fehldrck

But Jaskier isn’t stupid, and so he carries around a very potent poison that can kill him almost instantly, and from experience has been proven to only leave him dead for around fifteen minutes. Because he does travel alone sometimes, and it’s better to kill himself in the middle of nowhere than to risk getting robbed when he’s sick, injured, etc.

Even though he can do it though, he’s not a big fan of it, and prefers to just ride out the pain/sickness with Geralt when possible. Because, okay, dying HURTS, and he’s never been able to find a poison that works rapidly and doesn’t make it feel like he’s being boiled alive, his heart thudding painfully in his chest until it just…gives out.

(Plus, he secretly likes the way Geralt will give him his cloak, and make him tea, and gently check his wounds. The witcher doesn’t exactly fuss, but he does let him ride Roach sometimes when he’s particularly unwell, with the witcher sitting behind him in the saddle and making sure he doesn’t fall off as he dozes.)

But then the mountain happens. And Jaskier is traveling with Geralt again, sure, but now he knows how he actually feels about traveling with a “human”. So even though Jaskier would prefer to just power through the nasty head cold he feels coming on, he digs in the bottom of his pack for the poison as soon as Geralt leaves to hunt. Because he can’t give the witcher yet another reason to leave him, not when the fix is so easy, not when Geralt clearly already wants as little contact, physical or otherwise, with him as possible.

He downs the vial, the familiar spasms taking over him almost instantly, and is about to let his eyes fall shut when he hears Geralt returning far too soon. A Geralt who does not know about Jaskier’s regeneration ability.

But the bard’s mouth has already stopped working, he can’t even lift his head, and the last thing he thinks before he’s gone is that Geralt looked a lot more…concerned? Than he thought he would.

And when Jaskier wakes up in Geralt’s arms, and explains everything, the bard is more than a little confused at the witcher’s insistence that he never kill himself again, at least when traveling with Geralt. The bard tries to argue that sometimes it’s necessary, but agrees to not do it unless it’s an emergency at the wild look in the man’s golden eyes.

Jaskier is still a little worried when he starts to feel another cold coming on two months later, but instead of Geralt leaving him like he feared, the man becomes a verifiable mother hen, refusing to leave the bard alone for even a second. And if Jaskier notes the way all weapons are kept far out of his reach, and the dagger he usually hides in his boot goes missing, well.

But two years later, Jaskier’s father dies in December, and Jaskier becomes the viscount. So he goes home to Lettenhove each winter to do all the work that he can’t foist off on advisors, cramming in twelve months of work into three as best he can.

Except the next year, on his way home, he comes across an unfamiliar Witcher with a familiar medallion that’s injured and won’t be able to make it to Kaer Morhen this winter before the first storm hits. So he explains he’s a viscount and that the Witcher can stay at his manor for the winter, but doesn’t mention knowing Geralt because how awkward would that be, if Geralt hadn’t mentioned him? No no, much better to just act like a rich pompous noble helping out a Witcher on a whim.

So Lambert begrudgingly spends the winter training with the knights of Lettenhove, and while he never actually gets the viscount’s name, he finds that all the knights have animal nicknames, and that the viscount has been gifted the name ‘deer’ for his swiftness and fondness for flight over fight. And Lambert thinks the name is hilarious, so when the viscount gets dragged by childhood friends to train occasionally, he finds great pleasure in the way the pretty boy scowls every time he is referred to as such by the witcher.

And Lambert tells Aiden what happened, so when two winters later a poisoned Aiden gets approached by the viscount after being driven out by a nearby town, he easily accepts the offer to lounge about all winter in a luxurious room. He is plied with all manner of comforts with nothing being expected of him in return, except perhaps the sharing of a few stories of his fights on the Path, which he is happy to part with. And in the back of his mind, he thinks he could get used to this far too easily, being spoiled and waited on hand and foot.

The pattern continues over the years as word spreads about the safety the viscount provides. Letho finds himself dragged into a toasty bed when he’s worried about freezing one year, the snow coming unseasonably early. Coën doesn’t have the coin one year to make it to anywhere safe for the winter, and spends the season talking with and helping Jaskier’s butler, who has known the ‘young master’ since he was quite little. And Eskel, well, he gets knocked out after killing a bruxa and wakes up in a resplendent manor. He interacts with the viscount some, but spends many of his days in the library with Priscilla, who decided to visit that year, and simply calls the viscount ‘Jul’.

And Jaskier, throughout all this, never actually introduces himself as anything other than the viscount of lettenhove, partly because he forgets and partly because he doesn’t particularly like going by Julian, though he allows those on the estate to use the name for their ease.

