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yummyyume · 4 years

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In which Ladybug and Chat Noir are true Heroes

I’ve been sitting on it for a few weeks now. It wasn’t supposed to really be a fic, but it turns out okay, so I decided to finish it and post it anyway. The end is kind of rush, but I wanted to be done with it so, yeah.

Hope you all like it!

I apologize for any spelling and grammars errors, English is not my first language. I hope it’s still intelligible.

Marinette is doing a better job at superheroing than she ever thought she would. Still, contacting real professionals sounds like a good idea. Chat is a bit reticent at first, because being Chat Noir is the only freedom he has and he doesn’t want it to end, but after she points out all the people who are suffering, he shamefully agrees to call the Justice League with her.

They don’t receive any answer, and no one shows up.

Chat is sure that it’s because there’s a world ending threat they have to take care of first, and they’ll answer as soon as they can. After the fifth’s plea for help, he doesn’t seem to really believe it either. Still, they continue to call every month.

When Chat becomes too pushy with his flirting, she sits him down, taking a day off from patrolling, and shows him a video about sexual harassment. He watches the entire thing, horrified. And then he apologizes and swears to never flirt again and he’s so, so sorry, but he really doesn’t know how to do social things or how to deal with his crush in a non-anime way, he only ever had one friend before starting school and she wasn’t the best at social interactions either and can Ladybug ever forgive him?

So, Marinette calms him down and tells him it’s alright. Everyone makes mistakes, even more so when they don’t know about the issue. And maybe he can ask his new friends about ethics and social issues. And of course, she’ll be there to answer any of his questions. We’re partner, chaton.

So, the next day, at school, Adrien takes Nino aside so they can have a private talk. He tells him about the crush he developed on this girl he works him, about the flirting and how she showed him a video on sexual harassment, and he didn’t know. So can Nino, please, helps him learn this sort of things? Anything Gabriel wouldn’t have thought Adrien needed to be taught, because those were society thing that everyone learnt eventually. Except, apparently, Adrien.

Nino is horrified. He’s so going to kick Gabriel Agreste’s ass! This is what happen when you isolate your kid!

But Nino is also really proud of his bro for accepting that he was in the wrong and trying to educate himself.

They start by learning more about sexism together. Then Nino ropes Max, Kim, Marinette and Alya into teaching him about racism. And then, Juleka pipes up about ableism. Soon enough the whole class is involved and they’re all learning about all kind of harassments and world problems. They’re all learning things. Chloé gets involved more and more as Ladybug’s influence gets stronger. They have debates and everyone try to stay nice and not talk over each other. It doesn’t always work, but at least they stay respectful.

(And Adrien realizes that maybe he can say no too. Maybe sexual harassment is not something that only women have to deal with. And maybe child labor laws have merit. Maybe what his father is doing is really abuse. Maybe he can do something about it. He has his friends to support him and they won’t let his father just take him out of school because he disagrees with Adrien. Maybe he can be really free.)

A few weeks after the video, Chat Noir excitedly tells Ladybug about what he’s been learning with his friends, and Marinette hides a wince at the confirmation of her suspicions. Because it was definitely suspicious when Adrien asks Nino about ethics the following day of their talk about sexual harassment. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it and she didn’t tell Tikki, because the moment she thought about telling her kwami, she remembered with sharp clarity Chat Noir telling her “I can only be myself when I’m Chat Noir” And Marinette can’t take that away from Adrien. He’s her partner and, no matter the lack of romantic feelings, she loves him.

It also puts her crush on Adrien in question, because if she’s in love with Adrien, but not Chat Noir, then she doesn’t love Adrien in his entirety. And since Adrien is not really himself in public, then that means she’s in love with the image he’s portraying to the world, not the real him. She has a good cry, it’s her first heartbreak, but then it’s easier to let go of her crush and focus on being his friend. And Adrien looks like Christmas has come early when they have a full conversation without her stammering. The fact that he thought she didn’t like him and didn’t want to be his friend breaks her heart a little.

(She may or may not tell him she knows his identity and also shares hers, but only when they’re already transformed so their kwamis don’t know they know. Maybe.)

Fast forward a few months, Ladybug and Chat Noir are a very efficient team and the students of Miss Bustier’s class are closer than ever.

(Volpina happened and then Lila ‘leaves for Achuu’. Mrs. Rossi may be busy, but she doesn’t want her daughter’s education to fall behind and so she calls the school to know if the State will help pay for tutors while the Akuma situation is being handled and that’s how she learns that her daughter is lying to her. Again. Lila is shipped back to Italy to attend a strict boarding school.)

The Justice League still hasn’t answered.

And then Syren happens and two million people died.

It doesn’t matter that Ladybug brought them back with her cure, they still died! And they remember drowning! She read the comments on the Ladyblog, people are scared! She was aware that people died in Akuma attacks, but none have been as deadly as Syren. (And she’s so, so relieved that Ondine doesn’t remember the damage she did. She’s a teenage girl, she doesn’t need this sort of trauma to drag her down. Marinette knows from Kim that she’s already feeling enough guilt when she heard about it after everything was back to normal.)

This time, Ladybug doesn’t just call the League. She ropes Alya into helping her and she rants for a good five minutes about what is happening in Paris and two million people died, don’t you care?! Aren’t you supposed to be heroes?! Alya posts it to the Ladyblog and sends it to the JLA.

That how the Parisians learn that Ladybug and Chat Noir have been trying to contact the League for months and they’re all pretty angry at the dismissal. Everyone who can, send an email or call. They’re going to be heard, dammit!

The Justice League’s mailbox gets so suddenly flooded that all the heroes receive an alert about an emergency and they all immediately zeta-beam to the Watchtower. Diana has to finish her mission on Themyscira before she can meet everyone, but she has full faith in her teammates to hold on until she gets there.

The heroes are then confronted with the video of a rating teenager about the flooding of Paris and all her followers.

“Paris is not flooded!” Superman seethes, looking at the monitor. “And the heat signatures are roughly the same number as yesterday!”

Some more poking and they find the Ladyblog run by a teenager with shaky videos about her classmates somehow becoming supervillain. The CGI is pretty great but it’s so cliché, it’s hilarious.

(Diana receives a ‘false alert’ message and rolls her eyes. Men.)

“We don’t know if she did it on purpose or not, but it can’t happen again.” Batman says.

Heroes start to zeta-beam back to their city, grumbling.

“Someone should go put the fear of God in the kid.” Red Hood jokes, rolling his eyes (not that anyone could see).

“Thank you, Red Hood, for volunteering,” Batman replies very seriously, but Jason knows that Bruce is laughing at him. Dammit!

So Red Hood zeta-beams to Paris (he doesn’t even pack a bag, it’s going to take like five minutes). Batman has sent him the address of the school the creator of the Ladyblog attends. It’ll be a good start to find the polka-dot kid.

Except that halfway to his goal, he has to stop on a rooftop because there’s a giant woman raging and fighting two really acrobatic people. One of them is the red polka-dot girl, the other is a black leather clad guy who can’t be much older than her.

“Batman, we’ve got a problem.” He coms.

“Red Hood?” and he can hear the worry in Bruce’s voice, and he feels even more shitty.

“The girl and her partner are fighting a 15 feet woman made of diamond. Half the Champs-Elysées are in rumbles. I really don’t think it’s a scam.”

And then he sees the Miraculous Cure, watches as the Champs-Elysées are restored, sees people coming back to life and understands. Jason feels sick. Because the girl in the video was a teenager and if everything she said is true then she’s been dealing with this whole shit for months and even as Robin he had Batman he could lean on.

As the two heroes jumps away, Jason races to catch up with them. Ladybug and Chat Noir are definitely teenagers and they look suspiciously at him, but he manages to convince them that he came from the JLA and can they please talk?

The Parisian heroes accept, but they were in the middle of something first so they can meet up latter at the Eiffel Tower. And then they swing away without waiting for an answer. Red Hood doesn’t chase them down. He tells everything he just saw to Batman and asks for someone to comb through the Ladyblog and give him some damn intel before it’s time to meet the kids.

Half an hour later, Jason is in jeans and playing the clueless tourist, asking what the hell is going on here.

It’s early evening when Ladybug and Chat Noir arrived at the Eiffel Tower in one long graceful jump. Jason is a bit jealous because he definitely had to use his grapping-hook to get there, but those kids can do it without assistance.

Chat Noir is super exited to meet him now that they have time to talk. Ladybug is more cautious, but she looks just as relieved.

“Are you here alone? Why did it take so long before someone came?” She asks softly.

Looking at the kids, Jason doesn’t want to tell them that no one took them seriously. They look so relieved to see him here. Obviously, the girl’s rant was powered by fear and helplessness, not any hate against the JLA. Now that he’s facing her, he thinks she looks really small in her red polka-dot suit.

Dammit Bruce! This weird serial adopting nonsense wasn’t supposed to be inheritable!

He owes them the truth, though. His com is transmitting live so he knows that B is listening at least, but he doesn’t really care for protocols right now.

“The JLA receive a lot of requests for assistance every day, so we have civilian workers that sort out which requests are genuine, which ones would benefit from a JLA intervention and which ones are scam.”

“And our requests were classified as scam because there’s no proof left after I cast the Cure.” She looks tired and resigned, like she had already come to this conclusion months ago. Red Hood can’t fault her that. The preliminary report he received from Red Robin showed him how smart she was. She’s also not one to suffer delusions and they’ve been fighting for months. It would have jaded anyone.

“But we send a new request for assistance every month,” Chat said, quiet and solemn beside his teammate. “It should have raised red flags that the same person sends the same request every month.”

“It should. We’ll look into it.”

“Can you control your negative emotion?” Ladybug eventually asks. “Because we need help. Chat and I, we’re not detectives. We don’t know where to look or how to cross patterns or whatever else we would need to do in order to find Hawkmoth. We don’t have a helpful mentor to show us the way. But we’re also been fighting for months and Paris is ours. We’ll accept help gladly, but only from people who know how to control their negative emotions. We don’t want to face an akumatised hero, we have enough trouble with some civilians.”

And shit, but Jason hadn’t thought of that. From the curses in his ears, he isn’t the only one. Fuck magic, it makes everything more complicated.

“Maybe they could lend assistance from a distance?” Chat proposes, looking at Ladybug. “We could send them our data so they can look for Hawkmoth from a safe distance while we continue to take care of Akuma. And once we have a name or a location, we’ll finally put at end to it.”

“That’s a good idea, Chaton.” She raises an eyebrow in Red Hood’s direction.

“Works for me,” he shrugs. There’s a sharp ‘Red Hood’ in his ear, but Jason ignores it. The kids are right and Jason, at least, doesn’t want to know what an akumatised Red Hood could do. “Here.” He throws an extra com at Ladybug who catches it effortlessly. “I’ll be on my way, but we’re staying in contact. And send any data you can to the JLA so we can start working on your case.”

“Thank you.”

Ladybug smiles softly, but Chat waves exuberantly before Red Hood throws his grapping-hook to the nearest building. He hopes they can catch Hawkmoth quickly, and that they’ll both continue to hold on and that they’ll both be there to see their city free. They deserve it.

And I’m going to stop there, before the plot bunnies can try to make me write more and lose interest.

The idea came when the sentence ‘This weird serial adopting nonsense wasn’t supposed to be inheritable!’ popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. And then I wanted to address Chat’s attitude and Marinette’s crush, because while I like Adrien salt and Lukanette is my OTP, I like Adrinette too and Chat’s attitude, no matter what, is not okay.

I didn’t write it with a pairing in mind, though, so feel free to think of it as pre-Adrinette, Lukanette, Daminette or any other pairing you want. Or keep it gen if that’s your thing too.

#miraculous ladybug #Maribat #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #Yume Writes #ml x dc #ml au

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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The multiverse trip trope, with the canon Batfam ending up in a No Capes AU, where their counterparts, being equally hyper-competent but having no secret identities to hide or vigilantism as the primary focus for channeling their energies into....are equally ridiculous to all vigilante versions of the Batfam, but in vastly different ways.

With no need to hide his athletic abilities or to try and distance himself from immediate association with his past acrobatics, Dick focuses his time and efforts on gymnastics after Bruce takes him in. He’s an Olympic gold medalist before he’s twenty, hailed for practically reinventing the nature of high-bar routines thanks to his innovative ways of melding elements of his former acrobatics with his gymnastics regimens.

Because of his many medals and natural charisma, he’s also a highly sought after brand face, asked to endorse or act as a spokesmodel for all kinds of things. He takes a particular savage joy in having his revenge on society as a whole, for the grief they gave him growing up, between the jokes about his circus background and ‘garish’ ensembles he patterns after his old costumes. Each year, he himself quietly seeks out talented designers who because of their backgrounds and the elitism of the high fashion world, are only able to advance so far in that industry.

Acting as a silent investor for them with the funds from his endorsement deals, he charms his way through backroom deals and opens the necessary doors to get his designers into the high profile fashion shows that can make designers’ careers, allowing them the much needed opportunities to showcase their designs and get them out into the world and in front of potential buyers.

But in addition to their own designs, Dick then commissions the designers he patrons, to design for him the most absurd things they can come up with. The kind of high fashion wtf’s that Ugly Betty’s wardrobe department could only dream of making, and then making into a punchline. Design for me an outfit you wouldn’t even inflict on your most hated enemy, Dick says to them.

And each year they do, and Dick models those looks personally. Then he sits back with his siblings and cackles with malevolent glee as the snobby ‘it crowds’ of his generation later turn out in droves to purchase his ‘signature looks.’ Strutting around town in imitation of the poise and charisma he pulls off effortlessly - but those, no amount of money can buy, and given they’re the only reason Dick Grayson alone can get away with wearing this stuff and still look as good as he does when doing so - well, the socialite circles inevitably end up looking utterly ridiculous. The harder they try and sell it with artificial confidence that Page Six and talk show hosts see right through, the more they get shredded to pieces with scathing jokes and headlines that put anything they ever managed to come up with to shame.

