TW: Drugging, implied incest, death thoughts, neglect, blood & gore etc...
Pairings for this chapter: Dick Grayson x Reader, implied Dick Grayson x Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth & Reader, Damian Wayne & Reader.
Word count: ~7850.
Not proofread or edited~
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Alfred Pennyworth had always been a loving man. Someone who you could rely on no matter what… at least, that’s what he had been to the Wayne family. A pillar of love. But to his daughter? Well, that was another story entirely, one Alfred wouldn’t like to revisit quite yet. All anyone had to know is that his daughter had chosen to leave his life, and that he respected that decision.
He just wouldn’t let it happen again.
So, he was happy to wake up at the crack of dawn, dressing up in the finest he had before going to the kitchen and making breakfast for ten people whose combined appetite could no doubt rival that of a Kent. He’d send one of those meals out to Crime Alley, of course. And another to Gotham’s library. But since today one of the family’s members was… tragically incapacitated, he’d only make food for nine.
After setting the table, Alfred went up the long, towering stairs, and deep into the hallways. One by one, he’d knock on each of their doors. First Bruce, who never truly slept; then Dick, who to his surprise, didn’t answer. He must be early on his daily run, Alfred thought, walking past the third door to reach the fourth. Tim would groan helplessly, turning and tossing on his bed before telling Alfred he’d be down in a minute. Stephanie and Cassandra would often sleep together—Alfred and Bruce had already installed better soundproofing on their room with how loud their music could get—so when he knocked on the door, it didn’t come as a surprise that Stephanie answered for the both of them.
Damian would be next, of course. Alfred would walk up to the door, and before he knocked, the little boy would crack it open—glaring up with no bite at the butler, trying to mask away how sleepy he still was. It never failed to bring a soft smile to Alfred’s lips, truly.
Finally, and still not quite part of his habits, Alfred walked to the last door in the hallway—or first, depending on who you asked—and knocked.
“Alfred. Sir. Sir Alfred—Mister Alfred…” The teen smiled awkwardly. Looking down, Alfred saw Duke’s pajama pants rolled up unevenly like a pair of pantaloons, one sock missing from his feet and the other one step away from falling off his foot. If he had longer hair, Alfred was sure it’d look rather messy at this time. “Hi.”
“Master Duke. Like I’ve said before, you can call me Alfred.” He mused after greeting him good morning. “Breakfast is ready, please meet the rest on the table.” He bowed, and before fully turning to leave, he added. “And please, if you see Master Dick on your way, tell him to join you.” With that, he finally walked away.
Alfred appreciated the monotony his life as a butler brought. Schedules and orders, that’s all he had known for a very long while now. It was peaceful.
But when he made it back into the dining room, and found that Dick was nowhere to be seen, he couldn’t help but pause. The routine had been too disrupted as of late. But he took in a deep, hearty breath, and served the present members their breakfast.
But as had become the norm in his brain, when he looked at the abundance of chairs and the length of the table, his heart couldn’t help but churn. Even if only a little. Truly, it would’ve never taken even a bit of effort for Bruce to have invited his child to have breakfast with them all, not when he was awake. Not in all those years the child had yearned for his love.
He wasn’t the type of kid to force himself into places people didn’t want him in. And Alfred remembers, clear as day, the times he’d ask him to join Bruce, Dick and Jason on the table.
“I’m okay.” He shook his head with a smile. Little, bandaged hands struggling to work the needle into cloth. “We’ll eat together!”
At one point, Alfred gave up on asking.
He didn’t understand why Bruce would so willfully ignore his second—by time of adoption— child. For years, Alfred thought it was because the boy was truly of his blood. Maybe Bruce hadn’t known what to do with him—not with the tragedy that befell his mother—but after Damian entered the picture, it turned into a thought of, maybe Bruce just didn’t understand how to handle normal kids. Normal as his second child had been anyway.
But then, why was he the only one he never trained to be Robin? Sure, Alfred had been opposed to the mere idea of Robin for years now, but when every child that entered the manor became Bruce’s sidekick in a week, it became rather hard to understand the logic.
But maybe Alfred understood, deep, deep down he understood why Bruce neglected his second son. And that’s the thought that terrified Pennyworth. He had done the same to his child, his daughter, so truly, he was just like Bruce.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and whether any of them liked it or not, Alfred raised Bruce. So, he chose to rationalize it instead. Bruce must’ve wanted his second child to be a normal citizen, so in fear of ruining all he touched, he let him fall instead.
That must be it. Surely.
Wanting to put those thoughts at the very back of his mind, Alfred chose to finally search for Dick Grayson. The boy—because none of the people here would ever stop looking like children to him—had not made an appearance, which was odd. No text or note to indicate he left, either. So, Alfred looked over the places he’d usually stay at.
The gardens were a bust, so was the cave. No luck in the gym or the kitchen either.
And for a second, a thought came. What if, finally, after all these years, Dick had taken an interest in him. By now Alfred considered it wishful thinking, but a sliver of hope had always wormed itself into his heart.
But his room, or at least, the one he managed to use for his recovery—so far from the small, cramped room that would be usually reserved for visits, the one the boy had been forced to call his—was empty aside from the slumbering body deep in the covers. Even so, Dick was still nowhere to be seen. So curious, hopeful even, Alfred made his way to the side of the manor nobody ever visited.
But as he passed through grandiose, dusty chandeliers and smudged windows large enough to fit a crowd, he heard it. Distantly, and only thanks to the perpetual silence on this side of the manor, he could hear the creaking of a bed. And as he walked closer, an odd feeling wormed itself into his heart.
“Baby—“ He heard Dick slur, voice hoarse as if he had been screaming for hours. “Don’t worry. Your big brother is here—fuck… I won’t leave, I swear!”
A small snort escaped Alfred, and he thought, finally! After years of ignoring the one he may be so bold as to call his favorite, it seemed that at least one of them had regained their senses. He didn’t quite count Damian yet, even if he had seen the boy circling his estranged brother’s room, Alfred couldn’t quite say whether it was going to last or not.
