#despite his world travelling Bruce ALWAYS had wayne manor to go back to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sturchling · 3 years

Note

Hey can you do a daminette fanfic where marinette transfers to gotham because of lila's lies and becomes the class favourite, then lila's class goes to gotham for a trip and, unlike the french class, this one can see through her lies and work together with damien to protect marinette and expose lila. Adrijon pairing and lila salt and alya salt please

Marinette felt nervous as she approached the gates of Gotham Academy. She had never thought she would leave Dupont, let alone Paris. Now, here she stands in a new country, at a new school, on the other side of the world from her home. She had never wanted to leave Paris, she truly did love the city. But Lila hadn’t left her a lot of options.

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

Lila had stayed true to her word for once. She had systematically removed Marinette from her friends. Marinette had been so sure that her friends would see through any lies Lila told about her. But it didn’t take much from Lila to convince the class that Marinette was nothing more than a bully. It had been heartbreaking. Marinette had tried everything she could to convince the class that Lila was a liar and tried to prove her innocence but nothing worked. The only people that believed her were Adrien and Chloe.

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

Adrien obviously knew that Lila was lying and stayed by Marinette’s side, despite the class’ pressure to leave the bluenette. Chloe believing her had surprised Marinette. But Chloe had known Lila was a liar since that incident with the Ladybug summoning dance. Of course, even without that, Chloe would have known. She may not like Marinette, but even she knew that it was utterly ridiculous to think of the girl as a bully. Marinette was the furthest thing from a bully.

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

But as time went by, even their support wasn’t enough. The class got worse. They were harassing Marinette any chance that they had, and Adrien and Chloe couldn’t be with Marinette constantly, though they tried. It was eventually decided by Marinette’s family that a change of scenery would be good. They looked at several study abroad programs, eventually deciding on Gotham Academy. The school was excellent and even had a very well reputed arts program. It was perfect for Marinette. Luckily, Gina had a friend in Gotham named Alfred that she had met on her travels who, after speaking with his employer, agreed to host Marinette during her time in Gotham. Soon, Marinette was packed and on her way to Gotham.

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

That is how Marinette found herself living at Wayne Manor, in Gotham, about to start a new life at a new school. To say she was nervous would be an understatement. She would have been even more nervous, if not for Damian standing at her side. When she moved into the manor with Alfred, she was introduced to his employer, Bruce Wayne and his sons, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. They all immediately like Marinette, as a lot of people had a tendency to do. They quickly started acting like her older brothers, and made Marinette feel at home in Gotham.

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

So, on her first day at Gotham Academy, she was being escorted in by all of the Wayne boys. She was in the same class as Damian, which made her feel slightly calmer. Damian had agreed to stay by her side, knowing how nervous she was to meet her new class. After everything that happened in Mrs. Bustier’s class, Marinette was worried that the same thing might happen here. That she might become the class outcast and be alone again.

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

Needless to say, that obviously didn’t happen. When Marinette was escorted into the classroom by Damian Wayne, it definitely got the attention of her new class. Damian wouldn’t hang out with just anyone. They became curious about this new girl, and were instantly charmed by Marinette. The whole class became very fond of the designer and they were all fast friends. And they acted like friends. They didn’t always ask Marinette for impossible favors, and they helped Marinette as much as she helped them. Adrien and Chloe would often visit her as well, and when they couldn’t visit they made sure to video call with her everyday. Marinette was the happiest she had been in a long while, starting to forget the problems she had in Paris.

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

But trouble had a way of finding Marinette. It was during one of their video calls, that Marinette found out that Mrs. Bustier’s class was participating in a program that had them visit classrooms around the world and learn how schools taught in different countries. And of course, the American school they would be visiting is Gotham Academy. And of course, it was Marinette’s class that they would be joining for the week. Just like that, all of Marinette’s worries came crashing back. What if Lila targeted her again? What if Bustier’s class started harassing her again? Or worse. What if Lila turned her new class against her?

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

Damian had grown quite close with Marinette over the last several months. They had even begun dating, much to Gotham’s collective surprise. He had learned almost everything there was to know about Marinette and loved her quirky personality. So, when Marinette grew quiet and nervous like she had been when she first arrived in Gotham, Damian quickly noticed the change in her behavior. Marinette changed almost immediately after her latest video call with her friends. He tried talking to her, to try and fix whatever was wrong. But she would just say “I’m fine.” and walk away, trying to handle everything herself. She didn’t want to bother Damian with her drama. But Damian wasn’t going to give up, he was going to help his angel with whatever was bothering her.

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

He also had contact information for Adrien and Chloe so he reached out to the two, trying to figure out what had changed during that video call. That is when he found out about the visiting Parisian class. He instantly knew what Marinette was worried about. She must be worried about the liar making people hate her again. As much as he wished that she wouldn’t worry about it and trust that her friends here would have her back, he couldn’t expect that after what happened in Paris. Of course she would still be worried about it. But Damian was going to make sure that not only did the liar not mess anything up here, he was also going to keep that horrible class as far from his angel as he could.

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

He only had about a week to get things in place, but that was enough for Damian. He gathered the class together one morning, when Marinette was out of the classroom. He told them everything he knew about the Parisian class and what they had done to Marinette. Needless to say, Marinette’s new class despised the Parisians before they even arrived. They couldn’t believe everything they had done to Marinette, but they were determined to protect their friend for the whole week. And to try and destroy the liar that had hurt her. They had no idea what kind of lies to expect from this Lila girl, but they knew she must be a gifted liar to make anyone think that Marinette is a bully.

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

Bustier’s class had arrived and Lila wasted no time trying to impress the Gotham class. She went on and on about her usual stories, while also adding in some new Gotham centric ones. Like how she had helped Batman several times, and how she is very close with the Waynes, practically dating Damian. But then immediately contradicted that by claiming that she was dating Adrien Agreste, completely ignoring when Adrien denied it in front of everyone. Mrs. Bustier’s class ate it all up, as usual. But the Gotham class just stood in shock. This girl was a terrible liar. How did this other class believe a word she said?

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

But Marinette’s worries were partially realized fairly quickly. Once Mrs. Bustier’s class saw her sitting in the classroom, they started in on her. Lila tried to cry about how Marinette had bullied her and the rest of Mrs. Bustier’s class started yelling at Marinette. The young designer started to shrink into herself, until she noticed that none of her new classmates seemed to buy it. They were all glaring at Mrs. Bustier’s class and circling around Marinette to shield her from her old class.

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

Mrs. Bustier’s class finally noticed that the Gotham class was shielding Marinette and glaring at them. Alya became infuriated that they were standing in the way of them defending Lila. “Why are you protecting her?! She is nothing more than a bully! She bullied Lila horribly when she was in Paris, you have no idea what she did!” Lila pulled out the fake tears and cried some sob story about all the horrible things Marinette had done to her, expecting that when she peaked out from her hands after, this new class would now turn against Marinette and be glaring at her. But when she did look, this class didn’t look impressed. They were still glaring at her, some even rolling their eyes.

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

Lila, after seeing this, quickly turned back to her class, realizing that this Gotham class wouldn’t be easily swayed. “They don’t believe me! I’m just trying to warn them!” The Parisian class consoled their crying friend, while Alya stepped forward to defend her friend. “How could you keep protecting that monster?! She bullied my best friend and is a horrible person!” The Gotham class collectively rolled their eyes, before Damian stepped forward, having heard enough. “We are still protecting her because unlike you, we don’t turn on our friends on the word of a liar.” Lila wailed louder, trying to earn some sympathy, which just enraged Alya more. “How dare you! Lila isn’t a liar! Where is your proof that she is?!” Damian pulled out his iciest glare, making most of Mrs. Bustier’s class back away. “Where is your proof that she is telling the truth? Regardless, I know she is a liar. Marinette is the sweetest girl I have ever met, a literal angel. There is no way she would bully anyone. Besides that, I know that the liar’s stories about the Wayne family are completely made up.” Lila whips around, forgetting that she is supposed to be upset, angered that this boy had called out her best lies in front of this new class. “And how do you know that huh?! Not like you would know the Waynes. I will get my Damian down here and he will make you regret calling me a liar.”

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

The Gotham class couldn’t hold it in anymore. They all started howling with laughter at the liar who didn’t realize what she just did. Even Marinette had started to smile. Lila shrieked, “What’s so funny?! Why are you all laughing?!” Damian stared coldly at Lila. “They are laughing cause you just said you are dating Damian Wayne and didn’t even recognize him standing in front of you. I am Damian Wayne, and I have never met you before.” Lila stood shocked, trying to think of anyway out of this. “W-well, I said we were practically dating. Besides, I am dating Adrien.” Adrien had had enough and pushed to the front to stand in front of Lila. “No you are not! I don’t like you. I have never liked you. Besides, I am dating someone else.” As if on que, which if you ask him he will deny that this was planned, Jon Kent burst through the door making a beeline for Adrien. “Sunshine! Finally came to see me again! Jon hugged Adrien tightly, while Mrs. Bustier’s class just stared in shock. They had really thought that Adrien and Lila were dating, but keeping it quiet so his dad didn’t find out. Or at least, that is what Lila had said. Slowly they began to realize that maybe just because Lila said so, doesn’t mean that it is true.

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

The rest of the week was spent quietly. Lila kept trying to win over this new class, while also trying to win back favor with Mrs. Bustier’s class but that was a lost cause. Alya kept trying to defend her friend, refusing to acknowledge that she was a liar. The rest of Mrs. Bustier’s class did finally see the light though and apologized to Marinette. Marinette did forgive them, but they still weren’t going to be friends again. The damage to the relationships was too much. The week at Gotham had ended for Mrs. Bustier’s class and they left. Things returned to normal for Marinette. She was surrounded by Damian and her new friends, who truly cared for her. She was the happiest she had been in ages, and was finally able to rid herself of the fear that Lila would ruin everything again. She felt safe and happy, and nothing was going to change that.

682 notes · View notes

imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 2/?

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Y/N - your name, A/N - any name (your best friend’s name)

Warnings: Swearing, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

Welcome Back! I have, once again, written more of Jason Todd because he’s a fucking teddy bear and I love him.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Y/N and Jason both returned from that date feeling all giddy about each other, but trying their dammed-est to not let their hopes get too high about the other. However, that was extremely, extremely hard for Jason to do with family like Dick in his life. It’s like coming home to a hopeless romantic of a shipper as a nosey bitch. Lovingly, of course. No one’s like Dick.

“So, Y/N?” Dick asked Jason immediately as he entered the Manor.

“Yeah, what about her?”

“So, many questions: Was that a date? If no, will there be a date? Is there going to be a second date? Do you like her? Do you think we’ll like her? Does she know you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?” Dick rambled at his little brother.

“Okay hold on god damn, yes it was a date, yes there will be a second, yeah I think she’s cool and I like her, slow your roll Circus Boy, I don’t know when she’ll meet you lot, I don’t think she knows who I am, she’s from Metropolis, so I don’t think she knows the Waynes well.” Jason answered Dick with confidence.

“So you like her!” Steph mocked as she entered the hallway, probably heard her brothers talking about Y/N, so she wanted in on it. Somehow she had evaded Jason’s gaze though, so she startled him immensely.

“Jeez, how many of you will scare me today? And yeah, dumbass, I like her. But I’m doing this magical thing called ‘Not getting my god damn hopes up about her since it’s only the first date’ you hopeless romantic fucks.” Jason barked at them.

“Yeah, but you love us.” Dick said.

“That might be true, but your meddling is only going to cause chaos, Dick and Steph.”

“What about my meddling, Jay?” Bruce asked. Once again, he had heard the talking about Jason’s new crush and decided he’d parent the boy on his girl. Jason jumped out of his skin, because, he had once again, not seen Bruce enter the hallway despite his best efforts to not get startled again.

“You, are going to give me a heart attack.”

“Looks like this girl let your guard down.”

“Can we just go on patrol and stop badgering me?” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Nope!” Barbara exclaimed. Clearly, there’s a pattern with Waynes escaping Jason’s attempts to not get startled today, “We’re still going to badger you, Jay,” Barbara finished.

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

When Y/N made her way back to A/N, she couldn’t help but turn her radio as loud as she could and try to take the longer journey back home. Pieces of quiet and tranquility always surprised and drew her in. Like a good book on a Sunday morning before the rest of the bustling city of Gotham or Metropolis awoke itself. If New York never sleeps, she thought, then what the hell do Gotham and Metropolis call themselves. She laughed.

There were a few good things about Gotham, like the people you’d meet on the street at 4am were some of the weirdest but kindest people you’d ever know. It’s like the city radiated off of the energy of the people in it, and in spite of the villains constantly hitting the city with their worst, somehow everyone never let it get to them. It was admirable. Metropolis was the same in that avenue, but it didn’t feel like the cold Gotham streets.

Y/N thought Jason was one of the kinder people she had met in her travels and classes. And she never thought that she’d meet someone she liked this much in her criminal psychology class of all places, but hey, the universe had different pen strokes for her.

She went and parked her car in the driveway of the rental house she and A/N shared. Only the two of them shared it, but if either of them lost their jobs, they’d be looking for another roommate immediately. Pulling out her bag which was full of notes written by Jason, the original notes written by her, and binders upon binders of criminal cases she was looking into at the time, she would get out of her car and begin walking to her door.

Of course, like most people, she would kick off her heels the minute she walked through the doors of the house, to which, A/N paused her music and went to go question Y/N about Jason.

“So, you know how this works, babes, lay it on me, how’s hottie? Is he kind?” A/N pondered.

“He’s so kind, he paid the printing fees for my notes and rewrote all of them, I guess it’s a system for us now. I write the notes in class while he tries to take it all in, we meet up, and he rewrites them all and pays the printing fee.”

“He paid the fee?! At that college?” A/N said, completely shocked.

“Is that shocking?”

“Well, the printing fees are so fucking expensive, hun. Mans must have daddy’s money to do that.”

“Really? Well regardless money doesn’t matter, he’s kind and I can make a name for myself if I graduate at the top of my class.” She said, fully believing this. Smart woman. She knew she could do it.

“I believe in you, do you have homework tonight? I can make dinner for you so you can study.” A/N offered.

“Nah, I’m just going to go file my notes and shower, I’ll come join you and help after.”

“Well, don’t drown.” A/N joked.

“Do you know how much effort that would take?” She laughed as she walked towards her room, once she got there she pulled out her papers and began the slow filing process of them into her desk.

About 2 minutes into this, she got a text:

Hey stranger.

If someone had a heart monitor hooked up to her, they could have bet their last penny on her heart skipping a beat.

Hey Jason. She sent back.

I had a fun time today with you, do you want to do the same thing tomorrow, I could use your fast writing skills to get by in classes. And I just like talking to you. What do you say?

She thought. Maybe something legit is here, hopefully I’m not just used for notes. She worried about that, since she was just a tad insecure about him. He was pretty. She knew she was a looker, sure. But he was something more.

I would love to go on another budget date with you.

Budget? Actually yeah, I guess it is budget lol. Maybe next time I’ll actually take you out to lunch like I said I would.

I, honestly, completely forgot you said you’d take me to lunch, I was just having fun as we were talking.

Me too. You’re a hoot.

A hoot? That’s a book nerd statement if I’ve ever heard one. She joked. She didn’t actually know if he was a book nerd at this time, but they had been joking the entire time when she was filing her notes. She was no where near done filing her notes, Jason was a distraction from that, it wasn’t that important, she would end up finishing it later. She just liked some semblance of organization so she didn’t have to put it off.

I’ll have you know I’ve probably read more books than you.

Well book nerds are cute.

Eventually the messages from Jason and Y/N started slowing, Y/N assumed he was tired or working so she took her chance to file her notes and start running her shower.

Sorry Y/N, this has been fun but I’m going to get really sparse with replies, I got work to do.

That’s fine! Where do you work, by the way?

And she got into the shower. Halfway through her shower her phone pinged, she assumed Jason was texting back, so when she finished her shower, before she even got her towel on, she decided to answer him:

I work at Wayne Enterprises with my dad. It’s quite fun. He had said.

Oh! I’ve heard the owner of Wayne Enterprises is a lovely man, have you met him? She asked him back.

And within an instant, he answered.

He’s my dad, so yeah.

You’re the Jason Todd? Heir to the Wayne Manor and Wayne Enterprises? She started thinking back on what A/N had said. Yep, she thought, Daddy’s money indeed. She started to slip into her pajamas, which were literally a mess and not put together, because this is the real world, not every girl has matching sets, when he answered:

I hope that doesn’t change much, Y/N.

Explains the camera I saw but didn’t mention, and that’s about it.

You saw the cameras? Damn it. I tried to shield you, they may have pictured us together, sorry.

Worth it for a lovely date. I’ve seen worse, my mum works with Clark Kent, who I guess you probably know since he’s Bruce’s best friend, and the paparazzi loves to take Clark’s picture.

Oh yeah, Uncle Clark. Yeah, the pap love him. You get used to it. I guess you somewhat know my family lol.

Nah, that’s about all I know. Wasn’t really interested in drama about you lot because it’s just not my business. Probably not a shared ideal with the general public.

She finished getting dressed and went to go cook with A/N, and share the news.

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

“Girl! You were right about daddy’s money oh my god,” Y/N said when she entered the kitchen.

“Go on,” A/N urged.

“You know Jason Todd? Guess what. That’s hottie from Crim Psych 101.”

“Are you serious? That’s insane. You’re probably plastered across the internet right now for that date,” A/N laughed, “are you scared to date a famous man?” She asked.

“No, he’s really sweet and if this gets serious, I can just block out the flashes.”

The two of them laughed and started cooking. A/N was Latina, so, of course, she was in charge to cook most nights. But Y/N made killer desserts and pizza. Tonight was fajitas, so Y/N kind of sat bat and let A/N do her thing. Trying to know more so one day A/N wouldn’t have to do all the work, Y/N went onto the internet and the first thing she saw?

Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire, Jason Todd, out on a DATE with a Mystery Girl?

Like clockwork, Jason answered:

I guess I have a lot to teach you, and I hope you haven’t been on the internet recently.

I have. Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire. She texted back.

Fuck those damn tabloids. He said, she couldn’t help but agree, the paparazzi seem like they’re very invested in stories that aren’t theirs to tell.

Can’t agree with you more. We should put on a show for them tomorrow, actually give them something to write about.

I like your thinking.

You’ve opened up a lot today.

Is it your turn now?

What do you want to know? You asked him before turning to A/N.

“Tabloids talk too much,” you sneered at her.

“Cat should get their tongue and choke on it,” she finished, “did you at least look cute in their pics?” she asked.

“Somehow. Wasn’t even posing,” Y/N finished.

