#The batfam are HIGH KEY concerned

[noxcheshire]

Yandere! Damian x Danny

.

.

.

The Al Ghul’s did not believe in love.

In strength, intelligence, in power — always.

But love is a word, a title to use, to manipulate and create whatever they wished from another.

This is a fact: the Al Ghul’s did not believe in love, nor did they feel it.

But Damian thinks that perhaps this is close to it. This funny little feeling in his chest that burns and aches in a way that leaves him breathless. That funny little feeling in his bones that itches to hold Daniel close until he is rooted into his shape and scent. That funny little feeling in his throat that wanted to bite Daniel until only the scars of his teeth remained and Daniel’s blood spilled and stained with life turned cold.

Damian knows this is love, because what else is this need to possess and hold, and tear every other inch of Daniel apart from this world and make him his own?

[stormikitty]

I'm scrapping the original first chapter of The Missing Piece. I don't like how it turned out, so I wrote a new first chapter that I like better.

So, here's the new chapter one of my Batfam and Danny Phantom fanfic, The Missing Piece, which was inspired by "We came to this world together" by @random-ramblings0300 or Cloudy_with_a_chance_of_feels on ao3.

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Chapter 1

Damian stared at the social media post in front of him and couldn't believe his eyes. The picture was posted by a girl he followed who was also a social activist for animal rights. This post was a photo of the teenage goth girl with two of her friends at the zoo. There was something in this picture that didn't seem possible to Damian though.

No. Not something. Someone.

One of the boys next to the goth in the photo looked just like Damian.

If it weren't for some key differences, Damian would have assumed it was a clone or something like that.

The boy had lighter skin than Damian, and blue eyes instead of green. It was hard to guess how tall the boy was just from the picture, but he was skinnier and less built. He was skinny enough that he looked malnourished.

But Damian only knew of one person his age who would look this much like him with lighter skin and blue eyes.

Was it possible that his little brother was alive? Could it really be Danyal in the photo?

"You Okay, little D? You've been holding your breath and staring at your phone for a while," Grayson said in a concerned tone.

Damian was reminded that he was in the living room with Grayson, Todd, Drake, Brown, Cain, Thomas, and Father.

He took a breathe and said "I'm fine," before walking away. He had work to do.

He should probably tell Father about Danyal, but he wasn't sure how to. If he told his father that he had a twin, he would also have to tell him that he had killed said twin. He wasn't ready for that conversation. He didn't think he could talk about Danyal without crying anyway. And Damian would NOT let anyone see him cry.

Damian would eventually tell his father and the others, but right now he had to figure out if the boy in the photo really was his twin brother in the first place. He started by checking if the girl had tagged her friends in the post. She had.

Damian clicked where the screen said @Astro_Haunt, and sure enough, the account page that popped up on screen was the one he was looking for. The boy went by the name Danny and was apparently quite interested in astronomy. It was most of what he posted about.

Damian did further research and hacked a few records and found out that Danny was adopted by the Fentons at the age of five (2 weeks after Damian and Danyal's battle to the death), had an older sister who was adopted by the same people when she was two, had amnesia at the time he was adopted, and went to a school called Casper High with his older sister.

He also found out that the Fenton parents were ghost hunters.

Damian soon started looking into school records and found out that Danny had been a straight A student until his freshman year of highschool, in which he started being late to classes or skipping them entirely, got mosyly C's and D's on his report cards, and showed up with concerning injuries that he wouldn't explain.

That was worrying.

Conclusion? This boy and Danyal were more likely than not to be the same person.

Damian had to tell his father. But how? Perhaps he could somehow convince his father that they should take a trip to Amity Park. How Damian was going to do that, he didn't know.

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Chapter 2 is already written too, but I'm not gonna post it until I finish chapter 3.

[soulmate-game]

Daughter of wonderwoman au where marinette finds out her mother is actually Diana and somehow it ends up with her meeting/being introduced to the batfam maybe because she has super strength and is seen yeeting some bad guys who tried to mug her... Or something.

“... you are running from your problems, Mari,” Adrien’s exasperated voice reminded his best friend. Again. She ignored him, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Look, you don’t have to do anything about it! Nobody would hold it against you if you decided to just, ignore that you found anything out at all. But you need to actually think about what we just found out and decide whether or not you’re gonna do anything—“ he side-stepped a piece of trash that went flying in his direction. “—or if you’re gonna move on and pretend nothing happened.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” Marinette shot back, pushing her bangs out of her face and tying her hair back with one hand.

“No, you’re currently hiding away in Gotham to avoid your parents while you beat up every random group of idiots who thinks you’re an easy mark,” he retorted. Another wannabe kidnapper went flying in his direction, making him sigh and side step again. She had thrown that one with only her one free hand, showing just how upset she was. “You’re ignoring everything in your life, which is not what we meant we said you should get a little space.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marinette dropkicked the last criminal into unconsciousness before stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. She looked over at the now seven passed out men in the alleyway, and the one very frustrated ex-model pinching the bride of his nose. “I think I’m coping just fine.”

“It’s better than being forced to suppress all of your emotions, sure,” Adrien reluctantly agreed. “But not by much. Your angry rampage through Gotham has already attracted more attention,” he raised his hand to point at a nearby rooftop. Several shadows lurked there, looming over the building’s edge. “Which, might I add, is exactly why I told you not to come to Gotham.”

“You’re the one who followed me here,” she shot back before turning to the shadowy figures above them. “Go ahead and come down! But it was self defense, and you can’t arrest or beat me up for defending myself!”

The first figure to drop down straightened your just as quickly, revealing the imposing figure of none other than Batman himself. The little white eyes on his cowl seemed to narrow on their own as he looked down at her.

“That might be true, but I’m sure you know my policy on metas in my city,” he grumbled back at her. He wasn’t necessarily threatening, but he definitely wasn’t welcoming either. With all of his limbs hidden behind the cocoon that was his cape, Marinette would never be able to predict his next move if he did decide to fight. Not that she seemed particularly worried about that as she crossed her arms over her chest and met his glare evenly.

“Oh, do you own this city now? I wasn’t given the memo,” she retorted. “And considering I didn’t even know I was a meta until last week? I think I deserve a little slack. I’m angry and if people think the tiny little girl in pink is an easy kidnapping target, then it’s their fault for making themselves into the perfect practice dummies for me to try out my newly discovered strength on.”

Adrien saw the eyes on Batman’s mask narrow even further. Marinette wasn’t exactly at her most charismatic at the moment, and Adrien didn’t wanna get the both of them into a bad relationship with the experienced superhero who always seemed to know things he shouldn’t know. So he stepped up quickly, getting in between Marinette and the Bat and holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Okay, Monsieur Batman,” Adrien started slowly, making sure his posture was impeccable and his smile bright. “She’s telling the truth, even if she’s not... the most tactful about it right now. She just found out some very concerning things about her origin and Gotham is the best place for her to hide from her problems and let loose a little pent up aggression. But— well,” he grimaced. “We didn’t intend to run into you guys, but maybe it’s a good thing we did.”

“How so?” Batman was clearly still incredibly suspicious of the both of them and wasn’t giving an inch. So Marinette rolled her eyes (she was still very moody) and leaned around Adrien so she could get a good look at the monochromatic hero.

“I thank my lucky spots that we ran into you, Batman!” She said monotonously. “Me and Adrien are paw-sitively excited at this opportunity.”

Batman. Froze.

Not only were those two lines the very first lines ever spoken to him by two foreign heroes a few years ago (with a few key words changed to protect identities), but they had become their code phrase for whenever they made calls to one another outside of their costumes. All at once it seemed to hit him— the golden hair and bright green eyes on the boy, the blue-black hair and normally super-focused bluebell eyes on the girl that were currently sporting very uncharacteristic frustration. Their heights. Their builds. All of this info flowed through his mind and compared to the information stored in his memory, and it only took the span of two seconds for everything to click.

Suddenly Batman was at full attention, back straight instead of looming over them and eyebrows clearly raised high under his cowl.

He knew Chat Noir and Ladybug would never take a random vacation to Gotham. Ladybug herself had nearly waxed poetic about how much the city depressed her just from the pictures she saw online. If she had willingly come to visit, it was more than to just blow off some steam.

“Batcave?” He asked, earning a relieved look from Adrien and a moody silence from Marinette.

“Please,” Adrien agreed. “You can probably help us, actually.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette leaned back in the metal debriefing chair, legs up on the table and looking for all the world as the picture of pure teenage rebellion and angst. Coincidentally, Red Hood was in the exact same position in the chair next to her.

Batman and all of his other bats and birds were in the cave with the two off-duty Parisian heroes. Everyone except Adrien and Marinette still had their masks on, since the two Parisians were still not privy to their identities. Yet.

To be fair, the bats hadn’t known the identities of the two miraculous users either before today.

“Cha Noir,” Batman started, only to get a head shake from the blond boy.

“Just call me Adrien. Chat’s out of the bag—“ he ignored the groans at the pun and soldiered on, “—so might as well use my real name.”

Batman nodded. “Adrien, then,” he amended. “Why are you and Ladybug really in Gotham?”

Adrien sighed. “I wasn’t lying, before. Marinette,” he gestured to his hero partner. “Just found out some distressing family news. Since HawkMoth is gone, she doesn’t need to repress her negative emotions anymore. But she also didn’t want to be around her parents while she processed everything. I told her to choose any other city— really, I begged— but she insisted on coming to Gotham.”

“The never ending cloud cover and constant rain seem thematic,” she finally spoke up, reaching into her big over-the-shoulder bag and pulling out a large envelope. She threw it to Batman, making the thin package slice through the air like a knife. To nobody’s surprise the seasoned hero easily caught the projectile between two fingers. He looked at the envelope and back to Marinette, silent questions floating in the air between them. Marinette decided to answer at her own pace.

“That’s what we found out. You see, one of my friends is a huge science nerd. A genius. And he wanted to compare DNA samples between us to see if there were any genetic components that determined a person’s suitability towards certain Miraculous or other magical artifacts over others. It was supposed to just be a fun side project that he didn’t expect any breakthroughs on. He mostly just wanted to satisfy his own curiosity. But instead of finding out if our DNA was linked to the miraculous, he found out that my parents are not biologically my parents.”

“Hence the whole just finding out that you’re a meta thing, right?” Nightwing spoke up, fully invested in the story. “Did they never say you were adopted before?”

“It’s not in the system,” she replied easily. “My parents have all the documentation to prove that I’m their biological child, except I’m not. When I confronted them about it, they caved and admitted that they had adopted me in secret and covered it up. Apparently a friend of theirs was involved in something illegal, and,” she waved at the envelope that Batman was now opening. “The details of what we were able to dig up are in there. The summary is this; their friend was part of a secret, illegal experimentation to create clones that could defeat the Justice League—“ the air seemed to get sucked out of the room as soon as those words left Marinette’s mouth. Everyone seemed to know exactly what she was talking about. “—a group called CADMUS. They made me, as apparently one of their early attempts. But I didn’t exhibit any of the powers they were looking for, or any meta traits at all, and my body refused to mature at the rate they wanted. They had no use for a seemingly normal human baby that they managed to clone, so they were preparing to kill me and start over. That’s when my parent’s friend stole me, not wanting to kill an infant, and begged my parents to take me in and pretend I was theirs. Low and behold, it turns out that my DNA just needed a very specific series of emotions to unlock it’s latent abilities.”

“Those emotions being..?” Red hood trailed off, earning a wolfish smile from Marinette.

“Intense anger, betrayal, and confused frustration closely followed by the desire to punch other people’s faces in.”

“That last one is just an assumption,” Adrien chimed in. “And maybe not accurate. But the first three, our scientist friend was able to confirm. The rapid experience of a lot of negative but action-oriented emotions released whatever had been holding back the powers in her DNA from expressing themselves,” he had switched to French so that he could explain everything exactly as Max had told it to them, but he knew all of them were fluent anyway so it was fine. They nodded along, processing the information.

The crinkling of paper drew everyone’s attention back to Batman, who had been flipping through the detailed break down of everything they had found about Marinette’s situation and how she was made by CADMUS.

“Uh,” Red Robin nervously spoke up. “What’s up, Batman?”

“Your genetic donors...” Batman breathed, getting a wink and finger guns from Marinette.

“Yup. Isn’t that just the most fucked up thing you’ve ever seen? They were clearly trying to make someone who could destroy the world.”

“That makes me nervous,” Nightwing admitted, getting up and going to get a look at the papers himself. “It can’t be that ba—“

When even Nightwing was left agape, everyone else who wasn’t in on it found themselves squirming.

“Just tell the rest of us, already!” Robin demanded after the silence stretched just a bit too long.

“The unknowing genetic donors that CADMUS used to make me,” Marinette spoke up, still with her legs up on the table. “Are a very mad-scientist’s-wet-dream combination of Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Wonder Woman.”

“We don’t even know why they added Bruce Wayne’s DNA,” Adrien admitted. “Although our scientist friend thinks it’s because of physique. His hypothesis is that, in order to support the genes of Wonder Woman, they had to add male genetics that could support the production of a very high muscle mass and would lean towards easy development of a very athletic body. Lex might be evil-scientist smart, but he’s a string bean. But if he added the DNA of another multi millionaire who just so happens to maintain a ridiculously fit body without putting any obvious work into it,” Adrien shrugged. “Then maybe the clone would be able to support Wonder Woman’s genetics and that of two human donors without falling apart.”

“So I’m ‘the clone’ now, huh?” Marinette snarked, earning an exasperated eye roll from her friend.

Batman just stared at the both of them for a moment. He walked away without a word, and came back with a fresh needle and a box. He placed it on the debriefing table.

“Can I do a paternity test myself?” He asked, his voice suspiciously less gruff than normal. “I trust the both of you, but I rather be safe than sorry with something like this.”

The both of them just stared at him in confusion. They traded a glance, and finally Marinette shrugged and moved to sit in her chair properly. Her shirt was already short sleeved, so she just held her arm out so Batman could easily get a blood sample.