And even if the brand of love Dick was displaying wasn’t quite what Alfred had envisioned, he couldn’t help but feel giddy inside.
Opening the old, creaky door—hopefully, his favorite wouldn’t have to lay eyes on it ever again—Alfred took in the scene before him.
On the small bed laid Dick, his clothes one move away from falling from his body, and in the air, the unmistakable scent of sex. A mix between sweat, come, and yearening. On the floor laid a few boxes whose content had been rather violently discarded around. And with how undone the bed was, and the foggy state of the windows, he wondered just how many hours Dick had spent in this room.
Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Dick.”
Drunkenly, Dick Grayson rolled lazily on the bed as if nothing mattered, until he could vaguely stare at the door where Alfred stood. And in his arms, Alfred noticed a toy. One he had helped his favorite to create.
But he wouldn’t comment on it.
“Alfred,” Dick chuckled, letting his face fall back on the bed while hugging the toy tighter to his body. “What’s up?” He asked as if oblivious.
Though Dick wasn’t Bruce’s biological son, the resemblance was… uncanny, really. From the color of his eyes to how his hair sat on his scalp. Not to mention—and may the heavens pardon his language—the size of his penis matched Bruce’s quite well. Just as veiny but not as thick.
“Breakfast is ready.” He hummed, his eyes not so subtly scanning the room once more to make a point. “I’m sure the others would appreciate it if you joined.”
Part of Alfred, the more cynical side of him, wondered if this was some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe Dick didn’t know that this room belonged to his younger brother, and had only chosen it to relieve himself on a whim. Something about nostalgia. But with how hazy his eyes were, how his brain and mouth didn’t seem to coordinate clearly, it was hard to believe.
“Oh. Yeah. I’ll—I’ll go down in a bit.” He nodded. “Just give me a minute.”
Now, Alfred would be lying if he said that his injury hadn’t presented an unusually good opportunity to make the Wayne family care. So, in hopes of giving a tug to their heartstrings, he… tampered with the boy’s state. Just enough to keep him unconscious for half a year at maximum.
Was it extreme? Perhaps. But when his boy had packed his things behind his back and conspired to leave, jst like his daughter, he had no choice but to take necessary measures. And it seemed that it had paid off, even if only with one member.
Call him impatient in this, but he couldn’t let this chance possibly slip by so easily.
“Master Dick,” he began. Voice tinged with a smidge of doubt. “Perhaps you can join your brother for breakfast. I’m sure he’d appreciate the company.”
Like a sleeper agent, Dick’s head shot up from the bed. Wide-eyed and truly shining with anticipation.
“He’s awake?” He asked, jumping from the bed without caring to pull up his pants. “Since when? Where is he?”
He’ll soon wake up, Alfred thought with mirth. “Follow me.”
Finally, Dick fixed his clothes and wiped his face, and after Alfred tidied up the room, with the toy left right back in its spot in the closet—Dick had insisted, saying it’ll be good for his baby brother—they made their way across the manor. And on the way to his boy’s room, Alfred couldn’t help but… fantasize.
His boy would wake up, confused no doubt, teary-eyed and begging silently for an explanation. Alfred would give it, of course, and with Dick’s presence, his boy would pause and reconsider leaving. Then, Alfred and Dick would push the others into seeing loving the boy they had neglected for so long.
And he’d stay. Forever. They’d fix him up, make him lose all those horrible habits with love and care…
More than a fantasy, it was the skeleton of a plan. One that had begun the moment Damian Wayne, the youngest of them all, the second blood son, pierced his brother with a blade.
Upon opening the wooden door, the pair was met with the scent of freshly cleaned covers and the remnants of medicine, with the morning light casting a warm glow through the large window whose curtains Alfred couldn’t bring himself to close. He needed sunlight, he had thought.
“How is he?” Dick asked as they entered the room, his eyes scanning over the warm lump on the bed with worry. “He’ll wake up soon, right?” He added impatiently, walking over to sit on the foot of the bed.
Alfred didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the serum hanger standing next to the bed, right in front of a small nightstand where he had chosen to keep the medicine. There, he took a quick glance at the IV tube connected to his boy’s arm, and then at the young man staring longingly at him.
Hopefully he isn’t startled, he thought. It wouldn’t do them any good if the boy woke up only to get a heart attack from the sudden influx of unexpected attention, so he’d make sure to keep Dick on a tight enough leash.
Pulling the covers down lightly, Dick marveled at how his little brother looked. He had seen the pictures on the box, but he hadn’t expected him to be the boy with the flashy hair and wild grin—but looking at him closely, the resemblance to Bruce was clear, if only here and there. And as Alfred opened a drawer on the nightstand, and took out a small bottle filled with something clear, Dick wondered how it’d feel to have his brother between his arms. If he’d press his face deep onto his chest to inhale his scent and commit it to memory, and if he’d let him worm his tongue inside—
“Master Dick,” Alfred began with a hum. “I suggest you calm down. We wouldn’t want him to be overwhelmed now, would we?”
“No.” Dick blinked, watching Alfred inject the clear liquid into the IV tube. “No, yeah. I’ll—I’ll be good.”
He wasn’t usually like this. Even when his other siblings—god how he loved them all—had fallen ill or come face to face with death, he never felt this euphoric at the prospect of them coming back. Excluding Jason, at least.
Right, Jason, Dick remembered. In his baby brother’s diary, he hadn’t exactly gotten the best impression on the relationship they had. But well, that had been years ago. Maybe his baby brothers would get along easily now—he hoped they did. It’d make it easier to give them both all his love. And maybe, Jaybird could teach their baby brother a few tongue tricks.
He had to release a shaky sigh at the thought.
And you? You felt like you had the most average and worst sleep of your life. It was odd, really. One second you had been staring up at the grey wall of the manor’s fountain—the reason hadn’t quite come back yet—and the next it had been replaced by an unfamiliar ceiling that had taken a few blinks to properly notice.
