#I never blamed you for Alfred's death. Yes you did you refused to comfort him when he ran away crying from the wake

[wesavegotham]

These fanon Tim Drake takes/fanfictions that paint him as the ultimate victim during the Morrrison era were always annoying, but if you're looking for a character to write fix it fanfictions about because they got abandoned by their family when they went through a lot of losses and lost themselves in the process, ran away from everything and only had the batfamily try to bring them back home ages after they had already run away and only after first blaming the kid and then not prioritizing bringing that kid back, then Damian from 2018 to 2020 is right there?

Where are my 1000+ fanfictions about that?

[liptonsbabe]

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Summary: The reader has left the burrow trying to hide from Molly’s harsh comments. Bill’s mom doesn’t want his son near you cause she thinks you’ll hurt him judging you for your family reputation. Arthur thinks differenly so he’ll try to make amends between you two

Word count: 3.4 k. Too long I’M SORRY

Warnings: none

English not my mother language so pleeeeese tell me if something’s wrong

A/N: Hey! Another chapter for you’all. Thanks for keep reading this. The next part will be updated soon and yeah, hope you like it! If you want to be tagged just tell me and i’ll do so :D

Chapter 3: Expectations

It was bitterly cold outside the burrow, and you wondered if winter had come early. Your icy hands clenched your sides, refusing to go back inside even if your knuckles burned and your bare feet began to crack from the hardness of the grass on your soles.

You walked on the grass feeling the dew wetting your fingertips. On the other side of the garden the gnomes were burying one of Molly's ornaments with what, you guessed, the woman would be very angry when she found out, but no more than she already was. Molly's words were harsh. Even if her intention was not to make you feel bad, she had managed to put a huge weight on your stomach after the fight.

You didn't blame her, it was almost certain that Molly would react that way, however, you hoped that within her there was a bit of empathy for the situation you were experiencing with your family. It wasn’t easy for anyone to go through a war that could have been avoided in one way or another, however, for the Grants it was an even more difficult challenge knowing that the trigger for such a war was grandpa Tim Grant's half brother.

You walked around the house, crossing the barnyard, watching the chickens peck at a rubber boot on a very rusty cauldron. The cornfield grasses moved with the wind at the same rate. From right to left, right to left, right to left and then they changed the rhythm from left to right, left to right, left to right ...

The barn was just behind the thick grass rising into an old stone sty, which had several crooked stories attached to it. Four or five chimneys dotted the roof of the cellar, and most likely the entire building was held up by magic due to its crazy bolt-on construction. You took a look back at the main entrance of the house where you could hear the voices of Bill's brothers next to Molly's, deciding to get away from the Weasleys before starting a new fight.

You crossed the cornfield finding a pond full of frogs that you dodged with a little scream and a ballerina jump. Then you came across an old broom shed that was half stowed and a pervasive smell. You headed there, thinking of helping out with the cleaning and wasting some time in the process until William came home from the ministry in the early afternoon.

The brooms were on top of each other in a corner of the shed where the garden gnomes used them to play with each other. One of the gnomes had gotten a match with which he had managed to light a couple of strands of the broom of one of the twins -You knew it because each of the brooms had the initials of Molly's children painted on the base. That one had a huge G in the center - which soon expanded into the rest of the broom's dark fibers. You immediately turned it off earning yourself a tiny kick from the gnome.

The smoke from the fire mixed with dust, and the foul smell of expired wax made your eyes water . You wondered vaguely when was the last time that place had been cleaned up, however, the density of the raised dust and the rottenness of the broom wax on the floor told you about the nonexistence maintenance of the shed. The orchard was contained within a paddock, so you assumed there would be no problem cleaning it up later.

You collected each thing by hand placing them where you thought they should go. You finished cleaning the shed earlier than expected, securing the door when exiting to prevent the gnomes from entering and destroying everything again.

You continued your way in a straight line until you reached the barn where a thick layer of dust hid the doorknob. You opened the warehouse with your wand finding the worst scenario ever imagined. The walls were hidden in ghastly cobwebs, the shelves were clothed in huge mountains of dust, and Muggle stuff were strewn everywhere. Mr. Weasley's old Ford Anglia was on the left side of the barn,  storing certain flying objects that you couldn't recognize from the cloud of dust that rose and entered to your eyes.

Well, that seemed like an even bigger challenge than the shed on the other side of the garden. You started by washing the car using your wand to launch several aguamentis causing a waterfall of mud falling from the roof to the fender. Then the car doors flapped open like a pair of wings, letting out the flying objects. You raised your wand by closing the barn door blockig them the exit and initiating a chase that lasted a couple of hours to catch each object, throw it inside the Ford Anglia and finish polishing the hood before the flying, spoiled car got upset.

You forgot the last time you helped your household servants clean a simple fireplace ornament. Years before, when you were little and your brothers liked to spend time together, you helped the butler to clean some objects in the house because it was more fun when you formed competitions between you, Anthon and Margaret to know which of you cleaned the house ¿faster . You had fun and old Alfred got less tired. But that was a long time ago and in the present you didn’t remember what was the proper order of cleaning.

You were lugging box after box for several hours getting a terrible allergy in the process. The last box was made of recyclable paper where you put Mr. Weasley's old newspapers and Molly's worn recipes. You carried them to the fourth shelf from the right, previously cleaned, raising it with both hands. A speck of dust flew across the room, stopping on your nose causing you to sneeze so hard you fell backwards with the box on your face. The papers flew around the corners causing a disaster worse than the initial one.

“Shit”

You stayed lying on the floor taking the box off your face staring at the ceiling. Undoubtedly that would be a difficult life without anyone to help you doing the things more than yourself, however you were willing to try ‘cause you didn’t want to return home where things were simple but with a high cost. You weren't sure you wanted to trade your freedom for a few extra comforts. You let out a sigh ready to stand up when a singular sheet of a recent newspaper flew towards you, stopping on your chest. You caught a glimpse of a fairly familiar photograph in the ink, so you took the paper and read:

"Dark Mark sparks panic." Muggle family murdered.  Death Eaters numbers grow”  Your hands trembled over the paper, caressing each of the words, reading them over and over again. The weight on your stomach grew and grew, as if it were suddenly going to explode. A huge picture of uncle Tom stood in the middle, with that toothless grin and throbbing nostrils “Merlin’s beard”

Your fingers tingled, and you couldn't help but run your touch over your uncle's face trying to think how he got to that point. Grandpa Tim never talked so much about his half brother and you never had the courage to ask him even if the curiosity was eating your insides. There were few times where Tom Riddle's presence was in the family conversations and if that happened, then your father changed the topic from one second to another. It was annoying living in the shadows, but it was even more to be tied to a cause that no one sympathized with, not even his own brother. But Tim Grant was reserved, perhaps too reserved. Maybe that was the reason why he allowed the actions of his little brother to escalate to those levels and allowed too that his only son had choose the wrong side. However, you didn’t understand - or support - Voldemort's ambitions, neither did your grandpa and that cost you to be rejected by the rest of your family.

Your eyes watered and you didn't know if it was because of guilt or if the damn dirt had entered your eyelids. You looked at the ceiling in the haze. You searched your mind and realized that the situation affected you too much. You weren't welcome with the Weasleys, nor with the Grants. You felt desolate, as if the barn walls were closing in on you.

Molly's reaction was valid, you repeated yourself as many times as you could, because anyone who had lost a large part of it’s family to a member of another's would have done the same thing or something so much worse. You shook your head, once again feeling the rejection you were used to.

The barn door opened suddenly, letting in a gust of wind hitting your body directly on the ground. Your skin prickled from the cold causing the newcomer to laugh.

You looked up to find yourself face to face with the distorted figure of Arthur Weasley who was holding a couple of drinks along with a weird smile that made you laugh. The man sat on the floor next to you leaving the glass next to your face.

"I'm sorry I scared you. it’s freezing cold out there and in my defense, nobody comes to this place”

“It’s okay, I wasn't expecting visitors”

"Fine, then" Arthur took a sip of his drink licking his chapped lips, but still showing you that smile so much like Bill's. You folded the newspaper on your lap, nervous. "So ... what are you doing lying in my barn?"

"I ... I was trying to clean this place up”

"Is that so? ‘cuz It seemed like you were about to take a nap."

“Yeah, i had a little mishap here”

"I see, do you want to get up?"

"Yes, thank you." Arthur held out his hand, slowly pulling you up to leave you sitting in front of him. He offered you the drink and you clinked glasses before drinking. It was hot chocolate, you guessed, made by Molly. Your stomach churned.

Mr. Weasley glanced around the barn, surprised to see more than half perfectly arranged

“This place hasn't been so clean since Bill was born”

“Sorry?

"No, no, it's okay," he mentioned, waving to play it off, "Molly had been asking me for a long time to do it, so I think you just made my job easier."

"It's nothing, Mr. Weasley

"Did you see something you liked?"

"Uh, yeah," you answered wiping your lips. "Ignoring the fact that your car almost killed me, I noticed that you have a lot of muggle stuff."

“Ah, yes. They are fascinating, don't you think?”

"Certainly, but I also realized that most of them are useless, why do you still have them here?"

"I like to collect them," he replied, taking another sip of his drink. You mimicked his action “to be honest, I don't even have a clue how these things works, but I suppose I'll find out in time. Muggle devices are not as advanced as ours, much less functional, however, I find them entertaining and special somehow, did you know that they use a subway to transport themselves underground? And they must leave coins in a machine so that they give them a little ticket. A ticket! The first time I used one I was deadly excited!

