#| Robins Snippets |

[apricitywinterswrites]

Snippet of Something I'm Working On

Technoblade hadn't really thought about making his home habitable for anyone other than himself and potentially one other person. And that was only barely, since he could survive in pretty awful conditions. He lived in his two bedroom cabin, that had walls that were beginning to deteriorate and a few broken windows that he had been meaning to fix for a few weeks now.

He also lived in the middle of a frozen tundra, with no one around for hundreds of miles due to the harsh conditions of living in the tundra. He only got visitors a few times a year due to this reason as well.

Which makes the situation he's found himself in pretty unfortunate.

There was a child sitting on his porch with a stuffed cow in its arms and a thumb in its mouth. There was a blanket dropped around the child, as if they had been wrapped up before hand.

"Bruh…" Technoblade groaned, staring down at the child who had bright blue eyes that were staring up at him with curiosity. The voices, that Technoblade reluctantly fond calls 'chat', were all cooing over the small child and begging for Technoblade to pick the small creature up.

Technoblade didn't quite want to do such an action.

Technoblade made a small rumbling noise when the child opened its mouth in a giggly laugh and Technoblade spotted the tiny tusks that were growing in. He bent down and scooped the child up into his arms, resolutely ignoring chat as they erupted into a cacophony of sound.

The child squealed, eyes widening as its hands clutched tighter to the stuffed cow and the blanket. Technoblade chuffed quietly, his chest rumbling as he wrapped his arms around the child protectively.

[frownyalfred]

okay but the delicious angst of Batman and Robin getting trapped in a collapse or some other situation where an agonized Bruce is the only thing holding up the rubble/a piece of concrete on his back above an injured Dick, playing at being Superman by holding a superhuman amount of weight on his shoulders because if he lets go, they’ll both be crushed? and Dick wakes up, instantly clocks the situation, and knows that the only thing he can do to help is talk Bruce through it. to distract him long enough for someone to find them. to keep going, B, you can do it—

[baambastic]

“Drake,” Damian announced, “I require your presence at an outing this afternoon.”

“‘Hello, Tim, how are you?’ ‘I’m good, Damian, and how about you? Did you need something?’ It’s usually considered polite not to walk in and immediately make demands of people, Damian,” Tim replied from where he was hunched over his keyboard. He didn’t look over at his unexpected visitor, but he bet the brat was rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. Will you do it or not?”

Tim hummed. “Depends on what this ‘outing’ is. And why you didn’t ask Bruce or Dick to take you.”

“Father and Grayson are both imbeciles,” Damian huffed.

“They’re too busy today, you mean?”

“I meant what I said. Are you an imbecile like they are?”

“Again, you haven’t told me what it is you want to do.”

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “Colin has asked me to do something called an ‘escape room’ with him. It sounded mildly diverting, so I looked into it. There’s a recently opened establishment for such an activity, but we need four people to participate.”

“And you want me to be one of those four,” Tim concluded. He pushed himself away from the computer. “I’ve got time, so sure, I’ll come with. Two things, though.” He paused for dramatic effect.

Damian crossed his arms impatiently. “Yes?”

Tim grinned. “First, who’s this Colin?”

“An acquaintance. He assisted me in apprehending Victor Zsasz not long ago.”

“Is he around your age?”

“Approximately.”

Was he some sort of meta, then? How else would a (presumably untrained) kid be able to handle Zsasz? Tim decided to file that away for later inspection. At least it sounded like Damian was making friends. He definitely needed some. “Alright then, second thing. You said you needed four people. Even with me, you only have three. Who’s your fourth?”

Damian looked away. “I… hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Was that embarrassment Tim heard in his voice? Damian was usually too proud for that.

“Okay, not a problem. I can wrangle us another person.” If the person he was thinking of could make it, both Damian and them could get a lot out of this. Hurrah for two birds with one escape-room-shaped stone.

“Very well. Colin and I will be waiting outside for you. I presume this fourth person will meet us at the establishment?”

“Probably, yeah. Did you really leave Colin on my doorstep?”

