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soulmate-game · 4 years

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“Alright, so tonight is going to be fairly standard. Arkham is silent, and there’s no solid leads on what any of the free rogues might be up to. Harley is sick and Ivy is stuck at home taking care of her, so they aren’t going to be up to anything on either side of the law for a few days. Catwoman is the only person we’d have to look out for right now, but her kleptomania has taken her out of the city for a change,” Barbara was typing away at the large Batcomputer keyboard as she brought all of the Gotham vigilantes up to speed on what to expect for patrol that night. “So, Red Hood and Black Bat will take the Narrows and surrounding area patrol route like usual. Nightwing and Batgirl, Upper east side and fashion district patrol route. Red Robin, you’re taking the route that passes city hall and through Old Gotham and Diamond District, and if you don’t throw a fit maybe you can take Robin with you. Batman, crime alley and Newtown patrol. Robin or no Robin, pick your poison,” the redhead offered, finally spinning her wheelchair around to look at everyone. “We’ll be pretty spread out tonight, but like I said, there’s nothing. No whispers of anything planned on the dark web, no news from any of the rogues, Blackgate and Arkham are, dare I say, peaceful right now. But if you see anything, I’ll redirect you guys so you can get backup ASAP.”

This was a rare night. Usually there was at least a plot or red flag to investigate, but not that night. For some reason, it seemed like Gotham had gotten a dose of sanity that it had been desperately missing.

“Actually,” Alfred took that moment to walk in, a slight pep to his step that seemed to catch everyone’s attention. “I do have news. Batman, you of course know that I have been keeping a close eye on Paris’s situation as per your orders, yes?”

Bruce, who had already been inching towards the batmobile none too subtly, suddenly stood stock still and slowly turned to look at his father figure. He could feel the eyes of his many children honing in on him, silent questions behind those orbs.

“Of course, I remember,” he confirmed cautiously. “You haven’t had an update for me in years.”

Years? Tim furrowed his eyebrows. That meant this had to be something that stretched very far back, because everything that Batman tried to keep secret from him since he became Robin had already been outed. Right? Well, he supposed there was always the possibility that Bruce could have snuck something by, but not a large one. Between him and Oracle, any new secrets he tried to squirrel away were unearthed pretty swiftly. So, most likely this was something Bruce had asked Alfred to keep an eye on at least back when Jason was still Robin. Maybe even further back than that.

“Yes, well you wouldn’t have appreciated any prior updates, sir,” Alfred said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. He always would be the one to understand Bruce Wayne and Batman the best out of all of them. “But this is a big one. I used our inside contact to check up on the Paris situation like I do every month, and this came up,” Alfred pulled out a remote from his pocket and clicked it at the computer, triggering it to bring up an article that likely had been hidden and only accessible via that remote signal. If Barbara had had any reason to check for hidden files she would have found it easily, but Alfred was good at never giving any hints as to when he was hiding something.

But what was on the computer was far more interesting than the all-too-familiar, cryptid ways of Alfred Pennyworth.

Because it was a news article from an online Paris newspaper. It was still in untranslated French, but nobody in that room had any trouble reading it. It was dated to have been published two weeks earlier.

On the cover picture for the article was a man that everybody also recognized, being high-profile and extremely influential in the fashion industry. Most of them had even met the man at least once, the aging Gabriel Agreste. In his early seventies, it was odd to see the man being herded into a police vehicle. He didn’t seem all that threatening, though he still struck an oddly intimidating figure with his cold glare and straight back. Being herded behind him was a woman of around Bruce’s own age, with long brown hair in several elaborate braids. Her dark, almost muddy green eyes bore into the camera and a snarl was on her face. Lila Rossi, the model that had been employed under Agreste for quite some years now and had turned into a sort of reality TV celebrity after she got too old to be hired for as many modeling gigs. She was known as highly untrustworthy, a lie monger and the most infamous gossip in the celebrity world. The headline for the article was;

“THE PARISIAN NIGHTMARE FINALLY OVER! AFTER THIRTY YEARS OF TORMENT, THE HAWKMOTHS OF PAST AND PRESENT HAVE BEEN ARRESTED.”

Underneath that title picture was another, this one detailing the Parisian heroes to stop Hawkmoth, who had been replaced years ago by his female counterpart Monarch, a play on the Monarch Butterfly. The Heroes, on the other hand, had remained mostly the same after the infamous confusion of the early years of Hawkmoth’s reign of terror, where Ladybug had temporarily started adding hero after hero to the team before mysteriously and suddenly retiring almost all of them.

