#i think clark would have some Feelings about not realizing that kon's living situation was as fucked up as it was

[mamawasatesttube]

i think martha kent should get to threaten rex leech with a shotgun tbh

[somebodyssherlock-heterodyne]

This is not part two of the Little Mermaid AU which I keep forgetting to finish and post BUT it is another Jonjay AU.

You know what I think would be so fucking funny? One of those 'oh shit I got reincarnated as the villain of this fantasy nobility romance novel' AUs.

Jay is absolutely losing his mind over finding out that no really Jon's just Like That as a person. Seriously has no ulterior motives he's just that sweet and that much of a simp. Jay wakes up engaged to the beautiful magical prince and he's like 'FUCK I gotta break this engagement. RIP the entire week I got to spend calling the hottest man I've ever met my fiance.'

Except he makes the mistake of answering when Jon asks him why. Jay, when he does this, is nervous because he's hoping this works because he doesn't want to die. Jon interprets it as self deprecation. Jay says 'I couldn't possibly live with myself if I forced you to marry someone you can't love.' Jon hears 'my shitty situation re having Henry fucking Bendix as a stepfather has left me with such shit self esteem I believe I'm unlovable and you've fed that assumption this whole time'.

Jon, absolutely devastated at the thought of this earnestly kind, witty, clever man believing himself unlovable, replaces his current number one priority (prepare for father to abdicate the throne) with doing everything in his power to show Jay that he loves him. Jay is having gay panics and some truly spectacular internal meltdowns because he was all prepared to trust no one and only look out for himself but Jon just keeps being sweet and pretty and nice to him and so genuinely set on showering Jay in warmth and adoration and affection. He doesn't know what to DO with it. Jon just- won't stop smiling at him with his stupid soft lips and his stupid warm eyes and his stupid kind face! Jay's poor little gay heart was not built to withstand this! If Jon punctuates one more soft sincere compliment with an equally soft kiss to his hand Jay will go into cardiac arrest and die on the spot!

And they're still engaged and Jay isn't even mad about it anymore but the clock is ticking on the protagonist's arrival and then Jon won't think he loves him, anymore, and all the thoughtful gifts and genuine compliments and hand kisses will stop and Jay will just have to continue living afterwards and-

The protagonist arrives right on cue at the biggest ball of the season. Jay is incredibly confused when Jon... doesn't even notice she's there? Like, hello, perfect fairytale prince, there is a perfect fairytale princess right over there and you are just... too focused on convincing me to dance with you to notice???

(Jay can feel some part of himself absolutely preening at the thought that Jon is that captivated by him.)

Jay continues to regard Jon's increasing obliviousness to the mere fact that the protagonist exists with confusion and a hint of smug satisfaction. Jon continues to be obsessed with devoted to his fiance. The wedding is beautiful. Jay realizes in the nick of fucking time that he can get out of running a country (terrible, Jon would have to focus on rulership instead of kissing Jay) by manipulating Clark into letting Lois run the kingdom for him while they wait for Kon to be dragged home by the ankles so they can crown him king. Jay feels bad for doing this to him, but his desire not to be put in charge of the nation outweighs his guilt at dumping it in Kon's lap instead. He's got Tim on his council of advisors, it'll be fine.

[catxsnow]

I want to see Tim go absolutely feral.

Tim Drake, the guy who always has the right intentions, even with the sometimes wrong means of doing so. The guy that always seems to know what he's doing and is always one step ahead. The guy that always has everything under control because he's already planned everything out from the moment he steps into a room.

It always seems that he's so in control of every situation that nothing could go wrong. It's true for the longest time. Bruce trusts Tim to keep everyone safe on his own. If there's anyone that's going to get every civilian out alive, it's him. Everyone knows that Tim won't ever cross that line.

Until he does.

It was an accident, it really was. Tim had been getting stronger, his moves more agile than ever before. He didn't realize just how hard he could swing his bo-staff and just how precise a hit to the temple could be. Tim didn't realize that he had taken the last breath of a man until it was too late.

He wasn't scared of what Bruce was going to say, or Dick, or Jason - or anyone. That wasn't what he was scared of. It wasn't that he was petrified at how easy it was to kill someone. No, Tim was scared because everything that he had ever done finally clicked into place. Why was he the one that had to risk his life to save the bad guys? Why was he the one that needed to reach the brink of death just so that some scumbag could live and breathe again?

Tim couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't keep putting himself out there when he knew there was a better way. And so he did the one thing Batman refused to do: he killed. Tim broke free of this ridiculous rule that Bruce instilled into him. He was tired of it, tired of coming home broken and bruised.

They were minor at first - criminals scumbags that had no family and no one to miss them. Breaking free of Batman's vice grip of justice to find his own way - the better way. His brother's trying to bring him back before it was too late. His friends were unsure of what happened to their headstrong leader.

Tim got lost in the darkness far quicker than some of their enemies. He worked his way up from petty criminals to the ones that really matter. Boomerang. Calculator. Clock King. Kid Crusader. Mad Hatter. Joker. Ra's al Ghul.

It's Ra's that finally tips the scales. His brother's siding with Bruce on his quest to stop Tim. Cassie and Bart realizing that Tim has completely lost his moral sense of direction. It's Kon that stays with him. Kon believed in his best friend because Tim has never proven him wrong.

It's when he's standing above Ra's dead body does everyone realizes just how far he's gone. The league in shambles, blood soaking his hands, the criminals of Gotham - hell, of the world are starting to fear the Robin that they never had to worry about before. Everyone is scared because Tim's lost it.

Tim's gone completely feral against his enemies because he's so fucking bad at himself for wasting his years bedridden and in pain when he could have been doing this all along. He's pissed at Bruce for persuading him to fall under his moral code and keep everyone alive. Why is it his choice that everyone gets to live?

Why does the Bat get to decide that the people that have killed so many get to keep breathing themselves? He shouldn't have that power. No one deserves to say that people like Joker get to keep living after everything they've done. Tim couldn't stand by anymore - whether or not Bruce agreed with his plans.

So when the day comes that Bruce has to face his son, it's horrendous. It's not very often that Tim has seen Bruce cry. Damian's death. Jason coming back to life. Dick getting shot in the head by KGBeast. There are very few cases that Bruce breaks down. Seeing Tim for the first time since Boomerang's death? That was one of those times.

Tim's bo-staff is blood-stained. His knuckles bruised and scarred far worse than ever before. New cuts on facing from facing his foes like never before. It's not the physicality of it all that makes Bruce like this. It's the look in Tim's eyes that breaks his heart.

The look of someone who doesn't care that they've killed, that takes pride in those that they've killed. Tim's got that empty, horrendous look in his eyes that Bruce has only ever seen that look in the people that Tim's already killed. No one came back once they had that look in their eyes.

It's that night that Tim realizes that he can't have anyone getting in his way - not when the safety of everyone is at stake. Why stop at the Joker or Ra's? Lex, Deathstroke, hell even Darkseid? Why let those people roam free when they can be stopped? Tim has the power, he's always had the power to put an end to it.

It was Bruce's code that held him back before, and now, it was Bruce himself. So Tim gives him the ultimatum - stay out of his way, or become an enemy. If there was one thing about Batman that Tim knew, it was that he was never going to stand aside when someone was in harm's way.

So what was Tim supposed to do? Let Bruce take him to Arkham to miraculously bring him back to his old self? Nothing about him had changed - he was still the same boy he once was. The difference was now his mind had been cleared of all tainting Bruce had cast on him. Tim couldn't lose to Bruce, not when he still had so much work to do.

Tim did what he had to. He did what no one else in Gotham managed to do. He got rid of the Bat, once and for all.

With Bruce Wayne gone, Tim had no one holding him back. No one to try and sway his moral compass that all this killing was wrong. No one to stop him from cleaning up the world from people that didn't deserve another breath. Batman was gone, and it was Tim's turn to be the protector of Gotham - the right way to protect Gotham.

It was at that moment did everyone realize just how far he was willing to go. Clark, who swore that Bruce could bring his son back home. Dick, who was horrified that Tim was able to go as far as to kill his adoptive father. Kon, who swore that Tim always knew what was right, suddenly faltering at every choice he's made.

Kon, who realizes that this whole time that he was back Tim up, that he was only pushing his father and father towards the edge. Killing Bruce, that had been the final push to get him to fall. Tim would never be able to return to that ledge, not when he had dived headfirst off of it. Kon, who realized that he was the one that was encouraging his best friend to become a monster.

Dick, who knows that he has to face Tim for what he's done. Dick, who tries to stand up against his little brother who murdered their father. Dick, who's on his knees, pleading for Tim to realize what he was doing and that he was going too far. He could forgive him for Ra's, JOker, hell all the other petty criminals that had been disposed of. But Bruce?

Bruce who had given them so much had created this life for them when they had nothing else. Dick couldn't look past that, he could never look past that.

When Tim gives him the ultimatum - the same one that he had given Bruce - Dick can't accept. He can't get on board with this, this mad way of justice. Dick lets Tim defeat him because he can't fight his brother, not even after everything that he's done. All he can see while looking up at Tim from his knees is the little boy that was so filled with joy, so filled with hope to make the world a better place.

Dick's broken because how the hell was he supposed to stop someone who he practically raised, that would now go to no end to take out every criminal he could. How is he supposed to take down Tim until he can't get back up when all he can think about was the first time that he brought Tim to the Titan's Tower and seeing the same joy on his face the first time he arrived all those years ago.

Tim falters, only for a moment. He can't take Dick down as easily as Bruce because he knows that the only reason that he's given up is because he is too broken to fight back. Dick has so much hope in him that Tim will realize that this is wrong. He doesn't; he doesn't realize that what he's doing is wrong because he's not wrong.

It's that split second that everything happens so fast that he can't control it for the first time since he started this mission. Dick moving so fast in one last hope that Tim will come back as himself because he sees that flash of hesitance. It's his last mistake. Tim moves out of reaction, not thinking about his movements but pushing Dick so hard that he stumbles towards the ledge of the building they're upon.

Dick grabbing onto the ledge with all his strength with Tim just standing above him, staring at his brother without thinking to help him back up. He gives him the same ultimatum once more. Dick doesn't have the voice to reply, his throat is tight and it feels like claws dragging down it. He can’t breath, can’t think properly. Dick’s destroyed at what’s become of his brother. 

He doesn't need a response, it's his release of the ledge that answers Tim's question.

Dick takes a final fall, just as his parents had. The fall that started this whole thing - that brought Tim to where he is now. The fall that ended the Grayson family, once and for all.

another (longer than ten minutes this time I promise) ficlet angst! Because apparently I like making you suffer. Had some help this time with @pricetagofficial @river-bottom-nightmare @screennamealreadyused and @subtleappreciation

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

A @batfam-christmas-stocking fic written for @renecdote!! happy holidays <3

----

Alternate universes suck so much. Tim has always known that, but he’s never really grasped it, not until he and Dick were forcibly thrown into one a week ago.

Gotham feels different, even though it doesn’t appear that way on the surface. The violence is more personal, less showy, and as far as they’ve seen, there are almost no super villains. Somehow, though, there’s more crime on the whole, every corner of every street host to pimps and drug dealers and traffickers.

Tim tries to fight it, tries to intervene, but Dick pulls him back. “We can’t risk it, you know that.”

