#jason todd is on a one-man mission to turn all of bruce's hair gray

[undertheredhood]

jason todd randomly trauma dumps on his family without warning while laughing his ass off and they're all left wondering how they're supposed to respond because of what he just revealed was genuinely horrifying.

(btw, this is in reference to this post)

[meterokinesis]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When�� When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

[primeemeraldheiress]

Can you please recommend some recent good Jason fics? I'm kinda still falling in the fandom, but already finished all the most recommended stuff like Not so outlaw or Retrograde motion

I can give you a few recent bookmarks of mine and I’ll give you a few of my favorites. I assume you know what I write so I’m not gonna warn for the possible types of fics you’re gonna find here. 

Runneth Over and All That Jazz - thenafics

If it weren’t for his chest, Jason would be nearly impossible to recognize as an omega. He’s taller and more muscular than most omegas so with his deep voice, no one would ever guess. If it weren’t for his body’s absolute betrayal. Jason, like pretty much all adult omegas, produces milk. It’s meant to help reinforce pack bonds and keep pups adopted into a pack fed. That’s not the problem, that part of it is manageable with absorbent pads in shirts and semi-regular use of a breast pump. It sucks, but it’s not the problem. The problem is that Jason’s pack bonds are weak, so his body will let down and start producing milk on a hair trigger. He’s peak fertile age and tangentially part of a mostly alpha pack, but not bonded well enough to balance his hormones, so his body has decided to try and tempt his pack into bonds with milk.Is it working?-The finished version of my most asked after WIP from evil author day-

Rescue Night - strikeyourcolors

(AU) Jason is trying to make a food delivery when he stumbles across a hostage situation. The captors claim he’s Nightwing, the guy claims he’s just a stripper, and Jason just wants to go home. Unfortunately, it seems he’s going to have to launch a rescue operation. The night just keeps going downhill.

like falling apples - wajjs

If Gotham’s a force of nature, so much akin to gravity itself, then he is the very apple succumbing to its rules and desires.

Daddy Bats and Mother Hen - River9Noble

Jason Todd is back from the dead and pissed as all hell that Bruce hasn’t killed the Joker. Red Hood wants nothing more than to turn his back on the entire Batfamily - but instead, every time he turns around, they’re watching him. He just wants to be left alone… but that chicken noodle soup does taste delicious.

Keeping Secrets From Yourself - WithTheKeyIsKing

Looking back, the signs are all there. But they never noticed it about themselves.

They never noticed how Bruce did.

No Place In Heaven - DarcySkat

Martha and Thomas talk to Bruce about his son.

Bruce thinks it’s Damian.

Lightweight - taugex (I love this story)

Bruce returns to his office after back to back meetings to find his good brandy opened and his sidekick drunk.

Blanket, I rec anything by Skalidra, firefright, scandalsavage, WithTheKeyIsKing, daemoninwhite, WorkingChemistry, lurkinglurkerwholurks, and Ellegrine. I’m going to stop there because, frankly, there are a lot of authors I’d blanket rec. 

Requiem - scandalsavage

He blinks as his brain takes it’s sweet fucking time processing what his eyes are seeing.

“So you’re me, huh?” the kid says, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes like he can’t sit still for three god damn seconds.

“That’s pretty cool. You’re huge.”

Jason hates him. He hates those stupid fucking curls. He hates that stupid bubbly energy. He hates that fucking earnestness, that eagerness to please. He hates that goddamn costume.

He hates the way the kid clings to Bruce’s shadow.

He despises that hand Bruce has on his shoulder.

The poisoned apple (far from the tree) - inanhourofdreaming

“I mean, your first mother wasn’t…fuck, how do I say this?” Tim pauses to breathe. “You’ve never met your mother, Jason. Her name was Ophelia Frump.”

Where Jason has blood family after all, but they’re a little, well…weird.

The legends and the myths - Syngaly

Jason Todd is the best liar Bruce’s ever met.

Jason Todd is the worst liar Bruce’s ever met.

It’s a problem.

Unspoken Rule - YukinaZero

In an alternate universe where Jason Todd finishes his training with the League of Assassins and simply returns home, Damian asks him why he has never confronted Bruce on the matters surrounding his death.

Or: Jason and Daimion have a heart to heart, and I fail miserably in an attempt to write angst.

You’re Alone ‘til You’re Not Alone - WorkingChemistry

Dick has moved to Bludhaven to get away from Bruce and is doing his best to establish himself as Nightwing. It’s going well, but it would probably go better if he didn’t come running every time Bruce calls.

This time Bruce needs him on babysitting duty, and it’s not just for Gotham. Bruce has League work, Jason can’t leave the state, and Alfred’s on vacation so that leaves Dick to pick up the slack once again. Jason isn’t pleased with the situation either, so there’s that… Dick’s just hoping he can bribe Jason into spending the weekend in the library so he won’t have to deal with the prickly boy.

Then they find evidence of a prostitution ring sending young children into forced heats and kidnapping them. Can they set aside their issues, or is Roy going to be stuck playing referee the whole time?

Familiar Faces - firefright, Skalidra

A mission to save a group of slaves from auction goes swiftly wrong when Jason, a former slave himself, runs into a familiar face while undercover at the party preceding it. And unfortunately for both him and his partner in crime, Dick, Slade has no intention of letting his property go again.

Want - Take - Have - daemoninwhite

Dick presents as an alpha and eventually leaves. When Bruce takes in Jason, he decides to do everything in his power to stop history from repeating. (Bruce will never be alone again.)

Mutually Beneficial - scandalsavage

Jason knows who Slade Wilson is and that he should stay away from him.

He knows the man is a vicious competitor of his father’s with a business ethic firmly in the dark gray to black side of the spectrum.

He also knows that his older brother drank too much one night, while he was in college, and fell for Wilson’s sweet talk, whatever that could possibly sound like, and that the older man still, years later, finds ways suggestively drop Dick’s name into conversations with their father.

So when he sees the man’s signature white hair and eye patch approaching his position at the bar, Jason makes a real attempt to avoid him.

Take Your Finger Off The Trigger - Skalidra

Jason Todd was Talon, the enforcer and right hand of Owlman, right up until he was killed. But then, when he comes back to life and his killer is still running free, with no sign of mourning by the two people who always claimed he was theirs, his agenda changes. He becomes Red Hood, a mercenary bent on taking down any and all operations run by the Owls. Finally, one of his jobs lands him back in Gotham, and he comes face to face with his two former allies.

Happy Reading.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Stephanie jogged away from the riverbank and towards the city, into the crowds and the concrete. Her headphones drowned out most of the noise and replaced it with loud music; she hummed along as she ran down the sidewalk. 

A hand reached out from the an alley as she went past. Without thinking, Stephanie yanked down her headphones and turned into a kick as hard as she could make it. Her heel slammed into the stomach of a man lurking in the mouth of the alleyway. He gasped and doubled over, swearing. 

At that point, Stephanie recognized her attacker. 

“Jesus!” said Jason Todd. “Shit. Alright, yeah, that’s my fault. I should have let you know I was coming.”

Stephanie scanned him warily. Looking closely, she could see several weapons hidden in his clothing: jeans and a leather jacket over a tshirt— not his uniform. She stepped into the alley to talk. 