Were you hungover? Could be. Maybe the ceiling above was that of a motel—in which case, you really hoped you hadn’t lost your virginity to some random person. It wasn’t anything religious,but the idea had always rubbed you the wrong way—and you had gone out with your friends after moving out.
Well, time to go back to my new home, you thought, taking a moment to squeeze your eyes shut, raise your chest and bend your back so as to stretch. But as the comfortable groan was about to come, you felt a deep, near-agonizing stinging pain right on your chest. Similar to the soreness that came after a hard workout, but far, far worse all the same.
“Master,” you heard Alfred’s voice calling your name at the same time you slumped back onto the bed in hopes of making the pain stop. “Please, take it slow. You’re still healing.”
Opening your eyes properly, in a more frantic manner that you had intended, you looked over to the right. There, Alfred stood with his hands neatly holding each other, with his eyes staring right into yours with an expression too calm for your liking.
But you gulped the confusion down. Countless experiences with blacking out had teached you the art of nonchalance, detrimental as it was at times. And slowly, with your eyes instinctually looking up to the left—god, did that corner need cleaning—you tried recounting what happened.
It didn’t take as long as you expected, nor as long as you had now hoped. The memories of what happened came rushing down to your mind like a canoe on a raging river, carrying a deep-seated, cold panic that settled within your stomach and made your heart feel like there were tiny, frozen frizzles roaming in your bloodstream.
“Right.” You managed, not wanting to dwell on the fact you almost died. “Sorry, Al.”
And you had hoped it’d end at that. Maybe a check-up to see if you were good to go. But as soon as you felt a soft pressure on the very end of your leg, part of you knew that God was going to test you today.
“Baby—” He began, cutting himself off to call you by your name. His voice shaky as if trying to reign in control. “How are you feeling?”
You didn’t want to look down. Consciously, you didn’t. But your eyes betrayed you, and there, at the feet of the bed, seated as if trying not to lean forward and take a closer look, was your eldest brother. And involuntarily, you blinked in quick succession, a breathless sigh escaping your lips just as your head began feeling like you had stood up too fast.
Quite frankly, this was uncharted territory. Sure, you had—and though you couldn’t admit it out loud—fantasized about a moment like this for years, paired even with a brush with death, rehearsed what you’d do in your head and scripted what your family’s reactions would be, and even wept at the idea of them possibly noticing you, but for it to actually happen? Yeah. No.
You knew you were alive. You knew this wasn’t a sick dream. But that was the worst part.
“Good.” You answered plainly with a sharp nod, unused to interacting with any member of your family. So different from how easily you could navigate social interactions with others. “I’m good.”
Inwardly, you wanted to scream. Maybe plunge your hand into the sore wound on your chest and squeeze your heart dead. But as much as you wanted to, as much as your soul begged you to scream and cry and wrap your fingers around Dick Grayson’s neck, squeezing until he looked at you with nothing but desperation for your love, begging you to stop without words, you couldn’t. All you did was give him a tight-lipped smile that made your teeth feel odd with how hard you were biting down on them.
So, instead of keeping eye-contact with Dick, and ignoring the way his eyes were hazed over with something you had only seen in a creep your closest friend had to deal with a while back, you turned to Alfred. “Can I go? I have plans, and—”
“It’s been a month, Master,” Alfred interrupted with your name. “We had to put you into a coma due to the severity of your injury.” You didn’t know much of anything about medicine, and since Alfred had always seemed knowledgeable, you took his words as law. “Please, take it slow.”
A month.
Lately—to you, anyway—a month had begun to seem like too little time to do anything. The blink of an eye in an already short life. But to hear that you missed it, short as it was, and paired with how the finality of death had begun to run rounds on your head, it made you feel horrified.
But you gave Alfred the same smile you gave Dick.
“Woah. Okay.” You nodded. “That’s quite some time—”
“I’ll help you catch up!” Dick jumped in too eagerly for your liking, as if he couldn’t contain himself anymore from talking to you. But that was only wishful thinking. “A lot has happened, you know? We can have breakfast here, and I’ll bring you your favorite—what’s your favorite? Do you like chinese? Alfed, can you—”
You had to get out of this room. The only good thing about his… presence was that it distracted you from finality. So turning to stare at Alfred with pleading, you hoped he’d get the message. You wanted to be alone, preferably back in your room—this one felt too open all of a sudden, with nowhere to hide and no walls to corner into—and with a bottle of Bruce’s favorite poison.
Thankfully, Alfred seemed to understand. Giving you a humorous nod, he helped you sit up on the bed, making Dick try and lunge forward only to stop at the last second and sit back down. Whatever was going on was something you didn’t want to think about—there was a lot you didn’t want to think about today, it seemed. And after a proper check up, and amidst Dick’s protests, Alfred helped you walk to your room.
It was a long walk, that you knew, but enduring some pain to keep your peace seemed like the best thing to do. Even Alfred’s presence felt odd today. Usually, whenever you had been hurt in the past—usually from tripping or being run over by a bike while drunk—Alfred would be very… coddling. To the point where you’d miss school at his orders. But now, as you both walked to the other side of the manor, he felt cold, in a way.
Then again, you almost died.
After Alfred dropped you off in your room, and after giving him a face at how clean it was—you liked cleaning it yourself. Planned to deep-clean it before leaving and all—you slumped down on the bed, and waited for him to actually leave.
One, two, three minutes and you ignored the pain to sit up. You had to find the boxes you had packed your things into ASAP. So with great effort, you stood up from the bed, and silently thanked the small size of your room.
You walked up to the closet, and inside you found three boxes. But none was the one you needed right now. And looking back at the bed, there didn’t seem to be anything amiss either.
Sighing, you briefly wondered if Alfred threw it out. You wouldn’t put it past him. But still, you had to try. If nothing else, then for your peace of mind. So letting your knees buckle under your weight—and immediately regretting it after falling chest first onto the ground—you looked under the bed. It was a smaller box anyway, it’d fit nicely.
