In The End, There Are Sins We All Take To Our Graves
A Batbro One-Shot
Word Count: 1.2K
Warnings: References to Abuse, Allusions to Abuse *PLEASE UNDERSTAND THIS FIC IS NOT VAGUE IN IT'S REFERENCE TO WHAT WILL HAPPEN. THIS FIC IS DARK AND WHILE NOTHING IS INHERENTLY EXPLICIT, THE MENTIONS OF WHAT WILL OCCUR CAN AND WILL BE TRIGGERING TO SOME. IF ABUSE, ANY AND ALL KINDS, ARE TRIGGERING TO YOU, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE BE VERY CAUTIOUS WHEN READING.*
Author's Note: Quote the ask, "Let the bitch die."
In the end, there were sins that the eldest Wayne would take to his grave. To others, he was a hero, a knight of justice, humility, and kindness. But shade of gray had shades of blue, and he himself be the first to admit he wouldn’t be stepping foot into kingdoms of white and gold when he met his end. But he would stand before whatever maker and admit unashamed what crimes he’d done, what horrid things he condoned to keep his family safe and sound; he would do whatever it would take to keep their demons dead.
***
Vitsina watched the eldest Wayne sit before the woman chained to the wall, arms above her head. She hung limply, strands of dark hair covering her face. The man leaned forward in the chair and pushed her head up, leaning it back against the wall; her eyes were open, wide with terror and he simply smiled at her.
“I see you’re finally awake Miss Flores.” He leaned back and slouched slightly, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “I bet you’re wondering where you are and why you’re in this position?”
She couldn’t nod or speak. Something…was keeping her from it.
“For starters, let’s explain why you can’t move or talk. You see, my lovely partner here, Vitsina,” he gestured to the blonde behind him. “injected you with a neurotoxic peptide concoction we like to call SCO. It stands for Speedster Clock Out. Now, what this SCO is made of, is conotoxin. But, the reason we name it after Speedsters is because it’ll take one out of commission for ten minutes. Which, is a pretty long time to remain completely still for someone who’s faster than light.”
She stared at him, all she could do.
“If it’ll take one out for ten minutes, imagine how long it’ll take you out?” he smiled. “But you don’t really care how you got here, you want to know why.” His smile dropped. “My name is Wayne. (Y/N) Wayne. Dick Grayson is my younger brother. My first, brother.” Shifting, he leaned in close again. “Karma has come calling for your life, Miss Flores. And I’m your judge, jury, and executioner here to carry it out.”
Her eyes didn’t waver from his.
“Dick told me what happened in Blüdhaven that night, did you know that?” he asked. “I held my baby brother as he sobbed and told me what you did. How he told you no, and you didn’t listen. He told me everything.”
Something, something brewed darkly in his gaze. Something so dark it was akin to demonic.
“And I waited. Letting you bide your time in hiding, carrying out your own vendettas wherever you wanted to, until the time was right. And now that that time is now…you will finally get what’s coming to you.”
He snapped his fingers and a metal door swung open, a screech of steel in their ears as two large men stepped in and up behind him. Her eyes widened ever so slightly when she saw them.
“Based on your reaction, I assume you recognize these men, Miss Flores?” he gestured to them. “You remember Alexandrov and Dmitriy, don’t you? The two men you put away when you worked in Quantico a decade ago? Well, when it hit the dark web that your life was up for grabs…these men leapt at the chance to get even with you.”
She stared at them with fear.
“See, they’ve paid me a hefty sum for your head, Miss Flores. Half a billion, to be exact.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “My only condition other than payment was that you were killed before midnight.” he made a show of looking at his watch. “And it’s five-forty-five, now.”
Something cold touched her soul when he stood from the chair and knelt before her, speaking so lowly only she could hear.
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, Miss Flores, Dick had nothing to do with this. I’m the one decided to carry this out. I’ll give my brother the justice he deserves.” His eyes narrowed into slits, pure hatred in his voice. “I could care less what they do to you in the six hours they have you. But let me assure you, whatever agony and torture you’ll suffer will be a fraction to the life of trauma and distrust my brother will live with for the rest of his life.”
