#Jazz is holding her own against Batman

[rboooks]

The Royal Consort Part 2

Danny nervously took a sip out of the coffee mug. The rich liquid, filled with surgery goodness and creamer, helped settle his nerves as he tried to think of what to say.

Across from him sat Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and a man named John Constantine. Besides Danny, Jazz, and his parents sat, though only Jazz seemed unfazed by the situation, staring back at the heroes as if daring them to start a conversation first.

Sometimes he forgot she was the most mentally stable one in the family.

The Dark Knight had said nothing to him since he was brought up to the watch tower, the white lens of his mask staring back at Danny with no hint of emotion behind them.

This contrasts Superman, who had warmly offered them coffee and pie as they were brought into the meeting room. The man of steel had even allowed them all to pick a mug from the gift shop free of charge, smiling warmly when Danny hesitantly asked for a Martian Manhunter theme.

Wonder Woman had given him a courteous bow befitting her status. She seemed eager to sit down and get the peace summit going as soon as possible. It seemed she had prepared various speeches, bills, and other essential documents Danny had yet to understand in his Government Studies class. She offered the young man a warm smile whenever his eyes nervously wandered to her.

John Constantine mainly had remained silent past the few swears under his breath. He fiddled with Danny's necklace- the Royal Consort necklace. How could he have been so stupid to wear that around his neck for so long without realizing what it was? It did explain why that particular necklace had a whole room to be displayed in.

It was in the center, on a lavish pillow, on a pure marble pillar. Surrounding it were six more miniature lockets, each on their own less extravagant pillar and pillow, with similar symbols. The smaller ones almost tempted Danny until he saw that this necklace had white and red, his favorite colors.

The others had been black and red.

He wonders now what the lockets meant and if giving one to Dani had been a mistake. He hadn't had the time to text her, seeing as he had been whisked away by the Justice League as soon as he woke up.

He was escorted out of his home before ten am with news crews tripping over themselves to get a few shots of Ecto-Royalty. They had his house surrounded, flashes and questions coming from all sides as the paparazzi struggled to be the first to get Consort Daniel Fenton to comment for them.

Danny swears Sam had been one of them, laughing silly with Tucker, who had somehow gotten a hold of a prominent news camera. The two had likely thought his secret had been outed and were trying to sneak him away while pretending to be media.

"Come on. Come on," Constantine muttered in frustration, poking a glowing finger into the center of his locket. Each time he did, a soft ding went off in Danny's head, and he fought to not react. He thinks Batman had seen his flinch the first time it happened, but he hadn't said anything about it yet, so Danny hoped he was wrong.

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

Danny grimaces as the sound replays over and over again before he can't take it anymore and finally speaks up. "Could...could you not do that to my necklace?"

Constantine blinks, then hastily places his locket on the table as if it burned him. "Forgive me, your Majesty. I meant no disrespect."

"It's cool dude. You, ugh, don't have to call me that, by the way. Danny is fine."

The magic-user shakes his head. "Forgive me, your Majesty, but I could not do something so disrespectful. I can switch to Prince Danny, but never Danny. If His Majesty Phantom were to hear me make such a blunder, it could break apart any form of peace. I'm sure you know how much ghost value rules."

Danny thinks of the Yearly Treaty, Walker with his prison, The Observant's court, Clockwork's time frames, and even Far Frozen formal speech. He sighs. "Yeah, Phantom won't care, but his subjects will."

"Exactly."

"Speaking of King Phantom, would he be joining us soon?" Wonder Woman asks. Danny has a moment of panic before Jazz smoothly steps in.

"Phantom and Danny agree to not have him appear if Danny is near our parents." She says, gesturing to their horrified parents.

"What?" Mom looks close to tears, guilt making her face seem much older than Danny has ever thought possible. "Honey, is this true?"

Danny shifts in his seat. "Yes?"

"Oh Honey, why?"

"What are we going to do today, Jack?" Jazz cuts in again in a poor imitation of their mom. She deepens her voice, trying to match Dad's happy-go-lucky tune as she dramatically shakes her fist. "What we do every day, Maddie. Try to capture the ghost boy and rip him molecule by molecule!"

The other heroes make faces, but nothing compares to the devastated expressions on his parents' faces. He almost told them it was okay, that he had forgiven them, but Jazz glanced sharply in his direction and knew it was best not to say anything.

She has often said the only way he could rally heal from all the unintended trauma their parents inflected on them- not just the hunting but slight negligence- was to have them first see exactly what they had done. It would be harsh, but it would be necessary.

"Makes sense" That is all Dad says. He's been so quiet since this morning. Danny is worried about him.

"That explains why he hasn't answered the summons." Constantine sighs. Danny opens his mouth to ask, but Superman beats it to him.

"You were summoning him?"

"Attempting to." Constantine corrects. "Prince Danny's locket has a calling bacon in it. Someone pressing magic against the center alerts King Phantom that his husband wants to speak to him. It's difficult magic too. Anyone with less control or power would be blown to smithers if they attempt it. Or, in Prince Danny's case tapping his finger against it works too since the necklace is for him. "

"Would anyone with the necklace be able to call Phantom then?" Batman finally speaks up. His voice makes Danny jump in his seat. It sounds a lot....darker than he thought a human could make.

"No. The necklace would only work if Prince Danny willingly let someone have it. If someone tried to take it by force, the necklace would transport itself back to King Phantom's lair or Prince Danny's person."

Danny clears his throat. ''Phantom and I have other rules. He can only come to see me if I'm not in school or if one of his subjects is attacking Amity Park. Otherwise, he mostly stays within the Infinity Realms."

Constantine nods as if that makes perfect sense. "The strain on your body must make it difficult to keep your husband here."

Danny nods, then takes another sip.

"If you don't mind me asking. How did you meet King Phantom?" Superman asks.

"I'm....a meta. I can make my eyes glow in the dark and I can turn invisible." Danny blurts, making both his parents gasp. Jazz nods as if it was common knowledge and not something Danny made up on the spot.

Those two abilities have always been more linked to his emotions, so Danny thought if he established a fake meta gene as the cause if he was later caught doing them, no one would bat an eye. The world was watching him now, he needed to be careful. "It's nothing really impressive, but I guess the day I activated it caught his attention."

"How so?"

"Um, well I was playing in my parents' lab when my best friends dared me to go into the portal. I thought it wouldn't work, so I did, but it launched me into the zone as soon I stepped into it. Phantom was this big ice looking thing flying by when I was falling in the zone- they don't really have ground in there. Everything was floating, but I just started falling and screaming since I couldn't fly. He caught me and offered to help me back to my home. The only thing was I didn't know how to go home, which way was up or down, and I didn't know how long I was gone. We tried to fly for a while, but the Infinite Realms always change. By that time, my home portal had moved to who knew where. Phantom took me to his lair to rest, Phantom, since he thought I was a baby ghost because my eyes glowed until I accidentally cut my hand on one of his icicles and bled-"

"You allowed your human blood to fall in his lair!?" Constantine sounds horrified. Oops? Maybe, stealing one of Frost Bites' few human encounter stories wasn't the brightest thing he could have done?

Oh well, he's already so far into the story. "Yeah, he reacted the same way. I freaked and turned myself invisible when he saw my blood."

"Blimey, I knew King Phantom is a protective spirit, but to think he didn't do anything to you once he found out you are a human- a virgin human no less- in his own lair? Benevolent is too little of a word for him."

Yeah, Danny really didn't like the sound of that. Sadly Constantine didn't seem willing to continue that line of conversation, and it would be really suspicious if he asked for more information since he is supposed to be the most informed person here.

After a slight pause, he continues, trying to sound confident. "He helped me get home after a while. Once we found the entrance to Amity Park, he asked if he could come to see me again in the living world. I told him it was fine, but I didn't think he meant it for real. Sam and Tucker- ugh my best friends- said I was only gone for three minutes but I swear it was much longer."

Danny could feel his face heating up. This is so embarrassing to be talking about himself in the third person. He felt so lame.

Jazz gave him an encouraging nod when he peaks at her. At least the others were buying his story.

"The next thing I know, my town is almost overturned by ghosts because, apparently, our passing through the portal stabilized it and established it as a new permanent entrance. I told Phantom, who vowed he keep it safe for me, and yeah, he fumbled a bit in the beginning, but he did a good job. Whenever he needed to fight I had to find somewhere safe to hide, so that I could keep him here, and that's why I missed so much of school and sleep all of freshmen year. His last big fight was against the old king Pariah Dark after the monster took Amity Park into the zone. Once he won, he was crowned and he um gave me this necklace. We've been going ugh, steady since."

The room was silent until Wonder Woman smiles "A most romantic tale Prince Danny."

Ugh, it really was. His face grew even redder as Jazz snorted. "Thank you."

Feeling an intense stare, Danny looks up, only to be met with Batman's emotionless face. "The reason you and King Phantom look exactly alike is that he took your shape, didn't he?"

What.

"That's standard practice." Constantine waves his hand. "Powerful beings that need to anchor themselves to the human realm often take humanoid figures. If King Phantom saw Prince Danny and thought he was the most beautiful person he's ever seen -which is likely since there haven't been any hints of Phantom having any partner before now- he would, of course, make himself look like him. He even copied his parents' hazard suits because he likely thought that would honor them. Am I right, Prince Danny? ."

I could kiss you, English man. Danny thinks gratefully as he nods.

Batman grunts but for a second, Danny thinks he didn't buy it. He doesn't say anything else.

"Well, what about-"

Whatever Wonder Woman was going to say gets cut off by a blur flying into the room. The heroes all spring up into battle positions as the blur rushes Danny. He's about to throw himself before his sister to protect her until the blur slows down.

It's Dani. She's wearing her own necklace too. Shit.

"Are you okay!?" She gasps. "I saw them take you on the TV and came as soon as I could!"

"Who are you?" Superman demands. His clone turns to the other side of the room, hands pose in a fighting stance and the British man gasps.

"Stand down! She's a royal!." He shouts, pointing at her necklace. His blue eyes flicker between the two halfas until they widen dramatically. "Princess, I swear we have done no harm to your father."

Dani tilts her head, momently thrown. "My father?"

"You are wearing the Heir Apparent symbol. I assumed you were made from Prince Danny and King Phantom. I apologize if I am wrong."

"No need. I am made from Danny." Dani smiles, likely unaware that the magic man meant a daughter rather than the correct answer, as in clone.

"I'm a grandmother!?" Mom shouts, and his Dad bursts into tears.

The room descends into chaos.

( Part 1 ) (Part 3)

[snaileer]

Call to My Bedside

When Danny wakes up with shackles around his wrists and chains pinning him to the wall, he’s not all that surprised to see his mother in front of him.

And no, he doesn’t mean Madeline Fenton, although he wonders if he’d be surprised by that either and really, what does that say about his life?

But no, he’s not all that surprised to be staring into the eyes of Talia Al Ghul right now.

Even if his heart stops at the sight of her.

Immediately, he tries to stand, shoulders pulled painfully behind him as he tries not to let her loom over him.

This is a woman he barely remembers, through no effort of her own, but that’s what happens when you left a kid to be trained by strangers before he’s whisked off to America against his will at age 5.

Really she was lucky he remembered her at all.

She crouches down slightly to make up for their height difference, face softening too quickly to be real, “I am Talia Al Ghul. Though you may not remember, you are my child-“

“I remember.” Danny cuts her off, trying to keep the anger from making his eyes glow. He does remember, he remembers enough to know that it would be dangerous for them to know he has powers.

He settles for glaring at her.

For a second it seems she just watches him, but the kindness drops from her face as she straightens.

The slap catches him hard enough to jerk his head to the side, chains rattling behind him as he unsuccessfully tries to catch himself.

Instead, they go taut behind him, leaving him to jerk sideways, breath rough by the surprise of the hit.

“Do not interrupt me, child.” Her voice rings cold in the air.

Danny doesn’t bother to lift his head, instead keeping his eyes pinned to the grimy floor. Had he forgotten how unforgiving this place was? What it was like?

“Look at me.”

Danny kept his eyes downwards. He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to go home.

“Look at me, or suffer the punishment,” She said, voice steely.

He slowly lifted his head, eyes meeting hers.

“Good. You know who you are then, child? What place you are meant to hold in this world?”

Danny doesn’t answer, only glaring.

She barely blinks but her eyes sharpen in warning.

Danny grits his teeth, “I’m Danny al -Al Ghul, heir to the Demon’s head of the League of Assassins-“

The second hit is just as hard, but Danny is better braced for it.

“Your name is Danyal Al-Ghul, you are my blood and the blood of Batman, your heritage dictates a higher quality of discipline than this and you will show it.”

Everything in Danny’s being rebels against the name. He hasn’t been Danyal in years. And he refuses to go back to it.

He straightens his back, ignoring the ache of his shoulders as he snarls at her, “My name is Danny, Danny Fenton. I haven’t been your precious heir in years, and you can’t make me now.”

They couldn’t and he wouldn’t let them, not when he had the power to-

Talia idly pulls something from behind her and he feels the blood drain from his face.

It’s a picture of him, Tucker, and Sam, next to it is a larger grid of images, each making his heart drop further in his chest.

Sam. Tucker.

Jazz. Mom. Dad.

All of them in cells. Chained.

Hurt.

His family, his family-

“Did you think we would not know of your gifts? Would not know how you would think to leave us? You clearly do not remember as much as you think you do.”

Danny can barely hear her over the static rushing in his ears.

She grabs his face roughly, “We are the League, child, and you are one of us. You may have thought you were like them, but we are better. Meant for better, and you will not be allowed to squander the gifts bestowed on our bloodline through you. Until you can make the right choice yourself, as your blood, we will make them for you.”

Danny looks into her eyes, the certainty behind her words, and he feels a gaping emptiness open inside him. The kind that knows it’s not going away.

He wants to go home. He wants to see his family, and his friends. He doesn’t care that his parents don’t know his secret, that he’s just barely getting a handle on it himself, he just doesn’t want to be here. Not again. Please, not again.

Talia releases him, and he lets his body droop, sinking into himself as he crouches over the ground, the restriction of his arms keeping him from even fully curling around himself.

“Remove the chains, he will not be going anywhere,” Talia says, her shadow falling over him in the dim light of the doorway.

Danny barely moves as the cold metal falls away from his wrists.

And he knows she’s right.

He won’t be going anywhere. Not as long as his family is in danger.

—

The first months were hard. Harder than Danny remembers. Maybe his five-year old self had just had it easy.

He doesn’t now.

“Again!” His instructor shouts, bamboo staff coming down on the back of Danny’s knees.

He doesn’t let himself stumble. Not anymore.

At least his Arabic is getting better, he can understand it completely, as if he’d never forgotten it -as if it’d been his mother tongue- and he can speak it smoothly again, though shallow. You can’t even hear his American accent anymore.

Danny hasn’t spoken English since that first week, when they’d beaten it into him every time he’d tried.

When they’d beaten him for not understanding fast enough. Not reacting fast enough, not responding fast enough, to a language he didn’t know, hadn’t known for years now.

They’re right about one thing.

Pain is an excellent teacher.

“Again!”

He moves fast enough to dodge the bamboo stick this time, body shooting forward against his opponent.

Dodge, lunge, feint, block, swipe, block, block, block-shit-block, reach-

His back slams against the stone floor of the courtyard, knocking the breath out of him.

The instructor doesn’t step in. He won’t.

Not even when his opponent’s hands clamp around his throat.

Danny struggles, trying to use his inhuman strength to pull the arms away, but that inhumanity has waned since he’s been here, drained like the rest of his energy.

He feels the weight begin to build in his skull, he can’t breathe, he doesn’t have much longer, what can he- Danny forcefully moves his arms away, fighting instinct, instead pulling his legs up and rolling, just as they’d drilled into him, the change in leverage giving him the break he needed to be free as he stands-

The bamboo slams into his back, knocking him forward, “Again!”

Danny rolls with the momentum, ignoring the new throbbing in favor of dodging his opponent’s grappling fists.

Dodge, lunge, dodge, swipe, dodge, dodge, hit, swipe, block, forward, dodge, block-

Danny breathes through the sweat dripping down his skin, the way his ribs creak with every breath, the way his muscles feel numb and disconnected. None of it matters.

He just has to win.

He doesn’t have any other options.

He never did.

Not really.

This is why they brought him here.

Why he was born.

He has to win.

Danyal twists the arm of his opponent back until there’s a sickening crack.

“Again!”

A new opponent flies towards him with fists already raised.

He doesn’t have any other option.

He never did.

——

The next time he sees Talia is just before the ceremony to his next stage. She is waiting in his room when he walks in.

“Mistress,” He greets, bowing his head, feeling phantom pain bloom on his cheeks. It’s the only thing that makes him call her that.

“Danyal, your training is going well,” She says, voice idle in that meandering sort of way. This isn’t why she’s here.

“I will improve,” He says anyways. Because he knows he’s not meeting their standards yet, knows they’re disappointed by the heaviness in his bones that weighs him down and drains his energy.

She stands, making Danny go stock still as she approaches, featherlight touch on his chin as she tilts it upwards.

English drifts from her lips, “You have his eyes, his cheekbones…” her eyes drift down again, and it still doesn’t feel like she’s even really looking at him, “My chin and my jaw…not like Damia-“

Her hand drops.

Danny can’t figure out the change but he can feel it. Hesitantly, he asks, in Arabic still, “Talia, why… are you here?”

The steel returns.

“The bat is dead. You are the last of his power,” She says, then pauses. She seems torn about saying more.

She doesn’t, exiting silently as Danny stares into the air, unmoving.

His… birth father… was dead?

A man that was a great enough warrior to impress the Demon’s Head. Impress Talia.

A man… he didn’t even know the real name of.

It’s not like the Bat was anything more than a name to him.

A name he had to live up to.

Danny sighs and turns to his drawers. He has a training ceremony to prepare for.

——

Danny doesn’t resist the arms that hold him back as they swipe a broad slash across the skin of his back with the whip, simply letting himself curl inwards around the pain before he’s dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

He pulls himself back up just soon enough to see the next person dragged in and thrown in front of him.

The handle of the blade is pressed into his hand.

It wouldn’t be hard.

It should be hard. Right?

Killing a man whose crimes he doesn’t even know should be hard. It’s meant to be hard, right?

Danyal wishes he doesn’t know how easy it will be to fall into it.

But he can’t keep doing this. Collecting scars because he’s clinging to morals that aren’t even his.

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep doing any of this.

He has to.

Danyal slices the edge of the blade across the man’s neck.

The cut is clean. Deep.

He’s dead in less than a minute.

Danyal’s own blood continues to flow.

——

Danyal doesn’t know what’s happening. One minute he’s training, trying to push past the exhaustion lining his bones, and the next the entire west side of the courtyard is in flames, crumbling down the side of the mountain.

Danny runs through the rubble of the passageways, searching for the source, searching for reasons, searching for… he doesn’t know, but he knows he can’t be caught doing nothing.

He doesn’t find anything except ruins.

Danny is called to meet Ra’s Al Ghul two weeks later. His grandfather. The Demon’s head.

The man doesn’t even look at him.

Danny stays kneeling all the same, better safe than beaten again.

“Are you familiar with Red Robin?”

Danny inclines his head, just barely, “I… can’t say I am…Great One.”

The following hum is derisive.

“He is one of the Bat’s… followers. Recently, he has proven himself to me. His ruthlessness is impressive, his ability to pursue his goals: admirable. He would make the perfect heir,” Ra’s says and he must know it makes Danny’s heart drop, why else would he say it, “Do you know what Timothy lacks, Danyal?”

Danyal stays quiet, eyes tracking the grit of the floor.

After a pause, near silent footsteps enter his vision, “You are the culmination of his mentor’s blood and my own, blessed with the gifts of the Lazarus pits, and yet-“ the cape swirls as Ra’s turns away, “Yet it is squandered by the mistakes of your upbringing!” He yells.

Danyal clenches his fists, willing himself silent.

The air of the room falls level again, “I grow tired of your mediocrity, Danyal. You will advance, or I will stop wasting my resources keeping your baggage alive.”

Danny’s head whips up before he can think better of it, meeting Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes where they stare down at him.

“Do not mistake my past grace for mercy, Danyal. Mercy makes men weak. There is no room for weakness, and we are here to purge it from this world. Do not forget that.”

“Of course, Great One.” Danyal’s heart pounds in his ears, fear jumping across each beat sporadically, “I will do better.” He tries to fill his voice with confidence.

He’ll do better.

He has to.

Ra’s looks at him, then turns his back and waves a hand dismissively, finally allowing Danyal to stand and leave.

He feels Ra’s’ eyes on his back the entire time as he leaves. And no matter how much he wants to, he doesn’t stop in the hallway. Even once the door is closed, he continues forward.

In his mind, Danny stops and heaves a breath through the grief crashing over him.

In his mind, Danny is a million miles away, at home, with his family around him, happy and safe.

In his mind, Danny rushes back into Ra’s al Ghul’s grandiose throne room and attacks him with the sword he’s forced on him, not stopping until he’s free or dead.

In reality, Danyal breathes out with false calm and moves on.

He has training to get to.

——

Danyal can feel the pressure of the Leagues- of Ra’s’- expectations pushing down on him.

It’s not new.

But he doesn’t let it weigh him down anymore. He doesn’t have that luxury.

Instead, he uses it to push himself harder, farther, pushing until he reaches those expectations.

And surpasses them.

And keeps going.

He won’t-can’t stop. So he keeps going.

Moving up, learning, training, getting better, faster, getting stronger.

Getting weaker.

Danyal ignores the strained whisper of his core in his chest in favor of aiming at the target in his scope.

An Ethiopian politician, making a name for himself by drafting new acts supporting the build of a dam on the Nile River.

It would endanger the lives of thousands in Egypt, cutting them off from the water that has flowed through their country for millennia.

It would never make it through the legislative ruling without him.

This is their duty. To cull the disease. To burn away the parasites killing the world. The ones feeding off excess.

Danyal pulls the trigger and starts packing the gun away.

His hands move with robotic precision, even without his guidance. No, his eyes and his focus are elsewhere.

Instead, Danny stares at the newspaper laying damp on rooftop gravel, eyes scanning every detail, every line.

May 7th of 20XX. Almost two years.

Alien invasion recently. Superman.

New hero in Russia.

Multiple car crashes in Pakistan. All survived.

None of it really matters to him, not really, it doesn’t tell him anything interesting, nothing he needs to know. It’s not even an American newspaper.

But…It’s the closest he’s come to freedom in three years.

Is it bad that what he calls a taste of freedom is knowing how long it’s been since he’s been free?

The rifle case clicks shut beneath his fingertips and he stands without so much as a lingering glance at the newspaper.

Danyal leaps off the roof, scaling down the side, ignoring the way his legs want to collapse beneath him as he lands in an alley.

He heads towards the rendezvous, job finished. Efficient as always.

Exactly as is expected of him.

———

It is several months more that he begins to realize there may be something truly wrong.

He’s training-fighting, losing- with the Lady Shiva. If Red Robin could beat her, Danyal must as well.

He’s fairing… okay.

They’ve been engaging for a while now, for a fight, a minute at least, maybe two.

He feels his breath rough in his chest, his face slick with sweat, his body buzzing with adrenaline and the push to do better-

His heart squeezes, seizing up tense and frozen for just a second, his body following in surprise-

There’s a sword through his stomach.

Danyal tries to focus again, to swing his sword, like he’s been trained, but everything feels… loose.

The sword is removed from his stomach, wet blood sliding down his tunic. Cold floor beneath his knees, had he fallen? No, he had to stand, get up, get up, get up. Get up!

Please, you have to get-

There’s hands on him, moving him, the hallways are too dark, -get up, you have to get up- he can’t tell where they’re going. No they’re not dark, his eyes are closed, he pries them open, gasping for breath as the pain in his stomach tears deeper.

Please, he just wants to go home.

Darkness still clouds his vision, but the people carrying him barely glance back as he groans.

His eyes flicker shut, too heavy to keep open as he tries to focus on anything but the pain, on not bleeding out, on please don’t let him die here, not here, please.

They enter another door, letting him stumble across steps farther and farther down.

When they reach the bottom, it seems as though every sound is sucked out from the room. An eerie silence thick in the air.

It forces his eyes open, just a squint, darkness prickling at the edges of his vision.

He barely catches a glance of cave walls before he feels himself thrown forward.

And familiar green fills his vision.

Panic surges.

Pain in his stomach. -His hand. The button!-

Green water surrounding him. -The portal is on!-

Liquid fills his mouth when he tries to scream. -There’s no sound between dimensions.-

It feels like burning acid running across every nerve of his open wound, creeping into his pores like tar covering a dying animal.

But it doesn’t feel like death.

He would know.

It feels a little like life.

He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t get a choice.

He never does.

It feels like a thousand screaming souls, begging for justice and for freedom, just as he is.

They shout and yell at him to do something, to fight where they can’t, why can’t they, they’re so helpless, angry at their helplessness, angry at their inability, angry angry angry

Their pleas fill his ears, louder with each passing second.

He’s angry, angry, angry- how dare they, how dare they- he could win, they can’t stop him, they deserve it-who’s they?- he’s going to kill them, they can’t stop him-

Frigid humid air stings against his skin, no longer submerged, and green fog tinges everything.

But he-they- need to fight, kill them, stop them, do something, do something because they can’t- fight!

Danny lunges at the first person he sees, an assassin in all black at the edge of green waters.

His fist nearly collapses his skull. It doesn’t stop him.

There’s another and Danny lunges again, ignoring the sword that slashes towards him, grabbing it and snapping the metal with one hand, the other around the ninja’s neck, gripping, cracking, breaking-

Something heavy hits him over the head, the world staticking for a second as his hand loosens, a body dropping to the floor.

Hands reach at him, pulling, holding, restraining, and he fights with sharpened claws and fangs and burning fists of glowing energy and hands ripping hearts from their chest- until there’s so many bodies around him and restraining him, that it actually slows him down.

Enough to realize his powers are flowing easily once more, surprise cutting through the fog in his mind.

He stops actively pulling against the arms holding him down, his cheek now pressed painfully against rocky floor.

Where is he?

A nauseatingly familiar voice fills the room, “You managed quite the damage, Danyal,” Ra’s al Ghul stands in front of him, when Danny is able to lift his head and look, “Perhaps there is still potential hidden behind your weakness, the capabilities of your rage is akin to my first venture into these pools, so many centuries ago.”

The smile on Ra’s’ face sends twitches down his spine and confusion pools in his gut, “What…?” he murmurs, head still murky, but a bolt of fear races through his chest, and he forces his words into the League dialect once more, “What happened…? I..-“ His voice is small, and slowly he feels the assassins holding him release his arms and back away. He pushes himself upright to his knees, finding less strain in his muscles, in his bones, than he has for nearly two years.

“You failed your training, little Al Ghul,” A voice, Lady Shiva, speaks from his right. Her sword is still red.

Danyal’s eyes jump to hers, the memory rushing back- blood, the sword, falling, the water- his hand grips the side of his tunic even as his head snaps to the side, finally seeing the green waters lurking just next to them.

The Lazarus Pits, his training says.

Ectoplasm, his core whispers.

He looks down at the hole in the fabric of his tunic, any bloodstains around it all but gone. There’s not even a scratch.

The rest of his clothes are still layered with blood.

And Danyal knows it isn’t his.

He stands, watching as other league members file in, dragging away the bodies surrounding them.

There are too many to count.

He doesn’t even try.

Ra’s Al Ghul steps forward, drawing his focus once more.

He eyes Danyal critically, “Walk with me, child,” He says, already turning away with robes moving gracefully.

Danyal hurries to move with him, one step behind as they trail through the halls and corridors, slowly moving farther and farther up through the compound.

Finally they step out from an arch, the gentle late afternoon sun lighting up the sky with colors. Just enough light to see clearly, not enough to blind or burn.

It would’ve been a perfect afternoon to die on.

Instead, Danyal catches the sword thrown towards him with surprising grace. Ra’s face is filled with dangerous curiousity as he speaks, “Attack.”

Danyal doesn’t question it. Doesn’t wonder why Ra’s remains unarmed, doesn’t question if he might hurt him. He just acts, lunging forward at the command with nary a second thought.

“Starting today, you will train with me. Each week,” Ra’s speaks as he easily dodges and blocks Danyal’s hits, forcing him to take a new approach each time.

Danyal nods, “Of course, Great One.”

Ra’s knocks him to the ground, standing over him with sword drawn, “Call me Grandfather, Danyal. You’ve earned it.”

Danny’s heart squeezes.

He nods, “Of course Grandfather.”

——

After that, things change. Ra’s Al Ghul keeps to his word, calling for him each week, sometimes no more than a few days apart.

All too quickly it becomes a part of Danyal’s routine. The brutal training sessions of Ra’s beating him down and letting him up only to do it again.

He wishes he had it in him to question the Demon’s Head, but he doesn’t, so when Ra’s tells him to attack, even when unarmed, even when Danyal should rip his throat out with one use of intangibly, Danyal listens and attacks him.

Months into the now singular training, Danyal realizes that he hasn’t left this compound in a while, there hasn’t been a spontaneous move, or travel for a new master.

It’s just been… Ra’s.

He feels more stable, more stationary than he remembers being in so long. His youngest years had been the same routine of constant movement from base to base, compound to compound. And then he had lived.. in America, and had a single home, a house he knew the direction to from anywhere in town. For so many years, he been able to settle in one place.

Only to be uprooted once more, thrown back to everything he’d left behind, everything he’d-

Danyal enjoyed knowing where he would return to at the end of the day. The sense of familiarity that came with the same room, the same bed and halls, day after day, week after week.

Maybe that’s why it catches him by surprise when Ra’s calls for him at the base of a landing pad, jet idle behind him.

Danyal allows a nearby assassin to pass a pack into his hands, clearly full of materials.

For a moment, Danyal wonders where they are going? What new training awaits him at the other end?

Then Ra’s steps aside, dangerously graceful as ever, and reveals the bay of the jet to be not empty, but filled by assassins, each standing at command.

Danyal looks to Ra’s once more.

“An Al Ghul does not only follow, Danyal,” He says with a sharp smile as he approaches, laying a heavy hand on Danyal’s shoulder, “An Al Ghul leads. And as you are my heir, you must learn to command the respect of our members.” The hand squeezes on his shoulder, making him look up, meeting Ra’s in the eyes, “By any means necessary.”

Danyal looks away, looking back at the assassins waiting for him, for his command.

He’s not ready.

He has to be anyways.

The hand on his shoulder feels like lead as he steps out from under it, filling his voice with power he doesn’t feel, and sending the squadron scattering to new assignments.

Flight, equipment, weaponry, information, planning, infiltration, execution, all of it, it’s all on him to control.

Danyal turns back to gauge Ra’s’ reaction, only to find him already halfway gone, the sight of his retreating back the only response.

Okay, he’ll do this.

He can do this.

He has to.

What else can he do?

——

He takes to leading missions with the hand of a natural.

It’s easy.

Send these people here. These people here. Block every exit, erase every loose end, don’t leave any witnesses. Finish the mission.

Their missions are for the betterment of everyone, they are fixing things, getting rid of corrupt leaders, people unworthy of what they have, everything they’re doing is for a reason. It has a purpose.

He has a purpose.

So he ignores what’s behind every number he sends for each job. Ignores the calculation behind every call to secure the exit that has five private guards. Ignores the number behind the perimeter assignment because he knows the building has a late hour maid present each night.

They’re just numbers.

And he’s good at this.

At least he’s good at this.

He kills the first person to question an order.

They don’t question him again.

Everything runs smoother when they don’t question him.

It’s easier this way.

It’s always easier.

——

He’s traveling again. Spending more hours sleeping in hotels and safe houses than any bed he might deign to call his.

More and more time goes by, bit by bit, hour by hour, each filling his body with sand like setting concrete.

Slowly, Danyal feels it begin to wear on him. The exhaustion of the missions, his own body weighing him down with every strike he takes. Refusing to react with the speed demanded of him to succeed.

Danyal pushes past it. It doesn’t matter. This is his duty, it is all that is expected of him and he will do it. Even as he finds himself clutching his chest in the dark of a mission, blood still leaking from his target below him.

He forces himself past it, eyes flickering, steeling himself, then wiping down his blade and leaving, muscles tense and bones shaking.

He makes it as far as the car waiting in the near abandoned parking garage below, his chest continuing to tighten, heart erratic beneath his ribs. Danyal grunts, pain lacing up his arm, struggling not to stumble as he staggers into his seat with a near gasping breath.

He pulls himself together, his words as confident as he can make them as he speaks to the assassin in the drivers seat, “Call Ra’s Al Ghul. Bring me to him. Now.”

Danny feels his heart twitch in his chest, his hand flickering in his vision, or is it his vision that’s flickering, he can’t tell, still the cold leather soothes him, heart pounding louder louder, yelling, screaming in his ears, angry so angry so angry, rage rage rage, fix it fix it fight fight fight for us fight! Don’t let it go, never let it go, revenge, make them pay, they have to pay-!

He comes back with a gasp and a burst of pain across his shoulder, adrenaline and fury still coursing through his veins in equal measure.

His hair is wet, green liquid dripping down his face in sluggish trails mixed with foreign blood. It lays plastered on the curves of his face, framing his eyes as he stares up at the Demon’s Head.

The same malicious smile sits on his face, “Welcome back, Danyal.” The words are tinged with expectance.

Danyal pauses, collected his words around his tongue like a lead weight in his dry mouth, “I- Why was I put in the Lazarus pit again?” Danyal can only hope he’s showing the right amount of deference to even be allowed such a question.

“You were brought to me collapsed, and your heart failing you. The Lazarus pits provided a temporary solution,” Ra’s says, his eyes sharp, “But it is temporary. This problem will not be allowed to continue.”

“Of course, Master,” Danyal pulls himself to his knees, “…I believe it’s because of my accident-“ Danyal pauses, this is closest he’s come to actually telling them how he got his powers, what it did to him-, “There was electricity, and the shock, my heart was-is damaged. I don’t know why it’s getting worse-“

Ra’s hums, “The body can be fixed, child. The mind cannot. This,” Ra’s places a hand on his back as Danyal stands, “is merely an obstacle to our goal.”

“I will not fail you, Grandfather.”

“I know, child.” His words are a guarantee, an assurance to Danyal.

He will prove that the confidence placed in him is not mistaken.

——

It is barely months after that second time that Danyal once again feels his body’s failings encroach on him.

His heart beats off pattern, falling out of rhythm more with every passing day.

Danyal takes a deep breath, willing it to calm himself.

He will not let this stop him. He is an Al Ghul. He is capable. He is strong, and he will not be held back by his own body.

Danyal turns his focus inwards, ripples traveling along the surface of the ectoplasm in his core he’s left untouched for so long now.

He lets the ectoplasm submerge him, turning his form ghostly, his eyes sharper green than they’ve ever been before.

Danyal lets his feet lift off the ground, just for a second, weightlessness enveloping him, the buzzing of the world a background in his ears.

Then his toes touch the ground again and Danyal snaps into movement towards his closet. He puts on his usual league clothes over the old hazmat suit, feeling the layers lighten as he covers them up. Until it feels as though he’s only wearing the league clothes, and his white gloves stare in his face.

Slowly, he removes them, staring for too long at the green lines like cracks trailing up his arm.

Danyal turns away.

He has work to do, he can’t let himself be held up with small feelings like that.

As Danyal travels the halls, every step an effort to remain flat on the ground, he feels the ectoplasm within him roil, coursing faster and stronger than he ever had before, even in the Ghost Zone or in A-.

It revitalizes him and Danyal arrives to Ra’s Al Ghul’s training with bold confidence filling him.

Ra’s greets him an enigmatic smile and a challenge of his strength.

Danyal meets him kind, dodging every lunging, swiping every parry, light on his feet like he hasn’t been in years now.

Their fight lasts longer than any other they’ve had, his muscles able to hold up stronger in this form, his stamina infinite as the ectoplasm he draws from without any need for breathing or rest.

Ra’s Al Ghul is impressed even as he holds Danyal beneath his boot, his sword pressed to his neck.

Glowing green sluggishly leaks from the scratch.

Danyal pays it no mind.

Instead he stares at the small cut on the crown of Ra’s’ head, a single crimson red droplet crawling down the side of his face.

Danyal did not win. But he didn’t loose either.

Satisfaction fills him in a rush, carrying him through even as they reengage.

——

Danyal strives to reach his goals, to hit every target set out for him, beat every opponent put against him, to reach the expectations and the potential that the Demon’s head sees him.

