#bruce waking up with dick's elbow in his face and his foot kicking his back as a three hour easter egg unboxing video plays at full volume

[angstandhappiness]

LMAO INDEED

dick grayson is the kind of kid who'd pull your eyelids open to see if you're awake

bruce wayne is the type of guy who can sleep through that

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober2021 - October 4th - Taken Hostage | Pushed

Gift fic to @fidothefinch <3

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Near death experience, hostage situations, implies Bruce as a shitty dad but I don't go into detail on it.

---

If there’s anything in the world that Dick hates more than being restrained, it’s being held hostage. Especially if he’s being held hostage as a threat against Bruce or Batman. One thing they don’t tell you in the foster system is that if you’re adopted by a rich and famous to the Kardashian level man, is that you’re often the target of criminals who think snatching a kid on their way home from school is a surefire way to make a million bucks. It’s no better in the vigilante business either, because often any hero in Gotham is only seen as a stepping stool to getting to Batman.

Honestly, at this point Dick’s used to it. It doesn’t mean he enjoys it, though. Not so much because of the initial kidnapping part, but because he’s worked hard to become his own person, his own man with his own life. He moved to Blüdhaven to be anything other than the son of Bruce Wayne; to be his own hero that villains learn to fear. And then the second he sets foot back in Gotham, for whatever reason, suddenly it’s all about the reclusive eldest Wayne child returning home! Suddenly, when villains see him at night, it isn’t “Oh shit, it’s Nightwing!”, it’s “Shit, it’s a Sidekick! Where’s the Bat?!”

Anyway, long story short, Dick came back to Gotham for one weekend to visit family, and now he’s dressed as Nightwing, standing on a roof with duct-tape keeping his wrists together behind his back and a knife to his throat belonging to a shady businessman who’s finally caught the attention of Gotham’s heroes.

And it’s sorta pathetic how Dick ended up in this situation. It wasn’t like this was going to be a particularly difficult mission. Just sneak into the building, grab the evidence he needed to get this bastard behind bars, and then get out. Unfortunately, someone tipped the man off without Bruce knowing about it. When he went into the main office, he was met with a very strong guard hiding behind the doors, and after a hefty blow to the head and a few concerning minutes of blacking out, Dick opened his eyes—thankfully still masked—to find himself kneeling on the rough cement of a skyscraper’s roof, completely stripped of any of his useful tools. He has a small knife in one of his gauntlets, but it’s not exactly in an easy to reach position. It would take time to grab at it, and that’s not counting the high probability he’ll be spotted by Jerome McCoy--Gotham’s latest shady businessman--or any of his goons.

Besides, Tim is already up here listening to their demands to get Batman up here or Dick dies. It shouldn’t be long before Bruce gets here and kicks his ass. That’s not even accounting for the facts that Jason, Steph, Duke, Dami, and Cass are all in town.

These idiots have no clue how close they are with dealing with close to every single bat if something bad happens to Dick tonight.

And everything was going fine until Tim suddenly stopped mid sentence in reminding McCoy that Batman was on his way and brought his hand to his communicator in his ear. When Tim paled ever so slightly, Dick knew something had gone exactly NOT according to plan.

“What is it?!” McCoy demands, pressing the knife against Dick’s neck with worrying pressure. Dick leans his head back slightly to lessen the risk of his neck being cut and meets Tim in the eyes through their masks.

Tim swallows. “Batman is being held up-”

Dick resists sighing in both disappointment and lack-of-surprise as McCoy practically explodes.

“What?!

“Only for a few hours,” Tim rushes to explain. He’s lifted his hands in a placid manner and softened his voice, which can’t be good. “He’s… met an unexpected complication along the way that he cannot ignore. Please, just tell me what you want, and I can take my partner and be out of-”

“I don’t have a few hours,” McCoy practically screeches. “Either Batman makes it his priority to get here, or Nightwing gets it!” to make a point, McCoy lifts the knife from Dick’s neck and waves it in front of him. Dick slides his eyes over to the other goons on the roof; there’s only a few. Maybe… if Dick plays his cards right… “That was the deal!”

“I understand-”

“Tell Batman to get here now, or Nightwing’s blood is on his hands!”

“He’s busy- I can’t just-”

Dick slams his body back, pointing his elbow the furthest he can with the way his arms are bound and jamming it into McCoy’s stomach. McCoy lets out a startled, breathless gasp as Dick uses his surprise to escape from his grasp and jump to his feet.

“’Wing!” Tim yells at the same time McCoy wheezes “Get that fucker!”

Dick has just a second to notice Tim’s shock at Dick’s sudden attack before Dick’s having to defend himself with his hands literally tied behind his back. Sorry, kid, Dick thinks, ducking around a pair of beefy arms, but we’re out of options.

It was going well until it wasn’t. Tim was even about to step in. However, while waking up from his lovely whack to the head, Dick failed to assess just where he was on the roof.

All it took was for the back of his heel to tough nothing but air for his heart to jump to his throat. Instinctively, he tried to wave his arms to catch his balance, but was quickly reminded of his predicament when the tape tugged against his wrists. For a moment, pure panic filled his entire body, here, wobbling backwards off the edge of a roof dozens of stories above the ground. He could feel his heart pound, hands shake, breath catch, hair rustle in the wind, but he couldn’t do a thing to stop himself from falling backwards. He’s pretty sure he hears Tim scream his codename, but he’s not totally focused on anything other than his pending doom right now-

A heavy hand wraps around his upper-bicep, stopping his almost-promised journey to pancake town. Everything is silent on the roof for a solid moment, as Dick practically hangs over the ledge of the roof with his feet just barely still on solid ground, a goon holding him juuuuuust enough to make sure he doesn’t fall. Tim looks even paler than before, looking like he really did watch Dick go over the edge. McCoy looks a constipating mixture of smug and outraged while the other goons stand nearby like useless props.

Then, McCoy speaks with anger as heavy and level as stone. “Tell Batman I want him here in ten minutes.”

Tim meets Dick’s eyes, and Dick sees everything that he needs to. Whatever is holding Bruce up, it’s more important than Dick, and Tim knows it’s useless to even try.

“Please,” Tim says, voice wobbly. He’s a detective. He knows what’s about to happen. “Just give us more time-”

McCoy snaps a finger, and that’s that.

The hand on his arm pushes Dick away and opens it’s grasp. It doesn’t matter anymore that Dick had his feet on the roof, because the rest of his body is falling.

Falling.

Dick’s completely off the roof in a blink of an eye and he’s falling.

The air is rushing past his ears and through his hair, so loud he can barely think. That’s if he’s thinking at all, as story after story passes him by. He’s falling, and for the first time in a long time, he’s afraid of falling, because this time there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He doesn’t have any tools… he doesn’t even have his hands, nor enough time to even try and get his hands free. He’s falling, rushing to the ground. He can already see in vivid detail what his body will look like when it hits the pavement.

He’s falling. He’s standing at the top of a beam, watching his mama and papa fall. He’s falling. He’s screaming as the sound of their bodies landing and snapping reaches his ears. He’s falling and he’s going to die in the most Grayson way possible.

He’s going to die the same way his parents did, a way that he’s worked hard to not be afraid of ever since he first moved in with Bruce, but was always secretly terrified.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to watch. He’s afraid, and Tim will watch from above and blame himself and he never wanted any of his siblings to blame themselves for his death like how he blamed himself for his parent’s for decades and-

And the wind is knocked out of him, but not from his body slamming on the ground. A strong arm wraps painfully around his stomach, and suddenly the world turns sideways and his eyes shoot open in shock.

“Fuck,” Jason grunts, holding Dick with one arm and the other wrapped tightly in a grappling line. “Fucking hell.”

And Dick… doesn’t know what to do. He feels muted, like a YouTube video playing at 144p and buffering still. The adrenaline is pumping so loudly through his entire body that the fact that Jason’s caught him doesn’t register until Jason’s landing roughly on the ground and lowering Dick to the asphalt.

“Started heading over the second that bastard said he wasn’t coming,” Jason explains. Dick nods numbly, his eyes locked on the oil covered road below him, his mind still trying to process. “Said he ran into some bastard working for Two-Face holding some rich family hostage. Said we could handle it. I can’t believe I got here just in time. Fucking fuck-face fucker.”

There’s a splash of two feet landing on the permanently puddled street beside them, and Dick can hardly contain his flinching at the sound, but thankfully Jason doesn’t notice. He just stands up and faces where Tim has landed quite suddenly from where he must have grappled down from the roof. Dick continues to look at the ground, wringing his knitting together in front of him. He… hasn’t noticed Jason undid the bindings.

“What happened to McCoy?” Jason demands, and Tim takes a gasping breath and shakes his head.

“They ran into the building while I… jumped after N.”

Jason growls, taking a step forward but Tim stops him. “Orphan said she’ll handle it, she sounded pissed.”

Jason backs off, but anger still curls in his stomach like an old friend. His fists clench to his side. “Once I see B, I’m gonna punch his teeth up to his brain.”

And it must be proof of how shaken Tim is, because he doesn’t argue.

Then, like a pin hitting tile, a small sound catches Jason’s ears. He looks down to where Dick is still sitting in the grime of Gotham’s street. His heart sinks to his gut.

“N?” he asks, and Dick doesn’t respond. “Nightwing, you’re… crying.”

That directs Tim’s attention down where tears are certainly streaming down Dick’s cheeks from under his mask. His lips are wobbling, and the second Jason kneels down to put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, a wounded sound escapes his lips.

“Dick?” Jason asks, his voice sounding shocked and unsure.

Dick looks up at Tim, looking one breath of the wind from falling apart. “You jumped after me?” His voice is small and brittle. When Tim nods slowly, Dick whimpers, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a sob. “You almost watched me die,” is all he says before he finally breaks down into mournful cries.

Jason looks up from where Dick’s now shaking and gasping into his hands and meets Tim’s eyes. Neither of them… has ever seen Dick get like this before. It feels wrong, like something in the world has shattered and can never be replaced.

“Lets… get him home,” Jason says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” is all Tim can smartly bring to his lips while Jason scoops Dick into his arms and stands up.

Dick’s so out of it with his sobbing that he hardly reacts, just curls against Jason and continues to cry.

“You know,” Jason says quietly, “the scariest way to die, for me, is to overdose.”

And Tim understands.

“I… see.”

Jason nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. So let’s just call it a night, get him some Alfred cookies, and just… let him take this at his own pace, okay?”

Tim nods, knowing that after years of Dick always going out of his way to help them with their trauma, their issues, and never asking for anything in return… it’s now their turn to return the favor. Dick looks so much smaller than Tim swears he’s ever seen him, curled up in Jason’s arms, trembling and sobbing. He silently promises to himself that he will do whatever it takes to make sure Dick gets through this, just like what he’d do for them, always. And Tim’s positive the rest of Dick’s siblings will do the same.

[jujymikey]

Easter Fic

Every sound is ten times louder than normal and every smell is ten times stronger. It’s overwhelming. Tim’s heart is beating out of his chest. All Tim wants to do is find a small hole to curl up in and never come out. But right now it’s not safe.

Through all the noise Tim can hear the soft growls of Teekl, who is currently hunting him. Klarion the witch boy thought it’d be funny to turn Tim into a rabbit to be a snack for Teekl. The spell didn’t work perfectly, instead of a rabbit, it turned Tim into a tiny person with rabbit features. He has rabbit feet and hands, a fluffy tail and long rabbit ears.

Not used to having rabbit parts is making it difficult to run away. He keeps tripping over his large feet, finding it easier to run around on all fours. Though being smaller in size is definitely an advantage. Being in the middle of Gotham City, there’s not a whole lot of places to hide.

