#i have this meeting for a presentation i have not even. Touched . tomorrow. blegh

[egoarc4de]

avoiding my uni work... making a little post ... so that im not just sitting in executive dysfunction purgatory

[cheeriecherry]

Birds Of A Feather [4/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: some swearing, a kiss

Part 4/7

By the end of the week, you’re walking into Hawks’ penthouse with nothing but a duffel bag of clothes. Most of your stuff had been moved to storage, but you’d told him you’d bring your own sheets, blankets, and pillows for the couch. He’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

He’d then gone on a tangent about how he had guest rooms, obviously, and how his sheets would be softer than yours. He’s probably not wrong, with his 1200 thread count egyptian cotton, but the way he says it ruffles you a bit. You don’t mention it, though. You don’t want to give him any kind of reason to kick you out.

“Hey chickadee, you gonna stand in the entrance all night, or are you gonna come in?”

You snap out of your stupor when Hawks calls to you, and continue lugging your things through the door.

The inside of the penthouse is beautiful; tastefully decorated (probably professionally), and it’s spacious rough that you could spread your wings out fully. The doorways are wider than average, likely catering to your boss’ specific needs. The entire place is gorgeous, immaculate even, and any person in their right mind would kill to live here.

You kind of detest it.

“I had some people come in this afternoon and set up the guest suite for you,” he says, kicking off his boots and flopping onto the couch. “They also brought some of your uniforms in from the agency, so you can change here. You won’t have to go in so early.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and you mean it. Personal opinions aside, he’s let you into his home out of kindness. You’ll not soon disrespect that.

“Ah, you’re standing and staring again. Are you that impressed with the place?”

You snap back to attention for a second time, and hike your bag further up your shoulder. “I-it’s not that!” you try to explain, “I was just expecting something...different?”

Hawks sits up on the couch. “Whadya mean?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “More lived in, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful here, especially the balcony, but it’s also very...what’s the word…”

“Mature and charming?” he tries, but you shake your head.

He offers a few more suggestions, things like ‘perfect’ and ‘homey’ and ‘colourful’, each word hitting further and further from your mark.

Then it comes to you. “Monotone and sterile!” you nearly shout, your success momentarily quieting your desire to be polite. “It’s like it’s fresh out of a magazine, or a model home. Don’t take it the wrong way, Boss, I’m not hating on your tastes, but if I’m gonna be staying here indefinitely, I’m gonna have to add some personal touches.” You remember your manners. “If that’s okay…”

You worry that you may have offended him, with the way he’s looking at you, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling.

“Finally,” he sighs, “someone who speaks their damn mind.”

“Eh?”

“Do you know how many of the people I’ve invited here tell me ‘how beautiful’ it is?” He adjusts his wings and settles comfortably back into the couch. “All of them. Every single one. And look, I’m grateful that I’ve got this place, but it’s just a house. No sentimentality, no memories...just a space.”

“Well...it’s polite to not insult someone’s home when they invite you over…” you mumble, the severity of your outburst making your face heat up.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe they’re all schmoozing and hoping to get on my good side.”

The bitterness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you decide to leave it be. He should be free to be himself in his own home, and not have to put up any kind of front. You hoped he’d supply you the same courtesy, when you inevitably would wake up on the wrong side of the bed some mornings.

“Anyways,” he flips the TV on and tosses the remote to the side, “it’s late. You should probably unpack your stuff before you’re too tired.”

“Yeah…” you realize how wiped out you are as the weariness starts to settle in. “I’ve got tomorrow off though, so...if I wake up on time, I’ll bring you curry.”

You can hear him cheering as you walk down the hall to the guest room, and you smile. You’ll never understand his love for chicken, even though his enthusiasm boosted your confidence.

The room is spacious and airy, and has a beautiful view of the city. The bed itself is probably big enough to hold three people, and you’re silently grateful that your wings won’t be hanging on the floor while you sleep anymore. 

You set your bag down by the door, and flop face first onto the mattress. God, it was the most plush thing you’d ever had the pleasure to lay on.

“I’ll unpack tomorrow,” you mumble, sinking further into the sheets and, eventually, sleep.

In the distance, you hear Hawks snoring.

----

You wake up the next day to sunlight hitting your face. It’s bright, and annoying, and too warm, and your bed really wants you to keep sleeping but you don’t think you can.

You sit up.

You can feel that your hair is a disheveled mess, and your tongue feels gummy and sour.

“Blegh.”

You (regrettably) roll out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to fix your morning vibes, checking the time along the way. Ten is later than you would have liked to wake up, but you suppose you really needed the sleep. And you did, surprisingly, feel more rested than you had in months.

It’s ten thirty by the time you’re done in the washroom, overall energy more put together and presentable, and you waste no time heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen which is...painfully under-stocked. A couple of condiments and wilting vegetables in the fridge...some frozen meat in the freezer...a bag of rice under the sink, for some reason, and...a completely full spice rack, every bottle unopened.

You knew your boss didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but this was just sad. 

You make a mental note to go shopping later.

Thankfully he seems to have the necessary ingredients for chicken curry, which you’re happy about. It means you won’t have to brave the store just yet.

Bit by bit, you pull out what you need in order to cook, only sitting down when you have a moment to spare as the rice cooks.

‘Hey Boss, I’m making curry for lunch. Want me to bring you some?’

You send him a text. It’s still fairly early, and you know he has his meetings in the morning, so you doubt that he’ll get back to you before-

Your phone buzzes.

‘Chickadee, you sure know the way to my heart. I’ll leave my office window open.’

You send him a thumbs up emoji.

----

Once the food is finished, you pack it up into two containers, opting to leave the rest in the pot for now. You made lots, enough to get several meals out of it, just in case Hawks pulled his ‘too busy to cook’ excuse when trying to convince you to order take-out.

It doesn’t take long to fly to the agency, the skies much clearer than the roads. The city itself seems relatively calm, no sounds of explosions or screaming. There is a distant plume of dark smoke on the horizon, though…

But there were other heroes in the area. You wouldn’t be missed if you didn’t show up for one disaster...right?

