keep your head up (it’s a cruel world) || batfam || the old guard!reverse verse au
rating: T
category: gen
warnings: mention of injuries, grief/mourning, rapid healing, mcd but extremely temporary as in tog
wordcount: 20k
a/n: huge thank you to @thychesters for being an amazing friend, beta, and cheerleader!! <3 full A/N is on ao3
summary: “Black hair, blue eyes,” Tim continues. Bruce’s hands clench to hide the trembling in his fingers. “I saw a poster for The Flying Graysons. He was at Haly’s Circus, Bruce, they’re in town right now—”
Bruce turns with a snarl, throwing his fist against the wall. He feels the bones splinter, blood seeping between his fingers as his hand is already stitching itself back together. Not now, not so soon after—
Bruce’s chest throbs.
They only lost track of Jason five years ago. Damian’s final breath was barely three months ago.
He’s not ready for another.
He can’t leave another one behind.
[image id: a panel from robin & batman #3 of a young dick grayson standing in a desolate circus tent with the fic title in white text: “keep your head up (it’s a cruel world): a batfam the old guard!reverse verse au”
and we’ll be carrying each other (until our dying day) || batfam || 2.9k; part 2 of 2 || part one
dick comes back to visit after his time with spyral, and spends patrol with damian. things don’t quite go as planned. || ao3
ch 2: time means nothing (say that you’ll stay)
A shower and a quick medical patch up later finds Damian and Jason up in the rafters, just like Jason had promised. Damian’s head is throbbing, pulsing with every beat of his heart and every pound is like a hammer against his skull, but he does not say a word. Jason would take him upstairs like Father had wanted, and Damian refuses to leave the cave
He will not leave until he can ensure that Grayson will survive.
Of course he will survive, his mind snarls. If he does not…
He will, he insists. He’ll make it. Damian does not want to think of what would happen, or what he would do, if Richard did not.
The two of them are quiet as they perch in the shadows, not wanting to tip off Father or interfere with the situation below, regardless of how much Damian wants to be by Richard’s side. You’ll just be in the way, Todd had insisted. Damian scowls at the thought. He knows how to maintain a necessary distance during medical treatments, and he would not ever impede on the operation below. He shifts, impatient. Father would be furious at both of them, especially Damian, but if he could just—
“Don’t even think about it, Baby Bat,” Todd says calmly, cleaning beneath his nails with the tip of his dagger. Damian’s eyebrows furrow further.
“I was not going to—”
“You were, and that’s not gonna fly,” he interrupts, catching Damian’s gaze and cocking an eyebrow.
Try me.
“Stay out of their way, they’ll finish up faster. Faster they’re done, the sooner you can check on Goldie.”
Damian crosses his arms tightly against his chest and ducks his head away, his eyes burning in frustration. Jason is right of course, but Damian refuses to voice his concession.
They wait.
Nearly an hour later, the frantic energy of the med bay dies down. Damian straightens in his perch, stretching out the muscles that have gone stiff in his back and legs. His headache has not subsided, but he ignores it for now. He will ask Pennyworth for painkillers if it continues to persist after he has checked on Richard.
Beside him, Jason tucks his blade back into its sheath and shifts into a crouch on the support beam, watching the scene below with bored interest. Pennyworth is beginning to sanitize medical equipment at the sink, and Dr. Thompkins scrubs out, packing up her medical bag and speaking softly to Father. As she strides towards the elevator, Father looks up at the both of them, and Damian freezes.
Father's eyes narrow at the two of them. He points sternly at them, and then to the ground in front of him. Come here. Now.
Damian glowers at their discovery. Todd, on the other hand, has the audacity to wave back at him down below.
"Mornin', Boss," he calls down with a lazy grin.
"Hrn," Father replies, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Get down here, both of you."
“I don’t follow your orders anymore, B,” Todd shouts back. Despite his call, he pulls a wire from his belt, secures it, and swings down to drop heavily to the cave floor. Damian watches him go in confusion before following. Father stares them down sternly as they approach.
Damian follows Todd, his steps hesitant and his eyes shifting anxiously between Father and the gurney across the bay. Richard’s chest is moving and Father is not very upset or in a panic, so why won’t Damian’s heart stop racing? His fingers tremble and he clenches them into fists, tucking them beneath his arms that he crosses again over his chest in defense. Mother would have never allowed such a show of discomfort, but Damian has learned differently here. Shows of emotion were encouraged by Richard, by Pennyworth and Brown, and occasionally by Father. Despite all of this, his cheeks still flush in discomfort at the motion. He unfolds himself as he comes to a stop feet away from his father. He hears the man take a deep, controlled breath, and Father's attention shifts back to his two sons in front of him. He eyes Jason first, skin around his eyes tight in frustration and something else that Damian can't put a name to.
