Clockwork sees how stressed Danny is from trying to be the goodest boy and never do anything remotely bad that could turn him evil and thinks he may have overdone it. At this rate his panic over never doing anything evil is going to force him to emotionally burn out and stop caring. Then he'll turn evil anyway.
So Clocky does something that sounds completely ridiculous in theory. He scoops Danny up and drops him into a universe full of superheros and villains and tells him to "Do whatever you want. There will be no consequences for you." Then he leaves.
And just like that, Danny goes apeshit. He decides to do the one thing he always wanted to do but was too afraid to because he didn't want to be judged, or worse, forced to join his parents.
He becomes a supervillian. Not as Phantom, no. But as Fenton! He goes full super genius mad scientist and terrorizes whatever city he's in. The local superhero is being driven insane as Danny builds death rays, shrink rays, his own modified version of the GAV, ect.
The best part if that the local heros can never catch him for long and when he is caught he always escapes before he is transported to whatever facility they wanted him in. He always ends up back in his home dimension where he goes back to acting normal and no one from either human dimension or the Infinite Realms knows what he's up to (except the stop watch of course)
After a particularly fun day in which Danny highjacks all broadcasting services to teach everyone in the world how to make insulin at home so you didn't have to pay a ridiculous amount for necessary medication, the Justice League was now on his tail.
Danny just laughs, thinking there's no way they'd ever be able to arrest him. Little does he know some guy calling himself Batman is leading the mission and he has no intention of arresting him. Danny, much to his horror, becomes far to familiar with adoption papers. As in he keeps having to set them on fire.
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The Foster Mother
Now on ao3 and VHS release
There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.
“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.
“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”
…Alright.
Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.
Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.
And then Tim walked into the room.
And then Jazzy was there.
*
Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.
She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.
She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.
Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.
(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)
Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.
The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.
She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.
Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.
She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.
Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.
She looked up when he came in.
Tim. Stopped in his tracks.
It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.
“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.
She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!
“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“
“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.
Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.
(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)
She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.
He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.
“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”
Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.
“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”
Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”
Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?
“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”
Which. Whiplash. What a statement.
“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.
Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”
“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”
“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”
Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.
Jazzy waited patiently.
“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.
Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”
It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—
—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.
She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.
“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.
He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.
Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.
It was for the best.
“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”
…Tim’s heart skipped.
He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…
Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?
And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!
“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”
She handed him the backpack by the handle.
…Tim peeked inside.
On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.
And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.
Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.
Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.
It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.
Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.
Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.
“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“
“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.
“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”
Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.
“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!
“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”
Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.
And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.
Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.
He swallowed.
Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.
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I’m BEGGING y’all to stop erasing the fact that Bruce didn’t adopt Dick for the LONGEST TIME EVER. That’s what gives their relationship that kick. That’s also one of the main sources of their misunderstandings which is an inherent constant in their story.
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dick might be damian's parent in loco, but his favorite brother is tim. im convinced he would kill for tim. he would die for tim. he would join tim in his unavoidable villainy. and tim would kick damian through a window and hit jason with a crowbar for a dollar, so.
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Prompt 190
“I’m going to adopt them.”
“Danny no, I love you but no. Do not.”
Danny, of course, did not listen, and instead scooped up the feral ghostling. “No no, I’m adopting. We’re adopting now. Look at his itty bitty fangs and big eyes, how can you say no to that?”
"..."
Valerie, to no one's surprise, is not impressed with her boyfriends returning after being told to ‘go touch grass’ with a literal child.
Sam, on the other hand, is not surprised at all.
“I’ll get a room in the lair set up, say kiddo, you like gargoyles?”
The child does indeed, like gargoyles.
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DP x DC HC that Stephanie Brown and Dash Baxter are cousins. (Moms are sisters)
*walking to a WE meeting room where all the Waynes are sitting*
Dash: I can't believe you talked me into this!
Steph: Come on! It will be funny. It will probably work too!
Dash: He doesn't like rich people.
Steph: Neither does Jason.
Dash: Didn't you say the oldest grew up in a circus?! Danny's not a fan of the Circus.
