Hi! Maybe a wild ask, but wanted to thank you for your series with Dr. Dev. I remember, a few months from finishing my poli-sci degree in 2022, telling my sibling (@hey-scully-itsme) about this amazing series I read that made me think about trying to be a doctor again. I didn’t immediately switch paths, I graduated and worked for a few years, but your story (the first story I’d read that centered on the medical field since I’d given up on the idea of being a doctor in high school) helped keep the idea alive, and kept me googling pathways into med school every few months. 2 years ago that turned up a path that made perfect sense for me, and I start med school in a few weeks! I just wanted to say thank you for helping keep that idea alive, and helping me remember why I wanted to be a doctor in the first place
oh my goodness, that's INCREDIBLE. i'm so proud of you for pursuing that dream, and i'm honored to play any small part in that. i wish you the best in med school!
This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.
Finally back at these for my own enjoyment after months away. I was in the middle of noting up this exact fic when my browser shut down unexpectedly and lost everything and I collapsed into a fugue.
Anyways.
I was innnnncredibly nervous about borrowing Dev for the first time, because I wanted to do a good job! But I also wanted it to be a surprise, so I didn't show @bowditch anything until it was done. She ended up being my sounding board for several plot points—the magnet, whether Dev should get stabbed or shot, the alarm system setup, how Dev is at throwing—without knowing it, because I am crafty and can weave questions unsuspiciously into casual conversation.
Dev’s flat was hardly his castle. It was a place to sleep, sometimes a place to eat, a place he tolerated but rarely enjoyed. It was just… a place.
Dev's ambivalence about his place was pulled directly from CEC, in reverse. I wrote it first, then went back to make sure the vibes checked out. They did.
The look of stunned disbelief on Wayne’s face when he had taken in the front lock had been almost funny. Less so was the genuine alarm from Alfred, who had been the first of the two to visit Dev’s flat and had been the one to call Wayne to begin with.
pulled directly from the chat, thanks Bow
In addition to a now fully wired flat with a door built to withstand Killer Croc on a rampage and walls bristling with listening devices and sensors sensitive enough to track Dev’s resting heart rate, Wayne had also added vigilance training to Dev’s barely tolerated self-defense lessons.
also this, thanks again Bow
He wanted to drop his bag off on the mat, walk out of his own shoes, scrub the antiseptic hospital stink out of his hair, and collapse into bed for at least as long as he had already been awake.
I think I mentioned this in another BTS but this is exactly how I think through activity strings. I'm like a Sim. Gotta connect those tasks in a sensible order. At least Dev doesn't chant reminders to himself like I do.
Shower, bed. Shower, bed. Shower, bed. It was a chant that kept his feet moving all the way to the bathroom.
Okay, maybe he sort of does, but mine are granular.
“What the bloody hell.”
When I did let Bow read the draft, she was instrumental in pointing out the places where Dev needed to swear more.
The intruder was short, no more than 165 cm. For some reason that exasperated Dev, to be held at knifepoint by a shorter man. Not that the vertically challenged couldn’t be dangerous—look at little Damian or even Tim—but Dev had spent his life shying away from taller men. It seemed unfair to now be threatened by a wee one.
165 cm, for the Americans, is 5'5", while Dev is over 6'. Also while Dev's exasperation comes from a personal place (spending his life being afraid of big men), we share it. I also get irritated when I feel other people aren't living up to their full potential when inconveniencing me.
The issue with this particular man (other than the knife) was he had a look Dev recognized, even while sleep-deprived. The hunched shoulders, the emaciated frame, the sallow skin, the scabbed sores across the face, the jittering hand and dead eyes… Dev had seen it more than once, both on the streets of Gotham and in his hospital’s own emergency room.
I rewatched the opening to The Sixth Sense for this and googled drug addiction symptoms. I can't remember which kind of addiction I used. I know very little from my own experiences, so googling was my go-to.
