#Alfred & Bruce (thinking): well this explains why this 13 year old was able to run around New York & Gotham without his parents worrying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ckbookish · 3 years

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BATMAN BINGO MASTER POST 2020

1 "I thought you were dead.": I Still See Your Ghost

Today was just not Dick's day. First he overslept his alarm and was late to work. Amy had been less than impressed at his tardiness... Then He had bungled what should have been an easy take town... But the straw that broke the camel's back was Tim. Dick had forgotten to call Tim.

2 Friendly fire: Fratricide

Jason was pissed. No, Jason was enraged. Yeah, he was enraged at the whole mess his family-- if that’s even what they were to each other anymore-- had gotten him in. It was meant to be a simple night. Break in. Torch the drugs. Maybe shoot a couple of people and go home. But no, Batman heard about his plans and decided that arson was too extreme. “Someone could get hurt.” Well someone had gotten hurt, a lot of someones.

3 Hypothermia: Weekend Commute

Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

Chapter two Bruce's perspective.

4 Superman: Bringer of the Dawn

The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.

Where do you go when your family tells you to get out?

5 Shot: The Gratitude Trap

Bruce finds himself in the dark, a place he never thought he would be when it came to Clark Kent and Dick Grayson. Yet here he is digging for answers, because he is too scared to pick up the phone and call.

6 Two-face: The Better Choice

How do you reconcile the man who was once your friend with the monster he has become? Bruce reflects on how the man he once called his best friend changed. How could the man who helped him foster Dick, hold that baseball bat?

7 Drowning: Omori’s Law

Deep in the sewer's under Gotham, Batman is trapped. There is no back up, no Robin. He is faced with the single truth that he tried to teach each of his partners... You have to save yourself.

8 Found Family: A Restoration from a Resilient Heart

Dick just wants to not be alone with the shadows in the house. Bruce doesn't realize he has lived with them for far to long, and maybe he doesn't have to anymore.

9 Adoption: The Irrefutable Truth

When he reached the reception, he found himself looking around a fairly empty room. There were a few call girls in the corner filling out forms, an older woman holding a dog, a kid that looked about twelve and a middle aged man who looked like he was ready to cry. He knew no one. Dick was about to turn around and head back to his desk when the on duty officer called out to him. Officer O’Conner was one of his fellow rookies, he had a thick accent. Dick thought he might be from Louisiana. “Grayson! Why didn’t you say your brother was coming to see you?” Dick looked at him with his mouth slightly open. There was no way he heard that right. “My what?”

10 Bruises: Mr. Wayne

Tim is new to this. He's only been Robin for a little over six months. It was going well. But now he was going to be fired. Batman wouldn't want a partner who got caught at school with a black eye. Would he?

11 Bruce is dead: You Have One Saved Message

Gotham gossip columns spread lies and smear good people's names. But yet Damian can't help but think maybe this mornings article was true. That despite all his claims of being the true son of Bruce Wayne, he was in fact the only unwanted one.

12 CPR: Vital Signs

Robin wakes to find him and Batman in an exploded factory. With Batman injured and the building burning around them, Dick struggles to get them both to safety.

13 Dad: Storge

Bruce could have sworn his spirit had left him momentarily. The sudden hollowness that filled him couldn’t be explained in any other way.

“Your dad must have his hands full with you.” Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray.

Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view. It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world. The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield... Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad. But he wasn’t.

14 Stealing the Batmobile: T-Minus Six Hours

Some days Tim is sure that he’s gonna be killed. Usually it’s some luck shot or near miss that made his life flash before his eyes. Not today though. Today he was positive Bruce was going to kill him. Yes, today was the day that Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be put down. He’s not sure that even Nightwing could save him. He was going to go down in history as the first sidekick to be murdered by their mentor. Because the Batmobile was definitely not where he’d parked it.

15 Wayne Enterprises: Amidst the Absence of Meaning

Bruce is worried. He's running on less than three hours of sleep, and way too many cups of coffee. He had messed up. That much was obvious. The question was would Dick forgive him?

A gruesome night on patrol bleeds into Bruce's work day and now all he can wonder is if this is the thing that will push Dick over the edge? Had he finally seen to much pain?

16 Ransom: Sum of My Worth

The ring of the phone seemed to echo through the manor’s still too quiet long, winding halls, and everyone present collectively held their breath. Bruce lunged for the phone.

17 Secret Injury: Hiding in Pain Sight

“What?” Dick asked sharper than he meant to. He was tired.

“Nothing.” Tim said with a small smirk. “Heavy is the head.”

Dick closed his eyes, glad that Tim couldn’t see them. He was so sick of this. Tim, Jason, Damian and Cass all didn’t think he was good enough, well Cass hadn’t said that, but Dick could read her. They didn’t think he was up to the job. Well they didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it.

18 Superboy: An Interlude in Breathing

Tim looked out over the water in a daze. Bruce and Dick had gone somewhere below deck and he was alone. Well there were strangers on the ship mingling and talking excitedly--but Tim gave them no notice. Instead he watched the water lap up against the hull and crash down back to meet the dark, cold waters. They were far enough out that he could no longer see the shore. It was just endless expenses of sea and sky. Something tickled his neck and he started, only to realize he had been crying. It was only a tear slipping under his collar.

The days after the battle of Infinite Crisis

19 Betrayed: Smother

She took another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her lungs for a long moment before allowing it hiss out between her teeth. The screams from the warehouse weren’t completely muffled by the distance, or the walls. Perhaps she was only imagining them. But then, sounds like that, she didn’t think she could dream up. She jumped after a particularly high pitched yelp. “Get a grip.” She dropped the cigarette and pulled out another. Her hand shook as she lit it. “It’s just some random kid. He’s not--” She bit back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had no right to tears, not when it was her fault.

20 Crowbar: Breaklights

The mail fell to the ground and the paper smacked the tiles hard. The sound in reality couldn’t have been all that loud, but it seemed to echo around the entryway. Bruce didn’t look at the dropped bills and the invitation to a fundraiser for the new Gotham women’s shelter. He was too fixated on the small stamp with the queen of England's head on it. Wolverhampton.

The large envelope was far heavier then it should have been. Bruce could feel bile crawling up his throat.

He had forgotten.

21 Deathstroke: Debts and Dues

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. “Move.” “You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.

22 Mission Gone Wrong: Murmur in the Quiet Hours

Superman? Clark froze. He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad. Was that-- no. Clark dove for his phone, still on the counter from when he got home last night. The screen was black. Dead. Clark swore and dropped it. He was in his coat and shoes before it hit the counter top.

23 Kidnapped: Chum

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was really stealing.

24 Riddler: Seeking Silence on Shortwaves

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk. In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things. Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing. Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life.

Batman hadn't always been so strict about talking unnecessarily over comms. When it was just two of them it hadn't mattered, their walkie talkie system had always worked. But now that Nightwing and Robin were in Gotham, it seems insane that they never realized: if only one person can talk over the radio at a time... how could they call for help?

25 Mr. Freeze: Glimpsing the Sun While Trapped in the Rime

He almost called Bruce between his fourth and fifth class. He pulled his phone out, leaning against his locker, and half dialed his number when a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey.” Dick spun around and blinked back black spots as his body protested the sudden movement. A blaze of red hair filled his vision and Dick felt a small fire build in his chest. His face split into a wide smile.

After a run in with Mr. Freeze Dick finds himself feeling odd at school, but he can't go home, not when Barbara's asked him to drive her to Betty's party after school.

#batman bingo 2020 #Master Post #Batman #CK Writes #Nightwing #Dick Grayson #tim drake #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Red Hood #Red Robin #robin #My Writing

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violetsmoak · 5 years

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Tabula Rasa [5/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/47961358

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know, and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #i’ll protect you #soulmark tattoo #bright anxiety #soulbond #a lie #hand holding

First Chapter

Author’s Note(s): And now for something completely different... And by different, I mean we get a brief bit of hope in this angst-fest.

