#bruce finally making a choice: tim can you grab that file

[fact-dogsarehappiness]

Another reason why I’m a firm believer in letting Bruce get old is because the idea of him looking and his dark haired children without his glasses on and genuinely not being able to tell them apart is unparalleled

[moonlit-imagines]

Misbehavior (Part 1)

Jason Todd x batkid!reader

warnings:

a/n: tysm anon!!

prompt: anonymous: “Hello Lacey! Hope your doing great! Could I please request a bat family x batsis!reader where the reader is Kind of the middle child (I was thinking older than Damian but younger than Tim) and she’s always forgotten and in the back. Maybe some scenarios can be that no one listens when she talks or they forget to invite her to do stuff. So then one day she acts up in school like maybe punching someone for no good reason because she’s craving attention but instead of Bruce showing up to get her Jason shows up and he sees that she’s actually really sad and starts to question her until she tells him everything and maybe spills some tears and it ends with just Jason comforting her and cheering her up. Just some soft Jason for my soul! Also have a great day and I hope that you feel better and more motivated now after your break! 😘”

part 2

No matter what you did, none of your deeds went unnoticed. Good or bad.

You always heard how Dick was so independent, the one everyone should use as an example.

You always heard how Barbara could do it all, she never failed to impress.

You always heard how Jason was reckless, someone who needed to get his act together.

You always heard how Tim was such a prodigy, he was one of a kind.

You always heard how Steph was so determined, she had such amazing goals.

You always heard that Cass was perfect, they’d never change a thing about her.

You always heard that Duke was so strong, he’d never give up no matter what stood in his way.

You always heard that Damian was dangerous, a kid that needed to be guided.

But what about you? What did they hear about you? Nothing. No one ever spoke of you, they didn’t have the time. It seemed as if you were just unimpressive, there wasn’t one thing that needed to be mentioned. Stuck in the middle of a bunch of bats and birds, no way to stand out in the crowd.

Maybe not in a mask or a cowl, a dress or a suit, behind a computer or among the darkness, but there was one place you couldn’t be ignored...

You sat at your desk, picking at old tape with the tip of your fingernail. The teacher had nothing interesting to say, so what was the point of being here? What made Gotham Academy so special that you just had to attend this place?

The uniform was overkill, the classes went nowhere, the students were too preppy, and you didn’t have a single thing in common with anyone here.

Anger was starting to bubble inside you as you continued your internal self-loathing. Your mind was only focused on the negative, but it was shifting from school back to home.

No one was ever there for you, not even on patrol. You’d called for backup several times on missions and nearly lost it all when you had to go in alone. If it were anyone else, a teammate would have met them in a heartbeat.

Your plans were always overshadowed whenever you tried to set up a mission or even just a day off. You wanted cookies? Too bad, Tim wants brownies. You wanted to watch a movie? Too bad, everyone chose a TV show. It was the little things that irked you the most. Half the time, you never even got the memo.

And what about when you all come back from patrol with all sorts of injuries and Alfred comes to patch you up? Well, not you. He’ll run to check on cuts and scrapes. Meanwhile, you had a broken wrist and a black eye.

You’d finally run out of things to pick at around your desk which resorted in you tapping instead. There was a brief bit of zoning out as you remembered the time that Damian’s plan for evading Killer Croc’s attack was to push you in the way. Or the time that Jason hid his guns in your bed for reasons he didn’t care to explain. Or when Dick drank the last of the milk and didn’t tell you until after you poured your cereal. Or when Tim told you that you weren’t fit for the mission he had been planning. Or when Bruce blatantly ignored the story you told out of pure excitement, giving you nothing but a “sounds like you had fun.”

While you were in a horrible daze, you felt a hand on your shoulder that snapped you out of it faster than the Barry Allen. Without even evaluating the situation, your reflexes caused you to turn and twist your classmates arm backwards as he screamed.

“Hey! Stop, ow, that hurts! Stop! Stop it!” You processed his words too late and knew exactly what was coming next.

“Y/N L/N!” You teacher shouted as you drew your hand back. “Dean’s office. Right now.” Her sharp voice sent a chill down your spine, not even the Joker could do that. You’d be able to explain the situation pretty easily, you just didn’t want to make it worse. But there was one ankle that sent you off the edge. Another student tripped you on your way through the aisles, and that student caught a fist to the face. The audience gasped and shouting from your teacher ensued, but you didn’t listen, you’d take the punishment at this point. So you walked right out and headed for the dean’s office without so much as a hall pass.

“Mx. l/n? What’s this about?” Dean Williams was surprised to say the least, you’d never been sent in for discipline before. Was there a certain way to do this?

“Well, I zoned out and some kid behind me grabbed my shoulder, I accidentally twisted his arm.” You retold your story, the abridged version. “But on my way out I punched a kid in the face because he tripped me. That one’s on me.”

“...Well,” the dean frowned at his obligations, but had to go through with some kind of punishment, “I’m going to have to suspend you for physical contact with a student. I’ll call your father to come pick you up.” You shrugged and slouched back in your chair, giving up on any hope of talking your way out of this. It might as well just happen. You listened to the clicking of the buttons on the dean’s phone as he typed in the Wayne Manor phone number, obviously reaching Alfred almost immediately.

“Wayne Manor.” You eard his faint voice through the speaker.

“Hello, this is Dean Williams from Gotham Academy, may I speak to Mr. Wayne? I have his child in my office.” Your dean explained over the phone, peeking back at your for a split second. You were completely unbothered, it was baffling.

“Is it Damian?” You heard him ask, causing an involuntary eye roll.

“Y/N, actually.” There was a long pause before someone else picked up the phone. “Mr. Wayne, this is Dean Williams at Gotham Academy. I have y/n sitting across from me right now, they seemed to have gotten themself into a physical altercation with two separate students, I have no choice but to suspend them.” You heard a deep sigh over the phone, then the handheld piece was handed to you.

“Bruce?” You asked.

“Really? Fighting at school?” He sounded unimpressed. Nothing new, even when you do something new.

“Something like that. Whoops.” He hung up on you right after that, so you handed the phone back and told your dean, “Guess they’ll get me soon.”

“You call your father by his first name?” Dean Williams had nosily questioned.

“I’m adopted.” He obviously didn’t know you as well as your more troublesome sibling, it was time he just minded his business.

After a good thirty minutes of silent waiting while listening to keyboard clacking and papers flipping by the front desk, the office door opened, and to your surprise, it was one of your brothers.

“I’m here for y/n.” He mumbled, signing the piece of paper and showing his ID.

“Alright, Mr. Harper, I just have to check some paperwork really quick...” The receptionist went into your file and checked for your emergency contacts. “You’re all set. Now, y/n has been suspended for two weeks. I suggest you get to the bottom of their little ‘outburst’ before they’re able to come back to school.” It actually pissed Jason off to hear her say that.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His sarcasm wasn’t subtle. “Come on, kid.” Your brother gripped your arm and led you out of the office, noticing your bitter expression that he couldn’t even rationalize. Was that normal? “So what happened. Bruce just told me to come get you.”

“Of course he did.” You rolled your eyes on the brink of tears, he didn’t even come to get you himself. Jason opened the car door for you and nudged you inside, slamming it once you were clear.

“You better have a good reason,” he warned as he started the engine, “I was in the middle of a poker game.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m such an inconvenience.” You were starting to remind him of himself. That was never a good thing.

“Okay, my bad. I didn’t mean it like that.” Jason began speeding down the block, you’d never once seen him obey a speed limit. You’d think someone with a fake ID and a death certificate would want to avoid any run-ins with the cops, but Gotham was just one of those cities.

“Yeah, right.” You reached for the radio knobs and felt Jason’s hand wrap around your wrist.

“No music until you explain yourself.” You fell back into your seat to pout, muttering some curses under your breath. “I won’t tell Bruce or anyone. I swear.”

“I just zoned out. Reflexes.” You bluntly replied.

“What?” He still didn’t have any context to go off of.

“I twisted someone’s arm backwards. Honest mistake.” Jason knew there was more to this story. “But on my way out of the classroom, I punched this kid who tried to trip me. That was on him.”

“As much as I condone payback, you can’t do that at school.” He sighed. “You’ve never been sent home before. That I know of. So why now?”

“Yeah, you know, maybe that’s the issue? You couldn’t tell me if I’ve ever gotten in trouble before. None of you could. You couldn’t tell me a definitive thing about me. When’s my birthday, Jason?” He was at a loss for words. “That’s what I thought.”

“So this was all for attention?” Jason asked. “There’s a hell of a lot of better ways to go about that.”

“Tried them all, this one barely even worked.” You replied with a crack in your voice. “How come none of you care about me? Why am I always looked over? I’m just like the rest of you. I put on that stupid suit every night and kick ass, I get my job done, I get good grades, I’m resourceful, I’m special—” You’d let that last one slip in your rant to your older brother, it shocked him so bad he stopped the car.

“I know what you mean.” Jason stared straight ahead at the empty road. “I felt the same way when I came back. After everyone was used to me being back, it was like nothing ever happened. Bruce just went back to calling me careless, irresponsible.”

“At least you get noticed, Jason. Your identifiable.” You turned to him with a pained look and he risked his confidence to look you in the eye. Once he did, he couldn’t look away. It hurt him to see someone so familiar to himself have tears running down their face because they felt forgotten. No kid should ever have to feel like that. That was why Bruce took him in. That was how Jason became Robin.

“Fuck this.” Jason hit the gas and turned the car around. “We’re getting ice cream. Do you like ice cream? That’s a serious question.”

“I...I guess.” You were somewhat confused by his sudden literal change in direction.

“Good. You’re my kid for today, all my attention goes to you. I’m sure Bruce won’t notice if you’re gone for a few hours.” Jason’s jaw dropped at his last comment. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you’re right and you should say it.”

taglist: @thatwaspossession // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @kinoko-kai //

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: L - Language 

Summary: Jason doesn’t hesitate to drag his brothers down with him when Bruce starts reprimanding him about the type of language he uses on a daily basis. 

Enjoy! :D 

“Well this is just a load of bullshit! Why do they have to intervene? We’re perfectly capable of handling this.” Jason huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. He can’t believe what he's hearing.

On the opposite side of the table Bruce levels him with a hard look. “Watch your language Jason.”

Jason blinks before sitting up straight. “What, it’s not like the kid is currently around to overhear."

“Jason!”

Glaring at the man, Jason scowls. This seems to be a regular topic of conversation between them recently because according to Bruce Jason swears too much, especially when he’s around Damian. The man, for whatever reason, wants Jason to be a good role model for the kid and apparently that includes him not swearing.

So now anytime he swears, Bruce points it out with a matching scolding tone and expression.

It’s a ridiculous notion because Jason being who he is was brought up with swearing, living on the streets for so many years exposed him to all kinds of things, one of which being the language people use. Swearing is just part of his vocabulary, half of the time he isn’t even aware he is doing it. As long as he’s not swearing at someone, then surely there should be some leniency.

“Oh come on!” He exclaims with a wave of his hands. “He’s been raised as an assassin, he was already tainted before we even met. Me saying a few words isn’t doing any harm.”

Before Bruce could respond a new voice joins the conversation. “To be fair you do swear a lot. Maybe you should try and tone it down.”

Jason turns to his right to glare at his older brother who’s lounging comfortably next to him. “Oh fuck off, Dick, no one asked for your opinion.”

Dick stares back unimpressed, he raises both eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

Jason recalls what he said and grits his teeth.

He points menacingly at Dick. “That doesn’t prove anything. Quite frankly I grew up in Crime Alley, of course I’m gonna swear, you hear it every minute in that place and typically as a kid you’re gonna pick up the habit. You know what they say old habits die hard.”

“Just like you did?” A different voice retorts with a snort.

Jason switches his gaze to Tim, who is opposite him next to Bruce currently playing with his phone, and blinks at him in surprise. “Uh, excuse me? I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud by that.”

It’s usually only him who makes death jokes so it’s come as a surprise to find Tim making one, a well-timed one too. Jason shakes his head, he’ll deal with those emotions at another time.

“Anyway, if we’re talking about who swears too much then why aren’t you giving Tim a lecture? He swears like a bloody sailor. If anyone needs reprimanding on his language it’s him!”

Tim abruptly stops fiddling with his phone and looks up, he rolls his eyes and glowers at him. “Jesus Christ that’s so immature Jason. How old are you, 10? I’m no way near as bad as you.”

His response gets a gleeful chuckle out of Jason. He knows exactly how the next few minutes are about to play out and he can’t wait. While the focus of the conversation had been on him, he’s glad for the opportunity to move it onto someone else and Tim happens to be perfect for the new spotlight.

Without any hesitation Jason digs into his pocket and grabs his phone. Once he has the device in hand he starts searching for the video he has saved for this very purpose. Call him petty, but he knew it would be good blackmail material one day.

“Oh really?” He drawls out, finally finding the video he had been looking for, “then what do I have here…” Jason clicks play and puts it on speaker so everyone in the room would be able to hear the audio.

After a second the sound of Tim’s voice could be heard. The teenager was clearly angry about something and certainly wasn’t holding back from letting his anger be known through his choice of words.

“You bloody bastard, why won’t you work you piece of shit. By god this is pissing me off now, I’ve been at this all fucking day and you’re still not fucking working. I am going to kill…”

The recording lasts for about a minute and is filled with Tim swearing his head off, cursing at everything and everyone and making empty threats. Once it’s finished Jason turns his phone off, puts it back in his pocket and leans back in his chair feeling smug about the situation.

“I rest my case.”

His words are met with a stunned silence in the room. Tim is blushing hard with his head buried in his hands. Next to him Bruce looks concerned, probably for Tim’s mental health and wellbeing. Dick’s staring at Tim with shock spread across his features.

After a few beats Tim lifts his head from his hands but keeps his eyes down staring at the table so he could avoid everyone’s eyes. “Okay in my defence the technology was really piss–annoying me. It wouldn’t work and I couldn’t work out why so I got frustrated and that happened.”

His response makes Jason snort and causes Dick to shake his head in disbelief. He knew Tim could be feisty but until that moment he never realised how bad his temper could get. Jason’s honestly impressed. However that doesn’t mean he’s letting Tim get away with it, especially when he’s getting blamed for something Tim does just as much of as him.

If he's going down then he’s dragging Tim down with him. It’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t have anything on Dick.

Jason’s broken out of his thoughts on ways he could get blackmail material on Dick when Tim speaks up again. He’s finally looking up at everyone though his still flushed face shows his prior embarrassment.

“Let’s be honest, is swearing really all that bad? As long as we’re not swearing at people then I think it’s fine. We’re not harming anyone. Who cares if we swear a little too much. And anyway, doesn’t everyone swear at some point?”

“Clark doesn’t.” Dick pipes up next to him.

Jason snorts. “That’s because big blue is a boy scout, of course he isn’t going to swear. He doesn’t count. Plus we’re from Gotham after all, it’s not like this is the most impeccable place in the world.”

Dick becomes thoughtful, humming his response. “Yeah that’s true I guess.”

“Boys.”

The three brother’s all turn and look at Bruce who had called for their attention. Jason had forgotten the man was even there, he had surprisingly been quiet until now. Maybe it’s because Clark was brought into the conversation, it must have peaked his interest. Jason files that information away for later.

“It doesn’t matter how much any of you swear, you shouldn’t do it at all. Damian is still young, he doesn’t need to grow up listening to that sort of language despite his initial upbringing.” Bruce firmly says, looking at each of them in turn. “You all know better and have good manners, going forward I expect you to use them.”

As Bruce rattles on about proper manners and the importance of them, Jason finds himself resisting the urge to smile. With every second that passes, it threatens to break out on his face. What makes matters worse is that he knows he shouldn’t smile, this isn’t a smiling matter considering how serious Bruce is being but the man is making it difficult to concentrate and to take the topic seriously.

Jason glances to the right to find Dick staring at Bruce with a hand covering the lower part of his face and Jason can tell that his brother is in the exact same boat as he is.

Apparently all it takes for him to break is Dick to glance at him and for them to make eye contact.

After that Jason couldn’t help himself but to burst out laughing, next to him Dick also breaks out into a fit of giggles. They laugh for a good while until they’re able to start calming down, by that point Jason’s cheeks are hurting and he even had tears forming in his eyes. As he takes a deep breath to compose himself he makes the mistake of looking over at Dick again, Dick looks back at him too and just like that they fall into another uncontrollable laughing fit.

While laughing Jason gets a glimpse of a confused looking Tim and a disappointed Bruce, but it’s Bruce’s scowling expression that triggers off another wave of giggles.

It takes even longer for the two of them to calm down. As he sits there Jason repeatedly takes deep breaths in order to collect himself. Once he’s calmed down a little, now able to breathe somewhat normally, he could feel how his sides are aching, how his cheeks hurt from the wide smiling and the tears coming from his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard that it hurt, and over something so trivial nonetheless.

When it feels like he’s finally composed himself he risks a glance at Dick to find his brother also in the state of calming down though there’s still a wide grin on face. He then looks at Bruce who is still staring at the two of them with his disappointed look. That’s almost enough to set himself off again. Almost.

“If you’re both quite done, we have important business to discuss, may I remind you that being the reason we’re meeting to begin with.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started on the whole language topic that derailed us in the beginning.” Jason defends himself and his brother’s. All Bruce does is huff at that, knowing Jason is right and can’t defend himself against it otherwise. Jason smirks victoriously.

Opposite him, Tim sighs loudly and makes a show to sitting up straight and sorting out some of the paperwork between them all on table. “Enough already, can we just go over the details and the police reports again and get to the end of this. I have better things to do than hear everyone bicker about language and manners.”

Dick gives the youngest a side look. “What you got planned? Is that who you were messaging just now? Is it your boyfriend?”

“What? No. Just friends. I ain’t telling you.” Tim snaps glaring at Dick.

Jason whistles. “Timmy’s getting some tonight then eh? Make sure to stay safe and use protection.”

“Jason!”

“Well he’s not wrong Tim, but where are you going? We need to know so if something happens we know where to look first.” Dick’s looking more concerned by the minute and Jason could see the flip switch from carefree older brother to over-bearing mother hen.

Tim blinks at them before turning his gaze to Bruce. In a whining voice he pleads the man, “Bruce, get them to stop!”

