#however kon is ready to throw him into the sun if he even looks at tim wrong for an instant

[mamawasatesttube]

i still think it would be funny to put jason todd, conner kent, and bart allen in a room together. dead baby heroes club except two of the participants are mostly interested in harassing the third bc he beat up their bestie that one time

[batfam-chaos]

[timkon one shot] home

home

[rating: T | 2,381 words]

Tim returns from a mission exhausted and with a new stab wound. Luckily, Kon is there to take care of him.

read on ao3!

read below:

Tim grits his teeth as he walks through the front door of the apartment that he shares with Kon. He drops his duffel bag down on the rug next to the sofa before allowing himself to finally collapse into the beautiful invention known as cushions.

Letting his head hit the back of the sofa, Tim sighs and contemplates the sharp, unwelcome pain in his ribs. In his experience, getting stabbed will cause things such as pain. Despite being well-acquainted with the sensation, it isn’t exactly pleasant.

Jason stitched the stab wound up for him in addition to giving him a handful of advil that Tim only took two of before stashing the rest in a random drawer in Jason’s apartment while his back was turned. He doesn’t like the way that painkillers make his head feel slow and warm, like it’s wrapped in a blanket of fog. After all, somebody needs to type up a report to inform the Green Lanterns that somebody in Gotham has access to illegal alien tech. Considering how Jason had been up for the past thirty-six hours for their stakeout while Tim has only been awake for the past twenty-four, the choice is obvious.

Bending over to retrieve his laptop from his duffel bag causes the wound in his side to flare with bright, searing pain like his insides are being barbecued on the surface of the sun. Tim gasps and just barely manages to yank his laptop out of the bag as his vision goes spotty.

He takes a moment to let the pain subside into angry throbbing before he opens his laptop, squinting at the sudden onslaught of bright light. Tim unlocks his laptop before pulling up an empty document so he can begin typing his report.

After entering the date and location of the stakeout, he frowns. Didn’t the arms smugglers refer to the alien tech by a particular name? Tim leans back into the couch and stares pensively up at the ceiling. What was that name? He closes his eyes as he plays back each step of busting the arms smuggling ring. There was the initial infiltration, the first time he and Jason were allowed into the warehouse, the excruciating stakeout, and they were finally able to raid the warehouse….

Sometime in the space between one thought and the next, Tim falls asleep.

“Babe,” a familiar voice whispers.

Without opening his eyes, Tim grumbles a response that means something along the lines of please let me continue to fucking sleep. Still, the voice doesn’t relent. “Babe,” it repeats. “Tim. C’mon, you’re going to be sore if you sleep on the couch.”

Tim opens his eyes and finds his boyfriend staring back at him. There’s a slight crease in his brow that means he’s concerned but not overly worried.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” Kon says with a goofy grin. “I’m just gonna move you to the bed so you can actually sleep.”

Tim grunts in assent and Kon slips his arms around him, preparing to pick him up. However, as soon as Kon’s arm presses against the newly-stitched wound on Tim’s side, Tim gasps in pain and instinctively flinches away.

Kon immediately steps back, snatching his hands back. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

Pressing a hand to his side, Tim waves Kon off. “A little. It’s fine.”

That little line in Kon’s brow deepens. “That doesn’t sound like a little.” He kneels in front of Tim, looking up at him worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not that bad, in the grand scheme of things,” Tim rasps. “I was only lightly stabbed.”

“Lightly stabbed.”

“Yeah, just a little. Didn’t even hit any organs or anything.”

Kon glances at Tim’s computer, which is sitting on the coffee table and still open. “And you were planing on working more?”

Tim shrugs. “I have to type up a report.”

“I’m going to suggest an a different idea. Are you ready?”

Raising one eyebrow, Tim gestures for Kon to proceed.

“See, I was talking to Clark the other day and he said the darndest thing,” Kon begins.

Tim can’t keep himself from snorting. “The ‘darndest thing’?”

“Yes,the darndest thing, hush. He said that humans do this absolutely wild thing, you’re never gonna believe it. It’s called sleeping in a bed,” Kon explains, raising both of his eyebrows. “I’m thinking, hey, why don’t you try it?”

“It’s funny that Clark was the one to say. I’m pretty sure that at least twenty percent of his sleep comes from napping in patches of sunlight on the floor,” Tim remarks. “Also, I do sleep in a bed.”

“When did you last sleep in a bed?” Kon counters.

Closing his eyes, Tim hums loudly. “Sorry, Tim is unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Beep.”

Laughing quietly, Kon places one warm hand on Tim’s knee and rubs circles into it with his thumb. “If I carry you over with my TTK, will you sleep in a bed?”

Tim cracks open one eye. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“...Will there be food in bed?”

“I can heat up some leftovers and bring them to you.”

At last, Tim nods and shuts both of his eyes. “Very well. Bring me to this ‘bed’ you speak of.”

Laughing, Kon stands up and easily scoops Tim up with his TTK. He’s wrapped up in a gentle pressure, but, noticeably, there’s nothing touching his injured side. Tim lets Kon lace their fingers together and lightly lead Tim by the hand as he floats him into their bedroom. The TTK gently deposits Tim on their bed and he opens his eyes as the mattress dips next to him.

“Hey,” Kon says, smiling down at him.

Tim feels himself smile. “Hi,” he replies, and then Kon leans down and kisses him.

“I missed you,” Kon murmurs against Tim’s mouth before planting another kiss on his lips. Leaning into the kiss, Tim tangles his fingers in Kon’s curls. It’s soft and warm and feels like coming home. When they finally pull away, Kon is breathless and smiling crookedly.

“I missed you too,” Tim tells him, and Kon’s smile widens.

“I’ll go reheat something for you, but I wanna check your side after you eat.”

Raising one eyebrow at Kon, Tim pokes him with his foot. “You just want to see me shirtless.”

“That too,” Kon replies, grinning.

Rolling his eyes, Tim nudges Kon with his foot again, earning a laugh as Kon stands up and heads into the kitchen. Tim closes his eyes again and drifts drowsily until Kon returns with food. Only then does Tim finally heave himself upright, wincing at the way that the motion pulls uncomfortably at his stitches.

Kon flops down in bed next to him, tossing his jacket onto the chair in the corner and scrolling through his phone as Tim eats. It looks like some kind of casserole-- one of Ma Kent’s recipes, no doubt. Tim is hungrier than he thought, so he eats quickly and lets Kon float the now-empty dish onto the nightstand.

Sitting up, Kon sets down his phone and turns to face Tim. “All right, let me take a look at your side?”

Tim nods and starts to pull off his sweater, but the motion tugs painfully at his side. He ends up with his head stuck in his sweater and his arms lost somewhere inside the sleeves. Turning to where he assumes Kon must be, Tim shoots him a despairing look through the fabric. “Help.”

“Sure thing, babe.” Giggling, Kon reaches over and carefully frees Tim’s head, then his arms, from his sweater. He tosses it onto the laundry pile in the corner before turning back to Tim. “There, I saved you from the deadly sweater.”