But then you land in the window of your boss’ office, and your worry spikes. The room is empty, door closed, lights off, paperwork strewn about on the desk...like he’d run off in a hurry.

You pull your phone out and send him a text.

‘Lemme know if something came up. I brought lunch, but I can put it away for later. Stay safe!

-Chickadee’

He doesn’t reply, but that’s expected if he’s dealing with some kind of crisis. Maybe you should have headed to whatever disaster you’d seen earlier...if it was bad enough to call on your boss, it must be a pretty dire situation. Maybe he could use an extra pair of wings?

You sigh and take a seat beside the window, staring out at the city skyline. The black smoke across the way has turned to a dusty grey colour, a much less threatening hue, and one that bode well for any possible fires.

He’ll be fine, you decide, with other heroes undoubtedly on the scene. By the time you’d get there, whatever was happening would be dealt with.

You pull out your phone to scroll through the news while you eat.

Nothing urgent appears on the screen, nothing to incline that you were needed somewhere, nothing to say extra help was needed. Just day-old stories, gossip columns, the occasional media review. You do startle a little when a new article pops up that’s focused around your boss. You click on it, expecting to see some kind of haggard scene...but you only laugh.

“Hawks, most eligible bachelor in Japan, off the market?” You scroll further into the article to see what kind of nonsense the reporters have come up with this time.

What you don’t expect, is to find pictures of yourself littering the page. Pictures of you and Hawks together. On patrol, talking over lunch at a cafe he took you to one time, walking into his agency side by side, and -most recently- the two of you landing on his balcony.

You’re slightly panicked, and very, very flustered. Had he seen the column? God, he was probably used to it, though, being as popular as he was. All he had to do was look at someone and the media would start crying wolf, which in your opinion, was stupid.

Still, the more you read the article, the more you find it has some good points. You two did spend a lot of time together, more than he did with any of his other friends. But that’s all you are. Friends. Friends, and completely platonic roommates.

You weren’t sure why that made your heart sink so much.

So you copied the link to the article and sent it to him, typing a quick ‘lol’ afterwards. At the very least, he might get a laugh out of it.

----

You finish eating in record time, scarfing down a portion and a half of curry. It was lonely, sitting in Hawks’ office by yourself. You wondered if he ever felt like that when he was up here on his own. He was too busy for most things, too fast for his own good. Did that include friendships? He made time for you when he could, but you understood the busy and demanding life of a hero...other people might not.

You...understood.

The dull ache that you’ve felt in your chest for the past year returns, suddenly. The sadness and grief, the emptiness and all-encompassing tiredness, the big overhanging question of ‘what’s even the point?’. The point of being a hero, the point of suffering for the people who love you and hate you and who don’t even know you.

“Shit,” you sigh, your head and shoulders hanging low, wing dragging against the floor.

Hawks had brightened your life up so much these last few months. He’d brought the smile back to your face, the joy back to flying. You missed him when he was gone, worried for him when he was off on missions, fuck, you even cooked him lunch of your day off just so you could spend time together.

You were head over heels for him, and so totally screwed.

----

Hawks doesn’t return home until late that night. Far past your usual bedtime, but you’re far too distressed to sleep. If you hadn’t had your earlier revelation, you’d have chalked it up to ‘being worried’. But now?

Now that you knew you had feelings for him, all your thoughts were clouded. You were concerned because you liked him. You hung out with him because you liked him. Everything was because you liked him!

It was fucking with you a bit.

“What are you still doing up?” his voice sounds from the front entryway, startling you bad enough that you almost fall off the couch.

Your wide eyes snap to him, immediately taking him in. He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure. His uniform is singed in places, and you’re pretty sure the scuff on his neck is a burn. Most notably are his wings. Or lack thereof. 

Featherless red nubs is a more accurate description.

“You look like shit,” you say, keeping the air about you casual.

He makes his way over to you and finds a seat on the couch adjacent, wincing as he sits a little too quickly.

“Thanks, chickadee. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Your face heats up. “I-I just mean! Long day?”

He groans, letting his head fall back against the cushions. You’re vaguely aware that he’s started talking, but the only thing you can pay attention to is the narrow column of his exposed throat, and how badly you wanted to lean over and press your lips against it.

You snap out of your daze when he nudges you with his foot.

“I feel like I’m talking to a wall,” you quips, devoid of any malice.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “what were you saying?”

“I was saying that we should hang out now that I’ve got a few days off. Kick our feet up, instead of culminating in a stuffy office.”

You shake your head. “As much as I’d love to, I still have work. Remember? I was already off today, I can’t miss more days.”

He whines, looking at you with sad puppy eyes. “It’ll be boring here by myself. You make the day more fun.”

“Hawks, I can’t-”

“Keigo.”

You perk up. “Huh?”

He rearranges himself on the couch so he can look at you more comfortably. “My name is Takami Keigo. Call me Keigo when it’s just us, okay?”

You consider it. “Why not Takami? That’s polite here, right? To use the surname?”

He nods. “Unless you’re close with the person. Family, good friends, the like.”

Your wings puff up, fully betraying the fact that you’re pleased he considers you a ‘good friend’. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and a teasing grin spreads across Haw-Keigo’s face.

“See? You waaaaant to. Say it with me: Kei-”

“Keigo.”

You don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge pink.

“You got it. And now, since we’re on a first name basis, I’m asking you to take a few days off to hang out with me.”

You’re exasperated.

“C’mon chickadee.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?”

“No!”

“Y/N…”

“No, Keigo.”

“Alright then. Now, as your boss, I’m officially giving you three days off.”

“You can’t just do that!”

“I can!”

“Hawks!”

“Keigo.”

“Sorry. Keigo!”

His expression is cheeky as you go back and forth for a while, and he’s unrelenting even as you gently beat him with a couch pillow.

It eventually morphs into a small war, the two of you chasing each other around the apartment, wielding whatever cushions you can get your hands on. You eventually end up tripping over the coffee table, shouting as you smack your foot and fall into an ungraceful heap on your back. Keigo wastes no time pouncing on you and pinning your arms beside your head.