So when sixteen years after Geralt first starts traveling with the bard, he decides to bring him to Kaer Morhen for the first time, both are shocked at the amount of Witchers that happen to be at the keep this year, including three wolves, a cat, a viper, and a griffon.

But that’s nothing compared to the way Geralt’s jaw practically hits the floor when he goes to introduce the bard, only for everyone except Vesemir to recognize the man already, and let out shouts of:

“Deer!”

“Sugar Daddy!”

“Bed warmer!”

“Master!”

“Jewel!”

Except Jaskier does not know the way in which the fae turn favors on their head, how unlike with Djinn, it does not matter how precisely you word a request. The faerie understood the root of Jaskier’s desire, and is in a generous mood, but the faerie does still feed on Mischief. And oh, what glorious Mischief is to be had in twisting one’s desire to escape the grip of the Grim Reaper.

Regardless, it takes the bard a long time to realize that he’d accidentally eaten through his nine lives rather rapidly. Or rather, he should have, if he ever truly died…?

At first Jaskier thinks his body is just very strong after he survives the plague at 21 that has killed everyone else it’s touched so far. Or that Geralt must have brought him to a very good healer, because surely that head wound from the griffon should have been fatal! He could have sworn that he heard a crack when he hit the tree, for Melitele’s sake.

And then Jaskier thinks that maybe these all count, these times where Jaskier should have died but didn’t. But when that number starts having a one and then a two in front of it, he starts thinking that he really should have never messed with that faerie, even if he was trying to help it.

Still, Jaskier feels a little sad when at 26, he realizes he is actually dying. That his stab wound from a thief, obtained when he was on his way back to his lodging at Oxenfurt, isn’t healing, not how it usually does. Not how it always has since that encounter nine years ago, almost to the day…?

Jaskier makes it, somehow, to his room before collapsing to the floor, blood quickly pooling out around him. If he had the energy, he would take the time to wax poetically about the bitter irony of facing (well, at least seeing) all manner of monster while by Geralt’s side, how he came out whole if not sometimes a bit worse for wear, only to die at the hands of a different sort of monster.

As the black encroaches on his vision, he wishes distantly that Geralt could see him now, if only for the witcher to understand that the bard knew monsters, far better than Geralt assumed he did, and that monsters did this. Monsters killed helpless bards stumbling home drunk from taverns after a night spent with friends. Monsters took what they wanted, uncaring for the pain and hurt they left in their wake.

Geralt was no monster, Jaskier thought distantly, and then he thought no more.

So when Jaskier woke up the next morning to pounding on the door, a student asking why he wasn’t at class that morning, none were more surprised than he. He was in such a rush to get ready, to change his—oh goodness, that was a lot of blood, it hadn’t been a dream after all—he almost didn’t notice his hair. The hair which was at least two inches shorter than it had been last night. Not to mention that the wound from from the dagger had vanished completely, and the scar from the drowner on his right forearm he’d gotten three years ago was also gone.

It took Jaskier nearly four days to work out what might be happening, and even then he wasn’t entirely sure. It sounded crazy, like something out of a fever dream, but it seemed as if his request nine years ago (and now that Jaskier thought about it, it was possible that it was nine years ago to the day when he’d—), had not been interpreted, or at least fulfilled, at all like he’d wanted it to be.

Though, he considered, perhaps what the faerie had given him was far better than he’d requested. He would never die on the Path with Geralt, or when traveling alone, and he would never get older. It just came, apparently, at the cost of dying every nine years. Which wasn’t that bad of a deal at all, especially as he’d saved the faerie in the middle of winter, and thus could just hide in his guest room at Oxenfurt for the day and let the magic do its…thing.

So maybe Jaskier got a little more reckless while following Geralt around after that, to the witcher’s annoyance (not concern or worry, definitely not). But even the witcher could concede that the bard seemed to be heartier than most humans he encountered, his persistence to survive rivaling that of a witcher it seemed sometimes. Which was impossible, Geralt knew that, and yet…?

But time passed, as it is wont to do, and nine years later found Jaskier rather dreading his second death. Not entirely sure what would happen, or if his theory was even correct, the bard chose to lock himself in his room for the anniversary feigning illness. Jaskier soon found the chosen excuse rather ironic, as when he drank the wine he’d acquired to help perhaps dull the pain of whatever injury would lead to his demise, he soon found himself gasping for air. He could feel his throat closing in a way he faintly recognized from tragic stories of children and young adults taken too soon by bees and nuts. It was altogether a very unpleasant sensation, and Jaskier found himself doing something he never thought he’d do the next morning: throwing out a half full bottle of wine.