The growls are getting louder and Tim ducks underneath a nearby dumpster, hoping the trash smell will mask his scent. He was patrolling alone when it happened, but he was able to press his panic button before he was hit by the magic. The rest of the family is out patrolling, he doesn’t know if any of them are close enough to come help him.

Or they might just ignore it. They might have better things to do than come save him. Which Tim understands, he’s really isn’t that important.

Something lands on the ground next to the dumpster. Turning his head, he can see the light brown fur of Teekl. The long claws on her humanoid feet click on the concrete.

Closing his eyes, Tim tries to keep himself from crying. He has to be ready to run if she tries to grab him, but... he’s so scared. There’s no way she can’t hear his heart beating. It’s so loud that’s all he can hear, until there’s a loud boom of a gun shot. Teekl takes off away from the dumpster Tim’s hiding under. Shivering, Tim slowly drags himself out, even though he’s not sure if the person using the gun is on his side or not. He can’t hide forever. Peaking out, Tim sees Red Hood standing nearby, looking at where Teekl ram off. Sliding out, Tim runs over and hugs Jason’s legs. Tears of relief dripping down his face.

“What the ****?!” Jason immediately kicks Tim away. Tim falls backwards, even more tears fall and he lets out a small hiccup, “Tim?! Is that you?!”

“Yeah.” Tim whimpers, reaching his arms up in a grabby motion.

Crouching down, Jason takes off his helmet and stares at Tim like he’s grown two heads, “What happened to you?”

“Klarion tried to feed me to Teekl and I’m afraid she going to come back!!” Tim leaps forward and grabs onto Jason’s arm, “Please don’t let her eat me!!”

“Geez! Calm down, I won’t let anyone eat you.” Jason pulls Tim off his arm and holds him close to his chest, “Let’s get you back to the cave, maybe the old man can help you.”

“Thanks.” Tim mumbles, rubbing his face with his fuzzy hand.

Bruce calls Zatanna and she says that Tim should turn back to normal in a few days. At first Tim thinks that it won’t be so bad, but then Dick sees him.

“Ahhh!!!! You’re so cute!!!!” Dick voice is so high that it hurts Tim’s ears. Then he starts rubbing Tim’s large rabbit ears.

“Please stop, I don’t like it.” Tim frowns and bats Dick’s hand away.

“But you’re soooo cute!!!” Dick is grinning like a maniac.

“Leave him alone Dickface.” Jason smacks Dick’s hand.

“Thank you.” Tim blinks at him, it’s not normal for Jason to defend him.

“Just don’t like watching people torture harmless animals.” Jason smirks down at Tim.

“I brought closes for Master Timothy to change into.” Alfred hands a tiny red sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. Tim wonders where he found closes this small.

His arms are so small and his fingers are shorter than normal, he can’t get out of his Red Robin costume. A little whimper escapes his throat as he struggles.

“Let me help you.” Dick leans in close to Tim with a creepy smile, it makes Tim uncomfortable.

“I don’t want your help.” Tim flattens his ears and continues to struggle.

“Just accept his help, this getting sad.” Jason shakes his head.

“Fine help me.” Tim leans toward Jason.

Rolling his eyes, Jason slowly takes Tim’s costume off while Dick glares at him, pouting, “Why don’t you want my help?”

“You’re freaking me out.” Tim snaps at him, while wiggling into the new more comfortable clothes.

A low growl fills the kitchen as Tim sits on the counter playing with his rabbit foot. His face gets hot with embarrassment as his stomach growls again.

“-Tt- what is that racket?” Damian turns his sharp gaze onto Tim. He’s sitting at the island in the kitchen listening to music as he draws.

“Just put your headphones in.” Tim holds his stomach and looks away.

“Where is Alfred?”

“He went to the store to get food to make dinner.” Tim kicks his legs softly, wishing that Dick hadn’t left him on the counter. There’s no way for him to get down by himself and he has no idea if Dick is even coming back, “Dick was helping me, but then he left.”

“And they left up for me to deal with.” Damian sighs and gets up from his chair, “What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know.... rabbits are supposed to like carrots right?” Tim shrugs and slides to the edge of the counter.

Damian goes to the fridge and goes through the vegetable drawer, “You’re in luck, there is one carrot.”

Grabbing the carrot with his little hand is difficult, but he manages to hold the carrot and take a bite. It’s the best carrot he’s ever tasted, “Mmmm it’s so good!”

“I’m surprised that you like it, I guess rabbits follow stereotypes.” Damian says, then grabs Tim without warning. Tim tenses up, but doesn’t fight against him. Then Damian sets Tim on the floor.

“Uh.... thank you.” Tim twitches his ears and continues to munch on the carrot.

“Don’t ever mention it.” Damian practically growls the threat.

“Hehe the secret that you’re a softy is safe with me.” Tim giggles and Damian just glares at him.

It doesn’t take long for Tim to get used to his smaller rabbit body. He only has trouble using the bathroom by himself. There’s no way for him to get into his bed by himself, so Bruce brought a dog bed for him to sleep in Bruce’s bedroom. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

Since he’s so small and his hands are practically paws, there’s not much he can do. It’s difficult for him to type, so he can’t do any case work or paperwork for W. E. So instead Tim goes to the manor’s library to read books.

It’s been awhile since he’s had enough time to read for fun. He grabs the newest hunger games book off the shelf and sprawls on the floor. Laying in his stomach, Tim props himself up on his elbows and starts reading.

He gets lost in the book when something touching is foot pulls him back into reality. Turning his head, Tim sees Stephanie laying on the floor next to him, poking his pad. He glared at her while she smiles at him, “Hey Timmy. Cass told me that you were turned a cute rabbit. There’s no way that I couldn’t come see you.”

“I don’t like you touching me foot.” Tim slides his foot away from her hand.

“Awww come on, don’t be like that. You can keep your fluffy self away from me.” Stephanie sits up and snatched Tim into her lap. Tim struggles, but not hard enough to hurt her. Steph buries her face into Tim’s hair and practically squeals. This is worse than anything that Dick has tried.

“Are you done now?” Tim kicks his foot in irritation.

“No way! Cass said it’s only gonna last for a few days, I need to get in as many cuddles as I can.”

Tim goes limp, accepting that he’s going to be stuck here for a while. With everyone else on patrol or at work, there’s no one to save him.

No one in the family can keep their hands off of him, not even Damian. It’s exhausting, Tim is feeling overwhelmed at all the touch. He’s not used to all this attention. When Jason puts him down after a long cuddle fest, Tim sneaks away to Bruce’s study to get some alone time. No one is allowed in Bruce’s study without Bruce’s permission.

The best part is that Bruce’s study has the softest carpet in the manor. Laying in the ground, Tim rubs his face against the carpet. It’s nice, so nice that Tim starts to fall asleep.

“So this is where you were hiding.” A hand starts petting his head. It’s not like the others’ touch, it’s nice. Comforting.

Blinking sleepily up, Tim sees that the hand belongs to Bruce. Smiling, Tim closes his eyes and enjoys the touch. He’s not sure why Bruce’s touch feels so much better than the others. Maybe it’s because he’s used to Bruce’s touch. Bruce was very touchy feely with him when he back when he was Robin.

“Are you ok?” Bruce asks, concern creeping in his voice.

“Just a little overwhelmed and tired.” Tim mumbles, gently rubbing his eye.

“Would you like me to carry you to your bed? I know it takes a lot of energy for you to get around.”

“‘S ok. I like it here.”

“Would you like some company?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Tim yawns and Bruce sits down on the carpet next to him.

“Ok, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[ragingbookdragon]

This City’s Gonna Break My Heart

A/N: I don't care what anyone says. My best fics are song fics. Especially this Dick one. Enjoy! -Thorne <3

I’ve been seeing lonely people in crowded rooms Covering their old heartbreaks with new tattoos It’s all about smoke screens and cigarettes Looking through low lights and silhouettes But all I see is lonely people in crowded rooms

           There had only been two times in Dick’s life that he’d ever been completely alone. The night his parents were murdered, and now, as he sat in the dingy bar nursing a worn and weeping heart. He wanted to go home and be out on patrol, but he knew at some point he had been bound for this. To leave Gotham and leave the manor. Leaving Robin. Baby blues scanned the customers in the bar, taking in their dispositions. He could tell many of them were in the same boat. Perhaps not fighting the same broken heart he was; his heart was torn by family and trust where theirs was torn by love. His eyes landed on a couple a few feet away from him, and he listened as they flirted back and forth; something in their eyes made him wonder if their flirtation was a rouse to cover something cracked underneath the surface they had. He shifted his gaze back to his drink, staring into its contents. He stared back at himself, the loneliness creeping down his spine as he lowered his head, eyes shutting as if he could will it away.

This city’s gonna break my heart This city’s gonna love me then leave me alone This city’s got me chasing stars It’s been a couple months since I felt like I’m home Am I getting closer to knowing where I belong? This city’s gonna break my heart She’s always gonna break your heart, oh

           His body cried as he slid through his window, barely having the strength to shut it behind him as he collapsed onto the floor, hands moving to hold his left side. He couldn’t feel anything warm and wet, but pain shot through his nerves as he pressed on it telling him he’d cracked a few ribs. He chuckled weakly at it, thankful that what could be worse wasn’t.

When Dick finally managed to pick himself off the floor, he moved to his bedroom, shucking off his suit, the pieces dropping along the hallway and in his bedroom as he made his way to the bed. He eased down onto it, careful to avoid putting any pressure on his side as he sprawled onto the sheets. He turned his head, gazing out of the window. It had a couple months since he’d started up in Blüdhaven, donning Nightwing. It hadn’t been easy for him to be alone like this. He’d always been with someone, either with Bruce or with the Titans, but never alone. It made his chest burn, and he felt the familiar lump swell in his throat as his vision began to blur. Sometimes Blüdhaven made him feel like he was back in Gotham, the feelings of belonging beginning to seep into him, but other times, he still felt like he’d barely made a dent in his separation. Dick raised a hand, palm rubbing roughly into his chest as if he could wear away the deeply set cracks in his heart; however, he realized that the harder he rubbed, the more his vision blurred, and eventually he felt warmth flowing down his cheeks. His hand stopped, going limp against his chest as he felt his heart breaking.

I remember mornings when my head didn’t hurt And I remember nights when art didn’t feel like work She wakes up at noon and she’s out ‘til three She leaves her perfume all over me But I remember mornings when my head didn’t hurt

           He could feel the sun shining along his face and he grimaced, twisting in the sheets to burrow his face into his pillow. The pounding in his head seemed to worsen as sleep began to escape him, and Dick groaned lowly, rubbing his face into the fabric. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going back to sleep, he sighed, pushing himself up onto his arms. A sharp stab spread across the back of his neck, up to his head and he winced as the invisible band started to tighten around his skull.

Fighting it back, he left his bed, trudging into his living room. He looked outside the window, seeing the sun peeking from between the buildings across the street. He shifted, glancing at the clock, realizing that he’d only been home a couple hours. He sunk down onto the couch, eyes lazily staring up at the ceiling. Dick kicked his legs out but stopped when he felt something touch his foot. He sat up, looking down to see the top of his suit; he bent down, picking it up before he slouched back into the cushions. The tear in the arm was still there, fingers slipping in between the cloth. He let out a sigh, looking for a sewing kit. He knew he had one; Alfred had sent it to him in one of the care packages.

When he found it, he threaded the needle, fumbling the metal through the suit top. He didn’t have the energy to make it perfect, and as he pulled it away and examined it, he realized that fixing and designing his suit and gadgets wasn’t passionate to him anymore; it felt like work more than anything, and he dropped his head onto the back of the couch, eyes finding the ceiling once more as his grip went lax.

