Pa Kent: Good morning Alfred. Are you busy today? Ma and I are in Gotham for that fancy art gallery Clark is writing about. Did you have some time to meet us for lunch before the event?
Alfred: Oh, sorry, Pa, unfortunately, I have my hands full with the latest shenanigans of the children.
Pa: Oh? What happened?
Alfred: Master Dick, has discovered he is a father.
Pa shocked: Dick has kids?
Alfred: Yes, we believe they're from the same place as Mister Bart Allen.
Pa: Oh. That makes sense. How is Dick handling everything?
Alfred: Very well. He's ecstatic to be a father. It's his children who are....reluctant.
Pa: What do you mean?
Alfred: Hold on. Let me send you a picture of the children when Master Dick told them he was thier father.
Danny/Dan/Dani:
Pa: Well....they certainly resemble Dick. He looked the same when I asked him to help me birth a calf. How old are they?
Alfred: Master Dan is the oldest; he's twelve. Master Daniel is the middle one at ten, and Miss Danielle is the youngest at eight. They're sweet children, but they do not seem interested in being brought into the Waynes' home. They've negotiated with Master Bruce to get them rooms at the most expensive hotel in Gotham, in exchange for not running away. It took us months to even corner them.
Pa: Wow that sounds so stressful. I understand that your busy we could reschedule-
Ma taking the phone: Alfred, let Dick handle his kids. You deserve a day off. Join us for lunch, wine and dine at the art gallery with us and if the night goes well, let us get you naked between us.
Pa scandalized in the background: That's too forward!
Alfred: What time and where are we doing lunch?
Bruce sitting across from Alfred and overheard everything: Now Clark will know the pain of the butler dating one's parents. Let's see him laugh now. I hope he suffers.
Dick lying face down on the floor: My kids called me unnatural for being in shape, and now my grandpa is getting more action in one night than I've had in the past six months. This is it. My life has no more meaning.
Damian Wayne as the Owner of a Dragon Bat; A Collection of Ordinary Stories
(I'm using a translator!
I'm taking some liberties with Goliath's behavior—sorry, but not really sorry)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3: Furry Rescue
Damian Wayne disappeared one Thursday afternoon like any other. the Young Wayne had gone out on a “social outing” with some of his schoolmates; the outing, of course, went according to plan, but when it came time to pick him up, Alfred found a note that was disturbing to say the least, along with the boy’s phone—his civilian phone, of course.
They didn’t bother calling the police.
No one noticed when the kidnappers snatched the boy off the streets, and if they could spare themselves all the fuss of a worried Wayne family, they might as well get down to business and find their little bird as soon as possible.
Bruce received the video with the same old “don’t call the police” threat an hour after the Bats began the search. The ransom demanded in exchange for returning the boy unharmed was nothing compared to Bruce Wayne’s inherited fortune, yet the kidnappers kept stalling on the money’s delivery and increasing the amount. In the video, Damian looked more bored than scared. Tied to a chair, a bit bruised, and clearly mistreated by the kidnappers. But mostly, he was okay. They just had to find him fast.
Jason runs through familiar streets. His territory is undoubtedly a favorite spot for any kidnapper to hold their victims, whether because of its many abandoned warehouses or the lack of police patrols on its streets. No one would bother to look twice at someone dragging a child. After all, no one bothered to look out for these people.
The guys he was looking for had been terrorizing Gotham’s wealthy neighborhood for weeks and, more recently, Blüdhaven. They had a nasty habit of stringing their victims along, keeping worried parents on tenterhooks while they squeezed as much money out of them as they could before releasing the children—if they released them at all.
That’s why Brucie Wayne had stayed home, begging the bats to find his son while he kept the kidnappers on the line.
A sharp thud behind him makes him stop. At the edge of the roof and ready to jump, the red-hooded vigilante turns slowly. The sound was too heavy to be any of his brothers—Batman, perhaps, or even Clark (everyone knows the Man of Steel tries to impress his father whenever he can). He doesn’t expect to come face to face with a colossal being with red fur and bat wings. He doesn’t expect the being to look him straight in the face. Nor does he expect it to approach and sit down in front of him like a soldier at attention, waiting for battle.
He doesn’t expect Goliath to be here.
“Goliath?” he blurts out because his brothers are on the open line, and if the creature eats him, he hopes they’ll at least know what happened. Goliath doesn’t eat him. He snorts; a puff of hot air from his huge nose, and as if Jason were slow on the uptake, he gently pushes him with his massive head to redirect him elsewhere. “What’s up, buddy? What’s over there?”
