#ch; cassandra cain

[batfamilycentral]

Cassandra Cain in Detective Comics #1084 (2024), art by Robbi Rodriguez. - requested by anonymous.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

CASUAL

two weeks and his dad invites you to his beach house..

chapter three

NSFW!! MDNI. seriously. please look away.

tim drake x reader

readers can expect: many sexual acts, sex sans condom, shower sex, semi-public fingering, oral like reader receiving and face fucking, blurry relationship lines, missionary and cowgirl, etc. i went buck wild and so reader did too.

one chapter left, it’s just gonna keep getting crazier. thanks for waiting so patiently, it’s a LONG one. enjoy!!

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

“well, i need you to decide now.” 

“this would’ve been a lot easier if you’d given me even a week’s notice..” you trail off under your breath, rolling your eyes. 

you’re gonna have to call out of work, and see if your neighbor, or maybe lydia? could water your plants. you’d have to write up a note on which plants need some sun and which need more water than others. you’d need to make sure you have everything you need, from shorts, sandals, a bikini, to definitely something fancier, knowing tim’s family. 

you sigh, shaking your head, lost in thought.

“no?!” tim asks, incredulous. you snap to, blinking. 

“what? no. yes, i’ll go with you. calm down.” you reply, making a face when he huffs at you. 

———————————————————

earlier 

“you look antisocial.” bruce wayne’s voice echoed around the empty den, the ice in his whiskey glass clinking as he set it down.

“i’m the president of a frat. being antisocial is borderline—no, downright impossible.”

bruce rubs a hand over his face, sighing. 

“i know that, tim, and you know that, but we: the family, the frat…” bruce sighs again. “we need the good publicity.” 

“it’s been a few weeks already, though.” tim gestures with his hands, getting exasperated. feeling like he’s trying to climb out of a sand pit. he will not be winning this argument. “doesn’t enough happen in gotham that people have already forgotten?” 

“you’d think, right?” bruce chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “but unfortunately for you, no.”

“but—bruce, i’m not dating right now. who am i supposed to bring?” tim looks incredulous, his hands spread wide. 

“you’ll figure it out.” bruce is hiding a smile behind his whiskey glass, taking a long sip.

“oh, come on—,” tim shuts his mouth when bruce holds up a hand. 

“you have a month.”

———————————————————

the week of..

seagulls call out to each other as the sea crashes beneath them, the sun a spotlight onto this beautiful little town you’d never thought you’d see. 

old, colonial style houses with gardens full of obnoxiously huge hydrangea bushes, beautiful old women walking their pedigree cocker spaniels, golden retrievers, groomed poodles. the town center built on brick, with shops selling salt water taffy and artisanal, locally made ceramics. an old mustang drives past, rumbling down the cracked, well-worn streets. 

the air itself feels premium, a deep breath bringing the fresh smell of clean earth and a lower note of salt from the ocean’s immediate presence. 

it’d be overwhelming if it didn’t seem so perfect, the smile on tim’s face sending your heart stuttering. why didn’t you get out of gotham more often? 

he grabs your suitcase from the trunk, setting it onto the gray gravel of the driveway with a crunch. how did they make even rocks look expensive? you take it, wheeling it over to the front door the best you can, tim behind you. 

“master timothy.” an elderly man dressed to the nines opens the door, his mustache and beard gray but groomed to perfection. “they’re expecting you in the backyard.” 

“we’re late?” you hiss to the boy next to you as he starts after the butler.

“..nah,” tim replies, looking back to give you a lazy and meant-to-be reassuring smile. you breathe in again, thinking about what this place would smell like as a candle.

“timmy…” the closest guy shouts, raising the cup he’s holding. his deep brown skin shines in the sunlight, glistening along with his wet swim trunks as he reclines on the deck furniture. 

the blonde girl next to him turns, along with the girl she was talking to, who’s smaller, with a haircut not too different from tim’s. you try to roll your shoulders back as they take you in, the blonde girl giving you a solicitous smile. 

the back yard is beautiful, and huge, the grassy lawn neverending, the pool attached to an almost pool-sized hot tub and a bar, tall trees surrounding the fence for privacy, but not blocking the sunlight. 

the butler comes out with a tray of sandwiches and a refilled pitcher of lemonade, to cheers from the group.  

the sun starts to set before you know it, and exhaustion sinks into your bones. your face hurts from smiling, voice scratchy from all the talking. 

making a hasty excuse, you scamper inside. the silence of the kitchen helps loosen the vice on your ribs, letting you breathe in the cool air. 

the butler watches you with an amused look from where he stands, behind the kitchen island. you notice him with a start, trying to play it off as the corners of his eyes crinkle into well-worn divots.

“could i please get some water, mr...?” 

“pennyworth. but just alfred, please. and you are?” he extends his hand, nodding as you tell him your name, shaking his hand how you were taught to. “it’s lovely to meet you. would you like a bottle of water or a glass?” 

“just a glass, if that’s alright.” you fidget, putting your hands behind your back. 

“of course it’s alright, dear.” he hands you the glass, filled with frigid water but no ice. you thank him, gulping down a sip. “is there anything else i can do for you? show you your room? the bathroom?” 

“maybe just my room, if it’s okay.” you say, clearing your throat. 

he takes you upstairs, opening the door to your bedroom for the week with a sweeping gesture. your suitcase sits across the bed on the floor, your covers turned down. an open window beckons evening air inside, the smell of salt and flowers drifting into the space. 

“your room, miss.” 

“thank you very much, alfred.”

your new favorite place in the world, and it’s tim’s?

you shut your eyes, burrowing deeper into the cooled sheets and comforter.

tossing and turning, you can’t seem to shake the rolling feeling in your stomach that you’re not really supposed to be here. you settle onto your stomach, your face smushed into the pillow. a soft, cool hand brushes hair from your forehead, trailing down your burning skin to rub your back. 

eyes glued shut, you sigh contentedly. the restlessness leaves you in waves, peace settling into your bones. 

you feel the press of lips against your temple, and you fall into sleep as the presence fades. 

the house is alive, the smell of bacon flirting with your nostrils. you roll out of bed, pulling on a hoodie and putting your hair up. 

you come down the stairs, greeted by a small smile from cass who’s walking a loaded plate of pancakes to the table. your stomach growls, and duke chuckles from behind you.

“don’t worry, alfred’ll get you right.” 

you smile in reply, nodding sheepishly. you follow him to the kitchen, grabbing the plate he hands to you, taking it to the table. 

everything’s set, the bacon’s settled next to a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs, a pitcher of orange juice next to the basket of pre-toasted bread. 

the sound of footsteps hits your ears, tim yawning as he enters the dining room. a faded old hoodie hangs off his shoulders, pajama pants slung low on his hips. he stretches like a cat, overdramatic as ever. but his hoodie rises, and your eyes track the line of hair leading from his navel, disappearing into his waistband. your mouth starts watering, definitely from the food. not because you just remembered his habit of going commando in flannel pajama pants. he passes your side of the table, tugging at your ponytail.

tim seats himself across from you, shooting you a sleepy smirk. dark circles ring his eyes, his hair tousled. 

“good morning,” he says, his voice deep and thick with sleep. butterflies play tag in your large intestine as you and the table return the greeting. 

tim raises an eyebrow, the bacon plate in his outstretched hands. you nod eagerly, and he chuckles quietly at the look on your face. duke chatters to cass about how he hopes to even out his tan at the beach tomorrow, steph quietly talking to alfred about his dinner menu for the week. 

his bare foot pokes yours, and you stretch out your legs, slotting your feet between his on the ground. he leans over the table, the epitome of innocence as he shovels food into his mouth. 

the day is mellow, one spent to laugh and chat with new friends, to twine your fingers into tim’s hair and scratch. 

you’re given a tour of the small town, tim buying you your favorite flavor of saltwater taffy at the candy store, a souvenir necklace, the deep blue pendant made of seaglass. the way it catches the light reminds you of his eyes. 

later, bruce wayne and his eldest son, dick grayson, arrive. cass notices the rumble of the engine first, starting the charge into the house with her siblings following. tim stretches out a hand for you to grab, leading you in. 

“hello, hello!” dick says, gathering his siblings into a big group hug.

he brushes away your hand when you try to shake his, pulling you into a quick hug as well. 

“you must be here with tim,” dick says, his eyes twinkling and full of warmth. “welcome to the family!”

“what do y’all think..family game night?” duke asks, holding open a cupboard door, revealing stacks and stacks of board games.

“not monopoly, though!” steph shouts. “bruce is way too good at that one.”

“i beat him last time we played,” tim whispers into your ear, the smirk on his lips clear in his voice. 

he wins a game of uno, folds quickly in the following game of poker, salt water taffy as the chips. the wrapper crinkles as he pushes the candy out into his mouth, tucking the trash into his pocket. the hollowing of his cheeks as he sucks at the candy shouldn’t be as erotic as it is. 

steph rolls her eyes, pulling her pile of taffy away from him. 

“you always give up so early.” she says, tim’s eyebrow raising in response. 

“what’s it to you,” he replies, crossing his arms. cass laughs, duke chuckling under his breath. 

“either way,” dick says, “i’m gonna smoke you losers.” 

bruce drops his hand, effectively shutting him up. 

“royal flush!” duke shouts, pointing. cass’s eyebrows are touching her hair, her mouth a perfect ‘o’. steph scoffs, snatching up a taffy from her own stash to chew angrily. 

tim smirks, sliding an arm around your shoulders. 

“you’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.”

__________________________________________

the next day

“it’s probably a crime to ignore the way you look in that suit, babe.” 

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “too cheesy. try that on a different girl and see where it gets you. i am not the one.” 

tim smirks, crossing his arms. his sun kissed biceps look back at you as he leans in.

“i’ve gotten your pants off without a word, and i can do it again.” 

“shut it, drake,” you shove him, laughing. 

“usually i try to open it, doll.” he replies, and you roll your eyes again, starting down the beach. 

you look back, adding a sway to your hips when you see his eyes locked onto your retreating figure.

“tease!” he shouts after you. 

you bask in the sunlight, sliding your sunglasses up to watch the guys toss around a football. dick throws a perfect spiral to duke, who jumps to catch it one-handed. tim tackles him into the sand, dick cackling all the while. 

cass motions to you, and steph nods, stretching her long legs out onto the blanket, feet nested in the sand. 

“so,” she starts, tilting her head as she looks at you. “you and tim, huh?” 

you blush, nodding. cass rolls her eyes at steph, giving her a look. 

“yeah, yeah.” steph says, shaking her head. “look, did he tell you about us?” 

you furrow your eyebrows, tearing your eyes away from the boys by the water. 

“his family? of course.” you say, unsure. cass sighs.

“no, like, me and him,” steph says, her words sending your stomach off of a 50 foot cliff. 

“..no, he hasn’t.” you say, keeping your tone light. 

“we used to date, that’s all. nothing special for me, or anything.” she waves her hand. “water under the bridge, for sure. definitely got closer with his family, in the long run.” cass nods approvingly, giving you a reassuring smile.

“like, i promise there’s nothing there. it was a long time ago and we realized we’re much better off broken up.”

“okay,” you say, drawing circles in the sand.

“i just wanted to make sure you knew,” she continues, as you look up. “i knew he was never going to say anything.” 

you nod, leaning back onto your hands. “well, no hard feelings. i promise.” 

steph gives you a firm nod in return, her lips pulling into a grin. 

“i think we’ll be good friends.” 

cass hands you a peach ring from the bag. 

—————————————————

later, 

you head upstairs to shower before dinner, tim waiting a beat before following you up the stairs. 

he can barely take it, thinking about how you looked on the beach today. 

he wanted to take you right there on the sand, roll around with you until he had you on top of him, hips clapping into his as you bounce on his cock. 

he had to get you away, all to himself.

it was almost dinner time anyways. you two should probably work up an appetite, no?

steam envelops the room, the beat of the water on tile drowning out the soft moans that escape from your lips. your leg’s wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you, his eyes darkened with desire. tim’s barely able to hold back the rough noises leaving him, grunting as he watches the way your tits bounce with each of his thrusts. 

need burns through his body, sending waves of heat off of him onto you. you know he’s about to come, can see it in the furrow of his brows and stutter of his hips. 

he moans into the crook of your neck as he finishes, burying his hot cum deep inside of you.

you blink and tim’s beneath you, your back pressed against the shower wall as your leg rests on his shoulder. 

a rough lick across your clit has you arching away from the pristine tile, tim’s first three fingers buried inside of you, pushing his cum deeper. 

he’s relentless, sucking at your clit, messily shoving his fingers farther and farther into your pulsing hole. you can’t take it, the sensation making your thighs shake, your toes curl. you throw a hand over your mouth as you cry out. and before you know it:

you’re coming onto his tongue, and he laps it up, suckling and kissing away the mixture of your fluids. 

he kisses his way over your stomach, licking a flat stripe up the valley of your breasts. you grip at his back, scratching into the muscled skin. he moans from where he’s situated, sucking your nipple into his mouth as he works the other with his fingers, arousal burning ever hot between your thighs. he moves, and your resulting whine is swallowed by him as he kisses you, passion laced in his lips as his tongue dances with yours. you lean into him, arms around his neck, letting him hold you up on your shaky legs. 

gathering shampoo into his hands, he lathers it into bubbles before massaging it into your scalp. you practically go limp, his long fingers working, fingernails softly scratching. 

he carefully rinses out every sud, smoothing conditioner into your hair to let it sit as he grabs the soap bar. 

he slides it along your skin, his flushed cheeks and swollen lips making your heartbeat pound so loudly in your ears it’s a wonder that he can’t hear it.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

dinner’s at the local lobster restaurant, their neon sign winking at you as you enter. 

you’re happy: it’s not somewhere hoity-toity with seven spoons just for different courses. you know how to eat lobster, you know how to get messy. 

the plate in front of you makes your mouth water. you’re famished, the butter dripping off the corn on the cob and pooling under the herb-laden lobster has you blinking in disbelief. 

the rest of the table digs in, and duke watches in awe as you crack your lobster easily. 

“how’re you so good at that??” he asks, jaw dropped. 

you giggle, sucking the butter off of your finger, extremely aware of tim tracking the movement like he’s a wolf and you’re a bunny. funny, he does chase after you wherever you go, doesn’t he?

you beckon to duke, who hands you his plate. the shell of his lobster cracks easily for you, even with your butter-greased fingers. you slide it back over to him, bruce giving you a nod, a warm smile. 

“she’s so cool, but she never has the time to do anything. trust me, i’ve asked.” dick sighs.

you ponder this, pointing your seafood pick at him. 

“are you sure she’s not just saying she’s busy?” you ask, and dick’s eyes widen.

“yes, i swear. she’s got a ton going on. always, always working.” he says.

you nod, chewing on another bite of food.

“just take her lunch. on her break. find out where she likes to eat and what her order is and bring it to her. have a date at her workplace.” 

duke and dick’s eyes widen in unison, and duke nods. 

“dude. that’s perfect.” 

“why didn’t i think of that?!” dick says, disbelief painted across his face. the face he’s making along with the plastic bib is too much for everyone, just beyond comical. 

steph giggles beside you as cass snorts, the table dissolving into laughter. even tim chuckles, shaking his head. 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

that night 

“it’s not like he was given a month in advance, or anything.”

you can feel yourself opening and closing your mouth like a fish. A MONTH?

and he took his sweet time, too. floundering around, always looking like he needed to say something to you every time he saw you. 

god, he’s so baffling!