To begin with all Bruce does is run a hand over his face like he’s regretting every life choice he’s made and how he would rather be anywhere else but here. After a moment he sends exasperated looks at his eldest sons.

“Not much more to go, then we should be all caught up and ready to proceed with the case further tomorrow. Is it too much to ask for your full attention for the remaining hour?”

Jason sighs and sits up straighter, knowing play time is over and it’s time to be serious. One more hour won’t hurt, then afterwards there’s nothing stopping him from having a little fun is there. He nods at Bruce and picks up the piece of paper closet to him to examine the page. Dick does the same and finally Bruce proceeds with their meeting.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 6

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Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever

Just remembered I had a plot so oops

Marinette wasn’t stupid. Nino had a brother only a few years older than Robin, and that brother had never acted so young or clingy at Robin’s age (and it surely wasn’t a thing about Robin, because she had yet to see him cling to anyone else). She knew that Robin was just using her to mess with Red Robin.

But she didn’t particularly mind. It was kind of funny to watch Red getting all worked up over his little brother and friend being close. She was glad she had her mask, because otherwise she definitely would have given away the act by this point.

Robin, for his part, had been upping things more and more every time he saw her. She wasn’t sure whether this was because he knew that she knew or because he was testing the limits of what he could do without her saying anything.

Red looked like he was at his wit’s end with Robin held out a hand for Marinette right before crossing a street. She took it, which was when he finally snapped:

“He’s twelve, not five!”

She pulled her face into a mock frown. “Are you saying that twelve-year-olds should get hit by cars, Red?”

Red Robin sputtered.

“Miss Ladybug, why is he so mean to me?” Robin asked with wide eyes. She could see the corner of his lips twitching in an effort not to smile.

She winked. His eyes narrowed just slightly then he widened them back to their wide-eyed sadness.

“I don’t know, sweetie. He’s just a meanie, I guess.”

Red Robin threw his hands up in either anger or defeat. It didn’t really matter which one it was, they counted it as a win.

~

Tim wasn’t surprised to walk into the Batcave one day and see Marinette’s face on the Batcomputer. The only thing he didn’t know was whether she was up there because they had figured out her identity or because Tim had started hanging out with her as a civilian.

He took a long sip of his coffee as he considered this, then he trudged over. Might as well find out.

“Hey guys,” he announced his presence.

He watched Duke out of the corner of his eyes. Duke was the newest of them, he could usually count on him to have more pronounced reactions.

Duke didn’t seem all that awkward. So it must have been them finding out her identity.

Tim sidled up beside them. “Sure that’s her?”

Bruce, never one for using his words when he didn’t have to, held up a small container of blood.

He hummed his understanding and intended for that to be the end of the conversation… but it was getting increasingly hard to ignore the eyes boreing into the side of his head. Tim fought to keep a straight face and unclench his jaw and ignore the stupid ‘d-d-don’t be suspicious’ song playing in his head.

And then Cass tapped him on the shoulder and he cursed quietly.

“Fine. Fine. I knew. Happy?”

Cass was not. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I saw her run into an alleyway and I followed -- obviously, it’s Gotham and alleyways are dangerous -- and she transformed right in front of me.”

She nodded and let it go.

Bruce, however, did not.

“You knew her identity and didn’t think to tell us?”

“I thought to tell you, I just didn’t,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Ah. The Disappointed Dad Stare. He had certainly not missed that.

His grin melted into an awkward smile. “It felt weird to reveal her. She clearly cares about her identity since she hasn’t told us herself yet, I figured I’d respect that as long as I could.”

“... you weren’t making progress on her identity on purpose. God, that makes so much more sense,” muttered Steph.

He shrugged. “Easy to avoid someone’s identity when you know who it is.”

Bruce was still looking at him disapprovingly.

“Don’t worry, I have contingencies,” Tim said.

His father relaxed, finally. He motioned for him to go on.

“Well, a few need confirmation. I still don’t know if her yoyo can be cut and it’s hard to tell if other people can unzip her hood or not. But if the hood is open then The Flash or Superman can easily get the earrings from her -- beyond those she’d just a normal person with some fighting skills, same contingencies as The Arrows or any of us. If not then Green Lantern can probably neutralize her.”

Bruce nodded.

The other kids looked mildly concerned.

“Wait, he has contingencies for us?” Duke said.

Bruce was back to looking dismayed. Tim showed them all where their files were (he wouldn’t hack them for them, obviously, he didn’t want to break the news of exactly how messed up Bruce’s contingencies were). He could practically see all the sweat beading itself on his forehead beneath his cowl.

(Tim hid his smile. He’d finally gotten revenge for the time he’d made him stay inside after The Chloroform Incident. And revenge was sweet.)

… it wasn’t until he started seeing his siblings on the rooftop across from Marinette’s apartment that he thought that, maybe, he should have gotten them into their files. It definitely would have distracted them from the Marinette Is Ladybug situation.

At least Cass trusted Marinette -- she would have slipped up and showed her intentions at least once by now -- and therefore wasn’t likely to come by. Cass would be the one to figure out that Tim coming up to the roof was more than him just checking on his siblings.

The first person that came by was Damian. Fair enough, he’d been around Marinette the shortest amount of time and what little friendship they had was based on his lies.

Now, the youngest sibling sat, cross-legged on the rooftop. He was sketching in his sketchbook between quick glances over at Marinette. He looked up when Tim pulled himself over the side and squinted at him.

“Drake.”

“Dami,” Tim greeted, because it always annoyed his younger brother when he used the nickname. “Having fun spying on Marinette?”

Damian was silent for a few moments before clicking his tongue. “She needs to close her blinds more often.”

“Aw, do you care about her?” Tim teased, reaching over to ruffle his brother’s hair.

He pushed his hand away. “She’s a Gothamite and is therefore under our protection.”

Tim snickered and shook his head, taking a seat beside him on the rooftop. “We can tell Duke about it once everyone else has had their chance at checking her out. He’s the only one that can get away with asking her to close it.”

Damian nodded firmly.

Tim hid the fond smile on his face by diverting his brother’s attention: “So, what’re you sketching?”

Damian’s eyes lit up.

The next person to drop by was Bruce himself. He was sitting there, in all black despite the fact that it was less useful during the day, with full spy equipment.

Tim dropped down beside him and was offered a set of headphones. The two of them stayed there in silence for a long time, listening to Marinette going about her day. She was currently cooking something and singing along to a song:

“I always feel like... somebOdy’s watching meeEe… andIhavenoprivacy~.”

Tim was choosing to ignore the song choice in favor of giggling about her inability to hit the notes. He could feel Bruce watching him out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t say anything and neither did Tim.

Next was Steph.

Steph raised her eyebrows at Tim when she saw him.

“Come here often?” She asked in a tone that was only half-joking.

“Only recently,” he lied. “Trying to figure out if any of you trust my judgement.”

“Doubtful.”

“Yeah, Duke is my last hope.”

She snickered and shook her head. “To be fair, you’re whipped. You could have been biased.”

“But I’m not.”

“But you’re not,” she conceded, then turned her gaze back on Marinette. “She’s cute. I approve.”

“Glad to know you trust her.”

“I wasn’t talking about it like that and you know it,” Steph said with a wink.

Tim blushed and pushed her face away. “You’re the worst.”

~

Marinette was having a little difficulty figuring out the not-quite-a-language that the bats spoke with her. She wanted to learn it because she cared about Black Bat and, though she could use ASL, it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable with any particular language… but wow was it hard to learn a language when there wasn’t any actual language involved.

Thankfully, Signal had said he would teach her since he had learned it the most recently and therefore might have an easier time teaching it.

Now, it was just after they had finished their lessons for the day and the two of them were relaxing together between their patrols. He had his head in her lap as they both scrolled through Twitter, occasionally laughing and showing each other the dumb things that the other bats had supposedly done. Her favorite so far was the picture someone had discreetly taken of Robin while he was petting their dog.

And then Signal suddenly sat up straight, eyes so wide beneath his domino that she swore that the lenses were going to pop out.

“Uh --?”

“We need to go,” he said.

She felt his hand wrap around her wrist and now she was being dragged somewhere else --.

There was a rush of air and next thing she knew she was being held just barely off the ground.

She blinked all the dryness out of her eyes and then looked up to see that her captor was none other than Superman himself. He had grabbed both of them and taken them to where the Batcomputer was, holding her by her hood and Signal by the back of his shirt. He looked angry, but not particularly at her. She followed his gaze to where Batman was sitting in his Batchair.

“B --.”

“Batman,” said Batman sternly.

Oh, so Superman got to know his secret identity and she didn’t?

(She was ignoring the fact that Batman’s civilian name started with a B.)

“Batman, what do I have here?”

“Two children?”

“Two. Metas.”

“Technically, Ladybug isn’t a meta. Her powers were given to her by a god that lives in her earrings,” Batman informed him.

Marinette tried not to smile too much. Look at how much he had grown. He was using her excuses now.

Superman’s eyes narrowed. She’d say something about how ‘if looks could kill, Batman would be dead’... but, considering the fact that Superman could kill someone with a single look, it didn’t really work.

“And is the god allowed in Gotham?”

Batman didn’t have an excuse for that one. He just grunted a specific grunt which Marinette had learned meant: “What’s your point?”

Superman also knew this specific grunt, apparently. “My point is that the last time I was in Gotham you put kryptonite in my coffee! You said no metas, and we listened, but now you have two!”

“They’re my kids.”

Marinette blinked. “News to me.”

Signal tried to reach across Superman to punch her arm. Superman was a very wide not-man, so he came up short.

“Do you want to be kicked out of Gotham?”

“Guess I’ve always wanted family here,” she said quickly.

Superman squinted at them for a long time before, finally, dropping them.

“You’re lifting your no meta rule.”

“No --.”

“Yes. If even you’re not going to listen to it, neither should we.”

Batman didn’t seem happy. Superman didn’t seem to care. Probably because he was a good head taller and had far more superpowers than Batman did.

Superman left soon after.

Marinette knew it wasn’t the time, because Batman was back to his Batbrooding, but she couldn’t help the grin slowly spreading across her face.

“So, Dad, can I have the new Xbox for Christmas?”

~

Duke had visited Marinette. Tim hadn’t seen him visit, but he definitely had because Marinette had closed her blinds and they hadn’t been open in days. She was still in Gotham, though, she had gone on patrols and, as far as he could tell, she didn’t have any places in Gotham in her name. She had to still be in the apartment, so Duke must have visited as Signal and told her to close them.

And he should have been happy about this. It was far safer that way. The less people knew that there was a woman living alone in that apartment the better.

… but he couldn’t help but be concerned.

The blinds being closed was his best indication of when she was about to leave or currently not home. He didn’t like that he no longer had a way of figuring that out. How was he supposed to watch over her while she was getting groceries if he never knew when she was going?

He gives her a necklace with a tracker in it the next time he sees her as Tim.

She raised her eyebrows at the box he was holding out to her. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to propose?” She joked, but he could hear the slight wariness bleeding into her tone.

He grins easily. “It’s just to thank you for the outfit you’re making me.”

“You pay me,” she said. “That’s thanks enough for me.”

“Maybe I just feel a little bad about guilting you into making it in the first place.”

She hesitates, but he could see the shiny red gem inlaid in it winning her over. It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t a gold digger, she was a fashion designer and he had purposefully chosen a common gem color so she’d be more inclined to wear it more often. It worked with a lot of outfits and it came from someone she -- hopefully -- considered a friend? There was little reason to say no.

As expected, she gave in.

She turned around and he carefully clasped it behind her neck. He pressed a tiny kiss to the back of her head.

When she turned back around her face was redder than the gem. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her along to the newest attraction.

~

Marinette fell back on her bed with a huff.

“Tikkiiiiiiiii,” she complained.

The kwami slipped out of her purse and came up to float above her face. “Did you enjoy your date?”

“It wasn’t --!”

Tikki laughed at her dismay. Because Tikki sucked.

She dropped the pillow back beside herself and curled up in what had used to be Tim’s jacket (she wasn’t joking when she’d taken it, he was never getting it back).

“Tim better be Red Robin. I’m not doing the whole ‘two crushes at once’ thing again.”

~

You know, there were actually times where Tim felt bad about chipping Marinette. He wasn’t out of it enough to think that it wasn’t messed up, he knew that there was a reason he didn’t want the other bats to know.

And he knew that, if he had to keep his habits from fellow bats, his habits had to be pretty bad. Every single one of them had a tendency to watch over their loved ones from time to time, it just came with the territory of having friends that are a) vigilantes/heroes/Rogues, b) stupid enough to live in Gotham, or c) an unfortunate mix of both. And, really, when you have the entire world at your fingertips it’s hard not to cross a few lines from time to time.

But Tim couldn’t bring himself to care about that line when she didn’t seem to care about her own safety.

She left the house constantly. Tim was beginning to suspect that she’d had her blinds open so often in order to feel closer to people rather than because she liked sunning herself. This would be fine… if she wasn’t leaving as a civilian. Marinette cared about her secret identity almost as much as Bruce did, so he knew that she probably wouldn’t try too hard to escape attackers for fear of them finding out who she was through her very particular fighting style. The bats had drilled her on the best ways to deal with being held at gunpoint and everything, but not every criminal was completely predictable. Bruce’s parents were a prime example of that.

She also had a tendency to take food without checking to see if it was laced. She did it especially when Tim handed her food and, while he liked that she trusted him, he didn’t love that she was as trusting of him as she was.

Marinette had trouble detecting when people were watching her, too. He figured it was just a byproduct of having most of the stuff she did as Ladybug filmed by tv crews and random civilians… but understanding why she was like that didn’t make him any less concerned about it.

Most damning, however, was how she dealt with catcalling.

Tim never felt a need to intervene when any of his siblings got catcalled on the job. He could trust them to tell whoever it was to stop with however much politeness was correct for the situation (usually not that much).

(The only exception was Damian because, unlike everyone else, Damian was still very obviously a minor. And even then the temptation to beat them up was mostly sated by the fact that Damian knew far more nonlethal ways to hurt them than he did.)

But the few times Marinette had gotten catcalled in front of him she… had just very politely asked them not to say that? And, when they didn’t stop, she had just sat there in her discomfort until they were done?

And Tim had done nothing but watch in stunned silence the first few times. It hadn’t been on purpose, he had just… not been expecting it. She usually acted far more confident, usually had some sort of retort on her tongue, why was this any different?

He didn’t know. Both he and Steph had tried to ask but she shut down both times and they didn’t want her to be more upset than she already was so they’d stopped trying.

The bats just silently agreed to check in on her through comms when she was quiet for too long and, if she didn’t respond, head towards her last known location and start looking.

So, yeah, his paranoia wasn’t completely unfounded.

~

Marinette blinked at the envelope Black Bat had handed her.

She turned it over in her hands, wondering if it was some kind of test, but that wasn’t really as much of a Black Bat thing as it was a Batman or Red Robin thing. So, she figured it probably wasn’t dangerous. She still found herself examining it. It was done in an old style, with a rough and slightly yellowed paper, a red wax seal with a pointy hat emblem she didn’t recognize, and ‘Ladybug’ written across the front in gorgeous calligraphy.

“Uh…?”

Black Bat only smiled at her and made a motion to open it.

Marinette hesitantly opened the letter and pulled out more weird paper. It was splattered with something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. In the same elegant script that had decorated the front, it read:

Your spirit has been summoned to my annual Halloween Party!

Dress to kill!

This was followed by a bunch of directions and timings and stuff about RSVP-ing.

Marinette looked at Black Bat, somehow even more confused than she had been before.

Thankfully, Red Robin chose that moment to run down the stairs, waving his invitation excitedly.

He stopped short when he saw Marinette already holding her invitation and huffed, sending Black Bat a halfhearted glare. “I wanted to tell her.”

Black Bat’s smile morphed into a smirk.

“Rude,” Red said. Then, he turned to Marinette. “We got invited to his Halloween Party!”

“Yeah… whose Halloween Party, exactly?”

“Scarecrow’s, of course!”

… what?

[daringyounggrayson]

hide and seek

(Read below or on AO3)

The night’s gone from bad to worse. First, communication was knocked out along with the emergency beacons. Next, Dick was left with no choice but to go hand-to-hand with Bane, who cornered him and slammed him into a wall the first chance he got. Now, Dick is simultaneously kicking against Bane’s torso and trying to pry Bane’s fist from his neck. He’s suffocating, and Bane’s grip is so tight that Dick can’t even turn his head to the side, though even if he could, he’s not sure it would give his windpipe much protection.

Pressure builds in his chest and head, and his throat feels like it’s about to be crushed into a million pieces, into dust. He’s dizzy, and his face is already numb and tingly from the oxygen deprivation. His limbs feel weak and they’re not responding to his commands like they should.

His hands slip from around Bane’s fist, and his legs go still. Dick can’t bring himself to raise them, and the only fight that remains is the primal urge to scream—for help, for the pain to end, for someone other than this monster to hear him in his final moments. Too bad he doesn’t have the oxygen to spare, nor an opening in his throat to let the sound out.

Death and darkness creep in. No sense of calm washes over him; there’s no sudden realization or acceptance of what will come to pass within the next few seconds. Just this unbearable pain and fear that this is it, this is the end. And through it all, the voice in his head keeps screaming at him to escape the inescapable.  

Dick gasps as Bane drops him. He tries to blink away the black spots to see why, to see if he has backup yet. He doesn’t hear anyone though, and his swimming vision can’t pick out another body—so why did Bane drop him? He’d been sure Bane was going in for the kill just now, so why would he stop? Why—

A giant boot to Dick’s stomach leaves him coughing and gasping. Something wet dribbles down his chin, and it’s not until he wipes it off with the back of his arm that he realizes that it’s blood. That could be bad, or it could be fine. It all depends on where he’s bleeding; too bad Dick has no clue.

When his breathing is under control and his face is no longer numb, Dick’s vision clears enough to see Bane’s giant boot still standing next to him. Habit tells him to stick a tracker on it, but his brain is mush. He can’t even twitch his arm at this point.

A hand wraps around his arm and pulls, hard. Something snaps and Dick gasps—choked and airless—as his nerves inform him of the new source of pain. Dick blinks violently to keep himself conscious, body writhing to try to relieve the pain in his arm as he’s dragged across the floor.