This city’s gonna break my heart This city’s gonna love me then leave me alone This city’s got me chasing stars It’s been a couple months since I felt like I’m home Am I getting closer to knowing where I belong? This city’s gonna break my heart She’s always gonna break your heart, oh

           He stood along the ledge of a building, observing the city before him. The months had gotten easier as they’d gone by, the thoughts changing from ‘this isn’t home’ to ‘this is starting to feel like home’. Dick drug his eyes from the city for a moment to look up at the night sky. Millions of stars stared back at him, and for a second he wondered if this life he lived now was just a chasing of the stars. A complicated race between him and an uncatchable target; a life he lived and the life he wanted, one where there wasn’t a divide between him and his father. He’d met the new boy his father had taken in. Jason, his name was. Good kid, he thought, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was his replacement. Dick shook his head, and a siren sounded in the distance and he dropped his eyes from the sky to the rooftops, letting out a sigh as he began hopping ledges towards it.

She got a hold on me She got me wrapped around her finger She got a hold on me She got me wrapped around her finger, oh yeah

           Dick shut the front door behind him, shucking off his jacket before hanging it on his coat rack, feet carrying him to the couch. He dropped onto it, groaning in relief as he felt his body begin to relax. It’s good to be home, he thought, and the second he did, his breathing stuttered. He didn’t know when it had changed, but it certainly had. The words flowed out of his mouth in conversations now, when people asked where home was. Gotham no longer crossed his lips, instead, Blüdhaven rolled off his tongue. Dick took a breath, feeling the air begin to ease back in and out of his lungs. Blüdhaven no longer felt like a stranger to him; it felt…like home.

This city’s gonna break my heart This city’s gonna love me then leave me alone This city’s got me chasing stars It’s been a couple of months since I felt like I’m home Am I getting closer to knowing where I belong? This city’s gonna break my heart She’s always gonna break your heart, oh

           He stepped into his room, eyes widening in surprise at his brothers sitting huddled on his bed; the words came out before he could stop them. “What are you three doing in my bedroom?” Their heads swiveled in his direction and Damian held up a photo.

           “Where was this taken Richard?” Dick’s eyebrows furrowed and he dropped his laundry basket, crossing the room to pluck the photo from his fingers. He glanced at it, seeing him, Roy, and Wally, sandwiched together on a couch; he smiled, eyes crinkling and quipped,

           “Oh, that’s from when I was in Blüdhaven a few years ago.”

           “How come you don’t live over there anymore Dickhead?” He rolled his eyes at Jason’s insult, placing the photo back before climbing behind them, looking into the box.

           “Well, can’t leave Bruce alone to handle the circus.” He nudged his brothers. “Someone’s gotta keep you guys in check.” Tim stared at him, blinking unamused.

           “Dick. You’re the only one of us that actually gets in trouble.” Damian grunted, tipping his head at Jason.

           “Todd does too, but that is a fair point.”

           “Hey, I’m not that bad!”

           “Jason, you shoot people.”

           “Well not that much anymore!”

           “You’ve made up for it in brutal beatings.”

           “Wow Two-Bit. It’s almost as if getting beaten to death by a crowbar makes me want to make others feel pain.”

           “This is why Father doesn’t trust you.”

           “Say it to my face you little shi-” The sound of a fist smacking someone’s cheek cut Jason off, and Dick watched Damian fly into him. As if they were dominoes, Jason landed against Tim, crushing him into the bed; he yelped, trying to scramble out from the two fighting boys.

           “HEY! LEAVE ME OUT OF THIS! I DIDN’T DO JACK!” The two didn’t pay any mind to his cries and he yelled for his eldest brother. “DICK DO SOMETHING! I’M BEGGING YOU!” Dick chuckled, leaning over to wrap an arm around Damian and tug him away. As he closed in on him, Damian’s arm came back, and his elbow went into Dick’s nose; he let out a curse, reaching up to hold his face. His brothers stilled as they watched crimson liquid leak from between Dick’s fingers. Dick lowered his hands to stare at them, and his eyes widened momentarily, then hardened and he shifted his gaze to his brothers; he pointed at them and warned,

           “Start running. I’m giving you ten seconds to get a head start.” It was all the warning they needed, scrambling across the comforter to the door, each diving out after the other. Dick clambered out of the bed, hand reaching for a shirt laying haphazardly on the ground. He held it against his nose and took a step, but stopped and reached down, plucking the picture from the box; he grinned at it, propping it up on his nightstand next to the other pictures of his family. He moved to the door, stepped out and yelled, “READY OR NOT! HERE I COME!” Their screeches could be heard from down the halls and a wicked smirk crossed his lips as he began hunting.

This city’s gonna break my heart, hey She’s always gonna break your heart.

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [10/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

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

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #warriors #riddle

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

The blade sticks out of Jason’s chest, gleaming unnaturally in the moonlight.

“You were saying?” Cutter purrs.

Somehow, her voice reaches Tim even where he’s pinned, sending a cold chill of dismay surging through his body. He would scream Jason’s name if it weren’t for the unyielding chokehold Dick has him in.

While Tim’s gasping for air, Jason’s attention doesn’t appear to be on the weapon that may have just killed him. From the subtle way his body is straining toward Tim whose attempts to push Dick off of him grow weaker, he seems more preoccupied with Tim than his own predicament.

“Juh…”

His attempts to speak use up valuable air and Tim curses mentally as his vision blurs. He thinks a blood vessel may have burst in his eye.

“What was that, Timmy?” Batman sneers. “Sounds like something’s caught in your throat.”

Great. Even when he’s gone dark side, he’s got to make bad jokes.

Tim tries to keep calm, to control his limited airflow, and think of a way out of this situation. Every beat of his heart feels like it’s jarring his body. And Jason, the poor idiot, keeps trying to inch toward Tim.

Jason, concentrate, she’s about to kill you, or worse!

Tim is distantly cognizant that Damian is still struggling against the way Dick has dangled him, trying to escape. He can hear the shift of leather and Kevlar as Steph struggles to get up.

“I have to say, I was impressed,” Cutter continues, spindly fingers digging into his shoulder as she twists the sword until Jason’s attention on Tim falters. His snarl of pain echoes through the voice modulator but to Tim’s relief, it doesn’t sound wet in a way that would indicate internal bleeding. “Just thinking of all the discord you could cause if those blades of yours were just…a little…corrupted…”

She punctuates each pause with a twist of the blade, and how the hell is Jason not bleeding out right now?

Maybe it’s my imagination…oxygen deprivation…come on, focus! She’s got him with a golden sword—golden arrow? So probably not trying to kill him. And he’s not poisoned with lead the way Dick was which…should be a good thing? Right?

Unless it requires a command to work like the arrow Cutter stabbed Dick with. Tim’s having a hard time coming up with scenarios for the golden diviner, but he thinks that’s more oxygen deprivation than lack of imagination.

Tim shifts beneath the anchor that is Batman, trying to worm his fingers toward the taser trigger in his suit. The way Dick is crowding against him, any charge that goes through him will hit Tim—and Damian—too, so he must be careful of the wattage. Not enough to parboil them all, but enough to allow him some give.

He hopes that because he’s expecting it, he’ll be able to withstand a second or two long enough to get free and get to Jason.

“Hey! Bat-dick!”

Looks like there’s some luck on his side, at least, as Steph, still a bit off-balance, chucks a handful of senbon-like projectiles at him. At the same time, Damian bends upward and wraps himself around Dick’s arm while jamming a knife into the part of his arm not protected by armor. “This one I am not apologizing for!”

“I think what you mean is, ‘sorry not sorry!’” Steph follows up with a swipe of her fist.

Dick snarls, jerks to one side to avoid Steph’s attack, while at the same time flinging the boy off and away from him. Steph grunts in pain as Robin lands on her.

The minute decrease in pressure gives Tim the space he needs to activate the taser. It throws Dick backward with a surge of electricity, which leaves Tim momentarily stunned and gasping against the same pulse.

There’s movement beside Tim, Steph crawling over to his side. “You okay?”

“Been better,” he replies, shaking off the dizziness as he gets to his feet.

“Aren’t you two adorable,” Dick growls, recovered now and stalking toward them. Tim tries to put himself in front of Steph, knowing that her injury will provide too tempting a target, but she snorts and stands beside him.

“Stubborn much?”

“Take a look in the mirror sometime.”

“You two are wasting time,” Damian growls and runs headlong at Dick, skidding low to take his feet out from beneath him.

Dick somersaults in the air to avoid him, lands on his feet in front of Steph, who’s already winding up a punch. Dick lifts off with one foot, twists in the air, knocking the punch off course with his feet and smacking Tim in the face before he can get close. As Steph’s body finishes the botched move, bending double, Dick continues to spin in midair, rolling over her back and flips a knife into his hand, grabs hold of Damian’s cape to wrap around his head, and then plunges the knife downward to pin him to the ground by the material.

Then he’s up and swiping at Tim with another blade, while Tim blocks and dodges out of the way of the wild blows. Seeing an opening, he bends forward and shoulders the older man, hard enough that he turns and faces Steph and her wild swing to the side of his head. Dick ducks, blocks, uses her momentum to flip her to the ground, stomps hard on her gut to leave her gasping, and turns around in time to bob from side to side to avoid Tim’s next onslaught.

Tim leaves himself open, and Dick turns his back, elbowing him in the face from behind.

“You want to know why I fired you?” Dick sneers at Tim, gripping him close. “It wasn’t because Damian needed Robin.” He pulls Tim’s arm over his shoulder and flips him over his back; without letting go, he unleashes a flurry of kicks to the small of his back. “It was because you were never meant to have the title.”

As Tim lists, Dick kicks his heel into his chest.

“Right—because I’m going to listen to anything you say right now,” Tim grunts, fumbling a moment before skidding back on his feet. He forcibly ignores the long-dormant doubts trying to surface in response to his brother’s diatribe, flings out several small explosives as Dick renews his attack, dodging nimbly between the bursts. 

“You’ve always been the weakest—better suited to being behind a computer than in the field.” He throws a handful of Batarangs at Tim, who crosses his arms in front of his face to block them; two of them get embedded in his upper arm. “And you’re still mediocre at that compared to someone like Oracle.”

“Everyone’s mediocre compared to Oracle.”

“Keep telling yourself, if it makes you feel better about yourself. Not like you’ve got much else.” Dick catches hold of him, presses the metal deeper through flesh and muscle, making cry out. “Bruce never wanted you. Not as Robin.”

Tim falters a bit at that, if only because he knows that’s true. He lived that himself.

It’s enough of a pause for Dick to take advantage.

“Not as a son.” More pressure, and Tim grits his teeth. “He adopted you out of pity. Because he wanted to protect his secret.” Dick tugs one of the blades loose, turning it in his hand to set it beneath Tim’s chin. “You’ll never measure up to my legacy. Hell, you can’t even live up to the Robin that died!”

“No!” Jason croaks, trying to take another step forward, but kept frozen in place.

“For one of the All-Caste’s chosen, you appear oddly preoccupied with a mere mortal boy,” Cutter muses. “And look what that’s already cost you.”

“Lady, you have no idea,” Jason spits through gritted teeth.

“No need to fret, though. Such affection…it will soon be directed to me instead. That way, it won’t even hurt when Batman crushes his throat.” She stands on tiptoes, mouth near the side of Jason’s helmet. “Now—devote your love to me. Be useful to me and serve my needs. Kill them all as a gift to me.”

She pulls back and for an instant, it seems like the golden sword has duplicated—one is in her hand, the other still stuck in Jason’s abdomen. But the latter vanishes, flickering out of existence the same as the dart that downed Dick.

Somehow, there’s no blood spreading across Jason’s abdomen, or even a hint of a gaping wound. He claws at his gut in surprise.

Meanwhile, as Dick goes to swipe the blade across Tim’s throat, his arm is hauled back, and he is levered to the ground.

Damian stands in his place, cape gone and a furious flush in his cheeks.  

“Back off,” he orders. “I won’t have Drake’s death on your conscience, however useless he is.”