He does. But that doesn’t make it easier. “They need our help,” Tim fires back, everything he’s ever been taught about bettering the world, the pressure of saving people, battering around in his mind.

“It’s not our world or our place,” Dick explains, and for all that he sounds apologetic, his eyes don’t stray away from the shadowy parts of the street where they can hear people being hurt.

Dick is a good actor, but Tim can read him like a book. He’s following the protocols put in place for dimensional travel, playing the I’m The Big Brother And I’m In Charge card, but he doesn’t like it anymore than Tim does.

The rules are what they are for a reason, and Tim knows that. Grudgingly, he lets Dick pull him away, go back to their own little shadowy corners. They sleep on cardboard they find in dumpsters, huddling up for warmth. In the mornings, they go to the local library, hoping to fill out some of their knowledge on this world, since no rescue or way out otherwise is forthcoming.

There, sitting at the outdated computers, they find out that Martha and Thomas Wayne are still dead. Bruce wasn’t 8 when it happened, though—he was 16. He got shot too, making it painful and difficult to walk or move in general. According to one interview from a few years before, he’s kept on bedrest a lot, and has been in and out of physical therapy ever since it happened, now fifteen years prior. When he’s not doing that, he’s campaigning for control of Wayne Enterprises and tweeting about coffee.

There’s no Batman. Not like how they know him, at least.

One day, Dick flirts with a cop and Tim pickpockets the man’s scanner, and they learn that whole case files, suspects and evidence all neatly put together, have been sent to the GCPD over the past six years. They never see anyone fly overhead, though. At first, they think it might be Babs, but when they try to look her up, Tim finds that she’s been locked up in Arkham for at least the last four years.

Neither one of them want to know why, so they just don’t look into it any further. “This isn’t our Babs,” Dick reminds himself, and Tim, too. But mostly himself. “She’s not .”

They share a look, and don’t have to say anything to know it’s time to compartmentalize. This Babs isn’t their Babs. This Bruce isn’t their Bruce. This world doesn’t have the Joker or Poison Ivy or any of them except Two Face and the Penguin. This isn’t their world .

“Come on,” Dick murmurs, sticking close to his side as they leave the library. As they head to their latest alley, they pass all kinds of drug deals and gang members beating the shit out of people. By the time they actually get to where they’ve been staying, they’re both so tense, one smartass comment from Tim is all it takes to snap them into an argument.

”I’m sorry,” Tim says after they’ve gone back and forth a few times, sounding hostile even to himself. “I’m so sorry I can’t see things the same way you do. I’m sorry I’m not perfect Dick Grayson , who always knows what to do without even having to think about it, who always does the right thing, who is totally fine letting all these people suffer, because it’s in the protocol!”

He doesn’t even believe his own words. Tim’s just upset, unable to handle living on the streets for a week in a universe where everything is unfamiliar and grim, lashing out against one of the only things he can control. Dick is all he has here—and spending that much time with someone, let alone one of his brothers, would be hard even in the best of circumstances.

Dick flinches, and Tim only has a second to feel bad before the flash of a reflection from a gun in the window above them catches his attention. He moves on instinct, stepping forward and trying to pull Dick down even as Dick tries to move towards the mouth of the alley, protective to a fault. The bullet hits Dick’s left shoulder with a sickening and familiar crack-thwack .

For a moment, everything is silent, slow motion. Dick sucks in a pained breath, stumbling back a few steps, and Tim hopes and prays the bullet hasn’t hit an artery.

And then Tim twists to face the mouth of the alley and books it towards him, jumping on the bastard and bringing him to the ground. He rips the gun away and lets all of his pent-up anger and stress out, punching and punching. It’s only Dick, gritting his teeth and clutching his shoulder, calling out his name that saves the guy’s teeth from actually being knocked out.

Panting and shaking with fury and adrenaline, Tim stands. “Are you okay?” He demands.

“Fine,” Dick replies. “We—we should go.”

“Yeah, okay.” But he bends down instead, patting the guy’s pockets until he finds what he’s looking for: a wallet. As he rifles through, searching for a driver’s license or state ID, he explains. “We need to know who he is. If he’s working for Harvey….”

They both shudder at the thought, but the truth is worse. The name is Italian, familiar to Tim from a bust a few years before. He’s one of Maroni’s men.

Another thing they learned during their hours of research at the library: seven years ago, Haly’s Circus came through town. Bruce Wayne didn’t attend, or more likely, couldn’t. Mary and John Grayson fell to their deaths, and once it became clear that little Dick Grayson, only eight years old, knew something about the murderers, he ran. He’s been missing ever since, and if he’s still alive, then the Maronis are probably still on the lookout for him. Tony Zucco, apparently, is still alive. Still working Gotham’s underbelly, terrorizing and murdering. The Dick Grayson native to this universe is a threat to them.

They probably heard me say Dick’s name , Tim realizes, tucking the wallet away in the man’s pockets. Which means he was shot because of me. Fuck.

----

Big brothers, Tim finds, are fucking heavy. Especially when they’ve been shot and are steadily losing blood. When they’re dead weight, fading in and out of consciousness. When they’re relying totally on Tim to drag the both of them to uncertain refuge in an unfamiliar city.

And Tim…he wants to be someone Dick can rely on. (Obviously, he already is, but his anxiety says maybe this is just who Dick is. Tim could be anyone and the situation would be the same. Still, it would be better for Dick if Tim was Damian, instead. Or Bruce. Or Donna. Or anyone but himself, really.) But more than anything, he wants someone who can help Dick, who can keep him alive. Living on the streets the way they are just doesn’t lend much in the way of medical supplies.

Tim drags Dick all the way to the clinic, based on a vague awareness that it exists here, too. When they get there, though, the building is obviously abandoned, Leslie nowhere to be found. Wherever she is, he doesn’t know, but he hopes she’s okay. He can’t think of a situation that would keep her from helping the people of Gotham. Still, he sets Dick up against the wall and breaks in, hoping for something useful, and finding nothing inside but rubble and evidence of homeless people using the space for shelter.

He goes back to Dick, feeling like the world is ending. They don’t have any first aid supplies, and even if they did, even if a first aid kit fell out of the sky right now and Tim could patch Dick up, it wouldn’t mean anything. This only happened because Tim wasn’t paying attention, wasn’t thinking to be careful. It could happen again. What does he do then?

What would Bruce do? Roy? Wally? Diana or Clark? Hell, Kon ? Any of them could help Dick so much more right now. More than Tim can or will ever be able to. And really, what good is Tim if he can’t even keep his brother alive?

Aware the thoughts aren’t helpful right now, he shelves them for later and looks back at Dick, cataloguing everything he sees like Bruce taught them to do. Dick’s still steadily bleeding out, and though that’s most concerning of all, Tim finds the only thing he can think about is how they don’t have clean clothes so Dick can walk around in something not soaked in blood.

With a strangled shout, Tim kicks the wall. It doesn’t affect him, much—thank god he’d been wearing steel-toed shoes when they were transported here—but the brief release feels good. Sort of. It’d be a lot better if he were still laying into the Maroni guy, if he’s honest.

“Tim,” Dick says, both reproachful and concerned.

“Shut up,” Tim replies, dragging his fingers through his hair. His mind is racing. He wants to go home so badly his chest aches with it.

Dick knows him well enough that he can sense what Tim is thinking. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, Tim. No . We can’t.”

“Where else are we supposed to go?” Tim cries out. It’s a stupid idea, it’s against the protocol, and they’ve already talked about it anyway. They’d agreed it’s stupid and they can’t do it and moved on. But he can’t help feeling the impulse, especially now.

“Stephanie’s,” Dick shoots back immediately. But they both know it’s not possible—here, Steph is another face on the dozens of missing persons posters that litter the city. He realizes it a second too late, and stumbles over his next words. “Just, anywhere but there.”

Jason is dead, has been for years now. Damian doesn’t exist. Cass is in Star City with Dinah Lance. Luke and the other members of the Fox family have never lived in this Gotham. Duke’s parents are still alive—they recently moved to Blüdhaven, and took their young son with them. Harper and Cullen are nowhere to be found, but Tim tells himself that’s a good thing—it means they aren’t in the obituaries. Kate is overseas on a honeymoon with her wife. Half of the Titans and Justice League don’t seem to exist, and the ones that do wouldn’t step foot in this cesspit of crime and drugs.

‘Anywhere but there’ means nothing. Nowhere. There’s no place for them to go, no one who can or even would help.

The words, or maybe the thoughts that come with them, wear Dick out. He starts to fade again, eyes slipping closed, and that means Tim’s in charge.

And Tim? Tim wants to go home .

He grabs Dick, keeping him from sliding down the wall, throws his brother’s arm over his shoulder, and starts off towards the Manor with every ounce of determination he can muster.

----

Several hours later, when it’s dark and Dick is pale and mostly silent, barely keeping up, they make it home. Everything feels different: the security that allows them to get all the way up the drive (after only a little effort on Tim’s part), the trees oddly placed and the doors and shutters all painted a light blue instead of the rusty red he’s used to. It’s disorienting and upsetting. Home is supposed to be familiar and it’s not and he hates it.

Tim knocks on a side door that only family knows about, hoping against hope it won’t be Bruce that answers. He doubts it, but he’s positive he won’t be able to keep his composure in front of his dad. It’ll be a little easier with Alfred. Probably. In any case, Alfred is the better option of the two.

While they wait, Dick mumbles, “This is stupid.”

Tim presses his hand against the wound, trying not to be impatient. Trying not to feel sick with nerves. He doesn’t reply, knowing Dick isn’t really paying attention right now.

When the door finally opens, Tim could collapse with relief. Alfred stands there, one hand hiding his rifle out of their sight in an all-too-familiar pose, while the other holds onto the doorjamb. His hair is darker than Tim is used to, his face less wrinkled. He’s staring at them like they’re weird, strange boys, standing at what’s supposed to be a virtually unknown entrance to a private, secure home in the late hours of the night.

Blood covers Dick’s upper body and Tim’s hands, and they both look and smell rough. They don’t make a pretty picture, and Tim knows that, but there’s nothing he can do except get Alfred to let them in somehow. He’s been thinking about what he wants to say, what’ll appeal to Alfred’s compassion or curiosity or both. Please, help my brother before he loses too much blood. Please, don’t tell Bruce about this. Please, I’m so exhausted and I need a cup of your chamomile and a cookie and also maybe a hug or I’m going to explode.

What he says instead is, “ Alfred .” It’s a relieved sob, leaving him without permission, and Alfred’s shocked and confused reaction is much more noticeable than it should be. “I—we didn’t know where else to go. He’s hurt.”

There are more words on his tongue, an avalanche of them wanting to come out, but Alfred stops him there with a raised hand. He doesn’t put the rifle down, but he says, “Come in, then,” and opens the door wide enough for them.

Dick groans when Tim drags him up the steps. Blinking sluggishly at Alfred, he says, “Alf…?”

“Yeah, it’s Alfred. Come on, help out here a little bit. We’re just gonna sit down and hopefully get you patched up, alright, Dickie?”

“Hrn.”

Tim bites his lip at the Bruce noise, stupid tears stinging in his eyes.

He’s home. It’s unfamiliar. Dick is hurt. He’s in charge.

