daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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After Stick abandons Matt he's adopted by Bruce Wayne(who was in New York and met Matt because of reasons). Just tweak the ages to make this work. The family knows about his abbilities and he was Robin for a while. Then he went to college and move to New York to start being a heron on his own.
That can just be the backstory, I'd be happy with any of the bats (or Alfred) showing up to visit and dissaproving of Matt's life choices. Also interacting with the rest of the cast. Like Dick becoming friends with the avocados or Jason and Frank being murderbros.
I just want anything with this premise, i don't even care.

I wonder if Bats would be able to take two Angry!Robins in a row. Maybe Matt and Jason were trained together and encouraged each other to let the devil out.
Or, just imagine how terrible everything would be if Joker took two Robins hostage and only one escaped. Imagine Matt recognizing Jason because their bones both creak the same way from the crowbar injuries.

Idk i just want Bats dealing with two angry children at once and two shattered adults later

This is awesome!

I wonder if Damian and Matt would have banter with one another since Damian is a little shit. This is an awesome idea you have here!

I have multiple other scenelets in mind for anyone interested. I have a cobbled-together universe in mind where Batfamily moved to the DCU with a few select add-ons (first noted below) and continuity is set mostly before One Year Later. AKA Happy Batfamily lalalala I can't hear you.

Matt's animosity toward benefactors is based on personal experience. Donating to worthy causes is great and you should feel great. Demanding a photo op with two particular children and having a mini-tantrum (as a 55 year old man) when a third child wants to beam for your photo op leaves me feeling rather uncharitable about a charitable donation.

///

Matt had been prepared to hate the latest cause for the Sad Blind Orphan Show. Rich person shows up, rich person wants to meet one of the Unfortunate Worthy Children their money would benefit, some unlucky orphan got stuck with the overbearing rich person convinced that their check would change everyone’s lives in some more dramatic way than paying to fix the leaking roof.

Matt had been sitting the back of history class fuming and pretending that he didn’t realize that Mr. Henderson had given him the exact same set of worksheets three times before. Fuming that his name had already been mentioned to the rich guy downstairs was a good distraction. The other times the worksheet mix-up had happened, Sister Margaret had chided that Mr. Henderson should label the curriculum in pen so that he’d be sure to give Matt the correct sheets or that Matt should just have the entire history set so he could work at his own pace. Both of those times Mr. Henderson had read the instructions to the next packet out loud like Matt was a baby in front of the whole class before loudly announcing he’d get back to his students who could see the board.

Mr. Henderson preferred to teach history through a long series of illustrations on the chalkboard. He was a good storyteller, and he did know a lot of history, but he seemed frustrated that Matt had no benefit from some kind of emphatic pointing or the pictures. Mr. Henderson was one of many well-intentioned people that thought that as soon as a kid couldn’t see there was no use in putting much work into a defective student. He couldn’t imagine living without his sight and he couldn’t think of any careers that would take an education and no sight, so he didn’t even pay enough attention to notice that Matt turned in duplicate answers for the duplicate history assignments. During the history lectures that didn’t make sense without the chalkboard, like the current long explanation about how the borders of the thirteen colonies had been sorted out, Matt caught up on his math homework. Sister Margaret taught math and said (honestly) that she liked the intellectual challenge of trying to find better ways to explain geometry.

The man downstairs talking to Sister Agnes should have been as annoying as Mr. Henderson. He’d shown up in a really nice car and with his own driver. The driver was British and actually stood completely still without fidgeting while other people talked. As far as Matt could tell, the British man hadn’t moved the entire time that Bruce Wayne and Sister Agnes were talking about Matt’s trust fund.

Matt wasn’t supposed to know about the trust fund. He also wasn’t supposed to know that Stick was drawing out of it or that a few days after Stick left Bruce Wayne had left a message on the answering machine that had all of the sisters talking with Father Fitzpatrick for two hours. Bruce Wayne had decided to show up to the orphanage in person and he was having a serious talk with Sister Agnes about setting up college scholarships for every single person there through the Wayne Foundation just because it was nice to be a billionaire and solve everything through money. He just got out his checkbook and that was it.