“he—he asked me two days ago.” you’re looking at your hands, folded in your lap. you were barely even able to squeak out that sentence to her, feeling like it was some big secret or something.

“you’re his girlfriend, and he took a month to ask you to come on a family vacation? we do these every year, the date is always on the calendar..” steph’s looking at you with wide eyes, shaking her head. she looks baffled too. that’s somewhat reassuring.

a low knock sounds at your door. you look to steph, who shrugs. 

“yeah?”

no reply, just tim sweeping the door open before lifting his arms to hold onto the door frame. 

steph rolls her eyes, and you just look at him expectantly. 

“steph, i need to talk to her.”

“..okay?” 

he leans against the frame, crossing his arms. his biceps bulge, looking bigger in the low light of the lamp. 

“alone?” 

steph looks to you, and after you nod, gets up with a sigh. 

“yeah. whatever.” 

she brushes past him, and he moves quickly, the door closed and click locked behind him. 

“what do you want,” you start, but he’s over to you before you can blink. his arms circle your waist, and your palms rest on his chest, smooth, like it was choreographed. 

“you.” he smiles as you roll your eyes. “i missed you.” 

“….uh-huh.” 

he pulls you impossibly closer, looking deep into your eyes. 

“you’re so cute when you’re annoyed with me.” 

you try to push him off, and he relents. but instead he grabs your hands, walking back until he hits the bed, sitting. you’re standing over him now, your hands naturally going to his neck as you play with his hair. he’s been letting it grow since summer started, but you know he’ll probably want to cut it soon. 

you thread your fingers into the little curling hairs at his nape, cherishing the length while he has it. you know he’ll spend a week after his trip to the family barber obsessively looking in the mirror and messing with his bangs until he’s (barely) satisfied. 

“where’d you go?”

you blink, his gaze boring into yours. you feel your cheeks heat as you realize he’s been studying you as you drifted into nowhereville thinking about his haircut habits. ridiculous. 

“nunya.”

he scoffs, an amused look on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you. 

“oh, really?”

“mmhm. yep.”

he digs his thumb into your hip, right where you’re ticklish, and you yank a little where your hand is gripped into his hair. 

“okay, okay,” he holds his hands up in surrender, and seeing the opportunity, you grab them and push him onto the bed, straddling his hips. 

he makes a surprised noise that has you stifling a giggle as you hold his hands above his head. 

your turn. 

“you think it’s sooo cuuute when i’m annoyed, huh?”

he nods, a stupid grin on his face. 

“you’ve got that right.” 

—————

he moans into your mouth, one that would’ve been loud, were you not tongue deep. 

you roll your hips against him again. you can feel the wet spot on his boxers through your panties, and you lean back to tug him free. 

his length bobs out, and he’s hard as a rock, a pearl of pre glistening on his tip. you swipe it off with your thumb and he slaps a hand to his mouth to stifle a groan. you’ve been relentless, to say the least. and you don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. you push his bared cock against his stomach, not bothering to remove anything but your shirt as you rock back and forth against it. 

“god, fuck! fuck me,” he pants, his hands gripping into your thighs in a way that’ll no doubt bruise. 

“i will if you’re good.”

“if i’m good—,” 

and you know he would’ve finished his sentence in some smart-aleck way if you hadn’t leaned back, running a finger over his tip. 

his exhale is a whimper, his eyes slammed closed. 

you pull your panties to the side, spreading your folds over his shaft. the wet warmth of the spot between your legs has tim hissing, his hands clenched so tightly at your hips you’ll be bruised in the morning. you move your hips back, sitting up on your knees. 

he looks so concerned, you giggle, the idea of you moving just devastating to him. 

you grab his cock, pumping it in your hand before lining it up with your entrance. you’re so wet, so ready, that you bottom out easily. you’re not paying any attention to tim, your hands planted on his chest as you roll your hips over his, the friction sending shocks of pleasure up your body. you press tim further into the mattress, his groans mixing with the wet sound of your bodies melding together. 

“tim,” you pant, and he knows immediately, starting up exactly where you stopped, his hips lifting from the bed to drive his cock deeper into you. throwing your head back, you suppress a moan feeling the way tim’s hitting that perfect spot.  

__________________

tim can’t believe how good it feels to have you clench around him like that, pulling him further in. his back is damp with sweat, his skin hot against yours. 

he loves having you underneath him like this, letting him pound you into the bed like you don’t have to walk around tomorrow. 

your nails scratch into the soft skin of his back, the thought of bearing evidence of your pleasure makes his eyes roll back. 

he whimpers into the crook of your neck as he fucks into you, the roll of his hips driving him deeper and deeper still. 

but you want his attention. you need his attention. you’re not just some plaything of his.

“so i’m your girlfriend, huh?” you grit out, fingers grabbing at his chin to keep his eyes on yours. 

“where’d you hear that one?” tim replies, his slanted brows becoming angry slashes on his face, the darkness exaggerating his features in an unrecognizable way. 

“your family, tim.” you say, smirking when you feel his hips stutter and stop, the look on his face making you giggle. “what, like i wasn’t gonna hear about it? i’m living in your dad’s house.” 

he’s opening and closing his mouth like a fish, and when he opens it again, you stick your middle and ring fingers in. his eyes widen with surprise, but he relents, sucking on your digits, swirling his tongue around them. 

“now move.” you say, feeling him jump inside of you. he can act high and mighty all he wants, but he’s aching to finish just as much as you are. tim starts up again, snapping his hips into yours. 

you pull your fingers out with a pop, using how wet they are to rub circles on your clit, just how you like it. tim’s eyes are huge, he’s unable to stop watching the way you’re using him for your own pleasure. 

two can play at that game, can’t they?

—————————————————————————

the next day

you’d really love to be concentrating on the conversation you’re in, but that’s borderline impossible with the way tim’s playing with your clit. 

his fingers pet over your lacy underwear, hidden by the long tablecloth and your dress. 

you fight the urge to curl your toes in your dressy sandals, tim’s hand nothing but a hard surface to grind up against. as he chats with mr. whoever about who knows what, he’s pulling your panties to the side, sliding a finger through the gathering slick to then push it into you. 

you stop breathing, thinking about the amount of people surrounding the two of you. 

he’s slow, methodical, trying to make you loud while he stays quiet.

he turns his attention back to your clit, noting the way it’s making you squirm.  

you turn the resulting moan into a cough, nothing tim’s smirk. asshole. 

tim rubs slow circles around the little pink bud, tutting under his breath at you when you try to cross your legs. you sigh, giving him a little nod, and he continues, pulling you right to the edge just to stop. you bite back a gasp at the sudden lack of stimulation, your pulse pounding out a beat between your legs. 

you’re coming around his fingers, pussy clenching as you try to pull him deeper. you feel heat creeping up your neck, burning your ears and cheeks as you fall apart for him in public, the noise of the party growing louder and louder in your ears. you grab your drink, gulping down the cool liquid. 

he pulls his hand away, slowly, nonchalant as ever. 

your pussy flutters around the lack of him, and you ache for another release, three, four. you doubt you’ll ever be truly sated when it comes to tim and the things he does to you.

he grabs his glass, spilling a little on his fingers. without so much as a glance to you, he sucks the liquid off of his middle digit, the one still warm from being inside of you. 

“well, montgomery, i think that if you continue to build your portfolio in such a way, it'll cause financial ruin down the road. i suggest you have it sent to my father’s assistant at wayne enterprises and i’ll take a look at it for you, find you some new stock.” 

mr. montgomery nods at tim’s suggestion, obviously trying to suppress how eager he is at the chance to have timothy drake-wayne look at his poor attempts at investing. 

ice clinks in glasses as soft music floats over the garden from the band in the corner, string lights twinkling overhead. 

his arms cross over your lower back, guiding you to sway along to the beat as you rest your head on his shoulder, your arms circling his neck. 

the spot between your thighs still aches from where his hand was, where his fingers had been pushed deep inside of you. 

you know you’re being watched, a sweet smile plastered to your face as the select few members of the press allowed in snap shots of you and tim. 

you can still feel your pulse down there, and you pull ever closer to tim. you feel his already hard cock react, twitching from where it’s pressed between your bodies.

haven’t even touched him, but he’s walking around with his need for you obvious. you’re shocked he hasn’t pulled you into an empty bedroom yet. 

probably too much press present.

the song ends, and tim breaks the embrace, those on the dancefloor clapping politely for the band. 

he leads you off to the side, saying he’s going to grab something to drink. you nod, feeling eyes on you, trying to not look like you’re shrinking into the corner, but trying to shrink into the corner. 

you’re in all white, pristine linen that feels dirty from being pressed up against tim like that in front of press, bruce’s friends, his family. 

it’s been awhile now, and the crowd’s cleared away from the little poolside bar, no tim in sight. 

“hey,” dick says, sidling up next to where you’re waiting. “you all good?” 

his thick eyebrows are knitted with concern, and he’s so endearing you can’t help but want to tell him the truth. 

“yeah,” you smile, watching his face relax in response. “just waiting for tim. he said he’d grab me something to drink, but..” you look around, lifting your hands as you shrug. 

“well then, this is perfect.” dick says, handing you one of the champagne flutes he’s holding. 

“thank you!” you gush, beaming up at him, cheeks rosy. did manners skip a generation in this family? 

dick returns your smile, grabbing your elbow to pull you closer as a guest pushes by. he asks about school, interrogating you about your major. 

he smirks when you talk about the mess hall food, laughs at a retelling of the time you fell down the stairs in a lecture hall, nods with fervor when you talk about protests on campus, eyes crinkling when you bemoan the way bubblegum flavored vodka smells on drunk breath. you don’t remember the last time someone paid this much attention to you, his eyes locked on yours as you talk with your hands, gesturing about with your glass. 

the golden, bubbling liquid has you babbling, giggling over whatever quip dick inserts into the conversation. you realize that you’re being rude, cutting yourself off abruptly, much to dick’s surprise. 

“but enough about me! what’s going on with you?” you rush out, shutting your mouth to give dick the stage.

dick chuckles, his grin like a little spotlight. 

“i’ve been working for the nonprofit side of wayne enterprises recently, trying to get a feel of where we could best help gotham.” he starts, and a sense of hope rises in your chest, flutters its wings delicately against your ribcage. 

“that sounds wonderful, dick!” you say, feeling yourself smiling like a dork. what a good idea. “does tim help with stuff like that?” 

dick notes the hopeful tilt in your voice, the responding sinking feeling in his chest. he’s got to take the chance while he can. 

“sometimes, but look—,” he starts, sighing into his glass. “tim’s not..he’s never been in a good relationship, honestly.” 

you look up, confused. 

“and that’s never been the fault of the other person.” he runs a hand through his hair, a little apprehensive. his eyes dart around. “that’s all i’ll say on the subject.” 

your mind’s reeling, moving through thoughts at lightning speed. you can’t say you’re surprised, but can you even do better? 

his face when he laughs flashes in your brain, the deep blue of his eyes, the little smile he gives you when he sees you after a long time. how he holds you, teases you. he brought you flowers on your birthday, paid for you to get your car a brand new radiator, driving you everywhere when it was in the shop getting fixed. 

the forehead kisses, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the press of his lips on your neck. you’d turn the way he smells into a candle if you could, a cologne that you could spray everywhere he wasn’t. 

the way he holds your hand, like he’s scared you’ll run if he lets go. the look on his face when you talk about guys in your classes, moving away from gotham after college.

and—

what would’ve happened if you’d met dick first? his blue eyes that hold a warning, contrasting with his light brown skin and his smile: one that’s easy, that he wears often. 

or stephanie, tim’s ex-girlfriend? would she have warned you away? held you close to her instead, defending you as a best friend would?

or even cass, silent, and obviously endeared towards her family—it seemed as if even through her love she was able to see past the shiny teeth and empty promises tim peddled. 

but you? it was too late for you. you were in much, much too deep. 

tim had to run off to the bathroom. there was no other way. he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t. 

he darted up the stairs, knowing the house would be completely empty. locking the door to his bathroom (the one en suite to his room) he undoes his belt with practiced speed, yanking his boxers down. 

the ones he’s wearing are your favorites, the pair you steal to wear every time you sleep over. the thought sends his cock jerking, the tip red and swollen, already dripping precum. the last time he was this hard you’d been on your knees under him, and that memory alone almost has him repainting the bathroom door.

you were so ready for him, sitting next to him at dinner. so warm, and so, so wet. the feeling of you clenching around his fingers is all he can think about as he fucks his hand, bracing himself against the counter. your little gasps, the thin line your lips formed as you tried to bite back moans, all while tim was two fingers deep in your pretty pussy, curling his digits further into you. was he not supposed to react? 

and then dancing afterwards, his body pressed to yours lengthwise—he’d already been hard, but was practically dizzy from how fast the rest of his blood rushed to his cock. 

so that’s why he’s here, biting his lip so hard he’s probably drawing blood, harshly tugging at the length of his cock, eyes squeezed shut.  

tim groans, cum covering his hand as he shudders, breathing heavily. 

cleaning himself up, he hears laughter from the backyard. happy, full laughter, not the kind that most guests at the party would have. but you’re not most guests. tucking his shirt back in, he buckles his belt. 

he leans over, peering down through the window pane to try and get a glimpse of who you were so animatedly talking to. he goes up on the balls of his feet, and growls.

his brother.

“getting her drunk, dick?” tim’s voice sends a chill up your spine, feeling his presence behind you. you look down at your drink, watching the bubbles float to the surface, popping when they reach the top. tiny little deaths, tiny little fireworks. 

“no, just doing what you couldn’t.” dick replies, a tight-lipped smile glued to his face for onlookers. 

you try to suppress the shocked expression you feel your features reaching towards, opting to take another swig. you sling an amicable smile at dick, looping your arm through tim’s as he glares at his brother. 

in an attempt to ease the tension, you turn to tim. 

“have you chosen your classes for next semester yet?” 

“hm?” tim replies, distracted. “oh, my career consultant does that for me.” he smiles, that cheshire cat smile, and grabs your drink from you, tilting his head back as he finishes it. 

“did you hear she’s planning to ask bruce for a letter of rec?” dick says, smiling warmly at you, but addressing tim. 

“she..what?” tim looks at you, his eyebrows furrowing, his facial expression leaning into incredulity. 

“yeah, for my international affairs internship this fall. i told you about it last month, and..” you trail off, remembering that he hadn’t seemed like he was listening then, either. “well, anyway, i figured mr. wayne would be a good person to ask, and dick agreed, so.” 

you shrug, feeling like you’re shrinking by the second. 

“i’ll help you, babe. good idea.” tim relents, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to your temple. 

looking down, you squint. what is that on tim’s shoe?

——————————————————————————

the next day 

“you’re full of shit, drake,” a voice growls from the speaker of his phone. tinny, but the power behind it is evident nonetheless. 

“me? i’m full of shit, todd. me.” tim spits out, body language directed at his phone like the caller is really there. 

“did i stutter?”

tim scoffs, a sneer distorting his features as he delivers his next blow. 

“i don’t know why i entertain this. you. one push of the button and you’re dead to me.” 