To make himself worthy to be here, to stay.

And he knows his weaknesses hold him back, make him vulnerable, put everything-one- in danger.

So he stops being vulnerable. Stops letting his body, his weaknesses, dictate his capabilities.

Faster and faster his store of ectoplasm drains within him.

And Danyal makes himself stronger and stronger, short exposures of the Lazarus pits to keep it from stopping him.

He can’t stop.

So he keeps going, keeps training, fighting, growing- when had he gotten tall? When had he gotten older?

He keeps working, to be better, to be the best.

And as he approaches the Demon’s chambers weeks later, he is surprised to hear yelling.

More than that, he is surprised to hear Talia’s voice be the one yelling.

He pauses outside the door, eyes narrowed and body resting on the edge of invisibility.

He does not want to know the punishment for eavesdropping, nor for interrupting them… and yet…he hasn’t spoken to Talia, not truly, not since she told him the Batman was dead. Barely seen her except beside the demons’s head in ceremony as he stands at the edges of a room.

It has been entirely too reminiscent of his childhood.

Danyal’s ears prick up as the volume increases once more.

“You cannot ask me to bring him back to use him for-!”

“I do not ask for anything, Daughter! He belongs to the League! And the League to me! It was a mistake to allow you to keep-“

Ra’s’ voice drops too low to be heard through the door, muffling the rest of his words.

Danyal steps back from the door, standing in the hall with questions blooming in multitude.

Moments later, Talia Al Ghul steps through, a force of fury in every step. She catches sight of him immediately, and when Danyal makes eye contact, her eyes are filled with worry, stress, regret, a thousand what-ifs and plans and concerns.

Somehow he knows none of it is for him.

He bows slightly, and she passes by him without a word.

Danyal watches her hair flow as she retreats further and further down the hall until he finally turns around to enter the room.

Ra’s Al Ghul is waiting for him.

He gives no indication that he knows Danyal heard him, so Danyal doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that means Ra’s doesn’t know.

He always knows.

His training continues.

For days, and weeks, and months more, he continues.

But even a ghost cannot lie to himself forever.

——

When Damian wakes up with chains around his wrists and the familiar feeling of harsh metal beneath his knees, he is not surprised to see his mother standing in front of him.

He wishes it were only his mother.

Instead, his grandfather stands in front of him as well, eyes staring down at him with impassive judgement. Damian feels his spine straighten against his will, the feeling of ‘never good enough’ creeping through his limbs.

He glances at his mother behind Grandfather’s looming form. Her face is uncharacteristically open, the barest hint of tension evident in her jaw, her eyes almost brighter with the concern hidden behind them.

Damian forces his eyes away as Grandfather begins to speak.

“You’ve wasted your time with your father Damian,” he starts, “Letting your training go to waste as the league continues to work to better the world.”

Damian wants to sneer, a scowl forming on his face, “The league does nothing but hurt innocent people. My time as Robin has saved hundreds.”

Grandfather’s eyes sharpen, “And I see it has taken your discipline as well.”

Damian grinds his teeth, “Anything I have learned, I learned from my Father and my family,”

“Your family?” Grandfather says, his tone almost mocking as he raises an eyebrow, “You are an Al Ghul-“

“I am a Wayne too!” Damian says, straining as he rises to his feet, “I am Damian Al Ghul-Wayne! Just as you wanted me to be! And it is my choice to be a hero, to be Robin, and I stand next to Father and the others with pride!”

Grandfather’s glare intensifies, “Do not interrupt me again, Damian. You will not be exempt of the consequences.”

Damian stares him down, fear pressing against his insides with a scream too familiar to his youth.

He turns away with a click of his tongue.

Shame whispers at his cheeks.

Grandfather waves a hand blithely as he turns his back, “Bring him.” He pauses at the door, “He remains bound.”

Damian watches his Grandfather leave, his eyes drifting sideways to his mother.

“Mother, why am I here?” He demands, tone sharp and clear. He tries not to let show how lost he is.

Mother steps forward, laying a gentle hand on his face and the other at the crook of his neck, cupping his cheek as her eyes soften. Regret sits behind them.

“Mother.” He says again, pulling slightly away from her hand, “Why am I here?”

She sighs, stepping back, “The Demon’s Head has need of you.”

Then he watches her leave as well, and Damian finds his arms and hands grabbed as assassins unchain him and push him forward.

He reluctantly lets them lead him through the unfamiliar halls of wherever they are, just a few paces behind his mother.

They stop in front of an open doorway, and when Damian is dragged in front, the sight he is met with brings confusion over anything else.

In front of him is a young man, no older than Todd or even Drake, laying asleep in a hospital bed with a heart monitor attached to him.

The beeping that fills the room is shallow and unsteady, much like the boy’s breathing. His hair is dark with speckled streaks of grey and a natural paleness in his skin.

Worse than that is the IV Damian can see tucked into the crook of his arm, tube trailing up to a bag.

Slowly feeding Lazarus water into his veins.

Damian whips his head around to look at his mother, only to find her staring disdainfully at the boy in the bed.

It only serves to confuse Damian more.

What had this man done to cause his mother such ire?

“Take the sample.” His Grandfather’s voice commands. And Damian feels the arms holding him shift to a more secure grip, pulling him to his knees even as he fights them. A man in a white coat approaches him, and Damian fights harder when he notices the syringe in his hand.

The sting of the needle is dull against the fear crashing through him as his grandfather watches.

His mother looks away.

Finally, Damian jerks as the hands he now knows are Ubu’s release him, still hovering close as he is dropped. He is surprised to see that they actually took blood, rather than dosing him with something. Sedative or worse.

Damian scowls at his grandfather, but he simply looks unconcerned as the assumed doctor moves forward to take a second sample, this time from the boy laying in the bed.

“Why am I here, Grandfather?” He asks, eyeing all parties critically.

“Haven’t you realized, Damian?” His Grandfather asks with a mockingly raised eyebrow, “His heart is failing, and the Lazarus waters can only fix so much by the nature of his defects. Your brother needs you, Damian,” Grandfather says, voice serene, “And you are going to help him.”

Damian barely has a moment to process his words before the hands are pulling him back once more, he yanks his arms from their grip, “Grandfather! What are you- let me go!” Damian turns fully to incapacitate the assassins, only to have Ubu pull his binds harshly sideways and give the servants leverage enough to actually tame his movements.

“Who is he?! Mother!” Damian turns to her, unsurprised to see her turning a blind eye once again, “Mother who is he!? What is Grandfather talking about?! What are you doing!?” The assassins pull at him again, successful in getting him through the doorway as he struggles.

Just before the door closes, he hears the Doctor speak to his grandfather, and his response.

“The boy is a match Great One.”

“Good, prepare Danyal for surgery. As soon as possible.”

The surprise is enough that the door closes in his face and he is dragged back through the hallways.

He stands as much as he can, walking at pace, refusing to allow them to disrespect him by letting them drag him.

He glares at Ubu as he shuts the door of his cell between them.

Once he knows he is alone, Damian takes a better register of his situation. He is still in his Robin uniform, so that means he was out with the family- he has a brother- they’ll be looking for him. He believes he’s on a boat, the rocking, the design of the doors and walls- a brother!- he has to make sure he can be found. Grandfather has plans for him-why tell him now- he doesn’t seem to be listening to Mother’s decisions- his brother’s name is Danyal- he might be in danger-they both could- how is he going to get out-

Damian stops.

He readjusts his clothing, feeling the minute shift once more. There’s something between the collar of his suit.

Slowly, Damian runs his hand along the fabric, finding a small bump he recognizes as a tracker.

One of his own bat made trackers. But how..?

Mother.

Damian scoffs to himself. Of course, he should have known she would never show such an obvious display of affection without reason. She was still largely loyal to Grandfather, but Damian was not so naïve as to think she did not care for him at all.

The vibration of the tracker is rhythmic beneath his fingers, the only solace he gets.

His family is coming.

He knows it.

He just hopes it’s fast enough.

——

Perhaps Grandfather’s first mistake was taking him as Robin, when his family was always the most on edge, the most prepared, the most connected.

Or perhaps his first mistake was training Bruce Wayne in the first place.

Either way, Damian watches from the other side of an observation window as his Grandfather and Father engage in a fight racked with fury on both ends.

Richard jostles him, bringing his attention back into focus.

Right.

His newest brother.

He mumbles an explanation to them, words slurred as they leave his mouth. But he knows they heard him. The shock-caution-suspicion painted across their faces could mean nothing else.

Perhaps his Father was under a curse. Surely there was a limit to how many unknown children one person could have in a single lifetime?

All the same, once freed, he moves to help Drake and Richard remove the boy-brother, Danyal- from the operation table next to him, stepping over the doctors knocked unconscious at their feet.

Reluctantly, he allows Drake to support him under one arm, the anesthesia still weighing down his eyelids.

They rush through the halls like a bull, both him and Drake separating to fight off more than one assassin. Even Richard has to set down Danyal to join the fight at least once.

But finally, they make it to the Batplane idling next to the hull.

The moment they are onboard, the plane starts to move away, but his Father is still on board.

Still fighting with Grandfather as they burst through the doors, fists and weapons engaged in equal measure.

Father dodges sideways, blocking hits until he reaches the rails, then he jumps over without hesitation. And just as Damian is about to shout for him, arm reaching out futilely, Richard blows past him.

He is leaping out of the open cargo door with just as much surety as his father leapt, a cord tied around him, and with perfect precision, he watches Richard catch his father at the extension of his swing.

It’s a perfect demonstration of their partnership.

And Grandfather is left scowling out at them from the ship.

His mother stands alone and calm on the upper deck, watching.

Damian turns his attention to his family.

And to Danyal with them.

——

Returning to the cave is less of an affair than Damian may have expected from such a mission.

His father is-has been- silent for most of the flight, staring at the body of Danyal with blank eyes.

Even Drake and Richard conspicuously cast a glance back every few minutes. Damian controls himself from doing the same. He is not so undisciplined as to be as obvious.

Still, the tension only rises the longer Danyal continues to remain asleep. Even by the time Damian feels the last of the anesthesia leave his own system, Danyal is unchanged.

Damian is certain his grandfather would not choose someone so sickly to be his heir, someone so incapable of protecting themselves in this state. Surely there was a reason he was kept, a reason he was allowed this weakness when Damian was-

Regardless, Damian didn’t trust it. The others could get pulled into this invader’s lies all they wanted, Damian would be there to stop him, he was sure of it.

Still, he watches Pennyworth dote over him in the medbay, Father laying him down on a medical bed with harried care, removing his cowl with barely a thought.

Damian ground his teeth, did they not understand that this was an operative trained by his Grandfather? An assassin with no attachment to them that was favored enough by Grandfather to warrant Damian being-

Damian turned to his locker, glad to replace his weapons stores and feel the weight of his sword at his side once more. It would be a pain, but he would have to find a way to receive a package from his mother if he wanted his other sword back.

It was merely a replica of one of his betters but the desire remained.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the family began to gather in front of the Batcomputer, the screen’s light casting shadows on them even in the artificial cave lighting. Finally, they were going to be doing something.

Damian approached, lingering at the edge where he could still see through the curtains of the medbay.

“I’m not the only one who noticed a suspicious lack of life threatening wounds right?” Drake began, turned away from the console with one hand still on the keys, “I mean, there was that first surgery cut, but that was the same as on Damian. It certainly wasn’t enough to necessitate Lazarus water being entered directly into this kid’s bloodstream.”

Damian scowled, “He was like that before they attempted this. Grandfather said that there was something wrong with… Danyal’s heart, said that I would be able to fix it.”

Father cast another brief look at the medbay, Pennyworth’s shadow still moving within. “I’ll have Agent A call Leslie. Robin,” he turned towards Damian, “Did Talia or Ra’s mention anything else to you? Where .. he’s been this whole time?..Why you didn’t know of his existence?”

Damian shook his head, “No, only that he was my brother and that the pit water was being used to fix him somehow. That I was needed to save him.”

Father hums, turning back with pensive silence.

“B, we don’t even know how long this kid’s been there, he’s older than Damian,” Richard pleads. And it makes Damian duck his head with clenched fists. Who was he? Why was he so much more favored by Grandfather?

Why had they told him he was the firstborn of mother? Of father?

“He could always be a clone with advanced aging, we know Talia is capable of it, she’s done it before,” Drake adds. But the theory sits uncomfortably with all of them. Something just not quite right.

“But then why did they need Damian?” Richard says back.

Father grunts.

“Is it really…” Richard starts, “I mean, we have to consider that she actually kept it secret again. Even from Damian.”

“But B wasn’t even with Talia before that, Damian was the first time they… y’know.” Drake says, a grimace on his face at the end.

Father hums, “But I’d fought Talia before. And I had trained with Ra’s.”

“All it would have taken is one DNA sample, right.” Richard says with a sigh, carding his fingers through his hair, “Well, we might as well-“

There’s a slight clatter on the medbay level, silencing everyone as their heads snap to the sound.

When nothing follows, Father motions them all to head up, flanking the room.

Damian is the closest, entering first. No sooner does he notice Pennyworth laying on the floor before he feels a hand slip around his neck and another quickly snatch the sword at his side. Within seconds, Damian feels his back pressed against another body, the cold steel of his own sword stinging at his neck as he stares into his Father’s eyes.

Except his father is not looking at him, he’s looking at the person holding him.

Danyal.

“Where am I!? Who are you!?” The voice behind him demands, the vibration buzzing against him with the familiar staccato of Damian’s native league dialect.

His family shares a weighted look, clearly hesitant to say anything. Already Damian can see the way their fingers twitch towards weapons and utility belts.

The steel at his neck tightens, “Tell me now or I slit his neck and deliver your bodies to the Demon’s Head myself.”

Father’s stance tightens, anger pulling at his gloves even as he forces himself to put his hands up in surrender. When he answers, it is in the League dialect, “We’re not a danger to you, Danyal,” the blade doesn’t so much as twitch, “Put down the swor-“

Stephanie Brown’s voice rings out across the cave, “Hey, Kate and I just finished patrol and-“

Damian doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the sentence because the moment Brown starts speaking, his assailant’s group loosens just a bit, accompanied by a low, broken whisper of, “English?…”

Damian immediately jabs the flat of his arm up, putting the blade farther from his neck as he begins to grapple with him.

In the blur of movement, Damian sees his sword coming at him, throwing his body back with a barely a second to spare, feeling the supporting hand of Richard on his back as he joins their combined front.

Danyal now stands alone in front of them, stolen sword extended in warning.

And now that Damian can see his face, he knows why his family was hesitant… Danyal’s eyes flicker a bright Lazarus green.

“What do you want from me? Why am I here?” he demands once again.

His Father steps up, “I don’t know how much know about me: my name is Bruce Wayne,” There’s barely even a flicker of recognition, “But you might know me better as Batman.”

The eyes widen, eyes scanning them with fervor before narrowing with suspicion and denial, “The Batman is dead, the Demon’s Daughter told me so herself.”

Drake steps forward, “She was wrong. He came back-“

Damian rolls his eyes, “Clearly Mother must have told you. Do not be stupid.”

Danyal’s brow furrows, silently mouthing the word ‘mother’ beneath his breath.

“I don’t-“ He cuts himself off with a grimace, hands tightening on the shaft of the sword, “I don’t believe you, what-“

“What happened? Did we bring back the demon spawn, why are you all-“ Brown bursts into the room, words already filling the air. Only to stop when she sees Danyal.

He raises the sword at them again, noticeably less stable as he supports it with two hands, “Who are you!? Why am I here!? Tell me-“ He grunts again, putting a hand to his chest, “Tell me, now! I-“ the sword drops, Danyal using it to support himself like a cane. Father steps forward, hands extended. It only serves to make Danyal lift his head to glare at him.

“Stay back-“

“We’re only trying to help-“

“I said-“ Danyal grunts, hand clenching at his shirt as he drops to his knees, “Stay- Stay back- I’m-“

The sword falls from his hands with a metallic clatter on the stony ground, Danyal gasping for breath.

“Back- off..” He whispers, the English falling from his lips with desperation as he curls in on himself.

Father rushes forward the moment Danyal’s body goes limp, lifting him onto the medical bed as the room bursts into motion. Richard is grabbing medical equipment as Drake helps father with providing CPR as Brown moves to get Alfred, all of them quick to jump to action.

Damian slowly steps forward, picking up his abandoned sword from the floor.

He turns it over in his hands, making sure it is unharmed from the ordeal even as he watches his family rush to help each other.

Just what had Grandfather been doing to Danyal?

[dahliadew]

The Haunting of the Fortress of Solitude (dp x dc fanfic prompt)

So it finally happened he's been kidded out, well it was bound to happen eventually, from missing class to coming home way past curfew; Danny knows he's been freaking his parents out a lot recently. But he never thought it would come to this point, and it's not like there's a lot he could do about it; if he tells his parents about his ghostly after-school activities, then he runs the risk of being dissected, and it's not like he can go to Jazz or Vlad. One, jazz is finally away at college, and it's not like she has the money or space to house him, and it's not like he'd want to put that responsibility onto her, and two, Vlad is crazy, so he's out the right way. The only remaining option is Aunt Alicia. But he hadn't spoken to her in years, so it was a roll of the dice as to whether or not she'd help him.

So he's on his own in the middle of a heat wave with a core that's mostly made up of pure ice, well sometimes the most straightforward option is the best one, and he, like the dumb ass he is, flies down to the Antarctic, looking for a place to hang out for like a mouth. Or, at the very least, as long as it took to figure something better out.

On his way down how, ever, he found something weird and marvelous. A large, jagged crystal building that sang to his core. Stardust was embedded in the walls of the building, and ice trailed across the floors; it's almost like this building was put here for him specifically. And everything would be perfect if it wasn't for Superman showing up and killing the vibe.

So Danny does what he does best and becomes the best darn ghost that he can be to get his so hideout back. Later, he learns that this is actually Superman's (sorta) house, but well, gosh darn it, he's got squatters' rights, so if Superman wants him gone, he's going to haft to evict him himself.

Superman, however, has been having a bad time lately. Things at the daily planet have been tuff with his boss getting on him for missing meetings, Louis going on a two-week trip to Gotham to do a profile of the hottest man of the year three years running Bruce "Brucie" Wayne and to top it all off there something in the fortress of solitude. At first, he was worried that some animal had somehow gotten into the building, but he knew he would have seen it already. He's already looked over the whole building with X-ray vision, and other than a few bears roaming around the building; he hasn't been able to find anything.

But regardless, so far, not only have four of his super and regular suits been accosted in fine-grade glitter, but his minimal furniture is also moved just slightly to the left (including the central console THAT IS BOLTED TO THE FLOOR). Black voids have even started to engulf his vision when he enters certain building parts, with his vision only clearing when he emerges in different parts of the building than where he was before.

What Clark doesn't know is that the fortress itself is somewhat sentient, and with the arrival of what it perceives as another lost son of Krypton, it is more than happy to play with what it sees as a young child. Plus, the fortes thinks Ka-EL needs to let loose more often and playing with this child will help both destress him and help train the baby that showed up on its literal doorstep.

As for Superman, Ok, maybe it's gone beyond the scope of what he can deal with, but he's having a bad day, and he refuses to lose to whatever the heck is in his house. And he would have continued to do this if not for the fact strange portals opened periodically with otherworldly eyes and limbs reaching out and brushing against him as he walked through the halls. Ok, maybe it's time to call Batman.

So he does. He calls him, and you know damn well that he is polite about it, so there is no reason for Batman to hang up before continuing the call. (he knows B is laughing at him, even if B never laughs, he KNOWS). When he gets a hold of Batman again, it takes less than three minutes for the two of them to decide they need to get Constantine.

Once they finally get him into the building itself, it takes Batman virtually breathing down John's neck to keep him from running out the door, which is odd because as soon as the other two show up, everything seems to return to normal. That is until John starts to draw some seals along the floor then a voice rings out, crying, demanding that they stop. And it's here that, for the first time, Clark comes face to face with what he thinks is the ghost of a Kryptioian child. And things get confused further when Danny, not understanding the conversation entirely, plays into the ghost angle, thinking it will make them leave. But instead, Clark is both horrified and delighted that there is a child's ghost in his home, someone with a direct connection to his home world. As for Batman and John, they both realize they need to do something quickly; otherwise, Superman may have a heart attack. They do not need another ghost on their hands.

As time passes, the two end up sorting things out, even with Batman's paranoia and John's skepticism and end up living together both in Antarctica and Metropolis, with Danny flying between the two at his leisure. But eventually, Danny knows he needs to transform back into his human form, and with Superman constantly hanging around him, finding time to do that becomes complicated. So when he eventually does transform back in the midst of a battle with a powerful magical enemy, Superman, in shock, thinks that Dan-El has somehow come back to life but in a hybrid Kryptonian/human form. And so he, as the resident alien on Earth, takes it upon himself to try to teach him how to be human on Earth. Now Danny, on top of everything, has to pretend to be both an alien from a species he knows little to nothing about and also now act like a human who isn't supposed to know anything about being human. Well, that's just great, but at least he doesn't need to worry about paying rent anymore.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #2 The love of a daughter

Imagine dis…

 What if Daniella “Danny” Fenton has a former past and name that goes by Delilah Rose Wayne?

Delilah is nothing more than a sweet and happy girl who was showered with love from his older brothers, father, and grandfather. She is the apple of their eye as she lights up the room with her giggles and laughs. Her eyes twinkle and sparkle at any mention of space and stars, and wished to go to space and discover planets and life.

Richard “Dick” Grayson, the one who made sure that she felt cared for. He was there to keep her company, willing to paint his nails for her, willing to do acrobatic flips to impress her and listen to her rambling about her obsession with stars.

Jason Peter Todd, the one who made sure she has someone on her back. He was there to protect her from a simple stray dog to people who wishes her harm. He often managed to drag her into mischief like stealing a few cookies before dinner or even making a mess at the Wayne manor garden.

Alfred Pennyworth, the one who made her warm meals. He was there when it is mealtime. The loved each dish, she felt as if her grandfather made such a dish just for her and her family. She would help Alfred prepare some dishes as well as prepare tea for her father. The grandfather's warmth with each smile felt like she was in front of a fireplace holding a cup of her favorite cocoa.

Finally, her father, Bruce Wayne, was her knight in dark armor in the midst of chaos and darkness. Who played with her with a Batman costume that was bought from a dollar store somewhere? Who gave her life and made her the princess of the Wayne manor. Who read her favorite stories each bedtime after a kiss on her forehead. Who made sure that she felt precious and held her like an expensive pearl.

But those are nothing but stories from the past.

Like all of us we learn someday, that fairy tales are nothing but pure fantasy.

There is no prince charming that can swoop you up and save you from the monstrous dragon. There is no knight in shining armor who promised their loyalty and protection to you. You also live to learn that there is no happily ever after.

At the age of 6, she was told to change her name to Daniela for her safety and was shipped off to Amity park for her protection against rouges who wishes harm to the Wayne family and Batman. They wished for her normality and innocence would stay intact, thus shipping her off but promising to come to get her back after a few days.

She learned that promises tend to be broken.

She knew her father and brothers' nightly activity, loving them for protecting the such dreary city as home but also worrying and caring for them as every time they go out in the night danger lurks in the shadows. So she was patient, waiting day after day after day for her brothers, father, and grandfather for her by the window still.

Days turned into months and turned into years with no family in sight.

There are no brothers who would protect her from bullies. There is no father who would tuck her in for the night, but a large strange couple proclaims themselves as her parents even though her foster sister Jazz is more of a parent than a sister to her. There is no grandfather in sight but a weird man whom he calls her godfather.

But our story doesn’t end there.

Like every princess who lost hope on top of the stone tower, she rescued herself.

After the accident leading to her being both alive and dead at the same time, she carved her own destiny. She swore fate up above that she wouldn’t let this sit by.

Being a hero in a small part of the US patch of land where ghosts, GIW and Vlad are all after her head.

…

At 16 she made a decision, to destroy all things that are to harm her people.

She may be half human but her people come first and the people who called her family. Namely, Frostbite, Pandora, and Clockwork.

Destroying each government base leaving only ashes, hacking and releasing each database that contains their research with the help of Technus, destroying each technology and weapon the Fenton’s have made including the artificial portal down the basement, getting Nocturn to erase their memories on the fact that they are ecto-biologists and erase the memories of her friends.

Her human friends wouldn’t understand the weight of the crown on her head while the one who had raised her had laid down her life for her to escape the clutches of their own parents. Preparing contingencies in case another case of the Pariah Dark ever happen again.

She is her father’s daughter.

Random natural portals are caused by the imbalance of the realms. When she fixed the problem not only the citizens of the Infinite Realms are more than happy to have the balanced fixed.

Her entire being is the Infinite Realms herself.

Danny became a workaholic to avoid future aches in her core. Her former family living their best lives with her is out of the picture.

How is that fair? Am I not enough?

Seeing the smile her father gave to those he adopted.

How?!?!

Seeing the fond look that was given to her and only her to a SON

Is that it!!! Is it I am not a boy?

It was obvious that they have forgotten about her.

“That terrible feeling that you’re being replaced and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

If they have replaced her then she can also replace them.

The observers as a grumpy tsundere grandfather, Clockwork a father she never thought she had, Pandora a mother who made her strong so that she could protect herself from the dangers of men, Frostbite an uncle who cared for her mental and physical being, and Dan a big brother who solemnly became her knight and brother alongside Fright Night to scare away the horrors she faced in the hands of her “families” Her former rouges as another figure in her life.

She was satisfied.

…

Danny is always drowned in paperwork Ember and Kitty had a great idea to start a band in the human realm. This was supported by all the adult figures in her life seeing that she neglected her human half.

Danny went along with it as long they won’t cause trouble like hypnotizing the audience, causing trouble…etc.

Johnny 13, Shadow and Shulker as their bodyguards, and Walker as their manager.

They had created the band Massacre Trio, in which they created songs about their life before the afterlife.

As for their stage outfits and names both Kitty and Ember stayed in their ghost forms and turn into their human forms when they are out enjoying teen things while Danny wore a skull that covers half top of her face and was given the stage name Shade, she wore a hard gothic style that had a bit of tech on her in memory of her life before the afterlife.

…

Timothy Drake became a fan after hearing one song as well as rest of the world.

At first, they were just creating songs and posting them on Vtube the next thing they know they are already performing on live stages.

Danny felt to be free, without the expectation of you being the King, without the care in the world about her family nor doesn’t care about the fact that this realm is where her ‘family’ lived but at that moment she lived for applause.

What she didn’t take into account are her ever-growing powers.

…

Tim forced the rest family to watch a live feed in their family living room as a family bonding, as it is also the day Shade reveals her face to the world.

The moment Tim opened the TV all four members were hit with nostalgia with the person wearing a skull singing her heart out in their new song.

(Danny never realized that whenever she sang with her heart it takes effect on those who heard her sing by being happy or crying their hearts out as her powers and core amplify her voice)

Oh, father

Please, father

I'd love to leave you alone

But I can't let you go

Oh, father

Please, father

Put the bottle down

For the love of a daughter

Don't you remember, I'm your baby girl?

How could you push me out of your world?

Lied to your flesh and your blood

Put your hands on the ones

That you swore you loved

Don't you remember, I'm your baby girl?

How could you throw me right out of your world?

So young when the pain had begun

Now forever afraid of being loved

The moment she removed her mask all four of them felt like the air was leaving their lungs.

That is Delilah…

That is my daughter…

That is my sister…

How?!?!!?

Now the Batfam are now scrambling to get to their missing piece while in the shadows Ra is looking at the female Wayne with both curiosity and disbelief all while Danny’s past is slowly catching up to her.

But do not worry her family of clan is right behind her refusing to part with her.

 PS: If someone out there wanting to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so don’t forget to tag me though.

[nabtime]

Our Empty Graves I

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 1: im sorry mom ive got to go (I dug this grave I call my home)

Chapter Notes: title from Lonely by Palaye Royale Links: AO3 // Chapter 2

Danny stared down the barrel of his mother’s gun.

“How dare you,” she said, voice hoarse and barely there. Her hands were shaking. He knew, though, as he looked into the toxic green of the blaster, that her aim would hold true regardless.

He said nothing. Even if he was physically capable of speech in this form he would have nothing to say. He was exhausted, on all levels. He couldn’t do this anymore. His parents were the last of the stubborn Amity Parkers that refused to leave and there was no avoiding them when he was trying to defend what was left of his haunt, trying to defend the portal so that any ghosts causing mischief would steer clear. For their sake and his. The GIW had been in rare form lately and he wasn’t ready to find more ghosts strapped to a table.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the town was pulled into the Realms, stuck after he’d defeated Pariah with no way of sending everyone back to the material plane. But it felt like a long time now. He’d lost track of the exact date since he’d given up on being human.

“Where is he,” she snarled, shoving the gun closer, feet away from his face. “What did you do with my son?”

He could give nothing but a rattling echoey sigh, distorted and piercing. A smaller version of his ghostly wail and about the only sound he could make without mass destruction.

He was tired. Exhausted from his latest fight with Skulker. The hunter would not rest until he’d gained the rarest pelt of them all. Phantom’s. The child ghost. The Halfa. The Fetch. The ultimate prize. He didn’t have anything left in him after getting Skulker to leave, fighting for what was left of his life and winning by a hair. He couldn’t just dump the ghosts in the Ghost Zone anymore, not when he also lived there. They were either put in time out in the thermos or fought off. Everything within his body ached. Everything within his soul ached. He didn’t think he could survive this confrontation with his mother and he almost felt like… he didn’t want to.

He lay limp where he’d fallen after battle, resting against his own empty grave. His dad and Jazz had insisted on having the funeral after his first full year of being missing. His mom had gone off the deep end and refused to believe he was dead. She was only half right.

“You’re sitting on his grave,” she yelled, voice cracking with tears. “Where is he?”

He shook his head. He’d long since given up on returning to his family. On ever being human again. He died in that accident and pretending otherwise, no matter that he somehow wasn’t a full ghost, would only hurt everyone in the long run. He’d already hurt them so, so much.

His mom and dad were the last ones left in Amity and they needed to let go. They were already reduced to staying at a hotel for a good majority of the time, unable to stay within the Realms with their puny human bodies for long. They needed to move out, permanently. He couldn’t bare to see them waste away here. One Fenton haunting the Zone was enough.

After a few good beats of silence she drew closer- her gun drew closer. Her steps crunched in the dead grass around them, cast a sickly green from the glow of the neon sky.

“You wear the same HazMat my husband and I designed,” she said quietly. “You showed up the same time Danny had his accident.” The barrel of the gun made contact with the tinted shield that hid his face. “I need answers!” she screamed.

He knew his mother wasn’t dumb, however willfully ignorant his parents seemed at times. She was so close to connecting the impossible dots, but knew she would never make them. She didn’t want to. She wanted her son back and all that was left was a monster.

He could see his reflection in her goggles. The bright green pin-pricks that counted as eyes. The inhuman shape of the suit swallowing him. The face shield blocking any recognizable features and the entire ghostly glow that surrounded him. Maddie’s own face was hidden behind the face shield of her suit, but if he looked close enough he could see the fear and denial within her once familiar lilac eyes.

He pulled the gun closer and held it to his head. He was so, so tired.

“I watched your fight with Pariah, you know,” she whispered. “I saw how you Ended him.”

A jolt of surprise and fear flooded down his spine, his grip on the gun tightening. He hated being reminded of what he’d had to do to Pariah. Hated the blood on his hands and the feeling of the core he’d crushed within them. But this was another level. She saw him End another. His mother had witnessed him become a murderer.

“I could End you too, you know,” she said, a deep sadness in her tone. The fear within him spiked. She reached out a gentle hand and cradled his head. “End my little boy’s pain.”

Breath he didn’t need caught in his throat, a strangled sound erupting from his core. Inhuman and full of terror. He’d already been willing to let his mother shoot him, to let her take out her pain on his aching body. But she could actually End him here. She could End him knowing he was her son.

Pain like nothing else ripped through him, his emotions growing erratic and effecting his form. Everything warped and he dropped the gun like it burned as he scrambled back against his headstone, trying in vain to gather enough energy to fly. To get away.

“Hold still for me, won’t you, dear?”

Panic built within his chest, his core (his fragile, tiny core) rattling against his ribs. His arms and legs felt impossibly heavy as he clawed at the dirt to move away, digging and digging as he tried to hoist himself up over the headstone.

Here Lies Daniel J. Fenton Beloved Son and Brother Gone Before His Time June 13th 19XX – August 16th 20XX

And wasn’t it funny, somehow? That he’d be dying, forever and fully, over his own empty grave?

He could feel the heat of the blaster warming up for the killing blow. Sense the necrotic scent of rancid ectoplasm building behind him. It would take more than one shot to End him, to cleave him open enough for her to snatch his core. To crush it.

“It won’t hurt too bad, baby,” his mom cooed. An edge to her voice he couldn’t identify. “Just like getting a shot at the pediatrician’s all over again.”

He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t. He was tired but he didn’t want to End. Not here, not now. Not at the hands of his mother. He couldn’t do that to her. Couldn’t let her shoulder that awful, awful guilt. He needed to get away. He needed so, so desperately to leave. Amity had long since emptied. There was no one left to protect within his Haunt. He needed to leave.

Something gave way beneath his leg, dirt folding into empty space with a horrific lurch. His face smashed into the ground as he unbalanced.

She shot him in the leg first. The one not buried in the dirt and hanging into nothingness.

A shattered wail was building in his core, as close to a scream as he could get. He was trying to gasp in as much air as he could through the clumps of dirt and fetid rot that surrounded all graves. He could feel the leak of warm ectoplasm leaving his burning limb. The more he lost the more it would take to recover. And the more it would take to get away.

She caught an arm next. It felt like she was toying with him. Pinning him down like yet another specimen to examine on the table. He could feel bone crack with the point blank range shot, his skin partially melting with the heat and bleeding even more toxic green ooze. He used his other arm to claw further into the depths. He didn’t know what was beyond this, but if he dug in enough maybe he could fall through. His hand hit something solid and he cried, desperate to break through and escape. It was his only option. He kicked at it with his leg, steel toe of his boot just barely scratching its surface. His hands were closer to whatever shape it made under the dirt. He punched instead.

She shot the base of his spine and he could feel his nerves twitch and writhe uselessly. She shot him again in the same spot and they fell still. He couldn’t feel them anymore. His digging and punching grew more frantic. He used his broken arm despite the pain, just needing to get away, away, away.

Cuts and bruises from his fight with Skulker were making themselves known in the frenzy, screaming and burning with his hurried movements. The knock to the head he’d gotten wasn’t helping things either. Everything was going blurry with panic and it hurt, hurt, hurt. He was sobbing without sound and the shaking of his core was constricting his lungs and making his chest heave. He was an animal caught in a trap, eating away at its own flesh in order to flee. To live.

Bright green broke through the ground in jagged lines, crackling with power as he felt his bleeding knuckles shatter whatever barrier had lain under the empty space. Everything gave way and the last thing he could hear was his mother’s screaming as he plummeted. Sweet relief overcame the dread as black filled his vision.

═════ ◈ ═════

He woke, sometime later, on another man’s grave.