“Thanks…” Tim wheezes as he tries to recover. “Really feeling the love.”

“You’re not fooling anyone with that act, little brother,” Dick tells Damian with an unkind smile. “All your talk about emotions and weakness, and all your League training—and you’re as soft as any other kid.”

“I am not a child!”

“Whatever you are, you still bleed.”

There’s a burst of gunfire, causing everyone to duck reflexively, except for Dick. Whether out of reflex, or thanks to the thickness of his mask, he avoids the rounds that skim just past his cheek, leaving red welt of burned flesh in its wake.

“Funny,” Jason growls, from behind clenched teeth it sounds like. “I was going to say the same about you.”

Cutter watches him, wide mouth curling into a cold smile.

Dick shifts his body, accommodating for a possible new enemy. “Are you going to try to kill me now, Little Wing?”

Jason takes another step forward, raising mismatched guns, and takes a shot.

“No!” Steph cries even as Dick throws himself out of the path of the shot.

A second later, Tim notices the weapon Red Hood is leveling at Dick isn’t one of his custom pistoles—it’s one of the tranquilizer guns from the cave. In the same instant, Jason’s whipped around and fired a volley at Cutter, who shrieks and dodges out of the way.

“What?” Cutter demands.

I’ll second that…

“How…?”

“Alright, babybird?” Jason calls, edging back toward Tim, still firing on Cutter who persists in evading.

“How are you still…?”

“I’m just that good.”

“That’s impossible!” Cutter snarls, recovering. “The winged brat himself is powerless against the golden—! How did you—?” She takes note of Jason’s protective stance in front of Tim, and her expression becomes sharp. “Unless…”

She doesn’t finish her thought, instead shakes her head.

“No matter. If you won’t serve me as the Bat does, you’ll die beside your beloved!”  

She charges and vaults through the air, bringing down her swords upon Jason’s head—and just as before, out of nowhere, there’s a burst of golden flame that solidifies into swords in Jason’s hands, catching the diviners.

“Help Todd,” Damian orders Tim. “Otherwise the moron will become distracted and get stabbed again.”

“We’ve got this,” Steph agrees.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, bat bitch, you sure?” Dick taunts.

Tim can almost hear Steph’s knuckles crack as she forms a fist. “Oh, I’m so getting my second wind.”

“Just remember he’s not himself,” Tim reminds her.

“No promises.”

“I have alerted Pennyworth,” Damian interjects in. “Presumably he will arrive before anyone dies.”

“You hope,” Tim mutters, already hurrying to Jason’s side to take a position against Cutter. “Any chance you can lend me one of those magic swords?”

“Sorry, Red, they’re sort of soul-coded.”

“Of course they are,” Tim sighs, bringing out his spare bo-staff and clicking the button to elongate it. “You’re explaining that at some point.”

“Help me take this broad down and it’s a date.”

“Stop flirting!” Steph shouts as she holds of Dick’s incoming fists onehanded. She’s using what Tim recognizes as several modified Wing Chun techniques. They’re suited to taking down a normal thug, but right now it just barely allows her to hold her own against Batman. The only thing keeping him from targeting her injured arm is Damian, who has taken his sword back up and levies a savage assault on their older brother that Dick is forced to block.

Meanwhile, Jason and Tim dart toward Cutter, Jason in front and Tim flanking. Her blade arcs to meet him in an overhand swing, the force of it knocking Jason back even as Tim takes position behind her and strikes downward to her shoulder.

She spins and catches it with her other sword, stabbing forward with the first; Tim jerks back as Jason rallies and slices toward her; she catches that, sweeping down low to knock Tim odd his feet, and as she uncoils meets Jason’s blade with sparks, the momentum of the blow throwing him to the ground.

“I’m getting tired of eating dirt,” Jason mutters.

“There’s got to be a way we can get an opening,” Tim agrees, picking himself back up again.

Nearby, Dick grabs Steph, yanks and tosses her over his head, as Damian takes a running jump and launches himself forward. He aims a double kick, which Dick blocks with crossed arms that he uses to shove the boy backward. Damian flips in the air, lands in a lunge, sword still at the ready.

With Jason still on the ground, Tim has to defend when Cutter swings at him, ducking and whipping the staff at her. She twists out of the way in the air, regaining her hold on her swords which come down on Tim. He meets every blow, rapidly shifting his staff to catch the edges.

It works for a bit until one of her blades slices right through.

“Okay. Not just magic, also super sharp,” he grunts. “Noted.”

Mentally cursing, he adjusts his stance to fight with the remaining staff pieces, arcs them around and aims for her head.

Cutter gets out of the way of one of them, but the other hits her in the face. She falls to one knee, but it’s not because she dazed so much as she is trying to pincushion him from below.

Tim jumps back as she lunges forward with an underhanded swing, but Jason is recovered, sliding over and catching them with one of his swords.

“That’s it!” Cutter hisses. “Unleash your savage nature and stop me if you dare!”

“Oh, I dare,” Jason growls. “You killed a kid, Carrie. The only thing you deserve is savage.”

Cutter laughs. “It was a necessary sacrifice.”

“I doubt Green Arrow would think that,” Jason counters. “He’s a bit of a douche, but even he wouldn’t be impressed with a child killer.”

Cutter growls at this, but her moves slow incrementally.

Tim narrows his eyes in calculation.

Why would that affect her? Not worried about killing a kid…but worried about the Green Arrow judging her? Actually, now that I think about it, she slowed down before when Jason mentioned Green Arrow.

Far behind him, Steph launches herself at Dick, aiming a kick at the small of his back; Damian, waiting in the wings, charges forward and launches into his older brother’s chest. It’s not enough to wind him, given the body armor, but does put him off balance.

Before he can take advantage of it, though, Dick flings a bolo outward. The cables wrap around Damian, knocking him off his feet.

Steph has her nightstick out, uses it to knock Dick straight across the jaw to send him sprawling as well.

“Stay down…bat bitch,” she pants.

Jason is still running his mouth.

“I mean, it’s one thing trying to off his lady friend, but a kid? That’s one of those relationship dealbreakers, I’m thinking.”

Cutter narrows her eyes, once again faltering.

Tim decides it’s enough evidence to run with his theory.

“There will never be a chance for you two,” he speaks up, injecting a taunting note into his voice. “No matter who much power you think you have.”

“He won’t have a choice!” Cutter snarls. Her eyes flicker, red to green and back. “I’ll make him love me, in a way I never could before!”

“Will you really?” Jason asks. “Or is that just what your secret god friend told you you’d do? Because you’ve spent an awful lot of time everywhere else but tracking down the Green Arrow.”

“Yeah, Star City’s about 2500 miles that way. You could have been there a week ago, with the diviners, if you hadn’t gotten sidetracked by—who’s plan was it?”

“You…are beneath…her,” Cutter replies through gritted teeth.

“'Her?’” Tim echoes. “Well, that’s a help.” He pretends to consider it. “Although, maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s not bringing you to make Green Arrow yours because she doesn’t think you should be with him?”

“No!” Cutter yells, and her eyes are completely back to green now. The overwhelming sense of presence surrounding her fades and Tim knows that she’s suddenly just Carrie Cutter again.

Jason knows too because he’s ditched his magic swords and now brandishes a tranq gun, shooting her with it in the back.

Cutter goes rigid, and falls to the ground, only just catching herself on her elbows.

“That should have taken her down,” Tim says, dismayed.

“Guess it wasn’t enough to take down a god, huh?”

Behind them, Damian slices through the heavy cable holding him prisoner, as Steph readies her own tranquilizer gun to shoot at Dick.

Jason readies the gun to shoot again. “You’re done, Carrie. This ends now.”

Before he can shoot, though, her wrist lashes out to one side, and—shit, the black sword has reverted to its crossbow form!—trains her weapon on Tim.

“I guarantee I can shoot your boyfriend even if you pull that trigger,” she hisses. “And I have a feeling capturing me isn’t worth him hating you.”

Jason freezes.

“Shoot her!” Tim snaps.

“I…”

Jason’s hand shakes.

“No!” Steph yells from behind them, and its reflex to turn towards it.

Dick seizes hold of Steph’s bo, twisting it out of her hands and jabs upward, intent to crush her throat with its edge.

Instantly, Damian is there, grabbing hold of the staff to slow it enough that she can move; in doing so, he ends up having to grapple hand to hand with Dick.  Steph stumbles and gets a grip on the gun, hesitating a moment, before shooting.

At the exact moment that Dick gets hold of Damian and moves him into the path of the projectile, Jason gives a grunt and he’s thrown to one side. When Tim turns back, it’s to see Cutter streaking off into the surrounding woods, leaving her bike behind.

“Looks like that dose is a bit too much for the brat,” Dick observes distantly.

“He’s going into respiratory distress!” Steph yells. She’s trying to get to the boy, but Dick is in her path.

Tim and Jason look at each other. They can’t risk Cutter getting away—but they can’t risk Damian dying. Even though Tim can’t read his expression behind the helmet, he knows that they’ve made the decision together.

Instantly, Tim scrambles over to Damian, while Jason throws himself in Dick’s path, his magic swords vanishing into the ether. “You don’t want to hurt that kid, Dickhead! Why not try someone your own size?”

Dick growls, teeth gritted, and darts forward, using Steph as a stepping stone to get to Jason. He stomps down hard on her already injured side, in a way that grants him momentum

Before Jason can react, Dick’s thighs are wrapped around his neck, twisting him around and using the force of it to throw him to the ground. If it weren’t for the reinforced neck hear, Tim’s sure Dick would have snapped his neck.

Can’t think about that right now.

He feels for Damian’s pulse and checks the other vitals, while Steph pulls a manual resuscitator from her utility pouch. Even as she fits it over his face and Tim keeps an eye out lest Dick somehow make it over to them, he knows Cutter’s already vanished.

“Heart’s stopping,” he grunts, tense as he tries to calculate in his head how high the tranquilizer dose was and how it’s interacting with Damian’s body weight.

“Help me get through the body armor,” Steph orders.

Tim doesn’t have a cast saw on him, or any edged tool that could get through Damian’s body armor, but he does have a modified laser he’s used to open tricky safe doors before. If he holds it the right distance away, it can get through the armor without burning Damian’s skin too badly beneath him.

As he cuts, he tries not to let his attention stray to where Jason, unable to free himself from Dick’s hold, digs tear-gas bombs from his belt and smashes them in Dick’s face. They don’t cause lasting damage considering the thickness of the cowl, but the force is enough to make Dick let up and stagger back with surprise.

Jason crouches to regain his footing, swings a leg out, which Dick avoids, and then jumps up and kicks him in the face, which he doesn’t.

Steph is already peeling the armor to the side before Tim’s stopped cutting and slaps two portable defibrillator patches on Damian.  

“Clear!” she barks, activating the charge.

There’s a sizzling sound, and Damian’s body bows upward.

Steph begins CPR, while Tim monitors their patient.  

Two minutes pass, rife with grunts and curses from the fight behind them. Dick’s voice echoes in the background.

“You’ve always been jealous.”

“I’d blame getting whammied by Eros’ arrows for the cliché, but you’ve always had the lame one-liners.”

“That why you spent your childhood trying to be me?” he smirks.

“Someone’s got an ego—but then, everyone already knew that.”

“Still not responding,” Tim says through gritted teeth.

“Going to try adrenaline,” Steph says. She’s got a syringe of epinephrine at the ready, and without ceremony, jams it into the part of Damian’s thigh not covered by gear.

As she starts another round of CPR, Jason and Dick continue to trade punches in the background, until Dick somehow gets a hold of Jason and hoists him upward, then twists and throws him face-first onto the ground.

“Come on, Dami!” Steph grunts.

Tim checks his pulse again and frowns. “Still don’t like this pulse.”

