#and dick catches him and while falling tim's mask has begun to FALL OFF

[ali-kitkat]

Audacity Ch 4

First     Previous 

The room was silent for a moment before Jason erupted with laughter, falling over and landing on the floor. Marinette didn’t spare him a second glance as Damian retrieved the ring.

“No offence Pixie Pop, but you’re not exactly terrifying as is. Also how exactly is a ring supposed to help ‘rip him a new asshole’ as you put it?” Jason asked, composing himself as Damian tossed the ring to her. she slipped the ring on and closed her eyes before the flash of light blinded her.

“Hey pigtails.” A nasally voice spoke sheepishly.  

“Hello Plagg.” She replied softly, holding out her hand for him to land on. The mutters from the boys were quite funny to hear, but her focus was on reassuring Plagg. “It’s not your fault Adrien betrayed us.”

“He was my kitten, bug. I should’ve known something was going on when he started to clam up with me.” Plagg cried, lowering himself into her hand. His words became unrecognizable as he blubbered about Adrien’s failings.

“What the fuck is that?”

“He is what is going to help me with Adrien. The miraculous are magic, and they’re powered by kwamis. Plagg here is the kwami of destruction and bad luck. Adrien originally held the ring, before he, you know, recreated the timeline.” She answered.

“Plagg, what say you? Are you up for a little revenge?” Marinette grinned. It was feral and unsettling which caused the boys to take a step back. Plagg, grinned back just as feral; the boys, with a silent look, decided that messing with Marinette was bound to get you maimed.

“Hold up, this thing—” Jason started.

“He’s a kwami.” Marinette said, cutting him off as Plagg hissed in his direction.

“My bad, the kwami can help you how? Also how exactly did Adrien rewrite the universe?” He continued.

“When used properly and depending on which miraculous are combined they can manipulate time, emotions, and bend the fabric of reality. Plagg here can help me transform when I say a particular phrase.” She explained, the grin still in place.

“A phrase? Can you demonstrate?” Dick asked, his family nodded their heads in agreement. Their curiosity peaked; magic was always an interesting thing to see.

“Close your eyes, when transforming the miraculous gives out the same light as when it’s been activated, similar to the one you all saw before.” Marinette gave confirmation and gestured for them to move back. After they all had taken a step back, she spoke. “Plagg, transform me!”

The flash of light was over and when she looked down at the suit, she saw how different it was from the first time she wore it. Her chest was more armored, and the gloves were weighted around the knuckles, and when she flexed her fingers the claws came out. She had actual boots this time! They were steel toed with metatarsal guards; they were heavier. The damage she could deal was eliciting a small squeal from her. Which had caused the others to open their eyes.

“Oh shit. Did she get a pair SAP gloves?”

Glancing at each of their faces was interesting, Tim and Dick were shocked. They had a little fear in their eyes as well. Jason was smiling, except he wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were trained on Damian. His mouth hung low and his eyes, which had been relieved of the mask, were wide like she had personally spun the universe.

“Close your mouth Demon Spawn, you’re going to catch flies.” Jason teased. Damian broke out of his stupor to glare at him as the other brothers started cackling. “You know, we didn’t think that Bruce’s taste in women was genetic, but this proves that theory wrong. Turns out you like dangerous women just as much as he does.”

“Todd, I swear to god—”

“Alright boys that’s enough. Jason stop teasing Damian. Marinette, what exactly is your plan to get the earrings back?” Bruce cut in, interrupting the argument that was bound to end up in a fight. Though the teasing was mildly amusing.

“Adrien is unhinged at the moment. He’s going to want the ring back, but he’s also going to want to show me that he’s my knight. I’m bait.” Marinette explained.

“Is that wise to put yourself and the miraculous in a vicinity so close to him?”

“Probably not, but I know I’m not letting him get away with what he did. He’s obsessed with me and that’s a weakness I can exploit, which means I’ve got a higher chance of winning. His desperation won’t win him any favors.”

*~*~*~*

The plan had been simple, Marinette was to take to the rooftops in order to lure Adrien out. Paris hadn’t seen the heroes since the timeline was rewritten and seeing a girl running around on the roofs of Paris was bound to gain some eyes. Especially since she was laughing as she did so. She had been out for an hour at most before Adrien had made his appearance.

“Ah, there you are milady.”

“Tsk, not your lady. You know that.”

“You will be when I get that ring. Give it back.” He growled, lunging for her. A wild look in his eyes as he did so. She ducked under his arms, kicking him in the back of the knees as she did so. He fell to the ground in a daze.

“Aw are things not going your way,” She taunted. “Is someone getting a little hissy? Catch me if you can.” She took off. The next step of the plan was to have Adrien follow her, which wouldn’t be hard if the desperate look in his eyes was any indication.

