#gotham felt older and more worn than metropolis

[terriwriting]

So @captainlordauditor had this in their response to a different post and mention of Marv Wolfman has triggered me. Because I was just thinking about how serial fiction works and how if you're working with serial fiction (comic books, soap operas, movie franchises) one of the things you need to remember is DON'T BREAK THE PLAYGROUND.

Example: In the DC universe (the DC universe of your imagination, not the official DCU of whatever some executive considers canon this week) Metropolis and Gotham are both considered stand-ins for New York City. They feel different, but they're both stories about life in a big US city. This works fine as long as you don't have an actual NYC in your DC universe. Do you prefer to imagine Metropolis as New York? There are a couple of easy places to put Gotham where it's close enough to visit but not so close that you wonder why Superman doesn't take fifteen minutes to clean up Gotham's streets. Want to imagine Gotham in the place of New York? Again, you can imagine Metropolis as close by but not so close that Bruce Wayne could just drive by and kick Lex Luthor in the nuts.

DAILY PLANET ONLINE EDITION HEARTWARMING: WORLD'S ONLY BELOVED BILLIONAIRE TURNS GLOBALLY HATED ASSHOLE INTO SOPRANO

But then Marv Wolfman drops actual real NYC into the DC Official Canon, and now Metropolis and Gotham can't be New York. New York exists. You can't imagine Metropolis as New York even though the writers and artists blatantly intended it to be so (Aerial shots of Metropolis used to straight up copies of the NYC skyline minus a couple of specific buildings). It has to fit into a much more limited space. Same with Gotham. Suddenly you have two fictional cities that are supposed to have populations in the millions that need to fit somewhere around a similarly large real city. It limits the fictional universe and raises questions that don't really help the story.

It also means that Clark Kent could plausibly take an hour to drive to NYC, interview the Titans, and drive back in time for an afternoon meeting with Perry White. Why doesn't Superman fly in and beat the crap out of Deathstroke for annoying Nightwing, Supe's favourite nephew? Batman can take his plane and fly to New York in fifteen minutes. Shouldn't Wayne Enterprises have offices in Manhattan?

Throwing New York into DC didn't add anything new, or solve any story problems. Gotham and Metropolis had all the New York the stories needed. But it limited where readers could imagine their versions of Metropolis or Gotham to be. Marv Wolfman subtracted from the possibilities of the DC universe. And a lot of his writing did that, taking away possibilities that other writers could have used. Crisis On Infinite Earths was rampant vandalism of the entire playground, not just one playset.

And then there's the whole Tara Markov debacle.

[navpike]

cry out what you need to: chapter 1

“Okay, so, you know my partner, Amy Rohrbach? She died, on Sunday. And she had a daughter. She’s five years old and she had no other family and they were going to put her in the system and I just felt so--” “Dick, did you adopt the kid?” “I adopted the kid.”

Or, the one where Dick adopts a child, learns to balance parenting and superheroing, and falls in love, not necessarily in that order.

Chapter One: Rona [on ao3]

Dick has no idea what he’s doing, if he’s being honest with himself. He doesn’t know what possessed him to agreed to do this, or why he thought it was a good idea, or why he thought he is at all qualified to raise a whole child by himself.

But the important thing is that he’s done it.

And now he cannot undo it.

He’s a dad now, and dear god if that is not the most terrifying goddamn thing. Scarier than facing the Joker, or an angry Alfred, or Babs after he’s done something stupid.

But what else could he have done?

Amy Rohrbach was the best partner he’d ever had, probably the best cop Gotham PD has ever seen, and she had died because he had failed to watch her back. He had been sloppy in the field, and it was because of that that Amy had died. It was because of him that her five year old daughter was an orphan now, with no close family to look after her. So what else could he have done, besides take the kid in? He had failed to look after her mother, he wasn’t about to fail the kid too. His foster license is always up to date, in case a kid in the middle of a case needs a temporary placement for a day or two until they can be safely placed into a more permanent foster home, so it was just a matter of filing a bit of paperwork. A few signatures and a hearing with a judge, and he’s a dad.

He’s only a little bit completely out of his depth.

He gains custody of Rona Rohrbach, moves her into the penthouse, and begins to make funeral arrangements for Amy all in the same day. It feels like the day drags on forever.

He can’t imagine how it feels for Rona.

