of the statue with his suitcase in one hand and a backpack slung over the other.

"Sure is something, isn't it?" a nice older lady said as she stepped up beside him.

"Is that what it really looked like?" Bruce asked around the frog in his throat.

"I really can't say," she said. "I'm lucky enough that I've never seen him. But, they say that whenever a great misfortune is about to happen, he will appear."

"The collapse of Silver Bridge," Bruce rumbled.

The cab driver on the way from the airport had been all too happy to regale Bruce with stories of the Mothman, the monster of Point Pleasant. In 1966 and 1967 the town of Point Pleasant was beset with sightings of a strange winged creature with glowing red eyes. The sightings increased steadily until the collapse of Silver Bridge into the Ohio River, which killed forty-six people. After that, Mothman was never seen again in Point Pleasant again.

"Just right," the woman agreed. "I'm Joe, by the way," she said, offering her hand.

Bruce grasped her hand in his. It was dry and warm and worn on the knuckles. "Bruce," he replied, giving her hand a solid shake.

"What brings you to Point Pleasant, Bruce? You don't exactly strike me as the type we usually get. Most tourists who come are looking for Mothman," Joe said with an appreciative look at his black turtleneck and dark slacks.

"I'm actually trying to track down some information on my parents. They probably would have been through here about eighteen years ago," Bruce explained, going into the pitch he had given endless times during his previous travels. He pulled out his wallet and unfolded it to pull out the picture of his parents smiling and holding a tiny him. It was boxed on the corners and wrinkled from living over a year in his wallet, but their faces still shined clear through the thin cellophane coating. "Their names were Thomas and Martha Wayne. I don't suppose you remember them?"

Joe took the photo out of his hands and gave them a long considering look.

“Is that you in the picture?” she asked, handing it back with a thoughtful frown.

“Yes, it is,” Bruce replied, tucking the photo back into his wallet.

“And, how old would you be now? Twenty?” she asked.

“Next year,” Bruce confirmed for her.

“The names sound awfully familiar,” Joe said slowly. “You’re staying at the Lowe Hotel?” she asked after a moment of consideration.

“Yes, I am,” Bruce confirmed again.

“Well, hey! Let me walk you there and maybe I can show you something of interest.”

They walked together just a short way to the historic Lowe Hotel. It was the only hotel in the town of Point Pleasant and boasted being in operation for over one hundred years. It was small and a little cramped in the way that old buildings often were, but it was also obviously well cared for. All the wood floors were cleaned and waxed, the walls freshly painted in bright colors and the old wood furniture polished and newly upholstered. On the walls were a multitude of framed black and white photos and clipped newspaper articles.

Joe led Bruce past the reception desk, ignoring the curious look of the young woman behind the counter, and straight to a wall that was covered almost floor to ceiling with photos and articles. She stooped down to look at an article that was hung up low to the floor, tucked between a table and chair.

“There! That’s it. Thomas and Martha Wayne,” she exclaimed, lifting the framed article off its hook and handing it to Bruce.

Bruce held the frame in his hands and started to read.

Gotham Socialite Found With Unknown Baby In TNT Area

Late Thursday night, Gotham socialite and tourist in our small town, Martha Wayne was found in the TNT area of the McClintic Nature Preserve.

Sources say that the young woman was in good health with only light injuries. She was rushed to Pleasant Valley Hospital and is still listed among patients there at the time of writing.

Sources also report that Martha Wayne was holding a small child when she was found on the northern edge of the TNT area. When questioned where the baby came from, she was insistent that it was hers. No previous statements from her husband, Thomas Wayne, mentioned any baby when he reported her missing on Monday.

Martha Wayne had no explanation for how or why she went missing in the TNT area or how she became separated from her husband during what should have been a normal easy hike through the igloos. It was previously reported that she and her husband had been hiking through the well trodden Spring Sparrow trail looking for Mothman when she went missing.

Locals are already questioning whether the infamous Mothman had anything to do with her disappearance.

