Bruce
Dick
Jason
Tim
Duke
Cass
Stephaine
Damien
Bonus (status in upcoming below)
You shot the Joker (rim-wattson's prompt post.)
Angst
Humor
Red Web (original idea from @slowblood)
Jason Todd/Red Hood x female Black Widow.
Your world crumbles moments after you're freed from General Dreykov’s control. After a disorienting journey through dimensions, you willingly face the perils of Gotham to survive. To your frustration, the notorious Red Hood forcibly disturbs your web.
A03 LINK
Series: The Fall (1), Freedom (2), Rooftop Flight (3), Signed in Red (4),
Snippets: Surprise, Pies,
Oneshots
No Smoke: Bruce x Batmom Reader
They Heard: Bruce x Reader: Bruce makes dinner for you after a busy day. The kids heard things that were said, and now Cass has a new string of words in her vocab.
International Bat Day: Bruce x Justice League. How they celebrate Batman on international bat day.
The City Grieves: A father is grieving, and the city mourns the loss of their son, Robin II. (Part 1)
MDNI (18+)
Wrong Honey: Tim x Female Reader (first smut 😬)
You can't leave me: Jason Todd x Black Female Reader
Upcoming
Caring for a Sick Bat and the Birdies: Bonus (first draft 50%)
The City Grieves Part 2: Jason returns. (first draft 50%)
scenarios Alfred Pennyworth has to be a witness to as a resident of Wayne Manor that the batkids have absolutely no shame in front of whatsoever part 24 (masterpost here)
*Alfred setting dinner down for the kids*
Damian: thank you, Pennyworth. so will Father not be joining us?
Alfred: you father is working late at Wayne Enterprises tonight i’m afraid, he’s asked that Master Dick step in for him as Batman in the likely case that he not make it home in time for patrol.
Dick: if he’s not here then can we play Bat-Quotes?
Duke, instantly: YES. yes, yes, a thousand times yes,
Tim: also agreed, if B isn’t here then we have to.
*all the kids look to Jason expectantly*
Jason: …i shouldn’t have come up with that game.
Alfred, mild: oh dear, this isn’t a dangerous game, i hope? my dishware won’t be in danger?
Dick, snickering: no no, don’t worry Alfie. the game’s only dangerous to Jason.
Damian, smug: yes, meanwhile for us it is, in fact, a completely consequenceless endeavour.
Jason: …i really should not have come up with that game.
the batkids, chanting at Jason: Bat-Quotes, Bat-Quotes, Bat-Quotes, Bat-Quotes-
Jason: i- *wheeze* OK- ALRIGHT, we can play a round or two, oh my god, i hope you’re happy,
*cheering and clapping*
Alfred: *warily raises an eyebrow*
Jason, bringing out his phone and sighing theatrically: alright, alright, everybody welcome back to Bat-Quotes; a horrible game that puts my social life in danger on a regular basis. i hate that i came up with it, and i hate that you all like it, but here we are.
Alfred: and what is the nature of this game, if i may ask?
Dick, gleefully: Jason keeps a list of quotes that people associated with our bat-lives have said. he reads them out, we have to guess who it was that said it, and if we- *wheeze* if we get one right—*laughing* Jason tell him what happens if we get one right,
Jason, looking very begrudging: well, as you know, the Red Hood has become a big enough and regular enough ally of the Justice League that i’ve been added to the main JL group chat. so if- *wheeze* *regretfully* if somebody correctly labels the person who says a quote, then i have to say that quote as myself in the official Justice League group chat, with no explanation, and no matter the reaction i can never explain it.
Steph, grinning maniacally: to further explain to you the genius consequences of this game, Alfie, let me tell you the last time we played Bat-Quotes; where Duke got the best slam-dunk i have ever seen on the quote of- *laughs* what was it, Jason?
Jason, looking at his phone: uh- so last time we had the quote ‘i think i would fuck a plant if i had the free time, it’s just that i’ve always had an unnatural fear of stinging nettles stinging the inside of my ass somehow, so i think that i’d be a little bit paranoid about it at first.’
Dick: *wheezes, smacking the table-top*
Tim, also crying: GOD i forgot,
Jason: yeah—Duke came in with the guess of Harley Quinn, which was correct, so i had to- *wheeze* with no context,
Cass, shark-like: and you had a reaction, right?
Jason: yeah, so because of that i had Uncle Clark call me, because he thought that i was speaking in some kind of code to let them know i was in danger. and i had to fucking be like. ‘no i was just sharing my thoughts on the matter’ and he didn’t speak to me directly for like a week.
Duke: *cackles* BEST ACHIEVEMENT OF MY LIFE,
Jason: yeah- you’ll also all be happy to know that Bruce DM’ed me after that to say the simple sentence of ‘do you fucking know how hard i advocated for you to be on this team?’
Dick: *almost falls off his chair* *struggling to breathe* i love this game so much.
Jason, dryly: yeah i’m sure it’s real fuckin’ fun for you guys.
Alfred:
Alfred: dear lord.
Jason: yeah exactly Alfie, Dear Fucking Lord.
Steph: hush up and play the game with us, coward.
Jason: *sighs* alright, let me- let me pick one.
*waiting*
Jason: alright- fuck. alright. here we go. and- AND LET ME BE CLEAR. you cannot each give your own separate answer, that’s fucking unfair, you can’t have six whole chances of getting it right. you have to choose one.
Damian: just say the quote.
Jason: *sigh* ok, number one. ‘if i tell you that i don’t currently remember which colours you mix to make purple, are you gonna make fun of me?’
Alfred: *squints*
the rest of the batkids: *intense focus*
Steph: oh, see that’s a hard one.
Duke: my instinctual reaction is one of the rogues. they spout a lot of shit when they’re beaten half into the ground, you know? all delirious n’ shit?
Dick: Riddler…? maybe…?
Cass: sounds like somebody drugged.
Damian: Cain is right, if it’s a rogue then it’s more likely to be Scarecrow high on his own gas.
Tim: no, no, i don’t think it’s a rogue. i wanna say… Steph?
Steph: excuse me?!?! i did not-
Tim, defensive: YOU SAY A LOT OF WEIRD SHIT WHILE DRUNK! we have to be logical about this; Jason objectively spends more time laughing at things we say while hammered than he does sticking around after fights to listen to rogues rambling. and your favourite colour is purple!
*consideration*
Dick: ‘s got a point. this is about being right, Steph. we have to put pride aside.
Cass: agreed.
Steph: i would not say that shit!
Duke: i dunno, one time i watched you google how to boil an egg.
Steph:
Steph, begrudging: fine, whatever.
Jason: final answer?
Tim: Steph.
Jason: ok, well in that case that’s one of the biggest flops i’ve ever seen, because Tim that was you,
Steph: HA.
Tim: ?! WHAT?
Jason, smugly: you, about seven months back, high on cold medicine, when you were bed bound. and- and you actually said it to Steph, so that’s a double failure really.
Tim: FUCK.
Dick: please tell me you have more, that can’t be it.
Jason: i’ll give- ok, i’ll give you two more chances, and then i’m banning this game for the next month at LEAST for my own safety.
Cass: deal, give.
Jason: ok, ready? this one’s one of my favourites, actually.
Jason: ‘is it just me, or are Nightwing and Batman kinda gay for each other’.
Duke: *instant wheeze*
Steph and Tim: *loud cackles*
Dick, offended: HELLO?!?!
Jason, proudly: come on, what do you think?
Dick: WHAT THE FUCK, THAT’S MY DAD.
Damian, snickering: no, no, this is good. it narrows it down, it proves that the answer is somebody who doesn’t know our identities. it has to be a rogue.
Duke: i dunno if he’d repeat answers so soon but it does sound like something Harley would say, not gonna lie.
Steph, still laughing: you guys are talking like all of us wouldn’t yell this shit from the rooftops just to piss Dick off. i’d pin this on Babs taking the mick over comms.
Tim: no, Damian- *wheeze* Damian has a point. if it were Barbara over comms then she would have said Dick and Bruce, not Nightwing and Batman. i feel like this was said out in public, around other people.
Dick: surely i would remember if one of you had said it.
Tim: i dunno. i’m kinda worried it’s me again.
Damian: *wheeze* it’s all- it’s all just Drake.
Steph: is there a chance it could have been- like, the titans or something? this sounds like a joke Gar would make.
Tim: oh, maybe, that’s genius,
Duke: i don’t know the titans well enough to make that kind of call, so i’ll go with whatever you guys say.
Dick: …*intense squinting at the table*
Cass: what do you think?
Dick: …i’m just trying to remember- Selina’s made a few jokes about her third-wheeling us before, and i’m trying to remember if this could have been her.
Tim: i feel like Steph is right, i think it’s more likely to be a titan.
Damian: honestly, the most likely scenario is that it was Jason. is that an option?
*the kids all turn to stare at Jason*
Jason, shrugging: you can use your one guess for me if you want.
Steph, instantly: oh- fuck off, you can’t do that. you have to at least tell us if it’s possible that you’re the original quoter.
Jason, laughing: alright, alright—none of them are me.