“Plan B then.” She’s got another syringe now, this time amiodarone. “If you die on me, you little shit…”

Jason grabs a handful of dirt and chucks it in Dicks’ face, putting him off-guard for a moment and allowing Jason the time to get to his feet. Then he’s running, sliding down to take Dick out at the knees before leaping up with a knife.

“You think it’s ego?” Dick asks, edging to one side to avoid it. “Let’s look at the evidence then.” He captures Jason’s descending arm and twists. “You jumped into my costume—” He uses the leverage to put Jason on the ground, “—into my home—” Jason knocks his head backward into Dick’s jaw, forcing him to let go, but only long enough for Jason to turn around before Dick grasps him by the throat, “—stole my father,”—He tightens his grip, “—my friends—” Jason is forced back and downward, “—my girlfriend.”

Bracing himself, Jason slides his arms upward and out to break through Dicks’ grip on him, follows up with a palm to his abdomen and staggers to his feet. He barely gives himself a pause before jumping and kicking Dick in the face with both feet, even as it propels him back to the ground.

It barely fazes Dick, who’s already stalking back over to him.

“And on top of that, you got yourself killed and turned into a martyr that could do no wrong in everyone’s memory. Even when you’ve fucked up, you get let off with everything.”

Jason spits blood on the ground. “I’ve got stints in jail and Arkham that say different.”

“And you should have stayed there,” Dick growls.

Jason flips him off, but Dick is there again, grabbing him by the front.

“Monsters like you need to be locked up.” He grasps Jason by the throat. “You’re just as bad as every piece of shit you ever locked up. Just look at what’s going on now.” He tightens his grip. “All of this is happening so we can stop you from fucking our brother.”

Tim’s stomach churns at that.

Is that what he actually thinks?

“How messed up is that?” Dick mocks, putting himself right into Jason’s face.

Jason snarls. “He’s—not—my—brother!”

There’s a violent flash, as the Red Hood suit panels explode at their highest frequency and send Dick flying several meters away.

He doesn’t get up again.

In the same instant, there’s a sudden flash of light from overhead as the Batplaneappears out of nowhere, and Damian shoots into a sitting position, gasping and cursing.

For a moment, nobody moves, trying to process everything that’s just happened.

Beneath the lenses of his mask, his eyes are wild and he whips his head around, before croaking, “Where’s Cutter? Don’t tell me you lost her.”

Tim snorts as he and Steph fall back from him.

“Typical,” he mutters.

⁂

Once Alfred has Dick loaded into the Batplane—heavily sedated lest he wakes up mid-flight—Jason and the rest of the motley Bat crew stumble back to the Batmobile.

“Well, that sucked,” Steph mutters.

“The last time we had our collective asses handed to us like that, the Joker tried to throw a dinner party,” Jason agrees.

“Ugh, so glad I missed that one.”

“Given the fact you are all in sub-optimal condition, I will be the one to drive us home,” Damian announces.

“Nice try, demon baby, but I’m driving.”

“Father would not be pleased with an outsider driving the Batmobile.”

“He’ll be less pleased if I let a twelve-year-old drive.”

“I’m fourteen!”

“You just got resuscitated. We’re not trusting your reflexes.”

Damian grumbles mutinously.

“You’re just lucky it was your left arm and not your right one Dick totaled,” Tim tells her quietly.

“Lucky?” Damian sniffs. “I tol—”

“If you say ‘I told you so’, I swear to god, I will tranq you again,” Jason growls.

“You will not,” Tim interjects, “Not after all the trouble we went through to save his life. Which we’re still waiting to hear a ‘thank you’ for, by the way.”

“Why should I thank you for letting the perpetrator escape?”

““On the bright side, at least we didn’t have to deal with Ivy on top of all that,” Steph muses. When Jason and Damian shoot her identical unimpressed looks, she shrugs her uninjured side. “What?”

Batgirl and Robin climb into the car. As the doors close, Damian warns, “Try not to get us killed, Brown. I’ve seen you drive.”

Jason rolls his eyes and follows Tim to the spot where they parked earlier. The younger man is being worryingly silent, but Jason has a feeling he knows what it’s about.

How much I screwed up, probably.

The redbird tires kick up dirt with the force Tim uses to spin them around and toward the main road. Jason reflexively grips Tim’s hand over the gear stick, not out of fear or apprehension, but just reassured at skin contact after their latest ordeal.

Tim apparently doesn’t feel the same.

“Damn it, Jay, we’re not reenacting the end of Thelma and Louise,” Tim snaps with a little more bite than usual. “I need my hand to drive.”

Jason immediately relinquishes his hold, ignores the spark of hurt and something else that leaps in his stomach as he forces himself to lean toward the passenger side door.

Tim notices and then softens. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s cool,” Jason replies quickly, not wanting to seem like it actually bothered him. He pounces on the first thing he can think of to change the subject. “I can’t believe you’ve seen Thelma and Louise but not Casablanca.”

“What is your obsession with that movie?”

“It’s a classic representation of a bygone era in cinematic history.”

“And I’m supposed to be the nerd in the family…”

“The toys all over your room would confirm that.”

“You mean figurines.”

“I rest my case.”

They side-eye each other, but Jason can see the way Tim’s mouth is twitching like he’s trying hard not to smile given the circumstances.

What I wouldn’t give for him to actually smile at me.

The thought isn’t as out of left field as earlier in the week; Jason supposes he’s just acclimating to the weird stuff Eros’ blood is making him say. Tim’s pretty good about not taking any of it seriously at least.

“So, I have questions,” Tim says after a while, eyes flicking back to the road.

“Starting with who or what the hell is wearing Carrie Cutter as a costume?”

“That—and what’s the deal with those swords?”

“Eros did say they could change form into other weapons.”

“Not talking about Cupid’s swords,” Tim grunts, in that same exasperated tone Bruce always uses when he knows Jason’s being evasive. “You. Those blades you had came out of nowhere. So I’m guessing that’s not part of Eros’ infection. You’ve had access to them for a while.”

“They’re not exactly something I can whip out in the middle of any fight when things get dicey,” Jason defends. “Only works against a certain kind of foe, which don’t show up often enough for you bat-stalkers to get a good look at them.” He pauses. “Actually, I don’t think they even show up on cameras, so it might be that.”

“Not answering the question, Jason.”

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Tim makes a choked sound and his cheeks and neck go red in what Jason expects is frustration, so he takes pity on him.

“It’s a long story, okay? None of which I really want to repeat right now,” he scowls. Not telling him they’re powered by my soul, something tells me he’ll take issue with that. “All you need to know is they only show up in the presence of true evil.”

“True evil,” Tim muses. “So, when they disappeared while you were fighting her…?”

“Carrie was back in the driver’s seat. And crazy doesn’t always mean evil, I guess. Never tested it before.” He pauses to think for a minute. “I should really try them out on the Joker some time.”

“Magic swords…” Tim shakes his head as they speed over the Kane Memorial Bridge. “Not my area.” Then he frowns and shoots Jason a look. “Are they why it didn’t work on you?”

“Huh?”

“Her sword. She stabbed you with the gold one, which I figure is analogous to the golden-tipped arrows. It’s the same thing she did to Dick with the lead one. But you were immune.”

“Thankfully. I don’t know what that was, and I wasn’t exactly expecting it.”

“No shit,” Tim says, and suddenly he sounds harsh again. “You weren’t expecting anything because you turned around to check on me.”

“You were in trouble.”

“I had a plan! I always have a plan.”

“Yeah, I saw your plan. It involved electrocuting yourself.”

“To get Dick off of me.”

“That’s the worst plan ever.”

“Better than you getting stabbed, Jason! If she’d used a normal sword on you instead of the diviners, you could have…” Tim trails off, shakes his head and glares at Jason. “I know you’re not exactly firing on all cylinders lately, but that was a really stupid oversight.”

Jason opens his mouth to retort, and then pauses as something occurs to him. 

Tim’s not angry with him, but at himself somehow. Like he thinks it's his fault.

How the hell did he end up coming to that conclusion?

“Hey, stop that,” he orders. “You can’t blame you for this. It’s like blaming a girl for being attacked because of the clothes she’s wearing.”

“This isn’t the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

Jason’s hand gravitates back to Tim’s, resting gently on top as he grips the gear-shift.

They sit in silence for a while, discomfort filling the small space. It’s not until they make the turn-off toward the hidden entrance to the Cave that Tim speaks again, taking up their conversation from before. 

“Whatever kept you immune is probably down to what Eros did to you.”

“Maybe, maybe not. He’s not immune himself, remember?”

“Right. She said that, didn’t she? I could have to do with your super-secret swords.”

“Still not the time to talk about that.”

“Fine, fine…back to the fight. Clearly it’s possible to hurt her when Carrie’s in control instead of whoever’s hitched a ride in her body. So how do we keep her in that state long enough to take her down?”

“Other than mentioning Green Arrow? That did something.”

“We could ask Oliver to make a trip out here.”

“Great idea. If she kills him, it’s one less rich asshole in the world.”

“Jason!”

“Kidding, kidding…”

Except not really, because Queen’s a douche.

“Let’s just…unpack everything. Her behavior, her mannerisms, things she said…”

“The crazy and the crazier…”

“What was that thing she mumbled when she stabbed Dick?” Tim wonders. “It sounded kind of familiar.”

“It’s from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“What?”

“The play,” Jason enunciates and when Tim still looks nonplussed, he adds, “by Shakespeare?”

The younger man shifts uncomfortably. “I sort of…zoned out of most of those classes.” Jason shoots him a disgusted look and he raises his free hand in defense. “What? Half the time I was exhausted from patrol the night before, and the other half—” He makes an exasperated noise. “It was needlessly confusing. Language has evolved since then. Also, all the plots are ridiculous.”

“I’ll say it again. You’re a heathen. I don’t know why I like you.”

“Because you’re infected with the blood of the god of love?” Tim suggests, and though Jason knows he’s trying for a joke, there’s something tense in his words. 

He feels like he needs to reassure him. “To be fair, you were my favorite before that.”

“I was…what?”

“As much as it’s possible to have a favorite pain in the ass,” Jason continues thoughtfully. “And next to Cass, of course. Just because I’m pretty sure she’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Of course…” Tim repeats faintly.

“But yeah, you’re definitely less annoying than the rest of the brood. And you forgave me for almost killing you those times, which is pretty cool of you.”

Silence meets his explanation, and he glances over to find Tim staring at him, mouth agape.

Way to sound like a kid with a crush, Todd. Great job.

“Hey, watch the road,” Jason snaps, ears heating up.

Tim clears his throat and gives a minute shake of his head. There’s another taut silence as they pull into the Cave garage and he puts the car in park.

Jason stays silent, letting Tim brood with his thinking face on; just watches him with what feels like a stupid look on his face until Tim shakes his head and they get out of the car.

“So a nameless mythical deity that possesses people and likes to quote Shakespeare?”

“I admit, it was kind of odd and out of the blue for her to say that,” Jason agrees. “Maybe she was trying to be dramatic. I mean, she butchered the delivery anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in the play, that part’s about making someone fall in love, not overtly causing them to hate other people.

Tim is silent for a few moments, parsing Jason’s explanation.

“Okay, so she was trying to be clever?” he suggests. “Or, whoever’s wearing her is being clever.”

“Maybe they have an appreciation for the Bard.”

Tim ignores that. “It just seems so out of place with everything else that happened in the fight.”

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” Jason points out.

“And sometimes it’s a stick of dynamite.”

As they head to the stairs, they pause in front of the containment unit where Dick is lying unconscious, divested of cowl and tools. That’s a preventative measure since there’s no cure for the arrow that they know of, and no telling what he’ll do upon waking.

Watching over him, arms crossed and a forbidding expression on his face, is Bruce.

Shit. Daddy’s home.

When he hears them approach, the original Batman turns to face them, expression thunderous.

