#I think her dragon form is so striking so I was itching to draw it as some kind of dress or inspired outfit!!

[marskid11]

the red dragon bride

[ikeromantic]

Optional

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Sasuke, D is for Dear, 🥹

Mitsuhide, S is for Secret, 🫣

Ieyasu, A is for Appetite, 😉

Kenshin, B is for Beauty, 😘

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For these please don't feel even a little bit like you need to do them, but if any catch your fancy and you just want to I won't complain! ❤️

I chose Ieyasu. I think he needed a little more love ^_^ I feel like this ended up being more 😘 than 😉, but here we go! Approx. 900 words.

Ieyasu felt an itch under his skin. Not literally. He would have preferred literal. An itch could be resolved. Scratched until satisfied. Treated with some medicine. Ignored, even. But this itch . . . tossed herself in his way every day. He could not find a place she did not haunt. And when she was not there in form, she was in his thoughts. 

Her presence was driving him mad. He could not focus on work. His only escape was in the rigor of sword practice. Which was why the pale morning sun found him in the practice yard, faced off against Masamune. 

“Again,” Ieyasu called, and lifted his sparring sword. 

“Hungry for another round, lad?” Masamune laughed and came at him once again. So far, the one-eyed dragon held four victories to Ieyasu’s three. He probably thought the young warlord was hoping to draw even. If he really knew the reason . . .

Masamune’s practice blade caught him in the thigh. Ieyasu threw himself out of the way. His own sword whistled through the air in a wild slash that the dragon easily avoided. 

“You getting tired?” Masamune’s grin was infuriating.

“No.” Ieyasu answered the challenge with a flurry of slashes, changing his stance in a whirlwind of motion. He was a good swordsman. Great, even. But so was Masamune. He only managed to drive the one-eyed dragon back, his edge catching nothing but air. 

“Huh.” Masamune circled, looking for an opening. He wasn’t one to waste energy on an ill-timed strike. “Not tired then. Distracted?”

Ieyasu ignored the question. He lunged forward, but his attack was parried. He danced back to a defensive posture. 

“Hmmm. But distracted by what?” Masamune’s grin widened. “If a man had to guess . . . I bet this distraction has big eyes and a sweet smile and hair that -”

“Shut up.” Ieyasu’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Was he so obvious? Or was the one-eyed dragon so intuitive? “I am not distracted.” He launched another attack and this time scored a glancing blow to Masamune’s side. 

He laughed off the hit, and used the moment to create his own opening. Masamune’s sword slammed into Ieyasu’s upper shoulder. A hit that in a real fight might have been lethal. “No? Maybe just hungry then.” 

“I ate.” Ieyasu ignored the sweat that trickled down his forehead and back. The throbbing pain in his shoulder and leg. He could feel the bruises there already swelling. 

Masamune’s blue eye glinted with a fierce playfulness. “Sure, but it’s about what. Sometimes a man gets hungry for just one, specific thing.”

Ieyasu darted forward, another slash and another parry. He was not going to dignify this ridiculous line of conversation with a response.

“Nothing else will satisfy.” Masamune grunted as he repelled another attack. He leapt and shifted. “That hunger eats at you.” He brought his sword around to almost land another blow to Ieyasu’s damaged shoulder. “Nibbling at your spirit.”

“Nothing is nibbling!” Ieyasu barely managed to avoid being hit again. He went on another full out attack, and for a moment there was no conversation. Only strained breath and the screech of dulled edges sliding off one another. 

Masamune took a hit to his arm, but ignored it. He lunged into the blow and used his momentum to knock Ieyasu off his feet. His sword came down fast, stopping just short of Ieyasu’s throat. The metal rested coolly against the blonde’s hot skin. “You can’t think until you sate it, lad.” 

They shared a look. Ieyasu felt a tangle of burning emotions well up in his chest. Annoyance, affection, desire, shame . . . all of it coming too fast and hard to swallow down. These were feelings they both understood, a brotherhood of trauma, stress, and loneliness.

Masamune let him up. 

Ieyasu stood and walked out. He barely noticed what he passed, where he was going. He wasn’t thinking, just moving. Letting his heart lead, in all its wildness and contradiction. His feet led him forward until he found himself there, standing in front of her. 

She sat there with a swath of fabric in her lap, a needle and thread in hand. Her smile lit up her eyes as she saw him, so bright and sweet and naive. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. Ieyasu held out his hand. 

The chatelaine set down her work and took it, one brow rising in an unspoken question. A question that remained unspoken as he pulled her close. Holding her so tightly that neither could properly draw breath. 

His mouth found hers, crushed her lips to his. She was so soft, so sweet. The taste on her lips of mint and tea and honey. The warmth of her tongue as she pushed past his barriers to return the kiss with the same passion that burned in him. Ieyasu thought, as he kissed her, that Masamune was so very wrong. 

The hunger in him was only growing as he tried to satisfy it. Holding her, kissing her . . . he wanted more. He wanted all of her. Not just the feel of her body but the joy in her heart. The love in her gaze. Every sigh, every glance. She’d broken him wide open. Torn down his walls and left him bare and desperate. 

When he finally drew back from the kiss, his lungs aching for air, he rasped three little words. ”I love you.”

[arcimoniousaltheon]

Zero-Two is a nightmare

(It's super long and ranty btw) So I recently watched Darling in the Franxx since I saw the memes a while back and overall, good anime. Definitely a recommendation if you haven't watched it and like mecha animes and romance. However the main character dynamic is just so disturbed. If you haven't seen it and plan to, full spoilers below the breakpoint. If you want the romance 'ruined' though try to keep this question in mind (Yes I'm drawing it out so you can stop reading): "Does she actually know Hiro's name?"

I'll be honest, I didn't think I got off on the right foot with the show. The kiss she forced on him without Hiro knowing what it was already rubbed me the wrong way and somehow that managed to be the least of her problems. In the first half of the show the 'relationship' is one-sided, with Hiro moving heaven and earth for her while she's clearly just using him. At no point does she actually show care for him as a person, for his well-being or for his relation with other people. Even the feeding him at the table, which is the most relation-y thing I can remember her doing, is just for her benefit. He doesn't seem into it, he doesn't seem to like steak with honey and she doesn't wait for him to eat, she forces him to.

Zero-Two acts cold, dismissive with no concern for other people and her relationship with Hiro is nothing but 'greed'. She 'loves' him like a dragon loves gold. Not for any intrinsic value, both want to have it so no-one else can. She doesn't care whether he lives or dies to such a degree that when she has to pick between 'an itch for battle' and his last few minutes on this planet, she picks the former. Other people's lives just don't count to her. She's caused the deaths of multiple people and she can't even be bothered to remember for 24 hours with a living reminder in eyesight.

Another thing is that at no point in the entire show does she take any responsibility for what she's done. The narrative keeps forgiving her but she never actually bothers to learn her lesson. The only even possible exception I can think of is at the start of the second half after the Hand comes down. That off-screen conversation is the only spot where it could feasilbly be slotted into. And it's not once or twice, it just continues. She kills Hiro, he survived so it's fine. Insubordination endangering the team, eh. She puts the rest of the team in the hospital, reconciliation is on the table once the scabs are fully formed. And another thing about that hospital scene: Her thought is 'This is my punishment' which just shows you how much she thinks the world revolves around her. It's a logical consequence of how bad she's acting and her mind frames it like it's divine punishment.

