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“Don’t leave me” Damian to Dick

Hey... hey... how yall doin?

This prompt has been in my inbox for so long and I feel so bad. So here you go Anon!

I have some personal reasons why this took so long but I’ll summon it up in one phrase. 2020 sucks.

[rayewriting]

Hurt and Left

Fandom: Batman

So, its been a hot minute. But you don’t care about my excuses, so here is a request that I got from an anon:

“Dick and Damian, “Don’t leave me.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers into the night. The rain and clouds making the city lights misty coating everything with a layer of water. It was almost beautiful, watching the light twinkle from the roof of a tall building. But this night, neither of them were watching the lights or weather.

The teen grips the railing, knuckles turning white.

“Why, pray tell, should I not? It is apparent to me everyone was perfectly fine leaving me. Why, why should I be the one that is always left behind? Between my parents, siblings, and friends, everyone was so preoccupied with themselves that they never remembered the one sitting alone at home.”

“I never wanted to leave you. Never wanted you to feel alone. Never wanted you to think no one cares,” the man explains, his voice layered with grief like how the mist layered water on his hair and face.

“Well, too bad. I was left. I was alone. I thought no cares. If I am being completely honest, I still think that way. I am tired of being angry, of being lonely, of being thinking that I am the problem.”

“Damian—”

“No!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the railing, “I’m done with this-this push and pull of family! Days where people walk in and out of my life like a revolving door. People you told me that should stay. You told me that family doesn’t desert each other. And it seems like that’s all this family does!”

“I’m sorry!” Dick yells back, hands clenched in fists, “Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry that I had to go save the world—”

“I’m not angry that you went to save the world!” Damian’s voice still raging against the night before dropping low, “I’m angry because you and Father put on a sham for making your family to believe you were dead. I’m angry that all that this family is not a family at all.  All we do is offended each other, abandon each other…” Reaching his small hands towards his face, he wipes the small amount to water gathering in his eyes.

“And I’m angry that I can’t seem to make myself leave. That I keep coming back, no matter how many times I pick up the pieces of myself that this family uses then discards like garbage.”

“Damian, look at me,” Dick begs slowly closing the gap between them, “please?”

Placing his large hands on the teen’s shoulders, Dick slowly, so slow as if too fast would make Damian run away, turns Damian around. Finally facing each other, Dick looks, really looks, at his little brother, taking in the changes since Dick left.

The bags under his young eyes that have seen too much too soon. The ashen sheen that means too little sunlight on his previously dark skin. The limp in his hair he used to take so much pride in. The shaking muscles that speaks to how much he is overworking his body.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you and everyone else by tricking you into thinking I was dead.”

Damian’s eyes widen at the word. Hurt. That’s what he felt wasn’t it? Hurt? He was hurt because Damian was becoming the scapegoat for everyone’s problems it seemed.

Drake was angry? Damian must have messed with something.

Todd was brooding? Damian must have said something.

Grayson was pouting? Damian must have done something.

Father was being abnormally silent? Damian must have disobeyed.

It seemed that being Damian meant being a failure.

And it hurt.

“I am as well, Grayson.”

[rayewriting]

Bruce wasn’t going to deal with it.

Really, he wasn’t.

He’d managed to push Selina’s… scolding, out of his mind after he’d gone home. Gone back to the cave and spent an hour trying to track down the little girl.

What was a child even doing with the League? More than anything, that was the question he wanted answered.

It was abuse. It was absolutely, 100%, abuse. To train a child up like that. Send her out on missions. Send her after Batman, of all people. Obviously, they probably knew Bruce wouldn’t hurt her, but it was still stupid. What if he’d hit her with her batarangs? What if he had hurt her, before he realized she was a little girl?

Would Damian had ended up like her, had he let Talia keep him? Had she never brought Damian to Gotham in the first place?

That thought alone sent Bruce on up into the house.

Damian was right where he belonged, of course. In bed, fast asleep where Bruce had tucked him in before patrol. Figaro was curled up at his side and Ace was over his legs. Ace actually lifted his head, when the door cracked open, but quickly dismissed Bruce’s presence and snugged back down. No one was getting into Damian’s room without Bruce knowing.

Out in the hall, the light from Jason’s room made Bruce pause.

He wasn’t going to deal with it.

