forgetmesunflower

[forgetmesunflower]

love stood for a moment

“Alfred,” Bruce starts, staring blankly ahead, “is that a European thing?” Alfred’s indiscrete smirk grows, and he begins clearing away the dish Dick left behind. “No, I believe that is simply Master Dick showing affection.” He glances at Bruce from the side as he turns towards the sink. “Families share kisses in America as well, especially when children are young. Your mother was particularly fond of giving your young self kisses on the forehead.” Bruce braces a hand on the counter, slumping into it. “Family,” he echoes in a whisper. — 6 times Dick surprised a bat with a kiss, and 1 time a bat surprised him with one.

Rating: Gen Words: 9k Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Batfamily Members Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Familial Kisses, POV Multiple, Injured Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, and they all get little pecks instead, Insomniac Tim Drake, Dick Grayson is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason Todd is Red Hood, not going to name everyone’s. just know this takes place over several years, Dead Bruce Wayne, only for a bit, Panic Attacks, Minor Injuries, 6+1 Things

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66798463

[forgetmesunflower]

Young Dick once he’s more comfortable at the manor

Dick, standing on his seat as Bruce walks in for breakfast: Morning, B! *kisses his cheek*

Bruce, short-circuiting:

Dick, running off: Bye, B!

Bruce, world traveled but tired and dazed: Alfred, is that a European thing?

Alfred: No, Master Bruce, I believe that is Master Dick showing familial affection.

Bruce, about to cry: Family?

now with a fic!

[forgetmesunflower]

don't start writing httyd fics dont start writing httyd fics dontstartwritinghttydfics

I don't even have the time to work on my current multichapter. I can't do this.

[forgetmesunflower]

The next chapter of buried deep, these memories is gonna be so so late.

I'm having to write chapters 9/10 at the same time for consistency and also new job, so writing time is so little.

But I refuse to give up on this fic ever. Even if it takes another month or two to get this chapter out.

[forgetmesunflower]

Bruce wasn’t at breakfast. He wasn’t at lunch either. But it was the weekend, and Dick was pretty sure Bruce only went into work on weekdays like when Dick was sent to school.

Swinging his feet from the too-high kitchen stool as he watched Alfred wash his plate and cup, Dick eventually asked, “Do you know where Bruce is?”

Alfred didn’t look up. “I believe he’s still in bed. It would be best to let him rest for a while longer.”

Dick thought that was strange, since Bruce hadn’t patrolled last night. All major organized crime leaders were in Blackgate, and that clown guy that made a scene last month was just admitted to Arkham Asylum after his trial. Apparently, the poor guy was sick, which was why he killed those men.

Dick didn’t quite understand it. But he got grumpy when he was sick too, so maybe it was kind of similar. He hated to think that something like having the flu could lead to killing people, but Detective Gordon also said that the clown guy was sick up in his brain, so maybe it wasn’t quite the same.

Still, it was supposed to have been quiet beyond minor crimes that most of the police could handle (the ones that were initiating it anyway), so Alfred had insisted both Batman and Robin take the previous night off, which Bruce agreed to reluctantly. All to say, it was strange that he was still asleep.

So Dick wandered over to Bruce’s bedroom and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, Dick turned the knob and cracked it open. Peeking in, the room was almost pitch black aside from the light spilling in from the hallway. As he squinted into the room, he could see the heavy curtains were drawn, the big top blanket—the duvet or the comforter or whatever, Alfred kept changing the word up on him—was on the floor, and there was a large lump under the thin top sheet on the bed. 

“Bruce?” he whispered into the room.

The lump didn’t move nor make a sound, so Dick slipped inside and shut the door behind him. He blinked a few times until he could see the bed again in the dark, then tiptoed over. The duvet-comforter tried to trip him up, but he clambered over and crawled onto the bed.

He tapped what he assumed to be Bruce’s arm. “Bruce?” he whispered again. 

There was a mumbled answer this time, but Dick didn’t catch it.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Not right now, Dick. Leave,” Bruce growled, almost in his Batman voice.

“Why?”

Maybe he was sick too. He wondered why Alfred wasn’t taking care of him if he was. Dick’s mama always took care of him when he threw up or felt all hot and cold and gross, and she took care of Papa too when he inevitably got whatever was going around. Sickness always spread like hay on fire in the circus, but Mama never seemed to be affected. 

“What’s wrong?” Dick pushed.

