trin

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? 

is your room messy or clean?

what color are your eyes?

do you like your name? why?

what is your relationship status? 

describe your personality in 3 words or less

what color hair do you have?

what kind of car do you drive? color?

where do you shop?

how would you describe your style?

favorite social media account

what size bed do you have? 

any siblings?

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

favorite snapchat filter? 

favorite makeup brand(s)

how many times a week do you shower?

favorite tv show?

shoe size?

how tall are you?

sandals or sneakers? 

do you go to the gym? 

describe your dream date

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

what color socks are you wearing? 

how many pillows do you sleep with?

do you have a job? what do you do? 

how many friends do you have? 

whats the worst thing you have ever done? 

whats your favorite candle scent? 

3 favorite boy names

3 favorite girl names

favorite actor? 

favorite actress? 

who is your celebrity crush?

favorite movie? 

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? 

money or brains? 

do you have a nickname? what is it? 

how many times have you been to the hospital?

top 10 favorite songs

do you take any medications daily? 

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

what is your biggest fear? 

how many kids do you want? 

whats your go to hair style?

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) 

who is your role model? 

what was the last compliment you received?

what was the last text you sent?

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

what is your dream car? 

opinion on smoking?

do you go to college? 

what is your dream job? 

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? 

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? 

do you have freckles? 

do you smile for pictures?

how many pictures do you have on your phone? 

have you ever peed in the woods? 

do you still watch cartoons? 

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

Favorite dipping sauce? 

what do you wear to bed? 

have you ever won a spelling bee?

 what are your hobbies?

can you draw? 

do you play an instrument?

what was the last concert you saw? 

tea or coffee?

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

do you want to get married?

what is your crush’s first and last initial?

are you going to change your last name when you get married? 

what color looks best on you? 

do you miss anyone right now? 

do you sleep with your door open or closed?

do you believe in ghosts?

what is your biggest pet peeve? 

last person you called`

favorite ice cream flavor? 

regular oreos or golden oreos? 

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? 

what shirt are you wearing? 

what is your phone background?

are you outgoing or shy?

do you like it when people play with your hair?

do you like your neighbors? 

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

have you ever been high? 

have you ever been drunk? 

last thing you ate? 

favorite lyrics right now

summer or winter? 

day or night? 

dark, milk, or white chocolate? 

favorite month? 

what is your zodiac sign

“I love you” are very difficult words for BRUCE WAYNE to say. 

He’s not good with his words, and he is not good with his actions either, but he tries. 

The second Bruce starts taking you as his plus one everywhere, or when you start staying at the Manor some nights, or when you finally get to meet his children formally, you know you have started a relationship with Bruce Wayne. 

To have a relationship with Bruce is a big deal. Anyone could end up in his bed, naked and satisfied. But not anyone can say they are formally dating him. That’s your privilege. 

Still, he has never said “I love you”. Not once. 

You love him, and he knows it—you’ve told him many times. In a lazy, honeyed voice right after you woke up. In an enthusiastic voice, full of affection, every time he gives you a new gift he bought for you for no reason at all. Whispered, like a secret, every time you comfort him. Moaned when he touches you…

You love Bruce Wayne, everything about him, without exceptions. 

He knows.

But does he love you?

He cares about you—he cares deeply. Your wellbeing is important to him. He often calls you, or texts you to check up on you. He prioritizes you over anything else, even himself. 

He admires you, worships you. He never misses an opportunity to compliment you. How beautiful you are, how your dress enhances your beauty impossibly more. For him you’re ethereal, too good to be true, too good to be his.

And he for sure makes you remember you’re dating the billionaire Bruce Wayne. He showers you with presents. But each one has value, meaning, a story behind them. He’s thought each one through carefully before giving it to you. He also takes you to every gala and stays by your side, making sure you’re comfortable with the place and the people. 

He cares for you, admires you, and gives you everything you could ask for.

Then he must love you.

But you’re longing for him to tell you. You want to hear those three words come out of his mouth. You want him to confirm it—for your sake and for his own.

And maybe you think that, after all this time with Bruce, you could guess the moment when he’d finally say it. Maybe one day, whispering it in your ear at a gala. One day, moaning as you make love. One day, with a painful physical effort, while you’re by his side after a tough night as Batman.

But not now. Not like this.

“I love you.” His voice has that normalcy not many have the privilege to know, because they only know the charismatic Bruce, but not the relaxed, off guard Bruce you love.