“This isn’t going to be good,” Tim murmurs under his breath, lips barely moving.

Jason snorts with laughter. “Well, damn, babybird, you made me miss my curfew.”

Tim groans. “Not now, Jason.”

Before they can do more than blink, Bruce is in front of Jason, fingers clenched in the material above his body armor, lifting him enough that Jason finds himself balancing on his toes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bruce demands.

“Bruce, stop it!” Tim yells, trying to put himself between them.

“Stephanie’s injured! Dick is out of commission—Damian could have died—!”

“As if that’s different from any other night,” Damian mutters from across the way where he’s beadily watching Alfred treat Steph’s fracture.

She shushes him and elbows him with her good arm.

“This is exactly the kind of recklessness you wanted to prevent when you contacted me!” Bruce continues. “What was the point if you were just going to go out anyway?”

“Bruce, it wasn’t Jason’s idea,” Tim insists, trying to put himself between the two of them. “It was mine.”

Bruce pauses, somewhat caught off-guard. It gives Jason the opportunity to free himself and step back, arms crossed. “Way to shoot first and ask questions later, B.”

“You were told to wait,” Bruce growls at Tim.

“For what?” Tim argues with unexpected vigor. “A few more hours and you’d have been here, but what would it have changed?”

“Dick and Stephanie wouldn’t be injured, for one.”

“You don’t know that,” Jason interjects.

Tim nods in agreement. “Even you couldn’t have accounted for Cutter actually being possessed by some god. It might even have been much worse if you had been there.”

“Tim has a point,” Steph pipes up. “She could have whammied Batman—well, she did whammy Batman, but not the broody Batman. Things might have been worse than a broken arm.”

Bruce shoots Steph a look like he doesn’t know whether to be more irritated by her speaking up, or by the implication that he would have been taken out in the same fashion as Dick.

“Basically, I kind of think we got off easy. In the long run,” she concludes sagely. A beat later, she giggle-snorts. “'Got off’.”

Damian wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I honestly can’t tell if this is your base sense of humor or if Pennyworth put you on the good painkillers.”

Impaired or not, Steph’s clearly making enough sense to make Bruce think twice. He doesn’t look like he likes that, either, and Jason can see by his face he’s deciding on a different tack.

“You still should not have removed Jason from the premises. Red Hood is not cleared for fieldwork until this situation is resolved, and you put everyone in danger by allowing it.”

“Excuse me? No one ‘allows’ me to do anything,” Jason scoffs.

Bruce ignores him. “You couldn’t have known what heightened adrenaline might do to this infection.”

“It was a chance to get the diviners back, and I wasn’t going to waste it.”

“And now you’ve compromised any element of surprise that we had,” Bruce points out. “Cupid and whatever entity is backing her now knows you’re looking to get them back. This was incredibly short-sighted of you, Tim. I’m disappointed.”

Tim’s mouth thins, something flashing across his face that Jason doesn’t quite catch, before he straightens his back and does his best to loom right back.

Jason swallows, feeling a little hotter beneath his gear.

That’s hot. Why is that hot?

Bruce ignores it, continuing on.

“And it’s not just Tim who should have known better. Damian, Alfred, you do know better.”

“I am quite sure the man I raised isn’t presuming to chastise me,” Alfred replies calmly. “Just as I’m sure any and all attempts I may or may not have made to dissuade the young masters would have been as summarily ignored. Much in the same way similar attempts with their father have been rebuffed all these years.”

Bruce clenches his jaw.

Score one for the Englishman.

“What good does knowing better do me if no one listens?” Damian mutters, clenching his fists.

“Just wait ‘til you’re taller, little man,” Steph soothes.

“Shut up, Brown.”

“And you did not see the state Master Jason was descending into,” Alfred says, not as an excuse but as fact. “This was a judgment call made with the information we had at the time.”

“Information based on Tim’s analysis—Tim, who has been compromised about this from the beginning!”

Tim’s cheeks flare red and there’s something that looks almost like panic in his eyes. Jason doesn’t know the reason for it, but he knows that he’ll gladly fight the guy who put it there.

“Yeah, screw you, B,” he snaps, putting himself directly in his face. “It’s not like there’s a manual for this sort of thing. “Tim’s doing his best.”

Bruce shakes his head, mind clearly made up.

“Jason should be quarantined again—” He ignores their noises of protest, “—Tim can stay close by to offset whatever symptoms manifest, but outside. It’s safer that way if the infection progresses in such a way where he becomes dangerous.”

“No!” Tim argues. “Right now, the best place for Jason is next to me—without a bulletproof glass wall between us. We’ve already seen that the more often we’re separated, the more debilitating the symptoms become.”

“That won’t always work.”

“But for now it does.” Tim crosses his arms. “I’m staying with him.”

“Then you’re officially benched.”

“If you think either of us going to sit back and wait for you to solve a case that involves us, you’ve taken one too many blows to the head,” Jason snorts.

“Don’t you see, Bruce? Working the case—it’s helping Jason occupy himself. Otherwise, he’s literally tearing his hair out.”

Damian opens his mouth and Jason snaps a finger in his general direction. “Make one crack about my hairline, baby demon, and I swear I’ll—"

“It’s clear to me that Jason is not the only one compromised—Tim, you shouldn’t be in the field either. I don’t want to see you out there, is that clear?”

“You’re not going to stop us.”

“Tim.”

It’s one word, said with enough warning as to remind Tim exactly who he’s talking to.

“Okay, fine, you probably could stop us, physically,” Tim allows. “But we won’t make it easy. And then we’re both out of here and screw your help.”

“Just listen to yourself! You’re no longer sounding like you,” Bruce says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s enough to confirm everything I’m saying.”

“I’m not sounding like me because I’m not just going along with everything you say?” Tim counters. “Newsflash, Bruce, you don’t always know what’s best. Jason’s been saying it for years and everyone ignores him, but maybe he’s on to something!”

“Tim!” Steph protests.

He throws up his hand in disgust. “You know what? Fine. We’re benched. We won’t go out in the field anymore. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on this case, I can still investigate from a distance. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean we have to stay down here with you!”

He turns on his heel and stalks off back down the stairs, his cape flaring behind him in such a Batman-reminiscent fashion that Jason would laugh if he weren’t so stunned at what’s just transpired.

He’s not the only one having trouble processing, it seems.

Alfred sighs in a way that’s supposed to sound like exasperation, but which everyone knows masks worry. Damian and Steph are actually open-mouthed. Bruce looks like he’s trying to remain blank-faced, but there’s calculation going on in those eyes.

Jason doesn’t want to know what that calculation is coming up with.

Instead, he shakes his head and jabs his thumb in Tim’s direction.

“I’m with him,” he says, already walking away. “Because of the whole…you know. Infection. But also, you’re a douche.”

“Jason—”

“Let them go, Master Bruce,” Alfred says. “I believe we all need to take a few moments…”

Damian says something, but honestly, Jason’s no longer listening, too intent on going after Tim.

He’s feeling something strange and buoyant, something that’s edging dangerously close to validation.

It’s a novelty because he’s always the scapegoat, the family screw-up and cautionary tale. No one ever defends him—it’s almost required that everyone have a caustic comment for him by now, and normally he takes it in stride, gives as good as he gets.

But Tim, of all people, is on his side this time and that’s put a ridiculous smile on his face.

That smile vanishes when he gets down the stairs and he sees the way Tim’s expression is twisted, not with righteous anger, but with guilt and doubt.

“He’s right,” Tim murmurs, pacing back and forth. “This isn’t like me.”

“Are you kidding?” Jason asks, trying for levity. “That was amazing.”

“You’re just saying that because I told off Bruce, and you’re happy when anyone tells him off.”

“Well, yeah. But also, how many people have the balls to stand up to the Big Bat? Present company excluded.”

“He’s just so…” Tim trails off, gesturing wildly to encompass his meaning, and then throws down his hands in annoyance. “You know what? There isn’t even a word.”

“Been saying that for years.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s wrong. We should have waited. We didn’t even get anything out of this.” Tim runs his fingers through his hair, agitated. “Except for him getting pissed off at you. And you’re the one who he’s supposed to be helping.”

Jason shrugs. He’s too used to that sort of thing for it to be a surprise. He moves in closer to Tim, filled with the urge to protect him somehow. 

“And I’m supposed to be helping, but I just made it worse.”

“Bullshit. This whole situation is fucked up, it’s not all on you.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you weren’t hopped up on Olympian blood.”

“Okay, then, how about I go take a swing at B? I’m always up for that.”

Tim snorts. “I don’t think one thing necessarily cancels out the other.”

But he’s smiling now, expression going clear and relaxed for a minute and for a second Jason sees the kid as he is when he’s not pretending to be red robin or Tim drake Wayne or dutiful son or terrifyingly clever master planner that goes head to head with Ra's al Ghul.

And Jason can’t help really help himself anymore.

Maybe it’s the infection, or the lingering adrenaline from the fight with Cupid, or the argument with Bruce. Or just the way Tim, fresh off standing up for Jason against everyone else, is looking at him just then.

But before he can really think better of it, he’s leaning in and covering Tim’s mouth with his.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn’t something you’re comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 

[aspiratinganxiety]

Bat Boy Headcanons Bed Partners

We are looking at the batboys as bed partners. Not necessary with a focus on NSFW themes, but they’re there.

Dick:

-Blanket. Hog.

-Say it one more time, all together now, this man is a blanket hog. After many a night waking with shivers and losing the battle to wrest a sliver of your bedspread to cover yourself (good God, what is his grip strength?), you begin to keep an old comforter at the end of the bed. When it’s time to sleep, if Dick happens to be staying over, you split the blankets in two. He can have the top sheet and the fluffy, fancy duvet. You’re fine curled up in the worn floral cotton cover that had been on your bed in girlhood. Warmth is warmth, Martha Stewart home-goods be damned.  

-The added comforter makes for awkward, bulky snuggling. You tried to maintain the post-coital sleep cuddles a handful of times, but with the burrowing nature of the sleeping Richard, spooning through the night was abandoned in favor of pressing your backs together. Most times, sex or no sex, you take a shower and emerge to find him curled under the fancy covers facing the wall. You know he’s not sleeping, but you both pretend. By the time you’ve gone for a shower, everything that needed saying was said. You creep into bed and settle in. Slowly, wordlessly, you inch together until the lengths of both your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. He even points his toes.

-Bless him.

-In the morning, fucking morning glory jostles you a few times before rolling his entire body weight over you to “squish you awake.” He chuckles and coos at your angry huffs and groans. Asshole.

-He makes you breakfast to make up for the squishing. Gross whole-grain related hot cereal breakfasts, but whatever. He didn’t hafta’ make it, and that’s what counts.

-You’re not a morning person, by nature. The inherent conflict between someone with your night owl tendencies and his cheery, perky, frighteningly sunny disposition before noon tends to cause friction. At least… you expected it to cause friction. In actuality, he’s just infectiously chipper? It’s hard to stay upset when your house smells like brown sugar and fresh fruit and he’s all smiley.

-Damn him.

Jason:

-This poor boy generates more heat than a top of the line WE radiator. We’re talking damp sheets and a bunched up comforter kicked to the foot of the bed every frickin’ night. You own pajamas. You used to sleep in pajamas. Now you’re too damn hot. Not in a fun, hot and bothered way. No. Hot in the “Jason, I swear to God, if you don’t get your heavy, sweaty arm off of me, I’m kicking you” sort of way.

-For the most part, he doesn’t really sleep. At least, you don’t think he does. He seems to nap in quick bursts, but will stay with you through the night without protest or excuse when asked.

-He sleeps so hard when he rarely slips past his usual doze to full unconsciousness that it doesn’t really matter what you say, nothing can be done. You are trapped in the crushing embrace of your sweaty boyfriend.