She knew the rooftops well. As did he, but the head start she had put her well out of reach. Not enough that he couldn’t spot her silhouette though. Hearing the yo-yo behind her swing out she changed her direction and slid down the angled roof. Her plan was off to a great start and it was simple, she was the bait, and Damian and his family were the babysitters so to speak. Not for her but for when she took the earrings from Adrien.

Adrien followed her through Paris, he had almost grabbed her by the ankle. Only deterred by her extending the baton and slamming it onto his hand.

*~*~*~*

She landed in the area she chose. It was abandoned, an empty factory. A place worthy for a final showdown she mused. She stood tall and stared up at Adrien.

He tackled her as he descended, knocking her to the ground. A little out of breath she twisted in his hold, rearing her back into his. Effectively headbutting him in the face and knocking him loose, off of her. Standing she punched him, hitting him in the stomach and hearing an exhale of air. He inhaled quickly while she snatched the yo-yo from his waist, stretching his legs out her knocked hers out from under her.

She quickly caught herself, he knocked her down again just as she stood back on two feet. She grabbed the baton from the square of her back and extended it into him, throwing him away from her. She retracted the baton before he could get a chance to grab it. Flinging the yo-yo in the air she pulled herself onto a beam above him. She threw the yo-yo again, this time at him, lassoing it around his feet pulling them out from under him. She pulled him up into the air, using the beam as a pulley and jumped down to face him.

“It’s over Adrien.” She said staring him in the eyes. He was glaring at her and swinging his body towards hers.

“It’s not over until I get that ring.” He snarled. “I told you. You are mine and that’s not changing.”

“It is.” She sighed. Taking the baton in her other hand, she hit him across the face with it knocking him out. Letting the yo-yo slip out of her hand she let his limp body hit the ground. The yo-yo dematerialized as she removed the earrings from his ears.

A memory resurfaced as she de-transformed and Plagg landed on her head. If my mother had never slipped into that coma then my father never would have become Papillion. Curses had begun to spill from her lips as she paced in front of Adrien’s unconscious form. There was a low whistle from her left, turning she saw Damian and his family.

“Damn it, he still has another two miraculous.” She said, slipping the earrings onto her earlobes. Tikki had materialized in front of her and flew directly into her cheek. Cupping the kwami in her hands, she let her cry her relief at being freed from Adrien.

“What do mean another two?”

“The miracle box has a variety of miraculous in it, but Fu, the guardian, lost two when he fled from the temple in Tibet, the butterfly and the peacock miraculous.” She explained while rifling through Adrien’s pockets finding nothing. “Gabriel never would have become Papillion if Emilie hadn’t slipped into a coma in the previous timeline. Papillion had an ally called Mayura, who now that I think about it, I’m sure is Nathalie Sancoeur. That never happened here, so that means Adrien either has the two missing miraculous or Fu does. Hand me some zip-ties. I don’t want Adrien to do anything stupid when he wakes up.”

Tim handed her a pair, setting Adrien’s arms behind his back she zip-tied his wrists as tightly as she could. Snagging another from Damian she did his ankles next, she was still pissed at him after all.

*~*~*~*

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[novaviis]

sick!dick au. part eight.  read from the beginning. 

The surgery is scheduled to take six hours.

Everyone had known that ahead of time, was well aware that it would be a long day and had the opportunity to plan accordingly. Wally brought along some work, lab reports and new studies to go through, a few books, even wore something vaguely comfortable knowing he’d be in the waiting room all day. Because Bruce had covered everything and gotten Dick a private room, he still has access to that, but the waiting room down the hall from the OR is as close to Dick as he can get, and comfortable enough, so he stayed there – as if it’ll really make a difference. He heads over there once a nurse comes by the room as he’s packing up to tell him that Dick just went under and the surgery had begun.

So, he takes up a place in the OR waiting room. The sun’s barely come up yet, just faintly glowing over the dark city outside and the lines of traffic. He gets a coffee from the shitty little Keurig bar in the corner, and starts on his lab work. He’s desperate for something to take up his time, anything to distract him from wondering exactly what was happening in the operating theatre at that moment. Wally had obsessed over the procedure for the past few months, learning everything he could about every stage, every incision, every risk – those were the nights he couldn’t sleep, while Dick was half draped over his side snoozing unaware. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and he’d hoped it would be a comfort when the day finally came.

He was very, very wrong.

Because now all he can think about is imagining what was happening and what could go wrong, all the while knowing that he was helpless to do anything.

These are the thoughts he tries to drown out. So, he buries himself in his work, lets himself get absorbed completely into it. By the time he finally finishes up the last paper and tucks it away into his back, he figures he’s killed a good chunk of time.

