#int: robin

[maslosstuff]

I don't like his original turned out but I tried

[protagonists-catastrophe]

bro (robin) just said "who hurt you rexer" loke bro you're gonna find out eventually

> "That's a stupid question. I'm not hurt at all. I'm perfectly fine and healthy, thank you very much."

~~~

> "I seriously doubt that..."

> "Why am I so stubborn in the future...? And who is Robin...? I can't recall a name... or a face..."

> [6/10]

[flyhxghfalldeep]

closed starter for @brokenbeauties

“I know you’re hovering back there,” Damian muttered, not bothering to lift the arm draped over his face. He lay sprawled across the sofa, a book resting open on his chest, its words long forgotten. Maybe Bruce thought he was asleep, but Damian had never felt less at peace. Restless didn’t even begin to cover it. Gotham was quiet - too quiet. The kind of stillness that only harboured the sense that something awful was shifting beneath the surface, just out of sight. He would’ve been out patrolling by now if Barbara hadn’t rather forcefully insisted he take the night off. This isn't healthy, she’d said. You need to clear your head for a few hours. Easier said than done.

Damian shifted slightly, the leather of the couch creaking beneath him, but didn’t move the arm from his face. Rest was a luxury he’d never learned to trust, and wasn't sure that he was built for. “Alright, enough lurking.” He shifted again, just enough to peek through a squinted eye, making sure Bruce was still there. “What is it? I’m not really into guessing games, you know.” Not entirely true, but when Damian was tired, he was more irritable than usual - which was saying something - and he’d much rather just get to the point already.

[louiewells]

starter for: @robinsantos location: louie's kitchen

"Okay, so the bad news is is that I apparently don't have any coffee in the house?" Louie says quizically as she closes the ransacked cabinets in her kitchen.

"Good news is I have lots of hot chocolate? Sound good?"

[masterofallfelids]

Any tips on how to cat properly?

( @just-a-random-robin , Robin II )

...How to cat? That is not a verb.

Uh, from my observations, groom yourself a lot. Act as if you owned everything, I mean, the actual cats do it too, so in this case it's not just a him thing, uh, deny you want affection but find a really convoluted way to ask for it-

...He's always been catlike, hasn't he?

...I will kill you.

[ask-phantom-foundation]

Where’s Shuichi?

Robin:”I am sorry but Shuichi isn’t here right now this is Robin how can I be in your service?”

(huh I am been playing Shuichi on here all the time)

Hope:”Robin be careful around people ok !!!

[bloodhve]

@shcrtsweets liked for a starter! (robin & tammy)

"you know, it's kind of FUNNY --" okay, not funny. terrifying and sad and horrifying, maybe. "-- i worked so hard to get out of wiskayok and now we couldn't get back there even if we TRIED." yeah, not funny. but the irony was so thick it almost tasted like blood upon her tongue. "i never thought i'd actually MISS that town. do you?"

[jjohhuii]

i wont even lie that robin with baby lucina drawing awoke something in me (the beast)

[shilohsharma]

💫 a late night text + robin

Shiloh: Did you know that Blake Lively's brother in law is the coach/Troy Bolton's dad in high school musical? Shiloh: I'm on the graveyard shift at the front desk and I appear to have fallen into a rabbit hole. @robinsantos

[shilohsharma]

"Rich pricks are yelling at me all the time -- you can't have two full-time jobs. Like, what are you gonna do -- beat up Reese Witherspoon when the shampoo in her room is wrong? Are you gonna smack America's Sweetheart? Miss Sweet Home Alabama? Elle Woods? Be serious."

For the most part, Shiloh had gotten used to being berated by high-end hotel guests -- it's part of what came with the territory. She would far rather she be the one getting yelled and not the people who cleaned the rooms or helped people with their bags or worked far more thankless jobs.

"See, this is why you're my emergency contact. You'd make sure that they wouldn't accidentally unplug the machine."

@robinsantos

"If any rich prick yells at you then you better tell me and I'll kick their bleached assholes for you." Robin says fiercely, an edge to her voice.

The rich and the elite of Aurora Bay and the tourists it attracted had always been a plague on her hometown. A blight that kept spreading no matter how hard the locals tried to stop the spread.

Hell would freeze over before she let one of the one percent think they could get away with disrespecting Shiloh.

"I wouldn't have to micro-manage if everybody else could just do it my way without needing to be told to do so." Robin teased lightly, shutting the passenger side door once they managed to fit the last box inside. "Let's go get you some sushi otherwise the only thing I'll be micro-managing is the doctors when you're rushed to the hospital for passing out of me."

[bluemoonbun]

Reader is implied to like feminine things, though gender identity is kept ambiguous.

Damian was a good brother. That’s what he always told himself. He was a good brother, a good son. He was cold, rude, and erudite, but he was able and willing to help anyone who needed it.

When he arrived at Wayne manor, Bruce told him the general run down of why you were to be avoided when it came to anything vigilante related. You were still pure, a year younger than Damian but without any of the pain. The only one in the Wayne manor that could have a shot at becoming a normal person. Damian envied that, but kept it to himself. His anger often boiled to the top, drops of green venom dripping from his mouth when you tried to annoy him into spending time with you.