“Coming why?”

“I could use a hand.”

“With what?”

“Bomb mission.”

Stephanie glared at him. “You set a bomb?”

“No, I’m looking for one.”

“Why?”

“To stop it from blowing up?” Jason stuck his head out of the alleyway and flashed a quick look in both directions. “Why else would I be looking for a bomb?”

“I don’t know! You’re the crime lord. You tell me.” 

He sighed. “This may have been a mistake.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, “but honestly? This conversation is a really good start.” 

Stephanie surveyed him again. He did look serious. She pushed down the voice in her head that told her this was a very bad idea and nodded instead. “Fine. What do you need?”

“A second man.”

“Batgirl or Stephanie?”

“Stephanie. We need to blend into the crowd.”

“We aren’t doing anything until you explain what’s going on.” 

Jason sighed again. “There’s not much to explain. There’s a bomb somewhere in this area, but I don’t know exactly where. We find it before it explodes. I defuse it. End of mission.”

“Right.” Simple enough, Stephanie thought. End of mission. What could go wrong?

A lot, and she knew it. “Sure. Let’s go find a bomb.” 

-----------------------

They split up immediately. Jason went left from the alleyway, and Stephanie went right. She walked slowly through assorted streets and alleyways, keeping to the grid with one headphone over her ear and one slid sideways into her hair. She peeked into dumpsters and storm drains. She checked every passerby for wires or suspect packages. 

“Anything?” asked Jason through her headphones.

“Not yet.” 

“Me neither.” 

Stephanie finished another block and turned back onto the main street through the sidewalk in front of a fancy-looking hotel. She passed in front of the open double doors and felt a blast of air conditioning. A doorman looked lazily out from his position just inside. 

“Jason?”

“What?”

“Are you sure the bomb is outside?”

“Not absolutely, no. Why?

“I have a hunch.” Stephanie squared her shoulders and marched into the hotel lobby, waving to the doorman like she belonged. He gave her leggings and tank top a sideways look, but he didn’t tell her no. 

She peered around the ground floor. There was a fountain spitting water in middle while staircases wound upward towards the ceiling floors above her. Stephanie circled around the marble without incident. Nothing there. She wandered towards the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. She’d check the hotel from above, she thought, then head back outside. 

The elevator played a calming noise over the loudspeaker as it began to move through floors. Stephanie cocked her head to the side. She didn’t like that sound. It made the hair on her arms stand up. 

Why? She didn’t know. She listened intently as the elevator hit the fourth floor of eleven. There was something underneath the pleasant chiming— a clicking, regular sound. 

The elevator was ticking. 

Oh shit. 

“Jason?” she asked, hitting the lock button on the elevator panel. 

“Yeah?”

“I found it.” She yanked open the metal plating underneath the buttons and found what she expected: a mess of wires around a flickering timer counting downwards one second at a time.

“Active?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Three minutes and… twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty—”

“I get the picture. Where are you?”

“Elevator in the Middleton Hotel.” 

“I’m ten minutes out. You’re on your own.”

Stephanie gulped and mentally ran through her bomb defusing training. It had been awhile. 

“Do you need me to walk you through it?”

“No.”

“I’m doing it anyway. What’s it look like?”

“I can handle this.” 

“Can you?”

“Don’t ask me for help if you don’t trust me to get things done.” Stephanie knelt in front of the mess of machinery. “Five wires. Color coded.”

“What colors?”

“White, red, yellow, black, blue.”

“It’s never the red wire.”

“Thanks.”

“Time?”

“Two minutes, forty-six.”

“What’s the battery look like?”

“This is not helpful.”

“Battery.”

“It’s so relaxing.”

“You realize you’re in danger, right? Stop quipping and defuse the bomb.”

“I’m doing it! I’ve been trying this whole time!” 

Stephanie had been. She’d pulled the machinery out of the console and untangled the mess of wires from each other. They dangled in front of her now, each connected to a gray port. That was step one, right? It had to be step one.

“Okay,” said Jason “Do you have the wires out?”

“Yes.”

“Check the serial number.”

“I know!” 

“Then do it.”

“Two minutes, thirteen seconds.”

“You’re cutting it close.”

“No shit!” Stephanie almost threw her headphones across the elevator, but she restrained herself. She might need him. God’s truth, she wasn’t sure what she was doing.

“Have you ever done this before?” Jason asked. 

“Simulations.”

“Then let me help you.”

“What, you have actual experience with bombs?”

The other end of Stephanie’s line went very quiet. 

“Oh hell,” she whispered. “Oh hell, I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever.” Jason said. “Concentrate.”

“Yeah.”

Stephanie bent over her bomb again. For the next minute, she fumbled with wires and ports as best she could.

Finally, Jason’s voice came over the line again. “If you can’t do it, get out now.”

“I can do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” 

“Sure enough to risk your life?”

“Yes!”

“Because in my personal experience?”

“Shut up.”

“Blowing up isn’t fun.”

“That’s really fucking helpful, Hood.” 

Nineteen seconds. Stephanie sat back on the elevator floor and came to terms with an inconvenient truth: she was going to have to pull a wire. She didn’t know which one. But she was going to have to do it. 

Eleven seconds.

“Start running,” said Jason. 

“Not yet.”

Eight seconds.

“Run or die.”

Stephanie looked over her options. With three seconds left, she made her choice.

Stephanie took a deep breath and pulled the red wire. 

Silence. The elevator didn’t explode. The clock stopped on its last tick and held steady with 00:01 written across the screen. 

Stephanie took another deep breath and collapsed backwards, flat on the floor. She heard Jason breathing on the other end of the line, also too fast and too loud. 

“Stephanie?” he asked.

“Red wire,” Stephanie gasped. “It was the red wire.”

-----------------------

She saw him lurking on a patio across the street as she made her way out of the hotel doors. She waved to the doorman again and jogged over to meet him. 

Jason looked very relieved to see her. “Call the commissioner?” he suggested. “Get the remains out of the building?”

“Already did. Bomb disposal is on its way.”

“Good.” Jason leaned back against his chair. “So… red wire, huh?”

“Red wire. I’m never listening to you again.”

“Not like you did before.”

“Yeah. Anyway.” Stephanie took the seat across from Jason on the patio table. She leaned forward and crossed her arms. “Sorry about the ‘experience’ thing.”

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“I honestly forgot.”

“It happens.” 

A waiter came up to their table and asked for their order. They both chose iced coffee, and she went away again. 

Jason tapped idly on the patio table while Stephanie checked her phone.

“Do you hate me yet?” she asked.

He smiled. “Nah. Give it another week.”

“What if I ask invasive questions first?”

“Go for it.”

“You died.”

“Yes.”

“How was that?”

Jason blinked at her, apparently at a loss. “Pretty bad?” he said finally. 

“Right.” 

“I watched the countdown hit zero knowing there was nothing I could do. The building exploded. I don’t remember after that.”

“Yeah.”

“I know the explosion didn’t kill me. The smoke did.”

“Shit.”

“It’s not my best memory.”

Stephanie shook her head. “I guess not.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments. 

“You were dead too, weren’t you?” Jason asked.