This...this tentative peace between Father and Todd is so new, and so fresh, and still so strained as they find their footing, that all Damian can do is sit by, hold his breath, and watch.
"I thought I told you to take him upstairs," Father comments, voice low like an approaching storm, glare tightening his features.
Todd glares right back.
"Come on, old man, you know as well as I do that he would have snuck right back down here," Todd argues. Damian doesn't counter his point, though his shoulders creep up towards his ears, self-conscious. Todd is correct in his assessment, but Damian will not admit it out loud. "He was just gonna keep comin' back until he could make sure dear ol' Dickie survived the night."
Father heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Dropping his hand, he turns his glare to Damian. Damian meets his gaze head-on, fists clenched at his sides and his face set in a determined pout. He straightens, shoulders easing away from his ears and he tilts his chin up just enough in defiance for Father to catch.
"Richard was my partner," he says, standing his ground. "I will not leave him alone when he is injured."
Father’s face softens imperceptibly, and Damian waits, tense. Father's hulking frame crouches before him, the leather and kevlar of the suit creaking as his knees pop in protest, his pale eyes roving over his face and looking for...Damian doesn't know what.
“You know that Alfred and Leslie had everything handled,” Father comments offhandedly. It is meant to be reassuring, Damian knows, but he cannot help but feel like Father does not understand. Damian clenches his jaw.
“Yes,” he admits. “That still does not negate the fact that I would like to check on him myself.”
Father continues to just look at him, as if trying to read every intention beneath his words. His intentions are true, Damian knows this as sure as he knows anything, but Father...Father still struggles to trust him, sometimes. Damian’s chest twinges at the thought, just as his vision swims for a single second as his head pounds in reminder of his injury. He doesn’t think he gives any indication of the effect, but Father’s brows tighten in concern.
“You’re injured,” he says.
Jason scowls.
“I thought you said you weren’t hurt anywhere else, twerp.”
Bruce shoots Todd a look. Damian glares at him.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Todd says, hands up in surrender. “I checked him over and he said he was fine.”
“I lied,” Damian says, his voice tight and head throbbing harder now at his admission, as if it had been waiting for the moment to finally show his weakness. Father pushes to his feet, joints protesting the movements
“Cot. Now.”
Damian tenses at the tone, but he follows to the bed next to Richard’s, brushing his fingers against Richard’s blankets as if touching the mattress alone would tell him of his current state.
Richard’s chest rises and falls, and Damian crawls into his own cot.
Father’s fingers are impossibly gentle as he examines him for injury, cradling his chin in his hands as he shines a penlight into Damian’s eyes. Damian winces and pulls away from the light, head pounding, but Father holds him steady, a sturdy safe haven in a storm. As the light pulls back, Damian squeezes his eyes tight, willing the pain away. He hears the light shut off with a sharp click, feels Father’s hand hesitate against his chin, shifting to cradle his face in his large, calloused palm. Damian opens his eyes in muted surprise, catching his father’s gaze warily. He just watches him again for a moment, some emotion behind the gaze soothing Damian against his notice. He takes a breath. Father strokes his thumb across Damian’s cheek in some sort of comfort, and Damian allows himself to lean into the motion. Just this once, of course. Tears suddenly well in his eyes, and he blinks them away rapidly.
“What’s wrong?” Father asks, urgency bleeding into his tone, thumb stilling on his face.
“I...” Damian chokes, gaze flitting away to the still form on the bed beyond. His heart fills with dread. “I— it was my fault that Grayson—”
Bruce crouches down in front of him, catching his other hand with his free one.
“This wasn’t your fault.”
Damian bristles.
“But I—”
“Damian.”
His name is said so softly, so quietly, that Damian stills. There is no anger in his father’s tone, no disgust or disgrace on his features. Tears well in his eyes again and Bruce’s thumb resumes its motion across his cheek to wipe them away.
“I messed up,” he grits around the lump taking up residence in his throat, “and Grayson paid the price for my mistake. If that does not indicate that his injury is my fault—”
“Enough.”