“He did not want to enter, I would say because he thought he might be unwelcome. A stupid notion; you are far too trusting.”

“Thanks,” Tim said drily. He waved towards the door. “Alright, lemme make this call.”

Damian nodded and walked away. Before fully exiting the room, though, he turned back to Tim. “What are you working on, anyway?” he asked.

Tim hummed. “Nothing much. Just preparing.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. After a few moments of waiting expectantly, Damian huffed and left.

[beif0ngs]

ONE PIECE OPENING 25 || THE PEAK BY SEKAI NO OWARI

[inkpotsprite]

A deleted scene from my work "Cats and Communion."

[wynnyfryd]

“I just finished reading Grapes of Wrath, which is actually pretty excellent when you’re not being forced to read it in sophomore lit.” Eddie turns to them with a smirk. “Also got a stack of slutty zines under my bed if that’s more your speed.”

Robin chokes on her orange soda. “Grapes, please.”

Steve looks between the two of them, confused. “Why? I like slutty stuff.”

Eddie’s making air leak noises from trying so hard not to laugh.

Robin’s face is beet red. “Eddie, give him Grapes of Wrath and shut up!”

[batman-daily]

(x)

[wickedsmille]

Tim stares at Jason at an event. Jason catches him. Tim steals some looks, Jason steals some looks. Then Tim goes inside to do the clean up after offering so Alfred could take a knee. Jason corners him inside.

Jason: I noticed you've been looking at me

Tim: Wow the ego

Jason: Tell me I'm wrong

Tim: You're wrong

Jason: Here's the thing, I'm great at spotting liars

Tim: Apparently not

Jason: Fuck, do I like 'em feisty and you? You're taking the cake, baby

Tim: As much as I love the unsolicited and unwarranted pet names, I was kinda in the middle of something

Jason, hoisting Tim up onto the kitchen counter and running his hands along Tim's legs: Have to wait, cause I'm in the middle of something too

Tim: You're used to getting what you want, aren't you?

Jason: Contrary to popular belief, being a crime lord isn't all sex, control and violence. That's reductive thinking

Tim: Oh and what's this then?

Jason: Seduction, is it working?

Tim, leans in a kisses him: I don't know, is it?

Continued here

[ghost-bxrd]

Gordon isn’t the only one who notices. He’s just the start in a chain of very exhausting first meetings that Tim-as-Robin has.

“The fuck is that?” Roy exclaims the second Tim steps through the zeta behind Batman, recoiling from where he’d been arguing with Green Arrow.

By this point Tim isn’t— well, he’s not been accepted, per se. But at least Bruce is no longer actively trying to lose him during patrol. Small mercies.

Green Arrow falls into his seat with a weary groan, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index fingers. And part of Tim wants to geek out, to skip over and pester Green Arrow with all the questions that had accumulated over the years. Like, where did you learn to use a bow like that? Does he use gadgets to correct the trajectory so he never misses a hit? So many questions. But Tim will ask none of them.

“That’s Robin, kid. You know him.”

Roy squints at him, lips curling. And there’s a zero chance probability that the other boy even marginally bought that.

— Owl Song pt xiii sneak peek

[quadrantadvisor]

Multiverse, Reverse Robins au, 2,514 words

-

Jason (Red Hood)

The imposters are good, Jason will give them that.

They need to work on their looks, unfortunately, because each one of them is a little off. Their Nightwing is too bulky, and his costume isn't made with Dick's flexibility in mind. Besides that, he's got an undercut that doesn't match the shaggy way Dick has his hair now, and his blue is too dark. And the swords. Those are different.

Their little Robin looks more like Dick, actually, Dick as he was before Jason's time, with his happy grin and his bright yellow cape. He doesn't match Damian's style at all, and Jason wonders if their intel was out of date. He tucks away his anger (the way he's used to doing, now) at these bastards roping some little kid into whatever con they're trying to pull. They can help the kid after they subdue him, and he stops trying to flip-kick people in the face.