Bruce sighed heavily, a sound Dick was beginning to recognize to mean he was annoyed with Dick but too tired to do much about it. But usually he was only ever annoyed because he was tired. Dick didn’t get it. He always felt the best after exercise left him exhausted. 

“It’s after lunch,” Dick told him. “Alfred told us to go to bed last night. You did, right?” That was another habit Dick had noticed. Bruce would be tired lots, so much so that he got annoyed and short with Dick, but still didn’t go to bed. And he wasn’t even staying up to do anything fun. It was just more work.

Bruce shifted under the sheet, and Dick finally got a look at the side of his face, body turned away from Dick. Bruce sighed again.

“Are you sick?”

After another pause, Bruce said, “Sure.”

That would explain why he was still tired. But then, he shouldn’t be skipping meals. “Should I get Alfred?”

“No–” Bruce shifted again, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. “Not like that. I’m not–” He trailed off.

Dick frowned. “Well, are you sick like that clown guy?”

Bruce’s head snapped up, looking over at Dick in the dark. “That man is deranged. We are nothing alike.”

Dick frowned deeper. He didn’t know what deranged meant, but Bruce didn’t say it like anything good. “Detective Gordon said he was sick.” He tapped his own forehead with a finger. “Up in his head.”

Bruce closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He straightened out to lie on his back. He didn’t open his eyes yet, but said much more gently, “Yes. He’s right. The man is sick. The doctors and staff at Arkham will help him so that he doesn’t hurt anymore people.”

Batman went out at night and hurt bad people, but Dick didn’t think he would appreciate the comparison. Batman didn’t kill people. “What kind of sick are you then?”

Opening one eye just a slit, Bruce’s blue eyes looked black in the dark. For a few moments, Bruce didn’t say anything, and Dick remembered how Bruce seemed to have an easier time talking when Dick wasn’t looking directly at him. Which was strange. His parents had always liked him to look at them when they talked. They said it showed he was paying attention. 

Dick shuffled down the bed a little and lied down beside Bruce. Then he scooted over until he was tucked up against Bruce’s side, feeling his body heat radiating even through the blanket. Maybe he really did have a fever. Bruce lifted one arm to accommodate, curling it around Dick’s shoulders as Dick used it as a pillow. Bruce must really have been feeling sick. He didn’t stiffen or hesitate at all.

“Sometimes adults have bad days. They just– don’t feel well.”

“But wasn’t last night a break?”

“I– yeah. I guess.”

Dick hummed in thought. “Is it because you didn’t go out?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Dick continued anyway, “Is it like when I don’t go on the bars for a few days because of an injury? Like, I know the break is supposed to  help my body feel better, but I also feel worse when I haven’t done it in a while. Kinda… icky?”

A few seconds passed before Bruce said, “That’s probably part of it.”

“Part of it?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the other part?”

He sighed again. “It’s just like that sometimes.”

Dick wrinkled his nose. He hated when Bruce said that. Usually, he was the adult that said that to Dick the least, explaining things even if a lot of the time Dick still didn’t get it, but every so often, he’d close up and say ‘It’s just like that.’

“Why don’t you want to get up?”

“Because I don’t feel well.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Because I’m sick.”

Dick shifted a bit, feeling restless. “Fresh air usually makes me feel better.”

Bruce held his breath, like he was trying not to sigh. 

“We should go out for ice cream.”

“Not today, Dick.”

“How are you going to feel better if you don’t get fresh air?”

“Fresh air won’t make me feel better.”

“Oh,” Dick said. He pursed his lips. “You sure?”

This time, Bruce didn’t hold in his sigh. He was doing that a lot. Dick kinda hoped he was breathing out all the sick from his body. Maybe sighing made him feel better.

They both lied there for another minute. Dick counted the seconds. Then he sat up suddenly. Bruce flinched.

“What if we have ice cream in bed?”

Bruce squinted up at him. “What?”

Dick hurried to scramble off the bed. “That’ll make you feel better. I’ll go ask Alfred.”

“Wait, Dick– no ice cream before dinner.”

Dick didn’t look back, hopping over to the door as he said, “Yeah, but you're sick! Alfred let me have ice cream after lunch when Carrie gave me the chicken pox, so it’s only fair.”

Then he was out the door.

[forgetmesunflower]

Alfred's musings of the dining table.