Now is so not the time to cry.

Alfred leads them to a nearby couch in a sitting room they’ve never used in all the years Tim’s known Bruce. Rifle still in hand, he seems much more unsure than their Alfred, who would’ve already had the situation on lock by now.

“We need a first aid kit, please,” Tim says. He glances at the weapon, and adds, “We won’t cause any trouble, I promise. I—I know this is probably super weird, but….”

But what? Tim can’t think of a way to end the sentence so he just doesn’t. Instead, he turns to Dick and starts pulling his brother’s shirt off, something they really should’ve done hours ago. While he uses the fabric to put pressure on the wound again, he hears Alfred moving around behind him.

If this Bruce is anything like theirs, a first aid kit shouldn’t be too far away. There’s one in every bathroom back home.

It’s not long before Alfred is back, shooing Tim away and setting a large first aid kit on the couch. His rifle is gone, but Tim knows it can’t be far. There’s no way this Alfred trusts them enough to not have it close at hand. “Do I dare ask what happened?”

God, it’s good to hear his voice. “My brother got shot,” Tim says, reverting to his natural instinct to reveal as little as possible. Normally Alfred is someone he can give a full mission report to, but Tim is just Tim right now, not Red Robin, and this is not his Alfred, so he’s going to keep his mouth shut up tight.

“Well, my word. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him.” And there’s that Alfred sass. It doesn’t make him laugh like it usually does—no, it just reminds him again that he isn’t actually home. “Care to explain more? Should I be concerned you were followed?”

Tim thinks on it for a minute, but really, there’s no way Maroni’s guy got up in time to tail them. The rest of the mob family have probably heard about them by now, but Tim isn’t too worried about it. He can’t find it within himself to be. All he can really think about is Dick, Alfred, Bruce. If coming here was a mistake after all. If they’ll ever make it home to see their Bruce and Alfred. Eventually, he says, “No. We weren’t followed.”

Dick groans as Alfred starts to prep the gunshot wound to get the bullet out. He sways a little, dizzy, and mumbles an apology when Alfred has to readjust him.

Alfred says, “Just hold as still as you can, and you’ll be alright.”

Hearing the tenderness in Alfred’s voice does something to Tim. This is Alfred , he thinks. He can help us with more than just this.  

He blurts out, “It was one of Maroni’s men.”

“Sal Maroni?” Alfred sounds suspiciously uninterested, not even bothering to look away from his work. “The mob boss?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Alright, young man, I’m going to get this bullet out now.”

“Tim,” Dick grits out, reaching out his hand. Tim takes it, sitting down on the other side of his brother. He forces himself to watch as Alfred goes through the familiar motions. Dick doesn’t actually squeeze his hand that much, too used to this kind of pain, but Tim thinks maybe they both feel better having the lifeline.

He stays there until Dick is stitched up and accepts a dose of Tylenol—no matter how much Alfred gives them concerned looks and insists on something stronger, a Bat doesn’t take hard drugs.

Not quite huffing in exasperation, Alfred acquiesces and leaves Dick alone, sitting back against the cushions. Then he turns to Tim. With his hands on his hips and his sleeves rolled up, he’s honestly kind of intimidating. “Now you, young man,” he says.

“Um. What? I’m fine. I didn’t get shot, I don’t need anything.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. Tim can out-stubborn almost anybody, even his other family members, but Alfred Pennyworth is not one of them. Everyone bows down to him.

Tim sighs and scoots a few inches away from Dick, and when Alfred shoos him all the way into the other corner, he goes. Surprisingly, the older man sits next to Tim, between him and Dick, and instead of reaching for the kit, he just. Puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Which Tim finds extremely weird, considering how British and physically distant Alfred is. Oh sure, he hugs them all. He catches them when they fall, he reassures them with arm pats and shoulder squeezes. But it’s unlike him to just... sit here and rest his hand on Tim’s shoulder, looking him in the face with an expression Tim finds he can’t read.

Not being able to read people, especially someone he knows so well, freaks him out.

Tense, Tim says, “What?”

Alfred is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Where have you boys been staying?”

Oh. Yeah, okay. He’s suspicious of them. Tim can understand why. “We have a place.” It’s a disgusting alley behind a pizzeria they can’t afford to eat at, scraping by with the last of the money they had on them when they were sent here, but it’s not a lie.

Alfred backs off, picking his battles and probably recognizing this one for what it is: unwinnable. He’s more than perceptive enough to read between the lines anyway, add up all the clues—their clothes are dirty, their hair greasy, and Tim knows he’s looking pretty gaunt. And considering how jumpy Tim is acting, it’s likely Alfred thinks they’re homeless. Which they are.

“Are you injured anywhere?”

Tim holds out his hand, his knuckles split and raw from earlier, and ignores how badly he’s shaking. Alfred takes his hand, and grabs alcohol wipes from the kit. He dabs at the wounds, glancing at Tim’s face like he’s expecting a reaction. And yeah, it stings a little, but he’s had much worse. This is nothing.

“Hmm.” Alfred moves Tim’s hand around, looking for other wounds, finding a few little cuts. “So your brother’s name is Dickie?”

“Dick,” Tim corrects. Bruce and Jason are the only ones who call Dick that usually, and Jason almost always does it because it’s his ‘little brother duty’ or something. The only reason he said it earlier is because he hoped it would be comforting. “Short for—”

“Richard, I assume.”

“Yeah.” Tim falls silent, trying to keep his hand still. When a few moments of silence go by, he looks up at Alfred, finding him making an expectant face. “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’m Tim.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tim. You seem to already know my name.”

Yeah. Shit. Unable to think of a lie beyond ‘you look like my grandpa’, Tim laughs nervously. “Lucky guess?”

Dick snorts. “You jus’ look like our gran’pa, that’s all. His name’s Alfred. Yours too, huh?”

Alfred doesn’t look convinced, but he goes along with it anyway. “Yes, mine too.” What an odd coincidence , he doesn’t say, but Tim hears it anyway.

It doesn’t take long after that for Alfred to finish up Tim’s knuckles. He offers to put some band-aids on, but Tim shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Dick gives him a look, and despite the fact that he’s still acting loopy, there’s a strength to it. Tim can tell what he’s thinking—that if the cuts weren’t on the knuckles, a very awkward place to put bandages, Dick would be insisting on it. Well, whatever , he thinks, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue. You’re not in charge right now anyway.

Alfred stands and looks them over for a brief moment, hesitation obvious in the way he pauses, inhaling deeply. Then, with determination, he says, “I will prepare you something to eat. Do either of you have any allergies I should be aware of?”

“Sulfites,” Tim says at the same time Dick says, “Shellfish. And pet dander.”

“Dick, man, I’m pretty sure they don’t have pets. And even if they did, pets aren’t allowed in the kitchen under any circumstances.”

“Oh yeah,” Dick says with a faint chuckle. “Forgot.”

“Mister Tim,” Alfred cuts in before Tim can reply. It’s unspeakably weird to be called Mister Tim instead of Master Tim, even though Alfred called him that for years. “Will sandwiches suffice?”

The thought of eating Alfred’s food—and even more than that, something they haven’t fished out of a dumpster—is drool-worthy. Quickly, he agrees, “Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

Alfred nods and leaves, probably thankful to get the heck away from them for a few minutes. Once he’s gone, the brothers fall quiet, both a blessing and a curse. Not having Alfred asking questions that Tim has to evade is great, but it does give him the opportunity to keep freaking out.

What do they do next? Alfred might not let them leave while Dick is healing, and that means the chances of running into Bruce raise astronomically. Tim knows that he won’t be able to handle that. Not at all.

“Stop it,” Dick whispers, loud in the overwhelming quiet. “I can see your forehead vein from here.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to think.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Tim sighs, letting the banter drop for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry you got shot. I know it’s not my fault,” he says, speaking over Dick’s immediate protest. “I know that. But I’m still sorry.”

“…Thanks. I’m accepting your apology but not your responsibility.”

“Duh.” Tim fiddles with his hands, satisfied but also knowing, in his heart of hearts, that it is in fact his fault and Dick is totally wrong. “I’m not sorry I brought us here, though.”

“Duh,” Dick repeats, sounding more than a little peeved. Not that Tim can blame him, really. If Tim and Damian had agreed to something, and then Damian went back on it… that’d be really annoying.

Still, that little brother duty Jason talks about means he has to defend himself. “Dick, we were gonna end up coming here anyway, don’t you see that?” He shoots to his feet and drags his hands through his hair, pacing in front of the couch. Despite his earlier flip-flopping, he’s sure now. This was the right decision even if it does suck a lot. “Where else could we possibly go? We don’t belong here. The only way we can get home is by ask—”

Tim cuts off immediately when footsteps echo down the hall. They sound different from Alfred’s, a third tap that sounds a lot like a cane.

This Alfred doesn’t use a cane. The only person who could is—

Both Dick and Tim tense as the doorway is filled up by Bruce freaking Wayne.

“Um,” Tim says.

Bruce looks different. Not just in the sense that he is, in fact, using a cane, but just. Everything. He looks younger, a neat beard covering much of his face. There’s barely any salt in it at all. The scars that litter the skin of his face and arms, mostly bare considering he’s wearing only a t-shirt and pajama pants, aren’t there. Worst of all, there’s no recognition in his eyes.

His sons have become strangers. But no, this man is not their father. Tim has to shout it at himself. He’s not! Bruce Wayne would never look at them like this. Especially not Dick.

Dick makes a noise, a small and sad little whimper, and Tim thinks, shit. Shit shit shit. Unable to do anything to help, Tim shuffles closer to him, hoping it’s enough to comfort.

“Who are you?” Bruce asks, moving further into the room. He says it casually, like this is a totally normal situation, but there’s steel there, too. Of course there is. This is Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t mess around, especially when it comes to strangers invading his home. And as much as that feels like a knife to the chest, that’s what they are. Strangers . The word lingers in his mind, leaving a bad aftertaste.

Tim gets the distinct feeling that the cane, for all that it serves to help Bruce walk, is a weapon. One this Bruce will have no issue using against them. “Um. We—we’re homeless,” he blurts out, trying to push the thought away. “And my brother got shot, so we came here looking for help. We’ll be gone soon, I promise. Don’t worry about us, this is just a one time thing, and we won’t tell anyone else. I know this is a house and not a triage center.”

Bruce is already looking at him like he’s an intruder, but at that, the man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Oh, right. That’s something the other—the right —Bruce would say. Has said many times. Because it’s something their Alfred has always said, and apparently this Alfred too.

Scrambling, Tim keeps going, pasting a fake smile on his face. “Alfred knows we’re here. He’ll be right back. It’s okay, we’ll just wait right here and not steal anything, so you can go back to bed. Goodnight.”

“Tim,” Dick bites out, obviously trying to communicate that he thinks Tim is being a weirdo, and that he’s doing nothing but tipping Bruce off to the fact that something is wrong.

“I’m freaking out, okay?” Tim exclaims back, curling and relaxing his fingers in an effort to control himself. It’s impossible, though—this is their dad , for crying out loud. Their dad, who they haven’t seen in a long time, not since before they were attacked as civilians and flung through the wormhole that deposited them here. Their dad, who Tim really, seriously needs a hug from right now.