“You saved my life,” Tim deadpans. “However shall I repay you?”

Kon leans in and wiggles his eyebrows. “You can kiss me, you know.”

Smiling, Tim leans in and kisses Kon. “There you go. Happy?”

Kon kisses him once more before drawing away. “Very. All right, let me take a look at you.” He leans back and his eyes flash white as he activates his x-ray vision. “Well, it didn’t break any bones, so that’s good….”

Tim leans back on his hands and holds still as Kon peers at his side.

“Who did your stitches?”

“Jason. Considering the amount of sleep he’s gotten, they’re pretty good.”

“Must be the bat training. Lesson one, how to lurk ominously. Lesson two, how to stitch yourself up. Lesson three, how to punch things.”

“Actually, we didn’t learn how to do stitches on people until later. Alfred had us practice on oranges first.”

“And how did that go?”

Tim grins. “Poorly.”

Kon laughs quietly and pats Tim’s thigh. “It doesn’t look like any stitches tore. You’re right, it didn’t hit any major organs either. Congratulations, you’re still in one piece.”

Yawning, Tim slowly lays back down. “Great, that’s a dream come true.”

“You’re a dream come true, babe,” Kon replies, settling down on his side next to Tim.

Tim turns his head so he can smile at Kon. “That was a cheesy one.”

Grinning, Kon pecks him on the forehead. “I know. Hey, how sore is your side? Think it can stand some light cuddling?”

“Definitely, get over here.”

Kon wriggles closer and carefully throws his arm over Tim’s waist before pillowing his head on Tim’s shoulder. As always, it’s amazing to watch Kon curl his tall frame into a ball as he clings to Tim.

With a soft sigh, Kon nuzzles Tim’s neck. “I love you.”

Tim kisses the top of Kon’s head. “Love you too,” he murmurs.

They stay like that for a minute as Tim closes his eyes. Without opening them, he asks, “What’s the likelihood of you falling asleep on me within an hour?”

“Pretty high. I found you on the couch right after I came home from work, so I’m pretty tired and you’re a good pillow. I could conk out right here.”

Tim hums. “How was work?”

Even without looking, he can tell that Kon is making a face. “Somebody brought in this bike-- this really nasty piece of work, let me tell you-- and wanted me to fix it up. The thing is, the cost to repair it was almost as much as the bike was worth. I told the customer, hey, it’s not worth it, and he got all up in my face about it.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Tim murmurs, carding his fingers through Kon’s hair. “You were only trying to help.”

“Exactly! We ended up fixing it up anyways, but the customer was a jerk when he came to pick it up. It freakin’ sucked,” Kon grumbles into Tim’s chest. “I was just trying to be nice!”

Humming, Tim continues running his hands through Kon’s hair. Kon grows quiet and leans into his hand with a pleased sigh. For a few minutes, Tim pets his hair in silence until a familiar rumble fills the air. Smiling, Tim listens to the soothing sound of Kon’s purring and lets the sensation reverberate around his chest.

“Ah, so you’ve started the engine,” Tim remarks casually.

Without lifting his head, Kon grumbles something in reply but continues purring nonetheless.

“For the record, I still think that your purring should be measured in Konpower, not horsepower.”

Kon opens one eye and snuggles closer to Tim before closing it again. Laughing quietly, Tim kisses the top of his head before settling back onto the bed. He closes his eyes and absently pets Kon’s hair as he purrs.

“Hey, babe,” Kon murmurs when Tim is just beginning to drift. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

Tim opens his eyes. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“I mean, you’re out there doing all of the superhero stuff alongside us, but you can get injured,” Kon says softly, gazing up at Tim. After a moment, he glances away. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just on my mind because you’re hurt, and everything.”

Tim frowns. “And you’re proud of me for getting injured?”

Shaking his head, Kon’s grip around his waist momentarily tightens. “What I’m trying to say is that you put yourself in danger every time that you’re out there, and that takes guts. That’s all.”

“You can get hurt too,” he says softly. Reaching up to cup Kon’s face, Tim runs his thumb over his cheekbone and watches as Kon’s eyes flutter shut. They don’t often speak of those months when Kon was dead. It happened years ago, now, but Tim still remembers the pain of his loss like a phantom ache in his chest.

Kon inhales a shuddering breath and places his hand over Tim’s. His skin is warm like a miniature sun. “I know,” he whispers. For a moment, the room fills with silence, save for the sound of their quiet breathing. Finally, Kon says, “Still, the way that you run around throwing yourself into every fight you see… I dunno, babe. Seems pretty heroic to me.”

A smile spreads across Tim’s face. “When have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?”

Kon buries his laugh in Tim’s shoulder. “I know, I know. You’re a feral little creature with no fear of god.”

“Exactly.” Tim kisses the top of Kon’s head. “But really, I just want to do the right thing, and sometimes that involves getting into a fight or two. That’s all.”

In response, Kon pushes himself onto his elbows and kisses Tim. When he pulls away, he gently rests their foreheads together. They stay like that, just breathing each other’s air as Tim cups Kon’s face with one hand.

“I really am proud of you,” Kon says at last. “I hate seeing you get hurt, but the shit you do… damn.”

“Somebody has to do it,” Tim replies.

Kon kisses him again before settling down against his side. “You should get some sleep.”

Glancing down at his sweatpants, Tim shrugs. These will do as pajamas. Stifling a yawn, Tim wraps an arm around Kon and pulls him closer. It doesn’t take long for them to fall asleep, all wrapped up in each other. Between the sound of Kon’s soft breathing and his familiar warmth curled into Tim’s side, Tim can finally relax. He’s home.

[iphoenixrising]

No Home for Dead Birds: What’s in a Name?

Shout-out to Arkaedia and @poison-basil for helping with the naming conventions. Seriously. The struggle was REAL. I don’t want to kill the surprise, but @yangmallow was the one that gave me the last name ;)

**

**Rachel**

She very easily puts the mug down and lifts a hand to the back of Tim’s neck, her skin cool and smooth, her smile the ghost of fond.

“Muninn?” He asks, muffled where his head is buried on his arms because damn the island is just the perfect height for him to plop down on a stool and maybe take a nap. But, he wants the answer. He wants the answer from them all.

Why that name?

(Maybe so he can finally pick another?)

And turns his head enough for a fresh breath of air and to sleepily regard her as she slides on the stool next to him with her own caffeine and the smallest of smiles he can’t remember ever seeing on her face before.

“Because I am accustomed to being Raven,” she sighs a little sadly without losing that smile, and Tim makes a mental note to do some digging, find out where she was during his time out. “And Odin kept ravens Huguinn and Muninn as his Memory. I like this idea perhaps. To be the keeper of memory.”

She sips at her tea, watching him with calm, cool, and collected.

“I like it for you,” he leans up enough to grip the mug in front of him with both hands. “I like the idea, so we’re def going to go with it.”

She hums a little, “I am glad. This...choice is freeing in a way, Tim. More so than I anticipated when he informed the Justice League of our parting.”

