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marauderundercover · 3 years

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Taking Chances Ch. 25: Fighting Alone (Grounded)

AO3

Marinette was exhausted. Adrien’s father had sent him out of Paris for a week for some fashion show that he couldn’t be bothered to go to in person. Instead, he had Natalie with Adrien. Since Marinette herself wasn’t in Paris, she usually wouldn’t mind Adrien’s week-long trip. Except, she wasn’t in Paris. And now, neither was Chat Noir. Which means for nearly a week, she’d been sneaking out of her dad’s house at random times to do patrols in Paris. Luckily, there hadn’t been any akuma attacks. She knew her dad would be beyond angry if she was the only one to show up for an attack. And if he knew that she knew about Adrien’s absence ahead of time and didn’t ask any of her family to help? She’d been in big trouble. Even more if he knew she’d been not only going on patrol in Gotham under his supervision, but also in Paris. Getting next to no sleep. So yeah, she was ready for a nap. Just as her eyes are about to close, the shrill akuma alarm screams from her phone. Groaning, she sits up.

“Marinette, you’re exhausted.” Tikki admonishes her, her tiny arms crossed.

“Tikki, I have to do this. I’m sorry, and I promise I’ll sleep when we get home.” Marinette says, giving her friend a pleading look. Tikki huffs, letting her little arms drop.

“Fine, but when we get back you are going to talk to your father and stay home from patrol tonight.” She says. Marinette frowns, but quickly agrees. It never went well arguing with the goddess of creation.

“Tikki, spots on!” She says, letting the warmth of her transformation flow over her. She glances at Kaalki. “Ready?” She asks. The Kwami nods and Marinette combines the transformations, quickly opening a portal and dropping into Paris. She could do this.

---

The sudden blaring of the akuma alarm breaks Bruce from his thoughts. He raises an eyebrow and quickly pulls up the newsfeed of the attack, letting it play in the background as he continues working.

“Ladybug has just arrived on scene! No direct confirmation on the akuma’s powers yet. We just have to hope it’s a weak one today folks as it appears speculation is correct and Chat Noir is not currently in Paris.” The reporter says, making him snap his attention to the video. His jaw tenses and his phone starts ringing and flooding with text messages. No doubt the boys were also watching the video. He answers the phone as he swiftly walks towards the elevator. Work could wait. Right now he needed to get home and take the Zeta tubes to Paris.

“Hello.” He says, not even bothering to look at the caller id.

“How many of us are going to Paris?” Dick asks. Bruce frowns.

“I will be going alone.” He says. Dick snorts. Bruce hits the button for the garage, shifting impatiently in the small space. He could’ve taken the stairs, but he had a reputation to uphold. He couldn’t sprint down the stairs like he could as Batman. People would talk.

“Yeah right, B. There’s no way you’re gonna get Jay and Little D to agree to that. You know the three have been attached at the hip lately.” Dick reminds him.

“Will you please monitor the tubes until I get there? I don’t want your brothers rushing off and doing something stupid.” He says.

“Sure can, B.” Dick says. Bruce hangs up the phone and stares at the number indicating the floor the elevator is on. The second it switches to ‘B’, he’s prepared and storms through the door, not slowing until he’s in the car. He pulls up the news feed immediately, pushing down on the gas as he drives through the city.

“It’s been confirmed that the current akuma has a sword and appears to be skilled with the weapon. Ladybug herself has urged citizens to remain in their homes until this battle is over.” The reporter says. Bruce curses under his breath and pushes the gas pedal down even more. Almost there. Almost there. The car alerts him to a phone call and he answers.

“Father, why have you locked us out of the Zeta tubes?” Damian demands, his voice harsh. “The akuma has a sword, Marinette is not skilled with a sword yet.”

“Damian, I don’t want you or Jason going to Paris. I already told Dick that I’m the only one going.” Bruce explains, pulling the car over at the front of the manor and switching the call to his cellphone as he rushes into the house.

“Yeah B, that’s what Dick said before we tied him up. But how the hell did you lock us out of the tubes? Even Timmy can’t figure it out.” Jason says, and Bruce freezes. She wouldn’t. She…. she couldn’t, right?

“Jason, untie Dick and have him put in my alternative password.” Bruce orders, rushing through the manor to get to the entrance of the cave. If his suspicions were right, his daughter had managed to shut down the Zeta tube in the Batcave. And maybe even halted any attempts to enter Paris.

“Still not working, B.” Tim’s frustrated voice comes through the phone. Damnit. Bruce storms into the cave, slipping only a domino mask on. Protocol be damned, his daughter was in danger. He hangs up the phone as he storms in, walking past his sons and straight to the tube. He quickly changes the destination to the watch tower and steps through, ignoring his son’s protests. Once at the tower, he tries Paris. And then he tries again. How the hell had she managed that? He quickly returns to the Batcave, looking at his sons with a tense face.

“Somehow, your sister has cut off the Zeta tubes’ ability to go to Paris.” He says with a clenched jaw.

“Why the hell would she do that?” Jason asks, looking both angry and hurt.

“Does she not trust us?” Dick asks, frowning. Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, trying hard not to yell. He wasn’t mad at his sons. They hadn’t done anything. His youngest daughter, on the other hand.

“I’m sure she does. But I’m also sure that this is her idiotic way of keepin all of us safe. Even if it’s a danger to her.” Bruce says, glancing at the giant computer screen where the battle was playing out live. The boys had muted it, and Bruce was glad. Glad that he didn’t have to listen to the reporter constantly mentioning that this was dangerous and that Ladybug was alone. She didn’t have to be alone. But she was, and he had no way to help her.

---

Damian Wayne is not one to give up. He had been trained by the best of the best his entire life, and he refused to back down from a fight. Especially one where his sister was so obviously unqualified. His thoughts rush through his head as he attempts to find a different path, a different way to go and assist his sister. He nods slightly as it comes to him. This could work.

“I will be upstairs, if you need me.” He informs his family, ignoring the questioning. They would only slow him down. He remains in his uniform though, no need to cause panic while he goes through with his plan. Once he is out of the cave, he calls out: “Jon? I require your assistance.” He walks outside the manor and stands just outside the front door, waiting for his acquaintance- friend- to arrive.

“What’s up?” Jon asks, hovering slightly above the ground.

“We are needed in Paris and the Zeta tubes are down. Care to join me?” Damian asks, and Jon grins.

“Let’s go!” He says excitedly, grabbing Damian and flying away from Gotham. Damian briefly wonders if he should have told his Father his plan. After all, he had his own friend- acquaintance- with the ability to fly. Hmm. He doesn’t bother thinking on the subject long as the Eiffel tower comes into view. He scans the ground quickly, looking for the tell-tale red and black of his sister’s uniform.

“Have you spotted Ladybug?” He asks Jon. He had shown Jon videos of previous battles, in case he ever needed assistance to find Ladybug rather than Ladybird.

“Found her! Wanna drop in?” Jon asks. Damian nods and Jon flies over, the two landing right behind Ladybug. She whirls around, a shocked look on her face.

“Really, Robin?” She snaps. Finally able to look at her up close, instead of through a screen, he is able to see the exhaustion on her face. And how worn down she looks.

“You blocked the others from assisting. I had no such trouble. Now, let's finish this.” He says, pulling out his katana and shifting his position. She could be angry at him later, right now they had a job to do.

---

“-and reckless, and totally irresponsible and-” Damian cuts off her ranting.

“Are we still discussing my actions, or yours?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow. Marinette glares at her little brother, dropping down to sit on her bed, slouching her shoulders. She was tired.

“There’s a reason I blocked the Zeta tubes from going to Paris during attacks, Damian.” She sighs, running a hand over her face. She cared about her brothers and her father and Cass. She really did. But while she loved them, Paris was her fight. She needed to get through the battles alone. Or with Adrien.

“No matter the reason, it was still reckless. And Father-” Damian starts, but is cut off.

“Is very angry.” Her dad says, and Marinette winces. She turns towards her door, smiling awkwardly at her dad.

“Hey, Dad, uh, fancy seeing you here.” She says, laughing awkwardly.

“How long has Adrien been away?” He asks.

“Only a week.”

“And you have been patrolling both Gotham and Paris during that time, correct?” He asks, and she sighs.

“Yes.”

“I see. How much have you slept this week?” He asks. She opens her mouth to respond when Tikki zips out.

“Twelve hours. Total.” She rats her out, and Marinette huffs at the Kwami. Traitor, she thinks, but doesn’t say it.

“You also messed with the Zeta tubes.” He says and she purses her lips.

“Paris is my fight, Dad.” Marinette says, standing by her decision.

“You made it nearly impossible for any of us to help you. What would have happened if this had been another akuma that killed you? Marinette, no one would have been there to take the earrings. No one to cast the cure. You would have stayed dead, Marinette. And we would have been stuck here watching it happen, unable to protect you.” Her dad lectures her, and she can tell by the tension in his shoulders that he’s mad. Really mad. More than the Batmobile incident or the sneaking off to the Watchtower. Really, really mad.

“But-” She starts, almost glad when he cuts her off as she didn’t really have a good comeback for him.

“You are grounded. You have to take one of us with you to Paris when there’s an attack until Adrien returns. And you’re benched on patrol here. If you insist on patrolling in Paris while Adrien is away, you will also take one of us with you. Do I make myself clear?” He asks, and she wants to argue. She’s a hero, she knows the risks. She knows that she could handle that akuma alone and if she couldn’t, she would have brought in a temporary hero. She would’ve been fine. But then she looks at the tension in his shoulders and remembers the time that her whole family watched her die. On tv. Remembers that her dad has had to go through the death of a child too many times, even if they’d all come back (and formed the aptly named chaos trio), he’d still had to watch them die. So she decides she’ll accept the punishment, will go along with the new guidelines. If only to give her dad a little peace of mind.

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internalsealpanic · 4 years

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Respectful Cannibalism

Summary: Watching mystery movie with a bunch of detective was a bad idea

A/n: While this is part 3 to my Space Case series, you’re not required to read Art Gallery Smile or Cosmonauts to understand the context to this. The only note I do have is that Dick and Steph are friends with Reader much to Tim’s everlasting horror. Special thanks to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proof reading this mess.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff and a confusing amount of batkids in one scene.

Main Masterlist

Tim Drake Masterlist

Tim coughs, loud and ragged into the speaker. You find yourself wincing at the phone tucked against your ear. Tim sounds like he’s dying or, at the very least, he’s on his way there.

“I’m so-”

“Fucking tired of saying sorry that you decided to go skinny dipping in Gotham Harbor? Yeah. Great, I’m sick of hearing it too. Glad, we’re on the same page, Space Cadet.” You exasperate, pulling on your jeans violently enough for Tim to hear the angry shuffling of fabric.

“Skinny dipping?” Tim huffs, a fond smile playing on his lips as he drinks in the timber of your voice. Even when you were absolutely exasperated, your voice was still soothing or maybe he just misses your company. God, he’s such a sap.

You shake your head in disbelief. That was his take away? “Yes, Timmy, Buck-ass skinny dipping,” you laugh, coming out derisive and sharp. Tim groans this time filled with guilt. The first few sounds of another ‘I’m sorry’ form in the back of his throat as he runs his hand through his bed head. For once, you’re thankful that you’re nowhere near Tim because you are one apology away from decking him and you’re pretty sure that that’s a terrible thing to do to a sick person, especially one with no brain cells to spare.

“I- You were really looking forward to this (Y/n), don’t try to deny it.” You weren’t going to. He was right. You were looking forward to this date. You were impossibly, unreasonably giddy over the prospect of going to the planetarium with Tim this afternoon. WITH Tim. Sure, you’re pretty down about it but you were the tiniest bit more concerned about the fact that your boyfriend had water in his lungs and almost died of hypothermia for a hot second. You pinch the bridge of your nose, hoping that worry and murder radiate off of you in equal measure. “I was also looking forward to my letter from Hogwarts,” you sneer, pausing dramatically to look at your watch, “and it’s been roughly a decade.” You hear Tim swallow and the hairs on your neck bristle in petty satisfaction.

Tim chortles, a lively sound that startles you, then coughs but the sound comes out somehow sounding doubtful and teasing. Embarrassment flares up in you. “You were too!” you protest, hackles drawn to full height. A short breathy laugh leaves Tim and you feel the flush on your face ease into something softer and more rounded. All the sharpness in your veins dissipates as the flash of fondness for that stupid laugh takes over. You can imagine him warm under the covers smiling at the phone at your blunder. “Please, (y/n), my hopes were dashed when I was 4 and still not in the Jedi order.”

“Bullshit, you were never a child,” you snort, sharpening the grin on your face into something vicious. “I refuse to believe you were ever a child! You probably sprang out of a textbook fully formed- Wait, I’m getting off-topic. ” Tim hums innocently and you narrow your eyes at the phone, hoping he can feel the ‘I am revoking your breathing privileges’ look. “You always are.” Tim says before falling into a coughing fit.

“Sorry, Cosmo, I just keep getting lost in your eyes,” you whisper, pitching your voice rich and caramel smooth. There’s a sound on the other line. Tim is babbling you realize. You hear a shuffle of fabric and a body rising. Tim sucks in a breath, red-faced and caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He can practically see the cocky grin playing on your face, the light of the sun reflecting as golden flecks in your eyes. “You can’t even see them!” Tim stammers, glowering at you through the phone. You cackle at him as if sensing the venomous look he’s giving you. “You can barely open them!” Tim rolls his, very much, open eyes, falling back into an unnecessarily large pile of pillows that Alfred insisted was necessary for bed rest with a loud ‘fwoof’. “Yes, I can,” Tim mumbles, sounding young for once. You do your level best to smother a grin on your face. “I’m just really drowsy from the chamomile tea Alfie gave me.” You stop dead in your tracks, one hand half in your coat the other on the doorknob. You blink. “You’re at the Manor?”

Tim pauses, making a frustrated noise. He shouldn’t have said that. “Dick and B… insisted.” This draws another one of your sharp laughs. He says insisted as if it was ever negotiable. “Did they ‘insist’ before or after they blow-dried and hung you out to dry?” Tim squawks and you hear shuffling again. Tim tries to remember why he doesn’t hate you. “Tell me again how you found out about me getting sick? Steph? Cass?”

“Hmmmmmm, Dick.”

“THAT TRAITOR”

“Funny way to pronounce older brother,” you hum smug. You can feel Tim glaring daggers at you. “You-”

“There’s a home theater, yeah?”

Tim pauses, this time longer. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Answer the question, Space Case.”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Great! It’s a date then,” you say, mentally preparing a route to the Manor from the vague directions Steph told you once. You could just use the maps app-

“NO!” You freeze. Tim flinches at the volume of his own voice. He whispers an indiscernible ‘I’m sorry’. You turn it over in your mind before speaking. “No?” You ask, trying your best to sound hurt instead of amused. Maybe you should have pitched your voice higher, more shaky. “Look, Tim, I-” Tim heaves a loud sigh. “-(Y/n), you’re fine-” Well, you aren’t, you think. You bite your tongue, physically to make sure you don’t say anything unnecessary. “-It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s- It’s just my siblings...” Tim knows that his siblings have been talking about you.

“Timmy, I can take whatever shovel talk they can give me,” you say with the confidence of someone who has never been dangled over the edge of a roof top. Ok, to be fair, YOU had nothing to worry about. Tim, on the other hand, was going to get roasted alive. Maybe he can persuade you into not- Tim hears the tell tale sputtering of your bike’s engine and he feels his blood pressure spike. The engine genuinely sounds like a death rattle.

“You’ll get sick.”

You swear and he hears another sputter of the engine. “You’ll get sick,” he croaks again, louder this time hopefully over the dying engine. Maybe if your engine dies right now, he’ll be spared from a slow agonizing death via siblings. “Relax Cosmo, I have the strongest ward against whatever you got,” you say, giving the engine a light kick. Tim hears a few metallic clunks then the engine stutters to life. Tim looks up past the ceiling trying to glare at whatever cosmic being resurrected your engine.

“Which is...”

“Being broke. It does wonders for your health.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works,” Tim says, shifting burying his head against the too soft pillows. The soft fabric makes his eyes feel heavy. He yawns. He hears the sputter or your laugh. It’s hard to tell from the sudden drowsiness making his head swim.

“I promise I’ll explain to your typical rich kid ass when I get there, Tim.”

“That’s not how it works,” Tim slurs, face pressed into a pillow.

You laugh, he’s sure this time.

“I’m-” Tim’s mind unfocuses and the words you say garble together ”-Tim. ”

Tim blinks, mouth moving to ask you to repeat that but the last thing he hears is a soft click.

On the bright side, it would just be him and Alfred at the manor.

_________________________________________________________

Batmanisfake: I heard (y/n)'s coming over😶

Nightwingingit:👀 How do you even know that?

Batmanisfake: What are you? A cop?

Nightwingingit: say that again but slowly 🙄

Batmanisfake: ...

Damian: He bugged Drake's phone. For blackmail purposes, of course.

Nightwingingit: JASON

The Cool One: Shush Dick! He's onto something

Batmanisfake: Thank you

The Adult: I for once had nothing to do with it😌

Theactualbatman: I'm assuming we're all coming home tonight?