Matt tucked his math worksheets away just in time. Sister Agnes didn’t know much Braille but she would recognize Sister Margaret’s notes on top of the packet. The clear, firm penstrokes were deep enough Matt thought he could understand what she’d written. He was pretty sure it was precisely what she’d put in Braille underneath.

Just as he set the history packet on top, there was a single rap on the door before it opened. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow Matthew, Mr. Henderson,” Sister Agnes said calmly. Just as always, her voice was polite and even, but Mr. Henderson still stuttered as if she had treated him like a baby in front of everybody. Matt hid his smile as he tucked his work into his bookbag. “I believe that I’ll keep him for the rest of this period, actually, Carry on.”

Halfway down the staircase, Sister Agnes turned toward him. He knew that she was smiling. She liked him and said in the sisters-only meetings that some of the teachers weren’t giving him half enough credit. “We have a benefactor that would like to have a word with you, Matthew.”

Matthew nodded. This was part of why he was ready to really dislike Mr. Wayne. Most benefactors wanted fawning thanks and hand-written letters and pictures of themselves with poor orphaned children to show their friends later. Matt had done more than his share of pictures and in-person meetings. The poor orphan blind kid always made the benefactors happy that they were helping a Worthy Child, whatever they thought that meant, and he hadn’t punched a benefactor yet.

Sister Agnes led them to the smaller conference room. If he’d been paying attention, he would have noticed that they used the smaller room. It had the tiny air conditioner that rattled when it was plugged in even when it wasn’t turned on. Almost every rich benefactor wanted the large conference room, instead, with the huge windows that pointed toward the playground.

“Here’s Matthew,” Sister Agnes said to the two men. She had her hand resting on his shoulder. “Matthew, these gentlemen are Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Matt said automatically, holding his hand toward the recognizable rich man.

“Likewise,” Bruce replied with a firm handshake. He stepped back to let the other man shake, too, instead of leaving the group to flail. “Would you please take a seat? There’s an open chair four feet to your left. Thank you, Sister,” he added as Sister Agnes left.

Matt felt for the promised chair and decided maybe Wayne wasn’t all bad. Sister Agnes had left, which she never did when she had a single idea she didn’t like the donor, and Wayne had been right on with where the chair was. Some people forgot even when he had his cane.

“A friend of mine told me about Stick,” Wayne said bluntly when all three had taken a seat. “She’s actually furious that she didn’t realize while he was training you and sends her apologies. Stick and his like belong to a splinter group that left her organization. She still feels responsible for many of the actions that they take.”

Matt blinked. “May I ask who your friend is?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t expect an answer, really, but he wasn’t sure how else to respond to that beginning.

“Talia al Ghul,” Bruce replied. His heartbeat was steady. His driver wasn’t at all shocked that he’d just told a kid that his teacher used to kind of work for the daughter of the Demon’s Head. “Friend is perhaps over-generous, but on occasion we have the same goal,” he amended.

“People don’t just tell kids that,” Matt said, head tilted.

He had thought the challenge would annoy the man. Instead Bruce seemed pleased. “You’re the one that kept Stick’s attention for a near-record streak,” he said mildly. “In any case, being very honest now will save a lot of trouble later. From Stick’s presence alone I know that you are incredibly gifted. Your grades did not suffer even with very… immersive lessons.”

Matt couldn’t figure out how the pieces fit together. Bruce seemed to be implying that the two of them would keep having a relationship or something, and that wasn’t usual donor behavior, but if he had something nasty in mind Matt couldn’t sense it and Sister Agnes had left them alone. Besides, Bruce was leaving him time to think it through, which wasn’t what he would try if he wanted a thank-you for the check. He hadn’t even mentioned the trust fund or the scholarships. Just Stick. “You want to teach me?” he blurted.

Bruce sounded very pleased when he replied. “Yes, I do,” he said. “I was a high-energy young man myself and Alfred quickly realized that having some spare time for martial arts kept me from improvising them on my own. Alfred is the man who raised me after my parents died.”

Matt had forgotten that. Bruce Wayne was an orphan. His parents had been shot right in front of him when he was a kid. “I don’t think I want to get adopted,” he said, lips pressed together. “And more just for learning. Stick was helping me figure out how to get around even though I’m blind. My dad didn’t want me to fight.”