Your wings are splayed out on either side of you, and he’s careful not to kneel on them. Even with your foot throbbing the way it is, he knows you could easily get away if you tried. But you don’t struggle. Instead you lay there quietly, out of breath, eyes locked on his. He can feel the warmth creeping up his neck, and you can see the redness returning to his cheeks.

“I...saw the article you sent to me today,” he begins, voice low. “I’m sorry they brought you into it.”

“I don’t mind,” you admit, “I just worry it might be detrimental to you. Some of your fans will be pissed.”

“Seriously?” He sits up on your chest, releasing your wrists. “You’re not online much, are you. Most of my fans ship us.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He laughs, soft of melodious. “It means that they like the idea of us. As a couple.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” you wonder.

“No? Why would it?”

You avert your gaze from him, your insecurities and doubts creeping in under the scrutiny of his golden eyes. “I...guess you could just...do better, is all.”

“Chickadee...Y/N, look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. You feel very exposed laid out on the carpet, and you wish you’d never said anything.

A warm hand cups your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your heart is beating rapidly against your ribcage, and you’re positive he can see your embarrassment when you finally do as he asks.

But he only smiles gently at you, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours.

“Listen to me, and listen well. You’re the best I can do. You bring out everything good in me, and make me forget the bad. You make me happy.”

“Keigo-”

He shushes you by bringing your lips together.

[miss-choco-chips]

Miraculous Ladybug Au part 1

For @iphoenixrising who I think might like the idea. Thanks for always giving me confidence hon. I hope this cheers you up a lil bit.

Where Dick is guilty for wanting what he wants, Jason is confused about who he wants, and Tim just wants to sleep.

<<-Hey, Tim, check this out! You missed big time! That’ll show you not to go on vacation without me to keep you in touch with the real, exciting world.

-Uh?

-Someone on Instagram just posted a twenty seconds clip of Robin doing something.

-People are always posting about the bats. How is this news, Steph?

-Shh, I’m getting there. Look at this. This Robin is waaay too short. It’s not the one we’ve had for the last three years.

-... and? There were two different Robins before him, maybe he just outgrew it or something.

-But, where is he? The others came back, with new names and powers, they… they didn’t left us.

-Maybe it’s just taking him some time, to decide who is he going to be now.

-...Yeah, maybe. He saved me and my daughter once, you know. Took one hell of a blow for us. Wherever he is, I hope he’s doing okay, and gets himself on track quickly. The city needs him.

-I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment. And… I hope that, too.>>

Now...

He tumbled through the open window, face planting into his bed, the transformation letting up even before his forehead was properly buried in the pillow. His muscles practically melting against his Nightwing comforter (birthday present from Dick, oh the irony), the scent of smoke still clinging to it from the last time the boys dropped in for a impromptu visit (nearly scaring the bejesus out of him when he heard their voices and footsteps climbing up the stairs to his bedroom while he still was in the suit, holy fuck-!).

He wanted to sleep so badly. But he had maybe (it was around five a.m, right?) two hours until he needed to leave for work, and if he took a nap now, he might not be able to wake up on time.

-Are you alright, Timmy?

Gathering whatever leftover strength he had in him, he turned his head to the side, his almost closed eyes finding the worried ones of his kwami.

-Yeah. Only tired.

-I’d bet -the little bird-like creature huffed, his tiny black and red chest puffing like an offended peacock-. You are running yourself too ragged.

-Well, lots of things to do. Work stuff, Red Robin stuff, Tim Drake stuff... Not to mention, college.

-Speaking of… -trailed off the kwami, his big blue eyes signaling towards the desk, where his Advanced Economic’s paper awaited for attention.

Tim followed Rouge’s line of sight and promptly groaned when he got the hint, dropping his head once again in the mattress.

-Fuuuuuck. When was that due for?

-Tomorrow. And you’re supposed to met up with Jason today, and dinner with Dick after that. If you cancel on any of them again...

-...Well, it’s not like I actually expected to get any sleep today.

-Two all nighters in a row?

-It’s like you read my mind.

----.----.----

Then...

He met Richard at the circus, when he was four, but since the other boy didn’t remember (his parent’s death probably overwrote anything else in his memory of that night), their official meeting happened two months later, when Dick was formally introduced to high society as Bruce Wayne’s ward.

-Mister Wayne -his father shook Bruce's hand, fake smile firmly in place- and this must be young Richard. Hi, champ, I'm Jack Drake, and this is my lovely Janet.

Behind his mother, Tim couldn't repress a giggle. Champ, dad? Really?

-Good evening, gentleman -his mother, the perfect picture of a lady, smiled delicately behind her gloved hand. It didn't reach her glacial blue irises, but it was enough to fool most businessmen in lowering their defenses.

Tim himself had eyes only for the boy clutching the taciturn billionaire's sleeve. He wondered how was he feeling, if he had tried to fly at all since his parents deaths. He hoped so.

Dick had looked so happy while flying.

—I'm Tim —he butted in, when it was obvious his father intended to speak business and leave the introductions behind them— A pleshure.

He winced internally when the last word was mispronounced, and externally when his mother's nails sank into his shoulder in consequence.

-You'll have to forgive him, he's a baby still -laughed his mother, her hand letting him go and reaching for his father’s elbow-. Go explore, Tim. Your dad has people he needs to talk to, all boring stuff. I’m sure it’s the same with Mister Wayne.

Said man seemed to agree, though how Tim knew, he couldn’t tell, as the man’s expression barely changed.

Dick, on the other side, seemed absolutely crestfallen.

And he knows, he knows he's going to get into trouble for this the moment they are home, but the expression in the boy’s face is just… He wants to wipe it clean, like his nanny does for him when he gets tomato sauce on his cheek.

(It's so different from how he looked that night, soaring the skies besides his parents. Had been so… free)

«Was it then, when he started to put Dick's happiness before his own?»

—Mister Wayne -he finally gathered enough courage to talk, going as far as to interrumput his father’s speech about current politics- can Richard come play with me? Please? We’ll behave.

Dick's small, thankful smile was enough to warrant Bruce's permission, and seal Tim's destiny away.

----.----.----

Now...

-Tiiiiiiimmmyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!

He regrets picking up without double checking the caller id. So strongly.

In defense of his sleep deprived brain, it was an unknown number. So either Dick had a new phone, was burrowing someone’s for any reason, or he had caught on on Tim’s attempt at taking distance, decided to try and catch him when he knew he had his defenses low (before eight a.m) and bought a burner to accomplish it.

-It’s six in the morning. You better have a damn good reason to be calling me so… chirpily, at this ungodly hour.  You don’t even have to work till nine, why are you awake?

Because Nightwing, along with Red Robin, had been fighting an akumatized nurse  not two hours ago. But, since Dick didn’t know Tim knew, his obvious response at such a close corner was to deflect with a practiced, not awkward-totally-but-still-noticeably laugh.

-Come on, honey, where’s my happy Timmers? Who spat in your cereal?

Rouge passed by his bathroom mirror, where Tim was inspecting his reflection in search of his will to live, and like the god-like tiny thing he was, he rubbed comfortingly against his partner’s cheek, as if lending him strength.

Tim sighed and put the phone in speaker, dropping it on the marble countertop. He wasn’t getting out of this conversation anytime soon, so might as well continue with his morning routine.

Tam once compared it to watching a snake changing skins. From the tired, more-than- slightly-murderous teen, to the wow-lookit-a-respectable-young-man.

-First, you ever call me that again, I’ll rearrange your face a la Picasso. Second, no one uses that expression. And lastly, only you eat that crap anyway.

-That’s a lie, I know for a fact you have at least two different brands in your kitchen, even though one is an insult to the cereal industry. Fiber, blegh.

-Because one is for you when you visit, and the other I bought on an impulse of spite to punish you for… I don’t remember now, but I’m sure it was horrible and deserving of drastic measures.

He could hear Dick’s laugh over the line. Once upon a time, the sound would make Tim’s mood  lighten, like an echo of the other.

Now it hurt a little.

-You’re spending too much time with Jason and not nearly enough with me. You used to be such a sweet, eager to please angel. What happened?

-I asked your dad to let you play with me, and here I am, fourteen, fifteen years later, looking at my life, looking at my choices -and looking for his damn tie, which he swore he left by the toothbrush yesterday, where the fuck… - Asking myself where I went wrong.

-Yeah, now I remember why I never call you this early.

-About that, was there a reason, or you just wanted to take Jason’s place of honour in my hit-list?

Dick choked on a laugh, and Tim took the chance to quickly brush his teeth. His hair was a lost cause and he had learned to ignore it or risk spending too much time in a battle he wouldn't win. Easier to just ask Tam to brush it for him at the office, because that woman was a magician and Tim would fire the whole board of investor from D.I  before letting her go.

-Just checking in. We are still on for movie night, right? Because I might just use my power as a law enforcer and arrest you if you cancel on me again.

With one last look at his reflection (making damn sure his concealer hid both the black and blue spot by his jaw and his ever-growing eye bags), he picked up his phone and started for the kitchen. Rouge, bless his little soul, had plugged in the coffee maker, and the smell called to him like light to a moth.

And there was his tie, by the pot. Score.

-Movie night? -he asked, dubiously, glancing at his kwami. Rouge’s brow furrowed and he shook his head- No, we were going out for dinner. I’m sure.

-It’s Tuesday. Tuesdays were always movie night days. I thought it was implied, Timmy, for God’s sake.

Tuesday were movie night days back when they were five and eleven respectively, even before Jason was adopted, up until Dick started getting busier and calling it quits more often than not. It had been a while since they followed the tradition.

-Uhm, no, sorry. I have a paper due tomorrow, and was going to work on it after dinner with you. Can’t stay the night at your place. Rain check?

-...Yeah. Okay, sure. But you aren’t getting out of dinner.

He could hear Dick’s disappointment over the line. Once upon a time, the sound would ruin Tim’s mood, like an echo of the other.

Now, it still hurt a little.

(More than a little. Fuck)

It’d be easier if he could just cut ties with them all as Tim Drake. If he could get up and leave them, betray their trust, their love.

Like Nightwing had done with Red Robin. Or, to be fair, Robin.

----.----.----

Then…

Tim had known of the Akumas since… forever, really. They had been haunting Gotham long before he was born, hurting people, destroying things, breaking everything in their reach apart.

And then, when he was but a baby, the Batman appeared. Mrs Mac, the housekeeper, told him about it once. How, when the city was going through it’s darkest times, a knight of shadows and justice had risen, taking upon himself the responsibility of protecting the city.

Protecting everyone, really.

He, as any gothamite born and raised, had watched in wonder at whatever recordings the News Channels could provide, talked theories with his friends, stayed up at night wondering who the magic hero might be…

Until said magic hero recruited a sidekick, and Tim stayed up at night for totally new reasons.

(He’d recognize those moves, those tricks, but above all else, that laugh, anywhere)

He wanted so badly to knock at Wayne Manor’s doors, hunt down Bruce and fucking scream at him. Akumas were dangerous, whoever sent them was dangerous, fucking Gotham was dangerous, and Dick was his friend. His thirteen year old friend, who had been a hero for years before the lucky camera man had caught him on frame, revealing the mysterious partner to the world. And while Tim was a kid himself, barely seven, he was smarter than tons of adults he knows. Smarter than Bruce, at least, since he, unlike the other, understood the dangers of the night. Of Gotham herself.

He got as far as the inner gym, where Dick was practicing by the trapezius, flying from end of the room to the other, spinning, twisting mid air, laughing when the roof got too close to his face in one of the highest jumps. And then (maybe because he caught sight of Tim watching by the door, maybe he wanted to show off just a little, maybe he wanted to tell him something and this was the only way to properly express it...), a quadruple somersault, the one he performed for Tim that first night -even if he doesn’t remember that-, the one Robin was caught on camera doing, the one that gave him away.

And Tim, caught in his amazement of the boy, unable to take away this if it was what gave him his wings back, could only clap and yell ‘again!’.

----.----.----

Now...