But the main thing thing that just didn't leave me after I thought about it is the constant use of 'Darling'. It was super cute in the memes but once I noticed she literally never calls Hiro by his name it became much less sweet. It struck me like a rockstar calling their side-piece-of-the-week 'babe' because they can't be bothered to learn the actual name. With Zero-Two it mostly strikes me as the actual object of her affection. This vague memory of her 'darling'. Every corpse she's squeezed of energy like a capri-sun was just a temporary substitute which was enjoyed as long as they could last. Hiro is no different to her.

You might argue that that's just until their shared memory is unlocked and I firmly argue against. I don't think Zero-Two actually loves Hiro, the person, even after that. Nothing much changes about Hiro after that so what is this part she oh-so-suddenly loves now? Is it his sweet personality which he'd been displaying since day 1? Is it his leading position among people she didn't even bother to see as alive before? Why does she 'love' him once she knows that he was the boy who gave her freedom? To me the answer became 'she doesn't, he just changed roles from being a substitute to being the embodiment of her Darling'. She acts better because she's supposed to act lovey-dovey with her Darling. She plays ball with his friends so they don't force the wedge between parasite and host again. Maybe this is a bit too assenine, in fact it almost certainly is. But a healthy relationship tends to provide some actual counter-arguments to this line of thinking.

Some miscellaneous things: She fully intended to rape Hiro on that beach. The interruptions between Hiro and Ichigo were most likely intentionally since her senses are suggested to be excellent. Even in those scenes after the Princess kidnapped Hiro I didn't see concern, just focus on her-her-her.

Overall she can feel like a psychopath who instead of reading the Wolf of Wallstreet, read a sappy romance novel. (And thought that analogy up before the picturebook came to light) The show overall is great, the side-characters more than making up for the more messed up parts of the dynamic. Even the main couple themselves aren't unwatchable since the scenes themselves are sweet enough to be enjoyable. It's just the more I think about it the less sympathetic Zero-Two becomes. It just makes Hiro feel mind-controlled honestly.

The weirdest thought I had was that overall the show feels like a fanfic of another show in which Zero-Two doesn't exist. One where Hiro and Ichigo end up together which the writer of the fanfic really hated for whatever reason. The "I feel nothing" line just felt really egregious to me thought it lines up nicely with this. It'd probably have two seasons with the second being VIRM focused with them under command of the Princess and Hiro under some effect similar to that pulsing tumor-thingy he has during his third ride with Zero-Two. Since Zero-Two takes a decent chunk of the role of the Princess, the VIRM plotline is squished into just a few episodes and of course the central OC solves the issue by blowing up the VIRM homeworld. As opposed to something like Hiro and Ichigo undergoing full Saurification and slumbering underneath the earth for the next wave. I don't know, just some deranged idea to explain why the show feels so centralized on someone with surface level humanity.

Sorry for the rant, I'm probably wrong and/or stupid for it but thanks for reading. (if you did.)

[notchesandbullets]

The Unofficial Parents of the Happy Hungry Bunch (Zeno x Immortal!Reader)

[Spoilers for the manga, chp 100 and 101]

Words: 2.6k

"Miss! Get back!!" Zeno shouted at Yona, running to her side desperately.

Golden hair darted into your vision as you yanked your knife out of the body at your feet. Your eyes shot open as blood spurted onto your face.

"Zeno!!" You cried, reaching out for him. He made it in front of her in time, but the strike aimed for the princess pierced him instead. They were relentless, numbers pouring over the Ouryuu. Your hands covered your face in horror as the bandits continued to slaughter him, chopping off his arms.

Then, one of them sliced off his head.

"NO!!!" You screamed.

Yona was still beside you, her face as white as a sheet and Yoon was beyond horrified. The rest of the dragons had a mix of shock and anger on their faces from where they were scattered around on the ground and Hak could barely move, only his eyes betraying his fury.

You fought your way beside Zeno, lips curling back in a ferocious snarl to ward off the soldiers who had finished hacking the precious Ouryuu to pieces.

"You'll pay for that." Your eyes glowed red, you couldn't even hear Yona scream your name as you cut them down, one by one.

They were too many and their numbers overwhelmed you quickly. You spat out blood, as a sword was suddenly pushed through your chest.

You faintly heard the anguished cries coming from your comrades.

Your deranged grin made Zeno halt as his body slowly regenerated.

You... were like him?!

Your wounds closed, magically repairing itself.

"I will protect them all. What, are you scared?" You challenged them as they backed away, drawing your blades once more. "You haven't seen anything yet."

For the first time in a thousand years, Zeno was positively speechless.

You were just like him.

He leaped up with a battle cry, fighting with a fervor you've never seen before as you dashed back into battle. The two of you fought side by side until the rest of them fled, thoroughly shaken by what they've just seen. They killed you two over and over again, and yet, you both had lived.

You grinned at Zeno in victory, and then the two of you were surrounded by your group, sending you tumbling to the ground with an 'oof'.

Yoon was weeping, and Shin-ah wasn't faring much better. His mask had gotten lost in the skirmish and his beautiful golden eyes were filled with terror. Kija had thrown himself between you and Zeno, eyes puffy from unshed tears and he finally bawled, burying his head into the ground. Yona was clinging to Zeno tightly, sobbing into his ripped and bloodied clothes.

Your gaze was gentle as you shushed the boy and the blue dragon's cries, pecking Yoon's head and tenderly rubbing your hand over Shin-ah's bloodied knuckles.

"You're all adorable." Zeno smiled brightly, patting Yona's head comfortingly.

"It's okay." You reassured Yoon softly. "We're alive. We're okay."

Hak and Jae-ha were behind you, and as you twisted to look behind you, you caught sight of their relieved but battered expressions.

You and Zeno shared a look as you embraced your friends tightly. Your conversation would have to wait, the children came first.

You stood up, ushering the dragons one by one in front of you, insisting that their wounds all needed to be treated even though yours hadn't stopped bleeding. Yoon was tearfully scolding you, but it didn't have the same harsh edge to it that you've become accustomed to as his voice broke.

After you had made camp and the pretty boy was finished patching everyone up, things had calmed down a bit. You were spread out lazily next to Zeno, face staring up at the setting sun with your arms resting behind your head. His injuries had healed completely, as had yours and you were itching to talk to him.

"You guys are really lively!" Zeno beamed. The dragons, Hak, Yoon and Yona then shifted their attention on you. You nearly collapsed under the weight of their stare.

You smiled sheepishly as Hak narrowed his eyes at you. You scurried behind Zeno, as if the Ouryuu could protect you from being crushed under the Thunder Beast's glare.

Yoon walked over, inspecting Zeno carefully before moving onto you. The two of you have no trace of the battle scars that should have been left behind.

"There are no wounds or scales..." Yoon murmured.

"After some time passes, it turns back to normal skin." Zeno explained with a cheery smile.

"You two, you really won't die?" He asked quietly, almost fearfully.

"I won't die." Zeno automatically responded and you nodded in agreement.

The boy promptly faced you, and bonked you on the head. You cried out, clutching your head in pain. "Yoon~" You pouted.

"You should have said something!!" He shouted, gesturing his hands wildly. "Do you have any idea how troublesome it is?!"

"Why did you stay quiet until now?" Hak asked quietly, head still spinning a little at the revelation. You glanced down.

"Because nothing changes whether you know or not." Zeno stood up, stretching his arms up over his head. "Zeno's powers don't activate unless there's a large injury anyway."