If Geralt gave Jaskier an inquisitive look or two when the bard shied away from the drink in general that year, well. Jaskier wasn’t about to tell the witcher why and, as usual, the witcher was not about to verbally ask. Perhaps the bard was just imagining the looks, as it was—after all, if the witcher hadn’t noticed he seemed almost a decade younger now, what were the odds he’d notice a change in Jaskier’s taste in alcohol?

Unfortunately, Jaskier conceded to himself another nine years later, the witcher would likely notice if (when, he had to remind himself, denial would not help him) he keeled over tomorrow. Jaskier hadn’t thought about his upcoming death when he’d agreed to take Ciri up the mountain, hadn’t even considered the possibility of being stuck at Kaer Morhen for the winter.

But maybe it would be fine…? Geralt hadn’t actually made an effort to talk to the bard at all in the two weeks since the battle, focusing most of his energy on ensuring Ciri and Yennefer were settling into the keep well. Which Jaskier definitely wasn’t jealous about, not at all, it’s not as if he wanted to be introduced to the other witchers or be shown around the stronghold or, Melitele forbid, have the witcher pretend to actually want the bard there for even a second—

So maybe Jaskier was feeling a little bitter, as he made his way by candlelight very late in the evening to a corner of the keep that remained abandoned. Maybe he should have said something, he considered, as a freaking icicle what the heck, cracked and fell through his chest. The pain and the numbness was overwhelming, though, and the last thought he had was that he’d need to be sure to come back here with a rag to remove the blood when he woke up.

Jaskier expected to wake up to cold. He thought he’d have to rub feeling back into his arms and legs before making the trek back to his room to change prior to grabbing something to eat. Dying made him so hungry, oddly enough. It might have been the energy it took to heal, he supposed, as he opened his eyes to find—a sheet over his head…? And it wasn’t nearly as cold as it was when he died, he realized as he pulled the fabric away and sat up—

Only to find a sword to his throat. Jaskier froze, following the silver up to a familiar hand, arm, face. A face which looked…dreadful, frankly. Jaskier completely missed what Geralt said, busy as he was taking in the dark bruises under the witcher’s reddened eyes, the tear tracks on his cheeks, the way there was a smear of blood on his chin and flecks of it in his hair.

Jaskier made a noise of confusion, trying to make his mind work a bit faster, force away the sluggishness that was apparently an inevitability every time he died. Honestly, despite having just woke up, he wanted another nap. He wasn’t sure where the black shirt (that looked suspiciously like one of Geralt’s, which he was trying not to think about) came from, where in the keep he was, or how long he’d been here for. All he knew was that he was hungry, and tired, and neither he nor Geralt seemed to be physically injured at least, which was enough for the bard to feel fine pushing the silver away and ask if there was any food in here, please, he was hungry enough to eat a griffon—

Jaskier was barely able to bite back a groan as he suddenly found himself manhandled into the witcher’s lap, hugged so tightly Jaskier thought his ribs would be bruised. And Jaskier could no longer deny what must have happened, whose blood it was Geralt bore on the hands holding him close, one now cradling his head and the other spread flat across his back. So Jaskier whispered reassurances to the witcher that he was okay as he trailed his fingers through the strands of silver, unsure if he should try to explain, if that would help, when his stomach growling interrupted the rather sweet moment.

Geralt froze, and Jaskier thought this would be when the walls came back up, when the witcher emotionally (and maybe physically) pushed the bard away, pretending as if nothing had happened. As if Geralt hadn’t just been hugging the bard like a small child would a favorite toy after a nightmare.

Instead, Jaskier squeaked as he was lifted into the air, Geralt’s hold adjusting on him to carry the bard as he left the room. Jaskier tried to tell the witcher that his legs were fine, that he could walk, but the witcher just pulled the bard impossibly closer, so Jaskier gave up. It wasn’t the first time the witcher had carried Jaskier, it just usually didn’t happen when the bard was conscious or non-grievously injured.

Jaskier was so busy considering if this situation technically fell into the latter category that he didn’t notice where Geralt was headed until the witcher walked past the table of other occupants of the keep. Who were now quietly staring as Geralt took his usual seat in the dining hall and didn’t put Jaskier down on his spot closest to the exit.

It seemed that, for the foreseeable future, Jaskier’s spot would be Geralt’s lap, or his arms, Jaskier thought, even his internal monologue sounding rather hysterical as he watched the witcher serve himself rabbit stew and bread. Which was apparently for the bard, Jaskier realized, as Geralt held the spoon to his lips and Melitele help him, that was too much, even for him. His hands were fine now, thank you very much, and while he might have appreciated the gesture literally just yesterday, today he had no problem taking the spoon and feeding himself. It was embarrassing enough to be sat in the witcher’s lap like a child in front of the others, let alone—

Jaskier winced as the shock apparently wore off for everyone simultaneously, with questions shouted louder and louder, echoing off the stone walls to further amplify the sound. And then, suddenly, the noise was gone as soon as it started as the others balked, giving Jaskier sheepish looks.