Here Lies Jason P. Todd Beloved Son and Brother Gone Before His Time August 16th 19XX – June 13th 20XX

[dannyphantom-justiceleauge]

I find the idea of Jazz being an overprotective sibling when they were young so adorable. Like imagine a young Jazz holding young Danny's hand everywhere and helping him up on his chair. Imagine this in the au where Bruce figures out Jack is a relative but Jazz and Danny are children when they meet. Imagine the Batfam just cooing over this sweet shy little boy and his overprotective sister who's like 'No. My little brother >:('.

my mind went dark because i've seen my share of fics and analysis of jazz, where that protectiveness stems from living in an unstable home. like her parents are loving but also awful a lot of the time. and jazz was facing that alone for the first three years of life and then she had a baby brother and she had that moment of i'm going to do anything for him. that pure love you sometimes just feel for infants. and then as time went on she became more and more aware of how dangerous everything in their house is. like overprotective people have a habit of catastrophizing. like you're not allowed near anything. i can't believe we're even in the same house as knives. but in this case, jazz is absolutely right. their house is a death trap. the fenton parents don't practice lab safety. that is canon. and i highly doubt their house was child proofed in anyway so you just have this also a child just fully embracing her role as a psuedo parent to protect her baby brother. (which is in fact a pattern in abusive and neglectful families.) also plays into her interest in psychology and childhood development. she noticed a problem and started researching it.

kinda takes the cuteness out of it. but the psychologist in me can't let jack and maddie off, especially when the show plays into these roles fairly realistically.

but yeah, i'm currently remembering the Christmas episode where jazz fought a turkey away from toddler danny with a broom. she's always been there for him even if they annoy each other. also makes it feel more significant to me that jazz was the first in the family to find out danny's secret. she reacted how you want a parent to react. she was supportive, and she gave danny the space to talk in his own time. she didn't confront him or force him to talk about his accident or being a ghost. she respected his boundaries and let him come to her. while also keeping an eye out on his general safety and health. jazz is a safe person to talk to.

the parents while are shown as being supportive when the reveal, leading up to those situations it's genuinely hard to tell. like you try to convince them that ghosts aren't evil with the presented evidence and they just plow over you with their ghosts are evil and we want to tear them apart rhetoric. it's hard to trust that they'll be safe. that they'll look past their beliefs for their kids or turn against them.

so naturally throwing batman into the mix. well he has an adoption problem. and lets be real, cps would be on this household if someone made the call. i could see it playing out as a temporary situation. where the fenton parents are confronted with their bad behavior and are told to clean up their act and meanwhile danny and jazz would stay with uncle bruce. (vlad offered as someone the family knows better but jazz and danny vehemently refused.) and that has the potential of antics because danny fits the type and could just accidentally phase into the bat cave at any time. cassandra, barbera, and jazz being friends is also everything to me. danny learning proper martial arts instead of his messy self taught fighting style.

and just there's a certain dichotomy because the siblings in the bat family are kinda weirdly antagonistic. like you sense the love but they aren't close in a family way exactly. they're close in a we fight together way. they're brothers in arms. but theirs bitterness and jealousy that we see a lot. they love each other but they fight a lot.

but jazz and danny are close. protective. yes we see jazz protect and look after danny a lot. we see her worry about his safety and mental health. but you know danny is just as protective of her. he'd fight anyone. he notices when she's in danger even when she doesn't. see the johny situation. sure they tease and argue but it's a lot more innocent. i don't see them getting in fist fights with each other. their fights are nothing serious.

so i could see having jazz and danny in the mansion calling attention to the fact that the bat bros aren't as close or normal as jazz and danny seem to be. and initially it might be written off, well of course they're more normal. they're not vigilantes. but then the reveal that, no danny is also a vigilante and jazz has been in fights in the past. that excuse kinda goes out the window. so it becomes a thing.

jazz enters family therapist mode. it's what they deserve. - Hestia

[impyssadobsessions]

“Static.” Cass stated as the comms went down. Dick nodding, “We must be getting close, everyone keep an eye out for anything glowing or green, or both. Tim keep a look on the levels.” “Power levels are high, you’d think we entered a nuclear bombing zone.” Tim frowning. Jason gritted his teeth as the area made him uneasy. Something didn’t settle right with him. Damian had his face pressed again the glass, trying to look. “Tt. It sure doesn’t look special.” Dick was flying low, keeping an eye out for openings encase he had to make an emergency landing. He was prepared not to- “Crash!”

Dick flinched, taking his eyes off in front of him for a moment to gaze at what his siblings were piling at the window to see. Signs of wreckage were visible. “Father couldn’t have gotten more than a scratch. He’s escaped worse.” Damian glaring at the remains of the plane. “He isn’t invincible. He couldn’t have predicted this.” Tim then groaned at the realization that this will only increase Bruce’s paranoia. “Now he will.” Dick chuckling weakly, “Maybe our new ghost hunting crew will help keep him from over doing it?” “Nah, it’ll just make him worse.” Jason huffed. Cass patted Tim’s shoulder, but then the plane started to stutter. It caused her to accidentally smack Tim instead, as they fell to their knees. “ow!” Alarms blared and flashed. Dick wasn’t going to take the chance and decided to land, they should be close enough to where Batman and the teens set up camp. “Everyone buckle in!” Jason yanked Damian by his cape and dropped him into his seat. Damian grumbling but buckling nonetheless. Cass took up Jason’s seat and Tim strapped back into his own. Jason took up space beside Dick, keeping low instead of buckling up himself. Dick frowned at Jason, receiving a cheeky grin back. Flash of green darted through the cab, and another. Dick was determined not to crash, his siblings were with him. There wasn’t enough time to land in a large enough clearing, so he had to make due. Trees cracking and crashing as the plane landed. They’ll have to do some repairs before leaving, but that wouldn’t be a problem. All the bat kids let out a sigh of relief as the plane stopped moving. Dick’s arms were shaking from holding the controls so tight. “I see something green.” “And glowing.” “And... animal?” Dick glanced over to what they were looking at, giving a half-smile. “What are the chances they’re domesticated?” Jason huffed, “Big fat 0.” ----

Batman sighed as the comms went to static. They were close, his eyes squinting at the sky. It was still too dark to see anything besides the stars and moon, but it wouldn’t be much longer before the sun rises. Bruce glanced down at the weight that pressed against his leg. Jazz was asleep and leaning against him. Her hair tied in a messy bun, using her own hair to tie it. Danny had helped, reason it was messier than it would have been if she had done it. Yet, Jazz wasn’t worried about the knotting mess her hair was becoming. He glanced down at Danny, who unlike his sister, was laying on the ground instead of sitting up. He was sleeping, using his sister’s lap as a pillow, while Jazz’s hand rested on his hair. The young teen had fallen asleep, due to Jazz’s persistence that he get some rest. At least, Batman hoped he was sleeping. His breaths, if he took any, were so shallow that he couldn’t hear it at all. It made his stomach turn as the idea popped into his head, remembering the information that his kids had shared. “Electrical burns and hypothermia.. don’t know what happen to the kid, but it sounds like he’s lucky to be alive.” Lucky to be alive, or more like.. he wasn’t. Batman shook his head, he didn’t want to dismiss the possibility, but it wasn’t an easy concept to handle. Maybe he was more like Jason, or at least he had hoped. If he was a ghost and his parents were- He cursed at himself having already gotten so attached to them. They weren’t his kids, but he’ll look out for them. They needed someone. Batman had been busy talking and listening to the bat family, to converse with Jazz and Danny after they successfully tested the repellent with the mask. He wanted to ask them more about the GIW, Amity Park, and Plasmius, but he saw the exhaustion wear on them long before they passed out. They needed to rest, so he felt relieved when he looked over and found them asleep. Batman will ask more, when the time came. For now, they could rest and wait. After all, he had a feeling that Amity Park’s mystery may take months to tackle, even with their help. He rubbed his chin in thought, staring at the flames. He was trying to make sense of all the pieces of information he had discovered, filing each away in his head. Danny had powers, had been in a terrible accident, and was contaminated with enough ectoplasm that made him able to handle the substance with his bare hands. They both were confident enough in combat, has knowledge of high tech gear, have in depth knowledge about ghosts, and has scientists/ghost hunters as parents. Amity Park was being blacklisted on the internet and kept a secret. No one outside of the town knows whats going on in it. Ghost attacks are common occurrence. GIW is an unknown “government” organization that deals with ghosts.- It was a lot to unpack at once, and it seems to just keep growing. To think something that’s on this scale would be missed, just made him wonder what else had he missed? What else escaped their notice? Batman glanced at the kids again, wondering how many were like them? It wasn’t something he should dabble on. He’ll handle each problem at a time. For now, rescuing their parents was the goal. If by Jazz’s and Danny’s impressions of them, they might be very happy to help, though they’ll need to work on their bias about ghosts. Though, That might have to be held off until later too. Unless Danny was- -GASSSSP- Batman jolted out of his thoughts, looking towards the gasp, to find Danny scrambling out of his sister’s lap to his feet. He furrowed his brows, judging by Danny’s alertness, this could be bad. Danny was having a very pleasant dream about hanging out with his friends and his sister at Nasty Burger, until he was awoken by his ghost sense, eyes snapping open. His brain barely registering where he was, while he pushed to his feet. The crackling of the fire reminded him as the feeling sunk in. He scanned the sky in worry as his skin crawled. Jazz let out an “Oomph!”, coughing as her brother pushed off of her. She rubbed her eyes, trying to regain alertness.

She frowned, noticing her brother’s stance. He looked like a small animal ready to fight or to flee. “Danny?” Jazz shifting to try and stand, wobbling. Batman kept her from falling by placing a hand on her back, helping stabilize her balance. She uttered a soft ‘Thank you’. “There’s.. more of them.” Danny glaring at a specific direction. “Ghost? But... we should be fine under the shield, right? Or.. is it Plasmius?” Danny never took his eyes off the sky. “We’re safe.” Batman frowned, then it clicked. “They’re not.” Jazz’s eyes widened, as they heard sound of engines roaring and trees cracking in the distance. Danny scooped up any weapons he could fit in his arms and ran towards the sound. Jazz attempting to follow, picking up the remaining weapons. “Jazz, stay! Protect Batman.” Danny disappearing into the tree line. “What-Danny no! You can’t just- UGH” Jazz glad she tied her hair up again or she would be ripping it out. “We’ll go after him.” Batman stumbled as he stood up, his legs were stiffed from him not moving much. “But your hurt-” Jazz bit her lip, watching Batman stand. “And they are my- allies.” Jazz caught the short pause. The realization dawned on her. She tried to think of what to do-catching sight of the ghost shield. Reaching down to pick it up, so Batman wouldn’t have to. “I was really hoping you’d be less reckless than Danny,” She teased, giving Batman a grin as she passed him the square device. “We’ll bring camp to them.” She couldn’t blame them for being reckless, she was guilty of it too. Jazz stayed to make sure Batman could walk fine on his own, before running up ahead after Danny, once satisfied that the Dark Knight would be fine. Batman frowned as he walked, definitely feeling the humiliation of the situation. -- Ok, this was not ideal. The bats stood back to back, weapons drawn as the mutated animal ghosts stalk closer. They had tried everything they could think of, but nothing had worked against the ghosts. “I know B said they were hard to hit, but for some reason I didn’t think that meant they hit hard either!” “Incoming to your right-” “Thanks.” “Is no one else going to talk about how Jay can just suplex a two headed GHOST deer?” “Jealous-SHIT. Little fuck-” Jason was bit by a gopher with fangs on his ankles while he was flexing. He kicked the gopher into a small flock of boney birds. “No one could be jealous of being bit by a rodent.” Jason was the only one that could hit the ghost, they had found that out during initial combat. Since then, he was the one keeping them at bay. The others had to dodge attacks. Their weapons didn’t work, and Damian’s sword seem to have an opposite effect. His sword managed to slice apart a badger with wings, only to make it double in size. Tim eyes had widened at what this could mean about the ghosts and kryptonite. But They didn’t really dwell on it, there was no time to. That was when they had found out Jason could hit the ghost. Jason had punched the badger out of the air when it swooped in to attack Damien. “Ungrateful-” Jason grumbled as he sent another rolling kick at a pouncing mountain lion with a snake tail, sending it right into a group of ghosts. He huffed under his red helmet. Cassandra was the only one not with them, she managed to sneak away, planning to alert Batman and the Fenton kids where they were. Since they were the only ones with weapons that could fight ghosts. Dick was hoping the rest of them could get a moment to escape, but as they pressed their backs against the plane, he knew they just had to bide their time. He wished Jason didn’t have to fight them alone. Tim wished he had that ecto-battery. Batman had briefly talked about as to why the Fenton’s weaponry worked against ghosts, but he obviously didn’t know specifics. Tim wanted to rig something up. Was there really nothing they could do? Jason vaulted himself up onto the two headed deer’s back, doing a flip and smashing his boot into a bear’s face. He stumbled back, assessing what mutated animal to tackle next. They weren’t predictable and fighting

felt chaotic. He only had a short moment, not the hardest thing but it was annoying. The mountain lion pounced at him first, but missed going into the ground. It took Jason a confused second to realize it wasn't going after him. On que, it popped back out of the ground from behind Jason, attack his brothers instead. Jason whipped around trying to grab it by the snake tail. A blast of green shot from the forest, straight into the side of the cougar (Just another name for Mountain Lion). Sending it into the forest, with a terrifyingly womanly shriek. Jason blinked staring at where the mountain lion was moments ago, then followed where the beam of green came from. A teenage boy with black hair, and icy blue eyes that pierced through the shadows stood, aiming a white scifi looking handgun. He then shot remainder of the animals, not missing a single one. Some of the ghostly animals fled as the sight of him, the larger and more aggressive ones stayed, but they were pushed back. “Would you call that being late or on time?” Danny pushed out a weakly chuckle. Whatever demanding aura he had gave, seem to be a farce. Dick was the first one to break the awkward tension giving a laugh, “Right on time. Danny, right? Those for us?” Danny looked at what he carried under his arm, as if he forgot he was holding anything. “Oh right, here! You can fight with these.” Danny tossing over the weapons, letting Dick distribute them. Danny shooting down the two headed deer before it could charge again. “Fuck yea! Now we’re packing, who wants to keep score, eh?” Jason catching the Ecto-ray Dick tossed him, twirling it around in his hand to get a good feel of it. Despite the bulky scifi design, it felt light than a gun. “If we’re keeping score, then you might want to get to shooting. Danny already got 10 on you. Sorry, 12.” Tim grinned as he examined his ecto-ray, briefly. “Doesn’t count! I didn’t have a gun, until now.” Jason shooting at the bear. Damian frowned as he held up the handle to the Anti-ghost roasting stick. “This can’t seriously be a weapon.” “You’re right. Its not. Its suppose to roast marshmallows.” Danny grinned as he shot at the badger that flew in. “That be 6 then to your 4?” Damian looked at the stick with more confusion, as it sparked with green energy. Trying to decipher if this new teen was messing with him or not. Jason cursing, at the mocking teen, grinning underneath the helmet. He shot down 5 ghost with one shot. “Make that 9.” “This ones a dud.” Dick tossed the broken ecto-ray to the ground. Danny shooting 3 more ghosts, trying to catch up to Red Hood. He looked over at Dick, “Oh-sorry. Was in a rush. Uh... here.” Danny tossing Dick his gun. Dick caught it, opening his mouth to refuse, not liking the idea of Danny being weaponless, when the boy pulled out a lipstick from his pocket. “Is that lipstick?” “Yeah, wouldn’t recommend using it on your face though.” Danny aiming and shooting down a giant rabbit. Dick shrugged, with a shake of his head. With weapons in hand, the animals started to flee one by one. They started tag teaming the animals that chose to stay. Damian had begun to love his stick, using it much like his sword, zapping the flying badger that had wronged him earlier. The others would switch tag team partners. Sometimes Tim and Jason shot a ghost down, then it be Danny and Jason, and so on. Danny stopped as the bear and puma finally fled. The bat brothers high fiving each other. Dick was about to get Danny to join in the high five, until he noticed the young teen’s expression. “What’s with that face?” ”.....Nothing! Er.. well.. I can’t explain it.” Danny frowned, he didn’t feel like the ghosts had left. Honestly, thinking about it, he isn’t sure why they attacked. They didn’t act like any ghostly animals he knew of. He had assumed Vlad was manipulating them, like he had in the past. But they weren’t behaving like before. Perhaps he made it so they couldn’t turn on him? Even so, he didn’t like the churning feeling in his gut. Jason had stopped in his celebration, as he felt the

Lazarus Pit swish. It felt power, something was growing. He motioned with his hand towards the others, as he stared out into the trees. A gangling terrifying screech of different animal cries echoed from the dark. Danny frowned as the sound seemed eerily similar to his wail, sending chills down his spine.

He didn’t even notice Nightwing having pulled him and the other bats close together. --- Cassandra was very skilled at not being seen. She was a master of sneak, and yet there was a ghostly moose-wolf chasing after her. It didn’t matter if she took to the trees or the ground, the moose was hot on her tail. Her only hope was to out run it.

That is until she had smacked head first into someone with red-hair. Jazz let out an oomph! Groaning as she fell back onto the ground. She had to admit, she was bad at directions. She didn’t have Danny to help use the stars as reference. She also had forgotten her flashlight within her rush. Which led her to blindly trying to chase after her brother. Fully recognizing her hypocrisy of having just teased Batman for being reckless, then proceeding to be reckless.. Way to be a big help to your brother, Jazz. Can’t even follow after him, without running into a.. Jazz blinked, whatever hit her was soft. She looked up, seeing a masked face looking down, startling her a bit. “Oh-oh! you must be one of-” She froze as the sound of the moose-wolf’s howl. Cass swung around, arms held out protectively in front of Jazz. The moose-wolf was charging straight at them. Jazz flashing back to the fight at the camp, before snapping out of it. She dropped the rest of the stuff she was holding, fumbling to hit the button on her specter deflector. The shield flung around her and Cass, just as the moose-wolf was a hair from Cass. The shield glitched and frizzed when it made contact with the ghost. It wouldn’t last many hits. The ghost seem to know that, having shook off the pain from the shield. The moose-wolf circled getting ready to run them down again. Cass seemed to be in awe as the shield pulled around them. She turned back to Jazz, “Jazz, weapons?” Jazz was shaken from her stun at the call of her name. She took a minute to understand and then moved to get back on her feet, “Ah! Yes! Here, this is an ecto-ray. Basically a gun for ghosts.” Cass took the blaster gratefully, eyeing it down for a moment to get a good look at it. It seemed to function much like a regular gun, so she took aim and fired at the moose-wolf. It seemed to stutter, but wasn’t affected by one shot. If anything, it made it mad. Cass was confused. “That ghost is difficult. It took Batman, Danny and I to hurt it. Shoot, Danny has the thermos too!” Jazz huffed, as she shuffled her hand through the items she brought. Cass nodded, deciding she needed multiple and precise shots. She aimed again as the moose charged. She shot in succession, hitting each knee until they buckled. The Moose skid towards them, Cass reaching out to try and pull Jazz out the way. But Jazz was standing, with a metal bat in hand. She whacked hard at the moose-wolf when it neared, changing the course of its direction into a tree. Cass having to duck from being hit. “S-sorry. Heh.” Jazz rubbing the back of her neck, she felt embarrassed about almost hitting some one in the cross fire. Seems she was aware only if Danny was present, more in likely because of her subconscious to keep him safe. That older sister complex of hers. Cass just nodded, standing up. She pointed at the blaster on Jazz’s hip, “Mind if I have two?” The moose-wolf stood up again, a gnarly growl. Jazz wasted no time in handing Cassandra her blaster. Cass moved outside of Jazz’s shield range, preparing to tango with the moose. The moose-wolf then disappeared. Causing Cass to frown, glancing at Jazz. “Ghost can turn invisible, animal ghosts usually don’t but doesn’t mean they can’t-AH!” Jazz screamed as she stumbled back, the shield popped around her. It glitched and frizzed. The moose-wolf reappeared as the shock caused its form to show. Cass didn’t loose the chance to shoot at it. The Moose-wolf howled and turned to charge towards Cass. She leaped into the trees, grabbing onto the lowest branch, swinging up onto it. The ghost followed her up, when a bat flew into the air and struck the moose-wolf back down. Jazz had flung her bat to keep the ghost from following. Cass took the chance to shoot again. This time the angle didn’t allow her to hit vulnerable points. She kept moving in the branches, hoping her constant shooting would still do the trick. The moose-ghost was getting agitated. It stomped and dug into the dirt, before phasing into the ground to avoid the ecto beams. Cass frowned, watching Jazz collect

her bat. She didn’t see a sign of the ghost, until Jazz’s eyes widened and pointed behind her. It wasn’t a quick enough warning. She felt the antlers dig into her back and toss her up into the air. She grunted as branches whacked her face and she spun in the air. She twisted to turn the momentum into her court. Aiming the blasters, she shot at the ghost before it phased into the ground again. Landing like a cat back on her feet. “Are you ok-Ah!” Jazz was running towards her, when her shield activated again. The moose-wolf attacked from below, sending Jazz in a bubble up into the air. The shield phasing out once the ghost was out of range. Cass used her grappling hook, on a high branch, pulling herself up into the air to catch Jazz in her arms. The red-haired teen clung to her, eyes wide, body shaking. Jazz was trying to repeat a mantra to herself, but she clearly felt unprepared for this. She was out of her element, and watching this ally of Batman’s, made her feel really out of her league. Danny didn’t need her, he needed people like them. Doubt swelling in her mind, as fear consumed her. Cass swung them around, preparing to land when the ghost appeared above them ready to charge. She gritted her teeth, unhooking the grappling hook. She wrapped her arms tightly around Jazz, as the ghost made contact slamming them into the ground. The shield shattered upon impact with the ground and the belt buckle burst, going from a bright glowing green to pitch black. Cass tumbled protecting Jazz from the majority of the fall. They rolled several feet. The moose-wolf dug its hoof into the ground, ready to charge. Cass reached to grab a blaster, struggling to move. Jazz rolled herself up onto her hands and knees. She was in better condition, but still shook from shock. She fumbled with the other blaster, aiming with shaky hands. Cursing herself for being consumed with pity, and self-doubt at a time like this. Didn’t matter what they needed, she is what they had. She fired repeatedly at the moose-wolf, remembering Danny’s previous advice. She rapid fired at the knees and the eyes, switching targets, while she played back in her mind how Cass had fought. The moose-wolf hybrid ghost didn’t stop in its charge, even as it stumbled and tripped from the shots. Jazz having shifted her body in front of Cass, preparing to take the brunt this time. Cass had grabbed the blaster she was reaching for, and aimed through the small opening that Jazz’s side gave her. They repeatedly shot at the ghost as it neared, causing it to tumble. The momentum of the ghost will cause it to roll right on top of them. Or it would have, if a large green shield didn’t encase them, sending the moose-wolf off in a direction like a ball. Jazz and Cass panted, lowering their weapons. A voice startled them both, whipping their heads back to see Batman standing there, with the ghost shield in his hands. “Are you both alright?” Batman glanced between the disheveled Jazz and the grounded Cass. They nodded in response, Cass moving to get up. Jazz jumping at the chance to help her. Once they were both standing and dusting each other off, they let out a relieved laugh. Batman walked closer, glancing over to make sure they weren’t injured. “Where are the others?” “At the plane. We were ambushed after landing.” “Did you see Danny?” Cass shook her head, but she could have missed him while running away from the ghost. Jazz pursed her lips in concern, but dismissed her worry. “I’m sure he made it to them. He has the knack for popping up at the right time.” Jazz convinced herself, gathering up what she dropped. Getting a good look at the shards on the ground and her specter deflector’s busted buckle. Jazz hated that it was busted, after Danny spent so long working on it too, but it had full filled its purpose. It kept them safe. They all froze, hearing the terrifying wail echo through the forest. “That’s.. where I came from.” Cass informed. All three of them felt the surge of urgency and ran towards the echo.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children [DP x Batman Crossover] Ch. 1

Disclaimer: It's been a while since I watched DP and the only Batman/DC stuff I've interacted with are B:TAS, the JL cartoons, and what I got from fandom osmosis so don't expect any sort of canon compliance.

In Which: the author takes advantage of the passage of time in Nanda Parbat being wonky and Danny doesn't give up, per se, but is sort of resigned to being stuck with the League of Assassins until further notice.

AO3 | Prologue | [ 1 ] | 2 |

CW for descriptions of non-consensual drug use (if there's anything you guys would like me to tag, please tell me)

-----

WHEN SOMETHING WENT WRONG WITH DANNY’S LIFE, it was usually because of one or two things: Ghosts or Vlad. And considering their truce and how even Vlad wouldn’t go this far (at least, Danny hoped), Danny was kidnapped because of ghosts. Or his association with ghosts.

Though how an organization of ninja-assassins got wind of his ‘unique’ circumstance was beyond him. The shackles they slapped on his wrists were more a formality than anything after the second time he tried to escape them with intangibility. The only reason they managed to get him contained the entire trip from Amity Park to wherever the fuck Nanda Parbat lay was because of the cocktail of drugs they pumped into his system spiked with blood blossoms.

Danny had to give it to them. The League of Assassins might not have any anti-ecto weaponry, but they did their homework.

He barely remembered the trip. He catches flashes—blurry figures and words he couldn’t comprehend. A warm hand holding his, a thumb rubbing smooth circles on the back of his palm and calloused fingers running through his hair.

When he awoke, it was in a room bigger than his bedroom. His ankle was shackled to a bedpost, and the only door leading out was locked. There was a separate room for the bathroom off to the side and a shelf stacked with books decorating the otherwise bare walls, but other than that there wasn’t much else. Not even windows.

Intangibility, he learned, wasn’t an option. The blood blossoms in his bloodstream were still in circulation, rendering his transformation useless. If his nose was right, his captors were pumping blood blossoms from the vents. The sickly sweet of the flower was faint in the cool air, but the slight red haze that persisted in the room was unmistakable.

He tried, regardless. The rings barely made it half-way before his knees buckled and he started retching all over the floor. At least his stomach was empty.

-------

Danny doesn’t know how long he’s been in Nanda Parbat. Time moved differently here. Faster, he thought. He doesn’t really understand how or why, though sometimes he wondered what Clockwork thought of all of this.

(There are times, in the darkness and solitude of his cell, when Danny would call for Clockwork to rescue him. Quietly, so quietly, it was barely even a whisper. But Clockwork would hear it—Danny was sure he would. Clockwork helped him out before, so this time shouldn’t be all that different. But at the end of the night, nothingness would answer him. And Danny had to learn over and over again that even the Ghost of Time had his own rules to follow.)

It had taken a few days and Talia nearly biting the head off of the League’s physician for them to realize that blood blossoms would be an awful way to contain him. Effective at immobilizing him, yes, but the flowers left him about as helpless as Superman in a kryptonite cave.

“It all works out in the end,” Talia would say. “The blossoms were never going to become a long-term solution; you might end up developing an immunity to them given enough exposure.”

Though knowing now what Talia’s ‘long-term plan’ was for making sure Danny didn’t slip through the walls of the headquarters and fly across the ocean, Danny would rather take his chances with the blood blossoms.

Danny might not have been as smart as Vlad, but he was tricky and creative when he needed to be. He knows he’s powerful. And sure, he might forget some of his own abilities every now and then, but that doesn’t mean he can’t use them. In the time he’s been stuck in the Leage’s lair (and coherent), Danny had thought of a dozen escape plans, each one with a high chance of success. If he made an attempt, he could guarantee the League wouldn’t notice until he was a quarter-way across the globe.

Escaping wasn’t the problem. That would be the easy part.

His core burned at the thought of it. And it hurt—as if his entire being was dunked in a vat of dry ice and left to freeze. He hated how he was here and everything that he was protecting was far. Away.

Danny wanted to go home. Wanted to read comic books in his bed, play Doom with Tucker and Sam, sleep in class and make fun of the Box Ghost. He wants to eat his mom’s food, even if there’s a fifty-fifty chance that it would come alive and try to eat him instead. He wants to listen to Jazz try to psychoanalyze his problems. Wants to go fishing with his dad and eat his famous chocolate fudge. Wants to fly above the skies of Amity Park and touch what little he can of the universe before he’s called down again.

Amity Park is his haunt. His Home. The soft hum of the Ghost Portal in the basement a lullaby he’s listened to for so long that sleeping without it was next to impossible. Every fiber of his being craved to go back because how is he supposed to protect Amity if he isn’t there?

But to go back meant sacrificing everyone.

Danny doesn’t risk it.

(The—the last time was an accident. If Danny isn’t—if he isn’t careful, this time it may be an assassination. He refused to have his family’s death on his hands again.)

He has faith in Sam, Tucker, and Jazz to hold down the fort until he could find a way to escape. They’re smart. Smarter than him. They’ll work something out and—in a worst-case scenario, they’ll find a way to shut down the Ghost Portal to stop the ghosts from coming through.

Logic meant nothing to his ghost core, though. The next best thing to do was to drown out his worries with the League’s rigorous education.

Hand-to-hand and weapons combat. Geography. History. Dozens of foreign languages. Poisons and herbology and basic first-aid. His days are packed with new things to learn and to repeat until it’s drilled into his skull so deep he could recite the information in his sleep. (Hyosycamus niger, aka Henbane. Every part is highly toxic and can cause dizziness, stupor, insanity, and eventual death. It’s medicinal uses range from--)

The League demanded perfection. The Demon’s Head demanded even more than that.

Talia oversaw his education. Sometimes, there would be another, older, man by her side, observing his regimen with cold calculation. Whenever that man arrived, Danny’s instructors were always stricter.

His teachers made little effort to interact with him outside of their set schedule, and during his lessons they only ever answer pertinent questions. He supposed there would be other students of the League in Nanda Parbat, but he’s seen neither hide nor hair of them. His rooms (a bedroom + bathroom combo that led out into a large indoor space for training) are separate from everything else.

Danny slept alone, ate alone, and trained alone. And for a boy who has had his two best friends stuck to his side like glue for as long as he could remember, it’s a terribly lonely experience.

His shadow guards don’t count. They might as well be another piece of furniture. Another stone in the wall.

-------

Talia was the only one that broke his new mundane routine, as much as she was the cause of it. She was his only source of companionship in this hell hole; the only one who would really speak to him. And yeah, he knew why that was. Jazz had rambled on enough about Stockholm syndrome to know that this ‘arrangement’ was Talia’s attempts at forging a bond between them. But godit’s just so hard to be stuck inside your own mind all day when. It made him think too much. Worry. (Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif).

And then—

And then.

Danny had asked Talia a multitude of questions, but only two did she ever answer. Both asked when he was still trying to flush the drug cocktail and the blood blossoms from his system.

The first was when he asked, “Why am I here?” She answered that it was because Ra’s al Ghul, her father, wanted him. He had knowledge the Demon’s Head wanted; powers that Ra’s could only ever dream of. The man was curious—though Talia assured him over and over again that Danny wouldn’t be vivisected and studied for science.

The second answer came right after when Danny asked her “How could you be so sure?”

Talia smiled. Lacquered fingers coming up to brush away the dark strands that fell over his face. Her hands traced the curve of his jaw, cupping his cheeks to raise his eyes to hers. “Because you are my son,” she said, voice honey sweet.

He jerked from her hold.

Burned by it.

“You’re lying,” he spat. “I’m already someone else’s son. Try again.”

Talia let her hands drop to her sides. “You are my son.” She took a step closer towards him. Steady. Firm. “That is why you are here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

A pitying smile. “Be that as it may, you cannot change the truth.” She approached him, slowly backing him against the wall before she reached out to tilt his chin upwards. Some traitorous part of Danny’s mind catalogued her features. Made connections that shouldn’t exist. “I have carried you in my womb, Daniel. You were a part of me for so very long and I loved you more with each passing day. You are of my body and of my blood—not matter how much you may deny it.”

“No.” He pushed her hands away and raked his hands over his hair. “You’re lying.” She must be. They don’t look alike. Not at all. Everyone always said he was his dad’s—Jack Fenton’s—exact copy. Black haired and blue eyed and sharp-jawed. Awkward but well-meaning and with a heart of gold, his mother said. It was once of the facts of life; Danny took after his dad, and Jazz took after their mom. Simple as that.

(There is a memory resurfacing from his early childhood that Danny is desperately trying to repress again. Memories of kids teasing him on the playground, innocently cruel in the way only children can be as they tried to convince him he was adopted. That his skin looked nothing like his parents’. Dusky where his parents and sister were fair. He went home crying to his parents that same day, and they soothed away his worries with hushed words and a well-timed distraction.)

He asked no more questions after that. Talia was lying to him for some reason, and no answer she could give would be trustworthy anyways. What little of him he could see in her was only a figment of his own imagination. His mind playing cruel tricks.

Then his hopes were dashed aside when Talia showed him a picture of his father a day later.

The man in the photo looked like him. Black haired and eyes the same shade of too-bright blue. There were differences, of course. The man in the photograph was fairer, unlike Danny. He was taller and broader where Danny was lean and lanky. But despite this and all the other minute differences, this man who was supposed to be Danny’s biological father looked like him.

The same slant of the brow. The same shape of the eyes. The way the man held himself with this sense of gravitas and power that Danny couldn’t yet do in his awkward teenage years but had seen before. In a monster another man.

Danny’s future self was terrifying in its inhumanity, but it didn’t take that much of an imagination to know that he looked almost exactly like the man in the picture.

[mischiefandspirits]

Doppelgänger (19/19)

Previously on Doppelgänger ~ Masterlist ~ Next time on Doppelgänger

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were just 14 when they took a look inside the portal Danny’s parents had built. From there, everything changed. They woke up with white hair, green skin, and powers they could learn to control. They were hybrids, halfas.

They were the hero Doppelgänger.

{Identity Crisis, Part 2}

Danny melted onto Valerie’s hoverboard with a sigh as she kissed him. She was kneeling between his legs with one of her arms braced next to his head to hold her weight off him while the hand of the other snuck under his shirt to stroke his side. His own hands were occupied with holding her close and running through her long curly hair.

They were hovering high above Amity, partially hidden within some low clouds. They’d been admiring the view and taking in the afternoon sun when they’d gotten a bit distracted.

Valerie chuckled into the kiss and pulled back. She gave his limp form a pleased look then ducked down to pepper his neck with kisses.

Of course, that was when his ghost sense went off.

I’m going to kill whoever it is, Danny thought as Valerie’s scanner started ringing and she pulled away.

“There’s a ghost right beneath us,” Valerie growled, glaring at the scanner before giving Danny an apologetic look.

“Well, I guess that’s what we get for mixing dates with patrol,” he chuckled with a shrug.

She glanced down. “It should be fine to leave it to Doppelgänger.”

He sat up to look down as well, his hair hiding the red shine in his eyes. He spotted a glowing laptop flying down a road.

Ugh, who let Technus out? He reached out for his partners, but neither responded. He looked around to be sure neither of them was in sight and said, “They don’t seem to be here. Should probably make sure the ghost doesn’t cause trouble before they can get here.”

“Yeah.” She pulled up her mask and he braced himself as she brought them down. “Sorry about this.”

“It’s fine, Val. Really.” Jazz is definitely going to kick his butt if she found out about this, though.

Valerie dropped him off in an alley before shooting off after the laptop.

Who let Technus out? Danny asked again as he transformed and flew after her.

Tech-Oh shoot! Tucker hissed. He’s why my laptop was running slow! He must have been stuck in my cache. My bad!

Well, that explains why he’s flying around inside a laptop.

Want some help? Sam asked.

Valerie’s already on the scene, Danny pointed out.

Right, I forgot you guys were on a date.

DON’T LET HER DESTROY MY LAPTOP! Tucker shouted.

Danny turned a corner to see Valerie trying to blast the laptop. We’ll try.

He tried to sneak around the fight so he could try to knock Technus out, but was distracted when Valerie got wrapped in the laptop’s cord.

“Red!” he shouted, shooting towards her to pull her free. He looked her over for injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she huffed and shoved herself out of his grip as her board swung around to catch her.

“Well now, this is interesting.”

The two turned back to Technus just as the laptop stopped glowing and fell. Danny darted over to grab it before it could hit the ground, then looked around for the ghost.

“My scanner is only picking up you,” Valerie said and Danny checked the computer.

Wireless transfer complete.

“Ugh, he sent himself somewhere else,” Danny groaned.

“Well, you’re the one with technokinesis. I’ll leave you to it.”

“What?” He looked up to see Valerie turning away. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

“I’ve got a date.”

“Well crud,” Danny muttered. He shoved the laptop into the fold and dove into the ground, flying as fast as he could back to the alley Valerie had left him in. Good news and bad news. Good news, our laptop’s fine and Val’s leaving. Bad news, we lost Technus and Val’s leaving him to us because we’ve got tech powers and she wants to continue our date.

The irony, Sam sighed.

I can’t leave right now. Kiran and I are right in the middle of a debate on which generation of Pokémon is the best, Tucker said.

Kiran? Danny asked, popping up in the alley and transforming back just before Valerie could come around the corner.

This really really cute freshman in the computer club. They’re a gamer who’s building their own PC, they’ve got the hottest smile, and I refuse to let Technus blow this for me!

An unimpressed feeling came from Sam. I’ll take care of Technus. Clearly, your love lives are more important.

“You okay?” Danny asked Valerie. Sorry, Sam. I can tell Val I need to go.

“Yeah, it’s a tech ghost so Doppelgänger’s taking care of it.”

No, it’s fine, Sam said. You’ve ducked out of dates for us plenty of times. You deserve some alone time. It wasn’t really you I was mad at.

“If you’re sure. What do you want to do now?” Danny asked, stepping up onto Val’s board.