“Sure, why not. But do you just have Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne’s DNA sitting around to compare, or—“ she shut up when she watched Batman take off his glove and roll his own sleeve up. Realization slowly sunk in as he asked Nightwing to take a blood sample from him.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes wide. “You’re— and Luthor doesn’t know— holy shit this is even worse than I thought,” Marinette rambled, not even noticing as Red Hood moved forward and took a small blood sample from her.

Adrien put a hand over his face and just laughed for a moment hysterically. “Oh my god,” he looked over at Marinette. “You could take over the world.”

“I have the blood of Batman AND Wonder Woman on MY side,” Marinette joked back, also hysterical.

When the bat’s high tech equipment was able to come back with a positive result only a few minutes later, Marinette and Adrien had to sit on the floor and just let it all sink in. Which Batman did not at all help by immediately unmasking himself and trying to make a proper introduction.

“I wanna go beat up random thugs again,” Marinette whined, pulling at her hair. “I’ll put on a mask, whatever, but just please let me punch people. I need to punch people right now.”

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Miscellaneous Batfam headcanons

Dick

He’s really the only person in the family who can get away with getting out of hostage situations because of his job as a police officer

… but he doesn’t

Yes he uses this as an excuse to hug his family

No he doesn’t feel bad about it

He’s a good actor, he has to be with his job, so if there’s other civilians around or the tied up henchmen are still conscious… well, what kind of asshole wouldn’t hug a sobbing civilian?

Clings to whichever unfortunate sibling is closest when he’s let go

Just… no shame whatsoever

Yeah, the family is more than a little hesitant to help him

Unfortunately for them Dick is pretty much the entirety of the family’s emotional support system

So, eventually, someone caves and goes to rescue him

(Also, one time they didn’t, and he was insufferable for months, and they don’t want a repeat of that)

Babs

Babs knows EVERYTHING

This makes getting around her… difficult

One time she decided to make everyone get over their unhealthy habits

She was mostly just concerned about everyone’s habit of substituting sleep with coffee

They'd done everything to keep Babs from finding out

Checked everywhere for bugs, made sure she wasn’t home, bought new phones, EVERYTHING

And yet when they snuck to the kitchen for food…

The phone started ringing

Cue screaming

They only got back their unhealthy habits by begging… and considering they're the bats…

Well, let’s just say it took a while

Jason

He regularly kidnaps his siblings

It’s a love language, okay?

He might not be good at emotions like Dick is

But he WILL break into everyone’s safehouses, grab them by the back of their shirts, and drag them out for joyrides and ice cream

And that’s just as important, really

The bats are terrible with dealing with emotions and he is perfectly happy to help them avoid their problems

His services also extend to stealing them away from Dick when he’s attempting to get them to open up before they're ready

One text and he’s there

There’s two older siblings, one of them has to be bad, it’s called balance

Tim

The only time he sleeps is when Bruce is attempting to lecture him

Of course, he didn’t start out that way

He’s Tim Drake, after all, he has a duty to be perfect at everything he does

But… there’s only so many times you can listen to the ‘Don’t do reckless stuff’ speech before you can recite it from memory

At this time, lecture time has been changed into nap time

Bruce has started to use this to his advantage

When he notices that Tim hasn’t slept in days he starts lecturing him

One time he had a dream where he was getting the lecture and he had to wake up

Bruce had to scramble to start lecturing again

Tim figured out what was going on after that

But the other option is to listen to the lecture all the way through so he accepts that he has to sleep

Steph

I see your “Jason Todd/Damian Wayne are the embodiment of the Cain Instinct(™)” posts and raise you Stephanie-fucking-Brown

The Wayne Love Language is almost murdering each other and it really shows

Steph walks into a room and it is On Sight

Who punches first? Who knows

(It’s usually Steph)

It’s a smack or be smacked world and Steph is just living in it

No one is safe

At least they get a lot of sparring practice

Cass

You would think that having Cass around as a lie detector would be a good idea

And, on paper, you’d be right

She can tell when everyone is lying before they even open their mouths

But…

She’s a little bit more petty than people give her credit for

She Remembers Everything

She ranks siblings in her head based on who has the most indiscretions

Whoever is at the top of the list when something bad happens is the one she will point out as the culprit

And if nothing bad happens? Don’t worry about that, she’ll make something happen

Damian

He definitely gets teased the most because he just happens to be really young

(Doesn’t help that he’s so tiny)

But the moment someone has the audacity to make a joke about him or agree with one of his siblings?

Let’s just say the bats reconsider their No Killing Rule

Damian mentions someone at school being a little snot? Tim and Jason aren’t above throwing hands with children

A teacher gives an unfair grade to him on an assignment? Hope they weren’t expecting to get saved in the next Rogue attack

And god forbid someone call Damian a slur in front of his siblings

He's the baby of the family. What else is there to say?

Duke

He used to be annoyed that he got the reputation as the person in the family with common sense

He’s done so much stupid and dangerous stuff but nooo he’s the sane one

(Granted, he kind of is. It’s not a high bar to meet. Still, he’d like some recognition that he is also completely batshit insane.)

But now…

He realizes there are benefits

Like how he can prank his siblings and no one will ever think he did it

And when no one fesses up because they didn’t do anything? Prank wars ensue

And Duke? Duke gets by unscathed because everyone agrees he wouldn’t be stupid enough to do any of the pranks

Bruce

He has an adoption problem, we all know this

The man practically has adoption papers in his utility belt at this point

The moment a new kid appears in Gotham the batkids all start a betting pool on how long it’ll take him to adopt this one

Most of the time the kids don’t even realize they’re being adopted until it’s too late

“B caught me crying on a rooftop and he disappeared and I was like ‘wow, rude’ but then he came back with some car keys and it may not have fixed my trauma but damn did it feel better to cry in a sports car than on a random gargoyle”

“B gave me an allowance? I was going to say something but this is rent for three months so I guess I’m a bat now?”

Does he even know which kids are his and which aren’t?

(No. He treats every child that frequents his house the exact same because he can’t remember which ones are his and which ones aren’t.)

[astyle-alex]

[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

Museum Mishap  |  Chapter 5/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

||  Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon  ||

Museum Mishap Chapter 5: Checking Up

     Dick is the first to notice something’s different about Jason.

           Which is fair, because even though Bruce is the first person to see Jason after he wakes up on Saturday, a full 27 hours after being rescued from Sabini (ten of which he’d spent sleeping peacefully in his own bed instead of the Cave’s infirmary) – and even though Alfred is the first person to talk to him after he comes downstairs for breakfast – the bulk of what is actually noticeably different about Jason is aimed directly at Dick.

           Literally.

           Because Jason is starting.

           At Dick.

           From across his plate of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast piled high with strawberry preserves instead of the peach marmalade Dick likes and has on his own plate, Jason is staring. At Dick. Directly.

           He’s not even glaring at him, he’s just… watching.

           Which actually makes Dick more self-conscious than if Jason had been glaring, makes him think he’s done something wrong. Something especially wrong.

           Dick had never asked for a little brother, and to be perfectly honest he could admit that he hadn’t exactly been very nice to the one he’d acquired unexpectedly. While he had concrete and valid reasons to be pissed at Bruce for how he’d handled things, Dick wasn’t quite self-centered enough to miss how he hadn’t done right by Jason either.

           He’d screwed up their relationship in the beginning and now he spent most of his time trying to avoid making it worse. Which meant most simply that he spent most of his time straight up avoiding it…

           The longest span of time Dick had spent alone in a room with Jason since storming off to California a few weeks before his sixteenth birthday – to go be Robin with people who appreciated him and his skill and his right to wear the R, because it was his and always would be – was about the length of a Star Wars movie. The longest they’d spent together without such a specific and effective distraction was about twenty minutes.

           In which Alfred usually checked in on them halfway through.

           Because Jason does deserve the R.

           And he’s always resented that the older brother he’d never asked for thought he didn’t.

           Which isn’t exactly true, but Dick has never been able to explain that before Jason – brilliantly observant, woefully astute, and brutally willing to cut to the quick as he was – said something that made Dick get defensive. Which is when the yelling always started.

           And the quiet moments in between the yelling had always been punctuated by glaring.

           But now Jason is staring – and distinctly not glaring – and Dick doesn’t know what he did, or what he should do now. So, he sits in silence and plays with his eggs and worries.

           Because something is different about Jason this morning, and he doesn’t know why – or what it has to do with him. Or what Jason thinks it has to do with him.

           Because if Jason’s pissed with him for not getting to him quicker last night, for not jumping in earlier – early enough to stop Sabini from breaking his leg perhaps – then Jason would already be yelling. But he’s not. He’s staring.

           And Dick doesn’t know what to do.

           “Do you have a driver’s license?”

           Dick is so startled by the question he nearly drops his fork.

           Actually, he does drop it. He just manages to catch it before it skitters off the counter.

           “B won’t let me in the Cave with my leg and Alf won’t let me have the keys to any cars topside until I’m legal,” Jason explains – without explaining anything.

           “Yeah, I’ve got my license.”

           Dicks voice doesn’t squeak or waver. He’s moderately certain that some sort of magic or robotic voice replacement tech is behind the phenomenon. Or maybe his Robin conditioning is finally proving useful outside of the dark allies where his calm could comfort victims.

           Jason nods. He’s still staring.

           But now he’s squinting, evaluative. Not quite a glare, but closer.

           “Cool. Can you drive me somewhere after breakfast?”

           Dick nods. He decides not to ask to ask why Jason isn’t asking Alfred to drive him.

           He also decides not to ask where Jason wants to go until they’re already in the car.

           They don’t speak again until after Dick pulls into the circle at the end of the Drake Estate’s mile-long driveway, and even then, it’s just a gruff C’mon to hurry Dick along while Jason hauls himself out of the car on his own.

           Dick is slightly distracted as he cuts the engine. He nods to Jason – who’s paying him zero attention – as he marvels openly at the fact that they do, apparently, have neighbors.

           The Drake mansion isn’t quite a massive or effortlessly grand as Wayne Manor, but it’s a decently imposing imitation. There’s wealth here, excess. And no hint of the soft touch that Alfred has to bring a human element into the aching chill of life with money.

           Dick wants to ask what they’re doing here, of all places, but Jason is focused.

           It’s a feat for Jason to wrestle his crutches out of the car and limp his way up the wide steps of the ostentation front stair, but he manages. He does it without even making Dick feel terrible about not offering to help – though he knows if he did offer, Jason’s only response would be to curse and try to whack him with the pointy end of his crutches.

           Dick follows silently up the stairs after him and waits as Jason rings the doorbell impatiently, pressing it again after only a few seconds of silence.

           He’s not quite scowling at the Drakes’ front door, but he’s not smiling either. Whatever he’s thinking about is serious enough to warrant asking Dick for help instead of Alfred. Dick is definitely concerned by that, but there a hopeful anxiousness twisting in him too.

           Because Jason needed help, and he asked Dick to provide it.

           It’s not much, but it’s something.

           Jason’s leaning on the doorbell again when Dick hears a shuffling inside that indicates someone coming to check the matter. Dick hopes it’s not an elderly butler – Alfred moves around pretty well for his age, but it’s a big house and it takes even him a minute to get to the door on the bizarre occasion Wayne Manor has unexpected security-approved visitors.

           The Drakes’ equivalent can’t possibly be as light-footed or quick and Dick wants to tell Jason that it’s not whoever’s fault that it takes a while getting from one end of a mansion to the other on a Saturday morning for an unanticipated guest.

           There’s the sound of the lock being turned, but the door doesn’t open immediately.

           Jason is about to lean on the bell again – and Dick is seriously considering how counter-productive it will be to stop him from being overly rude – when the knob finally spins and the massive solid-wood structure sweeps inward.

           Dick plasters a smile on his face and –        

           It’s the kid from Thursday night.

           Dick’s whole being freezes.

           It’s the kid that took a beating because Sabini thought he knew something about Batman.

           Dick is stuck in a sudden mental rut of wondering why this kid – and Dick know he’s a tough one, he’s seen it, but he’s a head shorter than Jason and probably weighs as much as Dick’s leg and he’s just survived a torturous kidnapping and should be on bedrest with soup and blankets and stuffed animals – why this kid is answering his own door.

           Especially in a house like this. His family is clearly rich beyond reason and could have a flurry of staff to care for the household’s daily needs and to fawn sweetly over the poor injured young master. So why is he answering the door?

           When his door costs as much as the entire Trailer the Flying Graysons called home in Haly’s Circus. When there are still bruises on his face where Sabini’s fingers gripped him that haven’t quite gone ugly and greenish from healing. When the butterfly bandage on his cheek is still the only thing holding the skin together beneath the antiseptic goo.

           Jason’s brain is clearly doing the same acrobatics as Dicks, asking questions it’s not really keen on getting answered because the answers can’t be good, but Jason recovers faster.

           Which is good because the Drake boy – Timmy, Dick remembers, except no, that’s just what Jason called him, he introduced himself as Tim in his brief moment of lucidity on Friday morning – is looking between the pair on his doorstep like one of the rescue dogs Dick remembers Haly bringing into the circus fold on their first days of being treated well.

           They were cautious and skittish and quick to shy away, but also a little bit awed by the care and attention being paid to them – slightly overwhelmed to say the least. And Tim Drake is clearly in a similar state of mind.

           Dick is frozen on the doorstep.

           Tim is frozen in the doorway.

           Jason falters too, but only for a moment. Then he’s using his crutches to nudge Tim out of the way, so he can swing himself through the door and into the Drakes’ imposing foyer.

           Dick follows.

           Tim remembers to close the door – and lock it too, with a sturdy deadbolt that Dick knows will provide actual security – and then shuffles after Dick and Jason.

           Silent on his feet – impressive, given the floppy sneakers he’s wearing – Tim allows Jason to lead the way through the mansion’s sprawl to its kitchen. Tim is watching Jason’s back as he swings forward on his crutches, which gives Dick time to look around the mansion as they walk. He knows Jason’s scoping the place out too, and he’s glad Jason can manage it with that subtle street-wise skill he’s got ingrained. Dick could probably be subtle – he was trained by Batman – but he’s finding it hard to rein in the reaction he’s having to the place.

