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kurorama · 7 months

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Clingy Mornings

Bruce Wayne x Wife!reader, Batboys x Batmom

IN WHICH your clinginess towards your husband never fails to disgust your sons.

WC: 1.5k

“And where'd you think you're going?” The sudden sound of your voice, albeit muffled partly by your pillow and sleepiness, startled your husband from his sitting place at the edge of your shared bed. You could barely even see with the morning grogginess clouding your iris, yet Bruce’s defined back muscles somewhat managed to break through your view.

Bringing a hand up to wipe at your eyes, you couldn’t help but relish in the sight of your husband’s fine muscles flexing as he turned to meet your eyes. The way his bicep laid there all deliciously as he tipped all of his body weight onto one arm, the other moving up to caress at your cheek lovingly. There was no denying the pure adoration that swam through his beautiful blue iris, they spoke for themselves.

“Well one of us has to be downstairs before Alfred decides that we’ve had enough sleeping time and barges into our room.” he chuckled slightly, a rare instance for The Batman, yet he’d only show this side when he was Bruce Wayne alongside you. His beautiful wife and mother of his children, adopted or not, they were yours. He had to force himself and resist the urge to chuckle as he watched your expression morph into a pout, your delicate hand pulling at his arm as you tried to get him back under the sheets with you.

“Cmon Bruce, just a few more minutes.” you pleaded, tiredness still evident in your voice but it progressively faded the more you stayed up begging your husband to fall asleep with you again. Your hopes spike as Bruce laid behind you for a second, but the fact that he was laying on his forearm and elbow immediately crushed all of your hopes. His warm palm never left your cheek once, making you snuggle deeper into the palm that was just as big as your face.

“I’d love to, trust me. But are you sure that you don’t want to see those demons of yours before they leave?” Of course he’d do that, of course Bruce would use your beloved children as bait for you to accompany him downstairs and finally leave the bed. You grunted something along the lines of ‘well then you better carry me’ in the crook of his neck as you threw your arms around his shoulders. This time Bruce couldn’t resist chuckling as he grabbed you delicately by the hips, hosting you onto his lap as he stood up from the plush mattress.

Bruce hadn’t complained once about your clinginess. Truth to be told you’d been like this since the night before because you had rarely seen your beloved Bruce for nearly a whole ass week. It wasn’t unusual that you both wouldn’t see each other, on days that you’d be busy with work and on nights that the city’s menaces just wouldn’t rest. But recently everything had just been too much, too many meetings, too many villains and yet not enough time.

You winced as his hands came to lay across the bruises that now decorated your hips, two huge hand marks engraved into your skin as a remnant of the previous night. Needless to say that the reunion sex had you reaching for the stars, and the faint ache between your legs was a constant reminder of just what Bruce’s perfect girth could do to you.

Your husband moved his hands with expertise as he descended the stairs, having only one hand under your ass to support your weight as the other laid along your back. You weren’t even concerned about a potential fall, because your husband did happen to be Batman, and his strength was unmeasured to your body weight. No matter what it was.

Dick had been the first to notice his father walk into the living room, not that it was hard to notice him considering the absolute unit of a man that your 6’4 husband was. Your eldest son was perched up on the sofa, a bowl full of cereal and milk as the TV played in the background. He froze at first, unable to see you from your buried position in Bruce’s chest. Dick was afraid that you’d walk in shortly after you dear husband and start ripping one off on your son for eating on your couch, because even as the grown ass man that he now was, Dick was the messiest eater that you’d ever seen.

Though luckily for him that never came because it seemed like you had better plans, which included being stuck all day to your husband. No exaggeration. He watched in amusement as Bruce sat down amongst his children on the sofa, Damian not even displaying an ounce of attention towards his father as his eyes strained on the TV. could tell that it was a lazy morning for the both of you, even if Bruce claimed that it wasn’t for him. He had been clearly too bothered to dress before going down, instead clad in nothing but a pair of black boxers that he’d quickly thrown on in the morning. His warm, bare skin brought warmth against your clothed one, making you cling to him even harder than you previously were.

Dick couldn’t help the smile growing upon his lips as he noticed the way your hands were clamped tightly around Bruce’s neck alongside the way your legs caged his waist. Like a clingy koala, he thought.

You’d not moved from your position upon arrival, and at first your children could’ve thought that you were sleeping, and that Bruce was the clingy one after having snatched you from the comfort of your bed to snuggle with you downstairs on the couch.

Although they quickly found their assumptions to be wrong as they watched Bruce hand move up to your lower back, rubbing it adoringly before he gently tapped you to move and cuddle his side so he could eat. The bowl of cereal that he’d quickly grabbed from Alfred sat on the table staring at him, and his stomach was yelling for it.

You squeezed in between Bruce and Damian as you climbed off your husband's lap, offering him the limited space that he’d get for the rest of the week. By all means you were still cuddled up to his side, an arm wrapped around his bicep as you rested your head on his bulging muscles.

In the back of your mind, you heard a little voice telling you that this morning was all too weird. Why? Because the living room was far too silent for it to harbour all four of your children at once in. Maybe If you’d both been a little more aware you would’ve caught the sight of Jason trying and desperately failing in his attempts of ‘secretly’ snapping a picture of you both since the moment you’d walked in.

Bruce could be sure that in a few hours he’d get a ping from his phone and a bunch of notifications about some sort of instagram post that your son has posted about the seemingly intimidating Bruce Wayne cuddling up to his wife. The caption would read ‘Bruce Wayne has gone soft, nobody is safe from the softpocalypse anymore’, but you didn’t know that as of now.

Maybe you’d catch sight of that devilish grin adorning your youngest’s face, yet again that was nothing new. Or maybe you would have been able to notice the way Tim would often part from his beloved cup of coffee to check if Jason got the right angle. Although Bruce would admit later on that there’s no shame in showing some well deserved love to your spouse, he’d most definitely ground them all for playing this little ‘prank’ on him.

You slowly returned in Bruce’s embrace after watching whatever idiotic movie that Dick had put on for god knows how long. Bruce’s bowl now empty and sitting on the coffee table before you. You took it as a sign that you could retake your spot within his arms, and your brooding husband didn’t even complain once as you got comfortable. With your face now buried in the warmth of his neck once again, you couldn’t help yourself but to give him a chaste kiss here and there.

“In front of my coffee.” you paused your movements at the disgusted tone in Tim’s words, effectively getting your other son’s to turn towards you both. You relished in their disgusted disagreeing, carefree laughter escaping you while blocking whatever sound came from the TV. You watched as your boys all left the room one by one to go on with their days, claiming that they can’t stand you two being ‘too in love’ because it was far too disgusting.

A solid minute after the room regained its original silence, save for the soft sounds of the movie still playing, Bruce allowed himself to relax in your arms. He slid down the sofa in a lazy position, keeping you tightly trapped in his embrace as he rested his head above yours. Hands regaining their comforting motions above your back, a rare and cocky smile graced Bruce’s face. Now that the whole mansion knew that you both were up and going, all in your ‘disgusting’ clinginess, he could only guess when the next person who dared to walk upon you both would come and disturb you.

Hope my bruce girlies eat this shit up. also this is UNEDITED😔

#bruce wayne x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #damian wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #batmom #batboys #batboys x reader #batboys x batmom #batfam x reader #bruce wayne fluff #batboys fluff

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nouearth · 4 months

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my favorite scent is you.

bruce wayne x male reader.

summary: bruce needs to be taken care of too (in which reader believes it's through the form of sex).

wc: 3.5k. genre: smut, angst (kinda?). warnings: top!bruce, consensual!somnophilia, blowjobs, slow mouth-fucking, fondling, reader is asleep, bruce and reader are the same age, reader also grew up with bruce, mentions of parental death, trauma-bonding.

notes: it's been a while since i've done a brucey smut (and also fulfilled a request), so here ya go! actually my first time writing about somnophilia, so be easy on me, lmao. it was harder than i thought! also i'm trying a new layout,,, kinda, don't mind me.

“Do you remember that night? When my parents… you know.”

It had been a little less than a decade, but the uneasiness you felt when mentioning your parents’ death was akin to hovering your palm above an open flame. The flicker of the heat frightened you. Though, you couldn’t help but feel magnetic towards it—closer and closer—until you felt a strike to your calloused hand.

Just a little more, and you’ll break free.

It was striking how your wounds maintained their novelty. Years of skin hardening, scabbing and layering over the memory of Bruce breaking the news to you on that night, and the slightest mention of your parents tore it open with little defiance.

“Yeah…” Bruce whispered, and a sudden impulse to hold you prevailed over him. He turned over on his side, slipping his arms over and under your frame, and pulled your back flushed to his chest. You eased with a melting squirm, a physical gratitude, and then another when you pressed a kiss to his forearm. “It was supposed to be Alfred telling you, but I insisted.”

“Really?” Your curiosity was piqued and you felt Bruce nod into the crown of your head, breathing you in deep like his favourite cologne. A scent he’d never wear himself because it matched you perfectly. “How come?”

“Well, I had no one other than Alfred when my parents died. He tried his best, but we barely had time to grieve. A bunch of responsibilities were bestowed upon him overnight; my parents’ estate, numerous paperworks, the press and media, not to mention the funeral service. It was… a lot for him.”

Bruce sighed, squeezing you tighter for support as he continued. “I remember reading—signing off things that I knew nothing about the very next day.” He then laughed, a bitterness surfing for air in the bass of his voice. “I didn’t even have a signature yet.”

“I’m sorry…” A heaviness sank you and Bruce deeper into the mattress. You latched onto Bruce’s arm for support, held him gently, and found levity through the brush of his lips, as if he was saying—consoling you through the black void: I’m here, I’m here.

“Is that why you guys hired my parents?”

“Mm-hm, we needed help around the manor while Alfred had bigger duties to tend to. And I’m glad he suggested the idea as much as I was apprehensive about it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met such an incredible family. A year became two, then another two, then another, and…” Bruce recalled the sounds, the visions of red and blue flashing—blaring into the sky. “Which was why I thought it would be best if it came from me. So I could be that someone that I desperately needed during my grieving.”

“You shouldn’t have been thinking about that though… I mean, what—we were only fifteen? Coming from your background, you should’ve been… cocky, annoying, emo, selfish, like every other teenager.

“I guess your personality kind of compensated for that—” He amused himself with some levity.

“Hey!” You choked out a laugh, then lightly elbowed his stomach behind you. “Ass.”

“Ow,” Bruce pressed a smile to the back of your head, inhaling your scent again. “I did have that emo phase though.”

“Oh yeah—” Within his hold, you turned your body to meet Bruce face-to-face as a flood of memories came rushing in. You greeted him with a smile that he was able to single out from within the dark. Then, he made sure your presence was acknowledged with a chaste kiss.

“Your hair came down to your nose and stuff—oh! And you kept wearing the same hoodie too.”

“Yeah, okay—we get it. Not my best look.” He groaned, tearing himself away from you as your descriptions of Bruce suddenly developed into powerfully cringe-inducing memories. As embarrassing as the past was, he was glad it brought you some kind of merriment. He’d been scolded multiple times by numerous people, though namely Alfred, to treat you better.

You and Bruce weren’t always close. In all honesty, it took your parents’ death that empowered you two to stick together more than ever. Where darkness used to storm over the roof of the manor, you and Bruce managed to conjure a light that illuminated a path to find sanctuary within each other.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” The moonlight reflecting through the bedroom window casted shadows across Bruce’s profile. Wrinkles you’ve never noticed before were accentuated; eye-bags that you’ve been nagging at him to take care of deepened; glimpses of a boy who was forced to grow up.

He turned when you reached over to trace over the spotlighted features. A single digit caressed the bumpy bridge of his nose; the stubble that tickled you whenever you kissed; the cut over his broad chin that was your favorite spot to kiss,; the scar over his left cheek that had been healing for months, only to restart the process again after Bruce’s late night endeavors.

“Let me take care of you now.”

You weren’t sure how Bruce took your proposal. Recalling the moment had you adding unnecessary details that all-the-more exploded the situation into a narrative you couldn’t exactly trust.

Wait… he made a weird face when I told him. I remember a face! No, idiot—he just had an itch on his cheek. Oh.

I don’t remember his phone ringing… You think he was trying to get out of the conversation? Maybe? He usually has his phone set on the loudest volume possible…

Oh god, he probably thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed addict. Well, aren’t you— No?! I just—wanted to take care of him… We rarely see each other these days and I doubt the lunches I’d make for him add much to that narrative. I needed something more. Wow, I’ve been talking to myself for this long?

You probably look crazed, especially if someone were to walk in the bedroom at this moment, but you’d be too deep into your thoughts to hardly notice. If you did notice, you’d probably go on a tangent about how Bruce was probably disgusted by how you could even suggest a thing like that.

Your toes and fingers curled at the recollection you were certain happened.

“So… I know you’ve been out late at night—” “(M/N), it’s not what you—” “Shh, I’m too good of a catch for you to cheat on me.” “I mean, keep that cockiness up and maybe—” “Excuse me?!” “I’m joking.” “Uh-huh, well, keep joking and I might have to rescind my offer.” “Your offer?” “Look, I haven’t seen you much lately. It’s not your fault. You’re busy.” “I know—I just need to deal with this…” “Bruce, you look—you are tired. You’re overworked and whenever we do spend time together, you’re asleep!” “I’m trying my b—” “You’re trying your best, I know! And I don’t know what you do at night, not sure if I do want to know, but… two-three hours of sleep is not enough. You’re killing your body.” “Hm…” “And one day, you’re going to crack and I just…” “Just..?” “I’m not sure how to… put it.” “What is it?” “If you want to… and it’s entirely up to you, but…” “Jesus, spit it out—” “I— if I’m still asleep, and you want to somehow… relieve your stress..?” “Oh—” “I’m all yours.”

The second hand on the clock cycled slower, almost as if it was mocking you for being so desperate, impatient, and doubting. Yet, at the same time—if clocks could have a personality—there was a dormant kindness in the rhythm of the minute hand striking every corner of the wheel. Gentle and soothing, the lids of your eyes grew heavier with every passing second as the sound of the clock counted sheeps for you.

Forty, forty-one… fourty-two… Forty… three…

The floor creaked despite Bruce’s best efforts to remain light on his feet. You’ve always been a light sleeper, even at the sound of wind whistling you’d jolt up to, but surprisingly—nothing.

As he approached his side of the bed, his eyes settled on you like always. To Bruce, it was a sweet sigh of relief to come back home to you again. Sometimes, a miracle depending on the crimes of that night. Nightly patrols have taken a toll on him; on his body, on his mentality; but being in your presence always—no matter what—brought him back to the solitude his life was at before being laboured by vengeance.

Coldly, he sat on the edge, careful to not wake you, as he dried off the damp strands of his washed hair with a towel. Then, he chased after the tremors off his bare body with several rubs of the coarse towel, gathering water molecules into the material until he was somewhat dry. It was the typical nightly routine of Bruce Wayne, in which he was guilty of vacating you of.

Bruce witnessed—took part in—how you ended your night. A late night snack, a book, a tv show—and he’d stroke your hair to the sound of his heartbeat until you were out like a light. He’d never forget to kiss your forehead as if it was an enchantment that would guard him for the rest of the night. Naively, Bruce was apprehensive of the subtle chance of reducing his survival rate if he were to miss a night of seeing you—touching you. Even if you had the biggest argument with him, even if you were in the wrong, he’d make sure to see you one last time before escaping into the shadows, saving the city—saving you.

After dressing himself in a fresh set of briefs, the soft cushions of his bed and pillows enticed him back into sanctuary. He crawled back into bed and instinctively found his arms around your body, warm and full against the recovering bruises against his own flesh. Skipping dinner was a norm, but he felt satiated when he could hear you breathe, feel your pulse, and watch you writhe within his doting affection.

“Goodnight.” Bruce muttered as he nestled his nose into your hair, another deep inhale of your scent to ground him that you were still present in his life. And then another as his head turned towards your neck, a familiar smell that taunted him to lean closer until his nose pressed softly into the crook of your skin.

White musk.

The top note of his favourite cologne on you. It lingered delightfully in Bruce’s nostrils, and there was a reason why he always urged you to spray it on date nights. It was intoxicating.

Come to think of it, Bruce’s night routine hadn’t completely checked off all of his tasks for the night. After he would come home, it was a no-brainer to shower off the sweat, dirt, and sometimes blood, from his patrols. He would scrape his hair clean with the shampoo suds, mint and cooling on his scalp. Then he’d move onto his body. The suds would trickle down his torso, gather in his muscles, and he’d add onto the bubbles with his body wash, lathering himself from head to toe. And almost always, the slightest brush of his length would break the restraints the night had locked his sanity behind. It was always you that managed to free him. As he would squeeze himself, fondle his sack while the suds dribbled down his leg and feet, he’d think of you—miss you in ways he wouldn’t dare to ignore, ways in which he was ashamed to desert you of.

“I’m all yours.” Your proclamation echoed, ran marathons in Bruce’s mind as the white musk led him astray. The simple thought of him taking advantage of you guilted him, churned his stomach until it was bundled into thick knots, but it made his heart race.

“(M/N)?” He whispered. The bed creaked when Bruce peered over you, and he was met by silence. A few soft snores joined the ticking of the clock, but for the most part, silence.

I shouldn’t… Bruce convinced himself. It was… shameful to even think of taking advantage of you like that—in your unconscious state, in your vulnerability. You looked peaceful in your slumber and knowing how hard you worked, he wouldn’t dare to ruin it because of his own selfish desires.

He sighed, rolling flat onto his back again, hoping the uncomfortable ache in his briefs would settle down in a minute or so. When it didn’t, Bruce tended to it with a brief re-adjustment of the way his length stood. Then again as he twitched in defiance.

Again, as he throbbed.

And again, when his briefs couldn’t support his throbbing erection anymore.

Bruce turned his head to the side, scanning your unconscious state. His eyes traced the languid form of your body as it sank deep into the mattress, hugging the air to your body while he slowly pulled the blanket off of you.

The bed creaked as inch by inch, Bruce scooted closer to you, turning back to lie on his side and nearly spooning you again. His movements were sluggish, apprehensive to wake you, but at the same time, there was an adrenaline rush surging through him knowing he could be caught any second (despite your permission).

His hand felt it as it caressed your arm in singular, docile strokes. Then his breath, as he leaned closer, pressing himself against you again, and slipped a hand under your shirt. Your bare stomach rested warmly against his calloused palm, and he felt your breath hitch, your stomach tensed, every evidence of your presence, as Bruce ran a palm upwards to touch your chest once, then back down to bravely slither under the waistband of your boxers.

“Fuck…” Bruce’s breath unevened, struggling to keep a steady rhythm, when his palm gently groped a handful of your flaccid cock, a complete opposite of the shameful erection he was prodding near your bottom. You writhed once, and he quickly paused with a shudder as you suddenly turned to lie on your back, smacking the dryness in your throat away as you drove yourself into deeper slumber.

He found it unusual how you haven’t awakened by now, but the cynical part of him pleaded for you to remain asleep—until he had his way with you.

Gently, Bruce lifted your hips to pull down the remainder of your boxers off until you were bare in all of your glory before him. Your balls lay briefly in between your legs before they were back to being fondled in his warm palms. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this…”

Droplets of sweat formed over Bruce’s hairline as he sluggishly maneuvered himself to kneel over your unconscious state. His thighs hardened, flexed as he maintained his balance over you. He stroked his cock with his free-hand; to the gentle snores you poured out, to your slightly parted lips that he could easily spread open with his girth, and to his surprise, to the stiffness of your cock as it stirred awake from his constant fondling.

What are you dreaming about? Are you dreaming of me? Are you dreaming of being fucked by me? Bruce groaned as he witnessed the once softened features of your face stiffened into diffident lust. Your breath unknowingly quickened when Bruce began stroking your cock together with his in one grasp. Your body writhed with uncomfortable pleasure as if you wanted whatever was happening to you to stop, yet the throbbing veins of your cock begged Bruce for more—to hold you for longer, to keep doing as he pleased.

Bruce forgot what it was like to have you like this; to have you squirming beautifully beneath him, dripping in heavy pre-cum while simultaneously having your cock lathered in his own fluid. He was enticed by your every movement, squirming and writhing confined by the state of slumber as you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop the uncomfortable pleasure that was happening to you because you were dreaming a dream that refrained you from resisting your boyfriend.