Except…

Jason’t hadn’t even closed his door. Not fully. And the light on meant he was still up. Still up and probably reading. Jason never stayed up late to read. Not unless he was upset about something and trying to distract himself.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his head against the wall between Damian and Jason’s room. He had to deal with it, didn’t he?

Curse Selina. If they weren’t already broken up, he was going to break up with her over this.

….No he wouldn’t.

“Jay,” he said, softly as he knocked at Jason’s cracked door. It creaked open further when he did, allowing Bruce to see Jason scowling down at his book, half way under the covers but still sitting up. “Are you still awake?”

“No,” Jason said, turning the page, not even looking up.

With a sigh, Bruce pushed the door fully open and walked in.

Continue Reading on Ao3

[rayewriting]

Here is the next chapter for my Star Wars AU!

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This is the beginning of the Star Wars AU I hinted at a long time ago!

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Someone made my fic into a podfic!

Here is where you can find my fic, The Ink that Binds Us, made into a podfic by the lovely @mistbornhero for a challenge! I’ve listened to it (I was amazed) and I was so excited that someone thought that my work was good enough to be made into a podfic!

So if you have some time I would really appreciate it if you could show them some love!

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Hey remember that Clone Wars Episode Arc, Slaves of the Republic, where our heroes were physically and emotionally tortured and then everything was fine and it never came up ever again? 

I wrote a fic about it because I have feelings about what happened. And didn’t happen. It’s 12 pages. 

It’s under the cut.

Keep reading

[rayewriting]

As Anakin Skywalker's Padawan, Mara Jade comes into contact quite frequently with the man's children. Luke and Leia are Mara's age, while Eryn is just four years old.

Mara likes Leia a lot. She's smart and funny - often in the mean way that Mara appreciates a lot - and they become fast friends.

Luke is...weird.

It seems like every time Mara is around, Luke loses the ability to person. He runs into walls. He babbles about starships. Stubs his toes on every chair leg within a ten mile radius. One time he even develops a case of thr hiccups for no reason.

"He likes you," Master Anakin tells her with amusement in his kind voice.

Mara frowns, but doesn't respond. She likes plenty of people, but that doesn't give her a case of the stupids.

She finally understands, a year later, when Luke turns on a thousand watt smile and directs it at her. Mara somehow forgets that there's s door in front of her and runs right into it.

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Some of the older senators, ones even older than her mother, still hold their seats firmly, with iron grips. Their planets stuck with aging, dusty beings, not at all fit for office anymore; past their prime, with their minds only on lining their pockets.

Leia has thought so since she was small. Now that she’s a senator in her own right, representing Coruscant effortlessly, it’s even more evident. 

She despises the lavish dinner parties and charity functions that she attends to keep up appearances. She’d much rather be working late, doing research for bills to try and push through, or even watching her father and younger sister fix up old speeders. 

But here she is. Another night, another dinner party. Her mother isn’t expected to show at these things anymore. The Chancellor just has too much to do. She doesn’t have time for dinner parties. 

Leia doesn’t think she has time, either. 

But…

She sighs, sliding a finger around the lip of her wine glass, causing a soft hum, accentuating her boredom. 

Until she hears some of her fellow senators chatting conspiratorially. 

But not conspiratorially enough.

Keep reading

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“Who did this?” For Jason and Damian or Tim and Damian

Hello my lovely anon!

I’M SO SORRY FOR YOUR WAIT!!! You can find your fic here. The name might change soon, and if that breaks the link I’ll come back and fix it!

I promise I’ll try to get to the other requests as soon as I get an idea for how I want to go about them. So please keep sending them in! <3 <3

[rayewriting]

Rain and Thunder

Fandom: Batman

This is a request from an anon (from a while ago):

" “Who did this?” For Jason and Damian or Tim and Damian "

Also if you think I need to tag something else (like triggers or something) please tell me! I want everyone to enjoy this site safely! Also also, I can't think of a good title for this right now, might change the name later (if you have a suggestion let me know).

“Now get going, ya hear? It’s going to rain soon.”

