DPxDC fanfic idea: The Back Roads
Bruce was driving around as his civilian self one late afternoon. The sun was barely setting, though one wouldn't be able to tell with all the smot.
He was planning on surprising his children with a spontaneous pizza party and some good family-friendly competition. He was excited.
Maybe it was because he was checking on the pile of pizza in the back, or maybe he was more tired than usual from his long nights as Batman, but whatever the case was he did not see the boy until he hit him.
Bruce swears the boy appears out of nowhere like a ghost. One moment, there was a long road with nothing but trees and his softy playing radio.
Bruce has always loved the long secluded roads that lead to his Manor. It always gave him peace of mind to enjoy a drive without anything or anyone around. Rarely did he ever encounter another driver out here - not since the Drakes moved out.
That's why someone standing in the middle of the road had come so unexpectedly. Bruce hadn't even noticed him until his headlights saw a brief flash of blue eyes just as it was too late.
The boy slammed against his hood, flying into the windshield and sliding off to the side. There was a terrible gagging sound, likely the boy checking on his blood as slid away to the ground.
Bruce slammed his brakes, sitting frozen behind the steering wheel. For a moment, all he could do was sit there in horror, wondering if it was true. Then reality crashes in, and he pushes the car door open, falling out in hysteria.
There on the ground is a boy that could be fourteen crumbled. A boy with dark black hair and - if the wide eye stare before the hit was any indication - blue eyes. He looks a lot like his sons.
Bruce feels sick.
Desperately, he rings up an ambulance, chocking on tears as he tells the dispatcher what happened. Bruce, meanwhile, does his best to check the boy over with his training.
He slowly turns him over, pressing his fingers on the neck as gentle as possible. There is a cold moment before he feels a aodt flutter against hia finger tips.
A heart beat but one that was slowing by the second.
Bruce tells the dispatcher this, who in turns tells him as soothing as possible that help is on the way, but Bruce knows the boy doesn't have enough time.
With shaking fingers, he presses the Bat Distress signal. His children are only ten minutes away in vehicles that can get to the hospital in thirty minutes. The ambulance will arrive in that same amount of time.
"It's going to be okay" He tells the still boy. "You're going to be okay. Please. Please. Be okay"
Nightwing pulls up then in the Batmobile with Robin in the passage seat. Red Robin, Spoiler and Red Hood are not far behind on thier bikes.
They all stop for a few seconds, unsure what to do, before Nightwing shakes himself out of it. "Mr. Wayne we got it from here"
Bruce is only half aware of Damian taking his hand and moving him away as Tim and Dick get the boy into the Batmobile. They speed away to the hospital.
What a terrible night for Alfred to be out.
Later, the cops speak to Bruce and use the dash cam to confirm that the boy really did appear out of nowhere. He's a meta, they say. Likely one that just got his powers.
Teleportation. Or Invisibility.
They weren't sure, but they would figure it out. They told Bruce he was free to go, and there was no need for Bruce Wayne to know further of the case.
Batman, however, was back there that night. He was outraged to find out the boy had been flagged for his meta genes, and some nurse low on cash knew there was a market for meta children.
She was attempting to move the unconscious youth through false discharge papers when Bruce landed on the hood of the car of her associates. They were quickly dealt with, turned over to the police-the good ones- and Batman had made arrangements for the boy to be taken in by Bruce Wayne himself until he awoke.
While that was happening, the attempts to locate the youth's family yielded results. He wasn't in the system himself, but he did match to a brother that was.
A week later, Danny Fenton opens his eyes from the best nap he's had in years, only to find out he was run over while in a ghost version of hibernation and in a different world.
Oh, and apparently, he is being confused as a twin brother of some guy named Tim Drake.
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okay!! now that it’s not 2am for me, i’m going to post my selkie!jason todd hc’s straight up au apparently!
