#Jason was not going to risk it leaving a hurt boy with black hair and blue eyes

[nelkcats]

Little shock

Every time Danny transforms into Phantom he relives a part of his death, his scars glowing a toxic green while he goes into small spasms; the first time it happened he held back tears to face Lunch Lady.

This caused him to try to stay more permanently in one form or another, usually changing only when he felt safe and out of sight; His friends told him that it wasn't healthy but they weren't the ones who suffered two to three electrocutions per day, Danny wondered if the transformations would ruin his nerve functions or sense of touch in the long run.

When he finally decides to move out after securing Amity and ends up in Gotham he begins to question which way he should stay, after all he's not too rushed to get a title yet. In the end he stayed as Phantom for over a week before deciding to go back being Fenton, unfortunately that transformation happened right in front of Red Hood.

Jason was calmly patrolling his territory when he saw the shiny meta that had settled in Crime Alley that week looking around, he followed him out of curiosity but before he knew it the meta had disappeared and a boy was left trembling and cursing while some Lazarus green scars glowed on his body.

As any sensible person would in such a situation, Jason took one of his pistols and bashed the supposed meta in the head with it; Danny shot him an offended look before trailing off, it was extremely weird waking up to Red Hood offering him some eggs a couple of hours later.

Because yeah, Jason wasn't going to let that obviously sore bat bait stay where B could see him, or where the League of Assassins got a peek so he just took the boy with him, having an excuse to cook was just a bonus.

[artemismoorea03]

DPxDC Prompt: Who's Child Is This?

Inspired by an ICarly Clip. "Mr. Wayne, we have your son here."

Bruce blinked, then checked the number on the phone. It was from the police station. He then looked around the table which had fallen silent when Alfred had brought him the phone.

Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke, and Damian were all accounted for. Even Jon was there so they couldn't have misidentified him as his kid.

"Which one?" Bruce chose to ask.

"Tim Drake."

Bruce looked at Tim specifically as he tilted his head confused. "Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, Mr. Wayne, we know your boys by now."

"Right... alright, I'll be there in a couple of minutes. Can I ask on why Tim has been taken into custody?"

Tim tilted his head even further while some of the others around the table started chuckling.

"He was found trespassing near the new Axion Labs at the edge of the city. The owner chose not to press charges so we're sending him home in your custody."

"I see, I'll be there soon. Thank you for the call."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne, we'll see you soon."

Bruce ended the call then looked at his kids. "Apparently, Tim has been arrested for trespassing near the Axion Labs construction site."

"And you didn't even invite me?" Dick chuckled at Tim, "We could have had so much fun together."

Tim scrunched his nose at the idea. "No way, that whole area is an OSHA violation. If I went there it wouldn't be out of costume, whoever that kid is was risking his life just walking within a block of it."

"Well, I'm going to go down there and see what 'Tim' was thinking." Bruce got out of his seat, "I'll be back soon."

"New brother?" Cass asked as Damian growled.

"We're going to assume no for now, but we may have another for dinner depending on what's going on."

"I will prepare another seat while you are gone, Master Bruce."

"Thanks, Alfred. I'll be back soon."

-

When Bruce walked into the police station he immediately noticed 'Tim' sitting in front of one of the officers desks. It was a newer officer and it was clear that neither Detective Montoya or Commissioner Gordon were in or somebody would have noticed that this kid definitely wasn't Tim.

Yes, the kid had black hair which was on the shorter side but his hair fell in front of his face more than Tim would wear it, and his eyes were unnaturally blue. He was pale in an old hoodie, blue jeans, and red shoes. The biggest difference though was that this kid looked like he was only pushing 15, not 17. Yes, he looked quite a bit like Tim but anybody who had spent more than five minutes with Tim Drake would know they weren't the same person.

"Mr. Wayne." The officer called as Bruce walked over, looking at the kid.

He was thin and pale, which a tired look on his face. He also shrunk away from Bruce when he walked over.

Bruce knew what a kid in trouble looked like. So he smiled down at the kid. "You know, Tim, when I said you could go to the lab to do your science homework I didn't expect you to go all the way to Axion Labs."

The kid looked at him, surprised then seemed to quickly catch on. "What can I say, I had to see what terrible science looked like. Sorry for making you come down here."

"It's fine, but are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, totally." He said, his hand subconsciously moving to his ribs as though he was hurt.

"Alright then you are grounded."

"What?!" 'Tim' squeaked, "Come on-"

"Nope. You are ground... for... 'til... college."

"FOR 'TIL COLLEGE?!"

"For 'til college!"

The officer cleared his throat then held out a clipboard. "If you sign the red x's you can take your son and leave, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce took the papers, quickly looking over it and signing it. It was strange to see that all of the handwriting on the paperwork was adult writing. Had they even asked this kid his name? Once everything was signed he passed it back over to the officer who nodded.

"Looks good. Thanks Mr. Wayne and you stay out of trouble. The whole city knows your face. You're just lucky Mr. Masters didn't want to press charges."

"Yeah, so lucky." The kid rolled his eyes, then stood up and looked up at Bruce. "Can we go now?"

"Sure thing, chum. Come on." Bruce said, leading the kid out of the station and to the car. The kid seemed hesitant as he looked around, his eyes narrowing when they landed on a gentlemen with silver hair in a ponytail, only when the man smiled at 'Tim' did the kid speak up again.

"Come on, Dad, let's get out of here before the stalkers find us." He said, climbing in the front seat and closing the door, much to the annoyance of the silver haired man.

Bruce climbed in the front seat, buckling in and driving away from the station. "So... 'not Tim' what's your name?"

"Danny. Just Danny... sorry about all of that Mr. Wayne. That guy took one look at me and started calling me 'Tim' and when I tried to explain that I wasn't 'Tim' hey called me a liar. But if I gave them my real name then... somebody else was going to come collect me and I didn't want that. So... I let them call me Tim. I'm sorry, I hope it didn't put you out..."

"Not at all. But... are you okay? Why were you at Axion Labs?"

Danny seemed hesitant, "I... it sounds crazy."

"It's Gotham, kid. Crazy things happen all the time..."

"Right... well um... I-I was kidnapped from my home and taken to Axion Labs. I-I escaped and when I was trying to leave the grounds the police saw me and thought I was trespassing. Since the cops were I decided to play along with it..."

Bruce frowned, "Kidnapped? Is... is there somebody I can call?"

Danny shook his head. "I have an older sister who is probably going crazy looking for me but other than her and a couple of friends there wouldn't be anybody. My parents... they were kind of involved. They... they found out something about me and tried to hurt me, I ran to somebody I knew I couldn't trust because I thought maybe he would get his head out of his ass but I was just being an idiot." Danny hugged himself. "You can drop me off anywhere though, you don't have to bother yourself with me or my shit."

Bruce pulled to a stoplight and reached over to the kid who flinched, Bruce waited until he relaxed before Bruce patted his head. "I'm not going to just leave you on the street. Besides, it's late and by now my butler has already dished you some dinner. So at least for tonight you're welcome to stay with me and my kids. We'll get some food in your belly, make sure you're not wounded, let you call your sister, and find a way to get you home. Sound good?" He asked, moving his hand away.

Danny looked at Bruce, seeming a bit untrusting for a moment before he glanced at something near Bruce and relaxed. There was nothing with Bruce, he wasn't carrying anything, but whatever Danny was seeing was enough to put his mind at ease. "Okay... but if anybody tries anything be warned, I bite."

Bruce chuckled, "So do most of the others. You'll fit right in."

'But just what the hell is going on with this kid? Does it have anything to do with that man outside the police station? I've got to get to the bottom of this before this kid leaves, especially if he's still a target.'

[redhoodedangel]

Scars that Last (Arkham!Jason Todd X Scarlet Witch! Reader) {Route A} Pt.2-Loss

So, there is going to different routes like I mentioned in the first part (and an edit I did on the first part). This is the first part of Route A and I’m working on Route B as well. When I finish it, I’ll put a link to it on this post.

⚠️ Warning ⚠️: themes of death, abuse, torture, sadness, heartache/heartbreak, nightmares, and mental health and mental illness

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even after your failed attempt to mentally track down Jason, you continued to build up your mental powers to find some way to find him and bring him home safe. The search on the GCPD's part was coming up dry and Batman's own search was even drier than the Sahara Desert. Barbara was even joining in on the search with both sides as Batgirl, in hopes of increasing efforts and results. Hell, even Nightwing was checking the borders of Gotham for activity. But, nothing was coming up. No developments…no leads… no evidence… no sightings…

Nothing…

Your own attempts with numerous types with mental stimulation and manipulation were fruitless, too. You tried tapping into your mental response to pain, hoping it would help you better access Jason's memories and figure out his location. But all it did was make the pain that the Joker was inflicted on him and in turn, you, more unbearable. Every try failed and you were beginning to lose hope. But you couldn't give up on your soulmate. He was counting on you and Batman...

You couldn't fail...

You couldn't risk losing Jason...

You couldn't risk losing someone so important to you...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whenever you had dreams, there were more like premonitions or visions. Events that had yet to happen or, better yet, were currently happening as you slept. Tonight’s premonition was the most terrifying one you’ve had in a long time. You had never felt more sick to your stomach before after seeing what you saw happening in front of you…

You were standing in a darkened room, a single light hanging in the middle. From what you could see, the floor was tiled black and white. Under the light was a young man, tied down to a wheelchair with barbed wire and rope. His hair was dark and his eyes were an ocean blue, his marked up skin matching yours. But, the most notable details was the fact that he was wearing the familiar red and black Robin suit.

Oh god…

It’s him…

It’s Jason…

You were about to try and call out to him to see if this dream was connecting your minds together. But, you were stopped by the sound of familiar maniac laughter. That son of a bitch…

“Well, well, well, my boy, you’re in for a treat, tonight!” The Joker announced, stepping out of the shadows behind Jason. The boy wonder visibly stiffened at the sound of the Clown’s voice, keeping his head down in fear and anger.

“Apparently, the Commissioner’s adopted daughter has been looking for her soulmate. One who she says is being ‘tormented’ and ‘mistreated’. The entire GCPD is looking for the poor lad. And strangely enough… the scars she has resemble the ones you have now…” Jason picked his head up at the news. Now, you knew that he knew about the soulmate bond between you two. Even if he didn’t know your name or what you looked like.

However, there was an aura of panic to him now. He was shaking and his eyes were glossed over, tears ready to spill out. As you come closer to him in this dreamscape of yours, you could hear his thoughts. He was crying… pleading… but not for his life… but for yours…

‘Oh god… no. Please, don’t touch her! Please don’t hurt her! Goddamn it, please!’

“Oh my goodness, what was the kid’s name? Was it… uh… (Y-…um... hold on... Aha! Now I remember!… (Y/N) (L/N)!” The psychotic clown said your name like it was some big event. It honestly made you want to throw up.

“What a wonderful surprise! Well, maybe I’ll leave her a nice little ‘Congratulations’ gift! Something she might appreciate!”

“I swear to God, if you hurt her, I’ll… Agh!” Jason’s protective growl was cut off by a pained yell as the Joker hit him in the jaw with a crowbar. You then feel the same pain on the left side of your face, creeping and burning under your skin.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t lay a hand on her! I’m sure you know how this song and dance goes…” the Joker rose the crowbar once again like a baseball bat, ready to land another hit.

“NO!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as the image winked out before you see what happened next. You then woke up in a cold sweat, with new scars and with more news about your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You told Batman and Barbara about your nightmare, giving them an idea of what the Joker have planned next. When you told your father, you had to exclude the fact that your soulmate was the second Robin, in order to keep the police from getting suspicious of the other Bat vigilantes. He then had the information used to triangulate possible locations where the Joker could be running his operations. Places where Jason could be being held...

However, about six months into the search, Batman found a new ward to take up the mantle of Robin. Needless to say, you weren't impressed with this decision, considering the current Robin, your future significant other, was still alive. The new scars that kept appearing on your body and face were proof of that. You refused to talk to this replacement Robin, no matter how much he tried to contact you for leads or any further information you didn't possess.

Nightwing had tried to explain Batman's choice and how the new boy wonder, a young detective named Tim Drake, had figured out their true identities. You still weren't persuaded, knowing full well that Batman could've compromised with him and had him man the comms or keep the Batcave on lock. But, that wasn't your call to make, nor Nightwing's or Batgirl's, so you didn't have a right to complain.

Meanwhile, you were building up your arsenal of mental tricks. You still hadn't found a way to connect to Jason without hurting yourself or him, but your experimenting gave you new ways to turn a villain or thug's mind against them. However, your search for a mental link between you and Jason still continued...

You just hoped he knew that you were trying to reach him...

"Please hang in there, Jase. I'll find a way to get you out of that hellhole if the law and the vigilantes fail... I'll make sure you get out of there alive... I promise..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another six months passed and it was now obvious to everyone who left the scars you were receiving. A 'J' marking was now burned into your left cheek, along with a few other scars that littered your face and body. Your bones creaked and ached with a dull pain that you had never experienced before. Your mental health was severely impacted, the pain of the scars was numbed because of it.

The search for Jason was practically a failure, as were your own attempts to mentally determine his location. However, you found a way to comb the entirety of Gotham for missing people. However, it was going to take a lot of trial and error in order to find Jason. You just hoped that you weren't too late...

You were standing on the roof of your apartment building, finding a spot to use your powers to find Jason. You were hoping that this would be the last effort to save him. You praying for it to work and stretch out around Gotham. You were about to cast the spell… when your phone vibrates…

Pulling out your phone, you saw that an unknown number was FaceTiming you. Your gut suddenly twisted into sickening knots, as if a part of you knew that this video call had to do with Jason. You knew this was something bad, but you had to know just how bad it was…

You had to know that he was okay…

That he was going to be okay...

You hit the green phone button and the call began streaming. The video showed Jason, sitting in a wooden chair and his arms and legs free. His face was marked with the same scars as yours, which was no surprise, but it still made your stomach lurch to see. But something was wrong with him... he wasn't fighting the Joker and using his silver tongue to hiss at the clown... he was still like a statue...

Oh god... that clown got to him... didn't he?

"Have you got something to tell the nice man, Jason?" The Clown Prince said from behind the camera. Hearing the Joker call your soulmate by his real name made the knots in your stomach grow tighter. Bile made its way to your throat, but you swallowed it in an attempt to calm your nerves.

"My name is Jason Todd..." the way Jason spoke was almost robotic and void of emotion. His face was blank and expressionless, a broken version of the spitfire boy wonder you were used to seeing and hearing about. His eyes... it was like looking into a shattered mirror on a stormy night...

"Who do you hate?" The question was simple... and so was the incoming answer...

"Batman..." Oh no...

"Excellent. Of course, you do. Do you have anything else to say?"

"Yes. I'm really sorry, (Y/N)... I failed you... as a hero and as your soulmate..."

'No...no... you didn't fail me... I wasn't fast enough... I broke my promise to you... please... please, don't let this be the end... God, please... I haven't even met you for real... I haven't gotten to know you...' your thoughts started running a mile a minute as your heart began throbbing in agony.

"Did you get that, Bats? (Y/N)? Kid's not yours anymore. He's mine... mine, mine, mine. To do with as I wish." Oh, how much you wanted to jump through your phone screen and strangle that horror movie antagonist reject.

"Hey. I never asked. What's the big secret? Who is the big, bad bat? His name. Tell me!"

'No... don't answer that, Jason... DON'T ANSWER THE QUESTION!'

"Of course, sir. It's-..."

BANG!

As soon as that dreaded sound hit your ears and the image of Jason hitting the floor after the Joker shot him filled your sight, you dropped your phone. You could hear the screen crack as it hit the cold ground, but you didn't bother to pick it up. The pain of your heart breaking into a million pieces was the only thing you could feel, minus the bitter wind blowing around you. Your senses all shut down, unable to take in your surroundings as you plummeted into endless nothing...

You lost him...

You lost Jason...

Your soulmate...

Your Robin...

Your hero...

Your everything...

After being silent for what felt like an eternity, you finally opened your mouth and a scream of despair pierced through the air. You then collapsed onto your knees and a red pulse of energy left you, creating a shockwave that you were sure all of Gotham could feel. Hell, at this point, the Gotham vigilantes probably knew where you were and what happened... no doubt they were probably on their way now...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barbara was the one to find you and bring you to the police station. You were wrapped in a blanket by Nightwing as you three, along with Tim, waited for Batman to arrive. Your father was out, handling a robbery somewhere downtown. Your cheeks were dry and no longer had tear tracks on them, as you had spent all your tears during and after your breakdown on the roof. Your eyes were still red and puffy, your eyes empty of any emotion. Your mind was now in denial, trying to make up a fantasy world for you to better ease the pain. But, nothing worked...

You heard footsteps approaching, moving your head slowly to see Batman walking to you and the other vigilantes. You felt a burning feeling in your chest as the urge to start yelling and shouting overwhelmed you. But, you held back... you wanted to hear whatever bullshit excuse he had before you raised holy hell...

"Batman, she saw the video, too. The Joker streamed it to her, live on FaceTime..." you heard Barbara whisper to the bruting Dark Knight.

"Let me talk to her..."

You then heard those familiar heavy footsteps come up to you, stopping next to you. You didn't even bother to look up at him... that's how angry you were with him... with every superhero in that room... with yourself...

"(Y/N), are you alright?"

Really? That was all he had to say? After everything that just happened here tonight? To Jason? To you?

"'Am I alright?'... 'Am I alright?!'... I've never been less alright in the entire sixteen years of my life! My soulmate, your sidekick- no, your son-, just died and you have the nerve to ask me that?! After your half-assed searches and giving Tim the Robin mantle, giving the Joker some fucking leverage to break Jason down further?! Meanwhile, I'm trying to find a way to use my powers to contact him or locate him and nothing I did worked! Then, finally, when I found a potential solution, a way to save him... that clown shoots him dead!"

More tears came pouring from your eyes as you collapsed into the Bat's chest, unable to keep yourself up with how much emotional pain you were in. Your whole body felt like it was made of lead and you couldn't get up. You couldn't do anything else but cry...

As a piece of you had just died hours ago...