________________________________________________________________

His name is Tim, but that’s about all he knows.

He has no memory of anything from before. Who he is. What happened to him.

There is a constant, throbbing, white-hot pain in his head.

The room is full of people. Some wear white coats—doctors. The others—strangers—say they are family. They all carry themselves the same way, but none of them look alike.

He wonders what he looks like.

They say someone shot him.

They say he will be okay. That he is safe.

The first thing sounds right. It explains why he can’t remember. It explains why his head hurts.

But the other things?

He has trouble believing that. He doesn’t know them. They are talking at him. Words that he knows individually, but together make no sense. Everything is heavy and hazy. And painful.

He wants to tell them that but can’t. Even as panic beats against his chest, the words get stuck.

But then he appears in his line of vision.

The redheaded man with snapping blue-green eyes who everyone else is uncomfortable around. The sight of him makes Tim calm. That and the warmth winding across the skin of his right hand. He can’t see the colors on his arm well himself—can’t move to check—but he’s seen them on the man.

The tiny boy that looks like a gremlin and always glares called him ‘Todd’. Tim thinks that’s his name.

Todd has pulled his coat sleeve back down, hiding the pattern from view, but it’s still there. Still a comfort.

Tim’s soulmate is here.

If his soulmate is in the room, the strangers must have told the truth. He is safe.

And he knows things like this—soulmates and how to count and the color of the sky outside of his window. General things. Common knowledge. Not so many things about himself. Or these people he doesn’t recall.

It’s exhausting trying to puzzle it all out. Before he can, he falls asleep.

It happens a lot.

He loses track of how many times he swims in and out of consciousness. He can’t tell the difference being asleep or awake for the longest time.

It’s a whole before the periods of being awake last longer. He can process more.

One morning, he realizes the difference between day and night sleeps. At night he wakes alone, though he sometimes imagines someone is watching him from the shadows. By day, the family surrounds him.

Men in uniform—police—have come to his room a few times to ask questions, but he’s been too heavy-tongued and hazy to answer. Even his blinking answers don’t appear useful to them.

Todd tells him one day they are looking into his shooting, wanting to know if he has any enemies. His smile is cold and his gaze upon the police remains wary and derisive. Like he doesn’t think they can help.

⁂

Todd isn’t always there when he wakes.

It seems like Tim’s soulmate is uncomfortable around the others. He thinks he remembers someone say they don’t get along. He might have dreamed that. But he has noticed how he avoids the room when there are a lot of the others there.

Especially the older man.

Bruce.

Tim’s father.

Or so they say.

The others too, he thinks. The young man with the sad smile has referred to him as his father when the nurse was here. But he calls him Bruce.

Everyone calls him Bruce.

He doesn’t understand why. Why not ‘Dad’ or ‘Father’?

(No, that’s not true. He has heard the boy call him ‘Father’. But no one else does.)

After what seems like hours of reasoning, Tim decides he might be adopted. It would explain why none of them resemble each other. (Tim isn’t sure if he looks like the boy. He doesn’t think so. His skin is far paler.) Or maybe Bruce is a stepfather? But where is Tim’s mother? Does he have a mother? He must have at some point. Perhaps she’s dead, if she’s not here. Or run off.

He tries to feel sad about that but can’t manage it.

Tim doesn’t have much range of emotion right now. Panic, confusion. Sometimes relief, when Todd is there.

Curiosity, a few days later, as he studies his ‘family’.

The old gentleman with the accent is Alfred. Tim doesn’t know what his connection is, but it’s clear he is an important member. And uncle perhaps? Or Bruce’s father? It would track. Everyone calls each other by their first names in this family, or so Tim’s noticed.

The young man who always tries to be so bright is Richard. He introduces himself as Tim’s older brother. Everyone but Alfred calls him Dick. At first Tim thinks people just don’t like him, but it turns out, that’s the name he goes by. By choice. Strange. He’s married to Barbara, a woman in a wheelchair Tim only saw once, on that first day he was awake.

It’s Dick who introduces the others.

The boy, Damian, is his younger brother. It’s rare for him to talk to or even look at Tim. When he does, it’s with a scowl. He sits too far away for Tim to tell anything else about him. Maybe they were fighting before this happened?.

The small woman that drops in sometimes is his sister. Cassandra. She’s almost always accompanied by the pretty blonde, Stephanie, who shares her black and purple soulmark.

Eggplant, something tells him, in a rather pedantic manner. Not purple, it’s eggplant.

Stephanie talks to Tim more than anyone else does. She keeps a running conversation as if he can respond. It’s something that both reassures and frustrates him. Beyond a few painful vocalizations, words run away from his mouth. The constant blinking answers make him fall asleep.

And there’s the black boy, Duke, who Tim figures is another brother though they didn’t introduce him as such. He sometimes sits beside Tim and watches American Ninja Warrior on the hospital television. He jokes with Tim that he’ll be able to pull off moves like that when he gets better.

Tim thinks that’s ridiculous, but it’s also a nice thought.

Today it is only Bruce, Alfred and Damian in the room with him. The former sits in a chair that seems comically small for his frame, head lolling as if he’s about to nod off. He’s only ever here in the mornings, disappearing in the afternoon and not returning until Tim wakes the next day.

Tim hasn’t seen him smile since he opened his eyes the first time. Alfred appears to be completing a large crossword puzzle, while Damian plays a handheld device and doesn’t acknowledge Tim.

Bruce notices Tim staring and straightens up. His expression softens. “Do you need me to get something for you, Tim? Some water.”

Tim blinks twice. No.

It’s the only reliable method of communication right now.

Richard—Dick—wanders in then, carrying an armful of chips and soda and a muffin. That wouldn’t be unusual—he’s always wandering in with snacks—but Todd sidles in after him. Tim’s stomach swoops with happiness.

The taller man leans against the doorframe like he needs to have a handy exit. Tim can understand the urge, even if he’s stuck in this bed. In his body.

But Todd is here, and it’s like having a safety net.

Even if he won’t come to sit with him when there are other people around. In fact, he avoids sitting right next to him unless Tim is on the verge of falling asleep. He’s tried pretending, but the damned monitors keep giving him away.

Dick distributes the snacks while offering Tim an apologetic smile—“Sorry, you’re still eating through a tube”—then holds his hand out to Todd in a ‘gimme’ gesture.

“What?” the redheaded man grumbles.

“Lighter.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t have one.”

“I’m not. What the hell do you need one for?”

“Jay,” Dick groans.

Tim has noticed the past few days that Todd gets called ‘Jay’ a lot, at least by Bruce and Dick. He wonders which is his real name.

In his head, he tries calling him Jay. He decides he likes it better. The name feels like it belongs to him.

Jay, then.

‘Jay’ grumbles and then digs into his pocket, handing over a silver lighter, which Dick swipes with a grin. Everyone watches, bemused, as he produces a cheap, sparkling pink birthday candle seemingly from nowhere, and sticks it in the muffin.

Damian looks up from his game at last and shoots Dick a judgemental scowl. “What ridiculousness are you getting on with now, Richard?”

He doesn’t speak like a child. Another thing Tim’s noticed.

Dick doesn’t answer, lighting the candle and then holding it out to Bruce. The grin on his face is only a little pained.

“Happy 45th Birthday, B,” he declares. “I know it’s not the best time to celebrate, but…”

He trails off.

Bruce blinks at the proffered muffin as if he’s not sure what to say or do.

Alfred hums in amusement and approval. “It is rather thoughtful, Master Richard. And not to put too fine a point on it, but a birthday wish would not go amiss right now.”

“Does it count if everyone knows what that wish is gonna be?” Jay points out, crossing his arms.

“It could not hurt at this juncture.”