Bane says something, but Dick can’t hear him between the pain, the blood pounding in his ears, and his attempts at wheezing. All he can do is cradle his arm when it’s finally released and fight for every breath. It takes up too much of his attention and he doesn’t even realize he’s been shoved into a supply closet until the door is closed and Bane is walking away.

He knows he should escape and follow Bane, but Dick can barely breathe, and every sound he makes is distorted. All of his medical knowledge says he shouldn’t move, but staying put could result in death all the same.

He kicks at the closet door. His attempt is almost definitely useless; considering what Bane is capable of, he probably broke the handle to ensure that Dick stays put. But still, Dick can’t accept death so easily.

The question of why Bane didn’t kill him comes to the forefront of his mind again. Is Bane on a tight schedule? Does he think Dick’s as good as dead?

Dick keeps banging on the closet door, hoping that even if it won’t free him, someone will hear the noise and investigate. Bruce was pretty close last he’d heard, so maybe there’s still a chance that he won’t die in here.

“Help,” Dick attempts to shout. What comes out is garbled and incomprehensible even to his own ears, and it’s quiet, airy. Based on sound and pain—not to mention the blood—he knows that if his throat swells much further, he’s a goner. He needs help.

Each kick against the door sends waves of pain up through his arm and head. He’s sniffling pathetically at this point, all sorts of fluids leaking from his face, but instinct forces him to keep going. He’s pushing against his emergency beacon too, just in case it’s back online.

There’s no indication that it is.

Dick’s kicks quickly become weaker and further apart until they stop altogether. His head droops and his body slouches against a shelf. Being tucked away in this closet reminds him of playing hide and seek as a kid. He’d always been good at the game—able to contort into small places most people wouldn’t think to look—and he’d taken pride in being able to hide from Batman. If this is hide and seek, though, it’s a cruel, twisted version, and it’s the first time Dick’s wanted to lose, to be found.

God, he really wants to be found.

In a last-ditch effort, he tries calling for help again, but all that does is make him cough, and more blood spills over his tongue.

Energy gone, he’s left with nothing to do but wait, staring at nothing and wondering if it would have been better to go quickly in Bane’s grasp than slowly alone in the dark. His hope dwindles and he wonders how many breaths he has left as he succumbs to lying on the floor.

“Nightwing?”

He lifts his head and opens his eyes, surprised to find that he’d fallen asleep.

“Here,” he calls back quickly. He sounds worse than before, and he feels like he’s trying to breathe through a clogged straw. He starts kicking again, then falls forward to lean against the door and bang on it with his good arm. “Help!”

“Nightwing?”

A voice, feet pounding down a hallway. The door he’s leaning against is wrenched open, and without its support, Dick falls onto the floor. He blinks until his vision clears, finding Batman’s familiar boots in front of him.

“Bruce,” he rasps, moving his hand until it comes into contact with the boot.

Bruce crouches down and pulls Dick into a tight embrace, says, “Thank god.”

Dick tries to return the hug, but he doesn’t exactly have the strength for it. He wheezes against Bruce’s chest, and even though he’s still not positive he’ll make it out of here, he’s glad he won’t be dying alone in that closet.

Bruce leans Dick against the wall, asking Dick questions that he can’t comprehend, let alone answer. Bruce catches on pretty quickly and switches to checking his pulse and shining lights in his eyes and down his throat. He’s muttering something, but Dick has a feeling he’s not speaking to him.

“Bruce,” he rasps again.

“You’re going to be alright,” Bruce tells him firmly. “I’m taking you home.”

With that, Bruce picks him up, cradling Dick’s head against his shoulder as he runs them toward the nearest exit.

It’s the last thing that Dick remembers upon waking up a few days later in the cave’s infirmary. His arm is in a blue cast and there are bandages around his neck, hiding stitches from surgery and the bruises that Bane left. The pain has been dulled to the point that it’s background noise, like a constant but quiet buzzing. Dick can tune it out.

Bruce and Alfred are sitting in chairs on either side of him. They’re both looking at him patiently, waiting for him to make the first move, to tell them if he’s okay.

Dick swallows, says, “Hey.” His voice is still rough, but only sound comes out, no blood. It’s progress.

Bruce and Alfred relax somewhat, and Dick smiles at them. There’s a rush of movement as they squeeze his hand and run their hands through his hair. After they’re done fussing over him and asking questions, Alfred examines him and Bruce fills him in on everything that happened a few nights ago. It’s a familiar routine, one that Dick didn’t think he’d experience again.

Alfred excuses himself to pick up Tim from school, and shortly after Bruce says something about files and letting Dick rest.

Bruce stands, but Dick grabs his hand before he can get too far. He keeps tugging until he’s pulled Bruce into a tight hug, one that Bruce matches easily.

“I thought I was a goner,” Dick confesses into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce presses a kiss into the crown of Dick’s head and runs a hand up and down Dick’s back, just like he used to do when Dick was a kid. “You were in bad shape,” Bruce murmurs, confessing that he had been afraid too. “But you’re alright now.”

Dick nods. “Yeah. And thanks, for finding me.”

“Always.”

Dick knows it’s a promise that Bruce can’t keep, but with the fear of his near-death experience fresh in his mind, he allows himself to pretend he can, if only for a moment.

[tired-college-student-writing]

Tim’s Secret Weapon: Chapter 2

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav​ ‘s Damien Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damien brings a new friend home.

Part 1 

Part 2 (HERE)

Part 3

_______________________________________________________________________

Of all the ways Tim had imagined his secret getting out, he had to say that his family finding his research into Damien’s girlfriend was pretty low on the list, practically nonexistent. Especially since it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they thought his interest in her was more than a little creepily obsessive in the worst way possible. 

Though he had to admit that the evidence against him didn’t paint a pretty picture. Any other twenty three year old with this much info on a sixteen-year-old would no doubt be placed on a list. Though he’s pretty sure from the white-knuckled grip his brothers had on their weapons, they’d rather rip him a new asshole if he didn’t give them an answer they liked soon. 

He settled for an even, “I do background checks on people that spend time here, why is it surprising that I have one on Marinette?” 

He was fairly certain that the others would be able to hear his heartbeat if it started pounding any faster. He worked with heroes of all shape and size, seen powers of all types, faced down villains of every magnitude and yet the idea of his secret getting out terrified him more than anything he’d ever experience.  Bruce gave him a steely look, “Tim, your file on Rah al Ghul is 3.4 GB, your file on Marinette Dupian-Cheng is nearly 8 GB.” 

“Not to mention,” Dick’s voice was dripping with so much venom Tim couldn’t help but wince, that didn’t sound like his carefree brother, “You went to great lengths to hide the check from us. You’re paranoid, but this is different Tim.” 

“I just wanted to talk to Marinette about something before I put it on the server…” He snapped, trying to shift the fear clawing at his very essence to anger, “Just because I did background on her doesn’t mean she’s not allowed to have her privacy. She… ” 

He knew it was a flimsy excuse, but the glares getting icier around him made everything instinct he ever had told him to run. He can see why Bruce had said no costumes tonight, he would have been on his motorcycle halfway to Star City by now if he was wearing his mask. 

“Tim,” Bruce cuts in, “Just tell us what’s going on. We can’t help if you don’t tell us.” 

He clenched his hands into his pants, trying to get them to stop shaking.  He had no choice, did he? 

“Okay,” He agreed, “I need to grab something from my room, first.”

“Todd, Go with him,” Damien ordered. Tim was sure the brat wanted to go himself, but Dick had a strong hand on his shoulder, no doubt holding him back from using “non-approved by Bruce” interrogation methods. 

Jason clapped a hand on Tim’s back making him flinch before the taller man pulled him back up the staircase. 

“This better be good, replacement,” 

“Do you really think so little of me?” Tim couldn’t help but ask as he was shoved through his door, “because it’s not hard to figure out what you guys think of me right now, but…” 

Jason's refusal to look at him hurt more then he was willing to admit. 

“We’re praying we’re wrong,” He finally said, “but we can’t think of a single other reason for you being like this.” 

Tim flinched as he entered the code into the padlock on his side table, he knew that at least two of his siblings knew the code at this point, but placing the embarrassing pictures of him from his first year as Robin seemed enough to appease them from looking further. 

“Bruce doesn’t like working with Metas,” He managed out as he pulled up the false bottom and snatched his journal. As he turned back to Jason he could see the older boy blinking at him in startled befuddlement. 

“Marinette is a Meta?”  He questioned causing Tim to hug the book tight to his chest, eyes focusing on the rusty looking 10 over his brother's head as it twisted around, he couldn’t be more relieved when it faded from the venomous green as the Laruaz sickness faded. 

He didn’t answer instead brushing past him towards the stairs to the Batcave. Jason was right on his heels. 

“What the fuck Timmy,” He questioned instantly. Tim let out a weak chuckle. 

Jason wasn’t stupid, no matter what he tried to convince people, and Tim knew his brother would put it together quickly if he said anything else, but he didn’t want to talk about it, but… he kinda wished he had longer in the shadows he was used to. He remained quiet. 

“You can’t just say that and go rushing off,” He pushed as they entered the stairwell, causing Tim to scrunch his shoulders more. 

Tim was halfway down the steps when he felt Jason stop behind him, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. He held back a wince as he glanced at his brother's face. 

The serious set of Jason’s jaw and the understanding in his eyes put Tim on edge. 

“Mari’s not the one that’s Meta, is she?” 

“...”

“Come on Tim, answer the question.” 

I don’t know if she is or not…” 

“But she’s not what you meant when you said Bruce doesn’t like working with Metas, is she?” 

Tim couldn’t force his mouth to work. 

“Shit…” Jason groaned, rubbing a hand down his face as he sank down to sit on the stairs, “We really are assholes.” 

“Jay?” 

He waved a hand dismissing Tim’s questioning tone, “You kept notes about what you can do in that book?” 

“I…” Tim’s brain was having trouble keeping up with what was happening, “Yeah?” 

“Great, hand it over and go back upstairs,” 

Tim flinched back, grip tightening, “What?” 

Jason just looked away, crossing his arms, “Look, we jumped to the wrong conclusion, and I don’t know what your power is but it made you wary of Marinette. You look like a frightened rabbit right now, so I doubt you’ll want to go through Bruce’s shitty menagerie of questions on your powers, so give me the fucking notes you have on yourself and I’ll keep them down here until we’ve gone through your book and figure it out. Then maybe by patrol, we’ll all calm down enough to… ya know fucking talk about it.” 

Tears weld up in Tim’s eyes as he sits on the stairs next to Jason, knees trembling too much to hold him up, “You… You don’t hate me?” 

The ideas startled the older boy into looking back to Tim’s face, face softening as he saw the look in his eyes. 

“Ah Timmy,” He sighed, pulling the other boy into his side “None of us are going to hate you for being meta.” 

Tim gave a shaky nod into his shoulder, reluctantly holding out the book, “It’s mostly just data… I…” 

Jason took the book carefully, bouncing it in his hand lightly, “Did you write down what your power is?” 

“Yeah but…” 

“Great skedaddle,” 

“Wait,” Tim cut Jason off as he goes to stand, “I… I want to tell someone before you find out through… through my journal.” 

Jason settles back down, “Alright replacement, What can you do?” 

Slowly he explains the numbers, the levels he had been able to see since he a baby, how he used it to know where to focus in a battle, used it to figure out every secret identity without trying. 

“Well damn,” Jason whistled, once Tim’s explanation started trailing off, “No wonder you were always good at the detective shtick, no one could hide from you.” 

Tim let out a startled laugh, “Ye... yeah, even if the color and number themselves change the font stays the same so it’s pretty easy to keep track of people...” 

“So two questions before I let you go hide in the woods, and go relay all this info to the others.” 

Tim nodded, relaxing more. He never imagined his power being revealed going so well.

“First, who’s the most dangerous of the Batfam?” 

Tim smirked, “Alfred, he’s a 12, same as Wonderwoman. Bruce and the demon spawn are tie for second at 11 and then you and Dick both have 10s, same as Superman. I... I don’t have a number.” 

“Fucking knew it,” 

“We all knew Alfred was dangerous, even without my power.” 

“Truth. Alright question dos, Why does Marinette freak you out?” 

His jaw clenched, he knew this one was coming, but he also knew how it would sound.

“She’s... She’s a 15.” 

Jason’s eyes bugged out, “15?! We’re talking about the same girl, right? Pigtails, freckles, makes sweets for us every time she visits, looks like a strong wind will fly her back to Paris?” 

“Yes!” Tim groaned, “I can’t find a single fucking thing that explains why she’s so high! Before this, the highest I’ve seen is 12!” 

“No wonder you’ve been going insane... or well more insane.” 

“Thank you for being an understanding asshole.”

“Hey what else are brothers for?” He asked, smile a little tight as he climbed to his feet, still holding Tim’s journal, “Now let's go, before the brat knocks out Dick and comes looking for you.” 

Tim gave a weary smile before disappearing up the stairs. 

When Jason reached cave the others were starting to look impatient. 

“Where’s Drake,” Damien asked instantly, body coiling dangerously. 

“I don’t him to scram,” The tall man said with a shrug, “He explained what’s happening to me, and trust me he has a good fucking reason, and probably thinks that Bruce is going to kick him out so I told him to take it easy until I calm all of you down.” 

“He what?” Bruce choked out, as the other boys stopped, all eyes focusing on Jason. 

“Yup!” Jason popped the ‘p’ before holding up the book Tim had given him, “Who’s ready for story time?” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @mewwitch @roseinbloom02 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mochinek0 @royalchaoticfangirl @09shell-sea09 @mystery-5-5 @derpingrainbow @aloha-posts-stuff @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @maribat-archive @blue-peach14 @kae690 @zazzlejazzle @vincentvangoose

[silver-snow-writes]

The thing with Jaytim and a lot of cats

This is a not! fic campfire I did on a discord server that I’m porting over here, I hope y’all enjoy the fluff. @inkyubus and @salazarastark helped a bit towards the end

———————————————————————

Okay. Tim is canonically a cat person and it has annoyed the hell out of me that Tim never got pets but Damian gets a menagerie, so I always give him a cat when given the opportunity by plot

Tim finds a pregnant kitty on his fire escape, and takes her in. He’s calling on Selina and googling everything he can after processing that oh right this is going to be a big change, and goes out to the pet store incognito to grab supplies

But he’s at the Crime Alley theater house apartment so Jason is out doing an early evening patrol, spots him, and gets curious. What’s he doing around here in civvies?

Jason tails him to the nearest pet shop, and back to his house, where he spots him playing with soon-to-be mama cat. He wants to be mad that Tim’s in *his* territory, clearly living here, but it’s hard to get too pissed when he’s giving a happy kitty belly rubs and smiling like that.

Jason’s seen him do confident Robin grin, dangerous “I’m gonna fuck you up” battle smirk, calming civilians smile, even polite Wayne heir curve of the lips. But smiling joyfully like this, eyes uncovered, clearly laughing a little as the cat demands treats? Something goes warm in his chest

Meanwhile Tim is feeling tired and stressed bc his life is a busy exhausting and traumatizing mess lately but it’s hard to think about the bad stuff when he has mama cat and her litter to think about. She’s clearly been a pet before and is so friendly and cuddly that it breaks his heart to think someone abandoned her. He gets her to the vet to check for a chip and get her looked over, and when there’s no chip that cements his decision that fuck it, he’s keeping her

He totally names her Arwen bc there is no way in hell a kid that was a DM for DC’s D&D equivalent isn’t a fan of LoTR. Arwen has to get mites and fleas removed but once she’s flea free she’s sharing his bed

Jason. Is still keeping an eye on him, subtly. Staying out of range of Tim’s security systems and Babs’s cameras and telling himself it’s all because he can’t just let the Pretender go unsupervised in his turf. And sure that’s part of it. But Tim’s actually pretty good about sticking to patrolling his own territory and that helps somewhat

And well. Jason regrets what went down during that mess after Bruce died. Was kinda shitty of him to repay Tim letting him out of jail by stabbing him in the chest and all. He’s a big awkward goober dealing with some guilt now that he’s more settled, so he has trouble figuring out how he should approach Tim and let him know that Jason is aware that he’s holing up in Crime Alley

He’s gotta do something eventually, right? Ah well. Can’t hurt to just. Watch him, every now and then. See him through the windows being a goofy new cat dad and a disaster of a teenage vigilante

(Jason, honey, things really have come full circle)

Eventually things get set in motion. LoS assassins attack Tim’s apartment, Arwen runs away bc scared kitty, Jason jumps in to help fight the assassins and then they go track down the poor baby. And some bonding and pining bc Jason is developing such a crush and also hot damn Tim fighting and winning is a sight to see

Tim is understandably wary about Jason but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when he’s being helpful and even offering to assist him in finding Arwen. She’s due to give birth soon!

(It’s been about a month now and she was already about midway through when Tim first found her. Domestic cats are pregnant around 57-65 days, so around two months)

They end up running around asking the ladies of the night and various others if they’ve seen a pregnant long-haired tabby cat. Eventually they go back to Tim’s apartment as dawn is breaking, only to find Arwen is on his fire escape again and in labor

They get her inside, clean up, and Tim sets her down in his bathtub, petting her soothingly and fussing over her. Jason is still helping out and he just goes with it, gratefully accepting a can of Zesti and medical supplies

I foster cats irl so I know how this tends to go pretty well. Within an hour of labor starting Arwen will finish pushing out kitten #1 and each of the rest will come around 15-20 minutes apart. She’ll clean them up and eat the placentas, which is gross but perfectly healthy, and soon enough they’ll be nursing from her while she purrs and rests

Tim looked into it and well. He’s been around human deliveries before and this was honestly so much quicker that it was a relief

(He was there when Steph gave birth and has likely helped deliver babies as Robin bc pregnant women can and will go into labor when shocked, like being held hostage or getting hurt in an accident)

He sits back with a sigh and pays his full attention to Jason now. He hasn’t been fully ignoring him persay, still keeping an eye and an ear on him just in case, but he’s been. Surprisingly nice and nothing but helpful, Tim isn’t sure what to think of it. Jason’s staring at the kittens but turns to look at Tim when he notices that the younger vigilante is assessing him

There’s a long moment of increasingly awkward silence as they stare at each other while the newborn kittens are mewling and Arwen’s drifting off to sleep. Jason is the one that finally breaks the tension, rubbing the back of his neck and looking back at the kitties.