[liquid-luck-00]

Where There Is Change

Overprotection

@maribat-bdbwm

First *** Previous *** Next

~~~~~~~~~~

One week.

One week without her brother is all it took to break her patience.

No, she didn’t break away from her story with the press release that happened literally two days after she started school.

No, what finally broke her was what the students did to her brother, specifically this group of five that were intentionally seeking out places she was that in order to talk about her family.

Sure, she understood why they talked about Damian, he is Gotham's Ice Prince, the person you do not want to get on the bad side of.

But moments that she wasn’t with him, people spoke awfully about him. And mostly about how he was born as a bastard child.

She pretty much assumes that when she’s not around they speak the same about her.

Both of them were conceived without his knowledge, until years later. Sure, it hurts to hear them talk about her dad like that.

But she also understands it to an extent.

Brucie Wayne, is an act he puts up. Brucie Wayne is a playboy the longer someone plays the playboy people, will come to the conclusion of him having several unknown children.

However, she also knows Brucie Wayne is a cover for her father, in the past twenty years or so since the time he pretty much became Batman, Brucie Wayne has been a cover. So much so that even the media plays into.

But what she can’t stand are the remarks her 'peers' make about her little brother, about all her siblings.

The remarks that, she is technically the older biological child. But that she still deserves a chair in the company. She is so mad that they are dismissing all of Tim's work he's put into the company. That they are dismissing her brothers just because she is the first-born biological child, that she should be the next C.E.O. People talk over him as if he isn’t there.

They talk about Jason, how he is the troubled child. That he ruins their father's name.

That Dick is just a novelty for Bruce. The first child he decide to adopt. That he’s no more than that, Bruce Wayne’s first ward.

She hates that they call Cassandra a basket case because she won’t talk.

Or how Duke is yet another charity case, simply because of his skin color.

They forget about her because she looks so American, so white, so European.

They forget that she is part Chinese, because she has such big blue eyes, fair skin, and dark black hair just like her father.

---

So back to school.

Damian was on assignment with the Teen Titans, so she was going to school alone. They said something about Damian getting an awful constant 103 fever, they didn’t want to risk anyone else to catch what he had.

So, she did what she usually did, she went outside like usual during lunch. When all of a sudden, the group of five kids in her year 'seemed' to be strolling past.

She thinks it’s still hasn’t sunk in that there’s a new Wayne. Or that they know but want to haze her. Because they are openly bashing her little brother.

"I’m sorry, but what did you just say." She stood up and looked at them.

"Well not that it’s any of your business, but Damian is such a menace, he is practically a terrorist." One of the boys started.

"Have you seen how angry he gets, I swear he could blow up the school, and he’ll still get let back in." A girl butt in.

"He’s already been expelled twice, but they keep letting him back in because he’s Bruce Wayne’s son." The final boy spoke rolling his eyes and she lost it.

She grabbed him, pulled him towards her, gave him a quick punch in the nose. Forcing him to reel back stumbling away from her.

"Let’s get one thing straight." She spoke, hands clenched in fists. "My baby brother isn’t a terrorist. He may be a menace, but he’s not a terrorist. Can any of you actually tell me the reasons why he got expelled."

Silence, pure silence was heard from the entire group.

"No, you can’t. Because like you said it’s none of your goddamn fucking business." At this point her French accent was slipping into her words, because she was getting really mad. She had to physically dig her nails into her palms to stop her magic from exploding.

"So why don’t you all just mind your own fucking business and maybe pay attention who you’re talking about, around who."

The entire group turned and ran, their tails between their legs and they scrambled to get away from her. She may have been known as the approachable Wayne between the two twins, but they messed with her brother. And they really didn’t know what they were talking about.

As soon as, the bell rang to end lunch her name came across the intercom. She grabbed her things and walked to the office knowing full well what was about to happen.

What she didn’t expect that out of all the people that would have been called the person who showed up was Jason.

If she had to cover the ever-growing grin on her face, or else the adults may have figured out that this was the wrong brother to call.

"We are so sorry to have called you today Mr. Todd-Wayne, but we have to discuss your sister’s behavior." The principal spoke as both of them sat down.

"Ok I'll hear you out, but after you explain what happened she will. And neither of you guys can interrupt the other got it. So, go." He pointed at the principle.

"Your sister has been accused of physical assault of another student."

"Is this true?" He turned to her.

"Yes." She answered.

"Why?" Jason asked as he rubbed his hands down his face.

She knows he has a shit eating grin that was slowly going to be spreading across his face, because his aura was almost giddy.

"You see they’ve not only been talking shit about Damian but Tim, Duke, Cass, Dick, and even you. If you want, I have several forms of video tape and audio proof if you’d like to see those."

"But let’s get back on point. We believe that you may have broken his nose."

"Okay, but I am not going to apologize, seeing as I was protecting my little brother, who is not here to defend himself."

She looked over to her brother and the ass had a shit eating grin plastered across his face.

"Why don’t I sign my sister out for the rest of the day, you know what, what about the whole

week, because I'm assuming suspension is an option?"

The principal however didn’t know how to react to Jason, so he absentmindedly pushed a stack of papers towards Jason and pointing to where he was to sign and initial. And then allowed them to leave.

"We’re not telling Bruce, are we?" She asked quietly.

"Not unless you want to deal with that right now?"

"No."

"Then let’s see how far we can get from Gotham."

"Yes please." She enthusiastically nodded her head, as they left the city.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

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[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Second Chance

For Maribat March day 12 theme second chance

Master List

Sometimes Marinette really wished Penny and Jagged hadn’t adopted her. It’s not that she didn’t want to be a Rolling-Stone, no that wasn’t it. In fact, she was grateful that they had saved her from the horrors that Paris now held for her. It’s just they dragged her to stuff like this, some rich man’s gala. 

She had slept for a full 12 hours after finishing Penny’s dress, only to wake up to the news she was coming with them. She probably should’ve seen it coming. Although she was hoping this would be one of the lucky cases where she didn’t have to go. Despite her protests they insisted she needed to interact with other humans who weren’t serving her coffee. In Jagged’s words, “Who knows, you might make a rock n roll friend!” 

Now here she was, in her black and purple dress that matched Penny’s and Jagged’s outfits. Letting a bit of her anxiety out as she fiddled with the strap of her matching purse. Watching her parents mingle with the rich folk while she stood off to the side. Every once in a while they would cast her a ‘go make a friend’ look but it never bothered her, she just needed to wait until they stopped turning to look back at her.  

After about 10 minutes they stopped, perfect. She casually asked a waiter where the bathroom was and made her way there. Once inside she slipped off the pearl anklet that was Daizzi’s miraculous, letting the kwami make her way into her purse, before pulling out a familiar nose ring. Now that Jagged and Penny were letting her do her own thing, she could go back to scaring people into not socializing with her. While she would’ve loved to keep Daizzi’s miraculous on so that it could combat Stompp’s miraculous side effects, she learned that it took too much energy to do so. And she didn’t want to explain why she was so tired after the gala if she wasn’t talking to anyone. 

She schooled her features before making her way back out sending a cold look to anyone who tried to come up to her. She pulled out her phone only to see that 2 hours had passed, she still had 4 more to go. Time was moving much too slowly for her liking. 

A clearing of the throat brought her out of her thoughts. She rolled her eyes, putting her phone back in her purse, getting ready to glare at the person who was going to try to talk to her, only to stare in shock at the green eyes that were watching her. The same ones that had bumped into her just days before. The same ones she had sworn she probably wouldn’t ever see again. 

Her mouth moved without her permission, again she blames Stompp, “You.” 

He smiled or maybe it was a smirk, responding with way too much amusement, “Me.” 

She once again schooled her features to look bored, but she’s pretty sure her eyes gave her away with the way he reacted, “What are you doing here?” 

Just like before it took him a moment to reply, his smirk growing just the tiniest bit, “I’m always invited to these things, I’ve never seen you before though.” 

“With any luck this will be the last time you see me.” She remarked. She didn’t mean to be so rude again she blames Stompp but she really hadn’t expected to see him. To his credit he didn’t seem deterred by her cold vibe, if anything he seemed more determined. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“These types of things,” She waved her hand around, motioning to the room, “Just aren’t my thing. My parents make it look so easy, but I’ve never been one for this kind of scene. Plus I leave Gotham in a few days.” 

“Desperate to get out here?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Who are your parents?” 

She raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” If this was the game he wanted to play she would play it. Trying to find out who she was by asking about her parents, real subtle. Well Mr. Hot shot, she’s letting Stompp take the wheel now.

“You know, you make trying to have a conversation pretty hard.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, not even trying to stop them from rolling, “Who says I wanted this conversation?” It was a rhetorical question. She turned to leave only for him to grab her wrist. 

Suddenly she was brought back to that night. The night that changed everything. Three pieces of jewelry in her hand, two brooches one ring, her earrings 2 beeps away from her transformation leaving her. 

A pale hand holding her wrist, keeping her from running away. Green eyes and blond hair belonged to the owner of the hand. 

It had happened too fast. One second she was getting ready to run and detransform. Then someone had stopped her, she turned around to meet hungry green eyes. She froze as she felt lips pressed onto her own. It was only the beeping of her earring that brought her back to reality. A knee to the groin, and she pushed him off of her. Letting the police deal with the trio as she fled. 

She turned to the owner of the tan hand that was holding her back and could only register green eyes. She wouldn’t stand still this time. She twisted her hand so that he was forced to let go. A knee to the stomach had him holding his gut and as she raised her arm ready to punch him was when she finally registered that this wasn’t Adrien. It was just some weird stranger who was persistent in getting past her walls. 

She could hear people talking around her and when she dared to glance around they were all staring. She forced the embarrassed blush that wanted to grace her cheeks down, she wasn’t 13 anymore, she was 16 god damnit! Locking eyes with the mysterious yet persistent guy again, she ran. Ran until she found herself on a balcony, the cold air brushing her face as she gripped the railing. 

Why did she react like that? Why did she always have to be so aggressive? Why couldn’t she just let go of the past and take this damn nose ring off so she didn’t have to go and do stupid shit like this?  Why couldn’t she just be normal and let people in? 

Oh yeah, because she had a bunch of shitty friends that all turned on her because of a liar. The same liar turned her already neglectful parents against her. So Jagged and Penny got custody of her in order to get her out. Her parents didn’t even put up a fight about it, too busy gushing about precious LILA! And now she has major trust issues despite wanting to open and trust people again. Man, she is a wreck. 

“Hey, are you out here?” The mystery guy spoke from the entrance of the balcony. 

“No, I’m not.” She didn’t see the point in not acknowledging him, he could probably see her from where he was standing. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, you were obviously uncomfortable and I pushed your limit. So I really am sorry.” He apologized. 

“Yeah, sorry about kneeing you in the stomach. I thought…” She cut herself off, she didn’t need to pour her whole life story out to a stranger. He probably didn’t even want to know either. 

“It’s okay, I deserved it.” He made his way to the railing, he was a good distance away that she still had her own space, but close enough they could still talk. She relaxed a little thanks to the distance, resting her elbows on the railing. He leaned his back against the railing. They stood there in silence and Marinette decided she wouldn’t mind seeing this mystery boy again. Wait she didn’t even know his name. 

It seemed like he had the same thought since he spoke up, “I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves.” 

“We didn’t.” Damn her being so cold, she should probably take this nose ring off. So that’s what she did, took the nose ring off and placed it in her purse. Maybe this would be good for her. 

“Well, I’m Damian Wayne.” He stated, holding his hand out to shake. 

“Wait, Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? As in the Ice Prince of Gotham?” She questioned, shocked. 

“Oh, so you’ve heard.” He seemed a bit disappointed. 

“Yeah, but I won’t judge if you don’t judge.”

He raised an eyebrow at that before she continued, “My name is Marinette Rolling-Stone.” Now he looked surprised. 

“You're the elusive Diamond Stone?” He asked, disbelief made its way into his voice. 

“That’s what they’re calling me now. At first it was Sapphire Stone. Guess that’s what happens when I stay out of the media too long.” She chuckled a small smile making its way onto her face. 

“Wait, where did your nose ring go?” He looked around as if expecting it to magically appear. 

“I took it off.” 

“Why?” 

“Well at first I wore it to scare people off. People are scared of people that have piercings. I was thinking of getting a tattoo but I’m too young and they’re too permanent.” 

“Why would you want to scare people off?” 

“I have a complicated past. Sometimes putting your trust in someone takes too much risk, I tried to avoid it altogether.” She pulled her sketchbook as she wrote something down.

“Tried?” 

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?” She tore the paper out.

“You're putting your trust in me?” 

“No.” She quickly answered, “But maybe one day.” She handed him the paper and left. 

As she walked away she released a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Maybe giving people a second chance wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But right now she just needed to find her parents so she could head home. 

-

Damian hated galas. He hated having to talk to the stuck-up rich folk who thought they were better than everyone just because of their wealth. The girls who would try and flirt with him in order to gain his last name. And their parents who tried to push them together. 

Yes, he definitely hated galas. What made this worse was that his family wouldn’t stop teasing him about the girl who he knocked over that one time. Threatening bodily harm did nothing but amp up the teasing. It was times like this where he truly wished there was a not a no kill rule. If only to give Jason Todd some revenge. 

2 hours into the gala and he was already done. 4 girls had already tried to drape themselves over him and it took all his self-control not to hurt them. He was ready to storm out of this gala when he caught sight of her. 

The mystery girl he had bumped into days before. She was here, at a Wayne gala. Her outfit certainly looked the part of a rich socialite, She wore a long halter dress that flared out at the waist. It started out black at her neck before turning purple at the waist. The bottom of the dress had black music notes dancing across and she had a matching black and purple purse hanging off her shoulder. 

Her hair was down and she seemed to be wearing a little bit of makeup. The only reason he was able to tell it was her was because of the black nose ring that stood out against her fancy look. It looked so out of place compared to everything else. 

He watched as a man tried to approach her only to receive the same glare he had gotten days before, quickly moving on to someone else. Seems like he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here. 

He made his way over to her, perhaps to give himself a second chance at a new impression. She proceeded to pull out her phone and look at something before deflating the tiniest bit. 

He cleared his throat to grab her attention, she looked at him with the same glare once again before her eyes took on a look of shock. 

“You.” She seemed surprised that she had stated this as well. 

He couldn’t help the smirk that spread on his face, she remembered him and still had the same spunky attitude, “Me.” 

Her features took on a look of boredom, but her eyes looked only curious yet cautious, “What are you doing here?” 

The fact that she didn’t recognize him as a Wayne was surprising. He thought that she was only in a hurry before that’s why she didn’t register it was him, but now he knew she truly didn’t know it was him. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. “I’m always invited to these things, I’ve never seen you before though.” 

“With any luck this will be the last time you see me.” She said it with such confidence he felt inclined to believe. It was strange. He seemed to be the last person she wanted to talk to and yet he still wanted to talk to her. He didn’t want her to leave. So the next best thing is to get answers.

“Why would you say that?” 

“These types of things,” She waved her hand around to motion to the room, “Just aren’t my thing. My parents make it look so easy, but I’ve never been one for this kind of scene. Plus I leave Gotham in a few days.” 

Well that sucked for him. “Desperate to get out here?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Who are your parents?” Maybe he could try to get his father to arrange a meeting with them.

She raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Nevermind. 

“You know, you make trying to have a conversation pretty hard.” He didn’t mean to say that, that was rude. 

She rolled her eyes at him, it looked like he was meant to see that, “Who says I wanted this conversation?” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. He didn’t want her to go just yet. He felt her freeze then tense when he touched her, her breathing became a little more forced, and she seemed to shake a little. 

Suddenly she twisted out of his grip and kneed him in the stomach. She raised her arm and looked ready to punch him. Her eyes looked far and distant and afraid. They seemed to refocus on him as she dropped her arm and glanced around the room. Of course, people were talking about them.

She locked eyes with him once more before running. He ran after her before his path was blocked off by Dick Grayson. “Damian what-” He didn’t get to finish that question as he dashed passed him, determined not to lose the one girl who wasn’t a stuck up brat. 

He thought he had lost her but then he heard someone taking deep breaths from out on one of the balconies. He was about to go up to her, but from the way she reacted to his sudden hold on her arm earlier, it was probably best to give a warning. “Hey are you out here?” 

He walked out onto the balcony. “No, I’m not.” She likely didn’t want to talk to him. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, you were obviously uncomfortable and I pushed your limit. So I really am sorry.” He apologized. Which was so unlike him because here Damian Wayne was apologizing to a stranger. The weird things she made him do. 

“Yeah, sorry about kneeing you in the stomach. I thought…” She cut herself off, it looked like she wanted to say more but wasn’t going to. 

“It’s okay, I deserved it.” He walked over to the railing, making sure he was a good distance away that she had her own space, but close enough so they could still talk. She seemed to relax a little thanks to the distance, resting her elbows on the railing. He leaned his back against the railing. He quite liked the silence, her company was nice. Oh god he didn’t even know her name.

“I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves.” 

“We didn’t.” She stated in what he was pretty sure was a cold tone. Maybe she wanted to stay mysterious, so he would just introduce himself. 

“Well, I’m Damian Wayne.” He held his hand out to shake. 

“Wait, Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? As in the Ice Prince of Gotham?” So she recognizes the name, not the face. Great.

“Oh, so you’ve heard.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t judge if you don’t judge.” Why would he judge her?

He raised an eyebrow at her before she continued, “My name is Marinette Rolling-Stone.” 

“You're the elusive Diamond Stone?” He asked, disbelief accidentally made its way into his voice. He couldn’t help it. She was claiming to be the adoptive daughter of famous Jagged and Penny Rolling-Stone. The girl that made Jagged’s stage outfits from scratch and managed to get the ferocious Fang, Jagged’s pet crocodile, to love her. The media could only ever get a hold of the back of her head, but those that had talked with her said she shined as bright as a diamond. Hence the nickname, Diamond Stone.

“That’s what they’re calling me now. At first it was Sapphire Stone. Guess that’s what happens when I stay out of the media too long.” She chuckled, a small smile had made its way onto her face. Sapphire Stone, he hadn’t heard of that nickname but he could always do some stalking research. That’s when he noticed. 

“Wait, where did your nose ring go?” He looked around trying to see if it had fallen off her face and she hadn’t noticed.

“I took it off.” 

“Why?” He was truly baffled. 

“Well at first I wore it to scare people off. People are scared of people that have piercings. I was thinking of getting a tattoo but I’m too young and they’re too permanent.” 

“Why would you want to scare people off?” That seems like something he would do.

“I have a complicated past. Sometimes putting your trust in someone takes too much risk, I tried to avoid it altogether.” She pulled out what looked like a sketchbook as she wrote something down. Wait what did she mean by ‘complicated past.’

“Tried?” 

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?” She tore the paper out of the sketchbook.

“You're putting your trust in me?” He asked, she didn’t seem like the type to trust people quickly.

“No.” She quickly answered, he thought so, “But maybe one day.” She handed him the paper and left. As he looked down at it he saw it was her number. There was a message attached below ‘My number. Maybe we can meet up somewhere before I leave.’ He certainly wanted to take that opportunity. 

He tucked the paper into his pocket and made his way back to the gala only to be met with his annoying family. By the curious look in their eyes they wanted to know what just happened. This was not going to be fun to explain. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi, I have not disappeared, just didn’t want to write for prompts 8-11. I was honestly going to do prompt 8 but then stuff came up and I didn’t have the time to write. I was also planning to write something for tomorrow’s prompt but then I found out I have something I need to do tomorrow so nothing for tomorrow either. Because I had a specific thing I wanted to write for tomorrow I’m changing it to fit day 14′s prompt. Which means it’s not going to be mega angsty like I originally thought was gonna be 14. You have escaped mega angst and now it will only be medium angst. 

On another note that was a bitch to write and edit. And the fact I had originally planned to write more for it baffles me. I feel like I left it kind of open ended so if you want a part 3 to what I have going on here go ahead and tell me. I’m still trying to decide if I should do a part 3 yet. For those who are confused today was a part 2 to day 6′s prompt, miraculous side effects. Go to my master list and you can find it. 

You can also see on my master list that there are days that are crossed off, which means I won’t be doing those days. I can’t do every single day if I want to still get decent grades. Why I skipped days 8-11. Sorry for that long explanation/rant. Also sorry for posting so late again. I do these things all the way to the last minute. Let’s see if I can break that habit throughout the month. Probably not but a girl can hope. Anyways hope you enjoyed. 

@maribatmarch-2k21 @birdiesthings @buginetye 

[toosicktoocare]

Jason knows the second he’s pulled from sleep by a low vibration close to his head that today’s going to go down in the books as, to put it simply, a bad day. There’s a dull sense of pressure in his head, pushing lightly against the base of his skull, and his phone buzzing insistently beside his head is only heightning his overall awareness that he’s got one hell of a mirgaine trying to grow against his brain. 

He slaps his hand around blindly for his phone, squeezing his eyes shut against the drum of pressure as he clumsily presses answer on his phone with a groan. 

“Look, Dick Brain, I’ve already told you that I’m not teaming up with you lot of dumb birds tonight. I have my own shit, so you you all need to keep your shit to yourselves.” 

“Master Jason?”

Jason isn’t prepared for the polite accent on the other line, one that’s distinctly laced with an air of disappointment. He shoots up in bed, his free hand flying to push against the alarming wave of pressure that’s blooming across is forehead. “Shit, Alfred. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” 

“I assumed as much. Did I wake you?”

Jason clears his throat to rid the lingering dryness from sleep that’s coating his throat. He blinks slowly at the digital clock on his bedside table until his mind finally makes sense of the numbers and orders: 10:22 AM. 

He contemplates lying for a breath of a moment only to chase the thought away with a shake of the head. Alfred will know; he always does. 

“Yeah,” he laughs quietly. “Guess I slept in a little.” 

“Are you quite alright, Master Jason? It’s unlike you to sleep past 7 AM.” 

Jason mentally supplies the words that go unsaid: ‘because of your nightmares.’ Sighing, he digs his fingers into his forehead, massaging around the blossoming pressure. “Yeah, just a headache.” 

“Not one of your migraines, I hope.”

“Nah,” Jason tries for an airy attitude, one void of any concern, and to his legitimate surprise, Alfred seems to accept his answer, though hesitantly. 

“If you’re absolutely sure...”

Deflect, Jason supplies to himself. “I assume Dick’s got you calling to do his dirty work?”

“Not quite. Master Bruce asked me to call when Dick informed him that you’ve been dodging his calls all week.”

“That’s new,” Jason mutters, swinging his legs over the bed and sliding to his feet. The sudden change in weight distribution elevates the pressure in his head. He swallows back a gasp, free hand finding the wall for support as he shuffles from his bedroom to his bathroom in search for pain killers. “What’s so important about tonight? Sounds like a standard drug bust that Dick can more than handle on his own.” 

“Master Bruce would feel better if all of his sons were present tonight.” 

Jason doesn’t understand Bruce’s mind, his logic and reasoning for his choices. He never has, and he gathers that he never will. He snags a bottle of pain killers and balances his phone between his ear and shoulder, ignoring to sudden shift of pain in his head. 

“I have my own patrol, Alfred.” 

“We’ll have all patrols covered, Master Jason. Your territory will be well looked after tonight.” 

Damn, Jason thinks. If there’s one thing Alfred is good at, it’s his verbal reassurance, something so frighteningly powerful. He dry swallows a few pills and drops against the edge of his tub with a sigh, fingers raking through his hair. 

“Fine. Will you send me the details?” He drags out each word slowly, making sure that Alfred knows he’s only agreeing because it’s Alfred asking. 

“Of course.”

***

Jason’s head feels far too heavy on his neck, the added pressure weighing it down. The pain killers chased off the edge of the migraine for a few hours, but per usual, the pain came back stronger as the pills wore off, and he’s opted not to take more, not wishing to risk being slightly sluggish. 