“Reee,” the big animal lets out as if Jason could understand him, continuing to push, pull, and tug. He drags him against his will to the far end of the roof; on his back, Jason notices a ball of black and white fur, which soon peeks out and meows loudly. Alfred (the cat) judges him with his gaze from his privileged spot on his big friend’s back. —I’m going to follow them.
A chorus of confused “whats” floods his communicator, but Jason barely pays attention. Goliath has stopped pushing him and is now trying to get under him to lift him up.
“All right, buddy, take me,” and with that, Jason climbs onto the back of the huge creature. It takes him a moment to get comfortable, but Goliath doesn’t flinch at the extra weight compared to his usual rider. In a second, they’re already off. Flying over the city and straight to the warehouse district in Cherry Hills—because, of course. Jason had to end up at the docks somehow.
The ride doesn’t last long; Jason spends it carelessly playing with the colorful beads braided into Goliath’s hair. And staring in bewilderment at the cat lying comfortably on the giant’s head, soon, Goliath lands on the dock; abandoned shipping containers flood the place all the way to the horizon. Jason never liked places like this. He jumps down, following the giant closely until he reaches a specific container. Goliath sniffs the entrance before starting to struggle with it. Judging by the dents, it seems he’s done this before. For his part, Jason stays behind, marveling at the destruction around him. How did he escape from the mansion? How long has he been out here unsupervised? There are bodies scattered on the ground.
All of them have bite marks or bruises, as if they’d fought a giant animal or a bat-dragon.
A well-aimed scratch snaps him out of his lethargy; Alfred (the furry one) is hanging from his pants, his little paw attacking his hand with sharp claws that barely pierce his gloves. In a second, Jason is already in front of the dumpster and uses his human power of opposable thumbs to open it. As soon as the lid opens, a barrage of gunfire erupts; he barely has time to jump and take cover.
The container isn’t empty, it seems; there are two armed men, as far as Jason can tell. They probably barricaded themselves inside when Goliath appeared. The important thing is that Damian is there, tied to a chair at the back of the container. One of the guys tries to close the container again. Goliath catches him, and a shake of his head sends him flying straight to the shore and deep into Gotham’s polluted water.
One left.
Jason lunged at the other man; hopefully, he was out of ammo from his earlier attempt to take out whoever was outside. Jason just had to knock him down and toss him out so Goliath could handle the rest. “Do me a favor and eat him,” he tells the giant, just to see the look of pure terror on the guy’s face. Well, he deserved it.
“Goliath. Let him go” the hoarse, clearly exhausted voice of the boy tied to the chair pulls Jason out of his fun. Goliath complies, after a moment. He didn’t even try to eat him for real; he just gave him a little scare until the guy passed out from fear. Totally normal, if you ask Jason. Damian has already freed his hands and is starting to struggle with the ropes around his ankles. It’s not like Alfred (the clawed version) was making it easy for him; the cat was rubbing against his legs with pleased meows, demanding attention.
Out of mercy, Jason stepped forward and cut the ropes in a second, helping Damian to his feet. Alfred (the pouch version) climbs onto his shoulders without much trouble. Goliath is waiting for them at the dumpster door, eager to see his little general. As soon as he steps out, Damian finds himself with his arms full of a happy dragon-bat. — Thanks, Goliath. Sorry for missing our date this afternoon.
From his shoulders, Alfred (the musical cat version) meowed loudly.
“Thanks to you too, buddy.”
“Isn’t there anything for me? You’re hurting my feelings, Damian.” He exaggerates just to annoy him. Judging by the feigned look of hatred the little devil gives him, he’s succeeded. “I’ve got it—I’ll take young Wayne back home.”
As if they had to keep up appearances, in the empty harbor.
Damian Wayne as the Owner of a Dragon Bat; A Collection of Everyday Stories
(I’m using a translator!
I’m taking some liberties with Goliath’s behavior—sorry, but not really)
Part 1, Part 2: On Patrol part3
The last game of hide-and-seek on the rooftop was won by Red Robin after he caught Damian while the latter was busy following a couple of suspects in the wave of kidnappings that has plagued Gotham’s wealthy families. It was a humiliating training session. Despite his urge to turn around and follow Red Robin to the gates of hell to get revenge. Damian finished his mission like a true warrior. In the end, the patrol ended with him still without catching anyone else. (Of course, it would have been easier to follow someone else than to be running after Red Robin.)