Red Hood was doing his normal routine swing around Crime Alley having just sending a couple street kids towards the Martha Wayne kids home for the night when he chances a glance around the old warehouse portion of the area when he hears a crash. He pats down his belts and does a mental list of what weapons he still had ammo for, then ducks into one of the nearest buildings. After looking through the first floor and finding nothing but layers of dust, he moves on to the second floor, from his spot on the stairs he sees a trail of disturbed dust. Staying to the shadows, Red Hood follows the trail, then he finds the reason for his unease: an unconscious Robin in a pool of blood.

But it wasn’t Robin, it was Damian. The little dude wasn’t in his traffic light color uniform, but his civvies surrounded by pushed over crates and boxes. Red Hood does not panic, so when he feels his heart stop and all his breath leave him, he keeps his ears open and eyes sweeping the room for any movement. Red Hood does not let himself be lost in his head, so when his mind starts asking things like “Where’s Bruce? What happened? Where’s the bomb? Where is the Joker?”, he shuts his brain off and goes off his instincts. They tell him to check the little guy and get them the heck out of there and deal with the ramifications later, so he checks Damian’s breathing, pick him up, and bolts out of the warehouse. He knows he should go to the Batcave, but he doesn’t know if Damian could make it there, so he plots the fastest way to one of his safehouses and jumps.

Red Hood does his best not to jerk the kid too much, but without any type of transportation, he is stuck with jumping across roofs and parkouring his way to a safehouse while keeping one arm around the bleeding tyke and the other on his grappling hook.

Just as it starts pouring rain, he lands close to one of his more stocked safehouses and undoes the locks in the least graceful way possible, but he gets the kid in, shucks off his gloves. When he starts to pull his head out of his helmet, a clap of thunder jars a thought: he should tell someone he has the kid. He ignores it for now, now is when he needs to focus on getting Damian stable enough to be left alone so he can call someone. Thus, he starts a basic examination; Damian has multiple cuts, a splattering of bruises, and enough blood loss that is the biggest concern. He starts an IV line and begins to get blood in the kids system, then checks Damian’s head for any major bumps and wraps it in gauze, after that he  disinfects and stitch the larger sword slices close before moving to bandage the smaller wounds close.

Finally, roughly an hour later, when he can take a break, he takes stock of his bedroom/mini med center. Damian is laying on the bed, more bandages than skin showing, no doubt with a concussion, a few broken ribs, and a makeshift IV line working through another bag of blood. He picks up a couple of empty saline and blood bags throws them in a bag to dispose them when lightning strikes and the clap of thunder follows shortly after and his eyes land on his thrown helmet and remembers the thought from earlier. He needs to call someone, so he picks up his phone with a secured line and stumbles to a chair in the corner of the bedroom, before he calls the first person he thinks of.

“Wayne Residence, I’m afraid that we are very busy at the moment,” the British voice comes from the speaker.

“Hey Alfred.”

“Master Jason, I-“

“Its fine, Alfred. I actually called with some good news, I found something of yours. About 4’10” black hair-“

He can feel the relief through the phone, though Alfred does not sigh or raise his voice, “You found Master Damian? I’m so glad, someone took him from school during lunch today. But nevermind that, where are you both?” He tells Alfred the address of the safehouse, about Damian’s injuries, then they both make a plan to get Damian to the Batcave.

After finishing his call, Jason slumps his shoulders, he feels his thoughts finally attack.  Where was Bruce? Dick? Everyone else? Did Damian run off again? Damian was more important than Jason so were they looking for him? Why didn’t they call him? Did he get to Damian in time? What if he didn’t get to Damian in time? What if Damian ended up like Jason did? Alone in a warehouse, waiting for someone to help, bu—

“-dd. Todd. Breathe, Todd. Can you hear me?” a voice was calling out to him. Jason’s head shot up and forced his breathing and heart to slow to a normal pace. He holds up a finger, he just needs a second. He sees the IV drip from the bag to the tube (he ignores the sight of green hair). He listens to the rain hit the glass of the window, the clap of thunder, Damian’s breathing (he ignores the sound of a laughter). He tastes the copper of blood from his bitten lip (he ignores the taste of ash). He feels his heart beat in his chest, the cold vented air prick at his skin (he ignores the feeling of a strike from a crow bar). He smells the dirt on his uniform (he ignores the smell of smoke).

After a few minutes, with his heart and breathing slower, Jason chokes out, “Yes, I can hear you. How are you feeling?”

