#Then I was gonna do Steph Cass and Duke are ones I want to tackle next | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hintofelation99 · 3 years

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The Justice League Hangs out with Duke

Bruce: Duke, it's time we had the talk.

Duke: Uh... nope. No thank you. I'm not getting the sex talk from Batman.

Bruce: What? No! The Robin talk.

Duke: But, I'm- I'm the Signal now? Isn't it a bit late for a Robin talk?

Bruce: Son, it's never too late, not for this.

Duke: Um. Ok.

Bruce: When Dick, Jason, and Tim first started as Robins they created a tradition. A tradition that continued with Stephanie, Damian, and now you.

Duke: And that tradition is?

Bruce: Taking down the Justice League. By being annoying and slightly terrifying.

Duke: OHHHHHH. Is that why no one from the Justice League talks to me?

Bruce: Yes, yes it is. But don't worry. I made an arrangement that will allow you time alone with league members to continue the tradition. You have a week to prepare.

——————

Duke: Cass, what do I do?

Cass raises an eyebrow at Duke.

Duke: For the Robin tradition thing. I have to take down the entire Justice League in a night using creative, outlandish, and original methods. But it's already been done by Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Steph. So what do I do? How can I be better than all of them.

Cass smirks: Take them down too.

Duke looking at Cass like she's crazy: What?

Cass: Take. Them. Down.

Duke: Holy shit, you are terrifying.

Cass just smiles and leaves.

-> One Week Later <-

Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Steph gather in the Watchtower.

Duke: Hey guys, Batman just wanted to go through some training exercises with everyone. He'll be a little late. Harley and Ivy escaped Arkham and are trying to grow penis shaped shrubs in all the public parks. But, don't worry he asked me to go ahead and start with out him.

Green Lantern: Why are you leading this meeting?

Duke: Batman is running late and he wants me to practice leading meetings.

Green Lantern, glaring suspiciously at Duke: Are you about to do that stupid Robin tradition where you torture all of us?

Duke: What Robin tradition? Also, I'm not even a Robin? I'm the Signal.

Green Lantern continues to glare at him.

Superman: Calm down Green Lantern, the Robins never do this in front of each other.

Every League member seems to relax at this.

Duke acting confused: Uhhh, yeah. Ok, we have a few housekeeping things to do according to the list Batman left. So, I'll have everyone pair up for sparring while I handle these individually.

------

Everyone is in the training room working out or sparring. Duke approaches Tim.

Duke: Hey Tim, Bruce wanted you to look in to that Bludhaven case. Is that ok with you?

Tim: Yeah, why wouldn't it be?

Duke: Oh, I just thought it might be difficult considering what Dick did.

Tim: ...What did he do?

Duke: Wait, you haven't noticed? Oh no, I'm sorry I shouldn't have said anything.

Tim: Duke. Tell me what he did.

Duke: Well, Jason said that he replaced all your coffee with decaf.

Tim: THAT BASTARD. No wonder I've been feeling so tired! I'm going to kill him!

Duke: Wait, just stop! I heard that he hid all of it in Green Lantern's room.

Tim: Wait, why there?

Duke: Something about you being afraid of him.

Tim: WHAT?! I'm not afraid of the Green Nightlight! I'm gonna find that coffee then make Dick pay.

Duke: Oh, well cool, good luck!

------

Green Lantern: Um, what are you doing in my room?

Tim: Where is it?

Green Lantern: Where's what?

Tim: You know what I want. Give up now or face the consequences.

Green Lantern: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Tim: Fine. Consequences.

------

Steph, sparring with Duke: So, what's it like being the first meta bat?

Duke: Not too bad, but I could do with out the whole 'predict the future' thing.

Steph, laughing: What? You can not see the future.

Duke: I bet you $50 I can

Steph: Your on.

Duke, makes everything around him light up and uses a weird voice: In the next thirty minutes Green Lantern will flee the Watchtower in fear. Soon after Dick will be attacked by Tim.

Steph, snorts in obvious disbelief.

Steph: That was so fake-

Green Lantern runs out of the tower looking terrified.

Steph: No way.

Tim tackles Dick and they start fighting like three year old's on the floor.

Steph, handing Duke $50: Holy shit Magic Man.

Duke makes things light up and does the voice again: Oh my god.

Steph, looking excited: What?!

Duke: The- the sushi. The sushi you brought today, it's made from-

Duke pretends to choke back a sob.

Duke: It's made from the fish who was the maid of honor at Aquaman's wedding.

Steph: HOLY SHIT.

------

Steph and Aquaman sit beside each other for lunch, she pulls out her sushi and looks at Aquaman sadly.

Steph: I am so, so sorry for your loss. But just know that her sacrifice is not in vain.

Aquaman, looks confused for a second then sees the sushi: NOPE. Not this again! I'm leaving.

Steph: Wait! I'm sorry!

Aquaman leaves as Steph tries to chase him down.

------

Jason is laughing and filming as Dick and Tim fight.

Duke, whistles: Man, imagine if that video went on YouTube.

Jason, looking confused: What?

Duke: I'm just saying if the video of Red Robin and Nightwing fighting like kids ever got on YouTube, it'd go viral. Oh and they would be so pissed!

Jason, laughs: Too bad B would kill me if I uploaded this.

Duke: Yeah, I guess so. And you can't upload it here because then Superman would get in trouble.

Jason: Why would the boy scout get in trouble?

Duke: Cause he always uses his YouTube account on the Justice League computer. So it'd look like he uploaded it and B would find out that Superman watches cat videos while he's on monitor duty.

Jason, smirking: Huh, so you're saying if I upload this on the League computer I'd piss off Bruce, Tim, and Dick and get Supes in trouble?

Duke, acting innocent: Huh, I guess so.

-> A Few Minutes Later <-

A call from Bruce comes up on the main computer.

Superman: Hey Batman, what can I do for you?

Bruce: You, Red Hood, cave now.

Jason: What? Why me?

Bruce: Because I saw that little home video you uploaded of your brothers.

Jason: What, that wasn't me!

Bruce: I could hear you laughing while you filmed.

Jason: Dammit.

Jason and Clark leave for the cave pouting like kids.

------

Duke: Hey, Black Canary?

Black Canary: Yes Duke?

Duke: I'm sorry to do this on such short notice, but I'm very worried about Dick and Tim.

Black Canary: Why?

Duke: Well, Tim keeps claiming that Dick is out to get him. Something about Dick messing with his coffee? And Dick feels like he's just being attacked for no reason and is worried about Tim's health. Is there anyway you could intervene?

Black Canary, looking sighing and looking exhausted: Usually I have three days of preparation before dealing with bats.

Duke: I know it's just-

Duke gestures to Tim and Dick rolling on the floor fighting.

Duke: They really need help.

Black Canary: Alright, I'll see what I can do.

Black Canary attempts to intervene only to get pulled into the fight. Now the three of them are tangled in a huge, confusing fight, that's filled with yelling and hair pulling.

------

Duke: Damian! Quick!

Damian: What is it Thomas.

Duke: I think somethings wrong with Dick and Tim and maybe even Black Canary. They're all fighting and won't stop! Can you help me contain them so that we can figure out what's going on?

Damian: Fine. I shall help.

Duke: Ok, just try to herd them into this containment cell.

Damian joins the fight managing to get everyone, including himself, into the containment cell. As Damian is trying to leave Duke closes the cell. Damian angrily yells and bangs on the sound proof walls.

Duke: What? Sorry, can't hear you! My hand slipped!

------

Wonder Woman: Very well done Signal.

Duke, acting innocent: Hm?

Wonder Woman: You tricked Red Robin into scaring Green Lantern away, then into fighting Nightwing. Once that fight broke out you tricked Red Hood into uploading a video to the internet using the Superman's credentials. By uploading that video he caused both himself and Superman to face Batman's wrath. You also used the fight to trick Stephanie into annoying Aquaman to the point of leaving. Then you involved Black Canary in the fight, which was her downfall. And, as a final touch, you managed to get Robin into the fight and trapped all in a containment cell. You successfully eliminated 9 foes with one trick.

Duke: You mean 11.

Wonder Woman: What?

Duke: 11. You see, I didn't trick Red Robin, I tricked Nightwing. I had a week to prepare. In that week I convinced Dick that Tim needed to cut back on the caffeine and that Dick should help by switching all of Tim's coffee with decaf. I also convinced him to hide that coffee in the watchtower, in Green Lantern's room. So that was all true.

Wonder Woman: But, that still does not make 11?

Duke: It does. Because This morning I moved the coffee. I replaced the Flashes decaf with Tim's ultra caffeinated coffee. You see Tim has it specially manufactured to increase the caffeine levels. And, while Flash doesn't usually drink his coffee in the morning, he's always running late and forgets, he does drink coffee during training breaks. Which is now. So in about five minutes we will have an incredibly caffeinated speedster in the Watchtower. And since you're the only one around right now with a chance of catching him, that's your problem.

Right as Duke finishes Flash runs by, majorly hyped up on caffeine.

Duke: Checkmate.

------

Martian Manhunter: It appears that I am the last remaining League member.

Duke: Yeah, I don't really understand this tradition but apparently every Robin ends it by picking a favorite league member.

Martian Manhunter: Out of all the League members, why have you chosen me?

Duke: Your smart and have a lot of cool powers. Also, I dunno, I hear you sometimes feel like an outsider with the league. Cause, the whole martian thing. And I know it's not the same but, sometimes I feel like an outsider with the bats, being the only meta and all.

Martian Manhunter: You have chosen me so that we may bond over our lack of connections?

Duke: Uhhhh, yeah?

Martian Manhunter: Hm. Very well, I assume that this is your “Robin Weakness”. Apparently every Robin has one.

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codenamed-queenie · 4 years

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#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched.

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire.

So. Quarantine it is.

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick -

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days.

Then he started to get twitchy.

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.”

“Dick, no.”

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t.

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass.

Desperate for news of the outside.

He thrives off of it like a starving man.

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after.

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason -

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist.

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking.

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results.

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it.

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up.

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done.

Barbara -

Self-quarantined with her dad.

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive.

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs.

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together.

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles.

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony.

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window.

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background.

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute.

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen.

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe.

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned.

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim.

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being.

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out.

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it.

Cass -

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate.

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed.

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far.

But no one knows for sure.

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel.

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later.

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic.

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day.

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’ mostly.

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost.

Steph -

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first.

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down.

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable.

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving.

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks.

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s.

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic.

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian -

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house.

