#no I don’t think Tim was actually raised without morals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years ago

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Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires (Masky X F!Reader)

Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires

[Masky/Tim Wright X F!Reader]

[Warnings: murder, language, angst, mentions of death and actual death. Mostly the angst.]

[AN: Another brilliant request from Eris! This was also a Ko-Fi commission! ALSO ALSO this thing is 13K words! This is my longest fic yet! buckle in.]

When are there not stars in your eyes? It’s hard to dim them even when the sun comes up, which is such an odd thing to even admit due to the mud life has made you trudge through.

You are the product of a proxy father and a human mother. To be the Slender Man’s child is your birthright, and so far, you’ve been living up to that birthright with flying colors. As a young one, she had woven you stories of the culture and society your father was a part of and everything he had been up to.

Visions of murder, deals gone sour, and morally grey acts have been threaded into your soul. You grew up thinking that was normal, and by twelve, you had knowledge on things that no child should have ever opened their ears to.

“And then what happened?” You ask your mother, urging her to continue the story.

She giggles like a butterfly ready to take flight and holds your tiny six year old body closer to her. She smells of honey and vanilla. “That group had messed with the wrong people,” she continues, her voice falling deceptively low. “The tall man in the woods-”

“You mean the faerie?” You ask as your eyes sparkle. “The Slender Man?”

Your mother nods, her index finger reaching up to tap your nose. “Yes, exactly that,” she hums. “He sent another group of proxies to handle the mess.”

“Ooooooo they’re in troubleeeeee,” you giggle, still hooked around your mother.

She laughs. “He initiated what is called a ‘proxy hunt’. It’s something only the bad proxies are subject to,” she explains. “It’s important you don’t make mistakes like that, Reader. Do you understand?” She questions with a warm hum as she secures you in her arms, bringing your tired form to your bedroom.

“Got it,” you say in the most serious tone a six year old can muster. “No making the faerie mad.”

“That’s my girl.” Her lips pull up in a grin that rivals the Cheshire cat.

Your father is a proxy. He is tall, unstable, but loves you like the moon loves the tide and the sun loves the earth. To be a proxy is to be closed off and untouchable, but the sound of you running to greet him on the blue moon he visits you and your mother has always been enough to humanize him, if even for a moment. He loves you, his special little girl, with all the grains of sand there are on the earth.

He comes around sparsely, and as you grow older, rarely. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, it’s just that he’s busy and the Slender Man enjoys making his favorites suffer. Every time he sees you, he remarks how much bigger you’ve gotten. He’s more than upset that he can’t be there to watch you grow into a fine young lady.

“You’re late,” you say, eyes narrowed as you look up at the tall, bulky man who stands before you. You take your hand off the doorknob and stand tall as you cross your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” the man apologizes, crouching down to your eye level. “I brought you a present.”

You eye your father carefully, arms relaxing for a moment before noticing the wrapped gift in his hands. “Is…”

“It’s something you’ll like,” he answers, holding the gift out to you. “I promise.”

You narrow your eyes again but take the wrapped present from his hands, shaking it slightly. You hear something rattling around. “Can I open it?” You ask as you attempt to hide your smile.

Your father chuckles. “I don’t think your mother would appreciate it, but yes. Go ahead, open it.”

You relent in the angry front and plop down on the floor, opening the present without any grace as a ‘proper lady�� as your mother would put it. You peel back the brightly colored wrapping paper and then tear into the box. “Oh my gods,” you whisper to yourself in surprise as the stars once again light up in your eyes. It’s an entire art set of fine materials. “Where did you get these?”

Your father shrugs. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” he says in a teasing tone.

You push at him before placing the box of expensive art supplies to the side. You can’t help but lunge into your father’s waiting arms.

“I heard you were getting seriously into art from your mother. Doing art for friends? I’m so proud of you!” He laughs and hugs you, his lips pressing to the crown of your head. “Happy twelvth, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you so, so much.”

You can’t help but cry and hug your father tighter.

For a person who was supposed to be brutal, uncaring, uncouth and simply inhuman, your father had the whole dad thing down when he was around. He never raised his voice to you, was kind and thoughtful in his responses, and you adored how he treated your mother with nothing but love and understanding.

You know that if he wasn’t shackled to a life he had no choice of entering, he would have been one hell of a father.

Your mother, a mentally fragile woman who loves a damn near unattainable man, brings you the news one overcast morning. Her eyes are red and puffy and it looks like she hasn’t been able to stop crying for hours. Her posture is broken but her heart even more so. It’s probably irreparable.

You were sitting at your desk, doing your homework. Tomorrow was Monday, starting the final week of school. It was one of the final essays before you were out for summer break, and then you’d be gearing up for your first year of high school once autumn came.

Earbuds in, you didn’t even hear your mother slink into the doorway of your room. When you finally get the inkling that someone is watching you, you take out one of your earbuds and turn your head. “Mom?” You sound genuinely confused, especially after seeing her rough appearance. “What’s wrong?” You slowly push back in your chair, ready to stand and meet her in the doorway.

“Your-your,” her breath hitches as she leans helplessly in the doorway. “It’s your father,” she manages to rasp out as she begins to slink downwards, her knees buckling.

Your eyes go wide, tears welling in them and blurring your vision as you jump out of your seat and collapse on the floor with your mother. You wrap your arms around her, burying your face into her shoulder as she cradles you in her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry,” she wails like a mantra, clutching onto you like she’s afraid to lose you too.

You don’t know how to feel in that direct moment. You loved your father, more a shadow than a real man, but his loss cuts deep and hard. He wanted to show you things “when you’re older” and tell you of the world you were born in. You wanted so badly to learn it all by his hand and his knowledge.

When your mother has finally come to a grounding point where she is no longer choking over her words, she leads you to her bedroom. She moves slowly, as if she’s trying not to remember anything about the man she loved and lost. Her steps are quiet, almost like she’s floating.

You follow her just as quietly. It’s as if you don’t want to disturb the silence that has settled over the two of you. It’s heavy and suffocating, but it’s a blanket shielding you from the reality that someone is gone and never coming back.

Your mother opens her bedroom door and shifts around in her drawers.

Unsure of where you should be and if you’re allowed into the sanctuary that is her room and her space, you wait in the doorway, much like she did when she brought you the bad news. You’re still wiping away tears with the bottoms of your hands and by extension, rubbing your skin raw. Your vision is still bleary, but when your mother finally resurfaces, you don’t even need to be told what it is she’s holding.

In her hands is a mask. It’s dark brown and has a simple face almost reminiscent of a dragon. It’s simple, but elegant. It’s simple, but horrifying. You feel drawn to it.

Your mother weakly smiles and sits down on her bed, patting the open spot for you to sit down.

You do so without question and take your spot next to her, almost on instinct leaning yourself onto her side. You smile softly as she wraps her arm around you, pulling you close.

“It was your father’s,” she says quietly, fingertips gently tracing the mask's face. She then gingerly shifts it onto your lap. “Now it is yours.”

You feel more tears cascade from your eyes as you gaze longingly down at the mask on your lap. “Are you sure?” You shakily question, wondering why she’d want to pass such a beautiful memento down to you so soon.

“It’s your birthright,” she replies, her lips pressing to the side of your head that gives you a love only a devoted mother could.

You didn’t understand what she meant at that moment.

You never saw your first year of high school.

When the summer came, you had bounced back like any child could. Children are plastic. They can bounce back from almost anything, just give them enough time, space, and care. You were no exception.

In truth, after losing your father, you hadn’t found any desire to go to college. Your heart was telling you that a life that was so cookie cutter and parallel to everyone else’s was never in the cards for you. Your blood sung for something different.

Proxies always return to him.

Your mother knew it too. She saw it in your longing gaze as she drove the two of you back home from grocery runs, how your eyes would follow the breeze in the backyard to the woods, how your hands naturally found their way to knives, and how your thoughts transcended what should be humanly possible.

But you’re not human. You never have been. Never will be.

Your mother knew that best. It was only natural that she found contact with the tall man of the woods halfway through the summer of losing your father.

“She’s different, my little girl,” she explained as she gazed up at the imposing, almost immaculate figure. “I don’t think I could ever give her what is expected or needed.” She hates to admit that she’s not good enough for you, but that is the curse of being a born, not turned proxy. Proxies always return to their master, regardless of age, creed, or background.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘What would you have me do?’ He’s only asking as a formality. He knows that you belong to him. Your father had been attempting to gear you up to join. The Slender Man is only finishing what one of his most beloved proxies started.

Your mother shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest as a defensive maneuver. She absentmindedly tucks some strands of her hair behind her ear. “I think she needs to be with you,” she mumbles, still not wanting to admit she’s not good enough because she’s human. “I think she needs to be fully immersed in… Whatever it is my husband says you do.”

The Slender Man chuckles deeply. He knows your mother knows what his beloved proxy does, but he lets her feign her ignorance. ‘That’s rich coming from a woman who loves her child more than the land loves the sea,’ he taunts coldly. In truth, it is nothing against her as an individual, but it is everything against her as a human being.

Your mother scoffs and holds her ground. “Will you take her in or not?”

He raises his hand to convey a truce. ‘My apologies.’ He doesn’t mean it. ‘I will. She is my child, afterall-’

“She is NOT your child,” your mother snarls, fully aware she is in the presence of a very temperamental being who could smite her just for thinking wrong.

The Slender Man, in all his mercy, once again holds his hand up as a sign of truce. ‘I understand the loss is still heavy on your heart,’ he begins, voice heavy and almost exhausted to be dealing with human emotional flare ups. ‘I will take her as soon as you are ready to let her go.’

Your mother’s shoulders drop slightly as she comes to the realization that yes, that was a decision she was making. She feels tears well in her eyes, but refuses to blink them away. “Thank you.” She nods to the tall man, then turns on her heels and heads back home, where you lay asleep waiting for her.

The Slender Man watches her leave with curiosity in his gaze. He already knows where he’s going to be placing you. You are not the youngest to fall under his influence, but you are the first in a while. He tends to pluck young adults, not children. And if he did choose children, consider it target practice.

Nothing more.

When your mother tells you that you are leaving her side, you are once again thrown into a plethora of emotions, a maelstrom .A part of you can’t believe she’d just willingly give up on you like that, but another says this is the direction you’re meant to go.

“This isn’t a decision I make lightly, Reader!” She exclaims in budding frustration, her fingers raking through her hair like a tick. “Really, I have no say in the matter!”

“Yes you do!” You cry back. “You’re my mother! How could you just abandon me?” You fight back. You ball your hands in fists. You’re not backing down from her.

Your mother sighs deeply and shakes her head. “I am not prepared for this,” she mumbles. “I do not have the right knowledge to allow you to grow into the person you could be,” she finishes, plopping back onto the wall in the kitchen. She’s exhausted on every facet. Her heart hurts with just how much she loves you.

“What could you not be prepared for?” You seethe. “What on this hunk of rock are you not prepared for?”

Your mother honestly doesn’t know how to answer that. Your father had always been oddly tight lipped about certain aspects of the proxy lifestyle, perhaps out of safety reasons for the two of you. She doesn’t know what you’re going to be thrown into. “I know that it’s rough-”

“Just like that?” You retort, a fire in your eyes that reminds her much too much of her departed husband. “You don’t want me? Is that it?” You finally relent, a crack interrupting your once strong tone.

Your mother falters and comes to your side, holding you in her arms once more. “Of course not,” she murmurs. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” You prod softly with a small sting.

“You are a proxy by blood, that’s all,” she offers as advice, swaying you.

You feel your heart begin to slow from its racing pace. You don’t want to accept that as an answer, but you do just to bring her peace.

You leave your mother’s side near the end of July. Just twelve years old and on the precipice of something no ordinary human could ever even begin to understand.

Your final dinner with her was uncomfortable, but bittersweet at the same time. You and your mother had shared stories, laughs, tears, everything and anything. You know that after this, you probably won’t ever be able to see her again.

Your mother brings you to the woods herself. She holds your hand, a knot in her stomach over seeing you holding your father’s mask followed by a backpack strapped to your still small body as you are about to venture into the unknown. She never thought she’d be losing you so soon.

The Slender Man is never tardy. He pops into your view once you are a safe distance into the forest with splendor - it’s probably to impress you to some degree. He really hasn’t worked with a child in a very long time.

You feel your head go dizzy with static. Your breath hitches and your heart stops. It’s almost intoxicating that you are in the presence of the man who will now have control of your entire life. You look up at him and the stars return to your eyes. Still, as a child-like crutch, you grip onto your mother’s side and hide yourself with her form, terrified of the imposing man that stands tall in front of you.

“It’s okay,” your mother says softly, gently urging you to the man you will now consider your god. “He’s here to help you.”

The Slender Man hums deeply. His voice invades your head like a virus, infecting every thought and feeling until it overtakes you and makes itself home. Curiously, he bends down. He is lit up by the light of the full moon.

You peek out from your mother’s form and gradually find the stones to leave her side - still hesitantly. You take in a deep breath, reminding yourself to be brave, and approach the now bent down figure who sits at eye-level with you. “It’s… It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” you say quietly, a childlike innocence making the Slender Man mentally smile. You look at him with fear and curiosity in your eyes.

He chuckles deeply - the sound sends chills down your spine - before holding out a flower to you. It’s small, much like you, and pretty. The petals are free of any damage the bugs might have caused, and the color is absolutely spellbinding. It’s your father’s favorite color, red, though it’s not a rose. ‘For you, my dear.’

You allow a sheepish smile to spread onto your lips before you take the flower from his waiting hand, and sniff it. It’s so sweet and familiar. You recognize the scent as something your father carried on his person. The thought makes you tear up.

His large, clawed hand comes up to your face before his thumb gently wipes the tears away. ‘It’s time to go. Say goodbye, dear.’ He nods for you to bid a farewell to your mother, who is trying her hardest to not break in front of you.

You don’t hesitate in turning around and running into her open arms, face crashing into her chest as you take in her familiar scent for a final time.

“I love you,” she whispers, peppering your face and crown with kisses. “Never ever forget that.” She holds you tighter, and you hold back just as tight.

When it’s time to go, you leave her warmth to a cold that burns bright.

It wraps around your hand, and takes you to a diner.

“Where are we?” You ask as you take a gander at your surroundings. You see that you’re still largely obscured in darkness, but the artificial lights of a lit up IHOP grant you that soft, almost annoying light that disturbs the night.

He lets go of your hand. ‘Head inside and you will meet your group.’

You look up at the Slender Man curiosity. “My group?” You quizzically ask, still looking up at the tall man.

He nods and then puts his hand on your back, gently nudging you to cross the parking lot, almost as if he’s nonverbally telling you that they are waiting for you. “Like a family. A new family.”

You feel a little nervous, but nod your head and decide to be strong - or whatever you think your father might have done in a similar situation. “Thank you for your time,” you say, remembering your mother and father both stressing how important it was to show reverence to those in higher positions than you.

The Slender Man’s wolfish smile floods your mind’s eye, gently, and warmly before he nods once more for you to go. Like a proud father, he watches you take tentative first steps into an entirely new future. Only when you open the doors of the establishment does he mentally tell his proxies that wait inside of the newest member’s arrival, and then zip out of existence as you know it.

Tim waits at the diner with a small frown on his face. He’s not entirely pleased with the news his boss has given him and it shows. He's drinking far too often from his coffee cup for his group’s liking.

“Ease up,” Brian huffs as he pushes Tim’s coffee cup back to the table and away from his lips. “You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls.”

Tim rolls his eyes and picks up his coffee cup much to his right hand’s chagrin. “I’m handling it how I want to,” he mumbles into the lip of the coffee cup.

“Come on, it’s not the end of the world-”

“It’s a child,” Tim cuts him off. “The youngest person we had prior to us was Toby, and he’s-”

“I’m w-what?” Toby hums as he comes back to the table, sliding comfortably back into his seat.

“He’s bitching about the kid we’re getting,” Brian answers as he absentmindedly stirs his drink with his straw.

“Is he n-now?” Toby chuckles. “I’m s-surprised you’re n-not more w-w-w-worried, to b-be completely h-h-honest,” he breathes out in a teasing tone, lightly elbowing Brian who smiles for a moment in response.

“I fought my demons on this issue and won,” Brian smirks. “Masky here clearly hasn’t.”

Tim rolls his chocolate colored eyes once more and leans back into his seat, looking at the fourth and empty chair that will eventually be filled by you. “I honestly don’t think you two are worried enough,” he grumbles under his breath before he crosses his arms over his chest.

Snickers ring out from his two companions. Clearly, they find amusement in his worry. Tim almost hates to admit how worried he is.

You’re not just a runt, you’re a child. A literal child. Something about having you in this life feels morally and ethically wrong, and he knows that. A part of him is scared you’ll just… Fold.

Brian has had his reservations about the situation, but overall, he has made peace with it - for now. He’s not too thrilled over the Slender Man putting a child in his group, but at the same time, he’s nowhere near as frazzled as Tim is.