“I am better than I was earlier,” Damian says, though that does not comfort Jason in the slightest. Once Jason feels less lightheaded, he stands and sweeps his eyes across Damian. Damian lays stock still, though the blanket has shifted so Jason can tell that Damian tried to sit up at least.

“That’s good, I guess.”

“What time is it?”

“From what I can tell, you hit your head pretty hard, do you have problem remembering anything?”

“My memory is fine, thank you, Todd.”

“That’s great. Who did this?” Jason asks, expecting a fight for an answer, but willing to go a few rounds, Crime Alley was his no matter what Bruce said. However, what Jason did not expect was Damian to look at the blanket covering him and beginning to mumble into the fabric. So instead of letting go of a sigh, Jason asks, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“… my mother…”

[rayewriting]

A Regular Patrol Night

Fandom: Batman

Note: This was a gift to my discord wifey, @a-dreamed-dreamer , to make her feel better, and she requested something with Dick and Jason. Keep in mind that this is the very first time I am writing Jason and Dick without Damian, so if I didn't quiet capture their relationship right, please let me know.

It was a regular patrol, sadly; Dick thinks as he shoves one man and woman to the side as rifle bullets start to rain down from an abandoned office building. “Run to safety, and call 911!” he says to the couple before they take off down the sidewalk. He taps his earpiece and begins to talk, “Hey, O? You there? I’ve got a shooting in progress, unknown number of hostiles.”

Barbara’s voice is slightly miffed as she answers, “Of course I’m here. Someone has to watch out for all you, or else you will depend on 911.” She lets out a sigh and begins to deal out information while Nightwing begins to direct civilians to cover, “Okay, so it looks like you have a raid. I’m counting ten hostiles and they don’t look armed, so I don’t know who is shooting, yet. I’m going to send someone to— Oh.”

Nightwing was about to ask what “Oh,” meant when hears it, dropping from a rooftop.

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this,” Red Hood yells out as he swings from his grapple, picks up a child then slides across a hood of a car, hiding from the incoming bullets.

Nightwing grabs a lone, elder man and ducks behind a wall and calls out, “But this is so exciting, Little Wing!” After giving the civilians directions to protection, they disappear.

During a pause in the enemy’s fire, Red Hood stands and shoots back at the sniper, slowly walking towards the building where the sniper is hiding in. “If by exciting, you mean ulcer-inducing then I agree, Dickwing.”

“You know you love it,” Nightwing responds as he jumps away from his cover, then begins to engage with the thugs on the ground as Hood draws the sniper’s attention, both men temporarily taking interest away from the potential goods the criminals were going after.

Red Hood scoffs at Nightwing before saying, “I need to reload, get behind something,” then he throws a thug into two other ones and flips a metal table to crouch behind. He sees Nightwing drag one man behind another wall and tie his arms together. “Hey, O, do you have an idea what these dirtbags are after?” Jason asks as he reload his guns.

“The building used to be a weapons facility that was scheduled for clean out later this week. The government already sent all workers home, except the security, but looks like whoever these guys are already got past them since the sniper is on the second floor. I’m pulling up blueprints for the building now.”

Red Hood begins to fire back at the sniper as Nightwing is pushed out into the open by three thugs, but Nightwing ducks out of the way of an incoming punch and calls out, “I’ll keep these guys and the sniper busy, just get him to stop shooting, for all our sakes!” as he finishes speaking, he decks a thug in the face and knocks him out, “Now, go!”

Red Hood does a quick glance and sees that nearly half the ground force tied up already. “Okay. Call in when you are finished taking out the trash.”

Nightwing lets out an affirmative noise as he slings his body around another man and brings him to the ground head first and leaves him unconscious. When he sees that Red Hood has seemingly vanished, he engages the rest of the thugs and therefore draws the attention of the sniper away from the missing vigilante. It is a little difficult to keep everyone focused on himself, but he has been in worse situations with less help and managed to get out of them alright. So, Nightwing begins his dance of punches, kicks, and bullets with the grace of a Flying Grayson and also the ferocity of a bat, listening to Jason as he deals with the sniper and their guards.

With a last kick to a man’s face, Nightwing begins to tie them up and notifies over the comms, “I’m done here, how is everything on your end, Hood?”

“I’m all good here, Big Bird. Just started a very enlightening conversation with my new best friend, would you care to join us? I’ll be sure to save some questions for you,” Jason informs in his ear.