The Cool One: I'll bring popcorn

Damian: Nonsense Pennyworth will likely have some prepared

The Cool One:😭 We really do not deserve that man

Nightwingingit: Definitely

thesaneone: We're recording Tim's face when he sees us, right?

Batmanisfake: From all angles

The Adult: You're all horrible

Batmanisfake: Please like you're not hacking into the cameras as we speak, Babs

The Adult: You have no proof👀

_________________________________________________________

Tim’s head felt thick and gooey like one of Alfred’s custards. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s in a fish tank. There’s a sickly Chlorine smell clogging his nostrils; it smells powdery and sterile and reminds him vaguely of aspirin. Tim blinks. His eyes hurt; they feel puffy and sore and hot. His vision is further obscured by a thick layer of fleece blankets Alfred had piled high over him. He shuts his eyes still feeling too overwhelmed by the low light coming from the window.

Tim thinks he hears his window open with a soft click. Tim quiets his breathing. His hearing is too muddled to process anything beyond it. There’s a soft thud of heavy boots in the room; it’s imperceptible and dreamlike the way it reaches his ears that it has him shifting under the covers trying his best to discern the sound. A dozen lighter footsteps follow it and he can sense 6 shapeless bodies hovering over him.

“Should we wake him up?” asks a voice that vaguely sounds like Cass.

There’s a shuffling sound. Leather, he thinks. “Wait, lemme take a picture.”

“Red, why? It’s not like you can blackmail him with pictures of him sleeping.”

“Because, flashlight, I need proof that Timbo sleeps. ”

“Because?”

“Ok, how many times have you seen him asleep?”

“Uh...”

“Exactly!”

Tim hears a laugh that distinctly sounds like Dick. “Does it count if Alfie drugged him?”

“Maybe?” Steph says, shrugging.

“It doesn’t, Brown.”

“Damn it.”

“Does that mean B doesn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

Maybe if Tim keeps sleeping, they’ll go away on their own. Tim wraps the sheets tightly around himself, hoping the large stack of fleece would be enough to muffle his siblings.

“I’m pretty sure I have dibs on waking him for opening the window for you shits.”

“Red, anyone could have opened that,” Duke laughs, stepping slightly behind Cass, who at the moment was paying more attention to the moving pile of fabric. Maybe if Tim stays really still she’ll turn her attention to something else.

“Cass and Dickface would have just broken it.‘

“I would not!”

“Sorry, Cass, you would.”

“Steph, whose side are you on?”

“Why is no one defending me?” Dick sighs.

“No one cares, Dickface. And Blondie’s clearly playing for the right team-” Steph cackles. “-none of you have any finesse.”

“Not all of us can be drama queens, Todd.”

“You’re like the third to the last person I wanna hear this from.”

“Third? You’re ranking us now? Who gave you the right?”

“Alfred,” Jason deadpans, “And yeah. Bruce and Dick are first and second.”

“Hey!”

“Can it Mr. Pretty Man Down.”

“That was one-”

“What rank am I?”

“uh … fifth.”

“Fifth?!”

“Sorry, Blondie, Cass has you beat with that ballet kick thingy.”

“Ok, yeah I can accept that. What about Babs?”

“What about Babs? The woman can kick my ass six ways to Sunday. ”

Tim’s head throbs all over. There are soft pin pricks pressing on the sole of his left foot; his leg jerks involuntarily. He wants to scream. Tim swears under his breath. A gloved hand pries the covers away from Tim’s face. Tim squints his eyes open only to be greeted by Dick’s kind, but still very punchable, face. Tim takes a long rasp, pinching his features in a mix of annoyance and despair. “Why are you-” Cough! “-here?”

There’s a slight quirk to Dick’s smile.“They wanted to meet (y/n),” Dick explains in a sweeping theatrical motion of his hand across the room directing Tim’s attention to the expressions on his sibling’s expressions which were all a variation of devious scheming.

“How did-” cough. “- you even know-” cough. “-(y/n) was coming?” Tim asks, shooting up from his pile of pillows causing a couple of blankets to topple to the floor to the ground. Tim’s lightheaded. He suddenly feels a shift in his balance, a feeling of vertigo. He nearly topples to the ground, his blood not quite catching up to his movements, when feels hands wrap around his shoulders. “Woah there Baby Bird, slowdown.”

“Answer-” Cough!

“It was Todd.”

“You mutant sperm!”

“Jay, aren’t we all mutant sperm?” Steph laughs, slinging one arm over an irate Damian’s shoulders and another over a fuming Jason’s shoulders. Tim groans, sounding pained. “How much do I need to pay each of you to get all of you to go away?”

“A lifetime of IOUs,” Dick says, casually.

“NO!”

“All of your share in W.E.,” Duke says, laughing. Steph elbows him lightly, also laughing. “You’re shooting prelow there, Slick,” Steph teases. Duke shrugs still grinning. “Gotta keep it realistic, yanno?” Steph and Duke keep bickering.

“Drake, kindly, pay with your life.”

Tim scrunches his nose. “I’m already on my deathbed, you know, dying. What else do you want from me?”

“A more agonizing death.”

Jason grins, tilting his chin. “C’mon, Timbo, we can help with your little impromptu date.” Tim groans, placing his face in his hands. “Please just help me dig my own grave.”

“What would be the fun in that, Timbo?”

“For you or for me?”

“Come on, Tim, it’ll be fine,” Cass says, clearly not believing the words herself. All seven of them dissolve into another round bickering. Damian, Jason, and Steph hellbent on giving Tim an aneurysm. Duke and Cass playing at being neutral; Duke leaning on Tim’s side but laughing way too hard at Steph’s well placed jabs; Cass is only mildly siding with Tim to spite Jason. Why this time? Tim has no clue.

The string of banter is broken up by the echoing the doorbell. Tim’s heart seizes as they all fall silent, enraptured by the odd sound of a doorbell filling the hallowed halls of Wayne Manor. The chiming of bells ends with the creaking of the large oak doors in the front of the manor.

Before Tim’s sluggish brain could even formulate a thought, all of his siblings are all bounding towards the door, bouncing off the walls and flipping over obstacles. Tim scrambles, lagging, after the hoard of vigilantes barrelling towards you. Tim tries to shout after his siblings but his voice is drowned out by raucous laughter and bickering.

You stand at the door, head haloed by the pale afternoon light as the sky catches fire, flecks of snow sparkling in your hair. You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear as you sheepishly thank Alfred as he takes your coat.

Tim struggles to breathe an he genuinely doesn’t know if it’s because of his lungs, you, or the fact that of all his siblings, Babs was the one who got there first and Tim genuinely doesn’t know if Babs is there to hold off the gaggle of vigilantes or to scare you off. From the jovial grin wrinkling your features, Tim’s pretty sure Babs just gave you some blackmail material instead of putting you through the ringer- an equally scary outcome. For your part, you don’t look even slightly phased by the fact that Babs is in a wheelchair or even by the way she’s clearly sizing you up. All of this rolls off of you with an easy motion of your shoulders as you answer her questions in the most frustratingly oblique way based off of Babs’s expression. Tim can’t help the curve on his lip as you blatantly dodge another of Babs’s questions with a smile. You spot him, winking, and the tips of Tim’s ears flush.

Your cocky demeanor fades when a gaggle of batbrats crowd you; nervousness creeps into your form, ironing out your posture into something unnatural and defensive. “Is this a bad time?” You ask through a tight lipped smile. Babs glares at them but doesn’t make any effort to hide the satisfaction at your shaken demeanor. “Don’t mind them, Sweetie,” Babs says, patting your back and guiding you away from the gaggle. You shuffle awkwardly, trying to coax your spine back into a more natural curve.

“(Y/n)!” Tim manages between gasps for air. Making a person with non functioning lungs run has to be some sort of human rights violation. His voice is louder than he anticipated. He realizes, but the apprehension in his body flits away when you beam at him-a wide cheeky smile that has his body vibrating with delight. He made you smile like that, Tim thinks, heart swelling almost enough to soften the impact of the next few words. “Hey, Duckie!” you chirp tilting your face in a cute lopsided smile.

“Duckie?” Jason sniggers.

Duke’s face passess from confusion, realization, then amusement in a matter of three seconds.“Duckie? As in ‘quack quack’?” Duke asks, pretending to still be dumbstruck.

“Yes, Duckie, Tommy Terrific,” you say, the lopsided smile curving into a playful grin. The dumb nicknames earn you a loud, surprisingly nonthreatening, approving laugh from Jason who then says “We’ll keep those nicknames in mind” which just drags pained looks from both Tim and Duke. Dick and Damian on the other hand look absolutely delighted.

“(Y/n), tell them about the other nicknames,” Steph says, grinning savagely. Your eyes widen and you wrinkle your nose, mouth twitching from side to side, trying to pretend away the heat rising from your cheeks. “Not on your life, Stephie.”

“Aaaaaw! Not even for lil ol’ me?” Dick pouts, throwing his arms around you. The familiarity of the action has Tim bristling. “Pleeeeeaaase,” Dick whines; a smile hidden in your hair, “not even for Alfred’s cookies?” You make a noise caught between a laugh and a groan. “Hmmmm… maybe? Throw in some candy.”

“Deal.”

Tim blinks. “You’d betray me for sugar?”

“Cus I ain’t getting any while you’re sick,” you cackle, grinning along with Dick who looks way too pleased with the outcome of the conversation. Tim desperately wants to melt into the floor. Looking at all his siblings who are eagerly awaiting for the litany of nicknames, Tim cuts in. “Let’s just go watch that film.”

“What are we watching?” Cass asks, leaning to look over your shoulder, clearly shoving Dick out of the way. Dick does his best to not budge.

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

“We are under a communist regime, Timbo. We’re all watching it together,” Jason says, slinging Tim over his shoulder.

“Have a heart, Drake. We only want to spend family time together,” Damian says, somehow still looking imperious even from where Tim is dangling. A dull ache starts spreading across Tim’s like his skull is being squeezed.

“Hope you guys like Clue,” you say, fishing it out of your cornucopia of unhealthy junk food. “I figured you detectives would like a good mystery.” Dick snorts taking the disc from you and reading over the contents efficiently. “Bet you I can get the ending even before any of you.”

“No, you won’t,” Jason barks, setting off a long winded argument about who the best detective is.

“Didn’t you say you would eat me if I spoiled another mystery movie for you? Are you planning to eat my entire family?” Tim croaks quietly. You scrunch your nose, twitching your mouth four times to the left and four and a half times to the right. “Technically, what I said was ‘I’ll respectfully go back to juvie for cannibalism if you spoil another movie that night’,” you hiss low, trying not to draw attention to your conversation. Unfortunately for you, his siblings have good hearing.

“And this is different how?” Tim asks, this time not bothering to control his volume.

“You’ll never figure out the ending,” You say smiling innocently. Tim rolls his eyes and huffs a ‘we’ll see’. It doesn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

As it turns out, the Wayne Manor theater is less of a theater and more of a bean bag storage closet with a large screen. Jason tosses Tim unceremoniously into one of the random bean bags in front of the couch before gracefully pirouetting into the couch. You chuckle and continue your search for something to put your Bluray in, just now realizing that you should have probably just asked for their Netflix password or something. Alfred appears out of nowhere handing Jason and Cass each a bowl of buttery popcorn and scolding Jason about manhandling his brother in front of a guest. Jason looks unrepentant. No surprises there. With a swat on the back of Jason’s head, Alfred turns to you, gloved hands extended out to you. “I can take that."

“Oh… Uh thanks- Thank you,” you stammer. To your left, Tim snickers and your hand slip, somehow the blanket Babs handed you finds its way to Tim’s face. “Shut up, Ducktective. He’s practically your grandpa and I kinda wanna make a good impression,” you hiss, cheeks warming. Tim coughs, a little dumbfounded. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that you were nervous about this.

Tim checks if his brain is on straight before speaking. “Relax, you haven’t physically assaulted me or any of my family yet so you’re immediately at the top of Alfie’s list.” You open your mouth to speak then curl it into a frown, looking appalled and concerned. Apparently, his brain wasn't on as straight as Tim thought. "Am I going to have to fight your exes? At some point?"

"No!"

"Yes!" Steph says, handing you a red bean bag. Tim scowls at Steph as he watches the color drain from your face. She just shrugs and goes off to annoy Dick.

“Mr. Boddy?” Damian asks incredulously, reading the box summary again. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you laugh, setting your bean bag next to the one Jason dropped Tim in. Damian rolls his eyes. “This is a stupid movie. Do people really consume this drivel?”

You scrunch your nose but don’t put too much heart into glaring. Thankfully, color is now returning to your face. “The movie hasn’t even started yet!”

“Relax (y/n), the tiny mutant sperm is just playing elitist,” Steph says, plopping next to Jason and eyeing his bowlful of buttery popcorn.

“As long as it isn’t as bad as the Happening-”

“Dude, you live in a city with Poison Ivy. That thing is pretty much a documentary,” Duke says hesitantly taking the spot between Steph and Cass.

"Please, for the love of Alfie, please, talk about something else," Dick whines, plopping a bean bag next to Tim. Jason’s face twists in confusions before his eyes light up and untwists into an expression with amusement. "Is it because of the-" Dick hits him square in the face with a pillow, all the while screeching "Think of the children!"

"Where, Dickface?" Jason ask, prompting Dick to point(jazz hands) at Damian who rolls his eyes. Jason does the same, looking younger than the toughened exterior suggested. "That's a gremlin, Dickface. Not a child."

"He is-"

"SHUSH! The movie is starting!"

You giggle, curling into Tim's side and placing your head in the crook of his neck where you usually like to put it. Tim's insides shiver from the contact and his hands automatically coil around you, pressing his nose into your hair.

"Jeez, her melons are big," Babs says flatly taking another handful of Dick's popcorn from Damian. Cass snorts and Tim feels embarrassment creep into his skin. He flicks his eyes to you, only to find you smiling into his side.

"They're almost as big as Dick's," you chuckle.

"Nah, Jason is bigger," Cass pipes.

You eye Jason openly which makes the large man cross his arms over his chest. "Huh, you're right," you note with more confusion than anything.

"Bruce has moobs too!" Jason protests, red-faced.

"Son, why?"

The chatter falls silent when the figure at the edge of the room settles itself into the large leather recliner in one corner of the room. You squint your eyes to distinguish its features from the rest of the shadows in the room; only to be greeted by the solemn features of Bruce Wayne. Your breath catches and you feel your skin jump twenty feet in the air. Everyone else in the room seems to have about the same reaction even as he pulls a lever to raise the foot rest. You all follow his movements with interest.

“Is Bruce trying to relax?” Duke whispers to Cass who shrugs in response. Steph rolls her eyes, reaching over Duke to try and snatch some popcorn from Jason who just raises his bowl higher. “Shhhhh, Duke, let the B man try to play human,” she says, snatching at the popcorn til the bowl just falls on Jason’s head.

“He’s trying I guess.” This draws a startled chuckle out of you that you try to press in Tim’s neck. The vibrations against his skin has him shivering.

“B, are you ok?” Dick asks. This makes Bruce’s features move in a slightly concerned fashion which in Bruce speak is very concerned. “Yes, why?”

“Ooooh, no reason, old man.” He turns to Babs. “Yeah that’s not Bruce. Five bucks says it’s a robot.” Babs snickers, grabbing a ten from her purse. “Ten says it’s an alien.” You twist to look at them, taking out a twenty. “Twenty says it’s just Mr.Wayne.” Jason sneers at you, taking your money. “You clearly don’t know the old man.”

“Can we please just watch this film in peace?” Bruce groans, running a hand over his face, finally looking more like the long suffering single dad of eight kids that he should be. Babs looks over her shoulder, slinging Bruce an absolutely disbelieving look. “Do you even know your children?”

“Yes, father, have you even watched us bond?” Damian asks, using his free hand to do air quotes for the word ‘bond’ while using the other to try and swipe some popcorn from Cass. It doesn’t work.

“That definitely isn’t Bruce,” Dick hisses, trying to shield his own bowl of popcorn from an irate Damian.

“SHHHHHH! I can’t hear the movie!”

“It’s definitely the butler,” Dick declares. Damian scowls, throwing a pillow at him which Dick catches with ease. “Grayson, the movie has barely started.”

“It’s definitely the butler. It’s gotta be. It’s always the butler.”

“That’s very offensive to Alfred, Dick,” Cass says, grinning. Alfred sniffs poshly in his own recliner. Dick recoils but Jason piles on. “Very classist of you, Dickiebird.”

Duke snorts. “Nah, I think he’s just saying it because Tim Curry was Pennywise the Clown.”

“Why would you trust a clown?”

“Oh my god, why are you guys comparing Alfred to a clown?”

“We are not!”

“This conversation is a trainwreck,” Tim groans into your hair. “Dunno, Tim, it sounds like a success,” you laugh, pressing closer. His eyes flick between you and his siblings. “You planned this.” You look up at him, failing to flatten a smile. “Nope.”

“I say it’s Ms. Scarlett,” Bruce says, rubbing his chin contemplatively.