The Red Robin outfit isn't bad, but the guy playing him is way too tall to be Tim. He doesn't use a bo staff, either, clearly preferring the armory of sharp little implements he keeps tucked away in his utility belt, including a wicked looking combat knife.

Which brings Jason to the current pain in his ass, the idiot trying to pass himself off as the Red Hood.

Yeah, they'd split off into pairs to fight. First off, for practicality's sake. Less risk of friendly fire if the only guy you're trying to punch is the one who isn't you. And secondly, it's just what you do, isn't it? Somebody gives you a set up like this, you go along with the poetic justice. No bat is immune to drama.

Jason is regretting that a bit, now. Fake Hood had taken him for a ride, leading him, he now realizes, far away from the warehouse where Nightwing and Robin had initially called in the disturbance. This other guy isn't the powerhouse that Jason is, but that doesn’t matter if Jason can't ever get in a hit. His movements are precise, deadly, and familiar in a way that makes Jason suspect League training. Jason is keeping up, but barely, and that's with the advantage of his guns. The other guy hasn't touched his, still gleaming red in his holsters, and Jason has a sneaking suspicion that they aren't filled with rubber bullets.

They're at a bit of a stalemate, standing on opposite sides of a dark rooftop, and Jason's trying to catch his breath but he can't relax, not when his gaze is locked onto his opponent, waiting for the minute twitch of muscle that will indicate his next move. He's wondering if he could get a shot off, wondering where to aim, when his comm crackles to life.

“Stand down!” Tim snaps in his ear. “Hood, Wing, the alternates aren't currently a threat. Deescalate however you can, and get back to the warehouse. We can explain this whole mess there.”

“Really?” Nightwing asks. He goes on to say something else, something about his doppleganger being incredibly threatening, thank you very much, but Jason stops listening, because there's something going on across the roof.

A mechanically distorted voice says, “What? No, I'd be able to tell. This guy isn't-” The imposter(?) cuts off suddenly, presumably listening to a response.

And then he… giggles.

“That isn't funny, Red,” he says, in contrast to the little peals of laughter making him subtly shake. “You- you get how fucked up that would be, don't you?”

Jason can't figure out what to do. Tim's intel is almost always good, but he can't get himself to stand down, not when, for some reason, that laughter is setting his teeth on fucking edge.

(He knows the reason. He'd know that cadence anywhere, he hears it in his fucking nightmares, but it isnt possible. He's in Arkham, right now, because Batman won't kill him and Jason isn't allowed to kill him and that uncomfortable truce is what got him his family back. Jason would know if he'd broken out, they wouldn't have kept that from him. They wouldn't.)

“Oh shit,” Tim says, and it makes Jason wonder how he knows, “Hood, is your alternate having some kind of fit right now?”

The sound escalates, from breathy little giggles to screeching laughter, and even with the hood's distortion, it's unmistakable.

It's the Joker's laugh.

It's the Joker.

And isn't this exactly some shit that Joker would pull, making a mockery of Jason's family, a twisted parody that fucks with his head? Tim's lying, he's trying to get Jason out of this situation, and Jason gets why, he does, but obviously the rest of them can't (won't) protect him from this, so if he has to take fate into his own hands, he will.

The green is creeping up, but Jason doesn't let it haze over his vision because he has to be in his right mind while he does this, not for them, for himself. As he stalks across the roof, he empties the clip from one of his guns and pulls out the live rounds, loads them into place.

He thinks Tim is calling for him, maybe the others, too, but the chatter over the comm is getting further away the closer he gets to his target. He should be smart, should take the shot, but maybe he's got more pit in his head than he wants to admit, because Joker, still laughing, pulls a knife, and Jason steps into his range to disarm him.

The strike is fast, but compared to the careful movements of before, he's practically telegraphing his actions. Jason sidesteps, and if the blade knicks him when he twists Joker's arm, he doesn't feel it. He's got the clown in a hold, now, and forces him to his knees with the gun against his temple.

