#bruce wants to know

[superbat-love]

Clark: Bruuuce, would you still like me if I were an alien?

Bruce: You are an alien, Clark. You’re also high on painkillers.

Clark: You’re so meaaan. You don’t see me as human!

Bruce: That’s because you’re not human.

Clark: Now that’s just cruel.

Bruce: [sighs] But you’re also more human than any human I’ve ever met, Clark. You’re better than any of us.

Clark: [sniffling] Thanks. You know that I’d still like you if you’re an alien, right?

Bruce: Hn, that’s good to know, Clark.

Clark: [mumbles Kryptonian endearments]

Bruce: …Clark, would you still like me if I were a bat?

[nerdpoe]

Danny's found a way to dodge GIW trackers, as well as his parents. Their equipment hunts ghosts, ghosts run on emotion; so as long as he keeps his under a tight lid and doesn't feel anything ever, they won't be able to track him.

It works!

He's able to run from them, and goes as far as New Jersey. The plan was to stow away on a ship, and go to literally any country that wasn't America. He goes to Gotham, which hosts the one harbor he knows where no one will ask any questions.

But because of how weird he acted (completely emotionless during a Joker attack), he was fingered by police immediately.

He's handed over to CPP. CPP doesn't know what to do with a teen literally so traumatized that they don't show any emotion at all, ever. He keeps just...walking out of his placements. Just leaves without a sound.

Luckily, he's always caught, due to those placement houses having quiet alarms and him refusing to run.

They call the one foster parent they know who does.

Bruce Wayne takes in the strange, nameless kid who refuses to talk.

On paper, they gave him the filler name of 'John Doe', for lack of anything better to do.

Bruce does everything he can to make the newest arrival feel at home. Damian, for as territorial as he is, actually breaks out of his shell sooner than expected just to try to get the new kid to speak. To emote. To do something. Duke tries the open approach, then tries the 'no one will ever know, everyone thinks I'm an innocent goody-two-shoes' approach. Nada.

Tim even tries to trick him into talking, but nothing works.

Enter Dick; Dick heard about Bruce's new ward, about the situation, and decided to see if he could get the kid to open up.

Danny though. Danny's in trouble.

The Wayne Manor is weirdly secure, and he can't just walk away like he did his other placements. He can't use ghost powers or the GIW and his parents will immediately know where he is.

He really, really wants to take Bruce up on his offer and just spend the day relaxing. Respond to Damian's attempts to provoke him. Overshare about space facts with Tim.

But most of all, he really, desperately wants to get in a Pun Competition with Dick. He wants to laugh at Dick's jokes, and learn coolass gymnastic tricks!

But he can't!

If he relaxes with Bruce, he'll be content, which is an emotion. If he argues with Damian, he'll get annoyed, which is an emotion. If he sneaks out with Duke and breaks the rules, he'll get happy, which, again, emotion. If he overshares with Tim, he'll get excited, which is, yet again, an emotion!

The worst sin of all, he can't even show proper appreciation of the food the Butler keeps making him!

And now there's even more people coming over!

There's a quiet girl who keeps reading his body language and trying to get him to dance ballet, a blonde girl who keeps trying to kidnap him to take him to BatBurger, a guy with a stripe of white who wants to take him to a shooting range, and it just...he really, really wants to!

He wants to do all these cool things with them!

But he fucking can't!

[p0ssym1lker]

Bruce getting asked who his favorite child is and panicking™

Bruce: .... Danny

Most of the Batfam: who?

Dick: oh yeah fair

Damian: who's.... Danny

Dick: my childhood friend, Bruce tried to adopt him but got bodied by Danny's parents and sister, he's still not over it

Bruce: I am over it-

Dick: then throw away the adoption papers with his name on it-

Bruce, gasping: no

[nakathemoth]

Constantine honest to god thought a child had just been struck by lightning and died by his side

[swugflower]

Brucie Wayne gets interviewed and the question who, expect Batman, is his favorite Gotham hero.

After some awkward moments of silence, he blurts out that it’s Spoiler. Since she is the only one from the main active team that isn’t his kid and this way he avoids picking a favorite.

Meanwhile, the group chats explodes into chaos instantly.

[lustwithoutlore]

Damian, walking into the Batcave: I require assistance.