On the right was Ladybug, who stood proud with her arms crossed and a somber gaze directed towards the two unmasked villains. On the left was Chat Noir, in a weird black leather costume that was like a bizzare yet fashionable meld of DiscoWing and the classic Batman uniform. Minus a cape or cowl, of course. Standing behind them, all fanned out, were the last four members of their team. Viperion, in a dark teal snake-themed costume. Ryuuko, standing next to him in a black and red ensemble with her elemental symbol proudly on her chest. Bunnyx, in her bright baby blue and white, and lastly the imperious Stinger behind them in her black outfit with gold accents.

As everyone but Alfred and Bruce read the article and examined the photos as quickly as they could, the eldest vigilante in the room slowly removed his cowl. His eyes were wide, disbelieving as they stared only at the two pictures on the screen and didn’t pay any heed to the article itself.

“Thirty years,” Jason remarked, turning to face Bruce angrily. “Paris has been under attack by magical madmen for thirty years, and you never told us? We knew nothing about this, and this has been going on since before us. Since before you, even,” he waved a hand at the screen angrily. “You know that they have been under attack since before Batman was even a thing, and you never said anything? We could have helped! The league could have—“

“Been a liability,” Bruce interrupted, but it was the uncharacteristic softness to his tone that ultimately shut Jason up and attracted everyone else’s rapid attention. “The league knows. The founding members, anyway. It was something I briefed them on back when we first founded the League, but we were careful to keep any mention of it off of any electronic system. The magic behind the attacks stopped any word of the terrorism from getting out through normal means. We pretended to put the JLE in Paris, when really they are centered miles out of city limits and never set foot inside Paris’s boundaries.”

“Why?” Dick asked, his own mask off so that he could glare into Bruce’s eyes without it obscuring his expression at all. He wasn’t explosively angry like Jason, but it was clear that Dick wasn’t happy either. “They all look to be your age, Bruce. Which means they’ve been fighting HawkMoth since they were teenagers, on their own, since before there was any Justice League or very many other established heroes at all to provide backup. And I get that HawkMoth and Monarch seem to have controlled or fed off negative emotions and a lot of us would have been liabilities, but there are Leaguers who have extreme control over their emotions. You could have gone. Or J’onn, you could have even sent Tim. Anybody to help even a little.”

“Paris isn’t my city, it’s Ladybug’s city. The League and most metahuman heroes stay out of Gotham because I asked them too, but I am not the first to have the idea that keeping other heroes out of a volatile city can be beneficial for damage control. Ladybug herself told me not to allow any interference in the situation,” Bruce braced himself against the back of one of their metal debriefing chairs, leaning forward so it could take most of his weight. That, and the way he never looked away from the photos displayed on the computer, tipped off everyone else that Bruce might not have stayed uninvolved willingly. That he had a deeper connection to the whole Paris mess than just keeping a shrewd eye on a possible issue.

“You know Ladybug?” Tim decides to speak up, leaning back against the desk that housed the batcomputer keyboard. His voice was decidedly softer than that of his elder brothers’.

Bruce nodded, still in an odd partial trance. “We met when I was on a trip to Paris, before I became Batman. It was twenty-three years ago, I was eighteen and found out the hard way about the situation that the rest of the world was somehow oblivious to. I was able to meet Ladybug during one of her patrols, and confronted her. Even after I became Batman two years later, she refused any help. It wasn’t until about a year before I adopted Dick that I finally decided I couldn’t keep worrying about a situation and people that I wasn’t being allowed to help, so I told Alfred to use the sources that Ladybug had given me back when we first met to check in on the situation every month or two. I know that it was not the best decision, making Alfred do what I couldn’t bring myself to, but by the time I adopted Dick I had mostly forgotten about it. I was too worried about trying to figure out how to raise a kid and then deal with raising a vigilante kid after that, for the first time.”

Silence reigned for a while. This was, essentially, news that Bruce had been waiting to hear for over twenty years. An outcome that he had been barred from being a part of. Talk about bittersweet, especially when Bruce seemed so passionate about wanting to have helped. Probably too guilty about not being allowed to.

In the end, it was Damian who made the connection between this news and his father’s foreign mood and behavior first. Or at least, he was the first to vocalize it. Cass probably noticed it sooner.

