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#bruce seeing this dead teenager and hoping that jason comes back only to be disappointed
cyrwrites · 1 year
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My Memories Came Back In The Form Of Someone Else...
Danny never figured out how to turn back into a normal teenager. He was ran out of Amity Park in three weeks.
(To be honest, the Fentons, in all their fervor, could have run him off faster if Danny hadn't been so determined to stay. But in the end, they did run him off. Jazz never figured out what happened to his brother. Danny's friends never knew how to explain how they had killed Danny Fenton without implicating themselves for accidental manslaughter.)
Phantom was left with no home to return to.
Out of all of this shitshow, coming across a recently traumatized Batman, who was just returning from Ethiopia, and him getting attached to him has definitely been the least predictable thing to happen to him.
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akimmito · 4 years
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They thought they won #2
Well, here is the second part, I think it was weak in comparison, but it is not terrible either. It is acceptable.
Taken from the indications of @chocolate1721.
I hope you like it. If there are errors, at some point I will correct it.
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Tagged: @dawnwave16 @pirats-pizzacanninibles @mochegato @silvergold-swirl
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On Bruce's recommendation, the girls wait four days before showing up at school. Four days that were used to build a case with the French School Board, collect and deliver physical evidence of abuse and bullying. Tim did his fair share by involving every person who could have been harmed by Lila's lies, getting collaboration from many of those affected (being the victims of the teenager's most outrageous lies).
They also took advantage of those four days to think about what they will do when the chaos with the director and their teacher in charge are set, they will be adrift and that will be unfortunate. Neither of them wants to waste time due to the incompetence of a teacher. The safest option is to request an immediate transfer to another class, preferably with a serious teacher who doesn't allow similar situations.
Marinette also took advantage of those four days to better relate to the Wayne boys, although she has a special connection with Tim (she's sure it wasn't hallucination induced by lack of sleep). They talked about many topics, but found brain games and all kinds of riddles in common (she advantage and led him to Ladybug's reasoning to solve a problem with the most random object possible; the fourth day hhe understood the game when he saw the heroin hit to the villain with a bicycle chain). She even had time to drag Damian to Kagami's house to get to know each other (she realized his mistake when she had to prevent them from killing themselves in the middle of the fight and take Damian to the bakery).
Neither Chloe nor Marinette were excited to see their classmates, but they saw it as a necessary evil to deliver the coup de grace. And that does excite Chloe, that morning she woke up eager to see her revenge come true.
The class had already started when Marinette and Chloe entered the classroom, the two families waiting at the door. Only Bruce Wayne went to the Principal's office to have a talk about responsibility and professionalism.
"Good morning, Miss Bustier," Mariette greets with a kindness that, for her smile, it shows that she is not entirely sincere. The surprised look of the woman only manages to generate irritation in the back of the girl's mind.
"Why have they been missing class? It is very irres..."
Chloe almost jumps on Caline, but is stopped by Richard, who sneaks into the classroom to prevent the young woman from attacking the teacher (however deserved it is). In the back, Tom has an arm over Sabine's shoulder to prevent her from attacking too, his calming touch is enough to discourage her from doing so; Damian snorts and Jason swallows his comment. The class is ready to react when Marinette responds, her brow furrowed and a disappointed look she only gives Chat.
"You abandoned us at the mercy of the Joker in Gotham, we were rescued by the Batclan. You didn't worry or look for us, nor did you bother to call the police and you leave the country without us. "Marinette says and her gaze sharpens towards her teacher.
"Marinette, you need to be more responsible. The Joker is very dangerous and trying to protect two criminals was silly. Furthermore, Lila had to return to Paris to help her mother with her next diplomatic trip. "Caline responds.
Chloe almost got free of Dick and Tim must grab Jason to prevent him from taking out the gun he saw him keep before leaving the hotel. Tom helps to contain his wife and avoid any movement from Damian (who considers that someone so stupid would be more beneficial if she was dead and not simply out of sympathy with the girls).
Bruce arrives just in time to hear Caline's wonderful words, the cheap excuse she gives them to leave two students behind. He stands in front of the woman, managing to intimidate her with his mere presence.
"If the student had previous commitments that clash with the itinerary and its possible setbacks, why was she included in the trip? Two students were in danger, with or without the Joker, Gotham is dangerous on its own and leaving them abandoned with no chance of leaving the country is negligent just for prioritizing one student. What if there hadn't been only two? If it was half your class would you still prioritize that one student? ”Bruce is relentless and doesn't allow her to respond. He's furious, burning with hot anger ready to burn her alive.
They all hold their breath when a purple butterfly appears and heads straight for Bruce, but Marinette gets in the way and lets the Akuma into one of her hair bands, the purple mask appears. Sabine and Chloe break free and start talk with her.
"Maribug, you must fight him. You're stronger than him. ”Chloe grabs her shoulders, but Marinette is focused on her thoughts, listening to Hawkmoths speech.
"You can't let him win. "Sabine entreaty.
Tim also approaches, but says nothing. His gaze meets hers, a sign of recognition and that she is nowhere near being manipulated, but no one else realizes it.
"Yes ... but if you give me those powers, I will go after you and no one else." Mariette smiles at Tim when the butterfly leaves her. Everyone is relieved, nobody wanted an Akuma at that time; the class, on the other hand, is surprised by the ease with which it rejected the butterfly and the white color with which it was released.
Adrien smiles, showing misplaced pride.
"You are amazing, Marinette, that's why you are our everyday Ladybug, you even reject Hawkmoth."
Marinette turns to Adrien, her sense of calm withered by the model's comment.
"I may have rejected it, but it would be better if I wasn't forced to do it in the first place." She frowns at the blonde, who is still smiling completely oblivious to the passive-aggressive tone of the young woman.
"We saw that you can handle it and that ..." A slap silences him, everyone looks at Chloe in surprise.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE SO FOOLY! DO YOU KNOW HOW PAINFUL IT IS TO FIGHT AGAINST CONTROL? WHERE HAVE YOUR BRAIN CELLS LEFT, AH? YOU SHOULD GO FOR THEM, YOU'RE UNDERSTANDING NOTHING."
"How dare you, you fucking bitch ?!" Alya gets up ready to hit Chloe, but Jason  gets in the way.
"Though it would be amazing to see her take your shit out of you."
"Jason!" Dick scolds him for the choice of words, Jason barely gives him a funny look.
"We have more important matters. "
Tim just denies. Chloe smirks, but returns her attention to what's important.
"When does the School Board arrive?" she smiles an arrogant smile at the teacher, who loses her face color much faster than when Bruce faced her. "What's the matter lawyers of the celebrities abaout Lie-la lied to? They should be here by now. "
"Hah! You're just words, Lila is not a liar and this whole show will explode in your face, Chloe. "Alya answers smugly, sure nothing will happen. She has not even called her father, she has nothing. "Stop wanting to attract attention like that, it's pathetic. "
Lila just frowns, the presence of Bruce Wayne only indicates future problems. Damn to Marinette in her thoughts.
"Wayne's attorneys are here, though, right? "She doesn't need to receive a verbal confirmation, the arrival of the police to the classroom accompanied by two men in suits is enough proof." Yeah, I took so long to convince her to press charges for assault, harassment, and damage to private property, but here we are; They will file lawsuits for destroying Maribug's room and, best of all, we have video evidence and photos of everything destroyed. I appreciate that she's so paranoid that everything important always safeguards her in two layers of security. ”She smirks, after all, the lawyers called the parents of everyone involved first and  it's a sight worth appreciating.
The lawyers decide to intervene, unwilling to be part of the girl's delight.
"We regret to inform that the following people should co
"That's a lot, Mari. Don't you think about his parents?"
"Did they think of mine? How much money would it cost to restore my room and all my things? They didn't, I'll not. I'm tired of always turning the other cheek so they hit me too. ”Tim places a hand on her shoulder, before Dick squeezes her into his arms and she laughs, forgetting for a moment the annoyance towards Adrien.
me with us, their parents have already been informed and are waiting: Lila Rossi, Alya Cessaire, Kim Le Chien, Max Kante and Sabrina Raincomprix. We wait for you in the teachers room. "
The officer Raincomprix looks with disappointment at his daughter and only gestures for her to follow them, he will leave his other officers in charge to arrest the teacher for child abuse and neglect.
Everything from there is chaos, the police officers take the teacher after telling her their rights and the class gets out of control, Adrien just watches his friends go towards an inevitable demand. Look at Marinette, she looks indifferent to the facts; He doesn't understand how everything got to the point of involving lawyers.
"Marinette, are you serious?"
"Seriously what, Agreste?" Marinette is hard in her treatment towards him, Chloe won the blow to him, but nobody will gain the words to him. Damian frowns at the blonde, waiting for him to say something that will bury him a thousand meters underground.
Everyone is waiting, the students in the Bustier class don't understand how everything got to that point. They are surprised, but also embarrassed for not noticing Marinette's absence, because despite not being the sweet girl they knew (and she's, but not with them), she would have looked for them and would has confronted whoever it was to find them. They want to say something, but they have a lump in their throats. Knowing that there will be legal problems for the things that they considered insignificant for Marinette, because they believed that the girl was worse ... Actually, it's the logical solution if someone is attacking you, especially if you have real evidence. So why did Lila refuse to stop the problem if she had as much evidence as she claimed?
Of course, even they can say that Adrien's question is totally out of place.
"Are you really going to sue them? They are your f..."
"They are not my friends. They destroyed my room, Agreste, they destroyed my work. Do you know how much the designs cost? Your father is a designer, you should know… I had to do everything again and put the materials that were lost to complete the works FROM MY POCKET. In a week I did a full month's work… ”Marinette replicate Tim's angry expression, making Adrien nervous by the annoyed glances that are directed at him. "And I'll make them give back every penny of the damaged material. "
"That's a lot, Mari. Don't you think about his parents?"
"Did they think of mine? How much money would it cost to restore my room and all my things? They didn't, I'll not. I'm tired of always turning the other cheek so they hit me too. ”Tim places a hand on her shoulder, before Dick squeezes her into his arms and she laughs, forgetting for a moment the annoyance towards Adrien.
"Look, Adrinkis, if they don't learn that their actions have consequences now, they'll just keep it up and eventually go to prison for something like that. You imagine? It would be wonderful to see it, sure, but that's not the point here."
"But…"
"If you say something that could come out of Bustier's mouth, I'll hit you again, and this time it will be with my fist." Adrien raises his hands and is silent. "And that would be very little, seeing that you knew everything and preferred to remain silent. Although they were not subtle when they attack on Maribug. You validated it and that, darling, is a thousand times worse than having fallen into the clutches of a liar. "
"Did you know?" Nino asks, he is not entirely sure what is true or lie, but if it's true that Lila is a liar (he is already assured that she is a bully) and his best friend has known all that time, oh, the pain. He already feel bad enough in the whole uncertain situation.
At some point, Sabine and Tom go out to meet the parents of the boys who destroyed their daughter's room. They must deal with it.
"I don't understand why you care so much about these ceporros, they are not worth your time." Damian looks deathly at everyone, who seems truly unintelligent if their idiot faces are an indication of their IQ. Dick can't help but snort.
"What?" Nathaniel is the only one who has a verbal reaction to what was said, he didn't understand the word, but he assumes that it was an insult.
"You see?"
"Yeah..." Marinette sighs and smiles at the boy, who walks away from her with an expression of disgust.
"Come on, you like her." Dick doesn't allow him to walk away and hugs him by the shoulders with an amused but affectionate smile. He has noticed his behavior around her, actively looking for her because he considers her nice, in a way; the same way he came to connect with the Teen Titans, so it was with her. He found something in common as an initial union and in four days, a record, he managed to form a linkage (small, but it exists).
"Now. I think we should go for a coffee. ”Tim approaches Marinette and whispers in her ear, she nods in response. "But before, if you are so kind to check twitter, in the @NotAddictedToCoffee account you will find a link to an article in the France International Journal where they express the worrying situation of parental neglect, I think you will find it interesting. Maybe you recognize the case they are exposing... So, coffee?" He turns to Marinette and she smiles. His job is done, pity for Chloe who wanted a true social massacre and they won't even let her be present for she watches the lives of the defendants break in front of them. Oh, but the Wayne boys are sure to be able to access the surveillance cameras in the teacher's lounge. She turns to the only one who knows how to help her, Jason.
"Hey, Todd. I need your help. ”He turns to her with a raised eyebrow, she gestures for him to lean. "I want access to the surveillance cameras in the teachers' room, can you? "
"Do you want to see their teary faces at the lawsuit?"
"Obviously. "
The two smile and as casually as they can after a suspicious conversation, they leave the classroom. Richard follows them to prevent them from causing trouble.
While all the students take out their phones to confirm.
Marinette and Tim also leave, followed by Damian. Only Bruce stays for a moment, but then decides it's best to notify a teacher for review.
Adrien knows from the beginning who the person in the example is, the implication was clear. All the time they read, an awkward silence surrounds them, a teacher arrives while they are busy on their phones.
"Very good. I will be in charge until the Board of Education decides what will happen to the class. "The class pays no real attention. They are focused watching the approach presented in the article, where they explicain how neglect causes children to seek any type of validation going to any extreme, without it being exactly something to justify the person's actions and that should be treated with a psychologist to avoid It gets out of control and affects the lives of those around you.
There is even a cited psychologist and an expert in criminal pathologies. Everyone is livid the more they read, it's an extensive and very detailed article that aims to raise awareness, but above all, expose Lila in a subtle way to avoid repercussions for publicly humiliating her, now it's a shadow that will not go away and will remain in the criminal files of the girl, which is enough to keep an eye on her (especially with the demands of some people who are almost affected by those lies).
"It was Lila, wasn't it?" Someone asks.
"Yes ... how strong.And Marinette, oh God, I'm not surprised that she hates us. "
"Guys, Marinette doesn't hate us. She's too good for that. "Adrien tries to reassure his companions.
"You have no right, Adrien! You knew it, man, you knew it! And did you let him use us like that?" Nino now is experiencing true treason. He feel very hurt.
"I wasn't hurting anyone ..."
"AND WHAT ARE THESE DEMANDS?! JOKES?! REACT, ADRIEN. HE LIED US AND HANDLED TO THE POINT OF ACHIEVING THAT FOUR OF OUR COMPANIONS DID SOMETHING ILLEGAL. THEY COULD GO TO PRISON FOR INVASION AND DAMAGE TO PRIVATE PROPERTY!" Nino has jumped on Adrien by grabbing his shirt, he could cry right now.
"Dammit, Agreste. Were you always so stupid?"
"Youngs, this behavior will lead to a sanction in your school record. The Board of Education will personally take care of you if you continue to display hostile behavior. "
"Whatever. Anyway, we're screwed. We hurt the only person who was always unconditional with us. "Juleka is clear with her words and regrets not having listened to her brother, she should have known, Luka is always right.
Everyone is silent, being aware of the situation more than others times.
"She will forgive us..."
"WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR MIND?! AIR?! Nothing we can offer her could make she forgive us, besides, did you see your new friends? She doesn't need us, least of all with the boyfriend who got herself in just five days. "Alix is realistic, overwhelmingly realistic.
Rose allows herself to cry, she wasn't actively hostile, but she knows she was purposely ignoring her under pressure from others.
"Guys…"
"Look, Agreste, don't speak to us again unless you mature. You're the worst thing in this whole thing… I can't forgive you and I'm sure you're the last person Marinette would forgive, heck, surely one day she could forgive Lila, but you, ha, never. "Alix is scathing in her words breaking Adrien's heart, though he refuses to believe that.
While in the park, Marinette guides Tim to one of her favorite cafes. She tells him about the different embarrassing moments that went through her awkwardness and he, in return, explains uncomfortable moments.
Marinette feels good, she still has to remove Adrien's Plagg ring, but at the moment, she feels good. She can face whatever comes.
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Thanks for reading!
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m00nslippers · 5 years
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Jason is a clever bitch and I love him, in RHATO Issue #32
Okay now we’re finally moving Jason closer to the Winick version that I think is most people’s favorite Red hood--it’s not there yet, but we’re seeing the hints. The cleverness, the charm, the unrepentant sass. Oh yes, we are going places, I like what I see.
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Let’s dive in here.
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Whoever made that post about Jason not even needing a cover story about being dead to revive his identity was kind of prophetic because here his cover is basically, “So I wasn’t actually dead. no more details, that’s it.” Which is pretty dang close.
And I’m not sure how he managed any of this without Bruce or Alfred finding out but that is damn impressive. We know they didn’t know because we see Alfred’s reaction shot to seeing him on TV. If we don’t see him interact with a few of the other Gotham vigilantes, (or at least see a reaction shot of them all like, “What!? Jason?! The guy we had to physically blackmail to attend galas is running a casino with parties every night? That Jason?!) at some point I’m going to be pretty disappointed, to be honest.
