#BARBARA GORDON IS THE ONLY PERSON ON EARTH WHO LOVES YOU BESIDES YOUR FATHER!!!!!

[blackbatcass]

early bg 2000 will always be insane. barbara gordon is the only person on earth who loves you. and she will never ever understand you.

[thegreenfairy13]

A Gotham Ghost Story

A Gobblepot fanfic. Oswald Cobblepot shoots Jim Gordon on the pier. Unable to move on to the afterlife, Jim is doomed to haunt the infamous mobster. Tied to Earth but unable to live, Jim only wants to find peace in death. His path there might be bumpy. Read it on Ao3 here.

Thank you @mexican-texican for the beta <3!

Jim Gordon is five years old when Elijah Van Dahl decides to have another cup of coffee to calm his racing heart. This decision is - quite obviously - absolutely wrong.

The very second the bitter, scalding hot liquid touches his lips, every ounce of courage he might have possessed mere moments ago leaves his body. He doubles over, coughs, and bites down delicately on his burnt tongue to assess the damage done to the one organ designed for talking and instantly decides it’s a bad omen, a sign from the heavens for him to hold his tongue, literally.

Elijah had always been superstitious so it shouldn’t come as a surprise he believes in forewarnings. Sadly, he gets this specific token wrong. Or he doesn’t get it wrong at all; it all really depends on your point of view. Yet, given the man Elijah is, he would have jumped up and stormed off right this instant if he had known his decision to drink a cup of coffee on a hot summer day in the middle of July, missing the undeniably most important date of his entire life in the process, would lead - among others - to the deaths of Gertrud Kabelput, the love of his life, two college students, a cook’s assistant, a postman, Maria Mercedes Mooney, a waitress named Grace, Tabitha Galavan, Butch Gilzean, and, most recently, the death of the cop James Worthington Gordon.

Most people on this list are arguably not what you’d call nice people but they are undeniably people; Elijah firmly believes that murdering a human being, although it can be forgiven, should never be justified. Therefore, should he have even assumed what was about to happen, he would have regained his courage and walked right out of his kitchen and into his future.

But as our tale is set in Gotham, a city known for its wicked, malicious ways, Elijah stayed put, opened his fridge and started nursing on a cube of ice, wondering what could have been.

One could argue this all started even earlier. Maybe over two-hundred years ago, when Elijah’s great-great-great-great-grandfather decided to leave the Netherlands and go on an adventure. Or maybe only three years ago, when his father decided to employ a very young, very pretty, and very talented cook. Or maybe one and a half years ago, when Elijah came back from university and his mother introduced her son to said cook. Or…

Well, we could go on and on with his list, but it truly was the aforementioned moment when a future, a future that had been in flux up to this minute, stuttered to a halt. Fates were decided, a decision was made, options vanished, and infinity took its turn, leading directly into a dire future.

In this future, James Worthington Gordon and Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, né Van Dahl, face each other on a cold, windy pier for the second time in their lives. The air around them smells foul, like heavy oil, bird droppings, and very soon - blood, too. Blood smells like metal; it has a sweet, heady scent, that can make a sensitive person slightly nauseous. Luckily, Oswald Cobblepot isn’t very sensitive. Not when it comes to blood, that is. The same goes for Jim Gordon, but very soon, his sensitivities won’t count any longer anyway.

Jim Gordon isn’t surprised he ends up on this pier. He might have hoped things would go differently but hoping doesn’t equal knowing. Heknew it would end this way.  

Therefore, he spent the days leading up to today with his daughter. They went to the ice-cream parlor two times a day for a week, visited the Gotham zoo, ransacked the toy-store and rang the door-bell on uncle Harvey Bullock’s home, despite the man currently recovering from a terrible hangover, until he woke up, only to run away really quickly when he ripped open the door clad in his underwear.

“I’m going to kill you, Jim Gordon!” he yelled when the younger cop gripped his daughter’s hand tightly and started running. Jim only laughed it off, knowing it wouldn’t be Harvey, not ever.

Barbara, his former fiancée, argued he would spoil their common child, but Jim wasn’t listening to her, not when being certain he would no longer have that opportunity in the future.

Mainly, because he has no future. At least not in the traditional sense of the word.