“Well, food’s done, are you still hungry?”

“Always.”

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

Jason turned to his brother, Dick, Nightwing, and said,

“She knows now.”

“That you’re rich?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess I have to be more wary of her now,” he sighed, “I hope she’s not in it for the Wayne fortune.”

“Doubt she is if she agreed the tabloids can suck it, Red Hood.”

“I pray you’re right.”

He then drew his guns and fired at the ground underneath their laest venture into crime-fighting. This was gonna be one hell of a ride Y/N embarked on, not even knowing what she was getting into.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #batfam #batfamily #batbros #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #dcu #dc #dceu

78 notes · View notes

outoftheframework · 4 years

Text

characterization cheat sheet: the batfamily boys

Hey everyone! I had the idea to compile a comprehensive list of different traits and attributes for each member of the batfamily based off of both canon and fanon interpretations. I think this could be useful for new members to the fandom, or those looking to write and/or draw for these characters. Remember that these will have a slight bias considering I, a fanon creator, am creating the lists. But I’ll try to make them as accurate as possible.

Appearances vary from artist to artist, so I’ll try to stray away from general details and add more little things you can consider in your art.

Bruce Wayne:

Age: 35-45

Appearance: Extremely physically fit, but signs of aging and prolonged exertion can slip through. Has a collection of scattered scars varying from fresh to fully healed. Strong, dark features. Conventionally attractive, but can easily switch to be foreboding/intimidating. Well kept in public appearances, but can look like death incarnate when in private.

Personality: Dual personas: “Bruce” (at home, but not as batman) and “Brucie” (public appearances like galas, news interviews). Bruce is stoic, well-read and educated, well-mannered, and occasionally can be witty and laid-back. Smirks rather than smiles. Brucie is loud, spontaneous, charming, and sometimes oblivious. He is the womanizer and scandal-maker. Often the actions of Brucie are motivated by Batman’s interests.

Speech: Bruce was mainly raised by as English butler, so his speech patterns are proper and smooth. Rarely uses speech fillers such as “uh” and “um,” except when interrupted while concentrating. Despite living in Gotham his entire life, he has not picked up the accent. His voice is newscaster American, almost impossible to pinpoint to a certain region. His speech as Brucie changes to relate more to the audience he is addressing. Speeches to Gotham high society will sound different than those aimed to the general public.

Additional Attributes: Bruce Wayne in all of his personalities is fiercely protective, and can easily slip into a deeper voice to intimidate. Bruce can be extremely empathetic and slightly impulsive when it comes to children who have lost their parents. As learned through his training to become Batman, Bruce is disciplined and can work for hours straight.

Dick Grayson:

Age: 23-29

Appearance: Dick Grayson mirrors a young Bruce Wayne despite their not being blood related. This could be a subconscious action by Dick to absorb traits of his father figure. His lean acrobatic body starts to set him apart from Bruce’s image. Dick manages to be well-built but still limber and flexible. His feet and hands are rough and calloused. His hair can get long but usually stays at a length in between Bruce’s and Tim’s. His eyes are bright blue without even a hint of green or brown.

Personality: In one comic I believe it was Superman who said that Dick Grayson is a universal constant, meaning that on every alternate earth or timeline, you can always rely on him to be good and pure. I think this really sums up who Dick should be. He is kind to a fault, and can sometimes be naive and not think things through. He loves to love, be that in his family, in his romantic relationships, in his friendships, and even in strangers. He is a chronic hero who only wants to see the world as a better place. But it’s important to note that Dick can get angry when pushed, and holds grudges.

Speech: Dick is an extremely interesting study in speech patterns. As a child he traveled with the circus, until he lived with clear-spoken Bruce Wayne and a proper English butler. So influences to his speech and accent come both internationally and locally to Gotham and Bludhaven. As a child living at Wayne Manor, Dick picks up a slight Gotham tinge to his accent with some British flourish in his vowel sounds. He regularly speaks in slang. As Nightwing he is able to suppress his unique speech to sound more evenly American.

Additional Attributes: Dick acts differently around each of his family members as to be what they need in a big brother. For example, he is more fatherly to Damian while to Tim he is more an equal. Dick can fidget and has less of an attention span than Bruce. He can use jokes as a coping mechanism.

Jason Todd:

Age: 22-26

Appearance: Hair is often long on top and shorter on the sides, sometimes with a white streak as a side effect from the Lazarus Pit. Tallest and heaviest of all the kids, very physically intimidating. Has a lot of scars and burns, and in some fan works he has a “Y” shaped scar the length of his chest from his autopsy. Never skips leg day. Green/blue eyes.

Personality: Jason goes through a lot of character development, but for this list I’m going off a timeline of post-Under the Red Hood, where Jason is on okay, yet still a little shaky, terms with the rest of the family. Jason has a hard time separating vigilante life and civilian life; his death as Robin ended his life as Jason Todd, blurring the lines between the two. Jason is legally dead, so he is basically building an identity back up. He holds some attributes from childhood: brave, impulsive, loud-mouthed, and street-smart. But his experiences post-Robin have made him a hardened loner. He lives modestly and with some semblance of order. He’s hard to foster a relationship with, but can be a passionate friend/family member when he opens up.

Speech: Jason probably has the least influence from Bruce and Alfred’s speech patterns, seeing as though he spent a lot more time with his biological family/on the streets than he did as a preteen in the manor. He is the definition of Gotham vernacular, with a rough edge. So much so that as a child, the high society gala attenders sometimes had a hard time understanding him. Often talks in curt, short sentences.

Additional Attributes: He has trouble expressing his emotions, more specifically anger and/or grief. Can both love or hate furiously. Inherently good, but sometimes does “bad” things. Protective over children, especially those living on the street. Very much a believer in “the ends justify the means.”

Tim Drake:

Age: 17-20

Appearance: Pale skin, dark hair. Sharp cheek bones and jawline, mostly from how skinny he is. His body isn’t technically “built” to be extremely athletic, but he’s forced a nice lean build from stringently working out. Easily loses and gains weight as a direct result of his work, causing fluctuations in his build. Five foot something, will eventually be out-grown by Damian. Long hair that can still be styled to look professional.

Personality: Tim Drake is very passionate in pretty much everything he sets his mind to. He feels as though he imposed himself onto Batman to become Robin, so he works twice as hard to prove his worth. He can be self conscious and deprecating. Tim as Robin or Red Robin is very different than civilian Tim; his hero personas can be bolder and more confident. Despite dropping out of high school, he values education.

Speech: Tim grew up rich, and his speech reflects an intelligence gained from private tutors. Despite this, he knows how to interact with those his age in using less formal language and slang. Often quotes books and movies. Can be awkward and stumble over his words when teased by his friends/family. He can manipulate people easily in business settings by talking fast and confidently while explaining complex topics.

Additional Attributes: Tim’s demeanor is directly tied to his varying levels of confidence and anxiety. Tim is has above-average intelligence and is diligent in detective work, but can still act like a teenager. He can be stubborn to extremes and will patiently play the long con. He does not cope well with loss.

Duke Thomas:

Age: 17-19

Appearance: Short dark hair, shaved on the sides and/or the back. Often wears the colors yellow and black. Around the same height as Tim, but a little taller. Stronger and heavier build more alike to Jason than Dick, but he’s still light on his feet. Expressive face that can give away his feelings easily. Still a bit of a baby face, but he’s still well-proportioned and conventionally handsome.

Personality: In my works, I’ve often described Duke as having a “sun-shiny” personality. He is one to not even think twice about putting others before himself. Duke uses his own personal experiences to guide him as a hero rather than suppress his emotions. Duke went from being an only child to having a large family, so he can sometimes feel overwhelmed. He is on friendly terms with every member of the batfamily, as well as many other heroes. Duke is self-sacrificial and is still learning how to effectively work as a detective.

Speech: Duke grew up in a middle class Gotham family, so his speech is influenced by his parents as well as his city environment. Duke has a mild Gotham accent and speaks a lot in modern slang. He hasn’t had much influence from Bruce and Alfred, considering he hasn’t lived with them for long. It’s possible that as he grows he will pick up some influences from Bruce and Tim’s way of speaking, but will most likely hold onto the accent of his childhood.

Additional Attributes: Duke is a metahuman vigilante in a city where Batman typically bans them, which causes a bit of an insecurity and a perfectionist drive. These are exasperated by the long line of history preceding him, as well as the fact that he involved himself in the Robin movement rather than being handpicked by Batman. He and Tim can relate in that way. Duke is an ardent student of Batman and is dedicated to the cause.

Damian Wayne:

Age: 10-14

Appearance: Looks similar to Bruce when he was the same age, yet stronger and with tanner skin. His hair is expertly cut and styled, but still age-appropriate. He is the shortest of the batkids, but still has a lot of time and potential to grow. He pretty much won the genetics lottery with Bruce and Talia as his biological parents, and is made for athletics. He has some scars that stand out with their pale coloring against his tan skin.

Personality: Damian is slowly becoming less of a brat, to put it bluntly. He admires his family and tries to mimic them, but will never confess it. Damian is quick to judge and will voice his opinion no matter how scathing it may be, both as civilian and hero. Damian is slowly realizing he may not want the Batman mantle as quickly as he planned. Jon is a perfect foil to Damian, and often makes him a better person when they’re together.

Speech: His speech is proper and formal. Prefers formal titles: ex. “father” over “dad” and last names over first. Damian is at least bilingual (Arabic and English), and can switch between languages easily. Most of his speech patterns developed from his tutors in the League, and more recently, Alfred. Influences like Jon and Dick have introduced him to a more modern, laid-back way of speaking, which he sometimes utilizes when relaxed.

Additional Attributes: Damian has problems with authority, especially those that he doesn’t respect like his teachers at school. He can be arrogant and childish ever though he often acts like he knows everything. Damian is still a child and has much to learn from batman and family as well as unlearn from his time at the League. Dami was forged to be a ruthless warrior, but now has to find a balance between the hero Robin and the child Damian Wayne.

Hope this helps someone! Feel free to add on if you think I missed anything. Just please remember to be civil and respect different interpretations of these characters. Let me know if you want another one of these posts outlining the girls or other characters.

4K notes · View notes

demibats · 3 years

Text

Unsteady - BENEATH THE BLOOD MOON

summary: Bludhaven and Gotham take a fearful turn when a new threat is posed in both Batman and Nightwing’s territories, neither of them equipped for it. That is, until Dick crosses paths with an unlikely new ally...

word count: 4k warnings: brief mention of violence.

A cool breeze ruffled Dick’s hair as he looked over the city of Bludhaven, way up on the tops of the buildings. He’d been hunched over, listening intently on his police scanner for far too long. It was too quiet of a night. Not even the common street criminal was causing a disturbance. The silence was far more vexing than any goon he’d come into contact with over the past week.

Dick tried not to let the little noises pester his paranoia further, though it was hard. The sound of an animal rustling in a garbage can or a car’s horn was enough to make him jump. Dick stood, taking in a deep breath before he flipped from one roof ledge to a lower one. Landing with a hard thud, he turned over his back, eyeing the spot he’d just left and the gap below. Below, consumed in the darkness, he swore he heard voices.

Dick turned and peaked down, seeing nothing in the bleak emptiness between crumbling buildings. He continued his typical patrol around the tops of the buildings, looking over the city. It was the first night in months that not a thing gave him a good chase. While he felt like he deserved a break, the sudden change in activity felt odd. It was as if an entire world of crime just stood at a stand still, completely unmoving as Dick traveled the rooftops of Bludhaven.

Faintly, Dick heard a grunt and blows landing. It was quiet, but Dick’s trained ears focused on it and could make out a cocky ‘that all you got?’ He did a front somersault off the ledge and slid down the opposite wall, skillfully as to not disturb the others in the alleyway. He turned on his heels and crouched down behind a rusty dumpster, peeking his head out to survey the scene.

A woman was facing with her back toward him, striking whatever was in front of her with her palm, upward into her attacker’s nose. Jesus Chirst, Dick thought, usually now is the time I have to come in. She spun around and delivered what should’ve been a near-fatal kick into the attacker’s ribs, but he only stumbled before throwing his hand into the woman’s head. She took barely a second to steady herself before grabbing her attacker’s next hit by the wrist to twist it upward. At an impressive speed, she unsheathed what looked like a wooden stake and plunged it into the chest of her attacker. Dick caught a glimpse of the man’s face, seeing it contorted and molded with yellow eyes before it burst into dust.

He was in awe. Of all the metahumans and villains he’s faced throughout his entire life, he’d never come across something quite like that. Maybe he’d read about them but seeing one perish in person was an entirely new ballgame. He stood up from his spot, stepping out from behind it, but didn’t trek toward the woman. She was relatively new and, to be frank, scary. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that maybe now isn’t the time to ask questions?” Dick spoke clearly, despite being unsure of this new vigilante, if that’s what she was.

She flinched at his loud voice and whipped around, fists clenched. When her eyes laid on him, her mouth dropped, but her shock didn’t last long and was soon replaced with some form of annoyance, “Nightwing, is it? A little birdie told me to watch out for you. Well, another little birdie.” She said, poking fun at his alter ego.

“In the way that we’d be brawling like your little friend or just as a precaution?” Dick quipped.

“Neither. Just a piece of information I needed to have before I moved here.” Her shoulders relaxed as she walked toward him, “We done here?” Her shoulder bumped into his and which only spurred Dick’s talking on more.

Before he could get a word in, she said, “You were watching for a while before I dusted that creep. Is it a part of the job to leave capable dames to their own devices now? I definitely could’ve used the help.” Her tone was sarcastic, Dick couldn’t tell if she meant it, or was just annoyed simply by his presence.

Dick blinked a few times before answering, “I have no idea what that was. Or what or who you are. I was a little taken aback, needed time to plan my next move.” he responded, following her out of the alley.

She stopped in her tracks and turned around, narrowing her eyes on him. She examined his face for a moment and Dick grew anxious that she was trying to figure out his identity for a split second. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, he furrowed his eyebrows. “You really have no idea what I just killed?”

The fact she’d said ‘what’ instead of ‘who’ returned the uneasy feeling, but this one was different, “No, I don’t. Mind telling me? This seems like crucial information I should’ve known when I moved here.” He mocked, but the woman could only smirk at it.

“It was a vampire. Like, a genuine dracula. Blood-sucking demon of the night, fangs and all. There have been sightings and nests popping in Atlantic City, Gotham and Bludhaven more and more recently.” She explained, continuing her walk down the empty street. Dick didn’t realize he was supposed to follow her.

He jogged up to her, slowing down and matching speeds with her pace. Dick never walked through the neighborhoods at night, too busy flipping from the rooftops to realize how things looked down here at night. Gazing at the woman through his peripherals, he sucked in a breath, “And you’re.. What? Just doing a public service by driving stakes through their hearts?” he asked, question after question popping into his head. If she was a civilian, where’d she learn how to fight and defend herself like that? Why was she absorbing blows that should’ve knocked her on her ass? How did she know all this? Especially that these supposed nests were in Bludhaven?

“I’m the Slayer. It’s my destiny, or whatever, to hunt them down and send ‘em back to hell.” She clarified, sounding less than enthused.

Dick chuckled, “Whoa there, try to contain your excitement.”

Rolling her eyes, she picked up speed, wanting to shake the nuisance that was Nightwing, “Look, I’ll go my way, you’ll go yours. There’s no need to be all buddy-buddy. I’ll kick vampire ass, you’ll beat down criminals, simple as that.”

Dick stopped on their walk, grabbing her wrist just for her to rip it from his clutches, “Would you listen for one goddamn second?” he raised his voice, surprising her, “If these creatures are as dangerous as I’m thinking, and to the extent you said, you’ll need help. This doesn’t sound like much of a cakewalk. I’m not an idiot who wears a mask and punches cat-buglers, okay? There are more important skills than brute strength, ones I have, that could help you.”

He could tell she was considering it. It took only a few seconds for her to answer, “This isn’t something that’s a team effort. I’m the slayer, and whether I like it or not, I have to do this on my own.”

Dick let her go off on her way this time. He couldn’t wrap her head around the events of that night, especially not the fact that Bludhaven and Gotham, his home and former home, were riddled with creatures like the one she’d just fought. Grotesque, monstrous creatures that were preying on the innocent the way that they were. He feared for the citizens of Bludhaven, knowing that he might not be able to protect them from the vampires he knew nothing about. Sighing heavily, he took out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t saved but could recite from heart at any given time. It only rang once before a familiar voice spoke. “Master Dick, it’s been too long.” Alfred chimed.

“I miss you too, Alfred. Tell him I’m driving up. There’s something brewing in both our cities and we might need all hands on deck for this,” he paused, “I’m gonna send you some information of my current location, can you please use the cameras in the area for facial recognition for the woman I was with tonight?”

“I’ll hop to it, Master Dick. I’ll let him know, as well and make preparations for your sleeping arrangements.” Alfred spoke in his typical calm and calculating, yet stern tone.

“I’ll get a motel, just tell Bru-”

Alfred cut him off, “I’m afraid not, Master Dick. You will be staying in the manor and there’ll be no arguments made against it. The facial recognition you requested will be done within the hour.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick smiled, “Yeah, alright. See you soon, Alfred. Thank you.” And with that, Dick ended the call, inhaling sharply. His night just became a lot more eventful than he could’ve ever guessed.

“Fuck.”

-----

Dick pulled into the long stretch of driveway through the gates, his tongue running over his teeth. It’d been some time since he’d been home and it still felt cold and distant. He didn’t plan on staying too long, but would stay as long as needed to research and learn about any lore pertaining to vampires and ‘The Slayer’. Bruce had more money than God and enough books to educate a small community, some of those might even be older than God.

The sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor, while being the apple of any remotely smart person’s eye, made Dick feel more alone than he ever had. However, he did what he learned as a child, and pushed those feelings down, trying to focus on the task at hand. After stepping out of his car, now parked in the garage, he met up with Alfred. That old rascal always brought a smile to Dick’s face, even after the time he’d seen him. “Nice to see you, Master Dick. Master Wayne is waiting for you. The facial recognition was successful.”

Dick couldn’t help but grin at the butler before clapping him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Alfred. I owe you one!” He shouted as he booked it toward the indoor entrance to the cave.

The manor was always remarkably clean, thanks to Alfred ( and sometimes Bruce ) . With Alfred’s older age, you would think that he was ready to give up the butler life, but there was no way he would, not while Bruce was running rampant in the streets wearing a cape and cowl. Dick waited patiently in the elevator ride down, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He shoved them into his jean-pockets as the door opened, revealing the dimly lit cave.

