#(I swear my next series might be Jason todd based)

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

HEY OP??? Im used to being the one to fuck up ppl with writing- THIS IS UNCALLED FOR which means I must return the favor <33

Imagine Batman who lives as a symbol seperate yet irrevicobly intertwined with Gotham- Gotham is HIS and always will be.

Red Hood though? Gotham isnt his- but he is Gothams. They see him in their husbands and fathers who promise this will be the "last time" they take another shady gig to make ends meet. Their brothers who got in with the "wrong sort" but will still fight tooth and nail to protect those innocent outside the senseless turf wars. They see their sons- boys forced to grow up too fast, too sharp, who learned how to wield a pocket knife before they mastered multiplication.

All for the sake of surviving in the place of the dammed. Because thats what they are- dammed. Batman fights to keep order in the ways he can. The Bat is a figure- untouchable, unreachable- and for those "in the know" Bruce Wayne is no different.

But Hood? Jason? He is your neighbor, the nice boy you see down the street, the kid at the library, the guy next to you at the bar, a stranger- he is one of them.

And despite being just a boy- he does what so few dare to do he fights for the hopeless, for those the rest of the world had given up on long ago.

To Jason- Robin served as hope (for him, a new life) and to the people of Gotham. When Robin "died" he assumed that hope died- but it lives on.

In the minds of those many silent voices, who cant think of any other word more fitting of the crime boss decked in red and black.

A man defined by Hope

Since we all agree that people of the Alley of Crime adore Red Hood and believe in him, I think it is time to imagine Jason in a scene similar to the one from OG Spiderman, where his identity is accidentally outted in front of crowd of people, and they all are just choose to protect him and help him out.

So maybe Gotham is facing especially nasty trouble, and vigilantes are on the receiving end this time. So maybe Jason is thrown at the dirty Alley in his part of town, wounded, with helmet flying off, and there is just a crowd of people staring as bleeds out, astonished. And Jason thinks, oh, that's the end — he can go and shoot himself, honestly, because he just failed the man rule every vigilante have: never show your face, never reveal your identity.

But people are... helping him? His eyes are half-open, breath laboured and pained, but all he hears is gentle murmuring:

'God, he is just a kid...'

'He must be younger than my son.'

'Poor child...'

He feels soft elderly hand against his cheek as someone from the crowd, an ex nurse, comes closer to bandage his injuries, while a kid, barely with the size of his helmet, brings it back, sticking out their tongue as they try to place it back on his head, to hide his face.

'It is okay,' the old woman reassures him. 'You are safe with us, son. We hadn't seen anything.'

Jason's eyes sting, because, oh.

It is his people. He loves them. He will die for them.

And they love him just as much.

He still waits for someone to out him, though. But the week ends, the villain is out of the picture, and no one says a thing. The only proof that it ever happened is civilians, who keep waving at Jason — not Red Hood, just Jason — when their paths cross somewhere in the shops or streets.

And that's how he knows that it is them; it is them, and they keep him safe as much as he keeps safe them.

[miryum]

"Halloween II"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy's relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

“Oh, hey there, Captain.” Y/n strolled into Wayne’s office without knocking. “Just curious, do you know what day it is?”

Captain Wayne slowly looked up. “Well, based on the fact that a week ago it was October twenty-fourth, it's say today is…” 

Y/n interrupted him. “It's Halloween,” she said bluntly. “Just say it's Halloween.” 

“It's Halloween.” 

“Aaaaaand what happened last Halloween?” 

Wayne sighed. “Last year, you bet me that you could steal my medal of valour. And you did. Consequently, I was forced to do your paperwork for a week and to say words I thought I'd never have to say: Y/n L/n is an amazing detective-slash-genius.” 

“But now it's time for round two of our Halloween bet!” Y/n announced. “This year, I believe I'll make things more difficult for myself. Let's say, what, I steal the watch right off your wrist.” She eyed the golden watch on Bruce’s wrist.

“Or we could just not do it at all this year.” Wayne shrugged.

“What?” Y/n exclaimed. “Sir, with all due respect, come on, man!” 

“It's not worth it just so you might call me an amazing captain-slash-genius and give me one week of overtime for free.” 

“All right, fine, I'll double the overtime,” she cried. “I'll triple it! I'll quadrupal it! I will five-drupal it. I'll five-drupal the overtime.” Wayne looked up, catching her eye. “Oop. Got his attention! He's coming back to me….”

“Just to clarify. If you steal my watch by midnight, I will do your paperwork for a week, but if you fail, you give me five weeks of overtime for free.” He raised his brows.

“Correct.”

“I'm doing a cost-benefit analysis in my head… The benefits outweigh the costs. We have reached an accord.” 

“Accords!” Y/n yelled out in victory, pumping her fist in the air. 

“Greetings, comrades,” Y/n strolled into the briefing room, wearing a three-piece tuxedo and top hat. “And welcome to the most important briefing of your lives. As you all know, the Wayne-L/n Halloween bet has been made, and the clock… doth… tick.”

“What's with the tux?” Jason leaned back in his chair, feet kicked up on the table. Damian, who was sitting next to him, pushed Todd’s feet off the table. 

“I decided to class up this year's event. If I look the part, I’ll be the part.” 

“What’s the part?” Cass snickered. “A bad magician from the fifties?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes and ignored her friend. “Let's get down to business. To defeat… the Huns! Anyway, I've been planning this for three months. And yes, Dick, that’s what I’ve been doing instead of work. You've all been given a specific role and a code name. Cass, you're Orphan. Sarge, Nightwing. Jason, my love, you’re Red Hood. Timmy, Red Robin- yes like the chain restaurant. Stop complaining. Steph, you will be Spoiler. Dami… I didn’t count on you wanting to help me. But no matter. You’ll be Robin.” They all nodded, Steph shooting her a thumbs-up and Damian protesting about the similarities between his and Tim’s nicknames. “Now, because of last year, Captain will suspect that you guys are helping me, so we’ll never get anywhere near his watch. However, the actual theft will be pulled off by Bart Allen, aka ‘The Flash!’” 

Bart sauntered in, grinning. “How you doing? Call me ‘Flash.’”

“Hey, I remember this guy,” Jason scooted forward, glaring at Bart.

“That's probably because you've arrested him twice for pickpocketing,” Y/n didn’t meet Jason’s eye, chuckling unevenly.

“You have a criminal helping you? That's crazy!” Jason jumped up, hand flying to his belt. He didn’t know what he would grab- his gun, his taser, or what- but he was ready.

“Grow up, Jason.” Y/n scoffed. “Now, we will all work together to move the Captain into position. Once there, The Flash (loving that code name) will remove the Captain’s watch and replace it with this replica watch.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a satin box which held a copy of Wayne’s watch.

The team still seemed unconvinced. “Y/n,” Tim asked, “if he's been arrested before, are you sure he’s any good?”

Y/n presented proudly, “perhaps this will answer your question. Flash!” 

Bart smirked and pulled out Dick’s wedding ring, Jason’s wallet, Tim’s notepad, Steph’s hair tie, and even Damian’s knife. He was too scared to take anything from Cass. 

“Dami, why do you have a knife?” 

“Nevermind that.” 

“Great!” Y/n cried. “Let's win this bet!” 

Y/n jumped in front of Wayne’s window and greeted him in a posh accent. “Salutations, Cap-i-tan. I was wondering, perchance, if thou would like to join thine in attending the ballet this fine eve?”

Wayne stayed in his seat. “I'll pass, choosing instead to stay in my locked office with my watch still safely on my wrist.” He held up his fist, displaying the watch, still on his wrist.

“I had a feeling you might say that.” Y/n raised a brow, a glimmer of a smile on her face. It was all going according to plan. “Thusfore, I have brought the glorious ballet to you, featuring our own lovely Cassandra Cain.”

Cass, dressed in tights and her black t-shirt, waved awkwardly to her Capitan before Y/n pressed a button on a comically large boombox and Swan Lake played on the speaker. Cass hopped into fifth position before elegantly beginning the dance. 

Y/n watched, entranced for a moment before remembering her plan and speaking into her comms, “Now, Red Hood! Go, go!” Jason knelt before Wayne’s office door and smashed it with a chisel and hammer, effectively making a small hole in the door. “Go Red Robin!” Tim somersaulted and pushed a smoke bomb into the hole, smoking Wayne out. Steph marched a line of criminals past Wayne’s path, blocking his way and pushing him back towards his fumed office. Dick dropped a bag of marbles from up in the ceiling, creating a minefield of slipperiness. Damian piloted a drone which “accidentally” crashed into Flash, an “innocent” bystander, who fell over dramatically. Damian pushed the controls into Steph’s hands, blaming her.

“L/n, that's enough!” Captain Wayne shouted.

“Ooh, that’s his angry voice.” Y/n hissed. Swan Lake continued playing in the background until she shut off the boombox.

“Sir, I am so sorry.” Wayne helped Bart up, apologising profusely. Bart slipped Bruce’s watch off his wrist and slid it into his own pocket. 

“I just wanted somebody to check my son's candy,” Bart explained. 

