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# Dcu x Dp 185
Danny lived in a house that had chemicals
Danny has eaten food that had been contaminated with chemicals all his life
So his body is used to it, all of a sudden he is in a new city and has a new family and no longer eating food that is contaminated with chemicals
Danny thought that this was a good thing until he began to have withdrawal symptoms
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Call to My Bedside - Part 2
Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/733019972168761344/call-to-my-bedside
Danyal wakes the next time with a weight to his limbs. From the moment he opens his eyes, he realizes he is not where he is supposed to be.
This is a medical bay, but it is not in the league, the constant twittering of League doctors monitoring his health is suspiciously gone. No shadows on guard outside the door.
The most glaring thing though, there was no Lazarus Water in his veins.
Perhaps Ra’s had decided he was no longer worth the expense, had decided-
No.
It was something else. That wasn’t an option he would consider.
Danyal tested the feeling of thin metal on his right wrist. Handcuffs, not shackles. It was odd.
But again, this wasn’t the league.
But he’d need to go back before Ra’s became angry. Danyal couldn’t fail.
He glances to the door as it opens, an old man-the one from before- and a younger, slender man standing just behind him.
Danyal stays still, his breathing even, forcing his heart to stay at a constant, stable rate. He watches them, analyzing.
The old man blinks, “It’s good to see you’re awake, young sir-,” He steps into the room, left foot a second slower, old weakness?- English accent, in Europe? the man behind him follows- stiff posture, rib injury, core focused strength, gymnast, combat trained and familiar- Richard Dick Grayson, Nightwing, he’s in America, Batman- “You gave us quite the shock earlier, myself especially.”
Nightwing watched Danyal warily, he saw him as a threat, and by the angle of his feet, a threat to the older man. He remembers now, he’d attacked him before, Nightwing was here to prevent it again.
They are heroes.
He was a part of the League of the Assassins.
He doesn’t fit here, could never.
Danyal considers the merits of speaking English, he wants to, deeply, and perhaps it would even benefit the situation; but his chest clogs with fear before he can even compose a sentence. It’s been too long anyways, the League dialect is easier.
“How long have I been here?” Danyal says, still not moving enough to even jostle the cuff at his wrist.
Nightwing sighs deeply, “We rescued you and Damian from a League of Assassins boat yesterday.” The words of the language are stilted, either by unfamiliarity or awkwardness, and who’s Damian? There’s a pause, “Do you know who I am?” Nightwing asks, caution in the words.
Danyal takes a deep breath, finally sitting up, despite the rattling of the chain on the cuff, “You are Nightwing, Dick Grayson, correct?”
Nightwing nods, his eyes briefly flitting to the elder man, “And you?”
Danyal’s eyes narrow, trying to find the trap, “I am Danyal Al Ghul, Heir of the Demon’s head, Blood of the Batman.”
Danyal watches the eyebrow of the old man tick up in his peripheral.
Nightwing pinches the bridge of his nose, “God I can’t believe Talia did it again,” He murmurs under his breath. In English. And Danyal would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear the language again, even just a little.
“Perhaps it would be best to bring Master Bruce back from his meeting,” the old man says pointedly. Danyal ignores as he changes and resets the IV attached to him, familiar with the autonomous care. With or without his consent.
“I’ve already notified him, he should be here soon.”
“Very good. In the meantime,” he turns to Danyal, “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. It seems I did not get the chance to introduce myself the last time you were awake.”
Danyal can’t help but blink at the almost joking tone Alfred says it with, knowing that Danyal had been the one to knock him out. It makes his lip twitch, and he silently huffs, surprising himself with the action.
The amusement vanishes as the door opens once more, footsteps barely audible in the second before.
The man standing there is large, tall and broad shouldered, strong- dangerous, calloused hands from training- his eyes stay glued to Danyal, blue and steady amidst the square jaw and sharp features, black hair tussled like he’d been rushing, just like Dad always-
Danyal feels his jaw wire shut, back straightening.
The thin chain of the handcuff jingles in the sudden silence.
This he remembers. This is Batman. The Dark Night of Gotham. The Detective.
The source of every expectation Ra’s Al Ghul has ever placed on Danyal.
He feels his face try to screw into a sneer, because he hates him and everything he’s done that has ever affected Danyal, but his face remains still. Controlled. Because there’s nothing he can do about it anyways.
Batman had introduced himself before.
As another name. A civilian. His training forces him to remember it.
Bruce Wayne.
It means next to nothing to him. But the man doesn’t stop looking.
It’s Dick that speaks next, “Danyal, this is Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father.” The smile is at odds with the weary tone of the words, “He was there when we saved you and Damian a few.. yesterday. God that feels like longer.”
Saved? The sentiment makes him want to scoff. He doesn’t, because Batman’s eyes already narrow with Nightwing’s words, and Danyal doesn’t need to make it worse.
A thousand more questions rush through his head. Each one bitten back with practiced force.
Instead he dips his head briefly, aiming for a show of respect, whatever that might mean here. However little he means it. Danyal can adjust regardless.
“Hn.”
Danyal lifts his head. That was the only response?
They uproot him entirely, chain him, throw him into unfamiliar waters where everything-everyone- is in new danger and all he does is grunt?
Danyal bites his tongue hard, letting his head lift, carefully non-defiant. He’s not quite sure his eyes get the message because he can feel the glare from them.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred pipes in, tone sharp.
Batman sighs, but the set of his shoulders changes, no longer so heavily lined with suspicion.
“What do you know about why Damian was-" There’s an even sharper cough from Alfred. Another sigh, “Fine. What has Talia already told you about me?”
Danyal glances between them, purposefully keeping his eyes from jumping down to the metal around his wrists.
No one else speaks.
“I know that you are Batman, the Dark Night of Gotham. You are also the detective, great enough to impress the Demon’s Head, Ra’s Al Ghul. The Demon’s daughter informed me you were dead.”
There’s a slight twitch on Batman’s face. “I survived Darkseid’s attack, although it led to me being lost in time and assumed dead for nearly a year,” Batman’s eyes flick across the room, almost considering, “Red Robin was responsible for my return just over a year ago.”
Red Robin. Timothy Drake. The one Ra’s favored. The second source of expectations placed on Danyal.
And he was lost in time? What did that consist of, what did it mean for Batman? Did it matter if it didn’t affect Danyal?
“I see.” He says. Silence lingers. They still expect him to speak. He hedges his bets, asking something he actually cares about, “Why am I here, Batman?”
The question seems to be expected and yet still strike with surprise.
“I… regrettably, did not know you were… present at the league. I do not believe in their methods and would not have left you there had I known.”
And that makes it all okay. Danyal wants to scream. But he narrows his eyes instead, only more suspicious, “And why were you there then?”
“We followed the shadows that had taken Damian. He told us who you were.”
Danyal pauses, leaning back slightly. They were willing to answer his questions, to actually talk with him. Of course they were, they were meant to be heroes.
But it had been so long since he’d actually talked with anyone other than Ra’s, and their conversations were a battleground of expectations and tests.
He fights with his conscious knowledge of this and the habits that have been beaten into him so thoroughly.
“Who is… Damian?” He asks, watching their reactions for the answer.
All three seem surprised by the question. But not angry. Of course not, he reminds himself.
“You’ve mentioned him several times like I am supposed to know who he is.” He had barely been told anything since his forceful return, and any knowledge he had from before stopped at Dick Grayson. And then Timothy Drake.
Danyal had purposefully ignored the hero world he had lived in-
He forces his eyes up to meet Batman’s, noting the hesitance in the set of his shoulders.
“Damian is… your brother. He was.. Talia’s son, before he came to me just a few years ago. He was raised in the league.”
Danyal blinks, anger disbelieving in his chest. Is that what she did?
“When.”
There’s no response, save a twitch of Batman’s eyebrow.
“When,” Danyal says again, his breathing controlled, “Did he come to you? How old was he? How long ago?”
They seem to pick up on the way Danyal’s tone has changed. Good for them.
“Nearly three years ago. He was ten.” Batman answers, voice rough. Tinged with curiosity and unfulfilled questions.
Danyal breathes deeply, his heart rate picking up against his wishes. Icy rage flares.
The beeping of the machine at his side matches the pounding in his chest, uneven, unbalanced, uncontrolled.
Keep it under control. Keep it. Under. Control.
Control is power. Control is strength. Control is the only thing that will ever be enough.
He breathes deeper. Holding his breath. Once. Twice.
The beeping is steadier with each tone.
“Danyal?” An old voice asks beside him. It’s Alfred. The butler.
Danyal shifts his jaw from its clench, “I am fine.” His eyes slide back into focus, still on Batman, “Damian is your son then.”
Batman nods solemnly, a heavier sigh through his chest, “Talia and I have had an… interesting relationship. But I loved her. Once. She has never failed to make me regret it.”
That was why she had visited him. Her words. What she had almost said. Talia had wished he was Damian, wished he was Bruce. Just not Danyal of course. The weapon she discarded for a better version. One she could love.
One who would be heir.
Batman continues, “Talia is Damian’s mother, told him he would be my heir, as I’m sure you were but-” Batman stops, looking at Danyal as confusion flicks across his face, “You weren’t.”
“I was never told I would be heir of the Batman, only of the Demon’s head.” This, at least, Danyal is familiar with, “That’s the only reason they needed me: to be their weapon made from the Demon Head’s enemy.” Danyal breathes, “A weapon does not have parents, and I have never been more than a weapon to them, crafted for the league’s purpose. For Ra’s.”
Ra’s is the reason Danyal is alive at all. Is the only reason he has survived the league, but he is also the reason Danyal had to, no- has to survive.
Danyal drops his eyes, tired, so so tired, like he always is. Unerringly, his eyes find the shine of the metal around his wrist. Arm held carefully still to keep from jostling it, even as his other hand has found its way to his lap.