Also, as we already knew from the solicitations and previews, Jason is taking over the Iceburg lounge and looking fancy while he does it. I love it. Jason can put on an act with the best of the batboys. Look at this well dressed man! And his hair! He has hair again, praise the Lord, hallelujah!
Completely unrelated note, that reporter has some really fancy cuff earrings or something and I’m jealous.
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I’m validated for noticing Suzie Su was behind Jason in the previews. She and her sisters are part of his crew basically. It’s actually nice to see villains/characters return, too often they are just one-shot or one-note baddies but Suzie has been there since New 52 RHATO and she got a bit of humanization in the Annual when we meet her sisters. She’s not just some creepy fat lady that creeps on Jason, she’s a big sister who is trying to do her best for her family and I like that Jason acknowledges that and brings her and her family in on his scheme and even gets them out of the crime business sort-of by giving them mostly legit employment.
The way he has a bunch of ladies following him around kind of reminds me of Dick with the girls from St. Hadrian's a little bit. But they were all super into Dick and these girls don’t seem interested in Jason at all except as like a boss, which I like.
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Jason, this is the kind of thing you should ask about! Ugggghh ~
Wingman looked older in the last page of the previous issue for some reason, maybe he’s died his hair or something. So we still don’t know what’s going on with him. I was hoping we’d get something, a hint but we’ve literally got nothing to go on here. I honestly think he has some kind of direct relation to Jason. Either he’s his dad’s mind in a different inmates body, or maybe a lost cousin or brother or something, or has something to do with the future like he came from there. It’s got to be one of those things, nothing else makes sense that I can think of.
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LOOK AT MY BEAUTIFUL BOY! JUST LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT THOSE EYELASHES AND BLUE EYES AND THAT SMILE.
Anyone would be charmed. I think Jason is too much of an introvert to like this kind of public job exactly, but I also think he’d be good at it. Dick might be better, because he’s just a natural extrovert, but Jason is still up there. He’s a good actor, and he really cares about people so he’d take care of those he’s in charge of. Jason would be a good boss.
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“Started from the bottom now we’re here,” that’s a Drake lyric.
Could these guys be bigger dorks?
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Notice that Jason didn’t kill the guys that were causing trouble, he had Miggs (his nickname for Miguel) roll them off to the docks in a ball made with his powers and those dorks were totally right, the room he made was pretty gucci. You got taste, Miguel.These weren’t necessarily real bad guys, they were just punks, and Jason might be killing again but he doesn’t just kill any idiot that gets in his way or causes trouble.
Also, technically they might have been right about Night cheating, we don’t actually know how ‘legit’ the Su sisters are playing things.
I’m sort of torn on the way the colorist is depicting Miguel’s powers, like I miss the glowiness a little bit from New 52 Teen Titans. These look a little too much like normal bricks? But technically that might be better for Miguel, they can pass as normal bricks instead of a power when they have to. They looked clear or white before when the guys walked in there so maybe he can control their color/transparency and glowiness? I still would like to see them look glowy though.
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A few things about Miguel: I think these panels illustrated pretty well what their dynamic is supposed to be. I know Jason called Bizarro his ‘friend’ but let’s be honest here, Bizarro isn’t Jason’s friend--he’s his little brother.
Jason compares Miguel to Bizarro and I think that’s key, he sees Miguel as like a little brother that he wants to help. He’s got powers that he doesn’t understand and people keep coming after him for them. I think with Miguel and Tim it was closer to a friendship of equals at least as far as Miguel saw. He admired and respected Tim as a leader and how he always seemed to know what to do, but in the end Miguel was older than Tim, he didn’t feel like he could completely lean on him. It looks like Miguel may have latched on to Jason in that way, since he has the bat-authority too and actually is older than him and a genuinely caring guy. And look at my boy Jason! He comforts and accepts him immediately, it’s so sweat.
Goddamn it, Jason is a good older brother! He’s the best freaking older brother, damn Bruce and the whole family’s bat-morals, man! You’re all missing this! He could have this with Tim and Damian and Duke and even Steph and Cass! He would love that! He would be so good at that! It’s a goddamn tragedy, is what it is.
Also it’s interesting how Miguel acknowledges the reboots, so are his powers related to reality-warping or something so he can sense it? Or it could just be more of this suggestion that a lot of people in the DC universe right now have memories from the previous continuity, so like it all kind of happened even if it technically didn’t type of thing. I kind of thought Miguel’s powers were energy projections made with his mind, like psionically, but maybe they are literally creating matter or something? I don’t know. I really need to read more New 52 Teen Titans to understand him and his powers.
And that line, “A loaded weapon in the hands of a confused teenager. What could go wrong?”
Wow, Jason, you really went there. Referenced you’re own crazy head-state when you went after Bruce in Under the Hood.
Jason is so self-deprecating, you guys.
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“When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer. “ This is apparently a quote from Die Hard, because of course it is. Jason is literally Jake Peralta from Brooklyn 99 confirmed.
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Ugh, Lobdell’s version of Bruce is just such an asshole!
First of all, Jason hasn’t ‘betrayed him’ not even once, he was emotionally compromised and broke their agreement because he was acting on those feelings. He made a mistake. And Bruce cared more about his rules than Jason’s intentions or feelings or any of the good will they’d fostered in the last year or two. He acts like Jason sold him out or lied to him, when he never did any of those things.
Also, I don’t think saying, “stay out of Gotham and never come back or I’ll throw down and toss you in Arkham” is another chance, okay? It’s not like Jason got anything out of that deal, it was just Bruce not wanting to go through the trouble of hunting him down outside of Gotham because he straight-up knew that he wouldn’t be able to!
That Pretty Woman reference...
The funny thing is, Jason is more like the character who says that line than Bruce is. Bruce, kicking Jason out of the bat-family, is the one who is making the mistake. He could have had an ally, had say in what Jason did, had some limited control over him if he’d just forgiven him or talked to him at all, but because of his pride now he has none of that.
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Now this, this is my shit right here. JASON HAS BRUCE BY THE BALLS. By going public with his identity he’s effectively made himself untouchable by Bruce. He’s got the identity of every Gotham vigilante in his hands, and honestly I really doubt Jason would ever give them up, even out of spite or hatred, he never did before when he could have, (he didn’t tell Hush Bruce’s identity, he just didn’t deny it when Hush figured it out, and we’re not sure if that’s even canon anymore anyway.) but it’s partly Bruce’s own doubt in Jason that is keeping his hands tied! That and the fact that if even one of his kids is outted as a vigilante it really puts the suspicion on him.
But seriously guys. Smart Jason is what Iive for.
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God, Jason calling him dad, but only because he’s ‘playing up the act’ of civilian Jason Todd, has got to hurt Bruce. Assuming Lobdell’s version of Bruce has any actual feelings of affection for Jason, otherwise it probably just grates.
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Lol, okay, so the situation seems to be that Jason dropped in to the Iceburg lounge to pay Penguin a visit. Cobblepot went, “Oh no! That damned Red Hood is here, hide me!” Ran into his panic room and locked it and Jason was just like, “Well, isn’t this convenient,” and made it so he couldn’t get back out.
And then presumably gangster-rules applied and Jason just got all his businesses because he said they were his and no one wanted to argue? I guess? Lobdell doesn’t give satisfying explanations, you guys. This is a testament to that.
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I’m not going to lie though, this is pretty satisfying.
Alright, so I’m really excited for more you guys. This is not a perfect issue, a lot of things are hand waved, Bruce is acting even more out of character than usual, and we still have no dang clue what’s going on with Wingman, but there are definitely things here I like, and i’m looking forward to more.
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sassydefendorflower · 4 years
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Whumptober Day 20: Trembling
Hiya! ^^ Chapter 20 is in the house! And all thanks to you guys!  I am definitely crushing @whumptober2019 and today I even dared to write some de-aged drama!
Fandom: DC, Batman
Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth
Warnings: None
Masterlist
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(Read On AO3)
Jason would very much like to make a public statement: He fucking hated magic. 
He hated being subjected to it, he hated fighting it, and he hated it when it turned his brothers into whiny 16-year-olds. Or one particular brother.
“And now tell me again just how you know The Batman?”
Dick was currently sitting next to Jason in the Batmobile (Just thinking about the fact that he had to take the car made Jason shiver) being the most annoying teenager Jason had ever had the honor of knowing. And fuck, Jason met his fair share of asshole teenagers. Before and after his death. And he met himself.
This evening had started relatively normal with Dick joining him on patrol so he could annoy Jason into coming to family dinner on Sunday when the peaceful (Gotham peaceful, mind you) night got disturbed by a young magic user. A few blows later and suddenly Dick had screamed and Asshole!Dick had appeared. 
And now Jason had no idea how to explain this or in how much detail to explain this situation to the more inexperienced hero. 
“As I said, I am a… friend of sorts of Batman”
What was he supposed to say? That he was the disgraced younger brother who died, came back, and managed to fight with Bruce at least once a week. That he only recently started talking to Dick and the Brats in any form of regularity again. That he'd killed people and didn’t even feel sorry about it. Yeah, big No to that.
“But you have guns. Batman hates guns”
As if Jason didn’t know that.
“I am aware, yes.”
“But then how-”
“Can you shut up for one second. Please.”
They both knew he wasn’t really asking. But Dick’s constant whining was grating on his nerves and Jason had promised Oracle updates as soon as they neared the Batcave. He opened up his comm unit:
“Hey, O. Me and Tiny D will be arriving in the Cave in approximately 5 minutes. Is everything ready?”
“Zatanna has been contacted, but she is currently on a mission and might only return tomorrow afternoon. B had been informed as well. Him and the others are at the Cave”
“Well, Fuck. This isn’t going to be pretty”
“Why?”
“‘Cause Tiny D already hates me and when he sees the Brat he is going to completely lose it”
“Oh. I’ll warn them”
He sure hoped she did. Having this Dick meet Damian would only end in disaster. And then they would have no choice but to explain how much the times had changed. Jason knew for a fact that figuring out just how shitty the future was tended to fuck people up.
“Who is O? Why am I gonna ‘loose it’ if I see a brat? And why does Gotham look so different?”
Jason stared at the boy next to him. And then, while holding eye contact, he flipped a switch to tint the windows in both directions.
“What are you? Five? You ask questions like some kid that wants to know where babies come from.”
If Jason had hoped that Dick would be embarrassed by something like this, he would be horribly disappointed. Dick just flipped him off:
“Sorry for having natural curiosity, Asshole”
Suddenly Jason felt a deep connection with every person who had to deal with him during his teenage years. He was almost happy to have been dead for most of them. Almost.
But before Jason could start brawling with the teenager for real, they arrived in the Batcave. Only Alfred and Batman were waiting for them. Thank god.
Mostly. Because Bruce gaze narrowed down on Jason as soon as he left the car. 
“What happened? Oracle was painfully vage over the comms.”
“First of all, I want to disclose that it was not my fault. Second of all, say hello to the teenage version of our Golden Boy!”
If Jason was a lesser person he would take immense joy in the blanched look on Bruce’s face. Oh, who was he kidding. It was gold! He would totally ask O for pictures later. 
Only then did he realize that Dickie hadn’t reacted much to the Batman standing in front of them. Instead an almost similar look of shock colored Dick’s cheeks. And yet it was still the teenager who recovered first:
“You look older. So whatever this lunatic said is true? I am in the future?”
Now Batman was looking at him again. Hey, what was he supposed to do? Tell Dick that he got magic blasted into his teenage body and mind? Yeah, no thank you. Bruce seemed to read just that in the scope of his shoulders when he shrugged. 
“Richard. Yes, we… I can explain but first…”
“Master Dick, let’s get you out of these clothes and into the Manor for some tea and biscuits. It doesn’t become you all to just stand around like lost puppies.”
Jason had so many questions. First: The panicked tone of voice from Bruce and the fact that he called Dick Richard. Second: Dick’s lacking reaction to anything Bruce said. Third: The relieved smile on Dick’s face when Alfred intervened and send him away. Maybe Jason was the one who ended up in the wrong timeline.
Dick vanished into the locker room, Alfred following him to prepare some clothes. As if in slow motion Jason turned around to stare at Bruce:
“What the ever loving fuck was that?”
“Dick and I, we had a… complicated relationship long before you came along. We started fighting when he was 15 or 16 and never really stopped until Tim happened and he made an effort”
“That’s bullshit. He’s the Golden Boy. You talked about him all the time when I was Robin. Fuck, I prayed at night sometimes to be more like him, so you’d like me more. Don’t you tell me, you two were just as fucked up as the rest of us”
Bruce looked at him with shock evident in his face. Hell, Jason was surprised by this outbreak of feelings and secrets. Had he also been affected by the magic? Hopefully not. He would rather not deal with his feelings. Or anyones for that matter.
“Of course I loved him. It just became harder and harder to tell him. Or show him. And-”
“And it was your fucking job to show him, you're the parent, so stop making excuses”
With that Jason left. Left, to go upstairs. Luckily his costume was easy to modify into ‘up-stairs appropriate clothing’, so he didn’t have to change. He might already be exhausted by all these emotions going around but leaving Dick alone with emotionally constipated Bruce seemed also wrong.
Damian was waiting on the other side of the Cave entrance, a complicated look on his face. Jason was too tired for this shit.
“What do you want, Brat?”
“ -tt-, is Grayson really a younger version of himself?”
“Oh, you went snooping… Yeah, he is. And now go plan a murder or whatever. He doesn’t need to see your mug right now. He’s fucked up enough at it is”
“Screw you, Todd!”
With one one last deadly glare in Jason’s direction, Damian sprinted out of the room. Was he a little harsh? Maybe, but it was 3 am and nobody in this fucking family was asleep. It wasn’t Jason’s fault that all of them were fucking freaks.
On his way to the kitchen Alfred met him in the hallway, a tray of hot drinks and snacks balanced on one hand. The man took a look at Jason before motioning for him to follow him to the sitting room:
“A more - dare I say - neutral party might relax the situation between Master Dick and Master Bruce at least for a short-time. I assume you are up for the job, Master Jason?”
Before Jason could answer, a frighteningly alien voice spoke up:
“Master Jason? If he’s only a friend of B’s why do you call him that, Alfie?”
Dick sounded so much younger than the 16-years he currently was. Jason suppressed a shiver. The innocence in his big brother's voice freaked him out for some reason, but no idea why. 
Next to him Alfred sighed. It was the sigh of a man, who had grown far too old, who had seen too many things and done too many deeds. It was the sigh of the man Jason had grown up with. 
“You see, Master Dick, the future is at large a complicated thing. Nothing stays the same or changes without reason. Master Jason is an addition to this household we cherish, just as we cherish your presence here. And now sit down and drink some tea before it grows cold. You too, Master Jason”
And Jason did follow Alfred’s instructions. It surprised him again and again how much Alfred cared for them - and how much he was able to control them all. Dick had also sat down, only barely avoiding Alfred’s stern gaze. The boy wore Tim’s clothes, which for the first time ever looked big on someone. Then again Tim was older than teenage Dick currently was, and Dick hit his last growth spurt with 18, if the stories were to belief. It looked ridiculous, nevertheless. 
They sipped tea in silence for a bit before Dick managed to gather his wits:
“Is Bruce still like that? Like, he couldn’t even look me in the eyes… do you think he’s still mad that I crashed the Batmobile?”
Jason couldn’t stop himself from laughing. It was a hilarious mental image of Dick Grayson standing in the ruins of Bruce’s favorite car, scratching the back of his head cluelessly. The Dick in front of him didn’t take his amusement quite so good-natured, however:
“Whatever. Shut up.”
“Is that the way you talk to people in this household now, Richard?”
Bruce had appeared behind them and in typical Bat-fashion both of them hadn’t realized that he was there. They almost jumped out of their seats. It took a moment for Jason to process the words that left Bruce’s mouth. Why did the man suddenly revert back to his old methods? They hadn’t worked the first time either, evidently.
“Pff, Jason said Fuck like ten times already and you never once said anything. So, you can either shut up too or tell me what the hell is going on!”
Teenage Dick was livid, apparently. And shit, Jason could understand him. That, and this whole situation was just immensely entertaining. It felt like watching a thriller when Bruce’s lips thinned out and his eyes bored themselves into Dick’s. But Jason was in for a surprise: Bruce softened his voice and his gaze.
“You are right, Ri- Dick. I treated you unfairly just now and I’m falling back into bad habits. And you deserve better than that. If you just sit down, I will explain everything to you, okay?”
Dick seemed shocked. It was the look of a fish out of water. Jason could see the clenched fists, the trembling motion in his shoulders, and he knew that Dick was out for confrontation. And the lack of it had completely thrown him.
