#he hopes Damian forgives him for not guiding him though

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

[finallyaniguana]

Watch The Eyes: The Gotham City Airport [9]

[8]     masterpost     ao3     [10]

EDIT: so as it turns out there is not an extra day between Friday and Saturday. Its been so long since I wrote this chapter that i completely forgot to keep track of the days of the week so im bumping the schedule back a day (so the plane landed Sunday instead of Monday)

It had been a tense two weeks since Damian had spoken to Dick about what happened in the batcave. If the situation wasn't so serious, Damian would have laughed at his reaction.

"Wait, so you're telling me I was sparring with your soulmate?"

Damian nodded grimly.

"Dude... no hesitation. She kicked my ass."

He furrowed his eyebrows. 'Wait... she won? She can fight?'

"No, seriously. Whoever she is, she is fully prepared to deal with our family. Didn't even ask what was going on. You gotta let me know when you find her. I want a rematch."

While Dick was questioning his entire life, Damian was devising ways to attempt to find his soulmate. He was fairly certain she was in France by the language and time stamp, which he conveniently forgot to mention to Dick or anyone else for that matter. He also knew that she has friends named Alya and Nino. It wasn't alot to go on considering he had no idea where in France to start looking.

Alya was not a terribly common name, but being so young it was unlikely the girl had any press or accomplishments he would be able to search for. Since he didn't know her last name, he couldn't research her until he found his soulmate.

He hadn't been able to catch the name of the school. Maybe because the girl, Alya, was dragging him too fast. Or maybe it was leftover resistance to having a bond like this. But it would spell trouble for his entire family if she came to Gotham looking for Nightwing. He had no idea what her character was like. She could be totally reckless. Better to find her first.

He started a campaign of research, sparing none of his free time. But his isolation was leading him into weariness. He was usually fairly introverted, meaning he got his energy by spending time alone, but something was pushing him to spend time with others. So, to keep up his spirits and energy, he went outside the manor for his training. Kor'i was very excited to see him back, the rest of the Titans surprised. He didn't tell them about her, though. He wanted to keep that quiet.

He also went out of his way to spend more time with Jon, who was ecstatic that Damian had decided to find her.

"What made you change your mind?" Jon asked.

Damian sat in silence for a moment. His shoulders drooped and he exhaled.

"I don't know. It feels right , I suppose."

That was a good enough answer for Jon.

Despite not expecting any success, Damian searched up 'Alya France' on his computer. The only thing that came up was a site called 'The Ladyblog' which looked like a fansite about a superhero he'd never heard of. He scrolled through it for a bit before stopping on a video from about two years prior. He clicked it.

"Don't blink now, we're live from Paris. Yo peeps! Alya here bringing you the one and only Ladyblog. *gasp* What is that? Ladybug in action! Hang on, we're going for a ride."

The video continued to play in the background of Damian's mind. It could not be this easy. That was most definitely the girl he saw through his soulmate's perspective. He had absolutely no idea what the girl was talking about though. Ladybug? Chat Noir? Surely if this was real he would have heard about it. No, it must be some sort of fiction project or something similar.

She lived in Paris. Next he had to figure out what school this girl went to so he could figure out his soulmate's name. The textbook in Alya's hand being his biggest lead to the school.

From there... he would make his final decision. They would meet sometime in the coming year, but he didn't have to reveal himself since it was unlikely she would have figured out Nightwing's secret identity by then. Even Tim, undoubtedly the greatest detective of all the Robins, would have taken far longer to figure it out had he not seen Dick perform at Haley's a those years ago.

His mother would have told him to avoid the girl like the plague. Not even consider looking for her. She would only drag him down, add to the list of things that could be used against him. Make him go soft.

But his father? His brothers? They would say go for it. Even Batman, the ultimate loner, recognized the need to have connection. Thus starting his adopting spree that they are yet to be convinced has ended.

He'd trace that book to her school. Trace that book to her class. Trace that book to her. Unknowingly following a similar route to the Ladyblogger in front of him.

Tim sat in his office looking over the itinerary for the class that was visiting. Wayne Enterprises was sponsoring the entire trip.

• Dick was picking up the class from the airport and getting them to the hotel Sunday. Transportation had been secured for the whole trip.

• Dick was also to lead the tour of the building the first day, Monday. At least the public parts.

• Gotham High was accepting them the next few days Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, so the trip remained educational.

• A visit to the Gardens the next day, Saturday, a tour guide arranged.

• Back to Gotham High the next week, Monday through Friday. Tour of the Gotham museum of art Saturday.

• Gotham High again.

• Charity gala the last Saturday with a mention to the class president who wrote the winning essay. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He squinted at the name. There was something familiar about it.

'Pain is French for bread? That's got to be it,' he thought. He brushed it off. He had other work to accomplish.

Dick was to be meeting this class at the airport. As the tour guide, he was opening himself up to be the face of their entire trip. He would be accompanying them on all of their trips since Tim had work and Damian was in school (although some of the students were likely to end up in Damian's class). He wasn't sure if anyone would recognize him as Bruce Wayne's first son. To be quite frank, he was hoping they wouldn't. They were French so there was a good chance.

Dick was also on edge after having a discussion with Damian. He wholeheartedly supported him finding his soulmate. He seemed so desperate, bit in a quiet kind of way, even though for years he's been saying he wanted nothing to do with her, whoever she is.

He had been acting strange for two weeks. Rambling on. Cautious where he used to be fearless. Less like the grandson of the demon and more like... well a kid. An anxious kid. It was refreshing, even if he knew it was most likely Damain's soulmates personality peeking through Damian's cracked veneer. He was also becoming more social which absolutely floored B when his son brought Jon home to hang out or when he actually volunteered to train in the Tower with the Titans. It was strange. But a good strange.

The kids pouring out of the luggage claim looked absolutely exhausted. A seven hour flight would do that to you. Despite that, Dick noticed the group had two focal points between which students bounced back and fourth. An taller Italian girl and a much shorter girl with black hair to her shoulder blades.

He had a sign that said François Dupont which he flipped up, the kids pooling into the center of the area. All the kids looked around awkwardly. The small girl with the black hair noticed him first. She turned to to the redheaded teacher he hadn't noticed before. Caline Bustier he remembered. When Caline looked towards him, she ushered the kids in his direction, smiling at the girl who pointed him out.

All the teens flocked around him. The teacher smiled and extended her hand. He shook it.

"Alright! Francois Dupont, yes? Forgive me if my French is a little bit shakey. I haven't had too many occasions to speak it. My name is Richard. On behalf of Wayne Enterprises I welcome your class to Gotham!"

The kids all looked at each other with excitement.

"Now, if you'll all follow me. There is a bus waiting to take you to your hotel," Dick said brightly.

He beckoned them outside where a Coach bus was waiting. The luggage underneath, they were all ready to go.

"One more thing!" Dick announced.

They all looked at him. He held up a small digital camera.

"To prove to Mr. Wayne you all arrived safely. And for the contest webpage if that's alright with you."

He let Mlle. Bustier arrange the children so they could all be seen, she and Dick standing at either side of the group. The coach driver took the picture. The camera automatically downloaded all photos to his cell phone, so he was immediately able to send the picture to Bruce. That picture was from there sent to Tim who uploaded it to the contest webpage with the caption "The winning class!"

They all filed onto the bus. The Italian girl seemed to have priority over everyone else, or at least that's how several of her classmates treated her. She went on first. Not before subtly knocking shoulders with the small girl. It didn't seem friendly.

Since he had no details, there was little he could do unless whatever the situation was escalated under his watch. He decided to keep an eye on those two, just in case.

The teacher took roll once more. Satisfied that they had everyone, the bus started moving. After about forty five minutes, the bus rolled into the hotel parking lot. Dick stood first and went into the hotel.

He collected the room keys from the front desk while Mlle. Bustier handled getting everyone and everything off the coach.

He came back outside, passing off the thick envelope of key cards to the teacher, smiling brightly. She thanked him with her best English. Richard's face lit up in surprise.

"Oh!" he said. "I was unaware you spoke English."

Her expression grew slightly pained.

"Very little," she admitted. In French she continued, voice low. "Although our class president speaks it fluently and at least one of my other students has claimed to speak English quite well."

The word claimed was not lost on him. He chose not to address it at that time though. It was good to know that Miss. Dupain-Cheng spoke English, since she would be the one honored at the gala. He nodded to himself. Turning to the class he made an announcement.

"Names and room numbers are on the keys. Each of you should have one and may have them as a little keepsake at the end of your stay. As long as your teacher approves, I would have no issue with trading, and as long as everyone is okay with it."

A murmur passed along the small crowd. He nodded and turned back to the teacher. He pulled their itinerary out of his bag and passed it to her.

"I will be meeting you here at 8:30 am sharp. Everything you need should be on this paper including my personal cell phone if there is an emergency. On behalf of Bruce Wayne and his company, I again welcome you to Gotham."

When Dick finally arrived home, it was after Gotham High had let out. Meaning Damian was already home. He had been on edge for two weeks after his soul switching. Of course that spread to everyone in the house. Their identities would have to be comprised for this. But to see Damian happy... it might be worth it.

They had all discussed it and decided that Damian would find her and do some research, get to know her in costume, then decide if she could be trusted. Damian continued to give some weak protest over having a soulmate, but everyone could tell it was forced. He really seemed to want this.

'Speak of the devil,' he thought as Damian appeared in the hall.

"Grayson."

"Baby Bird," he returned his brother's attempt at a greeting.

Damian squinted at him.

"You're home quite early," he stated.

"Yes, I just got back from the hotel. I was picking up the class that B's sponsoring. Remember the contest?" he asked.

Damian's eyes widened with knowing.

"Oh, I was unaware that they would be arriving so soon," he said.

Dick raised an eyebrow.

"You gotta pay attention, pal."

His expression soured.

"I've been a little busy, Grayson.

The older of the two stood there, considering that defense. Under the circumstances of the last two weeks, he would cut him some slack.

"Well, some of them are going to be in your class starting Tuesday," Dick informed him.

"Some of them?"

"Well, it would kind of be a lot to add all those kids to one class. So, the class is being split up into groups of two or three and sitting in on the different classes in your grade," he explained.

