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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

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Into The Unknown, Part 2

First

Interdimensional travel? Awful. Don’t try it at home. It’s a lot like how one would imagine getting sucked up a straw: you get squished and pulled until you come out the other side a goopy mess.

Speaking of goopy messes: Tim keeled over and threw up.

He ignored the yelling right next to him because, honestly, he couldn’t even bring himself to look up at the moment. The bright light of this world -- apparently it was daytime here, ew -- hurt his eyes even through his sunglasses and he really didn’t want to move from where he had curled up in what seemed to be grass.

But, eventually, he did. He pushed himself up onto his knees and squinted over at her.

Ladybug had detransformed at some point and was now wearing an old t-shirt and some sweats… and she was apparently fighting off a baby. Damian kicked, screamed, and wiggled in her hold as she tried her hardest to trap him in the blanket again.

“... how are you losing to a baby?”

She sent a glare at him and then mumbled a curse as a tiny fist connected with her face and Damian wriggled away from her.

“Let me think about that, Red. What could go wrong if I, a meta used to fighting other metas, tried to use force against a human child?”

Okay, yeah. It was probably for the best that she hadn’t tried anything.

Oddly enough, when Tim walked over and replaced Marinette, Damian started behaving immediately.

He frowned, tipping his head to the side confusedly. He picked up his younger brother and stood up. “Why’d he start freaking out?”

She did the exact opposite of standing up, opting to spread out in the grass and glare at the sky. “I don’t know. He just started freaking out when I tried to put the watch around his neck.”

“Weird,” he mumbled.

“Yeah.”

He took the time to look around properly for once. They were in a park but it must have been a weekday because there was hardly anyone around. The only people that had paid them any mind were a group of teenagers -- probably ditching, he thought -- that were staring at them with wide eyes.

Tim glanced at a street sign to make sure the common language was English before sending them a glare. “It’s rude to stare, y’know.”

The teenagers quickly looked down at their phones. Tim knew better than to believe that they were actually paying attention, they had the same posture that a lot of lookouts did, but whatever. No one would believe them, anyways.

He gave her a few more minutes before he adjusted his hold on Damian and offered a hand up.

Ladybug took it with a faint smile and he pulled her to her feet. She grabbed their discarded suitcase and they started walking aimlessly.

“Okay, we’re here… but we still need a cover.”

“Um… you’re the one that’s good at hacking, right?”

He nodded. Damian reached a hand out of the blanket and began touching his hair. He was too busy wondering what to do to really mind.

“Great. How about… we’re the kid’s siblings?”

“We can pass as his parents. I mean, it’d be a teen pregnancy but it wouldn’t be bad,” said Tim. “We still had him at eighteen-ish.”

She shook her head. “He’s darker than both of us, it wouldn’t make sense. Maybe I had him with some… darker guy and now you’re my boyfriend? No, that feels racist for some reason. I’m his half-sister, our parents died, and you’re my boyfriend.”

Tim frowned. “Why am I always the boyfriend? He’s my brother.”

“Well, frankly, you look nothing like him. He and I, at least, have similar noses.”

He scowled. It made sense but it still annoyed him. “Fine. I’m your husband, though. I want to have at least some rights.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure. Guess that’s good for tax benefits, too. Better get me a cute ring.”

“Okay, but the diamond is going to be fake.”

“Cheapskate.”

“Cheskae,” Damian said, yanking Tim’s hair like the little shit he was.

“See, he agrees,” Ladybug said with a victorious grin.

They went up to a hotel (Red Robin had tried to talk her into a five-star one but she managed to bring it down to a two-star when showing him the cost) and tried to reserve a room.

“May I have a name for the reservation?” The nice lady at the front counter said, smiling at them.

Red Robin glanced up from where he was awkwardly bouncing with the baby in his arms to shoot her A Look. It was unfortunate that she had no clue what the look meant. She considered the question for a moment before eventually saying:

“Dupain-Cheng.”

Red Robin relaxed a little so she was pretty sure she had gotten it right.