Toby finds the entire situation amusing. He was the youngest of the group. In some ways, Toby has never quite grown up. That’s not a bad thing though, it just means it’s easier for him to relate to you. And honestly, you aren’t his entire responsibility, so he’s able to be the fun guardian.

That’s what the Slender Man called the three of them, your actual guardians. No questions asked, you were now theirs as much as you are his.

You push through the doors and look around the IHOP, looking for anyone who might have any inkling of what you should be doing. Your eyes dart around and the palace is relatively empty. There’s a few groups interspersed and lost in their own worlds, and you have no idea which one you should be heading towards.

Your thoughts are answered when you hear steps approaching followed by the heavy smell of cigarettes that hang in the air thickly. You look up to see a man in a black t-shirt, with dark and tired eyes. He gives you a faint smile as you look up at him.

“Are you hungry?” He asks suddenly, almost throwing you entirely off guard.

You blink a few times. “Uh, I wouldn’t mind anything else,” you answer a tad awkwardly. You don’t why, but you get the overwhelming feeling to not disrespect him. It’s almost stronger than the feeling to respect your mother and father.

“Come with me then,” he says.

You watch as he begins to walk towards a table and squeak in response before picking up the pace and following him.

Tim weaves you through the sea of tables and sets your sights on a table that has two men sitting across from each other, talking. You look at the two with slight curiosity before the man leading you puts his hands on the back of a brown haired boy’s chair.

There’s a minute pause between the two before the boy silently gets up and joins the blond haired man’s side.

You take a seat next to the man who led you in, a little quiet due to being shy and in the presence of imposing figures (though nowhere near as imposing as the Slender Man) and focus on the table. Remembering to be polite, you keep your eyes trained on the table and open your mouth to greet them. “Hello.”

The blond haired man’s lips curl upwards into a smile. “So she does speak,” he says more as a joke to the other two men rather than directly to you.

The man who led you in kicks his right hand’s shin under the table. “Be nice,” he hisses quietly. “Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes darting to look at you. “Why don’t we uh, go around the table and say our name and a fun thing about ourselves?” He suggests tiredly.

“What are we, five?” The blond haired man chuckles. He winces when Tim kicks his shin again. “Alright, fine,” he mutters under his breath before finally turning to you. “Hi, my name is Hoodie. I really like photography,” he states, an amused twinkle coming to his hazel eyes.

You perk up slightly.

“M-Me next?” Toby asks before deciding to go up himself. “Hi, I-I’m Toby. I c-can’t feel pain.”

You raise your eyebrows and look over at the pale, vaguely grey skinned boy. “You can’t feel pain?” You inquire, voice raising slightly to convey your budding curiosity.

“Mhm,” he hums, a smile slowly coming onto his lips. “You c-c-can slap m-me, I won’t f-f-feel it.”

You glance at the other two men who both nod out of unison, sly grins curling the corners of their mouth upwards. Almost shyly, you lean over the table and open your hand. You look at Toby for confirmation and close your eyes, hitting him across the face as hard as a twelve year old can muster. When you open your eyes after your hand made impact, you see that he’s unmoved.

There’s nothing in Toby’s eyes that tells you he’s masking the pain either. He’s genuinely unbothered. “S-See what I m-mean, Princess?” He chuckles as you sit back in your seat, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, yeah, Toby is special,” the man who brought you in chuckles tiredly before waving Toby off. “Anyways, my name is Masky and I’m your group leader,” he tells you in passing.

Brian rolls his eyes and lightly kicks Tim’s shin from under the table. “That’s not a fun fact.”

“D-Ditto,” Toby agrees as he crosses his arms over his chest. “T-Tell her a r-r-real fun fact.”

Tim pauses for a moment before he finally sees the stars in your eyes. He finds it hard to not indulge you. “Hoodie and I used to go to the same college together,” he finally states, earning an approving smile from both Brian and Toby.

You want to press the topic when the waitress finally makes her grand appearance.

“Hi, hon! Apologies for not getting here any sooner. Did you want something?” She asks with a warm smile on her dark lips. “I can get you some juice to start off with if you don’t know what you’d like yet?” She continues in a semi-speculative tone.

You think it over for a second before looking up at her. “I would like some apple juice and a small thing of chocolate chip pancakes if that’s okay with you?” You’re both asking her and the men at your table.

“Sure thing,” she hums. “Anything for you boys?”

“We’re fine, just stuff for the little lady,” Tim replies. “Though uh, I would like another pot of coffee,” he trails off.

The waitress takes the empty pot of coffee and then walks back to the kitchen to get what you asked for.

“Alright, what about you?” Brian asks as he rests his elbows on the table, hands under his chin as he turns his attention back to you. “Name and fun fact.”

“I’m Reader,” you begin, not noticing how their expressions shift slightly. “And a fun fact about me?” You take a moment to consider what you’re going to tell them before divulging into one of your hobbies, drawing. You mention the alcohol markers your father gave to you on your last birthday, your twelvth.

The three men listen to you attentively all the while holding a conversation in their heads.

‘Holy shit, you never mentioned that this was the Wraith’s kid-’ Toby’s voice hurriedly exclaims through the mental connection he shares with his teammates.

‘She can’t be right,’ Brian tacks on. ‘This can’t be his kid, the man didn’t have any kids,’ Brian jumbles out. On the inside, he is screaming, but outwardly, he shows he’s happy to be listening to you.

Tim mentally scoffs. ‘Now you know why I’m so horrified,’ he grumbles in a very lightly annoyed tone. He knew the Wraith, your father. He was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed by human ones.

When Tim first received the news from the Slender Man that he was taking in the Wraith’s child, he almost passed out. The responsibility of taking care of not only a child, but a legend’s child? He saw the light and it was NOT as beautiful as people make it out to be. You are his responsibility first and foremost, whether he wants this or not. He watches you with furrowed brows, only to find that during the

The night begins to dwindle on, and it’s clear that you’re getting sleepier. Besides, the table knows that you’ve probably never stayed up until midnight and it’s nearing that odd hour. The IHOP is almost completely empty, but every now and then stragglers come in to have a cup of coffee and hashbrowns. It’s a slow night.

“You’re looking tired,” Brian says softly as he watches your eyes lid.

You fling them open and shake your head. “I’m not tired at all,” you pout. You cross your arms over your chest, but the position proves to be too comfortable and you’re already nodding off again.

“Yeah, we’re calling it a night,” Tim says as he begins to get out of his seat. “Hood, cover the money. I’ll bring her to the car. Toby’s driving.”

“May the gods have mercy on our souls,” Brian wheezes under his breath as he reaches into his pocket to find his wallet and pay.

Toby lightly slaps his teammate’s shoulder before pushing in his seat and stretching slightly.

You watch with weary, tired eyes and slowly begin to drift off in your seat, barely even noticing how Tim carefully scoops you into his arms.

He’s able to pick you up like you weigh nothing, and really, you don’t. At least, not to him. He holds you as gently as he can and begins moving to exit the IHOP as softly as possible, not wanting to wake you. He doesn’t doubt that you’ve had a rough time leading up to this paired with the fact your father is dead too.

Toby opens the IHOP’s door for Tim who is still carrying you and then clicks open the car as well. “W-Why don’t you h-hang out with h-her in the backseat? We h-have quite the d-d-drive until we make it t-t-to Alabama,” he suggests as he opens the back doors of the car behind the driver’s side. He then moves to allow Tim to do his work before slipping into the driver’s seat.

Tim hums thoughtfully before nodding. He gingerly sits you into the car before carefully prying your backpack off before dropping it softly to the floor of the car. After that, he puts your seatbelt on and closes the door gently, once again, to not startle you awake.

He then walks around the back of the car and gets into the passenger side’s back seat and puts his own seatbelt on, exhausted and wanting to take a nap himself. He absentmindedly watches the doors of the IHOP to see Brian waving good night to the staff in the building before he heads over to the car where Toby brings it to life.

“She asleep?” Brian asks as he takes his spot in the passenger seat.

“Yeah,” Tim replies quietly. “Quiet from here on out and head talk,” he finishes just as softly before Toby begins to drive out of the parking lot.

You stir a bit as the car moves, mostly staying in a sitting up position until Toby finally enters the expressway heading down south to the temp house that the Slender Man wishes for them to essentially ‘raise’ you in. Your body falls as he turns onto the long stretch off road and you remain sleeping, head now resting on Tim’s lap.

Instead of moving you, he chuckles quietly to himself and then reaches in the back, groping around for his jacket until he finally finds it. Once in his hand, he drapes it over your small form. He watches you for a moment or more before relaxing back in the seat himself, quietly succumbing to sleep alongside you.

Toby and Brian watch him from the rear view mirror, ghosts of smiles on their faces.

You wake up late the next day. A groggy glance at the car’s clock shows that it’s almost past 2 in the afternoon. Goodness, you’ve never really slept in like that before! You shoot up, clearly startled.

“Nice to see you’re up,” Tim says in a slightly teasing tone as he stops gazing from out the window. “Really tired, huh?”

You nod slightly and allow your body the time to wake up. “I guess so?” You reply in a slightly embarrassed tone, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Alabama,” Brian answers as he glances at you from the rearview mirror. “Gonna be living there for a little while.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Operator wants us to be closer to him while you grow,” Tim says before he turns his attention back out the window.

When you give him a confused look, Tim relents, drops his shoulders and takes in a deep breath. “Alright, listen up, this is gonna be a lot.”

You look at him with stars in your eyes.

Tim begins to weave to you a story of the culture and society you are now expected to integrate into. He tells you of the Slender Man, or as you are now expected to call him the Operator's origins. He tells you of a similar being named Zalgo, and it is with him that the Operator tirelessly fights against. It’s an eternal battle that he, and everyone else in the car, doubts will be won or lost in your lifetime.

Tim tells you of proxies, those who serve directly under the Operator and what their purpose is. They are the ones who are held dearest and nearest to his heart and have the privilege of being on the top in this society. Proxies are cold, calculated, and tend to not have free will because they are so blinded by the Operator’s light. Still, there are some instances in which proxies retain their humanity - and that is what makes them simultaneously and strongest and weakest lengths in the hierarchy.

Then there’s the independents. Those that are, as the name implies, independent. While they can come and go as they please, but are still considered the Operator’s children because of how often they work with him. They also benefit from the Operator’s presence and protection, so they too are part of the hierarchy, they have not devoted themselves entirely to him and are considered lesser than proxies. In the Operator’s vision, they are more expendable than his direct children, but more than outliers.

Outliers are the beings that have little to no business with the Operator and do not directly benefit from his influence and protection. They are the blacksheep and scapegoats of the culture you are just learning to swim in. A good chunk of outliers are removed from the society all together on account of them not having exact higher thought, feelings and mentality. They are monsters, cryptids, the things who cause harm but do not think. There are some outliers that are exceptions to the common stereotype of what an outlier is, but they retain that status due to being stripped of an independent title. They aren’t even allowed most times in proxy spaces, but independents tend to welcome them with open arms.

Afterall, both independents and outliers know what it is like to be on the losing side of a classist divide.

Tim also tells you what he knew about your father. Known as the Wraith, he moved like a ghost and struck fear in his victims to the point of spellbinding paranoia that could land them under hospitalization. He made them lose their minds, slowly, painfully, until they were but a shell of what they used to be - a mockery of whatever came before. Your father was a damn good proxy, revered and respected. To hear of his loss was mourned across all three classes, as he was surprisingly fair and just in his treatment of those of lower social standing than him, even going so far as to attempt friendlier outlier contact between the other two, more cognitive groups.

Time and time again on the trip to Alabama, you are reminded that your father was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed in the eyes of humans.

And you can’t help but agree even though what you’ve seen from your father thus far has been minimal at most. You love him in the way any child would love their shadow.

“I only ever really saw him for special occasions,” you begin to explain, eyes focused on the passing trees, hand out the window as you guide it like an airplane as Tim drives the car. They’ve been shifting drivers every other hour now. “He was so kind and warm,” you continue, voice soft and fragile, fluttering like a butterfly’s wings. “I wish I could have known more of him.”

You get the sense that your teammates agree.

“Y’know,” Tim begins. “He would be pleased to see you’re taking up this mantle of his.” He throws you a supportive glance from the rearview mirror. “I remember him being worried he’d thrown you into a life where you’d come out the other end hating him. But, from what I’ve heard, you accepted your blood with relative grace.”

You feel a heat rise to your face as you focus on how the air glides over your hand, lifting it like a bird. “Yeah…” You trail off with a semi-awkward chuckle.

Tim throws you a knowing glance, smiling softly before turning back to the road.

You arrive in Alabama sometime during the night. The car, which was being driven by Toby once again, pulls into a house somewhere off the beaten path and mumbles about the foliage before he turns on his brights. The place looks relatively spooky, but in a very picturesque way. He continues driving on the uneven terrain before finally reaching the front porch of the house.

There, two men are sitting and talking. The one in the white hoodie looks up from his conversation with the blue masked man and waves, stepping down the first two steps to meet your group halfway.

Toby breathes out with a chuckle and turns the car off. “W-Were you g-guys waiting here a-all day for u-us?” He asks as he exits the car, twirling the car keys in his fingers before tossing them over to Tim, who catches them like second nature.

“Anything to see our favorite cannibal and hurricane of a being,” Brian lightly ribs, making the man in the white hoodie grin and the blue masked man chuckle.

Quietly, you get out the car and round it so you’re near Tim, mostly eyeing the two men with adrenaline coursing in your veins. The appearance of the man who is paler than the moon frightens you just a bit.

“Who’s this little sunflower?” He asks as he turns his attention from almost play fighting with Brian and Toby to waltz over to you. He’s just as imposing as everyone else and leans down slightly to match eye level with you.

“She’s W-Wraith’s k-kid,” Toby hums as he crosses his arms over his chest, head turned slightly to gauge how you’re feeling.

You look up at the clad in white man and attempt to smile. “Hi, I’m Reader, who are you?” You ask softly, still not entirely comfortable in his presence.

A grin begins to light up on his face. “Jeff. Jeff the Killer.” He crouches down and holds out his hand to you.

You grip onto Tim’s forearm, hiding behind him like you did with your mother when he nods that it’s okay for you to say hello.

“He won’t bite, not while I’m here,” he says in a reassuring tone. “You can say hi,” he gently encourages.

You shyly hold your hand out to the man you now know as Jeff and shake it, amazed that he feels like a still smouldering fire. “Killer?”

Jeff suppresses a giggle and nods. “That’s right. Your father was a good one too,” he compliments before letting your hand go. He then turns his head over his shoulder. “EJ, stop being a wet blanket and come say hello to the sunflower.”

The man on the porch scoffs before slowly getting up from the stairs. He stretches slightly as he walks over. His mask startles you as he comes up to you. He does not crouch down to meet you like Jeff did. “I’m EJ.” There’s no warmth in his tone, but he holds his hand out regardless.

Jeff rolls his blue eyes and elbows Eyeless Jack’s ribs. “It’s a kid you dickhead, not a patient,” he hisses before elbowing him again. “Try that again.”

Your group laughs slightly in response, but Eyeless Jack obliges his friend.

“Hi, I’m EJ.”

“What does that stand for?” You ask as you take his hand into yours, shaking it. Your other hand remains firmly planted to Tim’s forearm. He’s just really comforting for you in such an uneasy situation.

You notice Eyeless Jack give Tim a slight look, almost asking if he could do so before getting a very reluctant nod.

“Eyeless Jack.”

“You have all the grace of a drunken sloth” Tim sighs.

“What? You said I could be real.”

“No lead up? You just?”

“Masky, you know I respect you more than most proxies, but you’re literally going to train her for this stuff. There’s no use in beating around the bush. Look,” the grey skinned man pauses for a moment and begins to slip his mask off.

You watch in deep curiosity as you look upwards, wondering what he looks like. When you get your answer, your curiosity grows. Though, it shows up as a shocked fear despite that not being what you feel.

“You okay, Reader?” Tim asks softly as he looks down at you.

“You b-b-broke the kid,” Toby says with an eyebrow raised, leaning in the doorway of the temp house before Brian shakes his head with a stupid grin, heading into the house to set things up and properly accommodate everyone’s move in.

“Yeah, because he’s so ugly-”Jeff is barely able to say before you cut him off.

“You are so cool!” You suddenly exclaim, small hands reaching upwards to Eyeless Jack’s face and to signal him to come down so you can see him better.

Eyeless Jack’s stoic face blooms into a smile as he crouches down almost instantly, a heat rising to his cheeks over the compliment.

You immediately leave Tim’s side to look over the grey skinned man’s face, fingers gently brushing over his cheeks. “What is this?” You ask excitedly, clearly referring to the inky black tears that waterfall from his eyes.

“Some goop that comes from my eyes when my body decides I need to eat the food most of you don’t,” he explains, holding back his amused laughter at how gently you touch him with all the wonder a child can. Normally, Eyeless Jack would not let anyone touch him, nor would he let a stranger get remotely this close to him, but he’s admittedly charmed with you.

“Jeeze, Masky, you never told us Wraith’s kid wasn’t a psychopath,” Jeff teases slightly as he rests his forearm on Tim’s shoulder.