He had cut you off. You were telling him about your day at work, complaining about the people, about how much your body ached from the exhaustion, and meanwhile you were walking around Bruce’s room. While telling your story you had picked up your nightgown from the closet, then walked towards the bathroom to clean your face, then walked towards your bag to pick up something. You hadn’t stopped moving nor talking.

Meanwhile, Bruce was looking at you, following your every movement and listening to your every word attentively. He even hummed in approval at some of the comments you made. And then he cut you off. 

You were at the climax of the story, and then he cut you off.

To say “I love you”.

Everything stopped, and suddenly you felt the room fading. It was only you and Bruce.

He had a small smile on his face and his eyes never moved away from your figure, never hesitated. 

Then he said it again. 

“I love you.” Followed by your name.

Bruce Wayne loved you, and so did you.

And those three words were complicated for Bruce Wayne, until he met you. He just needed to find the right time to say it, so you would believe him.

© llovelygood

A/N: enjoy this drabble while I finish my long fic

shoutout to saint val from @luvmailing to tag me in this :)

History always repeats itself // dad!Jason Todd x mom!reader

— Jason Todd died at 15. He was tortured and murdered by Joker. Sophie Todd, his daughter, might die at 15, and her last words to her father could be "I hate you".

!!: +18 MDNI; detailed descriptions of torture. HEAVY ANGST. +5.9k words. Author regrets nothing. fem!reader. Jason and reader are not married but they're together. OC teenage daughter (her friend's are also OC's). Death of Sophie. Jason's trauma. Beware, It's really sad.

[dc masterlist]

Summer—the time of the year when teenagers disappear from their houses to go out with their friends instead of staying at home studying. The time of the year when most of them are rarely seen by their parents, only at odd hours in the morning, when the adults are waking up to go to work and their child comes back from a sleepover at their friend’s house. 

Summer, what a beautiful time to be fifteen. What an amazing three months, free from schoolwork and exams. A time to enjoy with your friends, to meet new people, to sleep later than usual and wake up whenever they want. 

At least that’s what Sophie Todd would’ve loved to do, if Jason Todd wasn’t her father. 

“But, dad! It’s Eleanor's birthday, and everyone will be staying there until late!” She has been trying to convince Jason for the past twenty minutes to let her stay longer in the party, unsuccessfully. 

“No. You’re coming home before three in the morning. It’s final, Sophie." He was helping you with dinner, cutting the veggies while you did the rest and hid a smile from the funny father-daughter interaction. 

“Mom! Please, tell him something!” Sophie finally addresses you.

“You know how protective your father is, and Gotham is not a safe city to wander around at night, sweetie,” you explain with your sweetest, motherly voice. 

“But we won’t be walking around the city, mom! We will be at Eleanor's house. Everyone is going to be there, please,” Your daughter begs, “I can’t always be the weird one that leaves parties earlier, they will stop inviting me!”

“Then they’re not worth being friends with if that’s their reason to keep you out of their plans,” Jason states, putting the veggies inside of the boiling water. 

“I just want to be a normal teenager, and get to do things other normal teenagers do!” Sophie complains. Her lips are pursed, and she keeps glancing back and forth between Jason and you, hoping to see a compassionate reaction from either of you.

“I don’t want to ground you, Shopie, so you better accept what I offered: you’ll only stay there until three and I’ll go pick you up.” Jason says. Now it was final, he wasn’t going to change his mind. His daughter’s safety came first than whatever her friends might think of her. 

Gotham was not a safe city for anyone, and Jason liked to keep Sophie away from as many threats as possible. He wanted his daughter to live a normal life, but it was hard in a place like this. Jason’s conditions might be harsh, but they were necessary to guarantee Sophie’s safety. 

“I hate you,” she whispers before leaving the kitchen to go to her room, and slam the door shut. 

You see Jason’s face twisting. He didn't like hearing that; no parent did. You know how protective your partner was with you and Sophie, and you understand why he takes such decisions, and you couldn’t deny he wasn’t right. 

However, you understand your daughter too. She just wants the life her friends have, and doesn’t understand why Jason acts this way, while her friend’s parents don’t even care about the time their children arrive home. 

Sophie doesn’t hate Jason, she was just mad and felt that this entire situation was unfair. Those three words were the first ones that came to her mind, she didn’t even think them through first. 

Your hand falls around Jason’s arm, pulling him back into your working space, away from his thought of walking into Sophie's room and ground her for her entire life. 