“You have feelings for Ladybug,” Damian somehow managed to make the declaration sound like a reprimand. “I admit, she is likely much better of a suitor for you than that mangy cat, but I hardly think that trying to start courting her again after so long apart is reasonable. She could have changed from—“

“I know, Damian,” Bruce’s knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the chair. “Trust me, I have spent more than enough hours contemplating calling her again to catch up, but I knew it was best to stay away. I had grown busy with Batman and the League anyway, and adding the time difference on there was no way any relationship between us would have been feasible.”

“So you cut yourself off from even being her friend. Which, might I remind you, I heavily advised against,” Alfred finally cut back into the conversation, hands clasped behind his back. “The two of you had maintained a perfectly stable long distance friendship for over five years, and I still consider the day you cut her off to be one of your stupidest mistakes, master Bruce. On an unrelated note, I received a call from the designer that you always commission your more high-fashion suits from, sir. She is coming to Gotham for a time, and I gave her an invitation to come visit for dinner tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind.” With that said, Alfred turned on his heel and walked away.

“That man never raises his voice, but somehow still makes you feel like absolute shit when he gets mad,” Stephanie mused aloud when the butler had left, earning silent nods from everyone else.

“How are you still alive, Father?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow over one vibrant green eye. “If you cut off Ladybug only to continue to commission the person that I assume is her civilian identity on a regular basis, how has that idiocy not blended into the rest of your life?”

“It has,” Jason added in, always up for a game of Rag on Bruce. “He’s just always had this annoying ability of surviving even the shittiest situations he ends up in. It’s like he has plot armor or something.”

Bruce only grunted, pulling his cowl back on. “Patrol. Robin, you’re with Red Robin today. Don’t kill each other.”

“Oh no, I want to live to see the girl you’ve apparently been crushing on since you were a teenager,” Tim said as he ambled over to his motorcycle. “Seeing THAT reunion is gonna be way better than picking another fight with Demon Spawn.”

“Tt.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Your tie won’t get any straighter,” Barbara teased Bruce, watching as he fiddled with the tie around his throat for the millionth time in just the past ten minutes. Alfred had made sure that he couldn’t escape this, even going so far as benching Batman for the night.

And to make matters worse, it was still far too early for patrol so all the Wayne kids were present. Stephanie had other obligations to see to, unfortunately, but other than her even Jason had come over to the manor to see the fallout.

“Master Bruce, she is here,” Alfred’s voice cut through the almost palpable nerves emanating from the usually stoic or charismatic man. Batman was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but neither was Playboy Billionaire Brucie Wayne. No, this was Bruce Wayne, as genuine as anybody could see him. And more nervous than his kids had ever witnessed.

The door was opened, and in stepped someone that defied any of the Batkid’s preconceptions. They were expecting someone suave, sophisticated, with hard-earned muscle trying to hide under her skin. Like a Wonder Woman type of person, bursting with strength except for when they made an effort to disguise it. But that was not what they got. No suave, sophisticated bachelorette of a businesswoman and reputable fashion designer. No goddess-masquerading-as-a-human. Not even a femme fatale like Selina Kyle or most of Batman’s exes.

But there was a distinct observation that the kids made the moment they saw her.

Black hair, so dark that it seemed to reflect blue in the light, and clear blue eyes that were dark, vibrant, and seemed to glow with intelligence and humor, with just the slightest gray tones that hid in them grim experiences and disillusion.

She had a smile that was eerily similar to Dick’s when she laid eyes on the family and let it spread across her face. It was like the warmth of the sun, and instantly made the impersonal foyer feel cozy and welcoming. But the sharpness in her eyes as she scanned over all the people gathered, more than she expected if her eyebrow raise was any indication, was just like Tim. Too much like Tim.

She came to a stop a few feet away from the Wayne clan, and rested one hand on her waist as she popped her hip out. Jason’s attitude.

Her hair was up in a simple but elegant bun, with a braid curling around the base of it. She was small, about five foot four if their estimates were correct, and the sleek sleeves of her midnight blue dress simultaneously emphasized and disguised the lithe, corded muscle mass that seemed to flow smoothly down her arms. Not a brawler’s muscle, but an acrobat or gymnast’s. The delicate silver embroidery along the sleeves and trim of her dress, and curling around her waist like a belt of thread, was in actuality a string of bats in various flight poses interspersed with silver swirls and tiny ladybugs. Her own playful personality, it seemed, something innocent and daring and subtle all at once that didn’t quite fit any of the kids, it was solely hers.