You shrugged as Jae-ha shifted his attention to you questioningly. "I'm just immortal. It doesn't matter to me whether you know or not. I'll always be there to protect you."

You looked at every single one of them. "All of you."

"Hey," Zeno whined. "That's my line."

He looked so adorable, you could help it. You pinched his cheeks, tugging at them. "Awwww Zeno, you're so cute!!"

Your friends watched you, dumbfounded, as the fearless warriors was reduced to a pile of mush in a matter of milliseconds.

Both of them.

Zeno tickled you in revenge and you squealed, running away from him.

"So..." Yoon's eyes followed you as you sprinted around the campsite, turning to Shin-ah. "These two, huh?

He nodded silently. Hak rolled his eyes humorously. "Guess they really are the adults here."

You tripped over a tree root, and Zeno lost his footing behind you, sending the both of you crashing to the ground at the same time.

"Although, they really don't act like it." Jae-ha mused.

Kija's eyes were still sparkling with relief at the fact that neither one of you were dead. "I think it's great! Y/N and Zeno make great parents!"

The light in his eyes didn't dim as everyone turned to look at him weirdly. His face flushed bright red as realization dawned on him.

"W-Wait! I didn't mean it like that!"

It was too late though, as the poor Hakuryuu was made a target for Hak and Jae-ha's relentless teasing. Shin-ah's head was tilted to the side in confusion as he watched his brothers squabble playfully, not quite sure how to join in.

Yona giggled as she watched their antics and Zeno didn't miss the way your eyes softened as they landed on the safe and sound bunch.

"You really love them, don't you?"

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile. "Yes."

And the two of you sat in silence, watching over your friends fondly. Eventually, Jae-ha eased up on the innocent Kija, approaching you carefully.

"What's the real reason, Y/N?" Jae-ha spoke up softly. He knew there was more than what you told them earlier. Zeno's gaze snapped to yours, unsure of what you would say to that.

It appears that he wasn't the only one curious. Hak made his way over to the forming circle and Yona followed him. Shin-ah plopped down on the ground in front of you, still albeit confused, but wanting to participate in whatever was happening and Kija settled next to him. Yoon came over as soon as he put dinner over the fire, eyeing you questioningly.

They were all in front of you, forming a semi-circle in a matter of seconds and you were at a loss for words. Zeno was beside you, and he leaned over, placing his hand over yours on the ground.

"If you don't want to tell them or me, right now," He whispered in your ear quietly, "Then, you don't have to."

You shot him a reassuring smile, flipping your palm to catch his hand before he could pull away, squeezing it in thanks.

You took a deep breath, before turning to the anxiously awaiting children in front of you.

"The more people that know, the worse it is for me." You chose your words cautiously. You didn't want to give them the wrong impression if you didn't explain it accurately. "Zeno was able to blend in and get away with it because he was a dragon that served a king before he left. For me, on the other hand, I've been hunted my entire life because of this power."

You shifted uncomfortably, not really wanting to tell them about what happened after, but Zeno wrapped an arm around your shoulder, drawing you close to him. You closed your eyes as you basked in the warmth radiating from him.

"There are a lot of people out there, who want what I have. To save themselves, to save loved ones, to save innocent ones, no matter who they are they always want it once they know about it. Generals, kings, ordinary citizens, everyone. For a time, I was kept in the dark for several years as people tried to figure out how to obtain my immortality." You continued, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

You left out the part that was gruesome, they didn't need to hear about the torture that you had gone through over time.

"So, I started keeping it a secret. If it was ever out in the open, the people alive to see it would need to be terminated so that knowledge of my ability didn't spread. It was the only way to keep myself and others safe. I understand you all must be upset," You winced as you were met with varying reactions. "But please try to respect why I chose to do what I did. I did not intend to hurt you by keeping this from you."

Shin-ah's head was bowed, and you couldn't see his facial expression, but his hands were clenched tightly in his lap. Jae-ha was shaking with what you assumed was anger, and Yoon was outright crying. Hak wasn't mocking the boy like he normally did, instead he was staring right at you, a turmoil of emotions swirling in his cobalt eyes. Yona's pleasant features were murderous and you were almost taken aback at the depth of rage manifesting there. Kija's mouth was pressed in a hard line, his dragon claw tearing his clothes at the force he was gripping them with.

You looked away guiltily, unable to keep eye contact with them knowing that they were upset with you. Needless to say, you were shocked when they all jumped on you.

"Y-You idiot!" Yoon reprimanded, throwing himself down in your lap so you couldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes.

"You endured so much pain!" Kija wailed, face filled with torment. "I am so sorry, Y/N!!"

"Did you think we would expose you?" Jae-ha asked, seemingly calm, but you recognized the insecurity in his eyes. You shook your head, smiling at him reassuringly. He didn't feel any better.

Shin-ah dropped to your side, face buried into your shoulder.

"Shin-ah?" You called softly, hoping to jolt him out of whatever trance he was in.

"You..." You strained to hear him. "You didn't deserve that." Shin-ah finished quietly, but firmly.

"He's right." Hak rested his chin on your head, making you sputter indignantly. "You didn't deserve what happened to you. We understand why you chose to keep it from us." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and your shoulders dropped as the tension eased from it.

"Yona?" You piped up timidly, realizing that she had yet to say anything.

Her shattering sobs was all the answer you got, and you wrapped an arm around her, rocking her gently. That sent the rest of them spiraling down, unable to take it anymore.

Shin-ah and Kija broke down, with Yoon furiously trying to wipe away the tears still streaming down his face. Jae-ha was desperately attempting to retain a semblance of control, but failed miserably. Your hair grew damp and you realized it was coming from the ex-general above you.

You tucked your face into the crook of Zeno's neck, and he rested next to yours, unshaken by Hak who continued to remain perched on top of you. Your breath was even against his skin, and Zeno resisted the urge to shudder. He was so angry when he heard what you had been through, but your comfort was more important than his feelings at the moment. He knew you didn't need to know his vengeful streak just yet, but he was for sure going to gather the rest of the dragons and Hak to avenge what had been done to you.

Zeno had no doubt they'd all agree.

You were too precious to all of them.

He knew you had promised to protect all of them, even him, but not if he got to it first.

It was true though, you had all eternity to duke it out with him. But somehow, his fate now seemed a lot less lonely when he pictured you in it.

Zeno smiled softly, looking down at where you were resting, fondly.

I'll keep you safe, Y/N. No one will ever hurt you again.

Bonus:

"Come at me." Zeno's blue eyes flashed. "I have all the time in the world."

"Me too." You said seriously.

"Y/N, you have to say something else." Zeno instructed, squatting down beside you, losing all the fire he had a second ago. "That's not very threatening."

"Stop patronizing me!" You whined childishly.

"YAH!!" Yoon whacked you both over the head with a wooden spoon. "STOP SCARING TONIGHT'S DINNER!!"

You were apparently terrorizing the nearby forest animals, practicing your slogans so that in a battle, you had a handful to pick from. Yoon was not impressed with your idea.

You shot him an innocent look and Zeno copied you. He glowered, and you shrunk back from his angry gaze, hiding behind the Ouryuu. Zeno chuckled, casting a look over his shoulder to see you staring back at him wide-eyed.

The array of animals before you had absolutely no idea what was going on and you were not going to try to explain it, lest you would get scolded at by mother again.

