#making someone else's day bad is okay if they are a villain according to tim

[brucewaynehater101]

My favorite hc for Tim is that his stress relief is fucking over other villains. He makes his bad days their problem.

Are the city officials being needlessly tedious in Neon Knights programs? Luthor suddenly has IRS knocking on his door for improper tax filing.

Did one of his siblings postpone plans? Deathstroke starts to have difficulty finding contracts.

Does he get an injury that prevents him from patrolling for a few weeks? Ra's doesn't need so many Lazarus Pits.

He's petty and takes his anger out on villains without warning. Could he do any of these actions before he gets annoyed with life? Yes. Does he purposefully wait until he wants to snap? Also yes.

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There, sitting at the outdated computers, they find out that Martha and Thomas Wayne are still dead.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Tim? Tim wants to go home .

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hrn.”

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

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

Now is so not the time to cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tense, Tim says, “What?”

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

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

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

“Are you injured anywhere?”

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

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

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

“Richard, I assume.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up. I’m trying to think.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um,” Tim says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce and Tim both freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you’re certain….”

“I am. Thank you.”

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

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

“Wha’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dick—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, mom.”

“ Shhh !”

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

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

[taiblogcomics]

Mind Games Over Matter

Hey there, misery porn. Are ya ready, kids?? Coz it's time for the really terrible stuff in Titans to set in~

Where better to start than with this cover~?

Oh boy, this cover. Hang on, friendos. This is gonna be a rant~

Okay, first things first. The Tron look itself is not the problem. In all honesty, I think the Tron look is cool. Spider-Man had a Tron-looking suit for a while, his stealth suit, and it was really cool. The Tron look is not the problem! If they'd just kept it to Superboy, it'd be fine. The problem is that this is a team book. And just look at this team. Practically all of them are wearing black. There's some colour on the right, but let's look at the left for a moment. There's Superboy, whose colour is red. Red Robin, whose colour is red. And Wonder Girl, whose colour... is red. Or maybe two of them are scarlet and crimson.

So, as a team, why does this look not work? Because they all blend together. Take the Fantastic Four, for example. They're a team that all wear blue uniforms. But they all look unique, don't they? Half the time, the Human Torch is bright red. The Thing wears the bottoms of the uniform, but is also still a rocky orange monster. Invisible Woman is usually a transparent white object. The only regularly blue one is Mr. Fantastic. Or let's go the other way: the Teen Titans animated series. Cyborg and Raven both have blue in their design, but they're very different blues. Starfire and Beast Boy both heavily use purple and green in theirs, but Starfire's official colour is orange, at least according to the theme song. Point is, it's not the uniforms themselves, it's the lack of unique looks among the team.

And to top things off, Kid Flash just got a new costume a scant two issues ago. Was that not good enough~? We had to turn him into a human light cycle~?

Anyway, we open on somebody's unfinished Animorphs fanfiction. By which I mean an actual horrific depiction of Tim Drake turning into a bird. This is presented to him as a loss of control, a fear of his. And we turn the page and we see the *next* thing wrong with this issue. Meet Omen. In previous continuity, Omen (AKA Lilith Clay) was one of the earliest members to join the Titans, way back in 1970. She was unnecessarily killed off in the godawful "Graduation Day", and only appeared a couple times after as a zombie or Black Lantern. So anyway, the New 52 brought her back as a villain.

Not just any villain, but now she's blonde with red tips on her fringe haircut, a tattered floor-length black dress, and her eyes stitched shut and bleeding. So in case you didn't yet think the New 52 was backsliding into edgy '90s shlock, here's your proof! And while Omen is tormenting Tim with visions, Cassie is trying to pound her way into their chamber. Bunker tries to pull her back, pointing out that the chamber is full of water and they should come up with an actual plan. Cassie's response is to gut-punch Bunker and tell him to stop telling her what to do. Oh good, what a lovely team dynamic.

After Solstice continues to be the level-headed one and points out that turning against each other is what Harvest wants, we cut back to Tim and Omen. Tim's returned to human, and he defies Omen by insisting she's not really an enemy, just another person Harvest has corrupted. She's annoyed by his fortitude and sends him away, opting to take Cassie to torment instead. And while she's taunting Cassie for her life choices, Tim is brought before Harvest, who also taunts him. Harvest then walks off, content to ignore Tim for now. Tim is then ominously fitted with his Tron armour. It's not even a bodysuit, it's like an actual breastplate.

Back with Omen, she's picking on Skitter now, experimenting with separating Skitter's bestial side with her human half. Human!Skitter gets all "reunite us, or life itself is doomed!", which Omen thinks is hilarious. I think it's hilarious too, because thanks to my foresight of having read the whole series, Skitter is probably the least consequential character in the story. Bunker suggests that it really sucks having your private-most thoughts invaded and turned against you, and Solstice mentions this is what Omen does to prepate those for the Crucible.

