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purpleiris97 · 2 days

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Do you think that the Bat-family has different batarangs to keep track of who caught which villian.

I like the idea that in the early days with batman and (dick) robin they would take down a criminal and batman would leave a batarang like moniker. Batman gets the recongition, but robin is an after thought no one would know it was him if he took down the baddie this time.

Dick wanted to make sure that GCPD knew that it was him that took down the criminal not Batman, and because Bruce has a soft spot for his kids he agrees. Robins birdrangs are born.

Fast Forward years later the whole Bat-fam have their own batarangs and like a mass event brakes out. The Bat kids have a growing bet on who can catch the most baddies, their batarangs are the markers.

Spoiler: 25 plus the Mastermind Boys, read 'em and weep! That has got to be worth extra points.

Nightwing: It doesn't, 30!

Red Robin: 30? Step up your game birdboy I got 45. Sorry Steph it was a game of numbers.

Batgirl (Cass): Tie.

Spoiler: No fair, he should be worth the full total and then some.

Robin *pouting*: Don't pout Brown it's unbecoming.

Red Robin: Oh yeah, little gremlin, and what's your final total?

Robin: 43... you will not best me next time, Drake.

Red Hood: 47! I caught 2 extra who weren't part of the prison break.

Robin: That is cheating Todd and you know it!

Red Hood: Hey! They were looting a store and they were going to with the others anyway.

Batgirl: Then 55. 10 extra found robbing bank on 3rd.

Oracle *chiming in on the comms*: If it matters, I locked up 12 at the Zoo in the lion enclosure.

Spoiler: With the Lions?

Robin: Does it matter?

Red Robin, Spoiler, Nightwing: I think it matters.

Signal *appears in middle of the Bat-kids*: 71!

Red Hood *Screams*: Duke! Stop using your powers in the cave like that man you were 2 seconds from being pumped full of lead.

Signal: Sorry, Jay - too excited. Anyway 71 Did I win?

*Collective groan of the other Bat-kids*

Nightwing: Where did you find 71 convicts?

Batman: He didn't. He replaced some of my batarangs with his.

Signal: *gasp* Batman you believe that I, your most recent and rule following protege would -would cheat, at a game that was according to you- and I quote "This is not a game. I will not partake in this. Round up every last convict you find game or not". Your 83 other Batarangs don't count in this game and all 503 convicts new and old are in holding and are being transported back to prison.

Red Robin: Wait that math's not right.

Bluebird: Nope, 'cause the other 91 convicts were taken out by moi.

Signal: Damn it. I was banking on Batwoman.

Robin: A multi shot taser gun should be considered cheating.

Bluebird: Sorry Damien, Duke, I reign supreme. All hail the Queen.

Batman *sighs*

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maccreadysbaby · 18 hours

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A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: anxiety attacks

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

yall this is the chapter i’ve been waiting for

part thirty-eight

❝ AIR AND FIRE AND WATER (OH MY) ❞

THURSDAY — SEPTEMBER 3 — 1:00 PM

BENTLEY WAS SILENT ALL THE WAY HOME. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Other than the fact he was pretty much at a standstill regarding his father and the Secret Keeper and all that jazz, he was starting to feel strange. Like a part of him had been ripped out and thrown into the Gotham Harbor. Like one of his organs had been removed and replaced by one that didn’t fit quite right — like something wrong was inside of him now.

It was like he could feel his blood pumping in his veins. The entire car ride, he could hear it in his ears. He could hear the gasoline swishing in Jason’s gas tank. He could feel the windshield washing liquid like it was a part of him when Jason cleaned the bugs off the window. He could feel Jason’s blood pumping through Jason’s veins.

What the hell was wrong with him?

The wrongness just kept getting wronger when they pulled up at the Manor, because it went from Jason and Jason’s car to feeling the water moving through the whole house. Like he had an ear against every pipe in the Manor, listening to the liquid swish and move. He knew where it was. Where it was going. He knew where each and every toilet and sink and shower and fridge was from exactly where he was sitting in Jason’s car. Where every saline bag and liquid medicine and electrolyte drink was sitting in the cave. The drip Asten was on, how much was left in it, and every single time it dripped.

Why the hell did he know that?

Jason said something to him when he got out of the car, but he didn’t hear it. It sounded like there was a waterfall inside the Manor. When he went through the door, it just got worse — he could hear every bead, droplet, every liquid in the house screaming and sloshing and moving and churning and bubbling. He could feel it like it was all inside of him, like it was him, like he was made out of water. He could hear his blood moving. He could hear Jason’s blood. Asten’s blood. Nico’s blood. Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Damian and the animals and Duke and everything — could feel the blood, the water, everything. He could feel everything.