You grinned mischievously at Zeno as Yoon turned away and the animals all scattered, using the distraction as a diversion to escape.

"What say we practice on a bit more of a likely audience?"

Zeno laughed after as you bounded off into the night, doubling over at his stomach as he distinctly heard Jae-ha cry out and the scuffling that followed. It would appear that you had made contact with your target.

He couldn't keep the smile from stretching across his face as he heard his earlier words being repeated by you, only to have the Ryokuryuu reply, "Isn't that Zeno's line?"

If the thump that shattered the silence was anything to go by, Zeno was guessing that you were less than pleased with his answer. He traveled towards the sound, and found you hunched over a now distraught Jae-ha.

He really wouldn't mind eternity if it was with you.

Thank you... Zeno thought silently, sending a prayer up to the heavens. Thank you for Y/N, I'll treasure her forever.

[satire-please]

My Teeth Are Like Swords - Part 4

Summary: Tim’s in a sticky situation because of...Ra’s. Therefore sacrifices have to be made.  Personal ones.

Part 3, Part 2, Part 1

Ao3 Link

There are few things out in the world that can startle a drake.

Ra’s al Ghul is one of them.

In fact, Tim would like to put the Demon Head near the top of that list. Especially when the villain morphs into the edge of his peripherals at another charity event the Waynes are required to attend. Guess who’s the lucky token Wayne this time?

Yep. Apparently being a dragon doesn’t increase your luck when pulling straws.

Tim manages to repress a flinch when he spots the flash of gold and green. The surprise makes his heart pound in the most unpleasant of ways. Ninjas do that after all.

“Please excuse me, gentlemen, we’ll have to continue our conversation later,” Tim smiles with charm towards a throng of investors.

He takes his drink in hand and carefully makes his way to the wall...where Ra’s watches the crowd. No, that’s not right. Where Ra’s watches him, and Tim can feel that gaze rove over his form like dirty fingers as his stride become a more purposeful march.  At this museum, Tim vaguely and spitefully compares the man to the mess of artwork around him. Flowing, unironic, stupid cape arranged over a well-tailored suit, Surrealism matches the feelings the criminal provokes, a gnawing infestation under his skin. Tim’s wine glass moves to hover in front of his chest, over his core instinctively.

The man is dangerous.

He’s the type that scratches and digs to find what you hold dearest and wait for the right moment where destroying it would hurt the most. The kind with patience, the kind with knowledge, the kind that Tim knows would just love to hunt down a mythical creature of his own. Ra’s could make a poacher very...very happy and wealthy.

Tim can take him.

“Good evening...Timothy.”

“What are you doing here.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand. Tim’s face might be stuck in a pleasant countenance for their surroundings, but his voice is more frigid than the Arctic.

Ra’s gestures grandly with a hand around them, “Why to admire the innovative talents that Gotham has to offer.” A crooked smirk begins to cut across his face. Sharper than any blade. “The possibilities are astounding.”

“Huh, somehow I doubt you’re here to support our talented artists for the Wounded Warrior Project.” Tim’s lip curls into a sneer, “Instead of protecting veterans, you tend to sacrifice them instead. Isn’t that way your recruitment rate is so high?”

Ra’s uncoils from his relaxed pose against the wall. “How rude, Detective. My fallen are honored, especially when they give their all to my purpose. In fact, the esteem, the respect, the glory they earn is never retracted. Tell me, is the notion the same with the Bat’s broken little boys?”

It’s a jab against Jason. Maybe even against him. Tim’s smile fractures in the corner of his lips, a fang scraping the inside of his cheek and he sets down his glass harder on passing tray than he needs to. A deep breath, two. It would be a paparazzi dream come true to capture the money shot of Timothy Drake-Wayne socking an unknown foreigner in the face. But he’s no fairy godmother. “Why don’t we take this fascinating discussion elsewhere? Somewhere more private if you want to know what else can break.” Like your face. Or his arm, Tim’s not really picky. “That way you can be out with it. You’re not here just to trade quips to piss me off. You want something.”

“You would be correct in your deductions. I require something in this cesspit, a diamond in the rough so to speak. For me to claim success, I must have your assistance.” Ra’s tilts his head in agreement. “Yet for more precise details, lead on.”

“Great, let’s go. I can’t wait to tell you no.”

Tim storms off, Ra’s following leisurely behind them as they part through the crowd. His hackles raised as he’s forced to give the assassin his back. The two make their way past the less inhabited exhibits, then into the hall towards the back offices where new art pieces are received and cataloged.

“Oh, Timothy, I am sure you know why few have dared to refuse me. Yet before our business, I must inform you, Nyssa sends her fondest regards.” Tim jerks at the whisper brushing his ear.

He twists on his heel to snarl at the looming man. Obnoxiously tall man.

“Tell her mine are not as much and next time she wants to try for free ‘seed,’ she should take the guy out for dinner first.”

Ra’s simply waves a hand for them to continue forward, “Perhaps uncouth, unconventional, and yet–”

“She chained me to a wall.”

“–Yet what a vision you must have been. Helpless, bare and dazed from the blow…truly a sight wasted when it could have been shared.” Ra’s expression turns way too salacious and Tim’s knuckles itch with possibility. “Still no matter how forward perhaps, she regrets how short your time in her clutches was. It is unbearably unfortunate your knight in shining black armor appeared so early.”

“Well, Black Bat is always to kick a rapist’s ass anytime, anywhere.” And if the criminal tries anything like that again it won’t be just Cass, it’ll be a full-size dragon ready to fry the Ghul into ash. Really, it’s just self-defense, maybe Bruce will understand.

“Some battles are worth any wound for the prize.”

Tim manages not to gag. Barely. Instead, he decides not to give Ra’s the pleasure of a response. He goes to open a door only to find it unlocked. His fingers bite into the doorknob, how many rooms did Ra’s men make available for this...meeting? How long did Ra’s plan this?

The pause gives Ra’s a chance to prompt, “A penny for your thoughts, Detective?”

“Only the one I wish I crushed you with.”

“Our first meeting was truly memorable. It is not every century, a giant piece of currency attempts to take my life.”

“Regrettably, you have this terrible habit of dodging.”

“What a wretched inconvenience I am to you,” Ra’s purrs. Though in the Detective’s favor, the experience was quite the introduction. The memory still strong of being absolutely stunned, as this pale wraith of a child maneuvered an enormous slab of copper to split him from the Bat.

“I know, right?”

“Then it is only fair for me to return the favor.” He herds the Detective into the small office. The shelves are full of covered paintings and bookkeeping litters the lone desk in the center. The smell of dust and resin permeates the air.

“You didn’t answer my question, why are you here, Ra’s?” He watches the way Ra’s prowls around examining their surroundings and Tim carefully puts the heavy desk between them. He’s not afraid. Not even nervous. Honest. But there’s no harm or shame in placing obstacles in a monster’s path.

Ra’s hums and rests his hands in the small of his back, he arches an eyebrow at the Detective. “To declare that perhaps I was too quick to judge the city of Gotham.”

“What? No,” Tim draws out sarcastically, “You think?”

“After all, why allow this filthy cesspit my presence long enough to evaluate it in full?”

“I’m surprised more people don’t punch you in the mouth whenever you open it.”

“Power, my dear,” he says absentmindedly, “However, now I see the error of my ways. I was too quick to strike, though I still long to destroy this hell, wipe it off the face of the planet like the divine fires of Gomorrah.”

