#damian wayne whump

[swift-creates]

@chrumblr-whumblr day 6: tied to a chair

wc: 435 | warnings: kidnapped, does this technically count as torture child abuse or both, that trope where character is tied to a chair and being punched etc, blood, some swearing | characters: Damian Wayne (pov), Tim Drake

—

Damian pulled at the ropes around his wrists and wished they were handcuffs so he could dislocate his thumbs to get out of them. Or at least dodge the punch aimed at his head. But it landed, and his head snapped to the side, and he wished it even harder. 

“Not so hard to clip the little birdie’s wings, now, is it, boys?” the lead henchman jeered, and his cronies laughed uproariously as Damian glared up at them, blood dripping from his mouth down his suit. “If you wanted a Robin with wings, you should have gone after Red Robin instead. But then, none of you low-level thugs seem to have much intelligence at all.” They stopped laughing. Damian allowed himself to admit that pissing off a bunch of men much larger than himself, especially when he was tied to a chair with no backup present, had been a bad move. 

The leader bent to push his face uncomfortably close to Damian’s. “I’m gonna make you eat those words, kid. Think you’re all high and mighty and better than us, runnin' around with the Bat. Yeah” — he looked back and gestured to one of the others — “I’m gonna make you eat those words real quick.” The thug left, then came back with a hefty length of pipe and handed it to him. 

Ah. Fuck. 

“You gotta learn, birdie, that if ya mouth off like that, you ain’t gonna have a mouth soon enough.” The leader paced languorously in front of him once or twice, then pulled back, and Damian squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact of metal on flesh and bone-

There was no impact. Instead, there was the sound of blows landing, then multiple heavy thuds, and he opened his eyes to see Tim standing over the incapacitated thugs. 

“Only I get to threaten my brother, shithead,” he snarled, aiming one last kick at the leader before turning and crouching to cut Damian’s ties. “Where are you hurt?” “I am fine. A split lip does not qualify as an injury.”  “An injury’s an injury, Dami.” Tim wiped the drip of blood away with a gloved thumb, and winced just as Damian did. The ropes fell away, and he stood, feeling strangely reluctant to let go of Tim’s arm. They started to walk towards the exit.

“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you.” Tim’s voice was hushed, and he didn’t look at Damian as they stepped through the doorway. But Damian looked up at his older brother, stopped walking, and nodded. 

“I know.” 

Then Tim did turn to smile at him. 

“Good.”

[iriswords]

Febuwhump Day 22 - Can’t scream

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here   

tw: the Joker, torture (broken bones and carving something into flesh), emotional torture

Fandom: Batman

Words: 2472

Tim and Damian are caught by the Joker while on patrol. He wants to play a game neither of them will like or come out unscathed from.

--

“We’re going to play a game, birdies,” says the Joker as he paces between Robin and Red Robin.

Tim and Damian face each other, tied on chairs in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of Gotham, their suits in a poor state and their dominos ripped off. The Joker caught them earlier that night before either of them could send out a signal, and brought them to the warehouse. Damian’s head is still bleeding slightly from the head, courtesy of the blow that knocked him out, and Tim’s own head throbs from a similar wound. 

It is the first time Damian has ever been caught by the Joker, and Tim can see all over his face how scared he is, though he valiantly tries to hide it. It is not Tim’s first time, but he is equally scared. The Joker is always terrible news. He brings with him the sweet promise of cruel and sadistic torture. If no one manages to find them in time, they both know they will die, for the Joker does not willingly leave his victims alive. 

Jason would know. 

“Since I finally managed to catch two birdies at once,” continues the Joker, “I’m going to kill two birdies with one stone.” 

Tim represses a flinch at the word choice. Damian sends him a frightened glance, and Tim is suddenly reminded of how young his brother is. Despite all his training with the League, and despite the amount of pain Tim knows he has endured, Damian is still a kid. A child who should not have to deal with anyone as dangerous as the Joker. 

The Joker stops his pacing right behind Tim, fisting his hand in Tim’s hair and pulling. 

“Tell me,” he whispers in Tim’s ear, “do you care much for your brother?” Tim does not answer. “You know,” adds the Joker conversationally, as though they were old friends catching up, “I love hearing my pets scream. It is music to my ears. But I find those screams all the more delicious when they are properly ripped from their throats, when they scream because they cannot do anything else. When they try so hard not to scream but they still cannot help it.” The Joker lets go of Tim’s hair. “I’m going to start playing with you,” he says, “and if you scream, I’ll switch to your brother. He’s so young. It would really be too bad if he got hurt, birdie, wouldn’t it?” 

Tim’s blood freezes in his veins. He knows his limits. They have increased considerably in the time he spent away from Gotham searching for Bruce, but he knows the Joker will have no trouble reaching them because the Joker does not have boundaries. Tim will scream, no matter how much he will try not to. It is inevitable. 

Damian’s gaze is steady when Tim meets it, his chin set defiantly. I trust you, he seems to be saying. Tim isn’t sure he deserves it. 

A bat swings in the Joker’s grip as he places himself in front of Tim. He will start by beating Tim up until he breaks enough bones that Tim cannot escape. The only thing Tim can hope for is that all the injuries he will sustain tonight will heal without problem. 

Tim braces himself for the first blow and does not so much as grunt when the heavy bat forcefully connects with his ribs. He can feel a couple breaking under the strength of the hit, but it is nothing he hasn’t endured time and time again before. The Joker will have to do worse to make Tim break, but it is good that he starts lightly. The more time he takes to make Tim scream, the more chances there are that someone will find them before Damian can get hurt. 

The blows rain on Tim. More ribs crack and break before the Joker decides to move onto another part of Tim’s body. Tim clenches his teeth hard enough to give himself a headache when the Joker, after many targeted hits, finally breaks his left shoulder, but he does not scream. He doesn’t either when his right tibia falls victim to the Joker’s shattering blows, or when the man catches Tim’s broken shoulder with his bat. He nearly does when he hits Tim’s shoulder a third time, but all that escapes him is a choked whimper.

“You’re a tough birdie, aren’t you?” asks the Joker gleefully as he lets the bat clatter to the ground. His fingers hook beneath Tim’s chin and force him to look up. “Someone got you before I did, didn’t they? They had much fun with you, but I’ll have more.” 

The Joker slips behind Tim again and unties the thick ropes binding Tim to his chair. As his body moves away from Tim’s vision, Tim’s eyes can finally settle on Damian, whose gaze is much less steady than before. Unshed tears swim in them, and his fierce mask falters when Tim gives him a shaky smile. 

Tim hurts to see his baby brother like that, but he would hurt even more to watch him be tortured. Tim knows Damian will be brave. He just has to be, too, and save his brother the pain of being tortured. 

The rope falls from Tim’s wrists and ankles, and the Joker grabs him by the hair to yank him out of his chair. Tim falls to the ground directly onto his broken shoulder, and pain erupts in his arm. A broken scream leaves him before he can reign it in. He pants through the pain, waiting for the fog to clear. Only when the Joker cackles with delight does he realize what he has done. 

He scrambles forward as well as he can, frantically trying to catch the Joker’s ankle, as though that would change anything to what is coming, but a well-aimed kick sends him falling backward and grunting in pain. 

“No!” he yells, but the Joker doesn’t listen. He prowls towards Damian, faster than Tim’s pathetic crawl, and picks up the bat as he passes it. 

“I’ll give you matching injuries, birdie,” he announces joyfully. “This way, it’ll be poetic. I’ll write songs about the two birdies who hurt each other. But in reality, they only hurt themselves by hurting the other.” 

Damian does not meet Tim’s eyes as the Joker positions himself before him. From where he is prostrated on the floor, Tim can see the tension on his shoulder and the tremors running through his hands. Yet, Robin’s expression is fierce as ever as he waits for the Joker to start the torture.

Tim watches, helpless but festering with rage, as the Joker swings the bat at his brother. Damian does not make a sound. He does not make a sound when his shoulder breaks—the right, a mirror to Tim’s left one—or when the Joker keeps hitting the broken bone. He does not make a sound when his ribs crack some more.

But Damian does not cry out and Tim breaks slowly on the floor. 

Throughout it all, his expression stays even and Tim becomes painfully aware that torture absolutely was a part of his training in the League. He had known it already, but witnessing how long his brother can withstand torture without letting out a single sound is hammering the fact into Tim’s mind.

Tim wishes Damian would just cry out. He wishes the Joker’s attention would shift back to him. He wishes he would get tortured instead of his brother. 

It takes the Joker breaking his leg in two different places for Damian to cry out. Tim has never been happier to hear his brother’s pain manifested. As expected, the Joker turns to Tim, leaving Damian slumped on his chair, breathing heavily. A solitary tear rolls down his cheek, and Tim promises himself he will not scream until rescue comes. 

The Joker abandons the bat on the floor and takes out a knife, small but sharp, and glinting in the warehouse’s faint light. The Joker crouches down next to Tim, his head cocked to the side, and Tim would spit in his face if not for fear of the man reverting to hurting Damian. 

Abruptly, the Joker stands back up and stomps on Tim’s shoulder. He nearly screams because of the searing pain tearing through him, but he grits his teeth and lets tears manifest his pain instead. Without warning, while Tim is still trying to work through the pain, too stunned to struggle, the Joker flips him on his back. Tim’s head hits the hard ground and the room spins around him. 

Then, the Joker sits on his hips, and Tim freezes. The position is uncomfortable on his whole body and terribly painful for his broken bones. But what terrifies Tim is what the Joker is going to do. The warehouse’s cold air hits Tim’s skin when the Joker tears through his undershirt with his knife and exposes his entire back. Tim barely dares to breathe. Fear hammers against his ribcage and constricts his lungs. 

It doesn’t hurt quite as much as his bones breaking so violently did. But the knowledge that Tim is being marked makes it harder to withstand the pain. He forces himself to be brave and endure the pain without a sound, just like Damian did. When his chest heaves and his throat tightens around a suppressed cry, Tim remembers how the Joker tortured his brother, and he swallows his scream before it can leave his mouth. 

When the blade starts cutting through the skin on his back, Tim rests his head against the floor and tries to escape his mind. 

It takes him four strokes to realize the Joker is forming letters. That he is carving something onto Tim’s back. Terror comes back tenfold. His first thought is that he is going to bear the Joker’s mark for his entire life. His second is that at least it will be on his back. His third is that Damian can probably see what the Joker is writing. 

When the Joker is finished with his inscription, he starts again, retracing the letters painstakingly. It hurts more the second time and tears soak the floor under Tim’s eyes but he takes it silently. He muffles all of his pain, thinking only of Damian, even as the Joker flips him around again and his injured back and shoulder slam against the ground. 

The Joker stands above him, bloodied knife still held firmly in his hand, and observes him, calculating. Tim does not have the strength to move his head and look at Damian. The Joker moves so suddenly that Tim cannot brace for it. The knife penetrates his abdomen with a force that steals Tim’s breath away. But not his voice. For the second time this night, he cries out. It lasts longer this time. 

He cannot even protest, cannot beg as the Joker turns triumphantly to Damian. All he can do is curl up on his side, his hand pressed awkwardly against his wound. The Joker unties Damian slowly, singing merrily the whole time. The second the ropes fall to the floor, Damian acts. His elbow slams viciously against the Joker’s nose, and he stands up while the other man recoils back, a hand over his broken nose. Damian hops on one leg and bends down to take the knife that fell to the ground. It is still wet with Tim’s blood. 

