Writing Prompt #12
Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.
Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.
Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.
While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.
These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".
There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—
"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.
But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.
He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.
"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.
"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.
"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.
He doesn't look away from the man.
"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."
"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.
The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.
The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"
Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."
"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."
He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.
"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.
"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.
"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."
"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.
"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."
"Him."
"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."
"Why me?"
"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."
This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.
"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"
"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."
Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."
"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."
"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."
"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."
"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."
"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.
"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.
"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."
"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."
"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."
Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.
Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.
"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."
The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.
"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.
"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."
"I have more than one."
"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."
"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"
There is a pause.
"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."
"Resolve what?"
"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."
"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."
Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."
The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."
"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."
"They will have already muzzled him."
Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.
"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."
"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—
Clack!
"sluuuuurp!"
"Master Timothy, honestly!"
"Sorry Alfred!"
1K notes
·
View notes
Wes ruins everything
Wes had finally done it, he had finally realized why nobody ever belived him about Fenton and Phantom! It made so much sense now, he had been looking for an answer for years, thinking he was going crazy because everybody refused to see the Obvious!
He was Cursed!
He literally had an Ancestoral Curse on his Bloodline that made it so that all those born with the gift of Prophecy would be ignored! A Gift of Prophecy that he apparently had.
It was Cassandra's Curse, the one from Greek Myths. Apparently she was his Great×1000 Grandmother and passed down the Gift (and Curse) of Prophecy to him. And he knew how to break it!
All he needed to do was gather the right resources, chant the correct incantations, make sure not to accidentally summon a Demon in the process, and he could just foist the Curse onto some other poor schmuck. Sure it would suck for them, and he would loose his Gift of Prophecy, but Wes had been ignored for Years at this point, he needed validation!
So he did the Ritual, and he didn't mess it up, and he managed to get rid of the Curse.
Now all he had to do was convince everybody that he was right for the first time in his life! This was going to be great!
...
Cass didn't know what was going on.
A while ago, she had started getting these...gut feelings that she couldn't explain.
She would look over the details of a Case her Family was working on, and see a patern that the others were seemingly ignoring. Like when she realized that The Penguin was about to raid the Docks on the East Side, but the others were convinced it was going to be on the West.
But when she had tried to tell them, they had brushed her off. "We've already concluded that he will begin the Raid on the West side, no need to go to the East."
She had gone anyways, and low and behold she had been right. But nobody even acknowledged that she had been right at all, they had just wondered how they had missed the signs, not even questioning how she had known.
It wasn't limited to Cases either. Even small things, like telling her brother's where the TV remote was were brushed off, and hours later they would still be looking, never even having checked where she told them.
It seemed that no matter what, nobody cared about her point of view anymore. They kept brushing her off, telling her she was wrong, actively ignoring her ideas.
And it was getting worse. They were starting to ignore her more and more, forgetting she was in the room, not calling her down for Dinner, even forgetting to check in on her during Patrol.
She knew that there must be something going on, Magical or otherwise, but when she tried bringing it up with her Dad or JLD, they would also Brush her off.
Her Family was forgetting her. And they didn't even realize it.
...
Danny was not okay at the moment.
When he had gone to school a few weeks ago and noticed everybody staring at him, he didn't give it much thought. Maybe Dash or Paulina had spread another Rumor about him again, not too out of the ordinary.
When his name had been called over the Intercom, he hadn't thought much of that either. His grades were falling even more than usual, so he assumed his Guidance Counselor wanted to have another talk with him.
When he walked into the Principals Office to see both of his Parents and some GIW Agents, that's when he realized something big must have happened.
He didn't have much of a chance to react when the Shields went up, but he did react when the first Ecto-Blast scorched the wall behind him. His Parents began to scream at him as they fired their Blasters, something about replacing somebody? He didn't know, he was pretty preoccupied at the moment.
It took more effort than he cared to admit to escape the Room, but a stray shot to the hidden Shield Projector under the Principals Desk proved to be his saving grace. Unfortunately the moment he escaped the Office, he was met with a veritable Army of GIW Agents, all armed to the Teeth with Weapons he had never even seen before.