Bruce comes closer, leaning against one of the two unused chairs. Where Tim tenses further, unsure of what he’s about to do or say, Dick relaxes. He’s really out of it now, the blood loss and medicine finally catching up with him.  He’s blinking heavily and listing to the side. “Hand me that, will you?” He asks Bruce, gesturing to a throw blanket resting on the top of the chair.

Suddenly feeling very protective of Dick, Tim says, “I can—”

“No,” Bruce interrupts, the corner of his mouth curling up like he thinks this is funny. “I’ve got it.”

He grabs the blanket and walks over to the couch. Tim stumbles back a few steps to give him room. For a second, it seems like none of them breathe—but then Bruce leans on his cane like a crutch, bends down, and lays the blanket over Dick.

Tim has seen Bruce tuck people in before, usually Damian. All those times, he either didn’t care much, or a swirl of jealousy had tightened in his stomach. He can remember wondering why Bruce didn’t tuck him in. Why his parents never did it, why Mrs. Mac and all the nannies hadn’t either.

This time, his eyes sting with tears.  He forces them back, biting the inside of his cheek.

Dick snuggles into the cushions behind his back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Thanks, dad,” he mumbles, slipping off into a nap.

Bruce and Tim both freeze.

“Um,” Tim says, because something has to be said, this needs to be nipped in the bud and stopped right now before Bruce can ask anything. But really, the chances of Bruce Wayne not asking questions? Less than zero. And Tim’s brain is screaming, because what the hell could he possibly say to explain that ?

Alfred enters the room again before anything can happen, carrying a tray holding a few sandwiches. He sets it down on a side table before looking up.

“Oh,” he stops short when he sees Bruce, hands hovering above the food. “Master Bruce, I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was just doing some reading,” he waves off, but he can’t quite manage to sound casual. “Now… did he just call me dad ?”

Oh fuck , Tim thinks. Awkwardly, he laughs, “No! What? No, that’s ridiculous.” Seeing that this tactic isn’t working—Bruce and Alfred both have legendary ‘bitch please’ looks that go beyond the confines of time and space, apparently—he shifts gears. “I mean, okay, yes he did. But—but it’s just because you look like our dad! A lot like him, actually. Haha.”

Bruce and Alfred stare at him, concern building as he keeps laughing, spurred on by a week of non-stop stress and the pressure of being in charge— maybe , he thinks, this was a bad idea all along and we shouldn’t have come here and Dick was totally right. It’s only when his laughter turns to hiccuping sobs that either of them move, Bruce managing to grab his bicep in time before Tim can sink to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Alfred hurries to his other side, fretting, “Come on, young sir, just sit down now.”

They lead him to one of the chairs, where he collapses, his head in his hands. Dick is better at this—at leading, at interacting, at not breaking apart. It should all be the opposite: Tim sleeping off a GSW while Dick lies through his teeth as he explains what’s going on. Not that Dick would’ve gotten them into this situation, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, refusing to look up. They’re both staring at him again, clearly unsure what to do with a strange, crying teenager.

After a moment, Alfred says, “You boys say I look like your grandfather, and now Master Bruce looks like your father. By chance, what is his name?”

“Bruce Wayne,” Tim replies to the floor. “But… not him. A different one.”

“A different Bruce Wayne?” The confusion and curiosity is clear as day in Bruce’s voice, and Tim can’t help but snort a little.

“Yeah. Um, this is going to sound really crazy, but my brother and I are from a different universe.” He peeks at their faces, not surprised at all by the blatant disbelief he sees. “I can prove it.”

Alfred and Bruce share a wide-eyed look.“How?”

“I know you’re the one who’s been sending the GCPD all those case files. And before you say you’re not, you just said you were doing some reading. Downstairs. In the cave below this property, right? Back home, it’s called the Batcave and you’re Batman.”

“Go on, Mister Tim,” Alfred says after a moment. “We believe you.”

Relief crashes down on him and more tears slip out against his will. “I need your help. We need your help. We’ve been here for a week, and—and—and we have no idea how to get home. None. There’s no one else we can turn to, ‘cause the people who would usually help us either can’t or wouldn’t, since they don’t know us here. And god, this world is nothing at all like ours…. I just want to go home. I don’t know what to do. Please,” he begs, desperate. “I need advice.”

Bruce hesitantly sets a hand on Tim’s back, rubbing up and down in a motion that is, wow, extremely soothing. “We’ll figure this out, Tim. I promise you, Alfred and I will help you boys any way we can.”

Before Tim can ask if it’s just because they’re his sons in some other universe, Alfred clears his throat. “It may take some time, mind you. But you and your brother will need to stay here anyway, seeing as that wound needs time to heal. I can’t, in good conscience, let that happen out on the streets.”

Tim wants to refuse. Wants to say thanks but no thanks, you can put us up in a motel or something until everything is worked out. Wants to cry and cry and wake up from this nightmare. Instead, mentally and physically exhausted, he just says, “Okay.”

Both men are concerned by the response, he can tell. Though he isn’t looking, he can practically hear the silent conversation they’re having over his head. Then Alfred stands. “I will make up two of the guest rooms, then, sirs. Mister Tim, could you help bring Mister Dick upstairs?”

“Just set up one, we can share,” Tim replies. It’s late and he doesn’t want Alfred to have to do anything more than he’s already done. Than he’s already doing.

“If you’re certain….”

“I am. Thank you.”

He’s not gone for long, and thank god, because Tim can hardly stand to be alone with Bruce without spilling even more. He’s already said so much tonight, he feels empty and hollowed out, kind of like a balloon that’s been blown up only for all the air to wheeze out of it, leaving it sad and stretched. Holy shit, that metaphor. He needs to go to bed, and he needs a mattress instead of another cardboard box laid over hard cobblestone and concrete.

Shaking his head to stop his thoughts, he moves over to Dick and wakes him, a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Dick, wake up,” he says a few times until his brother is blinking heavily at him.

“Wha’?”

“We’re gonna go upstairs and sleep. Come on, I’ll help you.”

“Hrn,” he says again, and this time, Bruce hears it. Tim glances at him, almost surprised to see the emotions on Bruce’s face. Apparently that’s a Bruce noise in this universe too, and it only helps to cement Tim’s story.

Tim helps Dick stand up, swinging Dick’s good arm over his shoulders. Together, they slowly ascend the stairs, something Tim is more than familiar with considering how many times something like this has happened at home. At the top, they meet up with Alfred, who takes them to a guest room that is thankfully unused in their version of the Manor.

Alfred helps Dick get settled into the mattress, his shoes and belt shed. “I could get you both some pajamas,” Alfred says when he sees the way Tim flops down, both of them still in battered, dirty, expensive chinos.

“We’re okay,” Tim says, aware that the only pajamas in the house must belong to Bruce and Alfred, and that neither size would fit them. He’s not sure he could handle it right now even if they did. “Thank you though. For…for all of this. It means a lot.”

Alfred graces him with a gentle smile. “Of course, young sir. I would like to think that your Bruce will appreciate this.”

He leaves, and then it’s just Tim and Dick. They’ve shared a bed plenty of times before, on nights when there was no one else around and they didn’t want to be alone. Dick was the one who taught Tim one of the best parts about having siblings: cuddles. Dick is a cuddle monster, but maybe tonight Tim won’t wake up being held protectively to his brother’s chest.

Under the covers, Tim stares at the ceiling. His mind refuses to shut off even though they’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere he can sleep and not worry about what might happen when he’s not paying attention.

He feels a little better, now that there are actual adults in charge, who are going to help. Who can keep Dick from getting hurt again, especially from Tim’s carelessness. But it makes him miss home, just reminds him how far away he and Dick are from their real family. He’s curious, on some level, about this Bruce Wayne. He trusts him to take care of them long enough for them to return home. How long that’s going to take is a question, though, one that he thinks can probably be answered by: a long time.

It’ll be good for Dick, at least. Give him time to heal.

God, Dick shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. But of course he did, and of course it was because of some dumb argument, because of Tim—

“’M not perfect,” Dick whispers, making Tim, who was certain he was asleep, jump. When he turns to look, he finds Dick’s eyes are closed. Squeezed shut. “’M not . I don’t know what I’m doing, Tim. I didn’t wanna come here ‘cause of the rules, and ‘cause it’s hard… hard to see them. ‘M lucky I getta sleep through it, I guess.”

“Dick—”

“I woulda done the same thing, okay?” And now he opens his eyes, meeting Tim’s head on. “This was the right choice. Coming here. Alfred gives the best advice.”

“Yeah.” Tim’s throat feels thick, the word hard to get out.

Dick reaches out his good hand and rests it on Tim’s cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here. You saved me. Now go to sleep,” he says, and then teasingly smacks him. “I can hear you thinking all the way from here.”

“You’re like two feet away,” Tim points out, but he tries to listen anyway. He closes his eyes, thinking maybe he will be able to rest. Dick is the best at comforting people.

“Shhhh,” Dick says, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. Sleep.”

“Yes, mom.”

“ Shhh !”

Tim laughs, and for the first time in a while, it’s real. He feels safe and warm and not alone, and while he can’t exactly say he’s happy right now, he’s a lot closer than he was just a few hours before.

Tomorrow , he decides, settling down, I’m going to take a shower and eat a real meal. And then, then I can finally start figuring out how to get us home.

[lopithecusfanfiction]

A Life So Changed: Chapter Sixty-One

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2775 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Author's Note: So, I’m thinking one chapter a month is going to be the norm for now on. I hope that is okay. Once in a while I might be able to do more than that but adulting takes a lot of time, unfortunately. :/ Enjoy!!

Bruce lies awake in bed, Clark’s arms wrapped protectively around him. The Kryptonian is fast asleep, limbs heavy on Bruce’s body. He can feel Lara moving around inside him, the sensation weird and uncanny. Bruce shifts and Clark stirs, a sleepy mumble coming out of the man’s mouth. But Clark doesn’t wake and Bruce uses the opportunity to place his own hand on his stomach. Lara kicks and he feels it.

*~~~*

“You want to what?” Bruce asks Clark over breakfast. He’s feeling pretty good this morning which is a nice change. There’s a dull ache in his head but it is nowhere near the intensity the headaches have been recently and his appetite has come back full force. Alfred has made him oatmeal and toast with some scrambled eggs and a few berries in a bowl. He picks a raspberry out of it and chews, savoring the juicey flavor.

Clark swallows his own bite of eggs, the Gotham Gazette open in his hands. Bruce had asked him why he wasn’t reading the Daily Planet seeing as Bruce has a subscription to that as well, and Clark replied with that he wanted to see the differences between the two. Of course the Gotham Gazette focuses more on Gotham news while the Daily Planet focuses on Metropolis news, but even the world news the two writes about is different. Each puts priorities on different things and writes about them in different ways.

“I think it would do us both some good if we went,” Clark replies, flipping the page. “Ma and Pa have really started to come around now that they’ve realized I’m serious about us.” Clark looks up at him. “I’ll go see them alone if you really don’t want to come but I would love for you to join me.”

Bruce sighs and takes a sip of his green tea. “You’re talking about going to go see the two people that hate me. The two people that insulted me the last time I saw them.”