“Kind of.” Stephanie shrugged. “He thought I was.”

“How did he handle that?”

“Poorly, I’m told. He never came back from losing you.”

Jason snorted. 

“He talks about you all the time.”

“Good for him.”

“He could have defused that thing in thirty seconds, you know.”

“Oh I know.”

They both laughed, then stopped talking while the waitress brought their drinks. After she left, Stephanie slurped down half of hers in one pull. It tasted good, or maybe she was still riding her adrenaline high. Either way, she was happy about it. 

“You could have asked him for help,” she told Jason. “Or any of the others. They would have been a better choice than me.”

“I doubt it.” Jason grinned at her. “They’re pretty useless, and you’re not. You always impress me.”

“Really?” Stephanie finished her drink.

“Really.” Jason grabbed his from the table, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and left it for the waitress. He swung over the patio fence, waved, and disappeared into the crowd. 

“Huh,” Stephanie said. She lost him within seconds. For awhile, she considered running after him. That was probably what Bruce would do.

Sirens screamed down the street as a dozen cop cars pulled up in front of the hotel, along with a giant truck. Men in full body suits poured out of it and into the lobby, shocking the poor doorman from his place by the door.

Ah, who cared what Bruce thought? Stephanie threw her cup in the trash, stuck her phone in the pocket of her leggings, and jogged off, away from the sirens and further into the city. 

[bluboothalassophile]

4 from "angst prompts" for jayrae? ps- i am loving the hopes for a bastard series!!

Hello,

Oh I’m so HAPPY to hear you’re loving the Hopes for a Bastard Series, I’m loving writing it. And I’m sorry this is so late, but I hope you enjoy it!

FirstHeartbreak…

Oh, she was furious at him. Words could not even articulateher fury as she and he stood there in her apartment glaring dangerously at oneanother.

The fight was over something, no, it was over someone.

Kara Danvers.

His ex.

And he was calling her irrationally jealous! Her jealous ofthat blonde haired bitch! Oh hell yes! But that wasn’t what this fight wasabout, no, what the fight was about was what Kara was asking of Jason! Theymight be a secret, but they were in a weird relationship thing! Something that Ravendidn’t know how to label!

They had exceeded friends with benefits her first night withhim, and every night since. But they weren’t an exclusive dating thing! Theywere just a thing, a secret thing, but not a serious thing!

“What is your problem!?” Jason shouted.

“You Are!” she roared back as her emotions had things flyingaround her shitty apartment wildly.

“Goddamn it Raven! You’re being ridiculous!” Jason shouted.

“She’s your ex-girlfriend! And you still have feelings forher!” Raven screeched. She was a goddamn empath so don’t think she didn’t knowhow Jason lusted after Kara Danvers.

And HOW THE HELL WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO COMPETE WITH KARAFUCKING DANVERS!?

Kara Danvers! With her perfect gold hair! Her perfect teeth!Her perfect smile! Her perfect alien DNA that made her a step below godhood! Herperfectly perfect perfectness! The only thing of imperfection Kara had everdone, the thing which had Raven wanting to tear her apart; limb by limb, wasbreaking Jason Todd’s heart! The man who meant the world to Raven, even when he’dbeen dating Kara! Hell, if she wasn’t scared of him throwing the fact that he’dbeen her first and only and she was going all sappy, needy, whiny, clingyvirgin on him.

Which she wasn’t!

She wasn’t?

“I don’t! But She Asked For My Help!”

“To Go Undercover As Her Boyfriend!” Raven screamed.

“RAVEN!” Jason shouted.

“No, I don’t… Just get out! And Don’t Come Back!” shedemanded as everything clattered on the floor.

“Raven,” he caught her elbow.

“She lit your shit of fire, Jason, she broke your heart, shemanipulated you, and hurt you, and I can’t, I won’t sit here for a second timeas she tears you apart. I can’t… I won’t do it again, I won’t help you out withher, again,” she sighed tiredly and pushed him off her as she stalked past him.

“Just Get Out!” she snapped. “And Don’t Come Back!”

“Irrational Bitch Is What You’re Being Raven!” he shouted ather as she walked away.

She slammed her bedroom door behind her, she heard his growl,felt his untapped fury as she felt the Pit pulse close to the surface, then hewas gone, her front door slammed behind her. She bit her lip as she took in ashuddering breath before she slid down the door and the first sob tore from her.

Her books exploded off the shelves, as everything blew uparound her at the force of her emotions.

She loved him, she loved him so much, and goddamn it hurtknowing that he didn’t feel that for her. She couldn’t take it as she sobbedand cried, she rocked herself as she hugged herself tightly. The tears didn’tstop flowing as she let the pain roll through her.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason was on the street, he paused to look up at her darkapartment as he stuffed his hands in his jacket’s pockets.

“FUCK!” he roared before kicking a trash can and walking forhis bike. His hand trembled in anger and fury then his phone buzzed which hadhim pulling it out.

-See You Soon, Honey! 😉lol

He roared in fury as he threw the phone; the object of somuch hatred in his life at the wall. He collapsed when he straddled his bike.

Raven was right, she was right about Kara, about what he JLwanted from him, what would likely happen. He likely would sleep with Kara, hewas human, he’d admit it. But…

The flash of dark, trusting eyes had him stiffening, grayskin that tasted of shadows and something sweet, trusting warmth that wouldhang onto him. There was something about Raven, best sex of his life, bestcompany of his life too. Jason looked back at the apartment she occupied, andhe could feel the tears well up at the thought of what he had fucked up.

But this was important too.

Kara was talking about something right up his alley ofconcern, and that was what had him pulling on his helmet as he revved his bike’sengine and merged into NYC traffic.

He wanted to look back, to turn around, walk up the stairs,to plead with her to understand, to beg her to not kick him out of her life.But he couldn’t.

He took the Zetatube to the Watch Tower and was greeted byDick and B.

“You look terrible, where were you?” Dick demanded.

“What the fuck do you need me and Kara to go do?” he askedtiredly, keeping his domino mask in place.

“Couples counseling, you two dated before, right?” Dick grinned.

“Yes,” Jason answered tightly.

“Someone is abducting couples from this retreat, powerfulcouples, Barry and Iris, Hal and Kyle, even Oliver and Dinah,” Bruce started.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Dick didn’t know what was wrong with Jason, but Jason wastense. But after the debriefing when Jason was gathering his things, hisidentity claiming him to essentially be Nightwing; something B was hoping wouldbe promising to these abductors, Jason ignored Kara completely. Which was oddbecause it was Kara, and as far as Dick could remember Kara and Jason wereusually all over each other.

“Jay, are you alright doing this?” Dick asked when Kara hadbeen drawn into a talk with B about the mission.

“Fine, find the couples, come home, easy,” Jason shrugged.

“Is everything okay, Jay, not the mission,” Dick clarified.

“Peachy,” Jason answered tightly as Kara took his hand. Jasonseemed to want to shove Kara off him as he followed.

“You noticed that, right B?” Dick asked.

“Hn,” Bruce grunted as he walked off. Dick just wonderedwhat the hell was up with Jason.