She has his full attention and uses it strategically, “it had been coming for some time, I think. Everyone, all of us, had been growing out of their control for quite some time. Gar and I, well, we have been operating on our own outside the team for years. You are aware of this.”

He nods gently back at her, one foot idly swinging off the rung of the stool, and yes, he knew. All of them had their own baddies, their own pet projects, their own ghosts and demons.

Just like him.

What kept them together? They all knew when it was time to come back.

(And that’s what he’s doing now, isn’t he?)

Raven… Muninn gives him a sharper edge to that smile like she knows exactly what he’s thinking— and couldn’t agree more.

“It’s good,” she sips at her mug, eyes soft while he’s still bleary and unfocused, “that you have decided to join back with us.”

With a yawn, he scrubs the grit out of his eyes, “I know...I wasn’t okay for a while, but I was still moving, you know? I was getting to the part where it was all fine.”

She hums lightly, reading into his bullshit without a hitch, “like all Robins, Tim, you could have continued alone. However, unlike the others, I believe you have a potential for more,” and her graceful hand gestures around the comfortable commons room, her dark gaze coming back to rest on him pointedly.

And if he laughs a little at her blatant humanity showing through, shoving a hand through his hair with eyes only slightly wet, well, that’s just going to be a little secret between them.

**Conner**

“Belenus?”

The clone smiles at him, hands dangling between the knees of his torn jeans. It’s just them in this new reality, and those blue, blue eyes have picked up a new trick, trying to look past the surface to find something…

(The truth)

Once upon a time, his bullshit tech could throw the clone off when needed. Anymore, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be the case.

At the top of their HQ, Conner isn’t floating above the lip of the roof, stays firmly rooted beside Tim, so close their thighs could almost be touching.

“It’s—”

“Yeah. Sun God reference, but—” he shrugs, but the leftovers still Superboy are there in the tightness of his forearms (“Robin, why does Superman seem to...hate me? Have I done something against regulations?” “That’s...that’s not it, Superboy, really.” But at the time, he’d already seen how disappointing and degrading it was to the clone, to know he wasn’t wanted by his biological donor. Some things? He gets.)

“You know Clark is an asshole, Con. Don’t feel like you need to do anything.” Like give Superman the fucking satisfaction.

“When we left the Tower for good, after we found out with the Justice League did, what they’ve been doing for a while, I spent some time out in the world, like I never have before. I…” and Conner sighs, his expression changes, smooths out like the days when he’d first come alive. The blank, expressionless face was a default when he didn't’ understand something or when he felt he needed to hide.

And before his best friend says a word, tries to spit out some acceptable explanation he might have already crafted for the rest of the team rather than the truth, Tim’s hand on his wrist stops it.

(Because he’s known Conner from Day 1, and there’s no need for him to get defensive about his choice. There’s no need for him to explain one of the turning points in his life was the time he’d been badly injured and Superman had snagged his clone up in the blink of an eye and flown them both directly to the sun in hopes it would have the same healing effect. It was the first time Clark showed concern and care, it was the first time Conner had felt like he wasn’t just some abomination. The name Kon-El, the addition in the Book of the House of El came not long after it, but still. By the time they’d met him in Ma’s house on his way out, it was so far too little, too late that all he could do was this, this name.)

And Tim gets it. Really, he does. The second Bruce handed him the tunic with the R, it was the same intense rush. The first time Batman called him Robin. “Believe it or not, I understand, man. I’m completely on board. Belenus it is.”

And those eyes come back to him, absolutely familiar in every way that he has to consciously catch himself from putting a hand to the back of Con’s neck to give a familiar squeeze, from a familiar pull for the clone to let himself list into Tim’s body..

“Heh. Thanks, T. You don’t know how much that means.”

And well, considering Con is holding on to the flash drive with all the files on Project 13 from CADMUS, of which he brought out after Clark snubbed him time and time again, thumb rubbing across the thing like a security blanket, Tim can absolutely guess.

He doesn’t put that hand on the back of Conner’s neck, but he does grip the wrist tighter to just hold on.

**Garfield**

Usually it’s him hanging upside down playing electrician. Nice to see Gar pulling it out like a boss.

“Saturn?”

“Titan of time, man,” the older superhero replies from half-inside the ceiling tiles. “Do you even know how long I’ve been at this game, T?”

He laughs a little and goes back to the motherboard in his lap, getting it ready for Gar to install. “I might have heard once or twice." He doesn’t need to say the only other of them in the game since he was eight was... (Dick) that guy; both of them are already aware of the metaphorical elephant in the room. Still, Tim appreciates the consideration since, well, Gar used to worship the ground Dick walked on. It’s nice to know the shape-shifter still welcomed him back regardless.

"Rach told me it was, um, you that lead the charge against the Justice League.”

There’s a shift, a random surge of energy, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end (because, you know, meta powers), and the low pop is just a random chimpanzee hanging upside down from the ceiling tiles by the tail. He grins because seeing a monkey smirk is never not going to be entertaining.

But Gar can work better and have this little convo, Timbo, because, man, why not just talk about it.

“So, look, T,” and Gar’s deeper baritone coming out of the monkey gets his attention, “I’m in my late twenties no matter how bangin’ I look. Rach is in her, I don’t know, hundreds or something, Cassie is nineteen, Bart is who knows how old, and Con is like six or something. Anyway, the point is— we don’t need someone to task us. Especially with whatevs is their deal. B-man’s little assignments? The League’s second-hitters? Nah, thanks for not lookin’ out. Then, for the JL to tell us who we can fight with? Who we can trust? The days when they could do that are long over. I was pretty sure we had that understanding when Dick had to lay it out that we?” the monkey pauses to wave his hands in emphasis, “are autonomous. Sure, we wanna take on that fight, why not? But that was supposed to be our call, dude. We got to make the team decisions, so the crap they pulled with you? Nah, bro, not happening anymore.”

Tim goes back to the motherboard in his hands, staring down at it, taking in the justifications.

“But the fact they did it to you?” Gar goes on with a sneer as he splices two wires together, using his feet to tape and hands to connect, “that’s total bullshit. Like, straw that broke the camel’s back, ‘kay?”

Tim blinks at the monkey owlishly because, well, he really didn’t think he was Gar’s fave Robin.

“Okay,” he replies softly, looking up at the green-eyed monkey.

“Don’t get it twisted, dude. All the mentors screw up. Ollie and Roy, Clark and Con, Diana and Donna, hell, Bats and Dick. We’re human,” and Gar wags a brow as his hairy arms give a helpless motion, “or some form of it. People fuck up. But ousting you without even talking to us first? Just letting us think it was your call all along? Nope, not schway. Not schway At. All.”

With his throat oddly clogged, he zaps the motherboard one last time with his own brand of tech magic and stands to hand it up.

“I...I could understand why Dick wanted Dami to step up with the Titans,” and even saying that makes his chest go cold. “Robin has always had a place on the team. I mean...it fucking sucked, but I still got it, Gar. The way of things, you know? Robin is part of the team.”

A green brow arches, “oh? You mean all those years of Discowing leading the call was any different than you as Red Robin?”