(uh. this was supposed to just be a list of hc’s but i got slightly,,,, carried away)
his selkie skin looks like an oversized red hoodie in his human form, and is just warm enough to help him survive new england winters.
when the summer heat becomes unbearable, he slings the hoodie around his waist
alternatively, he just coasts it out underwater. perks of living in a coastal city!
willis todd was a selkie. he used to tell jason stories of what it was like to swim through the big, wide ocean. of how freeing it felt. how different it is, from the smoggy, heavy air of gotham --- different, but both theirs, in their own right.
but to be honest, jason doesn’t remember much about the stories he was told, or really, anything about willis --- he had been in and out of blackgate for most of jason’s life, working for two-face to try and make ends meet, before dying.
what jason mostly remembers, are the warnings. don’t let anybody know you’re a selkie. don’t let anybody find your skin. they will find it, and they will use it to control you. even decades later, jason would still remember those warnings.
catherine is the one who teaches him how to swim, who helps him trial-and-error his way into putting his skin on, and learn how to make the transition seamless.
after she dies, jason spends three months as a seal, to just... exist. forget.
although jason technically lives on the streets, whenever he can;t find food, whenever he can’t find somewhere warm to sleep, whenever just being human becomes too unbearable, he spends the night as a seal. he ends up spending more time in the ocean, than on land.
that’s not to say he’s very good at being a seal --- he barely knows how to swim, has to learn how to fish the hard way.
when bruce finds jason stealing his car tires, he marvels over how nice jason’s hoodie is, soft and fluffy even after all of jason’s time on the streets, especially given the condition jason is in, ribs showing from malnutrition, and the worn and raggedy shape of the rest of his stuff.
jason is skittish when he goes to live in the manor, even after a few weeks. he always adopts an expression particularly similar to a cornered wild animal around alfred in particular, alfred, who keeps on trying to take his hoodie away, purportedly to wash it.
alfred eventually gives up on trying to force jason to wash it --- he figures that as jason becomes more comfortable living at the manor, he’ll wind up telling them why he’s so protective over that hoodie, and they can work something out then.
whenever wayne manor overwhelms jason with how big and how decadently expensive all the decor is, jason runs away, run to the ocean.
jason doesn’t actually end up telling alfred and bruce that he’s a selkie --- bruce just has a ridiculous amount of motion alarms, which are triggered every time jason ran off. he had followed jason the third night, and saw him transform.
bruce doesn’t tell jason that he knows, assuming that jason kept this a secret because he didn’t fully trust either of them. he would later learn that he was right in this assumption (a rare win for bruce in terms of emotional awareness)
except jason doesn’t fully trust either of them, even after a few months. bruce impulsively decides to do a few things --- a) tell jason about batman and robin and his crime-fighting secret identity, and b) tell jason he already knows about him being a selkie.
jason is absolutely bamboozled by the fact that bruce knows, and yet hasn’t tried to take his hoodie to control him, or to stop him from playing in the ocean for a few hours.
in fact, (under alfred’s encouragement) bruce offers to take him to the ocean during the day, so he can get “a proper night’s rest that a growing young boy such as himself would need”
jason remembers what his father told him, to never trust anyone, never let his guard down. but bruce has known about jason being a selkie for so long, and he didn’t take his hoodie or try anything. of course he can trust bruce.
and when he tries on the robin costume for the first time, it fits perfectly. just like his hoodie, his second skin. it fits just like magic.
oh, it’s a little loose in some places, the legacy of dick fucking grayson a little heavy sometimes, but he’ll grow into it. he’ll make himself, if he has to.
also, jason finds the fact that even though he’s a friggin’ selkie, his callsign is a bird (a robin, no less) incredibly ironic and funny
being a selkie is actually so useful for vigilantehood. the amount of people who talk freely, openly, and loudly about their drug smuggling plans near the ports is quite frankly, ridiculous.
honestly, towards the end of his robin years, jason remains genuinely surprised nobody catches on to him or his tactics yet. bruce is very proud.
even though jason is safe, has been safe for three years, and trusts bruce with his life, his skin, and everything, old habits are hard to break. so he has his hoodie on when he goes to find sheila.
and anyways, he wants to see if sheila is a selkie too. he’s taking biology right now, and they’re learning about punnett squares. jason’s never met another selkie before, other than willis who he barely remembers. there’s a possibility that sheila knows something, anything, so he has to try.
sheila gets a glint in her eyes when jason mentions that he’s a selkie, tells him that while she’s not one herself, she’s familiar with the myth. she has long suspected that willis was a selkie, she tells him, and she’s glad to have confirmation.