“Is this the way you ask always for help? Because you suck at it.” Tim folds his arms across his chest.

A dark chuckle, “Oh, Timothy, I never ask for assistance. I demand it. Yet allow me to get to the point. Before Gotham meets its predestined fate, it may possess something of value after all.”

Tim arches a brow at him, this close from rolling his eyes.

“It is a thing...most precious. Something that must be recovered by the League at any cost, by any means possible.”

“I’m not a mind reader, Ra’s. Spit it out and get out of my face.”

“A creature. Behold these are the marks of a creature with certain properties I find...desirable.”

Yeah sure, I freaking bet.

Ra’s tosses a sheaf of papers. No. Photos. In pretty black and white, they hit the top of the desk and fan out before Tim’s eyes.

Ice.

‘Ice,’ the wraith of his mother whispers, Tim feels the memory of her nails digging into shoulders. The way she’d spin him to face the mirror and press her cheek to his. ‘Be as ice. Let the blue of your eyes harden for why should they know any intention of yours?’

Her old lessons crack like an egg over his brain, drip down his veins and out of his mouth, “Am I supposed to ooh and ahh over grappling hook marks?”

Ra’s picks up on photo to thumb the edges.“Ah. It is true they do appear similar, do they not? Yet not, Detective, such grooves are not made with any tool,” he says.  

Tim’s heart starts to pound.

“Nor can these distinctive charred marks be any coincidence.”

“To what? This is Gotham. Home of unusual and burnt up buildings everywhere. I’m still not following, spit it out.” Before he does. Tim’s mouth floods with nitroglycerin, it’s thicker than saliva and coats the back of his throat. A viscous layer ready at a moment’s notice, all it needs is a spark. All it needs is a reason to burn. He swallows it down roughly. He needs to prevent any evidence, not create it, remember?

“Forgive me, you know how much I love to build up the suspense.” Ra’s crooked smile widens and he pulls something heavy from his jacket pocket, “Allow me to lay out my conclusion.”

Between his fingers is a scale.

“Somewhere in Gotham is a dragon.”

The only thing that keeps Tim breathing is that the scale isn’t black...it’s white.

“A what? You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Tim keeps the thread of arrogant disbelief strong in his voice. Mother would be proud. “Aren’t you too ridiculously old for fairy tales?”

“It is not a simple tale for the bed weary child,” Ra’s loses his patience. His obsessive greed bleeding through as he forces the scale into Tim’s hands. “This piece of evidence is authentic as the pit itself.”

“It just feels like a spray-painted piece of the batplane.” Tim carelessly taps it on the side of the desk. “Like a mix of plastic and alloy.”

“Be careful with that!”  

Tim hits it harder against the surface. Just to hear the man growl. The keratin in the scale is weak. Seems like the dame he fought once upon a time wasn’t just stupid but malnourished as well. Scales are like nails, they show health and the brittle nature of it gives the detective more than enough to work with. In fact, if he jumped on it at a certain angle, he might be able to snap it in two.

Ra’s rips it from his fingers. Spoilsport. “That is quite enough,” he hisses through his teeth and tucks the scale protectively back into his stupid, melodramatic cape.

“So whoop-dee-doo, the Demon’s Head believes in Dungeons and Dragons. Is there a point to this lame show and tell?”

“Because I require the services of a Detective.”

“Oh goodie, I think this is my favorite part in our conversation so far. How about a Hell No?”

Ra’s hands slam against the desk caging Tim in. Tim doesn’t flinch, perhaps berating himself for not noticing Ra’s getting into range yet he stares dead straight into those jade eyes.

‘Be stone.’ Janet’s voice reminds, ‘Give them nothing to predict, nothing before you strike.’

“You forget your debt to me, Timothy,” Ra’s says venomously.

Tim tilts his head to the side eerily. There’s a coil of unease winding inside him. The word debt is a serious concept to a dragon and the instincts around it are hard to shake. “What debt? I owe you nothing. Though if you mean that lovely kick through a window, I could totally repay you for that. This art museum has a lovely roof, let’s go.”

Ra’s presses in, Tim reaches behind himself to grab his own wrist. His nails are becoming too long for his liking. A flash of desire, of digging, of gouging, of letting the intestines fall as they may. Ra’s isn’t wearing any armour...probably. “I gave you resources when you had none. When all thought your grief had turned you mad, only I believed your hypothesis that the Bat remained alive. Only I gave you that validation.”

“Fuck you, I didn’t ask for your help. I would have been fine.” His nails draw his dark blood under the sleeve of his suit.

“Your future was to be a bloody corpse on a cheap hotel bed if not for me.” Ra’s grip on the desk behind him creaks.

Tim could headbutt Ra’s, doesn’t know why he’s continuing to hear him out.

“Which wouldn’t have happened in the first place if it wasn’t for your war on the Council of Spiders. The one you gave no warning or intel for. Technically it’s you that owes me a spleen, I wasn’t the Widower’s original target after all. I was a bonus kill.”

“Come to the pit then if you are so keen for the organ’s return.” Ra’s hovers above him with malice, with interest at the notion.

“And go crazy like you? No thanks.”  

“Regardless I provided aid for your quest, now it is time for you to take your aid in mine. Furthermore what better than a Drake finding a drake?”

“Drake-Wayne, remember.”

“And what would the other dear Waynes think of our past association.” Ra’s finally leans away from him, his hands trailing on the wood before gesturing behind them. Ah, so that’s Ra’s real angle, blackmail. Go figure. “The Bat may think that our interactions were justified for your noble cause, yet somehow I think otherwise. I admit I am beyond curious for his reaction to those lovely months we spent together.”  

Tim could rattle off a thousand reasons why that rationale was a pile of shit. That, okay. Fine. Bruce would glower, brood, and never trust Tim again, but, hey, after the Boomerbang incident maybe that ship has sailed to the Bahamas and back. Plus, if B can’t weigh the definite pros to the whole knocking out the Council of Spiders and taking Ra’s down a peg as a decent notch on his vigilante belt, well...Tim is a big boy anyway.

A big dragon.

Pieces of your hoard don’t have to trust you anyway. They just need to stay alive and safe.

Safe. Wait, oh.

“You’re such a bastard, Ra’s.” Tim grits out, but he’s going to take this deal. Not for Ra’s ‘debt’ and how the term makes his inner wyrm burn. Not for Bruce’s sensibilities. But for the most important thing, his mother drilled into his head over and over again.

The safety of control.

His face is cold, but his belly is hot. “Where do we start?” This is a mess to clean, his show to run, and his plan is solid.

Ra’s smiles.

So does Tim. He can’t wait to see the assassin’s’ aspirations go up in flames after all.

***

He manages to keep the Bats uninvolved for a record of forty-eight hours. It’s an accomplishment Tim should take note of really.

For example, he managed to scramble Barbara’s cameras subtly, though he’ll a semi truck of gourmet coffee to get back in her good graces when she finds out, just so Ra’s can show off various pieces of evidence his men have found around the city without surveillance. Tim had dutifully nodded during lengthy monologues only to innocently suggest that wouldn’t it be better to catalog all their data in one place? It’s so easy to convince Ra’s to have the marked roof tiles and stones removed, so easy to retrieve them later. Mother would scold him for how clumsy he had been. The least he can do is exterminate the crumbs that a wolf took advantage of.

