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brokenpieces-72 · 15 days ago

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angst one shot of gotham knights dick grayson with twin reader of damian? reader was away for training and visited gotham after bruce's death, they're not taking his death well and dick tries to comfort them but they get mad at him. they say he doesn't understand what it's like bc he knew bruce the longest and out of all the kids reader spent the smallest time with bruce. on the other hand dick mostly got a cold, silent bruce while in the moments bruce and reader spent together bruce actually opened up to them.

A little more complicated… but yeah I’m down for this, I need to think of a concept for the twin but I like the challenge. Certainly an interesting concept. Apologies for this taking so long, lots came up that made it hard to feel motivated. Hope you enjoy.

Lost

TW: mentions of death, grief, loss, anger, violence outbursts, let me know if I missed any.

When you returned to Gotham… well… imagine… honestly it’s not something easily described or compared. Bruce hadn’t been around you for long, and the news he had another biological child kind of threw him. You didn’t intend to stay with him, merely wanted him to know of your existence. You figured he’d want you out, he already had Damien and almost a dozen other children, you felt unnecessary.

Bruce made you feel more than necessary. Learning about your situation, where you were living, what you did working for the league of assassins, never forcing you to do anything that you didn’t like, offering safe house locations if you needed space of your own, and even providing you with his contact information if you needed to get a hold of him. Bruce wasn’t afraid to talk to you, tell you about his own life. For once in your whole life, you had someone to look up to, someone who was willing to raise you better, someone who could look past your flaws and bring out the person you were meant to be.

Now he was gone.

You’d left for training, simple combat stuff that you’d been taught already but wanted to improve on. You weren’t meant to be gone long. When the news of his death came to you, you felt shattered. The air was sucked out of the room, your blood ran cold, you could barely speak. Someone may as well had opened your chest, poured liquid nitrogen on your heart, and smashed it with a sledge hammer. That might have been more relieving. Instead, you gathered what faculties remained. “Sorry uh… thank you. What um… where…”

“His body has yet to be released but is being examined at the Gotham City Morgue.”

“Thank you…” you replied. You hung up. It was too much. You’d dealt with bodies before, it was your job as a cleaner for the League of Assassins. You never thought you’d have to deal with the body of someone you’d grown to love, let alone your own father.

Grayson met you when you arrived at Gotham. You were quiet and distant. He didn’t blame you. No, you didn’t want to go to the manor, you had a place of your own. You needed some privacy with your own self. Grayson would later learn it was because you were talking to “Bruce”, seeing him in the room. He overheard you talking to him one night when he came to check on you. You went along to help with funeral proceedings, discussions often leading to you staring off and sometimes digging your nails into your wrists or palms.

During a small meeting with the police you actually broken skin, pulling yourself out of your trance. Grayson tried to help, but you just walked away without an answer to clean yourself up. That day had been the worst because you learned what had happened, but didn’t say anything about what you knew, at least not to the police. Your grandfather, that fucking monster, was responsible. You’d cleaned up enough of the Leagues messes to recognize it, and in the bathroom you were pissed. Your rage and anger, that they took the one person you could call family who treated you like a person and made you feel like you were good enough. When Grayson went to find you after, all he found was a shattered mirror in the bathroom.

Your emotions got the better of you there was no denying that. The training you’d had was put to good use, but to a dangerous degree. More than once you nearly sent thugs to early graves, you’d even held one on the edge a roof, demanding answers before dropping him on a trash bin. You kept ignoring phone calls from Grayson, knowing he would just berate you for taking things too far. You weren’t killing anyone. You weren’t crossing any lines! The Assassins? That was crossing the line, you were just putting criminals in their place. You couldn’t make anyone happy it seemed. “Stop that’s too far!” “Come on you should know better.” “You’re better than this.” “You’re not good enough.” “This isn’t right.” “There’s no next time if you’re caught.” “You’re not an assassin.” “Pathetic.” “Messy.” “You’re not a hero!” “Why aren’t you picking up the slack.” “Stupid child.” “Get me another beer!”

“Nobody wants you.” “Quit screwing up!” “Again, and do it right!”