“To be fair, I didn’t know either - we really haven’t spent too much time with her,” he chuckles warmly as he watches you brush your fingers through Jack’s hair, amazed that the texture is so soft despite it looking scratchy and a little dry. “Okay, Reader, that’s enough petting EJ,” Tim says as he rests his hand on your shoulder. “I think our uh, meat eating friend needs to get some food in his stomach judging by how many tears he’s producing right now.”

“Do I have to?” You ask as you step back from Eyeless Jack, allowing the tall man to stand up and recompose himself.

“Yup,” Tim replies, popping the ‘p’. “Besides, it’s late and I’m not messing your sleep schedule up anymore,” he finishes as he nods for you to head into the house.

“Will we see these two again?”

“Of course you will,” Tim says as he begins leading you into the house, waving goodbye to the two men who are about to head out into the woods. “You have all the time in the world,” he hums, pleased you made a good impression on some of his society's most prominent figures at the moment.

You turn over briefly and smile widely. “Bye! I hope to see you soon!” You bid before finally being ushered into the house by Tim.

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff wave back, smiles on their faces.

“See you soon, sunflower,” Jeff murmurs to himself.

A pregnant pause comes between the two best friends.

“You see what she’s doing to him?” Jeff absentmindedly chuckles as he and Eyeless Jack begin to travel into the darkness of the woods.

“What a softie,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

“Takes one to know one,” Jeff retorts.

The two laugh.

Tim spends most of his time teaching you and that’s only because the Operator keeps sending out his teammates over him. It’s probably just how the tall man wanted it. You soak up information like a sponge. Everyone can see it.

He teaches you everything he can. For instance, the proxy hierarchical role is strict and considered one of the most respected of rules. Group leaders are leaders because the Operator says they are, but it can also be taken by force. That normally doesn’t happen though. Group leaders hold the responsibility of ensuring their proxies are taken care of, and if they are new, properly integrated into the society. That’s what he’s currently doing with you.

Next up comes the right hand. Not every group has a right hand because some group leaders are paranoid or jerks and cannot learn to trust, but it is highly recommended group leaders have a right hand. This group’s right hand is Brian, or as you know him, Hoodie. Right hands provide guidance when group leaders are conflicted, and can step in on behalf of their leader depending on the situation. They are to be just as respected and revered and can be the stand in should a group leader be missing. This role is not given, it is asked.

Then come what Tim lovingly refers to as ‘the middle children’. Those are the proxies that aren’t group leaders, right hands, or runts. They are the ones who just exist as part of the group unit. They have no significant power but are allowed to participate in the hazing process. ‘Middle children’ tend to pop up when runts outgrow their runt status or a new runt takes their place. It is possible to have multiple ‘middle children’.

Runts are the lowest in the unit. They are the newest in their group, but not always the newest or least inexperienced. If you are traded amongst groups, you become a runt, but in such cases as this, the hazing process is nowhere near as brutal as it would be for those who are inexperienced and coming into the proxy life for the first time. Because runts are usually in an initiatory stage and still learning, they must be bent and broken until the group leader says there is no further need. Runts are often the lapdogs of the group and tend to do everything the rest of the group does not want to do. They are considered the most expendable.

The hazing process is something that you are exempt from. Tim told you it was because you are a child, and he is not a child abuser. Still, after learning of the hazing process, you admit that you feel sick to your stomach. The hazing process is brutal in every sense and can sap the life out of the proxies it affects. Everything goes when a runt is in the process, from mental, emotional and physical torture. Depending on the group leader, the process will last anywhere from a few weeks, months, to even years.

You are thankful you are exempt.

Tim teaches you more and more as the months go on, and still, with stars in your eyes, you soak up information like a sponge. Technique is something he’s always testing on you, and it plays like a fun game.

“I’m going to wait upstairs and read,” he says one morning. “Maybe get some other work done. Wait down here for however long you need, and tap my shoulder without me hearing you. Stay silent as possible. If I hear you, you lose.” He then gets up from the kitchen table and heads upstairs, coffee cup in hand before he heads into the study.

You watch Tim leave and furrow your brows, your heart racing. So far, he’s drilled stamina into you, basic self defense, and other things young proxies might need but this is the task that makes your heart palpitate. You hear him open the study door and half way close it before he settles in and begins reading.

You don’t want to rush into this. So, you take your time, just silently moving from the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs, that task in itself taking until the afternoon. You don’t want to mess this up.

You hold your breath as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Even though it’s carpeted, you don't want any part of you betraying your stealth. You wait at the bottom of the stairs, inching up step by step until you finally reach the top.

The sun has set by the time you wait outside the wall in front of the study door.

You hold your breath as you quietly step into the doorway - and you see it - Tim has flinched. Hopped up on adrenaline, you take your time and slink your way behind him before finally tapping him on the shoulder.

He doesn’t jolt, but he turns around and smiles widely. “Good job!” He compliments, standing up and stretching his limbs. He’s been sitting an entire day, after all. “I’m really proud of you.” He pats the top of your head and you see it in his eyes- he’s actually super proud of you.

But he flinched when you waited in the doorway.

He knew.

Still, you accept this victory with grace, wondering what else he might teach you.

Tim teaches you so much as you grow older under his care. Though one of the most monumental lessons was after you took a life for the first time at fourteen. He had wanted to wait until you were sixteen, but the Operator demanded it.

You’ve learned so much knife skills from him, weaponry in general, but nothing he could have taught you would have prepared you for what it means to take a life.

The two of you had just gotten through interrogating a man who really did not deserve to live. He had been blubbering for the past few hours, and Tim was exhausted from trying to weasel information out from him.

“Ghost,” he addresses, his masked face looking at you with budding amusement. “Finish this for me.”

“What?” You say. You know what he means, you just don’t want to actually admit it.

“Finish him for me,” he shrugs. “It’s about time.”

“I don’t know how?”

“Sure you do,” he hums. “You have your knife and I know your skills are more than good,” he says as he rests his hand on his hips. “You could also shoot him. We’re in an area where no one would even care about a gun going off. Or, you could brutalize him,” he trails off as he lists off the ways you could end a life like items on a grocery list. “I don’t know if you have enough power for actually brutalizing him though,” he jokes slightly, lightly slapping the man’s face to keep him up. “Y’hear that, bud? You got lucky. If it were up to me, I’d break off your limbs one by one and tear open your chest letting you see your beating heart.”

The man’s eyes go wide as he squirms helplessly.

He’s not getting out of this one alive.

You awkwardly look at Tim. “What… What do you suggest?” You ask quietly.

Tim’s eyes dart to your gun. “For your first time? Clean and fast.”

Obliging your group leader’s words, you take out your gun and flick off safety. The hardest part is looking them in the eye. You raise it and point it at the man’s forehead, eyes narrowed from behind your mask.

The man is pleading with you, tears streaming down his face.

“Always pull the trigger..?” You begin, attempting to buy some time.

“On empty lungs,” Tim finishes.

You pull.

It’s almost a little sinful to admit how easy murder has become after that moment. For the next two years, you and your group began going out on more missions as a unit. Your power had grown immensely, and the Operator’s point was beginning to show through.

The younger the proxy, the more efficient they become as they grow. He knows children are plastic, and you are his living proof that success must start young. Still, he watches you grow carefully, and Tim keeps his boss in the loop with every little milestone you hit.

First it was ten confirmed kills, then twenty five, and before you knew it, fifty. Fifty confirmed kills before you were sixteen.

Tim himself has grown rather fond of you in ways that no one else has - though, you are easy to get along with. Besides your group regularly spending time with you and falling deeper and deeper in love with you as their little one, Tim has become what you always envisioned the shadow of your father to be.

He’s the first to greet you in the morning and the last to wish you good night. He spends most of his waking hours with you, and it’s a good memory every single time. He trusts you immensely, and in turn, you trust him. Admittedly, he’s always had a soft spot for you and that much is apparent and always has been.

Tim has always been there for you when it all feels like too much.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble as you curl deeper onto your bed, sheets over your head.

“What happened?” He asks in a serious tone, clearly not wanting to play games.

“I said that I’m fine-”

“Bullshit,” he says as he marches into your room, ready to tear off your blankets. He knows teenagers are prone to giving the adults in their life hell, but you’ve never done this until, well, now.

You’re clawing to keep your blankets on but your strength pales in comparison to Tim’s. You screech as he finally tears the blankets from you, expecting full anger but instead, a look of horror.

“What the-what happened to you?” He asks in shock as he looks at the large red claw marks on your midsection and legs. It looks like you fought off a bear. “How long have you been like this- this is dangerous, you could get infected!” His tone is only loud because he’s scared. He wastes no time in scooping you up into his arms and rushing to the bathroom to tend to your injuries.

You hiss in pain but keep your lips tight, not wanting to admit what happened.

You let Tim work on you and disinfect your wounds as his emotions finally come down to a normal place. You realize it’s because he cares about you, but you’re still worried that he’s going to flare up again.

“Are you ever going to tell me what caused this? Or am I to believe some poltergeist waltzed in here and cut you up?”

You avert your gaze from the only solid father figure you’ve ever had. “I… I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you mumble.

“What?” He sounds genuinely confused, as if he didn’t hear you correctly.

“I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you speed out again, face burning with embarrassment.

You see a plethora of emotions pass over Tim’s face as he applies another bandaid to one of the more minor cuts on your leg before he settles on relief. “Holy shit,” he breathes out as he drops the products he had been working with. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he breathes out as he takes you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can without causing any pain to your body that is still healing.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you hug him back.

Your skill grows so immensely, that your group and the Operator trust you with going on one of the most high stakes missions he’s ever sent modern proxies on. He hasn’t sent you a group on something like this since… Goodness, the 1700s? It’s been a while.

The Operator asked you to hunt down Zalgo’s favored son and kill him. It sounds easy in words, but in practice, near impossible.

“He’s sending us on a death match,” mumbles Brian. “I-What do you guys think? Are we ready?”

You and the other two shrug, not knowing what to say. You just know that you will be following Tim’s lead, as he is your group leader and the man who matters most in your life.

“I’m a-a-apprehensive,” Toby hums. “But, I t-t-think with our collective t-talents, we m-might have a shot.”

Tim looks at you, wanting to know your input when you hesitantly nod. “Guess we’re going.”

Finding Zalgo’s son was easy, but pinning him down was anything but. Everything had gone so smoothly up until it was time to face off with him, the man of the hour.

Toby and Brian were preoccupied with fending off Zalgo’s proxies who were placed in the house to keep his favored, most beloved son safe, and you and Tim had managed to slip in.

It was just the two of you with Zalgo’s son, and he was beating the two of you close to death.

“I’ll ask again,” his smooth, velvety voice growled. “Who do you consider the most expendable in your group?”

When neither you nor Tim answer, the child of Zalgo screams in frustration and rage before barrelling towards you, grabbing your weakened body and throwing you into the large stained glass windows.

Due to the sheer force of how hard he had thrown you, you tumbled out onto the grassy lawn, air stolen from your lungs. You laid on the ground gasping like a fish out of water before slowly attempting to crawl back in and help Tim.

Your fingers hoisted you up through the broken windows, allowing you to see what was going on inside. And it horrified you.

Zalgo’s son was holding Tim up by his neck, choking the life out of him.

“Who is the most expendable?” He demands again.

“I’m… not..!”

“TELL ME-”

“Fuck you-” he barely manages to wheeze out.

You’re panicking, wondering what you can do to help him when the son leans in exceptionally close.

“Say it.” He tosses Tim’s body to the ground, watching as he weakly attempts to get back up.

“R...Reader,” he admits. “She’s the most… She’s the most expendable,” he coughs out, blood and other things being released from his damaged system. “You already threw her out-”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I ended her now?” The son taunts, eyes shifting to the stained glass windows where he hurled you out.

Tim shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying-” he cuts himself off by coughing more. “I’m just saying she’s not prepared, she’s still weak-”

You feel your heart stop. You listen into his thoughts, he’s emotionally vulnerable, and see that he’s telling the truth. There isn’t any second thought that’s telling you he’s fibbing to buy time.

“You don’t trust her?” He inquires, bending low, ready to choke the life out of Tim again.

“I don’t,” he weakly says. “In fact, she’s due to be transferred from us soon-” he’s cut off by the son laughing and lifting him up again by his throat.

The son looks over his shoulder to see tears streaming down your cheeks. “And you call me a monster,” he cruelly laughs.

It’s cut short by Toby and Brian breaking down the door, shooting the son with his father’s favorite gun.

Tim is once again dropped to the floor, and Brian rushes to help him.

Toby leaves their side and sprints to the window to help you. He sees you're crying. “W-What’s wrong? W-Where does it h-h-hurt?” He asks, worry lacing his expression as he helps you back over.

You shake your head and refuse to say anything.

The car ride back to your temp house is awkward at best and downright uncomfortable at worst. You are sitting in the passenger seat because you refuse to sit next to Tim who had admitted something you weren’t really supposed to find out.

And the other two men, both Toby and Brian know it too.

‘Is it true?’ You ask the right hand, looking emptily out the window. The lights that pass overhead are counted as mental busy work.

‘Reader,’ Brian’s voice sighs. ‘I… I’m really sorry,’ he says. ‘I fought him on this, but… But being a proxy isn’t easy-’

‘So you’re abandoning me?’ You ask, tears threatening to fall from your eyes again. ‘You’re gonna leave me in the hands of some strangers because I’m not good enough?’

Brian sighs deeply and glances at you briefly as he continues to drive. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t accept it.’ You shift in your seat and curl up, not wanting to even look at your group. They’ve basically broken your trust, but hearing it from Tim? The man you viewed as most important in your life? The man would talk to you over cups of coffee on the rooftop before the sun came up? The same man who had once said you were the child he was never allowed to have?

He called you weak. Expendable. He has said you are not worthy of his trust.

The first time your anger boiled over was a few days after downing Zalgo’s son. It was just the two of you in the living room, your other two teammates out on other errands. Every day felt like a ticking time bomb of when you will be released to another group.

“We need to talk,” Tim says.

“About?”

“What… What I said back then.” He still has marks on his neck from the son attempting to choke him to death.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He sighs deeply. You have every right to be mad at him. “It’s not that simple,” he starts. “I never meant for it to come out like that,” he says with a frown, eyes not entirely meeting you. He attempts to explain further, but you don’t want to hear it.

You get up, waving him off. “Shut up.”

“Reader-”

“Shut. Up.” You storm upstairs.

The fights do not get any lighter. They say time heals all wounds, but in your case, it exacerbates them. It becomes a nearly every day affair now.

Words are shot like bullets into the house that used to be built by the loving relationship you had with Tim. But, ever since he uttered those words and dug his heels in deeper over the fact you were actively challenging him, you drifted further and further from him.

Toby and Brian try to stay out of those conversations. They both care about you, but at the same time, they understand that being a proxy really isn’t easy. You get jumbled around, shaken up, and sometimes, traded. While no one is replacing you, the fact Tim agreed to let you go was what hurt the most.

According to Toby, he never even fought for you.

You leave them at the same diner you met them at. Sixteen years old and ready to be in the hands of another group. You sit in the passenger seat of the car, eyes empty, and heart torn.

“Do you want us to come in with you?” Brian asks with a small smile.

You shake your head. “No.”

He sighs and drops his shoulders. “I…” He pauses, and when words fail him, he leans over in the driver’s seat and wraps his arms around you. You hug back, realizing your beef isn’t with the right hand and allow tears to well in your eyes. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “It’s going to be quiet without you,” he mumbles. He looks at you with all the adoration an older sibling might as he lets you go.

Toby, has gotten out of the car at this point and walked around the front, opens your door and leans down.

“No, let me,” you say softly as you unbuckle, grabbing your backpack and whatever else you may need before stepping out. Once you’re standing, you find yourself tangled in Toby’s arms.

“I h-hate goodbyes,” he admits as he sways the two of you.

You hug him back and smile softly. “I’ll be seeing you, yeah?” You mumble as he squeezes you tighter.

He nods. “Y-You better!” He laughs, not allowing his thinly veiled choked up tears to enter his voice as he lets you go. Toby checks you over once more, nothing but love in his eyes as he reluctantly takes your place in the passenger seat. You can tell he’s bitter over finally having it back.

Tim is in the back seat, passenger side. He looks at you through the window of the car, eyes red and puffy. He wants to say so much to you and nothing at all.

You share in the sentiment, nod slightly and fight cursing him out again, then head into the same place you met them in. Ready to be a part of a new group. One that hopefully, will not doubt your abilities as a growing proxy.

When you head in and walk out of their lives, Tim’s mask falls, and tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s suffocating and can’t even think clearly.

“Fucking drive,” he coldly hisses as he takes in deep, labored breaths.

Brian, not wanting to fight his leader and understanding the man hasn’t been this emotionally broken since Jay’s death, obliges him.

Tim watches you greet your new team, and his heart breaks all over again.

You’re now twenty years old. My how the time flies. You are more than an established proxy now, and your new group treats you as such.

There’s four of them, your new family.