And that moment in front of the Justice League when he’d made the same damn argument passes by, making him avert his gaze as the monkey slides the motherboard home. The connects are super easy, man. Not even any trouble.

In a swift, smooth move, the monkey jumps and twists, turning into the human as he lands it, and faces the former Robin with brows drawn and a frown marring his features.

“T-man. Dude. You know how close I am with Dick. None of that is a newsflash. He’s always going to be one of my closest bros. Years of being on a team and just being in this life together takes bonding to a whole new level. But, I’m not blind to the fact the guy can be super impulsive and seriously dramatic. All you Bats are, inherit it from the Big Guy,” Gar makes both pointer fingers cowl ears behind his head in reference. “But that time? He was wrong, Tim. I don’t know the down an’ dirty, and you don’t need to lay it out for me, but I know he seriously messed up with you all the way around.”

But it hits Tim in a belated wave, makes him stare at Gar and blink. Of all the people he thought would side with Dick (because he was strong enough to win the cowl, so of course it was his opinion on who should wear the tunic that really fucking mattered, right? Not the goddamned kid that was already in it), he was sure Gar would be right on that side of the equation.

(And he is very, very carefully not going to think about the straight-out end of their relationship—no word and no warning. Because that? Had no place in the here and now.)

The shape shifter is easy when he wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders, subtly steering them to the main doors. He ignored the furious wiping of the face and only vaguely acknowledges the husky, watery, “thanks, man. Seriously,” without being offended.

Instead, Gar just gives a little, “de nada. We’re going to do what we do best, and that, my friend, is kick ass and take names.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees with a small grin, “we do have a knack for kicking ass, right?”

“Totes,” and Gar leads him back to the Communal Floor where at least someone would be lounging around after a rigorous morning testing the lower floors. Something tells Gar a board game night will most def be on the roster.

**Cassie**

She’s cozied up in the window seat, watching the rain. The sweatshirt is an old one of Con's, big enough that her hands barely peep through the end of the sleeves, but the healing scabs on her bruised and battered knuckles make him duck his head with a smile. It's an easy thing to put the kettle on by muscle memory and hunt around in cabinets until he finds the right one.

(It's a simple, fat glass jar she'd found in one of the markets in the French Quarter. Terribly perfect for the purpose.)

It smells like spices when he opens it, the teas all neatly arranged.

The jasmine is light at it steeps, and for once he foregoes coffee to have a mug himself.

He's still in the new CEO skin, and the proposal today went far better than he could have imagined. His new line of products were going to start in R&D, then out for testing. The possibilities of growth in the next five years alone could put them higher in the Fortune 500 ratings.

Too bad for Bruce. He might have made a half-way decent CEO for Wayne Enterprises.

Crazy thing that.

But Cassie starts gently from her thoughts when he holds the mug down and fits himself across from her in the window seat, room for them both to look out at the rain and the throngs of people dancing in it.

"Ceres. I like it."

The comment is mild and unassuming, but she lays her forehead against the glass and rolls her eyes at what's becoming his usual, careful intrusions. It’s still just so…strange, seeing him like this, so subdued and grown-up from the Robin she knew, from the Tim she briefly dated when their lives were crumbling under their feet…and there was really nowhere else to go but down.

"I do too," she admits candidly, holding the mug in both palms, "I needed...something different. Wonder Girl was like a noose around my neck sometimes, you know? I'm not like Diana or even Donna."

With a quirk of his mouth, he sips at his own mug because they’ve had this conversation before. Third Robin. You know, the one not chosen, so yeah, Cassie, he gets it.

“Their powers were innate things, Tim. A part of them. When I asked Zeus for his blessing and he gave me these abilities, I thought I would feel different, be different, and… I’m not. I can’t keep doing the same thing over and over without thinking about something better. It’s not enough for me to keep fighting the same engineered plots, to put the bad guys in jail, and wake-up to do the same thing over and over and over again. There...there has to be a better way. There has to be something more than just…this.”

He smiles, reaches out and wraps one hand around his dainty ankle, his thumb moving absently over the bone while he listens.

She sighs, staring out into the mid-day, sinking deeper in the seat, “I always thought I’d be Wonder Girl until I needed to take a break from the life. But, I don’t want to stop. There’s so much more to do. Just not…in their way.”

Ceres is such a fitting name he thinks absently while he sips and rubs.

“You weren’t using all your potential,” he leads gently, laying his head back. “You had to adhere to Amazonian standards. It’s not who you are.”

“Exactly! I mean, I was wearing the uniform for long enough, Tim. I’d taken my ass-chewings, fought the good fight, I put in my time, and where did it get me? No where. And you’re right. I’m not Amazonian, so they were never really going to trust me anyway.”

His fingers sink into her ankle, grounding her from old regrets.

But Cassie sighs and sips on her tea, “it’s hilarious how we’re all like that a little, isn’t it?”

He hums and uses a thumb to rub into the arch of her foot like how he used to when it was weekends and sometimes other bad guy gatherings, making her sigh when the muscles and tendons are worked out under firm circles.

“I was the Robin that wasn’t chosen,” he starts out slowly, setting his tea aside to work with both hands. “Con was the clone in a family of last survivors of Krypton, Bart is the speedster out of line with the rest of the current Flash family, Rach is literally the only good guy in a family full of bad guys, Gar can’t go anwhere because his meta powers were the result of an accident, and you,” he glances up at her, rubbing a tender spot, “are not an Amazon. You don’t want to fight because of war. You want to fight for people.”

She huffs against the window in relief and her other foot wiggles into his lap for similar attention, “that sums it up, I think. But, it’s one of the things that keeps us together.”

“Agreed,” both thumbs work out her instep, strained from a day of wearing heels, “as much as working alone is kind of my thing at times, even considering current circumstances, I...missed you guys. It’s great to come back in a way.”

Cassie turns from the window finally and a grin slides across her face, lighting up her eyes with mirth. “Ah! Did we finally get you, Mister Detective?”

“I said I was going to stay weeks ago!”

“When you stop planning contingencies, then I’ll believe that,” and sticks her tongue out at him.

When he laughs back at her, it’s something genuine. “I’m only planning contingencies to get the team out of the building if it gets compromised, thank-you very much.”

And a few intentional strokes against the bottom of her foot has Cassie howling with laughter and beginning to helplessly flail, but Tim is completely unrepentant.

“Tim, you suck!”

The black eye he’s going to be sporting for the next few days is unequivocally worth it.

**Bart Allen**

“Vakaris. That? Sounds totally bad ass.”

Bart Allen shifts, braces his feet to pull himself out from under the husk of their old Super-Cycle and grin up at the suited CEO with motor oil still on his face.

“God of the Wind, dude. How mode is that shit?”

And even if it’s strange to be standing here, looking down a little at his former lover and still bestie, the old affections are still there, right under his skin in the muscles and sinew.

“I’d say you’ve got it about right,” Tim replies, letting his suit jacket fall down his arms. He’s already unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to take a look at the remains of their old bike. The alien AI long gone, they’re left with the usual human tech to work with.