“You’re just saying that cus she reminds you of Selina,” Tim huff, grinning and you’re half tempted to pinch his cheeks. Bruce cuts him a scathing look that has you shrinking; the grin on Tim’s face just broadens which just makes the playful scowl on Bruce’s face deepen. “Need I remind you who pays for the internet?”

“Alfred?” Tim asks, innocently.

“Careful Tim, B man might actually do it. Hell, he’ll probably do it if he finds out what you did last Thursday.”

“Do you mean the explosion on Fifth?” you ask, turning to Steph. Steph gives you a firm nod; in the corner of your eye, you can see Bruce arching a brow. Tim gapes at you looking absolutely gutted. “What happened to snitches get stitches?” Tim protests.

You shrug, grinning. “Sorry, Duckie, I stand by my cookie dealer. Who do you think sneaks Duke and me cheetos in Western Civilization? I stand by my fellow barbarian.”

“You know Duke?”

“I pay him to-”

“Shhhhh!”

“You guys are talking too!”

“At least, it’s movie related!” Damian hisses.

You throw up your hands with an exaggerated flail. “Fine!”

“I say it’s the shifty looking lady,” Jason declares, reaching over Duke and Steph to try and snatch some popcorn from Cass. You wonder why Jason doesn’t just snatch some from Alfred since he’s closer. You try to ask Tim but he just shakes his head at you. “Ms.Peacock?” Cass asks, shoving Jason’s face away with butter covered fingers. Duke tries to snatch a few kernels in the confusion only to get his hand swatted. “I think he means Mrs. White,” he says, waving his hand. “Yeah that one.”

“It’s the butler! It’s always butler!” Dick protests.

“I will fucking riot if it’s the butler!” Steph shoots back.

“It can’t be the butler.”

“Why not, Dami? He has motive.”

Damian rolls his eyes.“Gordon, why are you siding with Grayson?-” Babs opens her mouth to answer but Damain continues before she can get another syllable out “-nevermind. He doesn’t have as much motive as the rest of them. Besides, does he really look competent enough to hold a gun left alone with a knife?”

Tim raises his chin from your head. “Demon Spawn, your standards for butlers is too high. Alfred is-”

“You say this like you have plenty of references.”

“Oh, Tommy Terrific, Duckie here is a posh bastard,” Jason sneers ruffling Tim’s hair. From the way, some of his hairs stick up you could guess that he still had some butter in his hand. Tim makes a face of disgust; you try your best to help him with his hair. “Jay, you say that but you’re like Mr. I need the correct type of wood for my bookshelves,” Steph laughs. “Just because I’m not a slob like the rest of you walking disasters doesn’t mean I’m posh.”

“Yes, it does. You lived here. Yanno with Alfie,” Dick says, pulling out another pack of snacks he’d managed to snag from your bag. You’re not gonna ask at this point. Tim gives you a look which roughly translates to ‘I am very sorry for my trainwreck of a family’. You snort at him before turning towards his sibling. “I mean look at Cass. She’s still feral.” If looks could kill, the look Cass give you would melt your bones. Thankfully, Damian opens his mouth. “They’re all feral.” You have a sense that you’ve also been insulted. You hear Babs to your right laugh derisively. “You say this like you’re any less feral than the rest of us.”

“I am-”

“Are any of you still watching the movie?” Bruce asks and for the second time that night, your body tries to divorce your soul. You had almost forgotten that yes, you are watching Clue with the fucking Batman. You shift in your seat suddenly feeling a twinge of nervousness. Before the discomfort could nestle in you, Jason speaks up. “No, Bruce, we’re just watching Cass vacuum the popcorn into her stomach. What do you think?”

“You guys didn’t ask,” Cass says through a mouthful of popcorn knowing full well that’s a lie.

“How can any of you be watching it? All you’ve done is talk over the dialogue.” You almost laugh at how exasperated he sounds. Beside you, Tim just snickers and shakes his head.

Damian just looks at his father from his bean bag next to Dick. “Father, we can talk and listen. ” Dick, like the mature adult that he is, slaps his knee laughing. “I don’t think B is capable of that.”

“PREACH” was followed by a chorus of AMENs.

"Alfred, what have I done to turn my children against me?" Bruce asks, tiredly leaning back into his recliner.

"Master Bruce, how would you like me to list it?"

"Alfred not you too," Bruce groans, putting his hands in his eyes.

"Yeah! Alfie's on our side!" Jason cheers.

"Quite."

"Alfie is always the sensible one," Cass chuckles sensibly between bites. You hear varying noises of agreement and Bruce ages from suave debonair to extremely tired single dad.

"I assume Alfred is actually the boss here."

"Yeah, Bruce is actually on the bottom of the food chain here," Tim says. You tilt your head in contemplation. "Yanno that makes Batman so much less scary."

"B-man's just a giant softie," Steph chirps, slinging her legs over Duke and Cass's laps narrowly missing the nearly empty bowl of popcorn.

Dick turns to you winking. "Yeah, just give him the puppy eyes and he'll get you anything you want in 2 seconds flat."

"Dick…"

"It's true!"

"Even a carnival?"

"Can we please just watch the movie?" Bruce says, in an almost pleading voice.

"I wouldn't hold my breath, old man," Jason chuckles, earning a glare from both Bruce and Damian. "It's not like you know how to shut up, Todd."

"Sorry, I don’t speak gremlin."

"That's bull Jay!"

"MOVIE IS STILL GOING ON! SHUT YOUR CAKE HOLES."

“I TOLD YOU IT WAS THE BUTLER.”

“Yes, yes, it has been publiced and noted, Birdie,” you giggle into Tim’s side, shaking your head. He wraps his arm around you, pressing a kiss into your hair, winking at you. “Does it count?” Tim asks over his shoulder. A look passes between him and Cass. “I don’t think so,” she says grinning.

“It so does! It’s one of the endings,” Dick protests vehemently. Jason’s mouth flattens then curls into a grin. “By that logic, the old man is right too.”

Dick thinks for a moment, tapping his chin. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“Why not?” Bruce protests.

"I'm still sticking with the butler. I'm sorry this is the only logical conclusion."

"He wasn't even an actual butler you butter brain!" Steph protests, throwing a pillow at Dick.

"I'm sorry but can we address why you're all mounting a mutiny against me?"

"Teenage rebellion!" Dick answers.

"Chum, you're not even a teenager."

"Father's right. At most, Grayson is five years old," Damian pipes from beside Dick seemingly unaffected by his brother's pout.

"Alfred, you're going to have to check my blood pressure before patrol."

"Quite, sir."

“They’re all so dramatic just like you said,” you whisper into Tim’s shoulder.

“I AM NOT DRAMATIC”

“Ah, yes, because the pretty man pose is so pragmatic.” Damian deadpan.

"That was one time, you assholes!"

"Hey, what else did Timmy say?"

"Well he- Oh wait!" You fish out your phone and Tim snacthes it away faster than you can blink. "No-" cough "-you don't." Cough.

Jason snatches it from him, snickering at the photo of Tim kissing you on the cheek. You're pretty sure Tim has a matching photo with you kissing him on the cheek. "Nice lockscreen, (y/n)."

"Oh, you should see the homescreen!"

"No. Please don't. You might need eye bleach."

"Relax Space Cadet, it’s not that one."

"Ohohoho, what didn't you want big daddy bats to see? Haaa, Timbo?"

Tim turns every shade of red before settling on fire hydrant red. "None of your business!"

Bruce clears his throat, looking at a stupidly expensive watch. “It’s time.” Dick springs up, stretching and showing off. “Is it really that time already?” Steph asks in almost a whine. Duke and Cass take the opportunity to shove her off and sadly, she lands with a loud thud and a mangled curse. You wince but laugh unsympathetically which simply earns you a face full of dust covered popcorn. You frown at her and she grins at you as Jason hauls her up by her hoodie. “C’mon Blondie. Let’s leave the love birds alone.”

“It’s not like they’re actually gonna be alone. Alfie’s here. So is Babs.”

“I’m going back to my place. You people give me a headache.”

“You say that like you weren’t having fun,” Dick teases, walking after her.

“I’ll be down in the cave if you need me,” Alfred says waving at both of you. “Will do, Alf,” Tim yawns, nuzzling into your hair.

Cass pops her head back in. “Make sure Tim doesn’t do anything stupid,” She calls back. You grin, bright and wolfish. “Don’t worry! He can’t do me while he’s sick.” You hear Bruce choke in the hall and you just know that you’ll mentally kick yourself for that later. Luckily for you, Tim physically kicks you now. “What the hell?!” Cough. “Sorry, got caught in the moment.” You huff, trying to look a little sorry. Tim just glares more. “You’re not even close to sorry.”

“Ok. Yeah.”

“I have no idea why I love you sometimes.”

“My amazing personality?”

“Sure.”

“Love you too, Tim,” you chirp, kissing him. Tim’s lips feel hot after the quick peck and he pulls you closer. “I love you but I was pretty sure my family was gonna eat you alive.”

“They would have done it,” you hum, pausing before adding, “respectfully.”

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #Tim Drake #batfamily x reader #batfam #reader insert #dc fanfiction #dc reader insert #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson #Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #batman #batfamily headcanon #batboys

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jujymikey · 4 years

Text

Gifts

Ever since Bruce came back from being lost in the time stream, he hasn’t been able to get close to his third son. He’s been able to connect with his other kids, even more so then before he got lost in the stream, but for some reason he and Tim haven’t been able to. Before he got lost, Bruce and Tim were the closest he has ever been with any of his sons. They talked all the time and they even hung out when they weren’t working on a case.

So when Christmas time starts approaching, Bruce is surprised when he has no idea what to get Tim. He’s only shared one Christmas with Tim back when Tim was Robin and his parents were away on some trip. He got Tim a camera that Tim used all the time, but Bruce doesn’t think he can give Tim the same gift twice. So Bruce decides to ask for some help.

“What’s up B?” Dick asks as he walks into Bruce’s study.

“Thank you for coming. I need your help with something about Tim.” Bruce gestures to the chair in front of his desk, “Please take a seat.”

“What’s wrong? Is Timmy ok?” Dick asks, worry spreads over his face.

“He’s fine. I just need help figuring out what to get him for Christmas.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can help with that.” Dick frowns, “I haven’t gotten him anything yet...”

“You are the closet in the family to Tim, surly you have some sort of idea of what he’d like.”

“We aren’t close anymore... not since...” Dick trails off. There’s so much that they’ve all left out about what happened while he was gone.

“Since what?”

“Since I gave Robin to Damian. He didn’t take it well... he hasn’t really talked to me about anything besides cases.” Dick shakes his head, then immediately perks up, “We should work together to figure out what to get Tim!”

“Do you still have contact with the members of the teen titans? They know Tim pretty well.”

“Yeah, I’ll text Gar about it.” Dick pulls out his phone and stands up, “I do have to go now, but I’ll let you know what I find out.”

This time of year, stores send out magazines with gift suggestions. Usually the only one that cares about these magazines are Dick, but this year Bruce is the one reading through them. There’s a week until Christmas and Bruce hasn’t gotten any gifts for his kids yet. That’s why he’s sitting kitchen isle surrounded by magazines.

“Looks nice.” Cass sneaks up on him and looks at the magazine of men shoes.

“You want some men’s dress shoes?” Bruce smiles at her.

“They’re shiny.” Cass smiles and sits down in the chair next to him, “Whatcha doing?”

“Looking for Christmas gifts.” Bruce says flipping through the page, “I have an idea for most of you guys, but I’m having a hard time figuring out a gift for Tim.”

“I got Timmy a gift.” Cass flips through the magazines then points to a basketball, “I got basketball, because Tim is my basketball.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’m glad you found a good gift.” Bruce flips to the page of men’s graphic t-shirts, “Do you think Tim would like one of these? He likes anime, this shirt has an anime girl and says ‘oppai’.”

“Tim wears suits and sweaters.”

“He used to wear t-shirts.” Bruce frowns, when he was Robin, Tim would wear all kinds of cartoon t-shirts. It’s been only a year since then, has Tim really changed that much?

On the 23rd the Christmas tree is surrounded by presents wrapped in colorful paper. Four of those gifts are from Bruce, but he still can’t figure out what to get for his fifth kid. The problem is that a Bruce doesn’t know what Tim is into anymore. Does he still like video games? Or comics? Or action movies?

Damian is the easiest one to buy for, Bruce got him some fancy paints. Dick is also really easy, Bruce just ordered the lucky charms but only marshmallows. Cass is a little more difficult, but it only requires a bit of thinking. He gets her an elementary school level English learning book. Jason is very difficult, he likes book, but Bruce isn’t sure which books he has and which he’d want. So Bruce got him a new armor set that Lucious created that has a built in chest taser. It seemed like something Jason would enjoy.

Bruce has spent two hours at the mall looking for the perfect gift for Tim. After looking through each store twice, Bruce finally gives up and calls Dick, “Did you talk to your titan friend about Tim?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t that helpful though. Gar just said that Tim likes to boss people around and paperwork.” Dick says over the phone, he can hear the others talking in the background, “I ended up getting him a new clipboard.”

“I don’t want to get him office supplies. I don’t want him to think of our relationship as only work.” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, he can’t spend two more hours walking cluelessly through the mall.

“Why don’t you try asking Jason? They’ve gotten pretty close since Jason stopped trying to kill Tim.” Dick suggests.

“At this point I’ll try anything, put him on the phone.”

“Old man, what do you want?” Jason huffs over the phone.

“Do you know what Tim likes?” Bruce asks bluntly.

“What? Is this a joke?”

“No, Dick says you and Tim have gotten close and I don’t know what to get him for Christmas.” Bruce explains quickly, he doesn’t want to tell Jason about this, but he hopes that Jason will be mature about this.

“Pffffttt, really B? You can’t figure out what to get your perfect little solider?” Jason laughs, “I almost killed Tim twice and I know more about him than you, thats so sad.”

“Jay, I don’t have time for this. I really need your help.”

“It’s really nice to hear you this desperate. This is so great.” Jason sighs contently, “Alright, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.” Bruce breathes out in relief.

“I got Tim an action figure of some game of thrones character. Just get him something nerdy and he’ll like it.”

“Tim doesn’t have any action figures in his room.” Bruce frowns, Tim’s room has nothing but the essentials in it. The walls are completely blank, no posters or anything like that. If there wasn’t a bunch of case files spread across the room, it wouldn’t look like anyone even lived in there.

“Yeah, but he’s a nerd. He has to love action figures.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Bruce shakes his head, “Does Tim even watch game of thrones?”

“Of course he does! Everyone watches game of thrones!” He can practically hear Jason rolling his eyes, “You’re a hopeless case.”

Then Jason hangs up the phone, leaving Bruce to wander the mall for another three hours.

Bruce is starting to panic, it Christmas Eve and he still doesn’t have a gift for Tim. He’s resorted to snooping through Tim’s stuff. Tim is away on having a Christmas party with the teen titans, so he doesn’t have to worry about Tim catching him.

Most of the room is completely impersonal, so Bruce starts really digging through all of Tim’s stuff. His closet, drawers, Tim’s laptop. He can’t find anything even a little personal, if she didn’t know that Tim lived in here he’d never have known that was Tim’s room.

After searching through all of Tim’s stuff, Bruce sits down on Tim’s bed and tries to figure out what to do now.

“Father, what are you doing in Drake’s room?” Damian stands in the doorway of Tim’s room, he’s holding Alfred the cat.

“I’m trying to figure out what to get Tim for Christmas, it’s harder than I thought.” Bruce sighs.

“Come on, Father. Even I’ve gotten Drake a gift.” Damian says, setting the cat down on the floor and she runs underneath Tim’s bed.

“The gift better not be a knife to the stomach, because I will not allow any stabbing on Christmas.”

“Please, I wouldn’t ruin a perfectly good knife with Drake’s blood.” Damian rolls his eyes, “I got him a membership at the Metropolis museum so that he’ll be at home less.”

“That’s actually a nice gift.” Bruce sighs, his two sons that have tried to kill Tim are getting Tim a better gift than he is.

“You’re a detective father, it’s not that hard to figure out Drake.” Damian pats Bruce’s head, “Drake is a very simple man.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out in the next few hours.”

Christmas Day comes way sooner that Bruce expects. It’s 5 am and Bruce is just now getting home from the store, finally finding a gift for Tim. He didn’t have time to wrap it, so he bought a gift bag to put it in. Placing the bag under the tree, Bruce sinks down into the couch.

“Long night, sir?” Alfred asks handing Bruce a cup of coffee.

“Thanks Alfred.” Bruce down half of the cup in one go, “I’ve been out all night.”

“With a lady friend I presume.” Alfred sits down on the couch with a cup of tea in his hand.

“Actually, I was out shopping for a gift for Tim.”

“Waiting to the very last minute I see.” Alfred shakes his head in disappointment, “I ordered master Timothy’s gift months ago. A tea of the month set. I’ll get that boy to like tea eventually.”

“I just don’t know like I used to.” Bruce sighs into his cup, “I guess I’ve just realized that we aren’t close anymore.”

“Master Timothy has been distant from the family for awhile now.” Alfred stares down into his tea, “I’m afraid the boy doesn’t feel like he’s wanted here.”