Damian nodded thoughtfully before his face lit up with panic.

"I FORGOT I WAS SUPPOSED TO CALL JON ABOUT OUR GROUP PROJECT."

He turned and ran up the stairs.

Alfred emerged from a room to his right.

"Master Dick. You're back. Where did Master Damian run off to?" the butler asked.

Dick stared up the stairs where his brother had run. Dick had started to expect this odd behavior that Tim had claimed was being channeled from Damian's soulmate. He shrugged. Another time then.

For the quote from the Ladyblog I used the English version of Pharoh, so if the translation isn't quite what you're expecting, that's probably why. Also the mention to Tim seeing Dick at the circus was a reference to Knightfall. Takes place pretty close after Death in the Family. Tim is high up on my list of favs so I just wanted to throw some praise for him in here so... yay Tim!!

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed :)

taglist: (CLOSED)

@vixen-uchiha @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @violatiger8 @mochinek0 @constancetruggle @yamadochie @seraphichana @captainmac6 @nataladriana9 @iggy-of-fans @riarkle-felinettelove @luciferge @mystery-5-5 @mellownieice @northernbluetongue @imanerddealwith @ayuchan07 @poshplumcot @annabellabrookes @legendaryneckjudgestudent @chez-pezeater @friedchickening @da-tasuky @crazylittlemunchkin @g-arya @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @witchbitch1998 @theatreandcomicfreak @lysslovsanime @zalladane @tbehartoo @goggles-mcgee @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @melicmusicmagic @reichi-vogart

[kawaiijellymonster]

So I’ve got a note in my notes app called “Fanfic lines that should be in a hall of fame” and it’s gotten pretty long so I figure I’ll toss it on here so yall can enjoy it, most of them are: mha, zukka, miraculous ladybug, harry potter, and I think one is from a comment on a hannibal amv, But here you go:

Stain sold papers because he just had an aura about him that drew people in, like people who slow down to look at car crashes.

“The Rumor Come Out: Does Todoroki Shoto is Gay?”

Izuku spent the next week going to his normal martial arts classes, studying, and drinking gallons of coffee. Not healthy but he could deal with it. His body was never meant to be permanent.

So no one was watching when Mei placed her forehead against his, breath fanning across his face as she spoke. "Wake up Loki… the world needs you."

“No probs ‘lil listener!” Hizashi said, striking a dramatic pose. “I’ll be your DJ all through the night, bringin’ you such rockin’ hits as safety, security and sweet dreams!”

“This is stupid! Screw the waiting and screw these stupid butterflies. They're not paying rent, the little shits--”

Experimenting with unstable genetic mutant abominations is more of an art than a science, really."

Several looks pass across both their faces. “No flying for a month,” Sirius declares. That sucks, actually. But he’s also a hundred percent certain he can get them to cave on that in two weeks tops. “Okay. Is that for the breaking into the Ministry, destroying the Department of Mysteries, making a bargain with Voldemort, or bringing all my friends with me?” “It’s for recklessly endangering your own life again,” Remus says, “and while the punishment very much doesn’t fit the crime, we’re a bit at a loss for what else to do.” “It wasn’t reckless!” he protests. “We had a plan and everything, and we even brought an adult! An adult Order member! Also what else were we supposed to do, let Snape die?” Sirius takes a deep breath, but Remus steps on his foot before he can put it in his mouth. “Which is why you’re only getting flying privileges taken away and not thrown in a cell in Azkaban for our sanity and your safety.” As if any cell could hold him. “I accept your terms.”

“Who’s Theophania?” Sirius asks. Harry hesitates. Perhaps bringing her up was his smartest decision, strategically speaking. “If I tell you you’re not allowed to throw me in Azkaban. Or ground me.” “This isn’t a negotiation,” Sirius repeats. If Blaise has taught him anything, it’s that everything is a negotiation. “She’s a friend.” “And?” Sirius repeats. Remus suddenly grabs onto Sirius’s shoulder, “Wait. Petrifying - during your second year - is Theophania - she’s not the basilisk.” “No, they killed it,” Sirius says automatically. Harry remains silent. “Harry!” He rubs his nose. “It turns out I’m not that good at killing things. Unkilling things, however? My specialty.”

“It’s okay,” Nanaia says, “you don’t know. What do you do when you don’t know something?” “Try something you do know and hope it doesn’t make everything worse?” For some reason, Horace looks sad at that answer, and Dumbledore shifts from one foot to the other. “No,” she says, “you ask for help.” Oh.

“It’ll piss off your son,” he answers bluntly. “Fuck that kid,” Riddle Sr. says

“You played me!” “Like a cheap kazoo”

Batman sighed, before speaking in a voice that was so unlike his usual growl that most of the other League members almost fell out of their chairs. Diana and Clark seemed to be used to it. “Damian,” he started. His voice was still deep, but a regular-deep, instead of I-just-swallowed-six-buckets-of-gravel deep.

“She loved James too,” she assures, and the confidence she says that with allows him to breathe, like someone has let go of his lungs. “It is possible to love more than one person at the same time. She loved your father with the type of love that’s – that was like a shooting star, burning and bright and touching everyone around them. Her love for Severus was different, and in the end it wasn’t the type of love either of them could handle.”

You’re better at it now then many people are after leaving a full apprenticeship, and you’ve only had a year of lessons a couple of times a week instead of years of intensive study. Do you know why that is?” “Luck?” he offers weakly. For some reason, he doesn’t like the direction this is going in. “No,” she says. “To be good at healing, the way you are, the way I am, you need a certain combination of things. Intelligence, power, control, but more than that. Stubbornness, a tricky balance of flexibility and inflexibility, and a constant, brutal assessment over your own skills. And something else.” “A propensity towards poor life choices?” he suggests. Poppy shakes her head, not taking the bait. “No. You have to care. You have to care about everyone, even people you dislike, and you have to care so much that if feels like it’s killing you, you have to care and that care has to hurt, until the only thing that hurts worse than caring is not caring. To be good at this, you have to let it hurt you.”

“You two shouldn’t have bothered dressing formally for Albus, he’s a bitch.” Harry doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, but he’s loving it.  

“It was on the syllabus,” Zuko whispered conspiratorially to his mother. Sokka gasped. “You know I don’t read those!” “This is your own fault then.” “I like to be surprised. The procrastination keeps me humble.”

sometimes you remind me of the stars youre gorgeous and happy and can always brighten me on the darkest days and even when youre dampened you can guide me home

“imagine you are the only person who loves to play chess more than anything but nobody else in the world has ever heard about chess. and then you see a person holding a chessboard. it’s like your whole world was reborn”

"I wanted to be a stripper in middle school," Izuku said. Yup, that's a good cover.

What you’re asking for isn’t fair or right. You can’t ask a person for more than they’re willing to give

In Mei’s words, “You have about five minutes of ‘fuck that one thing in particular.’ Make them count.”

“Mei, let me introduce your new best friend. This is Momo. She has a Quirk that lets her make anything as long as she knows its composition inside and out. All you have to do is buy her dinner,“ Izuku said,

The cameras were looped. The bots were hacked. It was a good day to be a villain.

“None. The alarm never left the building.” “Really? Why is that?” “Mei finished first and decided to do you a favor. However, you've got the fire alarm just starting to go off and that's on a different circuit. Take a fast way down.” “Understood,” Hitoshi drawled. A moment later he was looking back at the crew. “Ladies and Frenchman. We take the express.”

Quinn is talking like that actually answers his question when it really, really doesn’t. “If you don’t start making sense, I’ll cry.”

“You’re one of my best students,” ze says. “You should understand the importance of timing. Speaking of, you’re late for your next class.”

Fuck, he totally is. “Thank you for that very confusing answer. I’ll think of you while crying myself to sleep.”

He’d wondered if that was what bravery was, to be quiet even when you were hurting so much you wanted to scream.

maybe bravery was also running screaming at the thing that nearly killed you, to keep it from killing someone else.

“Apologies are not difficult. Good apologies revolve around three basic points. One, I acknowledge what I did was wrong. Two, I regret that you were harmed. Three, this is how I plan to make sure it does not happen again. That’s all. Apologies are easy.” Then she’d glanced at them all again, evaluating. “And if you become very, very good at your job... they will be the absolute hardest thing you ever do.”

“Even though we’re a bunch of migraine-inducing hellions who are smart enough to know when something is a bad idea and stupid enough to still do it?”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.” Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, right now.”

"Oh, my knight in shining armour. What would I do without you?" the teen droned, placing a dramatic hand on her head. 

"I think you mean 'knight in shining leather', M'Lady. And without me, you would be left alone in this kingdom of lies.”

"It's a kingdom, alright. It'll topple sooner or later." "That's the spirit!" Adrien laughed.

Here’s something that a harbinger of tragedy would never find the courage to admit: there are moments in between the bitter self-hatred and the visceral, tangible consequences of your sins in which you almost think you’re worthy of forgiveness; of second chances; of a life beyond your greatest regrets. It’s a unique brand of pain,

“Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Midoriya may be strong as hell, but that just means looking out for him has to be a team effort.

How would his new adoring fans react if they knew he raised a villain? He's no All-Might. His pillar's made of toothpicks, and it's not gonna take much to crack it.”

Tensei approaches Rei, “Okay, this plan is childish, unprofessional, and a discourtesy to this school's reputation. That being said, when do we nail the little twat?

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

It’s dangerous to be a bad father when you have life insurance

[iwritethat]

Older Batsis: Birds

Request: More badass older Batsis~

A/n: When your bros find out you have a secret tattoo, but asking your scary sis about it takes guts.

>>>>—————————>

Having you as their older sibling could be... difficult. They knew you respected them and at least acknowledged them as your family members of sorts, despite the fact you refused to work with them. Ever.

They assumed you got your independent attitude from Bruce Wayne, your vigilante father figure, except when you sternly told the Justice League or anyone else for that matter that “I work alone.” they immediately believed you. Batman just didn’t have that lone wolf aesthetic with his deadly following of birds and batgirls.

Dick was probably the only one who remembered the warm heart underneath the frosty scales of your armour, you didn’t team up with them nor did you really stick in one place for a lengthy duration of time so when you rocked up to the Batcave with an arm slung over Wally’s shoulders they instantly paled.