We get a brief meanwhile of an investigation of the fight back in issue 5. Amanda Waller--who I actually forgot they turned skinny for the New 52--is leading the investigation, commenting on how metahumans are getting younger and younger. So, being Amanda Waller, she immediately defers leadership of the investigation to someone else, a guy named Agent Lance. Back in the actual story, Cassie and Skitter are being fitted for their Tron armour, and Tim stops by. Apparently he'd rather comment on Cassie's word choices than help her. I'm not sure I even buy his criticism that young people don't say "to boot".

Bunker and Solstice have a one-page conflict, where Bunker is upset that she didn't tell them the full extent of horrors that being Harvest's test subjects amounts to. She apologises, confessing that she was just so scared. See, that's all you need. I'm glad they didn't turn Solstice into their "manufactured conflict" go-to. While that's going on, Omen starts prodding around Kid Flash's mind. The amnesia thing kicks in, and whatever caused him to forget actually becomes a psychic backlash on her, repelling her from him. He dashes off and tries to take Bunker and Solstice to safety, only for both of them to be shot. That's when he wakes up suddenly, clad in his Tron armour, in the same room with Cassie and Skitter.

And while they're in there, Tim is doing his own heroic leader shtick. He infiltrates the other end of the base while Omen is working on Bunker. When she refuses to let him go, Tim lashes out--killing her. Except no. He suddenly wakes up back in the room with the others, still strapped to the table. Harvest himself enters, and reveals that the whole thing was essentially trying to push Tim to the limits where he'd kill someone. Harvest calls up another of his goons, Leash, who uses his powers to drag all the Titans along into the Crucible area, where the Culling will begin. That's a complaint for next time, but yeah. Here we are~

So yeah. If it wasn’t last issue, this is where the series really began its nosedive. For one thing, this is just a whole issue of tormenting our heroes, and that’s not very pleasant to read. Secondly, they reintroduce Omen--who has been dead for a whole nine years, by the way-- and make her a terrible, angsty, asshole villain. She is working for this Harvest goon for no adequately explained reason (a recurring theme, as we’ll soon see), and might as well have been a different character entirely. But no, she’s referred to as both Omen and Lilith in story, and since this is a Titans story, it’s pretty clear she’s the New 52′s interpretation of the real deal. I’ve read a lot of the 1980s New Teen Titans series and I actually really liked Lilith in those books. So this is just personally really disgusting to me.

And all of this isn’t even half as bad as what’s next, my dear readers. Because oh boy, it’s finally time. All this has been leading up to something called “The Culling��, and we’re gonna get into that next week~

[bigskydreaming]

So obviously, like, I make a big deal out of Dick Grayson’s intentions when naming himself Robin in the first place, and how it was meant as an homage and tribute to his parents and the generations of Flying Graysons before them, and that’s a huge part of the reason he was so pissed when Bruce gave it away without consulting him and why its kinda messed up that everyone characterizes Tim as massively resenting Dick for making Damian Robin, etc, etc....

But okay, like....Dick Grayson was most other child heroes/sidekicks’ inspiration, not to mention Jason and Tim’s (though Tim of course was just as influenced by Jason’s turn as Robin, if not more).

And then, my problem is...whenever talk of inspirations and legacies and mantles and all that comes up, the question becomes - who inspired Dick in the first place?

Because, I mean....the answer isn’t Batman.

THAT’S why the origins of the Robin persona are so important, because like, Dick wasn’t inspired to become a hero, the KIND of hero he was, because of Bruce. He just wasn’t. He loves, respects and admires Bruce of course, sure, that’s a given. But one of the primary characterizations of Dick across ANY canon or medium is that he’s NEVER wanted to be Batman. He HATES it when he has to wear Bruce’s mantle. Not because he doesn’t respect it or what it stands for, but because its not him, and it never was.

THAT’S why he was never Batboy, never modeled himself as a younger version of his mentor like Kid Flash, Aqualad, Wonder Girl, Speedy, etc all did. Because he wanted to work with Bruce, sure, he wanted to be a hero like Bruce, as in a person who does heroic stuff and helps and protects people.....but not in the ways Bruce did it, and not for the reasons or with the intentions that Bruce had for his own costumed persona. Robin was specifically created to be everything Batman wasn’t, because Dick, being one of the many survivors of tragedies in Gotham who fell through the cracks and would have been left behind and swallowed up by the system if not for a hero’s intervention.....Dick was aware of how catching the bad guys and putting them away, seeing justice served, like, it was important, but it wasn’t THE most important thing. Not to everyone. 

