You find yourself walking in careful, dedicated fashion to a place in town you’ve frequented on errand for before: but never in purpose like this.

There’s something shameful, something almost hesitant in the way that you make determined tread down this dusty road that kicks up refuse onto your boots, your clothes. Marking you as down in the dirt where you feel yourself no better in the ascension.

But still you walk to an oft-used corner of town, well-attended and belching smoke in thick issue from voluminous chimney. With it, as you draw in closer proximity, is the discordant clang of honed steel hammered in corrective rhythm.

And as the distance is made in shorter duration with each continuous stride, so too is the person who wields such tools in masterful motion.

You know him as well as everyone does in town; Roy. Roy the blacksmith, who crafts such fine furnishings that have populated the walls of the townsfolk, spooned food in countless meals to open mouths, cobbled furniture that has housed many a weary body.

Roy, the blacksmith, with mellow, unassuming demeanor. Who is patient with capricious customers and firm with those demanding unfair return of goods and services exchanged.

Who has few enemies but perhaps fewer friends that know him in the confidence of that low, untroubled diction:

Roy, the blacksmith. Whomst you search for his figure illuminated in the cesspool of the forge, made celestial body incandescent with the glow of roaring flame and evaporating smoke. Who wears little more than the trousers that hang low on the cut of those muscular hips, and the boots he walks about town in.

Who glistens with the sweat he has accumulated from the hours he toils making necessities for the town, from when the dawn crests over the horizon, until late in the hours.

Roy, who swings down the coil of prominent arm to levy the hammer into a flat piece of iron. So of proficiency is he that you can determine the tang of the blade will make a fine sword—once it is finished.

But as he directs the blow down onto the metal that yields to his ministration, sparks flare out in molten splatter. And they singe the ground where they leave scorched earth behind.

And Roy: who makes final percussive chord against the anvil he has made storied collection upon. And then, with masculine grunt muffled by the clenching grit of teeth, hefts the white-hot blade into the air—and douses it into sidelong bucket of water.

The hissing exhale of steam that gusts into the air, fills the room with such angry auditory outburst that it makes you hesitate in the doorway. The flames further stay your approach, scorching as you draw further into the fray.

But you have not gone unnoticed. His back is to the inferno, his front cloaked in shadow—yet those eyes in such blue dictation have alighted upon you.

He straightens, letting you see the sharp definition of those muscles, those arms, unfurl to full plateau. And Roy makes atmospheric transition from Roy the Blacksmith to Roy your fellow towns-person.

Which is, to say, the difference is marginal at best.

But when he says your name, there is something enunciated in the pronunciation of it, something rugged in the timbre. Something that makes a heat you desperately deny pool caramelized-honey-sweet in the juncture of your legs.

You remember the efficiency of words, and step further into the mutual blaze. “Good morning, Roy.”

“Good morning,” he returns back in coarse definition.

He watches you as his hand searches without looking for a rag in no better condition than his sullied body. He makes swipe against the terrain of his chest, leaving dearth of exertion on the skin: you struggle to move your gaze in more appropriate directions.

“What do you want me to make for you?” Roy asks before you have even supplied breathless continuation. Your hands make useless pirouette through the air as you dither about—he has taken the air out of your sails.

“Uh, I wanted to know if you would make something for my friend—”—You begin with halting demeanor.

How his eyes seem to grow more incendiary the longer they remain upon you, made stronger by degrees as he lopes a leg around the diameter of the anvil.

“Such as?” Roy is not impatient as he interrupts—he is of gruff encouragement, reaffirming your request will be heard. And perhaps this is what moves your body an instinctive step further, and another.

“Well,” you worry your fingers between each other in latticed intersection, “I had hoped that you would make them a cooking tool—a spoon rest.”

“A spoon rest?” He asks—again, it is not rude in bearings, but he is searching the archive of memory for a spoon rest. You progress with your claim.

“To hold a ladle when it is not being used,” you supply in protracted, halted manner; he continues to survey you with unmoving sway.

“She has been hired as a cook and I wanted to congratulate her,” you explain, taking another precarious step forward in plea yet made.

Roy makes a contemplative hum paired with another cursory dab behind his ears. The flat, toned anatomy of his stomach flexes and your own makes valiant swoop.

“How soon do you want it made?” Roy asks; something both heartens at acceptance of your request—and curdles in same intake of breath. You find your response only bolstered as you search for the unimpressive pouch you produce from the depths of your pocket.

And Roy waits in patience while you wallow in worry.

“That’s the thing,” you confess with the brevity of someone enunciating syllable to better expose the wound afresh, “I know you make fine quality. I want it made—”

At this, you allow your numb tread to lead you before him, to shuck in chiming melody what few gold coins you have to your name. That you have scarpered and scraped up for the purpose of this occasion. Though he makes no change in mien, one thing is clear to both of you.

It's not enough. Your eyes bear penitence, shame at having darkened his doorstep, wasted his time in this manner. So you seek to supply what you can with the slurry of words that jettison from your mouth.

“—And if it’s not enough, I understand. If there’s anything else I can do—”—Your eyes search the room for tasks left to swelter on the back-burner—“—Fetch water. Help to stoke the fire.”

It rings sour even as you articulate it, inferior substitute for compensation. Roy remains the unfettered silent, watching you in that unhurried way. You suppose he is formulating way to disappoint you most painlessly.

“If—if—”—You are less articulate the longer he does not speak—“—There is anything I can do—I only want to celebrate her.”

You finally permit yourself to look away from the dismal pile of coins to Roy. And to see that there is something in the cant of his eyes that is considering a thought not yet expressed.

You wait in suspense for only the briefest of silence. His voice sings through you as he holds up a hand: to fold your fingers closed over the pittance you offer him. His hand is warm and dry, rough with work earned over the years.

“Keep your money,” He informs you in low soothe, “And I will make you your gift.”

You feel like you cannot believe the truth divined before you. “I—I don't understand—”

“I will make it for you,” Roy gently interrupts, “If you give me a kiss.”

Here you draw still, the weight of the coins carrying gravity beyond what registers on the scale. Your heart takes spastic meter as it leaps the length of your throat, your eyes widening. The room scalds to threshold you did not think possible.

“I—”—You begin. Roy’s hand is a gentle squeeze over yours—he still has not moved the fan of those fingers.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, “But that will be my price.”

Your eyes sink to those full-bodied lips; terrain that you have openly thought of in whiling hours. Your tongue swipes across your own in involuntary swipe, and he savors the sight with careful observation. A gift in exchange for a gift—an offer you are certain, based off of gossip that darts through town square—that he has offered to none other.

A kiss. As long as you dictate it to be. You pocket the money in a moment dragging in glacial centimeter, already missing the way he kept your hand in secure grasp.

“Alright,” you resurface, looking up to him with resilience unbefitting such a task. Perhaps you imagine the smirk that curls that handsome mouth.

But you know you don’t imagine the search of a hand that marks territory on the apple of your cheek. That turns your face up to his to read the want that he bears like unspoken oath.

And the way he utters your name carries intention that you have not known. Not until now, when the corrective puzzle of retrospect suddenly slots into place.

But you have no time to consider this. Not as his mouth meets yours, lips moving to savor the shape of you to him.

His hands are careful, but they are insistent. One draws to the nape of your neck, the other searches for the swell of your hip, draws you close. And the heat of his lips move against yours, the wet lap of his tongue requesting entrance at the seam of unbidden words.

You cannot resist the moan against him as you open your mouth. Feeling the insistence of the muscle that seeks to taste you; that is desperate to feel the desire your own body works against him.

When your hands search to find purchase on the slick surface of his chest, warm with no give—a man’s body—Roy’s body—he makes needful groan.

Something melts: his teeth bump against yours in his fervor to keep you in this embrace, a jolt of pleasurable hurt that spreads honeyed through your body. That makes you pull him to you, makes you desperate to clasp more of him under your wanting fingers.

You don't realize the wall has met your back until he urges you against it, as his tongue makes further discovery that summons greedy noises from you. It is a parting that is made because you must breathe—though it seems as though Roy has no need for this.

Not when he is rewarded with the privilege of you in his arms, your mouth his to admire. You have to clutch to this man who holds you in his arms with a smoldering need he has only had to chance to voice now. S

houlders heave in paired tandem, mouths open, despairing of oxygen when all you want is to continue.

“May I—”—Your voice clotted, ragged—yet-satisfied—“—Can I kiss you more?”

He leans close, his body sheltered harbor for you to take refuge and delight in.

“Kiss me more and I’ll build you a ladder to the moon, honey.” His grasp coaxes you back to him. “Come here.”

And you don’t refuse the euphoria of his body, his lips, as he closes distance between you once more, with hunger you seek to match.

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You didn’t even recognize the fact that you were in nothing but Jason’s old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that had been lying on the dresser as you threw open your apartment door, only to come face to face with Tim.

The boy had been leaning against the wall across from your place, face paler than usual as he bit on his thumbnail, a nervous habit you had noticed he more often than not picked up whenever he was overly stressed.

On the way to the hospital in one of the many cars that were in the Wayne Manor garage, you vaguely remember Tim explaining that he hadn’t been with the others during the mission that had landed your boyfriend in the hospital. He had been on research duty in the Batcave that night and had taken it upon himself to come and get you as soon as the words ‘Jason in the hospital’ had so much as been uttered over the comms.

None of them had wanted you going out alone this late at night, let alone in the state of complete disarray they had guessed you would be in.

And they had guessed right. Your hair was no doubt sticking up every which way, you wore nothing but Jason’s old clothes, and if you looked down at your feet tapping nervously against the vehicle's floor, you were 90% sure you would find you had mismatched shoes on.

The others must’ve texted Tim to let them know what room his older brother was in, because when you got to the hospital the boy simply put a hand on your back and steered you towards the elevator as calmly as possible.

Even though you were with the Tim Drake at 3:30 in the morning in Gotham’s most busy hospital, no nurses or doctors spared the pair of you a glance.

You supposed you could thank Bruce’s hush money for that. A lot of hush money, you would bet because and entire wing on the eighth floor had been cleared to give the family privacy.

Not just that, but the man that was currently being treated was still legally dead in the eyes of everyone outside of his hospital floor, so you could make the bold assumption that Bruce wanted no questions asked whatsoever. Let alone tip-off’s to whatever paparazzi seemed to always be lurking around the family at the most inconvenient of times.

As soon as the elevator doors slid open with a soft ‘ding’ you threw yourself from them and bolted towards a nearby door that currently had familiar figures huddled around it, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices.

Dick and Bruce, ceased their speaking the moment your frantic footsteps fell upon their ears, and they turned to you with tight expressions. They both wore casual clothes, having smartly rid themselves of their vigilante suits- which you could only hope for Jason’s sake they had done for the man as well before bringing him here.

“What happened?” You all but panted out, gasping for breath as your head whipped back and forth between the two, “Where’s Jason? Is he okay?” Your voice was coming out pleading- complete and utterly scared- but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care in the slightest.

From the moment Jason’s elder brother's name had flashed across your phone screen, your heart had dropped in your chest and it still had yet to be picked back up. Fear clawed at every fiber of your being embedding itself into every thought you had and breath you took.

Dick caught you with ease as you practically stumbled to a stop in front of them, a gentle grip on your forearms being used to pull you closer into a hug.

Your heart pounded frantically against your ribcage, but you allowed your shaking form to burrow itself into the man’s chest for a moment. Wrapped in the familiar, and comforting embrace, your tremors finally ceased just the tiniest bit.

In the years since you had been in a relationship with Jason Todd, you had found yourself growing close with his family. When he had finally allowed them ‘the privilege’ - as he called it- to meet you. You oftentimes joined them for monthly family dinners, having to practically drag Jason there with you, and always had what you liked to call ‘an open window policy’ for any of his family members.

Whether it be they need some company during the day, or some hot coco after a long night of patrol, they were always welcomed in your shared apartment.

Much to Jason’s pretended dismay, of course.

When you finally peeled yourself from Grayson’s hold, you stared up at him with tears in your eyes, “What happened?” You asked again, but your voice shook even as you spoke the simple two words.

You watched as the man’s blue eyes shot behind you to where his father and brother stood, silently watching the exchange, and you can only assume Bruce gave a small nod as a go-ahead before Dick sighed and looked at you gently once more.

“There was… an explosion.” He explained softly, his hand finding your shoulder to rub comfortingly, “Jason had been getting some last minute civilians out of the way, and was standing too close to the blast.” You could tell that him talking about the accident his little brother had pained him, but he still took a deep breath and shouldered on for your sake, “He’s in surgery now, but he was knocked unconscious. Multiple broken bones from what we could tell. And what we couldn’t…” He swallowed thickly, “It was bad.”

He released a shaky breath as a lone tear streaked its way down your cheek.

You whipped around to face Bruce, who watched you with a soft expression that he often didn’t let show under his tough exterior, “But he’s gonna be okay, right?” You demanded, not caring how harsh or demanding you sounded at the moment, “You’re going to make sure he’s okay.” The second part wasn’t a question.

Bruce sighed gently, reaching up to tenderly wipe the tear off your face in a rare show of soft affection, “He’s going to be okay.” He promised in that deep, sure voice of his.

And in that moment, all four of you knew that he had no way of knowing for sure. That even he, the great Batman, could not say such things with complete certainty.

Another tear slipped down your face.

—

You couldn’t tell exactly how long had passed since you and Tim wound up at the hospital during the witching hours of the morning.

All you knew was that hours had to have gone by, and that was only determined by the fact that the sun had long since risen in the sky.

Jason had come back from surgery, and according to the singular doctor that came to speak with Bruce- again, must’ve been the hush money to have a limited, yet highly capable, staff taking care of his son- he would be alright. He was currently stable.

The man had been wheeled into what you could only assume to be the largest and nicest room in all of the hospital a while ago. And while he had yet to wake up, you had yet to leave his side from the moment you eyes locked onto his unconscious form.

Currently, you sat in a chair pulled all the way to the side of Jason’s bed, hunched over as you delicately held his hand, as though even squeezing it slightly would break it. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to lose this skin-to-skin contact. It was the only thing grounding you in the moment. The only thing keeping you sane by telling you that the man you loved was in fact there, and would make a full- albeit slow- recovery.

Up until a few moments ago, the room hadn’t been completely empty other than for you two, but Bruce, Dick, and Tim had stepped out to let the rest of the family know what was going on.

Still, even when Dick told you softly what they were doing, all you could manage was a nod. You hadn’t even looked his way, too absorbed in staring at every inch of Jason’s face.

You had long since memorized the faint scars that littered every inch of his skin, had come to love them through soft traces and late night kisses pressed against them. Now, however, more scrapes adorned his features, the skin under his eyes were sunken in, and bruises blossomed on unfairly pale skin.

The only time your gaze faltered was when it drifted to his chest, which had a stark white blanket pulled up to it, and rose and fell with his steady breathing. Every once and a while you had to make sure it was still moving rhythmically.

God, you would do anything to go back in time. To the night before, when you had given him a soft kiss and a lingering hug before he slipped out of the window for patrol that night.