jason positively vibrates with excitement, can’t wait to ask, to pester his mother (mother!) with questions upon questions until.
until.
sheila doesn’t do anything after she gives him to the joker. she just smokes and smokes. and she doesn’t tell the joker about his hoodie, despite how it would have been much easier for the joker to destroy him that way. much more painful too.
small mercies, he supposes, in between hacking coughs that brings blood bubbling up his lips.
after he dies, his hoodie is ripped and in tatters from the crowbar, with burns along the edges from the bomb. bruce has to carefully peel it off his body.
when jason was alive, his magic kept the hoodie in perfect condition, always. even when the rest of him was covered head-to-toe in mud, or dripping sludge from the nasty gotham sewers.
bruce stares at the same hoodie, blood-soaked and mangled, so incredibly dissonant from how he remembered it on jason, when he was bright, whole, and alive.
he can’t stand it. the hoodie that was so precious to jason, that was jason, at the core of him, in this state. dirty and ripped and devoid of the magic jason had exuded.
in a moment of desperation, late at night, bruce asks alfred to teach him how to sew. he doesn’t dare to practice on jason’s beloved hoodie --- instead, he starts with the suits in his closet, grabbing the first one he sees, regardless of price. rips a hole and sews it back together over and over until he perfects his technique.
and then he washes the fabric gently, using baby fabric cleanser and scrubbing for hours upon hours until the last traces of the deep-set brown stain from jason’s blood washes down the drain.
he painstakingly sews the scraps of fabric back together with a red thread, carefully sourced to match the hoodie to try and make it flow seamlessly like it used to.
it doesn’t work, not exactly. despite his best efforts, the creases bruce had carefully sewn together are prominent and thick like scars, littering the soft fabric.
so he gives up. he hangs it over the grandfather clock entrance to the cave in his study. brings it with him every time he visits jason’s grave, because he doesn’t ever want to keep jason’s hoodie away from him, but he also can’t bear for it to get ruined.
dick visits him. a rare occurrence, these days.
dick yells at him, as he is wont to do.
these days, it feels like they spend more time angry at each other than not. dick says that this isn’t right. isn’t fair to anybody, not to alfred, not to himself, definitely not to jason. he rants, jason deserves to be remembered as he was in life, not frozen in death.
perhaps he is right. bruce is not unaware of the state of violent, cutting stasis he is in, this putrefaction of his life. and he is certainly not unaware of how it is affecting the people around him. dick. alfred. the neighbor’s kid, the one who wants to be robin.
bruce tries. not for himself, but for tim. for alfred, for dick. even for stephanie brown, who sometimes, when she smirks just right, or says something with just the right twang, he swears he can see jason in her.
he still can’t bear to put the hoodie away, because jason deserved better than to be forgotten, so he folds it gently and places it in his closet instead.
he also can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he forces himself to every single day.
it’s different from the glass case that houses robin’s tattered suit in the cave --- that, is a reminder of how he failed robin. this, this is salt in a constant, stabbing, festering would, reminding him of how he failed his son.
it was stephanie, that eventually helped him figure out what to do with the hoodie. when she was young, young enough to cry at ripped pants and skinned knees, young enough that her mother hadn’t touched the drugs yet, her mother would dry up her tears, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, before patching her pants up.
what not many people know, is that before crystal brown set her mind on becoming a nurse, she wanted to be an artist, first. and so she grabs her old set of embroidery needles, and stitched little designs. dogs and cats. stars and planets. tools and gadgets.
bruce doesn’t react, doesn’t even move, even as stephanie finishes her story. she hangs there awkwardly for a second, stares up at jason’s suit, waiting for him to respond, before shuffling towards the exit of the cave.
thank you, spoiler, bruce manages to croak out.
ah, yeah, she says, shrugging lightly while slouching in on herself, any time, boss. she walks out, and bruce watches her go from the reflection on the darkened computer.
that night, he takes out jason’s hoodie, smooths it out, grabs his threads, and stitches.
he stitches on constellations, argo navis, for jason’s namesake in the greek myths he had loved so much. a tiny seal, playing with beach balls. little books, with quotes on the sides. a robin, big and bold.