Clark nods, setting down his mug of coffee that he had just drank from. “Yes, I am. But it’s been a long time since then and I have only seen them once since that whole incident.” Clark shrugs. “I’ve talked to them on the phone a few times here and there but not as much as I used to. I think they’re getting the hint that if they don’t accept you, then I don’t want anything to do with them.”

“That’s a lie.” Clark raises his eyebrow at Bruce in question. “You could never say goodbye to your parent completely.”

Clark shrugs again, taking a bite of egg. “I suppose you’re right.”

Bruce sits there and watches Clark eat for a few seconds before he finally sighs heavily. “Fine, I’ll go. But you’re not flying me there. I’ll call the airport and have them get my jet ready.”

Bruce can tell Clark is trying to not smile. “Why don’t you want me flying you there?”

“Because I’m too pregnant for that now.”

Clark chuckles. “You’re in your sixth month and aren’t even that big. Wait until you’re eight months along.”

Bruce grimaces, stabbing a blueberry. “Please don’t remind me of the hardships I’m going to face. Lara is heavy enough as it is.”

“Lara is a nice name.” Bruce and Clark turn towards the voice, seeing Tim and Damian walk into the room. “Dick told me that’s what you are naming her.”

“And you didn’t believe him?” Clark asks the teen.

Tim shrugs and sits down at the table, stealing one of Bruce’s toast. “No, I believed him but I just wanted to make sure.”

“And you?” Bruce asks, turning to Damian who is grabbing at an apple from the bowl on the counter. “What do you think?”

“Tt, I don’t care.” Damian then stalks out of the room, giving Bruce’s stomach a quick glance. Bruce doesn’t miss the small smile the kid tries to hide.

“He’s coming around,” Tim informs and Bruce hums in agreement.

Clark stands up and walks to Bruce’s side of the table, leaning down and giving him a kiss on the temple. “There’s a few things I need to do at the Fortress but I’ll be back in a couple hours to go to Smallville with you.”

“Okay,” Bruce replies, giving Clark a smile in return. The Kryptonian leaves and Bruce is left sitting there with Tim stealing grapes from his fruit bowl. Bruce eyes him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Tim pops a grape into his mouth.

Bruce narrows his eyes. “Tim.”

Tim lets out a long, deep sigh, hand falling to the table with a loud thud. “It’s really nothing. I’ve just been thinking about the baby and you and Kon.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why are me and the baby in the same thought process as Conner?” Then Bruce’s eyes grow wide. “You’re not pregnant are you? Tim, I swear to God, I can’t deal with another accidental pregnancy.”

Tim shakes his head in amusement, short chuckle coming from him. “No, trust me, Bruce, I’m very careful during my heats.” He huffs. “I think Kon is even more careful than I am.”

“Good,” Bruce says with a nod.

“It’s mostly just the future I’m thinking about.” Tim picks up Bruce’s fork and starts playing with the eggs on Bruce’s plate. Bruce watches in annoyance. “You and Clark are going to have a baby together that’s going to take up a lot of your time. It’s not like when you adopted Dick, Jason, me, and then took on Damian. We were already kids at the time, self sufficient. A baby is needy and helpless. Yeah, you have Alfred but I suspect you two are still going to be doing most of the work.”

“Tim, is there a point to this?” Bruce asks.

Tim rolls his eyes and flings some egg at Bruce which Bruce dodges. “Yes, asshole.” Bruce smiles at his son. “I’m wondering if I want that when I’m older. Does Kon want that? The normal omega and alpha response would be, yes, we do but then I think about being Red Robin and him being Superboy and how busy we are and are going to be.” Tim twirls the fork. “I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a father, Bruce.”

“You’re still a little young to be thinking about this. You’re only seventeen, Tim, you have plenty of time to decide,” Bruce points out.

“That’s the thing, Bruce,” Tim continues. “I have decided.” Tim looks him in the eyes. “I want to be a father someday, I want it with Kon if I can though I know that might not be a possibility for many different reasons, but the problem lies in which whether or not I’ll have the time or if I’ll screw it up somehow.”

“Tim,” Bruce places a hand on the teen’s shoulder. “I think all parents have those fears.” He smiles at Tim. “And you know, if I end up having time to take care of Lara and I somehow don’t screw her up,” Tim chuckles, “then you definitely can do it too.”

Tim shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out eventually, won’t we?”

“Hopefully not too soon,” Bruce points out and Tim chuckles again.

“Yeah, not too soon.” Tim sets Bruce’s fork back down. “I don’t want to be Dick’s age either. I’m thinking early thirties… if I make it to that age.” The mention of Dick’s situation and then the possibility of Tim not living long enough to see his thirties dampens the mood instantaneously. Bruce frowns down at his food and Tim is staring at the table, solem. “Sorry” the omega says quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Bruce shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He stands and pushes his plates to Tim. “Finish this food. I don’t want it anymore.”

“Bruce,” Tim starts but doesn’t continue, looking regretful.

Bruce gives the omega a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really.” He then walks out of the kitchen, heading towards his office to make the arrangements to go to Smallville.

*~~~*

Clark and him are in Smallville, knocking on Martha and Jonathan’s door within a few hours. The older beta opens the door immediately and gathers Clark into her arms, squeezing the alpha tight. “Oh, Clark! It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Jonathan appears beside his mate. “It’s good to see you, Son.”

Clark ducks his head in embarrassment. “Ma, Pa, it’s good to see you too.”

Martha smiles at her son then turns her attention on Bruce. “Bruce…” She trails off, face looking sad and regretful. She waves them in. “Come in you two.” They both follow the two betas into the house and Martha ushers them into the dining room where there are plates set up with food. They all sit, say a prayer, and then begin to eat. “Bruce,” Martha starts. “Jonathan and I are glad you came. We’ve had a very long time to think about how we acted the last time we saw ya and…” she looks down at the table.

Jonathan jumps in. “We regret how we treated ya, Bruce. It was wrong of us to judge ya without even knowing ya.” His eyes flick to Clark. “We taught our son better than that and, well, quite frankly, we should know better than that too.” Jonathan extends a hand. “We’re sorry, Bruce, and we hope ya can one day forgive us.”

Bruce eyes the hand but doesn't take it. “How do I know you’re not just saying that to get Clark back into your lives and have a relationship with our baby?”

Jonathan’s hand descends and Martha answers him. “We know we haven’t given ya any reason as to why ya should trust us, but we hope that we can try and earn that trust back. The little conversations that Jonathan and I had with Clark after how we treated ya, showed us how terrible we were and how much ya mean to our boy. We ain’t usually mean people, Bruce, and I’m ashamed to admit that that’s exactly what we were.”

“We know we have to gain ya trust,” Jonathan pitches in. “We just hope ya’ll give us the chance.” He looks to Clark as well, most likely knowing they lost their son’s trust as well. “Sorry isn’t enough, we understand that, but we really want to try and make it work. To understand what it is that ya and our son have, and about the baby.”

“Like we said, Bruce,” Martha says. “We had a nice long thought about this whole thing after we left Gotham. I know it ain’t no excuse, but I think the shock of it all is what caused a lot of our animosity towards ya. We should have given ya a chance before jumping to our own conclusions though, and for that, we are truly sorry.”

Bruce is looking down at the table, one hand on his stomach, and the other placed on the table. He thinks about what Jonathan and Martha had just said to him, wonders what Clark had said to them in order for them to really think about how they treated him, and then made his decision. “Her name is going to be Lara, after Clark’s biological mother. But I was thinking of having her middle name be Martha.” He shrugs. “Everyone seems to be surprised that that isn’t going to be her first name so I should probably stick it in there somewhere.” He looks up at Martha, eyeing Jonathan before moving back to Clark’s mother. “After all, there’s two Marthas in the family.”

Martha has tears in her eyes, recognizing the peace offering. She takes Jonathan’s hand and squeezes it, giving Bruce a small smile. “Thank ya, Bruce.” Jonathan smiles as well, nodding in agreement with his mate.

*~~~*

All four of them sit in the living room, watching a movie in the dark. Bruce is always amazed by how different darkness is in Smallville than it is in Gotham. In Gotham, there isn’t really truly a complete darkness. Pollution and clouds make sure of that. But here in Smallville, there are no clouds, there is no pollution, and better yet, there is no light from the city illuminating the sky. Pure darkness at its best, with a million stars littering the sky. It’s the most peaceful Bruce will ever get.

“Martha huh?” Clark whispers to him. They are secluded on the couch, Clark lying on it and Bruce squeezed on it in front of him, Clark’s arm wrapped around him to make sure he doesn’t fall off. Martha and Jonathan are in their own chairs, Martha rocking rhythmically and Jonathan leaning back, sinking into the cushioned chair. The male on the tv screen opens the door leading him to the murderer.

“It’s fitting don’t you think?” Bruce whispers back. “Honor all three mothers.”

Clark chuckles. “I just don’t know if I like the sound of Lara Martha Wayne-Kent.” He pauses. “Or will it be Lara Martha Kent-Wayne?”

Bruce elbows him in the side and Clark squeaks, causing Martha to look over briefly. “It might not sound poetic but I don’t care. My mother and your biological mother aren’t here so they both deserve to be honored. And besides, Martha Lara excetra sounds even worse.”

Clark chuckles, his whole body shaking with the attempt to stay quiet. “Nice job avoiding the last name issue.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and sits up, stretching. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Clark sits up too. “Oh no, is it starting?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at the alpha. “Is what starting?”

“The frequent bathroom trips.” Clark looks worried. Bruce picks up a throw pillow and smacks him across the face. Martha and Jonathan laugh and Clark grabs the pillow, tackles Bruce to pull him back down, and smothers him in kisses. He stops when Bruce starts to grumble and squirm too much, letting go. “I’m only teasing.”

Bruce sits back up and smooths down the front of his shirt. “I know. Now, the bathroom. I really have to go.”

Clark mocks an annoyed sigh. “Fine. Go. Scamper away little bat.” Bruce rolls his eyes again and stands, leaving the room with the feeling of everyone’s eyes on him and Clark’s laughs in his ears.

Martha and Jonathan have two bathrooms. One downstairs and one upstairs. The problem Bruce has always had, however, is the size of the downstairs one. It’s more of a half bath sized room but whoever built the house still decided to try and squeeze in a shower. The few times Bruce has been to this house, whenever the League was invited, he never once saw any of the members use the downstairs bathroom. No one but Clark, of course. Bruce does the same. Avoids the downstairs bathroom at all costs and now that his stomach is bigger, he really doesn’t want to try and squeeze his way around in there. So he heads for the stairs to go to the bathroom on the second floor.

The stairs to the second floor are steep but manageable. Wally once fell down them, clumsy as he is. He ended up breaking his calf and is lucky he heals so quickly. The bone was completely mended by the time the League left, the speedster running off to where he wanted to go after. Bruce now holds onto the railing, taking his time to make his way up. The last thing he wants to do is fall down the stairs.

The size of the bathroom up here is much more tolerable and Bruce feels a lot more comfortable doing his business in it. Once done, he washes his hands and then makes his way out. At the top of the stairs, he pauses. He stands there, not really seeing anything as he looks down them. Slowly, the feeling of leaving his body encompasses him and he sluggishly reaches out with a shaky hand to the railing. His fingers curl around it and grip tightly. His body doesn’t move. Blinks slow. Breathing shallow.