Catching the bad guys only fixes a tiny part of what happened. It was Bruce’s solution to things - from the second the Graysons died, that was his answer, that was what he was sure was going to help Dick move on......but Bruce’s answer wasn’t Dick’s answer. Catching or killing Tony Zucco wasn’t ever going to help Dick heal or move on, because the murder of his parents was only PART of his personal tragedy. The other part was how it resulted in him being ripped away from everything he knew and everyone else he loved, never allowed to go back to the life he’d always intended to live, growing up performing and entertaining alongside his family, like all their family before them....instead forced to change basically everything about himself in order to fit into a structured life of routines he found boring and pointless and not remotely what he wanted out of life.

Robin was Dick’s answer to all that. Being Robin was the only thing that allowed Dick to heal, because it was the one and only way in which he got to take back a piece of control over his own life. If he couldn’t go back to his past, to the circus, to his family, then he’d bring all that into the present with him, carry it forward. Continue his family’s traditions in the only way he could think of now, fighting crime alongside Batman in the signature colors of the Flying Graysons, remaining true to that title by swinging from grappling lines rather than a trapeze....but still committed to the same work his family had made their livelihood for generations, the same work he’d always intended to continue in some form himself: making peoples’ lives better, just by his presence. 

Entertaining, performing, not out of insecurity or to cover things up, but because that was what he’s always seen himself as born to do. To leave people a little happier than they were when they first encountered them. Cheering up the victims of crimes with his jokes and laughter and brightness while Batman dourly scouted for clues and conferred with the police. Giving them a reason to smile even on what might have been the worst day of their lives, otherwise. Making jokes and puns while fighting the bad guys, his own way of pushing back against the darkness of Gotham - by laughing at villains of the day, by refusing to let someone like the Joker be the only one who had any reason to laugh in Gotham.

And not one bit of that came from Batman. Bruce didn’t inspire Robin, didn’t inspire Dick - Batman only gave Dick an example of how his past, his skills, his purpose in life could be adapted to allow him to continue on in the spirit of his family, to ensure they lived on through him, not just in body but in spirit as well. Zucco, the system, they could take the boy out of the circus, but he refused to let them take the circus out of him before he was damn good and ready. They could physically keep him away from a trapeze and out of the center ring of a circus, but no one was going to tell Dick Grayson when he was or wasn’t allowed to be a Flying Grayson, with everything that entailed.

Except....that’s exactly what Bruce ended up doing.

And that’s why I will always call that a greater betrayal than anything that happened with any of the Robins since, despite any of their (usually still quite valid) issues with how the mantle ended up passed on from them. Because Dick was no different from any other sidekick or child hero in that he built his identity as a hero around the heroes who inspired him to follow in their footsteps....its just that for him, those heroes were his parents. They were the ones Robin was trying to imitate, live up to, make proud. That’s why Dick always insisted on being called Bruce’s partner and not his sidekick. Sure, he absolutely loved being Bruce’s partner, but that doesn’t mean that ultimately that wasn’t just a means to an end for him....a way to ensure he was allowed to keep going out at night doing what he damn well intended to do anyway. He wanted to work WITH Bruce but he never wanted to BE Bruce. Because he already had a concrete vision of who he wanted to be like, who he wanted to be.

(And of course, this is also why I always get so annoyed with the take that Bruce didn’t bring up adopting Dick earlier in life because he didn’t want to replace his parents, he was trying to respect Dick’s feelings towards them, etc.....because uh.....that doesn’t really track, considering that co-opting the Robin identity and annexing it as part of the Batman identity, BRUCE’S to take and then dole out as he wished.....like, hello, dumbass, what did you think telling a kid that you were forbidding him from using HIS mother’s nickname, HIS family’s colors, etc, like....what the hell do you even call that other than replacing Dick’s parents and disrespecting Dick’s connection to them - you pretty much literally told him there that screw who inspired it and what his reasons for being Robin were, Robin still only existed according to Bruce’s say-so).

Anyway. And yeah, that’s also why I’m eternally grumpy at the usual fandom take that Tim does and should resent Dick for ‘taking Robin away’ and giving it to Damian, because....a) that’s not really what happened, Dick literally said that he couldn’t treat Tim like a sidekick because he saw them as equals, that it was time for Tim to figure out his own identity and see who he was outside of Robin, who he’d become thanks to his time in that role.

And also b) because.....like, it was Dick’s right, like it or not. That situation WASN’T comparable with Bruce taking it from Dick in the first place, or giving it to Jason, because the problem there wasn’t that it happened at all, it was that Robin wasn’t Bruce’s to take, or restrict, or regulate, let alone give away. Fire Dick from being his partner, yeah, sure, whatever. But telling him to hang up the last vestige of his family and former life that Dick had managed to hold onto all this time despite every attempt to take it away from him? And that’s the difference with what happened with Tim, because Dick was clear - this had nothing to do with his respect for Tim’s abilities or not thinking he was good enough to fight at his side, it was about thinking Tim was TOO good to be stuck JUST fighting at Dick’s side. 