You should’ve held on longer. You should’ve insisted that he stay and have a movie night with you, god knows it was long overdue.

But, no. You had simply smiled up at him, had told him to be careful, and let him be on his merry way.

And now? Now he was in a hospital bed that he was far too large for, yet looked unnecessarily small in.

If you had any tears left in you, you were sure that they would’ve escaped once more. But you didn’t, your glistening face full of dried tears said all it needed to.

The hospital room door opened with a slight creak, a quiet but firm footsteps shuffled over to where you were. It was only when you felt a presence directly at your side did you tear your eyes away from Jason’s face.

“Hi, Dami.” You croaked, voice coming out scratchy as though you hadn’t used it in hours. And maybe you hadn’t, how would you know?

The young boy gave you a nod, holding out a styrofoam hospital to-go cup that had steam rising from the top of it to you.

You took it without question, and when you glanced down at it, the first small smile in a long time broke its way onto your face. It was a hot chocolate with four marshmallows and some whipped cream. The same as you always made for Damian whenever he stopped by your apartment after a particularly grueling night of patrol.

“Thank you.” You told the boy sincerely, reaching out with your free hand that you had finally slipped from Jason, and grasped his, giving it a singular squeeze as you did so.

“You have not had any form of nourishment since you’ve been here.” The youngest Wayne’s usual clipped tone was present, but was softened slightly around the edges in ways that it normally wasn’t, “I believe father and Grayson have called Pennyworth for some food and have collected you some as well.”

A small shake of your head was all you could give, “I appreciate the hot coco, Dami, but I don’t think I could stomach anything to eat right now.”

Alarmed eyes shot to you, “But… you always eat.” The boy said slowly, as if assessing the armed robbery situation.

That almost made you laugh a little, but you were able to at least smirk softly, knowing that had Jason been awake, he would’ve reached over and attempted to strangle the boy for the implications. Of course, it wasn’t what Damian meant, but your boyfriend would have attempted to defend your honor nonetheless.

“I’m too worried about Jason to eat,” You admitted lightly, having known the dark haired boy well enough by this point to know that sometimes he needed things like this explained out for him to understand, “If I eat right now, I might vomit all over this pristine room.” You added the second part teasingly, hoping to ease some of the concern from his tight features.

It didn’t appear to help, however, as the frown on Jason’s youngest brother deepened, “Well, that is unacceptable. I shall call father and tell him to get you something lighter so it will not upset your stomach.”

Your heart practically melted at the young boys worrying over you. It was sweet in ways you knew he would die before admitting, and as he stood like a guard at your side, you reached up and squeezed his hand once more, “Thank you, Dami.” You repeated, knowing that it was the only sentiment he would accept at the moment without the tips of his ears turning red.

The boy lingered a moment longer, his green eyes sweeping over you, then one last time to his elder brother, before nodding curtly and exiting the room to no doubt give Alfred and Bruce his new orders.

While sipping gingerly on the warm drink, you took Jason’s hand in yours once more and swept your thumb over the back of his rough and cracked knuckles that the doctors had cleaned up.

Slowly, you lifted your intertwined fingers and placed a delicate kiss to the back of his, “I love you.” You whispered into the space between you, “Take your time healing, Jay, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

“You look like shit.”

After eating your plain rice- which had been specifically requested for you personally by Damian- under the young boy's watchful eye, as well as Dick, Tim, and Bruce’s, you had once more been left alone in the hospital room.

You could only assume that another couple of hours had passed since they had gone back to the manor to shower off the horrors of the night and change into fresh clothes. And though they had tried to insist you do the same, you had not budged from your seat, you refused to leave Jason alone.

What if you weren’t there when he woke up? What if he looked for you? What if he needed you?

So, no thank you. You would stay right where you were until you could leave the hospital hand in hand with your beloved boyfriend.

Your eyes shot up to the door, where Stephanie, Cass, and Babs and just entered through.

Cass sent a sharp jab of her elbow into the blonde haired girl's side, who doubled over slightly with wide eyes, “What?” She cried dramatically, “I’m just stating the obvious!”

The corner of your lips ticked up at the girl's bluntness that you had long since not only grown used to, but grown to love.

“Thanks, Steph.” You chuckled quietly, leaning back slightly in your chair but keeping your ginger grip on your boyfriend's hand.

“We just came to check up on you and Jay.” Barbara explained, wheeling over to where you sat with a soft smile. You accepted her quick hug by wrapping one arm around her in return.

You gave the same to Stephanie, who shot you and apologetic smile before bending down at the waist to embrace you, closely followed by Cass who also dropped a quick kiss to the side of your head.

“How is he?” Gordon asked, shooting a worried look to the man who still lay unmoving and unconscious.

A hand was run down your face as you heaved a small sigh, “The doctor just came to check on him a few minutes ago and he’s still stable. Might just take a while longer for him to wake up.” You informed the girls, who hummed in acknowledgment.

“We can take over from here.” Stephanie offered, dropping sideways into a chair previously occupied by Dick with her legs kicked up over the side, “You should go home and get some rest. We’ll watch out for him.”

You had no doubt in your mind that they would do so, but you still gently shook your head, “No, I’m good where I am.” You promised them, ignoring the skeptical looks that they shit between one another.

Babs sighed long and heavy, “There’s nothing we can say to convince you otherwise?” And when you shook your head once more, she grumbled, “You’re just as stubborn as he is.”

That elicited another small smile out of you as your gaze found Jason’s steadily rising chest once more before floating up to his gentle features, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

—

Jason’s family members continued to filter in and out of the hospital room, sometimes lingering in silence, sometimes trying to convince you to go home and take care of yourself. But through it all, you remained unmoving.

Nothing in the universe could’ve gotten you to leave your boyfriend's side, and though you’re sure the others had figured that out long ago, that hadn’t deterred them from attempting to help you.

You appreciated their efforts, truly you did, but what you needed more than anything in the world was to be there for Jason. You owed him at least that much.

It wasn’t until much later when you were once more all alone that the man finally stirred, that his eyes fluttered open and effectively stopped your heart from beating all together and air from entering your lungs.

“S-sweetheart?” Jason’s voice was gravely as he attempted to squint up at you, those beautiful green orbs that you loved so much flashing with confusion.

“Oh, Jason,” You all but sobbed, falling from the edge of your chair where you and been perched to your knees beside his bed, “You’re awake.”

With a gentleness you never thought yourself capable of, you reached up and brushed his beloved white streak from the center of his forehead, tears you had thought long gone filling your eyes.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed as a tear streaked down the side of your face, and he lifted a shaky hand to gently brush it away, “W-why are you-“ He cut himself off with a series of harsh coughs, and it immediately snapped you out of whatever trance of happiness you had been transported into.

Your eyes flew wide in a panic and you stumbled to your feet, accidentally tearing your hand out of his in the process, “Wait, Jay, don’t try to talk.” You hurriedly looked around, “I need to get you some water. And, god, you’re probably hungry to. Oh, Bruce and the others will want to hear you’re awake. And, oh my god, I have to get the doctor-“

“Baby.” Jason had pushed himself into a sitting position with a slight wince, and reaching out to lock your fingers together once more, effectively cutting your ramblings off, “I’m- I’m okay, sweetheart.” When he tipped his lips upwards in a soft smile, everything inside of you short circuited, just as it always did, even after all this time together.

“Oh, Jay,” You practically fell into his arms, though you were extremely careful to keep the entirety of your bodyweight off of him even as you snuggled into his chest, “I was so worried about you. I got a call saying to come to the hospital- and I assumed the worst and I-“ Another sob wracked through your body.

Jason shushed you soothingly, one arm secured around your waist while his other hand ran gently through your hair, “I’m alright, baby, I promise I am.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face through blurry vision, “Don’t you dare ever-“ You cut yourself off with a small hiccup, “Ever do that to me again, Jason Peter Todd, you hear me?”

•───────•°•☀︎•°•───────•

For all the chaos that this city found itself at the center of, Metropolis could be surprisingly peaceful sometimes. Today, for example, was beautiful.

The park echoed with chirps of critters hidden in their homes under the grass, the sun beamed on the landscape with mercy, and the wind passed through like a long lost friend. Children ran around the playground of the park with crowns and swords of a birthday that would be immortalized in a photo album. Parents supervised under the shaded area where they traded stories of a nine to five they pretended to enjoy.

And then, there was you.

Your mother suggested that you take the boys out to the park today, a chance for them to have a normal afternoon.

Well, as normal as two preteen superheroes can have.

Jonathan Kent and Damian Wayne somehow managed to be perfect antonyms and synonyms of each other. They stood and fought for the same mission- the same goal acting as a north star, and yet they still managed to approach it entirely different.

It’s what makes them work so well together.

Watching them play around on the open field of the park is almost funny. They’re not good at normal, a consequence of who they are and how they were raised, but they still manage to have their own fun. Damian’s trying to teach Jon how to do a handstand. It’d be easy really, Jon can fly and levitate himself to hold his feet while propping himself on his hands; but Damian wants him to learn how to incorporate his arms, abs, and center of gravity.

If you were to guess, this is influenced from the Dick Grayson school of gymnastics.

Bruce dropped Damian off at your apartment around eleven and thanked you thrice for watching him. Jon had spent the night at your apartment the night before since your parents were having their monthly date night, and it was now your turn to babysit since Kon watched him the past three times. You played Overcooked together and fought in ways you hadn’t since you were kids, but it was nice. Nostalgia hit you like a train at one point when you looked over at him and saw an eleven-year-old, and not the baby that stumbled around in diapers because he refused to wear clothes.

Then today when Damian arrived, you decided to take them out on the town. You went and got an early lunch, took them to an arcade before they got bored, and your mom suggested the park as an afterthought.

Which is how you find yourself on the bench holding two cups of melted ice cream.

It seemed as though the world wanted to punish you for sneaking some of Jon’s -now- liquid cotton candy ice cream when the ground begins to shake. You barely have a second to react before the sun disappears and a shadow falls over Metropolis in a cruel twist of the day.

Shooting to your feet, your head falls back while the wind whips around you ripping leaves from trees, and you see a spaceship hovering over the park.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” you can’t help but mumble to yourself, tossing the cups of liquid sugar into the black can next to your bench.

The boys glance at you expectantly, eyes hard as stone ready for an assignment. Your heart cracks right down the middle at the sight. They weren’t supposed to be concerned about this, saving the city wasn’t supposed to fall on the shoulders of two kids. They were supposed to just have a fun day hanging out, goofing around in the summer sun.

For some odd reason, that never seemed to be in the cards for any of you.

Accepting defeat, you look around and in the distance you spot an alleyway. You motion with your hands for them to follow and they’re at your side in an instant. Families scream behind you as parents shield their crying children- attempting to preserve the innocence you all were never granted. The two sets of footsteps behind you ring like a death march in your ears as the boys follow your lead.

It didn’t matter what happened here today, they had to make it out. It was a promise you made to yourself, your parents, Bruce, and Jason.

Reaching the back alley, it’s a ghost town while you attempt the quick change. Your outfit took from Aunt Kara’s, just without the skirt. After one bad experience of it getting caught in a pole, you opted for shorts instead.

When they’ve finished changing, you dedicate a hand to each of them to rest on their respective shoulders. Mustering the most intense and serious expression you can, your eyes shift from each of their faces.

“You follow my lead okay? Under no circumstance do either of you go off-book today. If I say go- you go. Understood?”

Jon nods instantly, he always took your word as law being his older sister. You weren’t concerned about him improvising- it was Damian. It wasn’t so much of him having a habit of disobeying orders, but having his own plan that he knew would work. You didn’t fault him for it, you just couldn’t have him in harm’s way, not today- not if you had anything to say of it.

He doesn’t agree right away, his green eyes fight yours in a silent chess match of expressions. You’re sure he’d hate it if you told him, but he took after Jason in more ways than he’d be comfortable knowing. He had the same twitch in his jaw when he had to agree with something he didn’t like, the same squint of the eye when he tried reading people, it was almost comical to you how similar they were despite not being related by blood.

“Please,” you attempt a different approach- a more gentle one, “I promised him I would keep you safe and I won’t be able to deescalate this if I’m worried about you following your own plan.”

You don’t have to say who “him” is, yet you’re positive he’s able to put two and two together. Jon will think it’s Bruce since he still doesn’t know about you and Jason, but Damian knows the reality of it.

“You do not have to worry about me, I have handled threats triple the size of this- I have wiped out armies.” His chin juts up, as if he can summon a growth spurt that’ll make him eye level with you.

Terrorized screams are echoing into the alleyway and you don’t have much time. The sound from the projected air of the propeller’s is deafening, trees are threatening to rip from the ground and go flying; yet, you can’t bring yourself to go without ensuring that they will be safe.

“Sorry kiddo, call it eldest daughter syndrome- but I’m in charge of you. So, worrying’s kind of a non-negotiable, it’s gonna happen. Can you please just promise me this- just this once?”

Your eyes drain the demand from it and fill with a plea, and he seems to notice it. The clock was ticking and desperation was the your last act of trying to get this kid to agree. With a heavy heart and a deep sigh, he nods his head to agree with a moody drawn out “fine.”

Not wasting another second, you turn your attention back to Jon and cock your head to Damian so he’ll carry him to the roof. Your brother nods and the other boy crosses his arm, upset with the embarrassing arrangement.

Shooting off into the air, they’re close behind you. The air rushes through your ears and you deeply regret not bringing a hair tie. You didn’t even want to think about what the detangling process was going to look like after today. Maybe you could convince Mom to do it for you if you got a thick enough gash.

Observing from the roof top, you attempt to dissect the scene from the park. Jon’s still holding Damian, and you can tell they’re antsy for instructions. Leading was never your forte, too much fell on the shots that were called. It was a responsibility you never felt confident in.

You’ve got all of two seconds to really take in the scene and a list forms in your head. Androids on ground. Families in park. Soldiers in air. Guns being loaded.

It’s okay. You can do this.

“Robin, Superboy,” their heads whip in your direction anticipating their first orders, “Go to ground level and get the civilians to safety, neutralize the androids in the process- but civilian safety is top priority.”

“On it.” Jon affirms.

“Heard.” Damian turns his head to the action, already planning his path.

As they head back down to the park, you turn your attention back to the sky. There was no way for you to fight the battleship without causing property damage, leaving that option out of the question. Then there were the soldiers, front line meant being the first to go.

Launching off the ledge you were perched on, you make contact with the alien race for the first time.

They were purple with scaled skin. Most of them were covered head to toe in bright blue armor, but they had weak points around their elbows. The armor pads left an opening in the pieces that linked the forearm and bicep together. You could tell by the way they were watching Jon and Damian handle the androids, that they were trigger happy. Fingers dancing on the button that would satisfy their sick desire to become monsters.

So, you squint your eyes to focus on the targets and shoot them with your heat vision, severing their forearms from their bodies.

You got about through two of them, before the rest of the legion in the air caught sight of you. It turned into an all-out war. It was moments like these that superhearing felt like a blessing and a curse.

On one hand, you could hear Jon and Damian calling out to each other. Making sure that the other was safe while working together. On the other hand however, every time a shot was fired, you could feel it in your bones. It was overstimulation at its finest.