-You look like death warmed over -greeted Tam when he passed by her desk in his way to his office. Like the well trained boy he was, he detoured, dropping in the empty chair by her side she always had ready for him. Within a second, his assistant took a hairbrush from her purse and started to work her magic in his head.

-Didn’t sleep and had to deal with a morning person before seven. You’d look just as bad, thank you very much.

-Dick called?

He huffed. Rouge, in the inner pocket of his jacket, pressed closer to him for the movement. He stilled immediately, knowing the kwami needed all the sleep he could get.

-That obvious?

-You don’t associate with a lot of morning people.

-There’s something inherently wrong with them, if they are happy that early.

-One of your best friends is like that -Tam tutted, working on a specially difficult knot. Tim didn’t dare complain, even when the tug to his scalp made him wince.

-Bart is a special case, he lives in a perpetual state of high. I still believe he takes cocaine and redbull with his breakfast.

She hummed, hairbrush now discarded in favour of her fingers. They passed through his hair without resistance, his bedhead (could it be called that, when he hadn’t actually slept?) all but gone, the movements soothing. There weren’t a lot of things capable to relax him, these days.

-Well, you have an eleven o’clock appointment with a possible investor, but between that and the board meeting at three, you are a free man. I can make sure no one bothers you while you cat nap.

-I’d love to, but Jason will come and drag me out of here kicking and screaming if I miss lunch with him. Or worse, he might find me asleep and princess carry me all the way to the restaurant in plain view of as many cameras as he can as punishment.

Tam shook her head in amusement and fondness, releasing his hair and straightening on her chair, her ‘back to business’ pose- I’ll never understand your relationship with those boys, I swear.

A sigh, roll of shoulders and he was ready to face the day too.

-Neither will I.

-But you’ll miss them, if they leave.

A flash of something passes through his eyes.

----.----.----

Then...

-I miss you. Don’t you miss me?

Dick, sixteen in body but about five in soul pouted at the screen of his computer, trying to convey the ‘mean, little brother!’ expression as perfectly as possible.

Tim snorted through his nose, getting comfortable on the bed; the notebook on his lap, back to the headboard of the too-big matres, pillows everywhere.

-I can use your bed whenever you go away, so I’ll go with a tentative ‘maybe’. ‘sides, you’ve been gone for two months, Dick. The exchange program goes for seven to eight. Give me another one or so, and I’ll be crying for you to come back.

-That’s an ugly lie, but I appreciate the effort -a change of stance, then the voice turned utterly blank- How are things over there?

Tim bites his lip, wondering, but what would he gain hiding it? If Dick already knew, he would expect Tim, as a young kid, to mention it. If he didn’t, he would find out soon enough and wonder why he didn’t tell him.

-You know how for the last few months Robin just… stopped appearing?

-...yeah?

-Well, he came back a few days ago, and either he shrunk, or it’s someone else.

Dick’s expression doesn’t change, so Tim knows he made the right call telling him; he was already aware.

-Oh? Another kid, putting his life in danger? I wonder what those child activists think about it.

-Keep asking for Batman’s head on a platter, like usual. I think it helps that this one isn’t as small as the previous one was when he first appeared, but, you know. Still setting on fire Batman merchandise in the streets.

-The original Robin wasn’t small. You are small.

-Reaaally mature, Dick. Since when are you in Robin’s protection squad?

-Always been my favorite hero.

Self centered, much?

-Hm… And what about the new one?

-...Let’s wait and see if he can fill the shoes.

-Lucky for him, they’re just kid shoes, no clown ones.

A small, real smile steals his way into Dick’s face, and Tim wants to throw a happy fist to the air.

He lives for that smile.

-You are a dork. Anything else new?

Again, uncertainty, but this one was easier to explain if detected. After all, Dick was aware of how uncomfortable was Tim in his new position as the mediator.

-Jason’s adapting. His grades went up and…

-Oh, look at that. Sorry, Timmers, I gotta go. My roommate is texting me that he wants to hang out.

-Oh… okay. Are we… are we face timing for movie night later? right?

-Yeah, yeah, sure -he waved a hand, as if discarding Tim, and he just knew Dick was going to forget about it… again-. Go have fun. Your parents are still traveling, right? Give Bruce a few white hairs while you’re at the Manor for me. I think he might get bored, without me there to spice things and kickstart his nervous system once an hour. The life of a businessman is soooooo dull.

(Except when said business man is practically a magical girl. God, once Stpeh had made that comparison, Tim just couldn’t unsee it)

He tries to laugh, but it’s empty. He won’t push the issue, and Dick won’t talk about it willingly, but they are both aware of the elephant in the room.

-Wouldn't dream of taking your place as the ever-evolving ulcer in his stomach. Take care. Bye.

He closed the computer lid and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The situation made him uneasy. It was hard, being Dick’s loyal, loving little brother, Bruce’s unproblematic charge (since his parents decided that letting Tim stay with Wayne during their trips was cheaper than the nanny and housekeeper), and Jason’s-

-Hey, Baby Bird, you done talking to the jackass?

He nearly jumped out of his skin, neck almost breaking with how quickly he turned to face the door.

-Jason! -the automatic smile, brought to fore by the mere sight of his friend in workout clothes (he must have been training) melt into a frown when the words sank in- Don’t be a jerk.

-He’s a dick, pun unintended.

-Cut him some slack, it’s the ‘no more single child’ symptom. He’s just jealous to have to share Bruce’s attention.

-Ain’t he a little too old for that?

-I don’t think ‘old’ is a word you could ever use to describe Dick. Ever. I mean, he’ll be retired and have like twenty grandchildren, and still give off the ‘young, single and ready to mingle’ vibe.

The laugh is so sudden, so surprising, Jason chokes on his own spit.

-You’re a riot. Why do I like you, again?

-Because if not for me, you’ll be alone in this big, scary house, with only Alfred and Bruce for company.

-Alf’s cool.

-Yeah, but he’ll put you to do chores if he thought you’re bored enough to get up to some mischief.

-Sometimes you talk like an 90’s British book.

-Shut up, Harry Potter is my Bible. Besides, not like you can talk about british literature.