Tim isn’t sure what they’re talking about, but he watches along with everyone else as Bruce dutifully blows out the absurd looking candle.

“Many happy returns, sir,” Alfred tells him.

Tim frowns. Who calls their son or nephew ‘sir’?

There’s a knock at the door, and Jay tenses, turning around faster than Tim can track. His hand goes to something beneath his jacket, but he relaxes when he recognizes the woman—Dr. Thompkins.

Bruce stares at the bulge beneath Jay’s coat with a sour expression.

“Good morning, everyone, how are we today?” Dr. Thompkins asks.

“Well in body though considerably rumpled up in spirit,” Alfred informs her. Jay snorts in something like laughter. Tim doesn’t understand the joke, but from the lack of reaction from the others, neither do they.

Another doctor follows Thompkins in.

Dr. Scherr.

Tim has a vague sense of recognition. The man comes in every so often to check his chart and whisper quietly to the nurse.

Everyone looks at the newcomers now, anxious and expectant.

“Do you know what’s going on with Tim’s memory?” Bruce asks, putting the muffin to one side and standing.

“It appears Timothy is suffering a form of amnesia,” Scherr replies. “Though the procedure to treat the brain injury succeeded, the trauma has caused significant damage, resulting in what appears to be a dissociative fugue state.”

Tim frowns at the words, unable to make sense of them.

“How long will it last?” Dick wants to know.

“There’s no way to be sure. It could be days or months. It could be longer. The important thing is that you don’t try to force him to remember. Stressing over it might do more potential damage than good to a healing brain. For now, you and Timothy should focus on a plan for his physical rehabilitation. Re-learning to walk, strengthening fine motor skills and such.”

“Of course,” Bruce says. “Plans are underway right now to outfit the manor with mobility aids for when he returns home.” Jay seems to tense at that. “Dr. Thompkins has also recommended several specialists to come and work with him.”

“You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Wayne,” a new voice says.

Everyone turns to see yet another newcomer, a petite woman of Asian descent in a crisp pantsuit and carrying several folders. She wears a plastic lanyard Tim can’t make out, but the sight of it makes Jay clench his fists and even Dick’s expression goes cold.

“I’m Gillian Sato, Child Protective Services,” she introduces, like it’s a greeting and a warning. “I’m handling Timothy’s case.”

“What case?” Bruce replies. “He’s an emancipated minor.”

“The keyword being ‘minor’,” the woman replies. “And when a young person comes into the hospital with injuries to the extent that Mr. Drake-Wayne did, the doctors always notify us.”

Thompkins blinks and then shoots a sharp frown at the male doctor, who shrugs, unrepentant.

“You get a lot of young people in the hospital for a sniper shot to the head?” Jay asks with a dark undertone in his voice.

Sato’s expression is nothing but contempt. “I was referring to the signs of malnutrition and broken bones—some of which are still healing. And the splenectomy scar that has no corresponding records attached to it. Several of the professionals overseeing his care remarked on it.”

Bruce’s face becomes hard as stone.

“Some are a few years old. Almost as old as when he was first adopted by Mr. Wayne,” she continues, waving a folder at them.

“Are you serious?” Dick snaps, as Tim processes this. He was right about being adopted then. But malnourished and injured? That’s a surprise.

“As serious as this situation,” Sato tells him, looking unbothered by his irritation.

“Ms. Sato perhaps now isn’t the best time,” Dr. Scherr begins, but the woman ignores him.

“The office I represent is concerned why a young man, not even of legal age is living on his own in such a dangerous part of Gotham. Given Mr. Drake-Wayne’s public visibility, he should at least employ a security detail. The whole situationmsuggests a lack of judgment, either on his part or on that of the guardian responsible for his formative years.”

“And how do these concerns interfere with plans to help my son’s recovery?” Bruce asks, tone sharp but still edging on polite.

“Oh, they won’t be interfering at all. But perhaps someone other than yourself or whoever you intend to pay off—I mean, hire—would take responsibility for them.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change but somehow radiates fury all the same. “Explain.”

“There has been serious consideration by the authorities concerning the revocation of his emancipation status based on the state of his health,” Sato informs them. “It’s clear he hasn’t been taking care of himself before his unfortunate injury. Red flags like that, and it isn’t beyond the realm of possibility, the state wanting to put him under its wardship. If the paperwork goes through, he’ll be remanded to our custody within the next day or so.”

“And what would be the point of that, exactly?” Dick asks coldly. “Tim’s turning eighteen in July. That’s less than half a year, and placement measures for a foster home—especially one equipped to handle some recovering from a TBI—often take a lot longer. You’d be putting undue stress on someone that’s just suffered a traumatic brain injury.”

“It’s because of that injury that I will expedite the process. And given the likelihood of him recovering full use of his faculties, he will most likely retain the status of a minor for longer than you might think. This time under the care of a more…suitable legal guardian, though.”

The look she sends Bruce now is one of disdain.

Damian stands then, brows drawn together. “You realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Sato replies, undaunted. “And the Wayne name and money may stretch far, but they do not buy immunity to the law.”

The tension in the room is ratcheting higher, and Tim stares at the surrounding faces, looking for a clue of what is happening. It’s bad, he knows that much. Something occurs to him then—is she saying someone will take him away from his family?

From Jay?

He makes a noise of protest, his chest tightening in a way that makes breathing almost impossible. His throat seems like it’s closing up—the doctors removed the tube before they discharged him, but the tissue remains bruised and he winces at the pain. His stomach pulls into an uncomfortable knot as he does his best to vocalize.

“Tim?”

Bruce’s gaze has flown toward him, eyeing the monitor beside him, and then Tim. He takes a step forward, but Dr. Scherr and Dr. Thompkins are already there, hovering over him.

“Timothy, are you alright?”

“Is he seizing?”

“No, it’s—”

“—just try to breathe—”

“—check the steroid levels—”

His chest continues to seize like it’s trapped in a vice, and the sensation only heightens as everyone crowds closer to his bed. His stomach heaves, this time, and he wonders if he will throw up. How is he supposed to do that when his throat is so tight?

“You’re making it worse,” Jay snaps then, and shoulders past Bruce and the doctors to sit beside Tim. He reaches for his hand, squeezing it once—quick, harsh and grounding. “Hey, Timbers. Calm the fuck down. Everything’s good. We’re handling it.”

Their soulmarks twist and strive toward one another. They don’t join—Tim has learned his bond with Jay is not complete—but they continue to blossom across their skin in complementary patterns of color and warmth.

It’s a comfort. Tim gives a shuddering sigh.

Jay’s here. He’s safe. It’s okay.

When he tries to pull away, Tim musters whatever strength he can to tighten his grip on Jay’s fingers. He doesn’t expect it to register—even he can tell there’s no force behind the hold—but Jay pauses. He gives Tim a look he can’t interpret—annoyance? Resignation? Surprise?—and relents, leaving his hand within Tim’s for now.

Around the room, everyone else watches without speaking. Bruce, who Tim has never seen gaze upon Jay with much beyond disappointment and sadness, appears to be considering them both with a good deal of speculation.

He isn’t the only one.

“I…had not realized,” Sato says, tone careful. There’s a pinched look on her face. “His file makes no reference to a soulmate. Or at least not that they had found each other.”

“I imagine that changes your plans a bit,” Bruce says with a smile that is anything but kind. “If you have any intention of following through on your threats to remove Tim, you know that a soulmate’s care supersedes government custody. Unless you want to be complicit in a blatant human rights violation.”

“It does…add a different dimension to the matter.”

“Well, then that settles things, for today at least, Ms. Sato,” Thompkins speaks up, and motions for her to leave. “And I’ll be calling your office to speak to your supervisor. Delivering news like this in front of a recovering patient is so far from professional I don’t even know where to start.”

“This isn’t over,” Sato says, although she lets Thompkins lead her away.