.

“Hey Dick, pretty bird here flew from the nest and isn’t in the best of shape.” The speedster briefed your family, although you were balancing on the verge of semiconsciousness you pushed away from Wally with scoff.

“I’m fine alright... why’d you bring me here? Ah shit!” Pain sprinted through your nervous system and you instantly found yourself swooped up into the scarlet speedsters arms again.

“You’ll thank me later, I promise but even if you never forgive me I’d rather you be alive.” West gazed at you with concern filling his emerald irises and carried you over to the medical bay where he was met with Alfred and Bruce glaring at him.

It was expected that you remove you outer layer so the wounds were reachable but upon Alfred’s request you flatly declined.

“Not happening, at least not until I’m given some privacy.” This hushed the interrogation from your brothers who left the room because they weren’t stupid enough to argue with you, Damian was but Dick ushered him out before he could speak.

They’d definitely return, you regretfully couldn’t avoid your family forever even if it was to protect them. After Jason died, you all went your separate ways as your family were too broken to repair themselves when you attempted communication - they pushed you away in their state of grievance, so you stayed away. Bruce was seething at Wally for having to be saved - not that it was his fault, the man was protecting hostages at the time and you couldn’t exactly let the Flash die, it’d leave Central City unprotected and you were not replacing him. The Rogues would piss you off too much.

Alas you were correct, whilst preparing to leave since Alfred ensured you were at least stable (no prolonged stay necessary/wanted) and slipping on your jacket when Dick burst in.

“Woah wait you’re leaving?!” Upon hearing his yell, Tim and Jason bolted over from the Batcomputer to correspond a farewell.

“Just like that? (Y/n) stay for dinner or something...” Jason muttered, tugging your jacket to gain your attention although their surprising discovery muted oncoming persuasion.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo!” Tim excitedly commented marvelling at the work depicted on your shoulder blade where your jacket had fallen to reveal your camisole underneath.

“Shit...”

“Is this what you didn’t want us to see earlier (L/n)? It suggests it is meaningful to you.” God you didn’t even hear Damian come in but he deduced the situation quickly, the boys immediately even more involved plainly to bug you like the little brothers they were.

“It’s nothing. Now move.” You coldly replied, securing your jacket to hide the object of their heightening intrigue.

“4 birds though?” Dick mindlessly stated, brows furrowed as he thought through numerous possibilities whilst you brushed past them toward the exit.

You gave an exasperated sigh, knowing that they were considering the meaning behind your creative secret but you were more focused on disappearing.

“It’s us!” Tim smugly clarified, smirking at your frozen figure. Damn his superior detective skills.

“...”

“Timbers, our badass, cold hearted sister would never.” Jason sternly stated, referring to your usual uninterested nature.

“He’s right. Tim is right okay?” Mostly you wanted Jason’s way of thinking to be the stereotypical view of you but it was overshadowed by your underlying love for them which was displayed by your defeated posture.

.

With a deep breath to replenish your confidence, you began by stripping your jacket, turning away from them to hide your expression and expose your detailed artistry.

“There’s 1 for each of you because I never want to forget, if something ever goes wrong then this is my anchor. Anyway, this bird represents Dick, it’s wings are spread because he’s always flying. He’s not afraid to fall and I admire that... but if he ever does I’ll be there to catch him.” The sincerity in your tone set them all on edge as you pointed to the highest bird, it was unexpected as they never believed you truly viewed them that way.

With their bewilderment, you continued, the action made easier being blind to their facial reactions. “Hm. That one is Jason’s-“

“The feathers are falling, it’s because I died I’m guessing.” The tallest commented, quite abrupt about the subject but you immediately corrected him with voice of determination.

“Originally it never had the falling feathers it was - still is the brightest colour since you were so full of life and intelligently bright too. I added them after you returned because I let you down, you lost apart of yourself but no matter what, you continue to fight. You’re so strong Jaybird, y’know that?”

“(Y/n) you-“ Before he could pipe in you briskly moved on, running your finger down your skin to pinpoint the next target.

“Smallest one is Damian, not due to his height but because he has the most room to grow and I can’t wait to see it. That bird has the kindest eyes, to match Dami’s heart.” A brief smile crossed your lips at that and you could only hope they’d wear one too.

“And the final one is for Timbers, the bird looking like it’s landing, he found his home here or at least I’d hope so. I wanted you to feel welcome and loved Tim, despite what you have to put up with. Even from me.” You hadn’t realised the lone stream staining your face, nor the crack in your voice during the final sentence but the boys likely picked up on it.

Your hand fell back to your side, their ongoing silence lead you to feel uncomfortable, you’d shredded your armour both literally and figuratively before them and they had nothing to say which encouraged you to throw on your jacket, stealthily wiping your eyes in the process. This is why you kept your feelings hidden, buried under sarcasm, silence and mild violence (you were a vigilante after all).

.

“Heh, but whatever. I better get outta here anyway, later losers!” Your tone was quiet and mildly awkward, shrugging off the previous soft atmosphere with a defensive insult.

“Hey, uh check this out. Ridiculous right?” Jason started, hesitantly grabbing your fleeting shoulder to show you an old battered photo he’d dug out of his jacket pocket. It depicted the two of you and Dick pulling immature faces, a joyful moment captured in time before his death.

“Yea-yeah... that’s so stupid Jay.” Neither of you meant it, the insults conveying a deeper sense of emotion to one another.

“Not as stupid as that.” Tim gestured to the handwritten instructions taped to the Batcomputer, the ones you’d given him when he first arrived as a guide. The boy picked it up so quickly that you didn’t think he even used them, let alone kept them.

“Don’t give us the cold shoulder (Y/n). We’re here for you, like you are for us.” Dick grinned, pleased with his remark.

“Right, because you guys have always got my back.” Was your unimpressed but amused reply, though Jason couldn’t resist the urge to mock you.

“I mean the tattoo is on your shoulder but nice try sis.”

“Your sense of humour is insufferable.” Damian muttered, he’d heard enough puns from Dick Grayson to last him a lifetime or 3.

A small laugh escaped you as you waved goodbye to your brothers, feeling like you’d strengthened your bond with them.

They were a good family, your tattoo would always remind you of that - maybe that was why you chose your shoulder blade? Because they’d always be looking over your shoulder, because you’d always have their back and they’d have yours. Because they were your little birds, not matter how tall or muscly they get.

.

-Bonus-

“Hey Wally, did you know about (Y/n)’s bird tattoo?” Dick casually asked his best friend once he returned from Bruce’s lecture.

“Obviously, it’s kinda hard to miss. It’d be even worse if I didn’t know about it.” Wally honestly responded, hands lazily shoved into the pockets of his black hoodie.

“...”

“Uh huh, and how exactly do you know about it?” The suspicion in Tim’s tone immediately caused the speedster to rethink his choice of words, they were playing him.

“We - um, why does that matter exactly?”

“As family, it’s of importance so I suggest you start talking West.” Damian lowly answered, hand placed over the hilt of his katana displaying his lack of patience for Wally’s sassy comebacks.

“(Y/nnnnn)!”

[incoherentbabblings]

Unspoken Promises

Sitting on the car roof waiting for Zatanna to show up, Stephanie became acutely aware of how their leaving home must have looked to the rest of the family, and makes her think about what want from the future, especially after everything had come crashing down in the aftermath of Brother Eye and the Batman of Tomorrow.  Tim for once isn’t thinking too deep about it.  

2,500 words on Tim and Steph cuddles from YJ #5. AO3 Link here!

So for all my doubt about Bendis (He also liked my tweet I sent him thanking him for making TimSteph so cute so like… that gave me a whump of validation right there) I was so over the moon with his interpretation of Tim and Stephanie’s relationship that it actually got me to write fanfiction for the first time in about a decade (ooft).  I am following in the grand DC tradition of what is continuity in that I am writing as if the Bat’s History is all in tact, but YJ and Teen Titans is just what had been established in the New 52.  How does that work? It doesn’t but never mind that I wanted to write mush

Anyway here is Tim I look at my girlfriend as if she hung the stars at night Drake and Stephanie We have 100% ran away from home which means we are 100% eloping which means yes I will marry you no you don’t even have to ask Brown.

There are like…so many references to past and current stories and dialogue in this, as well as my previous babblings on their relationship.  

Anyway, enjoy!!!

He had a habit, she’d noticed, ever since they’d been together, of holding her face. His fingers had always been cold, but dry, and his palm fit neatly along her jawline. He was always soft with her, and she wouldn’t dare have it otherwise.  When she isn’t talking, and he isn’t smiling and humming indulgently at her wittering on, he seemed to be nothing more than quite content to just hold and stare at her. Like the sun is infused in her hair. Like her and her alone is immune to the anti-life equation, like she is life’s meaning. Like she is so precious that she might be gone the next morning.

 Because that did happen once, when she was left to die without him. Does Tim hate me? She had asked Batman. No. Bruce had replied. He adores you. Always has.

Only now with them lying on the bonnet of Tim’s red car, his stare so openly reverent, Stephanie found herself trusting Bruce’s statement to the dying girl with a broken body (and heart).

He’d been taken from her too, violently and so suddenly that she had found herself talking to a clay program of his, so starved for his face and hungry for his advice… Then again Stephanie had heard from other sources that he’d considered throwing what he’d thought was her corpse into a Lazarus Pit, so maybe they were both reliant on the other to act as a guide.

Those Batmen she’d seen, first the one from a future where she was either dead or under what seemed like permanent house arrest (it wasn’t clear), and then one made of corrupt dreams and corrupt computer programs… They were ones she’d silently promised herself that she would reel in within Tim whenever they reared their ugly, twisted heads. She’d remind him, remind them why they wanted to help people. The two of them didn’t know any other way, not anymore.

How stubborn they were that they scraped their way back to each other.

Stephanie soon grew shy being gazed at by Tim and leaned forward.  One hand tightened in his sweater, whilst the other cupped the back of his head. He quickly got the idea and leaned forward, their lips touching briefly for a moment before she readjusted her position, straddling one his legs to get a firm pressure between her own.