“It’s alright, Dickie. This isn’t our first rodeo and it’s certainly not yours either. Just sit down and everything’s gonna be alright”
Who would have thought that the job of deescalating would one day fall on Jason? He certainly not.
Bruce send him a relieved look and now Jason was sure that he had somehow landed in an alternative universe. God, someone get Zatanna already, Jason didn’t want to deal with this anymore as entertaining as it was.
Once everyone was seated again, Bruce addressed the elephant in the room:
“You have not so much traveled forward in time, Dick, as you mentally - and physically - traveled backwards. It is the year 2017 and you are a 26-year old vigilante. But a spell turned your mind and body in that of 16-year old you and we are trying to fix that. Okay?”
Well, it had to be okay because in that moment the compartment holding the snooping part of the family aka Damian, Tim, and Steph loosened and made all three of them stumble into the room. 
“Oh, isn’t he adorable! He must be the cutest teenager to exist. This is a crime!”
“You dated me when I was his age, so I must have been cute too, right?”
“As if”
“Shut it, Demon Brat”
“I mean… you were cute but not Dick Grayson levels of cute. He is an angel. Just look at him!”
“-tt-, get your dirty hands of Grayson, Fatgirl. Don’t taint him like that!”
“Hey! She has a name, Gremlin!”
“She can defend herself!”
Right about now Jason would gladly take a bullet to the head. And by the looks of it Dick would happily accept one, too. His little-big brother had grown paler with each yelled and overlapping sentence. His fist was tightly griping the armrest, knuckles white and pronounced. 
Fuck. This was a situation ready to blow. And before either Jason or Bruce could do anything to defuse it, Dick exploded:
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? What the hell is going on! I don’t know any of you! SO SHUT UP! AND YOU TOO, BRUCE! THIS FAMILY IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”
It didn’t help that Tim had to stifle a laugh at that last line. Dick would have probably stormed off anyways but now he made sure to bump into Tim on his way out. It was childish and petty and Jason was utterly delighted to see his big brother partake in something like that.
Silence fell over the room after Dick had left. It was the really uncomfortable kind of silence, the one that made you want to dig yourself a hole to hide in. Jason was about ready to leave, when Bruce caught his eyes across the room. Ah, fuck. That was why Jason didn’t like being the responsible one. You did it once and suddenly everyone thought you would do it again.
“Where is he off to?”
The relief in Bruce’s face and voice when Jason made his offer should not make him that happy. Jason really hated feelings.
“The roof. At least I hope so, because his old room is now Tim’s”
Yeah, Jason did too. This evening didn’t need a case of vandalism to round it up. With a sigh Jason chased after Dick.
He did indeed find his small-big brother on the roof. Crying. It was wrong to see the big guy break down like that. Dick was the one who comforted them when they were down. Dick was the one who righted their wrongs.
And now it was time for Jason to do the same.
“Hey”
“Fuck off”
Okay, maybe Jason had to think of a better strategy to get the grumpy teenager to talk. Maybe it was time for a bit of honesty. Disgusting.
“You know… Valid. I would have told Bruce the same when he’d come to me after a fight. And we fought soooo much. We still do. Constantly. You even make fun of us for it. Older you, I mean. And I’m not gonna lie, it sucks being constantly on the out with some part of the family, but it’s manageable. And sometimes you just gotta rage. Just don’t kill anyone and you're good”
Jason grinned. Or at least smiled. Dick didn’t need to know the really fucked up part of their history. 
“Family?”
“Yeah, the Batclan. Bruce, you, me, the little Demon Brat, Tim - the idiot -, Cass and Duke, who were intelligent enough to stay in their rooms, Steph, who doesn’t even live here, Barbara… the whole Batclan.”
“I don’t have a family.”
It hurt more than Jason wanted to admit to hear those words uttered by the one person who had made them all a family. 
“Why do you say that?”
“Because… B isn’t my dad. My dad is dead. And even if I try to be enough that maybe Bruce starts thinking of me as his kid, I always screw up. Nothing I do is enough. I try to be good at school but I hate it there. Most of the kids are assholes, the teachers think I’m dumb even when I write straight A’s and I get in fights anyway. And when I try to be Robin Batman hates me even more… it always ends with him lecturing me, benching me, telling me to be better. But what if I’m already the best I can be? What if Dick Grayson just isn’t enough?”
Jason had to swallow tears. Some part of him knew that Dick had never told anyone what he just told him. Because when Dick felt like this the first time round, nobody had taken a seat next to him and listened. 
“I know this sounds like fucking nothing to you, but Future Dick is enough. Future Dick is the standard people live up to. Future Dick is a damn good hero”
“Then why did he replace me?”
The shock had to be visible on Jason’s face because Dick’s dry chuckle sounded sardonic.
“I’m not dumb. I knew something was fishy. I took a backdoor into the Batcomputer from the small phone I stole from you”
Dick held indeed Jason’s phone in his hands. That little fucker. Jason was impressed.
“And you came after me. You're the next Robin. From my point of view in only three months. And then you die? And come back? And Timothy comes and Cassandra and Stephanie and Damian and… and I am the faulty first try. I am the one who got into fistfights with Bruce. I am the one who got suspended from school so often they threatened to expel me. Only Bruce’s fucking check book saved me.”
The tears had stopped earlier when they talked but now they were back with full force. Dick’s whole body was trembling from the force of his sobs and the chilling wind in the middle of a November night. Jason was just happy that it didn’t rain.
“I am… the one… Alfred can’t… look in the eyes… anymore… I’m the one… who's… who's so angry… all the time… why am I always angry?”
It was hard to understand him, too many tears, too many sobs interrupting his story, but it was one Jason knew all to well. It was the story of a lost teenager in a world made of violence with no way out. It was in some ways his story too.
(And Jason didn’t want to know how his relationship with Bruce would have ended if he had never died, if he would be like Goldie, Bruce’s second hand while constantly despising him)
Jason scooted closer to Dick, making every movement obvious. When he was close enough, he did something he never thought he would do out of his own free will: He rapped Dick in a hug. Jason knew that he was built for hugs, but pressing the smaller body of his brother against his, it looked as if he had swallowed the boy up. If it weren’t for the tremble Jason could still feel against his chest.
“It’s okay. We are all angry. That’s in the job description. And it sucks. And we fuck shit up constantly because of it. But that’s not just on you. Especially not now. Right now you are a kid. And, fuck it, it isn’t a kids job to iron out the faults of our elders. But Robin never understood that. None of us did. None of us do. Just… just remember that you are not alone, okay?”
He could feel Dick nod. It was a weird feeling but maybe Jason finally understood why Dick was always chasing hugs. It made you feel good - and helpful. Because Jason couldn’t help the Dick from ten years ago, and he certainly couldn’t help him turn back, but he could give this version of his brother, that existed only in this instance of time, a hug and maybe make everything a tiny bit better. 
God, when had he gotten this mushy? 
“Good, now let’s get back inside. Maybe Alfred is gracious enough to sneak us a hot chocolate. And tomorrow Zatanna takes a look at you and everything will turn out alright”
Another nod. The trembling had lessened. 
“And give me my phone back, you little shit”
That made Dick laugh. Mission accomplished.
“I mean it. Give it back!”
13 notes · View notes
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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East of Eden
Jason Todd & Daughter! Teenager! Reader
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A/n: This was an idea that popped into my head because of that song by Steam Powered Giraffe lmao. Kinda of weird, but I promise it makes sense later. Special thanks to @vermelian @stormyfandoms and @loudmouthwally for helping me out!
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Part One [Here] / Part Two  / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven [Final]
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Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Drama, Action, Fluff Rated: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood and Gore, Swearing, Graphic Depictions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Graphic Injuries, just read with caution please
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Author: Teen-Titans-Imagines
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The air was damp around you, holding the sweetening stench of something rotting, yet had the irony twinge of blood. There was no light except for the one above you, which blinded your eyes from everything else. Where were you?
Your hands and feet were immobile, chained to the metal chair that you sat in. Whoever had captured you wasn't going to play around with you. They meant business. But who was the person to capture you?
There was a pounding in your head, the memories of the attack fuzzy. If your memory served you correctly: you were just leaving a school friends house, the night very young, when you were attacked by multiple people.
Being who you were, you were able to detain some of them by knocking them flat out, but it wasn't enough. Your physical make-up was not strong enough to resist the tranquilizer they had shot in you.
So now you were here, chained to a chair, and pretty sure that you had a gash on either your forehead or temple.
"You're finally awake."
"When I get out of these chains, you'll be sorry you ever crossed my path!"
Even if you were detained physically, your fiery spirit would never be put out. The voice then matched a face, the man stepping from the shadows. His eyes were haughty as they looked down at you, amused even.
"That is if you were to get out of those chains. You're just another pawn to the chess board, girl. You won't be leaving this place alive, no matter how hard you try."
"Then my dad will make you sorry. He'll make you choke on your own blood, he'll hang you by your entrails, he's gonna come here and kick your ass!"
The man laughed. He snapped at you, that amused grin on his face.
"I have no reason to fear a dead man walking, Ms. Todd."
You growled before snapping.
"I hope my father makes you suffer."
The man grinned, lighting up a cigarette and taking a big puff.
"Oh, I'm sure he would if he caught me. Until then, I'm gonna have fun making you eat your words."
You tensed, not liking where this was going. However, despite the man clearly having the advantage, you just snarled as he set up a camera.
"Do your worst. I have no fear for dead men walking."
The man was amused at your mockery, but as he turned on the camera, the man declared ominously.
"I'm going to have fun destroying every little inch of your daughter's physical and mental states, Jason Todd. Let this be your lesson to never cross Black Mask again."
Black Mask advanced still, brandishing some brass knuckles before saying to you in mock comfort.
"This will only hurt a bit."
His fist curled back, swinging it down against your cheek.
-WITH THE BATFAM-
The batcave was going crazy. Fiery eyes were lit up with an intent to kill, maim, and destroy the man who dared put his hands on his child. Arms were wrapped around his torso and arms, preventing him from going anywhere, forcing him to watch. 
“What the fuck are we doing?! We have to go save her!” 
The big man of them all turned to the fretting man, his blue eyes grim. 
“We don’t even know where they are, Jason. We need a plan.”
“I have a plan, Bruce. It’s kill Black Mask and get my baby back.”
Bruce gave a stern look to Jason, asserting to the antihero. 
“Jason, you know the rules. We don’t kill, no matter how much they might deserve it.” 
Jason screamed at Bruce, struggling against Dick’s hold. 
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Bruce?! (Y/n) is getting the shit kicked out of her, and you don’t even care?!” 
“I never said that-” 
“You damn well imply it! Get off of me, Dick!” 
Dick stayed quiet, his eyes trained on the screen. Black Mask had made (Y/n)’s face...just red. Red with blood and cuts. Her one eye had begun to swell shut, and she was starting to cry out in pain every single time he landed a punch on her. 
“Bruce...I think I agree with Jason this time. You do remember the last time this happened and we waited, right?”
The unspoken ‘It was Jason that died that time’ hung in the air, and Jason snapped out. 
“i know you don’t give two shits about me, but don’t make me lose my baby girl because of your fucking image. I already lost one girl I cared about. I’m not going to let you take another away from me.”  
Bruce bit his lip. What could he say to that? Tim and Damian stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. They both knew of what had happened to Jason, but looking at their niece being beaten so mercilessly as she was, they couldn’t help but agree with Jason. 
(Y/n) needed to be found, and fast. Black Mask was going to pay dearly, if not with his life. If the others wouldn’t make sure of that, then Damian was definitely sure that he would. Tim spoke up.
“We got work to do, guys.”
-WITH READER-
The pain was the only thing you could really feel. Punch after punch, taunt after taunt, it just seemed to never end. 
“You’ve gotten quiet. You finally realizing that Daddy Dearest isn’t coming to save you?”
You growled and glared at the man, snarling out. 
“I...still have..my faith.” 
Black Mask grinned.
“You know, your determination to keep believing is quite admirable, if not amusing. Holding onto just that one little thread of hope, just hoping that your father will come and save you from your imminent death. It’s cute.” 
You muttered. 
“You want cute-”
You spat blood and saliva in his face, leaning back afterwards. 
“-how’s that for cute, jackass?”
He growled and backhanded you, your face snapping to the side, a grunt leaving your lips as more blood rushed from your nose and busted lips.
“Insolent girl!” 
-WITH THE BATFAM-
Jason was growling lowly from deep within his chest as he watched. While he was proud that you were staying fiery and strong, he was murderous, and ready to take down Black Mask. Jason watched you grin at the man, taunting him. 
“What’s the matter? You getting angry that you can’t get me to shut my mouth? Don’t worry. I piss a lot of people off doing that. It’s my specialty.” 
Dick chuckled a bit, shaking his head as he continued to type and try to get a go at your location, Tim doing the same. Jason looked over at Dick and asked. 
“What?”
“(Y/n) definitely has your spirit. Don’t worry, Jason. She’s going to be OK. With an attitude like that, I don’t think (Y/n) will allow herself to die at the hands of someone like Black Mask.” 
Jason muttered to himself, turning away when Black Mask landed a particularly good punch to your jaw.
“At this point, I don’t even know if she has a choice in the matter anymore.” 
The rest of the family could see that the punch had made you dazed, your eyes losing focus and your head rolling slightly. Black Mask turned to the camera, addressing Jason, making the Red Hood turn to the screen and snarl. 
“You know, Jason. They say you died by Joker beating you to death with a crowbar. I doner if that’s true. In truth, it’s kind of inspiring to me.” 
Jason widned his eyes, the memories of Joker and his death flying through his head. Jason found himself screaming at the screen, Dick holding him back from shooting at it as they all watched Black Mask brandish a crowbar. (Y/n) was watching warily from her seat, and Black Mask laughed. 
“But I’m not going to finish her off just yet. No, this will be the finale-” 
He waved the crowbar in front of the camera.
“-For now, you boys just sit back and relax and enjoy the show.” 
-TIMESKIP-READERS POV-
You were dizzy. Black Mask had dealt you so many wounds; cuts and bruises lining your body, a gunshot wound in your shoulder, and cigarette burn marks lined your neck, one even on your face. You were weak from bloodloss, your dark grey T-Shirt ripped and looking black, damp with your blood.
Your head had fallen back at some point, your body slouching in the chair, looking broken and pathetic. Your breathing was shallow, and Black Mask was amused, twirling a lock of your hair before letting it fall in front of your swollen eyes.
“You look just like your father did. Bloody, bruised, and broken. So pathetic. I thought you had more in you, (Y/n). I’m disappointed.”
Yes, broken. After the multiple stab wounds he dealt you, the multiple cuts and burns and punches, the gunshot, you finally broke. You pleaded, begged, cried for him to stop, to give you a break, to let you live; burning your dignity and pride along the way. Tears ran down your face, the salt in your tears stinging when they touched the wounds on your face. Yes, you were sure you truly did look pathetic.
Black Mask was triumphant in the fact you had been broken and he didn’t stop. The knife in his hands never stopped trailing your skin, scarring you physically and mentally. 
You wanted to die. Your dad wasn’t coming, and he wasn’t going to save you like the fairytales always said the hero would. Did your dad really care?
“You dad isn’t coming, (Y/n). He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t love you. If he did, you would be out of this place by now, wouldn’t you?”
He looked down at you as you looked back up at him, a dead and blank look in your eyes. He smiled wickedly at you before pulling away, taking both your feet and removing the chains from them. Taking your hands, he undid the chains and grabbed a hanging hook, taking the chains and suspending them before tying you back up with the linked metal.. 
You gave a cry when he suspended you, your wounds burning with the movements, and he turned to the camera, holding his hands out, the crowbar in one. 
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The finale!” 
Black Mask got close to the camera, his sinister eyes twinkling, before backing and suddenly landing a very harsh hit to your ribs, a resounding crack echoing throughout the room. You gave a loud scream, tensing up and pulling yourself up a bit, face twisting in pain as your chest erupted with a fiery sensation all over. 
“Just one hit in and I already cracked a rib? Ha! You’re so weak!”
He landed another hit, this time to your thigh, and you struggled, screaming out. Where was your dad? Why wasn’t he saving you? Why didn’t he care? Hit after hit, and slowly your body became numb. You were losing consciousness, that much you knew. Most likely, you were going to die tonight. No, you were going to die tonight.
After about three more hits, Black Mask wiped faux sweat from his forehead and then hit a button, releasing you from the hook. When you hit the floor, you gave a pained wheezed, curling in on yourself slightly. The malevolent man turned to the camera, saying to it. 
“Say goodbye to your little princess, Jason Todd.”
“I think the fuck not, you bastard!”
‘That voice...I know that voice.’
“You’re going to regret ever touching my granddaughter.”
‘...Bruce?...Dad?’
You were too weak to open your eyes and look, but the noises of gunshots and battle made your dying heart hopeful. Was it real? Were you actually going to be saved? 