“And Dr. Scherr, if you would kindly get the hell out of my son’s room,” Bruce goes on, giving the doctor a hard look. “I’m requesting the hospital assign someone else to his case given your clear breach of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Scherr nods his head as if he expected this. “My only concern is for Timothy’s continued health and safety. My conscience in the matter is clear.”

“Thank you for saving his life, but the next time I see you, it will be with my lawyers present.”

Then he, too, leaves. Bruce closes the door behind the departing doctors with an air of finality.

“What the hell was that?” Jay demands.

“Most likely someone trying to make a name for themselves,” Bruce sighs, taking his cellphone out of his pocket and tapping something into it. “It wouldn’t be the first time, as you recall.”

They exchange a significant look.

“I’ll go check into what we need to do to get Tim discharged,” Dick says, determined. “Not sure I like the idea of him being here without one of us if that woman comes back.”

“I’m coming, too. Leslie and I need to discuss her definition of ‘vetting’.”

“I hardly think it was her fault, sir,” Alfred says. “Dr. Scherr indicated he was operating with the best of intentions. And Master Timothy’s medical record is…colorful.”

“I know. Which is why whoever she’s recommending help Tim with his therapy need to an up-to-date and accurate account for his injuries beforehand. I would like to avoid any more trouble caused by good intentions.”

They say more after that, but Tim’s head is swimming and his eyes getting heavy. He’s expounded far more attention and effort today than he can remember doing in a while, and it’s catching up. When he tries to squeeze Jay’s hand, he can’t even make his fingers move.

Maybe…when I wake up…

⁂

The next day, Tim wakes to the news that he is returning home.

Wherever that is.

The new doctor that has replaced Dr. Scherr, and the hard-eyed Sato woman from yesterday, stand outside his room and argue against it. Bruce steamrolls over them both. He rattles off a list of specialists he intends to hire to help Tim’s recovery and then makes a comment about updating the neurosciences building.

The new doctor goes quiet at that, but the Sato snarls that she won’t sign off on that.

Their argument moves away from where Tim can hear it, but he has an odd confidence that Bruce will get his way.

Tim is looking forward to being somewhere that isn’t a hospital room until the moment he realizes Jay doesn’t intend to come with him.

“Keep me updated, I guess,” he says to Dick, shifting in discomfort. There’s a glint in his eyes like he’s ready to bolt. It’s not helped by the manner in which Bruce looms from the corner.

“Of course. It’s your right, after all.”

“Right.” There’s a bitter twist to Jay’s mouth that makes Tim feel sick.

No.

Jay can’t leave. He has to come with, he has to be there to help, he can’t leave him with strangers. They might be his family, but he doesn’t know them. There’s no foundation of a relationship there, nothing as intuitive as his soulmate.

Tim’s breathing becomes close again. He tries desperately to catch Jay’s gaze, tries to force his tongue and lips and throat to make a noise that’s recognizable.

The heart-monitor thankfully speaks for him, tracking his quickly increasing pulse. Everyone goes silent, noting Tim’s distress, and Bruce clears his throat, glancing cautiously at Jay.

“You are, of course, welcome to stay at the manor,” he tells Jay reasonably. “Alfred can make up your room for you.”

“Yeah, not happening. Either thing,” Jay retorts.

“You are Tim’s soulmate,” Dick reminds him.

“How could I forget…”

“You being around will probably help him to get better faster.”

“If that’s the case, we can go to his place,” Jay argues. “I can keep an eye on him there, without you guys fussing and helicopter-parenting the whole time.”

“And that’s not going to happen,” Bruce interjects. “Beyond the fact someone shot him not a block away from his apartment, we have a better set-up at the manor. And with the amount of paparazzi camping outside of here and his place, how do you expect him to recover?”

“Well, it sure as hell ain’t with me at the manor.”

Tim manages a noise this time, a breathy whine of protest.

Jay groans and takes his habitual place beside Tim, though he doesn’t take his hand this time. He looks frustrated.

“Kid, I know you don’t remember anything right now, but I have reasons for not wanting to go there.”

“Reasons that have been null and void for a while now.”

“Shut up, Dick,” he snaps, shooting him a glare before returning his attention to Tim. “Besides, I have…work and stuff. That makes it hard to commute.”

Jay shifts, obviously uncomfortable beneath Tim’s beseeching gaze. He can see almost the exact moment he relents.

“Fine,” Jay sighs. “I’ll come to visit you, okay? How’s that sound? I mean, you’re gonna be sleeping most of the time anyway. So I’ll go do my thing while you’re asleep and then be there when you wake up. That sound good?”

It doesn’t sound great, to be honest, but Tim can tell it’s a concession and the best he’s getting.

He blinks once.

“Besides, we haven’t outfitted your apartment yet, Timmy,” Dick says brightly. “Jay’s probably going to want to see to that himself.”

The two men exchange looks Tim can’t interpret, and then Jay nods slowly.

“Sure,” he says, his expression curiously blank.

And that’s that.

The same day, the family load Tim into the back of a sleek black van—for security purposes, they say—and transported to a sprawling manor. Though the word ‘manor’ seems inadequate; it looks more like a castle than someone’s house. He’s relieved to see Jay looks as uneasy as he feels as he helps push his wheelchair to an elevator.

(This place has an elevator?!)

He’s brought to a room that they say belonged to him before, one filled with medical equipment and medications. His bed is almost identical to what he had in the hospital. It has remote control movability functions and an adjustable lifting bar overhead so that when he’s able to, he can move himself if needed. There are rails and bars fixed along the walls, for when he starts walking again.

He wonders if he’ll ever get there.

Beyond that, the room feels like a stranger’s, even as it gives him some clues as to who he was before. Photographs cover the walls, most of them candid shots and landscapes. There’s one beside his bed of three teenagers—one large and broad-shouldered and wearing a black shirt with Superman’s logo on it. Another boy is slim and a redhead with freckles. In the middle, a dark-haired boy with blue eyes, pale skin and a sharp smile.

He knows that’s him because most of his family has been showing him cellphone pictures of himself. (Except Jay. He shrugged in discomfort and mumbled about not owning a cellphone.) The face staring up at him means nothing to him, the same way it meant nothing when he saw those shared images.

Posters plaster what parts of the walls not covered by photographs, and there are shelves with colorful action figurines and what looks like circuits and computer chips.

“You’re a bit of a tech nerd,” Dick tells him as he’s getting settled. Jay enters the room like he’s expecting someone to jump out and attack him.

“A bit?” he asks, gazing around the room like he’s never been here before. It’s possible he hasn’t, given his tension with everyone else. “It’s like Revenge of the Nerds threw up in here.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“None of this makes sense,” Jay grumbles, bending over to squint at the books on one of the shelves.

Tim finds himself admiring the view quite before he knows what he’s doing. His cheeks warm when Jay stands up and glances at him, a sudden irrational fear that his soulmate can read his mind.

But Jay just sits heavily in the swiveling computer chair, a battered copy of The Lord of the Rings in hand, and starts to read silently. He barely even glances Tim’s way.

He wonders if Jay is mad at him.

It becomes a new routine.

Tim wakes up during the day and has his needs seen to by whichever member of the family is around. It tends to be Alfred, who Tim has learned is the family butler, albeit an unconventional one.

In the hospital, the nurses saw to bathing and grooming Tim. He’s thankful he didn’t have to suffer the use of a bedpan due to his catheter, but it’s still a situation that embarrasses him. At the house—the manor—Alfred has direct responsibility for his care. He does it with such an unblushing efficiency that makes Tim wonder just what his regular duties are.

Under normal circumstances people hire a nurse for such an intensive recovery period—the Sato woman tried to cite that as a reason Tim couldn’t return to the manor. But it turns out, everyone in the family has certification for long-term care, except for Damian and Duke.

“I’m in the process,” the latter says with a shrug when Tim gives him a curious look.