he tries to make it as true to jason as possible, not just in death and in bruce’s memories, but as he was in life.
jason wakes up abruptly.
he wakes up in a coffin, cold, alone, and with a gaping hole in his chest. getting dipped in the lazarus pit only made it worse, only made him all the more aware of what he was missing, all the more conscious of it.
he doesn’t bother trying to learn how to swim with two arms and two legs, instead of two fins and a tail. it doesn’t feel the same. it only reminds him of what he’s lost.
sometimes, on sleepless nights that happen more often than not, he wonders what would have happened if he still had a hoodie, still could swim.
if he still was robin.
and he doesn’t have access to the cave anymore, or to the titan’s tower, or the watchtower, and his memory of the past is still patchy and shitty in some places.
so in a burst of impulsivity fueled by the person he no longer is, he prints out photos of robin’s costume from the internet and recreates it on his own.
if his skin is gone, then fine. fine! he’s perfectly perfunctorily aware that nothing about this resurrection of his is natural. if he doesn’t think too much about it, he’ll be alright. his hoodie, his skin, that was something he was born with, a birthright that died with him.
but robin, robin was something that he helped shape. robin was something that he worked for, changed himself for.
and the makeshift robin suit --- it doesn’t fit him, not anymore. no, it feels wrong, like a child playing with their parent’s suit. or --- he realizes, perhaps more accurately, like an adult realizing they no longer fit in their favorite clothes.
and --- and --- what was the point of it all? what was the point, of trying to make bruce proud of him, of getting dick’s approval, of trying to futilely save people over and over again from the same gallery of supervillains who keep on escaping from prison?!
and what was the point of carving out a space for himself if the joker was just going to beat him out of it, and if tim drake was going to insert himself in the hole he left behind?
and then the next thing he knows he’s in titan’s tower hitting tim drake over and over again because who let him? who let him take jason’s role as a son, as a brother, as a hero? how dare he?
but when he’s slit tim’s throat and torn the ‘R’ off his chest, jason doesn’t feel any better. the robin suit still doesn’t fit. his hoodie’s still gone.
he’s starting to think it never will, not again.
sometimes, when he gets tired enough to let his mind wander, he wonders what happened to his suit.
he’s pretty sure he died with it, so either the hoodie is with the joker, batman, or... gone entirely. (it’s not like they found willis’ skin after he died. maybe selkie skins just disappear in a cloud of sea foam once they die, or some little mermaid shit like that)
it’s a cold comfort, that nobody can manipulate him now. nobody can control him --- not even batman.
(bruce had thought about it. when he first had his suspicious regarding who the red hood was, before he knew there was any trace of the son he once had left. he thought about using the hoodie, using jason’s selkie skin to coerce him, at least to stop murdering people, to stop hurting their family.)
(he would never go that far, in retrospect, or at least, he doesn’t think he could ever. to do that to jason, betray his trust so thoroughly and completely... but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t consider it.)
bruce reflects on this as jason reveals himself, the joker tied up at his feet with a gun pressed to his head, and venom spitting from his son’s mouth.
but when he lifts the batarang to hit jason’s gun, or wrist, or anything that’ll force him to drop the gun, he realizes that his hands are shaking.
and when he throws the batarang, he knows a millisecond after he’s let go, that he’s miscalculated the ricochet.
so when jason escapes that night, bruce knows he’s fucked up.
jason goes off the maps, completely. bruce doesn’t know where he is, if he’s safe, if he even made it out of the explosion that night.
it takes weeks. weeks for bruce to track jason down, from meticulously documenting the dropped threads of where the red hood was pulling strings in the gotham underworld behind the scenes, to tracking security cameras with facial recognition.
once bruce manages find where he’s staying, make sure he’s safe, he knows what he wants to do. and, he knows what he needs to do.
jason gets a package in the mail, five weeks after his disasterous meeting with batman and the joker. unmarked, unsigned, no return address.
when jason opens the box gingerly and carefully, he holds on to his skin for the first time in years. and then, and then, and then --- something right slots into place. his fingers brushed gently over the tiny spotted seal he knows he used to look like, the books he remembered ranting to bruce about for hours on end.