But—no, not Jaskier, but behind him—

Before Jaskier had time to ponder just what expression Geralt was wearing, the witcher was grabbing the bard’s hand, using it to spoon up more stew, and Jaskier couldn’t help but snort at the action. He gently patted the hand before untangling it, taking a few more bites as he considered what to say.

“Favor from a faerie. I die every nine years, and come back younger. Nothing’s killed me between deaths that should have.”

Jaskier turned his face back to his stew as soon as he was done speaking. Was it the most eloquent explanation? No. Did the witchers, Yennefer, and Ciri have questions? Probably. Did Jaskier care about anything besides eating and going back to bed right now? Not really, no.

Which Geralt, bless his heart, seemed to understand, as he stood right back up as soon as Jaskier set his spoon down. The bard tried to protest, to slur something out about the witcher eating too, but the older man simply inhaled deeply, letting out a rumbling noise of approval that had Jaskier unconsciously relaxing.

It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault that this was the warmest the bard had been since he’d gotten here, Jaskier told himself as he let his head fall into the nook between the witcher’s shoulder and neck. Nor was it his fault, really, that he was still absolutely exhausted, leading to him letting his eyes fall shut. Geralt seemed to have a destination in mind, anyways, and the bard trusted the witcher to bring him somewhere safe and warm. To make sure no harm would befall the bard, regardless of supposed faerie favors and potential immortality.

Bruce: "What ever you are about to say, don't say it."

Clark: "Why?"

Bruce, in a whisper: "Because Dick has taken it upon himself to impress me with backflips should I appear upset."

Clark: "And this is a problem because?"

Bruce, still whispering: "Because whilst in all other ways he is a gifted acrobat, every time he does a backflip, without fail, he falls on his face and fighting back the urge to laugh everytime is starting to wear on me."

Clark: "Aww, Bruce. Sounds like he messes up on purpose to try and make you laugh, 'cause I've seen him do backflips lots of times."

Bruce: "Oh..."

---

Bruce, later as he tucks Dick into bed: "If you really want to make me laugh, you should do that thing where you jump onto Clark..."

---

Dick, the next morning leaping from the chandelier: "SKY ATTACK."

But nope. Hes in a new universe that has completely different heroes, and more importantly, completely different memes (what the hell is "do the butts match"??) And this place has a distinct lack of one Tony Stark

So Peter basically starts up Stark Enterprises in NY again bc he poor and its what Tony (probably) wouldve wanted. He had to pay for this metabolism somehow

But obviously peter needed an investor or twenty, but who needs more than one when Brucie Wayne exists?? Hes like a hunkier yet still bimbo Tony, and practically throws his money at any sad looking teen

But Brucie wayne ends up taking him under his wing, bc hes like. An 18/19 year old CEO and he is Very Concerned abt how this kid not only invented a new type of metal (vibranium) and a very powerful form of energy (arc reactors), so he pays extra attention bc he does NOT need a villain running around with that kind of power and intelligence to back it

You seen this one yet?

Tim: …? We did meet?

Jason, genuinely confused: what? No, no, I would have remembered meeting your scraggly ass-

Tim: First of all, you once told me you refused to remember rich people’s name because they ‘aren’t really people at that point’.

Jason: this is true.

Tim: secondly, we literally talked for like, an hour? Do you really not remember?

Jason, lowkey feeling a little bad now but refusing to admit it: Maybe you just weren’t memorable.

Tim: we talked about Frankenstein!

Jason: why were we- OH MY GOD THAT WAS YOU?!

Tim: yes! I thought it was a good conversation :(

Jason: YOU EXPLAINED HOW YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD DO EXACTLY WHAT VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN DID BUT BETTER.

Tim: YEAH CAUSE HE SHOULD HAVE USED ELECTRIC EELS INSTEAD OF WAITING FOR A STORM.

Jason: DUDE. I only kept talking to you because I deadass thought you were gonna be a future Rouge.

Tim: huh?!

Jason: dude, you even told me about how easy it is to steal bodies from hospitals in Gotham.

Tim: yeah that… I wasn’t always the best at keeping my cards close to my chest, so that’s on me.

Jason: the only reason I didn’t tell Bruce about you is because I was worried he’d try adopt you and I was worried about getting kicked out.

Tim: I appreciate it.

Jason: if I had he probs wouldn’t have made you Robin.

Tim: that’s… unnerving to think about.

Tim, fiddling with his sleeve: Do you… wanna hear about my new take on how to reanimate the dead to create a whole new person?

