#but hes also got his mom too rip dami

[batfoonery]

BatPets Headcanons

In honor of the Most Glorious and Beloved Bitewing (and Ace and Titus and Alfred the Cat and Goliath and Batcow.....) I wanted to share my thoughts on what pets the batfam has and should have.

Dick

Ahhhhhhh Bitewing! Our new beloved! We've only just gotten you but if you get whooshed away by bad writers I already know I will RIOT.

It actually makes perfect sense for Dick to take in a stray pup. His bro-son has the attitude and personality of a cat, so he already had that covered. And I can't see him paying high prices for a designer breed (bless him) so it's stray/shelter or nothing.

That being said, he also needs a young dog. Some people are made with the disposition to take in the older dogs with older dog needs, but Dick loves deeply and I can't see that he'd deal well with the shorter timeframe of taking in older dogs. So. Younger dogs, that he can go running with in the morning and play with in the park and nap with on the couch.

Jason

My man has taste, and also had a doggo as a kid. He's got a soft spot for all of Gotham's forgotten strays. I see him as being a pitbull kind of guy, but like. Also mastiffs. Anything big and menacing looking, but they always turn out to be utter marshmallows.

Totally the type to name his big scary dog Tinkerbell or Baby or something mushy like that. Likewise, Kori and Artemis (and probably Roy) all collect cutesy costumes and collars and leashes. Has the most cutsey giant dog.

The kind of dog that he can trust to take care of kids. If he's particularly concerned about a kid out on the street he can drop the dog off to stand guard until the kid's parent shows up. The dog is real gentle with the lil human, but scares off potential kidnappers.

Cass

The first of our exotics keepers! I feel like Cass would really appreciate betta fish. The way the swim and flit through the water, fins seeming to dance as they moved.... like tulle, like dancing.

She probably has several tanks. The first one she got was from Petsmart or PetCo or whatever. It irked her because she knows they don't tend to treat the fish well, but the local petshop's fish were all extremely sickly looking. After that she's hooked, for lack of a better word, and Bruce ends up learning way more than he ever needed to learn about importing fish (and paying for imported fish).

She's meticulous about their care. They've all got nice big clean tanks, and a companion to help keep them clean (different ones according to temperaments, snails for the easier going ones and shrimp for the more aggressive boys). They've got live plants and decorations to hide under, each tank a different theme to show off the fish. Has lowkey been considering getting a female for one of her favorite easy going boys (the first one, who has become a very soothing companion) because he's getting older and she'd like to be able to carry a part of him on.

Tim

His companion is an emotional support animal, with papers from his doctor and everything. Seems like he should be a dog person, but instead has a very big Turkish Angora. Her name is Mrs. Tuffles and he got her from a breed-specific rescue.

She's good for him because she disrupts his work and also helps provide a soothing presence when he has a panic attack. At night if he isn't in bed at a certain time she lays on top of whatever he's working on. If he's panicking she lays on his lap or chest and purrs (the added weight, the feeling and sounds of the purrs, held disrupt tension). She's a cuddly cat, and it tricks him into sleeping in in the mornings.

When he finds out that cats purr on a wavelength that encourages healing, and that there's evidence that they sit on humans and purr in attempts to heal/help them, he bursts into tears and startles the cat, who had been draped over his shoulders.

Steph

Got a bunny because she thought it would be an easy pet. She was very very wrong. It was from one of the neighbors in her building, because the mom of the kid who brought it home didn't want it anymore. It's a cute little lop, grey and brown.

She quickly discovers that bunnies are super dirty, and they absolutely stink. It bites her for the first week (and Tim and Jason and everyone else that isn't Damian, who somehow tricks it into loving him) and she seriously considers taking it to the shelter. But she doesn't. By week three, he's snuggling up on her feet and in her lap, and she decides that maybe he isn't so bad after all.

He didn't have a name when she got him, so she call him Mi-Mi. She doesn't tell Damian, but it's totally named after him because he reminds her of the way Damian had been when she'd first met him and the progression of their friendship over time.

Duke

Seems like a bird type of dude. Probably has a Cockatiel or two. They're very sassy birbs, and there's no way he doesn't enjoy that. One of them repeats words, and has picked up swears from Jason. It swears at Bruce every time he comes in Duke's room. Everyone except Bruce finds it funny.

The other one "dances" whenever it hears music coming from Cass's room. They're both very active and curious, he's contantly having to buy toys for them to rip apart. One of them nipped Damian's ear once, and Duke has never seen Damian look more offended in his life. It was probably the first pet that Damian hadn't been able to Disney-Princess.

They've probably got a dumb name pair. Tom and Jerry, Chip and Dale, etc. Personally I think he'd get a kick out of naming them Batman and Robin, just to fuck with Bruce. He probably then teaches the one who talks (Batman) to say dumb things like "I am the night! I work alone!" etc etc.

Damian

Has all the animal companions. Not pets. That makes them beneath him, which probably opposes his fundamental beliefs. This is my reminder to yall that Ra's started out as an eco-terrorist. Putting aside what he is or is not now, I like to believe that Damian was raised with a deep respect for nature and animals, he probably sees humans as just one particularly terrible animal species.

He has a wide array of companions as is. I'm good with them all, although I wish they'd bring back his dragon friend. :( I love the dragon friend.

I think he'd be the type to have axolotls too. They've got an interesting mythological basis and fit into the dragon theme. Plus the short story "The Axolotl" by Cortazar is a fascinating piece of mystical realism and I could see that he'd be intrigued by the species. They're endangered in the wild because of habitat destruction and invasion of foreign species that prey on them, but are easily bred in captivity. So I could see he'd keep at least one breeding pair, with the intent to someday bully Bruce into funding a project to save their natural habitat.

Barbara

Doesn't have her own pets, because she doesn't want the responsibility on top of everything else she does.

But her apartment always has furry/feathered friends in it because she's constantly petsitting for the others when they have to go do hero stuff. She's basically like a step-mom for everyone else's pets. She's learned how to take care of tanks and whatnot as well, mostly for Cass. The axolotls are gross and she refuses to touch those tanks, but the bettas are kinda like cute grumpy old men. She likes to tease Bruce by telling him his grand-fish take after him.

Always has a variety of pet snacks with her. She is determined to be the overall favorite human to all the bat-pets. Competition is fierce between her and Dami, but she has an edge because Robin the Cockatiel seems to prefer her.

[dork-empress]

Singing in the Dead of Night Pt 3

Lucy and Damian visit Metropolis.

Past chapters are under my tag 'lucy quinzel' and the whole fic is on my AO3 (url in my description). Please reblog and leave comments.

Flock of Robins

Timtiminey:Guys. Guys. Guess what???

Jason: I thought I deleted this chat.

Timtiminey: Ha funny you think I’d allow you to do that

Timtiminey: And you didn’t guess.

Dickbutt: Tim I’m on a mission.

Dickbutt:.....

Dickbutt: TIM CHANGE MY NAME

Timtiminey: You’re still not guessing.

Dick Grayson’s name was changed to DickiestButtiest

Stephaluffagus: Whatever Is It, Tim?

Jason: Why is Stephanie even on here?

Stephaluffagus: I was a Robin!

Timtiminey: And she asks the questions. Well, you SEE

Timtiminey: DAMIAN GOT A GIRLFRIEND

Stephaluffagus: WHAAAA?!:?HSLHFADSKLJFKL?????

Dick Grayson’s name was changed to DatAssTho

DatAssTho: Awwwww, that’s so cute!!!

DatAssTho: Our little hellion is growing up

DatAssTho: It’s like it was just yesterday he was threatening to stab us all

Jason: That was last week at dinner.

Jason: Who the hell said yes to go out with him?

Timtiminey: That’s the best part! The old man set them up.

Stephaluffagus: ALKSDAN LFKSNDAFLKNDASKLF

DatAssTho: Well thats just not fair. He never set up me on a date.

Jason: He put you on the Titans.

DatAssTho: Watch it, Todd

DatAssTho: Also, you type like an old man

Jason: With proper punctuation?

Stephaluffagus: Guys, we’re straying from the topic: Who is it??

Timtiminey: Harley’s niece, she’s got some like, clown ballerina thing going

Jason: QUINN?!?!?!

Jason: LIKE JOKER’S GIRLFRIEND????

DatAssTho: Dude, they broke up ages ago

Stephaluffagus: Yeah, she’s basically more hero than you are

Jason: You really want to go down THAT route Brown?

Timtiminey: OOOOHKAYYY

Timtiminey: Rest assured, the old man vetted the girl. She’s…..unique? I’ve only seen her file, or part of it anyway

DatAssTho: Bruce has secret files doesn’t he

Timtiminey: I think I made it through the first encryption, but I’m working on the next between other cases.

Timtiminey: After all, we have to make sure she’s alright for our little Dami-kins

Stephaluffagus: Isn’t he on this chat?

Timtiminey: He’s had this muted for ages

Jason: YOU CAN DO THAT?!

Timtiminey: I mean, YOU can’t. I will turn it off for you

Jason: …….

Jason: Well you know it’d be a shame if I

Jason: @DamianWayne

Timtiminey: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!

Damian: You’re dead Drake

DatAssTho: RIP

Stephaluffagus: He will be remembered

Jason: Prick.

“Get on already,” Damian said, exuding as much disinterested and grumpy energy as his body could manage.

Lucy skipped over to him, and looked at the seating arrangement on the Robin Cycle. “Hmm”, she said, “I don’t know if I’ll fit.” She climbed up to the back of the cycle only for her tutu to spring her backwards.

“What the hell is in that thing?” Damian asked, scowling. whatever had hit him was way more solid than fabric.

“Oh all sorts of things!” she said, “It’s my utilitutu!”

Damian really should have been used to this by now. “Your what.”

“Utility Tutu. I’ve got my balloon animals, my gas bouquet, my tamborine…”

“Well get rid of it or something,” Damian said, and was somehow surprised she did as was asked. Left in just a leotard, she hooked the tutu around her arm and jumped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Luckily, he was wearing his helmet, so no one could see him blush.

He revved up the motorcycle to try and drown out his thoughts. They’d been particularly loud ever since Tim said what he said...and, maybe since Lucy said what she said.

Were they dating? Is that what was happening? Lucy had called it a date, but Lucy was weird. It wasn’t like Damian understood how these things were supposed to work. This was super not in the training regime for the League of Assassins.

Did he...want it to be a date? He was even less sure. Lucy was...odd, but she had grown on him. She was the exact opposite of him, cheery where he was brooding, she was peaceful, he was violent. She was...kind and funny and playful. He was super not. they were both smart, but that seemed to be where the similarities ended.