She felt something bubble in her throat.
“Pl…ea…s…e…”
He titled his head. “Please?”
Her eyes said, “Yes.”
“Oh no,” he murmured. “Mercy is long gone. I’ve none to give you, Miss Flores, and you’ve none to receive from anyone, least of all the people here.” He gazed at her. “You’re going to die tonight, Miss Flores, and I don’t feel any pity for you. And I want you to know that when you take your last breath, that this is the punishment you brought yourself by your actions that night.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Ple…ase.”
He simply stood up. “Que Dios se apiade de tu alma, porque yo no tengo ninguna para ti. Y sólo espero que cuando muera vaya al infierno para poder matarte de nuevo para mí.”
Turning, he walked past the men who enveloped the sight of her as he left.
***
The phone rang exactly ten minutes after the stroke of midnight, and he lifted the device to his ear. “It’s done?”
Mhm. All three of them are dead.
“And their bodies?”
I will have them taken care of within the next few hours. No one will ever know.
He glanced out towards the living room floor, at the pile of siblings strewn out across the carpet and furniture, until his eyes landed on his first brother. His eyes narrowed in something he couldn’t quite name, a sadness, perhaps a shame.
I know what you are thinking, старый друг. I understand your motives and admire the lengths you went through to save your brother. The rage we are both full of for our loved ones is real.
“I didn’t save him, Vitsina,” he muttered. “I let it happen.”
You did not know it happened until he told you, старый друг. You cannot blame yourself for that. What matters is that you took it away. You have killed his demon.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know…”
Regardless, you did the same for me when my husband and child’s murderers remained alive. You know I would walk through fire for you and your family.
“Thank you, Vitsina.”
Always. But I will go now. I must prepare their bodies for cremation and clean the warehouse.
“Yeah, text me when it’s done?”
Of course. And (Y/N)?
“Yeah?”
Though leaving her to the fate she suffered was cruel, it was deserved, and you were right to sentence her.
The line clicked and he set the phone down, walking over to the group of siblings; gently, he wedged himself between Cassandra and Dick, taking both of them into his arms. Cassandra immediately flopped into his lap and Dick nudged his head underneath (Y/N)’s chin. He softly brushed the back of Dick’s head, murmuring, “I love you, Dickie.”
Dick grunted in his sleep, arms curling against his chest as he hunkered down. “…Love…you, bub…”
In the end, there were sins that the eldest Wayne would take to his grave. For every shade of blue had a touch of gray. But tonight there were no sins to carry. There was simply a family. A family of broken souls. And the eldest Wayne would bear their brokenness and heal what he could by keeping their demons dead and at bay.
When he stepped into the office, the secretary behind the desk practically tripped over herself at the sight of him. Not that he minded, he knew how good he looked, however, the appointment at hand voided the desire to flirt with her. “I’m here to see the headmaster. I’m Timothy Wayne’s older brother.”
For a moment, she started to nod, looking down at a stack of papers, then seeming to remember something, she asked, “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
“(Y/N). (Y/N) Wayne.”
“I’m sorry, your name isn’t on the list of people here to see or check out Timothy Wayne.” She blinked. “I thought Mister Wayne was coming to get him.”
“My father is busy. I’m the only sibling available at the moment.” He glanced towards the headmaster’s office. “Tim called me. He said he needed me.”
“I’m sorry, but unless your name—”
“Tim!” he yelled at the door.
“Sir, please don’t yell in the office.”
“Timothy!”
The door suddenly opened, the headmaster appearing, and there was Tim in the back. “(Y/N),” the teen breathed in relief, and he looked at the secretary.
“I don’t need permission to collect my brother.” He walked past the desk and into the headmaster’s office; he sat down in the chair next to Tim. “What’s up, kiddo?”
Tim suddenly looked at his hands. “I…I messed up, (Y/N).”
His eyes narrowed at the boy, then looked at the headmaster. “What happened?”
“Timothy struck another student. The boy was sent to the ER after the nurse assessed that his nose had been broken.”
“What?” he glanced back at his brother, then down to his hand; the boy’s knuckles were red and swollen. “Why?”