I think my love life deserves more consideration than his, Tucker huffed. Since, you know, I DON’T HAVE ONE!

Valerie grabbed his waist and tugged him against her. “How about we find some privacy? We can head to my house since my dad’s working until midnight. We can cuddle and watch tv. I think there’s supposed to be an animated Batman marathon on.”

Danny tuned out his partners as he nodded. He shifted behind her and braced himself as she took off towards Elmerton. She flew up to her window and opened it, letting Danny climb through before slipping carefully in. She recalled her board and pulled down her mask.

The boy didn’t have a chance to react before she was scoping him up and setting him on her dresser so she could kiss him. Her hands slipped under his shirt and he tried to bring his own up, only to knock something off her dresser.

She snorted into the kiss and he mumbled, “Sorry,” as he wrapped his arms around her neck.

“Valerie?”

The two froze.

The door opened and Damon Gray poked his head inside. “I didn’t realize you were -”

Valerie jumped away from Danny while he squeaked and worked very hard not to turn invisible.

No matter how much he wanted to.

Valerie’s father looked at Valerie, then Danny, then Valerie’s suit.

“H-hey, Daddy. I thought you were supposed to be at work,” Valerie said nervously.

“I had a break so I came to grab something I’d forgotten. Fortunately.” He gave her a sharp look. “Get changed. We’re going to have a talk before I head back. Mr. Fenton, out.”

“Yessir.” Danny gave her a quick apologetic look before following Mr. Gray into the living area.

He froze when the man grabbed his shoulder. “I like you, Fenton. You’re a smart kid and you’ve got a good heart. However, if I ever catch you in my daughter’s room without my permission again, you will be reminded in a far more painful way than I’m doing now that I carry a loaded weapon for my job and I am trained to use it. Understand?”

“Yessir. Sorry, sir. I swear, we weren’t doing anything like, you know, that. We were just -”

“Out.”

“Yep, right, leaving!” Danny ran for the front door.

“And Danny,” Mr. Gray called before he could close it behind him. “I suggest you go straight home. I’ll be calling your parents as soon as I talk to Valerie.”

Danny flinched and nodded. “Right.”

As soon as he made it to the alley next to Valerie’s apartment building, he slumped against the wall and screamed into his hands. Then he transformed and headed home as slow as he could.

“We’re dead. We’re so dead. We’re going to spend the next decade in the Fenton Stockades,” he groaned. “We’re so dead! We’ll never see the light of day! Hold still you stupid bucket of bolts! Goodbye cruel world! Wait, why are we transformed? Val’s father walked in on us making out. Sucks to suck. Can we get a hand?” He checked his watch and shrugged, turning towards where Sam was fighting Technus at the boardwalk. “Sure, we’re dead as soon as we get home and Mom and Dad won’t be expecting us back for another half hour since they think we’d have to take the bus. Great, because he’s getting on our nerves.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m grounded for two weeks, Danny said. And I had to sit through mom giving me The Talk again.

Sounds like it sucks to be allo. Can’t relate, Sam said, setting aside the book she’d been reading and grabbing another.

And Jazz came in looking all stern to say that when she told us to spend the weekend having fun, she hadn’t meant that much fun.

Sam snorted.

We didn’t even do anything!

She looked over the passage on Chronos she’d found, but it didn’t have any new information.

Val texted to say her dad’s taking her phone. She’s grounded for a month and her dad’s taking her suit and all her gear.

Sam tossed the book aside. Wait, her dad found out?

We’d just gotten to her house so she was in her suit when he walked in.

She was in the suit when you guys were making out? Tucker interjected out of nowhere. Wait, is the suit kink a Fenton thing? Is that why -

Finish that thought and I’ll toss your laptop into the ghost zone, Danny hissed. Crud, Jazz just came in. She’s making me study with her to make sure I’m not talking to you guys. Talk later.

Bye Danny.

See you, Sam said and stood up. She grabbed the books she’d gathered and went to put them back on the shelves. So you’re done hanging out with Kiran then?

Camp’s over for the day, but we’re going to hang out again tomorrow, Tucker said. What are you up to?

Checking out the paranormal section at Skulk and Lurk. I was hoping they’d have some information on our clock ghost.

Aren’t we supposed to be avoiding ghosts?

Jazz isn’t the boss of me.

True. Want some help?

Are you dressed like your usual self?

Yes?

Pass.

Rude.

I love you, but I will not get kicked out of my favorite bookshop because you’ve decided your aesthetic is traffic light.

Aw, I love you too! Tucker cooed.

Tuning you out now.

Okay, bye, Sammy! Love you!

Sam made a gagging sound in her head as she started looking for new books to check. “Aren’t there any books in here about real ghosts?”

“Try the historical fantasy section.”

She looked over to see Ravage reading the description of a book. “What?”

“The historical fantasy section,” he said, gesturing half-heartedly to the side. “Found a book over there the other day that was about a ghost king. Sounded just like the real dude. The author seemed to understand death and ghosts better than most. Bit too cheerful, but it was an interesting read if you can push past it.”

“Do you remember the author?” Sam asked.

“Worth, or something. The book was King’s Coffin if that helps.”

“Thanks.”

“Whatever. You coming to poetry night?”

“If I can get away from my parents.”

“Good luck.”

“Whatever.”

She went over to the section and found the book Ravage had mentioned alongside a few others written by Regsit Worth: Acropolis of Elysium, Nocturnus, Dark Winds, and Carnivorous Garden.

She pulled King’s Coffin off and glanced over the description before flipping through the book. She skimmed through it and her eyes widened at the ghost’s description and the description of his downfall. She checked the Also By section and smirked when she saw a book titled Shadows of Time. She put Pariah's book back then grabbed the garden book and headed to the counter.

“Would you be able to order a book by this author?” she asked as the cashier rang her up.

The man shrugged and switched to a different register. He asked for the title and typed it in when she answered. “Another print isn’t due for a year or so, but our sister store in San Francisco has a few copies. I can have them send one over, but you’d have to pay shipping upfront.”

“That’s fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I think Jazz was onto something about having some weekends to ourselves,” Tucker said when they met up Monday morning. “I had fun at the camp and made great headway with Kiran. Trust me, we’ll be dating by Christmas.”

“Sure you will,” Sam teased. “I’ll admit, though, it wasn’t awful. I got this new book on a wicked plant monster ghost that could actually exist and I might have gotten a lead on our clock ghost. I won’t know until Thursday.”

“Glad you two had fun,” Danny pouted, his forehead pressed against his locker. “Val’s dad threatened to shoot me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can just phase through the bullet,” Tucker said, patting his back.

“He has ghost weapons now.”

“You right.”

“You could try not sneaking into girls’ bedrooms,” Sam suggested and Danny flushed.

“Don’t say it like that!”

“Hey, Danny.”

The trio turned to see Valerie walking up.

“Hey, Val. Sorry about Saturday.”

“Not your fault,” she sighed and hugged him. “We both didn’t think that through.”

“You didn’t get into too much trouble, right?”

“Just grounded like I said. I’m mostly just mad about my gear. Dad’s taking the suit into the lab and he’s going to give all the rest to your parents. I told him I didn’t get most of it from you, but I don’t know if he believed me.”

“Better them then Vlad,” Danny said with a shrug. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get any of it back for you, though. They’ll probably be keeping better track of their gear after your dad talks to them.”

Which means it’s going to be hard to replace their thermoses if one gets damaged, great.

“That’s alright. My dad will be keeping an eye out now anyways.” She pulled back. “I should get going before I’m late.”

“Alright, see you at lunch.”

{The Fenton Menace}

Danny sighed as he scrubbed the lab’s counter. “Can’t I do this later?”

“It’s not as if you have anything else to do,” his mom said pointedly.

Maybe so, he thought, eyeing the gun his parents were working on. But I’d rather not get vaporized when that thing accidentally goes off.

When, not if. Danny knew his parents too well for that.

He went back to his scrubbing and his mom focused back on the gun.

A few moments later, Danny’s breath fogged in front of him and his eyes darted to the portal as a pirate kid and his skeleton parrot flew out and up through the ceiling.

Captain Kid is back, he told his partners. My parents are keeping on top of me so I can’t deal with him.

Headed your way, Tucker said.

I’ll come too. Mom’s trying to drag me to the hairdresser.

Have fun. Danny flinched as the gun went off, thankfully pointed away from him. “Can you guys work on something else while I’m down here, please?”

His dad pouted, but his mom put the gun away with a nod, frowning at the blast mark it had left.

[regrettablewritings]

If requests are still open, could you do the love one w Bruce Wayne please??

Sure, they’re still open, and I can most certainly try! Though I must admit that quite a few of these headcanons have actually been mentioned or featured in separate sets I've done throughout the years. While some aspects may have changed since then, not much really feels like it's changed to me. As such, I'll try my best to answers these, but will also provide links that go into further detail. Hope that's alright!!

Who said “I love you” first?: You say it first, though the effort to do so makes you nervous. After all, you weren’t even sure if Bruce returned your feelings: Certainly, you were his longest-lasting and seemingly the most engaging relationship he’d had to the date, but you were most certainly not the first girl he’d brought home or shared some interesting experiences with. You wanted to trust that Bruce did hold some feelings for you deep down beneath that stoic and calm exterior, but some part of you worried: Maybe you were a passing phase of some kind? In actuality, no, you were definitely someone special. The problem (if it could be called that) was that Bruce just doesn’t use the phrase, “I love you” so lightly, much less often: If he’s going to use it, he wants it to really stand out and mean something. It therefore calms your nerves a great deal once he finally does it in the quiet of your home, just as you’re both about to depart for your respective work days. Suffice to say, your day is absolutely made, knowing that by the end of it, you’ll be going back to the home of someone who you can confirm, without a doubt, loves you.

What are their primary love languages?: Bruce enjoys physical touch, but not quite for the reasons people think he does. Being touch starved resulted in him seeking the hold of someone -- anyone -- in far too many cases of desperation. And sadly, it’s resulted in a lot of heartbreak and manipulation.But what makes it all so different when it comes from you is that you don’t take advantage of him by playing to his needs; you just provide the hugs and kisses because you actually want to. You’d really be surprised how many strings were attached to Bruce’s past instances of spooning, or how many threats lingered in the lipstick stains on his cheeks. There’s nothing so malicious in yours. Only ever desire or good will. And for this, you tend to be rewarded with Bruce’s zeal for giving gifts. Well, not so much zeal as it is how he feels he can best present you how much he cares. It took a bit of time (much to his embarrassment [world’s greatest detective his ass]) but eventually he did realize that it wasn’t necessarily material and superficial goods you sought after: It was in little things like small gestures of his love for you, or in the kitschy post cards he would sometimes send you with codes littered on them. Little unique items, wrapped or postmarked with his heart, destined only for your ownership.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: Not very often, at least not any extensively intense PDA. Sure, you’ll hold hands while in public, or he’ll place a hand at your waist as you attend a gala together. But despite Bruce loving physical touch, this doesn’t mean he wants to over-do it, much less in a way that might make you feel uncomfortable. Besides, anyone can share a kiss. But only someone he truly trusts can share a touch that sticks with him. When you’re at home, he’s not adverse to you joining him in his study and keeping him company as he looks over files both for Wayne Enterprises, and for Batman-oriented content. There have been plenty times where you’ve fallen asleep against his chest, his arm wrapped about your waist so that you won’t fall over.

What are their favorite things to do together?: It depends. Date nights are actually a bit more difficult for the two of you than the average billionaire’s, mainly because the average billionaire doesn’t also double as a vigilante. You’ve managed to do some more typical things like go to events that support the arts like operas or the ballet. Other times, you try to keep it decidedly lowkey -- though it’s a bit hard to do a lowkey paint-and-sip when all the people around you are either sneaking photos of your boyfriend, or eyeballing him because, hey, he’s far prettier than whatever subject the group was set to paint. But sometimes, these things can prove to be a headache: Because where there aren’t regular nosy civilians, there are the even nosier paparazzi. So when the time permits it, the two of you might rent out a place like the museum or a restaurant and just enjoy yourselves. But ultimately, not everything can beat just spending the night in, catching up on one another’s week or just plain resting. Snuggled up together, of course.

Who’s better at comforting the other?: You are, even though you may not always think so. You would think that cheering up or comforting the man who has everything would be a tough job, but the reality is that it really isn’t if you actually make an effort. To be quite frank, sometimes the fact that you made an effort at all is enough to lift his spirits even by 1%. You may have your doubts about the extent to which your attempts work but the truth is that when Bruce so much as smirks in your direction, you’ve done a damn good job. You worked for that smirk; own it. Bruce just simply isn’t the world’s most emotive person, even in private. But that doesn’t mean you should be so quick as to doubt your competency. Talk to him; hug him; rub his back consolingly; tell him an awful joke. He’ll appreciate you for it.

Who’s more protective?: Bruce is. The deaths of his parents kickstarted his protective streak in some form, and it’s really only evolved since then due to various incidents (including but surprisingly not limited to the Kryptonian Attack). And as dreamy as it can be, knowing that you’ll always have the protection of this massive wall of a man and his arsenal of weaponry and physical attacks, it needs to be taken with a grain of salt: Bruce can and has gone off the deep end, becoming overzealous to the near point of destruction. If he fears a threat may be directed at you or will effect any of his loved ones, there is very little that will stop him from going on the attack and sparing no expense.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Physical. Now that he’s aware of how much meaning and care can actually be packed into a single touch, Bruce seeks yours out. In addition, he doesn’t mind being able to return the favor by even just holding your hand and rubbing it with his calloused thumb.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: Ironically, “Aquaman” by Walk the Moon comes to mind. It’s not that Bruce is incapable of expressing or experiencing love: It’s more like occurrences both romantic and non-romantic have resulted in him becoming protective of his heart and increasingly reluctant to be even 90% open and vulnerable. (Remember: The two most frequent examples from his love life are women who ultimately used him or manipulated him in some way, so who could really blame him?) But you’ve been almost saintly patient with him, holding his hand the entire way not to be condescending or even pull him along, but to guide him and show him your constant support of his efforts and progress. And lo, the Crown Prince of Gotham eventually let his head underwater: And he can breathe there. He wasn’t wrong to be afraid of going in -- he just needed the right swimming partner. But for something more in-universe, look no further than a few jazz standards because fun fact: Bruce is actually a talented singer. No, seriously. He’s a crooner! And next to nobody knows about it because he makes a constant effort to hide it. Hell, even you didn’t know about it until the day he slipped up. And you had the addicting voice of the late and great Ella Fitzgerald to thank. Not even the world’s greatest detective could refuse her crisp yet calming voice, allowing her rendition of “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)” to take up space in his ears and head until he could no longer bear it: Without even noticing it, he was singing it quietly as he fumbled around in the kitchen, fixing himself some coffee. He nearly dropped the mug when he turned around and saw you wearing a stunned expression on your face. And ever since then, Bruce singing jazz has become a lot more common in the house than ever before. When you’re upset, you might ask for him to sing. You need to sleep, you listen to a recording of him you sneaked. And sometimes, you just want to hear him sing: Of trips to romantic places, of candle lights on little corner tables, of two lovers who walk on the streets like dreamers . . . The foolish things that remind him of you.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: Bruce isn’t exactly the most creative when it comes to nicknames. A lot just don’t sound quite right coming out of his mouth, at least to him, especially since he’s aged up some since his more notorious playboy days. “Babe” or “Honey” have always been a part of his repertoire, but he’s noticed that “Darlin’“ and “Sweetheart” seem to flow a lot more smoothly with time. You, on the other hand, at least try to be more personal and creative. But it’s a lot harder than it seems, given that Bruce isn’t exactly the easiest name to derive nicknames from. Of course, you stumble your way to cheesy ones like “Prince Charming” or “Handsome”, but you always find yourself crawling back to throwing “Babe” and “Sweetie” right back at him.

Thank you for the request!

[malcyon]

Dusk To Dawn 

Summary: “Alright. You don’t need my help,” Jason says, voice significantly quieter than it was. He glances at Tim hesitantly. “But do you want it?”

*****

Tim didn't mean to meet the Waynes, it just happened.

Ch 1

Read on AO3

___________________________________________

Tim’s dress shoes are too small as he stands in front of his father, trying not to fidget as the man does his bowtie with sharp, efficient movements. Mrs. Drake sits by the vanity, fixing her lipstick and watching him from the corners of her eyes. He wants to say something about how the tips of his shoes are pinching his toes.

She closes her lipstick with a snap.

Tim stays quiet.

Mr. Drake finishes with the tie, taking a step back to inspect his work, and Tim’s mother raises an eyebrow in the mirror. “Are you finally ready, then?”

“Yes, I think so,” the man says, dusting off the shoulder of Tim’s brand new, too big tux. He fiddles with the long sleeves, trying to ignore the itchiness of the cloth against his skin. His father frowns. Tim stops.

He hates parties.

His mother stands, heels clicking like a metronome on the shiny hardwood floorboards as she walks towards him. Janet Drake isn’t a tall woman, but Tim still has to tilt his head up to look at her. She takes his bowtie in her slender hands, tightening it until it’s snug against his throat. Her perfume smells expensive and it fills his nose.

“It’s an important night, Timothy.” She smiles a perfect smile. “Make us proud.”

Tim nods and smiles back.

They go downstairs and get into the waiting car without saying another word to each other.

He knows it isn’t normal to have parents that come and go out of his life the way his do. That show up for a couple of days every few months before taking off on another plane to another city. That don’t know his shoe size. That weren’t home for his birthday for the past four years in a row.

But it doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t.

And it isn’t hard to play the life Tim’s parents have created for him. His classes are relatively easy, and even though he doesn’t have any close friends, he sits at a lunch table with a few of the other kids. He keeps his grades high, just enough to make the teachers like him. He never gets in trouble and never breaks the rules.

And when his parents pluck him up and shoo him to one of their many parties, he smiles and goes without complaint. He charms the old women, makes the men in their stuffy suits chuckle and remember him as a future networker. Plays the room until his head is dizzy from the champagne in the air and his parents whisk him back to bed, leaving in the morning before he can even wake up.

Timothy Jackson Drake is a perfect student, a perfect son.

But Tim isn’t.

He isn’t exactly sure when he started paying attention to Batman. It began innocently enough; noticing the headlines and the news stories, ears perking up when the masked man was mentioned on the radio. And the information just . . . stuck.

He started to track the known locations of criminal organizations on a map in his closet, signed up for computer programming classes at school to learn how to code (and, on his own, how to hack), and started to listen to kids who he knew had familial connections to gangs. But it isn’t anything serious, just something to do when he got bored. Or, it was.

Tim was two when his parents had taken him to the circus. He still has the picture from that evening on a shelf in his room, him sitting on the lap of an older boy wearing a colorful costume. That same boy would go on to perform the Quadruple Flip of Doom as the rest of the Graysons flew through the air around him, all their tricks done without a net.

They should have had a net.

He had nightmares about it for weeks. Gave the nanny a heart attack every night when he woke up screaming. The tragedy was seared into his soul, branded into his brain.

And maybe that’s why it was so easy to put the pieces together. To figure out Robin.

Richard John Grayson. Formerly an acrobat prodigy at Haly’s Circus, currently operating as Nightwing at the Teen Titans base in New York City. Adopted at eight years old by billionaire Bruce Wayne after the tragic performance that left his entire family dead.

Adopted by Batman.

The realization was like a slap to the face.

It was hard to believe at first, that the man Tim had seen fall into his own fountain could be the same man that punched criminals through windows and dressed up like a giant bat. But the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.

There was more to Bruce Wayne than he initially thought, and Tim had to know more.

So he watched. Started sneaking out of the house at night and catching the late bus, not like there was anybody that could stop him, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a camera clutched in his hands. And by now, Tim is sure he knows the city better than most people who live in it.

He isn’t an idiot, stays well away from the East End and Crime Alley. He even keeps pepper spray in his bag and a small pocket knife within reach, even if he hasn’t had to use them yet. Most people don’t even notice him as he slips in and out of the subway and bus stops, a tiny ghost among the city’s dim lights. Despite that, Tim keeps to the shadows, has figured out how to blend in with the darkness that appears at street corners.

That particular talent has kept him out of trouble more than once.

It isn’t like he’s seen anything horrible, just glimpses of gang brawls here and there, the Bats attacking one of their Rogues. Not that he sticks around long enough to learn what happens in any of those situations, Tim prefers to not end up as another smear on the sidewalk, thanks.

But still, he can’t help but wish that he could do something. Fight back, somehow—the way Batman does.

He’s never gotten close enough to really watch the vigilante work; it’s hard enough to guess where the man’s going to pop up. But still, hours of monitoring social media sites, searching the depths of the GCPD’s public records, and simply listening to street talk has gotten him pretty far. Sure he doesn’t see Batman and Robin a lot, but he’s seen them far more than anybody else in Gotham.

There’s a pointed cough in front of him, and Tim straightens from his slouch, thrust back into the bitter reality that he isn’t going to be on Gotham’s streets tonight. His mother leans over from where she’s sitting next to his father, plucking a microscopic piece of lint off his shoulder. He tries not to flinch.

Four and a half hours. He just has to make it through the next four and a half hours.

His father says, without looking up from where he’s tapping on his phone, “There are going to be several people I want you to meet tonight, Tim. Future connections. So smile, be polite,—” his dark eyes flick to Tim, once—“and do not be an embarrassment.”

The words are cold and Tim wants to say something in return, but his voice sticks in his throat. Instead, he swallows, nods, and goes back to staring out the limousine window.

It’s not often that Wayne Manor itself is used to hold the city’s annual charity gala, and his parents had pounced on their invitation, ready to primp and preen under the spotlight. They had flown in from his father’s digsite only yesterday, barely spared him a glance as they chattered about who was going to be there and was worth talking too.

He doesn’t know how they do it, this act they put on. Parading him around, telling the other rich socialites how, “Oh, yes, Timmy’s at the top of his class; he’s just so clever for a boy his age,” as if they even bother to check his report cards. Still, he goes along, beaming with every lie that comes out of his mouth about his wonderful, perfect family.

It makes something curl up and wither in Tim’s ribs, playing this game. Rotting him from the inside and making his smiles more brittle with every gala.

He wonders if this should be how most kids feel when their parents come home, like their chest is about to shatter as if made of glass. Like they’re going to snap. Tim stares at his reflection in the car window.

Only four and a half hours.

*****

Dick is already regretting this decision, and he hasn’t even entered the house yet.

The glittering lights and press blend together as he strides through the Manor’s front doors, offering the photographers a bright grin as he goes past. Their cameras light up like fireworks in response.

He ignores the questions yelled out to him (“Mr. Grayson, what brings you back to Gotham?”, “What’s your relationship with the model, Kory Anders?” and the favorite, “What caused the fallout between you and Bruce Wayne?”). Just keeps walking despite the stares burning into his back. The attention is almost tangible as it weighs down on him, and while Dick doesn’t mind being in the limelight now and then, the scrutiny makes him feel like an insect under a microscope. He suppresses a grimace as one particular older woman leers as he goes by.

There’s a reason he’s never liked these things.

Dick doesn’t stand in the front parlor to soak up his old home’s warmth, forcing himself to keep moving with the other guests down the roped-off path that leads to the ballroom. He doesn’t look at the walls, either, doesn’t want to see if Bruce has kept any of his pictures up.

His steps are fast on the old floors, whispers following in his wake as he enters the gala. He ignores them.

The party isn’t anything special, just another one of Bruce’s charity fundraisers. Dick can already feel himself growing bored with the backdrop of expensive velvet dresses and smooth jazz playing in the corner. He scans the people around him as he strolls through the crowd, looking for Jason or at least a familiar face.

Hell, he’d even take Bruce.

He keeps his head down as he passes millionaires and models alike, praying that nobody will recognize him for several more minutes. It doesn’t work.

The first woman seems nice enough, with long, dark hair and a blush covering her cheeks. She reaches up and straightens the bowtie around his neck, a blue that Kory had picked out. She’d told him it ‘matched his eyes.’

But the woman in front of him only says, “Your father really shouldn’t have let you out without fixing this first.” He smiles on reflex, but his stomach turns cold, and her words ring in his ears as several other party-goers quickly approach. Your father.

Their compliments and questions overlap and their faces meld together as Dick stares over their heads at the far wall.

Your father.

The first woman tugs lightly at his arm and he blinks, grinning to let her know everything is perfectly fine. She doesn’t look convinced.

He almost jumps when he feels a hand clasp his shoulder. Dick glances backward, relaxing as he realizes it’s only Alfred. The butler frowns, pulling him away from the small crowd that had gathered.

“I wasn’t aware that you would be making an appearance tonight, Master Richard.”

He shrugs and avoids the older man’s gaze. “It was a last-minute decision; Jason persuaded me.”

Begged was more like it. Alfred raises an eyebrow. “And Master Bruce’s invitation had nothing to do with it?”

Dick shrugs again. The expensive paper had stared at him from his nightstand the past week, a hesitant peace offering he’d received in the mail, one that he wasn’t sure he wanted to accept. At least, until Roy had practically kicked him out of the Tower, telling him to go sort out his daddy issues.

Dick had nearly pointed out how hypocritical that statement was but decided that being petty wasn’t worth getting shot with an arrow.

Alfred says nothing in response and only gives him a quiet smile. Dick returns it and lets the butler guide him in the direction of the desserts. No matter the problems he and Bruce have, Dick won’t bring Alfred into them. After all he’s done, trying to keep their broken family together, the man doesn’t deserve it.

As they pass tables laden with food, Alfred subtly nudges him in the direction of one of the columns in the room’s corner. Jason stands behind it, furiously tapping something out on his phone, and carefully hiding from prying eyes. Dick flashes the butler a grateful look and hurries over, trying not to grab anyone’s attention as he takes cover behind the pillar.

Jason glances up at his sudden entrance and his face splits into a blinding grin. “Holy fuck, you actually came.” Dick beams back and wraps his little brother up in a one-armed hug before ruffling his hair.

Jason grumbles and ducks out of the embrace, face scrunched in embarrassment, and Dick’s smile becomes a bit more real. Settling next to Jason, he says. “Course I came, wasn’t going to miss out on a chance for free food.” He gestures to the phone in Jason’s grip. “What’s that all about?”

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Jason mutters under his breath, “Just some bullshit.” Dick nods, words swirling around his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to that. He takes a stab in the dark.

“Girls?” Jason gives him a glare, and Dick flounders, tries again. “. . . Boys?”

Jason chokes, turning an interesting shade of red, “Jesus, no, no, I . . . Rena’s trying to get back together.”

“That girl in your social studies class? I thought you were still dating,” Dick says, tilting his head in question. A small part of him withers with his lapse in knowledge; when was the last time he had talked to Jason? Actually talked to him.

He knows that some of the other Titans worry about his little brother: Donna mothers him constantly, and Gar always tries to coax him out of his shell. And it’s helped, sure, but a small voice in Dick’s head whispers that Jason will look over his shoulder for the rest of his life. That no matter how much he trusts them, he’ll always be waiting to get stabbed in the back.

And that . . . that makes something deep inside Dick curl up and hurt. And the worst part is that some of Jason’s struggle is because of him.

Dick isn’t blind; he knows the comparisons people make between him and his adopted brother. He sees the wince Jason hides behind his smiles when they talk about ‘the new Robin.’ Forget the fact that Jason has held the title for years now; he’s always the one being dissected with every move, always in Dick’s shadow.

Not that he was always there for Jason either; Dick can own up to the fact that he was a petty asshole the first few months Jason had been taken in. A mixture of hurt, jealousy, and anger made it hard to even look the kid in the eye, knowing that whatever Dick had been as Robin, he hadn’t been good enough for Bruce. That his adopted father had decided to try again with someone new.

It took him too long to pull his head out of his ass. To personally give the kid his blessing and officially hand down the costume. Why the hell Jason even talks to Dick is beyond him considering how much of a jerk he’d been. He’s been trying to own up to it, stealing time for his brother when he could. Maybe that was why he came to the party and—God, he doesn’t want to think about that. That coming here tonight was just out of some messed up guilt for Jason’s sake.

He focuses back on Jason’s sour expression. Girl problems, he can do that. Maybe even give some advice. Isn’t that what older brothers are supposed to do? Give advice?

Dick raises an eyebrow and Jason shrugs, scuffing the floor with a polished shoe. He tries a grin, “Well, if you need any help, I’m only a phone call away.” Jason snorts.

“I think I’ll go to Barbara first, thanks,” he says, then freezes as the words catch up to him.

The air around them chills. Dick looks down.

Jason is the first to break the silence. “How . . . is she?”

He shrugs, ignoring the tight fists his hands have become. “ . . . Adjusting.” Jason nods, eyes flicking through the area around them, and Dick can suddenly see Robin doing the same thing on Gotham’s streets.

“Wanna talk someplace quieter?”

Dick forces a smile that he knows is too sharp. “Lead the way.”

Jason stares at him for a second, and Dick catches something fleeting and sad in his eyes before he turns away. They stay silent as they weave through the room, ducking and avoiding the attempts at conversation thrown at them.

Dick runs a hand through his hair, tries to focus on the back of Jason’s suit as they enter the areas of the house that were off-limits to guests. Distantly he realizes that Jason is leading him to the library, the one right next to Bruce’s study. He glances up at a picture frame as he passes by and openly winces at seeing his own, younger grin behind the glass.

He should have stayed home.

As soon as they enter the room, Jason shuts the door behind them before leaning against it to take a breath. Dick can’t blame him; parties were one of the worst parts about getting involved with Bruce Wayne.

Silence settles between them, and Dick bitterly watches the dust that floats through the air. Jason glances at him. “Seriously. How’s Barbie?”

Dick laughs, harsh and quiet. “Well, she’s lost all feeling in half of her body, so I’m pretty sure she’s not that great, Jason.” The other boy flinches, and Dick screws his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. Fuck, he’s not good at this. “Sorry, I’m . . . that was a shitty thing to say.”

He lets his head fall back against a bookshelf behind him, and Jason shrugs, but Dick can still see the hurt in his eyes. “It’s fine. I know you get tense when you’re around here.”

“Shouldn’t have said it, though.” Jason shrugs again. Dick takes a breath. “Babs is . . . upset.”

“No fucking shit.”

Dick actually snorts at that, stares at the ceiling. “God, it feels like everything is falling apart, you know? Including the Titans, I mean, Garth won’t talk to anybody about Tula, Roy is spending less and less time with the team, and he won’t fucking say why. Wally is literally running himself to death trying to live Barry’s life and–”

He stops, looks at Jason’s bewildered face, then presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. Makes a note to not unload this bullshit on the kid. Jason has his own problems, he doesn’t need Dick’s too. “Shit, I’m rambling, sorry. It’s just that I usually talk to Kory about this stuff, but we’ve been arguing lately.”

“I thought you guys were cool?”

“We are, this is the first time we’ve fought like this and—” He shakes his head—“Come on, aren’t I supposed to be giving you relationship advice?” The younger boy rubs his foot against the ground again.

“Maybe you should talk to her anyway,” Jason says carefully. Dick raises an eyebrow and he quickly continues, “I mean. . . Kory will always be there to listen and she probably wants to listen even if you’re fighting. You just gotta talk.”

Dick looks away and closes his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” He frowns, forces his thoughts away from Kory and their differences and a million other things. “Speaking of talking, how are you holding up with B?”

Jason hesitates and opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but a thump followed by laughter echoes from behind one of the walls, makes him pause.

The door connecting Bruce’s study and the library suddenly swings open, and Bruce stumbles out, a giggling blonde latched onto his arm. Jason curses under his breath and Dick straightens up, jaw tensing.

Bruce freezes in the doorway with the woman still laughing into his neck. His gaze darts between them, the shock on his face snapping into a drunk smile. “Delphine, I believe we may have some company.”

The lady blinks up, looking over at Dick and Jason in surprise then back to Bruce with a bemused expression. “You need to talk with your children, yes?” she asks in a heavy French accent. Dick’s stomach lurches in a slow roll, and he forces himself not to look away from where Bruce’s gaze narrows at him.

He knows she doesn’t see the tightening of Bruce’s smile when he answers, “Yes, I’ll meet you in the ballroom. Save me a dance?”

She presses a red kiss to his cheek. “Of course, mon chéri.” The woman turns from Bruce, and Dick opens the door for her as she whisks past with a playful, “Merci.”

He nods his head and locks the door behind her, the metal knob chilling against his palm. Steeling himself, he turns back around.

Anything left of Brucie’s drunken facade is gone, and the man in front of him appraises Dick with familiar calculation. Dick can see Jason resting against the book-covered wall next to him from the corner of his eye, trying to appear relaxed but not quite pulling it off. Several tense seconds pass, marked only by the ticking clock above the dark fireplace.

Bruce looks him over. “Dick. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Dick stiffens, the words he wasn’t even going to say stilling on his tongue. “Wasn’t expecting me? You . . . You sent me an invitation, Bruce.”

The man blinks, looks between him and Jason slowly.

“I didn’t send you an invitation,” Bruce says, confusion barely marking his voice.

Something inside Dick goes very, very cold. Of course, he didn’t. Stupid, stupid, stupid, it must have been Alfred, or maybe his name had gotten mixed in with the invites somehow. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t fucking matter.

He glances over at Jason, who seems just as taken back, eye flicking between him and their adopted father like he’s watching a flaming tennis match. Dick bites his lip and tries not to squirm under Bruce’s stare as he scrambles for words.

“Oh. Well, I . . . I guess there’s no reason for me to stay, then. I can be gone in ten minutes.” He reaches back to open the door, and the handle jiggles in place. Fuck, he’d locked it, right. He fumbles, manages to get it open even though his hand is stiff and clumsy. “Just got to call a cab. Tell Lucius and Leslie I said hello.”

Shit, shit, shit, he needs to run. Has to get out of this house. Heat is crawling up the back of his neck, horrible and burning and he needs to leave.  

Jason starts desperately, “Dick, you don’t have to—”

But he’s already gone.

His steps are clipped and fast on the wood floor, heart thumping in his ears. He feels sick; hot and cold all at once, and, God, he never should have left New York. Fuck.

He doesn’t know why he thought it’d be different this time. Doesn’t know what he even expected by coming here tonight. An apology, maybe? But Bruce doesn’t do apologies, never has, probably never will. He should have known better.

Dick doesn’t even register the footsteps behind him until a large hand is on his shoulder and turning him around.

It’s Bruce. Face pinched and awkward and looking like he would rather be anywhere else, but it’s Bruce.

“I—No, no, don’t leave. I didn’t mean it like that, Dick.” His voice is cautious, gaze less intense than it was several seconds ago. “Stay, Alfred can make some tea. He’s missed you, I’ve— . . . We all have.”

Dick stares at him, brain scratching like a broken record. He can make out Jason peeking at them from behind the library door, expression hopeful. The younger boy locks eyes with him and nods meaningfully.

He shifts uneasily, looking back at his former mentor and noticing the red stains on Bruce’s cheek. “Don’t you have a dance with Delphine? And a party to attend?”

Bruce almost snorts but not quite. “I’m sure she’ll understand. And I host several parties every year that raise millions of dollars to keep this city running. Who gives a flying shit if I miss this one?”

Dick laughs, choked and a bit wet, and Jason makes an admonished noise from where he’d quietly joined them. “Why do you get to curse and I don’t? That’s total bullshit.”

Bruce deadpans, “And that’s a quarter in the swear jar. At this point, I might as well just put your allowance in there instead of giving it to the middleman.” Jason grumbles and lightly shoves at Bruce’s side. The man smiles at that and gives Dick’s shoulder an awkward squeeze. “You two can wait in the library while I hunt down Alfred for tea. I’ll be back.”

Dick manages a nod, head swimming with twenty different things he wants to say and not knowing how to begin. In the end, he doesn’t say anything at all and just watches as Bruce’s form retreats down the hallway. He looks back at Jason, who’s grinning from ear to ear.

Carefully, Dick lets himself smile back.

*****

It’s not even eleven yet, and Tim is already exhausted. As soon as they arrived, his parents were practically shoving him into the laps of old, rich ladies and men alike. The kind of people who would humor a small boy who gushes about his father, saying ‘how he wants to be just like him when he grows up.’ And when Jack Drake eventually comes up behind him, smiling cheerfully as he talks his way into these peoples’ money and minds, Tim looks away.

He’s used to feeling like a means to an end, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Still, he goes when his father prods him in his mother’s direction. She’s talking to a group of younger women who are wearing jewels as big as his fist. He quietly moves to her side, knowing the game by heart at this point.