In the end, you attempt to not dismember most of the soldiers- wanting to avoid a talking too about violence from dad. Your peace negotiation with yourself involved melting most of the guns onto their hands. Leaving them useless and incapable of harming anyone, without punching someone with their new metal hands forged together.

By the time you’d finished, Damian and Jon had handled most of the androids below and gotten the families to safety. You were about 100 feet in the air, while Damian rested on the roof of the shaded area of the playground, with Jon hovering in between you two.

A giant door opens from the bottom of the ship. Three more of the purple aliens come out, but with more distinct armor. If you were to guess, the one in the middle has to be the one in charge. His helmet has three spikes and isn’t bright blue, it’s more of a navy color that contrast the purple scales in a better light.

“I am Ulgod,” he announces, stepping onto a little pad that floats him to a few yards away from you, “I am the General of War from planet Emuphus in the Alatheia Nebula System.”

The men to either of his sides are holding guns similar to the ones that the soldiers were holding. Every ounce of restraint coursing through your veins was going into not declaring war, and melting them into their hands. There was something off about the ones that they were holding however. There was a neon green glow coming from the middle that the others didn’t have.

“We come in search of the Kryptonians.”  

Of-fucking-course.

He’s staring you dead in the eye and you meet his bug-like beady ones. The helmet ensured that you don’t know what their expressions are, but you’re positive that this one isn’t a happy one. Nothing good ever came from an spaceship arriving, destroying a bunch of shit, and then demanding your family.

After a deep breath you decide to reply, “And what is it you seek with the Kryptonians, General Ulgod?”

“Well it is simple, we demand that they come with us to our planet.”

“Why?” your eyes have narrowed into slits at the demand. It wasn’t necessarily unheard of, but you’re not entirely sure if you want the answer to your question.

“That is a matter that we will speak of on our planet.” his voice booms with the rasp. It reminds you of the cashier at the corner store mom sends you too. This guy sounds like he’s been smoking a pack a day for twenty years.

“Then I’m afraid the request cannot be granted. The Kryptonians will not follow you blindly to a planet for a boon they know nothing of.” One of these days you were going to have to thank Jason for reading you so many classics. It really helped make you sound professional in the face of death. There was no way this guy actually thought that you were about to go to some random planet from god knows where to do god knows what, because he simply demanded.

His lip curls up at your response and a shiver runs down your spine.

“Oh you are mistaken my dear lady,” his rasp echoes in between you both, “I am not asking.”

Then he lifts his left arm up to a ninety degree angle, and the soldier to his side responds instantly. The gun fires and you feel what the neon green substance was from their gun, when the bullet pierces the air.

Kryptonite.

It all happens in slow motion, and you almost throw up as the scene plays frame by frame.

Because they don’t aim at you. No.

They aim at Jon.

Your head whips down to look at him and you shoot off in his direction, racing the bullet. He doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. Damian’s too low to reach him or try to get him out of the way.

You reach Jon mere milliseconds after the bullet pierces his thigh and his scream haunts the park. You’ve been hit with it once before and Jon, thankfully, has had minimal exposure to it until now.

The noises from his throat are guttural and sound as if they’re being ripped from him. The chemical infects his blood stream almost instantly. You catch him before he falls from the sky and gently ease him to the floor where Damian is waiting for you both. Your hands start fretting and you can’t think straight. Not when your baby brother is thrashing around and gasping from being shot.

Pushing the hair from his forehead, he’s already started sweating. He’s groaning in your arms and his features contort on his face with small whimpers of pain.

“Hey, hey- it’s going to be okay,” you try to comfort him as your hand falls on his cheek and he leans into it, “we’re going to get you help okay? Just need you to stick around a little longer, it sucks I know but take deep breaths for me.”

You’re fingers go back into carding through his hair for a split second, allowing yourself to comfort your him before turning to Damian. You don’t know what expression is on your face, but the poor boys straightens instantly.

“Get him to my mom. Dad’s at an interview and she’s working remote today, so she’ll be in the apartment.” your tone comes out hard and the words are final, leaving no room for debate, “She has a better chance of getting ahold of my dad so, they can get him to the fortress.”

“I cannot leave you with them, you are what they want.” his eyes are on Jon’s worsening state, but he speak with the logistics of the scenario. He has a point, but you meant what you said in the alley. They came first, and you’re already on one casualty, you’re not about to have another.

“Robin,” his eyes finally leave Jon’s to glance at you again, “I’m not asking. It’s going to get worse from here if he doesn’t get help. So, please, I need you to do this for me.”

He doesn’t look happy with the arrangement of abandoning you with the people who are dead set to kidnap you, but he nods regardless. He knows as well as you do the realities of Kryptonite poisoning. It’s not just exposure, it’s in his blood stream. And you just had the luck of it being a cloudy day.

Looking back to Jon again, he’s paling by the second an your heart shatters in the middle of the park. Smoothing the hair from his forehead one last time, you drop a kiss to it. Your brain floods with all the memories from when he was just a baby; his first waddles around the apartment, his first word being an abbreviation of your name, meeting him in the hospital, and then waking up to check on him in the middle of the night, just to find him floating three feet above his crib.

“You’re going to be just fine Jonny. Robin’s going to take you to mom, and she and Dad are going to get you all better.”

He nods weakly at your whisper. Before handing him off to Damian, you take the watch from his wrist. Dad gave it to him as a tracking mechanism since he had a habit of running off with his bat counterpart.

Just in case, is what you told yourself, but deep down you knew where this was going to go.

Damian takes Jon from your arms and starts running in the direction of your parent’s apartment.

You don’t turn to the Emuphuians until the boys are out of your sight. The general had been on some tangent about his planet and the warriors with some other bullshit you blocked out. The second you turn your attention back on him, you notice his lips are still curled and there’s about a hundred more soldiers waiting for you.

And with one hand motion from the purple-scaled devil, they all fly to your direction.

Having enough of your peaceful attempts that your father always implored you to use, you shoot off to meet them halfway.

You entered something of a trance after making contact with the first one. It wasn’t as much as you felt yourself in the moment, and more so of watching yourself.

You didn’t feel the punches or the other bullets pelting you. You didn’t remember ripping the limbs off the soldiers. You didn’t feel the heat from slicing half the soldiers in half. You didn’t hear as bodies kept falling to the floor of the park.

None of it felt real. It wasn’t as much of a memory as it felt watching a biography from your worst moments.

All you knew -the only thought that consumed your mind- was that they were going to pay. They were going to pay for the crime of shooting your little brother.

You only come back to your body once you’ve ripped the arms off the last soldier and his body falls beneath you to the park. The bloodshed was horrific and you fight the bile rising in your throat at the scene below.

Your fingers, your arms, your legs, your torso, was coated in the blood of these soldiers. You could’ve cried. They were people at the end of the day. They were merely following orders and probably had a family to go back to. They answered to the crimes of their brother.

Guilt pooled in your stomach along with the anxiety of having to have your father after this, but that was a problem for later.

“Those were your so called best soldiers?” maybe taunting the general that had two guns loaded with Kryptonite wasn’t the best choice of the hour, but you earned that right.

“I have more waiting in the hanger if you wish for another round.” Ulgod sneers in your direction.

The mountain of purple bodies and yellow blood was already a sight to bear. You knew you could take them, you could handle them all, but it would only mean war.

The last thing Metropolis needed was another alien invasion.

So, you decide on plan B.

A plan that not only your mother- but Jason would surely kill you for.

“Alright Ulgod,” you drop the limbs you were holding of the last soldier to the floor, “I am the first-born of Kal-El, granddaughter of Jor-El, a descendant of the House of El from planet Krypton.”

You’re positive he knew this. Galaxies across the universe had heard of the last surviving Kryptonian. If he did his homework, he would’ve recognized the symbol on your chest, but introductions are necessary- at least when you’re getting kidnapped.

“I will go with you to planet Emuphus, so long as you swear to leave this planet peacefully and never return.” you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for this moment, “Those are my terms.”

Your heart is about to beat out of your chest. It’s horrific and the selfish part of your brain hopes he’ll decline and you’ll get to stay. It would mean another pretty shitty battle, but at least you’ll be at home and with your family.

Jon’s watch starts to beep on your wrist.

Dad’s calling.

Tears prick at your eyes with relief.

That means they’ve got Jon. He’s probably trying to figure out if you need the assist, but you’ve given your

 terms. There’s nothing you wouldn’t give to answer the call, even if it was just to say you loved him one last time. Who knows when you’ll get the chance again.

“Alright Ms. El,” the general nods as you fight temptation, “I agree to your terms. Let us make haste and depart.”

And with that, you take one last look at the golden globe that watches over Metropolis.

One last view of home.

Not stalling another second, you fly toward them and they lead you toward the hanger. Slapping heavy cuffs to your wrists, you decide not to mention that they don’t affect you. That is until the general’s right hand men stand closer and you gasp for air.

The compartment to reload their guns was open, exposing you to kryptonite.

This was about to be a long flight.

•───────•°•☀︎•°•───────•

 Jason has never been this anxious to drive back into the cave.

He’d been MIA for about a week on the mission with the outlaws. It was absolute radio silence on every end and it was killing him.

The moment Kori dropped him off in Gotham, he called you. He tried not to let it bother him that it went straight to voicemail.

Twice.

He tried to justify it to himself that you might have been working on something and shut your phone off, or fell asleep. He called out your name as he drove, hoping that it would wake you. No matter how much you denied it, he knew that you always were listening for him. The worst started to creep in on his mind when he still heard nothing, but he attempted to not let himself dwell on it.

Hopping on the motorcycle, he shoots off into the night. It was quarter to five and he was positive no one but Bruce would be in the cave. It was Thursday which meant it was Tim’s night off, Dick was still in Blüdhaven, and there was school tomorrow so Damian would probably be in bed.

Which meant the report would be easy. Give Bruce the file, cover the main points, shower, and go home where he could try calling you again.

What he didn’t expect, was to drive into the cave to see all his siblings, and almost all the Kents surrounding the panel.

They all turn to look at him, with different expression on their face, but all with the same underlying emotion.

Dread.

He freezes for barely a second, before straightening his back and propping up the kickstand. Clark was the only one that seemed to not be giving him a second-thought. Which was the smallest form of reassurance he could hold onto. Everyone knows you’d kill him if he was the reason your dad found out about you two.

Before anyone can greet him or open his mouth, he notices the way Clark’s holding onto Lois’s hand. They’re gripping onto each other like they’re the only solid thing on the planet. Conner’s hand is rubbing at Lois’s shoulder and she holds onto it with her spare one. The sight of Kara winds him. She’s standing to the right of Clark with her arms crossed over her chest ready for war.

That was the first indication that something was wrong. Neither you or Jon was here and all of the sudden, Jason can’t breathe.

Stephanie is the first to realize it. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds from when Jason entered the cave to roaming over the whole scene, but he knows in his heart that something’s wrong. And when the blonde’s eyes soften, he knows he’s right.

“How’d the mission go?” she tries to broach a topic that seems safe, but he doesn’t fall for it.

She’s rocking from her toes back to her heels. Cass is standing next to her without the cowl, examining him like a doctor at a physician’s office. Tim’s opposite of Steph but he won’t look at Jason. He’s glancing to the side watching a small light flicker on a map that’s displayed on the batcomputer.

The most damning part of this, is Dick. He’s standing still, almost like a statue. The sight has Jason on the verge of jumping straight into fight or flight. The only time in his life that he saw Richard Grayson stand still was at Alfred Pennyworth’s funeral. Barbara’s next to him in her wheel chair, holding his hand.

Then there’s Bruce. He’s in the middle of everyone. Damian’s behind him in the chair, not even turning around.

“Fine,” his bites on down on his molars when he answers Steph, trying not to bark at anyone, “what happened?”

Silence.

No one says anything. The only noise that echoes around the cave is the awkward shift of shoes. Even the bats at the roof of the cave have taken solace in the moment. In that second, the only person that bothers to hold eye contact with him is Bruce. He’s not wearing his cowl so he can see every micro expression he thinks he’s hiding.

He sees the flicker of sympathy that passes across his features, the wrinkle in his eyebrows softening as they pull apart. He sees the subtle movement of his jaw hardening again. It’s the face he makes when there’s bad news. He’s trying to figure out how to explain it, without causing Jason to go off the deep end. He’s been on the receiving end of it more times in his life than he’s willing to admit.

“What happened?”

The words don’t sound as much as a question as they do a demand. He’s tried breaking the habit of acting like an asshole -really he has- but it’s not funny anymore. His heart in his throat and he’s not sure his stomach was even in his body anymore.

Damian finally turns around at that, and he sneaks a look at Jason. Guilt drowns his features. Jason’s positive he’s about to start hyperventilating. These have been the longest two minutes of his life. He feels like he’s dying all over again.

All he knows is that most of his girlfriend’s family is here at a time they really shouldn’t be, and no one is looking at him or answering questions.

Damian straightens with the eye contact, something like honor bleeding into his posture.

“Spit it out kid.” Jason’s eyes narrow.

And when no one responds or even looks at him besides his father and youngest brother, Clark snaps. Confusion ate at him and he’s sick of everyone dancing around the fact that his daughter is gone.

“They took her.”

Jason almost snaps his neck when he hears the words. He’s sure all the oxygen on the planet has depleted.

His mind can’t wrap itself around the idea. Nothing makes sense, but everything falls into place. He instantly understands and he wishes he didn’t. He doesn’t move much, yet the world tilts on its axis. He’s not really comprehending anything at the moment.

He doesn’t believe it at first. Looking past Clark’s hard expression to Lois, he processes it and almost crumbles. She’s holding herself tall, but the bags under her eyes with tear stains on her cheeks almost kill him. Clark didn’t say a name, but he knew. Only one “her” was missing from the Super and Bat bunch right now.

With a small nod from Lois, confirming his worst nightmare- he throws up.

Not a little- not a small batch of spit. No, his stomach decided to reverse itself in that moment. His lunch, dinner, and snack before being dropped off escape through his mouth. He couldn’t even manage the decency to turn around and try to shield himself from everyone.

At first he bent over but remained on his feet, with his hands on his knees. After a minute of his stomach not pausing the process of emptying itself, he fell to one knee and Dick rushed to his aid.

This used to happen a lot when he was Robin. When he got really anxious or couldn’t handle some news, he’d throw up. Bruce took him to Leslie once at twelve when he threw up so hard he fainted. All she found was that this was just a physical symptom to his anxiety. Dick used to sit with him in the bathroom sometimes afterward. He’d get so embarrassed from throwing up that he’d cry, and Dick would rub his back and tell him stories about when he did stupid shit or embarrassing stories about Bruce.

For a second, he was tempted to cry. He was tempted to fall into the arms of his older brother and not have to think about how the love of his life was gone.

After a few more minutes of dry heaving on the floor and Steph bringing him a glass of water, he ends up throwing up again. He ends up sitting on the floor in front of his bile. He should be embarrassed, in any other moment he would be. But all he’s focusing on right now is taking deep breaths, making the grandest effort to keep the water down.