He wouldn’t make the same mistake tonight.
The barn doors open silently; inside, Damian’s second family rests peacefully. He’s always loved animals—of course, it was one of the few things he had in common with his grandfather and one of the many things he shared with his mother. Now at his father’s house, his passion has only grown, transformed, and improved. He moves silently past the sleeping animals. His companion tonight is on the second floor of the barn, sleeping comfortably with his belly exposed and his tongue hanging out. Damian smiles, because the fact that Goliath feels safe enough to sleep like that already makes him feel proud of himself; even so, he must wake him up.
This is a matter of honor.
“Hey, you big hairy idiot,” he whispers without malice, crouching in front of the great beast; all it takes is a gentle shake to wake him up, and the beast looks at him with sleepy eyes. A big yawn and a shake are enough to wake Goliath completely. The beast gets up on all fours, stretching to his full height with another big yawn. Finally, he walks straight toward Damián, looking for a scratch under his chin where he likes it so much. Damián, of course, grants him that. “We have a job to do.”
…
The Great Robin runs desperately across the rooftops; Gotham’s gentle fog clings to his face, cooling his body tired from running. It’s almost automatic: running, leaping off the edge of the roof, landing on the nearest building. He’s been doing it all night—a quiet night in Gotham.
Until those dreaded words were spoken.
“Hidden on the rooftop,” one of his many brothers had said; he’d found it amusing. Sure, when Steph or Dick were carrying her. He comes to a screeching halt at the edge of the precipice; he won’t make it to the other side. He pulls out his grappling hook. He swings away from the threat. Now he doesn’t find it so amusing anymore, not since someone decided that passing the torch to Damian was a good idea.
Damian, who was near the mansion.
Damian, who had openly commented that Goliath needed to spread his wings soon.
Damian, who was now chasing him on a Dragon-bat while laughing maniacally.
He lands on another rooftop with a soft thud, his footsteps silent despite his speed; he runs halfway across. His feet strike the concrete hard, propelling him forward; the end of the tunnel appears before his eyes—almost there, almost free. The enormous shadow approaches faster than it should; a being that cannot belong to this world. A colossal creature that pounces on him in a second, knocking him to the ground with its massive front paws; he falls with a loud “uff.”
Goliath crushes him with two of his massive paws, pinning him to the ground despite his attempts to escape. The animal’s huge nose slaps him for a second. Goliath lets out a simple “Reee,” which sounds very pleased to Tim’s ears. From above, he can hear Damian taking his time to congratulate Goliath on a job well done.
The bastard is enjoying this.
With his cheek pressed against the concrete, he can only watch helplessly as little Robin’s boots pound the ceiling. Damian takes his time, walks over, and crouches in front of him with an expression of pure bliss on his face. “Your turn,” he says after giving him a little tap on the nose, very similar to the one Tim himself had given him in the last game.
Tim didn’t resist; he didn’t give him the pleasure of seeing him squirm to break free, just as Damian himself had done when Tim caught him. No, if the building’s neighbors heard a scream of pure hatred, it was an auditory hallucination
Damian Wayne as the Owner of a Dragon Bat; A Collection of Everyday Stories
(I’m using a translator!
I’m taking some liberties with Goliath’s behavior—sorry, but not really)
Part 1: Sunbathing part 2 part 3
Let’s imagine that Goliath loves to sunbathe in the mansion’s gardens around noon, when he flops onto his belly on the grass damp from the sprinklers and takes a well-deserved nap. He is a Dragon Bat; the summer sun in Gotham—a mostly humid city—doesn’t bother him too much. Damian understands this; they both grew up in a varied climate and are used to the heat and grueling weather. Lying on Goliath’s stomach while he sleeps is undoubtedly a pleasure he allows himself as a well-deserved treat every so often (whenever they’re out in Gotham). Of course, his family has to worry about nonsense like “heatstroke.”
It’s a quiet Friday in Gotham, one of those rare days when the sun shines down on his head with a intensity that only promises to increase for the rest of the day. Damian adjusts his uniform with feigned indifference; the line of cars in front of Gotham Academy moves slowly, and the excitement of getting home early today is palpable in the air. Alfred’s car pulls up in front of him. Damian walks just a little faster to the back door—a routine rehearsed thousands of times before. Alfred greets him with his usual “Good afternoon, Master Damian” as he pulls out of the parking lot, and Damian, with feigned calm, masterfully keeps up the casual conversation about school.