“that was low, drake, but i can’t say i expected anything else.” 

“hmph.” tim’s scrubbing his hands over his face, through his hair. 

“but this shit? stop being such an asshole. i know that’s almost impossible for you,” the voice continues. “but this poor girl doesn’t deserve it. i have half a mind to pay her fucking college tuition. in your name, mind you.” 

tim’s rendered speechless, opening and closing his mouth. the voice chuckles. 

“you want me to stop selling to your ‘frat bros’?” the speaker says, the end of his sentence dripping in sarcasm. 

“i think i made that plenty clear,” tim says, words being grit out from behind his teeth. 

“so stop being a shithead.” 

tim’s fist clenches, and he almost hangs up. 

“still don’t see what the fuck this’s got to do with her.” he says. 

“you don’t need to see anything. i’m trying to keep the people of gotham safe.”

“..by selling them drugs?” tim laughs, sounding a little crazy. 

“mmph, well. if that’s how you want to phrase it, then yes.”

the call disconnects, and tim tosses his phone on his bed, a little too harshly. 

_________________

“let’s go.” tim snarls, pulling you into your room from the hallway. his grip on your hand loosens when he notices how wide your eyes are. 

he’s wearing that look on his face where he wants to yell but won’t. the resulting silence is usually worse than if he’d just do it. 

“is everything okay?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

his response is a jerky nod, grabbing your things from the dresser to toss into your open suitcase on the floor.

“can you at least fold them?” you plead, and he glances at you. you’re smirking, but it falters when you see the cold fury in his eyes.

you push the door closed, locking it before coming to stand right in front of him. 

his eyes widen when you drop to your knees, unbuckling his belt, pulling his boxers and jeans down. 

you pull at his shaft until he’s hard, cooing over his angry, red tip and cupping his balls in your hand. 

kissing along the side of his cock, he threads his fingers into your hair as he watches you go down on him. 

his lips are pulled tight as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth, to fuck your face. but that’s why you’re on your knees.

“let loose, drake.”

he nods, letting out a shaky sigh. you brace your hands on the top of his thighs, relaxing your throat as he slowly pushes himself deeper into your mouth. 

he keeps an eye on your face, watching your reaction as he slowly starts to thrust, your cheeks hollowed as your lips stretch to fit his cock.

tears stream down your cheeks, your hair tangled into tim’s fingers as he uses your mouth to get off. he’s gentle, but his pace is still relentless, your mouth so wet and warm. the look on his face is almost pained, like it feels too good. you know he loves having control like this, figured it would be the quickest way to calm him down, tire him out too much to be angry without actually dropping your pants. 

you look up at him, holding eye contact as he watches you bury your nose into the tuft of curls at the base of his cock. one last push of his hips, and you know he’s done, informed by months of experience at the way his stomach muscles tighten and he throws his head back.

a groan escapes from behind his gritted teeth, his hands gripping harder at your hair as he comes in your mouth. 

white, hot ropes of cum paint the back of your throat in excess as he falls apart, your hands pumping his length to get every last drop. 

he moans, eyes rolling back as you bob your head. but he stops you before you can get him worked up again, arousal rolling through his body as you let him out with a pop. 

you pull his pants back up, and he buckles them, getting you on your feet and leading you to the bed where he sits you on his lap. 

tim wipes your tears away, licking his thumb to smudge off runny makeup. you get a kiss on the forehead as he smooths your hair down, a kiss on the lips as he rubs your aching knees. 

__________________________________

rolling down the window, you wave like a little kid to your new friends, beaming at alfred, who returns the favor with a shy smile and a raised hand. 

“bye!”

“bye! see you later! bye!”

“bye cass, steph!! bye dick!! bye duke!!” you quickly pull yourself back into the car when tim tugs on your shirt, and once you’re buckled he rolls up your window.

he settles his hand onto your thigh as he makes his way down the driveway, speeding off down the road.

●

●○

●○●

●○●○

●○●○●

tim drake's fan club:

(taglist)

@dfgcbgdc @benditlikegumby93 @agent-nobody-knows @jaybunsblog @astermos-74 @ravenna-reid @borutoistrash1-blog @slut4animedilfs @nuggget-consumer-9000 @turtleturtleturtleturtleneck @hellishattempt @trashhighwaybird @sergeant-angels-trashcan @lilithskywalker @natsukicookies @flowrs-on-an-empty-windowsill @athenastar27 @timdrakeisasugardaddy @1cxndy

(also added those interested in new parts, i can remove you from the taglist, just ask!)

●○●○●

●○●○

●○●

●○

●

[roguestorm]

Batgirls #3

[chief-of-restless-hearts]

Bad Company

Chapter 26: Small Mercies

[Ao3 link]

. . .

Cassandra would not cry out. She had not even the temptation to. Her father had taken this from her, as he had all other things. Still, her body screamed. That gentle man, that Alfred—his wavering outline loomed over her, pressing down on her leg, making it worse worse so much worse—

Something was crushing-squeezing her left hand. Someone, with long, pale hair, was sobbing. It was Spoiler. Stephanie. Why was she crying?

Had he hurt her? The grenade. It must have—

She wrenched against her body’s foreign reluctance, and the world blinked black.

A new shadow penetrated the fog. The Batman’s shadow, in Stephanie’s place. He, who she had failed. His dark shape stooped, his cape falling over her like the darkness that was already returning to her eyes.

Did he know how she had let the Hunter escape?

She had failed him, and his lost Robin, utterly.

Failure, chanted her pain. Its throbbing accusation followed her into the dark.

    + - + - + - + - +

    The unremitting glow from Oracle’s computers permeated the entire clocktower, bathing every surface, highlighting every crevice, and each of the needle-sharp teeth in Cassandra’s snarl flashed electric blue.

Bruce gazed down at her placidly, arms hanging peaceably among the folds of his cape without compromising his barrier between Cassandra and the downpour outside.

‘Let me help’, trembled silently through her battered frame. She had bent so defiantly close to him that he could mark the twitching of her shoulders with every too-sharp breath. The tell-tale trickle of sweat trailing down from her temple. Mottled burns stark against her sickening pallor, thinly disguised by fury.

“—less than eighteen hours since your surgery, Cass! You shouldn't even be standing, let alone—”

Bruce was himself only half aware of Barbara’s pleas, but Cass might as well have been deaf to them. Her wild glare never shifted from Batman’s mask.

Had the explosion robbed her of her hearing? Until they could examine her further, there would be no telling the extent of the damage. But regardless of whether or not the reason was physical, one thing was certain: in the time since Cassandra had awoken, she had not spoken a single word.

As even Barbara’s voice fell away, true silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the girl’s ragged breaths and the soft patter of water dripping from the hem of Batman’s cape, residual rivulets from the sweeping gales that were still rattling against the glass clock-face.

He drew long, slow breaths to ease the violent tension fighting for control of his every muscle. Batgirl’s faceless, nameless assailant was not before him now. This was Cass. A child. Who was, at least for this moment, his. She was reading him as he relaxed, inch by agonising inch.

Wait, she read in his disciplined calm. He forced his eyes to fix beneath her tangled mass of black hair, where the bandages began just under the left side of her chin. He followed them downward. Her gray tanktop and shorts fully exposed the gauze that littered half the surface of one leg and the entirety of the other, that dangled limply from her hip. She shuddered furiously at his surveyal, and at the entreaty in his gaze as it returned to hers: Heal.

She struck her bandaged left leg, unflinching, and pointed toward the trap door in the clockface window that, in his haste, Bruce had left ajar.

Patience, his stillness returned.

She bluffed a strike mere centimeters short of his right arm. It had, unbeknownst to her, been sprained nearly to the point of breaking the night before, and its brace was concealed entirely by his cape. An injury only she could have sensed without seeing. An accusation: Hypocrite.

Batman remained a placid, immovable stone. No.

Her dark eyes glittered with fury. A tremor ran up her body, beginning in her legs, building in her chest, her throat, and she screamed.

The stairwell door behind him burst open. Two sets of footsteps stumbled into the room, and Bruce felt at least some of the tension ease out of his limbs.

They had made unexpectedly good time.

He watched as Cass’s defiant snarl shifted past his shoulder to fix on the two intruders. Her expression slackened.

“Shut the door behind you,” he called without turning. “Come—”

“Batgirl!” shouted Barbara, trying to follow as Cass pushed past Bruce toward the two figures standing in the doorway: Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown.

Between the two stunned young faces, it was clear who Cass had set as her target. Stephanie resembled a pillar of salt—stricken by terror or guilt?—as Cass lurched toward her on her one functioning leg, propelling herself onward by pushing against desks, walls, until at last her outstretched hands cupped Stephanie’s face, poking and prodding her with an utterly intent expression.

“I—” Stephanie croaked, “I wasn’t hurt. I’m fine.”

She couldn’t resist a glance down at ‘Batgirl’s’ right leg. The wrongness of its shape between the curve of her thigh and calf.

Bruce studied Stephanie’s expression critically. That sallow, guilty impression he’d had of her a few moments before returned full force. She looked sick.

“Stephanie,” Batman said briskly, startling her attention away from Cass. “And Tim. Thank you for coming. Oracle?”

For the first time the children seemed to take in the clocktower room, the elaborate arrangement of computers, wires, and clockwork, and ‘Oracle’, who sat, unmasked, in the center.

Her expression appeared calm, assured of her choice, a risk he could never have asked of her. Bruce hoped, as he withdrew, that she knew he was grateful.

Barbara adjusted her glasses and braced to begin. “We need one, or both of you, to stay here, in this room, for as long as possible.”

“What’s happened to Batgirl?” Tim asked sharply.

Cass whirled to face Bruce again with renewed rage oozing from every inch of her half-bent form. He returned her gaze evenly.

“Batgirl, we’ve been through this,” Barbara’s voice cut in. “You’re in no condition for combat, let alone to go after whoever did this to you. We don’t even know who he is—”

“Hunter,” Cass spat, wavering slightly until she twisted her body upright again. “Killer. Find him, find Robin.”

The silence fell thick and hard.

Bruce stared into Cass’s wild expression, at the fury, pain, and guilt, and felt all that and more simmering within his own gut.

“Batgirl…” Barbara said softly, and then whirled to type something into the computer. The largest screen snapped up an image of the only hunter Cass could have meant. “Is this—”

Cass gave an answering snarl.

“But he wasn’t wearing anything like that,” Stephanie said. Every pair of eyes in the room whipped toward her, and she faltered uncertainly. “He—the man who, who y’know—he was wearing civilian clothes. A trenchcoat. How would she know it was him?”

Bruce felt his heart hammering against his ribcage, again screaming at him the same instinct he had demanded Cass restrain when she had attempted to pursue her assailant: no longer nameless, no longer even faceless.

Deathstroke.

“She would know,” Barbara said, in a strained voice.

    + - + - + - +

    “Tall, but old. And he had an eyepatch, I think.”

“Details, Stephanie. We need you to be more specific than that.”

Oracle was typing furiously. Stephanie fidgeted beside Tim and his equally uncomfortable-looking folding chair. These rapidfire questions had been the last thing she’d expected when she’d been called to the tower. What she had expected hadn’t happened yet. At least, not beyond that look Batman had given her when he’d first said her name. Piercing through her, making her stomach drop into her water-logged socks.

“So, this Deathstroke,” she interjected before Oracle could shoot her another question. “You’ve heard of him?”

Oracle’s pale lips pressed tightly together. “Not now, Stephanie. Please. These questions are time-sensitive.”

Stephanie was about to ask what she meant by that when she was distracted by a motion to her left. Batgirl was slashing toward Batman with an open hand. Stephanie blinked, now openly staring at the pair, who had resumed the stand-off she and Tim had first found them in. Batgirl’s strike had been a feint, it hadn’t touched Batman, and he hadn’t so much as flinched. Her teeth and eyes flashed as though he’d insulted her.

“You didn’t call us here to question us,” Tim said, a statement rather than a question.

Oracle’s fingers faltered and stilled over the keyboard. “No,” she sighed. “Both of you understand how much we’ve entrusted you with, don’t you?”

Tim nodded solemnly. Steph felt her own head wobble numbly.

Oracle searched their faces for a long moment before continuing. “I agreed to share my face, and my workspace, because we have no other choice. Batman and I can’t force Batgirl to stay off the streets, even in her current condition. Believe me, we’ve tried before. But you two…maybe you can do something for her that we can’t.”

“What?”

“Just,” She bit her lip, her eyes drifting toward Batman and the feral girl. “…give her a reason to stay.”

  . . .

  Stephanie sank down on the floor beside Batgirl, who, having finally given up on whatever she’d been trying to communicate to Batman, had tucked herself between a bookshelf and the far wall with her bandage-ridden legs drawn up to her chest. Stephanie stole a glance at the girl’s face—what little she could see of it. Just above Batgirl’s crossed arms gleamed two dark, terrifying eyes. Stephanie quickly looked away.

Tim, following a few awkward attempts to get Batgirl to speak, had wandered back toward the computers where Batman and Oracle were having some kind of intense vigilante conference. This had left Stephanie nursing an irritated twinge of betrayal. And yet, here she was. Without any right to walk away. She squeezed her eyes shut, drew a deep breath, and looked over again.

Not even a hint of resentment or accusation lived in Batgirl’s unwavering gaze. Instead, in that silent exchange, Stephanie felt… studied. As though she were one of those spiders she’d seen Batgirl pluck from the batcave floor and watch with round-eyed delight as they skittered across her fingers. Stephanie’s mouth felt dry.

“Sorry I called you spooky,” she whispered.

Batgirl didn’t blink.

“…the Ruiz lead?” Oracle’s voice murmured.

“We discussed the situation,” Batman responded. Something about his tone tugged at Stephanie’s attention. “As anticipated, there would be no benefit in my going to New Mexico.” Oracle murmured something questioning that Stephanie couldn’t make out. “It’s been four months,” Batman answered shortly. Almost defensively. “We would learn nothing more than what they’ve already told us.”

“…That the boy they met was the same one we’ve always known,” Oracle finished quietly.

Tim was drifting back toward Stephanie and Batgirl, the wince of discomfort in his face mirroring Stephanie’s own feelings. Even if they couldn’t be accused of eavesdropping, Stephanie still felt like an intruder.

Tim joined them on the floor in a silence that the two still figures by the computer did not disturb. Stephanie traced circles into the faint layer of dust beneath her fingertips, strangely disturbed by the eerie vigil, and half-tempted to break it by the time Batman’s gravelly murmur cut across the room. “…For that man to be released now, of all times.”

Oracle straightened abruptly, as though his voice had startled her out of a trance, and shook her head with a frown. “If Zucco tries to start up his old racket, we’ll have him back behind bars before he knows what’s hit him. He’s the least of our worries right now.”

‘Who’s Zucco?’ leapt to the tip of Stephanie’s tongue, but a warning look from Tim stopped her. She scrunched up her face at him in response.

A funny little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder, seeming to consider something before he leaned closer to whisper, “If you’re curious about what’s really eating Batman… Today is the first Robin’s birthday.”

He looked so satisfied with himself for knowing that useless piece of information. “How would you know?” Stephanie whispered back irritably. “And what do you mean the ‘first’ Robin?”