“I didn’t realize it was that bad. I thought it was just me that’s fallen out of touch with Tim.”

“The only reason Timothy moved back into the manor was because you’ve come back.” Alfred says and gives Bruce a small smile, “He really cares about you.”

“I care about him too, I just can’t figure out how to show him how much I care about him.” Bruce drinks the rest of his coffee, “I couldn’t even figure what to get him, I just got him something random and I don’t even know if he’ll like it or not.”

“I’m sure he’ll love whatever you got him. It’s the thought that counts. You just need to tell him that you love him.” Alfred pats his shoulder and stands up, “I will go make breakfast now and I’ll get you another cup of coffee.”

Christmas breakfast goes way better than most meals in this family goes. No one fights and no one gets stabbed. Then it’s time for presents.

Dick is like a little kid, dressed in his Superman pjs separating his gifts from the others. Jason is sitting on the couch eating cookies. Cass is next to Jason sharing the cookies. Damian is sitting on the floor with Titus and Alfred the cat. Tim is sitting on the couch drinking his third cup of coffee. Bruce stand behind the couch nervously waiting for his kids to open the presents.

“You don’t need to be so nervous.” Alfred smiles and gently pats Bruce’s back.

“I’m not nervous.” Bruce grumbles into his sixth cup of coffee.

Dick, Damian, Jason and Cass all open their gifts and love each one of them, even the ones that Bruce got for them. The only presents left are Tim’s. They look over at Tim and find him on his phone.

“Timmy! The only gifts left are yours.” Dick says in a sing song voice.

“Oh, were we taking turns?” Tim looks up from his phone.

“Here my gift.” Cass hands him her gift.

“Thanks, Cass.” Tim smiles and opens the poorly wrapped gift, “Oh wow a basketball. I love it.”

“You basketball.” Cass bops Tim’s nose.

“Here’s my gift replacement.” Jason throws his gift at Tim.

Tim opens the gift and tilts his head, “Who’s this?”

“It’s John Snow from Game of Thrones!”

“I don’t watch game of thrones, I don’t really have time for tv.” Tim sets the gift down, “But thank you.”

“You suck.” Jason throws a cookie at Tim.

“Now my gift!” Dick hands Tim his gift.

“Oh wow... a clipboard... I love it.” Tim smiles at Dick and Dick lights up. Bruce knows Tim enough that it’s a fake smile, but Dick doesn’t seem to notice.

“I guess it’s mine turn.” Damian huffs and hands Tim a card.

“Wow this is a really nice gift.” Tim says after opening the card, “You’re not going to stab me as payment for this gift right?”

“Keep it up and I might.” Damian growls.

“Here’s my gift, Timothy.” Alfred hands him his gift.

“Tea.” Tim smiles soft at the box, “I love it.”

“Here’s a gift from me.” Bruce grumbles and hands Tim the bag.

Tim opens the bag and pulls out the anime t-shirt that says ‘oppai’ on it. Tim burst out laughing, “You don’t know what that means do you?”

“....it has an anime character on it... and you like anime...” Bruce says dumbly.

“I do, thank you.” Tim smiles at him.

After presents are done, everyone spreads out and goes on their own, giving Bruce time to talk to Tim alone. He finds Tim curled up in a chair in the library watches videos on his phone.

“Tim, can I talk to you?” Bruce asks sitting in a chair near Tim.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Tim asks setting down his phone. It’s weird his other kids call him B and Damian calls him Father, but Tim does his best not to address him.

“I want to spend more time with you.”

“...is this a joke?” Tim asks with confused look on his face.

“A joke?” Bruce frowns.

“Or is something wrong?” Tim sits ups, “Or is this about a case?”

“This isn’t about a case or anything like that. I want to spend more time with you not doing work or cases or anything like that.” Bruce hates that he has to explain this. If he asked Dick or Damian to hang out, neither would ask if it was a joke, “Ever since I came back from the time stream, you and I haven’t had any personal time together. I’ve missed a whole year of your life and I want catch up on what I’ve missed.”

“Oh....” Tim blinks at him, then blinks a couple more times trying to stop the tears from forming in his eyes, “I-if you want...?”

“Of course I want to.” Bruce smiles, “You’re my son and I love spending time with you.”

Instead of replying, Tim pounces on him. Bruce holds Tim close to him, it’s been so long since he’s held Tim. He feels smaller than the last time he’s held Tim, which concerns Bruce, but he decides to bring that up later.

“So do you actually like the shirt?”

Tim wipes his tears off his cheeks and lays his head on Bruce’s shoulder, “Bruce, ‘Oppai’ means boobs.”

Bruce stares in shock as Tim just laughs at him.

#Christmas #batman fanfiction #Tim drake #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Cassandra Cain #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth

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moonfox281 · 4 years

Text

Batboy s profile: Body

Tim Drake

Dick’s version

Jason’s version

Long time no see. During the pandemic and my now second week working at home, I now have enough time to finally do Timmy’s version of body type analysis.

Now, what do I think of Tim? A tennis player.

If Dick is about art, Jason is about strength, then Tim, well, he’s all about strategy. Among the Batboys, Tim is not one built for a crusader life. But that’s why tennis suits him the most.

What makes Tim a great fighter doesn’t rely on how good his body is, but how good he knows how to use it.

Tennis players aren’t buff. No, they are not, no matter how you look at it. And when you look at it, yes, you must be fast, yes, it requires running around the field, but tennis isn’t actually as active as other common sports, and so are its players. That’s why tennis players are always leaning toward the leaner, more rectangle side, just like Tim.

Tennis has always been more about strategy. In some degree, Tennis = chess + boxing.

Tim and bo staff. That is all about long-distance and calculating. He knew he isn’t as strong as Jason, as natural as Dick and well, aggressive as Damian. He is way more disciplined, more strategic. More brain than brawn. More defense than offense.

Remember this?

Cass did a pretty good summary of their personalities and styles. Tim is less power, less speed, less agility but makes shots that count.

There is just so much of Tim in tennis: achieving the right combination of offense and defense shot selection at any given time during any given point on that day requires exceptional strategy, intellect, mental fortitude, confidence, and athletic ability, among other things.

He can be less of strength

Of agility

and more of wit

But that just in comparison with his family full of superhuman! He’ll beat you into a pulp with a blink.

#random moonie things #Tim Drake

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/47822500

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 colours #danger #enemies to lovers #soulmate aversion #soulmark tattoo

Canon-Compliance: Follows the New Earth continuity, with elements of New 52 (ie the ones that don’t completely contradict everything that happened pre-Flashpoint). Ignores Rebirth completely. So, up to about 2016 in terms of publication dates? Robins War happened, but Red Hood hasn’t met Artemis or Bizarro, and nothing bad has happened to Roy ffs!

Beta Reader: I'll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

“Three cheers for the happy couple!”

The south wing ballroom of Wayne Manor erupts with the raucous shouts and applause of a hundred and twenty reception attendees. Tim’s congratulations get lost in the din, but he does catch Dick’s eye and flash him a thumbs up.

Seated at the high table, his older brother leans in and kisses his bride, which causes more cheering and catcalls from the guests, and makes the normally unflappable and newly named Barbara Gordon-Grayson blush.

Tim turns away and pastes a smile on his face as the Davenports, a senior couple and two of Wayne Enterprises' most influential shareholders, approach him.

Time to be ‘on’ again…

A generous mix of family friends (most of whom are vigilantes or heroes), and GCPD officers, fill the ballroom. These are interspersed with a few Haly’s Circus performers, and the requisite number of elite guests required by the Society pages of the Gotham Gazette.

Bride and bridegroom sit at the head table with their respective entourages, engaged in animated chatter. Babs and her maid of honor Alysia dissolve into laughter as Dick says something to Damian, who scowls and turns redder by the minute. The Gordon family is there, the Commissioner conversing in stiff politeness with his ex-wife Barbara, and Bruce is in full “Brucie” mode. In the background, Alfred directs the hired staff with his usual decorum and efficiency.

Across the room, Cassandra drags Stephanie over to the dance floor. At a smaller round table near the bride and groom, Duke just misses being speared with a fork by his girlfriend when he tries to sneak a piece of Izzy’s cake. Helena flirts with both Luke and Kate and Tim’s sure Selina is somewhere in the house stealing something to lure Bruce over to her place later.

It’s rare to have so many members of the family together in one room, and so Tim does his best to ignore the lingering dismay at the glaring absence in their numbers.

Dick and Babs look at each other now and again, like they’re the only ones in the world, and he makes an effort to find it adorable. He bolsters the jovial front he’s been wearing all night, reminding himself that his happiness for his brother and new sister-in-law isn’t something that needs faking. It took so long for them to sort everything out between them; it goes to show that being soulmates doesn’t equal an automatic perfect relationship.

I know that better than anyone.

It’s just getting more difficult with every passing hour to maintain the graceful Timothy Drake-Wayne façade.

“It will be your turn next,” Mrs. Davenport informs him, while her husband nods along. “Since Richard and dear Cassandra have found their matches, you’re the only one left.”

Tim’s smile becomes a little more forced. “Well, there is Damian.”

The demon brat looks as if he swallowed a mouthful of peppercorns as Brucie leans over and ruffles his hair, laughing his raucous fake laugh.

Now I’m glad Dick didn’t ask me to be his best man, or I’d be the chump stuck up there.

Not that he was that upset when he heard the news.

Tim’s distanced himself enough from the loss of Robin to accept Damian needs as much help as they can offer if he is ever to be a ‘real boy’. Little gestures like this from Dick are part of a larger plan. And it was endearing, in a way, to see the kid stomping around in the weeks leading up to the wedding, trying to check off a list of best man duties he’d printed off the internet.

And dissolving into teenaged fury when innocent things went wrong or when the groom teased him by flouting what Damian considered ‘according to convention’.

And then there was that bachelor party he organized…

It would seem extreme trampoline parks were a thing; also, getting banned from said parks within an hour for trampolining while drunk was a thing.

“Yes, but he’s still so…young,” Mrs. Davenport says, bringing him back to the present. Tim perceives how she hesitates on the best word to describe the youngest member of the Wayne family.

“It’s fine, you can call him a prepubescent terror. I always do.”

“Oh, Timothy!” Garish laughter as if he told the most hilarious joke of the season. “You are such a character. Why haven’t you found your someone yet?”

Tim catches sight of Steph once again, dancing with Cass and looking carefree and blissful and in love. And this time it’s a bit harder to experience only joy for his siblings, more of a struggle to fight the pang of hurt and jealousy that rears its head.

“You’re almost eighteen,” her husband remarks, interrupting his thoughts. “Most people find their matches much younger. Eleanor and I met when we were fourteen.”

“Oh, it was a beautiful summer in the Hamptons.”

“And it seems like youth today are finding each other earlier every year.”

“My sister and Stephanie didn’t,” Tim points out, only somewhat strained because that one still stings.

He and Steph had been together for most of their teenage years. She hadn’t possessed a soulmark, and Tim’s…would lead nowhere. He truly loved her, and if things were different, he knows they would have had a happy future. Lots of people whose marks don’t match are.

But then the day Spoiler and Black Bat met, they’d shaken hands, and everything fell into place. He’ll never forget either of their eyes—Steph bemused as her mark appeared for the first time and then exploded into color across her forearms; Cass puzzled until she realized what was happening. Then her face became an open book of joy rivaled only by how she looked when Bruce told her he intended to adopt her.

Faced with their happiness, it was only natural that Tim took a step back, much as it hurt to do.

“Perhaps your soulmate lives in another country,” Mr. Davenport suggests; it is clear he is not picking up on Tim’s reluctance.

“Oh!” his wife cries. “You should go on that television show they have now! You know, the one where they try to help you track down your match? I can’t remember the name, but it’s something like The Amazing Race or the Bachelorette.”

“Perhaps yours is younger than you. That happens sometimes.”

“Yes! May-December relationships aren’t that uncommon with your generation, I hear.”

“Or maybe they’re dead,” Tim suggests, and though his tone is light and friendly, his words shut them up in an instant.

Because if very well could be true.

Tim’s never shown off his mark in public, and he told Steph that exact story when she asked all those years ago. At the time, he wasn’t even lying.

Soulmarks develop around puberty and last the duration of the lifespan of the shorter-lived partner. Some people are born with several, the way Dick was, and some only share platonic or familial bonds, like Alfred and Bruce. Others have none at all. When a soulmate dies, the mark associated with them vanishes.

That’s because most don’t come back from the dead.

Still smiling at the now cringing couple, Tim takes his leave, letting them stew in their faux pas as he wanders toward the bride and groom’s table. He’s reached his limit.

Not wanting to crouch down in the middle of their group, he gestures until his brother sees him and makes an excuse to Babs. She’s following his gaze, offering Tim a worried look, but he smiles and shakes his head, trying to telegraph ‘It’s nothing. Go back to your celebration.’

Dick is red-faced and his eyes brighter than usual when he gets to Tim; people been plying him with generous amounts of alcohol all day. “Hey, Timmy, what’s up?”

“I think I‘ll make my way out,” he replies. “Do a bit of patrolling and then turn in.”

“Tim…”

Dick’s expression becomes concerned, and Tim shifts in discomfort.

“Someone has to be on the streets while you guys are slacking,” he jokes. “You know it took an Act of Alfred to get Bruce to take the night off, right?”

(It was also pointed out that if any of big players had planned anything tonight, probability and precedent suggested they would try it at the Gordon-Grayson reception.)

“You don’t have to do that! I’ve already got one brother missing.”

“Consider this my wedding present. You get to stay and enjoy your party with the rest of the family.”

“You’re just trying to worm your way of giving us a real gift,” Dick accuses, but the words lack malice. With a surreptitious glance around to ensure they aren’t being overheard, he lowers his voice and asks, “Are things getting bad again? Do you need to talk? Because Babs won’t mind if I duck out for a bit.”

And he’s always doing this, checking in with Tim, even years after it’s been an issue.

There’s a distinct possibility Dick has noticed how uncomfortable the atmosphere is making him, despite him doing his utmost to hide it, to keep from casting a dark cloud over the festivities.

And Tim should be okay.

Bruce is back from having lost his memories, Damian’s stopped his determined attempts to sabotage or kill him, his relationship with Dick is almost normal again, he has his team and place with the Titans, and there hasn’t been a major crisis in Gotham for about a month which is a record.

Yet he still feels raw and exposed, ill at ease in his skin.

Bruce has been questioning him a lot more, criticizing the way he handles not only cases but projects at WE. Tim worries there’s less time for him to recover between being Tim Wayne, CEO, and Red Robin. And the Titans are getting to the age where many of them want to strike out on their own or pursue more civilian interests—jobs and schools and a normal life. He respects that, even if he doesn’t understand it.

He has never had a normal life, and never will.

But he does have more and more days now where he looks at himself in the mirror and wonders how he’s supposed to keep doing this forever. Can’t figure out how Bruce has managed it for so long. Tim suspects he’s becoming little more than his daytime public persona and his nighttime alter ego.

Who exactly is Tim Drake?

Instead of voicing any of this, though, he musters up a comforting smile for his brother and assures him, “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s like every day. Just one step at a time, right?”

Dick’s expression clears then, and he nods, relieved. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“And Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats.”

“Aw, thanks, Timmy.”

A bone-crushing hug later, and Tim’s car peels out of the estate parking garage, still ignoring the growing pit in his stomach.

He returns to his apartment in the Theater District, shedding his suit and tie in a pile that Alfred would have a coronary over if he were there to see it. Jumping in the shower, he scrubs himself of any traces of his cologne or other identifying scents he might have picked up at the reception and tries to get himself back into a clearer headspace.

He pauses for a moment at the sink, trying to shake off the lingering, bone-deep exhaustion. Several prescription bottles line the mirror—various sleeping aids, most of which don’t help anymore (but the rebound insomnia of stopping them isn’t worth the trouble). These days it’s only the heavy-duty sleep narcotics that work when he needs to turn his brain off for a few hours.

Among the personal pharmacy are several combinations of anti-depressants he tried in the past few months. Most of the time he powers through it, the way he’s done his whole life, but in recent weeks Tim’s noticed things getting hard again. The helpful alerts he sets on his phone don’t always convince him to leave his bed and even video games lack the usual draw. He sometimes gets lost in his head for hours; on bad nights, he hesitates a second longer before shooting a grapple line or dodging a knife. In rare moments, he considers his sleeping pills a little too much consideration, at which point he calls Dick or Connor. Talks to someone so he isn’t so alone.

As he dries off, Tim stares down at his right wrist, examining the complicated knotwork design emblazoned there. Swirls of crimson and gold loop in and out of each other, before cutting off along his forearm.

Everyone has a soulmark, an arrangement of swirling shapes across their skin; each is distinctive to the individuals bonded by them. They first appear when a person is in the general vicinity of their soulmate, manifesting as a colorless pattern of darker and lighter shades of melanin. Those patterns fill with bright, rich colors upon physical touching one’s mate. When pressed together, they interlock in only one way and retreat when contact stops.

Soulmates who have reciprocated bonds sport their marks in full and everlasting display. The sight is both beautiful and frustrating to see, even on his family, as he’ll never experience that himself.