The drive seems longer than usual—perhaps the speedsters are messing with time again, or maybe it’s just his eagerness to get there—but he can barely wait for the car to pull into the garage before jumping out. It’s been a long week, both for Damian Wayne and for Robin. Soon, Richard will arrive to spend the night, and if he wants to enjoy his free time as planned, he has to move as fast as possible.
He barely hands his backpack to Alfred before running to the backyard of the property and straight to the barn. In a fluid motion worthy of the training he’s had since he was a child, his shoes, tie, and uniform sweater are left neatly folded on the grass a few meters from the red patch of fur and happiness that is Goliath, sleeping comfortably on the fresh grass.
Damian lies down on the great beast with a satisfied sigh, forgetting propriety for a second as he curls up in the comforting warmth that surrounds him, slowly soothing the pain in his tired bones.
. . .
One of Dick Grayson Wayne’s many duties as the older brother of a bunch of individuals capable of world domination is to prevent them from dying; this regularly leads him to traverse the mansion’s gardens in search of a 13-year-old with little instinct for self-preservation and his pet/giant Bat-Dragon, to keep them from spending more time than they should in the sun.
One would think it would be easier to find the great beast. But he’s already checked the entire section of the garden where Goliath is allowed to roam, and there’s still no sign of either of them. Almost defeated, he heads toward the stables.
Maybe he should have started there.
First, he finds the clothes neatly left halfway along the path; Damian must have set them down to be comfortable. A few steps away, he finds his prime suspect in the search for his little brother.
Goliath
He trots over to the ball of fur and happiness that is Goliath, lying with his belly against the grass and his wings spread out in the sun. Amid the red, Dick manages to make out Damian’s white socks. He looks up, noticing the figure carelessly hiding behind the creature’s large wing. Bingo. He creeps up the last few steps, hands on his hips in a Big Brother™ pose, smiling at the sigh worthy of a teenager who’s been caught.
“Damian, you have to move,” he begins, already grabbing the younger boy’s ankles. Goliath watches him lazily, already accustomed to his owners’ nonsense. With a tug, Damian slides over the great beast’s back until he’s face to face with Dick. “You’re going to get dehydrated; Alfred is worried.”
He explains, already taking in his little brother’s flushed face; the boy’s skin is tanned, his cheeks red and drenched in sweat from prolonged sun exposure—if anyone were to ask, Dick would say he’s been out for about two hours. Dick would say he’s been out for about two hours. “I’m perfectly fine, Richard,” his adorable little brother replies haughtily, kicking to free himself from the iron grip on his ankles. “Leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry, Alfred promised me homemade ice cream,” he explains as he struggles to hold onto the little one, who is wriggling like a worm in the sun. “If I take you inside,” he continues, his voice strained with effort.
“It’s only been an hour and 45 minutes; I can handle more than that,” he argues, struggling to free himself from his brother’s iron grip, who has begun to back away, forcing Damian out of the comfort of his lethargy. Damian Wayne slides down his beast’s back until he lands on the ground with a soft thud. Dick barely gives him time to think before hoisting him onto his shoulder like a grumpy sack of potatoes. “Sorry, little bird, I’ve got an ice cream to win.”
From the comfort of his pile of grass, Goliath watches the two young men walk away down the path leading to the mansion. He lets out a weary snort and stands up, stretching his wings and yawning audibly. It’s time to go back inside.
Thank you @dcxdpdabbles for the tag!! I it's the first time I play somethink like these!
(Highlight your preferred fanfic trope between the two listed. For example: // angst or crack // means you enjoy angsty over crack fics) (Feel free to highlight or indicate however you want.)
Slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // there's only one bed or long distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or middle aged romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbors or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane
i love the slow thinks, if the fic is funny an counfortable, i gonna read it.
I'm dont now much people to tagg so this conna be short (No pressure):
fic recomendation! i's the first time i draw a car. (*￣3￣)╭
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 6/?