If Clark was confused before, he wasn’t sure what covered this. Momentarily putting a pin in their crisis, Jason hears him turn to Bruce and ask if he’s okay. He’s not exactly sure what he says to Clark, but it’s something miniscule to ease his concern.

Jason’s still flat on his ass when Bruce approaches him. His elbows are propped on his knees, hands in his hair, and face angled toward the floor. Dick’s still rubbing his back, and Jason’s eyes are boring into the glass of water like it has the solution for this.

Kneeling in front of him. Bruce places a hand on his shoulder. It takes about ten seconds before Jason can look at him, and he’s thankful that there’s not a sympathetic expression on his face. He can tell from his posture that he’s being empathetic but Bruce’s face is a blank slate letting him mold into what Jason needs.

And what he needs is to be slapped into reality.

“WHAT? HIM?!”

Clark’s voice echoes through the cave and everyone whips in his direction. Jason looks to his left, only to see that Clark’s eyes are already onhim. By the expression on his face and the sympathetic look Lois and Conner are giving him, he already knows what Lois said to him. It’s almost enough to make him start dry heaving again.

This night just got a hell of a lot longer.

When he hangs his head again, ready to throw up the water he spent a minute trying to drink, Dick pulls his hair hard.

“Nope- we’re not doing that!” his grip doesn’t let up as he tries to overcorrect all the negativity in the cave.

Jason tries to pull his arm away from his hair, and Dick dodges only to pulls harder. In ten minutes he knows he’ll be thankful for him trying to get him out of this hole his brain is trying to bury himself in, but right now he’s about to kill him.

“Hey- DICK, stop!”

He only lets up when Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. When Dickface’s hands finally leave his hair, he rubs at that patch he was gripping on to try and ease the sting. Bruce’s eyes are still on him trying to gage where he’s at, wanting to meet him in the middle. It’s another few seconds before Bruce tries talking to him again.

“I’m going to give you the facts, can you handle that right now?”

Clark’s still sputtering behind them, and Jason weights his options.

He knows he’s hit rock bottom when he’d rather deal with Bruce’s explanation, than confronting his missing girlfriend’s father.

He nods his head and Bruce takes a deep breath, still gripping his shoulder.

“There was an invasion in Metropolis three days ago.” Jason already feels himself starting to get sick again, but tries to power through, “She was with Jon and Damian at the park when it started. They were fighting back trying to make peace, and then they shot Jon with Kryptonite in the thigh. Your brother took him to the Kent’s to ensure his condition wouldn’t worsen. And she… took care of the remaining soldiers.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Conner snorts from where he’s still trying talk Clark down.

Jason looks over at the situation he’s desperately trying to avoid with a raised eyebrow.

“Conner stop.” Tim scolds, trying to motion for him to read the room.  

Clark still looks like he’s about to explode, but it’s more confusion than anything else. He can’t say that he blames him.

You’re sunlight in human form and Jason is… to put it frankly, the opposite. He’d be lying if he didn’t think about it every day- about how on earth he got lucky enough that you chose him, that you wanted him. He still doesn’t get it. For everything that Jason Todd had gotten wrong in his life, you were the one thing he got right. He never let himself risk it, you were the only thing that mattered to him. The only person that had full and complete faith in him. You allowed him to fall in love with the idea of life again. You taught him how to live in a world that was dead set on making him survive, and for that, he’d thank every star in the sky that led him to you.

And now? Now you’re gone.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he made a promise to you and Bruce that he’d be better, every single person who was involved in this would be six-feet under by sunrise.

“What’s he talking about?” Jason mumbles turning his attention back to Bruce.

“Well,” Bruce’s cheek’s fill with air and he exhales slowly, trying to think of the best way to frame it.

“She kind of killed all of them, it was pretty morbid actually. There were like piles and piles of aliens in the middle of Metropolis park. Kind of badass th-”

“Thank you Stephanie, that’s enough.” Bruce cuts in, “But yes, she handled the eminent threat to Earth. Jon is at the Kent farm now to finish healing, he will make a full recovery. However, the Emuphuians -the alien’s that invaded- came in search of a Kryptonian. We are unsure of why, but we know that she went with them. She agreed to go with them, so long that they left Earth peacefully and never returned.”

Jason’s really trying not to get sick all over again. His nightmare just got ten times worse. You went with aliens who have kryptonite and aren’t afraid to harm you, for a reason you don’t know, and to some planet none of you have ever been to or heard of before. Hell, he doesn’t even know if you’re still alive.

That thought has him about to hyperventilate and Bruce sees it. He’s almost convinced that Bruce can read minds, because he instantly starts comforting him.

“Try not to stress out, she’s alive-”

That’s when Jason breaks. Shooting to his feet, his vision tilts but he can’t hold back any longer.

“Try not to stress? B did you hear anything of what you just said to me?” Jason’s arms are flailing and Bruce stands to meet him in the middle, again, “I was away for a week on a mission and I come back to find out that my girlfriend has been taken by an alien race to fuck knows where to do who knows what to her.”

At the word girlfriend, Clark seems to finally snap back into reality.

“So it is true?”

Jason squeezes his eyes. This has got to be the most overwhelming night he’s had in a while. He’s grateful that Clark doesn’t sound accusatory, he merely hums and starts eyeing Jason up again.

To be honest, Jason didn’t want it to go like this. If it was up to him, he would’ve told Clark straight away, but you had this whole thing about not wanting to do it so he respected it. He wasn’t one to talk anyway, he kept it from his whole family. When he went to meet Lois for the first time he brought flowers and helped cooked dinner. He was oddly traditional about that stuff. He promised himself he wouldn’t mess it up- not with you. He had to do it right.

“Yes sir,” Jason finally looks him in the eye for the first time since he found out, “it wasn’t my idea to keep it a secret-”Dick scoffs and Jason shoots him a look, “-It wasn’t my idea to keep it a secret from them, Dickhead.”

Turning back to Clark, he notices that he’s still baffled on why his daughter is dating him. “Believe me sir, I wish this could’ve happened under better circumstances, I would’ve presented myself with a little more grace.”

Tim can’t bite back the snort at Jason calling Clark sir repeatedly.

They’d met before, they were on a first name basis with each other during missions and when he visited the manor. Jason grew up around him, and Clark was the one who talked Bruce off his high when Jason died. He can’t have imagined he wouldn’t have been surprised to see how their lives continued to be intertwined.

He can’t help but think how complicated shit’s gotten. If you had told thirteen-year-old Jason Todd that he was going to be dating Superman’s daughter, he would’ve laughed in your face.

Now here he is, trying to talk himself out of throwing up again at confronting his girlfriend’s father, who just so happened to be Superman.

This has to be every guy’s worst nightmare.

“Okay son, we can talk about this later.”

Jason has to bite his tongue and all the Bat’s eyebrows shot to the moon. Jason was notorious for hating being called “son.” It was a huge problem when he came back. Bruce tried calling him it and Jason would fly off the deep end, but right now he just kept reminding himself that it’s a southern charm thing.

Turning back to Bruce, his eyebrows are still raised, but something like pride is resting in them. He looks so proud of him that he’s handling this and Jason is fighting every demon in his stomach right now.

Why does his body hate him so much? He couldn’t just sweat through his clothes or get light-headed like a normal person. No, he had to empty every single content in his stomach the moment the anxiety got to be too much to handle.

“Okay back to the matter at hand, we have a plan,”

Then Bruce starts explaining the whole thing, but the second he realizes that the flickering light on the batcomputer is your heartbeat, everything falls away.

The only thing that Jason Todd can focus on is getting you back. He’s now made it his life mission to save you. It was the least he could do after you saved him from himself.

So after Bruce, Tim, and Clark go on and on about the plan, all he focuses on is bringing you home.

•───────•°•☀︎•°•───────•

The trip, from what you were able to tell from Jon’s watch, took a little under two days.

The Emuphuians left earth peacefully, but in no way acted the part to you. From the moment the door closed, they exposed you to kryptonite until you’d gotten far enough from the sun to dull your powers.

They threw you in some cell in the cargo hold of the ship to spend the whole trip there. It was a little dull square, metal bars separating you from the other cells. Bringing you food and water twice a day was the only form of hospitality they offered. Nothing much happened besides that.

No one else occupied any of the other cells- well almost no one.

There was a little neon green kitten looking thing. It looked every bit a cat, except that it’s tail had a little opening at the end that shot some form of ice through it and her ears were longer than a normal earth kitten’s.

She was a sweet little thing. At first she wouldn’t get near you and shot your leg with ice once or twice. It wasn’t until you offered her some of the water the Emuphuians brought you, she realized you weren’t a threat.

It took her half of the first day for her to warm up to you. She ran around the little cell, jumping in between the bars until she flew. That was the most damning part of it all. You were positive you were hallucinating most of it, until she landed right on top of your chest and slept the night away there.

You named her Baja Blast- BB for short.

It was probably a bad idea to name her, the last thing you needed to do on this trip was to develop an attachment to something -something your father would have a stroke if he saw you come back with- but you couldn’t help it. She was so cute and kept you company for the two days you were locked in here. BB spent most of the trip experimenting with shooting ice on the floor. You ended up laying on the bench while she created an ice rink for her pleasure.

If it weren’t for her, you would’ve gone insane.

At the end of day 2, you finally feel the ship come to a stop. It jolts as it lands on the floor, sending BB into the wall.

You instantly shot to your feet to make sure she was okay, only to almost slip on her little ice rink.

She’s small enough to fit in the palm of your hand and with an annoyed growl from her, you can tell that she’s alright.

“And that’s why, we don’t make ice rinks BB” you mumble to her while petting the spot in between her ears. She doesn’t purr, you’ve noticed that’s not a habit this species partakes in, but she does nuzzle into your touch.

Turning around to go back to the bench, you hear the main door slam open. BB -the scared little thing she is- shoots up in fear and almost body slams the roof of the cell. She doesn’t come back down and a part of you can’t help but wonder why.

Maybe they don’t treat her well? The thought almost sends you spiraling to rip the heads of these soldiers off.

Ulgod isn’t the one to come retrieve you, it’s the two soldiers that he had with him. The two soldiers that seemed to enjoy their time exposing you to kryptonite.

The recovery was brutal. It was about two hours where you felt every blood cell attempting to crystalize into the green stone and your veins were mirroring BB’s fur through your skin. The fatigue hit you like a bus after too. You didn’t do much standing for the two days. It was laying on the floor or on the bench watching the kitten run around.

Even eating proved to be difficult the first two meals. Your body hadn’t recovered enough to be able to successfully chew, swallow, and digest the food.

You feel it before you see it. The planet they’ve brought you to revolves around a red sun. You had no powers here. There was no fighting your way back home. Your wrists were still bound together by the hand cuffs. You weren’t strong enough to break it, and your eyes couldn’t melt them here.

There’s a dep sigh that escapes you upon coming to terms with your fate. If they didn’t kill you, Jason was sure too. You went with a hostile species to their planet for unknown reasons just so they would leave your planet alone.

The soldiers don’t say much when they unlock your door and take you with them, and you’re a tad grateful for it. You weren’t sure you’d be able to stomach it if they began taunting you. However, they weren’t nice in the slightest. Each of them gripped your biceps with nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. Biting your tongue to hold back a wince, you continued marching forward with them.

Then as if it wasn’t enough, when you exit the cargo hold, they throw a rag over your head. Why? You didn’t’ have the slightest idea. Maybe it was so you couldn’t retrace your steps, maybe it was a customary thing.

Either way, you were annoyed.

If it wasn’t for the small sounds that you heard from above, you wouldn’t have known if BB was following you. The soldiers didn’t acknowledge her, either from lack of caring or not hearing you also didn’t know.  

The walk was about ten minutes. From what you were able to tell from the different floors you felt under you; you left the ship and walked on some soil for a while where you heard murmurs of a language you didn’t understand. Presumably walking through the outskirts of a town, in order to avoid attention of the general’s new prisoner. Then you reached a stone pathway of sorts, here the soldiers traded some words and allowed you three passage inside.

Only then, do you walk on a floor that felt like a smooth tile- marble maybe? Your steps echoed in the air around you and after a few twists and turns, a grand door opens. A hush falls around the room you’ve just entered.

You take ten steps in when the soldiers let go of your biceps and kick your knees in.  

And finally, they rip the rag from your head.

Allowing you to see your new environment, it takes a few blinks until you’re able to focus your vision correctly again. It’s not too bright, the room is lit by a few purple flames lining the wall and a small window on the roof.

There’s two thrones a few yards in front of you, where you can’t quite see the family because of the dim light. Squinting your eyes, you barely catch a glimpse of them before one of the soldiers pushes your head back to the floor. You were right, it did look like marble.

“Commoners are not permitted to look at the royal family.” The soldier spits in your direction while pushing on your scalp.

You deserved an award for how hard you bit your tongue. It was a miracle it hadn’t bled yet.

“Arrin, please,” a feminine voice calls from ahead of you, “she is far from a commoner.”

Arrin, the soldier you imagined was gripping onto your hair hard enough to rip out, hesitates before letting go. When he does let go, he does so with a little push that almost sends you face first into the floor.

Above you, BB growls and a little smile teases at your lips that the kitten has made it this far.

Turning your gaze back to the supposed royalty ahead of you, you still don’t get a good look at them even when you’re allowed too. They all wear light blue robes and veils over their face. They have something similar to crowns but it is a mere silver band over the veil, each with a yellow jewel rested in the middle.

“Welcome to Emuphus,” the same feminine voice rings out, “we thank you, Kryptonian, for your cooperation in joining the Emuphuian cause. We have heard great legends of the power you hold. I am Onas the queen,” she then motions to her right, “this is my husband King Elas, and our son Prince Rolim.”

You don’t say anything at first, confusion taking hold of your mind. What cause is she talking about? You weren’t even sure on why they recruited you here.

“Um hi, I am a descendant of the House of El from planet Krypton,” you weren’t sure exactly what that may have meant to them, but decided to throw it our regardless, “It’s my pleasure to be granted hospitality on your planet,” hospitality my ass, you thought to yourself but this people could kill you instantly if they wanted too, “I do not want to disrespect either of you, but I do not know why I have been brought here or what the Emuphuian cause is my lady.”

They ought to make you a diplomat with how you were shit you pulled out of your ass. Maybe hanging around Dad was starting to rub off on you.

“Ah well,” The King takes his turn to speak, “The cause we speak of is to make great warriors- warriors so legendary no one will not know our name.”

You had a feeling on where this was going and your face pales.

“We wish to create an army of Emuphuian-Kryptonian hybrids,” your jaw drops, “using your DNA and eggs.”

What. The. Fuck. Holy shit these people were insane.

You’re never relying on plan B again. This has got to be top ten worst outcomes that could’ve happened. They couldn’t have just wanted you to fight.

No, they want to take your fucking DNA.

A noise comes out of your throat you’re not sure how to describe. What you do know is that it wasn’t a good one. You start sputtering and genuinely feel as though you’re about to faint.