The Point Pleasant Register will continue to report on any updates regarding this titillating case.

Bruce held the frame in his hands for a long time. He read the article once and then read it again before looking up at Joe. She was staring back at him expectantly.

“That’s them,” he rasped out.

“Well, I guess you have a place to start,” she replied with a grin.

The McClintic Wildlife Preserve was untamed wilderness in every direction. It was a low lying forest with swampy ponds littered with leaves and decaying logs. Tall spindly trees reached high above him and thorns and branches grew between them reaching for the sunlight that the high reaching tree canopy didn't block out. Bugs buzzed in the hot still air of the summer heat.

Bruce didn't have to walk far before he saw the first igloo.

The igloos were built to store dangerous explosives during the last war. They were concrete bunkers built into hillsides with blocky concrete and thick steel doors and were nicknamed igloos because of the little mound and small door.

Something about the sight of that first igloo made something turn sideways in Bruce's brain. Something whispered that he needed to find the right igloo. If he could only find it, he would find the truth. The truth was important, possibly the most important thing that ever was. Bruce needed it.

He kept walking, his sneakers squelching in the mud. The moisture soaked into his socks and his sweat soaked through his thin t-shirt and ran down the backs of his legs. Mosquitoes bit his exposed arms and neck and sweat beaded on his brow. He walked past two igloos, then three. None of them were the right one, but he was getting closer. He could feel it, like a homing beacon beeping faster and faster the closer he got.

Finally, he was there.

Bruce stood in dark silty water up to his knees and stared at a rusted metal door cracked open to the elements. Graffiti was sprayed across the cement framing the doorway and perfect darkness glared out of him from the within.

This was it. This was the igloo he had been looking for.

Bruce took a step forward and suddenly he was not himself.

Suddenly, he was Martha Wayne and he was very lost.

It was no longer the height of summer. In fact, it was freezing cold. The tall trees were bare with only a few brittle brown leaves clinging to the very tips of their branches. The grass was dry and dead and the water was dark and freezing cold. Martha hugged her coat closer to herself, huddled against the merciless wind that howled down into the holler that she was standing in.

She stood exactly where Bruce had been standing, knee deep in freezing cold water, staring warily at the darkness beyond the cracked open metal door of the TNT igloo. From inside the igloo came the mournful cry of a very small child.

Martha had been lost for almost a whole day. She was dirty, cold and hungry and starting to lose hope that she would ever find her way out of this forest. What had started out as a fun excursion to find an urban legend that she didn't even believe existed had become a very unsavory adventure indeed.

Now she was standing outside a door that looked like something right out of a horror movie and considering how incredibly stupid it would be of her to enter that igloo.

On one hand, every instinct she had was screaming at her not to enter that darkness. Something in the back of her brain was screeching about how the cries coming from the igloo were just off from the sounds of a real baby. It was difficult to put her finger on, but something about it sounded wrong. Almost like an animal mimicking the sounds of a baby, but not able to capture the feeling behind the sounds. It had to be a trap of some kind. Something was lying in wait for her inside that igloo, waiting for someone stupid enough to take the lure and come inside.

On the other hand, she didn't really believe in the supernatural. In the absence of the supernatural, how did she explain the sounds she was hearing from within the igloo as anything other than a child? Maybe it was abandoned? This certainly would be the kind of place that you could leave a child with little chance of ever being caught in the act.

Martha knew she had to make a decision. She had already stepped into the water, soaking her boots and socks and sending shivers through her already freezing body. Really, if she was wet, why not just commit? If there really was a baby in that cement bunker, Martha would never forgive herself from walking away from it.

Decision made for her by that argument, Martha stomped forward with determination. The water sloshed loudly around her feet as she moved forward, putting her on edge. If there was something waiting for her inside that bunker, it would hear her coming from a mile away.

"Hello?" she called hesitantly as she peaked around the door into the darkness inside.

At the sound of her voice, the crying inside grew in volume and intensity.