“Jason, get (Y/n)! I’ll take care of Black Mask!”
“No! His fucking ass is mine!”
“Jason, she needs you more than ever right now. Go!”
There was a moment of hesitation, a moment of quiet, before you felt the sensation of a hand on your arm, pulling you back to make you lie on your back. 
“Babygirl, please, please open your eyes. Look at me, baby. You’re going to be OK.” 
You couldn’t open your eyes, your eyes swollen shut, but when you heard his voice, you gave a small cry, relieved to know it actually was your father.
“Oh, thank god. This is going to hurt, and I’m sorry, but I’m going to pick you up and we’re going to take you to the hospital, OK baby?”
When your father picked you up, you tried to protest, but all that came out was a gargled breath, your head falling back, the blood in your throat falling out. 
“Hold on, baby. Don’t...please don’t leave me...”
---
[PART TWO]
191 notes · View notes
ambiengrey · 6 years
Text
Loitering Ch 4
Summarized for your convenience: summary.
<-previous
the need to know
“Real courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”
― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
The ever-increasingly cold breeze nipped at the sides of his face, combed his fringe back from his forehead – a blur of white tipped black in and out of his peripheral like a phantom, a spectre only there when he wasn’t looking – as he marched up the driveway; fists clenched at his sides, steps determined and unfaltering.
By the time he’d reached the ornate gates and pushed them aside, he’d stopped thinking up excuses with which to explain his presence to whoever opened the door.
Not for the first time either, did he find the ease with which the gates parted for him suspicious, and in the same vein he shoved the thought aside, again; no desire to dig too deeply into what that might suggest.
Just as before.
And before…
Only one purpose stuck at the forefront of his mind as he trudged up the way, eyes focused on the looming wooden doors of the manor – imposing and impressive.
For the first time it occurred to him that, he’d never been as in awe of the manor as he might have been – by the time he saw the outside of it, glittering windows in the sparse Gotham sunlight, big brown doors, balconies and dense, flowering shrubs, sprouting creepy crawlies like veins up the walls, he’d already spent a night inside.
He’d never glimpsed the splendour from afar and paused, gaping up at its grey stone walls, stunned to silence by its majesty. Not only for the look of it, either, but for the legacy it carried.
Jason could actually respect the latter. Could understand the origin of the daunting weight settling on his shoulders whenever he approached the estate and had to look up to see the high rooftop, the castle-like cornices adorning the manor like a crown.
He had to wonder if he was the only one under the invisible pressure – as the lowest, most unforgivable, treacherous, wayward son, adopted though he’d been, of Wayne there was?
Were a million Wayne-eyes, ghostly apparitions in the windows, trained on him whenever he sauntered down the driveway – piercing gazes narrowed; judging, disapproving of him, and wishing him away by sheer force of will?
Perhaps that was why he loitered, rebellious by nature – a nature not of theirs – to taunt them back? To shuck off the heavy weight of their gazes and drop it at their own doorstep, only to stay defiant in their sights as long as he could manage rather than skip away, lighter than before, or enter, even, into their midst, free of their scorn – but – where they could not see him anymore…?
What was a rebellion worth when no one was looking?
That was only a rambunctious child playing pretend by himself.
Jason was no longer a child.
He did not come to be defiant, either, though.
Not this time.
It was his own fault he was so out of the loop.
He’d spent the last few weeks in a safe-house, perfectly determined not to set foot outside, where the world was steadily turning shades of molten gold and yellow ochre, deep dark brown, burnt umber and bright orange tinged red against a backdrop of dreary forever-grey.
Only when he could finally hold it no longer – a desperate, burning desire to know a fire kindled in his belly – and it was plain they were never going to find him, he was too well-hidden – and they, perchance, too busy to try – did he at last leave the safety of his nest, determined in his task.
He had to know.
He had to know.
If they’d been too late.
If they’d been at all.
If all his effort had been in vain.
He could feel the hope inside, wishing it hadn’t been for nothing, though he had no courage to voice it or even properly think it.
Jason couldn’t dare to hope.
Not when it involved him.
There had been no hope for Jason himself, after all – in a warehouse, a gazillion miles from home, bruised, broken and bloodied. Betrayed.
…A lot of b’s going on.
—Shit.
When had it become a joke?
Dammit.
That had been the entire point though, hadn’t it? To be funny.
Hopelessly funny.
Why would this time be any different?
Why would there be any hope for the Repla—
—but.
Hell.
He didn’t want to think like that, either.
Best to just not think at all.
Better simply to act.
He was good at that. Impulsive, sure – on occasion, he wouldn’t deny. But, more often than not he liked to consider himself a bit of a strategist.
He liked to plan it out. Assess the situation.
Contemplate every possible route.
Weigh one outcome against another. Evaluate the consequences.
Pick a path.
It only ever seemed impulsive, to everyone else.
Except when it actually was.
Maybe this had been, just a little.
Because shit. He was thinking about it now – wavering.
He stopped abruptly, hand raised inches from the door, frozen more than halfway through a motion that would have undoubtedly caused a hollow echo reverberating through the halls inside.
He very suddenly found it hard to breathe – consequences flitting through his mind, a sickening fear spreading its fingers through the fiery want to know, oddly unafraid of the flames, seeming instead immune and intent on smothering them.
What the hell was he doing?
Almost thankfully, he was spared having to answer that thought, when the door to his right – not the one beyond his raised left fist – swung unexpectedly open.
For shit’s sake he actually jumped.
A little, dammit.
Only a little – and why the hell not? He was on edge. Even fricking Nightwing would’ve pissed his panties. Probably.
“Barbie,” he very nearly croaked, his throat was so dry.
Not that she was any kind of Barbie-doll – in the sense of long-legged and tanned (though she had been that before, still kind of was), platinum blonde and baby blue-eyed with a red-lipped smile and a freaky fashion fetish for all things neon pink.
The nickname just kind of fell off his lips, habit now more than anything else because he knew it annoyed her – or maybe it was just the way he always said it – plainly spiteful and obnoxious – because at present, she didn’t have her eyes narrowed at him, no twitch at the corner of her – sometimes red, actually – lips in response to his address, which had been decidedly devoid of the usual tone.
Part of him was a little too surprised to see her, because he actually hadn’t – not like this – since his return from the literal grave.
In hindsight he should probably have expected her presence though – she shared in Dick’s sentiments that they were all somehow family in some form or another, though she’d never been considered a sister. You don’t lock lips with your sisters, after all (—Dick).
The pointedly-being-ignored bubble of hope in Jason’s chest swelled a little at Barbara’s presence, naively thinking if she were here then probably his replacement was, too, and they had found the idiot, after all.
It was a fleeting feeling, however, because Jason noticed almost at once the swell around Barbara’s – blue, in fact, and bespectacled – eyes, one part sleep-deprivation, one part resultant of too many tears, made doubly obvious by the red rims around those blue orbs, and little scarlet veins adding to the evidence of exhaustion as they criss-crossed their way through the white.
The bubble in his chest seemed fit to burst with strain – of fear and disappointment this time. Had they been too late? Had he been too late?
Was this Barbara mourning another dead Robin…? Had she come over to…comfort Grayson, probably, who would be a blubbering mess after losing another brother – and Alfred (oh, Alfred), and…and Bruce.
Did his little—
Did his replacement have a glass case with a tattered uniform to match his own?
What did his plaque say?
A Good Robin.
Another Good Son.
Jason bristled, and then felt a little ashamed for it.
If Tim was dead – and it took every ounce of his being to not just assume the worst based on Barbara’s eyes alone – well, then…
Shit.
And being jealous would be petty.
“Jason,” she said, and Barbara’s tone was a practised calm. Jason realised she’d sat there for all of ten seconds before she’d spoken.
Sat. There.
Confined to her wheelchair.
Maybe that had been part of his surprise at seeing her, even though he’d known about it. Still.
Talia al’Ghul – Batman’s baby-mommy and Jason’s…whatever the hell she’d been (saviour, mentor, mother-figure, friend, person-thing) – had kept Jason well-appraised of the Bat-family’s fortunes and misfortunes once she’d dipped him in a healing Lazarus Pit that either returned his mind to its former – albeit teenage – glory, or screwed with his sanity – the toss was still up on that one.
It was how Jason first learned of his replacement. And of the new, suspiciously quiet Batgirl that resembled her mentor so much it was stomach-curdling – to anyone she crossed paths with anyway.
And, of course, of the Joker and his still-beating black heart, still-breathing lungs, even though he’d murdered Batman’s Robin – and then some.
There hadn’t been any vengeance for Barbara either, though, granted, she hadn’t died like he had.
Still, Joker’s bullet could very well have done more than to paralyse her. Jason had idly wondered at some point, if she had died as well, would Batman have been driven to revenge after all? At the loss of a second partner?
Would Commissioner Gordon have avenged his daughter if the Bat would not?
His daughter who also just happened to be Batgirl.
Would they have done it together – for his daughter, and for his long-dead son?
Would Babs have come back from the dead, too?
…Babs.
Dickiebird called her that.
He might have lost it, Jason mused, if Joker had killed the always-assumed love of his life.
It would have broken him, afterward. Jason knew that much. Knew about Dick’s reaction to the thought of Joker hurting Tim, and knew about his reaction to him hurting the Joker to the point he was basically dead – if only briefly.
Dickiebird wouldn’t survive another loss of control like that. He’d be drowning in misplaced – because there’d be nothing guilty behind that madman getting what he deserves – guilt.
And dammit.
If Timmy was dead, Jason was doing it himself.
If Timmy was dead…Jason’s eyes very fleetingly flickered to the second floor windows, as if he could see Dick standing there. In the middle of his room, fists clenched, lips twisted, teeth grit in a snarl – the picture of hopeless frustration, bound by the Bat’s cruel, unfair sense of morality ingrained in the marrow of his bones.
Don’t fret so much, Dickie. I’ll make sure at least one Robin gets the justice we all deserve.
“I assume you’re here to see Tim.”
“No,” he answered at once, Barbara’s voice snapping his gaze back to her and his thoughts from its morbid revenge-takings.
Her eyes did narrow at him then, lips thinning as she regarded him, and Jason cringed inwardly at the quickness of his answer.
“No,” he repeated more slowly, more calmly. “I was just—” but no, he had no more excuses, but no desire to actually explain his presence either. “I don’t want to see him,” he settled on instead, firmly, because it was the truth.
He only wanted to know. He had no desire to see.
“Wait,” he started, only just realising what he was saying – what she was saying. “Ti—the replacement is…here?”
Barbara leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping at an armrest. She nodded slowly, after a second, ducked her head, “Yes.”
There was very little relief in her tone. It sounded more ominous than anything else.
“And, he’s…”
“Alive,” she supplied, which told him absolutely nothing.
Nothing good, at least.
Their once more littlest bird was not okay.
Jason’s bubble of hope had disintegrated entirely.
“I…” he started into the silence. Kid wasn’t dead, at least, but he wasn’t alright either. Jason didn’t need to know more than that. He certainly didn’t want a catalogue of the little bird’s injuries – physical, mental, emotional, and/or whatever shit else there was.
He was not okay. That was enough.
Apparently, there was vengeance to be had, after all.
“Got to—” he was going to finish that sentence with ‘go,’ and then leave very determinedly, but—
“Sorry, I’m ready now, we can—holy crap, you’re Jason Todd.”
“No kidding,” he replied, eyes narrowing, fingers twitching with irritation.
Stephanie Brown was – more the Barbie-doll personified than Barbara – an ex-Robin, too. Cut from the same cloth of abundant “recklessness” as Jason himself, apparently. It got her fired before it got her killed, and then she died, anyway – only she didn’t – and now she was Batgirl, which…the Dark Knight either had no say about, or didn’t actually mind, after all.
Truth be told, Jason should admire her tenacity or something, but at the moment all he could manage was annoyance.
Stephanie was Tim’s ex-girlfriend – and apparently he had Dick’s same penchant for staying friends with exes – and he was upstairs, somehow not okay, and she was down here smiling.
There was a bounce in her step as she appeared behind Barbara’s wheelchair, a lightness to her tone, a pleasant curve to her lips and a happy glint in her – completely different form Barbara’s – blue eyes (even if they were also obviously freshly dried of tears).
It grated at Jason’s skin.
Jason couldn’t imagine even Dickie – who was more often than not considered the sole definition of happiness, for shit’s sakes – smiling while their little—
Dammit.
His. His – as in Dick’s – little brother was somewhere upstairs, not okay.
“Wow, that’s one intense bat-glare,” she remarked suddenly, blinking at Jason before she leaned a little towards Barbara, “Or is that just his normal expression…?”
The corner of Barbara’s lips quirked up into a little smirk, briefly, but she didn’t reply. Stephanie didn’t seem to actually want an answer anyway, though Jason didn’t give her chance to—
“Don’t compare me to him,” he snapped, and then felt stupid, because it sounded childish.
The girls didn’t reply. Instead, Stephanie said, “I assume you’re here to see Tim, and Bruce.”
Barbara shifted in her seat.
“No,” Jason scathed, harsher than he would have if she hadn’t mentioned Bruce.
Stephanie frowned and pursed her lips like she disapproved of that about as much as Jason had of her smile.
“Well, you—”
“—should,” came, quietly, with the swing of the left-sided – from where Jason stood – door, enough to reveal a short, half-Asian girl, dark hair pulled back, her eyes dark brown and peering up at him as she curled around the door, a tattered-looking book Jason couldn’t see the cover of clutched to her chest.
Damn, Replacement – apparently Dick really was rubbing off on the kid – who else was going to jump out of the woodwork just to see him?
Huntress? Batwoman? Catwoman? Wonder Girl?
That last one actually seemed likely.
And then, none of them did – as secret identities went, the three Batgirls were the only ones in the know. Jason was only mostly assuming. And yes, he was just going to collectively refer to them as the Batgirls now, for ease of monologuing – though he knew Barbara went by Oracle now and Cassandra, that was her name, had passed on the mantle to Stephanie.
She was stationed mostly in Hong Kong, according to Jason’s intel – no longer Talia, as a side – but Jason had glimpsed her flitting across rooftops, either patrolling or searching for Tim – or both – the past month. Two.
Almost three.
…His stomach twisted just thinking about it, so he stopped.
Cassandra Cain was a weapon, Jason had thought, watching her work, too curious not to, even though he really hadn’t had the time – his lead had already been old by the time he picked up the trail and getting colder by the second. Still, it was him, so it was worth it.
Pretty Bat was lithe and agile enough to rival Dick – flexible in a way few of them truly mastered – and tall, despite her lack of actual height, fierce and commanding enough to rival Bruce – invoking fear with little more than a look.
She went by Black Bat, Jason had heard, which, he’d thought, was only a little redundant since bats were already black – or so went the general assumption, anyway, but who was he to criticize, really? He went by the colour of his hood. Not technically, but if you didn’t know the history there you wouldn’t think anything else.
“You…want to.”
It took him a moment to realise what she’d said.
His arm had come down from the door at some point he didn’t remember, and he clenched his fists at his sides now, so tight the leather of his gloves squeaked with the strain.
“Like hell I do!” he snapped, glaring daggers at her.
She didn’t even flinch.
“Hey, no need to be such an a—”
But Barbara’s hand came up, almost lazily, and Stephanie cut herself off, just as Jason turned his glare back on her.
“Let’s just go, Steph,” Barbara said, tone dry. “Jason’s a big boy. He knows what he’s doing. And I’m late, besides.”
She regarded him over the rim of her glasses, and Stephanie didn’t hide her scowl either, grabbing hold of the wheelchair’s handles. Cassandra made no move to help, and Barbara’s fingers curled securely round the armrests as Stephanie made to wheel her right down the porch’s steps.
She only made it so far as the first edge before Jason had come round to the front of Barbie’s perch, fingers reaching for the armrests, only just not touching them as he met Barbara’s gaze, “Let me…”
She didn’t seem surprised in the slightest, though Stephanie had halted the chair a little abruptly. Jason chose to ignore that. Both of that – all of that, really, he needed no remarks on his behaviour. It was the decent thing to do and that was it.
He had no doubt Stephanie and Barbara had probably done this before, or else strong little Cassandra might have jumped in – not that Jason knew enough to assume, but she was a Bat, it seemed to go without saying. Only, he was there and doing nothing, plus Barbara seemed peeved at him, which sucked for some reason, and he didn’t know how else to apologize for whatever the hell he’d done this time.
Gaze unwavering, which only served to make his skin crawl, Barbara released the armrests and brought her hands up, making room for him. Grip sturdy, he gave Stephanie a quick glance before they lifted the wheelchair in tandem, hovering it just enough to move it smoothly over the steps and place it safely down on solid ground again. Jason kept his eyes on his hands, well-aware of Barbara’s on his face.