Dick: then- ok yeah, i’m with Duke, you guys take this one. i don’t know.
Tim: ok, we’ll say Beast Boy then.
*a beat*
Jason: *incorrect buzzer sound*
Tim: DAMMIT.
Jason: that one was actually Antonio, one of my main subordinates in the alley.
Duke: FUCK OFF-
Steph: THAT’S SO CHEATING!
Jason: *cackles evily*
Dick: -SO unfair, how the fuck are we supposed to know the names of your men?!!
Jason: no no, this is fair, and for the record i would have accepted ‘a Red Hood goon’ as a correct answer, i’m not a monster. y’all are thinkin’ about people you know; gotta think about people i know.
Tim: -shut up and give us the final one.
Jason: ok touchy! well this one—this one i think is the worst one for me to put in the chat, so. i’m not really happy about this.
Cass: give it to us.
Jason: …’i saw a bird fly into the wing-mirror of the Batmobile, and ever since i’ve just been feeling kind of depressed. is anyone available for a hug?’
Dick: *noise of awe*
Tim: …shit i really want him to say this to the Justice League.
Duke: guys we need to lock in. we need to get this one. who would say this that spends time around the Batmobile?
Steph: and who would actively ask for physical comfort?
Cass: Dick likes hugs.
Dick, intensely thinking: ….it does kinda sound like me…
Tim: do you remember ever watching a bird fly into the window?!
Dick: no that’s what- i’m trying to think, i can’t remember!
Duke: Dami, do we think it could have been you?
Damian, flat: is that a genuine question.
Duke: no- i know, i know it doesn’t sound like you, but the bird thing tracks. and like- we’ve all been high on pain meds during various points in our lives. we get clingy, it happens!
Damian, shaking his head: if it was me i don’t remember it.
Tim: i don’t think Damian would ask for anybody to hug him. when he gets high he beelines for B, Dick and Jay. he’s specific about it. this is somebody who just likes physical comfort point blank.
Dick, considering: can i suggest… Bruce?
Steph: there is no fucking way we wouldn’t remember that. we’d have the recording. i keep going back to Dick, i feel like it’s him,
Dick: same but i also think i’d remember watching a bird hit the window-!
Damian, leaning back in his seat, tonguing his cheek: hmm.
Cass: Damian, you have an idea?
Damian, hesitant: hm.
Jason: i want a final answer.
*silence*
Damian: can i…?
*a beat*
Damian: Jon Kent…?
Tim: ooo,
*silence, all attention on Jason*
*waiting*
Alfred: *takes a sip of wine*
Jason, with feeling: ffffuck.
Damian: SERIOUSLY?
Jason, again: FUCK.
*instant uproar, batkids celebrating*
Jason: WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME-
Damian: THERE’S NO WAY,
Steph: I’M SO HAPPY,
Jason: I DON’T WANNA- YOU GUYS DON’T UNDERSTAND-
Dick: DUDE- JASON- WONDER WOMAN IS IN THAT CHAT,
Duke: *falls off his chair*
Jason: I DON’T WANNA DO IT-!
Damian, deadly serious: you have to- i won fair and square, you have to.
Jason: *glances at his phone, pensive*
Tim: *wheezes* that’s such a bad one-!
Jason, dramatically throwing himself down in his seat: I DON’T WANNA DO IT.
Steph: *evil cackling*
Cass: i’ll do it for you if you want-
Jason, snatching his phone away from her: don’t you dare- THIS IS THE WORST FUCKING GAME WE HAVE EVER COME UP WITH!
Damian: you have to do it.
Jason, wailing: i KNOW,
Dick: *wheezes* this is the best day of my life,
Duke, incredibly happy: dude- you know Bruce is gonna see that in the chat, right? he’s gonna be so worried.
Dick, wheezing: and you can never explain-!
Jason, grumpy: god fucking- *angrily typing at phone*
Steph: Dick you’re in the chat too, right? check he actually does it.
Dick, pulling out his phone: he has- *wheeze* word for word, it’s there.
Jason: i’m so mad- Damian you weren’t even there when he said it.
Tim, wiping tears from his eyes: when the fuck did he say it?!
Jason, annoyed: he said it on the Watchtower while Clark was working really late and he was over-tired, and me, him, Kon, and Roy somehow ended up in the rec room with him watching fucking Marley and Me at three in the morning, and i guess he got sad!
Dick: oh my- aw, oh my god, he got a hug, right?
Jason: yeah actually- Kon opened up his arms and Jon walked right past him and into mine, and Roy laughed so hard he had to leave the room.
Steph: god that was- Damian that was SUCH a god-tier move.
Damian, dryly: my best friend, ladies and gentlemen.
Dick: *wheezes again*
Jason: i’m putting my phone on mute, fuck you guys. worst game ever.
Steph, wetly: best game ever.
~forty minutes later, as the kids clean up the kitchen from dinner~
Jason, walking back in from the bathroom: i hope you’re all happy, because i just got a text from Uncle Clark that says ‘i want you to know i’m always here for you if you need a shoulder to lean on’.
Dick: *wheezes, falls into Cass, who has to hold him up* oh my god, Uncle Clark is my favourite person on this fuckin’ planet,
Jason, holding up a finger, reading from his phone: wait for it, because the Flash has responded to me in the actual chat, and he has said, ‘i’m so sorry you’re feeling like that Hood, i know what it’s like.’ to which Diana put, ‘depression is a battle that we all struggle with at some point, it’s brave of you both to speak up.’ and then Barry put, ‘i mean yeah, but i meant i knew what it felt like to run into the Batmobile wing-mirror at full speed’.
the batkids: *burst out laughing*
Jason, bowing begrudgingly: you’re welcome, you all better be fucking satisfied.
Damian, hanging onto Tim for balance: victory tastes so sweet-!
Alfred, from the other end of the kitchen, face flat: i hope you all know that i will be the one that Master Bruce comes to for advice when he thinks his son is depressed.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/10
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader, Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Red Hood/Female Reader, Jason Todd/Female Reader, Red Hood/Reader
Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Duke Thomas, Original Batfamily Member(s) (DCU), Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, Female Reader-Insert, Black Widow Program (Marvel), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, Jason Todd - Freeform, Rivals to Lovers, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, assassin reader, Black Widow Reader, Forced Proximity, morally gray characters, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, PTSD, Violence, Slow Burn
Summary:
Your world crumbles the moment you’re freed from General Dreykov’s control. Thrown across dimensions and stripped of everything familiar, you land in Gotham with one goal: survive. You build something fragile in the chaos—a system, a routine, a web that keeps you alive.
Then Red Hood tears straight through it. And suddenly, survival isn’t the only thing at stake. You start as a problem.
“Is she truly that much of a threat, Todd? You have handled far worse on your own and emerged victorious,” Damian challenged, crossing his arms.
Jason simply nodded before pulling up a video file on the main monitor. It was security footage of you taking down an entire squad of armed men inside a warehouse. When the footage reached the final five guards, the room went dead silent.
On screen, you kicked a guard unconscious, waited for two other men to rush your position, and then ruthlessly grabbed the unconscious guard by his ankles. Using his body as a human club, you swung him around.
“Did she just—” Dick started, his jaw slightly slack.
“There is absolutely no way she isn’t a meta,” Babs added over the feed.
A03 Link
Because this chapter is a massive 5.5k words, I am hosting the full text over on Archive of Our Own so nobody loses their dashboard scrolling spot!
Moving forward, full-length chapters will live on AO3, while character snippets, headcanons, and previews will stay right here in the normal Tumblr format.
AO3 guest comments are fully enabled, so you don't even need an account to let me know what you think!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Joker (DCU)
Additional Tags: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason Todd - Freeform, DC comics - Freeform, Dead Joker (DCU), Character Death
Summary:
He wasn't the first Robin, the one who flipped into their lives and hearts. He was the Robin that was clearly one of their own, a native Jersey kid who strove to do good for others. The first one left them, and they were still bitter about it, so when the second one came, they knew that he would never leave. But he did. Not to college, not to travel, but to their knowledge, he left them permanently.
Bruce loses one of his precious boys, Dick loses his little wing, Alfred loses a grandson and Gotham loses their son.
He wasn't the first Robin, the one who flipped into their lives and hearts. He was the Robin that was clearly one of their own, a native Jersey kid who strove to do good for others. When news of his death spread, it felt like a gut punch. Gotham realized that not only had they lost a young cape crusader, but they had also lost their son.
Whispers in grimy bars turned to hushed tones in high-end salons. For days, the rumor mill churned about the death of Bruce Wayne's second son. The poor kid wanted to reconnect with his birth mother overseas. Joker's heist resulted in the deaths of both him and his mother. Most, if not all, of Gotham's parents had their hearts go out to Bruce. Some of them lost their own children to the clown. They knew his pain; in the comfort of their own homes, they, too, wept.
Months later, the rumor mill churned again, but about the absence of the second Robin, their Robin. The first one left them, and they were still bitter about it, so when the second one came, they knew that he would never leave.