“We’re in the process of seeing what punishment to give him for—”
“I didn’t ask you what punishment you were giving my brother. I asked him why he hit someone,” he shot back. “Tim, why?”
His brother exhaled and he quietly said, “Evan called me a name…”
He trailed off and (Y/N) repeated, “What’d he call you?” Tim didn’t say anything. “Tim, what did he say?”
“He called me a fag.” His shoulders slumped and he repeated weakly, “He called me a fag. I just…I just got mad and before I knew it, I punched him.” His brother sat back and watched him for a moment; Tim’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”
Still silence drifted from his brother, until the headmaster said, “Unfortunately, because Tim struck another student and broke his nose, we will have to suspend him from school.”
“The student my brother struck, Evan,” he started, keeping his eyes on Tim. “What punishment will he be receiving for using a homophobic slur against my brother?”
“With all due respect, Mister Wayne—”
“My name isn’t Mister Wayne,” (Y/N) interjected and pulled out the dog tags from underneath his shirt. “I’m a Captain in the United States Navy. Mister Wayne is my father.”
“Captain Wayne,” the headmaster corrected, then swallowed, adjusting the pens on his desk. “Perhaps Mister Wayne should come down and talk to us.”
(Y/N) leaned forward and met his gaze, calmly stating, “Well my dad isn’t here, is he? I am. So, unfortunately, I’m the one you’ll be dealing with right now.” He stared the man down. “Evan used a slur against my brother and yet you aren’t going to punish him because he has a broken nose? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
“But he—”
“Tim, did he hit you first?”
“No,” he answered.
“Then you drew first blood.” He looked at the man. “You can put them in in-school suspension, but you will not punish my brother only.” His gaze narrowed. “Or…we can agree that this was an unfortunate accident that took place, my father can donate a substantial amount to the many sports programs at Gotham Academy, and we can just overlook this. Your choice headmaster, but rest assured, if you don’t take this deal, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s an assurance. I’d take the deal, headmaster.”
The man looked between the two before he sighed. “…Fine…we await Mister Wayne’s check in the mail.”
“Good.” (Y/N) rose from his chair. “Tim, get your shit.” As his younger brother rose from his seat, he pointed at the headmaster. “I want Evan removed from any classes with Tim and his schedule reworked so he doesn’t interact with my brother. If it isn’t changed by this evening, you’ll witness my assurance firsthand.”
“Yes, Mist—Captain Wayne.”
“Don’t let this shit happen again. With any of my siblings.” (Y/N) put his hand on Tim’s shoulder and walked him from the office and to the parking lot.
As they climbed in the car, Tim muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”
“I shouldn’t have punched him.”
“I’m thinking Batburger but then again, Big Belly Burger sounds great.”
“Aren’t you mad at me?” Tim blurted out. “I broke someone’s nose.”
“Yeah? And?” he said. “I would’ve beat the shit outta the kid if it was me. I’m mad I had to come up here when I was busy, but I’m not mad you defended yourself against some kid being a homophobic asswipe. And dad won’t be either.” (Y/N) reached over and wrapped his hand arm around Tim’s neck, kissing the crown of his head. “I love you, kiddo, and nothing is going to make me feel anything less than that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He kissed his head again. “But seriously, I’m starving. Where do you wanna get food?”
“Hey, if I gave you twenty dollars, would you drive to the gas station and buy me a Coca Cola and some wasabi almonds?”
His eldest brother blinked and looked down at him, head shoved up into his armpit. “Jay, really? You just threw up because you ate too many hot Cheetos and now you want cola and wasabi almonds? Really?”
“‘m hungry,” Jason whined, rolling over to shove his face into his brother’s side. “I want some wasabi almonds.”
“Those aren’t good for you right now. You need some pepto bismol and a new stomach lining.”
“Why don’t you love me?”
“I do love you, Jaybie, but I also love making sure you’re healthy and not sick. Giving you cola and wasabi almonds would be counterproductive to those directives.”
Jason pulled his face away from his brother’s side and glared at him. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a plebian.”