And yet, it kinda worked. She was pretty, in a girly way, or at least thats what he could tell from under her makeup. He’d never been...really interested in girls or anyone. He didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like. If this was how it was supposed to feel like.

Well, he wasn’t going to be forced to be in a relationship with anyone. If she tried anything, he would tell her no, in no uncertain terms. Then he could get Tim and the others to shut up.

Once the decision was made, of course, he was left to ruminate for the remainder of the ride. He might have welcomed some of Lucy’s chatter, just to get his mind off things. Damn Bruce, not letting him use the batmobile…

Finally, a blur appeared beside him. “Need a lift?” Jon asked, rushing along beside him. Damian couldn’t help a smirk as he followed him through the city.

They came to a stop in an alleyway, though it didn’t hide much. “Whoa,” Jon said, eyebrows raised, “Hello, who’s this?”

Lucy stood on the top of the motorcycle, slipping her tutu back on and giving a deep curtsy, “Greetings! I am Commedia, The Dancing Delight, Columbina of Gotham and--”

“She’s Harley Quinn’s niece,” Damian said, cutting her off, “Lucy, Superboy, Superboy, Lucy.”

Lucy jumped down, eyebrow raised, “Now, come on. Surely you boys know how hard it is being defined by those who came before you.”

“Yeah, Robin,” Superboy said, holding out his hand for her to shake, “Honestly, no manners. Nice to meet you, Comme...Colum..um.”

“Lucy’s fine,” she said, “Aunt Harley said it’d be good for me to go and see some of Metropolis, maybe get some shopping done.”

Jon smiled, “Well, there’s plenty to do around here, and you picked the perfect tour guide! Come on, Mom and Dad are working today. I’ll show you around.”

Damian followed the pair of them around at a pace where you could just barely tell he was part of the same group. He was in his black outfit again, with sunglasses so that Lucy couldn’t tell who he was, and all of Metropolis wouldn’t know Robin wasn’t in Gotham.

Jon took them on the full tourist tour, going to see the many wonders of Metropolis. Though, a few stops Damian was pretty sure weren’t on the main route, like when they went to the top of the Daily Planet building. Other than that, though, it was a lot of pretty buildings, old buildings, the Superman memorial/dedication (they just left it up when Superman came back) and other sites that were considered important.

Damian sulked, having seen all these before and not finding them any more impressive than the first time or any time after that. What did surprise him was that Lucy didn’t seem any more impressed than him. He would have thought she’d go Gaga over the tourist trappings, considering she react to abandoned (allegedly) mines like a family at Disney World.

But she looked at each one, nodded in appreciation, and went onto the next thing.

Jon was kinda weirded out by it too, Damian could tell, not that Jon was ever subtle. He kept looking to Damian as if to try and explain her behavior, not that he was ever going to be doing that.

“Ok,” Jon said, as they sat outside the capitol, “Is there anything you WANT to see?”

Lucy shrugged, “To be honest, buildings don’t really interest me that much. But I’m glad to have gone with you, of course.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Damian said, “What’s the point of going around like this if you don’t even like it? We went around all damn day for YOU!”

Lucy tilted her head, “We went so that Superboy could show us things and we could get to know him.” She smiled at him, “You clearly admire Superman a lot, and you’re clearly like him. I’m glad you get along with your dad so well.”

Jon smiled, confused, but appreciative, “Thanks?” Damian grumbled. “But, I’d like to get to know YOU better as well. So if there’s something you like, the city has everything.”

Lucy hummed, “I honestly mostly just like to people watch in my free time.”

Jon beamed, “Oh man, I have the perfect place then.”

With a hop, skip, and a kryptonian-powered jump, the three of them were in the rafters of the Metropolis Subway station, looking down at everything and everyone as they went by. Damian was just glad they were inside, and being underground had him feeling a bit more at home.

Lucy practically sparkled, leaning way too far over to look at everyone. “What are they saying? Can you hear them?”

“Uh, which ones?” Jon said. She pointed aggressively. “Well, that one’s a family on vacation, the dad there is going over the itinerary, he’s got it printed out. The daughter there is trying to get him to skip the museums so they can get to the aquarium faster.”

“Ohh, what’s at the aquarium?” Lucy asked, kicking her feet like a child.

“Some fish, jelly fish are cool...Oh, they got a new shark there, I think.”

Damian groaned again, “Ugh, who CARES? If you wanted to go to the aquarium, then lets go to the aquarium! Instead of just watching someone TALK about it! These are all just normal people!”

“Robin, dude,” Jon said, “If it’s what she wants, why not? We are here for HER after all.”

That in of itself would have been enough to shame Damian, but Lucy was staring at him. She stared unblinking, and unsmiling. It was actually creepy. Like she was staring through him.

“Nobody’s normal.” She said, very seriously, her voice no longer taking on the cheery affectation. “Not a single one that I’ve ever met. Many of them TRY to be normal, but it is an illusion. A moving target, an ideal that doesn’t exist and people are shamed for not attempting to achieve.”

Damian could feel himself resist leaning away from her. “Uh, Lucy?” Jon said, “Something you want to talk about?”

Lucy blinked like she was remembering she was supposed to. “I suppose it is personal to me,” she said, “My…mother was always a little scared of Aunt Harley. First scared of her success, then scared of her villainous career. She always wanted to be normal. She wanted…me to be normal. She was scared of what I’d be. Who I’d be like.” She smiled, an echo of her previous smile, “It’s not quite the same as being a disciple for a great hero like Superman or Batman.”

Jon was suddenly looking very awkward. “Well,” He said, “I mean, having Harley Quinn as your aunt isn’t that bad. And you’re good anyway! So, no need to worry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucy said, “It doesn’t matter if I was good or bad. It just matters that I was strange.” She tilts her head, looking down at the mass of people rushing back and forth. “Ever since I was little, people didn’t feel…real. They’re just. Stories. I couldn’t relate to my peers, as my teachers would say. I don’t know how to explain it. The only time I tried, my mom was so scared she sent me to a camp. One of those meant for bad kids to help them behave.” She tilted her head, “But they weren’t bad. They all had different stories. I realized there were no normal people. Just people with stories.”

Damian couldn’t have spoken if it was to yell for help. He stared at Lucy, trying to decide if he should be concerned or sympathetic.

Jon cleared his throat. “Well, I think you’re nice. And that’s what’s important. No problem with learning more about people and helping them.”

Lucy smiled, “Thank you.”

Jon’s head whipped to the side. “Ah, shoot, Dad’s calling me. I’ll be right back.” Lucy’s cheery attitude was back and she nodded, as Jon took off.

Lucy looked over at Damian for a moment. Damian felt he should say something. Apologize, maybe? He wasn’t sure what would be appropriate, and if it was appropriate, would Lucy want it. She worked on a whole other level, that was clear.

Lucy went back to watching people below her.

“My mom,” Damian started, not sure where he was going to end his sentence. Rule one of being in his family was to not reveal details about himself. But it was Lucy and she…she was his friend. “She was a…she’s a villain. I was supposed to be too. Maybe would have been if I didn’t go to live with Batman.”

Lucy nodded, “That sounds like a very interesting story,” Lucy said, “Thank you for telling me.” She tilted her head towards him. “Hey Robin, there’s this comedy place here in Metropolis I looked up. I was hoping maybe we could go tonight? I’m kind of a comedy nerd, and it’s always good to support people at an open mic. Maybe you’d even laugh once.”

Damian braced himself. This was a date. She was asking him on a date. He had prepared himself for this. “I can’t,” Damian said, the words practiced, “I don’t think of you that way. We can hang out and…be friends, but no.” There. No question about it.

Lucy looked at him, and tilted her head, thinking. “Ok,” She said, simply. Didn’t seem too heartbroken. It was a relief. “Hey Superboy,” She said, voice raise just slightly on the sounds of trains, “Do you want to go on a date to a comedy club tonight with me?”

There was a brief pause, then with a burst of wind, Jon jumped up back to the rafters. “Yeah, that sounds good,” and they shared smiles, “Robin, I can get her back to Gotham if you want to head home.”

Damian blinked, trying to process what exactly was happening. “I–,” technically, he wasn’t supposed to leave Lucy, for reasons Batman hadn’t been overly clear about. But if something was going to happen, she’d be plenty safe with Jon. Still, he wanted to argue this, even though he had nothing, and he knew he had nothing. “Sure, that sounds fine.”

Jon held out his hand to help him down, but he could easily get out by himself. And so, alone, he went home. And he didn’t understand the strange feeling in his gut.

Bruce stretched his neck coming down to the batcave, seeing Tim on the computer. “Commissioner Gordon has kindly invited Batman and Robin to the Wayne charity Christmas Party on my behalf,” he said, “I’ve got Dick coming down to wear the Batsuit for me. I’m going to work to have Damian as Robin, but would you and Steph take on patrols that night? At least some of us should actually be doing work.”

Tim didn’t answer. He stared blankly into the computer. Bruce sighed, most likely he didn’t hear him. “How long have you been down here? You’re going to ruin your–”

“Are you planning on telling Damian?” Tim asked.

Bruce paused and looked at what Tim was staring at. It was medical records of Delia Quinzel, specifically of her pregnancy.

Specifically the fake pregnancy records that Bruce had made. “What are you talking about?” Bruce asked.

“Please don’t insult me,” Tim said, face stoic, “You really think I can’t recognize your digital fingerprint all over these files?”

Bruce took a few deep breaths. “Have you told anyone?”

“Hell no,” Tim said, finally looking up, “And I cleaned up your mess. But I don’t know if anyone else has looked into this before now.” Tim glared at Bruce, “So I ask again, are you planning on telling Damian that you’ve put him in charge of protecting Joker’s biological daughter from her own father?”

Bruce came over and looked at the corrected records. They were, in fact, cleaner. Bruce’s were too normal. Tim added in complications that could have happened, just enough to make people think they’d already found what was wrong. “We don’t know what Joker knows.”

“Oh, and he just happened to escape Arkham and disappear at around the same time a teen starts hanging around his ex-girlfriend.” Tim said, dryly.

“If he does know,” Bruce said, “Then its our job to stop him. If he doesn’t, then we still stop him. But Lucy has a target on her back one way or another.”

“Which is why you put Damian in front of it?” Tim said.

“I trust Damien,” Bruce said, “To protect her. But I don’t want him to be biased against her because of her parents.”

“So, you’re putting him at risk, so that he can make friends?” Tim demanded, arms crossed.