Bruce was standing before the bat computer, pictures and records up on the large screen. He was hunched over the tabletop in front of him, rather than sitting in the chair. He wore a black tshirt and dark jeans, rather than the full form of the batsuit or head-to-toe formal wear. Bruce heard Dick’s footsteps and straightened his back, turning toward the younger man. “You look different,” Bruce said in monotone.

Dick chuckled, “Yeah, living on your own does that, I guess.” He knew that Bruce wasn’t one for physical affection but that didn’t stop Dick from giving him a brief hug, which to his surprise, Bruce reciprocated for the short while it happened.

“So, did you pin-point our mystery girl?” Dick said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyeing Bruce as he pulled up what looked like an ID photo.

“Y/N L/N. Goes to a community college in Bludhaven, lives alone. She previously lived in Chicago, graduated from high school, got accepted into a community college there, held a steady job, but moved here after her mother was killed eight months ago. Coroner’s report says animal attack but given the information you sent, I’m guessing that whatever she fought off last night is one of the things responsible for the murder of her mother. Who is she to you, Dick?” Bruce slowly turned to face Dick, raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

Dick shrugged, “I’m interested in her line of work.” He said, but Bruce knew exactly what Dick wasn’t saying. He let it slide, obviously not wanting to open that can of worms.

“I’ve pulled up every known instance of vampires over the past twenty years and… a lot of it is complete nonsense, Dick. Very slim picking of what compares to Y/N’s vampires. Something about Twilight-” Bruce was about to continue but Dick cut him off.

“Steer clear of anything marked under that, you won’t get anywhere.” Dick turned away from the computer and walked toward the dark oak bookshelf away from where Bruce stood.

“And where are you going?” Bruce asked.

Dick turned over his shoulder as he walked, “There has gotta be something in one of your dusty old books that’s more helpful than you skimming teenage fanlore.” He chuckled, eyes running over the spines of all the books. He didn’t have too much to go on, but anything would help them at that moment.

Bruce and Dick spent hours researching vampire lore, hoping something would point them in the direction of some sort of slayer prophecy. Of course, it would’ve been much easier if Y/N complied with Dick in the first place, but she was dead set on avoiding Nightwing like the plague. While Bruce appreciated literature, he knew how to find needed information on the web better than anything else. It bothered him that he wasn’t coming up with much, but he’d never tell Dick that.

“Any luck?” Bruce called out.

“Not on the slayer, but this volume and the one like it talks all about what they are and the lore behind them,” he paused for a moment, then realized Bruce was waiting for him to continue, “They’re essentially demons, soulless creatures from Hell. They can only inhabit earth if they possess a human corpse. Apparently they’re considered hybrids, less pure than other demon species.”

Dick looked up from the pages of the worn book, seeing Bruce look absolutely lost in thought. He cleared his throat, hoping he’d have some sort of feedback. “What are they doing in Bludhaven?” Bruce asked.

“Add that to the pile of answers we don’t have.” Dick huffed.

The two men were up into the early hours of the morning, almost 5AM before Dick had a breakthrough in one of the thousands of books in the cave. “Here!” he called out, getting Bruce’s attention. The older man quickly made his way to the table that Dick had been hunched over, reading and researching.

“Every generation, one girl is chosen to be the Slayer. She wields the power to fight demons, vampires and other forces of darkness. Apparently the first slayer actually had the gifts of a vampire given to her by said vampire.” Dick read.

Bruce was silent.

“Are you going to say anything? We’ve been at this for hours and I finally find something and you’re a statue.” Dick was annoyed and tired and beyond ready to burn every book in the manor and then go right to sleep.

“That’s just it, Dick. We’ve been at this the entire night and all we’ve learned is that some otherworldly force picks a woman to fight the undead. We’re still at square one in my book. Get some sleep, we’ll regroup and pick it up again after some rest.” Bruce said, turning to shut down the computer.

Dick grumbled, gathering up all the books he hadn’t read through, along with the one who explained who the Slayer was, and went to his old bedroom. He would probably only get a few hours of sleep before he would be up and at it again. He needed to find more out before going back to Bludhaven to find her again. He wanted to be prepared, knowledgeable. Dick knew that there was no way Y/N would let him help if she had to teach him all there was to know about vampires. He still didn’t know if she could be swayed even if he had already learned.

As soon as Dick hit the mattress, books surrounding him, he was out like a light. He hadn’t pushed himself to the extreme of staying up over 24 hours in a long time and he felt like he would go insane from lack of sleep. That first night back at Wayne Manor, Dick had nightmares. He was in his Nightwing suit, except for his mask, standing in an alleyway that seemed like it went on infinitely on both ends. He tried to run one direction but felt like he was getting nowhere. On all sides of him he heard someone crying out for help and a hiss that felt too familiar. The cries continued as did the hisses for what seemed like mere minutes, but when Dick opened his eyes, he’d realized it was nearly three o’clock.

He felt like he’d been hit by a semi-truck, or maybe a large pick-up at the least. There was a cup of coffee next to his bed on his nightstand, still steaming. After all these years, ALfred had a knack for knowing when his boys would be awake. Dick grabbed it sluggishly and took a small sip as he sat up. The room was still and quiet, while he enjoyed the peace, sometimes it was deafening. After he’d downed most of the coffee, he pulled his shirt off and headed to the shower.

-----

“Let’s just say that she does allow you to work with her, will you keep me informed?” Bruce posed the question as Dick looked over yet again, another book. He peaked over the pages of the book he was reading, lips on the rim of his coffee mug.

Bruce looked like he’d gotten enough sleep for the both of them, had his healthy breakfast and already did his eight mile run. It was appalling how easy it was for Bruce to hide his fatigue, while Dick, Jason and Tim had always looked tired, constantly.

“If what she said is true, that Gotham as well as Bludhaven, has these nests, then yes. You’ll need to stay in the loop and be hypervigilant during patrol. These things are no joke, Bruce.” Dick answered, “Mind if I take the books with me back home? I’ll scan over any information I deem important.”

Bruce nodded, but before Dick could exit the kitchen to pack up his belongings, the older man called out, “Be careful.” Bruce might not express his fondness or affection for his son, but he knows that Dick knows exactly what his simple words mean.

Dick turned back and nodded. “You too.”

The drive back to Bludhaven was tense. Dick knew he’d have to betray what little trust he’d managed to create the first night he met Y/N by essentially breaking into her apartment. He fought with himself mentally about his next move. He still had research and planning to do if was going to seriously enter this world. He was too stubborn to just let Y/N tell him no. He didn’t care if it was her destiny to battle these things alone. He was going to make sure she wasn’t on her own and that he upheld his oath to protect Bludhaven.

Within the wall of his Bludhaven apartment, he stood in the kitchen, unmoved as he pondered his options. There weren’t many. It was either he’d help Y/N and go to her apartment, maybe get his ass kicked if she was startled or not help her and go about his regular vigilante activities. It shouldn’t even be a question. Dick tried to put his impulsivity aside, tried to think before jumping immediately into this unprepared. Y/N told him to stay out of it, he should respect that. But what if it becomes too much for her to handle on her own? Wouldn’t she rather have an ally? Someone to depend on? There had to be a reason why she was so harsh about it.

A million more questions spurred Dick’s thoughts on, but in the end, he decided he’d rather have her be pissed off at him interfering with the slayer business than her, laying in an alleyway, dead because of some demon. He’d set out to find her before it got dark, he didn’t want to risk getting a wooden stake to the torso because she couldn’t see the black and blue suit.

He donned the Nightwing garb as he seemingly flew over the rooftops, cartwheeling, backhandspringing, flipping, somersaulting all over the ledges and landings to get to her apartment which was about ten blocks from his own. From the roof of a building opposite to her apartment complex, he could see into her living room through a window. The curtains were parted and the soft lighting illuminated Y/N on her couch, a bowl of cereal in her hands and a textbook in her lap. The domestic scene almost completely masked her slayer personality. She simply was a college student, trying her hardest to be normal, plagued with the responsibility of protecting innocent life.

Dick slid down onto the fire escape below him before leaping to one on Y/N’s building, careful not to cause any reason for a passerby to look up and see him. Perched on her fire escape, he carefully knocked on the glass of the window. She nearly jumped ten feet in the air, almost spilling her cereal. Looking over to her window, her expression showed pure confusion. Dick was surprised, he expected blind rage.

Getting off the couch, Y/N placed her cereal and textbook on her coffee table before storming over to the window, sliding it open. “What the hell? Are you stalking me now?” She whisper-shouted.

Dick shook his head, “No, no. It seems like that but I promise that’s not the case.”

Y/N sighed deeply, clearly unamused. She remained silent, crossing her arms as she stepped out of the way of the window frame, “Come on in.”

Dick slowly climbed into her apartment, hunched over for a brief moment before standing tall, scanning the room. It was simple and neat. She had multiple potted succulents and a few framed photos on the wall. She had a couch and a bean bag in her living room as well as a small tv stand and coffee table, which looked to be covered in books and paperwork. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected it to be like.

Before he got lost in thought about her apartment decor, he turned to her, “I read about the vampires and slayer lore. We didn’t have much to go by, but I found out the basics.” Dick could tell she was on the verge of interrupting, “Let me finish. I know that it’s your so called destiny to do this on your own, but I say fuck that. I want to help and technically speaking, if I’m not working with you, I’d just be hunting them down on my own. We can work together. Two minds are greater than one. You don’t have to babysit or coddle me, I get the gist of what you’re up against. Let me lighten the load. If you don’t like working together after some time, I’ll hit the road. Just give me a chance to show you I can be worth your while.”

Inhaling sharply, still with her arms crossed she spoke finally, “You’re not gonna leave me alone are you?”

Dick grinned, “Couldn’t get rid of me if ya tried.”

Feeling defeat sink in, Y/N rolled her eyes and walked back over to her couch and coffee table, resuming her spot where she was studying. “The second you get on my nerves, I’m kicking your ass.” She said, not a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.” he did the hand salute thing before taking a seat next to her on the couch.

Once more, she rolled her eyes and felt the weight of her decision start to sink in.

#nightwing x reader #nightwing #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fic #nightwing fic #dc #batman #batboys #batfamily #red hood #red robin #tim drake #jason todd #robin #nightwing x y/n #nightwing reader insert #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson reader insert

48 notes · View notes

consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Bring Me To The Precipice of Victory

1| 2 | 3(you are here) | 4 | next

Summary: When Batman departs— just for a short time, just to patch things up in Gotham— things go horribly, horribly wrong in Paris.

He doesn’t know if he can come back from realizing that Marinette and Ladybug are one and the same (and that his daughter has died more times than he can count.) (all biodad bruce are posted in chronological order but can be read as stand alones)

______________________________________________

The moment of peace, of solidarity, that Batman shares with Ladybug up on that rooftop at night means the world.

After a minute or two, Ladybug pulls back, tear tracks down the sides of her face, eye and nose red. She takes another minute of silence,hugging herself in the muggy Parisian air. When she next opens her eyes, Batman can almost imagine that Ladybug never cried at all.

But he knows that's not true. Ladybug seemed so fragile in his arms. He can imagine— he can imagine Dick in her place, broken over Jason’s death. Tim losing his parents. All of his children facing insurmountable odds with no team by their side. Alone.

Ladybug is not alone, but functionally, she may as well be. He’s watched the fights. He’s analyzed them. Ladybug is always, always the leader. She strategizes with Ryuko and Viperion, but Ladybug is who everybody looks to for an answer when things don’t work out the way they want them to. She’s the one with the plan, the backup plan, the out. She’s the one who swoops in to save the day.

She’s also the one who has racked up the most hours on the battlefield. Even Chat Noir, her partner, only has three quarters of the hours that she’s put in. For most of the other members of her team, she puts in double, sometimes even triple of what they do. Over the course of six years, there have been a little under two thousand battles, lasting from under an hour to over five hours. Ladybug has shown up for every single one, without fail. That’s not even counting the patrols that they do; although Ladybug is given a lot of flack for not patrolling as often as Chat Noir, there’s a fundamental difference in how they patrol. Ladybug is methodical, Chat Noir is volatile.

He’s not a bad superhero when it comes down to battle, but the two of them are fundamentally different. Ladybug sees her time as a superhero as a duty. Chat Noir seems to view it as a time to unwind— and while that’s worrying, considering the information he’s gathered on the Miraculous Team so far points to the majority of them beings teens or young adults— it’s not what is needed to deal with the Paris situation.

Perhaps one of the easiest ways to see these differences is during patrol. Chat Noir uses patrol time almost seems to be an outlet for stress. He entices whoever he’s on patrol with to race to random places in Paris with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he comes across crime, he stops it, but Ladybug— Ladybug searches for crime.

Ladybug has a team and she trusts them with her life, but she cannot trust them to be responsible. That is perhaps the worst possible thing that can happen. And through the videos that he’s watched, it’s clear that the hours she puts in do affect her, and fairly heavily.

Whoever she is, she’s young. Too young to be in battle untrained, because they are untrained— despite being in the field for years, all of their basic form lacks and tells anybody with an experienced eye that they’ve never had formal training in martial arts.

When Batman and Ladybug leave the roof, they leave on a better note than where they started. Batman is still upset that Tom and Sabine are dead, but he cannot attribute it solely to Ladybug’s negligence. He admires the young heroine for rising to the occasion when there was nobody else to help. He has no doubt that with the resources and training that he can provide him and his operatives already on the case, Hawkmoth will be revealed in no time at all.

He’s right, but in the worst possible way.

It’s largely a mistake on hiss part-- he gets a notification that the Joker broke out of Arkham again, and Hawkmoth and Pavona are missing for the time being. Though Ladybug has made a mistake in not taking Pavona out immediately, she and her team have won every akuma and sentimonster battle. The logical course of action is to go where the most danger is.

Bruce does not have any predictive powers. There is no way for him to know what’s going to happen. But when he and his team finally catch the Joker and put him away again-- a feat that takes just a little under twenty four hours, extreme concentration, and a good number of injuries-- Batman finally gets a chance to breathe. The adrenaline from facing off against the Joker’s latest scheme fades. Batman reclines in a chair as Alfred binds his wounds and passes him pain relieving pills while he gets stitches in his abdomen.

He checks the news in Paris.

He almost drops the device that he’s using to view the news.

Marinette’s existence has been hidden from his family. With Dick, he was more concerned about his existence as Robin, rather than informing him that he had a sister. As soon as he started contemplating bringing up Marinette, Batman and Robin had a bad break. Then Jason came along, troubled and angry. Bruce didn’t want to introduce Marinette into the mix then because he was volatile.

Jason died due to Batman’s incompetence. Bruce grieved the loss of his ward; Batman was never allowed to mourn the loss of his second Robin.

Tim felt unworthy as the only child Bruce didn’t pick up off the streets, and Damian-- well, Damian was Damian. First he had a superiority complex the size of the Grand Canyon, and once he got accustomed to how they handled things in the Wayne Manor-- though Tim would argue that Damian is still not used to this kind of lifestyle-- he overcompensated every single mission and needed a remedial course on How to Interact With Other Humans 101. Add the overarching concern of Marinette being exposed to his vigilante life style and being unprepared for it, and he was never able to tell his children that he had another biological kid. A daughter.

When the news that Sabine and Tom died reached his ears, he told everybody he had business in Paris without elaborating what. With Wayne Enterprises opening a Paris branch of their R&D specialising in European artifacts, it was easy to draw connections that weren’t there.

“Bruce, you need to relax. Business in Paris can be dealt with later, you need to take the time to heal,” Tim says.

A clip in his shoulder from a bullet, knife wounds on his torso and legs, a sprained wrist. Whatever chemical experiment the Joker got his hands out still pumping through his veins. “I need to go-- it’s important--”

The pain relievers Alfred gave him earlier were also a sedative.

Tim catches him before he passes out.

He wakes up three hours late through sheer force of will.

“Paris!” Bruce jolts upright, still in costume, lying prone on a medical cot in the Batcave.

The first thing that catches his eyes is the red and black flying across the screens.

Ladybug.

His kids are all watching the screens with abject horror.

“Is this,” Tim wets his lips. “The business trip that you were on?”

Bruce drags himself out of bed, adrenaline washing out any residual pain. He doesn’t have the capacity to respond, he needs to get to the zeta tube, he needs to get to Paris, Ladybug is bleeding, the city is in shambles, and Marinette--

One of the news sites up on the screen declares the arrondissements that are obliterated. The one that houses Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie is amongst their number. An approximate death toll fills the static.

-- Marinette is likely among those lost. He has lost another child due to his inaction. Due to his inability to push through, to look forwards and predict the future and the consequences of his actions. Marinette is another Jason, but if Ladybug doesn’t get it together, she’ll be gone permanently. And Ladybug is little more than a child. She can’t handle it, not by herself, not with her team. She needs an experienced hero, and Batman will be there for her, be the one leading the charge against Hawkmoth as the civilians hide in their homes and pray for her Miracle Cure to reverse the damage.

Dick places a hand on his shoulder. Bruce tries to shrug it off, but his fingers dig into the place where the bullet clipped his flesh. The pain is just a reminder that if he does not get to Paris now, there will be thousands-- no, millions-- more who feel this pain. How did Marinette die? Was it an akuma? Did the rubble of one of the destroyed buildings fall on her? Did Ladybug even try to protect her?

“I need to go,” Bruce growls.

“You can’t. While you were out, the majority of the Justice League prohibited all travel via zeta tubes. Nobody can get into Paris right now.”

Bruce knocks Dick’s hand off his shoulder and turns to his eldest. At the very least, Dick and the rest of his children look solemn. Damian’s gaze is fixed to one of the screens that shows Ladybug. “A city is in danger, millions of lives are at risk, Marinette--”

His daughter is dead. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Standing by idly is the last thing he’ll let himself do.“Who put out the order? I’ll get them to reverse it.”

Dick moves so he’s between the zeta tube and Bruce. “B, you don’t understand. If you go to Paris right now, you’ll get akumatized.”

“I can handle my emotions.”

Jason points at the upper right section of screens that’s replaying past footage. “I wouldn’t bet Paris’ survival on it. Not when more level headed superheroes got on the scene first and failed. They really don’t need any heavy hitters getting akumatized. Not when Superman put three members of their team out of commission.”

Superman arrived on the scene first; it took a matter of seconds for him to get akumatized. He was responsible for razing down three arrondissements in no time flat. Ladybug had to call for a Lucky Charm in order to get her hands on some kryptonite, which forced her to recoup after her time ran out.

Black Canary arrived next. Then Red Tornado.

Both were akumatized in mere minutes.