On cue, right after Janet Drake makes a particularly witty comment that sends the other women into laughter, she lays a hand on Tim’s shoulder and pulls him to the front. It’s a matter of minutes before he has the ladies wrapped around his finger while his mother watches like a hawk right behind him. There’s no room for mistakes tonight.

Eventually, she nudges him back to his father. And Tim goes.

This is how these nights always play out, moving from group to group. Gathering possible investors and shyly introducing them to his parents. It’s not difficult, if anything it’s mind-numbing, repeating the same conversations over and over like they’re an everyday routine.

So Tim can forgive himself for zoning out for the first couple of hours. It’s not until he’s standing near the refreshments table, after sneaking away to grab some water, that he actually starts paying attention again.

To be fair, that could be because he’d just turned around and walked face-first into a wall of something hard.

Tim yelps, stumbling back, thankfully not into another person, and looks up at the man wearing a now soaked suit. The floor underneath Tim falls away as Bruce Wayne stares back.

Batman. Tim just ran into and spilled his drink all over Batman.

He can practically see the Bat in the seams of Wayne’s dripping, black tux. In the sharp cut of his jaw and brow. His hair is pushed back from his face, which is clean-shaven and a bit tired around the eyes. Tim clambers for an apology, refusing to let the words get stuck in his throat. But all he can think about is how he watched Batman take a bullet to the chest five nights ago during a gang shootout. He does his best not to stammer.

“Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—” Wayne holds up a palm. Tim’s mouth goes dry, and he has to tuck his hands behind his back so the man won’t see how they’re shaking. The handle from his empty water glass is cold against his fingers. Bruce Wayne considers him, then shrugs.

“It’s fine. This is why I have a butler. And please don’t call me Mr. Wayne; it makes me sound old. Just Bruce will do.”

Tim blinks.

“You have a specific butler for when people spill stuff on you?”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches. “No, just one butler that does general butler things. Actually, I’m looking for him at the moment, have you seen him?”

“I—uh, no?”

Bruce sighs, “Damn. I was hoping he could keep my CEO off of my back for the night. Or help me make tea. I’m not sure which one is more important.”

Tim scratches the back of his neck. He hadn’t mentally prepared to talk to Batman tonight. This wasn’t a great first impression. “What’s he look like?”

“Who? My butler or my CEO?” Bruce has to tilt his head down to make eye contact with him.

“Your butler, not your CEO. Though you probably shouldn’t avoid your CEO, that sounds like business mismanagement.” Tim says and then nearly claps a hand over his mouth. Questioning the host at their own party is probably terrible etiquette; his mother would be mortified.

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches again. “Not business mismanagement. Lucius just likes to criticize my life choices. You’re the Drakes’ son, aren’t you?”

“Timothy.” He instinctively holds out his hand for a shake. Bruce looks at him for a second before engulfing Tim’s hand with his own. The calluses on his palm are hard to miss, and Tim can’t help but wonder how Bruce explains them.

“Timothy Drake, huh?” Their hands drop, and both corners of Bruce’s mouth are pointed up now. Tim quickly backtracks.

“Yeah, but you can call me Tim. You know. If you want.” Bruce considers him again.

“Alright, Tim. What do you know about tea?”

*****

“Are you sure that’s the right amount?”

“That’s what the box says.”

“The box is wrong.”

“I’m starting to understand why your CEO criticizes your life choices.”

“You’re twelve; you’re not supposed to understand life choices yet.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“You sure?”

“ . . . Yes?”

Bruce squints down at him and looks back at the teapot on the stove. “To be honest, all children under the age of twenty-one look the same to me.”

Tim frowns from where he’s sitting on the kitchen island’s countertop. He ignores the pounding in his brain that keeps reminding him that he’s sitting in Batman’s kitchen because if he focuses on that, he might start hyperventilating. It’s a very nice kitchen, to be fair. It’s warm with yellow walls and a wooden floor. Not very Batman-like, though.

Tim starts to swing his legs back and forth. “I thought you’re an adult when you turn eighteen.”

Bruce doesn’t look away from the teapot. “Legally, yes. Ethically, no.”

“So . . .  when do you ethically become an adult?”

“Thirty-five.”

Tim stares hard at the back of Bruce’s neck. He can’t tell if the man is making fun of him at this point or not. “How old are you?” Tim already knows the answer, but he waits patiently.

Bruce thinks for several seconds too long. “Thirty-three.”

“And you consider yourself to be an adult? That’s kind of hypocritical.”

“I never said I considered myself to be an adult. Lucius and Alfred would find it hilarious if I called myself an adult.”

“Alfred?” Tim asks innocently.

“My butler I told you about earlier. The one who was supposed to be helping me with this.”

“Oh . . . Why aren’t you looking for him right now, then?” Why ask me to help instead? Tim doesn’t know the answer to this question. He tries not to scoot to the edge of his seat.

Bruce shrugs and looks over a shoulder at him. “I asked if you knew how to make tea, and you said yes. Also, you’re probably the best conversationalist I’ve talked to all night. Is there any way to make this heat up faster?”

Tim struggles to hide his beaming smile from the compliment. “It’s already turned up as high as it can go.”

“Don’t know why you didn’t let me microwave it.”

“That’s not the right way to make tea.”

“There are only so many ways to boil water. It would have been faster.”

“You had a spoon stuck in there with it. It could have caught on fire.”

“Well, then I could call the fire department and get rid of all the drunk people in my house.”

“It’s a good thing you have a butler. I don’t think you can take care of yourself all alone.”

Bruce looks offended. “I am an adult, Tim. ” Tim stops kicking his feet and grins. Bruce closes his eyes. “And now I’m a hypocrite.”

“Really good thing you have a butler.”

The water starts to boil, and the tea kettle squeals. Tim slips down from the counter and straightens up the teacups waiting on the prepared tray. Bruce carefully pours the water into the teapot before adding the tea. Tim tries not to compare the movement to Batman combining chemicals.

Bruce glances at him. “Your parents, they’re not looking for you, are they?”

Tim stills. “They’re not. They’re . . . busy.”

Last he’d seen, before ducking out of the ballroom with Bruce, was his mother engrossed in a business conversation and his father drinking from a nearly overflowing champagne glass. Bruce stills and studies him for a second. In turn, Tim picks up a teacup and meticulously stares at the delicate flower painting on its side.

Bruce looks away. “Well, then. I suppose you wouldn’t mind joining my family and me for tea, would you?”

Tim nearly drops the cup. “Me? ”

“You. Grab the sugar off the counter, please.”

Tim does as he’s told automatically and sets it on the tray. Bruce picks it up. “Um, you sure? I don’t want to intrude or anything.” Or embarrass himself, Tim kind of feels like passing out right now.

“They’ll like you, don’t worry. Besides, my eldest is visiting, and I need someone to fill in the awkward silence.”

Tim’s stomach swoops. Dick Grayson. He’s going to talk to Dick Grayson. Nightwing. And Robin. Jason will be there too, won’t he? He leans heavily against the counter when Bruce turns and starts to walk out of the room.  

Tim takes a slow breath and follows him.

He tries not to openly gawk as Bruce leads him through the halls, especially now that he’s already walked through them once. But it’s hard not to; Tim’s wanted to explore Wayne Manor since he figured out the Bat’s identity ages ago.

One of the paintings on the wall catches his eye. “Is that a Renoir?”

Bruce glances back at him, both brows raised. “It is. You’re a fan?”

“My parents have me read Art World Today. They like to keep me up to date for conversations and stuff,” Tim mutters as he stares up at the artwork. He pretends he doesn’t see the look that enters Bruce’s eyes.

“Your parents seem like they—”

“Brucie!” They both turn around to find an extremely drunk woman teetering down the hallway towards them. Bruce curses too low for Tim to hear.

“Can you take this?” He asks in a voice Tim hasn’t heard before, something cheerful and almost fake, before quickly handing the tray to Tim. Bruce barely manages to catch the woman when she stumbles heavily into his arms. “Delphine, you seem to be having much more fun than when I last saw you.”

She giggles into his shoulder, and Tim pointedly examines an Erte statue across the hall while Bruce tries to straighten her up. “I met the most charming man, Bruce. Jack Drake? We had a contest to see who could drink the most champagne.” She smiles wide and dazed. “I won. Évidemment. Oh! But then he told me all about his business and—”

Bruce must say something in return, but Tim can’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears; the pounding in his brain as his grip on the platter turns white. Getting women drunk to turn them into investors.

It doesn’t even surprise him.

His eyes burn into the painting in front of them, because he can’t look at Bruce. Can’t see his face when the man realizes he has a Drake by his side. Tim’s head feels hot and dizzy; he trembles a little bit.

So maybe that’s why when Bruce touches his shoulder, Tim nearly jumps out of his skin. The teacups clatter, but nothing spills. The result of honing his reflexes on Gotham’s streets, Tim’s sure. He swallows and forces himself to meet Bruce’s gaze.

Whatever he’s expecting isn’t there. Bruce just looks troubled, with something sad at the corners of his eyes. Tim looks away first. The awkwardness is broken only by Delphine’s mutterings in French as she continues to cling to Bruce’s side.

Bruce clears his throat.

“I think . . .” Tim winces, and he stares down at his too-tight shoes, cheeks burning. Bruce pauses and almost seems to reconsider something. “I think you’ll have to meet the rest of my family alone. I’m so sorry, Tim, but—” the lady sways again, nearly falling face-first onto the carpet— “Delphine needs to lie down somewhere. You can find the boys in the library; just keep going down this hall until you get to my study, the last door on the right. It leads to where they are.”

He carefully leans forward, pulling from one pocket a small key. Placing it on the tray and giving Tim a cheerful grin that’s more Brucie than Bruce, but still kind in a way, he says, “Here, this should let you in. And if either one of them gets too annoying: feel free to pour tea on them.” He gives Tim a wink and tucks Delphine under his arm before whisking her down the hall and quickly out of sight.

Tim blinks down at the tray and then up at the painting across from him. He allows himself five full seconds to freak out.  

Feeling slightly ill, he finally forces his feet to move through the hallway, his small steps echoing in the empty space. He tries not to notice the clinking of the teacups as the tray in his hands shakes. Meeting the Waynes was not supposed to happen tonight.

Last door on the right, last door on the right, last door on the right . . .

He hesitates when he gets there, cautiously takes the key Bruce gave him, and places it into the lock. The hinges swing without a sound, showing a polished study and a Persian rug. He takes a breath and enters. The door clicks shut slowly behind him.

The library entrance is at the back of the room and it’s far more intimidating than it has any right to be. As he walks towards it, something catches the corner of his eye.

A grandfather clock. Old, tall, and quietly ticking away as Tim pauses in front of it. He stares, something deep inside him saying that he should take a closer look. He’s barely moved forward when raised voices suddenly come from behind the library door, startling him. Tim steps back.

Shooting the clock a final glance, Tim focuses back on the task at hand and reluctantly turns away. Cautiously, he nears the closed entrance that muffles unintelligible yelling. He inhales shakily and raises his fist, knocking softly on the wood.

He almost drops the tray when the door is slammed open.

“Bruce! Tell Dick his argument against Hamlet is completely wrong and—Oh.”

A boy stands in the doorway.

Fifteen years old, expensive tux, black hair, and eyes with too much green to be a true blue. Eyes that scan Tim up and down like he’s figuring out every single secret Tim’s hidden away in the back of his mind and examining them one by one. And all Tim can think about is how he once saw Robin take down five crooks before leaping out of a sixty-fourth-floor window, how Robin could end him in the blink of an eye.

Jason Todd raises a brow.

“You lost, kid?” Tim opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so he shakes his head instead. Jason looks down at the tray in his hands. “ . . . Did Bruce kidnap you and have you make tea or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Tim says, managing to not trip over his words.

Jason blinks, glances him over once again. A horrified, blank expression crosses his face before he half turns and says, “We left B alone for five minutes, and he already got a new kid!”

There’s a strangled yell of, “What?” then the sound of stumbling footsteps as another boy appears in the door. Tim’s knees go weak.

Eighteen with a messy blue bowtie that’s the same shade as his wide eyes. The same shade as the Nightwing suit, too. Tim remembers the first and last time he went to the circus, remembers the photograph he still has.

Dick Grayson stares at him in shock.

“Oh my God. He did.”

Jason looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Do you think he just wanders around and collects the first lonely dark-haired child he sees? Is it just a thing he does?”

Dick shrugs, his gaze still locked on Tim. “Once is a mistake. Twice is a pattern.” He points a finger at the youngest boy. “Three times is a habit.” He glances at Jason with a frown. “Think we should stage an intervention?”

“Maybe,” Jason mutters, eyes narrowing. Dick hums and notices the tray in Tim’s hands with delight.

“Hey, he brought tea!” Dick bends forward, gently taking the platter out of Tim’s nearly quivering hands. He smiles down at him. “What’s your name?”

Tim swallows past his dry throat and channels years of socialite skills into not seeming like a complete idiot. “Tim Drake. Mr. Way—Bruce told me to come here? He got caught up with some lady, though. Delphine, I think?”

The two older boys share a look. Dick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not surprising.” He nudges Jason out of the doorway and beckons Tim inside. “Come on; you can help me remind Jason that Romeo and Juliet is way better than some play about a depressed prince.”

“Romeo and Juliet is nowhere near Hamlet, and you know it,” Jason mutters, but shoots Tim a friendly grin as Dick sets the tea tray down on a coffee table.

“If you read the whole thing as a satire about teenage stupidity and dumb love, then it’s hilarious,” Dick fires back and glances over at where Tim has barely entered through the doorway. “Right, Timmy?”

Tim shuffles his feet, not used to this kind of attention. “Um, I’ve only read Macbeth, and that was for school so . . . sure? I don’t know; Shakespeare always seemed kind of overrated to me.”

Both boys freeze.

Jason makes some sort of offended sound. “Oh my God, don’t ever let Alfred hear you say that.”

Flushing, Tim hurriedly continues, “I just prefer novels over plays, you know? Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, that kind of stuff.”

“Mysteries? Jesus, no wonder Bruce kidnapped you. He used to read Sherlock Holmes to me before bed when I was a kid.” Dick mutters with a shake of his head.

“Huh, I got Jane Austen,” Jason off-handedly adds as he moves to grab a teacup, not putting anything in the drink. Dick takes two spoonfuls of sugar in his. He looks up and sees that Tim still hasn’t moved away from the door. He smiles gently.

“Hey, we don’t bite.” Dick sets another cup down on the table before sitting back on the plush couch. Tim hesitates, his mind screaming out useless facts his mother had told him about etiquette and manners that he’s quickly learning won’t apply to the Waynes at all, and gingerly moves into the room.

He picks up the teacup and carefully takes a place in the chair next to the sofa. Dick beams at him like he’d just found the solution to world peace, and Jason shoots him another half-smirk-half-grin while he moves over to the empty fireplace.

“So, Tim,” Dick starts while Jason tosses several pieces of wood into the grate, “the Drakes, huh? Don’t you live down the road?”

He nods, relaxing his fingers’ grip on the cup’s handle. “Yeah, about fifteen minutes away, I think.”

Jason glances back at him from where he’d successfully lit a fire, gaze curious. The light flickers warmly over the floor and Tim lets himself sink into the chair just a bit. “Really? Don’t hear from you guys that much; most of our neighbors are always asking about the next party and whatnot.”

“Oh, well, my parents aren’t usually in the country for most of the year,” Tim says, taking a sip of his tea before wrinkling his nose. Too bitter.

Dick pauses from where he’s lifting the cup to his lips, and Jason stops adding logs to the growing flames. They share a glance over Tim’s head. “Really?” Dick asks, continuing with his sip of tea. “I’m guessing they’re pretty busy, then. With running a company and all.”

Jason stands and moves back towards them, taking a seat in the chair opposite of Tim. “Yeah, isn’t your dad some kind of archaeologist, too? He sponsors a lot of stuff at the Natural History Museum downtown.” Dick pauses, both brows raised at his younger brother, and Jason shrugs defensively. “What? I paid attention during a school trip.”

Tim distractedly adds several spoonfuls of sugar to his tea. “Yeah, he’s usually flying from digsite to digsite most of the year. And my mom spends her summertime in London or Paris, and winter in the Caribbean, so he’s always visiting her. Plus, they have to travel for business all the time, and every month they go—” He freezes upon looking up from where he’d been stirring his drink. Jason and Dick are staring at him, looking as if they’d just been forced to swallow a very bitter pill. Tim hurriedly adds, “It’s okay! I’m—I’m busy with school anyway, so it’s fine.”

Dick sets his cup down with a gentle clink that makes Tim wince. “It doesn’t really seem . . . awesome, Tim.”

It takes everything within him to maintain eye contact and not stare down at the rug underneath his feet. “It’s fine.”

Jason leans forward, elbows on his knees, his eyebrows furrowed together to make a little crease between them. “You’re not . . . alone, right? You seem pretty responsible, but it’s not just you—”

“We have a housekeeper,” Tim tells him, voice clipped. He tries not to think about how he doesn't even remember the last time he saw her. “And I’m at school most of the day.”

“Boarding?” Dick asks.

“Usually, it would be. But it’s only a few minutes away by bike, so why pay to stay there when I could just come home?” Tim keeps his tone even. His grip on the teacup is tightening.

“It just . . . sounds a little lonely, that’s all. I got bored all the time when I was your age, and that was with Bruce and Alfred around to keep me company,” Dick quickly adds, soothing Tim’s raising defenses. The last thing he needs is the Bats getting nosy about his home life. Or rather, absence of one.

Tim shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

The brothers share another look, too fast for him to know what it means, and Jason tilts his head in a way that strangely reminds Tim of when his father would strike a business deal. “Hey, I know we just met, but, uh. . . You could come over here sometimes, if you want.”

Tim’s eyes widen, and his brain almost shuts down as he tries to make sense of what Jason just said. After several confused seconds, he manages to choke out, “What?”

“You know, if you ever need anything,” Dick swiftly continues, gaze steady and far too kind. “Like help with homework, stuff with school, or uh . . .” He glances at his brother. “Advice for girl problems?”

“You need advice for girl problems,” Jason mutters back. Dick kicks at him but looks over at Tim meaningfully.

“I’m living in New York right now, but I know you’d be welcomed here anytime.”

Jason nods in agreement. “Seriously, feel free to drop by. Bruce has already kinda adopted you, and I need Alfred to change your opinion on Shakespeare, so come over sometime, yeah?”

Tim stares at them, throat strangely tight. He hesitates. “I—”

The library door swings open, and Bruce walks in. Tim straightens up immediately, and from his peripheral vision, he can see Dick and Jason do the same. They all stare at each other for a moment. Bruce speaks first. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Jason shrugs. “Nothing we can’t continue later, B. How’s Delphine?”

“Sent her home with her friends just a few moments ago. She’ll be fine except for one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

Jason hmms and takes a sip of his tea. “You still have lipstick on your collar, by the way.”

Bruce glances down and curses, rubbing at the stain with his thumb. Dick snickers and Tim doesn’t even try to hide his shaky smile. With a sigh of defeat, Bruce glances over and meets Tim’s gaze with an amused expression. “Try not to embarrass me in front of our guest, if you can help it, Jay.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Dad, but you’re capable of doing that all by yourself,” Jason shoots back, amused.

Tim nearly misses the bitter look that crosses Dick’s face, and it’s gone before he can figure it out. His eyes flick to Bruce, who almost seems frozen in the firelight, a warm expression melting over his features as he stares at his youngest son. Jason takes another sip of his tea, his gaze resting on the fireplace and not focused on the two older men.

Tim glances between them and shifts in the strange atmosphere. The sound of the ticking clock is the only thing breaking the quiet.

He looks at his drink.

A different voice ends the silence. “Master Bruce, young Mr. Drake’s mother is asking for him. I believe he will be leaving for the night.” Tim glimpses at the open door. A tall, thin man stands there; his arms folded neatly behind his back. Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so British before in his life.

Alfred Pennyworth. Tim subconsciously straightens his suit, hoping the man won’t notice its wrinkles.

His eyes rest on Tim for a second, brows raising for half a second before his expression reverts into unreadable neutrality. Still, Alfred offers him a small smile that Tim quietly returns. Then another figure enters the doorway and Tim’s stomach freezes.

His mother stares down at him. Her lips curl upwards, all picture-perfect and white teeth. “Mr. Wayne, I’m terribly sorry for any distraction my son has caused tonight.” She holds out a polished hand. “Come along, Timothy, it’s late.” He makes himself look at her face.

Her blue eyes are ice cold. Furious.

His feet feel like lead when he stands, but his hands are still as Tim places his now-cool tea on the coffee table. He meets Jason’s gaze as he moves away from them. There’s something quiet and worried in his eyes, and Tim turns his back on both the older boy and the warmth of the firelight.

He isn’t expecting it when Dick moves with him, though, smoothly walking over and coming close enough to put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“He wasn’t a bother at all, Mrs. Drake,” Dick says, and apparently Tim isn’t the only one who’s learned how to play the smiling socialite. The man even shoots his mother a playful wink as he continues, “If anything, we should be apologizing for keeping him, just lost track of time.”

His mother narrows her eyes at Dick, glares down at Tim, and then settles back on Bruce. “It’s no matter; actually, I’ll have to thank you for making sure my son stayed out of trouble.” Tim slips out of Dick’s comforting grasp and moves silently to stand by her side. She reaches over and takes him by the arm, polished, red nails digging into his skin. Dick’s smile fades. “He tends to find it quite easily.”

Dick doesn’t even blink, only looks her up and down in a way that’s too cold to be mistaken for flattery. “Some might call that curiosity.”

“And polite company would call it meddlesome,” she clips back, words barbed. Dick stiffens, and his hands clenching, and Tim can see the tension in his jaw even from where he’s standing. He grinds his teeth and looks away from his mother.

He isn’t deaf and is well aware of what plenty of people really think of Wayne’s adopted sons. Two charity cases drudged up from the bottom of Gotham’s classes: street rats. He didn’t think his mother would sink to that level, though. Tim risks a glance at where Jason is still sitting.

The other boy is frozen in his chair, tea forgotten. His teal eyes glare daggers into Mrs. Drake, and Tim knows Jason must be biting his tongue to keep his insults to himself. Dick opens his mouth to reply, probably with something just as scathing, but Bruce steps in front of him with a tight smile.“Mrs. Drake, as you said, it’s getting late. Would you let me escort you to your car?”

Dick steps away, gaze bitterly burning into the back of his adopted father’s head, but he whips around to face Jason, and Tim can no longer see his expression. His mother exhales pointedly.

“No need, Mr. Wayne. You seem to have your hands plenty full here, and I’m perfectly capable of finding the way back myself, thank you.”

She tugs sharply on Tim’s arm, and he desperately looks at them, not sure what to say. Dick and Jason both stare back, brows furrowed, and he sees Bruce take a step forwards only to hesitate. He can feel Alfred watching him from the side. Tim swallows past his dry mouth, his mother pulls again at his sleeve, and he quickly gets out, “Thanks for the tea.”

“Oh, come along, Timothy,” she snaps.

And then Tim’s being marched down the hallway, trying to keep pace with Janet Drake’s long strides but not quite managing it. Moments later, he’s ushered into the car, and they’re driving away. But he can’t tear his eyes away from the Manor as it’s left behind, a spot of shining light in the surrounding darkness.

The taste of tea fills his mouth the entire ride home.

*****

“You could have let me say something,” Dick snaps as soon as the two Drakes are gone, and Alfred’s closed the door behind them. He sort of wishes the butler stayed.

Bruce exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It would have only made things worse; you shouldn’t have gotten involved in the conversation, to begin with.”

“You saw his face when she came into the room, Bruce,” Dick mutters back, fuming. Next to him, Jason watches them silently, and Dick forces himself to take a breath. “What kid looks at their own mother like that?”

“ . . . I don’t know either Janet or Jack Drake personally, but they have a reputation for being ruthless,” Bruce says, still staring at the door. He turns around and looks between his sons measuredly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that behavior carries into their family life as well.”

Dick seethes, ears still burning from Mrs. Drake’s comments. ‘Polite company.’ It could have meant nothing but combined with her curled lip and icy gaze; it didn’t.

He rests a hand on Jason’s shoulder, either to comfort the kid or himself, Dick isn’t sure, and Jason doesn’t lean back from it. He wonders if what she said got to his brother, too. Probably not. Jason has always been better at letting shit like this roll off his back. Still, he doesn’t move his hand away just in case.

“I told Tim he was welcome here anytime,” Dick says pointedly, Bruce stiffens. “And he better be.”

“Dick, you can’t just—”

“It was my idea, actually,” Jason interrupts, and both of them turn to stare at him. Jason glares back, unflinchingly. “And don’t pretend that you couldn’t care less, B. You were the one who invited him in here, not Dick. Besides,” Jason takes a smooth sip of his tea, “I think he’s lonely. Could use someone to talk to. If he comes over, I’ll handle it.”

Bruce looks at him for a long moment, several unnameable emotions warring across his face. He seems to settle on blankness.

“Very well,” his gaze slides to Dick, still unknowable. “I’m going to have to turn in for the night. Alfred’s been wanting to redo several stitches and is threatening to drug me again if I don’t let him. Tea will have to wait for another day.”

“Oh,” is Dick’s only response. The disappointment isn’t anything new as it settles in his stomach, but it still hurts. He glances at the door, trying to figure out the least awkward way to leave, then Bruce clears his throat hesitantly.

“However, Jason and I are planning a bust on one of Penguin’s shipping operations later this week. Feel free to join us, if you’d like.”

Whatever frustration Dick has left in him drains away as he and his brother gawk at the other man. Bruce waits for several seconds but is only met with silence as his adopted son blinks at the hanging invitation. Dick starts. “I . . . Okay, I can do that. Uh. Does Saturday work?”

Bruce nods. “Come by the Manor around nine, that’ll let you have some time with Alfred. He’s been wanting to catch up.”

“Right,” Dick says numbly, and as Bruce turns to leave, he and Jason share a glance. The younger boy raises his brows, and Dick can only shake his head in response, mind whirling.

“And Jason,” Bruce adds, both of his sons snapping to attention. Bruce opens the door, smoothing his collar in such a way that the lipstick on it somehow becomes less noticeable. Dick tries not to be impressed with that. “If you’re going to have Tim over here, give him something to eat. Lord knows he needs it.”

They stare as he leaves, the library door not quite swinging all the way shut behind him.

Jason speaks first, “That was . . . unexpected.”

Dick looks at him. “What? That he invited me, because yeah—”

“No,” The other boy interrupts, voice purposefully monotone. “Of course he was going to invite you, he’s been trying to figure out how to do that for months, now.” Dick’s eyes widen, and he glances back at the door. Jason doesn’t seem to notice. “I just didn’t expect him to invite me.”

Looking back at him, Dick frowns. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re Robin. ”

It says something about time healing all wounds because it doesn’t hurt to say that out loud anymore. But Jason stills, his gaze moving to Dick before resting on the flames within the fireplace. “Yeah, and Robin’s benched.”

Shit.

Just add that to the list of things he can feel guilty not knowing about.

Dick is frozen, looking over Jason’s form and frantically trying to figure out what happened. “You got hurt? Where? How bad?”

“I didn’t get hurt.”

Jason still won’t look at him. Slowly, Dick shuts his eyes. “Little Wing, what did you do? ”

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Jason spins around to face him, expression twisted into something painful and hurt and Dick did that. “Are you serious, right now?”

“Jay—”

“Look, I know you’re a fucking Golden Boy up on Bruce’s goddamn pedestal, but at the very least you could try to—”

“Jason.” Jason stiffens with his brother’s raised voice because Dick doesn’t yell. Not at him. Dick rubs a hand over his face. “Jay, just tell me what happened, okay? I won’t judge you for it, I promise.”

The younger boy’s glare hardens for a second before molding into something unbearably tired. “I didn’t . . . Look, I need you to get that I didn’t push the guy, okay?”

Fuck, this wasn’t going to be good. Dick breathes out, “Okay.”

Jason searches his face for a second, eyes falling back to the fire. “We were working a case, there was . . . Our perp was this asshole, Felipe Garzonas, and his father was some kind of ambassador, and he had diplomatic immunity because of fucking course he did. And he . . .” Jason takes a breath. “He raped a girl, Gloria, and was responsible for her death.”

Dick swallows. “So, he got away with murder?”

Jason shakes his head, continuing, “No, she . . . she killed herself. But he was behind it, threatened to keep hurting her and she . . . He got recalled, too, you know that? We busted him on drugs, and he was leaving the fucking country and wouldn’t have been able to touch her ever again. But she didn’t know, and he called her before we did and . . .”

For a long moment, Dick only stares, the pieces coming together to make a grim picture. “You were the one to find her, weren’t you?”

Jason shivers, jaw clenching. “She was already gone by the time we got to her apartment. Hung herself. She was only . . .  a couple of years older than me. Younger than you.”

Dick winces and closes his eyes. “God, Jay that’s . . .”

“I’m just tired of seeing it, you know? Shit like this happened all the time back in Crime Alley, yeah, but now I finally have a chance to stop it, and I fucking couldn’t. I couldn’t save her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jason snorts bitterly, gaze not wavering from the fireplace. Dick sighs and sits back down on the sofa to rest his head in his hands. It’s a shitty lesson, learning that you can’t rescue everyone. They both wait in the library stillness for several minutes, watching the light from the flames flicker across the floor. Dick looks up.

“Okay, then what?”

Jason exhales. “I went back to his apartment and he was up on this fucking balcony drinking and I . . .” Dick waits quietly as the boy finds the right words. “I dropped down too quick, spooked him. And he stumbled, slipped over the railing, and it . . . Fuck, Dick, it happened so fast.”

Dick nods but frowns. “And Bruce benched you because . . .”

“He thinks I pushed him.”

Shit.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into his face. Advice. That’s what he’s supposed to do. Older brothers give advice. Fuck. “Okay, look, Bruce is a—” His phone rings, the emergency tone for the Titans echoing throughout the library, and Dick jumps—“Son of a bitch,” he finishes instead, grabbing his cell.

Jason raises his brows, a weak grin etching across his face. “Don’t think Martha would appreciate that.”

A distracted chuckle leaves Dick’s throat as he stares at the message on the screen in annoyance. Deathstroke. Of all the people who hate the Titans, it couldn’t have been someone the team could handle without him?

He glances at his brother but Jason is already waving him away. “Yeah, I get it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Just go, asshole. We can deal with this another day.”

“I don’t ‘deal with you’, Little Wing. I like talking to you, come on, and we are gonna finish this conversation.” Probably. When he can figure out what to fucking say. Dick stands as the alarm on his phone goes off again. “Just not today because I need to go kick Deathstroke’s ass.”

Jason follows as his brother jogs into the study and both of them stop at the clock. Dick opens the case, moving the hands as Jason watches silently. Seconds later, the wall is sliding open and Dick is praying that Bruce has the Tower’s location already set up in the zeta-tube. The sound of feet hitting stone echoes as they run down, and Dick doesn’t even stop as they reach the cave, doesn’t look to see if anything’s changed.

The zeta doesn’t have the Tower’s coordinates pulled up and Dick spends too much time pressing buttons for his liking. As the damn thing finally starts, he gives Jason a half-hearted grin and ruffles his hair. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Jason smiles tiredly as Dick steps into the tube. “Punch Wilson in the face for me.”

And Dick doesn’t have enough time to respond because the world dissolves into blue and then he’s in the Tower, Roy yelling at him to ‘fucking move his ass.’

In the end, he does manage to punch Slade in the face, which is awesome. And they also save New York for the third time this month which is doubly awesome. But when they’re finally out of costume, and Garth’s calling up their favorite pizza place and Donna is laughing into Roy’s shoulder at some joke Vic made, Dick’s stomach is still in knots. He’s still staring at Jason’s name in his phone with no idea of what to do.

And looking around their rec-room, at the bright grins of his teammates, he can’t dampen the mood with his own ridiculous feelings. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid, because it’s just Jason. Still, he only pokes at his huge pizza slice that Raven’s dropped in front of him, the argument between Vic and Gar about meat and tofu fading into the background.

Hesitantly, he glances over at where Kory is sitting across the room. Too quickly she meets his gaze and they both look away. He’d thrown the tie she gave him somewhere on the floor of his bedroom while suiting up. Can’t be sentimental when assassins want to kill the mayor.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not when Wally drops down next to him, nudging Dick’s arm with his own and forcing a soda can into his hand. He doesn’t say anything either, only gives his friend a smart grin and lays back on the sofa, draping his legs over Dick’s thighs.

Dick rolls his eyes but pops the tab of his soda anyway.

The team trails off one by one, either to train or sleep. Kory doesn’t look at him when she leaves and Dick doesn’t call out either. Eventually, the only ones left are the founders, but then Garth has to take his nightly swim and Donna wants to finish editing her photos and Roy needs to fix a faulty sonic arrow and Wally . . . stays.

They’re quiet for a long time, which is weird for the speedster, but he knows when to let Dick think. Doesn’t stop him from eventually kicking the other’s leg and pointing at his untouched pizza, though. “You gonna eat that?”

Dick grumbles and hands it to him, and Wally laughs. And that’s . . . at least he knows he can do something right.

Wally takes a bite and the pizza is gone. “So. It was that bad?”

“How can you tell?”

“Because you’re doing that thing—” Wally does a scrunched serious face that makes him look slightly constipated—“that you do when you’re having an internal crisis.”

Dick’s scrunched serious face becomes scrunchier. “I’m not . . . crisis-ing. I’m fine.”

“Wow. Are you really trying to bullshit me, right now?”

Dick pinches his thigh and Wally yelps, kicking in retaliation. They grapple, and Dick pushes the other boy off the couch only for Wally to grab his arm at the last second. He lands on the floor with an oomph and a speedster crushing him. But one of them was trained by Batman and that one isn’t Wally, and Dick’s got him pinned in seconds.

“You suck,” Wally moans into the rug dramatically.

Dick grins. “Your hand-to-hand has gotten better.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick’s smile widens and he lets up, Wally kicking at him again for good measure. They sit across from each other, legs tangled together, Dick against the sofa and Wally with his head tipped back onto the coffee table. Dick chews his lip for a moment.

“It wasn’t bad. Just . . . a lot of stuff happened.”

Wally glances at him, but doesn’t move his head. The angle kinda makes him look stupid. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dick sorts through the night for a moment. “Bruce didn’t even invite me.”

“Wait, seriously?” Wally actually lifts his head up, brows raised towards the ceiling.

Dick nods. “Figures. It was Alfred, probably, or my name got thrown in or . . . I don’t know, doesn’t matter because it was still awkward as fuck. Almost left, but then he kind of apologized? And asked me to stay for tea? It was weird.”

“The guy who dresses up as a bat to fight clowns is weird? Who would’ve guessed,” the speedster deadpans.

A laugh bubbles out of his chest and Wally knocks their feet together. “Yeah, but then he disappeared for a bit and instead of coming back with tea he sent a kid? Like? One second I’m arguing with Jason about something dumb and then there’s this tiny child with a tea tray in the doorway? He looked confused.”

Wally grins. “Can’t blame him.”

Dick shakes his head. “His name’s Tim Drake. His parents own some big medical company and his mom is kind of a bitch.”

“What’d she do?” Wally asks, blinking in surprise. Dick never talks like that.

“Rude as shit when she came to pick him up and . . . God, the look on that kid’s face when he saw her . . . There’s something wrong going on in that house. I don’t like it. But Jay told him he could come to the Manor if he ever needs anything.”

“You think it’s that bad?”

“She grabbed him, too,” Dick mutters, turning away to glare at the floor. “Jason said he’d handle it and I trust him. And I think B’s worried, he caved on letting the kid come over pretty quick. Then he invited me on a bust on Saturday.”

Wally blinks. “Like . . . to bond?”

Dick shrugs hopelessly because he honestly has no idea how Bruce’s brain works anymore. “I guess? Apparently, he’s been wanting to ask for a few weeks, according to Jay and—” Dick pauses, eyes widening—“Dude, Jason got benched.”

“Benched as in hurt?” Wally asks and sits up straighter. Dick shakes his head, thoughts whirling.

“Benched as in Bruce thought he pushed a perp off a balcony.”

Wally’s mouth drops. “Holy shit. Did he actually—”

“Jason said the guy had been drinking, was startled when he dropped down, and slipped over.”

“You believe him?”