Bruce took a deep sigh. “One day,” he said, “Lucy is going to have to confront where she’s come from. And the rest of us are too. I’m trying to give us all the best chance.” Bruce said, “Besides, Damian needs more friends other than Jon.”

Tim screwed up his face, then snorted. “Alright, old man,” he said, “I’ll go with your plan for now. But if something goes belly up, I reserve the right to at least one ‘I told you so.’”

“A fair compromise,” Bruce said, “What have you found about Joker’s movements?”

“He’s going quiet right now, which isn’t much like him,” Tim said, “But I think I’ve tied him to this fancy surgical robot that’s gone missing from Gotham Hospital.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s nothing mind-breakingly awful he can do with that,” Bruce said, sarcastically. “Let’s take it to the streets.”

Tim jumped up and followed him to the batmobile.

[thatasianstereotype]

Father, This Is Your Future Son-In-Law.

A short little side companion fic to my Adrien x Damian series. 

First: Fuck. I’m Gay. 

Second: Damn, You’re Looking Fine. 

Third: Shit. I Got To Deal With This Bitch (Again).

I’m still working on the fourth and final part of the series (it won’t be as long of a wait as Part 3). But I wanted to write how the Batfam reacted to their youngest suddenly getting a boyfriend while abroad. 

Creative liberties were taken. Also, this is a crack writing. 

The Demon Spawn who has gotten better at not attacking people at first sight but still just tolerates people. And his holier-than-thou attitude is still there with his love for throwing insults around like free candy. 

This is the kid that manages to snag a pure cinnamon roll sunshine as a boyfriend?

This angry grumpy child? 

Needless to say, the Batfam is in disbelief.

.

.

.

“What?” Bruce thought that the Teen Titans mission in Europe was done. “Why do you want to stay in Paris longer? Is something wrong?”

“No Father. I have simply found someone I wish to court. I will be spending time in Paris to see how best to present myself as an exceptional suitor that is all. Give my regards to Grayson that I will be missing Family Night but that I will make it up by introducing him to his future brother-in-law soon.” 

Bruce was too much in shock to answer when Damian hung up. 

“DICK!” 

“I think it’s cute that Dami is getting a boyfriend.” 

“Dick, you oblivious and naive child, you are completely missing the point.” 

Dick rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m pretty sure Damian isn’t actually going to marry someone right now.”

“He said ‘future brother-in-law’ inferring that this courtship he wants to initiate will end in a wedding.” 

“I think you are reading too much into this, B.” 

“And you are not reading enough. Have I taught you nothing at all?

“You taught me paranoia.” 

“I taught you to be prepared for every kind of situation.”

“Pretty sure the possibility of your 17-year-old son getting hitched in Paris can be ruled out.” 

“Where did I go wrong with you?” 

And Dick rolled his eyes once again at Bruce’s dramatic-ness. This. This is where Damian gets it from. 

.

Ever the peace keeper in this dysfunctional trainwreck of a family, Dick managed to stop Bruce from flying to Paris. But much to their frustrations (even Dick’s who wanted to know who captured his baby bro’s heart), Damian did not tell them the name of his potential boyfriend. 

.

All in all, Damian spent about two months and a half in Paris before coming back home to Gotham. And the Batfam could see a difference right away. 

Damian was happy. He smiled (it was a little one but it had Dick squealing in joy) more and he was more tolerate of his brothers and schoolmates. 

“We should’ve shipped him off to Paris earlier if he comes back like this.” 

Tim was still staring at Damian like he was an alien. The demon spawn still insulted him every other day but hasn’t threatened to kill him at all since he came back. No ripping out his intestines to feed to the vultures or throwing him off a building for the rats to feast on. It was nice. Although a little part of him felt slightly unnerving. He doesn’t have any contingency plans involving a Nice!Damian. 

Dick shook his head fondly at his little brother, taking away his coffee full of too much caffeine and replacing it with decaf. He has truly ascended to motherhood. “Well, I think it’s nice that Little D found love.”

“In the city of love. Is no one paying attention to that part?” Jason munched on one of Alfred’s cookies. “Cause I think that’s hilarious. I thought Baby Bat would’ve choked on all the happiness and bright clean air there.”

Dick whacked his arm. “Stop being mean to Dami.”

“But Dickie. It’s how I show affection.” 

.

Adrien Agreste was the son of the supervillain Hawk Moth that have terrorizing Paris for the last 3 years. Batman was not at all pleased to hear that the Parisian heroes called for help and the Justice League turned them away. People have paid for that. Dearly. 

“So his mom’s dead and his dad’s a criminal?” Jason looked over Bruce’s shoulder at the BatComputer. “Kid’ll fit right in with our family. Demon sure knows how to pick them.”

“Hnn.” Bruce grunted. 

“I mean with you dating Selina, a notorious thief and doing the thing with Talia, a very dangerously lethal assassin, it’s no wonder where your son got his taste from.” 

“Jason.” Bruce grunted in a warning tone. 

“I mean when I’m right, I’m right.”

.

“Ok.” Tim started off tonight’s Family Meeting (excluding Damian), the topic being one certain ex-assassin’s love interest. “Looking further into the Agreste kid shows he clearly did not take after his villainous dad. He is one of Paris’ teenage models and have a huge fanbase dedicated to how pure and sweet he is. He is a literal walking ray of sunshine.” 

“How the fuck did that sunshine child tame our literal feral demon brother?” Jason said. Always the VIP asking the important questions here.

Tim actually had an answer for that. He pulled out several charts and data on his laptop and showed it to the others. “Looking further into Adrien, I have found evidence that he is the cat-themed superhero Chat Noir. Being a loveable and touch-starved kitten appealed to the demon brat’s almost non-existent affections.” 

“Timmy, Dami is capable of love.” Dick said in a disappointed voice. 

“I said almost non-existent, didn’t I?” Tim waved the Mom’s disappointment away. “But you guys have got to see this.” 

He pulled up a video of Chat Noir and Ladybug on the big screen. They watched him using his signature move: cataclysm. No one spoke for a few minutes as they processed the sheer destructive powers of the hero.

“You know what.” Jason broke the silence. “I have no more questions. I can kind of see how Agreste is the demon’s type.” 

What baby assassin wouldn’t be turned on by the literal godly destructive powers the baby kitten held in his hands? 

Dick, the only one wanting to keep things semi-PG here, smacked the back of his head. 

.

“Baby brother.” Cass greeted. She is back home from her Hong Kong trip and heard all about the famous Adrien Agreste. She thought it was adorable and that Adrien and Damian made a cute couple. 

“Hello, Cassandra.” 

She peered down at the list he was currently making. She gestured towards it with a confused look. 

“I am compiling a list of tasks that needs to be done before my Chaton and new sister-in-law come to Gotham. Only the best for them after all. 

Her eyes lit up. “New sister?”

“Yes. My mon amour’s sister will be our new one.” He pulled out a picture of her on his phone for Cass to see. “Her name is Marinette and she will be a fine addition to the family.” 

“Baby sister.” Cass said happily. She was always up for new family members. 

“Yes. I imagine you two will get along the best.” 

But she couldn’t help but notice that with all the preparations he is making, even if it is for his boyfriend and new sister, is a bit —how would Steph say it?— overkill. 

Her coal black eyes were sharp as she observed his body language. “You very serious on this. Why?” 

He can never hide anything from his sister. “I wish for them to have a good impression of our family so that their family will not be disincline to reject my proposal for marriage.”

“Marriage?” She was still quite unfamiliar with some words in English. 

“It means that you will be getting another brother too.” 

.

“We will wed.” 

Dick hasn’t even finished his cereal yet. He looked over at Damian’s serious expression. “Did you even ask him yet?” 

“I will present myself as an extraordinary suitor that he will be more inclined to say yes when I ask.” 

“At least you’re treating your man right.”

Damian took offense. “Why wouldn’t I treat my mon amour with anything but the upmost respect and love?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Little D. I’m just glad you’re in a good relationship and from what I can see, Adrien adores you very much.”

Damian smiled. “I adore my Chaton a great deal as well. Would you like to come with me to pick out a ring?

Dick could just hear Bruce’s voice in his head saying he shouldn’t be encouraging this. But come on, this was his baby brother who grew up learning how to hurt people finding a precious loving relationship for himself and he will be damned if he doesn’t support this. 

“Of course. I’ll be honored to help.”

His baby brother brightened before he launched into a rant. 

“I’m having trouble finding the perfect gem to complement his eyes. They are a certain shade of forest green you see. And many jewelry stores do me a great disservice by not having that certain shade or having utterly appalling quality for what my Chaton deserves.” 

Previous

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Taglist: 

@iglowinggemma28 @iz-bell-saiah @nach0ava @roselynfey @mochinek0 @wannajointhecrabcult

[queerbutstillhere]

For my favourite writer, Damian and Jon get send to an Alternate Universe (maybe young justice cause I'm more familiar with it) and during their brief stay there everyone they interact with thinks they are dating because they act as a couple.

(I'm not sure how I feel about this, but oh well? I hope it's okay! Also it's kinda a weird situation, like they're in an alternate universe, but it's also just Young Justice? Idk I hope it makes sense!)

You know, it wasn't everyday that you're chilling with your Bros, a big blue portal opens in the ceiling and from it falls two vigilantes, cursing and kicking each other, right onto your coffee table, shattering it everyday.

Or at least it shouldn't be an everyday occurrence.

It certainly wasn't that surprising to say the least.

I suppose you want background, don't you?

It was a wonderful summer morning. Timothy Drake, Conner Kent, Cassie Sandsmark and Bart Allen had gone to visit their good friends Cissie and Greta, retired heroes. Tim, being a rich kid, could afford to do this for a weekend, and of course, the others could just run or fly there. So they went out for lunch and then went back to Cissies house, her mom conveniently out for the weekend. They were just chilling and catching up when the portal opened, people fell, and glass table shattered.

Greta had screamed when they fell, meanwhile the others just jumped up, ready to fight. The two vigilantes weren't terribly large, they had landed on top of each other, and the one on top was covered by a large black cape, a hood flipped over his head. He was the one swearing loudly. The other one was clearly a teen, wearing blue and red, and a red cape twisted underneath him. He had black hair and blue eyes and looked . . . Like Clark?

Tim and Kon exchanged a confused look.

"Damn you!"

"Stop it! Would you just stop fighting and hold still while I get a bearing on where the hell we are."

"No! Let go of me!"

"You're bleeding," the teen responded, arms tightly clasped around the person on top of him.

He had spotted Kon and apparently identified him as the current threat, body going rigid.

