Batfam x F!Reader (Platonic)
Characters : Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Jason Todd/Red Hood, Tim Drake/Red Robin, Damian Wayne/Robin
Summary: A mission goes wrong and you unfortunately end up being held hostage with Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian. Your captives become rather frustrated when none of you stop talking.
Warning : Mentions of violence. A trigger warning for those with emetaphobia (vomit, sick, etc).
This wasn’t how the mission was supposed to go.
You were rather embarrassed, actually. Bruce had been in a good mood and was uncharacteristically willing to take a night off from patrolling, meaning he was allowing you and your brothers to scour Gotham for trouble. But, something or another went wrong (you blamed Jason for going rogue), and now you found yourself vulnerable and incapacitated in the middle of who-knows’ hideout.
“B isn’t going to be impressed,” you drawled, head still spinning from the whack to the back of your skull earlier that night. Your eyes were lulling slightly, and you briefly feared you were suffering from a concussion.
Dick sat across from you, his eyes looking unfocused. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t respond at all, but then some life flared in his eyes and he reeled himself into the conversation. “He won’t let us patrol by ourselves again, that’s for sure.”
Damian shuffled against his bonds. “We wouldn’t be here if that imbecile followed the plan accordingly.” There was a pause of quiet as everyone turned their heads to stare accusingly at Jason.
“Wha——me?!” Jason barked. His shoulders jerked against the rope securing his arms to his body. You would have laughed at the way he looked like he was simply bouncing on the spot, but the situation called for being serious.
“Yes,” Damian hissed, “you.”
Tim let out a low groan from his bundle on the ground. “Can we stop shouting? You’re hurting my head…”
Jason and Damian ignored their brother. “How is any of this my fault, exactly? As far as I’m aware, you were showing off with those stupid little moves! I maintained my position, thank you very much.”
Damian scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. You wander off like a lone wolf all the time. It’s no wonder that tonight ended badly because you are unable to fight with us properly as a team.”
Jason opened his mouth to argue his point, but one of the men that stood guard slammed his baton threateningly against the metal doorway. It tanged loudly, effectively shutting your brothers up. “Stop talking. There’s no reason for any of you to be making noise.”
Your head rolled to the side as the room started to spin, and eventually you found yourself slumping into the ground in a pathetic heap. Pain shot out from your ribs, and you suppressed a cry to maintain some dignity. Dick, unsurprisingly, was the first to notice your struggle.
“Are you hurt, Birdie?” Dick asked, his voice sounding gritted and strained. You appreciated him remembering to use your code name. There had been a handful of times where your real name had slipped out from his mouth, almost landing you into some real trouble.
You forced a smile despite the nausea swimming in your gut. “Peachy,” you joked weakly, “I think one of my ribs is broken—or bruised, I’m not sure. And my head hurts.”
Dick stared at you sympathetically. “I should have been watching you closer. It’s my fault that you’re hurt.”
“No, it’s not. Don’t say that. You had your own targets to be occupied with.”
“I let one of them slip from view, and they changed their target from me to you. That’s my fault for being overconfident and careless,” Dick confessed. He tilted his head back to lean against the cool mast that towered towards the ceiling. You hadn’t realised how tall the building was until you strained your head to look up. “We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t tried to take them all on by myself.”
“Stop,” you muttered, closing your eyes briefly to stop the world from spinning so fast. “It’s not your fault, Nightwing. We all made mistakes tonight. It’s a joint effort.”
Damian let out a derisive snort. “Speak for yourselves. My technique was flawless.”
Jason shot him a glare. “You got thrown at the wall,” he deadpanned. “I hardly call that a flawless technique.”
The same man from earlier rapidly banged his baton against the doorframe. Over and over, metal gangs rang out loudly, and each one sounded like drums shattering inside your ears. You cringed and pressed your forehead into the ground in a poor attempt to make it stop, meaning you missed the way your brothers all reeled back and groaned in discomfort.
“Stop. Talking.” The man reiterated, this time sounding less patient than before.
Silence followed immediately. You kept your eyes closed for a few deep breaths, then forced them open to look around at your captured brothers. Each of them looked irked or tired. None of you were used to waiting around to be rescued, so this felt entirely new.
Tim sighed. All heads turned to look at him. “I’m hungry.”
Jason hummed in agreement. “I’ve got those chicken leftovers waiting for me in the fridge.” He licked his lips for emphasis.
Dick shuffled against his bonds. “Oh, you mean the pasta?”
Jason nodded. Dick cringed.
