not-so casual batman fan

Rules: keep your ai content/usage away, if you like batcest please don't send/request content of it, always reblog the tws

I HAVE AN OLD DOG AND I'M SCARED OF LOSING HIM STOP SENDING ME ASKS ABOUT DEAD/DYING PUPPERS

Odd One Out (original no pack au)

An Omega Without A Pack (elseworlds)

Some ficlets

Fic links to ao3

Fanarts (gifted)

Humans Are Space Orcs: JL Edition

Miscellaneous

Mini AUs

The sun keeps setting and the moon lights up the night sky in his place. Bruce's favourite gargoyle, the one named Clark is cold to the touch under Diana's palm; Gotham never got quite hit enough to heat up the statues, even less so in Fall. Clark's hearing picks up on the sound of feet scurrying on rooftops, the distinct 'whip!' Of a grapple gun being fired. The Bats have begun their ritualistic patrol.

Clark and Diana share a long look, their eyes reflecting a truth they didn't want to acknowledge just yet. Their Friday night routine should change, but they can't bring themselves to do it. Bruce would keep them waiting.

Bruce will always keep them waiting now. His burger is gonna go cold.

If it isnt obvious Bruce is dead. Or maybe he isnt, up to you. Inspired by this panel from Superman: Up in the Sky #5 because I'm feeling sad trinity thoughts rn they matter so much to me

Bruce steps onto the rooftop, smiling. "One day you're going to give up on this."

Diana grins at him. "Never."

Clark laughs. "Sit down and eat your burger, B."

Bruce steps up onto the rooftop, smiling. "One day you're going to give up on this."

Diana sighs, resting her chin on her knee.

Clark looks out onto the horizon, a single tear slipping down his face.

Bruce eases himself down onto his gargoyle, looking mournfully at the burger next to him. "You're just teasing me at this point," he grouches, but settles in anyway.

The Batman's silhouette appears on a roof opposite, a few hours into patrol, but when the three of them lift their hands to wave, Dick turns his back, disappearing into the night.

Clark buries his face in his hands, and Diana causes a chip in the brick with the force she slumps back against the wall with. Bruce watches them, and grieves their smiles.

The sun peeks over the horizon eventually, but they wait until light is spilling into the streets to pack up their food.

Bruce would call them wasteful, but, as if just to spite him, they always find a way to make use of the three untouched orders. At this point, Bruce is surprised the Daily Planet's pigeon population aren't morbidly obese, with the amount of Batburger they get.

Diana and Clark fly away from the roof in opposite directions, without saying a word to each other.

They never do.

But they are here every week without fail anyway.

Bruce is so happy to be home at first, embracing his children and friends, but something is wrong. "Tim's out of contact...on a mission. We don't know when he's coming back."

"He needs some alone time. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"Don't worry about it Bruce. He'll be back soon."

Bruce...asks some pointed questions that they obviously don't understand. No one he's spoken to found the clues. Tim did.

So where was Tim and why was everyone acting guilty.

So he investigates, first...Robin.

Bruce stares at the evidence.

Tim left. No one believed him. No one looked at the evidence that Bruce was alive and put it up to Tim's mind cracking after losing Young Justice and Bruce.

And Tim didn't come back, but the reports do have an encoded message and he makes a call. "Talia, do you know of the whereabouts of Tim Drake?"

Talia clicks her tongue..."He worked with Ras briefly. I heard through my contacts he was dead...I'm sorry."

Bruce hangs up, phone cracking in his grip.

"Why not give him back?"

Ra's cocks his head. "I awaited your return, Detective. Your son was admirable, fought more so, and died an honourable death. The treatment he received before departing the USA was nothing if not disrespectful."

"You didn't trust them."

They hadn't even realised Tim was dead.

The old man's eyes pierce him to his core, as they always have. "I didn't think that you would appreciate me washing my hands of him so callously."

Bruce nods weakly, stroking the urn, holding it close. "Thank you, Ra's."

"Indeed, Detective. I shall leave you to your reunion."

Bruce opens his mouth, then closes it again, nodding once more. Ra's has already gone above and beyond for him, he cannot ask anything more.

Yet his former mentor seems to sense his unsaid words anymore, and steps closer, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Bruce... You raised a strong boy. You should be proud."