“She doesn’t hate you.” Your voice is soft and delicate, warm in a way that makes Jason’s entire body tremble with calmness. 

“She has reasons to,” he counterattacks.

“Trying to keep her safe is not a valid reason to hate her father. She’s just mad, she didn’t mean that,” you say, looking at Jason. 

“She did,” he kept insisting.

“No. Jason, she loves you, but you have to understand her frustration. She’s just trying to fit in.” You place your hand on Jason’s shoulder, giving it a small reassuring squish. “Eleanor’s parents live in this big penthouse near Wayne Enterprises. Bruce knows them. It’s a safe place. They will be fine, Sophie will be fine. Let her stay for a little longer with her friends.”

“How much is ‘a little longer’?” He asks.

“Until four?” you suggest. “Besides, you will be patrolling, you can make sure she’s fine by checking on her during the night.”

“I guess you’re right.” He sighs and gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “But their house is in Batman’s zone.”

“Then either Damian or Bruce can take care of it, if something happens.” You smile, going back to cooking. 

“Damian will. It’s been a while since the old man has managed to stay awake after two.” Jason smirks because he knows it’s not true. Old habits die hard. Bruce struggles to sleep early, and he often stays awake in the batcave, monitoring every vigilante's movements around the city. He might’ve left Batman’s suit to Damian, but Bruce hasn’t left that torturous night life he had been chained to for years. 

“I’ll talk to Sophie, can you finish dinner?” You say giving Jason a kiss on the cheek before walking towards your daughter’s room. 

Sophie’s room had been renovated some months ago. As she grows older, her personality starts shaping. The pink from her walls, her five-year-old shelf had chosen ten years ago, had been painted with a light violet, nearly white. A more mature color, said by Shopie herself. They had painted the shelves and drawers white so she could draw pretty flowers and abstract doodles on them.

Above her bed she had some fairy lights turned on, decorating her space and giving it a cozy and whimsy atmosphere. Her desk—full of makeup products and stuff from school she hasn’t put in boxes yet—was placed in front of his bed, next to the window. To its side there was a tall bookshelf, completely full with books her father had gifted her. 

Jason missed that. Reading was a hobby both of them shared, something they both loved dearly. 

When Sophie was a little girl, until she turned ten, she would spend hours reading with her father. Both of them, seated next to each other in complete silence, sometimes broken by Sophie’s innocent voice asking Jason for the meaning of a new word she just read. 

As soon as Sophie turned eleven she forgot about that. She kept the books, and she read alone in her room. She said she was old enough to understand everything by herself now. Jason never dared to ask her if he could join her while she read, but he missed his joyful little girl that loved fantasy books. The one who couldn’t fall asleep without a good night story from her daddy. The one that read Dork Diaries while her father read another classic next to her. 

Sophie was growing up so fast. She was turning into a beautiful woman, but she was leaving so fast, spending less time with her parents and more with her friends. That was what growing up was: starting to be more independent, starting to deny your parent’s help. 

Sophie was not being an easy teenager to deal with. She was still kind, she still helped at home, she loved her family. The only problem was that she didn’t understand her father. She didn’t understand why he tried to be so present in her life, why he kept insisting on spending more time with her while she only wanted to be with her friends. She loved you and she loved Jason, but, for her, you sometimes were too annoyingly loving. 

“What?” Shopie was doing her make up, seated on her desk’s chair—full of used clothes you had asked her to fold and store back into the closet if they weren’t dirty, but she hadn’t done. 

You closed the door behind you gently. “You can’t say that to your dad,” you say. 

You were soft when it came to Sophie. Her sweet face—a beautiful mix between Jason and you—tried to be sharp and defiant, but you could only see the small girl that shouted “Mommy!” with so much love and excitement. You couldn’t ground your girl, you weren’t strong enough, but you couldn’t let her disrespect you or Jason. 

“He knows I don't really hate him,” Sophie doesn’t look at you, she keeps applying mascara, carefully so as not to mess her eye makeup. 

“Still. That’s something you can’t say. Your father just tries to keep you safe.”

“Eleanor’s house has cameras everyever, a security guard in the building’s front door, and an emergency button to call the police hidden somewhere—Elanor knows. I think I’ll be fine.” Your daughter finally turns to look at you. She leaves the mascara inside a drawer and picks up lipstick. 