Damian quiets again, ducking his head down and away as his tears continue to fall. He sniffles and Father moves, pushes to stand, and plucks Damian right off the cot and into his arms. Damian’s head swims at the motion and he ducks his face against his Father’s neck, the scents of sweat and leather and motor oil filling his nostrils. He’s stiff for only a moment before he sags against his father’s chest, tears falling and disappearing into the cape tucked under his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he cries quietly, and Father shushes him, rubbing his palm gently against his back. He clutches Damian tight, lets him cry himself out, and holds him as he drifts off to sleep in his exhaustion.
~***~
When Damian wakes, there is a hand carding through his hair. He sighs and leans into the motion, pressing his forehead against the warm body at his side, pulling the sheet closer under his chin. There’s a breathy huff of laughter above him and Damian stills. That sounds like—
His eyes fly open and he glances up at Richard. Richard smiles down at him wearily, fingers continuing to massage his scalp, soothing away the lingering hurt.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, voice scratchy from disuse.
Damian’s eyes water against his best intentions. “Richard,” he croaks, fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleep shirt beneath his hands.
Too many emotions bubble up at once, and Damian doesn’t know how to feel. Relief that Richard is all right, rage at himself for allowing Richard to be injured in the first place, exhaustion, pain, lingering fear at the thought of losing Richard yet again—
He settles on anger. Wants to settle on anger.
He wants to be angry at this stupid imbecile, furious that he would throw himself in harms way for him when Damian isn’t— he’s not worthy of it, why —
But he’s too tired and his head still hurts and the relief of seeing Richard awake and well is too much, and before he knows it he’s crying again. How embarrassing. How pathetic. He ducks back down to hide his face against Richard’s side as he shudders, choking back sobs. Richard makes a noise of distress and tugs at him until Damian is upright so he can assess his situation.
“Damian? Dami, kiddo, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” he says urgently, gripping Damian’s upper arm tightly.
Damian sniffles miserably, and how much more pathetic can he be, sniveling in front of his brother, in front of his Batman like this? He refuses to look Richard in the face as he speaks.
“I—I’m sorry,” he stumbles, scrubbing furiously at his face. “I shouldn’t have— I should have been faster, I shouldn’t have froze—”
“Dames—”
“Freezing in the field is unacceptable,” he presses. “It results in injury and— I—” he stops, sucking in a shuddering breath. His gaze is locked on the sheets across Richard’s torso, bulging atop the bandages wrapped snugly around his abdomen. Damian reaches out and nearly touches the blankets there, but jerks back in a panic. He has already hurt Richard once tonight, how dare he try to do it again—
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, turning his head away.
“Damian,” Richard calls softly, and pauses as if he doesn’t know what to say.
Damian braces for a rebuke, for blame, for a punishment, anything that would lay the fault solely on himself for Richard’s injury. A hand reaches up and Damian freezes in place, subconscious preparing for a strike. The hand stills, and if Damian were looking, he would have seen the look of sorrow and restrained fury cross Richard’s face. No comment comes to pass; Richard places his hand on his cheek and turns Damian’s head towards his, much like Father had done earlier. Damian does not meet his gaze. Richard sighs.
“Damian, sweetheart, please look at me.”
Damian purses his lips but obliges. Richard’s eyes are also soft like Father’s, and there is no blame there that he can find. He feels anger bubble in his stomach.
“How are you not furious with me?” he hisses through teeth clenched against his tears. “If I had not frozen, you would not have been shot—”
“Damian, I’m not blaming you for this. Never.”
“You should,” he snarls, anger rearing its head as it rages hot in his belly. Anger at himself for his error, anger at Richard and Father for not seeing his failures, anger at Todd because— he doesn’t know why. All he knows in this moment is anger, and he clenches his fists around the blanket across his and Richard’s laps. “My error resulted in your injury. You nearly died because of me—”
“Damian—"
“I almost lost you again!” he shrieks.
Bats startle far above them and wings flap furiously as they fly off into the cave, his shout echoing down the cave tunnels. The clacking of the computer keyboard across the way stops abruptly, and Damian suddenly feels very, very small. Sobs rise like magma in his throat, and he buries his face in his hands in embarrassment.
“I just got you back,” he rasps, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the flow and to relieve his still pounding head. “I just got you back and because of my error, I ruined our night, and you nearly died.”
“Oh, kiddo,” Richard breathes.
He wraps his fingers around Damian’s wrist and pulls. Damian doesn’t have the energy or will to fight him, refuses to hurt him in any way again, and allows himself to be pulled down and tucked back against Richard’s side. Richard buries his face in Damian’s hair with soothing murmurs as Damian struggles to catch his breath through his tears. Eventually, he quiets, little hiccuping breaths the only indication of his breakdown. Finally, Richard speaks.
