#sugarbatsy

[the-nado-hunter]

Go to bed

Never

[dented-nado]

67 for aNgsT

[[ Ya got yourself some Angst Rach. I made myself very sad witlh this so fkjsalkfjlaksj Im going to need some hardcore fluff injections]]67: “This is where I belong”Small warning for self-destructive talk/behaviorSome people liked to say Batman was never unprepared, he’d always pull through, figure it out. He had a contingency plan for every member of the Justice League, even his own family, if any of them were to go rogue or fall under mind control.

He’d figure it out.

Because he’s Batman.

Simple as that.

Some were sure Batman’s only weakness was being human, and even then, the most powerful members of the League knew perfectly well Batman had a damn good chance of taking them down if he really wanted to.

Only a few knew how wrong that was. Only a few knew Batman’s true, ultimate weakness… the thing that would guarantee bring him to his knees, subdue him beyond all recovery, stop him from fighting another day…

...was Batman himself.

Because Batman was able to torture Bruce better and more frequently than anyone else. Batman could starve him, keep him up all night, have him end up bruised, battered, bleeding, and still never feel like what he did was good enough.

Always had to be better, had to get up, had to keep going.

Keep trying keep trying, don’t stop even for a second or you’ll let them down. How could you fight the thing that also kept you safe? Fight what was keeping you alive while also locking you off from being close to anyone else? How could you fight something that felt like it was a driving force towards a greater good?

Even if that meant destroying yourself in the process.Because deep down, he felt like he didn’t deserve to have a life. That was why Batman could destroy him.

Because Batman was always ready and willing to tear himself apart, become nothing more than ash in the wind.

Alone, in the dark, unloved, feared.

“This is where I belong.” He told himself as he lurked in the shadows.

Prepared to take another bullet, break another bone, go home cold, tired, and hungry if he came home at all. “Do it for them… do it for them… don’t fail.”

All for the greater good…. right? That’s why Batman was his own worst enemy, because he alone can torture himself and bar himself off from the connection to others he desperately needed and wanted… and still justify it at the end of the day.

Even if it meant hurting himself and those around him who love him.

[nadohunter]

Nado my love if you're still taking requests I would die if you drew Clark in 2E

Rach, I would conquer the world for you so you may absolutely have a Clark Kent in 2E.

[hawkgirlsmash]

Oh wise and talented lyds can I get some diana and Clark comforting Bruce (who maybe was separated from a Robin during patrol and Bruce is just really scared??)

>>  trinity friendship. dick grayson is robin. 💛

Clark is still at the Planet when Bruce calls his cell. It’s midnight. Everybody else had left the building hours ago, but Clark had been caught up in a fire in Dubai all afternoon, and he still has a deadline to meet first thing in the morning.

It’s the sight of the screen lighting up with Bruce’s name—not the loud trill of the ringtone in the empty bullpen—that jolts Clark out of his reverie.

Bruce rarely calls at all.

Bruce never calls this late.

“Hey,” Clark says, concerned. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Clark can hear Bruce’s breath catch in his throat, a sharp, wordless inhale. Something has him rattled.

“Bruce? What’s—”

“It’s Dick.”

Geez. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Bruce’s voice is fraught with barely-concealed panic. “We were supposed to meet back at the docks forty-five minutes ago. He’s lost his communicator. You can conduct a more efficient search than I can. Help me find him.”

“Of course,” Clark says, already standing up and divesting himself of his jacket. “How do you know he lost his comm?”

Bruce’s answering silence is evasive. Clark can guess what it means.

“You put a tracker on your sidekick?”

“He’s fifteen,” Bruce says tersely.

“I’m not disagreeing with you.” Clark climbs the stairs to the roof. “I’m not all that surprised, actually. And I don’t object to your motives, either. I just—you know, we’ll talk about this some other time. Are you still at the docks?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve checked the warehouses there, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute. Have you called Diana?”

“Not yet.”

“I will.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says quietly, and hangs up.

Clark sets his phone down at the top of the stairwell and steps out onto the rooftop. “Diana.”

She meets him in the street.

“Bruce?” she asks, with concern.

“Dick is missing.”

Diana nods. “You will search from the skies?”

“Yes. But Gotham’s walls are stuffed with lead.”

“I will look where you cannot,” Diana says, understanding. “We will find him.”

—

It takes ten minutes of their combined efforts to locate Dick Grayson in a grimy factory basement and another five to deliver Penguin’s henchmen to the GCPD.

—

Bruce is as still as the gargoyles that populate the city he defends, hunched on the couch with his hands clasped between his knees. He doesn’t look up when Diana and Clark sit down on either side of him.

“Dick is asleep?” Diana asks gently.

Bruce stares into the teacup Clark had placed in front of him on the coffee table and makes no attempt to answer.

Diana has never needed an answer from him. She covers his hands with her own.

“He is very strong,” she says, “for one so young.”

Bruce closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“And he was unhurt,” Clark adds. “He’ll bounce back in no time.”

“I know,” Bruce says. His voice is like gravel. “I know he is, and he will, because he’s done it before. He’s been through worse. But how often can I—how many times can I expect…” He trails off, and his fingers tense even more beneath Diana’s hands.

He isn’t expecting an answer, either. There is no correct reply or absolute truth that be compelled, here.

“You will speak with him tomorrow,” Diana says. “For now, he is resting—as you should be, too.”

“No,” Bruce says, his eyes following the steam that rises from his teacup. “No. Not right now.”

Neither Clark nor Diana argues. They remain by his side, silent, shoulder-to-shoulder, until exhaustion takes him.