“I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the woman finally introduced herself, holding out her hand even as her radiant smile stayed firmly in place. When her eyes found Bruce again, they stayed there. “An old friend of your father’s. And by the way, Bruce. If you ever cut contact with me again without ever explaining yourself, I will not stay twiddling my thumbs in some other city again. I will hunt you down and get you to tell me what exactly possessed you to freeze me out, and only if it is some really good reasoning will I let you off without giving you a remedial lesson in the importance of dodging.”

Damian’s fire.

Dick looked over at Bruce, then at Marinette. She caught his eye, nodded and winked, and looked back to her old friend.

“But I do have to say, this looks suspiciously like a family we might have had if you had ever gotten up the courage to ask me out all those years ago instead of not realizing that I never specifically forbade you from visiting Paris, only heroes in general. You’re lucky I’m patient. I spent thirty years waiting to get back the Butterfly Miraculous and lock those two up for good, but making me wait twenty years to finally confess to you is a bit much, don’t you think? And adopting kids with only blue eyes and black hair is a bit on the nose, even for you.”

Scratch that, Damian’s loyalty.

Bruce really had adopted kids that reminded him of Marinette in some way, and the way he would grin or smile at Damian when he was displaying his usually subtle but steady loyalty, or the way that Bruce had almost unending tolerance for Damian’s stubbornness, it all started to make sense.

Bruce had tried building a family around the one he imagined he could have had with Marinette.

“Mari—“

“Nope. You’ve made me wait this long, you don’t even get a hug until after dinner. Then we can catch up, and you’ll take me out to dinner in a few days,” suddenly what was happening seemed to creep up on the woman, and she fidgeted. Sheepishness rose to her face, and she winced at her own words. But damn, she had imagined this day for so long, she couldn’t help but get assertive! “I mean, if you want to. I get it if you lost interest in dating me, but—“

“How about I set up a private dinner on the top of Wayne enterprises, day after tomorrow. We can even do a patrol afterwards if you’re up to it.”

His sons all facepalmed, some inwardly and some outwardly. Barbara groaned and Cass pinched the bridge of her nose. But, to their astonishment, Marinette’s smile just came back full force.

“Aww, you know I can’t resist the offer of a patrol. But just one, I want to enjoy some time off now that I’m not perpetually on-call as Paris’s main hero.”

Bruce finally grinned back, his eyes soft for the first time in a while that wasn’t directed at his kids. In way that they had never been soft towards Selina or most of his past flings.

“Just one patrol, then.”

“Sounds like a date.”

First attempt to upload this goofed and deleted the first part, so here is attempt number two! Again, Brucinette has been invading my dreams.

Apparently there is a part 2 now.

#mlb x dc #ml x dc #brucinette #aged up marinette

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greytoiletpaper · 4 years

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Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish street-siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re still awesome). Now, the pieces start falling into place or smth lmao :))

Drizzle | Deluge | AO3

Chapter 3: Squall

Did they get rid of her?

He dreads to think of it, but there’s nothing else he seems to be able to pick out from what information he gathers. Three years after he died, Cass (who hated killing, would never do it even for the worst of the worst) had nearly murdered the Joker. She almost finished the job until Batman saved the madman and subdued her. After that,

Nothing.

Not a single report on Batgirl. Nor a photo of Cassandra Todd. Only two traces he could find. One a significantly sullen Wonder Woman (he and Cass had liked her, and she, them). The other an interview of Bruce, repeating that she’d gone to ‘travel the world’.

Jason knows a lie when he hears one.

“It’s – It’s like she just disappeared,” He’s gripping his head, rocking back and forth while Rose smooths out his hair. “He cut her out of the family and then what?”

He remembers a promise, a vow Bruce had made with him. It had meant the world to Jason.

Bruce had broken that vow. Torn it apart and stomped all over it.

Rose watches him as he breaks down with no judgement in her gaze, just holds him close as his world crumbles around him again.

There’s a child in Nandra Parbat, and Jason has to train him.

“This is my son, Damian,” Talia had said to him, showing him some new kid as if he hadn’t just killed three assassins in the space of a minute. He would have said as much if she didn’t immediately order him to be the kid’s new teacher.

Looking at him now, all Jason can see is a small girl with a crooked smile mouthing his name. He blinks, and he’s met with a scowl and sapphire eyes (eyes just like Br-).