“After Red Tornado got akumatized, Wonder Woman led the charge to put the rest of the zeta tubes on lockdown,” Duke says, grim. “All we can do now is hope that these Parisian superheroes can pull off a win.”

Bruce stumbles over to get a better view. He remembers Ladybug, small and slight in his arms. A child, crying over the loss of her pseudo parents.

A warrior, bloody and bruised and broken.

She is one of the last ones standing.

King Monkey and an ox themed hero both died at Superman’s hands. The former got in the way of his laser beams, the latter a victim of super strength and getting thrown through two buildings and having their necks snap at an unsightly angle. Chat Noir was also sent hurtling through the air, and the only reason he was still alive was because Ladybug alighted from the sky and grabbed him before he got sent through a building in his unconscious state. Black Canary came shortly after, apparently informed of the Superman situation and carrying kryptonite.

She didn’t last for long either. Almost immediately after helping Ladybug and Ryuko bind Superman in such a way that he couldn’t escape,

Pegasus got hit by Black Canary’s sound waves and Chat Noir’s residual injuries from his fight with Superman forced him into a state of unconsciousness. Queen Bee and Carapace were able to pull off a win against Black Canary, but not without serious injuries. Ryuko faced off against Red Tornado alone, which normally would have been a thing of awe, but in the grander scheme of things, was a huge issue, as without her, the Miraculous Team functionally lost all of their heavy hitters. Rena Rouge and several Miraculous users that clearly had never been in battle before were the ones left to hold their own against the scores of akumatized Parisians.

The only ones left to hunt down Hawkmoth and Pavona were Ladybug and Viperion, and the former was already on her third use of Lucky Charm.

Ladybug pulls out her communicator, dodging an attack.

“Can we get sound on this?” Jason grips the closest table.

Dick shakes his head. “Zatara says there’s already enough interference just trying to get these images. And for some reason, Dr. Fate refuses to get involved with any of this.”

Bruce’s phone rings. He doesn’t pick it up on the first ring, too focused on the ongoing battles. He does take his phone out of his pocket to silence it the next time, but when he presses the sound off, an image comes through.

“Bruce.” Ladybug’s image comes through crystal clear, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ladybug, blood dripping from her mouth, costume torn open, hair burnt, wild eyed.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the image goes blurry as she moves to avoid several attacks pointed towards her.

“Before I go, I--”

“Watch out, LB!” Bruce lifts his eyes to the screen that displays Ladybug and Viperion in battle. The spotted heroine gets pushed out of the way of a laser, but the snake themed hero takes the hit.

The ambient noise coming from his phone is strong; he can hear blades clashing in the background as Chat Noir, already on his last legs attempts to hold off Darkblade. Screaming from civilians, a strangled sob from Ladybug. “Viperion.”

Ladybug comes back into view. Blue eyes filled with rage.

“If this doesn’t end in our favor, you need to make sure that Hawkmoth and Pavona do not acquire both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening.” She blinks, retreats into herself, and Bruce wonders if he’s seeing the girl behind the mask.

“And If I don’t get to see you again--” If I’m dead, the words go unspoken, “I really did want the chance -- I-- you’re a good man. A good father. Your daughter-- she loves you. She really, really does. Stay safe.”

The transmission cuts off. On the screen in front of him, Ladybug closes her communicator, closes Viperion’s open eyes, and strides to the epicenter of the akumas. Blue fire flashes in her irises, and for a moment, she’s staring directly at the screen. And Bruce knows those eyes. He knows them.

The next second, all of the computers simultaneously die.

Bruce is numb. No-- no.

He is nothing.

All his children-- no, not all his children, Marinette is missing, Marinette is Ladybug, and she’s out on a field that he can’t see grappling with magic forces strong enough to incapacitate Justice League members like their powers and abilities are inconsequential-- stare at him.

“That was… Ladybug?” Tim’s brow furrows. It’s clear that he’s thinking up a hundred different reasons why Ladybug and Batman are connected, why he’s the last person she calls before going into a battle that could very well cost her her life.

“My daughter.” The words are ash on his lips. An existence he’s never acknowledged. Not out loud. Saying it brings a sense of finality to the room. An impending death. “My daughter.”

Nobody asks how long he’s known or when he met her or why he’s never brought it up before. Everything is fuzzy. Floating.

For a while, there’s silence.

“Zatara says there’s too much interference to get the picture back up,” Dick opens his messages, frowning.

Damian still stares at the screen Ladybug looked at directly, frozen.

Bruce picks himself up and moves. He may not be able to use the zeta tubes, but he has a private jet and a license, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something.

It takes two hours too long to get to Paris. He shaved five hours off the flight length due to superior technology, and another hour and a half off due to sheer force of will.

The landing is not a pretty thing, but Paris is already in shambles, and there’s no way that the ATC will approve his landing, so Bruce picks out the flattest looking spot of rubble before his jet meets the ground.

According to Tim and Duke, who stayed behind in case this turned out to be an attack spanning multiple cities, the battle ended mere minutes before they landed. Dick manages to get Zatara to broadcast the image in the cockpit of the jet, and on the screen lay three prone bodies. Gabriel Agreste, whose body type fits that of Hawkmoth, Lila, and a third that Bruce does not recognize.

A bone sticks out of Marinette’s arm, the connected hand crushed and hanging limp. The opposing ankle is twisted almost fully backwards. She is covered in blood and ash and filth. There is no victory in her eyes. Only weariness.

In her good hand, she holds her yoyo.

She raises her eyes skywards-- the roof of the Agreste mansion is blown clean off-- blinks slowly, and throws the yoyo into the air.

“Miraculous Cure,” her lips read.

The corpses in Paris rise from the dead. Rubble reforms into buildings. The ashy haze that covered the city disappears.

Ladybug looks like she wants to disappear, too.

She collapses, instead.

Nobody is there to catch her when she drops to the floor.

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness

mb for not doing tag list right away i forgot i had these cued up already

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #maribat #what are dates #what's going in order #time? i don't know her #i'm always late #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #bio!dad bruce #angst

417 notes · View notes

listentothelittlebird · 3 years

Text

This was a first draft to Protect Our Own, from my Code Bat series on Ao3! It’s a reimagining of Jason Todd breaking into Titans tower, in a world where Robin is a myth and Tim Drake goes by Alvin, unnamed vigilante, with the Titans. Enjoy!

Shit. Jason was screwed.

Even as he held the tablet in his hands, watching the very concerning stalker-level footage that the League had gathered, he knew. He knew without a doubt that he was watching the new Robin. The target chosen for him was, of all the options the world could give him, Robin.

“This boy is a member of a group of young superheroes known as Young Justice. They recently went under the mentorship of older superheroes, to become the newest team of Teen Titans,” Talia Al Ghul explained passively, and Jason did not like the gleam in her eyes as she watched the young boy fight, “Lady Shiva met the boy, once, and agreed to train him. Even she is unaware of who his previous mentors were.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Then Talia turned to Jason. “You have done an admirable job of controlling your Pit Madness,” she smiled sharply, and Jason was reminded of all the deaths he had caused, all the people who had taught him and were murdered by him, using their own tactics, “And you have learnt fast. As promised, you will complete one contracted kill, and you will be released to exact your own revenge.”

Jason gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder, because even in the early days of crazed anger, not once had he given proper clues towards the fact that his killer - the one he wanted to exact his revenge upon - was the Joker himself. “White-faced asshole” could just be a white man, and “fucking green-haired piece of shit” could still just apply to anyone with green hair.

The Robin secret was still safe, surprisingly. Code Bat was still safe.

The assassin base was in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a little town nearby, with enough reception to surf the internet on a phone he had nicked from a particularly rich-looking traveller.

Talia did not control what he knew, the League did not control what he knew, so even while he learnt of the Joker still being alive, he also learnt about the helicopter crash, how Batman had purposefully fled empty-handed. Truthfully, he still wanted the Joker dead - but he recognised that there was a chance that no matter how many times they tried, the bastard would come back. He would rather not try than to get stuck in a never-ending loop, something that B- that Bruce must have realised.

There were other stories he found. Jason could not deny destroying several rooms in the base when he read the kid’s story. All the money in the world, and his very-much-alive parents could care less than Jason’s own barely-there mother had.

He had not known if the boy had taken up the mantle after him, but he was unsurprised at the confirmation in front of him. Robin was as much a part of the Wayne family as champagne, fancy suits and camera smiles.

“The boy is young, and already he is excelling in combat, research, and investigation. In a few years, he will be a real threat to the League. This is your final assignment. Kill the boy, and we will let you go.”

Well, fuck.

Jason carefully controlled his reaction, turning to meet Talia’s eye with his blue-green eyes. “You want me to kill a minor,” Jason spoke slowly, allowing his incredulity and a tinge of anger to slip into his voice.

“Either you take the job, or you will continue training, until another opportunity arises,” Talia replied evenly. Which meant anything from a week later to never.

Jason gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it all out at once. “When are we leaving?” he questioned. Talia’s grin was sharp, like a predator before their strike.

Double shit. This just got way more complicated.

Jason had bargained with Talia for a week of preparation work - a week to scout out the Titans tower, as if he had not memorised the layout of the old one. As if they had not built the new tower in the exact way as the old one had been.

“We will have League members surrounding the building,” Talia announced, a day after they had landed in the city. Jason raised an eyebrow at her.

“We are curious as to who has trained this boy,” Talia explained, “Subdue the boy’s teammates, and make him vulnerable. Don’t block radio transmissions. If the boy has maintained contact with his mentor, they would come running at their call.”

Jason cursed inwardly, keeping his face carefully blank as he nodded his assent.

He had to play this right.

“I don’t trust this,” Bruce rumbled for the fourth time, in full Batman mode despite being in a casual sweater and sweatpants.

Dick hummed along, casting a concerned glance Tim’s way.

On the table was a note, delivered through an unassuming envelope.

It stated a date and specific hour, and, Don’t call the Code.

“The code,” Tim mumbled, “Like, Code Bat? There’s no way they’d know that, though, right?”

The note was written on red paper, flecked with green and yellow. Tim’s tone was wavering, lacking its usual confidence. He was always so sure when it came to cases, but this?

“What’s happening at this time?” Dick wondered. Bruce pulled up his own schedule for the following week, and Tim mentally went through his own plans. Nothing of note, but-

“I’ll be in Titans tower,” Tim stated aloud, and there were gears turning in his brain. Wild gears that were nearly off their hinges, but they were the same gears that had made the Batman-is-Bruce-Wayne connection, and he had learnt to trust them.

“Is someone trying to warn us?” Tim voiced, “I get a lot of speculation from the public, about what my official superhero name is, but also where I came from, who I trained with. What if it’s not just the internet wondering?”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Tim, his eyes hard and determined in that certain manner that meant he was being overprotective.

“No,” Tim blurted, “I’m not staying at the Manor during that specific timeframe.” Bruce shut his mouth and blinked down at his adopted son.

“Whoever this is, they risk being found out if I don’t show up,” Tim gestured to the note, “It might just escalate from there, anyway, if we prolong whatever is supposed to happen.”

“It could be a trap,” Dick pointed out, and now he too had taken up the overprotective undertones of discomfort. Tim squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, “I’ll stay in the tower. Besides, all my teammates will be there. If anything happens, they’re right there.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances, but eventually Bruce sighed and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Code Bat has always been for your safety,” Bruce stated firmly, “I don’t care if our enemies find out about us - if it gets out of hand, if it looks like a trap, call us.”

The morning of the date stated on the note, Tim found another one in his Teen Titans bedroom.

They want you dead. Play along.

What jolted Tim was the symbol at the bottom right corner of the note - it was one of the made-up symbols that Dick had taught him. The symbol on the note meant “burn after reading”.

The handwriting was not Dick’s, nor was it Bruce’s. It was cursive, almost like Alfred’s, but it was also much more scrawled and uneven, like someone still unpractised in writing.

The gears in Tim’s brain must have really come unhinged this time, because the only name it could conjure was Jason. Jason was dead.

Tim was quietly uptight right until the hour came. He almost did not realise his teammates were being picked off, meticulously, skillfully, one by one. Almost.

Tim still had yet to press his emergency beacon. He had not activated Code Bat. He wanted to see where this went, before anything else.

Then the mysterious attacker descended on him, a blur of black and the smallest glimpse of white, and Tim was fighting for his life.

The man moved like an assassin - Tim had met some League of Assassins members, back when he had trained with Lady Shiva. He moved like them, but there was also something else to his movements.

Tim dodged a hit, and that was too short to be aiming for his throat, that would have been a non-lethal hit-

The man was not aiming to kill. He fought like Batman. He fought like one of them.

Tim opened his mouth, made to say something, although he was unsure what. He was swept off his feet before he got the chance.

“Who trained you, kid?” the voice growled, and it was a deep voice that should have unnerved him, but something struck him as familiar. The drawl, the barely-there accent.

Jason, his brain screamed.

Real answers, please, Tim pleaded.

The man pulled him by his tunic collar, and he shifted to pull him towards his face. There was a glint of metal on the man’s uniform - a recording device.

“Who are you?” he growled again, with Tim pulled close.

Tim got a good look at the man’s face, and while he instinctively bantered back, he was internally reeling. Looks like his gears were working, after all.

“Just a kid with a dream,” Tim smirked, a crooked smile already leaking some blood.

Jason - because this man was Jason, somehow, how was Jason alive - interrogated Tim while punching him out. His blows hurt for sure, but Tim swore that he was aiming for the areas that would cause the least injuries. He swore that when he grunted as a rib was broken, Jason had paused minutely, cringing slightly, before he barreled on.

Something was placed on his chest.

“Say goodnight, kid,” Jason sing-songed, and there was the sound of a gun cocking. Tim barely registered that when the gun shot, it had shot at him. There was the hard thump of something near his chest, just above his chest, but it had barely touched his tunic.

Jason tapped a finger-signal, a “stay low and don’t move”, and Tim remained where he was. He waited as footsteps receded, waited for several minutes, with a bag of fake blood leaking from his chest, bruises and other injuries blooming in pain underneath his uniform.

He felt rather than heard the presence appear beside him. The looming figure crouched down and gingerly maneuvered Tim into a firm grasp.

His “assassin” stared down at him. He had switched out his black assassin get-up for casual clothing. He was… tall. Built like Bruce. His eyes were different, too, and he had a white lock of hair curling just above his eyebrows. Yet…

“Jason?” Tim croaked out, and Jason Todd smirked. Tim knew that smirk - Robin wore it a lot, when he watched him. “You better be damn glad no one can hear you, anymore,” Jason gruffed, and started moving with Tim in his grasp, “Let’s go somewhere else, though, for good measure.”

They ended up in Tim’s room - sound-proofed, and therefore the safest location in the tower for this conversation.

“You’re alive,” Tim blurted out, as Jason dressed his wounds. His hands stuttered before resuming their work. “I died,” Jason stated flatly, “And I dug myself out of my own grave. Talia found me, and threw me into a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason raised his eyes to meet Tim’s, and Tim could see the eerie green glow in his eyes.

“Don’t tell Bruce about me,” Jason rushed out, and Tim immediately jumped to object, but Jason was faster, “Don’t. Listen, I-” Jason breathed deeply, “I’ve killed, alright? I’ve broken his big rule and all that jazz. I might still find myself going back to the streets of Gotham, but to the Manor? I’m not ready to face that shit.”

Jason paused for real this time, having finished taking care of Tim’s more visible injuries. He cringed.

“You should get Alfie to check you out, just in case you have internal bleeding or whatever the fuck I gave you,” Jason waved his hand around uselessly, “Lie low for a few days, alright? I need to make myself scarce. They’ll find out I didn’t follow through with the deal, and I’ll need to have disappeared, by then.”

Tim was silent for a few long moments. “Will I see you again?” Tim finally asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “They miss you, you know? We miss you. We all do.”

Jason swallowed, and blinked back the water gathering in his eyes. “How can you miss me?” he chose to ask, “S’not like you knew me very well, before… well, before.”

Tim grinned, bright and eager.

“You once snuck out for patrol on your own,” Tim informed him, “And got stuck on a rooftop that you flipped onto with your grappling hook, because the other buildings around you were all too far away to grapple towards. You had to slide down the water pipes and run across an empty street to make your way back home.”

Jason sputtered, because that had happened, he did remember that, but when the heck did he hear about it?

“How the hell do you know that?” Jason asked, unable to keep his dismay from leaking into his voice.

“I’ll tell you when I next see you,” Tim smiled cheekily. Smartass.

Jason checked the time. “Your Superboy buddy will be waking up soon,” Jason reported, “Don’t come looking for me, alright? I’ll… I’ll return to Gotham soon. I just have to make sure the League’s off my back.”

Jason got up and hesitated. “When I return to Gotham,” he warned, “I’ll come in guns blazing. There’ll be deaths. It won’t be pretty. Just- just stay out of my way.”

It would have been more convincing, if Jason had not spent the last thirty minutes treating Tim’s wounds.

“Who are you?” Tim called abruptly, Jason hovering at the door, “You come in and take us all out, one by one. They’d want a name. Who are you?”

Jason smirked sharply.

“Red Hood,” he droned, “Call me Red Hood.”

He slinked away, and like a true Bat, was out of the tower in seconds.

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #talia al ghul #fanfic #BatFam #straight from the trash doc #I seriously hyperfixated on this series for three months and haven't wrote anything since

88 notes · View notes

bluegarners · 3 years

Text

“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse.

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family.

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.”

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair.

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan.

Money. Old money at that.

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick.

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance.

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor.

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food.

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes.

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand.

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up.

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind.

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely.

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim.

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation.

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more.

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop.

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at.

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him.

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone.

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it.

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry.

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it.

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation.

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known.

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company.

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties.

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects.

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow.

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest.

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods.

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches.

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers.

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking.

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready.

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports.

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice.

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology.

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance.

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again.

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful.

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened.

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has.

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles.

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line.

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be.

106 notes · View notes

anjuschiffer · 4 years

Text

Amira Wayne

And Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 is finally here! Wooo! Here’s the story I have written for this event! I will be making a masterlist once all the chapter are done or when the story comes to an end! Enjoy!

Follow @biodad-bruce-month for more content!

Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Chapter 1: Meeting for the first time

MASTERLIST | AO3

Despite it only being five in the afternoon, Bruce was exhausted, feeling a headache blossom the minute he stepped into the manor.

It hasn’t been a year since he had returned to Gotham and he already wanted to go back to traveling around the world. The only reason he was even in Gotham again was due to finding out that someone was trying to sell WE from right under Bruce. The stupidity.

Just when he thought he could get a break, he found an unexpected guest in his study.

Bruce didn’t know what to expect when he saw Talia in his study, holding what he assumed to be a duffel bag.