If the hood is anything like his own, the bullet won't do it, not even at point blank range. Jason would like to get it off him, would like to see the life leave his eyes, but he doesn't have to. Jason moves the barrel beneath his chin, right where the armor ends. The pit rages inside of him, says this is too easy, says to make him suffer. Jason pushes it down. This is the compromise he'll make, this is what he'll do to try to maintain both his humanity and his peace of mind. The bullet will ricochet off the hood from the inside, will tear through Joker's brain at least twice, and he'll never come back from that, and Jason will finally be free.

It'll be easy.

This is too easy.

“Nothing to fucking say?” Jason growls, jostling the clown in his grip, because there's always some joke, some shitty twist.

The Joker just laughs.

“Unhand him this instant!” someone snaps, and Jason's finger twitches but somehow the trigger stays still. And now what's he supposed to do, because of course fucking Nightwing- but wait, that isn't- but it is, he's right there- it's both of them, two Nightwings. Fucking fantastic. Twice the guilt trip.

“Come on, Jay,” the Nightwing who's actually Dick pleads, and hey, what the fuck, codenames? In front of the fucking Joker, Dick? “Let him go, we can explain everything.”

“I'm not doing this again!” rips itself from Jason's throat, and he'll think later about just how wrecked he sounds. “I'm not just standing here and letting him go, Wing, not when one bullet can put a stop to all this, not when I can end him.”

“Jason,” Dick says, slow with forced calm, “that's not the Joker.”

“Don't you fucking lie to me!” Jason seethes.

His hand is wrenched to the side, the barrel facing open air, and before he can make a move the unfortunately familiar feeling of a high voltage shock courses through him.

By the time he's stopped seizing, Dick is at his back, supporting him with his own body and with arms under his pits and around his chest in a weird reverse hug. Technically, Jason's hands are free, but they're empty, the gun skidded to somewhere else across the roof.

Dick is murmuring into his ear, “Sorry, Little Wing, I'm so sorry,” and, “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,” mantras meant to soothe his brother as much as himself. Jason wants to be angry, wants to snap at him to let go and fucking cut it out, but he's feeling strangely disoriented. He only has enough brainspace to pay attention to one thing, and that's the scene playing out in front of him.

Dick had clearly hauled them back a few steps, but Jason is still uncomfortably close to the bastard version of Nightwing (who, Jason realizes in hindsight, had tazed him while he'd been distracted by his brother, not cool) and the laughing maniac he should've killed. Nightwing is holding onto Joker's shoulders, his hands bouncing as the gasping, shrieking laughter continues.

“I'm going to remove your helmet now,” Nightwing says. He has a slight accent that Jason knows he's heard before, and his tone is professional, almost clipped. And yet, somehow, Jason can tell that this is a gentled version of the man's voice, the sharpest edges sanded away. His hands move from Joker's shoulders to the back of his head, carefully inputting whatever sequence allows for safe removal of the hood. Jason hears a hydraulic hiss when some sort of catch releases, and as Nightwing starts pulling the red metal up and away Jason can't help holding his breath.

At first, he sees what he expected to see. It's the Joker's expression, after all, his laughing face pulled into a rictus grin.

But the grin isn't right, somehow. The man is pale, but his face is unpainted, and the smile stretches wide, too wide, wider than even the Joker ever managed, and after a moment Jason recognizes the red, raised scar tissue on either side of his mouth for what it is.

Then, Jason takes in the actual features of the person in front of him. Dark hair, pale blue eyes, the cheeks, the jaw, the nose.

It doesn't make any fucking sense.

The Red Hood, collapsed on his knees in front of him, scarred face bare with no hood or domino to protect him as he struggles under the weight of his own laughter, is Tim Drake.

He's crying.

Jason is suddenly glad that Dick's holding him, because he's certain that he'd be on the ground, otherwise. Then, he realizes that he can't breathe.

Jason knows, logically, that his hood has sensors and filters that keep him safer than he could ever be without it. It is only every once in a while, when something stupid happens, that he regrets that he, a man with claustrophobia, decided to stick his head into a metal bucket.

Dick can probably tell that he's hyperventilating, and doesn't fight him as Jason gets his hands on the back of his neck and pulls off his hood.