Jackpot, you thought. Of course Alfred would put it under the bed. Though he had tried many times to get rid of the contents inside, he had largely given up on it. On you, in a way, but that wasn’t here nor there.
Putting your pride aside now that there was nobody around, you slithered your way pathetically to the bed, reaching under it to pull out a small box labeled “XX”. Opening it with shaky hands, you smiled softly at the sight. Batman themed rolling paper, a small plastic filter, a corner store lighter, a bunch of cheap cigarette packs, a spare phone complete with a charger, and weed.
Maybe it wasn’t the best time to indulge. Both physically and mentally. But you felt like you needed it. You needed a timeout from everything.
Sucking in the pain, you pulled yourself up along the box to sit on the bed. You had to call your friends to explain your sudden absence—thinking about it, you should’ve asked Alfred for your phone, but the spare would do—and with any luck, your roommate-to-be wasn’t mad at you. She was prone to hysterics.
As you plugged the phone into a socket next to the bed, and waited for it to turn on, you hastily grabbed the cigarette pack. If any of your friends saw you, they’d call you an addict for sure. But as the cancer stick was put between your lips, hanging from your mouth and getting stuck lightly on dried saliva, lit slowly by the cheap lighter that had lasted you for a surprising amount of time, the doubt in your mind disappeared.
You needed this, and as soon as you took the second drag, you eyed the weed inside the box.
Dick Grayson, on his part, wasn’t happy.
Often, he’d be labeled as the happy one. The smiley eldest sibling that couldn’t hurt a fly, someone who’s heart was nothing but pure. And even if he himself would love to believe it, he knew, deep down, that it was far from true.
Over the years he had gotten better, of course. But the anger born from his parent’s murder, his siblings’ many brushes with death, and sometimes, Bruce’s behavior, always lingered.
And when Alfred dragged his little brother away, he couldn’t help but hold the blankets tightly in hopes of holding himself back from punching a wall. He was injured, for God’s sake! Just woken up from a month-long coma. His sweet, sweet baby brother wasn’t ready to stand up, let alone walk all the way to that shitty room he had been forced to call his own.
The worst part for him was that he had seemed so happy that his older brother was there for him. That sweet, close-lipped smile paired so nicely with teary eyes had been burnt in his mind like a brand he’d wish was all over his body.
He was surprised at his appearance, of course. Injury aside, and based on the pictures he remembers seeing—he should’ve made copies to keep—his brother had something of a… tacky taste. In clothes, accessories, hair. Dick may have been raised in a circus, but even he knew better than to chain himself in gold while living in Gotham. He must be naive, he thought. He needs guidance. He needs his older brother.
And he needs his father.
He had been so consumed in his delirium that he had forgotten about Bruce for a hot second. But now, with his baby brother away, he could think a bit more clearly.
“Damian.” Dick greeted upon walking out the door. He had noticed the boy standing outside a while back, he just hadn’t cared to call him out on it. “Here to visit?”
Part of him wanted to be mad at Damian for stabbing their brother, part of him was mad. But seeing the youngest Wayne standing just outside, with a scowl meant to mask worry, and with his arms crossed so tightly as if to shield himself from feelings, Dick couldn’t help but smile. He had been the first to care, so with which face could he be mad at him?
“His injury wasn’t so fatal that he had to be put in a coma.” Damian huffed as he leaned back against the wall. “So why would Alfred do that, Grayson? For a month, no less.”
An almost dizzy smile curved up Dick’s lips.
“To give us a chance.”
If he was in Alfred’s shoes, he’d do the same. A month, a year, a decade. It didn’t matter. None of it did as long as he had the chance to hold his baby brother right in between his arms, with his tongue running down his neck, listening to him whimper and groan while cum leaked from the tip—
“You should go say hi, Damian. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” Dick said, turning his back on Damian to walk away just as his face fell. “I’ll go talk with Dad.”
But first, he had to get some answers. He had to know why Bruce, even before Jason, had always ignored him.
And after… maybe he’d go fetch the burnt diary pieces and give them to Tim. He had to read more—to surprise his baby brother with knowledge he shouldn’t have—and Tim had unearthed more with far less. Then, he’d have to pay a visit to Jason.
Usually, Bruce would be at Wayne Tower right around this hour. But since Tim and Bruce were working on a particularly heavy case, he’d most likely be down in the cave.
Did he know about their vigilante life? Dick wasn’t sure. In the diary bits there hadn’t been any mention of Batman or Robin… but, well, how could anybody not figure it out while living in the same house? Surely, his brother did know. He’d have to take him down to the cave someday.
And if he didn’t know… the possibilities were endless. There were a couple of fantasies that Dick had never acted on. Things that he may have had the chance to do sooner if only he hadn’t abandoned his baby brother. If Bruce had taken the time to care and make sure he was loved and cared for, just like the rest of them were.
Snapping himself off of indulgence, Dick took the closest entrance to the cave—thanks to Tim, the whole manor was now riddled with maybe a dozen—and rushing down the cold, metallic stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce knew. Maybe he had been aware that he had been planning on moving out of the manor without saying goodbye. For all he knew, Bruce could’ve funded it.
He was mad, and as further away as he found himself from his baby brother, the darker his thoughts ran. And as the walls turned rocky and the stairs narrowed, with the only available lights being cold and far between, he grew more agitated.
“Bruce!” Dick’s voice boomed across the cave, snapping even the slumbering bats hanging from the rocky ceiling awake. “Did you know he was planning on moving out?!”
There, standing in front of the large computer that seemed to be used as a cork board, stood his father. His hair disheveled and oily as if he hadn’t showered just hours ago, with deep, dark half-moons under his eyes that only seemed worse with the blue light blaring from the monitor. Even his suit was uncharacteristically undone.
But at Dick’s words, Bruce looked away from the monitor with a frown.