Dick: Sure, Dami! What can I help you with?

Damian: Not from you.

Bruce, thinking: Damian... Damian needs... father's help? MY help?

Bruce, being way too fucking smug: Ah, well, Dick, don't be sad. Sometimes a boy just needs his father. How can I help you, son?

Damian: Not from you, either. I require assistance from Stephanie.

Stephanie: HA! SUCK IT, BRUCE!

[bluerosefox]

Uncle Damian Mode ACTIVATE

Twins Danny and Damian but! They both know where the other is (Damian going to Bruce and Danny being sent to the Fentons on a mission at a young age), has kept in touch and all that.

They just...never got around to telling anyone about the other.

That is until Danny comes interrupting Damian on patrol one night in a panic, pushes a bundle into his arms and hurriedly says "Read our texts! It'll explain! I gotta go, got a fruitloop on my tail! Be back when I can!"

And rushes off. When Damian looks down at the bundle in his arm, ignoring the yelling on comms and Nightwing rushing over, he is stunned to see a almost identical face to that of his brother staring back at him, only he can tell its female from the more delicate features.

When he later reads the texts his brother sent during his patrol... well he's tempted to go fruitloop hunting but he has a niece to take of... and inform his father of his granddaughter he's currently holding.

[deanwinchesterwebsite]

"This is uh. When I was growing up me and my dad used to go at it all the time. Over almost anything, but uh, I used to have really long hair way down past my shoulders, I was 17 or 18, oh man he used to hate it. And we got to where we were fighting so much that I'd spend a lot of time out of the house. And in the summertime it wasn't so bad, 'cause it was warm and your friends were out. But in the winter I remember standin' downtown and it would get so cold, when the wind would blow. I had this phone booth that I used to stand in and I used to call my girl for hours at a time just talking to her all night long.

"And finally I'd get my nerve up to go home. I'd stand there in the driveway and he'd be waiting for me in the kitchen. And I'd tuck my hair down in my collar and I'd walk in, and he'd call me back to sit down with him. And the first thing he'd always ask me was what did I think I was doin' with myself? And the worst part about it was I could never explain it to him.

"I remember I got in a motorcycle accident once and I was laid up in bed and he had a barber come in and cut my hair. And man, I can remember telling him that I hated him and that I would never ever forget it.

"And he used to tell me 'Man, I can't wait until the army gets you. When the army gets you they're gonna make a man outta you. They're gonna cut all that hair off, and they'll make a man outta you.'

"This was I guess in '68 and there was a lot of guys from the neighborhood goin' to Vietnam. I remember the drummer in my first band comin' over to my house with his marine uniform on, saying that he was goin' and that he didn't know where it was. And a lot of guys went and a lot of guys didn't come back. And a lot that came back weren't the same anymore.

"And I remember the day I got my draft notice. I hid it from my folks, and three days before my physical me and my friends went out and we stayed up all night. And we got on the bus to go that morning, man we were all so scared. [Laughs]. and I went, and I failed. [Crowd cheering.]

"And I came home, — [laughs] it's nothing to applaud about — But I remember comin' home after I'd been gone for three days, and walkin' in the kitchen and my mother and father were sittin' there, and my father said, 'Where you been?' and I said, uh, 'I went to take my physical.'

"He says, 'What happened?' I said, 'They didn't take me.'

"And he said, 'That's good.'"

-Bruce Springsteen, on Live/1975-85

[flamingpudding]

Danny, the 'twig' Bouncer

The job was just a temporary solution. It was a means to an end. To help him handle his obsession until things were better. Until it was safe to be out again. Until he could roam around freely without fear. Until he no longer needed to lay low or be on the run. Until he could return to being Phantom.

This job helped keep his obsession somewhat sedated. Sure, it was a shady bar, but it beat working out in the open in some other way or becoming a non-ghost vigilante and risking his human persona too.

Besides people tented to underestimate him because he was a 'twig' in their eyes. The bar owner nearly didn't hire him until he easily flipped a human truck over his shoulder and threw the guy out the back door on his interview day.

But again this was just meant to be temporary. He got to fight the trouble makers and protect customers from the rowdy crowd.