Jason gasps in polluted Gotham air, and Tim's eyes snap onto him. Nightwing says, “I'm administering the emergency dose of your medication,” and then stalls, like he's waiting for a response, but all Tim does is laugh and stare. Jason stares back. He can't look away.

Nightwing retrieves a small tubular device, almost like an epipen, and presses it against Tim's leg. That shouldn't work. Tim's wearing body armor, same as the rest of them, and there's no way a needle could pierce it, but Jason looks as Nightwing draws the device away and there's a small raised circle of hard plastic on Tim's thigh that the head of the device fits into perfectly, like it was designed for that purpose. An injection spot, built into Tim's clothing, specifically for whatever drugs fake Nightwing just pumped into him.

Immediately, there's a difference. He doesn't stop laughing, or smiling that horrible fucking smile, but the manic tension is gone. He doesn't look like he'll shatter at a touch anymore, too brittle to be handled. The curve of his spine gentles, muscles no longer pulling it to the point of snapping. Jason watches as slowly, oh so slowly, Tim gets quieter, leans more into Nightwing's hold on him, starts gasping more than laughing.

Dick is talking behind him, into his comm, it sounds like. If it's important, someone will get his attention.

Finally, Tim breaks eye contact. “T- tell him,” he says to Nightwing, struggling between gasps and giggles, “tell him what you, gave me. Jay doesn't, he doesn't like, needles.”

The strange Nightwing turns his head, and Jason gets the impression of a sharp, searching gaze behind his domino. He's nothing like Dick, not at all, but something niggles the back of Jason's mind, some sense of familiarity regardless. He tosses something, and Jason automatically reaches up to catch it.

It's the empty tube of medication, which does seem a lot like an epipen, up close. “It's a combination,” the man says. “The antidote for Joker venom, an antipsychotic, and a mild sedative.”

“What the fuck?” Jason hears from his own mouth as he looks down at the innocuous little tube.

“It's only used in emergencies,” Nightwing adds, and does not clarify any further.

Jason doesn't know what to say to that. He shakes himself out of Dick's hold and grabs an evidence bag out of his jacket. He watches Nightwing, to see if he'll object, but he doesn't. Jason slips the medicine tube inside the bag and tucks it away.

“There you are!” Dick says in a bright tone, one meant to cover his anxiety and relief.

Jason turns, and finds that their roof has gotten a little crowded. All four Robins have arrived, his brothers mingled in with their copies, copies who don't quite match in ways that are now sticking in his brain. Tim, Jason's Tim, is standing right there, pressing his mask against his face like he'd broken the seal on the adhesive, and it isn't sticking quite right. Other than that, he's normal. He's fine.

The Robin, the one in the classic colors who Jason had thought looked a bit like Dick (oh God, could that be-?) gives a little whistle. “Trust Red Hood to cause drama!” he says in a bright tone that is too too familiar (fuck, fuck he is). “Must be a universal constant.” He grins, cheeky, looking past Jason.

Jason isn't processing fast enough to be offended for his own sake, but he turns and checks on Tim, other Tim, the Tim who apparently also has a claim to the Red Hood name. Tim is propped up on Nightwing's shoulder, looking drowsy and relaxed. He's looking back at Robin, and his lips are pressed tightly closed, but he's smiling, and it reaches his eyes.

Alright, then. This is probably fine.

Jason snorts, to get the kid's attention, and rolls his eyes. “Comes with the job description,” he snarks.

The kid lights up. Jason feels distinctly weird, having that smile directed at him, but it's not… bad.

Yeah. This is fine.

-

I'm planning to add a reblog with more information on this au/fic idea, so if you're interested, watch this space.

[babydipper]

stephanie brown, you will never not be famous

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Lifeguard (Discord Drabble)

"What ever could be the matter, my dearest companion?"

Eddie huffs and folds his arms. He can hear Robin's shit-eating grin behind him. Buckley is practically breathing down his neck, probably relishing in his bristling demeanour as he looks out over the chaos of Hawkins Public Pool on a hot summer's day.