“Who?” He asked with worry flashing through his eyes.
“Who? Your son,” he huffed his brother’s name. “Did you know? I found all his things packed in boxes—three boxes.” He deserved far more. Until not even an entire city could manage to carry it all.
“He’s moving out?” A voice called with curiosity. Glancing to the side, Dick saw Tim approaching them with a cup of instant ramen he must’ve made on the cave’s microwave. “Isn’t he asleep or something?” He munched on the noodles.
It was fine.
He’d explain it all. And then, they’d help him make him stay—did he even want to leave now? Probably not. Now that his older brother was here, he wouldn’t have to worry about anything.
Much unlike Damian Wayne.
The boy had been reeling in panic for the past month. Ever since he accidentally stabbed him.
In the past, he hadn’t given much thought to who would’ve been his only brother had Bruce not adopted everyone else. Back in the Shadows, his mother’s side of the family had made him make a list of the people who would’ve been a threat to his spot as the Robin, and his only blood-brother hadn’t even been considered for it.
So, for the longest time, he had seen him as nothing but a zero on the left. A civilian who didn’t deserve acknowledgement, let alone respect. If it hadn’t been because they were related by blood—something that he, to this day, and even if he struggled to admit it, held in high regard—he would’ve killed him for real.
And seeing how his family reacted before Dick’s sudden interest, he was sure that he would’ve gotten away with it.
And that scared him. It scared him because it went against everything he knew about this family. About his father.
Before coming to the manor, Bruce and the rest had been sold to him as powerful. People with the capacity to take it all but without the will to do it. With morals that clouded their judgement. And after arriving, they proved his Grandfather correct—in some ways, at least. Damian could now see that compassion and kindness went a very long way. And slowly, he was trying to be more like his siblings.
So how can these people, who weep for strangers and grovel at the feet of goons and nobodies as long as they can protect someone, not care when one of their own kisses death’s hand. How can his father not care when his son’s body cries red on the ground they call home. Tainting forever the fountain that only bloomed when outsiders came in.
Even Jason, who he regarded as the softest of heart for their family, didn’t even make an appearance.
Damian himself wasn’t sure why he cared. If nobody else did, then why should he? In the end, he was a child. He’d mirror the behaviour of authority figures no matter what. But even then, a deep part of him—the one he had been trained to ignore—had felt terror when he locked eyes with his brother.
So, for the whole month, he had nightmares of the very moment his blade pierced his brother’s chest. Of his whimpers and silent sobs as blood poured out his body like a waterfall. And of the people he had killed back in the Shadows.
But now that his brother was awake, he’ll make it right. He’ll apologize and train his brother so something like this would never happen again. That was the plan he had made in the morning… but his day was spent right in the depths of his room. Standing right in the middle with his eyes locked on the assortment of swords and knives on the ground, trying to find the strength to move.
He was afraid of his brother’s possible reaction. Damian wasn’t the best at social cues or anything of the sort, but he had learned to read his siblings to an… acceptable degree. Not at the uncanny level Timothy had, but not that far off. However, he had no knowledge of his blood brother.
You’re a Wayne, Damian thought. Suck it up and go.
May his grandfather forgive him for such language, but if he spent a second longer thinking, he wouldn’t do it. This was what he hated about the matters of the heart, they weren’t as simple as swinging a sword or throwing a knife.
So with the rising moon as witness, he made his way through warmly lit corridors and silent rooms. His family must be doing their own things before dinner—maybe his brother would like to join, he doesn’t remember seeing him around—he could faintly hear Alfred chopping vegetables in the kitchen. And as he arrived at the abandoned side of the manor, the one he sometimes used for brief moments of silence with his pets, Damian felt himself waver again.
What if his brother hated him? What if he was now afraid, unwilling to even breathe the same air as him? Maybe he’d pick up a pair of scissors and stab himself in the throat the moment he sees him, letting blood pour out into Damian’s face to remind him of his sins.
Looking up at the old, scratched door, Damian had to tighten his fists just so his hands wouldn’t tremble anymore. He could hear him inside, his brother, muttering small curses while tapping away at his phone. The sound of his leg—probably his left, if Damian’s ears didn’t fail him—bouncing up and down against the floor anxiously. Had he noticed him already? Maybe the Waynes had good hearing thanks to their father's genes.
He knocked on the door, and the silence came, so he knocked again.
“Alfred?” He heard him speak, and god, was his voice odd. It didn’t quite suit someone his age, no. It felt… rougher, somehow. So, Damian knocked again, and soon he heard his brother moving hurriedly, tossing plastic and metallic things onto cardboard and wood.
And as his brother struggled up to the door, Damian fixed the collar of his shirt, made sure no stray dog hairs were on his pants, and glanced at the smudged window to see if there were stains on his face. Then, the door opened.
The first thing he was hit with was the horrible, pungent scent of weed. He only faintly remembers it from the odd trainees who were dumb enough to indulge under his grandfather’s nose. And frankly, he was surprised that his brother would resort to such moronic things in a time of healing. But then again, what did he know about him?
“Damian.” His brother said. Something between alarm and question. Tacky, colorful clothes covering his bandaged body, with red eyes that seemed too sober for how strong the scent of weed was inside, as if his presence had made him snap out of bliss. “What’re you doing here, buddy?” He strained a smile.
Damian was confused. Yes, he could see that his brother was nervous—fear, right in his eyes. Something so primal that he briefly wondered if his brother would bite him, run away, or choke him out—but he was trying to hide it. Was it for his sake? Was his older brother trying to cheer him up?
“Brother.” Damian greeted, his voice faltering for no more than a split second before he regained his composure. “I see that your injuries are doing well.” He gave him a brief nod. “I’m glad you’re alive,” his name tasted weirdly in his mouth. Not sweet, not sour, not stale. Unfamiliar.
His brother’s jaw tightened for a second, his eyes trembling the slightest bit before nodding. “Me too.”