And while Tim is completely justified in feeling any way he wants about not being Robin anymore, it was after all a huge part of his own identity.....like.....you don’t get to resent the guy who created it to preserve his own heritage and family identity, for having the nerve to think like....it should be up to him who wears it and when and why. If that doesn’t work for someone, if Jason or Tim had a problem with the idea that Dick specifically should always have more of a say in where the Robin mantle goes, like....that’s valid! BUT in the sense of like....they could’ve insisted on making their own identity/mantle in order to be Bruce’s partner/sidekick, if they didn’t want the originator of THAT particular mantle to have more of a right to it and its succession, ultimately.

Especially because the whole reason Dick made Damian Robin was he recognized that Damian needed it, in the same way he had needed it. Jason becoming Robin had nothing to do with Dick, and Tim approached Dick with his own perception of Robin and what it meant already firmly cemented in his mind - Robin was the light to Batman’s darkness, a necessary flip side of the coin that balanced Bruce out and kept him focused. Again, its totally valid for Tim to view Robin as whatever he viewed it as, for it to mean whatever it meant to him.....the problem is in acting like Dick’s perception of it should ever reflect that, or be altered to include that, or become less important than Tim or other Robins’ take on it as time went on. Not when Dick made it as a time capsule for his family and history, to make sure that WASN’T forgotten just because there were no more Flying Graysons on the trapeze anymore. 

So when you factor in that for Dick, Robin always meant family and always will mean family, his offering it to Damian was him doing the only thing he knew of that would give Damian a reason to stay, now that Bruce was dead. Robin was the only thing in the world that Dick had, that didn’t come from Bruce. As Bruce’s son, Damian was already entitled to anything that they inherited from Bruce, the same as his brothers....anything Dick gave Damian that came from Bruce originally, Damian honestly would’ve been justified in saying he had just as much right to it as Dick already. It wouldn’t have meant anything. Robin meant something though, because it was Dick making clear to Damian that he wanted him to stay, not just because Dick felt obligated to Bruce, to take care of Damian....but instead, Dick was saying he didn’t view it as obligation, he was offering Damian the one part of HIS family, Dick’s family, that Damian WASN’T already entitled to, by being part of Bruce’s.

Because Robin is a family tradition, always was. Its just not a WAYNE family tradition. Its just the latest version of the Flying Graysons, and thus all of Dick’s brothers became honorary Flying Graysons in his eyes the second he affirmed that they were Robin now, that he was okay with it, that he wanted them to be.

And you just....can’t cut out that one connection you have to the family with generations of history behind the mantle, that inspired it, that is the entire reason it exists for you to take up in the first place. Like, if you want to be part of a legacy, specifically, as in, you want to take up where a predecessor left off, you want to continue something that someone else started INSTEAD of starting something of your own, even something in a similar spirit and clearly inspired by it....well, you don’t get to pick and choose which parts of the legacy are worth acknowledging. Especially not when the person who created the mantle in the first place, specifically to carry on with his family’s legacy, is still around to have his own opinion on who currently needs it most.

Like don’t get me wrong. I love every single one of the Robins, including Stephanie, but in a comic book universe where the entire concept of legacies is given so much focus and priority, Robin ends up being a very weird outlier in that its originator and inspiration is only given as much weight as fans of his successors feel like giving at any given moment. Nobody ever writes fic or headcanons around the idea that upon Bruce coming back from the dead, he’d have just....no opinion on who should be Batman, let alone any right to have an opinion on that. Y’know? And again, its made all the more frustrating given that Robin’s the one mantle in the DC ‘verse that was created by its original holder as an homage/tribute to his family’s memory, rather than emblematic of some abstract idea or ideal.

*Shrugs* So yeah, I find myself very much in disagreement with most everyone in fandom on this one particular subject lol. Because I love Tim too! I do! And I’m definitely not saying that the other Robins weren’t just as iconic as Dick, just as deserving as the title or whatever, like I definitely don’t mean that any of them weren’t AS much Robin as Dick was.

Just that from an IN universe perspective, viewed from the POV of the characters, I think it just ends up being very skewed for any of the later Robins to act like they’re entitled to MORE say over Robin than Dick himself, when he’s the only connection any of them have or ever WILL have, to the ultimate origin and inspiration for it and everything its come to mean.....and that’s just....not Batman.

Its the Flying Graysons.