A group leader named Wallace, who is fair but kind. A right hand named Theo, who is a nightmare in proxy form. A ‘middle child’ named Ruth, who vaguely reminds you of your mother. And finally, an independent by the name of Nyein.

They’ve been good to you over the years you’ve known them, and you can tell they genuinely love you in their own way. You feel like you can tell them almost anything and everything, but everyone has skeletons in their closet and you are no exception.

It’s Wallace’s job as your group leader to understand his proxies and be able to understand them at all costs. He doesn’t mean to pry while it’s still fresh.

“So, how are you doing this fine evening?” The deep voiced proxy asks as he joins you on the balcony of the hotel the five of you are currently staying in.

“I could always be better,” you answer. When you sigh, he gives a knowing hum. “What?” He shrugs. “Pardon my reach,” he begins. “But, Timothy…”

“Too early,” you cut him off.

“Right, my bad,” he apologizes. “We can always come back to this later.”

You huff.

Ruth inquires about it next. She’s gentle in her approach, and you almost spill it all to her, but the pain of what happened ices you back over.

“I understand that you and your previous group went up against Zalgo’s son?”

“Yeah.”

She gently moves some of your hair behind your ear. “How did that go?” She sees your expression fall, and she frowns. “So that’s what happened,” she hums, not even needing you to say what happened directly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say. “Not like you contributed,” you mumble. “He didn’t want me.”

Her hand rests on your back, silently telling you that you can always find comfort in her.

Theo asks in the most brash manner he can. He doesn’t really care about feelings or making people uncomfortable, but he does respect you.

“So, Masky traded you like pokemon cards huh?”

You throw a decidedly hard punch at him.

“Take that as a yes.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You groan in an exasperated tone.

“If it fires you up so your punches stop feeling like taps, sure,” he grins. “Come on, let it out. What did that bastard do to you?”

You answer him with harder punches.

Theo doesn’t respect Tim, but it’s not like he ever respected him to begin with.

Nyein honesty doesn’t ask. They don’t want to make you uncomfortable and they refuse to push your boundaries. They know something hurtful happened, and they understand that pain is carefully guarded for a reason. The only time they ask anything in regards to what hurt you from before was when you were preparing to meet up with your old group for what was ‘lovingly’ dubbed a collaboration.

‘You’re sure you’re okay?’ They ask, cocking their head to the side.

“I’ll be fine-”

‘I know you’re lying,’ they sign with a frown. ‘I can smell that on you, y’know?’

You chuckle and push lightly at them. “If anything isn’t to my liking, you can always eat Masky.”

Their face lights up.

The news that you and your previous team were going to be working together was hell on the ears. In fact, you heard it, and found yourself panicking over the fact you might need to see Tim again. According to Wallace, yes. Tim was still alive and well.

“He looks older though and more depressing,” the blond haired man chuckled. “Fuckin’ hate Timothy.”

Theo rolls his eyes but turns to you anyway. “He’s right on the old and depressing thing.”

You take that thought in and sigh.

Time to face him again.

You and your group decide to meet Tim’s on the edge of the town you all will be invading. Something about mass recruitment and taking out multiple targets. You all know it’s busy work and the Slender Man likes to make you suffer, but it gives you some time to talk until the sun sets.

Ruth and Nyein immediately overtake some time waiting by swarming around Toby and sharing giggles. Wallace and Theo (who may or may not have been talking to Tim prior to this) have run off with Brian to also just talk.

They’re not always at each other’s throats.

That leaves you with Tim.

You’re currently sitting in a grassy field, plucking flowers from the earth and taking in the sweet scent as the sun slowly makes its way to bed. You’ve spent a good portion of time alone, and when Tim finally makes his appearance, you do not stir. You do not acknowledge him.

It’s uncomfortably silent when he takes a seat near you, but not close to you.

“How have you been?” He asks quietly, almost as if he’s scared you’ll take flight again.

It’s been four years, you can reply without anger overtaking your system.

“Decent, like any proxy,” you answer, eyes still honed in on the flowers and how the remaining golden shafts of light filter through the leaves and change the color to something delicate and pure. “And you?” You’re just asking as a formality, not because you actually care.

“The same as you, I suppose,” he answers back, his voice still soft.

Another silence passes until you finally get the urge to look over at the man you once viewed as a parental figure.

Your eyes almost water when seeing him. He’s older now, much older. Still has that kind of youth that comes with being the Operator’s play thing, but he’s sad. His eyes are dark, devoid of light, and soft as if he’s barely holding it together. He still smells like cigarettes.

Tim is the first to speak, a sorrowful smile on his face as he takes in a deep breath and looks at you with an adoration that never truly left. “You look older,” he notes, taking note of how you grew into your looks. You don’t look like that scrawny little preteen anymore. He knows that you’re a young lady now, and he only wishes he was there to see it. “I like it.”

You bristle on instinct. “I don’t need your approval-”

“I know,” he sighs as he turns his gaze up to the clouds that pass overhead. The skies are the faintest of pink and purple. He thinks it’s pretty.

“You look… Older too,” you finally say, feeling awkward and at home all at once.

Tim chuckles quietly under his breath. “Yeah,” he hums. “I’m in my thirties.”

For some reason, it makes you giggle.

He lights up at the sound of your laugh.

When it dies down, the two of you remain in silence, just letting the world pass by as the sun sinks lower and lower. It’s peaceful, nowhere near as hostile as you were originally expecting it to be, and you find that you enjoy the overall experience.

Still, there is a nagging thought in the back of your head. One that reminds you of everything that has happened, and it still stings. It is the wound that will never heal.

As if he was reading your thoughts, Tim breathes out again and continues looking up at the slowly darkening sky. “I really am sorry for what happened,” he apologizes once more. “I was sorry back then, and I’m still sorry now.”

You frown and knit your brows together in confusion. “You… You just let me go, like I didn’t matter.”

“I know.”

“Tim-”

“I can’t undo that,” he says. “But… But I can try that now-”

“Please no-”

“I have better credit in the Operator’s eyes, maybe we could-”

“No-”

“I could ask for you back-”

“That’s enough.”

Your eyes are dark and you can feel something unpleasant bubbling in your chest and throat. When you had first been placed in Wallace’s group, some part of you had some naive childish dream that Tim would come back, take you in his arms and prove that he wanted you and was truly the right sort of man to have as a role model in your life. That dream never came true, so you stopped having it. You let it die and get returned to the earth. You let it drift away.

But at the same time, you wonder what would be different now - if you could even accept being taken back into his group. Would that even be healthy? It took Wallace and the others months just to get you to stop waking up in tears, nearly on the verge of losing your guts through your mouth and to stop you from panicking when one of them said they had to go out. It took them months to get you to even remotely let down your guard on your abandonment issues.

They’d been so patient with you. They watched you grow.

But here was Tim. Sitting next to you in the world’s most beautiful flower field extending an olive branch, wondering if he could ever atone for his sins by asking for you back and making you a part of his group again.

And that makes you wonder, is he doing this because he misses you, or because he feels bad?

The sun sinks below the horizon, and the moon begins to rise in the sky.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you.

You have a job to do, and some things?

Well, they’re better left unsaid.

#masky x reader #masky #marble hornets #tim wright #mh #creepypasta #creepypasta masky #angst #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #hoodie #brian thomas #slender man #the operator #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets x reader

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thattimdrakeguy · 3 years ago

Note

Started thinking about the idea of swapping Kon and Cassie for the formation of YJ, which leads me to two questions for you: 1) Do you have a 90s Cassie Recommended Reading List? Want to do a little research first. 2) Do you have any ideas yourself? (I’m just curious) Thanks for your time!

I read all of these, but--

https://comicvine.gamespot.com/wonder-woman/4050-3824/object-appearances/4005-10885/

Use this to fill in the gaps, and stop at Wonder Woman #136. Because that'll be all the ones written by her creator. I just went past to see if I could learn more about her school life, but it just wasn't happening.

The one issue that focused on it was absolutely terrible. They got Mark Millar, for only one issue, and he made Cassie the most generic typical teenage girl character ever, obsessed over a boy and changing how she looks to impress him, just for it all to be okay by just being herself.

She didn't act anything like Cassie. They made fun of her physical appearance. Put her in a mini-skirt, and had her and Cissie talk about if they should make Cassie's boobs look bigger.

And while I'm sure real girls are like, that and do that sort of stuff, it's not who Cassie was. Which is the problem--beyond a grown man writing about teenage girl’s boobs.

I greatly question the choice on hiring a 30 something year old man to write a singular issue of Wonder Woman focusing on the life of a teenage girl still in High School with a crush.

After reading it I straight up stopped reading any farther because I thought it was absolutely ridiculous.

---

And as far as the starting members of Young Justice being Bart, Cassie, and Timmy? Hmmm.

I'm going to say going with the characterization going with what their creators intended. Cause I do think Young Justice, characterization wise, was pretty freaking shabby. Which sucks, because it really is super funny.

But I think--hmmm.

I think the dynamics would be more like this.

Cause Tim was intended to be this morally innocent, very naïve little boy, who was pretty oblivious. And I keep saying socially oblivious with him, because that's part of it. But I should specify that he isn't a social mess. He can talk just fine, and can even be a great talker. He's just very obviously oblivious of a lot of stuff people his age and older are aware of.

Cassie's a wild-child who stays out past her curfew to party, thinks fights and battles are extremely cool, and while clever herself like Timmy, she gets ahead of herself often and ends up getting hurt. She's head-strong before anything else and doesn't like having to be protected. But she still does her best and shows that by baby sitting kids, and still being very quick-witted.

Bart is a total airhead, who quite literally doesn't know how the world works. Not in the Timmy way, but in a "I was literally raised in a video game" way. He's ill-tempered, can't relate to anyone, but loves doing Super Hero stuff and playing video games.

So I feel like their whole vibe would be like--sleepover time.

And the first issue of the actual series they're literally having a sleepover and stuff, but I mean, because I don't actually think Tim would be this Batman-esque figure, and try to act like him to be leader. I think it would be that without any sense of responsibility until they try to solve a crime.

Tim was made to be a positive-thinking, grounded person. Not a grump.

But if anyone was going to be trying to keep a lid on things it would still be Tim. He's the most level-headed one of the group so he'd have to be or else they'd all be running face first into walls.

At the same time though, I think, cause of Tim being the youngest looking, the most innocent minded, and well, literally being the youngest kid. He's have more of a little brotherly role despite being the one that keeps the lid on things. Like he'd naturally be the one that gets teased the most in that vein, and probably be protected more--Not cause he can't help himself, but I just think that because the others are both Super Powered, it'd be a reflex, and Young Justice itself originally portrayed Tim as being way more talented than he actually is. His whole thing was not being the best, but trying his best.

I think by default Cassie might have that sort of--older sister power, though. Mainly cause she's a babysitter and she's used to having to deal with brats. Just not ones closer to her own age. Even though Bart is actually the oldest of the three.

Bart's probably just a chill middle child that still gets into trouble a freaking lot, which freaks out baby brother, and makes older sister sigh, while they gotta bail him out.

Cause Tim's more prone to anxiety than Cassie is. Cassie just gets freaking annoyed over worried lol.

Also with Tim and Bart on two totally different sides of the responsibility spectrum, Cassie who's right in the middle sort of has to be the one to keep the oil in the machine or else they'd never get anything done. She's the deciding factor, and it's like flipping a coin if she's going to wanna do what Tim wants or what Bart once.

Timmy just has to deal with it and hopefully him and Cassie will be clever enough to keep them out of too much trouble.

And I feel like there'd be them mostly just playing around as kids and just talking about their interests. Because they can relate to each other a lot more, especially Tim and Cassie interest wise.

So more chaos, more kids being kids, and it being a lot more dorkier.

They'd probably just hang around Cassie's place all the time being partially babysat by Diana I imagine. Because they'd be less of a young Super Hero team, and more of just friends being friends, and they all happen to be Super Heroes.

No real leader role. Cassie and Tim both serving functions of a leader, but ultimately not a straight up leader. Tim's just the most grounded, morally innocent, and intuitive one, while Cassie I think would have the actual role of authority over them all. Her boys just following her around.

Cassie's also the most socially normal one. Bart literally doesn't know a freaking thing. Tim's not good at realizing how others will feel, and will actually break into your house with the most innocent of intentions, but still, that's wrong and creepy.

So she'd be there to reel the boys back from their weirdness. Someone's gotta pull Tim out of the trash cans looking through people’s garbage trying to solve mysteries.

I'm not sure if I explained any of that well, but that's the basics of what's in my head when I try to picture what they'd be like together.

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pl-panda · 4 years ago

Text

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 3

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

Disclaimer: Masterlist

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

The dinner was an interesting affair. Everyone was gathered around a large table that could easily fit several more people. Marinette was sitting between Damian and her mother; on the opposite, Tim, Stephanie, and Cass took the seats. She was glad that they were all people she knew well enough. It was overwhelming. Before, Christmas was always just her and her parents. Occasionally, Nona came too. And there was this one time when she was five when her great-uncle visited. This was much too crowded.

Damian gently squeezed her hand, reassuring her that it was alright. She ate some, but the nerves made her lose appetite quickly. She was in Gotham. Celebrating Christmas with her husband’s family. Husband… She was going to have a panic attack. She wasn’t ready.

“Habibti. It’s okay. Everyone here’s a friend.” Damian whispered into her ear, seeing she was spiraling. “Nobody is going to judge us on anything.”

“But I didn’t make any gifts for the Kents. And I didn’t know your eldest brother had a daughter! And I’m a total klutz. I will probably knock over the tree and it will fall and set the house on fire and you will end up homeless or someone will get hurt and then your family will hate me and the Kents will hate me and I…” she kept whispering faster and faster until she was finally starting to feel the need to breathe or pass out. The jury was still out.

Seeing her daughter’s panic, Sabine also grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Honey, let’s go get some fresh air.” She said loud enough for people close to them to hear before leading Marinette outside. Nobody batted an eye when the pair passed them.

Once the two were in the back garden, Mari felt her legs give up under her and if not for her mother, she would have probably collapsed. The woman held her tight and led the girl toward the bench, which was luckily not covered in snow.

“I’m so sorry, Maman. I don’t know… I just felt so overwhelmed. There were all these people and I was really meeting my husband’s family and friends for the first time and I guess I was not prepared for all this…” She was speaking fast.

“Don’t worry sweetie. I understand. Did I tell you how, when I met your Nona for the first time, I accidentally flipped her over my shoulder and pinned her to the ground?” Sabine asked, smiling understandingly at her daughter.

“No! Really?”

“Yes. Well, in my defense, she surprised me with a gun that shot candies.”

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at that. It did seem like something her Mémé would do.

“She was shocked at first and I was afraid I hurt her. Instead, after that, she decided that I was apparently worthy of dating her boy and gave us her approval.”

“So… the moral of this story is that I should flip Talia over for them to accept me?” Mari asked with a cheeky grin.

“That too, sweetie. I can even lend you something from my bag if you want a more… permanent effect.”

“Maman!”

“Fine…” Sabine grumbled goodheartedly. “You don’t need to worry about fitting in or how they will perceive you. I’ve seen how that boy looks at you and I approve.” She smiled. “That’s all that should matter.”

“Thank you maman. I’m glad you’re here.” She hugged her mother as the two sat together on the bench, enjoying the evening chill until the cold became irritating instead of refreshing.

-------

When the two returned, the dinner was nearing the end. Marinette noted seven burning holes on the ceiling but didn’t comment. There was also a plate on fire next to Jason that he seemed adamant not to acknowledge. Also, Mar’i and Jon were levitating above the table and playing rock paper scissors, except they used the props. Silently, Marinette walked to take a seat next to Damian. Her mother went over to talk a bit with Bruce about something.

“Um… Why is Jason’s plate on fire?” She asked, very much confused.

“Tt. He wanted a souffle on fire.”

“We’re already at desserts?” The girl asked, surprised. In the corner of her eye, she saw Cass staring at Tim and Stephanie with a strange gaze. It wasn’t hostile, but rather, she couldn’t really name the emotions present.

“Yes. I saved you some maracons. You love the strawberry ones, right?”

“You made me prefer lemon ones.” She smiled. “The subtle sourness really brings out the sweetness.”

“Of course it does Angel.” He smiled. “Sadly, we sit next to Brown, who will devour anything with sugar in it.”

A devious grin appeared on Mari’s face. “Really now?” She reached over into her purse to pull a small box where she kept the power-up cookies for her Kwami. “Tikki… will you mind if I give her a burnt-red one? You know which…”

For a moment, it looked like the Kwami wanted to protest, but then the small goddess noticed the plate of cookies was empty. “Go for it, Marinette. It won’t hurt her.”

“Stephanie! I’ve got a spare macaron I can share,” she smiled at the blonde girl.

“Gimme!” She almost leaped like a gremlin, her eyes in a slight daze.

“Uh-oh. She is experiencing a sugar rush. I think she ate the whole plate herself,” Tim spoke from his seat, eyes slightly worried.