Steph: No, you said he doesn't like clowns. Dick is an Acrobat. Totally different. And! This entire family, heck the entire city absolutely LOATHES clowns. He'll fit right in.
Dash: But!
Steph: Nope! *shoves Dash into room* Go get 'em Tiger! *barricades door shut*
Bruce: You had a proposal for us, Mr. Baxter? *gestures to his family*
Dash: *gulps* Ah. Uh. Yes. *clicks on the projector where 'WHY YOU SHOULD ADOPT DANNY FENTON' with a picture of Black-Haired Blue-Eyed Danny front and center flashes onto the screen*
Wayne Family: o.o
Dash: *clears throat* So, there's this orphan in my hometown...
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If Jason Todd Was Introduced This Way, This is How I am Bringing in Tim
This is now a full AU, whoops
First << Prev Next >>
Tim: *bangs on Dick's door in Blüdhaven*
Dick: I swear to fuck if it's another solicitor I'm- *opens door*
Tim:
Dick:
Tim: hello
Dick: wha- it’s like 10 o’clock where are your parents? you're like eight, why are you out here??
Tim: first off I’m 12 and I'm not a child. can I come in?
Dick: sure, this might as well happen
~later~
Dick: so you're here because you figured out our identities when you were nine, have been following us since before then, and then hacked the Batcomputer only to find Jason looking up ways to get to Ethiopia?
Tim: yeah, pretty much.
Dick:
Dick: fu-frick
Tim: I have been running around Gotham alone at night since I was eight, you can say fuck
Dick: *gasps*
~Bonus, at the Batcave~
*Bruce and Jason are working on the Batmobile, Bruce’s way of apologizing for being an ass*
Bruce: *head snaps up*
Jason: everything good old man?
Bruce: I need to get adoption papers ready
AO3 Link Is Now Active!
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Had an idea, thought I'd make it a prompt, 3k+ words later realized this wasn't a prompt anymore but a ficlet 🙃
Anyway, here's the first almost 2k of Talia being a good parent and deciding to not go with either Bruce or Ra's and go off and do her own thing and raise Damian and oops she got attached to Jason while checking in on Bruce and saved him from dying in Ethiopia. & now has 2 sons lol
-
When her Beloved and her father demanded Talia make a choice, of who she would choose, she didn't hesitate.
She chose neither of them. She chose her child. She chose herself.
Outwitting both Ra's al Ghul and Batman was no simple feat. They were both brilliant, relentless and with endless resources at their command. It was why their clashes were as devastating as they were. Immovable objects and unstoppable forces the both of them. If there was something they wanted, it was something they would have.
But not her.
They would not have her.
She had her own networks, her own people, her own keen intelligence and sharp cunning. It took time - time she really didn't have - and a great deal of pain and loss, but she slipped them eventually. Shrugged off the shroud of who she had been - who she was made to be - and stepped confidently into her new life.
Her son was born nine days after her freedom had finally, fully been assured.
He was small and perfect in every way. Soft and warm cradled close to her chest, unblemished by the cruelty of the world as he slept soundly in her arms. Even as exhausted as she was after such a long labor, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Her attention narrowed down entirely on his every quiet breath, his downy soft hair, his round peaceful face.
In the weeks that followed his eyes would shift and change from a newborn's blue to her own green. It would take years before she could know if he inherited any of his father's features, but that was fine. He was hers and hers alone.
She named him Damian.
In another life she would name him with her father in mind. That her son would rise as Heir to the Demon and conquer the world. That he'd stand as ruler of all.
In this one, she named him with hope in her heart that what he would master was his own life. That he would never be forced to bow to the will of anyone else. To be made to act as servant or puppet. Let him tame his fate into something good and kind and happy.
She did her best to give him the life he deserved.
Lavished him with all her love and affection. Gave him everything he could ever want or need. The friends she began making for herself - not just trusted allies, but friends - laughed that she would spoil him rotten. It was probably true, but she didn't have it in her to care.
Her son would have the childhood he would have been denied if raised raised in the home of either of their fathers. Her father would have demand harsh lessons and frightened obedience and impossible standards. Damian's would have tried - she knew her Beloved would have tried - but his heart would always be for his city first and all else, even his children, second.