“Mother has requested you to be my instructor,” The kid repeats and lord, his voice is nasal. Jason chooses to stare at the kid, who fidgets. If he looks close enough, he could swear Damian’s scowl looks almost precisely like-.

“Is he mute, Mother? I do not see how an invalid could assist me,” He can tell by the way Rose’s head shoots up and glares at Damian whose side she would choose if this escalates. A flare of anger rises in Jason’s chest; his eyes start to flash a sharp emerald. Still, he pushes it down and diverts it to strengthening his stare, dominating the room.

He can’t read people the same way Cass can, but Jason could swear that the kid’s composure cracks at his uncertainty.

“Wanna repeat that for me?” Jason’s voice is low and even. He can tell the kid recognises the threat in his tone. To his credit, Damian hesitates before he honest to god tts, like every single other haughty, uptight rich boy.

“Regardless, habibi, you will treat your new instructors with respect,” Talia speaks, gesturing to him and Rose. “The quality of your instructors was incredibly subpar, and you have them to blame for killing the previous masters beforehand.”

“I do not think that a lowly thug and his harlot-,” Jason’s arm shoots out in an instant, clasping his hand over Damian’s mouth and clenching. Indignant fury flares in the boy’s eyes as Damian tries to slap Jason away. It does nothing, unsurprisingly.

“So long as you are under my tutelage, you will never speak that way to any woman. That is no way to speak to anyone, regardless of what they do for a living,” Somehow, the kid actually listens, the flinty look in his eye lessening somewhat. “I bet your own mother had to pull a fuck ton of strings just to make sure this meeting even happened in the first place.”

Jason glances up to Talia, expecting a reprimand. What surprises him is how genuine the approval she emits is. It hits him that he has literally confirmed to training Damian. He coughs.

“You should know,” Talia pipes up. “His full name is Damian Wayne-Al Ghul.”

Jason stares at the ceiling and curses the rain as it tap-dances with the universe, mocking him.

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell.”

Cassandra shakes herself from the nerves and rings the doorbell. The last time she had been here, she had kissed Alfred on the cheek and let him drive her all the way to the airport. That was only two months ago. Two months away from Gotham, away from Batgirl, away from-.

Bruce. He’s standing in the foyer, his gaze cold, but his body… his body seems unsure. She doesn’t know what to make of it. She half expects him to turn her away, but he moves to the side. He opens his mouth.

“Cassandra!” Steph darts from behind Bruce’s body, all flailing limbs and mismatched socks. “You’re here!”

“Yes.”

The girl grins, periwinkle eyes dazzling (They’re from the same cloth, just not the proper stitching) as she drags Cassandra away.

“So… how’s life in Hong Kong?”

“Peachy,” Cass answers honestly.

“Think of any names for your new identity?” Steph gesticulates to nothing, but her body language is focused on questions. So, she doesn’t give the girl any. They walk a little more until Steph decides to fill in the silence again.

“Tim’s dad found out about the vigilante business,” Cass nods as Steph talks. “Wants him to quit being Robin and Bruce doesn’t seem to know what to do about it.”

“His problem.”

“Well, duh. It’s just that….” Steph rubs her arm shyly, the same way she always does when she’s afraid of what she will say next. “When I was growing up, with my villain dad and addict Mom, I always imagined that Batman and Robin would save me. I’m here now, and….”

“You want to be Robin.” Cassandra deadpans, even as Steph whirls to gape at her. Really, it’s not like she wasn’t obvious. “Why not go for it?”

Silence for a moment. “Because I’m afraid.”

Cassandra looks at the blonde sharply. Stephanie Brown? Intimidated-by-Batman-and-joined-vigilantism-anyway Stephanie Brown was afraid? She doesn’t know what to think. That is until the dots connect in her head.

“You’re afraid that you won’t be able to help as much as you want to,” Steph scuffs the carpet glumly.

“With Mr. Anal-retentiveness-to-the-9’s? Yeah, that’d probably happen,” Steph sound so defeated and desperate that Cass curses because apparently, fate chose now to be when Steph is truly like Jason.

“Then don’t wear it,” Steph’s scuffing gets a little stronger. “I, for one, think you’d be a really good Batgirl.”

Steph makes an incredible impression as a fish and stares at Cass, barely wheezing as she gawks. “But Bruce -.”