You smiled, imagining how it would to see Mr. Weasley that happy

"I could help you understand how they work." You winced when Arthur looked at you with wide eyes. "My ... my grandfather lived with Muggles for a while and knows a lot about this artifacts. Several times he spoke of his usefulness to my brothers and me”

“Fantastic!” He replied cheerfully. You smiled “It's wonderful (Y/N), thank you”

“No problem”

Then a silence settled between you, being cut off only by the babble of the gnomes outside the barn kicking the timbers trying to get inside. Arthur cleared his throat as he ran his little blue eyes over each of the walls of his newly renovated barn. He smiled again placing one of his hands on your shoulder

"I found out what happened with Molly in the morning," he mentioned. You nodded “My children told me what you said to each other and ...”

"I'm sorry I spoke badly to your wife, Mr. Weasley" you interrupted, sipping your glass all at once, leaving it on the floor. "I know after this I'll have to talk to William and find another place to stay."

“She is not like that. She rarely has such behavior with the people and I can only think that my Molly has a lot of mixed feelings. The war has us all nervous and the fact that the memories of the past have arisen again ... they make her have reactions that are not very usual in Molly.”

"I'm not blaming her. I think she's right”

“Why?”

"What I did to my family ... running away, betray them..." You started playing with your fingers on your lap, embarrassed. "It's not something a trustworthy person would do."

“What are you talking about?”

“For the Grants, it’s very important to support the family in their endeavors without stopping to think if that could be harmful to the others. With uncle Tom becoming the most dangerous dark wizard of all times ... people would think that his relatives would follow his steps and they did “Mr. Weasley listened attentively, ignoring the screams of his wife announcing that the food was ready “At least most of them. Now all of us are tied to the He-who-must-not-be-named, whether we want it or not. It ruined our lives and I couldn't stay in that place forever

"Why aren't you on his side?"

"Because I can't see my brothers make a wrong decision" You crumpled the newspaper with your hands looking at how the pic of Lord Voldemort turned into a streaked stain "I have my own convictions, even if you don’t believe so”

"I don't believe anything of you, (Y/N)" Arthur's voice turned stoic as he stared at you harshly. "Neither the good nor the bad. I am a believer that you should judge someone by what demonstrates, not by what it’s said about them. Right now you aren’t showing me anything but that there is something in your family that you don’t like and that the dirt in my barn is intolerable to you”

You smiled

"We're all here waiting to see what are you capable of. Good or bad, you get to decide who (Y/N) Grant is from now on. Starting over. Forget that the Grants' actions make you worthy of the consequences”

Warmth attacked your chest. It was comforting to feel for the first time the acceptance of someone who wasn't doing it out of mere compassion or that it was Bill. That Arthur gave you the benefit of the doubt encouraged you to continue as before: trying, trying, trying.

"I think his wife doesn't think the same."

Arthur Weasley patted your shoulder.

"I'll talk to her, she'll understand. Meanwhile let's go home, it's time for lunch”

"Did Bill come back?"

"Yes, my son and I came back from the ministry a while ago.He wanted to find you, but I asked him to let me do it. You know, because sometimes it's good to have the daughters-in-law on your side”

Your cheeks heated up and then the rest of your face turned completely red. Arthur studied your reaction, smiling as he realized you were just a kid looking for approval. He patted your shoulder again, inviting you to leave the rest of the mess and accompany him to the burrow.

"These aren’t a good times to trust the Daily Prophet," Arthur mentioned, noticing the crumpled newspaper in your hands. You skipped the pond and skirted the cornfield until you reached the garden entrance where Bill's brothers and Bill himself had set up a long table near Molly's apple tree where they planned to spend the afternoon. One of the twins raised his wand putting the cuterly across the table, one set for each of the family members. You wondered if there would be a place for you at the table “Honestly, these are not good times to trust anything or anyone, so if you accept my advice, don't worry too much about reading the newspapers, they will leave you more questions than answers, Hey, you will break that!

Arthur scolded his twins when they fiddled with forks in a battle to find out which of them would wash the dishes after eating. Arthur ran towards them while Bill approached you greeting you with a kiss on the cheek. He frowned, watching you closely and then removed his coat, draping it over your shoulders.

"What the hell were you doing outside without a sweater?" It's freezing!”

"You worry way too much," you told him, pressing the faux fur against your shivering body. The truth was that, after the exchange of words with Bill's mother, you didn’t have the time to get a sweater before leaving and of course your wounded pride wouldn’t let you get dressed again before going to hide in the barn. Bill clicked his tongue rubbing your arms. "I'm fine, I just lost track of the time cleaning your father's barn and I didn't feel the cold until now”

"You're bad at lying, did you know that?"

"You should stop asking so many questions." You smiled at the grimace on the older Weasley's face. "Nothing happened."

"That's not what the twins told me," he suddenly mentioned. You felt the tension in Bill's body when Molly passed by him giving you a dangerous look, however you decided to ignore it for the good of both of you “ What my mom said ...”

"It’s okay, it doesn't matter I discussed it with your father and we worked it out”

“Are you sure?” You nodded “I hope so. Not because she’s my mother I will let her offend you in any way”

Your smile widened. You couldn't possibly love that man more than you already did. You approached his body, throwing your arms around Bill's neck, having to stand on your tiptoes to reach only to kiss his chin. He lowered his head, managing to bring his lips together.

“Help your brothers set the table, I'll go take a bath”

"Don't you prefer i help you instead?" You laughed

"I can do it by myself, thanks”

"Hmm ... you sure?”

"William ...”

"Okay, okay, okay," he urged you leaving a couple of kisses on the corner of your lips. "Don't be gone too long. i’ll miss you, love."

“I will not. Wait for me just here, yeah?”

You went upstairs to the room you shared with Bill and jumped into the shower enjoying the warmth of the water above your head. You leaned against the tiles thinking that your first day in the burrow had turned out very bad, but better than you had thought. Even if Molly didn't believe your words, you would do your best to fullfil the expectations of the others members of the Order. You would be loyal to them, to the Aurors, and you would fight whoever you had to to prove that your actions were worth more than the rumors surrounding the Grants did.

You were going to prove how wrong they were with you and, incidentally, you would forge a reputation of your own, one of which you would proud of

Tag:

@purple-vodka-99​

[red-jaebyrd]

Desolation

Whumptober #19 Mourning a Loved One

“What’s this shit about you not wanting to be Robin anymore?”

“Dude,” Tim scolded. “That’s not how we discussed we were going to do this.”

Hearing Todd say it out loud just made the decision to quit more real. It had been building for a while, the need to step away from Robin, from his family, from this life of fighting crime. By now, Damian was quite numb and detached from the concept of Robin. In all honesty he never felt it was willingly given to him. He stole it from Drake and manipulated Grayson into giving it to him claiming it as his birthright as ‘the blood son’.

Jason glared. “There’s no time for bullshitting. The kid’s obviously making a run for it.”

“What’s it to you, Todd?” Damian spat, haphazardly shoving clothes into a duffle. “Grayson only gave it to me because I made him. I no longer have use for it. Drake can have it back.”

Tim scoffed. “Who says I want it back?”

“Robin was never really ours either, D.” Jason cut in. “I took it from Dick, he didn’t give it to me and Tim weaseled his way into the role to replace me.”

“Hey!”

“Well you did with the whole, ‘Batman needs a Robin’ spiel.”

“He doesn’t need me, not anymore.” Damian said, grabbing an armful of socks from a drawer. “I don’t think he ever needed me. I was never the light to the darkness that he needed.”

Damian piled the socks into the bag and crossed the room to his closet to grab shirts, yanking them unceremoniously off their hangers chucking them into the bag.

“Dick wouldn’t want you to give up the mantle.” Tim said, picking up a stray shirt off the floor. “He made you Robin. It was his legacy to give that to you.”

Damian’s heart clenched. Why did they have to bring up Grayson? He didn’t want to talk about Richard, or Robin. He just wanted to be left alone to pack his stuff, so he could get out of his Father’s house.

“Yeah, well Grayson isn’t here anymore, is he?” Damian bristled, yanking a shirt out of Tim’s grip and dumping it into the bag. “No, he’s someone else now, and he cannot be bothered to care about me, Robin, or this family!”

“He may not be here, but we are.” Jason reasoned, taking the remaining clothes from Damian and setting them on the bed. “Talk to us, Lil’ D.”

Damian gritted his teeth at hearing the nickname Grayson had insisted upon calling him. At first it had grated on Damian’s nerves as he mistook the moniker as a lack of respect instead of embracing it as affection. Grayson had said Damian could call him ‘Big’D’ if he wanted, but Damian had thought the name was absurd and had never got around to doing it. ‘Lil’ D’ had been given to him by Grayson and no one else. Hearing Todd say the name just reminded him that Grayson wasn’t here anymore.

“Don’t call me – you don’t get to call me that!

“Please Damian, you can talk to us.” Tim said calmly, raising his hands in a placating manner.

“Can I, because it sure did not feel that way back at the memorial service. All of you still blame me for what happened to Alfred.” Damian blurted, tears starting to sting his eyes. “I can see it in your faces every time you look at me. You don’t think I blame myself for what happened to him? You don’t think I wish I could have done something to prevent his death? I do, but I can’t and now you want to hear the truth. Now you want me to talk? Well fuck you!”

Silence fell between them. Damian pushed down the lump in his throat and turned his back on them to finish packing his stuff. He didn’t want to talk about it, what good would it do? There was no changing what had happened to Alfred or Damian’s involvement in his death. Talking about it wouldn’t bring Alfred back. Truthfully, all Damian wanted to do right now was punch something or someone, and Todd and Drake were getting dangerously close to getting a fist to the face. There was nothing to talk about with them. They wouldn’t understand. It was too late.