The next few days pass in a haze, and before he knows it, he’s holding Rona’s hand while they put her mother in the ground. He wonders if this is how Pop Haly felt, when he stood by and watched Dick watch his parents get buried. Dick’s chest feels tight as he watches Amy’s casket lowered into the grave, and he swipes away a few stray tears. He’s never much cared about people seeing him cry, but right now, he has to be strong for Rona. He’ll have time to really mourn later. For now, he’s got a little girl to be there for.

He holds tight to her hand as they step forward to toss white roses into the grave, and then Rona turns around and clutches at Dick’s leg. As the funeral party disperses, she starts sobbing, big fat tears that soak into his suit pants, crying hard enough that not a single sound escapes her.

Dick scoops her up, and holds her tight, and walks them both back to his car, the one he “borrowed” from the penthouse garage, because his bike is not suitable for transporting a young child. He settles her into the back seat and climbs in on the other side and just sits for a minute, letting her cry out what she needs to.

“Rona?” Dick says softly, when she finally seems to settle a bit.

She sniffles miserably, and swipes her snotty nose on the back of her hand and looks at Dick with big wet eyes. “I miss my mommy,” she says, with a trembling lower lip.

Dick’s heart clenches in his chest as he reaches out to take her hand. “I know sweetheart. I know you miss her, and I’m so sorry that you can’t see her. I miss her too. But she’ll always be here with you, right here,” he says, tapping over his own heart twice. “And I’m going to be here to look after you, since she can’t. We’ll take it one step at a time, and we’ll do it together, okay? So, first step. How about we go back home now, and I’ll make us some dinner, if you’re up for eating something?”

She nods, and sniffles again, and Dick makes a mental note to stash a box of tissues in the car from now on as he climbs into the driver’s seat and takes them home.

When they get back to the penthouse, he takes her into the room that’s been claimed as hers and helps her change from the uncomfortable dress she’d worn for the funeral into something more comfortable. He leads the way back to the living room, then, and sits her down on the couch, flipping on the TV and passing her the remote, to let her switch through channels until she settles on some kids show he’s certain she’s not paying attention to.

“How do we feel about spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, huh?” he asks, hoping to get some kind of reaction from her.

She only nods, though, and mutters a quiet, “Yes, please.”

Dick sighs and heads for the kitchen. He supposes that he can only do so much for a little girl who’s just lost her mother, but he still wishes he could be doing more. He is tracking the man who shot Amy, the only one who got away from that scene, and he is going to bring them to justice if it’s the last thing he does, but that still doesn’t feel like enough.

And then, he reminds himself that it cannot be the last thing he does. He has a child to look after now, and that has to come before anything else, because he will not leave her alone again.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he watches a pot of water waiting for it to boil.

As he watches a single bubble rise to the surface, he is hit with the most terrifying realization he’s ever had.

He hasn’t told Alfred yet.

He hasn’t told Bruce or Babs or any of his siblings, for that matter, but the more pressing thing is the fact that he hasn’t told Alfred, because Alfred is the one that scares him.

Dick spends the rest of the time he’s making dinner debating what to do about that, and almost overcooks everything he gets so distracted thinking about it. Still, he does manage to get dinner on the table without major incident. When he calls her, Rona hops off the couch and goes to the kitchen, and asks if he wants her to set the table, as though this is a routine they’ve worked on for years, even though she’s only lived with him for three days.

He dishes her out some food as she places the cutlery and napkins he’d given her out on the table, and he’s just about to hand her the plate when he remembers something that Roy had done for Lian when he’d had dinner with them once, a few months ago. Instead of handing her the plate as is, Dick takes a moment to cut everything into bite sized pieces, and places that in front of her.

As he expected she would, Rona does nothing more than pick at her food, but he doesn’t say anything about it, besides encouraging her to eat some vegetables.

“I’ve got to make a phone call after dinner, okay, kiddo? So after I clean up dinner, I’m going to do that, and then I’ll help you get ready for bed when I’m done, okay?” Rona nods, and stabs a green bean with more force than is probably necessary, dragging it through the pasta sauce on her plate. “While I’m on the phone, why don’t you pick out a book for us to read before bed? We brought a few from your house, remember?” She nods again, though she seems to perk up a little bit at that, and then they lapse into relative silence for the rest of the meal.

When Dick finally gives up on Rona eating anything more, he tells her she’s excused, and she slips away with a quiet, “Thanks for dinner.”

As he tidies up, he tries to make a plan for the immediate future.