[kuh-boose]

eeeey!!! Time to share about my OCs some more! Next in the line up is Kelli Amelia Belrose! Kelli is honestly two separate characters. Her initial appearance in my head began with a little story I started in class in high school because I was bored and have not touched in years now. Initial Kelli, who we’ll call Kelly (with a y), is internally nervous and externally snarky, and has an incredibly dry and kind of self-deprecating sense of humor when she’s not being kind of distant. She’s always frustrated with her situation and has a voice in her head name Aries who doesn’t help. And she’s a badass that’s rather confused and annoyed that she’s a badass. She swears quite a bit.  Current Kelli is placed into the DC universe, particularly with the Red Hood and Batman. This Kelli is far sweeter, almost stubbornly so, despite having undergone a bit more trauma. She’s the one I’m gonna talk about in this post. 

Kelli was born to Coralynn (Cory) Belrose. Before we get to Kelli I wanna take some time on Cory. Cory grew up in France with a devoted father and an absent mother. Her father was military and it led to her moving about quite a bit, though Cory generally didn’t mind. Her father was diligent on six things: kindness, education, patience, discipline, preparedness, and courage. These would be the same things that Cory would desperately instill into her daughter. Cory grew up to be a number of things as it turned out. She simply wasn’t satisfied with just one, but eventually narrowed down to first a ballerina, then into a neuroscientist when she realized ballet couldn’t be maintained into her old age. 

I wish I could say Kelli was a child born of a deep love between two people, but... I’m too twisted for that. 

Cory became the target for, honestly, a man I don’t have a name for yet so we’ll just call him Victor because why not. Victor is... well, incredibly paranoid and his goal in a world filled with super people and super monsters and threats from space and other dimensions was to create a super thing of his own. His plan? Create a human weapon. After years of amassing supplies and staff, he kidnapped some of--what he thought--were the best humans humanity had to offer. Coralynn fit that description. She was taken, impregnated through artificial means, and then gave birth to Kelli. Initially, Kelli was one of the “guinea pigs:” children who were born within the facility and were simply beta testing for the methods they would use on the actual products. This allowed Kelli to remain with her mother in what was essentially an apartment-like prison cell. Kelli was taken, often daily, for experiments and testing. On these trips out of their cell, Coralynn would get Kelli to observe everything she could and report back to her, despite how much it hurt for them to take her (the for the first few months she tried to fight it, but that only resulted in a ton of beatings and tranquilization). By the time Kelli was four Coralynn managed to get them out, though by the time she got to safety and blew the whistle on Victor and his assistants, the facility was destroyed, hundred of charred bodies found at the site. 

Buckle up kids, it only gets worse. 

Coralynn got five years with her daughter. They lived in Paris, moved into different places around the city frequently since Coralynn never really trusted anything, even with personal protection provided by the government. But they loved each other so much. After a rough adjustment period to being back on the outside, Coralynn made certain her daughter had experiences and taught her to be kind and smart and strong and to see hope when everything was all darkness and despair. She kept fresh flowers and plants in their home, read to Kelli every night and climbed trees with her in the park and went to bakeries in the mornings to share the cookies she helped Kelli make the night before with the bakers. They visited libraries frequently and visited Kelli’s grandfather when they could manage it. Cory even maintained a ritual they had in the cell: dancing. 

They had a kind of content bliss like this for five years. One evening Coralynn and one of the personal guards was shot in an alleyway by some men in suits. Kelli tried to pull her mom up until the other guard pulled her away and got her to safety. Despite protective custody, she was kidnapped during a transport and found herself back under Victor's thumb. Victor began using what was left of his guinea pigs and desperately trying to turn them into the final product he had dreamed of for years. Kelli spent years being tortured through cruel experiments and attempts at psychological molding but clung fiercely to the memories and lessons of her mother. These experiments pushed her closer towards the weapon Victor wanted, strong, quick reflexes and stunningly agile, but not significantly past that of a human at peak condition. And for all his efforts Kelli wasn’t budging in her willingness for cruelty (at this point it was mostly out of spite and luckily there was one or two of the staff that managed to be at least little decent to her and encourage her decisions). 

The experiments turned her skin and hair white, drained the color from her eyes from brown to a pale gray, and strengthened her muscles, teeth, bones, and skin. Still, it wasn’t enough. Finally, Victor managed, through a full year process, to give her something no one else had, and that he himself didn’t fully understand (he would never admit he used alien tech to do it). Kelli was “outfitted” with glands (and a chemically changed body that would respond to them) that would produce god-only-knows-what. This mysterious stuff would “charge” Kelli, making her always kind of prominent purple veins glow and produce some kind of energy. In a state when it’s active Kelli is stronger, faster, smarter, and more ruthless, but she overheats quickly, to the point where her skin will begin to burn from the outside in. Luckily it heals relatively quickly but is still excruciating and if she uses it too much she’s out for days in a feverish and unconscious state. No one is sure if it can kill or her not.

All the while, Kelli’s grandfather (Coralynn’s father) is still looking for her, long after everyone else has given up. Eventually, he released a number of the videos of Kelli and her mother had made together on their adventures around Paris, desperate to renew public interest in finding her. Victor the asshole strikes again and poor grandpa dies of a “heart attack” while trying to gather some old acquaintances in Gotham city who can “find just about anyone.” This brings about the attention of the world’s greatest detective, AKA Batman, AKA the ONLY DC SUPERHERO THAT MATTERS (besides all his kids and like, wonder woman). After, y’know, doin what batman does, he and Robin find and take out Victor's operation (though Vic manages to escape with a good chunk of data), with Kelli being the only survivor left, unbeknownst to her (harming the others was a frequent threat used on her). It’s actually Robin (Jason Todd) who finds her in her cell near death after a particularly harsh test and actually convinces Batman to let her stay with them while she recovers. By this time she’s seventeen.

It’s with Jason and Alfred that she kind of reacclimates to being treated like a person, but it doesn’t last all that long before Bruce, with Kelli’s permission, admits her to an organization that will study and try to cure her. As is always the case in comics, that organization turns out to have some not so great backings and Kelli almost finds herself in hot water again, except she escapes this time, only to return to Gotham find out that Jason has died. She kind of just leaves then, a bit numb that her first friend since her kidnapping is just gone she just wanders the world a bit. In true Kelli fashion, she offers help where ever it’s asked of her and this eventually turns into a life of heroism, albeit a very humble and almost sneaky version since she tends to keep a low profile with it.

 Eventually, she meets three important people in her life. Vera Martin, and older woman with an elegant face and a stocky frame who refuses to share her real last name but is an older woman who grew up in the countryside of who-knows-where and eventually fell into mercenary work. At least that’s as far as anyone can guess. She tends to be pretty briefly spoken, but she keeps a locket of a man and a young woman around her neck and is very, very, very fiercely protective of Kelli. All that Kelli cares about is that Vera is very much a good person with compassion and wisdom that comes from years of experience. Vera tends to smack Kelli when she does something reckless and gets hurt, but bandages her up with the precision of a full medical staff. She also kisses Kelli’s forehead when Kelli is asleep and provides some support of particularly tough missions. She gives Kelli classic books every holiday, no matter how little, and writes her own commentary in the margins. They’re usually very snarky and clever jokes. The two others are Joseph and Harold. Harold is an active mercenary, and Joseph is his boyfr--tech support. Harold is sweet pea with a mean face, and he uses it to his advantage. As talented of a mercenary as he is, he has a soft spot for kids and kind of wishes he had gone on to be a teacher instead but opts for making children’s books in his spare time under a pen name. Kelli loves making him baked goods and reading his books and just generally being in his company. Joseph is a mastermind at anything, honestly, and he loves having Kelli test his armor, weapons, and disguises (which come in handy since Kelli stands out quite a bit otherwise). Vera tends to get kind of annoyed and insist Kelli looks fine as she is, to which Joseph will reply “I think so too, hon, but to the populous at large, she’s Frosty the Undead.” 