“Damian,” Jason said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Damian shrugged the hand off his shoulder, turned and swung a punch at Todd that didn’t connect, but was instead lazily blocked. The blocked strike only spurred Damian further and he swung again in frustration, this time a left cross, but Todd blocked it too.

The anger in him was bubbling up to the surface and tears spilled down his face with each missed punch. It was like Todd was taunting Damian to hit him, or maybe he saw what he wanted to see. Todd didn’t say a word; instead he kept his focus on Damian. Palms up and flat inviting the punches to come.

“Alfred lied to me!” Damian punched again and wasn’t stopping. “He was still in the house!”

Todd continued to block the hits. It felt like such a betrayal to Alfred to finally say such a thing out loud, but Damian couldn’t keep the grief and anger in any longer. It was eating away at him.

Each punch Damian attempted to connect was meant with either a counter block by Todd or a push. The overexertion began to make Damian’s punches sloppier further fueling his temper. Todd kept his arms up, body loose and face neutral. He kept his eyes on Damian, which continued to unnerve him. Todd was just taking the hits without a word.

Damian aimed another hit at Todd, but Jason moved before it connected. “He told Father he was safe, so Father had me reenter Gotham. But it was a lie. And then I got him killed.”  

He charged at Todd one more time taking the chance at a punch to the abdomen, but Todd instead wrapped his arms around Damian pinning his arms to his side. Damian struggled against the contact still trying to get his punches to connect. His chest heaved and more tears streamed down his face. Strong arms repositioned around Damian’s shoulders and he slowly started to process that Todd was hugging him and rubbing his back.

Damian allowed himself to give into the hug and fully gave into the tears. He hated crying, especially in front of Todd and Drake, but he couldn’t rein them in any longer. The dam broke and before Damian knew it, he was sobbing. Todd continued to hold him rubbing small circles on his back. The hug was stiff and awkward, but he could hear Todd telling him it was okay and to let it out. The hug was nothing like a Grayson hug, which was all warmth and arms encompassing every part of him. Todd held him so gently it was almost like he wasn’t hugging Damian at all. Still, Damian found comfort in the closeness.

“Why would he do that? Why would he lie to me?” Damian hiccupped into Todd’s chest. He knew he sounded like a petulant child. He knew an explanation for Alfred’s actions likely didn’t exist. He just couldn’t wrap his brain around the simple fact that Alfred had betrayed his trust.

Todd and Drake said nothing. Todd continued to rub gentle circles on his back, so Damian continued.

“And now everyone hates me, for something I had no say in,” he sniffed.  “I was following orders, Father’s orders, and those orders got Alfred killed. And the one person who would have believed me without question refuses to acknowledge my existence. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” both Jason and Tim replied.

Damian broke away from the embrace and just stared at both of them shaking his head. He wrapped his arms around himself protectively.

“I should have seen right through the lie, but I didn’t,” Damian said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I should have known it was too easy. I was so blind to think that Father had this all under control.”

“Stop, you couldn’t have foreseen any of this, Damian.” Tim interjected. “We all trusted Alfred, but he had his own plans. In his mind I think he thought that what he was doing was for a greater good. None of this is your fault.”

“But it is my fault. I was the one –“

“No, Tim’s right.” Jason interrupted. “This wasn’t your fault. We can’t answer for Alfred, or explain why he did what he did. We can’t fix what has already been done, but we can fix us. We’re…we’re your brothers, whether you wish to claim us or not. We’re in this together and we’ll get through this together.”

“There’s more…” Damian hesitated not sure if what he was about to say would be well received, but he was done keeping things to himself.

“The truth is I do not feel as if I can be Robin anymore,” Damian confessed, moving toward the duffle putting stray socks in the bag. It was easier to say what he had to say if his back was to them. “I have made so many mistakes, long before Richard’s shooting and Alfred’s death. I tried to do what Father would never do when it came to fixing crime and it backfired. I drove away my team and now I feel like I have driven away the only family I have ever had.”

“You didn’t drive us away,” Tim insisted, sitting on the bed to face Damian. “We pulled away from you and that was wrong. I’m sorry, Damian.”

“I’m sorry too,” Jason added, putting his hand on Damian’s shoulder.

Damian nodded.  “I still do not wish to be Robin.”

“Alright, but make sure you’re stepping away from it for the right reasons and not because you think you are the problem.” Jason advised. “We all made mistakes wearing the ‘R’. We learned from these mistakes and moved on. You earned the mantle. Regardless of the how and why, Dick gave it to you.”

“Maybe stepping away from it for now is the best thing,” Tim added. “And if in a few weeks or months you still don’t want it back, we’ll help you pick a new identity that fits you, okay?”

“Those are all agreeable terms, Drake. Thank you.”

Jason wrapped his arms around Damian. The hug this time felt a little more natural and a little less awkward.

“Look kid, I know I’m not Dick, and I know things are tough and all right now…Man, I suck at this.”

“Shut up, Todd, you’re doing fine.”

“Like I said before, kid, we’ll get through this together.”

[solarcelest]

Of Christmas Past and Present

or read on Ao3

It was always freezing on Christmas Eve. It was Gotham, so naturally the temperatures were lower no matter the time of year but Christmas always seemed to come with a sort of bone numbing cold that couldn't be shaken with layers of blankets and expensive heating systems. Dick Grayson knows this, many winters in the city have taught him so, but this was Damian’s first Gotham winter and the boy seemed to be learning the city’s harsh ways as he shivered on the couch.

The power had gone out nearly an hour before and there seemed to be an issue with the generator, which Dick had just tried -and failed- to fix, they would have to call a specialist in the morning (Dick never was very good with handy-man work and knew next to nothing about the electrical heating the tower used to conserve energy). For the time being, he and Damian were both in their warmest pair of pajamas, the air in the penthouse quickly going cold without the heater.

Dick was sifting through the closet once again looking for more blankets, anything that could stop the kids incessant shivering. At first he had thought Damian was exaggerating, trying to be annoying about the outage and insisting that “ -you really should have been more prepared Grayson- “ but Damian hadn’t said a word. Just sat in the dark in his little cocoon, teeth chattering.

Then Dick thought, yeah, ‘course the brat would complain about the outage but Damian would never complain about being cold. He practically had to drag the kid from patrol kicking and screaming when he had come down with that fever last month. No wait- he had needed to do that.

Pfft, like hell Damian would say a peep about being cold.

Dick sighed, he was trying to convince himself that they were making some sort of progress, even if it was one step back and two steps forward it was progress. Alfred reminded him of that.

( He found himself guilty of wishing the man’s vacation away. The butler deserved to spend the holiday in England with his family, no matter how out of his depths Dick was. )

“I found another blanket.” Dick said, shaking it out as he walked back to the living room. It was dark in there, and he should probably look for some candles or flashlights in addition to the fire so that they could actually see. Maybe in a minute, after he gave Damian the blanket…

In line with the boys usual behavior, Dick received no “thank you” for his hard work. Just a pair of shiny eyes following his movements as he draped the bl-

Wait.

Shiny eyes?

Dick backtracked, stooping down to get a better look at the boy. It was hard to see in the dimly lit room (lit by nothing other than the gas fireplace beside them) but, yup, there was definitely a sheen to those wide green eyes.

“Dames?” Dick asked, voice soft and as gentle as he could make it. “Are you okay?” He hoped the boy was okay, he hadn’t ever seen this side of Damian before. He had no idea how to handle a crying Damian, a crying ten year old, yes, but not Damian.

The boy's shoulders tensed with the question and he seemed to sit up that much straighter, blanket falling off his shoulders slightly with the movement. He sniffed, so quietly it was nearly imperceptible, before clearing his throat and responding.

“Tt. Of course, Grayson,” he said. The hardness of his tone was fake though, a facade to cover his true feelings. Or an attempt at a facade since even after the mere few months they had been together since Bruce’s death, Dick had a surprisingly easy time reading the boy. It honestly wasn’t that hard to spot the inaccuracies if you paid attention to Damian’s usual mannerisms.

For example; there hadn’t been a comment about “that inane nickname, Grayson”.

“Nuh-uh. What did we say about trust, huh? It works both ways. Tell me what’s been bugging you.” Dick said, settling on one knee in front of the boy.

Damian remained silent, no sound other than the cracking of the fire, tiny fingers fumbling with the blanket on his lap. Dick wondered how they didn’t break, those nimble fingers, when the boy punched the lights out of criminals three times his own size.

“Well,” Dick tried again, “there’s something bothering me .” Damian looked up, big eyes silently questioning the older man. “I’m upset that you’re upset and I can't fix that until you tell me what’s the matter.”

It was probably a low blow, blaming the boy line that but, if it worked…

“It’s Christmas Eve…” The boy started, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched in.

Dick furrowed his brows, “and?”

“And… and I’m not sure what that means?” Damian added, not very confident in his own words. Dick was even more confused, the boy didn’t know what Christmas was? He had thought that Talia would have at least informed the boy of the holiday, even if he was sure Santa hadn’t been visiting the leagues compound.

“What?” Dick asked.

“Everyone’s always speaking of how ‘magical’ Christmas is and- and I’m not even sure what they mean. I-“

Dick must have been doing a bad job of hiding his surprise at the boys admission because Damain stopped himself there. He was looking at Dick apprehensively, muscles tense like he was preparing to up and run. His eyes still twinkled in the dark.

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” He asked.

“W-what? No?” Dick said. “You don’t know what Christmas is?”