-At least he mostly smells good, cigarette breath aside.

-You like cuddling. Previous boyfriends had requested separate blankets or a pillow wall because, Jesus, you are a monster. What Jason does cannot be called cuddling. It’s huddling. He huddles you.

-Your back to his chest. One bicep under your neck and, somehow, that same forearm is positioned in a bar back over your chest so your cheek sits on his elbow. Is it still a headlock if done out of affection?

-You don’t know.

-The other arm gets tossed over your belly. It fastens your torsos together with a firm hold kept in place because he burrows that hand beneath your hip. When he takes deep breaths you’re sort of squeezed. It’s a happy turn of events that you aren’t claustrophobic.

-You’re not sure what happens to your legs. You’ve never managed a look down at them while being huddled. Suffice to say that they are not your own.

-When you absolutely have to extract yourself from him, a lot of squirming is involved. 100% honesty, you have elbowed him awake. You had half an hour before work and were dangerously close to pissing your scant pjs.

-Drastic times, yo.

-On the nights when he just naps, mornings are whatever. The huddling is not at DEFCON 1 levels of nuclear crisis, so you just slip out of bed with some wiggling and start getting ready for the day. Within 30-45 minutes, he drags himself out of bed and gloomily sucks down the coffee you offer to him.

-The morning of the elbowing incident he stayed in bed. You haven’t talked about it.

 Tim:

-The first time you invited Tim over to stay the night, you tucked yourself in while he was hunched at the foot of your bed working on some big project for his company. When you woke up he… he was at the foot of your bed clacking away on that project. He had not moved. He had not slept.

-Like, thanks Edward. I totally invited you over so that you could watch me snore and drool on my pillow instead of fall into a similar state of vulnerable unconsciousness as a relationship building exercise.

-I’m not inviting you back.

-You do invite him back. You also impound his laptop, his tablet, and his smartphone after 11:30 and physically wrestle him into bed. He resists. Desperately.

·         “I have to finish that in the next  36 hours. I don’t have time for sleep.”

·         “But I’m working on a project for Bruce! I can’t stop until it’s finished.”

·         “I took a long nap today. I’m not sleepy.” (Spoken as he yawns.)

It almost reminds you of tucking your kid brother in when he was spoiled and four, but you don’t want your brain making those kinds of connections, and wait… what? No.

-He falls asleep in exactly 23 minutes. Yes, you timed it. If that’s creepy, you don’t care.

-Once actually bedded, Tim is a pretty ideal sleeping partner. No snoring. No copious drool. Mild mumbling here and there when repositioned. You even manage to arrange the both of you into one of those cute couples’ sleeping positions from the movies with your head all on his chest and his nose resting in your hair.

-It is comfortable for 10 minutes, then you move because your arm is asleep and your neck sort of hurts.

-When you wake up, he is gone. There is fresh coffee in your kitchen and also a note signed with the extremely professional full signature of Timothy Drake. You don’t know what to make of that, and honestly, the fact that it is sitting so neatly beneath a sloppily drawn heart doodle serving as the “sincerely” only serves to further confuse you at such an early hour.

-Nights with Tim are always one of these two options: he is up doing some ungodly thing on the internet or sleeping like a rock that somehow rises gracefully before the dawn and never, never wakes you up to say goodbye.

 Damian (obviously, significantly older):

-He is surprisingly calm? You are a bundle of nerves strapped into the fourth pair of pajamas you tried on before leaving the closet, and he’s just standing there in pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt staring at you like, “What the hell took so long? Please tell me you know how to dress yourself by this age.”

-Every time it is like this. This is not the first time you have slept beside him, but you just want to tie yourself into a knot and die because, oh my GOD, why is he so  p r e t t y?  

-Your roles in this relationship are utterly reversed every time it comes down to crawling under some covers. Unfortunately, he even does awkward with more grace than you. Where he usually is painfully formal and stilted in old fashioned ways that amuse you to no end, you’re just like… a mess. A hot mess in blue striped pajamas brimming with nervous giggles and a distinct lack of eye contact.

-He insists that you sleep on the wall side. When you ask, horrified by a premonition of you crushing him in the middle of the night trying to scramble for the bathroom half-asleep, he patiently explains for the seventh time that he has made an honor-bound promise to protect you. You cannot sleep on the outer edge of the bed. If there were to be an assailant, they would have easy access to you while he was hindered by an inferior position deeper within the gully of the mattress.

-Yup. Used the exact words “gully of the mattress.”

-What were you worried about? He’s still your scrub. A pretty scrub, but an awkward scrub who cannot hold a conventional conversation in a bucket with a speech guide.

-When your strange, flighty demeanor calms into your more usual behavior, you settle in nicely. You both like sleeping on your back. He stretches one arm beneath your pillow, and you tuck neatly into his side.

-He is warm. Damian smells like soap and tea and something musky and mannish that isn’t indicative of cologne. It is a good smell, and you always sleep wonderfully when he stays over.        

[what-a-generic-potato]

a little batmom thing

Summary: congrats. you are batmom. good luck

Warnings: language and violence. no blood, tho.

words: 835

also I own nothing. property of DC.

lets do this

###################################################

Damian is leaning in closer to your sleeping face as you lie in bed. It is 5 in the morning.  

Damian: *whispers* mother?

You stir in your sleep. Damian's hand is now on your shoulder, shaking you lightly

Damian: *a little louder this time* mother

You wake up to a face full of Dami. You shoot up out of bed, catching your breath.  

You: Damian. You scared the hell out of me.

Dami: I felt it would be the perfect thing to keep you awake.

You: *looking at your bedside clock* Dami it's 5:48

Dami: in fact. Early rising is the key to conditioning the body and mind.

You: …

Dami: … and now is about the time I walk Titus.

You: right... why don't you leash him while I get dressed. Okay sweetie?

Damian smiles and bolts out of the room, making no noise at all. How does he do it? HOW???

You get up and slip into a shirt and some warm pants, pulling a sweater over your head. Bruce is gone, as usual. Probably sent Damian home early last night and continued without his Robin. You pull on a pair of fuzzy socks.

*BANG*

A fucking GUNSHOT makes you bolt up and run out of the room.  

Dami: WHAT THE HELL TODD?

You run to the scene.

You: is everyone alright?

Dami: Todd seems to have made an attempt on my life.

Jason: *using a pistol to gesture towards Dami* THE LITTLE DEMON SCARED THE SHIT OUTTA ME!

You: Jason, why do you have a gun?

Jason: ya keep one under your pillow

You: what?

Damian: That's a paranoid behavior, Todd.  

You: yes.

Dami: everyone knows you keep sleep darts under your mattress. Incapacitate then decide if lethality is required.

You: no.

Damian and Jay begin loudly bickering as Dick walks out of his room in briefs and a Green Lantern corps T-shirt eating lucky charms out of the box.

Dick: 'sup

You sigh and rub your temples.

Dick: *nodding* I see.

Cassandra walks up the stairs with a bowl of strawberries. She sees the scene, turns on her heels, and descends the stairs. The bickering gets louder, and has turned to violence. Tim appears by your side, looking disheveled, holding a mug of coffee

You: morning, Tim

Tim: *sipping coffee* is it morning?

You: Tim, when's the last time you slept?

Tim: …

You: …

Tim: ... what day is it?

You: Jesus, Tim.

Jason delivers a kick to Damian's chest, which he blocks with his arms, sending him flying into Tim, who drops his coffee. The mug crashes on the floor. Damian grabs a shard of mug off the floor using it as a makeshift weapon against Jay.

Tim: YOU LITTLE SHIT

Tim grabs Damian by the collar and throws him against the wall. Damian kicks off the wall, landing an elbow into Jason's chest. Dick is lying on the floor, asleep, cuddling the box of Lucky Charms. Titus had joined in and is barking enthusiastically, running around the battlefield that is Jason's room, tail happily wagging. Bruce appears at the top of the stairs, bruised, tired, and a little pale.

Bruce: for the love of God...

He grabs the back of Dami's shirt and lifts him off the ground, as one would to a newborn kitten. Damian kicks and writhes to no avail.  

Bruce: what the hell-

Dami: im sorry, father.

Dami lands a light kick to Bruce's waist, surprising him enough as to loosen his grip. Damian flies out of Bruce's restraint and makes a run at Tim. The two are now on the ground, wrestling.

Bruce: Damian!

Jason uses the butt of his gun to land a blow on Tim's shoulder.

Bruce: Jay!

Bruce confiscates the gun. Jay has now utilized his fists for combat. Tim now has Damian's shard of mug. Titus has peed on the carpet.

While this was happening, you had walked into your room and grabbed the whip you sometimes use when on patrol. You pull it back and the whip makes a loud CRACK in the air.

Everything stops.

You: SIT DOWN!

All the boys, including Titus sit up where they are. Bruce remains standing, shocked by the noise. You give him a glance that could only be described as viscous.

Bruce sits down.

You: rooms

Questions and pleas overlap each other. 'what happened'? 'I'm never sent to my room' 'I am in my room' 'can I get coffee first?'

You: now

The boys all stand and walk to their respective rooms, muttering.

You take Bruce's hand and walk back to bed. Titus is curled up at the foot of the bed as you massage Bruce's tense shoulders

Bruce: how the hell do you do it?

You: I'm a mom.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 22

Drugged | Withdrawal

Ao3

Note: Jason is Robin

-o-o-o-o-

It's the same thing every day. The day begins with nothing. Just sitting here, with his hands chained to the wall, watching the table in front of him and waiting for Dick—who's strapped to the aforementioned table—to slowly wake up. Dick's been waking up later and later every day, but that's not really his fault. 

It's the drug's fault. But Jason's getting ahead of himself.

Because, after Dick wakes up, the shakes would begin. Dick will insist over and over again, every time Jason asks, that he's okay. But Jason doesn't believe him. He's seen this before in his own mother. As the day progresses, the symptoms would as well. The shakes would be joined by a sweaty parlor. Dick's stomach would grumble angrily. He'd constantly shift and move in his bindings in a clear state of anxiety, tugging at his wrists and ankles to the point that they began to bleed. 

By the time they bring lunch, Dick's barely able to keep a sentence, his voice wobbles so much and his memory begins to hold onto less and less. Their captors are practically formless, their faces and body types all hidden behind layers of cloaks and black masks. They don't speak either. They just toss Jason a bottle of water and a wrapped sandwich that definitely came from a gas station. Then, they spoon feed Dick some sort of broth with soggy vegetables and very unsatisfying looking chunks of meat. At first, Jason and Dick both refused to eat, even if the caps were sealed and the packaging untorn. 

But days passed. The withdrawal made Dick starving and malleable, willing to eat without arguing too much. With Jason, he started eating because it became clear that if they wanted to poison or drug him, they clearly would have already. 

After lunch, they were left alone again. For hours. Hours that Jason spent curled up against the wall, tearing strips into the plastic packaging of his eaten sandwich and tying knots with them… just to keep himself occupied as Dick would begin gagging and sniffing and groaning and trembling. Jason would look up at him every so often to see him deeper and deeper into withdrawal and being able to do nothing about it except writhe.

Hours would pass. Then, the people who captured them would come back with dinner. They'd confiscate Jason's plastic knots and braids, give him another sandwich, then immediately inject an unmarked syringe filled with a yellowish liquid straight into the crook of Dick's elbow. 

Dick would immediately go still. Silent. Lax. He'd stare at the ceiling, completely calm and breathing deep. At first, Dick didn't go so still so quickly. It's clear this kind of drug has some sort of tolerance that has to built up to. 

Dick screamed and jerked in his restraints the first time. Cried during the couple after. And isn't that strange? The guy is a legend. While Bruce doesn't talk about him often… Jason knows the legacy he's trying to carry while being Robin. He honestly can't believe that he's this guy's… adopted… younger brother. No one in Gotham doesn't know who the original Robin was. Jason's still trying to earn even a smidge of the same respect, even from the criminals. 

