#but bruce guards that like he guards nothing else in his entire guarded life

[aviatrickss]

*takes a deep breath and leans in so close that my lips touch the microphone*

the tragedy of dick and jason’s relationship as brothers is not that they hated each other and then jason died, or that they were super close and then jason died. the tragedy is that dick did not know enough about jason to know how to mourn him. were they brothers? were they rivals? dick sure doesn’t know, and jason doesn’t either! but it’s fine bc they have plenty of time to figure that shit out, they don’t need to know each other right now bc there will be time to know each other later.

except.

[albatmobile]

The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds Chapter 6

𓅪 After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for Roy and Jason's child.

𓅪 Rated: M | TW: underage drinking | 11.2k  includes: sleepover w Damian (y’all already know there’s bed sharing), dinner and breaky w batfam, sex talk from bruce, Jason throws a party at the manor and you’re invited (shenanigans and dirty dancing w ur boy roy)

fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist]

Chapter Six: Growing Pains | ao3 - wattpad

THEN

Damian held out the chair for you as you walked up to the overly-stuffed table that was filled to the brim with every type of food imaginable before sitting to your left. Maybe even some foods that weren’t imaginable, considering you couldn’t quite place the fluffed bowl of purple goodness in front of a runny-nosed Jason to the right of you.  

Tim sat parallel to Jason with his raw-rubbed Rudolph nose, but you didn’t remember him mentioning anything about being sick. 

Weird. 

Upon closer inspection, Tim’s eyes appeared to be red, as if stained with tears. You looked around the table to see if anyone else had noticed, but Damian was too busy fiddling with his napkin next to you. Meanwhile, Jason was preoccupied with blowing an excessive amount of snot into his own, leaving both Alfred and Damian to frown in distaste.

“Miss,” Alfred’s soothing voice drew you from your thoughts. You looked up as he set down the last serving plate and then picked up the water pitcher, “I do have a few questions for you." 

What questions could the Wayne's most prestigious help have for a nobody like you? Oh, god, you thought. Here come the questions about your home life. You were really hoping to avoid the topic, let alone in front of the entire Wayne family. At the same time, how could you say no to Alfred?

You gulped nervously, “Uh, sure.” You looked around to see them all glancing between you and Alfred warily. Everyone, that is, except Tim. Upon seeing the raven lift his head, you attempted to hold his gaze from across the table, but Tim seemed to purposefully avoid your eyes. “What about?”

“Well," He looked like what he was about to say was rather obvious, "it���s regarding you and the young men at this table.”

“Oh?” You didn’t know what else to say.

Alfred’s poker face remained strong as ever as he began filling everyone’s glasses with great care. “You see, Master Damian has been nothing but complimentary about your art skills,” He poured your water, “and Master Bruce seems quite taken with your baking skills.” You smiled modestly at Bruce, not understanding where Alfred was going with this in the slightest. “Master Timothy can’t seem to stop talking about which comics you like and which ones you don’t,” Tim finally caught your eyes long enough for him to see your worried expression, but the glance was over just as quickly as it'd begun. “You even have Master Jason cooking tirelessly for you nearly every day of the week.” He stopped pouring, tilting his head from in between the empty space between where Damian’s seat met yours. “I’m simply wondering what magical powers you possess, Miss?”

Woah, woah, woah... Hold up. Jason cooked for you? A quick look his way proved he was too busy glaring at Alfred to notice your dumbfounded stare. Even Tim seemed upset with what Alfred said, but you were still caught off guard by all the information you’d just obtained.

“Pennyworth, whose side are you on?” Damian spat, pouting petulantly at his empty plate.

“I’m merely on the side that causes you more embarrassment, it would appear,” The older man said sarcastically as he finally sat down. “Please, do dig in before it gets too cold. I’ve worked too hard for it to go to waste,” He gave you a knowing smile as you blushed down at your plate.

None of them needed to be told twice and they began digging in with such fervor you had to laugh at the barbaric sight.

“Boys, calm down,” Came Bruce’s deep, rumbling timbre from the head of the expensive wood table. You could understand his playboy reputation when he looked and talked like that, but now was definitely not the time to be checking out your friend’s dad. “You act like we don’t feed you.”

“Shi-” Jason sneezed into his arm, cutting off his curse before Alfred could claim any swear jar money. “It’s really good,” He shrugged way too innocently, leaving everyone to roll their eyes.

“So,” Your name dripped from Bruce’s mouth like honey. “What is your secret?” 

You met his dark eyes and with a kind, hopefully unaffected, smile before quickly retreating to look at the much less intimidating Alfred. “I just do my own thing and whoever tags along for long enough, I try to keep them around.” 

You really didn’t know how else to answer the question and figured you were at least being truthful with them. You’d never been in a situation like this before, let alone in a situation where you had multiple friends. 

“I understand,” You glanced back at him to see his face had softened. You waited for the uncomfortable question about why you were always over here or where your parents were, but it never came. “Guess we’ll have to keep you around too, then.” He flashed you a dazzling smile, causing Damian to mutter something under his breath from beside you.

You gave the beguiling man a weak thumbs up, “Sounds good.”

Damian snorted at your awkwardness, only to sneer and shove at your shoulder when you brought your foot down hard onto his from underneath the table in response. 

“Master Damian, no roughhousing at the table.”

He stuck out his tongue at you, “She started it.”

“Woah! Careful, Damian you know what she does with those,” Jason said with a wicked glint in his eyes. Tim, to your surprise, chuckled from across the table around a mouthful of purple fluff. How fitting that they wouldn’t let you live down grabbing Damian’s tongue during Injustice.

“Yes. Please refrain from further tongue-grabbing,” He smirked around your last name, “and stomping like a cow.”

“Damian!” Bruce and Tim reprimanded in unison, but you just laughed. You were growing more accustomed to his jokes which were honestly more like jabs than anything else. Nonetheless, you could appreciate his prickly humor.

“What?” He looked innocently from Bruce and Tim to you. “At least she has a sense of humor.”

You shook your head in amusement and sipped at your water. “Thick skin is more like it, asshol-” You looked up quickly, first at Alfred, then at Bruce with worried eyes. You weren’t used to censoring yourself for parental figures. “Sorry,” You managed sheepishly. 

“We do have a swear jar here in the manor, Miss,” Alfred says your name. “We wouldn’t want you to start adding to it, now would we?”

“What do you guys do when it’s filled up? Go to Disneyland or some-,” You’d been about to say shit but corrected yourself before it could squeeze out, “-thing?” 

You hoped you'd corrected yourself fast enough that Alfred wouldn't claim any swear jar money from you, but his distasteful gaze seemed to say that you were on thin ice.

“Something like that.” Bruce agreed, shooting a highly amused gaze your way. 

Dinner continued somewhat normally, with Tim and Damian talking about their respective days at school until it came down to Jason. 

Bruce cleared his throat before saying your name. Your eyes instantly drew from your debate with Damian over which genre ‘Las Meninas’ was to Bruce’s baby blues, but they were more focused on the pathetic sniffling mess next to you. “Was telling me earlier about the strange circumstance under which you got sick, Jason. Care to explain?” 

You visibly winced in your seat when he turned to glare at you with his gorgeous green eyes. 

Whatever. 

It’s not like you’d meant to rat anyone out, anyway. 

“Must’ve been something in the air, Bruce,” He pushed his empty plate away. “Speaking of, I better go quarantine myself in my room before I share the love with all of you.” 

Tim and Damian also went to stand. 

You grabbed your plate, getting up from the table with it until Damian slapped the plate out of your hand. “What are you doing?” You gave him a naive look that he ignored in favor of pulling you upstairs. “Come along.”

“Don’t stay up too late now, you two,” Alfred warned after your retreating forms.

“We won’t,” You promised innocently enough.

“You dare lie to my butler?” Damian smirked at you.

“Please, Damian,” You gestured to his short form. “You look like a kid who goes to bed at eight. I garuntee you’ll be out in the fetal position in another three hours tops.” 

He snorted, “I could stay up longer than you could ever imagine.”

You knew he hadn’t meant it to sound so provocative, but that didn’t stop the blush that blossomed crudely across your cheeks. “I guess I’ll just have to take your word on that, then.”

Damian didn’t have time to respond as you smacked dead into Jason’s bare chest. 

You scrambled backward and attempted to keep your eyes off his oddly scarred chest. The rise and fall of his chiseled stomach ceased as if he'd stopped breathing upon contact. You steeled your face, forcing yourself to look up at his usual blank expression. 

The gym shorts he’d had on at dinner, however, had other ideas on where your attention should be. They hung deliciously loose around his protruding muscular hipbones leading your eyes right down to…

“What are you looking at?” He scowled at you, though it held no actual malice. He seemed to be testing you or maybe even teasing, but you couldn’t tell in your flustered state. You were more surprised Damian had remained silent through you blatantly checking out his older brother.

You ignored him and chose to keep your eyes on the towel wrapped around his shoulders for the sake of your own sanity. “So, you cooked for me?”

He’d obviously been caught off guard. “Whatever, just the one time.” You thought back to the scones and somehow now doubted that was the only time based on his sudden defensiveness on the topic. He hesitated before hastily adding, “The other shit didn’t come out right, but it wasn’t even for you, so you get that shit out of your head right now.” 

He huffed at your growing smirk. After all, you’d just been the one fawning all over him and now you have him flustered? 

Time to amp it up.

“The scones you made were so good! I was getting kind of sad you hadn’t made anything else for me since then,” You trailed off, looking up at him through your lashes. Damian tutted somewhere next to you, but you hardly noticed. It was like Jason had you in a trance where everything disappeared until it was just the two of you locked in a heated gaze.

He broke the eye contact first, running a sheepish hand through his locks before coughing into the crook of his elbow, “Once I’m better, maybe.” You smiled widely, “That is, if I even remember,” He added on with a cool nonchalance you saw right through. 

“We should make something together sometime.” He gave you an odd face, knowing the joke Roy would’ve told if he’d been around. “You know what I meant." You sighed, "Cooking, baking, whatever. Anything’s cool.”

"Cool," He fiddled slightly with the ends of his navy towel. “Now move so I can hack up mucus in the shower and shit.”

You ooo’ed, “I’m totally telling Alfred you just said that.” 

He glared at you as you waved and left to find Damian, who’d snuck off while you’d been flirting. “I bet you will, snitch,” He called after you.

You ignore his jab, “See you around.” You called back to him, but he was already gone. 

•

It was only after you’d beaten Damian three times in a row at Dragon Ball Z that he rage quit and demanded you get ready for bed. 

His new puppy Titus followed him around like a, well, lost puppy and went wherever the two of you went. It would be more endearing if he didn’t come up to your tits and all, but, hey, Damian really seemed to cheer up with the new addition to the Wayne family.

You yawned and sleepily followed him and Titus back to his room where he disappeared swiftly into his attached bathroom. Damian reappeared shortly after to open the door for you in sleep shorts and a cotton crewneck. 

“Don’t use my face products,” He warned around the toothbrush that was in his mouth.

You rolled your eyes and joined him at the his-and-her sinks to unload your own products, “As if I need your expensive shit. It’s filled with a whole bunch of alcohol and fragrances, anyway.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re paying for overpriced shit that’s going to make your face break out all for the sake of having a name brand?” You said it as if it were obvious. You snickered as he continued to stare at you with a vexing glare.

He pulled the toothbrush from his mouth to hiss at you, “You’re so annoying. Do you ever hear yourself talking and want to shut up?” 

Damian’s fucking funny. You’d never met someone who could banter with you so well before.

“I can’t wait until I leave and you check the ingredients on your shit because I know you will,” You tilted your head condescendingly. “And you know I’m right.”

He flipped you off in the mirror with his signature slitted, hazel glare, “You know nothing, peasant.”

You snorted at the fitting nickname and began your lengthy skincare process. Damian did the same in silence, only stopping a few times to steal glances at you in the mirror and quickly look away when you stared back. You blamed his weird behavior on the late hour and hurried to put on your moisturizer, brush your teeth and call it. 

“I totally forgot about the air mattress.” You walked into his room to see the air mattress set up next to the side it seemed Damian slept on. The whole thing looked decked out enough with all its fluffy pillows and soft-looking blankets adorning it that it didn’t seem like it’d be too bad to sleep on, though Damian’s king-sized bed definitely looked a lot more appealing. “You’re such a spoiled fucking brat.” 

He chuckled silently and climbed into bed after making Titus scootch over to the edge of his bed. He positioned himself so he was facing the way you were, but he was slightly higher up on his mattress, considering you were ground-level on your blow-up one. 

He reached his hand down and you started at him in confusion, thinking he was handing you something. You brought your hand up to meet his cool one and he clasped them together. “Is this comfortable?”

Your arm was only slightly raised and it wasn’t that bad, so you nodded your head, “It’s good.”

“Okay.” He shifted around a bit before settling down, all while keeping your hand clasped in his. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Damian.” You closed your eyes only to open them a moment later to see his closed as well. You closed them again and drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, it was still dark out. 

At some point in the night, Damian slid partially off of his bed and onto yours in just a way that left his legs completely on his bed, but his head and shoulders pressed just slightly into your side on your shorter mattress. Titus had taken up the remaining space on the mattress, leaving nearly no room for Damian.

You winced at the heat on your left hand and noticed it was still encased in Damian’s unrelenting grasp. You pulled it free of the sweaty grip that had accumulated between you and Damian from overnight, trying not to wake him up in the process. Regardless, Damian stirred as soon as you pulled away. Before he could fully wake up, he slumped forward like a slug to completely fall onto your bed with a pained groan into your blanket pile. He shuffled around on the bed so he was facing you with his head on your same pillow. 

“My neck is killing,” He rubbed lightly at his neck and pushed at your stomach so you’d make room for him.

You thought back to his uncomfortable-looking position from mere moments ago. “I can’t imagine why,” You teased and giggled softly when he squirmed closer into the newly created space between you. 

You could feel the smoothness of his legs as they popped beneath your duvet one at a time. It’s also at that time that he  and he began his assault on you with his cold ass feet. 

“DAMIAN!” You jolted across the inflatable mattress, but Damian’s arctic feet followed you relentlessly wherever you tried to escape. 

“Quiet, wench,” You huffed at the stupid nickname, but remained quiet. All these old-fashioned insults were getting… well, old. “Good,” You blushed pathetically at his praise, thankful it was still dark in the room.

“Whatever, just stop putting your nasty feet on me,” You huffed as you flipped around to snuggle into his chest.  

He let out a breathy laugh, “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

You’d never heard him sound like that before and it was doing all kinds of things to your already raging hormones. You felt the dull ache of simmering arousal heating up. You were so focused on holding in a moan that you couldn’t stop your hips from inadvertently arching into Damian’s front.

“Watch it,” He moaned lightly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” You quickly whispered back.

It was somewhat the truth. 

Namely, you knew it had mostly been on account of Damian’s sexy, newly deepening voice. You hadn’t realized that your tanned friend was capable of producing the most delicious sounds like the one you just bore witness to.

“Don’t let it happen again.” It was dark and deep and, along with his hushed moan, it did nothing to help the wetness that was accumulating in your underwear. 

“Sorry,” You said again, forcing yourself to ignore your urge. You eventually fell back asleep, still wrapped in Damian’s arms.

•

“You look well rested today, Damian,” Bruce said when you and Damian joined Bruce and Alfred for breakfast. Just like last night, Damian is sure to pull out your chair and push it in for you before taking a seat himself. “I trust you were both able to get some sleep last night, then?”

“Of course, father.” Damian kept a calm and even tone as he cut into the slice of quiche on his plate.

“So it wasn’t giggling that awoke me at four in the morning then, Master Damian?” He looked between the two of you with a knowing look before cutting into his eggs with careful precision.

“Purely my fault this time, Pennyworth.” Damian looked down at his plate. 

Meanwhile, you looked over to Bruce, who you were startled to see was already looking your way. You blushed, not wanting him to think anything had happened because, well, technically it hadn’t… but it also hadn’t been completely innocent either with the bed sharing and spooning. Or had it been???

Ugh.

Breakfast returned somewhat normally, though a bit quieter than it’d been previous to Alfred’s question. That was until a flushed, wet Jason appeared behind Bruce, seeming to be fully recovered in his half-naked state of gym shorts and sneakers. 

You attempted to hide your gaze, fighting not to rake your eyes down his toned chest, but your eyes had minds of their own. Without permission, they unabashedly flitted across Jason’s dripping abs to his loose-hanging gym shorts that rode down extremely close to his-

“You’re still here?” He asked you haughtily. It was his turn to eye you up, taking in your PJs up and down.

You went to open your mouth to retort, then took note of Alfred’s polite presence and thought better of it. 

He rolled his eyes, seeming to realize your predicament. He came closer to lean casually against Damian’s chair, where he then began to assault his younger brother’s face with intense pokes. You winced at the venom behind each jab of Jason’s index finger into Damian’s tanned cheek. 

“Fuck off, Todd,” Damian vehemently batted at his hand with irritation.

“I’ll go get the swear jar,” Alfred sighed, elegantly pushing his chair away from the table. “I would like to have just one proper meal around here for once,” He shook his head and disappeared off to find the elusive jar. 

Damian looked at Jason’s dripping wet, rippling abs with disgust. “How long would it have taken you to put on a shirt, ugly?”

“I don’t know, it’s kind of freeing without one. You wouldn’t have the muscles to pull this look off quite yet though there, squirt,” He ruffled Damian’s inky locks and flexed.

You couldn’t understand why he was acting like such an asshole all of a sudden. Not that you could entirely focus on that when the cause of your recent lust was standing directly in front of you exactly how you wanted him: shirtless and wet. 

You looked away just as your eyes reached down Jason’s torso to the dark patch of hair that was cut off by a nasty-looking scar. You bit slightly at your lip all while hoping no one had noticed all of your oogling. 

“Jason. Stop instigating,” Bruce warned lightly.

“Sure thing, dad!” He said in an over-exaggerated tone and threw his wet towel over your head before sitting next to you. You’d never heard him refer to Bruce that way and outwardly cringed at how forced it sounded coming from his cracked lips.

You peeked out from under his towel with a deadly gaze. “You’re lucky I didn’t do my hair yet, or I would’ve-”

“You would’ve what?” He snorted. “Done nothing? Right, right,” He nodded petulantly at you, flicking the hanging towel as if to cement his point. 

You glanced at Damian, but he seemed more preoccupied with the fact Jason was still shirtless. You completely understood his distracted state, still very much in state of your own.

“Why are you being such a dick today?”

“I didn’t see him around here today, actually,” He continued his petty tirade. 

You gave him an admonishing look as you dumped his wet towel onto his still-soaked head, “You forgot this.” You scurried away from the table before he could throw the damp fabric back onto your PJs, not caring how rude it might’ve looked to Mr. Wayne. You were quickly preoccupied with how ruthless Jason was being and had to pathetically dodge back around toward Damian in hopes he would avenge you, but Bruce materialized out of nowhere before either could react.

“Get back here,” He smirked around your name, but Bruce caught the towel in his hand before he could throw it at you. He glowered at Jason with an intensity that stopped even you in your tracks. 

“Enough.” It was enough that Jason did, in fact, stop but not without letting his annoyance be known.

“What? Let me get this straight. The hellspawn can fuck right under your roof, but I can’t walk around shirtless?”

Bruce tensed, analyzing you and Damian briefly. You looked over at his tired form, noting how resigned he seemed by Jason’s statement, but before you could vouch for yourself, Bruce had already taken control of the situation.

“Enough with the pissing match- both of you,re” He looked from a scowling Damian to a seething Jason. Bruce soothed at the crease in between his brows as he said your name, then Damian’s. “Meet me in my office.” Before you could scurry out from under Bruce Wayne’s intense stare, he continued. “Now,” Jason ooo’ed, leaving Damian to glare at him like he’d reached his limit of patience for the day- no, week. “You can join them if you want to keep instigating.”

“Hey!” Jason threw his hands up in exhasperation. Bruce shot him a warning eyebrow which was enough to shut Jason up. He sulked off to his room, but not before grabbing a piece of toast in a huff.

You looked over at Damian, now recognizing the deep, dark tone he’d used on you last night… He’d been imitating his dad? You wanted to laugh, but the situation was far too intense for it. Instead, you resigned to staring at your feet. 

Damian, on the other hand, continued to scowl at his dad, “You’ve got it twisted, old man.” You held in your smile at his insult, figuring it wasn’t the time to be pissing Bruce off any more than he already seemed to be with his sons. You tugged Damian out of his aggressive stance to drag him up the steps to where you guessed his dad’s office might be. Eventually, Damian took charge and led you to where it sat at the end of a short hallway. At the door, he turned to you and offered you simple advice, “Don’t let him intimidate you.”

You snorted, “Easier said than done.”

“You’ll manage just fine. He enjoys your company, it seems.” He sighed as he pushed open the door and sat down in one of the two chairs that faced Bruce’s desk.

“Really?” You raised a dubious brow at him.

“He’s very protective over me and my, erm, well, with fornicating. The Wayne fortune and all.” He looked at you hesitantly, like he didn’t want you to misunderstand what he was saying because it wasn’t about your character at all. He completely trusted you. “He learned this all the hard way,” He added cryptically.

You sat down in the other chair and instantly began to wring your hands in the hem of your PJ top.

“Stop that,” Damian chided. You returned your hands to your side sheepishly. “I told you, don’t be nervous.”

Bruce arrived a few moments later, shutting the door lightly behind him. There was no need for any aggressive door slams, considering his presence alone held all the intimidation he'd ever need.

“You guys aren’t in any trouble,” He said lightly as he leaned against the front of his desk, facing the two of you, “but I do realize you’re both at a confusing, developmental age where you might want to start trying things,” He trailed off, clearing his throat.

You could tell he was trying his best not to make it awkward, but holy fuck was it awkward.

“I’m pretty sure we're both well versed on the sex talk, father,” Damian crossed his arms and looked out the window before he could go any further. 

You were grateful for the interruption seeing as, even though your only information had come from school, you felt knowledgeable enough about the topic. 

You nodded, but your eyes remained glued to the clock on the wall directly behind his hulking form.

“Are you both sexually active?” You and Damian both laughed at the same time. “Alright then,” He looked from you to his son with gentle eyes, “My best friend when I was your age was a girl named Rachel. I remember what it feels like to be young and in a situation like this. I just want to make sure we were on the same page,” He confided, looking off briefly as if reminiscing before focusing his attention back on the two of you. “Will you be staying over again tonight?” 

You thought about your empty apartment absentmindedly and nodded. “If that’s alright, that is!” You were quick to add, seeing as you didn’t want to intrude or overstay your welcome.

“Of course. As I said, you’re welcome over any time. Just be safe.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “I’ll be headed out soon with Tim and Alfred on our trip, but Dick should be around to hold things down while I’m away.” 

It was a thinly veiled warning not to do anything stupid and you understood completely.

“We will be respectful of your wishes, Father.” You hummed in agreement.

Bruce walked forward and placed a gentle hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I know you will,” He looked over at you, causing you to flush under his attention. “And I know you will too.” 

God, this shit was so fucking awkward. You thought, no, knew that this is probably the first and only time you were glad not to have parents to discuss you the birds and the bees.

You nodded for what seemed like the billionth time, “For sure.”

“Good. You can shut my door on the way out.” Damian got up and you went to follow, but Bruce stopped you before you could leave. “Just be careful,” He looked to Damian at that point, leaving you to wonder what exactly had happened between Bruce and Rachel. “Both of you.” 

“Father,” Damian nodded in acknowledgment.

As soon as you were out of his father’s office, he ushered you in the direction of the game room and loaded up GTA V. All the while, you had Bruce’s last words replaying eerily in your head. 

“What do you want, Todd?” Damian’s voice drew you from your thoughts. 

You looked up and over to the doorway to see Jason draped against it in a way that accentuated every muscle on his body without even trying.

“Bruce told me to come apologize.” 

“Okay,” Damian paused your game to give Jason his undivided attention. “Get on with it then.”

“Don’t make me regret doing this, fuckface,” Jason merely shook his head, looking at the ground.  

Damian pinched his face together at the nickname, “Doing what, Todd? For fucks sake, just say something.” 

You giggled. One stern look from Jason through the slits of his eyes, causes you to cease under the intensity of his green glare. 

“Whatever. Don’t be lame about it, but me and Roy-”

“Roy and I,” You and Damian corrected in unison. 

“Yup, already regretting this. Nevermind. Bye.” Jason spun around to leave, but you got up and grab his pale arm before he could.

“Please tell us?” 

He looked down into your sincere eyes and sighed like he regretted ever stepping foot in the room. 

It was weird how he could go from sitting with you at lunch and skipping with you and helping you through the whole... incident to being embarrassed to be seen with you. And by weird, you meant hurtful. 

You didn’t have time to mull it over before he divulged your curiosity.

“Fine,” He flicked your hand off of him with ease. “There’s a party here tonight, so stay out of the way or come. I really don’t care as long as neither of you snitches,” He shot you a pointed look.

“I didn’t even snitch!” You said to no avail. He merely rolled his eyes, clearly not believing you in the slightest.

He gave you both a stern look as he pointed to both of you and backed out of the room, “Keep it quiet and don’t make me regret inviting you lame freshmen.”

You ignored his jab, thinking back to how lucky you were to have randomly packed a dress in your haste. You lamented, however, when you came to the realization that you’d only packed a single pair of PJs. You’d have to get a shirt or something from one of these Wayne’s, but definitely not from Damian’s twig-ass. 

•

It was yours and Damian’s first high school party, so you guys got ready together. Downstairs, you could hear the commotion from Roy and Jason obnoxiously setting shit up for the party. It seriously sounded like they had a gang of thirty-some people breaking in or something, though you hardly doubted anyone could get past the extensive security system Wayne Manor had. 

“This one,” He held up a green plaid shirt, “or this one?” He switched hangers to show off a white dress shirt and argyle sweater vest. 

“Damian, you’re 14 not 40,” You stopped doing your makeup to go over and look through his closet. “Don’t you have a plain v-neck or something? Seriously it’s like a closet for a miniature businessman.”

“You don’t have to insult my height or lack thereof, every time,” He scowled your name.

You peered back at him mirthfully, “If your increase in voice crack frequency is anything like lighting and thunder, I’m pretty sure you won’t have to worry about your shortness for too long.” You go back to looking through his excessive sweater vest collection. “Plus, your dad’s pretty tall, so you at least have that going for you too. He is your dad- right?”

“Whatever. And yes, biologically,” He seemed hesitant to say more, but you were used to it after how Jason acted around the subject too. Damian seemed a lot more proud of being a Wayne than Jason ever did though, that was for sure.

“Here!” You throw him a black faux-turtle neck shirt and a pair of jeans to ease the awkwardness. “Do you have any tennis shoes?”

“You mean sneakers?” He snorted.  

"Same shit," You rolled your eyes. “Do you have them or not?” He left for a bit and you took the chance to slip into your forest green long sleeve mock-neck dress with a sweetheart cutout on the chest, revealing a generous amount of your cleavage.

“I have red and oh-” Damian stopped in his tracks at the sight of you in your outfit before clearing his throat like he hadn’t completely just malfunctioned at the sight of you. “Red or blue.”

You shrugged, thinking either would look good, “You choose.”

“Fine then,” He then went about putting the read oens on whilst perched on the end of his bed.

You rolled your eyes, thinking back to his go-to color choice for painting, “Typical.” You went into the bathroom to finish your smoked-out, dark brown eye with a sharp cat eye and nude lip just as the party was getting started. “You think we should wait an hour and then go down?”

“Why would we be late for a party that’s being thrown right here?”

“Ever heard of fashionably late, Damian?”

“It’s what father says every time he’s running behind schedule.”

“No, that’s a pathetic excuse for tardiness,” You clasped at his shoulders. “This is a statement. A cool statement.”

Damian looked at you with boredom, “I don’t see the difference.”

“Because you’re not cool yet, it’s okay,” You patted his shoulder condescendingly. “Listen, we’ll wait thirty minutes and go down.”

“15.”

“20.”

“Deal,” He shook your hand with stormy, unreadable eyes. You could’ve sworn he was pissed off, but you could never be too sure with Damian. “In the meantime, what do you suggest we do?” His tone was somewhat teasing, leaving you to believe that, perhaps you’d read his ‘annoyance’ compeltely wrong.

“We could always pregame?”

“Yes, gaming would be good.” 

You snickered when he led you to the game room. You stayed and played Lego Batman until two seniors burst in whilst attacking each other with their tongues while you guys were five rounds in. 

“This is our cue to head down.” 

Damian nodded as he hid his favorite controller. “Jason’s a dumbass if he thinks these plebs aren’t going to steal.”

“I didn’t even think about that.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” You giggled and pushed at him as he came to your side. Together you walked down the main staircase and witnessed the wreckage below for the first time. 

Sweaty, already drunk bodies twisted together in a mangled mass around every square inch of the place. Smoke, whether from cigarettes or what, you didn’t know, covered the air in a blanket of fog over the foyer where the main action was happening. 

There was even a DJ. Well, DJ was a bit of an exaggeration considering it was just some kid with a laptop and Spotify premium next to a makeshift dance floor.

You were quickly enveloped in the madness as soon as you reached the ground, only finding relief at the familiar reddish bob of Roy’s head. He caught sight of you, then Damian’s signature scowl and waved you over only to be left speechless by your revealing dress. 

“Eyes up, creep,” Jason joked to a completely distracted Roy. 

“Yeah, yeah," Roy said, waving him off. 

"Anyway,” Jason said, addressing you and Damian again, “get some beer, don’t make fools of yourselves and,” Jason leaned in close enough for you to smell that he’d way overdone it on the cologne. “Try to stay out of the way. Got it? Awesome,” Jason saluted you and Damian and stalked off to where Roy was busy hitting on a group of senior girls. 

You bristled, turning to Damian who also looked just as put off.

“It’s not too late to just play video games, you know,” You offered.

He glared at you for even thinking to say so, especially after the disgusting sight you both beared witness to in the game room. You definitely didn’t want to walk in on anyone or, worse, sit where anyone had been… well. 

“This is our first party and we will stay. We’re already late enough as it is.”

“20 minutes isn’t even that bad! Plus, look,” You pointed to the doorway where the rest of the seniors were just now filing in. “See. The cool, older kids are just getting here now too.”

““Alright,” He looked at them, nodding. “I suppose we’ve done well for ourselves, then.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t lead us wrong.” 

It was getting harder and harder to hear each other of the roar of the crowd and the obnoxious bass system Roy had hacked into in order to play his Spotify setlist for the night. Not to mention how crowded and hot the room was already getting. 

“Are parties supposed to be this hot and claustrophobic?”

You shrugged, grabbing his hand to lead him over to where the beer was being handed out by two guys you’d never seen. 

“ID’s?”

“ID’s?” Damian mocked them, hands landing squarely on the fold up table with enough force to make it cave in a bit. “This is my fucking house. Now, hand over the refreshments or face my wrath.” 

They cackled at Damian’s vengeful eyes but did end up handing you each two cans of some piss-tasting beer.

“Okay, beer acquired,” You laughed lightly as Damian nearly spit out his first sip. 

“Holy shit, this is fucking terrible.” He downed the first can in seconds and didn’t hesitate to chuck it at the back of Elliot’s blonde head. It landed with a loud thump that you could hear from over the blasting bass, causing you to cover your mouth in disbelief.

“HEY!” You and Damian quickly ducked behind the ping pong table and snickered. 

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, but I think I love it,” You playfully pushed his shoulder.

Once the coast was clear of Elliot,  he helped you to stand.

“Glad to hear it,” He cheers’ed you again and downed the second one. 

“You might wanna slow down there, buddy.” Two beers in less than ten minutes? Not a good start for the rules Jason had just laid out.

“Please, I’ve been drinking since I was six,” He waved off your concern easily as he finished the remains of his can.

You thought back to how strict Bruce seemed and doubted the validity of his statement. The last thing you wanted to do is upset the man who’s given you shelter and food when all he’d asked for in return was respect.

“Sure,” You sipped carefully at your own as you watched him go back and get more. 

The majority of the night was spent with you and Damian chatting about random shit once it was settled that Damian refused to dance and you refused to dance alone. 

True to their word, Jason and Roy really had ditched you to be with Damian all night. You couldn’t deny it made your heart hurt at what you interpreted as rejection. You weren’t cool enough to hang out with them in front of others, or, maybe they didn’t want people to know they actually hung out with you in the first place. Was that acid reflux or your heart exploding into your throat? No, it was definitely acid reflux from the shitty ass beer.