Your complaints of him ignoring you was scalding water on his already raw nerves. Why would you complain about not being the center of attention for five damn seconds? He would trade anything for the life you had. A life where you could lay around after school and never worry about a rogue bullet lodging itself in your arm, or a poisonous plant releasing psychedelic spores into an open wound.

You could and would never join the Robins. You were weak; it was in your blood. Always sickly, always the pacifist. You wouldn't survive a day in his life. And you weren't living his life; you were living his dream.

But apparently the effort the family was putting in wasn’t enough.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that the manor felt… off about two weeks before the fight with Joker. He couldn’t trace it for the life of him at first. When he realized by the second week that he hadn’t spoken to you in days, or really seen you around the manor at all, he wrote off the worms writhing in his stomach. You must’ve been busy with a class assignment and had little time to annoy him with your demands of time together.

After the fight, however, he was a war of a thousand emotions. How dare you leave them? Why would you turn away an easy life fat on nepotism for a group of murderers, con men, the dredges of Gotham’s society?

Were you truly that desperate to be acknowledged that you’d turn your back on the family who did everything for you? He hopes you’re happy there, since you were clearly so upset at not being given attention.

Over time, however, things start to change. A few days after Jason made a full recovery, Damian looked at one of the drones Tim managed to get a chunk of code from. It took a lot of trial and error, and the development of an entirely new program to grab some of the code before it bricked itself, and enough all nighters and energy drinks that any doctor would faint, but it was managed. The code was dense, optimized to work with the least bloat possible, well tagged variables, and even a handful of comments in the code.

//Buy Bane those Boston Donuts from the donut shop on 5th //Why does this code need to be here so it doesn’t auto brick itself. What is in the code protecting it from the wrath of God //Louie likes Texas barbecue ribs. Possible treat? //DO NOT FEED THEM WHOLE RIBS. COOKED BONES BAD. //SINCE WHEN WAS THIS VARIABLE A STRING??? IT WAS AN INT 5 LINES AGO //Help the hopeless lesbians get together. //Would Harley and Ivy dating make Harley my mom or Ivy my big sister? Both???

His eyes skimmed the retrieved comments, laughing at a few. It seems that Bane, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn were the most common subjects of the notes, though a few mentioning the Iceberg lounge asking what non-alchoholic drink you’d like added, or Riddler offering you another puzzle to keep your mind active. Even Joker was mentioned, though it seemed mostly transactional.

It was strange seeing you in this light. You seemed to have a lot of spice in you, but a heart made of gold. You were definitely surprised whenever one othe villains offered to take you on some trip to amusement parks, regular parks, even just willingly watching anime with you. It was odd to see. Surely someone at the house did those things with you? He didn’t but he was extremely busy with school and vigilantism. Jason was legally dead, so surely he had all the time in the world.

“How was I supposed to relate to them? They’re what, 12 and into shit like that one with the cat looking dog thing and the robot girl. I have shit to do. Y’know, managing Crime Alley?”

Well, Dick had come over to hang out plenty of times. Surely he’d spent at least a few hours with you every now and then? “I have an entire team and criminals to manage of in another city, Damian. I don’t have as much time as you think to do whatever it was with them they’d wanted to do”

Maybe Tim? “I have college and stuff, Damian. And I don’t have the energy to put into hanging around them. I’d probably just be sleeping most of the time.

Bruce? “I have to manage you, Gotham, and the Justice League, Damian. I barely have time for myself.”

… Alfred? “I tried, Master Damian. However I’m constantly pulled thin between so many tasks. Besides, all you have is school most days, and you’ve had summer vacations and weekends. Shouldn’t you’ve had plenty of time to spend with your younger sibling?”

… He did have the most time outside of vigilantism. And it took him a week to realize you were missing.

You had to realize that they were under extreme stress though, right?He couldn’t spend all his free time with you. He had his own friends to hang out with. How were you two even supposed to relate?

One day at dinner, the thoughts were thrashing in his head, slamming against soft tissue and tearing through brain matter. He aimlessly poked at the food on his plate.

“You alright, replacement?” Jason asked, pausing in his extremely rare dinners with everyone else. Alfred had promised him a tray of fudge to take home this time around, and nobody made fudge quite as good as he did.

“… They were gone for two weeks.”

Everyone stopped eating as he continued.

“Two weeks. Two full weeks before they showed up at that fight. Did anyone here even know? I only noticed after a week and assumed they were just holed up in their room with a class assignment or something.” He was rambling. Everyone was quiet and looking at each other. How did it manage to slip past everyone? They were detectives, for Christ’s sake.

They were your family.

—

Dinner ended with guilt wrapping around their throats and pulling.

Eventually, all of them found themselves in your room. It had been emptied, but showed no signs of struggle. All the small items, the comforter, and your clothes were gone. But what was taken left something behind. Copies of photos of you winning state level competitions, letters requesting your attendance at seminars, photos of gold medals and blue ribbons spread across the floor. Most damning of all was the most recent photo. A certificate by some big time tech company being handed to you. Edward Nashton stood behind you, a firm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

When had this happened? They never remembered hearing of something like this. A news clipping on the back told them it was maybe a week before you left.

“The Wayne prodigy stated that their family had more important things to see to than such an occasion. I can’t imagine something more important that either of my kids being recognized by a multi-million dollar tech company! I remember postponing an anniversary with my husband to celebrate our child placing second in the science fair. But I guess that’s just the Waynes for you!”

That’s just the Waynes to you.