It was just the way it’s always been. Thomas always sat at the head of the table, in the single chair overlooking the length of the dark rosewood surface. Martha’s natural place was to his right along one side, and Alfred easily settled across from her, to Thomas’ left and closest to the kitchen door. Until he had grown tall enough, young Bruce’s high chair stood between his parents’, then he transitioned to his mother’s other side at her right-hand. It was just the way it’s always been.

It seemed all too sudden, a shift in a single night, when Bruce refused to sit in the dining room anymore. Alfred found himself instead placing the boy’s food on the kitchen counter as Bruce took each meal right there on one of the tall stools, small feet dangling far off the ground like he was three again and sitting in a high chair between his parents. Alfred stood to Bruce’s left while they ate, watching his ward with a careful eye. Just the two of them in the big, empty house.

Only after his long, periodic months and years away in training, when Bruce finally came back for good, did he step into the dining room for the first time after what must have been over ten years, standing before the rosewood table in silence. He stood for several very still moments, then slowly, Bruce lowered himself into his father's seat. Alfred sat at his left, closest to the kitchen door, as if this was the way it's always been.

—

Dick took up Martha's old spot to Bruce's right-hand, directly across from Alfred, as naturally as Bruce had once taken his mother’s side. When Bruce smiled softly at the boy, Alfred wondered if his grown boy remembered where they all once sat, and that that was the same expression Martha once impressed onto Bruce.

—

Alfred wondered where to put Jason's plate. It would be rude to place it where Dick's usually ate, but if he placed it to the right of that, where a much younger Bruce once sat, there would be an empty space, like the boy was slightly removed from the family.

Jason solved the issue himself, insisting on helping set the table and asking where everyone was usually seated. Upon hearing, he nodded once, quick and considering, and set a plate to the left of Alfred's. Bruce looked upon the placing curiously when he came down, but Jason appeared perfectly content with Alfred between himself and Bruce’s large frame. Alfred didn’t think that was the entire reason, but he never pressed, content in his own way to have two of his boys’ presences at his sides.

—

Timothy didn't stay for dinner often, but for his first dinner, Dick was joining them, so it was easy to put Timothy's plate to Dick's right. Even when Dick wasn't there, he seemed more comfortable with that small barrier of privacy, like the idea of being sidled up right beside the rest of them was overwhelming. Across from Jason's empty place, Alfred realized it was the same configuration as the bedrooms, the spare room where Timothy had begun to stay in on late patrol nights positioned right beside Dick's and across from Jason's closed door.

—

Stephanie easily took the place to Timothy's right, a seat Alfred remembered usually only ever being occupied by a very young Kate Kane when the extended family visited. 

—

Cassandra took a long look around the dining room as she did all the other rooms. She saw the remnants of the people who occupied those chairs. The varying worn leather backs of Bruce's, Alfred's, Dick's, and Timothy's chairs, the chipped wood on the underside of the table where Dick sat from when he was young and new and always restless at meals, picking at the hidden wood so he wouldn't be seen picking at his food instead. Indented pencil scratches in the finishing where Jason often did the sudoku in the newspaper after Bruce was done reading it in the mornings.

She took it all in, then sat on the left, one empty seat between Alfred's and her new designated spot, right across from Stephanie's. It didn’t feel like she was separated from the rest of the family, but Alfred felt the vacant pocket of space between them all the same.

—

Those first few days with Damian in the Manor, the boy seemed to unintentionally banish himself to the opposite end of the table. On the left side, Alfred noted, which confused him because he would've thought Damian, who seemed to be more well versed in old American society customs than even Tim, would have positioned himself on the right. However, Alfred supposed that if there was a chair at that foot of the table, it could be mistaken for a second head, and then Damian would've been on the right of that—on the right to an invisible patriarch. Ah, or maybe his mother had always taken Ra's right hand, so Damian defaulted to the left.

Well, Alfred never got the chance to ask him, not that he thought he would have, before they were living in the Penthouse, just three of them. There was no head of this table. Just Alfred closest to the kitchen, Dick across from him, and Damian to Dick's right side.

Eventually though, when the Manor seemed to become home once again for the children, Damian was miffed by Tim's presence at Dick's right, but Cassandra beckoned him over to her left easily enough. 

—

Jason, after much too long, eventually reclaimed his spot at Alfred's left.

[forgetmesunflower]

Alfred taught them to cook.

He loves cooking, loves making dinner for a full table, working around different restrictions and preferences, and that's all the more reason to teach each of them how to love it just the same.