“That’s not the thing. Gotham is not a safe place, and we have to sleep because your father and I got work tomorrow. I think three in the morning is a perfect time to come back home.” You say the same thing Jason said some minutes ago. 

“You can’t be serious, mom!” Sophie complains. “Everyone is going to stay there later. Look it’s not my problem you didn’t go to parties when you were my age because you worked to help grandpa. And dad… I don’t even know what dad was doing at my age, he doesn’t talk about it. I don’t even know my own father!” She stands up and leaves her lipstick inside her bag. “I’ll eat dinner at Eleanor’s.” 

You knew she was mad about not knowing anything about Jason. She didn’t know about Jason’s death, about Robin or Red Hood, about her uncles and aunts being vigilantes, about Bruce being Batman. Jason and you had agreed to give Sophie a normal civilian life, and for fifteen years you had successfully accomplished it. 

You hear Jason saying “goodbye” to your daughter from the kitchen, but she doesn’t even look at him and exit through the front door. 

When you come back to the kitchen Jason’s head is low and dinner is already done. He is not going to cry, but he’s not fine, and you can feel it. Your body moves to stand between Jason's body and the kitchen counter.  Your arms slide up to his neck, and you pull him close to you. His arms wrap around your back, completely enveloping you, and his head hides on your shoulder. His body is warm and his embrace is tender, but his muscles are tense. 

“Don’t think much of it,” you whisper against his hair. He doesn’t answer, nor does he make a sound. He prefers to remain silent, finding comfort in your mere presence beside him and in your fingers massaging his scalp and running through his hair.

You can hear Jason’s breathing. Hard, trying to even them out, trying to stay composed. Sophie's behaviour had been difficult to deal with lately, but it was just a phase, you just had to wait and try your best to keep your daughter away from things and people that might harm her in any way possible. 

Eleanor’s house was huge and luxurious. It couldn’t be compared to Sophie’s house. Eleanor’s living room was the size of Sophie’s entire apartment. No, Sophie wasn’t jealous, but she was embarrassed. None of her friends had been invited to her house, not only because they would be shocked to see her house, but because their expectations are high knowing that Sophie’s grandfather is Bruce Wayne himself.  

The place was already decorated with gold and white balloons on the floor and walls. A garland with “Happy Birthday” written on it was hanging from the living room’s ceiling. There was a table prepared for beerpong, the speakers set to play the music, snacks distributed alongside the huge table in the dining room, and all kinds of expensive alcoholic drinks from Elanor’s parents displayed for anyone to take. 

The house was empty, only Eleanor and Sophie were there. An hour before the chaos, an hour before the best night of their lives starts. 

Eleanor always did big things for her birthday. Her dad was loaded and loved to fulfill every wish of his daughter. However, this year Eleanor's parents had left Gotham for a week for work business, leaving Eleanor home alone. Far from feeling sad, Eleanor took the opportunity and invited every single one of her friends to a big party at her house. 

“I got some Pizzas for dinner,” Eleanor said, taking Sophie to the dining room. “But I thought you told me you were eating dinner at your house.”

“Argued with my dad,” Shopie explained, taking a bite from the pepperoni pizza. 

“Because he wants you to leave early again?” Eleanor asked, she was familiar with this by now. She knows Sophie’s dad after all the times she has complained about him. 

“Yes. He doesn’t understand that people will be staying here for hours having fun, and I won’t if he makes me go back home! It’s not my fault if he didn’t go out partying when he was a teenager, gosh!” 

“And have you told him about my house security?” Eleanor bites into the pizza. 

“Yes.”

“And still he doesn’t let you stay?” 

“He’s overprotective.”

“I can see that,” Eleanor says, “ But he’s still hot, not gonna lie.”

“Eleanor! Ew.” Shopie makes a face of disgust at her friend’s comment, while Eleanor just laughs. 

As the hours pass the people start coming in, and by midnight everyone is already in the house. The music is loud, and half of the people are already drunk. Sophie has lost Eleanor, she has gone to talk with her other friends, leaving Sophie with their other two friends from Gotham Academy: Jane and Vivian. 

“These expensive drinks sucks,” Vivian says, taking one last sip from her red cup before abandoning it in a random bookshelf.

“Yeah, I’m not a big fan of them either; and even if I was, my dad can’t see me drunk, he would kill me,” Sophie says, looking around the living room. 

Eleanor is happily talking with a group of guys that she probably knows from the galas she attends with her parents. They have the same snobby look Eleanor sometimes has, but she was not a brat, unlike those three boys, with their expensive laughs and judgmental looks. 