Mari handed over the macaron and watched as Steph ate it. It took only a moment for her face to flush red and tears to appear in her eyes. “Water!” She said with a hoarse throat. Tim handed her a glass, but when she downed it, the burning only increased.

“Oh no! I forgot to warn you! It was made with ground hot pepper instead of flour… silly me!” Mari said, keeping the cute smile on. “I would advise milk.”

When Stephanie ran to the kitchen, followed by Tim laughing and Cass and Damian smiling, the older boy turned to Marinette. “You are devious.”

“She shouldn’t have eaten so many cookies,” the girl shrugged. After that, she actually started to enjoy the evening. It might have started a prank war later on, but for now, she was safe.

---------

After dinner, the crowd moved to a large living room where adults took seats on the couches or chairs while most kids and teens sat on the fluffy carpet. Alfred was walking around and handing the wine glasses to adults and hot chocolate to the youngsters. Clark opted for hot chocolate as well, which earned him a round of teasing.

Since everyone was staying the night, there was no need for designated drivers. When Tim and Stephanie tried to get their hands on alcohol, Alfred slapped their hands. More laughter followed.

Marinette sat there, cuddled into one armchair with Damian, observing everything and looking cute.

“...I’m just saying, Bruce. You could smile a bit more in costume too. It wouldn’t kill you.” Clark finished a short speech.

“Work and homelife should stay separate,” Tim spoke up from his spot on the floor.

“Which doesn’t stop you from smiling. You’re not a Buckingham Palace guard.” Lois pointed out.

“To be frank, you could smile a bit more often, B.” Dick supported the enemy.

“It would be bad for the image,” Bruce mumbled. “If anyone saw Batman smile, it would ruin my years of hard work.”

“Diana disagrees.” Kor’i smiled. “She actually said once that ‘a smiling bat looks pretty handsome’.”

“I’ve seen a smiling bat!” Mar’i shouted from her spot on Jon’s knees, the two of them acting like nice siblings. It secretly irked Damian, but he wouldn’t ever voice that thought. “There was a cartoon!”

“That’s nice, sweetie.” Sabine couldn’t help but rub it into Bruce some more. “Did he also have a cape, like Bruce?”

“Yes! And he walked on two legs!”

“See? I think your image doesn’t need to suffer.” Tom joined his wife. His English wasn’t that good, but he could get by. “Maybe you could get a cartoon about Batman? Ladybug had her own movie and a song dedicated to her.”

“Ladybug?” Jonathan asked. Marinette immediately tensed at the mention of her superhero name. She definitely did not want to reveal herself to everyone here. It’s not that she didn’t trust any of them, since all of them knew about Batman and co., but she felt uneasy. The fewer people knew, the better.

“Parisian superheroine.” Sabine clarified.

“We sure didn’t hear about her back in Smallville.” Martha insisted, smiling. “Then again, we don’t really keep with the news from the old world.”

“There was this terrorist in Paris that used magic to turn people into temporary villains. He was finally defeated recently. I think you’ve seen all the ladybug decorations.” Tim explained in broad terms.

“Ah! Right. I was wondering about the ladybugs…”

Damian noted that his beloved was tense and decided that it was a moment good as any other to spring up the surprise. He shifted slightly, signaling that he wanted to get up. Marinette, who was still holding her cup, immediately sprung onto her feet. She thought he maybe wanted to leave somewhere or speak with his father alone.

Instead, Damian hit the side of his hot chocolate cup with a spoon three times, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Tt. I wanted to say a few words. This will be important so shut up you lot.” He cleared his throat before continuing in a mostly emotionless voice that most people associated with his ‘Ice Prince’ persona. “Marinette. When I first met you, it was not from our own free will. The bitch that is my mother forced our hand and tied us together. But we got to know each other out of our own free will. Nobody forced me…” His head snapped toward Dick. “Tt. Don’t you dare, Grayson.” Seeing his brother raise his hands in a surrender gesture, he carried on. “Nobody forced me to come to Paris. Definitely, nobody forced you to actually accept my courting. To this day, I am left wondering why an Angel as you would actually agree to go out with me, but here we are.”

The people watched with rapt attention. Marinette just stood there, unable to voice a coherent thought. She had no idea what was happening, but a deep red blush had made its way onto her face when he praised her.

“You were so full of passion and joy and it reminded me a bit of Jon, but without the irritating factors.”

“Hey!” The boy protested. A murderous glare from Damian shut him up quickly.

“As I was saying, you were perfect in my eyes. I was taken away by your kindness. There are no words to describe my feelings.” His tone was still emotionless and monotonous, but Marinette could see that he was doing his best to actually see this through. “I can say without a doubt that I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

All air was suddenly sucked from Mari’s lungs when he fell on one knee and pulled out a small black box. Inside was probably the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. There were three flowers on a golden band. In the center of each, there was a shining diamond, surrounded by smaller stones. The petals were made from pink stones that she suspected were also diamonds. Were there even pink diamonds? All in all, it looked beyond words.

“Will you do me that honor and become my wife?” When he finally asked, she could feel the world spinning. This was… this was better than in any of her daydreams. And not only because instead of Adrien there was Damian.

The words died in her throat. She had to sit down to not faint. “Yes…” She whispered weakly, so only Damian could hear. The boy smiled brightly (a rare sight to be sure) and put the ring on her finger.

Her gaze fell on the band he had on his own hand. It was silver with a large black stone in the center of the band, surrounded by eight diamonds. The Black Cat Miraculous she realized.

An applaud arose from several places in the room, but some of the guests were confused.

“Aren’t you two too young to get married?” Johnathan asked, scratching his head.

“Tt. Technically, we are already married where I come from. This is for my wife’s content and nothing else.”

“Married?!” The old farmer asked, scandalized.

“Tt. That’s what I said. Now can someone please get my Angel some water? I think she is about to faint.”

“Um… I would also be very interested in the story…” Clark joined his father. He wasn’t exactly that much scandalized, but confusion was clear on his face.

“I promise I will explain everything. I think we should give the two some breathing space…” Bruce proposed hesitantly.

“I will help get Mari to her room. I think she has had enough excitement for today,” Tom offered.

“I am also turning in for the night, Father. I trust that between you and Miss Cheng they will get a full story. Sans the private parts of course.” He glared at him.

“I will make sure of that.” Sabine quickly cut any protests.

“Good. Good night everyone. And Merry Christmas or whatever.” With that, he left, wanting to catch up with Tom and Marinette.

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

Masterlist // Next

#fanfiction #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #tiger miraculous #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #maridami #fluff #arranged marriage AU #batman #BatFam #damienette #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #marinette x damian #class salt

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmarks, Part 18

First part

~~~

Tim hugged himself. He was, in a word, shaken.

In many words, though, he was absolutely terrified of what Inamovibi-Lady had become. From dropping him and Bruce off a building to murdering Harley and Joker in gruesome ways, she was extremely amoral in how she achieved her goals. Sure, he’d known that akumas have their own moral code, but it had never really sunk in until he’d been faced with it.

And the akuma had told him that Marinette was inside there, and that she wasn’t particularly against anything she was doing.

But how true was that?

It appeared that she was just now starting to process what she’d done. She was shaking a little bit, her eyes wide. He hesitated and detransformed momentarily to get his jacket and then draped it over her shoulders. It wasn’t a shock blanket, but it would have to do.

She looked at him for a second and seemed to smile a little more (it was hard to tell) before looking down at her yoyo.

He went back to standing a careful distance away, his eyes wandering to his family. Everyone seemed a mix of sickened and frightened by what had happened.

Adrien was full on crying, curled up on the floor with his head in his knees. Fair enough, this really wasn’t his night. He’d found out his father was the supervillain he’d been fighting for years, had his best friend akumatized, had difficulty communicating with everyone, and now an akuma that he’d helped create had brutally murdered two people. A breakdown was pretty much inevitable.

Dick sat down next to him and pulled him into his side. Adrien didn’t seem to know what to do with the affection for a second before burying his face in his shoulder.

“Master Fu’s house, please,” said the akuma, bringing his attention back to her.

He hesitated slightly.

He was definitely going to be alone for this one. Even if he could break the moral barrier keeping him from taking a crying Adrien along to fight her, he doubted that he would be of much help.

But it wasn’t like he was really getting any choice in this. Her next target after the ‘Master Fu’ person was definitely going to be Hawkmoth and, though he could admit that she was stronger than normal, they definitely weren’t prepared to fight him. He had to beat her.

How, though? Sure, he at least knew that she wasn’t trying to hurt him (he’d just found out what would have happened to him if she had actually wanted him dead), but that didn’t mean much when she went to drastic measures to ensure that things went her way. He didn’t know how lenient she would be with him if she actually thought him a threat, because she obviously didn’t --.

He felt a hand rest on his arm and pulled himself from his thoughts to send Inamovibi-Lady a smile.

“Sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. He tried not to think about the bloody handprint now on his arm as he glanced at his family. Still no help. Great. How dare they be in shock?

He gave Inamovibi-Lady an awkward smile and opened a portal underneath them.

When they dropped into the tiny shop it took everything in Tim not to slam his head against a wall. Master Fu was just sitting at the table, drinking tea and eating sandwiches. He’d had a five hour warning, why the fuck hadn’t he even tried to run?

She twirled her yoyo, her black eyes narrowed to slits.

“Hello, Marinette.”

“Inamovibi-Lady,” she corrected. Her head tipped to the side. “You’re not going to run away?”

“If you’d like to air your grievances, I would love to hear them.”

The akuma, if possible, looked even more suspicious. “Really?”

Master Fu shrugged and gave a tiny wave of his hand before leaning back. “Mhmm. Go on.”

“I…” Inamovibi-Lady began, then stopped. There was a few times where she opened and closed her mouth, unsure what to do in this type of situation, and then she shrugged and brought her microphone to her hand. “Right, um… citizens of Paris! I’m back, and I’m here to do hearing number five! Well, four for you guys, but five total! With us today is Wang Fu!”

The old man caught Tim’s gaze and then flicked his eyes to the side quickly. Was Tim sure it had meant something? Yes. Did he have any clue what this guy was trying to say? No.

“Now, what he did was particularly messed up. Imagine, you’re a kid on their way to school, and you see this old man about to get run over. You help them. And, because of this, this random guy decides to give you the responsibility of making sure the entire city of Paris never falls to a superterrorist!”

“You must understand --.”

“Shut up. I’m not done.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and took a few short steps back so he could hopefully stay out of this conversation.

He also took the chance to detransform out of Inamovibi-Lady’s view. He didn’t know if Hawkmoth could hear and see everything that the akuma could, but he wasn’t going to test it. Kaalki floated over to Master Fu and stole the bread off of his sandwiches before settling herself on Tim’s shoulder to eat.

“Let’s skip over the fact that you asked two thirteen-year-olds to protect an entire city for now, because let’s talk about the fact that I didn’t have a choice!”

“You could have refused at any point.”

“Like hell I could! The city was under attack and it was obvious no normal person could do it, and then after that I was too popular to just disappear! At least the Americans recruiting kids ask them if they want to do it before they set them up as vigilantes!”

Tim transformed again and crossed his arms over his chest as he considered what to do.

He kind of wanted to let her attack the old man -- he knew first hand exactly how stressful being a vigilante is, and the idea of being thrown into it without warning was enough to make him wince -- but, at the same time, letting her do that would be kind of messed up of him.

Also, he had no plan at all, which was kind of a problem if he was going to be trying to stop her.

“So, now for your judgement.”

Shit!

“How about…” She tapped her finger on her chin as if in thought for a moment before smiling widely. “I take those miraculi off your hands. You’re clearly too old to make proper decisions about who to give them to, and I have someone better in mind.”

He needs a plan! And now!

Ah. There’s one. A bad one. But one nonetheless.

He launched himself at the akuma from behind and they both cursed as she stumbled and threw them off-balance.

But, instead of just falling to the ground for a wrestling match, her back hit something invisible and they screamed in a mix of panic and confusion as the illusion broke to reveal that they were in the turtle miraculous’s shield. They had bigger problems, though, as they rolled through the room.

They came to a stop when they hit the wall, which was unfortunate considering they were at the top. They fell the few feet to the bottom of the hamster ball and groaned.

Tim peeled his face out of her stomach and slowly pushed himself up and looked around.

Master Fu was wearing both the turtle and fox miraculi.

Well, now he knew what he’d been trying to tell him earlier: to move so he wouldn’t be caught in the hamster ball, too. Wow. Wish there was a hand motion for that or something, because Tim was not eager to be back inside, and especially not with a particularly angry akuma.

Actually, now that he was thinking about it, she was taking this remarkably well (for an akuma). Inamovibi-Lady laid back in the hamster ball and started doing tricks with her yoyo.

“You can’t keep this up forever, Fu. You have to sleep. I don’t.”

Oh. That made sense. Unfortunately.

“Besides, since Hawkmoth knows you have miraculi here, I’m expecting him to come by at some point. Gonna protect yourself and the miraculous box or keep me in here?”

Can she please stop making sense? Just for a few minutes?

He sighed and covered his ears. He needed to concentrate. He needed a plan. He had quite a bit of time, he assumed, but the faster he fixed this the faster everything could work out.

Well, not work out, they were long past that point, but at least it would be over.

His eyes found their way to her yoyo. Of course they did, it was moving around wildly, and the human eye is attracted to movement. But…

Tim shrugged to himself. A terrible plan came to him, it was really too bad they were desperate. He grabbed the akuma’s arm and opened a portal underneath them.

And they were falling.

Inamovibi-Lady screamed obscenities as they plummeted towards earth, the Eiffel Tower whizzing past them at lightning speed. He pulled her actual yoyo from his belt just in case he was wrong in how he thought this would play out...

She pulled him to her side and he breathed a sigh of relief as she threw her yoyo. She hooked it around a beam and their fall came to a jerking stop that he was not ready for. He swore he left his stomach about ten meters up.

But no time to think about that! He wrapped his arms around her as well.

“That went to plan,” he said.

“Really? Your plan was to almost die, then?” He couldn’t tell for sure, but he knew she was rolling her eyes. “You’re literally so stupid. You and Chat should have a stupid-off.”

He grinned.

She looked around for a safe place for them to land. “You might need to climb the string to get up. How good are you at that?”

He gave a tiny shrug and made a move to push himself up, only to pull the earring from her ear.

Relief flooded through him as purple and black engulfed her and her weapon. Done. Finally.

He only came to realize his mistake the moment her yoyo started to disappear.

And they were falling again.

And she was barely conscious.

And he had no idea how yoyos worked as weapons or grappling hooks are you kidding me?

He looked at the one in his free hand and shrugged mentally. He either doesn’t try and they both end up dead, tries and fails and they both end up dead, or tries and actually succeeds. He hooked his arm and legs around her as tightly as he could and prayed that it was even slightly like his grappling hook as he threw it.

They swung to safety. Kind of. He caught them pretty close to the ground, and the yoyo didn’t really hook around the beam all that well, so it mostly just slowed their fall, but outside of a few bruises they’d probably be fine when they took off their suits.

He groaned quietly and crushed the earring in his hand and caught the akuma.

And then he let himself lay down beside a confused and groggy Marinette.

Tim watched the sun start to rise and sighed, bringing an arm up to cover his eyes.

It had been a long night, but it was over now.

~~~

Next part

Taglist

@pawsitivelymiraculous @golden-promises @salty-fang @kitsunebell @sassakitty @octobitch @glastwime859 @miyla-lokidottir @onlyabatfan @ira-sairain @2confused-2doanything @ultimatetornshipper @ladybug-182 @laurcad123 @we-want-mini-mini @roguishredaxion @just-reblogs-by-h @futursworld @magic-miraculous @nathleigh @smolplantmum @vroomtaka @emimar7 @toodaloo-kangaroo @charme-de-malchan @spicybelladonna @fusser90 @indecisive-mess-named-me @rosesgonerogue @celestialsiren @bluesimani @loysydark @trippingovermyfeet @goblinwhoships

#timinette #timari #soulmarks #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #tim drake #maribat #adribat

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scribble-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Soulmate AU part 13!!

I meant to update yesterday, but between a long school/work day and going out with friends afterwards for karaoke, it didn’t quite happen. Oops! I’m gonna try to get everything edited in advance so updates hopefully get a little smoother for me to roll out. Thanks for reading!

First • Previous • Here • Next

“So, we’re all agreed?” Tim demanded. “I’ll go in with Robin, play a little good cop, bad cop with them. And once we’ve actually figured out how bad the problem is and what we’d actually be able to do to help, Bats can swoop in and offer a hand.”

“I do not see why we had to plan that,” Damian practically yawned. “It’s what we would have all done anyway if left to our personal inclinations.”

“And why aren’t I in the plan?” Dick asked, pouting like the overgrown child Damian knew him to be. “I can play good cop just as easily! Or swoop in after! I can swoop!”

“Swooping is... bad.” Tim muttered to himself. “I left you out of the plan, Dick, because while we play diplomats to a bunch of teenagers who’ve been saving a whole city near daily for four years without help or acknowledgement, crime in Gotham doesn’t actually stop. You and Jason and Cass are on actual patrol.”