Bruce has trouble eating after his parents' death, appetite diminished and joy for new and exciting foods gone. Alfred places a plate on the counter in front of him (Bruce won't eat in the dining room anymore; that was a place for family meals), but all he does is stare.

Alfred tries several new things, anything to peek his ward's interest. Eventually, it becomes simply making sure he gets basic vitamins and minerals. This morning he cuts up fruit in between mixing the crepe batter. Fibre is easiest to get into him in the mornings. Bruce, already nine, comes down to the kitchen and watches him.

"I'll just be a few moments more. Will you get the bowl of custard out of the fridge for me, my boy?"

Bruce complies with a nod. He pulls out the bowl and curiously peeks into the saran wrap covering. Alfred angles away but keeps an eye on him as the boy peels the wrap back and sticks a finger in. Alfred can't imagine scolding him for it when he brings his finger to his mouth and his eyes light up in satisfaction. It's gone quickly, but Alfred has gained his own spark as Bruce sets the bowl beside him on the counter, reaching up on his toes to see the strawberries Alfred slices up.

Alfred holds up one slice as if inspecting it. He pops it into his own mouth. Bruce's eyes go wide before smoothing over. Alfred hums. "I'm not sure if this size is quite right. Will you taste test it for me?" He offers a slice to Bruce.

Bruce scrunches up his nose. "Size doesn't affect taste."

"Oh, but I assure you it does. See for yourself."

Bruce gingerly takes the thick slice of strawberry and slips it between his lips. It sits in his mouth for a while before his jaw moves to chew.

"Well?"

"It tastes like a strawberry."

"Okay, well now try this smaller one." It's thin and flimsy when he passes it over. Bruce eyes him skeptically but slips it in just the same.

Bruce's eyes widen and his lips pucker. "That is different. Why is it different? What'd you do to it?"

Alfred can't help a smile. "Nothing, my boy. That is simply the art of cooking. You want to give it a try?"

His tasks are simple assortment of ingredients and putting the crepes together while Alfred keeps him away from the stove, and Bruce keeps sneaking bits of fruit and dollops of custard, wrinkling his nose at the taste of raw batter.

Nine is a little young to start learning to cook, Alfred thinks, but Bruce eats two and a half stuffed crepes before he realizes he's full. It's the largest breakfast he's eaten in months. Bruce joins Alfred in the kitchen for almost every meal after that.

───

Alfred taught them to cook, and I want to give them each a comfort or otherwise meaningful dish to feature here.

Any suggestions?

I've had thoughts for making one of Dick's being something I grew up loving that Alfred learned to make (with Dick's helpful input to make it closer to home), though my German family's food, I've found, might be more Mennonite-specific. Like wareniki (vareneki) & schmaundt fat or something as simple as kuchen.

I'd love to explore different culture's foods with this, so if you have suggestions, any at all, please share!!! It doesn't have to be culturally specific though. I'd just really love to expand on this idea and started with something simple (and white haha) for Bruce. Though it could always change!

[forgetmesunflower]

Aroace Damian and gay, hopelessly in-love Jon but they actually make it work.

Jon thinking he can never love someone as much as he loves Damian as both his best friend and romantic love of his life; Damian never loving a non-family member as much as he platonically loves Jon and not being able to comprehend living his life without Jon in it.

Cuddling on the couch while watching a movie.

Dinner together both staying in and going out to restaurants. 

Going for walks in the park, petting dogs, sitting down for a picnic, Jon napping under the sun while Damian sketches him and the scenery.

Buying gifts just because it reminds them of each other.

Being each other’s plus ones to events because who else would they take?

Living together with separate bedrooms even if Jon slips into Damian’s bed for cuddles every once in a while, more and more often as Damian gets accustomed to it.

Jon coming home and giving Damian a kiss on the head or cheek, and Damian occasionally casually doing the same. Perfectly acceptable show of both romantic and platonic love.

People ask what their relationship is, but they’ve always been partners, ever since they were preteens. The only thing that’s changed is the type of love they hold for the other. They still love each other with their whole beings, more than they love anyone else. What’s it matter if what they feel individually has a slightly different tone? They make it work.