Tipsy Damian truly was the only thing getting you through the night. 

“You wanna play beer ping pong?” He said randomly to you, motioning to the table you’d been ducking under two hours earlier. 

“Beer pong?” You gently corrected him. “Sure,” You got up and walked over to where a game was ending between two groups of senior guys. Meanwhile, the trashed senior girls mainly stood around the table to watch and cheer. 

When you approached you heard the whispers and snickers start, but you were buzzed enough to able to ignore most of it. You were three beers deep and they weren’t going to ruin your good time, especially when Damian was loosening up as much as he was. It was as if he was finally acting his age for once and you were having a blast.

“Who wants some of this?” Damian shouted at the snickering group of seniors, but, eventually, two of them agreed. 

“This is gonna be funny,” He nudged his friends as they gathered around the table to watch.

“We’ll see about that,” Damian egged them on. “My drunk aim is better than your sober one any day, fool.”

“This kid’s weird. Mad respect,” He snorted and missed his first shot. You were up and dunked it on your first and second try. “Damnnn,” The senior drank both cups and winced. “I’m gonna feel that later for sure.” 

His friend went next and sunk both shots, leaving Damian to drink two more that he probably shouldn’t have. Regardless, your friend wasl still able to make his next two shots, so he couldn’t be that drunk yet… right? 

At this point, people at the party had begun to crowd around and place bets.

“GUYS! CLASH OF THE CLASSES!” Someone to your right screamed causing a loud cheer to ripple throughout the room. More and more people joined around the small table and you were definitely feeling the pressure. 

Damian on the other hand? He was loving it.

He nudged you in your side lightly, “Told you we would’ve had a blast together at last year's party.” 

You could see it in his eyes he was definitely feeling it and laughed with ease, “Anything we do together is fun, Damian.”

He blushed, “Of course.”

“Six left for freshman, eight left for seniors!” Someone called out the score for the room. 

You were met with loud boo’s that Damian ate up. He was way too into it, but it made it all the more fun for your now slightly tipsy self.

It was at this point that you saw Roy and Jason break away from their small group. You watched as they tore through to the front of the crowd that surrounded you and Damian with anxious looks adorning their faces. 

Jason came right up behind you with an audible huff.

“I thought I told you guys to lay low,” He hissed mainly at you since Damian clearly wasn't the soberest out of the two of you. 

You didn’t know what to say, electing to give him an apologetic, somewhat awkward, smile as you dunked your other two balls without ever looking away from him. 

“YOO, NO WAY!” The opposing senior lamented, causing everyone to loose their shit in a ferocious roar that left you to cover your ears. 

Man, could drunk kids cheer.

Damian was swept into the chaotic energy of the boisterous room and lifted you up into a spin before forcing you into an aggressive chest bump. You rubbed tenderly at the point of impact after he finally released you, nearly doubling over in laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. What made the whole thing better was Jason’s constipated face behind Damian’s beet red shit-eatting grin.

Damian, true to his earlier word about not being drunk, landed both shots even in his not-so-sober state. He yelled out your last name with an excitement that had Jason rubbing at his temples. 

Roy came up from behind Jason to see what all the ruckus was and chuckled, “Oh, this is good.” Roy soon joined in on the cheers and you blushed at his and Jason’s attention that was now fully on you. 

The seniors missed theirs and someone yelled out the updated score. 

Two more rounds like you’d been performing and this shit would be over with you only having to drink one. 

“We play next!” Roy jostled a deadpan Jason who looked like he would rather shoot himself in the foot.

You finished up your first game after only having to drink two more cups, but you guys had ultimately won. Jason reluctantly let Roy drag him into a game as the crowd was still hyper from the last match. He looked from a stoned Roy next to him, then across the table to you and a highly energetic drunk Damian who was acting more like a kid on a sugar high. Jason was completely over the situation and completely over his dumb friends, you could tell amusedly. Good. It was about time he acknowledged your presence.

Roy took the first shot and it bounced straight into your cleavage. “Sorry. Guess I have a habit of aiming where I’m looking at, princess,” He winked at you with a tipsy smirk.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you hoped it didn’t show. 

You retrieved the ball from its precarious position with an abashed expression, shooting him a glare while motioning for him to hurry it up. After all, you didn’t want to be stuck playing ping pong for another 20 minutes. If you could even last another ten, you’d be content. At the rate you’d been drinking over such a short period of time, you were definitely starting to feel the effects of the piss-tasting beer you’d had the displeasure of drinking all night.

It was a fairly close game, proving it hadn’t been sheer drunk luck that you and Damian ended up being beer pong fiends, but, being as close as it was, your shots were getting sloppier and sloppier. When it came down to your turn, you looked across the table at the last cup and sighed as the one cup spun into two, three- ugh. 

You winced, throwing your first ball at the third, most focused cup in your spinning vision, but you’d chosen wrong and ultimately threw it at Jason’s crotch instead. Hey, maybe you had the same problem Roy had. The redhead seemed to think so too as he nudged Jason with a resounding snicker that you could hear even over the crowd. 

You were surprised the game had been able to hold everyone’s attention for as long as it had, considering everyone was still gathered shoulder to shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of the action.

“Trick shot for the last one,” The dude you’d just played warned you as you set up your last shoo-in shot.

Jason came to your defense with a quick ease that shut down any further arguments, “That’s not a real rule.” 

You could tell that they hadn't wanted either of you drinking anymore just to win, even though you'd assured them you were fine. Aside from the slight buzz and heat that has settled across your skin, you could still see and think somewhat straight. 

Without a second thought, you turned around and threw your last ball over your shoulder, figuring it was probably better that you couldn’t see. It sank with a resounding ‘plop’ into Jason’s cup mere seconds later. 

“Fuck my life,” Jason said, rubbing his hands pathetically down his face.

 Not only had he lost the match in front of the entire his entire grade, but you and Damian were breaking the only other rule he’d given you: don’t make fools of yourselves. 

Your celebration dance with Damian seemed straight out of The Parent Trap and Jason begged for Roy’s help in hiding you two for the rest of the night. 

Luckily, he told Jason to knock it off and that you guys were just having fun. “How many times have you seen them let loose?”

“Yeah, Jason,” You stuck out your tongue, becoming surprised when Damian grabbed it with a loud snort. “Hey!”

“Now we’re even,” He laughed as he said your last name. He looked unsteady with a blaring red ringing his face, “We should sit.” Which was Damian code for he wanted to sit.

Another group of teens had already taken over playing, so you guys wandered back towards the makeshift bar, where there were a few seats scattered around the bustling dance floor. Damian uneasily plopped down into one of the fold-up chairs while Jason sat down with more grace and draped his arm around the back of Damian’s.

Roy crossed his arms, “You guys are lame. It’s barely even one in the morning.”

“Pathetic,” You drunkenly nodded, causing an odd rush to ripple across your brain. You shook the odd feeling and glanced enviously at the groups of people dancing. It was then you realized, that, yes, you’d been to your first party, but you hadn’t even gotten to dance because of Damian’s blatant refusal. 

Roy, catching your line of sight, took the opportunity to steer you away from Jason and out onto the dance floor without saying a word. Somewhere behind you, Damian protested even as drunk as he was, but you ignored him and quickly fell into a drunken rhythm with Roy in the sea of sweaty, hormonal bodies. 

You were glad for the confidence boost the beer had given you because normally, you’d be running for the hills. The contact was intoxicating, even maybe more so than the alcohol currently thrumming across your warm skin.

Roy quickly took the lead, twirling you around while holding your back against his front as he trapped you with your intertwined hands. You released your hold on his grip to drag them lazily up your chest and under your chin, where he lightly nudged at the side of your face with his own 

His breath was directly against your ear, cuasing you to stumble slightly into him. He ate this up with a ferocious intensity you weren’t used to being directed your way. 

He brought his hands to your hips, where they gripped down as if to avoid the temptation of wandering elsewhere. 

To reward him, you ground back into him but quickly doubted yourself. You found yourself faltering, even after you’d felt his sharp exhale against the gentle skin of your ear. You shifted your head slightly, bumping your nose against his own, which continued to hover lowly near the side of your face.

“Just like the motorcycle!” You turned around to face him before he could react, nearly brushing your lips against his own in the process. You couldn't help but giggle at the missed contact.

You took your close proximity and prime position of your chest against his own as an opportunity to throw your arms around his neck and draw him closer. You felt the music coursing through you as you swayed your hips against his front as you slowly sank down his body with your hands unlatching from behind his neck to trail down his front lightly as you went. 

He snorted and pulled you up before your mouth could get any closer to his crotch before bringing you upright again to spin you into a twirl. He then dipped you down, where he held you for a moment. 

“Yeah,” He drawled deeply, “just like it.” His voice was raspy like he’d been smoking. Based on the underlying scent that lingered beneath his suffocating cologne and his glowing verdancy against the reds of his eyes, it seemed like he very may well have been.

You squealed, clasping your hands together in sheer delight at the action while still in the dip. No one had ever danced with you, let alone dipped you like this. It left you in a whirlwind of butterflies and pure, confused arousal.

Roy brought you back up and pointed over to the corner with a smirk and spun you around so you could see Jason and Damian sitting hunched over with matching scowls. You waved, still within his grasp, leaving them to quickly sit up and correct themselves nonchalantly. 

“Since neither of ‘em dance, should we should give ‘em a show, darlin’?” He joked in a horrible southern drawl.

You tipped a fake cowboy hat at him, “Sure, thing pardner.” 

He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re funny,”  He said your name as he placed his hands on your waist. He pulled you onto his knee, which was slightly bent to accommodate for your height difference. “Ever seen Dirty Dancing?”

You gasped drunkenly, “Of course, it’s iconic.” His eyes held a devilish glint you count place. “Why?”

“Come on, be my baby tonight. I already got you out of the corner and everything, princess.” 

You stiffened in his grasp, stumbling to find an intelligent response, but he was already there, guiding your upper body to spur movement. You gave into willingly, still trapped in the hypnotizing gaze of his half-opened emerald eyes. 

“Roy.” Is all you managed to gasp as you brought your arms back around his neck to begin grinding into his movements. You then proceeded to replicate as much as you could remember about the scene from the movie in your drunken state. Halfway through the song, you felt your dress riding up with each grind into his muscular thighs. You’d attempted to unwrap one arm from around him to pull it down before your bare ass could be exposed to the entire party, but Roy was already way ahead of you. 

“I got you, princess,” He yelled over the thumping bass.

You inadvertently arched against his chest as he moved a hand tantalizingly slow down the side of your thigh. His sweaty, freckled hands pulled down at the offending fabric before sliding them back up just as slowly to rest again at your waist. 

Your head was already spinning, but Roy's presence alone was making you dizzy.

“Thanks,” You responded breathlessly. 

He pulled you back to him to wrap your arms back around his neck as he leaned your torso backward with his to do a sultry half dip. Meanwhile, your thighs remained interwoven with his own thick ones. It was just like the movie. 

You snorted suddenly, finally reaching your limit and pushed him away just as the friction from his thigh was getting to be too good. You were feeling way too drunk and way too entranced by Roy’s body heat to be this close to him right now, especially when you were already confused by your feelings for, well, everyone around you, essentially. 

“Alright, I think I’m all danced out. I’m gonna go join the grumps.” 

Surprisingly, Roy smacked at your arm and motioned for you to lead the way. 

You shot him a confused glance considering he’d ditched you earlier to hang with the senior girls, but in your drunken state, all you could focus on was the electricity that still remained where he’d been touching you. 

He ended up leading you over to where Jason and Damian were talking about a book you couldn’t focus on over the pounding of the bass, or, wait- was that your head? Ugh. 

You brought a palm up to your head to stop the head rush, but it was pointless. Your brain felt like it was on a rollercoaster.

Jason called your name, “You should sit down.”

You nodded. 

Sitting. 

That sounded good.

Yes.

All the seats were taken, so without a second thought, you dropped clumsily into Jason’s lap. You only stopped to second guess yourself when you felt him stiffen underneath your touch. 

Fuck it, you were too drunk to care. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and nestled into it no matter how much he protested. His cologne, mixed with his sweat from the night, quickly became your favorite scent. Definitely a step up from the overbearing shit from earlier. 

“Mmm,” You mumbled into his slightly damp skin. 

Damian seemed slightly more sober, while you seemed slightly more intoxicated than before you went dancing. You didn't see it, but Damian eyed you with an unreadable, hazy gaze. 

“Careful, now, Jay,” Roy gestured to Jason’s beet-red face. “She’s my dancing partner.” 

You lazily smiled at his wink before burying your head in the crook of Jason’s neck again.

Jason and Roy stuck around you and Damian a bit longer and thought you’d both been handling your alcohol well enough to leave the two of you on your own while, so they went to get refills. They came back to see you being lifted onto the ping pong table by the crowd to dance and quickly sprung into action. They glared at a sleeping Damian and were on you in an instant, pulling you down without hesitation before you could embarrass yourself. 

Roy was quick to pull down your dress that had ridden up again at the same time Jason lifted you off the table. You used him as your primary support once you were on the ground again as you stumbled to regain your balance. 

“But wait!” You tried to plead with them as you stumbled and slurred in their supportive grasp. 

“Release my ping pong beer partner!” Damian, now awake, stumbled after the three of you toward the blocked-off service stairs in the kitchen.

“Close,” You snorted into Roy’s shoulder at Damian’s inability to grasp the name beer pong, “so close.”

“What’s going on here?” 

Hey, you knew that sexy voice…

“Speedo!” You greeted the raven-haired man with a drunken grin, attempting to shake his hand. “You’re dressed this time.” Your head snapped up and down erratically as you took in his tight-fitting police academy uniform. “Still good, though. You look-” Roy swiftly covered your mouth with his hand while Jason attempted to cover you and Damian from his line of sight. 

You hiccuped lightly, which Roy attempted to cough in order to cover the offending noise.

“She’s just messing around,” He reassured a skeptical Dick. “Right?” Jason said your name and turned around to give you a ‘don’t blow this’ type of look that, in your drunken state, you took to mean continue rambling about how hot his older brother was.

“Dick,” You snorted and forgot what you’d been about to say due to the obvious, funny nature of his name. “We’re just cool over here, just chillin’,” You leaned further onto Roy’s shoulder as your legs began to wobble due to the lack of Jason’s support on your other side. “Keeping it a scorching 100 over here, playaaa,” You shot a bemused Dick the ‘okay’ symbol with your hand and attempted to close your eyes as Damian had moments earlier. 

“Alright,” He sounded extremely entertained.

That was good. Right?

“Guys, he believes us,” You tried to whisper, keyword tried, thinking you had it made, but Jason’s quick glare that met your own when your eyes finally reopened seemed to say otherwise.

“Do we need to pay the toll, or can the troll fuckin’,” Damian belched loudly, “Moooove.”

“I know Bruce sent you, but please don’t tell him about this.” 

You peaked over at Jason to see him busy reasoning with Dick while you were more preoccupied with nuzzling your nose into Roy’s sticky neck. You were feeling very cuddly tonight for some reason.

“Princess, chill out with that,” He muttered quietly to you and you nodded up and down against the skin of his neck. “Can you keep it chill?” He asked under his breath, looking directly into your slitted eyes from the corner of his own.

“For sure,” You nodded seriously before turning to Dick to correct your previous statement. “Hey, Dick. Quick update.”

“No, no, no,” Jason attempted to shush you, but Dick mirthfully motioned for you to continue. “I’m listening.”

“Just wanted to let you know that now we’re actually keeping it a chill 100 over here,” You snorted and completely lost balance. “Playaaa!” Jason rushed to your side before you could fall in order to relieve Roy of some of your dead weight. 

“Dick, seriously. I’ll pay you,” Jason had resorted to bartering with the older man, who appeared extremely amused. 

He waved his hands in front of him dismissively. “As long as no one gets hurt, we’re all good here.”

“Seriously?” Jason and Roy exclaimed in unison. 

Dick nodded, “I just happened to look at the cameras, but I don’t think Bruce has, so it should be all good on that front.” Jason nodded animatedly. Dick looked to Damian, who was attempting to fight both Jason and Dick off at the same time, then over to you, who was slowly falling asleep in Jason and Roy’s arms. “Kids gotta have fun at some point. Besides, I have a date to get back to, but you really should shut this down before Bruce decides to check in for himself,” He finally moved, allowing you guys to pass up the stairs.

“Think you could help me out with that, Officer Grayson?” Jason asked as he looked back to the raging party that showed no signs of slowing any time soon.

Dick grinned wickedly, tipping his police cap, “With pleasure.”

•

You woke up in the wee hours of the morning with a rude awakening that splattered all over Damian’s toilet. 

“Ughhhh.”

Damian sighed from behind you, coming over to hold your hair throughout the ordeal. He only slightly made fun of you for missing the bowl, but, for the most part, ended up comforting you. He rubbed at your back as you dry heaved and only left to get you some water and a new toothbrush. 

“What happened to my one from earlier?” You asked as he handed you the new one.

“You said my bathtub was dirty and started cleaning it with it.” His eyes were too jocular for it being five in the morning. 

You wrinkled your nose, “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ew,” You said still grossed out. 

“Yeah.” 

You both laughed before noticing that you were still in your party dress. Without thinking, you took it off under the false pretense that you had shorts and a bra on underneath but quickly and all too late, remembered you’d foregone them. 

Damian’s eyes widen and you were quick to cover yourself up, not that it stopped the er, rising problem Damian had acquired at the sight. Bruce’s words from a few days ago forcibly sprang to mind as your heart confusedly raced at the thought of what lay beneath. ‘Be careful.’ 

Damian, without another word, turned around to give you some privacy.

“Sorry, I forgot.” You said, feeling completely embarrassed as you searched around single-handedly for your sleep shirt but remembered all you had were the ones from the previous night. “Do you have something I could wear?”

He looked over at you, “No.” 

You'd already realized earlier that nothing he had would fit your frame and sighed. 

“Look away.” 

He obliged again easily as you looked around for a loose blanket or clothes but ultimately found nothing.

“This never happened,” He whispered your first name, catching you off guard in your search for clothes. 

“Okay.” You nodded in the darkness, not knowing what else to say. 

Your face felt warm when Damian patted the spot next to him on his bed and you obliged, curling into his chest where you felt the remnants of his arousal. You controlled yourself in your still slightly buzzed state and instead focused on steadying your breathing. 

Titus whimpered lightly from where his heavy form had been forced to the edge of the bed, but, eventually, he was able to find a comfortable position.

Your pounding head and arousal eventually quelled and you were able to finally drift off, though the heat remained on your cheeks longer after you both fell back asleep.

•

You awoke again with a start as Damian’s door was thrown open by Jason, who looked like an absolute zombie. He hadn’t seemed to notice you yet because he avoided the air mattress that was deceivingly fluffed up by the bedding. At first glance, the pillows hidden beneath the blankets appeared to be your sleeping form.

Titus barked, jumping up from the bed to run past Jason. The Great Dane disappeared down the hallway in a rush, most likely in search of breakfast.

“Wake up, you annoying little fuck,” Jason smacked a hard fist down on Damian’s side that was curled around you. “We got busted.”

“Todd!” Damian growled with enough venom to have you hastily escaping from his arms. 

Jason’s eyes blew open at the sight of you naked in Damian’s bed and backed away instantly. “Woah, you guys know I was just joking about the fucking part yesterday.”

Damian wore a satisfied smirk that you quickly smacked at with a pillow. 

“Nothing happened. Now both of you look away,” You clutched at your chest, realizing you had just exposed it to both Jason and Damian.

You rubbed at your pounding temple as you remembered the fact that you had no clean clothes with you and none of Damian’s would fit. So, did that leave you to wear this blanket around until you got home? God, you hoped not. 

Damian sensed your problem with ease, “Todd. Fetch her some clothes.”

“Why the fuck do I have to do it?” But he started looking around on the floor anyway like the gentleman he was. 

“No, I meant your clothes, you annoying fat fuck,” Damian gave a devilish grin as he spat Jason’s earlier insult back at him. “Nothing I have will fit.”

He looked at you and shrugged, coming back with red cotton gym shorts and a soft, white short sleeve v-neck before leaving without a word. Damian quickly followed after him, giving you the chance to change.

It’s only after you looked in Damian’s mirror that you noticed the shirt was somewhat see-through due to its lightweight nature and color. Better than something dirty, though, you thought with a shrug and scoured around the floor for your things to pack back up into your bag. 

Once you’d collected everything, you scurried downstairs to where Jason and Damian were already at each other’s throats. 

“Woah, what happened? I only took two minutes.” You went to break them apart, but Bruce beat you to it. You startled away from the older man to let him handle it. 

To your surprise and amusement, you noticed Roy still lingering about, though he was too busy groaning and hiding from the light to acknowledge you or the tense situation.

“BOYS!” Bruce’s demanding voice echoed throughout the manor with a reverberating force. 

Roy winced and smacked his hands over his ears, no doubt still feeling the lingering effects of last night as much as you were.

Boys? Well, that didn’t include you! 

You attempted to sneak forward toward the front door with your bag in tow before anyone could notice, but you were quickly spotted and reprimanded.

“You. Stay.” 

You winced, shamefully retreating back to where the boys were lined up, including Roy, with your tail between your legs. After the conversation you'd had in his office, you knew you’d betrayed his trust.

“Why does she need to be here for this?” Jason complained. “The whole thing was my idea anyway. This is between you and me, Bruce.” 

He glanced down at your outfit with a barely quirked brow, “She’s here because she’s family. As much as Roy and Stephanie are, at least.” 

Family?

Bruce Wayne was calling you family?

You'd never even heard your parents say the word.

You gleamed inwardly at the acceptance, but it was soured by the fact that you’d already gone and let him down. The first chance you got at an actual family and you’d fucked it up. 

Maybe that’s why your parents never hung around.

Whether it was the remnants of the alcohol, the weight of the past few days, or even just the disappointed look in Bruce’s eye, you couldn’t help the sniffles that trickled from you. They started off slow, then erupted all at once. Heavy tears soon poured from your eyes, cascading down your quivering lips before splattering against the ruined carpet below.

You’d never been reprimanded before, only ever having been ignored. This being so, you had no idea what to say other than ‘sorry’ over and over again until Bruce finally put a hand on your shoulder just as he had previously. It was meant to comfort, but you still shrunk away from his touch. 

"It's okay," He sensed your hesitancy and withdrew his hand immediately. “Hey, it’s not that serious,” He switched up his tone to be more jovial, Do you know how many parties I threw here back in the day?” You shook your head ‘no’ and he sighed, seeming to think back on all the trouble he’d got into. “Well, it was a lot.” Your tear-stained eyes met his sincere blue ones. 

“Okay,” You pouted, wiping at your cheeks. 

He couldn't help but laugh a bit at your lackluster response. "Alright," Bruce’s eyebrows creased together as he pondered a fitting punishment. “Just get this cleaned up. Alfred's on vacation for the next two days,” He glanced pointedly at the four of you before walking off, leaving you all to the piles of empty cups and trash.

Jason was on you in an instant.

“Fucking crybaby,” Jason teased you. You quickly wiped at the remaining tears on your face with vigor as if it would somehow hide what they’d already bore witness to.

“Please,” Damian was quick to come to your defense. “You’re lucky she spouted so many tears. Father went easy on us,” Damian pointed out what you’d all been thinking.

Jason instantly quieted without further insults, realizing it was true. He gave you one last unreadable look before silently going back to picking up the copious amounts of red solo cups that littered the floor.

Roy sidled up behind you, tapping you on the opposite shoulder of where he was and flicked your nose when you finally turned the other way. 

“I think I know whose clothes those are. And I can see why he gave them to you,” You attempted to whack your broom at him in retaliation, but he just laughed and slid out of the way. “You dancin’ with Jay over there now?” He wiggled his brows as he easily dodged another one of your broom attacks.

Even Damian couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of your chest, which was tenting salaciously against the thin fabric. 

“Whatever. My head hurts too much to deal with your shit right now, Roy.” 

He left you alone with a knowing smile that you ignored in favor of starting to clean.

You knew this break from reality would have to come crashing back down on you sooner rather than later. You also knew that this meant that you’d eventually have to face your sketchy apartment. All this being said, you knew you'd be able to take anything on with your newfound system of support.

[next]  ||  masterlist ||  pinned

[screechthemighty]

Happy Late The Batman Monday Everyone, I finally finished the first chapter of  a very self-indulgent The Batman fic! Featuring me having feels about Bruce being an autistic icon and just. Clark Kent in general. I’ll post a link to the AO3 version in a reblog, but until then, you can read the whole chapter down below!

a symbol of hope - chapter one

November 21

There was a lot of work to do.

By day, the city still needed to be cleared. There wasn’t as much work for him now, but he kept an eye out. Went where an extra set of hands or a reassuring presence was needed.

The night was something different. His territory. What remained of the police were stretched thin, and the criminal element still cannibalized the city where they could. So he took to the shadows. Guarded the weak points. On good nights, it was simple: guiding the lost and displaced to safety, spooking a few opportunists who fled the second stealing became too difficult, following lines of supply trucks to confirm they met no resistance.

On bad nights, he confirmed his suit was still stab-proof.

It didn’t leave much time for sleep, but he tried. Staying rested kept him able to protect the city. Even if he was just lying down, it was something.

The mental hurdle was always there, though. The feeling that he could be doing more, that there wasn’t time to rest. It made the simple act of getting out of the suit and into a bed (or on the couch) nearly impossible.

But he managed. And, ironically, waking up was almost more difficult than falling asleep. Especially when the first thing he saw was...

Reminder: Interview, Daily Planet, 1:30 p.m.

Bruce groaned and pulled the pillow back over his head. It took him another fifteen minutes to drag himself out of bed.

Shower. Comfortable clothes. Kitchen for breakfast (more like early lunch, but he was eating). Back to the bathroom. Teeth. Check face for visible bruising. Shave. Stare at the closet and wonder which outfit would make him look...

That was the problem. He didn’t know how he was supposed to look.

Bruce had been a recluse his entire adult life. He might have stayed that way until he died, but...Riddler. Renewal. All of it proved that Gotham needed more than he could give while living in the shadows. It needed a two pronged approach. The Batman and Bruce Wayne.

But that meant an image overhaul. Hence the interview. Hence him staring at five similar white shirts and wondering what the difference was. If there was a difference. If wearing the wrong shirt meant giving off the wrong image. The right image was still a half-formed concept of a person: Bruce Wayne, penitent philanthropist. Trying to repair his family’s legacy. He didn’t know who that person should look like, but it probably wasn’t the face he saw whenever he glanced at the mirror.

But I don’t know how to be anyone else.

Bruce sighed and picked up the shirt he hated the least. That was how he picked pants, too. Easy choices.

The tie? Less so. He was still stuck on them when he heard the sound of footsteps, slow and hesitant, accompanied by the tapping of a cane. Bruce didn’t turn around, hoping to hide his concerned grimace for as long as possible. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he said.

He didn’t have to turn around to see Alfred’s skeptical expression. The man had been one of his only constants for two decades. Bruce knew his tones by now. “You really want to face the press alone?” Alfred asked.

No, Bruce thought. Aloud, he said, “It’s one interview. I won’t die.”

“I’m sure you won’t, sir, but I’d rather not risk it.” It took a few more steps for Alfred to reach Bruce’s side. He seemed to be moving more easily. That was good to see. “You’re over thinking it.”

Bruce sighed again. “I know, it’s just a tie...” He picked one at random. It was deep red, almost blood red. Too violent, or am I the only one who sees that? “I did find my cufflinks.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Alfred examined the scattered ties before selecting one. Royal blue, nothing especially unique about it as far as Bruce could tell. “This one, do you think?”

Bruce shrugged. All the same to him, really. Alfred seemed to take the gesture as agreement and sat down to tie the knot. “Your mother used to do this,” he said suddenly.

Bruce had expected to hear about his father, today of all days. He’d been bracing himself for the inevitable you look just like him ever since he got dressed. Bringing up his mother was...unexpected. “What do you mean?”

“She was the same way with jewelry. She always matched outfits with your father...” Alfred passed the tie off to Bruce. “...but she was on her own with accessories. She put quite a bit of thought into it.”

Bruce immediately knew what he was talking about. Their outfits had always been color coordinated. As he slipped the tie on, he remembered a different set of hands adjusting his lapels. Well, Dad’s wearing blue, so you can match him, or you can do...red or gold, I think. Whichever one you want.

He’d picked red because it matched her dress. He’d almost forgotten about that day.

It was just another way he was untethered. His parents knew what to do. Always had. He could mirror them socially and know it was the right answer. Now…

Well, he had Alfred, but he couldn’t exactly match outfits with his butler. Even if their relationship was more complicated than that. That would definitely come across as the wrong kind of eccentric.

Someone knocked at the door. “Master Wayne?” called Dory through the door. “The reporter is here. He said to take your time since he’s early, but I thought you should know.”

Bruce glanced at the clock. 1:20 p.m. Ten minutes. It felt like seconds. “Thank you,” Bruce called back, wincing at the sound of his own voice. This is going to be a long interview. He adjusted the tie one more time before going for the cufflinks. “You did vet this one, right?” he asked.

“Thoroughly,” said Alfred. “No criminal history, no family ties to organized crime. His parents are sorghum farmers from Kansas, nothing of real note there. The Daily Planet is well known for having high standards of integrity. He’s new to the paper, but all of his reporting seems fair.” Alfred hesitated. “He’s adopted. I hoped that a shared background might give him some additional empathy.”

Oh. “Good thinking.” Not that Bruce liked being reminded of it, but whatever worked. He scooped up the suit jacket (suit jackets always matched pants, it made that easy, at least) and put it on. “Be honest. How do I look?”

“Shoulders back,” Alfred instructed immediately. Bruce fought back the urge to roll his eyes as he forced his body more upright. Alfred stood carefully, examining Bruce’s appearance. The only thing he adjusted was Bruce’s hair, carefully smoothing it back into place. “You’ll do just fine,” Alfred said.

For the first time, Bruce felt even the smallest surge of confidence.

It withered and died the second he left the room and heard a strange voice in the study.

His stomach sank.  It’s fine, it’s fine, just breathe, it’s fine. “There’s nothing left from the Riddler investigation, right?” he whispered.

“I made sure it was covered,” Alfred whispered back. “Though next time you should choose a different paint. Or no paint at all.”

“Sorry...”

Alfred waved him off. “Just remember, they can’t tell if you’re looking at their nose.”

“I know.”

Bruce thought about trying to smile before he went in. He was sure it would look like a grimace, so he focused on looking calm instead. Breathe. Breathe. It’s fine. You have to get used to this.

Breathe.

Bruce opened the door.

He took in the scene carefully. The figure sitting in the chair: about his age, dark hair, medium olive skin, eyes maybe blue. He was wearing glasses, and the glare from the lights made it hard to tell. White shirt rolled up to the elbow. Red and blue tie. There was a splattering of drying water on his pants, from mid-shin upwards. If Bruce had to guess, he’d been wading his way through the downtown. Probably looking for another story, in case the interview wasn’t interesting enough. Shoes were dry, so he’d been smart enough to bring foots. His parents were farmers, he’d know a thing or two about dealing with wet weather. And he seemed...sociable, or at least able to fake it. He was chatting with Dory as if he’d known her his entire life.

“...does have me feeling a bit like my first day at MU, I won’t lie,” the man said. He glanced towards the door, and stood up almost instantly when he saw Bruce. “Oh! Mr. Wayne!”

That felt weird. The man didn’t look much older than Bruce, if he was any older at all. But you are Mr. Wayne, now. You have to get used to it. And he’d have to get used to handshakes, which the man crossed the room to offer. “Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Thank you so much for agreeing to this.”

Bruce was pleased with himself for not wincing when he shook Clark Kent’s hand. Helped that his hands weren’t too clammy or dry. He was expecting them to be calloused, but maybe Kent had been away from the farm long enough for them to soften. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Bruce said.

“Oh, no, not at all, I know I was early,” Kent said. “I wasn’t sure how clogged the roads would be. And...Mr. Pennyworth?” Kent offered a hand to Alfred. “Glad to see you’re on your feet.”

Alfred accepted the handshake. “Thank you for your concern, sir.”

That made national news? Of course it did. I’m Bruce Wayne.