“You can’t really believe that,” Dick says, disbelief in his own voice, unsurety in the frame of an unfamiliar language.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
And it doesn’t. It only matters what he can do. That’s he’s strong. He just has to be strong enough. Ra’s is the reason Danyal suffers, has always been, and Danyal will never let him escape that.
Silence lasts. Danyal quickly grows tired of it.
Luckily, Batman breaks it, “Why were you exposed to the Lazarus waters?” He asks, voice rigid and flat once more.
Perhaps the casualness is getting to him because Danyal manages to lift one lip in a slight sneer, “The only reason anybody uses the Lazarus Pits.”
The Batman stays silent, clearly talking about the unorthodox method of exposure they had resorted to.
Danyal sighs this time, serious, “My heart is damaged. Electricity. The pits are a short term solution for it. Grandfather had said he found a long term one.” Danyal doubts it matters now. Whatever care his grandfather’d had was fragile, dependent on Danyal’s performance.
The palm of his left hand tingles sharply.
Would this be enough to tip the scale against him? What would he lose for being here? Who would he-
Danyal looks into Batman’s eyes, “Am I to be a prisoner here?”
The man glances over him at the two on the other side, Danyal doesn’t follow it, nor the silent conversation he’s sure is happening.
Instead, Danyal focuses his ears, senses sharpened by training, by the pits, by his accident… and turns his attention to the person hiding in an alcove above them.
Low breathing, higher pitched, the scent of sword polish and hair gel. The person was small and armed.
“You’re not a prisoner… but if you leave.. you’ll be in danger,” Batman says, voice deep, “We can’t let that happen.”
So either be followed or don’t leave. What great options.
Danyal tries not to scowl, not to show any inflection at it, “And do I have to stay here? In your…. Cave?”
“It might be difficult to move- uh.. the medical things-” Nightwing starts, but Danyal cuts him off by swiftly removing the IV tucked in the crook of his elbow.
He presses his thumb against the small well of blood as he looks forward.
Alfred shouts, jolting towards him, “Master Danyal! That is hardly sterile-“
Danyal’s eyes snap to him the moment the title leaves his mouth, heart stilling for a second, commands in his eyes. Alfred falls still.
Danyal lets it fall away the next second, barely two beats missed. The beeping starts again.
“I see.” Alfred straightens, stepping forward slowly to turn off the IV and coil it, removing other monitors, “Another one for the dramatics then.”
Nightwing steps up, hands out placatingly, “There’s..mm really no need, Danyal, uh-” He glances back to Batman, “Of course you can leave the cave-,” the next words are in bright clear English, “I’m sure there’s already a room picked out for you.”
“Right you are Master Dick,” Alfred says, “Young sir, do you need any help moving?” He directs to Danyal.
He wants to rip his hand from the metal cuff. Snap the thin chain to pieces.
Instead he looks to Nightwing, then Batman, “The restraints?” He says, voice as empty of want as he can make it.
The click of the key in the lock echoes in his ear and it’s only through practiced calm that Danyal does not immediately jerk his arm away from it. Instead, he calmly retracts his hand, bracing slightly against the bed as he turns and plants his feet on the floor.
The others have already moved out of his way, watching intently, waiting for him to fall- to fail.
Danyal straightens his legs. He stands. He breathes. He controls his heart. He walks forward.
He does not fall. He doesn’t have the option to fall.
“I can go now.” He says, looking at them. His knuckles are white on the edge of the bed.
Nightwing looks at Batman once more. The man grunts, then turns from the room in a way that he can only imagine would perfectly flare a cape.
Danyal’s feet feel like they’re filling with cement. Nightwing stares at him expectantly. Danyal understands expectations- but these ones, it leaves him helpless and-
“Follow me then, dear boys,” Alfred says, stepping in front smoothly, already moving towards the door, “We can go upstairs, I’ll start on a meal and Master Dick can show you the rooms.”
Nightwing goes next, leaving Danyal to follow not quite behind him, the angle purposeful to keep him in sight.
Nightwing casts a wary glance to him every few minutes, continuing a light chatter with Alfred. Danyal stares forward, taking in the cave from his peripheral - computer, showers, training mats, an unfamiliar shadow watching him, armory, swords, knifes, suits, cars and vehicles lined up on platforms, a t-Rex, giant penny, a glass case- Danyal lets his eyes linger on the shadow, never faltering his steps.
His neck itches at the attention.
He looks forward. Nightwing is looking at him again, snapping forward the moment Danyal’s eyes narrow. Good.
The steps are slightly narrow, dark, but they come out to a warmly lit study. Dark wood, papers, books on shelves, a portrait on the wall, pictures on the desk, three black hair boys, another of only a single with stiff posture, a ballet dancer- they keep walking. The door-clock- closes behind them like the clamping of an artery.
Nightwing and Alfred’s conversation continues in smooth, low-toned English. Danyal blinks, slowly, slower than he needs to, for a breath of a second relishing in the almost familiarity of it all, the dissonance from the last three years alone enough to well emotion in his chest.
His eyes open. He continues after them.
“This is where I’ll leave you, I’ll be up with some food some young sir,” Alfred says abruptly, turning towards a swinging door that reveals a glimpse of a stainless kitchen.
“So…” Nightwing says, swinging his arms a bit at his sides, “uh… I can show you the room you can sleep in, yes?”
Danyal’s shoulders tighten, rising from a subconscious millimeter slouch. He nods stiffly.
His heart remains under control. Always under control.
“So this is the Wayne Mansion, you can go for food any time, uh…” There’s an unsure pause as they start up the stairs, “You can meet the rest of us soon maybe, a correct introduction to Damian…depends on Bruce really… he can be … over …over.”
Nightwing looks at Danyal properly, “I’m usually better at this, most of the bat kids know the League dialect but… I haven’t exactly practiced it.”
Danyal stares at him. He doesn’t want to hear the sound of the League’s twisting words, he wants to leave. He wants to find his family, protect them, get them as far away from Ra’s al Ghul and the league as possible. He wants to go back to Ra’s convince him to let his family go if Danyal stays willingly. Wants a blade strong enough to run the man through and-
“I know you are probably stressed and this is all unfamiliar but … we want you to stay… you won’t be hurt here. This is different than the league, you’re safe.”
Danyal scoffs, not bothering to stop it, he hasn’t been safe since the day he tripped over a wire and died.
Nightwing doesn’t seem surprised by the response.
“This can be your room,” He says, opening a door in the hallway and gesturing a wide arm to Danyal. “The rest of us are just down the hall.”
Danyal steps in, looking around, counting exits, tactical advantages, possible listening devices- He turns around, giving Nightwing a stiff nod, “Thank you for the room.”
Nightwing still stands at his door, “Anything else I can help with for you?” He says.
Danyal considers staying silent, obedient, but he hates hearing the language at every turn, he never wants to hear it again, the words they forced in his mouth, ripping away what was in their place-
“Can you just speak English?” He says, realizing too late how weak it sounds, “You don’t have to use the league tongue, I can-English is.. fine.” Fine. Better. Familiar. A remnant of a family he’s almost certain he’s lost now.
Nightwing barely quirks a brow, eyes flicking over him.
“Can do,” He nods, “Well then… Welcome to Wayne Manor, Danyal.”
And he closes the door behind him.
'It’s just Danny, please.' He wants to whisper to the silence. But he’s grown too used to shadows and it catches in his throat.
He goes and sits on the bed. Staring out of the window. A window he can’t leave from. Where would he go? He doesn’t have anyone, they’re all in danger because of him. He can’t leave.
He’s trapped.
Always trapped.
Bound. Stuck to one place. One thing.
Emotions well in his chest, in the back of his throat, thick and dark and painful. He wants to cry. He can’t. Emotions constrict around his lungs.
And Danyal sits, staring at the wall, wishing he could cry. But the emotions just twist themselves until they’re tight enough, heavy enough to fall down, settle back like a layer of heavy chainmail over his insides.
Danyal turns on the bed, facing the wall.
It’s empty tan-beige. Neutral colors. No personality. Temporary.
This is familiar to him. This he can do.
Danyal stands again, he strips down his tunic, his shin-guards and pants- notes the lack of his typical weapons- methodically placing it on the dresser. Not his dresser, he already has one, painted blue with yellow stars back in-
Danyal gets in the shower, glad to find soap there, contemplating not using it, not wasting the energy. He watches condensation develop on the glass walls, water droplets collecting until they finally rush down the glass.
His finger lifts, already wanting to trace the letters he knows. Three lines, an H. One. i. Or e, he could write hello. Or ghost. Mom. Dad. Jazz, Sam, Tucker. Write it in English so he wouldn’t forget the way they were meant to be spelled, let the water wash it away.
His fingers ache where they’d been broken for it. For tracing letters in dirt or on mirrors, in the foggy glass at night. A break for every word.
Danyal can see his hand shake, inches from the glass. Pain and fear a leech on his bones.
He drops the hand. Turns to wash away the soap and get out, towels left on the counter.
He doesn’t even glance at the mirror as he goes out.
His tunic is where he’d left it, neatly set on the dresser top… but…
Danyal opens the drawers, changing into the boxers, the next one is dress pants and collared shirts, but in the third-
Rough denim scuffs against his fingertips.
They’re dark wash jeans, fancy and nothing like the ones his mom would buy on sale from the thrift store but…
He doesn’t let himself debate it further, he has to wear clothes and no one is here to tell him which. They put them here so they should expect him to wear it- it could be a test but he doesn’t care, let them do what they want if only to pretend the jeans are stiff from ectoplasm stains instead of fresh starch.
He chooses a white t-shirt, ignoring the collared shirts and polos that are probably meant to go over it.
He breathes, letting his shoulders drop, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, pretending for only a second that he’s getting dressed for school. Jazz is across the hall getting her books together, Sam and Tuck are on their way to walk together, his parents are already downstairs working.