His brother rolled his eyes and nudged his head back, carefully adjusting his other arm around the sleeping youngest brother who evidently was awake because he wore a shit-eating grin. “Why do I feel like a mother hen taking care of her chicks every time I come home?”
Someone’s ankles, Dick’s, propped on his shoulders from where the brothers sat on the floor in front of the couch, and he retorted, “Because you mother us more than Alfie does.”
Jason lie on his side, crimson blooming across the white shirt he wore over his body armor, trying to force himself to get to his feet. His brother was still fighting, still slamming thugs onto the pavement left and right and managing to stay upright even with broken ribs and a fractured collarbone. The Joker was simply laughing, that cackle that haunted Jason’s dreams, watching the fighting until it was just the three of them.
He watched his brother stand up straight, white slits beneath the black cowl angered, as he stalked over to the Joker, all the while the man was raising his hands in mock surrender.
Black gauntleted hands wrapped around the pale man’s throat and that cackle slipped into chokes as he shouted, “You can’t kill me, Batman!”
Jason held his breath, wondering if his brother was going to choke the life out of his worst nightmare or not.
He let him go, shoving him to the ground. “You’re right. I can’t kill you.” He slammed his heel square into the juncture between the Joker’s shoulders, a crackling force that erupted with broken vertebrae, glaring down at him. “But the old man never said anything about taking you out of commission.”
The Joker lie there motionless, and he turned, stumbling over to Jason where he quickly lifted him up into his arms and started making his way back to the Batmobile.
“Dad’s not going to be happy,” he muttered.
“I don’t care. He deserves worse.”
Jason shifted his head, resting his cheek on his eldest brother’s arm. “Thank you.”
Would it be possible for you to write Batfamily’s reaction to if Batbro lost a limb while in the military and when he came back he wasn’t the same?
“How is he?” Bruce asked Jason, watching as his eldest son fumbled with the bandage on his leg before he stopped, took a deep breath with his eyes snapped shut, lips pulled in a taut line, then tried again.
Jason blinked, glancing down from the banister, watching the same scene. “He’s functioning.”
“But not alright.”
“You wouldn’t be if you lost your leg at your thigh, now would you?” Jason countered, leaning on his elbows. “He’s contacted his team at least fifteen times since he got back from the mission two months ago. I think he’s worried about how it’s going to work now that he won’t be leading the strike team anymore.”
Bruce nodded. “He’ll be looking for a way to lead it without being in the field.”
Jason looked at him. “He needs to talk to someone. He won’t talk to any of us about it.”
“He doesn’t want to be weak.” Bruce pulled out his phone. “I’ve already asked Barbara to come over.”
“Okay, you do know that being paralyzed and actually physically losing a limb are two completely different things, right?”
“Of course. But you and I both know that Barbara will have a better time getting through to him than any of us will.”
Jason sighed and watched as his brother stood up, grasping at the crutch beside him, and staggered towards the hallway. “I hope you’re right.”
***
“Knock-knock,” she said, entering the bedroom door, shutting it behind her. “I’ve come bearing gifts.”
He was sitting on the side of his bed, facing the window, back to her. “What’d you bring me?”
Barbara wheeled herself over to the bed and stopped a foot from him. “Your favorite cookies.” She held up a bag of double chocolate chip cookies. “Want one?”
“Sure,” he answered, taking one from her and she happened to glance down at it. “I’ve been doing this since I was seventeen and now at twenty-eight, I got my leg shot off.”
She reached over and unwound the wrap, pulling it away to gaze at the jagged scar that ran the nub of his thigh. “It’s healing nicely.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s the mental status?”
He sighed heavily. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everyone keeps acting like I’m made of glass. It’s a leg. I’ll live.”
Barbara turned her eyes up to him for a moment, then she locked her wheelchair and maneuvered herself onto the bed beside him; she landed on the mattress and wiggled so they were hip to hip. “Look, everyone’s worried about you because you’re not the same.”
“I’m fine,” he stressed, and she shook her head.
“But you’re not. You lost a limb. You can’t just go on like nothing changed. Your entire life has changed.”
