Batfam + References To Being Family (Part 10)

wayne family adventures + text posts: batman edition

its my bisexual right to make superbat and batcat jokes in the same post. btw.

(batkids edition)

+bonus alfred (tw suicide joke)

This fic is super sweet and hilarious, highly recommend!

Distracted

Chapters: 6/6

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Superboy (Comics), Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types

Relationship: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Connor Kent

Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Kon-El | Connor Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Clark Kent

Additional Tags (truncated): Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Identity Porn, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Shenanigans (DCU), The Boys Bully Bruce, Bruce Wayne is So Done, Jason Todd is a Menace, Fluff and Smut, Protective Older Brothers, Meet the Family, Family Dinner, Minor Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent, Minor Dick Grayson/Wally West, Oral Sex, Hand jobs, Frottage, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Surprise Wally West Appearance

Summary:

“Because it’s all your fault!” Kon snapped.

Robin bristled, eyes narrowing. “Oh, it’s my fault, is it?”

“Yes!” Kon tugged at his hair in frustration.

Robin stepped forward, closing the gap between them, getting in Kon’s face. “Enlighten me. How exactly is any of this my fault?”

“What color are your eyes?”

“I-” Robin took a step back in bewilderment. “What?”

~

Kon has been distracted and Robin finally confronts him.

something about a legacy that was never supposed to become one. about a grief never meant to become a title. he drives me insane

Me rn. I should be writing Bat...man? or Beyond the walls but i dont wanna. The trans Jason Todd story demands to be written.

when jason died, they buried him with the possessions that he carried on him all the time. there was a pocket knife tucked into his sock, the bracelet on his wrist from catherine that he never took off, a tangled pair of earbuds in his back pocket, and, in the top pocket of his jacket, the cellphone that bruce bought for him after he was adopted.

that cellphone stayed with jason in his grave. went with him when he dug his way out. somehow stayed on his person when he was taken by the league, and he managed to convince talia to let him keep it throughout all his training.

he doesn’t know why, maybe as a grief thing or maybe just because bruce forgot and it’s not like the bill effected him in any way, but he never stopped paying jason’s phone bill. his number’s still active, still working after all this time. even weirder, but dick started adopting the tradition of adding his dead brother’s phone number to each and every family group chat any of them created after ethiopia. again, jason doesn’t know why. maybe it was dick’s way of carrying his memory with them; including him in family conversations even if they all thought the number was connected to a long buried phone in the pocket of a long dead boy.

the point is that jason wasn’t dead any more. and all throughout his time at the league, he gets to watch the family chats. the mission statuses, the arguments, the rapid spiral every chat went through where they started off using it as a serious bat communication centre only for dick or tim to send a meme and instantly spiral into nothing but chaos that bruce would neither take part in or attempt to stop. jason spectates it all, always fingering the keypad but never actually typing out a message. he came close when there was a heated debate between steph and dick about the best donut types and he knew they were both absolutely fucking wrong, but luckily tim came in to educate them on the right choice last second and jason was saved from having to reveal himself.

the closest call was when little damian got a hold of his phone, attracted to the bright colours of the block game jason had been absently playing out of boredom while ra’s droned on about whatever had pissed him off that day. he’d let the kid play, sat on his lap and eagerly jabbing at the screen, and jason had only looked away for at most a minute before he’d turned back to find the screen open on the family chat, damian having accidentally clicked on the camera button and taken a selfie of the two that he’d been about to send through. luckily, jason deleted it in time, but he became much more careful about letting the kid play with his shit after that.

this is all just a long winded explanation and backstory for and au i think would be funny where jason’s reveal is literally just him deciding to fuck with his family by randomly dropping in through text like:

-in the chat-

bruce: status report.

dick: hungry :( but good!

steph: seconded, im fine

tim: drug bust went to plan, on way back to cave uninjured

cass: ^ same answer

babs: everything seems calm from what i can tell

jason: a little claustrophobic but the coffin’s kinda homely so ig no complaints from me

.

.

.

several people are typing…

Don't mind me, I'll just be here, screaming incoherently about how beautiful this is

Wax Wings and Gotham Skies

Everyone always talks about how Icarus fell. Not enough people talk about how he flew.

About the boy who looked the sun in the eye and smiled. Who laughed as the heat blistered wax and feather, as gravity remembered his name.

They call him arrogant. Reckless. Say he should’ve known better. But maybe he did. Maybe he just wanted to see how close a mortal could get to divinity before the world pulled him back down.

Because there’s something sacred in the reaching. Something holy in the trying. And even if the fall is inevitable— there is still meaning in the flight.