Damian wanted to say sorry. He did. But the words didn’t manage to leave his mouth. Alfred was coming, he could hear his footsteps, so he might as well get to the point.
“Pennyworth has made dinner.” He put his hands behind his back, trying to appear welcoming. “Mostly meat, tragically… You should accompany us.”
By now, Alfred was just a couple of seconds away.
“I’d love to, Damian.” His brother stammered, looking back at his room as if it held the perfect excuse. “But, you know. I gotta catch up with my friends, and check things about school… It’s a lot.” He nodded to himself. “I just need a small timeout, that's all. But maybe tomorrow, yeah?”
“You should join them, Master,” Alfred piped in, calling his brother’s name as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll find that the food is quite appetizing, if I do say so myself.” His brother looked up at Alfred, then back down at Damian.
It was as if Alfred and his brother were saying thousands of words with only their eyes. Damian had to respect the effort—to keep him, the begrudgingly youngest, at peace. That’s what he had settled on, anyway—but his brother could use some better practice.
“Please.” Alfred insisted while putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “If only for a little while.”
His brother’s head trembled the slightest bit, almost imperceptibly, the smile straining on his lips seeming to tighten the longer this interaction went on, and Damian had to smile inwardly. Even while afraid, his brother was making an effort. An effort to forgive him, right? To give him a chance in his life. To be the blood brothers they were always meant to be.
“Sure.” He nodded. “I’ll go.”
Damian Wayne was happy. This had gone rather well, in his opinion. He didn’t notice the way his brother buckled against the door as both him and Alfred left. Nor how he frantically went to the phone on his bed amidst pain to try and call again his friends—none had answered him the whole day, but he had to try again—and he wouldn’t notice how his brother eyed his closet for a second.
All he knew was that he had a chance at redemption. And he was content with that.
And Tim Drake could see the ghost of a smile in Damian’s lips. It was a little funny, if he was honest. Not because of how he looked, but because it was so weird seeing his demon brother so happy. And briefly, he wondered why.
But the thought was quickly discarded. As he sat on the large table right in the centre of the dining room, with plates full of food and soda—at his request—for days, his mind instead wandered to the case he and B were working on. So far, Dr. Pig seemed like the most likely culprit for the whole thing, but it was just a hunch.
“Hey, you heard about what happened to Stacy?” Stephanie whispered, sitting opposite to him with Cassandra on her left. “I usually wouldn’t gossip. Mostly. But we gotta do something.” Cassandra stared curiously at them.
“What happened to her?” Duke piped in, a concerned frown on his face as he tried—and failed—to keep his eyes away from the food. They had to wait for everyone to be at the table before eating.
“She’s pregnant.” Tim said. “Todd—”
“Jason?!”
“What? No.” He shook his head with disgust. “Todd Philipps. The guy with the glasses.” He opened a can of Zesti. “From what I know, the guy roofied her at a party. Sasha—our senior—beat him up to a pulp, but I guess it was already too late by the time she found out.” Tim sighed. “The school hasn’t done anything.”
Before Cassandra could sign something, Bruce and Dick walked in. It was obvious that they had gotten into an argument. Hell, Tim had been there for about a quarter of it before he got tired of listening. But per Alfred’s rules, all bad blood was to be ignored at dinner.
As Dick sat by Bruce—they all sat in the order they were adopted. A habit that had formed since he came around—Tim prepared himself to finally dig into Alfred’s cooking… until he heard another chair being dragged out.
There were few things that could truly surprise Tim. Having been Robin for quite some time now, he had seen it all. Even turned into the Joker’s lackey for a hot second before his family saved him. So when he looked up, expecting Jason to make his rare appearance, he was rather taken aback by him.
His third older brother. The one Dick and Bruce had argued about for the whole day, putting a stop to the investigation Tim and B were supposed to be taking care of.
But God did he look rough. His eyes were red, his cheeks seemed hollow, and his breathing was erratic. As if there wasn’t enough air in the world that could satisfy his lungs. And tentatively, almost fearfully, he sat at the very end of the table—not exactly opposite to Bruce, but as far from all of them as the table could manage.
“Good evening.” He heard him mutter. Dick seemed happy at his presence, adjusting in his seat as if something in his pants bothered him.
Damian gave him a quick, twinkling glance, glancing at Alfred with a brief nodd, prompting the butler to take some of Damian’s favorites and serve it to their brother. Duke was curious, as with anything mildly exciting that happened in the manor. And Bruce? Bruce surprised him the most. The man was staring at his son with such intensity that he briefly wondered if he was going to kill him.
But he didn’t say anything.
Instead, Alfred signaled the beginning of Dinner with an approving hum. And they ate.
The food was heavenly, as always. Alfred’s cooking had only missed once—they weren’t allowed to talk about it—but today was not one of those days. The Zesti was good, and so was the gossip. But someone had to cut the tension at some point.
His brother was obviously trying not to puke. Forcing Alfred’s cooking down his throat like it was the most heinous thing he had tasted in his life. With his left leg bouncing up and down repeatedly, making a noise that was starting to get into Tim’s nerves. Why was his brother here? Shouldn’t he be resting?
Tim didn’t really care for this one. Not really. But even he could see how stupid it was to have him here while the wound on his chest was no doubt agonizingly painful still. How had Alfred allowed him to get up? He’d have to file that under life’s mysteries to never revisit again.
And then, Bruce spoke up.
“I heard you wanted to move out,” they all looked up at the sound of his voice carrying that unfamiliar name. It was one of those days when it’d thundered across the room like one of Bane’s groans.
His brother looked up from his food with a startled look in his eyes. And it seemed that today Tim had a thing for observing him closely, because he noted how his fingers tightened around the fork like a lifeline. Was his brother always this awkward? If so, Tim wondered how he had such a large group of friends.
“Yeah.” He could barely meet Bruce in the eye, but he nodded with a gulp.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bruce asked as he feigned interest in his dinner. “I could help, son—”
“Bruce.” Dick interrupted with a glare, and only until later, far later, would he realize that Dick just didn’t want to have their brother go.