“Please, let me help you. On behalf of the sixty-sixth, forgive us.” 

Flash presented the watch to Y/n behind his back. Y/n whispered victoriously into the comms, “Flash has grabbed the package!”

“I'll have someone check your son's bag of candy immediately,” Wayne reassured Bart. “If you need anything, please, contact me.” Wayne pulled aside another officer and handed the bag of candy to him. “Duke, the candy.”

“I'll do that. Thank you.” 

Bart shook Captain Wayne’s hand again and flipped the replica watch onto the latter’s wrist.

“The replica is on.” Y/n grinned. “Game over.”

Wayne turned to his officers and they all stood at regretful attention. “I know this was all done in the spirit of a friendly bet, but it went too far. Am I understood? L/n?” His voice was low and menacing.

“Yes, sir. Completely understood, sir.” Y/n hung her head. “I'm sorry.” She muttered under her breath, “but not as sorry as you're going to be at midnight, when you realise you've lost everything.” 

Later, she strolled into records and leaned on the desk. Steph skipped in after her. “Hello there, Barbara, my lovely work wife. I believe a tall, nimble-fingered man named Bart Allen left a package for me.” 

“Yeah, it's here! Give me one second.” Barbara smiled and dug under her desk, pulling out the satin box. 

“Thank you! Here we go.” She opened the box and frowned. “That's weird, it's just a note. ‘Thanks for the watch?’ Oh, shit!” She stamped her foot. “Allen stole the Captain's watch!” She took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. “We're okay. It's not over yet. I still have two hours to find Flash and get Wayne’s watch back.”

“But how?” Stephanie raised a brow. “He could be anywhere! He could be in Canada by now. There’re so many forests up there. It’s like one giant hiding place.” 

“Steph, you’re not helping my anxiety right now.” Y/n bounced on the balls of her feet. “Okay, let's look up Allen’s arrest records, past addresses, known associates, et cetera.”

“L/n.“ Wayne stood in the doorway, beckoning her.

Y/n whispered hurriedly to Steph, “run, Spoiler, run!” She shoved the box into Steph’s hands. Steph made a pathetic excuse before running off.

“I'd like to ask a favour,” Captain Wayne offered. “Could we suspend this bet for ten minutes? Clark is bringing dinner for me and I don't think he'd appreciate this bet we made. This watch was given to me by his father just before he died.” 

“Oh!” Y/n squeaked. “A death watch. Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool.”

“Please,” Wayne sighed. ”Never call it that.” 

”Noted.” Her cell phone vibrated and Y/n laughed awkwardly. “You know what? You can have ten minutes, no problem. Love you, bye!” She hurried out of the room and into the bullpen where Steph was waiting. “Brown, Flash just texted. He said he wants to meet up. But we gotta be cool.” She glanced over to where Wayne was returning from records. “Captain's watching. Pretend I just said something really funny.” Y/n and Stephanie laughed loudly in a clearly fake tone. The former pushed her friend towards the elevator. “Let’s get outta here. We gotta go.”

Outside, Y/n explained, “okay, Flash wants to meet us in the alley by Sullivan and Danbrook.” The pair started towards their destination.

“What's the playbook, N/n?” Steph rubbed her hands together greedily. “You know I’m never opposed to tasing someone.”

“We go in hard and tough and take what's rightfully ours.” Y/n punched her fist into her palm.

Later, Bart declared, “I want three hundred dollars. I would say five hundred, but I feel bad swindling you nice young ladies.”

“Absolutely, no problem,” Y/n agreed immediately. “Whatever you need.” She dug open her wallet and cringed. “I have fifty dollars… can I Venmo you?”

“Oh, I have one hundred twenty,” Steph offered. 

“No, I’m not taking money from you,” Y/n muttered. “But I did steal thirty dollars from Jason the other week… How about… one hundred dollars, borrowing twenty from Steph which I’ll pay back.”

“And I want your sweater.”

“My GCPD windbreaker?” Y/n’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Cause it looks cool.”

“You know what, fine.” She slung off her windbreaker and chucked it at Bart. “Can I please have the watch now?”

“You already have it. You’ve had it all along.” Bart shrugged.

“What? What are you talking about?” Y/n patted her pockets. “No I don’t.”

“I put it in the glove compartment of your car.” He nodded towards Y/n’s old, dark blue Mini Cooper. “You think I'm gonna walk around with a stolen police captain's watch?” He scoffed. “I'm an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

Y/n deadpanned, “well, I would say thank you, but even for a criminal, your customer service has been abysmal.”

“My pleasure.” He winked and started sauntering away. ”Have a good night!”

Y/n sighed. “Let's get back to the precinct and win this bet.”

Steph gasped and cried out, ”Y/n! Your car!”

Y/n’s car was currently being towed by a truck. “No!” Y/n started running after the tow truck, but it quickly turned a corner and was lost in the city of Gotham.

”Y/n, you parked in front of a hydrant.” Steph pointed to the hydrant that had stood in front of her car.

“Stupid fire department! I could’ve sworn…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Nevermind. We gotta think of a way to catch that truck.”

“Oh! How about this?” Steph grabbed an abandoned shopping cart and rattled it.

“Yes. I love the way you think.”

“Hop in.” Steph grinned. Y/n jumped in and Steph took off running, hanging onto the cart as if she was racing down the toilet paper aisle at Target.

“We're doing it, Brown!” Y/n cried, wind whipping her hair. “We're Tokyo drifting! You’re the champagne of friends, Steph!”

Eventually, they were forced to come to a stop in front of a large group of party goers. “I can't see the tow truck anymore!” Y/n complained.

“Maybe we can get a cab,” Steph offered. “There's still time to get that watch.”

“All right.” Y/n groaned as she fell out of the cart. “Excuse me!” She weaved through the crowd, yelling, “excuse me! Coatless cop coming through.”

A person dressed up in a giant teddy bear costume grabbed Steph and pulled her away into the festivities. “Y/n, where are you? Hey! Take it easy! Get off of me!” 

Y/n’s head whipped around, looking for her friend. A party bus pulled up and she heard Steph’s voice call, “Look, party bus! Toot! Toot!”

“Good idea, Brown. Move!” She pushed her way onto the bus and showed her badge to the driver. “GCPD. I won't stop the party, but I do need the bus.”

The bus driver, dressed in a ninja costume grumbled, but took off.

The party bus was loud and neon lights flashed throughout it. A stripper pole stood proudly in the middle and a woman in a skimpy ballerina costume held court on it. Y/n’s attention was immediately taken by a shirtless man in tight black jeans and a matching black mask covering his eyes to conceal his identity.

The man bent down, hand offered to Y/n. He smirked and cocked a brow. “Ma’am. May I have this dance?” He spoke like he was at a seventeenth century ball, not a rave inside of an old city bus.

”Oh.” Y/n’s cheeks burned, eyes roving up the faceless man’s body. “What is happening here?”

Another partygoer, dressed as a cat, exclaimed, “it’s Halloween, girlfriend! Lighten up!”

“It's Halloween!” The man who still gripped Y/n’s hand repeated.

Y/n contemplated for a moment before shrugging. “Well, gotta do something for sixteen blocks. Halloween!”

Y/n stumbled off the bus, margarita in hand and a hickey on her neck. “Thanks for the ride!” She called to the bus riders. “Tag me in those pics.”

She walked up to the Impound Lot, only to be stopped by the supervisor who sat in an entrance box, looking bored.

“Hi there!” Y/n greeted the supervisor. ”I'm Y/n L/n, GCPD. You guys towed my car, and I really need it back.”

“Mm-hmm.” The supervisor seemed unimpressed. “Got a badge?”

“Yes, I do. Who do you think I am? A lying wannabe?” She dug into her pocket but didn’t feel the signature press of it against her palm. “What? Oh geez, my badge! Those shitheads on the party bus must have stolen it!”

“Listen, if you have a licence and credit card, you can pay to get it out?” the supervisor offered.

“Oh, okay! Thank you. Finally, something goes right.” Y/n sighed in relief before shrieking, ”it's gone horribly wrong! I don't have my I.D. or my credit cards, but I really need that car. Please, I'm begging you.” 

“Rules are rules. I can't do anything for you. Well… unless…” his eyes roved her form. Y/n glared at him and shut his window forcefully.

“Men,” she sighed. Trudging back towards the road, Y/n’s eyes slowly wandered to the fence, a devious smile growing.

From atop the impound lot’s fence, Y/n commented, “look at the view from up here. I didn't know we lived near water.” She flipped her leg over and chuckled. “Look at me. I’m climbing a fucking fence. Ouch.” Her foot caught on the top of the fence. “Ow, ow, ow, ow.” She let out a scream as her foot became unstuck and she fell to the ground, scraping her elbow. “Okay. I’m in. Perfect.” She pulled herself up, groaning. “I can still win this bet. I can still win.” Flashing lights surrounded the impound lot and sirens filled the air. “No! No! Noooo!” She punched the ground in frustration.

“Freeze! Don't move!” The cop screamed.

Y/n grimaced. “There is a tiny chance I may not win this bet.”

