Prompt Post - Part Five [CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS]
THIS PART IS NOW CLOSED. YOU CAN CONTINUE POSTING FILLS, BUT PLEASE PROMPT ALL NEW THINGS HERE.
Part one here!
Part two here!
Part three here!
Part four here!
Feel free to reprompt posts from parts one, two, three or four in part five once. If you do so, I'd recommend leaving a link to your fill on the original prompt, in case somebody is tracking ( Read more... )
I was not Drake.
“Bruce Wayne is dead.” I waited-watched for his reaction, and predictably his eyes widened in a child’s manner of utter surprise.
“Oh,” was his short response. Not-Grayson’s voice diminuendoed horribly, fragile and broken. There was no longer that innocence, nor that sense of attachment to him, and in semblance he resembled the Grayson I’d grown to detest less, these past few months. A sense of lost overshadowed his gaze, and although clearly an inch or two taller than I myself, he placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed tightly. “Rob, I’m…so sorry…”
“Don’t-”
It was not until the moment later, that I realized his touch on my shoulder was merely formality, as he pulled my body into a tight hold, within a firm clutch, his nose buried at my ear and arms curled tight around my neck. I suppose, too, that he was on the tip of his toes while initiating this death grip upon me, with no intention of letting go.
There was no room to breathe. Tt. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Hugging you,” Not-Grayson said, though very inaudibly. He clung on to the point I was sure he’d broken a rib and there was no room to get an arm free. Then ascertaining my discomfort, he seemed squeezed tighter with a quiet, livid giggle in the shell of my ear. “You forget that already, Robin? This,” he made a point by clinching tighter, quite possibly even twirling for emphasis, “is a hug. You give it to someone you care for…really, really care for, when you want them to get better.”
“Release me.”
“Nope.” Unfortunately my commentary simply made this situation worse.
“Grayson,” I scowled, still uncaring for his methods, “you-” Pause. This posture, with the way the would-be Second Batman held me was not that of the second Batman. Not. Grayson. At the word of Father’s death alone, he’d gone frail like a small child - clinging without at least 57% of the muscle mass he would gain later in his lifetime - and intended to comfort my loss, yet along the way it resulted with him attempting to find solace through me.
“Master Richard,” Pennyworth called, evidently finally prepped for this DNA test. “A simple hair will do.”
Hesitation fluttered across Not-Grayson’s features as he pulled away from my form. A frown danced across his features, and through his eyes glistened a sense of revitalization that’d been lost once he was given the news. “You gonna be alright?”
“I am fine.”
“Good.” He plucked a hair from my own scalp-
“What-”
--and cartwheeled toward Pennyworth, landing precisely at his feet with a strand of my short hair between one hand and a strand of his own, in the other. Their backs remained turned, far from my line of vision.
A scowl spread across my lips and I stomped by their side. It was a momentary distraction at best as Not-Grayson handed both DNA samples off to Alfred to put in the analyzer, not a stroke of an epiphany running through him.
He after all, still thought that I was him.
“Thank you.” Pennyworth smiled courteously, taking observation of the much longer hair before dropping aside in one container. “I apologize, Master Richard-this is only precaution, and-”
“You dropped the sample I got from your Rob, Alf.” Not-Grayson’s voice reigned with surprise and he tilted his head to the side, hands on his hips. “Any reason why?”
A cold chill ran through that fool, Pennyworth, as he looked to me for answers. It was not going to match because we were not the same person and in no way, heralded from the same DNA.
Tt. There was no way around it. “Because I am not you.”
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