Suddenly, he’s snapped back into his body by an excruciating pain stabbing in his head, his ears ringing so loud that he can’t hear the tv downstairs anymore. He takes a sharp breath in, hands flying up to cup at his head, as he takes a step back away from the stairs. He stumbles and falls, hitting the floor hard, and curling into himself. His mouth is open, he doesn’t know if he’s screaming in pain, but his whole body convulses and then he blacks out.

A/N: You all are so, so close to finding out what is wrong with Bruce. So close!! I can’t wait until it’s revealed and see all your reactions. :D Thanks for reading!!

[renaroo]

This is so completely random, but you're very probably the only Batfam Stan that also loves the Superfam and knows the various members of both families. I was wondering, in your mind, which members of the Superfamily match up with which members of the Batfamily? Like for instance, I've always firmly believed that Linda-Mae matches up with Dick, while Karen goes with Helena. As far as Babs goes, they share her.

If I’m reading you correctly, you’re asking who roughly inhabits the same spots in the Superfam that the Batfam has, yes? It’s really a fascinating question because I think there are lots of comparisons to be made, but it’s also interesting because of the ways they don’t line up perfectly. Like there’s a big difference in their structure just by the fact that Lois is the clear matriarch of the family and almost none of the Superfam have been without a relationship with her. So getting comparisons for some positions does tend to get a little fuzzy. So, I’m just going to go through the family one by one, starting with the most obvious which is Clark and Bruce. 

Clark Kent: Obviously as the central family patriarch and the one who basically inspires everyone else to come into their own while attempting to live up to his impossible image, Clark is the most Bruce-like in comparisons. Which of course, their similarities are as strong as their differences which has been the source of their mutual respect and friendship over the decades and just make them incredibly fascinating characters to play off of each other in almost any circumstance. 

Lois Lane: In recent years Kate has kind of stepped up to be the momma of the Batfam in a sense, and to be Bruce’s equal which would be representative of Lois and Clark’s equal footing in their relationship, but Kate’s got much less of a background for this position and for obvious reasons her relationship with Bruce is nothing like Lois’. In that way I would put Lois much more as a Selina Kyle. They share a street smarts and sassiness, prefer to look out for themselves but can’t help but fall into the same circles as their romantic interests, and in most realities end up married. It’s not a perfect fit, but I would argue it on more than a few grounds. 

Jimmy Olsen: Definitely the Dick Grayson of the Superfam. Not only is he Superman’s pal, but he’s sort of the emotional bond that keeps a lot of the Superfam connected. He’s not only trusted by both Clark and Lois and inspired by both of them, but he’s also a confidante and romantic interest for Kara, was a friend to Linda, and in general is someone who is just by definition associated with Superman. It’s an iconic duo in a lesser sense than Bruce and Dick. 

Martha Kent: Originally I was going to say Pa is the Alfred, but honestly Martha Kent is most definitely the Alfred Pennyworth of the Superfamily. She is a supportive and endearing voice, full of wit, and is the first person Clark goes to when he needs advice or solace. She is beloved by all of the Superfam members and has ben denmother/actual mother to nearly all of them in one sense or another. 

Jonathan Kent: The more I think about it, the more I find that Pa is really a lot like Leslie Thompkins in Clark’s life. He has a bit of a harsher vibe to him and his disappointment is something that Clark is more conscious and fearful of, but it all stems from firm morality and a fear and protectiveness of his son. He is the guiding light for Clark’s humanity and is the sort of man that Clark tries to live up to without ever feeling he can fully achieve it. And all that despite clearly having well defined flaws of his own. 

Lana Lang: Hilariously enough, I would put Lana on the level of a far more important and far more relevant and updated Vicki Vale. Again this seems like a strained comparison (because it is) but she’s a former romantic interest and friend to Clark who loves him but also couldn’t deal as well with realizing that he is Superman or at least that he’s something beyond her comprehension. And there’s still some pining and nonsense there, fortunately Lana is with John Henry now and written much better. Speaking of which...

John Henry Irons: A less murdery and more accepted member of the Superfam than his Batfam equivalent, John Henry Irons is a lot like Helena Bertinelli in that they both were inspired by the “patriarchs” of the family, but did things in their own style and in their own ways. He relies on his background and heritage as much as Helena does and it has influenced him to where he is today. 

Kara Zor-El: An apt comparison for Kara is actually Barbara Gordon. Not only were they good friends in the Bronze Age, but they were similarly motivated. Despite both of them having just as much heartbreak and tragedy in their lives as Batman or Superman, they make the choice to not be defined by that and instead to invent their superhero identities as a way of fulfilling an obligation they feel either to law and order or to the sense of not wanting to lose their adopted new home to the same forces that took their old one. 

Natasha Irons: Is absolutely the Superfam’s Stephanie Brown for better or worse. Nat is selfmade, has a family history of criminal activity but chooses to follow her uncle and Superman’s influences instead to make herself a superhero. Despite all she achieves, for absolutely no reason that makes canonical sense to... anyone who’s read it, basically, John abruptly decides she’s undeserving of her suit and takes it from her? That causes her to make some mistakes and play into a trap by one of the family’s worst enemies and get held hostage and tortured. Fortunately she wasn’t needlessly killed like Steph, but she did come back in spectacular fashion. 

Mae Kent: Mae is a completely different character from Linda Danvers. Mostly. Kind of. So I’m going to treat them as such on this list. Mae is actually Clark’s adopted sister in the preboot and was taken in and cared for by Ma and Pa Kent. She’s fairly independent, making a name for herself outside of Clark even if they continued to have a good relationship. When Clark dies for a year, she is one of the top contenders for taking his place and becoming a surrogate Superman herself. In this way she most reminds me of Kate Kane, self-made while deeply connected to the family patriarch and sharing a family bond. 

Karen Starr: Completely depends on which version you’re going with but if you’re going with the most common, the preboot, I think Karen is the most like Harper Row. She’s a solid member of the family, but she’s also beyond the family, and it’s not in a bad sense. She’s still connected to everyone, and every inventive and set apart almost purely based on her industriousness (making her business empire!) but as much as she does team up with everyone and join frays, she’s mostly off on her own adventures these days and most of her drama comes from civilian life rather than just her time as Power Girl.

Kon-El: This is going to be so freaking controversial but here we are. If I was to pick any analogue in the Batfam for Kon it would not be his best bud Tim, but his fellow leap-before-thinking, bit of a bad boy, fellow leather jacket wearing Jason Todd. They both like coming back from the dead and having inexplicable genre jumps throughout their histories and their main angst comes from a conflict of ideals and perspectives with their parental figures. Kon also is constantly concerned with going over the edge and turning to a villain because of his “bad genes” which reminds me a lot of how Jason felt judged for growing up and being born into a situation outside of his control. 

Linda Danvers: It’s a bit of a cheat since they’re my favorite heroes I grew up with at the time, but when I think of Linda I always think of Cassandra Cain. Linda was not born into an abusive home life, but she was part of an abusive relationship and made mistakes that eventually led to a death. Unlike Cass, however, Linda’s death was her own. That was the turning point in her origins and from that point on she was led to being Supergirl out of not just a weird combining with Mae but through discovering a deeper level of morality and humanity than she had once seen inside of herself. And that became such a strong light in her life, she was even able to inspire the redemption of the very demon that had been responsible for her murder. 

Traci Thirteen: It might be a bit early to call this, but I think Duke Thomas is the most positioned in the Batfam with Traci. Traci initially was a pretty independent character who mostly worked under the “advisement” of Clark and came into her own with her own identity and style. They both have good families they lose to tragic circumstances and slowly find their place within the gaggle of other children in their families. 

Maggie Sawyer: Like I’m not saying it’s a purely lesbian thing, but it’s kind of the lesbian friend detective in the force who goes above and beyond and may or may not be a hero in their own right thing that I compare Maggie Sawyer and Renee Montoya. It’s a thing. And it’s a thing that unites them because they both have banged Kate Kane. Which is the real dream.

Cir-El: My poor sweet daughter is of course far too similar and too unused much like my other dear sweet daughter, Helena Wayne. They are both daughters of the matriarch and patriarch of the family from alternate futures that may or may not ever happen. They hold their father’s values and their mother’s attitudes and they both have awful terrible first costumes. 

Chris Kent: Even though their personalities are starkly different, there is definitely a common thread between Chris and Damian Wayne. They come from troubling childhoods and have difficulties with the concept of unconditional love. Their only aspirations are to live up to expectations and take the mantles of their respective fathers. And for as much trouble as it may cause them they stand up against the villains they fear most in the final hour even under threat of pain or death. They both have a “I choose my real family” moment with a parent that mistreats them, too. 

Jon Kent: This may seem like an odd comparison for now, but I get a Tim Drake vibe from Jon. Hear me out, there’s a lot of superhero worship and naivety about what his new superhero identity is going to bring with it. And while he’s much younger and less detectively minded than Tim, Jon draws on his knowledge of his father’s legacy as well as what he observes from his friends and other superheroes around him to creatively get himself out of jams. Not to mention he loves giving those moralizing speeches. 

Perry White: He’s Jim Gordon. Next.

Krypto the Superdog: THE ONE THAT ACTUALLY MATTERS. Ace doesn’t go out much into the field anymore so the most apt comparison here is actually Goliath the Bat Dragon. Aaaaand that’s what I’ve got. 

I hope this all made sense I had fun writing it out lol

[fanfiction-and-coffee]

bruce wayne's daughter!reader soulmate au between the reader and jon kent. like how do they meet? how do their parents react? how does damian and the rest of the batfam react? how does the reader and jon react to having met their soulmate?

you can interpret this as either an aged up jon or a tiny baby reader, whichever you prefer. 

Honestly, Bruce and Clark work so closely together that you’d probably meet at a very young age. It’s kind of unavoidable.

If we’re talking about the “soulmate’s name appears on your body at birth” au then it would be even earlier because all it takes is one casual conversation between The Dads about their kids’ soulmates and they’d just. Realize.

Although if it was a situation where the name didn’t appear until a certain age (16, 18, whatever), it would be even more hilariously-awkward because chances are good that you’d already have met him and would know each other pretty well by that age. Insert romantic comedy-style “IT’S YOU???!!!!” scene when you both find out.

Clark is Overjoyed. Real talk, he loves all of the Batkids and has been waiting for one of them to start dating a member of the Superfam for years. (He was holding out hope for Tim and Kon for a while, but you and Jon beat them to it.) Will definitely give both of you a giant hug when he finds out and may give a cheesy speech.

Bruce is less expressive in his reaction. Has probably had his suspicions about the two of you for a while. Batdad sees all. He’s a little more calm than Clark but he does make sure to let you know that he’s happy for you. 

Damian’s reaction is… hard to read. You don’t??? think?? that he’s upset by it??? You’d think that finding out that his best friend and his little sister were soulmates would change the dynamic between the three of you, but he continues to treat both of you exactly the same way he did before. Calmly tells you both that if either of you ever hurt the other, he will Avenge them. You have a feeling “Avenging” involves a katana or some other lethal weapon. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

I feel like Tim and Kon both kind of just… give each of you a high five. Congrats, kids. 

Dick is very happy for you but also dying from excitement a little because holy shit if you get married he’s going to be legally related to Superman. 