I know you want it. Fuck… I know you want my cum, (M/N). He paused briefly to press his forehead into yours, sweat dripping off his face and onto your body in his maneuver, and breathed languidly against your lips to find the parting in order to breathe his lewd thoughts into you. Bruce was careless, dangerously brave as he slipped a tongue inside of you to spread your mouth open further. You made a sound, but he muted it with a swallow as he ravished you like honey on a spoon. Remnants of mint lingered on his tongue, and as much as he wanted to continue tasting you, he needed to relieve himself.

He was close.

Carefully, he dragged himself over your chest and kneeled over your chest. Bruce’s cock hung heavy above your slumber, dripping in thick strings of pre-cum from the plump tip—a shameful exhibit of how much this had turned him on, how much he had been deprived of this act for so long.

Open wide. It was morbid. Bruce never thought himself of ever once doing this obscene act, but the guilt that had been the cause of his apprehension was only fleeting the moment he pushed his cock into your sleeping mouth.

“Oh, fuck…” He was careful with you. Careful enough to not stir you awake, but courageous enough to fulfill his sense of greed. Bruce pushed deeper, and deeper until he couldn’t anymore. His thick cock steadied your breathing and in favor, your saliva warmed him with complete gratitude.

Come on, I know you can take it… His eyes darkened at your inability to take his girth. As much as it sounded like a threat, it drove him delirious knowing you couldn’t. Even in your waking moments, it fueled a sense of pride when you gagged on his cock, covered him in bubbly thick spittle, and looked like an absolute mess while attempting to swallow him again.

Fuck, (M/N)... You’d pull him out when you had enough of gagging on his cock and jerk him off instead, catching your breath in the midst of it all. He never told you, but it was Bruce’s favourite part whenever you two did this together. The pure lust in your eyes, craving for a fill that you and him both know that he would deliver upon greatly. And somehow, as lewd as the act was, you both knew it was more than sex. You and Bruce were making love, fucking with a craving that you only have for each other because it was only you two that could bring this type of pleasure to one another.

“Fuck—” Bruce paced himself, biting back an adamant moan, thrusting slow yet filling into your mouth as he held onto the headboard. The scrape of your teeth made him hiss, but the pleasure of your warm mouth was so fulfilling that it overwhelmed any painful feeling you’ve prescribed him to.

I’m close, (M/N)... Fuck, let me cum on you… On your body, on your face, I want it everywhere on you.

He released his cock from your mouth and took the heavy girth into his own palm, pumping the muscle with a sudden vigor that had been motivated to see you covered in his fluids. Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his lids, panting heavy and harder because he was so close—so fucking close. He could see you sticking your tongue out for him, on your knees, playing with your cum-covered cock as you would wait patiently for his reward. You would begin begging for it—his cum, his cock, him. You’d worship his body, mouthing at his toned thighs, then his abdominal muscles, licking the sweat off the gutters to briefly satiate your appetite for Bruce.

Until you were gifted with his indulgent desire for you and only you in the form of thick and creamy white ropes. “I’m comin—” Bruce’s stomach sucked in hard, his abs contracting while his thighs vibrated with tremors, then with a guttural push, he released himself with a strong grunt. His grasp directed his thick and heavy loads towards your chest and stomach, stroking his throbbing cock through the glorious sprays. He sucked in his teeth to control the sounds that were threatening to burst out of his throat and whimpered with a shudder when it was unmanageable, continuing to empty his balls until he could smell the heavy sex and musk off your body.

Scanning you from head to toe, Bruce was breathless. Despite his delirious stint, it was impressive to see you drifting off to sleep like nothing had happened. Or rather, it was impressive that he had a certain amount of control to not completely make love to you like a wild mammal, rousing you from sleep.

Nonetheless, he powered through the overwhelming need to sleep to clean you up, even if you hadn’t mind the mess. And like always, he never forgot to end his night with a kiss, pressing a chaste yet breathless pant to your lips.

“Think your way of ‘taking care of me’ needs more time in the workshop , but we’ll talk about it later.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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coupleoffanfics · 9 months

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Part 2 of Batfam and batsis y/n headcons

Masterlist

It was a surprise to see y/n at the of the manor one night after her "outburst" that was a couple months ago. Alfred is happy to see her but notices her troubled expression. She greets him and asks if Bruce was here.

Entering the Batcave for the first time in years, it hasn't changed too much from what y/n remembers. The first to notice her walk in is Damian. "Sister, what are you doing here?" It's always so weird hearing him call her that now. He's never called he that until her "outburst".

This gets the attention of Tim and Babs, making them look away from the monitor. Tim is glad to see her again and hopefully, she is here to mend their broken, not completely burnt, bridges. Babs is also glad to see her as they haven't been communicating as much this past week, but concerned as to what brought her here. She has a feeling that y/n wouldn't come here without a reason.

"I need to talk to Bruce." Damian is almost upset that y/n didn't say she came to see him. He doesn't even have to open his mouth as Bruce is right behind her. Bruce makes his presence known which made y/n jolt up a bit.

Turns around to see him suited up just like the others. Not seeing his full face made her more comfortable oddly.

She takes a deep breath before talking, "I want to clarify that I'm talking to Batman and not Bruce Wayne. I have some information and I desperately need your help." Everyone's interest was already peaked before she said anything.

Bruce watches her pointer finger curl around her hair, her eyes shifted away from him, and her shoulders somehow become even more tense. "Jerome is looking for someone, not me, but I'm worried about them. Wait not looking for he's found them and I- ugh, I'm sure you've already done a background check on him. He has a twin brother and he supposedly wants him dead. I'm…"

All their eyes on her were worsening her anxiety. "I'm best friends with him, Jeremiah Valeska." Babs is already putting the pieces together that Xander Wilde was just an alias. She does remember thinking that they look similar, but she's only met y/n's boyfriend a handful of times and never looked that deep into Jerome's relatives. There wasn't any need to look at his family as long as they aren't committing illegal acts with him.

"Jerome, he did something to Jeremiah. There was this gas and it messed him up. He…" y/n was trying not to get too emotional from talking about a topic that was sensitive to her. "He's not right in the head anymore. It's almost like he's turning into Jerome. He's losing control, he knew a week ago that something is wrong but now he's saying…"

Their eyes and her various feelings on the matter were making her feel that this was a dead end. It's been nearly three months and things have been getting progressively worse. As she looks at Bruce and all she expects is to be rejected. To tell her that she was overreacting and that time was going to heal whatever this mess was.

y/n looked Bruce in the eyes and for the first desperately begged, "Please. Please help find a cure or something to end Jeremiah's madness. I…" She choked back the urge to say that she loved him. There wasn't a need for that and she'd rather keep them in the dark about her life. "…I don't want to lose my best friend. I know you're busy, but I had try asking. Just tell me now if you'd be able to help in any way possible and I'll leave you alone."

This came out of nowhere, but with y/n looking Bruce in the eye with glassy and a scared look in her eyes. How could he say no? "I'll do everything I can, but I'll need a blood sample."

Anything that he said after that went in and out of y/n's ears. She was just relieved that she had the greatest detective help her. "Yeah, um, I can do that." Her voice was softer than a few seconds ago. She wiped the tears of relief with her palm and quickly made her way out of the cave.

Tim wanted to go after her, but Damian was already following behind her and Babs gave him a discouraging look. Babs finally understood why y/n has been so quiet these past weeks. She also knew that y/n needed time to herself and she'd hope that Damian would understand that. She thinks Bruce knew that as well as he stared at the exit for a moment before swiftly going back to work.

Damian kept calling out to his sister before grabbing her wrist. y/n really wanted to shake off his hand and tell him to just leave her alone. Though feeling how firm his grip is she knew it would probably be best to go with whatever to not trigger another meltdown. That was the last thing she ever wanted to see or deal with.

Genuinely though she didn't know why he followed her. It didn't matter if he was trying to repave their relationship, she always expects the worst to come out of his mouth. As a shield, she says what he thinks he'll say. Putting herself down before he or anyone can do it.

"Yeah, I know I shouldn't be down there. It's no place for me and I get in the way. I'm not going to lie and say I'm fully sorry. I am, but I need to try everything to save him, and if that means you'll all have to bear witness to a living failure once more then so be it."

Damian is stuck by her words again and lets go of her as if her skin burns him. He was unsure of how to respond to that, but that wasn't the reason he was there. He tells her with full confidence, "Father will find a cure. Your friend will be okay."

She doesn't look at him. Surprised that he didn't degrade her and slightly smiling that he was comforting her. "Thank you, Damian, that was nice of you to say." Then walks out of the manor just like last time, but this night Damian can fall asleep without regretting eating him alive.

Bruce hires a team of toxicologists. Buys a whole new laboratory for the team. Making sure that there is progress being made while he's not working on it. Tim is the one who spends the most time searching for a cure.

The day after y/n would make her regular trip to the psychiatric hospital with Tim watching from a distance. Tim wasn't stalking y/n he'd claim fully knowing that's exactly what he's doing. He just felt that something was missing and he just wanted to know. He was sick of all her secretiveness. He's given y/n some space after her "outburst" unlike Damian and Dick. So he feels like he could do this because it's not like he forcing her to be around him like the other two.

But regardless the stalking. He was concerned about seeing y/n walk into a mental hospital. It wasn't Arkham, but personally knowing her track record of depressive episodes made him wonder why she was here. Was she admitting herself again?

y/n going through a mental low is difficult no matter how many times Tim sees and helps her through it. She'd stop having this bubbly aura around her. Not being able to get out of bed. There were few times she talked of how hopeless and empty she felt. When she had these episodes they'd never last a few days. They'd always be a week and the worse he's personally seen it last for 2 months. Then the mental image of her dealing with this on her own and coming to the point that she felt the need to admit herself was devastating to him in many ways.

Disguised as part of the staff, Tim followed y/n. Quickly realizing that she wasn't admitting herself, but visiting. He stood by the door of the patient's room that she dispersed in and closed the door. Interestingly Echo walked out of the room at one point and went back.

Seeing y/n standing by the door and about to leave, Tim quickly put some distance between himself and her. Watching y/n, Echo, and a man wearing a hat walk out. Following close behind as they left the hospital and entered the parking garage. He noticed how closely y/n and the man were walking together while Echo walked behind them.

Suddenly Echo came to a halt making the others stop and look at her. Then she ran full force toward Tim and pushed him against the concrete wall. A sharp knife pressed against his throat.

The handful of times Tim has seen Echo he's never seen her exhibit any emotion. There was a sort of underlying anger as she calmly ask who he was and why he following them. He's not able to get his mouth open because y/n runs up panicked while the man walks slowly.

y/n doesn't even need a second to see that it was Tim. Makes Echo let go of him before asking what he was even doing there. There is no good lie that he can come up with on the spot and he knew lying was just going to make y/n more upset than she already was.

"You never talk or are around anymore. You're so secretive now that it makes me worried." Tim would continue if he didn't notice y/n clench her jaw. He would have to be blind to not see y/n trying to keep her cool.

That's when the man placed his gloved hand on her shoulder. Just that simple action alone got rid of any tension in y/n. The man would introduce himself as Jeremiah.

Tim felt uncomfortable by Jeremiah. It could have been the fact that y/n did say his mental sanity has deteriorated, but Tim could just feel something was off with him. His bright green eyes remind Tim of someone. His face also looked to be caked with makeup and the way he talked was unnerving.

The three leave Tim behind. y/n stating that they'll talk about 'this' later. He goes back to the manor even more perplexed by everything.

Later that day y/n drops by the manor. Trying to be discreet as possible because she doesn't want to trigger Damian jumping out. Handing the blood sample to Bruce then turning her attention to Tim.

They have a long drawn-out conversation about what transpired earlier. Explaining why he felt the need to follow her and how he wants her to be open with him.

"— I want us to friends again." That made y/n's heart and mind stop for a moment. Just a moment because she immediately rebuttals. Not trying to mean when saying she doesn't want to be near any of them. That just things change, that they've changed, and they drifted apart. That he had nothing to worry about, but to also never do that again.

y/n spends most of her time with Jeremiah until she has classes and takes a minute to drop by the manor for any updates. Now that y/n is visiting the manor, Damian doesn't surprise her with visits anymore. Since she comes over quite often, daily almost.

He always tries to prolong her time there. He remembers the few things she's interested in. Art and fencing. He'll try almost bribe her to spend more time with him. Mentioning that he's going to an art museum or that he's done with his latest painting. It doesn't get her attention. Talks about how he's got tickets for a fencing match, but that doesn't interest y/n in the slightest.

It's like she's purposefully ignoring him. It's not the case, but that's beside the point. One day when y/n drops by and gets ready to leave, Damian walks up to her with one question. "Can you teach me how to fence?"

Taken aback the question y/n has to take a moment to register it. She sighs, "You're better off getting a professional trainer because I haven't held a saber or epee in a hot minute." She's not even trying to avoid Damian even though he just reminds her how much of a failure she is. She's just being honest.

The boy is becoming visibly frustrated. Panicking and remembering his last tantrum, y/n quickly says that she'll teach him the basics after her classes. Seeing that he was calming down y/n makes a quick escape.

After her last class, she sees Damian waiting right outside of her classroom. Once she's in his peripheral vision he tries to drag her back to the manor and into the newly established fencing room, but she needs to make a quick stop.

Will not let her go alone no matter what. So she kinda has no choice but to bring him along. It's nothing new. She makes a quick call informing someone that she'll have someone with her before jumping into her car. They take a long ride out of Gotham and into the woods. Making Damian wonder where the hell y/n is going.

The second one to meet Jeremiah is Damian. Jeremiah only politely greets him before leaving to talk with y/n in another room. The first impression Damian has of Jeremiah is not a good one. Highly suspicious of him and is not comfortable letting y/n be alone in a room with him. Low-key impressed by the labyrinth that Jeremiah calls his house and likes the interior of the living room. Every classy.

Would have put his ear against the door to hear what they were saying if it wasn't for Echo. She was staring him down. He's pretty sure she hasn't blinked since they got here. Going off what Tim said to the others about Echo possibly being y/n's lover, Damian wonders what y/n sees in Echo.

When they leave and get back into the car Damian brings up Echo. "Your girlfriend should learn how to blink." y/n almost stomped on the breaks. "Girlfriend...? Echo?" She's very confused. "Who else am I talking about." This is when she learns that the whole family thinks she's dating Echo. The idea is funny but also irked her because that was far from the truth. Calmly explains to Damian that isn't the case and that she was simply Jeremiah's bodyguard. Damian can't wait to tell Tim that he was wrong.

Once they get back to the manor y/n teaches Damian about fencing. First going over the rules and the 4 types of fencing before doing anything physical. Surprisingly time flew by. They probably would have been fencing all night if Alfred didn't interrupt them for dinner. y/n planned on leaving, but Damian convinced her to at least stay for dinner because Alfred made her favorite dish and dessert.

This is around the time y/n starts to think that Damian isn't too bad. Out of everyone in the family, Damian is probably the one she'd be the most lenient towards. She's lenient towards the whole family, but Damian is still relatively young. He was able to move on from his horrible childhood, even though that resulted in him lashing out, y/n can forgive that to an extent. Deep down she sees him as her little brother even after their rough patch.

The fact that he isn't breaking into her apartment and trying to connect with her, makes her think that it's safe to be around him. That she isn't going to be verbally reminded that she's one of the most worthless human beings to be alive.

She starts straying a little longer at the manor to mentor Damian a few times. He starts to worry when she easily has the wind knocked out of her and has a cough that doesn't go away. She tells him that it's nothing to worry about. Might lie to him if doesn't give up on the topic by saying she's developed asthma. The lie isn't implausible since anyone can develops asthma at any age and it is hereditary.

It calms Damian down a little. Now he constantly carries an inhaler just in case y/n needs it. She feels so bad lying to him, but she thinks it's for the best that everyone should stay in the dark about her medical condition.

Seeing y/n willingly hang out with Damian gets under Tim's skin. He's given her space unlike Damian, except for that one time but it was only one time. The little gremlin has been harassing her since that one "outburst". He'd want to pull out the 'I knew her longer' card, but he knows how petty it would be. Who she hangs out with isn't his problem and he should mind his own business.

He does mind his own business, but he may occasionally check the cameras to see what y/n and Damian are up to. That's all he swears. Oh, my god, they're going to orchestral concerts and museums together now!? This is so unfair Tim thinks to himself.

They use to be so close.

Honestly, Bruce is thankful for Damian. He's keeping y/n around the manor longer so she can be completely safe from the madness of Gotham. It's also good to know that she's willingly interacting with one of her brothers. It almost warms his heart to see her not be so anxious while in the manor. Just almost because she shouldn't have to feel anxious in the first place. This was the place she once called home, it should make her feel safe not anxious.

Remember the team of toxicologists?

If you don't that's fine. They were killed by the bomb placed in the laboratory, so it's not like they'd be brought up again.

Everyone thinks it's Jerome. The loss of innocent life and y/n suddenly going missing seems like a Jerome thing to do. When they hunt down Jerome, he just kinda shrugs his shoulders while doing a poor job at hiding his smile. Damian wants to scratch his face off or rip his face off depending on the state of it. Dick has to hold back the little monster while Bruce interrogates the ginger.

It goes nowhere until Jerome gets bored of interrogation and tells them, "I'm tired of him thinking that he's better than me. We're quite the same, but I'm the better one. I just had to give him a fresh air of courage to be his true self." Everyone understands what he's say and also groaning that they have to deal with another fucking Valeska.

BONUS

Jerome, Jeremiah, Joker, and Harley being a sort of dysfunctional family is a fun idea. (Inspired by this) Joker and Harley enable the twins' unhealthy love for y/n Wayne.

Harley is more "innocent" in her enabling because she sees nothing wrong with it. The staking, the murder, it's nothing when it's the name of love. (When she leaves Joker for Ivy, she might feel guilty for egging them on. That she played a part in instating y/n into a toxic relationship. Out of anyone, she'd be the one to understand what's it like to be in one. This might motivate her to help keep y/n safe in the future.) Out of the two Harley is rooting for Jerome. He just seems like the lesser evil for y/n.

Joker finds the whole thing funny and pathetic at the same time. The twins are destroying half of the city for a girl, it almost makes him want to roll his eyes. Almost because of the lengths they'll go to. How they're always butting heads and seeing how distraught the girl gets is fun. He can't help but laugh at it. He'll be putting his money on Jeremiah because he sees potential. He's not reckless like Jerome or impatient, Jeremiah is in it for the long haul.

#batfamily x batsis #batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader #richard grayson x reader #dick grayson x batsis #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x batsis #yandere x reader #barbara gordon x reader #jerome valeska x batsis reader #jeremiah valeska x batsis reader

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magnoliasandarson · 2 months

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birds of a feather

Dick didn't know what to make of the kid. The new "Robin". He was a prick, plain and simple. Robin was supposed to be a beacon of hope and light; this runty asshole was not that. Maybe he was being too harsh, but the kid wasn't exactly trying with him.

He was here, though. Watching him and Bruce train. Bruce wanted him to teach the kid- show him how to fly. Dick had no interest in doing that. But he was still here, in his Nightwing suit, watching the New Dynamic Duo.

The kid was scrappy- quick on his feet. He was still a little asshole, quipping about Bruce being old and slow between hits. Bruce was humoring him, but Dick saw the moment he shifted from tolerating to teaching. Bruce caught the kid above the eye with a jab, dropping the kid. Dick almost winced in sympathy, almost.

The kid landed hard on his ass, scrambling backward. Bruce kicked out, and the kid blocked with his arms. Dick dropped down from the rafters; this was pointless. The kid wasn't Robin. Bruce didn't get to force him to train his replacement; he needed to get back to Blud.

"Stop!" The scream caught him off guard, and Dick turned back to the fight; Bruce had the kid locked in a chokehold, "Please, Willis."

Dick wasn't sure who the fuck Willis was, but he was sure that the kid was twelve, and if the kid wanted out, he would get out, "Let him go, Bruce." There is a steel to his voice that had only come out before when dealing with criminals.

Bruce didn't let go, "Work through it, Robin," Dick watched blood drip off Jason's face onto Bruce's arm, "fight through the panic."

Fuck this. The kid gasped, "'m sorry, Dad-"

Double fuck this- "Let him go," Dick triggered his escrima stick, sparks of blue crackling into existence, "now."

Bruce's face shifted, and he released the kid. He dropped like a stone, shaking like a leaf in the rain. Dick ditched his stick, falling to his knees next to the kid, his body separating the child from Bruce, "it's okay, Jay."