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Transformers - All Media Types
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Duke Thomas & Bumblebee (Transformers), Batfamily Members & Duke Thomas
Characters: Bumblebee (Transformers), Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake (DCU), Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Other Transformers Characters
Additional Tags: Mentioned Cassandra Cain, Mentioned Stephanie Brown, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Overprotective Bruce Wayne, Duke Thomas is a Batfamily Member, Duke Thomas is Not Signal, Hurt Duke Thomas, BAMF Duke Thomas, Duke Thomas is a Ray of Sunshine, Protective Bumblebee (Transformers), Let’s Give Bruce Gray Hairs, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Duke May Have Brought A Car, But It’s Bumblebee So It’s Okay, Bruce Babies Duke, like a lot
Summary:
Duke is tired of Bruce babying him, so he storms off and buys a used car. He may have dragged his family into a war with Decepticons , but at least he proved to Bruce that he can drive (Bumblebee was driving the whole time).
Here you can donate to the families in Gaza. We have collected $5450/ $20,000.
This video shows ongoing, systematic demolitions in Gaza.
Homes are being destroyed, neighborhoods cleared, and entire areas wiped out even now, while a ceasefire is supposedly in place.
People are watching their houses disappear piece by piece.
Not during fighting.
Not in the middle of airstrikes.
But after everything, when they were told it was safe to breathe again.
The destruction didn’t stop.
It just became quieter.
These images show displacement tents set up right next to a heavily damaged building.
The building was hit before and is leaning, at risk of collapsing at any moment.
Families are living in these tents because they have no other place to go.
There are no safe areas left, no intact homes, no shelters to move to.
Leaving this spot doesn’t mean safety it just means being displaced again.
So people stay.
Not because they feel protected,but because this is the last option they have They sleep knowing the building beside them could fall.
They wake up hoping it doesn’t.
This is not temporary living This is forced survival.
Donate for GAZA
This donation campaign is for ANAS family. Not for strangers, not for a cause I'm distant from but for the people who raised me, the people I love, the people I'm terrified of losing.
They are in Gaza, trying to survive something no human being should ever have to endure. Constant bombardment, displacement, hunger, fear, and the feeling that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Every day is about staying alive one more night.
If you choose to help, you are not donating to an abstract crisis. You are helping real people with names, memories, and lives that matter to me more than anything.
So, I just finished my internship for the day and had about 10 minutes to spare, so here’s Damian and Titus taking a bubble bath. It’s based on a post I read a few weeks ago that I can’t seem to find. But if you know which one it is, please let me know. I’d love to read it again. The idea is so funny, and it’s been on my mind for about three weeks.
I use a translate. if you notice something bad, please tell me
so, i make a litlle comic. cause i love this part 👇
"It had felt rather ridiculous dragging a bucket half the size of himself through the city, trying to spot where Tim and his companion were, and even more so when he had sprinted across the rooftop screaming.
"Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake!"
. . .
He waited only long enough for the flash to go off, so by the time the Fae turned around, he had a face full of mud."
i'ts inspired by this part of "Danny's grill" of @dcxdpdabbles My level of English is not enough to express how much I like this.
so, i read this magnific fanfic. , and I really wanted to do something to put it in my room, then i did these. Anyway, you really need to read it. It's gorgeous.
I'm learning English, so if you notice something strange in my writing, please tell me.
El roció de la mañana caía sobre Gotham cuando ocurrió. El justiciero de Dludhaven tomaba un descanso por primera vez desde que inicio la patrulla, habiendo abandonado la seguridad de los tejados en pro de poder vigilar bien la escena del crimen que había dejado ase unos momentos. Bajo los primeros rayos de sol de la mañana Nightwing no quiso admitir que se le había pasado la hora, la noche se le había ido como un rayo y ahora el murciélago andaba sin la protección de la oscuridad de Gotham, “demasiado trabajo por hoy” se regañó a si mismo mientras descansaba sobre una farola a unas cuantas casas de una callejuela que hasta hace un momento estaba completamente sola, como toda la calle.
No duro mucho.
― ¡Disculpe, señor Nightwing! ―la vocecilla chillona e infantil de un niño interrumpió sus cavilaciones, el murciélago se encontró bajando la mirada en busca del próximo civil que necesitara su ayuda, podría con un trabajo mas antes de retirarse por el día y dormir lo que resta de la mañana. En la acera a unos metros del pie de la farola se paraba un niño de tal vez 8 u 9 años; con mejillas sonrojadas por el clima frio de la ciudad y ropa que aunque discreta, parecía nueva y mas grande de lo que el pequeño niño necesitaba. Interesante. ―¿Hola? ¿con que puedo ayudarte?
El niño se sube la bufanda hasta cubrir su nariz con una manita pequeña y rechoncha, Dick se aguanta las ganas de arrullar al pequeño.