His mark might be a stunning amalgamation of scarlet and gold, twisted into a mandala upon his wrist, but it will never be permanent. While it’s been a while since Jason’s made any energetic attempts to kill him, Tim’s resigned himself to living without a completed bond; tolerance is about the only thing he can hope for from his predecessor.

Finding Steph when they were younger had been a joy and a relief. Her not having a mark meant they both had a chance for a fulfilling connection. Until Cass.

Tim forces himself to stop dwelling on it and shoves the bleak thoughts down behind the wall he puts everything uncomfortable and not cohesive to whatever task he’s given himself. Instead, he busies himself with covering up his mark using the spray-on cover that doesn’t fade with water or perspiration, only coming off when scrubbed with a special soap. One of Bruce’s earliest and more practical inventions, since Brucie Wayne and Batman couldn’t have a soulmark in common.

Bruce covers his pretty much all the time, but Tim’s only been covering his when he suits up. He lives his life in disguise, he doesn’t want to hide such an important part of himself when he’s off the clock.

He heads down to the lower levels of his Nest, gets dressed while having the computer scan for trouble. The program calculates probabilities for where violence will crop up, where he should begin his patrol. He hopes for a busy night, something to distract him from his convoluted thoughts.

As usual, he intends to start his rounds off in Tricorner, and then go through Chinatown—which is when he notices movement on a camera that concerns him.

A familiar gleaming scarlet helmet.

Red Hood.

He debates with himself for several minutes.

On the one hand, it’s his regular patrol territory; on the other, seeing the other vigilante tonight, while his mood is already so low, isn’t something he wishes to contend with.

He clenches his fist.

He knew of Jason Todd for a year before discovering the second Robin was his soulmate. By the time he wanted to do anything about it, the older boy was dead, and Tim consigned to grieving in secret.

Then Jason came back, but it was almost worse than him being gone because he hated him. Without having ever met him.

Even now that he’s mellowed out (sort of), Jason appears to reserve more dislike for his successor than anyone else in the family, not counting Bruce and Dick for obvious reasons. Red Hood and Red Robin have run into each other enough in and out of costume that there have been ample opportunities for Jason’s soulmark to make itself known. That Tim has seen nothing close to resembling it means one of two things: either the other man hasn’t developed his mark yet, which is possible albeit rare, or he has, and like Batman, always keeps it covered.

Which says more than enough about his sentiments on the matter.

Between Jason refusing to acknowledge their connection, or just not being aware of it, Tim prefers to believe the latter, if only to make himself feel better. There’s no point in bringing up the soulmate thing at this juncture. He decided years ago to respect the status quo, for the simple reason it’s less painful than the alternative.

All that being said, he doesn’t enjoy watching Jason get in trouble, even more so when the situation is avoidable and he’s near enough to help. At the moment the big idiot is courting a potential gang war.

Sometimes protecting someone means protecting them from themselves and their bad choices, I guess.

Static crackles through the comm in his ear, and then he hears Batman’s low growl. “What’s going on in Chinatown?”

“Why am I not surprised you’re still listening to the comms at your son’s wedding,” Tim sighs. “Nothing. I’m handling it.”

“Are you sure?”

“B, I’ll help A drug you every day for a week,” he threatens. “And you know we both can and will find new and interesting ways of doing it.”

There’s a huff on the other side of the line. “…Noted. Reach out if you need backup.”

“You’ll be the first.”

“You’re lying.”

“Wow, you must be a detective or something,” he deadpans. “Red Robin out.”

Jason is the last person he wants to run into right now, but Tim’s also been cultivating a few informants there and he can’t have that jeopardized.

Looks like I’m going to Chinatown. Hope Lynx is in a good mood…

He wonders if tonight he’ll end up getting beaten up, or just insulted. He’s not even sure which would hurt more.

⁂

Jason goes flying out of the upper story of the restaurant, followed closely by a very tiny woman wielding a very big sword. She reminds him of Cheshire, with a shade less lethality.

Actually, if it were Jade, he would end up critically injured when she lands on him, using him as a cushion against the pavement. He manages to turn his body to land in a way that won’t break his back—though his right side will be a giant bruise tomorrow—and scrambles to his feet.

This is one of the reasons I avoid Chinatown.

Things never go well for him here, especially not since that thing with the Su family. It’s just better to avoid the place. But before that, he and the Ghost Dragons at least used to get along—professional courtesy and all that, along with an unspoken agreement not to step on each other’s toes.

That’s over, apparently.

All he’d wanted to do was ask some questions. One of his stool pigeons passed him some information on a human trafficking ring; according to him, it was based on Chinatown. It would seem sex slavers were luring young women over to the United States with the premise of work and accommodations. Then, upon arrival, the girls were hauled into a life of sexual servitude.

Jason didn’t even go in guns blazing this time or wearing the helmet. Just a domino and a hankering for some barbecue pork bun.

So, either someone tipped them off what I was coming around for, or this kid in the mask has something to prove.

There’s a slow curl of heat moving up the back of his left wrist and up his arm, and his first thought is he’s been cut. Except while the sensation is familiar, it isn’t the liquid warmth of blood.

The woman moves fast, and a beat later her sword is swinging downward. Jason’s hands fly to his holsters, thinking he’s going to have to break out the guns after all when there’s a clang.

Suddenly there’s a bō staff in front of his face, catching the sword inches before it slams into Jason’s nose.

Ah. And there’s the other reason I avoid Chinatown.

Because in the past year or so, it’s been part of the patrol route for a certain Timothy Drake.

A.k.a. his replacement.

A.k.a. Red Robin.

A.k.a. his soulmate.

No wonder that warmth in his hand was familiar; the soulmark must have reacted to the younger man’s approach.

After a brief tussle, there’s the sound of a grapple line firing, and then Tim flies upward, ridiculous cape fluttering, still holding the struggling woman.

Her sword stays on the ground.

“Oh, hell no,” Jason growls, because this is his business, damn it!

When he reaches the roof where Tim’s carried off Jason’s would-be-murderer, he notes they are standing close together, conversing in rapid Cantonese. Jason’s rustier at that than he’d like, but he gets the gist when the woman stalks right up to him and begins yelling and gesturing.

Then she shoves him and pushes away; a smoke bomb goes off, and then she’s gone.

Tim makes no move to go after her.

Which, seriously?

Jason stalks over, looming over the shorter man and touching his hand to the still holstered gun in his belt in an implicit (and mostly baseless) threat. He’s always amused at just how much of a height difference there is between him and his replacement, and tonight he makes a point of lording it over him.

“You guys looked awfully cozy there, Timbers.” Which shouldn’t bother him, but he can’t fight a twinge of irritation. “Care to share with the class what your little tête-à-tête was about?”

The cowl covers Tim’s face, but Jason can imagine the judgemental stare.

“She said your poking around her territory will jeopardize her investigation into the sex traffickers.”

“Her investigation? She’s the damn head of the Ghost Dragons!”

“Yeah, and she’s also an undercover operative sent by Hong Kong PD, which I’m only telling you, so you don’t decide to go and kill her for apparent crimes.”

And that was not what he was expecting.

“How do you know this?”

“She told me. She’s one of my CIs.”

“And you believed her?”

“Cass looked into her for me. She’s legit, even if she’s a little…unorthodox.” Tim’s head tilts to one side, considering; with the cowl it makes him look like his avian namesake. “You’d think you’d appreciate that.”

“On the list of things I don’t appreciate, you showin’ up while I’m chasin’ a lead is one of them,” Jason growls. “Don’t you have a party to be at?”

“I ducked out early.”

“Well, that’s lame.”

“Not as lame as someone who ignores the fifteen invitations he was sent.”

Ah, and now they’re back on familiar ground.

“Pfft, I’ve seen enough Brucie to last me several lifetimes.”

“Yeah, but it was for Dick. All you had to do was show up—” his mouth twitches here; Jason can’t tell if it’s amusement or irritation, “—in jeans, even.”

“I’ve been dead once; I don’t need Alfie murderin’ me for that big a faux pas. And somehow I doubt Barbie would appreciate if her wedding photos included Dickiebird sporting a swollen eye.”

Tim sighs. “What are you fighting about this time?”

“Other than the usual stuff? We’re not. But I’m sure he’d put his foot in it at some point and need a nice bit of cognitive recalibration.”

“And you, the perfectly innocent party in all this, would happily provide that?”

“Call it a civic duty.”

Tim shakes his head, but Jason thinks it’s done in amusement this time, instead of exasperation.

“I don’t know how she can settle for that birdbrain,” he continues. “How does she stand bein’ around him so often without wantin’ to punch him in the face every time he opens his mouth?”

“Maybe not every time.”

“Point still stands.”

“Well, they’re soulmates,” Tim says vaguely, distant like he’s not paying attention to what he’s saying. He fiddles with his wrist computer, giving no indication that he is aware of anything else.

Jason’s pretty sure that’s not the case.

After all, he’s practiced in the art of pretending not to feel how his soulmark warms the closer he stands to Tim. There’s no question Tim’s learned to do the same.

It might be hypocritical of him, but that makes him angry somehow.

“As if that explains it all,” Jason sneers. “Come on, Replacement, I thought out of all of them, your whole logical-scientific-question-everything-Klingon-mind wouldn’t go for that hokey soulmate crap.”

“Vulcan.”

That brings him up short. “What?”

“It’s Vulcan culture that’s more focussed on logicality and empirical data-gathering. Klingons are more combat-oriented and tend toward more aggressive means of…” He trails off when he realizes Jason staring at him. “What?”

“You complete nerd,” Jason tells him. “No wonder you left the wedding early. I bet socializin’ with normal people probably stressed you right the fuck out, didn’t it?”

Tim gives a noncommittal shrug.

“Havin’ a soulmate doesn’t mean people should be together,” Jason goes on, filled with the sudden need to hammer home this point. “Look at all the examples from history—Cleopatra and Antony, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Bonnie and Clyde—” He ticks the couples off his finger. “They were all soulmates and they all either made each other miserable or got each other killed.”

“You can’t apply a few historical anomalies to every soulmate pair,” Tim counters. “Life circumstances skew the data.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that fate shouldn’t decide if people will magically work out!”

“That’s not…” Tim appears frustrated, at last, putting down his wrist computer and clenching his jaw. “It’s not supposed to work out magically. It’s about finding the person who completes you. You still need to work at it. It’s not all magically going to fall in place, and you’ll be happy forever right away. Even soulmates don’t get to live perfect lives.”

Ain’t that the truth, Jason muses, considering Tim.

“Sounds like you want a soulmate,” he points out, a little stiffly, and what the hell possessed him to say that?

He wonders what the kid is going to say now, or if this is the day their careful pretense, the lie of not knowing gets shattered.

Luckily, though, Tim avoids opening that can of worms.

He takes a step back from Jason, looks away and mutters, “It’s not relevant to the Mission.” Which is a total cop-out, but Jason will take it. “Anyway, if you’re done causing trouble here and riling up the gangs, I’ll take my leave.”

“Wish you would.”

Tim shoots him an unimpressed glare—or at least, that’s what it seems like to Jason. “Don’t make me come back here. And for god’s sake, at least call and congratulate the happy couple.”

He grapples away rather than allow a witty retort; Jason watches him go with a scowl. Once he’s sure the other vigilante is gone, he tugs the glove off his left hand, frowning at the whorls of crimson and yellow retreating down his forearm and back to his wrist.

His soulmark appeared one night a few evenings before the Garzonas incident. Jason vaguely remembers swinging through an alley to escape yet another argument with Bruce and knocking out a bunch of thugs threatening a kid. He’d been so buzzed on adrenaline and fury he hadn’t noticed the warmth in his wrist. He only caught sight of the mark itself when he returned to the Cave.

And then he spent the night wondering if one of the assholes he knocked around was his soulmate. It wasn’t a comforting idea, and he’d decided then and there to cover up the mark and forget about it. The disappointment about his potential soulmate had been a contributing factor in a long line of shit the universe decided to dump on him that sent him to Ethiopia. If he was linked to scum like that, he wanted to be as far as possible from Gotham.

It never even occurred to him to imagine the kid in the alley was his match. Hell, it didn’t even register when he discovered that Tim Drake had been following Batman and Robin around for years.

Only that day at the Tower, when Jason made his first move against Batman and attacked his replacement, did he finally make the connection.

His mark reacted the minute they were in the same room, spreading across his skin and swirling about seeking its partner. Jason had been so far gone with rage that the sight of it had made him angrier, made him hit harder—because if he didn’t meet Tim before, it meant their bond hadn’t been strong enough to keep him from making the biggest mistake of his life.

It meant he was supposed to meet him after being ripped apart and rebuilt as a weapon.

Luckily, or not, Tim was unconscious before the manifested completed, sneaking out from beneath the long green gauntlets of Jason’s fake Robin suit.

And if he did happen to notice before passing out, the kid hasn’t said anything about it.

Probably hates me and doesn’t want to acknowledge the universe’s idea of a shit joke.

Jason doesn’t blame him. Soulmates are a crock of shit anyway, and Tim’s better off without being tethered to him, and vice versa. They should keep pretending.

Because Jason doesn’t get to be happy.

And Tim deserves better than him because Tim—as much as he’s a pain in the ass—is good.

“And on that note,” Jason murmurs to himself, putting his gauntlet back on, “time to play the villain.”

The tip he received put him in the Ghost Dragons’ crosshairs—which means someone on his payroll is making a move, either against him or against someone else.

Time to find out for sure.

And no more moping over this soulmate crap.

Johnny Lino is the head of an investment company that’s just a front for his money laundering. He’s been passing the Red Hood information about his clients for the better part of a year now, ever since Jason put the fear of Hood in him. Quite a feat, considering the man’s a few inches taller and broader.

Jason finds him in a condo off the Diamond District, watching the Knights game and stuffing his face with pretzels.

Ponzi schemes don’t buy manners, I guess.

“Johnny,” he greets in a clear, would-be friendly manner that has the older man choking up his most recent handful. “Long time no see. Got a bone to pick with you.”

He expects there to be some mumbling and groveling, a few bald-faced lies that require the generous application of foot to face and the reassurance that everything in Jason’s sandbox is back to the way it should be.

So, it surprises him when Johnny scrambles for something that Jason notes too late is a panic button. All of a sudden, half a dozen masked men in combat gear and carrying assault rifles are busting through the door.

“That’s a bit of an overreaction to some conversation, don’t ya think?” Jason asks, throwing himself into action to deal with the interlopers. Bullets fly and knives slice toward him, but in five minutes he’s standing in the ruins of the room with six unconscious men.

And one dead one.

Johnny’s got a neat hole in the side of his head, from one of his hired muscle’s guns, Jason presumes.

“And doesn’t that say a lot about the quality of hired muscle in Gotham these days?” he grumbles, kicking at the body. “Can’t even trust your own people not to shoot you by accident.”

He can hear sirens, knows a neighbor or someone has called in the noise and heads for the fire exit before anyone can link him to the scene. That’s all he needs is the big Bat thinking he pulled the trigger in there.

And damn it, the giant bastard was one of my best sources. Now I’ve got to find someone else.

The encounter bothers him.

He’s had people on his payroll get shifty before, but it’s been his experience that there’s more of a prelude before the attempt to stab him in the back. They try to run or talk their way out of it; it seems Johnny went all out, trying to take out the Red Hood, all because of a bit of questionable information.

If he was so desperate to hire a kill squad rather than answer some well-deserved questions…

Maybe it’s not me that spooked him.

He thinks back to the shot that killed Johnny, remembers the angle it hit the head, and where the exit wound was. The opposite direction from where the thugs entered—from the window.

“There was another shooter,” he realizes.

A quick visit to the building opposite confirms his suspicion: the scrape where someone set up a tripod, bullet casing rolled to one side.

It wasn’t Johnny afraid to talk to the Red Hood—someone else feared he would.

Question is, were they worried he’d talk or worried he’d talk to me?

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

This blog isn’t my primary, so my reblogs don’t show up very well. As such, please reblog the fic, otherwise not a lot of people are going to see it :)

<3 Violet

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huilian · 6 years

Text

Herding Birds (And Bats)

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Summary: It was not even December, and here Dick was, knocking on Jason’s safehouse. He came to Jason first, because the week when Dick normally started to call, text, and generally badger his siblings to come home for Christmas Jason might not even be on Earth. So, Dick had to get to him while he was still, thankfully, in Gotham.

A/N: Merry Christmas, @spacenightwing! Hope you enjoy this!

(Part of Batfam Christmas Stockign 2018 @batfam-christmas-stocking)

It was not even December, and here Dick was, knocking on Jason’s safehouse.

He came to Jason first, because the week when Dick normally started to call, text, and generally badger his siblings to come home for Christmas Jason might not even be on Earth. So, Dick had to get to him while he was still, thankfully, in Gotham.

“Jay! Jay, open up!”

Nothing. Well, Dick was not going to be deterred by that. He knew for sure that Jason was at this place; he saw him coming in a few minutes ago himself. He just had to knock harder.

“JAY! If you don’t open this door right now, those photos will come out right this instant!” Thank god Dick kept the photos of a lanky, awkward, barely thirteen-year-old Jason. It was very, very useful to him now.