“Well… I know the basics.” Damian hurried to add. Dick nodded, narrowing his eyes, that couldn’t be all, definitely wasn’t the reason the kid was almost crying. Damian’s emotional barriers were too thick to be torn down by a small moment of ignorance .

“Is that the only thing on your mind?” Dick asked. He almost wished that he hadn’t, for in the next moment the boy’s walls really did crumble, his face pinching up in that way any child’s does before a meltdown. Dicks heart hurt for the kid as he tried to think of what to do, he had never seen Damian cry before.

“ Why?” The boy cried, voice thick with his tears.

“Why what, Dames?” Dick asked. He noticed the dark circles under the kids eyes then, how the boys reaction was most definitely a result of emotional build up and lack of sleep.

Damian shook his head, refusing to say more and, really, Dick should be surprised that he even got as much as he did.

He could fill in the rest himself anyway. Why was Damian born the way he was, to who he was? Why was Talia so cruel? Why did Bruce not know? Why did Bruce have to die?

Why was life so unfair?

Dick thought about an alternate universe almost everyday. The ‘what-ifs’. What Damian would be like if Bruce had known and the boy had grown up in Gotham, if Bruce would have gotten his shit together and actually raised the boy the appropriate way. Really though, Dick assumed anything was better than Talia. Bruce had had his moments but he had been pretty great to Dick.

Life was unfair. It wasn’t right that Damian had these demons to live with, how the ten year old had more scars than some war vets and enough ptsd to last him a lifetime.

It was unfair that Bruce had died, that Dick had no idea what he was doing, that Damian didn’t know what Christmas was.

Suddenly, the power outage didn’t seem so bothersome.

“Hey, hey,” Dick said. He moved quickly, wedging himself next to the boy on the couch and tugging Damian’s small weight onto his lap. Instead of lashing out at him, Damian melted into the touch, tensing first at its unfamiliarity before sighing with relief. Dick felt bad , the boy had probably been starved of comfort.

“I’m so sorry Dami, for everything.”

At Dicks words, Damian stiffened again, seemingly realizing what he was doing.

He sniffed, “I- I- I shouldn’t-.” But Dick didn’t let him finish, instead, he cupped the back of the kids neck and pulled him close again.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay to cry, Dami, I promise .” Dick rocked the boy gently, rubbing his back. Since when had Dick been good with kids?

Five minutes of rocking more and the boys sobs has tapered off to occasional sniffs. Too embarrassed to make eye contact, Damain kept his face firmly buried into the older man’s shoulder.

“Did you charge your tablet?” Dick suddenly asked into the dark. Damian nodded into his neck. Dick smiled, getting up with the boy still against him and snagged said tablet off of the kitchen counter.

“There’s this really funny movie I always watch around Christmas, I think you might like it,” Dick said.

“Is it fictional?” Damian mumbled.

“Some parts of it,” Dick said. He brought the two to back to the couch, settling underneath the blankets for more warmth, the fire gave off some heat but it was still cold without the heater. “It’s called Elf , it’s one of my favorites.”

Damian unburied himself once they were settled, his face was red and snotty and Dicks shirt was damp but neither mentioned it.

Dick clicked the tablet to life, queuing up the movie. Dick waited and, just as he had hoped, as soon as Papa Elf came on screen Damian snickered. Then, by some amazing Christmas miracle, and because the cruel world did have its little mercies, the generator clicked on. The Christmas lights Dick had coaxed Alfred and Damian into hanging relit and and the tree flared to life. The fire roared beyond their feet and and the heat flicked on above them. Damian was snuggled against him, overtired but warm and safe and there.

Dick smiled, pulling the small boy that much closer. “This,” he said,” this is Christmas, Dami.”

And Dames looked back up to him with every intent of insulting whatever asinine movie Elf was and said: “Merry Christmas, Grayson.”

It may always be freezing on Christmas Eve, but Damian’s found that his brother’s body heat was an acceptable fix.

[the-sweetest-dragon]

Puppy Love

Pairing: Platonic!Jason x Barbara

Word Count: 2383 (This was seven pages... oops)

Warnings: Mentions of death and anger

Summary:  Jason feels that he isn’t welcome in the Batfamily after coming back from the dead and Barbara is on a mission to help him feel better about his place in this family.

AN: I rewrote this I don’t know how many times and I’m still not 100 percent in love with it, but I’m tired of it controlling me so here it is.

Tags: @incorrectbatfamiliaquotes @audder17 (Both of you really helped with this story and it wouldn’t exist without you.  Thank you )

_____________________________________________________

Standing in the giant ballroom of Wayne manor, Jason contemplates why he’s here.  Charity was always a big part of his life when he lived with Bruce before dying, and Jason always enjoyed helping people.  But now, Jason isn’t sure of where he fits into the family or why he’s even here to begin with.  

The large Wayne family mills around, waiting for Alfred to appear and give them their partners for today.  Alfred, always in charge of giving them their assignments, was uncharacteristically late.  Jason looks around the room, trying to find someone that would actually talk to him.  He spots Dick, deep in conversation with the demon child and knows that he probably shouldn’t go over to talk to them.  Cassandra is standing in the corner, waiting silently.  Jason starts to walk over to her when the doors to the ballroom swing open, announcing everyone to Alfred’s presence.  He carries a tray of coffee in one hand, and several envelopes in the other.  Alfred sets the tray down on the table and clears his throat before speaking.   

“Alright, here are your assignments for the day,” says Alfred as he passes out the envelopes, which contain their partners name and assignments.  “There will be no trading and no complaining.  Master Bruce has specifically given you each new partners.”  A collective groan is heard throughout the group.  “Yes, I am aware that your lives all suck.  Now, get on with it.”

Barbara watches Jason from across the room, waiting in silent excitement as he opens his envelope.  She had asked Bruce at the beginning of the week if she could be paired with Jason for a change, and she hopes that Bruce listened to her.  Jason has been home for several months now, at least officially.  He had reappeared two years ago and had spent a lot of time hating them, which had almost been harder to endure than him being dead.  Knowing that someone you care about is alive but hates your guts?  One of the worst things you could ever imagine.  Babs knows that Jason belongs here with them, but convincing him that he’s worth their concern is a whole different problem.  

Jason opens the envelope, and Babs feels a burst of happiness.  He blinks a few times before looking towards where she is perched in the large window.  Jason shoots her a tight lipped smile and starts to walk over to where she is.  Barbara knows that Jason isn’t comfortable in the manor, and she couldn’t blame him.  The family had grown a lot in the last few years, and the noise took a lot of time to get used to.  Babs still wasn’t used to the number of people running around the house, which was growing every year.  The number of kids running around the house brought light and life back into the dark halls.  

“Hey Jay,” Babs says as Jason settles down beside her.  The old nickname burns through Jason, like someone made him eat coal.  Uncomfortable with her knowing stare on his face, he looks out the window.  It was a beautiful fall day, the leaves had just started changing color.  Autumn had once been Jason’s favorite season, but the excitement wasn’t there anymore.  

“Hi Barbie.”  Jason turns towards Babs, a forced smile settling on his face.  “I’ll go grab us some coffees.  Still take two sugars?”

“You know me too well Jaybird.”  She smiles and Jason feels his heart clench uncomfortably in his chest.  Babs squeezes his hand and stands from her place in the window, stretching as she does so.  Jason sees the scars from years of vigilante work in that strip of skin that shows as she stretches.  The bullet wound that had left her paralyzed for years, silver and healed over completely.  Jason remembers crying that night, hoping that she wasn’t dead and praying for hours.  Coming back to see her walking had been a shock to his system.  “I’m going to go grab my coat, and then we can go, okay?”

Jason just nods and heads toward the table holding the coffees.  The ballroom had slowly thinned out in the past few minutes.  Tim is helping a very pregnant Stephanie into her coat and Jason can hear Dick laughing somewhere with Duke.  A lot of things had changed while Jason had stewed in his anger, but the happiness that charity work brought to these people had not.  Jason allowed himself to relax slightly, enjoying the peace that comes from silence.  He grabs two coffee cups from the try, making sure to put exactly two lumps of sugar into both cups, before heading out to Barbara’s car.  She’s standing by the drivers side door, gently swinging her keys around one finger.  He hands her a coffee and watches her smile as she drinks.  

“Thanks Jay.”  Jason just nods and gets into the car.

The drive was mostly silent, filled occasionally with Barbara singing softly along with the radio.  She desperately wants to talk to him, wants to reassure him of his place in this family, but she can’t seem to get the words out.  Every time she tries, she notices he’s looking out the window at the trees or straight ahead at the road in front of him.  She gathers her courage and begins.   

“Jason.”  She takes a deep breath and Jason begins to worry.  Babs hadn’t used his real name since he had officially came home.  It was always a nickname of some sorts, reminding him that his past would always be filled with warmth.  The worry settles in his stomach like a brick.  “Jason, I know coming back must have been hard for you.  We all knew that things would be different, but…”  Babs trails off for a second, gathering her thoughts.  “I miss you.  I miss the Jason that would do cartwheels in the cave out of pure excitement.  I miss the jokes and the smiles.  You were this light in my life, in all of our lives.  When the Joker-” Barbara stops for a minute, biting her lip to keep her from crying.  “When the Joker killed you, my heart broke.  Bruce may have lost a son that day, but Dick and I lost a brother.  And I was so angry, at Bruce, at the world, for taking you from us.”

Shock travels through Jason’s body, making him shake.  He had always just assumed that Barbara and Dick had been fine after he died.  They had never been close, but Jason had always looked up to them.  They were his role models.  As her words sink into his brain, he realizes how blind he really is.  They had been hurt just as much as he had.  He had been so filled with rage and resentment, that he hadn’t taken the time to think about how him dying had affected his family.  That’s what he has now, a family that cares about him.  