"I'm always bleeding, let go!"

There was a grunt and then cape man was pushing up, sitting on his companions stomachs as he looked around, eyes landing on Tim.

They both gasped at the same time.

"Robin?" Tim exclaimed, because standing in front of him was an. . . Older Damian?

"Drake," Damian shot back, tilting his head.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Kon said, stepping in front of Tim. "What's going on?"

"Tim, how does he know that?" Cissie asked.

"Know what? His last name?" Robin said with an eyeroll.

"God, Robin, lay off the bean burgers!" The younger man complained, shoving at Robin.

"Shut the hell up, Superboy. Now is not the time."

A small whine escaped "Superboy" and then he locked eyes with Kon again. Sure enough, on his chest was the S emblem of Superman. Kon took a step towards him, and in a flash, this Superboy was across the room, Robin between him and the wall as he glared at them, an arm behind him, touching Robin.

"Stay back. Who the hell are you people."

"Tt. Kent, don't be so naive," Robin said, poking his head out around the taller teens shoulder. "That is clearly my brother."

"You're-" Tim started confused.

"I see that, Rob, but who are the others?"

".... Admittedly I don't know. It appears Rex's portal dropped us into another dimension. . . Fascination."

"Uh! No! The last alternate dimension we got involved in, my dad was evil! Your dad doesn't even know we snuck out."

"Eh. I'm sure it'll be fine. What's the worst that can happen? They send West after us?"

"Robin!"

Tim raised an eyebrow at the two, motioning for the others to stand down, Cassie relaxed, and Cissie stopped edging towards her bow.

"Bart, can you clean up the glass, please?" Tim asked softly.

"Yeah." The speedster blurred around until all the glass pieces were collected, and then appeared with a vaccum, sweeping the rug.

Superboy and Robin had gone silent, watching this.

"He's a speedster."

"I see that."

"I don't trust them."

"And you think I do? They haven't attacked us yet, though, so that's a start."

Tim watched with hidden amusement, this whole time, as they stood against the wall, they had been touching the whole time, Robin's hands on Superboy's arm, which was wrapped around and hooked into Robin's utility belt. It was almost as if they were holding each other back.

"Okay. Why don't we do introductions instead of standing here and whispering," Tim said, stepping closer. "I'm Tim Drake."

"Red Robin. I know," Robin said softly.

Tim frowned, eyebrow raising. "I'm not..."

Robin's eyebrow also raised.

"Maybe he's not Red in this universe?" Superboy said softly.

Robin gently cuffed the back of Superboy's head. "Use your eyes. Read his body language, his posture, his body shape. He's a vigilante of some kind. It seems only reasonable that he would be Red Robin still. His recognized me, which means I have become Robin in this universe already. So unless he quit, or by some miracle, is Batman..."

"Okay, Damian, just, stop," Tim said, waving his hands. "Yes I know who you are. But I'm not Red Robin anymore."

"Oh you did quit?" Robin inquired.

"No. . . I uh. Changed my name."

"Fucking Drake," Kon muttered from behind them.

"Okay, you know what. Greta and I are gonna go to the kitchen why you guys sort this mess out," Cissie said, and sure enough, the two girls just exited stage left-

"What did you change it to?" Robin asked, he still hadn't moved from behind Superboy.

".... Drake."

Robin blinked once. Then twice.

"What the fuck?"

"Look! Okay! It's a powerful duck-"

"It's literally only aggressive when horny, Tim, what the hell?" Robin interrupted, staring at him with the biggest "what the fuck" expression ever.

"I TOLD YOU!" Bart nearly screamed, zipping over. "Hi! I'm Bart Allen, Impulse! I'm Barry's grandkid."

"Uh, Hi. I'm Superboy?" Superboy said, blue eyes cautiously scanning Bart.

"That's hilarious, because I'm Superboy," Kon said, stepping up, wrapping an arm around Tim's waist.

The two Superboy's had a glaring match.

"Cassandra Sandsmark. Wonder Girl."

"Oh, isn't Donna-"

"Alternate dimension," Robin reminded his Superboy.

Tim didn't miss the small sway that just happened to Robin. Neither did Superboy, as he suddenly spun and scooped up Robin.

"You dumbass," he huffed, looking around.

"I'm fine. We have more pressing matters-"

"You are literally bleeding through your armor."

"Kent I'm fine."

"Like hell."

Superboy looked at Tim.

"He took a shank to the stomach earlier. Do you have medical supplies?"

"Somewhere-"

They sent Bart off to look for those, while Superboy laid Robin down on the dining room table, gently undoing all his armor as Robin was forced to lay there helplessly, and just talk.

"As you have probably figured out by now, I'm Damian Wayne, and this is Jonathan Kent. We are Robin and Superboy from our universe," Damian explained, tugging off his gloves and then his mask.

"Wait does that make us brothers?" Kon asked, staring at Jonathan.

"What?" The younger Kent asked , barely glancing up from his task of gently pulling off Damian's layers, every touch and tug painfully gentle.

"Your dad is Clark, right?"

"Yeah."

"He's mine too. I'm Kon, Conner Kent."

"Oh! Cool!" Jon grinned at him brightly.

Neither of them noticed it, but Damian went rigid, and Jon mumbled an apology, looking back down. Bart returned with a first aid kit finally.

"This is all Cissie had."

"I'll take it," Jon said.

While he got to work, ripping his cape for spare bandaged, and using the surgical needle and string that Cissie had wisely decided there should be inside, Damian began explaining what had happened, how they had been battling an old enemy named Rex, and he had, in a last ditch effort, opened the portal, tossing them through it. Cassie and Tim asked a few questions to better understand, and Damian answered them all, barely bothered by Jon working on his stab wound, bandaging it as best he could.

"So wait. We don't exist on your world?" Cassie asked.

"Well, Tim does, and I do believe I've heard of a Cassandra Sandsmark. But I've never met you, Kon, nor do we have an Impulse. Just the Wally's and Barry. Oh and Jay."

"Wild."

"Well, Jon here doesn't exist in our timeline, so it'd not that surprising," Kon said to Bart.

"Yeah but still. What do people do without us?"

"We survive just fine, I assure you," Damian said sarcastically.

Jon smacked his thigh. "Hey, play nice."

"I am playing nice."

"No. You're being a dick."

"This is him being a dick?" Tim asked, eyebrow raised. "You should meet my Damian. . . Hey how old are you anyway."

"I'm seventeen. Jon is fifteen."

Tim exchanged a look with Kon, right as Damian gave a small grunt.

"Sorry, I'm almost done, okay? Hold still," Jon said, lightly touching Damian's arm before tying off the string.

They almost acted like a couple, with the gentle touches and soft tones they used.

"That's cute," Bart said softly, almost as if he had read Tim's mind.

Jon's head snapped up, and he looked at Bart, cheeks turning red.

"So we should most likely talk to Father, and maybe Kord to see how to get us back," Damian said to Tim.

"Yeah. I'll call Bruce. I think he's in Paris though so he may not be much help."

"He'd still like to know what is going on."

Tim shook his head slightly. "Don't you two worry, we'll get you boys back to your own universe as quick as possible."

"We're not children, Drake," Damian muttered, shaking his head. "God I can't believe you picked Drake!"

So they called Bruce, headed to the watchtower, changing on the way. When Tim walked out from the room on the batwing that he had been changing in, Damian just stared at him.

"Why are you brown and yellow."

"It's my uniform."

"That is the blandest uniform I have ever seen. That's not even the colors of a Drake."

"What?" Tim asked confused."

"You're literally wearing the colors of a female duck," Damian explained.

"Dami! Don't be rude!"

"It's cause he's such a bottom," Kon commented, grinning at Tim.

"Okay, gross," Damian said, making a face.

"What? Is that not gay culture on your universe?"

"I wouldn't know, frankly," Damian said with a sigh, looking down at his touchscreen gauntlet, messing with it.

". . . So you two aren't dating then?"

Both of them looked at Kon in alarm.

"What?!" Jon screeched.

"Why would we be dating?"

"Because you guys are all gross and touchy," Kon said, even as he leaned on Tim.

"We are not!" Jon protested. "He's my best friend!"

And yet, when they got to the watchtower, the two walked with their arms pressed together, murmuring softly and pointing things out to each other and in general acting like a couple. Tim may not know this Damian, but he can read closeted gay anywhere. Well except himself.

All of the Justice League was wary of these new vigilantes, but interested too, asking questions. Tiny angry Damian was not impressed with older, happier Damian, but older Damian just smiled and spoke gently to younger Damian for a moment, and then the kid huffed in annoyance and ran off.

"What did you tell him?" Jon asked softly.

"That it was okay and he would make mistakes and to just learn from them instead of beating himself up. And that I was proud of him because I remembered how hard and confusing it was to follow Bruce's rules, but things will get better."

Jon smiled fondly at Damian. "Things you wish you had been told?"

"Maybe."

"Totally not dating," Tim mumbled as he walked past. They both glared after him.

It took a few hours for them to figure out how to send Damian and Jon back, meanwhile, the two just hung out with Tim and Kon and chatted, swapping stories and finding out information about each other. Tim really couldn't believe they weren't dating. They sure acted like it.

"Okay, kiddos," everyone looked up as Barry walked over. "Time to go, we've got it all figured out."

They walked over to where the portal was supposed to open.

"Thank you, for helping," Damian said, pressing on his mask.

"It was our pleasure," Tim said with a grin.

Jon said goodbye to Kon, and then ran after Damian through the portal. Tim just laughed and shook his head, and turned to Kon.

"I liked them."

"They were most definitely dating without realizing it yet."

"Oh yeah."

Send me a prompt!

[chimie-chat]

Open When...

Chapter 2: ... You’re Frustrated

(Read Ch1)

Just shut up!” Robin chucked a batarang with full force, the weapon barely passing by Nightwing’s head before striking the cave wall behind him, the blade wedging itself into the stone. The young teen was seething, anger flowing off of him as he glared at his older brother through his mask. 

The outburst had drawn the attention of the others in the cave as well. Cassandra and Duke, who had been enjoying post-mission snacks, paused mid-cucumber sandwich to turn their heads. Even Alfred, who had been passing around a tray of much needed coffee, halted what he was doing, more likely than not to avoid becoming the victim of a runaway blade. The only person who didn’t turn was Bruce ー of freaking course he didn’t ー who was inputting notes into the mission file at the main computer. 