Jim Gordon would never blame Elijah Van Dahl for his fate. Even if he knew about the coffee, which he doesn’t, he would be adamant about being the architect of his own fortune, for the fault does not lie in our stars. One cannot deny the countless mistakes Jim has made throughout his path in life. Innumerable wrong decisions on his part sealed his fate, yet it still ultimately boils down to one cup of coffee. But we’ll get to that coffee later.

The man in question, the current Captain of the Gotham GCPD, is undeniably a man full of remorse; he would never admit it, not even now, but he deeply regrets the wrongs he did.  Despite the fact that he never had a true choice when it comes to some of his actions, and definitely not to the last nail in his coffin, he’s still deeply sorry.

Ten years ago, he was forced to arrest a man who considered him his friend, a man called Oswald Cobblepot. The sentiment had not been mutual back then, but almost . Jim had respected this man, still does. Therefore, he resigns from giving Oswald pathetic excuses, especially when he had only recently been released from the jail Jim locked him up in.

Instead, he obediently walks up to the edge of the pier, completely aware of the gun trained on his back. He turns around when ordered, taking in his former ally, nemesis, almost-friend, and even one-time lover.

Oswald looks good. He hasn’t aged a single day, despite spending the last ten years in Blackgate, Gotham’s infamous prison for felons. They fed him well, Jim thinks when taking in his middle. Undeniably the criminal known as the Penguin has put on some weight, leading to him now truly resembling a flightless bird.

Once, Oswald had been so scrawny, so delicate, Jim was secretly afraid a slight wind would carry him away, never to be seen again. The truth is, he can withstand even the deadliest, most destructive storms. He had been the center of more than one storm, too, and will carry on to be.

Jim considers telling him he made sure Blackgate provided him with three nutritious meals per day. He considers apologizing, he considers justifying his actions all those years ago.

He decides against it when Oswald rolls his shoulders and raises his gun again, visibly enraged. The Penguin is screaming at him, throwing one of those tantrums he’s so famous for. Jim has witnessed his wrath before, but it had never been turned directly at him - not like this.

After everything they have been through, after everything they have accomplished together, after almost falling in love, it feels weird being the object of such searing hatred. It’s not as if Jim doesn’t feel like he deserved himself this hostility, but it’s still odd.

Oswald yells again. His whole body is shaking, vibrating with all the pent-up anger that had been nurtured for over a decade by now. The air around him seems to sizzle by the sheer power of his emotion, becoming almost tangible in the process.

Once again, Jim thinks this is probably his last chance to explain, to make the horror he put Oswald through comprehensible but every explanation feels cheap. Whatever he has to say, it’s too little, too late. There would have been countless opportunities in the past to disclose his true motivations for his betrayal, but right now, it would not sound sincere. Besides, Jim isn’t sure himself if he has ever been honest with Oswald.  

Therefore, he opens and closes his mouth, mumbles the gangster’s name and watches the other man quietly. He’s working himself up on his fury, swelling from anger until his words are nothing but a slur, the howling of a deeply wounded animal that is no longer able to cope with the pain.

Maybe there’s really no point of arguing with him. Maybe Jim must. After all, he has a daughter to care for, to live for. It’s truly his time to speak up but when staring into the barrel of Oswald’s gun, into this all-engulfing darkness, he’s paralyzed. He deserves what is about to come.  

Besides, Jim is stubborn. Oswald deserved his fate, too. He had it coming the second he pulled the trigger for the first time, ending the life of a nameless thug Jim is about to join in the Gotham-river. Anger flares in Jim’s veins as well as self-righteousness. Oswald is cruel, he’s a psychopath, a schemer, and conspirator. He’s selfish and murderous and he destroyed the lives of everyone he’s ever touched.

Jim doesn’t say a word, though.

“Our story is over!” Oswald screeches and if the situation wasn’t so serious, Jim would laugh. He sounds like a banshee. His voice comes out as a high-pitched squeak, he’s even spitting into the night’s air and that’s when, at last, the horror settles down in Jim’s gut, joining the remorse.