“We wanted the Joker to pay, but Bruce wouldn’t let us.  Him not going after the Joker is what finally broke me.  I left and refused to talk to Bruce.  I could understand why he didn’t go after when after what he did to me, but you?  The Joker deserves to rot in the ground for what he did to you.”  Barbara takes another deep breath and parks the car at the adoption event.  “You can’t imagine the happiness I felt when I heard you were back.  I knew you wouldn’t be the same.  Whatever had brought you back would have a cost but I was willing to pay it to see your face again.  Knowing you were alive was the only thing I cared about.  And now you’re home with us and I’m so happy to have you back.  You’re different, but you’re still you Jaybird.  I wouldn’t trade you for anything.  You deserve to be a part of this family, whether you think so or not.”

Babs looks up to see tears forming in Jason’s eyes.  She’s slightly shocked that her words had such an effect on him; Jason rarely cried, even when he was younger.  He was always stoic and hard, especially after coming back from his own personal hell. She missed his laugh and smile; it felt like it had been decades without it lighting up a room.  But he was smiling now, smiling through his tears.  Babs smiles back at him, knowing that it’s just what he needs. 

Collecting himself, Jason finally gets out of the car, making sure to also open Barbara’s door too.  Once she’s out of the car, he gathers her small body in his arms, hugging her tightly.  Though shocked, Babs makes sure to hug him back just as fiercely.  He had grown so much in the last few years, making it hard to wrap her arms around him.

“Thank you Barbie,” he whispers into her hair.  Babs can’t help but smile as she lets him go.  She pats his chest and grabs her bag out of the car.

“Anything for you Jay.”

Hours pass at the adoption event.  Jason is in charge of the puppies finding good homes; all of the dogs there were ones that had been abandoned for some reason or another.  Barbara helps families with the adoption papers and getting the necessary free supplies from the humane society.  Jason had always been more of a dog person, so he stays closer to the dogs.  For whatever reason, cats always sensed something amiss with Jason and it makes him uncomfortable.  He knows that the Lazarus pit that had brought him back changed a lot of things about him, but cats seemed to sense that something was wrong with him.  Jason hates thinking about it and tries to not worry too much about it.

“Hey Jaybird!  Can you check on the pit bull puppy?” Jason hears Babs yell from her spot at the adoption booth.  Jason feels himself smile slightly.  After their little talk, Jason feels this weight lifted off his shoulders slightly.  Knowing that at least one person cares about him is something he never knew he needed.  

“Where’s it at?” he yells back.  Babs smiles and gestures to his right.  Jason turns and sees the smallest pit bull puppy he’s ever laid eyes on.  The poor thing couldn’t have been more than a few months old, almost too young to be away from its mother.  A small tag outside the pen states that her name is Joan and she’s seven weeks old.  A worker at the humane society had found her two weeks ago in the streets of Gotham, dirty and starving.  

Joan is sitting calmly in her pen, watching Jason with silvery blue eyes.  He reaches a hand through the squares of the pen, letting her sniff his hand.  Jason is shocked when Joan nuzzles his hand slightly, but is quick to smile at her.  Jason looks around to see if anyone is watching before climbing into the pen.  He’s not allowed to directly interact with the dogs, but he feels that Joan is calling out to him.  She’s instantly playful, wanting him to throw a ball she’s been chewing on and Jason complies, letting her wear herself out.  Pitts are playful dogs and love attention, so that’s exactly what Jason gives her.  

Babs would never admit it, but she had picked this event specifically for Jason.  She had hoped he would find a special animal to take home with him and once she spotted Joan, Babs knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist.  Jason had always had a soft spot for dogs, something that hadn’t changed in the years he had been back.  

Joan soon tires herself out and curls up on Jason’s lap, surprising him for a moment.  Jason smiles and holds the small puppy close, knowing that he’s falling in love with small Joan.  He closes his eyes, feeling completely relaxed for the first time in years.  Her soft breathing lets him know that she’s fallen asleep in his arms.  The thought of this poor dog is comfortable enough to fall asleep on his chest after everything she had gone through, warmed his heart.  

Noticing that Jason was still in Joan’s pen, Babs smiles and pulls out her phone to take a photo.  She has been taking photos of her family and friends for forever, but she only has one of Jason.  It’s always hard to get Jason to sit still long enough for a picture, so she was lucky to have even one.  The photo was of his first Christmas with Bruce and his face was lit up with joy.  It was Barbara’s favorite picture and she cherished it with her whole heart. 

Babs snaps the photo quickly, admiring the way the sunlight glints off of Jason’s jet black hair.  The small puppy is barely visible in Jason’s arms, but you can just make out the top of her head.  She smiles and makes a mental note to print that one out in the future.  Walking towards him, Barbara notices the way Jason sits with Joan, holding her delicately in his large arms.  

“Well, what do you think Jay?  Is she ready to go home with you?” she asks, though she already knows the answer.  Jason opens his eyes and smiles at her.  A real, vibrant, smile.  Babs’ heart soars; she had missed that smile.  She hands him the adoption papers, which he takes carefully, trying in vain to keep Joan asleep.  He signs his name at the bottom of the page and hands the papers back to her.  

“We are more than ready to go home, Barbie.”  Still smiling, Jason stands and steps out of the pen.  Babs scratches Joan behind the ears for a moment, smiling like a loon.  It hits him suddenly; she had planned for this to happen.  “This was your plan the entire time wasn’t it?”

Barbara just laughs and leaves the pair to stand in wonder at this woman who had focused so much time and energy into finding Jason someone to love again.  Jason meets Joan’s eyes and shakes his head.

“She’s crazy Joan.”  Joan just barks in response, and cuddles closer to Jason’s warm chest.  Jason now knows he will never be alone again, not with Joan or Babs in his life. 

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 6 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: This one took a while to write down since I had so many different ideas for it, but I hope you like what I came up with. Again, many thanks for your guys’ support, and please enjoy :)

From Avesta’s POV

CITY HALL - THE NEXT MORNING

Patiently waiting by as civilians gathered for the emergency address, Tiffany and I stood off to the side, making sure everything was in order while the guards got into position. Men, women, and children all flooded the plaza in front of City Hall, and the entrances had been blocked by both GCPD and Agency vehicles, as well as security gates.

So far, there was no sign of Joker or any of his men, and this “Lazarus” hadn’t shown up yet either. The janitor who was attacked by him was still in shock, and I doubted he’d be returning to work anytime soon, but otherwise, no one else seemed to be hurt. At least, not physically.

The optimistic side of me hoped that today would go by peacefully, and that we would get this speech done without any problems, but deep down...I knew a storm was coming. Whenever Gotham’s criminals saw an opportunity, they always seized it -- and this address was a huge opening. I just prayed that if something did happen, the Agency and GCPD would be enough to fight off these bastards. 

Battling with trained agents and police officers was one thing, but going after innocent civilians who were powerless to defend themselves...we couldn’t allow that to happen. These people deserved peace, and we were going to give it to them.

“...Hey,” I heard Tiffany say, breaking my trance-like state. She was peering at me with concern. “Are you okay, Iman? You look a bit...down.”

Gazing at the floor, I softly cleared my throat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” I lied. “I just...I just can’t help but feel sort of guilty for what happened to Bruce. Letting him die in such a horrible way.”

She raised a brow, confused. “What do you mean? Why would his death be your fault?”

My eyes travelled to my pistol, bringing me back to the day we found Bruce at Wayne Enterprises.

“When we rescued Bruce from Wayne Tower a few days ago,” I told her, “he was...he was broken. He had just watched all his colleagues die, and one of his closest friends betrayed him. It certainly didn’t help matters when I informed him about his Lotus infection. All of this happening at once...it must’ve made Bruce desperate. He wanted a way out. He...” I trailed off, hesitant to continue. Tiffany put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it in a comforting way.

“...Go on,” she urged. “It’s okay. You should talk about it now, rather than lashing out later.”

I took a deep breath, deciding not to hold back anymore.

“...He asked me to shoot him.”

Tiffany’s eyes sprung open. “What? Oh...I-I’m sorry. I assume you didn’t do it?”

“...No,” I confirmed. “I thought it was for the best. I thought that...I don’t know, I thought maybe there would be a chance we could save him. But I should’ve known better. There is no ‘rescuing’ when it comes to Lotus, is there? The virus kills its victims, no matter what. In the end, the Agency only made Bruce’s suffering worse, and he died as a lab rat. None of that would’ve happened to him if it weren’t for me. I may not be guilty for his death, but I am guilty for the fact that he lived long enough to ask for it.”

Tiffany was silent for a moment, a bit surprised at the confession.

“...You can’t blame yourself for Bruce’s suffering, Iman. You didn’t lock him in a lab and cut him up with a scalpel. The doctors did that. Whatever pain he experienced before his death is their fault. Not yours. You just did what you thought was right. No one can blame you for that. And besides, I have my own part to play in Bruce’s struggles.”

I was taken aback. “What are you talking about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Tiffany reached into her jacket and pulled out a golden pocket-watch, gripping it tight.

“...this used to belong to Alfred,” she explained, flipping the lid open. “Before he left, he asked me to pass it onto Bruce as a goodbye gift...but I never got the chance. I tried to give it to him when he was being held in the cell, but the doctors refused to let me in. Instead, Bruce probably died believing Alfred no longer cared for him, and it’s all because of me.”

I frowned, bringing my attention back to the crowd of civilians. “I suppose everyone failed Bruce in some way, didn’t we? Otherwise, he wouldn’t be where he is now. But all we can do is atone for it. We have to keep Gotham safe from Lotus and the Joker. We can’t let Bruce die in vain.”