She hesitantly took the baby from him -- the kid had apparently forgotten about his earlier freakout because he was just as weirdly still as he had been back in Gotham -- so he could pay.

The moment they got into the hotel room she fell back in the bed. The baby squirmed a little on her stomach to get comfortable before joining her in her laziness.

Red Robin sighed and sat next to them, resting his head in his hands. “Okay. We’re going to need supplies for him. Do you want to do a supply run or should I?”

She shrugged a little, much to the baby’s dismay. Have you ever had a baby babble angrily at you? It’s very cute.

“You’re so helpful. Thanks, Ladybug.”

“No problem,” she said as if she couldn’t hear the blatant sarcasm in his tone. Then she pushed herself up to squint at him, the baby sliding down to her lap smoothly. “Wait, are we still going to be using codenames?”

He frowned. “Obviously.”

“... for fifteen years?��

“Obviously.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great, so when we take the kid back we’re going to explain to him that, on top of all the adjustment of moving to a different dimension, he needs to now use a different name for you, and messing up isn’t an option. Also, I feel like people are going to question two random people called ‘Red Robin’ and ‘Ladybug’ at some point.”

Red Robin frowned, clearly thinking hard, and then nodded slightly. He removed his glasses and looked at her with an awkward smile. “This is Damian, I’m Tim.”

She raised her eyebrows because he was looking at her expectantly and she really didn’t know what he wanted from her. “Uh… am I supposed to know you?”

“I mean… kinda?”

She squinted at him for a while before shrugging. “That one guy? Timothy --.”

“Yep!”

“-- Chalamet?”

He looked oddly hurt now. “You think I look like Timothy Chalamet?”

“I mean you both have the same sickly Victorian boy look about you.”

“... for the sake of our fake marriage I’m going to pretend that you didn’t say that. I’m Tim Drake.” She still didn’t show any hint of recognition (probably because she didn’t recognize him) so he groaned and motioned to Damian. “This is Damian Wayne.”

“Wayne? Like Waynetech?”

“There you go,” he said.

She grinned at him. “It’s not my fault you made me guess.”

He huffed a little. “Alright, fine, then who are you, then?”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“... who’s that?”

“A nobody. Like secret identities should be,” she said, giving him a smug look.

He rolled his eyes. “I feel like this is going to be a long fifteen years.”

“Shouldn’t have dragged me into your mess, now you gotta deal with the consequences.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. She returned it. So did the baby.

It was decided that Marinette should be the one to go on a supply run since Tim needed to start making identities for them.

… it would be a lot easier if there wasn’t a baby crawling all over him. She’d better get a crib while she was out because he didn’t know if he could deal with a baby smashing the keys for much longer.

“Dami -- no, stop, I -- I swear to god -- you’re a baby okay I can literally just drop you and you would -- please stop --,” Tim cut off his irritated rambling when Damian nearly got them on a good few government watchlists by smashing the keys at the wrong time.

Fed up, he grabbed the kid and set him on the ground. It’ll probably be fine. He only needed to do a few quick things, anyways.

He was shocked to find that there was a version of him in this world. The idea of a Tim who didn’t do vigilante-work was foreign to him. He had apparently stayed with his parents and was now working towards a business degree. This dimension’s Tim wasn’t nearly as famous as he was and the three of them had landed in Texas so it was unlikely that he would be recognized but he would prefer not using the name if he didn’t have to. Just to be safe.

Damian didn’t exist, as far as he could tell, but Bruce Wayne did and he was still famous so it wouldn’t be a good idea to use his last name either.

There was a version of Marinette, too, but she was currently in France helping her parents run their bakery. Very little chance of her getting recognized.

So, he decided to use her last name for all of them. Quick and easy. He’d have to tell her that he changed her birthplace to New Jersey when she got back to the hotel but he doubted she’d have much of a problem with that.

… oh. His phone was ringing. Apparently he could tell her now.

He picked up and wedged it between his ear and his shoulder as he worked at finding them a few social security numbers to… ‘borrow’.

“Yeah?”