But it’s ok. He can make it better. He can be a good big brother. He can spend time watching anime with you and decorating your room with lace and fairy lights and go makeup shopping with you. You just need to come home. Now.

---------------- Taglist! Ask to be added! Edit: It is now closed!

@jjsmeowthie , @jsprien213 , @ladyrosemone

[flyhxghfalldeep]

closed starter for @rvinedbloom

"You can come up here if you want, but I'm not sharing," Damian muttered, already perched on the balcony ledge like he belonged there. As if Stephanie had ever waited for his permission to go anywhere. This spot was his quiet refuge when the manor got too loud - when everything got too loud. There was something about being high above it all, watching the world in miniature, that made the chaos inside him feel smaller too. He and Alfred had spent the evening baking - something Damian always insisted was a chore, yet he never missed it, showing up each time with quiet eagerness. Now, as a result, he sat nibbling idly on a slightly lopsided cinnamon roll.

"I didn’t think Gotham could get any weirder, but ever since that new ruling, everything’s just…off," Damian huffed, unable to find a better word. Change had never sat well with him, and this one was no exception. "What're you doing out here, anyways?"

[messenger-of-babel]

Nightmares

Summary: The Wayne family calls you in When they can't snap Tim out of it. (Tim Drake x reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: Tim is my fav as Robin ❤️ Yes, I did read the Hush arc. People are oddly divided if Jason really did try to kill Tim which is an argument for a later day, but it'd still mess with anyone regardless so shhhhh. Enjoy xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was hardly ever that you were contacted by the Wayne residence, so when you got a call one Friday evening, a cold ball began forming in your stomach. With a surprised stutter you responded that you were still at the Gotham University library, studying up for your finals. Before you even got a chance to ask what was going on, Alfred kindly let you know that he was going to be picking you up before the receiver went dead.

Unsure of what to do, you shifted from foot to foot outside of the library. The night was cold for Spring, the coattails of winter still wrapped around the city. As you fidget you try to think of any reason that they would be calling you. After all, you and Tim had only been dating for eight months or so. In those eight months you had visited the manor maybe twice, much less met his family. Tim had dragged you through the hallways as soon as you hit the foyer, hurrying you to his room so fast that you could only exchange a surprised glance with the members he passed. You could only think of the worst scenarios, minutes stretching for eternity as you trapped yourself inside your mind.

What if they hated you dating Tim? You weren't from an affluent family like they were, growing up in a poor area of Robinson Park. You got into Gotham U on a scholarship, which was how you both had met in the first place. What if they looked down upon that and were going to threaten you to break up with him? If they ever chose to, they certainly would have the power and sway to. Hell, they could chase you out of Gotham entirely and no one would be the wiser. You thought of all these ideas, just to distract yourself from the underlying thought that sat like an unwelcome visitor int he back of your mind.

The little thought that whispered over and over again, 'What if something has happened to Tim?'

The Wayne car rolling to a stop in front of you was enough to snap you out of your worrying, making the ball in your stomach only grow heavier. The visage of Pennyworth, the butler, appears from the driver’s side. He gives you a small, tight, smile and exits the car, opening the back as you descend the stairs.

"After you, dear."

You hesitantly poke your head in as he waves his hand politely to the open door, blood draining from your face. You had expected the car to be empty, but as you studied the shadows it was very clearly not the case. The sturdily built man in front of you had his arm propped up on the window, chin in his palm. His deep blue eyes glinted from the shadows he seemed to melt into, rough timbre floating your way. "Come in."

You anxiously shuffle into the seat, leaving a space between you and the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. There's a tense silence as Alfred gets into the driver’s side and starts the car, headed to the Manor once more. You shuffle in your seat, pulse thudding against your neck.

"It's nice to meet you." you say, clearing your throat awkwardly. The icy eyes of the billionaire flick to you, scanning you up and down.

"And same to you." he says smoothly, staring back out the window with a rich indifference. "I'm sure you know why we called you?"

"Actually, I don't sir." you say gently, fiddling with your fingers. They gave you nothing to work off of, how could they expect you to know what was happening?

"It's about Tim." he says, and your heart flips.

"Is he okay?" falls out before you can even temper your voice properly.

"He's…in a difficult space right now." Bruce hums back at you, worry creasing at the corner of his eyes. "He won't work with any of us, won't come out. We thought that maybe you could help. Actually, Dick recommended we call you."

Dick Grayson. The only brother you had met, albeit only briefly. He had been passing through for a charity event and had come to ask Tim a question, ducking his head inside the bedroom. Tim had gone to get snacks, leaving you to nervously explain who you were. When you mentioned that you were dating Tim, a wide smile had split the older man's face. He'd promptly introduced himself, stepping inside and shaking your hand. Tim had chased him out soon after he arrived back, the elder brother's laughing echoing down the halls long after Tim had shut and locked the door.

"Is it bad?" you whisper out, fists curling on your knees.

"He's alive and physically uninjured, if that's what you're asking. Now, what I'm about to tell you is confidential. You tell anyone, and I mean anyone," Bruce's eyes flash dangerously. "Then there will be severe consequences."

When you nod his shoulders drop slightly, and he uncoils. You had always been intimidated by the man and the sheer power he wielded, but you didn't take him for someone to be so fiercely protective. There was something in his eyes that flickered when he stared you down, a scarred over wound that re-opened at the thought of you harming his family.

"I promise." you say, rising to match Bruce's tone. "I just want to help Tim."