SHUT UP!!!

“FUCK!” You shouted realizing you’d hit a brick wall. Literally. Your knuckles were bloody still, and now had pain running through them from the impact, and up your forearm. You had to crouch, cradling your hand, and gritting your teeth.

"The fuck do you want?" You asked, still wincing. Grayson had shown up, fully suited, on patrol. He wasn't on patrol though he just opened with the whole "I was in the area" bs. You'd heard him coming, but outrunning him was pointless, especially with everything your head was dealing with.

"You can't keep going like this." Grayson said. Really? Really right now? This is what he decides to start with? The Last of the Flying Graysons everybody! Stating the incredibly obviuous from new heights. Before you might have said that out loud, but you didn't have the energy too. Your mouth control was a lot better too.

"You're self destructing." Why did he have to be so calm when he was talking, it pissed you off.

"What told you that? My cradled arm or your fifth sense?"

"The number of battery cases at the hospital." He answered. ...it was a rhetorical question, but you didn't think your escapades had gone that far. Then again why did it matter?

"No one else in this family has added to it?" You asked, rhetorical again.

"Y/N you're going too far. You keep going like this, you'll end up the same way as the guys you've put in hospital beds. Or worse.

"Good maybe I'll get to spend more time with dad." You muttered. Yep, Grayson was right. That's what this was.

"I get it, you;re hurting, but hurting yourself and other people isn't going to bring him back." Grayson told you. You tried to walk away, turning and rolling your eyes. Yeah no shit, you'd dealt with death before, you were a cleaner for god sakes, you knew what it entailed. Grayson didn't know shit about your life. "I'm serious, if you keep going on like this, you'll-"

"End up in the same place as dad, I fucking got it." You snapped. "Point still stands."

"...I know what it's like, losing your family."

"No you don't." You mumbled.

"I lost my family." Grayson argued.

"I LOST THE ONLY FAMILY I HAD!" You screamed. He didn't know anything about it. He'd had a family, he had another family, you never had anyone else but your dad, and no one would understand that. You grew up not knowing what family felt like until you met your real dad. "You don't know what any of that feels like! You have a family! You had a family! You had parents!"

You took a minute to pace, and let the emotions get out and consume, do whatever the fuck emotions did when you felt yourself exploding. Someone needed to hear it because at this rate no one seemed to understand but was pretending they did. You turned back to Grayson, who just had a look on his face that you couldn't read. Maybe it was clam or shock or pity, you didn't care.

“You had a father way longer than I ever did. Those few moments mean more than anyone will ever understand!” You yelled. "The day I met him, was the first good memory I ever had. Those were the only good memories I had!"

Grayson stood there. Bruce had been cold with him for a long time, warming up to him took time. Maybe it was because you were younger, maybe he saw himself in you from the night he lost his parents, maybe you were just able to warm up to him better. Regardless he’d opened up to you much easier and much faster than he had with Grayson. Training had been for you to prove yourself. Prove you weren’t just a cleaner. Bruce covered for you when the League of Assassins tried to look for you.

Maybe Bruce opened up after everyone else had slowly tugged away at his walls. You found a way through because they'd made holes for you to get in.

You stared back at Grayson, before throwing your arms up, in a fed up shrug.

"And I fucking left..." You said, your voice raw.

You sat on the ground, frustrated. You missed him. For the short while you had, it was basically everything. For once in your life you had real father, one that didn’t give you shit for overlooking something he’d missed or tried to peer pressure you into drinking rather than letting you talk it out. You could talk to him, feel at home, feel safe, be happy! Grayson had all the time in the world with him, he couldn’t know what that was like. You pulled your knees in, as if trying to squeeze into the brick behind you.

Grayson sat down next to you, more relaxed, while you just stared at the ground. You wanted to tell him to go away. You didn't want a big brother right now. You wanted your dad. You couldn't have him, so Grayson was the next best thing. That's what you told yourself at least.