Dick raised his hands in defence. “Woah there. Damian, calm downー” 

“No!” The thirteen year old ripped his mask off, before slamming it to the ground. “I didn’t do anything wrong! You know I didn’t. They know I didn’t!” He gestured towards the other member of Batman Incorporated, this sorry excuse for a family. “So why the hell can’t you just admit I did a good today?”

“There’s always room to improve, Damiaー”

“Improve, my ass!” He grit his teeth together. This was ridiculous. It had been a simple mission; pop into a warehouse, beat up some drug smugglers, turn them in to the proper authorities. Easy fucking peasy. He's gone, he followed orders perfectly. He didn't step out of line, didn't cross boundaries, even when it would have been so easy to. He was a perfect Robin today. Which meant this absurd lecture he was getting right now was not only out of line, but downright insulting. "What more could you possibly want from me, Grayson? I did everything you asked tonight, with zero complaints, and a miniscule margin of error. Just admit that I did good, and leave me alone!"

"Damian, it's not that simple."

"Like hell it is!" The teen snarled. He tore his gauntlets off his arms, throwing them both to the ground. Maybe it would prove a point. Maybe not. That was unimportant at this moment. Damian glared up, meeting his brother's eyes with a scowl on his face, before deciding this wasn't worth it. He knew he was in the right. "Forget this."

He didn't bother to stick around when Dick called after him. He didn't bother to see if his father was reacting in any way. Damian just left. He stormed out of the cave, as seemed to be the routine, fuming from the ears as he all but crashed his feet through the oak floorboards of the manor. Part of him secretly hoped he'd run into another one of his adoptive siblings so he could pick a fight. God, that's what he needed right now. He needed a fight. He needed to hit something; to smash something. He needed to grab his sword and turn every shrub and tree on this blasted estate into wood chips. Instead, Damian settled for slamming his bedroom door shut.

"Aaaaaaarg!" He let out a scream, and paced around the space. Part of his uniform rapidly flying all over the carpet, landing in random pieces of furniture, before he was left in nothing but his underwear. While the burst of anger hadn't exactly calmed him down, slipping into silk pajamas helped. Only slightly, but help was help. "Stupid Grayson." He muttered under his breath as he flung himself onto that king-sized bed. 

This sucked. 

Contrary to popular belief, Damian didn't like being angry all the time. It was exhausting. The chronic issue was that other people were simply infuriating, always catching his temper, setting him off in all the worst says. He was sick of it. 

By chance, be it out of a need for comfort, or the desire for a better way to breathe than face shoved into an overstuffed down pillow, the fourteen year old turned his head to the side, letting his eyes scan across his room; over furniture, his own art on the walls, until it eventually landed on his desk. More specifically, a colorful wooden box that was kept neatly tucked into the back corner of his desk. 

No. No it was stupid. There’s no way this could help…

Damian pushed himself up off his bed. This was ridiculous. He stepped over his desk, pulling the box closer to the edge and flicking the clasp open. He opened the lid and started flipping through the pile of letters his friend had left for him. 

Angry? No.

Crying? Definitely not.

Offended, embarrassed, hurt.

He didn’t know why he was even bothering, because there was truly no way there would be a letter forー

‘Open When… You’re frustrated’

Huh… That was unexpected. 

Damian took the letter and went back over to his bed, climbing into it and making himself comfortable before cutting the envelope open.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey Dami! What’s up buddy? You doing ok? Well… I guess probably not, huh? I don’t know what happened or nothing but I’m whatever it is is bugging you. And you know what? That’s pk ok. Sometimes you just got to let yourself feel all the crummy, upset, nasty stuff for a minute, and just let yourself be mad.

Dad tells me that when he gets all fustra frustrated that he’ll go for a fly around the world. I do that too now that I can fly! Before I could fly I couldn’t do that though. When Mom gets upset she usually starts reading those girl magazines from the grocery store. I think the trick is to just do something that calms you down! Something that makes you forget everything else in the world.

What makes you feel better, Damian? Other than training because I think you need to do something other than punching and sword fighting. Also… Usually you get frustrated after fights or missions that don’t go the way you want them to go so that probably wont help too much anyways. Maybe you need some ideas. I know you like music, and you like painting, and you like your animals. So maybe if you think about those three things then it will help you.

Did ya think of something? I hope so. I hate it when you’re upset.

Take a deep breath. Relax your shoulders. Let yourself be not happy for a bit, then go do something fun. You’ll be alright soon. I know you will.

You’re best pal,

Jon

P.S. Try not to take it out on people you care about. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Damian let out a breath, letting his arm fall to the side, taking the letter with it. He stared up at the ceiling, letting his brain just think everything over for a minute. As much as he loathed to admit it, Jon was right. He needed to get out of his head space for a moment. Damian let his eyes fall shut, and just… Well, he did what jon suggested. He focused on his breathing, letting his lungs fill with air, holding it for a little longer than he normally would, and letting it out. 

Something to do… Something to do… What could he do?

He let out a sigh, rolling inwards towards the center of the bed, and looked at the letter in his hand, before letting his eyes fall straight. They tuned in to his violin, hanging delicately from it’s wooden stand.

That would work.

[callmesteve]

sneak peak at what i’m writing?

for real this time, sghlidugh. 

so, that post i just posted? yeah, i started a rough draft. here’s the first half! (not really any dami yet, sorry folks :((. also, note: i’ve made jon and damian the same age, i think there’s an age gap normally, but this works better for me.) 

do i continue it?

(fic below the cut)

Dick and Bruce go back in time to save Damian before he was killed. They end up in the wrong time. There’s so many ways it goes wrong.

Dick crosses through the portal to dusty air and ashes scattered amongst the ground. Buildings crumble around the torn up street. Markings all over the remains of Gotham tell Dick all he needs to know. Green and red spray paint curl heavenward in a sick imitation of Joker’s manic grin. When he hears Dick grunt, he whirls around, already gesturing to their belts. “We’ve hit the wrong time,” he says, voice carefully low. “I think we went forward, not back.” 

It’s just like Bruce said, before they left. Time travel is a fickle thing. There’s no right way to do it with the resources they’re working with. Plus, it doesn’t really help that ever since Bruce’s whole incident with Frankenstien, Tim’s been hellbent on not helping their efforts to get Damian back. 

God, Dick knew this wasn’t going to work. There had been too many variables in the beginning. Too many what if’s, too many maybe not’s. 

He just had to agree to go with Bruce anyway, hadn’t he? 

With a groan, he drops his head into the palms of his hands. Ever since Damian died, all Bruce could think of doing was bringing him back to life. He hadn’t been like this with Jason, but with the knowledge that Jason had managed to come back to life- Bruce took it and ran and somehow ended up coming across time travel. Their plan was simple. Go back to the fight that took Damian’s life far too early, stop Heretic before he was able to slide that sword through his little brother’s chest. They’d open themselves a new life where Damian lived and breathed and-

And Dick swallows a sob, fixing his domino mask to make sure it covers his teary eyes. He was just like Bruce, in the end. All Dick wanted was to wrap his arms around Damian one last time, to hold him close and breathe in that stupid strawberry shampoo Dick decided to buy him. Why wouldn’t he want to help Bruce with this? Dick and Bruce, although they both avoided the conversation, knew that Damian and Dick were closer than the title of brothers allowed. (Father and son fit better, Dick dares to think.)

“Should we stop by the Batcave in our time?” Bruce questions, as he fiddles with his wrist computer. While the actual portal-opening-thing-a-ma-jigs were attached to their belts, all the information they needed rested in their batcomputer’s archives, for Alfred to monitor over. “Or should we just skip to the next time we have queued up?”

Home rests on the tip of Dick’s tongue. They’ve only just started this time travel task, and Dick already feels weighed down by his grief. He’s still mourning, naturally. At this rate, he knows he’ll end up compromised by the time they make it to the time they’re shooting to find. All he wants to do, (besides save Damian and hold him again), is to go home to the manor, make tea, and cry as Mean Girls plays in the backgr-

“You’re not Batman,” someone scoffs, voice laced with a pout. They sound offended, almost, and- And Dick knows that voice. It’s older, sure, but- “It’s rude to pretend to be a dead man- and to dress up as someone who’s still around. I think. Technically. Okay, okay- Didn’t your mom’s ever teach you not to play pretend as dead men, guys?” 

Dick’s eyes shoot up, to a familiar little getup. The red cape, cropped so it doesn’t pass the knees, the ripped jeans still baby blue, the same old Superman t-shirt, long since faded. Beat up converse, double knotted on his feet. He’s a few years older and a whole lot taller than when Dick last saw him, but it’s all the same. 

Jonathan Kent stands before Dick and Bruce, hands folded across his chest. 

Dick still remembers the days that Jon and Damian raced around the manor, (and the penthouse, while Bruce had disappeared). Years ago, Clark had decided it’d be a good idea to get the two to be friends, given the fact they were around the same age. It’s just a shame that they never got the chance to grow up as complete heroes together. Him and Damian had been close- really close. Their time’s Jon was still torn up about Damian’s death. 

This Jon blinks as he takes in Dick and Bruce, before tutting an all too familiar tut. “I’m gonna have to bring you guys in to the base. No running away.” He purses his lips, regarding Bruce closer for a moment. “B-boy doesn’t like it when people do that. It always attracts the Joker’s attention, and we don’t need that.” 

Dick looks back to Bruce, and they both share a nod. No confrontation until Heretic- not unless it’s totally needed. That was their agreement. Besides, from Jon’s reaction of them, this time’s Nightwing and Bruce-Batman are obviously dead. It’s a dull thought, considering that Jon’s only a few years older. Dick can admit that he’s at least curious about who dawns the cowl now, though. Dick had done it last time- Jason probably refused to this time, too. Especially with Joker leading this whole thing.

Tim, then? He’ll be the smartest Batman there ever were, that’s for sure. It’s just a shame he had to do it so young. 

A pit forms in Dick’s gut. If Bruce, Dick and Damian are dead, there’s a big chance that all Tim really has left is Alfred. (God, Dick hopes Alfred’s still alive.) 

“We’ll go,” Dick says, raising his hands in the air. “You’ve just got a misunderstanding about us, is all. We’ll clear it up and explain it to- uh- B-boy?” 

B-boy could mean Beast Boy, really, but Dick’s pretty sure it’s just Batman. He’s confirmed as correct when Jon amends with, “Batman. He’s so uptight and serious now-a-days. We like to make fun of him- All friendly teasing, y’know- But- You probably shouldn’t- He’ll feed you to Ivy’s plants the next time she decides it’s time to swarm the city.” He winced at his own words, the nod to Ivy sending the conversation and joking cold. 