Cass wasn’t there, Damian knew. She’d already left after the first time Drake had gone over his “plan” to start on her actual patrol. Todd looked seconds from taking the same exit, except that he’d wanted to be there too.

“Still say I should be the bad cop,” he grumbled, and Damian kicked the foot he had sticking out from his slump on the chair. He got a half hearted retaliatory kick attempt, which was enough to know that Todd wasn’t truly upset at any of them, just upset that he wasn’t getting to meet the new French heroes. “Kid can go hunt down some more scumbags and sleazeballs. Might even catch Riddler or someone at something tonight. I wanna scare the kids.”

“I told you, you’re too much of an asshole to expose to children without warning. Also, they’re still teenagers. It makes sense to send the two youngest of us in to talk to them.”

“And Riddler’s still locked up,” Father said from his spot, far enough away from them that he could maintain the illusion of not dealing with their squabbling but close enough to listen and chime in. “Try again.”

“Hmm. Harley, taking a swing at Scarecrow for shooting Ivy.” Todd cracked an eye in that direction.

“I’d let her,” Damian groused quietly to himself.

“Speaking of Ivy,” Father’s voice cut through the chatter. “Damian. Mind explaining what you were doing when you got caught up in the attack today?”

Damn.

Damian had honestly let himself hope that the meeting with the new heroes would eclipse what had happened earlier that day.

“I was touring the Gardens,” he said, not dishonestly. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“No, what matters is the fact that you have a girlfriend, and you didn’t tell me,” Dick sighed dramatically. “Where did I go wrong, Bruce?”

“You didn’t actually raise me.” Damian pointed out. “At best, you’ve been a morally guiding nuisance.”

“Jiminy Cricket?” Tim asked, grinning widely.

“Where did you go wrong, Bruce?” Dick corrected, sending a glare towards Tim.

“If you don’t wanna tell us why you were practically hanging off of the poor girl’s every word, you don’t have to,” Todd grinned. “But just remember that what we can imagine is probably far worse than what was actually going on.”

Damian suppressed the urge to groan. He met Drake’s eyes. Surprisingly sympathetic, but then he also hadn’t shared his soulmark with their family to Damian’s knowledge.

“Marinette,” he stressed her name very carefully, with the air of someone who entirely regretted just about everything that had led them to this part of their life, “is my soulmate.”

There was a moment of silence before all hell seemed to break loose.

“A soulmate? And you never told me!?” Dick practically wailed.

“Perhaps I should have pressed the issue more when the marks first appeared.” Bruce murmured.

“There’s no way that sweet girl was your soulmate, Demonspawn.” Todd, crass as ever, objected.

“I think you guys are forgetting that Marinette literally had me on the ground and pinned within the first second of our interaction.” Drake reminded them. “And based on that, I’m guessing she wasn’t lying when she told Gordon she took down two of the goons that came after them.”

“She definitely wasn’t,” Damian found himself saying almost wistfully. He’d found himself at several points that afternoon and evening replaying the memory in his head of Marinette bringing down the idiot who’d tried to bring them to Scarecrow. “Her form needs work, but then not everyone has had the opportunity to train to our standards. I’ll be amending it.”

He found himself met with several frankly insultingly bewildered looks. With a sniff he flattened his expression and did his best to look down on them even from his position as the not quite shortest.

“Oh my god,” Todd said. “She’s actually your soulmate?”

“Cut it out, Jason,” Drake snapped before Damian could. “Or should I say something about your soulmate?”

Damian watched as Todd scoffed but settled down, eyes narrowed at their brother. Dick’s eyes flicked rapidly between Damian and Tim, baffled concern evident. “Did I wake up in an alternate dimension? Like- suddenly Paris has heroes and villains for years that we’ve never heard of, Damian met his soulmate, Tim is defending him, and Damian is letting him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damian said, meeting Tim’s eyes and watching them light up as he said, “Tim and I have always been perfectly friendly.”

“Honestly, Dick,” Tim took it one step further, slinging an arm over Damian’s shoulders. “I know you were kind of bitter that he latched on to me when you were supposed to be the Batman to his Robin while Bruce was gone, but there’s no need to act out like this.” Damian, against all of his instincts to shove the intruder into his personal space away, leaned into the side hug, and even wrapped his arm around Tim’s waist to complete the picture of easy familiarity.

“You’re not going to trick me into actually checking if we’re in an alternate dimension,” Dick said, and Damian struggled not to grin as Todd sat up a bit straighter.

“And what, next you’re gonna say today isn’t actually Cass’ birthday? You know Alfred’s got the whole cake and everything waiting for after patrol.”

“It’s not-“ Dick panicked, grabbing his phone, checking his calendar. Tim gripped Damian’s shoulder just a bit tighter as he struggled not to break, and Todd’s eyes were narrow and gleeful.

Dick looked up, accusatory and betrayed. All three of them cracked.

“Oh my god,” Todd laughed, as Tim broke down nearly to tears beside him. Damian couldn’t stop himself from laughing too, at the look on Dick’s face. “‘I’m not gonna check-‘ Dick, it only took one more sentence!”

“It wouldn’t have worked if you’d said anyone but Cass,” Dick whined, throwing his grappling hook at them. Jason caught it easily, tossing it back before Dick could prepare for it, catching him in the stomach.

“If you’re all quite done,” Father stood finally. “Damian, make sure you invite Marinette around to dinner tomorrow. I’m sure we’re all equally anxious to meet her. For now, let’s go, before we miss the meeting time we set up.”

“Yes, Bruce,” came the mumbles from his brothers, as Damian nodded his acquiescence.

For now, they’d deal with the Parisian heroes and their crisis overseas. Once that was settled, hopefully Drake could spend some time looking into the oddities in his soulmate bond.

And dinner be damned, he’d try to keep Marinette from meeting these idiots for as long as he could.

TAGLIST:

@the-fusionist @rebecarojas07 @lowandco @kotaleartzu @resignedcatservant @alenee13 @mystery-5-5 @ladybug-182 @actual-disaster-human @loysydark @rumbelle18 @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @athena452 @mochegato @ash-amg @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thestressmademedoit @sassakitty @doriebell @toodaloo-kangaroo @myazael @theatreandcomicfreak @mer-mel @dahjokester @northernbluetongue @abrx2002 @area51qt @jessigurl-design @renscorpio @cici-schnee @multplelifes @redscarlet95 @razzledazzle247 @rosep16 @emotionalsupportginger @kceedraws @tired-butterfly @kuroko26 @catthhay @moonystars14 @shamefullove @shreky-boi @imanerddealwith @chaosace @captainmac6 @purple-people-eaters-productions @crazylittlemunchkin @weird-pale-blonde-person @bigpicklebananatree

#maribat #daminette #daminette soulmates #soulmate au #fanfic

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goulets · 3 years ago

Text

Heartland

Chapter: 3/8 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Colin Wilkes, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas Rating: T (for now) Case Fic / Kid Fic a03 link

The library has its benefits: no harassment from over-familiar family members, no Dick sexually frustrating him within an inch of his life, and, if he’s willing to be a little sentimental, he kind of does want to show it to the baby. She’s too young to appreciate it, probably, but it stirs something in him to share it with her all the same. He’s heard it’s never too early to get kids into reading - his parents sure as hell never tried, but Jason had read anything he could get his hands on, once he learned how. It had saved him, back then. Maybe it can do the same for her one day.

“Could’ve sworn Bruce had a Dr. Seuss anthology somewhere in here,” he says to her, combing over the shelves with his eyes. “Guess not. You up for something more sophisticated?”

She grunts, squeezing his shirt in her fist. “Alright,” he agrees, pulling Twelfth Night off the shelf. “Shakespeare it is. You’ve got taste, kid.”

***

(dick)

Venice is a nightclub that has gone by many names during its Gotham tenure, and just as many owners. Dick has been undercover here at least twice, back when the club was catering to the wealthier patrons of Little Italy. The current management clearly hasn’t bothered with maintaining that exclusivity - the building is now shabby and outdated, even for this neighborhood. One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is the real draw of Venice, which is the illegal casino in the back rooms beyond the VIP lounge. Through all the club’s owners, the casino has always been run by the Falcones, and always frequented by the city’s most morally flexible elected officials. In the past four nights that Dick’s been staking the place out, he’s seen five judges, two city council members, and even the new police commissioner slipping out the back door into the alley, stinking of gin and cigar smoke and patting their coat pockets with an air of satisfaction. It’s good intel to have, Barbara’s told him. Always helpful to keep the files updated on who’s being bought and by whom. None of that really makes him feel better about the fact that he’s been staking this place out for four nights and still hasn’t managed to pin down their actual target.

It’s embarrassing, is what it is. He’s Nightwing, for God’s sake. He’s taken down whole Russian mobs in Bludhaven, and now he’s being completely eluded by a third-string Falcone no one’s even heard of.

Oracle had ID’d the doer of the Torres/Howard murders in a matter of hours, true to her word, and the ballistics had predictably matched up with a few other murders that the police never bothered investigating. Susanna “Susie” Falcone, a second cousin once removed with a rap sheet that puts many of her relatives to shame. Her name must still have some pull in political circles, because she’s only done time once, in spite of being indicted almost a dozen times. Gotta love good old fashioned judicial corruption, Jason had said. No one had been able to argue, looking at the number of charges dismissed.

All in all, it was supposed to be a fairly simple tag-and-bag. Once they’d found her place of work - officially, the Venice nightclub, unofficially, the family casino - he’d been tasked to track her, question her, and then turn her in to the police. He’d chosen his stakeout perch well, on a hotel roof high above the alley, he’d followed her, unseen, and so far, she’s given him the slip every freaking time. The woman has vanished through every doorway from here to Robinson Park, as only the most enterprising criminal can. Were this a different kind of case, Dick might have been impressed.

Instead, he’s annoyed, and having to compromise - his vantage point is lower, closer but more exposed in the thin shadows of a third story construction platform right above the alley. He can see the door to the club without any difficulty, but the moment he moves, he’ll be open to attack.

He’ll just have to move fast. Fortunately, that’s what he’s best at.

There’s a soft motion behind him, almost quiet enough to escape his notice entirely. It’s Jason - Dick hadn’t expected him to actually turn up. No doubt he’s here to make sure they finally succeed in catching their mark tonight, but he’s been so adamant about not leaving Danielle with anyone except Dick that it’s still a surprise to see him. What’s equally surprising to Dick is that he was apparently hoping Jason would show, if the relief he feels at seeing him is anything to go by.

It’s a nice moment of solidarity, until Jason opens his mouth. “So, fourth night’s a charm, huh?”

Dick bristles. “What happened to not leaving the baby?” he retorts.

Jason bristles back, but doesn’t rise to the bait. It’s a little wrongfooting - a reminder that things are changing between them. Dick is used to the veneer of antagonism that hangs over his relationship with Jason, the unresolved tension they both pretend not to notice. They’d gotten into a pretty good groove when he was acting as Batman, staying out of each others’ way for the most part, and working together when necessary. Dick’s pretty sure Jason doesn’t actually harbor any murderous feelings towards him, just like he doesn’t actually hate Bruce, no matter what he says.

“The girls and Alfred ganged up on me,” Jason says, leaning back against the scaffolding. “Whatever. I needed to get the hell out of there anyways. I don’t know how you stand being around them all so much.”

Dick laughs. “They’re not as interested in me,” he admits. “I’m not the cool sibling.”

Jason doesn’t respond right away. It's hard for Dick to tell, when he’s wearing the helmet, but he thinks Jason is probably waiting to see if Dick is joking. It’s another way things have shifted between them - Jason’s holding back, not jumping straight to lashing out, like he used to. It should be a good thing - it is a good thing, but it’s throwing him off balance all the same. He feels like he's spent most of the past several days looking for Jason, even when Jason is right in front of him. He’s used to trying to find the Jason he knows - or knew - the Jason who was taken away from him. Now there’s a new Jason, a Jason he’s still getting to know. Dick can’t choose between them, can’t decide which one he wants to find every time he looks at him. Maybe that’s why he can’t seem to find his one lousy mafia shooter.

“Looks like the cops are covering up the ballistics report on Reynolds,” Jason says, after a moment. “Go figure.”

Dick frowns. “Just Reynolds?”

Jason grunts. “Hold on. What.”

Dick turns to look at him.

“Did you burp her?”

Oh, Dick realizes, he’s on the comm. Someone back at the Manor must have pinged him on a private line.

“Then get Alfred to do it.”

It’s curious that the ballistics on Cy Reynolds’ murder are the ones being suppressed, Dick thinks. He was the only one killed with a submachine gun - the bullets from most of the other crime scenes had come from a standard Beretta APX, and the object of his stakeout, Susie Falcone, had used a Glock on Danielle’s parents. The Glock matched a few other shootings, the Beretta matched none. None of that is particularly noteworthy - after all, Susie is a criminal, and Beretta shell casings are a dime a dozen at any mob shooting.

“Fine. I’ll check back in five. If you asswipes don’t pick up, I’m coming back there.” Jason makes an aggravated noise in the back of his throat, which Dick takes to mean he’s hung up.

“Everything OK?”

“Just peachy. By some cosmic fucking joke, I’m the only person in the family who can get the baby to take a damn bottle. I told her they just need to burp her, but I guess that’s too complicated a task for a family of genius detectives,” Jason grumbles. “I knew I shouldn’t have left her. Shit.”

“Jay, relax. She’s fine.” Dick can’t help but grin at him. It’s honestly sweet, the way Jason and the baby have gotten attached to each other. Dick likes to think he’s her second favorite, but it’s pretty hard to tell. No matter who’s holding her, she’s always looking at Jason, and Jason never stops looking at her.

“It’s fucking cold out here,” Jason says mulishly.

Dick raises an eyebrow. “I noticed. It’s April, not August. If you really want to go back, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“I don’t…” Jason sighs. “Look, I’m here, okay? You bungled this grade school op three nights in a row, so congrats, you triggered the bat buddy system. If I leave and you fuck it up again, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Dick supposes it’s his turn not to rise to the bait. “Fair enough,” he says easily, turning around to face the alleyway again. “What were you saying about the ballistics on Reynolds?”

“Oh, Oracle ran the bullets through Interpol. Turns out our ill-fated gang boss was offed by one of Carmine Falcone’s personal weapons. The record’s been scrubbed from US databases, but Babs had a hunch.” Jason sounds impressed.

“Been scrubbed meaning...there was a record,” Dick follows, “and some people might still remember, if they saw the bullets. Hence the coverup.”

“Yup. Hence the coverup.”

“Could explain what the commissioner was doing here the other night,” Dick muses.

Jason snorts derisively. “See, this is what I hate about the mafia. They’re so goddamn predictable. Kill the competition, pay off the cops, around and around forever. It’s so pedestrian.”

Dick laughs. “You’d rather deal with Clayface?”

“Fuck yes I would. Clayface has flair, you know? Anybody can be a mobster, shit.”

Jason has started shifting with agitation, or maybe impatience. Either way, their vantage spot isn’t hidden enough for him to be moving around. “Get low if you’re gonna be twitchy,” Dick tells him. “Or if you’re gonna have a cigarette, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Lucky for you I quit then,” Jason says, crouching down next to him. “I’m not jonesing, I’m just fucking cold.”

“We could huddle together for warmth,” Dick jokes, grinning unabashedly when Jason’s helmet fixes him with a death glare. “Wait, you quit smoking? When?”

“When I started taking care of a baby, obviously.” Jason goes still, suddenly. “Is that her?”

The door to the alleyway opens, and they both tense - but it’s just a man, a bodyguard, by the looks of him. Close-cropped blonde hair, early 40s, used to throwing his weight around. Feeling there’s something familiar about him, Dick nudges Jason and motions for him to take a photo. Jason starts almost imperceptibly at the contact, but follows suit. They both hold perfectly still in the shadows as the man looks around, glances in a cursory way along the rooftops, and then sets off down the alley towards the street.

“I know him,” Jason mutters. “From Tim’s case files - he was with Intergang.”

Dick doesn’t say anything about Jason calling Tim by name, but it’s a welcome development. “Looks like he switched sides, if he’s hanging out here.”

“Wonderful,” Jason says. “All right, I’m gonna check on the kid again.”

Dick represses the urge to give him a shoulder squeeze, or ruffle his hair. It’d probably result in him getting shoved off the platform, but Jason’s being so....not different, because Dick’s always known that this Jason was still in him, somewhere. Always hoped, anyways. When Jason had been younger and acted like this, surly with his words but tender with his actions, Dick had always thought of him as cute. It’s like that now, too, except it’s not just cute, because Jason has several inches and at least two weight classes on him. It’s cute in a different way, an adult way. It’s cute in a way that makes Dick want to push harder against Jason’s armor, to catch as many glimpses of that side of him as he can. If he thinks about it too long, it’s cute in a way that makes him want, recklessly.

“Red Hood to Batgirl,” Jason says. He’s calling on the family line this time. “Give me an update.”

“You’re seriously a helicopter parent, you know that, Hood?” Steph laughs in Dick’s ear. “We figured it out. Well...Black Bat figured it out.”

