dfordangerous: (you in so much fukkin trouble)
Damian Wayne | First Son ([personal profile] dfordangerous) wrote in [community profile] dreamsanddisasters2014-08-21 12:12 am

Age Reversal AU (For Batfam)

[ His father is dead, and he's still reeling from the shock. Alfred and Tim both know he's barely keeping it together, for all his standoffish composure. Years of preparing for this moment--

(steeling himself, to watch his father be laid to rest next to his grandparents)

--have done little to offset the grief. He wouldn't be seen at all if it weren't for his brother; if Tim hadn't coerced him out of his room in the hours following the funeral, hadn't confessed his worries for Cass (retreated, to the attic of all places), Jason (god, Jason, Damian's own cunning little húlí, he'd adored the man), and his father's newest stray, Richard. Dick. His father's Robin.

His Robin, now. As strange as the thought is. But the cowl is his, and so is Robin.

His Robin, who Alfred has informed him is currently making his roost up in the ballroom's chandeliers. Refusing to come down.

Damian, briefly, contemplates leaving him up there in favor of finishing reviewing this case file.

('He'll come down when he gets hungry,' he tells Alfred.

'He's in mourning, Master Damian,' Alfred points out, with all the dry chastisement his stiff upper lip can give.

'I'll get the broom.')

And here he is. He finds himself squinting in irritation up at the boy monkeying around on the fragile, expensive crystal. ]


Richard. [ Prim, clipped tones. Damian hardly raises his voice unless his fuse is blown; usually only when he's locked in a shouting match with Tim or with his father.

He doesn't know Richard that well. The boy is a relatively fresh arrival, and the past few months he's been here have seen Damian on longer missions; international and galactic trips alike. Before Bruce's death, they had maybe spent only a few hours in each other's company, and the boy was clearly not overly fond of him. ]


What are you doing?
waywardbird: (Default)

[personal profile] waywardbird 2014-08-26 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
[ Of course he remembers Zsasz. He remembers people weeping, children missing, cops doing nothing like always. His mother had kept him so close it smothered him, but he stayed anyway, too scared to mind his lack of room to breathe. (At the time, he had almost reveled in the attention, in the focus his mother put on him, too happy that she was around and sober to care that he couldn’t go out and play.) To hear that Damian killed him? That was—

His brother killed him. Zsasz was vile and his brother ended that. He ended that reign of terror.

His brother was a hero.

“And then, when you—“

All that wasn’t said there spoke so much louder than everything else Damian said after. Jason wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t dumb, he knew what people were saying when they weren’t saying anything. People said so much when they said nothing at all. ]


You killed…you killed the Joker. [ He said, dumbfounded, shocked, and-- happy. ] He’s gone. He’s. H-He’s—

[ Jason felt terrible for smiling, but he couldn’t help himself. It was all broken, all rough around the edges as he felt himself getting close to crying again, but for the first time since his brother initially found him he felt actual relief instead of the gut-wrenching stress of it all. ]
waywardbird: (τεll ṃε ώøυlḋ ÿøυ  ќïll)

[personal profile] waywardbird 2014-08-27 05:16 am (UTC)(link)
[ And now it was Jason’s turn. Pulling himself up, he flings himself forward, all possible finesse fleeing his body the moment he entered the plane. He pulls his brother in for a hug, burying himself once again in that space beneath his jawline, smiling with relief and gratification. ]

Thank you, thank you, thank you-- [ He mumbles over and over again, too far gone for coherency, just here for this moment, this feeling, this bundle of emotion that he could let go of before it strapped itself to him and flung him in the river to sink with all of his rage. ] Thank you, thank you, thank you—

[ It’s all he can manage and really, nothing more he could say could really display how he feels at this moment. Nothing. ]
waywardbird: (Default)

[personal profile] waywardbird 2014-08-28 10:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[ As his brother talks, Jason finds himself quieting, letting his fevered thank you's fly away from his lips, some of the strain in his muscles finally easing out of his system. He snorts against Damian's collar, curling back up in the frame of Damian's arms.

Things weren't okay. But they were slightly better. And he was going to take that for all it was worth. ]


I couldn't sleep if I tried. [ Every time he closed his eyes, flashes of horrors flickered across his mind's eye. It didn't take a genius to know what awaited him if he decided to even try. ] But good try, bro.
Edited 2014-08-28 22:53 (UTC)
waywardbird: (тнere ιѕ a ғιre ιnѕιde oғ тнιѕ нearт)

[personal profile] waywardbird 2014-08-30 03:08 am (UTC)(link)
...I want real sleep. Not-- not that phony bullshit.

[ Though it might be at least marginally restful, sedatives just didn't do it right. It wasn't real sleep, satisfying in a way that sits in your limbs and makes waking up a pleasure instead of a hassle. Jason had only had maybe a handful of nights of real sleep in his life, too strung out on the stress and pain of it all, but right now it was the only kind of sleep he wanted.

(And he knew he couldn't have it. That's never stopped him from wanting things before, though.)

Uncurling a little, Jason stares up at his brother, a tad incredulous. Damian, you’re going to give Tim a heart attack one day. Jason can’t even be properly surprised. ]


Text is….fine. [ More than fine. Jason knows he looks rough right now, no need to send Tim into overdrive early. ] Preferred, really.
waywardbird: (υѕ αℓℓ υи∂єяgяσυи∂)

[personal profile] waywardbird 2014-08-31 03:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ Thankfully for Tim, Jason is less inclined to give his brother grief right now. Rolling his eyes and scoffing, he reaches over to pick up Damian’s phone, staring at it for a moment as messages flick across the screen. This thing is—much more advanced than Jason remembered. The last phone he’d had was a flip phone, with a numbered keyboard. This thing didn’t seem to have one of those.

But, since he’d seen Damian tapping away at it, it wasn’t too hard to figure out.

With shaking fingers (the edges still scraped and raw), he taps out a quick message to his brother, a condolence for Damian’s impressive assholery. ]


im ok. will c u soon. –j

[ He’s not entirely satisfied with his meager message, but the phone is beginning to weird him out in a way he wasn’t fully expecting. If a phone could change that much in a few years, what else has? And even more than that, his hands are beginning to kind of hurt. Looks like he won’t be typing up reports any time soon.

Setting it back down in its place, he resettles himself against his brother. ]


Tim is gonna smack you later and I’m gonna laugh.
waywardbird: (get it he's the red hood)

[personal profile] waywardbird 2014-09-04 03:35 am (UTC)(link)
Not sure what you can do--

[ But he offers his hands up anyway, too tired at his point to protest his brother's help. He watches Damian's actions lazily, eyelids never drooping, but breathing slowing slightly as he rests, lucid and awake but relaxed, more at peace. This is a good place.

He wouldn't mind staying here for a while. ]


...You think B's gonna be okay?
waywardbird: (вυяи.)

[personal profile] waywardbird 2014-09-14 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
--I didn’t think B could.

[ Which is a bold faced lie. Jason had seen him smile often. At himself, at Damian, at Tim—but always when he thought their backs were turned, when they weren’t looking. He’d always found that to be a dumb way to show affection, but a very B way. The man couldn’t help himself. He just had to be complicated.

When Damian finishes fussing with his hands, he crosses them across his chest, tucking them against his rib cage. He was cold, but Damian made it better. He was warm to a fault. (Anyone who thought his brother was cold, emotionally or otherwise, was blind—his brother ran bright, ran red in a way that no one else could. Passion was fire). ]


...I hope I make it better. Y'know, instead of worse.

[ He had a habit of doing the latter. It scared him. ]