Tiffany nodded in agreement, slipping the watch back into her pocket. “I hear that.”

“Agent Avesta!” Waller’s voice suddenly called out from a distance, bellowing over everyone else’s like a megaphone. I turned towards the source, only to see the woman herself beckoning me.

“I also hear the Director trying to get your attention.” Tiffany added.

“Noted,” I replied. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna see what she wants.”

“That would be wise.”

Taking my leave, I casually walked over to Waller and tried my best to look professional in hopes of hiding my true feelings. I was already on thin ice with the director ever since our discussion in the morgue, and I didn’t want to anger her further.

“Ma’am,” I greeted. “Is everything all right?”

The way she glowered at me said “no.” 

Waller crossed her arms in a strict fashion and circled around me for a bit, pushing her glasses up her nose. 

“...Where’s Bruce’s body, Avesta?” She asked. It was more of a demand than a question.

I paused, thrown off-guard by the assumption. What was she talking about?

“...I’m...I’m afraid I don’t follow.” I answered.

The director was unconvinced. “Oh, please, agent. Do you seriously expect me to believe that a corpse rose from the dead, nearly killed one of our employees, and broke free without any of our people catching him? Gotham’s a bizarre place, I’ll give you that, but it ain’t that bizarre. The only logical explanation here is that someone stole Bruce’s body -- and I don’t wanna point fingers -- but you did express your disapproval about keeping him here just a few days ago, did you not?”

I put a hand over my chest, slightly offended at the accusation. “You think I took his body?”

“If not you, then who else?”

“I-I don’t know...did the janitor mention seeing anyone?”

Waller shook her head. “No. Even now, Jacob swears up and down that Bruce just crawled out of his cold chamber and attacked him, but I don’t buy a word of it. It’s far more plausible that someone would sneak in and remove Bruce’s body from the lab. For what purpose, I don’t know, but all I care about right now is finding the damn thing, and something tells me you’re a good place to start.”

I stumbled over my words, thinking of what to say. “Director, I assure you I had nothing to do with the disappearance of Bruce’s body. I know it seems unlikely, but...what if the janitor’s telling the truth? Maybe Bruce was never dead in the first place.”

“Our top doctors and scientists were working on him. They know a dead man when they see one.”

I persisted. “But what if the Lotus virus--”

“Enough,” Waller interrupted. “I don’t know what you’re hiding from me, Avesta, but I want that body back and intact. Do I make myself clear?”

Slouching my shoulders in defeat, I gave up for now, seeing as how it was obvious the director wouldn’t change her mind. I gave her a firm nod.

“...yes, ma’am.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Waller straightened her suit, walking off, “I have a city to address.”

Shoving past me, Waller made her way to the podium at the front of the grand stage as the crowd settled down, adjusting the numerous microphones so that everyone could hear her properly. By now, an army of civilians, journalists, policemen, and agents had flooded the plaza, and the constant light of camera flashes reflected off of the director’s glasses. I decided to lay low for the moment and took my place in the background, waiting for the speech to begin.

I didn’t know what that whole business about Bruce’s body was, but it made me uneasy that it was actually gone. At first, I thought that maybe the attacker was just someone who looked like Bruce, and the janitor may have mistaken him for the billionaire -- but with the vanishing of the corpse and Jacob’s claims about him coming back to life...it made me wonder. Did he really return from the dead? Was he even dead to begin with? Countless questions overwhelmed my head, and I didn’t know what to make of the situation, but I pushed them aside for now. At the moment, my only job was to keep these people safe, and I intended on doing just that.

From John’s POV

“Are the bombs in place?” I asked Willy through a rainbow-decorated walkie-talkie as Harley and I waited in the car. “The speech is almost starting.”

“We’re still planting the last few,” he replied. “We just have to take out the guards around the area.”

I groaned. “Well, hurry it up! Waller ain’t waiting forever! And neither is Batman...” falling silent for a second, I quickly changed the subject. “Whatever -- just get the job done! Waller needs to die, and we need to find that serum. Fast.”

“On it, Mr. Johnny!”

Harley rolled her eyes, resting her feet on the dash. “Mr. Johnny?’ Really, Pud?”

I set the walkie-talkie down and drove us to a closer observation point, making sure to stay out of sight.

“Let the man have his fun,” I defended Willy. “Things have been dry lately anyways.”

“Eh, true enough,” Harley winked at me, hugging her sledgehammer, “but today we’ll have loads of fun. Ain’t that right, sweetie?”

I winked back, giggling sinisterly. “You can be sure of that, babe. Heads are gonna roll.”

She leaned over and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “I like the way you think.”

I deviously rubbed my hands together, turning on a small TV installed in the car. “All right, let’s see how Waller’s speech is doing. After all, every show needs a good introduction. We’ll let the civilians get niiice and comfortable before blowing anything up. Make them think they’re safe and sound when all of a sudden...BAM! Now that’s gonna be a climax!”

Pressing the power button, the devil lady herself instantly appeared on-screen, barking utter nonsense as usual while the audience keenly listened. Everything appeared to be moving smoothly thus far, and none of the security guards seemed panicked. Good, good. That meant they weren’t aware of my presence. Things were going according to plan.

“--Citizens of Gotham,” Waller began, resting her hands on the podium, “I know these past few weeks have been extremely difficult -- and our lives have been full of nothing but death, chaos, and tragedy. But I assure you, that will all soon come to an end. The Agency has been working tirelessly to find a solid cure for the Lotus virus, and we are this close to succeeding. We’ve done our research, we’ve conducted tests, and I promise you, we are making progress. But that’s not all I came here to talk about.”

Waller straightened her posture, linking her arms behind her back.

“The Joker.”

I clapped happily and pointed at the screen, laughing out of joy. “That’s me, that’s me!”

“By now, I’m sure this is a name all of you are familiar with. He has threatened our safety, killed our loved ones, and shaken the very foundation on which this city was built upon.”

I frowned. “...that’s a bit harsh.”

“However, despite all these struggles,” the director continued, “I must ask you not to panic. Not only will that give the Joker more opportunities to attack us, it will also make us stronger against him. The Joker’s been getting sloppy lately, and both the GCPD and the Agency are closing in on him -- along with any of his associates. We will do everything within our power to ensure Joker is put behind bars, and that he stays there.”

Groups of people in the crowd could be seen nodding with approval and gathering inspiration from Waller’s speech, while others didn’t look so sure about the claims. Those people were the smart ones.

“And speaking of maniacs loose on the streets,” a disgusted look plastered itself on Waller’s face, “I am well aware of these rumors that have been circling around about a certain ‘Lazarus.’ Well, I can assure you, they are just that. Rumors. Neither the Agency nor the GCPD have encountered anyone who fits such a description, and this ‘Lazarus’ is certainly not Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne has officially been declared dead, and that will forever be his status, I’m afraid.”

Out of nowhere, an unknown male voice suddenly joined the scene, followed by the clicking of a gun.

“...are you so sure about that, director?”

From Waller’s POV

Freezing mid-action, I glanced over my shoulder to see just who the hell had interrupted my speech, only to come across the most peculiar looking man...along with a gun aimed at my head.

The man was wearing a suit that actually blended in rather well with the Agents’, and there was a black bandana tied around bottom half of his face. Despite the coverage though, I could still see patches of scarred skin surrounding his right eye, and the organ itself had been mildly blinded, making it a hazy-blue color. 

Even with all the marring however, it was impossible for me to not recognize the fierce gaze that practically bore into my skull. It was the same gaze that haunted me ever since the incident at Wayne Enterprises, and the same one that pierced through the lab’s window. Who was this man? Was that...was that who I thought it was?

Before I could ask myself anymore questions though, a few of the other agents cautiously approached the man in hopes of subduing him, only to be shot directly in the forehead with a series of sharp bangs as their blood sprayed onto the floor. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, an electronic blast violently erupted throughout the plaza, shutting down all the security gates as well as deactivating the Agents’ pistols, causing the audience to scream in fear once they realized they were trapped. I tried to order my remaining agents to put down the culprit, but was forced to stop when he pulled out a detonator, making sure everyone could see it.

“Anyone moves a single muscle,” he roared, “and I will blow this place to hell...where it belongs.”

Tiffany let out a shaky breath in the background, paralyzed in place as she watched the scene. I supposed I wasn’t the only one who recognized him. 

“...B-Bruce?” She whimpered, sounding heartbroken. “Is that y-you...?”

His attention flicked over to her, and a wicked twinkle of delight glinted in his gaze.

“Didn’t think you’d be so surprised to see me, Tiffany. Especially after Jacob gave you quite the warning. But that’s the Agency for you, isn’t it? Refusing to listen to what it doesn’t believe. Looks like you should’ve heeded my advice.” 

Bruce took a few steps in my direction, holding me in place with his gun. “Psh, look at you. Tending to the sheep, convincing them you’re their shepherd. Do these people realize you’re also the wolf preying on them at night? Picking from their herd, choosing whose wool to strip? Funny, how you don’t mention that. I bet Bruce Wayne would have a word or two to say about it.”

I grimaced at him, almost growling my next words. “...so you’re Lazarus.”

“A name given to me by your people,” Bruce replied. “Even now, the Agency continues to create me. Everything I do, everything I am -- it’s because of you, Waller, and I hope you understand that. Though, it does make me wonder...where do we go from here? How does this road come to an end? I mean, we all know its destination...don’t we?”

I waved a strict hand. “Enough, Lazarus. Surrender now, or my people will shoot you where you stand.”