“Bruce doesn’t have autonomy over Batgirl,” Cass smiles sweetly, echoing Barbara. “It’s your uniform now, and no one can take that from you but yourself.”

Her friend squeals loudly and squeezes Cass, gushing her gratitude over and over. Cass hugs her back, pretending it’s Jay she’s holding in her arms, giving the assurance of family she failed to keep.

He’s only trained with Damian for a few months, yet he’s seen more than he really should from the boy. His younger brother (the kid’s only a child, it doesn’t matter what Jason’s previous misgivings are) has been raised in the League of Assassins since birth. He can already use a sword with deadly efficiency at eleven years old. His attitude's as ruthless and condescending as every other assassin in the compound.

However, what is an exploitable weakness for Damian is the fact he’s only just started puberty. Most easily demonstrated when Rose makes a suggestive pose before tackling the boy and pinning him in place. Jason whistles because he’s fond of her, an asshole like that. Rose flips the bird at Jason and sticks out her tongue, now lounging casually on Damian’s squirming body.

It’s cute, the scene, but Jason knows how wrong it is. As long as Damian is with the League of Assassins, he won’t live normally. To find his own love, his own family. Even as the child wrestles with Rose and yells at him to help, it won’t ever be enough.

He’s not projecting.

He’s not.

He’s going to concoct a plan.

Ravi, Damian’s caretaker, has that air about him that Jason has only ever seen come from Alfred. So, he guesses trusting Ravi with this is more than okay. The man may be blind, but with him, they manage to smuggle Damian through the channels of the League, avoiding everyone who could threaten their goal.

“If I may ask, Mister Todd,” Ravi says as they reach the last legs. Jason nods. “Why are you doing this? To what gain is rescuing this child for you?”

“I don’t do this because I want to gain something,” Jason replies immediately. “No child deserves to grow up in this place. He deserves to have as good a childhood as he can get.”

Ravi stares patiently, hearing what’s unsaid.

“Sound reasoning,” Talia’s voice echoes around them. Everyone tenses. The woman steps out from behind the pillar ahead of them, alone. “And where, may a mother ask, are you taking my son?”

The woman’s voice lacks her usual veneer, sounding so genuinely earnest that he can’t help but blurt out: “Gotham.”

“Gotham,” Talia repeats, her forehead pinched. “With him?” With Batman? Jason bristles. “Might I remind you; he left your death unavenged and replaced you in mere months.”

“Fuck that,” Jason snarls. Ever since he came out of the Pit, madness clings to the edges of his mind whenever he thinks of how Bruce replaced him. This time, it only flickers. “What I want doesn’t matter when Damian needs his father figure. I’m – I’m not stopping him from having that.”

“So, you no longer wish to kill him,” Talia states. He sighs.

“I guess not,” Jason frowns, considering her presence. “Want to take him to Bruce?”

If Talia is surprised, she doesn’t show it, only beckoning for Damian to follow her. As the kid moves, Jason realises this might be the last time he’ll see Damian on the same side of the fence. He grabs the kid’s shoulder, who oddly doesn’t resist.

“Look, Damian,” Jason starts as his younger brother stares up at him. “Doing right is right, and wrong is wrong. A body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better.

“Living with your father, it’s rules like that he follows like gospel. He’ll love you; I know he will, but with him it’s always on the condition that you adhere to his principles. Can you promise something for me?”

Damian nods, soaking every word in.

“I need you to keep an open mind with what he says, but I don’t want you to follow them like gospel the way he does. You’re more than his soldier, you’re my brother, you’re his son.”

The kid nods again, shifting on his feet.

“And – And look after yourself, okay? And -,” The words that come out of his mouth feel like hot coals, but he has to say them. “And if somehow Cass is there, can you look after her too? For me?”

“Of course,” Damian answers softly before throwing his arms around Jason’s waist. “I will find your ukht, ahki, and make sure she is well cared for.”

Jason smiles. It's a broken, weary-looking thing.

“And Todd?” Jason raises his eyebrows. “You should confess to Wilson about your ridiculous affection. It is sickening to watch you two dancing around one another every lesson.”

Jason can’t help it; he laughs and lets his little brother go, his tears like raindrops.

Cass leaves the fresh hydrangeas on the headstone. It stares back at her, its date (four years) seeming to mock her from beyond the grave. Literally, Jay says in her head, which has her biting back the laugh that builds in her throat.