Wayne slammed his hand down on the interrogation table. Y/n was handcuffed to the table, the exact same place she was three hundred and sixty five days ago. “Start talking now!”

Y/n exhaled and said quickly, “you seem upset. Well… here's the story. Remember that little Halloween bet that we made? I mean, you probably don't even remember. It was so early this morning.” Captain Wayne didn’t respond, his face stone. Y/n gulped. “Anywhoozle, it turns out the criminal I hired to lift your watch was not trustworthy and I subsequently lost your death watch.” She shifted, trying to sink into her clothes in order to hide the hickey. “But in the end, I like to think this whole thing is gonna bring us closer together. And isn't that what it's really all about?” She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

“What are you saying?” Wayne scoffed. ”My watch is right here.” He held up his wrist and Y/n saw an undetectable emotion in his eyes.

Y/n shook her head. “No, I made a switch. That's a fake,” she mumbled, head hanging low.

Wayne lifted a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No. This one's a fake.” He held up another watch, identical to the one on his wrist.

Her eyes went wide and Y/n’s mouth dropped open. “What? No. What? No. What? No. You were behind all this? You played me, Captain! B- but how?” She stammered. ”I've been planning this theft for three months! I’m a genius!”

”Yes,” Wayne conceded. He inspected his nails, just as he’d seen Y/n and Cass do whenever they had the upper hand in a conversation. ”But I've been planning it for a year. Last Halloween, after you won the bet, I went back to my office to do everyone's paperwork, but I did no paperwork. I started to plot my revenge. I began by creating a word cloud.”

Captain Wayne sat in his office, surrounded by paperwork. However, instead of beginning, he opened a pad of paper and wrote: Halloween 2. 

Y/n scoffed. “But how could you have possibly known I was gonna try and steal your watch?”

“I knew you would try to take something important to me. During the year, I drew your attention to my watch.”

“You're eight minutes late.” Wayne pointed to his watch.

“L/n, you're 14 minutes late.” He held up his wrist.

“You're three minutes early... In Chicago.”

Y/n realised, “you annoyed me into stealing it!”

“Exactly.” Wayne had a triumphant beam plastered to his face. “Now you had a target, but you needed a plan. Fortunately, it walked through the door, handcuffed to Todd.” 

“This pickpocket is Bart Allen. He can take anything off of anyone,” Jason announced to Captain Wayne one day.

Y/n’s attention peaked and she shot up. “Anything? Anyone?” 

”The look on your face is priceless.” Wayne commented before continuing. “I put Allen into my employ immediately. Fast-forward to this morning. You commenced your plan. Allen stole my watch and then replaced it with the replica. While you celebrated, Allen put my watch back in my pocket while he gave you the replica. The watch never left my person.”

Y/n’s nose flared and she grumped, “I can see that you're enjoying this.”

“Immensely. But not nearly as much as I enjoyed phase two.”

“Phase two?”

Wayne paced around the room, monologuing his master plan. “During your meeting with Allen, Tim placed a fire hydrant in front of your car, which he then towed away. Next, I had to take Stephanie out of the equation. She had a badge and a gun, and she would do anything to help you. She’s a good detective and a loyal friend. But I digress. Enter a parade of drunks that separated the two of you long enough for Richard to kidnap Stephanie.”

“But if Dick kidnapped Steph, how did Steph tell me to get on the party bus?” Y/n asked.

“Around eight months ago at a morning briefing, I told the squad that a group of thieves were targeting party buses, just so I could record Steph saying,”

“Look, party bus! Toot toot!”

Y/n gaped, crying out, “I knew Brown would never knowingly betray me! We’re besties!”

“With your jacket gone, you didn't look like a cop, but you still had your badge and wallet. That is, until you entered the party bus. Damian drove the bus while Cass’ dancing distracted you as a mysterious partier stole your badge.”

Y/n flushed. “It was Jason in the mask! You sly son of a bitch!” She leaned back and offered, “well done. But I have to ask, did those guys at the impound really smash my car?” She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the pile of insurance and debt that would fall on her.

Wayne shook his head. “No, in fact, I had them wash it.”

Y/n chuckled. “Good one, Captain. You can't ‘wash a car.’ So how'd you convince the whole squad to betray me? What'd you offer them?” She squinted at her Capitan, certain that he had lost a hundred dollars or something of similar effect.

“I asked them if they wanted to embarrass you and they instantly said yes.”

“Fair.” Y/n sighed. “I’m a little disappointed, but it’s completely understandable. I'm not gonna lie, it turns me on a little bit.”

Wayne stared at her, disbelief on his face. “Hmm. So in addition to the five weeks of free overtime, I believe I'm owed one more thing.” He finally let his full grin through.

“Yes. Here we go.” Y/n took a deep breath in, but Wayne stopped her.

“One moment.” He opened the door and the detectives (plus Damian) of the sixty-sixth precinct streamed in, clapping and cheering.

Y/n took a deep breath and conceded, “Very well. Captain Bruce Wayne... You are an amazing police captain-slash-genius.” The team applauded and Y/n said loudly over the noise, “But be warned, I started planning next year's heist just this minute!”

“Good,” Wayne said. “Then you're only three months behind.”

“You sick son of a bitch,” Y/n growled. 

The masked man ran his fingertips over Y/n’s waist, dancing to the music. He gripped her wrist and spun her around, pressing her against the wall of the bus.

“Oop! Hello…” Y/n raised a brow, searching the man’s face. He looked oddly familiar…

“Hello,” the man said in a low, gruff voice, leaning even closer to her. Y/n’s stomach turned over at his proximity. “You wanna have some fun?”

“I love fun.” Y/n said, “I have ten more blocks to have fun.” 

“Good.” The man’s lips brushed Y/n’s jaw and she shivered. 

“Oh, I like your version of fun.” 

His lips trailed down to her collarbone, leaving feather-light kisses in their wake. He found the spot that made her breath catch in her throat and smiled wickedly. “Perfect,” he muttered. As he began nibbling away, swiping his tongue over the sensitive spot, the masked man slipped something out of Y/n’s pocket and into his own. Her badge and wallet.

Soon, Y/n pushed him away, displeased that it was her stop. After she got off, Jason whipped off the mask and Cass did the same. Damian called from the driver’s seat, “Todd. You may want to sit down. You seem a little… excited.” 

Jason glanced down and blushed profusely, collapsing immediately.

[taliaquinn]

Hamilton AU Part 1

Hiya guys!!! Guess what I decided to write this One shot series that is loosely based in Hamilton!! Basically this is what I think would happened if you mixed Adrinette and Hamilton, with sprinklings of Batfam. I’ve noticed a Lot of similarities between Adrien and Alexander Hamilton (Bad fathers, Dead mothers, growing up alone, insecurities) and decided to seize the opportunity. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Marinette stomped around his home. Ripping portraits off the wall. Throwing them discarding them to the side. Of course, she avoided ones that didn't include him. How COULD he? How could Adrien have done it? Betrayed her, her family,Their children? And for what reason? For a secretary, Not even his secretary, the secretary of a business partner?

At the thought of the identity of the secretary, Marinette let loose a scream and tore off another portrait. Letting the glass shatter when it crashed on the floor.  She was someone that had always done her best to make her life miserable. Marinette thought that she had washed her hands off her when she graduated Lycee. Guess she was wrong.

Adrien never hesitated, stepping into that hotel room. Marinette watched the footage through tears, there wasn't a millisecond of hesitation... He didn’t pause at all. Pause to think of her, his wife. Pause to think of his children. Pause to think of how it would break them all apart. Marinette was watching her picture-perfect family burn.

Did Adrien care? No. He just followed Lila right into the hotel room. It wasn't even once he’d go to her house so often you might as well call it a past time. He even had the nerve to bring that girl into their home. Into their bed. Well, Adrien has forfeited his right to her bed, and her heart. He can sleep in his office instead. She didn't care.

Marinette couldn’t help but let out a breathless chuckle. After 12 years Lila won after all. She got what she wanted the most. Adrien.

You know what? Marinette was fine with that. Adrien can be Lilas completely.

Marinette already sent the paperwork needed to file for divorce. Already got the paperwork to change her name back to Marinette Dupain Cheng Wayne. She’s going to make sure that her children’s last names are changed as well. She was going to cleanse herself of Adrien Agreste completely.

On second thought She’s going to pack their bags and head to Gotham. Adrien wouldn’t dare follow them there or try to see her.

Right now Marinette only wanted was to never see him again. She needed to see her siblings and father.

Marinette quickly got to work. Moving around her home she stopped packing their bags. She needed to get rid of the filth. She changed course and started to gather pictures, magazines, and letters.  Once she made sure to grab everything Adrien related she plunked herself right next to the fireplace and started to sort through everything letting her mind wander to the events of the week

Oh, she was late so late. quickly hopping out of bed she made sure to put on a suit and get her bags and purse ready for her trip. Taking a peek into Emma’s room she was slightly worried when found the bed empty. She made sure to stop at Louis and Hugo’s room. She was surprised to find the bed and cribs empty as well. Did they wake themselves up? She walked towards the living room and heard voices.