Jason, fully aware that Tim could one day be a bad guy and he would have more of a chance if he had Tim on his side: As a reanimated corps, I am more than happy to listen. Have you actually read the book yet though?

Tim: No- so, first thing your going to need is a alibi-

The thing is; Batman has spent years crafting and perfecting his public persona.

'Brucie Wayne' is supposed to be a dumber than life himbo, with daddy's credit card and the maturity of a seventeen year old. He's supposed to be someone so outlandishly ridiculous no one would ever even dare to mention him in the same sentence as Batman... And Batman has been acting that part perfectly.

It's a genius plan.

But then the league begins talking about maybe all sharing their secret identities, to become closer as a group and work better together. And the only thing in Batman's mind is 'Oh. My. God. Please don't'

Superman is saying something about trust and how he has come to value all of them as friends. Batman is thinking about last year Christmas' Gala, where he took off his clothes in an improvised strip-tease, and started swimming in the fountain.

Wonder woman is talking about how she wishes to strengthen their bonds so they become greater warriors. Bruce just remembered there's videos of him fucking twerking and pole dancing to Ariana Grande all over the internet.

Flash starts smiling and telling them he already trust them with his life– Bruce once said chocolate milk came from brown cows.

'Oh. My. God'.

Jason, coughing: Did ya know I died of smoke inhalation

Dick nearly choking on the smoke

Dick: Jas-

Jason: Y’know Sheila was standin’ there smoking while Joker beat me

Dick slowly putting out the cigarette

Jason: I can never look at cigarettes the same

Dick looking at his pack of cigarettes, horrified

Dick: Shit little wing.. I’m sorry-

Damian, mildly annoyed at Bruce at the moment: It's quite simple. Batmam steals young children from their bed, usually nine or ten or so. Then he takes you to his lair and give you a deal.

Damian: If you can beat him in a game of your choosing, he will train you to be Robin. If you lose, you are eaten. I beat him in a classic fencing game. He's quite good with swords, but he wasn't very good with the sport itself.

Tim, standing next to him: Yeah, I beat him at a memory card game. I like totally cheated, but I'm too old for him to eat now, so ot doesn't matter.

Damian, nodding: Yes. The worst part of the job is disposing of failed Robins bones. He usually sucks them clean and leaves them all over the floor.

Tim: Yeah, its messy. But after you hit, like 15 he stops trying to eat you, so that's cool.

Damian: I have not yet reached 15. I'm still in danger. If you have more questions, ask Nightwing, as he was the first to avoid being eaten.

-

Same interviewer, at a different date: Mr. Nightwing. Is it true Batman tries to eat potential Robins?

Tim: When my dad was 17 he ran off to train with assassins

Tim: When my older brother was 17 he became a crime lord

Tim: When I was 17 I briefly led an assassin cult

Tim: And then there’s my little brother, I’ve always kinda considered him the black sheep of the family

New super, bracing themselves: oh god

Dick is deaged to a point where he’s Robin with Batman, and luckily he remembers that. Unfortunately, he’s not thrilled by the idea that he gets siblings in the future. Therefore he hates everyone else’s guts.

Jason and Tim aren’t Robin yet and really want to go home to their parents. So Bruce is left with a dilemma of either telling them their parents are dead or letting them think that Bruce Wayne kidnapped them.

While Jason is not happy with that, Tim is awestruck. At this point he does know Bruce’s really identity along with Dicks, so he’s following Dick around like a lost duckling. Like I said, Dick hates Tim and just wants him gone and purposefully hides from Tim to be mean.

Cass. Poor Cass gets accidentally forgotten about in the chaos. She fully trained to blend in and not be seen or heard. She won’t do anything unless given permission, not even move. Bruce tries to get her to play, but she mostly just holds toys or does very basic things with them.

Damian is just a baby, but he’s so so clingy. Which doesn’t mesh well with Dick also being possessive over Bruce. Damian will cry if he is put down and will fuss if he’s in anyone else’s arms other than Bruce’s. This makes dealing with the others extremely hard.

Imagine the JL sitting down at the Watchtower, debriefing their latest mission. It's late, everyone's tired, and they just want to get this over with.

Then one of them noticed the Bat seemingly antsy, looking back and forth in his tablet instead of listening to Superman's report—he's not even doing anything with the tab.

Green Lantern (Hal) : "Yo, Spooky. What's got your panties in a twist?"

Of course the annoying space cop notices it first—also, how did he know he's wearing panties?

....J'onn's gonna pretend he didn't hear Batman's thoughts—he didn't mean it. He swears he didn't. Sometimes his powers are just hard to control, okay? But also what colour ar—

Anyway, Batman's grunting—now that someone's noticed his antsy behaviour, he doesn't feel like hiding it anymore.

Batman: "Can we please hurry this along?"