           It’s absolutely sterile here.

           More like a museum than like a house.

           Nothing looks soft, or like it’s meant for people to sit on, and the few chairs and cushions Dick has clocked as they move through the sprawl don’t look like anyone has ever used them. There’s not a speck of dust, but honestly that just makes it worse. There are people that come through here, in order to clean it at least, but nobody lives here.

           “What’re you saying about your face,” Jason asks bluntly when he stumbles upon the masterwork that is the Drake kitchen. Dick can tell that finding the kitchen has help Jason relax a little, that being in a place that’s meant to be sterile has helped at least as much as the prospect of diving into the soothing rhythm of cooking, but Tim doesn’t pick up on Jason’s new degree of ease and relax himself. If anything, he tenses more.

           “I’m going to say that I tried to launch a rocket in the back yard and it blew up in my face,” Tim explains. He watches as Jason moves to investigate his fridge.

           He notes when Jason stiffens, flinches as he realizes what he just said to prompt it, and he whips his head around when Dick is the one to speak up about it. “You’re ‘going to say’?”

           Dick knows the way he blurted it in aching disbelief is rude. Not calm. Not helpful.

           But he’s lost sensation in his limbs and his stomach is still sinking towards the center of the earth at supersonic speeds.

           They had dropped Tim back into his bed at 2pm on Friday afternoon, once Bruce had convinced Alfred that he was stable and well on his way to healing. That was almost 20 hours ago. Dick’s stomach churns as he realizes that no one’s been to check on him in almost a full day.

           Tim survived a brutal beating, and he’s been dealing with the mental fallout of his kidnapping – not to mention the physical aspects of his recovery – entirely alone.

           Dick is staring at Tim, wide-eyed and worried, and he knows it isn’t helping as Tim looks down and toes at the marble floor.

           “Mrs. Simz doesn’t work on Fridays,” he mumbles. “She thinks I spend Friday nights with my school’s chess club.”

           Jason snorts. “Of course, she does. That sounds perfectly reasonable.”

           He pauses. Anyone but Dick probably wouldn’t be able to catch the way he steels himself and forces down a mix of rage and worry before he asks lightly, “Hey, kid, you got any flour hiding in this joint? Baking soda?”

           “Why?”

           “I’m gonna make pancakes, obviously,” Jason replies, shouldering open the fridge and pulling out milk and eggs. He spreads his haul on the island and shoots Dick a look that he hopes means that he should start investigating the Drake cabinets for mixing bowls and a griddle and such. Because that’s what Dick starts doing.

           “Pancakes?”

           “Yeah, they’re kinda like pizza – you eat them,” Jason replies, a gruff amusement in his voice that tells Dick there’s some sort of inside joke involved.

           Dick wants to think that there’s no part of the joke where he should be legitimately concerned that Tim doesn’t eat, but he also remembers how easy it was to pick the kid up when they rescued him. Sure, he’s only twelve, but Dick is fairly certain that he weighed at least twice what Tim does when he was twelve. Comparing him to Jason – even the emaciated twelve year old Jason that had first been brought to the Manor – would be too tragic to let him keep the smile on his face, so Dick consciously fights the urge.

           Tim jumps in to help direct Dick and Jason around his kitchen, Tim acting as Jason’s legs while Jason barks orders. Dick didn’t know Jason could cook, but he’s not as surprised as he thought he’d be – even when Jason whips out the fancy tricks like cracking the eggs one-handed and twirling his spatula as he times the flips perfectly.

           Butter and syrup appear on the island as Dick tries to help put the finishing touches on their meal. It’s been over an hour since breakfast, so Dick can definitely eat – and he knows Jason is probably already starving. Tim is looking at the looming stack of pancakes warily, however, and Dick is pleased with himself for not shooting Jason a worried look.

           It gets even harder to resist when they actually settle down to eat and Tim expends a painstaking amount of effort on arranging the careful stack of pancakes on his plate instead of making any move to dig in.

           “So, Timmy,” Jason says around a mouthful of pancakes, “Find any cool new toys since you’ve been home playin’ with your rocket?”

           Both confused, Dick and Tim look blankly at Jason – who rolls his eyes. Then he taps his ear and makes a wide gesture about the kitchen. He’s asking if Tim’s found any Bat bugs.

           Dick knows Batman must’ve left some – Tim was suspected of knowing his secrets for a reason, after all, and Bruce would certainly want to keep tabs on any future developments that might potentially occur. What Dick does not know is why Jason’s asking Tim if he found any listening devices hidden in his home – why he’s referencing the plausible option so casually, so openly. Unless… unless Tim knows.

           Scandalized, Tim looks between Jason and Dick – redness creeping up his neck until his ears are bright ruby – and then stares down at his pancakes. He nods.

           Like he’s pulling teeth, Jason waits a beat to make sure Tim is still alive and then asks with the same casual air, “Find any in here?”

           This time, Tim shakes his head, still staring resolutely at his pancakes – and still making no move to actually eat them.

           Jason nods, satisfied.

           Tim waits, but Jason doesn’t say anything else.

           Eventually, peeks up. Looks at Jason. Waits.

           Then he slowly, sheepishly turns his head to look at Dick. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the accusations and yelling to start. Tim does know their secret, and he expects to be in serious trouble for it.

           Jason levels his own look at Dick, daring him to break the tenuous trust they’ve developed in the last few hours by voicing any sort chastisement.

           When they’d first brought Jason and Tim back to the Cave, Batman had been on Jason about getting to the truth of the rumors around Tim – to the point of absurdity, considering that there were two traumatized and injured kids to care for, considering that Jason himself was being questioned before Batman would give his broken leg the medical attention it needed…

           Dick had spoken up in defense of Jason – asserting his own opinion that Tim was ignorant of the secret that got him wrapped up in this mess – mostly because he was pissed at Bruce for being so callous. Dick knew that Bruce cared, that he cared so much he buried all of his feelings deep beneath an impenetrable layer of cold practicality so he could deal with the pragmatic details of resolving the situation.

           But it was really hard to remember that he cared when it felt more like he wanted answers in his own interrogation rather than to help the adopted son he’d just rescued from a drug-lord who’d been asking the same questions.

           But Dick had defended Jason’s stand against Bruce.

           At the time, he hadn’t realized Jason was lying – that Bruce honestly did have a valid reason to worry about Tim’s ability to threaten Batman’s secrets. He knew Jason wasn’t being entirely honest, but he’d brushed it off as embarrassment at getting caught and needing rescue.

           Knowing what he does now, that Tim is aware of much more than he should be, Dick isn’t certain he would’ve made the same call. On the one hand, he wants to trust his brother’s judgement – to stay focused on Tim as a victim rather than a threat – but he also feels the urge to trust his mentor’s trend of caution, because if Tim threatens Bruce’s secrets he’s also threatening Dick’s. And Jason’s. And possibly Barbara, and the Titans, and any other mask they’ve ever worked with… Tim could be very dangerous if Jason’s wrong about trusting him.

           But Tim is waiting to be yelled at – waiting to face the good guys’ wrath for simply being clever. And Dick had seen the R on Tim’s sweater. He’s a fan, and he’s been clever, and he’d taken one hell of a beating for a twelve year old kid to be expected to handle.

           And he hadn’t talked.

           It was more than Dick would’ve expected from most grown-ups. It was as much or even more than he’d expect from adults trained to withstand interrogation.

           If Dick needed proof that Tim wasn’t a threat, that was it.

           Tim was still staring at him – waiting for his anger. Waiting to be punished.

           Jason was staring too – waiting for a reason to get angry himself.

           Resolved to let Tim continue to fly under Batman’s radar, Dick doesn’t say anything. He just takes another bite of his pancakes. The bite goes down easier than he expects, validation that his gut trusts Tim on a level beyond instinctual. Something more like kinship.

           Tim keeps staring – like he doesn’t quite recognize what it means that Dick is just going on with eating like a major secret affecting both of their lives hasn’t just been exposed – but Jason relaxes. He even flashes Dick what could pass for a smile.

           It makes Dick feel like he’s made the right decision all over again.

           He’s got very little good history with Jason, but he’s working on his own issues and he thinks that, just maybe, he and Jason can work with this – can use Tim’s hush-hush existence as a bit of common ground to try standing by each other instead of against each other.

           Tim is still staring, though.

           Still waiting, still worried, still convinced that he’s in trouble.

           “Pancakes not to your liking, Tim?” Dick asks, flashing him a grin. It’s not the dazzling, thousand-watt smile that’s always made him shine as a media darling, but it’s still bright and teasing enough to startle Tim. And genuine.

           Jason growls before Tim recovers, retorting, “Hey, my pancakes are fantastic, asshole.”

           Dick gives a shrug, his smiling building as he feels out Jason’s grumble and realizes that there’s almost no real malice in it – none of the gritty defensiveness he’s used to from Jason.

           “They’re, um, great,” Tim replies in a squeak.

           With another snort, Jason says, “You haven’t even tried them yet.”

           He reaches across the island and swoops a smear of butter onto Tim’s topmost pancake, giving the terrified youngster a mild heart attack. He pushes the syrup across the table with his fork – it’s good stuff, real maple in a ceramic jug – until it clicks pointedly against Tim’s plate.

           “Eat.”

           Tim picks up his fork, obedient but still anxious and pushes a few bites around before he finally picks one up and forces it into his mouth and down his throat.

           Watching as Tim swallows and waiting until it looks like he might take another bite of his own volition, Jason says, “You gotta relax, Timmers. We’re the frickin good guys.”

           Dick gives a supportive smile as Tim forces himself to nod.

           His eyes jump guiltily to Dick for a moment but then he settles and takes another bite of his pancakes. This time he looks much less like he wants to throw the food back up immediately.

           “How’s, um, how’s your leg,” Tim asks. Guilty, which makes Dick’s lungs tighten, but at least he’s speaking up – which means he might be able to be convinced he’s not at fault.

           “It’s good,” Jason replies with a shrug. “I’ve gotta stay off it completely for the next week, and I’m benched for the next three, at least, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

           Dick snorts. “You’re supposed to stay off it for three weeks,” Dick counters automatically. He lets himself fall into older-brother over-dive to add, “And B wants to keep you benched for the next two months. Alf might actually put you in a coma if he sees you trying to go down to the Cave before the cast comes off.”

           With a shrug, Jason says, “So like two weeks and we call it even.”

           Dick tries to claw back the sigh that’s threatening to cut off all his air.

           “It was a pretty bad break,” Tim pipes up. He looks slightly guilt-ridden, but he forges on to add, “But it was direct contact to the bone, instead of to a joint, and I’m guessing it was a stable, simple tibia fracture – no skin penetration or muscle tears – and it was either transverse or very slightly oblique, so it should heal cleanly.”

           “Not if he bungs it up by trying to do cartwheels on it too quickly,” Dick counters.

           “I’m gonna leave the cartwheeling to you, Dickiebird,” Jason replies with a chuckle that’s warm and teasing and so much nicer than the conversations he’s used to having with Jason.

           It almost sounds like they’re just talking about your average sports injury, and Tim even joins in a few more times as the discussion shifts to Dick and his penchant for cartwheeling down the long halls of Wayne Manor. Tim’s a fan of the Flying Graysons, and after a little figuring, Dick actually remembers meeting him before – before the show for a picture and a hug and a somersault promise, before Zucco, before his parents fell… before life got so complicated.

           Dick and Jason and Tim stay gathered around the island in the Drakes’ kitchen until Tim has completely finished his plate of pancakes without needing to have Jason force him through each bite. And they stay an hour after they’ve cleaned up, and an hour after that too.

           They stay until Alfred sends Dick a text to warn him that Bruce is getting antsy with their absence, antsy enough to start wondering where they’ve gone.

           Tim looks sad as they start gearing up to head back to the Manor, but Jason assures him that they’ll be back tomorrow – and after school on Monday, assuming Tim actually goes to school on Monday. Neither vigilante would blame him if he wanted to take a day off.

           “Why?”

           “Because you got beat up by a drug-lord,” Jason told him with a gruff, but affectionate exasperation Dick can hardly believe he’s hearing from the ill-tempered teenager, “That totally warrants a fucking vacation day or two.”

           Tim shakes his head. “No, I mean why are you gonna come here? Why’re you here at all, if I’m not in trouble for… you know.” He mumbles through most of the words, falling back into the timid little thing he was when he first saw Dick and Jason standing at his door.

           It’s only now that Dick realizes how much he’d managed to come out of that shell.

           “We’re checking up on you, baby bird,” Jason huffs, “Duh.”

           “But why?”

           Tim stands there like the question is perfectly innocent, like it’s not one of the most heartbreaking thing Dick has ever been asked.

           If Jason didn’t have a broken leg and crutches to wrestle with, Dick is sure that Tim would be trapped under Jason’s arm getting his hair mussed beyond all possible repair. As it stands, Jason looks halfway to smacking Tim with one of his crutches.

           Or smacking whoever made him feel like his current state of being is somehow one that is in any way an acceptable situation for a child.

           But Dick smiles and slings an arm around Jason’s shoulders.

           “Because we’re Robins,” he says, promising, “And that’s what we do.”

           There’s a pause.

           And then Tim nods, smiling back in a way that makes Dick’s limbs feel gooey as he goes all warm and fuzzy. He can feel Jason lean into his side, can see that he’s smiling too – not as broadly as Dick is, but the expression is just as genuine. A bit surprised, perhaps, but happy.

           The door closes behind them and Jason clambers into his side of the car without beating Dick with his crutches for helping. The drive back to the Manor is just as quick as the one away from it this morning, but not as quiet.

           The Robins get themselves on a united platform about having gone to visit Drake as civilians – he’d recognized Jason as a Wayne and they’d gone to commiserate with Jason as a fellow victim of random, rumor fueled violence. They explain again to Bruce that Tim doesn’t know anything about Batman and latch onto Alfred’s concern that the boy’s parents are still out of the country. The Robins volunteer to go over and check on him tomorrow.