“How big is the baby?”

Tim blinked a few times. “... baby sized?”

“No. Like… what size diaper do you think he would use?”

He scoffed. “Do I look like I would know the diaper sizes?”

“Do I look like I do? Just… how old do you think he is?”

Tim looked over the edge of the bed to where Damian was currently shaking Kaalki like she was a maraca. Kaalki, for her part, only looked vaguely annoyed as she bounced around in his tiny baby fists.

“I dunno. Like… a year-ish? Just buy one of everything we can see what fits.”

“Fucking hell I forgot you were rich. You said a year? I’m using that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay -- OH SHIT DAMIAN NO!”

He tumbled out of bed and raced over to Damian before he could stick his finger in a socket. He didn’t really know if that was enough to get shocked but this was not the way to find out.

Damian was apparently very annoyed about him foiling his attempt at dying because he squirmed around in his grip and yelled incomprehensibly. Tim ignored the baby fists trying to knock his teeth out -- his teeth had faced far worse before -- and scooted across the ground to his phone.

“-- to god, Tim, what happened if you don’t answer I will run over there --.”

“It’s fine. Just get… you know the things that cover electrical sockets? Make sure to get some of those,” he said, tipping his head back to rest against the bed so he could kind of relax despite the ball of anger in his arms.

Marinette groaned. “Fuck, you can’t just scare me like that.”

“Yeah, you were the one that suffered the most during that.”

She scoffed but he swore he could hear a tiny laugh hidden under her mumbled ‘shut up’.

He smiled a little.

She didn’t hang up, probably expecting to ask him something else soon, so he listened in idly as he tried to calm Damian down enough to start working again.

She mumbled to herself while she looked for things. Some of the speech was normal but most of it was pretty much as incomprehensible as Damian’s babbling (admittedly, it probably didn’t help that he was only half paying attention).

“... tty trai… now?... oh... alright… oh, great, does she work here?” She murmured to herself. Then, louder: “Hey, lady --!”

“We’re in Texas,” he reminded her. “People are expected to be more polite down here.”

He was too late. Someone started yelling on Marinette’s end and, if the tiny sigh of annoyance was anything to go off of, it wasn’t her.

The yelling lasted approximately five minutes before someone intervened.

He heard her speak in rapid Spanish to the employee and, to his surprise, he could actually understand every word of them talking shit about the lady who had screamed at her. He didn’t know what to think of this outside of pulling the phone away from his mouth so he could try and roll an r. He was delighted to find that he had gained that ability as well. He continued rolling his tongue.

Damian stopped his squirming and gave Tim a confused look… and then he started to giggle. He twisted around in Tim’s lap and started trying to mimic the sound.