“Sweetheart you're playing the wrong scale see, look at me une deuce Trois quart cinq six sept…..” 

Marinette stopped to smile at herself. Adrien was home. That was rare these days. He was teaching Emma piano. That also rarely happened these days. He was always so busy. She knew from the lack of response from Emma that her daughter was soaking up all the attention as much as possible and focusing on getting the scale right. She started to hear the beginning of a simple melody. Quickly stopping to check over her suit and makeup she made her way towards the living room.

Once entering she couldn’t help but smile. Adrien was in the corner sitting next to Emma at the piano. Hugo was in his high chair eating cereal, rather messily too. Louis was sitting on the couch watching his morning cartoons. Everything was perfect. Her family was perfect.

Marinette jumped. Her phone was ringing... Checking the caller Id to make sure it wasn’t another reporter or worst  Adrien before answering. she let out a sigh of relief once she saw who was calling. She quickly picked up.

“Hey Damian hows it going” she responded softly, she hadn’t expected him to call. He was currently off-world with the Titans.

“Skip the pleasantries, beloved sister, I am here to help you and my nieces and Nephews and also handle that scoundrel of a cat,” Damian Said in a brisk tone.

All business and ready to return to Earth and terminate a certain blond-haired green-eyed model. Oh, Damian swore that when he got his hands on him he was going to unleash the Fury of an al-Ghul Wayne. Maybe sending a few assassins would be necessary-

“No assassins Damian” uh oh was he talking out loud??

“yes you were and no assassins Damian, he’s still the father of my kids, I don’t want to have to explain to them why uncle Damian is in prison”

“tt as if I would get caught, If anything it will probably be the fools Todd sent who would get caught” Damian knew how to keep his hands clean. The fact that his sister thinks otherwise is insulting.

“Wait. Who did Jason send!?  Call them off Da-” Oof Marinette was going to have to Call Jason and get him to call off any potential hitmen. Oh, who was she kidding she’s going to have a long list of friends and family to call and make stop any plans of hurting Adrien.

She grabbed a postcard that Adrien sent her. From Germany. It was from a couple of months ago. Marinette counted back. Ah if her math was correct then Adrien was “meeting up” with Lila at the time. Ignoring the ache in her heart she flicked the postcard into the fireplace. Watching the fire overtake it,

“Marinette I insist that you and your children come back to America at once and leave that awful city, Pennyworth has already prepared your old room along with the kid's room,” Damian said, yanking Marinette's attention from the glowing embers.

For all Damian cared he would let Todd's fools get caught, as long as they completed their task.

“I have to get the kid's Bags ready and I can’t leave without telling my parents but that's difficult enough since there off on their anniversary trip across Europe”

"Humph I'm sure they will understand the need for you to get away from the city, from him, I swear Agreste knows no bounds he had the nerve to cheat on you with some secretary,”

“It wasn't just some secretary, it was Lila Rossi” She spat out with heat evident in her voice. “She got what she wanted after all these years” she chuckled. She kept on flicking magazines, posters, and pictures that had Adrien's face in them into the fireplace. She hoped that Adrien's reputation would burn. After all, isn't that the reason why he revealed his affair to save it?

Anyways that’s it for part one. It was intended to be longer but I split it into two parts in order to not spoil you guys. I might connect this AU to another, as in a Law and Order:SVU one. Comment if you want to be added in the taglist!!!

A Why Me!? Chapter is coming out soon so be on the lookout for that :) 

Btw if you noticed that the paragraphs are much better written, I owe it to @unmaskedagain who I took inspiration from for writing cues :) 

Stay Safe and Healthy!!!

Taglist: 

@damianthebratboy @purplesundaze @silvergold-swirl @k-poplunardreams @pepelachanel @laurcad123 @maribat-is-lifeblood @kass-is-weird @another-fan-of-anotherplan @damianette-is-life @amayakans @parallelparabox @miukiiu @valeks-princess @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @thezestywalru @dreamykitty25 @pirats-pizzacanninibles @mochinek0 @shamefullove @mochegato @souleateralicestein @thestressmademedoit @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @aestheticnpoetic @mysupporthyperfixations @itsmeevie01

[selfawarejester]

triskele (j.t x c.h)

prologue (burn, baby, burn!) - cora

— Warnings: character death, vague descriptions of a corpse.

— Pairing: Jason Todd (DC Comics) x Cora Hale (Teen Wolf) [not in this part, can be read as standalone]

— Notes: Starting off the series with angst! This is promising. *evil smirk* Ah, yes, the Cora backstory and my interpretation of the Hale fire (because TW didn’t feel the need to elaborate on one of the most important, if not the most, events in the show.) Everyone who showed interest before is getting tagged below — hope you enjoy! I’m always open to feedback, so hit me up!

She remembers burning flesh most vividly.

Cora only left for an hour, going on a jog to cool off. Her mother had been furious about a fight she’d gotten in at school, but that guy was a jerk!

“He was picking on that asthmatic kid: McCall something! Did you really want me to just let that happen?” She yelled, stomping into the living room. The dark haired man on the couch eyed the two over the top of his newspaper before going back to it. Guess Uncle Peter’s not going to be of much help.

Talia sighed, doing that two-fingers-to-her-temple thing she hated. “Stopping a bully and tossing him into a locker are not the same thing.”

Cora frowns, crossing her arms as she drops her glare to the floor. “I only meant to shove him aside.” She bites out.

The front door slams, and a sullen teenage boy bearing an annoying resemblance to the woman in front of her walks in, freezing when his eyes fall on them.

“Is this about Cora beating up that 7th grader?” She squeezes her eyes shut as Talia groans, covering her eyes with both hands (and she swears she can hear Peter chortle) — there’s no way she’s getting out of this now.

“You heard about that too, cacchoro?” Talia asks, an equally exasperated and incredulous edge to her tone. Derek just chuckles, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Oh no… I’m not getting caught in this. Besides, I have to meet up with the guys anyways.” He tosses his schoolbag on the couch, dangerously close to Peter – who hisses under his breath – and ignores the pointed looks his mother and sister send him. “See ya, mom! Good luck, Cor!”

“…stop snarling at me, Peter.” And walks out, slamming the door again.

She rolls her eyes — he’s absolutely useless, as usual.

“Mom-“ Talia interrupts her, holding up a hand.

“You’re grounded, mi corazón. End of discussion.”

“But I have soccer this weekend-!” Cora waves her arms, face burning but Talia just shushes her again.

“No arguments. Go to your room.” She growls, fuming as she stormed upstairs. And after waiting for all of three minutes, leaps out the window and running for the main road.

Run, run, keep running!

It feels good to stretch her legs, without having slow down for the human kids. It’s just her, the forest and the wind whipping her hair around. She keeps at it until her calves pleasantly sting and she’s panting.

Maybe I should get home — it’s getting pretty late, and mom is only going to get angrier then. It’ll be worse if dad gets there before me.

The route back to Hale House isn’t an actual path, per say, but every wolf in Beacon Hills knows it by heart. Of course they did: Talia Hale was the Alpha, after all. Any time one of the packs from out of town, they had to come and pay their respects to the leader. In its own way, it’s pretty beaten down — the kind of minor differences that only a wolf could discern.

“Burn, baby, burn!” She hears someone yell, laughing, and the sheer malice that accompany the words stop her in her tracks. Someone else nervously skitters about, and someone else has already started running away.

“M-miss, we need to leave.” She hears him speak softly – is someone… groaning in the background? — while the woman who was laughing slowly calms down to a few chuckles. Cora stumbles forward, carefully and quietly, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. “T-the police are probably on their way already.”

“Right, right, heh heh.” Finally, Cora can place that voice, the voice that would haunt her nightmares for years to come. Kate, that girl that used to hang out with Derek. Her blood runs cold in her veins as that smell fills her nostrils, and she has to clench her jaw to keep from her lips quivering, the sob from escaping as her imagination turns on her.

She almost trips and falls directly into the light when she makes it to the clearing she called home, feeling like someone punched a hole into her chest and squeezed as she watches the flames rage.

The other guy has fled, and now it’s just Kate and some hunters behind her, lounging against their cars, talking and laughing like they’re at a picnic, watching fireworks instead of her family burning.

She slaps her hand to her mouth, tears flooding from her eyes. Her legs shake, and all she wants to do is scream, to fall and cry for her mother, whose blackened body is in their main doorway, reaching outwards.

The pain and fear still hang in the air, even though her family is dead, mingling with her own. She thinks she can hear someone’s wretched heaving, but that might be just her. She can’t feel anyone, all of her pack bonds are shattered, what should she do, what should she do-?

“Hey!” Her heart stops and she scrambled away, feeling like her head was going to explode. “Did you see something there?”

Run, run, keep running!

Her lungs are about to tear apart as she sprints away at full speed, checking over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t chasing.

Coward. You’re leaving them behind, you left them alone, you should’ve been there-

You should’ve been with them.

She shakes her head, sobbing but never stopping. No, just keep running, get away, survive.