It’s a Wednesday, and Rona’s already missed the week of school up until this point, so he figures there’s no reason to make her go for the rest of the week, so he’ll let her take Thursday and Friday off, to give her a chance to get used to the sudden change in everything. Maybe he’ll take Friday to take her out to the manor to meet Alfred and Bruce and whoever else is there. He knows Jason and Cass are in Star City working a case with Roy and Dinah, and Tim is in Metropolis running down a few leads for something else with Kon, and Damian will likely be in school on a weekday, so it’s a good time to go, so she won’t be overwhelmed. They can take Saturday, and Sunday if need be to go back to the Rohrbach’s place to pack up all of Rona’s things, and he’ll go back and pack up the rest of the house while she’s at school the next week so she doesn’t have to see her whole life put away in boxes. He’ll have everything put away in storage somewhere so Rona can decide what she wants to do with it all of it when she gets older, and have the house put on the market, and put whatever money is made off of that into a savings account for Rona for college or something.

He’s got all of next week off of work, so he’ll be able to make it work, and maybe he’ll be able to recruit Steph to help if he asks her nice and buys her a bottle of wine. Maybe he’ll offer to let her use his motorcycle too. Doesn’t seem like it’ll be getting much use, what with the kid and everything, and he’d hate to let it sit unused, and with Steph in college, she doesn’t have the income to have a car, so she’d probably appreciate it. Yeah. He’ll do that.

First things first though, he has to call Alfred and Bruce.

His heart races as the line rings.

“Hello, Master Dick, excellent timing, I’ve just finished tidying up from supper,” Alfred’s voice says on the other end of the line when the ringing stops.

Dick takes a deep breath and tries not to jitter straight out of his skin.

“Hey, Alfie, is Bruce around? I want to talk to you both.”

“Are you quite alright? You don’t sound well.” Dick can hear the concern lacing Alfred’s voice, and his footsteps as he moves through the manor.

“I’m fine, I promise, I’ve just got some big news.”

“I see,” Alfred says, and then quieter, as though he’s pulled the phone away from his face, “Master Bruce, Master Dick is on the line, he wishes to speak to us both.”

“Dick, you’re on speaker, what’s going on?” says Bruce’s voice.

Dick takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay, so, you know my partner, Amy Rohrbach?” When he hears answers to the affirmative, he continues. “She died, on Sunday. She was shot while we were out on a call, and I couldn’t… I tried, but there was nothing I could’ve done. Her funeral was today.”

“Dick, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s not it,” Dick says, before Bruce can get any further. “Rohrbach… Amy had a daughter. She’s five years old and she had no other family that could be found and they were going to put her in the system and I just felt so-- I couldn’t let that happen. And you know I already had the foster license so I just--”

“Dick, did you adopt the kid?”

“I adopted the kid.”

“I know you wanted to do good by this girl, but did you really think this through, Dick? A child is a lot of responsibility.”

Alfred clears his throat. “Pot, I invite you to meet the kettle.”

Dick stifles a laugh and Bruce grumbles something that Dick can’t make out, but that’s it. He doesn’t question the decision any further.

“How is the young miss doing, then, Master Dick?” Alfred asks.

“She’s missing her mom, but that’s only to be expected. She’s quiet and a little withdrawn, but she seems to be taking the move well at least. Small mercies, and all that.”

“You’ve brought her to your apartment? Master Dick that is hardly the best place for a child to be raised.”

“I know, I know. It was fine when I would take kids in for a night or two, but I know it’s not good for a kid. We’re at the penthouse. Temporarily at least. I was going to start looking for a better place soon.”

“Don’t bother,” Bruce says, in his strained, I-don’t-want-to-show-emotions voice. “Any granddaughter of mine only deserves the best. Stay there. I don’t want you worrying about apartment hunting on top of everything else. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

Dick heaves a sigh of relief. Holy shit is he glad Bruce just said that. Sure he would’ve been able to find a place just fine, it wouldn’t have been the tallest order. But he’s so glad that he doesn’t have to worry about that all on top of worrying about Rona and packing away his partner’s life to be stuck in a storage unit to gather dust.

God he’s going to miss Amy.

As distant as he had tried to keep himself at work, he couldn’t help but care for Amy. She was nothing but a good person, a good cop, and he knew she cared for her more than anything in the world.

He shakes his head to shake the thought. He can be sad later.

“I’m gonna keep her home from school the rest of the week, and I’ve got some time off work so she can have a chance to adjust to being here, and this weekend we’re going to go back to Amy’s place so I can let her decide what she wants to pack up and take with her. But I was hoping that on Friday we could stop by the manor? I know everyone else is out of town for a bit and I wanted to be able to introduce her to you without all of… that.”