Damian does not need to make use of the knife. The warehouse’s windows shatter under the impact of feet, and their family drops to the floor as one. Jason visibly flinches as he catches sight of the Joker, but he does not hesitate when he aims his gun at his murderer and puts a bullet through his skull. 

The warehouse immediately falls silent. Everyone is looking at Jason, but Jason himself is only looking at Bruce, his shoulders tense but his gaze unapologetic. 

“It needed to be done,” says Bruce softly. “He did not want to redeem. His reign of terror has ended, and I’m sorry I could not be the one who did it. I hope you will all understand.” 

Jason nods once and puts his gun back in its holster. Instantly, the vigilantes spur into motion and direct their attention to Tim and Damian. Tim passes out as Dick crouches next to him. 

 Tim wakes in a cot in the medbay, feeling surprisingly heavy. As the heavy fog of sleep slowly dissipates, he looks down at himself and finds Damian latched to his side, uncaring of the casts digging uncomfortably in Tim’s body. Tim finds he doesn’t mind either and raises a hand to card through his sleeping brother’s hair. 

“He slipped out of bed an hour after he woke up,” says Bruce quietly from the side of the bed. “We tried to take him back to his bed, even offered to put you two in the same room, but he refused.” 

Tim smiles. “Did Dick take pictures as blackmail?” 

“Plenty.” 

 When Tim wakes up again, Damian is gone. For the next week, Tim barely catches sight of his brother. He manages to corner him as he is playing with Titus in his room, ten days after they were captured by the Joker. 

“You’re avoiding me,” he says, and Damian reluctantly looks up from his dog. Immediately, his eyes fall onto Tim’s injuries, and his gaze shies away. 

“You were hurt because of me,” Damian whispers, his head hung. 

Tim sits down in front of his brother. He is keenly aware of the thick casts encasing his brother’s limbs. “I was hurt because of the Joker. So were you. Do you think you were hurt because I screamed?” 

“No! I would not ask of you to withstand torture without screaming just to spare me.”

Tim would absolutely ask this of himself. But that is beside the point. Bruce already talked with him about how none of it was his fault, and though he talked to Damian too, it seems it only worked on Tim. 

“Then why would you think I would ask this of you?” he asks Damian. 

“Because I’m supposed to be perfect. Grandfather—”

Tim scoffs. “Damian, no offense, but your grandfather is an abusive piece of shit. I would not take anything he says or expect as something to respect. In fact, I would even advise you to always try to do the contrary of what he wants. It’s a sure way to do the right thing.” 

A tiny smile plays on Damian’s lips. “So you’re not mad?” 

Tim’s heart breaks at the question, and he draws his brother into an awkward hug, their casts getting in the way. “I could never be mad at you for something like this, Damian. Not even when we didn’t get along.” 

@febuwhump

[jasmines-library]

Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad. 

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly. 

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience. 

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought. 

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency. 

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped. 

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit. 

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage. 

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it. 

“Who?” 

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond. 

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth. 

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack. 

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone. 

~

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin. 

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion. 

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped. 

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.” 

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

~

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge. 

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up. 

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.” 

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see. 

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again. 

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching. 

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail. 

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place. 

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched. 

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black. 

~

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls. 

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon. 

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city. 

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you. 

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically. 

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away. 

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself. 

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest. 

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety. 

~

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely. 

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke.  You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over. 

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke. 

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged. 

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. 

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle. 

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[dragonpyre]

Reverse Robins! Follow up to this comic where Robin!Jason meets a certain someone...

Commission info ko-fi

[nana-mizu-shiki]

Me recommending Angsty fic with funny screenshots:

"It's 4:30 AM, I have cried over 10 times, and I regret nothing."

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt 1

Edited 12/25/23 ~~ Here's Part Two ~~

Part Three Part Four

I devoured the Damian Wayne and Danny Fenton are Twins tags and had to make something of my own to add. This is my first fanfic I've decided to post. I'm much more familiar with the DP side of things but I gave it my best shot. Hope this brings joy anyway. If I decide to post this on A03 I will have it beta'd since I made this in like four parts and then wove them together so the flow may not always be there whoopps.. but for now I just wanted to share this with all you!

TW/CW: Medical experimentation and trauma, parental abuse/neglect, wound description, blood-ectoplasm and human, death (it's danny, he's the culprit lol will apply to Jason too if I add to this), body horror (to be safe), PTSD and flashbacks, childhood trauma and abuse, dehumanization

If I missed a tag/warning please let me know! I've never been an extensive tagger so i tried real hard to get everything, but I am human and could've missed something. Much love, stay safe.

~Ren

He had to keep moving. He could still hear their screams of rage ringing in his ears. Faster, he had to be faster. His blind panic had created an opportunity, a sliver of hope Danyal was determined to twist to his advantage. He was limping forward on uncertain legs. His vision swayed with the movement, and he fought to keep upright. His chest was on fire, Danny pressed his hands tightly to the wound there in a desperate attempt to keep his organs from spilling out like confetti. He kept his arms tucked close and rounded his shoulders to try and keep his torso still while he moved quickly through the empty streets of his once home. His chest was by far injured the worst, but he had paid no mind to the others. If he dared to stop, he would fully die.

Even in his human form, Danny just knows he's leaving a glowing blood trail behind him, the ectoplasm burning into the ground behind him. Whatever side of his transformation his body was currently showing it didn't matter, he was simultaneously both, always. The trail was evidence he transformed due to necessity, he became so durable after dying that it took a lot to hurt him. Danny risked a glance down and paled further. The green he spilled as Phantom mixed with red. A fucked up corrosive bread trail right to him. He was sure he truly was in deep shit. He just had to get to his go bag. Over time with his parent's inventions getting more dangerous the more Danny had to think about putting into motion The Great Escape.

Anything important he had always kept hidden, but Danny had taken everything out of his room once he had died the second time, and Danny was grateful for the convenience to be able to phase things into walls, floors, ceilings. It made his things pretty secure; no human could find it and any ghost that came through was too focused on their obsession or fighting him to go on a treasure hunt for his hidden things.

Danny's willful ignorance of his body as he stumbles farther from FentonWorks doesn’t stop the slight burn of his ectoplasm against the edges of his wounds and the tatters of his hazmat suit pulling on the scabbing blood or the smell. Ancients the smell. It’s rancid, he hasn’t been able to cycle it properly without his normal supply of fresh ectoplasm from the Zone. Only provided in small bursts when his parents wanted to see how his body healed with and without ectoplasm. He can feel the whispers of his terror, anger, grief that’s flowing through his blood.

He had been overconfident way back when he had threatened Vlad with exposing his secret. He had thought they'd love him despite having kept his halfa status from them, he hadn't been prepared for the distrust, the hatred, the way they moved farther and farther from thought out experiments to revenge. Danny knows Maddie and Jack still see him as the quiet, shaken child so desperate to be good, craving acceptance by the eccentric family that took him in when they look at him. If Danny had to guess they had been so blinded in their rage to even realized it was their machine, their failure that made him this way. Now they really did want him dead.

He’s whole somehow, despite their best effort, he just needs time. Ancients, He’s not exactly the monster they pictured, but He's not human... He’s whole.

The thought tastes bitter and Danny strangles it before it can expand. He must be focused. Taking a measured breath Danny turns down a familiar alley, he goes intangible with a slight twinge in his core, slipping into the bathroom of Nasty Burger. He’s done this so many times the familiar path brings comfort, reassurance. Like maybe things will start to turn for the better. Making his way over to the stall Danny debated whether it was worth climbing the toilet or floating up there. No, it was better to grit his teeth and bare it. There were only three containers of ectoplasm in his bag, he needed to preserve what strength he had. He would soon have no way to access the Zone for a refill.

Danny took one hand and placed it on the wall before careful stepping up. Lifting his leg had sent waves of pain across his nerves but with a grunt he leveraged himself up. His vision went black at the edges, he was dizzy, and bile clawed at the back of his throat. Danny took a few breaths, while he might not need to breathe, he’s been human longer than not, and well.. he’s only half ghost so the habit carried over to when he's Phantom. Danny was immensely grateful for his time in the League, the training was brutal, he still has nightmares about dying the first time but.. he did learn how to survive in situations that if he was truly a Fenton, would've killed him many times over. As Danny was Danyal Al Ghul Fenton, he always had back up plans. His Mother had been heavy handed with those lessons.

It was painful to think about Talia. She had been Grandfather’s favored child and the weight of his expectations of his grandsons was enforced by her. Lessons or punishment, very rarely praise was given to Danny by his Mother's hand. Each milestone was meticulously observed and reported back, doubly so for their failures. Tiny bodies with too big of weapons, green and blue eyes, a face mirroring his own but twisted in determination, competition. His older brother, his twin. They were inseparable, until they weren't.

Danny's core throbs in his chest, he wanted to shy away from the thought, yet the inconsolable part of him screams at the injustice of being the only one to escape their Grandfather. If only Danny could've proven himself, perhaps his brother would've had a chance to leave in his stead, but Danny knows just how much he was lacking in comparison to his brother, and it was their skill, or lack thereof in Danny's case, that sealed their fates. Danny was able to avoid Ra's overseeing eyes when they moved off the failure of a Spare and homed in on his true Heir. The grandson who took to their lessons like a duck in water. Deathly beautiful, Danny used to think as he watched his brother dance and fly through his training. Talia couldn't defy Ra's orders but if she just.. misplaced.. the Spare that was abandoned, well, no one has come for him yet.

Danny knows she loved him, somewhere hidden, deep inside his Grandfather's perfect pet assassin. She loved him enough to send him away when it became clear Ra’s saw no need in the Spare that was no longer needed, she had loved him when she had beaten him and left mortal wounds-their only chance to fool Grandfather, she loved him when she had given him his packed bag and left him outside that orphanage in Chicago with lazarus water raging in his veins, and she loved him when she told him to forget.

Forget about the League her and his brother, his family.

With brief tight squeeze to his small shoulder her she told him if he was in danger to find Bruce Wayne and then Talia Al Ghul was gone and Danyal-just Danyal now- was left truly on his own for the first time ever.

Danny was definitely in danger now; his situation was grave and despite everything the pun brought a small smile to his face. He couldn’t go back home to the Fenton's. He tries to forget how he froze in his surprise when he realized his parents didn’t take his reveal as Phantom as well as they had let on. They had smiled and stalled until they had found a way to contain him. By then it was too late, he had gotten too complacent in his run on a normal life.

Only after Ancients knows how long he had been resisting, pleading, screaming-I’m still Danny, it hurts mom please, I’m still me, Dad I’m alive- did Maddie find his core. Too tired to move it away from her gaze any longer and when her fingers brushed it the wave of mind-numbing terror exploded out of him. Something must've been on her gloves because his core burned. It ripped a wail from his throat while he writhed on the table. Ice responded like it never was taken from him by the anti-ghost restraints.

Danny could still distantly feel the ghostly ice that had trapped them in place and shattered his restraints under the pressure the frozen water bursting into existence. Even trapped in his ghost ice they were steadily working on getting out and would be on the hunt for him again soon. He wouldn't allow them to catch him again.