(though he said his certification is in the process).

That doesn’t seem…normal to Tim, but it means he doesn’t have to learn anyone else’s name, which is a relief. And Alfred all sorts of amazing.

He has the uncanny ability to interpret Tim’s expressions and silence, to the point where he can keep a conversation going as he performs his daily toilette. It’s almost as if they are speaking aloud, despite Tim’s responses being non-verbal and limited to blinking or wordless grunts.

When Alfred isn’t there, Dick is, telling him stories about growing up in a circus and about being a cop in Blüdhaven. Tim knows that whoever he was before knew all of this, but it’s the first time he remembers it, and it all sounds amazing. If only Dick didn’t keep looking so sad whenever he thinks Tim isn’t looking.

Just as he did in the hospital, Bruce is always there in the mornings when Tim wakes, looking haggard and sometimes rather bruised for some reason, but always there. While he sips coffee—which smells so mouth-wateringly good to Tim he almost wants to cry because he can’t have any—Bruce fills in crossword puzzles and Sudoku games in the paper. When he notices Tim watching him one morning, he shuffles over with them and lets him watch.

When he leaves in the afternoon, Stephanie comes by but always leaves before Alfred comes in to give Tim his dinner. She laughs and jokes with him, shows him funny YouTube videos and paints his nails. It seems brain injuries don’t excuse someone from looking ‘fabulous’. He doesn’t know if he used to let her do this before, but for a while it’s the most fun he has during the day. She tells him they used to date, before she and Cassandra found each other, and that he’s still one of her best friends.

Damian enters Tim’s room only on rare occasions, preferring to pause and glare from the doorway, and then stalk off. He’s often followed around by a very large, ferocious looking dog and a tiny black and white cat. The latter decides after about a day or so that Tim is a suitably warm and captive heater and takes to curling up beside him. The glaring from Damian intensifies when he notices this, but he doesn’t remove the cat.

“Cats have a tendency to detect illness and infirmity,” he informs Tim, looking down his nose at him. “It’s only natural he has gravitated to you here.”

And then he leaves.

Which…Tim thinks is him showing he cares?

The others shuffle in and out of his room at varying times of day, and sometimes even at night. Duke fiddles around with what Tim supposes is his Xbox and loads games for him to watch play. (Never any shooting games. According to Duke, Bruce banned those from the house even before Tim got shot). He’s sure he’s seen Cassandra sitting in the chair beside his bed one night when his radio clock informed him it was two in the morning. He’s so medicated around then, though, that it could be a hallucination.

Throughout all of this, Tim does spend a lot of his time sleeping, but always is awake when Jay arrives in the evening.

His soulmate sometimes says a few words to him, but more often he won’t. Inevitably he sits down with his book and reads. Every now and then he glances up at Tim like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to get the words.

That might be something they have in common there, at least.

A physical therapist comes in three times a week to help Tim work on re-learning movement. Dick doesn’t like the man, but he explains that it’s because the social worker from the hospital raised a fuss. She wanted someone to work with Tim that wasn’t reliant on Wayne family money. Bruce is going along with it, trying to show he’s cooperative, but the situation isn’t to anyone’s liking.

They never leave Tim alone with the man. Someone from the family always sitting nearby to keep an eye out as the guy stretches and positions Tim’s body to ensure his muscles don’t atrophy.

(Apparently, his reflexes are still rather impressive.)

One evening early on, it’s Jay sitting in the corner watching, and the PT calls him over.

“You should learn how to do some of this with him,” he tells him. “Soulmates have an inherent level of trust. It helps with the process. And if you end up as his primary caregiver, it’s important to know how.”

Jay’s expression is unreadable, but he nods and comes over. He seems absorbed in listening to the therapist’s instructions on how to move his joints and ease the tightness from the muscles. His hand is large and warm against Tim’s even through his clothes.

It’s the safest Tim ever feels.

On days when Jay is there to help, Tim can’t help wanting to smile the whole time. However, whenever Jay notices, there’s something dark and guilty in his gaze that makes Tim stop himself.

Maybe it hurts Jay to have Tim smile at him when he knows he doesn’t remember him. He makes a mental note to try not to do that anymore. He doesn’t want to hurt Jay.

A week after Tim returns home, Dr. Thompkins arrives to check up on him. She brings with her a colleague of hers, Dr. Thrussell, who is a certified brain injury specialist and music therapist.

“Music therapy?” Jay scoffs. “The kid’s tone-deaf.” Tim shoots him an incredulous stare Bruce and Dick echoes. “Cass showed me the videos. Whoever let him do karaoke should be in Arkham.”

Dick sniggers at that, and Tim’s brows draw into an annoyed glare, even if he knows it’s teasing.

“The injury damaged the language pathways of Tim’s brain, if they didn’t ruin them altogether,” Dr. Thompkins explains. “What do you do when you’re driving somewhere and can’t get there the usual way?”

“Take a detour.”

“Right,” Dr. Thrussell says. “This is what we call neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to reroute neural pathways. It’s how you can relearn to speak, Timothy. It goes without saying this won’t be easy, but it’s possible. Sort of like an adult learning to play piano after the age of 65.”

“The brain is like a series of roads on a map,” Thompkins continues. “The ones you use most often are the easiest to travel. Like highways. But that doesn’t mean the backroads stop existing just because they fall into disrepair.”

“So, you’re saying he has to backroad it until those paths become the Interstate,” Jay suggests.

“Exactly.”

And that…makes sense.

Tim still has the words there in his head. His thoughts have been remarkably coherent, barring the first few days when he couldn’t quite get them to stick together. He’s aware of everything going on around him, it’s just expressing that is the problem.

And so start the daily, intensive one-hour sessions re-learning to speak. At first, Tim had wanted to focus on that all day, but he didn’t account for how mentally draining it would be. Each session is exhausting and leaves him frustrated because it doesn’t seem to be making any difference. His mouth still won’t form properly around words.

After three weeks, he’s still only able to communicate by thumbs up or down.

“I understand this is frustrating, Timothy, but remember,” Dr. Thrussell tells him one day when his anger causes him to hyperventilate almost to the point of passing out. “Your inability to speak is no reflection of your intelligence. Even if you never learn to speak, from what I’ve heard about you, you’re an ingenious young man. You’ll figure it out.”

The words are surprisingly calming, and so he renews his efforts.

⁂

It’s Dick’s 26th birthday, which Tim only knows because he awoke to a loud ruckus this morning.

(“Damian, I don’t care what Jon told you, birthday beats do not mean you get a free opportunity to concuss me.”

“Twenty-six opportunities, Richard. Now stay still.)

Later that day, Dick wheels Tim into the family room to sit with everyone while Alfred puts the finishing touches on the celebratory meal. Most of the time he hates this, but Dick’s wife, Barbara, is there in her own wheelchair. It helps him feel less scrutinized with her there.

She smiles at him. “You’re looking better every time I see you, Tim.”

“Then you need to get your prescription checked,” Damian pipes up from the corner.

Without even looking, Barbara points a finger at him and says, “I will set all your devices to play Piero Umiliani songs on repeat. The Muppets version.”

Damian’s expression becomes something akin to horror. Tim works his mouth into an approximation of a smirk.

He’s unsure why Damian hates him, but he suspects a lot of it is the boy being spoiled. Dick told him that Damian is Bruce’s only biological child, and it’s given him a bit of a complex.

“We’re working on it, though,” he promised him. “You guys love each other. Uh. Deep, deep down.”

Tim’s not buying it, but he has a limited amount of energy every day. He doesn’t intend to waste it on the ‘demon brat’ as Jay calls him.

(Though that’s said in a more affectionate than insulting manner.)

Speaking of Jay…

Tim’s eyes keep darting to the clock over the mantle, counting down the minutes until his soulmate shows up.