“What, Dickface?” Dick found himself staring up to Jason’s face. God, he was so big now, wasn’t he? He was taller than Dick, now.

“Yearly reminder to come to the Manor for Christmas.” Dick very carefully did not say ‘home’. Jason would never go if he called it home.

“No.”

“Yes. You don’t want to disappoint Alfred, do you?”

Jason’s eyes squinted. Dick knew he played the Alfred card every year, but to be honest, it worked every year, so who was he to question it? And the old butler truly would be disappointed if Jason didn’t show up for Christmas.

“Come on. You can even choose, Christmas Eve dinner or Christmas Morning breakfast. You don’t even have to talk to Bruce if you don’t want to. I promise you’ll still get your presents.”

Jason sighed. “Fine. But it’s only for Alfred, you hear?”

“Yeah, Jay. Just come, okay?”

Jason closed the door. Dick had to make sure that he reminded Jason again two weeks before, three days before, and the morning of. Oh well. If that’s what it takes.

***

The next one Dick came to was Tim. He did not just come to Tim, he came to Conner, Bart, and Cassie too. He even bribed Tam Fox with an assortment of coffee and toffee to keep Tim’s schedule for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day clear.

He did not actually have to talk to Tim. Between the four of them, they were sure to have Tim in hand. But he wanted to talk to Tim. It has been ages since Dick actually have a conversation with Tim.

“Timmy!”

“Hey, Dick.” Tim did not even look up from his laptop.

“Just wanted to remind you, you still have to come to the Manor on the 24th and the 25th.”

“Okay.” Still not looking up from the laptop. This requires drastic measures.

“Also, my clothes are on fire.” No, that’s not drastic enough. Not for this family, anyway. Think, Dick, think. Ah, of course. “And Damian is messing with your tablet.”

“Okay.” Silence. Dick was content to wait. Tim was bound to notice sooner or later. “Wait, Damian is messing with my tablet?” Bingo. Finally, Dick got him to look up from his laptop.

“For someone who managed to outsmart Ra’s Al Ghul, you’re really out of it, aren’t you Tim?”

“Is Damian messing with my tablet or not?” Tim was looking around the room, as if he was expecting Damian suddenly pop up with a ruined tablet. Which, Dick had to give to Tim, Damian would probably do if he was actually here.

Dick decided to save Tim from his misery. “I don’t even bring him here, Tim”

“Oh, okay.” Back to the laptop. At least now Dick got him to listen. Even if it’s only with half an ear.

“You still have to come to the Manor for Christmas though.”

“Ugh. Do I have to?” Tim threw his head back. Right now, he did not look like a CEO of Wayne Enterprises; he did not look like the fearsome Red Robin. Tim looked like an eighteen-year-old kid sulking at being forced to go to a family meeting.

“Yes.” Dick resist the urge to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“Fine. Alfie will make that pudding I like, right?”

Dick wrinkled his nose. “Only you liked that pudding, Tim.”

“But he’ll make it, right?”

“Maybe you should ask him yourself.”

Tim tilted his head, as if the idea of it was unthinkable.

“Come on. Ditch the office for a while, Tim. Let’s take my bike to the Manor. Harass Alfie for a bit.” Dick gave in to the urge to ruffle Tim’s hair. It was longer than usual. Tim was due for a haircut.

What. What the hell, mind. Oh god. He was turning into Bruce.

Tim saved him from his sudden terror-filled realization by saying, “Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?”

“You know I can’t resist riding your bike, Dick.” Tim smiled his shit-eating grin.

“Hey! I didn’t say you’re going to be riding it!”

“So why am I holding the key?” Tim held the key up in his hands, taunting him. Damn, the kid is getting good at this. Dick didn’t even realize he was being pick-pocketed. Then he ran towards the elevator.

“Tim!” Dick chased after him.

In the end, Dick was just this shade of faster than Tim. He was taller, after all. And not wearing dress shoes.

They spent the entire ride to the Manor laughing at each other. It was a good day. (It was the best interaction they’ve had in a while.)

***

Dick knew he couldn’t change Cass’ mind if she didn’t want to go to the Manor for Christmas, but he liked asking her anyway.

“Cass?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you coming to the Manor for Christmas?”

Cass looked down and adopted the ‘thinking’ pose, with one hand on her chin and another crossed on her chest. Dick knew then that Cass would come. Cass was teasing him, which means that she would come. At least, Dick hoped she would come.

Cass spent a few seconds in that pose, then said, “Yes.”

Even though Dick had guessed that she would be coming, it was good to have it confirmed.

“I’ll see you there, then?”

Cass nodded.

“Don’t come covered in mud and other… more questionable things again, though.”

“It was one time!” Cass cried out in indignation.

“Sure, Cass. Sure.” Then Dick ran out of the room before Cass could tackle him to the ground. The fact that he made it out meant that Cass let him got out, which means that Dick had to be careful of a prank for him in the future.

Well. What’s one more prank, right?

***

Do you and the old man want to come to the Manor for Christmas?

No, sorry. We have our own thing. Thanks for the invite though.

Sure thing, Babs. Have fun.

***

Jay, don’t forget. Christmas at the Manor in a three days.

Jay.

Jay, I’m serious.

I’m telling Alfred.

Fine, I’m coming. Don’t be a dick.

***

It was a spur of the moment thing, Dick inviting Steph to the Manor for Christmas. They were patrolling together, in one of the rare moments that Dick patrol Gotham now. Nightwing and Spoiler make a good team, much like Batman and Batgirl. And Dick was hit with the sudden realization that this girl had been as much a sister to him as Cass.

“Hey, Spoiler?”

“Yeah, N?”

“You have anything to do Christmas Eve?” As much a sister she was to Dick, and to Cass and Damian, and whatever she was to Tim now, Steph had a family of her own outside of the Bats. If she wanted to spend Christmas with her mother, Dick could hardly begrudge her that. God knows the rest of them didn’t have the chance to spend Christmas with their mothers.

“No, not really. Mom has a shift that night. Holiday nights, better pay, you know.” Steph shrugged, like she didn’t particularly care. But this was Steph. Steph loves celebrations. There’s no way that she didn’t care about celebrating Christmas. Plus, Spoiler’s mask only covers the bottom part of her face. Dick could see her eyes.

(In hindsight, it was not a good tactical decision to have masks that didn’t cover the eyes. But Dick wore a leotard for the first five years of crime fighting. Like all the Titans and Babs like to tell him, he didn’t have a leg to stand on good tactical decision regarding costumes.)

“You want to go to the Manor?”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Who’s cooking?”

“Agent A, of course. Put the rest of us in the kitchen and the Manor will burn down.”

“Point.”

“So, coming?” Dick wished she would come. Dick really wished she would come.

“Sure.” Steph smiled. Dick smiled back. It was always good to have more people at the Manor for Christmas.

***

Dick didn’t have to call or badger Damian into coming. He was already living in the Manor. Alfred will make sure he was on the Manor on Christmas.

***

Now, for the man of the hour himself. Bruce Wayne. Dick didn’t have to make sure Bruce was in Gotham. However, he still had a job to do. Bruce still wants to go patrolling on Christmas Eve.

“B! It’s Christmas Eve!”

“So?”

“So you should be at home, celebrating Christmas with your family!”

A grunt.

Okay then. Thankfully Dick had done this dance for years now, he knew what to do.

“Fine, go patrol if you want. But the cave is already in lockdown, and I have locked you out of every safehouse you own for tonight,” Dick said flippantly. He was confident he got every single safehouse. After all, Alfie helped him lock B out.

Another grunt.

“Admit defeat, B.”

A sigh. Dick knew it meant that he had won. He smiled.

“Come on, everybody is already waiting in the dining room.”

***

“Give that back!”

“Nu-uh, short stack. If you want it, you take it.”

“Can you guys shut up!”

“Oh, Timmy is pissed. He’s pissed, Steph. Whatever should we do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jay. Maybe we should show everyone these photos, it could make him loosen up a bit.”

(Jay? When did Steph become so familiar with Jason?)

“Photos, you say, Brown?”

“Ugh. Kill me now.”

Even before they got into the dining room, Dick could hear the arguing that ensues inside it. Bruce looked at him. Dick looked back.

“It’s your kids. You’re the one who decided to keep adopting more kids.” Dick pointed out.

“They all keep coming,” Bruce grumbled.

“Come on, old man. What’s the worst they can do?” Oh no. The moment that word went out of his mouth, Dick wished he could take it back. The worse his siblings could do was very bad indeed.

An explosion went out inside the dining room. Bruce glared at Dick as if saying, see? Dick sighed. What even could they use inside the dining room to create an explosion?

“The worst they can do is level Gotham to the ground,” Bruce said under his breath. Dick wished it didn’t come to that.

“Well, let’s hope they haven’t destroyed the dining room. It’s not even 8pm yet.”

Bruce didn’t reply. He stared at the door as if the door was the weapon that would be used to execute him.

Time to bite the bullet, Dick guessed. He opened the door.

All in all, it was not the worst it could be. Not one plate or silverware or item was out of place. The ones out of place were his siblings.

Cass was perching on the tallest cabinet. If she stood up, her head would touch the ceiling. As disapproving as he was, Dick was quietly proud of her for being able to climb that high.

Damian, on the other hand, was stuck on the ground. Literally. His shoes were abandoned in one place, while his socks were in another, and he himself was stuck on another place. The glue seemed to be… mashed potatoes? How?

Jason was wrestling with Tim on the ground, but miraculously they managed to steer clear of any breakable objects in the room. There were scorch marks around them. Must be from the earlier explosion, Dick thought.

Steph was standing on the table, steering clear of Tim and Jason, while mixing something with the food already on the plate. Wait. Was that how they managed to create an explosion?

Why were his siblings like this? All Dick wanted was a normal dinner where they could be a family together. Dick sighed, then shouted, “HEY! Cut it out, all of you!”

All heads turned towards him. “Christmas is a time to be together, guys.” Here he paused and glared at each and every one of his siblings. “Whatever ‘together’ I can get out of this dysfunctional group I’ll take.”

“This is being together, Dickface. Are we not in the same room?”

Dick was about to retort when a voice came from the kitchen. “Master Jason, please refrain from speaking profanities again. And do get up from the floor. It is unbecoming of you.” Jason’s expression changed so fast it would have been comical, had Dick not been so grateful that Alfred was here. “Master Tim, you too. Get up from the floor. As for you, Miss Cassandra, come down from the cabinet, please. Cabinets are not for sitting.” Cass smiled sheepishly and quickly climbed down. “Miss Stephanie, do kindly dispose of the chemical in your hand. I believe it is an exploding hazard.” Steph stopped in her tracks. “Last but not least, Master Damian, try sliding of it, instead of lifting your foot.”

“It doesn’t work!”

“Then kindly be patient. I will return with a dissolver.” Alfred put the pie he was holding when he came in on the table and promptly went out again. Nobody dared to move when Alfred was out, except for Bruce. Bruce walked towards the head of the table, sat down, and put his face in his hands.

Dick spoke up. “I hope you’re all happy now. You all pissed off Alfie.”

“No profanities, please, Master Dick. Master Damian, here is the dissolver. Drip a few drops into that… concoction and you should be fine.”

Damian grabbed the dissolver and made quick work of the glue sticking him to the floor. Otherwise, nobody moved.

“Well? Are we having dinner or not?” Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Dick said. “All of you, sit down.” Nobody moved. When they were not asked to move, they all wreck havoc. But when they were asked to move, nobody moved. Typical. “Sit down, all of you!”

Bruce chose that moment to say, “Sit down.” Dick was beginning to feel happy that at least someone was on his side when he realized Bruce’s error. Bruce spoke in the Batman voice.

See, the Batman voice worked well in the field, but outside of it? Not so much. They all even made a point of doing the opposite of what Bruce said. Dick took a deep breath.

Pandemonium ensued.

***

All in all, it was not the worse Christmas Eve dinner they have had. At least this year nobody was hospitalized.

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #damian wayne #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dc #lian writes #fic #batfamchristmasstocking 2018

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thingr1 · 6 years

Text

Focus on the Fallout (2/2)

Rating: T

Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, past suicide attempt.

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, basically entire Batfam.

Preview: *See first chapter*

Cross posted: FFN and AO3 (6-16-17). (A/N found on both sites)

Prequels: Of Milkshakes and Marathons (recommended, but not necessary) and Weighing One’s Worth (essential to understanding story.)

First Chapter: Here

It wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong.

The family—this dysfunctional, emotionally constipated family—was acting strange. More distant than normal.

Whispered conversations that ended the moment Tim crossed the threshold. Flashes of emotion caught by the corners of his eyes every time Tim glanced away. Shadows of footprints outside the door of whatever room Tim happened to be slouched in. Flutters of movement and spots of color (black, blue, red) in the darkness, tailing him as he patrolled.

That had been Tim’s reality for the past two weeks.

Everyone trying to pretend everything was normal, yet side eying Tim like something fragile, something broken, when they thought he was looking the other way.

There was only one possible explanation for this collectively strange behavior.

They knew. Every single one. And if it wasn't for the fact that he was probably (definitely) under tight surveillance at the moment, he would seriously consider another bullet to his brain from shame. Maybe jump off the roof. That is, if embarrassment itself didn't beat him to the punch.

Sinking back against the mattress of his too-big bed, Tim sighed to the blank white ceiling.

Why? Dick's big mouth... Just, why?

Tim knew Dick was only trying to help. But the thing was, they weren't Dick's secrets to share. Heck, even Damian betrayed him in the end—to the loosest jaw of the Wayne bunch, no less—when push came to shove. Which…actually wasn’t that surprising.

He felt like he was walking on eggshells. Like an outsider—no, a pretender in his own home. As if he'd ever really called Wayne Manor his home in the first place...

Tim hated feeling this exposed, baring his soul to the world. This was going to come back to bite him, someone was going to take advantage of him all over again. And Tim didn’t think he could take it.

Because at the heart of it all, that was his problem, wasn’t it? Whenever he let anyone in, they either died or threw him away; in each sense, they betrayed him. And he was so so tired of it all. Which was a much more selfish admission than he usually allowed himself. (Then again, Tim had tried to kill himself a week ago, which kind of took the cake.)

But yet…at the same time…why did it feel like a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders? He shouldn’t be this relieved to have just unloaded his truckload of problems onto Dick Grayson’s shoulders.

Dick Grayson.

Who had taken Robin from him without even asking. Who had, how many years later, apologized for it. Had stopped pretending that everything between them was right as rain and outright admitted he was in the wrong.

It was mortifying.

Tim had failed somewhere. He had to’ve.

It probably had something to do with the fact he’d tried to off himself in the middle of the Manor, the one place where all the Bats could come and go as they pleased. The one place where there were eyes everywhere. It was careless of Tim to even think of attempting what he had in such a public place.

Unless…

Had…had he wanted someone to find him? Maybe…maybe that was why…

Tim shook his head violently, turning his face into his pillow in embarrassment.

No. He wasn’t going to psychoanalyze himself now. He’d tried to kill himself. It didn’t take. Now it was just a question of moving on.

…Which would have been so much simpler if his family’s actions didn’t make it that much more impossible to compartmentalize the self-destructive feelings back into a deep, dark corner of Tim’s mind that life usually kept him too busy to explore.

And yet, Tim couldn’t help the faint glow of hope that was slowly eating away at the darkness in his core. Maybe…maybe this time Dick would come through. Maybe this time would be different; maybe they could heal. If only that feeling wasn’t so often crushed by the realities of life. Then maybe Tim could bear to give it a chance.

No, he decided. Better to forget. Better to forget than to give his family the opportunity to screw up enough so Tim would have to juggle forgiving them (again) on top of it all, too. He’d figure this out on his own. Like he always did.

Without warning, his door slammed back on its hinges.

Tim’s skin prickled, muscles seizing, panic shredding through every inch of his flesh in the form of adrenaline as he whirled, wild-eyed, to face the intruder.

Damian stood in the doorway, arms crossed over he chest, giving Tim a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Your presence is required downstairs, Drake,” the child reported, pompous as always.

Tim glared. (Internal terror revealing itself in a rather Jason Todd style: Anger.) “For what? An interrogation?”

Damian snorted. "Nothing so crude. It is…” The boy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “‘Family Bonding,’ Grayson is calling it. Everyone is required to attend.”

"And why should I trust you?” The words spilled out before Tim could stop them.

The former assassin’s eyes narrowed. Assessing.

After a moment, Damian’s jaw set, cobalt eyes almost glaring in their intensity. "I swear to you that no one is judging you for your moment of weakness. In fact, if I see so much as a pitying glance, I will mash that person’s nose into their face myself. Just…come downstairs. Please.”

Which was…actually half-decent as far as politeness went for the demon child.

Tim…hesitated. A trap. It had to be… No.

Those eyes so like his father’s screamed sincerity, even though Damian’s features remained studiously blank. Though he was many things, Damian Wayne was not a liar. Something Tim both hated and respected about the fifth Robin.

And after…that night…something between the two of them had changed. For the first time since they’d met, they understood each other; they’d caught a glimpse of who they were behind the masks and facades. Their insecurities exposed to the person they hated most.