           At Alfred’s insistence, they agree to spend most of the day there, and several days next week – and bring over some of Alfred’s amazing, high-nutrition cooking.

           With all three of them set against Bruce in this, he relents to giving full approval to their plan – assuming that Nightwing patrols with Batman for the next three weeks while Robin remains obediently on bedrest.

           The butler sides with Bruce on that one, but he gives the boys a wink behind Bruce’s back and it makes Dick get that warm and fuzzy glow again.

           He’s halfway giddy all through that night’s patrol.

           Batman notices.

           But Dick doesn’t explain when he’s asked about it.

           He just says that he and Jason are finally seeing eye to eye about what it means to hero in Gotham, to be Robin… to be a good Robin.

           He smiles into the sunrise after a long night of beating up petty thugs on Gotham’s street corners – of looking into and utterly quashing any remaining rumors that Timothy Drake has any information on Batman. And maybe the throws a few extra flips into the maneuvers that carry him from rooftop to rooftop of Gotham’s city skyline.

           It’s a beautiful day and Dick resolves to make the most of the chances he’s been given – however unfortunate the circumstances around them. The world is already a slightly better place, and Dick is determined to make it more so, bit by bit.

           Because we’re Robins. And that’s what we do.

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[bigfan-fanfic]

Can you do something with the batfam and batdad in the injustice or metal event? If you don't then I understand, both of those are a little messed up xd

Honestly, the hardest part of doing fics after writing them is finding a GIF to go with them while the Internet gods hate you, and I’m getting so frustrated, so... I’m going to do this one GIF-less. And also, I guess my frustration needs an outlet, so I went with making Injustice!Batdad evil. Sorry.

Injustice (Batdad Headcanons)

There are a lot of emotions involved for you when Clark finally snaps.

There’s horror, yes, but when the Joker is killed, there’s... relief.

I mean, finally, right? Someone did what frankly, had to be done. What your husband wouldn’t do, even after what he did to your family, to Barbara, to countless others in Gotham and out of it. 

You almost want to congratulate him, except for the thousands of dead in Metropolis. The very enormity of the loss consumes you, fills you with absolute hatred for the Joker.

And when Superman comes to Wayne Manor, he is shocked when you thank him. Thank him for avenging the death of your son, and ridding the world of that menace in garish spats.

And Bruce cannot see how much of a blessing this is, that the Joker will never again escape, will never again commit such blinding savagery. He only sees his precious One Rule, the one so much more important than your sons.

And that is when you commit the ultimate betrayal. No, Batdad does not side with the Insurgency, but with the Regime. You become High Councilor Kal-El’s chief advisor during the One-Earth Regime. Damian joins you.

Yes, you could say that you went a bit insane. But really, who wouldn’t?

You and Damian work closely with Clark, and your still-friendly personality wins a lot of the Justice League over to the Regime’s side, and you work directly against Batman’s attempts to work up a resistance.

You get put in charge of the Flash and Shazam. Barry likes you and is more willing to do what you say, while Shazam looks up to you, and when Billy starts getting iffy about Superman’s actions, you help keep him in line.

Diana doesn’t like how close you are with Clark and attempts to shed doubt on your actions, accusing you of being a spy for Bruce.

This only helps to conceal Selina’s true allegiances.

You’re the liaison between the people and Clark. It’s harder for Bruce to gain support for his Insurgency when you, Barry, and Billy are actively addressing people’s concerns and making it so that although the people are under the thumb of a totalitarian dictator, their lives are improving.

The High Councilor pardons you for being married to a criminal and offers to annul your marriage. You jokingly tell him that being single would only make Diana target you more.

Bruce finally comes face to face with you again as he attempts to overthrow Superman. By this time Dick and Tim are dead as well, with Damian even having killed Dick (and Damian clings to you and Clark as you two tell him it was an accident, he cannot be blamed for it). 

“Bruce... do you really want to do this? Is it really so awful, this new world?”

He glares at you. “Look at it. Look at yourself! You’re... you’re insane.”

You surrender, and Bruce imprisons you in maximum security along with Superman and some of the other key Regime figures, including Damian.

But when Kara comes, you two are set free, and though you focus on saving the world from Brainiac, afterwards you stop Bruce from stabbing Clark and instead kill him yourself, stabbing him in the neck.

“Y/N... how could you...”

You lean in close, whispering in his ear. “You killed my sons, Bruce. Jason... Tim... Dick... all of it resulted because you couldn’t kill that stupid clown the first time. Now, I have to take care of your mess.”

And then, while Clark is reeling in shock that you killed Bruce, you stab him as well with Bruce’s Kryptonite blade.

“Clark... you really need to learn to get over it.”

And with that, the former Insurgency and Regime, and the newcomers have no idea what to do, so you corral them.

“The world needs a leader. You all need a leader. Me.”

And for now, the world holds its breath as Y/N Wayne ascends to become the new High Councilor

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 4!

Chapter 1  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 5

Summary: The BatFam goes to a party and Dick learns that even the suburbs of Gotham aren't without their monsters. Especially on Halloween.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Dick asked, studying himself in the full-length mirror hanging on his closet door.

“I really am,” Barbara giggled. She’d been cracking up for nearly five minutes straight, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as her abdomen ached. “Hold your phone up higher. And do another spin.”

“Babs,” he whined, lifting his phone to give her a better view.

“Please?” She let her voice got all plaintive and cute the way she knew would turn Dick into putty in her hands. It was a power she had discovered long ago, and one she wielded with reckless abandon.

Dick obeyed, the silky cape drifting around him as he came to a stop. He was in a replica of her old Batgirl uniform. Some knock-off Tim had scored in an online bidding war.

“You look great,” she said. The suit she used to wear hadn’t been quite so delicate. The overall gist was more or less accurate, but hers had been designed with combat in mind, everything layered and dense. The cape had been heavier, the boots not quite so rubbery and squeaky, and the colors much more muted – it would be hard to sneak up on anyone with bright neon yellows and purples announcing your presence from a mile away.

Even so, looking at the suit now, she could almost feel the wind rushing past her face; could feel her stomach flip in the sweeping arc from one building to the next.

For a long time, she hadn’t been able to remember those days without a bitter knot twisting in her gut. She was glad now to be able to look back fondly.

“You know, I really do,” Dick agreed, twisting to show off his butt in the thin spandex. “But I’ve seen better.” He flashed a rakish grin, and she laughed.

“You sure you can’t make an appearance tonight?” he asked.

“Nah. I’m still troubleshooting some bugs from the last system update. Probably take a while.”

Dick sighed. “Won’t be as fun without you there.”

“You bet your ass.”

He barked a laugh as he walked away from the mirror and set his phone down. Now the entire screen was black as she listened to him talk and move around his room.

“Just so you know,” he said, opening and closing drawers. “There’s probably gonna be like a ton of girls there. Can’t make any promises if I meet a nice lady Nightwing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grinned. “See you later, Batboy.”

She ended the call before he could protest the name and smiled to herself, letting the warmth of the conversation linger in the air a moment longer before turning her attention to her computer.

____________

The party was in one of the wealthy suburbs just outside of the city and the houses were pretty big. Not Wayne Manor big, but large enough to comfortably host well over a hundred people. It was one of those sprawling parties that took up every inch of the house and the back yard and managed to also bleed out into the street.

In every direction people were gyrating and laughing. There was no way most of them even knew whose house this was, but no one seemed too concerned about that. The host certainly wasn’t. Dick had seen him drunkenly carving a pumpkin by the pool and had quietly switched the steak knife out with a butter knife before the guy’s headless horseman costume became a lot more convincing.

Now Dick was standing on the deck, watching the fire pit where Steph, Tim, and Damian were among the crowd roasting marshmallows. Cass was leaning against Steph’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her knees. Dick couldn’t see her expression through the papier mache Red Hood mask, but he could tell by her languid body language that she was having a good time.

Seeing them in each other’s uniforms was disorienting, like looking at a green sky or eating hot ice cream. Not necessarily bad, just off. But the anxiety he’d felt about the risk to their identities had died when he’d picked them up from the manor and saw them up close.

They looked more like pajamas than anything else, and they definitely wouldn’t draw any more attention than a bedsheet ghost or a grim reaper. Plus, their open enthusiasm for the whole thing made them all seem that much younger and unassuming. Just a bunch of young people excited about Halloween. It was honestly pretty fun to watch, especially coming from kids who were so often called upon to leave their more childish impulses at the door.

He put his phone to his ear. “Babs?”

“Batboy!” There was a smile in her voice. “Sounds like you’re having fun.”

She must have been talking about the music. It was coming from every direction. His bones rattled with each chord and was once again reminded of how freaking old he was getting. When had that happened?

“It’s a riot,” he said, dodging a fairy as she stumbled toward him with a plate piled high with nachos. Both she and the nachos went over the railing and the sound of the impact below hit him with a pang of guilt for not just stopping her. When he peeked down, she was laughing from the center of a bush. Four other fairies leaned over the side to laugh and throw pretzels at her.

“Uneventful?”

“So far.” He squinted for a second at Damian who was now standing, showing a Power Ranger a batarang. He nearly bolted across the yard until he noted the way it caught the light of the fire. Dick was fairly certain it was either plastic or cardboard. Not real. At least, he hoped not.

Cass and Stephanie had gotten up and slipped past him through the French doors and into the kitchen. Tim was still sitting by the fire, clumsily navigating a conversation with a witch who was openly flirting with him. He tossed a pleading look to Dick, who just smiled and waved, savoring every second of it.

“I think Tim has a new girlfriend,” he added.

“Fun. How’s Steph handling it?”

He glanced back into the house. She and Cass were rifling through a massive trash bag of candy that had been left on a counter, picking out all the king-sized bars and grinning ravenously. The many pockets in Cass’s brown leather jacket – Dick wasn’t sure if Jason had loaned it or if she’d commandeered it – were already full to bursting.

“Inconsolable.”

“Poor girl.” Babs sounded distracted, keys clacking as she muttered to herself.

“What’re you up to?”

“I keep getting the same system error, but I can’t figure out if it’s an issue with the hardware or software. I’ve run like ten diagnostic protocols already and I’ve been staring at the same wall of code for like five hours. I’m probably gonna end up just rebooting the whole thing. Comms’ll be down for a couple hours. Or days the way this is going.”

One finger jammed into his free ear, Dick wandered down the steps and around toward the front of the house in search of a respite from the chaos. He motioned to Damian, signaling that he was on a call, and Damian, in his oversized Batman cowl, nodded.

It wasn’t until Dick was a few houses away that the music and chatter became more of a muted throb than an overwhelming assault.

“What’s B up to?” he asked in a lull, his pace slowing.

“Alfred got him to hang around the manor and help give out candy for a while. I think he guilted him with the turmeric incident.”

Dick laughed then he went quiet for a moment, considering, before asking, “And Jason?”

“Nothing. Is it just me or does something seem off with him? I mean, I know he’s not the most communicative guy in the world but, I don’t know.”

Dick sighed. “It’s compli–” He fell silent. At the end of the block there was a guy in a wolf mask standing under a streetlight just… staring at him.

Dick glanced over his shoulder then back at the man.

“Dick?” Barbara asked.

He didn’t respond. A sense of foreboding had washed over him; a crackling thrum in the air that set all of the hairs on his body on end.

Instinctively, he found himself taking stock of his surroundings. He already knew exactly how many steps it would take to close the distance between them, how long it would take for him to get back to the party if he needed to.

He knew how he could use the string lights on the porch closest to him as a weapon or a restraint. How he could tear his Velcro cape from his own shoulders and get it around the man’s face and throat or disarm him since it looked like he was holding something – a pipe? There was a garden gnome in the yard beside him with a hat that looked sharp enough to do some damage if it came to that.

The man was big. Probably had a foot and eighty pounds on Dick.

Dick pushed his cowl back from his face.

The man turned and lumbered away.

Dick exhaled.

“Dick.” Barbara’s voice had slipped past playful curiosity. She sounded about two seconds away from alerting the cavalry.

“I’m here.”

“Geez. What just happened?”

Dick watched the disappear around the corner. “I don’t know. There was just some guy. He was staring at me, I think.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Not likely.”

“Maybe he just really likes Batgirl,” she teased.

Dick let out a breathy laugh, but the man had set him on edge and now he needed to run it off.

“Think I’m gonna call it on this party,” he said. “I need to unwind.”

“Most people do that sort of thing at parties.”

“And since when have I ever been like ‘most people?’”

Babs laughed and Dick felt his chest warm.

“You going home or going out?” she asked.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he said, grinning as he turned back toward the party.

“Where would this city be with you, Batboy?” she sighed airily.

Dick chuckled despite himself. “Talk to you in a few,” he said, then hung up and opened a group message with Steph, Cass, Damian, and Tim.

Leaving early. Be back in a few hours to pick you up.

Tim’s message came a few seconds later. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just hot wire a car here.

You can’t just steal a car. Dick.

It’s not theft if we return the vehicle. Damian.

Everybody is wasted anyway, Stephanie said. We’d be doing this city a favor.

Cass just sent a car emoji, a beer, and an emoji of a girl making an X with her arms.

Exactly, Steph responded.

Dick pursed his lips and decided to roll the dice on whether or not they were joking. If they weren’t, he hoped they’d at least return the car before it was missed.

He was standing by his own car now, staring at the screen as he mind went to other things. Babs had sounded stressed, so already he was set on stopping by her place. Maybe he could bring her some of the candy he'd managed to snag throughout the night. He could swing by the Manor for his Nightwing suit and then hit Barbara’s place before going on patrol.

Just the thought made him smile, but there was something else still nagging at him. He needed to find Jason. He still had no idea what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t leave things the way they were.

As he sorted out his plans for the evening, his screen went black. And only then, in the dark reflection of the glass, did he see the wolf mask peering over his shoulder.

And in a flash Dick was turning, ducking, his fist clenched.

And then he was falling, and the left side of his head was an explosion of white, searing pain, and suddenly he was staring at boots, one half of his face hot and wet and throbbing, the other cold against the sidewalk.