In the middle of her conversation, another two different friends from Eleanor come from behind and put a sash on her with "Birthday Girl” written on it. Eleanor smiles politely to those two friends, and says her goodbyes to the group of snob guys, before walking towards Sophie, Vivian and Jane. 

“Were Spoiled Boy 1, Spoiled Boy 2 and Spoiled Boy 3 bothering you, queen?” Jane jokes once Eleanor is standing in front of them. 

“No, they are quite nice, but a bit boring after a while.” Eleanor answers. She takes off the sash and hands it to Sophie. “Can you keep this for a moment? I was going to ask Michelle to take some pictures of me, and I want my new dress to be fully visible.”

Sophie smiles and nods, putting on the sash while Eleanor goes with Michelle somewhere to take pictures of her. It is then when the doorbell rings, and a random boy goes to open the door. 

The sound of a gun. The body falling down to the floor. The dead silence after someone has turned off the music. A horrifying laugh echoing through the penthouse. 

They were now victims of the intruder. The birthday party has ended.

Everyone was frozen in place—too afraid to move, too afraid to make a sound. Eleanor saw from a corner how the familiar figure walked inside her house, towards her friends. The emergency button was far from her, and no one there knew about it to move and press it. And even if they did, the fear of dying if they moved was bigger than their bravery.

What were a group of teenagers supposed to do when The Joker had just entered their place?

“Happy Birthday! It’s so sad you haven’t invited me, I’m the life of the party!” His voice was even more haunting. It was high-pitched, disgustingly comical and threatening. 

The gun in his right hand is loaded, and he keeps playing with the manual safety, which makes a small sound every time he switches it on and off. Joker makes his way in between the crowd, everyone is holding their breaths when he walks past them. 

Once he’s in front of the main target he stops. 

Sophie’s body is trembling, her breathing is heavy and her eyes are dry. Joker’s creepy smile widens when he reads the sash Sophie is wearing. 

“Birthday Girl”.

“Someone sent me to take you to your next present, Eleanor!” Joker laughs. His cold finger touches Sophie’s cheek, and next to her Vivian tries her best not to vomit. 

Sophie can’t talk, it’s like someone has cut off her vocal chords. She’s unable to tell him she isn’t Eleanor. She can’t move either, or cry, or think. Her mind is blank with panic; all she can do is give in to him.

“You’re coming with me, pretty face,” the pet name makes her stomach twist, and she feels the acid crawling up her throat. 

Without saying a word or even trying to escape, Sophie follows him to the front door. As she leaves the house, her gaze meets Eleanor’s, who is crying inconsolably. Sophie shakes her head and moutches to her that she’ll be okay.

Poor souls, full of hope.

“Now, let the party resume!” Joker announces. Behind him, one of his men covers Sophie's mouth with a handkerchief, knocking her unconscious. 

The door closes. The ticking starts. 

Eleanor runs towards the button, pressing it uncountable times, while everyone in the house starts shouting. 

Sophie had been mistaken for Eleanor. Joker was going to kill her. He had placed bombs inside the house. They were going to die too. Eleanor's 15th birthday party was now everyone’s worst nightmare. 

Jason had left for patrolling an hour ago, leaving you alone in your house. The TV showing the news was playing in the background, while you finished cleaning up the dishes from dinner. You weren’t paying much attention to it, until they mentioned Eleanor’s address. 

You sprinted from the kitchen towards the livingroom, placing yourself in front of the TV.

“We have been informed that the Patterson family's penthouse has exploded for unknown reasons. Authorities are already on the scene, attempting to rescue the people who were inside when the explosion occurred. So far, no fatalities have been reported, but everyone who has been rescued is seriously injured and is being transported to the hospital. We will keep you updated.”

Your heart started racing and your eyes watering.

Sophie was there.

You grab your phone, and with shaky hands try to find your daughter’s contact.

Sophie.

Bip. Bip. Bip. “The number you have dialed is turned off or out of range.”

Sophie.

Again.

Bip. Bip. Bip. “The number you have dialed is turned off or out of range.”

No answer.

Sophie. 

The window opens and Jason crawls in. He doesn’t wait a second, taking off his helmet and grabbing your phone from your hands, throwing it away.

“I need you to listen to me,” he demands. You can see the fear and desperation in his eyes.