The answer settles the wary father next to you, relaxing back into his seat.

He fills you in, dread filling your stomach more and more. He explains how they've been a target of a terrorist attack, Tim getting caught in the crossfire. The story seems wild and something in the back of your mind gets the impression he isn't telling you everything, but you remind yourself that this is Gotham, and being a rich family paints a rather large target.

"Fear gas?" you whisper, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought Batman put the Scarecrow in Arkham."

Bruce bites his knuckles but nods. "Yeah, that is what I thought too. So, we're suspecting it's either a lackey of his, or the Bat isn't as thorough as he appears." he grunts, teeth relenting their assault so he can cross his arms. "Masked annoyance." he mutters, his nose crinkling.

"How can I help?" you ask, adrenaline rushing through your veins in a mild cocktail of panic.

"Talk to him. get him to come out. We've had a doctor look him over and he'll be fine, he got out of the gassed room in time. His mental is just a bit…fragile, right now. He won't accept comfort from us. Some of us can't even get close. So, we thought you might be able to try." Bruce studies you closely. "We want to deal with this before press come snooping. It'll only affect his social life if this gets out before he's had a chance to recover, so I must reiterate the importance of your silence. This is a family matter; we will deal with it as such."

you nod along, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yes, sir."

"But do not take it to heart if my son doesn’t recognise you." he says firmly. "He isn't himself right now. This isn't a reflection on your or your relationship."

You want to ask about how much he knew about your relationship, but as you open your mouth you're cut off by the voice of Alfred. "We're here, sir."

The car rolls to a stop, and Alfred opens Bruce's door and then yours. The manor is imposing, but you don't get long to look at it before you're ushered away. You're walked to the door of Tim's bedroom; except this time your arm is being led by the sympathetic smile of Pennyworth. He leaves you in peace, and it's never felt more imposing knocking on your boyfriend's door than now.

"Tim?" you call softly, rapping your knuckles against the richly coloured wood. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

There's no response, making worry knot up in your chest. "I'm coming in, okay?" you call out, hand hesitantly turning the brass knob and opening the door just enough so you can slip inside.

It's dark, only moonlight illuminating the scene before you. His bedsheets have been ripped from the mattress, pillows scattered around. Drawers were open haphazardly, contents spilled across the tiled floor. Your heart lurched spying the sheer curtains that fluttered in front of the open bay windows, worrying that he might have gone out there despite the drop. It calms slightly when you spy him, huddled under the desk. You approach as if regarding a cornered animal, concern twitching in your fingers. The desk was devoid of any objects, swiped clear by a frenzied arm. The drawers were open and empty, content spilled around him.

"Hey, Tim." you say, crouching to him under the desk. He looks a mess, face pressed tightly into his knees. He's curled into a ball, arms tucked under his torso, resting on the front of his thighs. "it's me." your murmur, reaching out gently. "it's just me."

He jumps as your fingers lightly brush against his arm, face snapping up. His eyes are puffy and red rimmed, cheeks stained with tears. His hair is tousled and messy, falling over the shaking of his blue irises. The sight pangs painfully in your heart, and when he no longer pulls away from your touch, your hand slowly circles his wrist. He leans into your touch, body trembling as you pull him towards you. When you manage to get him in a hug you can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the shaky and quickened breaths that he draws into his lungs.

"Please don't hurt me." he whispers, shattering your heart. You look at him wide eyed, gently tilting his face to meet yours.

"Why on earth would I do that?" you breathe out, confusion on your face. His eyes are watery and far away, lips trembling. "I'd never do that, Tim. you know that."

"Please don't leave." he chokes out. "Please. Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone again, I'll work harder, I’ll be smarter, I'll do better." he reassures frantically, pupils shifting rapidly. "I'll do enough this time. I'll meet your expectations. Just don't go."

Your mouth drops and there's nothing that you can say for a few moments. "Oh, Tim…" you breathe out. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? absolutely nowhere." you murmur gently. "And you don't need to promise that. You do enough, hell, you do so much. You do so much more than meet expectations, Tim. You surpass them in every way."

he shakes his head at your comforting, hair flopping in front of his eyes.

"I saw them." he mumbles, although you aren’t sure if it is to himself or to you. "They were just here, I saw them.'

"Who?" you ask softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks.

"My parents." he mumbles back out. "I saw them. they were here. They said... They said things..."

You sigh.

Bruce had told you that the effect of the gas made people see things, vivid hallucinations conjured up to torture them. You just hadn't been able to comprehend how deep in someone's mind the fear gas was able to pull from. "And there was Jason." he chokes out. "I never meant to replace him, but he wouldn't listen, and then I felt it all over again." he stammers out, spare hand coming to trace along his throat softly. "But Jason turned into Damian, and then he pushed me and I was falling again. I'm not a real son, I'm not a real replacement I'm-"

"Stop." you command, unable to hold your own tears back at his words. You had no idea what he was saying. Jason and Damian hurting him? Tim complained lightly about his brothers at times, but he had equal amount of compliments to give them back (even if they were begrudging). It had to be the toxin messing with his mind, distorting the images he kept conjuring up.

"Tim, your brother's love you." you say. "Bruce loves you, Alfred loves you, I love you. So please," your whisper, hands holding his face. "Please, wake up, Timmie."

His pupils dilate rapidly as he peers up at you, and you can see him struggle to focus. "Please," you plead again softly. "Please come back. Trust me. You're safe."