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine.

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds.

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion.

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time.

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are.

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time.

Only that he is Out There.

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had.

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies.

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat.

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts.

Duke -

Did not leave the attic for two weeks.

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement.

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement.

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement.

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa.

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally.

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others.

Duke has seen these people under pressure.

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with.

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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Making this its own post because replying to the ask got so weirdly formatted I can’t even. Oh tumblr. You work so well.

@themessofthecentury asked:

jsksjf my tumblr notifs are bugging and i didnt see your post but!!! The patron Saint of Robins?? I am much intrigue!!

(This is from this ask game, just....gotten to late, lololol. And I still have more I’m getting to, no worries. Just had a rough couple days is all, laid me up a bit.)

Okay, so The Patron Saint of Robins is kinda like the situation at the end of Grayson, except also not at all. And actually this is one of my older WIPs, and according to Scrivener I started it in 2015 afhislfhalhfalf, so it really has nothing to do with that. Also, its Young Justice-verse, but for two specific reasons:

1) YJ-verse is my go-to for Good Dad Bruce Wayne, when I don’t want to actually tackle the issues I have with his and his kids’ dynamic in comic book canon. I don’t carry over things like the adoption issue or the Robin succession into YJ fics, as I don’t think there’s anything that suggests they’re ever a specific issue in YJ and I don’t feel a need to make them one. So pretty much anything and everything I write in YJ goes with the backstory that Dick’s already adopted by Season One, and he’s the one to grant each later Robin permission to use the mantle, with no conflict over that, and more of a pre-Crisis transition to Nightwing than the post-Crisis firing from Robin. And this fic inherently needs Good Dad Bruce Wayne to work, lol.

2) I needed Klarion the Witch-Boy. Who of course exists in comic book canon, but is muuuuuch different there, and I just needed him to be a little demonic evil shithead, who sets everything in motion to get payback on the heroes for thwarting the Light in Season One, and he targets Robin due to being the oft-cited ‘first of the baby brat heroes’ and the ‘heart of the cape community.’

You don’t really need to be familiar with YJ canon at all for this one, as it goes sharply AU from after Season One, and only faintly and vaguely references specific events from that season. And I use my own YJ-ized version of the Titans as much as the actual YJ Team.

So basically, the plot of this one is to take revenge on the heroes for spoiling his game in Season One, Klarion plays a new game, by putting a chaos curse on Robin. It essentially erases him from peoples’ memories, though he’s perfectly able to make new ones. If he re-introduces himself to someone ask Dick Grayson, for instance, they don’t suddenly remember who Dick Grayson is or was, but they don’t forget about him again from that point onward, its like they meet him for the first time as a stranger.

But the curse part of things is only Batman can break it and restore everyone’s memories of Dick and his actual history, and only by identifying him for who he really is. And Dick can’t be part of breaking his own curse or else it seals it and makes it permanent and unbreakable forever.

Which of course leaves Dick completely miserable at first, understandably, and Bruce (and everyone else Dick knows, to varying different degrees) feeling some kind of loss but with no idea what it is they think or feel that they’re missing. Dick makes some half-hearted attempts at starting a new life for himself in Gotham, and in the process befriends a street kid named Jason Todd, though Dick introduces himself to Jason with just the name Robin.

The way the curse operates is it restitches together peoples’ memories to cover up the gaps where memories of him would go. So for instance, even though Jason never knew Dick before the curse, he was familiar with Batman and Robin just as much as any Gothammite was.....but due to the curse, the name Robin, upon meeting Dick, had no special meaning to him or anyone else. As far as he knew, Batman had always operated on his own in Gotham, the first teen superhero was that Speedy kid in Star City, etc. So when Jason first meets Dick, he just thinks he’s some dude whose name happens to be Robin.

Eventually, because Dick’s been kinda torturing himself by spying on Bruce just to ‘keep an eye on him’ and still watch his back, and he’s recognized by now that Bruce is mourning his loss without even knowing that he’s missing something....so Dick, who has also kinda come to see Jason as a little brother figure due to watching out for him as well....decides to kill two birds with one stone, unfortunate pun not intended. (Jason doesn’t die in this one, lol). Basically, Dick puts in motion the chain of events that lead Jason to stealing Batman’s tires, because he doesn’t know EXACTLY what Bruce will do but he knows it’ll get his attention in a big way and Bruce will take it from there.

One thing leads to another, Jason ends up living with Bruce and when eventually he wants to be trained by Bruce so he can do what he does and protect kids like he used to be.....when asked to pick a name....Jason names himself after the guy who always looked out for him, and who led to him being found by Bruce in the first place. He doesn’t know that his friend ‘Robin’ steered him towards those tires deliberately, just to bring him and Bruce into contact, but he does credit him with making the suggestion that ‘inadvertently’ (as far as he knows) enabled his and Bruce’s introduction, and so he names himself in honor of the boy who helped him and who he tried to track down again to similarly help, after Bruce adopted him, but was never able to find again.

Over the years, Dick also ends up steering Tim, Cass, Duke and Damian to Bruce in different ways than comic book canon (Steph and Babs’ debuts remain their own, as family adjacent but not family specifically) and thus is integral to the forming of the Batfam and has a connection with them even before the curse ultimately ends up broken and he’s able to reclaim his full identity. And each of them end up Robin at least briefly, like Steph is never Robin in this AU, and sticks with Spoiler, whereas Cass IS briefly Robin before becoming Batgirl after Babs. I did this for a few different reasons...

One, I really like that Cass is never Robin in main continuity as it creates a different dynamic between her and Dick than most of their siblings have, BUT I’ve always been curious to play around what Cass-as-Robin might even be like, just for an AU. Two, part of the Black Bat and Batgirl but never Robin sequence of mantles for Cass in the comic book continuity is like.....although it doesn’t get explored nearly enough, Babs was as much a kind of mother figure for Cass as Bruce was a father figure, despite Babs’ young age. So it makes more sense for Cass to stick more to just Bat-mantles than to ever be a Robin in the comic books. But in YJ, Babs is even younger, and just way too young to have the specific kind of dynamic that leads to that in the comic books, so its not as unreasonable IMO for her to have a different dynamic in her early days in the family here, before becoming closer with Babs and taking up the Batgirl mantle after she moves on to become Oracle.

And then also, and this is also the primary reason for making Duke a Robin briefly, before Damian is old enough....I got hung up on the title and it just didn’t work as well if it was Robins + Cass and Duke, lololol. See, in addition to helping steer the family into the points of introduction that make them a family, over the years he also acts as like, a guardian angel figure to the various family members, looking out for them and interceding in times of extreme danger, like when Jason is almost killed by the Joker. He’s always in disguise, but the kids eventually compare notes and realize there’s a singular figure behind each of their introductions to Bruce and the guy swooping out of nowhere to save their behinds whenever they’re most in danger, and Jason eventually connects this back to the guy who apparently NOT so coincidentally suggested he go after the Batmobile’s tires that fateful night, and the kids end up jokingly/not-so-jokingly referring to this figure as the Patron Saint of Robins. (Shout-out to the occasional mentions/allusions of Jason’s Catholicism).

They never tell Bruce about this figure (at least before Bruce starts to put together clues on his own), because they all figured out that for whatever reason, this person despite wanting them all to meet Bruce seems to want to avoid Bruce himself, and they kinda want to respect that as a kind of payback for his help, and also like....Bruce, even a kinder, gentler Bruce, is still Bruce. And when Bruce is gonna Bruce, that means Batparanoia. And all of them for various reasons DO trust that this guy has nothing but good intentions towards them, and so they don’t want to like....ruin or tarnish the positivity they associate with his intercession in their lives with paranoia or treating him like a bad guy. Which ultimately is really just smoke and mirrors for saying that he’s kinda a ‘just for them’ secret. Its a Robin thing.

(Until its not).

Because meanwhile, Dick, in between meeting the various Batfam members and pulling strings and looking out for them from the shadows, at first travels the world looking for ways to break his curse. But when ultimately its clear that the only way to break it is the loophole built into it already, Bruce identifying him for who he really is, but without Dick doing anything to steer him towards the answer, Dick settles into a new hero identity as Nightwing, and forms the Teen Titans, a public group of young superheroes (minus Roy and Wally, unfortunately, but still with Donna, Garth, Raven, Kory, ignoring season 3 Vic and also Terra because AU redemption arc what what, etc). And the Teen Titans avoid both the Young Justice Team and the Justlce League with EXTREME measures, much to the other heroes’ confusion and aggravation, because in the early days of the Titans, in a moment of what he’d term weakness, on one of his ‘bad days,’ Dick tells them enough of his story that they’re able to put together a good sense of what happened and who he really is by reading between the lines and what he leaves unsaid....

BUT as a result, all end up extremely committed to not mixing and mingling casually with the rest of the cape community because they don’t want to risk dropping any hints about the guy under Nightwing’s mask, in case that might count as steering Batman towards clues and seal the curse for good. So I have a lot of fun with having the Titans just nope out of the scene the second the bad guys are defeated even when they have to team up with other heroes, leaving the other heroes confused as hell and trying not to be all ‘WHY DON’T YOU LIKE US??”

Anyway, so yeah, that’s the gist of this one, lol. With it of course following the eventual plot that like...the Batfam starts to Detect and put things together.

ANYWHO!

Snippet

Damian versus Klarion: Round One

“Aww, its adorable that you think you’re in my league,” the Witch-Boy cooed in an absolute mockery of sympathy. Damian bristled, but before he could do anything more than that, he was faced with a much more pressing matter as reality completely lost its mind.

The walls of the cavern fell away in an instant, only to be replaced with a whirling dervish of winds all around them, as if they now stood in the center of a cyclone that bled red and silver and black. It shrieked and wailed in a chorus of voices just on the other side of being comprehensible, a symphony of the damned that set every nerve in Damian’s body aflame with a primal instinct to get out, to find silence, to be anywhere but here.

He’d barely staggered a step backwards when the ground erupted beneath him, splitting apart into jagged obsidian shards that bobbed precariously in the sea of magma barely glimpsed through cracks now spiderwebbing their way across the floor. Spears of lightning burst upwards through them, stabbing impossibly at the heavens rather than raining down from them. They hissed and crackled as they flickered like forked serpent tongues of electric violet and black. The forks becoming branches, the pillars of sky-shattering light transforming into the trunks of great trees that grew upwards and outward, weaving a canopy overhead. One that wept violently red leaves that fell gently to the ground, only to hiss and bubble like acid once they did.