[yszarin]

see below for screaming and hopes for one day a whole bread on Panopticon

- as a general thing - please bear with me, early access delays mean that I have had no time to stew in this (well, I’ve had lunch, if you can call it that, and that’s it) and may thus be even less coherent than normal, if you can believe that

- ... so, Martin Won’t Let Monsters Talk About Tim? way to shatter my little Tim/Martin heart while also sticky-taping it back together, I love it so much.

- whoop half my OTP is... kayaking, in Egypt, so I really am easily pleased with my tiny breadcrumbs, apparently. @ canon pls more breadcrumbs. one day I may be able to assemble a modest loaf. (actually what is the minimum size of bread? how many crumbs will I need?)

- “that’s Leitner too!” Peter oh my god

- ohhhhhh! I was wondering a while ago about Not!Sasha being all Cask of Amontillado-ed in the basement and I��m so happy she’s finally out! doesn’t sound good for literally anyone but I am living.

- noooo Martin at least send a text

- oh dear Elias is back on his bullshit. not that he was ever off it, I suppose.

- oooooh will it explode heads? without an Eye connection? how is it messy, exactly? and how does Peter know it’s messy if Jonah’s been in there the whole time, I assume Peter is not as old? though I guess he could be.

- ahhhhhhh confirmation on the Jonah!Elias theory at last. and Elias and Peter can apparently bond over enjoying startling Martin.

- wow I cannot wait to find out how this happened. It sounds like Jonah’s eyes are in Elias’ body and that’s how the possession works, so - I don’t imagine they involved a surgeon? mechanically, how did they do that? was it like Operation?

- and this is Gertrude’s last stand, apparently - wow we are getting so much this episode. I hope this won’t be an end to hearing her statements - it feels like we still have a lot to learn from that era.

- I adore the way she’s saying Elias’ name right now, it’s so stabby

- I thought she was shot more than that? According to the transcript for Human Remains, she was shot three times, so... when did that happen, if it wasn’t then? did Elias decide later, “you know what, I’m still pissed, I’m going to go and do some overkill”?

- I really hope Martin does care about them still, somewhere. Or at least that the caring can be stapled back in at some point. I’m rather fond of the caring. I believe I’ve said before.

- Peter, did you read a book on villain speeches? “we’re the same” I swear. I guess being Lonely he’s not had much practice at them? but you’d think he could have put some work in with Martin, and Brian, and that.

- “I think I would” okay I am putting a lot of my emotions into that would, it’s a hypothetical not a certainty, come on Martin, don’t do it - YES WELL DONE GOOD BOY

- oh no the poor Institute staff! I hope Rosie’s okay, and Sonja, I’m not sure we have many other names but honestly, Trevor and Julia that is just rude.

- “YOU NEVER TAUGHT ME” I really was not expecting to laugh out loud in this episode but here were are I guess.

- and another very well-deserved fuck for Jon

- Not!Sasha and the Hunters is my new band name (love their various ways of calling for Jon). I really want to know who’s going to win and how. 

- noooo Daisy! just leave it a minute! they might kill each other really hard! Daisy please

- I love that she’s the scarier though, listen to that growl that is excellent

- !!!YES MARTIN!!!

- “I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to here” please please mean that he’s not as far along as he implied

- god, Martin really is that “all my friends are dead” thing, isn’t he? someone get this man a dog.

- “trapped me into spreading evil” oh he did listen to Tim <3 </3

- also I like the acknowledgement of the Institute being evil - Martin describing it as that now actually gives me more hope for him not going full monster. at least, I can’t see him having said that and then wilfully becoming an avatar of evil, if that makes sense?

- hhhhh he did it for Jon my heart is all over the place

- I love that Martin’s outfoxed Peter Lukas through his special superpowers of being a disaster mlm with some real nasty self-worth issues. what an icon.

- oh no. bad static. D:

- and they’re talking about Jon so Jon going after Martin is clearly part of the plannnnn and I mean that bit I’m on board with I’ll never not be on board with Jon going after Martin but *squints* what are you doing Elias

- what a lovely evil laugh, I wonder if Ben practised (if so do recordings of it exist?) or if he can just do them?

- “I called you” was that the point of the Gertrude tape being left? to get Jon there? (“How do I summon my current Archivist? With a recording of me murdering the last one, works every time.”) Maybe the information about him being Jonah acted as a tie thing for him. and putting Peter in charge, has been all some sort of scheme to get Jon into the panopticon? feels like a Lot, I’d prefer if at least some of it was improv.

- “for Martin” oh just leave me here. “you want you to follow him” ugh.