“I appreciate the interest- flattered truly, but I do have a boyfriend. I’m not really looking for another life partner- we’re actually really happy together he’s a great guy! His nam-”

The King holds up his hand to stop the blubbering mess that’s coming out of your mouth, and your teeth catch your cracked lips. Your heart is about to be thrown up from your mouth, you’re not even sure if you can see straight.

“We have no interest in having intercourse with you Kryptonian,” relief can’t even cover what you feel right now, he says a few words that you miss in knowing that these people do not want to impregnate you, “-rom what our doctor has told us, we understand that your body only produces eggs in the ovulation stage of the female reproductive cycle.”

That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but you’re not about to correct them. You’re not sure what the hell would happen if they find out you were already born with all your eggs, and you’re not keen on finding out.

They point toward the doctor, and translator you imagine, to their right . He seems pretty small, a little shorter than you and fairly thin compared to the other Emuphuians. They all seemed to have double the muscle mass that Jason had, and this guy looked- well, like Jon.

He only nods at the sudden attention from the royal family. Then they look expectantly to you, to confirm the information.

“Uh- yeah,” are the only words your incredibly articulate brain can manage to spew out in this moment, “unfortunately I am on day four of my period so you just missed the cut off.”

“That is alright.” Onas nods, “we have waited years to find the Kryptonians, we can wait a few weeks.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting by telling them they missed the window, but keeping you here seems to just be about the worst outcome. You weren’t hopeful enough to think they would let you go, this just wasn’t ideal.

“And how do you plan on retrieving the egg?” the question came out more sassy than you hoped, “Do you think I’m just going to agree on your plan of just cutting me open? Are you really stupid enough to think I’m going to let you take my eggs from me?”

Right when she opens her mouth, and the soldier step forward, surely to reprimand you for speaking to royalty like that, you feel it before you see it.

In the small window that rests at the roof of the throne room, you feel the color shift from the previous red sun, into a faint tinted green.

This planet has two suns.

A red one,

And a green one.

Now you remember why Dad and Aunt Kara never traveled to this system before.

It would’ve killed them.

You caught yourself before face planting into the tile, with your forearms. Your breath comes out heavy and ragged. Your veins are already turning green at the exposure again, and you’re really starting to hate life.

“To answer your question girl,” the Queen hums, “yes we do think you will let us cut you open, because there will not be much you can do to counter it.”

“This-” you heave, “will kill me,” another desperate breath, “before you get the chance.”

“No, it will not. The green sun only lights the planet for three hours for each full day. While it will drain the life from you quite quickly, it is enough to render you incapacitated, but still allow you to perform your duty.”

You barely manage to hold your head up. She has a small smirk on her face and you would spit in it if you could get closer.

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe my dear, but we do what we must to survive.”

Then without another word, she waves you off. The soldiers throw the rag over your head and haul you to your feet.

You didn’t last on your feet very long. It turned more into of the soldiers just dragging you through the castle. At the very least you still hear BB following closely behind. They don’t take you through the same route. It’s much quicker and this time you descend one floor on a staircase.

It’s two left turns and one right turn until you hear a door open. They don’t brace you for it at all before throwing you into the cell.

There wasn’t much strength left in your body, not enough to pull the rag off. So you lay there on the floor until a familiar neon green kitten bites on it and pulls.

She pulled on your scalp in the process and a small hiss escapes at the pain. But after a few tugs, she’s pulled enough off that you can see your home for the foreseeable future.

The cell is a blinding shade of white, and that’s about it. There’s a bench, a sink, a toilet, and some paper they’ve left you to wipe and use for the remainder of your period.

The depression from the situation and lack of energy keep you on the floor. You can’t even bring yourself to glance at the watch to see how much time has passed. BB has curled into you and fallen asleep there.

You can’t imagine it’s been less than two hours when you have your only other interaction of the day.

The doctor comes in and speaks to a nurse in the same language you heard while walking past the village. It’s not one you’re familiar with and not one you’ve heard Aunt Kara mention.

They hook up some monitor to wrap around your wrist. He pricks your finger for blood and doesn’t offer anything when you whimper. It’s almost odd how they don’t pay any attention to BB.

They act as though she’s not even there and you’re anxious you’ve hallucinated the poor thing. If it wasn’t for the freezing cold fur of hers, you’d be sure she was a hallucination.

Two minutes pass, when the screen he ran your blood through blinks red at him. If you were to guess, that’s what they’re using to test if you’re ovulating.

Having completed their business, they walk out without another glance in your direction. Abandoning you on the floor of a cell you’ll learn to call home.

And for the first time since they shot Jon, you cry.

It was a horrific habit, but you didn’t cry often. Being the oldest, you never wanted your siblings to see you that way. However, no one here knew you. You lost every ounce of shame you could possible have.

So you sob, you weep and curse the gods that gave you this fate. The guilt from the fight in the park. The blood that is still stained on your clothes and limbs. The concept of these people using you. The knowledge that you may never see your family again. The idea that Jason will never kiss you and laugh in the early hours of the morning again. It all bubbles over.

They could probably hear you down the hall, but there’s not much left for you to do anyway. All you can do is just sit here in the hell of your own making as your veins crystalize, and hope that someone finds you.

•───────•°•☀︎•°•───────•

It’s been eighteen days.

Eighteen long drawn out days of waiting for the monitor to go off.

It took you two days to finally stand up and wash the blood from your body. It took five to get the courage to get on the bench. It took ten to accept this.

After day fourteen, anxiety started chipping away at your stomach, waiting for the inevitable beep and check up from the doctor.

It was like clockwork. Everyday he’d come in with the nurse and take the monitor off and hook it up to his machine. And every day, it would blink red at him.

You would let out a breath of relief every time.

None of them spared you any sympathy. You weren’t expecting any, but did they have no emotions? Did they feel no guilt for the fact that they were going to tear you open and steal your future kids from you?

A lot of emotions came and went in those eighteen days. Anger, grief, distraught, and then acceptance. This was your life. And as much as you hated that this happened to you, you’d do it in every life time if it meant keeping Jon safe. You wouldn’t change a thing if it meant everyone on Earth was safe.

It wasn’t all bad anyway. BB stayed with you the whole time. She never left. You never asked them, but one day- around day six, you realized they couldn’t see or hear her. You accepted her as she was. Even if she was some figment of your imagination, it was better this than nothing.

It was all fine, everyday the screen would blink red. Everyday you’d rot for three hours, barely breathing as the green sun took you for everything you had.

You’d learned to predict the cycle.

That was until day eighteen.

The monitor on your wrist beeped around 5 in the morning.

The red sun hadn’t risen yet, but the doctor rushed to your room regardless. Your blood thundered in your ears as he pricked your finger. You were convinced these were the longest two minutes of your life.

When the screen flashes green, you gag. You actually almost managed to throw up the little food they gave you. The doctor pays you no mind, but smiles to himself instead. He speaks to the nurse rapidly, and luck seemed to finally catch up to you upon meeting your fate.

They left the cell still chattering to each other. You knew they were most likely on the way to prep the surgery. You had about seven hours until the green sun rose. Physically being able, but mentally being drained, you decided to spend the day like every other. Laying with BB until they came for the inevitable.

If the situation wasn’t so cruel it would be nice. You were offline, spending a lot of time processing your thoughts, really getting to know yourself, and you had a pet.

That’s what you tried to focus on. There wasn’t much to be positive of, but if you wallowed in pity it wouldn’t get you anywhere. You were already miserable. There was no way to sugarcoat that.

You may as well make the best of a bad situation.

The sun rises earlier today as if it was the will of the gods.

You were playing with BB, petting her as she laid on your chest, when the sudden need of air hits you. You almost toppled off the bench in desperation. The air in the cell felt as though it physically depleted for the eighteenth day in a row. You were almost used to this symptom, you’d grown accustomed to except it every other day. Yet you hadn’t prepared yourself today, it was too early.

Heaving for air, you sit up, BB flying up in front of your face. She growls at you to show how happy she was with the current predicament of changing positions.

Your hands fall forward on the bench, as you gasp for air, hunching over yourself.

That’s when the door opens again.

This time, they finally look at you for the first time since the throne room. They brought their version of a gurney. It didn’t look nearly as comfortable as the one’s on Earth. It was a metal table with some mechanics on the bottom to keep you floating.

The men he brought with him don’t even let you make an attempt to let you stand. They just pick you up and throw you on the table. Strapping you down and tying you to the table before you can even leave the room.

And then there they go again, with that fuckass rag over your head. It was really starting to get old. It wasn’t like you could do anything. They made sure of that.

The trip to the operating room wasn’t a long one. Maybe two left turns and two hallways? When the green sun rose you lost all your senses and you couldn’t tell. It was just a matter of trying to stay alive. You did know it was on the same floor as the other cells.

BB is next to your face again, you feel her head curl into your neck. At least the universe was graceful enough to offer you that small comfort. They hadn’t offered you much mercy, but for this, for this you would attempt to be grateful for.

They kept the rag over your head the whole time, not even removing it when they began the surgery. Maybe it made them feel better about themselves. If they didn’t see a face, maybe it felt less real to them.

Tears start to fall down your cheek and soak through the rag, when you a finger grace your top. They were going to pull it up and there was nothing you could do. They were going to cut you open and all you could do was fight to breathe.

The fabric is barely pulled up a millimeter when you hear the door open again. It barely slides open before shots start firing and screams echo around you. You would be anxious if you had the energy. You’d shoot up if you could breathe right.

But right now? You’re just happy that this is getting postponed.

BB stands up and starts growling when the attackers get closer.

Then, the rag is pulled off your head and you see the last person you imagined would be on this side of the galaxy.

Jason fucking Todd.

He looks destroyed and like he can breathe again all at the same time. He’s in some goofy spacesuit and he’s drinking you in like he can’t believe you’re real. One gloved palm touches your cheek and you swear his eyes are glassy through the helmet he’s wearing. The other hand interlocks your fingers, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out with a tired smile and fresh tears.

“Hey baby,” his voice cracks, eyes roaming over your body, “guess we’re even now.”

“I guess,” you manage your first smile in the past few weeks at the sight of him.

Relief floods you like a bucket of ice water. You’d saved Jason more times than you could count back on Earth. You always joked that he’d make it up to you one day, but you both hoped he’d never have too.

And now here you are.

“Kyle, come here and help me get her loose.”

Turning your head to the other side, you see the one and only Kyle Rayner. He’s wearing a distraught expression and you can’t help but laugh. You’re positive that you look like death incarnate.

“Got yourself into quite a mess didn’t ya?”

“Something like that yeah?” a cough escapes you while answering.

Jason starts looking around anxiously trying to get you a glass of water. Kyle’s constructing a sword to cut the ties when BB aims her tail at him, ready to shoot.

“Hey, um- is the radioactive kitten a friend of yours?”

Your head whips from your devastatingly handsome boyfriend to Kyle in surprise, “You can see her?!”

Kyle looks away from BB, to you, to Jason, then both of them turn their gaze back to you; a question and worry painted across their face.

“Yes?”

“Oh thank fuck, I thought I was going crazy,” you breathe out, looking at the roof.  

“Why?”

Turning back to Jason to answer the question, “None of these people ever said anything about her, I don’t know why but they couldn’t see her. I thought I was hallucinating her.”

“Well I can assure you the neon green cat is very real, and pointing her tail at me,” Kyle has the sword raised in anticipation to deflect BB’s shots, “I’m going to assume she’s yours then.”

“Yeah, that’s Baja Blast.”

Jason snorts and has to, begrudgingly, turn his face away from you to hide the rest of his laugh when you give him a look.

“Cool,” Kyle’s still standing there with a popped hip, BB won’t let him get close to you and it’s almost sweet how protective she is, “call her off for me?”

“BB,” you turn your face and land on your right cheek. You “pst” at her before she turns her little face from Kyle to you, tail still aiming at him. You shake your head with a small smile, “He’s a friend.”

You know there’s no way that she understands you, but you hope the genuine smile and soft sound of your voice eases her. Her head merely tilts 30 degrees while you attempt to reason with her. The universe seems to intervene on her thought process, and she crawls on your chest to curl into a ball.

“Kyle go,” Jason orders from where he’s standing next to you. His hand hasn’t left yours and you highly doubt he’ll let go of you anytime soon.

Within seconds Kyle’s cut the straps loose from you on the table. If you had any energy, you’d love the new found freedom. The sun however, had different plans for you.

“Kyle take the cat.”

He looks up, appalled, at Jason, “Are you kidding me? It wants to kill me, you take it.”

“She has a name.” your words went in one ear and out the other.

“Rayner come on, Tim can only keep the comms in the castle down for a few minutes. Just grab the cat.”

Neither of them move, and if you didn’t feel like death it would be almost funny.

“Oh c’mon Kyle, she doesn’t wanna kill you,” you scoff and he finally turns to you with a raised brow, “Just maker her a nice bag to get in, like the ones they have to take to vets- preferably one with a pillow.”

“You’re serious then? About taking this thing back to Earth with you?”

“Yes.”

With a deep sigh, he constructs the travel bag for BB. With a speed that rivaled Wally’s, Jason manages to pick her up and place her in it before she’s fully woken up and growling.

“See she blends right in!”

Jason snorts and Kyle shakes his head.

Then temptation finally won out again Jason as he drops his helmet to your forehead. His eyes are shut as he allows himself to feel you, whispering an “I missed you.”

He steals a few seconds from time in that position. When he does pull back, you peer up at him. You know you look like shit, yet he still manages to make you feel like the most beautiful being in the Universe.

“I missed you too.”

“Alright, c’mon lovebirds we don’t have all day,” annoyance is evident in Kyle’s voice as he’s now been shackled with BB, “Hal’s waiting for us outside.”

Jason’s arms scoop you up from the table, slipping them on your back and under your knees. Your head falls against his chest, almost cackling at the sight of Kyle. He’s standing with a popped hip, the travel bag hanging off his elbow which has a cranky BB inside growling up a storm.

“It suits you Rayner,” you feel Jason’s chest rumble as he speaks.

“Shut it man.”

Leaving the castle was surprisingly easy- at least in how you experienced it. You’re not entirely sure how they managed it, but they must’ve timed it right to make sure that soldiers were at shift change or something. From what Jason said earlier, you imagined that Tim also had the castle comms go dark for your rescue.

You don’t remember much, the green sun had a habit of making that happen. When it would rise, you couldn’t do much of anything. The three hours it was in the sky, you just focused on keeping your body working.

Jason felt it. He felt the lifelessness in your body and held on tighter.

Neither of you knew who his tight grip was a comfort for, you, him, or both. In the whole march out of the castle, he remained whispering sweet nothings to you. The blinding white walls fading away as his gaze continuously found yours.

Your hearts could finally beat in tandem, as they were once again reunited with their other half.

A few minutes and turns later, the four of you make it outside. The air was harsh along with the light. It was the quietest you’d ever been on a mission. Even BB seemed to understand the nature of the plan and kept to herself while Kyle swung the bag ferociously.

With the sudden exposure to the green sun, you can’t hide the gasp that escapes you. You feel yourself go limp in Jason’s arms and breathing becomes thirty times more difficult.