“See, normally this is when I’d hit someone with a little razzle-dazzle like this,” Klarion called out over the song of madness he’d created, as it crooned and careened wildly all around them. He snapped his fingers, and in the span of a second it all ceased. Reality reaffirmed itself, and all was right with the world once more…except now the two of them stood at the end of a hallway in Wayne Manor.

Damian stumbled, the sudden reappearance of firm ground paradoxically being the thing to challenge his balance. The demon boy standing beside him crooked his thumb and forefinger in the semblance of a gun, the smile pasted across his face one of wickedly gleeful malice.

“But you, kiddo, you’re special. Cuz there’s nothing I could do to you now that could top what I’ve already done, so why try when I can just savor the moment instead?”

“What are you babbling about?” Damian demanded roughly. In the wake of what the Witch-Boy had just conjured up with nothing more than a gesture, he was keenly aware of how flimsy a shield his bravado made. He just had absolutely no idea what else to fall back on.

Klarion only threw back his head and laughed though, skipping merrily down the hall as he did.

“I know something you don’t know,” he sing-songed and Damian lost what little grasp of his patience he’d managed to hang onto.

“You overestimate my need for an answer. Attempt to intimidate me all you wish, but I have no desire to indulge your little game any further.”

Klarion jerked to a stop and spun around, his face screwed into a childish pout. He stomped his foot, petulance personified. “I’m not intimidating you anymore, I’m gloating! Ugh, you’re so stupid! They’re completely different, how can you not tell?”

Every light in the hallway flickered and fizzed abruptly. The walls wavered, bubbled, momentarily molten as if made of wax.

Again Damian was reminded just how mercurial this being he was faced with was, and how dangerous. Perhaps, as Father would say, this was not the time to indulge his own instinctive inclinations. Or as Todd would put it, just because you’re already fucked, that’s no reason to fuck yourself over more than you have to.

Crude as his older brother was, there was occasional merit to his…pithiness. Not that he would be admitting that any time soon, of course.

“Fine. What is it you wish to gloat about then?” Damian grated out. The appeasement, such as it was, tried its best to stick in his throat before finally clawing its way free. But at least it proved worth the effort when the godling’s mood reverted back to impishness as readily as with the flip of a switch.

“Well. Its like this, you see.” Klarion said. He dragged it out as he folded both legs underneath him to sit cross-legged in the air, plopping his head into his hands. “I did a baaaaaaaaaaaaad, bad thing to your family, a loooooong time ago. And none of you have done anything about it, because you don’t even know! Isn’t that funny? Doesn’t matter how big a hero Daddy Bats is if he doesn’t even know what needs saving huh? Little Catch-22 there, you might say.”

“Yes. Quite hysterical,” Damian said dryly. “So what is it you claim to have done then?”

The Witch-Boy just sat there, regarding him with amusement, and the seconds marched on into minutes. Damian’s skin crawled. Prickling with impatience and possibly something…more. He wasn’t quite ready to name it anxiety or something as melodramatic as all that yet. In fact, he’d rather not put a name to it at all, but today did not appear to be a day for configuring things to his liking.

Klarion’s wicked grin grew as if sensing his thoughts, though to the best of his knowledge (and Damian did quickly ransack the library of his memory just to be sure) there was no indication telepathy was included among the Chaos Lord’s many, many powers. And still that detestable smile stretched slowly wider all the same, in perfect synchronization with the rising tide of Damian’s unease. Perhaps the Witch-Boy’s file was in need of annotation.

“How many doors would you say are in this hallway?”

“What? Seven.” Damian snapped out his answer, annoyed by the non sequitur. Not to mention baffled. Was it too much to expect even a semblance of linear thought from the Chaos brat?

“Are you suuuuuuure?” The Witch-Boy stretched his query out obnoxiously. “Maybe you should count again. Just for kicks and giggles.”

Damian throttled back each and every retort attempting to spring to his lips, stuffing them back down and cramming a lid on everything he most dearly wished to say to this most vexing of…shitheads. Once again, it appeared as though nothing less than Todd’s preferred form of nomenclature would suffice. Wonderful. On top of everything else Damian had to deal with today, he seemed to be finding common ground with the man all over the place. Was there no end to the indignities he must suffer?

But marshaling his own formidable willpower, Damian took a deep breath and indulged the Chaos Lord, glancing his eyes down the length of the hallway and counting out each doorway one by one. There was his own room of course, with Cassandra’s to the right of his, and the room Brown used when staying over to the right of hers. That was three. Then there was Thomas directly across from his own room, with Drake to his right and Todd just beyond that, with Father’s room at the very end of the hall, his master suite staggered and with no direct opposite like the others. Seven.

Except all of a sudden there was a door directly opposite his father’s. For a total of eight.

Damian’s brow furrowed in consternation. The faint whispers of uncertainty already seeded throughout him bore fruit, ripening into poisonous stabbings of doubt.

“That’s not real,” he stated with as much conviction as he could muster.

The Witch-Boy’s smile only grew wider still. “Isn’t it, though?”

“There’s never been a door there before,” Damian persisted, striding confidently down the hall towards it. The Chaos Lord flitted ahead of him, inverting til he was upside down and skipping merrily once more, though this time from the ceiling.

“Or has it been there all along?” He sing-songed some more.

“I would think we might have noticed if it had been,” Damian growled.

“Yes, you’d think, wouldn’t you? You are all supposed to be a family of detectives, I thought. Makes you wonder…if you could miss this, what else might you have failed to notice?”

Damian snarled to himself and did his best to shut out the demon boy’s prattling. He quickened his strides, eating up the length of the hallway in his haste to reach its end. He wasn’t sure what opening the door would prove, let alone what bewilderment the godling had conjured on its other side, but it appeared the only end to this game of his was through it, so let there be an end to it already.

And yet, for all his certainty - or best facsimile of it - he couldn’t help but pause once he reached the door in question. His hand hovered within reach of its brass knob, but some instinct, some…caution, held him at bay. As much as he wanted to dismiss all this as just one more of the Chaos Lord’s inane charades, there was a tension in the air that felt too weighty to be the product of just magical conjuring. Something more was in play here. Real forces were at work. His father might disdain magic, but Damian had been around enough of it himself to know when true power had been raised. And the span of empty space between his hand and this hither-to-unseen doorknob held more of it than Damian had felt throughout all the mad warpings Klarion had made of reality thus far.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Klarion asked from somewhere overhead. His voice, usually pitched to carry, was so soft for a moment Damian mistook it for his own inner doubts. “Some doors are easier to open than to close again, you know.”

Even knowing the goading for what it was couldn’t stop Damian then, and with a simple breath to fortify himself, he reached for the knob, spun it once, and shoved the door open all in a single sharp movement.

The Witch-Boy giggled up above.

The door swung wide, a forceful arc that should have revealed anything and everything within it all at once; the better to react quickly to whatever that might be. Fine in principle, perfect in execution, but thwarted by one small detail:

There was nothing on the other side.

And not in the sense of it being just an empty room, but true nothingness. A pitch-black abyss darker than the deepest night, yawning forth from the doorway in a vast, impenetrable shroud. Nor was anything hidden in the darkness, Damian knew, even if just intuitively. He could feel it, that he stood on the edge of an impossible cliff, that there was nothing beyond this threshold but an aching chasm of emptiness and loss. The surety of it hung in the air, thick and heavy, a miasma that seeped through to his side of the doorway and clung to him like the moisture of a fog beads upon the skin.

Klarion’s head suddenly popped up alongside him, hovering just over his shoulder.

Albeit still upside down.

“Well that doesn’t seem right,” he mused, tapping at his lips with a forefinger. “What do you suppose is meant to be in there?”

The last of Damian’s brittle patience shattered.

“Enough! What is the meaning of all this, demon? Speak plainly, for once in your miserable existence!”

His self-preservation instincts and the reminder of just who it was he was shouting at kicked in too little too late, but he wouldn’t take his exasperated fury back even if he could. He was who he was after all. But fortunately, that described the Witch-Boy just as accurately, and rather take offense or perceive any actual threat from Damian’s rage, the Chaos Lord just shrieked with laughter and sprung backwards. He flipped right side up, still hovering in mid-air, and clapped his hands with glee.

“Oh, I should have done this ages ago,” Klarion sang out. “Why, you’re almost as fun as he used to be. Back before he got all droll and serious, that is. He’s no fun at all anymore, nothing like this. Never wants to play, always just running back to his tower with that little bitch of a demoness.”

His face soured like he’d just sucked on a lemon. But rather than stop there, his countenance kept morphing into an increasingly savage scowl, the longer he ranted. The hallway was suddenly sweltering, baking with unseen heat that twisted the air into shimmering ribbons. The small horns sprouting from his forehead burst into scimitars of flame that cut through those ribbons and set them similarly ablaze.

“Always putting on airs like she’s some kind of royalty, just because her Daddy Dearest put the fear into a few peasants back in the day,” the Witch-Boy snarled viciously. “As if that’s enough to put her on par with the likes of me. No one is the likes of me. NO ONE!”

Reality itself quaked with the force of his shout. White-blue flames spat forth and crescendoed down the length of the corridor, splashing against its walls and searing them to a crisp. Damian braced himself for all the good it would do, keenly aware of the void still gaping hungrily behind his back, but before the fire could become an actual danger to him as well, all was quiet once more.

Silence hung in the air much like the demon boy, poised yet motionless. Suspended. Waiting.

And then Klarion simply inhaled and brushed his hands down the front of his garments, smoothing out the wrinkles as he reclaimed his calm. The corridor restored itself to its former self, curtains of vintage reality unrolling from the ceiling to the floor as though papering over the damage. Damian felt rather than saw when the portal behind him swung shut and was replaced with the expanse of ivory paint and ornate sconces he was used to seeing in its place.

“I am one of a kind, after all,” Klarion finally remarked. It was a casual drawl offered forth almost off-handedly, as if more a reminder to himself than uttered for anyone else’s sake. He used one hand to spell out letters in the air. They appeared and vanished again in bursts of fireworks and fluorescent flame. “U-N-I-Q-U-E.”

“As I, apparently, am not,” Damian said, seizing upon the Chaos Lord’s restored calm and good cheer. “Who is this ‘he’ you mentioned? If I’m to be pitted against him as entertainment in your eyes, might I at least know his name?”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” the Witch-Boy scolded. He wagged his finger at Damian. “No spoilers. That’s not how the game is played.”

Keenly aware of the boy’s power once more, Damian gritted his teeth and pressed on. “Well, if there are to be rules, shouldn’t I at least know what those are?”