“I know what you mean,” Bruce agrees, almost too easily. Dick coughs to cover an almost laugh. They both know their family can be overwhelming when they all get into one place. Dick knows he’s not innocent on that front either. “I’ll move some things around during the day. Bring her by for lunch.”

“That’s sounds good. Thank you, Bruce. Really. This is--Just thank you.”

“It’s not trouble at all, chum. Just do one thing for me?”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“You want to tell us what her name is?”

Dick smacks himself in the forehead. “Her name is Rona.”

[ratcourtjester]

Superbat: "Can I have my shirt back?"

(This ended a little awkwardly and I apologize)

Clark had a Smallville Crows shirt that he had gotten his Junior year of high school. Ma had made him get it three sizes up since he was still growing at the time and even back then he was never scrawny. Even so, it had hung almost down to his knees back then. Now it fit perfectly, though it was old, the bright red faded and dulled to almost pink, and there were ink stains and holes in it. Not to mention the ‘r’ in Crows had faded almost completely so from a distance it read ‘Smallville Cows’. But it was nice to sleep or relax in during those rare moments he could do either. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

He hadn’t thought too much about it when the shirt first went missing. He was in the (rather slow) process of moving his things from his tiny apartment in Metropolis to Wayne Manor (of course, he’d keep basics there for nights where he either couldn’t leave Metropolis or that Clark Kent couldn’t be seen at Wayne Manor), and thought he had packed it with his first bag of clothes. However, when he went to grab it out of the dresser he had now shared with Bruce (and if that didn’t make his heart soar), it was nowhere to be found. He had shrugged it off and slept shirtless that night, not that his lover complained. But as weeks went by and stuff really started transition from his apartment to the Manor, he started to worry he had somehow lost it or if even worse, Alfred had tossed it. Not that he thought ill of the butler, he just knew that Alfred liked things a certain way. That thought was dismissed when he saw Bruce’s ratty old blue hoodie and grey sweatpants ensemble one afternoon when the billionaire was feeling particularly dead to the world. Besides, Alfred would have asked him (like he did Bruce for what must have been the millionth time if the older man’s tone was anything to go by) if he was sure he wanted to keep it first. After a few more days of searching, Clark decided he must of dropped it somehow when he was flying clothes over and resigned to that fact that it was probably gone for good.

It was late, or rather early, almost morning,  when Clark had finally gotten home from an off World mission. J’onn had been waiting for him at the Watchtower, meaning he or Diana had made Bruce go home after his turn on deck. B never admitted to waiting for him when he was gone, but that was alright, Di or Barry were more to happy to inform Clark. He never let him know he knew. It was a dance they had done with most things in their lives, from their identities to how they had felt about each other. Of course, they always confronted it sooner or later. For now, Clark enjoyed having the upper hand.

He landed on the balcony that connected to their room. Just as quietly, he stripped out of the Superman suit and slid in bed next to his sleeping lover as carefully as possible. He was a light sleeper, especially right after patrol. Clark smiled a bit when Bruce only stirred to curl into the new heat source. Must of been a long night. After a quick scan of his body (bruised ribs and a sprained wrist), he laid his head on his arm to watch him a while. He always thought Bruce looked younger when he slept, easier to read. The dark circles around his eyes were more prominent and he could see faint whispers of scars peaking out of the collar of whatever shirt he was sleeping in, souvenirs from years of trying to clean up the streets of Gotham.

“You’re doing it again.” Bruce hummed, eyes never opening nor was there any trace of sleep in his voice. Damn heart rate control.

“Doing what?” Clark asked gently, playing with his hair in hopes to lull the other into actually sleeping. Bruce wasn’t fooled, never was.

“Staring. I can feel you doing it, Clark.” The Dark Knight grumbled, leaning slightly into the touch. “We’ve talked about that.”

“You’re own fault for being so nice to look at.” Clark teased, earning a grunt that could have been a snort. He watched as Bruce opened his eyes only to turn away to check the time before sitting up and stretching. He gawked at what he saw in the pale dawn light. “That’s where it went!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and followed his lover’s eyes to the shirt he had been sleeping in. It was a little baggy on him, the lettering lower than it should be on his chest and the worn out crow almost on his stomach, but it was unmistakably Clark’s shirt. Looking back up, Bruce smirked. “Have you been looking for this?”

“Can I have my shirt back or what?” Clark rolled his eyes, hiding a little smirk of his own. Bruce hummed in thought, moving to settled into his lap. He leaned down as if to steal a kiss, only to stop inches from his lips and murmur.

“Only if you can take it from me.”

And really, who was Clark to back down from a challenge like that?