Leaning a little forward put her face inches from his own, still bent forward as he was, and Barbara’s hands came back down to settle on his wrists, squeezing slightly. He flinched, looking up at her.
Her eyes looked hazy, but serious, through the glass, and her deep red hair framed her face, spilled over her shoulders in waves of fire and blood.
“Thank you,” she said, so low he didn’t think the others could hear, and Jason’s brow furrowed – she couldn’t mean this. “For what you did for Tim.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he replied, just as quiet, if so much more strained, before, jaw firmly set, he made to straighten, intent on forcefully plucking his arms from her grip, but she let him go without protest and he stepped back, trying to remember how to breathe.
Stephanie gave him a pensive look he pointedly ignored, even as Barbara turned her gaze away, started pushing herself in the direction of the car. “Let’s go, Steph, Alfred shouldn’t be long.”
“Right…” and she wandered after Barbara, Jason’s gaze following them both for a moment – he hadn’t even seen the car parked off to the side when he’d approached the manor, too fixated on the doors.
That right there was an excellent display of his night-work skills.
Alfred was probably driving them home, but the car in question was much too expensive to be anyone’s but Bruce Wayne. Jason contemplated how not long Alfred would take and how fast he’d need to walk to get back to the gates and disappear without them passing him, when—
“Wait,” Cassandra spoke, not as quiet as she had before, but still as firm, and Jason, skittish as a cat for crying out loud, felt his shoulders twitch. The shorter girl – by at least half a head – skipped down the steps towards him, holding out her book, pointing one finger at it, “Read. Please.”
Jason snatched it only a little less politely than he could have, still a little irked, and read the title aloud, “Beauty and the—” he cut off, not only recognizing the too-large, slanted and half-crooked letters scribbled with a thick Sharpie, but the roughly bound book with its thick cover and curled pages as well. He knew if he opened the book there’d be a couple pages at the beginning in his own handwriting, the pencilled words probably faded and the paper yellowed with age, the rest neatly typed out on thick white sheets, finishing the story. “…Beast. This is mine,” he finished with a stunned mumble, before he gathered himself enough to demand, “Where the hell did you get this?”
“I’m afraid that was my doing…Jason,” came the reply, even as Jason looked up to glare at Cassandra – who had her head curiously tilted at him, but said nothing. She hadn’t been the one to speak; instead, the culprit stood just over her shoulder – tall and slim, and forever dressed in a neat black and white suit as if he owned absolutely nothing else—
Alfred.
There had been only the briefest of pauses before Alfred had said his name, as though he’d never hesitated, but that only made the absence of ‘Master’ all the more striking. Jason was no longer a master in the manor.
“My apologies, sir. Miss Cassandra expressed the desire to read to young Master Tim,” Jason only just managed not to twitch. “And as you might recall, Master Bruce has a large collection of frightening variety, but alas. None seemed appropriate for Miss Cassandra,” he smiled at her briefly, and only then did the girl taker her eyes off Jason to smile back. Jason would have shifted his weight, or looked at her properly when she moved, if he wasn’t so frozen. “I directed her to your collection instead…” Alfred’s weary eyes fell on the book Jason was unconsciously clutching with all his fingers, and rested a gloved old palm on the cover. Alfred didn’t look at him when he spoke again, but Jason couldn’t keep his eyes off the old man’s face – it had been too fucking long.
“I’m afraid I’d quite forgotten your penchant for rewriting library books in your own hand, before you could type them out. Cheaper than buying them, you used to say. More honest than simply keeping one. Practice, besides. And I believe, apart from your many Robin trinkets, your library card was your most prized possession.”
Jason couldn’t add to the conversation for the lump in his throat, though he did manage a weak nod. Alfred’s head came up and Jason lowered his gaze, no desire to catch sight of whatever disappointed expression Alfred felt fit to grace him with. The old man’s hand slipped from the book to straighten his coat.
“Do step inside, sir,” Alfred said, in that tone Jason had heard so many times as Robin and brooked no argument. “Before you catch a cold. For all that winter is on the rise still, the chill is hardly bearable.”
And then he was gone, stepping almost regally towards the car. He’d started it up and was backing out the driveway before the feeling returned to Jason’s fingers.
For all that he’d been “saved” from the streets and adopted by Bruce, was trained by him, had been his partner, his failure, had called him…Dad, on occasion…Alfred was the one who’d raised him.
A single one-sided conversation with the man and Jason had the same sickening churn in his gut that he had months ago – when he’d called Tim Timmy, of all the damn things.
“You’re more than welcome, you know…”
Jason’s head snapped up, a firm scowl on his face as he locked eyes with Dick, who stood on the porch’s first step. Jason shoved the book at Cassandra, not quite bothering for her to actually take it before he let go. For all her grace in a mask and cape roaming through darkness, the girl scrambled awkwardly to stop the book from falling. Jason had spun around to leave before he could tell if she’d managed.
“Wait,” Dick called, of course. “Where are you going?”
There was an itch between Jason’s shoulder blades. A quick, throbbing pulse in his neck. A twist to his stomach and his head ached. Honestly, he couldn’t care less where he went as long as he went away. But he thought of Timmy. Still not okay.
“Something I got to do,” he answered offhandedly, though his tone was strained, throat still dry, not certain why he was replying in the first place.
Though he’d started walking off, and not exactly slowly either, he could still hear Cassandra’s quiet input – to Dick – “The Joker.”
He quickened his pace, clenched his fists, and would have marched right down to the gates without falter, no matter what the hell Dick tried to say to stop him – dead or alive, replacement or not, Tim deserved a little justice; they all did – only—
Of all the things Jason thought Dick could possibly have come up with, this never even made the list, and hearing it Jason couldn’t do anything else but stop.
“Joker’s dead, Jason.”
next->
7 notes · View notes
literati42 · 7 years
Text
Batfamily Week day 2: Shenanigans
Title: Family Therapy
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor/Angst hybrid, some fluff
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, and Harley Quinn
Description: Batfamily week prompt 2: Shenanigans. Tension in the Batfamily is at an all-time high, and one of the Rogues Gallery can’t take it anymore. Time for a little surprise therapy!
Note: This was supposed to be light…kinda didn’t stay that way.
Note 2: I am still taking Batfamily week prompts! Send them my way please.
           Coming into consciousness felt like slamming through a wall for Red Robin. He blinked and tried to take in all his surroundings at once. The dimly lighting revealed a personality-less room, somewhere underground, he sensed. He tried to shift only to find his limbs unwilling. Scratch that. Unable. He looked down and saw he was bound, hands and feet, to a chair, with wires coiled around the ropes. Wires? He tried to follow them to the source, and his eyes widened. He was very much not alone.
           Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, the current Robin, Orphan, and Spoiler were tied to their own hooked up chairs. As Tim watched, each slowly began to come around. He tried his restraints again.
           “Ah ah ah,” said a familiar voice. Suddenly the white face of Gotham Siren, Harley Quinn came into his line of vision. He noted at once that she looked weird. Weird for her. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she was wearing a sensible sweater. “Don’t try your usual brand of banter, Batboys and girls,” she said, lifting up a remote, “Because I’ve rigged each of you up. If one of you misbehaves, it will shock the others.” She looked around at the angry eyes of her now silent captives and grinned. “Truth is,” she said, “I have had enough. As a citizen of Gotham and a mental health professional, I am simply appalled by what I’ve seen.” She toyed with the remote, winding it around in her hand. “Every member of this fine city, especially us baddies have heard it. You are a family,” she said, “But you repress your feelings until it comes out when you’re supposed to be catching us!” Harley crossed her arms, “So I am not here as a baddie babe today, sugars.” She sat down on a chair, crossing her legs. “Welcome to family therapy.” She smiled, “You can all talk now and if you work out your problems…” she tilted her head, “I’ll let you go.” She pointed her finger. “Begin.”
           Finally free to talk, Nightwing leaned forward, “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, Harley, but we’re fine.”
           The Red Hood huffed beside him. They all could feel the eye-roll even if they could not see it.
           “Would you care to begin, Hood?” Harley asked.
           “We’re just a well-oiled machine huh? Yep. No issues here,” he replied.
           “Sarcasm is cute, babe, but not helpful,” their forcible therapist replied as she turned.
           “Some of us prefer humor to feeling repression,” Red Hood said.
           “I don’t see why you insist on calling this family therapy,” the little Robin cut in from his spot, his hood over his eyes. “I am the only true family member here.”
           “Robin…” Dick said.
           “Fine, Nightwing can stay. But the others…”
           “Here we go again,” Red Robin replied, he slumped in his chair. “Why don’t you kill us Harley Quinn? It will definitely be faster than getting these people to talk. Repress it like real men, that’s the Batfamily motto.”
           “Oh my gosh, sexist and unhealthy,” Spoiler retorted, shifting in her seat. “Do you see what I deal with on the daily, Harley?”
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Dick asked Bruce, as Damian sat forward.
“You will release us, you horrible approximation of a clown, right this instant. If you insist you can keep Hood and Red Robin…”
“She is not keeping anyone,” Dick wished his hand was free so he could rub his temple.
           “She is right,” Orphan said looking at her shoes. “There is too much tension here.” The others fell silent, turning to look at her. She raised her gaze to meet there’s. “Family is family.”
           Harley smiled to herself. With a single proclamation, this little girl changed the whole energy in the room. “Does anyone have a response for our new little bat lady over here?”
           “Orphan,” Tim said, pushing forward in his chair. “We…us brothers, we fight. But you know that doesn’t change how we feel about you right?”
           “Yeah, we’re idiots,” Jason said. He looked over at Red Robin. “And it’s not like we all fight. Right?” Red Robin met his brother’s eye and nodded.
           Dick turned, “What’s happening?”
           “Babybird and I have made up lately,” Jason shrugged.
           “When did this happen?”
           “Ages ago, Nightwing. Some people know how to forgive.”
           “You tried to kill all of us!”
           “In the past…”
           Harley began munching on popcorn.
           “So you’ve been sneaking around meeting with Red Hood without us even knowing?” Dick asked, “What if he’d decided you were better dead, again?”
“At least he cares!” Tim suddenly shouted. Again everyone fell silent. “At least he gives two thoughts to how I am and what I care about.”
“Red Robin…” Dick said, leaning forward as much as the binds would allow. “We care about you.”
“Forget it.”
“Closing up,” Harley said, wiping her fingers on her pants, “Is not allowed, sweet little bird. You opened the gates now…tell them how you feel.” She met his eyes. “Betrayed? Abandoned? Like an eternal disappointment?”
“Red…” Spoiler leaned forward. “Is the depression back?”
“What depression?” Dick felt his heart breaking, “Tim?”
“Code names,” Damian hissed.
“Red…”
“All of you are so self-involved,” Jason said, “Batman, you won’t even speak up when we are literally facing a threat of death to open up. Nightwing, so involved in trying to prove something to Batman you can’t see what’s in front of your face. And you, half-pint assassin, you just can’t get over how jealous you are to see the literal disaster occurring in your own cave.”
“I see you,” Cass said.
“I know, Orphan,” Tim replied, choked with emotion.
“What is he saying, Red Robin?” Batman finally asked.
When Tim did not speak, Jason jumped in. “I’m talking about the fact that you have a teenager who doesn’t go to school anymore. He doesn’t sleep. He’s skin and bones. You didn’t even know he’d been depressed? Are you kidding?”
“And what about Hood,” Tim said. He needed the attention off him desperately. “He’s doing everything in his power to climb his way back from the abyss he was forced into, and none of you are willing to see past it.”
“So obviously there are a lot of feelings…” Harley began.
“What about my feelings?” Stephanie said. “All I want is to be trained as a Robin too. And all I get is rejection.” She sniffed. “And don’t pretend you aren’t mad too, Nightwing. We all see how desperately you want Batman’s approval.”
“Have I been so bad a father,” Batman said, “That all of you have come to hate me?”
“No!” Damian said, “Don’t you get it? If we didn’t care so much it wouldn’t hurt this bad!” He sniffed, “Sorry father.”
Then Orphan wrapped her arms around Batman’s neck. “You are hurting too, I see you too. They just want to know you love them, father.”
“Of course…of course,” Batman said, “I didn’t have to have Robins or…any of you. You’re the family I chose.” He looked down, “Even you Robin. Even though you’re my flesh and blood, I chose you too. I chose all of you, and I would choose all of you over again.”
“Wait…how did the girl get loose?” Harley suddenly broke in. They all looked at Cass, definitely out of her chair and hugging Batman.
“I got loose twenty minutes ago,” she said, “But we needed this talk.”
“Uh oh,” Harley stood up, backing toward the door.
“Run,” Orphan said, “You did a good thing today…Run before I remember the bad you did yesterday.” As Harley fled, Orphan slowly released each person. Each member of her family. She started with Tim. “We will not ignore your pain.” Then Jason, “We will not ignore you.” Then Dick, “You cannot blame yourself for this, okay?” Then Damian, with a slight ruffle of the hair, “I hear you.” Then Stephanie, “You are one of us too, sister.” Finally, she released Batman. She smiled at him. “Tomorrow is a new day.”
Harley wiped her eyes as she walked away. “Not so bad,” she said to her stuffed Beaver, “A good day’s work, huh?”
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grillsdontcry · 7 years
Text
We are all a little weird, and life's a little weird (we fall in mutual weirdness and call it love)
Bruce trudges into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweat pants, which isn't that unusual. Dick is used to seeing copious amounts of Bruce's skin, and is thus unfazed. Heck, this is nothing compared to the tiny shorts he trains in.
Bruce blindly grabs for a mug and pours himself some coffee. The mug has 'Pretty And Peppy!' printed on it in pink, with sparkles twinkling all around it. Bruce seems not to either notice or care. He drops into a chair at the table and slumps there, staring sightlessly into the black liquid steaming from his cup.
"Good morning to you, too," Dick says.
Bruce makes a sound, vaguely groan-like, completely unintelligible. Cass reaches across the table to pat his shoulder consolingly. Finally, Bruce musters enough willpower to raise the cup to his mouth and sip. Despite, perhaps, what little dim hope he had, it doesn't appear to rejunevate any particular feeling in him.
"What's with you?" Jason asks. He then ignores the person he directed his question at and turns to Tim. "What's with him?"
"I think he's regretting pretty much everything right now," Tim replies.
"That's nothing new."
Bruce's response is a grunt that could, if you really used your imagination, conceivably sound like 'shut up.' That, or 'duck coupon.'
"Wow," Dick says, watching Bruce, "you have no life in you at all, do you?"
Bruce manages a glare.
"Shh," Cass soothes.
If possible, Bruce slumps even further. ". . . Pass me the cream."
"You know, you only use cream when you're attempting to make up for your lack of a soul."
"Dick."
Dick slides the carton across the table. "Okay, but don't be surprised when you don't magically gain a heart after drinking this."
"You're the reason I'm going prematurely gray," Bruce says.
"There's one thing wrong with that statement," Dick notes. "You are going gray, but it's not premature."
"Ooh," Jason says. "Burn."
"Cass is my favorite," says Bruce.
Cass smiles. "Thanks . . . old man."
Bruce dumps a load of cream in his coffee, "I take it back. None of you are my favorite. I have no one. You're all terrible, and I'm alone in the world."
From the doorway, Alfred clears his throat, raising an eyebrow. "If you're finished reenacting your teenage years, Master Bruce, I believe you have a visitor."
"I'm not home," says Bruce, at the same time that Clark steps forward and asks, "Am I interrupting something?"
There's an awkward pause, and then Bruce says, "Yes."
"Master Bruce," Alfred butlers disapprovingly.
Dick waves. "Hi, Clark."
"Hello, Dick."
"Fine. Come in."
"Bad day?" Clark inquires, walking into the room.
"Well, you're here . . ." Bruce hints.
Alfred is silently disappointed that the man-child he's raised from kiddy years to adulthood is an awful person.
"Be quiet, Alfred," Bruce says.
"I spoke not a word, Master Bruce."
"Perry wants me to get an interview from you and have it written down by Monday," Clark says.
"Make something up."
"I can't do that," Clark protests. "Well, I could, but I pride myself on being an actual journalist."
"Last week, I mistook a goat for my girlfriend of the month and took it out for dinner at the most expensive seafood restaurant I could find and a show at the D'Artagnon Theatre, where they were having an I Love Lucy marathon. The goat and I had a great time."
"Seriously?"
"No, but it looks good on paper and it makes money."
"It does not look good on paper."
"You're right, it looks terrible, but that's the point."
"I can't print that," Clark says. "It's too weird. You're too weird."
"So are you," Bruce responds.
"I'm an alien. What's your excuse?"
"I'm Bruce Wayne."
". . . I can't believe that's a valid counterargument."
Bruce grunts and grips his coffee mug.