He managed to get away for a moment, hiding in the Bathroom as the Agents chasing him passed it by. That's when he met Wes.
He obviously hadn't been expecting him, but the moment he saw him Wes put on a smug look. "Oh hi Fenton, trying to get away from the other students?"
Danny had replied with confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?!"
"I finally managed to convince everybody about you, now everyone knows that you're Phantom! I'll bet you're hiding from all of the other Students hounding you for questions right?"
"...it was you?"
"Yeah, so? I finally get to be right!"
"...You absolute MORON-"
That was the last Danny got to say to Wes before an Ecto-Blast launched him through a Wall, seeing his face morph into a look of Shock just before the dust cloud covered it up.
Since that day, Danny had been on the Run. Nowhere was safe anymore now that the GIW knew both his Human and Ghost's faces, but he had to keep running. He crossed state Lines already, and was on his way to the next Ecto-Rich City he could sense, somewhere in New Jersey.
He cursed his Fenton Luck every day. Why had everybody believed Wes this time?! Nobody had ever belived him before, nobody even seemed to acknowledge his existence after a while! What had changed?
Danny just wanted to rest already.
...
Cass had taken to Patrolling alone recently. She had taken to doing a lot of things alone, actually.
After the first month, it seemed that nobody could remember that she was in the room with them, even if she was within their eyeline, she just faded into the background. By the 2 Month Mark they had stopped talking to her entirely, although occasionally she would get a Text or two from her dad. By the 3 month Mark she was completely invisible, and By the 5th she had been forced to get used to it.
She didn't know what was going on, was it a Meta Ability? Magic? Alien Tech? She had no idea.
She had begun to cook for herself after the first time Alfred forgot to set her Plate at the Table. The same with Washing her own Clothes, Cleaning her Room, and Paying her Phone Bills. At the very least the Automated Allowance Payments to her Account had kept up, or she wouldn't have been able to go to her favorite Cafe anymore.
It was bittersweet for her. She used to go to that Cafe every week with Alfred, but he didn't even come on his own anymore. Had he only come for her? Did she really mean that much to them? It hurt, she finally had a family that cared for her and suddenly she didn't exist to them.
She sat alone at a Table, ignored by everyone in the Cafe as usual, when a new face walked in. He looked about her age, a little roughed up, walking with a sort of cautious gaint, as if he was scared of something. His Body Language seemed to agree with her assessment, as his body practically screamed "Worry" in its movements.
Cass stopped watching at that point. Just another Gotham Teen, probably worried over something like getting not having enough money or getting mugged on the way home. It was a Common sight in Gotham.
She attention was pricked again for a moment when she heard a voice speak up. "Uh, can I sit here?"
She ignored it, he wasn't talking to her.
"Um, excuse me? Miss? Could I sit here?" He repeated.
She ignored him again, he wasn't talking to her. Nobody talked to her.
"Hello? Do you have Earbuds in?" He said, and he waved his hand in front of her face.
Her face. He waved his hand. In front of Her Face.
He was talking to her.
She looked up at him sharply, seeming to startle him for a moment before he asked, "So, is that a no?"
"You can see me?" She asked.
He looked a bit bewildered, but replied "Uh, yeah? Why would I not? Are you...a Ghost?". That last part sounded a bit suspicious.
"No. Not a Ghost. But nobody sees me. Ever. Nobody remembers me." She replied. She had never spoken this much to anybody outside of her Family, but in the past few weeks she had been starved for interaction.
He seemed slightly interested, and sat down at her table. He looked her in the eyes, and said "Do you...talk about it?"
She smiled. He could see her.
1K notes
·
View notes
3 Fanon ideas to make a prompt from :)
1). Ectoplasm is Lazarus Water but purified
2). Ghosts can retreat to their cores
3). Protocore Jason AU
Danny has to retreat into his core, Jason somehow finds him and absorbs it. It looks like Jason is pregnant as his own ecto is being purified and then given to Danny's Core.
Enjoy:)
This is a full prompt, though? Okay I'll write mpreg. Gonna bypass that "looks" and make it an "is" though, throwin in some reincarnation and trans Jay.
