Real/Safe Deleted Scenes

WTF

Just a collection of times the Batfam + Cora have said wtf. They are my favorite kind of scenes to write and read. So that also means trigger warning for literal torture.

Cora had been reading a new book series. Fantasy once again, as per her usual. But one line has stuck out to her, despite reading 2000 pages of plot and dialogue.

And she knows just the person to ask about obscure and possibly violent questions.

"Hey Dami, my love, sweetheart?" She asks sweetly. Damian looks up from cleaning his armour.

"Yes, beloved?" He responds, his chest feeling warm at the names.

"How much blood would you need to make a sword? Like how many people would it take?" Cora asks easily. Damian gives her a long look before raising a brow.

"Why?" He asks, more out of curiosity than concern. Trust is a strong bond, I suppose.

"Because there's been this one line rattling around in my head. 'A sword forged with the blood of my enemies.' So, I was just kinda wondering." Cora shrugs, as if asking for the weather.

"Oh, 400. Give or take depending on body mass and iron levels." Damian answers, just as casually.

Tim, who had stepped into the room to grab a wrench, slowly backs away. He did not grab his wrench.

******

'Twas the night before a gala, and all through the manor, not a creature was stirring, not even a bat. But Cora Sanchez is a restless girl, and she needs a midnight snack.

She creeps from her room, her footsteps too loud for the silent hallway. She avoids the creaky stairs, but there's always that one step that no one can miss, no matter how hard they try.

She slips across the tiled floors like a shadow, unseen and barely heard. She opens the kitchen door without so much as a creak.

Until it hits something with a dull thud.

"Ow." A deep voice says. Cora freezes, slowly turning to where the sound came from.

"Tim?" She whispers. She flicks on the lights, eliciting several agonized groans.

As she looks out at her family, the 5 people closest to her, with whom she feels utmost comfort around, there are 3 not-very-innocent words ringing in her mind.

Tim is laying on the floor, his head close to the previously opened door. Damian is sitting on the counter, eyes glinting like a wolf caught in a trap. Jason is sprawled halfway through the door way to the dining room, face down and with half a shirt on. Dick is hanging upside down from the cubards, legs hooked between the ceiling and the wooden boxes.

But the person who illicits the most confusion is Bruce Wayne himself. Standing at over 6 feet of pure awkwardness, a father in body and spirit, holding a wine glass full of cereal. Milk and spoon included.

******
This is the trigger warning one and the last scenario for now.

The day a person snaps is always a memorable one. It's not always a mental breakdown, sometimes it's an emotional happening. This time it's both.

They thought they were prepared for anything. They were trained, for longer and harsher than any other children, by the world's greatest detective.

But not a single person who works with the bat was prepared to see Cora get hit with fear toxin. She wasn't even supposed to be there.

She was standing in an alley, just far enough away from the fight that they thought she'd be safe. A first aid arsenal filling her utility belt, ready to help should they need it.

But it was her that would need their assistance.

A thug, henchman technically, injected her before she even knew he was there. And then that man ran for his life, because he saw the mask on her face and the guns on her hips. She is not a lonely little girl, and her family is not friendly.

She heard the laughter first, and she crumpled like a pile of sand against a tidal wave of fear. She screamed then, and she screams now.

Cut after cut, she feels the card slice into her flesh. She doesn't bleed but she feels every agonizing rip and tear caused by flimsy cardboard. She feels the heat of the flame and tastes blood in her mouth.

Through her torment she can just barely hear Damian, her saviour. He holds her close but she can't feel his warm embrace, the safety in it. She feels the stomach turning pain that just. Won't. Stop!

"Make it stop! Please! Help me!" She sobs into his chest. Her braid is coming loose, the strands of hair sticking to her sweat-slicked face.

Her wounds get deeper and deeper, her throat burning until it's raw from her screams. She can't hear Damian, or feel how gently he carries her back to the Batmobile. She only sees pale skin and a purple suit, yellowing teeth gnashing out insults.

"Make it stop. Make it stop." The girl pleads tears falling in streams. The boy holds her tighter, pressing her head to his chest.

"You're all right, beloved. It's okay. You're safe. It's not real." He murmurs, pained deep in his chest to see her this way. So small and broken in his arms.

"I'll kill you." She whispers, barely more than a thought on the wind. Still, it catches all who heard it off guard. Damian subtly holds her arms down, continuing to mutter back his own assurances.

Batman almost crashed the Batmobile, and the others sitting alongside the pair had the same, single thought in their heads. A rare occurrence.

But hearing such violent words come from such a sweet girl is a shock to the system.

She makes no other threats, and she says nothing else for the remainder of the car ride. It's as if she simply fell asleep.

But Damian can see her amber eyes as clearly as if it were a sunny day. Her sobs have stopped, replaced by the occasional hiccup. Her breathing is shallow, but not enough for concern.

It's only when she's laying in a cot, antidote coursing through her veins, does she speak once more.

"I heard you." She whispers to her boyfriend. "When I said I'd kill him. I heard you then."

Damian strokes his thumb over their clasped hands. He watches the movement, not daring to look in  her eyes.

"Why did you say it?" He asks, his voice almost a hoarse as hers. She remains quiet for a long minute.

"Because I would have. Right then, I would have killed him." She says quietly, watching the way his jaw clenches.

"And now?" He questions.

"Possibly. But I don't think I could even look at him long enough to do it." The girl admits. The boy stays quiet for a long time.

"I understand." He finally says.

******
Well that ended differently than I thought it would....

But did you guys know that 'Dami' means 'my blood' in Arabic? And that it's a term of endearment? Because I didn't but I will be using this information in a different book.