You don’t even know how Jason found out about it, but the next time you see him he offers his congratulations and also has a very serious talk with you about the perils of dating a superpowerful alien. (Living with Kori has given him plenty of experience in this area, and he has the accidental burn scars to prove it.)

[autumnhobbit]

Gen Tim and Damian huh? Hm. Dick is hurt on his beat as a cop, Bruce is out of country on business, Jason is also out of town, Alfred is with Bruce, and the girls are taking care of vigilanti business. So Tim and Damian are waiting for news at the hospital by themselves. Tim accepted this possibility when Dick first started, Damian was only prepared as far as their nightwork. Tim comforts Damian and helps him come to terms, and Damian puts a hand on Tim's shoulder when Damian finds him crying

Tim shoved through the door to the OR’s waiting room violently, only capable of sparing a vague hope that no one was on the other side. He half-ran down the hallway and into the waiting room, wondering if he should try to page Dr. Thompkins first, or call someone, anyone; maybe the commissioner or someone on the force. But he skidded to a stop once he reached the waiting room, because a very familiar eleven-year-old was sitting all alone in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, sneakered feet dangling. In fact, he was entirely in civvies; lightly mud-splattered jeans and a slightly-too-large t-shirt. His black hair was mussed and windswept, and his expression was vacant and lost.

“Damian!?” Tim asked breathlessly, mind racing. Because he knew for a fact that Bruce was in Tehran, because he’d been texting him about his case there for the whole week. And he knew for a fact that Alfred was with him, because he’d gotten on the phone real quick at one point to tell Tim hello and to remind him to drink water rather than coffee once in a while. Jason was off with his latest set of Outlaws somewhere, Steph and Cass were with Bruce. So who the hell was watching Damian?

“How did you get here?” Tim asked, still huffing from exertion, and more than a little panic.

“Kent flew me,” Damian said, too quiet, his gaze not moving an inch from the door to the OR. Of course, Tim realized. It made sense for Damian to stay with the Kents; Jon was his friend, and he’d be relatively safe from unaccompanied Robin work in Kansas.

“Did Clark stay?” Tim asked, suddenly hoping that the man was somewhere in the hospital. Having Clark along, with his polite and kind-hearted manner paired with his ability to get people to talk and cooperate, would make dealing with this undoubted mess so much easier.

Damian numbly shook his head. “League. He had to go.”

Tim felt as if all the imaginary wind had drained from his sails, and he dropped into the chair beside Damian, head in his hands. “Did you find out anything?” He eventually asked, voice hoarser than he would have liked.

“The Commissioner said it was a double-agent,” Damian said, bereft of tone. “One of their men.”

“Fuck,” Tim said, running his hand over his eyes. Damian said nothing, but seemed inclined to agree. “Did…” Tim spoke up when Damian wasn’t forthcoming with any new information, swallowing hard. “Did he say how bad it was?”

“Bad.” Damian said blankly. “They got him here in fifteen minutes and they said it’ll be at least another four hours in surgery.”

Tim closed his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands. Oh, this was not good. He’d always kind of dreaded a situation like this, ever since Dick took a job with the police force, but he’d hoped and prayed it would never happen. After all, their nightlife was already dangerous, and he’d survived that, hadn’t he? But of course their damned luck couldn’t hold out. But Tim had prepared himself already for something like this to happen. After Kon, and Bart, and Cassie, and Steph, and Bruce, and his dad, and Jason, and everyone…expecting the worst was kind of his default position.

He straightened slightly, wondering if he should call Bruce. He hoped it wasn’t bad enough to warrant it, because it would be a long flight to get back, but…Bruce would never forgive himself if one of them died and he wasn’t there with them, especially not after Jason. He dug his phone out of his pocket, started to type at least five different variations of the text, and erased every one. He stared at his scratched-up phone screen and the flashing cursor for a moment, and finally typed out, Dick was shot. Today on shift. Waiting in OR. Probly critical; haven’t heard anything.

The door opened with a loud click, and Tim’s head snapped up. He could sense Damian doing the same with a faint gasp, but it was just a couple of off-duty doctors going to clock in. The door swung closed behind them, and the tense silence settled back over the room.

Tim heaved a sigh, trying to calm his heart down a bit after the startle. Then he realized that a noise had joined the echoey ticking of the clock; a small, breathless sound. He glanced over at Damian, and started at how pale he’d gone in the last few seconds, and how he was making odd little noises as he hyperventilated, still staring at the door.

“Damian,” Tim said, voice rising a bit as he stood up quickly, crouching in front of the boy and grabbing him by the shoulders. Damian kept gulping, and he was growing even paler, if it was possible. “Damian, you need to calm down.” He tried not to shake the boy, but he was beginning to panic himself. Damian’s breaths were so fast that they were blending in with each other, and Tim wracked his brain for some way to make him calm down. He finally pulled Damian into his arms clumsily, pressing him close and rubbing his back. “Damian, breathe, buddy. Come on.” He guided Damian’s face into his neck, feeling the faint puffs of air from his hysterical breaths. He cupped the back of Damian’s head and stroked his hair. “Come on, kid. Breathe with me. In. Out. Come on.”

Damian kept gulping, but his hand tensed in between him and Tim, pulling into a fist. He took a stuttering, short breath.

“Good. Keep going. In,” Tim said quietly, trying to project calm, and Damian tried again. This breath was still short, but only stuttered a bit near the beginning. Tim half-rocked the kid and kept talking to him, and finally Damian’s breaths were somewhat closer to being steady and deep, and Tim breathed his own sigh of relief. He tried to lean back so he could get a better look at Damian, to see if his color had improved, but Damian clung to his shirt and his breathing started speeding up again, so Tim gave up and re-tightened his grip, resting his chin on top of Damian’s head.

The two of them sat alone in the silence for a few minutes.

“He…he was Batman,” Damian said out of nowhere, in a hushed, pained, small voice. “He still is. He can’t…he can’t—this can’t happen.”

Tim sighed, closed his eyes and buried his face in Damian’s hair. “I know.”

Except it could. It could, and it was, and Dick was back there somewhere, all alone on a cold metal table, most likely bleeding out. Maybe he was already dead, already gone forever out of reach, and Tim wasn’t even sure what day it was when he last saw him, or what he said to him then, and he wasn’t even aware he was crying until his shoulders heaved with a sudden, violent sob. All the air in his lungs went out and back into him quickly, and Damian’s hand was patting his face frantically.

“Drake!?” He said, and Tim cursed viciously in his head. He was scaring Damian. The kid was scared enough already, and now Tim was breaking down and he didn’t know what to do with it. It was probably making it harder for him to hold it together. Tim understood this perfectly, but that didn’t remotely mean he was capable of stopping. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d cried, let alone this hard, but he sat there and clung to Damian and wept. And, to Tim’s vague surprise, Damian threw his little arms around him–they weren’t quite long enough to encircle Tim all the way–and pressed in. “Shhh, Drake. Do not cry. It’ll be alright. Please do not cry,” Damian sounded like he might cry himself if this kept up, so Tim took a shaky breath and tried to stifle his sobs. It didn’t work so well at first, but eventually he calmed down, and he freed one arm and reached up to scrub his sleeve across his eyes and nose, sniffling.

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I don’t know why I did that, I don’t–”

“It’s okay,” Damian said quickly, still clinging to the back of Tim’s shirt. Tim heaved a sigh and wrapped an arm around Damian’s back, leaning in and tucking his chin on top of Damian’s head again.

“I’m just…so tired of this,” Tim whispered.

Damian gulped shakily. “I…I always expected that one day he’d…he’d…” The boy’s voice broke. “But…but as Batman! Or even Nightwing. Not…not like this. Not in a silly civilian job. Not betrayed, with none of us nearby to protect him. He–he deserves better than that!”

Tim closed his eyes. “Being a cop is dangerous, Dames. Probably equally dangerous to our stuff, if not more. They don’t have secret identities to keep their home lives safe. But you’re right,” Tim sighed. “He’s tougher than any of them know, been through more.”

There was a pause. “I–I was in a hurry,” Damian gulped, hushed, like he was confessing some sort of sin. “And headed to the Kents, and I…I ran off without giving him a hug. He offered one, but I ran past and called ‘bye’ behind me.” Damian pressed his face into the front of Tim’s shirt.

Tim sighed. “Dames, it’s not your fault.”

“I know that! But…I shouldn’t have skipped it. Ever. I should know better than that.” He gulped. “I’ve died, I should know better–”

“Sshhh, Dames,” Tim clenched his eyes shut and pulled the smaller boy close. The reminder made him sick, even more so since Damian was so small and curled up in his lap, fitting perfectly there.

“I…” Damian gulped. “One of—the only things I was thinking about when I was…” Damian broke off with a choke, “…was when I’d last hugged Grayson, or what the last thing Father said to me was, or what I said to him.” He blinked up at Tim, his lashes wet, eyes painfully large and sad. “I wondered what the last thing I said to you was.”

Tim blinked burning eyes. He’d wondered what he’d last said to Damian, too. He never could wind up remembering, no matter how many nights the thought kept him awake, or woke him in dread, or occurred to him as he sat and tried to work. It haunted him to think that it might have been an insult. Probably was.

“It turned out okay,” he finally said lamely. “You’re back. That’s all that matters.”

Damian glanced up, very vulnerable-looking. He blinked his large, dark eyes. “You mean that?” He asked, hushed.

“Of course.” Tim said, surprised at how much he meant it. “But…” he bit his lip. “I owe you an apology.”

Damian blinked. “For what?”

“For…everything, basically.” Tim groaned. How could he even begin to explain this? “I…hell, Damian. Look. You hurt me. Badly. I was going through the years from hell and you showed up with an obnoxious attitude and murderous tendencies and took over my life. I had no say in anything. Dick gave Robin to you without even asking me–” Tin tried hard to stifle the burning resentment that was still present towards his oldest brother over that; which felt all kinds of wrong considering he was possibly dying. “You constantly beat me down to assert yourself, and I hated you. But–” his voice half-rose in panic when he saw Damian immediately duck his head to hide how his eyes were filling again. “But I was older. I never made an effort to understand where you were coming from or why you acted the way you did. And your mistakes didn’t justify mine. I could have tried to be better if I’d wanted to, but I didn’t want to. I let my anger control me instead of the other way around, and that was wrong. And…” Tim gulped. “And when you…when you were gone, I would have given anything to have you back, so I could try again. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Damian mumbled, pressed in again, sounding sleepy but sincere. Tim glanced up at the clock. It was 2:36 in the morning. He glanced back down, opening his mouth to say something else, but trailed off when he saw Damian was half-asleep, his eyelids slowly drifting closed. Sighing, Tim shifted slightly in the stupid chair, and settled in to wait.

The door opening woke him up an uncertain amount of time later, and he raised his head, blinking painfully and trying to force his vision to focus on the clock. It was 3:19, and he belatedly realized there was a man in scrubs standing and looking at him.

“Hi,” Tim mumbled, freeing a hand from beneath Damian and rubbing his eyes.

“Hello,” the man said. “Are you related to Richard Grayson?”

“Yes,” Tim said, swallowing hard and steeling himself. “How is he?”

