#and then suddenly Tim is throwing hands with goons at the dock for no reason

[morganbritton132]

If a Batfam member has to wear your costume to cover for you, do not be surprised if they pick a fight with one of your villains, schedule a day to brawl it out, and then not tell you about it.

Be on guard. It’s not Jason’s fault that Nightwing got sucker punched.

[brainmuncher]

(Warnings for death and shootouts :>)

Finally, after weeks of the family’s hovering, Tim was allowed to go out as Red Robin again. Disappearing for three days to get married and heal in his strange husband's arms was enough to make them all panic… which is interesting. Nonetheless, after huffing that he was fine and dodging questions for what seemed like forever, Tim found a reason to slip out again.

Almost immediately he noticed that that line in the marriage contract saying ‘His body will be healed with care of in every way’ included things he hadn’t considered before. And by that, he means that he isn’t running out of breath… at all. Normally grappling after a while can seriously take it out on your body. Subjecting yourself to that amount of force for a long period does that to a guy. Or well, it did at least. 

With a shrug, Red Robin was one of the first on the scene. Red Hood had already been there for a couple of minutes as Crime Alley wasn’t that far from where they were. Luckily the elder didn’t say anything about the early arrival. Instead, he nodded his head at where a group of Black masks and Two faces goons were fighting each other hand to hand.

“You good to grab those idiots? I’ve got the gunners behind that truck with tetanus in the making,” Hood confirmed, already pulling out his gun to join the shootout on the other side.

“Yeah I’ve got it,” Red Robin confirmed, sending them both on their way.

As soon as they both went off in different directions Red could tell that these goons were dumber than he’d thought. Between the seven men, it was clear that most of them had a gun or knife on them… they just weren’t using them. Instead, they were just punching and trying to trip one another. Either they were just that confident, or they forgot what they even had. 

With a roll of his eyes, Red joined the fray, showing what it actually means to fight hand to hand. It became clear real quick another reason why the supposedly two groups had been going easy on each other… they had no training. Like dominoes Red Robin was able to subdue the pile of now groaning goons.

It was so easy to do that he forgot about the other groups of shootouts.

“RED ROBIN!”

Let it be known that Jason Todd wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy. Yeah sure, he’d maybe been worried when Tim screwed off for a couple of days but he didn’t lose his crap like Dickface did. So he wasn’t worried at all when Red Robin joined him in controlling a shootout on the docks. It’s not like it's the guy’s first rodeo. Sure he recovered from a drug cocktail that should’ve been deadly and came back miraculously healed and all but… yeah it's fine.

So he’s not worried. Not worried at all. He shoots some goon in the chest just to prove it to himself. The guy goes down like a sack of flour, not even bothering to get back up. Another goon notices the one that fell, getting red in the face. With a yell, he gave an order to someone behind Jason.

But that's where Red Robin is… so what-

With a panic that Jason would never admit to in a million years, he turns to see what's happening. An ominous red dot is on Tim's head, making Jason's stomach drop.

“RED ROBIN!”

He screams out but it's already too late. Somewhere in the sea of gunshots around him, there is one that signals the hole suddenly in RR’s head. He falls limply to the ground, in a not-too-unfamiliar way to the guy Jason shot earlier. 

For the first time in a long time, everything goes green.

It all becomes a blur of gunshots and screams. There's absolutely nothing that can calm him down. Vaguely he can hear a commotion on coms, but then it cuts off abruptly when Hood throws his helmet off his head. An explosion rings out in his ears… and he’s only slightly aware that he shot his helmet to blow up a crowd. 

But that’s okay because nothing is okay because Red Robin dropping to the ground replays in his head and he can’t-

“Hood!”

All the air sucks out of his lungs as he turns to the voice. For a moment everything pauses… and he realizes that it's quiet because everyone is dead. He… He really killed them…

“Hood, what happened?” The voice asks again, making him concentrate on who it's coming from.

As he focuses he feels the world tilt at his feet.

Red Robin stands in front of him with a worried frown. There's blood on his suit but otherwise, he looks fine. Reaching out to him, Jason finds the hole where the bullet pierced his head… but there's no wound… he’s….

“What the fuck,” Jason says in a strangled tone.

Finders Keepers

"Do not forget that the new groundskeeper is scheduled to arrive today at noon. I expect everyone to be courteous and to clean up their nighttime rubbish before his arrival," Alfred reminds them as they struggle to sit through breakfast.

Last night's patrol was brutal, and everyone was a bit bruised up and sore, not to mention that most only got an hour or so of sleep.