The mere idea they’d be on their way already spurred Danny back into action. Slipping his hand into the wall he grabbed the strap and pulled his bag out, careful to keep it weightless, and slid off the toilet and back down to the floor. He hasn't seen his dagger in months, it hurt too much to practice without Dami, his other half. Here it is though, innocently tied to his bag and his gaze traced it lovingly, before searching inside the biggest pocket for his first aid kit. He didn't have time for stiches, so he reaches for the butterfly bandages and starts to pull the skin together before securing it. It's really the first proper look he gets, it's... unsettling at the very least, horrifying, to see a wound reserved for autopsies on his chest.

The Y incision is inflamed and still bleeding so he carefully follows its path until he's done. Grabbing gauze, he starts to reinforce pad, wrapping a roll of bandages around to hold everything in place. Danny bites his lip and thinks for a moment, he will need stitches, he's been wounded enough in this half-life to know that. The likelihood for his work to stay in place while he flies is less than he'd like. Making a decision and with a mental shrug he takes an ectoshot from the smaller pocket and stabbed it into his thigh before pressing the depressor. Pure energy zapped through his system hard, angerly surges to settle in his chest. Feeling a bit better but more.. wired Danny takes a second to calm. Steeling himself he tries to nudge his core, it responds in a weak pulse.

Danny's body protests, he can feel his muscles shred and reform, his bones twist like taffy, his organs melt together before settling to form his ectobody. It's all over in a flash of bright light, yet the pain felt endless. Overwhelming in its intensity but gone just as quickly as it came leaving Danny sweaty and panting. Transforming injured was tricky, he had to carefully picture where the bandages were, so he didn't lose all his hard work.

Confusion settled as a fog, clinging to his thoughts, making them murky. His hands were covered in blood, his body hurt, and he couldn't quite remember why, there was a siren coming closer. Everything in him screamed to run, to escape, but his hunters were too close now, freed from his ice to kill him fully. On instinct Danny's nails grew to claws, ripping into space to create a portal. He was weak, always had been, but he was good at running, hiding away in the shadows. Ghost was once a name of his, a proud title, not just what he is now.

Just as the doors burst open in a teal and orange blur Danny dove into the swirling green and hoped Clockwork was watching so at least someone knew things had exploded here in Amity. He hasn't needed to be on his own like this since after Jazz first saw him and demanded that her parents bring Danny home with them. He misses her now as the path out of Nasty Burger closes behind him. Danny's falling, dropping towards the ground too fast for eyes to track but his impact had definitely shaken the room. With a pained whine and a flash Danny was back to being human again, his landing had pulled at whatever scab was able to form in the twentyish minutes it took him to drag himself away from the basement. Danny was going to be sick, the sticky cool liquid that had his clothes clinging to him, was going to be very alarming when he finally could give himself a proper once over. He could feel the new bruises as he tried to roll off the pallets he had crushed.

"Oh! Someone decided to drop by! " A man called out with glee as he sauntered in his direction. "Shall we see who our special guest is?" Danny could feel the rotten soul as he got closer. Too close. Forgoing moving Danny tensed in anticipation. He was hurt, yes, but he would go down fighting. He could do that much to make his brother proud, even if he never realized Danny lived to 15 not 5. Before he could uncurl to swing at the man there was the soft sound of fabric rustling and a blade being drawn. Curling tighter Danny hoped he had enough juice to go intangible.

"You will not reach your goal Joker; Do you not get sick of trying?" The voice was smooth, deeper than he remembered but it's been 10 years, it's understandable that puberty changed his brother's voice. Danny would recognize it anywhere. Danny jinxed himself, somehow. How he ended up in the same room as the brother he hadn't seen in a decade, Danny wasn't sure. He was terrified though. Where Damian was the League and their Grandfather wasn't far behind. Damian had carefully hidden away his care as a child but would shower Danny in it in the darkness of their room. After years apart and Grandfather's continued influence Danny was uncertain how much of Damian truly remained.

There was a burst of noise, of movement and a struggle then silence covered the room. Danny's hands were shaking. "Nightwing, first aid is required inside, bring the kit." His brother paused, "No, a civilian, a metahuman if his unusually colored blood is to be taken into account."

Danny could feel his brother's scrutiny, his gaze held weight as it scanned over his collapsed form, he tried to curl more but a hand brushing his shoulder had Danny screaming and scrambling away.

Damian's hands twitched at his side, an aborted motion to draw his sword. He seemed to pause then they flew up empty, placating- it didn't bring Danny any comfort.

An assassin's greatest tool was always their hands. Green eyes tracked him, narrowing at the way Danny was shrinking into the shadows. Dread swam down his spine to settle hard in his gut. Of all the ways to meet his brother again, it had to be when he was dying, for a third time. Danny reached blindly for whatever was next to him to pull himself up, his knees wobbled precariously but he would be standing for this. He had to be. Black spots were now in his vision, but he forced a smirk onto his face. Danny was sure he was a sight to see, torn clothes, skin riddled with bruises, green and red blood splattered all over like a kindergartener's messy painting of Christmas, limp dirty hair.

Danny knows Damian is assessing him, taking in what he can see in front of him to efficiently deal with it as they were trained to do. potential strengths and weaknesses. Behind both the domino mask and his calm exterior Damian is taking in a snapshot. Danny wonders what he sees, if his brother recognizes the boy he’s grown into, Danny’s core thrums wildly and he tries not to fidget. The slight frown that pulls at Damian’s mouth means he caught the aborted motion.

"Damn, green, yellow and red... You look like a traffic light!" He gets one giggle in before he chokes on it. Danny can't breathe. His brother had gone deathly still when Danny spoke. He could see the war of emotions fighting through his brother, suspicion was quickly doused with rage. "How dare she." The Arabic was an unexpected comfort, but Danny felt confusion at the words. He's severely out of practice, he thought he understood but doubt settled in. He wasn't sure.

Damian had always stood firm next to him in the League, calm, driven and decisive, the perfect heir for their Grandfather. He was always warm to Danny though, would allow traces of his true feelings to be visible when Damian would inevitably catch Danny sneaking out of his bed to stargaze. Danny would get scolded, every time. Grandfather would punish him harshly for such indulgences, he knew it. Attachments were weaknesses and Grandfather would not grow weakness in the League, in his heirs. Danny may be weak and the Spare but he was smart. He knows what the looks of distaste meant from his Grandfather. He knew how his failures would catch up to him and how Grandfather disapproved of his influence on Damian. Yet Danny kept going back, hiding in the shadows to gaze at the stars and wait for his brother to come find him.

Danny had braced for Damian to be mad when he realizes Danny didn’t truly die that day and has stayed away from his brother, but Danny couldn’t have expected this.

Pure hatred lights up in Damian’s eyes when he finally realizes what is in front of him. It's Danny’s undoing. Everything else that has happened seemed like a cakewalk compared to being rejected by the person who had always understood him most. Ghosts are the manifestation of their emotions. Frostbite had explained once how injuries can manifest in a ghost's form on their own. Emotional pain could make them unravel down to their cores, until even that disappeared.

For Danny, there was uncertainty, halfas were so rare that there wasn’t much off hand knowledge, but Danny has always known from the second he died. There was no separation between his human and ghost halves. He just was. What fancy wrapping he showed off hardly mattered. Things bleed so easily between them, Danny Fenton and Phantom.

"I'll kill her painfully for this, but you abomination it will be swift." Damian has balanced on his toes, ready for a quick burst of speed. His sword now clenched so tightly in his hands it almost shakes.

An abomination the words looped through Danny's mind. The wounded sob that came forth when he opened his mouth to reply was unexpected. Danny took halting steps back from his twin. The hitching breath brought his attention back to his chest. This wasn't how Danny had pictured this moment, all those years of stolen daydreams. His core felt wrong in his chest. He felt cold, cold and brittle but his chest was on fire-and wet. The surgical cut seeping like its minutes fresh, this was by far Danny’s worst idea, to believe to ever hope, his brother would ever keep a monster by his side Danny was a fool to hope even for a moment-hands hands reaching for him to bring him back, grabbing his arm-

“No! I don't know! No please” Danny gasps as he flails weakly “I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

Damian hesitates again, before his resolve firms, "Danyal-" His name cracks over his brother's tongue. Danny isn't aware enough to unpack the way his brother's face twists in heartbreak the longer he watches Danny bleed. A warm body comes up behind him, blocking him in, he’s crying now, a weakness that he never could smother. "No!" Danny avoids his gaze scrambling to grip onto whatever fabric is in his hands. Danny wants the moment to last but he knows what’s coming. Damian won’t protect him now. His older brother had been steadfast by his side in their childhood, but now… now maybe it was better he’s bleeding out.

Danny vaguely registered the man behind him cutting off his shirt, kit at the ready besides him. Pressure on his wound forces a long high whine from his throat. He wants to shove it away, his hand swatting at it but he missed, and it thuds uselessly on the ground. He doesn't have the energy to try again.

The shock of a hot hand against his face brings everything into abrupt focus. Danny flinches but can’t move, the body unyielding behind him. He sees the room is covered in his frost and ice. Batman and Red Robin are farther back, their feet trapped in the ghostly ice, they had things in hand to try and hack away at the ice trapping them in place.

“Danyal” The pain in his twin's voice has him turning in that direction; his brother was there. For how well they could read each other in childhood Danny had no clue what his brother was thinking now. His twice dead brother, back to only die again at his feet. “Are you destabilizing? Why were you sent here? What does Mother want?”

“What?” Danny can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, even if it hurts, it seems his ice kept his organs in place while he tumbled through his hastily made portal. He must've lost consciousness at some point though; his ice seems to have melted to leaving him fully exposed. “That bitch- She has nothing to do with this- wait. You think-” Danny laughs even harder until he can’t breathe and he’s hacking and spitting up more ectoplasm. He’s pulled more fully against the warm body behind him, his head lulls-oh it’s Nightwing, the blatant concern radiating from the man stings Danny’s eyes and a few tears scatter down his face.

“I’m not a clone Dami, I didn’t even know you weren’t with the League anymore." Danny's speech slurs more the harder he tries to piece sentences together, "I'm sorry I don't know how I ended up here.” Danny is growing quieter the longer he talks- can feel his life draining onto the floor and there’s panic in the air now, Batman had sprung up next to Damian's side. Seemed to say something to Damian before he retreated slightly. Batman was hovering ready to interfere but unsure in what actions needed to take place.

Damian is staring at him intently, looking to match his scars to the one's he remembers. He taps his fingers insistently on Danny's cheek and Danny doesn't fight looking back at him. The fingers linger against the scar hidden behind his hair next to his ear, traces the edges. Damian was the one to give it to him, a training error. He had looked at Danny similarly to how he was now. Fear, regret, panic. Words are being said, they blend together, warp, so Danny just hums in response. Everything is more distant now. Danny's own fear floating out of reach. He knows death intimately, he's not afraid to greet her a third time.