Meanwhile, the revenue from their frenzied purchases of these ‘must-have’ looks of the season? More than enough to launch the careers of Dick’s designers, right up to the A-List, where Dick leaves them to do what they want and make the most of it, with his eternal gratitude for humoring him and his rich kid eccentricities. (Not that his designers haven’t all since long figured out the joke and gotten vindication of their own out of it, as the designers and buyers who tried previously to shut them out because of their humble backgrounds, now all rush to try and rip off their more out there and high profile ‘Dick Grayson Looks’ with their own versions, over-saturating that particular market demographic just as people start catching on that these designs were always doomed to fizzle without Dick wearing them himself......leaving Dick’s designers with an open, uncluttered path right to the demographics they actually want to sell to, with the designs nobody’s attempted to imitate yet because they were too busy keeping eyes glued to Dick’s peacock ensembles).

Bruce has long since given up expecting he’ll ever understand his various children without them making an effort to translate first.....so the first time he walks in on Dick, Jason and Duke watching E! with a focus they’ve never displayed for sports, and with the coffee table covered in so many papers and flow charts and graphs, the den looks more like a War Room rather than just three of his boys watching Entertainment Tonight with frightening intensity.

Bruce just waits in the doorway for them to notice him and arches one eyebrow when they do. Oh, there’s a point to all of this, he’s sure. But damned if he can figure out on his own just what the hell it might be.

His eldest just beams at him with his thousand watt smile.

“Love me or hate me, they all want to be me,” Dick sing-songs. Then he shrugs innocently, as though that explains it all.

It doesn’t, Bruce is fairly certain.

“Why?” He asks somewhat plaintively, after his struggle to select one of the many, many questions buzzing in his head glitches on that one syllable and refuses to budge until he at least voices that much.

“We’ve been over this, B. Its part of our Twenty Seven Step Plan to Destroy the Upper Class,” Jason says impatiently, still jotting notes in pen on one of the graphs, eyes still locked on the TV. “God, its like you never listen, I fucking swear.”

“That running joke you two had when you were in high school?” Bruce asks blankly, focusing on his two eldest. Duke is paying absolutely no attention to him any way, leaning over to cross something out on the same graph Jason’s working on, scrawling some kind of correction while Jason nods like that makes total sense in whatever bizarre arithmetic they’re all working off of.

Dick sighs in the fond manner of a parent whose child has just done something particularly endearing. “You gotta admit, its kinda cute he still thinks we’re joking when we talk about class warfare.”

“Eh,” Jason grunts noncommittally. “Benjamin Button he is not.”

“If you boys don’t mind, could you do me a favor and make sure to clarify when you’re making fun of me? I have trouble spotting the insults otherwise,” Bruce says dryly.

“But that’s what makes it fun!” Duke says, beaming with his own version of Dick’s thousand watt grin. Equal in intensity, but where Dick’s tends to burst into being all at once like a supernova, Duke’s tends to sneak up on you, slowly increasing the illumination until you realize you’re blinking spots out of your vision and it hits you that you haven’t been able to see anything but blinding luminescence for awhile now, and you don’t even know for sure how long.

“Well how about just this once, you boys take pity on me and cut your old man a break,” Bruce says, still in tones as parched as Saharan dunes. “Explain what I’m looking at here as though I’m five.”

“Christ, B, you’re not freaking geriatric,” Jason mutters. “You’re only in your forties, its way too soon for you to try and milk the senility angle.”

“We’re documenting record of public reactions to the latest fashion crimes of Gotham’s A-List,” Dick cuts off Jason, taking the aforementioned pity on his father as he provides an explanation that is in no way helpful.

Bruce squints at the screen. “But aren’t those the same outfits you wore during your Fashion Week thing last month?”

“Well yeah, but on me they look good,” Dick shrugs.

“Don’t gloat,” Jason says to his brother. “It’s tacky.”

“Facts are facts,” Dick says without a hint of apology. “Lying in the name of false modesty would be the true dishonesty.”

“Incredible. You even manage to put a pious-sounding spin on being an egotistical shit,” Jason marvels. “How do you do that?”

Dick shrugs again. “It’s a gift.”

Bruce clears his throat. “And what’s all this documentation for, anyway?”

“Dick’s book,” Duke says matter of factly. Bruce would be flattered by his children’s apparent belief he can intuitively leap from one esoteric comment straight to an epiphany like some kind of goddamn gazelle - if he weren’t still so lost.

“Dick has a book? Since when? I thought Jason was the writer in this family,” Bruce frowns. “And I’m quite certain there was a big to-do made when you were all much younger, where it was decided that each of you would focus yourself on distinct pursuits not overlapping with any other siblings’, so as not to kill each other in your inevitable quest to be number one.”

“Well first off, Dad, if you couldn’t handle a little competition between your children, you shouldn’t have adopted competitive children,” Dick lectures absently, still scribbling away at those damn pages.

“Its not like you all came labeled with future character traits,” Bruce says crankily. They ignore him.

“And secondly, upon discovering that the agreement we all signed was the end product of carefully dropped hints aimed at making us believe we all came to the table of our own volition, when in fact, they were merely the machinations of the mastermind known as our meddling father,” Jason intoned, finally looking up at Bruce to raise one eyebrow at him significantly, “the Treaty of Wayne Manor’s South Family Room circa 2012, was thus deemed by all signatories to be fruit of the poisonous tree, and subsequently rendered null and void.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “How did you figure that out? And why are you suddenly talking like a Bond villain?”

“Well it was mostly more of a theory until just now,” Dick beams at him. Dammit. You’d think he’d know better than to walk right into things like that by now. “But Tim had a hunch pretty much from the start, except then we all ended up branching out towards different interests anyway so it didn’t seem to matter that much, and we figured why not let you keep thinking you got a win there, you know?”

“I have the most thoughtful children.”

“We do try,” Jason hums.

“We try,” Duke snorts. “You add snarky commentary.”

“That was implied.”

Duke rolls his eyes and rolls right past that. “And Jason’s talking like that because he’s got that book tour coming up in a couple weeks, and he’s test driving new Eccentric Author Aesthetics.”

“Gotta give the people what they want,” Jason shrugs. “My fanbase expects the precociously grumpy darling of the New York literary circuit to be baffling and unpredictable, I give them baffling and unpredictable.”

“And here I thought you’d said you hated your fanbase. And rather then giving them anything, last I heard you were claiming to be withholding your sophomore manuscript just to spite them,” Bruce says. His voice is still lost and wandering in the desert, not a hint of precipitation to be found. “In fact, I distinctly recall wanting to take you out to celebrate the rave reviews of your debut novel, the week of its release. Only you were busy having a diatribe about how ridiculous the reviews were and how nobody had any business calling the barely coherent linguistic finger paintings of an emotionally stunted twenty-one year old the ‘next great American novel’ and it called the entire slate of reviews’ credibility into question as any brains capable of producing thoughts that erroneous should be required to display a count of their individual brain cells before anyone even considers viewing any thought produced by them as potentially being credible.”

“And you thought he never listens,” Duke snickers at his older brother. “Sounds like a direct quote to me.”

Jason just shrugs again, not remotely moved. “Yeah but I hate everything, so its not like that really means anything. Also, I’m full of shit. I thought everyone knew that.”

“He’s not subtle,” Dick informs Bruce.

“Subtlety’s for losers,” Jason defends himself. “Like tact.”

Bruce clears his throat again. “Back to the matter of Dick’s book?”

“Oh, right!” Dick chirps. “I have a book. Well, will have. This is research for it.”

“So you are taking up writing after all?”

“Hah!” Jason barks out loudly. “Dick can’t write for shit. He can’t even write a thank you card, forget about a whole fucking novel.”

“Umm, I can write, I merely choose not to,” Dick sniffs pointedly. Then he rolls his eyes in disgust. “And Jesus Christ, chill, Prince Passive Aggressive. I can’t believe you’re still making such a big deal about that. Let it go already.”

He and Jason both shoot quick looks over at Duke about two seconds after Dick’s last sentence. Duke looks up just in time to catch their glances darting away again.

“Hang on, why did you both look at me, like you thought I was about to start singing that stupid song from Frozen?” Duke frowns at them suspiciously. “You guys do know that I’m not Stephanie, right?”

“Yeah but you have been hanging around her an awful lot lately, and she’s contagious,” Jason points out. Duke’s frown deepens for a moment, but then it wings out of sight and he shrugs, perfectly at ease again.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Anyway, its Dick’s tell-all book on Gotham high society,” Jason continues on. “I’ll be the one actually writing it of course. He’s just the pretty face getting slapped on the cover, but I mean, that’s the only reason people are gonna wanna buy it, so I’ll probably just phone it in anyway.”

Bruce focuses on the only part of that reveal he can handle at the moment. “Jay, you’re not remotely capable of ever phoning something in.”

“How dare you accuse me of having a work ethic. Rude and disrespectful. My reputation isn’t built to withstand that kind of slander.”

“And feel free to mock all you want, but my pretty face on that cover is what’s going to earn me my first SCPF,” Dick announces loftily.

Duke looks up. Opens his mouth. Shakes his head. Closes it. Looks back down. Sighs. Looks back up again.

“Not that I don’t know better than to ask, but what the hell is an SCPF?”

“My version of an EGOT that I just made up while Jay was being offended by a compliment to his work ethic. Spokesmodel, cover model, print model, fashion model. The four cornerstones of the modeling world, which I will then have conquered, leaving me free to move on to other endeavors.”

Jason studies his older brother gravely. Then he shakes his head.

“Even as a complete and utter joke, that combination of words disgusts me. You make me physically nauseous sometimes, you know.”

“Another gift of mine, I suppose. I have so many,” Dick muses, leaning back and examining something on the chart he was scribbling on, as if trying to take in another angle for some no doubt ridiculous reason. Why were his children like this.

“Before this migraine finishes settling in and pitches its tent for the night, anyone care to tell me just what exactly this tell-all will be telling?” Bruce sighs. It was never too early to start damage control when this particular combination of his kids were conspiring together.

“Oh, everything,” Dick says breezily. “Who had affairs, who embezzled from their companies, who bribed or blackmailed or bought off this or that. All kinds of juicy sordid stuff, real page turner stuff, you know? You’d think important people would do a better job of keeping high stake secrets all hush hush instead of dropping them all willy nilly at various galas over the years, but c’est la vie.”

“Its almost like there are potential hazards to condescendingly assuming the uneducated circus brat someone adopted as an obvious PR stunt, like, just can’t understand a lick of what people say around him, what with his thick foreign accent obviously conveying he just don’t know English words so good nope, nope, nopers,” Dick concludes merrily, a familiar sparkle in his eye. One that usually heralded social cataclysms to come.

“And so you’ve taken it upon yourself to warn the public of those potential hazards. Good for you, son,” Bruce says sardonically. Despite his best efforts, the corners of his lips keep tugging stubbornly upwards.

“Just trying my best to give back to the community that’s given me so much,” Dick shrugs in the closest approximation to an ‘aw shucks’ vibe that Bruce has ever seen his son manage in as long as he’s known him. Jason reaches over and smacks the back of Dick’s head.

“Hey!” The elder brother snaps back, rubbing the back of his head with wounded dignity. He glares at his smirking brother.

“My bad. I thought you were against false modesty. Just trying to help keep you honest, bro.”

Dick narrows his eyes at him. “Touche,” is all he says.

“Last question before I give up and admit defeat,” Bruce interjects before that escalates. As tends to happen in moments like the previous. With no limit to how long or how far that escalation might last. By his count, his two eldest boys were somehow still engaged in four entirely different extended, longterm feuds they seemed somehow able to treat as separate and distinct from each other, with one of those stretching all the way back a good ten years, and still no end in sight as far as anyone knew.

How did they determine what fights would end in minutes and which warranted stretching out over a course of years? Bruce really couldn’t say. How did they manage to stop and start the same argument off and on for all that time, without letting the last-addressed state of the argument affect how they interacted when their fight was back on ‘pause’? No idea. How did they seem able to treat each different matter they fought about as its own distinct entity that had no bearing on anything outside that particular argument, with no overlap or cross-pollination as far as anyone else had ever been witness to, and why did they even bother doing so in the first place? God, Bruce dearly wishes he knew.

Unfortunately, for all that his entire horde of children often at times seem to exist on a wholly separate and private plane unreachable by the rest of humanity, Bruce’s first two children to fill the halls of Wayne Manor with laughs, screeches and occasional declarations of war and an intent to maim, dismember and murder -

Well. They at times seemed to possess a language and extra senses unique just to them, and baffling to the entire rest of the world and their own siblings as well.

Oh well. At least Bruce could take some small comfort in Duke’s occasional glance of wary confusion, thrown towards one or both of his brothers when they weren’t looking.

“Yo, this is Planet Earth, hailing one eternally out of touch bachelor billionaire way up in the atmosphere,” Jason sharply cuts into Bruce’s distraction with a snap of his fingers. “Are you trying to milk the senility thing again? We’ve been over this. You need at least another decade of mileage before we’ll validate your senior citizen card.”

“Right.” Bruce rolls his eyes at his son, but shakes his head to clear it nevertheless. Ah, yes. “Yes. Indulge me, please. What exactly does what you’re watching have to do with Dick’s....tell-all, and how does whatever all of this is count as research?”

“Oh, we’re just keeping record of public shaming of every snobby rich jackass to buy one of the fashion monstrosities Dick wears at Fashion Week, only to then look utterly ridiculous and absurd when they try and wear it in public and everyone points and laughs,” Duke chimes in.

“I see,” Bruce says, his lips twitching again. “And this of course all ties back into class warfare and...what was it again...oh yes, the Twenty Seven Step Plan To Destroy The Upper Class?”

“That’s right,” Duke nods.

“I even know what the title is going to be already,” Dick smiles with bared teeth. “I’m going with: ‘Weapons of Choice.’“

“Of course, as I keep explaining to him, nobody gets final say on the title of their book, and there’s every chance the publisher will end up changing the title to something they pick,” Jason says with a pointed look at his brother.

Dick’s willful obliviousness visibly deflects Jay’s arched gaze long before any point can hit and make an impact. “And as I keep explaining to him, if they try and change the title, I will simply explain to them that they are incorrect and it already has the perfect title and one can not improve upon perfection.”

Jason strangles a gutteral, incoherent growl before it can fully escape from his throat. “I want to throttle you.”

“I know,” Dick says sunnily.

“Well, as long as you’ve thought this through, which you clearly have, I have no doubt you’ll get the results you’re after,” Bruce says. Doubtfully. Though of what, he’s not entirely sure. His sanity, thinking that yes, half a dozen precocious, willful and utterly incomprehensible children, that’s the ticket, exactly what my life needs. Yes, that was probably the matter actually in doubt.