He’d never hated that fact more. But he pushed that to the back of his mind, along with everything else. He sat down on the other side of the desk, grateful for the distance. His hands strayed to the cufflinks, thumb tracing the W etched into it.

“So, what does the Daily Planet want to know?”

He just hoped it wasn’t anything too damning.

 Bruce Wayne was infamous in Gotham, but no one knew anything about him. What they did know was tragic: parents killed in front of him at age ten, two decades of radio silence after that. The family butler and Bruce Wayne’s legal guardian, Alfred Pennyworth, had done an admirable job keeping him out of the spotlight, but even when he hit adulthood, it was radio silence. Gotham’s absent prince, never making public appearances, never showing up at the usual parties and outings that rich people went to.

Then the Riddler happened. He’d been targeted for assassination; it was only pure chance that the attempt failed. Now Bruce Wayne was out in public, making generous donations with promises of more to come, taking control of the Renewal fund. It was very noble of him.

Clark was starting to suspect that it was also incredibly painful for the guy.

Bruce Wayne didn’t project the kind of bravado that most people like him exuded. He wasn’t even, as some back at the Planet had suspected, the suave and mysterious type. He was shy. Soft spoken, careful grip during the handshake. He made eye contact, but perhaps just a bit too much eye contact, like it was something he had to think about doing.

Clark always recorded interviews and took notes. One for exact wording, one for broad strokes and impressions. He put a bit more focus into looking at the notepad this time. It might spare the guy some discomfort. “I just wanted to thank you again for agreeing to this. I understand you’re probably busy.”

“It’s no trouble. I wish you could have seen Gotham under better circumstances, Mr. Kent.”

Chooses his words carefully, Clark noted. “Maybe I’ll come back one day. I’ve never seen buildings like this,” he said. Establish rapport. Seem approachable. It might calm him down. “She’s an old city, right? And your family has been a part of it since...?”

“The beginning, more or less. My father always used to say there wouldn’t be a Wayne family without Gotham.”

“And that’s why giving back is so important for you?”

“I have the means. I have an obligation to use them well.”

Wayne’s voice stayed level, but there was something bitter in those last words. Regret. When Clark glanced up, Wayne was looking off to the side. “I take it the Riddler terrorist attacks put some things in perspective as well?” Clark asked. “Between the allegations against your father and your being targeted like that...”

That struck a nerve. Wayne’s jaw twitched, a barely-restrained grimace. Despite that, his voice stayed level and soft. “I’m learning from it,” he said. “Whatever mistakes my father may have made and whatever his intentions were...he loved this city. I know that.  I do, too.” He glanced towards the window. Gotham was foggy that day, but Clark had gotten a glimpse of the view before the interview started. It was still spectacular. “I want to help. And if it makes up for any mistakes my family has made, I’ll take that.”

Not a confirmation. Not a denial, either. That had pretty much been Bruce Wayne’s response to the allegations that Thomas Wayne had used mob connections to have a man murdered. Clark had wanted to look into that one, but the case was almost two decades old and one of the only men who could definitely confirm what had happened was dead. He’d need more time to research it properly. Besides, he’d been told, under no uncertain terms, that this wasn’t about the deceased Waynes. This was about the living ones.

It still took a lot of self-control on Clark’s part to brush past the allegations and keep the discussion going. “And shutting down Renewal was a part of that?”

“Restructuring,” Wayne corrected. “With more oversight. I’m in open talks with the mayor to ensure the money is used properly this time.”

“Is that why she hasn’t been answering her phone?” This time, when Clark glanced up, he realized Wayne was staring at him in confusion. “I’m kidding. She’s been a hard woman to reach. I know you’re only part of that.”

“...right.”

Oh, no, I embarrassed him. Time to redirect. “Were there any projects in particular you were hoping to focus on? And how do you plan to prioritize where the money is sent?”

Sometimes you didn’t know the right question until you asked it. And that was definitely the right question. Wayne didn’t magically loosen up and seem entirely comfortable, but he did start speaking more freely. It was clear he’d put a lot of thought into the matter; his speech didn’t seem so forced or rehearsed. Even his body language shifted. Ironically, he was making less eye contact, but he was looking towards Clark, his shoulders less tense, jaw unclenched.

He cared about this. He seemed especially focused on helping the displaced youth of Gotham, which made sense considering his history. He spoke quickly enough that Clark counted on the recorder to pick up quotes and switched exclusively to mood notes.

Times of crisis bring out the best in people. They seem to be bringing out the best in Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s Crown Prince finally ascending to the throne. (Too much?) Leans forward more the longer he speaks. Wayne had clasped his hands on the table. His thumbs drummed a beat as he spoke. Weirdly, it looked like he’d sprained a finger recently. Clark was tempted to ask, just to keep the rapport going, but it might have been a sensitive question. Wayne seemed to embarrass easily.

Again. He’s shy. None of his business, anyway. Just his reporter nosiness shining through.

“...I’m sorry, I sure you had other questions...”

“Hmm?” Clark looked up from his notepad. Wayne had withdrawn unexpectedly, leaned back in his chair, hands back in his lap. “Oh, no, this is perfect. I’m sure you’ve been keeping your accountants busy.”

For a moment, Clark could’ve sworn he saw Wayne smile a bit. His eyes slid over to where Pennyworth sat. Clark had a feeling there was an inside joke there. “Yeah, I think they’re starting to get a little sick of me. Not what they were expecting when I finally started paying attention to the finances, I think.”

Oh, that was a good entry point, actually. “Speaking of...if you don’t mind my asking, what exactly does Bruce Wayne spend his money on, when he’s not spending it on Gotham?” Wait, maybe rephrase. “People don’t know much about what you’re like as a person. Of course, your philanthropic work is the most important thing right now, but...”

Clark had never seen a man’s brain so blatantly stall out as Wayne’s did in that moment. He didn’t even become closed off again, at least not like he had before. A slight crease of the eyebrows and wrinkle of the nose, that split-second frown accompanied by another confused glance towards Pennyworth. That did make Clark a little nervous about whatever Wayne was about to say, but...

“Nirvana,” Wayne mumbled. Then, a bit louder, “I have...a record collection.”

It didn’t sound like a deflection; more like he was embarrassed. He probably thought Clark was looking for a juicier answer, but honestly, Clark was relieved it was that normal. “Do you have a favorite...?”

It wasn’t quite the slam dunk question of earlier, but it did get Wayne to open up enough to explain the difference between grunge, post-grunge, and second-wave post-grunge, something Clark didn’t know existed. It must have showed on his face, because Wayne nearly started apologizing again. “It’s not you,” Clark said quickly. “It all makes sense. I’m just new to this. My parents just listened to a lot of Klezmer, if that gives you any idea of where I’m coming from.”

“Klezmer?”

“Yeah, it’s very Jewish. I learned a good chunk of Yiddish from that.”

Wayne perked up slightly. “It’s heavy metal, but...David Draiman from Disturbed is Jewish.”

“Okay, them I’ve heard of.” Not the Jewish part, though Clark made a mental note to tell Pa about that. “Do you play an instrument?”

“I took piano as a kid. I was...thinking of taking up guitar...”  Clark looked up in time to catch the tail end of another embarrassed wince. “Not to be that person...”

“No, no, it’s a good instrument! I hope you have better luck than I did,” Clark said. He was sure Wayne would. He didn’t have Clark’s very...unique set of concerns. He had learned to navigate the world with his strength levels pretty well, but guitar strings always broke on him no matter how careful he was.

The interview wound down not long after, leaving Clark with more than enough material. Combine it with the investigating he’d been doing around the city, and even if he didn’t get the chance to talk to the mayor...I can definitely write a good article with this. “Thank you for taking the time, Mr. Wayne,” Clark said. “Really, thank you.”

“No trouble,” Wayne said, though the slight note of relief in his voice said otherwise. He did still hold out a hand for Clark to shake, so he hadn’t stressed the poor guy out that badly (he hoped). “Are you staying in the city?”

“For a little while,” Clark said. “There’s a lot of ground to cover now they’re letting people into the city. Anywhere I should avoid?”

“Southeast is still in rough shape,” Wayne said without hesitation. “And a lot of the displaced have moved into the train systems since they’re still not running.”

The sad thing was, that only made Clark want to go there more. Shining a light on the people of Gotham who still needed help—and many of them badly—was part of the reason he’d come. Besides, it’s not like I’m in any real danger...

But the only two people who knew about that were far away in Kansas, and they’d probably worry about him anyway. So Clark just smiled, thanked him, and went on his way. He pretended not to notice Wayne immediately sinking back into his office chair before the door was even closed, or how probing and protective Pennyworth’s gaze was.

It had certainly been an unusual interview, but honestly? Clark was used to unusual.

 He expected to see the maps, the police reports, the eyecam footage of Gotham’s suffering splayed out on Bruce’s screens. What he didn’t expect to see was...

“You meant that earlier?” Alfred asked.

Bruce glanced up from the computer. He had a music store open in one window and a beginner’s guide to guitar purchasing in another. “I...didn’t,” Bruce admitted quietly. “But then I thought about it, and...”

He trailed off and leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t in the suit, not yet, but he’d draped one fo the capes over his shoulders, enveloping himself in it. The overall affect was...contradictory. Gotham’s protector and a lost child mixed together.

But he’s not a child anymore. He hasn’t been for years. Maybe not even since his parents died.

“It’s something people like me do, right?” Bruce finished. He nudged the spare chair in Alfred’s direction with his foot. “Play an instrument?”

“Do you mean people like Bruce Wayne?” Alfred asked as he sat down. “Or people like a young and single heir to his family’s fortune?”

“The second one.”

“In my experience, yes. And the good news is, if you don’t enjoy it, collecting instruments you don’t play is a hobby on its own.”

Bruce hummed. His eyes scanned the pages with the same quiet intensity he’d use a crime scene. “Might be worth the investment. I need something to talk about, and...I don’t think I can get away with having a robust Hot Wheels collection anymore.”

The Hot Wheels. Alfred had almost forgotten what having those bloody things underfoot had been like. “I think you’d be surprised,” Alfred said. “So long as you keep them in the box...”

“Why? They’re toys. They’re meant to be used.”

“Something about the value. I don’t understand it either.” Alfred shifted in his seat—damn hip was still aching after the explosion—and examined Bruce’s expression carefully. Some stress from the interview was still lingering in his eyes. “You did well earlier.”

Bruce finally looked directly at Alfred. In that moment, he looked like a halfway point between his parents. The coming-back-to-Earth crease in the brow his father got whenever he was interrupted from his work. The confused frown his mother wore whenever she was complimented, as if she were trying to figure out what she’d done that was worthy of praise. “Don’t say that yet,” Bruce said finally, a bit clumsily. “We haven’t read the article.”

“Well, you made it very difficult for him to say anything negative about you,” Alfred amended. "Nothing that will stick, anyway."

His mind briefly flashed back to Mrs. Wayne, fretting after another public appearance. I looked okay, right? Did I smile enough? She’d worried about people thought of her. And when they'd found out about the reporter…

I don't want everyone to look at me that way again.

She'd been so afraid of being seen as…fragile, unstable. Different. And now here was her son, contemplating which public facing hobby would best make him seem normal.

I'm sorry, Martha. I tried. I swear I did.

He just hoped Clark Kent had some mercy in him. Enough to leave Bruce be. Not for the sake of the family name, or covering for the Batman, but for his own sake.

The world was cruel enough as it was. Bruce didn't need to face that special brand of cruelty. Not with everything else he faced.

Bruce abruptly shut the window and stood, shrugging off the cape. "I might be out later than usual. There's another food convoy coming through. I want to be sure if gets to the right people." The single-minded focus had returned to his eyes. It pained Alfred to admit it, but he seemed so much more confident in those moments. "You rest."

Alfred shook his head, unable to hide the fond smile on his lips. "I'm supposed to tell you that."

"I know you're thinking it." Bruce glanced Alfred's way. For a moment, Alfred thought he saw Bruce smile. "I'll be okay."

Alfred felt his smile slip. He forced it to stay. "Of course you will, sir."

You'd better. I'll never forgive myself if you're not.

[rebelthree]

@everythingheard (bruce b)

the smell of smoke hangs in the air days later though betty is sure without the efforts of those she’d bore witness to on the television the destruction would had been worse. new york had never been a place driving was easy, but now, she was left to leave her car outside the main area of ruin and proceed on foot amid fallen stone and alien ships. alien ships. aliens. had you asked her years ago if this would be the world’s new normal she’d have called herself crazy and that was saying something considering she took part in hallucinogenic drug experiments (of course, she couldn’t count out the possibility of other planetary life when such a vast universe remained but this--, well, nevermind) but then she had watched as the man she loved changed into a hulk and fought something her father had created (something, they all had a hand in if she was honest with herself). the world, the universe, was stranger than the hallucinations her and bruce had experienced at harvard. 

she watches as crews begin moving rumble, reconstruction already underway and dodges behind a barrier that’s blocking the public’s path to get closer to stark tower. she’s in the thick of the area the battle had transpired just as her phone vibrates for the fourth time that morning, a depression in the earth catching her attention as a likely place the hulk had landed one of his smashes. it’s all a kind of a cruel reminder of a night she had lost him again and yet, it also sparks her determination further; he’s in new york. shield told her that much even if she hadn’t been allowed to go to him right away. he’s somewhere in that building and tony stark was going to tell her where. 

betty ross makes it to the entrance and holds the door for a set of workers carrying a piece of equipment only to find a security guard already eying her. she attempts to use her shield identification in her quest but it does little when he says he has to make a few calls. it clearly states she’s a scientist, not an agent. so, within the next three minutes she’s managed to draw the attention of three more, voices raising and a keycard swiped when one attempts to physically remove her from the building. 

do they not understand she’s not some angry person who blames stark or whoever else for what happened? 

she’s dr. elizabeth ross and she needs to speak with tony stark. when more workers enter she uses it to her advantage, bumping into what they were carrying and sending the items scattering to the floor between her and the guards and promptly dashes to the elevator with the doors closing just before they reach her. she’s not entirely sure where to find him but the top seems as good a place as any, using the keycard when access proves to need it. she imagines, had the building not been hit so hard in battle it wouldn’t be this easy for her to go about her task. this was stark tower and there had to be further fail safes in place. 

when she reaches the top, she calls out for mr. stark only to find a computer’s voice speaking to her and security entering the scene a moment later. she lands an elbow to one, pulling out of his grasp before another grabs her arm. voices are rising again and she can imagine how this whole situation would appear from the outside. betty breaks away again only to halt completely when she sees tony stark himself come into the room holding a bowl of cereal in his hands as if nothing is amiss. 

“mr. stark, i’m--- let go of me!” she cuts off to shove at a security guard again before redirecting her attention. “my name is--” he finishes her name for her, telling them to let her go. “i know how this must look and sound but i need you to tell me where bruce banner is. is he alright? is he still hulk--” speech ceases, however, when her gaze peers behind him at the man who now enters the space with a bewildered expression. her lips part in surprise before she’s moving again in a flash of dark hair. 

when she reaches him she throws her arms around him for the briefest of moments, as if, she’s not entirely convinced this is real until she feels him there, breathes him in. then, she pulls back and slaps him on his chest with both hands every few words as if to emphasize them. “a year, bruce. it's been another goddamn year!" but then, her tone becomes lighter, hands stopping their attack of his chest. "are you okay? when they told me they were bringing you--” she doesn’t clarify who they are or what she means by that. “--and then i saw the battle on tv.. ”

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 7

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

Marinette rubbed her head as though the action might actually have an effect on her throbbing headache.  It hadn’t any time she’d tried it in the last hour, but it gave her brain the illusion that she was doing something to help other than just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.  The action also gave her something to focus on other than the pounding hangover from not getting nearly drunk enough last night.  Because somehow despite the massive amounts she, Jason, and Roy had drunk last night, all of her problems still existed.  Utter bullshit, that.  And now she still had to deal with all her problems and felt like crap on top of it.  Double bullshit.

She adjusted her sunglasses again, fighting the urge to squint because squinting hurt.  Although honestly, she wasn’t sure which hurt more, the florescent lights, the sunlight beaming through the hotel windows, or squinting.  She was sure there was some way to settle the glasses on her face to block out all light, she just hadn’t been able to figure it out.  She now realized why people significantly smarter than her wore those godawful, ugly glasses that wrap around their head and cut out all sun.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the full blast of a suspiciously sunny Gotham morning. Gotham has like three sunny days a year and one of them is today?  What the Hell did she do to Tikki to deserve the last few days?  She wandered out of the hotel still contemplating revenge. How does one get revenge against a god anyway?  How many ways can she destroy cookies?

She didn’t get more than a few steps before she sensed someone in front of her.  She weaved slightly to the left but quickly realized there was someone there too.  She weaved to the right and finally looked up when she realized there was someone there. There were people all around her, taking pictures of her, shoving phones in her face as they yelled questions at her.

She stumbled back a few steps and blinked at the group of reporters that had apparently been camping out in front of the hotel for her.  She quickly plastered on one of Adrien’s patented PR smiles and nodded to them. She tried to push through them, expecting them to move out of her way, as they did in Paris for Adrien.  But reporters in Gotham clearly did not show the same respect that Parisian reporters did because none of them moved out of her way.  

Her smile strained slightly as she looked to the one in front of her.  “Excuse me, please,” she requested in the most sickeningly sweet voice she could manage.

The reporter sent back an excited smile.  “Ms. Dupain Cheng, would you care to comment on your relationship with your family? Perhaps explain why Gotham hadn’t had the pleasure of your presence before?”

Marinette looked the reporter up and down.  She looked at the group surrounding her, noting how they had closed the circle to the point of touching her.  She’d been to raves with more personal space.  She moved to push through a small gap between reporters, but stopped when they quickly closed the gap.  Marinette gritted her teeth and widened her smile.  “There’s a reason we’ve chosen not to speak about this and that reason was NOT to discuss it in an exclusive with you at this exact moment.  Now if you will excuse me, I would very, very much like to get some coffee.  I’m sure you can understand the difficulty of starting a day without it.”

She gave them a conspiratorial smile, hoping if they felt like they were in on the joke they would let her through. Instead, her response emboldened the reporters, who started shouting out her name and more questions.

“Will you attend more Wayne functions now?”

Marinette didn’t even know which reporter shouted the question to address them if she wanted.  She huffed and decided to give up on pleasantries.  She was hung over.  She was hungry.  She wanted coffee.  “Why would people change a relationship that doesn’t involve you because you know about it?” she grunted as she tried to push through the cracks between people.  

The reporters closed ranks tighter around her, making it impossible for her to break through without injuring someone, which she was sure was the plan of at least a few of them.  Whether it was to get a more salacious story or to sue Bruce Wayne, she wasn’t sure.  Probably both.  She looked back to the hotel lobby hoping the concierge would see her predicament and help her, but he was determinedly ignoring the scene in front of the hotel.

She set her jaw and prepared herself to create a scene channeling her best imitation of an irate Chloe Bourgeoisie.  She’d deal with the fallout later.  Right now, she needed to get out of this situation before someone actually did push a little too hard and tiny gods decided to curse the city.  She opened her mouth to yell but instead heard someone else’s voice boom through the crowd.

“I think my sister told you to leave her the fuck alone.”

Marinette looked around to try to find the source of the voice but couldn’t see past the wall of reporters.  She didn’t have to wait long for him to push his way through the crowd like a wrecking ball, not worrying about injuring anyone as he shoved his way through.  Jason stopped in front of her with a smirk.  “She just says it in a much more polite way than I do.”  He held up a bag and a tray of coffee.  “I come bearing gifts so you don’t have to deal with this shit out there somewhere.”  

Marinette shot him a grateful smile and turned back toward the hotel.  “That sounds brilliant.  Thank you.”

Jason winked at her.  “I got you.”

They didn’t stop or even look at each other until the elevator doors closed behind them.  Marinette leaned against the wall and finally took a full breath.  She looked over to Jason with another grateful smile.  “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting that and I…” She looked down for a moment to collect her thoughts.  “I wasn’t prepared.  I’ll do better next time.”

Jason’s eyes softened.  The press was a lot for all of them to get used to.  None of them had taken naturally to it, especially Gotham’s press.  They at least had the advantage of starting young and knowing what to expect, not to mention since they were kids, the press didn’t have a lot of chances to get to them.  Marinette had just been thrown out there without a life preserver.  Bruce didn’t even send any guards.  “Don’t worry about it.  I thought you could use the save.”

Marinette laughed and narrowed her eyes at him.  “That was a socially acceptable version of a kidnapping.  I had no way of getting out of that without exposing that there is no relationship.”

“Should have just exposed it then,” he shrugged, not remotely nonplussed by her comment.  “I just thought you could use some sustenance after last night.”  He held up the bag for her as they exited the elevator and made their way to her room.  “I know you must be used to fancy French food so I got a variety of food from the best bakery in town.  And I didn’t know how you take your coffee or if you prefer tea so I got both and lots of sugar and creamer.”

Marinette giggled as she opened her door.  “You’re not wrong.  My parents owned a patisserie.  I grew up on the best baked goods in France.”

Jason blinked a few times at her before setting the drinks and food on the coffee table.  “That’s it, next family reunion is at your place.”

“Not so sure that’s going to be a thing,” she said quietly.  She reached for one of the croissants and ripped off a small piece, popping it in her mouth.  “Not really sure I count as family.  That’s kind of been made clear.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t know and we’d like to get to know you, if you’re okay with it,” he said biting off a chunk of cheese Danish. “Look, I’m not looking for family dinners and brunches and shit, I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”  He looked up at her earnestly for a moment before his eyes turned mischievous.  “Although if you grew up in a bakery, I might want all that at your parents’ place.”

“At least you’re asking.  That’s something anyway,” she grumbled as she took another small bite.  

“Speaking of family, where is model boy?”

Marinette puckered her lips in disapproval as she watched the crumbs fall from Jason’s mouth as he spoke.  She looked away before she snapped at him.  “He and Max went apartment hunting.”

“Without you?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Neither of them were suffering from a raging hangover that took double the normal dosage of painkillers just to take the edge off of,” she said pointedly.

“Coffee,” Jason grunted, motioning toward the coffee. “Lots of coffee and food and water.” He pushed the bag toward her. “Not the bird bites you’ve been taking.”

She studied the croissant in front of her with a furrowed brow as though it had some kind of answers for her.  She nearly dropped it when she heard a knock on the door. She looked through the peephole and gasped, flinching back from the door.  Jason immediately jumped up and ran over to her.  “What is it?  Another reporter?”

“No,” Marinette rasped out, her eyes never leaving the door.  “Worse.” Her heart started racing and her breathing became labored.  She wasn’t ready for this.  She wasn’t ready to speak with him.  What was she supposed to say?  How was she supposed to speak with him?  She didn’t even know how she felt yet.  She hadn’t sorted through this all yet.  Tears threatened to fall from her eyes.  She wasn’t ready.  This was happening too fast.

She flinched visibly when he knocked again. He’d had time to prepare.  He’d had time to think this through.  He knew how he felt about this.  He’d had time to plan and prepare.  She had none of that and here he was on her doorstep.  He knew about her and she knew nothing about him. He was ready and she wasn’t given that chance.  

She was just expected to deal with it.  She was just expected to handle it.  She was just expected to accept it.  He’d created this entire situation and she was left to pick up the pieces and move on.  And now he was here.  He was on her figurative doorstep in person and now she had to deal with it, on his timetable, according to his preference, because yet again it all had to be done on his terms.  Her preferences didn’t matter.  Her feelings didn’t matter.  Her opinion didn’t matter.

“Want me to kick their ass out?” Jason offered already reaching for the handle.

Marinette shook her head and let out a calming breath. He thinks he can come in after twenty years gone and act like everything is fine and expect her to play nice, he has another thing coming.  He wanted a detached relationship?  She could do that.  She’d seen it enough growing up with Adrien and Chloe’s parents.  She knew how to play the game.

She shook her hands to get the tension out before finally reaching out to open the door.  “Mr. Wayne.  This is an unexpected pl… experience,” she stuttered.  She mentally grimaced.  She was showing weakness.  She needed to be strong.  She plastered on a clearly fake smile.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being weak.  She wouldn’t cry for him.  She hadn’t cried because of him in the twenty years he’d been absent, she wouldn’t do it now.

Bruce took a breath.  “Marinette…”  He froze for a second.  He hadn’t thought hard enough about this.  He knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell her, but he hadn’t thought about how to tell her, how to lead into it.  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he rushed out, wincing internally at the sound of it.

“Well, that’s a first,” she scoffed before she could stop herself.  She slapped her hand over her mouth and mentally berated herself.  What was she doing?  She was supposed to be calm not cruel.  She was losing this game!

Jason grinned and propped his arms behind his head as he kicked out his legs, the very picture of relaxed.  “I like her.  I’m keeping her.”

Marinette shot him an appreciative smile but Bruce did a double take, frowning at the sight.  His mind raced as to what it meant that Jason was there.  Was it good?  It was good, wasn’t it?  She was getting close to one of her brothers already.  But that brother was Jason, and despite the fact that he loved Jason, he was well aware their relationship was still contentious at best.  Not exactly the best brother for her to get close to. And he was already encouraging her hostility against him.  Not that he didn’t deserve it, he knew he did, it was just that any of the other brothers would help mitigate that hostility.  Jason would fan it.  “Jason, what are you doing here?”

“Brought baked goods and coffee,” he answered casually, a smirk making its way onto his face.  “You?”

Bruce let out a heavy sigh through his nose and smoothed out his face.  Getting annoyed now would do nothing for his goal.  If Marinette was connecting to Jason, getting frustrated with him would just push her further away.  “As I mentioned, I was hoping I could speak with Marinette about the… situation.  I wanted…”

“‘The situation’,” Jason mocked shaking his head at Bruce.  God was he always this bad with his kids?  He thought it was just him.  “Way to sound sincere, B.”

Bruce’s lips pursed until they were no longer visible. He didn’t need Jason sabotaging him right now.  He was doing a good enough job of it on his own.  “I’d like to speak with Marinette on our own, please.  Why don’t you go home?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her chest clenched. She didn't want Jason to leave.  She wasn't ready for Jason to leave.  Once Jason left it was just her and him.  Just thinking about it suddenly she couldn't breathe.  Suddenly the air felt too thin and too heavy at the same time.  No.  She needed somebody else here.  

Jason shot a look over to Marinette, letting his eyes pass over Marinette like he hadn’t been noting her body language.  He let his eyes wander for a second before returning to Bruce with a tilt to his head.  “No.  I’m witnessing this, unless Pixie tells me to go home.”

Marinette could have kissed him… on the cheek. Because he was her br… it was complicated.  But she was beyond grateful he had spoken up for her.  She let out the breath she’d been holding and raised an eyebrow at him. “Pixie?”

“Small, violent,” Jason grinned at her.

Marinette laughed and playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, whatever, Goliath.”

Jason leaned back again.  “Oh, no, that one’s already taken.  By a dragon bat, no less.”

Marinette’s face scrunched in confusion.  She tried to search through her Americanisms for what a dragon bat could be.  It had to be a species of bat right?  Maybe? But then again it was American English so for all she knew it could be a flower.  “A what?”

“Jason!” Bruce admonished.  He was really not looking forward to trying to explain what a dragon bat was or how Damian came to be in possession of one.

Jason rose up enough to grab one of the croissants and shove half of it into his mouth before he spoke.  “I’ll introduce you sometime, or Damian will have to actually… which he won’t.  I’ll show you a picture, you seem like the kind of person who likes terrifying animals as long as they’re fuzzy.”

“I… fair,” Marinette conceded easily.

“If I can bring us back to the topic at hand,” Bruce interjected loudly, cutting off any more discussion of dragon bats.

“Family bonding, right?”  Jason cut him off with a pointed look.  “Isn’t that what we were doing?”

Bruce glared at Jason for a few seconds, which did nothing to wipe the smug smirk off his face.  Giving up on Jason, Bruce focused on Marinette.  “At the gala you mentioned you didn’t plan on being in town much longer, leaving today actually.  I was hoping I could convince you to stay a bit longer.”

Marinette examined him with a dour curiosity.  She cocked her head to the side.  “And why might that be?  You don’t need me here to make an announcement that we prefer to keep our relationship private, hence they didn’t know about me.”

Bruce let out a deep sigh.  That was fair.  It was a fair response.  Sabine had warned him she would be suspicious of him.  “This isn’t for the public,” he assured her.

“Isn’t it?”  She blinked a few times at him, her face blank.  “Are you sure?  It feels like it is.”  She turned to Jason.  “Doesn’t it feel like it is to you?”

“It does indeed,” Jason nodded in agreement, keeping eye contact with Bruce as he did.

“Jason…” he started threateningly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you relying on me to make fixing your fuck up easier for you?  Wrong kid.  You’re looking for Dick or Tim… actually I wouldn’t rely on Tim for help explaining why being an absentee father isn’t actually that bad.”

“Jason, I think it’s time for you to go home,” Bruce growled.

Marinette straightened up and moved between him and Jason.  She wasn’t going to let him bully Jason for standing up for her.  “I don’t think so.  So far he’s the only member of my family I like.”

“Ooh, you should totally give Cass and Steph and Duke a chance too,” Jason offered with a faked enthusiasm as though the confrontation with Bruce didn’t just happen.  He kept his eyes on Marinette but relished the increasingly frustrated scowl on Bruce’s face as they ignored him.

Marinette nodded.  “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh and Alfred… and I guess Tim too.  He’s a prick but he’s alright I guess,” Jason continued.

Marinette blinked at him.  It was like a never ending list of people.  An ongoing list of people he had taken in after walking away from her.  A long list of people he’d cared about and for without having to be pressured into it by the press.  A mile long list of people he wasn’t pretending to care about.  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“We have a lot,” Jason corrected her.  They were in this together and he’d remind her of that as many times as she needed.  “Alfred isn’t a sibling though.  He’s like a grandfather.”

Marinette paused at that.  She hadn’t considered that.  Another grandfather figure.  Another grandfather that didn’t want anything to do with her.  Sure now Grand-père Roland loved her but for the first fifteen years, he’d known about her and didn’t care.  Maybe it was her.  It had to be her right?  Two grandparents, that isn’t coincidence.  That’s a pattern and the only commonality was her.  She pursed her lips together to focus on something other than the tears welling up behind her eyes.  “Sounds like the kind of person who definitely would have known about me.”

Jason’s eyes widened.  “I… don’t know the answer to that,” he answered slowly.

Marinette nodded, slowly going numb.  “So, what I’m getting from this so far is I have a another grandfather-type figure that knew about me and didn’t feel any kind of interest in me and a ton of people that my father decided were worthy of his love and affection when I wasn’t.  So it isn’t that my father didn’t want to be a father, just that he didn’t want to be my father.”

“That isn’t…” Jason started.  This was going down the wrong path.  He was trying to show her he had her back, not remind her about the pain.  But instead, now Marinette was getting hurt, remembering the pain.  She’d lost her sass and impertinence and now was moving toward hurt.  And she was blaming Alfred.  Alfred was one of the only good things about being a Wayne!

“Jason!  I think it’s time for you to go home.  Now!” Bruce roared.

Marinette contemplated Bruce coldly, numbness consuming her fears and insecurities and morphing into cold, analytic contemplation.  He was blaming Jason.  Her frustration wasn’t because of Jason or anything he said. Her pain wasn’t because of Jason, it was because of him, because of his decisions.  And instead of taking responsibility for it, he was blaming Jason.

Jason blinked a few times, no longer certain of his role in this interaction.  He looked back and forth between Marinette and Bruce, noting Marinette’s hardening features.  She was getting ready for a fight.  He could see it developing, but he wasn’t at all sure Bruce did.  He held up his hands in surrender and sat back down calmly. “I promised I wouldn’t leave unless Pixie asked me to.  I intend to keep my promise to her,” he said calmly.

Bruce glared at him again and faced back to Marinette, a fake smile plastered on.   “As I was saying.  I’d like a chance to get to know you, if you would let me.”

“And how many members of the press did you want to be there when you do?” she inquired sharply.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “That’s not fair.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped and she shook her head at him incredulously.  “Wow. Way to pull the rich, white guy entitlement card. ‘I know everything about this situation has been unbelievably unfair to you, but now I’m being inconvenienced in the mildest way possible and I don’t like it,’” she mocked. She rocked back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Rest assured M. Wayne, I do not intend to speak out against you.  Your reputation will not be harmed by me.  Tell the press whatever you want.  I won’t contradict you.  You can relax.”