Dick hesitates too long at that. He remembers the look on Jason’s face, the crack in his voice as he talked. He also remembers the sound of bone breaking under Robin’s fist. He tugs at a loose string on the edge of his shirt.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Wally shrugs. “I don’t know him as well as you, but . . . I don’t think Jason would go that far. Kid’s too good for that.”

Dick smiles, but it quickly fades away. “He’s got issues, though. Not that I blame him, we all do—” Wally snorts—“but I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know what to say.”

“He’s just your brother. It’s not like you have to write a speech or something.”

“ . . . That’s actually not a bad ide—”

“That was a joke. Please don’t do that. You talk like Bruce when you lecture, and it’ll just freak him out.”

“Shit,” Dick mutters, slumping back into the sofa behind him. The fabric is kind of itchy, and he shifts, thinking. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you apologize and try again.”

“How do you know that’ll work?”

“It’s what Barry did whenever he messed up with me,” Wally says quietly and something inside of Dick wilts. The speedster looks away, fiddling with the ring on his hand. Barry’s ring. The ring with a costume that wasn’t supposed to be Wally’s. Not ever.

“ . . . He’d be proud of you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Join the club.”

“No thanks, there’s a major dick in there.”

“You want me to pin you again?”

“No,” Wally answers, but he’s smiling, so Dick takes it.

“Seriously, he’d be proud.”

Wally closes his eyes, looking too old for someone who’s only eighteen. His freckles have been fading away, adulthood coming on faster than either of them would like to admit. Dick doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed that before. “And I seriously don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then we’ll not know what we’re doing together. And we’ll make a club. Roy can join.”

“Ew.” Dick laughs, really laughs, at that, and Wally’s expression lightens. He bumps their legs again. “You should talk to Jason soon, though. He’ll probably get anxious if you don’t.”

Dick nods. “Yeah.”

They fall silent again, and Dick lets himself drift for several seconds, listening to the distant city outside. Wally hums in thought, the tune vaguely familiar but Dick can’t quite place it. Maybe something from when they were kids. He stares for a moment.

“Hey.” Wally glances at him, green eyes quiet. “Thanks.”

He gets a grin in return, one that’s too teasing to be truly genuine. “And if we’re talking about emotions . . .”

“No.”

“Dude, you were staring at her all night.”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Was—No, we’re not doing this.”

Wally sticks his tongue out at him. “You have feelings, she has feelings, you’re making it complicated.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Would Kory?”

Dick opens his mouth, then shuts it with a click. Wally points a finger at him in triumph and Dick glowers with resignation. He still tries. “She’s—I’m—we’re both just so—”

“Different isn’t always a bad thing, bro. Haven’t you heard of opposites attracting? You’re just scared of getting hurt, which is ridiculous because she’s head over heels for you.”

Dick sighs. “Can we go back to talking about my Bruce issues?”

“No. Just have a conversation with her.”

“What if I—”

“Mess up? Didn’t we just finish that discussion?” Wally asks, voice flat. “I’m not above locking you two in a closet, don’t push me. You’re both pining and it’s gross.” Dick opens his mouth again. Wally sighs. “What if I tell you it’s upsetting the team dynamic.” Dick’s mouth closes, and the other man groans, head falling into his hands. “Oh my god.”

“Is it? Because that’s really important—”

“It’s not; it’s just fucking awkward, Jesus Christ.”

Dick exhales, steels himself. “Fine. I’ll talk to Kory. And Bruce. And Jason. Happy?”

“Yeah, actually. Jerk.” Wally sticks his tongue out at him, and Dick returns the action.

“Now tell me about your love life so I can make fun of you.”

Wally perks up, starts talking about some hot girl in his Advanced Chemistry lecture, and Dick settles back against the couch. It isn’t too itchy if he doesn’t think about it. Besides, Wally’s leg is warm against his, and, for now, that’s enough.

*****

Tim is picking at his cereal when his parents enter the dining room. Jack still in slippers with the morning paper tucked under his arm, and Janet wearing a silk robe. Last night certainly hadn’t helped with the tension between them, with his mother’s angry mutters and his father’s chilled gaze filling the car ride home. Tim had rushed up to his room, not bothering with a ‘goodnight.’ He doubts they’d even noticed.

Still, it’s a new day. He tries to smile at them but he knows it comes out wrong. His parents pause in the doorway for a second, staring at him like they’re not sure what to say.

Jack breaks the quiet, “Morning, Tim.”

“Good morning,” he answers back hesitantly. The words are strange in his mouth. Unfamiliar.

His mother sits across from him as his father takes the head of the long table. Neither looks particularly comfortable, but Tim isn’t either, so he won’t judge.

Most of his breakfasts take place by the kitchen counter or on his way to school. Rarely in the dining room, with its empty chairs and arching windows. It’s always been too cold for Tim’s liking and he can count on one hand the number of times he’s had a meal in here.

So he shifts in his seat, Janet catching it out of the corner of her eye. “Posture.”

His father opens his newspaper, sips his dark coffee. Tim can’t decide whether or not he likes the overpowering smell of it. “Dear, it’s first thing in the morning. Let the boy relax for God’s sake.”

“He was plenty relaxed last night,” she snaps and Tim stills, his spoon halfway to his mouth. She isn’t looking at him as she adds strawberries to her plate, but her movements are sharp. “I don’t know what you were thinking, Tim. Bothering Bruce Wayne of all people and disappearing to Lord knows where halfway through the night to talk to those children of his. Left us having to brush off questions about your whereabouts, and you certainly lost us several investors—”

“He asked for my help.”

Both of his parents freeze. Tim, too, after he realizes his interruption, his eyes quickly moving down to stare at his bowl. Janet slowly places the spoon in her grip back into its dish. The harsh clink of metal against china echoes in the silence, Tim’s teeth gritting at the sound. Her hands fold neatly on top of the table.

“What was that, Timothy?” Her voice is frigid. Tim hesitates, eyes darting to his father to gauge his reaction. He’s met with blankness.

Tim takes a breath and continues, “Bru—Mr. Wayne was looking for his butler to make tea, but then I told him I could do it. And then he thought that I’d get along with his sons so I just . . .” He gestures helplessly and his mother sighs, rubbing at her temple.

“We’ll try again Friday. I have a presentation with the board, but your father is going to the annual GCPD charity luncheon at Wayne Enterprises. You’ll go with him and pay attention to the other businessmen this time, don’t be completely useless and run off somewhere.” She stands, her chair scraping against the floor.

Both Tim and his father open their mouths to protest, but are met with a harsh look, the kind that Janet Drake gives people during meetings when somebody dares to challenge her. Tim slumps into his seat, but Jack does not. “He’d be missing school, might not send the best message.”

“If he goes with you he’ll be learning more important things anyway. And besides,” she stares down at her son pointedly, “he’ll make sure to stay out of trouble. Won’t you, Tim?”

His head is heavy when he nods, but Tim manages it. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You see? It’s fine, Jack. Besides, don’t you have more important things to worry about anyway with that damn exhibition coming up?” she snaps at her husband. Jack’s lip curls, but he doesn’t respond as she swirls out of the room, silk robe flowing behind her. She leaves her untouched plate of strawberries behind.

Tim hesitates. His father turns back to the newspaper. Several more minutes pass by.

“What’s the exhibition for?”

Jack glances up at him for a second before returning to his article. “Just uncovered a few things for the museum downtown. Nothing exciting for your mother to host a celebration party for, so she’s bitter over it.”

“Oh,” Tim says, awkwardly poking at his bowl. There’s more to it than that but he knows when to hold his tongue.

He counts the seconds as they tick by, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass before escaping the room. His father flips to the next page of the paper. Tim leaves without a sound.

When he bikes to school, he goes as fast as he can, legs and lungs burning. He relishes the feeling. At least, out here, he can finally breathe.

*****

Friday comes both too soon and too slow.

His parents will be gone this afternoon and while the house is still quiet with them there (apart from the ever-louder arguments that Tim can hear echoing through the halls), it’s nevertheless nice knowing that he isn’t alone anymore.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss sneaking out at night. Based on what he’d last heard when he was out on the streets, Penguin is going to bring in a huge shipment tomorrow, and Tim’s dying to get a few decent shots of it. If he gets an especially good one, he might even mail it to Gordon. Anonymously, of course.

He knows they use his photos as evidence sometimes. Had heard the Commissioner mention it to Batman, once on a slower patrol. That the resolution of his camera picks up details that security footage can’t make out.

Tim hadn’t stopped grinning the rest of the night, and Gordon had gotten seven extra photos that weekend.

The elevator pings open, and Jack Drake’s shoes squeak on the polished marble floor. Tim’s never been in Wayne Tower before, and he stares as they walk by gleaming offices and busy people. It’s a beautiful place, with tasteful decor and huge windows lining the halls. Everyone around them moves like clockwork and Tim would be lying if he said that he wasn’t impressed. He’d always thought that running a business would be boring, his parents never seem to enjoy it. But . . . Tim wouldn’t mind working here.

He almost runs into his father when the man stops in front of a pair of glass doors. Looking through them, Tim can see a long room with balconies and official-looking men and women standing around.

A few are in uniforms, members of the GCPD. Tim pretends not to notice, pretends that he doesn’t know exactly who each of them is. His father looks down at him.

“Don’t embarrass yourself or me. And don’t bother the Waynes, understand?”

Tim nods, and his father exhales, pushing the doors open. Several businessmen come up to Mr. Drake at once, and Tim knows he’s not supposed to get left behind, but they’re all moving and chattering and suddenly he’s alone in a room full of people. He glances around frantically, but he only sees the same dull suits and stiff dresses no matter where he turns.

Hesitantly, he moves to the lunch table. Pretends that he has everything under control. And it’s almost funny that he’s more comfortable on the dark streets of Gotham instead of this crowded place. He pours himself a cup of water and carefully makes sure nobody is behind him when he turns around. Especially Bruce Wayne.

His drink spills anyway.

The man who just ran into him blinks down in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting someone so short to be there. “Excuse me, Mr. . . . ?”

“Uh, Tim,” Tim answers, trying to straighten his wet suit. The man curses under his breath and reaches up to his chest, handing Tim a handkerchief. He looks up at the man again. Brown eyes behind smart glasses and greying at the temples. Well-cut suit, looks far more comfortable here than Tim does, and Tim knows he’s seen this guy before somewhere and oh . . . Oh.

“I’m Lucius Fox. Are you lost, son?”

“I—uh, no? No, I’m fine, thank you. My dad’s just . . .” Tim looks around desperately, but the universe doesn’t seem to be on his side today.

Lucius studies him for a long moment and something clicks behind his gaze. “You’re Drake’s son, aren’t you?”

Tim blinks. “Yeah, yeah, how did you . . . ?”

“You look like your mother. And she is . . . “ Fox furrows his brow and hesitates, “Hard to forget.”

“That sounds about right,” Tim mutters, carefully folding the handkerchief back into a neat square. It’s silk and a crisp white and Lucius places it back in its pocket despite the fact that it’s still wet.

“Mr. Wayne mentioned you this morning when I told him your father was invited to the luncheon.”

Tim blinks again. “He did?”

“Said you and Jason got along. And that you make better tea than our new Keurig.”

Tim’s brain melts.

“When he mentioned you to me he said that all you do is judge his life choices,” he says without thinking, then freezes horrified. Fox stares at him. Tim starts, “Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Lucius laughs, true and deep enough to make several people nearby glance at them. Tim doesn’t move, unsure whether to keep apologizing or join in. He goes for a nervous chuckle instead. After a few more moments, Fox settles and smiles at him. “I do judge his life choices, believe me, he deserves it.” He straightens up, looking around for Tim’s father. “Apologies, but I have to check up on a few things. Not sure where your father went, but Jason and Ms. Gordon are back there if you’d like to talk to them.”

Tim’s eyes follow the direction Lucius subtly points at. “Ms. Gordon?”

“The Commissioner’s daughter, Barbara.” Yeah, Tim knows who she is. “I think you two will get along, trust me.” He shakes Tim’s hand, grip strong but not unkind. As if they were equals. Tim likes him. “It was nice to meet you, Tim.”

“You too, thanks,” he manages, watching as Lucius blends into the crowd. Then he turns and tries not to walk too fast to where the man had steered him. At least now he has somewhere to go.

It isn’t hard to spot them in the tucked-away corner, Barbara’s hair is bright in the sunlight, and Tim remembers how it looked when she flew through the air. A shock of red against the dark sky. Batgirl. The Batgirl.

He almost forgets until he sees the wheelchair.

The papers had blown up with the news, every other story focusing on the Gordons or the Joker or Batman. Looking back on it, it’s amazing that no one made the connection between her and her vigilante identity. Amazing no one still has.

Neither of them seems to notice as he quietly approaches, engrossed in their conversation. Barbara’s hands are folded very tightly on her lap and Jason’s shoulders are tense. Tim stills, tries to blend in with the background like he does on the streets. Even from this short distance, he can barely make out what they’re saying.

“—looked at the hospital’s records. Her name wasn’t on file, and they listed Catherine and your father as your guardians, no one else. I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason slumps. “That doesn’t make any sense, the certificate’s damaged, yeah, but my mom didn’t have an ‘S’ in her name anywhere.”

“B said you were narrowing down a list of women? Based on your date of birth and your father’s associates?”

“Yeah, I’ve got three names. Gonna try and locate them, and then reach out, I guess.”

Barbara reaches out and touches his arm. “Hey, take it from someone who knows; it’s okay not to have . . . I just don’t want you to think you’re worth anything less than you are. There’s nothing wrong with you, and you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Especially not to her.”

Jason stares at her, swallows. “I know that, I do, and I already have a mom. Catherine was my mom. This lady, whoever she is, I just . . . I just have some questions I’d like her to answer, you know?”

Barbara hesitates and then nods. From this angle, Tim can’t see the expression on her face. “Okay, but be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt by whatever you find.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Aw, Barbie, you do care.”

“Shut it, brat.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to—” Jason looks up, eyes landing on Tim and then widening. He hides it quickly, but Barbara sees and she spins around, already an expert with her chair. Jason walks over, and Tim stiffens, wonders if they know he’s heard everything; but the older boy only throws an arm around his shoulder. “Tim! Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Tim tries not to stumble as Jason leads him back over to Barbara, who watches them with arched brows. Tim scrambles to come up with anything. “Sorry, you guys looked like you were talking about something, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Both of them relax a touch. Tim does too.

Jason lets the weight of his arm drop. “It wasn’t anything important, don’t worry about it.” He gestures to Barbara, moving to her side. “Barbie, Tim Drake. Tim, Barbara Gordon. All you gotta know about her is that she’s smarter than everybody else in this room combined.”

Barbara scoffs. “Stop trying to be charming, it’s weird.”

“Not charming anyone, just telling the truth,” Jason responds primly. She swats at him, and he grins widely in return. Her clever gaze moves to Tim.

Tim decides that Barbara Gordon is very pretty and very, very scary. There’s a high chance that even while wearing her expensive silk dress and sitting in a wheelchair, she could beat him up and not let a hair get out of place. But she also reminds him of Lucius, with the way her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. They shake hands.

Strong grip, but not unkind. Equals. Tim decides he likes her, too.

“So,” she starts, a smirk at the corners of her mouth. “You skipping, or did school let out on a half-day like the nerd over here?”

“Hey!” Jason protests, scowling as Tim’s face breaks into a grin.

Barbara scoffs. “Please, like you would ever skip school. Remember when you tried to sneak out when you were sick so you wouldn’t miss a test?”

Jason’s ears turn pink and he rolls his eyes. This only seems to bemuse Barbara more. “That was only one time. Besides, now I know better than to try and get past Alfred.” She cackles, so he lightly pinches her shoulder.

Tim glances between them for a moment before finally answering, “Skipping.”

Barbara looks delighted. Jason sighs.

There’s the sound of speakers turning on followed by the muffled tapping of a microphone. Everyone turns to stare at the front of the room where Commissioner Gordon seems ready to begin a speech, though he doesn’t appear too excited about it. Bruce is standing next to him, smiling broadly like he’s having the time of his life. He must be bored out of his mind.

Tim hears Jason groan behind him. He also hears the stifled oomph when Barbara elbows him.

Both of them come up to his side, Jason grinning in a way that Tim is pretty sure means trouble. Jason nudges him. “Come on.”

Tim blinks once, glances between him and the Commissioner. “What?”

“Come on,” the older boy says again, pointedly tilting his head to one of the balconies, just out of sight. Tim smiles. Barbara shakes her head.

“I hate this habit,” she mutters at Jason. “Cutting your life expectancy in half, I swear.”

Jason shrugs. “It’s Gotham, plenty of things can cut my life expectancy in half. And relax, Barb, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon. Just cover us, yeah?”

She grumbles and waves them away with a calloused hand. “You owe me, kid.”

“I’ll buy you a chilidog,” Jason tells her, steering Tim to the balcony and away from Commissioner Gordon’s resigned droning. They slip through the doors and into the sunlight, the cool air refreshing compared to the room’s heat.

Tim breathes it in and side-eyes Jason curiously. “What habit?”

The older boy shrugs, leaning against the wall in a way so that no one could see him from inside. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and gives Tim a look that clearly says that he better keep his mouth shut about this.

Tim only raises his brow and rests against the balcony railing. Jason sparks a lighter, the flame standing brightly out against the dull blues and greys surrounding them. He takes a slow drag and relaxes further into the concrete beneath his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he exhales, and the wind blows the smoke away before it has a chance to curl through the air.

He cracks his eyelids just a touch to meet Tim’s gaze. “Sorry, but I’m not sharing, kid. These things will kill you, you know.”

Tim huffs a laugh and looks out over the view of the city.

Gotham’s almost pretty like this, windows shining in the sun with a clear sky above. It’s weird. He prefers it at night when only neon signs and streetlights keep the city from falling into darkness. The lighting is more interesting anyway; and his best pictures are taken when the sun goes down. To be fair, that also may be because his best pictures are of Batman. And Robin.

Jason breathes out another lungful of smoke. The wind blows it away again.

“You never answered.”

“Huh?” Tim asks eloquently, looking back at the boy.

Jason tilts his head. “When I asked if you wanted to come over to the Manor sometime, you never answered.”

“Oh, I . . .” Tim tries, but the words won’t come. He isn’t sure what to make of this; nobody’s ever wanted to hang out with him before. He pulls at the ends of his sleeves. Jason only watches him, still quiet.

The cigarette end burns. Inhale. Exhale. Smoke. Wind. Tim looks away, out over the gleaming city, and gathers the confused pieces of his mind into one word.

“Why?”

Jason cocks his head and frowns. “Why what?”

“Why . . .” Tim shifts uncomfortably under the other boy’s unmoving stare. “Why do you want to be around me?”

“Because I like you,” Jason says, as if it’s that uncomplicated. Tim grimaces because there’s always something more than that. People always want more.

“No, you don’t; you hardly even know me. What do you actually want?” He snaps back, eyes turning cold. Jason looks taken aback, and for a second, Tim almost regrets what he said, but then the boy straightens up, and Tim suddenly realizes that Jason probably knows a lot more about him than he originally thought. And that this conversation is not going to be a pleasant one.

Jason glances back at the closed doors in calm consideration. “When was the last time your parents were home before this week, Tim?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, his hands tightening into fists. “I told you before, I’m fine.”

Jason nods like this is all the confirmation he needed, and Tim wants to backtrack and answer that. But the truth is that his parents were last home three months ago and that fact would only make things worse right now. The back of his tongue is sour.

“Why do you care?” He mutters, and Jason actually hesitates at that. They watch each other for a few tense moments, then Jason sighs and leans back against the concrete. Tim has the sudden urge to tell him that he’s wrinkling his suit. He has a distinct feeling Jason wouldn’t appreciate it.

The other boy taps the end of his cigarette, Tim watching the ash fall through the air. Jason takes a drag and examines him with narrowed eyes. “I care, because I know what it’s like not to have anybody give a damn about you.”

And it’s as if everything’s been punched out of Tim’s lungs. He can only stare as Jason exhales more smoke.

He snaps.

“My parents love me. At least that’s more than what you could say for yours.”

They both freeze as soon as the words leave Tim’s mouth, the city’s sounds filling the silence between them. Stiffly, Jason drops his cigarette, crushing it beneath a polished shoe. Tim suddenly has to fight the urge to step backward. Not that it would help, he's already pressed against the railing with nowhere to run.

Jason meets his eyes levelly. He doesn’t need the mask to be terrifying. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked you, Tim. But I’m not above punching you, either. Your choice.”

Tim glares down at the flattened cigarette, wishes he could rewind the past few minutes.

“ . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He unflinchingly looks back at the other’s gaze. “But my family life is . . . okay. I don’t need your help.”

Jason lifts his head and rests back against the wall, evaluating him. In turn, Tim’s shoulders relax with the knowledge that his face isn’t about to be broken. In the distance, a police siren wails. The older boy jerks his chin at the balcony doors.

“Alright. You don’t need my help,” Jason says, voice significantly quieter than it was. He glances at Tim hesitantly. “But do you want it?”

The sincerity of the question is enough to make Tim's chest hurt. Enough to make him suddenly want to cry. He swallows, and the words ‘I’m fine’ are stuck in his throat, and he has to look back out at Gotham. Look at the glass skyscrapers reflecting the blue sky and imagine the darkness and neon he can hide away in at night. Where he doesn’t have to worry about things like his parents or Batman or his nosy, righteous, far-too-caring neighbors who keep reaching out and just want to help, and Tim doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, kid,” Jason starts softly, and he must have moved at some point because he’s setting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim hadn’t even heard him. “I’m not saying that I’m gonna report this shit or anything if you don’t want that. I know how that can fuck up somebody’s life. I’m just . . . If you want a place to stay or someone to talk to, you can drop by, okay?”

Tim turns away from the shining skyscrapers and looks up at Jason’s too-gentle expression. He’s made up his mind before he can even think it through. Maybe he didn’t need to think about it at all.

“Okay.”

Jason grins, and it’s too bright for the city around them. “Alright, that’s . . . alright. Though, just to let you know, B and I will be gone for the next few days. Visiting a friend in the Middle East, shouldn’t take too long.”

Tim’s memory flashes back to what he heard between Jason and Barbara a few minutes ago. He keeps his face carefully blank.

Jason continues, “But when we get back, I’ve got to show you all the books the library has, you wouldn’t believe—”

The balcony doors open, and they whip around to see Jack Drake glaring down at both of them. Tim’s mouth goes dry and he stiffens, smoothing out his suit even though there aren’t any wrinkles on it. Jason doesn’t bother with his own rumpled jacket and only gives Mr. Drake a cool look.

Tim glances between them, attempting to ignore the tension in the air. He gestures to his father, weakly. “Jason, this is my dad, Jack Drake. I don’t think you’ve met.”

“No,” Mr. Drake says, just a tad bit too sharp, “we haven’t.”

They watch each other for another beat, then Jason rolls his shoulders, smoothly reaching his hand forward with too much grace to be natural. “Jason Todd, nice to finally meet you.” Jack hesitantly shakes it, eyeing Jason as if the boy was something particularly nasty lying on the side of the road. Jason grins dangerously, and Tim wonders if Bruce taught his Robins how to act or if Dick and Jason learned it from this. From the ruthless people who wear sparkling jewels and fake smiles.

Mr. Drake takes a step back. He’s intimidated, Tim realizes. He’s never seen his dad intimidated by somebody before. He rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder, his grip close to painful, and Tim does his best not to let that show on his face. But Jason must see it because his eyes get impossibly colder.

“It’s time for us to go, Tim. Your mother finished her meeting early, and she wants to go over several things.”

He doesn’t know where the words come from, but Tim is moving away, not quite out of his father’s grip but it’s close, and asks, “Now?”

It probably means something when Jack’s fingers dig even tighter into Tim’s skin. He tries to ignore it, focusing on the way his father’s mouth becomes a very pale, thin line. Even from behind him Tim can still feel Jason’s stare.

“Now.”

His father lets go suddenly, and Tim nearly stumbles back from the sudden release, the man stalking back into the room and leaving both boys to stare after him. Tim automatically rubs his shoulder, wincing, but drops his hand when he realizes that Jason is watching him.

He swallows and glances at the open door. “Look, I have to . . .”

Jason waves a hand in understanding, but Tim can still see the disappointment in his eyes. Weirdly, it almost makes him feel good; knowing that someone can be upset that he’s leaving. That someone cares. He wonders if his parents ever feel like that and immediately his stomach lurches in disgust.

“It’s fine, I’ll, uh . . .” Jason considers him cautiously, hopefully. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Show you the library?”

Despite everything, Tim grins slightly. “Yeah.”

Something bright enters the older boy’s eyes when he smiles in return, and Tim’s mind flashes back to Dick telling him how he got lonely growing up in the Manor with just Bruce and Alfred to talk to.

Maybe Jason needs someone just as much as Tim does.

A kinder sensation settles in his stomach: the knowledge that someone wants to hang out. Wants to be friends. Tim does his best to not notice the giddiness that sweeps through him. He looks back through the door and sees his father waiting for him, jaw set. He points his thumb over his shoulder, manages not to walk into the glass window behind him. “Um, bye?”

Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. It reminds Tim of Dick doing the exact same thing to Jason himself. “Later, kid.”

Tim turns and takes approximately two steps forward before looking back. Jason has already lit a new cigarette, the flame of his lighter going out before the thing is tucked into his wrinkled suit jacket. Tim hesitates.

“Jason?” The teenager glances at him, brows raised. “Thanks.”

Jason grins and exhales. Tim’s back is turned and he’s walking into the warmth of the room by the time the wind blows the smoke away.

*****

He shouldn’t have agreed to it.

That’s the first thing Dick thinks when he rolls back into the cave, parking his bike, and striding up to the computer. He glares at the files of the assholes who almost got the best of them tonight. At the incriminating photos given to them by Gordon that showed Penguin’s drop-off territory in the middle of a shipment, a big enough order that it would have been enough to put the crime lord behind bars for longer than usual. Useful photos, too, better quality than the usual security cameras. Gordon only said they were mailed in without a return address, a detail which Bruce had been agonizing over up to the second they went out.

Not that it matters now. He glares at the pictures and resists the urge to sweep them off the desk and onto the floor. The sound of the Batmobile ruins the quiet and Dick curses, reaching up to peel off his mask.

He lets it fall onto the keyboard. He’ll have to replace it: one of the lenses is cracked from when a crook got a lucky shot in.

Tonight hadn’t been a disaster, but it’d been too close.

Dick doesn’t look up when the slam of a car door echoes off the cave walls, Batman’s harsh footsteps followed by Robin’s lighter ones the only thing breaking the silence. He glares into the light of the Batcomputer. The inside of his mouth tastes like iron and he wonders if there’s still some blood between his teeth.

Bruce halts right behind him, and Dick’s shoulders manage to become even tenser. He can feel a cut high on his cheekbone drip blood down his face. Shit, that one will probably need stitches.

“What the hell were you thinking?” It’s the Bat’s voice that asks. Somehow that infuriates Dick even more and he turns to see that Bruce hasn’t even bothered to fucking take his cowl off. He has no idea what’s going on in Batman’s head, can only look at the angry line of Bruce’s mouth.

Some part of him knows that some part of Bruce wants Dick to blow up, to prove that the older man is in the right.

Fuck that.

Dick takes a breath. “You were busy so I went after the perp with the kid.”

“You left our backs completely open, we were surrounded in seconds.”

“A civilian was in danger, the guy had a knife, B!”

“You didn’t even call out, Nightwing.” And, yeah, Dick’s chest gets boiling-hot with the way Bruce says his name. Like Dick could have done better than that. Because Dick’s always supposed to do better. “You went against protocol.”

“I was sort of focused on not letting a kid get gutted. Sorry, for letting that be my priority at the time.” He can feel Bruce’s glare through the eyes of the cowl. Dick continues sarcastically, “He’s fine by the way, ran off the site as soon as the asshole lost his grip on him. Didn’t even lose his camera. And we took down the operation, why can’t you just take this as a win?”

Bruce stills. “Camera? Why did he have a camera?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Bruce! Probably to take pictures of us or something; civilians tend to do that when we’re fighting in front of them,” Dick snaps.

“What did he look like?”

Dick throws his hands into the air. “Small, grey hoodie, didn’t see his face because he was already gone and then I was focused on getting back to cover you.”

“You should have at least attempted to—”

“So now you��re angry because I was trying to watch your back instead of leaving you open? Make up your fucking mind—”

“I’m angry,” Bruce hisses back, “that you didn’t wait for my orders.”

Dick practically snarls, “If I had waited for your orders there wouldn’t have been a kid left to save.” He steps closer, but Bruce doesn’t move back, so he jabs a finger into the center of the symbol on Batman’s chest. “And I don’t follow your orders anymore. I thought we made that pretty damn clear when you fired me, right, B?”

Bruce goes very still, and for a second, Dick thinks he might have actually rendered him speechless, but then—

“You left.”

And there’s so much to unpack with the way Bruce says that. Too much. And Dick ignores it in favor of curling his lip. “Yeah, after you benched me, permanently.” Bruce looks like he wants to say something else so Dick continues quickly, “Either way, I’m not your partner anymore, and I’m sure as hell not your sidekick. So stop treating me like one.”

“As soon as you start acting like an adult, I will.”

“Could you actually be any more condescending? Is it that hard for you to just respect the people you work with?” Dick says frigidly, moving past his adopted father with controlled ease. Bruce turns after him.

“I’m going to get my stitches redone. By the time I’m back, I want you gone.”

Dick’s heart stumbles and stops, and he whirls around, gaze wide. “What—”

“We don't work together—we're not partners, just as you said." Bruce pushes back the cowl and looks at him with steady, sharp eyes. "Come back when you’re capable of not acting like the child I took in. Then we’ll talk about respect,” Batman finishes. He breezes by Dick and up the stairs, as if he hadn’t just turned his son’s insides to ice and fire.

Dick stares at nothing, his thoughts buzzing around his head, drowning out the sounds of the chittering bats above.

He doesn’t know why the words hit harder than he expected. It’s nothing they haven’t said before, but it just hurts this time. Maybe it’s because he and Bruce never operate together anymore. Maybe it’s because no matter how much Dick pretends to not care about what Bruce thinks of him, he always will.

Still, nothing they haven’t said before. They’ll probably just avoid each other for the next few months, more than they already were. So much for progress.

I want you gone.

He feels a light tap on his arm. “Dick?” He blinks and looks at where Jason is standing next to him.

Fuck, he’d forgotten the kid was even there. Dick’s stomach withers with shame.

Jason blinks up at him, hesitation and concern in his teal eyes. “You okay?”

No.

“I’m always okay, Little Wing,” he manages. Jason winces and looks over at the stairs Bruce had walked up, shifting on his feet.

“Um, you don’t have to do that with me. That whole . . .” He gestures at Dick helplessly. “That ‘I’m always fine’ thing you do. You know that, right?”

Dick’s chest becomes way too tight. His voice catches when he says, “ . . . Yeah.”

Jason’s face relaxes and he grins. “Cool, uh . . . I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I found this stuff on my mom, my biological mom, and I wanted your opinion on what I should—”

“Jason,” Dick interrupts, eyes squeezing tightly shut. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he’s tired and bloody and he really needs to either curl up in bed or punch something. “Look, I . . . I care, I do, but I need to . . .” He motions at the zeta tube. The damn thing probably still doesn’t have the Tower’s coordinates up either because Bruce is an asshole.

The younger boy stills, catching Dick’s meaning and probably remembering Bruce’s words.

I want you gone.

Nothing they haven’t said before. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Jerkily, Jason nods and takes an awkward step back, looking at anything other than his adopted brother. Dick somehow manages to feel even worse. “Right, I—Yeah, sorry, I’ll just . . . Another time?”

Dick nods, moves to the zeta and starts to type in the numbers. He glances over his shoulder and remembers his motorcycle. The blood in his mouth makes up his mind about driving back to New York. “Hey, Jay?”

Jason looks up hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Watch my bike for me?” Dick points at it as the zeta-tube begins to glow, and Jason’s expression falls.

“Oh, yeah I can do that.” He suddenly perks up. “Can I ride—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Jason huffs and flips him off, and Dick smiles as he returns the gesture. “I’ll call you, I just . . . gotta clear my head for a few days, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, see you later, Dick.” They both grin.

“Later, Little Wing.”

There’s blue light and he’s back in the Tower.

I want you gone.

The cut on his cheek stings. With Jason no longer around, now he really, really wants to punch something. He walks through the halls, noting how they’re actually quiet for once. Seems like everybody is out somewhere.

Not that he can blame them, that’s what teenagers are supposed to do on a Saturday night.

Even though he should head to the med bay, Dick goes to the kitchen instead. Maybe there’s some pizza left from the other night. But considering that Wally exists, probably not. He half expects the kitchen to be empty, too, but Roy’s in there fiddling with the toaster. The redhead looks up when Dick enters and his eyebrows rise to his hairline.

“Wow, you look like shit.”

Dick throws him a half-hearted glare as he moves towards the pantry. “Could say the same about you.” Roy stills.

Not like he didn’t say anything other than the truth. During the past couple of weeks, the bags under Roy’s eyes have seemed to be darkening and he’s taken to wearing long-sleeves instead of his usual tank-tops. It’s an issue everyone’s been politely ignoring, even Donna, and Dick knows he’s going to have to step in soon.

He doesn’t know what kind of shit Roy’s going through, but he isn’t going to let it drag his friend under and drown him. The problem, though, is getting Roy to even talk about it.

And with the way Roy levels his gaze, Dick knows that’s not going to happen tonight.

“Well, aren’t you peppy.” Roy lays his tools on the table, and Dick stares forlornly at the disemboweled toaster. He’d just bought that one. The other boy follows his gaze and rolls his eyes. “Relax, I’ll put it back together.”

Dick grabs a protein bar and settles across from his friend. “That’s what you said about the blender.”

“You’re only upset about that because you got burned by the lasers.”

“Why the fuck does a blender need lasers? Who even likes the lasers?”

Roy smirks. “Kory likes the lasers.” Dick kicks his shin and doesn’t even feel bad when Roy yelps. “Damn, you’re testy. What? Did Bruce—”

“Spar with me,” Dick interrupts, and Roy shuts up and stares at him for so long that Dick shifts in his seat.

But this is something that they both tend to do when they can’t find the right words, and Roy nods. Dick relaxes, stands, and he doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Roy is following him to the training room. He doesn’t bother taking off his suit and Roy keeps his shirt on.

They make their way to the mats, stopping near the center. Turning, Dick examines the other boy, Roy watching him right back.

It's easy to forget, sometimes, how much the archer sees. How much he notices. Roy lowers himself into a basic stance, tilting his head in question. “Basic hand-to-hand? First one pinned for three seconds loses?”

Dick nods.

“Okay.”

They circle each other, and even though Dick usually waits for his opponent to strike first, he finds himself lunging forward. Roy avoids him easily, but this isn’t about skill; it’s about moving until they can’t think anymore.

Out of all the Titans, Roy’s the one who fights the dirtiest. Sparring with him feels like brawling on the street, all bloody grins and bruised knuckles. Dick kinda likes that about him; no bullshitting or honor in the ways he moves; Dinah’s doing, no doubt. He’s direct and effective and never fucking misses, which Dick is sorely reminded of when Roy lands a punch.

He went into this expecting he was going to lose. He’s half-assing this fight, they both know it, and he thinks Roy finally pins him out of exasperation more than anything else.

Dick grunts into the mat, not even trying to wriggle away from where Roy’s got his elbow buried between Dick’s shoulder blades. Above him, he hears Roy huff, “What the fuck was that, Grayson?”

He kicks at where the ball of Roy’s foot is resting on the floor, taking satisfaction in how Roy rolls off of him with a curse. Dick flops onto his back. “What the fuck was what, Harper?”

Roy sits up, crossing his legs, and shoves Dick’s side. “Why’d you let me beat your scrawny ass?”

“Fuck you, my ass is not scrawny.”

“I can't believe I bother with you,” Roy says to the ceiling.

“You have a scrawny ass . . . “ Dick mutters back, and Roy’s gaze drops back down to him, mouth quirked at the corner. His eyes narrow in on Dick’s cheek. Distantly, Dick realizes that his cut must have split open during their fight, and that blood is running down the side of his face and into his hair.

It’s gross, but he doesn’t care enough to get up and clean it. Roy considers him.

“So. What did Batman—”

I want you gone.

“Fuck, Batman,” Dick snaps, the venom coming from everywhere and nowhere, surging through his body.

Roy blinks.

“Guess the mission didn’t go as planned.”