Meanwhile, he throws out other morsels to divert and distract, “Looks like your ‘dragon’” Tim mockingly uses finger quotes. “Hasn’t been here for long. Maybe two months at most.”

“Oh? How can you deduce that?” Ra’s crouches down to trail his fingers over the grooves where Tim had stupidly filed his claws weeks ago. Stupid hygiene.

“The lack of erosion. Gotham has had a rainy year. Notice the iron embedded here and here next to the mark?” He points at the orange strain spreading over the bricks, “If made last year, the rust would bleed into the scratches yet note the chunk lacks any of that.”

Ra’s purrs, “Clever, Detective. So our drake must be new to the city. What a godforsaken place for it choose for its migration.”

“Not if it has the ability of camouflage.” Tim shrugs. The wind ripping through his cape as he eyes the security camera trying to turn their way and glitching. He has another three minutes before Babs catches on.

“In bright hues of white? I think not,” Ra’s scoffs.

“You said that dragons have powers beyond your ken. Is it really out of the realm of conception? If moths can do it, why can’t fire-breathing imaginary creatures?”  Two minutes.

“What an excellent point. It would give a reason for it to stay as well. My resources tell me that old cities provide the best nooks and rubble for one to hide their trove. Plus, the larger the city, the more ease the drake has to blend in.”

“Blend in?” Tim parrots. Shit.

“Why, of course. Not only does a dragon have strength and intelligence, but over eons, their best defense is to hide in plain sight.” Ra’s straightens to stand and looks to the night skyline. Tim thinks about the scales that not even makeup can hide behind his ear. The black iridescent ones that dot his collar bones that Dick once poked at and cooed before smothering him without another blanket. 

Heat regulation is still a bitch.

“Gotham.” Ra’s draws out the name. “Full of blind spots, full of soft brick and lead to dig through, full of abnormalities that over time each turns into a just another mundane occurrence to the public. Yes. I can now see the appeal that could persuade a drake.”

He sounds so much like his mother that Tim’s posture becomes still and rigid. His fist clenches on his knee. She always did mention that this was the perfect breeding ground for similar reasons. Even when he was young, she’d encourage him to stalk the city instead of stay in the mansion, her hoard, just in case. Even to the point of taking him into an alley since he was five, turn her face into one wall and slowly count to twenty. His record in evading her? Three hours.

If Tim wanted to disappear, really disappear into Gotham’s underbelly? He could.

He knows how to hide.  

“It seems we have been discovered, my Detective.” Ra’s smiles at him from the side. “What a pity. Our progress to this point has been phenomenal.”

But there’s always a time and place to hide and when the clock hits forty-eight hours and fourteen minutes, Tim doesn’t bother to make any move against the flash of a cape in his peripheral. “Not your detective, Ra’s. Have your men collect the rest of the samples and we’ll  reconvene once I analyze the possibilities of your fairytale whereabouts.”

“Very well. Oh, and do tell your mentor that I find myself sorely disappointed at his waning skills of concealment. A true agent of the night would never be drawn from the shadows so easily.”

Tim mutters, “He’s doing on purpose. If he didn’t want you to see him, you wouldn’t see him.” It’s more of Bruce waving a goddamn flag of ‘I know you’re in my city, get out of my city.’

“Besides every hunter knows how to distract dangerous prey,” a new voice says disdainfully.

They turn to the slight figure who managed to sneak only a foot or two away from them. One steel-toed green boot (a present from Jason) tapping the roof impatiently. Crossed arms over the Robin uniform, Damian Wayne has mastered the art of glaring with a domino on. “Grandfather, must your ninjas multiply like ants?”

Ra’s huffs through his nose, “Many hands make light work, Grandson. Farewell, Timothy. I await your every enlightenment.” And like a true magician, he throws his gaudy cape over a shoulder and disappears into the night.

Tim’s shoulders release, but he notes that Damian’s do not. Oh. He’s mad at him. Though to be fair, that is Damian’s default emotion to anything.  

Damian begins his hissing tirade, “I should submit you to Arkham myself. Such displays of insanity, must you attempt suicide in the most ridiculous of complex fashions? Why else would you positively associate with my grandfather?”

“One, I know what I’m doing. Two, there is nothing positive about it.” He gets up and away from the building edge before Damian gets the magical idea to shove him off it. Again.

Damian gets closer, one finger stabbing in his direction, “Why does video evidence say otherwise? You are clearly working in tandem with his aims. To think that father would even believe that you are being coerced is beyond my ken. Do you wish to die, Drake?”

The name is emphasized more than normal, and Tim gets his implication immediately.

“I have this under control, but thanks for worrying, brat.”

“Worrying? Why would I be worrying? You must be insane, yes, this is further evidence that padded walls would suit you.”

“Padded walls are flammable,” Tim reminds him.

With his thumb, he makes a small gesture and Damian’s breath hitches minutely. Even Tim can smell the Demon Head’s men. He can hear them. Their rabbit-like heartbeats underneath the awning are enough in his limited range. “But you’re right in a way, I am going along with Ra’s for a bit. For as long as it suits both our purposes. Though why he would willingly work with someone who double-crossed him before definitely needs the lesson of, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Tim then hums in the back of his throat. “Actually, he’s probably already expecting that. It sounds like just the game he loves to play.”

“But is it one that you are assured to win?” Damian grabs his wrist to tug him along. Grayson wants him home immediately. The moment Oracle sent a live feed of Tim’s current companion to all the Bats, Robin wondered if he would have to take measures to aid his mentor through a panic attack. It was not pleasant. Grayson is very...concerned over the welfare of his brothers.

Tim snorts, “Please, who do you think you’re talking to?”

“A fool.” Ouch, Babybat doesn’t need a katana to cut him in half. The grip on his arm tightens, even as they descend into the alleyway where the Batmobile waits. It sits with the top already open, eager to trap Tim so specific overprotective brooding vigilantes can sit on him.

Lame.

Somehow telling the Bats of his true nature has multiplied every unnecessary precaution by a factor of eleven.

Damian shoves Tim into the vehicle. B moves in the driver seat to stare at him. A lot, not bothering to twist back to look out the windshield, just pushing the button for autopilot in a very pointed manner.

Damian presses the com in his mask subtly. So anyone on the line can hear his interrogation. “Now tell us. What shall you do in the matter concerning my grandfather? This is beyond a simple threat against your very person.”

Tim thinks of the scattered white scales he scraped off the dame. How they must litter the sand on that beach like sparkling stones. He thinks of the trail he could plant, not that he can just point the League of Assassins in her direction, not even when the offensive white plastic bag of a dragon deserves it. No, he needs to create the perfect dead end to Ra’s little expedition. But how could he–

The light bulb comes on and blood fills his mouth as his fangs drop. Can he really?

“Oh, you know what? I’m going to give him exactly what he wants, Damian.” Tim decides grimly, “I’m going to find him a dragon.”

***

Tim is going to throw up.

The stalactites drip around him, the sound that was once soothing but now every drop that hits the wet floor makes him want to retch. He shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here.

Not in this particular network of caves.

“Are you sure the creature will be found here? The opening is far too small to accommodate their size,” Ra’s demands. The band of his men are few, only the chosen may aid him in this task to witness what the Detective has wrought. They have traveled approximately twenty minutes, yet with every second his appetite grows at the possibility, at the results of Timothy’s work. The boy is clever. However, the tunnel narrows here and there, scraping their chests as the rock practically hugs their forms.  