“Yeah, I could use some brushing up on my interrogation skills, Little Wing. I’m on my way,” Nightwing says as he jogs up to the building and enters through the door following the unconscious bodies to the correct room. “Damn, just leave a trail of breadcrumbs next time, Gretel,” Nightwing utters as he pushes the door open and walks up to Red Hood.

“Screw you, Dickhead—”

“Hate to interrupt a lovely conversation, boys, but the police are almost there. So, if you want any information, get a move on,” Oracle’s voice pierced through their comm links.

So, Red Hood copies the sniper’s phone while Nightwing finishes the interrogation before the police show up. handing him and the other criminals to the police, the pair of brothers head to the roof, bantering together at each other’s quips and jokes. Once they reach the ledge of the rooftop, Nightwing says to Red Hood while aiming his grapple, “Don’t forget to give the evidence to O. She is updating the Batcomputer tonight and that needs to get to B.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Red Hood utters as he digs through his pockets.

Nightwing smiles then asks, “I’ll see you at the next family meeting, yeah? Alfred’s making chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies.” Then without waiting for a response, jumps with a shout of joy as he disappears into the night.

Red Hood watches Nightwing seemingly fly his way back to Bludhaven, weaving his way between building and alleys, and he whispers with a small grin, “I’ll see you there, you dick,” and disappears to finish his patrol.

[rayewriting]

“Please, I didn’t mean it” Tim & Dami

Hello anon, I have finally finished your request!!

You can find it here, and I hope you enjoy!!!

[rayewriting]

Why Did It Have To Be You?

Fandom: Batman

Note this is dedicated to @schweeeppess​ for her general amazingness and to celebrate her new discord server (yes the one that I’ve been posting about). And it was requested by a lovely anon:

“ “Please, I didn’t mean it” Tim & Dami “

The sound of rain hitting puddles and the remorseful feeling fills the gated area. The vicinity’s stones have dates that vary, some a couple centuries past and others fairly recent, few are owned by people with names handed down through a few generations and majority are differing from one another. However, each marker tells their own story; stories of Wayne generations, close friends- of sons.

But there are a few unmarked gravestones in the back, away from outside eyes, for the unexplainable stories and for the people that need a place to grieve. Because with their family, there are always going to be unexplainable things- no matter how hard they try to not let that happen. No matter how young they are, how trained they are, how much they get along -or don’t- they all seem to leave their lives too short to be complete.

As the storm continues, in front of one of the unmarked stones is a boy with black hair and unhealthy pale skin, he is shivering yet makes no move to conserve heat, only in his t-shirt and jeans. Tim’s eyes dart around and he looks defeated yet determined, like he doesn’t know he should be here but needing to do something. Suddenly he falls to his knees, pants soaking in the mud and puddles, hands are clenching so hard his knuckles turn white and resting on his thighs, his shoulders where hunched and his head bowing, facing the grass. “I didn’t want you to leave, no matter what I said—I swear, I didn’t mean it, Damian…” his voice is hoarse like he’s been appealing for hours, yet receiving no reply.

 Why did you leave? Why did I say I wanted you to leave? How come we never gave each other a second chance?

 Why did you protect us, when most of us wanted nothing to do with you? I can understand with my head- you wanting to protect your family- but I can’t force my heart to believe that you actually cared about us- about me.

Why do I always get left behind? Here alone, attempting to pick up the pieces of the fractured family that I forced myself into, again.

 For a while, Tim just kneels there, letting his emotions come to the surface of his mind and heart. His anger at the twerp for every interaction that ended with emotional, mental, or physical damage-cause even after his death, Damian was still a brat that tried to kill him-. His guilt for how he never saw what Damian actually went through under his mother’s care- how that affected him so much, yet Tim didn’t care. His dashed hope for what they both could have been in the future. They were brothers, dammit, and no matter what people thought both Damian and Tim grew to care about each other in some capacity.

 His eyes grow hot at that thought for what seems to be the millionth time that morning.

 But Tim’s former hope didn’t matter. His old dreams of having a caring family didn’t matter. His want of having a little brother didn’t matter.

 Tears start to swell in his eyes once more.

 Because Damian— he was— he wasn’t coming back.  Because Jason was the exception, not the standard. And Bruce was never gone like that in the first place.