Dick reached a hand out, calling gently, "It's okay, kid," something in his chest cracked when Jason, fuck-when did the kid become Jason, flinched away, "Oh, Jason."

"Get the fuck away from me," Jason hissed, jumping to his feet, "stay the fuck away from me." His eyes were red with unshed tears, and a slow trickle of blood dripped out of his nose.

The crack in Dick's chest deepened to the size of the Grand Canyon. He had fucked this up. This wasn't his replacement; this was a child. A deeply traumatized child. He was going to kill Bruce. Dick stood slowly, kept his arms stretched out, hands palms up, and almost cooed, "It's alright Jaybird."

Bruce stepped forward, and Dick swung an arm out, pushing him back. The old man had gotten them into this mess; he would be no help getting them out. Jason's chest heaved as he scrubbed at his face, "I'm fine," his lower lip trembled, and didn't that break Dick's heart, "I can still train."

He knew he shouldn't- he knew it wasn't the right move- but Dick moved viper quick and wrapped the younger boy in his arms, swaying gently and petting sweaty curls.

"Lemme go," it was little more than a mumble, but Dick heard it loud and clear. He ignored it, tightening his grip and muttering reassurances. Bruce was lurking in the background, but that didn't matter. Right then, in that moment, it was just Jason and Dick. Not Bruce and definitely not Willis, whoever the fuck that was.

Dick had messed up things with the kid Jason from the jump, but he could fix it. He could teach him, fuck Bruce's training- birds of a feather fly together. No Bats allowed.

#dc comics #dc universe #batman #dick grayson #robin #batfam #bruce wayne #jason todd #nightwing #batfamily #dc robin #robin dc

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crazycatgirl420 · 8 months

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Gotham's Black Rose

Dpxdc fanfic Sam is Bruce Wayne's daughter, adopted by the Manson family. Everlasting Trio, toddler Ellie. Pharoah Tucker, Witch Sam, Space Ancient Danny. And Cujo too.

Chapter 2: Comfort and Planning

The last thing Sam wanted right now was for cameras to be flashing in her face or for reporters to be shoving mics at her. Shoving past the crowd yelling questions she didn't want to think about right now, Sam made her way towards the street.

It didn't take long for Danny to show up, motorcycle roaring down the street. His ice blue eyes glared at the noisy crowd, and they hesitated long enough for Sam to escape.

She jumped on, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder. They pulled away from the event without a single word to her parents - adopted parents apparently- which was for the best. Sam didn't even have words for them anymore.

Danny pulled into the Foley driveway with ease. Tucker sat on the patio, laptop open to live broadcast of the Manson's adoption reveal, and Ellie sat in a specially designed play pen with puppy Cujo.

"How's Sam?" Tuck asked, muting the video as Danny walked over.

"Oh you know." Danny said. "She's confused, disappointed, scared."

Turning around, Danny gently shook Sam onto Tucker's open arms.

"What a mess," Tucker sighed. "How do you just forget to mention that?"

"No idea man," Danny said.

The only one of them with a decent childhood was Tucker, and he's got horrible past-life memories of a Pharaoh's life in Egypt to process.

"I'm gonna curse them," Sam said. "They'll never be able to keep a secret ever again,"

"You know that's gonna have more consequences than you want to be responsible for," Tucker said.

"I know," Sam said. "...Pamela will always drop her pearls and Jeremy will never find the right cufflinks Pamela wants him to wear,"

"Petty," Danny said.

Sam nodded against Tucker's shoulder, before lifting her right hand, a twisting purple energy pooling in her palm. With a snap the magic vanished, off to fulfill its purpose on the unspecting Manson couple.

Ellie squealed in the pen, clapping her hands and chanting "magic! Magic!"

"So you've cursed them, what do you want to do now?" Danny asked, sitting on the grass.

Sam sat up, relocating to sitting on the stair and between Tucker's legs. Tucker ran his hands through Sam's hair, enjoying the company of his small family despite the heavy topic at hand.

"I want to know who my biological parents are," Sam said. "I want to know why I was put up for adoption and I want to move to Gotham as soon as possible."

"I can get us transferred to a Gotham high school for our senior year," Tucker said. "We're already accepted to Gotham University,"

"I can have me and Ellie packed by this weekend," Danny said.

"It's the last month of summer vacation so it's going to be a bit of a rushed transfer, I'll follow in my jeep, it's going to take me a minute to pack my office up,"

Sam let the boys plan their move, their voices a comforting background to her swirling emotions.

Ellie would know where she came from, no matter how complicated a story it was. Sam could see it, five years from now, they'd sit her down at the dinner table and explain an evil scientist tried to clone Danny, and instead Danny got an Ellie and she's been their daughter ever since.

Why was family so complicated?

#dpxdc #Gotham's Black Rose

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galaxymagitech · 23 days

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No Winter Lasts Forever (No Spring Skips Its Turn)

Written for Dick Grayson Anniversary Week 2024: Day 2

Captivity | The Meaning of Robin | Rescue from Juvie

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: In which Dick is trained to be an undead assassin, refuses an unrefusable offer, loses a family, gains a family, meets a tire thief, and fights the forces of evil—not necessarily in that order.

Characters: Dick Grayson, William Cobb, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, child abuse, minor character death, Court of Owls (while the Court itself is not depicted and the specifics aren't explored, they are part of the background to a large section of the story)

The ropes break with a snap!

Dick’s parents fall to the floor.

And Dick—Dick can’t breathe—

---

They tell him that he’ll have a new family, but Dick doesn’t want a new family. He wants his dat and dej, Pop Haly, the big top. Zitka the elephant. The strongman who spoke even more languages than he did. Harry the clown. Dick doesn’t want a new family. He wants his old family back.

But no one here cares about what Dick wants. He’s dragged by the wrist to a car, and then pulled from the car, and then shoved into a large, stone complex. They take his clothes, his bag, his stuffed elephant. Give him a grey-green shirt to wear that says only “Gotham” on it. Like he belongs to the city now.

Dick has never been to Gotham before. He doesn’t know why it gets to claim him. These streets, these skyscrapers…they aren’t his home. His home is the circus tent.

He doesn’t understand.

They hate him, here. The guards, the kids, the severe woman who called herself a “social worker,” only Dick doesn’t know what that means. Everyone hates him.

Dick curls up in bed and tries not to cry. Crying is a sign of weakness. Blood in the water. He’s surrounded by sharks.

“Hey, new fish!” Someone says.

Dick doesn’t respond.

The boy snaps his fingers. “I’m talking to you!”

Dick curls even tighter.

A hand grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him roughly out of bed. Dick’s palms slam into the concrete floor, stinging furiously. He looks up to see three boys—the same three boys who beat him on his first night there.

“When he talks to you,” says another of the boys with a nasty smirk on his face, “you answer.”

Dick shudders. He doesn’t want to fight them again, but he will. He will, if he has to. He’s been here only a week, a week that’s felt like a lifetime, and he’s had to fight the others again and again.

Why can’t they just let him sleep?

The first boy snaps his fingers again. “Eyes on me, grasshopper.”

Dick looks at him tiredly.

“When,” the boy asks, eyes alight with malice, “are you going to learn?”

---

Dick hates adults.

Well, not all adults. He loved his parents. Pop Haly, and all the other circus folk. No, he doesn’t hate adults, he hates normal adults. The ones that wear suits and skirts and guard uniforms. The ones that don’t care, that hate him for daring to exist. Those are the adults he hates.

But Batman—

Batman wears a mask, and a cape, and a costume reminiscent of a circus performer, though a lot less colorful. So when Batman asks Dick to trust him, Dick tries.

The man disappears into the shadows, leaving Dick alone on the rooftop with a single promise.

---

The next day, they tell Dick that someone is here to see him. Dick is brought to the visitation room, and they don’t give him handcuffs, but he feels like a prisoner all the same. He’s too small for the chair, and his legs swing above the ground as his hands twist in his too-big shirt. Dick doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.

When the man walks in, his shoes click on the floor. Click, click, click. Dick looks up warily.

“Hello, Richard,” the man says. Dick winces. No one calls him Richard except the adults at the youth center, and Dick hateshateshates them. He doesn’t like this man either. He’s wearing a collared shirt just like the police, and his face holds none of the joy that his circus family’s does.

But Dick can tell he is wearing makeup caked onto his face, like the stage makeup all the performers wore at Haly’s, and his eyes have a yellow tint to him. He wears a cool brown coat over his shirt, too. Dick may not like him, but he doesn’t entirely hate him. Because the man doesn’t look quite normal.

“My name is William.”

It seems wrong to call an adult he doesn’t know very well by their first name, but the man didn’t give him a last name.

“Do you have a nickname you like to use?” William asks gently.

“Dick,” Dick says. It’s the first time anyone has asked. It’s the first time anyone has cared.

“Hello, Dick,” William says. “I was friends with Mr. Haly’s family.” Dick squints at William, but he doesn’t seem to be lying. His body bleeds sincerity so much that it’s eerie. “I heard about what happened to your parents. I’m sorry.” Dick shrugs. “I’d like to help you, Dick, if you’ll let me.” Dick looks up and meets his strange, yellow-tinted eyes. They both stare, for a while. Dick blinks first.

“Whatever,” Dick says.

“I want to show you something,” William says. He removes three balls from a pocket inside his coat and throws them into the air, progressively speeding up. Dick watches him, unimpressed. He can do better than that and he’s just eight. William smiles at the way Dick wrinkles his nose. “I know,” he says, catching the balls. “Not very impressive.”

“I can juggle six,” Dick says boldly.

“Do you want to show me?” William asks. He extracts three more juggling balls and places all six in Dick’s small hands. Suddenly nervous, Dick places the balls on the table and wipes his palms on his baggy brown pants. “It’s alright,” William says, reaching for the juggling balls.

“No,” Dick insists. “I can do it.” He picks them up, and gradually tosses them into the air, until he’s doing all six at once. He can’t help the smile that sneaks onto his face as he falls into the rhythmic catch-pass-throw-catch-pass-throw. When he senses his focus dwindling, he catches the balls and drops them into William’s outstretched hands.

“Excellent,” William says, and begins to juggle them himself. Unlike Dick, he does it like it’s easy, talking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Who taught you that?”

“Ahmed,” Dick says. “He was our juggler. He could do knives.”

William adds another ball into the rotation, smoothly drawing it from his coat. “I can juggle knives too. Unfortunately, visitors aren’t allowed to bring those.”

Dick thinks that’s probably a good idea. He doesn’t want to see what the other boys would do with knives.

“If I take you out of here,” William offers, “I could show you.”

“Could you really?” Dick asks. He feels like he’s tripping headfirst down a hill in his excitement. He wants to leave. He wants to escape. And William is offering him a way out.

“Yes,” William says. “I’m working on it. I’ll be back before you know it.” He catches the juggling balls one by one, and Dick notices that he’s worked up to twelve—one more than the world record.

Dick hates normal adults, but William isn’t normal.

“I’d like that,” he says.

---

William comes back for him, just as promised. The youth center gives him his clothes back, his bag, his stuffed elephant, and Dick can feel his heart soaring. As he walks away from the barbed-wire-topped gates, William’s fingers dig into his shoulder like talons.

Dick winces. “You’re—you’re holding me too tight.”

William’s grip relaxes, and Dick lets the smile slip back onto his face. He ignores the twinge of unease, burying it deep inside.

---

William takes him to a strange building, and they take an elevator deep underground. His new guardian—that’s what the “social worker” called William—leads him down a long, marble corridor.

“Where are we going?” Dick asks.

“To your new home,” William tells him.

Dick inches closer to William’s side. “This is kind of scary,” he says. “Not that I’m scared. But it’s kind of scary.”

“You are above that,” William says.

The corridor opens into a large, circular room. At the center of it is a large statue of an owl, gleaming white. Dick doesn’t know where the light is coming from.

Hands trembling, Dick reaches into his bag and pulls out Zitka. He holds the stuffed animal close to his chest, digging his fingers into her soft fabric.

William reaches out and pulls Zitka away.

It takes Dick a moment to process, but when he does, anger fills him. “Give her back!” He says, stamping his foot. “She’s not yours, she’s mine! Give her back!”

William watches him, eyes unblinking. “You don’t need a toy, Dick.”

“You can’t take her!” Dick insists.

“Watch,” William says, stowing Zitka in his coat and pulling out six long, sharp knives. He begins to juggle them, and Dick watches as the blades glint in the unnatural light. “Doesn’t it look fascinating?”

“I want Zitka back,” Dick insists.

William sighs, and this time, he pulls out three blunt knives. “If you can learn to juggle these, I will return your toy to you. Does that sound fair?”

It’s not a nice question. When adults say that, you always have to answer ‘yes.’

---

William takes him to a room with a bed and turns off the lights. “The bathroom’s through that door,” he says. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

William shuts the door, plunging Dick into darkness. He hears the lock click.

---

The next day, William hands him a wooden sword and tells him that they will practice fighting. Dick doesn’t think this is a normal thing to do, but he doesn’t like normal. William said he knows Pop Haly’s family; maybe he’s from another circus, where they fight with wooden swords.

Dick ends the day bruised and exhausted. William sends him to his room. Dick shudders, pulling his thin blankets over him and wishing they protected him from the cold.

Each day passes much the same. William shows him a dummy and tells him which spots to hit. They’re circled in red, with words on them. Heart. Carotid. Kidney. Dick doesn’t think he’s training for a circus anymore.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

William puts a hand on his shoulder. “I serve an organization, called the Court of Owls.”

“Is that like Haly’s circus?”

William gives Dick’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, just an ounce too tight. “Almost. Like your circus, they gave me a home. A place. A life. They will give you one too.”

“What if I don’t want it?” Dick asks.

William’s face darkens and his hand grows tighter. Dick flinches, but William doesn’t let him escape. “You will.”

Dick practices. He graduates from a wooden sword to a real one. He learns to juggle the dull knives and does it for hours under William’s watchful eye. When William hands him sharp ones to try, Dick thinks of asking for Zitka back. That was, after all, the deal. But he doesn’t think his request would be well-received.

“Good,” William says, and pride shoots through Dick, but also fear. So much fear. He doesn’t like what he’s becoming. “Good.”

---

“There is a procedure,” William says, when too many days have passed for Dick to keep track of the time. He isn’t wearing his makeup today. Dick can see how pale William’s face is, like a corpse. The way his black veins twist across his skin. “It makes you strong, like me. So people can’t kill you, like they did to your parents.”

“What…what does that mean?” Dick asks.

William smiles. There’s an edge to it. Dick tries not to let his fear show. He’s been doing that a lot, these days. “They’ll give you some medicine,” William says. “And it’ll help you. Protect you. After the procedure, you can take your place at my side.”

“With the Owls,” Dick says.

“With the Owls,” William agrees. “You are almost ready.”

Dick looks at William’s face. He doesn’t think he wants to be ready. But he doesn’t dare speak.

---

“Tomorrow,” William says, holding out a hand to help Dick pull himself off the ground. He’s bleeding from shallow cuts, the product of sparring with real swords. William says those wounds won’t matter after the procedure. The procedure will protect him, and they’ll barely hurt anymore.

Dick can’t help but think that they also wouldn’t hurt if William didn’t insist on inflicting them.

“Tomorrow, you will join me as a Talon.”

“I—” Dick knows, by now, that if he says he doesn’t want to be a Talon, he will be ignored. “What will I do, as a Talon?” He asks instead.

William runs his fingers through Dick’s hair. It’s grown long, tickling at his jaw. That’s how Dick knows that he has to have been here for a while, even though he he’s lost track of the days. “There are people that pose a threat to the Court,” William tells him calmly. “You will remove them.”

“I’ll…put them in jail?” Dick asks, even though…even though William has not been training him to put people in jail.

“You will kill them,” William says. As if murder wasn’t what stole Dick’s parents from him.

“How many?” Dick asks. He thinks that if he could see himself in a mirror, his face would look almost as pale as William’s.

“As many as the Court requires.”

---

Dick doesn’t want to be a Talon. He doesn’t want to kill for people he’s never even met, even if William says he owes them his life.

Dick had a life before the Court, before William, and it was with the circus. It was with Pop Haly and dat and dej and they never would’ve wanted him to do this. His mother called him Robin. The first bird of spring. A symbol of joy, of hope, of renewal. Not of death. Never of death.

That night, Dick lies awake, terrified. He doesn’t want to go to sleep and become a Talon when he wakes up.

He likes William, but William is scary, sometimes, and as time went on, sometimes became all the time, and now—

—Dick doesn’t think he likes William very much, anymore.

Run, Robin, run! His mother cries out in his mind, and Dick shoots out of bed.

---

Dick races down the corridor, trying desperately to remember the way out. As the days have passed, William has moved him to rooms deeper and deeper into the complex.

Dick pleads that his memory is right.

His feet are bare—William didn’t give him any socks or shoes. Dick wonders if that was on purpose, to prevent him from escaping.

But he’s climbed rock-faces barefoot before with the other circus kids. A marble corridor isn’t going to phase him.

Left. Right. Right. Left. Sharp left. Secret door. Left. Left. Right. And—there.

Dick mashes the up button on the elevator and steps into it, knees shaking as he feels the floor rising underneath him, carrying him up from the ground. Until, halfway, the elevator grinds to a stop.

No.

Dick will not fail now.

He remembers that in movies, people climb out the top of elevators. This is an old one, so he’s able to scale the grated door and push out a panel in the elevator’s ceiling. There’s a metal cable, there, stretching up, up, up.

Dick climbs.

It hurts his fingers, but he climbs.

When he reaches the top, he presses at the buttons by the steel doors until they slide open. There, Dick finds William waiting for him.

“What are you doing?” William asks, as Dick leaps onto the floor.

Dick juts out his chin. “I don’t want to be a Talon.”

“It’s your destiny, Dick,” William says, tilting Dick’s chin up so Dick has to look him in his unblinking yellow eyes.

“I don’t care,” Dick says, stepping to the side and batting William’s hand away.

“You don’t mean that,” William says. “I saved you from that prison, Dick. I brought you here, so you could become a Talon.” Dick’s heart aches. He knows that William probably only wanted him for the Owls, but having the confirmation still hurts. “You belong here. With me. Don’t you want to stay?”

“No,” Dick says. “I don’t want to be here, so you have to let me go. It’s the law.”

But he doesn’t think the law applies to William. Or if it does, Dick doesn’t think William would care. “I can’t do that,” William says. “You belong here. If I have to hurt you for you to see it, I will. I don’t want to, but I will. Do you understand me, Dick?”

“You’ll hurt me?” Dick asks. William has hurt him already, but in little ways. Bruises and cuts while they trained. The way William says it this time seems worse.

“The Owls have ways to make the Talons listen to them. I didn’t want to have to use them on you. But they demand absolute loyalty.”

“What will they do to me?”

“They will take you apart and study you piece by piece, every organ on display, and then they will stitch you back together. You will be awake the whole time. It will hurt. They will put you somewhere very, very cold until you listen to them. They will make you forget your name, your parents, everything except Talon. I want to spare you that, Dick.”

“I—” Dick trembles. “I—” He feels his knees collapse under him. William catches him and holds him close. “I’m sorry,” Dick whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, until his hand closes around the hilt of one of the sharp knives tucked into his belt. The ones that William gave him when he graduated from the dull practice ones.

In a single, practiced motion, Dick swipes up and slices a blade across William’s throat.

The Talon releases him instantly, wound gushing black blood. Dick feels his stomach churn. The wound is already starting to heal.

“You’ll regret that,” William hisses.

“No,” Dick says, as he lunges forward and slices William’s neck again, “I won’t. I’m not your Talon. I don’t serve the Owls. I’m a Robin.”

William taught him how to fight. William taught him how to kill.

William’s head falls to the floor, and Dick screams.

---

The first time Dick steals, his hands tremble, and the man catches Dick with his hand halfway into his pocket. Dick runs.

The next time, he forces his hands still and he doesn’t get caught.

Stealing is wrong, but so is killing, and Dick killed William. William saved him, protected him, tried to give him purpose the only way he knew how, and Dick killed him.

He can’t bring himself to regret murder, so he doesn’t regret stealing either.

And the streets—the streets are so, so cold.

---

The years pass, and Dick grows accustomed to the cold—and the starvation, the fear, the danger. He knows how to clock which passersby are targets for his sticky fingers and which he should avoid and which he should absolutely avoid at all costs.

He tries performing acrobatics in the city’s squares, but every time the authorities catch him, he has to move locations, and eventually he’s exhausted all the good ones. It lasts him through the winter, at least, and the next winter he’s able to try again.