He walked up the stairs one step at a time, every rational thought — every thought at all — literally drowned out by the sound. The feelings. He felt like he was going to explode. Like he was going to die. By the time he got to the top of the stairs, he was shaking, and breathing wasn’t as easy as it should’ve been. Why did he feel so wrong? So wrong? So wrong?

His mind kinda-sorta came back to him when he ran face-first into someone in the hall. Someone with a purple hoodie and black sweatpants.

When Dick Grayson looked down at him, Bentley started crying.

“Whoa, hey there, kiddo, what’s wrong?” Dick questioned, kneeling down to the child’s height, his crystalline blue gaze bouncing around Bentley’s face. His hair was wet and floppy like he’d just showered, and it reminded him of the first night he ever met Dick Grayson in the pouring rain.

Bentley could hardly think enough to make a coherent sentence. Air wasn’t coming in or out right, and he was crying and sad and so overwhelmed, why could he hear everything? “I-I don’t fee-feel right.” Was what he ended up saying, wiping frantically at his eyes. (Stuttering, more like.)

Dick breathed in, a sad expression coming across his features. “I think you’re having a panic attack, buddy. Just breathe with-“

“No! Not that,” Bentley argued, batting away Dick’s hands that had been coming for his arms. “Something inside of me. I-I feel like I’m going to die. I think I… I- think I’m about to die.”

A few words were shared between Dick and someone else, and in one fluid movement, Bentley was picked up and deposited on a bed. But hadn’t they just been in the hallway? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. The only thing he did know was that everything hurt and he couldn’t breathe and it was so loud.

“Bentley, buddy, tell me what doesn’t feel right,” Dick ordered. Bentley was sitting on the edge of a bed (whose bed? No clue.), halfway in reality, half in his own world of blurry confusing pain. Dick was in front of him, his hands were searching Bentley’s frame for anything abnormal. Jason was near the closed door.

Between the crying and the panicking and the not working lungs, he couldn’t breathe. “Everything. Everything feels wrong.”

Jason said something about Bentley’s dad, but he didn’t really hear him. Dick was touching his shoulders.

“Bentley, keep talking to me,” He pleaded, rubbing Bentley’s arms lightly. He turned to Jason with a subtle: “Go get Bruce.”

Jason left the room.

Bentley couldn’t focus enough to do much of anything. With a groan of… desperation, maybe? He brought his hands up and covered his ears, trying to drown out all the noise. There was so much noise. Too much noise.

After an indecipherable amount of time passed, someone else was touching Bentley. Bigger hands, stronger grip. He peeled his eyes open just long enough to see Bruce’s face in front of him, icy blue eyes scanning him mechanically, robotically. His mouth moved but Bentley couldn’t hear him over the crashing waves in his own head.

Gently, his hands were removed from his ears. “Hey there, chum, it’s Bruce. Do you think you can tell me what’s going on?” He was doing a pretty good job masking the concern in his voice, but Bentley heard it anyways.

“I-I can… I…” Bentley choked on a few words and sobs at the same time, his hands shaking like leaves where they sat in Bruce’s grip. “I can… hear… I-I can feel… everything.”

Bentley thought he heard something in the room bang or pop, but he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t exactly hear very good. Bruce suddenly got a strange look on his face, and Jason and Dick, who were behind him, looked stunned.

“B, his eyes-”

“Shh,” Bruce ordered, one of his hands coming up to rest on the side of Bentley’s head. “It’s okay, chum. You’re going to be okay. Just look at me.”

Bentley looked at him as best he could through the tears and panic. He tried not to pay attention to Dick, who walked over to the bathroom door looking really, really confused.

“Breathe with me,” Bruce tried. He took a deep, calculated breath, and Bentley tried to follow suit. It only sort of worked. The roaring in his head wasn’t fading. If anything, it was starting to sound more… real?

“What the f-”

“Jason!”

Bentley’s attention broke away from Bruce just in time for him to glance at the closed bathroom door — was he in Dick’s room? — and see water. Water, just gushing out from under the door like the crack at the bottom was a pressure washer, straight into the bedroom and all over the floor.

“Bruce-“

“Bentley, just look at me,”

Bentley did. He just looked at Bruce, tracing the fractals of blue in his eyes, focusing on every hair in his eyebrows, every shade of his skin. Bentley just looked at Bruce as the water started to climb the legs of the bed like a slithering snake, curling and wrapping around until it made it onto the mattress. Dick and Jason were standing off to the side, stunned into silence. Bentley just looked at Bruce.

Bentley continued to just look at Bruce as the water started floating — yes, floating, actually suspended in the air — around the room. Some of it crawled up the walls like vines, some spun and danced in the middle of the air like trees in the breeze. It was getting easier to breathe. The roaring was getting quieter.