“Ugh, B, you’re not getting it,” Dick complains. He exchanges frustrated glances with his brothers. “He’s not getting it.”

“It’s not rocket science,” Jason says patiently. “Basic rule of street fighting....the most effective takedowns come from aiming at someone’s weakest point. Whenever possible, go for the throat. What’s the equivalent of the throat as far as Gotham’s upper class is considered? Public image.”

“Destroy their public image, destroy them,” Dick finishes cheerfully. “They crack, get egg on their face like the nursery rhyme says, and bam, Humpty Dumpty has a great fall and all the queen’s knights working as a team still can’t put them together again and while they’re distracted the pawns can slip past them and become queens!”

Jason stares at him. “I know what you’re doing and its not going to work.”

“What am I doing?”

“Deliberately mangling the fuck out of a bunch of different well known sayings that you know perfectly well how they really go, while doing that thing where you act like you’re the most airheaded ditz to ever live and have a brain that runs off of helium instead of oxygen like the rest of us. Because you know damn well how obnoxious that is to anyone who knows exactly how intelligent you really are and that you actually have a mind like a steel trap that remembers fucking everything, no matter how inane, which is fucking rude, because that’s wasted on you and also, stop it. I told you. Its not going to work.”

“Oh Jay.” Dick tilts his head to the side and grins wider. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Uh huh,” Jason says, unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing?”

“That thing where I trick you into believing I’m doing the more obvious seeming thing and then annoy you with my fake airhead routine until you end up flattering me and paying me compliments when pointing out why my airhead routine could never work on you and is thus just annoying,” Dick says brightly.

Jason’s eyebrows inch incrementally together with the slow, ominous scrape of stone grinding across stone. Dick is entirely undeterred, and simply shrugs again with a painfully fake display of innocence.

“Its dinner time and my ego needed feeding. Thanks for that bee tee dubs, it was getting hungry. Nom nom.”

“Yeah,” Jason says casually, after a good ten second pause. He nods decisively. “Okay, I’m going to murder you now.”

He lunges for his brother, but Dick’s resting pose is the equivalent of anyone else impatiently waiting at the starting block of a race. He’s up and on his feet, gracefully dancing out of range of his younger but bigger brother’s wider reach, and has darted halfway towards the other exit to the room by the time Jason finishes scrambling to his feet. Not that any of that delays the younger man from taking off in a dead sprint in pursuit of his laughing sprite of a brother the second he does.

Bruce stares after them for a moment and then shifts his gaze down to Duke, who’s still seated contentedly on the floor, blithely unaffected by Dick and Jason’s mad dash out the room as he continues scribbling down notes.

“I will pay you all the money I have, not to grow up to be like them,” Bruce says in the gravest possible tone he can manage. “You don’t even have to wait til I’m dead.”

Duke sighs and shakes his head. “B, c’mon, man. I’m clearly on Team Class Warfare. I’m insulted you think I can be bought.”

Bruce frowns. “You all are way, way too fond of this trolling thing you do.”

“Mmm. Agree to disagree.”

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years

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Title: When in Gotham, do as Batman does

Summary: Desmond Miles, the mentor of Gotham, and Batman have a serious discussion. (Meanwhile, Robin shows the little Novice accompanying their local Assassin how to do the coolest flips.)

AN: AssCreed/Batman Crossover for the 2nd day of AssCreed Week - Assassin Brotherhood.

Desmond loved Gotham. It was like Florence or Venice or Rome, except better because it was his city. You could tell that it had been built on the bodies of Templars and Assassins alike, particularly the Assassin influence was hard to miss if you had their training. Every corner was easy to disappear into, the buildings were high and the houses crammed into each other to create one fast-paced track for rooftop chasers. Not to mention the abandoned underground railroad tracks or the catacombs sleeping even deeper below. Gotham was built for its shadowy protectors and took good care to hide them all away.

Shaun and Becca had declared him officially mad for settling in this city. He could have gone everywhere in the world. Assassins as skilled as Desmond were hard to come by and currently needed all around the globe.

But Desmond had died for their cause once already (and then been fished out of terror-filled green pits of screaming nails on blackboards) and so they had allowed him to pick.

And Desmond had chosen Gotham.

Or maybe the city had chosen him.

People didn’t really move to Gotham, Desmond had noticed. Nor did they ever leave despite having the funds or the motivation. They cursed and screeched and begged, but they never went further than a vacation away.

And some people didn’t leave at all.

It was a moderately warm September night still. They had been blessed with a warm summer, and its remnants were still chasing through the winds, rolling in-between the skyscrapers. Gotham’s chaos had been calm lately. It was only a question of time until the first Rogue broke out of Arkham again, but right now everything was still. It was one of those nights in which they actually had time to look out for the candles and the flashlights asking for their help. Desmond had sent most of his recruits out for training, errands and information gathering. Maybe also a little blackmail depending on how they brave they got tonight. Instead of supervising from their headquarters, Desmond had chosen to take their youngest recruit out. Though Jason, by all means, wasn’t really a recruit as much as he was a kid that had realized the city’s Thief guild might support him on the streets, but the Brotherhood could get him away from them.

Or as away from them as Jason wanted to be.

He’d seen Desmond teach the Novices how to do a Leap of Faith and that was it. He hadn’t stopped pestering Desmond about teaching him, even at the bar where minors definitely weren’t allowed in, until Desmond had agreed. Jason wouldn’t stop arguing that Robin couldn’t have been much older than Jason either when he had started tailing the Bat. However, Jason also didn’t know that Robin had been trained to be an acrobat (and unknowingly an assassin) from birth.

Desmond knew because he had made it his business to know what was going on in his city.

The identities of its brightest protectors were simply a part of that. Batman had been here before Desmond, had bled for this city. Sure, Desmond could argue he had died for the whole world, but at sixteen he had run away from it all, unlike Bruce Wayne, who had already known his destiny then.

This was also the reason why Desmond’s Brotherhood didn’t kill. He respected Batman’s code as the superior rule. Even law enforcement worked with him while they certainly didn’t know about the Brotherhood.

(Well, they did to an extent. You couldn’t miss the spray-painted As that had shown up all over the city, but the police thought those belonged to a random tagger or, at worst, a gang.)

It was another matter that had his out of town Assassin contacts roll their eyes and bite their cheeks at. Desmond had no problems with assassinations. He was freakishly alright with them so much that he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out the Isu had engineered him that way.

However, their Brotherhood’s no-kill rule was the only reason the Bat tolerated their presence. Maybe the fact that they had quietly gotten rid of the Court of Owls had contributed as well. It wasn’t murder if you cryogenically froze them to be picked up by the Justice League later on.

The Gotham Brotherhood didn’t kill. It made them child-friendly enough that Desmond had given in to Jason’s demands and let the eleven-year-old become his protégé.

And so here they were, standing on a rooftop and waiting for the Bat to drop in.

“How much longer do we gotta wait?” Jason asked.

After tonight, Desmond would work on the boy’s situational awareness. He remembered a few games Ezio used to play with his recruits and their children to teach them how to observe. They also had the neat side-effect of detecting whether someone was predisposed for eagle vision. Desmond thought he had seen Jason’s eyes flash gold once or twice, the speed at which he managed to track down people certainly spoke for it, but he couldn’t be sure.

He knew Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson both had the gift though, and that Wayne was aware of it. You didn’t train with an old splinter group of the Brotherhood for years to be ignorant of eagle vision.

“Mask on, kiddo?” Desmond asked instead, studying the shadows to their right that had become just a little too dense.

He had felt ridiculous the first time he had put on a mask, he didn’t need one to obscure his face, but masks made people think of vigilantes, and it was better to be mistaken for those (and honestly in these times the border between Assassin and Vigilante had become thin) than be known as the Brotherhood. Gotham was mostly Templar free and Desmond would like to keep to this way. He didn’t need their attention, not when his people weren’t strong enough yet. Nowadays, Desmond was used to the weight of the mask covering his eyes. He had grown fond of the red and gold Venetian Rebecca had bought him as a joke.

“Never took it off.”

Desmond smiled. “Good.”

Then he turned back to the shadows. “Hello, Batman. Robin.”

Behind him he could feel Jason tense, looking around to spot the vigilantes Desmond had already identified.

“Mentor,” Batman greeted him and finally stepped forward, Robin following him easily, being just a step behind.

“Oooh, who is that?” The Boy Wonder asked, mustering Jason.

“My protégé. Don’t take him too far, please, he’s untrained still.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t take him too far’?” Jason asked, but Robin had already crossed the distance eagerly.

Desmond wasn’t sure whether Batman took Robin along to these meetings precisely to have him distract the companion Desmond had chosen to take with him or if Robin really was just that sociable. The Bat’s intentions were hard enough to read on the really good days and Desmond had better things to do than waste hours on that particular headache.

Within seconds Robin was talking with Jason, contributing most of the conversation, while Jason nodded at the right moments, his eyes never entirely leaving Desmond.

“He’s young.”

Batman too was observing the boys’ interaction. He had his arms crossed over his chest, suggesting a relaxed posture, but his shoulders were tensed.

“I have questions about Abstergo, Desmond Miles. And about those you call Isu.”

Desmond sighed. He had wondered how long it would take Batman to actually figure out his identity. They had pretty much erased Desmond Miles, or any other alias he had used before Abstergo had captured him, from history. By all means, Desmond was a ghost. But apparently, even death couldn’t keep the world’s greatest detective away.

“Alright, Mr. Wayne,” Desmond replied. “But does that mean I can take a look at the Piece of Eden you keep at your manor in turn? I don’t want to criticize, but these things really shouldn’t be handled by someone without experience.”

Batman fell silent. On the rooftop next to them, Jason was shouting in joy while Robin performed his quadruple flip for him. He should watch that jump. It was common knowledge, at least for those interested in acrobatics, that not many people could perform it – Gotham’s resident prince Dick Grayson being by far the youngest person. It was even on his Wikipedia page.

“And you have that experience?”

Desmond tugged at his hoodie’s right sleeve, revealing his black glove first, and then his burned arm beneath. The golden circuitry was shining brightly in the dark. Once he stopped using eagle vision, it would return to a muted yellow you could mistake for tattoo ink.

“You’re standing in front of the world’s expert on these cursed artifacts.”

His smile was weary, but there was no point in lying. Ever since his death, Desmond had been able to feel these remains of Eden if he got close enough to them. They didn’t make him uncomfortable, but he could almost tell what each piece had been crafted for, and the thought of letting them lie around left to their own devices was fear-inspiring.

“We have much to discuss. I’ll contact you. Robin.”

Across, Robin perked up and moved from his handstand into a bridge and then into a stand. Batman waited just long enough for Robin to plunge into a print and jump over the gaps between the rooftops before he too leaped away into the alley on their right.

Jason wasn’t far behind Robin, crossing the space between houses without hesitating. Whatever Robin had demonstrated or told him, its effects were already showing.

“You done already?” Jason asked.

“Mhm. Why are you asking?”

Jason clicked his tongue and shot Desmond an annoyed look. “Nothin’s true. I should ask questions.”

“I taught you that sentence,” Desmond replied and began to walk into the direction of tonight’s second destination. He’d drop Jason back home on the way. Sure, the kid had seen much already, experienced too much for his age, but Desmond wasn’t going to take a ten-year-old to the Foxglove. Not even for information gathering. “And I’m sure it definitely had nothing to do with Robin.”

“Oh, c’ mon, D. It’s Robin. He’s the coolest. So you gotta tell me what you talked about ’cause he was gonna teach me how to do the neat flip.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another chance to learn from him. Batman just asked for some credentials.”

“Credentials? That can’t be everythin’. Come oooon, tell me. Tell me, tell me, please. You know I can do this all night and day.”

Desmond didn’t doubt him, he knew better. Jason’s presence at his side was proof of that.

“I know. You showed me that you had endurance and now you’ll learn patience.”

“What? You can’t be serious! Des- hey!”

Desmond chose that moment to jump from the balcony into the dumpster beneath. The smell of these containers really made him miss the haystacks of his ancestors.

“Patience, Novice,” Desmond repeated.

Batman would tell him soon enough when he wanted to meet up. You couldn’t shake off Batman once you had his attention.

(And true enough, he got an invitation to Wayne manor a week later. He didn’t dwell on the fact that Batman knew where he lived. It was only fair.)

#dc #dc comics #batman #desmond miles #asscreed #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #fanfic #asscreedevents19

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camsthisky · 5 years

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where Dick and Jason argue because they love each other

for @brambleberrycottage who asked for injured or ill Dick + Jason realizing/ acknowledging Dick needs his family - including him - more than he ever lets on. With a happy/hopeful ending

thank you so much for donating and i apologize for this being so late!

donate to @cerusee

“You’re a bimbus,” Jason says to the body he’s dragging into the alleyway—out of sight, better coverage, and not in the fucking way of a gunfight, so it’s perfect.

He’s got his gloved hands hooked under the unconscious jerk’s armpits, and Jason hates that despite being taller, it’s still more of a struggle than he would like to admit to get both of them deep enough into the alley and behind a dumpster so that they’re not targets.

“An absolute plastic fork,” Jason continues, sort of out of breath. “And not even the good plastic ones, the really shitty ones that break the moment you try to stab something with it. That’s what you are.”

There’s no reply. Of course there isn’t. Dick is unconscious, and it’s all Jason’s fault.

Bruce isn’t going to kill him, but he’s not going to be happy.

Damian, though. Damian is going to try and kill him. Jason has a contingency plan just in case, because Dick doesn’t look great. He’s pale, his breathing is short and ragged, his lips are almost blue with cold and oxygen deprivation, and Jason’s sure if he takes off Dick’s gloves, his fingernails will be the same.

Focus, a voice in his head tells him. It sounds too much like Bruce, and Jason promptly swears at it to shut the hell up.

“The hell were you playing at, Grayson?” Jason says, gritting his teeth as he starts checking vitals. He’s already done this, right before he moved the both of them out of the line of fire, but it never hurts to do another. “You’re not invincible, and throwing yourself in front of that gun was the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever seen you do.”

Dick’s breath hitches, and his eyebrows scrunch as he mumbles, “Not stupid.”

“Yes, you are,” Jason says, leaning over Dick to shield him from any prying eyes as he peels away the mask. Concussion, from what Jason can tell, but he can’t be absolutely sure. “I once saw you triple somersault over three trash cans and a car because you thought that asshole was insulting your dignity as an acrobat.”