But he did. Not to college, not to travel, but to their knowledge, he left them permanently. He was overseas trying to stop the Joker after Jason's death. He, unfortunately, lost his life as well to the clown. Gothamites didn't want to believe it. What do you mean the Joker killed Robin II? What do you mean he murdered their son, their boy? To the heartache of the Gothamites, the Joker confirmed it, laughing behind bars in Arkham.
A museum guard, saved from being crushed under a heavy bronze statue, now has a solemn look every time he passes that exhibit hall.
A high school literature teacher, saved from walking on air, took time off her doctorate to grieve the child who gave her hope in her darkest moment.
A child, only 6 years old, saved from a house fire, wrote letters to Santa (in the spring), asking for their hero back.
At first, the shock was hard to swallow. The city felt different, still moving, loud and alive, but the underlying hushed moments of silence were never broken with a hiss of grappling hooks and running feet on rooftops for weeks.
Police Commissioner Gordon could tell that the city, the proud Gothamites, was in mourning. Their mourning was slowly turning into something hungry, something destructive. The number of crimes committed by young people who idolized Robin II was growing, nearly as high as adult crime.
The inability to voice and acknowledge their anger and grief intensified their sorrow. They resorted to violence, public disorder, and other criminal activities to express their grief. The DA's office was getting overwhelmed by the sudden swell in juvenile crime. Due to escalating stress, police officers across different districts found themselves running out of personal days.
The media and citizens overwhelmed the mayor's office with requests about his demise and the Joker's grip on the city. Numerous requests were made to the permit office to hold individual memorial services for Robin II, even without knowledge of a burial site. Additionally, they received requests to conduct marches to commemorate him and to establish annual events in his name. The mayor urged Gordon to contact Batman, fearing a furious, armored father's pursuit if they proceeded without his consent.
After the Mayor's request, Gordon activated the Bat-signal nightly from 11 p.m. to 2 a.m. He would light a cigarette after the second hour of waiting but never inhale. He recalled the little tyke asking for one,Batman sighing and handing the kid a lollipop with gum in the middle. After that, Gordon stopped bringing his pack upstairs, opting instead for lollipops to share with the kid.
It wasn't until his glasses became speckled with moisture that he noticed his silent tears. Slow tracks of frustration, anger, and grief streaked his face. He removed his glasses and hastily wiped his face. He had to stay steady as the city grieved, as the city began churning with unrest.
Barbara hadn't been sleeping well since Jason's funeral. Her mind was clouded with bittersweet memories of the boy she internally acknowledged as her brother. He would borrow her books for English because her annotations were fun to read. She would spend hours at the manor trying to get Bruce to open his bedroom door. Sometimes Selina would be there as well, in the hallway, worry etched on her face. Bruce refused to answer the door or acknowledge their presence. Talking through the door to Bruce, even without an answer, helped ease some of the pain from the echoes of Jason's laughter in her heart. Each time before leaving, she would say, "Bruce, please, we are here. We are mourning too."
Dick arrived at the manor two days after visiting his brother's grave with Starfire. Dick didn't wait for Alfred to open the door before storming in. "WHERE IS HE?" Alfred frowned at the young man in front of him. Dick's eyes were glossy, fists shaking with white knuckles, teeth bared in utter fury, face flushed pink with anger. "WHERE IS BRUCE?" Dick wasn't yelling at Alfred; he would never but Bruce had an earful coming. Alfred says anything but gestured for Dick to follow. Sensing Dick's destructive impatience, Alfred spoke softly to explain what Bruce couldn't.
"Master Jason was laid to rest four days ago at Gotham Cemetery. The service was small and quick." Alfred's voice was even and firm.
"Why didn't anyone call me or leave a message?" Dick's breathing was evening out as they climbed the stairs to Bruce's room. His fists and chest were still coiled tight.
"I am just as much at fault as Master Bruce for not informing you. We were beyond devastated, and our judgment was not where it should have been. I'm sorry, Master Dick," the somber tone in Alfred's voice didn't bypass Dick. They walked in silence until they rounded the corner to the corridor where Bruce's room lay.
Alfred stopped a couple of feet from the door, abruptly nearly making Dick run into him. "Master Dick, I'm going to dispense careful advice for the state of Master Bruce. Please heed my words. I know you are angry, but it would be a waste to confront him in his current state." Alfred turned to look at the second child to make it to adulthood under his care.
"Master Bruce is catatonic. After the funeral, he locked himself in his room for days, refusing to leave. Those who cared deeply for him tried to coax him out, but to no avail. With the assistance of Dr. Leslie and Miss Kyle, we were able to enter the room and provide care. He looks better than when we found him." Alfred sighs deeply before turning the handle of Bruce's door. "Please, Master Dick, contain what you can until he can properly process this without 'attempts.'"
Before Dick could fully grasp the meaning of "attempts," Alfred opened the door to Bruce's room. The room was dimly lit by a closet light, a bathroom light, and a small lamp near the door. In the poor lighting, Dick noticed the room was different—still possessing the awe that only money could buy, but stripped to the bare necessities. Suicide Watch, Dick realized, and the knot in his chest twisted from anger to sorrow. Anything that could be used as a weapon had been removed, and a camera was mounted on the ceiling, out of reach.
His eyes finally fell on the husk of a man haunting an oversized leather chair. Dick recognized it as his and Jason's go-to chair in Bruce's office. He slowly walked to Bruce, circling the chair to face him.
Any embers of righteous fury in his body extinguished when he got a better look at Bruce: unshaven, cheeks sunken, dark bags under dim, glazed cobalt eyes, and pale skin from zero sunlight and early malnutrition. Dick could tell Bruce had lost weight, solidifying the thought of malnutrition. Bruce was dressed in a simple blue robe and a loose, faded Gotham University shirt, but his lap was covered with a blanket. Jason's blanket; seeing the blanket made Dick swallow a shuddering inhale, but he was unable to stop his eyes from watering.
"Bruce," his voice was small, but Bruce heard him. Their eyes met, and Bruce's eyes began to water as well.
His voice was ragged and raw from days of disuse. "I'm sorry."
Dick broke down, falling to his knees and resting his head on Bruce's lap as he sobbed. Bruce didn't say another word, crying silently, tears falling onto Dick's hair. He understood that Dick was heartbroken, losing his little brother, their little wing, but to Bruce, the silence of the manor was a constant reminder of his greatest failure. Alfred left the room to hide his own tears and compose himself to start preparing food.
Two days later, after spending the day grieving with Dick, Barabra arrived home and headed for the kitchen to rehydrate. After grabbing a water bottle, she spots a letter on the table addressed to Batman. The letter was in her father's handwriting—a letter from one father to another, attempting to offer comfort and support. Barbara's heart caught in her throat while reading it. She could tell her father had been crying when he wrote it. Her father, who was currently asleep on the couch, had emotional and physical exhaustion evident on his face. Barbara knew this letter needed to get to Bruce. She could tell that Gotham's fuse was getting shorter by the day in Batman's absence.
In Gotham, mourning slowly curdled into anger, a smoke that filled every chest with a burning, passionate fury. It was the smoke of a powder keg, detonating at dusk. As rioters began to coalesce across the city, the shrill beeps of Gotham's emergency broadcast pierced the air, echoing from every phone, TV, and radio. From the rioters to the rogues, and even the inmates of Arkham, all turned their attention to the broadcast.
At the manor, Bruce sat in a plush red armchair in the library. Dick, wrapped in a weighted blanket, rested his head on Bruce's leg. Jason's blanket, a comfort and security after weeks of therapy, covered Bruce's legs. Bruce absently stroked Dick's hair, a grounding gesture. Beside them, the book nook where Jason often read and napped offered a quiet refuge.
Bruce stared blankly at the radio Alfred had brought in. Alfred, dressed down from his usual attire, sat on a red sofa, his overcoat beside him. With sleeves rolled up, he held a framed photo—their first family picnic, featuring him, Dick, Jason, and Bruce in the garden. Alfred's hand trembled slightly, and his breath hitched as the radio sparked to life. Commissioner Gordon's voice cut through the city's anger and confusion.
"Gotham, this is Police Commissioner Gordon, speaking on behalf of Batman."
"Gotham, first, let me thank you for the outpouring of care for Robin II, my son. He truly loved this city and protected it with everything he had. His pure dedication and compassion, his drive to shield those he could from the heinous reach of evil, was nothing short of admirable. We had our favorite late-night spots where we'd discuss everything: cases, Gotham weather, his favorite books of the week, his future career when he graduated—all the things a father and son could talk about. He loved to read every night after patrol, in the morning, and even while getting ready. He would visit all the libraries in Gotham just to finish a series or study classical arts and music."
The Commissioner spoke slowly, bracing himself with an audible inhale.