- I mean I assume someone is going to make it out, we do still have two episodes. but this is presumably Doing Something for Elias. still vaguely concerned that this might be an attempt to actualise an entity - it’s as I say, vague, and a wild guess again, but if the Beholding and the Lonely aren’t that far apart then maybe Jon trying to bring Martin back will let something else (large, unblinking) through too? or maybe Elias just needs him to keep getting stronger.

- so, looking at the episode description - they’re referred to as having disappeared, which feels to me like a “won’t be back in the very near future, so is the next episode just going to be Basira on her own sighing a lot? can we have some of the other Institute staff? I’d really like to hear Rosie again. and from Sonja for the first time. then there’s Helen and Elias, still monsters on campus. Helen was doing a lot less spectating than I thought.

- are we allowed to have tape recorders in the Lonely? iirc we did hear a bit from Brian after he was whooshed, so it must be possible. I expect Jon’ll have one with him, they just tend to happen around him. just hope it turns on, I really really want Jon to finally get to yell at Peter and I want to hear it.

- anyway! I love this episode so much, it had so many things in it and they were wonderful, kudos to cast & crew as ever, RQ... very good. we knew that.

- also I’m still not over Martin Won’t Let Monsters Talk About Tim. I’m not going to be over it. I’m very short I can’t get over things.

[aion-rsa]

What Went Wrong With Dwayne Johnson’s Doom Movie?

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When Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson took to the stage at the Amway Arena in Orlando, Florida on March 29, 2008, few could have predicted what would come next.    

The budding action star was there to induct his father and grandfather into the WWE Hall of Fame, however, at times, his speech felt more like an impromptu comedy roast.    

“There was big controversy with the WWE and illegal torture,” one convoluted gag began. “Apparently they would find Iraqi insurgents, tie them up and make them watch DVD copies of The Marine.”    

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John Cena, who starred in The Marine, was in the audience that night and took the ribbing in good humor, with his exaggerated on-camera reaction spawning what would come to be known as the “John Cena oh s**t gif”.  

Johnson wasn’t finished though.  

“By the way I made Doom. Did you ever see Doom? Well, you probably didn’t and it’s okay because nobody else did either.”    

Cue laughter.   

Nearly three years on from its release, The Rock could finally laugh about Doom. No one had been laughing when the film first debuted in October 2005 to rank reviews and a poor box office return. 

Film critic Richard Roeper was among those to tear into the film.  

“The performances are awful, the action sequences are impossible to follow, the violence is gratuitous, the lighting is bad and I have my doubts that the catering truck was even up to snuff.”   

He had a point.   

Largely filmed in a series of identical-looking and poorly lit corridors of a generic space station, Doom had the look and feel of a bad Alien knock-off.  Worse still, it bore almost no resemblance to the source material.  

Johnson may be the biggest film star in the world today but back then he was still just another wrestler trying to make the leap into movies. In truth, he was fortunate that Doom didn’t torpedo his chances in the way countless misfiring movies had for other aspiring wrestlers-turned-actors.  

So where did it all go wrong?  

Arnold Schwarzenegger and ILM

Film adaptations of popular video games are famously fraught with difficulties.   

You could probably count the number of good video game movies on one finger – Paul W.S. Anderson’s Mortal Kombat, before you ask.    

But id Software, the developers behind the pioneering Doom franchise, had been hopeful of bucking the trend back in 1994 when Universal first purchased the film rights.   

“I think Doom would be easier to write a script for than, say, Street Fighter,” business manager and co-owner Jay Wilbur told PC Gamer.   

Wilbur’s vision for the movie certainly sounded appealing.   

“I see Arnold Schwarzenegger with all the Doom garb on, Industrial Light & Magic supplying the special effects and the story would be something along the lines of Arnie stationed on Mars when the dimensional gateway opens up and demons flood in…So everybody’s dead – well maybe not everybody, you need a little human interaction and comic relief going on. But mainly, just non-stop seat-of-your-pants sweat-of-your-brow action.”   

Fusing elements of Commando, Total Recall, and the later Arnie effort End of Days, Wilbur’s sketch of a Doom movie sounded perfect – but there were issues from the start.  

According to former CEO Todd Hollenshead, several potential scripts were vetoed by id Software for failing to stay true to the source material.  While Schwarzenegger was approached, plans for the project were ultimately shelved in the wake of the Columbine High School massacre and negative press it generated around the game.   

Doomed Casting

It would be almost a decade before interest in a movie version would be rekindled by producers Lorenzo di Bonaventura and John Wells, who obtained the rights after footage from Doom 3 was shopped to agents from Creative Artists Agency.   

Di Bonaventura enlisted David Callaham, then a novice writer in Hollywood, to pen a script based loosely on a handful of ideas he had pitched during a chance meeting.   