“He was,” Dick says, eyelashes fluttering. His eyes don’t stay open long.

“He wasn’t,” Jason tells him, feeling along the back of Dick’s head. His fingers come back stained red. “He was telling you to be careful, and I’m right because you ended up landing ass first into an open trash can and that’s about as dumb as you can get.”

“What? Trash can?” Dick’s not following the conversation.

“Shit,” Jason says. “Maybe you’re not even a plastic fork. Maybe you’re a fucking spork. Why the hell would you jump in like that? I had it handled.”

Dick opens his eyes again, and he’s blinking rapidly, trying to focus on Jason, but the bright blue doesn’t stay on his face for long before it’s drifting down to his neck and torso. Dick pales further, breath that he can’t afford to lose freezing in his chest.

“You’re hurt?” Dick whispers, his voice thick and strained with emotion. Pain, too, if Jason had to take a guess.

“No, you’re hurt,” Jason tells him fiercely. “Can you even tell me where?”

Dick seems to have to think about that one. “Uh, chest? Ribs, I think? I…I don’t know? Everywhere.”

Fucking hell.

Jason’s helmet is gone who knows where. It’ll be a bitch to replace, but there’s no way that Jason is going back out there to get it right now. Gently, he takes out Dick’s comm. and places it in his own ear.

“I’m calling the Bat for help,” Jason says, leaving no room for argument. Dick doesn’t even try, which is infuriating for some reason Jason can’t fathom right now.

All Dick murmurs is, “Stop being so emo and just call him Batman like the rest of us, you heathen.” Somehow, it’s all in one breath, though he’s winded after.

Jason elects to ignore him.

Tapping the comm., Jason calls, “Hey B, Nightwing’s down. I can’t get him to the Cave by myself.”

There’s some heavy breathing, a grunt, a gunshot, and then, “I’m sending Red Robin and the Batmobile to your GPS location,” and it’s all Jason gets before the connection cuts out on Bruce’s end.

Fucking typical.

“Take a chill pill, Jay,” Dick coughs out. He looks even worse than before.

“Shut up,” Jason snaps. He’s tense. Too tense. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like one more bad thing is going to make him shatter and neither of them can afford to pick up the pieces right now. “You’re literally fucking dying, how about you take a chill pill.”

Dick doesn’t have the breath to answer him. Jason starts prodding at his ribs. Cracked, probably. Maybe broken. Jason just hopes the lack of blood on Dick’s lips means that there isn’t any internal bleeding, because that’ll be another mess and a half.

Jason turns to his last problem.

See, the thing is that Dick had jumped in front of a gun aimed for Jason. Dick had been stupid and gotten himself shot in Jason’s place, when Jason had been immobilized, grappling with some thug. And the shooter hadn’t seemed to be worried about his man at all.

Dick jumped in at the very last minute, and had gotten shot in the fucking leg. Jason had killed the thug and the shooter, taken care of the gunshot wound via pressure bandage before he’d moved them to a safer location and he hates that all he can do now is keep Dick from falling asleep and dying on him.

Jason shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Dick’s shivering form. He probably should have done that first, but Jason’s nerves are shot. He’s human, despite popular belief. Sue him.

“I swear to God, Grayson,” Jason says, because he doesn’t know what else to do, “if you even think about dying, I will go into your room and deface your comforter. And you’d fucking deserve it, too—”

“Shut up,” Dick moans. “I’m trying to sleep, you asswipe.”

“You’re the asswipe.”

“And you’re,” Dick pauses for breath, “a child. Name calling. I heard the thing ‘bout the spork. You’re a spork.”

Jason wants to punch something, and Dick’s face is looking sort of punchable. Jason tells him exactly that, and adds, “If you didn’t look like you were about to keel over, I would be throwing you at the Riddler so he could fucking riddle you to death.”

“A child,” Dick repeats.

“You’re the one who your face’d me.”

“I didn’t,” Dick says. “Jay, you’re my brother, and I love the ever-loving fuck out of you, but I would never in my life, your face you. I’m not sure if I respect you too much…or too little.”

“You’re worse than Cass.”

Dick snorts, even though it’s breathless. “No one’s worse than Cass.”

“Yeah,” Jason says.

“Cassie’s the absolute worst,” Dick continues. “I love her so much.”

“We’re all the worst.”

“Kind of, yeah,” Dick agrees.

“You’re a lot more coherent than you were two minutes ago,” Jason says.

“An’ you’re a lot less angry.”

Jason swallows, because it’s true. Dick, his dick of a big brother, has somehow calmed him down, even though he’s literally lying in an alley dying. Uncomfortably, he shifts over Dick’s body to assess his condition.

“How do you feel?”

Dick hums. “Like I took a bullet to the leg.”

“You’re not funny.”

“And you sound like Tim,” Dick sighs out. “When will you three admit that I am so goddamn funny.”

“You mean four? Or five including Bruce?”

“Cass and Bruce appreciate my humor.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You mean they tolerate it.”

“Cass laughed at my joke yesterday,” Dick informs him very seriously.

“I’m sure she was just laughing at your face. It’s stupid.”

“You literally,” Dick coughs and coughs, and then he breathes in shakily, and something in Jason’s chest clenches as he waits for Dick to continue, “literally just your face’d me. And fuck you. I’m as good looking as they come.”

“I’m not sure the handsomest goblin in the goblin factory counts as a compliment, Dick,” Jason tells him.

Dick opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, another coughing fit rips through him, this one more violent than the last. And this fit brings blood to Dick’s lips. It sprays into the air as Dick coughs and coughs and coughs.

“Shit,” Jason says, dizzy with the panic that floods through his veins. He checks Dick’s pulse and it’s too fast, too fast, and Dick can’t breathe and then—

“Move,” Tim’s demanding, somehow magically appearing while Jason had been focused on Dick and pushing him aside, and fuck that, because Jason’s been sitting here with Dick for the past however long, keeping him awake and talking while they wait for help and he’s not going to not help save his big brother, even though Dick is Tim’s big brother, too.

Fuck. He needs to calm down. He takes a breath, and then another, and then he dives into helping Tim stabilize Dick and getting Dick into the batmobile and to the Cave, and then there’s the usual rush of Alfred swooping in to help Jason and Tim save Dick’s life.

And then it’s Tim and Jason sitting at Dick’s bedside in the Cave, doing the same dance they always do when one of theirs gets hurt.

Except, until recently, it hasn’t been Jason sitting in this chair, holding an injured family member’s hand, waiting for them to wake up. He’d done it for Bruce a million times before and he’s been in the bed himself, but it’s only been the past year or so where he’s actually found himself caring enough about these people.

“Hey,” Tim says a while later, and Jason blinks up at him. He looks as worried as Jason feels. “Thank you.”

Jason scoffs, and looks back towards Dick’s sleeping face.

He feels more than sees Tim lean forwards over Dick’s blankets legs. “No, for real, Jason. If you hadn’t been there, he would have died.”

“If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have gotten shot,” Jason says simply.

And it’s true. Dick had taken a bullet for Jason, and Jason had watched his big brother choke on blood in the dead of the night in some random alleyway while there was a gun fight literally thirty feet from them.

“Maybe,” Tim says. “Or maybe he would have gotten shot anyways, and without you there, he would have bled out in the street.”

Jason levels a look at Tim. “Weren’t you supposed to be a dumb irrational teenager?”

“Only when Damian’s involved,” Tim says, and well. At least he admits it. Jason says nothing for a long moment, and Tim sighs, and continues, “I’m just saying I’m glad you were there.”

“Whatever,” Jason sighs more than says.

“Don’t compliment him,” Dick mumbles from the bed. “Called me a spork.”

“You are a spork,” Tim says, and Jason feels his lips tugging up into a grin.

Dick scoffs, his voice raspy when he complains, “Why do my little brothers like picking on me?”

And then his eyes open and Jason finally feels some sense of relief thrum through him, and all he can do is exhale shakily and bury his face in the blankets on Dick’s bed. To their credit, neither Dick nor Tim comment, instead starting up a new conversation.

Jason just lets their words wash over him, and lets himself relax. It finally feels like he can breathe, and it’s dumb but if he’d lost Dick (again, because there was that thing with Spyral, and yeah he’s still sort of pissed about that, and he didn’t care for how much that freaking hurt), he doesn’t think he’d be able to stand doing this family thing anymore.

He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he looks up and interrupts whatever Dick’s saying, and tells him, “You’re such a bimbus.”

Dick smiles, exhausted and pale and alive, and says, “You’re a bimbus.”

Yeah, they’re gonna be okay.

#dick grayson #jason todd #camryn writes #prompt #donation prompts #dc

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dcarevu · 5 years

Text

Batman TAS: Robin’s Reckoning (Part 1)

“That Grayson kid’s a real boy wonder!”

Episode: 32 Robin: Yes Writer: Randy Rogel Director: Dick Sebast Animator: Spectrum Airdate: February 7, 1993 Grade: A

These blogs have come out quite out of order, so looking back to Robin’s Reckoning has been a bitter-sweet experience. As I watch further and further through the series, going back to complete unfinished blogs is a huge pain in the ass. I just finished watching The Man Who Killed Batman, and then had to go back and cover an episode I saw a couple months ago. Ouch. Don’t even get me started on the comic books. I think I’ve released a blog for maybe one of those? But at the same time, I’m coming pretty close to actually being caught up on these posts again, and that feels really great! Just a few more to go! Robin’s Reckoning was the point where I realized that my schoolwork was too much to be able to continue this series for a while, so arriving here now finally gives me the feeling of accomplishment that completing my finals almost gave me.

Robin’s Reckoning is a stand-out episode in the series, and this is evident as soon as it starts. How I’ve missed talking about Spectrum’s work. After a sea of Akom and some subpar Dong Yang (mixed in with their better stuff), there is a magic and a fluidity that is impossible to take my eyes off of. The first scene gives us a dynamic fight on top of a building (currently under construction). Every hit almost sends one of the on-screen characters flying off, headed toward the traffic below. Nothing is stilted, and it is all paced perfectly. Batman is obviously the one in charge of the duo, but his parental side is pushed further than in previous Robin appearances. It feels a little bit weird to see Batman sending Robin away from the apprehended thug like a dad telling his son that there will be no more rides on the merry-go-round, but this is very important when it comes to what is going on in Batman and Robin’s heads. It turns out that this thug has information about Tony Zucco, the one responsible for the murder of Robin’s parents. We, of course, see this through a flashback.

As soon as the flashback starts, we are greeted with playful circus imagery, but it is all blanketed in shadows, and some absolute killer music accompanies it. When we see Dick Grayson as a little boy, his identity is revealed because of some woman going, “That Grayson kid’s a real boy wonder!” I like the use of a corny joke to establish where we are in time, and who we are looking at. It gives people who already know the Batman lore something to hold onto. We see that Grayson was a trapeze artist, together with his mom and his dad back in the early days of Batman’s crimefighting. This explains a lot of Robin’s acrobatic skills and his overall strength. But what about his desire to fight alongside Batman, defending the innocent? Well, see, this Tony Zucco guy is a real asshole, right? And because the circus refuses to pay him the money that he wants, he goes and sabotages the ropes used in the Graysons’ act. This causes both of Dick’s parents to fall to their deaths once enough weight is put on them. It’s pretty well known that originally, the team behind the show wanted to display the entire murder scene in full detail. The censors, of course, said, “Are you outta yo damn minds?” So they came up with a way around it, showing the Graysons’ silhouettes swing out of shot, and then the silhouette of a severed rope swing back into shot. It’s the perfect climax to the tension (no pun intended), but it really is quite a shocking moment. This probably gave more kids nightmares than what they originally concocted ever could. Imagine if we saw real life like a Batman TAS episode is directed.

Forgive me if I go a little bit out of order here, but Dick at this point is feeling incredibly guilty that he didn’t say anything to anyone about Tony Zucco being in the tent right before the show. There is also the problem of the police (including a younger, red-haired Gordon) thinking that Zucco may attempt to go after him, in order to shut him up about the incident. So he can’t stay with the circus, despite them being the closest thing he has to family. Because of this, we get a goodbye scene that may be short, but boy is it effective. Bruce Time notes on the commentary that the part with the elephant makes him cry, and it definitely almost made me tear up. Goodbyes are something that really get me emotional, and seeing a group of usually cheerful-looking waving to Dick for the last time (yeah, laugh it up, you immature goobers) accesses that part of me. It’s not all bad, though, because Bruce’s mansion is Dick’s new destination, and, well, the rest if kinda history, no? The next section of the episode focuses on Dick attempting to adjust to such a lonely, empty place, while Bruce is constantly gone on “work meetings”. Of course, by “work meetings”, I mean trying to beat the shit out of Tony Zucco, wherever he may be hiding. During what is possibly one of the best Batman-segments yet on the show, there is no music, only the sound of guns, blows being thrown, and the night. We also get to see one of Batman’s old costumes, which features a different belt, no yellow around the bat, and other slightly different aspects. It looks kinda similar to his costume that we’ll see later in the DCAU. During this scene, Batman tries to hunt down Zucco, who is hiding at his uncle’s house. He is terrified when Batman pays a visit, but then acts all cocky once Batman leaves, teasing his uncle about how “well” he handled Batman. Of course, once they both realize that Batman is still outside, that fear sets in again, and I love listening to the voice actor go from such a punchable voice to one that is in full panic mode. In the end, Zucco manages to escape Batman’s grasp, and from what I gathered, that’s the last time he was seen in Gotham city…until present-day.

Robin uses Batman’s computer to figure out that Tony Zucco is back, and gets enraged. I don’t blame him. Ever since he was a kid, he’s been wanting a piece of Zucco. Now, not only is Batman treating him kinda like a child, but he’s trying to keep Robin out of this very personal situation. Why? Well, we’ll have to find out next episode, won’t we?

Episode leaving us hanging like...

I can’t think of a single moment in this episode that I disliked. There were some smaller moments I didn’t mention, such as Bruce offering to take Dick to a game to cheer him up, or Bruce disguising himself as a lowlife during a gambling session to get info on Zucco. He oversteps his boundaries, and the others become immediately suspicious, attacking him. Bruce, of course, handles them quite easily, and then, on one of the thugs, we all of a sudden see the Batman shadow. It’s so badass, and Bruce’s persona he was playing during this moment was pretty legit too. I love the accent, especially when he says, “They say he’s got bat-problems.” Oh, and there’s a bit at the Flying Graysons flashback where we see a young Bruce Wayne in the audience (who does look a lot younger), and as the spotlight shines on him, he drops his popcorn and his drink in the most clumsy way possible. I honestly felt bad! But, yeah, I laughed.