Jay comes over between six o’clock and ten o’clock, which seems to be the only time he doesn’t work. Tim wonders what kind of job he works both night and day—perhaps he has more than the one? He’s not sure why he has to work. He’s heard Bruce ask him to stay here again and again, that he could cover everything for him, but Jay always refuses.

Perhaps because Bruce always sounds like he’s in pain when he makes the request.

Tim wonders if that’s the reason for the tension between them. Because it’s clear the Waynes have money. Perhaps Jay doesn’t, and that causes issues?

Is that why he’s distant with Tim? Does he resent the fact his soulmate comes from money? Or…when he had all his memories, did Tim perhaps make a big deal about their economic differences?

It’s another possibility in an ever-growing list of possibilities for why Tim’s relationship with his soulmate isn’t typical.

By now, Dick has queued up his favorite show while they wait for dinner. Tim watches it with him sometimes when it’s the older man’s shift to take care of him. It’s called Arranged, and Dick says it’s sort of like the Tudors; Tim doesn’t think he’s seen either show even before he lost his memory.

Damian and Duke both complain about the choice.

“It’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want,” Dick retorts while Stephanie and Cassandra scoot closer to the television with matching grins.

“I would rather help Pennyworth,” Damian announces.

“Good luck with that,” Barbara says. “You know how he is about the kitchen.”

“You? Help?” Duke asks, looking at the boy with suspicion. “Were you replaced with a clone or something?”

Damian scowls at him. “You’d be able to tell. None of my clones resemble me.”

He stalks away, leaving a confused Duke. “I…don’t know how to respond to that.”

“Well, you know, Damian’s got a weird sense of humor,” Dick gives a nervous laugh, eyes flicking to Tim and back.

“No kidding…”

“So this is where you losers holed up.” Everyone looks over as Jay strides into the room, habitual frown in place and hands in his pockets. “What the hell are you watching?”

Tim beams at him, though he hasn’t looked at him yet; he’s staring at the television screen with a disgusted face.

“Arranged,” Dick tells him.

“You like that crap?”

“Tim likes it.”

“Tim’s basically a hostage, he has no choice,” Jay shoots back. His eyes flick over him in appraisal, and perhaps Tim imagines it, but it seems like they soften a bit. “How you doing, Timbers?

Tim gives him a thumbs up, wishing it was enough to convey how he’s feeling and how glad he is that Jay’s here now.

“Do you need a rescue? Stay sitting for ‘yes’, jump around the room for ‘no’.”

Tim snorts, but it’s lost in Dick’s whining. “Jay, come on, this is family bonding time. Not ‘run off to some shadowy corner with Timmy and just read a book in silence time’. Tim needs interaction.”

It occurs to Tim that he dislikes being called ‘Timmy’.

“Watching TV isn’t interaction.”

“It is the way we do it,” Steph pipes up without looking at him. “I mean, the amount of yelling that goes on when the writers mess up…”

Jay rolls his eyes. “This show is so trashy though.”

“Have you ever? Sat down to watch?” Cass challenges.

“As if I have time for that.”

“Just shut up and watch, it’s starting,” Dick orders.

And by some miracle, Jay gives a long-suffering sigh and drops into the couch seat right beside Tim’s wheelchair. He scowls at the screen as if it’s done something personal to offend him.

As usual, Tim senses Jay’s extreme discomfort being in the manor. It fills him with both guilt and immense gratitude that he still comes here for his sake..

They all settle in and watch as Cordelia de Vere, a young socialite in the 18th century falls in love with her stable boy, Gerald Seymour. Who, it turns out, is also her soulmate.

“Obviously,” Jay snarks.

Gerald asks Cordelia to marry him and she says yes. Naturally, her parents refuse to approve the match. They believe the stable boy to be far beneath their daughter in terms of status and express concern he won’t be able to provide for her in proper fashion. Also, think of what people will say?

“Even more obvious.”

“Shut up, Little Wing!”

Tim tilts his head to one side in curiosity at Dick’s words. He’s clearly talking to Jay. A new nickname? No, Jay knows who he’s talking to. An old one. Jay has problems with Bruce but apparently is close enough to his children to have earned a nickname.

Just how long has everyone known each other?

Cordelia’s parents point out to their heartbroken daughter that there have been many successful matches between people who aren’t soulmates. When she still refuses to agree to their wishes, they reveal they’ve dismissed Gerald and sent him away.

In the next episode, they introduce the defiant Cordelia to the handsome (and rich) Prince Bertram of Montmorency, who is just as resentful of the potential match as Cordelia. Not because they aren’t soulmates, but because it means he has to stop seeing his own servant paramour, the groomsman Maurice.

By now Jay is now arguing with Dick about who the better match is (Steph and Dick come down on the side of Gerald, Jay argues for Bertram; Cass and Duke seem to be thumb-wrestling). No one except Tim takes notice of Alfred in the doorway.

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” he announces, “if you might wrest yourselves from the trials and tribulations of the Georgian upper class? Wash up if you haven’t already.”

There are several groans and protests, but everyone does as asked. Jay wheels Tim toward the elevator, and when the door closes, he says, “I bet we can make a run for it from here.”

He meets Tim’s gaze in the door mirror like he’s proposing something in all seriousness. Tim considers him for a moment. Under normal circumstance, he would give anything to go anywhere with Jay, but it is Dick’s birthday. It would upset him.

And in the past weeks, Tim has learned that upset Dick is a pain in the ass.

Careful, Tim sticks his hand out—thumbs down.

“Verso pollice,” Jay sighs. “Figured you were gonna say that…”

The doors spring open and they head for the kitchen.

Bruce is there this evening, which is rare.

Tim can count on two hands the number of times he’s seen Bruce at mealtime since Tim arrived at the manor. Alfred told him it’s because the life of a billionaire is busier than most people imagine, but Tim suspects it has more to do with Jay being around.

He wishes he knew what they were fighting about.

Dinner seems to cheer Jay up, though; Tim thinks that’s down to Alfred’s food.

He can’t even argue with that, because the man makes everything taste good. And Tim can taste or smell much right now (Dr. Thompkins says that may or may not return, it’s too soon to tell). But anything is better than the formula he was getting through the nasal tube for the first month of his recovery.

There’s laughing and joking, and rapid conversation Tim doesn’t follow. Then Alfred leaves for a moment and returns with a gooey looking chocolate cake.

Steph starts a horrible rendition of Happy Birthday, and Barbara joins in the singing. A disapproving frown from Alfred has the guys joining in soon after.

Tim wants to roll his eyes because it’s such an irritating little tune. Something that gets stuck in your head too easily and takes forever to get out again. Before he’s even aware of it, he’s caught up humming along with it.

He can’t get the words, but the pitch and intonation are manageable.

It’s several seconds before he realizes the singing has stopped around him, and everyone is staring.

Dick looks like he’s about to cry. He gets up, arms held wide like he wants to hug Tim, only for Jay to intercept him. “No, none of that until he can defend himself.”

“Aw, is that jealousy, Little Wing?”

“The fuck would I get jealous of?”

“Jay,” Bruce says in a warning tone.

Jay rolls his eyes, but doesn’t apologize.

“Oh, well, fine,” Dick huffs. “Though…since you are soulmates, you do have that bond.” He makes a show of musing, and then grins. “I guess you’ll just have to be his proxy.”

“His—what?! No! Dick, if you touch me, I will kick your ass!”

“Language!” Alfred reminds, not glancing up from cutting the cake.

“Sorry, Alf—no, Dick, I swear to—ugh!”

Dick has himself wrapped around Jay’s shoulders with the tenacity of an octopus, and despite being much more muscular, Jay is having trouble dislodging him. The hangdog expression on his face is hilarious. Steph snaps a photo with her phone, while Cass giggles. Dick and Damian smirk at Jay, no doubt happy they’re not the one in Dick’s clutches.