~~~~~~
Jason was doing one last round before he left for Gotham. Before he left to prove a point. To teach Bruce a lesson he'd never forget.
He wasn't sentimental, no, he was just checking to make sure he wasn't forgetting any sickass weapons that may have fallen behind a dresser or something.
"Todd," a small, imperious voice demanded from behind him. "Observe my new pet rock."
Jason sighed and stood up to humor the little demon.
The kid was holding a weird glowing, cracked orb. It was radiating frost, and Damian had to use cloth between his hands and the magic stone.
"Damian," Jason started, keeping his voice level. "Where did you get that?"
The kid sniffed with all the superiority of a spoiled brat, looking proud and holding the obviously enchanted stone higher.
"Since Grandfather and Mother say that animals as pets would be a weakness, I decided to search the lesser treasure room for a suitable inanimate pet."
Jason sucked in air through his teeth in a soft hiss. There was no "lesser" treasure room; there was the "safe" treasure and the "unknown" treasure. Where was Talia when he needed her?
"Look, kid, I don't think-" Jason started, reaching for the weird rock, just as Damian started pulling away.
"-You are jealous that I have this rock and you do not-"
"-Damian, please, just hand over the fucking-"
"-Cease your attempted theft this instant-"
"-Damian come here you little shit-"
Jason tripped. Damian tripped. The weird rock went into the air...and landed on Jason's chest. It melted into him with a sharp flash of pain.
And that was that.
Damian stared at Jason's stomach, aghast.
"You stole my rock!"
By the time Talia arrived to see what was keeping Jason so long, he and Damian were rolling on the ground biting each other.
~~~~~~
Months later, Jason was beyond ready to murder the newest Robin. He'd originally planned to just beat the shit out of the kid, but he'd been having a rough time.
He was losing his carefully crafted abs.
He was getting soft.
Normally that was whatever, but he was trying to be intimidating, and being soft in any way was definitely going to trigger the dysphoria he thought he'd outrun.
It made no sense; he worked out daily, had started eating on a caloric deficit, drank nothing but water, and made sure what he ate was home-cooked.
Then, one month before go-time with Timmy, he'd started getting nauseous.
He felt bloated, tired, hungry, and most of all; pissed.
As he stalked through the Tower that the newest Robin was hiding in, he may have, perhaps, let the millions of small annoyances pile into one big rage filled pity party with a kid as the target.
It really didn't help that he hadn't been able to don his replica of his own Robin costume, because he...he had pudge. He didn't fit in it.
It was infuriating.
He knew it wasn't little TimTams fault, but he was gonna take his rage out on someone, and the kid was the unfortunate closest person he had beef with.
Was he overreacting? Probably.
But it was lash out or cry, and he refused to cry.
On top of everything, the one thing that had helped with any of the symptoms, the extra purified Lazarus Water that Talia had given him to 'act as an emergency first aide', was gone. He'd drank it all.
With that supply out, he was.
Well.
He was going to kill little Timmy, fuck the consequences.
But little Timmy was...doing a very good job of staying completely out of sight. The kid had been acting far more neurotic than he normally did, only letting out a small gasp when he'd seen Red Hood and immediately darted into some sort of weird hidey hole.
Jason hadn't been able to find him since.
The kid had added his own gopher network to the Tower, fuck.
The speaker system crackled on, just as Jason was about to start laying down bombs.
"Red Hood, please consider your condition. Do not do anything that would raise your blood pressure, or uh..." the newest Robin's voice trailed off, keyboard audibly clacking as he looked something up. "...Or eat peas? No, that can't be right. Whatever, look, just stay calm, take a breather, and don't overstress yourself. It's not good for the uh. The second...yeah. Not good. Do not do. Why am I so dumb sounding when it comes to things like this? Shoulda gotten Steph..."
The kids voice trailed off as he berated himself, but Jason was too busy fighting off the horribly dawning realization of what the kid was saying.
Which couldn't be true, because there was no way for the kid to know, and Jason hadn't had sex in...well. Years.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jason gasped, thanking his past self for putting the vocoder in his helmet. It sounded far more threatening.