Dick missed his ninth birthday in his six months with William. He spends his tenth waiting out a late snowstorm in the cheapest motel room he could find and fighting off the thieves who try to enter. They run. Dick doesn’t kill them. He doesn’t think they’ll mess with him again.

Dick turns eleven. An older kid on the street tries to take the money he picks off a lady with a pearl necklace, and Dick punches him in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of him and forces him into an armlock. “Yer good, for a runt.” Dick knows that he’s good for anyone, runt or not. He killed a Talon, after all. “Y’know,” the boy says, “I’ve got a job. Could use some help. Little security.”

“How much?”

“I just gotta listen in on somethin’ goin’ down in this warehouse over on 41st and 3rd. Fifty whole dollars. We can split it. Thirty me, twenty you.”

“Twenty-five,” Dick says. The boy agrees too easily. Dick goes anyway; he needs the money.

At the first sign of trouble, the boy pushes Dick out of their hiding place and makes a break for it. Dick ends up fighting off two of Maroni’s men and saving the boy’s hide. He makes the older boy take him back to his boss and splits the money with him fifty-fifty. “You can call me Mark,” the boy says. “I’m thirteen.”

“I’m Dick,” Dick says. “And I’m eleven.”

“Might wanna choose a different name.”

It’s not the first day of spring, but the weather’s starting to get warmer. Crocuses are sprouting through the pavement—though that might be Poison Ivy’s doing, more than anything else. “Robin,” Dick decides. “I’m Robin.”

He thinks he might have made a friend.

---

Mark hunts for information and sells tidbits of it to the highest bidder. Listens in on mob deals. Roots through the trash for information. With Dick at his side, he gets bolder. Instead of a supplement, information becomes their main dealing.

On Dick’s twelfth birthday, they steal donuts from a stand outside some sort of ritzy novelty donut store and run. When the owner comes chasing after them, they shove the donuts in their mouths and look all innocent, and by then the owner’s spotted more street kids trying to steal the donuts, so he has to rush back.

“I think,” Mark says, as they sit on a rooftop, “this is some kind of good deed or something.”

“Yeah?” Dick asks.

“Yeah.” Mark points at two kids huddled in a nearby alley, chowing down on their stolen donuts. They look about eight or nine. The age Dick was when he entered the streets.

On Dick’s thirteenth birthday, he has no one to celebrate. Mark double-crossed the wrong crime lord and ended up in Gotham Harbor.

From then on, Dick works alone. That is, until he finds a scrappy ten-year-old attempting to whack two guys with a tire iron.

---

“Jason Todd,” the kid introduces himself, once Dick’s sent the guys running and convinced the kid that he wasn’t going to kidnap him and sell him to human traffickers. He looks cleaner than most street kids, not quite as hungry, his clothes not entirely torn. But no ten-year-old would be jacking tires at midnight if he had a family at home.

Dick doesn’t know why he brought the kid back to his hideout, why he decided to share his limited medical supplies, but he did.

“Robin,” Dick tells him, as he wraps a bandage around a nasty cut on Jason’s arm. “How did you get this, Jason?”

Jason shrugs.

“C’mon.”

“When my mom died, they tried to put me in a group home,” Jason says. Dick’s heart sinks. “I wanted out. The mob that ran the place took exception to that.”

“Are they looking for you?” Dick asks. Many of the group homes in Gotham are in league with someone, but the mob ones are rare. If Jason ended up at one of those, his parents might have been involved in something dangerous.

“Don’t know,” Jason says. “Sure they got worse problems to worry ‘bout than me. Can I go now?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “I’m not keeping you here.”

The kid climbs out his window, and Dick shakes off the urge to stop him.

---

Dick doesn’t like working for Gotham Rogues, but as time has gone by, the mobs have slowly phased out and the Rogues have phased in. He refuses to tangle with the Joker or Scarecrow, but he occasionally collects information for Ivy or Penguin. Two-Face, well, Dick would rather not be anywhere near him, but he’s not the kind of guy you can refuse.

It’s while infiltrating casino security systems for Two-Face that Dick hears about Willis Todd, the traitor. Two-Face has him killed in jail, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. He paces and paces and paces about, until someone suggests going after Willis Todd’s boy, Jason.

Dick’s heart stops in his chest, as Two-Face pauses his pacing.

“There’s an idea,” he says. He flips his coin in the air, and his lips twist into a vicious grin. “Bad heads. Guess that boy’s out of luck.”

No.

---

As a rule, Dick tries not to get involved. He runs information and he fights off any attackers, but he never gets involved in anyone’s actual operations. It’s not his job.

But while it was easy for Dick to not particularly care about various criminals killing each other, he can’t let that grumpy little ten-year-old get killed. Not when he knows that Two-Face is going after him.

Dick searches through the city and finds Jason in Crime Alley, shivering behind a dumpster.

“You’re in danger,” he warns.

“I’m always in danger,” Jason says. “What, here to kidnap me, Robin?”

“I’m here to protect you.”

Jason doesn’t believe him.

So Dick watches. He’s good at watching. He watches as Jason picks pockets and steals tires. He watches for two weeks, until he’s almost convinced that there’s no point in watching at all. And then, he sees five of Two-Face’s men corner the kid in an alleyway.

Dick drops down, joining the fray. Only, these are no ordinary goons. They fight like men possessed, like they’re doped up on some sort of substance—and Dick knows, from his recent surveillance of Ivy, that they probably are. Dick still has the knives William gave him, even after all these years. For once, he uses them. He may be out of practice, but, well, he doesn’t need much practice to shove a sharp object into a man’s gut and twist.

“R-robin?” Jason asks, voice shaky, as three of the men run away. Two lie on the cobblestones, dead.

Dick knows that if he hadn’t met William, such a display would’ve terrified him. He inclines his head. “I’m sorry, Jason.”

“Thank you,” Jason says. And then, despite the fact that Dick is carrying sharp knives and has just committed two murders, the kid rushes forward and wraps his arms around Dick’s waist. Dick returns the hug. He missed hugs so much, and this—

—this is the best.

“I killed them, Jay,” Dick says.

“Those men, they hung around my dad,” Jason says. “They were…they were real mean.”

Dick pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around Jason’s shoulders. He keeps his touch light, so Jason can easily draw away at any time. He’s dangerous. Jason shouldn’t want to be held by him. But the kid just keeps clinging. “I have a place to stay,” Dick offers.

And Jason—Jason accepts.

---

After defeating Two-Face’s men, Dick has to go back on the down-low for a while. No more major information-gathering, just tiny crumbs here and there. But with him and Jason living together, they can split the work. Dick teaches him all the best pickpocketing tricks, all the ways to hide on alleyways and rooftops, how to know which information is worth selling. Jason teaches him how to jack tires and how to make himself sound more like a Crime Alley native and the stories his mom used to tell him.

Dick learns that Jason loves reading and adds books from charity stores to their limited budget. He watches Jason curl up at night with one of their flashlights, poring over Jane Austen and Emily Dickinson and Shakespeare. Sometimes, he reads them out loud, and Dick listens, providing commentary. With the Shakespeare, Jason often asks Dick to read for different characters, so they can have a mini play in their ramshackle hide-out.

It makes Dick feel like he’s almost good, for the first time since his parents fell.

---

“Little Wing?” Jason echoes, wrinkling his nose.

Dick pulls him closer as they huddle together for warmth. It’s a long, cold winter. “Because I’m Robin. And you’re little. So you’re Little Wing!”

“I’m not a bird,” Jason sulks.

“Well, then,” Dick says. “I’ll just have to teach you to fly.”

---

Rooftops are no match for Robin and his Blue Jay apprentice. Neither, they decide, are the tops of trains. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. But Dick is sixteen and Jason is eleven. They should be playing games with their classmates in school, and this is the closest they can get.

“Watch me, Little Wing!” Dick calls, doing a flip on top of the moving train. “Wait, no, don’t copy me, Jay—"

---

“My real name,” Dick says one day, “is Richard Grayson. I was part of a travelling circus.”

Jason laughs. “Pull the other one.”

“Really! My best friend was an elephant and everything.” Dick’s heart pangs as he thinks of Little Zitka. He never did get her back from William. But he’s sixteen now, and far too old for stuffed animals anyway.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well,” Dick says, “then I’ll just have to convince you.”

---

All good things must come to an end. Jason says he’s going out, and he never comes back. Dick spends days asking around, and the rumors are conclusive: Batman found a boy trying to steal his tires and stole him instead.

Dick thinks back to when he first met Batman, with his cape and cowl and funny suit. Dick had thought that, just because he wasn’t normal like the other adults, he could be trusted.

But Dick knows better now. In the circus, strange was good. Strange was safe. But in Gotham? Strange is Two-Face and Joker and Scarecrow. Strange is William. And Dick can’t trust normal or strange.

Dick knows he can’t go up against Batman, even with six months of training to be a Talon, even with his experience fighting on the streets. He should just leave it and move on.

But Jay—

Wherever he is, he must be so scared.

Batman may not serve the Court of Owls and he may not kill, but he still hunts on the streets at night. Just like a Talon. And Dick will never leave Jason in the hands of a man like William.

---

Poking around inevitably gets Dick caught. Trapped between Batman and the police department, he makes the obvious decision, and gets picked up by social services. He’ll be out within a day.

Only, apparently, he’s the subject of an eight-year-long missing person case, several conspiracy theories, and a never-ending investigation. With everyone watching him, it’s impossible for Dick to slip through the cracks.

It’s the same story that happened eight years ago. No room in the system. Dick is sixteen and a runaway and everyone knows he’s a thief. No one’s going to adopt him, and he probably belongs in jail anyway.

They send him to the youth center again. This time, Dick can’t say he blames them.

---

Dick stretches down and lazily pushes into a handstand, wandering around upside-down as he thinks.

“Quit it, Richie,” his cellmate grunts from the top bunk.

“Fuck you,” Dick responds, balancing on one hand to give the guy the middle finger.

“I said quit it!”

It’s not a battle worth fighting. Dick sighs, walking himself back into a standing position. He lets himself fall down onto the bottom bunk, bouncing his foot.

Dick just has to wait a couple of days for this all to blow over, and then he can escape back onto the streets and continue his search for Jason. But the waiting is so, so painful. How does he know that Batman isn’t a Talon? Just because people say he doesn’t kill doesn’t mean it’s actually true. Jason could be alone with a Talon.

What if Dick didn’t actually kill William for good? What if that man has is little brother, right now? What if he’s doing all those things he said the Court did to Talons to make them obey?

Dick is startled out of his thoughts by the cell door clanging open. “C’mon,” the guard says.

“Where are we going?” Dick asks, but as usual, the adult doesn’t listen to him. They never do, unless Dick is useful, and here? Dick is useless.

The guard leads him to the social worker. Dick knows she’s the social worker because she has the same, pinched-looking face that he’d remember for a thousand years. Her hair is put up into the same tight bun, only now it’s streaked with grey. “Congratulations, Richard,” she says. “You’re being fostered.”

Dick’s first thought is that it has to be the Court, but he immediately dismisses the idea. Since he got rid of William, the Court’s been predictable about where they popped up, and they’ve never made a move on him. Dick is seventeen. All they have to do is wait six months and then they wouldn’t have to even bother with CPP. It would be stupid for the Court to have engineered this.

But Dick knows that seventeen-year-olds don’t just get fostered.

“Now?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes, now,” the woman snaps.

“Don’t I have anything to say about this?”

The social worker—Ms. Cleary, she introduced herself, apparently seventeen-year-old Dick is more worthy of her name than eight-year-old Dick was—scoffs. “Just be grateful you’re being fostered.”

“But…shouldn’t I at least meet the guy first?” Dick asks. That’s how it had worked with William—not that it had done any good at the time.

“Mr. Wayne is not some ‘guy,’ Richard,” Cleary tells him sharply. “He is one of Gotham’s first citizens.”

“One of Gotham’s first citizens,” Dick mutters under his breath. “Yeah, right.” He’s heard of ‘Mr. Wayne.’ Not involved in any organized crime, any smuggling business, any anything. He just goes to parties and donates absurd amounts of money to causes that barely help at all. Wayne isn’t particularly powerful or influential, not in the underworld where it really matters. He’s just rich.

“You’ll show him the proper respect.”

“Sure.”

Outside of the youth center, Dick can see birds perched on the barbed-wire-topped fence. He wonders if any of them are robins.

“Hello, Richard,” the man says, holding out a hand for Dick to shake. Dick eyes it distrustfully.

“Richard,” Cleary hisses, and Dick rolls his eyes and shakes Wayne’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Bruce says. “You’ll be my ward until you’ve turned eighteen.”

“Why?” Dick asks.

“Don’t mind him,” Cleary says loudly.

Wayne blinks. William didn’t blink. “It’s a reasonable question, Ms. Cleary.” He turns to Dick. “I was there that night at the circus. I had wanted to foster you, but you went missing before I could.”

“Went missing?” Dick asks. He hadn’t spared much thought for what he was registered as in the foster system, just that he couldn’t be caught by them.

“Yes, you disappeared one night, you’ll remember,” Ms. Cleary says. “We suspected you ran. No body was ever found. It was such a relief when you turned up.”

But that’s wrong. They handed him off to William. He had always—he had always thought that that part, at least, was legitimate.

Dick can see Wayne’s eyes flickering between him and Cleary with far too much intelligence for the bumbling idiot Bruce Wayne. “Let’s just go,” Dick says. He doesn’t have a bag to hoist over his shoulder, just his brown pants and the grey-green shirt on his back that reads “Gotham.” Dick thinks it’s right, this time. He does belong to the city.

It turns out that Wayne isn’t driving. Instead that’s handled by his butler. Wayne sits in the back seat with Dick. Dick tries to avoid his searching gaze.

“If you let me out here,” Dick says, “you can just tell them I ran away. I’m a flight risk, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Wayne echoes. He shakes his head. “I meant what I said. I have another ward. He’s currently staying with a friend of mine, but he’ll be back in a few days. I wish I could have taken you in earlier, but at least this way, I can help you as best I can.”

“Help me?” Dick rolls his eyes. “I don’t need help, Wayne. Just give me six months and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Call me Bruce,” Wayne says. Dick thinks he won’t, thank you very much. “Do you have a nickname, Richard?”

Dick can’t hide the flinch. (William asked the same question. William cared, only so he could use it against him.)

Wayne frowns. “Alright. I am…truly sorry that I wasn’t able to help you earlier.”

“Not your fault,” Dick shrugs. “I ran away, didn’t you hear?”

“No,” Wayne says deep in thought. “I don’t think you did.”

Dick refuses to talk the rest of the car ride.

---

Alfred shows him to his room and tells him to be down for dinner in an hour. Dick doesn’t go. He wants to see what will happen. If Wayne will tire of him, or get angry, or what. Alfred knocks on his door. “It is time for dinner, Master Richard.”

Dick could play this out further, but he’s hungry. He goes downstairs and stares suspiciously at the food Alfred serves him.

“Is it not to your liking?”

The food smells delicious. Dick’s more worried that it’s drugged.

But he has to sleep eventually, and if they wanted, Wayne and Alfred could drug him then. So he eats the food.

When he goes to bed that night, he locks the door and barricades it with a desk and a chair and he’s not even really sure why.

---

Over the next few days, Dick dodges Wayne’s attempts to talk to him. He won’t let himself be sucked into something. As soon as Wayne gets bored of him, Dick can be back on the streets, searching for Jason. Only, Wayne doesn’t seem to be getting bored easily.

Dick takes the GED study books that Alfred hands him. He thinks Jason would’ve loved the literature one.

Hell, Jason would’ve loved everything about this place. The food, the butler like out of one of his mystery novels, the library. But Jason has been kidnapped by Batman. By now, he could be dead, or worse.

“My other ward is coming home tonight,” Wayne tells Dick at dinner. “I’d like you to meet him.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dick bets it’s some snotty rich kid. At least if he can offend the brat, then Wayne might finally kick him out. Dick’s starting to get desperate, and he’s only a couple days away from moving from backtalk and eyerolling to outright theft. It’s a fine line to walk; troublesome enough that Wayne doesn’t care about him anymore, but not so troublesome that he ends up having to deal with the cops.

---

Dick stands by the door with Wayne. The man tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but the second Dick flinched, Wayne started apologizing, and Dick had called him Bruce just to shut him up. It’s pretty clear, at this point, that Wayne is nothing like William. He’s just an idiot.

The doorbell rings, and in walks a tall man with glasses, who looks like he’s trying to hide himself by curling inwards. And behind him—behind him is—

“Jason?” Dick can’t help but gasp.

“Robin?”

And before Dick can ask what the heck is going on, Jason has rushed forwards and wrapped himself around Dick, clinging to him like a barnacle.

“I…see you’ve already met?” Wayne asks awkwardly.

“Little Wing,” Dick says. Jason may be clinging to him like a barnacle, but Dick isn’t letting go anytime soon either. “I thought—Batman got you.”

Out of the corner of Dick’s eye, he sees Wayne pale. Shit.

Dick extracts himself from Jason’s grasp and turns to face Wayne, putting himself in front of Jason like a shield.

“Wait,” Jason says, tugging on Dick’s sleeve. “He’s safe. I promise.”

Dick knows better than to trust an adult. But Jason pulls him upstairs and, well, as long as Dick is watching his Little Wing, he knows he’s safe. That’s enough for now.

---

Dick’s used to hiding. Jason might not know where Batman works, but it’s easy enough for Dick to stay up and track him downstairs to his study, to turn the hands of the clock, to walk down into the cave underneath Wayne Manor. Jason said that Wayne is safe, but Dick had thought that William was safe too. Kids can be tricked.

Dick watches as Wayne performs stretches, looks something up on the Batcomputer, frowns. It doesn’t seem like he’s keeping any kids prisoner down here, at least. Dick slips through the cave to a row of what appear to be holding cells. No one is there.

“Richard.”

Dick startles, turning around to see Wayne watching him. He’s wearing the Batman costume now, though the cowl isn’t on yet. “Wayne,” Dick says.

Wayne sighs. “Please just call me Bruce.”

“Batman,” Dick says, because Wayne clearly takes exception to the use of his last name, but he can’t protestthis.

“How did you find the cave?” Wayne asks.

Dick shrugs. “Followed you.” He walks over to the Batcomputer to look at the screen, careful to keep Wayne within his peripheral vision. “Why did you really decide to foster us?”

Wayne pauses. “I’m…not sure what you mean?”

Dick walks over to the training mats, where there’s a wall of weapons. He withdraws two knives, twirling them with his fingers. “I won’t let you train Jason,” he says.

Wayne props his elbow on the desk with the Batcomputer and rests his chin in his hand. He watches Dick, gaze scrutinizing. “Someone trained you.”

Dick thinks for a moment. The Court, he could deal with. With William gone, they didn’t seem particularly interested in him anymore. But Batman? Dick doesn’t think he and Jason would be able to avoid Batman for long. And Batman, well, he hunts criminals and he supposedly doesn’t kill. There are worse monsters to serve.

Dick isn’t a child anymore. Jason is.

“Yes,” he says. Dick looks over at the training dummies and tries to blink the visions of the Court’s marble corridors from his eyes. He lets the knives fly from his hands and embed themselves in two of the dummies’ hearts. “Whatever you want, my help will be more than enough.”

A pained expression flickers across Wayne’s face. “I didn’t bring Jason or you here to train.”

Dick doesn’t believe him. He’s long past falling for pretty lies.

“I swear,” Wayne says. “If you want, you will never have to fight again.”

Like Dick has ever had a choice. He doesn’t know what to say, so he falls back on the bottom line. “If you try to train Jason, I’ll kill you.”

Wayne’s mouth opens and then closes. “That won’t be necessary,” he says eventually. “Someone hurt you, Richard. I know it’s difficult to believe I won’t do the same, but I promise. I won’t hurt you or Jason, and I won’t ever make you do something you don’t want to do.” Dick meets Wayne’s eyes, watches his emotions swirl within the blue irises. Wayne blinks first. “I hope you can let me prove it to you.”

Dick doesn’t know quite what to say to that. Wayne seems too good to be true, just like William did. Dick has no reason to trust him.

But Dick doesn’t need to trust Bruce to give him a chance.

“Dick,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“It’s my nickname. No one calls me Richard. My name’s Dick Grayson.”