The last time he saw her was roughly a year or two ago...after he found out she is part of the League of Assassins.

Why was she here? And with a duffel bag, no less.

Usually, duffel bags caused him to be wary, but this time around, it set off various alarms to go off in his head.

Why was it laid gently on her lap?

Why was it small?

Why did it have netting and straps around it?

Why was it fidgeting?

“What are you doing here Talia?” Bruce finally decided to acknowledge the woman.

“Beloved, it’s nice to see you too.” Talia said softly, setting down the duffel bag gently on his chair, Bruce now realising that she wasn’t in her usual attire but instead in a nice sundress and cardigan.

“What do you want?” Bruce growled, Talia walking up to him, placing a finger on his lips, hushing him. He quickly pulled it away from him, noticing the soft smile on her face.

“You’ll wake the baby.” Talia softly addressed, looking over at the bag she had left on his chair.

“Ba-”

“She’s my daughter...or rather, our daughter.” Talia watched as Bruce looked at her with wide eyes, looking at the bag and then at Talia. “She’s a product of our passionate night in Paris, remember that night? At the suite you reserved for the two of us, about a year ago?”

“How can I forget that?” Bruce asked tenderly, making his way to the duffel bag that started to fidget some more.

He peered inside the bag, which turned out to be a customized baby carrier. He was met with the most stunning green eyes he had ever seen, reaching towards the baby before he stopped himself from caressing her face. “Are you-”

“I assure you she is yours. But if you still have doubts, feel free to run some tests.” Talia spoke, Bruce feeling her rest her head against his arm. “Since she is ours, I want you to have her.”

“Have?” Bruce repeated, tasting the anger underlying his words. A child wasn’t-

“Father wants her dead.” Talia bluntly stated, Bruce feeling her nails dig into his arm. Oh. So that’s why she was here. “A bastard out of wedlock, a product made from broken traditions...and a girl at that.” Bruce watched as she frowned. “He said he would have forgiven our little elopement had Amira been born-”

“Amira?” Bruce said breathlessly, noticing how gently the name rolled off. Finally giving into his curiosity, he reached out to touch the little girl’s face, only for her hand to reach for his own first. Her stubby little fingers wrapped around his fingers, grasping it tightly.

It was only then that Bruce truly understood how small she was, how defenseless she was against the world and how heartless Ra’s was...even to his own blood.

“That’s the name I chose for her.” Talia said softly, walking up to Amira and taking her out gently from the carrier.

The girl remained still until she was placed in her father’s arms.

Amira squirmed against Bruce’s hold until she stopped a few seconds later. Now snuggled closely against Bruce’s embrace, Amira looked at her father before closing her eyes. “She already loves you.”

“Talia.” Bruce looked at Amira and then at his beloved. “I’m not-”

“I- no. We have no other choice, no other option Bruce.” Talia placed her hand over Bruce’s arm, patting down Amira’s tuft of midnight hair. “Either she lives under your watch or,” Talia shut her eyes, her lips curving downwards a bit. “Or I would be forced to put her six feet under.”

Bruce didn’t say another word, knowing that was to be a promise if Bruce says no. Luckily, that wasn’t the case.

“I promise to take care of her.” Bruce said, pulling Talia into an embrace, planting a kiss on her temple. “Amira will be safe from Ra’s Al Ghul as long as she remains here, under my watch.”

“That I hope.” Talia responded, letting herself cry as she caressed Amira’s face one last time. “Take care, my princess. Know that every second that we are apart, I will always be thinking of you.”

With a final kiss placed on the little girl’s forehead, Talia left the manor, never to be seen again.

#maribat #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #anju writes #amira wayne

265 notes · View notes

toflyandfall · 4 years

Note

I just saw a photo of "What persona. Dick Grayson isn't a mask. Not like Bruce Wayne is" from Detective Comics #725 and I find it interesting that Dick and the rest of the bats, with the exception of Bruce, don't wear "masks" per se. They are who they are with or without the domino mask/helmet. The only time I can really think of Dick faking things is when he pretended to be an incompetent BPD cop. How was he able to avoid creating and living, half the time, through a "persona" like "Brucie"?

Oooh, this is a lovely, meaty question. There’s a lot more analysis of Bruce than I planned because let’s be real, it’s kinda weirder for a guy to run around with half a dozen personas than for someone else to run around as himself. I hope you still find it interesting, but if you want to skip straight to the more Dick-centric stuff, head under the readmore.

A simple but significant factor is that Dick thrives on the company of people in a way that Bruce does not. I suspect if you talk honestly to many introverts, you will find they too have an extroverted ‘mask’ they put on to the larger world, though probably not quite so extreme.

Another factor is that the civilian social circles Dick and Bruce travel in are vastly different. Though they each have a reason for being in those circles, that difference itself enables Dick to escape much of the scrutiny that Bruce’s public identity undergoes, because he doesn’t frequently associate with the much more media-hounded elite.

An interesting thing here is that the large difference in social circles between their civilian lives is actually caused by their own personal similarities: they are 100% committed work-a-holics. It’s just that they have differing civilian approaches to their goals.

I want to start with Bruce because as you point out, his use of persona is distinct among the bats and his reasons for using them in part explain why Dick and the other bats do not.

Bruce is a child of privilege, he has always lived a lifestyle of privilege, regardless of the tragedies that have occurred during it, and his default view of the world, through no fault of his own, is natively that of the extreme upper class. This drastically influences his perspective and approach to change, and changing the world is his perpetual goal, the reason he put on the suit in the first place.

Bruce works a top-down society approach toward systemic change, and he works it all the time. This is actually my favorite but woefully under-emphasized part of him: he is not just someone who punches people on the street ‘for justice’, he uses his company, his money, and his social position toward substantial systemic change. This post does a wonderful job covering the ways he does this through his corporations and personal wealth, as does this one. I cannot recommend either enough because I constantly want to push even the most casual Batman fans to understand: Bruce Wayne is not just a violent punchy puncher man. He is a traumatized person genuinely trying to use all his resources including himself to make the world safer.

Detective Comics #725

Bruce has many personas he maintains, and he uses all of them according to what suits his need--Batman for places the law can’t go, Bruce Wayne the CEO pushing for systemic changes, Matches Malone for street information, and Brucie the society high roller for society information and social influencing. He is rarely ever not in a persona and simply ‘Bruce’.

His top-down perspective of enacting change are what dictated the usage and necessity of these personas. He has the means and capacity to basically disappear from society if he so chose--he in fact does so to train during his younger years so successfully they don’t even know how long he was actually gone.

The Batman Files

So he doesn’t need the personas. Not Bruce Wayne, CEO, or Brucie, or any of them really, to protect his identity. That tells us that Brucie is a deliberate choice he made at some point. He could have been a recluse billionaire Batman indefinitely. Even though he fully has the status and means to not maintain a job or a persona or, let’s be frank, a life outside the mask at all, it’s his own work-a-holicness that led to the creation of his public personas. He’s an obsessive strategist, so if Brucie is a choice, that leads us to why?

Bruce does many philanthropic things with his money, but he isn’t the only rich person around, especially not in a city as old and corrupt as Gotham. But he’s one of the very few ones doing good with it.

The comic you mentioned has a very beautiful moment where Bruce touches on that, and in full context you can feel how consumed he is by this goal of creating the Gotham his parents would have wanted. Batman mentions he never sees himself in that place, and the morbid interpretation is that the city kills him before he reaches it, but the hopeful interpretation is that in that shining city, Bruce Wayne and Batman and Brucie and all his masks will no longer be needed.

Detective Comics #725

Back in the old days they’d call it noblesse oblige: the inferred responsibility of privileged people to act with generosity and nobility toward those less privileged. Thomas and Martha Wayne ingrained this feeling of responsibility into Bruce by example, and as all things related to them, he obsesses over it. It urges him to fulfill expectations within segments of society he finds onorous for the betterment of society as a whole in order to carry out their unfinished works.

Enter Brucie.

Brucie serves a two-fold purpose. Since Bruce has chosen to maintain personas among society, it becomes a false face to justify any oddities Batman might bring into the life of Bruce Wayne by setting himself up as a eccentric, popular social scion. But that persona itself also allows him to manipulate the upper crust of society.

I have some insider perspective on the kind of society events Brucie attends. They’re all about the who’s who of making connections, name-dropping and networking, and unspoken class-based elitism. Charity events among the upper class have these things at the forefront and the cause is the background. You don’t get your hands dirty, you don’t go out and make change yourself, you pay money to be socially seen and sometimes it happens to go towards a philanthropic cause. If you want to raise money from the rich and keep people with deep pockets coming in the door, you have to have social currency yourself. This is where, and why, Brucie comes in. I believe Brucie ws crafted to maintain Batman’s cover but still attempt to carry on his parents’ legacy to grease the wheels of the rich in the directions he chooses: one of generosity towards those less privileged.

Superman/Batman #51

The inevitable flaw of Bruce’s approach to his personas and their philanthropy is that in a city rife with corruption, money distributed from the top has many opportunities to disappear well before it reaches the bottom. As in many of ways they are complements to each other, Dick’s approach balances that out, because his approach to helping his fellow man starts out at the street level...literally.

Nightwing #153 (Nightwing: The Great Leap)

Dick, we know, does not come from privilege. His mother was from a middle class family before she joined the circus, and despite being world famous athletes, most circus workers are lower to middle class. The people he grew up with, was comfortable with, were all working folk who expected everyone to pull their weight right alongside each other. He enacts this everyone-together approach in almost all aspects and phases of his life.

Batman #615

Even once he had settled into being Robin and adapted to living at the manor, he didn’t feel belonging to a culture of privilege, materialism, or high society. He preferred shotgun in the limo to chat with the driver to riding fancy in the back. Once he was able to start making his own decisions about where and how he lived, despite having both Bruce’s money and then later inheriting a substantial amount of his own, he chose mostly lower-class communal places.

Batman Black and White #6

Dick also doesn’t see the value of throwing money at a problem when there is an option to fix it with his own hands. We see this frequently, from building his own car instead of buying a finished one or outsourcing the work, to deciding the best way to clean out the BPD was to start at the bottom and work his way up (literally), to quitting college because his classes never got prioritized over crimesolving. Most of his day jobs ended for similar reasons.

Nightwing #153 (Nightwing: The Great Leap)

Despite the showmanship training, he gravitates away from spotlight on the rich and wealthy, who are notoriously the kind of people who do not get their hands dirty or go out and take care of things themselves, and prefers to find or build communities around the kind of people who do.

Finally, Dick is an extrovert. He doesn’t need to act extroverted as Brucie does because he is extroverted. He likes people and likes being around people. Whether by conscious choice or not, he tends to put himself in situations where he is surrounded by people in nearly all aspects of his life. He chooses apartment buildings whose occupants frequently pass each other on the stairs; jobs that involve interacting with many co-workers, patrons, or students; and collects superhero teammates like Boy Scout badges. And all of these behaviors come very naturally to him.

He doesn’t need a mask or a role or a persona for those kind of interactions; his mask is pre-supplied as “neighbor” or “co-worker” or “teacher” by the situations he puts himself in. It helps make him an exemplary leader, because just by acting authentically to himself, he automatically builds up little communities around him any time he arrives somewhere.

Bruce, on the other hand, is an introvert. For him, interacting with people isn’t easy, automatic, or comfortable unless it has a purpose, but as a strategist, he knows the necessity of human interaction as a catalyst to achieving dynamic change. So he adapts personas to suit people’s expectations. Extroverts have more social currency; the life of the party can generate more resources than a brooding wallflower.

So, it boils down to just a few elements: Dick believes in living and interacting at the street level to accomplish the things that he wants to, and he is extroverted enough that the level of social interaction that entails is not a burden to him. He surrounds himself with the types of people he is more familiar or perhaps more comfortable with, which happens to keep him further out from the media’s eye than associating with the upper crust does. The lower profile is more incidental than intentional, but it lessens his need to have a cover story for every single bruise and lets him get away with even less of a ‘persona’.

Bruce, on the other hand, is introverted and follows a more classist view that systemic change needs to be effected from the top down. His personas are more of a self-assumed duty than a necessity, as a way of trying to carry out his parents’ legacy. Any of his children could have chosen to follow his path in business or the high society limelight, but the sense of obligation toward it is something personal to him that most of them don’t share.

#bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #character analysis #dc #comics #meta #o.c.#bruce wayne analysis #bruce + dick #asks #anonymous #cover stories

213 notes · View notes

afni-fics · 3 years

Text

In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins

In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: Jack Drake had lied to Tim about his grandmother's death. However, Jack is also dead himself. Tim attempts to cope with the aftermath of learning the truth of what his father had done. Fortunately, he is not alone.

...

"Jack lied."

Lucius's words were stuck in Bruce's head as Alfred drove him into Gotham City from the Manor. They kept repeating themselves over and over and over again. After about ten minutes of focused brooding, Bruce finally voiced the question he knew he couldn't run away from.

"How did I miss this?"

From the driver's seat, Alfred glanced at Bruce via the rear-view mirror. "You had no way of knowing."

"I should have known."

"How?" Alfred's brow furrowed. "Tim didn't even know? His fa--" The old man choked on the word with a grimace, as if he'd bitten into a piece of bitter melon. He huffed irritably before continuing. "--Jack lied to him for years, and gave none of us any reason to suspect anything coming out of his mouth was false."

Bruce shook his head as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before selecting one. After three rings, the line finally connected.

"You do know it's not even noon, right?" Barbara Gordon grumbled. "What could you possibly want at this ungodly time of the morning?"

"It's about Tim."

There was moment of pause. When Barbara spoke, drowsiness had been replaced with concern in her tone. "What's wrong? Is he alright? Is he having a delayed reaction to the new Fear Toxin?"

Bruce hesitated before answering, making a quick mental note to double check Tim's bloodwork as soon as he could. If Tim was suffering a delayed Fear Toxin reaction on top of everything else, that could further complicate his son's compromised emotional state.

"It's not about the Fear Toxin, though that could be exacerbating the situation in the background," Bruce said finally. "I need you to do some digging into Tim's family history."

"You're asking me to investigate Tim? Why? What's going on?"

"Tim was never an orphan."

"WHAT?!"

"We just discovered today he has a living maternal grandmother," Bruce explained. "But for whatever reason Jack Drake lied to Tim and his mother eight years ago and told them both she was dead. From what I've been told, his grandmother was supposed to have had full custody of him back then. Then she got hospitalized. When she was finally well enough to be released, Jack had managed to sever all ties between her and Tim."

"Jesus Christ," Barbara breathed out softly. "Does Tim kno-- Never mind, of course he knows otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to do the investigating. Is he with you now?"

"I'm going to his place in the city with Alfred to check on him. Tracker says he's stationary at the Nest."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Do a deep dive into the history between Tim's parents and his grandmother. Her name is Susan Klein. We need to learn what exactly triggered the original custody arrangement, as well as how Jack managed to take custody away from Susan and hide the fact that she was alive from both Tim and his mother. I also want to know why the hell the courts and CPS didn't get involved back then to return Tim to his grandmother, especially after Jack died."

"You also want to find the rest of Jack's skeletons," Barbara inferred. "Because if Jack lied about something this big to his own son--"

"--What else did he lie about?--"

"--And how much damage could this do to Tim if it's brought to light?" Bruce could hear Barbara indulge in a weary sigh. "Holy shit... Ok... Ok... Ok... Give me an hour to get a shower, coffee, and food. Then I'll start digging. This is all cold case kinda stuff, so it's not going anywhere. Keep me posted if you pick up any new leads from Tim."

"Thanks Barbara."

"Oh, by the way... Who else knows about this?"

"Alfred, Lucius, and Tam."

"Alright. I'll keep this on the down low from the rest of the fam until you can check on Tim. Take care of him, Bruce."

"I will."

With the call ended, Bruce leaned back and closed his eyes. What was he going to find when they finally got the Nest? He didn't have to wait long. About ten minutes later, Bruce and Alfred found themselves being led through Tim's home by a deeply concerned Tamara Fox.

...

Three months and twenty-eight days.

That's how long it took for Tim to travel around the US and the world, investigate multiple archaeological sites, survive the Council of Spiders, cripple the League of Assassins, save the girl, and return home with proof of his adopted father being alive. So much mileage, blood, and lives lost had gone into the journey to recover Bruce Wayne from the time stream Darkseid had sent him into.

Nineteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

That's all the time it took for Tim to find evidence his grandmother was alive and well and still living in the same house she always had for the past fifty years. He didn't have to leave Gotham. He didn't even have to leave his workstation. All the information was at his fingertips online. All the evidence pointed at the conclusion that his grandmother (and the truth) had always been just a few keystrokes away.

But that couldn't be right. If that was right, that meant his father lied to him and his mother. Jack Drake wouldn't have done that. So it had to be wrong. Tim just couldn't figure out how the evidence was wrong.

"Recognized: Tamara Fox. Alpha-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-One. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

The voice of Tim's AI security matrix echoed through the cavernous space of Tim's brand new "Nest", the hidden vigilante base of operations tucked behind his renovated theater home. The young man barely acknowledged the announcements, though, as he sat motionless at his workstation with his elbows propped up on the desk and his face buried in his hands. Slowly, his hands shifted, sliding down his face over closed eyes to linger over his nose and mouth. Tim drew in a breath through his nose and tried to release it slowly through his mouth. Despite his attempt at control, his breath shuddered audibly as he exhaled. Desperately, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and shifted his hands to press against them. The adjustment exposed his mouth pressed into a grim, trembling line as he struggled to keep any sound from escaping.

Despite his best efforts, a thin trickle of moisture escaped his hands and coursed down his cheek.

Tim heard the hidden door that connected the Nest to his living room slide open, and blindly identified the footsteps of three people walking into his inner sanctum. One of them he was certain was Tam, and he had his suspicions about the other two.

However, in order to confirm them, he would have had to remove his hands and open his eyes...

...and he was not ready to do that just yet.

...

The moment Bruce laid eyes on Tim, he felt his heart ache at the sight before him. There was his son, sitting alone at his workstation, and everything in his body language was silently crying out with shock and dismay.

For a brief few seconds, Bruce froze. His mind was a panicked jumble. What could he do?! What could he say?! How was he going to fix this?!

Then Tim slowly lifted his head from his hands, and he when he looked over at Bruce, the older man's breath got stuck in his throat. His normally confident and unwavering teenager looked so dazed and hurt and utterly lost.

"B?"

A single letter, barely whispered, partly a question, but mostly a plea, was all it took. Bruce's feet were no longer rooted to the floor, and he quickly closed the distance between himself and his son, because his boy had called out to him.