Bruce’s son had come in a few days ago, obviously an assassin child, yet he’s still… subdued, somehow. She knows the boy is there, at her brother’s grave, and that he follows her all the way to the manor. Even then, Cassandra lets it go. He probably took all his cues from Bruce anyway.

It’s when she’s sitting at the new memorial for Jason, a small statue of an apple with a plaque underneath, that Damian approaches her.

“Cain.”

“It’s Todd.”

Something crosses the boy’s face. She can’t tell what it is.

“Todd,” Damian says, his eyebrows pinching like a mini Bruce. “What is this?”

“It’s Jason’s memorial,” Cassandra traces the words on the plaque, a quote, one whose meaning she had struggled with a lifetime ago. She gestures to the book in her hands. “I read to it, every time I’m here.”

Damian looks like he’s about to say something about that, but he withholds it. Instead, he sits down with her, his head upturned, not unlike a bird.

“What was he like?” The boy asks, the words seeming to grit out his teeth.

“He was amazing, and we loved him so much,” Dick speaks up, out of nowhere, cutting Cass off before she can even begin. “I had a few issues with him, but I promise that I’ll be as good a brother to you as he was to us.”

Cassandra snorts, and Dick’s smile falls off his face.

“Cassandra, come on, I was just-.”

“You weren’t even a good brother to me or – or him.” She says quietly, because why is he even speaking now? “Why are you trying now? Why not before?”

“Like I said, I had a lot of issues with -.”

“I don’t care, Dickface.” Does it hurt to say Jason’s old nickname for the boy? Yes. Does she draw satisfaction at how much he flinches? Also, yes.

Barbara chooses then to speak up.

“I don’t think that’s fair for you to say, Cass.”

She freezes. The fact that even Damian, who hardly knows her, does the same with the others means they know how huge an error they’ve made.

“Don’t call me that,” Cassandra snaps, voice desolate and lethal, thoughts squalling and refusing to calm down even as she buries her head in the book in her hands.

Barbara sighs and calls Dick away to discuss the mysterious hacker that’s been pulling information from them. Damian, seeming to recognise her desire to be alone, follows him. Good. Cassandra’s mind falls in and out of a lull as her eyes try to refocus. So, she caresses the edge of the apple reverently. In its reflection, tears run down her cheeks. She can’t feel them.

“The information breaches just keep searching for Batgirl,” Barbara says, snapping Cassandra from her stupor. She pulls up a list; every entry confirms Barbara’s statements. Every entry, that is, except for one that catches her eye. The text flashes brightly, making her head spin, and she can’t look away because printed in the bright neon text is-.

There’s a memory, one she’s locked in the far recesses of her mind, where things like the Joker and David and all her other demons live. She remembers Faizul asking who her mother is.

David smirks, a savage thing he does whenever he’s about to order her to do something (murder, as it turned out, then) and says:

Sandra Wu-San | Lady Shiva

The words blare in her mind, bouncing round and round and blocking out all sounds in the cave. It certainly explains a lot; only Shiva can read the body like a novel. Plus, Cassandra isn’t sure that assassin skills are genetic but having two master assassins as biological parents should factor somewhere. It also opens a new avenue of thought. Why? Why did she give her up and never look back? Why did she leave her with her monster of a father? Cassandra craves needs answers, and she needs them now.

Staring up at the name printed on the screen, Jason once asked himself the same questions.

While the others discuss what to do, Cassandra has already listed Shiva’s last known locations and activities. They don’t notice she’s going to leave until she revs the engine of her bike. She sees them open their mouths, but over the sound of the motor, their voices fail to reach her.

All except, somehow, for Alfred and if there is anyone in this family Cass will listen to; it’s the one Jay loved the most.

“If you do pursue her, Miss Cassandra,” The butler has never been unkind to her, yet she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to keep her in place. “I am not sure if you will find what you are looking for.”

She leaves anyway, soaring underneath the tresses of Gotham as they settle around her, the mist obscuring everything but her path forward.

“Damian probably landed in Gotham last week,” Rose says casually. Too casually, she realises. Jace side-eyes her and snorts in response. Damn him and his ability to pick apart what she’s asking. Four years constantly in one another’s presence would do that to people with his life experience. Yet, as much as Jason can read her, she can’t say she can do the same for him.

Something about him seems fragile, like plaster covering a beautiful and distracting collage. Rose wants to dig past that plaster, through the collage and see the mind that is Jason Todd.