“The drugs, man,” the wee one hissed, and Dev fought the temptation to ask if he had checked at the end of his rainbow.
Dev is too sassy, literally. A joy to write, a pain to keep alive.
me 🤝 Alfred
Wayne was going to give him such shit for this. Timothy, too. Mugged in his own flat because he forgot to click the little button on his way out.
Dev’s gaze skittered to his left. And forgot to lock his bedroom window, apparently.
Such shit.
I wish I could say I would react with more focus and alacrity. Unfortunately, I find it useful to base bits and pieces of the Fam on myself and I damn myself with this bit.
It was ridiculous. He was standing in an flat rigged to high heaven by the bloody Batman and he couldn’t even signal for help because he had harangued Wayne into raising the sensitivity level for shouts after one too many gaming-based false alarms.
This was also from the chat, thanks Bow.
It felt like a nightmare, one of those horrible dreams where everything slowed and a dash felt like running through quicksand. He couldn’t gather the breath to shout for help, and the monster was on his heels.
I am so mean, putting him in socks.
A mass, rigid and weighted, slammed into his back. Dev stumbled forward and fell with a cry, head slamming into the cold, unyielding front of his icebox. Around him, his photos and magnets fell with a clatter among the shattered pieces of a stool. Shooting stars flamed in front of his eyes.
I was pleased to accomplish two things here, both the magnet (which was the whole point of the fic for me) and the head wound because I'd already had a flash of what I wanted to do with that in a bit.
Dev threw up his arm, for what little it would do him. It had never been much effective before.
:3
The shadow plucked the magnet from the air, then looked down at the plastic Bat symbol resting in its glove.
“Did you just try to batarang me… with me?” the shadow asked.
That. That right there was the whole dang point of the whole dang fic, spawned from a conversation about bat-shaped magnets and who would own them. I'm always so glad when I get to use a line exactly as I first heard it.
Batman made a low noise that sounded like a grumble, one Dev had come to realize meant something like distress. Wayne had used it only yesterday to fuss over a dog-eared page Tim had left in his copy of Treasure Island. There was something perversely comforting about being placed on the same level as a bent piece of paper.
I had loved reading that book as a kid. The full, original, unabridged version. I can't even really say why now, but I do love giving Bruce similar interests when I can swing it.
Batman had taken a step back so he no longer loomed between Dev and the light.
. . .
Batman waited patient and still.
. . .
Giving Dev and the chaos around him a wide berth, Batman retrieved a clean hand towel from the drawer next to the stove and handed it to Dev.
He's no dummy, that Bruce.
The opaque lenses eyed him steadily for a moment more, then Batman turned away. He looked about until he spotted Dev’s bag by the door and rifled through the pockets until he found the mobile. After a quick dial and a few murmured words, he passed the device to Dev.
Ugh, figuring out the practicalities gave me a bit of a hiccup at first. They wouldn't just leave the intruder chilling on the floor, even restrained. But if I let Bruce leave, then Dev would take care of himself before Bruce could get back and do it for him but on the other hand if he weren't well enough to take care of himself, Bruce wouldn't feel comfortable leaving!
As always, Alfred saves the day.
Wayne shut the door, then crossed the space between the door and Dev to crouch just out of arm’s reach. “May I help you up?”
“If you flip that switch by the door, the lighting’s alright.”
Wayne nodded and backed away.
Bruce Wayne is NO FOOL and I love writing unspokens. Bruce knows better than to crowd Dev right now and when he asks for permission to help Dev up, Dev doesn't give it. Because he doesn't feel steady enough to get up. And Bruce gets all that without Dev having to say it out loud, so he pivots to meeting him on the floor instead!
One of those knees rested against Dev’s thigh as Wayne leaned forward to remove the towel. The warmth of it was grounding and Dev shivered as a piece of him came back to himself.
casual platonic touchingggggggg
The next bit of dialogue banter is also a fave. I like giving Dev the backward and archaic (to American ears) phrasings that work so well as Britishisms and I love him giving Bruce crap and Bruce giving it right back.