His smug expression slipped a little at her second question, but he just shrugged one shoulder and turned away. Evidently the conversation was over. Something about this small gesture sent angry heat rushing to Stephanie’s cheeks. She jolted to her feet.

“Am I the only one here who doesn’t know what’s going on?” she demanded. Batman and Oracle both turned, as though finally remembering she was even in the room. “Just give me something, alright? I don’t even know who this ‘Deathstroke’ guy is, let alone what he has to do with Robin.”

Oracle stared at her, brow furrowed. Batman stared too, and something in that masked look made the heat in her face chill to a pallor.

Batman turned to Oracle. “I’ll check in post-patrol,” he said briskly, already moving for the open window.

Batgirl lunged from her corner. In the time it took Stephanie to turn her head, the girl was almost upon Batman, arm recoiling to strike. Batman whirled, unbalancing her with a single deflection and pinning her against the floor.

Stephanie blinked, and Batgirl was restrained, helpless, wheezing and trembling with pain or fury. Looking on stupidly, she glanced around, saw pain in Oracle’s face, and Tim, for once, seemed as lost as she was.

Slowly, Batman released Batgirl and rose to his feet. She did not attempt to rise.

“Your welfare is my responsibility,” he said, low, but with earth-shattering gentleness. “Your responsibility is to heal.” A pause. “Do you understand?”

Batgirl remained still, remained trembling, even as he disappeared through the ajar trap door.

With an awkward cough, Tim raised his hand. “Hey, Oracle? If you’re about to start answering questions, I’ve got a few myself.”

  . . .

  “This is…this is screwed up.” Stephanie raked a hand through her tangled hair, making the knots even worse. “Just, so screwed. So this, this assassin, kidnapper guy, he came to Gotham…why? Just to—” She pointed to Batgirl, the words sticking in her throat. The girl had sat up, but otherwise hadn’t moved from the spot where Batman had left her. Her chin was resting on her uninjured knee, her eyes seeming to stare at nothing.

Oracle laced her fingers tightly together on her lap. “That is an excellent question, Stephanie, one that we hope you might be able to help us answer.”

Tim raised his hand again, as though he were in a classroom. Stephanie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You tried to trace Deathstroke’s retreat, right? Obviously. And you must not have found much of anything, because if you had, you and Batman would be pursuing that lead right now.”

Oracle’s laced fingers whitened. “Correct.”

“It’s got to be the cameras, right? They’re looped. Like they were last month, during Cluemaster’s disappearance.”

Oracle froze, her lips forming around the word ‘Cluemaster’, and she whirled toward her computer. Tim bent forward to watch, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Stephanie stood back, and fidgeted. For all that her Dad’s last supervillain stunt had something to do with the missing Robin, her input, once again, wasn’t needed.

Her dad had dropped off the grid for a couple days that she had spent tucked away in the batcave, apparently for her own protection. As though she were the one who needed it. As soon as her dad had been nailed, they let her out, and Spoiler again hit the streets. Batgirl had found her mid-patrol, somehow, dogging her steps, watching her. As the nights went on it had become almost a game, trying to beat Batgirl to the action. Stephanie hadn’t asked for a guardian angel, but it hadn’t taken long for her to realize she hadn’t minded the company.

Stephanie waited through two agonizing, keyboard-clacking minutes, and left.

She walked over to Batgirl, who acknowledged Stephanie’s approach only with her eyes, that followed her.

“Batgirl,” Stephanie blurted out. “Fight me.” The girl just stared. “Wait, uh—what I mean is, I need you to give me a crash-course in ass-kicking, so, so that…next time…”

Stephanie ducked her head, biting down hard on her lower lip.

A beat passed, and then the girl rose with improbable grace. She assumed some kind of sparring stance, and something in the gleam of her eyes made Stephanie take a step back.

“Wait, shouldn’t we use a training mat or somethi—”

Batgirl’s grip had already closed around her wrist, and Stephanie hurtled head over heels to slam down flat on her back.

“…Crash,” Batgirl rasped.

Winded, Stephanie blinked up at the girl’s distinctly wolfish grin. “And she’s a comedian too,” she wheezed, but a grin was already spreading across her own face.

  + - + - + - +

  Barbara turned as Tim practically bounded from his seat, eagerly asking for his own turn against Cass. Cass’s lean form turned to face him, not only prepared, but laughing.

Barbara’s lips trembled into a smile, and she sighed out the tension that had flooded her ever since those two kids had entered the clocktower with their naivety and enthusiasm that was a shade too familiar for comfort.

But this almost made her dare to hope that everything might just turn out alright.

    + - + - + - +

  Stephanie pushed through the Clocktower door with sweat plastering her bangs against her forehead, her ponytail matted, and her costume balled up in her backpack. She glanced toward the computers, and sure enough, Oracle was already looking at her sideways.

“What gave you such a workout?” she asked.

“Gym,” Steph said too quickly.

Oracle met her defiant stare a moment longer before turning back to her screen. “If you say so.”

Tim was already crouched beside Batgirl, who seemed to have been redirecting his hands into a blocking position. Both of them had gone still. Batgirl staring shamelessly into her face, and Tim so obviously avoiding her eyes.

“What?” Steph snapped at the two of them. Neither reacted, and she stormed over to Oracle’s chair instead. “Fine! I went out as Spoiler tonight, and yesterday, and the night before that.” Oracle didn’t acknowledge her. “Just say what you’re thinking already!”

Oracle’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, and she turned her wheelchair to face Stephanie. “Look, Steph, it’s been wonderful to see you bonding with Batgirl, and I honestly cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for her in these last few days.” She drew a breath, and Stephanie stiffened in anticipation for what she knew she was about to hear. “But there is a difference between sparring with her and running half-cocked through Gotham as an untrained vigilante.”

And there it was. “This ‘untrained vigilante’ helped you catch Cluemaster if you haven’t forgotten that already,” Stephanie snapped. “I haven’t. Me and my mom were the ones who had to live with the mess my dad made of our lives, and the reason we don’t have to spend our nights afraid he’ll come home is because I did the right thing.”

“We would have caught him anyway,” Oracle said, more softly this time, but that only made Stephanie angrier.

“I got him put away sooner. Every day makes a difference with him.”

The computer beeped. Loudly, insistently. Without hesitation Oracle turned to address it. Steph was crossing her arms with a huff just as Superman’s face—The Superman—filled the computer screen.

“Oracle speaking,” Oracle said briskly. “Masks and code names only.”

Dazed, Steph’s hand wandered toward her own shoulder, reaching for the Superman cape her father had ripped from her back long years ago. Tim suddenly appeared at her side, his eyes glowing with the same disbelief.

“Understood,” he conceded with a nod. “Now, this isn’t strictly business. Is Batman there?”

“He’s on patrol, but if this is important I can connect you to his comm.”

“I’d appreciate that. This has to do with Robin.”

Barbara’s hand, extended toward a switch beside the console, faltered.

“It’s good news, Oracle,” he added quietly. “Nothing too major, but he deserves to hear it.”

She flipped the switch. “Batman, the Justice League wants to speak with you. Is this a good time?”

The transmission crackled expectantly. “Wire them in,” Batman’s voice grunted.

“You’re connected,” Oracle said to both of them.

Superman smiled slightly, but his gaze lowered from the camera. He was no longer addressing the people on the other side. “Batman, thanks for finally picking up.” No response. Something rueful tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he glanced again at the screen. “Oracle, I’d appreciate it if you stayed on the line. Green Arrow has something to say.”

Oracle’s teeth clicked together at the name, but she said nothing.

A man Stephanie might have mistaken for a Robin Hood cosplayer if he hadn’t looked so naggingly familiar stepped into view. “Hey, Bats.” The man hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, actually, I brought someone here who can explain the situation better than I can.”

A girl, around Stephanie’s age, with a long blond ponytail, stepped up beside him.

“Batman?” She cleared her throat, braced her shoulders, lifted her chin. “My name is Artemis Crock. And my father and sister have been hunting Deathstroke and Reneg…I mean, Robin…for the past four months.”

Sportsmaster, Cheshire, the HIVE.

The girl’s story went on and on. The names meant nothing to Stephanie, or to Tim either, judging by the slight furrow between his brows, but to Oracle? Judging by the furious activity on her keyboard, those names meant something to her. More than something.

Artemis grimly recounted their battle with Deathstroke and ‘Renegade’, her injury, and how she had run away from her father as soon as she had healed sufficiently to succeed. Green Arrow had found her practicing vigilantism in Star City, and now, here she was.

And the reason?

“When a civilian got caught in the crossfire, Robin didn’t hesitate. It was like he forgot we were there, that we were trying to kill him. In that moment all he could see was that kid under the rubble, and…ever since then I’ve wished I’d run to help, too.”

So familiar. So…easy.

A masked, red-haired boy in what looked like a redder variation of Green Arrow’s costume pushed into view, forcing Artemis to lean sideways with a grimace.

“She’s one of us now, and it’s all thanks to Rob! Didja catch that everybody? And by the way, Cyborg, you sick of these old squares yet? The new T-tower’s bein’ built with your dough, and we need someone who actually knows how to use all that junk, y’know? We gotta straighten out all our crap before Rob comes back.”

Green Arrow bent forward to say something inaudible, but the boy just scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, apologize all you want, but don’t think I’ll let you forget that you all doubted him when he’s always been the best of us—”

The boy went on until the topic drifted into an interrogation, with Batman and Oracle alternating the line of questioning. As they filed through a thousand seemingly insignificant details, Tim remained enraptured throughout, but Stephanie wandered back toward Batgirl, who had hung back from the computer gathering. Nearly an hour passed, during which they alternated between sparring—if those lessons could be called that—and sitting back to watch the screen. Eventually the questions wound down to a close.

“Batman,” Artemis said again, her voice subdued. “Robin is in danger, and I do hope this will help you protect him from…all of them, but. I’m also afraid for my family. Neither of them is a match for the Terminator, and Jade—” A watery sheen filled her eyes, her expression pinching painfully. “She found me two days ago, and… she said that she’s going after the Terminator because of me. If you can, protect them. Please.”

When the screen blinked back, Oracle sat back, waiting. A few seconds later, Batman’s voice crackled through the comm.

“All is as expected.” His voice sounded rougher than usual. “I’ll be in the cave. Keep in touch.”

Steph headed back over to the computer. “Hey, about what that ginger kid said. Did you ever doubt Robin?”

Oracle shot her a sideways glance. “No. And before you ask, neither did Batman. We knew Robin better than most.”

“What was he like?” Tim asked, practically vibrating with excitement. “In person, I mean. I met him once, so I think I know, in a way, but still.”

Oracle reached for a drawer, and began rifling through a series of folders.

“See for yourself.” She pulled up a glossy photograph of a scrap of paper that had a phone number scrawled across it. “Robin wrote this note on January first in a New York brothel front. We know this because,” Oracle drew a long, tight breath, “a few weeks later, a fourteen-year-old girl came to the rebuilt Teen Titans tower with a story. She claimed that she’d met Robin. Recognized him, though he denied who he was. But then, a few hours later, Deathstroke handed her this slip of paper, told her it was ‘from Renegade’, and left. The number led her to a shelter for abused women and girls. They took her in. Changed her life.”

“Hold on,” Tim interrupted, “Deathstroke delivered Robin’s message? Why would he do that?”

Oracle turned away to carefully return the photograph to its place. “I don’t know. But don’t you see? This is exactly what happened with Artemis, and that elderly couple from New Mexico, too. Robin barely brushed shoulders with these people, and look at what they have to say about him. That’s who he’s always been, and obviously it hasn’t changed.”

“It’s almost hard to believe he’s held out this long,” Tim mused, a distant look in his eyes. “We’ve got to find him before Deathstroke pushes him too far. Makes him do something he can’t take back.”

Oracle went ramrod-stiff at Tim’s final words. Startled, Stephanie glanced between her and Tim, who was too dreamy-eyed to notice.

“Go home, you two,” Oracle said at last, in a strange voice. “Get some sleep.”

“This Robin,” Stephanie said abruptly, as she felt the timeline of her life begin to interlock with a yellow cape, stark against the night sky, “he helped to catch my dad a few years back, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

Stephanie left with the realization of how much she had to thank him for. Regardless of whatever Oracle wasn’t telling them, she could have hugged him for that. She hoped she’d have a chance to.

    + - + - + - +

    “You’re healing. That’s…good.”

Something was absent behind Cass’s eyes. She hadn’t challenged Bruce once since that first night, though he’d made a point of visiting her daily. She gazed back at him from her perch on the back of a sitting chair, her injured leg dangling over the side. He studied her placid expression, searching for a sign that this was patience and not despair. But Oracle had told him how Cassandra had begun sparring with Stephanie and Tim, how she had seemed to improve.

Steph arrived, dropping her backpack by the door before joining Tim by the bookshelves. Her face was flushed, her hair wind-tousled. Bruce’s lips pressed together grimly, but there was no time to address the possibility that Spoiler had returned to the streets. Making a mental note to ask Oracle about it later, he returned his attention to Cass.

“I’ll be out of the city for a couple days. Justice League emergency.” He hesitated. “You’re in good hands.”

Cass’s lips stirred slightly, as though she were about to speak. She stayed silent. Reluctant, he turned to leave.

The League’s recent gesture made this aid the least he owed them. The leads they had accumulated over the past week were loose, fluttering fragments of a larger picture that still need to be gathered together and studied. For now, he could entrust it to Oracle’s hands.

He placed a boot on the windowsill, the brisk night wind spilling through the opening as he undid the latch.

A signal beep from the computer monitor. Barbara addressed the alert swiftly, and Bruce waited with trepidation. Had the League conflict escalated so quickly?

“Batman,” she said.

He rushed to join her by the monitor and read the message, vaguely aware of the two teens gathering behind them.

A motel address. A video attachment, and a timestamp. The date March twenty-second, and a one-word message:

���Hurry’.

  . . .

  The attachment contained security footage of a motel parking lot. It recorded nothing of note, save for an inexplicable timestamp skip, and a strange white blip that Oracle had seen before.

“Those sure are some fireworks in the New York sky tonight, eh?” Having quickly overcome his initial alarm at The Batman’s appearance in his office, the motel manager was leaning across the counter with curiosity glowing in his eyes. “Woulda thought at a time like this, your kind was needed up there.”

Bruce finished his survey of the room, his gaze lingering on the creased map beside the door.

“I’m looking for a sixteen-year-old boy with dark hair,” he said briskly.

The man’s face lit up as though Batman had just described his best friend. With an easy tongue he recounted a good-humored boy he’d met a couple days before—on the twenty-second, he confirmed when pressed—and went into great detail on the boy’s (clearly false) story about a fishing trip.

“He ain’t in some kinda trouble, is he?”

Bruce studied the man’s suddenly sober expression for a long moment before withdrawing Stephanie’s sketch from his belt. “He will be, so long as he’s with this man.”

The manager bent across the counter to squint at the drawing. While rough, and a tad over-stylized with its oversized, angular eyes, it was legible enough. And if the depicted expression had been rendered perhaps less than neutral, the result hadn’t quite warranted criticism. Especially when the artist’s young face had glowed with such accomplishment.

The man’s expression slackened into something like dismay. “That man…he said he was his father.”

“He is not,” Bruce snapped.

The man’s eyes lifted to meet his, subdued. “What can I do?”