Klarion sucked in a deep breath, drawing himself up along with his inhalation as though preparing for some great speech…and instead just toppling backward, flopping onto an extravagant fainting couch that suddenly appeared beneath him, though similarly floating in the air.

“I can’t recall at the moment.” His now-faint voice drifted up from where he lay buried amid a mountain of pillows. “I’ve had a terribly exhausting day. But you’re supposed to be a detective, remember? Go…I don’t know. Detect things.”

He flapped an arm at Damian dismissively, and then crooked a finger into a twirling motion that set his divan to spinning in lazy circles.

“Isn’t life grand?” Klarion sighed fondly. “With all its twists and turns, its eddies and swirls. I mean, take the two of us. Scant hours ago, we were mortal enemies, and just look at us now.”

The Witch-Boy lazily rolled his head to the side as the couch drifted to bring him face-to-face with Damian. His lips spread wide in that malevolent, wicked grin of his once again, but somehow it managed to be even wider than any he’d shown off before. His eyes blazed with a hellish inner light, and his voice, when next he spoke, dropped deep into a demonic register. A bass that boomed forth and set Damian’s very bones to rattling.

“Ain’t we got fun?”

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tiptapricot · 5 years

Text

Request from the DC gc: When Duke finds out he has powers he tries to hide it from Bruce because he’s worried he’ll be kicked out of Gotham.

AO3 link here, enjoy!

“Let me under, I’m freezing!”

“Stop it, you’re letting in cold air!”

“Oh really?”

Duke watches as Steph yanks the blanket from Jason’s shoulders and runs cackling for the other side of the field. Jason gets up and stumbles after her, yelling a string of curses as he tries to catch up. Steph makes it about halfway to the tree line before she’s tackled to the ground and the two of them start throwing punches. Cass rushes past a second later, a look in her eye that Duke is sure would make even Darkseid wet his pants.

It’s his first New Year’s at the Manor and one of the only times he’s seen the whole family together in one place. Bruce is setting up fireworks and sparklers, Dick and Tim are helping Alfred ferry food from the kitchen to a buffet table near the edge of the backyard, and the rest of the family is set up on blankets, talking loudly and drinking steaming cups of tea and coffee. It’s cozy, a welcome break from the usual chaos of Gotham.

Jason trudges up and plops back down next to Duke, muttering under his breath as he pulls the blanket tight around his shoulders. The peace only lasts a moment before Steph walks by and kicks him teasingly in the shoulder and the two of them are tearing off through the grass again.

Duke chuckles and stretches, taking a deep breath and lying back on the picnic blanket. Unlike in Gotham, you can see the stars from the manor. The sound of traffic is distant and the hum of conversation is relaxing. It almost seems unreal. So much of Duke’s life over the past few years has been a nightmare. Riddler, Joker, it all feels so alien compared to now.

He’s never had siblings before, that’s been one of the biggest changes since the adoption. There were his parents, but that doesn’t really compare. He’s still getting used to the little things, like how yelling doesn’t necessarily mean someone is angry (though it can), and how there’s always someone to watch your back. He wants to get to know his siblings better. He’s been around Dick, Tim, Jason, and Damian a lot, and he likes to think he knows them pretty well, but the others are a bit of a mystery.

Cass seems nice. She’s quiet most of the time, but Duke has seen her cut loose on more than one occasion. Cassandra Wayne knows how to have a good time.

Babs is what he’d expect from an older sister, strict but kind, dorky, the voice of reason when things get too hectic. Duke thinks it’d be nice to help her out with monitoring patrol sometime. It would give them a chance to sit down and talk.

Steph is just a big ball of energy. She’s headstrong and loud but Duke knows that isn’t the whole story. Sure, she might have added purple glitter to Dick’s shampoo last month, but Duke has stumbled upon quiet moments in the kitchen more than once, heard how soft her voice sounds when she’s helping patch the others up from a night out.

Duke wants to get to know them better, they are family after all.

A shadow blocks his view, making Duke blink. He sits up and rubs his eyes, squinting in the dark.

“Damian?”

“Is this spot taken?”

“Uh…” Duke doesn’t see Jason anywhere, maybe he’s been put on time out. “Nah go ahead.”

Damian sits down with a huff, steam pluming in a soft cloud from his lips.

“Any New Year’s resolutions?” Duke asks.

Damian shrugs. “I don’t see the point.”

“Right, and I’m guessing the others have already given you a lecture in it?”

“Not really.”

“Then why not?”

“Thomas,” Damian gives him a look that’s supposed to be intimidating but instead comes off as more of a pout, “why would I waste my time on meaningless promises?”

“I mean, there’s no harm in thinking about how you want to improve, right?”

“Tt.” Damian crosses his arms over his knees, focusing his attention into the clearing. Bruce is setting up the last of the fireworks.

“It doesn’t have to be a big thing, Dami. You can just say something like, uh, something like...”

He loses his train of thought, his brow furrowing. It starts off small, little sparks drifting up from the grass, so faint Duke thinks he’s imagining it. He shakes his head, and tries to focus back on the moment.

“You can say something like, next year I’ll keep my room cleaner, or—”

A streak of fire erupts in the middle of the clearing, just to Bruce’s left, little dots of light raining down on him. Duke flinches, hand coming up to shield his eyes, but no else seems to react, not Damian, not even Bruce.

Did one of the sparklers go off by accident? Something else moves behind the light and Duke squints to make it out. It almost looks like… a person. Who—

“Thomas?”

Duke jumps, attention snapping back to Damian.

“I, uh,” he glances back at Bruce. The sparkler is still going off, but the figure is gone now. He swallows thickly. “What’s up Dami?”

“You seem distracted. Is something wrong?”

Duke tries to smile, ignoring the way the edge of Damian’s face is starting to blur and glow, like badly layered frames of a movie. He shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing. I’m just… excited.”

Damian nods slowly, obviously still skeptical. Duke really wants to change topics, to ignore whatever weird thing is happening right now, because if one thing’s for sure, this is not normal.

“So, about those resolutions—”

There’s an echoing, shrill, pop that rings in his ears and a second later streams of bright smoke erupt into the air, more sparklers bursting to life in towering pillars of fire.

Duke jumps, letting out a shriek of surprise as he watches the entire clearing fill up with light. He can’t even see Bruce anymore, lost somewhere among the haze of fireworks.

“Holy shit.” He breathes.

This isn’t some kind of minor malfunction anymore, something has gone horribly wrong. Duke feels frozen, his eyes bulging wide as he watches the night burst open with streams of light. Bruce is somewhere in there. He’s hurt, maybe dying. Why is nobody doing anything, why is no one else—

“Thomas? Thomas!”

Hands shake him out of his stupor, and he blinks rapidly, heart hammering in his throat.

Damian looks at him through the darkness, an uncharacteristic expression of worry etched into the lines of his face.

“Dami, what are you doing? Why is no one helping?”

“Helping with what?”

“Helping—”

He looks back and freezes.

Bruce is fine.

There are no fireworks or sparklers, no smoke, no fire. Bruce is kneeling in the grass, still unwrapping tubes of colored packaging.

“He’s—I—he was… I’m gonna see if Alfred needs more help.” Duke excuses himself with a curt smile, mind racing.

The walk to the kitchen feels like it takes forever.

***

“I mean, it’s not like I don’t get that you like it, I just don’t know why you like is so much.” Dick says, lifting a few serving bowls down from the cupboard and setting them on the counter.

“Just because you don’t appreciate the simple beauty of Minecraft doesn’t mean I love you any less, Dick, I hope you know that.” Tim replies, pulling the last tray of dinner rolls from the oven.

“I’m so relieved.”

“Is this what you guys have been arguing about this whole time?” Duke asks.

“No, I believe it started out as a debate over fat free milk.” Alfred says coolly, pressing tin foil over two bowls of soup.

“I still can’t believe you actually drink that shit!” Dick calls over to Tim, laughter in his voice.

“Language Dickie boy!” Tim yells back, pushing the back door open with his hip.

Dick chuckles lightly, turning back to finish up the last few salads.

“You sure I can’t do anything to help?” Duke asks.

“I think we’ve got it covered here bud, but if you wanna grab some more blankets from the living room I wouldn’t say no.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Duke leaves the warmth of the kitchen, letting out a long sigh as he makes his way down the hall.

What an evening.

Sparklers. Tricks of the light.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened, and that’s what really worries him. There have been a few late nights alone in his room, where he’s seen things he shouldn’t be seeing. Books falling before they fall, light trails clinging to his heels when he gets up, things he just attributed to lack of sleep and too much caffeine. But tonight has been different. It’s like he can feel it now, a warm buzzing building up behind his eyes, a weightlessness in the pit of his stomach.

What is he becoming?

The living room is dark, everything solid and still. Duke scoops up an armful of blankets from the couch, pausing for a moment to take a breath.

Whatever’s happening, he’s going to be alright. It’s probably just the lingering effects of a hallucinogen, Scarecrow maybe, or Mad Hatter. He’ll check in with Bruce later and they’ll run some tests and get it out of his system. And then he’ll be fine. The visions will go away and he can go back to being normal again.

Duke smiles at the thought. Normal. It’s not a word he gets to use much in his life, but the idea that he’s gotten to a point where he can is… comforting.

He adjusts the pile of blankets and makes to turn back towards the kitchen, startling when he nearly bumps headfirst into Dick.

“Jesus. You almost gave me a heart attack!” He says, half laughing. “Warn a guy next time yeah?”

Dick doesn’t respond, staring off somewhere over his shoulder. He doesn’t make a sound, his eyes blank, something off in his expression Duke can’t quite place.

“Dude, are you alri—”

He cuts himself off as Dick walks forward, and through him. Duke freezes for a moment, breath picking up, before he turns slowly and watches the apparition move silently across the room. Its edges are dull and shifting, like a bad copy of the original. It gets dimmer as it crosses to the window, before it melts away completely.

Duke stares after it, every part of his brain telling him to run, because you don’t just see things like that. You don’t just see ghosts of your family, you don’t just see things happen before they happen. Hallucinogen, he reminds himself, even though he’s never seen a drug that can do this.

Duke takes a deep breath and stumbles towards the hall, stopping in his tracks when he sees more of them.

They’re even vaguer than the one before, faint glowing outlines of Bruce and Alfred and Cass, walking up from the basement, tending to the fire, reading a newspaper. Duke weaves between them in a panic, clutching the blankets in his arms in a death grip and trying to ignore the quiet faces.