Dev retched, bidding a woeful farewell to the microwave burrito that had been his only food in the last eight hours.
The fact that I can, even when reading this, picture both the microwave burrito in question and the box likely means I pulled that detail from a memory. I don't like burritos, and certainly not frozen ones, so a memory of what, from where, who's to say. The mind is a mysterious thing.
He spat, then sat back again, this time against a warm brick wall of human instead of the cold metal door of the icebox.
. . .
“You’re alright,” Wayne said in a voice low enough to make his chest rumble against Dev’s back. It was a little like leaning against a tiger.
and now we're just being suuuuper indulgent. This was why I wanted to bang up his head. I want to use Bruce Wayne's chest as a backrest.
Wayne smacked a kiss against Dev’s temple and rumbled, “Yes. Hand me the kit.”
a gift from me to me
“Then I’ll get one every single day. And I’ll come check on you every single day.” Bruce nudged Dev into the room, then released his elbow to rifle through the dresser drawers.
THAT'S LOVE YO
He picked a pajama set off the top and placed them on the bed.
I spent too long frowning at this line during this BTS write-up. I can't decide if that's wrong, actually, because Dev would never be put together enough to have matching pajamas or if it's correct because he'd toss one into his cart out of expediency and laziness.
Dev hesitated and looked to the still-open window. Bruce’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “We’ll do something about that as well. You have the couch tonight, I’ll take the floor.”
I decided, as I was coming to the end, how I wanted it to end and that would not work if Bruce was on the couch in another room. Thank goodness I'd already set up the open window.
“You’ve already set off the heart rate monitor six times since I’ve been here, and if I went home now, Alfred would just send me back. Go to sleep, Kiran.”
This was also suuuuuper important to me, acknowledging that Bruce knows Dev but also has independent confirmation of how Not Good he's doing, no matter how well he's been hiding it, because the dang heart alert is still going off! I think I may have been feeling indeterminately anxious while writing this.
There was a hand in Dev’s, broad and calloused and strong. Dev held it while he slept.
I know exactly what Bruce Wayne's hand looks like and mannnnn I want to hold it so bad.
Rereading @audreycritter 's Cor Et Cerebrum series!
I wanted to say thank you, Audrey; your wonderful fics have sustained me over the last couple weeks as I've been unwell in bed. Your writing is deft and lovely, and somehow with Dev you have created one of my favorite characters ever.
So now that I feel a little better I obviously have to doodle some Kiran Devabhaktuni as I shake the rust off. More to come, rest assured.
(Psst! If you haven't read it, I 1000000% recommend it.)
Everytime i read something about nature therapy, forest bathing, etc — without fail I just think of Dr. Dev
as if I can somehow email him links as tribute to his growing file of research that proves the effectiveness of nature therapy, despite the fact that he continues to be a person who regrettably,,,, does not exist,,,
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni & Jason Todd, Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni & Tim Drake, Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni & Bruce Wayne, Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni & Alfred Pennyworth
Characters: Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, So much angst, rated t for dev, he’s English he swears a lot, physical affection between men, leave your toxic masculinity at the door, here be fear toxin and tears and lots of emotions, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent
Summary:
Dev skids into the medbay, instantly taking in the scene in front of him. Wayne is standing next to a gurney, Tim on the other side, and they’re both trying to hold down a screaming Jason Todd, clothed in a pair of black jeans and a simple t-shirt. So not on patrol, then. Bloody hell, he thinks, before quickly tossing his kit down onto a nearby gurney and wordlessly shouldering Wayne out of his way. The other man is tight-lipped and pale, the top half of his suit missing and his left arm cradled awkwardly against his chest.
————————
Jason gets dosed with fear toxin as a normal civilian, and Bruce proves nothing matters more than his kids.
[whump of July prompt #7 ‘screaming’]