#fanfiction #dick grayson #william cobb #jason todd #bruce wayne #batman #talon dick grayson #batman fanfiction #dc #dcu #dc comics #dick grayson fanfiction #dc fanfiction #fanfic

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guilty-pleasures21 · 2 months

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Something like coming home

I'm, like, 'superposting' now, then I'm just gonna ghost you guys for 2 weeks 🙃.

Part 1 - the turning point

Part 2 - keeping secrets

Part 3 - exposed!

Part 4 - dating

Warnings: none.

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“Right.” Bruce clapped his hands together. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get to the assignments.” She shouldn’t look at him. She didn’t normally take special notice of his arrival. Did she? Oh no. Would it be weird if she didn’t look at him? Would everyone find it suspicious if she didn’t take the time to acknowledge his presence? Maybe she should just give him a nod. One of those chill ones exchanged between bros.

She looked up, resolute in her decision. But then her gaze met his, already fixed on her, a devilish grin on his face. She breathed in and out, slow, controlled. She could hear Bruce talking in the background, going through the schedule for the night before he began designating everyone their missions. But he’d pair her with Jason. He always paired her with Jason. And, of course she’d never minded before, him being her best friend in the whole world, but … her eyes flickered to him again and her stomach flipped at the look on his face. They would definitely not get any work done tonight.

She dragged her attention to the rest of the room, carefully considering who would be her best option as a partner tonight. Stephanie? No, she’d know something was off straight away. She was the one who was always trying to matchmake them, after all. Oh god. She’d be so happy to know she’d been right the whole time. X moved on to her next choice. Tim? He was oblivious enough about social situations, so he probably wouldn’t be suspicious at first … but he was the smartest of them all and he’d be sure to figure it out soon enough. And besides, he was also the absolute worst at keeping secrets. No. He was definitely out. That left her with …

“I call Damian and Duke!” She swivelled around and pointed to them, as if making sure everyone understood who she was talking about. It was perfect. Damian was, like, ten years old. There was no way he would care about her love life. And Duke was too innocent; too naive. He’d be much too focused on trying to do a good job than worrying about her behaviour being a little off. A silence fell over the room as everyone exchanged confused glances with one another. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so eager in her declaration. She clenched her jaw, trying to stifle the suspicious smile that she knew was threatening to overtake her features. Darn her inability to keep secrets from the ones she cared about. Damian crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, his gaze bouncing between her and Jason.

“Did you and Todd get into a fight?” Oh god. He was right behind her now. She could feel his warm breath trailing down her neck, his familiar scent washing over her senses, and it took everything in her to stop the shiver from running down her spine. She bit down on her tongue, redirecting her senses to the bitter pain instead.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, the hint of mischief in his voice just enough for only her to notice. “Did I do something to make you mad last night?” Shit. She really was going to kill him one of these days.

She clenched her jaw and prayed to all the gods in the universe that no one else would pick up on the teasing note in his voice. On the low, husky timbre that whispered reminders to her of all the things he’d done last night. Of all the things they’d done last night. She dug her fingernails into her palms.

“Last night?” Tim asked quickly, his attention shifting between the two of them. “What happened last night?” Jason folded his arms across his chest and turned to look at Tim, a devious smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

He returned his gaze to X, taking far too much pleasure in her nervous fidgeting. She was so close to him that if he just lifted his hand, he’d be able to slide it around her waist and drag her into his chest, pulling her close so he could press a kiss to her cheek. But he worried that she might spontaneously combust if he tried to do that right now. No. It was much more enjoyable to watch the blush claw itself up her face as he discreetly ran his fingers along her lower back.

“Um,” she hesitated, trying to take her attention off the touch of his fingers against her and onto inventing a plausible lie. “Jason got stung by Poison Ivy.” Well, the best lies were the ones closest to the truth, weren’t they? She could still stick to her story. All she had to do was make sure to leave out the more … graphic details. She continued.

“He came over to ask me to help patch him up.” So that was the story she was going for. He wasn’t surprised, considering her chronic inability to lie. But it was impressive: the loopholes she always managed to find to skirt around that particular problem. She nudged her elbow into his abdomen, warning him to not make things any worse. But he was tempted. So very tempted thinking about the pink that would colour her cheeks, the embarrassed smile that would pull on her lips. But then:

“You fought Poison Ivy?” Bruce asked, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Jason pulled his gaze away from X and turned to Bruce. Hold on a minute. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to be teasing X, building up her frustration against him so she’d get mad at him later, her thick brows knitting together in anger, her round eyes glaring at him enticingly, her nose scrunching up adorably. He was not supposed to be getting the ‘the reason we share our location is so we can help each out, Jason’ lecture from Bruce for the millionth time.

“I did!” he argued quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. “I told X!” He looked to her, waiting for her to back him up. But she just peeked up at him with her large brown eyes, her features schooled into the most fake expression of innocence he’d ever seen on her.

“You just told me that Ivy was causing trouble at the botanical gardens,” she replied, “and the next thing I knew, you showed up at my house all drugged up.” It was the wrong thing to say.

“You got drugged up?!” Stephanie asked, panic in her voice. “What happened? How bad was it?” Perfect. Now everyone was studying him with worried glances, curious to know about all the events that had transpired last night. X might have had the upper hand earlier, but now two could play at this game. Jason folded his arms across his chest and gave her a knowing smirk.

“Do you want to tell them what happened or should I?” Her eyes widened with fear. Oh no. Oh god, no. There was no way in hell anyone in this room was ever going to find out about what had happened last night. Not if she had anything to say about it!

“It was fine!” she blurted out quickly, waving off their concerns a little too enthusiastically. “He slept it off. He’s fine. So, anyway, the missions?” She tried to redirect their attention back to the more important matter at hand, desperate to change the subject without drawing any more suspicion, but it was a futile effort.

“We’d better check to make sure your system’s completely clean.” Bruce decided, putting aside the assignments for now. “Do you have any idea what drug it was?” Jason didn’t reply. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on X and raised an eyebrow at her in invitation to respond to the question for him.

“Bruce, seriously, it’s fine,” X reassured him, injecting as much firmness into her voice as possible. “Let’s just continue with the assignments. Damian, Duke and I can take downtown?” Jason folded his arms across his chest and fixed X with a challenging glare.

“So you’re really not going to partner with me tonight,” he said slowly, giving her the chance to reconsider. X clenched her fists and reflected his expression back at him, refusing to back down.

“It’s for team cohesiveness, Jason,” she insisted. Stephanie glanced between the two of them, noticing the ever-growing tension. Then she shook her head and stepped in between the both of them.

“No. I am not getting in between whatever this is,” she declared resolutely. “Cass, you can partner with Jace. I’ll take Tim and X can take the boys. Let’s go, Tim.” She grabbed his hand and began dragging him away, not giving anyone the chance to argue before she’d disappeared from the Batcave. Bruce turned to the rest of them with confused and tired eyes. X shrugged and began heading to the exit herself, gesturing for Duke and Damian to catch up to her.

“Let’s go, guys,” she suggested, following Stephanie’s lead. “We can start with the bank.”

Cass turned to Jason once they were alone, oblivious to whatever was going on between him and X. “You want to take the docks?”

Jason sighed at the suggestion.

“Fine,” he relented begrudgingly. “We’ll take the docks.”

The rest of the night had passed by in an uneventful blur, the entire city seeming to have been asleep - for once. So it wasn’t long before everyone had returned to the Batcave, all of them giving their designated areas the all-clear for the night. Thankfully, Duke and Damian had had no clue of what she and Jason had been up to last night - as she’d expected - but the relief could only last so long, and she’d felt her stomach roil with nerves when she’d seen him already waiting in the Batcave for her.

“Finally,” Jason had grumbled as he’d made his way over to her, frustrated from having spent the past few hours thinking about all the things he’d like to do to her. “Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” No one had batted an eye as he’d gestured for her to follow after him: he always dropped her off after patrol, the two of them being the only ones who didn’t live at the mansion and public transport not running this late. But then he’d driven straight home - his home - taking each turn a little too sharply so she had to cling to him that much tighter. Jason switched off the ignition once they’d reached the parking lot and removed his helmet, then waited silently. When X didn’t move, he turned back in his seat and gestured for her to get off, puzzled as to the delay. She huffed in annoyance, but took her hands off his waist and swung her leg over the side, waiting for an explanation. Jason got off the bike, locked it up and, without a word, began walking away, not even checking behind him to see if she’d followed.

“Um, hello?” X asked, running forward and waving her hand in front of his face. “Jason? Did you, maybe, forget something?” Like her? Sure, she’d slept over at his place before - in the guest room, might she clarify - but that was only when they ran late and she didn’t want him driving her throughout the city at two in the morning. But it wasn’t even midnight yet and besides, he’d agreed to drop her off at her place. In front of everyone who knew where both of them lived and exactly how to find them if they wanted to. Jason stopped and fixed his gaze on her, pursing his lips in thought. Then he raised a hand to his chin and narrowed his eyes, putting on a show of contemplating the question.

“I don’t think so,” he replied slowly, suffusing his tone with just a hint of hesitation. Then he shrugged and dropped his arms before continuing to make his way towards the lift. X scoffed in indignation, watching him stride off without a care in the world. God, he could be so infuriating sometimes! She ran out in front of him, stopping him in his path once again.

“You were supposed to drop me off? At my own place?” she reminded him, folding her arms across her chest. She knew exactly what game he was trying to play; she could see it in the twinkle in his eyes and the twitch of his lips as he looked down at her. Did he think she wouldn’t be able to see right through him? Her best friend? The one she’d taken the time to learn everything about so very carefully? He gave into his smile, letting it take over his features entirely as he looked down at her.

“Was I?” he asked, hooking his fingers into her belt loops and pulling her closer to him. “Hmm, I think I’ll keep you tonight.” He slid his arms around her waist and her stomach fluttered in response, a smile tugging on her own lips at the delight in his expression. She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to hide her reaction. But her hands glided up his chest of their own accord, coming around the back of his neck as her body settled perfectly against his. She huffed, trying to maintain her facade of annoyance at him.

“I hate you,” she grinned, her efforts at staying mad at him futile. He lowered his mouth to her neck, pressing his lips to the smooth skin below her ear.

“Mmm,” he groaned softly, brushing his lips down the length of her neck. “Great. I’ve heard that hate sex is incredible. I can’t wait to try it with you.”

She gasped at his naughty words, still not quite believing that she’d had sex with him - that he wanted to have sex with her again! Her best friend! She dug her fingers into the muscles of his broad shoulders, a shiver running down her spine at the feeling of him chuckling against her. He brushed his nose up her neck and nipped at her ear before straightening to rest his lips on her forehead.

“Let’s go, princess,” he mumbled against her before turning her around and steering her to the lift.

He pushed her against the wall once the doors had closed, placing one hand on the surface behind her so he could lean over her and start kissing her. She clutched onto his jacket as he moved his mouth against hers, then let out a squeak when he arched her back to slide his tongue even deeper into her mouth. He groaned at the taste of her, biting on her bottom lip and tugging on it with his teeth. Then he turned her around to start backing her out of the lift and towards his apartment. He kept his lips on hers as he guided her to the entrance, his hand leaving her waist only to unlock the door before he curled it back around her again. She reached up to remove his jacket, her warm hands sliding along his shoulders to take it off, and he shrugged it off before picking her up and sitting her down on his kitchen island. He wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled her body flush against his, his tongue continuing to brush against hers as he reached up to undo her zip.

“Jason,” she said, moving her hands to his chest to try to push him away. “Jason, wait!” He stopped, lowering his head to her shoulder and sighing as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“What?” he huffed, impatient to get her clothes off. She was just so beautiful, he couldn’t wait to feel her pretty little body all pressed up against his again; her smooth skin and her soft curves and her sweet, sweet taste. F*ck, he was getting hard just thinking about her.

She pushed his hands aside and hopped off the island, taking a few steps back to put some distance between them. He sighed and fixed her with an expectant look and her stomach fizzed at the sight. How could he like her so much? With his pretty eyes and his sexy smirk and his frickin’ hot body? She was still finding it a little difficult to wrap her head around it, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to tease him.

“I just want to take a shower." She shrugged and began inching her way closer to his bedroom. Jason followed after her, gesturing for her to lead the way.

“Great. I'll join you.” He was so nonchalant, the way he said it, and she felt another swarm of butterflies flutter through her insides. How could he be so casual about it? About them having sex?! Like it was just something they'd always done? She stopped walking, causing him to pause in his tracks as well, then she dashed to his bedroom to grab her spare clothes from his closet.

“Wha- X!?” He chased after her, trapping her against the cupboard when she'd closed the doors, his brows furrowed in a frown. “What are you doing?”

“I'm just going to go shower,” she repeated, her eyes wide with faux innocence as she looked up at him. She pressed her lips together tightly as she clutched her clothes to her chest, trying to stop them from curving into a wicked smile. Then she flicked her tongue out to lick them before biting down on her bottom lip. It was a habit she had, one that always had him freezing up when he saw it, his brain suddenly overrun with thoughts about what it would feel like to run his tongue all over her lush lips. Normally, he'd shake it off, chalking it up to him being too exhausted or some other bullshit excuse. But this time, this time he could actually reach out and cup her chin in his hand, tilt her head up so he could part her lips with his and slide his tongue into her mouth.

He kissed her hungrily, his tongue tangling with hers as he trailed his fingers down her front. He tugged her clothes away from her and tossed them onto the bed behind him, leaving her hands free to slide up his chest and around his neck. He moaned at the feeling of her slender fingers brushing against his body and wrapped his arms around her, bending her backwards so he could kiss her even deeper. She whimpered as he pulled on her lower lip with his teeth and he chuckled before lifting her up and tossing her onto his bed.

“F*ck. I've been thinking about you all night, sweetheart,” he admitted, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. He crawled on top of her and slid a hand up her back as he bent over to settle his lips back on hers, his fingers trying to find her zip again.

“F*cking teasing me like that,” he continued, moving his lips to her neck as he pulled her zip down. “Taking a mission with Damian and Duke instead of me. Mmm, don't tease me like that, baby.” She giggled as he nipped at her neck and curled his fingers around her waist, her senses overwhelmed by the familiar musky scent of him.

“But … But I knew you wouldn't … concentrate, Jay …” she tried to argue in between gasps, “if you just … If we had …” Her back arched off the mattress as her hips searched for his, seeking relief in the form of his body pressing tightly against hers. She ran her hands up the hard muscles in his back, sighing at the defined curves and ridges of them, then fumbled with his zip, trying to undo it as well. He sat up once she'd gotten it all the way down, pulling the sleeves off and then sitting back to take his pants off. That was when she took the opportunity to snatch her clothes back and roll off the bed, dashing over to the bathroom before he could catch up with her.

“Wha- X!” He jumped off the bed and leapt across the room, catching the door before she could close it on him. He frowned at her, his expression thunderous, and pushed the door open, closing it behind him before he started backing her against the wall. “Why do you keep trying to run away from me?”

He placed his hands on the wall behind her, stepping close enough to her to pin her against the hard surface with his body. She turned her head to the side and clenched her fists, trying to resist from running her hands all over his muscular body. God, he felt good, the hard planes of his chest pressing into her. Not to mention the other hard part of him she could feel pressing into her, making sure she knew exactly what he wanted to do to her right then. She swallowed hard.

“What?” she asked him, doing her best to feign indignation. “How could you accuse me of such a … such a hateful thing?” He rolled his eyes at her standard dialogue, but couldn't stop the snort of amusement that escaped his throat upon hearing it.

“You're such an idiot,” he said, turning her face up to his. She gasped, her eyes lighting up with mischief, the corners of her lips twitching with a wicked smile.

“And I'm the hateful one?” He took a step back, pulling her closer to him so he could start taking her suit off as well.

“The most hateful of all the haters,” he affirmed, backing her into the shower to ravish her for the rest of the night.

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inamindfarfaraway · 6 months

Text

I can perfectly picture a Batman: Wayne Family Adventures two-partner that properly introduces Harvey Dent, Two-Face, their relationships with Bruce and vice versa. But I can't draw in the slightest. So I'm going to script it and you'll have to use your imagination. It’s a little longer than the average WFA two-parter. But given how many thoughts and feelings I have about Harvey, I’d say it’s impressively concise. For me. If you like how I write Harvey, I recommend my fanfic spotlighting him as a teenager, compared to which I must warn you this script is positively fluffy. Read it on AO3 here! If you want to draw any of this, please tell me in advance and use the updated original post or the AO3 fic, not necessarily your reblog.

A Second Opinion

Part 1

[Panel one. Vertical rectangle, full screen. Nighttime. The exterior of an abandoned building that is notably more decrepit on the right side, Two-Face's current base of operations, from a distance and high angle. The Batmobile is parked outside. Bruce as Batman is seen on the rooftop from behind, striding stiffly toward the skylight. A speech bubble floats in the air above him.]

Barbara: Are you sure you don't want backup?

[Panel two. Barbara as Oracle watches with a frown of wary concern at her desk in the Clocktower.]

I know these confrontations are very personal for you -

[Panel three. Bruce leans over the skylight seen from below it, about to kick it in. His fists and jaw are clenched, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed sharply; even for Batman on a mission, he's in a bad mood.]

Bruce: I'm fine. I have him right where I want him.

[A speech bubble floats in the space below the panel.]

Harvey: I have him right where I want him!

[Panel four. Fade into a flashback. In stark contrast to the dull and dark blues, greys and blacks of the present scene, the flashback panels are full of light, saturated and warm colours. Harvey Dent stands at a round red table outside a café on a sunny day, beaming. He's a handsome, sturdy man with neat, short black hair, a semi-formal brown suit and wide brown eyes. He was seated, but has risen and slammed his palms down on the table in his enthusiuam. Slightly low angle, like the camera is on the table, and to the right so we have a better view of his left side. A gold wedding ring gleams on his finger. His introduction box reads: ‘Harvey Dent, District Attorney. Gotham’s best lawyer, technically and morally.’.]

And think of the implications! If the Salvatore Maroni can face justice, so can anyone.

[Panel five. He paces a little behind his chair, gesturing animatedly. Motion lines trail and curve around the other way behind him. His right side is now in profile. Same angle, but pulled back to see over the shoulder of a younger Bruce wearing a nondescript black shirt.]

If his empire can crumble, so can any criminal organization or corrupt institution, no matter how powerful. This trial could be a beacon of hope for Gotham. Proof that the law can actually help people, that the spirit of it is alive.

[Panel six. Opposite Harvey, Bruce is sitting comfortably. He has notable eyebags and less light in his eyes than Harvey, but smiles in earnest admiration.]

Bruce: I think you're right. Maroni used to own the city, but ever since you, Jim and Batman started working together...

[Panel seven. Side shot of both of them from Bruce's right and Harvey's left, showing them down to their legs. Bruce leans forward. Harvey has sat back down. In the background, their memories conjure a vision of Batman and Harvey shaking hands before the Bat-Signal. The figures' lower halves fade to translucent above and behind their real counterpart's heads. That Harvey is smiling too and the one leaning forward, while Batman's mouth is a flat line but his eyes are soft.]

things have changed more than I could have imagined.

Harvey: I just hope we can keep it up. Maybe in a few years, Gotham won't need a Batman.

[Panel eight. Close-up on the right half of Bruce's face, a narrow vertical box in the upper left section of the screen. His expression is of shock and vulnerability, although he isn’t offended. He has simply never considered being able to end his crusade before. Panel nine. A bigger square containing his entire face and taking up the rest of the screen.]

Bruce: Do you really believe that?

[Panel ten. Closer front shot of Harvey at eye-level. We can now see that he actually does have bags under his eyes. He's more pensive and his smile drops.]

Harvey: Yeah. I mean, Bats is a great guy. I don't want him to just disappear. But his methods...

[Panel eleven. Deep shot. Two petty crooks run through an alleyway at night while Batman looms behind them atop a ledge, a huge, hulking silhouette crouched animalistically with piercing white eyes and clawed fingers raised to pounce. The scene is somewhat abstracted to highlight the criminals' emotions. The alley walls seem to be closing in on them and Batman's curling cape flows into the surrounding darkness. Angle is above the very small-looking criminals, but below Batman such that his striking, soulless eyes glare right at the reader. Harvey's speech bubbles are in the top left and bottom right corners, framed by the blackness.]

fighting violence with violence and terror with terror... they're hardly ideal, are they?

[Panel eleven. Harvey places his right hand on Bruce's left arm in pride, who is too busy processing to return his smaller, softer smile of personal affection. Side shot from Harvey's left and Bruce's right that cuts them off at the torso.]