They collectively groan- except for Bruce and Damian, but neither count as full humans anyway, no matter what their DNA says otherwise.

Tim, in particular, is rubbing his hands down his face. "But Alfred, today's my only day off for the next six weeks!"

"I fail to see how your poor time management will change the outcome of doing your chores, Master Tim," The butler states. Tim cowards instantly at the sight of that arched brow on his grandfather's face and melts into his seat.

Pleased, Alfred taps his wristwatch. "You all have three hours. Better get to it."

They scatter. Bruce runs to his office to clean up all his paperwork, knowing some purchases were not Wayne Industries. Jason hits the multiple garages to ensure nothing bat-related is thrown in the toolboxes.

Dick is swinging by the handlers, taping his hands along the beams and pulling out hidden gadgets. Cass and Duke are walking on the roofs, double-checking the boobytraps.

Steph and Damian have offered to patrol the Batcave and the connecting tunnels to ensure the motion sensors are active.

Tim is told to walk along the property and make sure no surprise holes will appear. Bruce fell into the cave system when he was young, so the new groundskeeper might have the same fate. It's the more leisurely job since Bruce obsessively checks since it happened, but they all know Tim can barely keep his eyes open.

Tim doesn't mind because he must pat his bo staff on the ground, stomping his foot ever so often and scanning the environment with his wrist computer. He doesn't even bother to change out of his pajamas- an old pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt Kon lent him when he once slept over and never returned. It's mostly just a walk, but it feels like an entirety to his sleep-deprived mind.

His eyelids are heavier than usual, every blink feels like a bag of sand, and he still has to check at least three-thirds of the Wayne Manor grounds.

He is wandering towards the east side of the property when he finds a very convenient bush shaped perfectly to block the sun and offer him a tiny nooch to snuggle into.

He glances back at the house and then at the time on his wrist computer. He has two hours and twenty minutes before the groundskeeper arrives.

"One short nap," Tim mutters, getting on his hands and knees to crawl into the bush. He twists to lie on his back, using his jacket as a pillow. His whole body fits inside, so Alfred will likely not catch him. The scrub is soft, and Tim relaxes into his protective shade. "I'll get up in a bit."

The wind blowing through the trees and the bushes around him lures him to sleep.

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

"Hey"

A voice cuts through his dream of jumping over the city, chasing after his family but maskless. They weren't running around the roofs fighting a good fight; the Waynes in his dream were just spending time together. Laughing. Goodnaturely teasing.

It's wonderful.

It's everything he's ever wanted.

It's slowly disappearing as he is coming back to consciousness.

Tim groans, trying to roll over and return to the dream, but the voice speaks again. "Hey, man, you can't sleep here."

A hand clamps on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. Tim mutters, weakly swapping it away. "No. No. No."

"Come one, man, I can't have the big boss see you. It's my first day, and I don't want to get fired because I let some guy sleep in his yard." The voice continues, sounding pleasing and guilty.

Tim whimpers, rubbing his face against the cold hard ground. "No. No. No. Please, I just want to sleep. I'm not hurting anybody."

"Ancients....okay. Okay. Listen, I will let you sleep a little longer while I work. I'll finish mowing the yards and trim all the bushes. That should be at least five hours. I must move you if you're still here when I return."

Tim doesn't answer, too busy slipping back into his sleep as a hand gently runs through his hair. He snuggles into the warm palm with a sigh.

Someone gulps. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

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

Tim snaps his eyes open to see that everything is pitch dark. Oh crude!

How long has he been asleep? What time is it? Was Alfred going to kill him!? What was he thinking?

Of course, Alfred would kill him, and unlike Jason or Damiman, the elder would not fail. In fact, from what Tim could make out in the darkness, a man was standing over him wearing white gloves.

He found me! Tim thinks historically. I didn't even have time to run!

The white gloves move closer as if they were going to touch him. He leaps up with a scream, and a man falls over.

"Woah! Woah! Hey, it's okay, I'm not a cop!" The stranger- not Alfred- shouts. Tim pauses, then lets out a louder scream. The man rushes forward to slam his hands against Tim's mouth.

He glances frantically at the manor- it's too far away to see anyone since Tim chose to nap at the very edge of the vast land Bruce's ancestors purchased.- before hissing. "Could you keep it down? Look, I let you sleep long enough; you must move."

Tim blinks owlish at him. His mind is fuzzy- shit, was he hit with something last night? He couldn't remember.- but he thinks he knows him.

Dark Hair.

Blue Eyes.

Pretty facial features.