He takes the side across from B and starts pulling out bolts and burnt-out parts, letting the movement be soothing and automatic, something he doesn’t even really have to think about.

“I know what you want to ask, T,” Bart starts softly from around the bike, “you can. Ask, I mean.”

But the question is if he really wants those answers.

“You’ve made sure the future is on a better course, what you set out to do when you came here in the beginning,” and the words get husky, Tim clearing his throat so he can be as neutral as possible. “Are you planning to... go back?”

Where he can’t see around the bike, Bart slowly lowers the wrench, braces it on his prosthetic knee. There was so much there, everything about Max and Jay and Barry and Wally. The twins and the potential disaster if he did go back to the future to stay.

(And one day, when he could talk about it without breaking down, without wanting to gnaw himself into pieces. Eventually...he’d give them the deets. All the whys behind his reasons for staying in the past. Not the Flashpoint, but all the fucking backlash Barry forgot to mention.)

“I’m not going anywhere, dude. Not back to the future anyway. It’s...better if I stay here.”

And, well, it’s Tim. He can venture a guess on the possibilities behind that statements. Really, meeting their former future selves was an eye-opening experience on what kind of bad shit could go down in the next ten years. Maybe choosing a different path was the only way to divert it, but who really knew how much of that changed? And how much had Bart seen on his journey back to the past again?

(Never using a gun again. Never.)

“Call me an asshole here, but I’m glad.” Is what comes out of his mouth instead, something stupidly soft in his old come here and let me hold you kind of way.

The pause across the bike from him, the lack of noise or movement makes his heart beat just a little faster, just a hitch—

And Bart is leaning around the tire on his hands and knees, coming far enough around to put their faces a foot apart, his eyes are dark amber, warm and inviting.

Uh-oh. (That looks makes him a little breathless, makes his heart skip just once)

“Ditto, former Boy Wonder,” and for a moment Tim just blinks and stares because if he didn’t know better (he does), by the way those eyes flicker down to his mouth, he would think Bart might—

But a slow, knowing grin just slides over the mouth he can’t help but stare at before Bart pulls back slowly and disappears back around the other side.

“Hand me the 3/18th while you’re there.”

“...yeah, here.”

“Ah! Don’t throw it! What’s wrong with you?”

“You have super speed. Are you really telling me you couldn’t have caught that?”

“…you’re an asshole, T.”

“I also answer to wise ass, in case you were wondering.”

“Filing it away as we speak, Fearless Leader.”

The light-hearted bickering eases down the pressure in his belly from that almost-could-have-been, and Tim gives the status update on the office he’s established in the Business District and temp back office hideout for just in case. Luckily, they’re in a city with enough random bolt holes for safe houses that he’s pretty much got the city and perspective surrounding area mapped out. And if they head up to the Communal Floor later, covered in grease smears and standing closer while the elevator moves, it’s just another indication how close to normal things are becoming.

How close to ready they are to finally move again.

**

The Team

“So this is an all-or-nothing kind of session?”

Tim leans back against the console in their newly completed Control Room, crosses his ankles, and regards his waiting team. “I’m saying it would probably be smart to test the system at seventy percent. Make sure it can take what we dish out.”

Bart perks up because statements like that mean playtime and everyone usually gets right on board that train. He and Cassie exchange a grin while she cracks her knuckles with enthusiasm.

"I've put it through the standard paces already," and nope, he can't help the smile cutting across his face, "but a real world battering will help in making adjustments."

Con’s arms are crossed over his chest, blue eyes bright with anticipation, “We’re down. Let’s try to break some stuff.”

“It’s sooo about time,” Gar fills in with a righteous fist pump.

“Well, why not split into two teams. Belenus and Saturn,” and each perk at the (new) names rolling off his tongue like it had been a part of them since the beginning, “team one. Vakaris and Muninn, team two. Ceres plays air support.”

Then he gets a few raised eyebrows, “join us and it can be three and three,” Con points out.

“I need to monitor the system. Besides, I can see what kind of kick-ass new moves everyone is bringing to the table.”

And it’s a good enough argument because the rest of them can’t find a flaw in his logic. “But,” he placates with a hand in the air, “I’m going out every night this week to patrol the city. All of you get to go so we can do some research on the hidey-holes and bust some criminal heads.”

Bart’s mouth doesn’t drop open, but it’s an almost thing. “You are going to let us patrol with you?” Because they’d never gotten that from Robin—any of them. The big fights, the team gatherings, never a step into the realm of the Bat. For Tim, especially; patrolling the streets is his own cathartic need to do the down-and-dirty work (where he’d been for the last year since the original Batman had come back).

Tim nods, his expression amused, “if we’re serious about doing it...differently this time, then it’s a good idea to get different techniques laid out. You know, like stealth. Not every fight is going to be super-powered bad guys, so sometimes we’re going to need to be on the down-low rather than destroying buildings. Sometimes it’s going to be in places where you can’t expose yourself, and nothing is going to teach you stealth like staying in the shadows of one of the busiest cities in the US.”

Now Con is wondering if he should go with a mask this time instead of bare face. Just another thing to figure out before their night on the town.

“All the more reason to set the machine to record the session and join us,” Rachel points out while subtly adjusting her winged cape, a little something old and something new. “So we may begin working with you, and you may observe our...kick-ass new moves up close.”

The grins and guffaws from all around make him laugh out loud and give in, “all right, all right, I’m in.” A few keystrokes and the system is set.

Even if they’re all mostly in workout clothes, pieces of suits that might someday be, it still feels like a triangle of power when he’s standing with them, staring down a hell of a lot of guns and holograms of baddies, bo right behind his left ankle, ready for the right moment to move. It’s like he never really left.

“All right, dude.” Bart is working out his hammies, holding one leg behind him, “before we get this shit started, give up the name.”

Gar’s eyes light up, “so true, V. Fearless Leader has the roster. So what’s it gonna be?”

He grins a little, pulls the bo up to stretch his shoulders out just a bit for this little sitch. The anticipation is right on his bare heels, the power breathing down his neck from the metas at his back.

“For the time being,” he watches the laser cannons minutely adjust, the room powering on, “I’m going by Erebus,” the God of Darkness. “Maybe I’ll try something else for the other side.”

“That? Is pretty kick ass.” Con muses, eyeing the line of guns and probable owfuck around them.

“Glad you’re with it,” is his reply as the bo slides down his shoulders, goes right back behind his ankle, and he straight-arms it, eyes narrowing when the machinery begins to rotate.

That familiar stance echoes, reverberates, and the metas behind him take point, facing out for whatever might come their way.

It’s the new one that replaces the old name still on the back of his tongue; it’s a new call out to gather and defend, the new name that makes them tense with time to fight. When the red of the laser sites blips over the lot of them, he sinks just a little to balance on the balls of his feet, “Varangians. Strike!”

They’re off and moving before the first shot erupts.

And it's better than the first time because back then they hadn't worked with each other, known one another, trusted. So many integral things weren't there yet. So, this?

Is everything rolled up and hand-fucking-delivered.

Because they do break the system.