"Oh. Uh. During one of your fights with Batman, you got glanced by something sharp, and there was a little blood. Don't worry though! I didn't tell Batman! I just wanted to see if I could figure it out on my own! So I ran your blood and now I...know. That was actually probably like, really invasive. Sorry Jason."
Jason knew the fight the little Bird was talking about. He'd had a random wave of vertigo, barely dodged a batarang. He'd had to do his own stitches afterwards.
"...You know? Know what?"
"Okay, I should clarify. I didn't tell Batman, but I kinda needed help scrubbing everything, so I had to ask Oracle to help, so she knows, and she couldn't keep it from Nightwing, because he's felt super guilty about how he treated you, but Batman definitely does not know."
Jason sat down on the nearest chair, feeling like the wind had been ripped from his sails. He took the helmet off and dropped in on the ground in favor of running a hand through his hair.
"How can you be sure B doesn't know it's me?" He rasped, staring at nothing.
"Because can you imagine he'd leave you alone for a second if he knew you were alive, much less up the duff?"
Jason had nothing to say to that. Either Ra's had been up to some fucked up experiments while he'd been asleep, or he was the victim of miraculous conception.
The newest Robin was rambling over the speakers, but Jason ignored him and held his head in his hands. The glowing orb flashed through his mind, and Jason didn't even have the energy to curse Damian for doing stupid kid shit.
He was just thankful that the kid hadn't been a viable host.
"Tim, shut up. Do you have an ultrasound machine here?" Jason interrupted, steeling himself. He was an adult sort of, one year before it was technically true, and he could freak out later.
It was time to do adult things.
"Oh, uh, yeah. Why? Has your gyno not done one yet?"
"Don't have one, didn't know. Where is it?"
"...I probably should have broken that news to you like, way softer."
~~~~~~
Jason was...pulling back. His criminal empire was still growing strong, and he was making a shit ton of money from it, but he was pulling back from actively provoking Batman.
As much as he wanted B to be the one to kill the Joker, he knew that the older man probably wouldn't do that, and Jason wasn't going to risk getting anywhere near that maniac while he was pregnant.
Batman had certainly noticed the change in behavior, but whenever he tried to intrude into Crime Alley, Nightwing or Robin would intercept him.
Jason.
Jason wasn't sure what he wanted to do about Bruce.
Dick was slowly earning forgiveness for his pas actions, piece by piece. Tim was surprisingly good at being supportive, and Jason's hatred for him was starting to wear away to the realization that this was just a kid.
Oracle, whoever she was, had apparently designed the best security system in the world and quietly renovated an apartment into a safehouse, just for him.
He hated the charity, but it was better than what he could make at the moment with how many enemies he'd gained.
As the months passed by, he found himself hiding away in the gifted apartment more and more.
The dysphoria was...bad.
There were no more mirrors in the apartment.
The kid, which the ultrasound confirmed they were, was a small one, thank fuck. His belly had popped out, true to most pregnancies, but it was relatively contained.
It was still enough to make a horrible sense of wrongness almost knock him off his feet every time he looked down.
He was, essentially, useless.
If it wasn't for the trio of well-meaning extended family (maybe? he had his suspicions about Oracle), he probably would have just laid down on the floor of his apartment and not gotten up.
Tim, surprisingly, had adopted some stupid Alvin Draper alias and was running his crime network in his stead. He was doing a concerningly good job, actually, and Jason and Dick had exchanged more than one worried glance over the kid's head.
Dick had moved in, citing that Bruce was getting suspicious and it was easier to pretend that he'd moved back to Gotham than it was to continually make up excuses. In reality, he was making sure Jason didn't lay down and rot, keeping him active and healthy.
Jason was...trying. He was trying. But between needing to stop HRT and the changes and his fucking voice and just. Everything. All of it.
He hated it.
But he still wasn't sure what he wanted to do with the kid.
Dick and Tim had set up a nursery, just in case. Dick had also surreptitiously reached out to the Kents, also just in case. There was no judgement. If he decided to keep the kid or give it away, it would be well taken care of.