Dick has a feeling the new Batman might just be Jason. Prickly and serious could fit with Tim, but- Hey. Who knows. Grief and mourning do things to people that you can’t always explain. Time travel included. 

Jon leads them by the wrists after slapping cuffs on their wrists. They’re the plastic kind you can buy in toy stores for your kids to play with, but they’ve been modified and bulked up with metal, steel and tech. The locks have been changed from a key to a fingerprint scanner. When Jon’s fingers brush over it, the little screen beeps red. He clearly can’t unlock it. (The Bruce-influenced part of his mind thinks that it’s good- if he needs to, he can put a pair on Jon and not need to worry about him getting out. They seem pretty solid. Though, there’s always the chance that he could break out, Super-something’s always seem to surprise him.) 

“These are pretty high tech,” Dick remarks, more for the sake of something to say and to focus on, than to learn about the cuffs. Not that it’s not cool, or important to hear about. “How’d you guys make them?” 

“I’m not as dumb as I look,” Jon scowls. “I won’t hand away free information just because you think I’m stupid and easy to trick.” 

It’s a completely valid concern. Dick gets to work shooting it down. “We’ve been compliant! If I wanted to cause trouble, I would’ve already. As soon as we get to Batman, we’ll explain that this whole thing was a mistake and that he doesn’t have to worry about us! Or- Me, at least.” He gestures to Bruce. “He’s pretty shifty. We’ll be fine.”

Surprisingly enough, Jon gives. “B made them,” he half-beams. Tim then. “Only his fingerprint is recognised. Way too many times have we had traitors in our midst that free our prisoners, or just plain old teammates who are super gullible. He was gonna let me be one of the only other people, besides- uh- someone else. But.” He adopts a sheepish grin. “Stuff happened, I guess. It was really bad. I trust his judgement, though!” 

“If he’s good, then all power to you,” Dick grins back. 

Bruce hunches his shoulders. “What the hell happened to Gotham?” he asks, and Dick winces at his wrecked tone. It’s their city, to be reduced to ash in a few years time. There’s no point in asking the year instead, anyhow. Jon’s no older than sixteen now, no younger than twelve or thirteen. They can take a pretty good guess. “We were just here-” Bruce pauses, piling on an alibi fast. “-a few years ago.” 

Nice save, B.

“B always says a lot can happen in a few years! You’d be surprised. And- Everyone’s heard of the old Batman’s loss at the hands of the Joker and his Arkham crew. He didn’t die in the battle- He came close. Present day Batman took up the cowl while the villains reaped their spoils of war. Old Batman died pretty soon after that. Health complications, I think?” Jon hums. “I thought you might’ve been posing as the old Batman. I guess I was wrong then, since you didn’t know?” 

“I’m not posing as anyone,” Bruce grinds out. Dick chokes back a laugh, which goes sour as soon as he grumbles, “Fuckin’ Joker.” 

Dick steps over a stray piece of rubble on nimble feet. “See?” he whispers to Bruce. “You should’ve let Lil’ D beat up Joker when he had him in that damn room.” He scowls low, matching Bruce to a near perfect T. The Joker has messed with their lives way too much, at this point. 

Jon stiffens. 

Shit. 

The Supers have super hearing, and Damian’s still probably a sore spot for everyone. 

Just before Dick can question about Nightwing’s death, on rolls to a stop. “Close your eyes,” he says, tacking on a sorry soon after. Dick obliges. He hopes Bruce does too. Jon drops their hands, but reaches back a moment later. Something rolls open. He doesn’t tell them to open their eyes, so Dick keeps them close. Jon leads them forward, and immediately, Dick recognises the smell of the place they're in. Musty, damp. The Batcave. They’re using the cave as their base of operations?

Of course they would. 

“Hey, B-boy!” Jon yells, before saying, “you can open your eyes.” 

Dick does, expecting the same old vave. What he gets is something nearly three times larger. There’s more space in the center, lined with more vehicles that Dick cares to count. They’ve all got a reoccuring theme- Beat up, covered in spikes and neon green spray paint. Undercover vehicles, no doubt. The Batcomputer ahead has grown a few sizes, monitoring different sectors of Gotham and others displaying some of Arkham’s more dangerous ex-patients. Bane’s profile is marked with a deep red stamp, right over top his picture, that reads off deceased. 

The glass cases hosting the Bat-clan’s fallen uniforms has been moved, now showing Bruce’s old cowl, Dick’s Nightwing uniform, and so many others he can’t name. One’s nothing more than a brown one piece with orange stripes on the side, gloves and a mask. Towards the end is Damian’s old Robin outfit, shoved over there like it doesn’t even matter. It should be in the dead center with the rest of the Batfamily’s fallen members, Dick thinks, and makes a note to yell at Tim/Jason/Batman for it. Family should stick together, even if it’s only their old legacies that stay by each other's sides. 

The other platforms scattered around the cave’s walls are hard to see. There’s more than there used to be, all covered with discarded training weapons and dummies, with cots for sleeping. What an upgrade. 

“B-boy!” Jon tries, cupping his hands around his mouth “I know you’re here! We’ve got prisoners!” 

The voice that responds is low, older, but not overly so. It can’t be Tim or Jason- then who? “Then send them to the cells,” this Batman says. “Why on Earth do I-” 

Oh, Dick knows the exact moment that Batman sees the two of them. Is it really that big of a crime to dress up as Nightwing or Batman around here? Jeez. 

“Take off those damn masks,” Batman hisses, dropping from his perch atop one of the lower platforms. He’s- He’s tiny. Smaller than Jon by nearly a whole foot! “How dare you tarnish the fallen’s legacies like this! Did the Joker put you up to this? Harley? Catwoman’s not normally this cruel.” 

“We can explain,” Dick defends. Bruce gives him a grunt and that’s all the conformation that Dick needs. He tears off his mask. Bruce pulls down his cowl. 

Jon recognises them immediately, taking half a step back. “Mr. Wayne?” he says, soft. “And- And Dick-? They weren’t- You two weren’t imposters-? How did you survive? We saw both of you die-” 

Bruce steps up, holding out his cuffs to Batman. “We’re not your Batman and Robin,” he explains. “Not yet. We’ve come from the past. A miscalculation while trying to travel through time brought us here.” He waves his wrists. “Now, Batman. If you’d be so kind as to let us know who decided to carry on the cowl? You aren’t Tim or Jason.” 

“B-” Jon whispers, and it sounds wrong. “You should-” 

“I know,” Batman interrupts. He reaches out, pulling off his glove, and unlocks Bruce’s cuffs. He does the same for Dick, with shaking hands. Then, his hand snakes up to his mask.

“You don’t have to,” Jon reminds. 

“I know.” 

Batman pulls off his cowl. Glassy green eyes- for the first time in near months- peer right back at Dick.

[ferritin4]

Titans Together (3K Gen Jon Kent/Damian Wayne)

Here’s a thing I’ve never posted on here: DC comics fic! I’m one of those people that’s been reading comics since I was a kid, but never in a viciously completionist way. Then, as an adult, I went back and read the runs of things that were recommended or appealed to me, like, among many other things (buncha Batman, the Grayson run even though yes it kinda sucked, all of the new Midnighter before it got canceled), Super Sons. Which is hilarious, and the art is fabulous, and the characters are just perfect. Strong rec.

Like many people, I’m totally here for aged-up Jon Kent/Damian Wayne -- it’s like if Clark/Bruce were both more dramatic and less weird and awful about/to each other -- and I, personally, have a headcanon that Damian, though short now, really ought to grow up to be like 6′4″ and massive. Because his dad’s the tallest in the Batfam and very big, and his mom’s both tall and built for a woman. He has to be a low-grade celebrity at college: Bruce Wayne's son and a prodigy in every subject, a super intense giant scary ripped antisocial multimillionaire 21-year-old who's already halfway through his PhD and wears suits to class. 

And then I want Jon Kent to come visit him at Princeton and be a total fucking hayseed like, "Oh, whoa, wow! That building is so cool looking! What kind of style did you say it was, Dami?" in farm boy jeans and a Carhartt jacket and everyone is like whaaaat the fuuuuck

And that is this fic. (Yes. The art history is made up. That is intentional.)

—

Princeton was huge. Wow.

—

Jon didn’t expect it to be small — he had lived in Metropolis forever as a kid and he’d toured a couple colleges in Gotham, even. He knew Princeton wasn’t gonna be like, the size of Garden City Community College or something, but gosh. It was really, really big.

The administrative offices were right at the main entrance, and that was a good thing, because Jon needed a map, and some directions, and maybe a nametag?

“No, honey,” the woman at the desk said. Her desk plaque read Moira Reed and she looked kind of like his mom’s oldest cousin. “You don’t need a name tag, you just need to show me your ID and sign in so we know you’re on campus. Are you a prospective student?” she asked, taking his driver’s license. “Since you’re eighteen, you don’t need a guardian with you, but I would like an emergency contact, just in case.”

“Oh, sure,” Jon said. “And, no, I’m just visiting a friend who goes here. I live in Kansas,” he added, which — was probably super obvious from the whole Kansas state driver’s license thing. Duh. “You can, uh, tell, I guess. Thank you,” he said, taking it back.

She chuckled. “No worries. Do you need directions to their dorm? Or do they live off campus nearby?”

“No, thank you. He lives in grad student housing, I think?” Jon said. “But I do need directions to —” Jon pulled out his notebook “— Waterstone Hall? For ‘Art History 466’?”

Moira had a map, and a Sharpie, and a very, very patient smile, and Jon thanked her like five times before she kicked him out and told him to enjoy his class.

—

“Good lord,” an older woman’s voice said to Moira as Jon left the office. “Wasn’t he just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“They have manners in Kansas!” Moira said, laughing. “Maybe he should teach a class.”

—

Waterstone Hall was a beautiful brick building with small, well-kept classrooms with sky-blue walls and new whiteboards. Jon poked his head into a couple of empty rooms before he found 343B.

The seats were angled like a movie theater, pretty steep, and Jon picked a seat about halfway back, on the aisle in case anybody needed him to move. There were maybe twenty students already there, but he didn’t know how many were supposed to come. Class didn’t start for — five more minutes, according to the super fancy old analog clock on the wall.

Everybody was pretty dressed up, except Jon. Did they dress up for class at Princeton? Maybe; maybe it was like private school except without uniforms. The kid next to him was wearing a sweater vest over a collared white button-down shirt, and the girl directly in front of him was wearing some kind of dark blue fancy-looking shirt and pearls.

Jon shrugged off his jacket and put his notebook on the desk in front of him. His flannel had a collar, but he didn’t think that really counted for anything at Princeton.