There’s a difference between knowing and realizing. Right now, when Oswald Cobblepot forgets his well-crafted manners, Jim realizes he’ll never see his little daughter again. He might have spent the week before the criminal’s release saying farewell to her, but still, grasping the situation entirely hits him with the force of a truck. With the same force, he wills his brain to draw to a blank.

Oswald keeps on screaming and spitting, looking especially comically in his well-tailored, shiny purple jacket, sporting a ridiculous monocle, this imitation, this caricature of a gentleman. He’s nothing but a wild animal enshrouded in layers and layers of luxurious garment, a wolf in sheep-clothes. He’s the monster underneath your bed, this seemingly cute, adorable little man who still stumbles over his own words when excited and blushes like a teenage-girl when being complimented.

The man who resembles a penguin is the same who can club a person to death with his cane. He’s capable of stabbing formerly close friends so vigorously he paints the walls red. He finds joy in torture, he’s a sadist who revels in the pain of others.

Jim can’t look at him any longer. Taking a deep breath, he clings to every sin Oswald has ever committed. He remembers the bad things, the things he deserved his destiny for and pushes away other thoughts. He doesn’t want to think back to his awe-stricken expression the first time they kissed, or the way his skin flushes when...NO.  

He doesn’t want to think how everything could be so much easier if he just hadn’t betrayed Oswald, if he had never slapped those cuffs around his wrists. He doesn’t want to remember how his face fell when realizing Jim was about to rob him of the second most precious possession a human being has: time.

Instead, he pushes those thoughts far away and focuses on the present. Maybe, if he turns around and jumps into the river, he can save himself. All it would take is holding his breath for a while and diving so deep the bullet wouldn’t reach him. He could make it if he was quick enough. He could turn around and swim back to his little girl, who needs him desperately, far away from his past and start running. Jim Gordon should probably leave Gotham and never return again.

Instead, he hesitates. He’d be hard pressed to admit why he does so, though. Maybe, because he knows deep down that he owes Oswald, owes him his life, his soul, and body. Maybe he’s just a bit too slow.  

Either way, the Penguin fires. Jim is about to jump into the river, but he cranes his neck one more time, looks over his shoulders and sees the tears streaming down Oswald’s face. They are genuine. Jim knows he hurt him like no other before. Not even Ed’s betrayal went so deep.

“I’m so very sorry,” he thinks, readying himself for the deep-dive.

It’s too late.

Oswald Cobblepot is a good shot. The bullet from his gun hits Jim right between his eyes with a speed of 340 miles per hour. It punctures his skull effortlessly, makes its way right through his brain, and exits his skull before he even feels the slightest amount of pain.

He wants to open his mouth in surprise, but lacking the time, he stumbles backward into the muddy water instead. How Oswald could have shot him so smoothly with those trembling hands is beyond Jim. It’s not like he especially cares when currently being engrossed with sinking to the river’s bottom, wondering when or if he’ll either see a bright, shining light or finally find peace in blessed darkness.

Neither of that happens while Jim’s body hits the ground with a soft thud he shouldn’t be able to hear but does anyway. Being still aware of his surroundings, he wonders when the pain will set in, or when he’ll feel the cold of the water. Again, his expectations are not being met.

Lying flat on his back in the filthy water, he looks up, noticing the pale moonlight illuminating the surface above him. He isn’t quite sure one is supposed to see moonlight when lying at the bottom of a river, but at least he got the light he asked for - well, a toned-down version.  

As he’s obviously still coherent, he turns around, trying to push himself back toward the surface. When doing so, he first thinks he’s staring into a mirror. He sees himself, stretched out on the ground as if resting. He halts his movements, stops struggling and simply looks. Considered everything the Gothamites dump in there, finding a mirror on the bottom of the river shouldn’t even come as a surprise.

It’s only when Jim moves his hand, trying to swim, and his counterpart’s arm just keeps floating in the water, he notes something could be wrong. He inspects further, stares at his forehead and tries touching the wound on his head. Again, the man in the mirror doesn’t lift his arm. He also realizes how he doesn’t feel anything. Jim doesn’t pay it much mind first. After all, the water is cold and his hands might already be numb.

It only dawns on him something is very wrong when he continues staring at his face underwater for a fair amount of time without running out of air. Startled, he draws in a deep breath. He realizes his mistake instantly, expects the water to flood his lungs, finishing him off in the process but nothing happens.