Vera tends to “accidentally” break a lot of Joseph’s things when he’s not looking. 

But that’s okay because Joseph replaces all of her black cloths with pastels. (Harold switches them back because, tbh, Vera kind of scares him.)

Woah! With that over lets get some fun stuff in here:

Kelli. Loves. Strawberry. Strawberry cake, icing, milk, jelly, milkshakes. You name it. If it’s strawberry, she loves it. She even has a strawberry print shirt and raincoat. 

She likes sleeping in “cramped” spaces. Under beds, in cabinets, boxes, crates, etc.

Despite liking cramped spaces, Kelli still gets a bit panicky being confined to places like room. The easiest way to freak her out are putting her in a public shower setting or having her lay back flat on a table. She can manage it for a little bit with some breathing exercises, but after about ten minutes she goes nuts. 

She enjoys libraries, and actually, lives in an old one filled with books from all over the world and those picked up at yard sales and free boxes. She sleeps in a hammock under a stained glass skylight strung high up amongst the shelves and keeps a few personal items on a shelf next to her.

Her headquarters of sorts is under the library in the basement.

Out of all vehicles, she prefers motorcycles for the maneuverability. 

She is crazy agile and flexible. Like contortionist level flexible. 

She has a crow named Cherise and an opossum named Pêche. Though since she runs around quite a bit they tend to hang out with Vera a lot. 

She still loves to dance, any style, but ballet is her favorite. 

She has a ring with a bird on it and a necklace with a sunflower on it. They’re recreations of ones her mother had and they were made for her by Alfred and Jason. She never lets them far from her and doesn’t take them off at all if she can help it. 

She also has a sunflower tattoo on her shoulder and a bird tattoo on her shoulder blade. 

That’s enough for now, this got really long (story of my life). Thanks for reading!

[makeup-wonder-woman]

A Soulmate to Remember chap 5

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Pairing: Red Hood/Jason Todd X Reader

TW: None

Word Count: 1,814

Tags: @welcometothecity, @miss-nerdalots,@marvelsimaginess, @naturalnation123 , @suavehayes (let me know if I missed you/you want to be tagged) so I can add you to the list! Hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 5

You smiled, suddenly very tired, but still awake enough to function,"It's okay, Jason," I held out my hand and he shook it," I'm Y/N L/N, your soul mate. I'm sorry that I called you a Jackass earlier."

 This makes Tim and Damian laugh, and you smiled proudly. Jason rolled his eyes and handed you the clothes that Mrs. Wayne has mentioned earlier, an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Then there was the roar of an engine from the same tunnel that Jason and you had ridden in before. Mrs. Wayne sighed,"Jason, take her upstairs, Alfred's got medicine for her."

 Jason's jaw clenched but he nodded, and picked you up bridal style. You squirmed a little and protested but he raised an eyebrow,"Do you wanna go up the stairs,"and motioned with his head at the large staircase.

  You shook your head,"Nope. Nevermind."

 Jason smirked but carries you up the stairs, as you both made it to the top, you caught a glimpse of the batmobile pulling into the Batcave. Jason opened the door and stepped out into a hallway in the manor, you can't help but look at the lavish manor in awe. Jason chuckles at your face and you blush," It's very pretty." You muttered

 Jason looked down at you and you advert his gaze, his voice turns gentle,"Then Ma and Alfred will be pleased that their decorating hasn't gone completely to waste."

   You carefully leaned back into him, and Jason tightened his grip on you. He took you into the kitchen where you see Alfred with two glasses of milk, and one plate of cookies and one with the chocolate cake. As Jason let you down to sit, Alfred smiled,"Ah, Miss. L/N," he passes me the cake as a fork,"Eat this and then I'll give you the pain medication," he turns to Jason,"Master Jason, I made sure we had enough of your favorites," and motions to the cookies. Jason shook his head, and Alfred pulls them back,"Suit yourself."

  You took the first bit of cake and instantly fall in love with it. You turned with wide eyes to Alfred,"Where the heck did they find you? This is the best cake I've ever eaten."

 Alfred smiled,"I've happily served the Wayne family since before Master Bruce was a twinkle in his parent's eyes."

  You nodded,"Well, if you ever needed a change of scenery, I'm just saying I probably can't pay you what you get payed here, but on the plus side- no having to give stitches, or crazy hours."

 Alfred and Jason just stared at you for a moment, and you took another bite of cake, and then they both just start laughing, Jason had his head thrown back and he suddenly looked very younger, while Alfred is trying desperately to contain himself.

"Why L/N," Alfred said as he pus the plate on a tray,"I have a feeling that I will like you. If either of you need me, I shall be downstairs," he glanced at you,"Your room is right next to Master Damian's, Master Jason can take you there when you are ready."

   You smiled and nodded,"Thank you!"

 Alfred hummed as he walked out the door and you glanced at the smiling Jason and motion with your fork"Want some?"

 Jason shook his head,"You're enjoying that enough for the both of us."

  You shrugged,"Suit yourself."

 When the cake was done Jason handed you the pain medication and you pulled out one of the pills and washed it down with the last of warm milk. He stood and offers his hand. He helped you to stand, he picked you up yet again and took you upstairs. But, when you reach the top of the stairs you asked,"Can I walk?"

 Jason sighed,"I don't see why not," then he glanced down at your wedges as you started down the hallway,"How do you walk in those, much less run?"

  You smiled,"These are actually comfortable. And Mom said I couldn't wear my character shoes, so..."

 Jason's eyebrow raised,"So you dance?"

 "Close. I was in Theatre in high school."

  Jason nodded and took you down another hallway. The paintings and other art pieces that frame the hallway are large and beautiful. Jason goes into detail telling you about them, holding your arm in his to guide you. But you were sure it was to secretly offer you support. The two of you reach a doorway that just looks like the others and opened it,"Here we go."

  The room was large, but You were sure compared to others it was small. It had its own full bathroom, and the decor had a woman's touch, with grays and a soft yellow spread throughout the room like sunlight. You tried to take in it all as Jason stood in the doorway, watching you. You turned to him,"I love this room."

 Jason smiled,"Good. Ma wanted this to be Steph's room, but she's always on Mission or at the Mountain."

  You cocked your head, and Jason simply explained by saying,"A friend of the family."

 He walked towards you and took your hand,"Y/N, I'm really glad that I met you. I might not be happy with how we met, but..." He paused as if looking for words.

  You smiled and reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes,"Don't worry, fun stories for the future, and I'm really glad we met too."