[forgetmesunflower]

these mouths we have are traps (bold-faced lairs of brotherhood)

Jason practically chokes. “W-what?” He feels light-headed, every ounce of blood draining from his face. Sionis waves his free hand. “I know, I know. A little kinky for your first time, Hood, but Nightwing’s practically a voyeur already.” Dick doesn’t visibly flinch, but Jason can tell it’s a near thing. “What are you playing at, Sionis?” Nightwing grits out. Jason’s own tongue still feels too thick to speak, pressing up against all his teeth, clogging the path to his airways. His hands are useless trembling fists at his sides. Sionis groans out a dramatic sigh. “I thought I was being pretty clear. Fucking idiots. I’ll spell it out for you. Red Hood, give Nightwing a good fucking in front of me and my men and Little Red here.” ─── Black Mask has had it with the Red Hood’s arrogant sense of righteousness and forces Jason to turn into the very kind of monster he despises the most, lest he choose the “worse” option. His brothers are just collateral.

For @badthingshappenbingo: Forced to Watch

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Words: 9.3k, 1/1 Relationships: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Roman Sionis, Tim Drake Additional Tags: Mutual Non-Con, No Feelings, Forced to Watch, Fuck or Die, via held at gunpoint, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadistic Choice, Top Jason Todd, Bottom Dick Grayson, No Romance, Angst, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt Dick Grayson, Jason Todd Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, they kind of get one, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Tim Drake is Red Robin, No Minors Present, Creepy Roman Sionis, Anal Sex, Spit as Lube, Hand Jobs, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Forced Orgasm, Forced Incest, brief mention of incest kink on roman’s part, Self-Hatred, Internalized Victim Blaming, Vomiting, POV Jason Todd, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Dick Grayson, minor/threatened Roman/Tim

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66100963

[forgetmesunflower]

Spending an hour to organize your wips by percentage done instead of using that hour to work on any of your wips.

It's called a ✨ sense of fulfillment ✨

Now where's my fulfillment.

[forgetmesunflower]

buried deep, these memories

Chapter 8: the desolation after an explosion

Jason wipes the damp cloth over the blood that’s dried tacky on Dick’s temples, skin tinted pink. He doesn’t know if it’s from the blood or abrasion. Maybe both. His hand stills, cloth hovering for a moment as he stares, and his knees begin to ache from kneeling so long on the thin rug. It’s disconcerting, watching Dick like this where he lies on Jason’s living room sofa, still breathing. ─── It's been four years since the family lowered Dick's coffin into the ground, and Jason finally feels like he’s settling into his new job with the BAU. That is, until two people part of an illusive group called ‘Spyral’ arrive in custody. aka. Jason works for the BAU and Dick hasn't come back from Spyral.

Rating: Teen Words: 43k, 8/12 Relationships: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Jason Todd & BAU Members, Jason Todd & Emily Prentiss, Jason Todd & Batfamily Members Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Penelope Garcia, Tim Drake, Paris Pantoja, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62983582/chapters/161296525

[forgetmesunflower]

Bruce wasn’t at breakfast. He wasn’t at lunch either. But it was the weekend, and Dick was pretty sure Bruce only went into work on weekdays like when Dick was sent to school.

Swinging his feet from the too-high kitchen stool as he watched Alfred wash his plate and cup, Dick eventually asked, “Do you know where Bruce is?”

Alfred didn’t look up. “I believe he’s still in bed. It would be best to let him rest for a while longer.”

Dick thought that was strange, since Bruce hadn’t patrolled last night. All major organized crime leaders were in Blackgate, and that clown guy that made a scene last month was just admitted to Arkham Asylum after his trial. Apparently, the poor guy was sick, which was why he killed those men.

Dick didn’t quite understand it. But he got grumpy when he was sick too, so maybe it was kind of similar. He hated to think that something like having the flu could lead to killing people, but Detective Gordon also said that the clown guy was sick up in his brain, so maybe it wasn’t quite the same.

Still, it was supposed to have been quiet beyond minor crimes that most of the police could handle (the ones that were initiating it anyway), so Alfred had insisted both Batman and Robin take the previous night off, which Bruce agreed to reluctantly. All to say, it was strange that he was still asleep.

So Dick wandered over to Bruce’s bedroom and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, Dick turned the knob and cracked it open. Peeking in, the room was almost pitch black aside from the light spilling in from the hallway. As he squinted into the room, he could see the heavy curtains were drawn, the big top blanket—the duvet or the comforter or whatever, Alfred kept changing the word up on him—was on the floor, and there was a large lump under the thin top sheet on the bed. 

“Bruce?” he whispered into the room.