When he discovered that his new boyfriend – Steve Harrington, The Hair, The Myth, The Legend himself – would resume his old position as head lifeguard at the local pool, Eddie figured it would be a lot different to this.

Steve's glistening suntanned skin. Eddie lathering up all that musculature with copious amounts of sunblock. That hairy chest heaving with exertion. His boyfriend acting like the real hero he is. That Speedo, stuffed full from every angle, plump ass to girthy –

"You are so pathetic," Robin laughs, playfully slapping Eddie on his (light lobster-red) shoulder as she comes into view.

"Shut up," he hisses, more at the sting of his skin – even if he did use an absurd amount of sunblock on himself.

"No need to flash those sad doe eyes at me," Robin chuckles, "How about I buy you an ice cream for your troubles?"

Eddie hums as he looks up at Steve, perched like a King on the lifeguard tower at the far end of the pool.

"I guess I could sit by Rapunzel's Tower and deep-throat a popsicle..."

"Maybe not that," Robin grimaces but links their arms nonetheless, "I have a much better idea. Come on, I think we'd better move our towels into the shade."

Eddie follows along, ignoring Robin's tone and her clear gawking at the colour of his shoulders. Instead, he watches Steve, enamoured now as his boyfriend peers over the top of his Wayfarers to look down at a bunch of dweebs causing a ruckus with excessive splashing. They are clearly bothering a mother wading with her kid at the shallow end and Steve shuffles forward in his seat.

Eddie gulps as he thinks – nay, hopes – that Steve's teeny-tiny red Speedo is riding up a little.

Steve readies his whistle and Eddie grins. He loves it when Steve gets all bossy.

He licks his lips as he conjures up ways to maybe get Steve to use that whistle on him.

But he doesn't get time to think up any kind of scheme because, in a flash, Eddie feels water splashing against his feet. Upon realising he is indeed a mere inch from the edge of the pool, Eddie turns, only to catch a glimpse of Robin's wicked smile.

And then he is falling.

The last thing Eddie hears before he falls into the pool is Robin's delighted shrieks calling for Steve's heroics.

[baambastic]

Blüdhaven

1310 Parkthorne Avenue

7:20 AM

“In more recent news, the Office of Foreign Asset Controls, a branch of the Department of the Treasury, has administered a total embargo on trade with the island nation of Santa Prisca. To comply with this action, Congress has issued a total recall to retailers on all products produced by companies based in the island nation, including the Zesti Cola Company.”

Dick shot up from the couch, nearly knocking over his can of Zesti in the process. “TIM!” he shouted. “Come over here! You gotta see this!”

“Too loud, Dick, jeez,” Tim responded, walking into the den with a bowl of cereal and a yawn. “What’s up?”

Rather than answering, Dick gestured to the still-ongoing news broadcast.

“As most of our viewers are likely aware, Zesti Cola, the namesake of the company, has been at the forefront of the soft drinks industry in the States since the late 19th century, rivaled only in popularity by Soder Cola. While Zesti Cola’s popularity has declined in recent years, the new embargo on trade with Santa Prisca will likely only accelerate that decline. Current CEO Nicodemus Branchwater was unavailable for comment.”

Dick looked back at Tim, whose face was painted with dazed horror. Dick grabbed the cereal bowl out of the kid’s hands before he could drop it.

Eventually, Tim managed to tear his eyes away from the silver-screened harbinger of doom to meet Dick’s gaze. “We have to do something about this, right?” Tim intoned, more of a plea than a question.

Dick nodded seriously. “Did you bring your suit?”

Tim quirked his lip in a slight frown. “Left it at home. Didn’t think I’d need it for the couple days I’m here.”

Dick waved off Tim’s concern. “That’s fine. We were gonna need to stop by the Cave for a ride anyway. Let me grab my costume and we can get going.” Dick ruffled the kid’s hair on the way past to his bedroom.

The way Tim’s face lit up at the gesture could have powered Blüdhaven for a year.