He heard himself dragging in short, ragged breaths, his teeth gritted as he ordered his body to move. But his limbs remained where they were, heavy and obstinate. His neck ached as he tilted his face up to look his attacker in the eye, his cheek scraping against the sidewalk.

Squinting into the light of the streetlamp, Dick’s eyes focused just in time to watch the man bring the pipe down again, fast and hard.

And Dick heard the sickening wet crack of bone yielding to metal.

And then nothing.

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [8/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/48475991

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #secrets

First Chapter

Author's Note: So the action scene I was writing became long and unwieldy and complicated, and threw off my planned chapter ending, so I had to put some filler. I hope you guys don't mind some Batfam chatter in its place. I'll try to get to the meaty action scene soon. ________________________________________________________________

Tim gets out of his shower at the Nest, reaching for his phone before his towel. The digital numbers tell him he hasn’t been away from the manor for more than an hour; Jason should still be okay.

When Tim left, the older man was sleeping like a log. He didn’t even stir when Tim tripped and accidentally knocked into his display of Gundam models. That’s a bit concerning—everyone in the family has been trained to sleep lightly and react to any inexplicable shift or creak in a room.

Clearly the infection’s taking it out of him…

He towels off, struggles into his gear and applies the spirit gum to keep his mask in place, then checks his phone again. Another ten minutes have passed.

It’s fine. Jason will be fine. There’s still time to get back.

He’s finding it a bit nerve-wracking, being Jason’s anchor; knowing that right now he’s the only one able to call back his mind if it meanders into self-destructive obsession. It constantly lingers on the edge of his mind that he can’t keep this up forever.

Eventually Jason will be beyond his reach if they don’t get the diviners back. And even if—when—they get them back, will Tim be able to just resume the way things were before?

He grips the edge of the counter beside the shower, forcing himself to breathe. He can’t let himself go there.

Table that problem until after Jason’s safe.

He straightens up and heads for the holding cell, where he finds Eros sitting cross-legged on his cot, wings out and hands wrapped around one of the edges of a painting Tim brought from upstairs. Insubstantial golden threads collect around his fingers and the canvas, like a spider’s web, but pulsing.

After several moments, the glow disappears, and Eros cracks an eye open. “Will wonders never cease—you let me finish this time.”

“You’re not leaving bodily fluids this time,” Tim retorts, and hurries to cut off whatever smart-ass comment is imminent. “We may have found the person who took your bow and arrows. We’re not a hundred percent sure, but it’s looking that way.”

Eros tosses the painting to one side, eyes gleaming. “That’s excellent news! Who was it?”

“Her name’s Carrie Cutter.”

“Never heard of her,” Eros says immediately.

Tim sighs, and brings up the holographic screen of his arm-computer; it projects a three-dimensional image of Cutter’s military file. A thin-faced woman with auburn hair and green eyes.

Eros blinks and then points a finger. “Hey! Clingy Redhead!”

Well, now that we have a definite connection…

“She also goes by Cupid,” Tim says, half-expecting to get another rant on appropriating the names of ancient Greek mythological figures.

Instead, Eros snorts and says, “Well, she’s welcome to the name, but I want my shit back.”

“How did she even manage to steal them from you to begin with?”

“I was really stoned?”

“You’re sure that’s all?” Tim presses. “There’s no way she could have had help from a god or someone who knows a lot about gods?”

Eros scratches his chin. “Well, I mean, anything’s possible.”

Tim rolls his eyes.

“Who in your family has a grudge against you?”

“Do you want the alphabetical or chronological list?”

“True. You’ve ticked off a lot of people in the past. From what I’ve read, things don’t really turn out all that well for the people you help.”

“I take offense to that!” Eros complains. “Any time I’ve genuinely joined souls fated to be together, there’s been nothing but happiness. The only time my matches have gotten twisted is when some divine prima donna gets their perizoma in a bunch and interferes.”

“Which brings us back to there probably being a god involved in all this. It would help to know which one.”

“There are usually signs, if you look hard enough for them.”

“What exactly do you think we’re trying to do?”

“No, I mean…” Eros folds his arms, thoughtful. “Every Olympian—every god that I’ve ever heard of, anyway—has a signature. Something they’re drawn to, habits that don’t just vanish over the centuries. Symbols they’re drawn to, whether they notice it or not.”

“We would have noticed in any of the crime reports by now.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It might be completely obscure. Like I said, we don’t always notice when we do it. If you find anything even resembling a pattern, let me know what it is. I might recognize it.”

“You didn’t recognize it when you were getting robbed.”

“I—was—stoned—!”

And that’s as far as we’re getting with that avenue.

Tim glances at his phone again; there’s still time. “Going back over everything again and trying to find symbols that might possibly be related? It might take longer than we have—I’m on a deadline here.”

“You could always just summon this Cupid woman.”

“If it were that easy, the government would have figured out how to do it ages ago. She’s trained specifically to avoid detection. There’s a reason we only found traces of her days after she’s been in a given location.”

“I don’t mean just pick up the phone and call her or satellite stalk her or whatever you capes do,” Eros dismisses, “I mean use the summoning spell for my bow and arrows.”

Silence rings.

I…did not just hear what I think I heard, did I?

Tim counts to ten. Twice. And then does it in Cantonese for good measure.

“I lose you there somewhere, pretty boy?”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Tim replies, expounding far more concentration that he should be keeping his voice level. “You just arbitrarily decide, ‘hey, you look sufficiently frustrated, so now I’ll come up with some pearl of wisdom I could have shared earlier’, don’t you?”

“Screw you, birdboy, I don’t make the rules!” Eros spits. “I’m not a Magic-Ball, here to answer you whenever you humans come a-knockin’. Do you have any idea how much trouble that caused way back when?” Eros adopts a falsetto. “Oh, high-crowned goddess of love, woe is me, I’m a rich and spoiled daddy’s boy and can’t get no respect! Please steal the heart of the most beautiful woman in the world for me! Oh, most feared goddess of retribution, the boy I like rejected me, so after I kill myself, make him fall in love with his reflection so he starves to death while feasting on the sight of himself!” Eros shoots Tim an irritated glare. “You really think we came up with that crap? Trust me, things were a hell of a lot worse when we just up and did everything for you. And then, when you hairless apes realized we weren’t giving you everything you wanted anymore, you stopped paying tribute to us and jumped on the hobo carpenter bandwagon.”

“I’m Jewish,” Tim replies, unimpressed with the tangent.

“Yeah, well, so was he. Anyway. Do you know how many Olympians have wasted away when people stopped believing in them? Point it, we had to get used to holding back. Give a human the answers without them having to work for it, and you get Hiroshima.”

“Fine, whatever,” Tim growls. “How do we summon the bow and arrow.”

“Weren’t you listening? A spell.”

“We’re not big on magic around here.”

“Tough noogies. Do you want to know what to do, or not?”

“Get on with it.”

“Right. So first, you need a rose—”

“A rose? Now I know you’re messing with me.”

“Roses are my symbol, asshat, and they act as an instrument of grounding when channeling my will,” Eros snaps, causing Tim to hold his hands up in surrender. “Right, so get a rose and sharpen its stem to a point. Get Helmet Head and join hands with him, and he has to say—”

“Hold on. Go back—Red Hood has to be here for this?” Tim interrupts. He’s not sure that’s a good idea, considering the circumstances.

“Of course he has to be there, he’s the key to making the spell work.” Eros says slowly, like he’s talking to someone intellectually slow. “He’s the one who desires you most in the world, which is a powerful spell component. And he’s the only one in the world right now that has my blood running in his veins. Since I can’t be let out of this glass cage of yours, he’s the only other choice.”

Tim rubs his temples; of the two options, Jason is better than letting Eros free. “And naturally there’s blood involved…”

“All magic has a price,” Eros agrees. “Now, you have to get him to speak these words—” He grabs one of the nearby magazines and a pen, then scrawls something on the cover, “—and then you have to pierce both your palms with the rose. Wait until the blood stops flowing, and then use what falls in place to mark my symbol in the earth.”

He shoves the magazine through the hatch in the wall, and Tim frowns at the note. “This doesn’t look like Greek.”

“It’s not. More proto-Greek. Close to what the Minoans spoke.”

“The problem here being that no one knows what the Minoans spoke, least of all us.”

“Tall, Dark and Angry can read it. Consider it a perk of being infected with my blood.”

“Maybe the only one,” Tim mutters.

“Once the spell is complete, it will act as a beacon or magnet that draws the diviners to the symbol. And thus the one wielding them, wherever they are.”

“No offense, but this is ridiculous. It’s like something out of an episode of Charmed.”

“For your sake I hope you’re talking about the original and not the remake,” Eros sniffs.

“If you always had this spell in your back pocket, why didn’t you cast it when you realized your bow and arrows were missing?”

Eros’ expression becomes cold marble again. “The one who desired me most in the world is gone, remember?”

Tim frowns. “You’re the god of love. You could get anyone to desire you.”

“It doesn’t work like that, darlin’,” Eros smiles bitterly. “There’s a special kind of person for that to work, to activate the power of my blood. Someone with pure conviction, and that’s a rare trait to find. By the time I might track down someone like that…well, let’s just say it’s lucky for everyone that your brawny boy toy got tagged, because he’s got it.”

Tim can’t really argue with that, because Jason has conviction in spades. Even years later, he has never wavered in his dedication to his own version of Bruce’s mission, even if it’s at odds with what Batman stands for. He has no qualms about crossing lines if he must, and still believes himself to be in the right.

“Okay, fine, I’ll give you that,” he allows grudgingly. “But that still leaves the problem of taking out Cutter herself. She’s no slouch, considering her training, and I doubt she’s going to want to give up her new toys without a fight.”

“What a shame you don’t know a bunch of people who regularly dress up in spandex and deal with this kind of thing all the time,” Eros drawls.

Tim rolls his eyes and wanders away and keys in Batman’s call sign to his comm. He knows Bruce isn’t going to like any of this, but he might be able to offer some perspective.

“B? You busy?”

“No.” The voice crackles in his ear. “Returning to Gotham now; I’m just over the Atlantic.”

“Find anything?”

“Yes. Your information on Cupid helped.”

“So did any other customer see her?” Tim asks.

“I don’t know. The coffeeshop has been shut down.”

Tim blinks, going over that information once more in his head. “What? Why?”

“Potential health concerns. Within the past week, three people fell into comas while visiting the shop,” Batman informs him. “There’s concern in the city of a possible outbreak.”

“That…wasn’t in any of my research.”

“The authorities only shut it down today, and the shop hasn’t been named in the media.”

“And how did knowing about Cupid help then?”

“I tracked down the barista. She remembered her.”

“So she was definitely there,” Tim says, breathing out in relief. Finally, something.

“Yes. And when I went to examine the scene, I found something on the bottom of a cup.”

“A…cup.”

“Yes. If there were an actual contagion spreading from the shop, chances are it would be passed via utensils or dishes.” Batman pauses, and then grants, “It took a while.”

“So what did you find?”

“A Svefnthorn.”

“A what?”

“An Asgardian formula to sink someone into a deep sleep. It’s their version of Stygian Sleep, but it wouldn’t work permanently on an Olympian. Different magic, different rules. But it would be strong enough to put something like Eros enough of a stupor that he wouldn’t notice the theft of his diviners.”

“And not many people would know that,” Tim muses.

“No.”

“I don’t know about you, B, but I’m leaning more and more toward the idea that Cupid’s got a god backing her.”

Tim gives a quick explanation of his conversation with Eros, as well as his method to track the bow and arrow.

“Convenient of him to mention it now,” Batman remarks in a neutral tone.

“That’s what I figured.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Figured that, too.”

“Wait until I return. We’ll decide how to make our move then. We need to be prepared—you can’t go into this blind.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, even though he doesn’t want to wait longer than he must. “See you when you get back.”

“Acknowl—”

Bruce’s comm suddenly cuts off, and Barbara’s voice snaps in his ear, “Red Robin, get back to Red Hood now.”

Tim’s heart leaps into his throat. “What happened? Is he okay? He’s supposed to be sleeping—”

“Well, he woke up. I was able to keep him on the line for about fifteen minutes before he stopped responding.”

Tim stumbles as he runs toward the garage. “Is he—?”

“He’s still putting out bio-signals. I sent Jeeves and Robin to check on him, but you need to be here yesterday.”

“On my way.”

For the second time in two days, Tim is racing toward the Batcave, a pit in his stomach.

I’m a moron. I shouldn’t have been away for so long. I should have called Bruce when I was already on the way, I should have just asked Eros questions without reacting, like I was trained to do, instead of bitching at him about a stupid spell. Get in, get the information, move on.

When he arrives at the manor, Alfred isn’t there to greet him, which sends alarm bells ringing in his mind. Taking the steps to the second floor two at a time, he doesn’t pause until he passes the bathroom outside of Bruce’s study.

Alfred is leaning over Damian, cleaning and dressing a bloody wound on the boy’s head.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, more breathless than he should be.

“Language, Master Timothy,” Alfred chides, unflappable as always. When Damian swears as he presses an alcohol swab to the wound, he adds, “And you too, Master Damian. I would rather this not need actual stitches.”

“I’ll live,” Damian snaps, jerking his head out of Alfred’s reach and glaring at Tim. “Todd’s losing it. He was becoming unruly again and Pennyworth and attempted to help him. Then he threw an alarm clock at me.”

“And you didn’t dodge it?” Tim cries, hurrying off.

“I was—I was attempting to shield Pennyworth from taking the brunt of it to the face!” Damian shouts after him, but Tim doesn’t dwell on something he would normally tease the boy about.

Now that he knows there’s nothing major, he needs to get to his room.

Tim returns to find Jason sitting on the floor in his room, pressing himself into the wall the same way he was doing with the holding cell. His fingers are in his hair, tugging at the strands in agitation; his entire scalp and forehead an angry red at the irritation and he’s knocking his head against the wall just shy of the force needed for a concussion.

Tim practically vaults over his bed to crouch in front of Jason, grabbing his hands away from his hair. He notices they’re bleeding, hangnails and dry skin picked and scratched open.