The lump didn’t move nor make a sound, so Dick slipped inside and shut the door behind him. He blinked a few times until he could see the bed again in the dark, then tiptoed over. The duvet-comforter tried to trip him up, but he clambered over and crawled onto the bed.

He tapped what he assumed to be Bruce’s arm. “Bruce?” he whispered again. 

There was a mumbled answer this time, but Dick didn’t catch it.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Not right now, Dick. Leave,” Bruce growled, almost in his Batman voice.

“Why?”

Maybe he was sick too. He wondered why Alfred wasn’t taking care of him if he was. Dick’s mama always took care of him when he threw up or felt all hot and cold and gross, and she took care of Papa too when he inevitably got whatever was going around. Sickness always spread like hay on fire in the circus, but Mama never seemed to be affected. 

“What’s wrong?” Dick pushed.

Bruce sighed heavily, a sound Dick was beginning to recognize to mean he was annoyed with Dick but too tired to do much about it. But usually he was only ever annoyed because he was tired. Dick didn’t get it. He always felt the best after exercise left him exhausted. 

“It’s after lunch,” Dick told him. “Alfred told us to go to bed last night. You did, right?” That was another habit Dick had noticed. Bruce would be tired lots, so much so that he got annoyed and short with Dick, but still didn’t go to bed. And he wasn’t even staying up to do anything fun. It was just more work.

Bruce shifted under the sheet, and Dick finally got a look at the side of his face, body turned away from Dick. Bruce sighed again.

“Are you sick?”

After another pause, Bruce said, “Sure.”

That would explain why he was still tired. But then, he shouldn’t be skipping meals. “Should I get Alfred?”

“No–” Bruce shifted again, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. “Not like that. I’m not–” He trailed off.

Dick frowned. “Well, are you sick like that clown guy?”

Bruce’s head snapped up, looking over at Dick in the dark. “That man is deranged. We are nothing alike.”

Dick frowned deeper. He didn’t know what deranged meant, but Bruce didn’t say it like anything good. “Detective Gordon said he was sick.” He tapped his own forehead with a finger. “Up in his head.”

Bruce closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He straightened out to lie on his back. He didn’t open his eyes yet, but said much more gently, “Yes. He’s right. The man is sick. The doctors and staff at Arkham will help him so that he doesn’t hurt anymore people.”

Batman went out at night and hurt bad people, but Dick didn’t think he would appreciate the comparison. Batman didn’t kill people. “What kind of sick are you then?”

Opening one eye just a slit, Bruce’s blue eyes looked black in the dark. For a few moments, Bruce didn’t say anything, and Dick remembered how Bruce seemed to have an easier time talking when Dick wasn’t looking directly at him. Which was strange. His parents had always liked him to look at them when they talked. They said it showed he was paying attention. 

Dick shuffled down the bed a little and lied down beside Bruce. Then he scooted over until he was tucked up against Bruce’s side, feeling his body heat radiating even through the blanket. Maybe he really did have a fever. Bruce lifted one arm to accommodate, curling it around Dick’s shoulders as Dick used it as a pillow. Bruce must really have been feeling sick. He didn’t stiffen or hesitate at all.

“Sometimes adults have bad days. They just– don’t feel well.”

“But wasn’t last night a break?”

“I– yeah. I guess.”

Dick hummed in thought. “Is it because you didn’t go out?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Dick continued anyway, “Is it like when I don’t go on the bars for a few days because of an injury? Like, I know the break is supposed to  help my body feel better, but I also feel worse when I haven’t done it in a while. Kinda… icky?”

A few seconds passed before Bruce said, “That’s probably part of it.”

“Part of it?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the other part?”

He sighed again. “It’s just like that sometimes.”

Dick wrinkled his nose. He hated when Bruce said that. Usually, he was the adult that said that to Dick the least, explaining things even if a lot of the time Dick still didn’t get it, but every so often, he’d close up and say ‘It’s just like that.’

“Why don’t you want to get up?”

“Because I don’t feel well.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Because I’m sick.”

Dick shifted a bit, feeling restless. “Fresh air usually makes me feel better.”

Bruce held his breath, like he was trying not to sigh. 

“We should go out for ice cream.”

“Not today, Dick.”

“How are you going to feel better if you don’t get fresh air?”

“Fresh air won’t make me feel better.”

“Oh,” Dick said. He pursed his lips. “You sure?”

This time, Bruce didn’t hold in his sigh. He was doing that a lot. Dick kinda hoped he was breathing out all the sick from his body. Maybe sighing made him feel better.