The original footage of the night in question had already been overwritten in the usual two day cycle. A search of the rented room revealed little more. Any belongings had been long since removed, any fingerprints wiped away. The camera loop had begun before their vehicle had entered the parking lot, and the manager had been unable to provide a description.

They had left abruptly, the beds inside undisturbed.

Why?

There had been a high wind-speed that night, deafening howls, but the hotel manager remembered hearing a woman’s shout.

The far end of the motel lot faded into a patch of woods, preceded by patches of dried mud that Bruce’s cape brushed as he crouched to examine the great gouges in the earth.

Three sets of prints—no, four.

Bent almost double, he pursued them through the trees and underbrush. Two of the sets were smaller, two larger. The prints trampled each other ruthlessly, save for one heavy boot-tread that had avoided the other prints as painstakingly as Bruce’s own. Heavy near the toe, stooped and swift.

It would be too easy to assign names to the jumbled trail, his heart hammering harder at the instinct, or fear, that was already deciphering the tale.

In the prints he saw the long smear of a fall. And a dark, pooling splatter.

Bruce rubbed the unnaturally rust-tinted dirt between his gloved fingers. He fought to keep them steady, but still, the discolored grains sifted through them. Useless, empty hands.

“We can’t know it’s his until we test a sample,” Barbara’s voice murmured through his comm.

The trail continued, veering left, toward the road. “No time,” he said, already pushing on through trampled thorns and brush.

‘Hurry’, had been the sole message from their source. Speculation was dangerous, but who else could it be, if not the nameless caller who had led Batman across the sea to come within arm’s reach of his Robin, his—

An impression in the dirt stretched out before him, the outline of a fallen body, the size of—

Bruce’s knees struck the earth before the swarm of tracks, no longer swift, no longer urgent. Circling the body on the ground.

“—atman, do you read me? Batman—”

  + - + - + - +

  “Batman!” Oracle repeated.

Stephanie and Tim leaned in closer to the monitor’s live feed from Batman’s mask. A vague fuzziness made it difficult to properly comprehend what they were seeing, but it looked like…

“They captured him,” Batman’s voice crackled through the speakers. “The Crocks.”

“We can’t be certain,” Oracle began, but Batman wasn’t finished.

“Robin lured them away from the motel, to prevent casualties. He was unprepared for combat, and…alone.”

You said ‘captured’, Stephanie couldn’t bring herself to say, fingernails digging into her sweat-slick palms. How do you know they didn’t—

“We know from Artemis that Deathstroke was their primary target,” Batman continued. The camera view shifted, as though he’d risen to his feet. “They made no attempt to disguise their tracks. They wanted him to follow.”

The camera pushed through branches, soon reaching a street. Solid asphalt, with no more tracks to follow. Stephanie felt her stomach sink.

“Oracle. Scan the tire tread.”

“On it.”

Stephanie watched Oracle analyze the pattern, and Batman was already making his way back to the Batmobile.

But her thoughts were still on the two mercenaries who had attacked Robin, but hated Deathstroke as much as she did.

“They’re no match for Deathstroke,” she murmured.

Tim looked over at her sharply. “You’re right.”

Caught off guard, she blinked at him in surprise.

“In all likelihood, wherever this trail leads, it’s already over. They’ll all be long gone.”

“Then we’ll search out a new lead,” Oracle said, shooting a look in his direction. “This is all we have, Tim.”

“But if we already know Robin is back with Deathstroke, this seems like a waste of time.”

“Tim,” she repeated.

“We don’t know how serious Robin’s injury was. Deathstroke may not have had the option to take him all the way back to New York, assuming he wanted to keep him alive. Maybe Deathstroke took him to a safehouse nearby, or even another motel—”

“We don’t know that Robin was injured,” she countered tersely, glancing back toward Batman’s camera feed. “That blood could just as easily have belonged to Sportsmaster or Cheshire.”

“But can we afford to take that chance? It’s only been a day! If Deathstroke did bring him somewhere close by, they might still be there, and the longer we spend following this—”

“Stop.”

Something in Oracle’s tone made Tim’s mouth snap shut. Statue-still, her hand stayed raised in a motion for silence. But her eyes weren’t on Tim.

“Is someone else on the line?”

Silence. Stephanie held her breath, her ears strained to hear whatever Oracle must have picked out.

“Check the nearest hospital,” crackled through the speakers, the voice muffled—young, “…you morons.”

“Who is this?” Oracle demanded, racing to work something into the computer. “Is this the anonymous caller? Hello?”

But even Stephanie had heard the click of a terminated transmission.

Oracle hissed out sharply through her teeth. “I couldn’t trace the connection in time.”

“A hospital is out of the question,” Batman said quickly. “Deathstroke would never risk it.”

But Stephanie could see on Oracle’s screen that she had already started the search.

Stephanie tried to imagine the man who had hurled a grenade at her, who had nearly killed Batgirl, being desperate enough to drag Robin into a hospital. She couldn’t.

And yet.

“But we don’t know the guy well enough to say that, do we?” She asked quietly. “I mean, no one’s even been able to tell me what he was doing in Gotham without his mask.”

“And that note from New Years,” Tim rushed to add. “We’ve seen him do things for Robin before.”

Tim looked at Stephanie, something in his eyes saying what neither of them dared to say aloud. As though he knew that her memory of the ruthless old man from the park was beginning to look far too much like her dad. Her lowlife excuse for a father. Would he have taken a similar risk for her? As much as the thought twisted at her insides, Stephanie knew the answer.

Just because he was her—

Oh God.

She clapped a hand over her mouth before a strangled noise could jump out. A hand wrapped around hers. Tim.

“This is sick,” she whispered. Gently, Tim squeezed her hand, and released it.

“Covenant Hospital,” Oracle exclaimed. “Batman. We have footage.”

Through the camera feed, the Batmobile whirled around, engines roaring toward its target.

“The trail is still warm. They left last night, but we can trace the looped camera feed through the city. We’ve got them.”

Oracle was smiling as she spoke, and behind her glasses, her eyes sparkled. As though the battle were already won.

“And then what?” Stephanie burst out, startling Oracle out of her reverie. “You told us what happened the last time Batman found Robin. What makes you think this time will be any different?”

Some of the light dimmed in Oracle’s eyes. “We’ll make this time different.”

“To do that, you’ll need more boots on the ground.” Stephanie said, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “Batman can’t go after them alone.”

Just like that, Oracle’s face closed off. Stephanie felt Tim go stiff at her side.

“We’ll contact the Justice League if possible,” Oracle said neutrally, as though she’d misunderstood.

“It won’t be,” Steph retorted. “I’ve seen the news.”

Oracle ignored her.

Stephanie felt the knot in her chest flare into anger. “You used to be Batgirl, right?”

Oracle’s shoulders twitched. Stephanie’s stomach gave a guilty lurch, but her next words rushed out of their own volition.

“I looked up to you. You made me think maybe I didn’t have to sit back and wait for Batman to save my family. And look, I know this new Batgirl has insane assassin skills, but you? What right did you have to put on a costume and fight that I don’t?” Stephanie whirled to face Tim. “And you could back me up a little. Or are you hoping Batman thinks you’re special enough to be the next Robin?”

“Of course not,” Tim snapped, too quickly, too angrily. His cheeks flushed beet red.

Her mouth dropped open. “You do want to be Robin!”

“Stephanie!” Oracle hissed. “Keep your voice down. Please.” She glanced significantly toward the half-closed door to Batgirl’s room, where the girl had collapsed into one of those dead-to-the-world comas of hers that Oracle called naps.

“Listen,” Oracle continued in a low voice. “You don’t know what we’ve been through this past year. We’ve lost too many kids. And this week, we almost lost two more.” She paused, searching Stephanie’s face for understanding. “You’re not the only one we’re trying to keep off the streets.”

Stephanie blinked rapidly under the woman’s solemn scrutiny, water building at the corners of her eyes though she didn’t know why.

But then something clicked. Her eyes widened with horror. “You’re benching Batgirl permanently, aren’t you?” Oracle’s expression pinched, as though pained. “You can’t. It’ll kill her!”

“We’re trying to save her,” Oracle whispered fiercely. “The damage is already done. She needs to find other things worth living for, and that’s what you’ve done for her.” Oracle drew a shaky breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “Thank you.”

Stephanie clenched her trembling hands into fists at her sides. “You don’t get it. No, you really don’t get it. You and Batman think we’re different from you, like we’re not just as ready to put our lives on the line as you are. But Batgirl,” Stephanie’s words caught in her throat, “she didn’t hesitate before shielding me with her body. She didn’t give a single thought to her own wellbeing. And from what I’ve heard, Robin is just the same.”

Stephanie scrubbed a sleeve across her itching eyes, and fixed Oracle with a glare.

“You know, I’ll bet the reason you couldn’t bring him home the last time was because you were treating him like a victim in need of rescue. And when did Robin ever see himself that way?”

“Robin is a hero,” Tim whispered.

Stephanie shot him a baffled look. “That’s just what I was saying, what are you—”

“No, Steph, I agree. Oracle, you and everyone else who cares about Robin—you’ve been treating this like a kidnapping. You’re looking for a victim. And yeah, maybe he is one. But did we forget that Robin is a hero?”

Steph glanced between Tim’s animated expression and Oracle’s slackening realization. “God…” she breathed. “Dear God…”

Oracle whirled around to say something into her mic, and Tim turned back to Stephanie. “We need to go back to square one and ask why Renegade exists. Why, and how, with all we know about Robin, has Deathstroke managed to keep a hold on him all this time. What meant more to Robin than anything else?”

“His friends,” Batman rasped, almost inaudible behind the static. “Of course. He would have done anything for them. For us. Anything…”

Stephanie glanced again toward the camera feed, noticing for the first time that the Batmobile seemed to have stopped moving. And was the camera shaking? Oracle continued murmuring into the mic.

But Stephanie was beginning to understand. “He became Renegade for the same reason he became Robin?”

“Of course he did,” Oracle said. She locked eyes with Stephanie. In the brief moment before she turned away, Stephanie recognized absolute gratitude. “The Titans. We need to contact them.”

Batman’s voice returned, more clearly this time. “I’ll reach Titans Tower within the hour.”

“I’ll continue tracing Deathstroke’s route. Stay in touch.”

Stephanie turned away. This moment wasn’t about her in the least, and she could live with that. Even if some issues had been left unresolved, at this rate, she might even get a chance to talk it over with Robin himself.

Until then, at least someone needed her. Carefully, she pushed Batgirl’s door open and peered inside.

Where she found an empty bed, tangled sheets, and wind swirling in through the open window.

“...Batgirl?”

    + - + - + - + - +

    The four crimson furrows along the right side of Dick’s neck glared back at him from the bathroom mirror. Cheshire had only narrowly missed his throat and larynx, sparing his voice. Small mercies.

A little ball of sweat trickled down his collarbone, despite the ever-present chill of Slade’s base. One of its few constants. Now, the temperature barely wicked the heat from his shivering skin.

He hadn’t had a chance to ask Slade about that yet.

Wincing, he drew back from the sink, taking care not to turn his head too abruptly. Over the past couple nights the wound’s shiny flesh had dimmed to a throbbing pink, but its puffy ridges were still held together by little more than a few tidy black stitches. As he pressed the bandage back into place, his thumb brushed the right side of his jaw, and the slight dip rimmed by powder-burned stippling. His fingertips wandered higher, tracing the faint white line that ran diagonal across his cheek, and the pale, hairless stripe through his left eyebrow.

With time, his neck wounds would fade to a similar shade.

He studied his pale, patchworked reflection. It might be Dick Grayson’s face staring back at him, but would anyone recognize it? Anyone, at least, who wasn’t Slade?

He turned abruptly from the mirror, provoking another twinge in his neck.

The base was quiet. Too quiet.

The main room welcomed him with the yawning silence of a tomb. He scuffed his socked feet intentionally against the coarse cement floor, and the faint sound echoed a mockery of his footsteps from every distant dark corner.

He tipped his head back to squint into the pitch blackness obscuring the gears that hung high above his head like heavy, crushing boughs, and thought of the distant opening of the fan, and the little book wedged into the gear directly below it. For the first time in he-couldn’t-remember-how-long, his eyes were taking a while to adjust to the dark. The looming shapes looked strange to him, somehow.

And the steel forest was quieter than he’d remembered.

The clank and grind of the lift rattled across the room. Dick approached as Deathstroke emerged from the sliding door, dressed for business and armed. His dusty leather boots said he’d seen action, though Dick could tell by a glance that whatever had happened, it hardly winded him.

But that didn’t mean much. Slade had already defeated both the Crocks singlehandedly, completely unarmed.

And Dick had been trying very hard not to dwell on the reason why.

“You look more like yourself,” Slade said lightly.

“Heard from the Crocks?” Dick managed to ask.

“No sign,” Slade said, ambling to a stop a careless few steps away. “Yet.”

Dread and relief mingled with the achy waves of ice and fire under Dick’s skin. Dull, phantom pain.

“S…” his tongue faltered numbly between a title and a name, but his hands trembled with urgency. “I need more antivenin.”

“You don’t. You’ll feel the lingering traces of venom in your system now, but that can’t be helped. It’ll have to flush out through natural means.”

“Meaning…?”

“Your blood will replace itself,” Slade said briskly.

“…Including the infected blood cells,” Dick finished. Slade nodded. “But until then, how long will it—” How long will it hurt?

“A few months.” Slade tugged sharply at his right glove. “Four.”

It might have been another wave of heat that sent a shudder down Dick’s body. Four months. Four entire—

Slade’s fingers pinched his jaw. Tipping to the side until it pulled at the stitches in Dick’s neck. Just as Dick had a few minutes before, he tugged away the bandage to survey the damage. Tight-lipped, Dick waited for Slade to finish, but already Slade was replacing the bandage and pulling away. Not, however, before his single, intent eye flickered across Dick’s scrapbook of scars.

‘Admiring your own handiwork?’ leapt viciously to the tip of Dick’s tongue.

But a realization struck him, then; in the time since he’d stepped out of the elevator, Slade hadn’t removed a single scrap of armor.

“Get changed.”

“For…” Dick faltered, “a contract?”

“Your new uniform is in the gym. Beside the desk.”

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since Slade had shaken Dick awake in the hospital, unhooked him from the machines, and half-dragged him out through the window to the waiting car below. Less than a day, and Dick’s neck was held together by luck and a few loops of string.

Slade’s hand landed on his shoulder, steering him toward the sliver of light at the far end of the room. Glancing down at Dick’s face, whose eyes hadn’t shifted from his, Slade gave his shoulder a brief pat. “Buck up. This’ll all be over soon.” He pulled away to stride toward the waiting door.

“Hey,” Dick said, not following. Slade halted. Dick searched the hint of masked profile he could make out, silhouetted against the distant light. “Are you…” he hesitated. “Is everything okay?”

Slade looked at him.

Dick remembered snatches of what had happened three days ago, before and after Cheshire had ripped into his neck. Those snatches had told him enough about the man behind the inscrutable mask he looked into now, who he now owed his life to. That same man would know the dangers of placing undue stress on the wound—and he would care—but even now, Slade still hadn’t removed his mask.

The moment lingered, precarious as a knife balanced on a fingertip. As though even a breath might make it fall.

Slade turned away, jerking his chin toward the door.