Tim’s smile turned cheeky then, and he began to push up into a sitting position.  Stephanie gave a slight grunt, and forced him back down, hand slipping down his top to grip at his hip. She kissed him deeply.

A bird took off near the car, disturbing some fallen leaves on the ground.  It was still warm enough at sunset to not have to wear a coat, and both of them had opted for oversized sweaters, Steph in her customary purple, Tim in his usual green.  They had been travelling for a few weeks now, enough for the new school year to have started, and yet here they both were, several states down, in DC, nowhere near Ivy University in New England.  The thought made Stephanie giggle.

“Now you have to admit it!” She exclaimed, thumping her head down to rest on Tim’s chest, listening to his heart beat.  Solid.  Warm.

Tim meanwhile was looking awfully smug, one arm cradling her shoulders, pressing their already entangled bodies closer, the other arm thrown up behind his head.  His eyes were shut, and he was smirking.

“I don’t have to admit anything.” 

“Admit it!”

“I was raised by Batman, Stephanie,” – and right on que her eyes rolled up to her skull.  Batman Batman Batman – “I am a stubborn master.”

“Admit we ran from home!”

That got him to open his eyes and stare at her once more.  He was indulging her again, she knew, and she let him do so.

“A Batgirl and a Robin told everybody we were going off to college and then we drove the other way.”

“Because we’re in the middle of an investigation into the –”

She interrupted him, whispering the phrase “Nobody knows where we are!” conspiratorially, as if they weren’t sitting outside one of the most heavily monitored buildings in the county.  But sure, they were definitely back in New England, studying at one of the country’s most prestigious universities.

Not that they didn’t leave with the purest intentions, this investigation into timelines and universes…  However neither had the foggiest clue where to start.  Tim had recalled Dick and Bruce talking of Wally, the idea that something or someone been messing with time or memories. To avoid Bruce catching wind of what they were up to, they had asked Black Canary, and Dinah had suggested magic, which had led them to Zatanna.

Tim knew Bruce knew they weren’t at college.  He just didn’t want Bruce to know why.  This trip was partially for him and Steph to be alone.  Properly.  Without Bruce and his weird secrets and mind games. Without the pressure of fighting crime each night with all its mental and physical traumas.

Without Cassandra bursting through their window with takeout after a night of training, catching Steph in her nightshirt and Tim with his pyjama bottoms halfway up his legs. 

It had been going well, as well as could be expected of two seventeen-year olds going on a targetless road trip.  Tim had enough money to his name to keep them going for more than enough time, and Stephanie didn’t want for much regardless. 

Still, this trip had a purpose, and they both hoped that speaking with Zatanna would orient them in the right direction. 

“I’m just saying,” Stephanie continued, now grinning back at Tim’s softening smile “The only thing missing is the circus for us to join.”

It was almost funny how their conversations always came back to their future together.  They were still so young but they always spoke of what their lives would be, could be, five, ten, fifteen years down the line. 

Not that the circus was a serious suggestion, but it made her point all the same.  They had split off from the family back home, deliberately gaining some distance.  They’d not spoken to Bruce since he’d waved them off, hearing that they’d get the official wedding invite ‘any day now’ (any day now had been going on for weeks at this point, both were afraid to enquire for an update).  They’d not heard from Dick in even more time (something was going on with the Titans, on and off the field, but Tim hadn’t chased it).  Damian and Jason were enigmas as usual to them (coming and going as they pleased).  They’d get the odd photo and message sent from Cass and Duke and Barbara, the three of them seemed to be forming a little huddle, but for the most part, it was radio silence.  Maybe Bruce had encouraged it for once.  Leave them alone.  Let them be teenagers.  They can figure it out if they want to do the superhero gig on their own.

Or maybe that was too forgiving of an assumption of Bruce.

The other day Stephanie had been filming Tim being a dweeb, and she had muttered about making their (hypothetical) children watch this so they could be assured that their (hypothetical) father was never once cool ever.  Tim had just laughed and argued that she was just as bad as he, she was only better at covering it up.  He didn’t flush at the mention of children, and he didn’t call out at her statement at all.  It was a quiet assumption between them, the idea of children (plural.  Both had been so lonely growing up they couldn’t bear the thought of repeating their parents’ mistakes).  An unspoken promise never confirmed aloud.

Seventeen years old and they were already thinking of when they’d be thirty five.  Maybe one near (actual?) death experience each made them grip to that future tightly.  They would have it all.  They would help people until there was no longer a need for them to do so anymore, upon which they could bow out, ready to drop the double-faced world they occupied.

It had been temporary for Tim, initially.  He didn’t so much as want to be Robin as he was at the only one who could be Robin. 

It had been temporary for Stephanie, initially.  She couldn’t let her father go on hurting people, and she was at first the only one who knew what weird, over the top schemes he’d managed to cobble together. 

It was supposed to be temporary, for both of them. 

I can make it all work.  I can make a system that can sustain itself… After all that, I can take care of myself.  Take care of us.  I promise.

 And yet that promise he’d made aloud, mere hours before everything had blown up in their faces – literally – had been a rude awakening that their line of work didn’t allow easy early retirements, not truly. 

That was okay though, not today didn’t mean not ever, or at least, that’s what they had both told themselves at night sleeping in assorted cheap hotels.  The receptionists had always given them funny looks, no doubt Tim and Stephanie probably did look like young eloping teenagers.  Tim had surprised Stephanie in his reaction to their expressions, putting his foot down when affirming yes we want a double bed no not twin singles.  When checking out in the morning Tim defiantly left the bed an unmade mess, as if they were a pair of rabbits who couldn’t get enough of each other, as if trying to earn that slightly disapproving look from across the counter. 

She thought maybe he was tired of people giving their opinion on the two of them being together. 

And ultimately, that is what they were wasn’t it?  Teenage sweethearts running away from home.

And to the circus, if that’s what it came down to.

Stephanie’s buzzing phone and Zatanna’s arrival had brought an end to the feeling of joviality.  Stephanie’s thoughts were being torn in two directions.  She couldn’t stand the thought of her father running around doing as he pleased, and she had a sudden sharp stab of fear for her mother, but she had just reaffirmed that she was staying with Tim come hell or high water.  Tim made the decision for her.  He knew she wouldn’t be focused going forward unless she chased down her father, so gave the both of them a three day deadline. 

“You’ll be focused and I’ll have a start.” He stated.  He was dressed in his uniform, looking somehow both dashing and fragile at once.  What he thought he knew had been shaken again, except for the blonde girl standing in front of him.  The one who was looking at him with a slightly befuddled but still endeared smile. 

“I love you Tim Drake.” She said, ignoring for a moment where they were and what he was dressed as. 

There was a beat of silence.  Enough to make Stephanie uncomfortable.  He had usually always been the first to declare it to her.  Now that she had uttered it first, he seemed at a loss on how to respond.  She decided to prompt him, trying not to sound too desperate when she asked:

“Did you hear –?”

“I’m madly in love with you, Steph.”  He blurted out.  His smile widened until he looked overjoyed.  “I was just about to tell you that.  I was going to tell you I was so happy you were in my repressed memories, too, because I didn’t want – ”

A life without you was how he was going to finish his declaration before she threw herself at him, smacking a kiss on his lips, and Tim saw his world go pink for a moment.

He had been relieved that she’d been in those memories.  She had to have been.  She was the only one, for so long, who knew him as both Robin and Tim.  The Teen Titans had asked and asked but he’d always been so reluctant to cave in, whilst part of his fear of leaving the title of Robin would mean losing Bruce and Dick and Barbara, for what possible reason could Tim Drake have to associate with them?  It was different now, he was Bruce’s adopted son, so their connection could not be severed regardless of him wearing a mask or not, and he had opened up to his friends, slowly but surely. 

She was still the person he wanted to be with him every step of the way.  She’s never cared what title he’d held, she’d cared more about the way he held her.  This was his chance though.  She had always been stuck on the fringes of their generation, not having many close friends outside of Gotham.  If his friends and family could become hers… he just wanted her with him every step of the way.  It was selfish of him he knew, but she deserved a better family than the one she’d been born into, and he had the opportunity to give it to her.

She was gripping the front of his uniform tightly, and he was holding her shoulders.  Leaning forward, he put their foreheads together with a gentle thunk.  Still smiling, he reminded her of the three day deadline.

“Two days.�� She pushed.

“Promise?” He looked at her, and she smiled guiltily.  How many broken promises had they made to each other?  How many had they kept?  How many had remained unspoken, for fear of them never coming true? 

“I can’t.” Stephanie exhaled unsteadily, her eyes tearing up. 

He didn’t sound disappointed when he responded, “I know.”  He understood.  Better than anyone he understood the danger of promises and oaths. 

For a brief moment she longed for them to forget responsibilities and be utterly selfish.  Run away to the circus like she’s joked.  Confirm every suspicious look those receptionists had given them for the past four weeks.  Leave behind broken families who didn’t know what good communication meant between the lot of them and start a newer better family in its place.  It was a whim that would remain in her head, but she answered the question she would sit and wait for over the next twenty years if need be out loud, as both a promise to Tim and to herself.

“…But I do.”

Tim didn’t say anything more in response, but looked up at her, his forehead still pressed to hers, and breathed a laugh.  He knew what she’d meant when she’s said I do, of course he figured it out, but he also knew to let it remain out of context.  Another unspoken promise. 

They’d be fine.  More than fine.  He would find his friends and he would take care of them.  They’d scraped their way back to each other for a reason. He couldn’t let her, or Conner or Cassie or Bart or any of the others, slide by any longer.

Another unspoken promise. 

[thingr1]

Focus on the Fallout (2/2)

Rating: T

Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, past suicide attempt.

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, basically entire Batfam.

Preview: *See first chapter*

Cross posted: FFN and AO3 (6-16-17). (A/N found on both sites)

Prequels: Of Milkshakes and Marathons (recommended, but not necessary) and Weighing One’s Worth (essential to understanding story.)

First Chapter: Here

It wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong.

The family—this dysfunctional, emotionally constipated family—was acting strange. More distant than normal.

Whispered conversations that ended the moment Tim crossed the threshold. Flashes of emotion caught by the corners of his eyes every time Tim glanced away. Shadows of footprints outside the door of whatever room Tim happened to be slouched in. Flutters of movement and spots of color (black, blue, red) in the darkness, tailing him as he patrolled.