“Marinette…” he started, unsure of where to go. Everything she had said was so far from the truth, he didn’t know where to start.  Her view of the situation was so skewed, he didn’t know how to put it back on kilter.  His shoulders sagged in defeat.  “This has nothing to do with the press.  I had put plans in motion to get in contact with you before any of this started.  Mr. Fox will confirm that for you if you don’t trust me.  You seem like quite an impressive young lady and I would like to get to know you better, if you’ll give me the chance.”

His tone was contrite and quiet, but Marinette wasn’t done being upset yet.  She wasn’t ready to move on and let go of the anger.  “And if I wasn’t, you would continue to ignore me?  If I was a problem child, if I had social issues, if I couldn’t find a job, you’d continue to treat me like I never existed?  I’ve finally done enough to gain your attention. Oh thank you so much for letting me know.”

“That isn’t what I said,” Bruce rushed to assure her. “I meant to compliment you not say you had to earn my attention.”

Marinette pursed her lips and looked over to Jason. He was looking back at her with sympathetic, concerned eyes.  She let out a long sigh and looked away from them both.  “Look, I meant what I told the press earlier.  I had no intention of you seeing me at the gala.  I had no intention of anyone finding out about me. I didn’t even know there was anything to find out when I made the plan to come here.  And I have no expectation of anything about our relationship changing.”

Bruce perked up slightly, but focused on keeping his body language the same, so she wouldn’t see the difference.  That was an opening; expectation instead of intention. It wasn’t that she intended not to change it, it’s that she didn’t expect it.  “I do,” he assured her, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, keeping it calm and even.  “I would like to change our relationship.  I would like the chance to explain and try to start to make it up to you.  If you would like to try.  

“If you’re open to it, I can extend your reservation until you are ready to move on, or if you would prefer, you are more than welcome to stay at the manor.  I would love to have you stay with us but I understand that may be overwhelming.  Or, WE has have some flats available, with multiple bedrooms.  You and your friends could stay there for a while.  Your friend is going to need a place to stay while he looks for an apartment, right?

“I’ll leave the choice to you.  Whether we pursue a relationship, if you stay, where you stay; they’re all your choice.  Here,” he handed her a paper with several numbers hand written on it. “These are my numbers; office, home office, cell phone, manor.  You can use any of them to contact me.”

Marinette took the paper impassively.  She squeezed her other hand in an effort to keep the tremble from being too obvious.  “Thank you, M. Wayne.  I will consider your words.”

Bruce nodded, letting the very formal use of his name wash away.  This was still progress.  This was still movement in the right direction, even if it wasn’t as much as he would want.  He knew it could take a long time.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to fix this today.  “Thank you, Marinette.  That’s all I can ask for.  And I’m sorry for ambushing you here.  I tried to call and text you all yesterday to set up a time to talk in person so you could prepare but it seems like your phone was off.”  

He let out a small breath seeing her eyes widen at his admission.  That had to be a good sign.  Maybe he actually said the right thing for once.  He nodded to her and left her to think, hoping Jason would urge her to call. He seemed to want a relationship with her as well.  Hopefully, he would realize this was the best way to get that.

Jason sighed and looked up at her as soon as the door closed behind Bruce.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not.  It’s… it’s a lot.  I think I want to be alone,” Marinette said absently staring at the numbers in her hand.

Jason nodded.  “It is.  I understand. If you want to talk, at all, about anything.  About where to drink in town, best burger, anything, give me a call.”  He gently took the paper Bruce had handed her out of hand, letting her decide if she gave it to him or not.  When she let go, he put his number on it as well.  “I only have one number, but now you have it.”

Marinette nodded at him.  “Thank you, Jason.”

Jason hesitated briefly.  “For what it’s worth, if you decide to stay you should take him up on the flat.  The hotel is stupid expensive and WE offers the flat to visiting collaborators all the time, so it’s not like it’s all that special… if you want to avoid being treated special.”

Marinette nodded at his words, barely taking them in as her mind tried to fight the numbing process.  Jason watched her tentatively.  “You look like a hugger,” he said uncertainly.  “Did you… do you want a, um, a hug?”  

Marinette looked over at him and blinked a few times, not sure how to take his words, partly because he seemed unsure of them himself, but partly because things were having a harder time permeating her brain right now.  Jason took her curious look as doubt.  “Oh come on. It’s fine.  I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.  Trust me.  I tell Dick to fuck off enough when he tries to hug me.  I have no problem saying no to hugs I don’t want.  I’m offering because I mean it.”

Marinette blinked a few more times but finally nodded vacantly.  Jason pulled her into a warm, comforting hug.  After a few moments he pulled away.  “It will all be okay.  No matter what you decide, it will all be okay.  And no matter what you decide, I’m here.  Nobody’s replacing you as my sister.  So get ready for some completely inappropriate Christmas presents this year.”

Marinette smiled absently at his joke, her eyes never meeting his.  “Thanks, Jason.”  She leaned against the door after she closed it behind him and slid down it, staring blankly at nothing.  The room felt colder than it was before, but she couldn’t manage to care enough to get up and get a blanket.  She thought there might have been ambient noise going on around her but none of it registered.  Nothing registered.  Not the numbing sensation that was rapidly overtaking her body from her fingers and toes up to her head until she stopped feeling anything.  Not even the point she was staring at.  She didn’t know how long she stared at the nothingness before black overtook her vision and she passed out.

Chapter 8

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[comfortbucky]

Hey! Can i request a cold, lonely ex-hydra reader × bucky who falls in love with her. Adding some panic attacks and nightmares of the reader.

i love this idea!!! thank u for submitting🥰

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗲 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: avenger!bucky x ex-HYDRA!fem!reader

tags: enemies(?) to lovers, angst (if u squint), soft!bucky

warnings: canon level violence, description of injuries, blood is mentioned, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares

A/N: i just came up with a random name for the HYDRA leader the reader is after🤣 so just ,,, ignore // also!!!! i tried out a different writing style than what i’m used to! hope u don’t mind🥺 just been feeling like a lot of my writing is the same and wanted to try something new!!!

word count: 3.5k (this is so long LMAO sorry 😭 literally why am i like this)

my masterlist!

completed requests!

The suit that you once considered a second skin, now felt uncomfortable and constricting, like a python squeezing the life out of you. Although, it made sense since the very organization of the uniform you were wearing did exactly that.

HYDRA.

For so long you were just another mindless pawn to them, just doing without every actually thinking. Unlike your younger brother, Alex. They indoctrinated him as well, getting a hold of both of you from a young age, but he was there when Captain America took down S.H.I.E.L.D. and it changed his entire worldview. You found everything he said about “freedom” to be stupid, naive, and dangerous. And you would later prove yourself correct.

You pull yourself from your thoughts as a group of HYDRA soldiers walk past the shrubbery you hid behind. Quickly and quietly, you get up and join them as they march towards the HYDRA base. As soon as you get inside, you manage to slip away from the rest of the group to search for your target.

Since HYDRA took the possibility of you ever having a normal life away, as far as you were concerned, your only purpose in life was to kill the man who was at the center of it all, Viktor Cross. And after months of tracking him down, formulating the perfect plan, that’s exactly what you were going to do today.

You make your way towards one of the main lab facilities, gun in hand when you see several unconscious guards lying on the floor in front of you. Shifting your gaze up, you see that the door has been ripped open, grip marks on the sides.

This was not part of the plan.

As you squeeze through the open door and enter the lab, you come to a halt, frozen in shock. There’s your target, Viktor, shoved against the wall by none other than Captain America himself. You almost let out a chuckle in disbelief at the irony of the situation. Instead, you take a step forward, and the glass cracks beneath your feet, alerting the men of your presence.

Shit.

Immediately, both sets of eyes are on you. Viktor’s lips curve into a smirk as you make your way to them.

“Agent- Miss Y/N,” he corrects himself. “What a pleasant surprise.” You ignore him and look to address Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America.

“Let him go and give him to me,” you start, Steve eyeing you cautiously. “So I can kill him,” you snarl, quickly turning to Viktor to see that his smirk had been wiped off his face.

“Aren’t you HYDRA?” He questions, nodding to your suit and eliciting a cackle from Viktor.

“Not anymore,” you mumble, before lifting a leg to kick Steve in his side. You hit him across the face with the end of your gun for good measure. He stumbles over, giving you enough time to grab Viktor’s collar, before he falls to the floor, and slam him back against the wall. His eyes are full of desperation and you felt nothing but pure, burning rage. You shove the barrel of your gun under his chin and place your hand on the trigger.

“You were such a gifted agent, Y/N. Don’t throw away such potential, come back.”

“Go to hell.”

Before you could pull the trigger, a force propels you to the ground and you feel a sharp pain in your side. Silence and then ringing fills your eyes as you squint your eyes to try and visualize the situation. Your vision is blurry, but clear enough to clouds of smoke engulf Viktor’s figure as he escapes. A muffled voice from behind you speaks, but you can’t make out any of the words they’re saying. You look down to see red. Just crimson red, staining your abdomen. Hands land on your shoulders, shaking you gently as your vision fades to black.

Viktor is in front of you, the barrel of his gun directed right at your head. He smirks as he moves his hand to the trigger.

“Hail, HYDRA.”

A gunshot goes off, forcing you to shoot up in bed, gasping for air. As you start to regain your senses, you realize you’re surrounded by a group of strangers. Well, not complete strangers, the Avengers to be exact. Part of your job required you to study their files, learn everything about them. You could recite from memory where and when they were born, their greatest strengths and weaknesses. Suddenly, your side starts to burn with pain, and you carefully lean back in bed. There’s an array of wires and tubes connected to you and you hear the rhythmic beeping of various machines. You’re in a hospital, or some sort of medical facility.

“That, is exactly why I said we should use restraints.”

You’re staring at the ceiling when you hear Iron Man, AKA Tony Stark, speak.

“Tony, she lost a liter of blood, she’s not going anywhere.”

Steve appears in your view, looking down at you.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

You shift your gaze away from him. The last thing you expected to come out of this mission was to meet the Avengers, let alone them save you.

Steve sighs, “We’re not gonna hurt you. We wanna find Viktor too.”

There’s nothing he could say that could get you to speak. Your hatred for HYDRA didn’t mean you suddenly liked the Avengers. If anything, they were part of the problem too, so you stay silent.

“Told you, she’s not gonna talk,” Tony quips. From your research, you had come to learn that he was an arrogant man, and his statement only proved you right. “Maybe you should get Manchurian Candidate to come down, give her an ex-HYDRA buddy,” he says sarcastically.

Upon hearing “ex-HYDRA buddy,” you furrow your brows. Maybe it was the lack of blood in your body, but it took you a second to process his words and understand who he was referring to. Your eyes dart back to look at Steve’s but he’s gone.

“I’ll be back.” His voice trails off as he exits the room.

You’re still staring at the ceiling when you hear footsteps return and then several others departing.

There’s only one other person in the room beside you. Without even looking up, you already know who it is. His breathing was slow and steady until you started to shift in bed to reposition yourself. His breath hitched for a moment, before returning back to his normal breathing pattern.

“Killing him isn’t gonna make you feel better.” His comment makes you roll your eyes as you slowly sit up to look at him. There were no logical thoughts in your head, all you could feel was pain and fury. Anger swelled within you, your emotions boiling over.

“That’s rich, coming from the Fist of HYDRA,” you spat out. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt your stomach drop. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one you hadn’t felt in a while. What was it? Regret?

Bucky’s face fell but he kept his eyes on you. It was a look that made you feel worse, worse than the searing pain in your side.

“I’m not a killer anymore,” he said in a tone so gentle, you felt another strange, new emotion but couldn’t quite label it. You quickly shift gears to avoid addressing the uncomfortable feelings swirling around in your stomach.

“Are you keeping me hostage to lure Viktor in? Because it's not going to work." Bucky shook his head.

"We want..." he trailed off, causing you to tilt your head in curiosity. “We need your help finding him.” You scoffed.

“What do I get out of it?” Bucky’s silence gave you your answer. Shaking your head, you start to disconnect yourself from the multitude of wires attached to you and get out of bed.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he started, as you threw off your blanket and sat on the edge of the bed.

Standing up quickly, the blood from your head pooled in your legs, causing you to feel dizzy. Your head spun and your arms reached out for something, anything stable to grab onto. It was a metal hand. Despite it being cool to the touch, it ignited a heat to rise to your cheeks. You look down and mumble a thank you as Bucky helps you back into bed.

Letting out a sigh, you realize with the condition you’re in, you can’t leave. Definitely not well enough to go after Viktor alone. Shutting your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, you curse under your breath.

“Fine,” you finally speak, keeping your eyes closed. Bucky nods, even though you don’t see, and you hear him walk off.

After a couple days of rest, you were cleared by Bruce to get discharged. Viktor had gone deep in hiding, making your job to find him a lot harder. Tony had so graciously given you an extra room in the tower, right next to Bucky’s. He was probably the one person you saw the most, purely due to location, and the fact that everyone else cautiously kept their distance from you. It made sense though, since you rarely spoke to anyone and spent most of your time in the lab looking for any clues of Viktor’s location. When you weren’t searching for him, you were training in the gym. Bucky was there a lot too, both of you waking up at ungodly hours of the morning. No words were ever exchanged between the two of you, and yet, there was some level of comfort you felt being around him. Must’ve been an ex-HYDRA thing.

“What’s on your mind?” You walk over to Alex and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. He sighs.

“What if,” he starts, furrowing his brows. “What if freedom is good?” He speaks quietly, fearful of HYDRA listening in on your conversation.

It feels like you’ve got the wind knocked out of you.

“Alex,” you grab him by the shoulders. “What the hell are you talking about?” You’re searching his eyes, trying to understand what’s gotten into him.

“Captain America.” The biggest threat to HYDRA’s existence. He looks down at his hands. “He was willing to risk his life for it. It has to be worth something right?” Alex looks back up to you with a look in his eyes that you haven’t seen since you were children. Uncertainty. You sigh and pull him into your chest, stroking his hair.

“I don’t know, kiddo. Maybe.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting. Hot tears fall from the corners of your eyes. It’s the same dream you’ve had for the last week. Although, you wouldn’t consider it a dream necessarily, but it wasn’t a nightmare either. Just a bittersweet memory.

Bucky could tell that something was up with you for the past week. Despite having gone through a bit of therapy, Steve’s idea, the nightmares still came to him. So Bucky was already wide awake when he heard your weeping on the other side of the wall. It didn’t help that he was also a light sleeper with super-soldier hearing. He didn’t know what was causing you to be so upset, but he didn’t want to intrude and ask. Neither of you had spoken to the other since you first arrived.

But this night was different from the rest. Usually, you would flip endlessly through channels on ur TV until you eventually fell asleep, but it wasn’t working this time. There’s a tight pain in your chest and suddenly, you’re suffocating. You rip off your covers and spring out of bed, tripping on your blankets along the way. At this point, you don’t even register the pain of slamming down, face-first on the ground. Panic has taken over your body, tears now streaming down your face. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping for relief.

He wasn’t planning on doing anything until he heard a loud thud from your room. Immediately, Bucky gets up and arrives at your door. It’s rude to just barge into someone’s room, his mom taught him that from a young age, so he settles on knocking. You don’t hear it though, the only sound you hear is the sound of your rapid breathing as you hyperventilate. Bucky hears it too and ultimately decides on inviting himself into your room.

“Y/N?”

You’re lying on your side, curled up in a fetal position with your hands covering your face, when Bucky opens the door. He quickly arrives by your side, kneeling beside you, as he examines you for any injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

You manage to shake your head in response, anxiety still flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, Bucky’s familiar with panic attacks, having had them himself. But he also knows that everyone deals with them a bit differently. Guess he did manage to learn some useful things from therapy.

“Can you try breathing with me?”

He starts to take deep breaths in and out until he sees you start to follow along with him, your hands still covering your face. There’s a part of you that feels stupid for keeping them there, but they help ground you, so you continue to shield your face. After what feels like an hour, but was probably only 10 minutes, your panic subsides. That’s when a wave of embarrassment hits you, realizing that it had been Bucky with you during your panic attack.

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you’re greeted by piercing blue eyes. You blink a couple times, realizing that Bucky had taken a spot on the ground, lying on his side to face you, his hands pressed together under his head like a pillow. He smiles and you feel warm. It’s terrifying, the new feelings that Bucky has caused you to feel and yet, you don’t mind.

“You feelin’ better?” You nod and smile back, something you haven’t genuinely done in a while.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

You stare at each other in silence, lying side by side. There’s no physical touch involved but somehow, this moment, it feels intimate. Bucky breaks the silence.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He speaks in a voice so soft, it almost sounded like a whisper.

It might’ve been the fact that he just calmed you down from a panic attack, but as you looked into his eyes, you felt the walls you had built up for the last year slowly come crashing down.

“He killed my brother,” you reply, maintaining your eyes on Bucky. You searched his eyes for any fear or pity, but all you could find was a look of understanding. His eyes were starting to become a safe place for you.

“Alex was there when Steve took down S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA along with it. He wanted out, out of the organization.” Taking a deep breath, you continue. “Word got around about a “rat,” so I took the blame. Viktor was about to shoot me when Alex’s dumbass ran in front of me, sacrificing himself.” You let out a chuckle, your vision getting blurry as tears swelled in your eyes. “He was a goddamn idiot, but he also had a heart of gold.”

As you start to cry, Bucky hesitatingly extends an arm to hover over your body, trying to gauge your reaction. Physical touch was something he struggled with during the beginning of his recovery, and he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He’s reassured when you grab onto his shirt and pull yourself closer to him, and wraps an arm around you, his other hand softly stroking your head.

You hadn’t cried like this since Alex died, bottling up all of your emotions to focus on finding the man responsible for his death. But as you sobbed into Bucky’s chest, you realize that your love for Alex had transformed into an ugly, burning hatred for Viktor. He wouldn’t want this. You didn’t want it, at least, not anymore. The only thing you wanted was your brother back, and that was impossible.

Bucky held you in his arms until you fell asleep, listening to the sounds of your slow, rhythmic breathing, dozing off shortly after.

That night with Bucky had softened your cold, hard exterior that you initially presented yourself with. You would willingly spar with Nat in the training room and join the team for breakfast or dinner. Everyone noticed and, while at first thrown off by it, happily embraced it. Especially Bucky.

Initially, he got up to work out in the early hours of the morning as a habit. Now, he woke up to see you. His heart did flips in his chest every time he walked in the gym and saw you. Since that night, you started to acknowledge his presence, turning to smile and wave as he walked through the doors. It was something he looked forward to every day.

During the day, you were focused hard on tracking down Viktor and Bucky knew that. But he also knew he wanted to spend more time with you. He looked for reasons to enter the lab, whether it was offering snacks to you throughout the day or helping Bruce or, even Tony. Anything to see you again.

Bucky realized that there was a deeper, stronger emotion that he felt for you when he would wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare. The first thing he thought about was you. Specifically, how you were the only thing that could possibly calm him down. Although he’d come in that night to help you with your panic attack, you ended up helping him as well. He hadn’t slept as soundly and peacefully as he did with you. And you hadn’t either. There were several nights when neither of you could sleep and ended up running into each other. It slowly became a routine that would begin in the kitchen, exchanging life stories, and end on the couch in the common area, entangled in each other’s arms.

Tonight you didn’t show up and Bucky panicked. He stared at the kitchen clock. It had been 20 minutes and you still hadn’t shown up. Bucky racked his brain for anything he could’ve done to scare you off, but came up with nothing. It wasn’t like you two had been officially together, Bucky had no idea what you were to each other. All he knew is that he wanted to be with you, always.

You were soundly asleep in bed, passing out as soon as your head hit the pillow. It was a particularly physically exhausting day for you, training with both Nat and Steve.

Bucky was so caught up with the thoughts racing through his head, he hadn’t noticed that his feet had taken him right to your door. He stands there for a moment, silently debating what to do. Grumbling under his breath, he musters up the courage to knock on your door. Right as he was about to turn away and shuffle off to his room, your door opens. You greet him with a yawn and a tired smile.

“Oh, hey Bucky.”

He looks at the bags under your eyes and feels instant regret wash over him, realizing that you weren’t avoiding him, but just getting some sleep.

“Sorry,” he looks down at his feet. You frown and place a hand on his cheek to lift his head up.

“Something wrong?” He avoids your gaze, partially because he’s embarrassed and partially because his cheeks were turning red because of your touch.

“No.” You cross your arms and let out a sigh.

“You’re a bad liar.” It’s his turn to sigh, as he scratches the back of his head.

“You didn’t come to the kitchen,” he lets out, in almost a whisper. It hits you. You were so tired, you had completely forgotten about your nightly tradition. “It’s stupid, sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up," he mumbles. Bucky begins to walk off but you grab his hand. When he turns to look at you, his brows are raised at your touch.

As you start to speak, you pull him close, facing you. “It’s not stupid.” His hands move to hold your waist as yours move to wrap around his neck. You pause, an idea popping into your head. “I’m kind of tired from training today, wanna just come sleep with me?” He nods and you drag him to your bed, nestling into his arms as he holds you to his chest, his chin resting above your head. You tilt your head back to see him looking down at you. There’s a fluttering feeling in your chest and you smile.

“Just for future reference, you have an open invitation to cuddle with me, anytime.” Bucky chuckles at your offer.

“I’ll keep that in mind, doll.”

Bucky cups your face in his hand and you nuzzle your cheek in his palm. His eyes dart down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

Then, the most delicate, sweetest kiss you’ve ever received is on your lips.

You flutter your eyes open as you both pull apart. He quickly kisses your nose before pulling you back into his chest, speaking softly.

“And you have an open invitation to kiss me, anytime.”

[ragingbookdragon]

When The Music's Not Forgotten PT. 1

Green Lantern!Reader x Lantern Family Story!

Word Count: 5.3K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes, Violence

Author's Note: I legit had a breakdown trying to think about what to label this fic as. Almost put 'Batsis' but then I realized it's not Batsis nor Lantern!Sis so I was like...uh...what do I do? We'll figure it out. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Her first thought when she opened the front door to the Coast City apartment and saw her dad in a headlock by Kyle and Kyle in a headlock by Guy who was in one by John, who was in one by her dad, was: this is totally and completely normal.

The second thought: that nothing involving her father and uncles ever surprised her anymore, occurred to her as said father and said uncles stopped arguing with one another and cocked their heads up, looking at her, each of their faces exhibiting the epitome of “I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar” shock, in which she merely returned with a blank stare before closing the door behind her, marching into the kitchen with the grocery bags.

Of course, that also meant the second she did, they were stumbling in to explain what had brought them to the unfortunate moment of head-locking each other, but also to see what she’d bought and what she was going to cook for dinner. She paid them no mind, ducking under arms and between bodies as she maneuvered around them kitchen, putting things away.

Someone curled an arm around her neck, pressing their lips to her temple. “Hey Raptor.”

She smiled. “Hey dad.” Tossing a beer behind her, she added, “Uncle Guy. Uncle John. Kyle.”

Guy caught his beer, popping the tab, and Kyle looked at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “How come everyone else is ‘uncle’ and I’m not?” he looked hurt. “Am I somehow different, (Y/N)?”

She paused and threw another beer behind her. “Kyle, were almost the same age. I’m not calling you my uncle because John and Guy are older than both of us.”

“Not that much,” he griped, popping his beer tab. “It still hurts my feelings.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and handed John the final beer. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I considered you to be my favorite cousin?”

Kyle smiled at her. “Yes, it would.”

She nodded then glanced at Hal. “Dad, tacos or burgers?”

“I dunno.” He said, glancing at the others. “You guys?”

“Burgers.”

“Tacos.”

“Burgers.”

She cocked a brow and looked at her father. “Seems like you’ll either make a tie or a win.”

“I have been thinking about good tacos, Raptor,” he replied, and she nodded.

“Tacos it is.” Guy and John groaned, and she shot them a glare. “Hey! Lock that shit up or I’m not cookin’.” Immediately they shut their mouths, listening to Kyle and Hal snicker. “Buncha children.” She griped, dumping the ground beef into a skillet to brown.

“So, (Y/N),” Guy drawled, leaning against the kitchen counter. And honestly, the entire kitchen was way too small for four grown men and a grown woman to be in at one time, but she’d gotten used to it, so why fix what wasn’t broke.

“So, Uncle Guy.” She repeated, shifting the meat around with the spatula.

“Why exactly did you start working at the Wayne Enterprises branch here?”

She could feel the eyes of her family on her back, and she couldn’t help but roll hers. “Maybe because Mister Wayne pays good salaries to his employees and his health insurance coverage is fantastic?” (Y/N) glanced over her shoulder. “But something tells me you’re asking for another answer.”

He grinned. “Which son of Wayne’s are you dating?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes again. “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” She turned back to the pan. “I’m not dating any of his sons. Dick’s with Koriand’r, Jason’s a douche-bag, and their brothers are way too young.”

“Doesn’t he have a daughter?”

“Cass is dating a girl she goes to college with.” She took an onion from the basket against the kitchen wall atop the counter. “Keep digging though, Uncle Guy. You’ll hit rock bottom soon enough.”

“Does that mean you’re dating the big Bat?”

She almost cried from laughter as Hal choked on his beer and spluttered. “No. I’m not dating Mister Wayne. He’s old enough to be my dad.”

John chuckled. “I don’t know, (Y/N). When you first met Bruce at, what? Ten? You told him you were going to marry him.”

Her cheeks burned and she scowled at them. “I meant Batman because he was kind-hearted, and I was totally awestruck as a little girl. Let it go.” Her eyes fell on Hal. “Dad, tell ‘em to let it go.”

He nodded. “Please let it go.” Kyle started humming ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and while the others snickered, Hal screwed his eyes shut. “Oh God, stop. I don’t want to think about my precious baby anywhere near that anal retentive kitchen scale.”

The other snickered and before she could say anything, their rings started beeping. She looked at them as their faces turned solemn, setting their beers down as their suits flashed to life.

“Trouble on Oa,” John said.

“Gotta fly?” she asked, and Hal nodded, leaning over to kiss her temple.

“Gotta fly, Raptor.” He hugged her quickly and followed John and the others to the balcony. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dad.” (Y/N) waved. “Be careful, Corpsmen.” They all waved at her and took off, leaving her in the apartment alone and she sighed, turning back to the kitchen. “Another dinner…alone.” She couldn’t help but deflate. “Wonderful.”

***

She continued cooking for almost an hour when the balcony doors opened and closed, and she smiled. “Hey guys. You’re back rather early.” When she didn’t hear a response, she immediately fell on guard and she took one of the kitchen knives from its holder, brandishing it.

Carefully, she walked into the dimly lit living room, eyes scanning the expanse for whoever was in the apartment with her. None of the floorboards were creaking, no rustling of fabric or scuffing of shoes. It was completely silent, and that made her nervous.

Stay calm. The worst thing you can do in a situation when you need to be calm is to be panicked. Slow breaths. Keep focused.

She repeated his words in her head and shifted around the hallway wall, eyes peeled for trouble.

Small steps when sweeping buildings. If an enemy rounds a corner and it comes to close combat, you’ll want to be able to hit them and taking big steps causes instability.

(Y/N) crept down the hall and came upon the bathroom just beside her father’s bedroom door. Quickly, she peeked in, seeing it empty, then cross the doorway, pausing beside her father’s door. She inhaled deeply, then turned her head around the corner, seeing it empty and dark. The only room left was hers.

She crossed to the other side of the wall and hurried down to her door, and with another sharp breath, she turned and looked in. Again, it was empty. Confusion bled through her as she returned to the living room, the hand holding the knife lowered beside her thigh.

“That’s strange.” She murmured. “I thought I—”

“Heard something?”

She gasped and spun around, bringing the knife up, but they caught it with ease, squeezing her wrist until she cried in pain and dropped it. (Y/N) heard the clattering in her ears as they grabbed her other hand and shoved her down into the couch.

She started thrashing wildly, about to scream when she heard, “I thought I told you not to turn your back on people.”

(Y/N) stilled and turned her head, catching that stupidly smart smirk. “You fucker.” She cursed at him, torn between laughing hysterically and cursing some more. “I can’t believe you turned this into a lesson.”

He shrugged. “Had to know if you were learning any better.” Smiling at her, he quipped, “Your sweeping is great. Detection skills? Not so much.”

“Let me up, Jason.” she commanded, rolling her eyes and he snorted, letting go of her arms. Immediately, she spun and cocked her elbow into his jaw, smiling as he grunted in pain and grabbed it.

“Damn,” he hissed. “You’ve got elbowing down to an art.”

She grinned. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

They stared on another down for a moment, then all at once, they were yanking at shirts and unbuckling belts, grabbing each other, and tugging closer to one another as their lips met in a searing kiss.

(Y/N) shoved at the jacket on his shoulders, moving her lips to his jaw and he groaned, taking his hands from her hips for just a moment to pull the article off. He shifted out of reach, and she glanced towards the kitchen.

“I turned the oven off,” Jason muttered, yanking his crimson shirt over his head. “Figured we’d be too busy to eat dinner.”

She giggled and shoved him off the couch, watching as he scrambled to his feet; she stood and started pulling off her own clothes, first her shirt, then her bra and Jason almost collapsed at her feet when she tugged her pants to her ankles.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t be shy.” (Y/N) cooed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He chuckled, and unbuckled his belt, letting it fall to the floor as he back-stepped down the hallway. “Oh, you want a show, Miss Jordan?”

She smirked at him and stuck her thumbs in the sides of her thong. “I’d love a show, Mister Todd.”

“I might made you beg a little for it,” he shot back coolly, toeing off his combat boots and she hummed.

“I will if you will.” (Y/N) said, watching his hands unbutton the charcoal-colored utility pants he wore.

“My eyes are up here.” Jason quipped, though he didn’t seem to stop as he shoved his pants down, leaving him in his boxers, and he hit her doorway.

“True, but my attention is elsewhere.” She drew her eyes up his toned body, internally smirking as he seemed to shiver under her gaze, and she pushed her thong down her legs. (Y/N) stood before him and reached out, placing her hands flat on his chest. He was so hot underneath her palms and she slowly rubbed her hands up to the sides of his neck.

“(Y/N),” he murmured huskily, arms winding around her waist, and she smirked.

“Take me to bed, Jason.”

Immediately, he bent down and grabbed the back of her thighs, digging his fingers in until she lifted and wrapped her arms around his waist. “With pleasure,” he purred.

***

By the time Hal and the other lanterns got back to the apartment, it was well into the morning, and he could tell that everyone just wanted to crash in exhaustion, too tired to even think about flying to their own homes.

He opened the balcony doors and let them inside. “Lemme get some blankets from the hall closet,” he muttered, voice as ragged as his body felt.

“Who the hell played strip poker in here?”

Hal looked up at Guy who was holding up a crimson t-shirt with a baffled expression. “What?”

Guy met his gaze then nodded down the hall. “Someone’s been tangoing.”

When he craned his neck to peek down the hallway, sure enough there was a trail of clothing leading down to her room. His eyes went wide, and he suddenly forgot about his exhaustion as he leaped over the couch and sprinted down the hall, the other Lanterns hot on his heels.

Hal skidded to a stop in her doorway and immediately screeched, “(Y/N) JORDAN WHO THE HELL IS IN YOUR BED?!”

The two young adults in the bed startled up, and she held the sheet to her chest as she gaped at her father. “Dad! You—you’re here!”

He gestured wildly. “OF COURSE, I’M HERE! I FUCKING LIVE HERE! WHO THE FUCK IS IN YOUR BED?!”

“Morning, Hal,” Jason greeted, with a mock salute. “How’s your day so far?”

“MY DAY?!” he bellowed, already starting for the young man, and John was quick to grab Hal around the waist. “LET GO! I’M GOING TO MURDER THIS SON OF A BAT FOR CORRUPTING MY DAUGHTER!”

“Excuse me,” Jason said, rather affronted, then pointed at her. “It’s (Y/N) who’s corrupted me.”

(Y/N) barely had time to hide her snort as she elbowed him in the side. “Shut the hell up.” She cleared her throat and looked at the men in her doorway. “Uh…can you close the door so I can get dressed?”

“CLOSE THE DOOR?! I’M GOING TO TAKE THE DOOR OFF ITS HINGES! YOU ARE GROUNDED, (Y/N) JORDAN DO YOU HEAR ME! YOU ARE—”

Guy and John dragged Hal off and Kyle shut the door but threw a thumbs up at Jason before he left.