“Hey, stay with me now,” Jason shakes you the tiniest bit in his arms, you don’t do much but groan in response, “It’s only a little while longer until we get you out of here.”

Next to you, Kyle’s calling for Hal. He couldn’t carry all of you plus himself, so Hal remained on the outside waiting to be called in.

It’s a very long and gruesome seventy-two seconds later when Hal finally descends to where the lot of you are. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the older man tilt his head toward Kyle’s arm. He goes to open his mouth and Kyle holds a hand up.

“Don’t even ask.”

You manage to smile while Hal snorts. Walking over to you, he pushes some strands of hair from your face with a tender smile.

“Hey kiddo, you ready to go home?”

You try to answer -really you do- but all you can get out is a pathetic nod. Jason’s grip tightens when he feels how weak you’ve gotten. You really wanted to get out of here soon.

Hal goes to take you from Jason, and your boyfriend hesitates. It’s only for a second, but everyone feels it. He knows that Hal’s going to help. He knows that nothing is going to happen. It’s just the idea of being parted from you again kills him. It actually tears him apart from the inside out. It’s as if someone’s ripped his veins from his body and wrapped them around his neck. He can’t breathe at the mere idea of you not being near again, but you have to go with him. He’ll get you out of here faster. He’ll get you to the yellow sun.

After a deep breath, he transfers you over to Hal in an awkward passing of arms. Giving your hand one last squeeze, his arms are horrifically empty again.  

Hal doesn’t say anything to him, understanding immediately.

“I’ll meet you guys at the ship.” Are his parting words before shooting into the sky with you.

You imagine letting out a “fuck” at the sudden pressure from the flight, but you’re not sure if it actually left your lips or if it was a thought. For a second, you can’t breathe at all as the green sun gets closer. It’s like one last final “fuck you” before Hal shoots off into the other direction.

Slowly, as you get further from the green sun, you start to feel like a person again. It’s easier to breathe tucked into his chest. It brings back memories of when you used to visit the Hall of Justice as a kid. Hal and Barry used to play with you before and after meetings.

In the few times where Mom had an overlapping interview and the Kents couldn’t’ watch you, Dad used to have you tag along if you promised to be good. Planes weren’t your favorite toy, but Hal always brought you some mock ones and would sit on the floor as you created some dramatic storyline. He always went along with it too and asked questions.

Your bearings start coming back to you as the minutes pass. The ability to curl your fingers and take deep breaths without coughing return first.

Then you feel it.

Turning away from his chest, your eyes find your saving grace.

Hal lets go of you then.

It’s almost like night and day to how you were feeling a few minutes ago. It’s as if someone lit a fire inside of you. It genuinely feels like a million dollars as the yellow sun erases everything from the past three weeks.

Every ounce of kryptonite, every powerless night, every weak moment, it’s all gone. Strength pulses in your biceps and heat flows in your veins. Taking your first full breath of peace, a smile finds it’s way to your face. Your finally at 100% and you promised yourself you’d never take this for granted again.

Turning to Hal with the cheekiest grin, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“You gave us a real scare kid,” the only reason he’s not scolding you is because he knows who’s waiting for you back on Earth.

You’re not sure whether to be excited or scared to have to face your parents again.

“I know,” your arms extend in front of you while interlocking your fingers to crack your knuckles, “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” he waves off the apology and flies closer to you, giving you a side hug, “after all, who am I supposed to play airplanes with if something happens to you Kent.”

You snort but lean into the hug. “But really,” he starts again, “I’m happy you’re okay.”

You sigh against his chest, “Me too.”

Then, another green light catches your attention as it gets closer, a black vessel closely behind it. Instinctively, your shoulders pull back tensing, and you focus your eyes to tear it apart. A moment barely comes and goes before Hal places a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey relax,” he grips your shoulder a little harder to ground you, “It’s Kyle and Spooky.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flush with embarrassment, yet judgement never comes from him. If anything he looks like he pities you. You’re not sure that’s much better.

Kyle reaches you before the rest do. He still has BB in the bag and you full on laugh now. It’s practically a cackle as you digest Kyle with a constructed vet bag for your alien kitten. His face expresses how amused he is by the setup, which is none at all. Yet, you do notice that his lips twitch a tiny bit. After finding you in that state, it was good to see you look alive again.

When he gets closer, you fly toward him and pull him into a hug too. His arms also wrap around you with relief.

“Thank you Kyle,” you pull back and share a smile, “for everything.”

He nods graciously, “Anytime.” and you believe it.

Then BB growls, officially done with her cage. That snaps Kyle back into reality and he looks at the bag before to you again.

Without even letting him ask the question, you answer it. “You can let her out now.”

“Thank fuck.”

And with that, BB shoots off to fly into you. She’s a small little torpedo, sending you spinning back a few yards when she makes contact. Once you’re able to stabilize yourself, Hal looks concerned.

“What the hell even is that thing?” You can’t see it through his mask, but you’re sure his eyebrows have shot all the way to his hairline.

“Couldn’t tell you.” Kyle answers from his left, now crossing his arms.

“It’s my kitten, her name is Baja Blast, BB for short.” you smile while cradling her to your chest, “She found me on the trip to Emuphus and hasn’t left me since.”

They’re about to say something else when the ship reaches you. Kyle and Hal turn to look at it briefly, then turn their attention back to you.

“You should probably go in before Jason rips all his hair out.” Kyle jerks his head to where the ship remains stationary behind him.

“Won’t you guys come too?”

“We’ll be heading back first,” Hal informs you, “We’re going to give Supes and the JL the rundown so when you guys get there, you can have a nice family reunion.

“Ahh okay,” you nod along.

Before heading into the ship, you give them both one more hug and a thank you. Each of them return the hug a little tighter than they had previously.

You’re not sure who all was in the ship or what to expect, but stepping into a spaceship with Bruce, Tim, and Jason was not on your bucket list this year.

Jason’s at your side in an instant, his hand instantly finding your free one. BB’s still cradled against your chest. Looking at her almost makes you nostalgic, she’s grown in the past three weeks.

Bruce stands when you enter and instantly makes his way to you. It stunned you as he approached, you and the old man never really had many interactions, and none that were physical. So, when he pulls you into a very brief and tense hug, you’re past shocked.

Your jaw practically unhinged. Tim snickers from over his shoulder when he catches your expression.

As he backs away, you could’ve sworn you heard a sniffle.

“Clark was going to come, but we couldn’t risk any of them joining the mission because of the green sun. They would’ve become more of a liability than a help.”

Of course he didn’t address the sudden burst of emotion that overtook him. Not wanting to be insensitive, you decide to ignore it as well.

“I understand.” you nod, “Thank you Bruce- really it means a lot that you did all of this. Especially when you didn’t have too.”

“I did.” he answers with no room for debate.

“Thank you anyway.” you push it again and he does nothing but dip his chin honorably. Jason’s fingers tightens around yours again, a little reminder that you’re actually here.

Bruce steps away after that and Jason leads you to one of the benches against the wall. BB has now taken it upon herself to fly off and explore the ship. You let her have her fun, she would be fine for a few hours without you.

“I love you.” Jason rushes out when you sit next to him.

“I love you too.” You whisper, laying your head on his shoulder.

“I was scared I was never going to be able to tell you that again.”

Both of you let that sit in the air for a second, because the truth was that you were afraid of the same thing. It could’ve very easily become reality too. You decide to put that thought away before it takes advantage of your emotions.  

“Me too.”

His head rests on yours and you allow your breathing to sync up. It was harmonious. His hand was still gripping yours but now he was filling up all of your senses, and you let him.

Because Jason Todd traveled across the universe for you.

Because Jason Todd risked it all for you.

Because Jason Todd loved you like it was the easiest thing in the world.  

He was never one for big displays of affection, but when push came to shove. Jason didn’t blink to do anything for you.

So while you breathe each other in again for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall asleep against the man who saved you.

•───────•°•☀︎•°•───────•

Bonus:

Arriving at the watchtower has your heart about to beat out of your chest.

Jason woke you up from the nap when you got back into the solar system. BB was now on his other shoudler, allowing you to curl into him.

When Bruce lands the ship, it hadn’t even hit the deck before he lowered the door. You stood instantly, shooting out before it finished opening. Your dad had already started flying toward the ship and you met somewhere in the middle.

His arms wrapped around you, crying in a way you’d never heard before. Then joined Aunt Kara, Conner, Jon, and your mom.

Your mom was the last to join the hug, but she somehow managed to end up right next to you. Her arms wrapped around you and the sound of her sobs pushed you to start crying too. Even though there were enough tears to fill a river, you don’t think you’ve ever been happier. Everyone you ever cared about was in an immediate radius.

With a relieved smile, you allow yourself to enjoy it. You let yourself be held and loved by the most important people in your universe.

Then as Jason approaches you all, watching from the outskirts, Lois made eye contact with him. She mouthed a thank you, and he waved it off.

He’s not sure whether to be surprised or not when she pulls him into the Kent family hug.  And although he’s the tiniest bit uncomfortable, when he see you smile, everything falls away.

Because you were happy. And that’s what mattered.

•───────•°•☀︎•°•───────•

A/N: please can we pretend that people can talk in space for this and i'm sorry that the ending is rushed

It was the middle of the night. The air wasn’t cool and breezy like it was in your last city, no, it was damp and muggy. A sheen of sweat had built up on your forehead and you tried desperately to ignore how Nightwing’s eyes followed the drop of sweat running down your neck. Ever the flirt. You were tired, hungry, and running on two cups of cheap coffee. The latest case was a classic, some amateur cartel smuggling stuff they shouldn’t be at the docks of Bludhaven. Easy and simple enough one would think, if it wasn’t for the fact that this has been a lead you’ve been following for months.

The legendary Penguin, yes, The Penguin from Gotham was trying to spread his roots into various surrounding cities. It started off small, but the operation was steadily growing bigger and bigger. Soon, the city may fall into his mangy clutches, and that was something you couldn’t afford nor would allow. Not in your precious city.

Unfortunately for you, Bludhaven’s new resident was making it much more difficult than you would have liked.

“For what? Knocking out my suspects for the next who knows how long,” you scoffed, staring down at the numerous unconscious bodies before you. “I wanted to question them first thing on the scene.”

Nightwing’s smile dropped into an exaggerated wince, and he followed your line of sight. “I mean, I’m sure I can get one of them up and going in no time.” He kneeled down, grabbing the shoulder of the body on top of the pile and aggressively shaking them. “Hey, buddy! Wakey wakey!”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, digging in your long coat for your latest stress reliever. It took a hot second, but eventually your hands snatched up a small, well loved box. You pulled it out, popped it open, and picked out a fresh cigarette. The box returned to your pocket and in exchange you pulled out an old lighter, scuffed and all, but hey it still worked. You put the cigarette in its rightful spot between your lips and cupped a hand around it, impatiently getting to work on firing up the lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Nightwing piped, tilting his head.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you muttered, eyebrows scrunching in frustration. No matter how many times you flicked it the lighter just wouldn’t cooperate and your poor thumb was suffering the consequences. “We’re not exactly friends.”

Finally, a small flame flickered out with a hiss and you lit the stick. You nearly moaned at the sensation of hot smoke filling your lungs, and you tilted your head back to blow it all out.

“Ouch,” he drawled, drawing himself up to full height with a small groan.

Adult, male, possibly in his thirties?

Your mind got to work on assessing the man before you, running your eyes up and down his figure. You’ve done it a hundred times before in a desperate attempt to figure out the man before you. Just who exactly was under the mask? The one that haunted you even in your dreams.

Clearly he worked out if the toned muscles straining against his suit said anything. In all areas, you realized. Arms, legs, thighs…

“My eyes are up here sweetheart,” The very man you were ogling said, two fingers pointing at his own. You quickly inhaled and the nicotine went down the wrong pipe, causing you to hysterically cough with red hot cheeks. You desperately attempted to ignore the deep chuckle you heard, and only came back to reality when your cigarette was plucked from in between your fingers. “Enough of that. These things can kill you, you know?”

You scoffed, awkwardly clearing your throat after. “Didn’t know you were as certified in medicine as you are with the law.”

Nightwing laughed once more, opening his mouth to speak when a hand clapped you on the shoulder. You jumped with a swear, swatting your laughing partner in the shoulder. “Jesus, Dave! How many times have I told you to knock that off?”

“Now is that any way to treat your comrade in front of our resident celebrity?” Dave chuckled, brushing his blonde hair back with his other hand and flashing Nightwing a grin.

Dave, your assigned partner, was a lot more fond of the vigilante than you were. You remembered all the headaches you got from just how much the blonde sang the other praises back at the station. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had a puppy crush on the hero.

Nightwing smiled back, though you noted that it was somewhat strained. The thought caused you to raise an eyebrow. The man in black and blue loved attention from what you could remember, basking in the crowds that surrounded him in the daylight hours. So what made him so shy now? “You flatter me, sir. It’s all simply in a day’s work.”

Dave beamed at the attention. “And we are forever grateful for it. Now, if you don’t mind, me and my partner need to get back to the station.” He threw his arm around you, turning his head to you and ignoring the burning stare at the side of his head. “Clean-up crew just arrived. We just need to head back to the station for a quick statement and then we can handle the rest in the morning.”

“Thank god,” you muttered, and without looking back at Nightwing you turned and walked back to your cruiser with your partner beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

. . .

Dick couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he realized he loved you.

Maybe it was when he first started his activities in Bludhaven as Nightwing. The first night he ran into you he could remember the loud sigh of irritation you let out after evaluating him, clearly not a fan like he would have thought. Not to toot his own horn or anything…

It was just nice to not be thrown at for once, his reputation following him from one grim city to the next. He was used to endless praise and claims that he could do no wrong, people frothing at the mouth not just for Nightwing but the esteemed Richard John Grayson, adopted son of the legendary Bruce Wayne.

Or maybe he realized when he first met out outside of his persona. His first day on the police force, fresh out of the academy and in desperate need of his first paycheck for rent (he refused to rely on Bruce’s money once he moved out, no matter how much it pained him to do so…). His supervisor, an older man named Patrick, was giving him a tour of the station.

It wasn’t until he heard yelling from across the room that he first laid eyes on you outside of his alter ego. You were furious, absolutely furious from what he could tell. Your victim? A poor newbie, just like him, sitting down in front of you with her hands folded in her lap and head tilted down in shame.

“-have any idea what could have happened!” He caught, pausing in his stroll and focussing all his attention on you. “What if he didn’t miss? What if our robber wasn’t such a shit shot and the bullet hit you?”

“I-I just,” the woman mumbled, twiddling her thumbs and shying back from you. “I just thought that it would be better if it was me who got hit instead of you!”

If you were furious before, you were absolutely hysterical now. “Listen here! My life is no more important than yours. Got it? What you did wasn’t brave, it was stupid. You have a family to get back home to. People who need you outside of these walls. You can’t be there for them if you’re dead on the street you hear me?”

The woman before you mumbled something, and upon you yelling at her to repeat finally lifted her head up and firmly said, “I understand!”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and stepping back. “Good, good. From here on out I don’t ever want to see you pull some shit like that again, okay? Everyone’s life matters here, I don’t care about you being brave. I care if you get back home.”