“Let me make this very clear,” he starts softly. Damian stills, throat clicking as he swallows past the lump in his throat. “My actions, jumping in front of that gun, none of that is your fault.”
“But I—”
“No,” Richard snaps. Damian bites his lip. “No,” he says softer, rubbing his hand soothingly against Damian’s back.
“I won’t let you blame yourself for this. My job is to protect you, and that is exactly what I did,” he says gently. “Even if I’m not your Batman anymore, protecting you will always be my duty as your big brother. Capiche?”
Damian breathes out slowly, giving a shallow nod in response against Richard’s ribs. “You will always be my Batman,” he concedes quietly. Richard squeezes him gently in response. “But it is also my duty to protect you.”
Richard reaches down to tilt his head up again. Damian looks this time. “You can watch my six,” Richard says, “and I appreciate it when you do.
“But you already saved my life once by putting yours on the line,” he whispers, grief etched across his face. Phantom pains echo through Damian’s rib cage in response. “I don’t want to have to bury you ever again, Dames.”
Damian’s throat constricts, and he purses his lips and swallows against a new flood of tears. His head hurts so much, and he just wants it all to stop.
“That is— that is why I froze,” he whispers, releasing his secret before it is locked away forever in his chest. “That man...h-he looked so much like— like Heretic, and I…” he trails off, voice failing him. Richard sucks in a breath, horror in his eyes.
“Oh, kiddo,” he breathes. Damian squeezes his eyes shut, and Richard pulls him close again.
“He’s long gone,” Richard reassures him, and Damian knows this already, knows that Heretic is gone for good, but the fear still sits in his chest, like a piece of the blade that struck him down got stuck on the way out, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever shake it loose. “He can’t take you away from us ever again… and you’ll never have to protect me from him again. You’re safe, sweetheart,” he whispers, squeezing Damian’s nape. A single tear escapes down Damian’s cheek. Richard wipes it away and presses a kiss to his hair.
“You’re safe, and you’re right here with me. You’re not going to be taken away from us ever again.”
“Nor you from me,” Damian whispers, pushing his head tight against Richard’s chest.
Richard squeezes back, and the two of them lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, relieved at the fact that they both are still alive and safe. They will have other nights to spend with each other, and that much is a promise. Father continues his reports across the cave, the bats flutter above, and everything is alright, for now.
With those assurances, the two of them drift back to sleep.
hello hello and happy #wipwednesday!! y'all are going to be getting two snippets today (yes, two!!): one batfam and one s pn. first off: the old guard!reverse verse!au :o I'm playing with what exactly reverse verse entails here; this fic is going to be entirely gen though (aside from possible hints at stephcass. we'll see)
this snippet takes place after dick dies for the first time at the circus and comes back to life; oracle helps, and B is being cryptic, as usual
live text under the the cut!
They’re five minutes out when the cruiser turns in the opposite direction of any of the closest precincts. Bruce frowns. The only place in this direction is--
The Gotham Juvenile Detention Facility.
Bruce growls, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Dials.
“O, here.”
“I need a favor.”
“Depends. You funding my coffee budget for this little favor, or is this another freebie? You’re almost out of those, by the way.”
“A month’s worth, if you do it quickly,” Bruce responds, inching closer to the tail of the cruiser. He sees the cop’s eyes narrow suspiciously in the rearview mirror through the back window.
“I suppose I can lend my time. What do you need?”
“Shut off all of the security cameras in a five block radius from my location. Jam the radio of cruiser GCPD #207, and scrub all records of Richard John Grayson from police records for the next 72 hours.” He hesitates. “Aside from a record of his death tonight.”
The comm is silent.
“Oracle,” Bruce barks.
“Consider it done,” she responds. “But you damn well better explain what the hell is going on later, B.”
hey guys, need some help finding a fic. its a batfam fic where bruce ends up bringing back the dark versions of his kids from other universes (talon!dick, jay is catatonic but healing, tim was tortured by joker, I think dami and cass are the only ones not like that? I don't entirely remember) bc his versions are dead or never ended up interacting with him
He had not made it far before there was a sharp crack above him, a wooden beam falling onto his back and trapping him against the rubble. He cried out in pain, tears filling his eyes as his agony and frustration mounted. He had to make it out, stop Dick before anything could happen to him, and he had to get himself out for his family’s sake.
But how was he to do so when he could no longer move his legs?