"I am. I am."

"Good." Ra's pats his trembling form, and steps by. "Take him home, then. Let him rest."

Bruce nods, bowing his head as he is left alone with his son. "Come on, chum. "Let's go home." He kisses the ceramic, and stands on weak legs.

Home.

Home is supposedly where the heart is.

The building exploding under them wasn't.

Bruce crawls from the rubble desperately looking for Jason. Not again. Not again. Not again.

He does what he's rarely ever done, "SUPERMAN!"

Strong arms wrap around him, staring at the collapsing rubble with a frown, listening to Batman, no Bruce, fall into a flashback. "Jay, Jason, please, not again not again."

It's difficult to x ray in Gotham, lead and curses making every structure a little obscure to his vision, but he spots the two...bodies.

He digs them out, setting the grinning joker aside and carefully carrying the body of Jason Todd out to Bruce. The skull is cracked open, body badly ripped into by shrapnel, and carries them both to the manor.

Superman lands in the Cave, touching down on the stone floor as gently as he can, not daring to jostle his cargo.

He walks slowly to the medbay, as slowly as possible, not wanting it to be over just yet.

But all too soon, he's standing in front of a bed, and bows his head. Bruce touches down on the mattress first, Jason after, and Clark indulges his friend, encouraging them to fall in towards each other.

He pulls his hand back, but not so far that he is no longer touching Bruce. He allows his hand to stay on Bruce's leg, not ready to let go yet.

Abruptly he finds himself to be kneeling, pressing his head against that same spot, clutching onto Bruce as his cries fill the cave.

He'd tried— he's tried to convince Bruce to leave.

But no amount of assurances would make him allow Clark to look for Jason alone.

He screamed, he crued, delirium took over, and Clark could not bear to deny him. He could see the truth. Bruce didn't know, he probably wouldn't have cared, but Clark knew.

So he let Bruce stay. He pulled Jason from the rubble and placed him in Bruce's arms.

Then he picked up his best friend, and flew back to the Batcave.

Bruce weeped, stroking Jason's mangled skull, whispering apologies over and over until he choked on his own blood, whispers turning to gurgles, apologies morphing into deprived gasps for air, then it all stopped.

Clark knew the explosion killed Bruce.

Stephanie didn't know why Deathstroke was chasing her. She did know she made a mistake and got herself cornered. She pants as she dodges, unable to strike back.

Stephanie stumbles, the sword rips through her thigh, and she falls. She crawls backwards Deathstroke letting her hit the short ledge, following her without a care in the world.

Deathstroke pauses, "Your not bad kid, if they bring you back, look me up if you ever want some real training."

The sword swings, a baton and batarang is thrown, and Spoilers head hits the floor.

"Black Bat, Robin, Robin, Red Hood, Deathstroke apprehended, signal called off."

"Situation resolved, Spoiler retrieved."

"Scene looks good, guys," Oracle agrees, going along with it. Bruce baulks, and sees Dick do the same, at the mere implication.

But they're lying for a reason.

A reason they cannot afford to let the others see.

Slowly, everyone agrees to head back to the Cave. Cass last of all, muting her comms and clearly waiting for them to give something away, but pretending to organise GCPD response with Barbara seems to fool her well enough.

Bruce changes the comm channel, and promptly moans. "Oh, God."

"Steph."

"FUCK!"

"Oh, Stephanie," Bruce curses. "God, I— I'm so sorry."

She doesn't respond.

Her decapitated head is eternally frozen in fear, mocking their failure to protect her.

Twice. Bruce failed her twice.

I've been getting a lot of posts on here about intersexism the last few weeks (hoooooly fuck it's rotten out there), and:

Male omegas being the lowest of the low in omegaverse societies because they're intersex. Alphas do not want an omega with penetrative genitals, and even if they do, by some measure, accept a male omega as a mate, traditionalists advocate for mutilation, and the penis is usually removed from the omega after they are mated.

"Shut up and open the pharmacy, now."

"Of course. Please remain calm."

Damien considers fighting back, but the young patient cowering in the corner would be endangered, so he stays calm and waits for someone to get his emergency signal.

The men are about to leave when one of them says something about Damien being the "Bastard Wayne"

"Oh.... you think he's worth anything?"