It’s an odd feeling, she’d notice later through the numbness of grief — in the guest room of her mother’s friend Satomi, who found her feral and out of her mind in the next town over and whisked her to safety, wherever — the feeling of letting go, of letting your humanity slip and your primal, base instincts take over. Satomi said it was natural for a wolf her age, especially after the trauma she’d faced.

Cora wasn’t particularly complaining. Those instincts were what allowed her to survive for a week in the wild, scavenging, hunting, escaping. Still, she couldn’t get rid of that little voice in her head, relatively quiet compared to the screaming loss inside but consistently agonizing, that insisted that she was only a coward who cared about her own skin, a coward that left her family when they needed her most.

A coward who had a fight with her mom. Who didn’t even bother to say goodbye to her father that morning. Who was fighting with Laura over a board game instead of telling her she’d miss her when she went back to college. Who, in her last time at home, wrote a note to Derek to inform him she was going for a run that addressed him as “Jerkwad.”

She presses the pillow to her face and wails.

taglist (tell me if you want to be removed or added): @catxsnow @i-lovehufflepuff3000 @theconfusedpansexualbitch @lesbian-arsonists-united @brooklynnboys @nannna003 @capttain-emo @klutzydelusionprincess @victoriagraeca @fuzzycookietacopeach @emma-for-now @disnerd262 @sheimagineddragons

[violetsmoak]

Tabula Rasa [4/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/47927632

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know, and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #a lie #bright vivid colors #enemies to lovers #i’ll protect you # secret identity #soulbond #soulmark tattoo #soulmate aversion

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Jason’s body moves before his mind catches up, prompting him to drag them both to one side and out of any easy line of fire. There’s a small alley several yards away, and he does his best to get there without jarring the man in his arms. Tim’s eyes are wide in shock and pain, body crumpled and limp. Jason’s brain is numb as it scrambles to understand what just happened.

Tim’s been shot. Tim’s been shot in the head.

There are screams from the other passersby on the street, people running and scattering like rats. It’s the middle of the day, but shootings aren’t out of place here; people know how to take cover. They also know not to relinquish that cover to help someone down by a bullet.

Even a Wayne.

Especially a Wayne. 

No one wants to provide another target to whoever’s decided to shoot up Crime Alley.

Except, Jason notes dimly, there hasn’t been another gunshot.

Maybe whoever it is won’t waste bullets when there’s no target.

Jason’s fingers are slick with blood, slipping against Tim’s neck as he looks for a pulse. It’s there, though weak, and Jason shifts automatically, angling him upright to keep him from choking on his own blood.

As he does his best to use his hands to staunch the bleeding, he snarls, “Don’t…you…dare…” 

Jason can’t remove his fingers to tap his comm; several seconds pass before he can nudge his ear hard enough with his shoulder to turn it on.

(He’s beyond thankful he put it back in when he returned to Gotham—doesn’t want to think how this could go if he hadn’t.)

“Drake’s been shot,” he barks when the telltale static hiss informs him, someone, somewhere is on the line. “GSW to the head, get a fuckin’ bus to Park Row and West.”

“En route,” he hears Batman growl immediately, followed by a series of horrified exclamations from other Bats.

Batgirl and Signal, he thinks, but he honestly isn’t paying attention to any of the entreaties over the line anymore. He’s too busy monitoring Tim’s condition, counting the younger man’s breaths, and the pauses in between. They seem like they’re getting longer. He tells himself it’s Tim, using that absurd Bat training to slow his breathing, but he knows better.

“Stay awake,” he orders. Tim’s breathing is wet and choked, and his eyes roll like he’s on the verge of unconsciousness. “Come on, you’ve never taken anything I’ve said seriously before, don’t you dare start with this.”

It’s the longest three minutes of his life, but then Batman is there, looming over them both. People across the street are staring—Batman doesn’t show up in daylight as much as Gotham’s other vigilantes do. Robin lurks at his side, normally dark skin pale as he regards Tim with a clenched jaw. For once, the kid has no smart-ass comments.

Instead, he moves forward and makes a gesture as if he intends to take Tim’s weight from Jason, who shakes his head sharply.

“I’ve got him,” he snaps. “If we move him more than we need to he could bleed out. Go check those rooftops across the street. Look for evidence of a sniper, any clue about what fucker did this.”

For a wonder, Robin doesn’t even argue; he’s gone between one blink and the next.

“The ambulance will be here in another minute, and Dr. Thompkins is on the way to Gotham General,” Batman says. Of course; brain injury is more than she can handle in her clinic. “What. Happened.”

“High-velocity bullet entered from the back of the head,” Jason says, automatically switching into report mode. “Based on the angle it was—”

“That’s not what I meant. What were you doing here?”

It’s not a question, and the tone is almost accusing; Jason recoils as if slapped. Only practice keeps his hands immobile on Tim’s wound.

“This is my fucking neighborhood!”

“And normally you avoid Tim. What were you doing with him?”

“Exactly what are you implying?”

There’s no answer as the ambulance arrives, two technicians jumping out and hurrying over to Tim. Another unloads a stretcher and gear, which they start to set up. Batman vanishes and Jason focusses all his attention on whatever the techs are telling him as they work on Tim.

He’s not sure how long it is before they finally lift Tim out of his arms. Suddenly Dick is there, dressed in colorful tropical clothing too ridiculous for February, bare arms and legs chapped from what appears to have been a frantic ride on a motorcycle.

“I thought you were in Hawaii,” he thinks he says; thankfully, Dick isn’t paying attention.

“Tim? Oh my God, Tim! What happened?!”

“Sniper,” Jason says as the paramedics hurry the still form of the youngest former Robin into the back of the ambulance.

“I’m coming with him,” Dick announces, already climbing into the vehicle with the techs.

“Sir, you can’t—”

“I’m his brother, and I’m a cop,” he snaps. “And if none of that matters to you, my father’s fucking Bruce Wayne. You’ll never work again if you don’t get my little brother to the hospital now!”

The doors slam shut, and the ambulance tears around the corner. Jason remains standing in the middle of the street, blood still soaking his clothing as the crowd of onlookers grows.

“What about you?” a voice asks, and Jason jumps when he notices that Robin has returned.

“Did you find anything?” he responds, ignoring the question.

“Nothing.”

“What?” Jason snaps, glowering down at the thirteen-year-old. “That’s not possible.”

No sign of a sniper my ass. There must be something. Even fucking Deadshot leaves evidence.

“I know how to survey a scene, Todd, and there was nothing—where are you going?”

“Somewhere I can make a damn difference,” Jason retorts, already stalking away.

“I’m coming with—”

“Batman needs you more than I do, kid.”

He doesn’t wait to see if Damian listens, too intent on running far and as fast as he can. He won’t wait around to answer questions from the cops, could still be a target—

How the fuck did I become a target, to begin with? How did they figure me out?

He heads for Byron Avenue, keeping close to the buildings and out of open space that might prompt another attack, then ducks into the subway station. Besides his safe houses, he has several caches all around the city with spare gear and basic medical kits.

After double and triple-checking that he isn’t being followed, he heads for a storm drain where he’s stashed a waterproof bag with everything he needs. There he changes into his helmet and gear, leaving the blood-soaked hoodie and jeans behind.

Returning to the scene of the shooting, Jason makes his own investigation of the rooftops. The building he thinks was the sniper’s nest provides an excellent vantage point. Down on the pavement, he can see the drying puddle of Tim’s blood—but it’s as Damian said. There is no sign of a shooter—no footprints, hair, bullet casings.

So, whoever this is got wise since the last time, or…

His thoughts stutter, interrupted by the memory of Tim’s wide-eyed stare and he swears.

That’s not going to help find the fucker who did this.

He refocuses, tries to put himself in the sniper’s position. What would he do once he didn’t hit his target?

Honestly, he’d have kept shooting, so why didn’t this guy? Unless Tim was the target—which is possible, but unlikely. Red Hood’s the one that’s had some kind of silent war declared on him. The last time Jason checked the only major grudge against Red Robin from someone who knows his identity was Ra’s al-Ghul.

And he has a gigantic, creepy crush of Tim’s brain, so probably not going to risk breaking it.

Jason’s thinking in circles now and it makes him want to punch something—so he does. The wall doesn’t give, and he’s sure he sprained one of his knuckles, but the pain focuses him.

“He’s gonna be okay.”

Jason jerks around, hand flying to his hip holster as Signal appears beside him. “Christ, kid, don’t sneak up on me today.”

���O says he’s in surgery,” Duke goes on as if he didn’t almost get shot. “They had him in the operating room within fifteen minutes of him getting shot. You did a good job of keeping him stable.”

“If I’d been doing a good job, I’d have noticed some asshole taking a shot at us,” Jason growls. A moment later it dawns on him why Signal is here. “Did he send you to read the area?”

Duke nods and surveys the rooftop. “This the place?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty damn,” Jason replies. “A bullet’s trajectory doesn’t lie.”

“Point.”

“So what can you see?”

“Gimme a minute, it’s not like a switch I can just flip,” Duke retorts. He takes a few steps toward the edge of the building and stands still for a moment. Jason recognizes his posture as one of the standing meditative stances Bruce uses.