The water keeps flowing, Jim keeps existing.

Opening his mouth further, he lets out a horrified scream, hoping he might be hallucinating. Maybe, it’s only his remaining brain-cells’ last attempt at clinging onto life. He touches his chest on instinct, expecting to find a rapidly beating heart, forgetting that only moments ago he decided he was a hallucination.

There is undeniably something solid beneath his fingers yet he can’t feel a pulse. The body in front of him is being lifted from the ground by the tide and floats past him. Jim reaches for the hand but is unable to hold on.

The body rises from the ground again, shifts against two rocks and gets stuck. The cop stares at his body, unable to properly process what just happened. Torn between horror and wonder, he tries to calm himself down, to be a cop, a detective. This is merely a puzzle for him to solve he tells himself.

It’s the blood around the body, his blood, that gives him certainty, though. For some reason, Jim is so very sure he’s watching his own body.

This is probably some out of body experience his brain procures for him to make dying easier. It will pass any second, Jim thinks, prays. He hasn’t prayed in years but now he’s screaming for any deity to come and rescue him.

Any minute, he’ll see a bright light, he’ll see his family, he’ll see his entire life stretched out before him. He just has to pray. Just one more moment and this will pass. The horror of watching his own dead body will dissolve and give way to beautiful memories. His thoughts will wander to Barbara, to his sweet, little baby-girl. Jim forces himself to think about pony-tails and patent-leather shoes, positively clings to the memory of her face, but the image escapes his mind like the water his hands. Maybe Jim is simply a man who doesn’t deserve this kind of comfort.

Sitting down, he waits for his body to shut down, to become a corpse. He knows he is dying, knows he is unable to do anything about it, even and especially if he so desperately wants to live. He wants to slip back inside this body, tries even, with more and more urgency, but of course, that’s impossible.

An indefinite amount of time passes and Jim starts getting frantic. He reaches for his corpse over and over again, unable to touch it, to feel it.

A fish swims past him, a second one right through him. Jim swats at it, annoyed, but the living being doesn’t note him. It’s enough though to distract the terrified man for a moment. Unsure how much time already passed, he stares at the clock on his wrist, cursing when he finds it stopped four seconds past midnight.

More sea dwellers come across, probably attracted by the blood emanating his corpse. Jim forces himself to calm down, wonders if he’ll have to wait until his body is gone. The thought alone sends another wave of panic right through him. He wants to leave, dammit!

The moment he thinks about leaving, his mind is being propelled towards the surface and he’s back where he started: on the edge of the pier. Jim blinks in surprise.

Looking up, he sees the sun going up but something in his mind stops him from grasping that information. Everything still feels like the middle of the night.

Frowning, Jim looks up and down the pier, wondering if his colleagues are already looking for him and then gasps: he sees himself again - and Oswald. He watches himself stumbling into the water, notes the blood painting the black surface pitch-black despite the sun still going up.

When blinking, the vision is gone. Jim squints again and is almost certain for a moment to catch a glimpse of something purple. Maybe Oswald’s frock?

He doesn’t want to dwell on it, though. Not now. He’s currently too busy figuring out why thinking solely the word ‘Oswald’ moves his mind again through space at sickening speed, causing Jim to find himself in the Van Dahl manor’s living room.

The Penguin is seated on his couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes are puffy, as if he had been crying, and the mascara he uses is smudged. Jim waves his hand before his eyes, wondering why Oswald isn’t surprised he just materialized out of thin air in his house; he for fuck’s sake is. The man before him shivers and pulls the blanket closer but else keeps ignoring him.

That’s about the moment Jim seriously considers he might be a ghost.

[dylan-hague]

Chapter 27

Titans Tower, Jump City. March 3rd, 2018. 5:23 PM.