[toriafiction]

Fae Bound

Jason doesn't know who he inherited his traces of magic from, and he doesn't care. Though weak, it's helpful and has kept him out of some pretty bad situations. It isn’t anything fantastic. He just kind of senses the basic intentions of those immediately around him. Like if someone is dangerous or untrustworthy. It’s nothing specific, but it has saved him a lot of hurt living in the Alley.

If he ever meets whoever he inherited it from, he won't thank them. You never thank a fae, that is admitting that they have done something for you and puts you in their debt.

One night, Jason has a chance meeting with Robin when he is still just a young child, and he knows that he and Dick are meant for each other. It could be fate, destiny, or maybe they’re soulmates. All of that could mean the exact same thing. Jason doesn’t know, and as he gets older, he decides that he doesn’t really care.

Because he knows that he has fallen hard for Dick Grayson.

Too bad Dick doesn’t feel the same.

After the Joker is done with Jason and leaves him to die, Jason is capable of getting out of the warehouse. He even drags his piece-of-shit mother along with him because he is a hero, dammit, and he won’t just leave her to die even if she deserves it.

Just as Jason makes it to the door, it’s like he’s struck by lightning, he knows that somewhere out there in the universe, Dick is also hurt, but unlike Jason, he is quickly dying.

He could survive, but it will be in a universe without Dick, and that isn’t a place Jason wants to be in.

It’s his mother who offers him a solution. She’s dying, and as a last token of apology, she offers him a trade. Jason can stay and die in the warehouse with her, and Dick will live all the years that Jason should have had.

There isn’t a choice to be made.

Jason curls around the woman whom he hates for betraying him and loves for helping him save the one person he loves more than his own life or anything in all the infinite universes. He holds her close in a tight hug and waits to die.

~ ◆ ~ ◇ ~ ◆ ~◇~◆ ~ ◇ ~ ◆ ~◇~◆ ~ ◇ ~ ◆ ~◇~

Elsewhere in the universe, Dick makes an impossible recovery and knows.

He knows that when he makes it home, his Little Wing won’t be there.

It hurts.

It hurts more than he ever believed it could. It’s like somebody shoved their hands into his chest and tore all his insides out and took his soul along with it.

He's cold and hollow, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to live like this. Why would anyone make him live like this?!

Dick isn’t even aware that he’s thrashing and screaming while being pinned to the ground by his friends and teammates. He screams and cries so violently he rips his vocal cords, leaving his throat raw and bloody.

Even after he finally goes still and quiet, he cries and cries like he isn’t ever going to stop. Like he is going to shed enough tears for the whole damned universe.

How could Jason leave him like this?

They were supposed to have more time.

They were supposed to have a future together. They just needed a little more time…

[inkpotsprite]

Last deleted scene from my work "Cats and Communication."

[envysparkler]

early bird

Jason might’ve had a homefield advantage when it came to Crime Alley, but he was under no impression that the streets he remembered as a child were the same as they were today.  Hell, even the streets he’d patrolled as Robin wouldn’t be the same.  If he wanted to take over, he needed to get the lay of the land—where the gangs were, who was calling the shots, who was unhappy about it.

And where the Bats were.

The Red Hood was going to make his big debut after he knew who all the players were.  Right now, Jason was skulking around in all-black gear, armor on, armed with blades instead of guns.  He didn’t plan on killing anyone.  Not yet.

But Jason felt uneasy almost instantly.

The whole city seemed to be holding its breath, the way it did after a major Rogue attack.  Jason had kept up with news of Gotham’s freakshow gallery, and there had been nothing for months.  Plenty of crime, but the big name players were lying low.  There should be no reason for people to act like they’d just gone through a fear toxin outbreak.

Jason was feeling very uneasy indeed.

The first inkling he had that something was off was the goons on the street.  While the gangs in Crime Alley changed territory like a penny changed hands, Jason had gotten used to seeing a few familiar faces.  Now, there were no familiar faces, only full-face masks and a lingering sense of malaise.

The second clue that something was wrong was the aftermath of destruction.  Gotham was a shit place for infrastructure at the best of times, but usually there wasn’t rubble lying on the streets, cordoned off by tattered tape, or gutted-out hollows of burnt buildings.  It looked like a full-scale war had erupted on the island.