Jason’s shoulders sag a little in relief. Cute, Dick thinks, involuntarily. He needs to get a grip. “About fucking time.”

“She prefers being propped up,” Cass says. “It helps her swallow.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. And she likes her back straight.”

“You said none of that, actually,” Steph says. “You just told us to support her head. Which we have been, thank you very much.”

“You have her now?”

“Robin has her.”

Dick and Jason look at each other. Jason says, “What the fuck?”

“Right?” Steph sounds amused. “I was surprised too....his friend is here, that ginger kid? He’s the one that took her from the orphanage, right?”

“Batgirl, I swear to god, if anything happens to her - ”

“Oh, calm down, jeez,” Steph groans. “They’re being supervised, okay? It’s honestly precious, you would agree with me if you could see it. I’ll text the pictures to N.”

“Please do,” Dick says. Speaking of cute, in a way that’s much safer to think about.

“Go do your job now,” Cass tells them. “We’re handling it.”

“Yeah, what she said. Batgirls out.”

“Feel better?” Dick asks, after a moment.

“Don’t ask me that,” Jason grouses. “And show me those pictures when you get them.”

Dick grins. “Sure, Jay.”

“Ugh.”

Dick decides to change the subject, before Jason gets too antsy and tries to bail. “So how do you want to play this, when Susie shows?”

Jason points to a dumpster halfway down the alley. “We wait until she’s there. I’ll get the club door, put a taser on it to stop her getting back in or anyone else from coming out. You cut her off before she gets to the street, and we question her on the backside of the dumpster. I’ll take line of sight, since I’m packing.”

Dick nods. “So is she.”

“So is every goon in those back rooms, sure. That’s why we lock their asses in.”

“And if they come out the front?”

Jason spins a gun in his hand. “Rubber bullets do the job just fine if you know how to aim. Let me worry about the backup.”

Another thing that’s changed about Jason - or that hasn’t changed, depending on how far back Dick looks. He uses rubber bullets now, whenever he’s working a case with one of them. Supposedly it’s a stipulation from Bruce, but Jason didn’t use lethal force on the couple cases he and Dick worked together, either, back when Dick was wearing the cowl. Dick thinks Bruce just gave him an excuse - whatever bloodlust Jason was fueled by when he first came back to Gotham has long since dried up. There are still things that set him off - Barbara had informed them about a dead rapist in the Narrows just last month - but Bruce hadn’t even commented on it, besides the barest acknowledgment. Dick thinks he might be the only one that actually cares when Jason kills someone, anymore. And what’s really disturbing is that he’s not actually sure how much he cares. For instance, he knows Jason has a third gun, holstered under his jacket, loaded with live ammo. He could call Jason out on it, insist he ditch it or at the very least unload it.

He says nothing. Let me worry about the backup. If this mission ends in a massacre, Dick will only have himself to blame.

The door opens again, and out steps Susie Falcone.

She immediately looks around, staying still in the doorway for a minute or more. Dick is pretty sure she hasn’t seen him following her, but he’s familiar with the sensation of being watched. He and Jason both shrink further into the shadows, waiting for her to make a move.

The whole process takes about six seconds. The moment she gets a few paces into the alley, they drop down. Jason electrifies the door handle, and Dick outmaneuvers her easily, slapping his police-issue cuffs on her and kicking her gun aside, then spinning her into the wall behind the dumpster. She hits it with a grunt. By the time she’s glaring at him, Jason is at his side again.

“Nightwing and Red Hood?” she says. “Damn. Didn’t expect to see you fellas out here.”

She doesn’t seem scared of them. Dick guesses they’ll have backup coming their way soon.

“Hey, what do you know,” Jason says conversationally, picking up the gun and emptying the clip in one swift motion. “Nightwing, I do believe this is our Glock.”

“Not mine,” Susie objects. “Picked it up off the club floor.”

“Come on, Susie, you’re smarter than that.” Jason crosses his arms. “Look, I can appreciate a sensible weapon. The Berettas the rest of your family favors? Too flashy for me. I loved Sopranos as much as the next guy, but come on.”

Dick suppresses a laugh. “Thought you were a Sig man,” he says in an undertone. He hadn’t expected Jason to take the lead, but it’s working. Susie looks agitated at the mention of her family.

“Wow, stalker. Remind me to move safe houses,” Jason quips back. “Aw, look, she slipped your cuffs.”

There’s a taser in Susie’s newly freed hand, and Dick quickly sidesteps it, twists it out of her wrist and sends it clattering down the cobblestones of the alley. Jason sweeps her legs out from under her and knocks her down flat, maybe a little harder than Dick would’ve. Thankfully, she goes down without a fight.

“Let’s try this again,” Dick says, kneeling next to her and zip-tying her wrists. If he wasn’t sure before, he is now - she was expecting them. They won’t be alone for long. He throws a couple smoke pellets down to the ends of the alley, and clips a nearly invisible wireless mic to the shoelaces of her boot under the guise of patting her down.

“You’re obviously not surprised to see us, so just tell us what we want to know,” Jason tells her, squatting down. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really give a shit that you shot Big Mouth, but what did Linda Torres ever do to you?”

“Let me up,” Susie snarls.

“No. Talk, or I’ll give you a taste of that taser you tried to pull on us.”

“Hood,” Dick hisses.

“See? He knows I’ll do it. Save yourself the grief, Susie.” Jason points the barrel of his gun lazily at her temple.

Susie narrows her eyes. “Fine. The two of them robbed me, last September. Dumb motherfuckers didn’t know who they were messing with. But I let them live because the bitch was pregnant.”

Jason makes a noise of disbelief. “Oh, sure. You’re a real bleeding heart, is that it?”

“Like you’re any better,” Susie fires back.

“You said you waited on Linda because she was pregnant,” Dick says. “Why’d you wait to kill Big Mouth?”

Susie’s mouth twists. “Guess I just felt like it.” Dick doesn’t need to see the tension in her shoulders to know she’s lying.

“Strike two.” Jason clicks the safety off. “Who put the hits out?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Susie answers. “I’m dead if I talk, so pistol whip me if you want to. Here’s the God’s honest truth: I really didn’t need a reason to kill those assholes. I was out for ‘em anyways. But I’m not crazy enough to kill a baby, all right? I don’t need shit like that on my conscience.”

“Keep talking,” Jason growls. Dick hears the whoop of a siren a few blocks off. “Where’s the baby now?”

“Somewhere safe, I swear. If anybody comes for her, it won’t be me.”

Susie still thinks Danielle’s at the orphanage, then. That’s good for them, but potentially bad for all the other kids, Colin included. These guys clearly have no problem killing children, even if Susie won’t do it.

The sirens are getting closer. Someone inside must’ve called the cops. Dick motions to Jason, indicating they need to wrap things up.

“Who is coming for her,” Jason barks, every line of his body a threat. “You’ve got five seconds.”

“You don’t.” Susie looks triumphant. They can hear the shouts of police from behind the smoke. “But don’t worry, boys. You’ll find out who really runs this town soon enough.”

“Hood,” Dick mutters. “We need to go, cops in this neighborhood aren’t cape-friendly.”

Jason stands, visibly enraged, and for a moment Dick thinks he’ll shoot Susie anyways. He’s prepared to move - but then Jason pulls out his grapple, fires, and flies up onto the roof.

“Talk about a bleeding heart,” Susie says to Dick. “He have kids or something?”

Dick doesn’t like her tone of voice at all. She’s too relaxed, too unconcerned about being under arrest. She won’t stay in long.

“It’s Nightwing! Get your hands up!”

Dick obliges, ready to pull his escrima sticks.

Three police officers come through the smoke, weapons drawn. “You better have a damn good reason for being this far out of Bludhaven,” one of them shouts at Dick.

“Sure do!” Dick calls back. “Arrested a murderer for you, no need to thank me!”

“Shut up,” a different officer retorts. “Keep your hands up, pretty boy.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Jason mutters over the comm. “I’m throwing you an escape, we’ll recon on the library roof. Stop being so goddamn chatty.”

One smoke pellet later, Dick is three rooftops away and flying. He gets to the library before Jason, exhilarated as ever from a good run.

Jason drops down next to him after a minute or so, laughing when he gets a look at Dick’s smile. “Running from the cops still does it for you, huh?”

Dick elbows him, momentarily forgetting to keep his distance. “Doesn’t it for you?”

Surprisingly, Jason doesn’t move away. “Usually they’re shooting at me, so.”

Dick leans closer, testing. “So…yes?”

“You’re so annoying,” Jason says, but he lets Dick nudge his shoulder, bump their arms together. He’s so solid, Dick thinks. So big. More like Bruce than any of them.

“So, how fast do you think she’ll get out?” he asks, when Jason stays quiet.

“Fucking tomorrow, probably,” Jason sighs. “Next week if we’re lucky.”

“Sounds like she didn’t know about Danielle, at least.”

“She’s not the problem,” Jason says, shrugging Dick off and standing back up. “Falcones will blow up the whole orphanage if they get wind of it. We need to put them down first.”

“We need to find out who’s in charge,” Dick agrees. “I planted a mic on her shoe. In the laces. Hopefully she won’t find it for a few days.”

“Good thinking,” Jason nods. “You gonna keep patrolling?”

“Might as well,” Dick says, standing up next to him and stretching his arms over his head. “I’m still stiff from that stakeout, I need to move.”

Jason’s gone quiet again. Dick thinks he hears his breath catch, but the helmet muffles it enough that it could be a yawn.

“You’re going back to the manor?”

Jason groans. “Fuck my life, yes.”

“You miss her, huh.” Cute, his brain chants.

Jason doesn’t answer, but Dick has a feeling he’s getting the stink-eye.

“I miss her too,” Dick offers. “It’s okay.”

Jason sighs. “Dick…”

“It’s a good thing, Jay. You care about her! We all do,” Dick adds, seeing the rigidity in Jason’s posture. “I mean, you’re practically her parent right now. Of course you miss her.”

“...Don’t say it like that.” Jason’s voice is low, almost pained, and Dick knows he pushed too far. “Like…like I have a right to, okay, just. Don’t.”

“Jason, wait,” Dick starts, but he doesn’t get to finish. Without a backward glance, Jason fires off a line to the neighboring building, and then he’s gone.

***

(tim)

The docks are quiet, unsettlingly so, as Tim prowls around the towers of shipping containers, keeping to the deep shadows they cast along the chipped pavement. It’s overcast, so there’s no moonlight to expose him, but it’s also too dark to see which of the trucks and campers parked all over are occupied, which ones might suddenly turn their headlights on him and catch him out.

One truck in particular - an innocuous looking Isuzu with a stunningly weaponized interior, is the object of his search. The driver, Felipe, is one of Tim’s best informants within Intergang - or had been, prior to the upheaval. Tim’s reasonably sure that Felipe is too lowly a grunt to make an example of, but still, he’s concerned that he hasn’t heard from him in a few days.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried. He finds Felipe a hundred yard away from his truck, taking a piss off the wharf. He lets himself into the passenger side of the truck, and immediately notes that it is packed. There’s hardly a spare inch in the back, and Tim has a tough time even getting into the passenger seat with all the bags, clothes, and blankets stuffed into it. He pushes the majority of it to the floor, and waits.

Felipe comes back a few moments later. He opens the door and starts, eyes going wide when he sees Tim, but Tim puts his finger to his lips and motions for Felipe to get in so they can talk.

“Red Robin,” Felipe says, once the door is closed. He looks even more shaken than usual. “What the fuck, man?”

Tim crosses his arms. “You tell me, Felipe. You’ve been dodging my calls for days, and now I find out you’re skipping town?”

“I ditched that phone, man. Boss Reynolds had my number in there, you know? Ditched it as soon as I heard about him. I wasn’t trying to ghost you, honest.”

“Relax,” Tim tells him. “I’m not mad. I’d dodge me, too. Just tell me what happened, and I’ll shadow you out of town. Make sure you’re not followed.”

“Shit, man,” Felipe sighs. “Okay, look. There’s shit I can’t tell you, not if I ever want to hench again. You gotta figure that all out yourself, yeah?”

Tim shrugs. “Fine.”

Felipe swallows. “It started last week when Boss Reynolds met with somebody - I don’t know his name, God as my witness, but from what I heard, ‘cause I was unloading some of that funky alien tech, and you know Boss Reynolds wanted to supervise that personally - anyways, this guy in a suit took a meeting with him, and it sounded like he was offering Boss Reynolds a job. Said he had a new operation, bigger than Intergang, bigger than anything Gotham’s seen in a while.”

“Did Reynolds believe him?”

“Nah, he told him to get lost. They had some words, and then everybody started pulling guns, and I went back to the ship so I didn’t get fuckin’ shot, but I didn’t hear anything after that. Next thing I saw, Boss Reynolds was calling his son up and telling him to demo some building down by the old boardwalk - a hotel, maybe. Guess he wanted to expand that way, I don’t know.”

“That was the old Falcone hotel,” Tim says, mostly just to see Felipe’s reaction. He isn’t disappointed - Felipe goes pale, and his eyes flash to the rosary hanging off his rearview mirror. Tim likes Felipe as an informant because he’s nosy, shockingly competent for a henchman, and because he really likes to gossip. He’s never held back on Tim before this.

“Few days later, one of ours, this merc named Tiberius, comes down to the warehouse and says he’s got something to show us. Takes out a fat fuckin’ folder full of pictures…man, it was some sick shit. Boss Reynolds, his wife, Reynolds Jr, and every fuckin’ guy under him. Kids, man. He just passed it around, made everyone look at it. Then he says, we can either be in the folder, or we can come meet the new boss.”

Felipe takes a shaky breath. “Obviously I go with Tiberius, like everyone else. I heard a couple guys stayed on the ship that was docked, thinking they’d wait ‘em out, but the new boss blew it up. Says we’re not in the tech business anymore, and anyone caught trying to smuggle it is gonna get tied to it and tossed in the harbor. You can imagine my concerns,” he says, gesturing to his truck. Tim estimates half or more of the weapons in it are salvaged from alien junk. Roy Harper would have a field day with the setup this guy’s made for himself.

“So that’s why you’re bailing,” Tim says, understanding. He can hardly blame the guy. “Why not just hide the truck somewhere?”

“Well…I did think about that,” Felipe admits. “Tiberius made us a pretty sweet pitch, once we went along with him. Not gonna lie, I was tempted. Tech is my thing, you know, but I can make a gun out of pretty much anything. I could see the possibilities, is what I’m saying, but that was before we met the new boss.”

Tim nods encouragingly. This is what he’s been waiting to hear.

“Listen, Red Robin - I know we’ve had our differences, but I respect you, man, you know that. You’ve been good to me, so I’m gonna give you some advice here. Stay the hell away from the new boss. Like, don’t even get involved. I’ve been henching for a while, and I’ve seen some messed up shit, but they are crazy. Está loca, you feel me? I’ve seen the hit list, and you’re right at the top of it. You and all the other capes. Half of Arkham, too. And they’re connected, like you wouldn’t believe. Shit, I’m already saying too much, man. You see the position I’m in here?”

“I do, Felipe,” Tim tells him. He hands over a stack of hundred dollar bills, their agreed-upon rate for information. “Where are you going?”

“You’re crazy too, if you think I’m telling you that,” Felipe scoffs.

Tim wasn’t expecting a straight answer anyways. “Fair enough. You heading out now?”

“Soon as you get the hell outta my car, yeah. You said you’d shadow me out?”

“I will,” Tim says. “From a distance. If you don’t see me, it means you’re clear to cross the bridge.”

“All right,” Felipe nods. “In that case, I hope I never see your ass again.”

Tim laughs, and climbs out of the truck.

He finds his own way out of the shipyard, pulls a bike out of a safe house, and catches up with Felipe’s GPS signal halfway to the Fashion District. Once he’s sure there’s no immediate threat, he calls Barbara.

“Red Robin to Oracle. I’m uploading a recording to the server.”

Barbara is in his ear at once. “You met with your informant?”

“He wouldn’t give me a name, but he let a couple things slip.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” she says.

“First, he flinched hard when I brought up the Falcone name.”

“Confirms what we already know,” Barbara says. “Good. There’s more?”

“There’s more.” Tim tries not to gloat. This is, after all, a serious situation. “He was being cagey about mentioning the leader’s gender, so I was already suspicious, but then said ‘está loca’ when he was trying to warn me.”

Barbara whistles. “Well,” she says, sounding satisfied. “That’ll certainly narrow it down.”

“Yep,” Tim says grimly. “Looks like the new head of the Falcone family is a woman.”

***

(jason)

When Jason was Robin, the library had always been his favorite room in the Manor. It had spoken easily to his idea of what wealth was - rich people had fancy cars, sure, and maybe pools and expensive wardrobes, but wealthy people had art collections, and gardens, and libraries. Jason had spent hours upon hours browsing the shelves, reading anything he could wrap his brain around (and plenty of things he couldn’t), suggesting additions to Alfred, and avoiding his schoolwork in favor of learning about more interesting things, like string theory, or cryptology, or chemical warfare.