Despite being teary eyed, the woman gave you a watery smile as she nodded. It was clear she was touched by how much a superior seemed to care.

Said superior, upon realizing that everyone in the main office was staring, snapped. “Get back to work!”

As if she was talking to him personally Dick snapped up straight, turned his head, and continued following his assigned officer.

“Don’t mind them,” he said, patting Dick on the shoulder with a smile. “They look scary but they really just care too much. You’ll learn the longer you stay here.”

Dick desperately hoped so, his heart racing as he attempted to peek over his shoulder to get just another glance of you. He couldn’t. So, he decided to put his own investigative skills to work.

Detective [First Name] [Last Name], partner of Detective Dave Richards. You’ve been on the force for nearly five years, three in Star City and now two in Bludhaven. You had no partner to go back home to, but you did have a cat. The rest of your family stayed behind in Star City, but you still contacted them frequently.

He wondered if they were proud of you.

A multiple award winning investigator for the good work you did.

An exemplary member of the Bludhaven Police Force…but withdrawn in every social aspect of the work he quickly learned.

You hated speaking to news outlets. You were too blunt and weren’t good at sugar coating the nitty gritty details of public cases. You hated being on camera. Your smile would be just a bit too big and strained to convince anyone that it was natural. You especially hated the parties the station would throw every once in a while to ‘enforce comradery’. He could always find you in the very back corner of the main room, fidgeting with a cup of alcohol he knew you had no desire to drink.

Like now.

The party was in full swing, a celebration for another one of Penguin’s plans to sink his teeth into Bludhaven foiled. It was a group effort on everyone's part, and the chief wanted to emphasize that fact through the gathering.

Dick, personally, didn’t mind these events. Being a Wayne he’s had more than his fair share of galas and charities, this was easy compared to that.

Or, it should have been.

“You’re not subtle my boy,” Patrick muttered to him, and Dick’s gaze snapped from you to the older man with flushed cheeks.

“If you ask me I’m not being obvious enough,” Dick pouted, taking another sip from his cup. While not normally a fan of drinking he relished in the burn down his throat.

“You’re staring them down like a creep,” Patrick pointed out, watching some officers play a miserable game of charades. Half the players were too drunk to comprehend anything and the other half were chatting it up with one another instead of participating. “You need to get some guts and just walk up to em.”

“I have guts,” Dick muttered, redirecting his attention over to you. You were now flipping through your phone, paying the party and its people no mind. Most likely going through various spare care files and the like. You were a workaholic like that, never allowing your mind to fully rest.

Dick could think of a few ways to empty that mind of yours and get you to finally relax…

Patrick scoffed. “Sure, kid, sure.”

“I do! Watch, you’ll see, I’ll charm them right here, right now.”

He tilted his head back, downing the rest of his drink for liquid courage. Slight regret stewed within him when he tried walking afterwards, tilting left then right, but he didn’t care. No, all his attention was zeroed in on you. Beautiful you.

The light of your phone lit up your face in the dark corner, and even from across the room Dick could see how it accentuated your features. Your (e/c) eyes, accessorized by the dark eyebacks underneath. Your chapped lips that you had a habit of picking, but were probably still oh so soft. Physical traits that most would see as a flaw, yet Dick couldn’t help but adore.

He was half way across the room, currently trying to wobble his way around a desk, when he caught sight of his nemesis in the corner of his eye. Heading in the same direction as him.

Dave.

Fucking Dave.

Dick had no qualms against Dave, no in fact he slightly admired the man’s constant positive attitude. He was so vastly different from you in every way, his light never dimming despite the constant emotional hardships that came with the job. It was almost hard to believe that you two made such great partners.

But like the old saying goes, ‘opposites attract’...

Not if Dick had anything to do about it.

It was ridiculous. Utterly pathetic and ridiculous, this one sided beef that he had with a man who was completely oblivious to it. For crying out loud, he was pretty sure Dave didn’t know Dick existed at all!

But all was fair in love and war. And Dick was deeply in love and refused to back down.

So he picked up the pace, swerving past various paper stacked desks and ignoring multiple attempts at others trying to converse with him. He cursed his natural charisma at just how many tried, his popularity within the station showing at the wrong time. Every so often he glanced in Dave’s direction, gauging just how close the man was getting to you, and would speed up his walk in a desperate attempt to get to you first.

The distance between you both was quickly closing, and against his better judgment Dick walked faster. He was nearly jogging at this point, gaining multiple looks for it, but he couldn't care less. All that mattered was getting to you.

He was about to declare victory, only mere steps away from you when tragedy befell him. He should have known that he wasn’t that blessed, not with his history.

Dick tripped on his own foot.

Dick Grayson, an ex-flying Grayson, the renowned and agile hero Nightwing, tripped on his own foot in front of the love of his life.

All he could think on his way down was gods, any out of the dozen he’s faced, please smite me.

An exploding pain in his face was all he could register next, ranging from his forehead down to his nose and then his chin. All in sweltering pain and suffering from some minute form of rugburn.

Yeah, not his finest moment.

“Christ, are you okay?” A sweet voice asked above him, and it took Dick a minute to realize it was your sweet voice that asked him.

Unfortunately for him, all that came out when he tried to respond was a pained moan.

“Wow, you really ate it there huh, dude,” Dave’s irritating voice piped up next, before a set of arms lifted him from under his own.

The world was tilting on its axis and everything was far blurrier than it should be. Everything had a double of itself, and while Dick wouldn’t mind two of you, he knew that was bad. Even worse, there were two of Dave when the man leaned over to get a look at his face and winced. “Damn, that’s sure gonna leave a mark.”

“Way to make him feel better,” you rolled your eyes, finally pocketing your phone and looking up at Dick with sympathy. “Seriously, are you okay? We can check to see if the station nurse is anywhere around here.”

“I got him,” Patrick's voice piped up from behind him, and Dick thanked whatever god was out there that instead of smiting him, they sent a literal angel to help him. The older man’s arms took over for Dave, wrapping around his waist and throwing his arm over his shoulder. “I think it’s about time he went home anyways. He’ll have one hell of a hangover. Detectives.” Patrick gave a nod of farewell and before Dick could embarrass himself any more turned them away and walked them out to the exit.

God, Dick was such an idiot…

. . .

The next time Dick saw you was only a few days later, barely recovering from the scene he made at the party.

He did everything he could to avoid you at the station, and it seemed to work in his favor. You were still assigned on the mass Penguin case, and Dick himself was still limited to city patrol and parking tickets. Suffice to say it created the perfect schedule of avoidance for him.

On the downside, he missed you oh so much. Which is why when on his patrol as Nightwing he quite literally jumped at the chance to see you once more.

It was nearly midnight, funny how that seemed to be his ideal time to talk with you. You were just leaving the police station, shoulders sagged in exhaustion and eyes bleary. All you wanted to do was go home, shower, and snuggle with Lady Puursephone.

A familiar set of feet landing behind you, however, proved that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Awfully late for you to be going home,” Nightwing spoke, mock sympathy pouring from him.

You rolled your eyes and refused to look back at him, continuing on your way to your apartment. You prayed that he would get the hint and go back to whatever hole he crawled out of, but when did the universe ever do what you want? Instead he jogged up beside you, arms lazily folded behind his head. Thankfully, he decided not to speak any further than that.

Bludhaven, despite its massive rise in crime as of late, was actually quite nice at night. It, like Gotham, was a city that never sleeps, but sometimes you got lucky and managed to walk home with little to no crowds to slow you down. The moon, dim as it was, fought to shine against the pollution clouding the sky and if you squinted really closely, you could just barely make out the stars in the night sky.

The two of you turned a corner, silence still encircling you, when you recognized an itch in your throat. Knowing exactly what you craved you stuck your hands in your pocket, pulling out a small box. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Nightwing scowl. 

“Why are you so into smoking now? You never did it before,” he huffed, glaring as you stuck the stick in between your lips and whipped out your lighter.

You shrugged. “Dave lent me one a few weeks ago to help me relax. Guess I just got hooked like everyone else.” Distantly, you could hear him grumble something that sounded awfully like ‘of course it was him’ and you turned to look at him inquisitively. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head and kicked a rock in his path. It reminded you of something a child would do. “It just seems like you and him are awfully close.”

“Of course we are. He’s my partner.”

“Yeah, I bet he would like to be more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, stopping and turning to look at him. You coughed slightly, still not quite used to all the pungent fumes that came with smoking.

Nightwing continued on a few more steps before he stopped, sighed, and looked at you with crossed arms. “I’m just saying I know guys. They act all friendly and act like they have your best interest at heart, when all they really want is to…you know.”

You glared at him. “No, I don’t. And even if I did it would be very unprofessional of you to suggest.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What, so just because you’re the city’s self-proclaimed savior you have to act like mine too?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! I just…” He sighed, running his hands down his face but then wincing. “Ouch!”

Alarm bells rang throughout your body, and before you knew it you tossed your cigarette to the ground and rushed over to him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? You idiot, why are you talking with me instead of getting treated?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he waved off, backing away from you. But you were persistent, and with every step backwards you took one forward. The two of you continued this dance until Nightwing found himself with his back to a nearby brick wall of a building. It was rough and uncomfortable against his suit, but he couldn’t help but press into it when you stopped right in front of him.

“Show me,” you demanded, and for a second he could feel his legs wobble at the authority in your voice. You were so close he could smell not just tobacco, but your natural underlying scent. He could see every lovely feature you had up close, and for a second his eyes betrayed him and flickered to your lips. When you saw him hesitate you let out a huff, grabbing his wrists and pulling them off his face with little effort. Your eyes narrowed as you scanned his face, noting the scratches and what looked to be friction burns on his face. “What even happened?”

“I, uh…” Nightwing began, looking everywhere but your eyes as red slowly began to creep into his face. He whispered something, and when you dared to move closer he finally blurted, “I tripped!”

You blinked once, twice, thrice. “You what?”

If his face wasn’t red before, it was completely beat now. “I tripped.”

You went quiet for a few moments, staring him down as if you were searching for a lie, and when you found none you finally backed up. “Moron.”

Nightwing balked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” was all you said, before resuming your walk to your apartment.

His jaw dropped, staring at your figure, before running up beside you once more. “Uh, rude! I could have done it saving someone you know! This could be a battle mark!”

“Uh-huh, and is it?”

“Well, no, but that’s not the point!”

At that you let out a small laugh, and he nearly tripped over his own feet (again) at the sound. He stared at you for a few moments, before a victorious grin overtook his face. “You laughed.”

“What,” you questioned, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

“You laughed! Just now. You never laugh!”

“I do, you just never gave me a reason to.”

“Oh, so it's my misery you find joy in.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You bickered back and forth, unaware of the time that passed as you did. You didn’t know it, but your heart felt lighter as you did. Despite the headache he’s given you so many times in the past, Nightwing was genuinely…dare you so fun to be around.

Before you knew it you arrived at the front entrance of your apartment building.

“Well, this is me,” you gestured.

Nightwing nodded. “That it is.”

Neither of you made a move, simply staring at the other. Mapping each other out, as if attempting to ingrain the other in your minds.

Eventually, though, you snapped out of your trance, turning to open the door before a final thought popped into your mind. “Oh, and be careful from now on, Grayson. Wouldn’t want others catching onto you.”

And with that you shut the door in his face, ignoring the wide eye stare burning into your back.

“So what do you say?” Bruce asks, shooting you a cavalier smile. He’s oh so casual about the grenade that he’s dropped into your lap, waiting for you to pull the pin on it that’ll send you both hurtling into the unknown. 

You take a sip of your coffee, as though the bitter taste will reground you back into the reality of his proposition. 

“How convincing do you want it to be?” You ask, arching an eyebrow at him and all the implications that lie neatly tucked away under your statement. 

He’s prepared for this one, rolling the shoulders of his fine-pressed suit as he leans forward. He puts an elbow upon the small coffee table the two of you sit at, breaking the boundary set against several lines both figurative and real. 

“As convincing as you want it to be,” he gives a low deadpan. You laugh, tilting your head up to the ceiling, long enough that you miss the way the smile fades from his face, carefully watching you. But when you look back at him, it’s like it never disappeared to begin with. 

“A fake wedding proposal, Bruce,” you say, repeating the offer he made to you no more than thirty seconds ago, casting your gaze from him to the busy metropolitan street outside. “Are you sure there’s no one else that you could have asked to do this?” 

“There’s no one else I trust more to be my fake spouse,” he’s forthright in response. “And it’s a win-win for both of us.” 

“How so?” You ask, turning up your mouth into a smile. 

“I get the media heat off of me.” He explains, holding out a finger to list his reasons. “And you get to be saddled with one of the most eligible bachelors in Gotham.” 

“Okay, but what’s the second reason?” You ask, and giggle a little at your joke—he appears to have a non-reaction, so you quickly change gears to actually give an answer. 

“But in all honesty—are you certain it’s me that you want to go into this—”—You think about exactly how to word it—“—This, uh, act?” 

“Certain as the grave.” He returns, and the crooked smile on his face gives way to an unyielding sincerity. He means it, without a doubt. Granted, it’s no real marriage proposal on bended knee, but there is something that makes your heart race at the prospect, the heat simmering under your face as though you’re going to ignite in flames. Some part of you, that you don’t want to acknowledge just yet, is very into the concept. 

“Okay,” you feel yourself saying, shifting a little in your seat to compose yourself, “But only on one condition.” 

“Name it.” He says, drifting his eyes from the slope of your ankle crossed over the other, tracing up the shape of your body. You are too busy thinking of a way to articulate your request to see him do so.  

“If you actually end up falling in love with me in the process,” you say, rolling your eyes at the ridiculousness of your statement, “Just make sure to give me a head’s up.” 

He smiles, the real, bone fide article. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The two of you decide to announce your pseudo-marriage to the family a few days later, over a breakfast of bacon and eggs and pancakes that the two of you are running different points on. Bruce leans over the griddle and tries his best to keep the eggs from crusting over to a state that some might classify as ‘sedimentary,’ while you try to coax a few slips of butter onto the range to prevent it from happening. 

“Oh, yeah, like the two of you are such good actors,” Tim snarks from the table, flipping through another page of his comic as he lazes back in his chair. 

“Better than you, that’s for sure,” Barbara has one loaded in the barrel on your defense. Tim shoots her a friendly gesture not suitable for television. 

“I think I can pull it off.” You say offhandedly as you turn your attention back to the pancake browning nicely over the stove. You turn your head to look back at your fake husband. “Bruce, what about you?” 

“I can play the part.” He reassures you soberly, casting a glance at you from the other side of the range. “It’ll be like I’m not even acting.”

”Very convincing,” Jason’s sarcastic voice sails from where he sits straight-backed in his chair next to Dick, who is inventing new ways to peel an orange one-handed. 

“I’ll nominate you for an Emmy.” You smile softly at Bruce, who has deftly maneuvered the egg onto its other side with some impressive spatula handiwork.  