"Maybe, what do you think nepo baby? Do you think you're worth anything?"

A heavy boot hits his groin, sending him to the floor. The patient stands up, "h-hey...you got what you wanted. Leave him alone."

"Bitch, maybe you want our-fuck!"

"Stupid little nepo bastard." BAM BAM BAM.

There's a crashing noise. It barely hurts surprisingly. Signal is yelling, suit getting stained red. The patient is freaking out.

And Damien...

He's floating far away.

Duke flings himself across the room, disarming and knocking the two assailants out in mere seconds. Then he's tearing back across the room, crashing to his knees next to the other woman in the room.

"Doctor Wayne... oh god—"

"Signal to base, Doctor Wayne is down, three gunshot wounds to the chest"—he pulls Damian up, then carefully lays the kid down again—"no exit wounds. I need backup, police response, and a fucking medic!"

"Batman, responding."

"Oracle, responding."

"Robin, responding."

"Black Bat, responding."

"Come on, little man, hang on for me," Duke orders. He cuts a look at the woman panicking next to him. "Were you in need of emergency care, or here for an appointment?"

"A-appointment."

"Then get downstairs, and be there to guide the GCPD up here."

She sprints out of the room, and Duke grabs one of his batons, aiming it to slam into the wall under Damian's degree on the wall.

A chime sounds, followed by several more as all of the Bat systems Damian keeps locked up in here shut down and disguise themselves before the crime scene techs get here.

While that processes, Duke watches the blood seeping through his fingers, the pressure he's bearing down onto the wounds not enough to combat the bleeding.

"Come on, kid," he whispers. "You got out. You got out, you can't do this to me."

Other nurses finally sprint through the door, calling codes and terms at each other, and Duke is patted on the shoulder, told to keep holding pressure, while they race around the room gathering supplies.

Then he's beckoned out of the way, and he stumbles back, watching Damian disappear under the bustling crowd of medical professionals.

"We're losing him!"

"He's crashing!"

"Code blue!"

Duke feels his heart in his throat, watching the crash cart hurtle across the room.

"Come on, Robin," he pleads under his breath. "You're not allowed to fly away yet."

But a Robin never loses their wings.

"She was my daughter first."

"We both know you didn't see her as a daughter."

"You think you know me so well, when it's your ideology that killed her."

"Get out."

"She'd be alive if you didn't infect her with your no kill nonsense. All she had to do was kill Shiva and she would have been free."

The monster hits the ground, jaw bruised, "you know I'm right Bat."

"If you really loved her, she wouldn't be dead," Cain spits, walking away.

Bruce thinks of whispered memories, of scarred fingers always hovering over bows when they went shopping, of hair never long enough to plait, of her point-blank refusal that time Tim suggested a pink dress he's seen a few aisles over.

"If you really loved Cass," he hisses, tears blurring his vision of the man that gave him his beloved daughter, "I would never have met her."

He knows Cain loved Cass.

He knew it when the man pleaded to keep his tapes of the little girl he trained to perfection.

He knows he loved Cass.

He knew it when she curled up against his side, told him how she was never allowed to hold Cain. To be held.

He knew it wasn't enough when she poked him in the chest and told him how he hurt her too.

He knows he loved Cass.

Duke doesn't remember where he heard that...

It happens in slow motion, a tranq dart buries itself in his neck. The world burns and blurs as his powers are suppressed, and he falls.

He hits the ground head first, already unconscious...

Dukw wakes on a medical cot in Leslie's clinic, bones snapping into place, body healing. The crying bats are frozen around him in shock, "Fuck...did I forget to tell you?...can't stay dead."

"HE SAID HE COULDN'T DIE!"

"I know."

"HE SAID— HE—"

"Damian..."

"Give him back! Give him back! Give me— Give me my Duke back!"

Damian crumples, and Bruce is right there to catch him, swinging his youngest into his arms, ignoring the way his cast slams into his sternum again, and again as he buries close, bawling desperately against him. He carries him back to Duke's bedside, to the wan face cradled by the softest pillows.

Damian whines as Bruce shifts him to one side, freeing up an arm to reach out, stroking Duke's cheek, brushing his thumb under one of the cuts tearing open his sunken cheek.