Tim rose to his feet as he saw Bruce approach, and he let himself be wrapped up in his adopted father's arms. Bruce could feel Tim lean into him, could feel the anxious tension in every muscle in his son's back as the boy buried his face into his chest.

"I'm here, Tim," Bruce murmured as soothingly as he could as he stroked Tim's hair. "It's going to be ok."

"I... I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Tim whispered mournfully.

"Wrong?"

"Dad said she died. He wouldn't have lied about that. He couldn't have." Unconsciously, Tim's hand fisted into Bruce's shirt, as if he were hanging on for dear life. "But Lucius says she's alive... Been alive this entire time. And the evidence..."

As more words spilled out from his boy's mouth, Bruce heart broke at the brittle desperation in Tim's voice.

"I have to be missing something. I'm doing something wrong. I'm making a mistake somewhere and I don't know what it is." Tim drew in a shuddering breath. "Or maybe it's the Fear Toxin. An after effect? Maybe it's making me hallucinate? Mis-hear... Misinterpret things?" He turned his head from Bruce's chest and gazed uneasily at the workstation monitors. "Maybe I'm just seeing things? Maybe I'm just losing my mind?"

The fact that Tim's voice took on a hopeful edge at the thought of going crazy sent a stab of deep concern through Bruce. A quick glance at the workstation monitors showed him all the evidence Tim had dug up on his own since leaving Wayne Tower. A lump rose to his throat. When he spoke, he could barely force his own voice above a hoarse whisper.

"You're not hallucinating, Tim. I... I can see the evidence myself."

Tim's eyes widened at the screens, then he shut them tightly before shaking his head. "No... No no no no no..."

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce glanced over to Tamara, who looked close to tears herself, but was managing to just barely hold herself together. She had one arm wrapped around herself and the other held her cell phone. He could see Lucius's name on the screen as the current active call.

"Yes?"

Tam swallowed hard before answering. "My dad's on the line. I told him we found Tim. He... He's with Nana... Tim's grandma... right now."

Bruce felt Tim freeze in his arms. He felt his own heart stutter as well.

"She... would like to speak with Tim, if he's able. She understands though if he's too overwhelmed right now."

Tim turned his gaze to Tam's phone, his red-rimmed blue eyes wide and warring between longing and dread.

Bruce stroked Tim's back. "You... don't have to if you don't want to," he murmured. "We can wait until you feel better... Until we figure things out on this side."

For several seconds, there was nothing but tense silence in the air. Bruce could practically see the gears turning and grinding in Tim's mind. He could see the war play out on his son's face as he struggled to make a decision. Then, finally, Tim uneasily reached out and offered an open hand to Tam.

Tam nodded and raised the phone to her own ear first. "I'm handing my phone to Tim now." Then, she carefully gave Tim the cell, watching as he wrapped his fingers about the edges of the device and raised it to his own ear.

"H-Hello?"

Though he was still holding Tim closely, Bruce wasn't close enough to hear much of other end of the call. He could tell it was a woman's voice, but couldn't make out most of the words. But he could see his son. He watched, helpless, as after a moment Tim's eyes filled immediately with tears and spilled over onto his cheeks. One short anguished sob escaped him before he used his other hand to clamp his mouth shut. Though it stifled the sounds, Bruce could still see and feel the sobs wracking his boy's entire frame.

As Bruce held him tighter, he could hear the tone of the woman's voice shift to something so soothing and maternal that his own heart ached along with his son's. It had the desired effect of calming Tim enough so that the could finally find his voice once more.

"I love you, too, Nana," he whimpered softly. Then, he stretched out his hand and gave the phone back to Tam, who was in tears herself as she took it back.

Once his hands were free and the phone was pressed again to Tam's ear as she spoke with her father, Tim crumpled to the floor as he burst into tears once more, this time without restraint. Bruce followed him down to control his fall and let his son cried brokenheartedly against him.

"He lied," Tim keened between sobs. "He lied... He lied... He lied..."

Tears coursed down Bruce's face as he watched his son come apart at the seams. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Alfred gazing at him with love, sorrow, and tear-filled eyes as well. Though long dead, Jack Drake had broken their beloved boy's heart, and they would be damned if they didn't do their best to put the pieces back together again and make things right for everyone involved.

...

Author's Notes:

Author's Note: This was a challenging chapter to write. I hope I did Tim's breakdown justice. Things will, hopefully, start looking up for him from this point onward for a bit.

As for the length of time I put down as Tim's search for Bruce during the origin Red Robin run, this was just a wild guess on my part. In the comics, there was a map on a page in the first issue showing a map with pins on where he had previously investigated. Based on that, I estimated he had been travelling nonstop for at least several months before being intercepted by Ra's and getting dragged into the League and Council drama along with Tam.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

#rr: in hindsight #tim drake #tam fox #tim/tam #red robin #fanfiction #wip #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfamily #batfam

7 notes · View notes

jasontoddiefor · 5 years

Text

Batfam Fanfic Rec Sunday!

I’ve decided to do something worthwhile with my 1400+ Batfam bookmarks, therefore I welcome you to my first Fanfic Rec Sunday. Every Sunday I guess I’ll recommend fanfictions for a specific theme, AU, trope, etc.

Feel free to request specific themes or AUs and I’ll do my best to search for fitting fanfiction!

(”Oh, I’ve always wanted to read something like a Brooklyn 99 crossover!” ”I’ve got your back, young reader.”)

This week’s theme is Time Travel & Batman Beyond!

And I’ve got 28 amazing fanfics for you below the read more!

Have fun and don’t forget to leave these lovely writers a comment!

Title: A Gift to Cherish Summary: The wonderful thing about being hurdled through time and space is that Jason doesn’t have to deal with the fallout of not listening to Bruce. The awful, terrible, no good very bad part of hurtling through time and space is that he has no idea where he is. It’s all up to wormhole he was thrown into to decide where he gets spit out to. In which Jason is thrown into a future he never came back to, and gets to heal, just a little bit. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226775

Title: A Good Place Summary: Damian Wayne is kidnapped and sent back years through time. Together, he and Father – who's only been Batman for a mere six months –must figure out how to return him to his own time. Over the course of the next week, Damian discovers that Mexican gangsters do not mess around, that social workers find Bruce annoying, that Bruce might be a little messed up, and that crystal chandeliers create the fondest memories. Oh. And Alfred has hair. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515501

Title: A hundred miles through the desert Summary: Finding himself nearly three decades into the past hadn't been part of Jason's plans for the day, but he could manage. Having no idea how he got there, no clear path home and a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne determined to drag Jason into his search for his parents' killer - that might be a little more complicated. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18197330

Title: And They’re Only Getting Better Summary: 90's!Tim Drake wakes up in his Red Robin body. Exhausted from a YJ mission, he chooses to focus on getting through a normal day so as not to disrupt things for his future self. But, y'know, his way. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522401

Title: A Time to Reflect Summary: Bruce finds himself stuck in the past, and while waiting for the league to pick him up, struggles to get along with his past self. Plus being in a practically empty manor is a bigger adjustment than he'd like to admit. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156707

Title: Back to the Past Summary: Bruce is Robin, his dad isn't Batman though, despite how similar the outfits are. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237258

Title: Careful what you wish for Summary: Sometimes, Batman can’t help but miss the time when Dick was the one and only Robin. In a world with magical imps, he should have known better. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009647

Title: Choose - Lose Summary: Tim looked to the empty space where the time traveler had stood, a forgettable man with a forgettable face in a forgettable shabby brown suit, and had made his unforgettable offer. You can save him. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320876

Title: Cocoa in April Summary: There are strict rules when it comes to time-traveling. But when Dick is faced with an adorable young Bruce when he's accidentally sent back to 1988, he can't resist a conversation. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888914

Title: death sucks (and then you live) Summary: Red Hood is starting to put some serious plans in motion when he's attacked by a not-so-welcome blast from the past. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532380

Title: Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep Summary: I am not here I do not sleep. Terry wants to say he's okay with cemeteries. But taking your kinda boss, kinda mentor, kinda surrogate father-figure to his creepy family cemetery does not make him feel good. He didn't realize just how much Bruce mourns. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378990

Title: In my arms Summary: There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could change. Those were the rules of the past. Besides, babies cried all the time, even if this was less a cry and more of an angry wail from a little one pushed past its limits. But still. He should have been on his way. He likely would have been, had this been a different home. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728655

Title: Innocence and experience Summary: What starts as a normal patrol ends up shaking up the world of Young Justice when a boy claiming to be a future Robin drops from the sky while chasing after a man in white. The Team struggles to deal with Damian and the future he represents all the while trying to return him to his rightful time. But for what purpose is this new villain in the past and can Damian and the Team stop him? Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224534

Title: I Used to Be an Adventurer Like You, Then I Took an Arrow to the Knee Summary: Stephanie was just on patrol and now she’s stuck somewhere, sometime, with Bruce. They bleed and bond and mostly try to keep each other alive— you know, just a Tuesday. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437716

Title: life, if well lived Summary: Jason wakes up from a time-travel mishap to find Thomas and Martha Wayne hovering over him. Just another day in the life, right? ...Not quite. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378512

Title: Lost and Found Summary: Bruce is dying. Slowly, painfully. Not going out in a blaze of glory and defiance for a greater purpose. He's caving under the weight of his own age, under the damage he's done to his heart through the years. Terry can't be by his side constantly to do damage control. More than that, he can't watch it happen with no reprieve. But there's no one else. Terry needs help keeping vigil by an ill Bruce's bedside. But the old man had kids once, didn't he? Are the bridges he burned unable to be rebuilt? As he observes, Terry definitely starts to wonder how this family used to be. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214692

Title: meet the robins Summary: sad little orphan bruce travels to the future and meets the family he’ll have one day :) too bad he can’t stay forever :( Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685095

Title: Mint Chocolate Chip Summary: Summer vacations have been going on just long enough for Jason to start getting bored, when he gets an unexpected visitor. From the future. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860545

Title: no one seems to go Summary: “Father,” Bruce mumbles, “I am something of an outlaw.” “Were you always this dramatic, son?” Thomas asks, the bed beneath them shaking as he shifts. “Alfred.” Bruce snorts, shaking his head. “Theatrics are his speciality, remember?” Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663957

Title: Of your own making Summary: Jason died. Then he came back, forty years too late. It takes time to adjust. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211523

Title: One Big Batty Family Summary: In which Billy Batson and the McGinnis siblings join the present day Batfam. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133567

Title: Oops I did it again Summary: "You're insane." Or possibly an insane dream from eating chili dogs before bed. Which one Jason wasn't sure since he had yet to pinch himself. "I'm a member of the longer existing Dead Robins Club that doesn't even give you a lousy shirt. Not shocking Jay." Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936921

Title: Raisin Delight Summary: A year after Jason Todd dies, Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne take on the case when they notice strange occurrences in Gotham city. This has disastrous consequences, but so do most things that Tim gets caught up in, so what's new, really. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644082

Title: Realization Summary: Bruce makes a discovery while conducting a check-up on Terry. Takes place midway through the "Splicers" episode. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377468

Title: Strange Manor Summary: Bruce let his eyes close to wallow for a moment in worry and fear for Jason. One second, two, three. He opened his eyes. Time to act. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474308

Title: The Incandescent Rose Summary: Terry McGinnis (the new Batman) impulsively asks marriage proposal advice from his mentor and grumpy father figure Bruce Wayne. When the older man describes a proposal in which he had been yelled at and abandoned, Terry can't help investigate the matter by seeing some of Bruce's most knowledgeable friends and family members. This search prompts someone else into action. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414228

Title: The Time Travel Problem Summary: Barry Allen and Clark Kent, follow Bruce around during a time travel mission through Gotham City's recent past. If only Bruce would stay focused. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143081

Title: Younger Bruce, Older Jason Summary: Jason wakes up in the dead of night to an unexpected visitor. (Like you’ve never heard that one before...) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867975

#dc #dc comics #batman #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #terry mcginnis #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Stephanie Brown #batfamrecs

705 notes · View notes

miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

Brother

The journey from Vodka Aunt to Wine Mom starts with Scottish coffee.

Or, Nicole totally thought this through, shut up Janet.

----.----

Nicole had believed -she had believed it would be… not easy, but easier than it had been, for Janet. She had been blindsided, after all, and completely out of her depth. Nicole, as she was now, had a good amount of practice under her belt- almost thirteen years of it. She shouldn’t be as clumsy about this as Jan had been, those first few weeks of Tim’s life.

In any other world, she would have been indifferent to the wounds, the verbal abuse, the disdain and blatant use of an innocent and manipulable mind. But here, now, she had been an aunt- a godmother, for almost thirteen years. Maybe it was Timmy’s kindness, absorbed into her bones via osmosis, maybe it was the maternal instinct Janet sometimes complained took over her life at irregular intervals to make her a better mother, maybe it was because he reminded her so much of her godson… but she just couldn’t stand it.

So she gathered her resources, called in a couple favors, took the child and disappeared into the night. That part was easy; Talia might be stronger, physically speaking, but Nicole’s mind could moon-walk circles around hers all day long.

But, what now? Back in Gotham as per her plan, where Talia couldn’t just waltz in and do as she wished without an angry bat breathing down her neck, but totally fucking lost as to what her next steps should be.

So she goes to Janet. If years of friendship aren’t enough to get her to help, she could always remind her of how it was thanks to Nicole’s contacts that she got Shiva as Tim’s self-defense teacher.

The bitch owes her.

----.----

Tim isn’t worried, exactly, when aunt Nicole power-walks into the tea room where mother and son are having breakfast -much more cozy than the dining room- and smiles tersely, asking if she could have a word with Janet.

He is, though, when she asks him to leave the room. Because never before has Nicole cared that Tim heard what she talked with mom, be it a complain about some mutual acquaintance or some confidential information from one of her cases.

He leaves, of course, because he respects her enough, but sends one not-actually-scared -but-close-enough look at his mother on the way out.

The second the door is closed, he can hear Nicole blurting something out, and the deafening sound of a teacup crashing into the floor. He rushes his steps, stopping by his room to grab his camera before going outside. He doesn’t want to be there for the fall out, if mom’s initial reaction was to lose her grip on her cup. Maybe he should call uncle Lex, get a little vacation outside the city (and line of fire).

He’s entertaining the thoughts of asking for a lift via Lex Corp special jet towards Paris vs Japan, when he sees the kid sitting under his favorite tree.

He approaches, curious and tentative, and the kid looks up to him when he gets within arm distance (doesn’t look surprised, like he knew Tim was there all along). The moment he sees him clearly, though, Tim freezes.

The shape of his eyes. The color of his hair. The ears, the contorn of the face, the scowl. His skin might be tanner, and his irises a different tint, but he looks at the kid for less than a second and knows, without a doubt, that he’s looking at Bruce Wayne’s son.

His heart might have stopped, but the mind is a wonderful thing that never stops working, and the next order of business is figuring out who the mother is. He remembers Nicole’s tight face, her venomous green eyes almost equal to this kid’s, and… Yeah, okay, so this is also Talia Al Ghul’s spawn. What the hell was Bruce thinking? Does Dick know? Does Bruce know?

-Stop looking at me like a buffon, or I’ll have your eyes removed -speaks up the kid, and Tim’s mind reminds him that, yeah, he isn’t looking at a picture, but a real, breathing human being. A six-or-seven year old being, despite his speech.

Manners kicking to the forefront of his head, he crouches down in front of the kid, camera dangling from his neck, all but forgotten by its owner for maybe the first time ever.

-Hey there. My name is Timothy Drake -he smiles, hand offered with kindness, but eyes sharp as he keeps on inspecting the face in front of his. That, and his name, seems to immediately change the kid’s opinion of him, because his eyes widen and he’s quick to return the greeting.

Aunt Nicole must have said something to him about Tim and his special position as Janet Drake’s son, because when the kid shakes his hand (calloused, with more than one scar, probably more used at handling a weapon than Tim is going to be at the end of his life), he’s being almost comically careful about it, as if he’s unsure about how much to squeeze or shake without hurting him. Nicole probably stressed into him about Tim being delicate and how he should handle him with care, which, bullshit, he’s not a baby anymore, not like this kid.

-I see. I’ve heard about you a lot from Aunt during my travels here. My name is Ibn al Xu’ffasch.

Tim blinks twice, smile firmly in place, hand holding lightly into the kid’s. There’s something ridiculous about Bruce’s kid literally being called ‘Son of the bat’.

-...my other name is Damian, Damian Al Ghul.

-I see. Which one do you prefer?

This seems to baffle the kid, though he recovers quickly. Has anyone ever asked him for his preference on something as personal as his name?- You may address me as Damian.

-Okay then, Damian. I was going to go around the property for a walk, take some picture of animals. Why don’t you come with me? You can also tell me a little about yourself. With Nicole as your Aunt, we are sure to meet often.

----.----

-So you just… took the kid and ran.

-No, I had a well thought plan. And I didn’t ran. That’s undignified.

-Really, now.

-I couldn’t just leave him, Jan. He’s six.

-He’s a genetically engineered baby trained since birth by your psychotic sister in how to be a perfect killing machine. Excuse me if I think he can handle himself. But whatever, what’s done is done. What are you going to do now?

-I… I kinda hoped you’d tell me.

-...I’ll tell the butler to prepare refreshments. This is going to be a long talk.

-Vodka?

-It’s nine in the morning, you unclassy fool. We are having Scottish coffee. Besides, you acquired a child, you can’t be the vodka aunt any longer. If anything, be the wine mom.

-No, I’m not adopting this kid. Rip to Bruce, but I’m not like him.

-Well, I’m not doing it for you either.

-I’m not asking that! I plan on giving him to his dad to look after, but he’s too…

-Murderous?

-...yeah, that. I’m going to try to ease him into normal society as much as I can before calling Wayne, to prevent a full blown out culture shock.

-This is Gotham, dear. You want normal society, go to Metropolis. But sure, I’ll help you with this. You might have to move into the Manor for a few weeks, though. Also, you are lucky Tim is on break right now, his innate kindness might help in this. But if your demonic nephew touches a single hair in Tim’s head, I’m throwing him to the sharks.

-Are you talking about reporters, the League of Assassins, or actual sharks?

-Yes.

----.----

Tim snaps a quick pic when the kid isn’t looking, because this is precious.

Damian had been a proud little prick at first, refusing to show the interest shining in his eyes towards the multiple animals Tim introduced him to. But by the time they left behind the horse (the one Lex gave him on his tenth birthday), birds and fishes on the property’s pond, and moved into Tim’s pets, he had left his facade behind and did his best to pet every animal at the same time. He couldn’t, of course, didn’t have enough hands for all two cats, the dog and the bunny, but by god he tried.