That had been Tim’s reality for the past two weeks.

Everyone trying to pretend everything was normal, yet side eying Tim like something fragile, something broken, when they thought he was looking the other way.

There was only one possible explanation for this collectively strange behavior.

They knew. Every single one. And if it wasn't for the fact that he was probably (definitely) under tight surveillance at the moment, he would seriously consider another bullet to his brain from shame. Maybe jump off the roof. That is, if embarrassment itself didn't beat him to the punch.

Sinking back against the mattress of his too-big bed, Tim sighed to the blank white ceiling.

Why? Dick's big mouth... Just, why?

Tim knew Dick was only trying to help. But the thing was, they weren't Dick's secrets to share. Heck, even Damian betrayed him in the end—to the loosest jaw of the Wayne bunch, no less—when push came to shove. Which…actually wasn’t that surprising.

He felt like he was walking on eggshells. Like an outsider—no, a pretender in his own home. As if he'd ever really called Wayne Manor his home in the first place...

Tim hated feeling this exposed, baring his soul to the world. This was going to come back to bite him, someone was going to take advantage of him all over again. And Tim didn’t think he could take it.

Because at the heart of it all, that was his problem, wasn’t it? Whenever he let anyone in, they either died or threw him away; in each sense, they betrayed him. And he was so so tired of it all. Which was a much more selfish admission than he usually allowed himself. (Then again, Tim had tried to kill himself a week ago, which kind of took the cake.)

But yet…at the same time…why did it feel like a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders? He shouldn’t be this relieved to have just unloaded his truckload of problems onto Dick Grayson’s shoulders.

Dick Grayson.

Who had taken Robin from him without even asking. Who had, how many years later, apologized for it. Had stopped pretending that everything between them was right as rain and outright admitted he was in the wrong.

It was mortifying.

Tim had failed somewhere. He had to’ve.

It probably had something to do with the fact he’d tried to off himself in the middle of the Manor, the one place where all the Bats could come and go as they pleased. The one place where there were eyes everywhere. It was careless of Tim to even think of attempting what he had in such a public place.

Unless…

Had…had he wanted someone to find him? Maybe…maybe that was why…

Tim shook his head violently, turning his face into his pillow in embarrassment.

No. He wasn’t going to psychoanalyze himself now. He’d tried to kill himself. It didn’t take. Now it was just a question of moving on.

…Which would have been so much simpler if his family’s actions didn’t make it that much more impossible to compartmentalize the self-destructive feelings back into a deep, dark corner of Tim’s mind that life usually kept him too busy to explore.

And yet, Tim couldn’t help the faint glow of hope that was slowly eating away at the darkness in his core. Maybe…maybe this time Dick would come through. Maybe this time would be different; maybe they could heal. If only that feeling wasn’t so often crushed by the realities of life. Then maybe Tim could bear to give it a chance.

No, he decided. Better to forget. Better to forget than to give his family the opportunity to screw up enough so Tim would have to juggle forgiving them (again) on top of it all, too. He’d figure this out on his own. Like he always did.

Without warning, his door slammed back on its hinges.

Tim’s skin prickled, muscles seizing, panic shredding through every inch of his flesh in the form of adrenaline as he whirled, wild-eyed, to face the intruder.

Damian stood in the doorway, arms crossed over he chest, giving Tim a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Your presence is required downstairs, Drake,” the child reported, pompous as always.

Tim glared. (Internal terror revealing itself in a rather Jason Todd style: Anger.) “For what? An interrogation?”

Damian snorted. "Nothing so crude. It is…” The boy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “‘Family Bonding,’ Grayson is calling it. Everyone is required to attend.”

"And why should I trust you?” The words spilled out before Tim could stop them.

The former assassin’s eyes narrowed. Assessing.

After a moment, Damian’s jaw set, cobalt eyes almost glaring in their intensity. "I swear to you that no one is judging you for your moment of weakness. In fact, if I see so much as a pitying glance, I will mash that person’s nose into their face myself. Just…come downstairs. Please.”

Which was…actually half-decent as far as politeness went for the demon child.

Tim…hesitated. A trap. It had to be… No.

Those eyes so like his father’s screamed sincerity, even though Damian’s features remained studiously blank. Though he was many things, Damian Wayne was not a liar. Something Tim both hated and respected about the fifth Robin.

And after…that night…something between the two of them had changed. For the first time since they’d met, they understood each other; they’d caught a glimpse of who they were behind the masks and facades. Their insecurities exposed to the person they hated most.

It was…freeing somehow.

(Dick had always told him that all Damian wanted was acceptance; and for the first time, Tim might just believe it.)

No. Damian wouldn’t betray him like this. (Not again, anyway.) The others, on the other hand…

“Promise?” The word slipped out before Tim could stop it; small. Shaky. Weak.

Damian inclined his head. “You have my word.” Solemn. Straightforward. (So unlike his father.)

Tim sucked in a breath. Bit his lip. Squared his shoulders. “Fine.”

He was going to regret this.

The journey downstairs seemed to pass far too quickly. And yet, at the same time, it stretched long enough that Tim had far too much time to think.

Tim couldn't...shouldn't...didn't want to face his family. Didn’t want to see the looks on their faces at the realization that their toy soldier was broken; unusable.

…Was he broken? Wasn’t that the question of a lifetime. One that Tim really didn’t care to answer; now, or ever.

Moving on.

(Why’d he even bother with a gun? His own brain was going to be the death of him.)

With a blink, Tim jerked back into reality as Damian slid into the lit doorway on the right of the hallway that Tim recognized as the living room without looking back. Clearly expecting Tim to follow.

Tim sucked in a breath. No. Don’t think about it.

Do this. He could do this.

Breath huffing in an almost sigh, Tim stepped around the doorframe and…

Everyone was looking at him.

And when he said everyone, he meant everyone. Dick, Damian, Alfred, Barbara, Steph, Cass, Jason, Titus.

Bruce.

The whole gang was here.

And they were staring.

Heat barely had time to brush Tim’s cheeks before the whole room erupted.

“Timmy!”

“Tim.”

“So good of you to join us, Master Tim.”

“‘Bout time you got here, the popcorn’s almost cold!”

“Hey, mind breaking the tie for us? We’ve narrowed it down to Monsters Inc. or Frozen…”

“Frozen?! Who said Frozen? I voted Inside Out!”

Through the cacophony of sound, lights, and general confusion, Cass materialized at his side, squeezing him in a hug, whispering “Love you,” and guiding him through the mass of people, popcorn, soda cans, pillows (from the bedrooms?), and movie cases to the couch before Tim could fully process what was happening.

And then Jason was wedged on the cushion next to him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Come on, Baby Bird, help me out here. Inside Out or Frozen?”

Tim blinked. Still in shock. “Tangled.”

Jason scowled. “Wow. You’re helpful.” Then, serious, poking Tim none too gently in the ribs, he hissed: “Bullets have more calories than milkshakes, y'know. Talk about hard to work off."

Tim flushed, a combination anger and embarrassment snapping him from his reverie. “That bar was a one time thing, Jay! I swear, is this going to keep coming up in every conversation?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Just so long as I never catch you at it again.” Then, in a low mutter Tim almost had to strain to hear: ”Call someone next time you start feeling self-destructive, 'kay, Baby Bird? We’ve all been there. We can help.“

Tim ducked his head; mortified (touched). "O...okay. Yeah."

Jason slapped Tim's shoulder with his free hand, reeling him in so Tim’s face smashed into him in a…a hug. "Good. We're marathoning Harry Potter next."

And...Tim's lips quirked upward. "Haven't seen those in awhile."

"Exactly, Tim. Exactly."

Dick Grayson’s voice suddenly erupted in his ear, causing Tim to jump: “Tim! Timmy! You voted Frozen, right?”

Jason stared, stiffening under Tim’s weight. “So you’re the one.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “Uh. No?”

The second Robin growled, reverberating through his chest where Tim’s face was still half smushed. “What did I tell you about Frozen?”

Dick’s eyes twinkled with the mischievous light that always preceded a particularly self-endangering statement: “That I need to ‘let it go’?”

There was a moment of pure, icy silence. Two. Three.

Broken by a laugh.

A laugh.

From Tim’s own mouth.

Another burst from his mouth without his consent. Then another. Suddenly, Tim was gripping his sides, tears welling in his eyes, shaking from the force of his own laughter.

Everyone was staring at Tim again, this time in open surprise; joy, fondness, maybe mixed with some concern for his mental health.

And for once, Tim didn’t mind it. Still chuckling, he snagged the pillow from the couch arm and rammed it into the nearest face: Dick Grayson’s. “Stuff that in your big mouth, Dick!”

There was a pause.

Then a mad cackle rent the air as Jason Todd hefted another pillow over his head. “You deserved that, Dickie!” Slammed the stunned man’s face with the makeshift weapon so hard, the seams burst. Tim almost winced.

Almost.

“Pillow fight!” Steph screamed gleefully, swiping an ancient throw pillow and slinging it into Jason in the same instant as Damian slung a blanket into the man’s abdomen. “For Arendelle!”

The room devolved into chaos as the rest of the family joined in; pillows flying, blankets cracking like whips, popcorn scattering.

And as the feathers swirled in the air around them, laughter carrying them to the ceiling, Tim realized that maybe—just maybe—he could stand to call this crazy mess of a family (life) his own after all.

[universes-capturecard-blog]

scar (07/01/18)

His chest was covered in what looked like claw marks, and on his back, there were two spaces between his shoulder blades that were smooth and red; they stretched slightly out to his sides, as if something had been on his back and the skin had been torn off when it was removed. His blond hair held a ring of smoky black, like it had been burned and the boy didn’t bother to fix the mess. No one had ever seen the scars, and that was the way he wanted to keep it, and he always came up with the excuse that it was a dye job gone south. No one knew the story, and even the rest of his kind didn’t know the whole story, or had seen the scars that he wore.