'See?' He wants to say, 'I’m still the same person, nothings changed!'
The metal of the door knob clicks and Danyal’s head snaps towards the sound.
There’s nothing. Danyal doesn’t trust it, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the tall double doors.
“I know you’re there!” he calls out, fists ready, “Open the door and show yourself or I will!”
There’s a harsh tutt behind the door before it swings open, revealing a kid standing there. Short, black hair- hair gel-, dress slacks and shirt hiding multiple bladed weapons-
“Clearly I meant for you to know I was here, I am not incompetent,” The kid scoffs. So Nightwing wasn’t lying about them all knowing the league dialect…. Yet somehow, it sounds different coming from the kid, familiar in a way that makes Danyal's skin burn. He looks irritated, arms crossed in front of him even while his eyes wander over the room and Danyal with curiosity. And judgement.
Danyal rolls his eyes at it, “Did you need something from me, or did you just want to stand there looking like a hair gel commercial?”
The boy’s face goes red impressively fast, “How dare you-” he moves- and a knife is flying at his face, Danyal dodges, catching it in a second, shifting to throw it back but stops, half way extended. He looks at the hilt, there’s a League marking engraved on the bottom no larger than a droplet.
Danyal's eyes flick up to the boy still standing in front of him, glaring him down.
That’s all it takes before the boy jumps forward, another knife in his hand.
Danyal blocks it, twisting the arm as he drops his own acquired knife to his other hand and lunges forward.
The boy flips over his arm, and Danyal doesn’t let his surprise show as he reaches to grab the second knife he’d forced the kid to drop.
The boy tutts at him again, “So this was who Mother replaced me with? Street rabble?”
Danyal blinks, Mother? Then it clicks.
So this was Damian. The child the demon’s daughter wanted, beloved by all. Treasured. Preserved.
Danyal grits his teeth against the bitter taste in his mouth. He lunges forward, already expecting the larger dagger Damian uses to block him as he’s forced to retreat.
Danyal doesn’t stop, continuing to press him, “The Demon’s Daughter is no mother of mine,” he spits as he slams a kick against Damian’s elbow, blade dropping once more. Danyal cuts a shallow slash across Damian’s left cheek before dropping his own stolen knives.
He doesn’t stop though, continuing to push Damian back- Damian swerves to the side, grabbing his arm, flipping him, Danyal retaliates, grabbing the others shirt and taking him with him.
He catches his feet a second before the other, using it to pin him face to face with Danyal’s arm at his throat, “Maybe if you were good enough, you wouldn’t have had to be replaced at all and I never would have been forced to be here, this is your fault. I was free,” He grits out, teeth bared, “You got to live these last three years because I paid for it, and you’re angry because they don’t want you!?”
There’s something startling in Damian’s wide eyes, “What are you talking about?” He snaps, “I am Damian Al Ghul, Heir to the League, Ibn al X-“
Danyal slams him harder against the floor, cutting him off. Green simmers, almost boiling, under his skin. He grits his teeth harder against the sharp pain through his chest.
He leans closer to Damian, snarling, his grip bruising, “You don’t even know what you escaped, what Ra’s really wanted with you, do you? What being heir means. You’re nothing more than a -”
Damian jerks his head upwards, colliding with Danyal’s forehead and knocking him back with a grunt. Danyal’s grip loosens momentarily and Damian pulls free.
He slams a palm strike into Danyal’s front, pain lancing through his chest as he gasps, heart convulsing.
He moves through it by force, both rolling off each other with violent hands.
They stand opposite each other once more. Blood drips from the cut on Damian’s cheek. Danyal’s ragged breaths join Damian’s in the silence. He can hear footsteps on the stairs. His heart clenches in his chest painfully. There’s barely enough Lazarus water in his veins to keep it pumping for a week, less if he keeps this up.
The door flings open with a slam, both of them turning to look.
Batman stands there, battle calm in his eyes.
Damian turns fully at the sight of his father, but Danyal doesn’t shift from his stance.
“Father, I-“ Damian starts, but Batman just lifts a hand, silencing him.
“What. Happened.” Batman says, looking straight at Danyal, not even a question. A demand. Green tinted steel shoots up Danyal’s spine and he does nothing but glare back at the man.
Batman doesn’t break eye contact, “Damian.”
“I was determining if he was a threat. He is from the League, Father,” Damian says shortly, standing tall despite the blood on his face.
Batman looks between them briefly, and oh what a picture they must make.
Two kids, both born in the same cage, one trying to claw his way out of the chains and the other trying to fight his way in.
Exhaustion washes over Danyal, and he drops his fists, letting them hang by his sides.
Batman hums, barely a sound, but a muscle twitches in Damian’s jaw.
“Father-“
“Go Damian. Now.”
Damian looks back at him, not-quite-hate in his eyes, before dropping to a crouch to grab the knife closest to his feet with one hand and turning to leave.
Faced with Batman’s sole attention, Danyal lifts his chin defiantly, daring him to take action, to punish him, to do something that he can predict, can defend, can justify the anger he feels when he sees him.
“I know it was different in the league, but here, this is not acceptable.”
Danyal half-scoffs. He finally steps out of his stance, “I could leave.”
“That’s not-” Batman pinches the bridge of his nose, voice like gravel, “I am trying to protect you, the manor is not the league. I understand what it must have been like to be raised like that, but you can’t hurt others, no matter what teachings you’ve had. I can guarantee you won’t be hurt here, I won’t let-”
Danny huffs a dry laugh, “You won’t let?” He steps forward, rage bubbling back up, “Hurt me? I’m not worried about me, Batman. You can’t stop him. Ra’s is going to get what he wants, and as long as that is me, everyone around me is in danger, I’m dangerous. I'm a weapon, a weapon of your enemy. You can’t fix that, can you?”
“We can protect ourselves-”
Danyal scoffs again, “Because you’ve done such a good job of that already? Don’t forget, all of this is because of you, they wanted you, and now they want me because of you, Batman. You.”
Something stricken shoots through the man’s face before it flattens. Batman nods and steps back, a hand on the doorhandle, “Don’t leave.” Is all he says, before the door clicks shut.
Danyal feels the walls closing in on him like a cell.
He looks to his left.
The bathroom door is open. He can see his reflection in the mirror, any condensation gone.
Danyal stares.
When he had been younger, back in- before. Danyal would stand in front of a mirror and pick out parts he thought looked like his parents. Like a Fenton. His shoulders were from Jack obviously. His eyes and hair too. His jawline was from Maddie, his hands from Jack, and the love of engineering and planning from Maddie. He had the same legs as his mom. Same voice as his dad, always loud. If he didn’t look too hard, he could almost convince himself he was really their kid, their son.
But he could never quite place his tanned skin, or the texture of his hair. The shape of his eyes and nose. Always just a little bit wrong.
What had pretending done but put them in danger?
Danyal turns on his heel, flicking the lights off and putting a glass soap bottle on the door handle.
He knew he’d wake up regardless… but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Danyal rubs his chest with the heel of his palm as he lays down on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, staring out at the city beyond the window glass.
How close would he come to freedom before he’d have to give it up again?
And he knew he would.
For his family, he would give the Demon’s Head anything.
Everything.
If that’s what it took.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he would fall asleep.
———
Bruce runs over Danyal’s words again and again during the flight.
'This is because of you, Batman,'
He flicks a switch.
'You.'
The landing gear lowers.
'You can’t fix this.'
He can see the way the shadows of the forest twist around the clearing.
'Dangerous.'
Wheels touch grass. Batman lands at the coordinates, just on the side of the field in front of the woman waiting for him.
'Because of you.'
He breathes.
“My Beloved, how are you?” She greets him as he descends the ramp.
Bruce says nothing. He cannot even begin to fathom what he would say if he did.
Instead, he stares at her. A woman who had once meant so much to him, whom he had nearly thrown away everything for. And who had nearly done the same for him.
But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t. And it had hurt him, but he had recovered.
And then she hurt him again.
She had stolen and lied to him in his vulnerability.
And still, he had found himself loving her.
Had allowed her to continue hurting him. Again and again. Out of a vain hope that she would change. Because he thought that he could change her. That she would change for him.
It was foolish. It was senseless.
Yet he found it just as impossible to stop.
And so she had hurt him again.
“Talia.” Her name grated against his heart, “Why did you not tell me I had another son?”
“The boy is no more yours than he is mine, Beloved,” She says with a roll of her eyes, as if explaining a basic fact, “He belongs to my father. And to the league.”
Bruce is silent. He notices a slight bruise forming on her left cheek.
Talia’s face is tight, “Do you not care about the son I have given you? Has Damian not satisfied you?”
Bruce feels the leather of his gauntlets stretch over his clenched fists.
“I deserved to know,” He near growls, “Just as I did Damian, just as I did with Jason. You cannot continue to keep my children from me-“
“If it was not for that boy, you would not have met Damian at all,” Talia snaps.
Bruce blinks. Hard.
“His return brought Damian into your arms, you should be grateful.” She spits at him like an accusation, “Damian is ours, Bruce. From our love. That boy was made before we truly knew each other, before we understood each other as we do now. He was borne of nothing more than my father’s obsession. Damian is our son, not him.”
“His name is Danyal, Talia!” Bruce bellows, “He is a child, and he is a person! Just like you, and me, and Damian, and he deserves more than to be written off as one of Ra’s al Ghul’s projects! He deserves better than this!” Than us, he doesn’t say. Deserves better than him.
Talia straightens from already perfect posture, “I made a choice Bruce, for Damian. To protect Damian. I knew our son was never meant to bear my father’s hands, he was never meant to be what Danyal is.” Talia pauses, eyes sharp on him, and he can see when she chooses her next words. Already knows they are meant to cut him, to hurt him. He steels himself and listens anyways.
“Perhaps you should ask him where he’s been all these years I’ve supposedly kept him from you, Beloved.” She says coyly, stepping forward.