It’s only been half an hour.

He’s going to go fucking insane.

Wally’s too antsy to even attempt to read his book now that he’s aware of just how slow this day is going to move by. In any case, he’s sure he’ll accidently blow through the entire thing within maybe an hour, and then he’ll be left to stare at the clock for the next four and a half hours, slowly losing his mind with anxiety. Not about that. So, Wally kills a bit of time watching the little TV sitting on an end table in the corner, flipping through the channels until he finds an inoffensive new station. He flips to old school cartoons on commercial breaks. The only reason he doesn’t stick to the cartoons is because it only reminds him of when he and Dick used to hang out when they were kids, arguing over Scooby Doo while they ate their breakfast. Hell, it just reminds him of when they did the same thing a month ago.

Eventually the Wayne Clan trickles in. Bruce arrives after the first hour, with Damian and Cass in tow. They come with muffins and breakfast sandwiches and coffee, just about half the menu from the Café across the street to both settle their appetites and the anxious speedster’s. They sit down and ask how the morning went so far, if Wally’s heard any updates just yet. Wally fills them in on the little that they missed, just how Dick had been feeling before going into surgery, things like that – but no updates. Nothing just yet.

Slowly, throughout the morning, people continue to trickle in. Alfred joins the family with Tim and Duke, Jason shows up not long after. Selena stops in, and Wally can’t hear what she and Bruce are saying when they’re sitting in the corner of the room whispering, but she’s holding his hand in both of hers and he seems – a little at ease, at least.

After the first three hours, a Nurse finally slips into the waiting room. Wally is on his feet in a fucking instant, moving so fast that even he gets a little light headed. Though maybe that’s just the fear.

There were more nodules on the brain than they had anticipated. They have to clear them all before they can move on with the next stage of the procedure. So, the surgery is going to take a little longer than expected in order to do it safely. The Doctors predict that it’s likely going to be another two hours. Wally takes this all with a numb sort of acceptance, but as soon as she leaves, he drops into his chair and scrubs his hand over his face, trying to keep from shaking. Unexpected complications. Bad news, understandably, wasn’t the first update he wanted to receive.

People trickle in and out throughout the day. The family stays the whole time – Duke, Tim, Cass, and Damian took the day off from school so they could be here. There are periods of quiet, of sitting in the waiting room with the drone of the TV, of trips to the cafeteria to get food and stretch their legs. It’s the middle of winter, and a little bit overcast, with snow building up steadily on the large glass skylights and windows in the cafeteria. Wally only leaves the waiting room on one of those little excursions once, and he spends the ten minutes waiting in line for a shitty lunch wrap staring up at the falling snow in a bit of a daze. It’s snowing, and Dick is in brain surgery, a silly little thing to think about but something that sort of drives home the fact that he never thought he’d be here at this moment.

Then there are periods of visitation, of friends gathered together in the waiting room. Clark, Louis, and John visit for an hour, and by the time they head out, Donna, Garth, and Roy are just coming in with Lian in tow. They share memories from their early days in the Titans, laughing and talking and always careful not to tread into “the old days are over” territory – they don’t want to just remember Dick because they’re afraid of him not coming out of that operating room. So, they keep things light, or try to at least. Every time they find Wally staring at the clock, bouncing his leg in nervous habit, they’ll draw him back into the conversation. At some point Wally can’t remember, he falls asleep leaning against Donna. When he wakes up from his catnap, Barbara’s there, and Lian has presented him with a crayon “Feel Better Soon” to give to Uncle Dick that nearly chokes him up.

As much as they’d like to, the Titans can’t stay all day. The Waiting Room is already getting crowded, and they won’t be able to see Dick until tomorrow anyway. So, they head out within the last hour or so with hugs and silently communicated comfort.

They hit the eight hour mark. There’s nothing anyone can really do to keep Wally from pacing anxiously at that point. The eight hour mark passes, ten minutes, twenty, and half an hour that Wally swears feels more like a fucking decade. Finally, someone comes to the room. Not a nurse this time – the Surgeon, still in his OR scrubs, with the mask pulled down over his face. It takes Bruce squeezing his shoulder to get Wally to stand and approach him, feeling like his legs are about to give out. The room is so quiet. The snow is still drifting down peacefully outside. The world outside is turning on, and despite the fact that Wally’s been wanting the day to go by faster for hours, all he wants now is for time to stop and let him catch his breath.  

The operation was a success.