His hands rest on your shoulders. They dig in hard—too hard—as if he wants to wring some hope out of you. He needs you to look at him; he needs you not to break down. He’s silently begging you to keep your composure, because if you break down, he will too, and he—now more than ever—needs to stay strong.

You nod but you can’t help to keep that single tear falling from your eye.

“It was Joker,” Jason starts. “Eleanor was one of the rescued people and she’s barely conscious but she has given the authorities enough information.” 

“Was Sophie rescued?” You ask, with cursed hope staining your words.

“Sophie was not in the penthouse when the explosion happened,” Jason informs, his lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t want to give you false hopes, and his chest aches when he sees you sigh in relief. “Joker took her hostage before that.”

“What?” Your soul leaves your body. “Where was Damian when that happened?”

“Joker’s men were distracting him while Joker entered the penthouse,” Jason explains. “Some of Joker’s men were sent to cause chaos somewhere far away from Eleanor’s house. That kept Damian away from their real intentions.”

You were trying not to cry, but the thought that your daughter was now under Joker’s hands terrified you. You embrace Jason, burying your face in his armored chest. His arms move around you, pulling you closer. 

“She’ll be fine, don’t worry. Damian and Barbara are trying to track him down.” Jason says against your hair. He was doing so much effort to hide his own fear. He needed to bring you security and certainty right now. He needed to keep hoping and believing his daughter was going to be fine. 

“Find her,” you plea between sobs. 

“I’ll bring her back, babe. I promise.” His promise feels false. He wants to believe it, he has to believe it, but he was traumatized, and this was bringing every memory back. “I’ll bring her safe and alive.”

The floor was cold, there was no light. Sophie was tasting fabric, she had a cloth tied to her head that kept her mouth shut. She was forbidden to speak or shout. Her arms were tied on her back, as well as her ankles. 

There was silence, she was alone. Alone in that unfamiliar and sinister place. 

When she looked down she saw the birthday sash still around her body. A million questions filled her mind, remembering what had happened at Eleanor’s place. Were her friends safe? Had they called the authorities? Was anyone looking for her? Were her parents aware she was missing? Was she going to see her parents again? Will she get the chance to say sorry to her father?

Clang! A metallic sound against the hard rock floor.

Someone was there, she wasn’t alone anymore. Her heart raced, her eyes kept moving, trying to see something, anything, anyone. She was blind by the absence of light. She was blind and mute. Letting her keep her hearing was a torture. 

Again, clang! 

Clang! Clang!

“You don't have smart parents,” the Joker's voice echoed off the walls of that immense, empty room.

Clang!

“Dealing with business they should've stayed out of.” Clang! “That’s when I thought: let’s make them regret this!”

She heard steps coming towards her. They were slow, torturous. 

“Rich people think they can do whatever they want.” This time, the metallic sound you were hearing far away landed next to you. “And so can I. That’s why you are being recorded, so they can see what happens with their precious little girl.”

With his filthy foot, he makes her body roll so she can see the little red dot shining from the recording camera. “Smile to the camera, birthday girl!”

Without a warning, the first hit lands on Sophie’s back. The raw and cold surface of a metallic pipe leaves a red mark on her skin. She tries to yell but the sound is muted by the cloth on her mouth. In her eyes, tears of pain start to fall. 

Was someone coming to get her? Was she going to see her parents again? She needs to say sorry to Jason. 

Jason was losing his mind, and so were Damian, Tim and Barbara. They couldn’t find Sophie or Joker. Time was running out, and the chances of finding her alive were growing slimmer by the minute. 

Jason thought of you, of how desperate and miserable you must be right now. Jason could do something—he was doing everything he could. You could only wait. Jason had a chance, you only had hope. 

Your daughter. The most perfect being. The only light you could find in such a dark city like Gotham. They were going to take that away from you. Joker was going to take that away, if he hadn't already. 

Jason’s fear was manifesting in anger, yelling and cursing to his brothers. Damian, who felt guilty for not being attentive enough. Tim, who was injured, but came because Sophie was important. And Barbara, who was doing as much as she could from Blüdhaven while Dick was out patrolling.

Everything was chaos; their emotions were running high, and they were unable to communicate because of their frustration. 

And meanwhile, Sophie was waiting. Suffering and waiting. Hoping someone would come and rescue her.

And while Jason, Tim, Damian and Barbara were running around Gotham while arguing through the comms, Bruce was in the batcave. 

He was not asleep, and he was well aware of what was happening. 