“Stop doubting me. You said dragons are shapeshifters right? So why couldn’t they transform back and forth to crawl in here and hide? I’m only going off of the intel you gave me, Ra’s. The beach where you found the scale is not far from here. Plus look at these.” His boots make a hard crunch in the dim light of a torch.

Ra’s is a traditional, dramatic egoist, of course. A freaking torch.

“Prey,” the assassin breathes out. His eyes glittering in greed. It makes Tim want to shift forms, to roar at this filth entering this place with such hunger. Under their feet, stretching for a good thirty feet is a cemetery of bones. Most of the skeletons clearly intact with white and yellow rib cages on display.

“There must be at least a hundred of them,” Ra’s declares.

There are not. There are only forty-three. Tim does not correct Ra’s though.

The antechamber begins to widen until it has about a fifty-yard radius. The light flickers, yet the shadow of Ra’s’ hand gives an obvious signal, “Spread out. Search. This area appears most...promising.”

Tim wanders among the wet stone in a pretense of looking around as Ra’s men discrete this place with their presence. He avoids the west side of the chamber. His gloves running their hands on a wet large skull or two. Kills he had been proud of once upon a time. Those kills he had been sure would entice his–

“My lord! We have found something!”

–his mother to eat.

“No.” A voice roughly snarls. “No!”

On the ground, a few white scales lie in patches next to a giant boulder that stretches alongside the back cave wall. The details of long limbs and a tail are obvious and simple.

Tim’s fingers come up to squeeze the backs of his elbows, hugging himself for a moment. His inner core fluctuating, his heartbeat loud but he manages to repress the urge of curling up by her.

“This cannot be!”

What would mother think of him? To use her corpse as a diversion like this? To give Ra’s an empty platitude of what he wants? Would she be proud?

Yes.

Ra’s fury and despair gets loud, “I have only just found you! Why? How could I be too late?”

Janet always scolded Tim for his soft sentimentality. A tool is a tool. A resource is a resource. It is truer to their nature to use any means to fulfill their objective.

“The dead are dead, my pet,” Mother reminded him whenever she took him hunting, the claws of her painted nails sweeping delicately under his eyes when she found him sniffling over the wild kill of a deer. “They do not feel your tears. Our long memories exist to never forget what was. Now eat, the meat will soon grow cold and you make a mockery of the life by wasting it.”

No, Tim never got the ‘stop playing with your food! You should be grateful, some people in China are starving’ approach to picky eating. And Mother always kept him fed one way or another.

Tim comes up behind Ra’s, “So this is your dragon. Huh, is it supposed to look like that?”

Ra’s twists to snarl at him. “No, it is not. Not unless it is–”

“Dead?”

Tim admits Ra’s is rocking the look of utter anguish right now. If he wasn’t steeling himself, keeping his voice and expression blank he’d be howling with bitter victory.

“What happened to it?”

Ra’s reaches out to pet rough features of a jaw morosely. “The legends say that once the lifespan of such a beast ends, they naturally calcify into stone.”

Tim very much wants a copy of those legends. Too many things they’ve gotten right. “I thought they lived forever?”

“No,” Ra’s says, schooling his grief into something more palatable. “They do not, yet they can live on for several centuries.”

“Like you,” Tim points out. “With the help of the pit that is. Why do you want a dragon anyway?”

Carefully he steps around the man, trying to angle his cape a certain way.

“Why does any man seek power and beauty? Such things are what drive and keep the human race alive. With a dragon, I would be absolutely unstoppable.”

“You are already pretty unstoppable, how about you give the rest of mankind a fighting chance? You got power, check. You got the ultimate green regimen against aging that every older woman would gladly beat you to death for, check. Maybe you should just stick with trying to rule the world bit instead of chasing magical creatures.”

A chuckle. How interesting that the Detective can sway his despondent mood so easily. Oh, how he longs… “Even I need a pet project, Timothy. Besides do you not think the years would pass more gracefully with such a companion, such a specimen by my side?”

“Somehow I think the specimen would be more inclined to end your years rather than spend them with you.” In fact, Tim is sure of it.

“Ah, but what is life without the thrill of surprise? Whatever bond we forge will never be without fire.”

Tim snorts. Well, that’s an understatement. Still, he lifts a glove to trace the stone closed lid of an eye. Just like he did so many years ago, he’s positioned himself well. Maybe they won’t find his–

“What do we have here?” Ra’s pushes past him with an air of curiosity.

Gosh, how many times will Tim bite his lips raw tonight?

“Lift that up.” Ra’s motions his men to hurry. True the beast would be far more preferable breathing, but he can still catalog the proof of their existence. Plus even this is a find. The body is wedged tightly between the stone paws but any resistance is solved with a strong pull. “Come, Detective, you must see this.”

Reluctantly Tim stands near the new find.

How long did it take for him to swallow his grief? Just to pull off stealing his dad’s corpse? To crack open the heavy mahogany coffin and wrap the rotting remains carefully in a sheet. The fabric soiling quickly with the putrid oozing bits. It wouldn’t do to have flesh remaining, not on the body of a mate, but the cave bugs and open-air took care of that. In fact, Tim only had to wait a  month to adorn the skeleton befitting of his worth as a dragon’s husband.

With the sockets clear, Tim worked in two egg-like sapphires the same shade of his eyes. A border of pearls and pink stones for a nose. He weaved fine chains of gold as a delicate filigree in and out of ribs. Each piece back then gave a sense of calm. Tim always knew this task would fall to him one day, never so soon, but, hey, that’s death for you. Final. Inevitable. He's most likely bound to do it for his brothers, for Bruce as well.

There’s a final piece attached to the hips in braided silver; the first “discovery” Janet and Jack Drake found on an archaeological dig together. A saber sword almost appearing of Assyrian origin. Mother may have recounted the story a few times to send Tim to sleep. How adorable, her mate looked waving around one of her fangs excitedly like that. How easy it was to convince him to display the treasure in their private home, right above their bed. How quaint to watch the man fondly as he stoked the sword before bed when her dear had no idea what it really was.

It had been one of Tim’s favorite bedtime stories. Where sleep took him fast at the warm purr in Mother’s voice.

“This is a meager compensation, but it will have to do.” The Demon Head yanks the sword from Tim’s father’s bones. It cracks both the radius and ulna of the arm and Tim sees red. “It would be a shame for a treasure such as this to waste away here. A fang. A real fang, my dear Detective.”

“Are you done playing graverobber? It won’t be long before Batman catches your trail.” Tim manages to bite out. His eyes narrowing under the cowl. His eyesight too clearly taking in the breaks in the stone and bone, the footsteps that mock this place, the way the ninja crawl over his mother like black maggots.

He needs them gone. Now.

Ra’s eyebrows raise, “Our trail, Timothy. Yet why waste this moment of limited triumph? Allow me at least to bask in the sight of the creature.”

“Bask later.” There is a second of tension. Where all ninja in the cave go still, ready for the command to attack. Their bodies tighten. Tim casually turns on his heel and walks towards the cave opening. Then with a roll of the Demon Head’s shoulders, a minuscule tilt of the head orders the ninja to concede to the vigilante’s wishes. Besides, Ra’s sweeps his gaze over the beast and plans. They require more men, more tools to recover this...treasure. So he follows after Timothy, to the edge of the cave and back into the dark, one hand almost hovering over the small of his slim back. His fingers twitch when the boy says, “Is this the first time you’ve seen one?”