"Loved. He loved, and he loved many things, so many people. Loved...how I truly wish I could say 'love' in the present tense. How I wish I could just hear his voice again. I still look at the door, thinking, 'he'll be back. He just went out to the library. He'll soon tell me what career path he's interested in.' It's been weeks, and I'm still grieving, still avoiding the fact my son is gone. Yes, I'm angry. I'm livid about what the Joker has taken from me, from Gotham. I want revenge; I don't want others to endure this eroding pain. But if I let my anger completely blind me, how would I face him afterward? How will I look him in the face when we finally see each other again, with blood on my hands? How will I face my...our son, Nightwing? I have failed them, and I can't fail either of my sons again. He wouldn't want his fellow Gothamites to destroy the home we all love, to throw away their lives to voice their pain. 'Angry people are not always wise,' he would quote Jane Austen whenever he could. Gotham, please be wise. Lay down your anger and use it to improve. He was only one boy, but we are thousands. Make good choices. Make him proud."
Take care,
Batman
The broadcast ends, and Bruce breaks down, with raw, guttural sobs consuming him.
Dick and Alfred hold his trembling form tightly, their own tears tracing paths down their faces. Anguish and pain echo through the room, a symphony of grief from the three occupants.
Following that broadcast, the recent wave of anger transforms almost overnight.
The city's powder keg shifts its focus from destruction to construction.
The upper class, who once adored the Waynes and supported Bruce, spearheads a massive campaign to raise funds for rebuilding the city, largely abandoning their usual galas. Those with connections and talents meticulously update every single library; books are replaced, and more copies are made available. Throwing money at corrupt lawmakers is deemed an insult to Robin II's memory; those who try are swiftly socially exiled, ruined, and delivered to the GCPD, neatly packaged with a bow. Every donation is scrutinized, ensuring each penny fuels Gotham's hope, not personal greed.
Youth organizations band together to support the juveniles who committed crimes during "Gotham's Grieving." Many of those released seize this chance to honor Robin II's legacy. Over 80% of them significantly improve performance metrics across all districts. The failing graduation rate plummets to its lowest in a decade. The small percentage who must serve time sees their sentences reduced upon earning their GED and maintaining good behavior.
The superintendents of Gotham's public and private schools are inundated with requests, demands, and even threats to grant Robin II a posthumous diploma. Nightwing accepts the diploma on Batman's behalf.
An annual 1k to full marathon is established in appreciation of Batman and the Robins. Bruce and Dick participate and hand out medals every year. The annual book festival, held on the weekend of his death, expands into an arts festival, promoting classical art and music. Barbara attends every year, taking photos for Jason.
A year later, the Joker breaks out of Arkham. His laughter echoes in the storm drain as he cackles, anticipating Batman's distraught face. He's in for a rude awakening once he emerges.
Dozens of figures in dark clothing form an arch, blocking all escape routes. Their faces are covered by various clown masks, each with a different expression, but all sharing one startling similarity: Joker's signature color scheme—red lips, green hair, and paper-white skin. Stitched onto their dark clothing is a Robin symbol.
Before he can turn back, a vine snatches him, pulling him into an awaiting circle of Hell. As he's beaten and torn apart, he recognizes some members of the rogue gallery among the crowd: the Riddler's cane striking his knees, Catwoman's claws raking his face, Two-Face's fists pounding his upper back, sharp kicks from the Penguin to his lower back, and Mr. Freeze delivering a straight foot to his backside. His cackle lasts less than two minutes before his screaming begins.
Later that night, Harley Quinn personally delivers a flash drive in a sealed envelope and a bouquet of flowers in Robin's colors to Nightwing. "Joker won't bother anyone again," she states.
Dick watches the video in a mix of horror and relief. He and Alfred hides news of Joker escaping, his death and the flash drive but gives the flowers to Bruce, who appears marginally happier with the temporary respite from Batman duties and ongoing therapy.
Bruce smiles at the flowers and places them on Jason's grave the next day.
I cried writing and reading this but its the brick and the kiss is part 2 Jason coming back and seeing all of this.
Red Web chapter 4 is nearly done just need 300 more words and to tweak some of the scenes.
do you guys think Jason takes advantage of the fact that he has so many underage vigilante siblings by telling them to secret shopper his goons and check that they adhere to the 'no selling to kids' rule? because i do and i think each child fucks up the job in their own spectacular way.
Nightwing, landing on a rooftop where Red Hood's speaking to one of his subordinates: yo, Hood, what's going on?
Jason: hey. just getting the report for that secret shopper thing i was gonna do with the Wayne kids.
Subordinate: yeah... uh, why are Bruce Wayne's kids taking part in this again?
Jason, without missing a beat: because non of their neighbours need their laws mowed and Brucie says it's important for kids their ages to start learning the responsibility of having a job. anyway, Damian was up tonight, right? who was he buying from, 'cause i already know they failed.
Subordinate: yeah, Rick let the kid buy from him, so he needs to be punished i guess. bought two eighths of weed and an ounce of coke without Rick even blinking.
Jason, frowning: yeah, call that guy up for me to 'speak' to-
Jason:
Jason: wait Damian bought what?
Subordinate: ...two eighths of weed and an ounce of coke?
Jason:
Dick: what's wrong?
Jason, shooting off a grapple: that little shit only gave me back the weed-
~
Jason: *crying with laughter in the middle of the street*
Dick, landing nearby: ...you ok Hood?
Jason: *wheezing*
Duke, faintly, from Jason's phone: ITS NOT FUNNY.
Dick: what's happened?
Jason: Duke- *wheeze* Duke was supposed to do his secret shopper assignment tonight, but he didn't read the memo properly and tried to buy from a group of four of my guys as Signal instead of himself,
Duke: -SHUT UP JASON.
Jason: *still struggling to breathe* so he- so he rocked up and asked to buy as Signal, and my guys all assumed he was arresting them for possession,
Dick: oh my god.
Jason: they dropped him everything they fucking had and bolted, and now he's panicking on the other end of Crime Alley because four peoples' entire product inventory is too much for him to carry in one go and he's scared of leaving any behind for kids to wander across, so he's- *collapses into more laughter*
Dick, in awe: he's just stuck guarding it?!
Duke, from Jason's phone, incredibly distressed: THE RATS ARE CIRCLING IN. I'M NOT USUALLY OUT THIS LATE. SOMEBODY NEEDS TO COME AND FUCKING HELP ME-
Jason: *loses it*
~
Dick: hey, Tim did his secret shopper thing tonight, right? how'd that go?
Jason: *head in his hands*
Dick: ...did the guy fail?
Jason, muffled: no.
Dick: then what happened?
Jason: i had him try to buy from the same guy as Damian, to see if he'd 'learned his lesson', and he refused to sell to Tim point blank.
Dick: ok...?
Jason: but then Tim got offended that he'd sold to Damian and not him, so he pulled a gun on the guy and robbed him instead.
Dick:
Dick: the fuck did he get a gun from-
Jason: i don't fucking know Dick.
~
*Dick and Jason getting food on patrol when Steph calls Jason*
Steph: so i did the thing and it didn't work but i don't think it didn't work because i'm a kid.
Jason: ...what do you mean?
Steph: well i walk up to these two guys and ask to buy, right? and they say sure, what do you want? and i go 'four', and these guys say 'four what' and i'm like ??? the fuck do you think? four drugs. and-
Jason: *puts his head in his hands as Dick chokes on his hotdog*
Steph: -they look at me like i'm the fucking idiot, like, you should know how to count if you're gonna be a drug dealer, it's not like you guys have cash registers to help you out, right? and they start arguing with me and telling me that clearly i'm already high—which, fuck you guys, my makeup is awesome tonight, i do not look like i did it while high, how dare you! so i said maybe they're high and i should call their boss and snitch for stealing his supply, and they were like 'nuh uh blondie, nuh uh!' all mocking and shit, so i kicked one guy in the balls and the other guy grabbed me and now they won't let me leave until i prove that you sent me.
Jason:
Dick: *crying*
Steph, brightly: so yeah, if you could come pick me up~
scenarios Alfred Pennyworth has to be a witness to as a resident of Wayne Manor that the batkids have absolutely no shame in front of whatsoever part 16 (masterpost here)
*Alfred bringing tea and a plate of biscuits down to the cave during a monthly mandatory strategy meeting, with Bruce stood at the head of a table all the kids are seated around*
Duke: i shouldn't even have to be here, i'm the only one on dayshift.
Jason: uh- i reject that; i'm doin' shit during the day too, y'know.
Duke, without missing a beat: that's because you're unemployed and have no civilian friends, there's a fucking difference Jason.
Dick: *covers his mouth, snickering*
Bruce: now, boys-
Jason: i will jump over this table, brightshit. try me.
Duke: *flips Jason off*
Jason, starting to get up: oh you want it-?
Alfred, pointedly putting the tray of snacks down in between them, giving them both warning glares: i trust that the meeting is going well?
*a beat*
Jason, sitting back down: dammit,
Bruce: *sigh* thank you, Alfred. now if we could just get back to-
Duke: i still don't want to be here.
Bruce: oh for- we've been over this, Duke. everybody has to attend these meetings.
Damian: just because you say something is mandatory doesn't mean it's actually necessary. it's subjective.
Bruce: it's not subjective, it's fact. if we don't take time to co-ordinate ourselves then we're more liable to miscommunicate and get ourselves, or others, hurt. it's important that we take this time to go over protocols and codes, as well as alert everybody of upcoming missions. it's not like you have anything better to do tonight, Damian.