Oh great, his knee's bouncing.

Superman: "B, are you okay?"

Of course he's okay, Superman! Just get on with the report!

When Batman checks the time on his tablet once more, his sweat runs cold.

Batman, whispering: "They're coming."

Wonder Woman, on alert: "Who's coming?"

There's a green glove that seemingly emerges from the Bat's cape, and he's suddenly on Batman's lap, face buried in the man's kevlar armour.

It seems that not even Batman knew he was there.

Red Robin: "Damnit! The brat beat me to it- move over!"

Where the hell did Red Robin come from? Actually, why is he here-

Oh.... He's... Hugging Batman?

Nightwing: "Dang, ya'll beat me here?"

Oh... Nightwing too?

Nightwing's cartwheeling his way over to Batman, landing on the backrest of the chair and sitting on top of said backrest to hug Batman's head.

Wait, how do these vigilantes keep on coming here?! And why the hell are they so close to Batman??

The Signal: "Dang, looks like we're late."

WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY?!

The Spoiler: "Nu-uh! The fridge ain't here yet!"

And this girl???

Also- who the FUCK is the fridge???

They quickly joined the rest and now they all look like a ball of bats, all bundled up together.

Green Arrow: "Am I the only one who thinks this is weird? I'm not, right?"

Admittedly, the Justice League is still relatively new—and it seems that they're finally learning something new about their illusive Bat.... No matter how weird it is...?

Flash: "Is this why you always leave so early?"

Wow, such an astute observation, Flash.

Red Hood: "Mommy'O! I'm hoomeeee!"

Oh, so the infamous Red Hood is part of... Whatever this is, too- wait, RED HOOD?!

Somehow, the Red Hood has managed to fit himself into the bundle of birds and bats. Honestly, they're surprised Batman's chair hasn't broken down yet from the sheer weight of all of those people.

Wonder Woman: "Are... Are you okay there, Batman?"

Batman, underneath all his brood: "Hrn."

Batman, looking down at his legs: "Hm."

Batgirl, hugging his knees under the table: "Hn."

Green Lantern, startling out of his chair: "WHAT THE-"

kaldur has just left to retrieve intel from aquaman, and wally is scrolling through instagram or something on his phone, eyebrows raised.

“yo, gotham news is wild. apparently richard grayson bailed on school for, like, the third time this week.”

artemis snorts, stretching her shoulders.

“must be a slow day in gotham if rich kid problems are making headlines. probably decided his personal butler could do algebra for him.”

conner tosses his towel aside. “thought bruce wayne had him under lock and key after… that thing a few months ago.”

“‘that thing’?” m’gann tilts her head, innocent concern.

wally waves a hand. “his brother. the one that— y’know. gotham tragedy number eight hundred.” he winces like he knows it’s dark, but keeps talking anyway. “i swear, every gotham kid comes pre-traumatised.”

artemis clicks her tongue. “don’t joke about that.” then, softer, “…but yeah. that jason kid. that was rough.”

silence for a beat.

conner shrugs, not unkind, just blunt.

“still. doesn’t give grayson a free pass to act out forever.”

“people grieve differently,” m’gann says, gentle. “he’s probably trying his best.”

artemis rolls her eyes. “his ‘best’,” she scoffs. “crying into silk sheets and private jets definitely doesn’t hurt.”

dick sits on the floor beside them, mask on, gloves still clipped tight.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t twitch.

just keeps untying and re-tying the same knot on his sneakers, steady, quiet.

he says nothing.

wally snorts again. “i mean, yeah. like, it sucks. but the kid’s still living in a mansion. with, like, a waterfall in the foyer.”

artemis: “bet he never even met jason. they probably just said hi in passing between socialite lessons.”

m’gann hums. “i don’t know. i think richard grayson seems sweet.”

dick’s fingers pause. just a second. small enough to miss if you aren’t looking.

there’s a tiny breath from him — not relief, exactly. more like a bruise being touched gently after everyone else pressed too hard.

conner’s eyes flick to him, eyebrows furrowing slightly. damn superhearing.

wally shrugs. “maybe. doesn’t change the fact he’s gotham royalty.” then, lower, “rich kids don’t get real pain.”

dick finishes tying the knot. swallows the one in his throat. stands up. voice smooth, light, practiced:

“you really don’t know when to shut up, do you, west?”

wally reels.

there’s a pause, before—

“rob, i—“

dick forces a half-laugh, breezy, and points to the exit like he’s suddenly remembered something trivial. “forgot— uh— gear stuff. be right back.”

he walks away calm. quiet. controlled.

no one sees the way he presses his fingers into his eyes the second the door closes.

just long enough to breathe.

just long enough to stop shaking.

back in the gym, artemis tosses her water bottle at wally.