“No, it is my third.” Tim’s face pinches at that. “The first happened in my earliest centuries, capturing the sight of one in flight. The second during a war campaign, in human form.”

Ra’s eyes slide over Tim’s body. “Did you know they look exactly like us, Detective? Almost identical in every conceivable way. If not for a few errant scales here and there hidden under their clothing.”

Tim’s own tender scales itch under the suit. “How could you tell?” Tim asks.

Ra’s smirks, “Drakes reveal themselves in times of high emotion. They are easy to rile. Then it is quite simple to observe their flashing eyes and other tells.”

Janet Drake could be milliseconds from ripping off his head with not a hair out of place, Tim can be, will be the same.

The skyline reflects over the water as they emerge from the narrow opening in the rock. Each building’s light almost looks like a star in the smoky haze. Under their feet, except for the lapping waves, the beach is quiet as not one of the party makes a sound.

The silence breaks. “Are you finished? Did you get what you needed?” Tim fiddles with something in the pouch over his chest.

“Never. Not until a drake’s heart beats in my own chest. Yet my eyes have seen another fine specimen, my suspicions have been confirmed...and my trophy is adequate.” Ra’s caresses the dragon fang sword now adorned at his hip. “I am done with Gotham for a season.”

“Good.” And Tim lifts his hand showing the detonator.

Ra’s eyes go wide, his mouth opens to shout.

Tim presses it.

His eyes remain glaciers while his back feels the rush of heat and smoke from the explosion behind. It bellows around him as the earth shifts violently, shudders and settles. Ra’s ninja bend over to protect themselves from the blast as Ra’s himself coughs over and over into his fist.

Tim doesn’t bother. He doesn’t turn around either.

It’ll hurt too much if he does.

‘The dead are dead, my pet.’

“Detective.” Ra’s face is contorted in a grimace of rage.  

“What’s wrong, Ra’s? You said it, not me. You were done. Now I believe I’ve repaid any debt to you in full, a mystery for a mystery and gosh don’t you think that’s enough sightseeing of Gotham for you?”

“I could have sent teams to investigate those remains further. With the discovery of such a preserved creature and you–”

“Graves are for the living. The dead don’t care,” Tim says with a chilling smile, “Maybe I grew tired of watching you break and fondle old bones.”

“You destroyed the cave! The incredible wonder. How is that preferable to my actions?”

The crumbling rock should be enough to cover up the nearly-silent sounds of boots, of Gotham’s shadows taking their final positions twelve seconds after the explosion as planned.

Through the haze, Red Robin smiles white in the night, “It’s preferable because I get to piss you off. Now get out of my city, I promise you the only drake here is me.”

“And I promise you, Detective. The destruction of your city will be just as quick and ruthless as that cave.” Ra’s storms towards him, but the shadows take shape, and the yellow insignia comes through the dusk, the glint of the red helmet, and maybe a little blue and black mixed in, all the colors of the night flaring out over Red Robin’s shoulder, a heavy hand, gloved and gauntleted, ready for the fight, gives a brief squeeze of encouragement.

“You heard my son, Ra’s. it’s time to leave our city.”

But Nightwing gives a laugh, twirling one escrima stick through his fingers, “Nah. I think you should stay a while. This would make good fighting terrain. How many ninjas do you think made it out of that blast again?”

There’s a snort through synths and Red Hood nudges Robin, who’s standing next to him, “Gotta say, I don’t think it’s gonna be enough to keep the five of us interested for long, you feel me here, Baby Bird?”

“Tt, we were promised a sensational final brawl, Drake, and here you have failed to deliver.”  

“I’m not Santa Claus, Robin. How was I supposed to know Ra’s men would be so lame?”

“I had expectations that your plan would yield better results.”

Tim’s lips twitch. “Pfft. Next time, you can plan the bad guy takedown, and I’ll go get roof tacos with B, N, and Hood. Deal?”

“I think for now,” B interrupts the witty banter, moving with a swish of his cape to stand by Red Robin’s side, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder, “we’re going to say it one. Last. Time. Get the hell out of our city.”

And the depth of B’s voice is the thing that makes him the most feared man in the city. It’s enough to make Ra’s al Ghul pause and narrow his eyes over at Red Robin.

“Touche, Detective. As always, you never fail to disappoint during one of our little...games.” And even if he doesn’t move any closer, doesn’t even tighten his hold over the fang, Tim feels a shiver run down his spine. “Enjoy your victories for now, Timothy, but one day you may see this very fang again, and your blood will sate it.”

And even if it’s just way overdone, Ra’s gives barely a twitch of his fingers and the shadowy assassins leap away, running as they’re bid, and Ra’s himself turns sharply on his heels, clutching the fang by his side.

The Bats all take a collective breath.

As one, four heads swing to the vigilante in the middle, arms crossed and toes tapping.

“Okay, so not my best plan maybe, but it’s been one hell of a night. Can we just call it and go home?” Red Robin looks again at the rubbled remains of his family’s burial site, the space in his chest hollow even with the victory.

“I’m pretty much on board with that plan,” and because B knows about pain like this, sharp and biting when it comes to things that can never be regained. He pointedly grips one of Red’s shoulders, turns him gently away from the remains. “Besides, we have a meeting tomorrow and I need you to make me look like a rich idiot, remember?”

The returning laugh is tinged with sadness and B gives him another pat before leading the way back to the Batplane waiting for them all.

“We’re riding with Timmy!” Nightwing calls, already wrapping himself around one of Red’s arms. Hood lays a hand on Red’s other, giving a gentle squeeze.

Robin chuffs at them and leaps into the cockpit with Batman, waving them away to the plan Red came in to meet Ra’s.

Hood takes over, warming the plane up to fly while Nightwing hangs in the back with Red, pulling off the cowl so Tim couldn’t hide.

“Tell me really, are you okay, Baby Bird?” Dick gently tugs his brother into his body, taking in how he sags into the hold.

“I’m...fine.” Tim grips the arm half around his neck, careful of his claws under the gauntlets. “I just, you know, destroyed the grave of my parents. Let the most disgusting man walk away with my mother’s fang. I just–”

“Ensured your safety by leading Ra’s around by the nose.” Bruce finishes through the comm link in the planes. “The Demon Head will never suspect your nature now. When he returns it’ll be for your head, not your heart...we can work with that.”

“Yeah, death is just so much easier to work with than being hunted, captured like a pretty pet and trained as one,” Tim mutters.

“Plus Bats never stay dead!” Jason yells back in an ugly fashion.

“Seconded,” is Dami deadpanning in the back.

“I’ll worry about it when the day comes. Until then, I’m going to be very glad my secret is safe.” But Tim sits heavily, head dangling between his shoulders, so fucking tired. A hand reaching back pats his calf while Jay stays at the controls, and Dick flops beside him, already wrapping a long arm around his ribs.

“You’re safe,” Dick says low in his ear, low enough that the plane’s microphones can’t pick it up. “That’s what matters. You’re safe with us, and when that day comes, we’ll be here, Tim. We. Will. Be. Here.”

After the reassuring squeeze to his calf and the vigilante crushing his spine, hearing the low purr of B and Robin’s engine through the comm link, knowing Alfred is at home waiting with coffee and food and bandages, all of it makes him feel that much better.

“Our love is a terrible thing,” his mother’s voice whispers from memory. “But take comfort in this, you are mine. Now, until my last breath and forever.”

Tim...can work with that.