He stumbles into the hall and towards the kitchen, breathing heavily. If he can just get back to the others, then it’ll all be a nightmare, it’ll all be fake and he can go back to normal. That’s all he wants. Normal.

Two figures burst through the kitchen door and Duke skids to a halt, watching as a ghostly Steph and Jason run swift and smooth towards the main house. He can see their lips move in silent taunts, see how close they look to the real things, the coats and mittens and… the blanket held tight in one of Jason’s hands. Duke whips around as they pass, realizing in one heartstopping moment that the ghosts are dressed the same as the real Steph and Jason.

Something cold and tight twists in Duke’s chest.

He pushes open the kitchen door tentatively, glancing back down the hallway. It’s empty now, but he can’t get the image out of his head.

“Oh hey! What took you so long bud? Get lost?” Dick claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder. He flinches, but Dick doesn’t seem to notice. “We took out the last of the food, I was just about to come grab you. Want some help with those?”

“What? Oh, yeah.”

Dick takes most of the pile, hooking his chin over the top.

“Come on, it’s almost midnight, you don’t want to miss the fireworks.”

Yeah, actually he does.

“I’ll be out in a minute, just want to check on something.”

Dick raises an eyebrow in confusion but turns to leave anyway, pushing the back door open with his elbow.

“Wait… Dick?”

Dick pauses, looking back. “What’s up?”

“Did Jay and Steph come through here earlier?” Duke asks, fingers tightening around the cloth of the blankets.

“Uh, yeah, a few minutes before you came in. They nearly knocked Alfred over, went straight through. Why?”

“No reason.”

Dick nods slowly, “Right.” And with that he slips outside. Duke watches him through the window before he turns back to the kitchen.

He has to test something, something that scares him more than fighting villains ever has. He focuses on the room, letting the buzz from before fill his head. Then he waits, part of him hoping nothing happens, part of him hoping he really is just imagining it all.

But, just like clockwork the phantasms appear, going through the same motions Duke had watched before. He sees Dick working on food, sees him laugh, only there’s no sound this time, just the silent smile and vague crinkle of the eyes. Sometimes the ghosts will turn and pieces of their bodies will melt into blackness, cutting off abruptly. Duke takes a step back when something passes over Tim’s face and the apparition ceases to have one, just an empty hole surrounded by glowing wisps of hair.

That’s too much for him. He crosses the kitchen in a hurry, palms sweating, slipping on the door knob. The manor grounds are empty and quiet and Duke walks as fast as he can for the backyard. Faint outlines are drifting through the air, just the shadows of people, just their imprints. He ignores them as he comes around the side of the garage, just in time to watch the manor grounds explode with color.

He’s blinded, stumbling back as cracks and bangs reverberate through the air. He screams and covers his eyes, dropping the rest of the blankets in the process. The light is too bright, brighter than he’s ever seen, like looking straight into the sun. It’s brighter than light should be. His vision is a patchwork of blotches and dots and his head feels like it’s on fire. There’s a whoop of excitement and the shrieking of another firework before Duke manages to open his eyes again.

He nearly chokes on his own breath.

There are hundreds of them, swarming over the lawn and up the steps, clear and vivid and blindingly bright. The ghosts melt into each other, overlapping, rippling out towards the house. All the possibilities of the next few minutes, family members running, sitting, some smiling, others looking terrified.

Duke screams again and turns back towards the house, tripping over his own feet as concerned voices drift after him.

He can’t breathe.

Up the steps, through the door, over the landing, down the hall. The door to his room slams shut behind him and Duke fumbles as he tries to lock it, hands shaking feverishly.

This isn’t right, none of this is right.

“Duke?” He hears Jason call from downstairs. “You good, man? Where th’ hell’d you go?”

There’s the heavy sound of boots thumping up the stairs and Duke panics, trying to run for his bed. He trips and knocks something off a shelf, scrambling blindly in the dark. He hasn’t turned the light on and he doesn’t want to. This thing is triggered by light, so the less of it, the better.

There’s a knock at the door. “I know you’re in there kid. What’s goin’ on? Looked like you saw a fuckin’ ghost back there.”

Duke takes a deep breath, trying to blink away the returning buzz.

“It was nothing, Jay! I’m fine, go back outside!” He yells. It’s not convincing, of course it’s not, but it was worth a shot.

“Okay, but if ya don’t tell me what happened imma have to have B come talk to you, and that’s gonna be way less fun.”

Duke doesn’t respond, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to get rid of the images flashing behind his eyelids.

Jason’s sigh sounds muffled through the wood. “Suit yourself.”

The footsteps retreat and Duke is left alone with his own heavy breathing. Tears slip over the skin of his wrists, hot and wet, and he pushes harder against his eyes.

He knows what this is. He doesn’t want to, god of course he doesn’t want to, but he does.

He has powers.

None like he’s heard of before, he’s not even fully sure what they are or how they work, and that alone is scary enough, but it’s not what’s important. Every meta struggles with their powers, that’s obvious enough. Damian has told Duke countless stories about Jon accidentally blasting things, or floating when he shouldn’t.

That’s not what really scares him.

It’s the reality that this, that he, won’t work in this family anymore. It’s a clear rule, no metas in Gotham, so what is he supposed to do?

Duke doesn’t want to leave, he doesn’t want to give up a life again. He just got this family and now the universe is just going to rip it away? No. No. That can’t happen. God please don’t let that happen.

“Duke?” There’s a heavy pounding on the door and Duke scoots further behind his bed. “Son, I need you to let me in, I have to make sure you’re alright.”

It’s Bruce. Of course it’s Bruce. What can he do? What can he do what can he do whatcanhedowhatcanhedo?

He can hide it.

“Duke?” Bruce’s tone is firm but soft, and it almost makes Duke regret running for the window.

He throws open the latch and takes a gulp of fresh air. There’s a ledge jutting out from the windowsill that runs along the side of the house. It looks sturdy enough, at least he hopes it is.

“Duke, I don’t want to scare you but I will have Alfred open the door if you don’t let me in.”

No choice.

Duke steps through the window, edging carefully along the ledge. He takes a short breath when he’s fully outside and lets go of the frame, leaning against the manor's tiling as he slides away from his room. The marble is cold and he really should’ve put his coat back on, but he doesn’t have much time. Bruce’s knocking has gotten more insistent and he has to make it to the front of the house before they find him.

He picks up the pace.

When he gets to the corner of the house Duke rests his head against the wall, letting out a long breath and readying himself before he swings his leg around and feels for the ledge again. The sole of his shoe slips off an he sways before trying again. There’s the sound of a door slamming and a shout of surprise and that’s all the motivation he needs. Duke pulls himself around and hugs against the wall, heart fluttering sporadically in his ribcage.

They’ll be looking for him soon.

He takes one step and his shoe slips again, but this time he can’t get a good grip. His shins slam against the ledge, followed by his elbows, before he’s landing fast and heavy on the lawn. Duke chokes as he tries to get his breath back, sputtering and coughing before he pushes himself to his feet.

Move move move.

The manor is still dark, the front windows gaping open like big black mouths. He can’t see anyone in the living room, now’s his chance.

Duke pushes open the front doors and runs for the back hall, blood drumming in his ears. He can hear people upstairs, calling out to each other, searching the rooms.

“Where could he have gone?”

“What the hell is happening?”

“Do you think he’s alright?”

The clock swings open silently.

Down down down, the cave walls echo as Duke thunders down the stairs, not pausing to catch his breath before he’s running towards the chem lab.

He gets to the cabinets breathless, wrenching the glass doors open. He rifles through the bottles, skimming his finger along the labels. Where is it. Where is it.

There!

Duke pulls out a small glass tube filled with greenish brown liquid. It’s labeled Fear Gas in thick black sharpie.

Duke closes the cabinet carefully and grabs a syringe from one of the drawers. He pops off the lid of the tube and draws out a few milliliters of solution before capping it again, hands shaking as he sets it back on the counter.

He can hide this way. Inject himself and when they find him, when they test him, they’ll just think he got dosed. It’ll explain everything, his jumpiness, the screaming, heck, he thought he was drugged too at first. They don’t have to know he has powers, he doesn’t have to get kicked out, he doesn’t have to lose a family again.

“Duke! There you are!”

He turns with a start, shoving the syringe behind his back. Bruce is making his way across the cave, face twisted in concern.

“What happened? Why did you jump out the window? What is going on?”

Duke stumbles backwards, two steps at a time. Not now, it won’t work now.

“Duke?”

He flinches back from the touch before Bruce even reaches out. Because he sees it. He sees it coming. Ghostly fingers reaching out, wispy and vague like morning mist, there to expose him for what he really is. A meta. A monster.

His fingers tighten around the syringe and he backs further against the counter.

“I need to know what’s going on or I can’t help you. Just talk to me.”

“I—I,“ he presses the needle to his wrist, thumb shaking over the plunger. He can still do it somehow, he can hide it. They don’t have to know. He can hide it.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but I can help you, Duke, it’ll be alright.” Bruce’s voice is so low, so soft, so loving. It makes Duke feel sick, because he knows he’s going to lose that if he doesn’t act now.

“But—” His hands are shaking, shaking too much to hold the syringe. But he has to do it, right? Right? “But you’ll be mad.”

Bruce smiles sadly. “No, no no no, I won’t be mad, I promise I won’t be mad. It’s alright.” He wouldn’t say that if he knew, he wouldn’t care so much if he knew, he wouldn’t—“It’s alright.”

The syringe clatters on the cave floor and Duke is in Bruce’s arms a second later, pulling him as close as he can.

“Msorrymsososorryididn’tmeanit!”

Bruce’s arms wrap around his back, warm and steady and solid, holding him so carefully, like he means everything in the world.

“I know, I know, don’t worry. I’m still going to need you to tell me what’s wrong, okay? It doesn’t have to be right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Okay.” He presses his face into Bruce’s stomach. His knees feel weak and Bruce must notice because he’s suddenly being hefted up into his arms.

“Let’s go have Alfred make you some tea. When you’re feeling better we can talk. Does that sound good?”

Duke nods, taking a shuddering breath.

“Alright.”

Bruce turns to carry him out of the cave, and just before they go up the stairs, Duke cracks his eyes open.

There’s a boy standing in the middle of the cave, hugging tight to his father, both glowing warmly against the stone.

What a beautiful sight, Duke thinks to himself, a family made out of gold.