All of the tuber were removed, Dick will start on medications to keep them from growing again once he recovers, and the RNS system was installed perfectly, and will be invisible under Dick’s scalp once his hair grows back. He will have to get the battery changed every 8 years or so, but that’s a minimally invasive procedure and won’t take more than an hour. The device will suppress his seizures in real time, and will be able to give his Doctor’s updates on his brain activity with just a scan – just like scanning a barcode. The Surgeon then starts to go into the healing process, how long Dick will have to stay in the hospital and all of the aftercare information, and although Wally listens with rapt attention to absorb everything, there’s a small part of him that’s still in shock, holding in all the pent up relief.

The Surgeon asks Wally is he has any questions. Wally can only get one thing out. “When can I see him?”

The Surgeon just smiles and tells him that Dick will be in isolated recovery for another hour before he’s moved back to his private room. He can see him then. When the Surgeon leaves, and its like the room had been a vacuum for the past eight and a half hours, and no one had realized it until then. Now they can breathe. The Bats don’t really do Group Hugs, but the relief is there, powerful and immediate. And, surprisingly, the next hour doesn’t really feel that long. Wally spends most of it contacting friends and heroes and family, telling everyone that the surgery went well and Dick’s alright. When the time finally comes, and a Nurse swings by to say that they can see Dick (he’s still asleep, try to keep things quiet, and all that), the rest of the family decides to take the chance to go out for a quick dinner. They know that Wally and Dick will want a bit of time alone.

And as Wally is being walked down the sterile halls of the hospital toward Dick’s room, he can’t help but remember the last time he’d felt this anxious in these same corridors. From the first time Dick had a seizure at the Gala, to following after the bed holding Dick’s grip in a vice after he found him on their apartment floor, to racing back from Singapore praying he wasn’t too late. Every time, he’d almost dreaded arriving at the room, fearing that it’d be the last time he saw his best friend. Now, he was just anxious to see Dick, to recover and put this behind them, to continue on with their lives together.

He walks into the room. The lights are off, and the snow has started to pick up outside. Everything is calm and grey out the window, with the distant haze of street lights and the city glowing through the blizzard. Wally takes a seat beside Dick’s bed. He’ll be the first thing Dick sees when he wakes up, but for now he’s in no rush. They’ve got all the time in the world, now.

[aconitemare]

[jaydick-flashfic: atonement] Vitality Begun

AO3

For @jaydick-flashfic

Summary: But Dick didn’t know at the time that his job was more than playing bait and doing high-kicks. It was to mollify Bruce, keep him grounded. Human. Remind him of how fragile life is, how careful he has to be to walk his line. And Jason — brave, bold, invincible Jason — wasn’t up for that task. He shouldn’t have had to be at fifteen, young enough to think he’ll live forever and strong enough to fool Bruce.

A timeline in snapshots of Dick processing Jason's death.

Dick stumbles into his room at 3am to one new message on his answering machine. The number is Bruce’s personal. Dick presses play like ripping off a bandaid, stripping off his Nightwing suit as he moves towards his closetspace. He’s already rehearsing his excuse for not attending the funeral, the excuse he came up with after the invitation, the excuse he’ll deliver to Bruce when he has to call him back.

He sits on the edge of his bed and slips off his boots. The answering machine announces static, pure and void. He unzips the suit down his back, patiently waiting, and then removes his gloves too. He can detect faint breaths on the other line. Dick peels off his mask last. Bruce suddenly hitches on an intake of breath; Dick pauses, mask balanced between his fingers, for the words to follow.

Instead the line goes dead. Something in the click of the phone, the robotic No New Messages, turns Dick’s stomach icy cold.

Dick glides his thumb over the smooth material of his shiny black mask. He likes his Nightwing costume, the little thrill it still sends him to be his own man, his own hero, but it can’t compete with the sheer pride he felt first donning that simple domino with the yellow cape. Being Robin had meant the world to him.

It meant the world to Jason, too, Dick knows. He wonders if he was still wearing that simple domino when Bruce dug him out of the rubble last week. Dick begins to shake. He recognizes the symptoms of panic taking over his body, helpless to stop them. He puts in the effort anyway, reminding himself of the futility of grief and the importance of moving on. He tries to even his breathing and a sob bursts from his throat.

He hears his own strangled cry like sighting an animal through the scope of a rifle and instantly thinks of his incredible vulnerability, of the open wound making home in his chest. And once the thought is there, he may as well be a child who, upon scraping their knee, slowly realizes their blood it outside their body and trembles after stunned delay. That is to say, once the thought is there, Dick can’t stop the next cry or the quick, shallow breaths that claw for air without taking any in.

He collapses onto his side in the fetal position. He’s curling deeper and deeper in on himself as if eventually he might turn inside out and hide all this external weakness, tuck in these quivering limbs and wet eyes so the world can’t find the delicate, fleshy, human parts of him and hurt them further.