“So. Pretty cute cats you got here”

Jay immediately cringes inside because yeah, it’s true that the cats are cute as heck, but c’mon Todd address the scenario

Here’s inky’s contributions:

"yeah real cute when they're covered in blood and placenta" tim retorts and then wants to smack himself.

"it's ok. they're still adorable through the bodily fluids," jason's smile is so fond when he looks down at the kittens tucked tight into the curve of arwen's body that tim thinks he must be dreaming

he's never seen jason with an expression even close to fond or happy since he came back. jason is stroking arwen's tail with just the tip of a finger, smoothing down the crooked fur.

(Back to me again)

He hasn’t seen him look so happy since he was. Since he was Robin, and Tim was just a fanboy with a camera

(Inky)

"you like cats?" the question breaks jason out of his reverie.

"they were just always around. alley cats are cranky fucks, but city strays are never that afraid of humans. they'd come around and beg for scraps until someone chased them off."

tim hummed, scritching arwen between the ears. "you were pretty good with her just now."

there was a tiny flush on jason's cheeks. "might have invited one in for a few days when no one was home. chased her off before she could get too attached."

(Me)

“I always wanted a cat, but my parents hated them and Alfred said no. I found Arwen on my fire escape hiding from a stray dog and I just had to take her inside”

Eventually Tim offers Jason a cup of tea and Jason asks about the cats more. Arwen’s name comes up and leads into a talk about Lord of the Rings, bc they both read the series and loved it. And a debate comes up over something they saw differently but it’s still friendly

Maybe Tim liked the movies’ take better than Jason did and they argue the merits vs flaws of the adaption. But they both agree that the Hobbit movies are way less faithful to the book

By the time they’re done with the tea and their conversation the sun is up and Jason ducks out to go home, feeling butterflies in his stomach at the memory of Tim smiling and laughing at him. Tim is reminded why he used to have a crush, but still very watchful bc he thought things were getting better before BftC happened

He goes to sleep and wakes up to Arwen balefully glaring at him bc her breakfast is late

Tim got injured during the LoS fight and aggravated it while looking for his poor kitty, so in the end he’s not really up for patrol that night. He stays in his apartment and alternates between looking over case files on his laptop and checking on Arwen and her babies. He lets Oracle know he’s off rotation for the night and to let Cass patrol his territory bc she’s visiting, and settles in to do some hacking to find out why Ra’s sent the assassins last night and talking with Lonnie about Unternet developments

He’s in the middle of hacking a phone’s datastream to find footage taken by a teenager that noticed skulking shadows outside the windows when there’s a knock on his window, and he checks his security system expecting one of the Bats to have gotten past his sensors. It’s Jason out on the fire escape with a couple of bags in hand. Tim is confused, but decides to roll with it again. He’s just hoping that the duffle isn’t full of heads

Turns out Jason went looking and found the League’s newest base in Gotham, liberating some paper files, a couple choice weapons, several USB drives, and a laptop that had belonged to the squad leader. He offers to let Tim work with him on this because he wants “those sycophantic assassins out of my territory dammit” and obviously Tim’s involved anyway

They both check on the kittens every now and then. They’re still too little to be doing much but nursing, sleeping, and crying, but god are they precious. And Arwen is a tired but proud mama cat

Now let’s see...Arwen’s a long-haired brown tabby with green eyes (not at all based on my baby Zelda, of course *shhh*). The kittens will be named after the Hobbits—Frodo the black kitten with big blue eyes, Sam the ginger tabby, Merry is white with golden patches, and Pippin is the tiny little tabby runt that mewls loudest

At one point Jason picks them all up and makes a joke while carrying the four of them that they're taking the hobbits to Isengard. It makes Tim snort and then wince bc the injury that kept him in was to his ribs

Tim gets sick. Not like immediately but a couple days to a week or two in, and Jason ends up playing rough but sweet nurse while Tim tries to hide that he’s ill from the Bats. Maybe the ribs issue leads to him getting a cold that nearly turns nasty bc no spleen plus two incidents of death plague and numerous other things mean his immune system’s wonky

Tim’s a stubborn little shit who won’t stay in bed unless Jason picks up Arwen and the babies to put them on the bed with him. He’s not cruel enough to move the babies when they’re sleeping on him, is he? But he can still glare at Jason

Jason might sneak a few pictures. For blackmail, he tells himself. Sure Jason, we believe you. It’s certainly not because it’s adorable and makes you get the warm fuzzies

It feels significantly less adorable when Tim pukes in the trash can and drips snot everywhere but the bedhead and flushed face and some semi-coherent feverish babbling about Star Trek and ornithology helps

Jason remembers Alfred’s cooking lessons and puts them to use, Tim lets out an obscene moan when he starts eating the soup that makes Jason choke on his own spit like a dork

“Did you get this from Alfred? It tastes just like his!”

“Yeah, he taught me how to cook, before...y’know.” Jason is very proud of himself for remembering it correctly, if a bit sad that he hasn’t spoken to Alfred since before he died

“Oh.” Tim blinks owlishly at him, unsure how to respond. “Well. You did a way better job than I would have.”

Arwen chooses that moment to demand attention, meowing stridently and rubbing her face against his hand until he goes along with it and scratches lightly under her chin

———

And that’s all, folks. Will eventually turn this into a proper fic and give it an ending, but I hope y’all enjoy it as is for the moment

[jinmukangwrites]

Explosion

Whumptober day 2

Summary: Tim’s definitely not feeling the best, and Jason reevaluate some things.

Warnings: Blood, description of injury, Jason swearing

-o-o-o-o-

Tim comes to first noticing how dark it is, and then the pain hits before he can process much else. He hisses as a bolt of pain races up his spine and he writhes as that bolt travels through his chest and down his arms then up to the base of his skull in the world's most agonizing migraine.

He can't focus on anything, he can't even move. His stomach is rolls and he desperately turns his neck, resulting in another wave of pure suffering tossing over his entire body, the smell of acid and blood reaches his nose.

He forces himself to stay still, holding his breath, chanting don't move don't move don't move over and over inside his mind. After what feels like a few minutes, the pain subsides, he releases the breath he was holding slowly to not trigger anymore waves of pain. Once he gets himself into a steady breathing rhythm, he begins to think.

The migraine is powerful, but his still movements and steady breathing has seemed to calm it to just a strong headache. He can think. Tim's always thinking, there's no way he'll let a little discomfort stop him from doing it.

He thinks about where he is, and the answer quickly becomes apparent that he has no clue. He can feel harsh, jagged rocks under his back, pressing into his shoulder blades uncomfortably, but that's the most that he has. He's not quite willing to open his eyes yet, just a tiny fearful of what he'll see or won't see, so he instead begins to focus on the last time he knew where he was.

It takes a minute. The last thing he can remember is from when he was standing behind Bruce as Bruce worked on the computer, pulling up different files relating to something to do with guns. He needed Tim to investigate something while he and the demon brat worked on a different case. Tim… left after that, going as Red Robin towards some kind of… warehouse? Yes, it's a warehouse. It's all slowly coming back.

He went inside the warehouse, finding it empty besides a few wooden crates. He opened one and… and…

Fire. Pain. Red and heat. A large boom that has his ears bursting.

Darkness.

An explosion.

He was just in an explosion.

He opens his eyes now, to keep himself from panic, his breath hitching. The first sight he sees is the result of his rebelling stomach from earlier. He wrinkles his nose and looks away, careful to not move his neck. He has a suspicion of why his spine hurts so much and he's not willing to prove it quite yet. He's on his back, so he has to look to the left to look up, and thankfully the sight of the sky greets him.

He's not buried, but when his eyes travel to his lower body all thoughts of relief leaves him.

No, he's not buried, just pinned under a giant support beam. It's over his stomach, but with all the rubble it's miraculously positioned so he's just very efficiently pinned, not at risk of suffocation. He would sigh in relief, but seeing the beam seems to remind him that he's in pain no matter how dulled it is from his persistent lack of movement. He winces at the aching in his chest and hips, he can feel various cuts and burns along his arms, and along his face come to think of it. The scent of blood in the air is so prominent that he knows he's bleeding, but his entire body has much the same ache so he can't pinpoint where the blood could be coming from.

He could be bleeding to death. His spine could be permanently damaged. Great. Another thing to add to his list of things wrong with him, he'll put "spine damage" next to "missing spleen" and "bleeding to death" next to "that one time Jason snuck into the Titan's tower and beat the shit out of me".

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Now isn't the time to panic. Now is the time to take stock of himself and evaluate his next metaphorical step (because he doubts he'll be taking any actual steps soon). He counts to ten in his head and then begins to slowly wiggle his toes, and thankfully they do actually wiggle. He can move his feet. He can feel his legs. Okay, so he's not paralyzed, but if he lays here for too long he very well can start planning on it.

Okay, okay next step. See if he can contact anyone. He bites his lip and lifts one of his hands to his ear. Waves of pain travels with the movement, but he's able to ignore most of it until he finally places his fingers on his comm link.

"R-Red Robin to cave," he says, his throat hurts and his voice rattles something in his chest. He resists the urge to cough and instead clears his throat of phlegm. "Is anyone there?"

A spike of pine erupts in his lower back and he groans, tenses as a second wave of pure agony races through his body. His vision swirls and his stomach feels the need to rebel again. He doesn't know if his body goes through with the urge, all he knows is the darkness creeping in from the corners of his eyes, echoes of his name from far away, and then be completely loses consciousness.

"… help…"

-o-o-o-o-

Dog notices something's wrong a whole second before something actually goes wrong. It isn't anything dramatic, just a small boof that makes Jason look up from the book he's reading. He raises an eyebrow at her but Dog isn't looking at him, she's looking out the window of Jason's apartment, her cute doggy face scrunched up in what seems to be worry.

"What-?"

And then, the ground shakes. It's not like an earthquake, more like a rumble one can associate with a large truck driving by, rattling the walls and clinking glass dishes in the cupboards. He would have almost assumed it was just a truck driving by if not for the large boom that split the air, startling Dog to her paws and Jason to his feet. Dog barked unhappily as Jason ran to the window, looking out into the night with wide eyes.

He knows that sound. The sound of an explosion.

More sounds reaches his ears, sounds of a crumbling building nearby, but not close enough for him to see through the mess of buildings on his block.

Dog barks again and Jason turns from the window to see Dog pulling something out from under his bed. Next thing he knows, he's watching her tug out his hood and place it down at his feet with a small whine. She licks her nose and gives him a head tilt, and he can't help but smile despite the anxiety slowly clawing into his chest.

He grabs his hood and pats her on the head. "Good girl," he says, before he lifts the hood closer to his face. Something reaches his ears from inside the hood. He scowls, wondering if he accidentally kept the comm link on inside it, and places it on his head, hoping to maybe catch onto anyone having a conversation about that explosion.

"-o cave…" a weak voice says. Tim. Jason's stomach clenches. "Is anyone there?"

Then, Tim makes a pained noise and bursts into very painful coughs.

"Tim?!" Jason asks, a strange sense of alarm sending red flags into his brain. Tim doesn't reply, just continues to cough. "Tim!"

Jason swears and rushes past Dog to dig out the rest of his uniform, he's in the process of tugging his leather jacket over his arms when a very weak, wobbly voice says a single word.

"… help…"

Jason is out the door before he can think about it.

-o-o-o-o-

As much as Jason hates to even attempt it, Bruce doesn't answer the comms. Neither does Damian. Jason can only assume it's because they're on their own private line; because the alternative is Bruce ignoring them which sends Jason's mind to a very unhappy place.

Bruce cares about Tim, and Jason repeats this to himself like a mantra as he speeds faster on his motorcycle. If anything happened to Tim, Bruce would be there. Bruce would never ignore Tim's cry for help like he would ignore Jason. No, he's just on a different frequency so he and the demon spawn can communicate without background chatter.

That's it.

He's probably elbow deep in fighting bad guys so he wouldn't have noticed a building exploding on the other side of town.

That's all it is.

Alfred is a different story. He would normally be in the cave assisting with all the communication or emergency research. If he doesn't answer, it can only mean Bruce gave him the night off or he's busy doing something else. Barbara and Dick are back in Blüdhaven last Jason heard, working on exposing some major underground prostitution ring of some sort so there's no way they would have heard the cry for help. Kate, Steph, and Duke all normally do their own thing like Jason does, and Cass is all the way in Hong Kong again, so it's a miracle in of itself that Jason even heard Tim.

He forgot to turn off the comm, forgot to take it off the general frequency the entire bat clan shares like some sort of mushy gross group call from the last time he was on it. Wasn't his choice. Dick forced him to get on it when there was a city wide terrorist attack a few days ago. You know, a normal Tuesday.

Though, it's not like it matters much now. Tim has gone silent, the connection's fizzled down to a steady static. It doesn't stop him from hissing Tim's name every so often, trying to make contact. It never works, but anything is better than sitting there with the constant static.

A car honks at him as he pushes his bike faster, running a definite red light. The explosion came from somewhere in the Narrows, which could only mean a whole lot of bad. Cops are slow to report there, mostly because of the constant stream of crime that plagues the demonic island. If Jason got some cops on his trail in Crime Alley and lead them into the Narrows, it might just help.

Because Jason knows that if Tim was caught in that explosion, there's a very slim chance Jason would be able to do actually do anything helpful. Tim sounded like he needed medical attention; something that Jason knows he's not the best at.

He swerves between two cars and someone flips him off through their window, but he keeps going, desperately fighting off the terror that he's too late.

"C'mon Tim..."

-o-o-o-o-

Tim comes to a bit slower this time, a bit more numb. His eyes flutter open and he vaguely notices that the moon is in a completely different position than it was before.

He lets out a groan, a hiss through his teeth, but is careful to Not. Move. At. All.

He doesn't want to repeat his last coughing fit from hell.

Instead, he blinks and focuses on breathing, on the meditation practices Bruce taught him and the ones he thought himself. He thinks that he should try again to contact someone, but if the simple action of holding his hand to his ear was enough to knock him out last time, he doesn't want to risk it again. He can feel cold seeping into his skin, scratching at his bones. He can't quite tell where his legs are anymore, and he's not sure if it's because of spine damage or if it's because of the beam cutting off the circulation.

Or if it's just a result of blood loss. He feels nauseous and he hasn't moved a finger yet. There's a dull pressure in his thigh, that he can feel. He kinda doesn't want to know what that is.

He's so deep in his own mind, trying to keep himself calm and trying to decide if he should try again to contact someone, that he doesn't notice the loud humm of an engine until it's shut off, the sound of footsteps on uneven ground following just a second later.

It's very close by.

Now Tim's very close to panicking. It can be anyone. It can be criminals. Criminals who saw the explosion and came to see if there's any pickings left before any cops get to the scene. Red Robin is a sitting duck, there's no hiding his mask on his face or the cape below him. He'll be completely helpless if anyone with bad intentions stumble upon him.

He sucks in a breath and holds it, clenching his fingers and fighting off the nausea swimming in his gut.

If he's found by a bad guy, there's no way in hell he's not going to go down without a fight. Spine damage and nausea be damned!

"Red Robin!" A voice calls and Tim almost passed out from the relief alone.

Relief, and then complete confusion, but he tries to focus more of the relief.

Jason. Jason's here. Tim doesn't know why (or even if he's here because he wants to help...), but Jason is here.

He opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, and yells. "Here!"

The act alone makes him dizzy, so he doesn't hear Jason reply; he doesn't even realize Jason found him until there's a hand on his head. He flinches and winces as once again a bolt of agony races up his spine.

"Shit, shit," Jason's whispering, wiping Tim's hair out from his face. Tim blinks and forces his eyes to focus on Jason's… face. The hood is thrown off and laying on the ground, there's nothing but that almost too small red mask to cover his identity. "Fuck."

"F-forty dollars…" Tim groans, but tries to force a smirk on his face.

Jason gives him a look like he thinks Tim is insane, but then his face splits into what almost looks like a genuine grin. There's a tightness to it that Tim doesn't understand… or want to understand. "You're in a debris sandwich, and you're concerned about how much money I owe the swear jar?"

"S'me… someone's gotta enforce-" he cuts himself off with a fit of wracking coughs. The action pulls at every ache and pain in his body, especially his thigh. His vision swims and if takes a while to realize Jason is calling his name, patting his cheek in a series of quick, somewhat gentle slaps.

"Stop…" Tim murmurs, willing the blurriness out of his vision.

"Then don't scare me like that, jackass," Jason mutters. Tim only hums, biting back his remark that Jason owes the swear jar another five dollars, as Jason reaches towards his jacket and pulls out a burner phone.

"Wat'r you-"

"I'm calling to see what's taking those damn cops so long."

"Oh."

Jason's attention leaves Tim as someone answers the phone, and Tim finds his mind wondering. He's so numb. And tired. Everything hurts at the same time too, which is weird. To be numb and in pain. He licks his lips and let's his eyes drag to the side, looking at the distant buildings and lamplights.

Never in his dreams did he think he could ever feel safe with Jason around. But right now, he feels that. Enough to finally let his guard down, relax his shoulders and let the tension fade. Tim and Jason had a rocky start, an understandably rocky start, and since their first meeting there has always been a tension. Tim is a reminder of Jason's failure, of Jason's mistakes. Tim is a reminder that Jason's been replaced.

Tim wouldn't blame Jason if he just called the cops and then left with an indifferent goodbye. But for some reason, he gets the feeling that this time Jason wouldn't do that.

"Hey, you listenin'?"

Tim blinks and lets his eyes land back on the former Robin. Jason has his hand raised part way like he was getting ready to smack Tim again but it lowers when Tim's eyes land on his.

"Yeah?"

A smile that looks more like a grimace passes over Jason's face. "An ambulance is on its way. I also finally got ahold of B, you'll be in the caring arms of Leslie in no time."

Tim hums. "Can… can you get help me up?"

Jason winces. "I uh, don't think that's a good idea, baby bird. We'll leave it for the paramedics. Try not to move your neck, okay?"

Tim almost nods. Man, he must be out of it. Instead he hums again. "Stay with me?"

Jason actually looks startled, as if the question itself shocked him. Or the implication that he wouldn't stay. Tim frowns when Jason doesn't answer, but finally Jason clears his throat and settles down next to Tim after a few silent seconds, placing his hand gently on Tim shoulder.