That should have been a weight off his shoulders.
But instead, he felt like he was getting worse.
He was so, so fucking tired. He was starving but he couldn't stomach the food Dickwing put in front of him. He had worked so hard to build his criminal empire, but when Tim tried to tell him about it he couldn't focus long enough understand what was being said. He knew that they were getting more and more concerned, and when he woke up one morning and vomited straight Lazarus Water, Tim snapped.
"I'm calling B."
"Tim, no, we can-"
"-No, Dick, we need to figure out what's going on! This isn't something Leslie can handle, we need Bruce!"
Maybe it was just something buried deep inside Jason, but he agreed. He wanted his dad, not a doctor. He didn't care about Tim's reasoning, he just. He agreed. He wanted Bruce.
"Do it," Jason rasped from the floor, leaning into the cold tile. "Get B."
~~~~~~
Jason was still on the bathroom floor when a set of far, far heavier footsteps paused at the doorway.
The wood from the doorframe creaked as whoever it was tightened their grip on it.
Their breathing stuttered. They swallowed.
The footsteps continued, and they knelt next to Jason, wordlessly running their fingers through his hair.
"Hey Jaylad," Bruce whispered, voice tight and controlled even as his hand shook. "Looks like you've got a bit of a situation. Wanna tell me what happened?"
"Got knocked up by a magic rock," Jason muttered, thoroughly enjoying the hand in his hair. "But it ain't going right, and I'm tired and hungry all the time, and I'm throwing up the Lazarus Pits."
"The magic rock info is new," he heard Tim mutter from the hall, right before he was forcibly shushed by Dick.
"Did you have any weird cravings? Any symptoms that don't normally match a pregnancy?" Bruce asked, keeping his voice calm and controlled even as he lifted Jason from the floor and into his lap. "Should I get Constantine on the phone?"
Jason let it happen, turning to hide his face from the shitshow that had been his life for the past six months and shoving it into Bruce's stupid fancy shirt.
"Had Lazarus water. Drank it. I'm hungry but I can't eat anything. I can hear the kid chirp sometimes."
"Like a bird? That's adora-"
"-Shut up Dick not now!"
"You shut up!"
"You...drank. Lazarus Water." Bruce repeated, voice stilted as he clearly started working through something in his head. "I....hm. Okay. I'm...I'm going to call Constantine." Jason couldn't help the snort at the clear distaste in Bruce's voice as he said that.
He expected Bruce to put him down and go get changed into his Batman kit.
He did not expect Bruce to adjust his hold, lean back onto the cabinets, and make the call then and there.
~~~~~~
Constantine was officially unofficially his doctor for the duration of his pregnancy.
That was not something that anyone wanted, Bruce especially.
Jason wanted to throw up and aim it at the Hellblazer, but he had a feeling the man had been covered in worse and would, at best, be unfazed.
At worst, tempted to just smear it on Jason to prove a point.
The Mage of the hour himself was hovering over Jason, eyes unfocused as his glowing hands rested on the despised baby bump.
Jason was laying on the couch, trying not to let the sound of Bruce's pacing drive him up a wall.
"That," Constantine started, head tilting as if he was listening to something. "That is a core. And a baby. And another core. Two Ghost Cores, two bodies. If you're meetin' the needs of the physical, and you're still havin' issues, prolly need to see to the spritual, love."
"Don't call him love," Bruce warned, pausing his pacing long enough to glare at the Mage.
Constantine didn't bother to acknowledge him.
"Don't suppose you've got any spare Lazarus Water lying around, eh?" The man asked instead, eyes refocusing as he removed his hands from Jason's person.
Jason shook his head, but Tim nodded his.
Everyone stared at Tim.
Tim shrugged.
"What? It's under the city. Not like anyone will miss it if we take some."
"How. Tim, how do you know that?" Dick asked, sounding a little scared.
"Because I found it? I tried throwing dead rats in it but it doesn't work on rats, so I tried larger dead animals that had gotten down there-"
"-B you've raised Dr. Frankenstein," Jason groaned, covering his eyes from the realities of a mad scientist little brother.