Water spills over his lash line and his lips curl into a sob, but his body relaxes. He unfurls from the foetal position, absent rocking of his body coming to a slow halt.

"That's it," you breathe out. "Nice and easy, just take a deep breath."

When he relaxes enough for you to crawl under the desk with him, you do, his arms circling your waist as you pull his head forward to rest on your shoulder. He turns and buries his face in your neck, hot tears streaking down your skin as he sobs. "I couldn't dodge it in time…" he weakly says, hands shaking. "If I had dodged I wouldn't be seeing this. I'm supposed to be…I'm supposed to be faster than that…"

Your lips frown at the despair in his voice. From his tone it seems like he was slowly becoming more lucid, but you still had no idea what he was on about. With a few gentle encouragements you get his frantic murmuring to cease completely, fight draining out of him. You can feel the effects wearing off him as time passes, and you hate to imagine what the toxin must have done to him at full strength. You just run a comforting hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and occasionally shushing him. When you tilt your head to kiss the top of his head, your eyes narrow in on the piece of paper that had fluttered from his lap.

It had been obscured when he was curled up, pressed to his chest. now that he had begun to relax it had slipped out, landing face up. It was a photo of you, taken in black and white. He had gotten a new camera for his birthday and wanted to try it out, so he brought it to the library the next time you both met up to study together. You were looking up at the camera, smiling softly as the light from the window filtered in behind you. Your eyes follow the curve of your grin to the way your eyes crinkle joyfully as you gaze in his direction. The corners are rolled and creased from the toying of his fingers, and you softly reach out to pick it up.

His arms tighten around you as you move to retrieve it, making you rub his back comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere." you say softly, pulling the picture back towards you. "I promise," you whisper, looking at yourself in the photo he had been cradling so reverently before you came. "I'm not going anywhere, ever."

And you intended to keep that promise before anything like this happened again.

[vanessagable]

"Don't even joke," Van replies with a somber expression.

In typical circumstances, she'd take an paparazzi over an obsessive fan any day.

Paparazzi would at least leave you alone after they got their shot. Fans would cling to your arm and act like they knew you.

Xavier was far better at managing them.

"Today it's just weirdos trying to get bump pics -- and I just don't particularly look like I'm glowing today. Not in a good way, at least."

@robinsantos

Robin taps her fingers against the counter, brows scrunched together. "Who are we avoiding?" She tips her head backwards, craning her head to follow Van's gaze towards the front door.

"Paparazzi? Obsessive fan?" @vanessagable

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 4

Uuugghh, so late... I'm so sorry!

I cut this chapter down so many times, and despite its normal length, all the cutting down makes it feel incomplete. I just hope it's not bad ⁽͑ʺˊ˙̫ˋʺ⁾̉

The thing that really messed me up is that there's only a few months before Tim comes in?? This is not enough time for grief or my plotline.

15 - ... That's it.. so much is happening to this poor child in such a short amount of time..

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

The sun cuts through Gotham's smoggy morning skies. An almost ever-present fog settled softly over the city, pierced only by the dark skyscrapers it lays over. Bruce is doing the one thing he's feared since bringing in the first Robin.

Burying his child.

Yet, he's stopped at the door, the old butler standing firm in his way, "Alfred what are you doing? We've got-"

He's cut off with a tut, "I won't allow it, I will not let you hurry off this time. Master Bruce, you must spare a moment of your time. Just this once." Arms crossed and face set in that fatherly disapproval Bruce always faltered under. He would usually have at least an idea of what he was being scolded over.

Now? He's not feeling like a great detective; he's just lost and hurting. "What's this about? You know what today is—Jason's funeral." Again, he's cut off by an increasingly frustrated Alfred.

"Exactly, sir. You ought to know how much they meant to one another." Besides them, Barbra and Gordon had planned to meet at the cemetery. The grimace over his face only grows as Bruce wracks his brain for a clue.

Giving in, he asks exasperated, "Who?"

Alfred's glare deepens, but before he can open his mouth, there's a commotion. Hurried feet, half covered, race down the hall until you slam to a stop at the banister. "I'm here! I'm so sorry!" Hobbling down the stairs, you huff, pulling on your other shoe fully.

"Oh, you're coming?" He blinks down at you, brows knitting together.

You turn your face so fast it feels like you're on the verge of whiplash. Lips nearly falling agape as you look incredulity at him. "What are you even saying? Of course?!" How could he even ask you something like that? Hot anger grips at your ears, raking down the back of your neck to dig its fingers into you deeply.

"No, you're right." He clears his throat, shame flitting across his face. You've never raised your voice at him. "Of course you're coming."

"Shall we get going then, Master Bruce?" Alfred seems mostly satisfied, finally opening the door.

The press couldn't wait to dig their fingers into this tragedy. Chomping at the bits over a false date. All to be the first to shove a camera in the face of someone grieving. Bruce has been working to keep his affairs private.

There is only a handful of people at the actual service. You arrive first with Alfred and Bruce. Gordon comes next, bickering with Barbra as he insists on pushing her wheelchair for her. You hate that you don't know what happened to her. Just like you'll never know what really happened to Jason.

Your father stands between you and the commissioner as they speak in hushed tones. Maybe it's a moment of clarity, maybe it's just pity, but he pulls you into his half embrace. The press of his solidly built side warmed you against the bite from a sudden gust of wind.