The words became frantic as he struggles to stay awake, and someone was talking again. “-ood to see you though- no tss okay no pain.. mma be cold soon-" Oh. That's Danny. The face he has ached to see for years fills his vision. The shade of green he could never replace. Danny was picked up and hustled out a door into the by Nightwing while a harsh discussion flew over his head. They were in some sort of vehicle now, the door shutting causes silence to blanket the group. His head is in Damian's lap, and it takes a second, but Danny realizes Damian is carting his fingers through his greasy hair. His other hand was holding Danny's, playing with his fingers like he did as children. Danny's vision fills with tears and spills down his face.

"Danyal? Can you hear me?" Damian calls his attention softly, his sweet, sweet brother tries to keep the concern out of his voice, off his face. Once he sees Danny focus on him a trembling smile makes its home on Damian's face. His domino mask is gone, Danny drinks in the unobscured view of his brother. "We'll be back to the Cave shortly, Alfred will attend to you, then you're going to tell me exactly how this happened so I can make sure it never does again." Danny can tell Damian is scared, the minute tremble in his petting only confirmed it. Danny let a smile tug at his lips too, "It's gonna be okay Dami" Danny slurred, he hears Damian insisting they were almost home.

Home with Damian. That was a fool's dream, just out of reach. Danny never indulged in the idea; he wouldn't put Dami in danger by reappearing. But- Danny was with him now, a twitch of his fingers against Damian's proves it. Danny went limp as the Batmobile skidded into the Cave, Damian was a silent statue watching Alfred take his brother away from him. Batman saddled up next to him- Damian should shower and change, whatever it was that changed his brother was making his skin itch- but he couldn't move. His baby brother was in there, dying, again.

"Damian, chum... what was all that?" Damian ignores his eyes itching as tears built, he clears his throat to report- reporting was vital with their nighttime activities, Father needed information to help Danny. He couldn't take his eyes of the little glowing red 'In Use' sign above the surgery door though.

