Bat-Boy one shots (I dont own the pictures or characters just the stories)

The batboys all held a different part of Gotham.

Richard Dick Grayson held the wind.
He was born to a trapeze family.
He had learned to love falling as much as flying.
You could see it in his hair,
it was always slightly messy.
The way his nose was a little pink.
And his eyes looked like the wind itself swirled around his pupils in an
endless dance of purity, pain
and freedom.
Dick Grayson even smelled like the wind.
He smelled like fresh air and flowers.
Trapeze hand chalk and clean sweat.
It was clear to anyone who saw him,
That the restess wind of Gotham
resided in
Dick Grayson

Jason Todd wasn't Dick Grayson.
He didnt hold the wind, rather, the ground.
Jason grew up on the streets of Gotham.
The uncharacteristically well paved, streets of Gotham.
It was hard to find a pot hole in Gotham but they were there.
The smaller streets had cracks that weren't hidden.
Jason was the same.
It was hard to find a big scar, but his arms and torso were littered with small white lines. The big roads were cleaner.
Jasons scars layed on the covered parts of his body,
avoiding his face.
His temper was most relatable to the streets of Gotham.
When it got dark,
he became unpredictable.
He became quiet.
The darkness woke something in him like a disease.
With Jason, you never knew if you'd survive the dark,
the night.
But you knew he would never stop fighting.
Because he was covered with the cracks that filled Gotham's streets.
Because he smells like cold stone, old rain and a hint of cigarette smoke.
He was Gotham streets.
His eyes were just as bright as the hope that lived and breathed through the streets.
He was resilient and strong and a little broken.
He would never give up or stop fighting.
Because the Gotham streets layed themselves in
Jason Todd.

Tim Drake was most like Bruce, but unlike Bruce, Tim didn't have to learn to love the city.
He was born in Gotham and he admired everything about it.
Tim Drake embodied
Gotham mornings.
Tired and agile
co-excisting in the same body.
Attentive and perceptive...
and calm.
Tim was the sigh of relief the city let out after another uncertain night.
Tim was the sun that shined over Gotham after a fight.
Gotham was cursed with cloud cover,
but you could always see the sun behind the clouds.
People rushing to get to work and rushing to get a caffeine fix,
rushing to live another Gotham morning.
Routine at heart
but open to adventure.
The darkest bruises formed the morning after the fight.
And thats what Tim was.
A stale hurt.
A dull pain.
Aching bones screaming for more.
Tim didnt have scars like Jason.
His arms, legs, torso and knuckles were scattered with the black, blue and yellow
adventures of the night before.
Just like the city.
It had a few more nicks and cuts than the last time the sun was shown.
But he loved it.
Tim wasn't resilient.
He didnt need to be.
He loved it to much.
The fights, the mysteries, the pain,
the victory.
Tim loved everything about Gotham.
Everyone liked being a vigilante.
But no one loves it more than
Tim Drake.
He smelled like coffee and energy drinks.
Like the sun shining off of expensive colone.
Like bruise cream and warm blankets
and a hint of ice.
Tims eyes were the clearest of his brothers.
Blue. Almost pale.
But would never, could never, be described as anything other than blue.
His eyes held the calm peace of Gotham's early mornings and the pure untainted longing for adventure.
Tim Drake was Gotham mornings.

Damian Wayne was exactly what you think he would be.
Gotham nights.
Gotham nights were hard.
and cold.
and restless.
The kind of restless that only gets a few hours of heavy sleep a night out of necessity.
A restlessness that needs to be occupied
because it can't be tamed.
Gotham nights are painful.
Crime, Violence, Sadness
Unbounded energy.
Brutal honesty.
Cold air.
Sharp wind.
Fierce love.
Damian had it all.
The strength of Gotham came from the pain of its nights.
Damian had long thick scars.
Scars you couldn't get from a switch blade.
Scars from swords.
Scars that distorted his skin
Red scars where blood wants to flow.
White scars that have been expertly stitched up.
Thick scars that healed without stitches.
Scars that healed with sloppy, rushed stitch work.
Like Gotham's scars,
from batman and the villains he fights.
Damian was every aspect of Gotham nights.
Rich galas with dry wine.
Expensive suits and the sound of crystal glasses hitting weak laughter and bored eyes.
Damian belonged to Gotham nights,
and everyone could tell.
He smelled sharp.
Like expensive colone mixed with fresh blood,
fresh pressed clothes
and pure heat.
Unlike his brothers,
Damian had green eyes.
Deep green eyes that held the restlessness of a batarang in motion and the elegance of ballrooms.
Damian belonged to Gotham nights.
Gotham nights didnt have a home in Bruce.
Bruce couldn't handle pure Gotham nights.
Not really.
No, Gotham nights didn't exsict until
Damian Wayne came home.