He walks up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian occupying a small corner down an alleyway, their odd meetup point. Tim’s seated, his back against a wall, and he’s yawning. Dick’s stood with his back against a wall across from Tim, his arms crossed, as he muffles a few light coughs into his fist. And, Damian’s standing closer to Dick with his right arm cradled close to his chest. 

Tension trickles down to Jason’s limbs, and he grips his helmet a little tighter in his hand as he approaches. “The fuck’s wrong with you all?” His own voice is a drill in his head, piercing through the pressure and re-distributing it unevenly.

It’s Tim who opts to speak around a second yawn. 

“Dick’s still recovering from the flu, and the Demon Brat hurt his wrist on patrol yesterday.” 

“My wrist is fine, Drake,” Damian spits out, drawing out words deliberately.

“I assume you haven’t slept,” Jason mutters, nodding toward Tim, who’s slow to get to his feet. 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Dick cuts in sharply, and Jason arches a single brow to the oldest, faintly curious. “You need sleep, Tim, or you’ll wind up sick.” 

“Funny since you’re the one who’s running a low grade fever.” 

“Grayson is competent, Drake, even while recovering from illness. He’s not so easily taken down by the flu.” 

“And what are you planning on doing tonight, Damian,” Tim drags out lowly, and Jason shifts his faint curiosity from one idiot to the other. 

“You can barely move your wrist.” 

“I’ve been trained to be ambidextrous, Drake-”

“-Okay,” Jason calls out, the curiosity from before replaced with dull, familair annoyance that’s now mixed in with a hot pain swirling in his skull. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with, yeah?” He looks to Dick, a silent question to take charge, and Dick nods and turns on his heel, leading everyone to the hinted base for the drug ring. 

“Father would tell you to watch your language,” Damian mutters at Jason’s side before he quickens his step to match Dick’s steady pace. 

Jason flips him off and shoves his helmet over his head, swallowing back a groan when the added weight pushes the pressure in different directions. Nausea starts to tumble in his stomach, and he tries his best to steady his breathing, pushing his concentration away from himself. 

“So, Timmy, what are the deets? Alfred didn’t say much.”

***

Turns out, Bruce’s hunch was correct, and all four were forced to hold their own against multiple, burly men, all of which got in numerous, painful hits before being taken down. The fight ended at the top of an apartment building across the street from the warehouse that was doubling as the drug storage, and Jason’s not sure he’s ever felt this much pain in his head, knowing that it didn’t help he let a few men get some solid hits to his face and temples. 

The others appear to be, more or less, in similar conditions. Dick’s down on one knee, panting heavily. Damian’s paler than usual, and he’s got his wrist held tightly to his chest, and Tim’s swaying on his feet, looking about ready to drop any second. 

Jason pulls a slow gaze around them, swallowing thickly around the bursting pressure that’s pushing hard against every inch of his skull now, swelling against his brain, leaving his vision fraying at the edges. He’s faintly aware that the others are talking amongst each other, but he can’t keep up with the conversation, not with the sudden roar in his ears that drowns out the voices around him. 

The pain’s... intense. It’s all he’s able to supply, most thoughts breaking against the pressure. He takes a step back, fingers clumsily slipping under his helmet. His vision is graying now, blurring, and he tries to blink around it. He can see Dick get to his feet, see the older boy frowning at him. He’s saying something to him, but Jason can’t work his mind around reading lips. No, all he wants is to get the damn helmet off his head, but his hands are shaking too hard to be of any use. 

He starts to feel hot all over despite the crisp fall air. He takes another, staggering step back, his legs struggling to hold his balance, to support the weight of his abdomen and head, and the back of his foot knocks hard into something. He only realizes that he’s bumped into the edge of the roof when he’s falling backward into open, empty space. 

His stomach plummets in time with his body, bringing back his vision, sounds, his surroundings. 

“Jason!”

He pulls his gaze from the tilting sky to see the others coming into view, and he wonders, briefly, if it’s the last thing he’ll ever see, but the thought gets josteled from his head when something small yet strong latches onto his ankle, followed by a loud, gasping cry. 

His back slams against the side of the apartment building, bringing with it bursting, white hot pain across his head, but he manages to stay present, craning his neck up to see Damian crying and holding onto his ankle with his injured hand. Dick stumbles toward them, wrapping one arm tightly around Damin to keep him up on the roof. 

“Jason! Do you think you can lean upward?”

Nodding, Jason breathes deeply around the pain and nausea, and he swings himself upward, arms flying forward until he’s grasping at the hands reaching out to him. Dick and Tim pull him up, and the second he’s upright, his vision grays until he blacks out entirely. 

***

“Come on, Jay, open your eyes for me.” 

Jason wants to be annoyed that the voice is waking him, but there’s something so soft and desperate in the tone, in the gentle touches at his face, so he decides to try and chase it. 

“Bruce is on his way.” 

That brings Jason back all at once, his mind reeling against pain, and nausea twisting so hard in his stomach. He leans to the side and vomits, mutely thankful that someone removed his helmet. 

“Shit, Jason!” 

He can feel a hand at his back, rubbing small circles, and when his stomach settles, he flops back onto his back with a groan, only faintly aware that his head is pillowed on Dick’s thigh. 

“Jay? You with us?” 

“Bruce says he’s two minutes out. He wants to know if we can make it off the roof.” 

Jason realizes slowly that there’s a voice missing, and then memories flood agaisnt the pressure in his head until he’s jerking forward to see Damian sitting across from his, tear trackes evident against his cheeks. 

“Fuck, Damian, your wrist-”

“It’s okay.” Damain’s voice is shaking, and Jason leans forward to pat Damian’s knee, unsure of what else he could do or say to properly express the heavy weight of appreciation for Damian saving his life. 

“Jason, what happened? Are you sick?” Dick’s voice is laced deep with worry at Jason’s back, two hands planted firmly to Jason’s shoulders.

Before Jason can answer, Bruce is swinging himself over the ledge of the roof, fully suited, dark eyes shifting between each son, falling on Jason. 

“Migraine,” he answers deeply for Jason. “Alfred suspected as much.” Bruce stops before him. “Can you walk?” 

Jason nods and allows Bruce to pull him to his feet. He sways for a moment, swallows back the need to dry heave, and grounds himself, faintly aware that Bruce’s hand is just inches from his elbow. He doesn’t meet Bruce’s studying gaze, doesn’t fully breathe until Bruce breaks away to assess the others. 

He watches, exhausted, as Damian argues with Bruce that he doesn’t need to be carried. He frowns when Tim stumbles into Dick, and Dick crouches down and instructs Tim to climb atop his back. He follows behind the others, listening in briefly to hear Tim grumble how Dick’s fever feels like it’s spiking, or how Bruce’s is tugging Damian tightly to his side and muttering reassurances under his breath. 

When they reach the ground floor, his knees begin to shake, but then Alfred’s at his side, worried, arm tight around his shoulders, and he’s guided into one of Bruce’s many cars, squeezing in the back beside the others. Tim’s directly to his left, and he drops his head to Jason’s shoulder almost immediately. Jason nudges him forward just enough to slip his arm around his back, and Tim curls closer into him. 

Jason decides that just for tonight, he’ll let him. He cranes his neck to see Damian similarly clinging to Dick, and he locks eyes with Dick, the two sharing a mutual, tired nod. 

Dragging his gaze slowly forward, Jason squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the lull of the engine and not on the drum pounding in his head. 

“Shall I drop Master Jason off at his apartment?” 

“No, I want all of my sons at the manor tonight.” 

[miss-choco-chips]

Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an�� unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed. 

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.” 

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is. 

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing. 

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him. 

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of  orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters. 

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second.  If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive,  but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms. 

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion. 

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind. 

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him?  It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof. 

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets. 

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death. 

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now. 

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard. 

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

[sturchling]

Liars in Crime

So, this is based of a prompt from @chocolate1721

One day, Marinette is on a video call with Damian when she leaves to help with the bakery. He soon gets another call from Marinette, but instead he sees two girls destroying Marinette’s work. What will happen next?

Hope you guys like it!

Marinette didn’t know it yet, but this would be the day that the Lila problem was solved. And it would be all thanks to her friend Damian. Marinette and Damian were on FaceTime that afternoon. Marinette and Damian had been pen pals for a while by this time. They were originally paired up for a class project, but they had actually become very close friends. They eventually switched to email, which then became texting, and now they FaceTime almost every day. Sometimes, they don’t even talk while on FaceTime and instead work on individual projects and just enjoy the other’s company. This particular day, Damian was working on some homework, while Marinette worked on some new commissions. Jagged and Penny had asked for Marinette to make their outfits for the Wayne Gala that was in a few weeks. Damian and his family had also commissioned some new suits from the young designer, which she had completed and sent to them the day before. Marinette had just finished Jagged’s suit and just had to finish Penny’s dress.

 --------------------------

While the two worked, they chatted about their days. Well, Marinette was venting more than chatting. She had been dealing with the Lila Variety Show all day, and it had been a particularly rough day. Apparently, Lila had told Alya that Marinette had spent the night sending her nasty messages. This caused the whole class to glare at Marinette all day and call her a bunch of horrible names. A few had even tripped Marinette as she left the class that afternoon. The only ones who hadn’t been attacking her were Alix and Nathaniel. Adrien hadn’t attacked her, but he certainly didn’t have her back like he claimed to when this whole Lila mess started. Most days now, Damien heard all about Lila’s daily lying. He had grown to hate this girl without ever meeting her. The entire Wayne family hated this girl after hearing what she had been doing to Mari. They all wished there was something they could do, but Marinette refused their offer of legal assistance and it is not like Batman could deal with such a small problem that wasn’t even happening in Gotham. There was one good thing that came of all this, Batman had finally heard about what had been happening in Paris. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t heard of Hawkmoth before this, but now he was working with the local heroes remotely, so as not to risk being akumatized himself. Somehow, during all this time, neither Marinette or Bruce had figured out the other’s identity.

  --------------------------

After they had been on FaceTime for about an hour, Marinette was called downstairs by Sabine. They needed help with a particularly busy rush. So, Marinette ended the call, saying that she would call back later. Little did the pair of friends knew, but trouble was brewing across the street, at the school. Alya and Lila were talking in the classroom. Lila was upset because Marinette had continued to send her mean texts, and had even started sending threatening texts. Alya was furious. How dare Marinette threaten her best friend!? Alya knew the young designer had changed a lot, but she never thought Marinette would sink so low. Alya wanted to teach Marinette a lesson. But Lila was too sweet. “No, Alya. I don’t want to hurt Marinette. Its fine, they are just words.” Alya didn’t understand how Lila could be so forgiving. “It is not fine Lila. She had been threatening you and needs to be stopped. What if we don’t hurt her, but just mess with her current designs a bit. She has been more obsessive about them than usual lately, so messing with them should teach her a lesson.” Lila hid her face so Alya wouldn’t see her smirking. “If you think that would work Alya. But won’t Marinette be upset?” Alya loved how thoughtful her friend was. “It may upset her, but she deserves it. She has been upsetting you.” With that, the two girls walked over to the bakery. They snuck in through the door to the apartment, right behind the Dupain-Cheng family who were all in the bakery. The girls entered Marinette’s room and began destroying everything they could find. But Lila made a major mistake. When she grabbed a sketchbook from Marinette’s desk, she knocked the mouse and accidently clicked on the call button on FaceTime. That one mistake put Lila’s downfall in motion.

  --------------------------

Damian continued with his homework, not expecting to hear back from Marinette for some time. But about 15 minutes later, Damian got a notification that Marinette was trying to call him. He just assumed that she had finished in the bakery quicker than expected. He accepted the call, but instead of his friend, he saw two girls destroying everything in the room. He quickly started screen recording, so he had evidence of what the two girls were doing. He didn’t know how these two were so dull, that they hadn’t noticed him on the screen. Damian recognized these two girls from Marinette’s descriptions of her class. This must be Alya and Lila, the liar making his friend miserable. Damian texted Marinette about the two girls in her room and how they were destroying her designs. The two had already ripped up the pages from Marinette’s sketchbook, and were now Lila trying to destroy the dress Marinette was working on for Penny while Alya cut up the suit meant for Jagged. Damian was furious and decided to try and get the girl’s attention before they did too much damage to the clothes. Damian cleared his throat and watched as the two girls froze.

  --------------------------

Alya and Lila had been cutting up the two outfits on the mannequins when they heard someone clear their throat. Both girls froze, wondering who could be in there. They had seen Marinette and her parents in the bakery. There shouldn’t be anyone else. They wildly looked all over the room trying to see the source of the noise. They almost thought they had imagined the noise when they heard “I’m on the computer you incompetent cretins!” Damian couldn’t believe how pathetically dull these two were. Alya and Lila whipped around to stare at the screen, and they saw a boy about their age with black hair and green eyes just glaring at them. Lila was terrified. If he said anything, everything Lila had built would be destroyed. They could go to jail, and Lila couldn’t become famous from jail. So, Lila put on her best pouty face while also trying to look flirty, and she sauntered up to the computer. “Oh, hello there. We are friends of Marinette’s from class. She told us we could borrow her notes from class, but she forgot to give them to us. She told us to come up and-” Before the liar could finish her newest tall tale, the door to the room burst open. Standing at the trap door was Marinette and Sabine, and they were furious! Marinette stared at Alya, who was holding a pair of scissors in one hand and the suit for Jagged in the other. “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Marinette rushed to Alya and grabbed the suit from Alya. Thankfully, she hadn’t managed to do much damage to the suit yet, but Penny’s dress was a different story. The dress was nothing more than scraps now. Marinette saw red and began yelling at Alya, who started yelling right back.

  --------------------------

In all the chaos, Lila tried to slip out the door, but the way was blocked by Sabine. “Oh no you don’t young lady. You two are staying right here until the police arrive.” Lila was terrified, she wanted to get out, but Sabine was standing on the only door out of the room. Alya at this point, was concerned. Her parents would kill her if the police were called. Alya tried reasoning with Sabine, “Wait Mrs. Cheng! We only did this because Marinette has been bullying and threatening Lila-” Sabine only got more angry replying, “Be quiet young lady! Even if that were true, that is no reason to break in and destroy my daughter’s property. You two have committed some serious crimes today! Did you two know breaking and entering is a felony? You are in major trouble!” Alya and Lila kept trying to appeal to Sabine, but nothing worked to convince her not to call the police.

  --------------------------

While, Sabine called the police to report the break in, Damian watched in silence. He was furious. How dare these two break in and mess with Marinette’s hard work. After a few minutes of Sabine and Marinette yelling, the rest of Damian’s family filtered into the room having heard the commotion. At first, they thought something was wrong with Damian, but then they saw what was happening on the screen. A short explanation from Damian, and the rest of the Wayne family was just as furious as Damian. Bruce was almost shaking with rage. Jason was muttering about going to Paris and teaching these two a lesson. Even Alfred wasn’t calm anymore, he was glaring at the screen and roughly twisting the feather duster in his hands. The Wayne family watched as Marinette and her mom kept the two vandals in the room until the authorities arrived. The police arrived shortly after and took the two girls to the patrol car, so they could be taken to the station. The officers then returned to the bedroom and began gathering evidence. They took pictures of the damage and then took a statement from Damian. After Damian gave his statement, he sent the police the video he had recorded of the two girls destroying the clothes and designs.

  --------------------------

While the police gathered evidence, Alya and Lila waited in the car. Lila was furious. How did things go so wrong? She was supposed to be laughing with Alya about the revenge against Marinette. She wasn’t supposed to be in handcuffs in the back of a police car. Alya turned to her and said, “Don’t worry Lila, once we explain everything, they will let us go.” Lila could not believe how dumb this girl was. Even if she had been telling the truth, that wouldn’t get them out of a felony charge. “Alya, even if the police believe us about Marinette, we would still be in a lot of trouble. Our best bet is to lie. Stick to the story I was telling Damian, we just went up to get notes. The stuff was already destroyed when we got there.” Alya wasn’t sure about that. Lying didn’t sit well with her. “But what about Mrs. Cheng? We already told her the real reason.” Lila was quick to respond, “Well, it will be our word against hers. We will just hope the police believe us.” Alya was still worried, but agreed to Lila’s plan. They worked out the exact details for their story, and by the time the police came back, they felt confident they would get away with it.

  --------------------------

When they arrived to the station, the two girls were placed in separate interview rooms, to wait until their parents arrived. Once their families arrived, the police informed them of the serious charges placed against them, and that the Dupain-Cheng family was pressing charges. The two families were horrified! Their daughters had committed two crimes in one day, including a felony. They were looking at some serious trouble, they could even end up in a juvenile detention center. That was even more likely, since they had also committed destruction of property while they were there and had damaged Marinette’s custom designs, which were worth a fair bit of money. Mrs. Rossi knew that her daughter could be looking at up to 3 years in a detention center. She was shocked her daughter would do something like this. The officers asked for permission to speak with their daughters and the families agreed, so long as they could watch from the other side of the glass. The police agreed to the request, and the interview began.

  --------------------------

Both girls stuck to the story they agreed on. Now matter how many times the police asked, the girls continued to say they had been invited in and were only there to get notes, and they had no idea how the clothes had been damaged.  The officers interviewing the girls were shocked at the ease with which the girls lied. The officers realized they needed to stop, and try something else. They left the room and the families started asking if they were cleared. “They said they were only there for the notes.” “They wouldn’t have done this.” “They wouldn’t lie to the police.” The police realized they needed to show the parents the video, so they pulled out a tablet and played the video for the family. As the video went on, the families grew paler as they watched Alya and Lila destroy the sketchbook and outfits. At the moment, Lila and Alya were back in the little holding cell, sitting on the bench. They were just chatting and laughing. The two families couldn’t believe how relaxed the two were. They weren’t guilty at all! Nora became enraged. How could these two be so calm?! Didn’t they realize how much trouble they were in?! Nora grabbed the tablet and stormed over to the two girls. Nora pressed play and watched as Alya and Lila grew pale as the video went on.

  --------------------------

Lila didn’t think there was any video of what they had done. How was she to know they had been recorded? Then, she realized by the camera angle, this was recorded from the computer. That brat on FaceTime must have recorded everything. The video clearly showed her and Alya ripping up the sketchbook pages and cutting up the two outfits. Lila and Alya began to realize they were in major trouble. Their story they told the police was obviously false and there was video to prove they were guilty. Alya started freaking out and yelling, “Wait! The only reason we did that was because of Marinette. She has been bullying and threatening Lila for days now! We just wanted to teach her a little lesson, its not like we hurt anyone!” Alya’s family stared at her in disbelief. How could she believe that Marinette would do that? Lila knew that it was a long shot, but it was her only chance. So, she turned on the water works and spun her story about how Marinette was threatening her by text for days. One of the officers walked up and said, “OK, then we need to see your phone.” Lila stilled at that and replied, “What?! Why?” The officer looked at her dubiously, like he already knew she was lying, “Because, if what your saying is true, then it may help your case. But you need proof. Luckily, texts stay on the phone and we can track the number.” Lila hadn’t thought about that. The class never asked for proof, so she hadn’t bothered to fake any. Alya turned to her and said, “Go on girl, show them the texts.” Lila didn’t know what to do. She handed her phone to the officer, hopping he would go to the other room to look at it, but he stayed right there and looked through all her messages. Eventually, after a tense minute, he looked up and said, “There are no texts threatening texts here at all. Alya turned and stared at Lila. That couldn’t be right, that would mean that Lila had lied to her. Lila wouldn’t do that. They were friends, right?

  --------------------------

Eventually, the truth came out. Everyone found out that Lila had been lying the whole time and had tricked the whole class. Just because she had been tricked, did not get Alya completely out of trouble. It did help her case however. The judge let Alya off with 100 hours community service and telling her she had to pay restitution to Marinette for the damaged clothes and book. Alya wasn’t necessarily happy, but she was grateful not to be going to juvie. Lila was not so lucky. After it was revealed that she was the mastermind behind everything, and how she had harassed Marinette, she was sentenced to 12 months in a juvenile detention center 10 miles outside of Paris, to hopefully avoid her being akumatized. Lila would also be on probation when she was released. After everything that had happened, Marinette decided to switch schools to a nearby art school. She did end up repairing the outfits for Jagged and Penny in time for the gala. She was very thankful that Damian had been there that day, and had recorded everything. He had solved the liar problem for her, from all the way in Gotham. Time went by, and Marinette got over the events that had happened in Mrs. Bustier’s class. Marinette was excited for what the future would bring, now that the liar was gone from her life.

[listentothelittlebird]

This was a first draft to Protect Our Own, from my Code Bat series on Ao3! It’s a reimagining of Jason Todd breaking into Titans tower, in a world where Robin is a myth and Tim Drake goes by Alvin, unnamed vigilante, with the Titans. Enjoy!

Shit. Jason was screwed.

Even as he held the tablet in his hands, watching the very concerning stalker-level footage that the League had gathered, he knew. He knew without a doubt that he was watching the new Robin. The target chosen for him was, of all the options the world could give him, Robin.

“This boy is a member of a group of young superheroes known as Young Justice. They recently went under the mentorship of older superheroes, to become the newest team of Teen Titans,” Talia Al Ghul explained passively, and Jason did not like the gleam in her eyes as she watched the young boy fight, “Lady Shiva met the boy, once, and agreed to train him. Even she is unaware of who his previous mentors were.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Then Talia turned to Jason. “You have done an admirable job of controlling your Pit Madness,” she smiled sharply, and Jason was reminded of all the deaths he had caused, all the people who had taught him and were murdered by him, using their own tactics, “And you have learnt fast. As promised, you will complete one contracted kill, and you will be released to exact your own revenge.”

Jason gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder, because even in the early days of crazed anger, not once had he given proper clues towards the fact that his killer - the one he wanted to exact his revenge upon - was the Joker himself. “White-faced asshole” could just be a white man, and “fucking green-haired piece of shit” could still just apply to anyone with green hair.

The Robin secret was still safe, surprisingly. Code Bat was still safe.

The assassin base was in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a little town nearby, with enough reception to surf the internet on a phone he had nicked from a particularly rich-looking traveller. 

Talia did not control what he knew, the League did not control what he knew, so even while he learnt of the Joker still being alive, he also learnt about the helicopter crash, how Batman had purposefully fled empty-handed. Truthfully, he still wanted the Joker dead - but he recognised that there was a chance that no matter how many times they tried, the bastard would come back. He would rather not try than to get stuck in a never-ending loop, something that B- that Bruce must have realised.

There were other stories he found. Jason could not deny destroying several rooms in the base when he read the kid’s story. All the money in the world, and his very-much-alive parents could care less than Jason’s own barely-there mother had. 

He had not known if the boy had taken up the mantle after him, but he was unsurprised at the confirmation in front of him. Robin was as much a part of the Wayne family as champagne, fancy suits and camera smiles.

“The boy is young, and already he is excelling in combat, research, and investigation. In a few years, he will be a real threat to the League. This is your final assignment. Kill the boy, and we will let you go.”

Well, fuck. 

Jason carefully controlled his reaction, turning to meet Talia’s eye with his blue-green eyes. “You want me to kill a minor,” Jason spoke slowly, allowing his incredulity and a tinge of anger to slip into his voice.

“Either you take the job, or you will continue training, until another opportunity arises,” Talia replied evenly. Which meant anything from a week later to never. 

Jason gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it all out at once. “When are we leaving?” he questioned. Talia’s grin was sharp, like a predator before their strike.

-

Double shit. This just got way more complicated.