“Jason…Jason, I’m here. I’m sorry.” Jason’s expression loses some of its distant, frantic mania. “I had to speak to Eros. I really thought you’d still be asleep when I got back.” He swallows back the nauseous feeling creeping up his throat. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you call me?”

Jason blinks a few more times, clutching back at Tim’s hands as though to ground himself; it takes a bit before clarity returns to his eyes.

“I knew you were coming back,” he says shakily. “I mean…I did. But I didn’t? I couldn’t stop thinking you weren’t coming back. Even though I knew…” He trails off, gives a manic chuckle. “I mean, fuck, this is your room. This is your house, obviously you’d be coming back, but…” This time Tim can’t tell if the sound is meant to be a bitter laugh or choked sob. “I’m going crazy here, babybird.”

Cold, angry fury suffuses Tim’s body at how broken he sounds. At the fact that Jason Todd—the Robin he idolized, the one that’s always had to duck life’s hardest curveballs, the one that makes the hard decisions, who is supposed to be strong and fierce and good—is being reduced to this. Right before Tim’s eyes.

He’s vulnerable right now not because he actually trusts Tim, but because something is making him. Something is turning him into a victim.

At which point Tim makes a decision.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“We’re getting out of here,” Tim insists, trying to tug Jason to his feet.

“Uh, that’s probably one of your worse ideas,” the other man replies cautiously, resisting the pull. “I’ll be fine. I mean, you’re here now.”

Tim’s heart clenches.

“Yeah. Right now I’m here.” What happens the next time he leaves though? But seeing Jason’s reluctance, he sighs. “Okay, Jason, it’s your choice. We’ll stay here until B gets here. Should be a few hours still. You can recover, and then we’ll all go together.”

“Where?”

“I might have a way to get the bow and arrows. Tonight,” Tim explains. “B wants to wait until he gets here for back-up, but—”

Jason stumbles to his feet, practically dragging Tim up with him. “No way. Let’s go. Right now.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said, and I’m not waiting another minute if I don’t have to!” Jason snaps.

“But he was right, we probably will need back-up.”

“I’ve got all the back-up I need,” Jason insists, tugging Tim close by the shoulder, “Now come on, I need to get my helmet.”

⁂

Tim, paranoid freak that he is, isn’t keen on busting in on Cupid just the two of them and without an actual plan. Despite Jason’s confidence that they could easily take out someone like Carrie Cutter together, mystical weapons or not (and hell, he’s got mystical weapons too, if it comes down to it), Tim insists on being responsible and summons whatever Bats are still in the city to coordinate an actual impromptu sting.

Damian is already in the cave when they arrive, changing into his uniform. Jason grins at him. “No hard feelings about nearly braining you, right?”

“Tt. I look forward to you regaining all your faculties,” the kid retorts. “It will make beating you within an inch of your life that much more enjoyable.”

“Geeze, kid, you could just say you’re going to kill me. Fewer words.”

“Master Damian has already reached his weekly allotment of death threats,” Alfred remarks in a mild voice as he checks a line of tranquilizer rifles. “Any further instances and he will not be permitted to visit with Master Jonathan this weekend.”

Damian bristles at the word ‘permitted’ but doesn’t argue beyond a mutinous scowl.

Jason whistles appreciatively, both at the implicit power Alfred has over the kid (and let’s face it, the entire family), and the collection of sedatives laid out on the table. The concentrations range from human-sized targets to someone of Wonder Woman’s constitution. Since there’s no way of knowing whether Cupid intends to show up alone or with her divine ringer, Tim maintained that it was better to be safer than sorry.

Jason is eager to get out, tired of waiting and antsy. His skin itches, which has been a symptom ever since this whole infection thing began. As he rubs at his neck, he tries not to feel like he’s being pulled in a million different directions. He wants so many things right now—a fight where he doesn’t have to hold back, a cold shower, to sleep for eight hours, to run his fingers through Tim’s hair—

Jason shakes himself.

At least one of those things is imminent, so he decides to focus on that.

Finding Carrie Cutter and taking her out. Getting Eros’ diviners so he can get himself back to his normal level of screwed-up. Leaving Gotham in his rear-view long enough that he won’t have trouble looking anyone in the eye for a wile.

That he won’t have trouble looking Tim in the eye for a while.

The cave seems less claustrophobic this time around.

Jason attributes that to the fact he’s not locked in a giant glass box like a creature at a zoo. Also, the conspicuous lack of looming disapproval that is Bruce Wayne.

“Remember, Jason—non-lethal,” Tim says as Jason they both go through the routine gear and weapons’ check before suiting up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason replies, reaching around Tim to grab a few extra flash grenades; he doesn’t need to draw his arm along the length of Tim’s shoulders, or lean into him a half second longer than acceptable, but it’s a small comfort after his recent attack of paranoia. “Not like B would have left anything capable of doing actual lasting damage, since my stuff’s been sitting out here nice and open the past few days.”

“Lethal and doing lasting damage are two different things.”

“Not in B’s mind.”

“He knows there’d be no point to removing or tampering with your things. You have enough caches around Gotham to replace anything he might take.”

Jason shoots him a suspicious glance. “And how do you know that?”

Tim smirks at him, and Jason’s heart stutters.

That expression’s been turned on him before, but usually he’s just done something to piss the other vigilante off. This time, it’s almost conspiratorial, like he and Jason are in on the same joker. And holy hell, that should not be as hot to him as it is.

Eros’ blood. Supernatural roofie. I wouldn’t actually think so under normal circumstances.

But a niggling thought at the back of his head thinks that even once he gets cured, his mind is going to go directly back to that if Tim ever turns that look on him again.

The sound of tires squealing against stone and metal grating echo in the cave, and everyone looks up to watch Batgirl peel in the cave on her bike.

“Hey guys,” Blondie says, dismounting her bike and grinning at them. “I heard we were throwing ourselves headfirst into trouble?”

“That’s not what I said,” Tim mutters from his spot at the computer, scrolling rapidly through several different satellite images of Gotham.

“It’s what I heard.” She turns her gaze on Jason, surveying him with pursed lips. “Why is the homicidal maniac out of his cage?”

“Steph!”

“I’m not a maniac,” Jason informs her.

“I notice you don’t argue the homicidal part.”

“I don’t lie about important stuff. Unlike some people in this room.”

“Everyone in this cave lies for a living.”

“Not me. You’re the ones who are so concerned about secret identities. I died, remember?”

“Who here hasn’t?”

“Not you, from what I hear.”

“Six minutes dead is still dead.”

“Try six months.”

“Try almost a year and a half,” Damian cuts in.

“Is this really the time to play Who-Was-Dead-Longest game?” Tim asks, shooting an exasperated look in their direction. Jason’s pretty sure it’s mostly directed at Blondie, but he still feels a measure of guilt.

“It’s really not,” Dick’s voice carries down the stairs from the upper level. He dismounts, cape flowing behind them and fixes them with a disapproving look. “And if you can’t get along, we’re not doing this tonight. We’re already a man down since Cass is still in Hong Kong and Babs has Duke en route to Greece.”

“Greece?” Tim turns away from the computer, confused.

Debating for a moment whether it’s something he wants to share or not, Jason decides to fill everyone else in on what Barbara told him.

Tim’s expression becomes dark. “I’m liking this entire situation less and less with every passing hour.”

“Tell me about it,” Dick sighs. “I still think we should wait. This is an op we shouldn’t run without Batman.”

“You’re already here,” Tim points out.

Dick frowns at him. “Very funny. You know what I mean.”

“Screw that,” Jason interrupts. “I’m not waiting for him to drift on in here. He won’t get here for hours and I want this done now.”

“We have to do something,” Tim agrees. “Not just because of what’s going on with Jason, but the longer Cupid’s out there, the more likely she’s continuing her murder spree.”

“Planet don’t stop spinning just because B isn’t in Gotham. People all over the world gotta do shit without relying on him to show up. I know I’ve learned not to hold my breath.”

“Jason!” Dick and Tim chorus, shooting him disapproving looks.

“That attitude is why you will ever be the disgrace,” Damian sniffs. “I agree with Richard. This is a bad idea.”

“You’re right. You should stay here,” Tim says.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, Drake!”

The kid looks about two seconds away from stomping his foot.

“He’s messing with you, Dami. If he didn’t actually need you, you wouldn’t be here,” Blondie offers.

The kid scowls. “I do not need you to coddle me, Brown. I am aware of Drake’s methods, basic as they are.”

“We don’t know the timeframe we’re working with,” Tim goes on, getting up from his place at the computer and approaching Dick with a mulish expression. “Jason could be fine for the next five hours until B gets here, or he could progress to the next stage of the infection. Despite monitoring his symptoms, there doesn’t seem to be a standard rate of mental decay, and that’s thrown off by outside factors anyway. We still don’t know what all-out succumbing to this could look like.”

“And I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to,” Jason adds.

“Also, let’s not forget who was advocating using Stygian Sleep the last time Jason’s condition declined sharply.”

Dick shoots Tim a betrayed look. “Excuse me for not wanting to watch my brother rip himself to pieces in front of me.”

“No, you’d rather send my soul directly to Hell, or Hades, or wherever,” Jason deadpans. “’Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200’.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Oh, excuse me—temporarily send my soul directly to Hell, or Hades, or wherever. There’s a distinction. Excuse me if I’m more confident with Tim’s idea.”

“You don’t get a vote; you’d be confident about anything Tim proposed, even if it involved a Box-and-Stick Trap,” Damian interjects.

“Would not,” Jason mutters, although he thinks if anyone could make something as obvious as that work, it would probably be Tim. “I’m confident about Tim because since this whole thing’s started he’s done the most to help me through it, instead of keeping my locked in a box.”

“You wanted to be locked up!”

“Before Tim figured out, I didn’t need to be, as long as he was around!”

“Wait, what?” Steph asks, looking between the two. “This part I missed.”

“And he did that even after all the shit I’ve put him through, which is more than I can say for—”

“Don’t accuse anyone here of not trying to help you,” Dick snaps. “Damian and I have been spending overtime on patrol all week trying to track Cupid. Duke is on his way to Greece right now to follow a lead that might have nothing to do with any of this just because you and Babs have a theory. Even Steph’s put all her cases on hold to be here tonight.”

Jason pauses, somewhat caught off guard because he hadn’t known that bit of information. Then he crosses his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask her to. Blondie doesn’t even like be—barely knows me.”

“Since when does that matter in this Family, you giant idiot?” Blondie grumbles.

“Jay, you’d be less surprised about everyone willing to help you if you didn’t try to keep yourself apart from everyone all the time,” Dick concludes with a sigh. “That’s at least one silver lining to all this. You’re finally letting someone in—even if it’s just Tim right now.”

He reaches out to clap a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Hey! Hands off!” Jason snarls, shoving Dick away and pulling Tim toward him. It’s not done violently or in a manner meant to hurt him, but this time Tim does go stiff in his arms. The three other vigilantes immediately move like they’re about to spread out around them, expressions as a serious as if they need to diffuse a bomb.

Jason’s wits return, and he quickly releases his hold on the smaller man. “Sorry.”

Blondie looks between the two of them, mouth gaping a bit. “Damn. They weren’t kidding. That’s one hell of a one-eighty you pulled there, Hood.”

“Personally, I preferred him trying to kill Drake instead of grope him.”

“Damian!” several voices protest, but the kid looks unrepentant.

“Dick, just listen to me,” Tim implores, cheeks flushed with obvious embarrassment over the situation. “I have a plan.”

The man in the cowl continues to look wary, but they’ve all worked with Tim long enough to respect when he has a plan. Eventually, he relaxes and nods, indicating he’s listening.

Tim outlines everything, starting with finding a suitable location. Summoning Cupid to the Cave isn’t going to happen, since they can’t compromise its location, and they can’t be too close to the city either. If Roy’s stories are anything to go by, Carrie Cutter has never been choosy when it comes to collateral damage.

“And if what Eros is saying is true, gods are like that but with more firepower,” Tim says. “We still don’t know who’s backing Cupid.”

“Feathers had no idea?”

“Apparently the list of people he’s pissed off starts with us and goes around the block twice.”

“I’m so surprised.”

Tim has chosen a strategically promising position that will be empty at this time of night, with enough natural cover that they can easily stay out of sight until needed. The downside is it’s worryingly close to the part of Robinson Park that Poison Ivy’s claimed as her own.

“I don’t like it,” Dick says. “Not your plan—most of it’s sound. But that last bit. Anything that draws Ivy’s attention while we’re doing this could go badly for us.”

“On the contrary, I’m pretty sure it would work out. We know better than to cause intentional harm to the flora in the area; Cupid doesn’t. And since when she fights, she doesn’t care what she destroys, she’s more likely to draw Poison Ivy’s attention than we are.”

“Or she could be in one of those moods where she decides she hates men and the only one who makes it out alive is Blondie,” Jason points out.

“I’m okay with that,” she pipes up helpfully.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Ivy likes me. We have an understanding.”

“I call bullshit,” Jason shoots back.

“No, really. I calculate a high probability that if she sees me there she’ll focus her attention on what she considers to be the greatest threat to her plants, giving all of us a chance to retreat if necessary.”

“Oh yeah? And what gives you that certainty?”

“Well, she kissed me and I’m not dead,” Tim says. “Considering the number of guys she’s left for dead that way…Jason? Are you okay?”

“I’ll kill her,” Jason growls, a murderous rage suddenly suffusing his entire body. “If she comes anywhere near you, I’m going to string you up with her own vines and feed her pesticides until she rots.”

There’s a heavy silence, and everyone is staring at him, once again like a rapid animal about to spring. Jason blinks, running over his last words, and shakes his head, feeling suddenly dizzy and drained.

“Sorry,” he says. “That came out of nowhere.” He tries to explain it to Tim. “I just—”

“No, uh…it’s fine.”

Jason scowls. “I could learn to hate that word.”

“Me too,” Dick says darkly. “If you can’t control yourself in the field, maybe you should stay here.”

“Not happening,” he insists, at the same time Tim cries, “No!”