“I’m—”
“If you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to punch you,” she interrupted with a glare. “Listen, I get it, okay. I do. It’s hard to take back that security once you lost it. You can’t walk like you used to, can’t work like you used to, can’t do anything like you used to. And it’s scary.” She looked at him and took his hand. “But trying to act like nothing is wrong is wrong. You need to let them help you.”
“This coming from the woman who doesn’t let anyone push her wheelchair.”
“Now,” she answered. “But back then someone did. My dad did, Dick did, even Bruce did.” Barbara rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “I needed help getting dressed and undressed. I needed help showering. I needed help going to the bathroom. Hell, I needed help just getting into my kitchen. But I needed that help until I learned to do it on my own. And so do you. If you want to run your team again, you’ve gotta work for it. But you’ve gotta let people help you until you get to the point where you don’t need it anymore because you’ve got it again.”
He went silent, taking in her words, then he laid back on the mattress, Barbara falling with him, and they stared at the ceiling. “I’m not weak.”
She nodded her head, giving him a smile. “You’re not.”
“Everyone’s treating me like they’re in the middle of a landmine field.”
“They’re just worried about doing something wrong.”
“Do they want me to go to therapy?”
“Probably. And if you don’t want to talk to someone unknown, at least talk to Doctor Leslie or Dinah.” She took his hand again. “Why don’t we go downstairs and talk to everyone?”
He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “Okay…but can we finish the cookies first?” he shoved one in his mouth. “They’re really fucking good.”
He’s not sure what to expect when they standoff but he’s sure as hell not afraid when Jason lifts the handgun between them and threatens to shoot him. He’s seen and experienced worse to no longer be afraid of a gun in his face. But it’s his brother he buried a year ago come back to life and standing before him in the flesh; he’s not going to let the chance slip through his fingers to make right what he should’ve done. He takes the first step and Jason’s thumb cocks the trigger back.
Shoot me. He thinks. Do it if you’re so angry.
“Don’t come any closer,” Jason warns, eyes narrowing. “I will shoot you.”
“No, you won’t,” he simply replies and takes another step, watching as the gun wavers slightly.
“I will.”
Do it.
He gets within a foot of his younger brother and simply stares at him. “Well?” he asks. “Gonna shoot me yet?” The gun never stops shaking, even as he raises his hand, puts his palm over the muzzle and lowers it down.
Jason drops the gun and surges forward, burying his face in his eldest brother’s neck. He sobs hard, shoulders wracking with each painful one and his brother simply reaches up and places a hand at the back of Jason’s head, holding him steady.
“I’ve got you, Jay,” he murmurs, turning his lips to press a kiss to Jason’s head. “I’ve got you.”
The first thing he did when he came into the living room was snort and cock his head to the side as he saw one of his younger brothers curled up in an awkward position in the chair. He let out an amused sigh and walked over, bending down to put his arms under Tim’s shoulders and knees, lifting him up into his arms; Tim shifted, lolling his head into the crook of his brother’s neck, and muttered, “‘m watchin’…Star Trek…”
He snorted. “Timmy, the TV’s off. Everyone left you to sleep.”
“Ass…holes…”
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to bed, Timmy.”
Tim inhaled deeply and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Can I…sleep with you?”
“Sure, bud,” he answered, taking the steps with ease, walking down the hall to his bedroom. As he walked in, he let out a sigh as he saw all his siblings collapsed on his mattress and huddled under the giant blanket he had on it. “Looks like we’re crashing on dad’s bed tonight, Timmy.”
Tim whined. “Dad snores though…”
“Bud, there’s no room for us on my bed.” He scowled at it. “‘Cause there are a bunch of lumps on it.”
“But dad snoooooooooores,” Tim groaned, even as his brother walked them into their father’s room and dumped Tim down before sliding under the covers.
Tim snuggled under the covers and exhaled through his nose as a loud snore echoed around the room. “We’re never gonna get to sleep in here.” When he didn’t hear anything from the side, he looked over and saw his eldest brother already out, mouth hanging open and he griped, “You fucker.”