Talia kept tabs on both of them, covertly. Ensured she always kept a healthy distance from anything that involved her father or his people. Gathered stories of her Beloved's exploits to share with her son when he was old enough to hear them.
It gave her insight on just what choosing her Beloved would have meant. Reassured her that while not choosing her father had been the right choice, choosing her Beloved would have been the wrong one.
Bruce Wayne was a good man. Brilliant and driven with his kind heart and admirable goals. Breathtaking in his skill and ability.
Disappointing in his parenting skills.
Talia knew she was lacking as a parent herself. That her own upbringing had left its scars and that try as she might she'd undoubtedly end up doing the same to her own child over the years. But she always pushed herself hard towards improving, in making herself better for the tiny boy that she loved more than anything else. And she felt satisfied that in the very least that when presented with options on how her and her son's life would be, she'd made the one that was best for Damian.
Not the life of an assassin or a vigilante, but the life of a child.
A child who was taught some of the skills of both the worlds she'd turned her back on, admittedly, but only ever for his own protection. Damian was safer knowing how to hide, how to escape, how to fight. She had done her best, but there was always the looming threat that they might be found one day. She needed to be sure he was ready, if that time ever come.
She didn't teach him the way she was taught.
When her son fumbled or failed she gently corrected him. Walked him through what he'd done wrong, how he could improve. Made a game out of the experience so that he came running up to her on toddling feet with bright eyes begging that they have a lesson. His excitement and delight in it all made him a better student then her fear and desperate need for her father's approval and affection.
There was a day she caught sight of him, all of four years old, tiny face scrunched in a look of concentration as he practiced the form she'd taught him the day before with his small, wooden practice sword. Some of his father's features lingered at the edges of his face, but he'd deepened his resemblance to her by picking up her mannerisms and expressions. Her son, going through the same steps and motions she had when she'd been his age, little body wobbling as he turned to fast before plopping on the ground with a tiny oof.
Talia had small silver scars on the back of her hands, so thin and so old as to nearly be invisible anymore. They burned all the same as she recalled herself stumbling in nearly the same way. Stomach churning as she remembered the terror she'd felt as her instructor had snatched her up by her hair and drug her over to a low table, holding her hands in place with a massive hand. The way she'd bit her lip hard enough that her mouth filled with blood as he struck her with the thin lash, knowing that if she cried the punishment would be all the worse.
Damian only blinked his big green eyes and scowled the same way she did whenever something of minor importance didn't go the way she wanted it to. Then he saw her standing there in the doorway watching him and his face lit up, bright as the son and just as beautiful as he jumped to his feet and darted over to her. Tiny hand clinging to the loose fabric of her pant leg as he begged her show me again Mama!
It was moments like that where she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt she'd made the right choice.
Her father would have broken her brilliant, kind hearted son. Would have done to him what was done to her to forge Damian into a weapon.
Her beloved...
He would never hurt her son like that. Not the way her father and his loyal followers would. But she couldn't ignore the fact that Damian would still be hurt all the same under his father's tutelage.
Talia knew the man she loved well. Adored his strengths, but was not blind to his flaws. He kept his heart well guarded, hidden behind imposing walls of silence and razor wire of words he didn't truly mean. Still kind, but horribly distant when it came to those he cared for most. It shielded him some, perhaps, but it left those who loved him feeling lost and alone.
She saw how Dick Grayson had grown over the years. Tall and clever and lonely and bitter. Fighting for independence, for acknowledgement, for his father to speak words of love and respect. Things Bruce felt but almost never said unless he thought things were dire.
She saw too how the heavy weight of her Beloved's priorities weighed up on his second son.
Young Jason Todd who saw magic in the harsh world he'd been drawn into and desired to be the protection for others that he never had growing up. She saw much of herself in him, though he faced the world with far more hope than she had at his age. He was a bright boy with a good heart that had weathered a harsh upbringing that Talia could sympathize with. There was a familiar anger in him too, broiling just beneath the surface, flaring up and burning him as much as everyone else when triggered.