Jason had bargained with Talia for a week of preparation work - a week to scout out the Titans tower, as if he had not memorised the layout of the old one. As if they had not built the new tower in the exact way as the old one had been.

“We will have League members surrounding the building,” Talia announced, a day after they had landed in the city. Jason raised an eyebrow at her. 

“We are curious as to who has trained this boy,” Talia explained, “Subdue the boy’s teammates, and make him vulnerable. Don’t block radio transmissions. If the boy has maintained contact with his mentor, they would come running at their call.”

Jason cursed inwardly, keeping his face carefully blank as he nodded his assent.

He had to play this right. 

-

“I don’t trust this,” Bruce rumbled for the fourth time, in full Batman mode despite being in a casual sweater and sweatpants.

Dick hummed along, casting a concerned glance Tim’s way.

On the table was a note, delivered through an unassuming envelope. 

It stated a date and specific hour, and, Don’t call the Code. 

“The code,” Tim mumbled, “Like, Code Bat? There’s no way they’d know that, though, right?”

The note was written on red paper, flecked with green and yellow. Tim’s tone was wavering, lacking its usual confidence. He was always so sure when it came to cases, but this? 

“What’s happening at this time?” Dick wondered. Bruce pulled up his own schedule for the following week, and Tim mentally went through his own plans. Nothing of note, but-

“I’ll be in Titans tower,” Tim stated aloud, and there were gears turning in his brain. Wild gears that were nearly off their hinges, but they were the same gears that had made the Batman-is-Bruce-Wayne connection, and he had learnt to trust them.

“Is someone trying to warn us?” Tim voiced, “I get a lot of speculation from the public, about what my official superhero name is, but also where I came from, who I trained with. What if it’s not just the internet wondering?”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Tim, his eyes hard and determined in that certain manner that meant he was being overprotective.

“No,” Tim blurted, “I’m not staying at the Manor during that specific timeframe.” Bruce shut his mouth and blinked down at his adopted son.

“Whoever this is, they risk being found out if I don’t show up,” Tim gestured to the note, “It might just escalate from there, anyway, if we prolong whatever is supposed to happen.”

“It could be a trap,” Dick pointed out, and now he too had taken up the overprotective undertones of discomfort. Tim squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, “I’ll stay in the tower. Besides, all my teammates will be there. If anything happens, they’re right there.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances, but eventually Bruce sighed and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Code Bat has always been for your safety,” Bruce stated firmly, “I don’t care if our enemies find out about us - if it gets out of hand, if it looks like a trap, call us.”

-

The morning of the date stated on the note, Tim found another one in his Teen Titans bedroom.

They want you dead. Play along.

What jolted Tim was the symbol at the bottom right corner of the note - it was one of the made-up symbols that Dick had taught him. The symbol on the note meant “burn after reading”.

The handwriting was not Dick’s, nor was it Bruce’s. It was cursive, almost like Alfred’s, but it was also much more scrawled and uneven, like someone still unpractised in writing. 

The gears in Tim’s brain must have really come unhinged this time, because the only name it could conjure was Jason. Jason was dead.

Tim was quietly uptight right until the hour came. He almost did not realise his teammates were being picked off, meticulously, skillfully, one by one. Almost.

Tim still had yet to press his emergency beacon. He had not activated Code Bat. He wanted to see where this went, before anything else.

Then the mysterious attacker descended on him, a blur of black and the smallest glimpse of white, and Tim was fighting for his life.

The man moved like an assassin - Tim had met some League of Assassins members, back when he had trained with Lady Shiva. He moved like them, but there was also something else to his movements.

Tim dodged a hit, and that was too short to be aiming for his throat, that would have been a non-lethal hit-

The man was not aiming to kill. He fought like Batman. He fought like one of them.

Tim opened his mouth, made to say something, although he was unsure what. He was swept off his feet before he got the chance.

“Who trained you, kid?” the voice growled, and it was a deep voice that should have unnerved him, but something struck him as familiar. The drawl, the barely-there accent.

Jason, his brain screamed.

Real answers, please, Tim pleaded.

The man pulled him by his tunic collar, and he shifted to pull him towards his face. There was a glint of metal on the man’s uniform - a recording device. 

“Who are you?” he growled again, with Tim pulled close. 

Tim got a good look at the man’s face, and while he instinctively bantered back, he was internally reeling. Looks like his gears were working, after all.

“Just a kid with a dream,” Tim smirked, a crooked smile already leaking some blood. 

Jason - because this man was Jason, somehow, how was Jason alive - interrogated Tim while punching him out. His blows hurt for sure, but Tim swore that he was aiming for the areas that would cause the least injuries. He swore that when he grunted as a rib was broken, Jason had paused minutely, cringing slightly, before he barreled on.

Something was placed on his chest. 

“Say goodnight, kid,” Jason sing-songed, and there was the sound of a gun cocking. Tim barely registered that when the gun shot, it had shot at him. There was the hard thump of something near his chest, just above his chest, but it had barely touched his tunic.

Jason tapped a finger-signal, a “stay low and don’t move”, and Tim remained where he was. He waited as footsteps receded, waited for several minutes, with a bag of fake blood leaking from his chest, bruises and other injuries blooming in pain underneath his uniform.

He felt rather than heard the presence appear beside him. The looming figure crouched down and gingerly maneuvered Tim into a firm grasp. 

His “assassin” stared down at him. He had switched out his black assassin get-up for casual clothing. He was… tall. Built like Bruce. His eyes were different, too, and he had a white lock of hair curling just above his eyebrows. Yet…

“Jason?” Tim croaked out, and Jason Todd smirked. Tim knew that smirk - Robin wore it a lot, when he watched him. “You better be damn glad no one can hear you, anymore,” Jason gruffed, and started moving with Tim in his grasp, “Let’s go somewhere else, though, for good measure.”

They ended up in Tim’s room - sound-proofed, and therefore the safest location in the tower for this conversation.

“You’re alive,” Tim blurted out, as Jason dressed his wounds. His hands stuttered before resuming their work. “I died,” Jason stated flatly, “And I dug myself out of my own grave. Talia found me, and threw me into a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason raised his eyes to meet Tim’s, and Tim could see the eerie green glow in his eyes. 

“Don’t tell Bruce about me,” Jason rushed out, and Tim immediately jumped to object, but Jason was faster, “Don’t. Listen, I-” Jason breathed deeply, “I’ve killed, alright? I’ve broken his big rule and all that jazz. I might still find myself going back to the streets of Gotham, but to the Manor? I’m not ready to face that shit.”

Jason paused for real this time, having finished taking care of Tim’s more visible injuries. He cringed. 

“You should get Alfie to check you out, just in case you have internal bleeding or whatever the fuck I gave you,” Jason waved his hand around uselessly, “Lie low for a few days, alright? I need to make myself scarce. They’ll find out I didn’t follow through with the deal, and I’ll need to have disappeared, by then.”

Tim was silent for a few long moments. “Will I see you again?” Tim finally asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “They miss you, you know? We miss you. We all do.”

Jason swallowed, and blinked back the water gathering in his eyes. “How can you miss me?” he chose to ask, “S’not like you knew me very well, before… well, before.”

Tim grinned, bright and eager. 

“You once snuck out for patrol on your own,” Tim informed him, “And got stuck on a rooftop that you flipped onto with your grappling hook, because the other buildings around you were all too far away to grapple towards. You had to slide down the water pipes and run across an empty street to make your way back home.”

Jason sputtered, because that had happened, he did remember that, but when the heck did he hear about it?

“How the hell do you know that?” Jason asked, unable to keep his dismay from leaking into his voice. 

“I’ll tell you when I next see you,” Tim smiled cheekily. Smartass.

Jason checked the time. “Your Superboy buddy will be waking up soon,” Jason reported, “Don’t come looking for me, alright? I’ll… I’ll return to Gotham soon. I just have to make sure the League’s off my back.”

Jason got up and hesitated. “When I return to Gotham,” he warned, “I’ll come in guns blazing. There’ll be deaths. It won’t be pretty. Just- just stay out of my way.”

It would have been more convincing, if Jason had not spent the last thirty minutes treating Tim’s wounds.

“Who are you?” Tim called abruptly, Jason hovering at the door, “You come in and take us all out, one by one. They’d want a name. Who are you?”

Jason smirked sharply. 

“Red Hood,” he droned, “Call me Red Hood.”

He slinked away, and like a true Bat, was out of the tower in seconds.

[bartistic]

@redrobinperiodt requested Tim Drake Angst so here we go

- - - - -

CW: Panic Attack, blood, injury, head injury, Joker, self-loathing

Tim felt sick to his stomach as the night rolled and tossed around him. He was breathing very hard— possibly, no, probably on the verge of a panic attack. He clenched his fists, which seemed stuck to his sides. Okay, five things you can see—

He opened his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. Not just pitch black, but darker. True, deep, nothingness black. With his mask on, though, he couldn’t tell whether he was blinded, blindfolded, or simply in a very dark room.

He could vaguely feel his limbs, which could be a good or bad sign. He couldn’t remember whether it ought to be a good or bad sign. With a numb hand he attempted to reach up to his face to check for a blindfold, but doubled over in pain as his arms met ropes instead. The movement stretched a wound he didn’t know he had, slick wet fluid making his clothes tacky.

Or maybe the fluid was something else entirely? Now that he was more tuned in, he noticed the smell. It was hard to believe he hadn’t noticed it before— the invasive and sluggish stench of Gotham’s sewers. He shifted his feet, hearing a soft and wet shlop echo through the wide chambers. He could hear the dripping of the condensation now, and the bustle of the city outside. Was it daytime? Tim couldn’t recall. He couldn’t hear anything out of the usual for the sewers... Killer Croc was still in Arkham, last time he checked, and without him the sewers were a relatively quiet, if definitely toxic, affair.

So the question remained: why was he in the sewers? He couldn’t recall how he got there— wracking his brain, the last memory he could think of was leaving to patrol. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually saw any of his family outside of uniform... He had his own apartment now. Where he could be a slob in peace, and not have to worry about sharing the coffee pot.

Shifting his arms served a dual purpose— it helped him to attempt to shimmy out of his bonds, gasping in pain all the while, and to feel the rope itself. The knot was surprisingly easy to loosen... suspiciously easy, in fact. With his arms free, Tim reached for his face, careful to mind the wound on his side.

He was relieved to find a blindfold tied securely over his mask. It was giving him a bit of a headache, actually, so it was a relief to pull it down. He carefully brushed past a tender bump that was sticky with blood.

Tim blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light— dim light, for sure, but enough to confirm his surroundings. He looked down at his feet. They were padlocked together, with a literal ball and chain attached and sitting in the muck a few feet away. He leaned back against the wall, which was moist (as expected. Ew.), and slid down the grungy bricks into a squat. Taking the lock picks out of his mask, he began to work at picking the padlock. With a finger, he absentmindedly brushed his hair out of the way behind his ear.

His ear, which ought to have a comms unit in it. Why didn’t it?

Breaking free of the lock he lifted a foot to step forward, but was stopped by a cackle. A familiar cackle.

A laugh familiar to any Gothamite, and more than familiar to any Bat.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, little birdie. A ha ha. Hee hee. OOH HOO HOO HOO we— we wouldn’t want to spoil the main event before we even got ready now would we? No, ha, we want to wait for the rest of the little birdies to come along and play before we can BLOW YOU ALL SKY HIGH AH ha HEE HEE,”

Sure enough, as Tim looked beneath the grime under his feet, he could see a pressurized plate. A mine, that would go off if he even shifted his balance too much to the side. There was a countdown on it as well, set to 18 mins and 20 seconds. 19 seconds. 18 seconds.

Tim was suddenly very glad he had only shifted his feet a little bit earlier, and while picking the lock.

“That is... if they even come for you. I don’t see, ha, why they’d care about such a miserable little bird! Look,” the Joker attempted to pout as he came prancing into view, “his poor wings are all soggy. Naughty naughty oil slicks, gooping up the birdies wings so they can’t fly! HAHAHA!” He leaned in close to Tim, using his hands to lift the sides of his cape, drenched in raw sewage, and flapping them. Tim stiffened slightly, preparing to attack, but the Joker stepped back, holding a small remote in his hand. “Ooh, good one boy blunder! You switch places with me, and I’ll press this lil button here! It does just the HA the funniest thing, y’see... it’ll set off a nice little chain reaction that will make the whole sewer go BOOM! HA HA HEE HA!” Joker pranced around, kicking sewage everywhere, splattering onto the walls, onto Tim, even onto his own purple suit. “Now let’s see. How shall we pass the time while we wait for dear old Daddy Bats to realize you’re missing? I think we ought to have a few days or so... HA! I ought to have a few days. You, ha, don’t have that much time, babybird.” Tim wasn’t sure where the clown had heard that nickname, but it made him sick to his stomach. Or maybe that was just the almost certain concussion. “Now how about a game of Go Fish?” Joker pulled a deck of cards out of his suit pocket. He shuffled them haphazardly, most of them falling into the lazy brown river below. They were all Jokers.

Tim’s attention was brought back to the man himself as the clown roughly grasped his hand, forced it open, and placed in it a hand of cards. Then with the same about of force, he shut the hand. Tim let out a stuttered inhale at the pain in his side. “Now, do you know how to play Go Fish?” Tim glared, but didn’t say anything. “So what you’re HA gonna do is, you’re gonna say a card. Like this:” he did a nasally, whiny imitation of Tim’s voice, “Do you have any sevens, Mr. Joker sir? And then *I* get to say NO!” He cackled and shoved Tim’s head all the way into the ground, through the sewage. Hard. Tim sputtered and flailed and desperately tried to keep balance as a spindly yet strong hand held his head in place. It was like a more tortuous version of the swirlies he’d never had to endure, but had heard about on the internet. “Go fish! A HA HA HEE HOO HEH. You’re no fun.” Tim’s head lolled on his neck, feeling too heavy to hold up. “I’m going to go hunt down some more friends for us to play with, alrighty? Have fun while I’m gone! Or don’t. HEE HEE HA HOO HOO!” The Joker kicked tim’s head from where he was kneeling on the ground. Then he left.

Tim’s thoughts were swirling, much like the muck they were surrounded by. It had to be daytime by now, surely Bruce and the others would have noticed he was missing. But would they? Asked another part of his brain. You’re the forgotten Robin, the unimportant one, you’re not even a real part of the family. Dick created the role, Jason died for it, Damian was born for it, what were you? Were you even needed? You just shoved yourself into their lives and everything became all the worse because of it. When’s the last time you’ve spoken to them, any of them? They don’t want to even be near you. They all hate you. They’ve noticed you’re gone alright, but whatever would make them want to come find you?

Tim settled onto the plate. 10 minutes, 57 seconds. He closed his eyes and tried to not think.

He didn’t know how long it was until he heard voices again.

“Hey assholes, I found him! He’s over here! He’s... oh fuck Timmy, that’s a lot of blood. You’re okay. Batman apprehended the bastard. I’ll kill him for you later though, okay babybird?” Tim shuddered at the nickname, letting out what could be called a whimper. “We got you, we’re taking you home.” Home. What was home. The manor? He looked up, head swaying. Red Hood was crouched in front of him, hands out in a placating gesture. He was flickering at the edges. Great, a caffeine-withdrawal-induced hallucination.

“No... y’ can’t...” He mumbled under his breath, his voice scratchy and dry-feeling. “Y’r not real. Y’r not coffee.” Jason— the hallucination— looked concerned. Tim felt a pressure on his head. He yelped. “G’t away... Y’ll set off th’ bomb...” The hallucination-possible-not-a-hallucination-jason cussed. Tim let out a soft huff of laughter. Who knew his imagination was so colorful.

“B, there’s a bomb here. We need immediate extraction and medical for Red Robin, I’ll do what I can to defuse it.”

“Pr’ssure Plate...” Tim murmured before he was under once more. And then there was shouting, and slapping of his face, which made his neck hurt and his face sting.

“No, you are not falling asleep on me! Dammit B, get here now!” Tim had never been the best at following orders. And he was running on no caffeine. He was going to take a nap now, and nobody could stop him.

Flashes.

Strong arms holding him, carrying him through the sewers.

Shouting from someone who sounded a lot like Dick, but that was impossible, because Dick wasn’t there.

Strong arms holding him, loading him into a car, careful of his head.

A squeeze from a small hand. “You are not going to die by the hand of that clown, Drake, I will not allow it.”

Pressure on his stomach, overwhelming pressure and pain and he was jackknifing and fighting whoever was pressing on his wound and there was more screaming but this screaming was him.

Finally, a steady beeping. He opened his eyes, then immediately shut them again. Too bright. He wished he had his Robin shades. He snuffled his nose and heard a noise in return. Someone at his bedside, then. He grunted. There was a gasp.

“Too bright. H’rts.” He watched from behind his eyelids as the flourescent lights were turned off with a click. Then he hazarded opening his eyes again. Bruce was sitting, asleep in a chair by the side of the bed, clearly in a very uncomfortable position. Tim had no doubts he’d had worse. At the door were Dick, Duke, and Stephanie. They looked as if they wanted to talk to him but didn’t want to risk waking a sleeping batman. Damian was at the light switch. Tim was officially confused. Fuck the sleeping Batman, he wanted answers. “J’ker?”

Dick scowled. “Arkham. Although he definitely won’t be out again for a while after Hood’s through with him.”

Cass spoke up from the other side of the room, “Wheelchair.”

Tim nodded. “Bomb?”

“It was a dud.” Tim frowned. That made no sense. Also, they were definitely hiding something.

“How long w’s i out?”

“4 days. You flatlined two times. Between the wound in your side getting infected by fucking sewage water and your memory-hazy brain injury, it’s a miracle you survived.” Steph looked angry. Then she began to cry. “You asshole! You almost died!” She looked as if she wanted to either hug him or punch him, but neither were a feasible option for the moment, so she settled on sniffing angrily at her tears and then purposely walking out. “I’m going to go make coffee. For myself.”

————

whoo boy that’s all i got in me tonight. thanks for the request lol!

[shield-sheafson]

Chapters: ¼ Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown Additional Tags: Found Family, Fluff, Light Angst, Homelessness, Cass knows like 8 words rip, slight crime, Jason Todd and Cassandra Cain meet earlier, Cassandra Cain and Jason Todd are Siblings, but not blood siblings in this just two kids who adopted each other, street siblings au Summary:

Professional street urchin Jason Todd is struck by an uneasy feeling and suspects someone is following him. That someone is former child assassin Cassandra Cain, who, with nowhere else to go, is taking a leap of faith.

—

This is my take on the Street Siblings AU by @a-sketchy-character​!  I told them earlier that I’d write something for it, so here I am owning up! Of course, you can read their comic based on this au @streetsiblings.  Of course, @greytoiletpaper also wrote one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27100699/chapters/66175306) and Experimental_Muse wrote this one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037882).  Go check them out!  Since this is such a popular concept, I hope I do a good job.

—

Jason pops another M&M into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue instead of chewing it. He has no idea why someone would throw away a perfectly good bag of candy, but he’s not going to think too hard about it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he can feel the strength coming back into his limbs. He feels less sleepy, too.

He tucks the empty bag into the pocket of his frayed jeans, already regretting finishing them. Now that he’s eaten something, what else is he going to do with his day? He hasn’t found any cigarettes, which is a pain, since it’s so cold that his nose feels numb and he could really use some warm smoke to fill up his aching lungs.

Maybe he’ll go to the library. He’s still too small to kick out for loitering, right? Just as he turns to leave the alley, Jason feels a shiver run up his spine. He whips around, raising his fists defensively. Nobody’s there. This doesn’t calm him down. Jason squints as he peers into the dark, wet alley, looking for any sign of movement.

“Hey,” he says in the deepest, roughest voice he can muster. “Think good and hard about what you’re about to do, buddy.”

What is the invisible person about to do? Jason isn’t sure, but he wants them to think good and hard about it. He hears a scuffle and nearly jumps out of his skin only to realize that it’s just a rat migrating from beneath the dumpster to a pile of cardboard boxes.

“What are you playing?” Jason asks. This voice is making his throat hurt. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Nobody answers. Jason weighs his options and decides that the best choice is to make a run for it. He nearly slips on a patch of slush in his haste to get out of the alley. Even when he’s a safe two blocks away he still has an uneasy feeling.

—

A couple of hours later, Jason has shaken off that gross feeling and has settled down outside the 7-11. He used to go here a lot– when his mom was around, it was where they got their groceries. Sometimes she’d splurge and they would split a can of Yoohoo. Even though he doesn’t have any money to go in with, something about the worn bricks and the smoky smell is comforting.

A gaunt man with dark circles under his eyes and a scraggly gray beard joins him, sitting gingerly on the damp ground.

“Afternoon,” he says cordially.

“It’s dark out,” Jason says. He’s not sure what time it actually is. Days and nights tend to blur together. They’re basically the same, though nights tend to be more dangerous.

“Damned if it isn’t,” the man says. “What’s a kid doing out this late?”

“Anywhere else I’m supposed to be?” Jason asks, scowling.

“Just askin’, just askin’,” the man says, raising his palms. “I’d just get somewhere safe if I was you. Some guy’s been– what?”

“What?” Jason repeats after him. “What’s going on?”

“Just thought I… It’s not safe for kids out there lately, is all I’m sayin’.”

Jason sighs and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, dragging down the edge of his hoodie. “Is it that big a deal?” It’s never really safe out there, but he’s always gotten by fine. “You’re not a kid, so you’re fine.”

“Nothin’ wrong with a little empathy,” the man says.

Jason rolls his eyes and walks off to find another place to lurk.

—

It happens the next day, too. Jason has the unpleasant feeling of eyes on his back when he covertly removes a woman’s wallet from her purse and he’s certain someone is about to yell “Stop! Thief!” but nobody does.

When he walks proudly out of McDonald’s with a bag of french fries bought will ill-gotten money, he expects someone to ask for one. Of course, he would have said “no,” but it’s almost disappointing when there’s nobody to answer. He’s not disappointed enough to be really put-off, though. He still stuffs his face wholeheartedly.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid.

—

Jason has been sleeping rough lately. The condemned buildings are already full of squatters, and he knows better than to accept “help” from people who offer couches to young boys. With nowhere inside to sleep, he’s been hiding from the sleet in a cardboard shelter he built in an out-of-view area between buildings and lined with newspaper.

Of course, it’s not usually safe to build a fire when your whole house is so flammable, but he’s risking it tonight. He has a pile of yet more cardboard and newspaper on the other side of the alley, but it’s damp and he’s having a rough time getting it to set alight.

“Come on,” he mutters as he clicks the lighter yet again. It’s a nice one (his mother had liked it a lot) but it doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. Jason curses under his breath as the edge of the funnies page smolders and blackens without actually catching fire. Garfield stares at him judgmentally. That’s when he hears it.

A light “thump,” soft but unmistakable. Jason’s head snaps up. He’s afraid to turn and look. At best, it’s another bum looking to share his fire. At worst, it’s…

“What are you looking at?” he says harshly, still not turning his head. “Go find somewhere else.”

The presence at his back doesn’t go away. He feels frozen in place– he’ll admit it, he’s afraid. He knows someone has been following him. He doesn’t know who or why. He hasn’t had a moment where it’s not on his mind, and now his mysterious pursuer is right behind him. His only option is to protect himself.

Jason very slowly reaches into his pocket for the worn switchblade he’s carried since he was nine. His hand trembles as he wraps his fingers around the cold handle.

A hand is laid on his shoulder. He shoots up, pulling the knife out of his pocket and spinning around to face the person behind him.

Before he’s able to do anything a small, strong hand wraps around his wrist, stopping the freed knife in its path. His arm is yanked forward and a palm is shoved under his chin, forcing his face up. He just stands that way for a second, too shocked to move. His opponent doesn’t try to do anything else; they just keep him stuck with his chin pushed up and his arm stretched out, knife useless.

Slowly, cautiously, the hand under his chin lowers, though the grip on his wrist is still tight. He gets a good look at the person who’s apparently decided to hold him hostage.

They’re a kid. They’re (she’s) a little girl, much shorter than him, with big, serious eyes and a mouth covered by a heavy scarf.

“You’re really small,” he says through the hand that’s still partly covering his mouth. “What the fuck.”

She assesses him, eyes darting from his face to his free hand to his battered shoes. Slowly, she loosens her grip and lets go of his chin, releasing him. She takes a step back, body tense and ready to attack or dart away at any second.

Jason clicks his blade back into its case and slides the knife back into his pocket, not looking away from the girl’s face. She has dirty black hair that hangs in her eyes and thick brows. Her nose is delicate and rounded. If she hadn’t just had him in a painful hold, he would have assumed she was harmless.

“Why have you been following me around?” he asks. She doesn’t answer. “What do you want from me?” Again, no answer. Jason sighs (a puff of mist from his mouth). “I’m Jason.” He holds out his hand. Hesitantly, she grips it. Her hand is cold and thin. She still doesn’t say anything.

The girl lets go of his hand and points to the lighter on the ground. It glints at him in greeting.

“What?” Jason asks.

The girl squats on the ground and retrieves the lighter. She hands it to him and points at the pile of cardboard and newspaper.

“Wanna make a fire?” he asks. “There’s garbage in there, so it’ll stink.”

She doesn’t nod. She just points again expectantly.

“'Kay,” Jason says. “Can you talk at all?”

The girl doesn’t respond. Jason shrugs and crouches by his fire heap. The girl plops back on her bottom and crosses her legs.

It takes a while to get it to light. It’s a little embarrassing failing again and again with someone there to watch. Finally, one of the dryer pieces of paper goes alight and spreads to one of the bigger pieces of cardboard.