A soft laugh breaks through the din, and once again everyone is staring at Tim.

It takes a moment to realize: it’s the first time he’s laughed since he woke up in the hospital.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

This blog isn’t my primary, so my reblogs don’t show up very well. As such, please reblog the fic, otherwise not a lot of people are going to see it :)

<3 Violet

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noradarhkpalmer · 6 years

Text

Christmas Was Always Special

Title: Christmas Was Always Special

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Bruce/Selina aka Batcat

Warnings: Minor swear, minor sexual references, tons of fluff

Summary/Notes: Part one of a collection of mine called “The Batcat Fluff We Deserve” this is set post the 1991 film Batman Returns where the next two terrible movies after that don’t exist and the basic premise being that Selina decided to go with Bruce in the sewers that night. This is how their lives turned out. Enjoy!

Christmastime was always special for Bruce and Selina. They first met around Christmas, discovered one another’s true identities, and made the bold choice to start their lives together around Christmas. Selina almost walked away. She was the one saying hours earlier “does this mean we have to start fighting?” The look on her face from then on broke Bruce’s heart. He wanted to make things work. He knew they could both be better for it. He didn’t have to worry about someone trying to take advantage of his love for Selina because he knew she could hold her own. He wasn’t wracked with fear each night when he crawled into bed and reached for her because he knew she’d be there, that he had seen her out and about hours earlier, heading towards the manor.

All of their milestones surrounded Christmas. They could never quite figure out why it happened that way. They weren’t religious so the holiday representing the birth of the Christian diety didn’t have any special meaning to them before or after their coupling and yet each Christmas, something new and big and exciting happened for them.

The first Christmas, Bruce couldn’t believe they made it a whole year. Sure there were days even weeks where Selina ran off because she just couldn’t wrap her head around why they worked. Why they worked despite her sometimes criminal behavior. Why he would want a nobody like her, why he would want just her when any girl would love to have the chance to be with Bruce Wayne. Even just him without his alter ego was impressive enough. Selina also hated being his arm candy. She absolutely hated it. The way the tabloids would make comments about her hair, her weight, and even ask if she was good enough for the man behind the bat.

Selina tried not to let those things bother her. Bruce would pull her close and reassure her that none of what the press said was true and that what she felt about herself was what mattered most. She usually ran off for a few days after particularly hateful press about her but then he’d find her while he was out on patrol and convince her to come home.

He had wanted to put an end to Selina’s doubts, or quiet them at least. Wanted to give her a solid, concete reason not to run. They still weren’t one for all the pageantry of the tree lighting ceremony so a year later they sat curled on the couch watching it thankfully Penguin, Shreck, and other Gotham villain free as the new mayor of Gotham and Commissioner Gordon lit the tree in bright twinkling lights. As they sat there, Bruce’s arm draped around Selina’s shoulders and she reached her hand up to tangle her fingers with his. Soon she felt something cold and metal slip around her ring finger. She looked over at their joined hands to see a diamond ring and looked up at Bruce with tears prickling in her eyes.

“Do you not like it?” He had said.

“Like it? Bruce, you love me enough to... enough to want to marry me?” She had shifted to straddle his lap so they could talk face to face.

“I love you enough that I want you to be my wife, absolutely. Will you marry me, Selina?”

Of course she had said yes.

They had married the following Christmas, both vigilante and villainy kept them pushing it further and further into the following year until they sealed their union with a kiss in a snow covered church filled with some of their closest friends and unfortunately due to Bruce’s celebrity, most of Gotham.

By the following December, Selina had let her hair grow out longer than Bruce had ever seen it, which also confused him because he knew it would make her overall suit more complicated. He had upgraded her suit (without her permission) as a six month anniversary present. It was now a sleek all black, well made leather and bulletproof rubber (because he never, ever, wanted to relive seeing her being shot four times, ever), complete with cat ears in the cowl and high tech goggles. He made the comment to her about it in passing as he twirled a strand of it while their dinner sizzled and popped on the stove. Her reply nearly stunned him.

“Well I don’t think suiting up is going to be the most practical. I know you upgraded it, Bruce, but I don’t think the leather is very expandable.”

“Expandable? Why would you need it to be?” He had asked.

Selina had taken the hand still in her hair and moved it down to her stomach. “Because I won’t be able to fit in if it’s not expandable and I also don’t think you’ll want me going out much over the next few months.”

He had to be sure he was understanding her right. “Selina... Selina are you pregnant?”

“Yes, I am.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss. “You’re happy about this?”

“So happy, and so happy that I don’t have to fight you on not going out on patrol with me.” He chuckled and kissed her back.

Helena Wayne wasn’t born around Christmas, but their first Christmas as a family was almost their last. She was just four months old when her father went out to fight the Joker and almost didn’t come home. Her mother had waited and waited four hours past when her father had promised to be home before swiftly passing Helena to Alfred and said something about suiting up to bring him home.

Selina had stumbled in the manor barely able to hold up her husband in his mangled Batsuit. Her suit was pretty torn up as well but she hadn’t cared. She would hang up her cowl forever if it meant keeping her family in one piece. She never had that growing up. Her mother was a bitter woman who called her a gold digging whore when she had seen the newspaper announcement which featured a picture zeroing in on the ring Selina now sported on her left ring finger and her father was always absent. She couldn’t even remember his face. She didn’t want Helena to grow up like Bruce either, without parents entirely. Even without witnessing it, she knew it would scar Helena for life. Alfred helped Selina patch the two of them up, having put Helena to sleep that Christmas Eve, so she could dream of baby sugarplums instead of her parents almost dying.

Come Christmas morning, though bruised and bandaged, Selina watched as Bruce picked their daughter up with a smile on his face and she walked over to them holding her family closer than she ever had.

Now Helena was six and refused to go with Alfred up to her room since her parents Christmas party was now “grownups only”. Her wild blonde curls bounced angrily when her parents instructed her that it was time for bed.

“It’s time for bed, kitty kat,” her mother affectionately said. She had crouched down to her level, which Helena appreciated, and kissed her hair. “Tomorrow morning all these boring grown ups will be gone and it’ll just be you, me, daddy, and Alfred. Can you go let Alfred read you a story so tomorrow morning will be here?”

“No I want you and daddy. You guys do better voices than Alfred. With his accent the voices all sound the same.” Helena pouted.

“I’m sorry baby but we have to stay down here.” If it were up to Selina NONE of these people would be in her house past nine. And even after being married to Bruce for eight years it was still so foreign to call the manor her house. She had moved in with him after that night in the sewers, never looked back at her crummy pink apartment. Bruce had offered her her own room even her own wing of the house, but she just wanted the safety of him in his room to fight off her nightmares of killing Shreck and being shot, so she gave her cats that entire wing instead.

Bruce finished talking to one of his investors and saw his wife and daughter in one of their famous staring contests. Bruce valued his life very much and never once vocalized just how much Helena was like Selina. The great Bat being brought down by his wife’s wrath. Yeah he was good. He walked over to them and put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Helena, you really have to go to bed for mommy and daddy. We promise that if you still can’t fall asleep by the time the grown ups are gone we will come read to you, how does that sound?” He watched as his daughter’s face lit up and she nodded.

“Okay daddy! I’ll wait up for you! I love you both!” She hugged both her parents and skipped over to Alfred who was patiently waiting in the doorway.

Once Selina and Bruce both straightened up, Selina gave her husband one raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“She’s just like you, you heard her, she’s going to fight Alfred on sleep even more now, even though she’s left the room. These “grown ups” won’t leave until at least one and our six year old should not be up that late and now you’ve challenged her to stay up that late.”

“I did not!”

“Oh bats, you old softie, you have that little girl wrapped around your finger. You’d compromise on anything she wanted. If not cave in.” Selina began to walk away but Bruce pulled her into his arms.