“Tim, come on, you just saw—”

“If we leave him here alone and locked up he could hurt himself if we’re gone for a long time. Besides, my plan calls for all of us and the chances of success diminish exponentially with fewer people.”

“Then we’ll call in Selina, or Kate, or Helena or—”

“On holiday in Austria, temporarily out of commission, undercover,” Tim rattles off.

“Then call in the Titans—”

“They still wouldn’t get here right away and then we might as well wait for B,” Tim snaps. “Dick, we’ve been standing here arguing for ten minutes and look what he’s done to his hands.” He reaches over and grabs hold of Jason’s right hand, holding it up to show the bloody mess of picked and scratched skin.

Damn it. I didn’t even realize I was doing that.

The immediacy of the sight at least seems to finally convince Dick of Tim’s argument, because his shoulders slump and he says, “Tell me the rest of your plan.”

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

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

<3 Violet

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

asks (21)

Anonymous said: Hi! Do you still like Tim Drake?

More than I can describe!

Anonymous said: Please tell me those law school quotes are all from one professor

They are not, but MOST of them are from the civ pro professor. His name is Counseller, and he’s great. He got a standing ovation after his speech at my friend’s graduation yesterday. I once went to dinner at his house and a movie afterwards. He had us all hide his candy in our bags so he didn’t have to pay concession stand prices. 

@whambamthanksbatfam​ said: Do you know canonical nicknames for the Batboys?

Hold up lemme see what I have on file

Off the top of my head I can also think of times that Tim referred to himself as “Timmy” (usually while pretty young), and of course Dick has “boy wonder”

Anonymous said: What do you think will happen to nightwing comics? Writer changes in April, will they be able to reverse the amnesia arc? Do you think maybe the damage to the character is irreversible? I don't understand why they'd allow it especially after what happened when they tried to kill him off. It's also 35th anniversary of his first appearance in a few months. Looking at teen titans, jon kent's age, young justice "coming back" I feel concerned for dc comics' future ):

I’m basically taking my usual approach, which is (as far as comics are concerned)... everything will return to its most profitable form. Comics have a set form. With a few key exceptions-- changes in superhero persona, for example-- things generally make their way back to the “classic” form. Therefore I expect Dick to go back to being Nightwing, in a form we would recognize as typically Nightwing. 

Anonymous said: wait..... waitwaitwaitwait..... wait. did u just swear in that hashtag? i have followed you for like 2 years and the closest i've seen to swearing is "sweet texas on high" which ended up becoming a bad habit of mine to say irl and then have to explain where the hell i heard that, and then i said it enough that one friend started saying it as well, then it just spread like a virus in my friend group (this isn't a complaint this is just surprise and amusement. love ur blog!)

Glad to see my nonsense swears are spreading! To be honest, I (really) swear a lot. Don’t tell my mom

Anonymous said: Hey! I have to choose a quote for my yearbook and i want to do a batman/superhero quote but i cant think of one and was wondering if you could help me out? Im looking to go for kinda funny but also has a bit of meaning, ya know? Anyway thank you!

Oooooh boy lemme see

I like Alfred’s quote in these panels. I would also maybe suggest:

"Whenever someone's asked what power they wish they had, flying is always at the top of the list. But I have to admit. I've learned to love falling too." (Nightwing #142, 2008)

I don’t know how helpful I can be on this one, honestly, but there’s my two cents.

night-mom said: Hi, I have a bat-centric side blog called Bat-Losers-Inc. I just discovered some of your writing on tumblr and have been slowly going through it when I have the time. I really love how you write each character of the Batfam and how each of them feels very distinct from each other but also different from their common representations in the Batman fandom. So anyway, I was wondering if you had a favorite Bat family member to write from in terms of point of view/personality?

Hmmmm a couple of years ago, I would have said Jason. For whatever reason, I’ve always given him a talking/fighting style that’s the most similar to my own, but lately I find myself drawn to Tim and Damian. My guess? Their points of view allow me to explore some things I’ve been going through-- specifically a nasty bout of depression, anxiety, and a psychotic breakdown. I would also say that Dick is the hardest for me to write, followed by Bruce, Duke, and Cass. Stephanie is pretty easy. 

Anonymous said: For some reason, I have this huge need of some angst... Could u please do a prompt of suicide Tim? But he manages to success?? Please???

Listen. I’m definitely not going to do that, and I don’t think I need to explain why. 

Anonymous said: I reread some old B&R comics. Bruce came back from his weird time adventures and one of the first things he said to Damian was, that it was his job as Robin to make sure that Batman gets home safe. Like yeah, I guess it is? But also you're talking to your 10 year old son, I'm waiting for that mentality to bite you in the ass at some point. I mean it kind of did when Damian died to save Dick in Batman Inc. Bruce's parenting is really dangerous sometimes o_o

I agree. I’ve always had a problem anytime the Batman/Robin relationship is framed around what Bruce needs. For the benefit of the child? Sure, I’ll suspend belief for that one. Because an adult needs it? No thanks. That’s why Tim’s origin story bothers me a whooooole lot.

@therusticate said: I just read the fanfic you put out around Christmas with the files on Dick and Damien and I MELTED. There were TEARS! I’m hoping to find some more of your work on your blog; I love your writing style and how everything flows. Thank you so much for creating content! You did a fantastic job and I love it.

Oh, thank you so much! I’m particularly fond of that fic

Anonymous said: how's outlining going?

Anonymous said: what is it that you are outlining??

Anonymous said: I hope your outline turns out good and you do well ❤ you can do it!!

@couldnt-pick-a-name said: Have you finished your outlining yet?

Anonymous said: Good luck on your exams!! I hope they go well and you take care of yourself and don't get too stressed

I appreciate you all for keeping me on topic <3

Exams went... probably pretty well? We’ll find out when grades come back. I was outlining for immigration law, federal administrative law, and constitutional law-- and I did get all of them done. Hallelujah. 

Anonymous said: Young Justice 2019 just got published and I realized I haven't consumed enough YJ material!! Do you have any comic recommends??

Oooooh I guess that depends on which Young Justice you’re talking about? Original v. based on TV show? Either way, my recommendation is to look up the associated series. Original YJ (Tim, Bart, Cassie, Conner, etc.) is the 2000 version by Peter David. That team just got a reboot, and I’m reasonably sure that’s what you’re asking about. Then there’s the YJ comic based on the tv show (2011, I believe).

Either way, I like pretty much the entire series. Sounds simple, but that’s my rec. 

@dontstopkiwibea said: I've been thinking about your fic with Damien and Tim having a conversation about Tim's depression and the time when Bruce was missing. I think about all that missing time a lot and how so much /could/ have happened to Tim but didn't. And then I think about Damien being sad when Tim was dead. And then I think about Dick hearing about Tim's mental state during that time, how bad it really got, and maybe Bruce learns too. Ahhhh I don't know about you but I want more fics about Tim and getting help

Honestly? Same. I feel like there’s a lot of emotion that’s never officially explored, and that’s a problem I personally enjoy fixing. 

Anonymous said: You asked for headcanons, so: Damian likes to give Tim a hard time, and one day Damian scoffs at the idea of Tim getting a pet, saying he’d probably kill it through neglect. Tim doesn’t appreciate that and ends up with a goldfish out of spite. He learns everything there is to know, and his fish is gonna thrive, dammit. And it does. Tim comes to genuinely care for this little creature (and secretly Damian is really pleased Tim is showing such interest in something that isn’t casework or WE).

Love it! Give Tim A Fish 2019

Anonymous said: What are you most looking forward to this year?

Hmmmmm... this is maybe a lil over optimistic, but I’m really looking forward to getting better this year. I’m trying harder and I have better resources than I ever had before. 

@xylophonicsynapse said: Which of the bat-kids makes music playlists?

I’d say that all of them DO it sometimes, but the one who really gets into it is Damian. He likes his music organized, thank you very much.

Anonymous said: Hey Amy! Saw the ask about the line "The sun is UP and so is JESUS we are partying today." and I thought it was hilarious I MUST know where its from! Plz and thank you <3

Lmaoooo that was from a post on Easter

[dccomicsbookshelf]

The Love-Life Habits of Bats

This is probably going to be the only time I talk about this, since this isn’t really a topic I a) care that much about or b) feel all that comfortable talking about.

As a result of the above, these are less “headcanons” and more “my interpretation of canon” (and as such are not as varied or colorful as a lot of other people’s hcs on the topic) and a lot of my opinions are sourced from me seeing interpretations in fandom and canon that feel wrong to me for whatever reason. So here we are, something I never thought I’d actually post about but just so that y’all can know where I’m coming from. (Or just enjoy free-standing) 

BatFam sexual orientations and miscellaneous notes concerning relationships and sexualities

(+ one mini-rant on behalf of Dick Grayson.)

Bruce: Is aggressively heterosexual for the most part. Not in the hur, hur, no homo, dude! sense, he just...really likes women. It’s one of the aspects of Brucie that is true for Bruce as well. Yes, a lot of his one-night stands are ostensibly about keeping his cover as a playboy billionaire as part of the Quest for Justice, but he is genuinely very sexual. He tones it down a little as he gets older (and acquires more children) He actually desperately wants a serious and stable relationship (and is also terrified of the prospect) which results in a frustrating combination of overbearing clinginess and emotional pushing-awayness. It’s part of why Talia broke off their engagement. He was smothering her. Is also mildly bicurious and has probably experimented a few times.

Selina: Pan with high standards (and Bruce). Has not, despite popular rumor and speculation, been part of a threesome with Harley and Ivy. She doesn’t have that kind of a relationship with them. (Doesn’t mean they don’t all three have fun feeding those rumors on occasion.)

Kate: Look, this has been very firmly established in canon so I don’t think I need to say much. She’s a lesbian, Harold.

Barbara: Bi and ever so slightly aromatic. She’s not romance-repulsed but she doesn’t really initiate unless it’s a situation that would be super important to her partner. Her workaholicness probably has something to do with it tbh.

Dick: this one is gonna be super long because I have some Opinions to say. Imma start with what he isn’t. He’s not a man-whore. Not an exhibitionist. Not a flirt.

The only times he’s slept with someone outside a committed relationship (i.e. Kori and Babs) were either...

That weird one night stand with Helena that was WAY out of character for both of them.

Mirage and Tarantula. If I have to explain why these don’t count then humanity needs to burn already.

He’s actually pretty shy about PDA. He grew up with a firm divide between the “public” and the “personal”, first with the circus then with Bruce. When you have an audience, you perform. When you are with your family and friends, you take the masks off. With his family in particular there was the idea of “our love for each other is not for someone else’s entertainment. It belongs to us.” He loves holding hands and hugging in public, but more than that and he starts getting uncomfortable.

He gets called a flirt a lot but he rarely is actually flirting. People just assume he’s flirting when he’s really just being friendly and/or polite and barely tolerating them. 

All of this is a really long way to say that Dick Grayson is so demi it might as well be his middle name. (He has a very strong preference towards women. And he has a type.) But because he’s pretty and friendly, people make assumptions because people are egocentric, entitled assholes.

Cass: Is pansexual and aromantic in the sense that she actually finds romance adorable until it involves her, then she finds it vaguely awkward. (She is also toppy as heck.) She has to trust someone before she’ll get intimate with them though. Generally speaking she doesn’t go looking for relationships. She prefers spending time with her family and friends. (She mostly has FWB kinds of relationships anyway, since she and Superboy stopped dating. The closest to a “relationship-relationship” since then was her almost-thing with Steph.)

Jason: Ace and either bi or pan-romantic. (He doesn’t want to sleep with you but he will romance the heck out of you! His methods of romancing vary depending on his Pit-Madness status.)

Steph: Bi. After her pregnancy she’s been a lot more choosy about her partners. Part of it is “been there done that” and part of it is that she’s a little self-conscious about her stretch marks and steadily growing collection of scars. 

Tim: Is straight and awkward at romancing unless he’s deep in a persona, then it varies. He tends to be, like B, overbearing and kind of classist/elitist which has caused him some difficulties (understandably) but he’s getting better. As he gets into his late teens his sexual/romantic life has picked up quite a bit.

I must correct myself. He is straight with one potential exception.

Look, I don’t even ship TimKon myself but that subtext (in the actual comics) is one comma splice away from being text.

Damian: I haven’t thought much about him tbh because he’s ten. All I really know is that if there is a word for “sexually attracted by competence” he’s that. Definitely sapiosexual. Refuses to enter a relationship with someone he cannot trust and once he does enter a relationship he throws his whole heart and soul into it. His first breakup was devastating. 

Duke: Is low-key bisexual. At one point decided he will only date outside the masked and caped crowd as he has the basic requirement of “sanity” for a partner. This makes it complicated because relationships with civilians come with their own host of problems.

Alfred: Was a theater actor in-between being special forces and a Bat-Butler.

[lookatthisdork]

Imagine the batboys braiding the batgirls’ hair

It started out with tiny little Robin Dick noticing that Barbara Batgirl - who was amazing and intelligent and kicked so much ass and also was super pretty - sometimes had trouble with her hair smacking her in the face on windy days. Even a ponytail wasn’t quite enough, leading to post-patrol snarls the size of a coin that she’d sometimes spend a bit trying to finger comb before giving up. So Dick enlists help from literally-knows-how-to-do-everything Alfred to learn how to make a french braid. Babs is kind of flabbergasted when he first offers to do her hair on a rooftop one night, but she humors him. And wow, he’s actually pretty good and very convenient; it becomes a regular thing after that for bad-but-not-terrible weather.

Jason, who grew up messing around with his mother’s hair, doesn’t immediately offer to do Barbara’s, but once they get to know each other he does her hair one night, and oh man. He’s like a professional stylist. A few times he did upside down french braids (starting at the nape of the neck instead of the crown of the head), and Batgirl would have a bunch of bystanders and even a few still-conscious goons ask her who did her hair. She’d say it was Robin and watch with amusement as Jason blushed as red as his tunic at the attention. (There was one guy who made the mistake of putting down Robin for doing something so “unmanly”; he got Batgirl’s boot to the crotch for that.)