“real sensitive, west.”

wally frowns, catching it. “what? i was just— you were—”

and m’gann, watching the door dick left through, murmurs, “he didn’t say he knew them. but he knew.”

they all fall silent.

confused.

almost guilty, but unsure why.

and somewhere down the hall, dick breathes in through his teeth and reminds himself:

they don’t know.

they don’t mean it.

Jason: hold on, it's on my phone, let me pull it up.

Tim, audibly delighted: i can't believe you do this-!

Bruce: Robin, don't get distracted, i need you on my six.

Damian: *already distracted, somewhat forlorn* i wish you were an owl...

Bruce: that's not- *pause* what?

Damian: they don't need people on their sixes. they can turn their heads and just look.

*silence*

*distant crashing and gunshots*

Bruce: shit- focus, Robin!

Jason: i got it, it's still here.

Tim: please god read it out,

Bruce: *amidst grunting* you two aren't helping.

Jason, dismissively: then switch to a different line? everybody knows line seven is Red Hood's territory; go back to line one.

Dick: who needs to go back to line one?

Tim: ...Dick you've been here for thirty minutes, how are you not hearing us.

Dick: sorry- you know that thing where you disassociate and drive, and then you snap back to yourself as you pull up the driveway and you have that moment of 'how the fuck am i still alive?'? i think i did that with swinging.

Jason, grunting casually: oh yeah, i get that sometimes.

Dick, mystified: how the fuck did i get to Bristol...? sorry, anyway- what are we on?

Tim: Jason's grudge list.

Dick: Jason's what now?

Jason: i have a list on my phone of the worst things everybody has done to me, so i can keep track of how much revenge i need to get to 'win'.

Damian: ...win what?

Jason: shut up. aren't you fighting?

Damian: it's not that complicated a fight.

*distant gunshot*

Damian, casually, after a beat: Father?

*sounds of punching, hitting*

Bruce: yes?

Damian: how good of a mood would you say you're in?

Bruce: ...why?

Tim: i'm calling it now he got shot- you got shot, didn't you?

*silence*

Damian: tis' but a flesh wound-,

Bruce, resigned: oh my god- Robin.

Damian: you didn't watch my six.

Tim: *laughs*

Damian: it didn't even hit anywhere important,

Bruce: i don't care- just go to the batmobile and get the first aid kit, i'll be there after i finish getting the evidence i needed.

Damian: *groans*

Dick: are you guys done? because i wanna know what's on Jason's list for me.

Tim: yeah i'm- i'm also very invested in this. actually- is Damian on there?

Jason: uhhhh- yeah, by the bottom. i don't update this that much, to be fair.

Damian: what's written for me?

Jason: it just says 'looks too much like Bruce'.

Tim: *instant snickers*

Dick: wait wait- what's on there for Bruce then?

Jason: Bruce's- *laughs* ok, Bruce's has stayed the same since before i went to Ethiopia, and it's still the most evil thing he's ever done to me.

Bruce: *confused grunt*

Jason: according to the list, the meanest shit Bruce has ever done to me was when I was thirteen years old and he took me to an evening afterparty for this opera event, and i was bored as fuck with all the other rich-people kids and i wanted to go home, so to discreetly get B's attention, i texted him-,

Bruce: oh- *snort* ok i remember this.

Dick: what happened?

Jason, indignant: i texted him asking if we could go home, and this piece of shit proceeds to look at the text in the middle of this circle of people he's talking to, read the text from me OUT LOUD TO THEM, and then he looked at me across the room and yelled out 'what's wrong, chum? who don't you like, why do you wanna leave so early?'

Tim: *long noise of sympathy*

Dick: *cackling* THAT'S SO BAD????

Bruce: *another snort*

Jason: shut up Bruce. -and you wonder why we hated you; honestly.

Bruce: you were- *struggling to tamp down his amusement* you were being a handful, and that was the quickest way i could think of to make you want to be quiet.

Dick: *more cackles*

Jason: worst moment of my life to date, and i've literally been murdered.

Bruce, slightly amused: oh come now, chum, that's dramamtic.

Jason: IT'S NOT THOUGH??? IT'S PUBLIC HUMILIATION!

Tim: *wheeze*

Damian: *hiss of pain* oh- woooaaahhhhhh,

Dick, still snickering: -uh, Dami?

Damian: hm? oh, sorry, no, carry on, don't mind me- *under his breath* huh, that's cool.

Bruce, slightly concerned: Robin, where are you? i thought i told you to wait in the car.

Damian: i am in the car.

Bruce: then what are you doing?

Damian: taking out the bullet i got shot with.

Tim: ...the hell is 'cool' about that?

Damian: there's a second one already in there that i didn't know about.