Char’s grade: A Next time: Robin’s Reckoning (Part 2)

Full episode list here!

#batman tas #dcau #dc animated universe #robin #dick grayson #batman the animated series #btas #robin's reckoning #part 1

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 7 years

Text

The Worst of Days

So this is for the Batfam Content War. I wasn’t sure if it was an angst war too or not so have some mild angst thrown in at the end. Also available here on my ao3. Words: 2,785 Rated: PG (Canon Typical Violence & Mild Language) Gen

Steph was having a crappy day. No, the word crappy hardly even began to describe how truly awful her day was going. Which was really, really unfair because by the bat-clan’s standards the day was just beginning. And it sucked.

She’d spent most of the night before finishing a ten-page paper while Damian crashed on her couch and Cass watched truly terrible reality shows in her living room. Then she had to hand in the paper but naturally the train was delayed because it was Gotham and the freaking Condiment King decided to get his ass handed to him again. Thank god Cass and Damian had slept over and handled it or else she would be even later to her eight am.

From there she had to track down her advisor to sign a form okaying Steph’s thesis being sent to a conference. By the time she finally managed to corner the professor she had to run to lab, only to get kicked out because she’d stupidly worn sandals due to the earlier morning rush.

Thankfully Francisco was letting her copy his notes at lunch but that just meant she had to sit with Jordanna. Ugh. Steph swore that whatever supreme beings dictated her life just really had it out for her. After an hour enduring snide remarks and sneers Steph gathered her books and headed for the library, because being a college student and superhero left her bank account drained so she had to make money somehow.

Steph waved to her boss as she tossed her things into the cubby below the desk. Grabbing a cart that the last student worker had just loaded with books she made her way into the stacks. She made it all of five feet before groaning. The stinking freshman had given her the cart that always pulled to the left like some defunct grocery store buggy.

Jogging across campus to her last class of the day Steph felt her phone buzz. She fished it out of her coat pocket, furrowing her brow at the screen. “What,” she demanded in greeting.

“Um, hi Steph. Nice to hear from you too?” Tim said sarcastically from the other end of the line.

Steph paused, running a hand through her hair as she examined the science complex in front of her. “Sorry, it’s just not my day and I’m really not in the mood for whatever bull you might be calling about and I’ve got a class and…” Steph trailed off, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

“I’m really sorry Steph and I didn’t mean to make it worse.” Steph could hear the wince in Tim’s voice, the reluctance to state what he was calling about.

“It’s whatever Timmers. So what’s up?” She hiked her backpack higher on her shoulder and made her way into the building. She was early for the lecture but really didn’t know how long it would take for her to get Tim to just spit whatever it was out. Her best bet was to sit in the hall so she could hang up and slip in when she saw the professor coming.

“Well Jason somehow got a cat,” Tim started but Steph interrupted with a strangled “what?!” before he could say anything else. “Yeah… I think it’s from Damian? Anyway, not the point, he asked Cass to watch it while he was on a mission but she left this morning with Dick for some acrobatic camp or something and asked me to just feed it but I can’t because I’m on my way to the Tower for a Titans mission. Can you just feed the darn thing tonight when you’re on patrol?”

Steph shook her head as she tried to wrap her mind around all that Tim was saying. “Ok. I didn’t actually follow all that but I’m pretty sure the point is I need to feed Jason’s cat tonight?”

“Um, yeah, pretty much,” Tim sounded sheepish and just a little guilty.

“Ok, sure. I’m partnered up with the Baby Bat near there anyway, I’ll just make him help,” she sighed, waving to a passing friend.

She heard Tim release a breath that she hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thanks Steph. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Steph rolled her eyes at the boy on the phone. “Ok, I really have to go to class. Bye Tim.”

“Bye Steph! I owe you!”

She hung up and sighed, going to collapse into the crappy desk next to the girl she had taken bio with just as the professor walked in. Walked in and announced a pop quiz. Steph raised her eyes to the ceiling and prayed that the universe take pity on her by having Apokolips invade so she could leave. No such luck.

Steph had just made it to the train station when she felt her phone buzz again. This time it was a text from Bruce calling her to the Manor. She grumbled at the screen and shoved the phone back into her pocket. Turning to head back out of the station Steph went to hail a cab, Alfred would be more than willing to pay the fare out to Bristol for her.

She was indeed greeted by Alfred at the door who paid for her cab before ushering her inside. Just as she had gotten out of the taxi it had started to pour. Darn Gotham weather. The ten feet from the car to the Manor’s front door had Steph drenched. She stood dripping in the marble tile of the foyer while Alfred pulled fluffy emergency towels for them from the coat closet, likely intended for days like this.

Steph wrapped it around herself and began to wring out her blonde hair. It was at this point that Damian choose to stomp down the staircase. “You look like a drowned rat, Brown,” he sneered.

“And you look like an angry little kitten. ‘Specially with your hair sticking up like that. Take a cat nap?” Steph shot back with a grin. Giving Alfred the now damp towel she thanked him and headed toward the study, Damian trailing behind her. She spun the clock hands, causing the hidden door in the grandfather clock to swing open. Steph paused before descending into the cave. “Do you know what your dad wants?”

Damian looked back at her, his nose scrunching briefly before he gave a forcefully nonchalant shrug. “I do not know what Father would want with someone so incompetent as yourself,” he sniffed.

Steph just rolled her eyes. “Gee Dames, thanks,” she said and began the descent. Even now as Batgirl, someone not only accepted but welcomed here, she got a rush walking down the dark stairwell. Her heart pounded as she caught sight of the dinosaur and the giant penny, her eyes catching just for a second on the memorial cases before skipping immediately to the huge computer screen and the man who stood there.

“Stephanie,” Bruce called out, turning as she and Damian walked towards him. “I have already informed Oracle but I wished to speak with you in person. There is an emergency that requires Justice League attention and as such I will be leaving to attend to it momentarily. You and Damian shall be patrolling together tonight. Batwoman, Batwing, and some of the Birds of Prey will be patrolling as well. I have mapped out routes for you, Oracle is ultimately in charge although Damian you are to defer to Stephanie.”

With that Bruce turned on his heel and was teleported to the Watchtower. Damian turned to her with a glare, the effect was quite cute rather than menacing. “I will not be deferring to your judgment tonight nor any other, Fatgirl,” Damian spat at her. Like his father had just done he turned on his heel and marched deeper into the cave. Likely to cut the heads off practice dummies with his katanna.

Steph slouched and tilted her head up to the ceiling. She gave a strangled cry that culminated in a whiny “Why?!” The bats didn’t answer and merely fluttered away. She sighed and headed back towards the stairs, she’d much rather spend the hours before patrol studying and lounging around in the manor rather than dealing with the pissed off child assassin. He’d come around eventually.

Now though Steph was positive that her day was cursed. Wholly, truly, irreversibly cursed. And everything up until that point had simply been the opening act. She and Damian had gone on patrol, much to Damian’s continued displeasure. They had only been out about an hour when it happened.

“Batgirl, I need you and Robin to swing by the Narrows. I’ve got a report of an armed robbery in progress and you’re the closest.”

“You got it O!” Steph chirped back as she and Damian adjusted their course to the address that Oracle had uploaded to their masks displays. Perching on the roof of the apartment building across the street they could see into the small deli. Sure enough a guy in a ski mask was holding a pistol in the face of a very frightened clerk and waving a pillow case in his other hand.

“-tt- How cliché,” Damian mumbled.

“I know right?” Steph couldn’t keep the slight chuckle from her voice. “Ok, so here’s the plan-” Before she could say another word Damian was already gone from her side, swinging towards the store front and using the momentum to kick in the windows. Glass shattered and the gunman whirled. Steph heard two shots before she was moving. Line fired, hair and cape flying behind her as she practically free fell towards the street.

She swung in through the same window Damian had, glass crunching under her feet as she landed. Both the would-be robber and Damian were nowhere in sight though. Steph pulled some batarangs from her belt and inched forward. She peered behind the counter as she passed, the shaking clerk peering back. She lifted a finger to her lips and motioned that he stayed put before Steph turned her attention back to the threat at hand. From somewhere behind the rows of snacks she heard another gunshot ring out. And another. Then a thud.

Steph jumped onto the counter, turning to launch herself over the displays. She tackled the gunman from behind, knocking the weapon from his grip. She pulled his hands together behind his back and set off one of the goop-a-rangs in her hand, it was faster than grabbing her cuffs. Steph then turned her attention on the small red, green, yellow, and black figure that laid in front of the milk display. She could already see more red pooling beneath him and his green gloves were stained with it from where he pressed against his side.

“Robin!” Steph gasped and rushed to him. He grumbled a bit and some of her worry lessened but Steph still went about checking his pulse before radioing Oracle. “Robin was shot in the side. I- I don’t know how bad it is but there’s a lot of blood. He’s breathing and has been applying pressure so that’s a good sign…” Steph trialed off in her ramblings as she felt the panic in her rise.

“It’s going to be ok Batgirl. I’m sending Penny-One in the Batmobile to pick you up and escort you immediately to the clinic. In the meantime, I need to you to check the wound for the bullet, just like we’ve trained.”

Steph nodded and gulped, it didn’t matter if she gave Barbara a verbal reply or not, the older woman was more than likely already hacked into the security cameras. She’d done the same thing a thousand times it felt like, on herself and other members of the so-called family. But never Damian. Never Damian. He was so young and small and there was so much blood and he was always to strong and fierce and now he was biting his lip to keep from whimpering and Steph was worried.

She moved his hands from his side. “This might hurt,” she whispered, pulling the small flashlight from her belt. She clicked it on and used it to examine the wound as she gently felt for a bullet. Sure enough it was still there, not deep but it’d made a mess of the Robin suit and Damian. She relayed her findings to Oracle before applying pressure again.

Steph turned to glare at the robber who was still face down on the tile, his hands encased in her trademark goo. “I hope you’re happy. This is why crime doesn’t pay dipshit,” she snarled. He winced and Steph returned her attention to Damian. “It’s gonna be ok Robin. You’ll be fine,” she whispered.

Damian seemed to roll his eyes. “I know,” was all the retort he managed though and that concerned Steph even more than the bullet wound or the blood loss.

“Ride’s here,” Oracle told them.

Steph moved to scoop Damian up and carry him to the waiting Batmobile. “This might hurt,” she warned him before lifting him bridal style. Damian winced and Steph was surprised at how light the kiddo was. “And you,” she addressed the robber one last time. “Don’t move till the police come or I will personally come back to kick your ass.”

Steph took slight satisfaction in the way he winced before rushing from the deli. Damian was like her little brother, annoying but lovable. She couldn’t stand the fact that he had gotten so badly injured on her watch. The Batmobile was idling by the curb with its passenger door open. She slid Damian onto the back seat before settling herself in the front and closing the door. She positioned herself so she could keep pressure on the wound as Alfred took off.

They got to the clinic in no time, Leslie immediately taking Damian to remove the bullet and stitch him up. Maybe even give him some blood since Steph guessed that about half of his own was spread between the deli and the Batmobile’s backseat.

“Please do not beat yourself up over this, Miss Stephanie,” Alfred sat in the plastic chair next to hers.

She took the towel he offered and began wiping off her gloves. “But I was supposed to watch him and this happened. What am I going to say to Bruce? What’s Bruce going to say to me?”

“I’m sure Master Bruce will understand and, loathe as I am to say it, Master Damian has been in much worse shape before.”

Steph sighed, leaning her head against the wall. “Y’know what Alfred, today has been utter shit.”

The butler chuckled at that. “Well Miss Stephanie I feel confident in saying that it can only go upward from this point.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her and raised a brow. “Don’t jinx it Alf.”

The two sat like that in the clinic’s small waiting room for what felt like ages before Leslie finally came out. “He’s going to be ok, but no patrol for two weeks or he’ll pull his stiches.” Both nodded and Steph jumped to follow her back into the small room she reserved for vigilante visits. Damian was sitting on the table kicking his feet, a white bandage poking out of the hole in his now ruined Robin tunic.

He raised his head and met Steph’s eyes. “I apologize for my actions and any worry I may have put you through as a result of them. That was immature and impulsive. I will be sure to inform Father that my injury was entirely my own fault.” He ended with a stiff nod.

Steph gave the kid a soft smile. “That’s ok Dami, I just want you to be ok. Ok?” He nodded and Steph went to hug him before being stopped with a sharp glare from Dr. Thompkins. “So I’m apparently supposed to feed Jason’s cat? Wanna come with and then we can go back to the Manor and continue your Disney education?”

Damian considered this before giving her a small smile. “I think I would enjoy that very much, thank you.”

Steph grinned. “Hey Alfred, think we can borrow the Batmobile for a quick trip? We’ll pick you up on the way back to the cave.”

“As long as you drive Miss Brown, that shouldn’t be a problem. I doubt Master Jason’s cat requires my attention as well,” he said with a smile.

Damian slid to the ground and grumbled something about driving the Batmobile and Steph couldn’t resist the urge to ruffle his hair. He swatted half-heartedly at her hands. Steph just smiled, terrible days really did only ever last for so long.

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dickie-gayson · 7 years

Text

Mori Shej; Litost pt.1

After a month of hiding out, Jason thinks he might be able to sneak away without getting caught. Naturally, he was proven wrong. There must be some sort of cosmic laugh track for whenever Dick shows up to mess with his plans. How exactly did he go from trying to kill Dick to comforting him? He really needs to look over his priorities.

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Warning: Mentions of rape

Pairing: None

Genre: Angst? Hurt/Comfort?

Words: 9,301 (e n d m e)

Other Parts: one

ALSO: I take prompts and requests -finger guns-

Notes: I am not pleased with this. It is garbage, but hard-worked garbage. Maybe you’ll enjoy it lol There will be another part to further explore their issues and really discuss them. This was just dragging on and I didn’t only want it shoehorned in, you know?