"Of course…"

-o-o-o-o-

The rest is a blur. Tim blinks in and out of consciousness when the paramedics arrive. The moment the beam's hefted from his body he blacks out, but he doesn't quite escape the pain. He hears sirens, can feel straps keeping him in place, but the pain always drowns it out pretty quickly.

But Jason is there... the entire time. He can hear Jason yelling at the paramedics when they were about to take off his mask. He can feel a warm hand in his. Encouraging words reaching his ears with the voice he never expected.

Then, there's a sharp pinch in the crook of his elbow, and the black consumes him completely.

-o-o-o-o-

Jason sighs and leans forward in the cheap plastic chair of the clinic, studying Tim with sharp eyes. He almost looks like a mummy with the amount of bandages on him, and the neck brace makes him look absolutely ridiculous. One of his thighs are heavily bandaged, and Jason winces at the memory of Tim pinned under heavy metal, skewered through his leg from a metal bar is some sort. There was a lot of blood, but not as much as there could have been.

It could have been a lot worse.

Tim could have been buried. The beam could have toppled over on his head or something as vital. The bar could have impaled his heart.

Tim could have died on impact. Jason could have stumbled upon nothing more than a mangled corpse.

And the thought sends his stomach rolling.

The thought sends him somewhere else. Somewhere in the Middle East. He's almost afraid to blink, that if he closes his eyes for even a second he'll open them and he'll be back there; a crowbar hitting his flesh violently, repetitively, a wheezing laughter breaking off every so often to ask him what hurts more. Overhand? Or Backhand?

He'll see the woman who should have been his mother sobbing in her restraints as he foolishly decides to try and rescue her. He'll see the bright numbers of an electronic counter, numbers too low to do much more than panic.

If he blinks, he's afraid he'll go back there. But keeping his eyes open has him thinking too much, thinking about what if it were Tim back there?

At first, he used to take pleasure in making people suffer the way he did. Beating Joker half to death with a crowbar was so intoxicating back then. Beating Tim half to death used to be a memory that he smirked at. Poor little Robin, had no idea what he got into, what kind of man he tried to step into the shoes of.

Seeing Tim like this now… it just makes him feel like he should maybe throw up.

He sits there, staring, listening to the beeps of the machine and ignoring the vibrations of his phone announces that Bruce is finally on his way. He does nothing but wage a war of if he should blink or if he should breathe or if he should just stand up and go, but then the decision is made for him when he notices a pair of half lidded, blue eyes looking at him.

"T- Replacement," Jason says, reaching forward to press the button that will let Leslie know Tim's awake. It's important to her to be one hundred percent updated on everything, especially since Tim doesn't have a spleen and anything can go wrong.

Tim blinks lazily before more awareness floods into his gaze. He focuses on Jason, and then a very strange smile tugs the corners of his lips up.

"Didn't… didn't think you'd stay," Tim mumbles, practically trips over his words.

Jason's heart clutches. How could he have ever hated this kid? This incredibly dorky kid whose both so incredibly trusting and untrusting at the same time? How could he have ever patted himself on the back for beating the shit out of him? For smiling at the thought of doing it again?

"Someone had to make sure you didn't move when you woke up," Jason replies, trying to go for nonchalant.

Tim's tired grin widens into a smirk. "Nah, you w- you were worried."

Jason glares. Oh yeah. This is why he hated Tim. He's the ultimate smart ass. "Yeah, well, don't expect me to dig you out next time you get yourself almost buried alive."

Tim chuckles and his eyes flutter, the good stuff in his IV beginning to pull him back under. "M'not worried."

"Why so?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tim's eyes flicker closed. "Trust you…"

And then the world of the awake leaves Tim, and Jason is left sitting there, shocked once again at how trusting Tim is. How trusting of Jason he is. He's heard from Dick that he's basically Tim's hero, told to imagine how hard it was for Tim to even attempt at filling the shoes he left. Jason can imagine, he had to fill Dick's pathetic pixie boots once upon a time.

"You were Robin when he was a kid, you were the coolest thing to him, and he wanted nothing more than to live up to your legacy. Sure, I was first, but Tim was always your biggest fan," Dick had told him one rare, quiet night. Jason didn't believe it. He still doesn't quite believe it.

Leslie thankfully chose to come into the room before he could go further into that train of thought.

Bruce and Damian burst in soon after, to which Jason decides to finally take his leave. Bruce is already looking at Jason like he's done something wrong and the demon brat is scowling like he's looking for a fight and Jason just… isn't in the mood. He bids them goodbye and rushes out.

He almost makes it home, but then he's stopped in his tracks when he sees something in a passing store window. He sighs.

He's gone soft.

-o-o-o-o-

Tim can hear Bruce, his voice is muffled like he's on the other side of a door, and when Tim opens his eyes he finds that that's exactly the case. He lets his eyes roll over to where he almost expected Jason to be, but the sight that meets him is much different.

A simple teddy bear sits in the chair, dressed in a red and green suit, a yellow badge stitched on with a red R embroidered in the center, a cape tied around it’s neck.

There's a sticky note pressed into the fur of the bear, it's written sloppily and rushed, but Tim can just make out the words.

"Get well soon, Replacement"

He smiles and looks up to the ceiling, deciding whatever just transpired between Jason and Tim… it was good.

And he isn't complaining.

Though he could have done without the neck brace.

[sebeth]

Young Justice: Independence Day, Fireworks, and Stopover

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

 My goal is to re-watch the Young Justice series and re-read the comics before the January 4th launch of Young Justice: Outsiders.  Let’s begin.

Episode 1: “Independence Day”

July 4th: We begin, appropriately enough, on the United States’ Independence Day.  The title will have multiple meanings by the end of the first two episodes:  the kids’ semi-independence from their mentors and Superboy’s freedom from the Cadmus Project.

Do cold villains hate the Fourth of July?

Dick is the only Robin who would have laughter as a trademark.

“Juniors doing this for attention?” – One of my favorite parts of this series is the depth of knowledge for the characters of the DC Universe – even the obscure ones.  The current Icicle is a “junior” – his father was the original Icicle of the Golden Age era.  As a huge fan of the B through D list characters, I have a huge appreciation for anyone who remembers the small details.

Kaldur was an interesting choice as he was a new but fairly obscure character when Young Justice debuted. Garth would have been the more logical choice as he was a founding member of the Titans along with Dick, Roy, and Wally.

I admit I wondered why the series was called Young Justice because all I was seeing were the founding members of the Titans at this point (minus Garth and Donna).

“You’ll chat it up with the cops, the bystanders, with Cold even.” – One sentence reveals so much of Barry’s personality.

“I knew we’d be the last ones here.” – Again, a Barry trait.

“Speedy is Green Arrow’s sidekick.” “Well, that makes no sense.” – Accurate.

“Why isn’t anyone just whelmed?” – Dick’s mangling of the English language begins.

“02” – The assigned numbers correspond with the members joining the team.  The way to my heart is the small details.

Roy has a huge hissy even by his impatient, hot-headed nature.  We discover the reason later in the series.

“We could make an exception.” – Really, the Justice League wouldn’t allow their proteges on the Watchtower? Why?

Zatara and Wotan! Yay, obscure characters for the win!

“Glad you didn’t bring you know who?” Foreshadowing!

The boys invade Cadmus in all its glory: Guardian, G-Nomes, Genomorphs, Dubbilex, and, of course, Superboy.

“Dr. Desmond” is a hint for his upcoming transformation. The “Blockbuster” label confirms it.

Wally is a science nerd. Makes sense with Barry as a mentor.

“File KR” – another hint.

“Sub-level 52”. – DC does love its 52.

Superboy!  Looking more like the Teen Titans-era version than the early, scrawny, fresh out of the pod version.

Hack! – Tim is typically the Robin most associated with computers.  To be fair, the Internet was pretty much non-existent when Dick and Jason were Robin.

Superboy, unsurprisingly, curb-stomps the team.

 Episode 2: “Fireworks”

First appearance of the Light aka the Cadmus Board of Directors.            

“Clone them.” – We later discover that one sidekick has already been cloned.

Dubbilex, the sneaky traitor, awakens the boys.

“Project: Sidekick” – Desmond is so imaginative when it comes to naming projects.

“He can talk.”

“Yes, he can.”

“Not like I said it.

Wally, listen to Dick and Kaldur and keep your mouth shut.

Kaldur is clearly the wisest of the original group.

“Batcave’s crowded enough.” – Well, it’s been said three is a crowd.

“What would Superman do?” – Everyone should apply this standard to their decisions.

“Don’t you give me orders either.” – I can see why it would be a sensitive issue – his whole life (all 16 weeks) has been controlled by others.

“You can leap tall buildings in a single bound.  Still cool.” – Sweet Wally being supportive.

“Don’t apologize. This is perfect.” – That’s how you know Dick was raised by the Batman.

“I finally have room to move.” – Yeah, speed is more useful when you have to space to run.

“Grab something from Project Blockbuster.” – If you were familiar with the villain, you knew what was about to happen.

“The Genomorph hero.” – Unfortunately, this bit wasn’t followed up on.

“Everyone back.” – Protective Guardian for the win.  Sadly, he’s outmatched by Blockbuster.

“Got your nose.” – Gross!

“You incredible bulk.” – Shout out to the competition.

Oh, look at protective Superboy and Aqualad covering their more delicate teammates.

The League arrives with Superman taking point.

Not loving Hawkgirl/woman’s costume.

Poor Kal breaks Superboy’s heart.  Bad Kal!  I understand Clark’s upset and confusion but don’t take it out on the newborn child.

“All 52 levels.” – Again, DC loves the 52.

“Why let them tell us what to do.  It’s simple.  Get on board or get out of the way.” – Superboy declares the true mission statement of Young Justice.

Red Tornado as team supervisor is a nod to the comic book version of Young Justice.

I did like the addition of Black Canary as team trainer.  It’s a nice nod to Dinah’s combat skills which Gail Simone spent most of the 2000s building up.

“This is the Martian Manhunter’s niece.” – Another surprise choice as Miss Martian wasn’t very well known in the comics.  Never will a character start out so cute and then devolve into creepiness.

M’gann’s obsession with Superboy begins immediately.  We’ll discover why later in the season.

 Young Justice #1: Stopover

The issue begins immediately after Superboy declares “Get on board or get out of the way.”

“Give me three days” Batman responds.

The group then realizes Superboy has nowhere to go in the meantime.

Kid Flash brings Superboy to Central City.  Wally explains the situation to his parents.  There is a cute moment when Mrs. West corrects Wally’s grammar: “Robin, Aqualad, and I…”

Superboy interjects with a “You weren’t there.”

Cadmus clearly didn’t instruct Superboy in conversation nuances.

Mrs. West informs Wally that he “leads a very strange life.  But we’re use to it. Largely.”

Wally’s parents are way more understanding and supportive than they are in the main DC Universe.

Wally’s parents ask Superboy’s name.  Wally responds “I call him Supey.  I think he likes it.” Conner doesn’t look like he likes it.

We stop in on Kaldur and Arthur’s return journey to Atlantis.

Kaldur: “We meant no disrespect.”

Arthur: “I would not be much of a king if I did not allow my subjects freedom of expression. Especially when their words carry such wisdom.”

Somewhere, Garth is wondering why he never had this type of relationship with Arthur.

Conner wonders “Think Superman knows I’m here?”

Wally awkwardly reassures Conner that Superman knows he’s in Central City.

Wally awakens the next day to find Conner sleeping upright in his closet. Conner informs Wally that he is not “used to sleeping in a bed.  Your closet reminded me of my Cadmus pod.  Except for the funny smells.”

Poor Conner.  A bed shouldn’t be a foreign concept.

The boys spend the day vegging in front of the tv.  Conner is very bored.  Each panel has Wally eating something different: a bag of chips, pizza, and a bucket of fried chicken.

Nice nod to Wally’s metabolism.

Late in the day a card arrives with a credit cart addressed to Wally “for expenses.”

Superboy wonders if it’s from Superman.

Wally vaguely confirms it’s from Superman with a “who else could it be from” even though he’s clearly aware it was sent by Batman.

Wally is so sweet – he keeps trying to reassure that, of course, Superman would care about Conner’s location and well-being.

Batman is also a very sweet Bat-Dad this issue.  Bruce would deny it but he was consistently sweet and supportive to Conner in the first season.  None of the other Leaguers thought Conner would need money to buy basic essentials like clothes.  Or that the middle-class Wests would need financial support to care for Superboy.  Wally’s appetite alone has to put a serious dent in their income.

If Wally hadn’t offered, I’m positive Bruce would have taken Conner back to the Batcave.  If for no other reason than Alfred wouldn’t have been thrilled with the idea of an underage child being left alone.  Batman would have also thought of the risks of leaving Conner on his own – Cadmus operatives could have tried to regain custody of a lone Superboy.

The boys head to the mall to shop for clothes.  A nice easter egg is the name of the store the boys enter: “Forever Sixteen”. Conner was genetically locked in that age for some time in the comics.

Conner buys multiple copies of the same black shirt.  Not someone who’s big on fashion.

We bop over to Gotham where Dick is impatiently wondering what Bruce is doing in the Batcave – it’s been almost two and a half days!

Alfred patiently reminds Dick that when one says three days, one means three days.

Poor Alfred has the patience of a saint.  Imagine what the poor man endures on a daily basis: Bruce in all his glory; hyper, energetic Dick, Jason’s explosiveness, Damian’s demanding arrogance, and Stephanie’s boisterousness.  Tim, Cassie, and Duke are the quieter children. They don’t cause Alfred as much fuss.

Back to the mall where Wally and Conner encounter Tommy and Tuppence, the Terror Twins – the same twins that Conner and M’gann impersonate at Belle Reve.

Flash and Superman arrive on the scene of the fight.  Conner mutters a single “Superman” before Clark flees from the scene.  To be fair, he was pursuing the Terror Twins but he couldn’t even offer a “hi” before he left?

Flash tells the boys to go home.  Barry will pick the boys up in the morning because “Batman has made his decision”.

Honestly, Batman made his decision as soon as he told the kids “three days”. Bruce simply needed the three days to implement his plan.

Conner asks Wally if “Superman will be there tomorrow”. Wall responds “Uh, sure, you know…if there’s no emergency somewhere.”

Conner’s downcast face shows he doesn’t believe Wally’s statement.

Conner asks Wally “Why’d you invite me to stay with you?”

“Well, un, Aqualad lives underwater.  And the Batcaves’s kind of a big secret. So I figured it’d be cool for us to hang.”

Conner smiles after Wally’s statement.

Wally is so sweet and supportive in this issue.  It also shows that Wally is very trusting.  He is inviting Superboy into his home with his civilian parents – and he knows how easily Conner curbstomped the entire team.  But Wally knows Conner is one of the good guys and doesn’t even hesitate to bring him to Central City.

The issue ends with the final moments of the second episode.

[batcrested]

@niteblooms​ // continued x

He hates the thoughts that worm their way into his skull as he stands beneath the blinding fluorescent light of the gala pavilion. He hates that he knows that, if he had reacted differently then he wouldn’t be feeling like this. If Stephanie was different. If she hadn’t — if she hadn’t done those things for Bruce or wrote Tim’s suspicions off then they would have shown up together instead of apart.  Or maybe not. Maybe she would still be looking at stupid fucking cop with his stupid long legs, stupidly gelled hair and stupid sharp jaw. Yeah, maybe Tim would still be standing here, imperfect and seething in his envy.

He wants to go home so badly now. He’s so tired but he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, not without something to dull these thoughts. Maybe spend a few hours buried in data files for Enterprises or case files Barbara had sent him to go over. Familiar routines. Just enough complexity to blur his mind, not enough to frustrate. To forget for a while. But then-- then he can see Stephanie laughing at something from across the room, watches someone else’s hand reach out to touch hers and-- that’s the final nail in the coffin tonight for him.

Tim doesn’t plan out exactly what he’s going to do or say when he approaches her.  Honestly his rough idea is to startle her, to tease her and compliment how gorgeous she looks ( she always does but given the dress of choice and the make up, it’s hard not to be awestruck ) but no no his impulsiveness gets the best of him. His hold on Stephanie’s  waist is too tight, his lips too close to her ear and yes his eyes are steely when they land on the current source of his ire. The other man is smart enough ( or uncomfortable enough ) to excuse himself and wish them a goodnight that leaves Tim feeling worse than he already does. It’s only the pointed look Tim catches in the corner of his eye from Barbara on the other side of his room that ground him back to himself, reminds him where he is and how he should behave accordingly.

Aside from Dick he is the son that shows up on time, plays his part as the polite and friendly ward and manages to secure continuous support and connections for the Wayne Foundation to draw from. Right now must look like quite the opposite. Well, everyone has their off days, right? Nevertheless when he starts to pull himself away, preparing to pass it off as a joke and make his exit because it’s fucking stuffy in here and the suit he’s wearing suddenly feels so tight he can’t breathe. Stephanie’s already grabbing for him.

Her wrath is something that is easy to see coming, like a heavy storm rolling in over the ocean and he does nothing to steer himself out of its path. In her tight grasp he’s shaking, not bright but she’s warm, hot, his own blood pulses in his ears, and he’s given no choice but follow her through the throng of attendees and be lead-- dragged into various hallways and stairs until she finds a room suitable enough to herd them into.

“... I mean it’s a public party, everyone’s business is sort of out there.” Tim sighs and stares past her to the window facing the front of the venue house. How far of a drop would it take and would the reporters lurking catch him leaving? Not a bad idea, not impossible. “It was just a question, Stephanie... You just seemed comfortable is all and you usually don’t care for these events.” He knows that’s not what she’s referring to but he pushes away from the door and tucks his hands into his pockets, being careful not to get too close again when he starts to cross the room. “Sorry I asked about your friends, okay? I won’t do it again.”

[blueflamebird]

Jaytim secret santa 2017 pt 2

so i had a second giftee! @sociallyawkwardfoxwriter I love your writing and hopefully this is ok ;-; it was such a hard prompt to write because im terrified of ghosts. 

Prompt: ghost jason meets robin tim

rating: general

Tim wasn’t one to believe in supernatural forces.

He liked to use logic and reasoning, science and math, evidence and facts.