"You know what, I can see that it's too early for you to have a soul yet . . ."
"Why do people keep saying that."
". . . So I'm just going to schedule you in for noon on Wednesday and we'll talk then, okay?"
"Unless I'm dead."
"Don't die," Clark suggests in a threateningly pleasant tone.
"Fine."
"See you later."
"Not if I can help it," Bruce mutters under his breath.
"I heard that," Clark calls back.
Bruce takes a drink of his coffee and then spits it out.
"Do you want some coffee with that cream, B?" Jason asks gleefully.
"You deserved that," Dick says.
"Here are some paper towels and the sponge." Alfred sets them on the table, away from the spill. "Clean up your mess."
"I'm disowning you all and adopting hamsters instead."
"There, there." Cass pats his head. "Grumpy cinnamon roll."
"I'm not a cinnamon roll," he mutters.
"Grumpy cactus, then," Cass replies. "Stab, stab."
Jason snorts. "This is the best."
"You're the best," Bruce replies viciously.
"Nice comeback there, Bruce," Dick says. "We love you, too."
Alfred drops the sponge in Bruce's hand. "Wash."
Bruce does. Then, while he's cleaning, Jason deliberately dirties the table some more, and Bruce decides that Jason's face and neck need some washing. It all devolves into chaos from there.
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unavenged-robin · 7 years
Text
Ephemeral
Ephemeral (n) short-lived.
Or the one where Bruce gets to be a husband and a father for a night.
Read on AO3
He doesn’t know how he makes it back to the cave. His head is spinning, his hands are trembling around the wheel, everyone’s screaming at him.
We thought you were better than this, his mother says.
You made a promise to us, is this how you keep it?, his father asks.
Bruce grits his teeth, doesn’t answer. Fighting with the dead is never a good idea, they have nothing else to lose, so they always win.
He stumbles out of the car as soon as it stops, he meets the cave floor with his hands and not with his face just out of a combination of good reflexes and sheer instinct.
That’s pathetic, Damian comments, clicking his tongue in disappointment.
Give him a break, kiddo, Dick scolds him. He’s getting old.
Old, Cassandra repeats with a knowingly tone.
“Shut up”, Bruce growls, propping himself up on his elbows. The walls of the cave catch his voice and send back echoes of it at him, taunting him. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
You shut up, old man, Jason retorts. I’m not above kicking you while you’re already down, you know.
Bruce, the poison is acting faster, Tim butts in, always the voice of reason. You need to find the antidote now.
“I know”, Bruce replies with another growl. It’s a lie. He had forgotten about the poison. Just for a moment.
He raises his head, looking for his children. They may not always be on the best of terms, but they would always help him in a crisis. He knows that.
He’s alone.
Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone. Flew the nest long time ago. Dick has his own city, Tim his own life, Jason his own battles. Bruce never really had a choice with them. As for Cassandra and Damian, well. Cass had always done her thing, and Damian’s just starting to understand what is like not to have a destiny, what life tastes of when you can shape its course and not just follow orders. Bruce’s choosing to let them go.
Right, Damian snorts, leaning towards the computer’s console and looking at him trying to get back on his feet. Because otherwise you would definitely have a say in what I decide to do, Father.
Be nice, Little D, Dick cuffs him lightly on the back of his head.
Yeah, kid, don’t you see he’s dying? Show some respect for the fucking dead, Jason snickers.
You are gonna die if you don’t act quickly, Bruce, Tim agrees. Cassandra only hums.
“I know”, Bruce repeats. His head feels light, his legs are not working correctly. He knows he has an antidote somewhere, but he has to force his mind into focussing on remembering where and what it looked like. He wonders where Alfred is, and if he’s going to find him in time.
He blacks out somewhere between the car and the stairs.
*
He wakes up in a bed, surrounded by darkness. He barely has the time to recognize his own bedroom, then both body memory and instincts set in and he’s running towards the bathroom before he even realizes his stomach is turning inside out.
He throws up on white marbles and fine porcelain indiscriminately. Alfred is going to be mad at him even if he’s not going to say it. Normally he would clean up after himself but he feels hot, like he has a fever, and he feels weak, weaker than he’s been in years.
You don’t look good, beloved, a woman’s voice agrees.
Bruce raises his head and Talia’s there, standing in front of the sink, long red dress and bare feet, leaning towards the mirror, a tube of mascara in her hand.
Perhaps we should cancel the dinner, I’m sure the Major will understand.
She does her eyes slowly and with great care, mouth slightly open, lips as red as her dress. The bracelets on her wrists jingle everytime she moves, and she looks so beautiful and so real Bruce has to run away from her.
His bedroom is still dark, but he can see a lump on his bed. Selina blinks back at him from under the linen sheets and she yawns and stretches in that cat-like way she does everything.
‘Morning darling, where were you?, she smiles.
Bruce sways on his feet, reaching for the wall for support. Closes his eyes, tries to separate reality from hallucinations.
It’s not easy.
The click of the light switch and a hand on his shoulder makes him turn. In the soft light of their bedroom Talia looks at him with concern in her eyes.
Bruce, do you want me to call a doctor?, she asks.
Bruce looks back at the bed, but it’s empty now. Selina’s gone. He notices other things, though. A wedding ring on the nightstand. Woman clothes on the chair. An open box of jewelry on the dresser.
“I’m fine”, he answers.
Talia looks at him dubiously, but she doesn’t insist.
He watches her sitting down and start brushing her hair, and suddenly he remembers hundreds of nights just like this one, getting ready for dinners and parties, and how she would always let him choose the necklace to go with her outfit.
(His parents used to this, Bruce remembers. And his father always chose pearls. Said he just loved them so much. It drove his mother crazy sometimes, but she would always wear them when he asked, because she loved him so much.)
He moves towards the jewelry box to indulge into their ritual one more time, but then he hears the laughing of a child and the sound of tiny bare feet running on old, polished wood. He remembers this too, and he knows it’s Damian even before the toddler barges in the room. It was only three weeks ago when Damian took his first walk without their help, but now he’s already running around the manor, giving heart attacks to everyone.
“Mama, mama!”, he screams.
Talia immediately turns towards her son and catches him with a laugh, scooping him up in her arms and spinning him around, making him giggle in that bubbling way that never ceases to amaze Bruce.
Damian is such a cute baby too, all chubby cheeks and big blue eyes, and Bruce knows that every parent says so, but he’s secretly convinced that his son is the most beautiful child in the entire world.
(He knows what Damian looked like as a baby because Talia showed him a photo, once. Refused to give it to him when he asked, told him he didn’t deserved it, that Damian’s childhood was hers, and hers alone.)
“Sorry, little guy’s faster than I expected”, another known voice says.
Jason looks at them from the doorframe, an indulgent smile on his lips. He’s sixteen - seventeen at most - all long hair and clothes getting too short for him day by day. He’s growing tall, almost can look his father straight in the eyes. Bruce doesn’t like that.
(Bruce never saw Jason at sixteen. He only knows the child and the man, not what was in between. Teenager Jason belonged to Talia too.)
“It’s okay”, Talia says, Damian still wriggling on her lap. “I wanted to give him a goodnight kiss anyway.”
Damian babbles something at her and keeps playing with her hair. He’s fascinated with her earrings but by now he knows better than to try and pull them. Talia smiles down at him and cradles him closer so she can pepper his little face with big, smacking kisses, making him squeal in delight.
“If I tried that he would pull all my hair off, the little demon”, Jason huffs, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the fondness in his voice.
Talia only grins and gestures for him to come closer. When Jason comes standing beside her she stands up and brushes a kiss on his cheek, making him blush.
“Thank you for babysitting him tonight, Jason”, she says, handing Damian over to him.
“It’s fine”, he dismisses her. “I really don’t mind.”
Jason takes the child easily, with the familiarity coming from years of experience. Damian settles in his arms with the same confidence, and as if on a cue, he reaches for Jason’s hair and pulls, loving the sound of his big brother’s yelping.
(No white-streak in Jason’s hair, Bruce notices. This Jason has never died, this Jason grew up here, in this house, with loving parents and a bunch of brothers who refused to leave him alone. This Jason is happy.)
*
His heartbeat is slowing too much. Bruce is usually able to control it and adjust his body function accordingly, but now he’s too weak to fight both the poison and his heart’s mutiny.
That’s why he has Alfred, he supposes, as he watches his old friend moving around him with not so much as a frown. He’s always envied that calm.
You weren’t there, he tries to say, but Alfred shushes him like he would with a child.
In my other life, you were the only one missing.
He doesn’t know if he’s speaking or only thinking those words because he can’t tell the difference between the two things anymore. Speaking and thinking. Reality and hallucinations. Fears and hopes. Nightmares and dreams.
Alfred doesn’t answer anyway. Just strokes his cheek with his hand the way he used to do when Bruce was a kid.
Long, long time ago.
*
He’s blind.
He can’t move his hands, he can’t speak.
(By now his blood has completely absorbed the toxin, so the effect of the poison must have reached its peak, Bruce reasons. It’s going to take an hour or a little less from the last inoculation for the antidote to start to work, but it’s going to be a long, long hour.)
He’s not alone.
He feels lips on his chest, hands on his hips. Can’t feel his arms or his own face, but he knows there’s a rope tied around both of his wrists and a piece of something soft and expensive covering his eyes.
“Surprise”, a woman’s voice whispers, soft and full of laugh.
It could be Selina, or Jezebel, or Talia, and Bruce hates that he can’t tell them apart. He should be able to. In another life he would be able to.
“We need to celebrate, Bruce.”
Celebrate what?, he wants to asks, but he can’t speak. He bites down on the piece of leather between his teeth, tries to imagine himself right now, naked and blind and tied up to his own bed, completely defenseless. Thrown at the mercy of the woman he loved (Selina, Jezebel, Talia) and who loved him back (maybe, and not really, and once upon a time).
“Love it’s the best way to die, don’t you think, darling?”, she says.
Warm fingers make him arch and moan and fight against the bonds that force him to suffer this assault without being able to to defend himself or attack back. And he likes it. He loves it. The complete lack of control. The trust. Because he trusts her (them) in a way he never considered possible. In a way that was never possible before.
(Before what?)
There are teeth against his neck and he thinks he recognizes Talia’s mouth, but then long, sharp nails come down scratching his shoulders, and that’s Selina’s way to touch him. Kisses and bites and whispered words in his ears, and he doesn’t know anymore, and he likes the idea of not knowing too.
She tortures him for an hour or a little less.
Then he dies.
Finally.
(Something’s beeping in the distance. Someone’s talking. It’s all white noise, though. He really doesn’t have the strength to pay attention to it. He’s a dead man, he has nothing else to lose now.)
*
The white flash of a sunbeam hits his closed eyes and Bruce jolts wide awaken. He didn’t even know he was sleeping. There are voices around him, all raised in excitement. But it’s not fear. Nothing bad is coming.
The door of his bedroom swings wide open with a little bang of expensive brass knocking against equally expensive wood, and a reproach automatically comes to his mouth, but before he can speak another voice beats him on the spot.
“I’m home!”
And Bruce smiles, scratched furniture completely forgotten. It’s some sort of reflex when Dick’s around.
“Dick”, he calls, standing up to welcome his oldest son.
“In flesh and blood”, Dick grins, as he spins on his heels and bows his head. “Ta-da!”
Bruce laughs and hugs him to his chest hard, like he’s never letting go, and Dick hugs him back with equal determination.
(There were discussions with this Dick too, Bruce knows that much. Shouting matches and weeks of silence, lots of angry words that were never supposed to be spoken. But this Dick never left this house slamming the door behind him. This Dick always knew that Bruce was his father and that he loved him.)
“How’s college?”, Bruce asks after a moment, slowly untangling himself from the hug.
“Good. Not as hard as you pictured it and not as easy as I hoped”, Dick answers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Nothing I can’t fix”, he adds quickly when Bruce frowns. “I just need a little time to adjust.”
Bruce opens his mouth to offer him his help, but in that moment a delighted screech pierces his ear.
“Dick!”, Cassandra shouts, smiling and showing off her new shiny braces.
“Hey princess!”, Dick shouts back, turning towards his sister and opening up his arms.
Cass doesn’t need further invitations, and she launches himself into his brother’s embrace. She barely comes up to Dick’s chest, but that’s never been a problem for his oldest son. Bruce watches them spinning around the room three times, laughing like crazy, and then the rest of the flock appear on his door.
“Welcome home, Richard”, Talia greets him, Jason and Tim at her side. In her arms Damian squeals happily, reaching for Dick, who reaches right back at him with a big smile, Cassandra still pressed into his side, and Talia promptly holds out the baby for him.
Dick picks Damian up with one arm, fist-bump Jason with his free hand and kisses Tim’s forehead when the kid wraps himself around his waist.
“Hello, family. I’ve missed you”, he laughs, and he’s clearly so happy to see them that Bruce’s heart hurt a little. But it’s not a bad kind of hurt and he approaches the little group from behind, absently ruffling Tim’s hair before placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
He looks at Damian, who’s sitting on Dick’s hip, making grabby hands at his face.
“Dada”, he calls him, trying to reach his hair.
“No”, Dick laughs. “I’m not your dada.”
“Dada”, Damian insists.
“Well, okay then. Whatever you say, little guy”, Dick yields, then he tilts his head and submits himself to Damian’s vicious hairpulling, much to Tim’s disdain.
“You really shouldn’t let him do that”, the kid protests, frowning and looking remarkably like Bruce in doing so, even if he’s only eight years old.
“I know, I know”, Dick answers with a sigh, but he doesn’t do anything to stop his baby brother who, for his part, just keeps pulling his hair calling him dada, dada with genuine contentment.
Dick doesn’t try to correct him again, so Bruce pulls a face and Talia laughs. She knows he’s jealous, and it’s easy for her to laugh it off. Damian never calls anyone else mama but everyone except Tim is dada. Bruce, Dick, Jason, sometimes even Clark, when he comes visiting. There is really no difference for Damian.
Bruce’s suspicion is that Damian does it on purpose. They all find it so cute when he calls them dada, so they’re all incapable of refusing him anything when he addresses them like that, and Bruce thinks that’s exactly why Damian doesn’t bother with using their real names, even though he knows them very well by now. Then again, Damian is only fourteen months old and maybe Bruce is reading too much into it.
(He and Dick never talked about it, and Damian would deny there’s even something to talk about. But Bruce remembers the first time he saw them together, remembers how his first thought was that Damian looked different from how he remembered him. A lot less like him, a lot more like Dick. It was a crazy thought, but also a legitimate one. After all he knows better than anyone else that fatherhood doesn’t have anything to do with blood.)
*
“Master Bruce?”
“Mh?”
“Would it be too much of an inconvenience for you to wake up?”
“Mh.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wake up anyway.”
“Mh.”
He keeps dreaming.
*
Lowered head, tensed shoulders, fingers pressed against his eyelids. He must look like a living dead. Which is fair. The migraines are killing him.
The floor creaks under familiar footsteps, and when he raises his head from the work on his desk, Cassandra is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, fighting with the ribbons of her pointe shoes.
“Need space”, she only says, and Bruce doesn’t protest. He knows she loves to dance in a lot of strange places and he’s not surprised to learn that his bedroom is one of them.
“Do you also need the stereo?”, he asks. She shakes her head no, and again, he’s not surprised at all. Cassandra is the only one of his children who shares his love for silence. She could do anything without emitting a sound, from running to dancing. It’s quite disturbing sometimes, but he tries not to let her know.
(But she does know. Always. Even - especially - without words. That’s probably why she understands him better than her brothers.)
The quiet lasts all but five minutes, then Tim gently knocks on the door, shy smile and big eyes hidden behind a mop of hair.
“Hi. Sorry”, he starts, then he bits his lips. “Are you busy? If you aren’t, can you help me with my homeworks?”
And Bruce smiles because yes, that’s something he can always do. Would always do. Be there for them, take care of problems too big for his children.
(If only they would let him do so.)
“Of course”, he answers, pushing away the papers from his desk to make space for Tim’s math book.
He spends the entire afternoon that way, with a migraine threatening to split his head in two, Tim sitting on his lap, and Cassandra dancing quietly around them.
(This Tim shouldn’t be here, he knows that. He had parents, and a home, and Bruce had no right to call him his son, not back then. Same goes for Cassandra. “Father” at this age was a word for another man, not a good one, but still not Bruce. They all came to him through tragedies and heartaches, but a dream is a dream is a dream. He’ll remember this as one of the nicest day-that-never-happened he ever had.)
*
It’s morning. A new dawn’s shining over Gotham, and Bruce is alone again, standing in the wet grass. The side effects of the poison are getting weaker by the hours, the antidote worked. The fever is almost gone, the headache is still there, but he’s healing faster than expected, so he’s not going to complain too much.