“If you’d prefer, we can stay with non-contact,” Bruce replied. “I prefer to offer so that you don’t have this outlet cut away abruptly. The sisters don’t have the space or people to manage a gym on site.”

Matt nodded slowly. If they had even a punching bag, the older kids would always hog it and probably break it long before anyone thought to let the blind kid have his turn.

“I imagine the two of you will do nicely,” Alfred said kindly. “Knowing how to defend yourself is also important, Mr. Murdock. Sister Agnes mentioned that you have some interest in law. My background is in theater. You may think these are unrelated but I assure you there is no small amount of theater in managing a case in a courtroom. I would be pleased to offer tips about this if your interest continues.”

“It’s your choice,” Bruce said gently. “I have a son around your age, actually, also an orphan. He’ll be pestering me by the end of the day that he’d like to meet you.”

Matt already knew what his answer was going to be. There was still a part of him that hurt from Stick leaving like that. Those doubts were a little easier to silence with just the idea that a billionaire wanted to do a martial arts club with him. Plus, if it didn’t go well, Sister Agnes and Sister Margaret would kick out the bishop if that’s what it took for the kids to be safe. Plus Bruce still hadn’t mentioned the money. He’d talk about Stick and being friends with Talia al Ghul but he didn’t think money mattered all that much. The benefactors he disliked most wanted to hear all about how their money would help.

“I’d like that,” Matt said. Plus, if a couple of the other kids knew that Matt had even talked to Bruce Wayne, they’d want to hear something and for once Matt might have something to say. “When can we start?”

This is great! I really hope you post more! :)

This is awesome! :)

Lol batdevil

OP here. Thank you so much for writing and sharing this. I'll love to hear about your scenelets and headcanons. And yes, batdevil for the win!!!

Author-anon here. I just finished up another scenelet and I'll probably make a series out of it that I de-anon when I straighten up my main timeline and get all of the details squared up. Batfamily is my main feels but I also have MCU feels, so... pretty much exactly the prompt to make me try to share my feels with the world.

So glad that you liked it! Daredevil is already red Batman without the money (or an Alfred, sadly) so it feels very natural for the two of them to be close.

I have a lot of ideas about where the crossover between Batfamily and Avengers and Matt's canon would intersect, this is one of several and the first one to actually resolve into a scenelet.

Friendly Neighborhood Cyberstalker AKA Oracle disapproves of Matt's life choices

Claire’s phone was ringing.

Specifically, Claire’s neglected landline that not even the hospital bothered with was ringing. Her cell phone was still sitting quietly on its charger dock. She frowned at the still-unconscious dumpster-man on her couch before carefully lifting the off-white plastic phone from its cradle. She hadn’t even touched the thing since moving in except to dust it. Everyone called her cell phone.

“I’m very sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” a woman’s voice said politely. It was the kind of tone all of the big-deal supervisors at the hospital developed. She wouldn’t apologize for the inconvenience and she would expect Claire to do exactly as requested. “Unfortunately the idiot on your couch is my responsibility.”

Claire inched the phone away from her face as if that would do any good. “I think you have the wrong number.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. This is Oracle,” the woman continued. “I work with the Avengers sometimes. The idiot on your couch… well, I’ll have it out with him later. If you accept, however, I would be very happy to send help for him. The Black Widow is downstairs and willing to sneak him off to Stark’s tower to have him checked out. Hawkeye offered to make sure that you don’t attract any of the wrong sort of attention for helping him.”

“This guy isn’t an Avenger.”

“Not publicly, ma’am. He is one of ours.”

If she couldn’t trust the Avengers to take care of the unconscious man from the dumpster, then her entire city had gone to shit more than it had already. “Fine,” Claire agreed. “It’s still creepy that you called my phone and tracked through my window, though, so I expect a call at some point letting me know when he’s okay.”

“Deal,” she responded without hesitation. “Do you have a pen handy? If you do get any suspicious questions, I’d like you to be able to get in contact with us.”

“Since that’ll make the surveillance mildly less creepy?” Claire guessed. She rolled her eyes into the telling silence and clicked her pen. “That’s fine. I found a half-dead guy in a dumpster and now I’m the Avengers pet charity project, this is exactly how my night off was meant to go… okay, I’m good. What’s that number?”