Magic, ghosts, demons?

They had none of that.

Well, he knew several aliens, Miss Martian, Superboy, Starfire. He even knew the half demon, Raven. But he personally had no interaction with the supernatural forces, and he was fine with that.

He went through several...weird adventures with the Titans, even with Batman and Nightwing, but they were all solved in a logical way.

So when he started feeling like someone was watching him, or when weird things started happening, he thought he was just being paranoid. Little to no sleep and dealing with psychos like the Joker would do that to a person.

It wasn’t until things escalated, like his files flying everywhere, or his batarangs suddenly flying at him, that Tim finally accepted that maybe he was being haunted.

Even then, Tim didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t like whatever spirit was doing this was hurting him, just making his job more difficult than it had to be.

So Tim ignored the papers being knocked down, grabbed a spare mask whenever his went missing suddenly, and did the best he could to try and figure out who would haunt him while paying them no mind.

The spirit, Tim begrudgingly admitted to it being a spirit, never followed him out of the cave, and though Tim still felt like he was being watched on missions, nothing supernatural ever happened. Tim wouldn’t admit he was thankful for that.

The Titans seemed to know immediately. Tim didn’t know how, but they knew. Kon and Bart always looked a touch more worried than usual. Raven gave him pointed looks, but said nothing. Gar was always on edge, and seemed anxious around him. Kori told him on multiple occasions he was more than welcome to stay. Tim declined every time, but the worried look she’d give him made Tim wonder when she would finally call Nightwing.

But none of them ever tried to force Tim to talk about it, and for that he was grateful.

Tim was always called a smart kid. He was far more intelligent than most kids his age, and he was already known as the world’s second greatest detective, right after Bruce. So, he did what every ‘normal’ kid his age would have done. He decided to talk to the spirit.

There was a sense of comfort being alone in the batcave to ‘talk to ghosts.’ He would at least hear Alfred or Bruce coming and could always say he was doing work.

With a tentative look towards Jason’s old Robin uniform, scorch marks and everything behind clear glass, Tim called out. “Uh..hello? Are you there?”

There was a pregnant silence. Tim knew he was listening, this wasn’t normal silence. Even the bats were watching, listening, waiting.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I’m not here to bother you.”

The silence continued to ring in the Batcave, and the cold sweat that broke out on Tim’s forehead told him that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“I’m...just here to make sure Bruce doesn’t do anything stupid. After Jason died-”

It clicked in his mind. But Tim scrunched his face up, confused. He didn’t know Jason. Sure, he took pictures of him as Robin, but personally he didn’t know anything about him. Jason didn’t know him either. So why would he-

Tim sighed, turning to Jason’s suit, hung up like a memorial in the cave. “I know no one wants me to be here. Dick doesn’t, Bruce doesn’t, and it looks like you don’t want me here either. But...I have to do this. Batman and Robin meant more to me than you could ever imagine. Bruce is beating himself up because of what happened. He’s becoming self destructive and Dick won’t do anything about it. So, I will. And once I’ve served my purpose I’ll leave. But, just know until then, I’m staying. I have to stay. Please understand.”

Tim shivered as he felt a cold breeze behind him, but a quick glance told him no one was there. Maybe the spirit wasn’t listening?

“Master Tim?”

Tim jumped, whirling around to come face to face with Alfred. The butler was looking at him with something akin to worry.

“Are you alright, Master Tim? I heard you speaking.”

Tim stuttered, an embarrassed blush rising to his face at having been caught.

“I uh...yeah. I was just-”

Alfred looked passed Tim to Jason’s uniform, a sad look replacing the worry.

“I see. Master Bruce often does the same. He wallows in his guilt.” Alfred turned to Tim, a pointed look this time. “But perhaps you being here can remind him of why he chose to dawn the cape and cowl. He may seem distant and cold, but he’s just afraid of losing another partner so soon after his previous.”

Tim paused. “But Jason wasn’t just his partner. He was his son.”

Alfred’s eyes turned sad again, even if his tone didn’t betray it. “That he was, Master Tim. Now come along, it’s time for dinner.”

With one last look at the memorial, Tim followed after Alfred. Had he turned around, he would have seen what looked like a person looking up at the memorial as well.

 Jason thought death would have been the end of things. He thought he’d see a white light and then nothing.

He was wrong.

He found himself in the manor, watching, but not being able to interact.

He’s tried, oh how he’s tried to call out to them, to touch them.

But he couldn’t.

Instead he had to sit by and watch as this...this pretender all but demanded to be made Robin. As he replaced him as if Jason was nothing more than a fleeting thought.

He was smart, Jason would give him that. He was maybe 2 years younger than him, but already brilliant in a way Jason had to work to be. Jason was book smart, and he was clever. But Tim? Tim was the detective Bruce wanted him and Dick to be.

Jason decided that if he couldn’t be Bruce’s sidekick, no one could. Sure, maybe it was petty, but Jason died and got nothing more than his mask and cape hung up. Hell, it didn’t even look like Dick knew until recently.

Jason didn’t do anything that could seriously hurt the kid. He didn’t hate him enough to stoop that low. He just wanted him to stop being Robin.

But after that one sided conversation in the Batcave, Jason was second guessing his choices.

Tim was right. Jason saw how Bruce was jumping head first into his work, pushing everyone away. But if hurt him to think that he couldn’t help, and had to rely on Tim to do it.

So, he stopped. Well, he didn’t completely stop, he was still a bit petty, but he wasn’t as bad as he was before. Where before it was a matter of trying to get Tim to quit, now it was more of something to keep him occupied and just to be a little shit.

Tim did nothing more than roll his eyes as he had to collect his papers, or sigh as his cape seemed to have disappeared. But he seemed glad that Jason didn’t outright ignore him.

Jason could do without the conversations though.

Tim had taken Jason’s little pranks to be a sign of begrudging acceptance, and while he was right, Jason didn’t want him to be comfortable with the fact. But while Tim rambled away in tales of the Titans, or the night’s mission, Jason listened. There was no way Tim could know for certain that he was listening. With the exception of Raven and Constantine, Jason was pretty much invisible to everyone else. So how could Tim know he was there and still act like they were the best of friends?

It took Jason a minute to realize that Tim simply didn’t have anyone else. While Tim had friends like Kon and Bart, they didn’t understand what it meant to be Robin. They didn’t get the mental and physical torture and exhaustion being Batman’s partner meant.

So Jason listened. Even if Tim didn’t know he was, he did.

Jason slowly saw things change. He saw Dick try to be a better brother to Tim than he was for Jason. And at first, it was another thing that pissed Jason off, but after stumbling upon one of their conversations, Jason realized it was out of guilt. Jason had left half way through the conversation. After all, Dick cared about him enough to beat the Joker to death with his bare hands, he didn’t need to try to get between them.

And as he realized how much he meant to Bruce, Dick, Alfred, and even Tim, Jason found himself at peace. He was loved, finally. But there seemed to be one thing keeping him from moving on.

“Tim.”

Tim’s ramblings and Jason’s thoughts were cut short as Bruce stood in the doorway of his room. Bruce looked around, as if looking for the person Tim was talking to, but found nothing. He raised a single eyebrow before shaking his head, seeming to remember why he was there.

“Tim, tonight you aren’t partrolling with me.”

“Excuse me?” Tim asked. His tone was polite, as if he was just asking Bruce to repeat himself, but his eyes held defiance, a challenge Bruce took in stride.

“Your father is bound to a wheelchair, Tim. He needs you more than Gotham does. Go, I will call Nightwing if i need assistance.”

“Bruce, you can’t do this to me! I need to be out there, I need to-”

“You aren’t thinking straight.” Bruce interrupted, and Jason rolled his eyes as he remembered all those times Bruce was more Batman than Bruce. “Anger is clouding your judgement. I know you want revenge but it will not end well if you go after Captain Boomerang. There is a line you don’t cross. I’ve already experienced one sidekick crossing that line out of emotion, I don’t need another.”

Tim knew where this was going, and it filled him with an unexpected wave of anger. Grabbing his coat, he angrily shoved his hands into the sleeves.

“I’m not your son, I’m your partner. I think I’ve done enough to deserve some respect.” Tim all but pushed Bruce aside as he stormed out of the room. Tim paused, turning to Bruce. “Oh, and that night with Felipe Garzonasa? Jason didn’t push him. I’d know, I was there.”

With that, Tim stormed out. As he yanked the front door open, he could have sworn he felt something warm on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” Tim mumbled, as he left Wayne manor.

 Jason couldn’t bring himself to hate Tim. His initial anger now seemed childish, petty. He didn’t know Tim then, but as he learned more about the kid who took over Robin for him, the more he found himself interested in him.

Could ghosts fall in love? Jason didn’t need to eat, or sleep, but he could still feel emotions. That had to explain the protective feeling he had whenever Tim came home with so much as a scratch, or when Tim crawled into bed and silently trembled as he tried to sleep.

This didn’t compare to how he felt though, watching as Tim holed himself in his room, bawling his eyes out as he mourned his father.

And Jason could do nothing but watch.

“He’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”

Tim kept saying this, and Jason wanted so badly to tell him he was wrong, to tell him he was as much as a victim as Jason was, that the cape and mask just made them targets.

But he couldn’t, because he was dead.

When Tim finally exhausted himself to the point of drifting off, Jason put his ghost skills to work and gently covered him with a blanket.

Jason was a ghost, he couldn’t feel, but how would he explain the warmth that went through him when Tim sleepily mumbled “Thanks Jason,” then?

 Jason was gone.

Tim just knew. He was gone.

He couldn’t feel him anymore. It was hard to explain how he knew, but he knew.

Did he move on? Was he at peace?

Tim felt guilty for feeling a bit bitter. Now Jason was probably in a better place, and here he was being angry for feeling left alone.

Tim sighed, pushing the thoughts out of his head as he looked up to the bat computer. It had been some years since he first decided to seek out the bat. Jason’s spirit had become such a crucial part. Who would understand now? Who would he talk to without feeling judged?

The thoughts were once again pushed out of his head as a ping appeared on the bat computer. It took Tim just a few clicks before that ping became a location.

Crime Alley?

Nightwing was busy in Bludhaven, and Bruce was off planet on League business.

That just left him.

Snapping his cape into place and slipping on his mask, Tim was just a little annoyed. Who was making trouble when he wanted to just brood and sulk?

Ugh, he sounded like Bruce.

Tim shot his grapple hook, flying and gliding to the location. He knew this could very well be a trap, but his instincts told him it probably wasn’t. Gotham had been silent since the Joker and most of the other Rogues were in Arkham, no doubt planning their next escape.

Tim sighed, a never ending war, this was.

“Tim.”

Tim whirled around, batarang in hand and ready when a figure stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, and built. He had a red helmet over his head, and dressed head to toe in armor, as if he was a vigilante himself.

Slowly, the stranger reached up to press a button behind his helmet. It loosened with a soft click, and he pulled it off.

Tim felt the breath leave him.

In front of him, the man grinned, a crooked grin that was unfairly attractive, blue eyes crinkling in mirth.

“Long time no see, baby bird.”

The voice was deep and Tim had to resist the urge to shudder. Instead he grinned back.

“Nice to finally see you, Jason.”

[unavenged-robin]

I absolutely adore your DamiJon work and couldn't help but wonder if you're up for an angsty fic where Dami and Jon are on a mission together but a mishap happened and it looked like Damian died to save Jon. Jon was devastated because he was actually planning to confess/propose to Dami after that. Though Dami is not actually dead. Would have been more heartbreaking if the song You're my sunshine was playing at the back

First of all, thank you very much! :D I played a bit with the prompt and I ended up with a very long, very mushy story. I hope it’s something similar to what you were expecting :D Jon’s 16 here and Damian’s 19 and they’re both huge dorks.

Read on AO3 

It’s a long, boring, frustrating mission. And Jon knows Damian’s hating it as much as he is, even if Robin’s never going to admit it out loud because he was the one who choose it, so complaining about it now in Damian’s brain would be like admitting to a mistake, and of course mistakes are a thing that only happens to others.

Jon sighs and flies around the decrepit building one more time, monitoring Damian’s position with his x-ray vision. Once established that the place was empty, Jon had let Damian explore the inside of the building by himself as a punishment for his pride, but now he’s getting bored with the wait.

From the outside the building is shabby just as much as its surroundings, and doesn’t reflect Jon’s expectations of a cool criminal lair at all. Then again, the guy to whom it belongs to is equally, if not more lame.

For a start, he calls himself the Travelling Thief, which is already flimsy enough on its own, in Jon’s humble opinion. Add to it a flashy glittery costume, a monocle and a top hat, and you have the most embarrassing Arsène Lupin copycat Jon’s ever seen in his life.

Worst thing is they’ve been chasing after this guy for almost three weeks now and discovering his hideout is their biggest accomplishment so far, even if Jon can’t begin to phantom how a loser like that had managed to play them for so long. And yet, here they are.

“I found the stolen goods”, Damian says over the comm - which are completely useless to someone with Jon’s powers, but Superman himself has told him not to bother with the Bats because there’s just no way to win some arguments with them.

“Any trace of your friend?”, Jon asks, lazily flying around to scan the neighborhood. There isn’t much to see there either, only abandoned warehouses and a playground that has probably seen his last child before Jon was even born.

“He’s not my friend”, Damian snaps at him. “He’s our case.”

“Whatever, Batboy.”

Damian grumbles some insults of choice, and then there is silence for a few minutes.

“Damn.”

Jon stops in midair and locates Damian again. He’s in the basement now, where the real headquarters of the Travelling Thief are supposed to be.

“Something wrong?”

“Silent alarm. Just activated it”, Damian explains through gritted teeth. “No way he’s coming back here now. We have to find another place to ambush him.”

“Great”, Jon sighs. “I’m going to get married and we will still be chasing after this guy, I know it. I’ll just go ahead and tell my mom to save a piece of cake for him. He’ll be a part of the family at that point.”

“Stop whining”, Damian snarls. “There are a lot of his preparatory files here, if we study them they’ll give us everything we need to catch him.”

That’s even worse news for Jon, and he groans internally.

“…are you telling me that this is how we are going to spend our weekend?”

Damian haughtily scoffs at him.

“Right, because you had better plans for it anyway.”

“As a matter of fact I have”, Jon retorts, glancing down at his phone as it starts beeping. Talk about timing, he thinks with a smile. “But since you obviously don’t, I suppose you can finish this one on your own? You know, call the police, make a copy of the files before they arrive and all of that? ‘Cause I’ve got a friend to meet.”

“Of course, I would never want to keep you from your social life, Kent”, Damian answers, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “I mean, it’s already lacking as it is.”

Jon rolls his eyes and simply ignores the bait. It’s a weak one anyway, compared to all the creative insults Damian’s thrown his way over the years.

“Sweet!”, he says instead, voice filled with not-so-fake cheerfulness. “See you later, Robin!”

“Whatever, Jonny boy.”

The last things he hears before sprinting towards the sky are Damian’s heavy sigh and the rustle of papers while he starts looking through the files.

-

He gets the call one hour later, while he’s in Metropolis, slurping down an ice cream and laughing with a bunch of school friends. He’s happy because his plans for the weekend are great and he just can’t wait to put them into practice.

Then his cellphone starts ringing and his father’s number comes up on the screen.

“Hey dad!”, Jon greets him, still in the middle of a laugh.

“Jonathan.”

That one word is enough to freeze Jon on his feet. He knows that tone, he knows that voice. Something’s wrong.

Really, really wrong.

The conversation lasts less than a minute, and Jon doesn’t understand his father’s words right away, but Clark says Damian and accident and you need to come back right now, so Jon runs and then he jumps and then he flies, and the whole time he feels like every inch of his insides is padded with cotton, and the only two words he can think about are Damian and accident. Damian. Accident.

Accident.

Damian.

Damian.

-

There’s nothing left of the building he and Damian were checking out a little more than one hour ago.

Not even debris under which they can dig. There’s nothing.

Jon stands in midair, clouds of dust and ashes swirling his cape around him as he stares down at the giant, big, black hole on the ground without understanding.

“The explosion wiped out the whole area”, his father explains. “We don’t know what provoked it or where Robin was when it happened but-”

Superman is not talking to him. He’s talking to Damian’s family. Jon’s pretty sure none of them has yet noticed him hovering above them, which is surprising, but not really, because if they’re all here it means that they’re assuming the worst, and the worst is-

Jon lands a few feet from them, and still no one acknowledges him.

Batman is silent. So very silent. Nightwing’s yelling. Red Hood’s yelling too. Jon doesn’t understand if they’re yelling at each other or at someone else. Red Robin is silent too, but now he’s looking right at Jon with an intensity that even the cowl can’t hide. Again, Jon doesn’t understand.

So he approaches them, walking on wobbly feet.

“Where is Damian?”, he asks, and he realizes there’s anger in his voice only after the words roll out of his mouth. But he’s angry, yes. Because it’s ridiculous for them to be all here. If Damian’s injured someone should be with him. Who cares about the Travelling Thief, about their mission or the burned things? He knows that the bats are one big, freaky, emotionally stunted lot, but he also knows that underneath all of that they care, so why are they all here? Why did they leave Damian alone?

“Where is Damian?”, he asks again, louder and angrier, and everybody finally turn towards him.

There’s something on their faces. Under their masks. Jon recognizes it as he recognized his father’s urgence when he called his name over the phone.

And still, he doesn’t understand.

Refuses to.

But his scream broke the spell, and now everyone’s moving, reacting, ready to answer his question. Red Robin is the first to speak.

“Where is Damian?”, Tim repeats, voice half choked by a growl.

Jon focusses on him and Tim looks back with burning eyes, and Jon finally figures out the emotion behind his glare. It’s hatred. Pure and simple. And this much, at least, he can understand. Because it’s nothing new. Because he knows that Tim looks at him, looks at Superboy and doesn’t see Jon. He sees Kon. He sees his absence.

“Where is Damian? Where the hell were you!”, Tim yells, taking a step towards him. “Why weren’t you with him? You were supposed to protect him!”

And Jon’s never thought of himself as Damian’s protector before, not really, but again, he understands what Tim means. If he’d been with Damian, he would’ve shielded him with his body. This entire thing would’ve been solved with a burned shirt and maybe a few cuts instead of… this.

Jon feels sick.