the robin, on the top left, over his heart, big enough to have changed him, yet small enough to not define him.
it’s not perfect. it doesn’t even fix anything, not entirely. he still fights with bruce most times he sees him, tries to punch dick in the face, steadfastly ignores tim and steph the entire time.
but it’s something. it’s something, and the next time nightwing, batman, spoiler, and robin fight a gang on the docks, the red hood gives them a helping hand before jumping back into the ocean and swimming away.
fin!
wow this got long
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Danny totally kills the Joker
I have a very specific Eldritch!Danny in my head that, even though I've tried drawing before, I can't really get out of my head if you get what I mean
And as a dead on main shipper and a lover of angst I have him do shit that causes problems
Like kill the Joker in a blind rage after an Arkham break out
So it's like this, after a breakout that obviously requires all hands on deck, everyone is eventually re-cuffed and put back in their cells (including the Joker).
Red Hood and Phantom are doing some clean up in the Narrows and it's hard on them. Seeing some kids whose parents died cuz of the clown nearly broke Hood.
Phantom, now well known as Hood's right hand, picks up some of the burden. Helping more then he normally does with some displaced kids and families cuz he can feel Hood breaking down.
It hurts..
After the night/day/whatever is over, they head back home to their appartment and Jason just breaks. Danny's been helping with the pit rage so without all the extra anger crowding him it just sort of crumbles into pain and hurt.
Danny can't stand it
He can't stand to see Jason like this
Jason was his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his partner in crime. He had always been there for Danny when he had panic attacks and couldn't breathe cuz he saw some guy walking down the street in a white suit. Was always telling him it was going to be okay. Had told him things were gonna be alright. And now the roles had switched. Danny comforted Jason for who knows how long. Held him tight till he calmed down and was able to fall asleep. Once Danny was sure Jason would be okay he slipped out of the appartment...
Phantom would not stand for this.
Phantom flew over to Arkham with the intent to "have a little chat" with the Joker. Just ruf him up a bit. Scare him shitless so he'd rethink ever braking out again.
He didn't mean to bash the guys skull in.
He didn't even realize he'd been beating a flattened pound of meat and skull till Batman showed up and pulled him from his mind.
He looked over to where he'd heard his name and saw Batman and Nightwing standing by the door of the cell. Both were wrapped in bandages, some obviously stained in blood from the damage they endured during the breakout.
Dick covered his mouth and stared in horror at the sight of Danny, who he'd been lovingly calling his future brother-in-law for the past 2 months, covered in the Jokers blood. He looked like a staticky, distorted shadow. Three(3) sets of arm all ending with white clawed hands; one pair around the Jokers barely intact neck, another clutching the inmate uniforms chest, the last frozen mid punch. Bruce, having just the slightest ecto-connection from the pit, fought off the screaming in his chest to run and leave the King be.
Bruce slowly approached Phantom. Phantom on the other hand, slowly realized what he'd just done and was starting to panic.
He'd just killed a man
Sure he fucking deserved it but he just....let himself go. Let himself indulge in his rage, be consumed by it. And now the Batman was here to stop him. Would he send him back to the Realms? Would he lock him up, away from anyone he could hurt? Away from Jason?
Phantom flinches when Bruce touches his shoulder. And continues to try and back away when Bruce calls for someone to get a hold of Jason on the coms. What's he doing? Isn't he going to be thrown into a cell? He's dangerous! He could do this again if he wasn't dealt with! Why is Bruce calling for Jason? Does he want to show him the monster he let into his life? Does he want Jason to be the one to do it?
Bruce is talking.
Not Batman, but Bruce, is saying something to him, his name.
Not Phantom
"Danny? Danny!?"
Phantom disappears and isn't seen for two(2) days
Nightwing is the one to find him. In some warehouse, slamming his head into a support beam, yelling at himself that he can't become Dan.
I don't know how to continue this. It was supposed to have a nice hurt/comfort ending but I'm not a fic writer and I don't know how to do that. So feel free to use this as a prompt or something 👻👉🏾👈🏾
Edit: figured I'd add one of the Danny doodles I did a while back cuz it fits. I already posted it a while ago but it feels appropriate here too.
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