The super soldier rounded the pool table and grabbed Kyle by the collar, tugging him up from the green felt as he ignored the cry of ‘Hey!’ from the Lantern. “I need your help with something.”
Kyle smirked as he took the cue with both hands and ribbed, “Wow, Bruce 2.0 needs help? How’d those words taste coming outta your mouth?”
“Alright, look here, glowstick—” then his expression pinched, and he muttered, “Like vinegar, honestly.”
“Figured,” he snickered. “What do you want?”
He nodded at the young man standing beside Oliver and Hal, a content look on his face as he listened to the two. “I’ve been layin’ it on thicker than maple syrup with your boy, Connor over there, and I mean the flirtiest, most dirty innuendoes I’ve got and yet…he hasn’t even cracked a smile.” He frowned. “Fuck, I mean he hasn’t even blushed. I always get a reaction by the second one even on people like Diana or Guy.”
“Ignoring the fact that you’ve flirted and probably slept with both Wonder Woman and Guy Gardner,” Kyle started, cocking a brow. “It’s probably the fact that Connor isn’t sexually attracted to people, let alone you, in the slightest, even if you’ve got the best dick in town.”
He blinked, looking at Connor, then he let out a “Huh…” Clicking his tongue, he noted with an tone Kyle couldn’t decipher, “I’m embarrassed that it took me this long to get that.” Inhaling, he seemed to swell with a newfound attraction and declared, “Alright, change of plans. No tying to get into Connor’s pants. Instead, I’ll just go for the stomach.”
“What, why?”
“Fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and if I can’t have sex with him, I might as well invest in a romantic relationship of hand holding and cuddling. I’d be the perfect boyfriend for him.”
“But you…” Kyle started.
“But you…?” he encouraged and Kyle cleared his throat.
“Your libido isn’t exactly the smallest, bud.”
He smirked. “I can take care of my own business single-handedly. I’ve been doing it since I was a teenager. Besides, I’m great at non-sexual acts of physical affection as well as others, and can perfectly maintain a loving relationship without sexual contact,” was all he said before striding off with purpose.
“Wait, but—aaaaaaaand he’s gone,” he sighed.
Kyle watched as the eldest Wayne walked back over to the trio and put his arm around Connor’s shoulders and asked, "Hey, it’s a bit noisy in here. Bur there’s a really good vegan pho place down the street if you wanna get out of the crowd and go eat in quiet. You’re probably getting a headache being here anyway." And with a look of impression, Kyle watched as Connor nodded, seemingly interested this time and followed the soldier to the door. The soldier held the door and smiled at Connor as he thanked him and walked out, then he turned to Kyle, shot the Lantern a smirk and winked before leaving the bar.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he huffed in a quiet laugh before glancing at the man coming towards him. “Hey Jason.”
“I see my brother finally got the Queen’s son to go out with him.” he glanced at Kyle. “You know Connor better than I do. They gonna end up sleeping together?”
Kyle snorted and shook his head. “Nah. Connor’s not into sex.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think other than touching his own dick, the idea of engaging in any sexual contact with a man or a woman wigs him out.”
“He ace or aro…or both?”
Kyle shrugged. “He’s never explicitly stated it, but it’s kinda blaringly obvious. I mean, he and I took a trip to Amsterdam one day and managed to walk down the RLD and all he said when he saw the women in the windows was, ‘What exactly is supposed to be the appeal in this? They’re getting the glass dirty.’” Kyle looked at him. “No, your brother won’t end up sleeping with Connor. Don’t get me wrong, if there was one man who could sexually attract him, it’d be your brother. But while he’s got good game, he’s not gonna make Connor do anything he doesn’t want to do. Hell, I’m pretty sure your brother’s just about to score the cutest ace boyfriend on the block. Mark my words, they're in for a night of hand-holding and shitty jokes before they agree to date.”
“You think Connor’s cute?” Jason asked and Kyle shot him a look of offense.
“Of course he is. Have you seen his face when he smiles? He has dimples. He’s fucking adorable.” He nodded at the pool cue on the table. “C’mon, play a round with me.”
“Alright,” Jason started. “But loser has to cook dinner tonight.”