“See? It does work!” Jason says. Does he sound defensive? “It usually works fine,” he adds. This doesn’t make him any less embarrassed. He puts the lighter in his pocket with the switchblade and holds his hands out, taking in the heat. The girl pulls down her scarf. In the flickering light, he can see she’s smiling at him. She holds out her hands too, and they sit in silence for some time.

—

Jason realizes he’s awake before his eyes open. He’s aware again that his nose and fingers are cold and the back of his hair is wet from the damp concrete. His eyes flicker open and he sees that it’s daytime, pale gray and foggy. He rolls over, realizing with some consternation that he’s not even in his box hut. Anybody could have come and gotten him while he was asleep. He’s lucky they didn’t. He shouldn’t be so– what.

Someone is a few feet away from him, sitting up with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, looking at him thoughtfully.

Jason scrambles backward, scraping his hands on the rough concrete. He bumps his head on the brick wall behind him. It seems that the bricks knock some sense into him because suddenly the events of last night come back to him and he feels like an idiot.

“What are you doing?” he asks, rubbing his head.

The girl scoots over to him and pats his shoulder. Ah. She’s still not talking. Jason sits up straight. He pats her shoulder back. She smiles.

“So, do you just want to hang around here?” Jason asks, even though he knows she won’t answer. “In this alley?”

The girl just looks at him. This is starting to get frustrating.

“Just– just stay, I guess,” Jason says, standing. He points at the ground. “I’ll be back. I’m gonna go get something to eat.”

He backs out of the alleyway, raising his palms as though he’s trying to calm a wild animal. He turns around when he’s certain that she’s staying. He puts his hands in his pockets and releases a breath of relief. Something about that girl makes him nervous. What’s her game? Is she just stupid? He wraps his fingers around the lighter and somehow feels a little more secure.

Jason settles outside a coffee shop and crosses his legs. Dozens of people walk right past him, ignoring his grubby face as they head to work.

“Hey, miss,” Jason says, making eye contact with a woman in a blue pantsuit. An almost fearful look falls on her face as she realizes she’s been wrangled into an interaction with him. “Got a dollar?”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I don’t carry change.” She scurries off, nearly slipping in her high heels on the icy sidewalk.

“'Scuse me,” Jason says to the lady with the corgi on a leash. “That’s a cute dog you have there.”

“Thank you,” the lady says apprehensively. She walks a little faster.

“Wait!” Jason says. “Can I pet him?”

“S-sure,” the lady says. She turns and walks the dog up to Jason. It smiles stupidly at him. Jason stretches his hand out and it sniffs him with its wet nose. Jason rubs it between the ears. Even though this is for selfish reasons, he appreciates its attention.

“Can you spare seventy cents?” Jason asks. “For a bottle of water?”

The lady, with nowhere to escape to, reaches into her purse, takes out a dollar, and drops it into Jason’s open hand. Jason thanks her sweetly. When she walks away, he can’t hide his shit-eating grin.

Jason manages to gather up seven dollars before the coffee shop’s manager comes out and says “scram.” Jason smiles appeasingly as he leaves. He knows better than to get in a fight with someone without holes in their shoes.

At the convenience store, Jason buys an energy drink and a hot dog, like usual. Then he remembers someone is waiting for him and adds a plastic-wrapped breakfast sandwich. He’s wondering whether the stupid girl is a coffee person when the cashier starts giving him suspicious looks, so he grabs another Red Bull and pays quickly.

It’s kind of nice shopping for someone else. Even if it’s a little sad to think about the last time he was shopping for two. He whistles quietly as he walks through the glass door when– oops.

“Watch where you’re going!” he snaps.

The girl steps back and smiles apologetically.

“Oh… It’s you.” The door swings shut behind Jason. “I’d ask you to stop following me, but I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

The girl tilts her head. Maybe she does understand? Whatever.

He gestures for her to follow him. The convenience store people don’t like it when he hangs out right by the door. It creeps out the customers.

There aren’t as many people on the sidewalk anymore; they’ve all gone on with their days. Jason notices that the girl skips a little on her shorter legs to keep up with him. She isn’t wearing socks, he realizes. That can’t be good in this weather.

They stop to sit on the front steps of the law office. Jason pulls the food out of his plastic grocery bag and hands the sandwich to the girl. She takes it gratefully. He takes out his hot dog and realizes that the jostling while he was walking has deconstructed it. He shrugs.

“I’m guessing you’re new around here,” Jason says. “You’re not supposed to just latch on to people.”

The girl starts tearing greedily into her sandwich.

“I do pretty well on my own. I’m not gonna babysit you, you know.”

She nods. Again, Jason isn’t sure she’s taking in what he’s saying.

“Seriously. You can’t hang out with me. I’m busy.”

She smiles. Jason rolls his eyes.

“I like being alone.”

The sandwich is gone. She points to his hot dog.

“I mean, I guess,” he says, handing it to her. She looks at it for a second. A guilty expression falls on her face and she hands it back. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Cassandra,” she says.

“Wait, you can talk?”

“Jason,” she says, patting his shoulder.

The snow is dirty, but the sun glints off it prettily. Jason hates to admit it, but he’s in a pretty good mood right now.

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Touching | 8. shielding the other one with their body, Dick & Rachel - for @wonderbatwayne

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Safe Haven

Series: Physical Affection - Tumblr Prompts

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: "The answer is simple, Grayson. Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me. Now I'm taking what's yours."

2x07 AU

Check out the prompt list | REQUESTS OPEN

____________________________________________

Safe Haven

You really wanna be back here?

Dick tried to ignore his father's voice as he marched between the rows of wooden benches.

"Where is he?"

Deathstoke led him to this church - to the place where everything went down five years ago. But now it was empty.

Bruce showed up in front of him, blocking his way.

He's feeding on your guilt. Like a spider. He's lured you away from where you need to be… who you need to protect.

"He killed my friend," Dick argued.  "Nearly killed Jason. He has to be stopped."

Very heroic of you. Except… you don't give a shit.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't know."

But I do, Bruce said as he walked up to him. I know everything. That's why you brought me. Just like I know why you keep sneaking off on these solo runs, just like you did five years ago. You have blood on your hands. 

"Not just me."

But you have more, son. Blood only you and Slade know about. You're afraid of the dark. Always have been. Even as a little boy. The great chasm of silence. The coldness of isolation. You're afraid if the others know your secret they'll leave you and you'll be alone, again. And they may. 

His heart sped up in his chest, his mind forgot how to breathe for a monent.

"They don't need to know," he said finally. "What difference does it make? It's done, it's in the past. It's behind me."

But it's not. It's got to come out.

"God damn it!" he shouted, feeling his nerves snapping. He was really getting tired of all this bullshit. "Can you leave me alone?"

You know how to get rid of me. You've known the whole time.

Tears started burning behind his eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Of course you do, son. You always have. You just have to tell the truth.

But he couldn't. It was too much. It would destroy him, destroy everything he had with his team.

"It's too hard." he whispered, dropping his head in shame. It was getting harder to keep tears at bay.

His father reached out and gently brushed his fingers down Dick's cheek. Even if he was only a prodcut of Dick's own fucked up mind the touch felt very real and it brought some sort of comfort to him. 

His gaze then fell on the altar and he froze, noticing something he hadn't before. Bruce stepped out of his way when he moved and walked up the stairs to a heavy wooden table. Upon one look at the display it showed his blood ran cold.

At least a dozen pictures were scattered among lit candles and each one of them showed Rachel. Sitting on a couch with Gar, both laughing. Talking with Kory. Eating breakfast in the kitchen with Hank, Dawn and Donna around. He saw himself in those photos too - training with her in one, walking with her on the street in the other, with coffee cups in their hands and his arm wrapped around her shoulders. But in most of these pictures she was alone, usually somewhere around the Tower, in her bedroom or the kitchen and it was clear all the shots were taken without her or any of them knowing. 

At the very centre of the table was a small black box. 

With a shaking hand and a heart hammering in his chest Dick reached for it and slowly lifted the lid. On a white satin pillow meant to hold some kind of jewelry lay a lock of dark blue hair, coated in crimson blood.

Dick's knees almost gave out under him, sending him on the floor.

"No."

He left those for you, Bruce said behind him. He turned to his father for a moment, his face twisting in shock and confusion, but quickly came back to the display, hoping it disappeared when he wasn't looking. Because it couldn't be real, just like this Bruce wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. But the pictures were still there, as well as the box and the candle flames were still burning. 

Go home, Dick, his father's voice rang in his ears. It seems like one way or another, the monster's been in the Tower all along. 

He couldn't take it anymore. The mix of fear, fury, worry, confusion and dozens of other conflicted emotions he couldn't name was about to explode, ripping him apart from within. He smashed his hand on the table sending all the pictures and candles flying, tossed it all on the floor in blinding rage and whipped around, ready to run out of the church. He needed to get back to the Tower, to find Rachel. Maybe this was all some kind of a sick joke, maybe Slade is bluffing, playing mind games on him to keep him on edge. Maybe it's all one big-

"Well, look who finally made it."

Dick stopped to a halt, his breath hitching in his throat. The front door to the church was open, revealing no other than Deathstroke standing in the door frame with his blade pressed to Rachel's neck. She was almost limp in his hold, barely awake but conscious enough to be standing on her feet. Her head was swaying dangerously like she's in a haze, the side of her face covered in blood oozing from a split on her temple. 

"Dick…" she muttered, her voice weak and faint as a whisper in the wind carried out in the acoustics of the place and his heart jumped to his throat. He instinctively moved, wanting to rush to her but Slade stopped him, tightening his grip on her and pressing the blade harder to her skin. A drop of blood trickled down the shiny steel and Rachel instantly stilled.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." the masked man said slowly, a clear warning in his deep voice.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. "What did you do to her?"

"Not much. Yet." he slowly tilted his head to the side. "I just gave her something to neutralize her powers. A small gift from this little group that eloquently calls themselves… The Organization?"

Dick felt his fists clenching so tight his knuckles must have turned white. He was trembling but unable to move. His eyes were locked on Rachel's pale face as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Questions were piling up under his skull, starting with how did this happen but there was no time for getting answers, first and foremost he needed to protect Rachel.

"I hope you enjoyed our little game." Slade continued, pushing Rachel onward so he could walk deeper into the church. She staggered on wobbly feet but he didn't let her fall. He wasn't gentle in holding her up either and hearing her grunt made Dick grit his teeth. "You must have had a nice ride around the city, following false leads and fake clues. Gave me enough time to get to this one while the others were busy jumping to each other's throats."

He risked one step forward, glaring at the face hidden behind the mask.

"What do you want from her?" he asked instead of giving Slade satisfaction by reacting to his words. "It's me you're after and I'm here. So let her go and let's get this over with. Rachel has nothing to do with this."

Slade let out a gurgling laugh and shook his head which only infuriated Dick more. His blade twitched in his hand and Rachel flinched, her face twisted in pain.

"Oh don't you see? She has everything to do with this." His masked face got uncomfortably close to Rachel's face and she turned her head away, cringing in fear and whimpering. Dick barely could hold himself back from lunging at Slade. "Poor kid. Snatched from the street, taken under the caring but broken wings of The Fallen Grayson just to be let down and end up dead. Funny how history loves to repeat itself but twists the ending at the last moment."

His arm gripped her tighter and Rachel's body tensed like a string that's about to snap. Her breath quickened and pupils widened up in terror. Their eyes met for the first time and Dick's heart broke seeing how scared she was, how she was silently begging him to save her.

"Rachel!"

"The answer is simple, Grayson." Slade hissed, fixing his grip on his sword and shifting the blade so the cold steel was now touching Rachel's cheek. "Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me." He moved the blade slowly, making a shallow cut on her face and Rachel whimpered in pain. "Now I'm taking what's yours."

And he pulled the sword down.

"DON'T!" 

Slade stopped with the sword pressed to her carotid artery and looked at Dick who was aiming at him with the gun he was holding in his hand this whole time. His finger stilled on the trigger, grip so tight his knuckles bleached but his arm - no, his entire body - was shaking. His breath became shallow and rapid, heart trying desperately to break out of its cage.

"DON'T HURT HER!" he shouted and risked taking a few steps closer. He must have looked like a madman and he wouldn't be one bit surprised because that's exactly what he felt right now - madness. "Don't you fucking touch her or I SWEAR TO GOD-"

Deathstroke scoffed.

"We both know you're not gonna shoot." he said in a tone so light like they were discussing weather or something equally trivial. 

Dick brought his other hand up to steady his grip on the weapon but in his current state it did him no good.

"Watch me."

"Are you willing to risk your precious little girl's life, like you did with Jericho? Or have you learned from your mistakes by now?"

"Don't listen to him, Dick!" Rachel suddenly spoke. Her voice was strong and she was staring at him with terrified but focused eyes. Dick let himself quietly sigh in relief. Whatever drug Slade had given her must be wearing off.

"Shut up." the assassin growled in her face, threatening her with his weapon again. She eyed the sword and gulped down hard but remained silent.

Dick took another step closer.

"Rach, look at me." he asked gently, for a moment not caring about how Slade might react. Risky move but he needed to talk to her. She did as he told her and their eyes met. "Listen, you're gonna be okay. I promise."

"Oh, isn't it adorable." Slade scoffed again, shaking his head. Dick was almost sure the man was rolling his eyes under that hideous mask. "I see you've learned nothing. Even after all this time you lie in their faces that they're gonna be safe with you. It's pathetic."

Neither of them were listening to his little tirade. While Slade was talking they were having their own silent conversation. Rachel held Dick's gaze to make sure she had his attention, then pointed her eyes at the elbow of the arm Slade was holding her with. Then her eyes went back to Dick and she mouthed one short word.

Shoot.

He shook his head, feeling a bile of fear forming in his throat. It was a huge risk. An inch to his right and the bullet could pierce Rachel's chest. All it takes is for Slade to move or Dick's arm to tremble. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if the bullet went the wrong way.

But her eyes were full of faith and confidence when she was looking at him. A small smile appeared on her lips. She knew he was hesitating because of her and tried to encourage him as well as she could without Slade noticing. He could read what she was trying to tell him in her face.

I know you won't hurt me.

He would never. He'd rather die the most painful death than be the reason a single hair falls off her head.

He pulled the trigger.

Deathstroke's armor clinked when the bullet made contact with his elbow. It didn't do any damage, but that wasn't the point. Slade cried out, more surprised than hurt because he didn't think Dick would actually fire that gun, but the impact made him release Rachel from his hold. She was still swaying on unsteady feet but she instantly lunged herself to the side, hiding between the rows of benches and getting out of the way.

Good girl.

In the meantime a fight broke out between two men. Dick charged at Slade, fueled by hot rage burning inside of him. He didn't have his Robin suit anymore or any of his gadgets but his body was a weapon in itself due to years of training and experience. He was throwing kicks and punches, dodging and turning and moving. Slade threw away his sword and sent him falling on his back with one strong kick to his chest, but despite the hit pushing all air out his lungs Dick managed to quickly jump back to his feet. They danced around each other like it's a choreography learned a long time ago and the moves are now coming back to them with clarity after years of not using them. Every move of the assassin was full of precision and technicality, cold, strong and perfectly aimed while Dick filled his every action with images of those he was fighting for. He thought of Garth falling to the ground with bullet in his chest while connecting his foot with Slade's jaw, sending his head to the side. He thought of Jason hanging on one hand from one of the tallest buildings in the city with terror in his wide eyes as he punched Slade in the diaphragm so hard the skin on his knuckles split and started bleeding. He thought of Jericho bleeding out on the floor of this church when he jumped on the benches and swiftly moved to find himself behind Slade's back. And he thought of Rachel, pale as ghost and terrified, with blood trickling down her face when he round kicked Slade in the back, sending him to his knees.

"So emotional." the man grunted and straightened up. He reached for his baton and with one push of a button turned it into a spear. "So… attached."

Dick roared like an angry lion and attacked again.

This time Deathstroke got the upper hand, pushing Dick back towards the altar. Blocking the spear wasn't easy without any weapon in his hand and soon he was covered with smaller and bigger cuts. He fell on his back at the stairs, hitting the back of his head so hard his sight became foggy but he still managed to use his legs to cut Slade from his feet. However, the man didn't lose his balance, only jumped out of the way and pushed his heavy boot to Dick's chest, then pressed the blunt end of the spear to his Adam's apple.

"You were right," Deathstroke breathed out, turning the spear around. Dick heard his voice as if coming from underwater. His mask was a blur of color. "Let's get this over with." Then he raised his arm and stabbed.

But the blade never made it to Dick's chest.

First he saw a shadow looming over him and when his sight cleared he recognized the head of blue curly hair. He lifted himself on his elbows watching in horror while his heart screamed in agony.

No. Not again.

Please, not again.

Rachel pushed herself between him and Slade and shielded him with her own body, just like Jericho did five years ago.

She slowly looked down at the blade sticking out from her chest before Deathstroke harshly pulled it out. Her hands covered the wound, her fingers instantly turning red and then she swayed, about to fall down.

"Rachel, no!" Dick cried out and caught her, laying her down on his chest. A sob wrecked his body when he saw the waterfall of blood coating the front of her black sweater, making the warm wool stick to her body. He pressed his hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding while she looked up at him with those big blue eyes and he felt tears falling down his cheeks. "Oh God, Rachel. What did you do?"

"I had to- s-save you-" she choked out, a drop of blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. She covered his hand with her own and squeezed it tight. "I cou-couldn't let you- d-die."

In the meantime Slade stepped back and hid his weapon. He was watching the scene in front of him unfold, still as a statue.

"Now you know how it feels," he said, aiming his words at Dick, who lifted his tear-stained face to glare at the man, "to have your own child bleeding out in your arms. Death would've been a mercy for you, Grayson. This… this is a lesson you will never forget."

"I will fucking kill you." Dick snarled at him, gritting his teeth. "I'm gonna hunt you down, you hear me?!"

Deathstoke chuckled and turned his back to him.

"Good luck with that." he threw over his shoulder then headed out of the church, leaving the other two alone.

Dick made some sort of a sound. A noise that he himself couldn't even describe. It sounded as if something had brutally ripped his chest open and tore out of it. He roared like an animal, venting his despair and anger.

"Dick..." a soft whisper pierced through to his consciousness, drawing his attention. "It's okay."

Another sob shook his body.

"Rachel… Rachel, my Rachel." he whispered, hugging her and frantically brushing the hair wet with blood and sweat away from her pale face.

So much blood. He was completely covered in it now, it soaked through his clothes and bit into his skin.

"It's not okay." he shook his head. "I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around."

She managed to smile at him.

"We're supposed to… save each other… remember?"

"Not like this." he said, his voice breaking. "Never like this."

She squeezed his hand again. Their fingers, slick from her blood, entwined together tightly.

"You were my… save haven."

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Then the meaning behind her words hit him like a speeding train and he held her tighter.

"No. Don't say that." he ordered desperately. "This is not a goodbye, you hear me? You're not going anywhere."

"Dick-"

"No! Help me." he croaked, pressing their clasped hands against her bleeding heart. "Use your powers. Take my energy, absorb it."

She coughed, spitting blood. They were running out of time.

"I can't- h-heal myself."

"Yes, you can. You have to."

But she didn't seem to hear him. Her eyelids closed slowly and her head fell on his arm.

"Rachel?" Dick's voice grew louder, breaking and rising like waves away at sea. "Rachel, my baby, please, honey, open your eyes, it's me, Dick, I'm here with you, I'll always be here, please, please…"

He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, letting out a painful cry. He howled like a wolf, his shoulders trembling, heavy tears splashing on her round cheeks. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. A part if him knew it would end like this the monent he met her. But his love was too strong and he ignored the warning. Now she was paying the price. 

"Don't go, Rach." he begged, his voice shattered. "Don't leave me alone in a world without you in it."

He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand with such force that he felt her knuckles grinding in his grip.

Rachel, please come back. We can do this. You saved my life in more ways than you can imagine. Nothing is impossible for us. I love you, okay? I love you and please come back to me.

He reached deep into his memories. Rachel at the police station in Detroit looks up and stares at him as if she saw a ghost; Rachel, curled up in the bathtub of that crappy motel, surrounded by scraps of paper with crosses drawn on it, throws herself into his arms crying; Rachel leans over him in the asylum and reminds him of his promise to never to leave her; Rachel comes out of the fog with her head held high proudly after defeating Trigon; her smile and eyes wide open when she saw the inside of the Tower for the first time. And many, many other memories he will cherish for the rest of his life.

Heal, he begged because there was nothing else left to do. Take my life, take it all. Heal.

Something changed. Rachel's hand in his hold started getting warmer. He lifted his head slightly, blinking away tears and gasped at the sight of a bright purple glow seeping through his fingers. He watched in complete awe as the wound on her chest slowly started closing until there was nothing left beside a thin pink line that was already fading as well. The color came back to her face and she took a gulp of air, almost choking on it. Then she sat up, her eyes opened wide and she pressed her hands to her chest but to no use because there was nothing there, only drying blood on her clothes. She looked down at herself then back at him.

"How?"

He smiled at her and scooted closer. 

"I told you you can heal yourself."

Her brows furrowed in confusion but then understanding flooded her face and she smiled back.

"It wasn't just me… it was you, Dick. You willed me back to life and… and my powers listened." she grabbed his hands in hers. "I didn't heal myself, you healed me."

Still holding her other hand he reached out to cup her face. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

"All I knew was that I couldn't lose my safe haven." he whispered softly and that's all it took for her to fall into his arms.

She clung to his shirt, buried her face in the curve of his neck and started sobbing. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her on his lap and started rocking her gently. He loved how warm and familiar she felt in his hold, how solid and safe she was. He pressed a loving, desperate kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"I love you so much." he mumbled into her skin. Rachel shivered and hugged him tighter.

"I love you, too."

Dick leaned away and took her face in his hands, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Let's get outta here, huh? We need to get you cleaned up."

She glanced at the blood on her clothes, then moved her gaze to his own bloody shirt and jacket.

"You don't look exactly better, you know?"

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, thanking God she was still here.

"Yeah, it was my favorite jacket. Now I have to burn it." they both laughed, happy to relax and lighten up, but looking at her face made him worried again. "You sure you're okay?"

Instead of answering Rachel stood up on her own and reached a hand out to him.

"Definitely."

He took it gratefully and got up to his feet, then immediately pulled her closer, crushing her to him.

"I am never letting you go again." he said, his voice hoarse and heavy from emotion. 

Rachel melted into him and took a deep breath.

"Please, don't."

Over her head he noticed Bruce standing by the church's door. His father smiled proudly at him and nodded, then slowly turned around and walked out, disappearing in the light of day.

[demigodlunar]

Scars - Chapter 4

-- Trigger Warning: Mentions of self-harm and bad parenting. Read at your own risk.

Chapter 4 - End It Cleanly Mclean

Piper flopped onto her immaculately made bed after her morning run with her mother, rumpling up the covers a little bit and enjoying the brief moments of silence before-

“Models do not flop onto their beds, daughter, they sit on the edge daintily.” A saccharine sweet voice lilted from outside Piper’s bedroom.

Piper stifled her groan and got up quietly, remaking her bed and smoothing her hands over the glossy silk sheets. She made sure not to miss a spot, because her mother, the amazing model Aphrodite Mclean, was no doubt watching her every move from the doorway.

“I’m sorry, mother, “ Piper said quietly, looking down at her feet that her mother commented were “too big” to be from a woman, “I won’t do it again.”

She looked up and locked eyes with her mother, the most beautiful, and cruelest, person Piper had ever met. That one thought of rebelliousness died away, and Piper forcefully looked back down respectfully at her feet.

Aphrodite had silky black hair that made its way down her back in ringlets, with only the most expensive products used on her luscious locks. With chocolate brown eyes like those of a feline. She was thin as a toothpick, with a curvy, full body which attracted a lot of men, and sometimes even women. Aphrodite’s skin was fair and spotless, her nails and clothes always complimenting each other and the rest of her. Piper really wished she hadn’t inherited her mother's insane beauty.

Her mother did another once over of Piper’s bedroom, trying to find something to critique. Not finding any flaws, she pursed her lips, flipped her hair over her shoulder and promptly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Piper let out a breath she didn’t know she was even holding, and it made her plop back down onto her bed and bury her head in her hands.

Why couldn’t I have just gone with Dad?