“What are you talking about.”
She takes another step, “The truth of the matter is that Danyal could have gone to you any time he wanted. He chose not to. Chose to stay away.”
He stays silent.
“Oh- Did the boy not tell you?“ Talia says, barely hiding the falseness, “Danyal was living in America before he returned to his rightful duty. Almost didn’t work, but…” Talia hummed, “His gifts were fortuitous in the end. A risk well calculated, my father’s doing I suspect.”
Talia almost seems blaisé as she talks about it, but he can see the way it irks her. Her father had tricked her. Somehow. Or had manipulated her into some choice she hadn’t known about.
Batman says nothing, analyzing, taking in clues.
“Beloved,” Talia sighs, “Surely you must know, the boy must return.”
“And surely you know: I can’t let that happen.”
Talia glowers at him.
“It’s him or Damian, Bruce, you must choose, just as I did.”
“No.” Bruce growls.
“You cannot have both,” She snaps at him.
Batman stands firm, staring her down, resolute.
“You invite his anger on them both,” She snarls, “You save no one.”
Batman ignores the words. He has made it his job to make sure that’s not true. He’ll die before it is.
“Fine.” She snaps again. But she lingers for a few seconds more. The lines of her face softening.
“I remember I once loved that same unbending drive.”
It feels odd to hear her confirm something he’s not sure ever really existed.
Then Talia turns away and walks into the forest. Shadows contort and reform around her at the edges of the clearing. Slowly emptying until there’s nothing left but the trees and the grass and him, standing alone at the center of it all.
He turns to leave.
He won’t choose between his children.
He climbs the ramp.
He will protect them.
He sits down in the pilots chair, flicking switches and gears.
All of them.
Engines roar to life below him.
He will not fail.
And yet… he cannot forget her words. Twisted they may be, and just as easily lies.. but, her irritation at her father’s plans… he had always been good at telling when it was real.
'Living in America… chose to stay away,'
Living in America?
Had he been secluded at one of their bases here? Had it even been close?
Had Danyal been just miles away, suffering, and BruceDanyal hadn’t known?
But it felt wrong. What Talia had said sat like a jagged puzzle piece, poking and prodding at him, not quite fitting the theories he threw at it.
‘Returned.’
Did she only mean returned to the League’s home base? Closer to their original strongholds in Asia?
It didn’t make sense. She would have crafted the words differently, to drive her point home.
She’d said ‘supposedly kept him from you’ like she hadn’t. Like she hadn’t kept Danyal hidden, the way she had Damian. It didn’t add up.
She could have just been lying. Bruce didn’t think she was. It couldn’t be that simple. No, there was something specific about the way she’d phrased it all, like she was telling him a secret. Like it was something Ra’s had hidden. Like something was hiding.
Batman narrowed his eyes, staring out at the landscape in front of him as it rushed past.
Whatever it was, whatever she wasn’t telling him, Batman needed to figure it out before it came back to hurt him or his family. Danyal included.
Then there was the rest of it.
The ‘gifts’ that Talia had mentioned.
He knew Danyal had been forced to interact with the Lazarus waters, but he didn’t know to what extent. What it had done to him.
It’d had an effect on him, that much was clear by the acid green of his eyes when he stood off against them in the Batcave. And earlier when Bruce had first interrupted the fight with Damian.
He didn’t even think Danyal had noticed they were glowing then. Too defensive to think about it. Or perhaps he was used to it.
How many times had he been submerged? Had been so injured that Ra’s saw fit to put him in?
How many times had Bruce not been there to protect him from it?
Even if he was only acting out of defensiveness… was that not Bruce’s fault too?
That he still felt unsafe in the Manor. That he didn’t know if Bruce would act the same as Ra’s, as the League.
And Danyal was right, he was responsible for the pain the league caused him, for them hunting him. If he had never let himself be pulled into Talia’s web- or if she was to be believed… even before that.
When exactly? When had Batman become enough of a threat that Ra’s had decided to use him? Was it because he had refused to be his heir? Or before that? Before or after Dick? Jason?
He doesn’t even know how old Danyal is. How long Batman had let him suffer because of h-
“I do hope you aren’t planning to brood like this with your children around, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, cutting through his thoughts, “I don’t believe your pride would survive the repercussions.”
Bruce glances at the monitor Alfred has decided to call from.
“Hn.” Bruce grumbles.
Alfred is right, his children would tease him mercilessly for ‘brooding’ as they called it. If only Dick at least, who hasn’t missed a chance to do so since he’d been a freshly christened Robin.
How would Danyal fit into that? Would he grow to tease like the others? Or remain stoic like Damian?
“I’ll be approaching in 30 minutes, A.” He says. ‘Will Danyal be there?’ He doesn’t say.
Alfred says nothing in response. The engines fill the silence.
He grits his teeth, he just wants to know the situation, to stay updated, he wants to know if something’s happened or anything’s changed.
He sighs, forcefully loosening his jaw, “Who’s going out tonight?”
“Mm, I believe Miss Brown and Master Tim were discussing going together. Master Thomas is in bed, as is usual, though he did mention he’d be out early.. and I believe Madame Cassandra is staying in. She seems to have found a new project.”
Batman hums in confirmation. He wants to know what Cass had found interesting. More than that, he wants to know if Danyal was okay, Damian too.
“It seems it circles around our newest resident, though she hasn’t shown herself to him yet. Master Dick also seems to think the young sir is his duty as much as Master Damian had been.”
Batman feels his lips tug downwards as he grunts in response. Damian’s first year with them was… a regret. His own absence was devastating. He’d have to find some way to assure Dick that Danyal wasn’t his responsibility this time, that he could still be his own person. Perhaps he should encourage Dick to return to Blüdhaven. Affirm the family would be alright without him.
Batman sees Gotham’s cloud of smog come into view. The bay follows soon after, and the buildings next.
“I’m coming in now.”
“Very good sir.” Alfred answers, nodding in his peripheral before the call clicks off.
When the Batplane arrives to the cave, Alfred is nowhere to be seen. The other’s suits are missing as well, meaning they are already out for the night.
Batman doesn’t pause more than to look around, already heading to the Batcomputer with determined steps.
He enters his access codes, running through his security checks unconsciously, mind spinning on theories and clues.
He picks apart his and Talia’s interaction again and again, trying to pull everything he can from it and put it into his report file. Maybe if he can just read over it again, remember something else, maybe it will be enough to protect Danyal, maybe it will be enough to stop Ra’s, maybe it will be enough understand why Talia did this to h-
A gentle hand slides over his just as his finger goes to slam the enter button of the keyboard.
He looks over his shoulder, already recognizing the feeling of stitching against his suit.
Cass looks at him meaningfully. Her gentle hand shifts into a lean against his arm, the pressure a comfort. She stares up at the Batcomputer and reads through his writing piece by piece.
Bruce waits for her. He knows she struggles with so many words. Knows that she gained more from watching him type it than she will from reading an exact account but the details will be helpful anyways.
She nods to him, fingers tapping lightly against his arm as she thinks it over, scanning and rescanning the document.
Cass has been developing fidgets recently, small twitches of movement that don’t serve a purpose than to let her move.
Bruce wants to smile every time. He’s pretty sure they’re on purpose, but still.. it’s freedom for her.
She nudges him, reaching for a button across the keys. It flicks to a camera screen a second later.
The one in Danyal’s room.
Bruce feels a twinge of guilt at the disappointment Cass aims at him before they both refocus on the image.
The empty image.
Danyal is not in the room, and Bruce feels his eyebrows scrunch as he goes to pull up the other camera feeds to locate him, make sure he hasn’t been taken-
“Downstairs.” Cass says.
Batman gets a half turn around, checking the cave for a foreign presence, before Cass stops him again.
She points to the screen, drawing his attention to a bottom square.
Danyal stands in the hallway of the manor, staring at the portraits on the walls.
He feels a light tap on his shoulder in parting before Cass’s presence at his side disappears silently.
He stares up at the figure of his son standing in the hallway, mind still whirring about possibilities and clues and lies and secrets.
Danyal continues to stand in front of the portrait for another minute, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.
He rips his eyes away from the portrait, turning down the hallway and ducking into the kitchen.
It’s empty when he gets there. Then again, the whole mansion had seemed empty. Aside from the ever constant, ever familiar feeling of eyes weighing down on him.
Danyal considers making himself food.
He considers jumping out of the window and seeing how far he could get.
He wonders if their cabinets have something he’d know and could do himself or if he’d be hopelessly lost.
He wonders how long it will take for the Demon’s Head to find him. Wonders what he’ll do when he does. Wonders if his-
He stops himself short.
“May I offer you some tea and snacks, young sir?”
Danyal turns slightly to face the old butler-Alfred- who’d entered behind him and nods.
Can he even say no?
Alfred gestures to a chair set up by the built in breakfast nook.
He sits. Even as the domesticity of it all throttles his heart in his chest. The way they must eat together every morning, appear together in every photo, smiling. A family portrait. Batman’s family. Batman got to keep his. But Danny’s is tra-
Danyal breathes purposefully, staring down at his hands, clenching them tighter.
Suddenly a hand reaches across his vision, pressing a button on an ancient looking miniature TV sitting just tucked into the kitchen corner.
It flickers to life on some random news channel, low mindless chatter softening the air.
Danyal feels his shoulders lower slightly, just barely, as the silences retreats. He glances up, expecting to find Alfred there staring at him, questioning him, why he’s acting like this, why he-
Alfred’s back is to him. The man busy at the stove with the tea kettle.
“I hope you like lemon ginger tea,” the man says, getting a small jar from a cupboard, “It’s been quite a bit since I’ve had the opportunity to make some.”
Danyal doesn’t quite trust it, still watching the man warily. He doesn’t understand why they would welcome him into their house, Batman or no, he was a threat to them. He was nothing but a threat.