“I always did picture myself receiving an Oscar,” he jokes, watching you as you lower the heat on the stove, his eyes resting on your side profile as you kill the heat. Barbara and Dick send each other a significant glance across the table, but avoid saying anything aloud. 

“For your rugged good looks or your incredible acting method?” You snark back, sidling next to him to flip your finished pancake onto the plate he patiently holds out to you. The two of you are close as you work, shoulders bumping against each other as you both take great care to prevent the bacon from burning.

“For my intelligence in creating such a perfect master plan, of course.” Bruce retorts. “They nominate for well-written pieces of art, you know.” 

“Just as long as they don’t nominate for sunny-side up eggs,” you wisecrack, looking to the pan where it seems that Bruce has decided to opt for the tried-and-true method of—when all other egg attempts fail—making scrambled eggs. He grimaces good-naturedly, before a bolt of inspiration makes a grin grow wide. 

“Sorry,” he defers to you, “I couldn’t help but be distracted by my spouse’s incredible beauty.” 

“Flirt,” you tease, “How long have you been waiting to say that one?” 

“A while now,” he returns back easily, evenly. “Pass me the salt, would you?” 

“Anything for my husband,” you retort mischievously, reaching for the seasoning that is sitting right beside him, past the broad landscape of his figure that seems to be radiating more warmth than the stovetop besides you both. If you both share a long, extended gaze, neither of you choose to mention it—nor the people watching from the table side behind you both. 

“I don’t know,” Dick grins, down to Damian, who is drumming his fingers impatiently on the oak grain of the table, “They could’ve fooled me.”  

“Jesus, Bruce.” You hold up the solid gold bracelet from the velvet casing that still remains in his hand. “This is monstrous.”

“It’s tasteful,” he defends his choice as you hold it up to the light. If you hold it up the right way, it totally blocks out the light altogether, sucking it up in the vacuum of its incalculable wealth. “And it’s a good way of convincing the public that we’re together.” 

You let a whistle of admiration escape you as you hold it closer to your eyes, catching a subtle engraving on the inside of the band that has yours and Bruce’s names. You suppose for someone like him, this is kid’s money—but still. You like the way that your names look together. 

“Sure convinced me,” you agree, running your finger over the smooth, uninterrupted surface of the bangle—though bangle feels inadequate to describe this Pharaoh’s ransom. You tear your attention away from the jewelry back to him—he looks as though he’s waiting for your approval. 

“Are you sure you’re willing to spend it on a fake spouse like me?” You ask, settling your weight from one leg to another; there’s something about this piece of jewelry that feels so real, so final—you can’t explain the swirling gulf of emotions that swallow you up. “What about when your real spouse comes along?”

He’s serene in his sure response. “I don’t think that’ll be for a while. Besides, don’t you think I can afford more if it comes down to it?”  

“Careful—you’ll make them jealous.” You give him an unprincipled smile as you run your thumb over the two of your names, feeling the minute indentations scrape against it. 

“Maybe that’s the plan,” Bruce smiles as he places the velvet box to the side. “Now let me put it on you.” 

You try not to shiver as you feel the brush of his fingers against the length of your arm, gently yet firmly as his hand cups under your palm, the chill of the gold as it glides down your skin. Nor do you mourn aloud the lingering heat that all-but-scalds you as he pulls away, smiling down at you. 

“There,” Bruce says. “Now you look like you’re mine.” 

By the time that the two of you have been invited to the Gotham Humanitarian Awards Gala—after all, Bruce has to announce the award recipients, and you are his faithful spouse, after all—this dynamic has become something of old hat for you. It’s easy, the way that you can slide into his arms as he runs a protective hand down your waist while you both travel the Gotham streets together. 

It’s familiar, the scent of his cologne, leather and bourbon and sandalwood, as you have clandestine dinners that are ‘conveniently’ spotted by the paparazzi—and he holds you close to shield you from the wandering eyes of the cameras. 

It’s…wanted, his smile as he glances down at you and you beam back up at him, needed, the soothing, low timber of his voice as you both talk together into the late hours of the night. 

It’s…something that you can’t focus on right now. Especially as the two of you walk the circumference of the ballroom, weaving past people that offer hearty congratulations and false pleasantries. You smile and Bruce nods and the two of you walk arm-in-arm, his body fitting against yours with perfect ease. 

It feels so real. As a last defense, you feel like you need to break the ice—although there’s not really any ice, really—just a bracing truth that you have yet to fully acknowledge you are neck-deep in.

“Am I being realistic enough?” You ask with a jocular tone. 

“Lean on me some more.” Bruce instructs you, though that would imply you would resist the command.  “That’ll be good for the pictures.”

You are wont to oblige, hearing a familiar chorus of photos being snapped. It’s a noise that you’ve become used to, but you can’t really find yourself hating it. 

“That seemed very well-timed on your part.” You say through your teeth as the two of you smile primly at Commissioner Gordon and more familiarly at Barbara who is gussied up besides him. She sends you a knowing wink that seems to steal away a proper reaction on your end.

“Whatever it takes to convince them.” Bruce returns coolly, though the smile is evident in his voice. “I don’t see you complaining.”

“No, you’re right about that.” You find yourself agreeing with his statement. “It’s a lot easier than I thought it would be.” 

“You thought that it was going to be hard to act like you were in love with me?” Bruce asks dubiously, mock-offended at the idea that you would find him unloveable. You aim the most affable glare you can towards him.  

“No, not necessarily.” You shake your head thoughtfully as you glance up to the tiered chandelier hanging over you all. “It’s just—different.”

“Different how?” Bruce’s voice is quietly curious, a deep note of interest in the question. 

“Well, we’re already close. But this—holding you like this, walking around with you, being together like this. It just—”—You hesitate, thinking about how to word this. Feeling wracked by a sudden, uncharacteristic shyness at the realization that comes to mind. 

“What?” Bruce asks, stopping the two of you where you have both settled into a distant corner of the room—the ambient conversation of the crowd feels so far away at this moment. When you feel brave enough to look at him, you see those piercing blue eyes staring down at you, intently. 

“It just—”—You wet your lips with your tongue, mouth suddenly dry with words unspoken. “It just feels…right.”  

A slow, painful moment passes between the two of you, as you watch his eyes widen, a slow, quiet breath taken in by him while you feel like you cannot breathe at all. He turns to you, the hand that was around you now sliding up your shoulder, the shape of your name on his lips. 

His watch beeps, a specific chord. You know that noise, as dread sinks to the pit of your stomach—it means that something, somewhere, out there in Gotham—something is going wrong. Something that needs another part of Bruce Wayne that is unwelcome company here at the Gotham Humanitarian Awards.  

It seems unbearable, the willpower it takes for Bruce to look from you, back down to the watch, a flash of irritation, palpable anger on his face. Then, slowly, he looks back up to you, words still not verbalized clearly written on his face. 

Whatever he wants to say remains a mystery, for now. Instead, what he tells you is, "I have to go.” 

“You still have to announce the awards.” You say, looking from him to the oaken, elevated podium that is waiting for Bruce Wayne to read off the recipients of the award. 

Your mind shifts into overdrive as you look to compensate for his untimely disappearance. “Go—I can do them if you give me the notecards. It’ll be easy enough to explain—I’ll say you have a ‘tailoring issue’ or something like that.” 

You look away from the podium back to him—there’s that look on his face again. This time, with a touch of gratitude. 

“Has anyone ever told you what a thoughtful spouse you are?” He asks, and he means it, truly. But whatever else passed between you both will have to wait.  

“Only you, sweetheart. Now kiss my hand so it looks convincing.” You say, and hold up your awaiting hand to him.   

He does, his mouth slow and deliberate over the curve of your fingers, his eyes unmoving from yours. It is a possessive look, a needful look. Although it would grant you a moment to breathe if you looked away, you feel as though you are rooted to the spot until he stands back up to his full height. 

“I’ll see you tonight. Be safe out there.” You whisper, the ability to speak any louder stolen from you at this point in time. 

“I will.” Bruce promises, and then turns to go—Barbara is already moving to the far exit at the other side of the room. He sends a long, lingering look your way, before he turns back to move in disjointed tandem with her—off to where duty calls. 

You have to fight to keep from watching him as he leaves, before you go to work covering up for him, as any good spouse would. 

It’s a lot harder than it looks on paper, you think to yourself, trying to banish the thoughts that are rolling around in your head without any relief yet to be found. 

You are awakened by the touch of a familiar, warm hand lingering up your arm, a thumb grazing over your shoulder, rubbing a soothing, gentle circle into your skin. You open your weary eyes still blurry from sleep, blinking away the dreams that elude you as you return back to the waking world. 

For a brief instant, you are confused at your surroundings, before you remember: you fell asleep at a desk in the Cave. And the person who wakes you—you moan softly, running a hand through your disheveled hair, feeling the already-familiar weight of the bracelet as it slinks down your arm. 

Bruce stands before you, still suited up; there was a time when it frightened you. But now it’s almost as familiar as when he is out of it—maybe even more so. 

“Why are you still down here?” He asks, his voice more jagged, coarse as he toes the line between vigilante and civilian. “It’s three in the morning.” 

You press a free hand to the desk, unsteadily pushing yourself up. One of his black, gloved hands reaches out to steady you, holding your arm carefully. A thought flashes across your mind: these hands that, mere hours, maybe minutes ago, broke and tore and rended…and now they hold you, gently, tenderly. 

“I was waiting for you.” You say, honest as you rub your fist into your eye to wipe the sleep away. 

“You could’ve waited upstairs.” He’s still grim, but there’s something in his voice that makes itself more regulated, as if for your behalf. 

“I wanted to wait down here.” You reply, and you look down to the gloved hand that has yet to release you. Curious, you run a finger down the near-invisible seam crossing the span of his wrist; it seems that this makes him hold you even more securely. 

“Why is that?” Bruce asks, almost a purr as he comes closer into your space. You look back up at him, confused at this line of questioning.  

“Isn’t that what a good spouse does?” You ask, with a smile. 

“That’s what a good, real one does.” His voice is stark, if but for the persisting, unanswered question that hangs between you both. 

“Maybe…” you can’t look at him, darting your eyes down to the ground beneath you both. The press of a black glove that curves under your chin is mindful, but insistent as it slowly, surely turns your face back up to him. 

“Maybe what?” He asks. Though you can’t see his eyes through the whited-out lenses, you know he’s looking at nothing but you. Your face, your body, the air around you is totally electrified with sensation, tension, the need to know, to resolve this. 

“Maybe I want it to be real now, Bruce.” You state. “If that’s—what you want.” 

The only answer you get is the press of his mouth against yours, hot, demanding, greedy. The hand that holds your arm clenches, pulling you flush against him, whilst the other that cupped your chin moves to the back of your head, tilting it so that he can get better access to you—every part of you, as if he’s making up for time lost when it was so damningly close. 

You press your hands against the unyielding plate armor around his chest, fingers scrabbling for better purchase, needing him as much as he needs you. Your mouth opens for him and his tongue moves against yours, his hands searching down your waist, your hips, unrelenting and covetous. 

You pull away to get breath desperately needed, sure that your eyes are wide, breathless, happy—certain that if his mask were gone, there would be something similar in his own. Your shoulders hitch up and down as you gasp, but he holds you still, yet to release you—not that you intend to ever tell him to let you go. Not when you’re here, like this. 

“I need you, Bruce.” You beg. “Please.” 

“Come here,” he says, his voice a proprietary growl, and then you are swept up into his arms again. 

You are sore, but a pleasant, delicious kind of sore, when you wake up again in the morning; if the advanced progress of sun streaming through the open window is any indication, the late, late morning. This time, your surroundings are confusing, but then fall into sharp clarity—you are in his bedroom, laying in his California King bed, a cool bedsheet draped over you for your dignity’s sake. 

And he is there next to you, already awake, leaned on an elbow. Waiting for you to join him in the land of the living, it seems. You take the opportunity to run your eyes over the musculature you had ample time to admire and vocalize your appreciation for many, many times last night, before looking up at his face. 

“So…” you begin. “What does this make us?”  

“Whatever you want it to be.” He replies, his voice hoarse with disuse. But there’s no denying the truth he speaks with. You swallow, as he watches the column of your neck, before moving his attention back up. 

“Bruce,” you ask, reaching out your hand to trace the cut of his jawline, “How long were you acting? How long was it…real? For you?”  

He is straightforward, eyes trained upon you, his hand resting over yours as you brush your index finger past his cheek. “It was always real for me.” 

“Okay—good to know.” You huff out a shaky laugh as many things suddenly make so much more sense.  

“When did you figure it out?” He’s serious, but there’s a touch of amusement in his voice. It’s your turn now to abide by honesty.  

“Every time I watched you suit up.” You reply, staring back to him. “And I realized I didn’t want anything more than for you to come back safe to me.”  

A quiet spirits past you both as the two of you mull on current revelations. 

“So what now?” He asks, and you shuffle through the sheets to move into his waiting embrace. He’s like a furnace, all power and fervor and raw heat as his arms fold around yours. And he’s yours.  

“I think,” you say with a smile as you rest your head on his chest, “We should pick up where we left off. What do you say?” 

“I think,” he smiles fondly down at you, “This sounds like the start of a beautiful relationship.” 

You do like the sound of that. 

"sure." he mumbled, a little stumped from the sudden affection. "you okay? need anything?"

"i'm good." you spoke quickly, in a high pitched, breathy voice, and let out a particularly sharp exhale, as you were still trying to regain your breath. "it's just that i still need to get used to this, you know?"

wally heard you laugh softly at your own words, but his heart skipped a beat at the implications behind them, and he was glad that you could not see his surprised expression, was it something you were actually willing to go through with? "what do you mean?"

"it's just that sex with superspeed can be a bit rough, you know?"

"right..." he trailed off, but decided not to press on the matter, he'd just have to wait some more to find out if you were actually planning on having sex with him often enough to end up getting used to his powers. "sorry about that."

"that's fine, i like it." you tightened your arms around his neck. "just need the support right now."

"sure." he was still feeling a bit awkward, but he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close to his chest anyway, allowing you to relax into his arms and your breath to even out. he felt the soft rise and fall of your chest against his own, your warm skin against his, and heard your heartbeats slowing down to finally synchronise with his.

he was sure the moment felt a lot more intimate than anything you'd agreed on. still, wally decided to allow himself to take in your warmth rather than push you away, it'd been you who'd started it after all and he was not going to be the one to stop you. you felt tired, you wanted to be held, and he was the one responsible for it, so he shouldn't deny you of that, right?

one arm tightened around your waist while the other snaked up your back to tangle his fingers in your hair. he liked having you this close. even after the activities you'd been engaging in prior to this moment, he felt a lot closer to you like this. it felt nice, maybe he shouldn't be enjoying the softness of the moment as much as he was.

he stayed still for a few seconds, taking in your scent and listening to your soft breaths fanning against his neck. he wasn't sure if you were planning on falling asleep like that but he would let you if you needed to.

he pressed a kiss to your temple and hoped that it wasn't too much for you, hoped that you wouldn't be able to feel all the love he had for you, that he was sure practically radiated off him while he held you like this.