~~~~~~~~~~

Tristan Mclean met Aphrodite Ouranos at a theatre gathering. He was immediately struck by her beauty and charm, and she seemed to like him just as much. They started going out after a week, and dated for a couple months before getting married.

After they had Piper, Tristan and Aphrodite made it big, Tristan with a high-paying acting career which required him to move around a lot, and Aphrodite with a modeling job. Both of the jobs needed a lot of traveling, but someone needed to stay and take care of Piper, the beautiful baby who inherited her mother’s beauty and her father’s smile and hair.

So while Tristan went on world tours and visited iconic cities and landmarks, Aphrodite would stay at home and take care of Piper. Needless to say, she hated the job, and wanted to dump her daughter in an orphanage to be taken care of by someone else, but then an idea struck her.

If she could raise Piper to be exactly like her, independent and flawless, it would help Aphrodite’s modeling and parenting. She was wrong of course, but she obviously didn’t think that. The result of her carelessness was a five year old running around a large empty estate, eating whatever she wanted and doing whatever she pleased.

There were many, many times when Piper had been left alone for long periods of time, and she did learn to be independent, but vowed to never become like her mother. Once Piper hit her middle school years, Aphrodite realized just how beautiful her daughter was, even more so, than Aphrodite herself. That was a problem.

So she shipped Piper off to a ladies academy for middle schoolers, and when Piper came back the summer before her first year at high school, she was… exactly the same. No manners had been changed, no clothing choice had been improved, nothing.

That’s when Aphrodite took the manner into her own manicured fingers. She critiqued Piper on anything and everything she did, even if it was the slightest misstep or a small snort that escaped her mouth. At the start, Piper rebelled against her, but Aphrodite oppressed her so much that Piper gave in and listened to her mother's every whim, and stayed quiet through every admonishment.

That was what made Piper start cutting.

It was small at first, just a little glance at a knife or razor and wondering how it would feel against her skin. Then, light traces with the sharp blades on her wrist, seeing how light she could go to draw blood. What pushed past her tipping point was when Piper was idly drawing the knife across her arm, not enough to see blood, but enough to feel a small sting, and her mother walked into the bathroom to see what was taking her so long.