Another laugh, and the last of Jason’s tension faded away like a charm. Tim left the computer on the bedside table and stretched, getting up.

-Come on, let’s go find some way to make your Dad rethink his life choices.

-Fuck French, you speak the language of love.

----.----.----

Now...

It was on his way to that new Barbeque on Cameron Street, northwest from Diamond district, when the ground beneath his feet shifted and he and another fifteen passers-by were caught in what seemed like an asphalt cage.

In the middle of the street. With no corner to hide and transform.

Great.

There wasn’t any villian in sight, so the akumatized person probably had just wanted some back up hostages. Most likely, they weren’t the only ones trapped.

And that in the corner was a street cam. Fuck.

He needs to get out and help catch the bad guy of the day, but can’t exactly break asphalt with his bare hands, and transforming in front of fifteen eyewitnesses and a camera isn’t exactly an option.

So, he takes out his phone.

-What’ll you do? -comes the whisper from within his jacket, and he looks down just enough to look at his kwami without drawing attention at himself.

-Well, at this rate I’m going to be late for lunch. It’d be rude of me if I don’t tell Jay about it -he types quickly while he talks, making sure the annoyed (and it always stuns Conner, his friend from metropolis, how Gothamites consider freaks and monsters running around a minor inconvenience; how used to crazy they are) people around him aren’t paying his actions enough attention-. There. Sent.

-Hope he’s not  mad at you.

-He can't be, I didn't postpone anything. Just told him I'll be held up here until Red Hood gets his ass on gear and does his job.

-Should you text Dick as well?

-Nah, that'd be too much of an overkill.

-...

-...

-...How long until he comes guns blazing to the rescue?

-Two, three minutes tops.

It was the basis of his and Jason's relationship, the knowledge that, if in peril, they could always count on the other to come running to either save them or hold their hands while everything went to shit.

----.----.----

Elsewhere…

-Hm… the little shit is taking his time. Think I should go get him?

The kwami popped her head out of the bike helmet Jason had left in the extra chair he requested for the table. She seemed deeply unimpressed.

-okay, okay, I'll give him five more minutes. Then, it's fair game.

A sudden ping called his attention to the cell phone carelessly left above the tablecloth. It was the most obnoxious sound he could think of, and was as such his ringtone for the young man he was actually waiting for. It was a sound he couldn't ignore, or sleep over it.

BabyBird:

^Hey Jay, might be a little late for lunch

-That little…

Another ping.

BabyBird:

^Got held up on my way there, some akuma caged me and other fifteen people. Don’t know how long until one of the masks comes to the rescue

^Lol, some woman doesn't give a DUCK and just keeps fighting with someone over the phone about someone named Jerry

Ping.

BabyBird:

^update; Apparently Jerry is her son and she's fighting her ex.

Another ping, quickly following the former.

BabyBird:

^...I'm going to kill either you or Dick. Who programmed my phone to replace all swear words? You motherHUGGERS.

He was out of the door before the last text actually sank in and, by the time he ducked behind a corner, was already laughing.

-Tireur, arm me up!

----.----.----

Then…

He didn’t care who he pushed or tripped on his way to Jason’s room. He wasn’t hearing their screams and complaints. The sound he heard when turning left on the next corner might have been a paparazzi’s camera, or an IV stand he knocked down in his haste, but, again, it wasn’t important at the moment.

The only thing in his head right now, was the echo of that psychotic laughter, of Batman’s screams, of his own gasp when the news coverage showed footage of Robin, bloodied and hurt, trying to get away from a building about to blow up… and failing.

The full blown panic attack that followed made him hyperventilate so bad he actually lost consciousness, only to wake up to the sound of his phone going off and Alfred’s voice on the line telling him how Master Jason, along some other victims, had been caught in the same explosion the Joker, the clown that got akumatized every other week, caused. The same that took Robin out.

He refrained from yelling at Alfred to not lie to him, he already knows who Robin is and who he was before. He knows everything, so don't lie to him, not about something as serious as this…! But only because it was Alfred, and no one yelled at him.

Instead, he asked for updates, still on his phone while running to Wayne Manor, where the butler was ready to give him a lift to the hospital.

Jason was just asleep, they told him, like he was too young and naive to hear the truth. His body needed time to get better, so his head had taken a little vacay.

He was just asleep, the doctors said. All the while Tim kept running numbers in his head, statistics on how likely it was for comatose patients to wake up.

But Jason wasn’t another statistic. He was his friend, his brother, his hero.

Robin. His Robin. The one he watched from the very beginning, the one he discretely helped easing into the hero life by being always there, to unwind after a fight or hang out when the dangers of the life he lead hounded up on him.

The sobs he tried so hard to reign in were now freely bursting out of his dry lips.

When Tim cried, it usually was a quiet thing, tears rolling down marble cheeks, not a sound escaping his mouth. A cry for help from a child who knew no one would come running at the sound of his pain. A resigned thing.

There, at Jason’s bedside, clasping the boy’s hand on his own, what came out of his chest through his mouth was a full out, loud, broken wail.

The next couple of days were kind of a blur to him. He was aware that, at some point, Mister Wayne had tried to coax him away from the room and to his home. He knows, too, that had his parents been there to witness his hysterical tantrum, he would have been grounded until it was time for him to leave for college. Every few hours, Alfred would came and feed him small bits of food. Sometimes he threw up, sometimes he didn't. It was like tossing a coin on that one.

He thinks it’s a week later, but it could very well be a month, when he weaseled his way into Jay’s bed, careful of the IVs attached to his arms, and spoke out loud for probably the first time since the explosion.

-You don’t have to keep hiding. I know about you. About how… you gave Dick, and then Jay, their powers. I… I know I’m not the only one grieving, so if you want, we could… keep each other company.

A few moments passed by. It was okay. Tim wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, a small green and yellow head poked out of Jason’s pillowcase, big blue eyes staring at  Tim in wonder and wariness.

-...how?

-Dick’s not nearly as inconspicuous as he believes he is. I already knew he was Robin, but couldn’t figure out how exactly did he get his powers… Until one day, he thought I was asleep, and transformed in the bathroom attached to the room I was in. Doofus didn’t even completely close the door.