*a beat*

Dick, baffled: what?

Bruce, stern: Robin what's your status, are you ok?

Jason: when the fuck did you even last get shot?

Damian: i dunno, that's why it's cool. i guess i forgot about it?

Tim: dude- what the fuck even is your life.

Damian: yeah i don't- oh, i think the second one was blocking a vein- shit, there's blood on the seats,

Dick: oh my god BRUCE GO TO YOUR KID-

Bruce: I'M GOING-

Tim, mumbling: like father like son,

They’re so sweet and docile, listening to his every word and obediently taking their medicine, looking up at Bruce with watery red eyes and awaiting praise

The only thing they request is Bruce’s attention and lots and lots of cuddles

He doesn’t know it, but that’s only for Bruce. Being sick is just an excuse to act sweet to him without getting embarrassed

Bruce had to go to a meeting at the company for a bit, and called Clark to come take care of his kids. He went over what meds to take at what time and who likes what blanket, but other than that, there wasn’t really any briefing. He didn't think he had any reason to

To this day, Clark talks about that time as if he were fighting Darkside himself

Dick wouldn’t sit down for anything. No matter what Clark bribed him with, the moment he turned his back, Dick was up and moving, despite having thrown up five seconds ago. He was also bothering everyone and talking over whatever show or movie all the kids had finally agreed upon. He was trying to land a flip while also doing his best not to throw up. It did not work. Clark almost threw up cleaning it before throwing a blanket over him when he finally collapsed

Jason wouldn’t even look at Clark. And anytime he did it was with utter disgust that truly hurt Clark’s feelings, even if the younger man was sniffling with a bright red nose. He's always been standoffish with Clark since he was a kid, but Clark thought he got over his jealousy after he explained he wasn't trying to steal Bruce's attention. He has not, he's just good at hiding it. Clark threw a blanket over him and decided to deal with it later

Cassandra lunged at him the moment he tried to put a cold compress on her forehead. He wasn't expecting it, so he barely dodged, even with his superspeed. She let out a low growl, and Clark seriously didn't know what to do with that kind of hostility. He kinda just threw a blanket over her and hoped for the best while she dozed off in Bruce’s favorite chair. He didn't dare disturb her unless it was time for her to take her medicine

Tim turned the brightness of all his devices to the max, even though it made him dizzy and gag, because he claimed he couldn’t see through his watery eyes. It didn’t help that he had to be kept separate from his other siblings so he didn’t get worse. He kept trying to sneak off to be with everyone, and Clark couldn’t let him, but he got so sad thinking about it, so he divided the living room where they were all staying in half with pillows, so Tim could still be in the room but not too close to anyone. He then threw a blanket over him and moved his devices away

Steph, on the other hand, was trying to sneak over to see Tim, which was bad. Logically, he knew they all understood Tim was vulnerable, but being sick seemed to devolve their thinking processes. She also continued asking for food, and when Clark brought it over, she’d gag and push it away. She then asked Clark to make something, and when he presented it to her, she gagged so hard she threw up, so Clark also threw a blanket over her head

Duke, while the calmest, was not easy to handle either. He would just stare. Clark expected that from any other child under Bruce’s wing, but not Duke. Duke would turn himself invisible to stare at Clark, but Clark got goosebumps all over his skin nonetheless. Super hearing can only do so much when the person sneaking around you is trained by Batman himself. He threw a blanket over Duke and prayed he didn't remove it

Damian insisted on having all his pets near him at all times, then got scared his sickness would transfer over to them and cried so hard he threw up. Clark deposited him in Cassandra’s lap after cleaning him up, just so he could have some comfort, and gave him his phone so he could watch all the videos he wanted of the cows on the farm. He then threw an animal print blanket over him

And all of them, yes, all, would randomly burst into tears and call out for Bruce. Each time, he would have to deliver the devastating news that he still wasn’t back, then be subjected to all seven glares, which was a lot to handle. He wanted to fly into the attic and hide, but he promised Bruce he would try his best, and he was bound by moral obligation

Yes, Clark tries to appeal to the masses and children by wearing bright colors, but he’s never claimed to be good at handling children. In fact, his parents would say he’s the opposite

He can handle it for short amounts of time, but carrying them and having to interact with them for an extended period of time? Fuck no. He's never had to clean up or make throw up as in that moment. He will not do it again

When Bruce comes back, all his kids are absolute angels again, if not a little more pushy, so they can cling to him without Clark being there. They whine and tug Bruce into the living room so they can pile on top of him (Tim has a mask on) and bury him under their combined weight

As a Auntie to a couple of infants and someone who has worked at Veterinary Hospitals; I have definitely felt that reaction when faced with baby meltdown while babysitting.