Bruce obviously wasn’t shaken by the threat, and continued his little game.

“Be careful, Waller,” he warned. “Your courage makes you vulnerable...but so does your fear. How is it that polar opposites could give you the exact same result?” 

Bruce prowled towards me in a calm manner, still holding me at gunpoint. 

“That’s how the universe toys with us, you see. It tricks us into believing we can divert our paths, and it laughs at us when we try. After all, there’s no crueler method to torture a man than giving him the illusion of choice. But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Director? Why don’t you tell these people what you really did to Bruce Wayne? Tell them how he truly died.”

I could see the audience watching us with a newfound interest, but I refused to give in and kept my mouth shut. Bruce stormed to me, planting the gun’s barrel directly against my temple as he leaned uncomfortably close to my face.

“TELL THEM!” He hissed, his tone dripping with venom.

“I will not,” I said sternly. “You think you can just march onto the stage and order me around because you’ve got a gun? The Agency has dealt with people like you before, and it will continue to deal with people like you. You’re nothing special. Just another common criminal trying to become king when you’re only a rat in the gutter.

Bruce chuckled, almost sounding genuinely pleased.

“A common criminal, eh? Tell me, Director, how many common criminals do you know of...that can say they’ve killed the Batman?”

A unanimous gasp emitted from the crowd, and people immediately starting turning to each other, murmuring out of disbelief.

“--Batman’s dead?”

“--That’s impossible, you can’t kill Batman...”

“--Holy shit, what are we gonna do?”

My eyes widened at the claim, and I looked at Bruce with bewilderment. He actually went there. 

“What are you--”

“--Where else do you think Batman’s been these past few days?” He taunted, enjoying himself far too much. “Why else do you think that, whenever the GCPD fires up the Bat Signal, he never answers anymore? It’s because he’s dead, Waller, and you better get used to it.” Bruce held up the detonator, announcing his final words.

“I’m only giving you once chance, Director. This road will lead to death’s doorstep no matter what, but I’m giving you a choice on how to venture it. Take your Agency and leave Gotham for good. Otherwise...this city will belong to me by the end of the week, and today’s events will pale in comparison to the future.”

I gritted my teeth. “You can’t be serious!”

He chuckled. “Oh, but I am.”

Activating the detonator, colossal clouds of the Lotus virus suddenly burst into the air with a ground-shaking boom and spread like wildfire, painting the sky yellow as it infected all of City Hall. Drones soared through the sky and ejected paralytic bolts, shooting down people who were trying to escape as they pushed and shoved each other aside, desperately running for their lives.

“Gas masks ON!” I yelled at my agents. “Get these civilians to safety, NOW!”

Civilians immediately began scrambling all over the place, bolting blindly through the thick fog and falling to their knees as they suffocated on the virus, coughing to death within seconds. Only this time, they didn’t actually die. Instead, their bodies twitched and mutated into disgusting creatures, growths developing around their heads as the insanity took affect instantly, causing them to viciously attack others nearby. It was hell on Earth.

Parents were carrying their children away from the terror and wailing for help, pointlessly covering their kids’ mouths as they were forced to face the inevitable. People banged their hands on the walls of police cars as they evacuated the square, screaming at the drivers to let them in and climbing on top. Meanwhile, those who didn’t manage to escape were tackled to the ground by the mutated victims and ripped to shreds, screaming in agony during their final moments. 

It was like something out of a nightmare, and I was powerless to wake up.

I turned to Bruce with a look of terror amidst all the havoc, trembling inside out at the scene. 

“...What...what have you done?”

Pulling down his bandana, Lazarus revealed an inhumane, twisted smile that had been hiding underneath the fabric as it continued to stretch wider, fueled by the shrieks of panic that could be heard throughout the plaza. 

He sauntered off, vanishing within the mist like a phantom escaping daylight.

“Why, Director...I’m just finishing what you started.”

From John’s POV

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed at the screen. “Was that...was that Bruce?! What’s he doing here? I thought he was dead! You mean...he’s not?” I cackled excitedly, jumping out of delight.

“You say that like it’s good news.” Harley retorted.

I strapped on my gas mask and snatched a pistol, slamming the car’s door open. 

“It is! Hehe! It means the enemy of my dreams is back! Only, he’s doing it all wrong...! I’m supposed to be the villain. Not him! Wait here, hon. I’m gonna have a word with this ‘Lazarus.” I took out my walkie-talkie, giving orders to my men.

“Forget the bombs!” I said. “Looks like Lazarus took care of that for us. Just go after Waller, and bring her to me alive! I want to personally put a bullet in her brain. Got it?”

“Right away!”

Shutting the door behind me, I fought through the virus’ thick fog and gunned down agents and cops alike, shooting my way to Bruce who had grappled onto a rooftop, slithering away like a snake. Well, even if Batman was gone, he certainly hadn’t given up his old toys.

Using my own grappling gun, I latched onto the roof’s edge and hurled myself up, chasing after the man as I called out his name.

“Brucie!” I waved a hand, sprinting towards him. “Buddy! Where do you think you’re going?”

He halted in his tracks at the sound of my voice and steadily turned around to see who it was, but didn’t stay long enough to greet me. Instead, just before I could reach him, Bruce set off one of his damned smoke pellets and clouded my vision, leading me to lose sight of him. I coughed at the stench for a few moments, waving the puffs away as I tried to relocate Bruce, but to no avail.

Why was he being so evasive? Usually, the man was so eager when it came to pursuing me, but now, it felt like he was shutting me out. Was this because of what I did at Wayne Enterprises? Was he holding a grudge against me for killing Regina? It would make sense...but even then, Batman always confronted his problems face-to-face. It was so unlike him to just...run. 

But then again, he wasn’t Batman anymore, was he? The Agency had morphed and twisted Bruce into something far more dangerous than he could’ve ever imagined, and his insanity was only going to drive him closer towards the edge.

As much as I loved Bruce’s fire...this wasn’t how I wanted things to happen. I was supposed to be the villain of his dreams, and he was supposed to be the caped vigilante who saved the day. I was his light...outside of Arkham. Why was he trying to snuff me out? What did Waller do to him? What did I do to him?

Roaming towards the rooftop’s border, I viewed the beautiful aftermath of Lazarus’ attack below, revelling in the turmoil that now stained the air. Police sirens echoed with emptiness in the distance, survivors of the assault were sobbing uncontrollably, my men were wreaking havoc, and countless, deformed corpses littered the streets surrounding City Hall. It was mayhem like none I’d ever seen, and I absolutely loved it. 

I didn’t know what Bruce was like now, or who this ‘Lazarus’ was, but I couldn’t deny that I was hooked onto his new, malicious nature. Watching him parade on stage like that, injecting fear into those around him...it made my heart soar with excitement, and I found myself howling with laughter at the madness ensuing in the plaza below.

“You can run all you want, Lazarus,” I shouted to the sky as if he could hear me, “but we will meet again! I promise you that! The stitch...ain’t broken yet! HAHAHA!”

[litnerdhood]

PROMPT FROM @komadoriwonder (bc tumblr just went and deleted it [shakes fist @ tumblr]): 

Alfred is old, there is no denying it; except that everyone does. No one wants to think about losing the person who has held this family together, their foundation. So when Alfred falls ill and the rest of the family holds their collective breath, Jason hides out of fear, refusing to even imagine a life without Alfred... but he is soon left with no choice but to face reality. Jason enters the cold hospital reluctantly, his trembling hands shoved in his pockets, and prepares to say: "goodbye." 

WARNINGS FOR: talking about major character death, emotions and crying, BUT NO ON SCREEN DEATH. just hinting? yeah, that doesn’t really help. read with caution. 

ao3 link

Jason gets the message when he’s cooking lunch at home. His phone vibrates and he only hums as he reaches for it before reading the message. He blinks at it, knife slipping from his fingers, a heavy, suffocating fear settling on his chest. He swallows hard as the incoming panic floods him.

‘Alfred is in hospital. It doesn’t look good.’

He reads the message again and again but it stays the same. His mind goes blank within seconds. The only thing he is conscious of is how this can’t happen, of how little time he has spent with Alfred recently, of how unjust the whole thing is. He slumps down on the floor, leaning his back against the cabinets running a hand through his hair. The phone drops out of his limp hand. It can’t happen. That’s all there is to it. Alfred’s going to get better, because he can’t die. He just can’t. Jason has never thought about a life without Alfred. And every part of him rebels against the thought.

He can’t die, he can’t die, he can’t die.

Repeating the mantra doesn’t make it true. He tugs at his hair, concentrating on the pain instead of Alfred and the hospital, but the next moment his breath catches, heartbeat pounding in his ears. His whole body shaking, cheeks wet from the tears, Jason falls apart.

If Alfred was here…

It only makes him cry harder, thinking of Alfred’s grounding presence standing there, giving him the space to face the panic and fight it. Thinking of Alfred’s strong arms around him when it ends, reassuring him that he’s going to be okay. The strength in Alfred’s arms always surprised Jason, always made him think he would always be there for him, his firm foundation through the storms of life.

But Alfred isn’t here. So he cries.

He wakes up with a piercing headache, his face wet from crying in his sleep, crying from nightmares and dreams of better more comforting times. But Jason fortunately doesn’t remember his dreams. He is living in the nightmares.

He wipes the tears off his face, gathering the strength to grab his phone and see if he has any more messages.

His body moves sluggishly, his back stiff from sleeping against the hard wooden cabinets. The breakdown yesterday doesn't help and he's exhausted, but he swallows down his fears and looks at his phone once again.