Without saying a word to them, he searched. He found out about Eleanor’s parents' illegal business. He had managed to get the footage from Eleanor’s house’s security cameras. He had seen how Joker entered the house, mistook Sophie for Eleanor, and took her with him. 

His eyes moved quickly through the screen of the computer, gathering all the helpful information he could find until he got what he wanted. 

Joker was outside of Gotham. In an old, abandoned nuclear factory. 

Bruce had managed to track what he had thought was Joker’s truck, and if he was right he was going to find Sophie there. 

He sends Sophie's possible location to Barbara, and asks her to keep it from Jason, Tim and Damian until he says so. Bruce could arrive faster. He had higher chances of saving his granddaughter.

He puts on his Batman suit—the one he wore before retiring and passing the Batman name on to Damian. And before leaving he sends you a message: “I know where Sophie is.” 

He lost Jason once, he wasn’t going to lose Jason's daughter now.

This was the end. Sophie couldn’t even move if she wanted to. Her body was broken, her eyes were dry from crying. 

She needs to say sorry to her father. 

She needs to see you again one last time. 

Joker had left some minutes ago, leaving the pipe, covered in blood, next to her, and a ticking bomb with a countdown in front of her. The only source of light in that obscure place. A countdown to her end. 

This was going to happen to Eleanor, not her. Joker wanted Eleanor. Eleanor was going to die. And everything only because Sophie was wearing Eleanor’s sash. 

Her mind was dizzy because of how much blood she was losing. She wanted to sleep, she was going to fall asleep. Maybe this was a nightmare and she will wake up safe at her house, in her bed, with her parents. 

The sound of a motorcycle broke the silence, bursting forcefully into the room.

Bruce saw Sophie on the floor, covered by her own blood, immobile. 

“Sophie,” Bruce calls. She doesn’t answer. 

He sees the bomb and moves quickly to turn it off. While he works he hears Sophie’s weak voice. 

“Batman…?” 

Bruce stops the bomb exactly two seconds away from exploding, then turns to face Sophie. 

“Batman…” Sophie says again, hopeful. She struggles to say the name, but tries her best.

Jason had told Bruce countless times to keep Sophie outside of his world. She didn’t need to know about the secret identities of any member of her family, not even her father’s. Bruce understood, of course he did, so he obeyed. Now that Sophie was fifteen, she didn’t know that the man she has in front of her is her own grandfather. 

Jason’s words keep repeating in Bruce’s mind. “Don’t tell Sophie. She doesn’t need to know. I’ll keep her away from this, do the same.” But she was dying, and she needed to see a familiar face now. 

Carefully, Bruce took off the cowl, showing his face to Sophie.

Sophie’s eyes—Jason’s eyes—scan Bruce’s face like it was the first time she saw him, like she did when she was a small child. 

“Grandpa?” 

Jason had a hard time getting used to his daughter calling Bruce that, and so did Bruce. But when little one-year-old Sophie said it for the first time it felt right. One pure soul, happy and innocent, was part of Bruce’s life. It felt unreal.

“Yes, Sophie. I’m going to take you to your parents,” he tries to say with the voice he used to use with her when she was a child, kind and caring. “You’re going to be fine.”

“No.” She coughs.

“Yes. Now I’m going to lift you up to take you with me,” He says, moving his arms around her body. 

“No. You can’t…” She’s choking on nothing, there’s no more air reaching her lungs. She’s collapsing, she’s dying. “Please…Tell my dad that I- tell him that I don’t…”

That she doesn't hate him. 

But she’s dead now. Is too late. 

Her body’s getting cold against Bruce’s, and through her eyes her soul leaves.

Sophie Todd has died at 15, just like her father did. 

Bruce had gathered everyone in the batcave. He has told them that he had found Sophie, but he hasn’t mentioned that she wasn’t alive anymore. 

Tim and Damian arrive before Jason, who has gone to find you.

Tim is the first to notice the body covered by a white sheet on the table. He stays silent, waiting for Bruce’s confirmation. 

Damian chooses not to remain silent, but to see for himself. He walks quickly over to stand in front of the table and uncovers Sophie’s face. He doesn’t dare touch her, but the insistent voice echoing in his head—in total denial—pushes him to check her pulse, even though he knows she doesn’t have one.

They don’t cry. None of the three. They just mourn silently while they wait for Jason, preparing themselves for his explosive reaction. 