“That’s it, you’re okay,” Bruce uttered, his hand moving gently in Bentley’s hair. “You’re okay.”

Bentley finally broke his gaze to glance upward. There was water on the ceiling, spinning and churning in intricate swirls and designs there, and water floating through the air in strands like string. It was moving on the walls, the floor, the furniture like snakes.

Bruce rubbed a hand over his hair. “That’s it. There you go.”

Bentley breathed in deeply, hiccuping lightly, his brown eyes tracing the flying water. “Bruce…”

“It’s okay,”

He wasn’t… this wasn’t… he wasn’t doing that, was he? He couldn’t be. He wasn’t a metahuman. He hadn’t been in the machine long enough, Davis had said so. He was just Bentley. Just normal Bentley.

Normal Bentley focused on one specific snake of water on the ceiling. He imagined it moving left, and it went left. He imagined it moving right, and it went right. He imagined an intricate, beautiful chandelier, hanging from the ceiling, made entirely of water, and the liquid morphed and moved until it became that. Chains, dangling crystals, and metal galore, all shaped from crystal clear water.

“Oh my God,” Jason muttered. He and Dick were staring at the chandelier made of pure water, but Bruce wasn’t. Bruce was still looking at Bentley.

The water slowly moved from the chandelier back to its spot swirling on the ceiling.

There was absolutely no way Bentley was doing that. Right? There couldn’t be. He couldn’t be.

As a last ditch effort to prove that he wasn’t controlling the water, he imagined it going back where it came from.

And the water, ever-so-slowly, started to crawl off the bed, down from the ceiling and the walls, across the floor again at a glacial pace. Dick swung the bathroom door open. Bentley watched in a mixture of awe and terror as he watched the vines of water slither back into the toilet and faucets.

When all the water was gone, nothing was wet, not even the mattress, and the room was eerily silent. And Bentley was oddly drained.

Fire, Air, and Water. How clever, Mr. Whittaker.

Bentley looked back up at Bruce, who had a reassuring smile on his face.

“Are you going to get rid of me now?”

Before he heard the reply, everything faded to black.

—

The first (and pretty much only) thing he got back was his hearing.

“-telling you, this is different. The whole structure of his DNA looks strange. It’s different from the last blood sample we have from him — It almost looks like a whole new strand,” That was Tim’s voice, he was pretty sure.

“So you’re saying that whoever kidnapped him changed his human DNA into metahuman DNA?”

“It looks like they… tore apart his original genome and spliced other parts in… like they manufactured synthetic DNA with the genetic mutation of a metahuman and replaced pieces of his own with it. It looks like… whoa,”

“What is it, Timmy?”

“It’s changing. The synthetic DNA is actually… turning the rest of his DNA into metahuman genomes. Spreading… like a virus,”

“Will that hurt him?”

“Let’s just say… I understand why he thought he was dying,”

“You think that could be why Asten-“

Bentley, had he been any more lucid, would’ve flinched at the absolutely gut-wrenching scream that ripped through the air. He was laying on something soft — it just sort of felt like his bed. A bed, at least. And the scream sounded strangely close to him.

“Well, his genes are being ripped apart and replaced, so, if I had to guess, yeah. That’s probably why he’s screaming,”

“What about Bentley?” He was pretty sure that voice was Dick, now that it said his name.

“It seems to be the beginning of the change. I don’t think there’s much we can do to help,”

Suddenly, Bentley’s eyes began to burn even though they were closed. He moved a hand to rub them, but as soon as he moved his fingers, his entire arm erupted into a blazing, fiery pain that made him whine.

“Are they going to be okay?” Came a third voice — the voice of Nico. Bentley felt a hand land on his shoulder, but instead of being soothing, it left a ripple of burning agony that made him choke out a strange sound. The hand jumped away.

“Yeah, they will,” Replied Dick. “We just have to get them through this. How are you feeling?”

There was a silence where all Bentley heard was his own bated breathing.

“Well, I… I was already a metahuman, so…”

“Oh… okay,”

Bentley tensed, gripping whoever’s covers he was under hard when a surge of absolute burning agony washed over him. It felt like when he was poisoned. Worse than when he was poisoned — like someone was searing his veins closed with a blowtorch. Another choking sound made it's way out of him, but he couldn’t produce words.

“You’re okay, kiddo. You’re going to be okay,”

Asten screamed again. Nico was suddenly crying.

Another wave of absolute searing agony came and went, and Bentley fought it good — he really did. He kept his whining to a minimum for a solid ten minutes.

But then the fire reached his head, and suddenly, two children’s screams were ripping through the halls of Wayne Manor.

And everyone inside just had to listen.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

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