It was…freeing somehow.

(Dick had always told him that all Damian wanted was acceptance; and for the first time, Tim might just believe it.)

No. Damian wouldn’t betray him like this. (Not again, anyway.) The others, on the other hand…

“Promise?” The word slipped out before Tim could stop it; small. Shaky. Weak.

Damian inclined his head. “You have my word.” Solemn. Straightforward. (So unlike his father.)

Tim sucked in a breath. Bit his lip. Squared his shoulders. “Fine.”

He was going to regret this.

The journey downstairs seemed to pass far too quickly. And yet, at the same time, it stretched long enough that Tim had far too much time to think.

Tim couldn't...shouldn't...didn't want to face his family. Didn’t want to see the looks on their faces at the realization that their toy soldier was broken; unusable.

…Was he broken? Wasn’t that the question of a lifetime. One that Tim really didn’t care to answer; now, or ever.

Moving on.

(Why’d he even bother with a gun? His own brain was going to be the death of him.)

With a blink, Tim jerked back into reality as Damian slid into the lit doorway on the right of the hallway that Tim recognized as the living room without looking back. Clearly expecting Tim to follow.

Tim sucked in a breath. No. Don’t think about it.

Do this. He could do this.

Breath huffing in an almost sigh, Tim stepped around the doorframe and…

Everyone was looking at him.

And when he said everyone, he meant everyone. Dick, Damian, Alfred, Barbara, Steph, Cass, Jason, Titus.

Bruce.

The whole gang was here.

And they were staring.

Heat barely had time to brush Tim’s cheeks before the whole room erupted.

“Timmy!”

“Tim.”

“So good of you to join us, Master Tim.”

“‘Bout time you got here, the popcorn’s almost cold!”

“Hey, mind breaking the tie for us? We’ve narrowed it down to Monsters Inc. or Frozen…”

“Frozen?! Who said Frozen? I voted Inside Out!”

Through the cacophony of sound, lights, and general confusion, Cass materialized at his side, squeezing him in a hug, whispering “Love you,” and guiding him through the mass of people, popcorn, soda cans, pillows (from the bedrooms?), and movie cases to the couch before Tim could fully process what was happening.

And then Jason was wedged on the cushion next to him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Come on, Baby Bird, help me out here. Inside Out or Frozen?”

Tim blinked. Still in shock. “Tangled.”

Jason scowled. “Wow. You’re helpful.” Then, serious, poking Tim none too gently in the ribs, he hissed: “Bullets have more calories than milkshakes, y'know. Talk about hard to work off."

Tim flushed, a combination anger and embarrassment snapping him from his reverie. “That bar was a one time thing, Jay! I swear, is this going to keep coming up in every conversation?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Just so long as I never catch you at it again.” Then, in a low mutter Tim almost had to strain to hear: ”Call someone next time you start feeling self-destructive, 'kay, Baby Bird? We’ve all been there. We can help.“

Tim ducked his head; mortified (touched). "O...okay. Yeah."

Jason slapped Tim's shoulder with his free hand, reeling him in so Tim’s face smashed into him in a…a hug. "Good. We're marathoning Harry Potter next."

And...Tim's lips quirked upward. "Haven't seen those in awhile."

"Exactly, Tim. Exactly."

Dick Grayson’s voice suddenly erupted in his ear, causing Tim to jump: “Tim! Timmy! You voted Frozen, right?”

Jason stared, stiffening under Tim’s weight. “So you’re the one.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “Uh. No?”

The second Robin growled, reverberating through his chest where Tim’s face was still half smushed. “What did I tell you about Frozen?”

Dick’s eyes twinkled with the mischievous light that always preceded a particularly self-endangering statement: “That I need to ‘let it go’?”

There was a moment of pure, icy silence. Two. Three.

Broken by a laugh.

A laugh.

From Tim’s own mouth.

Another burst from his mouth without his consent. Then another. Suddenly, Tim was gripping his sides, tears welling in his eyes, shaking from the force of his own laughter.

Everyone was staring at Tim again, this time in open surprise; joy, fondness, maybe mixed with some concern for his mental health.

And for once, Tim didn’t mind it. Still chuckling, he snagged the pillow from the couch arm and rammed it into the nearest face: Dick Grayson’s. “Stuff that in your big mouth, Dick!”

There was a pause.

Then a mad cackle rent the air as Jason Todd hefted another pillow over his head. “You deserved that, Dickie!” Slammed the stunned man’s face with the makeshift weapon so hard, the seams burst. Tim almost winced.

Almost.

“Pillow fight!” Steph screamed gleefully, swiping an ancient throw pillow and slinging it into Jason in the same instant as Damian slung a blanket into the man’s abdomen. “For Arendelle!”

The room devolved into chaos as the rest of the family joined in; pillows flying, blankets cracking like whips, popcorn scattering.

And as the feathers swirled in the air around them, laughter carrying them to the ceiling, Tim realized that maybe—just maybe—he could stand to call this crazy mess of a family (life) his own after all.

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redrobinfection · 7 years

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Coffee, Coffee Everywhere, Pt 9

<< Part 8

Steph plucked at the strapless bra that was starting to dig into her ribs and sighed gratefully as the cool air of the ice cream shop they’d just entered washed over her flushed face. The other ‘batkids’ filed in behind her, dressed to the nines and newly escaped from one of the many infamous galas Bruce demanded they attend to keep up outward appearances.

Dick, Tim, Damian and Cass were all required to attend, of course, as official members of the Wayne family, but they’d found sufficient excuses to drag her and Jason in as “plus-ones” for Cass and Tim respectively, and Babs had already been in attendance - it was a charity gala benefiting the GCPD, as it happened - so they’d had the whole gang in one place for once.

That fact hadn’t sat too well with Oracle - who had called in the Birds of Prey to cover the city while the Batfam schmoozed - or with Batman, for that matter, so after the Gala, the two of them had headed straight back to watching over the streets of Gotham. The kids, on the other hand, had made a beeline for the their favorite late-night ice cream parlor, fancy dresses, tuxes, and all.

Steph’s beautiful one-shoulder, deep eggplant dress looked kickass [1] - Cass and Tim had helped her pick it out the week before - but she was so done with the clingy folds of silk and the tight bodice.

“Welcome to Gotham City Scoops,” the freckly guy behind the counter welcomed them. “What can I get for you guys tonight?”

“Ahhh,” Dick looked around at each of them expectantly, then stepped forward to act as the de facto spokesperson of their group. “I have a pretty good idea of what I want, so I’ll order first to give you guys a minute, yeah?”

Damian and Cass nodded. Jason attacked the bow tie at his throat with a vengeance while Tim squinted up at the menu board. Steph turned her attention to the menu, keeping half an ear tuned-in to hear the others’ orders so as to maybe steal an idea for her own.

Dick ordered his customary double scoop of rocky road, then turned to the rest of the group expectantly. Nobody stepped up. Steph kept her eyes firmly fixed on the forty-two flavors above their heads.

“Come on, guys. I’ll pay - my treat - but anyone who doesn’t get their order in before I finish my cone is on their own,” Dick warned them, licking a wide stripe up the side of his ice cream with an over-the-top stink-eye. Jason snorted at the goofy expression and Cass favored them with a small smile. She stepped up next, pointing soundlessly to the grass-green matcha ice cream and holding up two fingers for two scoops.

Rocky road? Matcha? No, Steph wasn’t feeling either of those. She glanced over at Jason, who ran both hands through his slicked back hair, subconsciously mussing it back to normal again as he considered his choices.

Steph turned her head at the sound of Damian’s voice. The kid had stepped forward, but he quickly retreated and tapped a finger against his mouth.

“I think.…maybe that…hmm, no, perhaps not,” Damian equivocated. Steph giggled.

“Havin’ trouble deciding, kiddo? Which ones are you split over?”

Damian whirled to glare at her then turned back with a huff. “Of course not, Brown. I’m not a child. I was simply weighing the merits of consuming chocolate at this hour versus not.”

The clerk raised an eyebrow at Damian’s verbiage but looked relieved when the kid finally stepped up to the counter.

“I’ll have a double scoop of french vanilla, please.”

Steph laughed. “All that for plain vanilla, Dami?”

Damian thanked the clerk for the cone then turned to glare at her. “Vanilla is not a plain flavor, Stephanie Brown. There are subtleties to the flavor that take a discerning palate and much patience to appreciate.”

“Nah. If I ever had to eat vanilla ice cream as a kid, I always drowned it in chocolate sauce and sprinkles,” Steph replied, grinning when it got the expected rise out of Damian.

“Sacrilege!”

“Tasty,” Dick chimed in around a mouthful of Rocky Road. Cass stepped up to Damian and laid an understanding hand on his shoulder. Damian murmured his mutual appreciation for Cass’ “refined palate” and flavor choice and then turned away from the rest of them.

That left only Jason, Tim, and herself to pick. Steph studied the board again for a moment then found her eyes drifting to Tim. A sudden thought had her smirking smugly.

“Well… at least we all know what Tim’s going to get, even if he’ll play coy and wait until after everyone’s ordered to make it seem like he didn’t have his eye on the prize the entire time.”

Tim turned to her with eyebrows raised and Jason laughed.

Coffee ice cream. It was a classic flavor, and Steph knew it was Tim’s favorite. Heck, even she liked a good mocha chip every now and then. Tim stepped up to the counter. Dick nodded knowingly and Damian shook his head silently. Steph grinned. Everyone knew what was coming…

“I’ll have a double scoop of the salted caramel and vanilla, please,” Tim requested with a polite smile.

The family froze at the unexpected plot twist. They stared, lost for words as the server tacitly retrieved a clean scoop and a fresh cone. Jason finally broke the thick silence with a chuckle as he stepped up beside Tim.

“And I’ll have a double scoop of strawberry, please,” Jason added. He turned to Tim. “Wow, Timbo, color me impressed - you actually skipped the coffee for once!”

Tim grimaced. “I don’t eat ‘coffee everything, all the time, always’ - give me a break!”

Steph blinked. Dick scratched the back of his head. Cass shrugged and turned her attention back to her ice cream.

“Well, forgive us if all of your wild ideas over the past few weeks have set a certain precedent,” Damian remarked drily.

“Yeah, really!” Jason agreed. “All other coffee experiments aside, I thought coffee ice cream was you favorite? Why the switch up?”

“Coffee is my favorite flavor, yes, and it always will be, but it’s late, I’m tired, I’m actually sleepy for once, I don’t feel like giving myself a caffeine buzz - however minute that would be from flavored ice-cream - and” - he paused momentarily to thank the clerk as he handed Tim his cone - “I actually really like the salted caramel here,” Tim explained coolly. He took large lick of the ice cream with a grateful hum. "Thanks for buying, Dick.”

A chorus of ‘thank you’s followed Tim’s. Dick chuckled and waved them off as he bit into the top of his cone. “Y’re w'lcome,” Dick slurred as around the bite. He swallowed and winked over at Tim. “It’s good to see you enjoying some variety, Timmy. Maybe I’ll try the salted caramel next time since you like it enough to pick it over coffee of all things.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I didn’t pick it over coffee; I’m just not feeling-”

Dick waved his freehand as if to swat away the words. “No, no, no, let us have this moment. Please.”

Tim laughed, shrugged, and turned back to his cone. Meanwhile, Steph felt as stunned as she would if someone had thrown a brick at her face and then run off without a word. Of all the times for Tim to break with form and be spontaneous…

“Steph?”

Steph jerked slightly, turning toward the sound. “Are you going to get anything?” Tim asked her. Steph glanced around - everyone was staring expectantly - then looked back to Tim, who was studying her with a little concern.

“Yeah, Steph. This ice cream is almost devoured; if you’re gonna get anything, now’s the time to do it,” Dick reminded her with a grin, taking another large bite out of the rapidly disappearing cone.

Steph floundered. What did she want? What was she in the mood for? She scanned the board, but nothing popped out at her. Rocky Road? No. Vanilla? Ha ha, no. Strawberry? No. Peanut Butter Fudge? No, not tonight. Chocolate? Not quite…

Steph stepped up to the counter slowly, shaking her head and feeling renewed heat suffuse her slowly cooling cheeks as she finally came to a decision. Dick popped the tip of the cone into his mouth and stepped up to the register.

“Last chance, Steph. What’s is gonna be?”

“I-I’ll have, uhhh…” - she grimaced, then forced herself finish - “a single scoop of mocha chip, please.”

There was a beat of silence, then Tim laughed out loud and Jason snorted shortly after him. Dick shook his head as he pulled out his credit card. Damn. They’re not gonna give me any peace for the rest of the night, are they?

Nope. Of course not. “Welcome to the Dark Side, St-” Tim began, a shit-eating grin on his smug little face.

“Shut up,” Steph barked at him, waving her newly acquired cone in his face like a weapon. Tim chuckled, but backed off.

She licked at her cone sullenly during the silence descended over the group as they all focused on enjoying their frozen treats - all except for Dick, who flitted off to the bathroom to wash his hands. After a few licks of delicious coffee and chocolate chips blended with cool, sweet cream, Steph dared to argue back, “Well, hey, at least I only got a single scoop while the rest of you got two; that has to count for someth-”

“No.” Tim shook his head at her with mock seriousness and an amused twinkle to his eyes. A chorus of other ‘no’s and a tsk from Damian followed.

“But-”

Tim laughed and shook a finger at her with a grin. “Nope!”

AN: I have no idea if these guys have any canon favorite ice cream flavors - I was just making these up as I went. If you know of any canon favorite flavors, or you have some headcanons, send me an ask - I’m curious!

I originally planned this drabble to be the conclusion to the Coffee, Coffee Everywhere series, but I keep coming up with new ideas in spite of myself so… once I catch up on all the writing, this series will return ;)

This is the dress I imagined Steph would wear to the gala, in case you missed the link in the text: https://www.jjshouse.com/Sheath-Column-One-Shoulder-Floor-Length-Charmeuse-Bridesmaid-Dress-With-Beading-Cascading-Ruffles-007051842-g51842?filterColor=grape

Part 10 >>

#christmasriverswrites #my writing #stephanie brown #tim drake #batfamily #coffee coffee everywhere #mine #fluff

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chimaerakitten · 7 years

Text

Blackberries

About a week ago, @komadoriwonder requested the batkids+blackberries. I finally wrote it.

AO3

“Why is it so hooooooooooot?” Dick complained from his place on the kitchen floor.

“It’s summer.” Tim replied from somewhere Dick couldn’t see. “And didn’t the circus winter in Florida?”

Dick rolled over so he could look Tim in the eye. “Tell me you aren’t more effected by this than me.”

Tim did look way worse than Dick did. For someone who practically lived in layered sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off, he really couldn’t take heat. His T-Shirt was soaked through with sweat and he’d pulled his hair into the saddest bun possible to keep it off his neck.

“No,” Tim said. “But I—“He pulled open one of the kitchen drawers to punctuate. “—Am going to do something about it.”

Dick sat up fast when he saw that Tim was taking a spoon out of the drawer. “Tim, don’t. That ice cream is Damian’s.”

Tim hummed as he pulled the gallon of ice cream out of the freezer. “I’ll just blame it on Jason.”

“Jason’s not even here today.”

“Wait for it.”

That same second there was the sound of the door slamming open and boots stomping through the foyer.

“TIM!” Jason yelled.

“KITCHEN!” Tim yelled back, making Dick wince.

Jason stomped into the kitchen. “Where’d you put it?”

Jason was, of course, still wearing his trademark leather jacket, despite the 100-degree heat.

Dick wrinkled his nose “How are you still wearing that?”

Jason shot him a look of pure distain, though he did begin removing the coat. “Because I came here on a motorcycle?”

“…Fair.”

“ANYWAY.” Jason whirled back to Tim. “Where’d you put it?”

Tim rolled his eyes, pulling open the ice cream container. “Where do you think?”

Jason growled.

“In the cave! Jeeze.”

Dick looked from Tim to Jason. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume always assume I did something?”

Tim cleared his throat. “Actually Dick, It was me his time. I accidentally took his grapple home with me after the stakeout last night.”

“Oh,” Dick said, lowering himself back to the floor, “Okay.”

Jason looked down at him. “Why are you on the floor.”

“Becaush itsch howt.” Tim said, around a mouthful of ice cream.

“What?”

“It’s hot.” Dick explained.

“You do realize,” Jason said slowly, “That you have an entire cave underneath this house that never gets above sixty degrees even in the summer.”

“Brusch banned usch.”

“Since when have you listened to what he says?” Jason asked, indignant.

“To hot to fight him.” Dick explained.

Jason shook his head. “You guys are pathetic. I’m leaving before you infect me.”

“Rude.”

Jason was almost out the kitchen door when it slammed open again. “Grayson!” Damian shouted, stepping smoothly around Jason.

“Damian.” Dick replied smoothly. Or as smoothly as he could, lying on the floor in a pool of his own sweat.

Damian stomped over (what was with everyone and their stomping today?) until he was standing next to Dick’s head. “Cain is missing.”

Dick smiled. “I think she’s in the wine cellar. It’s a little cooler in there.”

Damian huffed. “Why are you all so pathetic.”