He tried to hide his smile as the two of them kept making r sounds at each other. He didn’t think he’d succeeded at keeping his face relatively neutral, but he didn’t really mind.

~~~~~

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess

#made a complex story with distinct arcs and heist vibes #and then released a story about two idiots raising a kid #and somehow i was surprised that people liked the second one better #i know im good at fluff its just really draining to do it all the time #but i rely so much on feedback at this point for serotonin that now I'm doing both #idk what ill do when school starts up tbh #into the unknown #maribat #timari #timmari #timinette #shutterbug #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

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@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #reverse robins #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #injuries tw #death mention tw

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

With a Heart of Scars Ch. 10

Hey guys! I hope you are all doing well and staying healthy. This chapter splits POVs between Dick and Stephanie because both of them had short scenes.

AO3 Link

Dick woke to a splitting headache.

He blinked up at the roof of the cave and wondered how he’d gotten there. The last thing he really remembered was the building coming down around him. So, who had gotten him home?

“Grayson? Are you awake at last?” a small voice asked from beside him.

Dick turned his head and saw Damian, curled up in a chair, hands wrapped around his legs, wearing a Nightwing hoodie of all things.

“Dames?”

The boy scowled, “Tt, I see you finally recognize me. Perhaps you did not lose all your sense when you allowed a building to fall on you.”

At that, Dick remembered his rescue. The image of Nightwing’s symbol the only clear thing on Damian’s then blurred figure, his terrified tone, and unrelenting grip as he dragged Dick to safety. He swallowed, at the memory of being lost in grief over Bruce, and wondered how much he’d admitted out loud.

“Hope I didn’t worry you too much.”

Damian rolled his eyes and laid his head back down on his knees, facing away from Dick, which Dick took as “yes, you did worry me.” He wouldn’t have needed the eye roll to know that. Damian had come after him, hardly dressed to be on patrol with little more than a domino and utility belt to help him, and was here sitting by his bed. Yeah, the kid was upset.

“Drake should have been there.” Damian mumbled, voice muffled due to one cheek being squished against a knee.

Dick pushed himself up so he was sitting, his chest twinged at that, but wasn’t nearly as painful as it might have been. His legs, however, were not pleased with the movement, and Dick winced at the sharp pain in his thighs.

“It’s not like he bailed, Damian. I planned to go out on my own.”

The boy squeezed his legs tighter, “He failed in his duty as Robin.”

“Batman used to go out all the time without Robin. I mean, when I was growing up I only went with Bruce on the weekends for the longest time. A partner is not a requirement, Dames.”

“He has not been a partner though, has he?” Damian asked, raising his head suddenly to level a serious look at Dick, “He has hardly been here for weeks, he left Batman at one of his most crucial times, while you were getting used to the cowl, and now because no one was by your side you almost--” he broke off, swallowing whatever he was going to say, “a building crashed down on you. It is not a question of what Batman has done in the past, but what he needs now.”

He dropped his legs to the ground, and balled his hands on his thighs, “You need a partner, Robin or not. This is a different Gotham than Father’s, if only because you are a different type of Batman.”

Dick was surprised that Damian didn’t tag on a jab at his skills as Batman as he’d done regularly. He expected to be told that he needed a partner because he wasn’t good enough to be Batman. What he had not expected was a heartfelt --for Damian-- speech about Dick needing to be safe.

He leaned forward and took one of Damian’s hands in his own, Damian hadn’t released his fist, so Dick ran this thumb over the top of his hand, “I’m sorry I made you worry. Thank you for looking out for me no matter what, and thank you for being so patient with me while we sort things out.”

He wanted to tell Damian he’d been thinking the same thing, and how much he wanted to bring him out as his partner, but he bit back those sentiments. He still needed to talk to Tim.

“I’ll talk to Tim when he’s back, see if he can stick around a little longer or something.”

Damian pulled his hand out of Dick’s and stood, “Good.” the word was clipped, “Let us hope he decides to stick around long enough to keep you alive this time.”

“Are you leaving?” Dick asked, frowning at him.

He hesitated, “I was going to get Pennyworth and let him know you were awake.”

Dick reached his hand out again, “Stay for a bit longer? You haven’t even told me just how much damage the building did to me.”

Damian sighed, and flopped back down into the chair, “You are surprisingly indestructible. Between your armor and pure luck you only need contend with a concussion, some heavy bruising, and mild lacerations to your thigh.”

“I’m sure Alfred will insist I stay in bed for a week.”