Your ears can't take in the pastor's words, lost to your own thoughts. Only days ago, you had him in your grasp, bemoaning his safety. A painful irony that hurts when you can't hold the laugh that turns into a sob. Knees giving out under you, hands wiping fruitlessly at your face.

Alfred grunts softly as he lowers himself to the ground beside you. He rubs soothing circles into your back, "Take your time, young master. I'll be here with you as long as you need."

"Where-?" Looking up, your head wipes around.

With a heavy sigh, he pats your shoulder again, "Your father left with Commissioner Gordan and his daughter." You hadn't even noticed him leave.

Releasing a similarly deep breath, you lean into his comfort. "Right, of course."

Because, of course, Batman has better things to do than grieve. How? How can it be fair? How can he fight on? How can the city buzz around you? How can day turn to night? How can the earth keep spinning? How can it all just leave you behind?

When your world has come to a stop at the foot of a perfect square of fresh soil.

You went back the next day, and the next, and the next. After a week, you stopped asking Alfred to take you. He was busy as it was, and it was starting to feel embarrassing despite his understanding and reassurance. MJ and Gwen have gone with you, both together and separately. Jason had grown close to each of you in the precious few years you all knew him. Pushing on, once a day, after grinding through school and extracurriculars, you bid your friends a good night and head to the graveyard. Coming to sit at the same spot that's worn to a small dirt patch in your regular use.

Just as when he was here with you, you told him about your day, grades, drama, worries, hopes, the things he would have liked to see, to hear, to eat, to do... But he couldn't, and after a few weeks, you weren't sure if this was helping anymore. Thinking of him in everything just to repeat it all back to an empty sky.

Even your usual late-night ornithology had dived. Well, more like a stumble, but... It's different now. The whole thing just felt so unfair. Seeing him suited up perfectly, like your brother's not in a grave. Robin is gone, and Batman moves along.

It's one of those nights when you are more hate-watching than admiring. Still taking your camera with you. What's the point in going out if you don't get at least one pic'? You're on the bus headed downtown when a familiar buzzing in your pocket jostles you from the passing sights of the city. Reading the contact your stomach drops seeing the name Dick Grayson display across the screen. You squeeze the phone in your hand, taking a deep breath before putting on your 'I totally want to be talking to you' voice, "Hey, Dickie, what is it?" God forbid he thinks something is wrong. You'll be tracked down and shipped back to the manor 'for your own good.'

"Wanted to make sure you got home alright." He says flippantly, it sounds like he's out and about somewhere, likely trying to look good for someone.

"I'm almost there. Call you when I get in." Of course, you couldn't escape a call with your Big Brother without a safety lecture. You know he's only doing it because he feels obligated. It's his thing, to be annoying, to nag really, clucking on and on like he's some mother hen. "Yep.. Yeah.. Okay..." But you've lived in the city long enough to know when to cross the street and places with names like 'Crime Alley' are bad.

Funnily enough, it makes you think he's doing too much, for once, but you know.. he just doesn't want to lose anyone else... "Of course, Dick." But it's all fake, purely for show, tricking just himself. You won't be home tonight, and he won't notice when you don't call.

It's obvious how ready he is to dismiss and forget this, you, by the end of his monologue. Then, he says, "Okay, well, I'll talk to you later." liar, "Buh-bye, little bird, love you!" How it must make him feel so good to think you two are so close, whenever he decides you are.

You're almost out of this call, and he's hanging on the other side expectantly for it. So, un-gritting your teeth as best you can, you responded, "Love you, too, bye."

Stepping off the bus, you pull your hood lower. Making your way through the downtown streets unseen. Just as the heart of many American cities, the heart of Gotham City smells like a filthy urinal. If only you could run back to wherever the fuck you came from. Though, for all you know, that could still leave you stuck in the city of crime.

It's not all bad; Alfred and your friends are here with you. Though the latter two are becoming increasingly concerned about your mourning patterns. While the first looks you over in a sad, knowing gaze, he's seen how Waynes deal with grief. He's simply thankful you haven't gone that far.. Yet...

You make your way cautiously through the outskirts of the old ACE chemicals. The gunfire has settled, and you feel more confident in the silence to push through the broken doors. You aren't sure where in the facility Bats ended this fight, but you're itching for one more shot.

The last one, him stalking along a rooftop just before he made his descent, could suffice. Coiled like a spring, ready to pounce. He's had an edge to his movements since the incident. A volatile air that translated into hard hits and meaner take downs. You shouldn't be here, you've seen enough, gotten too close. Yet, you just couldn't help yourself.

I'm the corner of your eye; you catch his figure. He hops from a rail and slips through a broken skylight. Trying to get back out the door again, you trip. A rusty pipe catches your foot, sending you skidding across concrete. Patting across the roof tells you he's made his escape. Confirmed concretely by the rumbling of the Batmobile coming to life.

Huffing at your own inability, you pull yourself up slowly before realization hits. Your camera. Scrambling to your feet, you search for the device that had been flung from your neck. Plucking it from its spot across the floor, you inspect the damage.

Which is brutal, to say the least. Bits of lens fall from place as you turn it over. Retching the SD card from the scuffed device, you settle on a half-set of stairs. Sighing heavily as you rest your aching body carefully against the rusted metal.

Well, looks like you really won't be getting that final picture after all.