Somebody was looking at him.

“Hi,” Jon said to the sweater vest kid, who was staring at him like he could see straight through Jon’s head.

“Who are you?” Sweater Vest said. Not, like, meanly. More like Jon was a raccoon or something that had wandered into the classroom.

Or something. Jon didn’t know if they had a lot of raccoons in New Jersey.

“I’m Jon,” Jon said. “I’m just visiting a friend, and I thought I’d sit in on class. Don’t worry,” he added, smiling, “I won’t try to lead discussion group or anything.”

“This class doesn’t have a discussion group,” Sweater Vest said, still staring. “You’re visiting a friend? Who goes here? And they told you to come to this class?”

The girl in front of them swiveled around. “No,” she said. “They must have meant a different class.”

“Art History 466?” Jon said. Maybe he was in the wrong room and this was some — but what class would be bad to sit in on?

Sweater Vest’s stare got, if possible, even more bug-eyed.

“Your friend is an asshole,” he said. “You gotta get out of here, kid, I’m not joking. Just… go to a coffeeshop for an hour or something, seriously, you have like sixty seconds before —”

“Shh!” the girl in front of them hissed suddenly, and oh hey, class was about to start.

—

The online course catalog had had a little description of the class and then links to a bunch of weekly readings, all posted and numbered and dated, and then, right under the all-caps, fancy bold lettering for ART HISTORY 466, it had said Instructor of Record: Damian Wayne.

—

Most of Jon’s classes at community college were hands-on. He was there mostly to learn how to do upkeep on the farm and maintenance on the equipment. Jon wasn’t a bad student — he always did his homework — but he liked the chance to move around while he learned.

His mom liked to say that Jon could sit still for about forty-five seconds, if he tried really hard.

He folded his hands in his lap and tried, as hard as he could, to hold still.

Damian was wearing a suit, of course — he had started wearing suits every day, like his dad, when he turned sixteen and went to college, and maybe that was why everybody was dressed up, maybe class had a dress code. If anyone would make their college class have a dress code, it would totally be Damian, a PhD student who still showed up to teach art history in a ridiculously fancy suit that made him look just like his dad.

Jon had been glad when Damian got taller than him, and even gladder when Damian had finally filled out. It made him look so much more like Bruce, so much less like Talia, and that, well. Jon didn’t need to be the world’s greatest anything to know how important that was to Damian.

Damian still had her sharp features, her olive skin, her cruel streak, of course, but it sure put Jon’s heart at ease to know Damian didn’t have to look in the mirror each morning and see only her face.

Damian put his bag down on the big desk at the front and started taking out some papers, as Jon bit his lip and tried to modulate his breathing so he sounded like everyone else in class, so he wasn’t forgetting to take a breath for too long, because he could forget, easy, when he was distracted, but Damian would totally notice and Jon didn’t want him to figure it out early, he wanted to him to notice when —

Damian looked up and over the class, just a quick, dismissive glance, and Jon could practically hear the gravel crunching as his eyes ground to a halt on Jon.

Sweater Vest stopped breathing; the girl in front of them sucked in in a huge rush of air. No one had been talking, but now no one was moving, just a roomful of terrified, pounding hearts, and oh my God, Damian, Jon thought fondly, you total freaking lunatic.

Jon smiled. Damian’s eyebrow quirked, very slightly, and he looked away, going back to his papers.

Sweater Vest breathed out, slow and shaky.

Class began.

It was interesting. They were mostly talking about German and French weaving and some wall paintings — murals, duh, right — but from like, 900CE. There was a projector and Damian had put up a couple pictures of the big murals so they could look at them while he talked.

Damian knew his stuff. It wasn’t shocking; he’d written like four books about this that Jon knew of, and anyway, Damian had known more than anyone else about pretty much everything for like, the duration of Jon’s entire life.

“The repeating patterns you see here became more geometrically constrained starting around 955CE,” Damian was saying. “They also became more consistent both intra- and inter-artist. Ms. Braxton,” he said, fixing his eyes on a small, dark-skinned girl in the second row, “why is that?”

“Uh,” she said. “Is it because of the access to, uh, horsehair —”

“No,” he said. “Mr. Kendry?”

Mr. Kendry was a tall, lanky boy with pale skin and paler hair who was sitting five seats over from Jon. He had a fancy leather jacket on in class, which Jon had always thought was rude — weren’t you supposed to take your coat off inside?

“Because of the invention of higher mathematics,” Mr. Kendry said, shooting Ms. Braxton a disdainful look.

“In 955CE?” Damian said musingly. “What a charmingly Eurocentric perspective.”

“What?” Mr. Kendry said, wary.

“Who exactly invented the mathematics you’re discussing?” Damian said.

“I, uh,” Mr. Kendry babbled. “I’m not sure. This is art history, I mean, I didn’t —”

“Congratulations,” Damian said, in a voice like ice. “You’ve managed to put forth a single sentence, misleading at best, and yet you cannot even explain your own thought processes, much less provide any facts to back up your very incorrect theory.”

Jon leaned over to Sweater Vest, who flinched away from him, then took a breath and leaned back in.

“Do people do the reading for this class?” Jon whispered.

“What?” Sweater Vest whispered back. “Yeah, of —”

“Kent,” Damian snapped, “do you have something to add?”

Clothing rustled against seats; papers shifted under fingertips as twenty pairs of eyes slowly turned to stare at Jon.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon said. “I just thought that you had said that that kind of geometry wasn’t really introduced until like fifty years after this.”

“I had said?” Damian asked, locking onto him. “When did I say that?”

It was a real question. Jon could tell — of course he could tell, like, it had only been eight years. Sometimes Damian asked rhetorical questions so he could go on and on about whatever point he was trying to make and sometimes he asked real questions that he wanted an answer to. He just wasn’t super good at making those two things sound different.

“In the reading?” Jon said. “Um, on page,” he flipped through his notebook, “fourteen? You said that, uh, the use of repeating patterns got better starting in the mid-900s, but that, then, on page twenty-one, you said that people had tried to introduce new kinds of math like, a bunch of times but nobody really paid any attention until King Rasbin IV and he didn’t start being king until 1005. I had to look that up, you didn’t say when he was king from,” Jon said, looking back up to meet Damian’s eyes.

The classroom was silent as a grave. Jon could hear each timid, careful breath from each student, the beat of every heart.

Damian was silent, too, which was way weirder. Come on, Jon thought. Did Damian really think he’d show up to Damian’s class and not even have done the reading? Damian had literally written the textbook.

“So it sounds like the art stuff got better before they really accepted the math stuff,” Jon added, in case he’d been confusing, not to Damian — who definitely knew what he meant to say; he almost always did — but to everyone else, who all still looked like Jon had turned them to stone.

Damian’s gaze shifted slightly, less hard and more impatient, and oh shit, Jon knew that look. Damn it.

“Um,” Jon said, scratching at his hair. That was all he knew about anything, Damian, geez. Call on someone else.

Keep talking, Damian’s expression said. Come on, Kent. You’re almost there.

He knew that look.

“Maybe, did the artists — oh! Were they trying to figure it out?” Jon said. “Like, maybe they were trying to make up this kind of geometry on their own, but King Rasbin, you said he liked this art style, he had a bunch of people painting his palace, so maybe, did he hear about the new math stuff and then go to his artists and say, like, ‘guys, this is like what you’re trying to do? But better, so you should try this instead?’”

The left side of Damian’s mouth twitched up; his brows found a distinctly satisfied tilt. Jon grinned.

“King Rasbin IV,” Damian said mildly. “King Rasbin was a powerless puppet ruler who was killed at fifteen. Otherwise, yes.”

The room, collectively, breathed out.

“Cool,” Jon said. Damian raised both eyebrows. “Not the puppet king thing,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “The art thing! Cool that it was so popular that the artists convinced everyone to pay attention to the new math stuff.”

“Yes. Although in most academic circles it’s still considered a theory without clear evidence,” Damian told him.

“Oh,” Jon said.

“Don’t worry, I have a paper under review which will address that deficit,”  Damian said, flashing just a hint of teeth. “Unsurprisingly, some people aren’t very good at gathering evidence.”

Jon laughed.

“Don’t laugh at him!” Sweater Vest whispered furiously.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Damian said. Sweater Vest’s head snapped up.

“Yes,” Sweater Vest said weakly.

“In 1132CE, following the death of King Rasbin V, Guillaume Res wrote a treatise on the new bascura technique,” Damian said. “What were its immediate and long-term implications for palace artworks?”

Sweater Vest opened his mouth, then closed it.

Damian turned to his desk and started rifling through the papers. Sweater Vest looked like he was going to throw up.

“Mr. Mitchell, I will give you five seconds to produce something resembling a coherent, informed answer,” Damian pulled a packet of papers out of the pile, “before I discard your midterm paper and give you a zero.”

“Uh,” Sweater Vest said.

“Five,” Damian said. “Four.”

“If you don’t know, just guess something!” Jon whispered.

“Shut up, Kent,” Damian said, agate-hard. “You’re not allowed to help him. Three.”

“Aaauuuhh? I, um,” Sweater Vest said.

“Two,” Damian said. “One.”

“What’s the point of this? He obviously doesn’t know!” Jon said.

“You’re right,” Damian said, “he doesn’t.” He dropped the paper into the trash can by the desk. “Moving on.”

“Geez,” Jon muttered when Damian turned his back to them to advance the slideshow.

“You need to shut up, for real,” Sweater Vest told him, “before Wayne comes up here and stabs you.”

“Pff,” Jon said, just loud enough to carry. “Stab me? He could try.”

Damian’s spine straightened, briefly, but he just pushed a button and a new painting came up on the projector screen.

—

“Dismissed,” Damian said, finally, and the room burst into a rush of noise, closing books and scraping chairs.

“Thanks,” Sweater Vest said to Jon, not at all sarcastically.

“Huh?” Jon said.

“You distracted him for a while,” Sweater Vest said. “Thanks.”

“Uh, okay,” Jon said, and then, “you’re welcome,” because that’s what you said when somebody said thank you.

“Yep,” Sweater Vest said, standing up. “Now flee while you can.”

Jon didn’t, though; he was planning to wait until everyone was gone to go down to the front, but about half the students were still there when Damian snapped his bag shut and said, “Is something amiss? Did one of our fathers send you?”

Nobody else was near him. Nobody else would have heard him. He wasn’t talking to anyone else.

Jon got up and collected his jacket and notebook and walked down to the board as fast as he could without raising suspicion, or at least eyebrows.