“Sorry man, those aren’t in the fridge anymore.”
Jason’s posture straightened immediately. “You ate them?” He accused, his eyes flaring wildly with disgust. “I was saving those!”
“I thought they were just up for grabs…”
“You think everything is up for grabs,” Jason said with a scoff, his head shaking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t have anything nice for myself anymore, can I?”
Dick groaned. “It wasn’t just me that ate them.”
You shot Dick a warning stare.
Jason grunted as he tugged at his sides to try and loosen the bonds. To no avail, he remained rooted to the spot. “Who else?”
You ate the leftovers in the fridge all the time, mostly because Alfred knew you munched on them as a late night snack when you weren’t on duty. You had assumed that pasta dish wasn’t any different, and had actually shared it with Dick earlier in the evening. How were you supposed to have known Jason deliberately saved them for himself?
“Honestly, you think you know someone…” Jason muttered, his head shaking in disappointment.
“There wasn’t a name on it,” you said in defence. Your stomach was still churning, so you pulled your knees to your chest in the hopes of easing it. “I made sure to check.”
Jason refused to look at you. “Too late. The damage is done. How am I supposed to ever trust you again? Thief.”
You rolled your eyes. “Pot calling the kettle black.”
Loud, rapid tangs echoed throughout the room once again. You stiffened on the floor and whined loudly, eyes squeezing shut to ease the ache in your skull that reverberated with the noise. God, if Bruce didn’t show up soon to set you all free, you feared that chicken pasta was about to make a dramatic comeback.
“Last warning. Stop. Talking.”
If Tim’s arms were free, you had a feeling he would have given the man a mocking salute. Though, you supposed if his arms were free then none of you would be held captive on the floor right now.
“This is utterly ridiculous. There’s five of us and not a single person can figure a way to cut us loose?” Damian muttered, his angry tone making a show. He wriggled rather wildly and thrashed around like a rabid animal, then suddenly went slack. “Ridiculous,” he repeated in a whisper.
“I’m going to be sick…” you moaned. The room was spinning much faster now, and you knew it was only a matter of time.
Tim flung himself back out of fear. “Not on me. Aim away—aim away!” He demanded.
Jason furrowed his brows together. “Just hold out for a little longer. B will be here soon. Hold it together, Birdie.”
Your skin felt clammy and gross, with a fire burning you from the inside out. “Can’t…” you mumbled.
Suddenly, a hand grasped the hair at the nape of your neck and yanked you upwards. You hissed at the movement and found your eyes meeting those of the angry, impatient guard who had been tasked to watch and keep you all quiet. For obvious reasons, he was frustrated that the simple task was much harder than it seemed.
“I warned you all to stop talking,” the man grumbled, his head shaking with annoyance. His face was flushed beat red, and you wondered if he, too, was feeling the heat of the room. Maybe not as much as yourself, but it looked like he was bothered by it. “Now, you leave me with no choice but to—“
An acidic taste infiltrated your mouth, and your stomach let out one last gargle in protest before everything burst through the dam. The movement from the floor to being dangled onto your feet had stirred the pot too much, and now the contents of your stomach were being projectiled like a secret weapon onto the unsuspecting man’s face.
Once it started, you couldn’t stop. The ground came crashing towards you in an instant. The man had released you in horror and had stumbled away, but the damage was done and he was now covered in the sickening contents of your stomach.
From behind, there was no sound. The boys were quiet and watching the scene unfold in a mix of disgust and amusement. While Dick was concerned that your concussion was much worse than he had initially thought, he was pleased that you had at least aimed your vomit at that criminal. Swings and roundabouts, he supposed.
And just when the situation couldn’t possibly escalate any further, there was a series of screams, shouts, and smoke coming from beyond the doorway.
The boys straightened their postures in preparation for Batmans rescue, while you remained face down on the floor, weak and trembling from the expulsion in your gut. The room continued to spin for you, and you feared another wave of sickness was on its way.
Then, Batman burst into the room. His eyes, cold and calculating, assessed the situation. However, he seemed instantly alarmed at the snivelling guard curled up on the ground, covered in sick, and you face-first and appearing unconscious.
“What happened?” He demanded as he swept throughout the room, effortlessly cutting his sons free of their bonds. He turned to Dick for answers, seeing as he was the oldest of his children.
Dick smiled sheepishly as Jason and Tim peeled you from the floor. Your head lulled to the side, and it was quietly decided that someone would need to carry you out. Tim began helping you on to Jason’s back.
“He told us to stop talking,” Dick explained with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Birdie took that to heart.”