In my opinion, the work you're doing with the Wayne Foundation does better at lowering crime rates in the long run.

[Panel twelve. Over-the-shoulder shot again, Harvey's this time to show Bruce full of love, relaxing and leaning into the touch.]

Bruce: Well, in my opinion, you're a better person than me or Batman.

[His second speech bubble descends into the empty space.]

And I’d love to see the day Batman can retire.

[Panel thirteen and fourteen occupy different vertical halves of the screen and the same horizontal space for half of their lengths, the former higher, the second lower. The first shows Harvey from the right cut off at the thighs, in a courtroom, delivering some kind of unwritten passionate declaration; on his left and in the background, the defendant, the aforementioned crime boss Maroni in a nice black suit, holds an opaque bottle labelled as cough medicine and smirks viciously. The second is a close-up of Harvey’s head on the floor. Only the right half of his face is visible, the left turned away, and he is howling in unfathomable agony, tears streaming down his cheek. The stem of his speech bubble reaches down to the top of panel fifteen. This is a straightforward frontal shot of Bruce in the present. He stands tense and grim, poised to throw a Batarang with his right arm. Silver moonbeams shine through the broken skylight. Layered in front of the panel’s top border and behind Bruce, Harvey’s scream appears to ring through the cowl’s bat ears and extends continuously offscreen in extra large, blood-red lettering. The bubble fades around it to make it stand against the background.]

Harvey: ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Bruce: Two-Face.

[Panel sixteen. Same angle of Harvey and Two-Face. The left half of their face is ravaged by raw, pink chemical burn scars and has a bloodshot eye with burned lids; even their right eye is sunken and shadowed with a menacing glint; their hair is the same on the right, but bleached white, longer and wild on the left; they wear an angular, elegant suit divided vertically in alternating black and white. They’re smiling smugly, posture calm, confident and commanding. Their right hand aims a pistol at Bruce, and the camera. The other hand, bereft of a ring, holds their two-headed coin. Their introduction box reads: ‘Harvey Dent & Two-Face. All the drive. Fractional sanity. Half the morals, or less.’. The outlines of their speech bubbles are smooth as usual on the right and rough and scribbled on the left when both alters in the system are in relative cooperation - a dual consciousness referred to as ‘H/TF’ in the script - completely smooth when the still goodhearted, but deeply troubled Harvey is speaking alone, and completely irregular for the much more merciless, callous Two-Face personality alone.]

H/TF: Bats! Let us guess: you didn’t bring any backup because you have a self-righteous hero complex about us in particular?

[Panel seventeen. Closer frontal shot of Bruce scowling and hunching his shoulders in shameful concession.]

Two-Face: Good. Those Robins are nothing but trouble.

[Panel eighteen. Long rectangle panning down the room. Bruce and H/TF are in the background as H/TF gesture with their left arm to two men dressed like high-level businessmen in the foreground, tied to chairs with a gun pressed to each of their heads by H/TF's identical twin henchmen. The captives are bruised, cut and slumped in exhaustion.]

H/TF: Now, take one step toward us and the hostages get it. Don't go feeling sorry for them. They work for Oswald Cobblepot. His reform is fake -

H/TF and Bruce: Obviously.

H/TF: And they've already told us everything.

[Panel nineteen. Horizontal side shot from Bruce's left and H/TF's right, to frame the hostages between them.]

H/TF: But if you go after us, you'll lose your best lead on his criminal activities.

Bruce: And people will be dead.

H/TF: Yeah, whatever.

[Panel twenty. Close shot of H/TF from the left. They look left, contemplating their coin in their open hand. One face is corroded and blackened by acid, the other shiny and clean, both visible as it's drawn in a motion frame while spinning.]

You say that making our decisions based on chance is irrational and unhealthy, but believing in free will isn't all roses either. So many tough choices.

[Panel twenty-one is small box in the middle of the screen capturing the impact of the Batarang knocking the gun out of one of the henchmen's hand. H/TF's speech bubble floats in the space below it.]

There's never a win-win, is there?

[Panel twenty-two, a vertical rectangle. In the lower foreground and to the right, a gleeful H/TF bolt to the slight right of the camera, relishing both their escape and how unhappy their enemy is. In the background, Bruce restrains the armed henchman with a bolas while knocking the unarmed one out behind him with a backhanded blow. His cape billows with his rapid movement.]

At least the coin lets us be unpredictable!

[Panel twenty-three. Angle is essentially Bruce's POV. H/TF glance over their right shoulder, showing their unscarred features twisted in mockery, and sarcastically wave with their gun. They're just beyond the doorway.]

By the way, we're very good at getting two things done at once. You might wanna check your car.

[Panel twenty-four. Outside. Bruce's shadow falls from below the border diagonally over the Batmobile. Its tyres are slashed. Its fuel is leaking out into a puddle underneath it. In the next panel, we see him at eye height past the front end of the car. He has fallen to his knees, head hung.]

Bruce: Oracle? You were right. I need help.

[The black sheen of the Batmobile fades into a flat black background below. But then, within the darkness, floats a speech bubble.]

Barbara: You've already got it.

[Panel twenty-six. The first two sentences are in a bubble at the top, connected to the final sentence’s one dead in the middle. She's viewed from behind at a low angle looking up at her computer monitor. Her shoulders are assertively squared. Her security camera footage is split in two; Bruce and the crippled Batmobile are in the left window and H/TF's getaway car (also black on one side and white on the other) racing along a road in the right.]

We've been gathering intel. We know where Two-Face will strike next - and you know him as well as he knows you. Let's make a plan B.

Part 2

[Panel one. Distant establishing shot of a brightly lit black-tie gala in a vast, ornate hall, the tasteful decor dominated by white, light blues and silver. A caption informs us that this is 'The Cobblepot 'Charity' Gala'. Oswald Cobblepot is in the heart of the crowd, shaking hands with some official. Bruce Wayne is within earshot, but nearer the double doors. Panel two is a lower, tighter horizontal rectangle where Oswald and his guests are staring at the camera with tiny black dots for eyes in alarm at the doors slamming open. H/TF’s shadow falls over the floor. Panel three shows that Harvey and Two-Face have invited themselves, holding an assault rifle in both hands. Three smaller vertical panels on alternating sides of the screen show the doors being locked by pairs of Two-Face's minions in contrasting, complemetary outfits and wielding guns. The bird’s eye view of panel seven makes it clear that the guests are surrounded and trapped. Panel eight cuts back to H/TF.]

H/TF: Good evening, scum and enablers. We're -

[Panel nine takes us closer to focus on their - or rather, Harvey's - surprise.]

Harvey: Bruce? What are you doing here?

[Panel ten is a frontal shot of Bruce, like the camera's been reversed in the same position. His confusion is an act, but his concern is real.]

Bruce: I'm the richest man in Gotham and this is a high-society gala. What are you doing here?

[Panel eleven. Side shot that doesn’t show the scarring. Harvey lowers the gun, eyes softening as Bruce reaches out to him.]

I thought we agreed that you still needed treatment.

Harvey: I…

[Panel twelve. Frontal short. Remembering his mission, Harvey loses a degree of control and the two embittered alters lightly push Bruce away and point the gun straight ahead at Oswald with a glare. Motion lines trail from their arm.]

H/TF: That doesn’t matter! What matters is taking down the Penguin!

[Panel thirteen. Oswald presses a hand to his chest, somehow at once mortified and supercilious. You can hear the melodramatic sad violin. Beside him, his associates are cowering and aghast.]

Oswald: Why, everyone knows that I’m reformed. Attacking me when I’m doing good just proves how far you’ve fallen.

[Panel fourteen. H/TF snap at him furiously, and their speech bubble is large, spiky (still with the different texturing) and has a red outline for emphasis. Their eyes are stylized as flames; their right eye’s flame is orange and the left’s blue. Bruce is giving Oswald an intense sidelong glare. His lettering is smaller and his bubble's outline dashed to indicate that he's speaking under his breath.]

H/TF: SHUT UP!

Bruce: Shut up.

[Panel fifteen. Wide low angle shot up into the shadowy rafters. Damian, Dick and Tim are hiding in their vigilante identities and watching the scene below intently, at the ready. Their speech bubbles are dashed as they’re whispering. Damian is tense like a coiled spring, hand is on the hilt of his sword. Dick’s facial expression is blatantly disdainful of the villain in question, but his position and body language are calmer. Tim is all business.]

Damian: Shouldn’t we -

Tim: Not until the signal, remember? We don’t want to escalate and endanger the civilians.

[Panel sixteen. Close-up profile shot of Dick.]

Dick: Yeah, I hate Two-Face, but Bruce has got through to Harvey before.

[Panel seventeen. H/TF aim their gun with their right hand as their left reaches into their pocket to take out their coin. Their jaw is tight in composed ire. Diagonal angle to show Bruce on their right, overlaid by the gun. HT/F's speech bubble is near their head, but Harvey's is under the panel-dividing horizontal line of the gun.]

H/TF: You have the right to remain silent, forever.

Harvey: Bruce, get out of here.

[Panel eighteen, a square. Bruce is alone in the frame. He folds his arms, Batman's stern, steely presence creeping into his expression and posture.]

Bruce: Whatever you're willing to do to those people, you can do to me.

[Panel ninteen. Same composition with H/TF. They frown, the unscarred features looking regretful while the scarred ones look annoyed and disdainful.]

H/TF: Fine. Just stay out of our way.

[Panel twenty. Close up as they flip their coin. We get the blurring motion displaying both sides again. The next panel is a repeat shot where Bruce’s right hand snatches the coin in midair.]

H/TF: HEY! Give it back!

[Panel twenty-one. Extreme close-up, narrow horizontal parallelogram focused on Bruce's defiant stare. His speech bubble floats close underneath.]

Bruce: No.

[Panel twenty-two. He holds the coin out of reach. The camera is angled over and to the side of Bruce's left shoulder, to put as much visual distance between his outstretched right hand and H/TF as possible, Bruce's body in between them. H/TF’s left hand is balled into fist around the lowered gun while their right gestures like they’re arguing a case in a courtroom. They look resentful, but also coldly resigned. The speech bubbles can extend out of the panel. In the backgroud, some of the guests are depicted as simplified, featureless figures.]

H/TF: They aren’t worth sticking your neck out for. Nobody in Gotham is -

Harvey: I learned that the hard way.

Bruce: And I’ve learned otherwise. This won’t make things better, Harvey.

[Panel twenty-three. Two-Face fixes the gun on Bruce with a sadistic, unhinged snarl that’s distinctly his own.]

Two-Face: Listen, Wayne, I don’t care for you a bit. Give us our coin back or I’ll -

[Panel twenty-four. Bruce raises an eyebrow.]

Bruce: But what if it’s good heads?

[Panel twenty-five. Two-Face freezes. A ‘Twitch’ sound effect is at the corner of his right eye. Panel twenty-seven. A henchman aims his own gun with nervous eagerness.]

Henchman: I'll get your coin for you, boss!

[Panel twenty-six. The vigilantes leap down from the rafters. Dick's already thrown a Wingding to disarm him that flies downward rotating and seems to cut the shape of the panel, which has a tapering lower end.]

Dick: No!

[Large red 'BANG!' sound effect between panels. Panel twenty-seven is a small box in the middle of the screen showing the Wingding knocking the smoking gun away a split-second too late. Panel twenty-eight. Bruce and Harvey in the background and the bullet in the foreground are centred. Harvey slams into Bruce and knocks him down with his full weight, briefly putting himself in the path of the bullet.]

Harvey: Bruce!

[Panel twenty-nine. Long, vertical rectangle panning down from above the vigilantes standing in dramatic heroic landing poses at the top of the frame, wearing varyingly emotive expressions of shock, to Bruce lying propped up by his elbow and Harvey on his hands and knees at the bottom. The discarded assault rifle hits the floor between Harvey and the vigilantes with a 'Clatter' sound effect in yellow, uneven text. The coin slips out of Bruce's hand with a motion line to rest between him and Harvey. Panel thirty. Angle at eye level with Bruce and Harvey. Bruce sits up. He stares at Harvey with shining eyes and the beginnings of a smile as he processes what just happened, and what didn’t precede it.]

Bruce: You saved my life.

[Panel thirty-one. Angle is behind Bruce’s head. Harvey avoids eye contact, showing Bruce his unscarred profile. He’s solemn and though he too has a relieved hint of a smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes.]

Harvey: You never stop trying to save me. It was the least I could do.

[Panel thirty-two. Harvey’s POV. Low angle, tilted up at Bruce on his feet, offering his hand to help him up. We can tell that it’s Harvey’s perspective with both eyes because the left half of the image is dim and blurry due to the damage the acid did to his left eye. The speech bubbles are exclusively on the right.]

Bruce: It isn’t too late, Harvey. You can still heal. You can get better, be better.

[Panel thirty-three. Close-up on the right half of Harvey’s face, a narrow vertical box in the upper left section of the screen. His expression is of tentative, wary hope and raw vulnerability. He has wanted to end his crusade throughout its duration, but never been able to. Panel thirty-four. A bigger square containing his entire face and taking up the rest of the screen.]

Harvey: Do you really believe that?

[Panel thirty-five. Side shot that now only shows the side shot of Harvey’s face. Bruce kneels down be closer to eye level with him.]

Bruce: Yes. Always, I’ve been where you are. Feeling like you can never be more than all your pain and anger. But if you want a second opinion, I think you’re a better person than you know.

[Panel thirty-four. A square in the middle of the screen. Harvey’s right hand reaches out to Bruce’s waiting one, but lingers, tense and trembling, above the coin. Panel thirty-five. Vertical rectangle. Harvey shrinks in on himself, hunched over with his face buried in his arms and hands clutching his hair; perhaps he doesn’t trust himself not to pick up the coin and give Two-Face a means to make harmful decisions, just can’t make another choice of his own or both. Around him blackness with spiky, scribbled inner edges consume the screen like reality is fracturing or dissolving, or some all-consuming destructive force is coming for him.]

Harvey: Just… just take us to Arkham. We deserve it. We need help.

[The black extends, replacing the white background. But then, within the darkness, floats a speech bubble.]

Bruce: You’ve already got it.

[Fade into panel thirty-six. Horizontal rectangle. Distant, high angle. The black lightens to purple and becomes the night sky, which is warming to pink at the first moment of dawn. Harvey is handcuffed, about to enter a police car on his right. A cop is escorting him. However, Bruce has his left arm around his shoulders and they’re both in relatively good moods, similar to how they were in the flashback.]

Harvey: When did you get so optimistic, Mr Gothic McBrooding?

Bruce: Someone has to be. And hey, I had a good teacher.

#i would DIE AND GO TO HEAVEN if somebody drew any of this #the tone of wfa makes a softer happier bruce and harvey friendship story that they desperately need fit so well!#GIVE US THE HURT/COMFORT #but then again #at this point i kind of don’t want wfa to give harvey more focus because they won’t do it like this #featuring:#harvey being a fundamentally good person!#harvey and bruce being best friends and soft with each other!#bruce’s faith in harvey getting rewarded by the end!#two-face also having good intentions and targeting other criminals as a dark mirror to batman with none of the restraint #bruce being a foil to both harvey and two-face with several thematic verbal and visual parallels between them #a tragically hopeful flashback to before the maroni trial!#bruce having guilt and trauma over harvey that makes him especially vulnerable when they clash!#the objectively best two-face suit design of half-black and half-white #harvey and two-face knowing batman so well (without even knowing that he’s bruce) that they can very effectively outwit him #babs as oracle being cooler and doing a better job than bruce (offscreen but still)!#two-face’s hatred of all the robins!#dick’s hatred of him right back!#harvey dent #two-face #bruce wayne #batman #bruce and harvey #batman: wayne family adventures #wayne family adventures #bwfa #wfa

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msfcatlover · 5 months

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Moonbeam Cass (Reverse Robins)

As Duke's successor, Cass will of course be iterating on his design. Normally, this would've taken a lot longer to put together (as you've probably noticed, they tend to be multi-day designing marathons.) However, I had a stroke of inspiration last night that I absolutely love, and everything else came together very quickly after that, so let's start the ball rolling with Moonbeam's new helmet...

...a gold-mesh saber mask! Cass wraps the top in cream-colored fabric, so that it's an off-white helmet with a gold mesh bubble in front of her face. She also wears a white neck gaiter under it to further conceal her identity, even when the light does hit the mesh just right for someone to see through it.

I feel like Cass would go back to the demi-cuirass, but she'd change it up; now it's a cream-colored leather piece worn over the brassy/golden chainmail tunic, which obviously goes very well with the new mesh mask.

(This, but in off-white & without the tie. Its job is a little extra protection and displaying Moonbeam's symbol. On a meta level, it also helps visually break things up & keep them interesting.)

The Moonbeam symbol is still an iridescent white circle, but Cass's version is definitely ringed in gold.

The chainmail tunic hangs just past her knees, but splits into multiple panels (3-6, though I'm sure some people would draw it as individual strands, which while not practical, is a hell of a look that I absolutely support!) at the tops of her thighs.

Cass actually wears 2 utility belts, in that complete-fantasy way where they hang at a diagonal to form an X at hip-height. You know, the kind that would just fall off if anyone really tried to wear them that way, but looks so cool in character design?

(I'm so annoyed that I can't find a reference image for this, so here's a super-quick mockup thrown together in GIMP. Thanks to the base maker for saving me here.)

The undersuit Cass wears is white, but is only really visible on her legs; the chainmail is full-sleeve (fitted, rather than hanging loose.) It looks like she's wearing lightly padded white leggings, though they are, of course, made of the most flexible stab- & tear-resistant fabric Bruce could get his hands on.

Continuing down, Cass wears sturdy brown motorcycle boots, probably with a little pocket or two, under the same greaves she briefly wore in Red Robin (2009), but the greaves are the same golden as her mask.

(These boots but maybe a little taller, an example of pockets, and the awesome costume she wore for all of one single issue and then we never saw it again.)

Bouncing back up real quick, I'd give Cass her Orphan pauldrons, specifically this iteration of them where it looks like they have a little gold moon on them, but with a cream background instead of black.

(I want to say she has tiny matching elbow pads worn over the chainmail sleeves, though that's another detail I feel would disappear fast if anyone actually had to draw this costume for a comic. Possibly for good reason, I worry they might be just a little bit too much.)

Finally, Cass's costume is topped off with a pair of gauntlets; the metal is once again that creamy-white (this time with gold edging) and the leather base matches her boots perfectly.

(Source 1, Source 2. You'd be surprised how long I looked to find a style I actually liked for this costume.)

The Moonbeam circle that Duke wore on the back of his hand is now inlaid at the center of Cass's palm, and is rigged to actually work as a flash-weapon if she needs it to. This helps her pretend that Moonbeam still has Duke's powers, acts as a last-resort surprise in a pinch, and I'd like you to imagine her holding out her hand to help someone with a shimmering, inviting glow lighting up her palm.

(I also want you to imagine her standing next to Shadow!Steph, since they're basically a matched set. I was not actively working to have their costumes compliment eachother, since that wasn't the in-universe plan when Cass took up the mantle, but I think they'd compliment eachother nicely.)

That's all for this one. Thank you for your time.

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neveah-llama · 1 month

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To Become a Superhero You Must do One of Two Things: Get Robbed or Die :)

Hey, I'm the author of 'The Impossible Adventures of the Phantom and the Ninja'. I just thought I could start publishing some chapters of my work to other sites. Here's chapter one of my fanfic- I hope you like it!

Name: Randy Cunningham

Grade: 9th

Title: What I did during my summer break

My summer started out the same, me and my bff (best friend forever) Howard played the original Grave Puncher Trilogy. We played for five days straight (NEW RECORD!!!), beating all 182 levels before I had to be dragged to camp for the rest of the summer.

Yeah you heard that right, I go to summer camp. It’s the kind of camp you would see in those old slasher movies, it has busted old cabins, surrounded by a creepy forest, and filled with reject jocks and wannabe populars. It reeks like an 80’s B-rated horror movie and I wouldn’t even be surprised if some psycho serial killer is out loose in those woods. I’ve been going to this camp since I was six years-old, my mom claims it’s so I could, ‘get out of the house and breathe some fresh air for a change,’ personally I think it’s because she wants to make my summers as miserable as possible.