"But I'm not an undead being stitched together?" Tim asked.
"You uncultured swine," Jason snarled, practically throwing himself into a sitting position and was quickly met with Constantine trying to wrangle him back down. "It's common fucking knowledge that Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster, and if you paid any attention in English class-"
"-I'm gonna go get Lazarus Water okay bye!" Tim shouted, bolting for the door.
~~~~~~
Jason drank his fifth juice pack of Lazarus Water, finally starting to feel like himself again, and stared at Bruce.
Bruce, to his credit, was clearly trying very hard not to stare back.
Jason imagined this was rather hard, given that he couldn't stop fucking purring. Apparently, that was a Thing that his body could and would do, according to his unofficial doctor.
Dick and Tim were helping Constantine put the Lazarus Water into the juice packets, all of them desperately pretending that they weren't there at all and trying to be as quiet as possible.
"So, Hellblazer. Nothing to say about the Big Bad Batman?" Jason asked, eyes never leaving said man.
"Not particularly any of my business, mate. I don't really care one way or another."
Bruce actually looked a little put out at that, much to Jason's satisfaction.
"I imagine you have questions," Jason sighed, finishing off his juice pack.
Bruce finally turned to look at him head on, gaze steady.
"They can wait. Do you have any plans for...this?" Bruce didn't motion towards Jason's stomach, but he didn't have to.
"...Maybe. I don't even really know what this is." Jason muttered, sinking further into his chair.
"I told you, love, it's a baby. With a ghost core. It was probably an adult ghost, at one point, but if it was cracked near as bad as you say, it was either reincarnate or disappear." Constantine shrugged, taping another stupid tiny straw to another juice box and moving to repeat the action. "Either way, since it's reincarnation, the baby ain't gonna know tit from tat. 'S just a baby."
That. Damn. If he'd been faced with the same choice, he probably would have done the same thing.
"You keep saying that. What does a ghost core do when it's in a human?" Bruce asked, knuckles white on the couch's armrest.
"Dunno, haven't seen it before. Heard of it, though. Just makes the person powerful, but now sure how much. Flight is definitely gonna be there, though, so I'd ask supes for some pointers." Constantine answered without really answering, true to form for him.
Jason heaved himself up and waved everyone off as they started to get to their own feet to help him.
"I'm gonna take a nap. Snipe at each other in here and don't fucking bother me."
~~~~~~
Jason was disgusting.
Alfred and Bruce and everyone else assured him he wasn't, but he absolutely was.
It was so bad he'd gone ahead and, without informing anybody, arranged for an induced labor at Gotham General as soon as he could.
He didn't want to deal with Dick getting scared and frantic, or Tim overplanning and having a mental breakdown, or Bruce's rigid shoulders as he both tried to apologize and do something stupid like take over from the actual doctor.
Alfred would probably be composed, but if Alfred acted a little off then they'd know.
Hell, Jason had started getting some Braxdon hicks contractions and he swore he watched Bruce's hair grey in real time.
So at the eight and a half month mark, Jason lied to everyone and told them he was going to another safehouse to get away from their coddling.
He ignored their objections and reached for the keys to his car-
-and pissed himself.
Or, it felt like he did.
The apartment went dead silent as everyone looked down.
Then the contractions really hit.
~~~~~~
Bruce actually did try to take over the maternity ward and do the doctors jobs.
Jason was delighted to have an excuse to kick him out.
He couldn't force the man to avenge his murder, but he could make him wait in the waiting room like the rest of the peasants.
Alfred he allowed to stay, though.
~~~~~~
Jason still hadn't decided what to do with the kid.
He didn't know if he was gonna send them off to a farm or if he was gonna keep them.
So he let himself hold them, to see if any of the disgust he'd felt during the pregnancy had been directed at the kid or if it was all just him hating how he looked.
The little bean of a child, eyes bluer than his own, proceeded to free one arm to pull on Jason's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
Ah.
Nah, the hatred had been towards how he looked.
This one was his, the Kents could get visitation rights.
909 notes
·
View notes