Kori sat on her bed, looking down at the tablet in her hands. She knew better than to go digging up old business, but still she sat and stared down at the photo on the screen. There in the photograph, looking back at her, was a much younger Tamaranean girl, her emerald eyes brimming with excitement. In her arms holding the camera was a black-haired boy in a green mask, with gloves and boots of the same color, and a red tunic, his yellow cape billowing behind them as they flew over the city below. Starfire and Robin had been inseparable when she arrived on Earth. She shouldn’t have been so naïve… she swiped left across the screen, and the photo moved aside for another one, which Dick had posted on his Facebook this morning… looking into the camera was a beautiful auburn-haired woman, glasses over her blue eyes, lying on her bed with one hand holding a book, the other resting on her round abdomen. “This is what home looks like,” the caption read.

Barbara Gordon. The Batgirl next door.

Don’t misunderstand, Kori loved Barbara dearly. She was caring, and she understood how hard it was for Kori after Dick left. But the romantic affections of a Tamaranean were not the same as those of a human. Humans had the capacity to find love in another if something caused an end to their connection with someone. But for a Tamaranean, that love was undying… once formed, it was nigh impossible to sever. She would always love Barbara… but she should always love Dick.

They talked about it once. Only once. Dick knew that Kori would always feel something for him, and it killed him to think about it. He felt responsible for what she was feeling, but what could he do? He wasn’t going to lead her on, and he knew that his heart belonged to Barbara. It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt before, but she smiled. She told him it was okay. That it wasn’t his fault. Barbara made him happy, and he made Barbara happy. They belonged together. Dick pulled her close, and Kori could still remember how cold his tears felt on her shoulder. He told her she was the best friend he ever had, that there would always be a place in his heart for her. There were days that she wondered if those words were true. But deep down, Kori knew that, while Dick Grayson was many things, he was not a liar. He and Barbara never once did anything to make her feel unwelcome. X'hal, the three of them spent last Christmas together, and it had been one of her fondest memories of the past year. They were so good… so loving. They would be wonderful parents to Tommy.

Tommy... Tommy was all set to arrive in a month. Dick kept on saying he hoped the boy had his mother’s red hair, that he’d come out looking just like her. But if anyone asked Barbara, she would just smile and say she wanted him to look like his father. Sometimes she would joke and say that she could feel the baby leaping around inside her, like a little acrobat. If he jumped like his daddy, odds are he’d look like him too. Personally, Kori agreed with Barbara.

While she was in Blüdhaven that Christmas, Barbara had come to her alone one night. She said that she and Dick understood how painful everything must have been. Dick didn’t want to bring it up, for fear of digging up any hurt Kori had buried, but he and Barbara wanted to ask her to be Tommy’s godmother. Kori couldn’t say yes fast enough; she would love Tommy with all her heart, she promised. And in a way, thinking about holding the little boy in her arms it made everything a little bit easier. Her own little bumgorf… Kori smiled. Dick always got this confused look on his face when she said anything in her native tongue.

As she let her mind drift back through memories of the early days of the Titans, she was quickly brought back to to the world around her by the sound of the front door alert going off. She slowly pulled herself off of her bed, and checked the console mounted in her wall to see who was trying to get inside.

Starfire let out a gasp as Raven appeared on the screen, hunched over and shaking profusely, covered in blood that, judging by her tattered uniform, was like lay her own, and a long trail of the red stuff on the ground behind her.

The older Titan flew as fast as she could through the Tower, and soon found herself joined by her students at the front door. She quickly entered the authorization code, and the doors slid open. Raven fell back through the doorway, her chest quickly rising and falling as she struggled to breathe.

“Raven!” Kori cried as she gathered the girl into her arms. “What happened to you? Where is Damian??”

“He…” the cloaked girl struggled to speak as her eyes drifted closed. “… someone took him…”

Undisclosed location. March 7th, 2018. 3:14 AM.

Damian woke screaming, lurching forward in a panic. He quickly found that unwise, however, as he immediately felt cold iron bands digging into his wrists. His eyes darted all around him, taking in as much information as they could in the dimly lot space he found himself in: cast iron bars stood in place of one wall, and he was chained to the opposite wall, which was made of brick and mortar, and covered in a thick coat of dust. He thought back to the last thing he could remember: he knew he’d been shot. He was just outside of Jump City, and he turned to Raven to ask…

Oh God… Raven.

A light peered out from down the corridor just as the thought occurred to him, and a man appeared on the other side of the bars. His face was hidden beneath a mask, but the scope mounted on his eye was a dead giveaway of his identity: Floyd Lawton.