 Tim hiccups start again.

 Because he is dead.

 The tears stream down his cheeks.

 Say it.

 He slams his hands on his knees.

 You coward.

 “You’re dead! No matter how much I did, how much Bruce did, how much Dick did, you still died! You were a child, a child, and yet you were killed for stupid ambitions. You were killed because your mother’s insanity and your family’s inability to protect you. If we can’t protect our own, how the hell can we protect the world? Is that what you want to hear?” Tim’s voice cracks as he yells. “And, dammit, its not fair! You little brat, you go off and die on us, just as you and I were getting along!”

 “Why did it have to be you?”

[rayewriting]

I have been broken

And you can blame @cdelphiki for all the pieces of my heart you step on while you read this.

Bewildered was the only word Damian could use to describe how he felt.

Because just that morning, he hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge what the day even was. But now, after he’d spent the morning playing video games with Jon, chatting with his Father on the phone, and then having a rather lovely lunch, people were showing up at the apartment.

Lots of people.

People Damian knew.

That he’d call family, if pressed.

…Plus Drake’s insufferable friends.

Which was just weird. Kon and Stephanie were there among the attendees, right along side Jason, Cass, Duke, and Alfred. 

So yes, Damian was bewildered. Or befuddled. Or just plain old confused.

Alfred he understood, of course. Even if the two of them had barely spoken since Damian got whisked away to the Kent’s, Alfred had always been one to remember things. And despite their relationship’s rocky start, Alfred had always been someone stable and supportive in his life. So, actually, he thought himself stupid for not realizing Alfred would actually remember.

It was the rest of these people that startled him.

He’d felt off kilter ever since he’d answered the door, an hour before, at Jon’s insistence that “it’s for you, D.”

Which, that was just annoying. The x-ray vision. The flagrant use of powers within the privacy of the apartment. Damian wasn’t used to it. Clark and Jon just…. casually floated around, sometimes. Used heat vision to heat things up. Speed to get chores done in a blink. And x-ray vision to look at and find things.

Damian was becoming progressively more amused by the exasperated glances Lois shot him, though, whenever one of them forgot that the rest of them couldn’t just look through the fridge door to see how many eggs were left.

It usually made him grin, actually. And he’d caught himself giving her the same look, a few times.

When Damian opened the door, however, he kind of wished he did have x-ray vision. Just so he could have had those precious few seconds to prepare himself.

Because on the other side of the door was Tim Drake. Just standing there. Holding a neatly wrapped gift with a card on top, and surrounded by all those people.

Keep reading

[rayewriting]

I-I have no words for how glorious this is.

I’m speechless.

“We all agree that this is ridiculous,” said Damian. “Correct?”

Bruce nodded. “We do.” He surveyed his environment again, letting all the details sink in: the assorted hydraulics and bulldozers parked on a lot covered in dust, his children gathered around him, and of course the green-clad man in the purple mask. 

Riddler was hard to miss. 

“This isn’t clever,” Bruce told him. “This is a joke.”

“And so are you,” Damian piped up, pointing in Nygma’s direction. That particular comment got a mixed reaction. Bruce saw Dick smile, heard Jason groan, and spiritually felt Tim roll his eyes from behind his domino mask. Cassandra reached over and swatted Damian lightly on the shoulder. 

“They’re all jokes,” Bruce continued. “It wasn’t hard to put together the pieces when my operatives came in one by one with clues.”

“I found your note,” said Tim, holding up a sheet of paper with a question written in green ink. “What’s brown and sticky? A stick… stick up. I took care of it. And then I reported back to base. It was obvious you were planning something.”

“And I got this,” said Jason. He displayed a small snow globe. Inside, a plastic penguin stood in front of a gingerbread house, surrounded by falling glitter. “It reminded me of an old joke. How does a penguin build his house?”

Jason sighed. “Igloos it together. I took care of Cobblepot’s weapons deal, by the way, so thanks for the tip off.”

Cassandra held up a clay coffee cup with a green question mark painted on the side. “Mugging,” she said. “Easy.”

“And I found myself fighting your minions in the cemetery.” Dick shook his head. “‘People are dying to get in?’ You reused that one. I remember from when I was twelve.”

Nygma grinned at the lot of them. “And you, Batman? Robin?”

Keep reading