He can’t get Jason’s face out from behind his eyes. He’s seared there like a second sight. Jason smiles then, smiles like he did last Dick saw him, and Dick screams.

He has no memory of falling asleep. He must have lay there like a blister on his bed for hours, just oozing and repulsive, an open sore. It’s night again when his eyes open. He can’t breathe through his nose anymore. Jason is behind his eyes still but Dick doesn’t let him smile now. He puts his suit back on instead. He glues on his mask, fingers barely touching anything, feeling nothing, and heads out the Titan Tower like a ghost in search of another haunt. He slips through his teammates, untouchable, as they hold out their hands only for him to pass through them, leaving them in shivers.

The guilt arrives later in gentle waves. This is fortunate because it allows Dick to process his emotions like toes edging into cool waters. Dick cannot afford to go into shock, nor does he have the freedom to drown as much as he craves it sometimes. The days since Jason’s funeral pass by in a state of half-reality. He hasn’t heard from Bruce after that silent voicemail. Initially Dick is grateful for this, sure that the only conversation they could have would be one of mutual accusation and blame. They were shaky before Jason and downright volatile during the new Robin’s reign — but they nonetheless had Jason in common. Now they have nothing.

Dick doesn’t even realize he misses Bruce until he’s on the phone with Alfred and hears Bruce in the background. Dick ends the call earlier than he really wants, but it’s too late; Bruce’s voice is trapped in his ears, calling him home.

Dick follows the urge. He envisions Bruce welcoming his back with open arms. The image is so warm Dick can even sort of quell the anger has thrummed beneath the skin of their interactions for over a year. His homecoming does not pan out so neatly as he hopes.

For one, Bruce is not at the Manor when Dick arrives. Alfred made a copy of the keys Bruce took from him the day he was fired, and he knows Bruce knows Alfred did that, but it still feels uncomfortable using this mockery of trust, this replacement of something Dick was never supposed to lose. When he steps inside the house, he honestly wishes it felt more nostalgic. But Wayne Manor is like a cardboard cut-out of his childhood. There are no pictures of Dick or Jason, Alfred or Bruce — no stains he can attribute to a youthful memory. It is impersonal in the living room as it is in the ballroom or any number of Brucie Wayne’s public halls.

Dick should have called ahead and made sure Bruce would be around. Yet that’s not what family does — right? Admittedly, Dick’s knowledge of familial etiquette comes mainly from second-hand experiences with Wally. So Dick adopts the “fake it til ya’ make it” method, thinking perhaps if they act like family, they’ll become one. He wonders, wandering around the many rooms until he finds Alfred, if Wally ever enters his home when it’s empty and feels like he’s breaking and entering.

Dick sighs in relief when he finally encounters the one other living being at Wayne Manor. Alfred pulls him into a tight embrace that stretches on and on, trying to catching to Dick’s grief and contain it all in the space between their arms.

Dick cries into Alfred’s slender shoulders, gulping in his sandalwood scent with scrambling, desperate breaths. He knows he blubbers Jason’s name a few times, but it’s more than that. It’s everything Dick has lost, from his parents to Bruce to Robin to Jason. He cries because he’s lonely and angry and scared that Bruce might not always be right after all, and if Bruce can be wrong then Dick can’t be confident he’s doing right either. He cries because he knows he’s not alone in his tragedy yet he clings to loneliness anyway, pushing away friends even as he lectures them on trust and support on the field. He cries because even though Alfred is here for him more than anyone else, he still wishes it was Bruce or his parents holding him together.

Mostly, Dick cries because he can.

When Bruce does return, Dick has been sleeping in his old bedroom for three days. It’s the only warm room in the house and even though logically the Manor is vast enough to not warrant freeing up unused space, Dick is grateful that Bruce preserved his little corner. Alfred has kept it dust-free and aired out, so it’s exactly the way Dick last left it in a huff a year ago. The Flying Graysons flyer, the FIFA poster, prints from his favorite martial arts movies, photobooth pictures of him and Koriand’r…

Dick’s life was never simple, but it was simpler. He lifts the corner of a newspaper cut-out taped above his desk, slipping a thumb beneath the thin paper to better examine the one color image nestled among grainy black ink. The Teen Titans grin for their first post-mission photo-op.

Dick smiles back at them. His eyes well up, as they’ve been doing a lot the past three days, and Dick barely keeps the tears from touching his cheeks. He’s in the privacy of his bedroom yet he has this strange compulsion to save his tears as if he might need them later and they’ll all be gone.

Dick hopes to meet Bruce in the kitchen or in some other neutral, non-Bat territory. Unfortunately Bruce immediately stows himself away in the cave and Dick doesn’t have the patience to wait him out.