***Part Two***

She tried to look anywhere but her father’s face as he continued to berate her and Jason. And honestly, he’d stopped making sense about thirty minutes ago and while she couldn’t look at her uncles for fear of bursting into laughter, Jason had no problems cracking a smirk at everything Hal was yelling about.

“—AND I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HAD A BOY IN THE HOUSE!” he paused, horror drawing across his face, then it immediately turned into anger. “THIS ISN’T THE FIRST TIME HE’S COME OVER IS IT?! HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?!”

Her face pinched and she inquired, “Which question do you want answered first? The one you asked when you first started yelling or the last one just now?”

“I am in no mood for games, (Y/N) Jordan. You brought a boy into the house without permission.”

“I am a man.” Jason interrupted.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “I didn’t realize I needed permission to bring my boyfriend into the house.”

“BOYFRIEND?!” Hal screeched.

(Y/N) blinked. “I’m confused. Are you angry at me calling him my boyfriend? Do you want me to call him my fuckbuddy or something?”

“HEY!” both Jason and Hal in unison and her father glared at him. “SHUT UP!”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, dad…I’m twenty-one. Having a boyfriend is a completely normal thing. Having a consensual sexual relationship with someone is a normal thing.”

Hal spluttered for a moment then pointed at Jason. “NOT WITH HIM!”

“What’s wrong with me?” Jason question, rather offendedly, then he held up a hand. “I mean, besides the obvious things that are wrong with me.”

“YOU’RE YOU! THE SON OF BATMAN!”

“I mean…” Jason drawled. “That’s technically debatable most days.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “You’re not exactly helping the case, Jay.”

“I’m not trying to.” He grinned at her. “I’m seeing if I can make your dad go red.”

She tutted at him. “Jason Todd trying to corrupt a Green Lantern into a Red Lantern. Shame.”

“QUIT DOING THAT!” Hal howled as they started snickering, seeming to get lost in their own little world. Suddenly, he was marching down the hallway and coming back with a cellphone.

They watched in confusion for a moment, then Jason’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“What?” (Y/N) worried.

“He’s calling B.”

“What.”

Hal put the phone to his ear and glowered at the two of them until the line clicked and he immediately yelled, “DO YOU KNOW YOUR DELINQUENT SON IS DATING MY DAUGHTER?...WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY KNOW?!...EXCUSE ME?! WHAT?!”

He hung up the phone and set it on the table, then proceeded to turn around and grab a pillow from the couch, bringing it to his face. Hal bellowed into the pillow and Jason nudged her. “How long is he gonna be like this?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Probably another minute or two. He’ll start up again in about an hour though.”

Jason hummed and stood from the table. “Well, I’d love to stay and get yelled at some more but if I’m being honest, I only need one father yelling at me and not two.”

“Where are you going?” she questioned.

“Roy and I have a mission in Costa Rica tomorrow evening.” He bent down and kissed her lips. “I’ll call you when I land.”

(Y/N) smiled and before he pulled away, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for another searing kiss, one that erupted wolf-whistles from the other Lanterns around them—which also had Hal pulling his head up at the sound, immediately shouting again.

“Love you,” she murmured, and he winked.

“Love you more, doll.” He tossed a mock salute to Hal and the others before leaving and she sat back in her seat, readying herself for another round of bellowing.

***

Surprisingly, Hal had relaxed after a few hours. That being said, (Y/N) really had to work on him to do so but being an only child and her dad’s pride and joy played a big part—she knew the man could never stay mad at her. Of course, he’d immediately put rules into place over the whole relationship thing. No boys in the house without permission, no closing the door when a boy was over, no more Bat-sons in the Jordan apartment…he was overreacting, but it wasn’t anything new in (Y/N)’s opinion.

But he did ease up after a few months, mainly because as anti-social as Jason was most days, he was damn good at working people over when he wanted to. And in her boyfriend’s opinion, the easiest way to work her dad over was to tell him all the ways to screw with Bruce—which Hal took in like a sponge with water. As annoying as it was to see the two men so giddy over a plan, she was glad they were just getting along.

However, when Hal learned that (Y/N) was being trained by Jason, and on the rare occasions, Bruce, his meltdown the first night seemed like a walk in the park compared to the storm blowing in.

***

So…what are you wearing?

She snorted, crossing at the formula of the equation, rewriting a new one beside it. “Jason, I’m not having phone-sex with you.”

Hmm…I bet you’re wearing red panties.

“Cold.” (Y/N) retorted with a grin. “They’re blue actually. You know, like Nightwing’s suit?”

Why do you hate me?

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean, Jay.”

You’re evil, you know that? Like you portray innocence but in reality, you’re evil.

She snorted again when a tapping came at her bedroom window and she frowned, leaning over; Jason saw it from the camera.

Everything alright?

(Y/N)’s eyes drifted to his face then to the window and she stood. “Yeah, someone’s at the window.”

(Y/N). He warned and she leaned over, seeing Kyle floating there.

“It’s Kyle.”

What’s Kyle doing there? I thought he was on Oa.

She nodded, brows furrowing as she murmured, “I did too.” Opening the window, she greeted, “Hey, what’s up?”

Kyle seemed nervous. No, he seemed concerned. “I need you to come with me.”

“Is my dad okay?” she asked outright, and he nodded.

“Yeah, Hal’s good…but he needs to talk to you.” Kyle waved a hand over her phone, and it shut off. “It’s important.”

(Y/N) felt her heart thump in her chest at how serious her friend was, and she nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

***

She’d only ever been to the Watchtower once. And the only thing she remembered from the trip was getting lost in one of the hallways only to be found by Batman who merely picked her sobbing frame up and hummed to her until she fell asleep.

So really, it was like a first time visit all over again, and when she came face to face with not only the Justice League, well Wonder Woman, Batman, and Superman, and her uncles, she wasn’t exactly excited. It felt like she’d been called to the principal’s office for expulsion.

Hal pointed to a seat, which she took, not wanting to open her mouth when she had no idea what was going on.

Wonder Woman, surprisingly, was the first to speak. “What is your daughter doing here, Hal?”

Her father merely looked at (Y/N) then to Bruce, questioning, “How long?” They stared one another down and she felt as lost as last year’s Easter eggs. “How long, Bruce?” Hal asked again.

Batman didn’t even blink. “A full year. When she started working at the branch in Coast City, I had Jason start it.”

“Motherfucker.” Hal cursed, chuckling humorlessly. “I do all I can to keep her out of this bullshit and you drag her into it.”

“(Y/N) wanted to train. She emailed me through a private channel about it.”

All eyes turned onto her and then she knew what was happening. “He’s…right, dad. I wanted to be trained to fight.”

Hal gaped at her. “Why? You’re going to school? You’re working? Why do you want to train?”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “To be like you guys. You know, useful?” she stood from the table. “Look, I know you’re worried, but even Batman’s noted major improvements. He says I’m almost ready to start patrolling on my own.” She looked to him for help.

“She’s smart, Hal. And I’m not saying that to float the Jordan ego. Jason’s not one to give commendation where it shouldn’t be.” Batman nodded at her. “(Y/N)’s not my kids, but she’s right behind them on how good she is.”

Hal’s brown eyes turned onto him in a fierce glare. “Yeah, well, unlike you, I don’t make a habit out of putting my kid in danger. I know you have a thing for going through sons.”

“HEY!” (Y/N) shouted, getting his attention as she stood to her feet. “I’m old enough to make this decision for myself and if Batman says I’m good enough to do this, I’m gonna do it.”

“Nope. Not happening.” Hal rejected. “End of discussion.”

“No.”

His eyes went wide first with shock, then with the audacity of her language. “Excuse me?”

(Y/N) momentarily wanted to cave, but she held strong and tightened her jaw. “I said no.” she declared. “I’m gonna do this.”

Hal rounded the table, stomping up to her. “No, you’re not.”

“What’re you gonna do, dad? Lock me in the house for the rest of my life?” she suggested. “I have rights you know.”

“Not to do shit like this. I don’t want you being a hero.”

(Y/N) gazed at him, and suddenly, everyone felt the mood shift as she murmured, “It’s because I’m not a Lantern, isn’t it, dad?”

Hal’s jaw went slack. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She shot back coolly, then tipped her head to the other league members. “See, they get to brag about their kids. Superboy, the Robins, the Wonder-Girls...everyone on this team has a trainee but you.” (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “And you hate that I’m not like you, don’t you? That I can’t seem to figure out what it takes to wear that ring.”

She glanced at her uncles who were gaping at her. “See, you look at them like they’re the greatest people in the universe. And then when you look at me? It’s easy to see the devotion shift. Deep down it makes you disappointed that I’m not a Green Lantern.”

“You are absolutely out of line.” He growled.

“Am I, dad?” (Y/N) challenged. “Everyone here gets to brag about their superhero trainees but when it comes you, what can you say? ‘My daughter isn’t a Green Lantern like me, sorry!’?” she looked at him. “I’m not a Green Lantern, but I am something else. I can be something else. Let me prove it to you.”

Hal gazed at her for along moment. “…No.”

(Y/N) snapped. “Why the fuck not! What is it about me that just makes you so antagonistic at the idea of me being something like you!”

“Watch your language, young lady. I’m still your father.” He demanded.

“Oh please, as far as I’m concerned, you were just a failed pilot on leave who fucked my mom and got her pregnant.”

It happened before anyone realized it. The sharpest crack any of them had ever heard in their lives and (Y/N) turned her face back to him, a hand coming up to press against her stinging cheek. And Hal? Hal was staring at his hand as if it didn’t belong to him.

She wasn’t mad. Shocked, sure, but not mad. If anything, it’d proved her point and she merely regarded him with an assured gaze. “Bogey down, huh dad?” she remarked, and his eyes shot to hers.

Hal’s mouth opened but nothing would come out except, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yeah, you did,” she whispered, taking a step back from him when he reached for her.

His face crumpled and he brokenly called, “(Y/N), wait!”

But she was already running for the door, Batman on her heels.

***

“Do you want me to call Jason?” he asked quietly, watching her open the balcony doors.

Her hands stilled for a moment, then she resumed twisting the key. “No…and don’t tell him this happened either.”

“Why not?”

(Y/N) looked back at him. “Because you and I both know that Jason would beat my dad senseless.”

“…Do you want to come back to Gotham for a while?”

She opened the doors and sighed. “I don’t know, Batman.” Glancing back, she added, “I don’t really know what I want right now.”

“Do you want to be away from Hal?” he questioned seriously, and she looked at her feet.

“I know what you’re thinking. But he’s not abusive.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

(Y/N)’s head snapped up. “My dad’s never laid his hands on me before now.”

“He ever physically discipline you?”

“Swatting your eight-year-old kid’s butt in the middle of a store when they’re having a meltdown over not buying an expensive toy is a lot different from beating them bloody and bruised with a beer bottle or a belt.’ (Y/N)’s eyes darkened, but not at her father’s face in her head, but at Batman. “My dad’s a lot of things. A jackass, a skirt chaser, a self-righteous arrogant prick…but he is not an abuser.”

Batman placed a hand on her shoulder. “He hit you.”

“Yeah? And? I insulted him and my mom straight to his face. Sure, slapping me wasn’t the answer, but I understand the reaction. Does is make is right? No. But neither is what I said. We both fucked up.” She shrugged his hand off. “We’ll talk about it and move on.”

“Because it’s what Jordan’s do?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh but it was anything but mirthful. “Yeah. It’s what Jordan’s do.” She stepped inside and looked back at him. “Thanks for bringing me home, Batman. I appreciate it.”

He nodded, pulling out his grapple. “Call me if you need anything.” Batman gazed at her. “And think about calling Jason.”

“…I will.”

Batman gazed at her a moment longer then fired the grapple, taking off into the night sky towards the Batplane, then she was watching as it disappeared faster than it came.

With a heavy sigh, she turned and put her hands on the back of the loveseat, shutting her eyes as she thought about the events of the night. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel. Angry? Hurt? Responsible? It had to be all the above, especially when she pictured his face in her head after it happened. Shocked, ashamed, horrified, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

(Y/N) didn’t want to think about it, and when she heard a ring flashing in her ears, she turned. “Guys, I don’t wanna talk about—” she fell into a deep silence when she saw the man before her, the yellow suit glowing vividly against the dark sky.

“Hello (Y/N) Jordan. I am Sinestro.”

***Part Three***

Hal had taken her flying more times than she could’ve counted—perks of being a pilots daughter, and while she had faith in aircraft and Green Lantern constructs, she wasn’t sure how to feel about Yellow Lanterns and their tendency to drop people.

Coast City looked so small below her, and she swallowed thickly, trying greatly to keep her fear under control, keeping her eyes on the moon. She knew if Sinestro dropped her at this height, she’d die. There were no chances of survival at all—she’d hit the ground and pancake with the best of ‘em.

“I am rather surprised that you accepted my invitation so easily,” he remarked, not looking at her as they rose through the night sky.

“Yeah, well…I’ve heard enough stories about you to know that you’ll kill me if you want to.” Her eyes followed his frame. “I’d like to extend my life as long as possible.”

“A wise decision, (Y/N).” He noted rather humorously, finally taking the time to look back at her. “I’ve watched you for some time now.”

Ignoring the implications and total creepiness of the statement, she instead asked, “How long?”

“Long enough to see the potential you have in greater things.” Sinestro replied and reached a hand out, a horde of golden glowing constructs appearing before her eyes. Her training with Batman, with Jason, even with Hal and the others—most importantly, the fight just before. “It hurts that he doesn’t trust you to be like him, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t respond, merely watching the moment of his hand coming back across her face over and over again as the feelings welled in her chest.

“You try so hard to be of use to Hal. To be a Green Lantern like him, but nothing you do makes him proud.” He gazed at her with something akin to pity, but it felt like a manipulation. “I understand your fear of failure…of shame.” Holding out his hand, he made her own raise beside her body and a yellow ring floated from his palm. “I can feel the anger inside you. Your fear fights to quell it.” Sinestro smiled. “I almost want to call Atrocitus and have him recruit you into the Red Corps.”

(Y/N)’s eyes fell to the ring, and she clenched her hand into a fist to keep it from sliding onto her finger. “I—I can’t be a Yellow Lantern.”

“Why not?”

“Why n—because you’re the enemy of the Green Lanterns!” she shouted. “I’d be betraying my father and my friends and my family!”

He gave her a knowing look. “The same family that looked upon you with shame every time you tried to wield the green power ring, but couldn’t?”

She felt like she’d been shot, and her jaw dropped. “I…”

Sinestro nodded. “I understand. But you don’t, (Y/N). Willpower must be had since birth. Fear however—” he reached out, uncurling her fingers. “Can be taught. And you have potential to be trained with terror.” He met her gaze. “You can’t be a Green Lantern like Hal wants…but you can become something he has to recognize. Something powerful. Something fearsome.”

(Y/N) stared at him, and this time, she didn’t fight as the ring slipped onto her finger. (Y/N) Jordan of Earth. You possess the ability to instill great fear. Welcome to the Sinestro Corps.

The world started swirling around her, golden flashes of light bound her body and she screamed in terror as her nightmares came alive before her. The chains coiled, almost like snakes creeping up her body, tighter and tighter around her throat and up around her skull. The last thing she saw through her fearful gaze was Sinestro laughing darkly and the world before her went dark and she was subjected to her minds torment, brought upon by the forged ring.

For a moment, the world was calm, then the chains fell away, and (Y/N) stood before Sinestro, clothed in an exo-suit, similar to her father’s, but instead of the bright, awe-inspiring green, it was a golden, fear-inducing yellow.

And when she opened her eyes, they narrowed onto Sinestro, and all she said was, “I’m ready to receive my orders.”

[trashytummiez]

Maybe catwomen stuffs herself too much and tries to break into a building while hiding her belches and trying to fit in small spaces with a bloated middle

Selina was usually better about watching what she ate before a job but the poached salmon was just way too good to eat in moderation. Part of her knew she should have held off on the next heist until later that evening but when word came down that the jewels were being moved within the hour she knew she had to pounce like the sly kitty cat she was. But right now the mere thought of pouncing made her ill.

Catwoman was deep inside the underground vault of a criminal collector within Gotham City. She carefully crawled on all fours in her skintight trademark catsuit to avoid making too much noise and alerting any of the many armed guards patrolling the vault. Of all the times to feel so heavy tonight was not one of them.

Even when she crawled Selina's usually perfectly sleek stomach was visibly pushing out after her heavy fishy meal. Catwoman felt the contents of her tummy sloshing about inside of her when she navigated the vault and grimaced unpleasantly.

There was a patrol on standby that she needed to bypass so she pressed her back against a pillar and waited until he left the area. But as she waited her stomach churned audibly. She silently hissed and hugged her bloated little tummy in a desperate effort to keep the guard from hearing her gastric distress.

As if the gurgling wasn't enough now Selina could feel a pressure building in her chest.

Oh no.

As if things couldn't get any worse. It seems Selina's stomach was hellbent on making its displeasure heard because Catwoman could feel a burp desperately trying to creep its way up her throat. She clenched her eyes shut and swallowed down so nothing would worm its way up. It was a deeply unpleasant feeling that made her chest and throat hurt but it at least caused the pressure to subside back down in her tummy if only temporarily.

Catwoman silently huffed feeling a little nauseous from withholding the pressure like that. But it paid off when the guard standing by finally passed and gave Selina a window to slip past his line of sight and behind some shelves. She cringed when her belly erupted with a sickly burble but tried to ignore it again because she'd need to squeeze between several precious crates of cargo to get to her destination.

This would normally be easy peasy for Catwoman. But while her tummy wasn't super bloated it still stuck out enough that it could be a tighter fit.

Dammit Wayne. You just had to show a girl a good time... Selina cursed her date internally.

She tried to suck in her stomach as much as she could but doing so made her feel sick. There wasn't much she could do except bare the brunt of things. So Catwoman took a silent breath and tried to slip through the cracks between the cargo. Just as she'd feared she was too bloated and because of that her tummy was being squeezed by the cargo. It was such an unbearably tight fit because of the added weight to her stomach and all that pressure against her belly wasn't doing anything for Catwoman's growing bout of nausea.

There was so much pressure being applied to her belly as she navigated that it began to gurgle anew. Selina cringed because she had to burp so badly. She could feel the pressure mounting up her chest while she tried to squeeze her way through. At first she tried to hold it down like before but because her belly was being pressed by the cargo she couldn't get the gas down in time and had to muffle it in her mouth. Catwoman clamped her hand over her mouth as a deep burp rumbled in her mouth so hard her soft cheeks puffed out.

And unfortunately the sound was just loud enough to get one guard asking, "Did you hear something?"

Selina cursed to herself and moved faster and faster which made her feel greener and greener but she managed to slip through the cargo just in time to avoid the flashlight of an approaching guard. When he passed by out of sight Catwoman's turbulent tummy groaned heavily which caused her to cringe again. Catwoman grabbed her belly and muffled what sounded like a really big burp that almost worked its way out of her mouth.

She blushed profusely and nearly audibly excused herself for how big that was because she was typically far more "ladylike" some of her peers in the Rogues gallery of Gotham.

Fortunately it didn't catch anyone's attention. So she very quickly but quietly made her way to the heart of the vault and found the jewels. They were locked behind an automated system which she very fortunately knew how to hack after a favor for Nygma. She disabled the security measure just long enough to swap the jewels for very convincing fakes.

She just had to escape now.

Selina couldn't alert anyone to her presence or else the entire job was bust. The truth couldn't break until the fakes were long out of Gotham. But the fast pace of her sneaking around was murder on her stomach which was bubbling even more heavily in response.

Catwoman couldn't even crawl on all fours anymore because she had to have one arm wrapped around her bloated belly the whole way out in order to silence it as best she could.

Having to hold in the gas wasn't making matters any easier either. She held the burps trying to squeeze their way up down in her tummy for as long as she could whenever guards were nearby. When Catwoman had made her way past enough of them to be a little more isolated she tried to bring herself as much relief as she quietly could. Catwoman grabbed her taut bulging tummy in one hand and firmly wrapped her other hand over her mouth and squinted when a rumbly burp erupted in her mouth and made her cheeks puff. She maintained that pose when another longer burp rumbled in her mouth for about three seconds. Even after a big one like that another long burp came dangerously close to escaping her lush lips.

Selina blushed even harder than she'd blushed in years. She felt so gross and had to remember to get payback on the restaurant one night for making her tummy such a wreck.

When she was done burping Selina continued on. Once again she was forced to squeeze through crates and crawl in some very tight corners which compressed her bloated stomach intensely. It was so hard not to burp or worse whenever she was moving through those cramped spots. But she always managed to hold it in long enough to wait until there was space between her and the guards to stifle the release of whatever pressure she could in her limited time windows.

It was messy but Selina was still Catwoman and Catwoman never let any obstacles keep her from her prizes and her freedom. No matter how much her stomach hated her right now for it.

She finally managed to break out of the vault as carefully as she had entered and ended up safely outside on the rooftops. Selina breathed a heavy sigh of relief with a hand atop her pooching little tummy.

"Finally! Unnngh what a pain in the aaAAAAAHOOOOORRRHP!!!!!"

Selina's stomach cut her off by causing a deep raunchy burp to finally forced its way past Selina's lips. She blushed as red as Poison ivy's hair and held her belly tightly when it churned. Catwoman hunched and held a hand over her mouth like she was going to be sick. A big one was coming and despite her best efforts Selina couldn't hold back what was the loudest burp she had ever uttered in her whole life.

BBRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPP!!!!!!!!!!

It was a very good thing she was a few buildings away from the vault by that point because every one of the guards would've heard that one.

Poor Selina couldn't help sigh with intense relief. Despite how embarrassingly unladylike that was it felt so good to finally get out. She gently rubbed her tummy and felt it gurgling a little less.

"Nnnnnf...excuse me..." Selina finally uttered.

Next time she and Bruce went on a date she was getting a salad. Poached salmon did not taste as good coming up as it did going down.

[bigskydreaming]

If you were editor of Nightwing's book ever since at least the start of Rebirth to today and you were given free reign, what would your story mandates?

Oh no, this is dangerous. LOL. Hmm, I have no idea what to shoot for here, so I'll try to keep it to ten. That's reasonable right? Ten is good. Yeah. Is fine.

Okay, so, in no particular order:

1) Let Dick be competent 101. None of this him having to play hype man for every other character to pop up in HIS title bullshit. Nope. That's not what they're there for. He's the lead man, LET HIM BE THE LEADING MAN. Like sure, everyone has their areas of expertise, he doesn't need or have to be the best at everything, blah blah blah.....but its about the nuance. All of that is kinda lip service because the thing is, you don't go into MOST comic books and NEED to be reminded of that because the lead characters of those books are all constantly getting saved or shown up or chastised by every guest star in their books, you know? This is a very weird, very niche phenomenon very specific to Dick's character, and I'm super over it. I'm here to read about the guy who has literally been doing this longer than most superheroes twice his age. The guy who's been doing this since before he hit double digits. The born acrobat. The destined ultimate warrior or whatever of Gotham's Ornithological Society Of Murder and Pretentiousness. Gimme that guy. And that guy doesn't need to be 'humbled' every other page, because the thing is, he's not some egomaniac to begin with so the everpresent need to humble him doesn't actually come off as humbling! It just comes off as pandering and not even to actual fans of the actual character, so its like.....wyd DC.

2) Let other people take responsibility for their own crap with Dick rather than always just expecting a mea culpa from him. I'm so unbelievably tired of the words I'm sorry from Dick. I love personal accountability, so I never thought I'd have to say this about a character, but enoooooough. They have made it completely in character for this dude to apologize to everyone ELSE for being brainwashed, getting amnesia, being KILLED, like.....the amount of things he's groveled for forgiveness for when he didn't actually do a damn thing wrong or worse yet, was the ACTUAL victim of is like....pretty damn staggering. And meanwhile, there's nary a peep of apology from the people who regularly insult or belittle him, get physically violent with him, take advantage of him or take him for granted, etc, etc, etc. Its entirely too one-sided and imbalanced, and the pendulum needs to swing the other direction, like YESTERDAY, and in a fairly big way, IMO.

3) None of this Baby's First Social Justice Awakening 101 crap. I'm sorry, but no. Especially not when you go out of your way to acknowledge that Dick is Romani, only to then turn around and act like he's only JUST had his eyes opened to an awareness of like, classism and poverty and the real struggles people face day to day? Sorry not sorry, but especially for other white writers out there, do not use people of color as self-inserts for dipping a toe into Learning To See Past Privilege. And especially when talking about a character who has a history of being actively abused and hurt by the system and institutions of power, or hell, even leaving out that particular origin story, who has still been out on the streets helping people since he was a literal child. You can not tell me that this is his first face to face experience with social issues, or the first time he's had the inclination to try and address those head on. (And its also particularly egregious that the people second-guessing Dick in his own title and giving him reality checks or acting like they have more of an awareness of all this than he does like, happen to all be white? OPTICS. LEARN ABOUT THEM. COMMON SENSE. GET SOME.)

Know what would actually be a better way to approach this? Flashbacks. Show us Dick running into situations that make him think back to a case when he was still Robin, when he and Batman had started fighting over their approaches to things, actually SHOW us those conflicts and how their viewpoints had started diverging, and how much of that was due to Dick not having the same experiences as Bruce, or the same standing in society, no matter what house he lived in. THEN you can jump BACK to the present, with the reminder/awareness that this is something that isn't NEWS to Dick, but that he in the past felt he was forced to make his peace with as something he wasn't in a position to do that much about....only NOW, he's in a very DIFFERENT position, and suddenly it just hits him how he's still acting like he did when he was limited in resources or in having to be part of a chain in command or having to factor other responsibilities into things....now he ACTUALLY has the power and the resources to make meaningful change in the ways he ALWAYS wanted to, but maybe just needed time to figure out HOW.

Like you know what would have made Shawn Tsang's story arc so much better? If Dick didn't just remember her as the Pigeon's one time teenage sidekick he'd briefly fought as a kid, but like.....if he remembered her as someone he and Bruce had FOUGHT about. Because he didn't agree with sending someone to juvie for defacing public property as a form of political protest, when it was someone's LIFE who was going to be irrevocably damaged by that while the damage to the city could be fixed with a check, and what made Dick any more deserving of Bruce's leniency and faith in his potential or underlying goodness than Shawn?

But he was still a kid himself back then, and when Bruce responded with his usual conviction, talking about the importance about rule of law and etc etc, Dick just didn't have the words to get through to him then, to get him to understand that this wasn't just Dick not getting it because he was too young, it was BRUCE not getting it, that Dick was literally just saying well he wasn't too young to have been in juvie himself, and of the two of them, he's the one who has experience there so why was Bruce's opinion on whether this was the punishment that fit the crime the one that got to hold more weight here? When Dick's the one who knows what that punishment actually LOOKS like beyond the abstract, for whom it was a reality that still haunts him in ways that even defacing a few statues of some rich old fucks doesn't deserve?

Or hell, go back FURTHER than when he was Robin. Idk where any of those posts are, but I've always wanted to see something where Dick maybe runs into someone he remembers from his time in juvie, maybe a guard who is like, the source of the reasons Dick mistrusts figures of authority and is so hung up on independence and not being under anyone's thumb, or maybe someone who was in there with him, another kid who looked out for him when he didn't have to, etc. Gimme Dick tackling head-on his firsthand awareness that there's no rehabilitation to be found in a jail for kids, when most of those kids don't even need rehabilitation in the first place and only did what they did in order to survive or escape from worse situations or like, were there purely because of racist cops, etc. Let him go after THAT system, driven by personal experiences and memories that maybe only hit him in full after recovering his memories from the Ric Grayson arc, like they're things that he put in a box in his mind a long, long time ago because he didn't have the spoons or reserves to deal with them when he was a kid still so traumatized in so many ways, like, something had to give and so he put all those memories away for another day and just....never got back to them because life kept hitting him with new and fresh trauma every week.

But now something has him thinking back to those early days in Gotham, and reminding him that not everyone had a Bruce Wayne willing and able to give them an out from that place or acrobatic skills to escape it on their own, and like. You want to do something about the cycles of violence in Gotham and Bludhaven? Why not start with the places that literally MANUFACTURE cruelty on an institutional level, that teach kids that no matter what they did to get put there, even if that was nothing at all, they're all going to be treated the same way and given no reason NOT to do whatever it took to be top dog in a dog eat dog world by the time they got out.

There's SO many better approaches to social awareness in the Batbooks than what we're seeing, and like. Sheesh. The bar is way too low.

4) On a related note, if I'm editor of the Nightwing book, the FIRST thing I'm doing is making it a priority to find a writer of color for that book, ideally someone of Rom descent. Its waaaaay past time to let a Romani writer take the reins on Dick, Wanda, Pietro or Doom, aka some of the only prominent Romani characters out there? You can't tell me that there aren't talented writers who identify as Roma who would be more than willing to add their perspective to Dick's archive of narratives, and if an editor's gotta go looking for them? Go fucking look. DC and its fans have milked a lot of mileage out of the idea of Dick being Romani with very little in the way of nuanced storytelling to show for it in the past twenty years, and if DC wants to trot out little reminders that Dick is Romani every couple years, like in the form of a freaking line that has no follow up or expansion to any degree and is offset by an internal monologue that otherwise reads as incredibly privileged, the least they can do is TRY to expand on that with the narrative perspective of someone they claim to be representing via that character.

And no, this isn't gatekeeping, this is prioritizing. Its not about preventing other writers from writing this character, like just for the hell of it, its about being proactive about finding a writer who can write specific aspects of this character that have long gone unaddressed or poorly represented. And like. Okay. Its not easy breaking into the comics industry for anyone, but its particularly not easy for marginalized writers. Most every major comic book company just recites 'make your own stuff first and then show us that' but when you're a writer specifically, finding a compatible artist to partner with on creator-owned indie stuff first, when those artists are in the same position as you are and apologetically and understandably tend to have to take paying work over yours if you can't pay except on the back end, like....there are a lot of hurdles to getting your start in comic books, and while there are more and more marginalized writers in comics these days, DC and Marvel kinda fucked up, because you know what?

After being told 'make your own first, then we'll talk,' writers DID do just that....but then found out that well, due to the ease of online distribution and access these days, for any writers who CAN find an artist to partner with, its a hell of a lot easier to get their content out there these days WITHOUT a major publisher behind them.....and for a lot of marginalized writers in particular, its worth it to keep full creative control in exchange for smaller circulation. Especially when they don't have to deal with editors 'softening' their work to make it more palatable for audiences that quite frankly aren't necessarily their primary target. So yeah, marginalized voices are becoming more and more present in comics, but Marvel and DC for the most part are keeping the same voices centered they always have, and what these voices have to say is becoming less and less relevant and outdated. Because much like this arc from Taylor, even when they DO dip their toes into story matter that's of interest to wider audiences, they're doing so to a degree that still puts them years behind the conversations everyone else is having.

5) The same holds true of disability representation. I stopped reading Taylor's run for a lot of reasons but his way of responding to people unhappy with his depiction of Babs was a key one. If I'm editor on a book, and someone tweets at one of my writers that their depiction of a disabled character was hurtful because it feels like they're doubling back on everything Babs has ever said about not being defined by or ashamed of her disability and now its being treated like a dirty little secret, and that writer's response is essentially to just laugh at them and say there's nothing wrong or ableist about their writing of a disabled person, TO a concerned disabled person? That writer's ass is getting fired. Full stop.

Either you give a shit about this stuff or you don't. Don't pay your readers lip service about how important social issues are to you and how much you care about using superhero narratives to inspire people on these matters if you're gonna turn around and show your ass the second you don't feel comfortable and prioritized by the conversation, like it wouldn't exist without your oh so valuable contributions. ESPECIALLY if you don't identify as sharing the same identity of the marginalized character you're writing. You are a guest in someone else's lived experiences at that point, and you think you've got the right to belittle and talk down to the people who LIVE THERE? Fuck off, my dude.

6) Re-center Dick as someone who the superhero community RESPECTS. I love seeing Dick depicted as someone who has an awareness of his own limitations and an appreciation for what others bring to the table, and so I'm not opposed to him calling on others when he needs to.....but I also would like to see more of the opposite. But not in the way we usually see it these days, where he's asked to come help with a crisis and then usually second-guessed the whole way, and then sent back home without so much as a thank you when its done. Yawn. Sorry. I've read that story by now.