―Dice mi hermano, que si se puede parar así ―pide el chiquillo, tomando una pose mas segura, la capucha se le tuerce un poco mientras toma una pose digna de super héroes de comic, con el pecho inflado y los brazos en la cintura en un gesto seguro. ― ¿tu hermano te mando a pedirme que posara?
“sip soy su ayudante de fotografía”
Pese a sí mismo, Dick termina cediendo a las peticiones del niño. Los hombros antes gachos del justiciero se levantan mientras imita la pose, estirarse le hace maravillas a la espalda, una postura mas firme bracos en la cintura y una sonrisa de modelo, el chico sonríe con asombro al verlo. Desde la esquina de la callejuela, una cámara se asoma junto a una sombra un poco mas grande que el niño frente a él. El camarógrafo no se mueve mas que ese lugar y Dick apenas alcanza a catalogarlo por el rabillo del ojo. Después de un segundo, el primer niño, el de los rizos cafés y las mejillas regordetas, se queda quito un segundo como si escuchara algo susurrado al oído. Asiente para si mismo y luego vuelve a mirar a Nightwing con decisión.
―puede usted mirar hacia allá ―el de rizos señala el horizonte, justo donde Dludhaven se alza lejos de la vista, Nightwing podría encontrarla incluso desde la distancia, se ha vuelto más que su hogar, por mucho que el espíritu de Gotham parezca molestarse por eso. “¿hacia Dludhaven?”
“¡si!”
“está bien, espero que esas fotos estén quedando bien, chico.”
No se pierde el sonido de sorpresa del niño ni como la sombra desaparece por un segundo de donde antes se escondía, pero ahora con la mirada hacia otro lado depende solo de sus otros sentidos para saber que están haciendo los niños, dios, Batman lo molestaría mucho por confiar tan ciegamente en estos niños, pero algo le dice que no se arrepentirá pronto de esta decisión, tal vez solo sean las 20 horas que lleva sin dormir, quien sabe.
La situación se repite durante un rato, el chico parece mas cauteloso ahora que Nightwing claramente sabe lo que están haciendo, pero, aun así, no se queja cuando Dick procede a hacer un montón de acrobacias a la cámara, el camarógrafo cambia de lugar cada que Dick le quita el ojo de encima, cada vez más difícil de encontrar, al final, Nightwing posa para un chico que probablemente este en uno de los tejados del lugar o debajo de un auto a su izquierda, no esta muy seguro. Por lo menos el pequeño se queda quieto. Tanto como puede estarlo alguien que constantemente rebota robre sus talones o habla con la nada como si esta también pudiera oírla.
Es después de uno de estos pequeños momentos de locura que el niño se jira hacia la callejuela y le saca la lengua a alguien a quien Dick no puede ver. “Así que ahí estaba su camarógrafo eh” el niño entonces procede a buscar algo en sus bolcillos, Dick observa curioso, lo ve sacar un paquetito plastificado que contiene una galleta con forma de murciélago. La mira con añoranza y antes de arrepentirse se la lanza a Dick con mas fuerza de la que debería tener un niño de su edad.
―¡Muchas gracias! ―grita el niño que ya comenzar a retrocedes hacia la callejuela antes de detenerse en seco. ― No te preocupes por las fotos ¡te las enviaremos a tu casa!
Y con eso el chiquillo desaparece al voltear la calle, como si no hubiera dejado a Nightwing sobre pensando esa última frase, “te la enviaremos a tu casa” como si supiera donde vive Dick. Pero, es eso imposible, verdad. ¿verdad?
Tal vez sea un buen momento para volver a la cueva, si, eso será lo mejor.
――――――――――― El pequeño cuervo y su araña
― no vuelvas a hacer eso. ― el mayor de los Drake zarandea a su compañero de aventuras por los hombros, Peter no perece inmutarse por su reciente convivencia con Dick, como si no pudieran enterarse de la existencia de Peter y llevárselo lejos, como si Peter no fuera perfecto para que Batman lo adoptara, un justiciero joven y genial ―pero querías esa foto-
“¡que no Peter!” entonces su hermanito lo mira sin entender la molestia de Tim. “y si te atrapan?” suelta tratando de hacerlo entrar en razón. Como siempre, no funciona.
―no me van a atrapar. Tim, ni siquiera saben que buscar.
Famosas últimas palabras.
---------
bruce definitivamente va a encontrarlo, en algún punto.