Oh, it's one of his brothers. Dick? Yeah, it's Dick. Has to be. Tim is sure. He can't think clearly now, but he knows his eldest brother. This guy has the same color eyes. It's him.

Does Dick know he is Tim's brother? Does he know who he is?

"Dick," He tells the man in jeans overalls, just in case he forgets his name. His brother frowns.

"I know. I hate to do it, okay? But you can't sleep here."

"I can't?"

"No, dude."

"Where can I sleep?"

Dick sighs. "I think there is a shelter that-"

"Take me home."

Dick pauses, taken aback. "What?"

Tim leans forward, resting his head on his brother's shoulder. "I'm tired. I want to go home."

"Where do you live? Is there someone I can contact for you?" Dick asks in high pitched voice, seemingly uncomfortable by Tim's closeness but too bad. Tim never gets enough hugs, so he must deal with it because he wants hugs now.

"No, I want to go home with you!" He whines, and the world starts to spin. Quickly closing his eyes against the nausea, Tim tries to hide further into Dick's shoulder. "Take me home with you."

Dick is quiet for a long moment before he slumps. Carefully, he reaches up to pet Tim's hair, and it's so comforting that he almost falls back to sleep. "I'm going to regret this, but something in my core tells me to do what you say. You wouldn't happen to know a Clockwork, would you?"

Tim shakes his head.

"Right. Okay, taking a homeless stranger I found in the Waynor Manor bushes. Seems on-brand to me. Let's go."

Tim follows.

Who was he following? He doesn't remember, but when he climbs into a van with the words "Phantom Groundskeeping," he doesn't feel worried.

In fact, once he's buckled in, head leaning against the window and pulling his legs up to his chest, he feels oddly protected. The driver of the van is also beautiful.

Like wow. Talk about a work of art.

"I love you," He tells the man, who laughs, flickering blue sad eyes at him.

"Thanks. Take a nap. I think you should sleep off whatever your on and then I can get you some help."

"Do you love me too?"

"....sure. Go to sleep now."

"Will I die?"

"What?"

Tim can feel the word fading away, which is terrible; he knows it is but can't remember why. He just knows that when it disappears, he'll never wake up again. He tells the stranger as such, voice just barely above a whisper.

Glowing green eyes snap to him in alarm, and a small breath of blue leaves the stranger's mouth. Tim thinks he's slowly gaining a hint of horror, but his body begs him to sleep.

Tim blinks once, then twice, as the stranger's mouth opens and closes before he snaps his eyes to the road. "What a time to go mad."

The diver's grip on his steering wheel tightens, but Tim can barely keep his eyes open, so he can't see the gorgeous stranger's face as he whispers. "No. I won't let you die. Just....just sleep, okay? I'll figure it out."

Tim does.

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

"Crap!" Jason yells, running up the stairs from the Batcave. In his hand are the test results for the standard toxicity screening they all undergo whenever they fight someone who even remotely deals with drugs.

Everyone was too tired to look at them properly, which means they all missed that Tim's blood was covered in what looked like a blend of Poison Ivy's love pollen and some kind of sleep-inducing strain.

Tim is out there, somewhere tripping balls or cuddling up to a stranger or unconscious, slowly slipping into a coma. They all thought he bailed on his work and deserved a day off so no one bothered to go after him.

Now Tim could be dead.

He rounds the large hall, his stomping footsteps barely covering the sounds of Alfred's smooth voice.

"It seems the groundskeeper is asking for a week off already. He just got married and-"

"Crap! Crap! Crap! Bruce!" He shouts, slamming the door of his dad's office open. His grandfather and father both turn sharply to him, and neither misses the paper that Jason throws. Their eyes widen in horror when they read what's on the report. "We need to find Tim!"

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

Jazz wakes to find a half-dressed stranger curled around Danny, a ghost contract with drying blood on the ground, and a hastily made banner that reads "Happy Elopement!" thrown on the wall.

The living room looks like a confetti bomb went off in it. Did she miss a party being hosted in her own house? While sleeping in the room next door?

Johnny- her ex and surprisingly good friend after he stop bothering her brother- is sitting cross-legged, eyes glued on the TV.

"What. The. Fuck." Jazz asks, walking over to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"Morning," Johnny replies without so much as turning around. Since Jazz helped plan his and Kitty's wedding, the ghost becomes a brother to the Fentons. "Danny eloped."

"I figured as much by the banner." She mutters, walking over to the couch his brother and her new brother-in-law occupy. She stares at the stranger. He looked....familiar?