Damian cuts a glance at the man next to him, more Bat than Father at the moment. "Once Danyal is stable, I will give you an explanation Father."

~~~~

I thought of a name, added it to the tags, I'll add a link to the next post if I write one, will tag future posts with 'Keeping It Close To The Chest' as well

much love

~Ren

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

That's What Family is For (Part 2)

Fandom: DC, Batman, Batfam, Damian Wayne, Batsis!reader, f!reader Summary: After being kidnapped and offering to take Damian's place to be tortured, you miraculously find yourself waking up back home. Damian has a new outlook on your relationship, but will a secret from your past ruin everything? Word Count: 5231 TW: Hospital, Aftermath of Torture, Mentions of Past Torture, Mentions of Death, Forced to Watch, Crying, Coma, Past Trauma Note: Today is the 2 year anniversary of posting Part 1 of this fic. Thank you so incredibly much for your patience and support as I worked on this and I hope it lives up to Part 1 💖 Part of @ailesswhumptober

Part 1

You have no idea how long you were asleep for, but when you finally managed to drag yourself into consciousness, you couldn’t remember why every inch of your body was in a strange state of concurrent numbness and agony, or why you couldn’t seem to see out of your left eye. It was only when you caught sight of the two casts stretching from the soles of your feet up to the top of your thighs that it all came flooding back to you. 

You and Damian had been kidnapped in an attempt to get a ransom from Bruce. To prove they meant business, the kidnappers were going to torture Damian but you had offered to take his place. What happened next was just a blur of blood and pain: The glint of a large knife. The blunt impact of a bat. But mercifully, you couldn’t remember much else. Just that it had been bad. Really bad. 

You tried to take a mental inventory of what hurt and what sort of injuries you had sustained, but there was too much damage. All the individual pain bled into each other until it just felt like one massive wound. Every breath you took made your chest, ribs, and throat ache, your head was pounding, and you couldn’t move either leg or your left arm. All you could manage was a slight turn of your head as you looked towards the door but even that small motion sent new waves of pain through you, causing a low moan to slip from your lips.

Almost instantly, Jason came rushing into the room, panic etched onto his face. Yet the second he saw you looking at him, his face split into a massive grin. The kind you couldn’t remember seeing on him since he returned from the dead. And despite everything, that sight warmed your heart.

Licking your cracked lips, you tried to speak but nothing happened. Swallowing a few times, you finally managed a barely audible, “Hey, Jaybird.” 

The words sounded funny, thick and slightly lispy but Jay’s smile only widened. He hurried to your bedside and dropped into the chair that had been left there. “Damn, sis. You look terrible.”

You knew he was trying to keep the mood light, but you could hear the tears hiding just behind his words. Giving your best attempt at a smile, you croaked, “Even like this, I bet I still look better than you.”

“Yeah, probably,” he chuckled. “That voice though…. They said it would probably be hard to speak for a few days because of the tube and–” He cut himself off, but you knew what he was going to say. Because all your screams of pain had damaged it. 

Swallowing again, you tried to make your voice sound as normal as possible. “Yeah, well, you better be careful. You keep smoking all those cigarettes, this is what you’ll sound like in a few years.”

“Even now you gotta hassle me about those?”

“If you would just quit, I wouldn’t have to get on you about the–” 

Your words were cut off as your body fell prey to a fit of coughing. It tore at your throat like daggers and your chest felt like it was shattering into pieces. It only lasted for a few seconds but when it passed, you were left panting and moaning in pain. 

When you finally managed to pull yourself together once more and looked back at Jason, his smile had completely vanished, replaced with a thin-lipped grimace. His eyes drifted over your broken body before returning to your face. “So… Honestly. How do you feel?”

“How do you think?” you wheezed. “Like someone ran over me with.. with a… wit– oh forget it. I’m in too much pain to think of something clever. I feel shitty.”

“What hurts?”

“The easier question is ‘what doesn’t hurt?’. And why can’t I open my left eye?”

“Alfred taped it closed for now. It looked pretty messed up.”

You nod slightly. “Permanent?”

“Not sure,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “They had to wait until you woke up to fully assess the damage.”

You nodded again, the dread growing in the pit of your stomach. But you have to know the answer to your next question, no matter how terrifying the answer might be. In a small voice, you ask, “How bad overall?”

Jason hesitated. “Maybe you should wait for Bruce or Alfred to–”

“How bad, Jay?”

Still avoiding your eye, he shifted in his chair before answering. “Bad. The worst of the damage is on your left side. Your arm was dislocated, your cheekbone was destroyed, you’re missing several teeth, and your eye is… well, I already mentioned that. Also, most of your ribs were pretty much shattered and the ones that weren’t are cracked. The pieces punctured your lungs in multiple places. Your legs…The knives thankfully missed all the major arteries, but Alfred said there still might be some nerve damage.”

“Is that all?” You had meant for the question to be sarcastic, but the quiver in your voice made it sound more like a desperate plea.

Jason took a long, deep breath. “It also took eight surgeries, four blood transfusions, and three resuscitations to get you stable.”

“Yeah, that feels about right.” You clenched your jaw tightly as you struggled to hold back your tears, but that just sent a fresh jolt of pain through your mouth. Using your tongue, you gently prod the three new gaps where teeth used to be. No wonder your words sounded funny. 

In a soft whisper, you asked, “I’m done, aren’t I? There’s no coming back from this, not really. Even if I can get back to a halfway normal state, I’m never going to be able to put the costume back on. No going on patrol, no more protecting the city, no more being a hero.” 

A small sob bubbled in your throat. When Bruce had taken you in all those years ago, you were a mess. Every night, you woke up screaming from nightmares—memories—of watching your parents tortured to death in front of you while you were helpless to do anything. You had felt so powerless. But then Bruce told you about his secret life. That he was the man in the mask who had rescued you from that horrible place. And he taught you how to be strong, how to be for others what he had been for you. He had given your life a purpose but now….it had been taken from you just like your parents had been. 

As the tears began to slip down your face, Jason carefully took your hand, rubbing the back with his thumb as he leaned in to stare you directly in your good eye. “Hey, don’t think that way. Bruce was able to come back from a broken back, I came back from the dead, and you… you can come back from this. It’s not gonna be easy and it’ll take a lot of hard work, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

The tears began to flow faster as you finally let the sob you had been holding back free. Squeezing Jason’s hand as tightly as you were able, you cried, “Thank you, Jay. Thank you for everything. I can’t even imagine making it through what comes next without my brothers by my side.”

Jason snatched his hand back from your grasp and pushed back in his chair, his expression growing dark as he spat, “Don’t. Don’t thank me. While you were sacrificing everything for Damian, while you were lying there dying, I was here. Too weak to help you when you needed me most.”

“Jay–”

“I wanted to be there, I did, I just…” His sharp tone crumbled into a near sob as he buried his face in his hands. “I was fine until he picked up the bat. Then it all came rushing back. All I could see was the Joker standing over me with that crowbar and…and I….” His hands muffled his cries, but you could still see the way his shoulders shook as he sobbed.

You had forgotten that they had sent a live feed of your torture to all of Wayne Industries which was probably how Bruce had located you and Damian. Jason never talked about what had happened to him all those years ago in that warehouse, but you had been waiting in the Batcave when Bruce had brought Jason’s body home. You still remembered the bruises and blunt force trauma that couldn’t have been made from the explosion. And you also recalled how the sight of your brother’s broken form sent you into a hysterical fit, not only over the loss of the boy you loved like family but also because it brought back all of the scars from your parents’ deaths. You had felt incredibly guilty later once Bruce and Alfred calmed you down that you had made Jason’s death all about you and your past traumas. But Bruce reminded you that your pain and grief was valid, whenever it hit you, and despite the circumstances, you needed to take care of yourself first or you weren’t going to be able to help anyone else.

Just like Jason needed to take care of whatever horrors he had relived before coming to help you.

It took a lot of determination and concentration, but you slowly moved your hand towards Jason. Luckily, he was sitting on your right side since that was the only arm you could move at the moment, but it still took an achingly long time to close the short distance between you.

As you lay your hand on his shoulder, his head jerked up. When he saw what you had done, his eyes—the blue magnified by the tears about to fall—grew wide. Smiling, you brushed your fingertips lightly across his cheek and said, “Jay, I understand why you didn’t come. There was nothing you could have done and you needed a chance to deal with your own pain. And I’m sorry that I was the reason you had to relive that experience.” 

Jason shook his head furiously and clutched at your hand. “No! This was not your fault! All you did was protect Damian. The only person to blame is that psychopath Moore.” His face darkened. “Bruce better be glad they threw that son of a bitch in Blackgate because if he had gotten away, nothing and no one would have stopped me from hunting him down and putting a bullet between his eyes.”

“See? You are such a loving, protective brother who would do anything for me.” His expression softened slightly. “Besides, you even just admitted. Moore is the only one to blame here. Not me, and not you. So, please, don’t beat yourself up over this. I’m still here and I need you now more than ever.” You squeezed his hand as tightly as you were able and after a moment, he returned both the squeeze and the smile. You nodded softly then changed the subject. “How is Damian handling all of this?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Jason nodded towards the other side of the room.

It took you a moment and quite a bit of pain to turn your head enough so your right eye could see where he was gesturing, but when you managed it, your smile grew wider.

Curled into a tight ball, Damian was fast asleep on the couch on the far side of the room. He looked so small and it reminded you that despite his upbringing, he was still just a kid, which made you feel better about your condition. If one of you had to be lying in this bed, you would have offered yourself up every time.

Jason chuckled softly to himself as he saw your face. “He’s barely left the room since they brought the two of you home. Bruce tried getting him to go back to school the last two days, but he flat-out refused. Said he wasn’t going anywhere until you woke up.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like Damian.”

“Well, I think his actual words were ‘Tt. Father, I cannot be bothered with those trivial lessons while my sister’s fate is still uncertain. I am needed here. Yes, I have a geography test next week, but I have traveled to more countries than my so-called teacher could even possibly name. This is more important.’”

Despite the mocking—though fairly accurate—impression Jason had made, your eyes welled up with tears once more. Damian had called you ‘sister’. It was the first time you could ever remember him doing so. No. That wasn’t true. He had said it when Bruce and Dick had shown up to save them. In fact, the echoing word was the last thing you remembered before the world had gone dark. 

Swallowing hard to clear your throat, you asked, “Um, do you think…Would he be upset if I asked you to wake him up?”

“Yo! Demon Spawn! Wake up!” Before you could stop him, Jason hurled a pillow across the room so it slammed into Damian’s sleeping form. 

The kid instantly leaped to his feet in a crouched position, ready to take on any and all attackers. But he straightened up when he saw Jason’s smug grin and your weak smile staring back at him instead. Rushing to your side, he said, “Sister! You are awake!”

You tilted your head slightly to look at him better. “So are you. Sorry for the rude wake-up. That was all Jay.”

“Hey!” Jason huffed indignantly. “You asked me to wake him up and I did! You just never said how.”

Damian glared at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Yes, Todd has been exceedingly insufferable this last week while you have been injured—”

“W-week? I’ve been out of it for a week?” You felt your blood run cold. You knew things were bad, but for some reason the thought of you laying in this bed unconscious for the past 7 days made your condition seem so much worse.

Jason and Damian exchanged a worried look. Then Jason cleared his throat and said, “Yeah…. It's been eight days since you and Damian were kidnapped. They had to keep you in a medically induced coma for the first five days while they operated. Then when they brought you out, they had to dope you up with so many pain meds that you were out of it even when you were awake. They tried to lower your dose but they had to up them again when they removed the breathing tube and you wouldn’t stop moaning…So, yeah. It’s been a week.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow as tears began to sting your eyes. Obviously, it would have taken you time to recover from that level of injury, but a week? No, actually, eight days. And that was just the start of your recovery. The amount of time, therapy, and hard work it would take you just to be able to stand again, let alone walk or fight, was dizzying to think about. Despite the fact Jason had reassured you differently, you didn’t see how you weren’t done after this. How were you supposed to bounce back?

As the tears finally became too much and began slipping down your face, you whispered, “You all should have just let me go.”

“No!” The ferocity in Damian’s voice startled you and you looked over to see his small hands curled into tight fists as his face bore a determined scowl that could rival Bruce’s. “No. You do not get to give up. Not now. Not now that the worst of it is behind you. You never once gave up while we were captured. Despite everything that sadistic fiend did to you, you fought to protect me. We would not have been in that situation if it was not for me and I will repay my debt to you by remaining by your side to ensure you get through this.”

You stared at Damian for a long time, a mix of pride, adoration, and guilt stirring in your chest. Seeing how he wanted to stand by you and help you through what came next meant the world to you. The Damian who climbed into your car eight days ago wouldn’t have done so. However, you couldn’t let him make such a vow without knowing all the facts.

Shifting your eye to look at Jason, you muttered, “Can you give us a minute alone?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and his younger brother, but finally, he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go let everyone else know you’re not only awake but coherent this time. They’ll want to see you.”  

“Thanks, Jay. I’ll have Damian let you know when we’re done.”

He nodded, shot Damian one last look, and left the room. 

Now that you were alone, you carefully motioned for Damian to take the chair Jason had been sitting in earlier and he silently did as you wished…for once. He looked so small compared to the memory of Jason’s hulking form sitting there just moments before and tears once more stung your eyes as it hit you all over again how young he was to have experienced what the two of you just went through. You hadn’t planned on having this conversation until you were a little better, but he deserved to know the truth and not continue blaming himself for what happened. 

Taking a deep breath, you said, “It’s not your fault, Dami. He was never after you. You were only there because of me.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no proof of that. As you said in that warehouse, I am Father’s blood heir. If anyone was the target, it would have been me.”

You shook your head. “It was my car, Damian. The car I insisted you get in even though you didn’t want to. If I would’ve just let you walk home like you wanted–”

“They could have been monitoring me and adjusted their plans when I joined you in your vehicle. You still cannot be confident–”

“I know Moore.”

Damian blinked in surprise. “Yo–you what?”

You nodded sadly. “I know him. I didn’t realize it at first because it was so long ago and I’ve tried so hard to forget that day, but it was him. After I had passed out from Moore’s torture, they unhooked me from the chains and just let me drop to the floor. The pain of the landing woke me up for just a minute and I tried to beg them to put me back up because I knew otherwise they’d be coming for you, but I was in so much pain I could barely form a sentence. Moore saw I was awake and came to stand over me with that nauseatingly cocky look on his face.” 

You shuttered at the memory of it and knew it was an image that would haunt your nightmares for years to come. But you pressed on. “Then he said, ‘For what it’s worth, you should be proud. You died a lot more honorably than your parents did.’ And that’s when I remembered.”

Tears slipped from your eyes as you allowed all the walls and safeguards you had built up over the years to finally come down and you recalled the night your life changed forever. “It’s been so long and he was just a kid, no older than Tim. But then again, I was even younger.” Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Damian. “How much do you know about my life before Bruce took me in?”

Damian shrugged one shoulder. “Just what I said in the car. Your parents were tortured to death by a gang who left you tied up with their bodies until the police found you. Then when he heard what happened and that you had no one left, Father took you in.”

You nodded and wiped a tear from your eye. “My parents owned a little shop near Crime Alley at the time. It was a hole-in-the-wall thrift store that barely made enough to put food on the table but my parents loved that place. It was their pride and joy so when the local gang came by to demand protection money, they refused. They didn’t want their place associated with gangsters. Which of course the gang didn’t like. We lived in a small apartment above it and one night, the gang broke in while we were sleeping. I was only six at the time and I didn’t understand what was happening. I just knew some bad people dragged us out of bed and into the basement where they tied us all up to chairs. I was sitting between my parents as they begged and pleaded for our lives, but even then I still didn’t understand. Not until one of the men pulled out a knife.”

A humorless chuckle fell softly from your lips. “I guess in hindsight, I should have remembered Moore sooner. The way he tortured and hurt me was very similar to what the gang did to my parents. Just small cuts that got deeper and deeper. Small weapons that got more and more damaging until….” 

A small hiccupy sob slipped from your lips as everything came flooding back to you. Your father screaming in pain as the gang broke bone after bone and cut off his fingers one by one. Your mother hysterically sobbing as she begged them to let you all go. The way those pleas eventually shifted to just begging them to let you go. And then the eerie silence that fell across the room after your mother had taken her last breath. 

Damian took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It is alright, sister. You do not have to continue.”

You shot him an appreciative smile but shook your head. “No. It’s okay.” Taking several deep breaths to compose yourself, you continued. “There was one gang member who stayed huddled in the corner, refusing to watch as the rest of the gang had their fun.”

“Moore.”

You nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time, but yeah. He had started by anxiously pacing around at the back of the room but once things turned really violent….he couldn’t take it. He tried to run back upstairs but the gang forced him to stay and watch. Said he needed to learn how things were done. And after the other day, I’d say he learned his lesson pretty well.”

“And you are certain it was him?”

“Absolutely. I stared at him through most of it, partly because I couldn’t stand to watch what they were doing to my parents, but also partly because I could tell he was just as horrified as I was and yet he did nothing to stop it. I wanted to scream at him to help us, to do something, but I also was too afraid to speak up. And when they were done and the gang members left, he was the last one out of the room. He looked at me as if he wanted to apologize or set me free or…I don’t know. But instead, he just turned and ran up the stairs. The next time I saw him was when he walked into that room we were both chained up in.” You scoffed as you felt a lump growing in your throat. “I guess we picked up right where we left off, huh?”

The physical damage that had been done to you was hard enough to bear, but now realizing the connection your tormentor had to your past made you want to vomit. Moore may not have laid a finger on you back then, but he had been there to witness the worst day of your life. His friends had been the ones who did the same thing to your parents—only your parents hadn’t been lucky enough to survive. You wondered how long Moore had been planning this, how long he had wanted to finish the job that had been started all those years ago. Perhaps it was some sort of decades-long revenge plot since your parents’ deaths had eventually led to the arrest of most of the other gang members and the collapse of his gang. Or it was possible he just wanted to blackmail Bruce as he said and he thought using you to do it was just a bonus. Jason said Moore had been taken to Blackgate so once you were better, you could go try to get some answers. But at the moment, you weren’t sure if you even wanted them.

You had been so deep in thought that you only just realized that Damian had been silently staring down at your interlocked hands for the past few minutes. His expression was nigh-on unreadable and you were once again reminded of Bruce. Given enough time, support, and guidance, you could see him growing into a man worthy to carry on his father’s legacy. You just hoped he would want you to be around to see it. 

You wouldn’t blame Damian if his attitude towards you reverted back to how it was before all of this happened. After all, he was put through hell because of you. He had warmed up to you solely because you had offered yourself up to be tortured instead of him—yet he never should have been there in the first place. Maybe this would actually make your relationship worse. Maybe Damian would cut you off completely. Maybe—

“Sister, I cannot imagine how hard this realization must have been for you and I…I am sorry.”

His voice cut through your internal spiraling and you blinked in surprise. “Wh-what?” With all the scenarios you had swirling around in your head, hearing Damian apologize had never even crossed your mind. “But Dami you’re not…mad?” 

Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Why would I be mad?”

“I’m the reason you were there. I thought once you knew the whole story and realized that, you would hate me for getting you dragged into everything. Or at least–” you dropped your gaze down to the bed “–at least I thought you’d go back to not really liking me.”

“Oh…” The small boy shifted in his chair. “I can understand why you may have come to that conclusion but knowing your history with Moore does not change how I feel about what you did for me. You saved me long before you remembered who he was or your connection to him. And even that still does not prove you were the one he was after, not me. I am the youngest and, as such, am perceived to be the most vulnerable and incapable of protecting myself—Tt, though in reality, it is Drake who fits that description.” 

You smiled as you shook your head. Tim would disagree with that statement, but Damian’s point was still valid. To those who did not know of his past upbringing or training, it would be easy to dismiss him as a young, spoiled, entitled brat who never had to lift a finger his entire life. But they couldn’t be farther from the truth. Despite being a kid, Damian had already experienced more than 90% of people would in their lifetime. Hell, when he was the same age you were when you watched your parents die, he had already been training for years with the League of Assassins. Moore had just gotten lucky when he grabbed the two of you: if Damian hadn’t woken up hurt and already chained up, he probably could have incapacitated every one of your kidnappers. 

Damian continued. “Regardless of who the target was, it does not change the fact you volunteered yourself in my place when they wanted to take me. And despite the pain you were in, you tried to hold on as long as possible so I would not be forced to take your place. How could any other detail matter except my sister loves me enough to die for me?”

The lump in your throat got bigger until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You managed to nod your head quickly and repeatedly as you choked out, “I would. Because I do. I do love you, Damian.” He stared down at the floor, shifting once more in his chair as his fist tightened around yours. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. You knew how hard it was for him but you could see he wanted to say it and that was enough. So, squeezing his hand back, you whispered, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.”

His shoulders dropped with visible relief and he gave you a small, grateful smile. Then, in a tiny voice, he muttered, “But I do though.”

It was the final straw. Tears began flowing down your cheeks as a small cry burst from behind your lips. There was a sharp pain in your chest as you disturbed your injuries, but it seemed unimportant at the moment. You tried to control yourself as much as possible, knowing emotions and displays of affection bothered Damian, but it was all too overwhelming. For so long you had tried to get him to at least tolerate you, but this? This was more than you ever dared to hope for. 

Damian sat quietly as you took a moment to compose yourself. Despite the added pain you incurred from your crying, you couldn’t remember feeling this happy in a while…..or this worn out. Now that you had cleared the air with Damian and everything was better than expected, you realized how much you had been struggling to stay awake. 

Another wave of exhaustion hit you and it took almost everything you had to murmur, “I know Jay said everyone was waiting to see me but I think….I think I need to rest for a bit. Could you ask them to wait until I take a small nap?”

He nodded. “Of course, sister. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Dami.”

You expected him to leave but instead, he squeezed your hand hard and looked you dead in the eye. “I mean it. Whatever you need. You will heal and things will return to normal. And I will be by your side for all of it.”

You smiled up at him, fighting to keep your eyes open. “Thank you, Dami.” 

He laid your hand gently back on the bed before standing from his chair and walking to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at you one last time, nodded, and then disappeared.

With no reason left to hold on, you let yourself collapse back into the bed as you gave into the darkness that was dancing on the edge of your vision. 

And as you felt yourself being pulled under to unconsciousness once more, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything that had happened and the long road to recovery that lay before you, you had a father and four brothers who loved you and would be by your side through all of it. Because at the end of the day, that’s what family is for. And you were so thankful to have found this family. 

Taglist: @zebralover, @itzagothamcitysiren, @roses-and-ricex, @blackpearl2324, @po55um, @missborntodiex, @hypnobanditprofessorhorse-blog, @an-ever-angry-bi, @rukia-uchiha-98, @shipsforlif3, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @hyding-out-here, @555hikaii, @nik2blog, @thefictionalcharacterssimp, @venomsvl, @sugarysweetsandpainfulteeth, @your-friendly-neighborhood-al, @hellfire-fan-club

[uniasus]

fic rec! 5K DC x DP fic, featuring whump for Danny

Summary: Damian goes investigating a government compound, and finds a familiar face strapped to a table.

Comments: Damian and Danny are twins in this fic, but I love how their reunion isn't loving. Danny doesn't really expect Damian to help him, and Danny doesn't have much interest in rekindling their brotherhood, just getting out. To that end, it's Damian who takes all the small steps. Helping him to escape, making sure he's not left behind, respecting Danny's boundaries. It's a gruff reunion between two hardened boys, but it feels all the more real because of it.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun

Contento warning: violencia and blood and mild cannibalismo

Distant search horns shook Danny's ear fins, but he kept his eyes on the sun over the horizon, where mountain peeks emerged. He had to move quickly. Danny thrust forth with all his fins and gripped the still, small body in his arms. Stupid rich kids and their stupid ignorance about Amity Island. Danny cut through the water, and didn't bother to slow down upon reaching the shore. Crashing and tumbling through the sand, Danny recovered in seconds, and sat up in his arms. The kid's shirt gave way to Danny's claws, and he pressed his palms upon the kid's chest, and pumped like his life depended on it.

This innocent kid's life did.

He, Sam and Tucker had trained for hours on mannequins and real people out in the field, but who knows how long Damian had been underwater, how long he had been calling for help. Salty seawater gurgled out of the kid's mouth, but no more movement was to be found. Danny pressed his lips upon Damian's and exhaled. He pressed down on Damian's chest with just enough strength to avoid cracking every rib. Kiss of life. Press. Press. Kiss of life.

Most people would've been woken up by now. The crashing waves and wind over the lifeless body roared like a death toll. Six months as Phantom, dozens of attacks, and Danny was able to save everyone, everyone. He had to.

His arms, trained and honed from hundreds of hours in the water, burned as if stabbed by hot knives. His body was beginning to dry off, pearlescent white scales fading into pink skin. Glasslike flesh filling and hiding away internal organs and bones. Fins receding into bone. Tail snapping into and bones resetting. A human teenage boy kneeled over a child, tears rolling down his eyes. Why wasn't it working?

A rib cracked thunderous, and Danny hesitated for a brief second, but Damian stirred not. Danny continued. He could barely see his own arms, couldn't tell if the rhythm was even right. Despite arms growing wearier and wearier, strained and more strained. How could he ever look anyone in the face again, knowing Damian was right here, right now, and yet-

crack, another rib broke. He had to keep going. So many people were counting on him, even if they didn't know it. From Sam's parent's gossip, this kid apparently had a dozen and a half siblings, and a father who'd already lost his own parents.

Danny collapsed on the sand, naked and shivering. His fingertips felt numb. His toes felt numb. His body felt numb and his heart felt like it was harpooned and his brain was erratically screaming into the walls of his skull. There was no denying, no more.

Even if- Even if he could magically restart Damian's heart, and get his lungs pumping again, there was no human on earth who would not suffer irrevocable brain damage. The kid would be a vegetable for his entire life.

Not like it matters.

Danny wrenched a sob. He grabbed a handful of sand and throw it into the ocean. He slammed his fit into a rock and didn't even care when it came back bloody.

How could he return to Amity now? And tell Bruce Wayne to his face what he let happen.

Danny fell to the sand, numb again. It was his death, his drowning. He vowed it would be the last one, the last in Amity, and now...

And now...

Danny shot up. He leaned over Damian's corpse. Lightning fired off in his mind, and new anxiety gripped him, but above all, hope.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Danny dipped his hand into a tide pool, letting scales and webbing over take it. He opened his claws, and and sank them into damian's arm. Blood seeped out and coated the white scales. Twisting the claws he carved out a chunk of human flesh, and brought it to his mouth. Danny swallowed it in one gulp.

Next, he brought the claws to his own shoulders. In as swift a motion and much shriller a pained scream, strings of fresh siren meat were produced.

"Please forgive me." Danny prayed, to whatever unfeeling god was listening. He opened Damian's move, and shoved the bloody strips down the hatch.

The effect was instantaneous. Danny had to work quickly. Painful memories tied up in a cave resurface. The urge to push them down was ignored; now they had to be studied. He tore off the remainder of Damian's clothing, and carried him closer to the water line. Green scales emerged from Damian's belly like blades unearthed from a long-forgotten battle. Danny sank his claws into the gaps of Damian's ribs and tore long gashes in them. The scales climbed up Damian's chest. Danny rolled the child's body on its side as they swept over his back. Bones cracked and snapped and broke, as spikes pushed out from underneath his spinal column, slimy thin webbing already connecting them.

Beneath, Damian's toes elongated as if stretched by a black hole. Bones shattered into dust underneath, all to be more malleable for the final product. The skin wasn't much better off either. As it stretched to its paper-thin limits and tore, more and more scales came forth to cover the damage.

Danny felt green in the gills. He couldn't bear the strain of those memories, and erupted with bile, hunched over. He couldn't bare to spectate as Damian twisted and bended like putty anymore. He'd already failed and violated the kid enough.

Danny dived into the water. The least he could do was make sure he didn't wake up hungry.

[bardicious]

The cute Damian + familial bits of DC vs Vampires: Hunters, you're welcome.

[glitch-in-space]

DP x DC Prompt #1 - Super Strength Theory

New theory behind Danny’s super strength: ghosts don’t actually have real ‘super strength’, not like you would traditionally think, but rather, the limiters the brain puts in place to stop a human’s muscles from tearing their own body apart go away with death. So, ghosts only have a small amount of strength boost, the rest is just the average human body without limits. Danny, in his human form, can only use his ghost strength thanks to his healing factor repairing the damage as he goes.

Unfortunately for Danny, this does mean using his full strength in his human form causes excruciating pain and deep bruising that lingers for days after the fact. Something he only finds out when he stops a runaway bus from hitting the youngest Wayne...

[forgotten-daydreamer]

I think I might be able to post two prompts tonight if my brain decides to snap out of it and stop throbbing (I gotta study first but I should be done by 7 pm tops so in like 3 hrs). So yeah check out the first eight days of Batfam Febuwhump 2024 while I go do that, and don't be shy, my inbox is always open (anon too) so if you have questions / suggestions / anything regarding my fics don't hesitate!!

Edit: not only I'm going to post two of them in the next few hours (I'm still writing), but one of them (day 9!) is way longer than any other work in the series. Don't get used to it though!!

Edit 2: I promised you, didn't I? Over 4k words! Of! Pure! Angst! Ft Good Sis Babs! Good Dad Bruce! Pit Mad Jason! Trauma! Check out Batfam Febuwhump day nine (alt.): found footage on AO3, yaaaaay!!

[iriswords]

Febuwhump day 2 - Flinching

You can also read this on ao3 and read the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: torture and injuries, ptsd, nightmares, mentions of past child abuse

Fandom : Batman

Words: 3588

Damian is held captive and tortured by a villain for several days. After his family rescues him, he thinks himself okay. But he is left with scars deeper than he thought and tries to deal with the aftermath on his own, too scared to admit his trauma to his family.

Damian stops taunting his captor after the third day. By then, he is already sporting multiple injuries, and any energy for witty retorts has been sapped out of him. Something rattles in his chest when he coughs or inhales too quickly, blood slowly trickles from at least four different and important wounds, his face is a mottled mess of bruises, and his torso is littered with electricity and cigarette burns.

Damian doesn’t scream. He whimpers and curses himself for it, but he does not scream. He likes to think Mother would be proud if she could see him now. It has been six years since he left Nanda Parbat at the age of ten, but he hasn’t forgotten the hard-earned and hard-learned lessons of the League.

On the first day, the man stabs him and he laughs. On the second, he electrocutes him and Damian psychoanalyzes him, his words true, and sharp as knives. On the third, his captor continues the torture and Damian simply stares at the ceiling, wondering what is taking his family so long.

He has long since overcome any doubt about their love. They will come if they can, he knows that much. If they haven’t yet, it is because something is keeping them from saving him. His captor is smarter than Damian had first esteemed, it seems, or else he would not be able to hide from the Bats for three entire days.

On the evening of the third day, a rat peeks from a hole in the grubby cell Damian was put in. Damian watches it, slumped against the wall in a position Mother definitely would not be proud of. When the animal gets too close, Damian scares it away by snapping the chains that attach him to the wall by the wrists. He loves animals, but the prospect of getting bitten by a rat isn’t alluring.

The next morning, his captor wakes him by swinging a crowbar at his ribs. Damian recoils back instinctively and slams his head against the wall. He bites down a howl of pain as white flashes before his eyes. He doesn’t resist when the man detaches the chains from the heavy manacles encircling his wrists, his skull still throbbing and his blood pulsing painfully in his temples.

The man, a villain Damian had never so much as heard of before this whole ordeal, drags Damian to the room he holds his torture sessions in and lets him collapse on the blood-stained chair. Damian doesn’t know what the villain wants from him. He hasn’t asked him a single question since he ambushed and captured Robin, and hasn’t boasted about a ransom or a vengeance either.

Damian hates it. He hates not knowing when this will all end and why it started in the first place. It is harder to take torture when he doesn’t even know why he’s being tortured. Were it an interrogation, he could focus on not giving away a single piece of information. Were it vengeance, or ransom, he’d know the man had planned an end to it all, even if the Bats would cut it short. But in this scenario, he doesn’t know. There is no end in sight, nothing at all except the hope that his family will find him before irreversible damage is done to him.

Today, the man doesn’t introduce any new torture methods. He reopens the cuts on Damian’s body, traces new ones, and makes sure to douse them in alcohol, so he can keep torturing Damian under the guise of making sure nothing gets infected (even if the disinfection is ruined by the filthy excuse of a cell he keeps Damian in). He smokes, watching Damian with an intense gaze that has him fearing for a more intimate and perverse kind of torture, and then presses the butt of his cigarettes to Damian’s torso as his hands trail along it.

He taunts Damian, tries to coax a sound out of him, and punches him when it doesn’t work. Then, he brings out the material for electrocution and laughs as Damian spasms and whimpers. Damian’s body is covered in sweat, blood, and grime, tear tracks clear on his cheeks. He pants when the man stops, his whole body pounding with excruciating pain.

At the end of the day, when the man reaches out for his shoulder to pull him up, Damian flinches away so violently that he nearly topples off the chair. The man laughs, again, a rattling laugh that grates Damian’s ears. It is nowhere near the Joker’s laugh. There is none of that trademark (and fake, Damian is pretty sure) manic edge to it, only dark, dangerous enjoyment of others’ suffering.  Sadism at its finest.