“He’s such an asshole. He won’t fucking listen to me because he always has to be in the right, can’t even be bothered to compromise. I think he wants me to stop trying and just let our whole fucked up family go our separate ways.”

“He say something like that?”

Dick glares at the lights far above. “Said he wanted me gone. To come back when I could act like an adult, when he really just wants me to stop questioning him and to follow his orders like I’m some mindless soldier. And just . . . Just fuck that! And fuck him, too, for saying it in front of Jason when the kid does not need our drama on top of what he’s—”

“Jay was there?” Roy asks, sitting up straighter, and Dick glowers at him for interrupting his dramatic tirade.

“Jason’s Robin, Roy. Of course, he was there, why wouldn’t he be?”

Roy’s brow furrows. “Yeah, but he’s benched.”

“It was his first operation since—” Dick pauses, frowns, and cranes his neck to look over at the other boy. “How’d you know that?”

“Know what?” The redhead asks, going still as Dick’s eyes pin him to place.

“I didn’t tell you Jay was benched, did Wally?”

Something like realization crosses Roy’s face, and he stares with an expression Dick can’t place.

“ . . . Jason told me.”

Dick sits up too fast, and the world spins for a few seconds. He ignores it. “What? When?”

Roy watches him for a beat, then sighs with the resignation of someone who wishes they’d kept their mouth shut. “Remember when we broke into Bruce’s liquor cabinet and shared our fucking feelings a few weeks ago? And you were late as shit showing up and left me alone until Alfred took pity on me? Well, Jason was there and we . . .” Roy hesitates, searching for the right words, “We had some kind of heart-to-heart session.”

“You,” Dick says, pointing at Roy in disbelief, “talked about your emotions willingly and without the aid of alcohol?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not always an unfeeling asshole, you know,” Roy replies. He’s grinning, though, and Dick gestures for him to go on. The smile fades from his face. “Did, uh, Jason tell you about Garzonas?”

Dick stiffens. “You knew about the Garzonas thing? This whole time?”

“Hey, don’t start with me, Jason wanted to tell you himself and I wasn’t gonna get in the middle of that,” Roy says, bristling.

“Yeah, but I just learned about it, and you’ve known—”

“Well, maybe if you hung out with the kid more you could’ve found out sooner,” Roy snaps, and Dick reals back as if he’d been slapped. He turns away to look over at a far wall, guilt churning around in his stomach. Roy takes a glance at his face and sighs. “I know it’s hard for you, and Bruce is an asshole, but . . . he needs someone to talk to, Dick. That someone could be you.”

“Seems like he’s already found that someone,” Dick mutters sullenly.

He knows it’s stupid and petty, and that he should just be grateful that Jason found anybody to talk to about this stuff, but he can’t help the jealousy swirling inside him. Or the shame.

“No, he doesn’t need me,” Roy says too quickly. Dick frowns and looks at him. Roy is staring at Donna’s weight set across the room, pointedly avoiding Dick’s gaze. The tips of his ears are pinker than they were a few seconds ago. Probably just embarrassed that Jason looks up to him or something.

“Why not? I thought you got along, and he clearly likes you or he wouldn’t have talked to you in the first place—”

“Well, it’s not like I can just walk up to the Manor while Bruce is there. Should I remind you that he thinks I’m a bad influence?” Roy mutters.

“Nah,” Dick tells him. “He’s just not over that time you messed with his microwave and gave it robot arms.”

Roy looks wistful. “Fuck, that was awesome. Absolutely worth the lecture.” He shakes his head and gets back on topic. “But now he can hardly stand me. Maybe you could get Donna into the Manor to kidnap the kid so he can help when we have missions or something? She could totally get by Bruce, he’s always liked her the most.”

“That’s because he thinks Donna is responsible.”

“God, I wish he knew how many times she’s helped me hijack Ollie’s cars. Responsible, my ass.”

Dick snorts and then gets quiet. Hesitantly, he asks, “Jay say anything else?”

Roy glances at him, not uncomfortable but uneasy. “Besides the standard Bruce and self-esteem issues that all you Robins have, not really. You showed up and he kinda . . . disappeared. Had to think, I guess.”

“Really?” Dick asks, pursing his lips.

Roy looks away. “Really.” His ears are even pinker, and Dick is pretty sure he’s leaving something out, but he won’t push.

“Well, thanks for talking to him, I . . .” Dick swallows and turns away from Roy. “I haven’t really been there for him as much as I should have.”

Roy glances at him, and something in Dick’s face makes his shoulders droop. “What happened?”

Dick looks down and notices that some of the blood from his cut had dried on the mat. He scratches at it. “He wanted to tell me something about his mom, but Bruce had just told me to leave and I kind of . . .”

“You blew him off, didn’t you?” Roy says bluntly. Dick’s back hunches and he nods miserably. The other boy blows out a long breath, cheeks puffing up from the action. “Not much you can do about it until we get back, I guess.”

“Get back?”

Roy blinks in realization. “Shit, you weren’t here for that, were you? Donna has some space mission she wants us to go on, something about gods or whatever. She didn’t go into the details, wanted to talk to you about it. We’ll be off-world for a week and a half? Maybe two? It’d be a chance to get your mind off of this Bruce bullshit and figure out what you’re gonna do about Jaybird.”

Dick raises a brow. “Jaybird?”

Roy freezes. “Uh.”

“Jesus, you nicknamed him, Roy?”

“I didn’t—”

“For a guy who says he doesn’t care, you’re pretty shit at acting that way,” Dick teases. The pink is back, and Roy rubs at his ears self-consciously. Dick watches him, clearly amused.

Roy scowls. “Whatever.”

“You’re a good person,” Dick chirps annoyingly. Roy shoves him and Dick falls back onto the mat, snickering.

“If you want me to clean your cuts and stitch you back together, you better shut it, Dickface.”

Dick jumps up, still grinning. “Didn’t peg you as a softy, Speedy.”

“Are you asking me to shoot you later?”

He laughs, nudging Roy’s shoulder as they walk to the med bay. Roy doesn’t laugh back, but his eyes are lighter than they’ve been in a while and the corners of his mouth are twitching despite his best efforts.

And even though his cheek still hurts and his mouth still tastes like blood and Bruce’s words are still echoing in his head, Dick smiles.

*****

Tim scrambles through his unlocked window, camera clutched close to his pounding chest. He falls to the floor and just lies there for a moment, panting. The fan in his room goes around and around lazily and he tries to focus on it. Tries to calm the jack-rabbit pulse in his throat.

Tonight had not gone as planned. At all.

As in, he almost got himself killed.

Staring up at his ceiling, still attempting to calm his racing heart, he attempts to organize his brain.

His parents had left early in the morning, he’d even woken up before they’d gone. His mother had kissed him on the cheek and his father had ruffled his hair. It was the most affection Tim had gotten from them in months. But his mother had apparently gotten an amazing deal across during her meeting, so that was probably the cause. Still, it was nice.

He’d lazed around the house, even considered going to the Waynes a few times, but couldn’t bring himself to. Besides, Jason might have already left for the Middle East by then so what was the point?

At nightfall, he’d caught the late bus, hiked until he made it to the docks where Penguin’s shipping operation was supposed to happen. He waited for hours and had thought about calling it quits more than once, but something convinced him to stay.

He honestly still can’t decide if it was worth it or not.

The Bats had come out of nowhere, all three of them, and Tim was so relieved that they apparently made up, that he’d started taking shots of the beginning fight without thinking twice. Didn’t even look around before he started, either.

Stupid.

Incredibly, ridiculously stupid.

The guy had been so quiet and Tim hadn’t even noticed he was there until the back of his hoodie was grabbed by a meaty hand. In his defense, how was he supposed to know that Penguin’s goons had somehow become semi-good at their jobs? And it’s not like Tim didn’t fight back. He’d scratched and kicked and struggled until there was a knife at his throat and the crook started hissing threats at him to give up his camera.

That’s when Nightwing showed up.

One second Tim was sure he was about to be ripped apart, then the man that’d been holding him was getting slammed into the ground by a blur of blue and gold.

And Tim had turned away and ran.

Because he doesn’t even want to know what might have happened if Dick had seen him.

Or . . . maybe Dick had seen him. Tim sits up as if he’d been electrocuted, all attempts of trying to calm himself forgotten.

But, no. No, there’s no way Dick would have let him go if he’d glimpsed at Tim’s face. He’d have chased Tim down instead of letting him make it all the way back home. He forces his muscles to relax. It’s fine.

Shakily, he looks down at the camera still held tight in his grip. The pictures had turned out great, and he still wants to send a few to Gordon, but now there’s a chance that the Bats could trace those photos back to the skinny kid Nightwing had saved.

It’s not worth the risk.

He still kinda wants to, though.

Tim flops back onto the ground, exhausted. With all the Waynes out of town, there won’t be much activity at night anymore. All he’ll have to fill his time is school.

Man, the next couple of weeks are going to suck.

At least he has Bruce and Jason coming back to look forward to. Biting his lip, Tim stares at nothing, debating silently.

He’ll go, he decides. He’ll let Jason show him the library. He’ll let them help.

He’ll show up after they return home, ride his bike down to the Manor. Alfred will remember him and let him inside. Maybe he could help make tea again? He wants to do something useful, not just stand around until Jason appears and starts talking about books.

He could bring his camera with him and show them the pictures he takes. Not of the Bats, obviously. But the ones from when he stays out late enough that dawn comes and the city begins to wake up, the streets filled with mist from the rivers and windows glinting with morning sunlight. He thinks Bruce would like those.

Yeah. Yeah, he’ll go.

And for the first time in a long time, Tim falls asleep without loneliness clawing at his chest.

*****

Everything hurts.

His ribs feel like they’re on fire, and there’s blood in his lungs that he keeps choking on with every breath. Several of his fingers are bent in the wrong direction and he stares at them in sick fascination. Well, he tries to stare. The left side of his face is really swollen.

Distantly, he can hear Sheila screaming and hitting the door. She’s crying and looking at him with huge, teary eyes.

Bruce said he has her eyes.

She yells for help again and he kinda wants her to shut up. She’s making the pounding in his head almost unbearable. Besides, the door is too close to the bomb. He tries to tell her they should move, but his tongue is thick and bloody in his mouth and it won’t work right.

He struggles to stand in front of her instead. He’s dying anyway. Might as well die for someone.

Sheila seems to understand what he’s doing and she shakes her head, takes his face in her cool hands. He wants to hate her. He really wants to hate her. He only shuts his eyes instead.

After a precious second, he realizes that she’s saying something and his eyelids flutter open because his hearing is kind of messed up after getting hit so many times to the head. He stares at her lips and tries to get the words to form.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Oh. He supposes she should be sorry. She left him. She pulled a gun on him. Only smoked a cigarette while the Joker took his time with the crowbar. Maybe he got the smoking thing from her? Her eyes and a preference for cigarettes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs it into his hair, and he doesn’t know why she’d want to do that because he’s still soaked in blood. Shit, he probably messed up her white shirt, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry.”

He tries to tell her it’s okay, but his throat feels like he’s been swallowing glass and gravel and the words won’t come.

I’m sorry.

He can’t tell if she’s still saying it or if it’s him now.

The numbers on the countdown are getting smaller and smaller. It suddenly hits him that Bruce won’t make it, not this time.

I’m sorry.

He’d promised to buy Barbara a chilidog. Told Tim he was gonna show him the library. Swore to help Alfred with the garden next Sunday.

I’m sorry.

What was the last thing he’d said to Rena? He thinks they ended on good terms, but the memory is fuzzy. He’s fairly sure she smiled at him after class. Oh. He isn't going to be able to finish his part of their group project, is he? Hopefully she'll still get a good grade.

I’m sorry.

His last interaction with Roy hadn’t ended nearly as well. Wish he could redo that. Dick is going to call him soon and his phone will only ring and ring and ring.

“I’m so sorry, Jason.”

Sheila is still talking into his hair. At some point, she’d wrapped her arms around him, but his good eye can still see the countdown. After another second, he relaxes and lets his eyes close. He understands her in a way.

He’s sorry for a lot of things, too.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @bat-famzine Bats and Birds zine! I wanted to write my fav trio, Stephanie, Tim, and Cassandra.

…

…

…

…

“Yep. Doing it here was the right choice,” Stephanie Brown confirmed, crossing her arms and nodding her head slowly as she surveyed the living room. A wide, expansive area, it was as big as the first floor of her house. Hell, the TV mounted on the wall was bigger than all the screens in her house combined. “No, it was the onlychoice.”

“Over-dramatic much?” Tim rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face said otherwise. Sitting in front of the TV in a mess of wires, he started connecting several game consoles to the TV. “Your house would have been fine.”

“It would have been only fine. Wayne Manor? Now that’s great.” With a snort, she gingerly picked up a free HDMI cord. “And you have what, five different consoles for us to play? In one night? And I’m the over dramatic one?”

“We could switch games part way,” Tim argued, untangling a controller. His tongue was stuck to the side, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on unravelling the messy pile in front of him. “I knew I shouldn’t have let Jason use these.”

“Is it possible to use…” Perched awkwardly on one of Bruce’s leather couches, Cassandra paused as she struggled to find the right word. Correcting herself, she continued, “to playa game in a night?”

“Depends on the game!” Delighted by the question, Tim immediately looked over his shoulder. “With the party type games—”

“Less talking, more doing!” Stephanie interrupted, before a huge spiel about time could occur. At the rate he talked, it’d be morning before they could play and Gotham probably couldn’t survive them taking two nights in a row off.

“Yes, yes,” Tim grumbled, puffing his cheeks as he hurried with set up.

Stephanie chuckled. Honestly, he was so ridiculous sometimes. Turning back to Cassandra, she winced. Cassandra didn’t look like she knew how to sit on a comfy couch, let alone relax, and maybe they should have done this earlier. She couldn’t even remember the last time Cassandra took time off. At the rate she was going, she’d turn into a mini-Batman. And they already had enough of that with Damian running around.

“What are you doing?”

Speak of the devil. Forcing a smile on her face, Stephanie turned around. “Heya, Damian.”

Damian gave her a pointed stare and she tried not to shiver. Sure, he was only ten, but in demon years, he’d be like sixty. Or was that dog years? At least there wasn’t bloodlust in his eyes. Or a weapon in his hands. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Not tonight.” Stephanie grinned, hand on her hip. “We’re having a sleepover.”

Damian crossed his arms, raising an unimpressed brow. “So you’re slacking off.”

Part of her wondered if Bruce was rubbing off on him or vice versa. Her smile strained as she tried not to frown. “No, we’re taking a well-deserved break.”

“He doesn’t understand what that is,” Tim snipped, setting down the Switch. Finished untangling, he turned on the system and flipped on the T.V. When the screen stayed black, he frowned and fiddled with the controller. “Talk to him like you’d talk to a five-year-old.”

“I suppose she would have a lot of experience, dealing with you.” Damian casually strolled over to Tim.

Tim opened his mouth to argue, but there really was no going around that burn. It was almost impossible to get the last word with Damian; she would know. No, there was only one way this could end. Tim’s hand was already curled around a controller, his weapon of choice, and while Damian looked unarmed, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had at least ten knives hidden in his dress pants. Eyes darting from one boy to the other, Stephanie wasn’t sure if she should separate them before they stained the carpet with blood or run to the kitchen to get popcorn.

Damian pressed a button on the side of the screen and it flickered on. Lips curling into a smirk, he sneered, “Can’t even manage this much, Drake?” And just as suddenly as he had entered the room, he left.

“I hate that kid,” Tim muttered grumpily.

Stephanie patted his back consolingly. “I know. I know.”

-x-

“Jump!” Stephanie yelled, pressed up against Cassandra’s left side. When her friend gave her an owlish blink, she shouted, “X. HIT X.”

“Right.” Cassandra quickly pressed the right button, bouncing on her seat slightly. On the screen, Mario jumped to safety as a black bullet smashed into the wall beneath him. A narrow escape. Too narrow.

“Safe,” Stephanie sighed, slumping over and resting her head on Cassandra’s shoulder. Man, it was more stressful than she’d expected, watching Cassandra play. For someone who picked up every way to kill a man just by watching it once, she was an unexpectedly slow study on video game controls.

On Cassandra’s other side, Tim gave her a curious look. “Are there too many buttons to remember?”

“No, not that…” Cassandra stared at the little controller in her hands, her fingers lightly brushing over the various buttons. The tracking pad. Mario shuffled in spot, waiting to move. “I just want to do it myself.”

Stephanie looked up, eyebrow raised. “You mean, run through the forest fighting off bullets and bombs and weird turtle guys?”

“Yes.” Cassandra paused, then shook her head. “No. I want to…I want to jump. To run. To do that action. When you say ‘dodge’, I want to dodge.”

“Oh!” Tim hit his fist on his open palm, realization dawning on his face. “Is that why you keep bouncing in your seat?”

“Yes.” Cassandra nodded. “I tried to…keep it still.”

“Doing a terrible job of it.” Sitting up, Stephanie stroked her chin. “Oh, is it like when I play foosball and just want to tear out the sticks and force the guys to hit the ball?”

“Kinda.” Tim shot her a deadpan stare. “But that’s mainly because you’re bad at it.”

“…them’s fighting words.” Plucking the controller out of Cassandra’s hands, she brought up the home menu. Opening Smash, she turned to Tim with a challenging smirk. “Ready for a beat down?”

“Don’t go home crying,” Tim retorted, picking up the second controller. He pushed his hair back, out of his eyes, turning on his serious mode. “What was our score? 40 to 17?”

Gritting her teeth, she swiped a finger across her neck, execution-style.

-x-

“I’m sorry.” Cassandra wrung her hands apologetically, her cheeks red with embarrassment. She hung her head shamefully, her back hunched as they headed toward the kitchen.

“It’s fine!” Tim reassured quickly, patting her back awkwardly. “We can always get new controllers.”

Arms crossed behind her head, Stephanie looked over her shoulder at the pair. “I didn’t think you could break them like that.”

“It could happen to anyone.” Tim shot her a shut-up glare.

Stephanie had never taken a hint before and she wasn’t about to start now. “No, seriously. What kinda workout do you give your fingers? Those buttons look like they were hammeredin.”

Still a little flustered, Cassandra curled her fingers in and out. “Push ups. Finger bands. I use a lot of. Uh. Methods.”

Push-ups. Stephanie cocked her head, remembering their work-outs together. Remembering Cassandra’s finger push ups. An entire human body supported by a single finger. Her mouth made an ‘o’ shape. “Riiigghhht. Got it.”

“I could teach you,” Cassandra offered, looking more enthusiastic now. She curled her hand into a fist, punching the air ahead of them. “Just like before.”

“Uhhh….” Stephanie suppressed a shudder, remembering how their first time around as teacher-student had gone. Vomiting. Bruises. Bones that felt like they should have been broken but were miraculously not. Sure, she was better now: faster, quicker, stronger, all of that jazz. Part of her feared that would make Cassandra’s spartan training even worse, that she’ll kick it up a notch thinking she didn’t have to hold back now. “I’ll…think about it.”

“Chicken!” Tim teased, chuckling.

Cassandra turned to Tim hopefully. “To make up for the controller.”

He froze mid-laugh. Like a deer in the headlights, he was only able to blink and nod.

“Fraidy cat,” Stephanie muttered, rolling her eyes. Falling back to walk apace with Cassandra, she bumped shoulders with her. “Honestly, with the allowance you guys get, I bet Tim won’t even notice the controllers.” As they entered the kitchen, she leaned forward, shooting him a questioning look. “How much do you guys get again?”

“Finished with your games, are you?” A formal, clipped tone interrupted their discussion. Alfred Pennyworth stood in front of the counter, whisking briskly in a plastic bowl. “I am afraid you will have to wait a little longer for the waffles.”

“Alfred! You remembered!” Stephanie gave Alfred a side hug. He was even wearing the frilly apron she gave him last year. “It’s been so long since I had one of your waffles!” Excited, Stephanie pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat on it backwards. Resting her chin on the chair’s back, she grinned cheerfully. “Best food ever. This is why we had to do this here.”

“The curtain’s why we have to do this here,” Tim mocked, rolling his eyes as he sat next to her.

“Didn’t you ask for the waffles?” Cassandra asked. She stood next to Alfred, watching curiously as he stirred. “For Steph.”

Tim coloured at that, turning away when Stephanie gave him a questioning look. “Cass! You weren’t supposed to say that!”

“Ooohh?” Stephanie grinned, looping an arm around his shoulders. He covered his face, but she could see his ears and they were as red as a tomato. “Did someone miss me?”

“Vey much so, Miss Stephanie.” Alfred smiled kindly, cracking an egg and adding it to the batter. “I dare say the house had been too quiet with you gone. It is good to have you back.”

“Aww, Alfred.” Stephanie could feel her own face flushing now, her skin warm, and she blew him a kiss. “I missed you too.”

“I have to apologize, though, for the state your waffles are in.” Alfred wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, before folding it neatly and returning it to his pocket. “I had created a batch with blueberries earlier but Master Damian consumed them.”

“He ate them,” Stephanie replied flatly. Her hand curled into a fist and she looked up at the ceiling, in the direction of Damian’s room. That little punk. There was no way he wanted those waffles—they weren’t ‘elite’ enough for him. She narrowed her eyes. “He’s just messing with me.”

“That’s just…” Thinking about it a little more, Tim rubbed his neck. “He is. He definitely is.”

-x-

“We should do the party game,” Stephanie suggested, scrolling through Tim’s game list. It was simple enough—throwing a die and hoping to land on the right tile. Just like Monopoly! Most importantly, it sounded like something she could win. “Pure luck.”

“You’ll still lose.” Tim picked up an old Gamecube case. “Maybe Starfox. Or Sonic.”

“You trash talking me?” Stephanie glared at him. “I beat you before and I’ll beat you again.”

“That’s like one out of—Cass?” They watched as Cassandra re-entered the living room, calmly walking over to her bag. She gave them a short nod as she reached in and pulled out a rope. “Uh…what’s that for?”

“Damian,” Cassandra replied, her voice eerily flat. She coiled the rope around her arm and headed to the door.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Stephanie dropped the Switch and a frantic Tim dived to catch it. Quickly, she ran in front of Cassandra, her arms spread wide. “What are you doing?”

“Catching Damian,” Cassandra explained, as though it was the most natural thing.

“With a rope?” She tugged the rope, trying to pry it free. “What’d he do?”

Setting the Switch down carefully, Tim stood back and crossed his arms. “Did he attack you?”

“No.” Cassandra paused, an uncharacteristic frown on her face. “He…complimented me.”

“Huh? Damian Wayne? Mr. Snobby Brat himself?’ Stephanie tried and failed to keep her jaw from dropping. Sure, she highly suspected Damian would like Cassandra; with her assassin-like skills and taciturn behaviour, she was almost everything Damian wanted to be. It was still another thing to hear it. “Then why’re so angry?”

“…he insulted you.” Cassandra walked around her, pushing open the door.

They watched her leave, Tim giving a low whistle. “Three strikes, and he’s out.”

“Do you think we should, uh, follow?” Stephanie bit her cheek when it was clear Cassandra wasn’t coming back. “It might get...bloody.”

“Oh definitely.” Tim grinned, practically skipping out the door. “I only wish I had popcorn.”

-x-

“You know, it’s too bad Damian didn’t want to join us,” Stephanie sighed, selecting her car for the race. It was a hard choice between something purple and semi-good, and something ridiculous. She went with ridiculous. Baby Daisy in a Flame Ride.

“MMMFFFFF.”

Tim snickered, pressing start. “I know. I can almost hear him now, begging to join us.”

“MMMMMNNNNNFFFF.”

“I think he is cursing us.” Cassandra looked over her shoulder curiously at the strung-up Damian. Strung upside down like a turkey, his face was red as he continued to shout. Or tried to shout. The cloth muffled most of his words. Squinting, Cassandra tried to read his body language but even with her skills, it was an impossible task. “I think he is…angry.”

“I’m sure he is.” Stephanie nodded sagely, before gently turning Cassandra’s face toward the TV. It was just like her to miss the point; they were supposed to be ignoring the jerk. “We’re also in the middle of a race.”

Doubt colouring her expression, she looked uncertainly over her shoulder at Damian’s struggling form. He swung side to side, outraged. “Should we take him down?”

“That’s what got him there in the first place,” Tim quipped. He laughed when Damian growled. “I never knew how much I needed to hear that.”

“Me neither.” Stephanie sighed blissfully. “Should have done that ages ago.” Watching as Cassandra hesitantly selected Mario, she raised a brow. “Really? Him? He’s like, the most stereotypical choice.”

Cassandra stared at her like she was crazy. “How can the others drive? They do not have thumbs. Or a license.”

“It’s…part of the game.” Well, when it was put like that, Stephanie couldn’t really argue. Giant gorillas, toads, and babies; none of them made sense as drivers. “They’re not actually—well, they are actually gorillas but…um…cartoon gorillas? Real life doesn’t really mean anything to them.” When Cassandra still looked at her questioningly, she moaned and pressed ‘x’. “Look, let’s just start the game, okay? It’ll make sense later.”

Three matches later, Stephanie wasn’t sure if it made any more sense, but it certainly hadn’t stopped Cassandra from branching out and becoming a flower monster, an elf, and a turtle. Lying on the floor, she turned her hands left and right with her car, as though she were speeding down the track with it. Not that Stephanie was much better—honestly, there was just something about a racing game that made you want to veer with it. Sitting on Cassandra’s back, she gritted her teeth as Princess Peach slammed into a tunnel wall. “That’s cheating, Tim!”

“It’s in the rules, Steph!” Tim growled back, his hip bumping into her arm as he tried to keep Link on the tracks.

“Interference!” she shouted, hitting buttons wildly. One of them would make her go faster. Or shoot down Tim. Or burn down the racetrack. “You hit my arm.”

“And you spilled my drink!”

“MMMMMHHHHH.”

“See? Damian’s on my side!”

-x-

“Ah, Miss Stephanie.” Alfred exited the kitchen, a tray in his hands. Three glasses of pop sat on them, looking far more expensive than the coke she found in the supermarket. Even the chips she brought looked elevated in a ceramic bowl, and she wasn’t sure if that was Alfred’s magic or if it was just how expensive everything else was. “I was just bringing snacks.”

“You’re the best, Alfred.” Stephanie tried to take the tray from him but he smoothly stepped out of her reach. “Alfred?”

“Allow me to perform my duties.” Alfred smiled, lowering the tray in front of her. “Drink?”

“…alright, but I’ll bring the dishes back, ok?” With a grumble, she took a glass. “My mom would kill me if she found out I did nothing.”

“I’m sure we can find something for you to do.” Alfred approached the living room, peaking in. His eyebrow raised at the sight before him. “Is that Master Damian?”

“Yeah…” Stephanie admitted sheepishly. “We’ll untie him soon. Promise.”

“When you do, I would advise Master Timothy to hide his games. I do not imagine this has made Master Damian any fonder of them.” Alfred’s smile didn’t drop, amusement colouring face. “I am surprised you managed to catch him.”

“Cass, it was all her.” Stephanie shivered, not sure what would have happened if she hadn’t been around. Death. That was probably it.

“That would explain it.” Alfred chuckled softly, turning to her. He smiled fondly. “Truly, it is good to have you back.”

Something about how he said it made it all feel official. That she was finally home, after everything. Giving him a one-armed hug, she smiled. “Me too.”

[riathedreamer]

So, I talked about “File Not Found” which was a fic @creatrixanimi and I planned, what, three years ago, but was eventually abandoned. I realized I actually had the first chapter ready, written such a long time ago, and while the story won’t be continued, I might as well share it with you here on tumblr instead of just letting it rot in my folder. Here you go.

File Not Found

Sole Survivor

”That’s not how it works.”

 “Pfft. It’s totally how it works.”

The scene was so familiar at this point. The two of them were standing on a ledge, staring at Chorus’ tropical landscape below. Maybe the one change was the fact they were no longer holding onto a rifle. With the newly achieved peace, weapons were no longer needed, and they could enjoy the view of the sun rising above the treetops unarmed.

“You are comparing a bite with a phobia. Just what is the connection between those two?!”

“Batman. Spiderman. Animal plus man equals superhero.”

“Okay,” Simmons admitted gingerly, “but what about the superpowers? Batman doesn’t have any. Spiderman got his from the bite of a radioactive spider. Batman just had a phobia of bats.”

Grif snorted as a slightly offended look snuck its way to his usual bored expression. “Well, maybe he got bit by a bat! Maybe that’s why he has the phobia!”

 “That does not make the bat radioactive!”

 “It’s a bat, Simmons. It doesn’t need radioactivity – it’s already fucking terrifying!”

They had reached that point of the argument where Simmons would throw his hands in the air. “Batman does not have superpower! He chose his name after his chiroptophobia!”

 “So what. Chirowhatevername is cool!”

 “Just because you are afraid of bats as well it does not make the phobia cool,” Simmons let him know.

Grif crossed his arms. “Cooler than your snakophobia.” 

“Ophidiophobia.”

 “Holy crap, how did your tongue not cramp up?” When Grif’s question was answered with a light shrug, he continued,  “Whatever. My point still is – Batman and Spiderman are the same shit. You have the recipe for a cool superhero right there. Take an animal and add man to the end of the word.”

 Simmons had opened his mouth with the argument against that statement ready on his tongue, but before he could utter a word, Donut seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

The pink soldier gasped in excitement. “So if you take the most dangerous animal on Earth, you get the toughest superhero!” He spread out his arms for the dramatic introduction. “Mosquitoman. When he first starts sucking, men will fall to their knees before him!”

“Nope, this conversation is over. Donut ruined it.” Grif groaned and looked up at the sky that had changed from red to blue as the sun rose. Somewhere back in the headquarters, Sarge must be going through his daily round of disappointment as not even the sky would cheer for their team.

But Donut’s interruption had managed to direct the conversation towards something Grif was not ready to discuss (Mosquitoman’s sucking abilities had to wait for another day - where Grif preferably was not present) and that was a problem bigger than it would seem like.

 It was important to keep the dialogue flowing. A statement from Grif, then Simmons would disagree, and so they were kept busy with light-hearted bickering. Grif even had a mental list of possible subjects ready (ukulele versus guitar where ukulele would obviously win - did the fruit pie or the meat pie come first - since this place was called Chorus was there a planet called Verse).

 It was rather uncharacteristic for Grif to be so well prepared since it was usually Simmons who would worry himself sick over future scenarios that only might happen. But the bickering was necessary now since it kept them from talking about certain subjects that had appeared when a certain someone had shoved his stupid thing inside a place where it never should have been.

 Just to clarify: stupid Tucker had stuck his stupid sword inside the stupid temple, and suddenly Grif and Simmons had been stuck in a too hot closet and some stuff had happened that should never ever be brought up again unless you truly wanted Simmons to swallow his own tongue in pure bewilderment.

 The bickering was familiar and required little to no effort since it was almost a bit too easy to make Simmons frown and argue against his points. It was a nice little dance between those two, steps well-known after years of practice. Nothing like Simmons on an actual dance floor which was just a disaster waiting to happen.

 “Ugh, Donut.” Simmons’ tone revealed he was just as disappointed with the interruption. “Didn’t you say you would stay and help the Lieutenants?”

 “They’re doing fine! Well, either they are planting the trees or they are feeding the birds, but either way helps the wildlife!” With the war finally done, it was time for the planet to heal. That meant rebuilding since humans had a habit of fucking up stuff and so they had to make up for that destruction at some point.

 Actual functional cities were starting to appear, people were slowly starting to take off their helmets every once in a while, revealing too young faces with too many scars, and an odd sense of peace was finally beginning to settle. It had taken a while since the Temple Party had stirred up the planet (in a much happier way than a war, at least) and then the reporters had shown up like too many annoying flies on the cadaver called the fall of Hargrove.

 “But Kimball said she needed you two back at the headquarters and since you two weren’t wearing your helmets, I of course had to intervene.”

 They could feel Donut winking at them through his visor, and it was rather clear that he had his own imaginations of why they had felt the need to take off their helmets on their break. Not that it mattered since they knew the truth; Grif had taken off his to smoke, and Simmons had mirrored the action to reveal his very dissatisfied frown at the sight of the cigarette.

 “What now?” Grif groaned at the same time that Simmons worriedly asked, “Has something happened?”

 “A new ship landed,” Donut revealed with excitement in his voice.

 Grif could not relate. He groaned for the second time within a minute - Donut had the ability to make people moan like that, and oh god that was a thought Grif immediately regretted due to poor wording. “Is it another reporter?” he asked. “Why are they all asking the same stupid questions?! Why the fuck don’t they just steal each other’s work or just make up something? Way easier.”

 The swarm of reporters had actually grown to the point where Kimball had talked about relocating them. Which Grif might not disagree on if it could give them some well-deserved peace. He was tired of answering questions over and over, where most of his answers would be “no comments”.

 “Kimball says this person is… different.” For dramatic effect, Donut could not help but spread out his fingers in a weak attempt of jazz hands.

 Simmons tilted his head. “Different?” And Grif had to resist to moan again. Different was not good unless different meant someone giving them a free vacation to Hawaii or decided to thank them with a supply of snack cakes instead of those meaningless handshakes and empty words about how much their work meant to the rest of the galaxy.

 “Maybe the reporter is from Vogue!” Donut suggested with too much hope in his voice. “That would certainly be much more interesting.”

 To be honest Grif would probably rather deal with the normal news reporters than someone from a fashion magazine. It was tempting to stay away, but if Kimball was this firm about them facing a newcomer it would mean they would have to show up eventually; if not by their own choice, then one of the Freelancers would track them down and drag them back by the ear.

 And Simmons had already picked up his helmet, back turned towards the ledge as he was already lifted his foot to march back to base. “Fine,” Grif said and shoved his own helmet over his head, his HUD revealing the missed radio calls from Donut he would not have answered anyway. “But if someone asks me again what our plans are for the future, I’ll tell them it involves dead journalists.”

-

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Carolina let them know in a tone that made Simmons flinch.

 But before the maroon soldier could actually apologize, Grif leaned his head back and whined, “Why did you not start without us?” The less bullshit he had to deal with the better.

 “Because she is asking for you,” Kimball told him in a matter-of-fact voice, and despite the fact that she was looking directly at Grif it took him a few seconds before he realized she was indeed referring to him. He could not help but frown though his helmet hid his confusion.

 Apparently, he was not the only one shocked by Kimball’s statement as Tucker blurted out, “Grif? What the fuck do they want with him?” He sounded both surprised and dumbfounded but there was also the tiny hint of jealousy in his tone that made Grif narrow his eyes in annoyance.

 The entire gang had gathered in the waiting hall in front of Kimball’s office, and at Tucker’s words, they all seemed to shift awkwardly, making it clear that they were all thinking the same question.

 “Maybe they wanted a Red to have the spotlight!” Donut suggested carefully, but there was still the slight undertone that he would have been ready to sign up for the task at any time.

 Tucker snorted. “Then why pick the orange one?”

 “Tucker.” Carolina sent him a warning when the conversation just dragged out without getting closer to give them an answer.

 “Hey, no offense, but it just does not work with the pictures. Myself on the other hand…” A true feeling of humor was lacking from Tucker, proving that his stupid jokes mostly served as a distraction to not talk about all the sore subjects that were lying just beneath the surface. There had been a lot of weak jokes since the battle against Hargrove...

 “You like playing model, we get it.” Carolina turned her head towards Kimball. “But you said this was not a reporter.”

 When Simmons finally spoke, he was wringing his hands. “Then what do they want with Grif?” He glanced briefly towards said teammate before focusing on the general again.

 “They didn’t say. Yet. They would not reveal much detail before you were present.”

 “Am I in trouble?” Grif asked because, honestly, that was his biggest worry at the moment. Most of the time he would be called to an office by name the whole thing would end with dish duty, and he had better ways to spend his evening. Especially now when Simmons had brought up another Star Wars marathon.

 “Always,” Sarge let him know with a huff. “Constant disappointment requires constant punishment. What did he do this time?”

 “How about we actually face this reporter and listen to what they have to say?” Wash suggested, and no one could really disagree with that.

 One question kept bothering Grif. “If they just want me why the fuck are you assholes all here?”

 “‘cause since when have we given a shit about personal privacy?” Tucker asked sarcastically.

 Caboose made a disapproving sound. “Ah, except Tucker’s magazines. Always stay away from those.”

 “That’s right, Caboose, and don’t you ever fucking dare.”