It’s several long minutes, where the only change is Duke’s breathing becoming a little more labored and his shoulders tensing a bit.

“Okay, I think…I think I got something,” he says, cocking to his head to one side as if he’s listening to something Jason can’t hear. “Yeah, there was definitely someone here—set the gun up here—” He waves a hand over the edge without touching it. “—but that’s it.”

“What.” Jason narrows his eyes.

Duke’s shoulders relax as if in defeat. “Exactly what it sounds like. I can’t tell anything, man.”

His frustration matches Jason’s. “You just said you saw someone.”

“I did. But whoever they are, they’re dressed all in black, wearing a balaclava and visor. Average height, average build—I guess more on the athletic side? I can’t even tell if they’re male or female. Could be government, could be a new mask, could be ninjas for all I know.”

“In my experience, ninja favor swords and shuriken instead of high-caliber sniper rifles.”

“Hah.” Duke pauses, and when Jason remains silent, tilts his head to one said. “Wait. You’re not kidding.”

Jason doesn’t answer, instead takes out his grapple gun and shoots a line to rappel down the side of the building.

“You’re welcome,” he hears Duke mutter behind him.

Jason needs information, and none of his people are talking to him right now. He could contact Oracle, but—no, probably with the Family right now, if Dick’s here already.

But she’s also protective as hell, so she’ll be working this even if she’s in waiting to find out if Tim’s…

Jason’s brain stalls again, the image of Tim in his arms, the stickiness of the blood, expression resigned after what Jason says—

Against his will, against his attempts to keep busy, his brain seems keen to remind him that his soulmate was just shot in front of him. That he very well might die—could be dead already.

“Yeah, well, my life would have been a lot easier if you didn’t exist!”

Suddenly it’s of dire importance that he finds out how Tim’s doing.

Gambling on Dick’s presence signifying a fortuitous early return of the honeymooners, he flicks through the channels on his comm until it gets to Oracle’s frequency.

“Is he…?”

“Are you coming to the hospital?” she interrupts, her regular voice sharp in his ear.

“Don’t think I’d be very welcome there.”

“B isn’t here. He’s been doing the same thing as you. It’s why he sent Signal your way while he tracks down possible witnesses.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s his kid in there!”

“When have you ever known him to sit around and wring his hands when something like this happens?” 

Jason growls at that.

“Listen, I get why you might not want to come. But you should. It would make Dick feel better at least. He’s a wreck and needs his siblings right now.”

“Cass and the brat aren’t there already?”

“They are. But you’re his brother too.”

He snorts.

“Don’t give me that. He is. And Tim is too.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, why do you have to be so difficult!” Barbara snaps. “Pull your head out of your ass for once in your life and be here for your family. Gotham General, Room 1602. If you don’t show up at least once, I’ll load viruses in all of your tech for the next year.”

There’s a definitive click that closes the conversation.

Jason scowls into the distance.

She would, too.

Another ten minutes of debating with himself, and he heads toward the hospital.

⁂

Jason can’t bring himself to enter the hospital, to sit around with the rest of the Family and pretend that he’s one of them. Not with Bruce’s cold question ringing in his ears.

“What were you doing?”

Still, he brings up the floor plans to the building on the screen in his helmet, uses it to pinpoint where Tim is. He climbs the nearest fire escape and fixes a grapnel to the window outside the conference room that has become an impromptu private waiting room for the Wayne family.

They’re all there, talking in hushed voices like it’s already Tim’s funeral. The undercurrent of tension and fear is so tangible it permeates the walls of the building. It sounds like even Bruce is there now, and Jason wonders if Barbara threatened him, too.

Jason’s got his microphones tuned into the sound inside and can hear every whisper. None of it is relevant to Tim’s condition, so he ignores most of it.

“Okay, you harpy, I’m here,” he mutters into his comm, digging with his free hand into his pocket for. “But I ain’t comin’ in, so don’t push it.”

The words it’s a start flash across his screen, and he rolls his eyes as he fits the cigarette to his lips.

Jason stays there for what seems like hours, hanging along the wall like a living shadow and smoking like a chimney. When his hand is empty, he’s not staring at it, watching his soulmark as it fades in and out of existence. He’s never focused so much on the eddying patterns of color before, or what they mean.

He’s also not sure if he’s relieved or terrified to realize he has a more accurate idea of Tim’s condition than the Family waiting on updates.

It feels like forever before there’s movement inside, bodies jumping to standing, and the sound of a door opening. Jason presses closer to the window, his entire body rigid in anticipation. It’s Doc Thompkins greeting them.

Instantly, everyone is clamoring around her.

“Is he okay?”

“How much longer will the surgery take?”

“Will he be alright—”

“He will be out of surgery soon,” Thompkins says, cutting everyone’s questions. “And as of right now, his odds are as good as they can be.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief; Blondie gives a half-sob and Alfred murmurs a prayer of gratitude under his breath. Something in Jason’s chest, which he hadn’t noticed has been clenched since he processed the fact that Tim was shot, loosens.

“The bullet went through clean,” Thompkins continues, “and it didn’t stay in the brain, which has kept the damage minimal. From what Tim’s neurosurgeon Dr. Scherr described, it entered from the back and exited the front, traveling the length of the left hemisphere. He’s still extracting the skull fragments from the brain matter and dealing with the other injuries to his head, but otherwise, Tim should be out of surgery soon.”

Dick makes a choked noise, and Bruce begins, “The team working on him—”

“Have all been vetted,” Thompkins assures him. “I have complete trust in their discretion. And I will continue to monitor him myself once I finish updating you.”

A collective wave of relief settles across the room.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Thompkins warns. “The surgeon had to remove part of his skull to allow for swelling without compression. It will need to remain open for a while. They’ll keep him in an induced coma for some time to allow his brain to rest.”

“How long will that be?” Blondie asks.

“They won’t replace the piece of the skull until they’re sure there are no bacteria from the bullet remaining, which could be awhile. As for the coma, that will depend on him. It will last as long as it needs to last.”

“But he’s…he’ll live?” Dick asks.

“That remains to be seen,” the woman sighs. “A person’s chances of survival depend on the areas of the brain that struck, the velocity of the bullet, whether the bullet exits the brain.” Jason hears a shift of clothing, no doubt something like a shrug. “I can say this, it’s a good thing it passed only through the left hemisphere; if it had been both, the damage would be worse, if not fatal.”

“I don’t understand,” Cass says. “He is…okay. But not.”

“The brain can sometimes tolerate losing one half,” Bruce explains to her, though his voice does not sound as optimistic as that news might call for. “Sometimes.”

“The bullet didn’t touch the brain stem or the thalamus and missed the major blood vessels, the ventricles…that’s good news,” Thompkins says. “As for the bad news…”

“The left side of the brain controls language and speech.”

“Exactly. So, in the coming days, he’ll be under observation and when he wakes up, we’ll see if he’s able to process anything.” Thompkins sighs. “I won’t lie to you. His recovery process will be a long one.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time for one of us,” Dick says, trying to sound hopeful.

“When can we see him?” Blondie wants to know.

“As requested, a private room is being set up for him. Once he’s brought in, you can go see him one at a time. He won’t be awake for a while, though.”

It’s as promising a prognosis as it can be, and Jason decides that the kid’s in good hands. He’s met Barbara’s ultimatum, and he’s assuaged any minor concern he might have about Tim. There’s nothing else for him to do here.

Jason turns away from the window and releases the grip on his grapple to allow him to rappel down the wall.

Back to the drawing board, he decides. Maybe if he looks at the scene from a different vantage point, he’ll get some inspiration. Track down any witnesses and if Batman hasn’t scared the piss out of them yet, ask his own questions.

It’s time to put the fear of Red Hood back into the hearts of the criminal underworld.

⁂

Two weeks later, as Jason numbly stares up at the fiery remnants of his last safe house in Gotham, he realizes it might be time to go underground.

Every day since Tim’s shooting, it’s been another attack on him, either with his boltholes' destruction or the people on his payroll turning on him. The word is out that he’s got a price in his head, and everyone’s trying to collect.

The smart thing would be to leave Gotham for a bit, regroup and plan his bloody answer for his latest challenger in the shadows. But Jason’s always had a stubborn streak. If a soulmate crisis can’t keep him out of his city, some upstart trying to take over the Gotham underworld won’t do it either.

But until he can get a better understanding of what’s going on, he’s putting more and more people in danger. Two of the working girls were attacked since the first safe house was bombed. And there’s that horrible, needling sense that what happened to Tim was because of Jason that won’t go away.

No one’s going to work with Red Hood right now, and it’s too dangerous to start asking questions outside of the mask. Especially if someone has a vague description of him in mind.

But he has a plan.

Unfortunately, the plan requires Red Hood to die for a little while.

It’s easy to find a body to stick in the ruins of his safe house. He’s got an in at the morgue and his pick of John Does for the right price—someone of his height and build. The most difficult bit is transporting the body and wrestling it into his spare gear and a helmet.

And then he disappears; grabs a go-bag from another cache (those haven’t been found, which is at least one thing going right), sneaks through sewers and backstreets to avoid being followed. He’s been switching motels every day—sometimes twice a day—and paying in cash, so if anyone’s watching his online presence they can’t track him that way.