After his assault on Dick, Jason had to lay low to avoid being found. So low, he was almost surprised he didn't run into Brendan Fraser at the center of the damn Earth. Sure, he may have gone a bit overboard in his subterfuge, but one could never be too careful when it came to running from the Bats. It took every trick in his arsenal to keep the steadily growing clan off his back. His paranoia had reached its peak. For weeks, he monitored the hero community and tracked their movements. Jason wouldn't even leave his hideout without watching the security feed and, hell, even the nearby traffic cameras first. Even still, he had a few close calls.

Funnily enough, he was nearly caught by those outside the family. He had been so focused on evading their techniques and methods that he forgot to account for the other heroes he managed to piss off. When he hurt Dick, nearly killed him, Jason brought himself under the hero community's scrutiny with laser-like intensity. He honest to God debated on plating his temporary hideout with lead to keep the Supers from finding him. Then, he realized that'd probably be a little obvious and they'd just figure it out anyway. At least, if he gets caught by them now, he'll have saved himself the trouble and money.

What a shitshow his life has become. Damn near every single one of his plans had to be scrapped. All because he couldn't go through with the first step. Now, he was forced to hide in a fucking bunker, eating canned food and staring at monitors until the heat was off him. Still, he wouldn't change his actions. Well, okay, he'd change the fact that he beat the shit out of Dick. He'd go about everything differently. There didn't have to be blood.

God, there had been so much blood.

He still saw it when he closed his eyes. Saw the broken form on the floor, begging and pleading. Saw him leaning on the door frame, barely breathing. Saw the red on the pacifier, staining the clothes. In his dreams, the red spread and spread and spread. In his dreams, he didn't stop kicking. Sometimes, it changed. They would be in a warehouse. He would hit the downed man over and over. There would be a crowbar in his hands and in the background there would be laughter, high and shrill and so grating. There would be a baby shrieking somewhere in the darkness. And there would be a song, softly coming from the broken man. It wouldn't end. He'd hit and hit, screaming for silence but the song wouldn't end. It wouldn't end until he did. Until there was no more sound. No more swinging, no more laughter or screaming. Nothing but blood. So much blood.

Those dreams left him coated in a cold sweat, heaving with nothing to come up. He'd shake in his bed and press the heel of his palms to his eyes to try and erase the lingering memories. If only things had gone differently. If only he hadn't lost his mind, been dunked in the Pit, gone to Ethiopia. If only, if only.

From there, he'd rise and check his security before watching the monitors. Depending on his stock, he might test his luck and traverse the city in civilian gear. Sure, he should be perfectly fine walking unmasked around the city without anyone catching on to who he was, but still. These were heroes, Bats, and if there's one thing they excelled at, it was doing the fucking impossible. He wasn't keen to be caught just yet.

Except, there was a tiny part of him that did want to be caught. Wanted to face what he'd done. He also wanted to see their expressions when they realized who he was. Sure, Jason regretted what he'd done to Dick, but that didn't mean he suddenly felt love for Bruce and the replacement. They still made his stomach churn and the haze creep to the edge of his mind. He might not hate Dick as much as he thought he did, but he sure as shit still hated the others.

Since he was being honest with himself, he also wanted to see Jaye again. He wanted to get to know the little girl carrying his name; wanted to be a good uncle. But, he destroyed that chance, just as he ruined everything else he touched. Maybe it was for the best. She didn't need to know the fuck up that was 'Uncle Jason'. Let her live and be raised with the glorified version of himself she'd no doubt be told. At least, then, she'd hold a little pride in her name. What right did he have to ruin it for her, especially after what he'd done?

He sighed to himself at the thought. Really, he would have loved to play the role of Unce Jay. It may surprise some, but Jason got along with children better than he did most adults. Did he want kids? Yeah, he honestly did. But, that wouldn't happen. He couldn't let it happen. If he couldn't control himself when he got too emotional, then how the hell could he ever hope to raise a child? Even more of a reason to stay away from Jaye. He couldn't risk her safety like that.

Shit, he made it sound like he even had the chance to be around her. After what he did? There was no fucking way he'd be allowed within a hundred-foot radius of the little girl. That stung a little more than he'd like it to. It made the little plush elephant in his inner pocket seem to weigh a million pounds. The stuffed animal was an impulse purchase. He seen the little patchwork toy and immediately thought of the baby with the acrobat dad. Too bad she'd never get to play with it. But, he did this to himself and he'd live with the consequences.

A startled noise got caught in his throat as something made heavy impact with his helmet. Immediately, he flung himself backward, shook the sluggishness from his mind, and pulled out his pistols. 'Who the-'

Dick.

Of course. Because Jason's life wasn't fucking ridiculous enough. It was one disaster after another, wasn't it? He raised his pistols to keep the costumed vigilante at bay. Jason couldn't help the almost queasy feeling he got from aiming the weapons at the hero. In his mind, all he seen was the steady spread of red. Dick outstretched one hand and caught the ricocheting escrima stick without so much as turning to look at the weapon. His attention was undividedly on Jason. That...was not good.

What was he going to do now? This was the first night he came out in his Red Hood gear since that night. He figured over a damn month would be enough time hiding to be able to sneak away. Clearly, he was wrong. Jason didn't want to fight Dick. He really didn't. But, if push came to shove, he would. He couldn't let Dick get him. That would mean being thrown in Blackgate or, and this gave him nightmares, Arkham. Or, even worse, Bruce would show up. He...he couldn't handle that. Not right now. He needed time. Needed to recuperate and revise his plans. He needed to escape.

"Now -'

Jason didn't let him finish his statement. He made a wayward shot at Dick's feet as a distraction. While the black and blue clad hero was busy avoiding the clumsy attack, Jason ran. Okay, so, maybe running hadn't been his best plan, he'll admit it. Being up high, in the air, was Dick's forte. Not to mention he was fast; faster than Jason was. There was also the fact that this was Nightwing's territory. Jason may have been hiding here for a while, but that's nothing on the years Dick had to memorize the city, top to bottom.

He made it an admirable four buildings down before something, presumably Dick, sent him to the ground. Jason immediately started to struggle and buck against the weight that pinned him down. Being constrained like this only made Jason want to flee more. The panic was starting to set in. His chest heaved and, was it just him, or was someone laughing? No, no, he had to keep his head straight. There was no laughter. That was only in his mind. There was no reason to panic. It's only Dick, he won't hurt Jason. He won't do that.

...But what if he did? What if wanted retribution for what Jason did to him, in his own home, no less? It's what Jason would do. He needed to get out of here. It was hard to focus on his training when his own brain kept trying to drag him back to bound chairs and closed caskets. There was a sudden pressure on the underside of his jaw. It forced his head back and he had to look at the cold face that stared at him. Dick was using his escrima in the same manner Jason had used his gun to control him. Ordinarily, a stick wouldn't scare him, but he was very well aware of the high-voltage taser they doubled as. That was something he wasn't keen on experiencing.

So, he laid there and stared in silence. Mentally, he counted and tried to keep his breathing even. The anxiety and fear was still there, but he couldn't let himself focus on that. Instead, he focused on the quiet vigilante that held him captive. 'It's just Dick. He won't hurt me. It's just Dick.' He repeated that mantra in his head in time with his breathing. It helped a little, but couldn't stop the slight shaking that took over his hands. Jason curled them into fists in an effort to try and hide the tell. Before Dick had a chance to begin his interrogation, Jason spoke.

"I'm sorry."

The words seemed to spill from his lips without his permission. The tone of his voice, even modified, was downright pathetic. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly. That wasn't what he intended to say. Hell, he hadn't planned on speaking, period. But, apparently, his guilty conscience got the better of him. Dick had gone almost frighteningly still above him, and Jason was almost afraid to look. When he did open his eyes, he was greeted with a carefully blank expression. The pressure on his jaw did not lessen. Dick's voice was just as pointedly neutral as his face.

"Why?"

Shit, there were a million and one answers to that question. It was like a grab bag of fucked up. Rather than pick and choose which interpretation of the question to answer, he decided to ask for clarification.

"Ya gotta be a little more specific than that. Why what?"

The weapon was pressed just a bit harder into his flesh. It forced his head to tilt at an even more awkward angle. 'Ow, okay, this is getting uncomfortable.' Dick opened his mouth, as if to answer, but no words came out. He seemed to flounder for a bit. Maybe he was struggling with the situation as much as Jason was. Strangely, there wasn't much comfort to be found in that. Who would have thought.

"Why did you come after me? Why do you want to kill me? Why didn't you kill me? Why call for help? Why...why comfort my daughter? Why?"

The more he spoke, the worse his voice became. He looked borderline broken, worse than the night he actually did get broken. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be losing his composure so quickly over this. Jason knew Dick was better at keeping it under control. Yeah, he knew the older vigilante had some anger issues, which of them didn't? But this...this fragile state, this breaking apart, it wasn't right. There's no way Jason was the only cause. He couldn't be. Bats were better than this. Dick was better than this. He was the perfect fucking Golden Boy. It didn't make sense. And damn, it sent a feeling of unease slithering around his gut. He went to shift, but a firm press of the escrima ended that. Talking was getting a little difficult with the angle his head was at, but he'd endure. If Dick could do it, so could he.

"Well, damn, start with the hard questions, why don't ya? You sure you wanna hear the answers on a rooftop in the middle of 'Haven? Who knows who might be listenin'."

It was only partially a joke. One that fell rather flat, at that. There could be a whole list of people skulking around to hear this and Jason really didn't want that. Especially since Dick was notorious for having morally ambiguous people after him for one reason or another. Jason did not want to get caught up in that weird web. No thank you, check please. Hell, he's been laying low and he's still hearing gossip from the criminal underground about 'Nightwing's ass' this and 'Nightwing's skin tight suit' that. Jason would have lost his shit ages ago.

Dick didn't seem to find his joke very funny, not that Jason could blame him. From the way the older hero tensed minutely, he probably assumed that was a vague threat. Jason really wasn't good at picking his words, it seemed. Maybe he should just start speaking in Shakespearean quotes. That could be his gimmick. It'd probably work out better for him in the end, honestly. No, wait, Shakespeare was just as much a cocky shit as he was. An irritated sound coming from Dick brought him out of his musings. Damn, he was really not in the right state of mind for this. He blamed it on being alone for so long and not the copious amounts of trauma he was wrapped up in. Jason just made a little gesture with his hands to show he hadn't meant it as a threat. Was Dick's finger creeping toward the taser? Oh God, he did not want to taste 50,000 volts right now, or, you know, ever.

"Alright, alright, jeez. Sorry if this isn't exactly something I want getting around."

Just like the joke-that-wasn't-a-joke, his words fell flat. He wanted to diffuse the situation, get that damn fractured glass look off Dick. This entire fucking situation set his teeth on edge. He noticed it before, that something was decidedly wrong with Dick. But right now, with the look and tone of his voice, the way he was being way too serious with his threats, Jason knew he was right. How the fuck did it go from him trying to kill Dick to trying to comfort him? Was he really that starved for affection he'd latch onto the first person that might give it to him? ...That was a question he decided he didn't want to think about and simply ignored the blatantly obvious answer. Instead, he wet his lips and spoke. He hated how unsure he sounded.

"I...Shit...I meant to kill you. Had these plans and ideas. I was gonna send him a message. But I...I couldn't do it. If you didn't have that baby, I wouldn't have hesitated and...I'm...kind of glad I did. Don't get me wrong, I still want to punch you in the fuckin' face at least fourteen times but I-I don't want you dead. Fuck, this is all fucked."

For his part, Dick was quiet. It was actually getting very unnerving how quiet he was being. Dick was a chatterbox, this was a known fact. But the way he was just staring, blank and cold, was almost frightening. He wasn't supposed to look like a statue. Scratch that, he wasn't supposed to look like him. Bruce was the cold, quiet, unforgiving one. Not Dick. Dick was supposed to be his opposite; his foil. What happened? When he spoke, Dick's voice was low and, man, Jason couldn't even pinpoint the exact tone. It was like thin ice; cold but fractured.

"Who are you?"

At that, Jason was the one to go eerily still. Then, he began to squirm. Nope, nope, he was not answering that. Fuck it, he'll take the tasing if he got out of here with his anonymity. Suddenly, he felt the unmistakably sharp edge of a Wing-Ding (God, that was such a stupid fucking name. Of course, Dick came up with it) pressing against his neck. Great, make that a taser AND a borderline-knife to his throat. He stilled once more. The shaking increased to full body and he felt himself getting ready to really panic. The part of him that was keeping calm made note that this was also something Dick should definitely not be doing. Threatening people at Wing-Ding point (seriously, he needed to come up with a different name, this is just ridiculous) wasn't usually his style. Maybe he really did change since Jason's been gone.

"I can't...Please, don't make me answer that. I can't. Dick, I...I can't."

If he wasn't on the verge of a panic attack, Jason would have been mortified at the absolutely pitiful tone his voice took and the fact that he actually used Dick's name in the field. The sheer terror that took over his being seemed to catch Dick off-guard. The hero actually backed off a bit while surprise colored his previously frigid expression. Almost on instinct, Jason took advantage of the opportunity. He hit Dick in his midsection in an attempt to wind and distract the older man. Apparently, the wounds weren't as healed as Jason was led to believe. If they were, Dick wouldn't have yelped in pain.

As quickly as he could, Jason scrambled away from the momentarily stunned hero. Maybe he could get away this time. Dick was still injured and the previous chase had to have taxed him at least a little bit. It wasn't until he hit the edge of the building that he hesitated. Guilt chewed him up again. That was getting real old, real fast. Still, this might be his only opportunity and he had to take it. He turned and reached into his jacket. Dick was already on his feet and looked a little worse for the wear, if his slightly shaking shoulders were anything to go by. Fuck, why was he patrolling at all in his current state? Did he want to die?

Before he could think better of it, Jason tossed the small stuffed elephant to the hero who caught it effortlessly. He looked at the toy in both surprise and confusion before he turned his attention back to his apparent adversary.

"For her. You could let her know Uncle Jay misses her or something."

That was a decidedly stupid move on his part. Beyond stupid, really. Way, way, WAY beyond stupid. Something he was going to completely and thoroughly beat himself up over later. He took Dick's momentary surprise as a getaway. It wasn't even one full building over before he was knocked over again. 'Note to self: Running from Dick is a Bad Idea.' This time, however, it wasn't an escrima or tackle that brought him down. It was a small, explosive pellet thrown at his feet that did him in. Okay, so he should have been prepared for that. He knew Dick had those on him. However, he was way too distracted by what he just did and the fallout he'd have to deal with. Not to mention the creeping hysteria that flooded his veins. A sick feeling twisted in his gut. 'This is bad. This is bad. This is BAD.'