Damian: what the hell,
Dick: oooh~
Damian: how dare you; i have plenty of ways to spend my evening, thank you very much-
Bruce, pinching the bridge of his nose: i didn't mean it that way, chum, can we just-
Damian: for starters, Drake and I have a new Lego set to construct, which you are selfishly taking time away from!
Steph, squinting across at Tim: sorry, you two build Lego sets together?
Tim: *defensive* what, mad that he doesn't play with you?
Steph, turning to Damian incredulously: well fucking yes?? dude- i ask you to hang out all the time. how come you'll play with Tim but not me!?
Damian, easily: because your version of hanging out is just dragging me all over Gotham while we stalk your English professor. i don't give a fuck which of the PA's he's hooking up with, Brown. i just want to build Lego.
Alfred: *watches with narrowed eyes as Cass slowly leans forward and drags the entire plate of biscuits towards herself*
Bruce: Damian, language.
Damian: me?!
Dick: fuck yeah, bring down the hammer, B.
Bruce, exhausted: can we all just-
Damian, planting his hands on the table: NO, WHY AREN'T YOU GETTING MAD WHEN THEY SWEAR?
Bruce: Damian- sit back down,
Jason, casually putting his feet on the table: it's 'cause you do it wrong, Dames. the curse word has to fall off the tongue comfortably, so that nobody even realises it shouldn't be in the sentence. *tipping his head up to show his mouth* you gotta- like this, roll your tongue slightly, just let it fall off, see: cunt.
Damian, copying: cunt.
Jason: cunt,
Damian: cunt.
Bruce, staring between the two in defeat: *makes eye contact with Alfred pleadingly*
Alfred: *shrugs*
Jason: cunt,
Damian: cunt, like that?
Jason: yeah, but in a sentence.
Damian: Dick Grayson is a cunt. like that?
Jason: yeah you got it.
Dick: WOAH WOAH- why am i catching strays? the fuck did i do?
Tim, flatly: if you hadn't fucked up the protocol code names three months ago, we wouldn't have to do these meetings.
Duke, pointing at Tim in agreement: that's true.
Dick: I WASN'T THE ONLY ONE, JACKASSES, STEPH DID IT TOO!
Steph: at least i was concussed. you're just an idiot.
Dick: *visibly offended* i'll have you know-
Bruce, snapping: ok that is IT. all of you sit back down, we are going over the current standing protocols and that is FINAL. none of you are leaving until i dismiss you, and if you don't comply then you will be benched for the foreseeable future, understood?
*silence*
*the kids awkwardly exchanging glances as they settle back down into their chairs*
Bruce, sighing in relief: finally. now, can we all-
Jason: *sticks his hand up in the air*
Bruce:
Bruce: *wary* what is it about, Jason?
Jason, innocently: i have a question about the protocols.
Bruce: ...go on then.
Jason: what's the protocol for when you let a call from your overbearing father go to voicemail because you're busy getting it on with Roy Harper mid-patrol, and then said overbearing father just hacks into your private com line mid-fuck anyway, completely ignoring your boundaries and throwing off the mood, all because he wanted to ask whether or not you'd prefer fish or chicken for the family barbeque that weekend?
*complete and utter silence*
Alfred: *stares in disappointment at a rapidly reddening Bruce*
Duke, grinning wildly as he looks between Bruce and Jason: has that ever happened?
Jason, flatly: three times.
Bruce:
Bruce:
Cass: *loudly crunches on biscuits*
Bruce: ok Jason you can go,
Jason, already leaping out his chair: SEE YOU SUCKERS-
Steph: WOAH- HOLD ON, HOLD ON-
Dick: THAT'S SO UNFAIR,
Duke: JUST BECAUSE HE'S A SLUT HE GETS TO AVOID THE MEETINGS?!
Bruce: -STOP SHOUTING AT ME-
Damian: so what i'm hearing is that to get out of these ridiculous things, i just have to tell Jon he's allowed to hit?
*silence*
Bruce, to Damian: ...ok you're grounded,
Tim: Steph, i know we broke up years ago and you're technically my sister now but i feel like this is for the greater good-
Your glove fingers glide across the archaic keyboard in the dim dual computer screens’ light. Hunched over the keys, the monitor offers visual protection from the distant, closed window. The light illuminates the awards and memorabilia on the wall behind you. Proud accomplishments turned to blood money.
On your right is a middle-aged man, tie loose, clothes ruffled, glasses crooked, and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. His body slumped carefully in the worn office chair. His half lid eyes unfocused, and his chest barely rising. Paralyzed by a light dose of pancuronium in his late afternoon coffee order.
He always visited a particular cafe after the office cleared; before he went back to complete his other job. You smiled kindly at him when you took his order and made his coffee. Your eyes observe him as he leaves, drinking the coffee. You waited ten minutes before you slipped out of the cafe. The crew and cameras were none the wiser.
He was just a mid-level accountant for the Dimitrov family. A Russian gang with too much power, too much influence, and connections. It reminds you of home, of the horrors you could remember.
Your flash drive is currently transferring data for your next steps. Two minutes remain, with 85% of the transfer complete, precisely on schedule. You stop typing to look over the completed suicide letter for the accountant. You felt no guilt for what you were about to do. His hands were just as dirty as the money he laundered, skimmed, and used to indulge in Black Mask’s more illicit services. The progress bar is at 90% and you take the empty coffee cup and clean it before folding the cup into your pocket. Evidence to be disposed of on your way back to your safe house.
98%, You take out a compact 9mm from your ankle and load a single bullet.
Once the file transfer is complete, you eject the flash drive. The flash drive's ejection initiated a virus that will wipe the computer clean. Moving his chair so that he is facing his wall of awards with the gun to his temple.
Carefully, you put the gun in his dominant hand and held that hand to his temple. Using your other hand, you put his index finger on the trigger and your own gloved finger laid on top. The aftermarket springs you installed all needed slight pressure to fire.
The police response would be about five minutes. Calmly, you exited the building through a back window by contorting yourself to avoid your new suit. By the time you were two blocks down, the sirens rounded the corner, but they were too late once again.
Keep moving, bats are out, you tell yourself as you run across rooftops towards your ride. You were five blocks away from the scene when the sound of heavy boots landed behind you.
Chung-chung, the sound of a heavy gun hammer made you pause completely. The fact that they hadn’t shot you yet was a good sign so far. Your brain planned escape attempts with minimal injury.
“Turn around slowly.” The deep, modulated voice commands, and you raise your hands and comply. Seeing a metal red helmet, black kevlar armor under a brown leather jack had you quickly swallow a groan of frustration.
After five months operating in Gotham, Red Hood is the first bat you encounter.
Approximately one month prior
Django by The Modern Jazz Quartet plays low in the cave’s library. Bruce is sitting at a table, looking over case files. No significant conclusion came from the evidence he collected on the pier. As a preventive measure, all cameras and surveillance equipment were being replaced and upgraded.
All league members within three states of Gotham have reported nothing regarding Apokolips or its inhabitants. So, he moved the file to the back burner and redirected focus back on the Dimitrov Family mainly on The Russian, Yuri Dimitrov.
In front of Bruce are several hologram screens of various crimes connected to Dimitrov. The screens show crimes resulting in the deaths or arrests of people affiliated with Dimitrov. Bruce knew that the Gotham Police and their dedicated task forces saw these as ordinary statistics, but he understood the reality.
Sudden health complications, murder-suicide, suicide, accidents, drug overdoses; the list is extensive, yet typical for a city like Gotham. The tip-off to Bruce to dig deeper into the crimes was a fatal car accident.
Two of Dimitrov's armorers were transporting a heroin shipment from the docks. The van lost power steering, and the brakes failed, which caused the vehicle to collide with a concrete utility pole. The severe collision engulfed the vehicle in flames, killing both men and destroying the shipment.
Yuri Dimitrov was many things, but sloppy. He kept everything in top shape: security, weapons, vehicles, and people. Though the tune-up might have been missed, nagging pressure in Bruce’s head suggested otherwise. He conducted his own investigation from the remains and reports. All of it pointed toward sabotage, even though the Gotham PD wrote it off as an accident.
He has been in the library for hours, finding more deaths. Enforcers, armorers, dealers, security, and some of Dimitrov’s personal staff have either been killed or arrested. The arrested individuals died in custody or were unwilling to testify against Dimitrov for a lighter sentence.
Taking off his reading glasses, he sighed in frustration. Two months passed without him catching deaths; these were individuals whose lives he could have saved. This would explain why Dimitrov is securing his shipments more and getting more volatile. Last week, several patrols had to be redirected because Dimitrov caused shootouts and assassinations in the streets with other mob families.
Bruce rubs his temples and takes a breath. This situation calls for an all-hands-on-deck meeting. The militaristic background of Yuri Dimitrov isn’t what makes him dangerous. His operations and empire are being dismantled with precision by one person or more people. He knows his kids are busy with their own cases and lives.