 Jason nods and leans down to kiss my forehead,"You should get some sleep, it's almost one."

  You nodded, then chewed the inside of your cheek before asking,"Could I shower?"

Jason winced slightly,"Not until 48 hours after you've gotten your stitches. Sorry."

  You shrugged,"No problem, I know a few ways around that." I hugged him, and slowly he wrapped his arms around you,"Good night, Jason."

 "Good Night, Y/N."

 He pulled away and walked out of the room, giving you one last look as he shuts the door that you give a reassuring smile to. Then you moved to the bathroom and grab the first wash cloth that you could find, grabbed the bar of soap from the bathtub, and turned on the sink. My first task was to clean your face and body. After that you wrapped a towel around you before you washed and condition your hair. You wrapped a towel on your head before going back to get the clothes that you had been given. You pulled on your underwear and threw the clothes on, the shirts was a bit small and the pants a bit big, but they were comfortable. You turned off the lights and crawled into bed.

 It's around three in the morning when you woke back up. People were yelling. No, as you listen you realized it's just Jason and someone else. It's that type of quiet yell that's more like raised voices but puts more strain on your voice. You sighed and stood, without any shoes, and decided to walk out. You rubbed your eyes and you tried to quietly shut the door. You padded back down the hallway, following the voices. They were coming from the kitchen, and you stopped as you listened,"-you have been reckless these past few missions Jason-"

"-she's my soulmate Bruce, you can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing!"

  You took a breath to steel yourself before you entered the room, your arms crossed in front your chest. Jason turned and the anger within him seemed to lessen when he saw that it was you. Then You noticed he was still in his uniform for the Red Hood. You glanced to the man who was sitting at the other end of the table. The other man was Bruce Wayne, dressed as Batman. You glanced back at Jason,"Do you know what time it is?"

  Jason opened his mouth and you waved your hand,"You should probably go get showered and changed," You tried to give him your best puppy dog eyes,"please."

  Jason's mask that covered his emotions cracked a little, and he sighed, but you could tell he was angry. There was a spark of defiance in his eyes, but the longer he seemed the think, the more he lost his nerve and did not want to fight with you. Maybe it was because he didn't want to make a bad impression on you. Maybe he had gotten a concussion that no one knew about. Maybe he was just THAT exhausted. But he didn't say anything (out loud, he was probably cussing you out in his head).

  But you was just as surprised as Bruce as he stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath. You turned to Bruce, who looked surprised, or at least as surprised as you think he'd appeared to ever be. You stalked forward and sat down at the table where Jason had been,"Hello, Mr. Wayne."

  He cleared his throat,"Hello Miss. L/N."

 "If you're questioning wether or not I'll be trust worthy enough to keep your family's secret. I will. I know my words might be meaningless to you, but I'd like to think you'll believe me,” You calmly stared and Bruce's mouth simply staid a hard line, and he didn't say anything. You sighed and stood,"Goodnight."

 As You turned and made it to the door, Bruce uttered a single,"Goodnight."

   You started quietly back to you room, but when you turned the corner, you were met with three sets of eyes. Jason's brothers all regarded you with astonishment, because you had perhaps taken down two of the most stubborn members of the family, using only words and at three in the morning no less.

  You smiled,"Goodnight boys."

  You received a chorus of good nights that ranged in length, but made it too your room without running into anyone else. Well, you’d say that, but...

  When you entered your room again, Jason was sitting on your bed. He looked defeated, but with clean with damp hair and in a change of clothes. You couldn't have been gone but for ten minutes, making you wonder where his room was and how he got finished so fast. But instead of asking, you just smiled at him,"Hi."

"Hi," he said and you sat down by him, and he snaked his arm around you,"I'm sorry you had to see that."

  You burrowed your head into his shoulder,"Yeah, well, if your family didn't fight, I'd be really worried." Jason smiled and you looked back up at him,"Would you like to stay here tonight?"

"If that's okay with you," Jason nodded,"Just so I know that when I wake up in the morning I haven't been dreaming this whole fucking time."

You stood and went to turn off the light,"Well I get the right side!"

 Jason smirked and stood and you both climbed into bed, you laid on your side, looking at him and he lay on his looking at you. You smiled and closed your eyes, listening to him as he relaxed.

[ageeksnerdyworld]

Dead Boy Walking

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Alfred Pennyworth

Word Count: 3,756

Trigger Warning: Death Mention, Resurrection, Ghost, Haunting, Séance, Slight Swearing

A/N: Parts-- X Sort of another AU going here, I guess. I don’t know really know what this is right now. I had this idea one day and I liked it a lot so I decided to write this little fic. It’s not as good as I’d like it to be as I focused too heavily on one specific aspect, but, whatever. Might do more and might not... We’ll just have to see what happens.

Summary: Instead of being fully resurrected after his death Jason Todd unwillingly comes back as a ghost. After rising from his grave he’s confused and unsure of what’s going on. He wanders Gotham until he realizes what’s going on. And then he makes his way back to Wayne Manor to seek some help.

XXXX

He does not want to do it but something is forcing his hands and feet to move. And so he scratches and pushes at the lid of the ebony coffin. This invisible force is desperately trying to get him to escape before he suffocates. He can’t breathe and his lungs hurt from trying so hard. Pain shoots through his palms and it allows him to take back control of his body. Turning on his side he tries to give in to the cold and the dark, but, the indiscernible force pushes against the lid with everything it has left. That final bit of strength is enough to get lid off and an avalanche of cold dirt falls on top of him; filling his mouth and lungs with dirt and simultaneously mocks his effort to resist.

But his heart and brain do not want to leave.

And yet he continues to struggle against this force; against himself. Pushing through the dirt he starts to climb out, but, he tries his best to fight whatever is dragging him out of the black. All he wants to do is lay back down inside, close his eyes, and return to the engulfing darkness. But his hands and feet continue to ignore his mind’s pleas as they push more and more dirt out of the way.

His hands shoot up out of the dirt and he feels something on his palms.

The name of it escapes him. He knows what the thing is that he feels on his skin but he cannot remember the name. And just as quickly as he felt it; the sensation leaves him with an empty nothingness.

Fully pulling himself out of the dirt he stands up. He starts to look around; trying to figure out where he is. Everything looks dingy, gray, and is completely void of color. It’s like the entire world is covered in a dense fog. All he can see are shapes and sizes of things but nothing is clear enough to see details. He can make out the shapes of the headstones and grave markers as well as the cemetery gate off in the distance. Confused and scared he turns around to see what he crawled out of.

A large round tombstone stands before him bearing his name, birth and death year.

But I’m alive?

He shakes his head in confusion and makes his way out of the cemetery.

And he just continues walking; alone, afraid and at a complete loss. Feet nosily shuffling from lack of use; as walks down the street he notices that no one is looking at him. They should be staring wide eyed at the horror before them. Running for their lives from the zombie that walks amongst them. They should be screaming at the top of their lungs, and calling the police, at least. These people should be doing something. Anything, anything at all, would be better than acting like he doesn’t exist.

But not a single passerby pays him any attention.

“Nobody sees anything wrong with this fucking picture?” he yells gesturing to his torn, ragged, dirt-covered suit and the rotting flesh that makes up his corpse. “I just crawled outta my own goddamn grave, people!”