And far from the sun, beneath a sky choked in smog and sirens, in the bones of a city that never sleeps, another boy is born to that same story.

No prophecy named him. No legacy claimed him. Not shaped in fire, nor vengeance, nor divine right. He was not forged like a weapon, or claimed like an heir. Instead, he saw the shape of a myth stitched into Gotham’s skyline—a shadow stretching across rooftops and ruins— and stepped toward it with empty hands and open eyes.

He was not called. But he came anyway.

Like Icarus, he didn’t wait for permission to reach. Tim Drake was a boy built from questions, sleepless nights, and the aching need to know. He was a boy carved from questions, sharpened by silence. The kind of boy who watched too long and listened too well. The kind of boy who stared too long into shadows and found himself staring back.

He pieced together wings from scraps— late-night stakeouts, news clippings and coffee-stained theories. A thousand tiny truths stitched together from silence. He studied the dark like scripture, read between bruises and newsprint until a pattern emerged.

No one gave him a path. So he drew one in ink and breath and quiet resolve.

Not for glory. Not to be seen. But because the pull of the sky was louder than fear. Because some part of him—deep and unrelenting—refused to stay grounded.

And maybe that was the beginning of the end. Perhaps chasing what was already breaking was always meant to end in ash. Maybe he was never meant to carry the weight of a symbol sewn in grief. Maybe no boy can hold the sun and not burn.

But when the cracks came, he didn’t look away.

He climbed. He reached. He flew.

And when the wax burned and the feathers tore loose, he didn’t scream.

He smiled.

Because like Icarus, he had touched something divine. And he knew— that to fall is to have once reached the sky and kissed the sun.

You don't understand there's a part of me that wants Alfred Pennyworth to never age but there's another part that's like

As Alfred grows older his body grows tired and everyone notices. And for Bruce that's his surrogate father. For everyone else that's Grandpa. Immediately there's a secret boot camp in the Batcave for everyone to start learning how to better care for themselves. Selina Kyle assisting of course.

There's already disability accommodations for Barbara so they just need to tweak and add some stuff. They've learned from her needs and start researching on how to care for the elderly for Alfred specifically.

On paper he's still a butler but really everyone (who lives or stays for a long time in Wayne manor) makes sure they learn how to do the hardwork for themselves. Most of his job is just to be there for them honestly. They insist on doing things for themselves.

But Alfred is Alfred. So he knows what's going on. And he's so deeply proud of them. He doesn't let him do anything he insists he can or wants do himself. He's still his own person after all, and they gradually learn his boundaries and patterns.

Bruce keeps paying him but not in a way you'd pay a butler usually. More in a way where you'd send money to your retired parents.

Do you see my vision?

Wonder Woman: The Hiketeia

Wonder Woman #20 : Dark knight of the soul!

I always wonder if Clark has accidentally called Bruce by a Midwestern pet name without realizing

Bruce: Superman

Clark working on something: yes darlin

Bruce*burning bright red*: uhmm.... M-Mission reports

Clark, oblivious: what's that doll?

Bruce gay panic Wayne: nothing.... doesn't matter

*Smoke bombs away*

Clark finally turn around: weird. what was that about

Later that night in bed Clark wakes up in a cold sweat realizing what he's done.

Clark: Oh no. He's gonna kill me

_____

Bruce still on the floor 6hrs later: you don't understand Alfred. That midwest charm. It's psychological warfare.

Alfred so done with this gay shit: I only asked if you want tea, Master Wayne. However I now realize that nothing can quite quench your thirst

i don't usually ship those two but this is cute. Maybe an idea for the future

I love a teen Jason who has a big fat crush on Dick. He sees him and he can't help to feel all nervous and shit, because Dick is just beautiful in every aspect like that. Dick sometimes is a jerk, but he also understands why and can't really blame him, but then Dick is really nice and sweet with him and oh, Jason is so helpless. Jason waits for the next time they'll meet with excitment, because Dick cares for him, because Dick knows how to stop him but also knows how to let him fly. And then he dies. And then he comes back.

He thinks he's already past all that, you know, being all sad and angry at Bruce, at the world, doesn't really give him space to think about anything else. He lives with that, because even if he had the time to give it a thought, he knows he'll never get to anything. And then he sees him again.

He has shorter hair, he is just a little bit taller than what he remembers, but Jason is also taller than him. He's wearing a tight black with blue suit, and his smile even in risky situations is still there, perfect and beautiful as ever. He looks more composed, much more mature but his voice and laugh is a jovial as it used to. He moves in control and grace, with freedom that only the experience grants only a few.

Then they meet eyes.

And God, Jason is so fucking helpless.