The story wasn’t gruesome at first. It wasn’t even a story, it was just his life. The boy had grown up running around in the golden roads of Heaven, watching as his halo glowed brighter and brighter with every birthday he had, seeing his wings ruffle in the wind that always seemed to follow him. Everyone loved him as he grew up, almost no one thought that he could do anything wrong. In fact, most of the angels in Heaven thought that he was the purest of them all. God even called to him multiple times to take care of some Earthly business, ones that the archangels like Michael and Gabriel took care of. He was flying with the big shots by the time he was a teenager, and that was big - it meant that he had power, and he always used it for good.

Except one time.

It was the middle of the winter, and the boy was told to guard over a girl his age; she had been suicidal, and his job was to watch her and send thoughts her way to guide her through the problems instead of hurting herself. For the first few nights, it worked. He kept her away from the things that she’d normally want to do, and she seemed to be getting better as if by some kind of miracle (of course, he was the miracle). About a week in, though, her demons starting coming back. He’d see them out of the corner of his eye, see them in the shadows during the middle of the night - one time he’d even seen one sliding into bed with her and slither under the mattress when it saw him. Sometimes, he would manage to banish them, but the small apartment was starting to get crowded. So, the boy did the sensible thing - he fought.

There was a day when her thoughts were darker than when he had first come down from Heaven. She was on the brink of just ending it, and everyone in her life could tell. The demons in the house kept coaxing her towards the edge, and that was when the boy decided that he was done. He was going to fight the demons, kill them if he had to. Yes, killing was against the rules, even when it came to demons, but he had to help this girl. It helped him with his objective, and if he could somehow get her out of this funk by sacrificing a few of Hell’s servants? Then he’d do it.

The boy took his halo from above his head and closed his eyes, feeling as the thin metal turned into a thick handle. When he opened his eyes, there was a golden sword in his hand, made of holy metal, which would kill a demon with one foul swoop. Even the light startled the shadows that had come to take up every wall of the apartment complex, but by then, they weren’t shadows. What had taken their places were the people that had once been good, but were corrupted by Hell and everything that could possibly be unholy. A mix of men and women, all surrounding him, now with weapons that the boy had never seen before.

My chance of winning is one in one thousand, but if I can just get rid of enough of them, maybe they’ll all leave, he thought to himself, standing in a defensive position.

Within seconds, it started.

Two of the demons moved in, wielding what looked like some twisted version a katana and a some kind of other sword that looked like even the best blacksmith couldn’t recreate it. Metal clashed metal, skin sizzling as the light from the boy’s sword burned the demons where they stood. The boy was cut a few times, but managed to rid of the first two, just as three more came forward, carrying similar weapons of the first two. The girl he was supposed to be guarding looked confused, but still slightly more relaxed than before - he was thankful that she couldn’t see or hear anything that was going on. He watched from his peripheral vision as she walked towards the kitchen, a small breath of air leaving his mouth in relief. She was leaving the room, which would make things infinitely better, because if she wasn’t near the demons, their energy towards her wouldn’t be as strong.

The fight continued, demon after demon being slaughtered. The boy used the sword and whatever extra godly power he could muster, trying to destroy every big of evil in the room. He was working off of an adrenaline and power rush, everything going to his head. He felt that his face was flushed and hot, his breathing heavy from what he had done. The bodies that were on the floor slowly vanished into dust, all of it floating lower, back towards Hell, or maybe Purgatory. Wherever dead demon souls went.

He walked to the kitchen to see if the girl looked better again, and to feel what energy came from her - if it was light, then she would be fine for the time being, and back to recovery. But, as he walked through the threshold, he stopped cold.

The young girl was laying on the floor, with glassy eyes and a paling face. He ran to her side, not noticing the shadow that was standing by the wall, that mysteriously took the shape of a person, a demon. Before he could even turn to notice it, the demon vanished into the shadows, back to whatever pit in Hell it came from.

The boy’s human that he was supposed to guard and help had died on his watch. There was now mortal blood on his hands, and he knew that the people of Heaven wouldn’t be happy, much less God himself. But, he needed to go back to explain himself, plead innocent on the trial that would inevitably take place, and hope that his people would look back at all of the work he had done over the course of life and take it into consideration.

Before he left, he sent a premonition over the girl’s family, hoping they would take it into their minds as something serious. Taking a deep breath, he let his sword fall back to a halo, and take its place over his head again.

***

A figure was waiting for him at the large golden gates leading into Heaven. Immediately, he knew who it was - God, and the righteous man was flanked by the archangels Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel. They held disapproving looks, with crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows. As the boy came closer, Michael stepped forward.

“Damian. We heard of your offenses. The trial will be held later today, but for now, you will have to come with us. Don’t worry - for now, we just want to talk. The other archangels and the leaders of the guardians are setting up the courthouse. But let those thoughts leave for now. Relax. Come.”

The boy, Damian, walked slightly ahead Michael, out of respect for the fact that they didn’t trust him anymore. It made sense - he had killed demons, and let a human die on his watch, both of which were highly illegal in Heaven. It was in the ten commandments for God’s sake.

It took a while to get to the marble mansion that sat directly in the center of Heaven’s property since they were walking instead of flying. God led the crew, with angels they passed bowing towards them. To everyone else, this was just the angel’s strongest five people walking together for some kind of...get together. They knew better.

As they entered the mansion, God turned his head to Damian.

“My boy, what is the sixth commandment that I have made for angels and humans alike?”

Damian hesitated, watching his feet walk towards a small meeting area. God’s office, almost.

“Thou shall not kill,” he muttered, letting his bangs fall into his face. The feet in front of him stopped and turned. Fingers on his chin, forcing his gaze upon God himself. Damian couldn’t tell what the look on God’s face meant. It was a mix between anger, sadness, disappointment; everything that the man wasn’t known for. A blob of confusion mixed with fright filled the boy’s throat, causing him to keep from talking, and it seemed to choke him with every passing second. Choking to death would be better than having to stare at the older man’s expression at this point.

“Ah. I see your thoughts. You are scared. There is nothing to be frightened of, my boy. There is just punishment. You’ve broken one of my commandments, and you’ve been corrupted. The darkness that was brought upon you by the monsters you so ruthlessly killed -”

“I didn’t do it to be ruthless! That girl was practically being suffocated by all of those demons, I had to do something! Sir, they were becoming too much for her to bear, so I challenged them. I will apologize from the bottom of my heart and soul for the girl dying on my watch, but I cannot be sorry for diminishing the demons that took place in her. They needed to be rid of, they had to...had to…”

By then, Damian found that he couldn’t breathe. He fell to the floor, trying to gasp for air. As he looked up, he saw his halo in the grasp of God’s hand, watched it become crushed into golden dust. His head started to burn, the ring where the halo was before now turning into black. The dust from the halo fell to the floor in front of him, onto his free hand. He could hear God laugh faintly from above.

“My boy, you have sinned against me, and all of your people. Without begging, there can be no forgiveness, and it seems as though there will be no begging coming from even the air in your lungs. For this, you will be cast down, just as my son Lucifer was so long ago, to live with the demons that you fought so...valiantly,” the word left his lips with disgust and sarcasm, “and you will reign in the burning, fiery pits of Hell. Goodbye, my boy.”

With that, the floor and the clouds that were underneath Damian’s feet seemed to disappear. He was falling, gasping for air - the halos were like the angels life force, and with it crushed, it felt like he was dying. Even so, the feeling went away the closer he came to Hell, until he was breathing normally again. He fell on his wings, grunting at the impact.

The gates into Hell were gnarled and black, with what looked like thorns and spikes surrounding the bars. A feeling came over him, and Damian looked back just in time to see his wings turning from a shining and clean white to a smoky, coal looking black. A small breath escaped his lips, and where his halo would have been, there were now small horns.

Something snapped inside him then.

This is what you did to him. This is what you did to my brother, to Lucifer, to all the other angels that were ‘corrupted.’ You damned bitch, this is how you ruin lives of every holy being up there, he thought to himself, gritting his teeth and looking towards the red sky.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a swirl of smoke. A man dressed in a black suit and tie stood there. He held a cane that was plain metal, except for the fact that it had a snake coiled around it. While its body was immobile, the head moved around, the tongue flicking out every few seconds.

The man snapped, and Damian’s vision was obscured by more of the same smoke. When it dissipated, he was wearing all black, and a leather jacket. Really, he liked this look better than the white and gold that he was usually forced to wear.

“So. You’re Damian. Welcome to Hell. Name’s Lucifer. Listen, I’m on a tight schedule, so here’s the deal - I’m going to save you the shit of killing my men and doing whatever you used to do for good ole Dad up there, and you’re gonna go ruin some lives today. Go make a slut happy, kid,” he said, and was gone again almost immediately. It was surprising - Damian always thought that Satan would be this man sitting upon his throne with succubi surrounding him, not a man who had a schedule and actually did things.

But, he’d see that everyone else was much different after he stepped into the gates.

***

Damian didn’t make it a day. Every demon in Hell knew what he had done for God as an angel, and weren’t as forgiving about it either. He had missed a step and fallen into a pit, to which all of the souls trapped in it decided to scratch and claw at him, tearing his clothes and leaving marks that would never heal properly. Most of them were on his chest, leaving the claw mark scars that no one now knew the story of.

A week went by, and then two, and he did his best to do his worst. Even with his efforts, he was still too good for Hell. Everything he did seemed to have something that would benefit someone, and Lucifer was forgiving of it...the first five times.

Finally, the King’s temper snapped, and he called Damian into his own mansion. Instead of the business casual that he had usually worn, the man was in the same as all the other demons that resided in Hell. His arms were crossed and his face just held extreme annoyance.

“Are you serious, or are you just fucking with me? You go to get some prostitutes helped out, you end up getting them arrested. You go up to bring some hell into people’s lives, you end up somehow helping them resolve their issues, the list goes on. And fucking. On. I don’t understand it. Every other ‘corrupted angel’ that comes down here has no issue wreaking havoc, but somehow, you manage to do anything but. What is your damn deal, man? You’re ruining my reputation down here. Figure you ass out, get your life together, do something, or - no. You know what. I’ve given you one too many chances, kid. I had high hopes for you, because of what you did for dad up in Heaven. But now? Man, who knew that Satan could lose faith.”

The man shook his head, scoffing. Then, he stepped forward, and behind Damian. The boy felt Lucifer’s fingers run along his wings, tugging them.