His brother shrugged, “He mentioned something of the sort. Brown and Cain have also agreed to look into the explosion while you are incapacitated. They would have gone after I returned with you, but by then emergency crews had arrived on the scene."

He wrinkled his nose, which made Dick raise an eyebrow.

"It took far too long to rally any kind of emergency response. Considering the time it took me to arrive and find you, firetrucks should have been swarming the area. It is as if something had delayed the signal."

"We'll have to look into that too then." Dick hummed.

He was about to ask Damian for more details, when the sound of a bike roaring came into the cave. Both Dick and Damian looked to see who was arriving. Robin's Redbird bike pulled in, and Tim was just turning it off.

“Damian, don’t start a fight, okay?”

“Tt. I will go get Pennyworth.”

This time, when Damian stood Dick did not stop him from walking away. He hated it, but the kid was dealing with a lot of emotions right now, and one of those was profound anger at Tim, maybe not Tim himself, but the fact that Dick had gotten hurt without Tim there. It was understandable, and Dick was willing to let him go and cool off a bit. Something told him that the longer he and Damian spent together, the more likely he'd become just about as overprotective as Bruce could be.

Dick shook his head, and put on a smile for Tim.

A light, angry, set of stomping feet preceded Damian’s entry to the kitchen. The sound was enough to alert Stephanie of the kid’s mood. She eyed Cass who nodded, having also picked up Damian’s emotional state even before seeing him. It wasn’t like it was a hard guess. Beyond Cass, the kid was the only one who was still small enough to make a sound that light while also stomping, and Dick was downstairs hurt on a gurney. One plus one equals two, or in this case injured mentor plus stomping feet equaled an upset Damian.

The boy stopped short at the door to the kitchen, his face a veritable movie of emotions as he flipped from deep concentration to surprise, irritation, and at last settled on mild annoyance.

“Brown. Cain.” he said, by way of greeting.

“Hey.” Steph said.

Cass waved, and said, “Cocoa is on the stove.”

Both of them waited for Damian to pour himself a mug of the still warm hot chocolate, and settle on a stool across from them at the island.

“So, what’s the news? Did Dick wake up at last?” Stephanie asked him.

Damian scowled down at his drink, “Yes, the fool is awake.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, Damian wasn’t usually so grumpy when he talked about Dick. At least not anymore, especially since they’d gone out and bought all those art supplies. A genius stroke on Dick’s part, one she’d been planning to make him take if he hadn’t caught on sooner or later. Really, the kid screamed artist.

“What did he do to earn your ire?”

The boy tsked at her and sipped at his cocoa.

“We are not mind readers, Little Brother.” Cass said, gently.

Damian huffed, and looked up, “Drake has returned.”

Ah. That made sense. Steph stifled a smile, Damian’s little rivalry with Tim was pretty one sided, and while it had originally be born out of a need to fit in, it was obvious now it was about Dick’s attention.

“He’s been away a while, I’m sure Dick missed him.”

“Tt. That is not why I am upset.”

“Because Dick got hurt?” Cass asked, though they all knew it was the truth.

The boy squirmed in his chair, his scowl deepening.

“It’s pretty obvious.” Steph said.

“You two are insufferable.” Damian declared and took a large sip of his hot chocolate.

Now Stephanie did let herself laugh, “You know, if you gave Tim a chance I bet you’d find him as ‘tolerable’ as you find the rest of us lately.”

Damian tilted his head back, adding an air of superiority to him, even as he sat there in a hoodie too big for him, cupping hot chocolate in a Superman mug, “If he were here more often, then perhaps I could.”

“That, I can't fault.” Steph said, “But I won’t judge him for his actions either.”

“How is Dick?” Cass asked, changing the conversation.

Damian looked relieved he didn’t have to answer any more questions about his ‘rival’ and tapped a finger on the side of his mug.

“He is surprisingly well, and in far too good a mood for a man who had a building fall on him.”

There was something fond about Damian’s tone, even if he meant it to be dismissive. Steph was oh so tempted to tease him, but held off.

“Good.” she said, shifting in her chair, “Hey, what do you say to a trip to the park tomorrow? I need to get out and get some fresh air that’s not tinged with doom, gloom, and nighttime, and you told me you were bored of painting Alfred’s garden. A change of scenery would be fun.”

“You are trying to ensure I do not start a fight with Drake.”

Steph dropped her mouth open in an imitation of surprise, “Me? Never. I just thought you might want a change of scenery, and --since you’re ten and most certainty grounded from being alone in any kind of vehicle after tonight-- might need a ride.”

Damian groaned, “Pennyworth told you?”

She grinned, “A good deed does not go unpunished.”

The kid glared at her for a moment before nodding, “Fine, but I will not go to the last park we visited. The duck pond had no ducks at all.”

#Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Stephanie Brown #Batkids #fanfiction #precious posts #fluff #with a heart of scars #chapter 10 #wahos

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