And it's the best power-down he's ever been in.

**

The Child

“Ah, there, there, precious one,” the deep voice coos.

The child in the bassinette calms, her eyes a stunning blue-violet just like her other father, picks out the silhouette in the shadows. Her whimpers ease into happy, gurgling sounds.

“My sweet is ready to play,” and he reaches down to lift her with unerring care, to pull her against the green robes she will one day inherit.

His beautiful, perfect heir.

Her noises follow them down the fire-lit corridors, past training rooms, through a busily working command center coordinating efforts around the globe.

“And one day,” he continues to her as they enter the throne room where her caretakers wait and his seconds have updates on their progression, “all of this will be at your disposal. And no one will be able to stop you, yes, my little Robin? One day, you shall rule the world.”

[dickie-gayson]

SHENANIGANS

DUKE VS THE SUN AND DICK’S HAREM OF OLDER MEN

Summary: After a rough night on patrol, Duke just wants the sun to go away. In trying to do so, he manages to drive Dick up the wall about his harem of older men.

Otherwise known as: In which Duke is too stubborn to just move his seat and Dick is in serious denial.

Characters: Duke Thomas, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Luke Fox, Stephanie Brown, Harper Row

Genre: Family, Humor

Length: 4k+

Other: Just a funny, nonsense fic (that was only supposed to be like 1k wtf) i tried to give everyone speaking parts w./o making it too confusing. Dialogue Heavy.

Find It On: Ao3 Fanfiction 

All was quiet in Wayne Manor as the sun sat high in the sky. Such a thing was not odd for the mostly nocturnal family. Today, however, was a special occasion. The previous night's patrol had been somewhat strenuous for the patrolling bats and birds, and as such, they were given a day to unwind and recover from the fatigue. Naturally, after crashing for a few hours, the members started to slowly rise and shuffle about, none-too-happy about being conscious, but alas, they were never known to maintain a healthy sleep schedule. There was always something more important to be done, even on a 'day off'. A day off in the Batfamily was really just another way of saying 'paperwork and investigation day'.

Duke slumped at the absurdly long dinner table with a loud, beleaguered groan, as if the sheer act of being conscious was a great torment of some form. Slowly, deep brown eyes rose and squinted at the window that let sunshine wash across the room. It almost looked as if the force of his glare alone could close the curtains. There was a soul-deep hatred one could only get after being put through hell and having to stave off the sweet embrace of slumber for more work. That, or being so incredibly hung-over and being forced to attend a third-graders school concert. It was almost impressive, really, how much it seemed that the sun itself personally offended him.

Another person walked into the dining room, loudly munching on their choice of breakfast (and wouldn't you know that's the only sound they made?). Duke was still getting used to living in a house full of goddamn ninjas. He purposefully ignored the person as they drew closer, in no mood to converse. Really, all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep off the rough night he had. That, and throw the sun in the fucking trash because nothing had the right to be that bright and cheery when he felt like he went twenty rounds with Troia.

His attempts to ignore the person were rendered useless as yet another person entered the room and he just knew shit was going to go down. No more than two (2) Bats can be in a room together without some sort of catastrophe going on. It's like a scientific law at this point. He let out another melodramatic sigh and let his head drop to the table with a 'thud'. Then, he winced and groaned again as his headache increased just a bit from the unnecessary abuse.

"Aww, what's wrong baby bird? Long night?"

That soul-penetrating glare was leveled to the owner of the teasing, baby voice. An amused smirk is what met his eyes. Of course, it'd be Jason ready to fuck with him. He was pretty sure the oldest Batkids didn't sleep. Ever. And that they had some unnatural ability to bounce back from the worst situations like goddamn bouncy balls. Duke wasn't fully convinced they weren't secret metahumans. Just last week he caught Tim trying hang-glide with one broken arm so he could meet up with Kon at four in the morning for waffles or some equally dumb shit. And then there was the time Dick walked out of an exploding building while he was on fire and just laughed about it. Duke was almost positive there was some amount of mental trauma at the very least, given all their head and non-physical injuries.

"What is wrong with all of you?"

There was no true venom behind the words; just the understandable irritation of a kid who got clotheslined by some ugly dude in an even uglier suit at two in the morning. Jason just laughed and Dick chuckled around his spoon of probably overly sugary cereal. Great, he had the two oldest to deal with. He could already feel his desire to leap out the window rising. At least he wasn't going to get beat up by a thirteen-year-old again, that's a plus.

"Before or after the Crowbar Incident? You want a list? I bet I have more problems than Dickhead."

At that, Dick gave a derogative snort and flicked some of his cereal at Jason, who dodged it. The bit managed to hit Duke in the forehead and his glare just narrowed just a bit more at the older vigilantes. Jason pointed and laughed as the piece slowly slid and plopped onto Duke's lap.

"I'm going to go out and spit on your grave."

The oldest hero laughed loudly at Duke's irritation. He had to put his bowl on the table and steady himself at the affronted look plastered on the formerly dead man's face.

"Wow, Duke, tell me how you really feel."

It was still odd, adjusting to joking about some of them having died before. But, as he learned over time, they loved bringing it up in every situation. Mostly Jason, if he were being honest. Duke was still too scared to bring it up to Cass and Damian. Cass was too nice and also fucking scary, and Damian already beat the ever-loving hell out of him once. He did not want a repeat, thanks.

The cloud formerly hiding the sun for just a bit finally passed and Duke was, once more, hit full force with the rays of the sun. His look of intense hatred was once more turned to the offending light. Without turning his angered stare from the window, he spoke up.

"Dick, call your leather daddy."

He didn't need to turn to know the eldest just choked on his food and was trying to hack it up from the wrong tube. Jason, meanwhile, was absolutely dying. Duke shifted to glance at the two. The younger of the two ex-Robins had one hand on his knee and was pointing at Dick with his free hand, laughing obnoxiously. Meanwhile, the older was glaring, face red from just having choked on Crocky Crunch.

"Shut up, Jason. And what do you mean 'leather daddy'. I don't have a leather daddy."

Just to irritate him, Jason laughed louder. The laughter seemed to have drawn others in, because Tim slipped in, looking just shy of actually dead. Behind him was Cass, looking graceful as ever. How she did it, he'd never know. Tim looked at the scene with mild suspicion, not that Duke could blame him. There was always a fifty-fifty shot that someone laughing at another member was bad. Cass just looked entertained. Her ability to read a situation so quickly was as unnerving as it was awesome.

"Why does Jason look like he's about to pass out? Did they break out the mullet pictures again?"

Dick turned his glare to Tim.

"Not you too! There were no mullet pictures this time! Jason's laughing because he's dumb."

Jason wiped a pretend tear as he straightened up slightly.

"Wrong, Dickface. I'm laughing because Duke is my new favorite brother."

Duke just looked at him with mild confusion. Tim seemed to mirror his look, though there was a bit more skepticism. Sometimes Duke still marveled at just how much like Bruce the other was. Did they teach 'paranoia' classes here or something? Was it like a required trait when being adopted by the big bad Bat? You had to be at least level 5 in either Paranoia, Nerd, or Athlete to join their cosplay group. Dick was staring at Jason as if just said the Riddler was the new fashion icon.