#the ao3 link might not work on mobile bc tumblr's being weird :/#im playing pretty loose with canon and Duke's powers in this since I haven't actually read the comics #duke thomas #bruce wayne #jason todd #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #alfred pennyworth #batfamily #batfam #my fic #dc #dc comics #fic #fanfic #my-fic

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa [6/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/48034471

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (Rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #i’ll protect you #soulmark tattoo #bright anxiety #soulbond #a lie #hand holding

First Chapter

Author's Note(s): And now for a bit of Jason's perspective, before we return to chronological continuity...

________________________________________________________________

The minute Tim reveals to the Family that Jason is his soulmate—the minute Jason’s sudden burst of conscience has him confirming it—he knows he’s done. He’s lost all ability to pretend anything to the contrary, even when Tim gets his memories back, everyone will always know.

And he will always have to face the looks like the ones they’re giving him now.

As soon as there are no more civilians lurking outside the door, it’s as if a den of wolves has rounded on him.

“What the hell?” Steph demands. “He said you were dead!”

Ouch. Although…I guess he wasn’t lying.

“Congratulations, I guess,” Duke offers, not looking sure he’s expressing the correct sentiment. Then again, he often looks at a loss at figuring out the dynamics of the Family he’s suddenly found himself a part of.

Cass seems unsurprised about the whole thing which makes a certain amount of sense; she might not have known exactly what was going on between him and Tim, but she noticed something.

Bruce remains blank-faced.

Jason hates that he can’t read him or figure out what he thinks of all this. Is he angry? Disappointed? Plotting to lock Jason up again?

“If we might all calm down,” Alfred speaks up, ever the voice of reason, “this is a trying time for all of us. No doubt more so for Master Jason and Master Timothy.”

Though he seemed shocked at first, it seems he now simply accepts the fact, in the same way he simply accepts and adapts to every new Wayne Crisis.

“How long have you known?” Bruce asks, question void of inflection.

Jason meets his eyes in defiance. “A while.”

“And Tim?”

“Longer than me.”

“Why didn’t either of you tell us?” Dick cries, hurt lacing every syllable.

But Bruce steamrolls over that, too, asking the real questions. “Were you aware of this at the Tower?”

Jason clenches his fists and refuses to answer.

“The Tower?” Steph echoes. “Wait. You mean when he beat Tim within an inch of his life?” She levels a vicious glare at him, twin spots of angry red on her face as she jumps to her feet. “You tried to kill him! Your soulmate!”

“In case you don’t remember, I wasn’t firin’ on all cylinders back then,” Jason shoots back.

“That’s a shitty excuse and you know it!”

“And it wasn’t exactly the last time,” Dick adds, then winces like he didn’t mean to add accidental evidence against Jason in this impromptu Trial by Bat.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Jason snaps. “It’s not like I asked for any of this.” He pushes away from the wall that’s been holding him up since all this began. “Thanks for this little reunion, but I’m out of here. You all have your hands full with coma boy now.”

“You can’t just go!” Dick protests. “If he wakes up and you’re not here, how do you think he’ll react? You’re the only one he recognizes!”

“He doesn’t recognize me, he recognizes the ball and chain on my arm,” Jason retorts, brandishing his left wrist.

Far from emphasizing his point, everyone’s eyes rivet toward the mark, which hasn’t settled back on his wrist yet. It’s as if it acts as a reminder; everyone goes quiet and considering in their own way.

He hates that, that they think they may pass judgment on him, on this—on the fact fate fucked him and Tim over.

“Screw this,” he says and stalks from the room. He tries to ignore what looks like a flash of relief on Bruce’s face.

He doesn’t bother with the elevator, needs the physicality of stomping down sixteen flights of stairs to cool his anger. It doesn’t help; he gets outside the hospital and ends up just kind of standing there near the ambulance loading bay.

Not sure what he’s supposed to do now, he digs out his cigarettes and lights one, starts puffing away in agitation. He should leave, get out of here to do something useful. Screw playing nice for anyone’s sake—it would serve them all right if he did decide to put Gotham in his rear-view.

But he has to get back on task. Whoever this person is that’s decided to be his new archenemy, he’s bad for more than just Jason’s business. That’s why he has to stick around.

Not because of Tim’s recovery.

He ignores the voice in his head (which sounds annoyingly like Roy) that tells him denial isn’t a talent no matter how much effort he puts into it.

Jason has started his second cigarette when he hears a familiar pattern of footsteps approaching.

“Whatever you’re gonna say, I don’t want to hear it, even from you,” he warns.

“I am not here to say anything in particular to you,” Alfred replies serenely. “I would, however, ask if I could trouble you for a cigarette.”

Jason almost jolts at that and stares at the older man in astonishment. “What?”

“Curious. Nowhere in your files was it mentioned you had suffered recent auditory damages,” Alfred remarks mildly. When Jason still can’t summon a response, he adds, “It has been a rather trying two weeks, Master Jason and decently brewed cuppas are scarce in this place. Rather suspect, given how much funding we provide them with.”

As if in a trance, Jason slides a cigarette out of the pack and hands it to Alfred. The man takes it gingerly, the movement awkward but practiced, like it’s something he hasn’t done in a while. He bends to hold it to the flame that Jason automatically flicks to life and gives a few experimental inhalations.

For a while, they stand in silence. Jason spends a good deal of that sneaking glances at the butler as he handles his cigarette almost artfully between two fingers.

He can’t take it anymore. “Since when do you smoke?”

“You are not the only one in this family who had tumultuous teenaged years. I spent some time before I went into service frequenting pubs that made your American CBGB look like a primary school.”

Jason blinks. “Huh. And I’m suddenly re-evaluatin’ who’s the most secretive member of this gig.”

“Quite.”

There is another long spell of silence. At last, that gets to Jason too.

(And he knows Alfred’s doing it on purpose, damn it!)

“Look, Alf, it’s not that I…” he begins, then stops because he’s not sure how he wants to tackle this. “Soulmates or not, I’m the worst person to be around the kid right now. And I’ve got…stuff going on.”

And I might be the reason he got shot, to begin with; I don’t know if I can be around him knowing that.

“Understandable, Master Jason. One can only do what is within one’s power,” Alfred hums. “This is a difficult situation, and you need to take the time to process, however you do so. This family—Master Timothy himself—has always weathered emergencies just as dire as this. I have every confidence and faith they will again. At least this time, no one has died.”

And isn’t that a low fucking bar? ‘Whelp, you still have all your limbs and only slight mental trauma, but you’re alive, so good for you!’. This fucking family…

“Have you ever had occasion to visit Japan in your travels?”

The segue makes Jason turn his whole body to face the man again. “Uh. Once or twice?”

“Was it all for business or did you visit any cultural sites? I remember as a child you had a fascination with Matsumoto Castle.”

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I got to go there, once. It was awesome.”

No need to tell him it was to meet with the head of the local Yakuza for Talia. Why does he want to know that, anyway?

Alfred hums again.

“The Japanese have a philosophy I have always found fascinating,” he says, using his finger to tap away a bit of ash. “They treat breakage and repair as an integral part of history and development, rather than something to hide or gloss over. They call it kintsugi, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jason frowns, the term tugging a memory. A late night in bed flicking through National Geographic. “Isn’t that when they fill the cracks in clay pots with gold or something?”

“There is a relation between the two,” Alfred allows, amused, and then becomes thoughtful once again. “The past may be imperfect, but it is not something to repress. It is there whether we want it to be or not. And it is how one accepts and changes in relation to that which shows one’s measure.” He takes another drag of the cigarette and frowns, shooting Jason a judgemental look. “I forgot how bloody awful these things are.”

And Jason can’t help snorting with laughter as Alfred flicks the butt away.

“Anyhow. I hoped to catch you before you left and say I wish to see you again soon. Sooner than a few months this time, though I understand you have a life of your own.” And there’s the Alfred guilt; Jason knew it was coming. “I did, however, hear a rumor that the Red Hood died in an explosion the other night. With him off the streets now, perhaps it will be more convenient to come around.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “I’m not fallin’ for it.”

“Falling for what?” Alfred replies, innocent. He turns. “We will see to Master Timothy, have no fear about that. I will send you updates as to his condition. It may take a while, but I remain confident he will improve. Good day, Master Jason.”

And then he heads back into the hospital.

Jason glares at his back, telling himself he will not let that sway him. He’s too old to let well-meaning manipulations sway him. And yet…

Tim had seemed so…frail. Vulnerable. Terrified. And that had gone away when Jason was there.

The expression is in such contrast to the other he has in his head. The blank resignation and acceptance when Jason all but told him he wished he didn’t exist.

Like he was fucking expecting it.

He smokes two more cigarettes before swearing and turning back to the hospital. This time he takes the elevator.

When he re-enters Tim’s room, everyone looks up in surprise at his return. Except Alfred, because the man is a sneaky fucker, and Jason wonders if Tim doesn’t have more in common with him than with Bruce. He refuses to meet anyone’s gaze, though, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets.

“I might be a jerk, but I don’t want to make the kid hemorrhage from the stress of me not bein’ here,” he grumbles. “So I’ll stick around until he’s, I dunno, less breakable or something.”

He can almost hear Dick’s smile. “Thanks, Little Wing. Knew we could count on you.”

“Bullshit you did.”

“Master Jason.”

He sighs and sidles into an empty chair, one closest to the door, farthest from Bruce, and with a good vantage point of Tim.

This is gonna suck.

“So,” Dick leans against the wall next to Jason, movement slow and deliberate. There’s a slight, manic edge to his voice. “Soulmates, huh?”

“I swear to god, Grayson, if you keep bringin’ it up, I’m out of here.”

“Spoilsport.”

But mercifully, he leaves it alone. For today.

⁂

To say that Jason’s world has completely uprooted itself within the course of weeks would be an understatement.

At first, he expected everyone to leave him alone—his presence tolerated only because of the technicality of him being Tim’s soulmate. But the day after Bruce’s birthday and the visit from Gillian Sato, Dick pulls him to one side while he’s getting coffee and hands him a folder. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Jason flips it open and blinks at the contents. Pages and pages of what looks like a whole new identity. “‘Todd Jacob Kane’—what the hell is this?”

“Well, we had to explain how you’re connected to the Family if Tim or anyone asks. So now you’re a distant cousin on Bruce’s mom’s side of the family. Explains the hair, too.”

He reaches out to tug at said hair, but Jason ducks and snarls at him, “Why the fuck do you have to explain anything?”

“That social worker will come back. And now she and all the doctors know you’re Tim’s soulmate, so you can’t be dead or unaccounted for. At some point, other people will ask, too.”