Most of all though Talia could see the desperate loneliness that had marred her own life in the boy. The soul deep fear of abandonment. The painful desire for love from a father that always seemed to stay at arm's length who spoke rarely of affection and often of missions to be completed.
She kept a close eye on her Beloved's second Robin.
When he left for Ethiopia, searching for family in a stranger that had already given him up, she'd followed.
Jason only ever wanted family and love. A good boy, bright and fierce and brave. A boy Talia saw a lot of herself in, who faced the world with such determined brightness in spite of the pain and hardship he'd known.
Shelia Haywood took that boy that Talia had grown so fond of, took his trust and his love and crushed it beneath her heel. Callously handed him over to the Joker without a second thought. As if he was disposable, as if he was nothing more than a puppet to use and toss away when it suited her.
Talia had risked everything when she'd decided she would not choose either her father or her Beloved. She'd turned her back on her entire life, everything that had ever been and ever could be on either side. She spent months running, hiding, fighting and killing, in orchestrating a plan that could outwit and outmaneuver the two most brilliant men she knew. And she'd done it all so that her son could live free, as master of his own life.
Jason Todd had come to Ethiopia looking for a mother.
Talia, with blood on her hands and a burning warehouse behind her as she carried his broken body to safety, made sure he found one.
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Fictober23 Prompt: 12 - "I am not saying I didn't like it."
Fandom: DPxDC
Rating: T
Warnings: -
Danny grinned at Jason who was sitting across from him on the table. Before the other a plate of… something was placed, accompanied by a cup of tea. Danny's first attempt at cooking. Jason had not managed to escape the Manor in time and had been unlucky enough to come across Danny, Alfred's new assistant / ward entrusted to him from an old 'friend'.
Of course Danny had to have that stupid baby deer and begging eye looks as he pleaded to Jason to please try his cooking and help him work out how to make it better so that he could help out Alfred more in the future. Jason was going to say no but the other teen was very insistent and had an iron grip.
He was pretty sure Danny had cut off his arms blood circulation when he had gotten dragged to the kitchen. Either way he was now presented with something that looked inedible and a tea that smelled heavenly.
"Try it!" Danny smiled brightly and damit, maybe his brothers were right saying he was a good damn pushover. Jason swallowed, looking from Danny's bright eyes down at the plate before him.
"Fuck it…" If it tasted bad he would wash it down with the heavenly smelling tea. He stabbed something on the plate, ignored the fact that he was entirely sure he had seen it wiggle and stuffed it in his mouth, eyes tightly shut.
He waited for the bad taste to impact.
And waited.
And waited.
But it never game, carefully he opened one eye seeing Danny staring expectantly at him. Carefully he started chewing and his eye widened. Not expecting to taste what he did, Jason stared at the dish before him that he could only describe as the stew of doom.
"Well? How does it taste! Is it as good as Mr. Alfred's stew?"
"How the fuck…" was the only thing Jason was able to say still not believing his taste buds. Stil in disbelief Jason then took a sip of the heavenly smelling tea and promptly spit it out like it had burned his tongue, just not with the temperature but with its taste. He coughed, hitting the table a couple of times. His eyes teared up as he stared at the sheepish teen before him.
"What the fuck, Danny?" He wheezed out, trying to catch his breath after the coughing fit.
"I was sure you were going to like ecto-tea, considering you already have ectoplasm in your system. You didn't appear to mind it in the food."
Jason's eye twitch. "You mixed fucking ectoplasm into this food?"
If Alfred weren't so fond of this boy Jason would have punched him already. Sure Danny was a good damn enigma and when Alfred had introduced them the teen had freaked out on Jason about how he had not treated his apparent sickness before proceeding to explain to Alfred and Bruce that Jason apparently needed something called ectoplasm to stay healthy. That been a fucking ordeal, Jason certainly didn't want to repeat. Plus point was that this ectoplasm did indeed cure his Pit Madness, bad point was he had to take something that looked like fucking Pit Water on a regular basis.