Schwarzenegger, by then, was not only significantly older but also busy as Governor of California. Alternatives were explored. One rumor, neither confirmed nor denied, suggests Vin Diesel was in the frame to star. Ultimately, however, it was Johnson who ended up landing top billing.   

Not that anyone was complaining. Johnson was largely a B-movie star up until that point, making Doom a good fit to potentially take him into the big leagues. There was just one problem though – The Rock didn’t want to play the good guy.   

Producers had originally slated the WWE star to play the film’s main protagonist, Staff Sgt. John “Reaper” Grimm. Johnson had other ideas, though.   

“When I first read the script, and read it for [the part of] John, after I read it I thought wow John is a great character and, of course, the hero of the movie,” Johnson explained at the 2005 San Diego Comic-Con.  “But for some reason I was drawn more to Sarge, I thought Sarge was, to me, more interesting and had a darker side.”   

He agreed to star but only in the role of Sarge, leader of the film’s Rapid Response Tactical Squad sent to Mars and someone who ends up becoming the principal villain.   

Karl Urban, fresh from featuring in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, was cast in his place in what represented the first major misstep.  

Watching the film back now, it’s tempting to wonder whether Doom might have fared better had the two switched roles.  

After all, Johnson has carved a sizeable niche as an all-American good guy in the years since, while roles in Dredd and The Boys highlighted a darker streak to Urban’s repertoire.  

It’s certainly something Wesley Strick, who served as script doctor and ultimately co-writer on the film, concurs with when the notion is put to him.  

“That would work better,” he tells Den of Geek.  “I think you are onto something there. The swap was his idea though and this is all with hindsight.”   

Blame Superman

An experienced screenwriter with credits on Arachnophobia and Martin Scorsese’s Cape Fear, Strick ended up working on Doom as an indirect result of Tim Burton’s failed Superman movie.   

“Lorenzo [di Bonaventura] was head of production at Warner Bros when Tim Burton asked me to come onboard for Superman Lives,” Strick explains.    

“Tim and I and Nicolas Cage cooked up this whole scenario for a Superman movie and we would often walk into Lorenzo’s office to do battle with him, essentially, because he was stubbornly opposed to almost every idea we had,” Strick says. “Consequently, Lorenzo and I really butted heads and sometimes it could get quite ugly…I felt like I might have burned my bridges.”

With Superman years in the past, di Bonaventura called Strick to gauge his interest about working on Doom.

“I really wasn’t interested,” Strick says. “Just because I knew nothing about the game. But I have two sons and they were teenagers so there was a lot of enthusiasm from them. They told me to look into it and were excited about the idea of their dad working on this video game movie. Any project you can do where your kids are involved and excited is fun. So that appealed to me.”   

Strick was also sold on the film’s director, an exciting young Irish filmmaker called Enda McCallion. McCallion had made his name with a series of striking TV adverts (the Metz alcopop ‘Judderman’ campaign) and music videos for the likes of Nine Inch Nails.  

He was being tipped to follow in the footsteps of filmmakers like Jonathan Glazer by transitioning into features.   

“Enda was this up-and-coming new Irish director who was hyped to me as a visionary and someone who was going to bring something very original to the movie. It wasn’t going to just be this piece of product.”   

Big picture stuff

Strick was tasked with simplifying Callaham’s script to ensure it translated into a workable schedule and, crucially, that it could be made within a modest budget of $60–70 million. That meant cuts.  

“The producers looked at it and tried to put together a schedule and realized it was too complicated,” Strick says. “So, I read it and came up with a simple solution. In Callaham’s draft the marines kept going back and forth through this portal. Three times or something. It was unnecessary. They would go over there and then chase back and then regroup and then return to Mars or whatever. I said no, do it once and be done with it. I also had a list of a couple of monsters I thought the movie could do without.”   

The decision to cut several monsters familiar to Doom enthusiasts was a contentious one among fans, with Callaham’s original script featuring both the Cacodemon and Arch-Vile among others. Strick had been through this kind of process before though.   

“This is sort of the big picture stuff,” he says. “You can get a lot of shit from fans when they feel like you are trespassing on their genre and I think that happened to an extent on Doom. People were like ‘how dare you’.”   

He cites his experience on Batman Returns as an example of when the fanboys miss the point.   

“I hadn’t read a comic book since I was 12 and I loved them but I was 37 then,” he says. “Way past comic book age. In my mind, that’s okay because you’re trying to write a movie, not a comic book. You don’t want a comic book fanatic on a job like that – what would they bring to the movie?”   

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Despite ringing the changes, one sequence Strick was determined to retain from Callaham’s script was the five-minute first-person shooter sequence.  

“That was one bit I wanted to keep in no matter what. It was just funny. It had a great attitude and visually it was just delightful. If anyone ever proposed cutting it, I would argue strenuously against that. It was a great idea. Real, in your face.”   