“You can’t make a life in Heaven, and you can’t even make a life in Hell. You don’t belong anywhere, Damian. So here’s the deal. I’m going to take these,” one wing was ripped off of the boy’s back, making him yell out in pain and fall to his knees, tears streaming from his face, “and you’re going to go to Purgatory to try and get your shit together there. I really do hate having to do this, kid, I really do, but there’s just no way that you can live here or there. I do hope you don’t end up killing yourself.”

His other wing was ripped from his back, and then he was spiraling down and down into an endless pit, towards Purgatory.

The scars that hallowed Damian were nothing short of painful. Of course, still, no one knew this. They didn’t even know the half of it.

Sure, he crawled his way out of the depths and somehow made it to the surface of Earth. But, between you, me, the scars on his body and the ones in his head? He wouldn’t even make it as a human.

_______________________

Please keep credit where credit is due, thanks loves

[gospelmusic]

Catholic Daily Mass Reading + Reflection: 2 November 2020

Monday November 2, 2020

Weekday (31) Ordinary Time Vestment: Violet Today’s Rosary: The Joyful Mystery Theme of the Feast: Teach Us to Count Our Days. Death must be thought of as a light that guides us through our lives so that our decisions may always be wise and righteous, leading us to embody the beatitudes.  (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); COMMEMORATION OF ALL THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED (ALL SOULS DAY): Today we remember in a special way our brothers and sisters who have preceded us into eternal life especially, Rev Fr. Festus Ogbonmwan, Hon. Godfrey Emwanta, Mrs. Felicitas Sholabomi Robinson,Victoria Akpene, Louis Emwanta, Michael Afemefuna, Mr. James Ipuole Ogbaji, Mrs. Rose Riwo Ogbaji, James Otie, Mr. Ogmadewu Odey, Emmanuel O. Odey, Emmanuel Amen, Precious Abutu, Felicia Abutu, Samuel Emonena, Gladys Emonena, Cecilia Emonena, Akpobome Omamuyovwi, Pa Williams Jimoh, Mrs. Catherine Williams, Alice Williams, Mark Williams, Mr. Augustine Friday Nwatu, Mr. Moses Ejimofer Nwatu, Benedict Osezua Eigbegbea, Justine Ekwonna, Jude Eigbegbea, Dominic Amatu, Mr. Sylvanus A. Undiandeye, Hon. Anslem Undiandeye, Mrs. Lucy Udama Akoli, Joseph Anale, Mr. Abdgim Undiandeye, Ada Uzor, Igwe Isaiah Uzor, Ignatius Nwokoro, Agnes Nwokoro, Anthony Nwokoro, Nicholas Mbakogu, Martina Mbakogu, Angelina Mmaduko, Ike Okoye, Atule Momoh, Honorio Kayode Clement, Mattew A. Idehen, Paul Idehen, Dr. Michael Gorip Gotep, Engr. Wurusibewei E. Edwin, Wurusibewei Andrew, Patricia Ebi Akpe, Mr. Gabriel Anaedo, Mrs. Monica Ezidinma Okonkwo, Oigbochie Vincent, Fashanu Opeyemi, Shola Shanubi, Mariam Odunsakin, Micheal Odusakin, Patrick Sule, Maria Patrick, Sabastian Patrick, Patrick Jr, Amina Okewu, Gabriel Akubo, Francis Haruna, Martha Omadaga, Regina Enuwa Iwodi, Silvanus Akwugbo, Martha Omadaga Obochi, Iwodi Simon Ekoja, Udah Emmanuel, Mr, Damian Nwoko, Mary Yohanna Laura, Mr Augustine Musa, Mr. Habila D.D Akawu, Rev. Fr. David Talon, Ndulue Ikenna, Rosaline Ndulue, David Ikegwuonu, Emmanuel Ekwupulum, Michael Obioha, Theresa Obioha, Mr and Mrs Aloy Dyke, Pa Stephen Ehimare Ohenhenlen, David T. Adzenda, Rose Y. Adzenda, Tivna Adzenda, Pa Isekenegbe, Chidiebubu Aliozor, Love Aminu, Solomon Aliozor, Cecilia Nworah, Anulika Ude, Mrs. Jacinta Mary Gande, Ojotule Miracle,Madam Benedicta Matthew Akpan, Evelyn Atop Ntui,G.E Edet, Chief Emmanuel Mmogbana, Chief Jerome Onwudiwe, Sir Felix Asemota, Pa Idiaghe, Aborted babies, Souls in Purgatory and all our departed loved ones too numerous to mention. Our remembering is not done with the grief like those who have no hope. Rather, we do so in a spirit of faith and hope, knowing that the faithful departed share in the resurrection of Christ and live in communion with us.

FIRST READING

He accepted them like a sacrificial burnt offering. A reading from the Book of Wisdom(Wisdom 3:1-9c) (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them. In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, and their departure was thought to be an affliction, and their going from us to be their destruction; but they are at peace. For though in the sight of men they were punished, their hope is full of immortality. Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good, because God tested them and found them worthy of himself; like gold in the furnace he tried them, and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them. In the time of their visitation they will shine forth, and will run like sparks through the stubble. They will govern nations and rule over peoples, and the Lord will reign over them for ever. Those who trust in him will understand truth, and the faithful will abide with him in love, because grace and mercy are upon his elect. The word of the Lord.

RESPONSORIAL PSALM Psalm 23: 1-3.4.5.6 (R.1 or 4)

R. The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want. OR: Though I should walk in the valley of the shadow of death, no evil would I fear, for you are with me. The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want. Fresh and green are the pastures where he gives me repose. Near restful waters he leads me; he revives my soul. He guides me along the right path, for the sake of his name R/. Though I should walk in the valley of the shadow of death, no evil would I fear, for you are with me. Your crook and your staff will give me comfort. R/. You have prepared a table before me in the sight of my foes. My head you have anointed with oil; my cup is overflowing. R. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. In the Lord’s own house shall I dwell for length of days unending. R/. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

SECOND READING

“Since we are now justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God.” A reading from the Letter of Saint Paul to the Romans (Romans 5:5-11) Brethren: Hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. While we were yet helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. Why, one will hardly die for a righteous man— though perhaps for a good man one will dare even to die. But God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we are now justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life. Not only so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation. The word of the Lord.

ALLELUIA

Alleluia. Come, O blessed of my Father, says the Lord; inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.

GOSPEL

A reading from the Holy Gospel according to John (John 6:37-40) At that time: Jesus said to the crowds, “All that the Father gives me will come to me; and him who comes to me I will not cast out. For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me, and this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose noting of all that he has given me, but raise it up at the last day. For this is the will of my Father, that every one who sees the Son and believes in him should have eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.” The Gospel of the Lord. Prayer of the Faithful Christ will raise them up. PRIEST: My brothers and sisters, we are called by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ to share his risen life with God our Father. Let us pray with renewed confidence to the Lord for all the needs of the Church and world. READER:  For the Pope, bishops and priests, (pause) let them continue to proclaim the glorious resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord, who came that we all might have life without end. Pause Father, have mercy;  and give us life everlasting we pray Oh Lord. For those who struggle for peace in the world, (pause) let them realize that life on earth is but the reflection of life in heaven, and let them continue their efforts to bring all sections of the community together in perfect peace and harmony. Pause Father, have mercy;  and give us life everlasting we pray Oh Lord. For those who are bereaved, (pause) as they pray for the repose of the souls of their loved ones, let them be assured by the hope that one day they will be reunited with those they have loved and lost awhile. Pause Father, have mercy; and give us life everlasting we pray Oh Lord. For greater confidence in the resurrection, (pause) let the hope of eternal life comfort all Christians in their daily lives, so that everything they say and do is measured by the promise of their resurrection. Pause Father, have mercy; and give us life everlasting we pray Oh Lord. In silence, we pray for our own intentions to God, our loving Father. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); PRIEST: Father, we offer you our humble prayers, knowing that you will answer them because you have promised us eternal life. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Today's Reflection

Jesus’ comforting words in today’s Gospel captures well the meaning of the occasion we celebrate: “that I should lose nothing of all he has given me but raise it up at the last day.” The souls in purgatory are not lost; though imperfectly, they lived their lives believing in Jesus. Our prayers keep us in contact with them and help us not to forget them. They await what is promised them: eternal life, and our prayers hasten that for them. It is comforting to know that “Jesus rejects no one the Father has given him” and reassuring also that “The souls of our loved ones are in the hands of God, and no torment will ever touch them.” As we pray and do penance for the Holy Souls today, let us resolve now, (today, not tomorrow) to live lives of prayer and penance so that when our earthly journey ends we may be found worthy to enjoy the beatific vision promised by God.

Personal Devotional

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you" Deuteronomy 31:6 - Dear Lord, I thank you for this day, I thank you for my being able to see and hear this morning. I am blessed because you are a forgiving and an understanding God. - You have done so much for me and kept on blessing me. Grant me the grace Father not to offend you or my neighbour today. When the enemy of my soul comes to seduce me to sin against you please help me to run to your Son Jesus.

Let Us Pray

Please keep me safe from all dangers and harm. Help me to start this day with a new attitude and plenty of gratitude. Let me make the best of this day with a clear mind, so that I can hear from you. Please broaden my mind that I can accept all things. Let me not whine and whimper over things that I have no control over. Moreover, this is the best response when I am pushed beyond my limits. I know that when I cannot pray, you listen to my heart. Continue to use me O Lord to do your will. Please Lord continue to use me that I may be a blessing to others especially those who are hurt and do not have any person to help them. Keep me strong that I may help the weak. keep me uplifted that I may have words of encouragement for others

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[quinquinis]

hey, can you please write another crossover between White Collar and Batman? like a oneshot or something, but i really like how you tie everything together. like maybe where he hadn't deleted his existence off of the internet and was found out as Dick sometime while working for the FBI. and like, everyone was shocked that rich-boy Grayson was grand-thief Caffrey. XD thanks, any theme you use is good though, i'm just really into your AU.

I don’t know if this is what you were thinking about but enjoy:

Bruce tried, Neal suffers and Nightwing drops in on Peter

Bruce had tried. He was exhausted and beaten and could no longer put up the fight. He could only hope his eldest son would forgive him.