"I'm sorry, sunshine," he whispers, tears falling freely from his own eyes.

He promised to help Duke. To do everything he could.

And he did, and it wasn't enough.

He promised to take care of all of his children. To give his life for them.

And he failed.

Duke had to take up that burden instead, even if it was never his responsibility.

Bruce was too far away.

Duke was closer.

So when Damian screamed, plummeting through the air clutching onto a broken grapple line, it's no wonder the beautiful boy made the choice he did.

Assured whatever consequences would be reset upon his pulse stopping, he released his own grapple, using what momentum he had from the swing to hurtle towards Damian.

Damian stood up with his arm broken in two places and a concussion.

Duke didn't stand up at all.

I've got five asks to kill various batkids.

Dick is half in agony from the antimagic chamber, wound in his throat reopening as the curse keeping him alive breaks down. Bruce shushes him. "I'm sorry. Please let go Chum. Just go to sleep."

The beast wearing his son's face growls obscenities and deeply cutting words, "please Bruce...it hurts..."

"I'll fucking kill you."

"You're not my father! You were never my father!"

"Please..."

Bruce shakes in the dark as Dicks body rapidly rots, finally letting himself weep.

....I've never interacted much with the DC Vampires.

*looks at my openly superbat-hating follower*

*looks at anon*

Well that really depends on what you're after.

Alfred was charged with a duty.

We're entrusting you with our son. We can't trust anyone else not to take advantage. Raise him into a man we can be proud of, like he was your own son.

Alfred considered himself successful in some respects. Bruce was called by many, "the Prince of Gotham." He had made the Wayne name even more loved.

Of course, overall, Bruce was a disappointment. He was constantly focused on his "mission" to save Gotham.

Bruce refused to settle with a respectable woman and produced a proper heir. He gave the Wayne name to strays from the lower class and let them disrespect him to boot.

He produced a bastard with that Al Ghul woman and called the boy son, tainted the Wayne Name.

He might have held his tongue, but now, as he was dying, he remembered he left Bruce his journals. Perhaps he would learn how to treat his noble blood and name once he read his true thoughts on his behavior...

Dick steps past the others, edging onto the patio.

It's three days since the funeral.

They haven't seen Bruce since the executor of Alfred's will left.

"Dad?" Slips out before he can stop it. Losing Alfred... it's made him reevaluate his distance. Maybe he should stay home for a while.

Endearment or not, Bruce doesn't respond. He stands at the head of the pathway, watching the bonfire rage on the pathway in front of him.

"Bruce, Duke said—"

"Go inside, Dick," Bruce orders, not giving him the time of day. Dick grieves with anger, and losing is no different. He's so... so angry at the universe for taking the old man from him, for taking another person from him, and he pushes it all down.

Bruce isn't his target.

Bruce doesn't deserve to be his target.

So he takes a deep breath, and starts again.

"You know Damian wanted to read those diaries."

Bruce turns, just enough for Dick to see the reflection of the orange flames licking at his eyeballs, extinguishing the blue completely, and something violent stares at Dick from his father's face.

"That was never going to happen."

Bruce turns back to the bonfire, to decades of history, and old man's entire life destroyed by one spur-of-the-moment decision.

"I wasn't going to let it happen."

"Why?" Dick demands. He's missing a piece, a part of the story, but what could have happened in the last three days is beyond him. He hasn't even left his room.

Dick reaches out, intending to put a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

Sometimes, when you know Bruce, it's easy to forget, or, at least, allow it to move to the back of your mind, that he is Batman.

But when Bruce's hand snaps out, enclosing Dick's wrist before he can make contact, the reminder—and warning—is clear.

Bruce's eyes bore into him, the kind of intense that Dick rarely sees, especially free from the cowl's opaque lenses.

"Because you don't deserve to have your memory of him tainted," Bruce whispers, and there.

There it is.

Pain.

"Will you tell us?"

"No."

Dick steps closer, lowers his voice.

"Will you tell me?"

Bruce leans in, the hand not already holding onto him lifting, propping his chin up with a few fingers, pressing a soft, precious kiss to Dick's head, lingering for a precious second.

Then he is released completely, and when Bruce turns back to continue watching all of the evidence burn, Dick knows he's gone.