“Where the hell were you?”, Tim asks again, almost but not quite yelling, cold rage dripping from his every word, and then Batman reaches out and grabs him by his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Enough”, Bruce growls.

It is enough, Jon realizes as he falls on his knees. It is enough for his brain to click and provide an answer to his question. He tastes the acid flavor of vomit in the back of his throat for the first time in years, before buckling forwards and spill the inside of his stomach on the ground, splattering both Batman’s and Red Robin’s boots with what used to be a double vanilla and chocolate ice cream mixed up with the remains of his last lunch.

-

He’s not sure about what time it is when he finds himself stumbling along the corridors of the Watchtower. He’s exhausted, though. They’ve been interrogating him for hours - and of course they were as gentle as they could’ve been, and they never called it an interrogation in the first place, but things are what they are, and as gentle as Bruce Wayne can try to be, he is the goddamn Batman, and at some point Jon broke up and started to cry, and from that moment on he doesn’t really remember much.

He’s sure he’s given them everything he knew about the Travelling Thief, but Damian had all the files about the case and Damian is-

Well.

He keeps walking for another undefined amount of time, until he turns a corner and unexpectedly finds Tim sitting cross-legged against a wall, unfocused eyes looking out the panoramic windows.

He’s still wearing his costume, but his domino lies forgotten at his feet, alongside his bo staff. He’s bathed in a deep red halo, and it takes Jon a moment to figure out it’s the sunset light covering him with a sanguine layer, and not some freaky figment of his own imagination drowning everything in blood.

Tim notices him but doesn’t say anything, so Jon walks towards him with heavy steps, then he stops, reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and drops two tickets into his lap. Tim blinks up at him, then he glances down at the tickets and picks them up to examine them closer.

“I went to get these”, Jon starts explaining, voice soft and careful, refusing to look at anywhere else than the floor. “There’s a concert this saturday, it’s a band Damian and I like a lot. It went sold out before I even realized they were in town, but a kid at my school managed to snatch a couple of tickets and agreed to give them to me, but I had to hurry, you know? Because there were other people who wanted ‘em and I… what I wanted was to ask Damian… I thought it could be…”

Tim’s laugh interrupts his rambling. Surprised, startled out of a justification he doesn’t even know if he should try to give, Jon looks up at him with a quizzical glare, but Tim just keeps laughing, and it’s a wet, pained, humorless laugh.

He only stops when he realizes Jon’s staring at him, then he sniffles and looks at him with a smile so sad it looks like his face is breaking.

“Two days ago Damian asked me to find him a couple of tickets for the same concert”, Tim explains. “And, I suspect, for the same reason.”

“Oh”, Jon says. And then, before he has even the time to ponder on why the hell he should care about the answer, he asks: “And did you get them?”

“Yes”, Tim’s smile breaks with a sob, and then there are tears on his face, and Jon’s cheeks feel pretty wet too. “Of course I did. Gave him hell for it, though.”

The last sentence is more out of Jon’s interpretation than anything, because Tim’s crying too hard now to be intelligible. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

Jon slumps down on the ground beside him, and thinks about how Tim is the closest link he’s ever had to Kon, this amazing older brother he never got to meet. He wonders if Tim knows. Jon’s not sure he’ll ever care enough to tell him.

Right now he throws his arms around Tim’s neck, presses his face into Tim’s shoulder and cries as hard as he knows how, all of it while he pretends it’s his dead brother hugging him back instead of the very alive brother of his probably dead boyfriend.

-

No one uses the word dead.

Missing is how people refer to Damian in the following days, and Jon has a feeling that if anybody fucked up and accidentally used the word dead instead, they’d find themselves at the short end of one of the Bats’ temper.

No one uses the word boyfriend either, not to define Damian’s relationship to Jon when they talk about them. Which is kind of fair, since neither Damian or Jon ever got to use that word before. It’s all syntax anyway. Who cares.

To Jon is inconsequential.

He doesn’t speak of Damian at all.

-

He wakes up in the middle of the night to the almost forgotten but still familiar sounds of the countryside.

When he said he wanted to move back to their old house in Hamilton for a few days, his parents had begged him not to, but they didn’t really do anything to actually stop him from doing it anyway, probably because they understood more than anybody else the need of solitude for someone like him in a situation like this.

So his father had hugged his mother tight to his side and they both had kissed him on the forehead before letting him go. Jon was grateful to both of them.

He misses them now, while he lies in the dark of their old bedroom, but at the same time he’s glad to be alone, to not have to share his anger and his night terrors with anyone.

He gets up from the bed to open the window and let the cold air freeze the sweat running down his back, let it cool down his flushed face.

Outside only dark meadows already wet with dew, the rich smell of the earth in the summer, and a black sheet of sky dotted with stars.

He’s grown to love Metropolis for its own beauty, but nothing, nothing, can compare with this in eyes.

“Because this is home, Jonathan”, his father had said long time ago, when Jon was still heartbroken about the moving. “There’s never going to be something as beautiful as this is for you right now, and that’s okay. It’s good to have something beautiful to come back to.”

He was right, of course. Home is a beautiful thing. Even without your parents, and all your animals, and the smell of apple pie in the kitchen, and a once-upon-a-time little bat hanging upside down from the highest branch of the chestnut tree outside your bedroom. Home is good even when your head is empty of thoughts and your heart is heavy with regrets and you have run out of tears. Home is always home.

So Jon sits on the windowsill, bare feet dangling in the night, nose up to look at the stars, and he enjoys the emotions of feeling at home for a while.

It’s while he’s looking at the sky that he realizes: today is saturday. Today is the night of the concert.

Right now, in another universe, he’s standing in a large crowd, singing and jumping on his feet, Damian’s fingers wrapped around his own. They are both covered in sweat, and Damian’s pretending to be annoyed by all the people around them and complaining that the music’s too loud, but his lips taste of salt and illicit beer when Jon kisses him, and he’s smiling, he’s happy, they’re happy, and they have four tickets instead of two, since they were both too stubborn to ask first, so maybe Tim and Kon are with them, because why the hell not, honestly?

If there’s another universe, then let it be better than this one, let it be without mourning, without heartaches, without mistakes. Let it be without things left unsaid, without cowardice in the smallest things, without regrets. If there’s another universe, one that you can only see at night with closed eyes, then what the hell, let it be perfect.

-

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you have food? Clean clothes? Toothpaste?”

Jon smiles into his pillow.

“Yes, mom, I promise I’m fine.”

He’s not fine, obviously. But Lois knows that. She’s just fussing a little bit without pushing too hard, just to remind Jon that she’s there, always.

“Bruce’s still looking”, she informs him gently. “So is your dad.”

Jon doesn’t say anything. Lois promptly cover the silence with news from his school. She’s not fretting about it because it will be over in less than a week anyway, and he’s not missing out on anything important, but Jon thinks she’s also trying to keep him grounded, to tell him without using those exact words that life goes on.

And Jon wants to say that he knows that. That he just wants to forget it for a little while.

Bruce’s still looking. So is your dad.

It’s been only three days.

Already three days.

After he closes the call he rolls on his side and goes right back to sleep.

-

He feels it coming, even in his sleep.

But it’s just that: a feeling, and Jon’s just too tired to actually care enough to get out of the bed.

The thing, however, doesn’t leave him much of a choice when it decides to come crashing down right into the living room’s windows. The sound of breaking glass is almost deafening in the silence of the night, and Jon’s on his feet before he even realizes to be awake.

Also, he knows he’s seen too many bad movies when he finds himself instinctively looking around the room for a baseball bat to wield against the intruders.

What the hell, Jonny boy, a voice that is not his own swears in his mind.

“What the hell indeed”, Jon mutters.

He doesn’t really need the lights more than he needs a baseball bat, but he turns them on anyway when he reaches the hallway. Whoever it is, be it a thief or a wandering animal, Jon doesn’t want to startle them, or give away too much about himself either, since he’s not wearing his costume. A nice growl should be enough to scare away anything or anyone in there anyway. Or so he thinks.

At first, it doesn’t make sense, maybe because he takes everything in in one instant: the crunching of the glass under his bare feet, the burning smell of something on fire, the cold wind coming in through the broken windows, the green glowing of a weird looking bike crashed into his couch, the two tangled figures in the middle of the room, the glimpses of red and purple under a black blanket, heavy breathing and two erratic heartbeats.

Then there is a short, choked moan, and one of the figures moves, propping themselves up on one elbow. The black and gold cape slips away and of course Jon already knew, he knew since the moment he heard his heartbeat, recognized it right away while he was still coming down the stairs because how could he not recognize it after all these years?, and yet his brain refused to formulate the thought, to lift the heavy fog of his mourning and allow him the hope, refused him the sheer reality of what he’s seeing right now until Damian raises his head and a green eye settles on Jon from behind the broken lens of his domino mask.

And he… smiles. He’s covered in blood and looks like he’s been dragged through hell and back, and yet, Damian looks at Jon and he smiles.

“Hey, Jonny boy.”

His voice is soft and scratchy and tired, but still somewhat amused, and Jon is at his side in less than an instant, pushing away the second figure from his back and barely realizing that it’s no other than their lame Traveling Thief, unconscious and showcasing a couple of bruises the size of Damian’s fists, but otherwise untouched. For now.

“Damian”, Jon allows himself to call his name while he helps him rolling on his back. His hands are shaking, his head is full of cotton again, and he doesn’t even have the time to realize he should be happy, because Damian is alive and here and alive, but Damian also doesn’t look good at all, and Jon needs to do something right now, and at the same time he’s thinking how and you bastard, and he doesn’t know what to do. “Just- just stay put, I’ll call my dad, our dads, or, or the hospital, I can carry you to the hospital right now, I can-”

A gloved hand encircles his wrist, but Jon barely feels the ruined rubber scratching against his skin. It’s the way Damian’s looking at him that makes him snap out of his ramblings.

“Don’t.”

Jon blinks, shifts on his knees and leans a little more towards Damian. His own heartbeat is frantic, compared to Damian’s slower one. It should be the other way around, Jon thinks, he should be the calm, collected one, he should be the one handling the situation better.

“Don’t what?”, he asks, and he feels stupid. He should just snatch Damian up and fly back to Gotham, he should scream for his father and he would be here in less than a minute, and he would know what to do, but Damian is here, Damian is alive, and his brain is still processing that information.

“Don’t call anyone. I’m fine, I’m-”, Damian coughs, and his face twists in pain and exhaustion. “I just need rest. Please. Don’t call anyone.”

Rest doesn’t fix cuts and dislocated shoulders on its own, that Jon knows of. But he looks over and over again and doesn’t find anything worse on Damian, nothing life-threatening, only dried off blood and little scratches.

He shifts again, and settles Damian’s head on his lap, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes.

How, Jon wants to ask. How are you here, why did it take so much for you to come back, where were you all this time.

(Where the hell were you?, Tim screams again into his mind, but now it’s not the moment for that.)

“They all believe you’re dead”, he tells him instead, because he has this funny feeling that Damian’s not understanding how serious this situation is. “Your father, your brothers, I can’t- Damian please, I need to call them, they need to know.”

The sound Damian makes in response is very similar to a scoff, but Jon can’t be sure of it. What he’s sure of, is that Damian’s relaxing into his arms, his expression softened, his eyelids already half-closed.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”, Jon repeats with a frown.

“Please?”

That’s always a weird word coming from Damian’s mouth. But it’s not the please, it’s the question mark at the end that really pulls at Jon’s heart. Because it sounds like begging, and Damian doesn’t beg. Ever.

“Okay”, he agrees mechanically. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

Batman is going to break his killing rule only for him, but okay. Because Damian asked. That’s what it matters right now. Damian is here, Damian is alive, and Damian is asking him for a favor that’s probably going to get Jon killed in at least four different ways by four different people, but okay. Tomorrow. Because apparently there’s going to be a tomorrow with Damian in it. Jon smiles.

Satisfied with his capitulation, Damian smiles back before his lashes flutter again and he starts falling down into a heavy slumber.

His face is covered in dust and sweat and blood crusts, his lips are dry and split, and yet that smile, as brief and tired and mocking as it is, still manages to be the most beautiful thing Jon’s ever seen. And that’s probably why he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to get angry at him like he maybe should. Instead he just tangles his fingers in Damian’s hair, presses their foreheads together, and keeps smiling.

-

The thought of moving Damian into a bed only occurs to him after half an hour or so, and only because he feels someone moving behind him. Incidentally, that’s also when Jon remembers that he and Damian are not alone in the room.

Careful not to disturb Damian, who’s still lying on the floor with his head settled on Jon’s lap, he turns towards the second figure and quickly assesses his conditions again. Everything considered, their thief is even in better shape than Damian is, which is not necessarily good for him at this point.

“If you are smart and you care about your well-being, then you’re going to be very quiet”, Jon says under his breath, as the man starts regain consciousness. “Try to run, try to attack us, and I’ll get mad. Very mad. You understand?”

Since the only two sources of light are the lamps in the hallway and the glowing bike currently crashed into his couch, the room is still dark enough for human eyes to be only barely able of distinguishing shapes from the shadows, so the man immediately turns towards them but he makes the mistake of not answering right away.

Jon’s eyes glow red and a hole the size of a finger appears just an inch to the right from the thief’s head.

“Do you understand?”, Jon repeats again.

This time the man is quick at nodding back.

“I’ll take him upstairs”, Jon explains without breaking eye contact, arms curling protectively around Damian’s body. “If you move even one finger, I’ll know. I’ll come back and I’ll hurt you.”

And despite Damian’s teasing, Jon’s apparently decent enough too at intimidating people, since the man looks like he’d stop breathing too, if he only could. Which is great. Because Jon means every word he’s just said.

“Good.”

Jon looks back at Damian’s face and sighs, knowing that he’s gonna pay for it one way or the other. Still, he moves one hand behind Damian’s back, the other under his knees, and he cradles Robin’s still form against his chest while he stands up.

Damian mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t wake up, and out of some only-god-knows-for-how-long forgotten instinct, he mechanically moves to hook an arm around his neck, shifting until his face is pressed against Jon’s throat, so close that he can feel his breath warming up his cheek.

You were supposed to protect him, Tim had said, and it had taken Jon by surprise. Maybe because Damian had always been the oldest, the most confident, the one that usually knew (or was very good at pretending to know) what needed to be done to get them out of trouble, but whatever the reason, Jon had - stupidly enough - never thought of their partnership in terms of protecting one another. Helping, sure, supporting, of course, looking out for each other was such a given it never really needed to be spoken of, but protecting? It sounded weird back then.

But right now, while he climbs up the stairs to carry Damian into his bedroom, it also sounds very right.

-

Jon doesn’t know his way around the Robin’s suit very well, so he only removes the broken domino and the gauntlets before start working on Damian’s boots. It takes him ten minutes straight to undo the shoe laces alone, and then some time more to slip them off Damian’s feet. He has no idea on how Damian manages to change into his costume so fast when he has these traps to deal with on a daily basis.

Robin’s utility belt zaps him when Jon tries to untie it. Having run out of patience, he laser-eyes it back in retaliation. The entire costume is probably going into the trash anyway, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about it. And if Damian has his own opinion about it, he doesn’t let Jon know, just grunts and shifts a little more on his left side, lifting up some weight from his damaged shoulder.

Right, there’s also that.

With a heavy sigh, Jon sits on the bed next to Damian and cups both sides of his shoulder with his hands, locking his fingers just above it. He’s done it dozens of times by now, and Damian’s definitely had worse in his life, still he frowns and grits his teeth in sympathy when he pushes his palms together and settles the bone back into its socket with a loud pop.

As expected Damian jolts awake with a gasp, and his eyes snap open as he instinctively starts looking around for his attacker.

“Sssh, Damian it’s okay, it’s just me, don’t move”, Jon urges him, hands pushing lightly against his chest to keep him down on the bed.

Damian’s eyes flutter and he gives him a confused look.

“Jon?”

“Yeah”, Jon confirms, then he slips him some painkillers and a sip of water to swallow it down before Damian has the time to completely wake up and start complaining about not needing any drugs.

Truth to be told, even in his dizzy state of mind, Damian does manage to give him a dirty glare for his troubles, but he must also be quite tired of playing the superhero for the night, because he leaves it just at that.

He doesn’t even protest when Jon settles him more comfortably against the pillow. He just looks around the room with a confused stare.

“Where-”

“My old house in Hamilton”, Jon answers promptly. “You crashed through my window a little more than an hour ago, don’t you remember?”

“Hmn”, Damian answers non-committally. Then his hands twitch and he tries to push himself up again.

“Nope”, Jon says, keeping him easily pinned down.

“The Traveling Thief-”

“He’s downstairs and not going anywhere. Is that really your first concern?”, Jon asks, and he’d like to say he’s incredulous, but the truth is he knows his partner good enough not to be surprised in the slightest, not even about the almost offended look Damian gives him in response.

“I got him. Held on him for- what time is it?”

“Around midnight, I think”, and then, because he’s not sure if Damian’s been keeping up with the time at all, he adds: “It’s Sunday, by the way. Well, Monday, by now.”

And finally, finally, Damian seems to pause and actually try to focus on the matter at hand.

“I was gone almost five days?”, he asks, not bothering to hide his surprise.

Jon’s fingers dig a little bit harder into Damian’s skin as he bites his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

That’s all you have to say?, Jon wants to ask, but to be honest, he probably wouldn’t know what to say either if their role were reversed. Also it’s quite obvious that Damian’s not totally in his right mind yet - the painkillers mustn’t be helping in the slightest about that - and Jon really, really wants to go easy on him, but.

“Damian?”

“Mh?”

“How did you survive it?”, he asks, because he has to. “The explosion, I mean. Do you remember that?”

Damian blinks hazy, half-lidded eyes, then he clicks his tongue in what looks like equal parts anger and shame.

“Tripped on a booby-trapped wire”, he scoffs. “Stupid.”

Jon shakes his head.

“It wasn’t stupid.”

“Was too. I made one mistake after another. Activated both an alarm and a trap, like the worst amateur. Didn’t even noticed-”

“You didn’t make a mistake”, Jon interrupts him and Damian looks at him with a frown.

“I just told you I made several. I’m not-”

“I should’ve been there!”, Jon yells, cutting him off. “That was the only mistake! I should’ve been there with you!”