"Hacked the wifi yet?" Jason asked Tim from his corner of the elevator. Tim, sitting right by the buttons, had pulled out some cords and was using them to try and get his tablet computer online.

"Didn't we get you a portable wifi modem?" Bruce questioned.

Tim hummed and crouched down, placing the screen on his legs. "That won't get me unrestricted access to the FBI. Nor will it tell me where we are." Bruce had no doubt that Tim could find a way around that but, it seemed his middle child wanted to do things the messy way.

"We're on the tenth floor, going up," Damian said in his 'you're stupid' tone. He pointed to the floor indicator on the button panel above Tim's head.

"They're inaccurate," Tim repeated. "And I want accuracy."

"Just don't get caught," Bruce sighed.

"-tt-" Damian pushed off the wall and Bruce glared at him.

"Damian!" he barked. "Against the wall."

"This is stupid," Damian huffed dropping back against the wall of his corner of the elevator.

"Then why did you come?" Tim snapped back.

"Because you were coming."

"Because I like the idea of walking right in and out of the FBI," Jason responded with a grin. "I think Red Hood is still on their watch list."

"I didn't ask you."

"He didn't ask you."

"Stick to your corners, boys!" Bruce said as they started to shift. How many more floors were there until the White Collar office anyway? He didn't think he'd survive the way things were going. "And I told you all to stay back at the hotel."

"Come on Bruce, that FBI agent said we should give our statements."

"After all, it's not every day we take down a fleeing suspect."

"Besides, this is the best team in the country. They even have a conman working for them."

"It's not the first time that's happened," Jason commented.

"This one supposedly stole the painting of St. George and the Dragon done by Raphael."

Damian rolled his eyes.

The elevator dinged.

Bruce tensed. It was time.

Bruce Wayne and sons walked into the office like they had stepped off the runway. Neatly and smartly dressed, Wayne and the two youngest were in suits while the other one was dressed in a blue button up shirt and black jeans with a jacket thrown over his shoulders.

They could give Neal a run for his money.

Neal's eyes widened and everyone wondered about that until the one in the jacket pointed at him.

"You!"

Neal pointed back and yelled at Bruce, "I thought you said you weren't going to bring them!"

Bruce looked like he had been caught between a rock and a hard place. He adjusted his tie while Jason growled at him.

"You knew?"

"I tried?" Bruce admitted to Neal, looking worn out for a moment.

A few of the agents felt for him. It was obvious he was out of depth with whatever was going on.

Up in his office, Hughes frowned at the sudden commotion. He walked out and popped his head in Peter's office.

"Is it Caffrey?" Peter asked with a put-upon sigh.

"Possibly. Wayne's here."

"Great," Peter groaned. They observed from above the bullpen.

A rather thin and short teenager had Neal pressed up against a wall with a finger shoved against his chest. Neal's hands were up in surrender and he had the smile of a conman whose con had just gone wrong.

"You know that the Raphael was my favourite!" Tim cried out. "Why'd you go and steal it?"

"Allegedly," Neal said, "no one has proved anything. Also, come on, Tim, you never saw it in real life anyway. It's not like it getting stolen affected you."

Damian cackled from where he was sitting on Neal's desk.

"Caffrey!" Hughes barked.

"This isn't my fault!" Neal whined back. Peter wondered about that. He was starting to understand why Neal had been twitchy whenever Wayne was mentioned and downright terrified of the man coming to the office.

Who knew Neal's reaction would have more to do with Wayne's children than Wayne himself?

"I do apologise for my children," Bruce sighed, causing Peter to jolt. The man had somehow appeared beside him without his notice. "They are... troublesome at times and it's been a while since they've seen their older brother."

"The guy in the jacket?" Peter questioned. He looked like a ringleader, standing behind Neal's desk and grinning at the others while he looked through Neal's drawers.

Bruce blinked. In an almost too-innocent tone he said, "no. That's Jason. He's the second eldest. I was taking about Richard... what did you call him? Caffrey? I was taking about Caffrey."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" Hughes demanded to know. Richard Grayson was Bruce's first, taken in years ago and adopted only a couple of years back. "How is Richard related to Caffrey?"

"Hey, Dick! Why do you need a drawer full of ties?" Jason demanded to know with a wide grin in Neal's direction. He held up a blue tie which Peter had seen before. Neal wore it often but only in the office. If they went outside, he tended to change it. Neal had said that the tie was special and he didn't want anything to happen to it.

"Put that down Todd! I bought that for him!" Damian screeched, reaching across the desk to grab it.

"Everybody FREEZE!" Neal bellowed suddenly in a tone no one had ever heard from him before. It reminded Peter of Hughes or himself, the tone of someone in charge. "Tim, take a couple of steps back and I'll talk to you in a moment. Damian, get off my desk and follow your father up the stairs. Jason, choose. Either get yourself into the conference room or get out before I call security."

Silence reigned for a few moments, broken when Jason sighed and shoved the tie back in the draw.

"You will have to explain," he said, shoving a finger in Neal's face before quickly ascending the stairs and walking right into the conference room without acknowledging anyone else.

Damian made his way up to Bruce with a frown on his pudgy face.

"Tim," Neal sighed. "Really?"

Tim's expression was serious as he responded, "Really."

"Sara was bad enough but now you?" Neal huffed. "Forget about the Raphael for now and I'll explain what's going on upstairs."

"The FBI better get it back in a couple of months in an anonymous package or something," Tim said as Neal guided him up the stairs.

"What just happened?" Agent Blake questioned in shock.

Peter raised an eyebrow at Neal, who just shoved a thumb in the direction of the conference room. Hughes had already walked inside to keep an eye on Bruce Wayne and his brats.

"Okay, Caffrey explain," Hughes ordered.

Neal smiled. "Hi, my name is actually Richard Grayson but most people call me Dick. I'm Bruce's eldest. I... may have done some silly things and Bruce decided I could stay on the anklet until I learnt my lesson."

"You broke out of prison. For a girl," Bruce huffed.

"She was in danger! I was right about that," Neal muttered.

Peter winced at the reminder of what had happened with Kate. Neal had been devastated to lose her. He both disapproved of Bruce treating the anklet like a minor punishment and approved of his disapproval of Neal breaking out of prison.

"Prison. Which you were in because you went and forged bonds for Roy and then gave them to that Mozzie character."

Jason laughed. "Seriously? Bond forgery? Should of known you'd be the most boring white collar criminal."

"Bond forgery is not boring!" Neal countered. "That's mortgage fraud!"

"Does it really matter?" Tim questioned, looking between his two brothers. "Although I guess this is why we haven't seen you outside of phone calls for a while."

"A year," Damian said. "Not that I've been keeping track. I just have a good memory."

"Of course," Neal said with a fond smile and ruffling the kid's hair. Peter was amazed. Neal actually seemed like a responsible adult around these people.

"Dick, we will see you back at your place, I think," Bruce said. He told Tim the address and Jason, Tim and Damian bolted out of the room. "Let me just give you my prepared statement and then I'll be off."

"So, Neal is your son?" Hughes questioned as Bruce handed him a signed statement.

"That's right. Just... let him go by Neal Caffrey. It'll get him into less trouble than Dick Grayson," Bruce advised.

Peter wondered about that but decided to trust the billionaire. Neal already got into trouble on a regular basis. He didn't want to risk it getting worse.

A few months after meeting Bruce Wayne and his kids and learning that Neal was not just Neal but also Dick Grayson, Neal received commutation and was let go. The news had a mixed reaction from the White Collar office. Some agents would miss him while others was glad to see him go. The latter were not from White Collar and didn't interact with Neal often, if at all. Peter wasn't surprised at the news and wondered if Bruce had something to do with it.

Neal left with a smile on his face and a promise to Peter that he would see him again.

A few nights later, Peter had been in the backyard with his wife when a man in a dark uniform jumped over the fence. Peter grabbed his gun while El held him back. She had seen the flash of blue across his chest.

"Peter, wait! That's Nightwing!"

"Nightwing?" The man dropped to the ground, holding his side and Peter looked closer. He did look the vigilante who returned to New York and had started hanging out with a bunch of adults calling themselves the 'Titans'. "He's hurt, El. Get the med kit." He could see the dark stain of blood growing on the man's uniform. He wandered over, holding his hands and the gun up to show he meant no harm. "Can you stand?"

"Ugh, I have no idea. I didn't intend to hit the ground." That voice was familiar.

"Neal?" Nightwing grinned up at him and Peter huffed a sigh. He should have known. He reached down and helped Neal up, caution gone now that he knew who was under the mask. "Why are dressed like that?"

"I'm following a pattern of behaviour instilled in me in a young age," Neal responded. "Also, call me Nightwing, okay? To any outsiders, you're just helping the guy who crashed into your yard. I don't want any of my enemies coming after you two."

"Then why come here?" Peter growled as he deposited Neal into a chair. The man was heavy, probably as a result of all the lean muscle under his uniform. No wonder Neal always had looked fit.

Neal looked at the ground. "I missed you and I promised I would visit." Peter didn't budge, staring at him until he answered probably. "I'm hurt and was close to your place. Plus, I need sleep which isn't interrupted by my friends' 'emergencies' like 'Roy invented a bomb which exploded and now the room is covered in whipped cream' so can I sleep on your couch tonight?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's get a look at you." To his surprise, the suit had a zipper down the back which Peter had to pull down for Neal.

"I would do it, but I don't want to risk tearing myself open even more."

"I would love to know that trick," El said as she came in. "Maybe I could use it to get into some of my dresses."

"Use a coat hanger in the hole of the zipper," Neal responded matter-of-factly. "And pull it up."

Peter resisted telling his wife that were was no hole in the zipper for Neal's uniform. It was small, almost invisible.

Neal's side had been sliced. He raised his arm and had a look.

"Well, that's not as bad as I thought. Hurts though."

"Of course," Peter said patiently as El handed him something to clean the wound with. How had he ended up mending a hurt vigilante in his lounge room anyway? "You know what? While I'm helping you with this, maybe you could help with some of my cases?"

Neal barked a laugh. "Sure, why not?"