“How about something to eat?”
Danyal watches the man move over to the fridge.
Something moves in his peripheral and his eyes jump to the side.
Narrowed eyes comb over the fancy china case against the wall. But he can’t see anything odd. The glass is clear, refracted reflection shining back him over the china. A dark phone sitting on the ledge. Dark wood pressed against the wall. He doesn’t know what he saw.
Alfred sets a small plate down in front of him with a light clatter, immediately turning back as the tea kettle begins to screech.
The movement makes a small carrot tumble off, rolling across the counter to Danyal.
He stares at it.
He breathes in, out, in out, in out in out too fast. Too fast-
A finger rolls to a stop in front of him and he can only stare at it as strong arms grip and pull him back, keeping him restrained.
Granite counters blend until they are stone floors.
He can’t look away from it. Confusion bleeds in with denial and regret and bloodthirsty stubbornness.
“Look at me, boy.”
Danny’s head is jerked back by his hair, forcing his eyes up to his instructor.
The man glares down at him.
“I have taught warriors better than you by a thousand, and you dare to try to escape under my hand?”
Danny tries to grin, barely managing a crude sneer, coppery blood in his teeth, “You should have kept a better eye on me, you fucking nutcase.”
His eyelid flicks closed automatically as cold gunmetal rests against it.
“Say that again.”
Danny swallows his regret, in for a penny in for a pound. He juts his chin up, forcing the man to follow the movement with his gun.
“What, were you dropped as a bab-” His open eye strains to see his instructor’s thumb press down the hammer of the gun. A warning.
He can feel his hands shake under the assassins hold. His throat burns.
“You scared of a chil-?” He barely has time to register the hand moving before the butt of the gun slams into his nose with a sickening crack.
Pain floods his face. He gets half a shout out before his chin is grabbed by unforgiving hands.
He stares into the man’s cold eyes.
Danny says nothing. Too focused on trying to breathe when his nose is filling with blood and his mouth is clamped nearly shut.
“Better.”
He resists the urge to spit in the man’s face as he steps back, straightening and waving a hand to the assassins. Even without their hands on him he can feel their presence looming behind him.
Danny drops his head, curling in on himself as much as he can, trying to ignore the feeling of blood as it slides down his face.
His eyes are left to stagnate on the finger thrown to the ground in front of him.
Pale skin stands stark against dark floors, contrasted by blood and dirt marring it. He can see the calluses and small scars.
He doesn’t understand.
He might.
He doesn’t want to.
“You are not the only one I can punish to get my point across, boy.”
He looks closer at the finger. At the nicks of careless knives and tools, of a hand that had cradled- no- please no-
“The oaf was very insistent it be him.”
Danny snaps his head up, fear striking through his chest, “No! Please-“ he catches himself, “Please don’t hurt them! They don’t- Hurt me, just me! They don’t deserve it, they didn’t do anything-!”
Sharp eyes stab into him. Fury behind them.
“Hurt me, Master Shrike, just me. Please.”
There’s a pause as the man continues to stare down at him before he lifts one lip in a sneer, “Do you think you command me, child?”
Danny freezes, “I don’t- I- No, Master. I don’t.”
“Then why,” Shrike near growls, “Do you beg me? Why do you plead like you have a right to ask for anything?”
“I don’t-” 'I don’t understand,' he starts to say but he’s cut off by Shrike’s boot hitting his face. He’s learned by now when not to dodge. He can’t give them another reason to hurt his family.
A second kick lands.
“You will be quiet!”
Danny waits for a beat, then slowly pulls himself up from the floor, not lifting his eyes.
He can still see his father’s finger on the floor.
“You do not command me. You are a tool! A weapon in the Demon’s hand! I choose to act, to punish or break you! You do not act, do not speak until you are to be used!”
Danyal stays silent.
He wants to scream, to fight back, they train him and they train him but he can’t fight back because if he does- his eyes flick to the bloodied finger.
He can let them. For his family, he can let them call him a weapon, can let them say he has no will. He can do this one thing.
He’s not giving up, he tells himself. But for his family’s safety, he can let them think he is. Just this once.
Danny stops, eyes shutting for just a second as he bends into a kneel, holding his hands up in front of him.
There’s a pause, cruel satisfaction radiating off the man in front of him.
Danyal licks his lips, steeling himself, “I am ready for my lesson,” Danny forces the words out, “Master Shrike.”
He doesn’t bother to look up and see the man’s sneer.
“Good.”
He sees the kick coming.
He still doesn’t move.
He stays still.
The world moves around him. Voices. Muttering. The sound of dishes, water being poured.
There’s a carrot.. orange and bright in front of him.
His heart is beating too fast. His eyes sting.
Calm down. Control it. Control it. Stop, stop-
A tea cup clatters in front of him.
“Sir Danyal, are you quite alright?” He hears someone ask. Alfred. It’s Alfred. Batman’s butler. He’s not-
He tries to speak, ‘I’m fine’ he tries to say. But his throat constricts. He simply nods, staring down at the carrot.
A freaking carrot.
It’s ridiculous.
He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s. Fine.
Danyal takes a deep breath. He breathes out. Silently.
He does it again.
He holds it until his heart slows down, stops stuttering from beat to beat.
He breathes out.
He reaches for the tea, ignoring the eyes on him-always watching him- ignoring the way his hands shake.
He drinks the tea. Let’s it burn his throat and distract him.
He breathes.
Alfred does not turn to look at him. Staying busy at the sink with dishes that already look clean.
He is thankful.
He breathes.
Low murmurs fill impenetrable silence. Danyal drags his eyes over to the small TV.
His breath stops.
A banner of words crawls across the bottom of the screen.
‘DalvCo factories shutting down after mass destruction.’
He tries to tear his eyes away.
‘Four buildings exploded just after midnight on Saturday in downtown Chicago, Elmerton, and Red Lake. 12 workers dead. Police have not caught the perpetrators.’
And they won’t.
Danyal can recognize a message.
He knows what it means. Who is sending it.
He tries not to let it show how his mind begins spinning. Churning out plans and strategies- If an attempt had cost his father a finger, what would they do to them now, because of Danyal?- he had to fix this.
He looks down to his shaking hands. He stops them. And the tea in his cup stills.
He stops. Pauses. He eyes Alfred still at the sink without looking up.
He places it just on the edge of the counter. Then turns away and lets go.
The cup falls.
It shatters against the floor. Danyal jumps up from his seat at the same time Alfred turns around.
“What’s happened?” He says, already hustling over with a towel. “Are you hurt?”
Danyal steps away and around him, towards the door.
He almost bumps into the display case until the reflection of light off the phone catches his eye. A small ballet sticker sits on the back of the case.
His hand moves before he can think and slips it into his pocket. He looks at Alfred.
“It’s no trouble, Young Danyal,” Alfred says as he crouches over where Danyal had been sitting, “I’ll clean this up and get you more. You can help me prepare for breakfast-“
Danyal considers knocking him out, so he can’t stop him, or alert anyone, but a body is more suspicious. Instead he paints his face with fear and steps out of the room as quick as he can.
He turns down the hallway, trying to remember where he’d walked from the cave.
Mere hours ago.
He goes the opposite direction, following a halls as far to the outer edges of the mansion as he can, typing in Vlad’s number with nervous hands as he goes.
He makes a final turn before he opens a window, glances backwards, and jumps out.
He lands in a roll, already running. His finger presses call and he listens to the phone ringing as he runs.
Once. Twice. He swipes branches out of his way. Three times. Four. Five. Six.
‘We’re sorry the number-‘
Danyal hangs up and presses again.
He doesn’t stop running.
He just has to protect them. He has to warn Vlad. Warn whoever he can. Tell someone.
It rings again. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six- ‘We’re sorr-‘
Danyal presses it again and runs faster.
If he can get caught by the League maybe Ra’s will overlook it. Maybe he can still protect them. He can fix this. Please just let him fix this.
‘We’re s-‘
He tries again.
And Danyal continues rushing through the woods, wishing his feet would carry him faster, further, higher-
The sound of his steps pounds in his ears. The phantom feeling of eyes on his back.
He slams his finger down on Vlad’s number again, letting the dial tone drown his heartbeat out.
Once. Twice. Three times, Frick! Vlad pick up! Four- the speakerphone clicks.
“Vlad!”
There’s barely a pause, “DANNY!?”
Danny nearly trips, his heart stuttering dangerously, hopefully.
“Dani?…” He says, then jolts to his senses and continues running, a glance thrown behind him, “Dani, how do you have Vlad’s phone, are you okay? Have you been to Amity?”
“Danny, where the hell are you!? I’ve been looking all over for-“
“Dani, you have to listen okay, there’s dangerous people after me- after us-“ Danyal jumps another log, scaling a small stone wall, “You can’t fight them, you have to run, they’ve got my family, Tuck, Sam-“
“Danny wait no listen to me-!”
“You can’t fight them! You can’t, okay!?” Danny scans his eyes back and forth frantically as he runs, mind spinning, calculating how he’s going to get out, away, controlling his heart rate as much as he can, “You have to promise me! Just find Vlad, get out of Amity. Warn him- I couldn’t - my parents- you have to-“
“Danny, listen to me!” Dani yells, stopping him in his tracks.
“Your parents are out, Danny,” She says, voice rushed, but his ears barely hear it. “They escaped, they called us weeks ago to start looking for you- Danny, they’re out.”
She goes quiet. Waiting for Danny.
His parents were-
Danny draws in a deep breath, standing stock still in the middle of the trees, stolen phone still pressed to his ear.
He couldn’t believe it.. they were-
Something clangs against a tree behind him and Danyal whips around ready to-
His head blossoms with pain.
Everything goes dark.
This is included in my one-shot collection(for now) on Ao3, under same name. The collection is Things that Could Exist by Snaileer.