The high pitch of his voice makes the room ring around them. Damian’s eyes widen in bewilderment, and Jon immediately regrets his outburst. But the words had been stuck in his throat for so long, and hearing Damian accusing himself was just too much for him to keep them under control any longer.

“I’m sorry”, the words keep rolling out of his mouth and Jon just lets them. “It was my fault and I’m sorry. We thought you were dead, your family and my dad, and I just, I just should’ve been there to protect you and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But now you’re back and I- and I-”

And then, without meaning it in the slightest, he starts crying again. Because apparently he can’t do anything else these days. The most powerful boy on Earth, and all he can do is shake with sobs and bawl his eyes out. What a failure.

“Jon…”

Damian has really no idea on what to say, Jon knows that. Which is okay, because there’s nothing Jon really wants to listen to, right now. So he bows his head against Damian’s chest and tries to limit the sobs the best he can.

It’s weird, being so happy and so desperate at the same time. It gets even weirder when the palm of Damian’s hand hesitantly brushes against the crown of his head, fingers digging gently into Jon’s hair. And Jon may not feel comfortable with playing the protector in their relationship, but Damian sure as hell feels even less comfortable with being the comforting one. Which he shouldn’t be anyway, because once again Jon’s been selfish and letting him take care of the situation when it should be him the strong one right now. Useless, he’s useless.

But the strangest thing in all of this is that Damian doesn’t complain, doesn’t tell him to man up and stop acting like a baby, he just keeps… petting him. Like he would do with Titus, probably. The thought makes Jon laugh and he shakes harder against Damian’s chest, sobs and barks of laughter mixed up together into one wet, pathetic, childish mess.

“He was there, by the way”, Damian continues after a moment, voice soft and uncertain, because apparently he’s unwilling to let Jon’s sobs be the loudest sound in the room. Jon’s okay with that. “The Traveling Thief. Appeared the moment I activated the silent alarm. The glowing bicycle - it’s called the Garimard by the way, can you believe it? - that’s why we couldn’t catch him. The engine has a technology based on particles acceleration, so it travels almost at light speed. That’s also how I avoided blowing up, to answer your question. I grabbed onto it once I realized he’d set up a self-destruction device in the basement. He wasn’t too happy about it.”

Still in the middle of his breakdown, Jon chokes back a sob and snorts weakly into the fabric of the Robin’s costume.

“Can’t say I’m sorry for him.”

“Me neither”, Damian agrees. “Is he still downstairs by the way?”

“Yup”, Jon confirms with a sniff full of vindictive pleasure. “I told you, he will not move.”

Damian nods, then he continues his recount like he would with a patrol’s report at the end of a difficult night. “I knocked him out after the explosion pushed us away, then I tried putting some coordinates into the drive system, but it must’ve been damaged by the fire because after the first jump we kept ending up in the strangest places.”

It takes Jon a few second to elaborate what Damian’s just said.

“For five days? You kept jumping around the world for five days without stopping once?”, he asks, raising his head to look at him, and he’s so taken aback from the idea to stop crying at once. “Forget the explosion, how did you survive that?”

“With my superior training, of course”, Damian answers, and he’s only half sarcastic about it, of course. “Also, time was… weird. I think it worked differently on that thing. I couldn’t really feel it, if that makes sense.”

“Not really”, Jon answers honestly. He dries his face with the back of his hand, then slips an arm over Damian’s chest and rests his cheek on it. “How did you end up here anyway?”

Damian shrugs under him, then he yawns, and his eyes begin to close again.

“For the most of the time I was busy with trying to prevent the lame thief and myself from falling down the bike, but I also kept putting into the system various coordinates of places I knew. I guess for some reason these ones actually stuck.”

“For some reason”, Jon repeats.

“Mh.”

It’s comfortable where he is, Jon realizes. Well, not for his back, or his legs, and definitely not for his neck, but he feels good anyway, with his head on Damian’s chest and Damian’s hand between his hair. So he closes his eyes too and listens to Damian’s breath. He promises himself that once it evens out he’s gonna go downstair to have a chat with their- well, their hostage at this point, and then he will debate with himself if is really smart to keep the Batman in the dark about the return of his son for an entire night.

He falls asleep on top of Damian without even realizing it.

-

He sleeps until dawn, and he knows where and next to who he is the same instant he regains consciousness, and still his first instinct is to raise his head and look around to make sure that it wasn’t a dream, that Damian’s really here.

He finds him still in deep sleep, lying on the bed just next to him, his features completely relaxed for once, to the point he’s even drooling a little. The drugs and the five days exhaustion have definitely got the best of him, which is a good thing in Jon’s book, since in the daylight Damian looks a lot worse than he thought the night before.

It’s still fine, though. Damian’s alive, and that’s what really matters.

Jon gets out of the bed and for the first time in five days there isn’t the burden of a devastating grief weighing down on his chest. He can breathe just fine. For a moment it’s really confusing. Then he looks down at Damian and decides that the emotional mess can wait. Breakfast first.

-

It’s way past lunch time when Damian makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Jon’s okay with it. He’s spent the entire morning sitting on the porch, waiting, rethinking the last night as well as the last week in general, with the Traveling Thief, now tied to a rocking chair, awkwardly trying to keep him company. It was surreal.

Damian appears in the doorway smelling like Jon’s shampoo, hair still wet from a long and well deserved shower, and he gives them both an amused glare but doesn’t comment further.

So there’s this weird silence between all of them, and Jon looks at Damian while he clears his throat, struggling to find something to say, and he wonders if despite the drugs and the tiredness Damian’s remembering the night before too, if he’s embarrassed for it on Jon’s behalf. But if that was the case, he’d be coming up with a new insulting nickname at this point.

“Hey, Jonny boy”, Damian says instead after a few more moments, because apparently that’s the best he can do. But Jon shakes his head as he gets up on his feet and walks towards him.

“Nope”, he says. “Not this time.”

So he reaches out and he engulfs Damian in a hug almost strong enough to crush him. To his credit, Damian seemed to be already resigned for something like this to happen and he obviously braced himself in advance for it.

“Ribs”, Damian warns him anyway, but at the same time he wraps his arms around Jon with almost the same eagerness, if not with the same strength.

And it’s not the first hug they’ve ever shared, but there is some kind of awareness now in their touch, something that’s been there for some time now, but that was never acknowledged before. And Jon is tired too, happy and relieved, but so, so tired, and he’s not really thinking straight while he buries his face into Damian’s shoulder and sags into the embrace, welcoming the warmth in his stomach even as he feels the flush rising up to his face.

“I love you”, he whispers then into Damian’s neck.

And it wasn’t supposed to go like this. Before those words there should’ve been a first date, to see if things really worked out under that perspective, and then a second and a third and a fourth, and at least a kiss, maybe some touching, definitely more time spent together, a few tries, some good thinking, some doubts on the where and when to say something so important for the first time. No, it wasn’t supposed to come out of his mouth on its own, in the middle of an empty kitchen, with a lame thief as a witness, and seemingly so out of the blue.

And yet, even in forced retrospect, all those preparations sound like bullshit anyway. Because Jon knows already that he loves Damian, and the dates, the physical touches, the time, none of that would add anything to it. He loves him right now, he’ll love him tomorrow and for the times to come, so why hide it behind a maybe or a let’s see what happens?

And he’s not really waiting for an answer either, or a reaction, but he braces himself for it anyway when he feels Damian shifting his weight on his feet, and then his arms tightening around him.

“That’s not very smart of you”, Damian comments. Which is not a I love you too, but neither a what the hell, so Jon laughs against Damian’s neck and considers it a win because at least Damian knows, has probably known for some time too, the same way Jon knew, and that’s enough, at least for now.

It feels natural then, it feels just right, to pull himself back a bit to meet Damian’s eyes. It feels good to kiss him, to move one hand to the back of his head and the other around his waist to press their bodies closer together, hot skin against hot skin, tastes of blood and toothpaste on the tips of their tongues.

When Damian pulls back is only because he’s short of breath, and even then he doesn’t back off the whole way, but leans down to press his forehead against Jon’s, lips still brushing against the corner of Jon’s mouth.

“The lowlife is watching”, Damian whispers then, and he’s smiling, and Jon has to laugh because of course, why did he even bothered with imagining a normal first date for the two of them.

“Who cares”, he answers, still laughing. “Let him watch.”

[obsessedauthorchan-blog]

Shakespearean - JayTim - Chapter 2

AO3 | Wattpad | Fanfiction

Story Summary: 

Jason didn't know how he managed to get into college at all, let alone such a good one, but he was determined not to mess it up.

Of course, it was after he made that decision that everything went to hell.

Chapter Summary: 

Jason arrives at his first Journalism class.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M Fandoms: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Cassandra Cain/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Past Bruce Wayne/Talia al Ghul Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Wally West, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Damian Wayne, Ra's al Ghul, random OC named Jimmy, Alfred Pennyworth Language: English

Chapter Two - Gullible

By the time Jason got back to his dorm, changed his shirt and his jeans, which had been dampened by contact with his wet shirt, and made it to class, he was a good 30 minutes late. He slipped in through the side door just as Professor Kent was finishing up going over the syllabus. He looked up at Jason and nodded his acknowledgement, but he didn't pause as he went on to describe how everything was going to work in the class and what he hoped everyone would get out of it.

Jason sat in the back row and paid close attention to everything being said. He didn't actually care much about the information being given, but he was hoping to make up for his tardiness. There were only a couple dozen people in the class, which Jason assumed was because it was supposed to be a third year level class, not a freshman class. Jason was on the verge of zoning out when Professor Kent said, "Now, I know going over the syllabus is the most boring thing on earth, so most of you probably didn't pay much attention." A few of the kids a couple rows up looked sheepish, but Kent had everyone's attention now. "So, for those of you who weren't interested in anything else, listen to this part. If the lot of you only remember one thing from today's class remember what I'm about to tell you."

Jason subconsciously leaned forward in his seat. He vaguely heard a random student tapping his foot, and another one sneezed. Other than that there was utter silence in the room as Professor Kent paused, presumably for dramatic affect. He smirked, as though he knew and expected what his words would do to the class.

"Every lesson I will teach you something about journalism. I know, I know, that seems rather obvious since you are in a journalism class. But instead of teaching you a bunch of jargon or definitions or rules or whatever, I'm going to give you one lesson, just one, in easily understood words. I'll keep this lesson short and sweet, and more often than not, it will probably be very applicable to life in general in addition to journalism." Professor Kent finished his statement and walked to his desk. He grabbed a stack of papers and handed them to a student in the front row, giving him instructions to take one and pass it down. "This is your assignment for the week. Each paper has a topic. You are all to research the topic and compile as much information as you can in an essay-style paper in the allotted space on your sheet. You are not to write on any other paper, you may not write on the back, and you may not write in the margins. Your writing must be legible, so don't make it too small."

Everybody took their paper and read their prompt. Jason raised an eyebrow when he saw his topic: 'Human Trafficking.' Jason swallowed and wondered what it would take to get someone to switch with him. Jason didn't have a problem with the topic itself, but it brought a familiar bad taste to the back of his tongue.

"I know some of you are tempted to switch your topic. While I can't track whether or not you do, I would encourage you not to." Jason internally groaned at Professor Kent's words. "I gave out important topics, some of which aren't very well known. While they might be difficult to find information on, or you might not be interested, I would encourage you to research them anyway. If it doesn't interest you, you might change your mind when you have more info." One of the students snorted at that, and the corner of Professor Kent's mouth quirked in a barely-hidden smile as he continued. "Regardless of whether or not you like it, I know for a fact that each of these topics will grow you as a writer, a researcher, a journalist, and maybe even as a human being. Just give them a shot."

Half the class groaned while the other half mostly nodded or shrugged. Jason sighed in resignation and slipped his paper into a binder so it wouldn’t get wrinkled up. A lot of students started packing up when everyone noticed that the class was supposed to be over three minutes before. As people started standing up and moving towards the door, Professor Kent spoke again. “Oh, and one last thing.” Everyone paused in what they were doing and looked his way. “The word ‘gullible’ is written on the ceiling.”

Half the class gave him a look of skepticism, while the other half looked up. Jason was part of the latter group, and he couldn’t restrain himself from uttering a quiet, “The hell?” as he saw that there was, in fact, a large paper sign with the word ‘GULLIBLE’ written in all caps taped to the ceiling. Now the whole class was staring at Professor Kent with confused expressions.

Professor Kent smirked. “First lesson of Journalism: Always check your sources. If someone tells you something, if you read something, if you get any kind of information in any way, check it out. No matter how ludicrous it sounds, or even if it sounds so logical and makes so much sense that you don’t think there is any way it could be wrong, check it. Don’t take somebody’s word for anything, and don’t ignore what you don’t think is plausible. Anyone can be wrong, and anything is possible. Now, you’re all dismissed.”

Tim was right. Jason did like Clark Kent.

As the class broke up and students started filing out of the room, Jason slowly packed his bags as he considered how exactly he was going to do his research assignment. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by someone tapping on his shoulder. It took everything Jason had not to reflexively sucker-punch whoever snuck up on him. He jerked his head up and over his shoulder to find Professor Kent looking at him with an expression torn between concern, curiosity, and disappointment. “You’re Jason Todd, right?”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Um, yeah? How’d you know?”

Kent’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes were lit with amusement. “Well, you were the only student who wasn’t present when everybody introduced themselves at the beginning of class.” Jason shifted his weight and tried to keep his hands from fiddling, his ears going red with embarrassment. “You also received the Wayne Scholarship. Makes you easy to recognize.”

“Oh, yeah. Nice to know that everybody knows I’m a charity case.” Jason hadn’t meant for that to come out or for it to sound so rude. Jason had a lot of pride and not much self-control, and that wasn’t usually a very good mix.

Professor Kent’s eyebrows wrinkled. “You aren’t a charity case, Mr. Todd. And if you are, I guess that makes me one, too.” Kent elaborated when he saw Jason’s look of confusion. “I won that same scholarship when I was about your age. Good thing, too, or there was no way I could have gone to college at all. But I guess that’s the whole point of the scholarship, isn’t it?” Jason nodded and Professor Kent gave him a warm smile. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It just means that the appropriator of the scholarship saw something in you that made you worth all that money.”

Jason’s lips quirked in a small smile. “Right. Thanks, Professor Kent.”

Kent nodded, then his look of disappointment returned. “Speaking of your scholarship, most winners are usually more concerned with arriving to their classes on time. Did you get lost?”

Jason stiffened. “Um, this kid ran into me on my way over here. His name was, uh…, well, he told me to tell you that Tim spilled his coffee all over me.”

Kent busted out laughing. It was a deep belly laugh that reverberated throughout the whole classroom. The two or three stragglers glanced over with raised eyebrows before carrying on with their very slow meander toward the door. When Professor Kent finally calmed down, he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “He did that again? Gosh, that kid will never learn.” Jason tilted his head to the side, and Kent explained. “Tim is always running into people. Too little sleep and too much caffeine doesn’t exactly help him with observation, and it isn’t good for his reflexes either.”

Jason grinned. “Yeah, he told me you’d probably get a kick out of it if I told you.”

“He was right.” Kent chuckled one last time before shaking his head. “As excuses go, that’s actually a really good one. I’ve known that kid since he was, like, nine, and he’s been doing stuff like that since long before I met him. He must have been awfully quiet after that fiasco.”

Jason shook his head. “Not really. He actually kept asking me questions and offering to pay me for ruining my shirt and stuff.”

Kent didn’t seem to believe him. “Really? Tim did?”

“Yeah. Is that unusual?”

“Tim is by far the most anti-social, introverted kid I know. He doesn’t prolong conversations unless he has no choice or it’s a conversation about something he actually finds really interesting. So talking to a stranger that he embarrassed himself in front of?” Professor Kent snorted his disbelief. “Never in my life time, that’s for sure. Are you sure we’re talking about the same Tim?”

“Black hair, blue eyes, nerdy glasses, the biggest coffee mug I’d ever seen in my life, about yay-high?” Jason held his hand up just below his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s him. The coffee mug confirmed it.” Kent shook his head.

“Weird.” Jason couldn’t think of another word for it. He certainly couldn’t reconcile the Tim he’d met that morning with the Tim Professor Kent was describing.

“Yes, weird.” Professor Kent’s tone made Jason snap his head up from where he’d been arranging his backpack. He older man was giving him a strange look. It only lasted a moment before Kent blinked and shook his head a little. “Well, maybe you bring out the best in him.”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Kent looked around to see that the classroom was empty. “Another teacher has this room for the next class, so we’d better skedaddle. Unless you have Intro to Metaphysics as your next class?”

Jason shook his head emphatically, causing Professor Kent to laugh. The two made their way to the door, and Kent quickly grabbed all his things. They headed out together into the fresh outdoors, and Professor Kent shook Jason’s hand. “It was nice meeting you, Jason.” He flashed him a crooked grin. “Try not to be late next week, alright?”

Jason smiled back and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best. Maybe I’ll pack an extra shirt in my backpack, just in case.”

“You do that, kid.” Professor Kent laughed and nodded before turning to walk to his car, and Jason walked the opposite way back to his dorm.

AO3 | Wattpad | Fanfiction 

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

Someone draw this please!!!

Another reason why I’m a firm believer in letting Bruce get old is because the idea of him looking and his dark haired children without his glasses on and genuinely not being able to tell them apart is unparalleled

[vodrae]

Bruce, yelling: Duke ! Can you not hanging on the chandelier !

Cassandra on the chandelier: 🤔

Dick: Okay everyone ! Get him the Wayne Mobile, B needs to go eyes doctor. Use of Bat techniques approved.

Another reason why I’m a firm believer in letting Bruce get old is because the idea of him looking and his dark haired children without his glasses on and genuinely not being able to tell them apart is unparalleled

[dream-about-dancing]

#i can clearly see him staring at one of the kids and deciding to just play roulette#bruce internally while not wearing glasses: dick?cassie?jay?tim?damian?dick?cassie?jay?tim?damian?dick?cassie?jay?#bruce finally making a choice: tim can you grab that file#jason: i’m disowning myself again (via @fact-dogsarehappiness)

Another reason why I’m a firm believer in letting Bruce get old is because the idea of him looking and his dark haired children without his glasses on and genuinely not being able to tell them apart is unparalleled