Sel, the female cat, had taken residence on the kid’s shoulders, lounging there like an Empress, judging them all from above (or as above as she could be, perched on such a small kid that was sitting down to boot). Her partner in crime and life, Alley, rubbed his head under Tim’s chin, comfortable in his human’s arms.

Then, Max, his Golden Retriever dog. He was a sweetheart, and had charmed Damian in less than a minute, greeting him with enthusiastic licks at his hands and a furiously quick tail moving side to side. Damian had been blindsided by the utter cuteness of the dog immediately falling in love with him, and had responded in kind, dedicating almost half an hour to dote on him alone.

Now, almost two hours after meeting the kid, Tim couldn’t help but snap another picture of Damian, sitting on the ground in front of Tim, one hand petting Max who had laid by his side, the other one carefully stroking Butter the Bunny’s head while he rests on his lap. Sel occasionally nudges her head against his cheek to demand for attention, that he gladly provides, and everything seems out of a Disney movie.

He knows this kid is dangerous. Because he is Nicole’s relative, because his eyes are always scanning their surroundings for threats, because his hand is the hand of a warrior.

But he looks up at Tim when Sel gives a tiny lick to his check, looking as if he’d been blessed by the Kitten Gods and needs guidance on the appropriate response, and Tim thinks he could overlook the danger. God knows everyone is afraid of Mom, and that doesn’t stop Tim from kissing her cheek and hugging her at least once per day.

This kid deserves love, too, and he always wanted a sibling.

#janet drake #Janet drake au #Janet Drake is a scary lady #Nicole Al Ghul (oc)#Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #My writing #No edit people #I'm bored and procastinating

70 notes · View notes

mydeardeath · 4 years

Text

Ineluctable (4/4)

This was written almost two years after chaper 3 so it’s not quite the end I had first thought of. Not beta read, so sorry for the mistakes

___________

Their search for Damian didn't last long. The following morning his name was all over the newspapers along with the word "Omega" written in capital letter. The title was simple but it was sure to sell. Tim had been stuck in traffic on his way to work when he had seen it. He had stopped in the middle of the road and gotten out, ignoring the cries and the honking to take one of the papers. The fact that Damian's true cast had been discovered was concerning enough on itself but that not what drew Tim's attention. There was more horrifying that Damian's secret being exposed to the whole world.

Ra's had Damian.

The paper showed a picture of Ra's Al Ghul, a "protective" arm slung around his grandson's shoulders. He had presented himself to the Hong Kong's authorities as a concerned grandfather looking out for his omega grandson who was traveling alone with an unmated alpha. Once he had been confirmed that Damian was indeed an Omega he had been put into Ra's care. Cassandra Cain, the unmated alpha that had been traveling with him had been put under arrest to be investigated as well as the whole Wayne family for not only lying about one's cast but also for failing to provide the "protection and education that all Omegas shall receive". Thus, until the investigation was completed, Damian Wayne would remain under his grandfather's care, who had been granted temporary guardianship.

Ra's told himself appalled by Bruce Wayne's actions and swore he would bring proper care for the Omega. That would cause such a scandal. Bruce and Tim would have to step down from their position in WE. Their funds would probably be blocked during the investigation. But they would need a really good lawyer to win the trial. They were sure they would be one. Ra's had played it smart by making it public. They couldn't just go and retrieve Damian now. Tim felt stupid for not seeing it coming. Of course, Ra's would get involved. This was a golden opportunity.

Tim's hands were clenching hard on the papers and he was brought back to reality by the news-seller yelling at him about reading the papers without buying it. He tossed him a bill and got back into his car. There was no need to go to work today. He needed to get back at the manor before the police came looking for them. It was surprising they hadn't woke then up in the middle of the night. But relations weren't that good between the US and China. Small mercies.

***

Alfred was already opening the door as Tim's car pulled up in front of the Manor. His face was somber. He already knew, had probably heard the news when he was preparing breakfast for the rest of the family. So the others probably knew too.

Alfred led him to the living room. Bruce was standing in a corner of the room while Jason and Dick were sitting on a sofa, close but not quite touching. Dick had come back as soon as he had heard that Damian had disappeared and Jason was soon to follow. As an omega himself, he understood why Damian had kept secret about his cast. People coming from the dead weren't that weird nowadays with all the metas and aliens. Jason could have easily got his identity back. But he would be trapped again, never really free because of his caste. He was far better off with being officially dead.

None of them could hide their worry, not even Bruce. It was his younger son that was concerned after all. And this wasn't anything mission's related. He didn't want to admit it out loud before his sons, but he had doubts. He wasn't sure he could win this. Not his usual way of thinking, but he had no emergency plans for one of his sons being an Omega. He had never thought Damian was one. He was surprised Talia had lied about it. At first, it made sense. She wanted Damian to inherit her father's empire. So she couldn't have him be an Omega. But she could have easily sold him out once he had turned his back on her to stay with her father. She had disowned him. Yet, she remained silent about his true caste. No matter all she had done, she had protected their son from that. So despite all that had happened between them, he felt afraid of what Ra's might do to her for lying to him all of this time. She was not a good person but she didn't deserve to pay for protecting Damian. So Bruce would not only have to make sure that he got Damian back quickly but that Talia was safe as well.

Bruce remained silent for a few minutes after Tim had joined them. He didn't know where to start. He had no plans forming up in his mind. He was unable to come up with anything. He loved Gotham and his country but he knew its flaws. He knew how Omegas were regarded. There had been some progress in people's minds but laws were slow to follow. Omegas still needed a guardian even after hitting 18. They were always under someone's authority, may it be a parent or a mate. And regarding the law, Bruce had failed as a parent.

"So what's the plan, B?" Jason put him out of his thoughts.

Bruce had now the attention of his sons. They all had tried to think of something and were as lost as he was. They looked at him with various ranges of despair, waiting for him to spell out a plan of action. Anything to reassure. To show them that Damian wasn't lost to them, that they would get him back.

"I..." Bruce started, not knowing what to say to them.

At the same moment, Alfred came into the room followed by Jim Gordon.

"Commissioner," Bruce greeted him, straightening suddenly to face the newcomer.

"Misters Wayne," he replied, trying to smile at them but they could see he was tense.

"What bring you here, commissioner ?" Tim asked.

"Damian Wayne," Jim said simply to no one's surprise. "The state has chosen to press charges against your family for housing an undeclared Omega as well as registering said Omega as a Beta in front of the law."

It was clear in his tone that the man didn't like that more than they did. But he did not have any other choice than to enforce the law no matter how bad it was.

"We understand Commissioner, but I would like to point out that as Damian's father that the sole responsibility of..."

"There is no need for that, Bruce. Lying to a representative of the law would bring no good in our current situation."

"Tim..." Bruce tried to interject, no understanding what Tim was getting at.

"Truth is, Commissioner, that Damian is my mate, but as he was ten when he arrived in the family I couldn't bring myself to declare it. I ask them to say nothing until Damian was of age as I did not wish to be tied in this way to a child.”

They all froze at Tim's declaration. They had not expected him to declare Damian as his own. But they all could guess why he had done so. They had all come to the same conclusion: they would lose a trial. Bruce may be Damian's father but Ra's was also family. And he had law and public opinion on his side. Well, maybe that last wasn't entirely true. Omega's right defenders would side with Bruce, but the judges of Gotham were old and conservative folks. That wouldn't win them a trial. The only thing stronger than Ra's claim of guardianship over Damian was a mate claim. Tim claiming Damian as his Omega was the only way of getting him away from Ra's. So, while they were all trying to think of some kind of plan, Tim had resigned himself to that. He knew it was for the best but he still felt bad for putting Damian in a situation he wouldn't like.

They all still had to follow the commissioner back to the station to give their statements. Well, with the exceptions of Jason, of course. He was still official dead so no charges were pressed against him. He watched them all walk out of the manor, including Alfred. He went straight to the job as the door closed. They all had some knowledge of laws but it wouldn't hurt to get back to the laws about Omega and pack's rights. And it made him felt at least a bit useful and kept him from going crazy while waiting for the others.

***

Damian stared blankly at the wall while Ra's servants busied themself preparing him. He had had no other choice but to follow his grandfather. He had waited until they were out of Hong Kong's authorities' view to try to escape. He was still pretty weak, his heat not quite over even if the worst had passed. But despite his weakened strength, he had put up quite the fight. That's it until his grandfather had pressed his teeth to his neck. Damian had gone slack, trying to put some distance between himself and the teeth.

"Keep fighting and I'll bite. You little Omega slut will be bond to me and you will never be able to be with anyone else." His grandfather had said. Damian had tried to relax his whole body and put his head down to show submission. The idea of being claimed his own grandfather completely disgusted him. He knew that the old man was capable of it. "If you try to escape again, I'll sell you off to the more offering." He had added while finally letting go of Damian.

After that Damian had made no other attempt at escaping. He wouldn't take the risk of being mated. Once you were bitten, your body would accept the person claiming. He had heard many stories of Omega getting claimed and then being stuck with their aggressor. But being claimed didn't force love so the bond often remained one-sided. Sometimes Alpha remained unclaimed but took several Omegas.

Truth is the bond could be broken with time and your body could accept somebody else. But few Omegas managed to get away long enough for that. And even when they managed it, if the claim had been made official then you were fucked. Officially, you would still belong to your first mate and the state would recognize no others (except if said mate was dead since an Omega 'needed' an Alpha to take care of them). Few Alphas would accept an Omega that had been bonded anyway. They would be regarded as outcasts. Most would end up selling their body on the street, the only place that accepted them.

That was not a fate Damian wished to share. So the boy laid still while the servants cleaned him. He didn't even move when they started waxing him. He showed absolutely no reaction when they pampered him to make him look like a "good omega". It went every instinct he had. But he couldn't risk angering his grandfather. He had no doubt that the man was preparing something for him but whatever it was, he was safe for now. Well, as safe as he could be in this place. The only thing he could do now was hope that his father would come to rescue him. He hated having to rely entirely on someone else, to have no control whatsoever over the situation. That's what he had tried to avoid most of his life.

But he could still have some sort of control. Once they had been done taking care of his skin, they had dressed him in traditional, covering most of his body. Unmated Omega shouldn't show too much to preserve their virtue. One of the servants had forgotten a needle, that Damian had discreetly hidden in his sleeve. It wasn't a knife but he could do the job in Damian's hand. Not to attack them and escape. No, there were far too many people and his clothing didn't allow much movement. But if it came to that, he'd rather take his own life than live as someone's bitch. Death would be better than be forever the slave of some Alpha Ra's had chosen for him.

***

Tim was released from the station three hours after they had been brought in. He hadn't seen the others since then. They had all been escorted to different interrogation rooms and the man that had questioned him had refused to tell him anything. The police officer had made a few snide comments about his failure as an Alpha for not mating his Omega. He had not seemed to understand what was the problem of Damian being 10 when they had met. Which was frankly disgusting. He would need to watch that one, Tim imagined he could be involved in some unsavory dealings.

He was escorted to his apartment by another officer, a Beta this time, that didn't utter a word to Tim until they reach their destination and informed him that he was not to leave the state while the investigation was still ongoing and to remain available for further questioning. Tim nodded and left the car under the watchful eyes of the officer. He walked calmly to the front door. Once it had shut behind him, he went straight to his own "cave". He turned on his computer and sent a message to the others, including Steph and Barbara. Less than a minute later, he received a response from the later. She added him to their discussion channel. They were already here. He must have been the last to be released.

"How did your interrogation went, Tim?" Bruce asked

"As well as you can imagine." Tim grimaced. I hadn't gone bad per se. He had said nothing that could compromise them much than they already were. He basically only had to bear their sexist remarks. "They wouldn't tell me what happened to Cass though."

"Cass is well. They're sending her back to America as we speak. Gotham won the right to have the trial even though she was arrested in Hong Kong. She will be authorized to remain with me at the Manor since she doesn't have an apartment of her own ('officially', it went unsaid)," Bruce informed him.

"What about Damian? They didn't tell me more either."

Bruce sighed, "Jim promised he would try to make sure he would be present to the trial. But we don't know if Ra's will aggry to it."

"He will" Tim was sure of it. "He wants his victory to be public. He's enjoying making us watch while we can do nothing."

"We are doing something" Jason spoke up for the first time since Tim had joined in.

"Are we? I don't remember coming up with a plan this morning. And since we all admitted that we lied, the trial will happen shortly from here. We won't have much time to prepare."

"We don't need to prepare. The only thing that will win us the fight is you. You claiming to be Damian's Alpha this morning is the best shot we have."

Tim was about to reply but Jason interrupted him.

"I know. I don't like it either. I'm an Omega, remember? I would never wish to be in Damian's position. But as much as I hate it, it's better than having Damian trap with Ra's." Jason paused. "You can't be much worse than the Alphas Ra's had in mind, Replacement." He joked half-heartedly. Tim gave him a small smile. But it didn't reach his eyes. He was feeling sick. He had still hoped that one of them would come with a better idea but they all remained silent after Jason had said his part.

As there was nothing else they could while they waited, Tim bid them goodbye and turned off his computer. He stared for a while after he had turned black. He was lost with what to do. He couldn't go to WE to distract himself with loads of paperwork and it was far too soon to go patrol. Which they wouldn't probably do for the next days anyway. They couldn't risk getting injured when they were supposed to stay at home and wait for the trial. Jason and Steph would have to do without him until it was over.

Tim was pulled out of his thoughts by his phone. He tried to ignore it but he kept ringing for five minutes straight. As it didn't seem it would stop soon, Tim resolved to take the call. He grimaced when he saw the name but still pressed the button.

"Hey Tam," he greeted her weakly.

"I heard about Damian," she went straight to the point.

"Yeah, it's..." complicated, fucked up? She had met Ra's so she already knew how bad the situation was.

"How are you feeling, Tim?" She asked, unexpectedly. He had thought she would talk about WE. It was her job after all.

"I might throw up soon," he answered honestly. "He's..."

"I'm sure he will be alright, Tim. You've beaten Ra's in the past. You'll do it once more" she tried to encourage him. And he could tell that she really believe it. It was sweet but she was wrong. He wouldn't be able to save Damian this time. But he didn't tell her that. He needed someone optimistic right now. It was refreshing when he felt like his entire world was falling apart. It's not just Damian that would be trapped if he had to claim him. He was the one who had said it, but it meant that he too would need to abandon the idea of finding someone. He wouldn't force a one-sided bond on Damian to go find someone else for himself as other Alphas did. They would be both condemned to never truly mate with anyone. So he kept talking to Tam and let her hopeful words wash over him.

***

Flashes assaulted him as soon as he got at out of the car. Journalists were yelling to try to get his attention, their words unintelligible. He hadn't spoken to anyone in over a week. The servants were not authorized to talk to him and Ra's had not come to see him since the first day. So he had spent the last days locked in a golden cage. He was treated like a prince. He had expected to be locked away in a cell. But the servants and the place they were staying at didn't look like it belonged to the league. Ra's probably wanted people to testify of how good he was treating the Omega and why he should keep taking care of him. Being suddenly crowded by so many people made him feel dizzy. But he took it upon himself to show no sign of distress. He wouldn't give his grandfather the pleasure of seeing him weak.

Ra's escorted him to the courtroom, a hand in his back as if to make sure he wouldn't try to run away. Which would be incredibly stupid in front of the journalists and police officers that had their eyes on him. Stupid and completely useless. Even if he managed to escape, he would be hunted down. He could hide, he didn't doubt that. They would maybe even forget about him in a decade or so. Damian could go live anywhere under a new identity. But Damian wasn't ready to give up his actual life. He was past wanting everyone to know he was the true son of Bruce Wayne. He had actually come to care about the family. Not just his father and Dick. But all of them. He couldn't imagine having to live without them all. Having to live all alone. That's why he had tried to antagonize them. Getting attached was a weakness. And here he was, unable to live them all behind. Ready to be treated like all known Omegas were treated, just to stay with them. He hated himself for that.

Once they entered the room, his eyes fell on his family. Bruce was seated beside Tim and Alfred while Dick was in the next row with Barbara and Cassandra. Steph was not officially part of the family and Jason was still supposed to be dead so they couldn't be there since the trial would happen in closed doors. Damian was thankful that reporters were not allowed inside. It was enough that his secret was now exposed to the whole world, no need to have them present while his fate was decided. They all turned to him when he entered and he could see that his father wanted to cross the room to meet him but they couldn't do that. He tried to smile at them, try to reassure them but he was pretty sure he failed to be convincing. But they were no better. The situation was hard for everyone. Damian wanted nothing more than for it to be over but dreaded what would come to the end at the same time.

Ra's led him to the opposite side of the room where Ra's lawyer was waiting for them. They started speaking to each other in low voices and Damian didn't bother trying to understand what they were saying. The trial would soon begin so whatever they had prepared didn't matter. He just had to hope that his father had thought of something.

Ten minutes after Damian had sitten down, the judge came in and the room fell silent. Ra's side started as they were the accusation. They repeated what they had already told the press about Damian being an Omega and being hidden by his father for years. They showed that Bruce Wayne had declared him to be a Beta and deliberately lied to the state. Ra's brought up evidence of the proper care he could provide for his grandson. None of what was said was a surprise. The only thing that was uncertain was the defense his father would come up with. But instead of his father standing up to talk, it was Tim that came forward. Damian's eyes opened wide. No. That couldn't be it. That wasn't happening. He tensed as soon as the other man started speaking. He could barely hear anything with all the blood rushing to his ear. He fell as if he could not breathe anymore. He knew very well what Tim must be saying. There was only one reason for him to speak up instead of his father. Had Damian been a bit less terrified of Tim claiming him, he could have enjoyed the look on Ra's face. The man had not seen that coming in the slightest. How could he have? Damian knew about Tim but still hadn't expected it to be brought up. He guessed he should have. They didn't have much to go with to win in court.

Damian finally calmed down when he noticed that Tim had stopped speaking. In fact, nobody else was saying anything. Tim was still standing but his eyes were fixed to the door, a look surprise on his face. Damian was as shocked when he turned to see what was happening. He couldn't believe she was here. He had thought she would remain in hiding in fear of Ra's wrath. But no, Talia Al Ghul was standing in the room, her head held high and her eyes unwavering. Damian felt like crying. He had barely spoken to his mother in years and yet she had come for him.

"Sorry to interrupt you like that but I was informed very belatedly of what was happening. Which I find shocking as Damian's mother." Talia spoke strongly, even daring to look right at her father. "I raised Damian in my father's home until he was 10. He presented under my care. I have the document that proved that I was the one to declare his caste. He was my choice and not his father's to do so. In fact, I never informed him of the truth."