You know what story arc I freaking LOVED as a kid, back in the 90s? In Green Lantern, when Kyle Rayner first became the sole GL, one of his very early arcs, before he ever joined the JLA or anything....was him realizing how little he knew about being a superhero. He was like, my predecessors all had a full fledged CORPS to teach them everything they needed to know, but I had a few lines of exposition from a funny little blue guy in a red pillowcase and then I was off to the races. That's not good enough. There's so much I don't know about being a hero, I don't even KNOW what I still need to know.

So he went on kinda a superhero training roadtrip. He went to Metropolis to ask Superman for advice, he went to Batman to learn from Batman and Robin (Tim at the time). He went to Wonder Woman, Sentinel (Alan Scott, the first Green Lantern), etc, etc. And in the end, Kyle very much became his own kind of hero who wasn't just a pastiche of all those other heroes and the advice they gave him, but like....this put him on the road to that.

And I'd love to see something like that happen in Dick's solo title. We've seen him train in a team setting, we've seen him train the other Robins.....I'd love to see like, young superheroes from OTHER books, not ones created by the title, but like names people actually recognize from other franchises, like, guest star in Nightwing's book to learn from HIM, specifically. I wanna see something where Wally looks at the latest speedster and is like, you know what, if you really wanna be the best hero you can possibly be, then Nightwing's who you gotta go to, because there's no one I trust to make a better hero out of someone than him. I want the newest kid on the JLA block to worry that people aren't taking him seriously because of his age or experience, and he's always hearing them talk about Nightwing and how young he was when he started and so if anyone knows something about how to gain the respect of your older superhero peers, that's the guy to talk to.

Gimme Dick's couch being crashed on at various times by a half dozen new or upcoming young superheroes who all heard or figured out that if they really want to up their superhero game, Nightwing's the guy to see.

7) Bring back Bea. There's no long paragraph expansion on this, its really simply. Bring back Bea. She was one of the freshest breaths of air in Dick's supporting cast in ages, most of the current run is based off her character direction in the first place, she's literally the best suited TO help Dick in this venture, and the reasons they gave for writing her out of Dick's life were all bullshit and they just wanted to focus on his previous relationships, which would be fine if they didn't fall into the same two endless cycles of bring back up, go nowhere with, awkwardly avoid each other for years, rinse and repeat. Like. Bring back Bea, please and thank you, the end.

8) Focus on new villains. Heartless is meh, but the idea of new villains is still better IMO than rehashing Blockbuster, Zucco, etc. Like, nostaglia ain't it. If I want to read Blockbuster fucking up Dick's life, I can do that. They're called back issues. The thing is, love it or hate it, the Blockbuster arc WAS iconic. It left its mark. And anything that doesn't leave just as much of a mark, if they're going to bring him up again, is just gonna be a waste of time, you know? It'll just dilute his overall presence when like, what he was - worked fine as is. We don't need Round Two.

The trick to good villains, IMO, is they have to speak to a fight that needs fighting.

What I mean by that is....the best villains are those who resonate on a more instinctive level because they embody something that already exists in a reader's mind as a conflict that needs fighting. Like, if superheroes exist, if the embodiment of larger than life presences and forces devoted to protecting the world from various things are real....then their villains need to embody the kinds of fights or conflicts that NEED larger than life figures to combat them, at least on a one to one level.

Look at Superman and Lex Luthor. Superman at his core embodies the strength of community. He's the ultimate hero of the people, his essence is that he was the last survivor of a doomed race who was raised by two honest, hard working people to see the beauty in just being ONE of them, in using what he had on behalf of all of them and not just himself. In contrast, Lex Luthor is basically the embodiment of capitalist greed, of excess, of the entitlement of being able to have anything with a snap of your fingers and thus assuming that gives you divine mandate to make the kinds of choices that he sees as only his right to make.

He hates Superman, ultimately, because Superman is the WRONG savior of the people. He wants their only savior to be HIM, half the time he honestly believes he's saving the world FROM Superman, but just as often he's perfectly content to be the villain and not shy about it....because Lex Luthor's ultimate motivation is he wants everyone to know when he's dead and gone that LEX LUTHOR WAS HERE. He genuinely doesn't care WHAT his impact or legacy is at the end of the day, just that it exists and it overshadows most everything else...because all that really matters to him is the irrefutable proof that HE mattered. And thus at their cores, Superman and Lex are perfectly opposed. Ideally situated to eternally be in conflict, their own forever war, because their core natures are incompatible. They CAN'T compromise, without compromising themselves and essentially ending up as someone totally other than who and what they are already.

And you can go down the list. The Joker is the chaos to Batman's order, while Mr. Freeze is the stagnancy of that order taken too far, he's what you get when you freeze everything in your grief and refuse to let anything go on, anything new grow, because that would mean having to admit once and for all that what you're mourning is really gone. Two-Face is the ultimate embodiment of Man vs Self, a once good man at war with his own worse nature, and reminding everyone who looks at him how easily they could fall to the same fate.

And so on and so on. What Dick needs, is more of the same. Like, as much as I'm not a huge fan of Talon stories, I maintain that the Court of Owls were a great foil for him - just they tend to be poorly used in canon as well. But I also think how poorly they come off in canon has a lot to do with canon not really touching on WHY they're such a perfect foil for Dick....and that's Dick's history with being outside the system, mistreated and even exploited by the system. Because the Court, their core concept, is they ARE the system. They are entrenched, enfranchised, institutional power, passed down through generations, dynastic control that is a perfect counterpart to the dynastic power of the Wayne family, embodied in its youngest generation in the form of Bruce's FOUND family, the children he adopted regardless of whether or not his peers found them deserving of that honor. The Court, and their entire....thing...about the Gray Son, is the entitled fury of those denied something they deem theirs simply because they WANT it, and who will burn the whole world down rather than admit defeat or let someone else have it instead.

And that resonates. It could resonate a lot MORE if DC would actually lean into those concepts and allow Dick to explore how the Court are nothing he's not used to, they're literally made up of the same people who have looked down on him ever since he came to Gotham, but now they're actually a face and a name put to all those attitudes, something he can literally FIGHT BACK AGAINST. The Court are literally human-sized embodiments of everything and everyone who's tried to confine Dick since his parents' deaths, tried to define him without his permission, tried to make him other or lesser than who and what he is.....and who thus now exist in a form that Dick can literally BATTLE. So that he doesn't HAVE to just take this stuff lying down.

Thanks to the Court, he doesn't HAVE to just passively accept it, that this is just how life is, that some people are going to view him this way and think this about him and there's nothing he can do about it. He CAN do something about it, in superhero stories. He can kick its ASS, in the form of the Court of Owls and everything its members think about him and intend for him. He can refuse to bow down to them, to accept their mark on him. He can say lol, no, and then blow their shit sky high, ideally with a little help from his family. He can BEAT them, in this incarnated form, and in doing so, even though he can't beat everything they stand for and represent, that victory still matters, still means something symbolic to readers it resonates with.

And that's what we need more of. Villains created specifically to embody concepts that are diametrically opposed to Dick and what he represents. The system, yes, but also villains who embody the kind of tyranny and control he fights back against in his constant battles for autonomy and self control. Villains who embody the 'new hopes' of a second generation just like Dick himself is the focal point of the hopes embodied by the second generation of heroes. I'm actually not the hugest fan of multiversal constant Dick Grayson, but I might like it more if he had an opposite number there, someone he was specifically contrasted with. Idk.

But you get it.

9) Dick having a social life. Gimme the Titans and his siblings showing up JUST to show up. We have room enough for at least a couple pages every other issue where we just get to see these characters having some breathing room, taking a beat to stop and be something other than just a superhero, to be human as well. There's more to life than 24/7 fighting, even for them, and that's largely been lost in modern superhero comics, which kinda sucks, because that was what made most of the more iconic and lasting dynamics between various characters like, STAND the test of time. The larger than life battles between good and evil might be what many of us come to superhero comics FOR, but the relatable back-and-forths and ups and downs of their private lives spent with friends and family tends to be what keeps most of us coming BACK. And lately its all just mission, mission, mission, and I'm like blah, blah, blah and its like, meh, meh, meh. Y'know? Give the guy some down time, and let his friends come spend it with him.

10) Boone. This is purely self-indulgent, but if you know anything about me, you know my obsession with Robin: Year One, Dick's brief time at Vengeance Academy, and the hate/hate relationship he has with his brief frenemy from that period, Boone aka Shrike. This character has SOOOOO much potential to be Dick's true archnemesis and rival, and like. *Sobs* I can't get into it all again. Its too much. I can't do it.

Okay, I absolutely can. And will, probably. But like. Later.

BONUS ROUND:

Other thing I would absolutely insist upon if I were Nightwing editor....

GET THAT FUCKING MEME SHIRT ABOUT BRUCE SLAPPING DICK THE FUCK OUTTA HERE.

Like. Seriously. WHAT THE HELL. Why would you double down on THAT? Why is Babs STILL wearing it? (Last I checked, like I think I saw it in a scan from last issue? I'm pretty sure its still there? If not, forget this entire rant, and I am very embarrassed. Okay not that embarrassed. I don't really care if I'm wrong here but like, in case I'm not)...

WHY. Who thought that was funny? No, seriously, on behalf of any other abuse survivors who like me are SERIOUSLY not amused, who the FUCK thinks its FUNNY to have one of Dick's best friends sporting a shirt that no matter what it represents IN universe, to readers OUT of universe, is always going to call to mind the fact that this meme only freaking EXISTS because of all the times DC has obliviously and without acknowledgment written Bruce abusing his children, including the BFF that Babs is literally wearing that right in front of.

Like omg do you hate her, DC? What other possible reason could you have for thinking that would be a cute, funny thing for her to wear around the guy getting SLAPPED, by his DAD, in your shirt's iconography.

Okay I'm done.

LOL.

Sorry, that last one was brewing for awhile. Deep breaths. Woo.

[heliads]

Making the Team

Based on this request: “The reader is the daughter of natasha and steve, and she is nervous about for her first mission. Her mom and dad tell her that everything is gonna be great, and the mission is complete, but the reader is badly injured and her parents and Bruce takes care of her.”

masterlist

You’re awake when the first light of dawn tentatively begins to shine through your window. You’ve been awake for a while, actually, too excited to sleep a wink. This is the day of a very important mission. It’s probably going to be the most important mission of your life, in fact. If you do well on this assignment, you’ll be made an Avenger. If you don’t, you’ll have to get sent back to training and know that your entire future might have just slipped between your fingers.

Most teenagers your age would never have gotten this opportunity. If they were lucky, they might be accepted to the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy or embark on an internship with Tony Stark. You, however, happen to have two Avengers as your parents. Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, the classic Avengers couple. After much wheedling and careful manipulation on your end, they’ve allowed you to begin training as a potential Avengers recruit. Now, all you have to do to cement your place on the team is to prove yourself in this mission.

It’s not like you’re getting into this team solely based on nepotism, though. Your father was a super soldier and your mother was trained in the Red Room. Ever since you were old enough to walk, it was evident that you would be destined for the same path as they so famously trod. You ran faster, knew more, threw punches harder than anyone else your age. Even without your parentage, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have tapped you long ago. You just get to bypass the protocols and go straight to a potential slot on the team.

Eventually, you can lie in bed no longer, your adrenaline already pumping through your veins at the mere thought of the upcoming mission. You sling your legs over the side of the bed, jumping down onto the floor and rushing over to don your awaiting clothes. Your real suit is waiting in a quinjet at Avengers Tower, so all you have to do is pull on some casual clothes and rush your parents out the door.

They’re already up, as it turns out. Your mother is nursing a cup of coffee, and your father is standing over the stove, brow furrowed as he considers a pan of scrambled eggs. Natasha smiles when she sees you. “Look at you! Ready for the big day?” You nod excitedly, starting to grab the beginnings of a breakfast. “Couldn’t sleep a wink.” Steve chuckles. “I’m starting to think you’re excited about running headlong into danger.” You stare at him pointedly. “I wonder who I learned that from.” Natasha laughs at Steve’s expression. “She’s got you there.”

By the time you’re pulling up to the Avengers Tower, however, the excitement bubbling into your chest is deepening into nervous worry. What if something goes wrong? You’ve never been allowed on a mission as large as this one before, where civilians and the other Avengers alike are counting on you. What if you mess this up? The stakes are higher than you’ve cared to realize- not just a spot on the Avengers, but the lives of those you care about. You head over to the quinjet, but your fears only grow when the plane takes off.

You force yourself to calm down, heading over to the racks of weapons and gear in the hopes of distracting yourself. There at last is your suit- a flexible, bulletproof black jumpsuit with armored paneling overtop. You glance at your reflection in the mirror, but instead of seeing the usual confident version of yourself, you only see a nervous teenager. Why have you been allowed on this mission in the first place? What if this really isn’t what you were meant to do?

You hear footsteps behind you and turn hurriedly, doing your best to wash away your worries and plaster on an expression of relaxed calm. Your mother, however, has been reading people her entire life, and nothing can get past her. Especially not the worries of her daughter. She frowns at you, pausing at the doorway and heading inside. “Hey, you alright?” You sigh, staring at your palms. “What if you guys were wrong about me? What if I’m not supposed to be an Avenger after all?”

Natasha shakes her head. “We’re not wrong about you. That’s a promise. Y/N, I’ve seen you since you were little. You can do things that most soldiers couldn’t even dream of. If Steve or I thought that you couldn’t do this, we wouldn’t have suggested you take the mission.” You look at her anxiously. “But Steve is a super soldier. You’re a Black Widow. I am none of those.” There’s another voice from the door now, and you turn to see your father leaning against the doorframe.

“You don’t have to have that experience to be special. What about Maria Hill? You’ve seen her before. Even Thor’s afraid to take her on, and she doesn’t have any special abilities.” Steve walks into the room, smiling comfortingly. “No, Y/N, you are more than capable, even without training or a strengthening concoction. Honestly, if I was out in the field and I came toe to toe with you, I’d be worried.” A laugh rises unbidden to your lips. “You just have to say that because you guys are my parents.”

Natasha shakes her head, a small grin crossing her face. “Actually, us being your parents means that we wouldn’t usually say that at all. We made sure that you were given the best training and preparation, and that you had equal treatment with the other recruits. You didn’t make it this far because of us, you made it this far because of you. And, if that isn’t enough to convince you, check out your file. We didn’t write that, your instructors did, and your instructors gave you the highest marks we’ve seen in years.”

You smile grudgingly. “You’re sure I can do this?” Steve nods, reaching out to pull you close in a hug. “I know you can do this. You’re an excellent fighter, Y/N, and after today, you’ll be an Avenger. Just like that.” You laugh, returning the hug. “Just like that.”

This, however, is easier said than done. S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avenger training have done a lot for you- teaching you how to fight, readying you for battle. Nevertheless, no amount of simulations can prepare you for the mission at hand. There are hostages inside a building, dozens of guards and soldiers waiting outside. The hostages aren’t the only things to contend with, though- there are civilians, goons, and the knowledge that S.H.I.E.L.D. plans are hidden in the coat pocket of one of the hostages. At any moment, the guards could find out, and then the mission would be over before it even started. You have to rescue the hostages before the data is uncovered.

Your group fans out, looking for entrances. You spot one quickly, rushing to it. There’s an opening on the roof, and you jump from window to window, quickly scaling the building. There, you’re able to take out a couple of snipers and a few roof guards before heading inside the building through a service entrance at the top. The fighting gives you a rush, and you find yourself smiling as you take down yet another soldier. Maybe you were meant for this after all.

At last, you find the room with the hostages. You draw back, waiting around the corner out of enemy view. You tap on your earpiece, speaking hurriedly. “I’ve found the hostages. Second floor, far east side, about a dozen or so guards.” Steve’s voice crackles across the radio. “We hear you. Do not engage, wait for us.” You nod. “Affirmative. Waiting for you.”

Steve and Natasha, however, take their time getting to you. The soldiers must realize that someone’s found a way in, as they’re doubling up around the entrances. You stare at the room with the hostages, watching with bated breath as the leader of the goons circles the captive men and women. The man frowns, pausing by a woman in blue. She has a gold circle pinned to her chest, designating her as the leader. The man stares at the pin, then at her. You can almost see the pieces clicking into place in his head.

You curse softly as you realize what he’s about to do, and switch your radio back on. “The leader has figured out that someone has the plans. I think I have to go in.” Natasha’s voice is sharp over the comms. “Negative! Y/N, do not engage.” As you watch, the man draws closer, flipping open the woman’s jacket with the tip of his rifle. Even from here, you can see the hidden pocket, and even from here, you can see the man’s eyes light up as he spots the rectangular package tucked away inside.

Your hand rises to your earpiece once more. “Sorry, but I have to do this.” You flick your radio off, drowning out the frantic voices of your parents. You race over to the room, kicking down the door with your boot. The guards turn to you when the door crashes open, but you fire your weapons methodically, taking down the guards one by one as you race around the room to the woman. The leader is standing back up, shouting orders at his troops, but you’re not paying attention.

Then his rifle is raised again, pointing towards the woman with the plans. You feel your feet moving without a second’s hesitation, pounding towards the pair. You manage to shove the woman aside just before the man’s finger tightens on the trigger, and you can feel her slip you the plans even as the bullet impacts on your side. For a second, you don’t feel anything at all, and manage to turn your weapons towards the leader, knocking him to the ground. Then your hand comes up from your side, stained red as blood begins to pour onto the ground, and the pain truly hits.

It’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life. You’ve seen Thor wield his thunder before, seen him raise his hammer and watched as a boom of thunder cracked the sky. Lightning arced down to the ground before him, burning the ground and decimating his opponents. You’ve wondered what that would feel like, and now you have a fairly good idea. Maybe you’re not being electrocuted, but you feel like you’ve just been hit by the blow of a god.

There is shouting above you, more shouts ringing out. You stand up unsteadily, hand clamped to your side, and realize that Steve and Natasha have finally found you. They take down the guards with an almost frightening certainty, and then they see you. Just like that, their calm and cool exteriors break away and they run to your side. Steve visibly pales when he sees the blood pooling out from your side. “Y/N!” He shouts, and you weakly hold up the plans. “It’s alright, I got them. They’re safe.”

Steve shakes his head, and he’s saying something else but you can’t quite make it out. You think you hear your name, then Natasha’s, but for some reason you can’t focus on his words. Then the room tilts dizzyingly, and then you can feel nothing at all except for the overwhelming pain in your side and a sickening worry that your parents will never be able to forgive themselves if you die on this mission.

When your eyes open at last, you’re in a bleached white room. A smiling face swims before you; after a second you recognize it as Dr. Banner. His smile widens when he sees you sit up. “Hey, easy there. You took a pretty big hit.” You groan, feeling pain starting to blossom again from your side. It’s not as bad as it was in the room with the hostages, but it isn’t a picnic either. You rub your face with your hand, still disoriented. “What happened?”

Bruce chuckles. “You took a bullet for Ruth Hanaway.” At your confused expression, he clarifies. “The woman with the plans. You know, with the rest of the hostages. She’s fairly important, too. Apparently a higher-up among the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and she’s very impressed with what you did. She said you didn’t hesitate at all, just dove to save her. Now, that’s Avenger material.” You frown up at him, remembering the stakes of the mission. “So that means-”

You’re cut off by Natasha, who’s just burst through the doors. “Yes, you’re on the team.” She rushes to embrace you, and you smile at the show of affection. “But I got shot- I disobeyed orders-” Steve, who’d been closely following Natasha, shakes his head. “You saved the mission. If you hadn’t acted, the plans would have been lost. As much as I hate to say it, you did what you had to do.”

He fixes you with a sudden glare, although you can see right through it. “That being said, that was incredibly dangerous. You could have died or suffered serious injury. Even as it is, you’ll be spending at least a week in the hospital wing. We thought you were going to die, Y/N. No amount of missions will make up for your life.” You smile up at him, undaunted. “I’m not planning on repeating this anytime soon. I’ve had my life-and-death risk quota used up for the time being.”

Natasha chuckles, mussing up your hair. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Barely awake five minutes, and you’re already cracking jokes. I didn’t expect anything less.” You fix her with a triumphant grin. “Hey, I’m an Avenger now. I’m supposed to be used to this whole lifesaving thing.” Bruce chuckles, standing up to check a few readouts on the surrounding monitors. “I have no doubt about that. You might have to contend with Parker for the title of youngest Avenger, but I think that will be the least of your worries. Welcome to the Avengers, Y/N. We’re happy to have you.”

requested by @maximeevansblog​

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: K - Kryptonian’s

Summary: After noticing how everyone is busy meeting up with someone who is either a Kryptonian or even a Kent that day, Dick notices how he’s the only one in the family that doesn’t have a Kryptonian partner.

Enjoy! :D

“C’mon Damian, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

Dick pauses from where he’s walking through the foyer and looks up to find Tim shouting for their younger brother as he hurries down the stairs. When he reaches the bottom the teenager rushes to the door and throws it open and impatiently waits in the doorway as he checks his watch every few seconds.

Raising an eyebrow, Dick glances at the top of the stairs but doesn’t find any sign of Damian. He turns back to Tim. “What’s the rush?”

Tim blinks and stares at him for a moment like he’s just noticing Dick’s presence for the first time. With his eyes flicking to and fro Tim huffs in annoyance and taps his foot restlessly. “We’re meeting Conner and Jon at Amusement Mile but we’re running late because a certain someone can’t apparently keep track of the time!”

Dick frowns, suddenly feeling concerned for his brothers’ safety. “Is going there a wise idea?”

With a wave of his hand Tim dismisses his concern. “It’ll be fine. At the end of the day we’re all trained and it’s only a phone call away if anything does happen. Kon and Jon are there so if we do need an emergency evac we can get out of there quickly.”

Before Dick could respond a new voice joins the conversation.

“We have plenty of time Drake, don’t be so impatient.”

Both Dick and Tim look up to find Damian now descending down the stairs at a leisurely pace, obviously not in such a hurry as Tim is. Dick wonders if Damian is doing it purposely to annoy Tim or because they do have a lot of time to spare and Tim is just being overly-cautious.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little early or even on time brat.” Tim snaps at him, glaring as Damian reaches the bottom of the staircase. “Now come on, we’re wasting time.”

Without even so much a goodbye Tim spins around and hurries out the door once Damian approaches. Damian tuts but follows behind Tim saying “Bye Grayson” as he passes Dick on the way out of the door.

It takes Dick a moment to react, his mind catching up with the fact that Damian and Tim are hanging out together, seemingly willingly with one other. He blinks and shouts after them, “don’t kill one another! Stay safe and remember to call if anything happens!”

Neither brother responds to him but Dick rationalises he’s done what he could, if something happens between them he is not to blame. Maybe he should message Conner to ask him to check in and to make sure they behave. The Kryptonian brothers get along unlike Tim and Damian so his caution is reasonable as them two together is certainly a questionable matter. In the end he decides against it, instead choosing to wait and see what the end result of the day looks like.

Eventually he shuts the front door and continues on his way with what he had been doing before the sudden distraction.

------

Dick’s route through the foyer is interrupted again not even an hour later, only this time because of the group of girls gathered there. Dick stops and stares at the scene unsure on how to proceed, should he make his way through them or go around them?

Steph, Cass, Barbara and even Kara are grouped together giggling about something. Seeing three of them together is rather normal but he is surprised to see Kara around.

Before Dick could decide on what action to take he’s spotted by Steph. The blonde waves enthusiastically at him. “Hey Dick! How are things? Don’t mind us we’re moving to the media room now.”

The other girls turn and face him. Cass and Kara give him a smile and a small wave in greeting while Barbara shoots him a bland look. He wouldn’t expect anything else from her.

As Dick is about to move he’s stopped short by Kara addressing him. She points up to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “Dick, is it true that you used to often climb up there and hang from it?”

Dick glances up and his mind is suddenly ambushed with fond memories of when he was a kid and used to do acrobatics from said chandelier. Alfred used to give him hell for it, particularly after he accidently broke one when he got a bit too bold trying a new move.

He smiles and looks back at Kara nodding. “Yeah, that’s true. More often than you would think believe it or not. I did it less frequently as I got older though.”

Kara snorts with amusement. “I can totally see Jon doing something like that, rao, even Conner would try something like that.”

“Considering who they’re friends with, that doesn’t surprise me.” Steph comments laughing. “Well lets get to it! See you later Dick!”

Steph takes off down the corridor towards the media room with a bounce in her step. Kara sends him one more smile and follows her, Cass comes up to him and stands on her tip toes to place a kiss on his cheek before following them and finally Barbara sends him a wistful smile before trailing behind the girls, clearly also remembering what he used to be like back then.

Once they disappear from view it takes Dick a moment to move, his mind thinking about what just happened. He didn’t even realise they were friends with Kara. He doesn’t even know how they know each other, then again he doesn’t follow every move the girls make, they’ve probably had cases that have crossed over a time or two. Shaking his head he lets it go and continues on with his day.

----

When Dick bumps into Bruce in the kitchen later on that day he feels like there’s a pattern forming.

He’s sat at the kitchen island minding his own business as he eats his lunch and mindlessly going through Facebook, Alfred is pottering about also minding his own business, when Bruce rushes in looking a little frazzled.

Dick watches mollified as Bruce darts about the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards left right and centre clearly looking for something which he doesn’t find straight away. As soon as he came in, Alfred simply stood to the side and allowed Bruce to freely search the place patiently waiting for the inevitable to happen.

After searching every cupboard and draw available Bruce turns to Alfred and before the man could say anything Alfred simply holds out his hand revealing a travel mug. Bruce suddenly looks so relieved and gratefully takes the mug out of the butler’s hand with a breathless “thank you”.

“You are a saint Alfred, there’s no way I’m going to be able to cope today without this.” Bruce determines already taking a sip of the mug’s contents.

Dick blinks, completely lost to what’s happening, especially when all Alfred does is nod as he had been expecting that reaction the entire time.

“What is going on?” He blurts out without meaning too. The two men turn and face him, Alfred looking passive and Bruce looking surprised at his presence. Has Dick become invisible or something? That’s the same reaction Tim had that morning in the foyer.

“Oh, afternoon Dick, I completely missed you sat there.” Bruce says looking a little sheepish, a look that isn’t common on the man though Dick’s seen it more than enough times at this point in his life. “I have a meeting with Clark and the rest of the League members. I’m running a bit behind schedule but not enough to not grab my coffee before heading off. I won’t be back until late, don’t wait for me before going out tonight.”

With that statement Bruce leaves the kitchen with the travel mug clutched tightly in his hands. Dick shoots Alfred a surprised look but the elderly man has already turned around and continued with his task.

Sighing Dick turns his attention back on his half eaten lunch and goes back to scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed. Quickly getting bored of it, he places his phone down and strikes up a conversation with Alfred, the man appears more than happy to converse with him as he works.

After a while Alfred breaks their conversation, sending Dick an apologetic look. “I’m sorry Master Dick but I’m going to have to excuse myself. I have a scheduled phone call to make in a few moments.”

Dick stares, caught off guard by the reason. “What? Who with?” After he says it he realises how bad and how patronizing it sounds. He immediately winces and apologises.

Alfred merely looks amused at his behaviour, thankfully not taking any offense to it. “If you have to know Master Dick, I have a call with Mrs Martha Kent. We’re going to be comparing recipes and giving some recommendations.”

“Okay…”

Alfred leaves the kitchen then, leaving Dick all by himself in the room as his mind reels back over the last hour or so to what’s happened. Is everyone busy today or something?

Finally finishing his lunch, Dick clears his mess up and wanders out of the kitchen trying to decide what to do for the rest of the day.

-----

The next thing to happen which adds to the odd feeling he’s been having throughout the day is when he bumps into Selina in the corridor of the bedrooms wing. He’s heading towards his own room when he notices Selina strutting her way towards him.

His eyes widen as he takes in her outfit. She’s wearing a low cut black blouse paired off with tight leather pants and high heels. She’s wearing a golden necklace with matching bracelets on her wrists and her face done up with perfect looking make-up. The shadowing around her eyes make them stand out along with the boldness of her lipstick which helps define her facial features.

Dick stops in his tracks and watches as she approaches. When she’s close enough she stops and sends him a smile.

“Hot date?” Dick asks with a grin. He can’t help but be curious on why she’s dressed up like that. Bruce isn’t around and there’s no party that he’s aware of happening. Unless she plans on crashing the meeting Bruce happens to be in, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened…

Her smiles turns more devious, “Not quite birdie,” she drawls out. She places her hands on her hips and cocks them to one side. “I’m meeting with Lois Lane. There’s a certain… get together we’re attending and I tend to make a statement.”

Dick’s eyes widen in surprise, he hadn’t been expecting that. He knows that Selina and Lois know one another, he’s seen them interact with each other enough times at gala’s both Bruce and Clark have attended too but he didn’t know they were that close.

After a couple beats he sends her an easy smile. “Well, I’m certain you’re going to make a statement alright.”

“Thank you kitten,” she replies patting his cheek softly, “now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.” She saunters past him, continuing down the hallway clearly ready to kick some ass. Selina is the personification of the saying ‘looks can be deceiving’.

“Have fun!” Dick calls out to her retreating form.

As he enters his room Dick is struck by a thought that even Selina is busy that day. It’s really starting to appear that he's the only one without any plans or even someone to meet up with. It suddenly makes him feel lonely, it’s an irrational feeling but he couldn’t help feel it temporarily, maybe it’s jealously of his family all currently hanging out with someone or each other. It’ll soon pass when everyone is back home and skulking around looking for stuff to do out of boredom.

----

Half an hour later and Dick knows he's had enough. It seems like the last straw has been drawn and how the universe has decided to rub salt into the wound.

Dick’s not even out of his bedroom doorway before he’s stopping short at the sight of two beings walking past him. He blinks and looks down the hallway with furrowed eyebrows and seconds later it registers who he’s seeing.

“Jason?”

His brother stops in the middle of the hallway and turns around to face him. He looks surprised for a moment before his expression goes back to neutral. “Oh, hey Dick.”

“What are you doing?” He questions his brother, his gaze slipping to Jason’s companion. Bizarro stands next to Jason, his eyes drifting between the two of them as he watches them interact with a frown.

Jason jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re heading out now as we’re about to meet Artemis.”

Dick runs a hand over his face taking in the new information. “How long has Bizarro been here?”

His brother sends him perplexed look. “Uh, like all day? Did you not know that?”

“No. No I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Jason shrugs, not bothered by his answer, “well whatever. As I said we’re heading out now, so see ya! Say bye bye, Bizarro.”

“Bye bye.” Bizarro calls out to him with a wave of his hand.

Dick half heartedly waves back as he watches them disappear down the hallway. Once they were gone Dick slips back into his room and shuts the door behind him, completely forgetting the original reason why he had been leaving in the first place.

He goes over to his bed and flops down on it with a heavy sigh. Jason, even Jason, is busy and has company. How is it only him who isn’t doing anything? Usually it’s the other way around, where he’s always trying to find time in his schedule to meet up with his friends, family or to have some time for himself.

Burying his face into his pillow he sighs dejectedly, feeling sorry for himself. Dick frowns, maybe that’s not the right term, would jealously be more accurate or maybe loneliness is better suited. Whatever the word is for what he’s feeling, he knows it’s pretty much unwarranted. He should be happy that all of his siblings and extended family are out being sociable, they all have hectic and unpredictable lives, taking any free time a person has to spend it with those they care about is worth it.

Dick shouldn’t be annoyed with his family because he’s the one currently holed up in his bedroom sulking because he doesn’t have anyone to be with. It’s not their fault.

Something else he notices is how everyone seems to have their own Kryptonian, or by extension a Kent.

There's Bruce and Clark, though Bruce will deny their friendship at every opportunity. Tim and Conner, who are best friends (maybe more, Dick’s not quite sure). Damian and Jon, as much as the former is reluctant to admit how much he cares for the younger. Steph, Cass, Barbara and Kara who are all apparently friends. Selina and Lois. Alfred and Mrs Kent. Jason and Bizarro.

He’s the only one without a Kryptonian partner. While he’s worked with Clark a few times and has connected with him, after all Clark’s the one who inspired him to become Nightwing, it’s not the same thing.

After spewing in his thoughts for a while, Dick comes to a conclusion that sleep sounds like the best option right now. If he sleeps then he’s not thinking, and as a bonus at the same time his body is resting and extra rest never hurts anyone.