Tags:
@thecrystallabyrinth @isnt-that-grape @riverdancingwerewolves @mimblizzy @chaos-deimos-et-eris @miraculousandmore2 @mys-tia @jitteryjuttury @moonlight-opal @nerdypaintbrush @thedragonqueen1998 @luminanightfall @cowarddragon @cyrwrites @kamireadsmcu
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Reverse Robins AU where everyone is their canon ages but Bruce gets them backwards
And Sooner, thus smaller
Cass: David Cain makes the mistake of letting Bruce know of Cass. Bruce comes back to Gotham with an infant while David Cain resurfaces years later with a case of broken spine. Alfred is torn between pride in his son and exasperation at his newfound hobby of dressing like a furry. (Cass's first word is "bat")
Damian: Talia looks at Bruce (and his ruthlessness in child protection), likes what she sees, and decides he's her new baby daddy. She then spends the next few years in a push-pull seduction trip with Bruce (consensually, fuck you) while simultaneously building up her power base, weeding out her father's men, and plotting his downfall. However, when she becomes pregnant she vanishes for several months only for a baby to appear in Bruce's bed; swaddled in a beautiful blanket and tucked next to the wickedly sharp knife she murdered her father with. Cass is eight years old.
Tim: Bruce doesn't adopt Dick, he doesn't become Robin, thus Tim never connects crazy acrobatics between circus child and traffic light. He's still a baby stalker with an interest in Gotham's nightlife, but here batman works alone. He eventually figures it out anyway, but not before getting involved in something he really shouldn't have which leads to Bruce looking into the Drakes much sooner. By the time they fly back from wherever the hell they've been three months later, Tim's already living with the Wayne's and Bruce has legal blackmail a mile wide. Nine year old Cass has a new little brother big enough to dance with, One Year Old Damian is decidedly unimpressed as toddlers can be, and Six Year Old Tim is starry-eyed at living with the actual batman.
Jason: is eight years old when one of Batman's rouges explodes the building he lived in with his mother and Willis. (Something that wouldn't have happened if he had another pair of hands to help and distract with a quip and a laugh) Bruce Wayne finds him stealing his converter while visiting the memorial he set up in Park Row for his parents. (Jason doesn't know what this rich idiot with more money than sense wants with him; probably as a "playmate" toy for his three spoiled brats no doubt, but at least he'll be off the streets.) One kidnapping later and Jason is of the firm belief that he's still a rich idiot with more money than sense, because all his sense was beaten out of him in that fursuit. Jason turns nine with a seven year old stalker, a two year old demon, and a ten year old shadow as siblings and he's never been happier.
Dick: Oof. The scales of fate aren't fucked with lightly. His future siblings may have happier lives, but only because he suffered instead. Here's the deal: As in canon, the Graysons came to Gotham and died when Dick was nine. However, Bruce never went. Cass was sick, so Bruce never saw the Graysons fall. The Court of Owls did. And the rest, they say, is history. (Until the Kidnapping of Jason Todd, "Street trash" sullying the Wayne name, cracks the Court's disguise and Batman finds an immortal sixteen year old Assassin in the depths of Gotham's oldest cult.
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DP x DC prompt [3]
during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!
But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.
Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.
But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.
Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.
he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.
now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.
far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.
“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking”
“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”
there is a pause … he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.
“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.
“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”
“oh you simply must come visit!”
well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?
things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.
their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.
but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.
There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost.
they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?
Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.
Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t.
He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.
so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.
It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.
it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere
Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy.
And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.
Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?
He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.
he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.
Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.
If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions.
Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.
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DP x DC prompt [4]
It is known in the Justice league that Phantom’s mentor in the Infinite Realms is a very powerful time deity.
What that means for them is that sometimes that mentor sends Phantom on time related missions.
More often than not these turn out to be simple fetch quests, but sometimes they can get a little more complicated.
And to mostly Batman’s frustration, they don’t really know that’s the case until after the fact.
The other thing is that Phantom knows the Flashes quite well, and not always in a positive way. but that’s not the point right now.
Right now the problem is that Phantom apparently said something Green Lantern was about to say before he said it. Their hearts drop as his moves look rather rehearsed, questions are answered before they get properly asked, he knows who comes into the room and when, and who is going to go where and overall he just looks… tired.
It’s then that most of them have figured out they are about to start a day Phantom has been redoing far too many times.
—
Danny also walked up to Superman and slapped his sandwich out of his hand and said “don’t eat that” and Superman is thinking, “what did that sandwich do to me?” but this was actually not time related. Danny just wanted to mess with the guy.
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Jail Buddies
Once a month, Jason makes an effort to meet Dick on purpose. Sometimes even more. After all, he was a good little brother checking in with his brother. Though he had a rather uncontroversial way of doing so. One that involved getting led into a jail cell of your local police department and loudly demanding to speak to Officer Grayson.
Okay, maybe it wasn't like that it was an effort to check on his brother and just one of his many listed dumb moments of recklessness he got caught for. And he was maybe using his brother to get out without having to call Cass, Steph, Duke, Tim, Damian, Alfred or Bruce, in that order depending who was willing to bail him out every time Dick had his 'Little Wing you won't learn if I keep bailing you out.'-Phases again. Or if Dick was being petty because of a recent prank war.
Either way, while Jason was waiting for Dick to make his entrance in his cell he noticed the teen boy sharing the cell with him staring at him wide eyed. He arched an eyebrow, and decided on a whim to make friendly conversation.
"So what got you here kid?"
The teen blinked as if just realizing Jason had addressed him before grinning a bit feral, his blue eyes having an unnatural glow. "Vandalism."
Jason's eyebrow rose again, but the teen continued.
"Trashed mu place and gave my guardian's car a pretty paint job and some other stuff."
"You vandalized your own place? And got arrested."
"Fruitloop decided an overnight stay was a better punishment then leaving me unattended."
The teen shrugged and Jason couldn't help but feel like he just had heard a red flag. He opened his mouth to question the kid more but than his brother finally made his entrance.
"Little Wing! What did you do this time!?" Jason could see that Dick was out to start a rant but changed tunes when he noticed the teen.
"Danny or Dan? You are here again? When did they bring you in? Trouble at home?" Dick asked, and Jason clearly saw the telltale signs of information fishing bat style.
"Danny and the usual." Danny, as Jason now learned the kid's name was, shrugged nonchalantly like this wasn't the first time he and Dick had had that exchange.
"Seriously buddy? I had a rebellious phase as teen too but to regularly trash your home to the point that someone calls the police or vandalize your guardian's cars, buildings, advertisements or anything that has to do with him is not a solution kid." Jason arched an eyebrow at Dicks tone, feeling slightly reminded of whenever Dick lectured one of them.
"Oh I know. But it's a nice stress reliever, plus you guys are nice here. I get pizza as dinner whenever I stay the night." The kid grinned and Jason couldn't help the snort that earned him a little glare from Dick.
Instead of arguing further his brother let out a suffering sigh and let Jason out of the cell, waving him towards the exit and following him shortly after giving the kid one more look that looked like a mix between stern and pleading to stop being a rebellious teen.
Once out of earshot, Jason then chose to ask. "So what's the kid's deal?"
"Nothing, just a rebellious teen reminds me of Damian when he first appeared. He has a twin and a little sister as far as I know, both of them also known here. Their guardian is an upstanding man, though." Jason heard the hidden but.
"Did someone look into it?" He hummed more as a cover.
"Higher ups don't know, but i am running an investigation." Translation Bruce is unaware, but Dick was using Bat resources for looking into the kid's residence.
"Nice kid, didn't think he was a regular." He only commented.
"Nice and polite, you wouldn't think he did some of the things he was brought in for. Distrustful though, despite his friendly nature."
Jason nodded as Dick went through the papers to bail him out, a thought popping up in his head. Clearly, something was up with the kid that had his brother worried, and it looked like he was stuck on just doing his investigation. So, being the thoughtful little brother he was, Jason decided to help his brother.
In his uncontroversial ways, of course.
"Yo Danny, also here?" Jason grinned as he was led into the same cell the teen was in a week later.
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After Kon came back from being slightly dead, he didn't actually have a place to stay.
Until he did.
He had fallen asleep in a park in some town in Illinois, dressed in his civvies, and was woken up by a lady and a man wearing hazmat suits.
At first he'd thought he was gonna be, like, experimented on and stuff, but they were actually really chill and practically dragged him along into their house.
They gave him a room, told him what time dinner was, and told him to stay as long as he needed to.
He met the couple's kids, Danny and Jazz, and kind of...got unofficially adopted. But it's cool! He's totally Big Brother material, and helping to wrangle a six and eight year old is something a Super can definitely do!
Years and years down the line, he gets a phonecall from a frantic fourteen year old Danny, saying just one phrase.
"Kon I think I fucked up. I think I'm dead."
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After Kon came back from being slightly dead, he didn't actually have a place to stay.
Until he did.
He had fallen asleep in a park in some town in Illinois, dressed in his civvies, and was woken up by a lady and a man wearing hazmat suits.
At first he'd thought he was gonna be, like, experimented on and stuff, but they were actually really chill and practically dragged him along into their house.
They gave him a room, told him what time dinner was, and told him to stay as long as he needed to.
He met the couple's kids, Danny and Jazz, and kind of...got unofficially adopted. But it's cool! He's totally Big Brother material, and helping to wrangle a six and eight year old is something a Super can definitely do!
Years and years down the line, he gets a phonecall from a frantic fourteen year old Danny, saying just one phrase.
"Kon I think I fucked up. I think I'm dead."
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After Kon came back from being slightly dead, he didn't actually have a place to stay.
Until he did.
He had fallen asleep in a park in some town in Illinois, dressed in his civvies, and was woken up by a lady and a man wearing hazmat suits.
At first he'd thought he was gonna be, like, experimented on and stuff, but they were actually really chill and practically dragged him along into their house.