“You’re talkin’ like I’m gonna be around once his head’s back on straight.”

“That could take a while, Jay,” Dick says with uncharacteristic solemnity “Maybe even longer if the damage is worse than we think. We’re just trying to prepare for every eventuality. Besides—don’t you want to be alive again? In the legal sense, I mean.”

“Not if it means I gotta spend more time with you losers, or like, pay taxes or something.” He leafs through the documents, eyebrows raising. “Shit. Barbie went all out, didn’t she?”

GED, vaccinations records, passport, social security number, military records (ex-army medic, two tours of duty in Manbij—hell, she was paying attention, wasn’t she?) and—

“What the hell is this? Formal PTSD diagnoses?!”

“Can you think of a convincing argument where those are wrong?”

Jason grumbles in response, because, no, he can’t.

“Leslie may have had some input, based on everything she knows about you and us.”

“And what about this, huh? Why do I have a juvy record?”

“You can’t be too clean or anyone looking into you would know there’s something up. Besides, you already had a juvy record, it’s not like it’s a change. And this segues well into your military career.”

“Where I racked up a dishonorable discharge, looks like.”

“Did you look at the reason for it?”

Jason glances through the document, and a bit of the tension clears. “Okay. Yeah, that would track.”

“This way you’ve got both a criminal record and a service record. If you’re intending to keep straddling the line of good guy and bad guy, you’ve got a background to build on for either.”

Jason considers this as he looks back down to the files, and whistles. “Damn, Barbie.”

“My wife’s a genius.”

“Well, one of you has to be.”

“You’re just jealous.”

That you somehow ended up soulmates with two of the most gorgeous and capable women on the planet? Who wouldn’t be? I mean, if I gave a shit about soulmates.

The thought rubs him wrong for some reason, and he thinks back on Tim. The kid isn’t really the worst option in the world. He can sort of see if he were a different person—the kind that’s swept up in the soulmate nonsense—how the younger man could be appealing. His sarcasm alone might have made them friends in another life.

Dick must notice something in his expression because his own softens, and he says, “Tim will be okay, you know.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You sure? Because you looked kind of—”

“I’m fine. It’s not something I’m losing sleep over.” He tries to deflect. “And you’re takin’ this all suspiciously well, considering you were freakin’ out about it yesterday.”

“Well, I had time to process. And I think it makes sense.”

“…Fuckin’ excuse me?”

“Maybe not on the surface,” Dick hurries to add, “But the thing is, you and Tim, you’re both…” He hesitates, looking for the word.

“Replacements?”

“Damaged.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “What.”

“Well, you are. For different reasons. But maybe your damages complement each other or something?”

“That is the stupidest thing you have ever said to me,” Jason informs him. “And you once asked me why they put the paper on the onions so tight.”

He was thirteen, and it was the first and last time he ever attempted to cook anything within the same vicinity as Dick Grayson.

⁂

Tim is in and out of consciousness, and barely even Tim for the first month or so. It doesn’t stop him from somehow using his latent powers of manipulation to get Jason to agree to stick around even longer—or worse, visit the manor.

(And yes, he’s aware that at the moment Tim is, perhaps for the first time in his life, not even capable of manipulation. But how else is he supposed to explain the way he folds whenever the kid turns that sad, panicked gaze on him?)

It’s a pain for more reasons than his own discomfort, because the thing is, he wasn’t actually lying to Tim when he said he had work.

Just because Penguin’s a slimy bastard doesn’t mean he isn’t smart. Jason’s taken his words to heart in the time that he’s been lying low. He scoped out the Hungry Ghost, the club that fronts a modern-day bordello and chosen it as his information-gathering hub. It took a bit of reconnaissance and conveniently arranging for the current bouncer-slash-barback to skip town, and he had a gig lined up.

He’d put on a convincing show of hesitating at the entrance. He’d awkwardly shuffled a bit and mentioned to the owner, Madam Salome, that he heard they hired without caring too much about past records.

She’s a hard-mouthed woman, whipcord thin and angular, and with a cold look he’s seen before on a lot of the girls walking the streets. She grills him about why he was in juvy (carjacking—not a lie) and why he got discharged from the army (killed a man for raping a young girl; also not technically a lie) and whether he has any kind of issue with sex work (“No ma’am, world’s oldest trade. Should be regulated.” Which is also something he believes).

Then she gives him a hard look like she can tell he’s lying and hires him anyway.

So now he’s ready for his long-con of surveillance, which means he can’t be spending every free moment with Tim.

Right?

Yet, against his inclination and will, he finds himself at the manor every evening, helping with physiotherapy or sitting by Tim’s bed with his nose buried in a book.

(Or trying to have his nose buried in a book, it’s sort of hard when he’s being watched by Tim’s unwavering gaze. Strange how he’s good at that even with one eye still covered with a bandage.)

He’s uncomfortable with how attached the kid has gotten to him in such a short time, all because of his soulmark; it feels false since Tim currently has no memories of everything Jason has done to him.

A niggling voice in his head that sounds like Kori this time reminds him that Tim seemed open to the idea before.

(He shrugs that off.)

It’s a while before he gets over the guilty pit in his stomach whenever he walks into a room and Tim’s face lights up to see him. The kid might not be talking yet, but he’s ridiculously expressive. Jason wonders how he survived in the boardroom with such an open face, before he remembers that before, Tim knew how to hide more.

He always keeps space between the two, a careful distance unless he needs to help Tim calm down or with physio exercises; the only time he gets close to Tim of his own volition is when the kid is asleep. Even then it’s just to study him and try to figure out why the hell the universe thought they’d be a good match.

Sometimes he’s downright resentful of him.

Inwardly, he rails that it’s Tim’s fault they’re in this situation. If he hadn’t been there that night, if he’d not had some stupid meltdown on television, he wouldn’t have been in Crime Alley. He wouldn’t have been anywhere near Jason and wouldn’t be brain damaged now.

(You don’t know that, Kori’s voice in his head reminds him. He throws himself off buildings and into fights every night. He could easily have gotten hurt some other way.)

This makes him feel like an ass for thinking and he’ll immediately seek out Dick or Damian because clearly, he has feelings that need to be exorcised. Right now he can’t get out on the streets to do it, so the Cave will have to suffice.

He prefers Damian, to be honest. The kid is doing his damnedest to act as if nothing has changed, which Jason needs right now.

“I don’t know what everyone is so worried about,” the brat dismisses one day as Dick watches him and Jason spar. Jason wishes he could say he’s taking it easy on the kid, but they’re pretty evenly matched. “Drake has survived his ordeal and will recover. He always does.”

“But he might not this time.”

“Pennyworth is seeing to his needs, there’s no need for us to continue deviating from our usual routines.”

“You’re assuming he will get all his memories back,” Dick cautions, crossing his arms and frowning as Jason ducks the swing of a bokken. Dick won’t let either of them use real swords against each other since they might fall back on League habits. “He might not, Little D. Then what will you do?”

Jason grits his teeth, sensing that the question is directed to him, too. If he’s being honest with himself, it’s a sentiment he’s been thinking over more and more the longer Tim remains functionally amnesiac.

“I wouldn’t care one way or the other,” Damian insists, parrying Jason’s next attack. “The longer he takes simply makes it easier for me to take my rightful place as Father’s true heir.”

“That’s bull. If he never goes back to the way he was before, that means everything that’s made you jealous of him goes away too. You lose your rival—the one person you’ve been measuring yourself against since you showed up.”

Damian grunts, either in effort or derision, Jason can’t tell, since he unleashes a flurry of attacks that forces him to go back on the defensive.

“Take away the parts of Tim you pretend to hate, and all you have left is a brother who needs you.”

“Tt.” Damian jumps back from Jason one last time and throws down his weapon. “I yield. I refuse to listen to this nonsense any longer.”

“Hey! No quittin’!” Jason yells at his back as he disappears, and glares over at Dick. “Thanks a lot, asshole. I was just startin’ to work up a sweat before you started with your Dr. Phil crap.”

“I’m only trying to get him to understand the seriousness of all this,” Dick tells him. “He’s seen all of us get injured and come back from things before. Hell, he’s died and come back. I worry he’s starting to believe it’s a given when it’s…really not.”

“Kid grew up in the League of Assassins,” Jason reminds him. “Trust me, he understands the futility of things.”

“And do you?”

Jason narrows his eyes. “What now?”

“You’ve also been acting like this is all temporary. Like Tim’s just going to bounce back,” Dick says, crossing his arms tight against his chest like he’s trying to comfort himself. “But there’s a real chance he doesn’t. I mean, come on, Jason, look at what happened to you. You’ve had brain damage before. It took a dip in a Lazarus Pit to fix that.”

“It’s different,” Jason snaps. “I had my head caved in in about nine different places. Doc Thompkins already said the kid’s injury was clean. He’ll be back to chuggin’ energy drinks and playin’ with his gadgets in no time and I can get back to my life.”

“You mean the life that literally burnt down around you?”

Jason snarls and throws up his hands. “Know what? Bat brat had the right idea. I’m not listenin’ to you ramble anymore.”

“It’s okay to worry about him, you know!” Dick yells at his back as Jason climbs the stairs back to the manor proper.

And that is why I prefer when it’s only Damian. Dick always takes advantage and tries to go for the heart-to-heart. Though it could be worse. It could be B.

For the most part, Bruce has been keeping out of Jason’s way when he’s at the manor, which he is simultaneously relieved at and frustrated by. Relieved because he doesn’t want to have that conversation, the one where Bruce judges him and finds him unworthy of being Tim’s soulmate.

(Jason doesn’t want to be his soulmate, but Bruce finding him unworthy is one of those anxieties leftover from his childhood.)

Frustrated, because one of the few good things about him and Bruce has always been that they can be bluntly honest with one another. It’s a no holds barred, going-for-the-throat kind of honesty, that cuts through the shit and straight to the core.

(Except perhaps the months leading up to Jason’s death, and his return to Gotham when he wanted to be a little dramatic.)

He wishes they could just fight about it and get it over with.

⁂

It is several weeks before Tim can sit up on his own; a month spent in bed, needing help to get showered and redressed. Jason thankfully doesn’t have to do any of that stuff. Alfred and Dick appear to be falling over themselves to do that, though the long-suffering expression on Tim’s face whenever he needs help amuses Jason.

At least that’s the same; Tim never liked having to ask for or get help. Jason knew that even without being around him often.

From the scowls he tries to hide from everyone, he dislikes the various therapies he has to endure, too.