Stewing in your loss, you don't notice the small spider descending on you until it nips the side of your neck. With a yelp, you swat it off you, peering down in ire as it lands in the dirt of the factory floor. A body of vibrant red and blue that almost glowed, ferried along by spindly legs that moved like Claymation. You swipe your case, chomping it up in the camera carrier. Snapping it shut and zipping it up quickly. It'll stay, right? If this weird thing just bit you, surely Alfred would want to see it. It could be poisonous.. or venomous? Whichever, you just hope you don't die from this freaky spider.

At home, you drop the little thing in a jar you had fished out of the cupboards. Poking holes in the lid with one of your stray sewing pins. In the bathroom, you yank your shirt aside. Two little puncture wounds are surrounded by aggravated skin. Stippled and angry in color, you try not to touch it but, fuck, does it itch like crazy. You had returned home that night only to discover that Alfred was not home. Leaving you a meal to reheat and note of his return. That's fine! You'll simply run all this by him when he's back. Surely this won't kill you, right?

But, as you lay in bed, writhing around in pain, you reconsider. You're almost certain, as you begged to the empty room for Alfred's merciful aid, this may be your end. Hot pedipalps of agony claw over every inch of your body.

Despite the night when morning came you woke up feeling much better, different even. Certainly not emotionally, but physically. Your body feels different, changing. Not in a puberty way either, well, yes but, no. Your hand immediately reaches to find the mark on your neck. The memory of its irritation trickles through your rousing subconscious only to be met with nothing. Skin only slightly raised and the shade of a long held scare in the shape of the smallest circles are your only proof. Like something that happened long ago and not just last night.

Something stops you from telling Alfred. Maybe it's the teenage audacity to think that if you're not visibly hurt, everything must be okay. Right? Yeah, you totally got this. So, you head to school. What was there to be done about it now?

"This thing bites you, nasty bad, you're dying, but you miraculously recovered and now everything is okay." Gwen rehashes your story suspiciously, "Yeah, I wouldn't believe you either."

Knocking your shoulder with hers, you huff your defense, "Okay, but it did happen, though."

MJ gives you a funny face, hung up on one detail in particular, "Why would you bring it home though? Are you gonna keep it?" She leans into your side, doing your cheek, "Weird lil' pet for the lil' weirdo?"

Deadpanning at her teasing, you muse, "Actually, I was thinking of putting it in your locker."

She gasps a melodramatic, "YOU WOULDN'T." Before ripping herself away like you've physically wounded her.

Unfortunately, she stumbles into the arms of Flash-fucking-Thompson, "Aww, what's wrong, baby?" He wraps his arms around her waist, caging her against him, and he leers over her. "Need me to save you?"

MJ throws wild kicks and elbows until she's released from his grasp, "Haven't I made it clear? I'm not interested. Leave me the hell alone already flash." Huffing, she quickly backs away from him behind you and Gwen.

Flash steps up to your small group, "Don't be so stuck up!"

Gwen meets his step in turn, "She said no, being an ass isn't going to change that." She glared up at him, blocking his way.

Rolling his eyes, Flash moves to pass her. "Come on, I'm just having a little fun." There's a tingling sensation at the back of your neck as he brushes past Gwen. Time feels like it stops when Flash lifts his hand towards Mj.

Reaching out with a swiftness that you've never known, you catch his wrist, "Can't you get it through that thick skull of yours?" You're not sure where it comes from but you can practically hear his teeth grit as he scoffs hot breath in your face. "Maybe there's just nothing in there for it to hold onto."

He grips the front of your shirt in his free hand, "Do you wanna get put in the ground?" You would normally be fucking terrified. Sure, you've got training, but Flash is a lot bigger and could definitely lay you the fuck out. Yet, you don't back down, especially when he tries to pull his wrist from your grasp, and it doesn't budge. Even when he tries again. and again.

As confusion spreads across his face, a grin crosses yours, "I'd like to see you try."

Yanking his arm, you surprise even yourself as Flash's back dents the lockers behind you. Staring wide-eyed and mouth agape you watch him groan as he raises back to his feet.

"Glaring up at you, he grunts out a low, "You're so fucking dead."

The blur of his hand balling into a fist swing towards you and it felt second nature to stepping around each throw. Ducking away with grace that left even you shocked, dodging each move he made was almost too simple.

Mj leans over Gwen's shoulder. "Should we help?"

Panic floods over Flash as he huffs and puffs, trying near desperately now to land a single blow. Until you finally reach out, snatching up his wrist in your iron-clad grasp. His eyes toggle between your hand and your face as if he can't believe it actually belongs to you.

Arms crossed, Gwen watched wide-eyed as Flash struggled in vain to free himself, "Which one...?"

The moment your hand connects with his chest, the force sends him flinging backwards. Past the crowds that gathered to watch, and skidding to a stop across the half way down the hall. While you think he deserved it, you're still standing in this middle of the hall. The flames of shame lick up your spine, climbing higher as an authoritative voice calls out from through your audience, "What's going on out here?!" Standing there as aghast as the people around you, the reality of oh fuck, you just did that, engulfs you entirely.

So, what do you do? Well, you run, of course. Your friends go after you, try to at least. While you commend their efforts, you've never run this fast in your life. Any major obstacle suddenly feels like a minor inconvenience at best. Skidding around corners, you bound over cars like trash cans and swivel past ruffled people in an apologetic blur as you tear down the bustling city streets.