They gave him a room, told him what time dinner was, and told him to stay as long as he needed to.
He met the couple's kids, Danny and Jazz, and kind of...got unofficially adopted. But it's cool! He's totally Big Brother material, and helping to wrangle a six and eight year old is something a Super can definitely do!
Years and years down the line, he gets a phonecall from a frantic fourteen year old Danny, saying just one phrase.
"Kon I think I fucked up. I think I'm dead."
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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached - Part 13
First | Masterlist
Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Fandom: DP x DC Summary:
Danny is just trying to build a portal home, becoming a thief was just an unfortunate side effect of that goal. Now if only this vigilante family would just leave him alone. Especially Red Hood - the semi retired crime lord whose ghost-like presence keeps drawing Danny to him.
Warning! This chapter is pretty rough (I think), please check the tags for triggers before reading if you have worries.
Part 13:
The plan had gone off without a hitch. The Ghost had been noticeably distracted ever since Tim had asked Jason to sit their attempts to capture him out. He’d been very grateful though that it hadn’t taken long for the Ghost to appear again in Gotham’s industrial area. Jason only had so much patience.
Thanks to Babs’ newly upgraded cameras they’d had warning and time for everyone to get together.
Herding the Ghost to their trap had been a cinch with him only getting away from them a few times.
The trap was set in a dead-end alley near the power plant which had power lines running through the ground underneath. They were insulated so he wouldn’t sense them. They would only be a problem if he tried to phase through them.
The Ghost froze in place as the trap came to life with electricity every wall covered with the net. It wasn’t just electrified wire it was meant to create arcs of electricity. It needed to be visible, it needed to stop their quarry in place. Tim didn’t actually want to electrocute the guy if he could help it.
Dick jumped down to land beside Tim and Damian, his escrima sticks ready.
The Ghost swung around, taking everything in. Then he started to sink through the ground. It was the moment Tim had been waiting for. Everything hinged on this one theory being true; that he wasn’t just afraid of electricity, but that it would stop him from phasing through. He jumped back up with a startled yelp.
As he turned to face them mouth a thin pressed line, Tim couldn’t help the grin of a well-executed plan.
“Gotcha.”
Finally they could get to the bottom of this! But no! Tim’s instinct warned him before his brain even registered what was happening. Something about the Ghost’s posture had changed; he was looking up, tensing his body for something.
No!
Tim fumbled for the button, his last ditch attempt even as Dick and Damian sprung forward recognizing the look of someone about to fly. He’d tossed the EMP device earlier in the night and it had attached to the Ghost’s back. He pushed the button now.
But the Ghost was already flying having taken off like a rocket. There was a half second delay and Tim realized with horror that even if the electromagnetic pulse did anything the Ghost was in the air.
If it did anything he would fall.
Oo o oO
There was a pulse like a wave of static and then Danny was dropping.
Desperately confused he reached for his powers. Flight was as easy as breathing. Gravity was a mere suggestion. Or it should be! Nothing was happening and the roof below was coming rapidly up to meet him!
In reality it only lasted two seconds, but it felt like a terrifying eternity. His arms and legs moved uselessly; without his powers he had no control.
At the last moment he pushed his arms out. His right hand landed first, there was a sharp pain in his wrist before he curled up and rolled over his shoulder, landing on his back. Air punched out of his chest in a wheeze.
His eyes were wide staring sightlessly up at the clouds as he tried to suck air into his stunned body. He needed to get away before they found him. His core was an agitated scream in his chest. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t sink through the roof.
He rolled up onto his knees with a pained groan, holding his right wrist protectively against his chest. Terror gripped his throat in a vice grip as he pressed his left hand flat on the concrete. He had to focus. Breathe, if he could just take a moment without panicking, he was certain he’d make his powers work. His core felt normal in his chest, they hadn’t suppressed him, not like Vlad did that one time. Frustrated tears pricked his eyes, he clenched his eyes shut, forced himself to take a deep slow breath. If he just found his calm, if he just focused…
There was not even the suggestion of any give. The roof was solid.
Danny was solid.
There was a clatter and the high pitched whine of several grappling hooks reeling in. Danny’s head snapped up at the sound, eyes wide. He scrambled clumsily to his feet - his body felt so heavy, and his aching legs protested having to lift him.
They gathered in a half circle around him on their near silent feet - the bats, towering shadows to his blurred eyes. Blood rushed in his ears.
Danny took a step back, barred his teeth in a snarl.
“Don’t come closer,” he warned, the implied threat was a lie. He couldn’t do anything. He was powerless, weak as a kitten. It would be no trouble for them to capture him. But worse if they could neutralize his powers, they could hold him.
Danny took another step back.
His breath came in short, punched out huffs. Cold sweat made his hair and clothes sticky. Shadows lined in harsh white light leaned over him. Agony- No! Danny shook his head, he was not there. He stepped back, the back of his knees hit a low railing.
He would never go back.
He turned and jumped.
Oo o oO
Tim didn’t hear any sounds but the blood rushing in his ears. He hadn’t expected the sheer panic the Ghost would have. None of them had. Not even the goggles had been able to obscure how terrified he was. His voice, the first time they’d ever heard him speak, had been thin and shaky, a hollow warning to not come closer. What was he so afraid of? They hadn’t come closer and yet-
Tim felt ill. What did he think they’d do to him, that he’d rather jump off the roof?!
Jason had been right. He needed help. And now-
The others stood at the edge of the roof. Nobody was moving. Did that mean it was too late? There was nothing to be done?
Numbly, Tim walked up to the edge and looked down. For a moment he saw nothing, but then he caught movement further away, a flash of red- relief hit Tim in a whooshed out breath that left him weak-kneed. Jason had caught him. Tim turned around and sunk down to sit back against the railing.
He hadn’t even known Jason was out here. He must have turned off his tracker. Fuck, he was so relieved Jason had been there.
He buried his head in his shaking hands. This was on him, his plan.
His earlier exhilarated satisfaction of a well-executed plan was crumbled and soured, heavy in the pit of his stomach like lead. His gut turned ominously. If he threw up, it would be deserved, he thought despondently.
Oo o oO
Jason went on the Bats’ comm channel only to bark at them not to follow him. With Ghost in his arms shaking and breathing too fast and too superficial, covered in the cold sweat of terror, Jason didn’t want to know what he would do if they did follow him.
He ran across the rooftops and used the grapple when necessary. The safehouse wasn’t too far away.
There was utter silence from that sense where Jason usually heard Ghost’s call to him. It should be a relief not to hear his yearning and be unable to do anything about it, but it just felt wrong. Like something was missing.
Jason held him closer.
“It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.” The words were useless, he knew that. Ghost had to be running from him for a reason even as he called for him - and Jason could understand why he’d been running from him, Jason was wrong inside, but Ghost was his only hope, and he couldn’t not chase. Right now the words were all he had, and he couldn’t let the others take him. They didn’t understand that he needed help.
Jason’s anger over what had happened tonight was only eclipsed by his worry. Ghost might be afraid of Jason too, but not like this, not silenced by terror.
Jason repeated his useless assurances as he ran. Ghost was much too light in his arms, too thin beneath the worn clothing. Irrational fear that he would turn to dust in his arms, seized him.
“You’re gonna be okay.” He said as much to reassure himself as Ghost.
“Please,” Ghost rasped voice unused.
Jason froze, stopping in place, hoping he’d say more. He didn’t. He pushed uselessly at Jason’s chest, still trying to escape. Jason’s heart broke. Frustrated tears pricked at his eyes.
“Please let me help you,” he pleaded.
Jason didn’t know if his words had gotten through to him or it was just exhaustion, but he stopped struggling. Cynically, Jason leaned towards exhaustion. At this point panic and fear had to be the only thing keeping him conscious at all.
They arrived at the safehouse finally.
It was one the others didn’t know about. Jason had a few of those as insurance. It was seemingly just a lived-in apartment, open floor plan living room and kitchen in one with artfully placed clutter, a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom. There were weapons and supplies hidden in the spaces between the real walls and the fake walls that appeared to be the apartment’s boundaries, but you’d only realize that if you checked another of the similar units in the building and noticed this one was smaller.
Jason landed them on the sill, and worked the window open. He didn’t bother with traps, because he didn’t use it often. Using it would have been a sure way to tip off the bats of its existence. No, this and other’s like it was for emergencies, and sometimes when he needed to stash a victim or witness somewhere safe temporarily. And even if someone should try to burgle the place, Jason had some decoy money there, a large flatscreen TV and some other easily taken electronics. It was unlikely they’d find the real supplies when there were easier money.
He maneuvered them both inside, set Ghost on the couch and closed the window and the drapes. He pulled off his helmet and set it carelessly on the coffee table - it rolled off to land on the floor. Ghost had already seen his face and hopefully, he’d respond better to a human than a mask.
Moving slowly, trying to make himself less threatening he kneeled down on the floor in front of where Ghost had curled up in the corner of the couch.
“Hey,” Jason said trying to sound calm, when inside he was everything but. He held out his hands in peace. “I’m not doing anything, I just want to talk.”
The emotionless goggles turned towards him. Jason got nothing from him, he only had the defensive body language to read him by.
“Please say something.”
Finally something happened, Ghost’s breath hitched and he reached up to push the goggles away. His eyes were red rimmed and blurry, and they closed as he rubbed at them. Still hiding his eyes he whispered so low Jason almost didn’t hear him, “-just want to go home.”
Jason lowered his hands and slumped forward. Letting him go would be the right thing to do, Jason could argue all the way till Sunday that it wasn’t safe for him right now, with his powers out of order, but that wasn’t why Jason couldn’t promise to let him go. He desperately needed answers. How did he make the pit silent? Was it just him or was there hope for Jason?
“I have questions,” he admitted.