Tim never did Barbara’s hair, but he did see Stephanie touching up her own braids from time to time. He wasn’t super interested for himself, but he was there one night when Steph was trying to teach Cass, with...less than optimal results. So Tim was just like “hey, you could teach me to do Cass’s hair.” (Braiding your own hair is a very different beast from braiding someone else’s.) But Cass still wanted to learn, so they all decided that Cass would practice on Tim and Tim would practice on Cass so everyone could benefit from Steph’s skills. And Cass sported dutch braids and fishtails for a few months while everyone scratched their heads as Tim walked around with cornrows.

One time, Stephanie’s braid came undone at a really inopportune time and while she didn’t get hurt badly, she took a few flesh wounds that wouldn’t have happened if her hair was flying into her mouth. Two weeks later, Damian demands she kneel with her back to him, and Steph is like no. Why. You don’t get to tell me to kneel. They go back and forth for a bit before Damian, completely flustered now, asks her to sit so he can fix her poorly-done hair. Rude, but okay, Steph remembers the braid thing, maybe this is Damian...showing his concern? She sits down, and it takes Robin a minute tops to have her hair secured in the most functional braided bun she’s ever seen in real life. Like, she doesn’t know how he did it, but it doesn’t throw off her balance or bounce around at all, plus it stays the whole night and comes undone easily when she’s at home. She’s tried learning Damian’s technique multiple times, only to fail. (Either because Damian is cheating with ninja magic or he just can’t teach hair-styling. Steph thinks it’s both.)

Bruce sucks at hair. He doesn’t even know what to do with his sons’ hair - that was always Alfred’s domain. He actually thought that Tim had gotten dreadlocks during the cornrow-era. What’s the difference between the two? Fuck if Bruce knows. So when Cass asks him to do her hair for the upcoming gala, he is 100% ready to pass that job off to literally anyone else. Jason, probably, since it’ll guarantee that his second son is at least in the manor the day of the party.

But Cass gives him this Look, like how people always describe Puppy Dog Eyes but not actually Puppy Dog Eyes because those don’t actually work on Bruce, but Cass’s Look works, and he can’t just turn her away. So he says okay, I’ll do your hair. And then the moment she leaves, he panic dials Dick because he has an afternoon to cram for this, and he needs help. Cue a hair-styling bootcamp featuring all the batfam minus Cass as they try to get Bruce to pick a simple up-do, then try to teach him the more complicated up-do + curling iron he insisted on instead.

The day of the gala comes, and Bruce is ready. He’s got the curling iron and hairspray and pins and heirloom barrettes with actual diamonds in them. And Jason is low-key on standby in case they need an emergency do-over, but Bruce actually does a really good job. Cass is so happy with it, she makes a point of standing by Bruce the whole gala so that every time someone compliments her hair, she can say “Thank you, my dad did it.” Bruce is goddamn floating on air the whole night while the kids discreetly high-five themselves on a job well done.

[reddhoodie]

The Impalement Arts (Circus AU Part 1/?)

A/N: This was meant to be a quick fluff thing for @tall-yet-smol because she’s had a hard week, but then it got long and now it’s a thing apparently. Enjoy!

(*whispers* check out my masterlist for more batfam fun)

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    Tim Drake, wearing a slightly baggy gray hoodie, skinny jeans, and tennis shoes, didn't come across as a remarkable figure. He looked like any other mop-haired teenage boy while he walked around the arena floor helping with set-up for the night's show.

    Most of the performers didn't wear their full costumes to rehearse, and Tim was no different. Despite the circus setting, no one would have seen anything unusual about him at all, until they noticed him casually tossing a rather large knife in one hand, the blade flashing in the harsh arena light.

    “You're sure this is safe?” Elaina asked, tense, straightening her back against the board behind her.

    The board was painted in obnoxiously bright colors, forming a target around her.

    “Well, I don't think 'safe' is the word I would use...” He mused, biting his lower lip briefly, “but you're not going to die.”

    “Comforting.”

    She'd offered to help him rehearse, not realizing that 'helping' meant trying to stand still while he threw knives into the board around her.

    Becca, one of Elaina's best friends, sat a few feet behind Tim on a small round platform meant for the animal routines. Cross-legged and munching on chips from a little bag, looking absolutely delighted by the scenario in front of her. “Aim for her face.”

    Tim snorted, smirking. “Right.”

    Elaina frowned at her. “You stay out of this.”

    He twirled the knife in his fingers once more. “Remember, stay still. No flinching and especially no ducking.”

    She nodded.

    He raised an eyebrow.

    “Sorry.” And she went still again, standing straight against the target board, arms crossed in front of her.

    Tim took a slow, deep breath. Then his arm moved in a blur and the knife he'd been holding slammed into the wood two inches from her right arm.

    Her heart pounded in her throat.

    He spun around, gracefully plucked another knife from the ground beside him and in the same motion swung his arm again. A knife thudded into the wood on her left side. Another spin, another knife, and another thud into the wood above her head.

    “Tadaaaa!” Tim crowed, raising both arms in the air dramatically.

    Elaina looked up at the knife above her. She saw her own reflection in the blade. Terror and a distinct thrill raced through her.

    Becca cheered and clapped.

    Tim bowed deeply. “Thank you, thank you. I'm here all week.”

    “Tim!” A voice boomed from the other side of the arena, making all three of them jump.

    Jason, Tim's older brother, strolled over from the backstage doors on the side of the arena, looking amused.

    “I thought Bruce told you not to throw things at the new girls.”

    Tim shrugged and walked over to the board. Elaina moved and he started pulling the knives from the board. “I couldn't find Damian.”

    “Sure.” Jason glanced at the girls and seemed to notice Elaina's lingering blush immediately. He smirked and raised one eyebrow at her.

    She looked away, choosing instead to focus on some activity on the other side of the arena floor. Garfield and Damian had Damian's dog Titus out, and were coaxing him to jump from one platform to another. The Great Dane was not part of Damian's animal act, and seemed vaguely puzzled by the entire situation.

    Tim had to struggle a bit to pull the knife from the higher position over Elaina's head, and almost fell when it finally let go.

    Elaina was very aware that Jason was still watching her appraisingly. It was a little intimidating. He was a big, tough-looking guy, and came across as a little gruff in the few times she'd actually spoken to him since joining the Gotham circus with her friends a month ago. Now he'd definitely noticed her awkwardness around Tim, and another person knowing about her crush on him was not what she needed.

    “I thought you two were supposed to be helping with set-up.” He pointed out, finally looking away from the blush on her face and glancing between her and Becca instead.

    “We are,” Becca asserted, crumpling up her now-empty chip bag and shoving it into her hoodie pocket, “we were taking a break. But we're done now.”

    Becca didn't blush when she talked to Jason, but just the night before she'd been complaining about his 'stupid adorable face' and 'obnoxiously muscular arms'.

    Jason nodded and glanced back at Tim. He winked at the younger boy and he looked confused. Elaina suppressed the urge to groan out loud.

    “Actually,” Jason went on, “Selina sent me to find you two. We just rigged the aerial stuff and she wants you girls to do your practice routines before she rehearses hers.”

    Becca tilted her head. “Why? Usually she has us practice after rehearsals are done.”

    He shrugged. “It's Selina. I didn't bother to ask questions. She said something about lighting.”

    The girls shared a glance, shrugged, and turned to join Selina and Bruce in the center of the middle ring.

    Tim watched them go, absentmindedly fidgeting with one of the knives. “What was that wink for?” He asked his older brother once they were out of earshot.

    Jason chuckled. “If you don't see it, I can't explain.”

    “Can you talk like a normal person for two seconds?”

    “Hey, don't tell me to act like a normal person when you've chosen throwing knives as your preferred method of flirting.”

    A blush blossomed immediately on Tim's face, possibly even brighter than the one Elaina had sported just moments ago. He turned suddenly to fuss with his props on the ground. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

    Jason sighed theatrically. “Sure you don't, Timbo.”

    Selina had a way of making scary things seem like no big deal, like their original last-minute audition for the circus. On the other side of the spectrum, though, she could make normal things, like practicing the routines they were hoping to use in their own act next year, seem terrifying.

    When the three of them joined her in the middle of the main ring, she'd been going on about how the lighting had to be set properly so they needed someone on the silks to make sure it would all look right. Elaina wasn't sure why that someone couldn't be Selina herself...but like Jason said it was easier not to ask questions.

    What made it low-key terrifying was the fact that Bruce Wayne himself was there, looking serious and vaguely judgmental as he always did on set-up day. Yes, he'd been the one to hire them into the circus from the tiny, struggling cabaret-type show in a small town near where one of their shows had been held. But he had yet to offer any kind of real friendliness towards them since then.

    Their routines were rough still, highly imperfect. Not something any of them really wanted to bust out for the owner of the circus.

    “Elaina, hop up there and try your routine so they can get the lights set.”

    Gabrielle and Becca backed away immediately, more than willing to let her go up there first.

    Bruce was a few steps away, leaning on a stack of boxes, watching Selina with a look of vague exhaustion.

    “Um, okay. Sure.”

    Selina pulled out her phone and started the music Elaina used for her routine, a dramatic instrumental. It was tinny and soft in comparison to the bustle of the organized chaos around them, but it was good enough.

    Elaina kicked off her shoes, set them aside, and approached the silks.

    Bruce only seemed to be half alert to her routine, splitting his focus between this 'lighting test' and the other things happening on the floor, as well as the radio in his hand that would crackle to life now and then with a report or question from someone working elsewhere in set-up.

    That helped Elaina relax a little. At least until the big spotlights came up and focused on her. With the other lights on they weren't as notable, but they were enough to cause others to stop and look.

    While she climbed and twisted and posed in the silks, trying to focus on the almost-too-quiet music from Selina's phone, the older woman marched around her, gesturing up at the workers running the spotlights. She would swing her arm up to move the light higher, gesture one direction or the other, point down, up, sideways, then signal they were right with an 'ok' sign. Then she suddenly shut off the music on her phone.

    “All right, seems perfect.”

    Elaina climbed down, noticing the group of backstage workers and other performers who'd paused curiously to watch her. Then she noticed Tim, still on the edge of the arena with his props. He'd been watching, and when she met his gaze he seemed to suddenly realize she could see him, and turned back to what he was doing abruptly.

    And there was that blush again, warming her face as usual.

    “Nice job!” Becca said cheerfully.

    “Yeah, that looked great.” Gabrielle agreed.

    Elaina smiled, wondering if Tim had been watching the whole time. “Thanks.”

    Selina stepped forward and skillfully knotted the silks a few times, then gestured at whoever was at the controls in the shadows up high on the arena's end. The silks rose smoothly, out of the way in the arena's ceiling.

    The girls turned to leave and get back to helping with set-up, but Selina spun around.

    “We're not done yet, ladies.”

    That was when Elaina noticed another apparatus, a trapeze, lowering.

    “It's a good time for some practice, don't you think?” Selina smiled.

    She had Becca hop up onto the trapeze, and like Elaina she went through her routine while Selina marched around her. This time she seemed less concerned with lighting and more about the routine itself. After Becca was through with hers, the trapeze went up and a hoop came down. It was Gabrielle's turn for that one.

    Becca and Elaina sat on the ground nearby, out of the way of other performers and the set-up crew while Gabrielle ran through her hoop routine.

    This whole situation was, they'd learned, very typical of Selina. You never really knew what she was actually calling you over for, because she always seemed to have an ulterior motive in mind. Even at the moment, both Becca and Elaina were fairly certain she had some other reason behind having the three of them practice now, instead of later in the night as usual when the floor would be more calm and quiet.

    “Maybe she's trying to show us off.” Becca suggested with a shrug.

    Elaina glanced at the others, trying not to let her gaze linger on Tim. He'd taken off his hoodie to reveal a somewhat tight black tank top and it was stressing her out. “I kind of hope that's not it.”

    Whatever Selina's master plan was, at least this meant they got to sit and watch the others rehearse while Gabrielle practiced.

    In one of the smaller rings, Megan, Conner, and Kal'dur watched the younger members of their acrobatic group practice some flips and jumps, catching and tossing one another.

    On the other side of the main ring, Artemis, a trick rider and archer, was checking to be sure her targets were in their correct places, assisted by her boyfriend Wally.

    In the other smaller ring, Garfield was playing with Titus while Damian ran through some simple tricks with the animals actually involved in his act, a handful of cats and an actual cow.

    Elaina had never been involved with such a large show. She'd grown up in show business, but her parents were musicians, not circus performers. Gabrielle's mother was a dancer, her father a Broadway actor. Both of Becca's parents worked in positions behind the scenes. They'd each seen shows put together and performed almost all of their lives, but nothing on such a wild and grand scale. Nothing that set up and packed up and traveled across the country. It was thrilling and terrifying and something Elaina hoped they would get to do for a long, long time.

    At first, the chaos of set-up day had been stressful. But they were each slowly getting used to the bustle to the point where they actually found themselves enjoying it. It was exciting.

    Gabrielle dropped off the hoop onto her feet, slightly out of breath.

    “Okay girls, nice work.” Selina praised them, smiling. “Thanks for your help.”

    “No problem.” Gabrielle huffed.

    Elaina looked forward to the days when they would finally have actual acts in the show, when this point of the day would see them rehearsing their own routines alongside everyone else, not just practicing them to help Selina check lighting and height presets.

    “Why don't you girls go see if Alfred's got something for you to do?” Bruce, who Elaina had almost forgotten was there, said suddenly. He still looked somewhat unimpressed. Were their routines that boring?

    Gabrielle nodded, gesturing for the other two to follow her backstage. “Will do.”

    Becca and Elaina pushed themselves to their feet, following their friend out of the noisy arena towards the slightly more muffled backstage halls.

    When Elaina passed Tim, still practicing, she waved. He smiled and waved back, and she thought she saw a blush on his face. It was probably exertion, she told herself, since he'd moved on from simple knife throwing to doing his flips and fancy moves and would surely be working up a sweat. That was all it was.

    Wasn't it?