“Nothing is wrong with help,” Bruce says, looking at the overwhelming evidence on the table and whiteboard. His family and friends repeat this advice constantly. But his intuition is telling him to bring in his robins, that he needs help.
He checks the time on his watch as his stomach rumbles for attention. Alfred should be down soon with refreshments. He needs to get all of his findings organized and a file created before calling a meeting with his family.
Hours later, its normal inhabitants occupied the cave. Everyone was dressed for patrol, except for Duke, who paroled that morning, and Stephanie, currently benched in an arm cast. Oracle and Cass on the Batcomputer. Cass is currently working internationally and will be back before the month’s end.
Bruce goes over the more crucial information of his findings. Recalling the initial demise, the fatal heart incident affected Yuri Dimitrov’s senior counsel. Medical examiners determined that the man’s death was natural because he had a history of heart problems. The holo-screens in front of everyone showcased the files and images of his findings.
“Dimitrov is getting wise that he is being targeted. He has yet to launch proper attacks on his rivals. He is deliberately provoking the other families as a tactic to identify the cause,” Bruce concludes, looking around the table. Everyone’s face shows various signs of intense concentration. The cave’s sound fills the silence at the table as the information is being digested.
Tim speaks up next, stating, "There is a link between certain deaths and the increase in white-collar crime in the Diamond District." Twenty percent increase in money being moved around before disappearing. No trace after it bounces around several offshore dark market accounts. Twenty thousand collectively, a week from various criminal accounts. It's enough to hit the big money launderers like Dimitrov. Falcone and Maroni are also taking some hits, but not as many as Dimitrov,” Tim says he has shared his financial findings from the past three months.
“People in Bludhaven who were using Dimitrov’s services are getting antsy. Some are switching back to local Bludhaven sources. It honestly decreased trafficking between the cities. Makes it easier for me to catch them red-handed.” Dick says, smiling, but his eyes say something different. It's never a good sign when the Gotham and Bludhaven mob families have problems with each other.
Duke concentrates more on the murders. How are they being chosen? Who else is a potential victim? “Guys, everyone that was murdered has a pattern.” Duke says. Bruce had already identified a pattern in the killings; he enjoys seeing the extent of deductions possible without his input. It reassures him of the capabilities when his kids work together.
“Serious crimes with felonies are often either suicides or staged murders. For less serious crimes like misdemeanors, an arrest or an accident might occur. If they agree to testify, they get a free necktie in police custody. Whoever is behind this has been very busy,” Duke says, still scrolling through the files.
“Dimitrov would contract the killings in police custody to corrupt officers. Three have died in custody, staged as a suicide like Duke said,” Oracle inputs as she sends the internal affairs police reports to everyone’s screens. “On top of this and the escalating crimes between mob families using Dimitrov's services, GPD isn’t connecting the deaths.”
“They sure have been busy making Dimitrov’s control slip and have the bad guys scrambling. There are rumors pointing to us, but anyone with a working brain, this isn’t any of our MOs. But I can see why someone trained and very skilled is clearly doing this,” Stephanie says, using her good hand to highlight evidence.
“Whoever is doing it has a conscience. The fatalities are occurring in locations away from schools and from homes with kids present. I’ll admit in Crime Alley and the Narrows, overdoses get overlooked,” Jason says, frowning at his own highlights. The timing of the deaths was all over the place, hard to pinpoint their next move.
“None of the deaths have signatures from the LOA or the Court of Owls. Even rogue assassins slip up and leave something behind pointing to their ownership.” Damien says with his signature scowl. The LOA knows operating in Gotham without permission is high risk, no reward. The Court of Owls disbanded, so they pose a low threat.
“What is their motive? Take over Dimitrov’s empire by spurring his relationships with his clients. Disrupting his income to back him into a corner?” Duke says thinking out loud. The same question was on everyone’s mind.
What is their motive?
“While the motive is crucial, until we determine it, concentrate on your assigned cases and territories. Remain vigilant, to ensure swift backup; patrol routes have been temporarily modified. There isn’t enough evidence of when they strike. Do not approach alone.” Bruce says ending the meeting before donning the cowl for the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since that meeting; the file on the threat was constantly being reviewed.
Nightwing would report nightly of no activity related to their new threat. The mob families of Bludhaven definitely stopped using Dimitrov’s services. Their replacement for Dimitrov was local, but he was having some difficulty tracking them down.
Signal, during the day, would do surveillance on Dimitrov’s operations. His stakeouts revealed nothing connected to their threat.
Stephanie, still recovering, helps Oracle review footage and files. Even their updated cameras only caught glimpses that didn’t amount to anything.
Batman and Robin would interrogate captured henchmen, but the henchmen provided no new information on the threat.
Red Hood kept his men in line about staying away from Dimitrov's operations. He used them as his eyes and ears for Crime Alley, while patrolling the Narrows. Just like the others, nothing solid.
Present Time
Instead of Crime Alley tonight, Red Hood is covering a patrol gap in the Fashion District. Red Robin was diverted to manage a situation in the Diamond District.
“Hood, police responding to shots fired four blocks away. Coordinates sent,” Oracle says as the coordinates pull up on his HUD. He turns left and starts leisurely making his way to the location. He knew Babs wouldn’t send him to a shot-fired call without a reason.
“Details, Oracle.” Red Hood says, leaping onto a rooftop.
“The gunshot came from an accounting office that works with Dimitrov. Batman and Robin are en route. Red Robin is still in the Diamond District but on standby. An accountant's phone is still pinging in the building.”
Red Hood picks up the pace, sprinting to the location. If he could get there to prevent the Gotham Police from mishandling evidence, it could be the crucial information they’re looking for.
Upon arriving, he looked down at the building from a nearby rooftop. Sirens are getting closer, but he doesn’t see their lights yet. He goes for his grappling hook to reach the building when his HUD alerts him to movement. The lenses of his helmet switched to night vision as he stepped back out of clear sight. A window on the second floor, no bigger than 20 inches, opened slowly.
The night vision allows him to see a figure in all black exit the window with impressive flexibility. He nearly missed a small grappling line coming from their figure to the rooftop. From the window to the rooftop was a smooth transition, fluid and graceful. Impressive, Jason thought, as the figure hastily used the adjacent rooftops to flee the scene.
He follows quietly as his HUD records their movements. “Oracle, we have a runner.”
“Hood, Robin and I are on our way. Do not engage,” Batman’s gruff voice ordered.
Jason, rolling his eyes, pursued them silently. He kept a silent distance until his landing was a little too heavy behind them. Seeing them freeze, he didn’t hesitate to draw a desert eagle and level it at the figure.
The lights of the Fashion District weren’t bright enough to fully illuminate the rooftop. His helmet automatically switched to darkvision, giving better visibility.
“Turn around slowly,” he commands as your figure turns around to face him. He immediately started noting the details he could see. Limited color registered on his HUD with darkvision, but he recognized your suit’s utter black hue.
The hood extends forward, covering your forehead and framing your face before reaching your shoulders. A white lens peered at him from the black void of a complete face mask. There is a bright red hourglass on what he assumes is your torso, the only color his lenses pick up.
“What are you doing in Gotham?” he asks, gun now leveled at your head. You just stand there, hands up, facing him. Silence atop the building felt profoundly thick. “Let me rephrase that: the hell are you doing in my city?” Red Hood’s tone became firm; an answer or face the consequences of the threat hung on every syllable.
Instead of answering, they shifted their weight slightly. Without hesitation, Red Hood shoots at their feet as a clear warning. A warning disregarded as they fired red beams from their gauntlets, dead center.
They seized the opportunity when he moved, dashing from a rooftop in haste. Cursing loudly, Red Hood followed them into the dark skies of Gotham.
[POV CHANGE]
You are cursing mentally at your luck. Despite his size, Red Hood was gaining ground behind you. Strategically, you navigate the rooftops to avoid giving him a clear shot. His footfalls are only a minute behind yours.
The gaps between the rooftops grew larger and harder to jump. You had no choice but to vault the gaps. This chase needed to end; you don’t want to get ambushed by other bats. After vaulting off a maintenance hatch, you see a structure in your periphery.
To your left, roughly one block over, is a new building still under construction. You could hear the heavy thuds of his boots basically on your heels. Taking a sudden sharp turn towards the construction site had Red Hood over-correcting his momentum behind you. The sound of his feet shuffling to avoid the HVAC unit caused a bubble of mirth in your chest.
That bubble popped as you were quickly approaching the rough foundations of a 50-foot building. There was a two-lane road between that building and the rooftop you’re currently running out of. Without stopping, you ran until you were nearly at the ledge, crouched down, and then propelled yourself forward.
At the peak of your jump, it transformed into two front tuck flips, concluding with a solid landing on an unfinished surface. Stopping for a moment to catch your breath, you had seconds before he probably was on you. With no choice, you retrieve a small device from a side pouch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Red Hood rarely pursued someone over rooftops this extensively. They were quick; sliding under billboards, waltzing around ventilation systems, flipping off rooftops, and leaping over building gaps like a simple game of hopscotch.