The new day didn’t take all remnants of the night away from him, though. If he closes his eyes he can still see them. Dreams or hallucinations, he can’t really say anymore, but they were real for a few hours. Few hours worth a lifetime.
He feels Alfred approaching more than hearing him.
“You should be in bed, Master Bruce”, he only says.
Bruce shakes his head.
“Sorry, Alfred. I needed to get out of there.”
Too many people in that bedroom, he wants to say, and he could actually say it. As crazy as it’d sound, Alfred would understand it in his usual mysterious, sort-of-omniscient way.
But Bruce just doesn’t want to share it. Not yet.
*
It’s night again, and he’s wandering the halls of his own house like a ghost. Patrol is out of question at least for a few days, and Bruce doesn’t know what to do with himself in the meanwhile. So he walks. And he listens. There are always a lot of noises in old houses, and Wayne Manor is a very normal house on that regard.
The creaks of old wood and the ticking of the ancient clocks. Tree branches brushing against the windows, the distant calls of the owls hunting, and then something else. Feeble whimpers behind a closed door.
Bruce stops in his tracks and frowns. The hallucinations should be totally gone by now, his blood is clean, is head is finally clear. Even the migraines are gone.
He sighs and opens the door of Damian’s room anyway. Real or not, he could never turn his back on a child crying alone in the dark.
And Damian’s right there, of course. Holed up under the covers, tiny fingers gripping the sheets as hard as he knows how. He’s older now. Four, maybe five years old, blue eyes round with fear, his bottom lip is trembling, and tears are obviously on their way.
“There’s a monster under the bed, daddy”, he whispers to him, and Bruce knows it’s true. Knows what it looks like too. Because there’s always a Batman to a Bruce Wayne, and hallucinated worlds make no exception. It makes sense that he would refuse to be set aside and forgotten, even if only for a night.
He sits on the bed and carefully strokes the child’s cheek in attempt to reassure him. He’s not good with it, even if he should be. After all he’s seen this Damian’s birth, he was there through all his life. His first laugh, his first word, his first steps, his first day of school.
(Never for his first kill, or for the first blow that showed him what happens when you are not up to expectations.)
He helped changing diapers and singing lullabies, soothing temper tantrums and kissing scratched knees better. He was there for all the little things, bedtime stories and night terrors and the first time in the snow. He taught him how to ride a bike and how to tie his shoes, how to count up to ten and how to write his own name.
(How to disarm a man three times bigger than him, what bones are easier to break and what spots hurts the most when hit in a fight.)
Damian looks up at him, scared and defenseless, and the only thing he can think about is that Damian never called him daddy and he never would, not even under torture.
This Damian is Bruce’s son, not Batman’s.
...and Bruce doesn’t know what to say to him.
So he doesn’t say anything.
He closes his eyes, feeling a little guilty, and when he reopens them the bed is empty. His Damian was never there.
Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone.
Not too far away, though, he thinks with a smile.
He can always visit.
And most importantly, they can always come back.
85 notes · View notes
gokinjeespot · 4 years
Text
off the rack #1293
Monday, December 23, 2019
 I'll be working at Comet Comics today which is a good thing because I won't be around all the Christmas goodies at home. Home made cookies and party mix won't be tempting me. I wish you all a Very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. I hope you didn't spend too much. Try not to eat too much. Try to over spread the love and joy of the season.
 Batman #85 - Tom King (writer) Mikel Janin (art) Hugo Petrus (art pages 10-12) Jordie Bellaire (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). A very satisfying end to "City of Bane". I liked how Tom left Bruce and Selina. Gotham Girl also gets a nice boost. The 3-page epilogue by James Tynion IV (writer) Guillem March (art) Tomeu Morey (colours) & Clayton Cowles (letters) made me think that the future of this title is going to be okay after the departure of Tom King.
 Once & Future #5 - Kieron Gillen (writer) Dan Mora (art) Tamra Bonvillain (colours) Ed Dukeshire (letters). Duncan is Percival in this story and he's about to get a very powerful weapon to fight the bad knights. I hope his granny doesn't die.
 Legion of Super-Heroes #2 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Ryan Sook (pencils) Wade von Grawbadger (inks) & Ryan Sook (inks pages 11-13) Jordie Bellaire (colours) Dave Sharpe (letters). One reason that I don't read a lot of super hero team books is because some writers make it very difficult to keep track of everybody on the team and what they're doing. I fear this might happen with this book because there are so many Legionnaires. I like the introduction of Jonathan Kent to the team and him getting a new recruit at the end of this issue made me go "yay". I'm going to stick with this for at least another issue.
 Runaways #28 - Rainbow Rowell (writer) Andre Genolet (art) Dee Cunniffe (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). The benevolent Doc Justice isn't as pure goodie two-shoes as he claims. His gnarly plans for the Runaways start to be revealed this issue.
 Batman Superman #5 - Joshua Williamson (writer) David Marquez (art) Alejandro Sanchez (colours) John J. Hill (letters). Can Batman and Superman get past the Secret Six to destroy the tower and satellite that will bring the Dark Multiverse to our world? Hey, they don't call them the World's Finest for nothing. Of course, keeping the Batman Who Laugh's attack secret is going to have consequences. I want to see how Wonder Woman reacts to the boys leaving her in the dark.
 Gwenpool Strikes Back #5 - Leah Williams (writer) David Baldeon (art) Jesus Aburtov & Guru-eFX (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Leah sold me on this self aware comic book character so the next time she writes a Gwenpool story I'll be there.
 Catwoman #18 - Joelle Jones (writer) Joelle Jones (art pages 1-3, 10-11, 16-20) Fernando Blanco (art pages 4-9, 12-15) Laura Allred (colours pages 1-7, 10-11, 16-20) FCO Plascencia (colours pages 8-9, 12-15) Saida Temofonte (letters). This was fun. I didn't know that Catwoman and Zatanna were such good friends. Selina gets a little magical help to fight the creepy Raina Creel. I can't wait to see how it works.
 King Thor #4 - Jason Aaron (writer) Esad Ribic (main artist) Ive Svorcina (main colour artist) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). That's all he wrote folks. Jason Aaron wraps up his Thor run in this epic $5.99 US issue. I can't think of anyone who's better at chronicling a god's adventures than him. The list of contributing art teams to this mighty tome is too vast to include here. Suffice it to say that everyone did an awesome job illustrating this finale.
 Avengers #28 - Jason Aaron (writer) Ed McGuinness (pencils) Mark Morales (inks) Jason Keith & Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Part 2 of "Starbrand Reborn" has Silver Surfer Black, Terrax, and Firelord teaming up to hunt the new Starbrand. The three ex-heralds of Galactus only hang around for 2 pages before Silver Surfer leaves them in his dust to go after Ghost Rider's ride. A lot happens this issue so pay attention. It looks like whoever has the Starbrand might be a bad guy. I hope we don't have to wait too much longer to find out who that is.
 The Amazing Spider-Man #36 - Nick Spencer (writer) Oscar Bazaldua (art) Steve Firchow (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). I didn't read 2099 Omega #1 before this issue so it's very confusing what's happening with Spider-Man and Doctor Doom. I find this kind of tight tie-in very annoying. Bottom line is that Peter doesn't die and Doc Doom goes home to Latveria. The evil Countess's goal of starting a war between Symkaria and Latveria has been achieved. Meanwhile, Chameleon hints at future intrigues. A little incentive to keep reading this title.
 Fallen Angels #4 - Bryan Hill (writer) Szymon Kudranski (art) Frank D'Armata (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). The team's mission to save children succeeds but there are casualties on the good guys' side. We also meet the bad guy and find out what connection it has with Psylocke. This title appeals to me because of the science involved. I think you need at least a university degree to appreciate the whole thing.
 Daredevil #15 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Marco Checchetto & Francesco Mobili (art) Nolan Woodard & Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). I can't believe that Wilson Fisk has finally met his match when it comes to being a ruthless criminal. Seeing the Stromwyn siblings in action during their meeting with the Mayor of New York City made me cheer for poor old Kingpin. Meanwhile Matt and Elektra get hot under the collar on a mission to find out who ordered the police to keep out of Hell's Kitchen. I'm so glad to see Elektra back on the racks.
 2099 Omega #1 - Nick Spencer (writer) Gerardo Sandoval & Ze Carlos (pencils) Gerardo Sandoval, Victor Nava & Ze Carlos (inks) Morry Hollowell, Brian Reber & Andrew Crossley (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). 2099 was the non-event of 2019. You could have skipped this entire story and be none the worse for wear. This issue didn't even answer any of the questions I had from reading The Amazing Spider-Man #36. The only thing this accomplished was possibly to set up the return of Miguel as Spider-Man 2099 somewhere down the line again. This has been the most useless Marvel story that I have ever read. If I was a paying Amazing Spider-Man fan I would be royally pissed.
 Suicide Squad #1 - Tom Taylor (writer) Bruno Redondo (art) Adriano Lucas (colours) Wes Abbott (letters). There's a changing of the guard as the new Squad gets upgraded with new recruits. The team is sent against some Social Justice Warriors called the Revolutionaries and lose some members in the fight. Tom's not messing around with the changes. Amanda Waller may be in this issue but she's only there to pass the reigns to a hard ass named Lok. I like Lok. I'm going to keep reading these.
 The Old Guard: Force Multiplied #1 - Greg Rucka (writer) Leandro Fernandez (art) Daniela Miwa (colours) Jodi Wynne (letters). Andy's back on the racks. I started to read this immortal woman's first story but had to abandon it due to the store only ordering subscription service copies. I should seek out the collected trade paperback and read that. I remember I liked what I read of the first story and I like this first issue. And if I don't get to read the rest, I can look forward to seeing the movie in 2020 with Charlize Theron as Andy. Charlize was terrific in Atomic Blonde.
 Annihilation - Scourge Omega #1 - Matthew Rosenberg (writer) Manuel Garcia (pencils) Rafael Fonteriz, Cam Smith, Wayne Faucher &  Manuel Garcia (inks) Federico Blee, Rachelle Rosenberg & Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). This ending was a lot better than 2099 Omega #1. Even though it was your typical "whole bunch of super heroes fighting a cosmic threat and winning because of a huge sacrifice", the story made sense. It still wasn't a story that was worth reading. The only thing I got out of it was seeing characters that I haven't seen on the racks in ages. Hello Speedball. If Marvel keeps shovelling this crap and stinking up the House of Ideas, they're going to lose more readers.
 Year of the Villain: The Infected - The Commissioner #1 - Paul Jenkins (writer) Jack Herbert (art) Adriano Lucas (colours) A Larger World's Troy Peteri (letters). James Gordon is now a minion for the Batman Who Laughs. With Batman helping Superman fight other infected super heroes, Gotham City is vulnerable after the Commissioner releases the inmates of Arkham Asylum. I'm hanging around this story to see how they cure everyone.
 The Low, Low Woods #1 - Carmen Maria Machado (writer) Dani (art) Tamra Bonvillain (colours) Steve Wands (letters). This is the story of Octavia and Eldora, two teenage girlfriends living in a half abandoned coal mining town. The mines are closed and strange things happen. I liked these girls after reading this so I'm going to stick around to see what happens after one of them wakes up next to a dead body.
 Year of the Villain: Hell Arisen #1 - James Tynion IV (writer) Steve Epting (art) Nick Filardi (colours) Travis Lanham (letters). What a poetic title for this 4-issue mini which will end with us finally knowing how the Batman Who Laughs changes the DCU. I'm finding it difficult to get into this story since it doesn't impact a lot of the DC books that I read. I'm curious to see if that changes.
 Klaus and the Life & Times of Joe Christmas #1 - Grant Morrison (writer) Dan Mora (art). I was a little disappointed because this wasn't a traditional story in the sense of having words and pictures. Notice the absence of a letterer in the credits. What we have here are 25 days in December lovingly illustrated. Punch a hole in this issue and you can use it as a calendar.
 Basketful of Heads #3 - Joe Hill (writer) Leomacs (art) Dave Stewart (colours) Deron Bennett (letters). There's only one head in the basket so far but I think another one will join it soon. This is one weird story with a creepy fantasy twist and I like it. I can't wait to see what June does with the axe next.
 Batman Last Knight On Earth #3 - Scott Snyder (writer) Greg Capullo (pencils) Jonathan Glapion (inks) FCO Plascencia (colours) Tom Napolitano (letters). What a terrific finish. I love these kinds of Elseworld stories where the characters are tweaked so that they're new and yet familiar. The Joker's head was the star of this story.
 Marauders #4 - Gerry Duggan (writer) Lucas Werneck (art) Federico Blee (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I've been undecided about continuing to read this series but the gorgeous Storm cover by Russell Dauterman (art) & Matthew Wilson (colours) made me grab this issue off the racks and now that I've read it I'll add this to my "must read" list. I like the spy element to this title. We've got the Hellfire Trading Company, ex-bad guys now doing good for the mutant community and this issue introduces the White members of the club, who are anti-mutant. Very intriguing.
 Doomsday Clock #12 - Geoff Johns (writer) Gary Frank (art) Brad Anderson (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). The long awaited appearance of Dr. Manhattan happens here. It took two years for this story to be told. A lot of it had me discombobulated because of the mash-up of different universes. This story boils down to Jon/Dr. Manhattan and Superman/Clark Kent figuring out how to save the Multiverse. The cool thing about Dr. Manhattan is that the possibilities are endless. I rarely read a comic book story more than once but I did read The Watchmen three times. The first was when the original 12-issue series came out. The second was when the story was collected in a graphic novel and the third just after Doomsday Clock was announced. I think you get a better appreciation for Doomsday Clock is you're familiar with the Watchmen. I am considering reading Doomsday Clock again when it's collected too mostly because I loved the art.
 Spider-Man #3 - J. J. Abrams & Henry Abrams (writers) Sara Pichelli (art) Elisabetta D'Amico (inking assistant) Dave Stewart (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). With Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man done and The Amazing Spider-Man and Miles Morales: Spider-Man eliciting mehs from me lately, this is now my number one Spider-Man book. I like how they're handling Ben's evolution after discovering his powers. Their use of Tony Stark and Riri Williams made me smile. The new super villain Cadaverous is very cool.
 Harleen #3 - Stjepan Sejic (writer & artist) Gabriela Downie (letters). Wow, what a great origin story for Harley Quinn. This is the best interpretation of the relationship between Harley and the Joker so far. The inclusion of Two-Face was a bonus.
 Wonder Woman: Dead Earth #1 - Daniel Warren Johnson (story & art) Mike Spicer (colours) Rus Wooton (letters). Wonder Woman is awakened in a post-apocalyptic world where the humans have to survive being overrun by monsters. All the super heroes are dead. Well, at least Batman's dead. She saves Camp New Hope (is this a Star Wars swipe?) from the monsters and decides she's going to lead everybody to, you guessed it, a new hope. I liked the surprise appearance of a frenemy and the story is a basic fight for your life journey. I don't think this deserved the larger $5.99 US DC Black format however. It would have sold better in the regular comic book sized format like the DC Black $3.99 US Low, Low Woods.
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unavenged-robin · 7 years
Text
Ephemeral
Ephemeral (n) short-lived.
Or the one where Bruce gets to be a husband and a father for a night.
Read on AO3
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Selina Kyle Additional Tags: Hallucinations, alternative reality, Light BDSM, bruce’s subconscious is a weird place, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad
He doesn’t know how he makes it back to the cave. His head is spinning, his hands are trembling around the wheel, everyone’s screaming at him.
We thought you were better than this, his mother says.
You made a promise to us, is this how you keep it?, his father asks.
Bruce grits his teeth, doesn’t answer. Fighting with the dead is never a good idea, they have nothing else to lose, so they always win.
He stumbles out of the car as soon as it stops, he meets the cave floor with his hands and not with his face just out of a combination of good reflexes and sheer instinct.
That’s pathetic, Damian comments, clicking his tongue in disappointment.
Give him a break, kiddo, Dick scolds him. He’s getting old.
Old, Cassandra repeats with a knowingly tone.
“Shut up”, Bruce growls, propping himself up on his elbows. The walls of the cave catch his voice and send back echoes of it at him, taunting him. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
You shut up, old man, Jason retorts. I’m not above kicking you while you’re already down, you know.
Bruce, the poison is acting faster, Tim butts in, always the voice of reason. You need to find the antidote now.
“I know”, Bruce replies with another growl. It’s a lie. He had forgotten about the poison. Just for a moment.
He raises his head, looking for his children. They may not always be on the best of terms, but they would always help him in a crisis. He knows that.
He’s alone.
Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone. Flew the nest long time ago. Dick has his own city, Tim his own life, Jason his own battles. Bruce never really had a choice with them. As for Cassandra and Damian, well. Cass had always done her thing, and Damian’s just starting to understand what is like not to have a destiny, what life tastes of when you can shape its course and not just follow orders. Bruce’s choosing to let them go.