But other than the porta-potty swirlies, getting dumped into the lake in the middle of the night, and other horrors I face on a daily basis, it’s not all that bad. I have a friend there that makes camp a little more tolerable, his name is Danny Fenton. A few things to know about him is that he loves space and lives somewhere in Illinois, his mom used to attend this camp with my mom when they were kids, it’s part of the reason me and Danny know each other. And like every summer for the past eight years, Danny and I have been dodging campers and too-cheery counselors for eight and a half weeks straight until all the campers come together and have a huge campfire by the lake. It’s probably the only time Danny or I are not being chased.

Usually, after returning from camp I like to just hang out with Howard again, and play Grave Puncher until I’m dragged back to school. But something epic happened! See it started a couple days after I returned from camp, I just pre-ordered the new Grave Puncher video game that’s coming out in November, just left the Game Hole where I was hanging out with my biffer, and was busy talking to Danny…

“I’m sorry your parents are building a what?” Randy could hear Danny face-palming on the other side of the phone. Something heavy banged somewhere in the background making his friend on the phone let out a heavy sigh.

“I said my parents are building a ghost portal- a freaking ghost portal!”

“Dude, that’s so bruce.” Randy said, partly because it annoys Danny whenever Randy talks in Norisville lingo and secondly because he believes Mister and Missus Fenton are the cheese! They are full-time ghost hunters and are literally ripping a hole in the fabric of reality! He really hopes that Danny’s parents will let him come over next summer, maybe even give him a summer internship too.

“No Randy, this is not ‘bruce’, in fact it’s the opposite of 'bruce'. Do you know how long they have been building this? Since I got back from camp! And for the past week it has been non-stop drilling, I can’t even sleep at the house with all the noise coming from the basement!” Danny let out a huge breath, “It’s just going to give Dash and his friends another reason why they should keep shoving, ‘loser Fenton’ in stupid lockers once school starts again.”

Okay so Randy could see why Danny is being such a grump when it comes to this, he really does, after all, if Bash and his friends started poking fun at him having a mom that’s a ghost hunter he would be a little embarrassed about that as well. But that doesn’t mean he won’t stop thinking that his friend’s parents are the coolest.

“Okay first of all you are not a loser,” Randy argues as he unlocks the door to his house, taking off his shoes and heading towards the kitchen, man he’s hungry. “After all you’re not the one with a keytar, remember?” Just as he was about to open the fridge, he spots a sticky note with his mom’s handwriting, she’s going to be gone for the next couple of days. No surprises there really and that just means Randy will get to have the left-over pizza all for himself-cool.

Danny’s laugh snaps Randy out of his thoughts, it wasn’t a sarcastic or bitter snort that comes out of him so he’ll definitely call this a win, “Yeah I guess you’re in even worse shape than I am, I’m definitely praying for you buddy.”

Randy takes it back, he would rather deal with Danny being a grump than this, “Hey, you were supposed to say, ‘No, you aren’t a loser Randy, you’re too bruce to be one.’” He tried to mimic his friend’s voice but it only got a snort in return. He rolled his eyes, taking out a McEnergy (Now with 110% more caffeine!) before going up the stairs and towards his room.

“You know I can’t lie well.” Danny says, and Randy was about to open his mouth, only to stop once he opened the door.

Did a cowboy just jump out of his window?

Shit, was he being robbed?

“Randy, you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. But I think I’m going to have to call you right back.” He hung up on Danny before his friend could say anything else. He did a quick scan around the room, noting that anything that has some sort of value was still in its place, which confused him even more and put him on edge. Should-should he call the cops?

His eyes landed on something that wasn’t in his room before. Laying innocently on his table was an ornate wooden box, it was smooth and shiny, with intricate designs forming a circle with a golden insignia in the center that almost looks like a ‘G’ on the lid. It looked like it should belong in a museum, or in his grandma’s attic back in Japan.

Now Randy may not be the smartest person on the earth, but he has watched a lot of horror movies over the years, and when there’s a mysterious almost ancient box just sitting innocently in your room, it’s almost never a good thing. He should just dump it in the swamp, or sink it into the lake just right outside the city, it’s what a smart person would do.

...

But then again Randy was not the smartest person so he just had to open the box.

“The Ninjanomicon…” The words slipped out of his mouth before he even knew what he was saying, which weirded him out a little but he quickly brushed that aside when he threw the weird book over his shoulder. He looked down at the box to see if there was anything else and there was. He felt his heart stop when he saw a familiar red and black mask with a note attached to it.

You are the Ninja, It read.

Wait, hold on.

Pause for a minute.

He’s the Ninja?!

“Oh. My. Sweet!” Randy didn’t hesitate to put the mask on his head, the mask glowed and strange symbols encircled him, turning into strands of red and black cloth and enveloping him in an awesome suit. Meanwhile his mind was cycling through hundreds of years of fighting knowledge within seconds, power was seeping into his body, he felt more energized, and felt like he could do things he couldn’t dream of!

He couldn't believe this.

He, Randy Cunningham, is the Ninja, the sworn protector of Norisvile!

Just wait until he tells his friends about this, Howard is going to flip out and he could rub it into Danny’s face that the Ninja really did exist! But just as he was about to get his phone to call Howard about it, he saw one more note at the bottom of the box.

You can’t tell anyone.

“Aw, now that’s wonk!"

And the sucky part is that I can’t tell anyone, not even my bff Howard. Not because he has a big mouth (which he does-sorry Howard). I mean I trust Howard that he won’t tell a soul about my secrets, but the box did say that, ‘I can’t tell anyone.’ Maybe I could just tell Danny? I mean he doesn’t even go here and I know without a doubt that he won’t tell a soul, especially not after the summer of 2010. I still get chills thinking about it.

“Alright, pencils down!”

And now I’m starting to think this wasn’t the best topic for my essay, nice job Cunningham, you’ve only been a ninja for a week and you’re already screwing it up.

Meanwhile in Amity Park:

Danny was tired, absolutely freaking tired.

Danny let out a yawn as the English teacher, a middle-aged guy named Mr. Lancer, continued to drone on about…something or other. The fourteen year-old can’t really seem to find the energy to care what his teacher was talking about. Too busy trying to stay awake in order to avoid getting in trouble on the first day of school.

Mr. Lancer was writing something on the board when Danny had to shake his head in order for his eyes to open. A few of his classmates looked at him weirdly before going back to doing anything that doesn’t include writing down what the teacher was putting up. Some were texting on their phones under their desks, or passing notes when Mr. Lancer’s back is turned, or in Dash’s case aiming spitballs at people’s heads.

Danny felt something slimy hit the back of his neck followed by a few snickers from the jocks behind him. Great, Danny has only attended high school for only two days and he already hates it here.

The bell rings and sighs of relief fill the room as students pack their bags and rush out the door, ignoring Mr. Lancer’s scolding about how he’s the one who dismisses students, not the bell. But it fell on deaf ears and soon the English teacher gave up muttering something about needing to eat lunch anyways.

“Yo Danny!” Danny turned his head to see his best friends, Sam and Tucker, walking towards him from their respective classes.

Danny let out a yawn, “Hey guys.”

“Jeez, you look like a wreck.” Sam gave him a look of concern as she walked past Danny to shove some books into your locker.

“Yeah, your parents still working on that portal?” A couple of students who overheard Tucker let out a couple snickers, making Danny sigh. Just like Danny predicted, the moment he stepped into school he instantly heard jokes left and right at his expense. Mostly about how his parents latest project will blow half the town to smithereens. It’s really not that unusual compared to the other comments he heard before, but just once Danny would like to have regular parents, who have regular jobs, so that way he could have a chance of a social life. Is that too much to ask?

“Yeah,” Danny let out another yawn as the trio made their way towards the cafeteria, “it’s gotten to a point where Jazz and I are sleeping up at the Opt-Center, which somehow is worse than dealing with all the construction down in the basement.” He rubs his back absentmindedly, still sore from sleeping on the floor for the past three nights.

“I still don’t get why you just didn’t ask to go stay over at Tucker’s.”

“Yeah man, is it because of the meat sweat? Cause Foleys don’t do meat sweat.” That earned a snort from Sam as they turned a corner,

“Oh yeah? What about that time-”

“We do not speak about that time!”

“Guys would you just cut it out!” Danny snaps. Both the goth and the tech geek stopped their argument to blink at Danny in surprise, even Danny was surprised at his own outburst. Guilt starting to swell at the bottom of his gut. “Sorry. Look, you guys can go ahead and grab some food, I’ll just be outside taking a nap.” Without another word Danny turned around and made his way to the field.

It took a while for Danny to find a secluded spot outside, especially one where it was far enough away from the football field so Dash wouldn’t see him, but once he did find a spot, it didn’t take long for Danny to close his eyes and get a quick nap in.

Only for it to be ruined by his phone ringing. A very familiar ringtone grating at his ears.

At first he ignored it, too busy enjoying the nice early-autumn breeze. Eventually it stopped and Danny was able to fully enjoy the peace and quiet, soon he felt himself getting more drowsy and was about to fall asleep when his phone rang once again. A part of him wanted to ignore his phone, turn it off so he could have some peace and quiet for the rest of lunch, but he decided against it. He knows that ringtone anywhere, the annoying peppy tune that made Danny’s ears bleed and glared at the phone in annoyance.

Stupid Randy and his stupid ringtone.

Danny picked up the call on its third ring. “What do you want?”

His friend snorted, though it did sound a little out of breath, “Rude.”

“You would be too if you had to sleep in the Opt-Center for the third night in a row.”

“Please, I won’t be able to sleep until I try every single invention your parents created. Your parents are ghost hunters dude- ghost hunters! That is like the brucest thing ever!” There was something weird going on with Randy’s voice, it sounded like it was muffled with something. But that’s not Danny’s concern at the moment, right now Danny wants this conversation to be done so he could at least sleep for the last twenty minutes of lunch.

“Yeah sure, I think you’re the only person in the world who thinks being real-life ghost hunters are ‘bruce’. Anyways, is there a reason why you’re calling me?” And disturbing me from my well deserved nap?

That made Randy pause for a moment, “Oh right, forgot for a moment.” Right after he said that, a huge BANG! Could be heard on the other side of the line followed by a huge roar that made Randy let out a shriek and Danny to pull his phone away to save his poor ear drums.

“Uh…everything okay over there?” Now, Danny knows Randy is a trouble magnet, he’s known the dude since he was like six, but this sounds a lot more dangerous than Bash and his friends chasing Randy down the hall. He might actually be concerned for the guy.

“Oh yeah, I’m doing awso- OOF!” He sounds like he just slammed into some lockers, it made Danny winced. Randy let out a groan, before pausing and muttering something about how he wasn’t getting pwned. Which made Danny even more confused.

“Right! Okay,” Randy grunts, “so I have this friend…named uh Reginald-yeah! And he may or may not have recently found out that he is the next protector for his city!” Something heavy pounding on the floor could be heard on the other line, luckily getting further away as Randy kept talking.

“Okay…”

“Yeah so Reginald Bagel- yup that’s his name- Reginald Bagel is the new hero for the city with little to no experience and now he’s fighting a monster and he doesn’t know how to beat it!” Somewhere in the distance something roared. Randy let out a nervous chuckle.

“Thoughts?” Danny had to process this for a minute, trying to figure out what the hell Randy was talking about. “I’m sorry what?”

A huge crash was heard on the other side and there was that roar again, louder this time.

“Just answer the question!”

“Okay, okay fine!” Danny thought for a moment, “Okay so is there a tutorial?”

“What?” Heavy pounding was heard on the other side of the phone, getting closer but Danny pressed on.

“You know a tutorial, how to hero 101, instructions, anything?”

"OH MY JUICE! I forgot the instructions! Thank you so much Danny, I owe you one, bye!” With a ‘click’ the call ended leaving Danny’s head swirling around with questions, that phone call made him antsy and on edge. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep, much less focus for the rest of the day when he’s too busy worrying about his friend. And of course this was a perfectly good time for a stream of cold milk to be dumped dumped right on top of his head, followed by snickers of the last person he wanted to see at the moment.

“Whoops, sorry Fen-turd, I guess I must have mistaken you for a trashcan.” That earned a couple more snorts from Dash’s friends.

“Eh, I’m pretty sure it’s a common mistake, especially with that kind of fashion sense!” Paulina butted in. The group of jocks and cheerleaders continued to laugh as they walked away. Leaving Danny soaking in a pile of milk.

“Great,” Danny mutters as he shook his head to get some of the excess milk off, “This day cannot get anymore worse, right?”

“AHHHHHH!”

So apparently Danny was wrong, it can get so much worse.

Let’s set the scene shall we?

At 3:30 pm Danny, Sam, and Tucker took the bus to Fenton Works, in order to study, do some homework, decide that’s dumb, and spend the rest of the evening playing video games.

At 3:48 pm, the trio of friends went inside. They said hi to Jazz, who was busy getting homework done, battled an army of possessed hot dogs in the fridge to get some snacks, and planned on heading up to Danny’s room to take advantage of the quiet for as long as possible.

At 4:00 pm, Jack Fenton barged into Danny’s room dragging all the kids down to the basement, where Mr. Fenton gave a speech about his hardships, setbacks, and his love for fudge, before unveiling the finished ghost portal.

At 4:15 pm, Jack would have continued speaking for the next hour, if Maddie Fenton didn’t interrupt her husband saying that the sooner he turns on the portal, the sooner they could all dig into Jack’s celebratory fudge.

It’s 4:16 pm, and everyone is waiting with bated breath as Maddie and Jack Fenton finish the last touches of the portal, before putting the plug in. For a second it seemed like everyone was holding their breath and Danny couldn't help but feel excited. His parents were about to tear a hole in the fabric of reality!

Except instead of a big flash, there was a small spark and then nothing.

Around 4:45 pm, after almost thirty minutes of trying to find the mistake, to correct any miscalculations, anything and everything to make the portal work, nothing had any effect. Finally, Maddie let out a sigh and said that they should stop and continue to work on it tomorrow. She said sorry to the kids and guided Jack upstairs telling him that they will just break out the failure Fudge instead.

It’s 4:46 pm, Jazz left soon after their parents did, leaving the trio of fourteen year-olds alone in the basement lab. While Tucker and Sam were taking a look at the lab, as this was probably their third time down there, Danny can’t seem to stop staring at the portal. His parents worked on this for almost two weeks, with years before that saving up money for the materials, and years spent on calculations dedicated to this stupid contraption. He’s angry that after all that work his parents put into it, it still didn’t work.

It’s 4:50 and after four minutes of looking, Sam had an amazing idea, a wonderful and awesome idea. And while Danny did have his doubts and was a little nervous, Danny could admit he was a little curious. So he donned a hazmat suit that his dad gave him for his fourteenth birthday, ripping off the embarrassing sticker of his dad off his chest before stepping into the skeleton of the ghost-portal. Or Fenton-Portal as his dad called it. He was about five steps in before everything went to shit.

At exactly 4:51 pm, Danny tripped on some wiring. Not wanting to land face first on metal flooring, he leaned his weight onto one side, not knowing that his hand touching the wall was actually pressing the on switch. Danny heard a little, ‘click,’ and before he could really process it, he was instantly shocked with painful volts of electricity. It was burning him alive, sizzling his insides, and making him numb to everything but pain.

Pain.

PAIN.

“AHHHHHHHHH!”

He closed his eyes in pain, it sent his breath away, made him feel his heart stopped beating, and then all he saw was white. His head was all spacey, and floaty, numbing the pain.

At 4:52 pm, the portal stopped buzzing and instead of an empty hole in the wall there was a swirl of neon green, a dull hum in the air, and a fourteen year-old kid stumbling out of the portal.

“DANNY!” Sam and Tucker both shouted, diving towards their friend to break his fall, Sam was on the ground with Tucker landing ungracefully on top of her. She let out a muffled "Oomf!" from the unexpected weight, she expects another weight on top of Tucker, only for it to never come. Instead, she felt something cold and weird flowing past her making her shiver. When she opened her eyes, she was met with a passed out, white-haried Danny. It surprised her so much she let out a scream and shoved Tucker out of the way.

“What the hell!” Tucker shouted, his arms flailing before landing on his butt. The two teens took a minute to catch their breath, the eerily green glow being the only source of light in the basement. Sam was the first to recover, slowly crawling back to Danny. She took note of his white hair, his inverted-colored hazmat suit, and sickly pale skin, definitely nothing like Danny from thirty minutes ago. But what scared her more was how his chest didn’t move, and that he was cold to the touch- to the point that she feels like she would get frostbite if she just let her hand stay on his shoulder. Fuck, did she just kill her best friend?

“Sam!” Tucker’s shout snapped her out of her thoughts, it made her aware of the unbearable pressure that was clogging up her throat. But she quickly ignored that to turn her attention to her other friend, who was pale from fright, with his eyes widening in horror. At first Sam was confused as to what Tucker might be seeing, until Tucker pointed a finger and Sam’s eyes followed where the finger was pointing at. Sam must have been too stuck in her head to notice neon green eyes staring straight into her soul.

“D-Danny.” Her voice came out as a whisper, she didn’t know what to do and she’s pretty sure she can’t just type: ‘I accidently killed my best friend, only he’s not dead, he has white hair and glowing green eyes. What do I do?’ on google and expect a solid and helpful answer.

“You alright man?” Tucker came in closer, still pale, and still hesitant, but still there. Danny however did not look like he was present at at. His eyes were roaming over everything, but it seemed like he was not processing what was happening. Sam was just about to tell Tucker to call for Mr. and Mrs. Fenton when she heard the familiar sounds of heavy boots storming down the stairs. It seems like that snapped Danny out of whatever he had going on, since his eyes started to widen, and he looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Kids, is everything okay down here!” Jack turned the corner, only to freeze his eyes widened as he took the scene in front of him. Maddie came down a second later, her mouth gaping, and shoulders slumping. Oh god, Sam was a dead, dead girl wasn’t she.

“Uh… Mr. and Mrs. Fenton-”

“It’s not what it looks like!” For a second Sam shot Tucker a glare before elbowing him in the sides, the geek let out a yelp before giving her his own glare.

“The ghost portal…” The Fentons slowly made their way towards the teens, Sam casted her eyes down waiting for the inevitable anger.

“The ghost portal works! Ha-ha, I did it!” If this was anger, Jack had a weird way of showing it, especially with his dance.

“Oh Jack, we must have forgotten to include any calculations on the chances of the portal having a delayed start!” Maddie exclaimed, slapping a head over her forehead as if that was a bigger deal than her youngest child’s changes.

“Delayed starts- hah! Who cares about that, Maddie, when we have a fully working ghost portal on our hands!” Jack’s laugh seemed to vibrate the very walls and floor of the lab. The big man took Maddie into his arms swinging her around as the couple continued to celebrate and laugh, Sam took a chance to look at Tucker only to find he was just as confused as she was. Finally when Jack set Maddie back down on the ground, the woman seemed to take notice of the frozen teens, even with her head covered it was obvious she was a little confused when she looked at the teens.

“Where’s Danny?” Huh? Sam quickly looked down to see she was carrying nothing, but that can’t be right. She can still feel Danny, his tense shoulders, his fidgeting, she could even feel and hear him sucking in breath! But she can’t see him. She turned to look at Danny’s parents, both growing more anxious the longer she didn't answer. And she really doesn’t want them to freak out, cause if they freak out Sam’s pretty sure she will freak out. Luckily Tucker was there,

“Wait, you mean you didn’t see him? He told us he was going out to Smarty-Mart to go get some snacks!” Oh seriously Tuck?! Why would they believe that? The closest Smarty-Mart is almost two miles away! The adults were quiet for a moment, just staring at the two visible, and one invisible, teens. Sam couldn’t help but fidget under their gaze. And just when Sam thought they were about to demand where Danny actually is, both parents smiled, and Sam let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Well, alright then!” Jack said as he dragged Maddie up the stairs with him as they celebrated their working ghost-portal. When they couldn’t hear their voices anymore did Tucker and Sam allow themselves to turn back to where Danny was supposed to be. At first Sam saw nothing, just her hands holding nothing. Then she saw something starting to appear, it was like watching something with a bad TV reception, all staticky and at times hard to see, but then Sam saw neon green eyes, white hair, and a black and white hazmat suit. And just when Sam could see Danny clearly, a bright light circled around Danny making both Sam and Tucker shield their eyes and take a step back. When the light faded, Sam was met with a familiar blue-eyed, black haired teen with a white and black hazmat suit.

No one said anything, they were just three teens staring at each other in an almost catatonic state. A phone vibrated off to the side, it was Danny’s phone. Without thinking Tucker took Danny’s phone, unlocked it and stared at the screen.