She took one cold look at the blade, and the marks on Piper’s arm and left the bathroom. Piper stared after her, but when she came back, it wasn’t with a hug, or words of help to drag Piper out of the world of a depression.

It was a razor. A pink razor with a bejeweled hilt.

Aphrodite held it out to Piper and said only two words: “Use that.”

Since that day, Piper seemed to enjoy when her mother would leave her alone to do her modeling, because Piper had the day to cut herself happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now don’t get her wrong. Piper wasn’t suicidal for two reasons. The first was her father and her friends. She tried to resent her father for leaving her alone with her monster of a mother, but he was too kind for her to hate him, and the couple days a year he came and stayed with them were the best. And her friends, well, they were the only people who kept her sane while she was here. Annabeth, Reyna, Thalia, Leo. They were the best friends anybody could ask for, and they supported her whenever she felt sad. They didn’t know about the cutting.

The second was that she was too cowardly to try to take her life. Afraid of hurting her friends. Afraid that it would all be for nothing.

So she didn’t do anything farther than cutting.

Piper realized that thinking about the past and sitting doing nothing but dawdling was really unproductive. She took out her phone and went to check if there were any new messages, and she saw a text from Thalia. So she replied.

(AN: Thalia, Piper)

Today - 11:34 AM

hey Pipes

hey Thals

wassup

Oh nothing, just trying to get away from my tyrannical mother. Normal day.

nothing much, you?

i’m here with my brother at one of my dad’s interview things

Brother?

Piper couldn’t remember Thalia mentioning anything about siblings before. And she did the normal thing and asked Thalia about it.

you have a brother?

It was a long time before Thalia responded, but when she did, Piper snatched up the phone to see her response.

yeah

Piper felt betrayed, she thought they told each other everything. But then again, she had no room to talk.

excuse me, but how come you’ve never told me about him?

never came up

fine, you win, for now. show me a pic?

Thalia sent a picture of a blond-haired boy with the bluest eyes Piper had ever seen. The thing was, she knew this blond-haired boy.

It was Jason Grace, the only person that even came close to Annabeth’s record setting grades. Once he had beaten her by a percent on a English test, and Annabeth was fuming for days, while Piper and the rest of their friends snickered at her back. But Piper never connected the dots, like how he and Thalia had the same last name.

He was also in her math class during Freshman year, and he sat two seats to her right. Piper could remember clearly some moments of that class.

Like when the teacher would ask the class a question, and Jason’s hand would be the only one up so she called on him. He would bite his lower lip and read out the answer in a confident but quiet voice, like he didn’t want anyone to notice him. Then, once Jason got the question right, his posture would straighten, in a proud way. His eyes would light up like a cloudless day sky and his lips would stretch into a smile, making the scar on his upper lip appear more prominently. Jason would push the glasses up the bridge of his nose, and sit back in his chair, satisfied.

One second. Two.

What. Was. That. Piper shook her head and felt her cheeks become hot. She barely knew Jason, yet she had been paying so much more attention to him than she thought she was. Idly, she wondered if his glasses and the tattoo of glasses she had on her shoulder were related in any way.

Suddenly dizzy, she remembered that Thalia was waiting for an answer. With her thoughts off somewhere else, she mindlessly typed a response to Thalia’s question. The good news, it was the truth. The bad news, Thalia would never let her live this down.

After she felt her head clear, she brought her attention back to the conversation and her eyes widened.

oh, that cute boy you sit with at lunch sometimes? He’s really good looking.

“Crap!” Piper yelled, for once not even afraid that her mother will come in and lecture her about the dangers of swearing.

She could just imagine Thalia cackling her witchy laugh wherever she was. Piper started to type in a message to tell Thalia to please, please not tell her brother about that message when a new message popped up at the top.

Piper, honey, I am leaving for my photoshoot now. Please keep the house clean... and no guests. -Mother >:(

Perfect, her mother is gone, now she can go through with that brunch that she planned with her friends. Then she remembered Thalia. Stupid ADHD, hopping from one topic to the other.

It was too late though, because Thalia has already replied.

yes, he is, and he’s also here looking at our conversation.

Piper felt herself blush scarlet red, and she bet anyone could see it, even on her darker complexion. Now she was in for it, she would never be able to face Thalia or Jason ever again. And once Thalia told the rest of their friends…

Piper stood up and started getting ready for the brunch with her friends she planned. Both mentally and physically. Gods, Leo was going to have such a field day when he found out about this.

Well, the routine was only just starting. ____________________________________________________________

This chapter was fun to write haha

-Blossom ;)

[crackspines]

Just for the Night

Tim Drake didn’t think he was a bad kid, but the evidence was mounting. Parents of good children could stand to be in the same room with them without it dissolving into a screaming match about an A- on a spelling test. Parents of good children don’t have to fly around the world for ten months out of the year to get away from their kids, leaving their multi-million dollar company unattended.

And lastly, Tim thought as he dabbed his bloody lip with a square of toilet paper, if he wasn’t a bad kid, then they wouldn’t have to hit him.

So really, a rational mind could only come to one conclusion.

Tim’s eyes watered in the mirror, and he gave up on the lip. It was swelling now and most of the blood was trapped under the skin. Chapped lips and a backhand to the face is a recipe for disaster.

Heading back to his bedroom, he moved quickly and silently, inching the door closed behind him. In the wake of their family fight, the house had gone completely quiet. Even the sound of a nine-year-old’s slippers on hardwood was like a gunshot to Tim’s ears. His nerves felt like live wire, like every little noise and sensation was grating on him with a serrated blade.

After settling in under his comforter, Tim’s eyes didn’t close. His face ached fiercely, making him too uncomfortable for sleep. Even without the pain, his mind kept the events of tonight rolling through his thoughts on repeat.

He could see his mother’s hand swinging for his face. Beside her, his father had pulled off his belt and was brandishing it in the air. Both of their eyes were alive with a hate that Tim could hardly believe was directed at him.

He never thought he’d long for the days when they left him alone for months at a time while traveling. Six months ago, when they told him Drake Industries was in trouble, and they’d have to stay in Gotham semi-permanently, he’d leaped for joy. They finally had the chance to be a loving family living under one roof. It was his fantasy come to life.

And now Tim had to leave.

As quickly as he’d gotten into it, he slid out of bed. His school bag was stuffed with books and a school tablet. He placed it all neatly on his desk. Hopefully, Mrs. Mac could return it to his teachers.

Instead of books, Tim filled the bag with a few sturdy outfits, toiletries, a granola bar, and his camera. He knew the latter was probably a bad idea, but he couldn’t bear to part with it. His parents had given it to him for his seventh birthday.

He took a step back and stared at the half-full bag that contained what would soon be his only possessions. He bit his lip out of habit and winced as the gash opened, blood dribbling down his chin.

After wiping the blood away, he reached under his bed and pulled out his Batman blanket. His last nanny had given it to him years ago, sewing it herself. He knew he shouldn’t take it. It was childish. Something for babies. His parents had tried to throw it away, but he’d begged them to let him keep it.

After a moment, he hastily shoved the blanket into the backpack. He quickly zipped it closed, though there was no one around to see his moment of weakness.

_____

Jason Todd didn’t consider himself a good kid, but he’d definitely met worse. He may do what he has to to survive, but that never involved hurting another person. No gangs, no drugs, and no supervillains. That was more than he could say for most of the homeless middle school dropouts in his neighborhood.

His relatively clean conscience wasn’t the only reason why he stuck mostly to petty theft. Jason didn’t want trouble. If he wanted to stay alive and out of the foster care system, he couldn’t afford it either. He kept his nose in his own business, and people left him alone for the most part.

His personal rules went out the window, however, when he came across the batmobile, idling unsupervised in Crime Alley, just a few blocks from his squat. As soon as Jason got a good look at those custom, sleek, black tires….

Well, he considered himself a decent kid, not a fucking saint.

He’d already removed two bolts from the first tire when he realized he wasn’t alone. At the movement from the corner of his eyes, he jumped up from his crouch, brandishing the tire iron.

“Come out from behind the dumpster, creep,” he growled, expecting some two-bit thug or maybe even Batman to step into the dim light of the street lamp.

Instead, it was a little kid with dark hair, blue eyes, and a hell of a fat lip. Even from a couple yards away, Jason could see how his hands gripped the straps of his backpack like a lifeline, knuckles white. The bag was almost as big as him.

“That’s the batmobile,” the kid blurted out.

Jason raised an eyebrow, and the young boy’s ears went slightly pink. “I noticed. What are you doing out here, kid?”

Because it was obvious he didn’t belong. The kid was a little skinny for Jason’s taste, but his clothes were quality, and he’d definitely been bathing on the regular. There wasn’t a single speck of dirt under his nails.

Instead of answering Jason’s question, he eyed his shoes as he scuffed them against the dirty pavement. “You shouldn’t take Batman’s tires. He’s a hero. He fights bad guys and makes the city a better place.”

Definitely hadn’t been on the streets long, Jason thought.

The older boy rolled his eyes. “Since he’s such a great guy, I’m sure he won’t mind donating his tires to the cause.”

The other boy didn’t have anything to say to that, so they lapsed into silence. Instead of picking up the tire iron and finishing the job or heading for the hills, Jason eyed the kid.

“Your parents do that to your face?”

The younger boy’s hand drifted up to his bloody lip, seemingly without his permission. “N-no.”

“Lemme guess,” Jason drawled, “you fell.”

The boy’s eyes went wide, and Jason snorted. “Word of advice, kid: come up with a better excuse before child services catches up with you.”

“I don’t want to go into foster care,” the kid mumbled.

“Yeah. You, me, and every other kid in this city. It’s the stuff of nightmares.”

There was a rustle of movement on the roof above him, and Jason froze. He’d been perfectly willing to risk Batman’s wrath when it was only his bacon getting cooked.

“Run, kid,” he ordered, eyeing the roofline with suspension.

“Why?”

Internally groaning, Jason grabbed Tim by the elbow and pulled him along. The kid didn’t put up any kind of fight, which would get him killed or worse pretty quick on these streets. Jason put that out of his mind for the moment, though, running down the unlit alley with the younger boy in tow.

The kid kept gasping something about not needing to run from Batman. When Jason finally stopped to catch his breath, he said, “Second word of advice: Batman is not your friend, kid.”

A stubborn line in the other boy’s jaw appeared before Jason’s eyes.

“Yes, he is,” the boy said mulishly. “He’s a hero.”

Letting the matter drop for the moment, Jason appraised the boy again. He was painfully small and would be easy prey for predators, traffickers, and all manner of bad guys that roamed Crime Alley. Honestly, he’d be surprised if the kid lasted the night.

But that wasn’t Jason’s problem, he reminded himself. His squat was only a block or so away, and there was half a can of tomato soup and a few cheetos waiting for him. He could barely keep himself alive and fed. He couldn’t go involving himself with every runaway he happened across.

Jason heard himself ask, “You have somewhere to stay tonight?”

The kid glanced back the way they’d come, and Jason remembered he’d found him behind a dumpster. There were worse places to spend the night. The smell kept most people away, and it’d be warm enough on a September night.

Jason had certainly had worse, so why did the thought of this kid curled up on the dirty ground all night make his chest hurt?

“I’ve got a place,” he said slowly, regretting it even before the words were out of his mouth. This kid was undoubtedly trouble. “Nothing fancy. Four walls, roof, whatever. If you wanted--”

“I could stay with you?” The kid finished eagerly.

“One night offer only,” Jason amended gruffly.

There was a wetness to his eyes, and Jason hastily looked away before it could tug anymore at his heart. But instead of crying, the kid smiled.

“That’s ok! One night would be great,” the kid said brightly. “People don’t usually want me around longer than that anyway.”

Jason swallowed at that. “What’s your name anyway, kid?”

“Tim,” he said, and then stuck out his hand like a miniature of a businessman on TV.

Despite himself, he laughed. “Jason.”

The answering smile was blinding. “Nice to meet you, Jason.”

He finally gave in and shook the boy’s hand, if only to get him to put it down. “Let’s go home, kid.”

“Home for the night,” he said, walking along Jason without complaint.

“Right,” the older boy said doubtfully. “Just for the night.”

Let me know what you think/read more here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31240799

[hateswifi]

Making Do (With What Life Give Us): Part 1

Asked to me by @abrx2002

For a Daminette what if She met the wayne family young. Dick tought gymnastics and Romanian, Jason taught street skills such and spanish, Tim taught detective skills and business tactics. By the time she met damian at like 12 she was an adorable badass. They later became food friends and started dating a bit before she was ladybug. Because she knew their secret and tikki was alright with it after knowing they were also heros. Later after the class betrayal damian shows up and salg is everywhere

----------------------------------

Marinette had been going to Gotham Academy on scholarship since before her mum had died. She made a lot of friends who helped her out in the long run. That was until CPS found a permanent home for her. Right now, she was missing her brothers, well her adopted brothers, dearly as she looked at the window. A family from Paris had adopted her and now she was on her way to a new life. She thought over her life up until this point and wondered how could she have lost it all so quickly?

Young Marinette, around the age of eight, had been running to class, when she ran into Dick Grayson, the sophomore class president.

“I’m so sorry,” Marinette said picking herself up off the ground, tears glistening in the corner of her eyes.

“It’s ok there is no need to cry,” he said, crouching down to the little girl’s height.

“Oh no! I’m going to be late! Mum is going to be angry!” Marinette said tears spring from her eyes.

“No come on I’ll walk you to class, and you won’t get in trouble ok?” He asks standing holding out his hand.

“You promise?” Marinette asks, grabbing his hand.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Dicks says leading her to class. When he led her to class he opened the door and greeted the teacher. “Sorry Miss, but Marinette here was helping me for a school promotion video that the class presidents are putting together.”

“Of course Richard. Marinette please take your seat,” the teacher responds as sweet as honey. Marinette does as the teacher says and takes her seat. She waves to Dick as he heads to his class.

When Marinette got home that day she drew a sparkly thank you card for Dick. The next day she was going to give it to Dick after school, but when the final bell had rung and she had left her class she was stopped by a couple of fifth-graders.

“Look at little miss clutz,” one of the boys, Samuel, said cornering her in the locker room.

“Oh, what’s that?” One of the other boys, Isaac, sneered snatching the card.

“Give that back!” Marinette screamed. “That’s not for you!”

“Leave her alone she didn't do anything to you,” a darker voice said entering the locker room. Marinette room the distraction from the new voice to stop on Samuel’s foot and grab the card.

“Come on guys, move! I’m not dealing with Jason!” Isaac said, grabbing Samuel by the arm and dragging him away.

“Are you ok, Pixie-Pop?” The voice from earlier, apparently Jason, asked coming around a corner.

“Ya,” she says looking at the ground. “But I was going to give this to Dick before I left, but I can’t.”

“Grayson?” Jason asks sitting on the ground leaning up against a locker across from her.

“Yes, how’d you know?” She asks sitting on the ground.

“He’s my brother,” Jason sighs. “Why’d you make him a card anyway?”

“He got me out of a tardy yesterday and didn’t yell at me when I ran into him,” Marinette explains. “Would you be able to give it to him?”

“Of course I promise I’ll give it to him, Pixie-Pop!” Jason said standing up as she held out her card.

“Thank you, Jason!” Marinette said, smiling before skipping away.

Jason leaves after grabbing his homework from his locker and heads to the car Alfred was driving. When he gets in the car Dick is already there. “Here you go,” Jason says, handing him the handmade card. “From a little Asian girl.”

“Marinette?” Dick asks taking the card.

“Ya I think so, how do you know her?” Jason asks, slouching.

“She’s a sweet little clumsy girl. She had the start of a panic attack when she realized she was going to be late,” Dick said, looking at the glittery card. Tim slid in the car next to his brothers.

“Who was going to be late?” Tim asks closing the door.

“A little girl Dick met and saved from a tardy,” Jason says.

“That makes sense, but how’d you meet this little girl?” Tim asks, buckling his seat belt.

"She was cornered by a group of fifth-graders," Jason explains nonchalantly looking out his window.

"She gets bullied," Tim asks.

"Apparently for clumsy nature," Jason responds.

"We could help her," Dick says.

"Ya and that would go over like a fart in church. Just think, hey little girl, we can teach you to fight if you get in this car and come to our house," Jason says sarcastically, looking Dick like he is dumb. Well, at least his suggestion was dumb.

"I guess so," Dick says, his usually bright smile turned to a frown. After that, the rest of the car ride was filled with a heavy silence.

When Marinette had gotten to her family apartment she called home from school, her mum laid on the couch surrounded by multiply empty bottles. She tries to quietly walk to her room, in hopes her mum wouldn't hear her enter late. "Nette, why are you home late?" the drunken woman asks, sitting up slowly. "It sounds like you're avoiding me, are you in trouble?"

"No mum, I just wanted to let you sleep," Marinette responds, trying to walk to her room faster.

"Are you sure, because it looks like you have a hole in your uniform," the woman says, now standing in front of her.

"I'm sorry mum, I tripped. I didn't mean to rip my tights," Marinette says, backing up slowly, almost curling in on herself.

"You're so clumsy! Do you know how much the goddamn uniforms cost?! No! because you're an ungrateful brat!" she screamed. She smacked Marinette across the face. "Get out! I don't want to see your face!"

"I'm sorry, mum! Please don't kick me out again! The hole is fine I can sew it!" Marinette pleaded, earning herself a kick.

"And risk us looking poor!? I don't think so now, get! out!" she says, throwing Marinette towards the door. She wished her dad had stuck around, maybe her mother wouldn't be like this. Her father, she doesn't know much about him, left a couple of weeks before Marinette was born. Her mum had resented Marinette since she had been born. The only family Marinette had in the world and her mum treated her like this.

Marinette was glad it was close to summer so she wouldn't freeze on the streets and she hoped that the Gotham Rogues or heroes wouldn't find her. She found a nice little alleyway and took out her pencil and homework and started doing her homework. As she completed the last of it, she finally let the tears slip down her cheeks and onto the paper. She fell asleep to the sounds of sirens and honking horns.

She woke up early the next morning to the sun shining down on her. Her stomach grumbled so she stood up and left the alley where she saw a grocery store just down the street with apples out front. She knew her mum would get in trouble if people knew how she slept outside last night or how she actually got those bruises. She walked by the grocery store and grabbed an apple and ran down the street toward school.

School that day was normal, she caught a glimpse of a black long-hair boy with blue eyes looking at her in the hall, he kinda looked like a grumpier Dick. After final bell, her teacher had pulled her aside to ask about her check and Marinette explained that a kid had hit hurt at the park after school. and the other bruises had been because she's clumsy. The teacher had given her a weary look and told her to head home.

"Mum, I'm home," Marinette says, opening the door. She had been home a bit earlier since she ran all the way home. Her mum was passed out at the table, bills under her head. Her mum works hard every night and when she came home in the mornings she was either high, drunk, very sore, or all of the above. She got paid a decent amount for her work, but most of it went to bills and alcohol. Marinette was going to the academy on scholarship. Today her mum was high, and probably wouldn't be aware of much until dinner. Marinette walked to the fridge to see if she could make anything for when her mum woke up. There were some green beans, carrots, and sauce in the fridge, and she knew she had rice in the cabinets. She was going to take some money and pick up some chicken to make a stir-fry. She had been cooking for a while or else she wouldn't eat because her mum was always too tired to cook.

After she grabbed some chicken and onions, she walked to the front to pay. This is a small, family-run business she goes to because the prices are usually better. "Sir, this morning I didn't have money on me and I took an apple. I'm sorry, but may I pay for that now," Marinette says. She is standing on her tiptoes trying to give the man the money.