The little thing laughed, like a bell. Tim borrowed deeper into Jay’s side.

-My name is Merle, Robin’s kwami.

-I’m Tim.  Robin’s friend.

----.----.----

Now…

Red Hood arrived at the scene in record time. He was almost impressed.

Once there, the masked hero drew his guns, loading each of them with a brown and gold magazine. As far as Tim understood, Hood’s powers derived from his firearms, and he had different kind of bullets for specific situations.

He shot at strategic points in the asphalt cage, crumbling it to the ground. Coincidently, none of those points were near the corner were Tim was crouched. Typical.

-Is everyone alright? -asked the hero, once the dust had settled and they were free.

A few nods, some ‘thanks for the save’ then and there, the occasional ‘any clue where the Akuma is? I’d like to avoid it today’, and then the people scattered. A woman strode past Red Hood, phone at hand, yelling something about child support.

Tim took his time getting up, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt at controlling the strands again.

-Hey -the masked man approached him, concern palpable in his tone- you alright, Tim?

It said something about his life as Tim Drake, that he was on first name basis with Gotham’s heroes.

-Yep, just hungry. I was on my way to have lunch with my friend, so I’ll be leaving now.

He saw the anxiety flash through Hood’s expression at the mention, remembering that Tim was expecting to see his alter ego at the restaurant, but he still had an Akuma to catch.

-Ah, wait! You mean, that Jason dude, right?

-Yeah?

Tim wondered if it made him a sadist, the satisfaction he got from making Jason, Dick or Damian squirm like this, putting them on the fence with his ‘innocent’ worry about their alter egos.

-I saw him on m’way here, actually. Said somethin’ came up, and he’s gonna take a raincheck on lunch.

He let the tiniest bit of disbelief slip into his facade, before seemingly deciding to trust the masked man.

-Oh, what a shame. I’ll be very busy the next couple of weeks, it’s going to be a while before we can meet up again.

-That.. that sucks. But, ah, ‘m sure he’ll get it. I gotta go now, kid. See ya around.

He watched Hood’s retreating back as he shot a line at the nearest rooftop. Perfect, since now he’d have the time to transform and catch up with him to help with the Akuma as Red Robin. If Tim Drake got the chance at skipping bonding time with Jason? Even better.

He wasn’t mad at Jason, the way he was at Dick’s alter ego, Nightwing. Jay never hurt him, never casted either him nor Red Robin out (exception made for the very first encounters they had as heroes, back when he still used the Robin miraculous).

But, since his alter ego had slept with Jason’s, he figured he had every reason to feel a little shy.

----.----.----

Then…

-You never tried to get to know him -he said, and it wasn’t a reproach, just a fact. Nevertheless, Dick still cringed in place, bending in on himself like a kid sent to time out.

-I… I know.

-He is just a kid Bruce saw something in. Like you, a kid who needed someone to see his brightest parts, and take him in to give him a chance at a better future.

-I know.

-He’s… he’s a very good person. Really smart, loyal and caring.

-I… know. You told me.

-You are/ Dick, you are one of the best people I know, if not THE best. Why would you treat an innocent kid like the gum stuck in your shoe?

Dick squirms in his place by the door, not daring to get closer to the bed where both Tim and Jason laid, but obviously wanting. Not that it mattered. Jason wouldn’t want him so close by, specially at his most vulnerable, and Tim was nothing if not the ferocious dragon protecting the sleeping Prince’s will, his surname all too fitting.

-Just… It’s just stupid, okay? And it doesn’t matter now. All that matters, is that he gets better. And if… when, he wakes up, I’ll explain it to him.

Dick wouldn’t be able to see him, because of the angle, but Tim catched the yearning and sad look Merle, hiding between Jason’s covers, sent his oldest partner. The little fairy (kwami, Tim reminded himself), his companion this last weeks in guarding Jason’s room, seemed as troubled as Tim had been when he was expected to mediate between the two adopted brothers.

-But not me.

There was something a little dark, a little sad and a little empty in Dick’s eyes. For the first time ever, he didn’t feel the compulsion to fill that void with happiness.

-I don’t think I can stomach telling you, BabyBird.

----.----.----

Now…

He intercepts Red Hood two blocks away from Newtown, still in Crime Alley territory but close enough to the other neighborhood. Since D.I was by Moench Row, just between the Fashion and Diamond districts, it took some time to catch up on the hero.

The fight is well in its final course when he arrives. The Bat is here, which means Red Hood is content on just sharpshooting from a close by rooftop. N and R are missing, but Tim already knew they would be: it’s not Dick’s patrol time, and R must be at school.

As the independent vigilantes, neither Red Robin nor Red Hood follow Batman’s patrol routes nor schedules. For the later, it means he can choose to stay close to the Bowery, Crime Alle and Chinatown, where he feels he’s more useful. For himself, it means he doesn’t have someone putting a hand to his shoulder and mandating down time after a few  consecutive hard patrols.

When he was Robin, he wasn’t allowed to fight during school hours, nor after three a.m. If there was some kind of emergency that required all hands on dock, it meant almost a week of taking things slow, because even if B didn’t know his nightlife protege was also his daylife charge, he would never leave a kid under his protection unsupervised enough to hurt themselves. Now, he can choose whenever the fuck he wants to help, and when he feels like leaving the others to deal with it (watching from afar how Dick and Jason dealt with a akuma with the powers of body switching people, and how the heroes had to improvise working with bodies and powers that didn’t suit them, had been too funny to actually put any effort to stop).

Shaking his head to clear it from the memories, he landed softly by Hood’s side, careful to not startle the hero laying on his stomach by the edge of the roof, with a long-distance rifle ready to go on his hands.

-Ya came all t’way here for nothin, Pretty Bird. The old man has it all in hand.

Letting himself fall at the edge, legs dangling and resting his weight on his arms behind him, he allows his gaze to travel through the skyline of buildings. It was a nice view, for those used to the air pollution and angry drivers yelling a few stories bellow.

-Had lunch cancelled, thought I might as well.

Hood grunts, shifting his stance to a less alert one. B clearly didn’t need their help.