“No, it’s fine.” He shook his head. “I’ll be staying with a friend. I got the money already, and—”
“Where did you get the money?”
He gulped, “I’ve been working odd jobs here and there.”
“You’re not old enough to work.”
“I’m eighteen—”
“Baby,” Tim frowned at Dick’s nickname for their brother. “You should calm down. We’ll talk in the morning—”
“No, Dick.” Bruce interrupted. “I want to know why he wants to move out.”
Everyone, even Tim, turned to look at him. At how he straightened up even though his eyes seemed to scream in fear, how he gave them a tight smile that seemed more to himself than to anyone else. How he blinked away tears and bite down the pain.
Of course, only those who hadn’t fallen for Alfred’s sudden spell would notice such details.
His brother took in a deep breath through his nose.
“Maybe I just want to have my own space… Dad.” Tim didn’t miss the flash of disgust in his face. “I mean, I’m eighteen.” He repeated. “I want to, uh, figure things out, y’know?”
“Where will you be staying?”
“With a friend.”
“Do I know them?”
“Wha—No.”
“I’d like to meet them.”
“Why?”
“I’m worried—”
“Well, that’d be a first.” The sudden bite in his tone seemed to take both him and Bruce aback. But, in Tim’s opinion, God must’ve taken pity on him today because his brother’s phone buzzed. And to his surprise—credit where credit is due—his brother bolted away.
“I have to go. I have plans.” He had said, dragging himself off the chair and ignoring Alfred and Bruce’s calls.
Now Tim was curious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Hi lol. Thx for reading <3. Criticism is welcomed. Uhhh life is good and idk, there's nothing I have to say except Duke will participate in the next chapter xx.
Again, thank you all for reading. I hope to see you next chapter, too.
Senator Fox after hearing someone say that clones serve rights and oh no he accidentlly pulled out a vibroblade. Oops, how unfortunate that this happened you know how it is running on zero hours of sleep. Kit and Quinlan literally have to talk him out of stabbing Palpatine. “Foxy, you can’t just kill the chancellor.””I can if I try hard enough.””I love you darling, but this is not a good idea.”
The chancellor lives another day before we all get to stab him.
Agreeing for a night out with bunch of his obnoxious friends turned out to be not so bad after all, not when Seungcheol get someone as pretty as Jeonghan to bring home and cuddle with, “Are you going to talk to her or are you going to stare until she marries you?”
Seungcheol x girl!Jeonghan. AU. Oneshot.
Sunday, 10.34 AM
Seungcheol wakes up to the sound of something sizzling from downstairs. He blinks sleepily and tries to stretches when suddenly he realize that he is supposed to be alone because Mingyu, his roommate slash junior, was absent from last night for a movie night out with a certain sleepy eyed coworker.
Based on that suspicious wink on the chat that the younger sent him last night about not coming back home, Mingyu’s night sure was not ending with just a good movie.
Seungcheol tries to battle his blanket away and rushes downstairs when he found out that he is only wearing boxers at the moment, and that’s when memories from last night about a tanned, silver haired beauty that he met at the club floods him like a broken dam.
Saturday, 07.57 PM
“Put some jeans on Scoups, we are going out right now.”
The man in question raised his eyebrow at his friend that crossed his arm in front of him, the one that barricaded him from the TV, “No.”
Joshua squint his eyes in distaste at the other beaten down t-shirt and Captain America shorts, “I’ll give you ten minutes to change those and we are going.”
“What make you think that I will go with you anyway?” Seungcheol eyes the other guy in the room, the one that casually sits cross legged beside him, “Hannibal marathon is on tonight, I want to watch that.”
“Mingyu called two hours ago and said that you have been whiney and miserable all day long and because Joshua and I are your good friends,” Hansol poked the other shoulder rhythmically, “We will take you out to have fun, he also complained you ate all his potato chips today.”
“Scoups is a terrible potato-eating friend but he is miserable right now so we all should help him,” Mingyu, all dressed up and ready to go, walked to the couch and pulled Seungcheol’s hand until the other unwillingly stood up, Joshua quickly sat on his spot, “Now agree with us for once and get ready, it’s not like they are not going air Hannibal again tomorrow.”
Saturday, 09.22 PM
“Are you going to talk to her or are you going to stare until she marries you?”
“I am not staring at anyone.”
“I tried calling your name four times you know,” Seokmin sighed unhappily to his drink, “I miss the old you.”
“Ouch,” Seungcheol childishly stuck out his lower lip, “But I thought I am getting more handsome these days.”
“Probably,” Seokmin gave the other unimpressed look, “But I mean the old less depressed you.”
“Spare him the sad bits Dokyeom, we have to make him happy tonight for Mingyu’s sake,”
“Yeah, whiney Mingyu leads to whiney Wonwoo and unhappy you,” Joshua sat in front of the sulking man, “Talk about those guys, I think Mingyu screamed about sleeping over at your place tonight.”
“Yeah, wanna watch movie together or something,” Hansol pointed a finger at the spikey haired man in front of him, “Mingyu will tell you if something happen and you will text us about it later.”
“I need somewhere else to stay tonight then,” Seokmin pulled out his phone and began keying a text, “Those guys really needs to do something or else I will personally lock them up together in a room.”
“You can tie Mingyu up and I’ll handle Wonwoo.” Joshua smirked at the black haired man, “How about you Scoups? Any new unresolved sexual tension that we should know about?”
“He has been staring at that silver haired chick since we arrived until you guys came back five minutes ago,”
“Silver chick?” Hansol stretched his neck in his quest to found the girl Seokmin pointed, “Oh, she’s pretty!”
“Where?” Joshua grinned when he found her, “Whoa there Scoups!”
Seungcheol sips his drink and eyed said silver chick in the bar stool across the room, “Why are you all so into my love live anyway? I am perfectly happy being single.”