“Oh, good. You finally woke up,” Deadshot mumbled. “You’ve been out for four days.”

Damian slumped over, hung upright by the chains on his wrists, dead silent.

“Look, kid, this ain’t anything personal…” the assassin went on. “And I hope you know I don’t kill kids. That’s a personal rule. I wouldn’t have shot you if I didn’t know you’d live. But for the price my client put on you? Well… sorry it had to hurt so bad. Bullet was filled with a tranquilizer, so you prob'ly passed out before the pain hit you.”

Damian raised his head, his eyes wide with fear.

“… I need the money for my baby girl. I hope you understand that.” Lawton’s voice showed a touch of sympathy as he spoke. “I know they’re gonna put you through it down here. But I have to take care of my daughter.” The hitman turned away from the bars and looked down at floor. “… my client should be here in a few weeks. I’m sorry it had to go down like this… I’ll be back in a few hours to feed ya. Sit tight, kid.” He started back down the hall, presumably towards the exit…

“… Raven.”

Lawton stopped, turning back to the boy chained up in the cell. “Say again?”

Damian looked into the glowing red scope, where he knew Deadshot could see him. “What… what did you do to my Raven…?”

Lawton grimaced underneath his mask. “Oh… the girl…” he let out a hefty sigh. “My client sent a squad with me to make sure the job got done. Once I put one in your chest, she pulled it right back out, and looks like she closed up the hole too. I…” He shook his head. “They were already on her by the time I came to grab you. Nobody could have lived through that kinda beatin’. I wasn’t gonna get into it, because they prob'ly woulda killed me too. I’m…” Lawton turned and walked back towards the exit. “I’m sorry.”

Damian’s whole body went completely numb. Raven was his silver lining. She was the woman he would hang up his cape for. She was the rain that washed the sins from his soul.

She was his life. She was his heart. She was his everything.

And now, she was dead.

Titans Tower, Jump City. March 11th, 2018. 1:34 AM.

“Jon…”

Raven squinted her eyes as the light flooded into her eyes. Judging by the IV needle she could feel in her arm, the constant beeping of her heart monitor, and the sight of a fresh change of clothes folded up on the mattress beside her, she put two and together to realize that she was back in the Tower Infirmary. Superboy sat unconscious in a chair by her bed, his favorite jacket pulled over his body like a blanket. As soon as she said his name, his eyes opened, and he jumped up to her bedside.

“Raven!” He whispered. “Thank goodness you’re awake! It’s been almost eight days, we were starting to worry that you might not get up…”

“Jon, listen to me.” Raven placed a hand on his to get his attention. “I need you to tell Kori I’m going back to Gotham.

Jon looked her worriedly. "R… Raven, I can’t let you do that. Not by yourself, and especially not right now. You were barely alive when you got back to the Tower, we can’t just–”

“Jon, I’m fine.” Raven sat up, using her magic to restore her strength as she pulled the IV from her arm. “But someone’s kidnapped Damian. I have to find him.”

“No! You don’t have to just run off on your own!” Jon gently placed a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “We’re a team, remember? Let us help you, and we can figure out where–”

“NO.” Raven grabbed Jon by both shoulders as she hopped down from the bed. “No… Jonathan, I have to do this alone… he’s my Damian. I have to take care of him.”

Jon looked into Raven’s eyes for a moment, then let out a sigh in defeat. “… Be careful. Bring him home safe.”

Raven wrapped her arms around Jon’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Jon. I promise, we’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Jon put his arms around her, squeezing her gently. “Just… don’t get hurt. You two are the best friends I’ve got.”

Raven stepped back, and changed into her fresh outfit as soon as Jon left the room. Once she was ready, she summoned up a portal and stepped into the Batcave, where Bruce and Carrie were waiting, ready to attack. As soon as they realized who she was, the both of them relaxed.

“Good to see you’re awake,” Batman said grimly, pulling the cowl off of his face. “I’ve already been scanning all of California for a signal from Damian’s tracker, but I haven’t found anything yet.”

Raven looked up at Bruce, recognizing Damian’s icy blue eyes staring back at her. “I don’t think he’s in California anymore. Search everywhere. Not just the country–everywhere.”