❞𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓❜𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒?❞ Alexandra Stark, the daughter of Anthony Edward Stark, is just like her father - with some added superpowers - from her genius IQ to her bad fucking luck...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❞He had a really pretty smile.❞
✯✯✯
THEY HAD A BODY, barely recognizable, to bury. The explosion had burnt most of his body beyond recognition. The word on the street was that Robin had gotten caught in the explosion at Arkham, set up by the Joker. And that Jason Todd dropped dead during an attack in Syria, where he had gone on a humanitarian mission.
She didn't know what to do with these fake rumors that Bruce had spread. Of course, he couldn't exactly tell people that his son died in an explosion at Arkham without telling them the entire 'I am night' thing.
The Wayne Manor was depressing. The usual sparkly Dick Grayson was back to his teenage self, all moody, dark, and gloomy, proper Batman's eldest ward material. Nightwing was making appearances in Gotham, leaving behind criminals beaten almost to death, something he had never done ever since he had left the Robin mask behind. Bruce Wayne had not come out of his office ever since Jason's death had made the newspapers. Batman (the uniform) was locked away in the Batcave since he failed to reach Arkham in time.
Alexandra Stark was like Bruce Wayne, locked away in Jason's room. She had snuck the TV system from the den to Jason's room and spent most of her time watching the tape he had made for her before leaving. Nightmare had not missed a night of patrol, because the last time she hadn't gone for patrol, Robin had died.
Alfred knocked on her door, Jason's door actually, "Mistress Stark, we need you to come out?"
She croaked, "We?"
"Master Bruce and Master Dick are waiting for your presence downstairs."
She blinked, Bruce hadn't come out of his office for the past two weeks. She rubbed her sticky cheeks, she had cried 20 minutes ago and had not bothered to wipe the tears away, "I'm — I'm coming!"
She got up, pushing pause on the button of the remote. The tape paused. The flowers he had bought her were sitting in a vase, withering away. She had taken one chrysanthemum from the bunch and had preserved it into a necklace she wore around her neck.
She opened the door and Alfred's face stared back, "Let's go, Mistress Stark."
They reached the living room. Bruce looked like he hadn't slept in the past two weeks, he had dark circles under his eyes and he looked thoroughly dehydrated. Dick wasn't any better, there were bandages around his knuckles, too many bruises to count littered on his arms. She didn't even know the number of bruises hidden behind his short-sleeved shirt.
"This is an intervention, for the three of you," Alfred said. They looked up at him immediately, clearly, all of them had been lied to, "Your behaviors these past weeks have been destructive, not only to Gotham but to yourselves."