There is another message from Dick asking when is he going to visit, but Jason doesn't answer. Thinking of Alfred dying would only end in more tears and Jason is tired to his bones. He should visit Alfred. He should visit him and talk with him and try to make the white washed walls and sterilised atmosphere and drawn-out, dull hours of the hospital more tolerable for him. But even thinking about it, thinking about the chance that Alfred won't come back from this illness, fills him with a nauseating sickness, makes his stomach turn with it.

He isn't going to say goodbye because Alfred is going to come through this. The doctors are wrong. Just last week, Alfred was strong and healthy, he didn't see any sign of sickness when he had shared a cup of tea with him and watched the amused smile and raised eyebrows spread across his weathered face…  so why was it happening now?

He finally feels like he is part of the family again. Bruce and he are talking, listening to each other, and it doesn’t grate on his nerves like it did for months after his resurrection.

So why does it seem like everything he worked so hard to build up, to repair, is crumbling down again?

Jason doesn’t give himself time to mull over these thoughts. He has already wasted too much time dwelling in this pain. He packs a duffel bag quickly so he can leave this apartment for a safe house the family doesn't know about. He won't have any of them breathing down his neck when he can barely think straight.

Jason hides.

The following days are filled with the constant vibrating of his phone against the kitchen table, the terror rising as it starts and falling when it stops. It could only be bad news, and he doesn’t have the strength to face it. He doesn't have the strength to face the verbal beat down he would surely get from the others and Bruce too. But, God, Bruce has every reason to be more disappointed in him than usual.

But still, Jason swallows his guilt like he always done, and hides. It's a grey, rainy Monday when he gets another message from Dick. He reads the message in numb silence as rain patters in a melancholy rhythm against the window panes.  

‘he's not getting better, jason please’

It's crystal clear what Dick is asking of him.

He showers quickly and out of the door before he can convince himself to turn around and hide in his room, wallowing in his miserable ideas of what his life be without Alfred.

Arriving at the hospital, he exhales shakily and with trembling hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie, he finds himself standing in front of the hospital room. He opens the door as quietly as he can and steps in.

Closing the door, he stops and looks over Alfred. He lies there with closed eyes, skin pale, but if he is in pain, it does not show on his face. The IV line beside him seems to be the more likely explanation, and quickly dashes any hope in a miraculous recovery that Jason had been hoping for.

Jason sits down on the chair closer to the bed. He swallows hard, his throat dry, heart clenching at the sight of Alfred. Biting his lips, he fidgets, pleading with his muscles to relax as he keeps his distance, shoulders hunched forward, hands balled up in fists to reduce the trembling. It doesn’t help.

His eyes stay on the window, away from Alfred. A hand placed gently on his knee jerks him out of his own thoughts.

“Hey, Alfie,” he manages, smiling weakly as his eyes meet Alfred's.

“Master Jason, I'm happy to see you here.”

And Alfred is the best, isn't he? Jason easily hears the warmth in Alfred's voice instead of the disappointment and disapproval he deserves for avoiding him. He should have learned for now that Alfred's patience for him will never run out.

“Sorry for avoiding visiting you,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, the guilt overpowering him. “I know I should've come sooner I'm just…”  

Not strong enough to see you on your last days.

It's not fair how easily Alfred makes all his walls crumble, but the warm hand on his knee helps him to stay in control of his emotions. He's so tired of crying, Jason doesn't want Alfred to see him like that. Alfred has had to deal with his tears for so long, when he was young, when he was readjusting to a life he wasn’t meant to have… when Jason was in Gotham, there were weeks when Alfred wouldn’t let him go without any contact for even one day.

“Stop,” Alfred says gently. “You're overthinking it.”

“Story of my life.” Jason closes his eyes at his own bitter words before he shakes his head. “Sorry, I'm behaving like a child.”

“Don't apologise, I'm pleased to talk to you face to face. I wasn't present at our last meeting.”

“Can't really blame you for that, can I?” Jason's eyes glisten with tears but he takes a deep breath, holds back his tears. “Your life is much more important than our meeting. I could have come here before but I didn't.”

“Hush, you're here now.”

Alfred doesn't detest him for avoiding it and while he'd known Alfred is much better person than most of them, he feels as if this makes it harder. As if it would be easier for Alfred to just hate him.

The worst part of it is knowing that Alfred could never hate him.

“Geez, Alfred, are you–,” Jason starts but he cuts himself off. “Dick says, you aren't gonna  get better.”

“Yes,” Alfred's answer comes. Short and calm, as if his dying doesn't upset him, like he has already accepted that he doesn’t have much time.

“You've only got a few days.”

“Yes.”

Jason looks at Alfred, and all of his fears escape his mouth without permission.

“I don't wanna lose you,” Jason's voice breaks as he reaches for Alfred's hand. He squeezes it gently, instead of grabbing a hold of it and clinging to him like his brain tells him. “How can we even function without you?”

“You are going to survive this Master Jason, like I survived losing you.”

Jason's breath hitches, his expression shattering and bowing his head forward so Alfred can’t see the self hate on his face.

“I’m old, Master Jason.”

“Not old enough to die.”

“Jason, son. You’re going to be alright.”

Alfred's hand rests on his head, comforting, only making it that bit harder to hold back his sobs and tears. The lump in his throat thickens, he shivers as he tries to stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks but he ignores it and hopes Alfred won't notice.

“You're going to be alright,” Alfred repeats, his voice firm. And he sounds so sure.

How can I be fine without you? Jason thinks, anger swelling up in his chest.

It's not fair because Alfred has given him a place to go when he can't deal with his thoughts anymore.

He needs more time.

Jason ducks his head lower and lower. The comforting pressure of Alfred’s hand disappears. Fuck, he's become a master at disappointing his family, hasn’t he?

Alfred moves, sitting up in his bed he puts his arms around his shoulders, pulling Jason closer.

It takes no time for Jason to lose his cool demeanor. Eyes burning, throat tight, Alfred's hospital gown slowly gains a small wet patch on his chest

Jason’s stomach churns with hate as he starts crying again. He's getting tired of his out of control emotions, crying all the time without stopping. He almost wishes for the years as Robin to come back, the years when he'd known how to repress crying in front of others.

Alfred's warm hand on his back anchors him to the present. Applying one of the meditating techniques he knows, Jason’s breathing begins to slow down. But it doesn't help with the hurt he feels in his chest.

Alfred is raking his fingers through Jason's hair gently. Jason wipes his eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie, his head staying in Alfred's lap.

The apology lies on the tip of his tongue but Jason is smart enough to know, Alfred would only dismiss it so he swallows it down.

“I'm so proud of you, Jason,” Alfred says, his voice warm like Jason did well on his school work back when he was fourteen.

“I imagined you'd say those words when I graduated from the uni. And you'd smile and your eyes would just say: ‘I told you so’. I wanted to come home after a hard week so I could complain about all the boring classes and talk with you about the assignments… ” Jason's voice breaks but he doesn't let the tears win this time. “Alfie… I–I got my letter from the uni, I'm in. I wanted you to see me graduate and be proud.”

Alfred's hand disappears from his hair, his body shaking with restrained sobs, Jason sits up abruptly, cursing himself for bringing up his imagined dreams, only causing pain.

“I'm sorry, Alfie, I'm sorry,” Jason pleads as he stands up to hug Alfred, to give the comfort Alfred has freely given so many times before. “You've been here for me for my whole life and I'm being a bitter fricking idiot when it's the last thing you need.”

“Your company has never been a burden to me, Master Jason.”

“Yeah, I'm sure my constant whining has significantly raised your mood in the past few months.”

Jason deserves the blank stare he gets from Alfred as he sits back on the chair again.

“Jason,” Alfred says simply. And something in his tone forces Jason to listen, to really listen to him. “I'm grateful for every single minute I’ve spent with you.”

“You'd be the only one,” Jason mutters, shoulders hunched forward. Even if it wasn't true, Jason’s heart beats too fast to calm down, his grief earlier embracing him with a new vigor.

“Your misconception of the family’s feelings about you should not astonish me.”

Jason leans back on his chair, a small laugh falling from his mouth at the dry voice. Alfred is, of course, right. The animosity with the family has died down with the years but the bitterness has gripped him tightly, latched onto him like a parasite.

Alfred moves back under the blanket, lying down with a small sigh, and Jason watches him, worry etched across his face. He would give anything for Alfred to get better. He would die again, relive all the pain and horror of his untimely youthful death in a heartbeat if he knew it would give Alfred even one more day on this world.

His eyes wander around the room, stopping at the book on the small table next to him. His eyes burn seeing Alfred's favourite book, but he takes it in his hands, opening it at the bookmark.

He looks at Alfred, asking for permission silently. Alfred’s old, sad eyes smile back at him. He begins reading the familiar lines like he did so many times before in the manor’s library, surrounded by the old books, sitting close to the fireplace, buried in his a blanket. The room with the white dull walls and stifling antiseptics doesn’t compare to the warmth of the library.

Jason takes a short break, easing his dry throat with a glass of water. He lies his head next to Alfred’s, closing his eyes, he relishes in the moment of peacefulness, escaping from his overwhelming feelings.

Alfred squeezes the back of his neck faintly, his forehead touching Jason's.

“You know, I love you Alfie, right? You believed in me even after I came back. You're always there for me, supporting even when I didn't deserve this. You're the reason I'm still alive, you're my everything Alfie. I'll take care of myself and the others, for your sake, okay?” Jason gives shaky breath, throat tight with his repressed emotion.

Alfred doesn't say anything, only embracing Jason in his arms, body trembling slightly.

For the first time in the week, breathing comes easier and the suffocating feeling in his chest slowly lifts off.