“Let’s get this over with.”

[leoleolovesdc]

When it comes to Cass and language I like to think that even though she eventually learned how to speak and write and has to use it on a daily basis that is obviously not her preferred method of communication. Cass only had to start grappling with the concept of verbal language at 17 and so she’d developed her own kind of communication, esp w the people she’s most comfortable with she’d use a mix of gestures, facial expressions, body language and simple words; things that she’s most used to and could use to express herself more freely.

Her friends and family having to deal with her being mostly non-verbal would also force them to get better at interpreting and using facial expressions and body language to express themselves, also making it easier for Cass to understand them back.

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 01

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring: Platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephane Brown, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.

1.9k words

Prologue <- Ch. 01 -> Ch. 02

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

( 5:00 -> Basketball game)

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Tim stared down at his phone, unable to look away. you were just so cute.

He replayed your conversation in his head—every glance, every word, the way you copied his notes—over and over again. The fact that you were his partner? It was perfect. It practically accelerated their plans 10x.

His grip on the phone tightened. Giddy smile creeping on his face. He wanted to keep texting with you, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to be careful.

”What is so important that it is keeping you from your responsibilities?”

Tim rolled his eyes.

Damian. Snarky as ever, standing by the bat computer with the same judgemental expression he always had. He’s been pressing for updates nonstop, and throwing snide remarks whenever possible.Tim wanted to tell the family about the ‘new development’ right away, but Damian’s constant questioning made him hold off.

It’d be easier just to tell everyone on patrol. Dick would be in the city tonight, anyway. He’ll tell the whole family once everyone’s together.

Sure it’s a little selfish, but he’s not keeping it a secret forever, only a few hours.

It takes all his strength to put his phone away and get prepared for patrol. Excitement coarsening through his veins.

Damian Just scoffed and turned away in disgust.

Patrol is expected to go by without a hitch. Most of Gotham’s rogues are locked up in Arkham. The streets will be relatively quiet. Couple of rookies tonight at best. It'll be a breeze tonight.

But Tim wouldn't be able to focus tonight, not fully. His mind would be too preoccupied.

“Red Robin, Nightwing. There’s a bank robbery 3 blocks north”

Oracles' words snapped Tim back to reality. He was thinking about you again.

“On it” Nightwing spoke into the coms. Leaping off the Roof with an effortless grace making his way over. Tim was quick to follow, pushing down all thoughts of you.

“5 individuals, all armed… Be careful” Oracles voice echoed through the coms.

“Nothing we’ve never handled”

watching from the rooftop opposite of Westwood Bank, it was obvious these men were amateurs.

One was fumbling with the alarm system, cursing under his breath. Another was banging on the register, trying to force it open. The other 3 were likely in the back fumbling through the more valuable vaults.

It was very sloppy and clearly unplanned. Easy.

“Whoever takes down the most wins.” Dick smirked. The only way they’d be able to get any type of entertainment out of this was to make a game of it.

“Sure” Tim didn’t really care to win or lose but he’d figure he might as well humour Dick. It’ll make it go by quicker.

Busting through the window of the building, glass shattering in a hundred pieces. The men were slow to react, before they could even raise their guns. Dick and Tim’s batarang sliced through the air, disarming them with a clank.

The noise sent the other three into a panic. Two of them raced in guns blazing. They were clearly rushed, aim painfully sloppy.

Shots fired throughout the building, ricocheting off the walls. Dick was quick to throw one of his escrima sticks, CRACK. He knocked the smaller one out.

The bigger one hesitated for half a second, more than enough time for Tim. One swing of his Boa-staff and he was out.

Tim took a deep breath. Standing tall over the man, pride swelling in his chest. He took the biggest guy in one swing. His mind flickered back to you. What would you think of that? Would you be impressed? Tell him good job?

“TIM LOOK OU—“

Dick’s warning barely registered. Before he could even turn around.

BANG.

A noxious sting rang through his side. The impact sent him crashing to the floor.

The force left him winded. He knew his suit was bullet proof, but the pain was unbearable, a sharp fiery burn in his ribs. It was excruciating.

Dick was fast, he moved in a blur. Tim could hardly focus on him. His vision was beginning to fade. White spots clouding his vision; the pain was just too much.

He needed to close his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t.

but he did anyway.

+++++

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The grating alarm is quick to piss you off. You smashed the snooze button, groaning. You just wanted 5 more minutes of precious Beauty sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Jesus— has it seriously already been five minutes?

With a groan you turn it off you and roll out of bed. You grab your phone to scroll through your socials as you make your way to the kitchen. You have a game today so you gotta actually eat breakfast for once— even if your options are limited.

Scanning the kitchen— seemed like cereal was your only option. You poured a bowl of ‘fruit rounds’. It tasted like cardboard but you had to eat. As you scrolled through TikTok your mind drifted back to yesterday.

Tim Drake

It was weird thinking about it, some random scholarship kid talking with the biggest nepo baby in Gotham. At least his family taught him some manners, he was nice enough to let you copy his notes. Which was more than you could say for most students. Yikes.

Finishing up with breakfast, you went about the rest of your morning routine. Packing up for the game you triple checked you didn’t forget anything. Coach would literally Kill you.

The ride to school was… odd.

Your stomach twisted and you broke into a cold sweat, it was like your first day of school all over again.

You stared out the window, trying to focus on the buzz and chatter in the subway anything to take your mind off this feeling

What would happen if you had a bad game?

The thought had been in your head since you found out about the game last week. But today it was relentless, it was all you could think of.

Bad games meant losing , Losing meant a bad season. Bad season meant.

No scholarship.

your breath hitched. This scholarship was your ticket out. Without it, you’d end up like her, like your mother. Swallowed by Gotham and everything she has to offer.

That wasn’t going to be your future.

Art and Maths go by in a flash. It’s always been hard for you to focus in class on game days.

Like always you make your way to Brandi’s locker, she’ll ease your mind.

“You look like a wreck” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of explanation “Game day nerves” you sigh feeling a wave of stress wash over you. You want nothing more than to collapse in bed. Pretend none of it’s happening.

She hums, “Ohhhh, forgot that was today” Brandi is the only one who truly gets it. Her GPA drops below 3.7? She's gone. you lose more than you win? you're gone.

She doesn’t press, instead talking about how her day was. It’s what you love about Brandi, she knows what to do.

You two go back and forth telling stupid jokes and gossip about other students.

Until you’re interrupted by a group of girls heading towards your lunch table. One girl breaks away from the group, she’s beautiful— blue eyes, shiny brown hair and flawless skin. The kind of pretty that can be bought. Expensive skin-care, hair products, the whole nine yards.

“Umm your y/n right?” She asks through giggles, the girls behind her are all whispering and laughing to each other. Something tightens in your chest. “Yeah… why?” You ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

“So like… are you like… friends with Tim now?” She hardly gets through her sentence, giggling and looking back at her friends.

“Uhh no?” You respond, with a little more confidence.

She stops laughing, her eyes narrowed “Oh!? So then why were you talking with him?” her voice is sharper.

What is with her? Is this middle school? “We’re assigned partners” you answer flatly.

“So you like weren’t passing notes with him?”

For a second you just blink at her. Why would you be passing notes with Tim Drake? You were just copying his notes.

”No”

“oh okay” She turns on her heels, heading back to her group. The giggles and side eye’s start up again.

You clench your first. This is why you wanted to avoid him— Dumb rumours, unwanted attention.

“What the hell was that about?” Brandi asks, “Why would I know?” you stab at your lunch, taking another bite of your food.

“Since when were you partners with Tim Drake?” She asked.

You froze.

If she didn’t know… How the hell did Tim get your number?

+++++

Tim woke up in his room. Mind still foggy and body aching, from whatever happened on patrol last night.

Fuck, he missed the chance to tell everyone about yesterday.

He groaned and reached for his phone—8:20. Still breakfast time, everyone but Jason should be downstairs.

It took all his strength to make his way downstairs. It was a bad idea to be moving so soon after an injury. But he had to tell them.

His body was screaming at him by the time he made it to the dining room.

“Quite the show Drake.” Damian sneered, not bothering to turn around and face him.“Who knew you were such an easy target?”

Tim rolled his eyes. No one at the table disagreed with Damian's comment. Deep down they all knew he was right.

“What happened out there?” Stephanie raised a brow. Dick and Duke looked up, expecting an actual, reasonable, explanation.

Tim paused, the pain stinging in his ribs.

“…I was thinking about y/n” he answered honestly.

A fork clanked on a plate.

“Enough to get shot?” Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like you even have the guts to—“

“we’re assigned partners for a project… we were supposed to work on it today after school” Tim cut him off, hand clenching at his ribs.

Everyone at the table pauses. then everyone’s staring up at him.

Even Bruce.

”We sat beside each other yesterday, they copied my notes… I even texted them last night, before patrol” He tries to sound casual, but pride swells in his chest. He’s the first person in the family to talk with you.

The family see’s through him right away.

”you texted them?” Asks Dick

Tim nods, Damian scoffs.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us?” Bruce’s voice is calm, his expression neutral. But Tim knows him—he was analyzing everything.

“I was going to tell everyone on patrol” he exclaims, hand clutching his side as he limps to his seat. “it’d be easier to come up with a plan together”

His reasoning seemed sound, but the family knew better.

“You’re not fit to go to school today” Bruce stated coldly, turning back to his meal.

Tim paused “But-“

”you’ll invite them over tomorrow.” His voice is final, he sets his coffee cup down with a quiet clink “I’m sure they’d love to meet the family.”

+++++++++++

Chapter 1! Although the prologue feels more like Chapter 1 than a prologue. I stayed up way too late to finish this. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask me :).

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp

[elizabethhood]

Lady Gotham by Elizabeth_Hood

Fandoms:Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Batman (Movie 2022), DCU, DCU (Comics)  

Teen And Up Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Gen

Work in Progress

Tags

No Archive Warnings Apply

Batfamily Members & Gotham City

Gotham City

Bruce Wayne

Gotham City Residents

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Tim Drake (DCU)

Cassandra Cain

Damian Wayne

Weird Gotham City

Sentient Gotham City

Physical Manifestation of Gotham City

Tags May Change

Summary

Gotham is more than a city. Ch. 1 is the Batfam Ch. 2 is a drawing I did (not a very good one) Ch. 3 will be ships and teams   Read a fic a while back (read three or four years ago) where physical manifestations of each city showed up. Please help me find it so I can give credit for the inspiration.

Made a fic? More like a drabble, to go with my drawing.

[dcfanfictioncatalogue]

barbara gordon MAY 2024 fic awards

this is cherry's fic awards !! here are my favorite babs fics from may, which was a fruitful month! I was collecting stats & realized that each year actually sees an increase in the amount of fics tagged barbara gordon per month so hopefully we see more and more fics for her!! I would love that, and I hope if anyone sees my rec lists they feel inspired to write a babs fic of their own

plum, by violet. 1.7k, T, gen. summary: “gordon, you know I detest shopping,” the boy said harshly. lana covered her mouth. that was damian fucking wayne. my notes: outsider pov fic!! honestly this makes me realize how little babs and damian have ever interacted and I think they should tbh I think babs deserves a second annoying younger brother

&&

Hello World, It's Me Again, by Androxys. 14.5k, M, gen, 1/4. summary: barbara gordon was shot, and the world kept going. my notes: an oracle year one rewrite! holy SHIT I love this. as of ch 1 she's not quite oracle yet but you can SEE the threads of her coming together. the way she's struggling like hell but her personality SHINES through. by god this is good

&&

[LOCKED] I wanted a lullaby, by Luvo. 1.5k, T, gen. summary: bruce and barbara, on the subject of one cassandra cain once more. my notes: babs vs bruce and the dichotomy of the person they want cass to be my BELOVED. this is a conversation that would make itself right at home within batgirl 2000

⇘     click for more!     ⇘

Homecoming as Labyrinthian, by cabezas_de_vaca. 25.5k, T, gen. summary: somewhere in these long intervening years it’s become a question of avoidance: how not to get something. how to avoid the shadows and scars. swearing off the business entirely is the only way she knows. but still, the hunger for it lingers. my notes: if you're a long term follower you will note that this has been previously recced, but I do re-rec things when they update, since they appear in the tag again. please check out my other reading lists for thoughts!!

&&

Silent Gifts, by 525600thoughtsofaplatypus. 1.7k, G, gen. summary: cass randomly gives babs a gift after a patrol one night without any explanation. my notes: babs & cass mother daughterisms!! this is really sweet and fluffy

&&

paranoid android, by SnappleSnapSnake. 3.2k, T, gen. summary: “hello, stephanie. or should I call you spoiler?” a woman’s scrambled voice rang out, talking like a fucking bond villain. okay, so, yeah. probably a mob boss. play it cool, steph. my notes: steph centric tbh but I think babs is really well characterized here -- she's just as incompetent with emotions as bruce is, and I think babs testing steph & judging her as she fails even though she knew she would -- fascinating!

ask box is open for requests ++ find my fic rec libraries organized here

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Lady Gotham

by Elizabeth_Hood Gotham is more than a city. Ch. 1 is the Batfam Ch. 2 is a drawing I did (not a very good one) Ch. 3 will be ships and teams   Read a fic a while back (read three or four years ago) where physical manifestations of each city showed up. Please help me find it so I can give credit for the inspiration. Words: 1132, Chapters: 2/3, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Batman (Movie 2022), DCU, DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Gotham City, Bruce Wayne, Gotham City Residents, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne Relationships: Batfamily Members & Gotham City Additional Tags: Weird Gotham City, Sentient Gotham City, Physical Manifestation of Gotham City, Tags May Change via https://ift.tt/xHKLYSi

[cuephrase]

2024 Writing Review

tagged in this by @androxys, tysm!!

number of stories posted to ao3: four- three drabbles, one one-shot and one multi-chap fic

word counted posted for last year: 37, 886!! that's so much for me, crazy (both 2022 and 2023 were around 7k, for comparison)

fandoms i wrote for: batman - all media types, babyyyy. two of the drabbles were very comic specific so i have batman (comics) and nightwing (comics) tagged. wait. lmao that was wrong, i've edited it now, was supposed to be batgirl (comics) someone help me oh my god

pairings: we've got two hits for Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, then Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, and Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne

so, bc that's giving me a headache, five Dick tags, four Tim tags, four Bruce tags, four Jason tags, and one Cass tag. all but three of those are one fic tho lmao.

stories with the most kudos, bookmarks and comment threads: penance, far and away. that fic got (is getting?) so much more love than i could have imagined or hoped for. absolutely mind-blowing fr

work i’m most proud of (and why): okay so this is a tie between penance and plea for two completely opposite reasons! penance is the first multichap fic i've ever completed and that's a huge milestone for me. plea i'm really proud of bc it's only 100 words but i feel like i managed to accomplish absolutely everything i wanted to and it's sooooooo satisfying to me.

work i’m least proud of (and why): hmmmmm. maybe inventory? it was supposed to be fluff and i corrupted it. so that frustrates me when i think about it even though the finished product isn't bad.