He shifts on his mattress, getting into a more comfortable position to sleep in, and buries his head further into his pillow. Closing his eyes he tries to force his body into unconsciousness. His eyes snap open only seconds later when his phone pings from it’s place on his bedside table.

Stuck between being excited for a message and dreading it, Dick reaches out and grabs the device. Rolling over onto his back he lifts his phone up in front of his face and reads the notification. Seeing who the message is from, a wide grin stretches across Dick’s face and any dread he had been feeling instantly disappears. It seems like the universe has finally decided to side with him (or that it’s had enough of him moping) because it’s a message from his long time old friend Wally West.

‘Hey man it’s been waaaayyyyyy too long. Are you free to hang out any time soon – we need to catch up bro.’

Dick agrees with the message, it has been too long since they last saw one another. From what Dick heard last is how Wally’s been busy helping out in Central City, his relationship with Linda is progressing smoothly, he’s been helping to train his cousin and how he’s been away on a mission with Jay. Dick had thought Wally was still away, hence why he hadn’t contacted him but obviously he’s wrong about that.

Dick types out a reply to his friend, feeling eager and excited to meet up. ‘I’m free right now if you are. C’mon over to the Manor when you can?’

It takes a few moments for Wally to respond. ‘Absolutely. Though will Bats have my ass if I just show up?’

Dick snorts, of all the things to be concerned about… ‘No. You’re fine. B’s in a meeting.’

‘Okay! I’ll be there in a flash ;D’

It’s stupid but Dick couldn’t help chuckle at the poor joke. No doubts on how Wally’s picked up that behaviour from Barry.

Feeling jittery, Dick rolls off his bed and begins making his way downstairs so he could greet Wally by the door. He doesn’t know what they’ll do other than talk to catch up and possibly raid the kitchen at the same time. Dick doesn’t mind what they do, at least he finally has someone to hang out with!

Just as Dick reaches the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, the doorbell rings alerting him of Wally’s arrival. Dick grins as he approaches the door and it only gets wider when he opens it to reveal his best friend standing there on the front porch.

“Wal-man! How’s it going dude!” He exclaims stepping towards the speedster.

Wally’s gaze snaps to him and an identical grin appears on his face. “Dick, it’s so good to see you man!”

They come together and embrace tightly with a few firm pats on the back. They part after a few beats and then take a moment to observe one another. Dick is pleased to find Wally appearing the same as he did when he last saw him, looking happy and healthy.

“So…” Wally trails off when the silence gets drawn out for too long.

“So.” Dick repeats promptly. Getting himself together, he continues to grin and throws an arm around his friend’s shoulders, using that leverage he guides Wally into the house. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Wally’s own arm wraps around Dick’s back as they pass through the foyer. “That we do. I can’t even remember when the last time I saw you was.”

With his free hand Dick waves the comment away. “Doesn’t matter, we’re here now. Shall we grab some food and go to my room? I would suggest the media room but the girls are currently inhabiting it, have been all day, alternatively we could go to the conservatory or even outside since it’s dry and warm.”

Wally hums for a moment before answering. “Food is a definite must, you know me – hey has Alfred cooked recently, any chance we could steal some leftovers? And your room sounds fine, at least there’ll be less chance of us being disturbed by one of your millions of siblings.”

Dick rolls his eyes at the comment though he carries on smiling, some days it really does feel like he has a million. Will Bruce ever learn the meaning of ‘no more’?

“I have no idea what Alfred has in the kitchen so we shall see when we get there.” Dick says smiling.

The two of them fall into an easy stream of chatter as they begin catching up with what’s going on in their lives.

As they chat Dick thinks to himself, why was he so bothered that his family members all have their own Kryptonian when he has his own speedster? A couple of them also have a speedster but not everyone so Dick can hold onto this, at least that’s what he’s rationalising to himself. Thinking back on it, Dick realises that it’s stupid, why should he be concerned about it at all? He's now with his best friend, that’s what matters and that’s exactly what he's going to focus on.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Trouble ~ J.V.

A/n: I see my Jerome peeps are HERE and I’m LOVING IT! Prompt list here so y’all don’t have to scroll ;) Feel free to request as many as you want for commission or when requests are open again. I LOVE using prompts!!

Request: “...6, 8 with Jerome Valeska” by anon

6: “You are actually Satan, oh my god.”

8: “Wow, I am so in love with you… just wow.”

MASTERLIST

You know how you see someone, and it’s so obvious where they’ll end up that it’s like a scene in your head? It’s never good when this happens, so usually it’s a sad story and you kind of just frown and shake your head and pity the person, but you know that saying anything won’t do you any good so you just sit back and keep your mouth shut and wait for the inevitable end.

That’s how everyone saw Jerome Valeska.

People had never cared about Jerome, though. If they ever had, it was wiped away pretty quickly. Brutally murdering people with no care for who was on what side, who had helped or hurt, or without even a little remorse or pity or hesitation or regret... it was one of those things that most people found to be a bit of a turn off. Those who didn’t were seen to be just as unhinged as Jerome was, so they were dismissed as well.

The thing was, people HAD cared about Y/n. She was one of the most intellectually promising in her entire high school, maybe in all of Gotham. She was the kind of teenager that seemed so very adult. She was respectful and poised and very well controlled. She was pleasant to be around, and even much older people didn’t mind talking to her if they happened to be in the same place. She’d even made some pleasant relationships.

Like the friendship she had with Bruce Wayne.

Through him, she had come to learn about and meet and even get along with everyone Bruce knew. She could get along with anybody she wanted to, without threats or intimidation or groveling. She simply existed, and she had a sort of comforting, approachable presence about her. She wasn’t the least bit threatening, but she was... nice, I guess. Even dangerous people liked her, because she was the only person who didn’t seem to care about power or advantageous interactions or anything like that.

She was just nice to talk to.

This showed most prominently when she talked to people like Edward Nigma, or Oswald Cobblepott, or Silena Kyle. She’d even found herself in situations to talk to Barbara Gordan. Victor Zsasz.

People usually chalked it up to her being quite unlucky.

Because she was so unsuspecting and unproblematic and calm, she turned out to be a really good hostage. She didn’t talk back or lash out, she just sat and behaved and looked at you with a very calm, calculated expression.

Zsasz had run into her when he’d worked for Penguin and had been guarding her so that Oswald could make a deal without worrying about his bargaining chip being compromised. After a while, Y/n had asked how Zsasz’s day was going. They’d had a short, pleasant conversation, leaving the assassin intrigued by the girl when she’d been let go.

Barbara had a similar experience, except it had been when she was in Arkham of all places. Everyone had a weird thing, and very few if any people knew Y/n’s, but even she had one too. Her weird thing was visiting Arkham Asylum every once in a while visiting random people inside it, and then talking to them with the most easy normality. Like they’d been life long friends, or the person she was talking to was completely sane. She never judged or snapped, she just had a neutral expression with a sort of interest in her eyes. She was polite enough that Barbara had entertained the visit, and found herself not totally regretting it afterward.

Oswald had met her when he was mayor. She had dropped by as an errand for Jim Gordon, and had started a casual conversation when Oswald had expected her to leave when thing were handled. At first he’d been suspicious, and he still was if he was honest, but she hadn’t asked any prying questions or tried to get at him from any angle. If he drew a line, she respected it immediately and moved onto something else without missing a beat. When he got uncomfortable, she apologized and wished him a good day before excusing herself. After she’d show up several more times, sometimes sent by Jim, sometimes just to say hello, Oswald eventually relaxed. He didn’t trust her, and she didn’t expect him to, but when she stopped by to say hello he’d have someone bring them tea and they’d have a little chat. He was a little surprised when she didn’t visit him in Arkham, but when they ran into each other a little later, she nodded to him with a little smile and he got the impression she wasn’t angry with him.

As time passed, more and more people who were considered to be Gotham’s worst were coming up with more and more stories of Y/n. The girl who didn’t scream when she walked into a store and saw a dead body, but who’s neutrality wasn’t unsettling as much as it was kind of calming. She had all the makings of a twisted, demented villain, and yet she was the most normal person ever. It was confusing and intriguing, but never distinctly a bad thing. She was well known, and no one had anything bad to say about her. 

It was only a matter of time before Jerome found her.

Not long after he did, he was as taken with her as everyone else. She wasn’t annoying, or unnerved by him. She was in fact endlessly interesting. He thought eventually he would get bored of her complete lack of response to even the most terrible things he told her in an effort to get her going, but found instead that the sort of sparks of interest in her gaze and the small smile that sometimes almost touched her lips was enough to keep him engaged.

She was the exact opposite of him, but in a way that didn’t drive him to want her to be gone. He didn’t WANT to kill her. It was weird, and he was living for it.

Slowly, Y/n stopped showing up in public. She stopped visiting Arkham, and the police department. She stopped running into dangerous people who never seemed to mind seeing her around, even if they weren’t supposed to be seen by anyone. She graduated high school but never talked about college. She just... slowly started to disappear.

It wasn’t as suspicious as it was disappointing. No one could tell where she was going or why all the accidental bump ins were being so carefully removed, but it was leaving the idea in everyone’s head that they might not have been accidents to begin with. Not most of them at least. That was the only thing that it could be, after years and years of her being so very unlucky, only for her to quite suddenly not run into a single soul ever. Even when people sought her out, they couldn’t find her unless she wanted to be found.

She appeared rather suddenly at Jerome’s side one day out of the blue.

No one noticed her behind the line of people in chairs. They were distracted by Jerome talking about his terribly sad past, and the people with explosive collars locked around their necks. Most importantly noted: Bruce Wayne and Jerome’s twin brother, Jeremiah.

It wasn’t until Jerome drew attention to her that anyone even registered her at all. She was so still and quiet that behind all the chaos, she might as well have been invisible.

Jerome was only too enthused to rub it in everyone’s faces.

“You know you don’t like me, and that’s fair. I’m not like any of you, am I? I don’t smile right, and I act weird. Then there’s the whole killing people thing.” He giggled, but the crowd in front of him only looked disgusted. “But is that why you really hate me, Gotham? Because I’m a big ol mean bad guy? Do you hate me because I’m a little unhinged? Because I’m a little loud and hysterical and I scare you? Or do I scare you because I have no problem being very honest and very open with all of the things you people LOVE to push under the rug and hide away and pretend no one can see.” He shook his head. “Because I’ve come to realize there is someone who’s exactly like me, but so much better at playing all of you. So much better at playing innocent and harmless and friendly, and with no real intentions other than to prove how easy you all are. How transparent.” His eyes drifted toward Y/n, and he motioned her forward. Without hesitating, she did take a few steps forward, into the light and right behind Bruce Wayne.

Gasps echoed in the crowd. To everyone’s stunned silence, Y/n stood there with the same calm and reservation she always did. She seemed perfectly unbothered by the dead body inches from her, or the people she had always seemed so close to being in danger. She didn’t look around, trying to gauge a way out, and nothing held her in forced obedience. She just looked at Jerome, that same nice, almost-smile and curiosity dancing in her eyes.

“What-” Bruce looked around, mouth dropping open when he saw who was behind him. “Y/n?”

“Ah yes,” Jerome purred. “Gotham’s little angel. Friend to all. Unassuming and nice and calm and wonderful. Aren’t you just a pillar of perfection, Y/n?” He giggled again, and Y/n tilted her head, her smile growing a little,

For the first time ever, Y/n was unnerving. Seeing her of all people look dangerous was so upsetting that the crowd started to step down from their anger towards Jerome and were edging toward true fear. If she could end up being bad, who else could? If even the bets of them could be corrupted, and even the most deranged mind could act completely normal, how could anyone ever tell when people were dangerous anymore?

It could be anyone. Anyone they trusted. Anyone they knew. Anyone they’d talked to long enough to decide they were safe. Because Bruce Wayne had known Y/n best of anyone in Gotham, and even he looked as stunned as everyone felt. He had spent copious amounts of time with her, including for hours straight during school hours, and even he had not on any level or in any way seen anything like this coming.

“Y/n?” Bruce whispered.

Y/n met his gaze. “Yes?”

He wasn’t sure what to ask her. “What’s going on?” is what he settled on.

She shrugged, as if they were catching up after school. During tea time maybe, after having not seen each other recently. “Nothing much. I’m observing and learning. People are so intriguing Bruce, have you ever noticed? I’ve learned so much. All I ever had to do was be polite, and everyone would let me sit there as long as I wanted and observe them. You learn so much by watching people, but even more from talking to them. And they always let me. All I had to do was let them talk. I never lied. I never pushed. I was respectful and curious, and they responded so well. I’ve come to learn that even the most suspicious people feel the loneliness of humanity. They crave to be wanted. To looked at. All I had to do was show interest, and they thrived under that attention. You really have to do so little for people to like you. It’s so interesting.”

Bruce’s eyes had been widening as she spoke. She said it all like she was observing humanity in a way that she wasn’t apart of it. “You’re like us, aren’t you?”

“Oh of course,” she agreed. “That’s the thing. I wanted to understand myself, so I looked at those like me. And those unlike me. To see what was and wasn’t me. To see what was similar and what was so very completely different.” She chuckled softly and Bruce felt sick to his stomach. “I never expected to find someone so very similar to me to be someone seen the eyes of everyone else as exactly opposite. Jerome and I? Very much the same, except I’d rather learn than act. I never really cared about people’s opinions or if they didn’t like me or if they were mean. I was too unassuming for bullying or abuse. I didn’t care if people looked over me like Jerome does, and that’s really the only difference. I just wanted to learn, and people were always willing to let me.” She shrugged. “But people are so simple. So easy to understand. MUCH more straight forward than any of them would like to admit. I think I’m going to be staying with Jerome from now on. He’s interesting. He understands.”

Jeremiah knew who she was only by association, and even he was surprised, despite having known Jerome very close up for so long. He supposed it wasn’t fault, but watching Bruce, he wondered if he’d even been able to tell her true nature. Even now she looked completely normal and safe. Her eyes were full of life, and she was fairly attractive. The way she stood was relaxed and the way she talked was completely normal. What was upsetting about her was not that she was obviously messed up. It was that she was so painfully normal in even a situation that should have been quite upsetting.

“You’re a sociopath,” Jeremiah offered in a sort of leveled voice. Her eyes turned to him and he realized that her calmness was contagious. She had the look of someone you could just... fall into. So easy to trust. Even now he found himself a little lured by her. She was honest about who she was. She didn’t hide anything. She was just quiet, and people forgot to ask. That wasn’t her fault. Maybe she could still be saved from his deranged brother.

“Yes,” Y/n agreed, and her complete acceptance of that didn’t sit well with Jeremiah. “Would you like me to show you? I have come to learn that everyone wants some sort of proof of it. They have a hard time believing me.”

“No that’s okay,” Jeremiah rushed to reassure just as Jerome squealed, “Yes please!”

Between the two opposite reactions from the two very opposite twins, Bruce got the idea of what her kind of proof might mean. “Don’t worry Y/n, we believe you.”

She nodded, and the two boys thought that’d be the end of it. But then she pulled an actual gun out of seemingly nowhere, pointed it at the crowd, and shot without even hesitating. There went up a scream as people scattered, revealing the body of a woman bleeding out on the ground. The bullet had hit someone around her neck and no one could do anything other than give her and themselves plenty of room away from her.

Jerome squealed with excitement.

Bruce looked at Y/n with horror. “I said we believed you! You didn’t have to kill her!”

“But I did,” Y/n decided. “Because they didn’t believe me.” Her lips turned up into a stronger smile. There was no regret or hesitation in her eyes, and Bruce felt dread slowly settle throughout his body. She WAS exactly like Jerome and the only reason this was her first kill is because she’d decided to wait until now to kill someone. They’d all been at her mercy this entire time, like a mouse held down by a mouse trap. Except they’d been perfectly fine just sitting in her trap and letting her watch with mild interest as they died.

She was just like Jerome.

One of the other people in line spat, “You’re actually Satan, oh my god.” His eyes were wide and Bruce got the idea that if he hadn’t been held by the explosive collar, he might have bolted. “You let all of us trust you and welcome you and be around you. You gained our trust, and you don’t even care about us?”

Very calmly, Y/n simply shook her head. “We’re all just meat. Do you care about the animals scientists test on to give you your makeup products and medicine? Do you care about the pig killed for its meat, or the dogs that rip each other apart in the streets for entertainment and money? We’re just animals. You guys have just gotten the idea stuck in your head for some reason that we’re special animals. You won’t admit those animals will eat you just as quickly as you will them. Pigs have high intelligence. You think you’re gods because you have the highest intelligence and then ignore how you so easily ignore what you know and do what you want instead. You give into nature just like any predator. I have simply stopped being either. I’m not villain. I’m not a hero. And you think the people who watch the villain are a different category, but they’re not. They do nothing, and bad thing happen, and that’s it. A woman died, and people didn’t do anything to stop it. There’s a whole crowd of people not held here by anything other than a secret, sick fascination with the terrible things happening here. You are just as bad as Jerome. Just as bad as me. You just refuse to admit it. I don’t. That’s all.”

Grinning, Jerome sat forward in his chair. “Wow I am so in love with you.” He giggled and everyone in the area cringed. The idea of Jerome Valeska being involved like that with Y/n... And the way she seemed to not mind it either. On top of everything else that had happened here, it was so viscerally upsetting. Jerome stood, moving behind the people in chairs to gently grab Y/n’s face, pulling her lips against his. When he pulled away, everyone’s face had gone scaringly pale. “Just, wow,” the red head whispered. 

Y/n seemed to consider that. “You know, I think I have some sort of care for you. Like... like how someone explained a pet to me. Is that how affection feels?” She still looked only curious. It made sense that in a world who didn’t care to learn about people like her, and after a lifetime of holding back her questions and lack of understanding, even after all this time she still would be confused about the different way she experienced relationships with other people.

Jerome shrugged. “I think not, but I can be your pet if you want.”

Y/n smiled. “I think I do want that.”

A victorious smile adorned Jerome’s face. “That’s all I needed!” He turned to face his brother and Bruce Wayne again. “See, I was so stuck on you two. I died wanting to kill Brucie, and I’ve lived my entire life wanting to kill my dear brother, so I lived for nothing else. I thought of nothing else. I existed to end you two. But now, I have a different purpose. There is nothing like looking at someone you find so very interesting and them returning that back to you.” He giggled. “Mom always said I’d never find love. Aren’t you proud of me for proving her wrong?”

“This isn’t love,” Bruce snapped. “It’s demented. You can’t feel love. Neither of you can.”

“Maybe not,” Y/n agreed. “But it will be fun testing that.” She turned and walked off the stage, heading back and disappearing.

Jerome sighed. “And that’s my cue.” There was a gun shot and a sharp pain in his hand as the detonator fell out of his hands. He could no longer explode the necklaces. He made an ‘oopsie’ sort of expression before ducking away as another gunshot run out. “See you around, you two!” His laughter echoed as he disappeared after Y/n, fading away too quickly.

By the time Jim Gordon chased after Jerome, it was far passed too late. Whatever Y/n had done to ensure their escape, it had left no traces. They were gone.

Behind them, they left death and the lingering feeling in the air like this was only the beginning to a very, very terrible love story.

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 5)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5458

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Full Masterpage | Part 4

After you had made the mistake of outing to Captain Rogers about your plans to avenge your parents, he had wandered off somewhere, leaving you behind and alone with your thoughts.

You weren’t too sure if he was upset with you or if he sided with you.

It was really difficult to tell.

For all you knew, he could be preparing an arrest for you.

The longer you stayed in this clean tent, the more you started to suspect if this was some kind of new avengers compound. It was obvious this wasn’t a normal place looking for refugees, because there would be a lot more people.

But again, you knew so little. The only thing you were certain of is that you would milk your stay there as long as you could before continuing your trip back south. Not even the earth’s mightiest heroes would stop you. You would stay until your wounds healed and until you had enough strength.

You wished they hadn’t taken your pack away from you, but they had told you that it wasn’t of need.

That anything you needed they could provide you with.

You wanted your compass, the one Will had given you, and you wanted your damn spear.

It had only been a few hours since you arrived and you were already bored out of your mind.

As much as you wanted to wander around the camp and discover more of this mysterious place, you weren’t too sure if you were allowed that liberty. They hadn’t told you much of what you could and couldn’t do.

So you laid on your cot, playing with your bottle of antibiotics.

How had the Avengers manage to lose everything yet still keep certain things safe? You examined the opaque black bottle, noting that there was no writing on it anywhere. For all you knew, it could be some other kind of drug.

But they wouldn’t lie. They had nothing to gain from your death. Plus, you knew they weren’t infiltrated by Hydra like S.H.I.E.L.D once was. Hydra now only resided in The Capitol.

You’re twisting the bottle up and down and side to side when a motion from your peripheral makes you look up. Someone had entered the tent again.

Your eyes narrowed at the figure and your stomach lurched.

The man wore a black T-shirt, a leather jacket, jeans, and boots. If it weren’t for the silver sliver of metal as he rummaged through the medkit, you wouldn’t have known who this man was.

You always thought Bucky Barnes had longer hair.

This man didn’t look like the hot brainwashed assassin you had always seen on the news or in pictures. He looked younger, normal, dare you say; hot.

You felt a tight burning in your lower stomach as your eyes trailed down the bridge of his nose and along his perfect jawline; it was covered in a light layer of dark stubble.

You don’t know why you suddenly feel so attracted to him. You always harbored a small crush for The Avenger, almost every girl did, but it was always Steve that everyone wanted to kiss.

But now, after seeing both in person, you couldn’t fool your heart to not feel the way you were.

Bucky Barnes was exactly your type.

You felt your cheeks heat up and you forced yourself to look away from him. You tried your best to maintain your eyes on the bottle between your fingertips until the rummaging through the kit stopped.

When it did, you lift your eyes back up, thinking he had finally left so you could let the smile break out through your face.

Instead, you were met with piercing blue eyes.

Your eyes met for a long second. His face was blank and yours was surprised, but you knew you looked absolutely flushed. You felt it all over your body.

Thankfully, he quickly looked away again, and he seemed to have finally found what he was looking for.

He took it in his hand and turned the other way, walking out of the med tent.

Steve had stopped by later that night and handed you a pair of crutches and he asked you to follow him. Who were you to say no to Cap?

You followed him close behind as you walked through dead foliage and passed some of the fire pits. It was obvious most of the agents (you weren’t even sure if that’s what they were) had gone to bed, so the sound of cicadas and crackling fire echoed in the cool air.

You both must’ve passed about seven larger tents until you ended up in front of a large black one.

Steve opened the entrance for you, pulling it to the side so you could go in before him. You looked at him hesitantly before managing your way inside. You were careful to not trip as you entered the heated area.

You heard a commotion, a husky and deep voice.

“I don’t want to be tied to a fucking child, it’s a joke. I spent two years, two —” the voice stopped as the source of it looked up from Fury and to you.

Bucky Barnes.

You felt the tent swing close behind you with a soft breeze and he snarled, his eyes meeting Steve’s above your shoulder.

“Bucky,” Steve greets his best friend.

You felt the tension heavy in the air as you looked away from that heavy blue gaze.

Jesus.

You heard rummaging of papers and then the heavy waft of air that smelled way too good. You looked back up only to see that Barnes was now gone.

Your eyes met Fury’s and it was then you noticed the others in the room, too.

If only Will could see you now. You felt the heavy tears deep in your throat as you remembered him.

If only he had survived just a few more hours, he would’ve been right there with you.

It almost seemed like some weird dream, but it wasn’t.

You were, in fact, in a room with Steve Rogers, Nick Fury, Sam Wilson, Wanda, and Bruce Banner. You were mildly disappointed, wondering where the others were. You felt slightly selfish for it and then you felt that pang as you remembered Black Widow’s and Tony Stark’s sacrificial death for humanity.

This tent was definitely a lot fancier than the others you had seen. From the outside, it would be hard to tell, but this one even had a large table and some tech you hadn’t seen in years, or even at all.

Now, you knew your gut was right, this really was the new Avengers Compound. How have more people not walked upon it?

“Miss, Y/L/N,” Banner says, motioning towards the large table, “Please take a seat.”

You maneuver your way to a random seat near the end of the table and lay your crutches on the side of it. Everyone else takes their appropriate seats, except for Fury who continues to stand, his hands in the pockets of his long coat.

You weren’t intimidated. No.

“So you want to go into The Capitol,” Fury says, pacing around the room.

You cross your hands on the table in front of you.

“What happened to your hand?” Sam asks, eyeing your bandage.

You clear your throat, feeling interrogated.

“I cut it while spearing for some fish.” Your eyes dart back to Fury and you wonder how much you should tell him. You had a plan, you didn’t want it to be ruined. This was your fight to win, “Yes, I do.” You tell him quietly.

“You’re quite ambitious to think you can take on a hundred thousand Hydra operatives on your own. You do realize that wall is guarded by eight hundred tanks, six fire missiles, two nukes, and five thousand men?” Fury says it like it’s the most factual thing in the world. You swallow thickly, not actually knowing that. He leans on his arms in front of you, “And what were you planning to do when, or should I say if, you got inside? How far did you have this planned?”

You wouldn’t let him scare you. You were bigger than this interrogation. “Please, mister Fury,” it sounded weird, but you didn’t want to be rude, “I respect you, but I don’t want to be taunted for my lack of cowardice.” You slip in, flustered.

His one eye trembles.

“Tell me.”

You take a deep breath.

“My family wanted The Capitol to be a place where people could depend on for survival. Hydra knew about it for years and they had it planned for years to take over. They made sure of that when they had my parents killed, right in front of me. I know the man that did it, and for years, all I’ve wanted to do is take back what my parents wanted, however, that is, and by doing whatever it takes.”

He looks at you, bored.

“So you never had a solid plan?”

Your shoulder slump over, embarrassed.

“No.”

A heavy laugh leaves his mouth and the other avengers also look simultaneously unamused, and slightly bored.

Steve, on the other hand, looks a bit more upset and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“She knows what he looks like,” Steve says, strong and determined.

“That’s not enough, Steve.” Sam mumbles, pushing his chair away from the table, “She’s just a normal girl, she doesn’t have anything to offer us that could possibly hold a guarantee that she could take on an entire city dictated on Hydra. There is nothing concrete about this,” you try not to take any offense to Sam’s tone as it angers you, “She didn’t even have a plan. Her motives are reckless." This ticks you off.

“My motives are reckless? My parents were killed in front of me. That is my motive.” You snap, “I’m not some child, I know what I want to do. I want to kill him.”

Wilson gives you a hard look.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but that’s called revenge. We don’t do that here. We can’t just run in there and start shooting people up.” Sam explains.

“I’m not trying to shoot people up, Mr. Falcon,” again, it feels weird, “I want him killed. Especially if that means the rest of that place falls down with him. You think I was just going to —” you curse yourself for giving away most of your plan, but damn it, “You think I was just going to barge in there, find him, and kill him? Of course not. I would take the information I needed first.” “And by doing what exactly? And for what?” Fury asks. He turns to Steve, “She has the drive, the determination, and she knows what he looks like, but she’s just a normal young girl. She’ll die in seconds of stepping foot in the place if she were to run into a bad face. She has no skill, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, she’s not an agent, she’s not superhuman.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what we need to win this,” Steve says as he stands up from next to you. You hear the heavy gravel under his chair as it scoots back/ His finger is down on the table as he continues, “she could be the mole, she could get the insight we need, she’d fit in perfectly because she’s not enhanced. I think you are looking at her lack of abilities as a disadvantaged when it could be the exact opposite. We have all the other extra accessories, everything else Bucky and I have been working on for the last few years, and the materials Tony left behind. We have the plan, she would just be the chess piece. We can train her just enough to where if she needs to use certain tactics, she will be prepared. It’s obvious she isn’t afraid.”

“Bucky’s plan —” Wanda starts, retaliating.

“—is a good plan,” Steve cuts her off, “I know he worked hard on it. But this, this is better. And she knows who he is. This is an advantage that we need.” Steve’s eyes go back to you as they soften, “we can train you. Bucky can train you,” his eyes go back to his teammates, “It’ll be them both. It’ll be a dual mission.”

Your heart falters at the mention of Bucky’s name again.

Everyone considers it, mumbling pros and cons among each other until finally, it’s settled.

They were going to discuss it farther and then Bucky would join to see if it’s a go.

For some reason, you had a feeling it wouldn’t go down smoothly. Steve’s expression only confirmed that.

They let you have your backpack back, which meant you could have your spear again. Its been two days since your talk with the team and you were starting to feel a bit excited.

It was like your fear of losing your fight for your parents was diminishing.

You had gotten close with Steve, which is something your old self never would’ve believed. He always seemed to seek you when you were alone or looked bored. It was his idea of building trust and communication with you. He was the one that handed you your backpack as you sat near the fire chewing on a piece of bread.

He sat next to you as he watched you sharpen your little weapon, amused.

You told him about Will that night and his face fell. You both started sharing stories.

He then started to tell you about how everyone here has lost someone that means a lot to them. You don’t know how it ended up in the general direction of relationships, but he let it slip that Bucky missed someone from his past, a woman.

This surprised you as your movements on your spear faltered.

He didn’t tell you much, just that her name was Daisy and she died when he had been drafted to England. Bucky was only twenty-three.

She was killed by Hydra. You asked him why he was telling you this and he smiled softly and told you that you should know that Bucky is also human.

You didn’t really get what that meant, but you nodded anyway.

“Look, Bucky’s tough. He’s got some issues when it comes to trust. He’s also got some inner demons. Very dark ones. He thinks he deserves less than this. He can be a bit brutal at times, but it’s his defense mechanism. I’m just saying this so you’re not afraid, but he’s a good man.”

“Okay.” Is all you can say to that.

You haven’t really met Bucky one and one yet, only sharing glances that made you feel things similar to what you felt in your teens.

A crush. You knew you were crushing hard the second you saw him. There was just something about him. The mention of Daisy made you a bit jealous, even if she was gone.

You also felt really bad for Bucky. It couldn’t be easy.

“I want you to do me a favor,” you look at Steve, intrigued, “when you both go over there, I want you to keep an eye on him for me. I want you to try your best to ease him into loving himself again,”

“I’m not a therapist, Mr. Rogers.”

“But you’re normal. He needs normalcy. Take it easy on him, be a friend. He’s been thinking about nothing but this mission for the last few years. When he’s there, I want him to think about the present. I need your help with that, too. Please.”

You give him a sympathetic look, his eyes are pleading and you feel for him.

“I’ll help you.”

Whatever that meant. Couldn’t be that hard, right?

Part of you wanted to help them, but part of you also wanted to still follow your own plan and tackle this whole thing on your own.

+ + +

That next morning the sun shined a little brighter over the camp. You had been left a note on the table next to your cot to meet the team in the same tent from the other day.

Days of the week didn’t exist anymore either.

There was no Monday, no Thursday, no Saturday. It was simply “day”.

You brushed your teeth (yep, they had it all) and before you knew it you were on your crutches, waddling your way over to the large tent.

There was loud talking before you even stepped foot inside, and you already knew this was going to be fun.

You took a deep breath and went inside.

Unlike last time, everyone was already sitting down. Their eyes shot up to you and their talking stopped abruptly.

Steve looked ecstatic to see you.

Bucky was sitting to his left, completely and totally unamused. Pissed, even.

“Sit here,” Wanda said with a small smile, motioning to the chair next to hers, directly in front of Bucky.

You gulped as his eyes trailed from you and to the chair.

You took your seat in front of him and tried to avoid contact, your cheeks already feeling hot just by his presence.

You smiled at everyone as a greeting and lastly, you decided to give Bucky one, too.

But he was turned away, his eyes looking down at the pen in his flesh hand.

Your smile fell, but you shook it off.

Steve said your name and began to speak, “We already briefed Bucky on the plan so we don’t need to repeat anything that was already said with you the other day.” He looked over at Bucky with a darting eye, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there, “and he promised he would cooperate with the changes made to the mission,” you watched intently as Bucky aimed the point of his pen down on the table, “and agreed that we will go through with it.” The ballpoint of the pen snapped in half from the force of his hand and you flinched for a bit.

Steve’s face became stern as he watched his best friend.

“So we wanted to go over what exactly the plan is and then from there, we’ll start your training. You’ll train for two weeks, under my supervision and Buckys'. We’ll provide you your equipment and everything you will both need, then you will start your travel down south. That should be about three days. The mission itself when you get into The Capitol will take about six months.”