A trip to an outlet mall in Otisburg provides him a new wardrobe (one that more closely resembles something Bruce might wear, albeit at a lower price and quality). After the last stop in a pharmacy, he’s got everything he needs to bleach his hair and tint it closer to his natural shade; he’s stopped shaving, so the stubble will eventually grow in a matching color. Finally, he takes a page out of Superman’s book and adds a thick-rimmed pair of glasses.

He frowns at himself in the cheap mirror of his temporary room, unable to see anything of himself in the reflection.

I look like a douchebag grad student.

It’s time to begin the next part of his plan, but he finds himself hesitating. His eyes stray to the mark on his hand, which he’s looked at more in the past two weeks than every year since it appeared on his skin.

Tim’s still alive, but there hasn’t been any news on that front. Nothing mentioned in the news beyond replays of someone’s shoddy cellphone recording the shooting. He’s looked that footage over from every angle, hoping to find a clue in it as to the identity of the shooter, but there’s nothing to find.

He hasn’t run into another cape for two weeks now. Though he’s heard snatches of conversation on the comms suggesting they’re still around, he suspects it’s not in full force. If things are dire, that would explain the lack of vigilante activity in the city right now.

Jason sits on the decision for another two hours before deciding to bite the bullet and head to the hospital. He should at least check in once more before going into hiding.

(Not because he’s worried about Tim beyond the cursory sense of not wanting him to be dead.)

Alfred is the first to see him as he ambles through the door, eyes widening imperceptibly. “Master Jason.”

The words cause an immediate reaction. He didn’t tell anyone he was coming, figuring they’d tell him not to bother or call security on him. As such, the sudden rise in tension as he shuffles into the room is understandable.

Steph sits bolt upright from where she was lying head in Cass’s lap, and Babs mouth draws into a thin line, though she gives him a nod. Duke pushes off from the nearby wall, uncrosses his arms like he’s ready to throw down if something goes wrong. Dick, though, seems lost, stumbling from his chair and over to Jason, looking torn between hugging him or shaking him.

Bruce and Damian are nowhere in sight, for which he is both grateful and a bit resentful.

There’s no way they went on patrol tonight, is there?

And then there’s Tim. Lying in the hospital bed, bandaged and bundled into something like a hockey helmet, his usually pale skin impossibly white. Jason can see the veins beneath it even from this distance. He looks so much smaller and weaker than Jason remembers him being.

He has the bizarre urge to check his pulse again, just to feel it beating, even as the monitor he’s hooked up to beeps out a steady rhythm.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Steph demands though Cass reaches out to squeeze her hand. She shakes her head at her soulmate and then looks up at Jason with a small, encouraging smile.

“He is here. For Tim.”

There’s a sharp stab of fear just then, that Cass might know. That any or all of them might, but like Tim, just never mentioned it. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for the Bats to keep something from him to protect one of their own.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

He shifts his weight, ready to step back into the hallway, but Dick seems to come to a decision then. He envelops Jason in a sudden hug which makes him tense up and clench his fists so he doesn’t reflexively punch him.

“Thank you,” Dick breaths, pressing his head against Jason’s shoulder. “You kept him alive. If it weren’t for you…”

“Don’t go thanking me yet,” Jason dismisses, pulling away. “He’s still in a fuckin’ coma.”

“But he could be dead,” Dick says, not seeming bothered by Jason’s rejection. “You saved him.”

Or got him shot in the first place.

As inaccurate as Dick’s sentiments might be, they do the job of diffusing the tension; everyone relaxes, and Alfred gets up from his chair to greet Jason. He doesn’t hug him, but in an uncharacteristic touchiness, squeezes his shoulder.

“I can only echo Master Richard’s sentiments,” he says, and then considers Jason. His mouth quirks in a smile at his hair. “And that is a look I have not seen in many years.”

It takes a moment before Jason understands, and then he shifts in something like embarrassment. “Yeah, well, it’s only temporary.”

“A shame. Do you know how many chemicals and carcinogens are in those awful dyes you continue to use?”

“I think at this point, cancer is the last thing that’s going to kill me,” Jason replies dryly.

“Should have known he was a ginger,” Steph mutters not quite under her breath. “It’s the lack of soul that should have given it away.”

“Want to run that one by me again?” Barbara asks lightly, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“I already know you don’t have a soul, boss lady,” Steph replies. “Not with how many times you’ve sent me into Gotham’s sewers. You’re Beelzebub as far as I’m concerned.”

“Steph, knock it off,” Dick says.

“I’m just saying, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. I mean, he was dead, who knows what kind of Hell STD he might have picked up.”

“He’s here to check on Tim, not pick a fight.”

“I don’t know, I could probably use one,” Jason replies thoughtfully.

Steph bares her teeth. “Me too.”

“You will do no such thing. Either of you,” Alfred pronounces, in the voice that even Batman doesn’t argue with. “Master Richard, perhaps you might update our new arrival as to Master Timothy’s condition? If only to stave off any further bloodshed?”

Jason and Steph both slump, chastised, but Dick is already nodding.

“The first two or three days were hard,” he says, motioning for Jason to come further into the room. “They woke him every few hours to check for responsiveness, and he was able to make some noise, which the neurologist said was a good sign. But then the third day the swelling got really bad. They were worried they’d have to go for another surgery to relieve the pressure, but it went down on its own.” 

“The neurosurgeon says we won’t know if that caused any other damage until he fully wakes up,” Barbara adds.

“The next day they reduced to sedation to see if he could breathe on his own, which he could,” Dick goes on. “They had to put him back on at the time, but Leslie says the fact he had the ability so early in the healing process is a good sign.”

“Then the day after, when they changed his bandages, he opened his eyes.”

“Was he okay?” Jason asks before he can stop himself, eyes flitting to Tim and back.

Dick shakes his head sadly. “He couldn’t see anything. The doctors tested that first thing, and nothing. He was trying to speak, though, and kept choking around the tube in his throat. They had to put him under again.”

“Shit.”

“That was last Tuesday. Friday they decided to check his breathing again, and that time they brought him in for a tracheotomy to give him a smaller ventilator tube. They want him to get used to breathing on his own again, slowly. Then on Sunday, they fixed the damage around his eye-socket.”

“As much as they could, I guess,” Steph adds with a sigh, settling back against Cass. “He’s going to have a scar there even if he gets reconstructive surgery.”

“Luckily we have no need to create a cover story for that scenario,” Alfred says. “The press has been airing the news about the shooting for two weeks now.”

“He has been shot. Twice. In the last year,” Cass points out. “Big news for them.”

“I think Vicki Vale might actually be crouched in a corner somewhere in the hospital live-tweeting the whole thing,” Steph complains.

“She is not,” Alfred snorts. “Master Bruce gave explicit orders that the hospital would be losing significant financial contribution if his family’s privacy was not prioritized at this time.”

“Must be nice to own the world, huh?”

“They downgraded his condition from critical to serious this Tuesday. We’ve all just been hanging out here in case he wakes up,” Dick concludes, and he seems exhausted after going through all of that.

“No one’s out there?” Jason asks, jerking his head toward the city beyond Tim’s room window.

“Everyone takes shifts. B and R were on tonight, but they should be back soo—”

“What is this?”

Everyone turns to face Bruce, who looms in the doorway, brows drawing downward; there’s some swelling in his jaw that even make-up can’t quite cover, no doubt a souvenir from tonight’s patrol. Behind him is a petite nurse and Damian, who peeks around his father’s bulk and imitates his scowl.

“Todd. What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Wayne, is there a problem?” the nurse considers the sudden tension in the room, and then frowns at Jason. “Young man, only family should be in here right now.”

“I was just leaving,” Jason says. It’s easier to run than to explain that, technically, he’s family, even if Jason Todd Wayne has been dead for years. He doesn’t belong here anyhow.

But then Dick, the fucker, opens his goddamn mouth.

“He is family,” he insists, shooting Bruce a warning look. “J—Todd lives with Tim. It’s not exactly a matter of public record, though, so we’d appreciate your discretion.”

The nurse blinks and then understanding passes across her face. “I apologize, I didn’t know you were partners. I’ve never seen you here in the past two weeks.”

There’s a note of reproach there.

Jason almost swallows his tongue at the implication, wanting to deny it immediately, but the look on her face is full-on judgment. And he kind of wants to put her in her place.

“Stationed in Syria. Manbij,” he tells her with a glare. “Only just got approved for leave.”

As expected, she flinches. “Oh. I see. Well, thank you for your service.”

And she makes herself scarce as if worried she’s going to put her foot in it again.

Damian snorts, unimpressed. “Really, Todd? Impersonating a veteran?”

“Fuck you, we’re all veterans in one way or another.”

“Language,” Alfred reminds, and motions them all inside, “And if we might take this discussion away from prying ears?”

Bruce lets himself be guided in, still watching Jason with the air of someone waiting for a bomb to go off. Jason shoots Dick a glare. “You couldn’t have come up with a better story?”