And the last thing Jason needed to finish the creeping sense of something’s not right was the glimpse he’d gotten of Batman on patrol.  The Dark Knight swung through the air like a wraith and where Jason looked immediately for red-green-yellow—Replacement, target, how dare he take what’s mine—he found nothing.

No brightly colored shadow.

No joyful laugh.

Nothing but darkness.

Something was very, very wrong.

~#~

It took Jason a couple of days to figure out what had happened.  No one wanted to talk to him, not the semi-stranger nor the cloaked figure all in black.  Jason finally had to bare his face and find one of the working girls he’d known as a kid.  She’d been happy to fill him in, though she’d used a hushed voice the entire time.

A gang war in Gotham.  Boundary lines drawn all over the place.  Some loser calling himself the Black Mask and the False Face Society taking control in an awful five-day wave of violence and brutality.  And then…well, then the story got a little confusing.

No one had seen Robin since the incident.  Batman had apparently gone feral.  Black Mask was in prison with several broken bones.  Nightwing had showed up, permanently if the outrage from Bludhaven was anything to go by.  Word on the street was that Robin was dead.

Jason didn’t know whether to be pleased or not—the pretender was gone, but Jason was supposed to be the one to do it—when his train of thought was abruptly derailed.

“It’s just like last time,” rasped a girl with a too-old-for-her-face stare.  “Robin croaks it, Batman goes cuckoo.”

“What,” Jason said.

“The Bat was scary last time,” another girl shivered, hands rubbing her arms.  “You know he put Johnny in the hospital for trying to take some bread?”

“Hope he picks up another Robin soon,” muttered a girl with a resigned expression.

“No, Stella, you know they’re children, right?  How could you even say that—”

“Look, either we give the guy in a bat suit his emotional support child endangerment, or Batman’s going to become just as bad as his villains.  Who’s going to watch this city if everyone’s a freak?”

Jason slipped away from the group as the girls all began bickering, arguing over whether or not Batman needed a Robin, if Robin was even human in the first place, if they should just pack up and leave.  He didn’t want to listen to a fiercely indignant woman call Batman a child abuser while a darkly resigned one just shrugged her shoulders.

For some reason, when he’d made his own arguments, he’d felt…unique.  Special.  Like he was the only one who could see the truth.  Now—now he was remembering Gordon’s pinched face every time he saw Jason with an injury, all the news reporters that called Batman the worst thing that had happened to Gotham, the comments from Leaguers uncomfortable with child heroes.

Jason wasn’t entirely sure when he’d switched sides in the debate.

~#~

It took another week before Jason spotted Batman again.  His patrols were all over the place, no discernable pattern to them, but when he heard rumors of a planned bank robbery in the Diamond District, Jason knew where to go.

He arrived and found a nook on the rooftop across the street to watch the action.  Sure enough, Batman and Nightwing showed up moments after the alarm was tripped, and Jason watched them take down the would-be robbers.

Batman didn’t look crazy, his movements were as swift and economical as ever as he dismantled the operation, engaged the leader, and began punching him in the face again and again and again.  Jason stared, frozen to the spot with more than shock as he watched Batman pulverize a group of robbers for the crime of breaking into an empty store.

Nightwing secured his opponents and moved to intercede, trying to get between Batman and his victim.  Batman ignored him, and when Nightwing laid a hand on his arm to get him to stop, he flung the other vigilante back so hard Nightwing nearly stumbled into the street.

Nightwing didn’t move to intercept again.

Batman stopped when the man was no longer twitching, and dropped the body where it was, turning on his heel sharply to exit the scene.  Nightwing watched him go, and Jason could see the way the younger man crumpled in on himself as Batman walked away.  Hand over his face, Nightwing slowly went after him, every line of his body screaming of exhaustion.

Robin croaks it.

Jason’s breathing had gone tight and shallow.

Batman goes cuckoo.

In the back of his head, something was laughing.  Isn’t it a great joke, it said between giggles.  Isn’t it the greatest joke of all?