They both lied there for another minute. Dick counted the seconds. Then he sat up suddenly. Bruce flinched.

“What if we have ice cream in bed?”

Bruce squinted up at him. “What?”

Dick hurried to scramble off the bed. “That’ll make you feel better. I’ll go ask Alfred.”

“Wait, Dick– no ice cream before dinner.”

Dick didn’t look back, hopping over to the door as he said, “Yeah, but you're sick! Alfred let me have ice cream after lunch when Carrie gave me the chicken pox, so it’s only fair.”

Then he was out the door.

[forgetmesunflower]

I think this is still an important addition.

Unrequited love but it's actually unrequited and now they have to navigate this new relationship where this revelation sits between them like a giant boulder,

and they're both just pretending there's not a giant fucking boulder, and one of them is plastered to the side of the boulder, wrapping their limbs around it as if they can hide from sight this Giant Fucking Boulder while the other politely looks away, but it's inevitable that their eyes are going to occasionally flick over because it's a Giant Fucking Boulder, and they're gonna wonder how they didn't see this before, how it could possibly escape their radar, and the other is desperately trying to figure out how to get rid of this boulder, and they're both just trying to live and continue this not romantic/sexual relationship around this GIANT FUCKING BOULDER.

[forgetmesunflower]

Unrequited love but it's actually unrequited and now they have to navigate this new relationship where this revelation sits between them like a giant boulder,

and they're both just pretending there's not a giant fucking boulder, and one of them is plastered to the side of the boulder, wrapping their limbs around it as if they can hide from sight this Giant Fucking Boulder while the other politely looks away, but it's inevitable that their eyes are going to occasionally flick over because it's a Giant Fucking Boulder, and they're gonna wonder how they didn't see this before, how it could possibly escape their radar, and the other is desperately trying to figure out how to get rid of this boulder, and they're both just trying to live and continue this not romantic/sexual relationship around this GIANT FUCKING BOULDER.

[forgetmesunflower]

Can't believe life exists. It's not all just free time to write silly little fanfiction. Unbelievable.

[forgetmesunflower]

buried deep, these memories

Chapter 7: it sticks, lingering on old tongues

Three attempts in two days. Jason’s never known Dick to be this reckless—this desperate. He should know that multiple failed attempts significantly lowers the likelihood of a successful escape. Three attempts, two days, one success. ─── It's been four years since the family lowered Dick's coffin into the ground, and Jason finally feels like he’s settling into his new job with the BAU. That is, until two people part of an illusive group called ‘Spyral’ arrive in custody. aka. Jason works for the BAU and Dick hasn't come back from Spyral.

Rating: Teen Words: 35k, 7/12 Relationships: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Jason Todd & BAU Members, Jason Todd & Emily Prentiss, Jason Todd & Batfamily Members Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Penelope Garcia, Tim Drake, Paris Pantoja, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne (Mentioned)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62983582/chapters/167268004

[forgetmesunflower]

buried deep, these memories

Chapter 6: as though you never existed in the first place

Turning to face Duke more fully, Jason asked, “Hold on, is this about you being a meta?” Duke’s hands fell to his sides, swinging once, twice, before stopping stiff against his hips. “Man, I can’t hold a candle to Tim in sparring. Even after over two years I don’t last ten seconds if he’s not holding back. I don’t know, I just– I love what I have, what I can do, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes– I guess sometimes I forget when I’m standing next to Tim or Cass or you, and I get too caught up in what I can’t do. I know it ain’t healthy to think that way, but you guys are all so great without any powers, and he–” He glanced up at the photo on the wall. “Well, he was the best.” ─── It's been four years since the family lowered Dick's coffin into the ground, and Jason finally feels like he’s settling into his new job with the BAU. That is, until two people part of an illusive group called ‘Spyral’ arrive in custody. aka. Jason works for the BAU and Dick hasn't come back from Spyral.

Can't believe chapters 4-6 were originally meant to be all one chapter... Which means this is technically: For @criminalmindsxdc's CMxDC Week 2025 Day 7 PART TWO: "Life is a hell of a thing to happen to a person."

Rating: Teen Words: 27.4k, 6/12 Relationships: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Jason Todd & BAU Members, Jason Todd & Emily Prentiss, Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Duke Thomas Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Penelope Garcia, Original Male Character(s), Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne (Mentioned), Paris Pantoja, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon (Mentioned)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62983582/chapters/165779947