“It’s more believable than you being Bruce’s dead adopted son that got resurrected in a pit of green goo. Or were you hoping to make an Oliver Queen style comeback?”

Jason has nothing to say to that, but eventually manages an uncomfortable, “Point.”

“Mazel tov.”

And there’s a shadow of a grin there, an attempt at humor in the face of the dark situation they’ve all found themselves in.

Though he probably wouldn’t find it as funny if he knew the truth.

“Isn’t there something you want to say to Jason, Bruce?” Barbara prompts, tone hard.

There’s a pause, and then the older man’s frown eases the slightest bit.

“The life-saving measures you employed were integral to Tim’s survival.” His shoulders lose some of their tension, then. “Thank you, Jay.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to acknowledge it, to say ‘you’re welcome’, and accept the praise. But the idea he might be responsible for Tim even being here keeps him from getting the words past his lips.

“I need a cigarette,” he says, and heads for the door.

“Wait, Jason, you don’t have to—” Dick begins.

“Cool your jets, Dickhead, I’m coming back,” he mutters. “I just need some air.”

“You know you just completely contradicted yourself, right?” Damian points out.

“You’re staying?” Dick asks, hopeful.

Jason has been lying, but there’s something desperate on Dick’s face. He remembers what Barbara said, about Dick needing his siblings right now. And the last time he outright rejected someone they ended up getting shot.

His eyes flick back to Tim, the image of blood and wide blue eyes flashing in his mind.

“Yeah,” he sighs and mentally postpones his plans. “Yeah, I guess so.”

⁂

It’s two more days of waiting before Tim wakes up.

Early Saturday morning, Dr. Scherr and Dr. Thompkins announce that his condition has once more been updated, from serious to good. It’s decided to wake him up to check his functionality.

The private room is big enough to accommodate everyone, but they hang back quietly against the wall as the doctors go about bringing him out of the coma. Bruce parks himself beside Tim’s bedside, holding his hand, while Alfred takes up space behind him as the nurse injects something into Tim’s IV.

It feels almost like everyone is holding their breath waiting for him to regain consciousness.

There are several minutes of silence before the eye that isn’t bandaged flutters and droops open. The blue is dulled by the medication, but the shade is exactly the one that’s been haunting Jason’s thoughts since the shooting.

“Good morning, Timothy,” Dr. Scherr says with a small smile. “You’ve been asleep for a while. Can you understand me?”

Tim groans.

“No, don’t try to speak. You have a tube right now that’s been helping you breathe. We’re going to take it out, in a moment. But for now, just blink once for ‘yes’, two for ‘no’. Understand?”

Tim’s eye droops closed and then slowly opens again.

“That’s great,” Scherr says, and then turns to Bruce. “He has some comprehension. This is an excellent sign.”

Bruce leans forward. “It’s good to see you awake, Tim. We’ve all been very worried.”

Tim’s brow wrinkles as he stares at Bruce, eye blank, and he squints into the distance at the group of people gathered in chairs along the wall.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Dr. Thompkins prompts, drawing Tim’s attention to her. It’s a slow process, and she has to repeat the question once he focuses on her again.

Two agonizingly slow blinks.

Thompkins and Scherr look concerned, but continue on, asking a series of simple questions and asking if he can move certain parts of his body. There is an astounding number of negative responses that have them exchanging grim looks with Bruce.

“Tim, do you know who we are?” Bruce says at last, wary.

He receives a pained look in response like Tim is trying his best to recall, but the information isn’t there. At last, he blinks twice.

Alfred makes a sound like he’s been punched, Bruce’s expression darkens, and the others give varied noises of dismay.

He doesn’t remember anyone. Fuck, that’s not good.

Worse, Tim appears aware of this failing. The monitor on his heart is beginning to speed up, and his breathing becomes choked.

“What’s going on?” Dick asks, voice strained.

“Tim? Tim, are you okay?” Steph clamors. “Can we get you anything?”

“He has a tube down his throat, Brown, you really think he’s going to answer you?”

“Shut up, gremlin, it’s the thought that counts!”

“Perhaps you should all take a step back,” Thompkins suggests. “This is stressful enough for him.”

“He doesn’t recognize us,” Bruce states, having caught the same thing Jason did. “I want to see the chart. Exactly what parts of the brain were compromised?”

“This isn’t your company, Bruce, you can’t order people around, I don’t care how much money—”

“Would you guys knock it off?” Jason speaks up in irritation, taking a few steps forward. “You’re freakin’ him out.”

Tim’s good eye darts in the direction of Jason, and there’s a moment of non-recognition that hits him a little harder than he would have thought. Then Tim frowns, attention going to his right hand, where the fingers have begun to twitch.

And in front of everyone, his wrist suddenly explodes with swirling blooms of red and gold knotwork. The colors travel along his forearm and almost all the way up to his shoulder and beneath the cotton of his hospital gown.

Jason experiences the corresponding heat in his left as his own mark reacts and shoves his hand in his pocket, hoping no one notices.

No such luck.

While everyone else is focussed on Tim, the bedridden young man is zeroed in on Jason. His drugged gaze seemingly instantly drawn to the color, something like recognition flickers within his eyes. When he looks at Jason again, there’s an unmistakable glimmer of hope. His mouth parts, like he wants to speak. He can’t quite shape the words, though, beyond a raspy moan at the back of his throat.

It’s clear, though, what he’s trying to say, and everyone is now glancing from Tim to Jason in confusion. Except for Bruce, whose face is awash with conflicting emotions: shock, dismay, and concern.

Of course, he saw it.

“Is this true?” he asks Jason, eyes piercing.

“Is what true?” Dick wants to know; he’s confused and worried, and there’s a hint of protective anger there.

Everyone is staring at him now. Jason can’t help the sudden swell of panic, imitating a deer in the headlights as everyone in the family is suddenly laser-focused on him.

He could lie.

His mark is still covered, Tim’s the only one who saw it in full, Bruce is only guessing. Jason could deny it and back out of the room and not come back. Everyone might be happier if he did that, and it would keep the peace; keep them off his back about it.

But Tim looks so small and lost there, unable to recognize anyone there. Right now, he’s completely alone but for Jason.

And isn’t that fucked up?

He squares his shoulders, deciding that he’s gotten used to doling out the blunt honesty by now, hang the consequences. And for everything else’s he done, lying outright about being Tim’s soulmate is very different from pretending not to know. It’s wrong somehow, in the same way selling drugs to kids is wrong.

“Yeah,” he says, though the word cracks in his throat and he has to clear it, say it louder, “Yeah, I am.”

“Bullshit,” Steph says automatically, disbelief and anger evident in the snap of her eyes.

“Miss Stephanie Alfred chides, but it sounds vague, like a reflex instead of actual admonition.

And it’s that more than anything that gets Jason tugging off his glove and rolling up his sleeve. Everyone else can look at him however they want, but he doesn’t want Alfred to think he’s the type of person to joke or lie about this. 

There are murmurs from all around as everyone watches his mark blossom across his exposed skin, moving in the same manner as Tim’s—reaching out for its mate.

Tim’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying to smile, but can’t quite manage it. Then his eyes blink a few times, slowing, before closing completely.

“What’s happening?” Jason demands. Did he do something to mess him up again?

“It’s alright,” Thompkins says. “It’s a lot of energy for him to expend, even for short times, and the sedatives are still in his system. He’ll wake up sporadically until he kicks them.

“…Right.”

“Can we come back to the fact that Todd’s his soulmate?” Damian points out. “I think that’s more of a cause for concern.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re actually…” Dick falters, looking like he’s trying to reconcile bits of knowledge together like pieces of two different puzzles.

“I don’t understand,” the nurse says, having watched the exchange from her spot beside Tim’s IV stand. “You implied before that they lived together—how could you not know?”

“They just started seeing each other,” Barbara speaks up from her corner, only the tiniest hesitation before the lie. “I guess they didn’t want to tell us yet. I mean, Bruce and…Todd don’t get along.”

“Well, you had better get over that quickly,” the nurse states, frowning at Bruce. “Because as now, that young man has more right to be here than any of you.” She turns to face Jason. “Timothy’s under a lot of stress right now, you don’t want him picking up on yours too. You want anyone here gone, I’ll get them out of here.”

Jason can’t hold back the choked laughter at the idea of the four-foot-nothing nurse looking at Bruce like she’ll kneecap him if he questions her.

And wouldn’t that be a trip? Insisting everyone leave because by some ridiculous twist of fate he’s connected to Tim more than anyone else is? Normally, he’d get a kick out of the power he’s suddenly got.

Today, it feels hollow.

“No. No, they stay,” he says after a breath. “They’re his family.”

Another almost unnoticeable release of tension in the room, like they all expected him to kick them out after all.

I’m not that much of an asshole.

The nurse nods, eyes softening in something like respect or approval, and turns to leave. “Well, if there’s anything, you call me. Just ask for Judy”

When she’s gone, Jason forces him to look up at Bruce at last. The man’s expression is dark, looking more like Batman than Bruce Wayne, and it’s directed at him.

Should have taken my chance on the streets…

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

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<3 Violet