-I had fucking plans, man. If B wasn’t in the fucking way, I’d put a bullet through the bastard, see if he lets himself get akumatized again.

Tim crooked his head to the side, analyzing the crazy of the hour.

-It’s a new one, though. I don’t recognize him. Probably his first time getting transformed?

-It’s already one too many. Our lives are just as shitty as anyone’s in the city, and you don’t see us fucking shit up.

-To be fair, we get our chances at therapeutic skull smashing when we keep those guys in check.

A few feet under them, Batman’s batarang was already boomeranging past the former akumatized transit police woman, slicing through the black and green butterfly and setting free the white and pink one trapped inside it.

And he hadn’t needed to move a single muscle. Sighing in defeat (he sooo could have used this time to power nap before his next meeting at work), he climbed to his feet.

-Seems like you were right, we shouldn’t have bothered to come. See ya, Hoo/

-Hey -interrupted the other, suddenly standing, rifle out of sight and way too deep into Tim’s personal bubble-, since we r' both here… no energy lost… n' we didn’t use our miraculous, so no chance of us de-transformin' suddenly…

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Hood, please don’t say it.

-One of my safe spot’s near. Want ta come for a cup of tea?

Don’t play along. Don’t play along. Goddammit, Tim, Don’t play along.

He takes that last step separating them, hands carefully delineating the outline of Hood’s suit of armor.

-You know I don’t drink your dirty leaf-water.

The other hero’s hands were big enough, they could almost completely envelope his waist, something never failed to arouse him.

-Good. Then we can go straight to the cake.

All the way to Hood’s (Jason’s) secret apartment, Tim berated himself, again and again, about how bad of an idea this was. How fucked up (in both senses, oh my god) was he going to be by the end of it. How uncomfortable was it going to be for him to actually talk to the man when the masks came out and Jay was looking at his best friend, not knowing he had had his tongue on his mouth, his neck, deep inside his ass. Not knowing why Tim was suddenly avoiding him.

Why he felt so goddamned guilty.

But, once they arrived to the place, and his back was to the wall not two seconds later, Hood’s strong body pressed tight against his, hands grabbing anything they could, mouth hot and dirty and doting…

He could only throw his head back and moan.

----.----.----

Then...

The city was in absolute chaos. From his place by Jason’s windowsill, Tim winced at the fiery remnants of the last explosion (by the library? It could have also been the post office), the hospital one of the few places untouched by the madness that was Gotham right now.

In his hands, his smartphone kept him up to speed about what was taking place on the streets. Apparently, the patients at Arkham Asylum had been akumatized again, only at the same fucking time. The Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy and Two Faces so far. Apparently, the first two had already been apprehended and de transformed, and the third was calm and unobtrusive at Robinson Park, but since they had kept the Bat focused on them until now, that meant the last of the lot had enough time to completely cover the city in bombs.

Which exploded two at a time, every two hours and twenty two minutes. There was a serious OCD there.

Perched on Tim’s propped up knee, Merle’s sky blue eyes danced from one burning spot to the other, shining like little red and yellow dots on the map that was Gotham from such a height.

-The library -quietly commented the kwami.

-And the Museum -Tim added, fingers tapping the location on the screen of the phone, on the downloaded blueprints of the city.

-Before that, it was the park.

-And the Aquarium.

-And the first two where the Zoo…

-...and planetarium.

-Why those places?

Minutes were ticking by. Bombs kept going off, unpredictable locations being blown up with everyone inside with them. Batman and Nightwing, Gotham’s newest hero, were running themselves ragged, trying to contain the damage and stop the villain. Batgirl worked with the authorities to keep buildings standing, her Eye of Insight (which, Tim was now aware, was her Miraculous) determining the most flimsy spots in the structures, the ones they needed to reinforce before the entire thing crumbled down.

And Tim was here, at the hospital, hearing the nurses and doctors doing their best to save everyone from being a casualty of the akuma’s violence, useless to both his family and the innocents from Gotham that were most likely going to die today.

(Everything because Bruce couldn’t think straight)

-Kids, Merle -he answered, his phone going, once again, to the billionaire's voicemail-. Those are all places where kids like to go, or have to. If he keeps the timeline, the next attack would be at two twenty two a.m, and it’s going to be…

-Gotham’s kindergarten? -the little creature tried to guess. It wasn’t too far off, since, judging by how many witnesses on twitter swore to have spotted the bat at Gotham’s primary school, B thought the same.

But it was wrong.

(Everything because, since Jason died, Bruce stopped thinking about the akumatized people as… people. People with minds of their own. With feelings)

-The orphanage.

(Horrible and twisted feelings, but feelings after all)

-We have to stop him!

-How? B isn’t picking up. Neither is Alf. Dick’s phone is at my house where he left it yesterday. I have no other way to contact them. And Bruce is so deep in his rage because of Jason’s accident, he’s so desperate to hurt something, he’s being impulsive. Reckless. He’s not going to think about orphans until it’s too late.

-We can’t just stay here! -Merle cried out, desperate at the sight of his city in flames, of one of his boys out there risking his life, and the other fighting for it in the bed behind their backs.

-Well, what would you have me do? -Tim finally snapped, standing from the windowsill and turning to face the kwami- I can’t just take a bus to Gotham’s school and yell at B to move his ass!

-Yes you can! You have to!

-I’ll never make it in time! There’s no vehicle that could dodge the shitstorm that must be the streets now, and unless you have some way for me to travel via rooftops, I would never make it there! I can’t help anyone! I’m not Robin!

When no reply came, Tim’s eyes, that had strayed to the window again, looked for the kwami.

Merle floated right in front of him, face determined, eyes pleading. He held a too familiar necklace, that almost every boy and girl wore as an ode to their hero. A green ‘R’, encircled in red, on a golden chain.

Robin’s necklace.

-But you could be. If you take this and fly with me, you could be. Gotham needs a hero. Batman needs a Robin. Your family needs you.

On the little screen, the reporters said something about Nightwing being hurt by a burning beam falling on him.

He made the decision before he could even think about it.

-Merle, help me fly.

Robin soared the skies again.