share or describe a favorite review you received: oh gosh ummmmm. help. i really loved every comment letting me know they'd cried real tears bc i am Evil. but if i had to choose one comment, i think this one has stuck with me the most (some parts blocked out bc Spoilers)

the fic has an ending spoiler now that it's complete, but when i was posting it i hadn't totally nailed the ending down. that apprehension meant so much to me, that willingness to follow the story- i could be reading into it idk, but i really value the trust that early readers had because, quite frankly, i don't think i had earned it. i also loved that they both couldn't decide what to think about tim and that they liked it- what i was portraying is messy and complicated and i think there's a really fine line there between stuff being ooc or frustrating or exhausting or dissatisfying with that kind of thing, so it was super !!!!! to have successfully walked that line for them!

but my favorite part of this comment is easily "the power of love is truly an ugly and beautiful thing...made me appreciate life". i don't really write romances, but the power of love is one of those things i end up wrestling with thematically a lot because it's just so captivating and it's one of those things i feel like i can't ever find the words for actually, i need you to just feel it and they felt it and- yeah. just yeah. and then writing/storytelling is something i use to help me appreciate life so overall just 🥹😭🫶 x1000

a time when writing was really, really hard: after i finished penance, rip. i got psyched out by all the positive attention and couldn't write 😅. there were plenty of times this year where i just wasn't trying to write so like i guess that was hard, but being paralyzed by overthinking when i had plenty of ideas and wanted to write Sucked. it's okay, i talked to my therapist finger guns

a scene or character you wrote that surprised you: slight penance spoilers lol, but in ch 3, the dick and tim hug surprised me. not that it happened, bc i knew it was going to, but i just had the image of the scene, yk, not like. how it would truly feel to be in dick's headspace in that moment. and omg. it just attacked me. i couldn't stop crying it was so frustrating. i'd pause to collect myself, come back and just nope. the scene is actually shorter than i originally envisioned bc i physically couldn't smh

a favourite excerpt of your writing: oh gosh. um um ummmmmm i really like this bit from ch 1 of penance-

this moment was just incredibly fun for so many reasons, not least of which is that i got to break tim for the first time 😇

how did you grow as a writer last year: i learned that i can, in fact, start and finish something that isn't a one shot. idk if my writing has improved on a technical level at all? but, despite it being a bit of a one step forward, two steps back thing at times, i do think i gained some confidence in my ability to write and that'll be really nice in the long run if i can, yk. take the steps forward without going back.

how do you hope to grow this year: by writing more. i want to actually write things instead of daydreaming and maybe getting down like twenty words and then never looking at it again. at my most ambitious, i build a habit.

who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc.): oh shoot. i got so much support from so many people i almost don't know where to start. i am so beyond grateful to everyone who has supported me, and i'm going to single out @a-canceled-stamp, @canonicallyshort, and @koraesrambles for enabling the crap out of me. love you guys sm!!!! (that extends to everyone not just those three ofc!!)

anything from your real life show up in your writing last year: the grieving process haha.

any new wisdom you can share with other writers: oh gosh ummmmmm. follow your gut. forget about audience, and rules, and whatever- if you know the story you want to tell, tell that story. just get it out. it deserves to be told.

any projects you’re looking to start (or finish) this year: the sequel to penance. my jason fic, my dick fic. i don't want to get ahead of myself or anything, but i hope i've got a handful of fics to look back on next year!!

no pressure tagging @sunflowersandink, @goldenraeofsun, @fleur-de-violette, @byrambles, and @elegitre (plus everyone already tagged)!!

[batfamilycentral]

Cassandra Cain in Spirit World (2023), art by Haining. - requested by anonymous.

[writing-biting]

I just saw a post?? Where someone asked CHATGP-FUCKING-T which tmnt 2012 ninja turtle would be which batman or robin. And it's like WHAT'S THE POINT OF THAT?? they even said that they didn't like some of its choices, but— they treated the fucking robot as the gospel truth??? I'm fuckijg sorry??

FIRST OF ALL 12!leo would not be FUCKING BATMAN. shut the fuck up. '03!Leo would be Batman though, that's true.

The person who made that post and said that they thought Leo should be nightwing was absolutely fucking right and I stand by that. They just need to stop letting ch*tgpt tell them that Leo is Batman (WHICH I WILL ADMIT WORKS IN SOME ITERATIONS BUT NOT 2012)

Okay, so a person's initial instincts might be to put donnie as Tim Drake. To which I say "donnie does not care enough to do that. he wouldn't fucking bother. He has better things to do than stalk batman." And also that the only way he would follow tim drake's plotline is if batman was a really cute girl.

Oh, but peppermint, Bruce is a really cute boy. To which I say DOES DONNIE'S INTERNALIZED, NOT NECESSARILY CANON, HOMOPHOBIA MEAN nothing TO YOU??

back to point. Mikey would be Tim Drake. You only disagree with me because you hate Mikey and love Tim.

Who would be able to figure out who batman is? Mikey.

Who would try to force himself into interpersonal problems that are none of his business? Mikey.

Who would take absolutely spring at the chance to become a superhero, in the name of getting batman to chill the fuck out? Mikey.

Raph would be damian for obvious reasons (people expect excessive violence from them, and don't respect them). Also they're both softies for animals. Raph's frustration and temper would match the life he'd have as damian

Donnie would be oracle for equally obvious reasons BUT every other adventure he WILL wheel in and blow so much stuff up, like you wouldn't even believe.

Karai would be cassandra Cain BECAUSE DUH. raised as a weapon in the league of assassins?? regretted her first kill and ran away to the bats? the only problem of this is that we're taking Karai's quips away— JUST KIDDING WE'RE FORCING EVERYONE TO LEARN SIGN LANGUAGE

Casey is red hood, because who else would steal tires off of Batman's car and then hit him with a tire wrench? Not to mention, I don't think he'd take not-being-avenged very well.

April is Signal, NOT because there isn't a lot of characters left, but rather because I can absolutely see her coralling together a "we are all robin group" (girl's got what's almost a cult motif) NOT TO MENTION this works with her feeling like she doesn't really fit in, seeing as she wouldn't be proper robin. And although she works really great at night, I think being a daytime hero would really help her get some of the spotlight she rightfully deserves. (Also an oracle/signal/red hood love triangle, with both of them fighting over signal, goes so fucking hard)

I would like to argue that shredder would make a better batman than splinter but nobody is ready for that conversation (wow peppermint what's with you and trying to cut splinter out of aus, do you have some sort of problem with him— SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

[roguestorm]

Batgirls + horror books and movies

[daddysfangirls-dc]

The Arrangement

CH 12 - Cassandra ca-Wayne

Damian Wayne x Oc! Female

Prev | Next

Syn sat in the empty audience, watching Cassandra dance across the stage. Twirling, leaping, stretching, bending. It was all a dance, a beautiful dance. Gorgeous. She couldn't help but stand and applauded. Those on stage were startled by the sudden applause from the dark. A few gathered themselves and bowed to their fan in the shadows, Cass amongst them. The girls quickly scurried backstage; security moved to find the trespasser, Syn, and removed them.

-

Cassandra walked alone to the front, where Alfred should be waiting to pick her up. As she made her way to the stairs, she felt someone approaching her. As they touched her shoulder, she immediately turned around and grabbed the person pulling them down the stairs. Unfortunately, the person grabbed her arm and pulled her down the stairs with them. The whole way down, pushing and pulling at each other. They ended up at the bottom with Cassandra on top with her knees pinning their arms. 

"You are very skilled, as to be expected from The Cassandra Wayne." Syn smiled, ignoring the painful pressure on her arms. Cassandra quickly gets up, offering her a hand. She is very apologetic, signing her apologies in many words. Syn lightly pushes her hands down. " There's no need for apologies. You've done nothing wrong. It was I who came up behind you. Idiotic of me. I am in the wrong; therefore, I am the one who is sorry."

Cassandra simply nodded before turning around to pick up her duffle bag, which had fallen. " You might be aware that I've taken the time to meet all of Damian's siblings individually to properly introduce myself and get to know you better."

Cassandra Signs her response,' He did. Dick was very excited about lunch. He enjoyed it very much. Tim has also told us what you did for him. Thank you.'

"I enjoyed my day with Tim, even if it was brief. I hope he has better days, though."

Cassandra moves to sign again, and that's when she realizes that today is a silent day. While within her research Syn learned Cassandra Cain learned to speak very late in life it being her 2nd language, her first being body, even then she spoke very little. Then, she became a Wayne and began to speak more freely and with words. However, it was through Damian that Cassandra Wayne, Cass, still relied heavily on people's body language to understand them and had days of silence where words could not be found, and she once again relied on her body, more specifically her fingers. Today was one of those days.

'Tim found you very interesting. He has many questions.'

"I'm not surprised. Timothy is a very curious fellow. I'll be happy to answer any questions I can."

'I'm assuming  you have plans for us.'

"Yes, yes, of course. I know you and Alfred go to the market for tea after early morning practice. And I'd like to join you. Is that alright with you?"

'I'd love that. And you can call me Cass.'

-

The farmers market was nice. The girls left Alfred to trade recipes and talk about ingredients with friends. They walked through the market, stopping to make a few purchases: some baked goods, fruit, and tea leaves.

"My family has heard stories about you. My parents and grandfather even saw you when you were younger." Syn said, looking over some flowers." Mother said you were very obedient. Father said you were skilled beyond your years. They praised you." Syn could see that Cass was becoming quite uncomfortable but wasn't stopping her so she continued. 

"My Grandfather, however, didn't speak until you became a Wayne. It is then that he said that you had the making for greatness." She is comfortable once again as Syn passes her a peach after she pays. "Zeno is my grandfather's name."

Cass's head snaps up, recognizing the name. " Zeno," she whispered. She remembered the old man. He was the first ever to show her kindness. Of course, she didn't know at the time. She simply knew it wasn't violence. And for a little girl surrounded by violence, that was precious. Syn smiled, as did Cass, both thinking about Zeno.

"I-you..." Cass struggled to find her words. ' You are good,' she signed when words would not come. 

"No," Syn said, " no, I'm now. Not even close. I try to be though. As Good as someone like me can be anyway."

They bought some juice and baked goods and sat on a picnic table. ' I see your good.'

"I don't, but thank you."

They fell into comfortable silence once again. With Cass, Syn did not feel the need to fill the silence with questions or conversation. Cass was aware of Syn researching the family and discussing them with Damian. If there was anything to know about her, she already knew. And if she wanted to know more, she'd ask. They simply enjoyed each other's company. She really liked Cass.

"Would you like to spare?" she whispered. Syn, in shock, stuttered out a yes. A smile spread across her face. " Your manor or Ours?" Her smile slightly fell but returned. She shouldn't be surprised that a family full of detectives' words would get around even without her saying anything. No such thing as secrets in this family. She wondered when the others would catch on? or did they already know?

"My house is not prepared for guests. Yours would be better. Perhaps you could teach me some dance moves as well?"

'I'd like that,' she signed.

[amazingspidermans]

STEPHCASS??? AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES ????

obsessed with tdr. cam ur strange new neighbor is literally a double billionaire

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 02

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

3.9k words

Ch. 01 <- Ch. 02 -> Ch. 03

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd Period - Biology

4th Period - English

(5:00 -> Basketball game)

The thought of Biology class and working with Tim is already giving you a headache and there’s still 10 minutes till class starts.

You showed up a little early like you always do, and sat in the same seat as yesterday. Tim will probably sit beside you. Today is the only class you’ll get to work on the poster, and Mrs. Young's expectations for it are kinda insane.

She’s not even offering supplies. No poster paper, hardly any markers. Is this not the ‘best’ school in Gotham? you're not spending any of your hard earned money on a bio project.

Tim can get it.

He has like a gazillion dollars so there’s no reason for him to complain.

You scroll through your socials, but there’s still no sign of Tim. Shouldn’t he be here by now? There’s only a few more minutes to tell class.

<Tim>

So sorry y/n. There was an emergency last night, I can’t make it to class today.

You roll your eyes— great. You want to ask him how he got your number, but what were you supposed to say?

‘I know you didn’t get my number from Brandi. How’d you get it?’

It’s not normal, it’s so creepy. You feel the pit in your stomach grow— Jesus, you can’t be dealing with this on game day.

No one's gonna reprimand Tim Drake. Not the principal, not the teachers, In fact you might be the one to get in trouble. Defamation of character or something.

You sigh. You’ll just block him after Monday, get through this project and never talk to him again.

<y/n>

Ok I’ll do what I can. We can meet up on the weekend or smth.

Can u get the supplies?

<Tim>

Yeah we’ll make something work. It’ll be done for Monday

I should have some stuff laying around somewhere.

You scoff. Quickly shutting your phone off as the bell rings.

Mrs. Young starts talking, reminding everyone how this will be the only class period to work on the project that’s due Monday.

You stare at the empty desk. Your leg starts bouncing and your palms get shaky.

Focus. Just focus on something. Anything.

You can’t. Your mind just drifts to the game, how everything could go wrong.

You shift in your seat. Trying to focus on Mrs. Young’s voice.

Just get through class.

Before you know it you’re in the locker room. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you quickly splash cold water on your face. God— you look like a mess.

“Come on y/n, we gotta warm up in like 10 minutes” your teammate Cameron yells.

“Yeah I’ll be ready in a sec” you yell. Drying your face, you give yourself one last look in the mirror. The pit in your stomach grows bigger.

You’ve worked harder than most people to get here, just trust in your training. You’re the best shooting guard there on the team, there’s a reason this school wants you here.

You pep talk does little to ease your nerves, but there’s not much else you can do now.

You catch up with Cameron in the gym, and watch the other team warmup. “They’re not bad… But we’re better”. Their confidence is nice, but Cameron isn’t playing with the stakes you are.

“Yeah, We’ll be fine” you whisper, you don't know if you’re talking to Cameron or yourself.

You and your warm up. Running laps around doing shooting drills. Your muscle memory takes over.

Your breathing steadies, your mind is clear.

You shoot.

The swish of the net is like music to your ears.

slowly start gaining your confidence back. Warming up your 3 pointers and haven’t missed one yet.

Normally you’re a starter but Coach decided to bench you at the start. He wants you to get a feel for the opposing team.

“These games aren’t like the ones you’re used to playing” he says. His eyes never leave the court.

“They take training camps over the summer, their parents invest good money into them” he continues. It’s not hard to believe, their technique is unreal.

“But you have something they don’t” he pauses and you look up at him “you're strong, and you have raw talent… I can probably guess what was going through your head today. I just want you to know no matter what you're going to stay on my team.”

Everything disappeared at that moment. All your stress, nerves, regret, it was flooded out with a wave of relief and adrenaline.

Nothing mattered now all you had to do was play your favourite game.

The whistle blew and you switched places with E.J. “Show ‘em what you got Y/n” they patted you on the back.

you’ve never played harder. scoring shot after shot. You were in the zone.

You were having fun.

Gotham prep wins, 68 to 25.

The Subway home is short, nothing like the one you took this morning. You ride the high of winning, a small smile never leaving your face as you recall your best plays of the game. Your mind is filled with excitement and anticipation for your next game.

By the time you reach your apartment you’re exhausted, but as you go to unlock the door the key stops short. It’s already unlocked. That’s weird, mom was always triple checking the locks?

a shiver runs down your spine as you slowly push open the door.

The living room light is dim, The curtains are stapled closed. The T.V plays some static filled re-run, and you see her.

Your mom sits on the couch, hands clenched in her lap muttering something to herself.