The man, the father of the owner smiles softly. The poor girl was bruised on her face and bit on her arms. "Thank you for apologizing, but I'll pay for this. Please come back if you have a problem at home," the man says with a small, but warm smile.

"Mum tries her best. I just want her not to be angry when she wakes up," Marinette says, putting the five-dollar bill into the tip jar. "I'm sorry again about the apple, mum was too tired to cook last night. Thank you for everything."

"It was honorable for you to come back and try to pay for the apple, not many would," he says, waving to the girl as she leaves the store.

She makes the food and by the time it's done her mum is up and hungry. As she sat at the bottle filled table, her mum looked at the food. "Did you take my hard-earned money without my permission?" the woman asks stabbing a piece of chicken.

"I.. I just wanted you to be happy," Marinette said, a stray tear landing on her plate.

"I would be happy if you didn't take my money without my permission. Money doesn't grow on trees!" she screamed by now Marinette was eating a bit faster fearing the inevitable. "Go to your room, you're wasting too much food."

"Yes, sorry mum," Marinette says, sliding off the chair. She grabs her backpack off her chair and walks with her head down to her room. Her room is attached to the fire escape, so she sits looking over the city and does her homework. Her mum was home tonight, so she couldn't even go back out later and finish her dinner. After about an hour or so, the sound of splintering wood rang throughout the apartment. Around five minutes later she hears her mum's blood-curdling scream. Marinette, not wanting to get hurt, runs up the fire escape. She holds her breath as she hears heavy footsteps walk around the house, but no soon after she sees two black cars pull away.

She runs inside and sees her mum's body, bloody, on the floor. She runs over and pulls her mum's head onto her lap. She leans over her, hugging her while crying. "I'm so sorry, mum."

Her mum raises a bloody hand to her daughter's face. Her once beautiful dark brown hair, now blood-soaked. "Mari...nette, I... am sorry.... you will.... do great things one day. I... lo.. love you," she says before her bright blue eyes look off far into the distance and dim.

When the cops found her twenty minutes later, Marinette still sat there, rocking back and forth asking her mum to come back to her. "Excuse me, dear, we have to take her now," the nice cop-lady said, trying to pick up the now bloody girl.

"No please! She's all I have left. She didn't deserve this! She said she loved me! If she loved me she wouldn't have left like daddy! Please is she ok?" Marinette screamed, trying to hug her mum's corpse in hopes it was just a terrible nightmare.

"Dear, we're going to wait in the car, ok? The nice paramedics are going to do everything they can," she says, picking the girl, who should weigh more, up. She walked with the girl down the three flights of stairs. Outside there were some reporters along with a couple of the bat family including Nightwing, Red Hood, and the newest Robin. The two eldest birds paused, looking at the poor bloody bluenette.

"Is she hurt?" Nightwing asks, looking at the bruises.

"Besides some bruises from what looks like domestic abuse," the nice cop-lady answers the hero.

"No, mum was just tired! She would never hurt me on purpose! It was my fault, I shouldn't have tripped then she wouldn't have gotten angry," Marinette explains, grabbing Nightwing's hand. She cries while pleading. "She said she loves me! She didn't mean to hurt me!"

"It's ok," Nightwing says, leaning down to hug the girl. He rubs small circles into her back.

"Dear, it's time to go, were going to take you to the station before you go to the group home, ok?" the cop-lady says slowly.

"But what about mum? She's fine, right?" Marinette asks, breaking away from Nightwing.

"I'm sorry honey, she's gone. But don't you worry she loved you," the nice cop-lady explained.

"No... she's all I have left. She can't be gone! She left me!" Marinette screams, running away from everyone around her.

"We got a runner!" Robin says. "We'll go get her." The bat fam runs down the street after where they thought she went.

"Nightwing, you know her?" Batman asks, looking out for the girl. He sees her but doesn't say anything, wanting her to have some time and for him wanting answers.

"She's the little third grader that I helped get out a tardy," he explains, looking at the poor girl.

"The one you wanted to teach self-defense to?" Hood asks, getting ready to jump down there.

"Yes, that's the one," he explains.

"Can we foster her?" Robin asks, looking at Bruce.

"She has no one else," Hood pleads.

"She has blue eyes and black hair," Nightwing adds.

"We'll talk about it later," Bruce says, dropping down to where she sits. They grab her and head back to her apartment. She gets in the car quietly, her eyes blank and cheeks tear-stained, and bruised. After the cruiser pulled away and the reporters had left, the bat fam headed home.

"So can we have a little sister?" Dick asks, plopping down in the spinning chair in the Batcave.

"You didn't let us get sent to a group home, would you really let that sweet little get sent there?" Jason pleads

"I'll see what I can do," Bruce grumbles before leaving.

The next day during school, which Marinette didn't show up for, understandable, Bruce, Alfred, and the Wayne's lawyer head to the police department to pick up the poor girl. When they walk in everyone literally stops and stares. "Are you officer Kansinsky?" Bruce asks as he got to the back.

"Yes this is her, how may I help you?" she asks, shaking his hand.

"We're here about Marinette Jiayang. We would like to foster her until she can find a permanent home," Bruce says.

"Of course! Do you have the papers?" she says. "She had a rough night, right now she's sleeping on the couch in the commissioner's office. What made you want to help her?"

"Well, you see I actually love children. I have three, Dick, Jason, and Tim, they're adopted. They convinced me to take her in because they already help her at school and she deserves the same chance at life as my sons do," Bruce explains, holding out the papers.

"Ok well this seems to be in order, but you're not off the hook that easily. CPS may drop by unannounced, ya know to catch you as natural as possible. I'm going to go grab her," Officer Kansinsky explained. After a couple of minutes, she reappeared with a sleepy Marinette in her arms.

"Bye-bye nice cop-lady," Marinette says sleepily with a small wave.

"Bye-bye, Mari, I hope you enjoy your time with the Waynes," she said, kissing the sleepy girl's head. She then hands her to Bruce and he smiles softly. She had been through hell just like him and his sons, but he will try and make the most of her time with him and his family.

"Alfred, your newest grandchild," Bruce says, buckling her into her seat.

"Sir, you might have a problem," Alfred says, driving to the boy's school. "You need to pick her up a uniform, her uniform is too bloody to clean, and the work she missed from today."

"Ok, make sure the boys don't wake her up, she didn't sleep last night," Bruce explains, getting out of the cars and walks toward the entrance. When he gets to the front desk he says "I'm here to change guardianship, pick up a uniform, and work."

"Who's guardianship?" the receptionist says, pulling up the files on his computer.

"Marinette Jiayang, I'm her new guardian. I also need to buy her a new uniform. Am I able to do that here? Also, she wasn't in school today, how can I pick up her work?" Bruce asks.

"I'll call the teacher about the homework. What size do you need for Miss Marinette? Will her name be changed?" the receptionist asked.

"I don't know about the size, a small, maybe? The name change is up to her, but I don't think so," Bruce says.

The receptionist gets up and leaves. When he comes back a couple of minutes later with three uniforms. "These are covered by her scholarship," he explains, handing him the uniforms.

"Hello, I have Marinette's stuff. I'm a teacher aid," shes says, handing him the work. "There are also some cards and good wishes with the work. Will she be back tomorrow?"

"Thank you. I don't think she'll be back till Monday," Bruce says.

"Is she ok?" she asks.

"She's sleeping in the car right now, she was up all night," Bruce explains then turns to the receptionist. "Can I take my three sons out right now? I want them to meet their sister."

"Of course," he said, picking up a phone. "Richard Greyson, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake to the office please, you're dismissed." After the boys got to the office, they headed to the car. They were told to be quiet because Marinette was sleeping.

"Miss Marinette, it's time to head inside," Alfred said from the front. The rest sat frozen, not wanting to startle the poor girl. Marinette rubbed her eyes with a yawn.

"Where... where am I? Jason, Dick, is that you?" Marinette asks, oddly calm while looking around.

"Yes, it's us. We convinced our father to foster for you," Dick says with a smile.

"I'm hungry, I haven't had a full meal in a couple of days," she answers as Alfred opens the door for her to get out. "Mum got mad last night and said I couldn't finish dinner."

"What about the night before?" Bruce asks, holding out his hand for her to take.

"I had tripped and tore my tights. Mum got angry and told me to get out. I stole an apple the next morning after I finished my homework and fell asleep," Marinette explained as Alfred opened the door, her new adopted brothers following behind her.

"Did you sleep outside, but that's dangerous," he says.

"Yes, I slept in a quiet alley and woke up to the sun. When is dinner going to be?" Marinette asks, looking around the entrance.

"It could be within the hour, Miss Marinette. I'll show you to your room," Alfred said, taking Marinette's hand to lead her upstairs.

After the car pulled away and Marinette was out of sight, Dick exclaimed. "Can I teach her self-defense?"

"No! That's no fair! I want to teach her self-defense!" Jason whined.

"How about we see if she wants to learn first. Now, boys time for homework. I'm guessing Marinette will join you after," Bruce said walking to his office.

Around ten minutes later, Marinette appeared wearing one of Jason's shirts that could count as a dress. "Miss Marinette Master Bruce has informed me that we will get you clothes you can wear tomorrow morning along with all other essentials," Alfred said, pulling out a seat next to the rest of the boys.

"Will I be able to have anything from home?" Marinette asks, scooching to the edge of her chair so she could swing her legs.

"I'll talk to Master Bruce about it later. If it would make you more comfortable, I feel like I can arrange it," Alfred said, handing her a pencil. "Now do your work, Miss." He finished before walking away to prepare dinner.

"Thank you, guys! I probably would still be at the police station or put at a group home if you hadn’t talked to your dad," Marinette said with a sad smile.

"We were once in the same position," Tim said. "We haven't met yet, but my name is Tim and I’m your new brother."

"Hi! I'm Marinette!" she says, smiling before looking down at her page.

"How are you feeling Pixie-Pop? We heard what happened yesterday," Jason says.

"I'm tired and I miss mum, but before she went bye-bye she seemed happy," Marinette said with a sad smile.

Dinner came and Marinette ate three portions, she was malnourished. Alfred tried to warn her to slow down so she wouldn't throw up, she listened. She went to bed early.

-----------------------------------------------------

Sorry it took so long, I hope you enjoy. Three more parts coming out soon.

[toosicktoocare]

No one asked for this... I just still have BatFam on the mind.

Jason’s perched on the ledge of a roof, weight shifting between the balls of his feet, eager to bring some sense of warmth back to his limbs. He scans the dark alleyway below him, finding it understandably empty considering the single-digit temperature with the aggressive wind chill that’s practically seeping through his thick suit.

“Remind me again,” he starts, dragging his eyes across dark shadows until they fall on Dick, who’s corner covered and peeping around a grimy brick wall, “what we’re looking for? In the middle of January? When it’s cold as fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Dick’s voice crackles in his ear, hoarse, thick, a few notes lower than normal. “Suspicious activity?” Dick’s words end with a few coughs, and Jason sighs, watching as Dick muffles the coughs into the crook of his arm.

“Suspicious activity from a sketchy tip,” Jason reminds him. “A tip that’s probably not even valid. My guess is some boomer bumped into a few drunks on her way out of a convenience store.” He stands when his calf muscles begin to burn, and he shakes out his legs a few times, mindful of his balance, before dropping back down into a crouch and casting the barrel of his gun down the alleyway behind Dick.

“The message said area g-gang violence.” Dick coughs again, harder this time, and Jason swallows back a wince.

“Anything in Gotham can be perceived as area gang violence,” Jason mutters flatly when Dick sucks in a shuddering breath. “You good, golden boy?”

“Aw, Jay, are you worried about me?”

Jason groans deep in his throat. “Not a chance, Dickie Bird. I’m just trying to figure out who took your one remaining brain cell. Surely you’ve realized that you’re too sick to be out playing superhero right now.” 

“B would kill me if he found out I had information on a potential gang and didn’t follow through with an investigation.” Dick’s voice comes out in small, shuddering gasps, and he groans lowly into the comm before falling into a sneezing fit that leaves Jason sighing pointedly.

“And you don’t think he’d kill you harder if he finds out you’re risking your precious health?” He cocks his head to the side when Dick briefly whips his gaze up to him, and he can imagine Dick’s eye roll based on the huff that echoes in his ear.

“How would he kill me harder if I’m already dead?”

There’s a flick of movement in Jason’s peripherals, and he whips his gaze and gun to the left just in time to see a shadow passing under a street light. He starts toward it, careful, gun steady in his hands.

“You could try the whole coming back from the dead thing. I could give you some pointers.” His tone is flat, and Dick sighs into the comm.

“Jay...”

“Save it, Wing,” Jason mutters, barrel of the gun following a line of four men stumbling into the alleyway. “I think I found your area gang.” He’s got a clear shot on the leader, one rubber bullet to the knee and he’d be down for weeks, if not longer.

“Don’t,” Dick growls into his ear, and Jason’s shoulders tighten as he whips a frown toward Dick, who’s already moving toward the four men.

“Rubber bullets can still kill from that height.”

“Careful, Wing,” Jason starts, still following each movement easily with the tip of his gun. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jason laughs, a sly smile playing at his lips. “There’s my little rebel bird.”

“Okay, A) I’m older than you,” Dick starts around a few wet coughs, “and B) just no.”

Jason laughs louder, promptly distracting the four men, who all jump and turn to squint up at the rooftops.

“Is that the Red Hood?”

Jason offers a wave, fingers waggling. “You got this, Wing?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, coughing harshly, and Jason frowns deeper.

“Are you sure? You kinda sound like you’re dying.”

“Shut up, Hood.”

Jason’s not sure if it’s just because Dick is clearly sick, way too sick to be out playing superhero, but he finds he’s drawn to this level of aggravated sass. Or maybe, he considers, that he’s just finally rubbing off on Dick.

He watches as Dick approaches the crew, arms outstretched, a visible sign of peace, but Jason knows this type well, and Dick only gets about two sentences out before one of the very clear drunks swings at him.

Dick dodges it with practiced ease, and Jason keeps his hand steady on his gun in the minutes that follow, only easing up when Dick’s standing before four unconscious men and phoning Gotham PD.

“I hate to say it, but nicely done, Wing.” Jason stands from his crouch, hissing sharply at the wind that whips against him. Dick’s following silence has Jason frowning, and he looks down to see Dick swaying slightly.

“Wing? You good?”

When Dick still doesn’t reply, Jason’s unnerved enough to leap off the roof, landing just in time to catch Dick when his knees buckle and give out.

“Shit! Dick?” Even through the suit, Jason can feel a worrying heat pouring off Dick in loud waves. On instinct, he begins smoothing his palms down Dick’s back and sides. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Dick grumbles into Jason’s neck, coughing weakly. “Just feel like shit.”

“Clearly,” Jason mutters, shoving Dick back until he’s leaning against the cold brick wall.

Dick instantly hugs himself tightly at the sudden absence of brief warmth, and Jason takes the time that Dick’s able to mostly stand on his own to bite his glove off and slap a palm to Dick’s forehead, finding it unsurprisingly hot and damp to the touch.

“You’re burning up,” he mutters, and Dick shivers hard before him with a groan that falls into a few coughs.

“Weird because I’m freezing.”

“You are such an idiot,” Jason drags out, pulling Dick from the wall and snaking an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “How’d you get here?”

“Grapple hook?” Dick drops his too-hot forehead to Jason’s neck.

“Christ,” Jason mutters, patting his pocket with his free hand for his bike keys. His apartment is a lot closer than the manor, especially if he’s going to have to figure out how to get Dick on his bike without toppling off.

Dick coughs against him, hard, repeated, until he’s gasping for breath and shaking hard at his side.

“Do you need a hospital?”

“Ugh, please no.”

“Great,” Jason says. “We’re going back to mine then. Try to stay awake.”

***

By the time Jason gets Dick into his apartment, Dick’s shivering consistently, and he hasn’t stopped coughing since he got onto the bike minutes before. Jason moves fast, uneasiness threatening to succumb him. He helps Dick change, gets him pumped full of medicine, and when he finally gets Dick into bed, he’s promptly exhausted and falls face first onto the empty side, still in his suit but mask thrown across the floor.

“Jay? You okay?”

Jason laughs lowly into the pillow before he twists his neck until he’s facing Dick. “You would be the one to ask me that when you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Dick stresses, coughing harshly into his fist. “But I kinda feel like it. I thought it was just a cold.”

Jason sits up, smooths one palm across Dick’s forehead as if his temperature would have gone down by now. “Probably was until you decided to run around in the deadass middle of winter.”

Dick groans, dragging an arm over his eyes. “Sorry for wasting your time tonight. And contaminating your bed.”

Jason slips off the bed, patting Dick’s covered leg. “It’s fine. I hate these sheets anyway. Now shut up and sleep.”

Dick nods off mere moments later, a small smile on his lips, and Jason grabs some clean clothes and moves to the bathroom, typing out a text on his way.

To Timmers: D’s sick. Took him back to mine. Can you send a car or someone to get him when you’re done with the charity event?

He’s out of suit and slipping into a fleece hoodie when his phone chimes.

From Timmers: Sure. Is he okay?

To Timmers: Yeah, just Gotham’s second biggest idiot.

From Timmers: Do I even need to ask who the first is?

To Timmers: ;)

***

Jason’s nodding off on the couch when he hears a knock on the door. It startles him enough to leave him cursing under his breath as he shuffles to the door, on edge but still too tired to grab a weapon, a habit he can’t quite break.

He undos the locks and pulls the door open, and any trace of lingering sleep is shoved away in an instant.

“Jason...”

“Bruce,” Jason bites out.

Bruce is standing before him, dressed in a sleek black suit and matching thick coat. He looks worried, and Jason kind of wants to slam the door in his face and just deal with Dick himself.

“I texted Tim.”

“And he informed me that you did. How’s Dick?”

“Alive,” Jason spits out, and Bruce winces visibly before his eyes go soft, somber.

“May I come in?”

Jason wordlessly moves to the side, and Bruce steps in, mindful, quiet, only walking further when Jason points to the bedroom. He follows Bruce to the bedroom, slipping in but staying close to the wall when Bruce drops to the edge of the bed and smooths a careful palm over Dick’s forehead.

Dick stirs under his touch, blinking slowly, damp brow furrowed.

“B?” He croaks out, swallowing back a few coughs.

“Chum,” Bruce says, concern laced heavily in his tone. “You weren’t nearly this bad when we left. What happened?”

“Got a message about a gang,” Dick mutters, wincing at the sharp look Bruce shoots him. “Got it handled. Jay came to cover me.”

Bruce only sighs, smoothing a few damp strands of hair from Dick’s too-warm face. “Well, I’m glad you were diligent in your work, but I do wish you would have waited until you were feeling better. Are you ready to go?”

Dick nods and struggles to sit up, coughing harshly when he swings his legs over the bed. He staggers, and both Bruce and Jason reach out to him, but Jason drops his arms and moves back when Dick steadies himself with a hand to the wall.

“I’m fine.” He manages out in between coughs, yet he’s already shivering and he’s gone far too pale.

Bruce slips out of his coat and drapes it over Dick’s shoulders before snaking an arm around him, pulling him in close.

They start out the room, with Jason following quietly behind, unsure of what to do and not trusting what will come out of his mouth. He stops when Dick suddenly spins around, smiling at him.

“Thanks for the everything, Jay. I’ll get you some new sheets.”

Jason laughs quietly. “Yeah, okay, Dickie Bird. Just get better first.”

“Aw, Jay you are worried about me.”

“No,” Jason spits out flatly, ushering both to the door. “Fuck off.” He slams it to the sound of Dick’s painful mixture of laughing and coughing.