Sure, in the beginning, Dick and Jason started off a bit rough. But it ended out alright, yeah? Dick gave him his blessing to be Robin, and then handed him a slip of paper with his apartment's phone number. They went skiing a couple weeks ago, and Jason had a lot of fun. 

Dick Grayson is so perfect. And Jason's just watched him scream and struggle and sob because of drugs.

Jason really hates drugs. 

Now though, Jason's not sure if Dick's instant dissociation is better or worse. They've worked Dick up to a point where his body feels like it needs the drug more than air to breathe. The withdrawal is getting more and more intense every day that passes, to the point Jason's sure that if his mom… 

Well... to the point that most druggies would be taking multiple doses a day by now. 

"What do you shitheads want?" Jason asks for the billionth time. He tries to ask every time they enter the room. 

They don't answer. They never do. They don't even look his way. 

Jason's begun to think that he's just there as collateral. They haven't done anything to him. Not even an annoyed slap when Jason screamed his voice raw at them the third time they drugged Dick.

They just use Dick's gagging reflex to put more brothy soup in his mouth, and then they leave.

This is when it gets absolutely awful. Jason's known even before becoming Robin that when someone is this high, there's no point trying to talk to them. It's like his mom- it's like Dick isn't even in the room. It's just Jason, alone, sitting on the moth-eaten sofa and forcing himself to pay attention to Treasure Island even though he's already read it a thousand times. 

No. No he doesn't sit on the couch. He sits against the cold wall, his tailbone aching, his wrists stinging against the shackles, trying to work up the energy to eat his sandwich while Dick falls deeper and deeper into a forced addiction. 

The night wears on. What Jason assumes is… the end of the ninth day? He's mostly measuring days by meals and when they come to drug Dick. The little cell they are chained up in doesn't have any windows to know for sure. Could be more than nine days, could be less. 

Jason does his best to just... ignore Dick, because it's this stretch of hours that has Jason's anxiety spiking the most. There's too many bad memories with drugs. Too many awful moments that conspired because of them. If he looks up, he won't see a completely relaxed and high-off-his-ass Dick Grayson. 

He'll see Catherine Todd, foam leaking from the corners of her mouth and her body colder than what it should be. He'll see the syringe still in her arm. He'll see a still chest. 

He busies himself by moving as much as the chains allow him. The tether to his shackled wrists is welded about half a foot above his head, and there's just enough length for him to touch a small diameter of stone floor around him. When he stands up, he's not able to lift his hands above his head. He's not able to move more than a few feet towards Dick. He makes the best of it though. He stretches as much as his shackles will allow. He leans forward against the wall and does makeshift pushups. He counts the links in the chain. He goes down to touch his toes. 

He keeps going until Dick finally groans, the drugs wearing off hours later. 

Though, it feels sooner than normal. Maybe Dick's accidentally built a tolerance and the doses are starting to wear off quicker. 

Whatever the case, Dick groaning out of a nauseating trip is the sign for Jason to finally sit down and curl up the best he can on his side. He watches Dick's twitching fingers. Listens to his small whimpers and noises of confusion. He sits there and watches Dick be alive until his eyes fall closed and he doesn't dream of Dick being still. Dead. Next to the body of his mom while his dad (Bruce?) screamed about how Jason's a failure and he should have stopped it. 

He falls asleep, wakes up a little while later, and the day repeats. 

-o-o-o-o-

"How long…?"

"I think… thirteen days?"

"…"

"Nightwing?"

"N-nothing. It just… it just…"

"Hurts?"

"Yeah… it- I- everything just really- b-but I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

"… You don't have to lie to me. I know. I understand."

"Sorry… I just… hngh- fuck"

"…"

"…"

"Is it… getting worse or-?"

"Ca-can we talk about something else?"

"Yeah. Sure, big bird. I'm okay to talk about something else."

They talk about something else for about fifteen minutes, both of them persistently not talking about drugs or withdrawal or addiction or dead mom's and angry deadbeat dads. They also don't talk about Bruce, because while Jason's still holding out hope that Bruce will come for them, Jason's pretty sure Dick doesn't. 

But it's okay. Jason will hope for the two of them.

Twenty minutes pass before Dick simply can't keep a conversation anymore. The stuff he's one must be strong. Severe. The kind of stuff someone like Black Mask would sell. The stuff that would get you so deep on its hooks that you'll lose your job, house, family, everything just to have a single more drop in your system. 

Thirty minutes pass. Then more. And Jason sits quietly as Dick falls apart.

It's not even close to lunch yet.

-o-o-o-o-

Something finally changes on what Jason's pretty sure is day fifteen. He knows something has changed when lunch passes without a single visitor. He knows something has changed when the time ticks ever onwards and Jason's left clutching his completely empty stomach and watching Dick suffer. Cry. Writhe. Gag.

He knows something's finally changed when the door finally opens, but it's a long time after lunch; and yet still a little while before dinner.

He knows something hasn't changed for the good when their captors enter in a group of six instead their usual three or four. 

He knows somethings definitely changed for the worse when they surround Dick like a pack of hungry cultists around some poor virgin.

"What are you doing?" Jason demands, standing up and walking forward as far as his chains will allow. It's not very far. He's not even within kicking distance of the closest person. 

One of the kidnappers reach into their cloak and brings out that stupid syringe. However, instead of immediately injecting it into Dick's practically torn apart arm, they hold it above Dick's head. 

Jason feels like he's swallowed something sour when Dick immediately stills. 

Oh. 

Jason understands now. 

"Tell us the name of Batman, and we'll let you have it," the person says. Voice is deep, probably male, but Jason doesn't care. All he cares about is that the man waves the syringe back and forth above Dick's bound form like it's a bone and Dick is a very, very desperate dog. 

"You sick bastards," Jason breathes. He can't... even process how much he hates this. It's not fair. Addictions shouldn't be… used against someone like this. They've patiently worked Dick to this point, and then they're going to give Dick a choice between something he never wanted but feels like he needs… or something he cannot tell. "You fucking fuckers."

Jason goes completely ignored. By the kidnappers because they've been ignoring Jason this long, why stop now. By Dick because he's too focused on watching the syringe and licking his chapped lips. 

Finally, Dick speaks, and Jason really wishes he hadn't. 

"P-please…" 

"Tell us who Batman is," the man repeats and Dick immediately dissolves into pathetic sobs.

"Please… puh-please… I- I can't-"

Dick jerks in his restraints, like he wants to jump forward and stab the needle into his own arm himself. 

The man repeats his question and Jason finally has enough. 

"HEY! YOU CULT WANNABES!" He shouts, tugging on his restraints and snarling. "Get the fuck away from him or I'll tear your throats out!"

"Batman's name, Nightwing. Then you can have this."

"N-no- st-stop- I don't-"

"Listen to me! Stop ignorin' me!" Jason tugs harder on the chains, but all he succeeds in doing is breaking the scabs next to the biting metal, allowing blood to flow down his filthy wrists. "Don't listen to them, N! Ya don't want it!"

And for the first time, one of the kidnappers turns to face Jason. They walk forward so suddenly that Jason takes a startled step back. Before Jason knows it, his cheek is stinging from a vicious slap he didn't expect. He doesn't get a chance to recover from it either, because suddenly his wrists are grabbed and the tethering chain is hooked onto something high above his head against the wall. Something he hasn't even noticed till now. Jason struggles to place his footing as he finds himself almost hanging by his wrists; helpless to the kidnapper as they shove a strip of tape over his mouth.

Effectively gagged, Jason goes back to being ignored while the kidnapper returns to the others surrounding Dick. 

Jason growls and tugs in the chains, but he goes nowhere. 

He can only hang there and watch as they continue to wave that stupid dose of drugs above Dick's head, asking the same question over and over again with the same steady, manipulative voice. 

Jason's seen Dick cry many times these past several days, but never as desperate and broken as this. Jason sorta hopes that Dick just… throws everything away to tell them Bruce's name. Just so this could end. Just so they'll give Dick what he needs so his body will stop torturing itself.

"Br- n-no-"

"Batman's name."

Dick shuts his eyes and shakes his head, tears escape the corners of his mask as he twitches and chokes on gags. 

The kidnappers seem to be getting impatient now. The man holding the syringe sighs then bends forward and presses the tip of the needle on the inside of Dick's arm. Dick jolts like he's been electrocuted, his eyes flying open and the tears doubling as the needle enters the already severely scarred area of skin. The man doesn't press down on the needle and Dick wails.

Jason feels like he's going to throw up. 

This is so sick. So messed up. He wants to scream but all he can do is throw himself against the chains and slam his back uselessly against the wall. He tries to work the tape off his mouth, but he can't quite move his jaw or tongue the way he wants to.

"Batman's name, Nightwing. And make sure it's honest, otherwise we have smaller needles for smaller people."

Well, at least Jason knows why he's here now. 

The bad thing is, it works. Dick shutters around the needle in his arm and chokes back another sob. "Ok-kay- d-don't- hurt Robin- kay- okay-"

Jason falls still. There's nothing he can do. At least, when Dick tells who Batman is, he won't be in so much pain anymore. But that's only if the kidnappers actually decide to let him have the dose.

"Name, Nightwing. We don't have all day."

"-kay- I- n-name… bah- Bru-"

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Jason sags against his restraints in sheer, knee numbing relief. None other than Batman makes it in the nick of time to slug the closest bad guy straight across the jaw. The kidnappers go down hard, and immediately the rest are scrambling to figure out if they should fight or run. 

Batman doesn't give them a choice.

In a terrifying series of events every single kidnapper in the room ends up in crumpled heaps on the floor. Without a single pause, Batman stalks towards Dick. Jason doesn't have a single chance to stop him before he grabs the still full needle in Dick's arm, and rips it out before tossing it across the room. Dick goes perfectly still for a single moment, ridged like his body is desperately trying to figure out what to do. Then, he completely falls apart. 

Bruce stills as if he has no idea why Dick is reacting this way.

Jason has enough. 

"Rrs!" Jason shouts behind the tape, tugging on the shackles so hard he feels a streak of heat travel down both of his arms. Blood is dripping from his elbows by the time Bruce rushes over to Jason and picks him loose. 

The moment Jason's hands are free, he doesn't even bother to rip off the tape on his mouth. He ducks under Bruce's arms towards the disregarded syringe. Thankfully, it's not broken and it's still full. Jason wipes off the needle with the torn remains of his cape as he rushes back towards Dick.

Bruce makes a noise of both shock and questioning when Jason jams the needle into the inside Dick's elbow, pushing in the liquid until only a few drops are left. 

Dick lets out a few more sobs, but slowly relaxes, then goes completely still. It's eerie. Jason feels like he's going to be sick. 

He pulls the needle out and holds it in his shaking hand. He reaches the other to his mouth to rip off the tape, blinking tears from his eyes. Maybe from the sting of tape. Maybe from guilt. 

Either way, he looks at Bruce and holds out the syringe.

"It's not his fault," he whispers. "It's not."

"Robin…" Bruce says slowly, taking the syringe. 

"It's not… he… he tried to fight it- but they- and he-"

Bruce suddenly wraps Jason into a hug while Jason finally shatters. 

But a good kind of shatter. The kind of shatter that makes you feel like you can make a stained glass window with broken beer bottles and string. 

Dick's not okay. Jason's not okay. Neither of them are anything close to okay. 

But Bruce is here. He came, even though Jason went against his wishes and went to visit Dick. Even though Dick and Bruce are still fighting. He came. 

And it will only get better from here. Jason knows it.

[batarangsoundsdumb]

dick grayson is the kind of kid who'd pull your eyelids open to see if you're awake

bruce wayne is the type of guy who can sleep through that