"I think you had some of the best times with him." Grayson said finally. "He used to be a lot colder. A lot of it was business or vigilante stuff. It took a lot of time for him to open up. Told me about his parents after I lost mine. I think he hid a lot of it at first because he was worried about me, I mean I was like 10 at the time, not exactly a safe hobby. He was like that for a long time with me and pretty much everyone else. Then you came along, and... I think that little time you had, was after several practice runs with us."

"So...?" You asked. What was he getting at?

"You had the best times with him, and I think those were some of his best as well. Even if it didn't seem all that exciting, for him they were good. They were fun to watch from the sidelines too." Grayson told you. You felt some warmth in your chest. Maybe it was just exhaustion. "He's gone but you still remember him. That makes those moments better. Breaking yourself isn't going to bring him back, it just makes you hurt in other places. Trust me I know from experience."

"... Am I gonna be okay?" You asked after some silence.

"...No. It gonna be different... and eventually you learn to live with those differences. It will be alright... but it will not be the same. That...that is okay." Grayson told you.

"...Okay." You said, taking some time to breathe. It was the first bit of relief you'd had in what felt like months. You kept pawing at your eyes, tearing up.

"We should get out of here. Stay still and some punks with find us." Grayson said. "No more fighting for a bit, you need to find other coping skills."

You scoffed at that. Good, your hand was still hurting anyways.

"Water, food, first aid, and then we'll figure something out from there." Grayson told you getting up. He gave you hand getting up.

"We?" You questioned.

"The last time I left you alone you broke a whole ass public bathroom mirror." He stated. "Like it or not, you're part of the family. Family doesn't get left behind."

"Deal." You said, and he got you back to the clocktower.

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#Gotham knight #gotham knights #twin reader #x Reader #gotham knights x reader #gotham #batman #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #Nightwing #nightwing x reader

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kryptonian-outlaw · 4 months ago

Text

Crown of Shadows

Author: Ultimate

Series: Crown of Shadows

Chapter 3: The Sound of Metal on Flesh

Rating: Explicit (18+) Smut

Summary:

*Time skip of eight years. Damian is 21 years old.*

Jason's PTSD worsened as he struggled with the flashbacks of Joker, while Tim worried about his declining mental state. Meanwhile, Dick infiltrated an assassin's hideout in search for Damian.

// WARNING \\

PTSD trigger and violence in this chapter.

* SNEAK PEAK *

“I’m just wrapping your arm, okay?” Damian’s voice was softer now, the sharp edge from earlier dulled. He knelt beside Jason, carefully unraveling the hemostatic gauze from his belt. His movements were precise, methodical. Jason exhaled slowly, saying nothing as he took off what was left of his ruined shirt, the drenched fabric clinging to his skin where dried blood had stiffened it. He hissed as he pulled it away from an old wound, discarding it onto the floor with little care. Now, sitting in nothing but his red boxer briefs, Jason shivered slightly—not from the cold, but from exhaustion. His muscles were taut, his body a roadmap of scars, old and new. He should’ve grabbed another shirt. He would… eventually. But for now, he stayed silent, watching Damian work. Damian didn’t comment on Jason’s current state, didn’t crack a joke or offer an unnecessary remark. He just focused, pressing the gauze firmly against the bleeding wound on Jason’s forearm before beginning to wrap it with careful precision. The only sound in the room was their quiet, steady breathing.

Jason’s gaze flickered to Damian’s hands—gloved, steady, practiced. ‘He’s done this before. Too many times.’ For a moment, Jason almost spoke. Almost muttered a thank you. But the words never came. So, he just sat there, letting Damian patch him up in silence. As Damian wrapped the gauze around Jason’s arm, tightening it just enough to stop the bleeding but not enough to cause discomfort, Jason let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

“Kinda funny, isn’t it?” he mused, his voice hoarse but laced with amusement. “You patching me up after you’re the one who fucked me up in the first place?” Damian stilled for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenched. He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he nearly tasted blood. Because Jason was right. And Damian hated that he was right. He focused on securing the bandage, pretending he hadn’t heard, but the weight of Jason’s words settled over him like a vice grip around his chest. The worst part wasn’t the accusation—it was that Damian agreed with him.

Read the full chapter here.

Start from the beginning here.

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