No one turns to look or even bats an eye when he yells. Bewildered and worried he stands in the middle of the sidewalk; eyes darting about pleading for someone to notice him. Then his eyes land on a lone elderly man waiting at a bus stop. The man seems friendly and nice so he rushes over to ask the man for help. He sits down next to the man but he doesn’t seem to notice. So he pokes the man in the shoulder but the man just shakes him off as if he’s a pesky fly.

He gets up and leaves the bus stop; assuming that the man was just either too rude, or too focused on himself, to pay him any attention. Continuing to walk down the sidewalk he tries once more to get the attention of passersby. Turning a corner he almost collides with a woman pushing her toddler in a stroller.

“Sorry. Excu...”

He doesn’t have time to fully apologize, and move out of the way, before the woman and her baby walk right through him.

The woman shivers slightly and the baby starts to cry. Mouth hanging open in shock he turns around and watches the woman console her child before continuing to walk down the street. Even more confused than before he moves out of the way of walking traffic before it can happen again. Leaning against a storefront window he watches the oblivious passersby.

Then it hits him. He hasn’t been brought back to life like he first thought. But he’s not dead either. And he isn’t a zombie for a number of reasons. The sudden realization brings to mind a passage from Hamlet.

What may this mean,

That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel

Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,

Making night hideous and we fools of nature,

So horridly to shake our disposition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

Say why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?

He decides in that moment what he needs to do. Turning on his heels he begins to walk down the street.

XXXXX

Now sure of what to do he makes his way to Wayne Manor. If anyone would know what happened to him, and how to fix what was happening now, it would be Bruce. And if B wasn’t there then he could at least talk to Alfred or Dick. Surely, one of them would be at the Manor, they would know something.

Opening the large front door he walks into the Manor.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

No one responds.

Walking through the Manor he sets off on a self-appointed mission to find the others. As he walks he notices that his feet don’t make a single sound as they hit the floor. Shrugging it off he chalks it up to forced habit learned from the life he had before B took him in. A life that was first ruled by an abusive two-bit criminal father and then was ruled by the hard, cold mean streets of Gotham’s underbelly.

The sound of singing hits his ear before the sound of running water.

Someone’s in the shower.

He opens the door and walks in; the off-key singing echoing slightly in the bathroom. The lyrics are to some song that he has a very vague memory of. But the voice singing is clearer in his mind and more recognizable than the lyrics. Hopping up onto the counter he sits on a space next to the sink. Writing a quick message on the fogged mirror he smiles to himself. Then he waits.

A couple minutes later Dick Grayson steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist, and begins to dry his hair; all the while still singing.

My loneliness Is killing me and I I must confess I still believe, still believe

Dancing as he rubs the towel over his ink-black hair his back remains turned to the sink. Dick softly makes a comment to himself about the room not being so cold before. But he shrugs it off, reminding himself to ask Alfred about it later, and turns around. Just as Dick hits the high note he turns around and sees the message written on the mirror.

Hi, Dick. Miss me?

Grayson screams and almost faints.

Quickly writing on the fogged mirror again; he begins a new message directly below the first one. Then he hops down from the counter and stands next to Dick. From his viewpoint both messages are completely legible and he can read them just fine. But apparently Dick is having trouble reading them as he tilts his head to the side and his pale blue eyes squint in confusion. After a minute or two he gets it and his mouth drops open in shock.

“Jay?”

Jason instinctively nods but then remembers that Dick can’t see him. So he writes on the mirror once more. And just like before his message comes across jumbled and backward. It takes Dick a couple of minutes to fully get what Jason is saying.

“Well, that explains the cold at least,” Dick says with a chuckle and a smile. “But I don’t get it, kiddo, how are you here?”

He shrugs and begins to write his response. Jason tries his best to say everything that happened but he doesn’t really know himself so it’s hard. So he starts at the beginning; his death. Then he realizes that the mirror was starting to clear up. Jason rapidly scribbles out the last bit of his half-explanation but it’s no use. He sighs sadly as he watches Dick stare at the mirror; completely dumbfounded.

“I don’t get it. What are you trying to say?” Dick asks after a long while.

Jason throws his hands up in anger and the motion makes a slight breeze which in turn makes Dick shiver.

Crossing his arms and leaning against the sink Jason watches Dick pace the bathroom floor. Dick mutters to himself as he thinks about the situation at hand. Jason Todd remembers bits and pieces of the life he had before. Some things are clearer than others. Those aren’t much, but, they’re just enough. And Dick Grayson, the original Boy Wonder, was one of those few spots of clarity. After a few minutes Dick stops pacing, faces the bathroom mirror, assumingly where he thinks Jason sits, and says “I’ve got it!”

“We need to hold a séance.”

XXXXX

Dick tried his best to convince the others that Jason was somewhat alive. The two agreed that Jason wouldn’t do anything until Dick convinced the others to do the séance. But none of them would hear what he had to say. Bruce brushed it off as some type of grief-related dream. “People don’t come back after they die, Dick. You and I both know that very well, I think.” In his mind there was no other explanation for what Dick had seen and experienced. It was just his emotions, and his mind, playing tricks on him.

Alfred didn’t believe him either. He too chalked it up to fantasy and grief.

Then Jason accidently made his presence known to the both of them.

Bruce was sitting in the Manor library reading over the discussion topics for an upcoming Wayne Enterprises board meeting. He had been in there less than fifteen minutes before Jason walked in. The temperature dropped, as Jason walked past him, but Bruce barely took notice of the change. Jason walked over to the bookshelf and began running his fingers along the spines. Then his eyes land on his favorite one and he plucks it from the shelf.

Bruce just so happens to look up at the exact same moment and sees the book floating in mid-air.

Jason locks eyes with Bruce and stands perfectly; anxious about his adoptive father’s reaction. But then he remembers that Bruce can’t see him. Meaning that the man thinks he’s only staring wide-eyed, mouth agape, at a floating book. Hehas no idea that he’s actually staring at the ghost of his son. So Jason tucks the book under his arm and walks to the middle of the room. Lying down on the carpet, on his stomach, he lays the book in front of him and begins to read.

Bruce stares at the pages turn, seemingly by themselves, in total shock and awe.

He said nothing to no one and kept the incident to himself. Bruce tried time and again to convince himself that it was his grief playing tricks on his mind. Or that it was the lack of sleep in recent weeks due to an influx of criminal activity. One thing was for certain to him at least; Jason was not back from the dead.

Then the second Boy Wonder paid Alfred a visit.

Alfred was alone in the kitchen on afternoon; preparing the night’s dinner. Roast rack of lamb with pine nut stuffing and Jasmine rice. Jason was watching Alfred gracefully move from the counter to the oven; roasting pan in hand. Then the boy, forgetting the state that he was in, got up to help the aging butler. Rushing over to the sink Jason accidentally turns the water on full blast and makes Alfred drop the pan onto the floor. The loud crash startles Jason and he disappears from the sink; leaving the water running to overflow the sink.

All Alfred saw was the sink turning on by itself.