They weren’t making him run a fucking marathon; he would be impressed rather than irritated. He admitted, though he didn’t want to, that their acrobatic feats rivaled Dick’s. Their movements were resolute, never wavering in pursuing escape from him.
The thought of taking a shot while you were running crossed his mind several times. But you were moving too much, and he’d rather have his hands free; better for gripping ledges and stabilizing landings.
“Hood, Batman and Robin are two blocks from you. Red Robin is heading your way from the west.” Oracle says tracking their movements, and Steph was flipping through cameras trying to keep their target insight.
He was closing the distance and thought; if I lunge now. Your sharp turn rudely interrupted his strategy. Changing his freight train monument to turn and avoid a collision with a HVAC unit, kicked up loose dirt and some of his boot’s rubber tread.
He stared in disbelief when he witnessed you clearing the expanse of the street below with an impressive maneuver involving a leap, a tight tuck, and a secure landing, after which you disappeared into the depths of the building. Either a frog trained them or we might have a meta, Jason thinks, as he stood on the roof you just leaped off of.
“Lost visual on the target. No security cameras on the construction site. They are in a blind spot from our cameras,” Stephaine says, her lips in a tight frown. On another screen, she watches the recording of the maneuver in reverence.
“Hood, wait for backup,” Red Robin says, wind in his comms. Clearly grappling to reach Hood faster.
“Not a chance,” Red Hood responds as he grapples his way over the street, onto the same floor.
As he landed on the floor, his lenses immediately adjusted to the pitch-black environment before him. His head pivoted slowly, eyes swept constantly, and his gun was ready. His steps are silent on the temporary flooring and on the exposed beams. A low whistle behind him was too late a warning.
Twick! His leading left foot jerked to the left. His head snaps down to see a thick white substance connecting his leg to an exposed steel beam. He shoots the string and pulls his foot free, only for another to hit his hand holding the gun. His gaze swept the area, yet no sight of you. The hell are they? Jason thinks, looking at the gloop of sticky white substance gluing hand to the gun.
Twick! Twick! Twick!
Red Hood moved backward this time, avoiding the substance sticking to him once more. Upon contact with a yielding surface instead of a solid wall, he knew his choice was wrong. Something secured his back and the backs of his arms and legs. His initial efforts to escape confirmed that it was sticky and resilient.
You drop from above, about three feet in front of him. Red Hood stops struggling and watches you, body tense, anticipating an attack. Instead, you walk around him slowly, seeing the prototype in action. It worked well, though a few minor adjustments were required.
When you circled back in front of him, white lenses met white lenses in a stare-down. “Doing what you won’t,” you say so quietly that his helmet had to amplify the sound. You point your wrist upwards and deploy a grapple line before disappearing into the dark.
While you ascend, he watches, conscious of not tilting his head back excessively to prevent his helmet from getting caught. The recording stops as he restarts his attempts to break free. It felt like his left arm was about to break free when he heard something approaching.
A minute later, the dual footsteps of Batman and Robin made Red Hood stop his renewed struggle. He sighed deeply, just knowing Bruce was going to lecture him, his siblings would dog on him, and it was going on the Bat computer as evidence. “Nice going, Hood,” Robin’s tone was like an itch on his inner ear, annoying. Batman just looked at Red Hood, then at the substance that was sticking to him.
“Robin swept the area.” Batman says calmly while still looking at Red Hood. Robin huffs knowing that his order meant meticulously collecting evidence and erasing tracks. Robin turns away to start on Batman’s orders. Red Hood was between two steel beams in a corridor. The white string substance was thick and had no distance pattern. It reminds Batman of tangle webbing; disorganized at first glance but focused on multidirectional trapping, which did its job on his son.
The silence prolonged as Batman carefully collected samples. Once he was done, he asked Oracle to scan the substance for safe methods of removal. He didn’t ask if Hood was okay; it was clear that his son’s pride was wounded.
“You got it,” her voice chimed before Batman looked at Red Hood with a pointed glare. Here we go. Didn’t I say not to engage? Jason predicts.
“Didn’t I say not to engage?” Batman lectures as he pulls on Red Hood’s left arm, further loosening the sticky hold.
“You’re welcome for the free footage of our new threat.” Red Hood says bored as Batman pulls his arm enough to use a batarang on the strands. “Plus, I don't think they are a direct threat to us,” Red Hood adds, thinking about what they said. Before Batman could ask him to elaborate, Stephanie came in on their comms.
“Red Robin lost them in Old Gotham.”
“Well, excuse me for missing them by a couple of seconds.” Red Robin mutters, annoyed at the call-out. “Making my way to you, B. Extra eyes on the scene.”
Oracle mutes Stephanie’s mic to avoid bickering on the comms. “From the visual analysis of the strands, it should be easy to cut. According to the collective belt inventory; the fire suppressant, the oil solvent, or scrapping it with a batarang will work. The oil solvent would leave the least amount of evidence,” she reported as Batman decided not to use the oil on his son.
With his one hand stuck to his gun, Red Hood grips Batman’s offered hand tightly. “On three,” Batman says before freeing Red Hood with a grunt. Both of them stumble until Batman catches them both before they tumble through an unfinished floor.
The hot shower helped your aching back and calves. Your hair is in a towel; the comfy oversized tee and fuzzy slippers made you feel clean. Your suit is still being decontaminated; you just needed to eat something. All the running had you depleted. Once you gave Red Robin the slip, ducking into an alley with no cameras to change into civilian clothing and walk nearly five blocks to get your car, was the cherry on top. You’ll heal from the soreness with proper food and rest.
In the end, it was worth it. Your computer is currently going through the flash drive and brought you one step closer to taking down the Russian.
From the intel you gathered during your first months in Gotham; being on the bats radar was not ideal. But if they would not handle The Russian or the other overpowered mafia families, then you would.
Targeting The Russian was like an itch you needed to scratch. Over the weeks of you strategically dismantling him, a loose conclusion came to mind. The resentment you have toward General Dreykov is being redirected to the biggest Russian mafia in Gotham. It feels like you just can’t walk away or let it go.
You could only foolishly hope that the Bats could stay out of your way when you finally have Yuri Dimitrov.
Thank you for reading, it will pick up between Jason and us after the rough start.
I do post on my A03 before tumblr (The sweet spot for small accounts like myself would be between 7pm to 10pm).
I really like writing this but I have to finish my (3rd) degree before December, find a job before my contract ends, and drop some weight before the family vacation. Postings for this might slow down.
We love Jason and know that man can eat. Not always for our benefit.
There are perks when you don’t piss off certain Gotham villains. They became allies and drinking buddies. Not that any of them could keep up with you because of the enhancements in your body.
Most of them are very welcoming to your presence under the right circumstances. Take, for example, the Riddler; he is more welcoming if you use his front door or notify him via text before your arrival. In his hideout, you are currently sitting across from him with a gift basket on the worktable between the two of you.
“Okay, Widow, what do you want?” he eyed the gift apprehensively. Your gifts were always a great pleasure, but it doubled as a down payment.
“Can’t a spider give a gift?” you hum, sliding the gift ever so slightly towards him.
The last "gift" you gave me was mummy's ashes. It took forever to get the smell out of my hair,” he grumbled, sidestepping away from the gift.
“And you got paid very well. You got to keep the artifact urn, and I got the deciphered message. Win-win situation. Now, about this gift?” your tone was sweet, but Edward knew better. Either take the gift and get paid or reject the gift and lose out on some money.
“Tell me the job first,” he demanded, crossing his arms.
“I need a puzzle”
“For what?”
“Red Hood, he—” Edward raised his hand in a motion to stop talking.
“Why Red Hood? I'd rather not have the shit brick house on my ass right now,”
“Motherfucker, took my pie. Big back came and literally swiped it out of my lap while grappling around the corner. By the time I caught up to him. It was gone, just an empty container. It was not even ten minutes.” Your tone is tight and angry. You needed the sugar on your stakeout, but eating it six stories up should have been safe.
“For pie? You want to use my genius to avenge a pie—”
“It was from the dutch bakery on the upper west side.” This made Edward pause.
“The one with the appeltaart that comes with their homemade ice cream?” he asks, and you nod sadly. You were saving the ice cream for an after-stakeout reward.
“The Bats flirt weird as hell.” He mutters under his breath before speaking up, “I still have some glitter from my last Costco run. It’s difficult to get out of leather. Now, what’s in the bag?” It was a personalized Stanley cup of his colors that said. Riddle me this? Do you even hydrate, Bitch?
Jason didn’t really know why he stole your pie. Just seeing you get ready to dig in about the city, happy as a pig in shit. He grappled, snatched, and ran. What he did next was nothing short of diabolical, according to Dick. He inhaled that pie like a starving child; he was hungry. When you caught up to where he was, there was nothing but an empty tin with RH in a heart engraved on the bottom. It tickled him a little that you were fuming.
You look so pretty pissed.