The man is still laughing when the room’s door is kicked open. He stops abruptly, his expression terrifyingly still as he turns around and comes face to face with none other than the Red Hood. A very angry Red Hood. Fury distorts the villain’s face, and he lunges for Damian. He seizes Damian by the hair and yanks him out of his chair, bringing up his hands around Damian’s neck and compressing it. A gunshot resounds in the room and Damian’s captor’s eyes widen before he collapses against Damian with a strangled cry of pain, taking him to the ground. Damian hits his already-sore head, and his vision whitens out.

When he comes to, the injured villain has been pushed off him and is handcuffed in a corner of the room, bleeding profusely from a bad-looking leg wound. Batman is crouched down next to Damian, his hand carding through his son’s hair as he assesses Damian’s wounds. Nightwing and Red Robin are by his sides, tending to Damian’s more urgent wounds, and the Red Hood is hovering behind Batman’s shoulder, his helmet off and his expression pinched with a degree of worry he doesn’t usually show.

Damian leans into his father’s comforting hand and lets his eyes slip back shut.

Damian wakes up in the Cave’s med bay, tired and disoriented. Even dimmed, the lights hurt his head, and the tiniest of movements send jolts of pain through his body. Richard is slumped in a chair next to the bed, fast asleep despite the uncomfortable angle of his neck. Drake is typing away on his computer, his feet propped up against the bed, dark bags under his eyes. No one else is in the room.

“Drake,” calls Damian as loudly as he can muster with his parched throat. Timothy startles and nearly lets his laptop crash to the ground, catching it at the last second. Damian chuckles and instantly regrets it. He closes his eyes against the burst of pain radiating from his ribs. When he opens them again, Timothy is standing next to the bed and watching him with soft eyes, a glass of water in his hands.

“How are you feeling?” asks his brother as he hands him the glass and helps him sit up.

Damian shrugs. The water brings some relief to his dry throat. He wonders if the man’s strangulation lasted long enough to leave bruises.

“You’ll make a full recovery,” continues Timothy. “It will take at least a couple of months, but we all know how stubborn you are.”

Damian closes his eyes again. At least two months without Robin. The League wouldn’t have accepted it. But Father has taught him injuries are not a sign of weakness, and neither is taking the necessary time to let them heal.

Damian opens his eyes again just as Timothy leans towards him, his hand open and outstretched. And Damian knows his brother would never hurt him, that he cares and their days of feud—during which Damian was the most aggressive of the two, to be frank—are over, but in this instant, all he sees is a hand flying towards him. He reacts instinctively and recoils back, bringing his hands up to protect his face. He would have toppled off the bed had Timothy not reacted quickly and grabbed him by the leg. In the movement, the glass, first fallen on the bed, crashes to the ground.

Richard jumps awake, instantly alert. Bruce and Jason burst into the room not even a second later, eyes wide with panic and prepared to fend off any attacker. Damian lets himself rest against his propped-up pillow, his heart hammering at his chest. He shouldn’t have reacted like this. At worst, he should have tried to defend himself and attack Timothy, like Mother and Grandfather would have wanted, not cower back. At best, he wouldn’t have been scared at all. His cheeks burn with shame. He hopes it will pass as exertion from moving so much when he is injured.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Dami,” Timothy whispers kindly.

“What happened?” asks Father, his voice taut. His eyes roam over Damian’s body, and Damian knows he is checking for further injuries.

“I scared Damian with a too-quick movement,” explains Timothy sheepishly. Tension leaves everyone’s shoulders but Damian’s, who waits, panting, for their disapproval at his reaction. He tenses up further when Father stops next to him and places a hand in his hair.

“Rest, Damian,” says Father. “You’re safe, now.”

Physically, Damian recovers. It’s a slow process, full of setbacks and frustration, but he does heal. Mentally, though… He cannot stand touch. He tenses up every time a hand comes to rest on his shoulder, flinches away from too-sudden touches, stops breathing when Father tangles his fingers in his hair to card them through it. All these, he had no problem with before.

His family doesn’t notice. Damian makes sure they don’t. He keeps his flinches as subtle as possible, hides his tension under scowls and anger. He brushes away their concerns and avoids their company as much as he can without arising suspicion. But he is not okay.

Every hand on his shoulder reminds him of his captor’s tight grip as he tortured Damian. A touch to his hair, a hand caught into knots, and Damian is thrown back to the rescue, to when the villain caught him and strangled him. He relives each and every blow he’s been dealt each time someone so much as waves a hand in his direction.

He isn’t breathing right, these days, his breath so often caught in his throat, his lungs battling with panic. His pulse beats a constant, frantic rhythm into his temples, and Damian finds himself more skittish than he has ever been. His body is tense as a live wire when he’s in the company of other people, but he will jump at the slightest of sounds when he’s alone, his hands flying to the ghost of a  weapon, one he hasn’t carried in the Manor in years.

He’s glad his brothers don’t live in the Manor anymore, is glad that Father is so busy with work and cases lately, because he knows he wouldn’t be able to hide otherwise. He screams awake at night, and there is no one to hear him, Alfred in his room on the first floor, Father either in the Cave or still in patrol. He goes down for breakfast at appropriate hours of the morning and ducks his head in an attempt to hide how dark the bruises under his eyes have gotten. He busies himself with art, and schoolwork, and just about anything, so Alfred and Father won’t get suspicious, so they’ll think him well and won’t check on him too much.

But, if he had been lost in thought, he still flinches when Alfred puts a plate in front of him; he still tenses, expecting a blow, when Father puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it before going down to the Cave to get ready for patrol. He scowls at his brothers when they are home, and avoids Richard’s hugs, and bickers with Timothy more harshly than he has in years, and glares at Jason.

He could explain his ordeal to them, he supposes, but fear paralyzes him each time he thinks about doing so. Some of the League’s lessons never went away, and even now, at sixteen, after six years of living with Father, he cannot bring himself to show any weakness. He has shown enough by letting himself get captured, he can’t afford to show any more. He can’t admit to his family that he is scared of them. They’ll either use this against him, like Grandfather always has, or will be devastated that he doesn’t trust them enough to know better than think they’ll hurt him.

He hides it, thinking time will wane the memories away. But time passes and only hones the memories, makes them sharper, more dangerous. Damian wakes up sobbing, phantom manacles around his wrists, his body spasming with imaginary electricity and burning with wounds long healed. Someone will bark out a laugh, and Damian will be back in that dreadful room.

One night, he wakes up with a scream, sobbing in a way Grandfather would have him whipped for. The door bursts open two seconds later, and Damian doesn’t see his brothers, doesn’t see the frantic worry on their faces. He only sees a silhouette, and throws himself off the bed, backing into a corner. His breathing is too shallow and he is still sobbing, and he knows he is pathetic, knows he was taught better, that this is only torture and he can withstand it, but he still cowers when his captor kneels in front of him and keens when the man touches his shoulder.

The hand withdraws, replaced by a soft voice. Eventually, Damian’s brothers coax him out of his panic. He longs to latch onto them, to hide until he feels safe again, but he doesn’t dare to show more weakness than he already has. But Father is standing behind them, face pinched with concern, and Damian lets himself be taken to his father’s room, where they all spend the rest of the night.

Damian doesn’t understand. His mind has become a treacherous thing, one that plays over and over again the events of those wretched days, one that makes him fear even the most tender of touches. He does not understand why he reacts in such a dramatic way. He is Damian Wayne, son of Talia al-Ghul and Bruce Wayne, heir of the League of Assassins and the Batman mantle. He should know better, should be better. He was trained better.

He has endured torture before, has been taken captive for longer than those miserable four days, and in worse conditions. Grandfather hurt him until he was begging for mercy, babbling unintelligible things and sobbing his heart out from the pain. Grandfather hurt him until he learned to take it silently, obediently. Yet, he only rarely has nightmares about his time in the League.

He does not understand, how a low-life villain such as the one who captured him could have such a lasting effect on his mind and his body’s memory. Grandfather would be furious if it came to his knowledge. Damian shudders as he imagines the punishment he would undergo. Images of clones of himself torturing him flash before his mind, and he pushes them away with great difficulty.

He has let himself forget his training, has let himself grow soft. For an assassin, it is a grave error. But no matter how much he trains, nothing remedies his affliction. The only thing that would cure him would be going back to the League, but it is out of the question. His family would not let him, and he does not want to return to that place.

But Damian can only hide from his family for so long, and the inevitable happens.

Everyone—and by everyone, Damian means every single one of Bruce’s children—has already taken place around the dinner table by the time Damian comes down from his room. It is a rare occasion, for them to all eat together before patrol, but today they have managed this small feat. Damian ignores the pang of dread in his chest at the idea of being surrounded by so many people. All of them, in his fear-addled mind, will potentially hurt him.

He stays on edge for the entirety of dinner, scarcely speaking, and keeping an eye on all the people surrounding him. If anyone notices it, no one comments on his strange behavior. Once dinner is finished, they all help Alfred clear the table. Damian is in the kitchen, handing the plates to Alfred, when Jason walks up from behind Damian. Damian turns at the same moment, and suddenly all he registers is the hand about to smack him. He flinches back violently, his back hitting the kitchen counter and making something fall from it. It crashes on the ground, its noise deafening. Damian stares at Jason, eyes wide and heart pounding furiously. He realizes then, belatedly, that Jason was never going to smack him. He was only reaching for something in the cupboard behind Damian’s head.

Everyone in the kitchen and the dining room has stopped. Damian can feel their eyes on him. The scrutiny is too much. They can all see the way his chest heaves with shallow breaths, the way his hands shake with unrestricted fear. They can all see, he is certain, all the feelings he has tried compressing for weeks.

He does the only thing he can think of. He flees.

They call after him, but he doesn’t slow down. He climbs the stairs faster than he remembers ever climbing them, takes turns so sharp he nearly slips and cracks his head open on the ground several times, but he does not slow down once. He arrives, eventually, in the attic, a dusty room where no one ever goes. He is pretty certain most of his family doesn’t even know the Manor has an attic.

He curls up in a corner, knees pressed to his chest, and waits. Waits for the screams, the thumping of feet on the floor. Or maybe they won’t look for him at all. Maybe they have finally realized how weak he is, and they will be glad he has fled so they won’t have to throw him out.

It is the screams and not the silence that comes. He hears them call for him, distantly, over the hammering of his blood in his temples. He tightens his arms around his knees and presses his face to them.

The yells don’t stop. They have not gone to patrol, he figures. They must be very angry, to miss patrol altogether, to focus on finding him rather than protecting the city they all love so much.

The door of the attic opens, and Damian stops breathing. He does not dare to raise his head and see who found him. The heavy footsteps walking towards him are Father’s. Damian would have preferred if it had been someone else who had found him. It would have delayed the punishment.

Father stops in front of him. Damian braces. For what, he does not know. Father has made it clear years ago he would never hurt him.

“Damian,” calls Father softly. Damian wonders if the softness of his voice is a trap, or if he really can trust the man.

Damian raises his head but does not meet his father’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says before Father can add anything.

“What for?”

Damian forces himself to meet his father’s gaze. Grandfather always hated it when he acted cowardly, and though Damian knows Father is more lenient at his worst than Grandfather has ever been at his best, he still does not want to risk angering him further. “For flinching away,” he says, his voice quivering with remembered fear despite his best attempts at taming it.

Father’s eyes darken with sorrow. “Oh, Damian, I could never be angry at you for flinching.”

The words are enough to break the dam of Damian’s emotions. All the fear and tension from the past weeks ooze out of him, materialized by tears. Father pulls him into his arms. He realizes, distantly, how far he has come. Just a few years back, he could never have allowed himself to cry, even in front of his father. It is still a rare thing, but now when Grandfather’s voice nags at him, lips curled into a snarl in his mind’s eye, he pushes him away.

Stumbling over his words, Damian explains to his father how shaken his capture has left him.

“It’s alright,” whispers Father, his face pressed into Damian’s hair. “Trauma is a normal reaction. None of us will hold it against you, I promise. I know I don’t say it often, but I love you all so much. I only ever want what is best for you.”

A couple of days later, Damian’s captor, initially serving his sentence in Blackgate, is found dead in Gotham. The report Gordon sends indicates the man suffered quite a bit before dying. Damian sleeps a little better at night from then on, knowing the man won’t hurt him again.

And if Bruce’s face doesn’t pinch the way it usually does when he reads about murders Jason committed, no one comments on it.

But Damian notices how the slight apprehension in his brother’s gaze vanishes, how he stands a little straighter, how his smiles to Bruce are a little more beaming. He stands at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Cave and observes his family. He thinks he will be okay.

@febuwhump

[jasmines-library]

Hii! Sorry idk if your okay with this, if your not, feel free to ignore! <3

So I was wondering if you could do youngest batsib reader, who’s not really part of the family yet? Okay so, they’re a criminal like catwoman, they only steal from people who deserve it and just kind of a troublemaker around Gotham. They have electricity powers. They’re parents died at a young age and they ran away from the orphanage because they didn’t want to get adopted. They’re actually really smart, and know a lot of martial arts to help them get by. Anywaysss, I was wondering if during a place they were trying to rob, blow up for some reason. And it lead to them being knocked out and injured. Someone from the batfamily came across them and instead of turning them into the police, they take them to the batcave and patch em ip before putting them in a cell. They wake up and the batfam interrogates them, they find out they’re a kid and knows their secret identity (because he’s really smart) and after a bit, Bruce offers to take them in, and train them to be a vigilante. Reader is reluctant and doesn’t really trust them but they’re getting really tired of sleeping on the streets so they reluctantly says yes.

My Way Home Is Through You

Note: This was fun to write, thanks for the request anon!

Warnings: Minor undescribed injury, theft, none really, fluffy found family fic.

Word count: 1.7k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

You slunk along the sidewalks, clinging tightly to the walls as though a small child might do to their mother in a crowd of people. Hiding away in the shadows was nothing new to you, you had been a nobody for years. Constantly running, never settling in one place for too long before you were slinking off again and finding a new corner of Gotham to call your home for a few miserable days before the cycle started again. At first you had tried to cling onto the last shreds of your parents that you had left. You hung onto your name but soon that began to get you into trouble when the orphanages kept trying to pursue you and ‘bring you to a new and loving family’, so it was back to being just another face in the crowd. Just another ordinary kid trying to navigate their way through a big city.

Except…you were more than that. In your time alone you had discovered you had quite a knack for stealth. It started off when the nights became too cold and the growling in your stomach was so overbearing that it drowned out all other senses. You were still small, which you used strongly to your advantage, weaving in and out of the sea of faces before slipping small pieces of food under the hem of your raggedy sleeve that was far too long for you and dangled below your fingers. After that it soon became easy enough to steal other things. Just enough to get by. A ring here, a gold watch there. Small items from the cruel and the unworthy that you could pawn off for a little extra cash. 

There was something else about you though that helped out just a little bit. It was one of the reasons that you had spent so long trying to hide away. See, when you were young you discovered that there was something different about you. When you focused hard enough, you could feel the electricity channelling through your veins and sizzling at your fingertips. You learnt to manipulate it, to bend it to your will and it quickly became very useful when picking locks. You used it to fry them seamlessly before sneaking in and if worse came to worse, you could stun the police when they came thundering after you shouting profanities and threats and they ran, never to catch you with your nimbleness. They had tried to set the vigilantes on you more than once and you knew very well that their eyes were always on you, following your every move just waiting for the perfect moment to strike because you had seen them. Sometimes in the uniform. Sometimes not. As much as they tried to be they were much less subtle than they thought. 

When you reached the complex it was dark. All of the lamp posts nearby had flickered sporadically before burning out completely, so you hopped up the steps blindly before crouching down in front of the locks. You then outstretched your hand and took a deep breath, letting your body relax to feel the current dance in your veins and settle on your fingertips. You then directed the current towards the lock watching as it fried before swinging open. You darted in pushing it shut behind you and then set to work around the house. It was small and shabby with mould growing in some of the corners by the windows. It crawled up the walls, a darkened stain that emitted a putrid smell when you got a little too close. The floorboards cracked and groaned as you moved around the plot, weaving in and out of the furniture that had been strewn across the room. It was clear that someone had left in a hurry. You were shuffling around the unmade bed, reaching for the safe when you heard it. 

Tick. Tick. Ticktick. tickticktick.  

The sound was daunting, getting faster and faster as you scrambled to find the source, overturning chairs and throwing them to the floor as though they were nothing then tearing up floorboards. It was too late when you found it ticking away impendingly. The timer blinked by quickly as it neared zero and you were neft with no choice but to try and get as much distance between you and the weapon. The meagre metres you had out between yourself and the bomb hardly made any difference at all as it ignited flinging you across the room. Wood splintered around you as the concrete cracked and crumbled in heaps which you skidded to a halt on. You felt like you were going to hurl as your head thudded against the debris with a sickening crack that made your vision swam before all of the colours merged into one and you knew nothing more but a dark and heavy silence. 