Before he could fully stand, a foot swung into his view and he only had a brief moment to try and block it. It still felt like getting kicked by a fucking horse. Honestly, Dick probably hit harder with his feet than his hands. Jason went sailing back to the ground with incredible force. Wow, if this is what it felt like when he was kicking Dick, then he felt significantly more sorry than before. Rather than pin his whole body, Dick chose to put a foot on Jason's throat and press down threateningly. There were several ways to get out of this position, but Dick was aware of every single one of them and Jason knew it. It was like he was waiting for Jason to try; waiting for him to give Dick a reason to stomp. This wasn't right.

"Now, you're going to answer my questions. This isn't up for negotiation. Did you or did you not just threaten my daughter?"

His voice, if Jason was being completely truthful, was fucking terrifying. There was something almost...unhinged about the way his voice dipped. Jason always wanted to see the Golden Boy lose it. He wanted to see Dick brought down to his level. Now that he's seen it? He isn't so sure he wanted it anymore. It was so unnatural. He could almost see Dick as a killer and that thought was horrifying. Trying to wrangle in a murderous Grayson would be a nightmare.

Jason felt an intense flare of indignation at Dick's accusation. Why the fuck did he think Jason was threatening Jaye? Nothing inherently malicious was mentioned. All he said was...Oh. Oh. That would make sense. Yeah, Jason was really not good at picking his words as of late. Then again, this would have been entirely avoidable if Dick knew who he was. But then that would mean he would find out because Dick was his fucking lapdog. Jason was not ready for that confrontation. Fuck, he thought he was ready for this confrontation but, obviously, he was wrong. If he couldn't handle speaking to Dick, then there was absolutely no way he could speak to Bruce. Not yet.

He debated for a moment the pros and cons of letting Dick just crush his throat. That would certainly save him some trouble, wouldn't it? As if he read Jason's mind, Dick applied a discomforting amount of pressure on his neck. Yeah, no, Jason was not feeling the whole 'crushed trachea' thing. He let out a frustrated sound before he spoke. It was clear he was not at all pleased with either his position or the accusation.

"No, that wasn't a threat, Dickhead. I was being nice. I'd never hurt a child."

Dick just stared at him with that wrong look.

"Take off the helmet."

Again, as if those were the magic words, Jason started to struggle. No no no no.

"Take it off or I break it off."

Jason's heart was speeding like a jackrabbit's as he stared up at Dick. There was no trace of the man he used to know. This one was entirely serious about his threat. Jason knew Dick could be brutal, downright vicious, but this was like staring at a stranger. Why that hurt as much as it did, Jason didn't want to think about. All he did know was something had happened when he was gone.

"...What happened to you?"

He felt like that little fucking fifteen-year-old again with the vulnerable tone. No, he couldn't get caught up in this. He had his own problems. Hell, he had a fucking mountain of issues to deal with. There was no way adding whatever baggage Dick was carrying with him to his own pile was a good idea. Still, seeing the way Dick seemed to seize at the words, didn't sit right with him. Whatever occurred really fucked up the seemingly untouchable hero. No, he had people he could turn to. Everybody loved him and he was a fucking blabbermouth. He could get his own help.

Shit, Jason already knew this was over for him. Dick was a Bat. That basically guaranteed emotional constipation and a tendency to self-destruct. Given Dick's penchant to blame himself for everything and that stupid hero-complex, Jason just knew he was stewing in this in total silence. Why did his compassion have to rear it's head now? Oh, who was he kidding? He was a fucking bleeding heart and he knew it. Jason would never admit it, though. He had some dignity left; not much, but some.

With shaking hands he didn't even try to hide anymore, he pulled off his helmet. His breath came to him short and sharp as he tried to keep himself calm. 'It's okay. Maybe he won't recognize me. He's not them. I'm fine. It'll be fine.' Dick just stared at him for a minute. It had to be the longest minute of his life. Well, his current life.

Jason could pinpoint the exact moment recognition hit Dick. The way he inhaled was so sharp and sudden that Jason almost felt bad for his ribs. He let his escrima drop to the ground as he all but jumped away from the downed man like he was a leper. Jason sat up against his forearms and watched as the older vigilante paled dramatically.

"No. No, not again. You're...you're not real."

Teal eyes widened as he watched Dick press his hands to his eyes, as if that could erase the situation they were in. Jesus, has Dick hallucinated about him before? Was it nightmares? Had his death really gotten to Dick that much? Sure, he named his daughter after Jason, but this? This was a whole new level of trauma. Dick continued to speak and Jason wasn't sure if it was to himself or not.

"Who...Clayface? Spinebender? Mirage? Damn it, WHO?!"

Alright, so Dick thought he was an imposter. Really, Jason shouldn't be surprised. He'd probably think the same thing, were he in Dick's position. This should probably get cleared up before Dick kicks his head clean off his shoulders. It looked like that was only about two seconds away from happening. God, he was an absolute wreck.

"Di- 'Wing, it's...it's really me. I swear."

Later, he'd really have to reflect on how everything kept getting turned around on him. First, he went to kill Dick only to save him. Then, he wanted to run away and keep his identity a secret, only to actually try and convince Dick it was really him. What even were his priorities anymore? His decision only felt a little more right when he saw the almost feral way Dick shook his head. Jason might want to stay hidden, but Dick was clearly falling apart at the damn seams and nobody else seemed to notice. Motherfucking bleeding heart.

"You're lying!"

Yep, that was definitely an angry and threatening walk. Dick approached him with quick, irate steps. Jason had to subdue the urge to skitter backward from the hero. No, he could do this. Fuck his fears. They won't control him. He won't allow it. Not anymore. That didn't stop his heart from jackhammering in his chest. His throat felt so dry all of a sudden.

"I'm not. I can prove it! You remember the cocaine lab? The first time we met? I nearly fucked up the whole thing. When we were done, you told me I needed to work on my sidekick. You...you gave me your Robin suit that day."

That stopped Dick dead in his tracks. If Jason were feeling funny, he would say that Dick looked like he seen a ghost, but he wasn't really feeling the humor right now.

"J-Jason?"

He sounded so hopeful. So broken. It made Jason's heart clench. There was no way he affected Dick that much. No, he couldn't have. He couldn't. Because...because if he did, then that meant Jason was wrong. At least, wrong up until a point. But that still meant he was wrong. God, he nearly killed Dick. And here he was, looking like the world was simultaneously handed to him and torn away. Dick had no reason to look at him that way. Not after what happened.

He was suddenly in front of Jason. His hands hovered like he wanted to touch but was unsure if he could. Maybe he was afraid Jason would disappear the moment they made contact. Is that what he dreamt about? Jason tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as he stared at Dick.

"Hey, Big Bird."

The air was almost strangled out of his lungs from the tight hug he found himself in. Dick was holding Jason like he was the only thing keeping the older vigilante together. His whole body shuddered from the sobs he tried to keep inside him. Just like that, Jason lost it himself. He wrapped his hands around his brother's torso and held on like his life depended on it. It was only a vague memory of what he did that kept him from squeezing Dick as hard as he wanted to. Enough damage was wrought by his hands. He didn't need to exacerbate the old wounds. Tremors racked his body. It felt like his heart was going to burst from the way it was beating and twisting with pain. Tears pricked his eyes as he trembled against the warm embrace. Fuck, he missed this, the affection, so much. He didn't deserve it.

That thought was almost enough to get him to pull away, but the tight grip Dick had him in left him without a choice. Beyond the guilt, he was perfectly content to endure the hug. Jason would deny all claims that he was affection-starved, even if it was true. Little gasps and sobs came from the two as they sat on the rooftop. Quiet 'I'm sorry's passed back and forth until it was uncertain who was saying it anymore. They sat like that until the trembling calmed its tempo but their grips never loosened. Finally, finally, Dick pulled back just enough to look at Jason's face again. Wonderment filled the anguished face once more.

"How...What happened? They..they said you died. Where have you been? Why...Why..?"

It seemed like he couldn't finish the question, but the pain twisting his features was enough of an indicator as to what he was asking. 'Why attack me? Why hurt me?' That sent a fresh wave of guilt surging through Jason. He let out a shaky breath before finding the strength in himself to speak.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

Dick nodded rapidly but seemed unwilling to let go of his almost-death grip on Jason. After another moment, he backed off and stood up. Jason grabbed his helmet and followed suit with unsteady feet. There was a good deal of uncertainty in the look he gave Dick. Where would they go from here? He'd leave it to the black and blue clad hero. Dick ran a shaky hand through his hair before he seemed to remember something. He turned unexpectedly on his heel and jogged to the further edge of the building. When he returned, the small elephant was in his hands. He looked at it with a small, frail smile.

"Couldn't leave her first present from her Uncle behind, could I?"

The words wobbled slightly with unbidden emotions. If it's that hard to hide it all, then the sheer volume of emotions he must be feeling is staggering. Jason let out a breath of laughter, just as unsteady in tone as Dick.

"Yeah, can't have that."

They were both complete and total wrecks. This wasn't how Jason planned things. It's not how he wanted everything to go down. But, well, maybe this was how it should go down. He felt jittery and the anxiety still lingered in his nerves. It was going to be a long, long night. Still, maybe...maybe he could salvage this. Maybe this can end on good terms. God, did he hope it would end on good terms. But, something nagged at Jason. The ever-lingering fear that Bruce would find out. That Dick would tell him. It made the panic and haze want to creep in. To quell his own worries, he spoke up.

"Dick, you can't tell anyone. Not yet. Just, promise me you won't. Especially B-Bruce."

Saying the name out loud was so much more difficult than saying it in his head. It left a funny taste in his mouth. The man in question gave him a long, sad look before he nodded. Jason was willing to bet he'd agree to jump off the Empire State Building right now if Jason asked it of him.

"I won't tell. Promise."

As if to seal the promise, he took the comm from his ear and tossed it aside. Jason raised his eyebrows at that. It seemed a bit much, but he appreciated the sentiment. Plus, he knew how Bruce could be. It wasn't beyond the man to hack the others comms if he suspected something was up.

The trip was a silent one with Jason shadowing Dick's moves. The acrobat wasn't being nearly as, well, acrobatic as he usually was. There were no flashy moves or unnecessary flips. It was probably from his still injured ribs. Every so often, Dick would look back, as if to make sure Jason was still there and not a figment of his imagination. It made Jason a little queasy. Just how bad has Dick's mental state become?

Eventually, they got to an apartment just off The Spine. Jason politely ignored how long it took Dick to undo his own defenses. He knew from experience how frustrating it could be to undo such a thing with shaking hands. Dick slid the window open before suddenly going still. It made a spike of fear shoot up Jason's spine. Was something wrong? Did someone break in? Oh, God, don't say someone hurt Jaye. Dick just gave him a side-glance.

"Forgot about the babysitter. Wait a minute and I'll send them away."

Jason let out a breath of air he didn't even realize he was holding. He had to stifle the sudden urge to punch Dick for worrying him like that. Instead, he just gave a slight nod and watched the hero slip through the window. The solitude gave Jason a minute to reflect on the really bad decisions that led him to this moment. He was still weighing in on whether or not revealing his identity to Dick was one of those decisions when said hero stuck his head through the window and waved him in.

He swallowed down his anxiety and entered the sparse apartment. It only took a glance around to realize this was Dick's new apartment. The babysitter (and just who was babysitting for the hero, anyway?) should have tipped him off, but it really sunk in standing here. He didn't quite know how to feel about Dick bringing him back to where he lived after what happened in his last home. It almost felt wrong to be here. But the way Dick was looking at him, no mask to hide his eyes this time, squashed that feeling. The look he was getting almost made the tears return. Jason didn't deserve that look. He took off his own domino; the last thing between Red Hood and Jason Todd.

Dick stepped closer and stared at him with such sincere intensity, it nearly burned. He watched the mild confusion take over the other man's face. Jason knew why. Since his death and resurrection, he's changed. The Pit took some scars and tinged his eyes. They were greener than they used to be. It seemed Dick realized where the shade came from by the way the confusion morphed into shock and, this hurt a bit, horror. Jason just stepped back and lowered his eyes. He couldn't look at that expression any longer. His emotions were already scrubbed raw enough as is. That would do nothing but worsen the situation, he knew it.

Instead of the accusations he was expecting for someone dunked in the Lazarus Pit, he got a firm hand on his shoulder. Still, he didn't look up. Then, he was yanked into yet another fierce hug. Dick shoved his face into the crease of Jason's neck and shoulder as he trembled. Jason returned the hug again with as much intensity as he could without worsening the others injuries. When Dick spoke, it was muffled against his leather jacket, but Jason could still understand him.

"I'm sorry. Whatever happened, I'm sorry. I should have been there. I gave you the suit, I...I should have been there. God, I'm so sorry. I failed you."

Jason choked back a sob at the words. That's what he's been telling himself since his resurrection. Over and over, like a mantra, he'd tell himself that they failed him. They weren't there for him. It was their fault. But hearing it now? He wanted nothing more than to shake Dick and tell him he was wrong.

"Shut up, you masochistic fuck. It wasn't your fault...It, shit, it wasn't. Joker did this. And I put the suit on without your help. I blamed you for a long time. I did, but I was wrong. Dick, I was wrong."

That just caused the other man to cry harder and tighten his death grip. Saying it all was almost cathartic, but it still hurt. It left an aching, hollowed out feeling in his chest. His own tears slid down the black and blue suit as he buried his face into his brother's shoulder.

"I...I didn't even get to go to your funeral, Jason. He didn't even tell me."

Those words caused Jason to go stone-still. The absolute pain and betrayal that washed through him hurt. Jason backed up a bit, effectively putting an end to their embrace. Dick's face was splotchy and his eyes completely bloodshot. Jason doubted he looked any better.

"What?"

He really, really, really hoped he heard Dick wrong or misinterpreted him. Something. Because that...what he was saying was just ridiculous. There's no way...

"Bruce didn't even tell me you died! I was off-world for a mission when you...when it happened. He never told me. I found out when I returned and seen it in the database. I missed your funeral. I wasn't there again. I'm so sorry."