She has seen him at his highest and lowest points and always makes sure to stay by his side, as she does now. He’s her best friend; he might not know it, but he’s kept her sane (reassurances her father will not find her come to mind) just as much as she’s done for him.

“What do you think of the new Batgirl?” This time, she means to be conversational. When they stumbled across the profile of Cass’ successor, Jace had shaken his head and laid out half-heartedly into a punching bag.

“I don’t hate her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” That response was… not unexpected. But, when she raises her hickory eyes, Jason has his head raised to the sky. “I looked into her, and – and she’s like us.”

Oh.

“Girl’s from the Narrows. Didn’t live on the streets, but from her background, her home life definitely wasn’t that great growing up either.”

His hand is trembling, so Rose grabs it and tries to keep him steady with all the power in her.

“She’s going to do Batgirl proud,” Jason says shakily. “I think you’d agree.”

They stand there, leaning on each other, tranquillity settling around them as Jace lets his tears flow. It occurs to Rose that she never let his hand go. She doesn’t plan to. The feeling makes her feel warm inside, and as much as she wants to go further, she also doesn’t want to push her best friend away.

In the distance, the outline of a jet approaches the runway they’re on. It is time.

“You ready?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said yes.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey,” Rose looks up at him, waiting for him to continue. “If anything goes wrong, I want you to stay out of sight of the others and get away from Gotham.”

Rose growls. “No way, there is no fucking way I’d leave you alone with them.” She steps closer, jabbing her finger on his chest. “I didn’t train with you for the past four years for it all to be thrown away just because Batman is an asshole. My dad’s just as bad, remember?

“You’re stuck with me no matter what Jace. Deal with it.”

He gives her a wry smirk that has her heart fluttering as much as her returning grin is sharp. Even as the plane touches down, she realises that he hasn't let her hand go, and neither has she.

In the next week, Red Hood and Ravager will carve their way through the deeper bowels of Gotham’s stomach, a bag of heads linking their iron fists.

For now, Rose breathes in the moist air as a drizzle begins.

Mad Dog, Cassandra muses, is a morbid reminder of what she might have become if she stayed with David. He doesn’t have her abilities, but he has more physical strength in spades; his movements are so strange, so unpredictable, that it’s not like it matters.

A deft swipe narrowly misses her throat, and Cassandra cuffs the man in the jaw with her knee, knocking him back.

She had definitely found Shiva. Tracked her all the way to some subset of the League of Assassins. The woman had only gazed coolly at her and set Mad Dog on her.

True to his name, the assassin growls and leaps at her, fury behind each of his strikes. Cassandra dodges one of these, the fist cratering the cement wall, and gets socked in the chest for her trouble. The force of the impact sends her flying metres away.

Getting up from the blow is a chore, and she can feel the agony her body is in, feels the blood run down her mouth as she rises. Her fist is shaking; her stance is uneven. Mad Dog notices, and he grins like David, drawing a jagged sword from his sheath and charges.

Cassandra darts past the assassin. She knows she can win this. Even though his movements are swift and deadly, she manages to outpace him. His sword strikes aim to draw blood as he swipes at her, but she’s still managed to weave her way around them, causing sparks to fly into the air. When he tries to hit her, she still uses his momentum against him and knocks him down.

Yet, Cassandra can feel herself getting slower now; her arms are still shaking. She dodges another strike, but it’s a feint, and Mad Dog grabs her by the hair and slams her onto the ground. Hazily, she watches his wicked grin widen as the assassin raises his arms and prepares his blade.

As Mad Dog is about to drive it into Cass’ chest, she thinks (This is it. It’s all over. It is time.) of a boy in an alleyway, an apple in his hand and a smile on his lips.

She closes her eyes and listens to the sprinkling outside.

“Do you think we were unfair to them?” Dick seems to ask to open air, but Bruce knows when his sons want a genuine response. “Like, that we didn’t give them enough credit for what they could do. And because of that, they’ve never had anyone but each other?”

Dick slumps. It looks so wrong on him that Bruce wraps his arms around him, especially careful (As a real father would. An insidious voice in his brain sneers). “Do you think, that if maybe we treated them so much better...” His boy is crying now, usually joyous lapis eyes cold and red-rimmed. “That they’d still be here?”

Bruce only grunts because not one of his answers is what Dick wants to hear.

On a slab of stone, the petals on the hydrangeas wilt, droplets dappling their edges.

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