By the time that Oracle had rattled off the phone number and Claire had confirmed it, there was a quiet knock at the door. “That’s Black Widow,” Oracle said helpfully as Claire peered through the peephole. Claire actually had the spiral cord of a landline stretched out behind her like her night wasn't weird enough.

There was indeed a gorgeous woman at her door. Claire had trusted the voice far enough to guess that they could have the dumpster guy, she’d believe that Black Widow occasionally went blonde. It was a nice enough wig.

Without the limited fisheye perspective of the peephole, Claire noticed that Widow was wearing the awful polyester polo shirt and khaki pants uniform of a wheelchair transport company and carrying a tattered red canvas medical bag. Even without Oracle still on the phone Claire would have known there was something unnatural about the woman. Black Widow looked good in the awful powder-blue polo shirt and pleated khakis. Claire knew actual models that made the uniform look atrocious.

“You are not going to tell me how many of my patients that need a wheelchair pickup are superheroes,” Claire said firmly after shutting and locking the door behind the two of them. “Other than that, hi, I’m Claire, and he is all yours.”

The woman’s tiny smile made her look much more like the redhead from the Battle of New York broadcast. “I appreciate that you took a chance on him,” she said kindly. “I imagine most people would have called the police at best. At present, that would be unlikely to end well for him.”

Claire covered her smirk when the passed-out man on her couch responded very quickly to Widow’s voice. He looked like he simultaneously wanted to explain himself and dive out of the window.

“Hi,” Widow said, wiggling her fingers at dumpster-man. “You got some ‘splaining to do, as Nightwing put it, but I’m not going to be the one that does the lecture. I’m going to be the one standing in the back of the room and nodding along. Your disguise to get down to transport is crotchety old man. Really we don’t need a disguise for that but you know how I am about the visual cues.”

Claire entered Oracle’s contact number as Blue Shirt Wheelchair Transport Jerks. If anyone looked over her shoulder, that wouldn’t draw one bit of attention from her coworkers. Anyone else looking through her phone would have to get past Bed Transfer Green Logo Asshats and Semi-moron Purple Van Transport. She maybe had a lot of feelings about people who said they would be picking up a patient at 2:00pm sharp and then rolled in at 4:15pm whining that the nurse who had gone home at 3:55pm wasn’t there to give report.

When she glanced up again, Black Widow’s tattered bag of wonders had done its trick. The dumpster guy’s abs and various lacerations were covered in a rumpled burgundy flannel shirt buttoned to the neck. A pair of bulky old-man sunglasses and a well-made wig of disheveled dirty gray hair finished up the look of someone who wouldn’t draw a second glance coming out of her apartment building. He could be any of three different men too sick to leave their apartment more than once a month.

Claire nodded in approval. “You do good work,” she said, phone propped on her shoulder to let Oracle in on the chat. This was her life now, she had two Avengers and whoever the heck Dumpster Man was in a conversation and apparently Hawkeye was on a rooftop somewhere. “I expect an update. If I personally sew up a laceration on my own time I get to know that you didn’t get a matching one on your way home.”

Dumpster man nodded. “I’ll call sometime,” he promised. His voice was pretty deep, actually. Nice voice to be attached to a very attractive piece of trouble.

“You do that,” Claire said with a nod. “Good night, Oracle.”

“Good night, Ms. Temple,” Oracle replied cheerfully. “Thank you so much for your help.”

Claire set the phone back in its cracked cradle and stepped toward the door. “Good night, Black Widow,” she said. She very suddenly felt like she was the protagonist of a very strange book for toddlers that involved far too much blood that was definitely going to stain the couch. “Call me sometime on Thursday, dumpster man, I’m working for the next few days.”

Black Widow smiled as she repeated the finger-wave and hauled Dumpster out the door. Claire shut the door behind them and carefully locked the door, slid the chain into place, and locked the extra lock her landlord did not have the key for. That done, she saluted the window for good measure before collapsing onto the non-bloodied parts of her couch to see just how many mentions there were online of Hell’s Kitchen vigilantes.

Yay! Human Garbage Fire Murdock has a support group!!

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Daredevil Prompt Post #11

Matt is part of the Batfamily-Crossover with Batman Gen

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