~~~

“Move it! Go!” 

Nightwing shoved his little brother rather harshly in the shoulder to urge him forwards. Word had just reached them that a small house on the outskirts of the city had suddenly exploded and the number of casualties was currently unknown. Dick always seemed to get a sudden adrenaline rush whenever an emergency came in and not matter how fast he moved he always felt as though he could never get there fast enough even if he was hurtling through the city at an alarming speed. 

He had to swallow back his alarm when they skidded to a halt at the scene. There was nothing really left of the building besides a few odd shaped pillars of concrete and pipes that were strong enough to survive the blast. The rest of the building was a dismal load of ash and dust that rose in ribbons as the wind lifted up the pieces that were small enough and carried them away into a cloud of sky.

Nightwing pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered and ducked under the police tape despite their protests. His heart nearly stopped when he inched his way around what used to be a bed but was now a cluster of broken timber buried under a pile of rubble because he spotted your figure sprawled out across the floor. He skidded to the ground and began to pull the pieces of clutter away from you, grimacing at the sight of the blood that came away on his fingers.

Red Hood dropped down beside him just as Dick Grayson brushed some of the dust from your face and sudden recognition washed over him.

“Hood.” He said over his shoulder. “I think you better call B.”

~~~

Your head felt like it was going to explode when you woke up and there was a stabbing pain in your side but when you moved your hand to slide the hem of your stop up you were cut short by a metal handcuff securing you to the wall next to the bed you had been placed in. Shuffling around awkwardly you managed to push yourself up into a sitting position to gauge your surroundings better. The cell you were in although small was rather well lit and surprisingly homely. Too bad you had no intention in staying. You had planned to use your powers to fry the handcuff, but when you tried to summon the electricity you were left high and dry when nothing happened. 

“That’s not going to work.” A figure you hadn’t noticed in the corner of the room told you when you began to try again. 

Frowning at him, he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Power suppressing cuffs.”

Rolling your eyes you slumped defeatedly. You should have figured as much. 

“What were you doing in there?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you from behind his infamous cowl. 

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think it is, kid.”

You turned your gaze away from him and picked at the skin around your thumb. “It’s not that I wanted to be in there. It’s what I had to do.”

The vigilante stepped forwards and took a seat next to you. “Go on.”

“I needed the money. I can’t go to anyone so I have no choice but to find my own way around problems. I was gonna pawn the jewellery off. And besides it’s not like the guy owned it in the first place. He was the one that stole it from the jewellers last week.”

“How’d you know that?” Batman frowned. That information had only been revealed recently.

“I get around a lot.”

He pursed his lips. “What else do you know?”

You could have grinned like the cheshire cat right there and then as you began to list things you had learnt. 

“I know that you still haven’t caught that guy who escaped from Arkham last month. I know that you’ve all been watching me. Oh and I know that you are Bruce Wayne.”

The man faltered. “What? How?”

“You’re less subtle than you think.”

“Or maybe you’re smarter than you think. What d’you say your name is kid?”

“I didn’t.”

He sighed, watching you in silence until you eventually gave him your name. 

“You’re something, Kid. I’ll give you that much.”

“Thank you…?”

“How would you like to stay? We would train you to become a vigilante like us.” The question was so sudden that it made your head spin.

“I can’t ask that of you.” You told him. It was more of an excuse really. You weren’t sure if you could trust him or not.”

“You’re not. I’m offering. A warm place to stay, a family to care for you.”

A smile twinged at the corner of your lips. That was something you had longed for for so long but had never seen that it had slipped to the back of your mind forgotten. 

“So, what do you say, Y/N?”

“I think I would like that.”

[dragonpyre]

Something something I'll take the pain so he doesn't have to

(Gift for @roodborstjes)