"That makes no sense Jason, but no surprise here. Also, why is he your favorite? He threatened to spit on your grave!"

Jason just raises an eyebrow in response. Duke wished he could do that.

"Yeah? And he didn't wear a rainbow polka-dot shirt with high-waisted jeans and dad loafers. Not to mention you had The Mullet at the time."

Duke couldn't help but let out the disgusted sound at the mental imagery. Tim visibly shuttered and even Cass looked at Dick with something akin to mild horror. Dick just put his head in his hands.

"Why? Why am I stuck with you all? Where's Damian, I need someone in my corner."

The words basically fell on deaf ears as Duke was still marveling over the atrocious mess that was Dick Grayson's fashion choices. How the man got voted the Most Eligible Bachelor and posted up as a part-time model when he was strapped for cash, Duke would never know. You could tell he grew up in a circus from the way he dressed. Not that Duke would ever say that because it felt like a really douche thing to say and he didn't want to get suplexed by the eldest. If he didn't stand a chance against Damian, he would get demolished by Dick. The guy had more fighting experience than most heroes in the business. So, for that, he could forgive his fashion crimes. But that didn't mean he forgot what he's been trying to get Dick to do before everyone derailed the conversation. Duke snapped his fingers for attention.

"Hello? Leather daddy? Call him."

Jason started to chuckle all over again, and Tim let out a startled sort of laugh, caught off-guard by the words. Dick let out an aggravated breath. Duke could see Cass laughing silently behind her hand as she watched the idiocy unfold.

"For the last time Duke, I do NOT have a leather daddy! And why do you need Midnighter, anyway?'

Everyone went dead quiet for a moment before Jason roared with laughter, almost on the floor at this point. Even Tim was having trouble remaining standing. He needed to lean on Cass to stay upright. He wheezed out between laughs.

"Oh my god, Dick. You just- He never said it was Midnighter."

Dick's face turned an interesting deep crimson, which was still frustratingly handsome. Duke didn't think it was fair, really. When he got embarrassed, he looked something like a frightened chipmunk.

"I...Uh...He's the only one I hang out with that wears leather and you guys tease me about."

Now, Duke was no expert or anything, but he was pretty sure if Jason didn't start breathing soon, he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. Being that he was too indisposed to speak, Tim had the honors of filling in for him in the 'irritate Dick Grayson' category.

"Bullshit, we keep a list."

Somewhere between the stunned look on the veteran hero's face and the surprising snort of laughter that came from Cass, Luke entered the fray. He looked around the group warily. Good instincts. While Luke was busy eating his apple and surveying the scene, Dick managed to recompose himself. He narrowed his bright eyes in distrust.

"A list?"

After a noisy bite, Luke spoke up, not content with being left out of the loop.

"A list of what?"

From somewhere near the floor, Jason managed to choke out between panting breaths.

"Dick's sugar daddies."

"Ahh, that list. You add Raptor to it yet?"

Duke slammed his hands down on the table, catching their undivided attention. The sun was hitting him just right and it was annoying as all hell. He wondered if he could convince Superman to move the sun. Or the manor. He wasn't picky.

"Focus! I'm the one with the issue here! Call up your scary leather boyfriend and tell him to bring his boyfriend here."

Dick's gaze only grew more suspicious as he eyed up Duke.

"Why do you need Apollo?"

Tim snorted and faux-whispered to Steph, who had shown up with Harper and Barbara in the time that Duke was ranting.

"He didn't even try to deny being Midnighter's other boyfriend."

If one looked closely, they could almost see a vein in Dick's head throbbing like some sort of cartoon.

"Shut. up."

Duke, in a show of almost supernatural willpower, managed to ignore them and press on with his own devastating issues. Really, they should be paying full attention to his issue. He was the new kid and this was serious.

"I need Apollo here...so I can punch him."

His voice had been so calm and serious that it actually garnered incredulous stares. Dick had to take a moment to himself out of surprise. Luke just looked at Duke with something close to disbelief.

"Wha- Why do you want to punch Apollo? You've never met him. Also, he's super-powered, my dude."

Duke gave a flat, dead-serious stare.

"I know, I don't care. I want to punch him."

This time, it was Harper who piped up.

"But why?"

"Well, I can't feasibly go outside and punch the sun, now can I?"

Dick finally seemed to recollect himself, because he took back the reigns of the conversation.

"You...want me to call Midnighter."

"Yes."

"So he can bring Apollo."

"Yep."

"So you can punch Apollo."

"Correct."

"Because you can't punch the sun?"

"You got it."

There was another beat of silence. Then, Dick decided to break it with possibly the most somber voice Duke's ever heard come from the man.

"...Duke, what, and I mean this as nicely as possible, the fuck?"

"Listen, it makes perfect sense. Back me up, Tim. You're the smart one here. I can't fight the sun, but I can fight the guy who is based on the Sun God."

It looked as if Tim was actually debating the merits of the plan when Damian spoke up. The newest addition to the batclan nearly had a goddamn heart attack because he had not seen or heard Damian come in. He eyed up the smaller boy warily.

"Wrong. You can get decimated by the guy who is based on a Sun God. Because that is exactly what will happen if you attempt to fight him, Thomas."

"Hey, all I need is one hit and I'll feel better."

At the disparaging scoff that came from Luke, Duke shot him a Look. It wasn't quite to the Bat-level yet, but he was working on it. Hey, he was pretty proud of his Look so far. It scared a few of the baddies. He'll get there one day. At the moment, however, Luke just gave him a smirk back and spoke.

"Man, you'll feel a helluva lot worse, I bet. Not only would you be fighting a superhuman, but the superhuman's angry superhuman boyfriend."

Steph piped in with a look of exaggerated and obviously fake confusion on her face.

"Dick isn't a superhuman, though."

Dick let out a frustrated growl, clearly having fallen for the bait. Steph just smiled in satisfaction.

"He meant Midnighter! I am not dating Apollo!"

"Right, you're just dating M. Who's dating Apollo."

"For fuck's sake. I'm not dating either of them!"

If Dick got any more aggravated, Duke was betting his hair would either start turning white or just fall right out. He was mentally betting on falling out. A Luthor-style Dick would be hilarious. Meanwhile, Harper figured now would be a good time to join in on the 'irritate the oldest' bonding moment they were having.

"Yeah, he's clearly dating that one angry dude who worked with him when he was a super spy or some shit."

Babs gave an entertained look to Harper at the words. She seemed to be having the time of her life messing with her ex. The look in her eyes made Duke mentally remind himself not to piss her off anytime soon.

"You mean Tiger?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"NO I'M NOT!"

He had to idly wonder where Bruce and Alfred were. They were being obnoxiously loud for being bats. Dick looked like his head was going to pop, either from aggravation or embarrassment, and the rest were having a blast. 'Nothing like family bonding over dragging a sibling.' Jason finally seemed to come out of his laughter-induced coma.