Finally coming to a stop, partway through your recovery from tearing through Gotham on foot, halfway through your school day, after... Alfread is going to be pissed. Beyond pissed. You just know it; you've never been in a fight before. Not like this; you weren't one to cause trouble at school. God, he's going to be so disappointed. Fuck, why did you do that? How did you do that?

Finding yourself bent over and heaving heavily at the doors of Wayne manor but, after hardly a moment of recuperation, you tear the door open. Only to remember too late that they're locked. It doesn't stop the doors from busting open at your commands as bits of metal and wood fly from place at the destructive entrance. Leaving with a broken door, dropped jaw and wondering...

What the fuck is happening to you?!

Tossing aside the useless barrier, your mind is a tangled web of fear and confusion. Simply trying to hide away in your room seems to be a challenge. Nothing can stand a chance against your touch, door handles, faucets, that poor little stool you tripped over... Obliterated under your misplaced foot.

Then, to make it better, while snatching up your blanket to hide under, a silky string shoots out of your wrist. Thin strings of silk connect the fabric back to you, sticking from a small mark on your inner wrist, ripping your hand away another comes from you to stick to the wall. You're already fuzzy, panic-stricken brain raddles uselessly in your head until you've finally wrapped snuggly in your blanket. In that, you couldn't help laughing, while you got what you wanted, you hadn't planned to do so while strung up in silken webs of your own peculiar making.

Stewing in your frustrating and accidental cocoons, you jolt at the sound of a sudden gasp from the main entrance, "Uhh.. Alfred?!" Nervously you cry out from help to the only person who could do so.

Hurried footsteps deliver you the alarmed sight of Alfread. "Young Master-!" Catching sight of you at the end of a line of destruction was one thing, but this. "Oh, my word..."

Squirming in your cage of web and blanket, your muffled voice admits sheepishly, "I think I might... Need some help."

With a deep sigh, the old butler gets to work doing what he can. It takes a while, but you're soon cut loose. Shaking his head, he quietly assesses the damage. He steps away to give you the time to pull yourself and your room together. Tearing the web down and straightening fallen doors with a sulk. It took enormous effort to not cause more damage as you helped clean up your mess.

A hand lays on your shoulder as you trudge back to your room. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" He offers in a gentle tone.

Everything that's happened in such a short period of time, for some reason, the first thing that comes to your mind is, "I got in a fight at school..." Your head's hung, but the snort he tries to hide in a cough is still pretty audible.

His hand moves to pat your head. "While that's quite disappointing to hear, I believe there to be a more pressing matter at hand, young master." He lifts the other to present a distinctly batman-branded knife. "This is the only thing that could cut through that... web."

"Right! Yeah..."

Praying to anything that will listen you list off to Alfred how you when somewhere you should have been, hurt yourself, broke your camera, got bitten by an obviously suspicious spider.. took down someone who you were no match for typically.. broke a few more things and... wow, you are so fucked.

Yet, Alfred, your gracious Saviour, waves the fight off as an accident under rather peculiar circumstances. Putting yourself in the situation that led to said circumstances, on the other hand, well... You're lucky your only punishment is to repair the damage you've caused. Which were quite surmountable, made somehow both easier and harder with these new abilities you've come into.

Though you still must deal with the consequences at school, Alfred defended you the best he could. It was surprisingly easy for him to pay them for repairs; what they really appreciated was more donations for school maintenance if everything was swept away. You would both receive a punishment, a week of suspension, for simply causing a minor disturbance on school grounds. Not a word of anything beyond that was said to your father. For once, this was something he was the last person you want to have in attention.

You're advancing in every physical activity you put yourself through far faster than ever before. Gymnastics is a breeze, and material arts- actually, this new strength has begot the need to learn to... Reel it in. You're not trying to actually hurt your training partner, but it was all becoming increasingly difficult to handle. Alfred sneaks you a set of papers titled Super Strength Balance Training filled with helpful tips for your very specific problem and rather cute example pictures. You wonder where he got them...

It doesn't take long for you to try out making those webs again. It hasn't happened again since. So, you're worried that maybe it ran out? Does that excuse you preces on the roof of a scarily tall building? No, but your incredible new ability to jump to mind blowing heights and skipping along building tops is actual as fun as they make it look but still real fucking scary.

As fun as it is to hop around and lift the biggest thing you can find around the mansion, to Alfred's dismay. Glancing over those strange marks, you look up to an intimidating crane and flick your wrist out. Just for nothing to happen, so, you try again, "Up up and away web!" and again and, again, "Go web go!" and finally after contorting your hand in all kinds of ridiculous ways, you give up.

Pulling at your sleeve, you inspect your wrist, poking at it in frustration. It's not until you press your middle and ring finger to your palm that a string of web fly from you. You watch in wide-eyed and dropped-jaw astonishment as it soars over the crane you were aiming for and out of sight. Now, with more purpose, you aim at the metal, breathe deeply, press your fingers to your palm, and shoot.

Embarrassingly, you gasp pretty loud when the web actually latches into place. Grabbing the silk strand, you step up to the ledge. There was so much you still had to do, say, fix, but right now... You just want to know what it was like to fly. Just like they do. "Tallyho!" Kicking off the wall, you swing over the city street. Your landing was.. Less than graceful, slamming into a billboard, but you still made it! Laying breathless, night creeps in to chase away the lingering rays of light over the vacant rooftop, and you stay long after you've caught your breath. For the first time in months, everything else melted away, and you were happy. 

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