“Yeah right,” Seokmin kicked the whispering couple in front of him right in the shin, Joshua gave him a dirty look, “It’s not like we all can see how sad you are about your sad single life every day.”
“It has been six months since you broke up with that strawberry girl, cheer up and find a new girlfriend already.”
“Said someone who is as single as me,” Seugcheol bite his lips, “She looks like she want to be alone.”
“You wouldn’t know until you try tough, and honestly I never saw any girl turn you and that cute pout of yours down.”
“Stop looking for reasons and talk to her Scoups.” Seokmin put his phone down and began making move for the other abandoned fries, “Just do it.”
“Or are you too scared to do it?” Joshua raised his eyebrow in challenge, “Is she too pretty for you?”
Seungcheol’s answer died down in his throat when Joshua actually rose from his seat and bee lined to the bar and casually sat beside that pretty girl. The conversation between Hansol and Seokmin became intelligible buzz in his ear because the way that pretty girl face just lit up when she saw Joshua just kind of distracted him in all unsettling way. Suddenly Joshua pointed at their table and for a second that pretty girl looked directly to Seungcheol eyes and smiled.
God, what a beautiful smile.
Seungcheol tried to look away but the way Joshua just kept going and whatever he said apparently made her laugh a lot and it kind of made him uneasy. He didn’t even realize his phone was buzzing with new chats and that he had been silent and staring for far too long even the other two on the table stopped talking and stared amusedly at him.
“Someone is jealous.”
“Go Scoups, go and save her from the clutch of Joshua the girl kidnapping monster!”
“Bad joke Hansol,” Seokmin still smiled despite what he said as he slung an arm around Seungcheol shoulder, “And if she rejected you we can always drag Joshua back at your apartment and continue watching that Hannibal show.”
“I’ll even allow you to curse at him all night long, that’s good enough right,” Hansol pat the older cheek in teasing manner, “Now go and get her.”
Seungcheol took one last look at their table with a frown and began walking to the bar. He put one hand on Joshua’s shoulder and smiled at the silver beauty.
“Hello there, who are you?”
Sunday, 10.45 AM
Seungcheol tries to find white button down from last night in the pile of clothes on the floor with absolutely no luck so he gives up and starts making his way to the kitchen clad only in faded jeans. The promise of someone pretty, named Jeonghan as he found out last night, is making breakfast at the moment is winning way more than a case of missing shirt. When he is at the bottom of the stair, Seungcheol sure founds out who the button down thief really is.
Jeonghan is reaching out for eggs at the top cabinet for what the older guess is an omelet, judging from the one hot meal at his kitchen table, and she is wearing his white button down, sleeve rolled up twice, and white low socks. The almost twenty centimeters height difference supposed to make his shirt lays way longer around the other, barely above knees. But all the reaching out makes it ride higher, showing a fine line of pretty tan skin, before she settles down and begins cracking the eggs to the pan. Seungcheol just grins and moved the chair scattered around the table to sit down. The other definitely heard him, stopping her spatula movement for a bit, before continues like nothing happened.
“Morning pretty.”
“Morning,” Jeonghan puts bunch of dice sized bell pepper and tomato to the pan, “I made coffee.”
“Nice,” Seungcheol moves closer and circling his arm around Jeonghan’s hips, whispering lightly to the other ear, “But who gave you permission to use my kitchen?”
“Joshua did last night,” The silver haired girl smiles cutely and tries to move away from the other hold in vain, “He also said that you are very clingy.”
“Well,” Seungcheol tucks the other loose locks behind her ear before kisses the other nape softly, “He is not wrong.”
“I need you to move tough,” Jeonghan flips the omelet close and tries to deposit it to the plate, “I am hungry and I’ve been told that I make the best omelet by my roommate.”
“I have to try then,” The older grins as he takes one of the plates to the table, “You know, I never really asked for your number last night.”
“That’s right you didn’t.”
“Now I will, can I get your number and know you better pretty? Cause I don’t want this to be one time thing only.”
“You are kind of awkward,” Jeonghan spoons a bite and chews slowly, completely unaware of the other confused and sort of hurt look, “Cute kind of awkward tough, I like it.”
Seungcheol smile blooms and he begins to eat too, “You never told me you know Joshua.”
“Knew him since high school really, kind of my teenager best friend,” The silver beauty raises an eyebrow at the other, “Jealous?”
“You know I do,” Seungcheol pouts until the other giggles at his antics, “There is a Hannibal marathon at one later, want to stay here and watch that with me?”
“This is your plan to get me to cuddle you right?”
“You read my mind.”
Sunday, 04.09 PM
“Nice hickey you have ever there, kid.”
Mingyu stops his stealthy walk and cross his arm in front of the cuddling couple on the sofa, “I thought you’d still be napping, dad.”
“Being sassy will not help you hiding this from everyone kiddo,” Seungcheol whips out his phone and snap a picture of the younger before excitedly sending it to Joshua, “Congrats on finally getting laid tough.”
“It’s too late for that,” Mingyu sighed in defeat before trailing to the couple and propping his arm at the back of the sofa, “Introduce me.”
“Mingyu, this pretty lady is Jeonghan,” Seungcheol motions proudly at the girl cuddled up beside him, “Jeonghan, this is my roommate slash occasional bratty son Mingyu.”
“Hello Mingyu, nice to meet you.”
“You too, it’s nice to know that my new mom is nice and pretty,” Migyu grins mischievously, “Now excuse me, I am going to take a bath.”
Mingyu quickly runs upstairs before the pillow the other man threw actually hit him, “Have fun with the cuddle monster Jeonghan!”
The smaller one of the two lets out a snicker, “New mom huh.”
“Shut up,” Seugcheol links his arm and hold Jeonghan tighter before kissing the top of her head, “Just shut up and enjoy the movie.”
written just because i wanted to write Jeonghan in boyfriend shirt. He is getting prettier these days, it’s too much x)