"Duh, if Dickie were smashing anyone, it'd be Constantine."

The look of sheer incredulity on Dick's face was priceless. Duke would admit this one threw him for a loop. He's heard of the tricky magic-user who sold his soul however many times. But, he's never heard of the Brit liking Dick. Not that it'd be a surprise. Duke could probably throw a rock in any direction and hit someone who wanted to bone the original Robin.

"What the hell? John Constantine? Where did that even come from?!"

Jason just gave him a serious, flat look.

"He totally has the hots for you."

Babs gave a sage nod, as if nothing truer had ever been spoken. Even Luke gave a sound of agreement. Dick couldn't help but look at them in surprise.

"No, he does not. Where did you hear that?"

"I heard it from Kyle who heard it from Simon. Apparently, during a meeting of some form where he was with John, John wouldn't stop talking 'bout how much of a beefcake you are."

"Oh my God, just end my life already. For real this time."

Tim snapped his fingers, as if remembering something.

"Oh yeah! I heard about that! It was the talk of the Watchtower for a bit there."

At this point, Dick had his head in his hands once more and looked ready to resign from life in general.

"I hate you. I hate you all."

Duke cleared his throat and waved his arms to garner their attention.

"Guys, we're getting off track. We can talk about Dick's Harem of Older Men later. I have a sun to punch."

"I do NOT have a Harem of Older Men! Where do you guys get this information?!"

The joined 'siblings' shared a look. The fact that this might have been discussed before left a look of true horror on the first Boy Wonder's face. Duke apparently hadn't been around long enough to enjoy these sessions. He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or disappointed about that fact. Cass started ticking off sources, much to Dick's shock.

"Other heroes. Villains. Oracle. Watching you and enemies. Very obvious."

Babs looked from her successor to Dick with a growing look of amusement.

"They're not wrong. We're keeping a tally on who's in the Dick Grayson Older Men Fan Club. Fifty bucks say you get a new member in the next two months."

"There is no fan club."

Tim shook his head, as if saddened that Dick couldn't accept the obvious. Steph was having a ball needling Dick.

"There totally is. Slade's the president, M's the treasurer, Thomas Wayne Jr. is the VP, Constan-'

At that, Duke shot the blonde a look of confusion. He was still going through the list of criminal profiles and hadn't made it to that name yet. It was the fact that he recognized the name Thomas Wayne as Bruce's father that caught his attention.

"Wait, Thomas Wayne Jr.? Who the hell is that?"

Steph, as if realizing that not everyone gathered witnessed whatever fuckery brought the man around, took pity on Duke and explained just a little.

"Oh, Bruce's older brother from an alternate universe or some shit. Evil. Totally has a hard on for Dick, anyway-'

"That's so fucked up, man."

He marveled yet again over the sheer level of absurdity this family went through on a near daily basis. And he willingly submerged himself into it. Great.

"GUYS! SHUT UP! THERE IS NO HAREM OR FAN CLUB.-'

"I think we established that there is."

'-SLADE IS DEFINITELY NOT THE PRESIDENT-'

"Oh, please, he liked invented your fan club."

'-AND BRUCE'S BROTHER DOESN'T HAVE THE HOTS FOR ME."

"Yeah, cus just anyone goes to an alternate universe to stalk the alternate version of their old partner and kidnap them to keep them."

"That is NOT what went down."

"Suuuuure."

Duke really didn't want to think about ANY of that for more than three seconds, because honestly, what the in the fresh hell. How is Dick alive with that many crazy creeps after him? If it were Duke, he probably would have just hung up the tights and called it a day. He does not need whacked out assassins after his ass, no thanks. Shaking his head, as if it'd rid him of disturbing images of way-too-tight suits and creepy old men, he spoke up. Duke still hasn't gotten to punch the overly cheerful ball in the sky or its metahuman counterpart. This is unbelievable. Bats got shit done except when he needed to beat someone up.

"DICK. Bring your boyfriend's boyfriend here! I need to hit him! This shit is too bright. Gotham ain't ever this bright, what the fuck."

"Oh, for the love of- Duke, if you want to hit someone, go punch Jason."

At that moment, Damian shoved his way to the front and center of Dick's view. There was a look of disgust and irritation scrunched up on his otherwise adorable features. Duke subtly (or tried to be subtle) scooted back from the duo. That look meant he was unhappy. And if it was involving his precious oldest brother/father-figure, Duke was not getting in the middle of that. He wasn't suicidal, despite what his late-night activities might suggest.

"Grayson, we need to discuss this harem of older men dedicated to you."

Dick took a deep breath and tried to appear calm for the youngest of the family. He gave the boy a patient look that only came with years of practice.

"Damian, there is no harem, they're being dumb."

Clearly, that wasn't the answer the young hero was looking for. He gave one of his infamous little tongue clicks and rolled his eyes.

"That isn't new knowledge. However, I have seen and heard things that would coincide with their stories. I do not approve."

Just like that, Dick's calm facade shattered. Honestly, he was impressed it held for even half of the sentence.

"I swear to god, there is no harem. There isn't even a fan club. None that I've heard of, at any rate."

Damian merely gave a contemplative hum. There was that look in his eyes. You know, the look of a Bat who just became obsessed with a case. It was almost worrying because Duke was positive the kid was going to take this way too seriously.

"I need find this 'fan club' and dismantle it before they attempt anything."

Jason was practically vibrating in his seat in an attempt to hold in his raucous laughter. This was clearly the best day he's had in a while.

"That's right, baby bat! Go get 'em! They're out to steal our precious big bird."

Dick shot him the patented 'Batglare', though years of exposure lessened the effects to the smartass vigilante.

"Do NOT encourage him, Jason."

It was obvious Jason heard him, but he pretended not to and merely kept his attention solely on the youngest Robin. Tim, seeing this as a wondrous and golden opportunity to fuck with Damian, pitched in his two-cents.

"In fact, I think you should join the fan club. Work your way up the ranks, like a sort of double agent, and then bring them all down."

"Hmm...this plan has merit, even if it's coming from Drake."

"Thanks, Dami."

Jason scoffed from his position against the table.

"He only wants to join for the t-shirt."

"Tt, no. If I wanted any Grayson merchandise, I could simply go to the dollar store and buy something. I need to ensure that these...miscreants have nothing nefarious planned. Grayson often leaves himself open in such stupid ways around them."

"Excuse me? I do not. And for the last damn time...you know what? Never mind, have fun trying to find this imaginary club. And you,-'

He pointed directly at Duke, the one who started this whole thing. Duke just gave him a squinted look, still waiting for him to call Midnighter for him.

'have fun trying to fist fight something that would destroy your ass. I'm out."

With that, the eldest stalked out of the room, having hit his quota for irritation and insults for the day. Though, Luke managed to slip one more in before he was out of hearing range.

"Try not to pick up any more older men while you're out!"

"FUCK OFF!"

There was a moment of silence in which they all just kind of reveled in the shared amusement. Then, Duke turned his squint to Tim as the sun still burned his retinas.

"Hey Tim, you think you can call Superboy?"