“That’s only because her mother already conditioned me that way.” He growled and kissed her deeply.

xxxx

The “grown ups” all filed out around midnight, most were tired and the rest were tired of Bruce constantly pointing at photos of his family and explaining the circumstances of each photo right down to the last detail. Once the party cleared, Alfred informed them that Miss Helena was still awake and demanding they tell her a story before promptly excusing himself to reach his own slumberous state.

Bruce and Selina climbed the stairs and made their way to their daughter’s room. Since black was Bruce’s favorite color and Selina hated the color pink since becoming Catwoman, they had taken the longest time picking out a color for Helena’s room. Black was too depressing for a baby room and white was too sterile. Pink was out but Selina still wanted something moderately feminine while also something Helena could grow into as she formed her own person. They settled on different colors of purple. The walls were all a lilac color and the accents were dark shades of purple. Bruce had just finished painting a large “H” over where her crib would go when Selina had came rushing into talking about contractions.

Their daughter’s room had matured over the years but still stayed purple. Helena loves the color, still unaware of the gravity of her parents nighttime jobs, Helena said she wanted her costume to be purple when she got big and pretty like mommy. That had warmed Selina’s heart but she also desperately wanted Gotham to be safe enough by the time Helena was older for her not to need to don a cape. Because of her dress she more slid rather than sat on her daughter’s bed. She settled next to her and wrapped an arm around her. Selina was still in her cocktail dress from the party which was incredibly hard to sit in but “fantastically showed her curves” as Bruce stated. What curves? She loves Helena and loves that she and Bruce produced something out of their love but Helena wrecked her body. Her catsuit never fit the same again.

“Kitten, why are you still up?” Selina asked and stroked her daughter’s curls.

Bruce settled onto the other side of his daughter and loosened his tie.

“Because you guys tell the best stories. And it’s Christmas. I want to know the best Christmas story you know!”

Bruce and Selina both thought for a minute, sure they had seen most of the Christmas specials their daughter made them watch on television, and there were the classics such as Miracle on 34th Street and White Christmas but what could be a Christmas story easy and short enough for their seven year old to digest?

Bruce cleared his through. “How about one where a lonely prince fell in love with a sad princess on Christmas?”

Selina raised and eyebrow. She hadn’t heard this before. Maybe he was making it up as he went along.

“Okay!” Helena clapped happily. “Tell me, tell me!”

“Once upon a time...” Bruce started, “there lived a sad and lonely prince who mostly spent his days in his castle wishing he had someone to share his life with. He longed for just one person to fill his life with a joy he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. Then one day, the prince was meeting with an eeeevvviiiilll sorcerer, though the prince didn’t know that at the time, and in walked the saddest but most beautiful princess. She was the sorcerer’s slave! The prince desperately wanted to court her but she was always serving the sorcerer...”

This story felt weirdly familiar to Selina, she shifted after getting a cold chill and continued to listen to her husband’s crazy fairytale.

“But one night on, Christmas Eve in fact, the lonely prince, disguised as a valiant knight saved the sad princess from being harmed. But she didn’t know it was him. Soon enough the princess was able to defend herself. And even fought against the lonely prince when he was dressed as the valiant knight! And then on Christmas Day, the evil sorcerer had a ball, and the prince knew it was finally time to confess his true feelings to the sad princess. They realized who each other were. Really and deeply, on the inside. They fought one last battle not sure if either would survive but then they both did! And they ran away to live in the prince’s mansion... I mean castle and lived happily ever after.”

Selina tried to hide her tears in her daughter’s curls. She remembered all those years ago describing a life with Bruce as a fairytale. How it would be too good to be true. He convinced her that no, it wouldn’t be a fairytale, but life him would still be good. Great even. And now holding onto her’s and Bruce’s daughter, while they sat in their home, she realized they were both half right. Life with him was a fairytale. And it was pretty great.

Selina looked and saw her daughter was on the verge of sleep. She stroked her hair hoping to coax her finally into a REM cycle but she asked one more thing.

“Were the prince and princess happy forever? Sometimes grown ups say happily ever after but they don’t mean it. Did they get married and stuff?”

“They sure did,” Selina said, “and they had a beautiful princess of their own who they made sure was never lonely or sad a day in her life.”

“Oh good. I was worried.” This made both of Helena’s parents chuckle. “What? I was!”

“Goodnight, sweetheart, we love you.” Selina said. She stood up with Bruce’s help.

“Merry Christmas, mommy and daddy,” Helena said as she yawned, finally drifting off to sleep.

Selina and Bruce shut their daughter’s door and made their way down the hall to their own room when Bruce stopped them. He pointed up to one of the many pieces of mistletoe that hung up in the house. It was such a pivotal piece of Christmas for their relationship that Bruce took great delight in setting it up everywhere.

“You know that this means...” he grinned.

“We never actually researched if eating mistletoe can kill you.”

“We’ve done plenty of research on kissing though, haven’t we?” He grinned and pulled her even closer.

“Yes and I’ve found... kisses give life. They don’t take it away, at least not when a lonely prince kisses and sad princess.”

“You figured it out?” He turned his face away, sheepish.

“Once it got to the part about the valiant knight I knew it was about us. I never thought that our life being a fairytale was actually going to be a good thing. I was angry and sad and deluded into thinking my life couldn’t be this wonderful when I said those things to you. I’m sorry that I ran away for as long as I did. Mentally, emotionally, sometimes physically. I love being your wife and I love being Helena’s mom. You framing our life as a fairytale made me just feel so grateful for those things. Thank you.” She leaned in and kissed him deeply. She stopped being afraid of taking off her mask around him a long time ago. She could just being Selina Kyle around him. Cat scratches and all.

“I think that given how special this time of year is for us, I knew that was the perfect story to tell Helena. We’ll tell her it’s actually our story one day. But for now, she has this childlike hope that I want her to hold onto for as long as she can. I’m sorry that I pushed you at the beginning. I know I did. I was all in, I had fallen so hard in love with you so fast, Selina, that I didn’t want you to slip right through my fingers like so many others in my life, romantically or not, had before. I wanted this. I wanted this day all those years ago. Us retiring to bed on Christmas Eve after tucking our children into bed and making love until the sun came up rather than fighting crime until the sun came up.” He kissed her once more.

“Well then come on then, big fella. No hard feelings, I needed the tough and intense love to realize that I could let myself want this life with you.” She tugged on his hands and led him into the bedroom. Bruce immediately put on music from his one and only piece of technology in his bedroom. That was how he kept his boundaries in life. The only addition had been the baby monitor when Helena was small and now that she was six it was gone.

“Really, you want to play music while we have sex? Bruce, that has been and always will be tacky.” Selina started to unzip her dress but Bruce stopped her. “What?”

“I didn’t get to dance with you at the party.”

“It wasn’t that kind of party.” She chuckled. “But if you insist.” She wrapped an arm around his neck and took his other hand. They swayed gently to the soft jazz music over the speakers.

“I do insist, Mrs. Wayne.” He pecked her lips.

“That has been and will be by far the weirdest thing I have ever been called and I was called a gold digging whore by my mother when we got engaged.”

“Are you still not willing to accept that we’re married and in love even if sometimes we suit up and fight each other.”

“I do accept it. We have to keep our marriage interesting somehow.” She winked.

“I’ll show you interesting.” Bruce picked her up and carried her over to the bed and promptly threw her onto it then covered her body with his.

“It’s only the best way to ring in an anniversary.” Selina said and pulled him in for a hard kiss, ready to spend her anniversary and many more with this man, just like this.

#batcat #bruce and selina #bruce x selina #batman #catwoman #bruce wayne #selina kyle #helena wayne #happy early christmas y'all #hope some of you are the christmas three months early type #enjoy the fluff #cause there's a lot of it #batman returns #batcat fluff #the batcat fluff we deserve #pt 1

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