“He’s out of surgery and in recovery in the ICU. He was shot in the right lung, which tore open the chest wall. The bullet was lodged against his aorta, which was why surgery took so long. We have him sedated on a ventilator, and on antibiotics for the next few days at minimum, but he seems to have pulled through the surgery, and his vitals have stabilized fairly well, considering the circumstances. I can’t guarantee anything, of course, but his chances of recovery are good, especially if he makes it through the next few days without lingering complications.”

Tim exhaled raggedly. “Thank God. And thank you for letting me know.”

The man nodded. “Of course.” He gave the still-sleeping Damian a sympathetic look. “Do you boys need a ride home?”

“I…” Tim paused, unsure of what the best thing to do was. “I don’t know.” He glanced down at Damian. “I’d feel bad to go home and leave Dick here alone.”

The man frowned thoughtfully. “Well…” he said. “It is fairly early, and at the moment it’s not too crowded…I think you two could probably come in and sit with him, so long as you’re not hindering the staff from doing their job in any way. But by the looks of you,” he said wryly, “I assume you’ll probably be sleeping, anyway.”

Tim managed a smile. “That would be great. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” the man said, opening the door and holding it. Tim got up out of the chair a bit clumsily, sore from the chair and the cramped position he’d been in, hefting Damian up and carrying him inside. He followed the man down the halls, empty and quiet except for a few hushed conversations and the occasional nurse or doctor walking by. The man turned a corner, and Tim did likewise, surprised to see the commissioner standing outside one of the rooms, looking at least ten years older than usual. He looked surprised and regretful when he saw Tim.

“Tim,” he said apologetically, pushing up off the wall. “I’m so sorry, if I’d known you were here I would have had them bring you in sooner…”

“It’s alright, Commissioner.” Tim said. “We managed.”

Jim shook his head, guilt written on his face. “I’ve got more to apologize for than just that. I’m just so sorry this happened. If I’d been keeping a better eye on my subordinates…”

“Jim. Really. It’s alright.” Tim insisted. “It’s not your fault, and I’ll bet Dick’ll tell you so when he wakes up, too.”

“I hope so,” Jim said, shaking his head. “He’s a good kid. Does Damian need a ride home?”

“Nah,” Tim said. “Bruce is out of the country and on his way back. I’m all he’s got at the moment.”

“Alright,” Jim said tiredly. He patted Tim’s shoulder, and Damian’s head. “I’d better try and find somewhere to get some sleep, myself. Got my work cut out for me in the morning. Give your dad my regards.”

Tim nodded. “I will.”

The commissioner walked off, and the nurse, who had waited patiently through the whole conversation, opened the door to Dick’s room and stepped back, allowing Tim to go first.

Tim stepped in and moved a bit to the side to make room for the nurse, swallowing hard at the sight of his older brother. He was still and slack in the bed, his fingers curled slightly on the sheet, his eyelids closed and darkened. His bare chest had a prominent bandage fixed over the wound, and a chest tube stuck out from between his ribs. His usually ruddy complexion was drained to grayish, his lips white. His thick black hair was rumpled and messy.

The nurse quickly checked the monitors and adjusted the IV line to make sure it had enough slack, then walked over to a closet and pulled out a collapsible gurney, setting it up. “There’s a vending machine down the hall past this room and to the right. A nurse will be by every hour to check on him.”

Tim nodded, stepping over and sitting down on the bed, carefully setting Damian down on his side. “Thank you again.”

The nurse nodded politely, and with a final glance at the monitors, left the room. Tim slowly slid down on his side next to Damian, feeling bone-weary, inside and out. He didn’t think he would be able to fall asleep at first, but he curled around Damian and fixed his eyes on Dick’s still but breathing form in the bed next to them, and was asleep in only a few minutes.

(Ao3 link here.)

[redrobin-detective]

Tim supporting Kon !! can be about something either legitimately angsty (like Luthor being half his DNA) or kinda silly (he was canonly worried about his hair thinning?) or something in-between!!

I got just the thing for you babe, I hit you with fluffy Timkon so let’s bring on some pain.

Kon was angry. It seems like such a simple statement but it doesn’t even come close to describing how he feels right now. He’s felt angry before but not like this. This is a bubbling hatred, boiling under his skin ready to explode. It makes him want to scream and cry and throw up all at once but mostly it makes him want to hit someone. And he knows exactly who he wants to hit.

He’s flying as fast as he can for Lex Corp with nothing but pure, unfiltered rage fueling his flight. Because if he stopped to look beyond the anger for one moment, he thinks he just might drown in his guilt and grief. Conner had been… meeting with Luthor. Lex had been going on for years about how he’d wanted to be available for Kon as a father. Conner had ignored it for so long but since Jon came around, Clark was even less willing to be there for his clone and Conner had well… caved. He’d wanted someone, anyone to give him a little attention, even his most hated enemy.  

It wasn’t anything big, they awkwardly talked about normal things and Kon gave extremely edited rants about his problems which Lex would patiently listen to before giving some advice. Conner even took some of that advice. They'd only met up three times but every time they did, Conner felt both relieved and also like he needed a shower. He didn’t even tell Tim cause well, he knows Tim and he knows that Tim would have talked him out of it. Dammit, he should have known this would happen, he should have-

“Luthor!” He shouted throwing open the window he normally uses to sneak in for their meetings, the fragile glass shatters in his hands. Lex is sitting at his desk. He sighs and sets down his cup of tea and raises a mildly disappointed eyebrow at Conner like a chastising parent.

“Why must you heroes always break my windows?” But while the parental tone might have calmed Kon down before, nothing short of a hurricane could stop his vengeance now. He speeds forward and grabs Lex by the front of his thousand dollar shirt and drags him over the desk so the man can understand how upset he is. “Something on your mind son?” He asks in a silky sweet voice.

“You used me,” Conner grounds out because he’s so angry he can’t even get beyond that glaringly obvious fact. “You tried to implant my DNA into pregnant women and babies, just so you could see what would happen. 13 people have already died you freaking lunatic.” He shouts because he can’t believe he had allowed himself to think that Luthor of all people might have actually cared for him as a parent. He’d wanted fresh samples for his sick experiments, DNA Conner has unintentionally given him during his visits, left on the chairs, on the windows, on the coffee cup. He was so goddamn needy that he let himself walk into such an obvious trap. No wonder Clark preferred Jon over him.

“Oh my dear Superboy,” Lex croons, “I was just trying to ensure that your, our, legacy lives on. You were the only stable clone I could create, I haven’t been able to replicate the process since despite my efforts. Your DNA is magnificent, I thought maybe implanting it in pliable, growing cells would create a whole new kind of lifeform." Kon growled viciously and spun Lex around to slam his roughly into the wall of his office. The human winced but continued. "Don’t you see what I'm trying to do for you? I’m trying to give you the family you need my boy, the family Superman and his little club can’t provide for you. I’m the only one who truly cares for your interests Kon-El, even if you can’t see it." Conner is just drowning in his anger and rage he doesn’t even realize he’s pulled back one fist to punch when he feels small, steady hands grab onto him.

"Superboy, stop,” Red Robin says sternly. Kon takes the time to register Tim’s racing heart and shortness of breath. He must have raced over here, and for what? To stop him from doing what they should have done years ago? “Kon, this isn’t right, this isn’t what you want.”

“Don’t you dare tell me this murderer doesn’t deserve to have his bones crushed, his brain bashed in a few times. Do you even know what he’s done to those people? What he did to-” and he bites his tongue because, of all people, he doesn’t want Tim to know his shame. That he’d been so pathetic and so desperate, he’d turned to the devil himself for scraps of love. As if saying that Tim’s love hadn’t been enough for him. Tim’s hand moves down from Kon’s clenched fist along his bicep, resting there with care and assurance. Despite his angry, the gesture is comforting and some of the tension leaves his body.

“I know Superboy,” Tim whispers, “I know about your meetings.” Kon’s heart jumps into his throat. “You made a choice not to tell me, so I respected your decision and didn’t interfere but I did keep an eye on Luthor. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t doing anything unreasonable so this is both of our faults, more so me for letting you feel bad enough to seek him out.” Kon feels himself start to shake with the force of his emotion. “Put him down, Batman and I have the evidence to prove that he’s responsible, he’s going to pay for his crimes but you don’t have to lose yourself over him. He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“He, he used me,” Conner chokes out feeling horrifically vulnerable in front of his enemy and his boyfriend. Because he hates the situation and he hates himself for getting into a position where he opened up his weaknesses and feelings only for them to be used against him. “He used me.” He says again more strongly, once again pushing Lex against the wall.

“He did, and he’s using you again because he knows if you hurt him then he can make all sorts of claims and avoid punishment altogether and I know you don’t want that.” No, goddammit. “So put him down and let him walk out the door. The MPD is outside his office, ready to take him in. It’s over Kon.” Still shaking, he releases Luthor and lets him fall gently to his feet. The man has the gall to smirk as he fixes up his suit.

“Thank you Red Robin, I always said you were the sensible one of Batman’s little brood.” But Tim merely turns to Lex with the full force of bat intimidation weighing down on him. Lex has at least 6 inches on him but Tim seems to loom over him anyway.

“Oh I wouldn’t thank me yet. If you aren’t out of this office and in police custody within one minute, I will destroy you and everything you’ve done, everything you’ve built will be gone. I’m sure you’ve talked to your pal Ra’s, you know my threats aren’t empty. If you post bail or try to skip out of your sentence, you will come back to find your empire in ruins.” Despite the rather ominous, and serious knowing Tim, threat, Lex merely snorts.

“You’ve got good taste in men my boy. I look forward to seeing you both soon, please come pay me a visit in prison.” With that, Lex strolls out of the room like a celebrity but Conner can hear him being forcibly apprehended on the other side of the door.

“Conner,” Tim whispers delicately and puts his hands on his wrists, his long fingers lying delicately on top of Kon’s pulse points. “Talk to me.” Kon turns away from Tim, in shame of what he’s done and of all the emotions bubbling within him. It’s stupid, Tim’s right, it’s over so why does he still feel like crying?

“I know you’re upset Kon and it’s okay, you made a mistake and there were consequences but, to be honest, Luthor would have gotten your DNA either way so this couldn’t have been avoided.” One hand come up to gently turn Kon’s head back towards Tim, “and what also can’t be avoided is your feelings.” Conner can’t help but let out a strangled laugh at that.

“You’re one to talk babe,” a small smile appears on Tim’s face.

“I know, but I am trying to be more available and you help me get through all of my fears, let me feel brave enough to open up and tell you about the things bothering me.” Tim brings his other hand up and pulls Conner down until their faces are right next to each other. “The bravest thing you can do right now is to cry, to let all those feelings out because hiding them all and pretending they aren’t there is what cowards like Luthor do. So talk to me, let me help you.”

And Tim’s soft, soothing voice just does him in. Kon wraps his arms around the most important person in his life and drags him closer. He leans his head down onto Tim’s shoulder and let’s himself feel all the ugly emotions inside of him, lets all that guilt and anger and loneliness manifest in the tears that had been building since this fiasco began. Tim hands are stroking his back and whispering comforting little things into his ear. And it’s not the words Tim says that ease Conner’s soul, it’s the way he says them. So loving, warm and inviting, accepting of him despite how badly he messed up this time. So Conner does the brave thing and hugs his best friend closer, letting his grief out and letting himself believe that maybe someday, he could be worthy of a man as good and loving as Timothy Drake.