At some point, the people even started cheering whenever Danny was on the clock, his coworkers even leaving the heavy hitters to him. It was kind of fun always seeing the sound looks of the big guys that didn't think Danny could throw them out the door with one hand. The owner had said something about getting more customers ever since Danny started working for him.

Danny even recognized regulars now. Tho there was this one guy with a red helmet that gave him a weird feeling. But the guy wasn't making trouble so Danny left him alone.

Besides the Bar Owner always pet his shoulder after he threw someone out. That meant he did a good job right?

Though Danny did wonder how long this temporary job would last.

.

.

.

Yea his Fenton luck struck again. Danny didn't know faces. The bar was a shady place but neutral zone according to the owner but there was the golden rule of not messing with Joker. Danny had agreed even tho he didn't know who that guy was.

Soo the day came a clown made trouble in the bar and no one else appeared to want to do something. So what did Danny do? His job. He punched the guy, knocked him out and threw him right out the door a little too hard into a brick wall. He might have broken a couple of that clown guys bones. Hello trauma, Freakshow greets you.

The bar was dead silent right after, everyone staring at him like he had just signed a death sentence. The owner had then pushed him out the door and muttered something about sending Danny on vacation and to return in a month if he was still alive by then.

Did that mean he was fired or got a weird kind of promotion?

Why was that guy in a furry suit staring him down now?

Also why was the red helmet regular suddenly trying to hire him for his gang?

Really Danny just wanted a simple job that sedated his obsession, this was not what he expected to happen for a job well done.

[ohposhers]

So I am obsessed with @lemony-and-zesty 's Hitman John Dory AU and ended up drawing a bunch of fanart of it i am crying ty for such a sweet AU I love JD's design so much im going crazy I hope I drew the character interactions ok!! I had to guess a little so I apologize if I got anything wrong </3

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 271

“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 

“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 

Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 

“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 

“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 

Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”

Now wait one moment-

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 

[daydreamerwonderkid]

I can't deny that there's a part of me that's absolutely delighted that each time Bruce unjustly went after Jason, the Batkids responded in kind.

This isn't my ideal version of the Batfam, but it does warm my heart seeing Jason's siblings stand up for him.

[nerdpoe]

The Justice League finds out about the Anti-Ecto Acts, and Batman is the driving force behind condemning them. He even goes so far as to summon popular ghost hero Phantom for advice, given that his son, Red Hood, would absolutely fall under those Acts. Phantom...tells him he's wrong.

Red Hood is 100%, completely and totally alive. Same soul, same body, sort of the same person. Only 'sort of' because people change as they grow, so obviously he isn't going to be the same person he was when he was fifteen.

There's not a trace of ecto in him, or in any of the Bats. None of them are even liminal.

Batman asks if he's sure. If he's really, really sure. Because ghosts run on emotions, and Red Hood came back extremely violent and irrational.

"Well yeah, of course he did," Phantom deadpans, and Batman suddenly feels very, very small under that glare. "He was murdered, unavenged, told that there was no way he was the same person when he came back pissed, and had his words as a victim ignored. I'd get violent too. Look, I gotta go, but thanks for getting the Acts removed."

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[lethologicaee]

bruce wayne dilf agenda

[nelkcats]

Strange courtship gifts

The last thing anyone would expect is for the Joker to believe in the supernatural, but apparently Gotham was in luck, because the clown was about to make a deal with the King of all ghosts to revive his prized foe.

Said King was not happy about the request, nor did he care about the clown's feelings, but he knew it was a necessary evil. Or at least, that's what Clockwork told him; of course, Danny didn't intend to do anything for free.

The Joker got his wish, Bruce came back from the dead and Danny wondered what he should do with the clown's soul. With a shrug he decided to put it to the best possible use and wrapped it in a little bow before handing it over to Jason Todd.

Jason thought it was a joke, a cute guy giving him a gift out of nowhere and claiming that the frozen ball in his hand was the Joker's soul? Yeah, right.

However, John Constantine came through Gotham and it became obvious that it wasn't a joke and that the cute guy was more than just a regular guy. It also came with the feature that Bruce returned to the living, which made him strangely relieved.

And fuck, reckless or not, Jason needed to find the guy again and steal the air out of his lungs, because that weird ball was the best gift he'd ever been given in his life and it might as well be an engagement ring.