They hurt each other again and pretend it’s all about Jason even though they both know — or, at least, Dick knows — it’s everything between them. They draw emotional blood and can’t seem to stop reopening the wounds. The blood never clots, just pools and pools until there’s a stream and then a river and then an ocean between them.

This time, though, Dick doesn’t give up and run away. This time, Bruce doesn’t close the door. Some days they help each other heal. Other days, they hit where it hurts. But then they heal again, slowly, stubbornly, bridging the rift. It takes them a while, doesn’t happen in the course of a night or a month or even a year — but they learn to stop picking at the scabs, which helps.

 Tim also helps. Dick is hesitant initially, but Tim comes like a punctuation mark to a sentence that’s run on too long. His reclamation of Robin takes the weight off Dick’s shoulders to be something he’s not anymore. And Tim soothes Bruce in a way Dick just couldn’t after Jason. And if he’s being honest, being there to bless the passage of the mantle makes the experience a whole lot less painful than when Dick had just run into another him on Gotham streets. Tim respects Dick, appreciates his expertise despite not really needing it unlike Jason. Bruce even starts putting pictures up around the house. It’s a fragile, tentative thing, delicate and exciting as a newborn, but their family has its first heartbeat.

 Bruce and Dick celebrate Jason’s birthday on their own with as much physical distance as they can get between each other. Dick knows it’s wrong, that this is no way to honor a Robin, but the only people Dick knows who knew Jason personally are Alfred and Bruce. Alfred belongs with Bruce on this day, and Bruce — Dick still blames him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever fully forgive Bruce, so it’s best Dick keep away right now. He doesn’t trust himself not to undo all their progress.

So Jason remains a private ache in Dick’s heart, a lonely memory that rears its head every now and then to wrap its arms around him and hold him back from the rest of the world. Dick celebrates Jason by keeping busy. He doesn’t sleep, just finds petty trouble on the streets and makes mountains out of molehill missions. He imagines Jason by his side by accident a few times. He wonders what kind of man Jason would have become. If he still would’ve smiled with reckless sincerity and radiant light.

He thinks about Jason’s smile the most. The truth is that Dick knows it’s not just Bruce’s fault. Dick practically wiped his hands clean of the two. He knew Bruce was exploiting Jason, pushing him onto the field too early, and Dick let it happen out of spite. Because Bruce didn’t want Dick’s opinion and Dick maybe wanted them both to suffer for it. To realize Bruce’s mistake the hard way. Because he trusted bruce to never have to learn. He really, really trusted Bruce — and that’s where Dick begins to blame him all over again.

Even though Dick let it happen. But Dick didn’t know at the time that his job was more than playing bait and doing high-kicks. It was to mollify Bruce, keep him grounded. Human. Remind him of how fragile life is, how careful he has to be to walk his line. And Jason — brave, bold, invincible Jason — wasn’t up for that task. He shouldn’t have had to be at fifteen, young enough to think he’ll live forever and strong enough to fool Bruce.

Dick collapses thirty-six hours after Jason’s birthday, falls asleep in his shitty Bludhaven apartment to the knowledge he let him die. He wakes up, drool on his face, evening BPD shift alarm blaring. Dick turns it off and blinks blearily at his sun-soaked curtains. He shoves Jason’s smile out of his head and promises to be less angry — to never again let his emotions endanger others. It’s a promise that will guide his future actions, solidify his forever partnership with Bruce, and make him an impeccable leader, a forgiving friend, and a smooth liar.

His need for control becomes a sort of lifestyle, but Dick fancies it’s half the reason people like him so much. He is a beacon of forgiveness and second chances, always up for a joke at the worst of times. His good moods aren’t interrupted by extreme lows anymore; he keeps himself in check.

Dick thinks he might actually be a better person because of Jason. Of course, he feels like a real asshole for thinking it. He shouldn’t be able to come out the other side of Jason’s death a happier person.

“It’s not that you’re happier because Jason is gone,” Dinah once tells him during the Titans’ obligatory biannual therapy session. Dick shifts uncomfortably in the giant cushy chair. He avoids eye contact, which he apologizes for but Dinah assures him it’s about his comfort. So Dick looks everywhere but at her. “It’s that you’ve learned to handle your emotional responses better. You said you try not to hold onto anger so you can be there for people, right?”

Dick shrugs because Dinah makes it sound more righteous than it feels. Then he nods, the barest tilt of his chin signaling she’s right.

“Then think of this as your form of atonement.”

“To Jason?”

“Yes.”

Dick observes the tiny dots of suede on the chair’s arm. He shakes his head. “It can’t be. It’s too late for me to make things right with him. He’s not any better for me deciding to be a decent person now.”