"When you are saying your father's home, who are you talking about exactly, Mrs ?"

"I am Talia Al Ghul, daughter of Ra's Al Ghul."

She was convincing. How could she not be when she only said the truth. She had been living at her father's home. He just happened to no really be alive when he had presented. Not that Ra's could tell that to the judge. Plus, her presenting a document that showed she had been the one to declare Damian as a Beta brought up the question of the origin of the document Ra's had shown to the judge to incriminate Bruce. He didn't put him in a good position to have forced said document and lied in court. If the man hadn't intended to track Talia down before, he sure would now. Damian couldn't fathom why she would do such a thing.

The judge asked his mother a few more questions before the jury left the room to deliberate. He saw his father briefly take his mother's hand at the corner of his eyes, showing her his gratitude for going against Ra's to protect Damian. Ra's was throwing them murderous looks, failing to remain cool and hide his reactions.

After only 20 minutes of debate, the jury came back "After deliberation we came to the conclusion that Damian Wayne could not remain in his grandfather's care as we can not be sure of his honesty." Damian felt relieved at that but it was short-lived. "But we cannot either put him back in his mother or father's care as they both failed to bring him the education an Omega needs. We all agreed that he would be better with Timothy Drake, his mate. Once they have claimed each other, Damian Wayne his free to go home." Damian's eyes fell to the floor. He couldn't hold back his tears anymore but didn't want anyone to see. He tensed when hands grabbed him.

"It's me, Damian. Let's go take a little walk while arrangements are made," his mother muttered in his ears.

He let him guide him out of the room. They didn't go far and guards remain not too far from them to make sure they wouldn't flee. They sat down on a bench, his mother's hand still of him. For long they didn't say anything, his mother waiting for him to calm down.

"That's what I had been trying to avoid since you presented. I knew how my father would react. I know how he regards the like of us." She sighed.

"What? What do you mean, the "like of us"?" Damian was looking at his mother as if he was seeing for the first time. Could she be?

"Draw up your own conclusions Damian. I won't confirm anything." His mother had been really great at hiding that part of her. He guessed nobody had ever known (or lived after knowing) that she was an Omega.

"What will do now ?" He asked curious and worried.

"That not for you to worry, you will have enough of your own."

"Why ?" He finally asked what he truly wanted to know.

She looked straight at him "I resented you for choosing your father over me for a long time. But I spent my life fearing what Ra's would do to me if he knew. I have imagined so many things. And imagining you going through that. No, I couldn't do nothing. I guess we both failed to not get attached. But now if you don't mind, I would like to get a headstart on Ra's." He nodded while she got up.

"Mother," he called when she was leaving, "Thank you." And with that, she was gone.

He stayed alone on the bench until Dick came up to him with Barbara. His brother gave him a big hug and for once Damian didn't try to pull him off him but loosened in his arms. His mother's comforting hand had been nice but he had needed more. Dick didn't ask how he felt. He did not need to do that. He knew Damian and he wasn't stupid. He just tried to show Damian that he would be here for him. They were interrupted by the guards. It was time.

***

The ceremony was very formal. They mostly just signed paper. Then comes the bite. It feels weird touching Tim. He had avoided physical contact with Tim as much as possible over the year. The few times they had touched had not been intimate in any way, mostly to tend to injuries. And it's the first time they touch with Damian not wearing sent blockers. He doesn't count the time that brought them here considering he was completely out of it and doesn't remember it clearly. Damian had started trembling when Tim had lowered his head to bring his teeth to his neck and the man had stopped moving. Tim couldn't bring himself to do it when Damian was this distressed. So Damian had brought himself to do it first so it would be over quickly. He had put his hands on Tim's shoulders and the man had tipped his head to bare his neck. Damian didn't let himself time to think and just sank his teeth into the flesh. It barely lasted a second but Damian felt overwhelmed. His body was starting to respond to the Alpha in front of him. He bared his own neck, unable to control it. Tim's bite was just as brief as his own. And yet this act had sealed their union. They had claimed each other. Damian closed his eyes and let the Alpha pheromones washed over him to keep him calm. He didn't want to have a panic attack in front of everyone. Plus he better get used to it. It was his life now.

#Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #timdami #damitim

29 notes · View notes

renaroo · 4 years

Text

Telescopes and Ladders

Disclaimer: Batman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics Warnings: lighthearted nonsense Rating: K+ Synopsis: Alfred leaves for England on business and leaves the Manor to Bruce and a young Dick for a week. Bruce realizes he doesn’t know how to Adult for a child on his own.

A/N: I’m honestly fascinated by the time between Bruce taking Dick in/solving the Grayson family murder and when Dick became Robin. I always tend to lean on the B:TAS tradition of there being a gap of years between the two (8 for Dick’s adoption/guardianship and 12 when he became Robin officially), but that leaves a lot of very important years of development. Not just for Dick but for Bruce and Alfred, too. That really doesn’t have that much to do with this story because I also am a pushover for family fluff and there’s not enough of accidental!parent Bruce fluff ever.

Few things could strike fear into the heart of a man who had faced some of the world’s greatest evils and come out to the other side. Few things could make a shudder break through the rigid back of a man who had already lived through losing absolutely everything.

But the prospect which faced Bruce Wayne was too horrible, too frightful to fully comprehend.

By the time Bruce realized the full gravity of what he was about to face, it was too late to make any changes.

He stood, helpless, in the doorway as Alfred finished packing up his things. The number of clothes was a staggering reminder that this was a two-week-long trip.

Losing Alfred for any amount of time was hard enough for Bruce, even as a man in the prime of his life. But losing Alfred after the last six months of drastic changes was an inconceivable terror.

“Master Richard prefers his sandwiches cut into triangles,” Alfred reminded Bruce as he folded his fourth identical suit. “The crust remains, but the triangles are essential.”

Bruce squinted at Alfred and then looked down to his notepad, jotting down the detail. “He never mentioned that to me before.”

“I don’t imagine he ever saw you in a kitchen, Sir,” Alfred said dryly.

Unable to repress it, Bruce felt a frown tug at the corners of his mouth. One day he would have a witty retort that Alfred would not be prepared to immediately smackdown. Not in the foreseeable future, but one day.

“His school uniforms are pressed and hung up for the coming school week, but there is not a rotation for two weeks in a row,” Alfred continued. “I would recommend laundering them over the weekend.”

“I am fairly certain I could have figured that one out, Alfred,” Bruce replied, writing it down all the same. He slowed his pencil toward the end, thinking. “By launder—“

“I have put the name, address, and phone number of my preferred local dry cleaners on a note on the fridge, along with other contact information,” Alfred answered.

Crinkling his nose, Bruce looked at Alfred. “Alfred, it couldn’t possibly be that difficult to just… leave instructions for the machine, could it? It’ll look ridiculous to take all of our clothes to a dry cleaner for two weeks. I think I should be capable of at least doing that much.”

Never once in all the time that Bruce had known Alfred — which had been his entire life — had the man rolled his eyes while still within Bruce’s line of sight. However, the careful and methodical way that Alfred slowed his packing to a crawl and slowly looked into Bruce’s direction was about as humanly close as one could get to a full-body eye roll.

“I had once thought, in all the time it took for one to travel the world, train in a hundred forms of combat, perfect studies of chemistry, art, and history… that in-between moments of developing an engineer’s penchant for invention and a detective’s mind for compulsory criminal actions, that penciling a laundering cycle into the schedule could have happened,” Alfred mused out loud. “The fact that it hadn’t should be evidence enough of why, should you touch the washing machine before my return, I will take it upon myself to never touch your unclean wears again.” His mustache twitched almost testily. “Including a particular rancid suit. I should like to see that taken to the dry cleaners with a proper explanation.”

Bruce’s eyebrows could not have reached further for his hairline. Nodding slowly, he then looked down and dutifully wrote in his notepad as he said out loud, “Don’t… touch… Alfred’s… washing machine.”

Alfred’s gaze did not drop until Bruce had finished punctuating the machine, then he snapped shut the final suitcase. He seemed satisfied.

There was not much left on the particulars. Even if Alfred hadn’t left detailed notes on how to run the washing machine, it was one of the few parts of the Manor’s livable space that didn’t have precisely written notes on it. Alfred’s were taped to the relevant surfaces. Bruce’s were in his notepad, carefully inscribed and yet still leaving him woefully underprepared for whatever came next.

The air was stiff, and they were seemingly out of stalling tactics.

“Dick is going to miss you,” Bruce said, filling the silence.

“I imagine nearly as much as he does you during your travels, Sir,” Alfred said.

Bruce furrowed his brows. “That isn’t fair.”

“It seems our lives never are,” Alfred admitted.

They weren’t that far apart from each other. Perhaps arm's length for Bruce.

But Alfred didn’t come forward and neither did Bruce.

Instead, he hoped Alfred understood what was there. That Bruce would be missing him too.

Dick was a good kid. And saying even that really seemed to sell him short.

There was hardly anything Bruce had to say to him during the time Alfred was gone and Dick knew his times and appointments for everything, and even how many times to remind Bruce. Which, given, was more than it should have been. On instinct, Bruce’s responses tended to be rather unhelpful.

“There’s a school thing in thirty minutes,” Dick called from the top banister, standing on his hands without care.

Bruce, who had been walking through the foyer on his way to the kitchen for a snack paused and looked up at his young ward. It had been six months and his heart would still seize when he saw Dick using the Manor as a jungle gym. Dependent on the stunt it was either for Dick’s safety or for the Manor’s.

“Is that necessary?” Bruce asked.

Dick blinked owlishly and tilted his head, albeit upside down. “The school thing?”

“No,” Bruce said before gesturing unhelpfully, “the…”

Without really emoting, Dick shifted to a one-handed headstand and Bruce thought of all the bones that could break from a fall at that height depending on the angle of landing.

“So it’s in thirty minutes,” Dick reminded him again.

“Okay,” Bruce answered, not following because his ward — his responsibility — was dangerously close to paralyzation. If Bruce closed his eyes he could practically see it unfolding before them.

After another agonizing moment, Dick lowered his free hand and then somersaulted easily backward onto the third floor’s top stair. He didn’t even take a moment to pause as he looked over Bruce with severe skepticism and judgment.

“Do you want me to take a cab?” he asked seriously.

Smacking his own forehead, Bruce cursed under his breath and shook his head. “You need me to take you.”

Rolling his head to one side, Dick shrugged. “Not really. I can take a cab.”

“You’re eight,” Bruce reminded him like he needed to.

“I used to ride in the back of a truck with a petting zoo,” Dick argued back.

Bruce squinted at him, considering the option. “Is it normal for eight-year-olds to take cabs to school?”

“I don’t know,” Dick answered honestly. “Should you call Alfred and ask?”

It didn’t take more than one iteration of that phone call playing out in Bruce’s head for him to realize that it was a poor idea. And that Alfred would be very disappointed in the world’s greatest detective for his deductive reasoning skills.

He preferred keeping the phone calls short and reduced to good reports. On both sides.

“I think I should drive you,” Bruce said far more decisively than the precluding conversation should have allowed.

Dick casually walked down the long staircase of the foyer. He was walking down them upright, but Bruce had the terrifying feeling that even a blink would allow Dick to slip into another acrobatic feat that could endanger lives and fancy artisanship that Bruce pretended to pay homage to.

“I’m okay with that,” Dick reported as if it was up to him to provide permission for it. “Do you have time for it?”

Bruce Wayne had all the time in the world, but Batman was in between important and pressing cases that the commissioner had given him to look over the night before. There was also a new APB out for Poison Ivy the was concerning. A stack of forensic science publications had been delivered that morning which covered technology and theories that Bruce was hoping to pilfer through to keep up to date on his own methodologies and equipment. Not to mention the tune-up that the Batmobile desperately needed he had put off in favor of working on the training facility he was putting together for Dick.

Dick’s school was a fifteen-minute drive one way, which meant at least thirty minutes lost to taking him, dropping off, and coming back to the manor. And that was only if Bruce threw Dick out of the window while looping past the school.

“What is this thing?” Bruce finally asked, realizing it was something the start of their conversation properly required.

“Stargazing,” Dick answered, beaming. “I joined the astronomy club! Remember?”

A faint recollection rested on the horizon of Bruce’s memory. “Yes,” he answered instead.

“Tonight’s the first night. Jimmy’s dad is making hotdogs while we watch, and Mrs. Gupta is giving extra credit to everyone who comes!”

“They give extra credit in third grade now?” Bruce asked, genuinely surprised.

Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “Your third grade didn’t?”

Despite his best efforts, Bruce couldn’t help the automatic withdrawal he felt. He bit back on his molars and glanced away from Dick’s earnest gaze. He couldn’t remember much about the third grade at the end of the day. He didn’t finish it in regular school with other children, he was homeschooled. By Alfred.

Alfred who left him with another little boy that had his time as an eight-year-old changed forever. One that Bruce, admittedly, took in himself without any clue what he was doing for the boy other than “more.”

It was six months, and Dick was going to a school thing. Perhaps it was working.

“Okay,” Bruce said again. “How long are we going to be at this school thing?”

Genuinely surprised, Dick shook his head. “You don’t have to go. You’ve got the stuff.” He glanced around cautiously before bringing up his index fingers to poke out by the sides of his head. His fingers wiggled. “You know. Your stuff.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce said. “I’ve got some folders I’ll be taking with us but… We’ll be fine.”

Dick’s entire face lit up. “Oh! Okay!”

Alfred would have thought to bring blankets, like many of the other parents had. But Dick liked laying in the grass, and Bruce didn’t mind it, too.

After a long, wet night on patrol, Bruce collapsed into his bed for what he felt was a much-deserved sleep. He had positively no intention of waking up.

Until an alarm went off on the other side of his bedroom, of course.

At first, Bruce only vaguely recognized the noise. It was a dull throbbing that was interfering with the only thing he could think to desire — sleeping in. But as it persisted, his disbelief gave way to anger. He threw his pillow at it. Then another pillow. Then another.

It wasn’t long before the noise was continuing and there were no more pillows within Bruce’s reach.

Throwing his sheets off, Bruce leaped to his feet and stormed over to the alarm clock, ripping it out of the wall with the same force he had used just hours ago to punch out one of the Riddler’s neon green question marks. That, at least, had been enjoyable and profound in its moment. The alarm clock’s cord nearly jerked the socket out of the wall.

Having never been one for alarms before, Bruce tried to fight through the fog of early morning to figure out why he had set the damn thing to begin with.

Then he noticed, on the dresser beside the alarm’s former place, was the notepad full of Alfred’s instructions.

He was supposed to take Dick to school. The school started in fifteen minutes and was a fifteen-minute drive from the manor.

A string of Not-Dick-Friendly words escaped Bruce as he grabbed sweat pants lying on the floor and rushed out the door.

Bruce had one leg into the sweats and was struggling with the second as he slid down the hall. “DICK!” he called out loudly, facing down the dark hall. He should have set it earlier — should have known he needed to wake Dick up and get him ready. Did he dry clean Dick’s uniform? Did they have extras?

He should have picked up the notepad while he was at it, too.

“I think I’m going to be late,” Dick yawned from the opposite end of the hallway.

Skidding to a halt, Bruce turned with relief to see that Dick was standing, backpack already over his shoulders, rubbing his eyes wearily.

“We’ll be fine,” Bruce declared, finishing putting on his sweatpants. Without even a thought of getting more than that for his attire, Bruce raced down the hall, scooped up the third-grader, and was headed down the stairs and through the foyer. They would use the Maserati still parked in the circle just outside the main entrance. That would be quick — and the drive quicker given Bruce’s lead foot.

“I can walk,” Dick grunted, unhappily squirming in Bruce’s arms. “I’m not a baby!”

“I’m faster and we’re getting you to school,” Bruce snapped a little harsher than he meant to come off, pushing the entry door open with a broad shoulder. “Good,” he muttered as he began down the stairs, “it’s not raining—“

Perhaps it was Dick’s squirming, perhaps it was the distracting way the sunlight was peaking out from the approaching dawn.

Maybe Bruce was off his game from no sleep.

Regardless, his shoeless heel hit the edge of the stone step’s puddle at an angle just so. The water, pouring over the gutters just above the eaves of the entrance, was running over the steps and Bruce’s entire body went running with them before hitting hard on the cement that he and Dick tumbled down together. Bruce more than Dick after the barrel roll he maneuvered them into.

They landed at the base of the stairs, Bruce flat on his back and Dick on his chest, feet from the wheels of the Maserati.

“Dick,” Bruce said, shirtless and cold.

“Um, yeah, Bruce?”

“You’re not going to school today,” Bruce informed him. “We’ll come up with something.”

By noon, the water had stopped pooling around the grounds of the manor. Instead, they stayed collected around the bushes and shrubbery that Alfred had kept expertly in line like a moat.

The moats were not a part of Alfred’s design. Or, if they were, it had been a request made when Bruce was distracted and noncommittally responding to requests from the butler. Both were likely, despite Bruce’s discomfort with the latter upon some self-evaluation.

Going on the leap of faith that his mind had not been so distracted in the last few weeks that he wouldn’t completely forget a request like building moats in the garden, Bruce began examining how the morning’s incident came to be.

It took nearly an hour to finally realize that in some areas of manor’s roofing, water was still pouring over the concrete gutters.

That was not how they were designed. Bruce was certain of it.

Going out to the uninhabited stables, Bruce found a fifty-foot ladder collapsed together. He folded it under his arm and carried it out promptly to the sites of the manor where water had escaped the gutters the most and set to work. He unfolded the ladder, secured its every latch, leaned it carefully against the manor walls, and began to ascend the great height between himself and the eaves of his home.

Halfway up the ladder, he wondered, idly, why he hadn’t just used a grappling hook. It seemed far more practical.

Reaching the gutter, Bruce glanced down both ways. There was not much of an inspection needed to see it was backed up with debris from the storm.

Curious, Bruce looked around for where the branches and leaves could have come from nearby, but the largest trees within twenty feet were spruces. That didn’t match his culprit in the gutters at all.

For a brief, irrational moment, Bruce thought of Poison Ivy and wondered if she had a reason to be near the manor during the storm. It wasn’t nearly as logical as the winds carrying tree limbs from the further trees in the rather large and sprawling Wayne estates, but it at the very least made it more of a Batman problem than a Bruce problem.

Bruce was really wishing, the longer he went without Alfred, that there were some less Bruce problems in the world.

“What’re you doing?”

Bruce startled with surprise. Then, as he glanced down below the eaves and toward the third-floor window nearest him. He could see it was opened with a curious eight-year-old hanging out of it.