All Change

By the time filming commenced in Prague in the winter of 2004, however, Strick found himself working on a very different film. McCallion had departed the project for reasons unknown. He didn’t respond to our request for an interview.   

In his place came Andrzej Bartkowiak, a seasoned cinematographer who had recently branched out into directing in the early 2000s, helming a trio of Jet Li action movies.   

“I was deeply disappointed when Enda left the project,” Strick admits. “It became the thing that I was assured of at the beginning it wouldn’t be. A more conventional approach to a movie like that. I don’t know what kind of movie Enda would have made but at least there was the possibility with him that it was going to be something special.”   

Strick was also having to contend with issues elsewhere.  

“When Doom moved to Universal, a guy called Greg Silverman became my executive on the project and he didn’t like me. He just always gave me shit,” Strick says. “Once he told me everything I had portrayed about the marines and their tactics was inauthentic. He wanted real, genuine, marine combat tactics.  I went back and did loads of research, read books like Jarhead, and really immersed myself in the whole marine mindset. I did a rewrite where I fixed all of the combat stuff, so it was genuine US marine combat protocol. And he hated it. I tried to explain that was exactly what was happening in Iraq, but he was just like ‘nah’. So we ended up going back to the fake stuff.”   ​

It’s an anecdote that hints at that dreaded but all too familiar issue on disjointed projects of this kind – studio interference – and Strick wasn’t the only one experiencing frustration. In the run-up to the film’s release, his co-writer Callaham had begun interacting with angry Doom fans online, who had heard rumors of the film taking liberties with the source material.   

Writing in a lengthy open letter defending his screenplay, the young writer managed to make things worse.    

“Let me assure you…, that the themes and elements that you love about Doom are ALL represented strongly in the film…just with some new twists,” he wrote.   

Few were convinced, however, particularly after he went on to claim he had watched a “bunch of strangers bastardize” his original vision of the film.   

Strick has some sympathy.   

“As soon as you engage in a fight on the internet, you’ve lost. I don’t think Dave realized that until it happened, but he got the shit kicked out of him by Doom fans. He was determined to defend himself and his movie against all comers and they just kicked him around. But he got back up and got moving again.”   

Callaham certainly did that, going on to pen The Expendables and, most recently, Wonder Woman 1984.  

Strick remains philosophical about his experience on Doom and still has cherished memories of taking his sons to the premiere [“they were in awe of The Rock” ].   

Positives and Negatives

“I thought the film was pretty good. Particularly in the sequence where it becomes like the video game. It’s the one great thing in the movie. Ironically, it’s a movie but it’s at its best when it devolves into pure video game action.”   

Bartkowiak took the brunt of the criticism for the film’s visual issues – visual effects wiz Jon Farhat took charge of the much-lauded first-person shooter sequence.  

Things would get even worse for the experienced cinematographer-turned-director a few years later with his next film, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li, which pulled off the ignominious feat of being an even worse video game movie.  

Johnson rode the storm though, eventually hitting A-lister pay dirt with 2011’s Fast Five – a movie that breathed new life into his career and the Fast & Furious franchise as a whole.  

Today, Johnson is able to laugh about Doom, recently claiming its failure was the result of a “video game curse” he successfully broke with Rampage. The jury is still out on that one.   

With a different director, more ambitious budget and the right stars in the right roles, Doom could well have ended up being a great video game movie – but Strick thinks making a truly great video game movie “is next to impossible.”  

It’s about narrative,” he explains. “In a movie, we’re taking you for a ride whereas in a video game you are in the driving seat. So they are two conflicting and competing ideas for what makes a story engaging. Sit back, relax, we’re going to entertain you versus you’re immersed in an environment that you control. I don’t know where you find the center for that where the two opposing ideas co-exist. That’s possibly why the video game sequence is so good. It took on that paradox. You’re watching a video game movie that’s a simulation. It’s a kind of reminder of what the movie could never be.”   

The post What Went Wrong With Dwayne Johnson’s Doom Movie? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[rt-nique]

MY GOD THE TAGS AND EXTRA STUFF WRITTEN IS SO FUNNY 😭😭

My favorite hc for Tim is that his stress relief is fucking over other villains. He makes his bad days their problem.

Are the city officials being needlessly tedious in Neon Knights programs? Luthor suddenly has IRS knocking on his door for improper tax filing.

Did one of his siblings postpone plans? Deathstroke starts to have difficulty finding contracts.

Does he get an injury that prevents him from patrolling for a few weeks? Ra's doesn't need so many Lazarus Pits.

He's petty and takes his anger out on villains without warning. Could he do any of these actions before he gets annoyed with life? Yes. Does he purposefully wait until he wants to snap? Also yes.