 Kimball let out a quiet sigh at this point and turned around to enter the office, gesturing for them to follow. As the group slowly began to move forward, Grif and Simmons shared a glance. Not knowing how to answer, he just shrugged despite being aware it would not exactly calm his teammate’s anxiety about the whole thing.

 But there was only one way to gain the answers they wanted and that was by stepping into the room, pushing themselves through the crowd of colorful soldiers that had gathered, and when Grif was finally in the front, facing this strange investigator turned out to be rather anti-climatic.

 When a mysterious stranger asks for you by name, Grif had expected troubles. An intimidating presence, probably a mean stare, definitely some sort of superior who was not a fan of positive words.

 But when Grif saw the newcomer, the first thought that hit him was: whose grandma is this? That was perhaps a rather quick judgment but since this planet was mainly inhabited by battle-scarred teenagers, this investigator definitely belonged in the older end, with her grey hair and wrinkles. Though, her furrowed forehead could probably from stressful work through the years.

 While she seemed far from fragile - no shaking limbs since she was able to rise from her chair in a swift and elegant movement - she did not seem like a soldier. Her rather stern expression - thin mouth and focused eyes - reminded him of the some of the UNSC staff he had met back when he had been drafted, one of those ladies behind the desk who was spending half of her life reading paperwork.

 When her dark, almond-shaped eyes settled on him, the corner of her lips turned upwards in a polite, satisfied smile. Judging from the half-empty cup of tea on the table, Kimball had let her wait for some time.

 “Heroes of Chorus,” she said as she greeted them with a short bow. “I’m honored to be here.”

 “We still haven’t been informed of why you are here,” Carolina reminded her, keeping her voice just gentle enough to keep the statement from being rude.

 “My apologies. But I had preferred to keep some details confidential.” Sensing that confession did not exactly help with the tension in the room, she added, “My name is Marisol Rizal and I am currently running an independent investigation of the Uplora massacre. Which is why I requested to speak with Captain Dexter Grif.” 

As soon as she finished speaking, three words were exclaimed at once.

 “Uplora?”

“Grif?”

 “Hi.”

 It was Wash, Simmons and Caboose that had spoken - in that order.

 She briefly smiled at Caboose’s greeting, but then set her eyes on Grif again. The orange soldier had gone completely still, stiff as a statue, and Simmons had turned his head to stare at him.

 In truth, every single person in the room was staring at Grif who was a little bit too busy dealing with the invisible punch to the stomach which the investigator’s words had caused. He was suddenly grateful that he had put back on his helmet before meeting up with the others - despite the secret pride of his poker face abilities, he doubted he had been able to keep his expression neutral when he had been granted this piece of information.

 Kimball was the first to direct the attention back at Rizal. “And what do you require from him?”

 “An interview, first of all. And I have managed to uncover some evidence I would like to hear his thoughts on. The entire business should take less than a day.”

 “A day?” Carolina repeated, and Grif understood the confusion - none of the earlier reporters had requested more than a few hours from them, and they had been lucky if they had granted them the time.

 “I-” She seemed to search for the right words for a moment, eyes darting around before settling on Grif again. “From what I’ve gathered from the previous reports, I understand that you prefer to keep quiet about the experience. I can explain further under two eyes if that is what you want.”

 Grif blinked, slowly understanding that this was a question directed towards him and that they actually demanded answers. Too bad his mind was still stuck in oh shit-mode and scrambling a simple sentence together proved to be quite the task. “Uh…”

 “Wait, what the fuck is Uplora?” Tucker kept turning his head to look from Grif to Rizal, waiting for one of them to give him an answer.

 His question made Grif’s stomach twist itself again, and it was that dreadful feeling that finally allowed him to speak. “Not really a fan of interviews. So, I’ll pass.”

 “It’s important,” Rizal insisted. When Kimball looked like she was about to speak again, she quickly added, “I understand you want this business over with as quickly as possible, which is why I decided to seek you out first. Please. I am first of all doing this for the ones who lost someone dear in the massacre, and reading your profile I believed you would be interested in-”

 “Massacre?” Donut gasped. “That doesn’t sound-”

 “Look, just-” Grif held up his hands, feeling an unfamiliar and unwelcome panic traveling up his spine. “Fuck. Fine. Five minutes, but two eyes and all that. So fuck off,” he told his friends. Perhaps it came out rather harsh but honestly, the only reason he agreed to this talk with a reporter was the make sure they were not told shit.

 He has resisted the urge to run out of the room, only because he knew that it would leave them alone with this Rizal and he was not counting on her to keep quiet. Just when she had spoken the name, and oh it had been a long time since he had heard someone say it out loud, things had been stirred up.

 “Are you sure?” Kimball asked. She almost sounded concerned which just increased Grif’s need to get away from the scene.

 “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Whatever. It’s fine. Five minutes,” he said again, and Rizal nodded.

 “I will explain the situation. You can make your choice about your involvement then.”

 The group was slow to leave the room, especially Simmons who had to stare at Grif for four long seconds before finally trudging after the others.

 When the door finally slid closed and they were alone, Rizal had already sat down in the chair when Grif turned around. She had folded her hands which were covered by white gloves. They matched the rest of her pale uniform; white with dark green trims, and her neck was surrounded by what seemed to be an uncomfortable stiff and tall collar.

 “I am sorry for causing all this. I know it must be unexpected. And unwelcome.”

 Grif considered whether to take a seat as well but in the end chose to stand. “Your point?”

 “I’m afraid I can’t say much here. But since beginning my investigation I have found remains that will, eventually, stir up attention. By contacting you now I hope to save you from potential troubles later on.” She actually sounded apologetic which reduced Grif’s annoyance, just a little bit.

 “Question,” he cut in. “Just what the fuck are you investigating?” The matter had been left behind years ago. They had asked him a lot of questions while he had still been stuck in the hospital, but then they had told him there was nothing more they needed to know. They had declared him fit for duty, shoved a glass of pills into his hand, and the day after he had been dropped off in Blood Gulch.

 It had been quiet since then, and Grif had honestly preferred the silence.

 “Because,” she said, voice careful and leveled, “I wanted to know the truth. And as I can show you on my ship, I don’t think the previously given details match up.”

“And what does that have to do me?” Grif grunted, losing patience.

She tilted her head slightly. “Because I figured you wanted justice for your dead teammates.”

He was not sure if it was intended to be a low blow, but that was what it felt like. For a brief moment he recalled pale, still faces before he forced the memories away.

“You’ve been through a lot, Captain Grif, and I understand why this is subject you would prefer to avoid. But I am doing this for your sake as well, so you can gain the truth, and so you cannot be lied to once more. I know I am asking for a lot-”

“Just what are you asking for? Some assholes in coats interviewed me back then - can’t you just copy their work? Less effort required and you’ll probably get the same grade. Worked for me in high school.”

 To his surprise, she actually laughed softly. “I wish it was that simple. But in order to get my hands on something presentable, I must gather the evidence myself. So here is what I ask from you: you come to my ship, I get to film an interview and I will show you what I have found so far.”

 “And just what am I gaining from this?”

 “I would point out that you will be doing the right thing, but I understand that is not what you need to hear. You would be gaining my discretion, and it would be the last thing I ask of you. I promise to get this whole thing over with as quickly as possible, and as comfortable for you as I can manage.”

 Her last arguments were definitely more convincing than her moral reasoning. The part that Grif found most compelling was the mention of her ship. Right now he had the growing suspicion that his teammates had their ears pressed against the other side of the door, hoping to gain some more information.

 And his friends finding out about his past was the biggest of Grif’s worries right now. The few mentions that Rizan had dropped was bad enough, and Grif knew a storm of questions would hit him the moment he left the room.

 At least he could tell them to fuck off and mind their own fucking business. But he had sensed the underlying warning in Rizan’s explanation. If he did not take care of this now, this whole thing could escalate and the last thing he needed was actual reporters on Chorus just to discuss the colony. At least Rizan had offered to keep his friends out of it.

 “What would we be discussing?” he asked, trying to sound as casual about it as possible.

 “A lot of the questions will be familiar to you since I know the UNSC did make a report after the disaster. I am looking at the entire case from a new angle, so hopefully I can shine lights on parts not explored before.”

 He did not want to talk about this whole thing, he did not what to remember what he had spent so many years to forget, but if she just stuck to the same questions like the one the UNSC had asked he could manage. He had done it all before.

 “If I go too far, you tell me, and I will drop the subject. I will share what I have found so far, if you want to. I am… deeply invested in coming to the bottom of this. I lost someone dear in the chaos, and I firmly believe that the victims, you included, deserve more than what was done. What little information you can give me would be much appreciated.”

 Grif held back a groan as the headache became apparent. This was not how he had planned to spend the day.

 And the voice back in the corner of his skull, reminding him of how close Kai had been to become one of those left behind, did not help at all.

 “Details about the investigation and its progress must await till we reach space. I am sure you of all will appreciate that we keep things quiet.  You would be back by evening, tomorrow morning at the latest. If we board my ship now-”

 “Wait, we’re leaving Chorus?” Grif frowned, unsure of what exactly this meant.

 Rizan nodded. “I’m afraid that General Kimball and I discovered that Chorus’ political situation is rather fragile at the moment. You have just been put back on the galactic map, and if this planet’s next big stunt is to be directly involved in my investigation, you are only known for rather controversial scandals. Both the General and I agreed it was best to keep Chorus out of this.”

 “So… Space?” Grif said rather weakly, unsure of just how to comment on this. He understood Kimball’s choice but on the other hand, it just left him more questions about just what Rizan was trying to discover.

 “As close to Chorus as possible. You’ll be back as soon as I’ve gathered what I need.” She smiled again, softly. “I have refreshments ready on my ship. Coffee or tea?”

 He answered the joke with an amused huff. He closed his eyes, thankful for how the visor shielded his face. “How about something stronger?”

 “A very black coffee then. Does this mean you are willing to help?”

 Her hopeful voice almost caused him to groan out loud. It was not like he had a  handful of options. There was apparently no way of avoiding this subject being brought up again - now he just had to get it dealt with as quickly as possible.

 This was going to be the most dreadful tea party he had ever been invited to.

 “And there is no way you won’t just take no as an answer?” He shrugged, not even believing she might give him a pleasant answer.

 “To your surprise, I think you might become rather invested in my case once I show you my progress.”

 “Yeah… I seriously doubt that.”

 “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” She winked, apparently deciding the matter was done with. “I’ll exchange contacts with General Kimball so you can be contacted should the need arrive. I would not want to steal one of their beloved Captains.”

 Grif snorted. “Beloved is a very strong word. Unless we are speaking about Matthews.”

 “I’ll meet you in an hour,” she informed him, cutting to the chase. She definitely seemed like one of the paperwork ladies now.

 “Right. And you won’t-”

 “I will keep quiet about any details of the massacre. Any. It is rather obvious you want them uninformed about this. I understand.”

 Grif searched for something to say, tongue running across dry lips. It would be nice to have the final word in the conversation, mainly to keep up the weak illusion that he actually had a say in all this, but Grif could feel his control over the situation slipping through his fingers. But it seemed like there was not anything to add to what had already been said.

 So he turned around, marching out of the room, and when the door slid open he tried not to comment on how his friends seemingly had been leaning against the wall. Tucker almost had to leap backward when Grif did not slow down his steps.

 “She wants to talk with you,” he informed Kimball with a shrug before someone else could break the silence.

 The questions came immediately afterward. “Dude, what was that about?”

 “Sorry,” Grif said without a hint of caring, “confidential knowledge and all that.”

 “C’mon. Really?”

 Grif continued his way down the pathway, more determined than ever to dodge their question. But Carolina took a step forward, slowing him down just enough for him to hear. “I was not aware you had ties with the Uplora incident.”

 At least it was not directly a question. Grif appreciated that.

 “Let’s just…” He clenched his hands in frustration.  “Not.”

 In the corner of the hallway, Donut tilted his head. “Grif-” Simmons was standing quietly next to him.

 Knowing he would have to spend the rest of the evening answering questions, Grif decided he needed a break now. He continued to walk away.

 “Where the fuck are you going?” Tucker asked, obviously not ready to let go of the newest source of slander.

 Grif flipped him off without looking over his shoulder. “Mess hall. It’s lunchtime and I am not letting Bitters steal all the tacos with extra cheese.”

 The did not follow him, at least. But he sure as hell heard the hushed muttering among his friends before he finally gained enough distance between them so he could walk in silence.

 He did not go to the mess hall. The last thing he needed right now was someone asking for yet another autograph - which meant he had to avoid Gold Team. Matthews had been saving the papers with handwriting, probably hiding them under his pillow or some shit, and Grif had discovered that Bitters was trying to gain a stock of autographs, only so he could sell them to other soldiers for some quick cash. Grif could almost respect that, had the constant requests from his soldiers not been so freaking annoying.

 If Bitters truly was smart he would just start writing fake autographs. Much easier and it would increase production. Now Grif just felt a bit disappointed in his Lieutenant.

 Grif went to the quarters he and Simmons shared. For a moment he just stood in the middle of the room, wondering what to do next.

 Should he pack? Rizan had mentioned he might have to stay overnight and so bringing a toothbrush could be a good idea… Grif nearly burst out laughing, remembering he would never bother to bring a toothbrush around anywhere.

 He sat down heavily on his bed, removing his helmet so he could run a hand through his hair.

 Grif liked asking questions. Most of his pillow talk with Simmons had started from what if’s, lot of hypothetical scenarios, questions about the mysteries of the universe where he never truly expected a final answer from his teammate.

 Switching roles and being forced to answer questions on the other hand…

 Most of the UNSC’s questions had been reduced to numbers. Grif could deal with that. Numbers were simple, short answers with no need to dig further into it. When had the attack happened, how many attackers, how many aliens had died, how many of his teammates had died, when did he wake up, how many days until help had arrived…

 Numbers. Simple and quick. The answer could be shorted down into one word, minimum effort required. Still annoying as fuck but he could deal with them.

 He could not talk his way out of this, no way to change the subject. It was not like the closet accident which he could easily avoid since neither he or Simmons wanted to bring it up.

 The first days afterward had been awkward as hell, since Simmons’ face was constantly red, and if Grif as much as said his name he would jump in surprise and his voice would break. Anyone watching must have thought Simmons was trying to cover up a murder with that amount of anxiety.

 After they had agreed that the whole thing had never taken place - since that agreement made it easier it easier not to talk about it - things had still been… tense. It was suddenly too easy to make Simmons stutter, too easy to make him blush, too easy to make him storm out of the room, and it all seemed to have lost its amusement value.

 Whenever one of them lost their cool, it could take hours before they could begin another normal conversation. When the movie night had been suggested, it had seemed like the first step towards constant normalcy. A casual, not-awkward, comfortable, totally normally friendly friendship movie marathon like they had done so many times before.

 They probably had to sit at different ends of the couch, since Simmons still withdrew his hands like if he had been burned every time they accidentally touched but it could still work…

 Grif was so busy planning a movie night that was not going to take place that he did not notice when Simmons stepped inside the room. He did, however, become aware of his presence the moment he closed the door - the action was just a bit too forceful than normally.

 Simmons placed himself in the opposite end of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You wanna talk about it?”

 “Nope.” Grif smacked his lips before readjusting himself so he was lying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

 “Yeah. Figured.”

 Simmons had taken off his helmet, revealing a very deep frown. He seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek.

 Grif could not help but catch the bitterness in his voice. He turned his head so he was staring at him. “What?” he asked with a slight sneer to his voice. He hated when Simmons was acting passive-aggressive. He sucked at it.

 “Nothing.” Simmons looked away, slightly lifting his chin.

 “Great.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Awesome.”

 There were two seconds of silence and then Simmons started shuffling his feet. “I mean, you have apparently been a part of a big galactic controversy and you never really felt like telling me, despite knowing me for years so…”

 Grif sat up, groaning. “Seriously, Simmons?”

 “I just thought we had reached that stage where we would tell each other stuff like that.”

 “Stage? We are we - in a fucking play?!”

 “You know what I mean!” Simmons was sounding flustered again, but this time from annoyance rather than awkwardness. His eyes were narrowed.

 “Tough shit, Simmons. I love sharing tragic backstories. I am sure you are all up to talking ‘bout your sweet daddy. It really brightens up the dinner conversations, huh.”

 Simmons seemed to choke on air. “At least you know about it,” he muttered. The strength returned to his voice when he started to accuse Grif again. “I had to hear it from an investigator-”

 “Why the fuck do you care?”

 “Because I should know-”

 Grif stood up from the bed, headache stronger than ever. “What the fuck kind of right is that?!”

 Simmons inhaled sharply, finally looking directly at Grif’s face. His mouth was twisted in a manner that looked like a painful scowl. His feelings were hurt, and Grif did not want to deal with it. The maroons soldier sighed. “I just thought we were-”

 “We were what?” Grif challenged.

 Their staring competition lasted for around five seconds. Then Simmons turned his head. “Never mind.”

 “Exactly,” Grif agreed but he was not sure if Simmons heard him.

 When his teammate slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of the room, Grif could not help but flinch at the sound. He blamed the headache.

[our-happygirl500-fan]

Iknow Jason is known as one of Bruce's greatest failures and all that jazz of thematic story telling because he failed to save him from the joker and then later Jason became the Red Hood who kills and uses guns and goes against batman's code and Bruce moped about it a lot but when you think about it Jason isn't Bruce's greatest failure it's Steph and to a lesser extent Tim.

Jason's death was primarily the Joker's fault and while Bruce blames himself and blames Jason (victim blaming) it was Joker's fault and Jason becoming the Red Hood is a response to all the trauma he went through. It's not entirely Bruce's fault there are things he did wrong yes but he's only a man and sometimes he can't make it to a warehouse in time but it was Sheila who betrayed Jason  and the Joker who killed a kid. 

 Tim is another one of Bruce's failures because Tim became an orphan primarily because he was Robin but then again Bruce didn't know that Jack Drake was being targeted and had left Jack Oracle's number so that's a lesser extent in Bruce failing Tim.

But Steph is Bruce's greatest failure because he caused a large deal of her trauma. Bruce became Batman so no child would ever be hurt or traumatised again yet he held a leading role in a large deal of Steph's trauma.

Stephanie Brown is an abuse victim everyone in her life was either a criminal or another victim, then she becomes Spoiler and she starts to have the closest thing she's ever had to a healthy relationship with Robin even though he hides his name from her and holds all the power in the relationship. 

 Bruce has told her he doesn't approve of Spoiler but he stays out of her way and she stays out of his. Then Tim starts getting fed up with Bruce's BS and starts going through the typical 'Robin Rebellious Phase' with Dick it ended with Dick spending all of his time at the Titans and never coming home and with Jason it ended up with Jason dead so Bruce decides to try and get out in front of Tim's rebellious phase by bringing Robin's girlfriend into the mix.

Bruce tells Steph Tim's identity and Tim is mad because Bruce interfered with his relationship and life and gave Tim's secrets away without giving away his own. Tim is mad at both Bruce and Steph and Steph suffers consequences of the only stable person in her life being upset with her and she can't go to anyone else for support because she had no one else for support and the rest of the hero community mistreat her because Tim's upset but they can't be mad at Batman so they're mad at her instead.

But Steph sticks to it because she's an emotionally vulnerable teenage girl who every adult she grew up with was either a criminal or completely wrote her off as a ‘bad kid’ simply because of her environment (there are several times where characters are like ‘are you sure about that girl :/’ to Tim and talk about Steph’s social background but never talk about Steph as a person) and Steph believes she finally has an a good responsible adult who is willing to give her advice and support.

And to an extent Bruce does when Steph acts as his 'reserves' someone who offers him companionship because every one else is upset with him. But eventually Tim and Dick and the others come around and Bruce doesn't need Steph anymore so he drops her, doesn't even tell her why doesn’t give her a good reason because he doesn’t have a good reason he just locks her out of the Batcave and pawns her off on the Birds of Prey, but Steph endures she becomes friends with Cass and gets mentorship from Black Canary which she then promptly looses because Bruce tells everyone to freeze her out and they do because he's Batman.

But Steph endures because she believes she's finally got a responsible adult in her life and she wants to keep it and thus enters Steph being used in Bruce's games again and again fired and rehired causing trust and abandonment issues and then Bruce makes her Robin as a way to lure Tim back and it doesn't matter if Steph is good at the job or the fact that she's a literal teenaged girl he drops her again because he failed to manipulate more than one teenager.

And then the gang war Bruce's own plans happen because of the way he manipulated Steph, because of how she put trust in Bruce that he never truly earned. Leslie then 'let's Steph die' because she's tired of Bruce's actions, because she wants to hurt Bruce.

Bruce lucked out when Steph turned out to be alive but do any of you think about how Batman was created to stop children from having trauma and for one girl Bruce caused it instead?

[theonlinemuse]

So @lesbianmaxevans and I have been discussing how there’s very little backstory for Dani Powell on the show and we decided to contribute to the tags by coming up with our own headcanons for her:

Dani is a nickname obviously, but instead of Danielle or Danika, it’s short for Danys, a unisex Haitian Creole name. She only gets called Danys if she’s in trouble  

Malcolm giggles whenever that happens and Dani threatens to put her cold hands on him if he tries calling her that 

Malcolm learned her middle name the same day he met her middle sister, New York County Court Judge Naomie Powell, who barged into the precinct after an incident where Dani got hurt and went, “Danys Eliana Powell, if you’re going to give our family a heart attack, at least pick up your phone!”

Her dad is Haitian (I still say that episode 5 should’ve delved into this with Dani and her backstory) and her mom is Jewish. Dani and her sisters were all raised Jewish 

Dani doesn’t regularly go the synagogue, but it’s tradition for the Powells to go to services during major holidays 

Dani and JT explaining Jewish holidays to everyone

Powell wasn’t her dad’s original last name. Her dad and grandma came to New York from Port au Prince in the late 70s and their original last name was Poirot. Grandma Eliana kept the name, but her dad changed it to Powell when he started university 

She’s the youngest of three girls in the family. Her oldest sister Mona is played by Meta Golding while middle sister Naomie is played by Sydney Tamiia Poitier

Naomie was the sister who suffered from night terrors after getting into a bad car accident as a teenager and Mona and Dani would often take turns looking after her. This is how Dani knew how to deal with Malcolm 

Dani is bisexual. She and Edrisa went on a date before deciding to be friends and Edrisa likes to joke about them being exes much to Malcolm’s confusion 

“When did you even break up?” “We didn’t, technically. We just went go karting and had lunch at Zabar’s before we realized Dani was wayyyy too much like an aloof little sister to me.”

And this is totally a crack headcanon, but after seeing Jurnee Smollett-Bell playing Black Canary in Birds of Prey, Dani and Dinah Lance are now cousins. Their moms, Zipporah and Dinah Senior were sisters

Dani and Dinah may be Jewish, but they don’t keep kosher all the time. They don’t eat pork, but they’re absolutely weak against shellfish, much to their moms’ dismay 

Chaotic bi Dinah and distinguished bi Dani

Imagine Dani going undercover in Dinah’s band and them singing the Birds of Prey song from Batman: The Brave and the Bold

Dani can rock the punk rock aesthetic. Dinah makes her wear fishnet stockings, red lipstick, a corset over a dark lace shirt, and gold metallic temp tattoos. Malcolm has a heart attack

And then Dani starts singing and he’s a goner because he’s only ever hear her sing old songs from the 30s to 50s and there’s something powerful and sensual about her singing punk rock music. He’s not ready for it

JT teases the hell out of him, but he soon shuts up when Dani and Dinah bring Tally into the mix. Edrisa records the whole thing, as well as Malcolm and JT’s expressions. Gil ends up using it to keep Malcolm and JT from doing anything too outrageous

Grandma Eliana would sing old jazz and méringue songs to Dani and her sisters when they were little so Dani ended up with the habit of singing them absently whenever she’s focused on a task, usually when she’s doing her hair

Dani grew up listening to songs from the 30s, 40s, and 50s due to grandma Eliana always playing her extensive vinyl collection. She didn’t really get to listen to modern music until she was in middle school 

In addition to jazz and swing, Dani’s surprisingly good at disco. It didn’t help that her dad often played Boney M and Earth Wind and Fire during her childhood

She used to joke that the Powell family is decades behind in their taste in music. Dani doesn’t listen to many modern songs, but she likes singing along to Yonce as well as Janelle Monae songs like Electric Lady and Sally Ride

Make Me Feel becomes Dani and Dinah’s bi anthem 

Malcolm once caught her singing and he keeps trying to catch her again. He’s lucky to listen for five seconds before she kicks him out of the bathroom

Dani’s a bit of a tea expert thanks to grandma Eliana, who taught her many different ways of making tea. Other than Earl Grey, Dani’s favourites include grandma Eliana’s ginger tea and pomegranate tea

And I’m not just saying that last one because I saw tags about a Brightwell Hades and Persephone AU

She loves tea flavoured desserts as well. She often gets a glazed Earl Grey donut for breakfast on Monday mornings when she needs a little pick me up

She changes up the glaze depending on her mood. Lavender for when she’s stressed, balsamic and pomegranate for when she’s in a good mood, blueberry for when she’s irritated or stuck on a case, brown butter for when she’s tired, and caramel with blood orange zest for when she’s ready punch a dick

In the summer, she loves Thai iced tea popsicles and matcha green tea popsicles dipped in chocolate

Dani isn’t as big of a coffee drinker as she is a tea drinker, but if she has to have coffee, it’s always a cinnamon mocha with a shot of espresso 

She can cook, but because of her schedule, she mostly sticks with quick to make dishes like grilled cheese and spaghetti. She likes spicing things up though, thanks to growing up with her dad and grandma’s cooking 

Every Hanukkah, Dani always gets roped into preparing the desserts with Zipporah since her dad, grandma, and oldest sister are in charge of cooking. Dani’s the first to admit that she’s not a cook, but she’s gotten good at making sweets, even if she doesn’t always have the patience for it. Eight nights a year is her limit

Malcolm as a foodie bemoans this and his trying to broaden her food choices slowly becomes a thing 

The look of horror on his face when he sees her chow down on a double beef bacon mushroom burger, poutine, chocolate pecan pie and a strawberry milkshake in one sitting is priceless

And Dani loves seafood, especially shellfish which Malcolm can’t have because it gives him hives 

Dani was a bit of a trouble maker in elementary school, but for good reason. She stuck gum in a classmate’s hair because she stole her favourite scratch and sniff stickers and lied about it. And she once kicked a football player where the sun don’t shine because he was being a dick to her

She dressed like Kimberly Hart from the Power Rangers movie in high school, though she did have a goth phase for about two weeks in freshman year. She was trying to channel Wednesday Addams. She was definitely a bit of a rebel style wise. Malcolm was most definitely a nerd

Ironically, Dani’s the one with poor eyesight. She only wears glasses if there’s no more contacts and they’re a chunky pair that’s similar to Edrisa’s glasses

Dani does have some secret nerdy traits, she knows how to code thanks to her sister Naomie going to coding camp for five consecutive summers 

And like Kay, Dani has some artistic tendencies too. She grew up with outdoor art programs that encouraged her to paint 

She’s fluent in French. She, her sisters, and their paternal cousins went to a bilingual language school thanks to grandma Eliana’s influence

Dani also did competitive figure skating as a kid. She actually made it to the Junior Grand Prix finals. She got silver

There’s recordings of her competition routines on YouTube somewhere and she actually goes undercover as a figure skater for a case. Gil acts as her coach because he actually used to skate as well

She also did some cross training in ballet as well since her godmother is a well known ballerina turned dance teacher. There are a lot of pics of Dani in her early teens of her in a leotard and tights with curls escaping her ballet bun

She has an old injury that often acts up when the weather is cold. She broke her leg pretty badly in high school due to an accident in gym class. She got knocked off the balance beam when they were doing gymnastics and had to be rushed to the hospital for surgery 

She prefers horror and thrillers to action movies, but she likes period pieces too. Belle is a recent favourite of hers

Dani likes Star Trek because her dad is the biggest sci-fi nerd and it was a big part of her childhood. She also grew up as a fan of Eartha Kitt because of him after he made her watch 1960s Batman reruns with him

As a result, she wanted to name her first kid after Eartha. She eventually nicknames her first daughter Kit because of this

Dani actually introduced Tally to JT. They were roommates in college (Dani majored in social work while Tally studied chemistry) and they went to the same synagogue 

Tally designated Dani as godmother after she and JT had twin girls. She was the sandeket at Noa and Miri’s simchat bat  

She practices Krav Maga, she and Dinah both learned it in high school, though Dani always says that Dinah had more of a natural talent for it 

Dinah also did kickboxing and gymnastics and Dani ended up tagging along her lessons. She doubled as a coach and sparring partner 

She and her sisters dressed up as magical girls for Halloween when they were little and the new Charm reboot is like reliving their childhood

She wraps her hair for sleep with funny and colourful scarves that Naomie always gives as gag gifts, a tradition that started when they were preteens 

She’s dyslexic, but she wasn’t diagnosed until middle school. She had difficulty memorizing things so she got into a habit of carrying a recorder with her. She also has her phone and computer set to dyslexia friendly fonts and listens to a lot of audio books

It’s also the reason she sometimes makes mistakes when she’s dancing. She sometimes mixes up left and right

She also had trouble learning French at first because of this 

Dani can hold her liquor, but after four drinks, she becomes a giggly drunk who randomly speaks French and sings 90s rock songs

She also suddenly gains a sweet tooth when sober Dani doesn’t usually go for sweets. Luckily Malcolm has a few lollipops stashed away for when this happens

Dani did a brief modelling stint back in college to help out her cousin, who was in fashion school at the time. She mostly modelled for women’s wear and book covers. She even posed for a couple of historical romance covers 

Malcolm may have accidentally come across it thanks to his mom. Jessica might have been a little smug when she told him to fetch the book from where she left it. The look on his face was priceless

Dani ends up recreating a cover for a case. Edrisa makes Malcolm pose with her. She takes so many pictures

Given that Malcolm has Sunshine, it’s ironic that Dani owns a cat. It’s a mischievous black cat named Shuri and she loves climbing things, especially Malcolm

[codenamed-queenie]

Who do you think has the best voice in batfam? How do they all sound like? Who has the best soprano voice and who has the jazzy baritone? Who has the customer service voice nailed? Spare voice headcanons please?

Alrighty, now this is my kinda ask!

(I’ll just apologize now for the length...)

I love the idea of a singing batfam, so here are my (long rambly) headcanons:

Bruce: As Batman, he sounds like a chain smoking grizzly bear gargling nails. But as Bruce Wayne, his voice actually isn’t bad. Singing-wise, he was one of those ‘prodigy’ children, growing up. Martha Wayne was best friends with a famous opera singer, so she insisted on teaching Bruce everything she knew about vocal performance. As a result, he has a beautifully rich baritone voice, and a pretty freaking incredible range. And as far as any member of the League or general public are concerned, Bruce/Batman doesn’t sing at all, so don’t ask. But with his family? Bruce has been known to crack a smile and sing a few lines on occasion. When he’s on his own? He lets loose. Sounds like Hugh Freaking Jackman.

Kate: Her voice is very clipped and to-the-point, which kind of fits with her personality. Could not carry a tune in a bucket, but that’s fine by her.

Dick: Dick sings second tenor. He didn’t sing much as a kid, coming from an acrobat family and all. But after Bruce took him in, Alfred took it upon himself to change that. He’s got a pretty great range, all things considered, and once Alfred got him hooked on singing, the boy does it nonstop. He’ll sing on patrols, he’ll sing as he fixes himself breakfast…basically anytime, anywhere. Songs off the radio, songs his friends introduce him to, that annoying jingle for a car commercial that’s this close to driving Tim insane? All fair game. Bruce once walked in on him while he was doing a dramatic rendition of Sia’s Chandelier–while literally swinging from the manor’s crystal chandelier. (Musicals are probably his favorites to do, though, btw.)

Jason: This boy has a deep voice. Definitely a bass. When he talks, it’s a little raspy, but not in a bad way, and he’s also got a bit of a Bowery accent. It especially comes through when he’s tired or ticked off. When he sings, though, he can go higher, all the way up to baritone if he wants. But while he’s been known to sing soulful, heartfelt pieces when he thinks no one’s watching, his true passion is for rap music. On Gotham’s streets, it’s pretty common for street kids to have impromptu rap battles, and you’d best believe Jay could hold his own.

Tim: Let’s face it. His parents were the kind of folks who signed their kid up for every activity under the sun. Soccer, Lacrosse, Underwater Basket Weaving, you name it. Why not vocal lessons? And Tim, ever the perfectionist, worked at his voice until he was satisfied with his own ability. His voice is higher than his brothers’; he sings first tenor, and can go up to second alto if he warms up enough. (I feel like he’d sound like Sam Tsui–check him out on Youtube!)  A few years back on patrol, he was a little too close to an explosion, and suffered a bit of hearing damage. So when he talks, Timmy’s just a little louder than everyone else, unless he works really hard to bring his volume down.

Barbara: As far as anyone else can tell, she’s never taken a voice lesson in her life, yet for whatever reason, this girl is just naturally gifted. (It frustrates the heck out of the others.) Her voice is a smooth alto. She almost never sings, though.

But being both the Oracle and a librarian in her off-time, she deals with dozens upon dozens of frustrated heroes and bookworms on the regular. Her customer-service voice is eerily on-point. So she either sounds pleasantly ‘eager to help’–or vaguely threatening. If she uses it on any of the Bats, they’re 110% more likely to do anything she asks. Especially Dick and Jason.

Stephanie: Huge musical theater kid growing up. When someone’s singing through the comms on patrols, if it’s not Dick, it’s definitely Steph. She’s a soprano, but has the best range out of anyone (aside from Bruce). Because of this, she’s always trying to imitate the others. To their surprise (and chagrin) she’s getting pretty good at it. So far, Steph has Tim, Damian, Cass, and Dick down to a T. She’s still working on the others, and someday hopes to achieve Bruce’s Bat Voice.

When she sings, she loves to initiate duets with her siblings. Tim and Jason will indulge her, more often than not. Sometimes Cass and Barbara will join in. Bruce has only caved once (and if asked, he will deny it). But Dick? He’s her go-to choice, since he’s DTS (down to sing) all day, every day. Once these two get going, they don’t stop until one of them loses their voice or the entire family shouts them down.

Cassandra: Cass has a very clear, soprano tone. It’s absolutely gorgeous, but she’s very shy and sensitive about her voice, and rarely sings. Whenever one of her siblings is injured and/or laid up in bed, though, she’ll softly sing them lullabies while they recover.

When she chooses to speak, Cass is very soft spoken, but has ways of making herself heard if need be.

Harper: She has a thick Jersey accent, and a no-nonsense tone of voice. No one has ever heard her sing, though. (She would not sing if someone put a gun against her head, tbh.)

Duke: Everyone figured he’d be into rap like Jason, since they came from roughly the same part of Gotham, but Duke’s true passion is jazz. His dad was in a jazz group, and Duke inherited his father’s smooth jazzy baritone. Low-key, he has the best voice out of all of them, and he’s super passionate, since music was a huge deal to his biological family. He loves singing during quiet nights in the cave, or on patrol. He’s gotten the most standing ovations from random cops and citizens, and even the mayor asked him to perform for a charity event once. (An offer Duke respectfully declined.) Out of all the others, he was voted ‘Most Likely to Burst Into Brooding Song On A Rooftop Somewhere’. Bruce is so proud.

Damian: Everyone hoped he’d inherit his father’s golden vocal chords, but for now, he seems to have taken after his Aunt Kate. This frustrates Damian to no end, and for a long time, he hated listening to any of his siblings sing, knowing full well that he couldn’t join them. After months of watching the kid shrink away from anything musical, Jason had enough. He sat the youngest Robin down and taught him an art form he’d picked up from the streets of the Gotham City Narrows: beatboxing. At first, Damian thought it was crass and inelegant, but he eventually got into it. Now? He’s very good at it. The kid has mad skills, and more often than not, his siblings’ll ask him to back them up during rap battles or musical numbers. Maybe he’ll grow into his voice someday, but for now, he’s totally fine with just ‘dropping a beat’ for the others.

Alfred: Has a very thick cockney accent, but can mimic just about any other British accent whenever the fancy strikes him. Like every other aspect of the butler’s life, his singing career is an enigma. The others have heard him sing before, and he’s actually pretty good. But sometimes, random people will come up to him on the street, gushing and screaming his name while they beg for an autograph. There’s a running bet amongst the batkids as to what that’s all about, but so far? It’s anyone’s guess.

Headcanons are my favs, guys, so feel free to ask!