It was supposed to be a normal night of patrol for Batman and Robin. Batman was going to call in an early night until they sensed your presence behind them. Batman was still apprehensive about your purpose in Gotham. He didn’t like how you started in Gotham, the bodies you left in your wake. Robin, however, took a small liking to you, much to Batman’s dislike. Batman stares at the red-wrapped box in your hands. “A gift for Red Hood,” you say calmly, holding the box innocently.
“A gift?” Batman’s gruff voice is full of suspicion.
“A gift. Repayment for his help,” your voice is kind, but the tone is sharp. If they could see your face, it would scream revenge.
“Is this for what he did yesterday?” Robin asks, looking at the gift. You assume their masks were scanning the box. It was only 6 x 9 inches, wrapped in a red matching his helmet.
“If I say yes, will you give it to him?” you ask, holding the gift out for either to grab. Batman’s face cracked, knowing what his son had done. He watched the footage of his built son hunched in a rooftop corner and inhaling a six-inch pie. Their scanners didn’t pick up any explosives or anything obviously dangerous.
“What is it?” Robin asks, internally debating if he should help you.
“A Russian copy of War and Peace. It will give him a bit of блеск” you say calmly, even shaking the box to show that it's not rigged. Robin didn’t look at Batman as he gently took the gift. “Make sure he opens it, and preferably not on carpet,” you whisper to Robin, which makes a sinister grin break out on his face.
His first warning should have been Batman and Robin joining him in Crime Alley. The next should have been the red wrap box shoved into his hands before both of them went to another rooftop.
“Open it, Hood, it's from Widow,” Robin says from under Batman’s cape. Bruce shoved him in there for protection, but Damien poked his head out.
He shakes the box, scans it, and knocks on it, checking for explosives. Nothing on the scan and nothing of noticeable danger.
He notices the red wrapping paper that matches his helmet perfectly. Carefully opening the wrapping paper, to reveal a decorative metal box matching the cover for War and Peace. The box has a combination lock, and a riddle taped to the top of it. The riddle reeks of The Riddler, but the handwriting was yours. When he entered the final number, the sound of a wet bubble popping echoed on the rooftop.
Red Hood stands there, covered in glue and glitter. Robin goes back into Batman’s cape, trying to stifle his laugh. The lump in his cape shaking was the only thing keeping Bruce from spiraling. He really should have taught his kids to flirt safely, especially with assassins. Grateful that it wasn’t an actual explosive, just a glue and glitter bomb. The lenses recorded all of it, and it will incorporate it into the upcoming training.
Wiping his lenses, he sees that on the inside of the lid was a marker drawing of a spider with a heart on its abdomen. His modulated laugh sounded gleeful; the sound bounced around the damp Gotham air.
In my honest opinion(yall didn’t ask, womp womp) we are so wonderfully made the strenght we are born with terrifies others. It frightens thier fragile power hold knowing that banded together we'll being nothing but greatness to the table. We'll band everyone in and outside our skin color against them and win.
Hence the forced division, the slavery, the discrimination, the hate. People hate what they cant understand or be. Being something made from only the love love and streghten from God. To have our skin and souls kisses with such love, only hate from from the weak.
Not saying we are God's "chosen", we are but he put something in us that Evil/Satan has no choice but to fear and hate. Stand proud, even when knocked down and beaten. There is no bell, keeping fighting smart and show the world that strenght they fear before replacing the hate with love.
finally got enough time to sit and read ch2. idk when was the last time i genuinely couldn’t wait for another part of a story the way i do now!!! diva, thank u for picking up this idea!!🫶🫶
You sink down on Zuko's cock slowly, feeling every thick inch stretch you open, and his hands immediately fly to your hips—gripping hard enough to bruise. "Fuckk..," he groans, his head falling back against the pillow as you take him to the hilt. "Just like that baby. Take all of it."
You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath your palms, the rapid thud of his heart. His skin is warm—always warm—but you can feel it getting hotter as you start to move. You roll your hips forward, grinding down on him, and he bucks up to meet you with a sharp thrust that makes you gasp.
"You feel so fucking good..," he pants, his golden eyes locked on yours, burning with intensity. "So tight around my cock., yeah?"
You pick up the pace, riding him harder, faster, chasing that perfect friction. His hands slide from your hips to your ass, grabbing and squeezing as he helps guide your movements. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room—obscene and perfect.
That's when you notice the first wisps of steam curling up from his shoulders.
"Zuko—" you start, but he cuts you off with another hard thrust upward.
"I know," he grits out, his jaw clenched tight. "Can't help it. You're making me—fuckk—"
The steam thickens, rising from his chest now, from his arms. It's not uncomfortable—just warm and humid against your skin, making everything even more slippery. You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves, his firebending responding to how close he's getting.
"So fucking wet already," he mutters, his breath warm against you as he looks up with those burning gold eyes. His hands pull you down so he can reach your neck, his mouth hot and hungry against your throat. "Can feel you dripping all over my cock. You love riding me like this, don't you?"
"Yes—fuck! yes—" you gasp, your rhythm faltering as pleasure coils tight in your belly.
He groans against your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point, and the steam intensifies. You're both slick with sweat and condensation now, the air thick and heavy around you. His hips snap up harder, meeting your downward movements with bruising force.
"Need to taste you," he suddenly says, his voice rough and desperate. "Get up. Let me eat that fucking pussy."
Before you can respond, he's lifting you off him—ignoring your whimper at the loss—and flipping you onto your back. He spreads your thighs wide and settles between them, his eyes dark with hunger as he looks at your soaked pussy.
"Zuko, you don't have to—"
"I want to," he cuts you off, his golden eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Need my mouth on you right fucking now."
Then he's diving in, and you can't think anymore.
He licks you in long, firm strokes, his tongue flat and broad as it drags through your folds. The heat of his mouth is incredible—warmer than it should be—and it makes every nerve ending light up. He's messy with it, coating you with his spit until you're dripping, until you can hear every wet sound of his tongue working against you.
"Fuck, Zuko—" you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands and pulling.
He groans into you, the vibration making your hips jerk, and then his mouth closes around your clit. He sucks hard, hungry, and you cry out at the intensity. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open, and you can feel the heat of his palms—almost scorching.
Steam rises from his shoulders, from his back. He's panting between licks, his breath hot and damp against your sensitive flesh. You glance down and see his cock is still rock-hard, flushed and leaking against the sheets.
"You're steaming again," you manage to say, your voice shaky.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your wetness. "Can't help it. You taste too fucking good." Then he's back at it, his tongue pushing inside you, fucking you with it while his nose presses against your clit.
The dual sensation is overwhelming. You arch off the bed, your thighs trembling on either side of his head. He groans into you—muffled and desperate—and you feel it deep in your core. The steam is everywhere now, thick clouds rising around both of you, making the air humid and heavy.
"Close—I'm so close—" you gasp.
He works you faster, harder, then slides two fingers inside you alongside his tongue, curling them just right. That's all it takes. You come with a sharp cry, your body convulsing as pleasure crashes through you in waves. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he groans like he can feel it in his own cock.
He doesn't stop. He licks you through it, drawing out every aftershock until you're pushing at his head, too sensitive to take anymore.
When he finally pulls away, his face is flushed, his lips swollen and wet. The steam rising from him is thicker than ever, and his eyes are wild—pupils blown wide with lust.
"Need to be inside you again," he says, his voice rough. "Need to feel you when I cum."
You nod, still catching your breath, and he's on you immediately. He slides back inside with one smooth thrust, and you're so sensitive it almost hurts—but the stretch is perfect. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours. You can feel the heat of him everywhere—inside you, against you, surrounding you. The steam makes everything slippery, makes the slide of skin on skin even more intense.
"Fuck, fuck!” he chants, his forehead pressed against yours. "I'm gonna-hah..!—I'm so fucking close—"
You can feel it too. His cock is throbbing inside you, his whole body tensing. The steam is pouring off him now, so thick you can barely see, and his skin is almost too hot to touch.
"Cum for me,” you whisper against his lips. "W’nna to feel it. Fill me up."
That's all it takes. He buries himself deep with a guttural groan, and you feel the first pulse of his release—hot and thick inside you. It's warmer than it should be, almost feverish, and it makes you gasp. He keeps coming, his hips jerking with each spurt, and the steam reaches its peak, billowing around you both in a heated cloud.
"F-fuck y-yes—take it all—" he breathes, his whole body shuddering.
You hold him through it, feeling every twitch and pulse as he empties himself inside you. The warmth of his cum spreads through you, mixing with your own wetness, and it's almost unbearably intimate. He keeps grinding into you, making sure every drop stays deep.
Finally, he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The steam begins to dissipate slowly, and his breathing gradually evens out. You run your fingers through his damp hair, feeling the heat still radiating from his scalp.
"You okay?" you ask softly.
He lifts his head, and those golden eyes are softer now, sated and warm. "More than okay," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "You're incredible."
You smile, feeling the pleasant ache between your thighs, the warmth of him still inside you. "So are you, Firelord."
He groans at the title, but there's a smile tugging at his lips. "Don't start. You know what that does to me."
You laugh, and he joins in, the sound low and content. The steam has mostly cleared now, leaving just the two of you tangled together, warm and satisfied in the aftermath.