Ghost slowly removed his hands. His eyes were blue and wary as he looked down at Jason. Jason held his eyes and he didn’t know what he saw in Jason as the moment stretched between them, like an elastic pulled to the point just before snapping.
Ghost looked away with a pained expression, and then, unfurling slowly, Jason felt that familiar yearning. Jason shook his head helplessly. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to help but didn’t know what to do.
“What do you need?” Jason asked.
Ghost looked back up momentarily and then away with a grimace. Shrinking in on himself.
“Hey,” Jason said, frustration made him snappy, “I’m just trying to understand! It’s like you’re calling me, but I don’t know how to answer.”
That got Ghost’s attention, and his head snapped up holding his gaze intently.
“You can feel it?” He asked, and there’s this underlying desperate hope, shoved down by a voice desperately trying to hold steady.
“I can, and I just-“ He didn’t know what else to say, instead he reached out a hand to cup Ghost’s cheek. His eyes were wide and liquid and so blue before he clenched them shut and leaned into Jason’s touch with a small whimper. Jason didn’t dare breathe, as that small hum started, the one that was like a purr. Jason’s head was silent now, the underlying anger and frustration gone. In this moment he was just Jason.
He didn’t even realize he was crying until tears spilled over his cheeks. He ducked his head. It had been some very long weeks.
“How are you doing this?” He whispered, desperate to know.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ghost answered hesitantly.
Jason looked up to meet his tired eyes, the dark bags underneath his eyes were so dark and stark in his thin face he looked bruised. Jason looked away. Shame curled in his gut for pushing him this far. For being helpless not to give chase. He would have pulled his hand back if Ghost hadn’t still been leaning into his touch.
Quietly, he admitted, “I have this rage inside of me, you quiet it.”
“Hmm,” Ghost hummed thoughtfully with his actual voice, as he mulled over Jason’s words. “I’m pretty useless right now without my powers, so I don’t know if it’s anything I can help with permanently.”
“Okay,” Jason said quietly. Trapped in this strange bubble of quiet, desperate to break it he asked, “Do you wanna talk about what happened on the rooftop?”
The purring came to a stuttering halt.
“That’s a no then,” Jason stated. Of course he didn’t want to talk about that, that should have gone without saying. Stupid. He sighed and stood up, drawing his hand back along with it.
“I’m just getting on the couch,” he assured when Ghost protested wordlessly. He sat down leaning heavily into the plush couch. After a moment he lifted his arm in invite. It took five long seconds before Ghost tucked himself underneath the arm. Jason squeezed him momentarily in a pitiful attempt at comfort, but it was all he could do.
It took a moment but the purr started up again. The feeling of contentment washed over him.
Jason didn’t know how long he sat there, letting Ghost’s purr soothe his frayed mind, but he sat there so long he started to feel the temptation to just close his eyes and sleep. That wasn’t helpful. Ghost himself had fallen asleep at some point, he discovered, as he shifted and found him blinking awake startled.
The purring stopped. Wary eyes watched him as he moved away.
“Easy,” Jason said lowly as if he actually was trying to soothe a feral cat, “I’m just gonna check to see what food options we have.”
He watched until Ghost leaned back into the couch. His eyes were mere slits watching Jason when he turned towards the kitchen.
Ghost needed to eat and making food was definitely more useful than falling asleep. He walked over to the cupboards, and couldn’t help but yawn as he did so. He opened the cupboards one by one, searching for something easy. A lot of the things here had technically expired and were mostly there for appearance sake. The dried herbs and spices, had probably lost most of their flavor, so actually cooking was out of the question, not to mention he didn’t have fresh ingredients here, but one of the canned soups would probably do fine.
He turned, tomato soup can in hand to ask if that was fine only to find the couch empty. Carefully he set the can down, so he wasn’t tempted to throw it. His hand clenched into a fist reflexively with no can to hold. He walked over to the living room side of the room, just to make sure he hadn’t just moved.
He wasn’t there.
He was gone.
Jason sighed and sat down heavily on the couch. Of course he was.
Nothing had been disturbed, not the drapes nor the windows. Everything was exactly as Jason had left it. His powers must have returned. Whatever Tim had done hadn’t been that long lasting, a couple of hours at most. He would have simply gone right through the wall.
Of course he had left as soon a he had a chance. Jason hadn’t given him reason to stay. He’d had his chance to talk and he’d wasted it just sitting and basking in his presence.
He leaned his forehead on his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.
He only had himself to blame.
-
So this happened... this is better/worse? At least they got to hug?
Anyways, I think I may go back to shorter tumblr parts now that these two chapters are done (if you're curious this is chapter 7 and 8 in my doc and that's what they'll be on Ao3). The last chapter really couldn't be split and this chapter only had terrible places to split it. Better to end on sad Jason.
You can subscribe over on the masterlist
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More of trans allegory Jason and the goons VS the batfam:
Transmasc older goon, trying to connect: Hey out of curiosity boss, when did your egg crack?
Jason, thinking this is a bird pun about how he became Robin: Uh, 12 I guess...
****
Penguin henchman: Wow, you really are okay calling yourselves goons? Isn't that like a little demeaning?
Red Hood Goon: Inclusivity my guy -Henchperson is a mouthful, and that way, we don't have to assume.
Penguin Henchman: Oh my god that's so thoughtful!
*they resume shooting at eachother.*
*****
Batman You're not okay Hood, you need a professional. Please, we can help you!
Jason: There's nothing wrong with me, I won't let you throw me into Arkham!
Goon of the week: Yeah Batfreak, the boss doesn't need help, there's nothing wrong with him! How would you like it if we tried to convert you out of being a furry, huh?!!
Batman: reconsiders life choices.
****
Angry goon: *beats the shit out of Nightwing with a trans pride flag*
Dick, a bisexual cis metrosexual: I'm not sure what is happening but this feels offensive.
****
Batman: Please, I know there's a lot of bad blood, but you're still my child...
Jason: Really? Because I clearly remember you saying you weren't my father and didn't have to deal with my "teenage angst"!
The Goons: You said what?!
Oracle : You said what?!
Dick, standing up and picking up the pride flag: You said what.
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I love the cave boy danny series to much! I would love to see Contantine realising he was threatening Danny with... himself.
Constantine: Don't make me use this!
Danny: ......my freshmen school photo?????
Constantine: Nice try, but we both know this is the King's Repellent. Along with the Protector Ward you won't be able to do anything
Danny crying: You use my face to drive ghosts away!? Now that just mean!
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Danny, due to being illegal because he exists, along with many other things, does not like cops.
He makes a youtube channel that youtube can't take down, where he, as a ghost in full view of everyone, stalks and narrates cops like he's Steve Irwin.
~~~~~~
"Right, watch as the pig, in it's natural habitat, eats another donut. Like all other members of this particular swine family, they need to refuel constantly, to keep up energy to hunt minorities. They're unique in the animal kingdom, because they hunt for the pure thrill of it, as opposed to doing it for food. Watch now as it devours it's fourth donut in a row."
Dick was trying to ignore the glowing meta that was recording him eating donuts in his uniform.
His little brother was Tim. This was nothing. He could ignore it.
The meta kid's stomach grumbled, as he was going on about how the donut shop was a cop-sorry, pig's-natural environment.
Dick sighed.
"If you knock it off I'll buy you donuts for yourself."
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The Observants finally tell Danny that's he's a baby Ancient.
And he needs to decide what he's going to be the Ancient of.
Danny does not like this. Does not want this. Absolutely hates it.
He can't say the Ancient of the Living, because that'd apparently make him a God of Life, with the ability to command all things living. He'd never know if asking his friends to hang out with him would be of their own volition if he does that.
He can't say Ancient of Space, because that'd be way too powerful and he'd be scared shitless of fucking it up. What if he sneezes and moves the Milky Way five hundred thousand lightyears to the left?
But if he doesn't chose an aspect, then his core is just gonna choose one at random.
(Clockwork confided that it's very likely to choose space)
It's Sam who gives him an idea, as she's reading Odysseus. She's on the part with the cyclops, when Odysseus tells him that his name is "Nobody", so when he cried out in pain and said Nobody was attacking him, no one thought to do anything.
Somehow, this thought led to another though, and Danny finally figured out how to get out of the whole "Ancient" thing.
"Nothing."
"...Excuse us?"
"I'm the Ancient of Nothing."
Problem solved! Can't get OP powers and become a demigod if there's nothing to rule over!
Danny did not anticipate his "easy" solution leading to being interpreted as the Ancient of the Void, Guardian to the Eternal and Eldritch, Keeper of the Hungry Emptiness That Circles the Universe.
Sam won't take responsibility for his actions.
Life (and death) are so fucking unfair.
(He manages to coax the Hungry Emptiness into a much smaller and more manageable size. It took the shape of a Ferret with too many legs, and it likes eating deodorant.)
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Before Those Hands Pulled me From the Earth
DPxDC
Prompt this was based off of by @cyrwrites
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When there was an alert about a disturbance at Jason’s grave the whole family was on edge.
It came in late Thursday night or early depending on how you look at it. It was during the time Bruce would call in his children for one last round and try to get them all to bed. Bruce was on his way to the cemetery knowing Jason would get there first. He was the closest but also it was his grave. He wanted to know who thought it was a good idea to mess with it.
Jason did arrive first and when he got there he felt something off about it. There were no obvious disturbances and the dirt wasn’t kicked up and the flowers left by one of his family members were still there. Nothing looked wrong but Jason could feel it. Feel that something has changed.
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Danny is a weird name for an alien
Part 1 part 2
Read it on Ao3
Chapter 3
Danny was face down on his bed trying not to scream.
The people who wanted him (and isn’t that crazy? People, adults, actually wanted him) seemed so amazing and it was getting frustrating trying to pick. It’s been two days already going around talking to the people who submitted a file trying to get to know them better. They said he had no time limit but he can tell the Justice League was getting antsy for his answer.
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