“No, of course not,” Jon said, coming up behind Damian. He almost leaned on the desk next to where Damian was standing, but then he’d be like, one foot away from Damian and everyone else was giving them a good ten foot clearance, easy.

Definitely because of Damian, not because of Jon. Jon stopped a few feet away and put his hands in his pockets.

Damian shot him a look.

“If something bad was happening, I would call you,” Jon said. “I was just in the area because my friend Leah from home is moving to an apartment in Trenton to live near her mom, so —”

“Most people just say, ‘I was in the neighborhood,’” Damian said.

“Okay, fine,” Jon said. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Damian turned to face him, frowning. “Then what’s wrong with you, Kent? You’re not normally this standoffish.”

“What?” Jon said. “I’m not — you are, and anyway, all your students are still here! I don’t wanna be like, ‘hey buddy!’ and then you have to explain why you have some random kid who doesn’t even go here showing up and being weird.”

“Did you hit your head on the flight here? I don’t explain my interpersonal interactions to my undergraduates,” Damian said.

“Oh,” Jon said, feeling slightly silly. “Right.”

“Did you truly think I cared about them?” Damian said snidely. “I haven’t gotten that soft in my old age.”

“You’re not that old,” Jon said.

“Old enough,” Damian said, haughty, and Jon said, “I’ve seen you older,” because he was never ever letting Damian live down the time he got turned into a tiny little eighty-year-old man.

Damian narrowed his eyes and gave him a look that could cut glass.

“Anyway,” Jon said, “hey buddy! I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by,” and then, while Damian was still disoriented by being super mad at him, he stepped in for hug.

Somebody dropped a whole armful of books.

“Gah!” Damian said. “This is not what I was encouraging you —”

Jon patted him on the back and let him go. “Are you done? I’m starving.”

“Of course you are,” Damian said. “Fine. Come on, the chefs at the dining hall should be preparing my dinner. They’ll make you an extra serving if we catch them early enough.”

“I can just eat normal cafeteria food, or whatever,” Jon said.

“You could eat garbage off the ground,” Damian said. “I can’t. Let’s go.”

—

NOW THERE IS A SEQUEL! Did you want that? Well, I did.

[mouseymatchmaker]

Batboys call Batmom “mom” for the first time

If I can request, can you make a Bruce Wayne x Reader, and it's about how all four boys call her mom/mother/any other mom names for the first time?

Requested by: anonymouse

Hope you enjoy this sweetie! Heaven knows I did :D These were meant to be shorter... Oops... :P I got carried away... So these are most about the scenarios when they first call batmom by a mothering name as opposed to batmom’s reaction... Hope that’s okay!

Tag list: @cattwomannn (If you want to be tagged in anything I write, just let me know, it doesn’t necessarily have to be for this fandom :D)

Dick:

Y/N clapped with the rest of the crowd as they watched the performers take a bow. She had taken Dick to see a circus performance that was taking place in Gotham. She had know that he loved being part of the circus, the familiarity of it, the family that had been made within it’s community and that he missed it dearly. Also, since Bruce had taken on Dick as his ward, the two of them had never managed to spend any time with just the two of them to build on their relationship. So, here they were. Bonding over Dick’s passionate love for acrobatics and the circus.

“Did you enjoy that Dick?” Y/N asked as they left the tent.

“Yeah! It was great! I mean, they weren’t as good as the circus I’m from but they were amazing!” Dick gushed as he walked with her. Y/N knew she couldn’t replace his mother, hell she didn’t want to. But she would be damned if she left him without a maternal figure. Y/N was content with Dick just accepting her into his life.

Dick chatted all the way to the car and for most of the journey back to the mansion, explaining every little detail and trick that the acrobats could use to their advantage. Y/N listened, enraptured by the boy’s passion. As they got closer to the house, Y/N noticed Dick’s head drooping and his voice slowing. A gentle smile made it’s way onto her face. He was still so new at being a vigilante alongside Bruce. The sleep pattern, or lack of, was taking it’s toll on him.

Once the car was parked, Y/N walked to Dick’s side of the car and gently picked him up. The boy was practically dead to the world. As she carried him through the mansion, Y/N spotted Bruce approaching them. “No patrol for him tonight” she said softly.

“No. I think not” Bruce replied, smoothing over the boys hair.

Together, they took Dick to his room, took his shoes and coat of before tucking him in. One eye opened blearily and he gave them a dopey sleepy smile.

“-ove you Mom… -ove you Dad” he murmured sleepily before rolling over. Y/N stared, stunned. Dick was just too pure for them.

Jason:

Frantic with worry, Y/N made her way down to the batcave. Jason and Batman had been on patrol and they’d had a run in with Scarecrow. Jason, in his recklessness, had taken the full brunt of a dose of Fear Toxin. It had reacted within a few minutes. Scarecrow had gotten away as Batman had to subdue Jason and get him back to the Batcave. Before Y/N had been informed, by Alfred, an antidote had been hastily made and administered. But the boy was still twisting and turning in whatever nightmare he was having.

“He’ll just have to see it through to the end Y/N” Bruce said calmly as he pulled his cowl back on. Though his voice may have been calm, Y/N saw he was furious in his eyes. With Jason and with Scarecrow. Though Jason may get a lecture on recklessness, Y/N knew that the fear toxin was punishment enough. It was Scarecrow who was going to get the punishment tonight.

“Stay safe and keep away from that goddamn toxin!” she warned Bruce before leaving the batcave. Apparently Jason was sweating the toxin out and was therefore running a high fever. They didn’t want to administer anything else into his system in case it reacted badly. So, Y/N and Alfred were on watch duty for the night. Y/N knocked on Jason’s door and stepped inside

“Go get some sleep Alfred. I’ll take over until morning” She offered as she walked over to the bed. Jason was pasty and beaded with sweat; his lips were parted and his breath was labored. Alfred agreed, taking one last worried look at the boy before leaving.

“You know where to find me Miss, if anything goes wrong”

Y/N nodded her understanding and took Alfred’s seat next to Jason. Blearily opening his eyes, Jason looked at her sadly.

“Did I do something bad mama?” He asked weakly, his lower lip wobbling as if he was about to cry. Y/N felt her heart reach out to him.

“Are they mad?” he asked again. His eye glassy, as if he wasn’t really seeing her. Shaking her head, Y/N reached out and smoothed the damp hair away from his forehead.

“No, they’re just worried about you angel… Just sleep now and get better” she cooed as she picked up a rag and dipping it in the cool bowl of water Alfred had provided. She would watch over her little boy until he was better.

Tim:

Today was a day of celebration! Tim was tying the knot! Or at least, he would be once he finally got over his nerves. He had less than half an hour until he got in the car and made his way to the venue to get married. It wasn’t like he was particularly unsure about this, he knew he loved them and wanted to be with them. It was more to do with the fact that what if he did something wrong? Forgot his vows? What if he became so nervous he forgot their name?! If he tripped and ripped their dress?

Tim groaned as he sat on his bed. He’d wanted time to himself, to breath, so he’d sent his groomsmen off to fix any minor issues that had arisen. There was no one here to calm him down or give him any words of comfort. His heart hammered against his chest. Or was that the door? It was the door!

“C-” Tim coughed “Come in” he called. The door opened and standing on the other side was Y/N. His heart lifted a little. Y/N had been a beacon of light in his life in dark times. In fact, she had been the one to help him pick out a ring, sort out the proposal and then kept his brothers away from ruining it. Above all else, Y/N had also saved his life once. Never had he see her so mad that she launched herself at a villain with a battle ax. Whilst he’d been assured the villain lived, they’d never heard from him since. He owed Y/N so much.

“Hey… The car’s going to get here soon and Dick’s demanding a photo with all the groomsmen before you go” she said softly as she walked over to him. Y/N always knew when something was wrong.

“Right. I’ll be ready to go… soon” Tim replied, his throat tight.

“What’s wrong sweetie?”

“What if I mess up? What if they leave me at the altar?! What if-” he rambled his worried to her, his hands wringing together in nerves. Eventually, a soft hand stilled his own.

“Baby… They would never do that to you. As for your vows, tell them exactly what you feel about them and your union together. You can’t go wrong if it’s from your heart. And if you do say something wrong, I can always ask Dick to be very dramatic with his own crying to cover any mistakes!” Y/N said softly to Tim, bringing him in for a hug.

“Thanks mom. You’ve always been there for me”

“And I always will be Timmy”

Damian:

Y/N twisted her hair as she sat in the car.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked as he drove.

“I… I guess I don’t know how to talk to Damian once we get back. After all, we got married and went on our honeymoon. And even though we got Damian’s blessing, I feel like something was… Left out, like he didn’t want to burden us…” she replied. Bruce hummed in thought. It couldn’t have been easy for Damian, to be left behind while his father had gone on his honeymoon. And even though Y/N and Damian got on pretty well, she was now in his life as a step-mother. Something that perhaps Damian had never anticipated.

“Well, speak to him when you get back. Just the two of you. I’m pretty sure that if he didn’t like me marrying you, he’d have made that known by now” Bruce suggested as they pulled up the driveway. Y/N knew Bruce was right; the issue wasn’t Damian not liking the marriage. It was something else.

“Welcome back Mr and Mrs Wayne” Alfred greeted as they stepped out the car. “Hi Alfred! You wouldn’t know where Damian is, do you?” Y/N asked. She wanted this sorted as soon as possible.

“I believe he’s in his room” Alfred responded, taking her coat from her.

“‘I’ll be back soon” Y/N said to Bruce. No doubt he’d go straight to the batcave and see how everything went during his absence. Y/N made her way up the stairs towards Damian’s room; once there, she knocked on the door.

“Enter” came the prompt and curt response. Y/N smiled to herself. She’d missed him.

“Hey, Damian” she said softly as she stepped into the room. The boy seemed quite surprised to see her. “Your father and I just got back” Y/N couldn’t help notice the slight wince the boy made when she spoke.

“Dami, what’s wrong?” She asked worriedly, sitting beside him on the bed. Damian looked like he was debating on telling her before shaking his head. “Dami…” she said softly as she reach over to hug him.

“Do you want me as your son?” He asked, his tone sharp as if forcing it out. Y/N looked at him surprised. So that had been what was bothering him.

“You’re already my son. And not just by law” she cut him off before he could point that out. “I love you as my son and I will treat you as my son. Whether you came from my womb or not has no impact on my love for you!” She assured him. Damian’s face crumpled a little, as if he wanted to cry, but no such thing happened. He simply nestled his head between her shoulder and neck.

“Thank you mother”