And now Danny was apparently using him as his experimental guinea pig for his ectoplasm cooking. He could have at least said something about having it put into the food and tea. At least the teen looked somewhat apologetic at the glare Jason was sending him.
"Sorry… you just always made a face when you had to take the ectoplasm, so I tried making it taste better for you." He couldn't help it as he ruffled the others hair earning a pout in return. The teen reminded him of his brothers, if Alfred hadn't claimed Danny already as his, Jason was sure Bruce would have attempted to adopt Danny.
"I am not saying I didn't like it. Just don't put ectoplasm in tea anymore." He stabbed with his fork into the wiggling food to emphasize his next words When he lifted it he raised an eyebrow at the wiggling goob of something, that apparently doesn't taste as bad as it looks. "It's better in the food, despite causing it to look like something you shouldn't eat."
There was a crash behind him in the kitchen area right after he had placed the fork in his mouth and Jason arched an eyebrow at the suddenly very nervous looking Danny.
"What was that?" Jason asked, his eyebrow going even higher as Danny suddenly pulled out a green glowing steak knife out of seemingly nowhere.
"Nothing!"
Another crash resounded behind him and Jason was very tempted to turn around to see what caused it. But before he could, the green steak knife flew right past his head. "Nothing? Are you sure?"
"Uhm well… I might have kept quiet about a side effect ectoplasm can have on food." Another crash and Jason wondered if this was why Danny had waited for Alfred to be out of the Manor on errands before he attempted to cook.
"I won't say anything to Alfred as long as you don't use the good steak knives."
"Deal." Danny then proceeded to pull out the Demon Brat's throwing knives. Wide eyed Jason watched how Danny jumped over the table into the kitchen area, he turned in his seat to continue watching but found that Danny had disappeared chasing whatever had caused the crashing sounds.
"Demon Brat is going to bust a blood vessel, no one touches his blades." Jason muttered, turning back to his wiggling but actually good tasting food, deciding that for now, he would ignore the fact that Danny 100% was not a normal teen Alfred had taken in for a friend. If his knowledge about this ectoplasm was't enough to tip them off then the way had moved and used the blades just now definitely would and had.
Taking another bite, Jason marbled at the taste before he chuckled and wondered what would happen first. Him and his siblings figuring out what was up with Danny, the Demon Brat attempting to stab Danny for having used his throwing knives, or Danny figuring out their nightlife activities and the reason why Damian owned throwing knives in the first place.
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think i might re-read the tim drake ebola fic just to feel an emotion. that thing had me in tears. so good.
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Not sure if this is a thing already, but…what if Danny gets unofficially adopted by Batman, and he’s ok with that?
It’d probably be post reveal-gone-wrong or something, but i could also see it just being Jack and Maddie taking the family on trip to Gotham for the summer. Tbh my favorite version of this is within the first full year of him being Phantom, so he’s still getting new powers and stuff every now and then, and hasn’t really gotten all this vigilante stuff down to a science yet. Either way, Danny is trying to stay under the bats’ radar, (and also avoid his friends’ jokes about being adopted by Bruce Wayne becoming reality) but, well..
Danny “what even is my luck” Fenton can’t seem to keep out of the weird shit that happens in Gotham, and doesn’t realize that slipping out of the rogue’s traps isn’t something normal enough to be unnoticed by the bats. Maybe it’s the aftermath of a Scarecrow fight, and Danny stayed intangible for as long as he could, probably occasionally dropping it every now and then because he’s not really thinking, and it takes effort to be intangible like that. Either way, Batman eventually comes upon him while distributing the antivenom or whatever for the fear gas, and comes across this meta child who’s kinda aware, but seems to keep density shifting and makes it impossible to give the cure to, in the way that someone who’s afraid of needles might squirm when they’re getting a shot.