“See!” Jason exclaimed, pointing at Damian. “He gets it!”

Damian side-eyed Jason. “And now Todd is here being ridiculous as well.”

“Don’t lump me in with them!”

“Oh, hey!” Dick sat up. “That reminds me!”

“Oh no.” Tim said, having surreptitiously snuck Damian’s ice cream back in the freezer when no one was looking. “Nothing good begins with Dick saying ‘that reminds me’.”

Dick glared. “That reminds me that the blackberries in the back of the property are ripe and Alfred wants to make a cobbler.”

“And why does Todd being here remind you of that?”

“Because,” Dick said, standing up. “Someone needs to pick the blackberries first.”

“Oh hell no, I’m not getting any more lacerations.” Jason said. “I’m out.”

“You are wearing a leather jacket.” Tim observed. “You really have no excuse.”

“He’s right, Jay.”

Jason whirled on Tim. “You’re a horrible little sadist, you know that?”

“I try.”

“And I can tell Damian that you were just eating his ice cream.”

“Drake!”

One fight, a collection of Cass out of the wine cellar, and a trip to the cave for protective gear later, and everyone was tromping through the underbrush at the back of the property to get to the blackberry patch.

While the others walked ahead, Dick lagged behind to guide Tim, who had been laden with Tupperware of various sizes and couldn’t see his feet.

“Watch out for those roots.”

“You could just take half of these off me, you know. I could see then.” Tim said, picking his way around the roots.

Dick grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Tim just rolled his eyes.

“GRAYSON!”

Dick sighed, scooping half the containers off of Tim’s stack. “We better go see what that’s about.”

They met up with the others at the end of the row of blackberries.

“TT, I thought you would never catch up.”

Dick smiled. “I was just helping Timmy with the containers.”

Damian huffed. He painted a comical picture, standing in the underbrush wearing his Robin boots and gloves over civies.

Dick ruffled his hair, turning to the rest of the group. “Alright, we need a plan of attack.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Dick, it’s blackberry picking, not fighting Darkseid.”

Jason looked contemplative. “No, he’s right, we need to be able to do this quickly.”

“And without pain.” Cass chimed in.

“That too.”

Dick clapped his hands together. “Alright, so. Jason and Damian are wearing the most protective gear, so it’s their job to get the ones farther back in the bush. Cass, you can get on my shoulders to reach the high-up ones. Tim can get all the easy to reach ones.”

“How come I’m on the cushy job?”

“Because Cass has better balance.”

“I can lend you my jacket and you can work with the demon brat.” Jason offered.

“I’m not working with Drake!”

At the exact same moment, Tim said, “Hell no, Jason. That jacket reeks.”

“Rude.”

“Anyway.” Dick said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Everyone grab a container. Let’s get picking.”

Twenty minutes later, the plan seemed to be working. The only one with lacerations seemed to be Tim (his cry of “Ouch!” rang out every minute or two when he overestimated his reach) and Damian’s picking method of stomping his way into the bush and grabbing every blackberry in sight had already filled an entire container. Jason and Cass both seemed to be following the “Two in mouth, one in bucket” rule, but at least it kept Jason from laughing at Tim whenever the younger boy hurt himself again.

“Hey Cass, you mind if I put you down for a second? This is starting to hurt.”

Rather than reply, Cass stood up on his shoulders and then back flipped off, landing without so much as a sound.

“Showoff!” Tim called.

Cass stuck her tongue out at him, and then turned to Dick. “Now your turn.”

“What?”

“Your turn to be on my soulders.”

Dick scratched the back of his head. “I dunno Cass, I’m a lot heavier than you.”

Cass shook her head. “I can handle it.”

“If you’re sure.”

She spun around so he could climb up on her shoulders. Despite his fears, she seemed unbothered by the weight.

Dick had filled the tub halfway before Cass spoke again.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Dick looked down. “You haven’t?”

Cass shook her head. “Never had the time.”

And of course David Cain wouldn’t have allowed it when she was a child.

Dick grinned. “Well you’ve been missing out. I used to do this all the time with the circus. We stopped in big open fields usually, and there were always blackberries around. We never made cobbler because that required an oven and the one in our trailer rarely worked, but we made blackberry syrup all the time. My dad would serve it over pancakes on the mornings of big performances.”

Cass hummed. “Sounds… sweet.”

Dick wasn’t sure if she meant the family tradition or the syrup itself. “It was.”

“I wonder—“

Whatever Cass was going to say was interrupted by a high-pitched, childish shriek down the row from them.

Climbing down from Cass’s shoulders, Dick’s immediate thought was that Damian must have been hurt, but Damian wasn’t much of a shrieker, which meant it was probably Tim.

So Dick was surprised when he got down to the other end of the row to find both boys unharmed and standing calmly a few feet away from the brambles.

“What happened!? Are you both okay?” Then something occurred to him. “And where’s Jason?”

That was when the bush started cussing Dick out.

He turned around, confused, to find Jason, a full five feet into the bush, sunken down so that hos eyes were at Dick’s chest level.

“What happened?” Dick asked.

Tim laughed. “He stepped into the bush and then he screamed.”

Jason glared. “There’s a drop off here!”

“So why are you still in there?” Dick asked.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m completely surrounded with thorns! And unlike the rest of me, my face doesn’t have armor on it!”

“TT. I advised you to wear the helmet.”

Cass appeared next to Tim. “Like one of Ivy’s traps.”

Jason glared at each of them in turn. “Someone help me get out of here.”

“You’re pretty far in there.” Dick observed. “We might have to get the machete and cut back the vines back a bit.”

“Dick I swear to god, if you swing a machete at me I will shoot you.”

Dick snorted. “You don’t have a gun on you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“There’s no way you have a gun on you.”

“Do you really want to risk it?”

Nobody replied to that.

“Someone had better get me out of here now or I’ll shoot all of you.”

Dick looked around. “Well Damian’s the most heavily armored, so if he goes in and grabs Jason’s arms the rest of us can pull both of them out.”

“Dick, This seems like a terrible plan.” Tim said.

“For once, I agree with Tim.” Jason added. “This seems like a great way to get shredded by thorns.”

“Well I don’t see anyone coming up with a better plan.”

“Actually, I’ve got one.” Tim said.

Everyone looked at him.

“WE send Damian in first, like you said. He pulls the vines away from Jason’s face, and we get like, a big stick or something, and we pull Jason out with that.”

“Okay,” Dick admitted, “That is a better plan, but we need a branch or something.”

“Got it.” Cass said, and Dick spun around to see that she had somehow already retrieved a branch of the appropriate size.

“That was fast.” Dick said, impressed.

Tim snorted. “It was like three feet behind her.”

Cass stuck her tongue out at him.

“Alright then. Damian, you’re up.”

Damian slunk into the bush, carefully pulling vines away from Jason’s face.

“Brat, if you get me scratched on purpose I’ll—“

“TT. You’ll what Todd, shoot me? How original.”

Jason fumed silently.

“You good there, Damian?” Dick asked.

Once Damian had most of the vines gathered up in his hands, he slid sideways into the bush, being mindful of the drop off. “I believe so.”

“Alright then,” Dick said, “Cass?”

“Wait!” Jason yelled. “I still have a tub of berries in here.”

Dick reached into the bush, carefully taking the tub Jason handed up. It was heavier than he expected, and he almost dropped it. “How many did you pick?” he asked, incredulous.

“What can I say? I want cobbler.”

Dick stepped back, placing Jason’s tub with everyone else’s.

“Ok Cass, we’re good to go.”

Cass passed on end of the branch into the bush, and Jason grabbed hold of it. Tim stepped close to the bush and grabbed the middle of the branch.

“I know Cass is strong and all, but I doubt the two of you are going to be able to do this on your own.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Quit stalling and go.”

“Fine.” Jason switched his grip on the branch.

Dick started to count down. “Three. Two. One— Everyone pull!”

Tim and Cass dug in their heels while Jason heaved himself up along the branch and Damian pressed himself even farther into the side of the bush. Unfortunately they’d overestimated the amount of strength necessary to manage the task, because Jason got out of the hole easily, but stumbled forward and knocked Tim and Cass backward into Dick. All four off then tumbled over on a tangle of limbs.

For a moment, they all just laid on the ground, out of breath.

“Well that was something.” Dick said.

Jason groaned. “I think Damian missed one near my neck. Something stings.”

“Actually Jason,” Tim laughed nervously, “I think that was me. I haven’t clipped my fingernails in a while.”

Jason sat up. “What the fuck, Tim.”

“Language!” Cass and Dick said at the same time.

“Okay, first of all, the two of you swear more than I do—“ Jason started.

Damian stepped out of the bush. “ That is false, Todd, and you know it.”

Jason got to his feet. “You know Dick censors himself around you, right?”

Damian looked at Dick. “Grayson?”

Dick smiled in apology. “Sorry, Lil D.”

“TT. You are aware that I’ve heard worse than you could ever say.”

Tim sat up too. “I dunno Damian, Dick can be a pretty creative swearer.”

“Blackberries.” Cassandra reminded them all.

Tim hefted Jason’s container. “Actually Cass, I think we might have enough for like, four cobblers.”

Dick sat up, doing a mental tally of all the containers. “Yeah I think we do.”

“Finally.” Jason said. “Alfred’s cobbler will make hanging out with all of you idiots worth it.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “C’mon guys. Let’s eat.”

Of course, there were two attempted stabbings in the hour and a half before the cobbler was done, but that was one attempted stabbing down from last week, so Dick counted the afternoon as a win.

#Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #cassandra cain #Damian Wayne #the kitten writes #prompts #prompt

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 8 years

Text

Gotham City Ghostbusters 7

Detention Education

ao3

Next Chapter | Previous Chapter

A/N: Rough Ages: Dick- 18, Senior Barbara- 18, Senior Jason- 17, Junior Duke- 16, Junior Cass-17, Sophomore Harper- 15, Sophomore Steph- 15, Sophomore Tim- 14, Sophomore Damian- 12 1/2, Freshman

Tim was so thankful that the universe or whatever had finally decided that he deserved some good luck. After dealing with Damian all summer and listening to how the little snot was skipping grades for the entire month of August he was afraid that Damian would end up being in his class. The joke was on the kid though because Tim himself had skipped a grade a couple years ago and was currently attending Gotham Academy as a Sophomore. Damian was only a freshman.

What was even better was that despite her low reading level Cass was only bumped back to being a Sophomore rather than being a Junior like Jason. This meant that Damian wouldn’t be having many classes with her either but Tim would. Making Damian extremely jealous as Cass was the only sibling besides Dick that he seemed to even tolerate.

Of course his luck wouldn’t hold out as he was currently sitting in detention next to the twerp. On the first day. Bruce was going to lecture and Alfred… was going to put his disappointed face on and not bake cookies for a month. Especially as Tim watched as Jason sauntered in, followed closely by Dick, Cass, and Babs.

“What’re you in here for Timmy?” Dick asked curiously.

Tim shrugged and replied sheepishly, “Got caught using the school WiFi to hack into S.H.A.D.E. records.” Dick gave a low whistle before chuckling and shaking his head.

The eldest then turned to Jason, taking in the split lip and growing bruise under his eye. “Jay?” he asked simply.

Jason flopped down into the desk on the other side of Tim. “Some jerkwads decided to try and steal Rose’s sketchbook. I wouldn’t let ‘em,” he said with a shrug.

Dick turned a questioning look to Cass as she weaved her way over to perch on Barbara’s desk. “Helped,” was all she said as she hopped up, deftly avoiding the crutch propped against the desk top. Tim wasn’t surprised at the statement but compared to Jason the only thing that indicated the lithe girl had been in a fight was her disheveled black bob.

“Dami?” Dick turned a grin on the youngest who glared petulantly back.

Finally, he deigned it was time for a response, “-tt- I called my teacher an imbecile and rightly so.” His small round nose lifted as he crossed his arms and mimicked Bruce’s infamous glare.

“What about you two?” Jason gestured between Barbara and Dick, a wicked smile growing as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Dick’s face flushed as his expression darkened and Barbara’s skin was nearly the same shade of red as her hair. “Next time get a room!” he cackled.

Tim raised his eyes heavenward as he heard Dick mutter “We did.” Cass grinned, Barbara face palmed, and Jason’s laughing doubled.

“Gordon! I had not realized you were such a harlot. Grayson on the other hand,” Damian sneered. Babs grabbed her crutch and looked about ready to pummel Damian when the door swung open once more.

A girl with a bright blue and purple undercut walked in followed by a blonde and an African-American boy. Catching sight of Jason he walked over and the two performed an overly complex handshake before Duke asked what happened to Jason’s face and he had launched into an elaborate retelling.

Stephanie sauntered over and plopped herself on Tim’s desk with a cheery “Hiya Timbo!” Her hands and a good deal of her forearms were covered in purple paint. Without thinking he went to pull a glob of it from her hair. He paused and blushed nearly as deep as Barbara had earlier and instead said, “You have paint. In your hair.”

She frowned and began trying to work her fingers through the stuck-together strands. “Harper,” she whined at the blue-haired girl. “You promised me I wouldn’t get it in my hair again!”

Harper shrugged before once again turning her back on the Waynes, Barbara, and the two she walked in with. “Why, exactly are you covered in paint and in detention?” Tim asked his friend.

Steph gave an exaggerated eyeroll before sticking her thumb at Harper. “Ask her. She’s the one in charge.”

“Harper, you can trust these guys. I can vouch for them,” Duke said honestly. Duke was a really nice guy and like Barbara and Steph had become a semi-permeant fixture at the manor. He and Jason had been in English together the year before and Duke was one of the only people who had not been wary of Jason following his possession. They had quickly bonded over a mutual love of poetry.

Harper spun back around in her seat. “Oh yes,” her voice dripped sarcasm. “The Wayne Bunch and the police commissioner’s daughter. Because they’re not going to rat.”

“Harper, you’d be surprised,” Steph said sincerely. Tim glanced around at his other siblings. None of them seemed to know what was going on either.

Harper sighed and relented, getting up and perching on the back of her chair to face them fully. “The school is lying about the ‘wards’. I worked here all summer as part of my scholarship-”

“We all did,” Duke added.

Harper nodded and continued, “Not once did I see any wards, from Wayne Tech, Luthor Corp, Kord Industries, Q Corp, or Palmer Tech. Not even a trace of the kind I make for the people in my building out of scraps. The only ‘wards’ here is that mystical mumbo-jumbo crap that the Court of Owls must have sold ‘em when the school was built.”

Tim’s mind whirled as he thought of the implications of that. Dick was on the same train of thought as he said, “So it’s false advertising saying this is the most secure school in Gotham.”

Barbara pursed her lips, “Not to mention illegal. All schools, hospitals, and public buildings are required to have wards.”

Looks of frustration and annoyance settled onto the faces of his siblings as Tim looked back to Harper. “So what did you guys do?”

She smirked, “Protested. Looked up some of those old runes and painted them on the side of the school.”

“In bright purple,” Stephanie added proudly.

“Except Duke decided to slack off on being look-out and we got caught,” Harper leveled an annoyed look on her friend who shrugged.

“And made me get covered in paint,” Steph mumbled and Tim couldn’t help but to laugh softly at her.

“Dickhead,” Jason called to their older brother. “You do know what this means?”

Dick nodded, “That a lot of people are in a lot of danger.”

“This is one of the oldest buildings in Gotham and if it hasn’t had proper wards for, well forever, then we’re in big trouble,” Tim added. “Not to mention any involvement by the Court of Owls…” He trailed off with a shake of his head.

“Explains lots,” Cass said, her large brown eyes studying the others.

“Heck yeah it does. I swear I saw something in the girl’s bathroom on the third-floor last year,” Steph added.

“-tt- I bet our presence doesn’t help,” Damian said as he wrinkled his nose.

“But we could help? Or at least you guys could. You’re the ones with access to Wayne Enterprises,” Duke added nervously.

Jason scoffed, “Our ‘access’ is none existent. Especially since B decided to bench the lot of us.”

“We still have access to the cave. And I’ve got my escrima sticks,” Dick said slowly.

“And I can make stuff. I do already,” Tim looked at his brother seriously.

“I already have a backdoor into the police department’s computer system,” Barbara gave a wicked grin.

“So we’re doing this?” Jason confirmed.

“We’re doing this,” Dick agreed with a nod.

“Doing what?” Steph asked looking wildly around at the various Waynes and Babs. All of whom had looks of pure mischief on their faces.

“Not without us you’re not!” Harper glared, “We’re the ones who told you about this in the first place.”

“She’s right. If you’re doing this then we’re helping,” Duke said defiantly.

“Ohhhh,” Stephanie smirked. “We’re going ghostbusting!”

“We’ll have to get gear together first,” Tim broke in, ever the voice of reason.

“You get me proper supplies and I can make my own,” Harper asserted.

Dick nodded, “You guys all come over to the Manor tomorrow after school. Bruce is leaving for some business trip so we can get you guys into the cave and start training.”

They all agreed and spent the rest of detention (which the teacher for never showed up to) discussing suspicious activity at the school and making notes of it.

Babs and Dick were just caught skipping study hall to make out in an empty classroom. Like Jason you should get your mind out of the gutter.

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