Jason does the bare minimum of what the family wants. He stays with Tim, so he doesn’t freak out, holds his hand when he needs to, puts up with Bruce somehow looming from an entirely different wing of the manor, and leaves with lots of leftovers from Alfred.

But that’s it.

Jason has no intention of getting attached or encouraging the universe’s practical joke; as soon as Tim remembers (and he will fucking remember, Dick, so stop jinxing it) he’s gone.

He doesn’t have rambling conversations with Tim the way Steph does; she isn’t glaring at Jason as much anymore, but she pretends like he’s a statue or wallpaper on the rare occasion they pass in the hallways.

(He’s sure at some point that will end since they both have tempers and are raring for a fight.)

Cass just looks between the two of them like she finds them amusing or something, which a kind of insulting.

It’s lucky they see little of each other that first month. Steph shows up during the day after her classes or whatever it is she does when she’s not in costume and leaves for patrol before Jason arrives. Whenever Jason gets there and learns that she hasn’t left yet, he ducks into the kitchen to sit with Alfred for a while.

The old butler is the only one who appreciates how uncomfortable—how angry—the whole soulmate issue is making Jason and doesn’t make him feel guilty about it. He also appears to sense how restless Jason has been since benching himself.

Undercover work has never been his favorite thing, and with this job, he surprisingly has more nights off than on. It’s disquieting, leaving him with too much time on his hands to ruminate about his shadow rival or dwell on the situation with Tim.

“Why not assume a different mantle whenever the need arises to go out?” Alfred suggests one afternoon as he kneads the dough for his homemade egg pasta. “I don’t pretend to approve of the nighttime doings of anyone in this family, but a lifetime habit is difficult to break even in a few weeks.”

“Don’t you think I considered that? But it’d kind of be a give away if a new mask shows up on the streets so soon after Red Hood bites it,” Jason replies. He holds out the bag of flour when Alfred gestures for it.

“Are you telling me that in the vast collection of gear in the basement, you cannot find something that is storeyed and recognizable?”

“Not unless Bruce still has the Wingman suit,” Jason snorts.

Alfred says nothing, merely raising his eyebrow as he continues to add a few fingerfuls of flour to the dough.

“Are you kiddin’? I thought he tossed that and the Redwing out after Damian…?”

Alfred’s hands still for a moment, his eyes closing as he no doubt remembers that horrible time. Then, with small effort, he shakes it off and replies, “I fear Master Bruce was not in the mindset to do much of anything constructive during that time. The suits went into storage.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt B wants me wearin’ anything of his right now. In case you haven’t noticed the waves of disapproval driftin’ up through the floor, I’m not his favorite person right now. He won’t want me touchin’ his suit.”

“Your suit, Master Jason. It was always meant to be yours when you were ready for it. Prior to the…incident…with Master Damian, it was to be an olive branch. A means of returning to the fold should you ever decide the need for Red Hood had passed.”

Jason’s chest tightens for a moment and he’s unsure what to say to that at first. He’d known when Bruce came to him that time that it was an olive branch, a second chance—but he’d assumed it was a temporary thing. An ace in the hole against Talia and Leviathan.

And of course, the bastard would never just come out and say that.

Jason’s not emotionally equipped to unpack yet another one of Bruce’s backhanded attempts at parenting. Instead, he focusses on Alfred’s last words.

“This is Gotham, Alf. There will never not be a need for Red Hood, I don’t care what Bruce thinks.”

“Perhaps. But then, I’m of the opinion you need not choose between the two. A mask is not a man, Master Jason. It is a symbol. How one uses that symbol makes the man.”

They sit in silence for several minutes, Alfred working and Jason mulling it over. At last, he sighs and smirks at the old butler. “You know, for someone who disapproves, you have a lot of opinions.”

“At my age, I’m allowed, Master Jason. Now go set the table for four.”

“Four? Is B stayin’ tonight?”

If he is, I’m not.

“No. But Miss Cassandra will be. She returns to Hong Kong tomorrow to tie up a few loose ends before returning here. I insisted that she have a decent meal and sleep before heading to the airport in the morning.”

“And…uh…Blondie?”

“I heard a certain Mrs. Grayson requires her talents this evening.”

⁂

And so Jason finds himself back to patrolling several nights a week, once more striking fear into the hearts of criminals.

Albeit behind a different mask than he’s used to.

There are provisos, of course, as Batman informed him in his usual detached way down in the cave. No guns, no lethal force and he can’t spend all of his time in Crime Alley.

“It would be too much of a coincidence given Red Hood’s demise.”

“Bullshit!” Jason had argued. “No one’s patrollin’ that part of town anymore. And I’m pretty sure people have noticed Red Robin ain’t even pokin’ his nose in either.”

“Red Robin has made appearances along his usual routes,” Batman dismissed.

“What? How?”

“Black Bat has agreed to take on the mantle every week or so. She is closest to Tim’s height and weight. We can’t have anyone connect Tim’s injury and Red Robin’s disappearance.”

“But what about—?”

“Signal has been monitoring the East End. He is as invested in the well-being of neighborhoods as you are. I have every confidence he can handle it during your absence.”

“Must be nice to have your confidence. Wonder what that’s like?”

“If you didn’t have my confidence, you would not be getting this suit,” Batman replied shortly and turned back to the computer. “If you continue your investigation into the changes in Gotham’s underworld, do so in a way that doesn’t connect Wingman to Red Hood.”

Damn it, even when he’s trying to make a gesture, he’s still an ass about it.

“Nah, I figured I’d go shout it from the rooftops,” Jason shot back sarcastically and stalked away before he could get into an actual fight with the man. “Next thing, he’s gonna tell me not to say anything to Tim…”

Which, obviously? They decided early on not to tell him anything Bat-related while he’s recovering.

The problem is, Tim doesn’t seem any closer to remembering anything.

Every week that passes, even after the surprising instance of Tim trying to sing Happy Birthday to Dick (which, okay, Jason was also relieved at that, but only because he’s been watching how frustrated Tim’s been with his music therapy) he shows no sign of knowing anything about Tim Drake or Red Robin or any of it.

It’s a cause for concern, and not only because of Mission related reasons.

Gillian Sato keeps visiting the manor every week.

Jason might not be on great terms with Tim—might be awkward as hell around him—but he’s even less so with her. Alfred texts him when she comes over, and Jason does his best to get to the manor as soon as he can. He’s more effective at looming over her on these ‘visits’ than Dick is. And she can’t object to his presence, even when he interrupts her well-meaning-but-leading questions. The ambiguous kind, where Tim’s current yes-no answers might land him in a sea of trouble.

“You don’t trust social workers, do you, Mr. Kane?” she asks him one day when he interrupts every question she asks, wanting to qualify statements or elaboration to an almost pedantic degree.

Tim seems to have fallen asleep again—pale and exhausted from darting his eyes between Jason and Sato’s less-than-veiled disagreement. Across the room, sitting cross-legged and pretending to be absorbed in a video game, Damian looks like he’s ready to jump into action if need be.

“Lady, there ain’t no one in this house you people haven’t screwed over.”

“But not you,” she pries, eyes keen. “According to your record, family took you in. Your cousins, was it? Kate Kane and her father?”

(He’s still not sure how Barbara got Batwoman to sign off on that; Kate never really liked him.)

“Yeah, but not before I lived on the streets a few months. And I don’t regret the experience one bit since it meant I didn’t get fucked over by the system.”

“That isn’t in your file.”

“Last time I checked, they seal juvenile records,” Damian speaks up, tone sharp. “Is there a reason you’re looking into him when you’re assigned to Drake’s case? Or so you allege.”

“I hardly see how it’s your concern,” she tells the boy. “Although on that note, is there a reason you refer to your brother by his last name? Some lingering resentments, perhaps, that gave way to violence?”

Damian’s eyes narrow, a delicate angry flush that’s almost imperceptible in his dark cheeks. “If you believe I intend to share any information with you, you presume your self-importance to be above his legal rights to privacy. I can assure you, as much as he irks me, Drake is far above you in the status quo.”

Huh. Has the bat brat ever said anything nice about Tim?

Damian’s implication would insult most people, but the woman doesn’t even blink. “If these are the manners Mr. Wayne instills in his children, it seems my office’s concerns are valid.”

“Manners are not requisite indicators of good parental care,” Damian retorts. “But again, I am not the subject of your inquiry, am I?”

They stare at each other a beat before Sato looks away with a sniff. “I just want to have all the facts.”

Jason narrows his eyes and folds his arms over his chest, showing off his mark which is already reacting to his proximity to Tim. It’s a less than subtle reminder her facts are irrelevant to him. He feels no guilt doing so since the damned mark’s caused him nothing but trouble so far. He should at least be able to use it to keep the kid from being hounded by social workers with axes to grind.

It has the desired effect. She purses her lips and scribbles something on her tablet with a stylus.

It would surprise him if whatever she writes is still there when she gets home; Babs can be vindictive even from a distance.

There’s a subtle clearing of the throat, and everyone glances over at Alfred.

“I fear it is getting late, and Master Timothy needs his rest,” he said. “If you would be so kind, Ms. Sato, I will escort you to your broom—ahem. Apologies. Your car.”

Jason and Damian both choke in surprise as Alfred gestures for her to follow him, even as Sato continues to appear unimpressed. Once they’re gone, they exchange looks.

“Did Alfred just break British-butler protocol and insult a guest?”

“Given the past few weeks, it does not surprise me he is beginning to crack,” Damian notes, frowning at Sato’s back as she leaves. “I don’t like her.”

“You don’t like anyone, that’s not unusual. But nah, I don’t think anyone likes her.”

It’s like she’s being an asshole on purpose.

Damian folds his arms. “No. This woman is…she gives me an unpleasant feeling.”

“Aw, look at you all protective,” Jason teases, just resisting the urge to ruffle Damian’s hair. He enjoys having two hands, even if one of them has a soulmark emblazoned on it that complicates his life. “And here I thought you and Timbers didn’t get along.”

“Tt.” Damian looks away.

Jason goes back to sit beside Tim, picking up his book as he does so.

“This is,” Damian begins after a long pause, then stops, looking angry, though at what is anyone’s guess. At last, he clenches his fists and says, “This fate is…unworthy. For him.”

He doesn’t meet Jason’s gaze as he stalks off.

“Huh,” Jason says out loud, watching him. “See, now you have to get better, so you can give him a hard time for being a secret sap.”

Where he’s been feigning sleep for the past ten minutes, Tim snorts.

⁂⁂⁂

To Be Continued

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<3 Violet

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