So he just sort of sits there and holds out his arm, and eventually the kid catches on. He grabs on and grips as hard as he can. Batman, slowly, broadcasting his movements, takes his other hand, and puts it to his own chest. He breathes in, holds, and breathes out. In, hold, out. It only takes the kid a minute or two of the kid copying his breathing to calm down enough to thank him, likely due to a boosted metabolism or some other mechanism for his body to deal with toxins. It took another second for the kid to visibly realize that Batman saw him go intangible, and quickly rush out “please don’t tell anyone Mr. Batman”s and “I know there’s a no-meta rule in Gotham, but I’m not staying here full-time.”
Batman just silently nods.
Much to both of their dismay, this keeps happening.
Poison Ivy attacks? Danny is there, getting people unstuck from vines or sap or whatever she used to trap them because he can’t not help when he’s right there.
Mad Hatter is mind-controlling people? Overshadow him into disabling it, or just fuck with the electronics invisibly.
Riddler is on the attack? Just wiggle in your ropes while his henchmen are setting things up, so as to make it look like you’re really skilled at escaping instead of becoming intangible. Might as well “untie” your fellow hostages, knock out a few henchmen while you’re at it.
These things keep happening, and Danny is actually feeling refreshed. He’s not doing most of the work here, the bats are. He’s just helping out on the side, is all. He’s not waking up at night to fight someone all the time, the bats already have nightshift covered to hell and back. And while constantly coming across Batman isn’t exactly ideal, the man hasn’t tried to drive him out of the city, which is probably as close to a “you can stay” as he’ll ever get, considering that the man hasn’t said so much as a word to him.
Danny’s also pretty sure that the man wouldn’t give him food every time they encounter each other if he wasn’t ok with him. And holy shit, isn’t that something? Edible food that isn’t fudge from an adult with no obligation to him.
Meanwhile, on Bruce’s side, this random meta kid just keeps on showing up at nearly every other rogue attack. Sure it’s been a slow week, but this is ridiculous. He also needs to restock on nutrient bars. They’re don’t taste the best, but between Red Robin forgetting to eat before he hits the rooftops, and the rampant child hunger in many of the poorer areas (he needs to look into his funds for school breakfast and lunch programs again, see if there’s some more wiggle room he can work with), he keeps several on him, just in case.
And if the speed the meta kid seemed to process Crane’s fear gas was any indication, he probably wasn’t eating enough for his boosted metabolism. So he kept a few more on him.
One time, he came in a bit too late, and caught the tail end of the kid bashing Condiment King in the face, -no powers, just a metal folding chair- while griping about how the man had ruined his lunch, and how now he had to eat at home and he was tired and didn’t want to fight his lunch today, because he’s had to do it for the last two days. And then (sloppily) kicking him in the ribs. Of course he had to come in to end the fight, but more than he was concerned about Condiment King, he was worried about the kid. Fighting took energy that the kid was having a hard time replacing as it was, and what’s worse is that the kid’s parents seem to make him hunt his own food. And there aren’t many animals in Gotham other than stray cats, raccoons, and rats.
Danny, naturally, is surprised when, instead of being scolded for fighting a rogue on his turf, Batman gives him a handful of those not-granola bars, and two hundred dollars cash. He also wasn’t expecting Batman’s first words to him to be “Go to the corner of Pacific Circle and Evergreen boulevard, they have more nutrient bars for metas there,” but he’ll take what he can get.
And the pat on the head was nice. It was soft, and he saw it coming, and it didn’t knock the wind out of his lungs like his dad’s hugs and back-slaps did. It was nice, and no, Jazz, he was not forming a parasocial relationship with Batman of all people. He was just someone who gave him food and cash, that’s it. It still felt really nice for someone to care about what he needed to eat, though.
He does go to the specified store and get a bunch of different nutrient bars, and makes sure to store them where they won’t come to life. It helps more than he thought it would.
As is her duty, Babs teases the hell out of Bruce for being soft on this one random black-haired, blue-eyed meta kid. You gave him a head pat. A head pat, Bruce. Try not to break out the bat-adoption papers.
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"Dick was an abusive brother to Jason" "Dick was aggressive with Jason" "Dick gave Robin to Damian" "Damian stole the Robin mantle" my brother in Batman, no one of those words are in the bible! Wtf are you into about?
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Bruce may be emotionally constipated, but hes trying,
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