Jason arrives with you some minutes after. When he sees his daughter’s body covered he launches at Bruce. He grabs him by his collar and yells at him. “Is she dead?”

Bruce tries to maintain his composure. He understands the pain Jason is feeling right now, the anger he’s letting out. “Yes, Jason.”

“Why didn’t you tell me where she was?” Jason shouts louder. 

“You weren’t going to arrive on time,” Bruce explains.

“And you did!?” Jason spat the sarcasm with venom. 

“She was alive when I found her, but didn’t have time to take her here.”

Bruce can see the tears in Jason’s eyes, and how much effort he’s trying to do to keep them from falling. 

“And you didn’t kill him,” Jason whispers with rage.

“He wasn’t there-” Bruce gets cut off by Jason.

“EVEN IF HE WAS, YOU WEREN’T GOING TO KILL HIM.” Jason’s knuckles turn white from the strong grip on Bruce’s collar.“YOU DIDN'T KILL HIM WHEN I DIED, AND YOU WON'T KILL HIM NOW THAT HE'S MURDERED MY DAUGHTER, EITHER.”

“Jason-”

“NO. If you don’t kill him I will!” Jason pushes Bruce with too much force, making him stumble backwards. 

“Jason!” This time it is Damian the one trying to get Jason’s attention, but he isn’t successful. 

Jason pushes Bruce again, but this time against the wall. “Don’t try to hold me back, old man. I’m going to kill that bastard myself.”

“JASON!” Your voice echoes through the Batcave. It holds pain and disappointment. “Your daughter is dead! And you chose to fight the man that has brought you her body back instead of seeing her one last time!?” 

It takes Jason some seconds to get back into his senses. He moves away from Bruce and walks towards you and his daughter’s lifeless body. He’s unable to look at Sophie, instead he looks at you. 

You look truly miserable. Your mouth is twisted into a pained grimace. Your eyes are closed, but the tracks of tears running down your cheeks are clearly visible.

“Did she tell you something? When you found her.” You ask Bruce without looking at him. 

“She wanted me to tell Jason something, but she never got to finish her sentence,” Bruce answers. 

Jason remembers his last interaction with Sophie. She had got mad at him because he was just trying to protect her, she then told him she hated him and locked herself in her room. Then you went inside, talked to her, and when Sophie came out she didn’t even look at him or say anything before leaving. 

“Did you show her that you were Batman?” Jason asks, surprisingly calm.

“Yes,” Bruce simply answers. 

Sophie’s last words to Jason were “I hate you”, and now he won’t know if Sophie tried to tell Bruce that she didn’t mean it or that she hated Jason more for keeping her family’s secret from her. 

The funeral was some days after. Sophie was buried next to Martha and Thomas. Everyone attended, even Eleanor, who was still recovering from the explosion, but felt extremely guilty for Sophie’s death. 

Once you’re back home you go straight to your room to get rid of the dress. Once you’re wearing more comfortable clothes you find Jason in Sophie’s room. He’s standing in front of the bookshelf.

The room was exactly like Sophie left it that night. With the clothes on top of the chair, the makeup and school books all over her desk. The fairy lights on. The bed unmade. 

“Love?” You call him softly. 

“She was reading my copy of Pride and Prejudice, the one with annotations, not the new edition I bought her last year,” he says without tearing his eyes away from the bookshelf. 

You look at Jason and then at Sophie's nightstand, where Jason’s book sits—closed, marked near the end, waiting to be finished. 

“She liked to know your thoughts on every story,” you remember with nostalgia.

“We could’ve read in together.” Jason’s eyes finally find yours. They’re empty, lifeless.

“She read it with you. You were in every annotation, in every little comment you left inside that book. You read it with her, you were just not present, but for her you were.” You walk closer and cup his face with one of your hands.

“That’s sadder,” he says.

“It is not. She could’ve chosen the brand new book you got her. Instead, she chose yours. A book already read, a book with way more history—a book loved by her father.”

Jason looks at you with too much love, but gets hidden behind his sadness. 

“She chose you, because she loves you.” You say, caressing his cheek.

You see how tears start rolling down Jason’s eyes. All the tears he had tried to hold in Sophie’s funeral, because he felt too exposed. 

You hug him tightly. Now he needs you just as much as you need him. And maybe it was going to be that way for the rest of your lives, because how does one get over the death of their child?

© llovelygood

A/N: No, I didn't kiss the brick before throwing it ☺️