You swallow “Hey mom I’m back from my game.” She doesn’t move.

You shut the door, making sure to lock it. “We won, I even got MVP”

Still nothing.

A pit forms in your stomach. You sigh as you drop your bag and slide off your sneakers. You slowly make your way to sit beside her. Your shoulders are touching. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t even acknowledge you.

you hate it.

“I was pretty nervous about playing” you continue, softer now. You know talking to her is futile, but maybe just maybe you could bring her back even for a second. “But coach said no matter what I’ll always be on his team” you say, your head drops onto her shoulder leaning closer into her.

She goes quiet and stares into the wall. Your eyes follow her gaze, nothing’s there. You look at the outdated wallpaper, peeling at the edges.

A lump forms in your throat, and the pit in your stomach grows bigger.

She loves Basketball. She taught you everything you know.

She’d always tell you stories about her games, how she was the best Center at Gotham public. You remember seeing her at every middle school game you had, and would always cheer the loudest. She’d ruffle your hair after every game and say “good job baby I’m so proud of you” You used to get so embarrassed about it.

Now she’s barely here.

The doctors said she would get better with the proper help and time, how she was ‘Luckier than most’.

But she’s not.

and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You know she needs more help than what the government is offering. Group meetings for fear toxin victims aren’t enough. She needs professional help, but insurance won't cover it and you can’t afford it with only a minimum wage job and her disability checks.

you clench your fists nails digging into your palms. It’s not fair. But nothing is ever fair in Gotham.

“I’m gonna make dinner mom” you get up slowly. Looking back at her, still nothing.

You’ll help her. You go to Gotham prep, almost any college will accept you just for that. You’ll build a good life for you and her.

But for now, all you can do is make sure she eats.

+++++

<Tim>

How’d the game go?

Tim exhaled sharply, glaring at Dick “You just gonna stare at my phone until they respond?”

”why else would I be here?” Dick lounged on the couch, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He tried to play it off but he was excited.

The living room was quiet with everyone doing their ‘own thing’— Bruce reading the paper, Cass pretending to read a book, Steph scrolling on her phone, Jason and Damian cleaning weapons— But no one was focused.

They were waiting.

The family knew how you did. All of them watched the live stream. They saw every shot you scored, every pass you made, everything.

They were proud.

“I still believe it’s insulting that the coach decided to bench them for the 1st period” Damian scoffed. “Their talent is wasted due to incompetence”.

”they won.” Jason said without locking up

”That’s not the point Todd”. Damian rolled his eyes, “they would’ve won either way.” Damian muttered. Truthfully he was disappointed he didn’t get to see you more.

Tims phone buzzed.

The sound made everyone’s attention snap to him.

<Y/N>

It was good we won and I got MVP

Dick read the text out loud. Tim snatched the phone back before anything else could happen.

“They're starting to share more, that’s good.” Bruce stated, Cass nodded her lips twitch into a small smile.

“Invite her over for tomorrow, I wanna be here when they come” Dick said smugly, a smirk still present on his face.

Tim stayed quiet typing a response.

”I doubt Grayson would go back to Blüdhaven if they chose to come over Sunday” Damian Huffed.

Tim ignored them and hit send.

<Tim>

That’s good!

When are you free on the weekend?

<Y/n>

I work during the day I’m free after 6 tho

the library doesn’t close tell 9

Dick leaned over reading the text aloud. “You're not going to the library,” Jason scoffed. “Yeah, no” Dick said playfully. Tim rolled his eyes “yeah I know” he scoffed, they were too quick to jealousy.

he quickly typed a response.

<Tim>

I’m not really able to go anywhere, that’s why I wasn’t at school today

<Y/n>

wdym

<Tim>

I got my family to keep it out of the news, but I was attacked last night.

They wanted to take me for ransom.

Dick read the messages aloud. There was a moment of silence before he started laughing at Tims lame excuse. Jason and Steph couldn’t help but snicker to themselves, even Damian had a small grin.

Bruce just nodded in approval. You couldn’t know some thug shot him.

<Y/n>

Are you okay?

Tim’s face had a ghost of a smirk. You were worried about him.

<Tim>

yeah I’m fine

I can’t really leave my house until they catch the guys so would you be able to come over tomorrow at 6:30?

Silence filled the room. No one moved.

Everyone was waiting for your response. Growing more and more impatient. But it didn’t come.

Everyone held their breath. It felt like they were staring at the messages for an eternity.

Dick inhaled sharply. “they’re typing”

<Y/N>

yeah sure

<Tim>

great I’ll send you the address

The atmosphere of the room shifted. Everyone had a dark and calculated look as thoughts of tomorrow's plan raced through their mind.

“Everything prepared for tomorrow?” Asked Bruce his expression unreadable.

Damian Nodded “of course”

”Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Dick said playfully, but his eyes gleamed darker.

+++++

Work was more draining than usual.

The Batburger joint you worked at left much to be desired. Two of your coworkers came in high, and some lady yelled at you for forgetting to ‘jokerize’ her fry’s. you want nothing more than to be bedrotting at home.

instead you're here.

You made your way to Wayne Manor. Tim gave you the address, but it was just a formality. Everyone knows where they live.

There was a pit in your stomach as you walked. Your mind couldn’t help but drift— how did he get your number?

you thought of casual ways you might be able to ask him. Maybe bringing up the fact that Brandi didn’t know you were partners might prompt an explanation? Maybe a joke? The thought made you shiver.

As you ponder different ways to approach the situation, and possible escape plans in case things go south. You stopped.

you're here.

the front gate of Wayne Manor loomed over you. The gothic mansion looked even more scary as the sun was setting.

You shouldn’t be here.

But you were.

You pulled out your phone to check Tim’s message.

<Tim>

when you get there just hit the buzzer and someone will open the gate.

You look to the left to see a pin pad, and the buzzer. You reach to press it, but your finger hesitates.

You pause.

A cold sweat envelops you. You feel heavy. The weight of your uniform clings to your skin. The smell of oil and grease fills your nose.

Should you really do this?

You pull your hand back, it’s shaking.

Spinning on your heels to head home. You’ll text Tim, saying you had to go over time or something.

As you're walking back you think.

Bruce Wayne is a ‘billionaire playboy’, he’s kinda a ditzy guy, a philanthropist with too much money. He builds hospitals, funds schools and other good things.

There’s no way anything bad would happen with him there.

you huff turning around.

Back at the gate, your finger hovers over the buzzer again.

”you can do this” you mumble.

Just do it.

You press the button.

“Hello, How may I help you”

a posh voice asks through the speakers.

“Hi, uh. I’m here to see Tim we’re supposed to work on a project together. I don't know if he told you?” You answer meekly. You want to curl into a ball and hide.

“Ah, yes please come in y/n”

the intercom cut off.

your stomach tightened.

The metal clinked and rattled as the gates opened. He knows your name, guess Tim did tell everyone you were coming.

Once the gate is fully open it hits you. You’re at Wayne Manor. There’s a weight in your chest, your legs feel like lead.

Even so you carry on. One foot in front of the other, at least until you reach the front door.

You debate if you should knock again. The posh man did invite you in, but would it be rude if you just walked in?

Raising your fist about to knock. you hear something inside, as if someone is rushing to the door.

The door swings open, startling you just a little. You stare at the man in front of you. It’s Dick Grayson. He’s handsome Mid to late 20’s, messy hair, bright blue eyes and a boyish grin. you’ve seen him everywhere, T.V, magazines, and newspapers.

“You’re Y/n right?” He smiles— practiced, You’ve seen that smile hundreds of times.

“Uh, yeah” you answer. Once again, your voice is quieter than you’d like.

He didn’t seem to mind, he opened the door wider, welcoming you in. The faintest smirk plastered on his face.

”I’m Dick Grayson by the way” his introduction is like Tim’s, only for formality. He knows you know who he is. You slide your shoes off and look up at him.

“Nice to meet you” you smile, your voice more confident this time.

He pauses, then smiles back. It’s a different smile— it reaches his eyes.

“You as well… follow me I’ll show you Tim’s room” he starts walking, you’re quick to follow.

“So Tim said you’re on the basketball team” he asks. He leads you through the manor. It’s warmer than you’d imagine, family portraits and pictures hanging on the wall.

It takes you a second to realize he’s asking you a question. Looks like he wants to make small talk “uh.. yeah it’s pretty nice”

”That's good” he glances over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure Tim told you but suppers at 7:15 tonight” Dick said casually.

You stumble.

Tim definitely did not mention that.

“I think he forgot to tell me…” you awkwardly laugh.

“He did!? I’ll yell at him later for it, don't worry” Dick laughs. That’s not what you were worried about.

A shiver ran up your spine. This changed everything, you were going to meet everyone.

You want to leave, to turn around and go home. Pretend everything is fine and this never happened.

He pauses in front of a door. “Anyways this is Tim’s room, I’ll see you for supper” and with that he continues walking down the hall.

It’s quiet. You could leave. Just walk away.

Your hand hovers over the door.

You got this, if anything goes wrong you’ll just run home. But nothings going to go wrong.

You knock. It’s silent for a moment.

“Come in”

The door creaked as you opened it, you cringe at the noise. You quickly scan the room before stepping in.

His room was neat almost too neat. Books stacked on a shelf with surgical precision. His desk was arranged like it was never used. There’s a few movie posters on the wall, generic ones, like they were placed to make the room look lived in.

Tim shutoff his laptop as soon as you stepped in.

the bandages wrapped around his waist are visible under his t-shirt. You try not to stare.

“Make yourself at home y/n, sorry I forgot to tell you about dinner” he chuckles sheepishly, but there’s a dark glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it” you mumbled, you were quick to set up your stuff. You wanted to finish this before dinner.

Tim watched as you fumbled through your bag before handing him a rough draft of the poster. “I got a little bit done in class, we just have to write some of the stages and make the poster”

“Okay, this won't take long, maybe an hour or two” he said, reading through a rough draft of your plan.

“Cool.” you sit at his desk and start writing. “I’ll finish up the stages if you start drawing a diagram”.

Tim smirks, but his eyes don’t leave your notes “sounds good to me”

The next 45 minutes go by fast, it’s silent except the odd sound of papers shuffling. Neither of you make conversation,

you’d catch Tim staring at you every now and then, but you chose not to say anything, it’s easier.

“Dinner will be ready soon” Tim closed his notebook, you froze.

“We should start heading down now” His voice was light, his smile seemed playful— too playful, like he was a kid about to get some candy.

“Okay..” you mumble, getting up from your seat. You follow him downstairs.

you can't turn back now.

The dining room is beautiful. The warm lighting, pretty paintings, decorated table that could fit a dozen people. it looked perfect, but it only made you feel small.

You don't belong here.

You look down at your batburger uniform, suddenly feeling a little self conscious.

Tim guides you to the seat beside him.

It’s just you two at the table right now, you wonder if he can see how nervous you are right now? If he does he doesn’t say anything about it.

“You’re in for a treat, Alfred's cooking is the best” Tim exclaims as he sets his napkin on his lap.

You’re quick to copy him ”I’m sure”.

you’re lost in your thoughts—Did your mom eat? Did she leave the door unlocked again?

A presence snaps you back to reality. A younger boy is sitting across from you.

You didn’t even hear him coming. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you then glares at Tim.

“I’m Damian” his voice is almost professional. “it’s nice to meet you y/n”

“You as well Damian.” You stutter.

Dick walks in, he’s talking with a girl. You’re pretty sure it’s Cassandra Cain, she stays out of the media so you’re not sure.

They keep talking as they find their seats to the left of Damian, but they keep glancing at you.

You swallowed.

“Y/n this is Cass” Dick introduces you.

You look up and force a smile “Hi Cass it’s nice to meet you”

”you too” she responds, before resuming her conversation with Dick, but her eyes never seem to fully leave you.

Great.

Sitting in silence you stare down at the empty plate and polished silverware.

Then Bruce Wayne walks in,

You stiffen, and fix your posture.

He sits at the head of the table. Whispering something to Damian, before looking towards you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Y/n” he says flashing his famous smile.

“It’s nice to meet you as well Mr. Wayne” faux confidence in your voice.

“Please Call me Bruce” he chuckles

”Alright” you answer, voice wavering slightly.

Before either of you can say anything else, an old man dressed in a butler's uniform walks in.

he begins to set plates in front of everyone. Once he sets yours down, it smells heavenly.

“Thank you Mr…”

”Alfred” he answers, the same posh accent you heard at the gate.

You feel eyes on you as you take your first few bites. Some tried hiding it. Others didn’t bother.

“So Y/n, I heard you had a Basketball game yesterday. How did that go?” Bruce asked, his voice was light.

“It went well, we won 68 to 25” you answered, taking another bite.

Dick Smirked. “What about you? Did you get any playtime?” He asked playfully.

“Yeah I got to play for most of it, I got MVP” you answered. Grabbing your glass of water.

there was a beat of silence.

“Impressive” Damian stated, watching closely as you took another bite.

“Your parents must be proud” Bruce stated, there was that same glint in his eyes. The one Dick and Tim had earlier.

“Yeah… My mom’s really happy, since she taught me to play and all that” you lied.

Dick scraped his fork on the plate. It was grating deliberate.

The noise made you cringe.

“Is that so?” Bruce mumbled, taking another bite of his meal.

Dinner went by without any other questions. Dick carried most of the conversation, with Tim and Damian chiming in when necessary and Bruce and Cass nodding along.

You should be thankful.

But you just felt watched.

It’s been about 30 minutes since you finished eating with everyone, you were back in Tim’s room working on writing the information for the poster.

At least you were trying to.

Tim seemed to be taking his sweet time with just a simple diagram.

You were almost finished with the notes. Glancing down at your writing the words seemed to blur together, Before snapping into focus again.

all you had left was to glue it onto the poster.

“How much longer for the diagram?” You asked, your voice sounded more tired than you expected.

He smirked “Not much, you tired?”

You yawn. Why were you tired? You’ve worked long days before, you should be used to this. You just want to go home.

“A little but I’ll be fine”

Tim stops writing, you can feel him look over at you. It’s like he’s analyzing everything you do, every minuscule expression you make.

Like he’s waiting for something.

“If you say so” he says as he gets back to work, smiling softly to himself.

A heaviness took over your body. Your movements slowed, it was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

your vision swayed, eyes getting heavier.

You blinked slowly.

just a little longer than you can leave.

Maybe if you rest your eyes, just for a moment.

Tim wouldn’t mind?

++++++++++

Can you tell I wrote this in 1 sitting? I feel like it downgraded in quality the longer I wrote lol. I’ll edit any mistakes tomorrow but I really wanna post it so Imma just do that. Comment if you wanna be added to the tag-lists. I also said id explain why batfam is obsessed this chapter but I decided to slowly reveal it (I couldn’t figure out how to fit the flashback scene in the chapter) also I lowkey forgot reader was GN and made the basketball team all girls, than had to go back and change it. I googled gender neutral names and chose the ones I liked please dont come at me!! Also its super late so I hope I kept reader Gn if not Ill change it right away!!

Also if you have any request for some random YBatfam oneshot or somth send in an ask I wanna write more oneshots but I have no ideas lol.

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp @lilyalone @shycreatorreview @caged-birdies-blog @shirp-collector-of-fixations @wizzerreblogs @c4xcocoa @cxcilla