Steadily her eyes adjusted to the darkness and the faint outline of water and boxes began to emerge. She could see stacks of ammunition boxes and cardboard canisters which she assumed held rations or other materials. The bottom layers were all damaged by the foot high water that had flooded through the open door and across the floor of the bunker.

At the back of the round cement room was a low stack of ammunition with a writhing crying bundle placed atop it.

Glancing around the room and seeing nothing else inside, Martha slowly approached the crying lump.

It looked like a lump of animal skins, although Martha couldn't fathom what animal had thick spiky brown fur like what she was looking at. Cautiously, she pinched one corner of the hide and pulled it aside to try and see the little thing wriggling and crying inside.

The second that its little face was revealed, a spike of pure animal fear pierced Martha through the heart. She wasn't sure what she was looking at, but it wasn't human. It looked like concentrated darkness with inhumanly huge luminescent red eyes staring up at her.

Martha's breath caught in her chest and didn't come back out. As she looked into those eyes, she saw terrible horrible things. Bridges collapsing, nuclear plants failing, buildings crumbling, all of these things watched by huge luminous red eyes. She saw a creature that was huge and ink black, like all light that touched it was absorbed and snuffed out. It was feet taller than any man with huge shoulders and pointed ears on its head and big red eyes that were always looking, always watching.

She watched the creature glide down into the woods on huge black wings. She watched it fold down and down and down until it could fit into the very igloo she was standing in. And it kept folding, down and down and down, smaller and sadder and lonelier until finally it collapsed into a little bundle of crying writhing skins.

Skins that Martha now held in her arms. She looked down, her heart pounding in her chest and her chest rising and falling with fast breaths.

Tucked into the strange coarse skins was a tiny beautiful baby. It had pale skin and a thatch of dark thick hair on its head and big ice blue eyes that looked up at her. It looked up at her like it knew her, like it knew everything about her, and it trusted her.

It trusted her, this being, this sad lonely dying thing. It put itself into her arms and trusted her to take care of it.

In that moment, something hardened in Martha, something as strong and inflexible as steel.

"Hello, little baby," she whispered, reaching around with one cold trembling hand and running the back of her finger across the curve of its little baby soft cheek. "Sweet thing, are you ready to come home with me?" she cooed.

The baby blinked, big intelligent eyes staring steadily into hers, before cooing back and curling closer to her through the skins.

She rocked him and held him closer and carried him out of the bunker. She would find her way back to town and back to Thomas, who she was sure would love the baby just as much as she did. The baby would be theirs and they would be a family and nothing could shake her determination to make this belief a reality.

When Bruce came back to himself, he was right back to where he had started, standing knee deep in warm muddy water. But, the bite of winter was still with him, carried back to the present day from his mother's body. He shivered and trembled, his body struggling to regulate his body temperature. He looked down at his arms, but the baby was gone. His mother's body was gone. It was just his own overly large masculine body looking back at him.

He looked at the bunker, but it was quiet and still and gave nothing away. He trudged inside, his steps making as much noise as his mother's had eighteen years ago.

The inside of the bunker looked exactly as it had in his vision, with the exception of the baby. Bruce walked to the low stack of ammo boxes where the baby had been left. There was nothing to indicate any baby or anyone else had ever been there. Everything was just as Martha had left it.

Bruce walked back out into the muggy summer air. The sun was low in the sky above him. Hours must have passed him by while only a few minutes passed in his vision.

He thought he might know what he was. It barely scratched the surface of all the answers he wanted, but it was something. This was where his mother had found him. This was where they first became a family.

Martha, at least, had always known what he was. She had loved him immediately in spite of it.

When the tears came, Bruce let them. He cried long and hard for the first time since his parents had died. The grief laid heavy on him and he clutched it close. They had loved him and he had loved them back and they were gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

Except maybe to keep loving them as much as he could. He could do that for them.

#dcu comics #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #talia al ghul #halloween #mothman #fanfiction #kittywrites

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