"Yeah, don't know all the details, but I guess his hubby was dying, so Danny pulled a Ghost King contract out of his ass and saved him by passing on his healing factor after they were hitched," Johnny says. Jazz takes a sip of her coffee. "I think he thinks he can divorce him or something. But till death due us part doesn't apply to Halfas. They're married forever, even in life or death."

"Shit." Jazz sighs. "Danny got himself into another situation. And he was doing so well recently, too. Became a groundskeeper for the Waynes and everything."

"Waynes pay well?"

"Danny could have paid off my student loans in four paychecks."

"Damn." Johnny whistles. Just then, Kitty floats through the wall wearing a red bathing robe. Jazz will never get used to the fact ghosts could look so human in the morning, with their messy hair and dazed expression. "Morning, babe."

"Morning," Kitty mumbles, leaning down to kiss Johnny. She glances at Danny and smiles. "They're so cute. I'm so happy Danny found his Core Mate."

"Core Mate?" Jazz asks.

"Like a soulmate but more dead," Kitty explains. "They are scarce to find, but once your core finds what it wants, it's fated. That's probably why Danny married so quickly, even if it was to save a life he normally wouldn't have."

Jazz looks back at the boy wrapped around in Danny's arms. Her brother is holding him like he's the most precious thing in either world, even in his sleep, and she knows that no matter what she or anyone says, he's not going to give up- wait a minute.

The stranger moves slightly in his sleep, snuggling up against Danny more, and his hair falls out of his face.

Shit.

"That's Tim Drake. Danny stole away Tim Drake." She deadpans. "Danny went over to cut Bruce Wayne's yard and returned with his son to elop with."

"In one afternoon? I'm impressed." Johnny laughs. "He really said all services included."

"Don't be gross, Johnny," Kitty scolds, but she's smiling. Jazz just shakes her head, reaching down for the contract. She may as well read what kind of dead-brain idea her baby brother got involved with this time.

[scaryscarecrows]

Up on the Van Top

AN: I HAVE BEEN SITTING ON THIS. FOR MONTHS. MONTHS. I hope you appreciate the self-control that required.

* * *

Bruce isn’t sure what he’s expecting when Gordon calls him with a curt, “You need to come to the Iceberg Lounge.”

It isn’t this, he’s sure. Nobody could expect this.

The Lounge is fine. It’s been decorated for the season, glistening baubles all but cackling about being bought with money obtained through illegal activities. It’s suspiciously empty, though that could be explained by the presence of GCPD.

Or not.

Oswald Cobblepot is tied from ankles to head in what appears to be ribbon. A big, sparkly red bow sits atop his hat. A…ball of reindeer socks…has been crammed in his mouth. He looks furious. It doesn’t help that there’s an envelope with ‘Batman’ scrawled on it taped to his chest.

There are two possible reasons for this, and Bruce is doubting it’s some new, holiday-themed vigilante introducing themselves, which leaves…

He reaches forward and plucks the socks free. Cobblepot makes a face reminiscent of an enraged terrier Bruce once saw on the internet.* He breathes deeply for a few seconds, nose wrinkling, and finally snarls, “Control your brats!”

No, it is not a new holiday-themed vigilante. Part of him dies a little inside.

Where did I go so wrong?

Bullock swallows a snicker. Gordon has a little more tact.

“Come on, Oswald. Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where? I have done nothing to warrant being attacked by that--that festive fiend--”

Gordon holds up a flash drive wrapped in polka-dotted washi tape.

“I got a present, too. Let’s go.”

Bruce tugs the envelope free before stepping aside. Gordon cuts the ribbon and guides Cobblepot towards the door. Bruce will follow in a few minutes-he has to know, now, what happened here-but first, card. Alfred’s stringent rule of ‘card, then present’ is deeply ingrained. He’ll know if Bruce ignores it--what’s that?

It’s a small box, wrapped nicely, with ‘Agent A’ scrawled on it. Ah. He’ll deliver that, then.

The card is blue, with a little silhouette of Santa’s sleigh going across it. The inside, on the other hand, is filled with that spiky writing he remembers so well.

I gotcha an angry bird, B! :D  <3, J.T.

Bruce has never been good at leaving things alone. Even things that he’s probably going to regret. So, of course, he follows Gordon to the police station, arranges for a private interview with Cobblepot, and swallows the Parent Voice that he used to use for parent-teacher conferences when he says, “What happened.”

* * *

Earlier that evening…

Honestly, this is probably the biggest spur-of-the-moment thing Jason has ever done. Or at least one of them. But…well…he was hungry. That’s how this started.