Dick seemed to hold himself as if that could keep him together while he shook apart. Jason's breathing started coming up short and fast. 'Bruce didn't even tell him. He didn't even tell Dick. I didn't even matter enough for my own brother to know.' He didn't even realize just how badly he was shaking until Dick tried to calm him down. Jason shoved him backward and looked around wildly. His eyes landed back on Dick. He looked hurt from the rejection. It made Jason close his eyes and try to calm his frazzled nerves before he blacked out again. This wasn't Bruce. Dick didn't deserve his anger. He had to remind himself over and over. It was Bruce, not Dick, who should get his wrath. Thoughts of the baby in the next room helped him strangle down the beast in him. He could do this.

When he looked back up, he noticed Dick open his mouth, probably to apologize again. Jason didn't think he could handle that anymore. Instead, he just held up a hand to ask for a moment. He sucked in deep breath after deep breath. Finally, when he felt stable enough, he lowered his hand.

"The Pit, it...messed me up. I can't- I can't control myself anymore. Too many emotions and I just lose it."

Admitting his weakness was hard, but he had to get it out there. Dick looked like he wanted to engulf him in yet another bone-crushing hug but refrained. Instead, he just nodded with a look of agony on his face. Was he still feeling guilty? Then again, they were both mentored by the same man and self-blame seemed to be a sort of a staple in their lessons. The two of them alone could probably hold entire seminars about it. They'd be a therapist's dream.

"It'll be okay, Jay. We..we can work on it."

We. Even after everything, Dick still said 'we'. Said it like Jason hadn't explicitly stated he wanted to murder him. Like Jason didn't almost kick him to death. What is with that man?

"How can you say that? After what I did to you?"

The questions hurt to say and his voice only further illustrated that fact. He was terrified that Dick would suddenly come to his senses. He didn't deserve this kindness, but he didn't want to lose it either. He didn't want to lose his brother again. He didn't want to be alone.

Dick, for his part, looked equally scared. Why? He took a careful step closer to his newly rediscovered brother like he was a skittish animal. Honestly, Jason almost felt like a skittish animal. Everything in him was screaming to 'run' but he ignored all of it. He was going to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.

"I don't know why you did it, but you didn't let me die. You called Donna. You comforted Jaye. That says a lot."

Jason just shook his head in denial.

"Why are you trying to erase what I did? I was the reason Donna needed to be called. I was the reason Jaye needed comfort. I left you in a pool of your own blood. I almost killed you!"

It took real effort to keep from screaming at Dick. Why was he trying to make excuses for Jason? Why was Jason trying to sabotage this for himself? God, he just wanted the acceptance. He wanted to take the forgiveness and smother himself with it. So why, why was he fighting it? His hands found their way to his hair and he pulled as he fought to keep himself in control. It wouldn't be surprising if Dick could hear his teeth grinding from over there.

Suddenly, there were hands over his. They tried to gently ease his fingers of their death grip. Dick's voice was soft. He could feel the hands on top his shaking.

"I'm not trying to erase it. I'm trying to figure out what happened to my baby brother and help him. I'm trying not to lose you again. I don't want to lose you again."

Dick's voice cracked at the end from the torrent of emotions that bubbled within him. Jason was nearly gasping for air at this point. Hearing that...Jason hadn't even realized it's what he wanted, no, what he needed. Slowly, as if he was afraid Jason would push him away again, Dick pulled him back into his arms. His grip was softer but no less warm. Jason couldn't hold back the sob as he buried his face once more against Dick's shoulder. The tears came harder and the shaking more violent. He could feel Dick's own silent trembling.

"I don't want to lose you either. I need...I need help. Dick, I need you. I can't do this on my own. I can't."

His voice was hoarse and any pretense of control he had was so far gone, he doubted it'd ever come back. At the moment, he didn't care. It was like once the floodgates opened, they couldn't be shut. All the hurt and pain that built up over the years just came tumbling out. And Dick took it all with soft strokes against his hair and warm whispers. He could hear the hitching in Dick's breath as he tried to comfort Jason.

"I'm not going anywhere, Little Wing. I'll be right here with you. I promise. We'll figure this out. It'll be okay. You're strong, Jay. We can do this."

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Jason. Still, it helped calm the distressed man somewhat. It didn't stop the pain completely. It didn't still the tears, but it helped. They stood there for a while and soaked up the comfort the other exuded. After he calmed a bit more, Jason pulled back just enough to look Dick in the eye.

"I'm not the only one who needs help."

His tone left no room for doubt. Jason knew something was wrong with Dick. From the almost frightened look that took over his bright blue eyes, Jason was downright positive about it.

"Jason, I-'

He cut Dick off before he could try and deny it all.

"I know something's wrong. You wouldn't threaten me the way you had, even with what I did. And...you're just not right. You look like you're a breath away from literally shattering. You want to help me? Well, I want to help you too."

Dick's lips trembled from the obvious effort it took him to hold back his emotions. Jason didn't know why he bothered at this point. They already crossed that uncomfortable bridge. It looked like he wanted to protest further, but he also knew Jason was equally as stubborn as he was. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted the help as much as Jason did.

"Jay, so much has happened. I don't even know where to start. Everything's just...it's all fallen apart. I don't know what to do anymore."

That brought a frown to Jason's lips. Sure, he had monitored the family and such, but he didn't exactly delve into everything they've done. Okay, so maybe he did track Bruce that closely. But Dick wasn't his main concern, so he didn't think to follow the going-ons of his life. He made a slight gesture to the seating off to his right. If they were really going to hash all this out right now, then they should probably get comfortable. Dick moved without hesitation or resistance and took a seat on the couch while Jason sat diagonal to him in an armchair.

He waited patiently for Dick to find his tongue. The acrobat ran a hand through his hair; a nervous habit. His leg bounced up and down rapidly in his distress. Speaking about their emotions was never a strong suite in their 'family'. Really, it was only moments like this, where they can't hold it back anymore and just explode, that they get anything resolved. Dick let out a heavy sigh and stared at his hands as he started to speak.

"Shouldn't we be talking about you? You're the one that came back from the dead. My issues aren't as pressing."

Jason didn't know whether to be amused or irritated at Dick's very transparent attempt at a changing the conversation. He let out a scoff and an exaggerated roll of the eyes.

"Please, I've had years to think about it. Whatever you've got going on is fucking you up and you're the one with a kid to take care of. We can focus on my mountain of issues later."

His effort to water down his own trauma was just as obvious as Dick's poor change of subject. For his attempts, he got a slight glare but there was no real heat behind it. Then, Dick dropped his gaze and his shoulders sagged.

"Alright, yeah, you're right. Jaye's more important than, well, everything. Guess I gotta suck it up, huh?"

It was a solid, but ultimately futile, attempt to lighten the mood. Jason doubted even God himself could achieve that at this point. Still, he flashed Dick a crooked grin to let him know he caught the effort. But in the returning silence, the smiles fell back to frowns and tremors returned to once calmed hands.

"I'm only gonna...I just..I don't want to get into it all. Not right now. I can explain some. The worst. But just not all. Okay?"

Despite the fact that he knew bottling it all up would only make it worse, Jason nodded. Really, he felt for Dick. Telling others the fucked up shit that hurt you was never easy. He hated it. It was partially why he suggested talking about Dick's problems instead. Cowardly? Yes, but he didn't care. He just wasn't ready. What he shared was already too much and, still, not enough. He remained silent to allow Dick time to put his thoughts into words and get them out. This was always the worst part for them. It took time and patience; things Jason was surprised but grateful he had right now.

"Blockbuster, you heard of him?"

The name rang a few bells. He was a major crime lord working in 'Haven. At least, up until his death. Jason heard more than a few tales about that freak. Tall, ugly, and could twist someone's head around in a full one-eighty. There had been ridiculous rumors that Nightwing shot him. Those rumors made Jason laugh out loud when he heard them. What idiots. At his affirmative nod, Dick continued on.

"He was mad at me for screwing with his business. For...for his mother's death. Real mad. He found out who I was. Found out I was Dick Grayson."

That was not good. At all. He was only a few sentences in, and Jason already knew this was going to get very, very ugly. It caused an uneasy feeling to curl up inside him.

"To get back at me, prove I was powerless, to punish me, he went after everyone I knew. He blew up my apartment building. Shot a reporter, Maxine Michaels, just because she was talking to me. He wanted to kill everyone I came in contact with. Any clerk who rings me up. Any kid who smiles at me. All because he could. Because it'd hurt me. He was going to kill them all because of me."

Dick was shaking harder now with the memories. Hearing it made Jason feel sick. This, this is why Bruce's way could never work. Look what happened when a criminal of Blockbuster's caliber was left alive. Innocent people died and innocent people suffered. No matter how right he was, his feelings just couldn't match it. Not right now. There was no smugness to be felt while Dick looked so close to completely coming apart. Jesus, to think he actually wanted this at one point. That made him sound like Blockbuster and the thought absolutely ripped at him. He wanted to make Dick suffer just like that monster had. It made him want to vomit. Any rebuke against Dick's self-blaming he had was cut silent as Dick continued speaking.

"He...he had Haly's burnt down around me. God, Jason, he burned it all down! There were so many people. I tried to save them all. I couldn't. I couldn't. It was all I had left. That was all I had left of my family and he took it from me!"

The air seemed to get caught in his lungs at those words. He couldn't imagine the toll that sort of personal attack took on the man. Jason's own mother betrayed him to the Joker and that left it's own special brand of trauma on him. But to have what little actually good memories of his family he had left torched around him? Fuck. Blockbuster was beyond lucky he was dead at this point because Jason was really not feeling charitable. What he would have done to that thing would have been downright sadistic. The shaking in his hands was for an entirely different reason this time. Dick must not have noticed the stiffening of his posture or the way his eyes seemed greener than they were just moments before because he continued spilling that which he had kept pent up for so long.

"-Tarantula appeared. I shouldn't have let her. But his words just kept ringing in my head. All those people. He wouldn't stop. Not ever. I..I let her shoot him. I let him die. How could I do that? His blood is on my hands. His blood and all the others. I told her no. She just told me to be quiet. I said no."

At this point, Dick's breathing had really picked up. There was a look in his eyes. Jason recognized it. He was caught in the past, reliving the events that hurt him so. Jason moved to try and bring him back to reality. Nobody should be caught in that sort of personal hell. Well, maybe some deserved it, but not Dick, no matter what he thought. However, as soon as his hand came close to contact, Dick all but froze. He even stopped breathing. A look of near-terror took over his face. Jason immediately yanked back his hand and mirrored Dick's expression. The trembling evolved into full-blown shakes for the panic-stricken hero. He was hyperventilating now.

Fuck, fuck. What was he supposed to do about this? Jason skimmed over the implication of Dick's sudden panic attack. He really couldn't afford to go down that path right now. No doubt, he'd absolutely lose it to the haze. Right now, he had to focus on calming Dick down. That was going to be a feat when he could hardly keep himself calm. When he spoke, his voice was just loud enough to get through to Dick without being overbearing. He kept his distance from the shaking man.

"Dick, listen to me. You need to breathe. Come on, do the count. Three in, four hold, five out. It's only me here."

He could see Dick try to maintain the meditative technique. Jason repeated the mantra over and over until it seemed like his brother was coming back to himself. Then, Dick blinked away the tears before he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. He seemed to close in on himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm over here crying about my problems and you died."

The strangled laugh that came from his throat was almost hysteric. Jason frowned before he edged closer. He looked for cues to see if the advance was unwanted, but Dick seemed fine now. Well, 'fine', given the situation. This time, it was his turn to wrap his brother in a hug. Dick clung to him like a lifeline. How did it come to this? Jason closed his eyes and willed away the venomous green. Later. He can worry about this later. One thing was for certain, though. He was, without a doubt, paying a certain spider a long overdue visit after he leaves.

"Dick, our suffering isn't a competition. We've both been hurt. Bad. The best we can do is help each other. If we make it a contest of who deserves to cry or heal, neither of us will ever get better."

Saying it felt good, he'd admit it. Before coming to 'Haven, Jason was so hellbent on retribution and easing his own suffering that he didn't even think about what pain the others may have gone through. He wouldn't think about Bruce right now. That was a box of vipers he needed to tame on his own. Dick let out another choked laugh, but it was certainly more sane than the last one.

"Jeez, Jay, when did you get so wise?"

At that, he let out his own little chuckle. The haze still lingered like an ill-omen in the back of his mind. For the moment, however, he'd be okay. They'd be okay.

"Hey, last I checked, I was the bookworm here. I've always been wise. I've just been hiding it. No need for you to get jealous, now."

The trembling of Dick's shoulders seemed to stem more heavily from his amusement than his sadness this time. Jason would count that as a win in his book. There was still slight hitching in their breaths and the awkwardness might set in soon. The pain was still there. Their shaking hadn't fully subsided just yet. But for now, things were...better. Jason would take that.

"Yeah, I almost forgot you were a nerd. Thanks for reminding me, Little Wing."

Jason gave a snort and a playful nudge but didn't move from his position.

"Anytime, Big Bird."

-sad party horn noises- tada. Anyway, Jason will definitely be paying Tarantula a visit. I have so much salt about that ENTIRE thing and how it was handled. Lord help Mirage if ever finds out about her raping Dick too and how he got victim-blamed/slut-shamed for it. And how Bruce didn’t tell him about Jay. (that will also be more thoroughly gone through) My poor baby, someone needs to fucking help him. DC, you suck.

This was going to be more in depth and feely but this was reaaally dragging on and I figured I could continue on to the next part. After all, they can't solve all their problems in one night, that's just not gonna happen. -bangs fists on table- MORE BONDING MORE BONDING (also more Papa Dick and Tío Jay)

Yeah, Dick was acting weird here, but that's because he's really reeling from recent events. The baby being dropped on him unexpectedly didn't help that. He’s really teetering on the edge here. Jason also could have gotten out of those holds if he really tried but 1) he was borderline panicking and 2) he was also getting increasingly worried about Dick's mental state. No matter how much of a tough guy Jay acts, he's a fucking sap.

And Jason referencing to how they first met really did happen in-comic. Along with the Robin suit, that's when Dick gave Jason his number and is like 'Bro, call me whenever u want.' (im paraphrasing but w/e) There's such untapped potential between the two for bonding. I just want to shake DC.

#my writing #fic #Mori Shej verse #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Rape #Dad!Dick #uguhhh #this is so sucky sorry #the next part should be better #i hope lmao

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