The unwanted, and purely accidental, haunting went on for about a week and a half before either Bruce or Alfred said anything about it. By that time such inexplicable things were happening that neither man could keep it a secret any longer; so they each told the other one. Both agreeing, that Jason was indeed somewhat back from the dead, they decided to take Dick up on his offer to perform a séance.

XXXXX

“I’ve done a ton of research,” Dick says. “And I know exactly what we need to do.”

Taking the day off from their respective day jobs the three men sat in the Manor kitchen; eating breakfast and discussing the séance. Dick had seemingly done his research and comprised a well thought out list from a variety of sources on the subject. He explains that he even went to the bookstore and picked out a few books that he thought could help. One was called The Book of Séance: How to Reach out to the Next World. Another was one focused only on Romani spells, which he thought would be good to use considering his heritage, and the last was all about protection spells.

Bruce nods approvingly and motions for him to continue.

“Okay. So, first we need to only do this with people who believe that the spirit world exists. Or who at least want to contact someone on the other side. They’re called sitters. I think the three of us, and maybe Tim, will do just fine. If you have any skeptics they’ll ruin the positive energy and throw off the séance.”

“The sitters need to prepare questions. That gives the séance structure and makes it easier to contact the spirit you want to talk to. We already know that we want to contact Jason so that will help a lot. Yes or no questions supposedly work better.”

“Oh, uh, also we kind of need a medium,” he adds.

Both Bruce and Alfred give Dick identical confused looks. Neither of them knows where they would find a medium, or how they would even go about finding one. As they discuss they start to second guess the whole idea of holding a séance. Jason, who stood in the corner of the room the entire time, crosses his arms and grumbles to himself. But Dick’s pleading face changes their minds once again.

“Where are we supposed to do this?” Bruce asks.

“I was thinking we could do it right here,” Dick replies. “It has meaning to all three of us and Jason too. It’ll work better than anything else.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“We need a table that we can all sit at; preferably a circular one. But we can all just sit on the floor in a circle if we need to. Also we need to bless the area and light a few candles on it. And we’ll need a Oujia board, or a glass of water, or a pendulum. Something that Jay can use to answer us when we talk to him.”

“I’m confident that we can find most of these things, Master Richard.”

Dick smiles kindly at Alfred. He’s surprised that the two of them had got so on board with the idea. They were so against it from the beginning that the change was rather unexpected. But then again the change of heart came only after they found out Jason was haunting the Manor.

“We can also record it if you want, Bruce. That way we can get some audio or video of things we couldn’t see or hear during the séance.”

“I think that would be a good idea.”

XXXXX

Dick prepares the séance since he was the only one in the group who had some idea of what to do. They couldn’t find a medium that was nearby and who wasn’t a complete money-greedy hack and so they had to perform it without one. But Dick was confident enough that he could do it on his own. He arranges three chairs in a semi-circle around a table and lays a tablecloth on top. Then he places a tape recorder in the middle of the tablecloth. Rushing over to the library’s archway Dick turns the lights off before returning to the table.

“If everyone could please turn their phones off I would like to get the séance started.”

The others oblige without any trouble.

Asking the two to take their seats Dick sits down at the head of the table. After all three men are seated Dick takes out four candles and places them on the four corners of the cloth. Then he lights the candles; illuminating their faces in the small space. When the candles are lit he presses the record button.

“Let us join hands and intertwine our energies.”

They all join hands and bow their heads. Before fully beginning the séance Dick says a prayer of protection; cleansing the area and praying that no evil spirits come into contact with them during the séance. He decides to lead and end the séance with a Romani protection and closing prayer.

Once Dick recites the protection prayer he begins a Latin evocation.

And once he finishes the evocation he calls to Jason in English; “Jason Peter Todd we respectively ask that you honor us with your presence this evening. Please feel welcome in our circle and join us when you are ready.”

Jason stands in the corner, watching the four men, but doesn’t move.

Dick calls out to him again.

Jason walks over and taps on the table; altering the others of his presence in the room. Dick clears his throat and tells Jason that they won’t be able to understand him if he tries to talk. He tells Jason to tap once for yes, twice for no, with short pauses in between, and to use the knock code for anything more than that. Jason quickly taps once.

Silence fell over the room and so Dick decides to ask the first question; “Do you know why you came back?”

Tap. Tap.

“Master Jason? Where will you go when we’re done here?”

Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap. Tap, tap, tap.

IDK.

“Hey, Jay?”

Tap.

”I just want you to know I’m proud of you, buddy.”

Tap. Tap, tap, tap.

K.

XXXXX

Once they finish, and Jason leaves the Manor, Bruce quietly gets up from his chair and leaves the room in total silence. Then Dick performs a cleansing spell just in case any demons or evil spirits decided to follow Jason into the normal world. As Bruce leaves to go be alone, and Alfred goes to get ready for bed, Dick begins to clean up the séance materials. Eyeing the tape recorder he picks it up and tucks it under his arm. After cleaning the table and getting rid of everything he takes the recorder over to Bruce who sits alone in the study.

“Hey, Bruce?” he asks; knocking on the doorframe.

Bruce sits at his cherry oak desk; his dark blue eyes staring off into the distance. He looks up, when Dick knocks, but doesn’t say anything to his eldest son. Longing, sadness, anger and all lurk behind his eyes and inside his heart. Dick lets out a quiet and defeated-sounding sigh; seeing Bruce like this reminds him of when Bruce confronted him months ago about not attending Jason’s funeral even though he had no idea that the boy died. It tears him apart to see Bruce like this and he hopes that the turn of events doesn’t push Brice back down the self-destructive path he took when Jason first passed.

He enters the room and lays the recorder down on the desk in front of Bruce. “I thought, maybe, you’d want to listen to this by yourself.”

Dick quickly reminds Bruce that he’ll be in Gotham for a few more days in case he needed anything then he leaves. Once he’s alone Bruce gets up and closes and locks the door to the study. He walks back over to the desk and stares at the tape recorder. He doesn’t want to listen to it; worried for the things that Jason might say on the tape. Or the things that Jason might not say. Sitting down he picks up the tape recorder, puts in headphones, and presses play.

The entire séance goes by exactly the way it happened an hour or so earlier.

The recording was pretty much silent in most parts; up until the very end when Bruce asked his question. It was something that had been weighing on his mind every since that fateful night when Joker beat the young boy so viciously and then left him for dead in a building rigged with explosives. The séance was the only time he’d get to ask his question. He needed to ask because he would have done anything to change things depending on the boy’s answer. But in the moment he didn’t even care if Jason answered or not; he asked it anyway just to get the heavy weight off his chest.

Do you wish you weren’t dead?

Bruce can hear the slight hiccup of sadness in his voice through the recording. A slight pause fills the recording with a bubble of dead air. Then Jason’s voice comes through clear as day; as if he was speaking directly into the recorder.

As if he was still alive.

It might not be a popular thought -- but not everyone wants to be alive.

A tear rolls down Bruce’s cheek. Staring off at nothing he rewinds and plays it again. He plays it again, and again, and again. Playing it over and over until tears stream down in face in full force. Playing it again and again until his screaming, tear-filled, hiccupped, cries drown out the tape.

Not everyone wants to be alive.

Not everyone wants to be alive.