He’d been standing in the Circle K, looking for food. All they’d friggin’ had was Hot Cheetos, and honestly, after the Hot Cheeto Disaster of ’08, he’d seriously consider starving rather than touch one ever again.

(Oh, God. After everything, that incident still held the power to make him shudder.)

And then it was there, on an endcap, surrounded by candy canes and snowman-topped PEZ machines, that he saw it. Somewhere, Alfred wept. Dick felt a warm sense of…maybe pride. Bruce was probably suddenly stricken with the need to sulk on a gargoyle.

…well, a bigger need than usual. A primal urge, if you would.

And that’s why Jason now has a Santa hat and beard on over his helmet. It took a bit of superglue to get them to stick, but he did it, in the end. So here he is, crouched on a crane by the docks, empty bag in hand.

Penguin is late. The guys he’s meeting are here, but the man himself, petty bastard that he is, is nowhere to be seen--wait.

He hears a van. It’s a clunky, crappy sound. He knows that sound.

Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers.

He straightens up, stalks to the edge of the shipping crate he’s settled on, and waits for the van to sputter to an almost-stop before stepping off the edge--

--and landing on the hood with a nasty-sounding CRUNCH! The driver blinks at him in confusion before things come together for him and he hollers, “WE GOT A PROBLEM, BOYS!”

Jason waggles his fingers at him, hops to the ground, and saunters towards the back, smacking his palm against the side of the van on the way. There’s shouting inside. He doesn’t hear Penguin, but to be fair, he didn’t expect him to show up in this piece of crap. Oz has self-respect.

Or. More self-respect than the suckers he hires.

He stops a foot or so away from the doors and waits. Now that the pounding’s stopped, it’s quiet in the van. Well. Almost quiet-there appears to be a hushed argument over who has to open the door.

Well? Come on! Are you men or mice?

Silence from the van, broken only by a whispered, “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot--I hate you. I hate you all.”

“Get out, bitch.”

“Screw you,” the first man snarls, and then he straight-up kicks the door open like this is some 90s white-man-learns-karate movie. “Come on, Red Hood!”

“Someone’s on the naughty list.”

Apparently figuring go big or go home, Naughty List shoots at him. He misses, because no Gotham Goon can shoot straight, but he tries. Which means, of course, that anything Jason does to him now is in self-defense and absolutely legal in every way.

Honest.

Even though the bullet would have missed him by a mile, Jason decides to boost Naughty List’s morale by hurling himself to the side...and hopping on top of the van. It’s like popping a pimple; there’s yelling, and then a stream of men spill out. Now that they’re all out, he grapples away to get a better look.

And also to scare them shitless, because what’s the fun in being nice?

“Is he gone?”

“Maybe he’s gone.”

“Holy shit, you scared him off.” Pfft, nah. “Dude, I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”

“Eh, no offense taken.”

Well, isn’t that nice. He resists the urge to give ‘em his Tiny Tim impression (probably not so good, now) and swings to the roof of the little office overlooking the dock.

“Check the area to make sure,” somebody says. “F’we bring his head to Penguin, we might get bonuses.”

Yeah, they might. Penguin’s got it in for him, a little, even if he did...sort of...apologize for asking about the bottle in his eye.

Sorry, Oz.

Well, if they’re gonna be all gung-ho about it…

He throws a smoke pellet into their midst and when they start screaming (and one of them is crying, Christ), leaps down after it.

“Doncha know the song, boys? Sing it with me, now...you better not pout, you better not cry, you better not shout, I’m tellin’ you why…” SCHWING! A head rolls and he has to dive to grab it and shove it in his bag. “Santa Hood is comin’...to toooown!”

By the time the smoke clears, there are three headless corpses, two crying mooks, and one horribly bloody machete. Jason tosses the machete to the ground and looks at the survivors. They’re unarmed. One of them is literally unarmed, meaning that his arm is lying on the ground, and the other one is bleeding from the side. Huh. He doesn’t remember doing that.

“I’m feelin’ the holiday spirit tonight, boys,” he says. “So tell ya what. You tell me where your boss is, and you can run right along to the emergency room.”

To the shock of none, the, uh, unarmed one rolls over immediately.

“He had a meetin’! With Dent, they’re at the Dos Amigos club downtown!”

“‘preciate that,” Jason says sincerely, hefts the bag over his shoulder. “You might wanna get that checked out. Looks like it hurts.”

Now. He has a present to give to Penguin.

THE END

*Tim sent Bruce a video of Mr. Bubz. Ask and ye shall receive the same.