Right, Damian snorts, leaning towards the computer’s console and looking at him trying to get back on his feet. Because otherwise you would definitely have a say in what I decide to do, Father.
Be nice, Little D, Dick cuffs him lightly on the back of his head.
Yeah, kid, don’t you see he’s dying? Show some respect for the fucking dead, Jason snickers.
You are gonna die if you don’t act quickly, Bruce, Tim agrees. Cassandra only hums.
“I know”, Bruce repeats. His head feels light, his legs are not working correctly. He knows he has an antidote somewhere, but he has to force his mind into focussing on remembering where and what it looked like. He wonders where Alfred is, and if he’s going to find him in time.
He blacks out somewhere between the car and the stairs.
*
He wakes up in a bed, surrounded by darkness. He barely has the time to recognize his own bedroom, then both body memory and instincts set in and he’s running towards the bathroom before he even realizes his stomach is turning inside out.
He throws up on white marbles and fine porcelain indiscriminately. Alfred is going to be mad at him even if he’s not going to say it. Normally he would clean up after himself but he feels hot, like he has a fever, and he feels weak, weaker than he’s been in years.
You don’t look good, beloved, a woman’s voice agrees.
Bruce raises his head and Talia’s there, standing in front of the sink, long red dress and bare feet, leaning towards the mirror, a tube of mascara in her hand.
Perhaps we should cancel the dinner, I’m sure the Major will understand.
She does her eyes slowly and with great care, mouth slightly open, lips as red as her dress. The bracelets on her wrists jingle everytime she moves, and she looks so beautiful and so real Bruce has to run away from her.
His bedroom is still dark, but he can see a lump on his bed. Selina blinks back at him from under the linen sheets and she yawns and stretches in that cat-like way she does everything.
‘Morning darling, where were you?, she smiles.
Bruce sways on his feet, reaching for the wall for support. Closes his eyes, tries to separate reality from hallucinations.
It’s not easy.
The click of the light switch and a hand on his shoulder makes him turn. In the soft light of their bedroom Talia looks at him with concern in her eyes.
Bruce, do you want me to call a doctor?, she asks.
Bruce looks back at the bed, but it’s empty now. Selina’s gone. He notices other things, though. A wedding ring on the nightstand. Woman clothes on the chair. An open box of jewelry on the dresser.
“I’m fine”, he answers.
Talia looks at him dubiously, but she doesn’t insist.
He watches her sitting down and start brushing her hair, and suddenly he remembers hundreds of nights just like this one, getting ready for dinners and parties, and how she would always let him choose the necklace to go with her outfit.
(His parents used to this, Bruce remembers. And his father always chose pearls. Said he just loved them so much. It drove his mother crazy sometimes, but she would always wear them when he asked, because she loved him so much.)
He moves towards the jewelry box to indulge into their ritual one more time, but then he hears the laughing of a child and the sound of tiny bare feet running on old, polished wood. He remembers this too, and he knows it’s Damian even before the toddler barges in the room. It was only three weeks ago when Damian took his first walk without their help, but now he’s already running around the manor, giving heart attacks to everyone.
“Mama, mama!”, he screams.
Talia immediately turns towards her son and catches him with a laugh, scooping him up in her arms and spinning him around, making him giggle in that bubbling way that never ceases to amaze Bruce.
Damian is such a cute baby too, all chubby cheeks and big blue eyes, and Bruce knows that every parent says so, but he’s secretly convinced that his son is the most beautiful child in the entire world.
(He knows what Damian looked like as a baby because Talia showed him a photo, once. Refused to give it to him when he asked, told him he didn’t deserved it, that Damian’s childhood was hers, and hers alone.)
“Sorry, little guy’s faster than I expected”, another known voice says.
Jason looks at them from the doorframe, an indulgent smile on his lips. He’s sixteen - seventeen at most - all long hair and clothes getting too short for him day by day. He’s growing tall, almost can look his father straight in the eyes. Bruce doesn’t like that.
(Bruce never saw Jason at sixteen. He only knows the child and the man, not what was in between. Teenager Jason belonged to Talia too.)
“It’s okay”, Talia says, Damian still wriggling on her lap. “I wanted to give him a goodnight kiss anyway.”
Damian babbles something at her and keeps playing with her hair. He’s fascinated with her earrings but by now he knows better than to try and pull them. Talia smiles down at him and cradles him closer so she can pepper his little face with big, smacking kisses, making him squeal in delight.
“If I tried that he would pull all my hair off, the little demon”, Jason huffs, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the fondness in his voice.
Talia only grins and gestures for him to come closer. When Jason comes standing beside her she stands up and brushes a kiss on his cheek, making him blush.
“Thank you for babysitting him tonight, Jason”, she says, handing Damian over to him.
“It’s fine”, he dismisses her. “I really don’t mind.”
Jason takes the child easily, with the familiarity coming from years of experience. Damian settles in his arms with the same confidence, and as if on a cue, he reaches for Jason’s hair and pulls, loving the sound of his big brother’s yelping.
(No white-streak in Jason’s hair, Bruce notices. This Jason has never died, this Jason grew up here, in this house, with loving parents and a bunch of brothers who refused to leave him alone. This Jason is happy.)
*
His heartbeat is slowing too much. Bruce is usually able to control it and adjust his body function accordingly, but now he’s too weak to fight both the poison and his heart’s mutiny.
That’s why he has Alfred, he supposes, as he watches his old friend moving around him with not so much as a frown. He’s always envied that calm.
You weren’t there, he tries to say, but Alfred shushes him like he would with a child.
In my other life, you were the only one missing.
He doesn’t know if he’s speaking or only thinking those words because he can’t tell the difference between the two things anymore. Speaking and thinking. Reality and hallucinations. Fears and hopes. Nightmares and dreams.
Alfred doesn’t answer anyway. Just strokes his cheek with his hand the way he used to do when Bruce was a kid.
Long, long time ago.
*
He’s blind.
He can’t move his hands, he can’t speak.
(By now his blood has completely absorbed the toxin, so the effect of the poison must have reached its peak, Bruce reasons. It’s going to take an hour or a little less from the last inoculation for the antidote to start to work, but it’s going to be a long, long hour.)
He’s not alone.
He feels lips on his chest, hands on his hips. Can’t feel his arms or his own face, but he knows there’s a rope tied around both of his wrists and a piece of something soft and expensive covering his eyes.
“Surprise”, a woman’s voice whispers, soft and full of laugh.
It could be Selina, or Jezebel, or Talia, and Bruce hates that he can’t tell them apart. He should be able to. In another life he would be able to.
“We need to celebrate, Bruce.”
Celebrate what?, he wants to asks, but he can’t speak. He bites down on the piece of leather between his teeth, tries to imagine himself right now, naked and blind and tied up to his own bed, completely defenseless. Thrown at the mercy of the woman he loved (Selina, Jezebel, Talia) and who loved him back (maybe, and not really, and once upon a time).
“Love it’s the best way to die, don’t you think, darling?”, she says.
Warm fingers make him arch and moan and fight against the bonds that force him to suffer this assault without being able to to defend himself or attack back. And he likes it. He loves it. The complete lack of control. The trust. Because he trusts her (them) in a way he never considered possible. In a way that was never possible before.
(Before what?)
There are teeth against his neck and he thinks he recognizes Talia’s mouth, but then long, sharp nails come down scratching his shoulders, and that’s Selina’s way to touch him. Kisses and bites and whispered words in his ears, and he doesn’t know anymore, and he likes the idea of not knowing too.
She tortures him for an hour or a little less.
Then he dies.
Finally.
(Something’s beeping in the distance. Someone’s talking. It’s all white noise, though. He really doesn’t have the strength to pay attention to it. He’s a dead man, he has nothing else to lose now.)
*
The white flash of a sunbeam hits his closed eyes and Bruce jolts wide awaken. He didn’t even know he was sleeping. There are voices around him, all raised in excitement. But it’s not fear. Nothing bad is coming.
The door of his bedroom swings wide open with a little bang of expensive brass knocking against equally expensive wood, and a reproach automatically comes to his mouth, but before he can speak another voice beats him on the spot.
“I’m home!”
And Bruce smiles, scratched furniture completely forgotten. It’s some sort of reflex when Dick’s around.
“Dick”, he calls, standing up to welcome his oldest son.
“In flesh and blood”, Dick grins, as he spins on his heels and bows his head. “Ta-da!”
Bruce laughs and hugs him to his chest hard, like he’s never letting go, and Dick hugs him back with equal determination.
(There were discussions with this Dick too, Bruce knows that much. Shouting matches and weeks of silence, lots of angry words that were never supposed to be spoken. But this Dick never left this house slamming the door behind him. This Dick always knew that Bruce was his father and that he loved him.)
“How’s college?”, Bruce asks after a moment, slowly untangling himself from the hug.
“Good. Not as hard as you pictured it and not as easy as I hoped”, Dick answers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Nothing I can’t fix”, he adds quickly when Bruce frowns. “I just need a little time to adjust.”
Bruce opens his mouth to offer him his help, but in that moment a delighted screech pierces his ear.
“Dick!”, Cassandra shouts, smiling and showing off her new shiny braces.
“Hey princess!”, Dick shouts back, turning towards his sister and opening up his arms.
Cass doesn’t need further invitations, and she launches himself into his brother’s embrace. She barely comes up to Dick’s chest, but that’s never been a problem for his oldest son. Bruce watches them spinning around the room three times, laughing like crazy, and then the rest of the flock appear on his door.
“Welcome home, Richard”, Talia greets him, Jason and Tim at her side. In her arms Damian squeals happily, reaching for Dick, who reaches right back at him with a big smile, Cassandra still pressed into his side, and Talia promptly holds out the baby for him.
Dick picks Damian up with one arm, fist-bump Jason with his free hand and kisses Tim’s forehead when the kid wraps himself around his waist.
“Hello, family. I’ve missed you”, he laughs, and he’s clearly so happy to see them that Bruce’s heart hurt a little. But it’s not a bad kind of hurt and he approaches the little group from behind, absently ruffling Tim’s hair before placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
He looks at Damian, who’s sitting on Dick’s hip, making grabby hands at his face.
“Dada”, he calls him, trying to reach his hair.
“No”, Dick laughs. “I’m not your dada.”
“Dada”, Damian insists.
“Well, okay then. Whatever you say, little guy”, Dick yields, then he tilts his head and submits himself to Damian’s vicious hairpulling, much to Tim’s disdain.
“You really shouldn’t let him do that”, the kid protests, frowning and looking remarkably like Bruce in doing so, even if he’s only eight years old.
“I know, I know”, Dick answers with a sigh, but he doesn’t do anything to stop his baby brother who, for his part, just keeps pulling his hair calling him dada, dada with genuine contentment.
Dick doesn’t try to correct him again, so Bruce pulls a face and Talia laughs. She knows he’s jealous, and it’s easy for her to laugh it off. Damian never calls anyone else mama but everyone except Tim is dada. Bruce, Dick, Jason, sometimes even Clark, when he comes visiting. There is really no difference for Damian.
Bruce’s suspicion is that Damian does it on purpose. They all find it so cute when he calls them dada, so they’re all incapable of refusing him anything when he addresses them like that, and Bruce thinks that’s exactly why Damian doesn’t bother with using their real names, even though he knows them very well by now. Then again, Damian is only fourteen months old and maybe Bruce is reading too much into it.
(He and Dick never talked about it, and Damian would deny there’s even something to talk about. But Bruce remembers the first time he saw them together, remembers how his first thought was that Damian looked different from how he remembered him. A lot less like him, a lot more like Dick. It was a crazy thought, but also a legitimate one. After all he knows better than anyone else that fatherhood doesn’t have anything to do with blood.)
*
“Master Bruce?”
“Mh?”
“Would it be too much of an inconvenience for you to wake up?”
“Mh.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wake up anyway.”
“Mh.”
He keeps dreaming.
*
Lowered head, tensed shoulders, fingers pressed against his eyelids. He must look like a living dead. Which is fair. The migraines are killing him.
The floor creaks under familiar footsteps, and when he raises his head from the work on his desk, Cassandra is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, fighting with the ribbons of her pointe shoes.
“Need space”, she only says, and Bruce doesn’t protest. He knows she loves to dance in a lot of strange places and he’s not surprised to learn that his bedroom is one of them.
“Do you also need the stereo?”, he asks. She shakes her head no, and again, he’s not surprised at all. Cassandra is the only one of his children who shares his love for silence. She could do anything without emitting a sound, from running to dancing. It’s quite disturbing sometimes, but he tries not to let her know.
(But she does know. Always. Even - especially - without words. That’s probably why she understands him better than her brothers.)
The quiet lasts all but five minutes, then Tim gently knocks on the door, shy smile and big eyes hidden behind a mop of hair.
“Hi. Sorry”, he starts, then he bits his lips. “Are you busy? If you aren’t, can you help me with my homeworks?”
And Bruce smiles because yes, that’s something he can always do. Would always do. Be there for them, take care of problems too big for his children.
(If only they would let him do so.)
“Of course”, he answers, pushing away the papers from his desk to make space for Tim’s math book.
He spends the entire afternoon that way, with a migraine threatening to split his head in two, Tim sitting on his lap, and Cassandra dancing quietly around them.
(This Tim shouldn’t be here, he knows that. He had parents, and a home, and Bruce had no right to call him his son, not back then. Same goes for Cassandra. “Father” at this age was a word for another man, not a good one, but still not Bruce. They all came to him through tragedies and heartaches, but a dream is a dream is a dream. He’ll remember this as one of the nicest day-that-never-happened he ever had.)
*
It’s morning. A new dawn’s shining over Gotham, and Bruce is alone again, standing in the wet grass. The side effects of the poison are getting weaker by the hours, the antidote worked. The fever is almost gone, the headache is still there, but he’s healing faster than expected, so he’s not going to complain too much.
The new day didn’t take all remnants of the night away from him, though. If he closes his eyes he can still see them. Dreams or hallucinations, he can’t really say anymore, but they were real for a few hours. Few hours worth a lifetime.
He feels Alfred approaching more than hearing him.
“You should be in bed, Master Bruce”, he only says.
Bruce shakes his head.
“Sorry, Alfred. I needed to get out of there.”
Too many people in that bedroom, he wants to say, and he could actually say it. As crazy as it’d sound, Alfred would understand it in his usual mysterious, sort-of-omniscient way.
But Bruce just doesn’t want to share it. Not yet.
*
It’s night again, and he’s wandering the halls of his own house like a ghost. Patrol is out of question at least for a few days, and Bruce doesn’t know what to do with himself in the meanwhile. So he walks. And he listens. There are always a lot of noises in old houses, and Wayne Manor is a very normal house on that regard.
The creaks of old wood and the ticking of the ancient clocks. Tree branches brushing against the windows, the distant calls of the owls hunting, and then something else. Feeble whimpers behind a closed door.
Bruce stops in his tracks and frowns. The hallucinations should be totally gone by now, his blood is clean, is head is finally clear. Even the migraines are gone.
He sighs and opens the door of Damian’s room anyway. Real or not, he could never turn his back on a child crying alone in the dark.
And Damian’s right there, of course. Holed up under the covers, tiny fingers gripping the sheets as hard as he knows how. He’s older now. Four, maybe five years old, blue eyes round with fear, his bottom lip is trembling, and tears are obviously on their way.
“There’s a monster under the bed, daddy”, he whispers to him, and Bruce knows it’s true. Knows what it looks like too. Because there’s always a Batman to a Bruce Wayne, and hallucinated worlds make no exception. It makes sense that he would refuse to be set aside and forgotten, even if only for a night.
He sits on the bed and carefully strokes the child’s cheek in attempt to reassure him. He’s not good with it, even if he should be. After all he’s seen this Damian’s birth, he was there through all his life. His first laugh, his first word, his first steps, his first day of school.
(Never for his first kill, or for the first blow that showed him what happens when you are not up to expectations.)
He helped changing diapers and singing lullabies, soothing temper tantrums and kissing scratched knees better. He was there for all the little things, bedtime stories and night terrors and the first time in the snow. He taught him how to ride a bike and how to tie his shoes, how to count up to ten and how to write his own name.
(How to disarm a man three times bigger than him, what bones are easier to break and what spots hurts the most when hit in a fight.)
Damian looks up at him, scared and defenseless, and the only thing he can think about is that Damian never called him daddy and he never would, not even under torture.
This Damian is Bruce’s son, not Batman’s.
...and Bruce doesn’t know what to say to him.
So he doesn’t say anything.
He closes his eyes, feeling a little guilty, and when he reopens them the bed is empty. His Damian was never there.
Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone.
Not too far away, though, he thinks with a smile.
He can always visit.
And most importantly, they can always come back.
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