He hears Dinah set her pencil down on her notepad. His eyes shift towards her feet in almost recognition of her.

“Sometimes,” she says softly, “it’s enough to be better for a person, regardless of if they know you are.”

Dick’s eyes shut and he breathes in deeply. He thinks, it’s going to have to be enough, isn’t it? and then exhales, pushing the thought out from his body. He lets it fill the room so later he can close the door and leave Jason behind for the day.

[iphoenixrising]

Window Seat

My soulmate @satire-please deserves all the love, so a bit more little Timmy with the Bats from here.

 **

The house is always quiet. Even when his mom and dad were home or Mrs. Mac was in the kitchen when he got home from school, the upstairs is always silent, like the museums where his parents donate what they find on digs. He thinks it’s always been like that.

No one ever goes to the upstairs attic, though. The dust is thick and settled, its’ own niche in Drake Manor. There’s one window to look out the back yard and off into the sea (and if you looked really, really hard, you could almost see Wayne Manor up on the bluffs, a dark silhouette in the dawn). The nights he didn’t go out into Gotham with his camera, he usually wound up here, squeezed into the non-existent seat to watch for the headlights of the large, black car that was unmistakable even in full dark.

And tonight, a few days after Robin saved him from a bad fall, and the extraordinary turn of events that put him in their direct path rather than an outsider that just knew their secret, he’s still waiting. At the time, he grudgingly turned over the box of photographs when Robin (Jason) and Nightwing (Dick) brought him home. They were working a hard case and would be gone for a few days, so he did what he was probably expected to do: promised to go to school and stay out of trouble.

He hasn’t gone out into Gotham, and hasn’t heard or bothered them since.  Which…is okay. It’s not a problem for him. He’s used to these kinds of things. Promises from grownups that never come to fruition. Coming home for his birthday. Taking him with them during Christmas break. Being there for the Science Fair.

Sometimes expectations fail. Sometimes you need another plan. Sometimes other things have to take precedent. All the real world truths.

So, it’s really okay. He gets it.

The vigilantes didn’t expect a kid to figure them out, not when they’ve got the whole world fooled. It makes sense they would want to give him something to look forward to, a “reward” for keeping quiet about their secret identities. (And it isn’t like he doesn’t realize how dangerous it is to know, how many of Batman’s enemies would come looking for him just to get the secret, how dangerous he is to them now just because he was too smart for his own good. He’s…he’s a liability.)

By the second night with no word, he’s convinced himself the whole thing is going to amount to checking in on him quarterly to make sure he keeps out of trouble, doesn’t call any attention to himself or them. It’s the adult thing to do. So, he’s going to give it a few weeks, wait until they’ve all but forgotten, and go back to his old haunts. He’ll have to be more careful they don’t catch him so he can’t slip up and accidentally almost kill himself again.

It’ll be fine. He’s got darker clothes to stay closer to the shadows and has been tinkering around with a shooting grapple gun like Robin used. He thinks he might have figured it out, but testing is really going to be the problem.

And…and it is fine (it’s disappointing but inevitable). They didn’t need some kid hanging around when they had criminals to stop and a city to save.

He’s sleepily convinced himself it was all for the best, he already had the one chance to live the life and shouldn’t be too greedy because the reality is nothing but trouble could come from stepping into their world. He could get hurt or die, he could get them hurt if he got caught and they had to come save him. Or they would finally get tired of dealing with him, his endless questions and terrible hand/eye coordination, his fanboy awe and clumsy stumbles, the odd moments when he can fit in the most awkward spaces to hide (like right now).

Eventually…it be the same as with his mom and dad. They’d just start leaving.

Tim sighs and forces himself to be reasonable because of course it’s better this way. Nothing would change (it’s okay, it could be worse). Besides, it was better than never coming back.

Right?

When the rumbling goes by the house, goes further, deeper into the woods, toward the only other home, he can let his eyes slide closed, glad they made it back from another night, and let himself drift off a little. No school tomorrow, no Mrs. Mac, no reason to get up early and make an appearance.

He’d probably read more on the coding manual he’d picked up from the library, ride his bike into the city for pizza and to hang out with Ives, then come back home before his curfew. He would wait it out a few weeks and then jump back to old habits, keeping out of their way, and staying in the shadows. Life would just—

Go on.

The world gets fuzzy and soft and dark, and even with the minor ache in his neck and back from the odd angle, even in the quiet upstairs, even though he knows it’s too cold to be sleeping up here, the dream starts out anyway…

“—glad we found him, Big Wing.” That’s…that’s Jason, isn’t it? (Jason, here? Nah)

“I wonder how long he’s been up here all alone?”