Jesus.

“Are you sure, we can’t stick to the original plan?” Bucky snapped, “Not that I’m not fucking ecstatic about spending half a year with a kid, who could possibly screw everything up.”

“Bucky —” Bruce’s tone was a warning.

“and what the hell is that on her neck?” He spat like venom.

Suddenly very self-aware, you brought your hand shakily up to the back of your neck, “It’s — a tattoo.” You stuttered out.

Bucky scoffed.

As your eyes met his, it was like the crush you felt towards him quickly changed.

You still felt undeniably attracted to him, but now you felt hurt at the fact that he obviously looked at you like you were scum under his feet. What did you even do to him?

You felt your real side begging to jump out of your mouth, the one that could show him how strong you actually are. You wanted to snap at him.

But some reason it was so hard, especially when he looked at you like that.

Like you were dirt. It hurt your feelings.

His eyes turned away from you and he looked up at Fury.

“Think about this.” He says to Nick.

“Take it up with Rogers, Barnes. This is how we’re doing this.”

Bucky practically seethed through his teeth.

“If she dies, that's on you,” Bucky spats, his voice strong, “If this mission is jeopardized, that’s on you. All of you.”

You try to keep your tears and dignity at bay, but it’s almost physically impossible when you start replaying the second you saw him for the first time and when your eyes met across the med tent in your head.

There was something there.

You couldn’t shake it, you weren’t crazy.

Among the rushing doubts and questions and different emotions swirling in your brain, two things were for certain:

One, you and Bucky would go undercover together for six months inside The Capitol. Alone.

And two, he couldn’t stand you.

                           + + +

Year: 1938

New York, NY

To an outsider, the way he went about it at times appeared shallow and womanizing. Although, to the contrary, he didn't want them for a night of lovemaking and then later throw them away like scrap.

It was rare that he would ever consider a girl interesting enough to actually bring home. (Rare to a man-whore, that is.)

It was seeing the joy on their face while they had a great time that brought him a feeling of satisfaction. He loved to show them a wonderful time.

Bucky loved sex, and he'd root to have it as much as he could, it was one of his favorite things. But he respected it.

He genuinely enjoyed that mental break when he was around them, not having to speak of the war.

He just wished Steve was similar and not always thinking about them damn nazis.

He loved seeing Steve relish in patriotism for his country and he definitely loved and respected how courageous he was, but if not being careful and without being realistic, he was bound to get himself killed. He wished that just for a second, Steve would lay back and have some fun like a normal young man.

He didn't understand why Steve didn't know that you don't always have to fight back.-

“James.” He answers low, in a husky voice.

It takes a moment for her to register that that is his name.

“James.” She whispers back like it’s a prayer.

She’s silent as she stares at his face as if she was allowing this moment, this feeling, and his name all to sink in at once at its own pace. She could feel herself trembling underneath his gaze and she wanted it to never stop.

He wasn’t batting an eyelash, but just staring into her blue orbs. It was as if the tremor that left her somehow entered his own heart because he pulled her in closer with a small gasp.  She hadn’t realized their hands were still tightly intertwined, and she swears she feels him squeeze when she pulls away.

Don’t.  

She wasn’t pulling away to get away but just leaning back on her heels to take a deep breath. She blinked wildly, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his lips and back again.

His eyes were pleading. This couldn’t be over. She pulls her face away just far enough to where she can finally take in a deep breath.

Bucky is about to pull her in close once more since their hands are still attached, but her hand is sharply removed out of his, leaving them both cold and empty. It was a harsh slap and what was once the sound of just their breathing and heartbeats, was now a yelling and the loud commotion of the club on an average night.

She literally feels like she was ripped out of his arms. Bucky’s eyes quickly dart up to the intruder and he’s about to say something when Daisy quickly backs away from her brother, her gloved hand going straight to his chest and pushing him away.

She takes a moment, but her gaze finally adjusts.

Her brother takes her hand and holds it against him, “Robert’s a sleazing liar, Daisy. If dad finds out about this, we’re both dead. Les’ just get out of here before they get onto us.” Daisy’s silent, her mouth still agape. Emotions from moments ago are still washing through her system and she barely has anything else left to react to her brother’s statement.

She could honestly care less bout what was supposed to go down tonight anymore.  

She looks over at Bucky. Her brother follows her eye flicker and looks back at Bucky and then back to her. He lets out an exasperated chuckle and points at Bucky with his thumb, “Who’s this? Another one of them twits, Daisy? Imma lay a hand on him. You know these guys want nothin’ but one thing. Let’s go. Now.” Her brother pulls her behind him.

Once he’s about to pass Bucky, he shoots him a dirty look.

“Suggest you get out of here, pal,” he says.

Daisy looks like she’s about to cry as she pulls up the side of her dress to not trip behind her brother.

He’s rough as he pulls her behind him towards the exit.

“Jimmy, you gotta wait. You’re gonna’ make me fall!”  Jimmy rudely lets go of her and watches as she takes a deep breath and dusts off her dress.

Bucky is still voiceless, trying to process his heart’s emotions and what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, Daisy runs back to a table by the lounge where she was sitting at previously and grabs a random straight pen that she remembered had been carelessly left behind by someone else.  She silently thanks heaven for it. Both Bucky and Jimmy look at her speechless as she grabs Bucky’s limp hand in hers and starts writing quickly.

Bucky winces at the object’s sharp edge against his soft skin.

“Hell. Come on, Daisy.” Jimmy rolls his eyes.

She closes Bucky’s hand and gives him one last emotional look that said too much yet not enough before she runs out with her brother.

Bucky looks down at his closed hand, heavy emotions still crashing through his body.

Slowly he opens it up revealing 5 small yet powerful words that he knew would change everything. He smiles softly to himself.

Brooklyn. 8.

-

His feet took him to a place he’d been to every day since he’s lived in Brooklyn. Although this time, this day, it was insanely different.

He couldn’t imagine that he had been awake right now. Everything felt too surreal. He couldn’t believe that he had the balls of steel to actually walk up to her.

Thank god he did because whatever was felt between him, he knew it was what he was looking for his entire life.

Daisy.

The sides of his lips twitched as he let out a long sigh. He walked back and forth between the same building in dumbo and ran a hand through his soft hair, pulling slightly at the ends.  He was trying his best to calm down even though he knew he had a good hour until it was eight. He wasn’t sure he could wait.

He didn’t know what to say when he would see her again. This was probably a stupid question, but did she like him? What was the commotion back at the club with her brother? What was she planning on doing with him when she met up with him?

There were so many questions going through his head and not nearly enough answers. He didn’t know if he was scared or anxious, all he knew was he wanted it to be 8 o’clock already. He was thankful that the rain had stopped a while ago; the pavement was now mostly dry but some mist was still dangling through the air by it being pulled up from the puddles by the wind. He found the driest corner of a building that he could find, and he sat there. He rested his arm on his knee and looked around.

Deep in the Hudson below was soon to be the bridge, what Daisy had been referencing to. He looked at the pieces of sharp metal rising from the deep river, up into the air. It was massive and terrifying.

When the wind would blow through the iron-steel it would make a haunting howling sound that sent shivers up his arms. He didn’t get it. It was only recently that people had expanded the city upwards.

There weren’t that many tall buildings in New York until a few months ago. It was only seven years ago that they finally finished the Empire State Building, and even that was some getting used to. He thinks they even made some movie about it.

He looked at the skyline from across the river, that beautiful building standing tall, lighting up the sky. A sense of sadness overwhelms him suddenly as he remembers the events of the day.

It’s not common that he gives himself moments to allow himself to reminisce and feel. He reaches into the chest pocket of his dress shirt and pulls out a small locket with a chain. He clicks it open, revealing a small beat-up black-and-white photo of his family. His little sister Rebecca stood in the front by his side.

He admired her cute short brown hair and her brown eyes. She was always a sweet little girl, anything would make her laugh, and her laugh was always genuine and contagious. Bucky frowns.  She was so heartbroken when her mom passed away. Seeing Rebecca sad was not something he liked to think about, ever.

Bucky frowned as he passed his thumb over her picture. He hasn’t seen her since they got separated back at Camp Lehigh before returning to Brooklyn one last time. He wondered how she was doing. He wondered if she knew about dad.

He feels a tight pang in his chest and sighs.

Two out of the three people he loved the most were all dead.

He looked back at the skyline before shoving the locket back in his pocket, refusing to look at his mother and father.

He took in the cool air and let the wind momentarily flick his hairs onto his forehead. He closed his eyes tightly together and took a deep breath.

Shit, for all I knew I could be next.

He hoped things would change now that he met Daisy.

Maybe he wouldn’t have just one person left that he could love.

Maybe God was giving him another chance.Present

Bucky watches you from across the field as you sharpen that damn spear, again.

He hopes you don't plan on taking that thing with you on the mission.

That thought only angered him even more. How could they do this to him? He had everything planned, he had put together a great team that would take on this mission. But, no, instead he has been betrayed again.

Not just that, but he was being told he would have to only one partner and that that would be you.

He won't lie, the second he saw you for the first time, he knew immediately who you were.

You were pretty and you held a certain aura that he couldn't pinpoint. It was obvious that you were what the people referenced to these days - a fucking millennial, Gen Z, whatever it was.

Your haircut, your attire, the way you carried yourself, and the fact that you had killed a man straight through the chest as if it was nothing.

He remembers when he was your age, eighty-some years ago.

Things were different.

People held more respect.

Sure, things were post blip and post-apocalyptic now, so there was the benefit of the doubt, but he still knew how people your age were.

You took everything for granted; your liberty, your food, your family. You didn't know what hell was.

What was wrong with you? You would die.

You shouldn't want to kill. Not when you could wait for this to be to be over and bask in the over glow of the win, living your life like you should.

He tried not to blame his horrible view on things on Daisy. He tries not to blame her for never wanting to find anyone else ever again. He tries not to blame himself for 'killing' a girl that was so pure.

He watches you as you sharpen your spear with a small smile on your face.

His jaw tightens and his teeth clench.

He was dreading this mission.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing. 

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so. 

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well. 

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location. 

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes. 

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing. 

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea. 

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

[appleteeth]

Bruce Week Fic #6

Sunday (July 25): Grief, Magic

(Warnings for mentions of domestic and child abuse.)

It was funny, being friends with someone who knew magic. Loki had somehow, after everything they had been through, become one of Bruce’s closest confidant on board the spaceship taking them to Earth. First they would merely nod at one-another in quiet respect, then Loki stopped Bruce in the corridor one day to explain how something seemingly innocuous he had done was actually offensive in Asgardian culture and Bruce, though wary he was tricking him, thanked him. 

Then Bruce would make a habit of finding Loki in the makeshift dining hall and sitting with him, not exactly striking up conversation but letting him know they could talk, if he wanted to. 

A few months into the journey and Loki was spotted laughing loudly at something Bruce had said, and whilst it made Thor a little nervous to see them getting along so well, it was also a relief. They were both part of his Royal Council, after all, so they needed to get along for the sake of his people. 

Then, when Bruce moaned to himself about being unable to find what he needed in the cramped medical bay, Loki produced the vial out of thin air and handed it to him. 

“That still freaks me out,” Bruce told him before taking the vial tentatively. 

“I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t,” he said with a smirk.

“How does it work? Are you pulling items from somewhere else? Are you taught how to use magic or is it instinctual? Could I learn magic or is it an Asgardian thing?”

“No, I was taught by my mother and yes… to an extent. You wouldn’t be able to conjure items or control objects but you can learn basic spells.”

Bruce was excited for barely a second before he frowned. “Are you messing with me again?”

“Bruce, I have come to find you… relatively welcome company. I enjoy our conversations, even if you are a Midgardian.”

“Bit prejudiced, but thank you.”

“So I’m not messing with you,” Loki concluded. “I can give you some basic spells to try that will give you more insight into your being.”

“I, uh, think I’ve had enough insight lately," he said warily. 

And Loki smiled, this time without a mischievous glint in his eye. 

"What if I were to teach you a spell that helped you in ways you never knew you needed?"

Bruce snuck into the medical bay late into the evening whilst the rest of the ship went to sleep. It was the one place he knew he wouldn't be disturbed, especially as Asgardians were so resilient to injury, they barely came to him with less than a severed limb. 

He read through the instructions Loki had written in elaborate cursive, mostly in English but certain words wouldn't translate so he had to work through how to pronounce them before starting. It was oddly pleasant following the instructions step by step, like he was trying out a new recipe, only this was more writing specific phrases in runes than measuring out ingredients. 

He had to write the words as naturally as possible, like he had been writing in the language his entire life, recite them outloud and then… go to sleep. Which was easier said than done when he was expecting something miraculous to happen. He crept back into his shared dorm with seven other passengers and lay down, hoping that whatever was supposed to happen would actually help him.

He finally drifted off and there he found himself travelling, not sure what he was facing was a dream or effects of the spell, but welcoming it nonetheless. 

He was standing in an old-fashioned kitchen, meticulously clean down to the top of the cabinets where nobody would ever bother to look. Whoever's domain this was, it was so well looked after it could very well be a showroom. 

There were a few signs of life, however. There was a small stack of plates ready to be cleaned, a few novelty magnets on the refrigerator, a Captain America action figure on the table…

Bruce stopped, looking at the toy and realising where he was. He had spent so long trying to forget his childhood home he didn't even recognise the kitchen anymore. But he knew that toy like it was imprinted on his mind, having spent many hours clutching it, talking to it, wishing the real Cap was there to save him.

"I'm so sorry I kept you waiting, would you like some water?" 

And he spun on his heel to see her. It was so odd to view her now that he was a little taller than her, instead of being small enough to wrap his arms around her legs. She was still as beautiful as the pictures but she wasn't memorialised in his mind like some sort of perfect being. Her sweater was threadbare at the elbows, her hair was a little frizzy (thick curls like his, almost identical in colour) and she had dark circles under her eyes. She also wore glasses, which Bruce had completely forgotten because she took them off for photos. 

"Uh…" he didn't know what to say to her. 

"You must be parched, here," and Rebecca poured him a glass of water from a pitcher she kept in the fridge. "Piping in new houses is never deep enough to keep water cool, not like the old days." 

He was still trying to find words when he realised a vision shouldn't be able to hand him things, and he shouldn't be able to feel the cool water tumbling down his throat. 

"So, you wanted to talk about Robbie?" 

He nearly choked on the last mouthful and hid it with a loud cough. 

"Um, yes," he said, not sure who he was supposed to be in this scenario but going along with it all the same. 

His mother nodded and indicated for him to sit down with her at the kitchen table. Again, it felt so strange to be big enough for a chair he used to sit at every day as a kid, his legs swinging and needing a cushion so he could reach the table properly. 

"His teacher said he's been excelling," she said proudly but then immediately frowned. "You didn't speak to my husband, did you?" 

"No, of course not," and he now knew his role like he had read the script. "Yes, young Br… Robbie has been working really hard and it's clear to see he is clever." 

She smiled, but it was juxtaposed by her sad eyes. "You're going to say he should be in a gifted school, aren't you?" 

"Uh…" 

"Well I'm sorry but he can't. He just… can't." And she sighed tiredly before collecting herself. "I'm sorry, it's just--" 

"I know," Bruce said quietly. "You don't have to explain your reasons. I know you would want the best education for him, but sometimes that can't happen." 

And he couldn't help himself, she was right there in front of him. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it in comfort. 

"Thank you," she said quietly. 

"And it's not like kids won't excel as adults just because they missed out on extra tutoring," he continued. "They'll catch up in no time and go on to do great things." 

She smiled warmly and Bruce recognised his own features in hers. He never thought he looked like her, always hating how he was the spitting image of his father, but he saw himself in her smile. 

"I hope so. Do you know he can name every bird he sees? Even the scientific names. He read about bird watching and within a day he was telling me facts about each one." 

Bruce couldn't help but grin, having forgotten about that particular hyperfixation. "Is that so?" 

"If he could… that is, if we agreed he could go to a gifted school, I suspect he would get a scholarship for college, maybe even go early." 

She looked furious, if just for a moment, letting her guard down enough to show how she really felt. Bruce had never seen her angry; she had hid it well when he was small and already so scared of someone else's anger. She had shown him nothing but smiles and positivity, desperate to make his life as normal as possible. 

But he remembered hearing her crying behind the bedroom door, trying to suppress her sobs so she could go read her child a bedtime story like nothing was wrong. The illusion was shattered that day.

"You are doing everything you possibly can for your son. More than everything. You--"

He stopped himself. Was this really a dream or had he really travelled back? What would it mean if he told her?

"I will lay down my life for him," she finished, eyes defiant and full of fury. 

He felt his facade fading, no longer able to pretend he wasn't who he really was. 

"You're going to save my life. Over and over. Until that bastard kills you for it." 

He cried, clutching her hand and unable to look at her. She shouldn't have sacrificed herself for him. She wasn't supposed to be known as just a wife and mother. She was exceptionally bright in her own right, never one to boast but able to keep up with her husband and nudge her son towards harder sums and thicker books. It wasn't her fault the man who told her he loved her had used that love to control her, to make her feel weak and stupid.

Had she escaped that night, she would have done great things. 

"I know," she said quietly, tears in her own eyes. "I figured I had a shot that night. He usually stays late at the bar and left the car at home, so I thought I had three hours. But I didn't know he had a meeting the next morning and drank a whole bottle of whiskey walking home instead. I miscalculated." 

"It's my fault. You told me to pack but I couldn't find my stupid Captain America toy and…" he wiped his eyes angrily. "I held us up." 

Rebecca reached across the table to wipe the trails of tears from his cheeks.

"You were a child," she said. "It can never be your fault. Hey," and she cradled his face in her hands. "It was never your fault." 

"It wasn't yours either. None of it," he said defiantly. 

She nodded. "Thank you." 

The vision was starting to waver, like an old projection flickering as the film ran out. He clutched her hand desperately, wanting to tell her so much more, to tell her he hadn't wasted the gift she gave him that night. That he had excelled despite everything that happened. That he did everything to make her proud. 

He felt her hand slowly fading, getting lighter in his hand as it faded away. He managed to tell her he loved her before he awoke back on the ship, his face wet with tears. 

The next morning, much to everyone's confusion, Bruce marched straight up to Loki, grabbed him by the shoulder, and hugged him tightly. 

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 23 – The Clock Ticks Life Away

Chapter 1     Chapter 22

Stupid hormones.  That was the only thing she could think.  Stupid hormones taking over her brain.  Hormones and frustration and stress from the impending fashion show. Of course Dick didn’t put his friend up to that.  Roy was just trying to protect his friend.  An incredibly assholish way to do it, but he was trying to look out for his friend.  Whatever Dick had been talking to him about, it had nothing to do what Roy did.  

Dick would never do that to her.  Dick had never lied to her, never treated her like he suspected her.  It was just her hormones and frustration at him being gone so often making her see things that weren’t there, which was extremely unfair of her.  He was only gone because of work.  He had to leave.  He didn’t want to.  He’d made that clear when he was with her.

She took a deep breath and smoothed the fabric over her baby bump.  She could do this.  Luckily, she hadn’t done or said anything bad.  But they still needed to talk about it, to clear the air and she had to be the one to take the first step because she was the one that broke it, well Roy broke it but she needed to tell Dick about it and see his reaction.  She clutched the container of chocolate cookies closer to her as she made her way into the Wayne Enterprises building and froze as soon as she made it past the front doors.  

She had entered this building so often, she knew the paths to Tim’s and Lucius’ offices better than she knew the path to her own studio.  But that wasn’t her destination today.  With a guilty twinge she realized she didn’t know the path she wanted to take.  She’d never been there before.  She let out a reproachful sigh and made her way to the reception desk.  “Hey, Teri,” she gave the front guard a smile.

Teri returned it with a bright smile, lighting up at seeing her.  “Hey, Miss. Dupain-Cheng.  How are you doing today?  Anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah.  I… um… can you tell me how to get to Dick’s office?” She kept her voice even, keeping the embarrassment out of it.  How could she have never visited his office?  They’d been together for six months now.

Teri gave her a confused look.  “I’m sorry?”

“Dick Grayson.  I wanted to surprise him but I realized I’ve… I’ve forgotten how to get there,” she elaborated.

Instead of clearing up, Teri’s confused look got deeper. “Mr. Grayson doesn’t work here, Miss. Dupain-Cheng.  He never has. Only Mr. Wayne and Mr. Drake work here from the family.”

Marinette stared at her blank faced.  That wasn’t right.  That… No, no, no.  He said… he told her…  She suddenly dropped the container of cookies and gasped for breath, having forgotten to breathe for the past few seconds.  She plastered on a fake smile.  “Sorry.  I thought Tim set him up with something to experiment.  He must have meant somewhere else.  Thank you, Teri,” she rushed to get out.  She grabbed the container of cookies and started heading to the exit. She paused and turned around. “Here, Teri.  You work too hard.  You deserve these.”  She tossed the cookies on the counter and took off out of the office as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention.

Teri watched after her.  Her confused expression morphed into a deep concern.  She picked up the phone to call up to Mr. Drake’s office. Miss Dupain-Cheng did not look okay and she thought Mr. Drake would want to know immediately so he could check on her. “Mr. Drake’s office,” the curt voice responded.

“Hey Tam.  This is Teri at the front desk.  I just had a strange incident with Miss Dupain-Cheng and I thought Mr. Drake might want to know.”

Tam was silent for a moment, weighing her options. “Mr. Drake is in a meeting right now, but I will let him know you want to talk to him as soon as it is over.”

“Thank you, Tam,” Teri answered gratefully.

<><><><><> 

He lied.  He lied.  He lied. He lied.  The mantra repeated itself in her mind over and over again. He’d lied to her.  Every time he said he had to leave for days at a time for work, it was a lie.  Every time he was late for something because of work, it was a lie.  Every time he left early because work called, it was a lie. Every time he promised to be somewhere then missed it because of work, it was a lie.  His words were lies.

She had been patient and understanding with all the absences because it was for work. He didn’t want to miss out on things, he had to.  He didn’t have a choice.  But that was all a lie.  He had a choice.  He wanted to leave.  He wanted to miss everything. What he didn’t want was to be with her.

She watched the clock as it ticked the time away. And he was late… again… after he promised he wouldn’t be anymore.  His promises were lies.  The time fell away and Marinette’s composure fell with it.  Which of his words could she trust?  Was there anything about their relationship that she could trust? Where had he been going when he left? What had he been doing that was so much more important than her and the babies?  That was so important he had to lie to her about it?

She eyed the clock again doing a quick calculation. Forty-five minutes.  He was forty-five minutes late with no warning, no call, no estimation of when he might get there.  Again.  Because why? Because she wasn’t worth the consideration?  Her mind was spinning, her heart was racing, her patience and understanding were gone, and her ire was rising.

At the forty-eight minute mark the front doors slammed open and Dick rushed into the room in a whirlwind of apologies and remorse. “I’m so sorry!  I’m so, so sorry.  I couldn’t get away.  I’m so sorry. Something came up at the last minute and I had to deal with it and then we had to reconfigure everything when… one of the men on the team ended up with a broken jaw somehow.”

“You’re late.”  

Her voice was deceptively calm.  There was a coolness to it that Dick wasn’t used to hearing from her.  Even when she was upset, she didn’t take that tone.  He knew he deserved it, but the unexpectedness unsettled him.  He braced himself for her to get angrier, because it was only going to get worse the more he spoke.  But there was no way around it.  They finally cracked it.  Donna put together the clues last night and now they knew.  They knew when the Court was going to strike and where.  They even knew the how.  Now they just needed to compile the evidence against everyone helping them and stop it. It was almost over.  They were almost done.  Just this one more thing and he was free.  “I know.  I know. But like I said, something came up and we had to figure out details for a trip we need to go on starting tomorrow.” Dick winced.

“You’re leaving… again.”  As predicted, her voice got colder even as a tone of incredulity snuck in in response to his announcement.

“I am.  I hope this is the last one.  I know the timing is terrible.  But I have to go,” he tried to placate her.  He knew it was bad, terrible really, but hopefully it was the worst of it. After this, if everything went right, after this, he could relax and focus entirely on her.

“For work…” she clarified with a sharp edge.

He gave her a curious look.  She knew that was why, or thought she knew that was why.  Why was she asking for clarification on that? “… Yes”

“Where is it you work again?”  Her voice was dangerously innocent.

He eyed her cautiously.  Where was this going?  “You already know.”

“Do I?”  The innocent tone in her voice was offset by the narrowed, accusatory eyes and pursed lips. Dick held his breath.  She knew.  She had to know.  “Why don’t you remind me?  Because I thought it was Wayne Enterprises.  Isn’t that what you told me?  You worked for Bruce at Wayne Enterprises.  In security.  I could have sworn that’s what you said.  Isn’t that right?”

“Mari…” his voice was timid.  They couldn’t have this conversation.  She couldn’t find out now.  Not now.

“Because when I went there today to talk to you to clear the air after yesterday, after your friend decided it was a good idea to test me by hitting on me, badly I might add, and see if I’d cheat on you…”

Dick’s whole body suddenly snapped up straight.  “Who did what now?” he growled, Roy’s broken jaw suddenly making a lot more sense and vastly not enough.  He asked Roy to stop being an asshole to her, not step it up. When he saw Roy again, it wouldn’t just be his jaw that was broken.

“I’m assuming with your permission,” she continued unperturbed.

“With my what?” he asked incredulously.

“And I went to Wayne Enterprises to apologize for getting upset by the situation, which is stupid really, because I had a right to be upset about it.  They told me you don’t work there.  You never have.  You lied to me.  All those times you left for work, you lied.” Her voice started to sound broken.  Tears started welling in her eyes.  She was barely keeping them in, but she refused to cry right now.  Now wasn’t the time for tears, it was the time for answers.  She needed answers.  She needed something true to hold onto because right now?  Right now, she was drifting into nothingness.

“Mari…” he tried to sooth her.

“So I have to wonder, where you were all those times. Where were you going when you were abandoning me?  Where were you going when you forgot about me?  What were you doing that was more important?”  She threw her hands out, begging him for a reason, an explanation, some comfort.  She was lost. She was stumbling in the dark and she needed reassurance.  She needed him to come back.

“Mari, I promise you…” he started breathlessly.

“Your promises don’t mean much right now,” she growled.

“Mari, I promise you it was important,” he tried again, his voice pleading with her.  The promises comment hurt, but it was deserved, an indication of the damage he had done to their relationship.

“That’s what you said before.  So explain it to me.  What were you doing?  Where were you going?  This is your chance.” she demanded, cutting off his inner monologue.

He opened his mouth, but what was he supposed to say? He couldn’t say anything yet.  “Mari, I can’t.”  His eyes were imploring her to understand.  He wasn’t the bad guy.  He wasn’t using her.  He wasn’t just blowing her off.  This was for her, not against her.

“No,” she answered harshly, “this is your chance right now.  Explain it to me.  Was it all lies?”

“No!” God, why was it all falling apart.  Everything terrorizing doubt and nightmare was coming true.  She knew before he could explain and now she didn’t trust him.  “No.  Mari, I love you.”

She shook her head like she wanted to believe it but couldn’t.  “But you’re still leaving tomorrow for what a day, a week, a month?”

“A few weeks,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“During which time we won’t be able to talk at all,” she continued.

“I can’t.”  That was the line he wasn’t willing to cross.  If they got compromised, he refused to allow any link to Marinette, any link they could follow to find and harm her.

“And you won’t tell me why.”  Her voice was accusing and angry but her eyes betrayed how hurt she was.

He opened his mouth to give a longer explanation, but immediately closed it.  There was none to give, not yet.  “No.”

She drew in a long, shuttering breath.  He wasn’t willing to tell her.  He was willing to just watch her walk away rather than just tell her.  Whatever it was, it was more important than her and always would be. Was that something she was willing to live with?  Always being less important than God knows what?  Maybe, if she was honest.  She might be willing to live with that, but she wasn’t willing to let her children live with that.  She couldn’t just think of herself anymore.  She had to think of what was best for them.  “Just go,” she croaked, her voice breaking along with her heart.  “Go on your trip to wherever it is you go with whoever it is you spend time with.  Go where you really want to be.  Just leave, like you clearly want to anyway.”

“That’s not fair,” Dick cried.  “I don’t want to leave.  I have to.”

“Why?” she begged him.  Tears she could no longer hold in, despite her best efforts, were starting to fall.  “Why do you have to leave?”

“I’m protecting my family,” he screamed out in frustration. He winced, immediately wishing he could take it back.

“No,” she seethed.  Her face switched from pleading tears to anger in an instant.  Her quivering lips now taunt, glassy eyes now hard. “I spent three years getting terrorized, living through Hell because of that reasoning.  That is the only defense Gabriel would give.  It’s still the defense he gives, ‘I was protecting my family,’ like that makes everything he did okay.”

He knew that.  He knew better.  That phrase brought back all the attacks she’d had to go through, all the deaths she watched and experienced herself, and the perfect trauma that was Chat Blanc.  It triggered massive anxiety attacks for her, or in this case, fury.  “’I was protecting my family’ does not absolve all sins.  It does not make things okay.  So, I’m going to need more than that.”

Dick opened his mouth and immediately closed it. Even if he wanted to tell her he was about to go into a dangerous, potentially deadly mission, he couldn’t tell her here.  There was nothing he could do right now, no way he could fix it.  He would tell her after he got back, but he couldn’t tell her right now.  He couldn’t add that stress onto her.  He just needed her to trust him for a little bit longer.  He just needed a bit of faith.  Hadn’t he earned that?  Was that too much to ask?  He screwed up with the lie, but hadn’t everything else proved he was worth a bit of faith?  “I can’t give you more than that.  Not yet. Give me a few weeks…” he begged lowly.

She groaned and pulled on her hair in frustration. “Damn it, Dick!  Why…”

“Marinette Du…” a voice from the doorway called out before trailing off uncomfortably.

Marinette and Dick immediately stopped arguing and shrank back from each other, still breathing hard.  Marinette fought back the new wave of tears and shook her head to change focus.  She chuckled stiffly and offered a wide, strained smile.  “Sorry.  This must be so awkward.  This is…” she looked away, eyes darting over to Dick for a moment before returning to the nurse.  “Sorry about this.  Let’s just go back, please.”

“I can…” Dick started starting to move towards the door to the doctor’s offices.

“No!” Marinette cut him off coldly.  “You have more important things to do.  An important trip to prepare for.”  She turned and walked back through the doors to the offices behind.  

The nurse looked back and forth between the door and Dick a few times before scurrying after Marinette with an awkward, “Right then.”

Dick growled and kicked one of the waiting room chairs, accidentally sending it flying across the room.  This is not how this was supposed to end.  This was not how their story was supposed to go.  And there was nothing he could do.  He couldn’t fix this right now.  He had to leave her like this until he got back.  Damn it!  Why couldn’t the universe have waited a few weeks?  As soon as the Court’s plot was stopped or maybe as soon as the twins were born, he could tell her everything.  

Why did it have to happen now?  He needed to be somewhere else.  He needed to focus on the trip.  He couldn’t focus on this now.  If the mission fell through now they’d lose all their progress.  It would all be for nothing, all the lost time, all the missed appointments, all the times he’d disappointed Marinette, for nothing.  It couldn’t be for nothing.  He had to make it worthwhile.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone going off. Dick reluctantly pulled out his phone and looked at the caller, Tim.  He sighed.  “What’s up, Tim?” he asked with a defeated sigh.

“She knows!” Tim yelled at him desperately. “Marinette found out you don’t work here.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding,” Dick grumbled leaning against his motorcycle.

“You saw her already?”  Dick could hear Tim’s grimace through the phone.

“Yeah.”

“Things go badly?” Tim’s voice was appropriately tentative, like he already knew the answer but felt the need to ask anyway.

“No, it went peachy,” Dick snapped.  “She loved that I lied to her, that I’ve been lying to her since we met, and couldn’t explain why.”

Tim hesitated for a few seconds before offering a heartfelt, “I’m sorry, Dick.”

“Yeah, me too,” he sighed, trying to fight back his own tears.

“What are you going to do?”

“Stop this plot then fix this.”

“… In… Is that the order you want to do it in?” Tim asked cautiously.

“We need to stop the plot now.  We lose this, we lose everything.  It has to be now,” Dick answered resolutely.

Tim sighed and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Jason was right.  You’re such a fucking dumbass,” Tim said angrily before hanging up on him.

Chapter 24

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