“Uh, your dad wants you to pick up some more fudge while you’re at the store.” That seemed to snap Danny out of his trance.

“What the fuck just happened!”

It was exactly 5:12 pm when Danny calmed down enough to sneak out of the basement and head straight towards the direction where Smarty-Mart was. It took Danny an extra hour to get there and back due to his new…abilities, kicking in at the most inappropriate times. In his hands he held a bucket of his dad’s favorite fudge, and some other things to make it seem like he actually went to the store for him and his friends.

It was 11:15 pm and Sam and Tucker were still talking about the portal incident to make sense of it all, while Danny just stared at his untouched candy, waiting for everything to just make sense. And when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket, Danny took a quick look to see that Randy had texted him. And while he knows it’s a bad idea to let his texts go unanswered, Danny just couldn’t. So he turned off his phone, tossed it to the other side of his bed, and continued to stare at his candy.

#danny phantom #rc9gn #fanfic #the impossible adventures of the phantom and the ninja

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bluejaysandblackbats · 1 month

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You're Just Like Quicksand

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Batman Beyond

Summary: Jason Todd is ready to go into semi-retirement after fifteen years working with troubled youth, but one case in particular forces him to confront the sins of his youth and painful memories from his past.

Chapters: 2/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Terry McGinnis, Warren McGinnis, Mary McGinnis, Matt McGinnis, Bruce Wayne, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): TBA

Additional Tags: Protective Jason Todd, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Retired Jason Todd, Multiple POV, Hurt/Comfort, Parent-Child Relationships, Canon Divergent AU, Angst, Mourning Jason Todd

Chapter Two: Transition (Terry McGinnis' POV)

"Why can't they just work things out?" I asked. "I've never lived apart from my mom before—. And what does that mean for my brother and me? Are we not gonna see each other anymore?"

"Terry, those are all valid concerns. I'm prepping for my lunch appointment with your mother today, so I can ask her. Hold on, Terry. Let me grab a pen," Jason replied. He was so calm while I was climbing up the walls. I knew my parents were ending things, but I didn't think they'd split the family like that. "I'm gonna write down all your concerns, so I can convey them to Mary."

I took a breath and pressed my palm to my forehead. "Jason, when am I gonna see my mom? Is this a punishment? Are they protecting Matt from me?" I questioned. Jason made a noise over the phone and cursed.

"Sorry, that wasn't—. I burned—. Continue," Jason stammered as he ran water in the background.

"Can you ask her if she hates me?" I asked.

"I don't think she hates you, but I'll ask her. Terry, I know when we are confronted with stressful situations and the idea of drastic change, it can be easy to fall into familiar patterns... Harmful patterns," Jason whispered, "How are you feeling?"

I shut my eyes. "I feel like I'm gonna lose it, Jason," I confessed.

"I'm sorry you're going through this... And I need you to know that I'm here. Terry, loosen your jaw and splash some cold water on your face after this call ends. Do not let this affect your behavior, okay?" Jason whispered.

"Mhm... Okay," I replied. His voice made me want to calm down. "You're gonna talk to my mom?"

"I'm gonna talk to your mom... And we're gonna figure out how to make things okay, Terry. This is not on you. You're not a bad kid, and no one hates you... I'm gonna ask her every question you've asked during this call, and I promise I'll get back to you," Jason whispered.

I turned to face the hall, and I swallowed hard. "Thank you... I don't—. Thanks for answering the phone and for sending me something to read. I know you're busy, and—."

"I'm not busy. You're my only case. This is my company... You're my final case. All I do is supervise other people's cases and answer complaint e-mails. Terry, I've got nothing but time for you," Jason interrupted. I smiled.

"Thanks, Jason. I feel better now..." I ran a hand through my hair and smiled.

"I'm glad you feel better, and thank you for calling me. It can be hard to ask for help when you're in over your head, but this speaks volumes for your character. You should be proud of how you dealt with your feelings today," Jason whispered.

I took a shaky breath. "Why am I your last case?" I asked.

"Are you asking why I picked you? Or are you asking why I'm retiring?" Jason questioned.

"You picked me?" I asked. "Also, a little of both."

"I'll answer those questions when I see you in person," Jason replied, "Goodbye, Terry."

"Bye, Jason," I replied. I hung up the phone and sat on my bed. I read the book Jason got me. The book was the most entertaining thing I'd read in a while. I read a few chapters before some new kid recognized me. He snatched the book from my hands, and before I could look him in the eye, he punched me in mine. Someone pulled me off my bed and slagged me.

I woke up in the infirmary, where a nurse sat at the computer typing up his report. "Who hit you?" he asked without looking up.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Who hit you?" he asked again.

"I don't know... It all happened so fast," I mumbled, "I have a visit tomorrow."

"You can go," he replied, "If you can stand up."

I would've narrowed my eyes at him if my face wasn't all swollen. I propped up on my elbows and got so dizzy I lay back on the pillow. He gave me something for the pain, and I went to sleep. I must've slept through breakfast because I woke up hungry. I forced myself out of bed, and the morning nurse looked me in the face. "No," she stated.

"I'm fine. I've got stuff to do today. The night nurse told me I could go once I could stand," I replied. She sighed and let me go. I checked the clock on the way back to my bed. I searched for my book and sat closer to the wall than I did the day before. I read until I finished the book and wrote Matt a letter for his birthday. I couldn't get him anything, but I could at least do that.

I dragged myself out of bed for lunch. Everything hurt, but I didn't want to miss my meeting with Jason. I met him at the table, and he cursed under his breath. "You okay?" Jason asked. I nodded. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"It happened fast... I didn't do anything. I know that sounds like a lie, but I—."

"I know you didn't do anything," Jason interrupted, "You don't have any bruises on your knuckles."

"Did you talk to my mom?" I questioned.

Jason nodded and tapped his fingers on the table. "Mary said that she loves you and still wants to be around for your appointments and parent-teacher conferences—. God, Terry. You should be in the infirmary," Jason whispered.

"Jason, I'm alright... I only have three weeks left if I stay out of trouble," I replied, "And I wanted to hear your answers to my question. Why me? And why are you retiring? You don't look that old."

"Thanks, but I'm way older than you think... Gotham's a cesspool, but I think kids are worth saving," Jason replied, "And I chose you at random."

"Bet that that'll be the last time you pick anything randomly, huh?" I joked.

"You're not that bad," Jason smiled, "And your parents... They're good people. They care about what happens to you."

My parents. I forgot about that. "You won't tell my parents about me getting jumped, right? You can't," I whispered. Jason leaned in and looked at my face.

"They'll see it. It's gonna take your face a week or two to heal up. Either I could explain things to them now in a language they understand, or you could plead with them to believe what I already know," Jason replied, "Can you eat? Sometimes the pain meds mess with your stomach..."

"My stomach's fine," I replied. Jason nodded.

"Come on," Jason commanded gently. I noticed he had this puzzled look on his face when he looked at me.

"What?" I asked.

"How old do you think I am?" Jason questioned as a grin spread across his face.

I chuckled. "I don't know. I thought you were my parents' age... Are you forty-something?" I asked.

Jason laughed and shook his head. "I'm about ten years older than your mom and dad," Jason replied, "I'm in my fifties, Terry."

He picked a snack for himself, and I got something too. "No way you're that old," I replied.

"Mhm... I'm that old... How'd you like the book?" Jason questioned.

"It was sad, but I get why you got it for me," I whispered, "Is that how my parents feel?"

"I can't speak for how they feel, but I know this book helps kids gain perspective," Jason replied, "Do you understand?"

I nodded. "It's scary to think you're losing somebody, and there's nothing you can do about it... But, I-. Do you actually believe that I'll stay out of trouble, or is it your job to pretend you can help me?" I questioned.

"Between you and me, I rarely follow up with kids that I can't help... And I don't usually receive calls from kids before they snap, so it was nice that you allowed me to do my job. If you keep that up, I think you'll be fine," Jason confessed, "But you've gotta watch your back in here. Some kids would rather spend their lives in a place like this than allow another kid to get out." I nodded. "I'm serious. Be more aware of your surroundings... And go back to the infirmary. You should be in bed."

"Okay," I nodded.

Then we talked about movies and school and things I looked forward to. Things I wouldn't have thought about otherwise. I was excited. For the first time in two months, I had a reason to be excited for the future. I couldn't shake the way Jason looked at me, though. It was the same way my dad looked at me when I was little. I missed that look. Like I had all the potential in the world.

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unseededtoast · 8 months

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Rectify | Bucky Barnes

Part 3/37 | Part Two & Part Four

Summary: I've lived every day for the past five years looking over my shoulder. I knew they'd come for me, it was inevitable. I was foolish to think I could outrun my past. It's followed me everywhere I go, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Never would I have anticipated that the shadows would lead me to the light.

Bucky Barnes x OC

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, alcohol consumption, graphic depictions of violence, sexual content, discussion of suicidal thoughts.

a/n: Hi everyone, thank you for checking this out, I appreciate any and all support! This series is also posted on Ao3 and Wattpad if you prefer those formats/platforms! This is a completed series, and it's going to take some time for me to transfer it to Tumblr, so please bear with me!

"A few weeks ago we came into contact with one of Hydra's weapons...We found ourselves in possession of this weapon but we are unable to decode whatever it is Hydra installed."

The chains clink against the metal fixture on the desk as the handcuffs are released from my wrists. I rub them, feeling the small indents they left on my skin and stay seated though I am free from restraints. I watch Director Fury closely, knowing I'm not entirely free and am still under his command.

"I'll be right back, don't leave this room." He instructs and I remain seated, not willing to move and jeopardize the new start I have been granted. A few moments pass and he brings in a bowl of water and some plain white cloth.

"You need to wash up before you leave this room, there's no time to waste for your assignment." I grab the cloth and wet it with some of the water, cleaning off my face and hands of the dead man's blood. The water turns a dark reddish brown as I continue to wet the cloth after wiping off the blood. I wonder what can be so urgent that they're going to assign me to something only moments after I pledged loyalty. I find it very peculiar that they're giving me an assignment instead of placing me under observation for a while. For all they know I could be lying about everything, something seems off. But, I can't question it or I'll look even more suspicious.

As I finish cleaning myself up, Director Fury beckons me to follow him out of the room. I stand and follow the man,

"I want you to meet some people. They're working on a project dealing with memories. Perhaps you can enlighten them and speed the process up given your background. It would be most beneficial that our scientists understand this as much as you do. It's a time sensitive matter. But make no mistake you will be watched, and if you try anything we will handle it." He explains in an authoritative voice as he leads me through hallways. What can be so time sensitive about my work? I ponder the question and feel uneasy about what the answer may be but remain optimistic.

The Director opens a glass door, where there are two people working. I recognize one of them as an Avenger. The lab is full of top of the line equipment and the most advanced technology I've ever seen. My palms begin to sweat as memories flash through my mind, the same scenario, different years. But I know this time it's different, it has to be. There's just no way I pledged myself to repeat the same mistake all over again.

"Bruce, this is Adalyn Averina, and she's been so kind as to provide her expertise on the project." I'm grateful that Director Fury opted to leave out the grittier, less pretty details for my sake. I nod to Bruce, who I know is also the Hulk from numerous tv broadcasts I've seen over the years. I'm introduced to the other scientist as well, she's a grad student at a local university here on an internship. The Director leaves the lab wordlessly, leaving me without any specific tasking. I feel lost and very much out of place. Everything seems to be happening at a very rapid pace, and it's not only disorienting but peculiar as well. I rub my arm anxiously and look to Bruce for any sort of direction.

"Yeah, as Fury said I'm Bruce, it's nice to meet you Adalyn, welcome to the team." He warmly smiles, eroding away some of the nerves. I smile back and approach him at the table he's working at. I see he has microscope slides laid out on a table, and I try to decipher what they are.

"It's nice to meet you as well, I assume we're lab partners then?" My eyes break away from the slides and up to his, they glimmer with humor.

"Yeah, I guess you can say we're lab partners. Oh, these are all brain matter, the subject suffered from severe Alzheimer's. Tony's been on a kick about retrieving memories, some childhood trauma thing I think. It just so happened that the project aligned with Tony's interests." Bruce rambles on and I nod, following what he's saying though I don't even know what the project is specifically about, or what the goals are.

"Well, I don't mean to interrupt your own research, it's just that I've already conducted these studies. I still have more to do, but I've got this much down." I say, hoping he doesn't take offense. His eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Really? That's remarkable. Do you have anything published? I swear I've looked everywhere for this information." I shake my head at his question.

"No, nothing is published publicly, but I do have a substantial amount of experience under my belt. I can explain it all to you, if you want of course. I'm not trying to stop you from doing your own research." I say, becoming more comfortable in his presence.

"By all means, please. I'm all ears." He sits down on a stool and I nod.

I explain the very basics to him, the parts of the brain and their functions, and how diseases such as Alzheimer's wear away at the brain matter. I briefly explain that with electrical stimulation, some of the parts of the brain can be programmed, in a way, and that this method can be used for several different uses. I explain that memory retrieval is very difficult and usually has to be handled on a case-to-case basis; treatment has to be tailored to the individual's experience, it's not a cookie cutter situation. I spare the details of what my experience is, and thankfully he doesn't ask. Hopefully he assumes my experiments were conducted on lab rats. He sits in silence after I finish my spiel, he rubs his chin as he thinks it all over.

"I think you might be the answer Tony's been looking for. I don't know where he is right now, but when he gets back you'll have to fill him in. You've got some good stuff, how old are you by the way? You seem a little young to be this educated."

"I'm 24." I answer and he nods.

"Well, that's very impressive and I'm glad we've got you alongside us now." I smile appreciatively and look to the noise coming from behind me. I see a short girl dressed in the standard Shield uniform.

"I was sent to get you." She speaks to me and I nod, following her. She leads me to another part of the building and up to the third floor.

"I'm showing you to your room where you will be staying for the duration of your time here." I stay silent and follow her down the hall. The hall only has six doors in total, I'm guessing some other employees live here. She stops at the third door on the right and nods to me,

"This is your room, and I've been told someone will come retrieve you momentarily." She says and walks off, leaving me alone. Shield sure does trust new recruits a lot to keep leaving me alone. I don't know if I would be as trusting of someone with my background. But perhaps I'm under surveillance, and they're observing what I do. That would be the smart thing to do.

I watch her walk out of the hall and then turn the door's handle. The room inside is bare. There's a single bed in the middle with a nightstand on one side, a lamp beside the door, a dresser against the wall opposite of the bed with a mirror hanging above it. I walk inside and shut the door behind me, familiarizing myself. I see an attached bathroom, noting that it also is small and basic. I stare at the bed longingly, this has been the most exhausting day I've had in a long time. I sit on the bed and stretch, soaking in the little peace I've had all day.

Though I should feel anxious after everything that's happened, I know I'm in the safest place I could possibly be. I'm too tired to worry about anything, the anxiety will have to wait until the morning. I close my eyes and breathe in the cool, crisp air of the room.

Although my bed at home was far more comfortable, this one offers a sense of security that my old one could've never provided. And though it's less than ideal to be working for another organization, it sure beats being on the run for the rest of my life. I'm just nervous to see what the project is about, and why they're looking for someone with my skill set. A sudden knock on the door startles me from my momentary peace and I jump up to answer the door.

"Miss Averina, I hope you're finding the accommodations to be up to your standard?" Director Fury questions and I nod,

"Of course, sir. Thank you." I pay my gratitude and he starts walking down the hall.

I shut the door behind me and follow him. People stare as we walk by and I wish I could vanish. They could know absolutely nothing about me, or they could know everything, there's no way for me to tell. Ignoring the stares is easier said than done, but I focus on the back of Fury's bald head, hoping the light reflecting off of it is enough of a distraction.

"Time to meet your new team." Fury says, opening a door.

We step in and I see four people sitting around a table. I recognize them all. I feel uneasiness creep into me but I try to ignore it. I rub my palms together as I look at each of the people at the table. Luckily, I've already met one of them.

Bruce sends a warm smile my way and I return it to the best of my ability, the others watching my every move. I take a seat next to Fury and wait for anyone else to say something, I cannot stand the tense silence in the room. From the status of the people in this room I'm concerned about what the project could be, it's obviously not something small if four Avengers are involved.

"So, it seems that we're in God's good graces as he's sent us someone who I believe can crack the code." Fury begins speaking, all eyes lingering on him except mine. I continue to look at the people in the room, knowing they could all single handedly kill me in a split second if they so desired.

"Bruce has already met the newest member of the team, but I'll let her speak for herself." Fury turns the attention to me and I nod shortly. I wasn't expecting to be put on the spot. I lick my lips and wipe the palms of my hands on my thighs.

"I am Adalyn Averina and I am a professor specializing in brain anatomy and physiology, with a focus in memory functions. I have an extensive background in this field and I am happy to help in whatever way I can." I keep my introduction short and sweet, not giving up too much information.

"Sorry, but with all due respect you don't look a day over 20. Bruce and I have been working on this for weeks now and haven't been able to figure it out but you just so happen to understand everything?" The man sits forward in his seat, looking intensely at me. This must be the Tony Stark charm I've heard rumors of. I nod my head, hoping to calm the rising tension.

"Yes, like I said I have extensive experience and research into this topic, I've been involved in it since I was a little girl." I see him internally trying to piece things together.

"Okay hold on. So you're like a child prodigy or something? And you have a Russian accent, I hear it. Fury where did you find her? You're sure she's not another spy?" Tony seems paranoid, and I can't blame him because I too find this situation unconventional.

"It is highly unlikely that she's a spy, Stark." Fury defends my credibility. Tony stays quiet but stares.

"She was in the lab earlier with me Tony, she knows her stuff." Bruce also sticks up for me. It's weird having Fury and Bruce defend me though I've known them both less than two hours. The blonde haired man sits up straighter in his seat and makes eye contact with me.

"I know Bruce and Tony have a scientific interest in your work, but it's a little more personal to me. If you can help us, I will be very grateful." I give him a small smile. I like him, he seems just as he appears on the television. He is the personification of honor.

"I will do my very best to help. I am unsure of what the tasking is, I'm still in the dark about that." I admit, looking between all the people at the table. The one redhead has been quiet the entire time, though she's been studying me with slightly squinted eyes. I hear Fury sigh and I look to him,

"A few weeks ago we came into contact with one of Hydra's weapons. The timing could not have been a coincidence, we've found a few Hydra spies in the past few weeks but we've eradicated them. We found ourselves in possession of this weapon but we are unable to decode whatever it is Hydra installed." I scrunch my eyebrows, concentrating on what he's saying. It doesn't make sense, I'm not a weapons expert.

As if I had run into a brick wall, it feels like the breath has been knocked out of me and my eyes widen a bit, there's no way they could possibly be talking about my Hydra mission, though it would all make sense. I suppress my anxiety and focus on the matter at hand. Fury turns in his chair and plays a video on a hologram.

I watch the scene unfold. Steve is fighting with a man on a highway that's been blown to hell. My stomach drops and I feel like I'm going to pass out. There's no way. My eyes are intensely glued to the video, and I watch as knives get twirled and punches are thrown. I watch as the metal clashes on metal, and I tear my eyes away from the fight being displayed. I stare at the table, trying to not hyperventilate. I hear the video pause and the room is eerily silent.

"Fury she looks like she's going to pass out." Bruce points out and I continue staring at the table.

"Do you know him?" The nice blonde man from earlier, Steve Rogers, asks. I meet his blue eyes and see the desperation in them. I nod my head, gripping the sides of my seat.

"The Winter Soldier. He was my mission." I manage to say without throwing up all over the table. This has to be some sort of nightmare I'm trapped in, there's no way this is reality. The rest of the table silently looks at one another in shock.

"Your mission?" Steve asks, leaning on the table, getting closer to me. I sense both curiosity and hostility.

"I worked for Hydra since the day I was born, my father was a man of Hydra notoriety. I was indoctrinated and trained. I had a special talent for understanding how people work, how the mind works. It was my job to improve what Arnim Zola created during World War Two. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't have a choice. I programmed their most efficient and deadly weapon and ruined a man at the same time." I admit. Steve stares at me with a blank expression, and I quickly meet his gaze with one of sympathy and regret.

The rest of the members take this information in and process it. There's no easy way to explain what I did, it's more of a "rip the band-aid off" situation and mend relationships from there. I feel shame and guilt wash over my body as I recall my earlier days working for Hydra. I remember every second of what I did, the pain I inflicted and the lives I've ruined.

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