(It has to be a dream because they came looking for him…)

“Musta been a while. He’s freezin’.” The dream hand is warm on his forehead, so nice, not enough to make him want to come to reality, so he just snuffles against his arm and hums, not trying to swim to the surface of awake, not yet.

“Okay, okay. Not leaving Timmy by himself at night anymore. Check.” Dick sighs, his breath a puff in the cold, and cranes his neck to eye the configuration the kid squeezed through to get to the wide window ledge.

“B’s gonna talk ta his folks when they make it back ta town anyhow.” And Jason shakes his head, burrowing a little deeper in his jacket with bare face (doms keep the eyes warm, you feel him?). “Kid his age shouldn’t be left alone anyhow.”

“Nope, just circus brats and street kids, right Little Wing?” Dick glances over at his replacement with a wide grin (and if B is serious about keeping Timmy now that the business with Two-Face is over, he’s going to have to come around more to help corral two younger brothers).

“Yeah, some a’ us can take care of business, Dick. This kid? He don’t need ta be in a house alone like this. Ain’t right.” The current Robin just frowns at the small silhouette, eyebrows drawing together.

“Alfred has his room ready, so at least he’ll have somewhere warm with a window. How did he even get in there?” And Dick? Is an acrobat and this configuration is making him flinch.

But Jay just smirks back, “Wiry little shit, apparently. Already fittin’ in.”

“Apparently. Let’s get him out of there, shall we Robin?”

And he huffs drowsily, swimming in and out of consciousness, the lack of sleep in the last few days making him sink further down where the voices are muffled, muted.

He might make some grunting sound when dream hands lift his heavy limbs, weightlessness like this a foreign concept, but it’s not like dreams where you step down abruptly and jar awake. It’s warm and smells like leather, Kevlar, and musk. And his brain gives him what he wants in the dream, soft cotton to fist his hands into without having to do anything more than sigh.

“Poor little guy is tuckered out. We shouldn’t have left him so long. It doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping.”

The transition is down, steps, his blurry mind supplies.

“He chases us through Gotham, yeah? Sleep probably ain’t even in his vocabulary.”

“He’s so small, Little Wing. He needs to sleep.”

“He needs goddamned parents, Dickie.”

“It’s okay,” is breathed against his hair, “he has us now.”

“Sure, sure. Lotta grown ass men what dress up in tights n’ masks. Normal as they come.”

“Hey! It’s not a bad life, you know. I turned out just fine, thank-you very much.”

A grunt in reply and something warm tucked around him before the air shifts and it’s cold, making his small body tighten again, start to swim a little closer to consciousness. But he’s snuggled higher, closer to strength and warmth.

(All the good things)

“Ah. I see you two have managed to ferret out the missing Master then?”

“Shoulda seen ‘im, Alf. Alla way up in the attic window.”

“You have a similar propensity for small spaces, Master Jason. Master Dick as well if memory serves. Very high, small spaces to be precise.”

“Not my fault there’s so many in the Manor, Alfred. Those are the perfect places to explore.”

“Hm,” the car doors close as Alfred Pennyworth shuts his young charges in (three now, not including you, Master Bruce. He is not getting any younger, you understand?) and moves to the driver’s side through the chill.

Master Jason and Master Dick continue a quiet conversation while the child sleeps on and the dark forests pass them by. Alfred inputs when necessary with the usual plans on the next few nights of patrol ahead of them sans the Batman, and it does the butler’s heart good to see them finally getting along. Just as he told the worrywart that is his eldest charge, the two needed time to find their own way. Time and exposure, more appropriately.

As Alfred is well aware, the life his family leads, one of the night, one of pain and bruises and burns, one of trauma after trauma with only the strength of will and people in need to drive them, it required a certain amount of humanity to maintain. The strength of their bonds, to lean on one another in times of need, had been the hardest lesson for Master Bruce to learn as the Batman,, and one he would daresay he failed to pass it down to his sons. Fortunately, when a certain little robin that lost something so precious so young, the lesson for Master Bruce had begun and would continue for a second so in need, he would take on any fight just to survive, and would, of course, extend to the small one they are carrying up the staircase of Wayne Manor as he sleeps the sleep of the innocent.

Alfred and Master Dick take his shoes off and manage pajama bottoms, tucking the little boy in with care.

Only once did he wake up slightly, blinking fuzzily without move his heavy head from the pillow.

“This is such a nice dream, Mr. Alfred.”

A gentle hand to his head, smoothing down his too long hair, “go back to sleep, Young Sir. We shall be here when you wake in the morning.”

And Timmy hums again, smiling, snuggling down into the comfortable mattress and pillow. He’s fine sleeping until morning, to keep the dream for as long as he can (and maybe….maybe it would be okay to just not have to wake up).