That was then.

Now, the library is the only place he can get a minute of peace from the constant barrage of his obnoxious, nosy, boundaryless family members. They’ve been characteristically persistent in their curiosity about him, and about Danielle, who is now Dani, courtesy of Stephanie. This is a nickname family, she’d said, and Jason hadn’t known how to disagree. So now she’s Dani, and Jason is family, and that apparently means he is no longer entitled to any privacy, or personal space for that matter. The only person who hasn’t barged in on him is Bruce, which is almost worse, in a way, because it’s one thing when nobody seeks him out, and it’s quite another when everyone does and then Bruce...doesn’t. Not that he wants Bruce to come up and bother him, God. But he’s in the man’s house, he’s hearing him on the comm constantly either on patrol or down in the cave, and all the other Bat brats and even Alfred are buzzing around him like flies. It’s too much - it feels like before, except for Bruce’s conspicuous absence reminding him that it’s not.

Sharing a bathroom with Dick is another before experience that Jason didn’t need a repeat of. In some ways, it was worse when he was Robin - stripping and showering after patrol in the cave with Dick a few feet away from him is a memory he really wouldn’t have minded leaving back in the Pit - and in other ways, it’s worse now, because Dick is always freaking around. There’s no reprieve, he’s not flitting off to the Titans every week like he used to be. Jason hasn’t gone half a day without Dick getting in his space, drawing up close to him and making that earnest eye contact he’s so annoyingly good at; sometimes wet, sometimes half-naked, sometimes both. And what can Jason do? He’s not going to leave Dani, and he needs Dick to be there so he can get some sleep every once in a while, or patrol, or shower. It’s actually been pretty helpful to have him around, in that regard, but if he has to see the guy walking around with bedhead and nothing but a pair of boxer briefs on one more time, he’s going to fucking explode.

So, the library has its benefits: no harassment from over-familiar family members, no Dick sexually frustrating him within an inch of his life, and, if he’s willing to be a little sentimental, he kind of does want to show it to Dani. She’s too young to appreciate it, probably, but it stirs something in him to share it with her all the same. He’s heard it’s never too early to get kids into reading - his parents sure as hell never tried, but Jason had read anything he could get his hands on, once he learned how. It had saved him, back then. Maybe it can do the same for Dani one day.

“Could’ve sworn Bruce had a Dr. Seuss anthology somewhere in here,” he says to her, combing over the shelves with his eyes. “Guess not. You up for something more sophisticated?”

She grunts, squeezing his shirt in her fist. “Alright,” he agrees, pulling Twelfth Night off the shelf. “Shakespeare it is. You’ve got taste, kid.”

He wonders, not for the first time, what exactly he thinks he’s doing, playing at this whole parenting thing. The rational part of his brain knows that this is a case, that Dani is a victim, that Jason is protecting her because it’s his job. The emotional part of his brain has gone completely off the goddamn rails. Case in point: he’s here with her in the library, prepping her for early literacy like some kind of Crest Hill soccer mom wannabe. Like he’ll even be in her life when she starts doing her ABCs - God willing, she’ll be as far away from him as possible by the time that happens.

It’s fucking hard to think about. He never thought he’d get this attached to a person who can’t even burp on their own. It’s been over a week, and he still struggles with putting her down, with stepping away from her, even when he knows he’s coming right back. Steph and Damian have been wanting to hold her all the time, and Jason knows that they’re capable, knows he has no claim over Dani, doesn’t even mind either of them all that much under normal circumstances, and still, he can’t help feeling like something has reached inside and gripped at his heart every time he passes her over. Which is ridiculous, because she’s not his, he has no more claim over her than any other schmuck off the street. She’s just a kid with unbelievably bad luck, and he’s the idiot who followed Dick up the stairs instead of booking it out the door like a sensible person.

He settles down with her on the couch, propping her up on a couple of pillows, giving her foot a little squeeze. She squeals, smiling at him, and stuffs her fingers in her mouth. God, Jason didn’t know he could feel the way he feels whenever she smiles at him. It’s gonna kill him when he has to give her up.

“If music be the food of love, play on,” he reads, walking his fingers up her leg. “Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.”

Dani watches him, chewing happily on her fingers. “‘O, it came over my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets.’ That’s you, you know.” He pokes her in the cheek, grinning. If music be the food of love…but hell, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this. Especially when she’s all calm and engaging, the precious few minutes that he’s learned to appreciate in between finishing eating and being tired and cranky, when all she wants to do is look around at things, and all Jason wants to do, ever, is look at her.

The door to the library opens, and Jason goes from content to murderous in a fraction of a second. “What the fuck is it now,” he hisses, expecting Damian or maybe Tim, coming to nag him some more, and instead sees Damian’s friend Colin, who looks horrified to have intruded on him. Jason immediately feels like the world’s biggest ass.

“Sorry,” Colin whispers, mortified, and Jason waves a hand apologetically.

“My bad, I didn’t know it was you. Come in, it’s fine. She’s awake, you don’t need to whisper.”

Colin looks unsure, but soon nods and steps into the library, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Once inside, he dawdles by the nearest bookshelf, clearly at a loss. Jason probably should’ve just let him back out, because this is awkward. Should he keep reading to Dani? Talk to Colin? Ask him why he looks like someone just kicked him and stole his dog?

“You good?” he ventures, figuring he ought to at least attempt to be the adult in the room.

Colin glances at him over his shoulder, smiling tentatively. “Yeah, just bored. Damian’s sleeping, we had a rough patrol last night.”

“We?” Jason repeats, stunned. Bruce isn’t an exemplar of child welfare practices, sure, but letting Damian take other kids on crime-busting playdates? What the hell?

“Oh, I guess you don’t know,” Colin frowns. “I’m….uh, it’s probably easier if I just show you.”

He slides his jacket off, threadbare t-shirt hanging off his skinny frame. Jason tenses, not sure what to expect. When Colin’s arm starts to expand, his eyes widen. By the time his fist is as big around as Jason’s thigh, he thinks his eyebrows have probably disappeared into his hairline.

“Oh.” Jason has no idea how he’s supposed to react to this. Is Colin a meta? He’s pretty sure he would know if Colin was a meta. “How…?”

“Scarecrow,” Colin explains. Jason’s heart sinks. “He experimented on me with synthetic Venom. Batman saved me.”

Dani fusses, twisting her body and scrunching her face up. Jason sympathizes - this conversation is giving him gas, too. “Shit,” he says. Not the most articulate way of expressing his condolences, but Colin’s friends with Damian, so tact can’t be of great importance to him. “I didn’t know.”

Dani starts to cry, and Colin takes a couple steps forward, putting Jason’s hackles up at once. Stop it, he tells himself sternly. He might have fallen down a few pegs, but he’s not pathetic enough to square up against an abused fifth grader. He picks her up, rubbing her back, and then glances over at Colin. The kid’s gone shy, looking down at a point somewhere between Jason’s legs and the floor. Jason feels all the hostility bleed out of him, and he sighs.

“You can sit down.” He gestures to the couch, trying to sound nonthreatening. Dani burps, mouths at his shirt, and then gurgles and kicks her legs again. She leans back against his hold to stare at Colin, and Colin’s face splits into a huge grin. He tucks himself down into the cushions, keeping plenty of space between them, but Jason can sense from the inclination of his body that he wants to be closer. Well, if anyone has a right to be close to Dani, it’s the kid who rescued her in the first place.

“Here,” he offers, turning Dani around in his arms. His heart clenches, and he clamps down on his desire to flee. “You can hold her for a minute, if you want to. She likes you.”

Colin looks at him, eyes shining. “Really?”

Jason nods. “Go ahead. Honestly, you probably know a lot more about this shit than I do.”

Colin takes Dani from him carefully, smiling at her and laughing when she reaches forward to grab at his jacket zipper. A few seconds later, it’s in her mouth, along with most of her fist.

“Should I…?” Colin looks at Jason hesitantly.

“I mean…she’s had worse things in her mouth,” Jason tells him. A ringing endorsement of his child-minding abilities right there. “It’s fine, right? That’s how they build an immune system, or whatever.”

“Well, Alfred washed this for me last night,” Colin admits, looking embarrassed. “So it shouldn’t be too gross.”

Jason leans back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms. “Getting all the perks, huh?”

Colin shrugs, casting his eyes down again. “I like it here.”

Considering where Colin grew up, Jason supposes he can’t blame the kid. Still, he’s not quite wrapping his head around this sweet, genuinely nice kid being buddies with Damian. The demon brat isn’t exactly known for his winning personality, and Jason only knows vaguely how the two of them met, but what he’s heard doesn’t strike him as being particularly conducive to forging the lasting bonds of friendship.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to just ask. “Why’d you call Damian, the night you found her?”

Colin looks surprised. “I...don’t know,” he says, slowly. “I didn’t know who else to call? Damian’s my best friend, and he always knows what to do.”

Jason can’t keep the skeptical look off his face.

“And if he doesn’t, Bat….Bruce, I mean, definitely always knows what to do.”

Jason scrubs a hand over his face. Time to change the fucking subject. “How’d you two get hooked up, anyways?”

Dani turns her head to look at him, still eating Colin’s zipper. Sometimes, Jason gets the bizarre feeling that she can somehow tell when he’s about to blow a gasket. It’s probably a coincidence - she moves around a lot, and Jason has anger issues that flare up every ten minutes, so there’s bound to be some crossover - but it works, because it takes the fight right out of him every time.

“We worked a case together,” Colin says, holding Dani a little more securely against him. “About a year ago, I guess. Kids were disappearing from my orphanage, and from the shelters. I don’t think you were around.”

“I wasn’t,” Jason shakes his head. He and Roy had been busting a trafficking ring in Ibiza, and it had taken Jason over a month to get all the major players. “I heard about it a little, from Dick.”

Dick hadn’t given him too many details at the time - Jason had chalked it up to him having a few other things on his mind, but as Colin fills in the gaps, he starts to suspect Dick just didn’t want him going on a rampage. Which he absolutely would have - he still wants to, God. God. All those poor kids, just a stone’s throw from his old neighborhood. And of course the police had done jack shit - Zsasz is practically Black Mask’s pet, he probably paid them off to look the other way, not that most of them need the excuse - and Bruce was gone, and Jason was gone, and Dick was in over his head, and - fuck, it should never have fallen to Damian and Colin.

He waits for the fury to subside a little, not trusting what will come out of his mouth. Dani hums around her fist, blinking at him, and it helps. “Jesus,” he says, finally. “This fucking town.”

Colin’s mouth twists a little. “Yeah. But you were Robin, right? You probably saw worse things.”

Did he? Jason doesn’t remember. He doubts it, though. He can’t imagine he would’ve been satisfied with Bruce’s way of dealing with it.

“I wouldn’t have pulled my stroke, when I was Robin,” he muses. “Probably why Bruce never gave me a sword.”

No, Jason would’ve bisected the fucker. It still has appeal, though he thinks he would lean towards his favorite Sig rifle if he was taking care of it today. Headshots for the henchmen - anyone who signs on to that kind of operation, even in the most menial capacity, doesn’t deserve to breathe. Kneecaps and crotch shots for the spectators, to make sure they couldn’t get away. Gut shots for the kid-wranglers. And Zsasz....it’s tempting to want to draw it out, but Jason can feel the desire leaving him the longer he thinks about it. His imaginative tortures fade into a simple headshot, and even that isn’t satisfying. Fuck. He just can’t seem to hold onto his rage lately, even when he wants to. It’s all being replaced by some kind of anxiety, some kind of tenderness that aches, burning deep into him every time Dani looks at him, or touches him. Every time he thinks of her. Every time he feels Dick watching him with her, all warmth and affection.

Colin bounces her a little, making her laugh. Jason feels his revenge fantasy slip away.

“What’re you reading her?” Colin nods to the book still laying open in Jason’s lap.

Jason looks at it. “Oh, Twelfth Night. Shakespeare,” he adds, recalling that Colin is eleven, and likely not perusing great literature in his free time. “Figure it’s never too early to start her on the classics.”

Colin grins. “That’s cool,” he says. “Does she like it?”

“Beats me,” Jason shrugs.

“Read some?”

Jason raises his eyebrows.

Colin flushes. “Um. I mean, if you want…”

He decides to humor him. What the hell. “Sure, why not. ‘O spirit of love! How quick and fresh art thou, that, notwithstanding in thy capacity, receiveth as the sea.’”

Dani yawns widely, relinquishing her fist in a long string of drool. Jason laughs, and so does Colin. “Maybe jumping the gun a little,” he admits. “I don’t really know what kids are into these days.”

“Me either,” Colin says. “I think she liked it, though. See, she’s just sleepy.”

Jason feels a lump forming in his throat, and swallows hard against it.

“What does it mean? The part you were reading,” Colin asks.

“Um.” Jason doesn’t really know, he’s not exactly a literary scholar, but he’s always liked to work Shakespeare out on his own, finding meaning in the wordplay and running the metaphors through his mind until they line up in a satisfactory way. He doesn’t know if his interpretation is correct, exactly, but: “So this Duke, a guy called Orsino, is saying that he doesn’t want to be in love anymore. He’s talking about love and how everyone thinks it’s this wonderful thing, but the truth is that it actually just makes people miserable.”

Jason pauses, feeling like he just showed way too much of his hand. “Basically, he’s just complaining,” he finishes, uneasy.

Glancing at Colin out of the corner of his eye, he’s relieved to see that he’s occupied with Dani, and not paying attention to Jason at all. Thank fuck. If it’d been anyone else in the house sitting there, he’d be in for some horrible armchair psychology session, and he’d have to book it out the window and not return for several months.

“I think she wants you,” Colin says, as Dani ramps up her fussing. Jason takes her gratefully, holds her to his chest as she rubs her eyes and grumbles her displeasure at being passed around.

“All right, I hear you,” Jason murmurs, gently tugging her fists away from her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, come on. It’s not so bad.” Like he’s one to talk.

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, ever since pursue me, he thinks, rocking her tiny body into a comfortable position. Colin was only holding her for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and Jason was sitting less than five feet away, but he missed her. God, what is happening to him?

“Damian didn’t want to bring her here, at first,” Colin says quietly. “But I think he’s glad that we did. He really likes her, you know.”

Jason doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. It’s sweet, on some level. And he’s well aware that Damian likes her, going by the amount of time he spends hovering in the hallway outside Jason’s room, not to mention the increasingly expensive toys that keep showing up among her things.

He looks down at her, dozing off. “Well, she’s pretty easy to like.”

Colin nods, looking pleased.

“Damian, on the other hand....”

Colin grins. “He’s not so bad.”

He’s really not. Like hell Jason will ever tell him that, though. “You have bizarre taste, kid.”

Colin blushes, hard, and Jason blinks. Well. That’s interesting, isn’t it? Or it will be, in a few years. He makes a note to ask Dick about it, later.

“Are you gonna adopt her?” Colin asks, bringing Jason’s amused thoughts to a screeching halt.

Automatically, he says, “No way.”

Colin looks wounded. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t,” Jason replies. “I’m the last person who should be a parent, trust me.”

“Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Doesn’t feel that way either - the thought floats up, unbidden, uninvited. He can’t. “She deserves better,” Jason says, heavily. “Even if….even I could handle it. She deserves better than this family.”

“But your family is - ”

“A death sentence.” He’s being harsh, but if Colin’s gonna be hanging around, he’ll find out for himself soon enough. “It’s fucking cursed, look. I couldn’t do that to any kid, especially her. You should get out too, while you still can.”

Colin looks angry, which surprises him. His hands are balled into fists, and Jason sees a tremor in them, a bulging that immediately sets off alarm bells in his head.

“Kid,” he says sharply. “Colin. If you’re gonna hulk out, take it outside. Alfred will have an honest-to-God stroke if you do it in here.”

A few deep breaths later, Colin looks normal again. “Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. “You’re wrong, though.”

Jason’s temper flares. “No offense, but I think I would know better than you,” he snaps. Dani grumbles sleepily in his arms, and he sighs out in frustration. “Trust me, okay? She’s better off. It never ends well, not in this family. I’m proof of that.”

But Colin shakes his head. “You don’t know,” he says. “My mom said the same thing, when she dropped me off at the orphanage. She gave the nuns a letter - she said I’d be better off with them than with her.”

Jason stills.

“It didn’t matter,” Colin continues. “Scarecrow still got me. Victor Zsasz still got me. Maybe they would have gotten me with her, too. Maybe I wouldn’t have been that much better off with her, but at least I would’ve been with her.” He sniffles, and Jason holds Dani a little tighter.

“I know she loved me.” His voice cracks. “I just wish...I wish I could’ve stayed with her. I wish she would have known that I never would’ve been better off away from her.”

He looks absolutely miserable, pitched forward and rubbing hard at his eyes. Jason is reminded painfully of how young Colin is, closer to Dani’s age than his own. He remembers being Colin’s age and younger, thinking the same thoughts about his own mother. How fiercely he’d guarded her, chased away the cops and the social workers, doing everything in his power not to be separated from her. Not that it mattered, in the end.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Colin, I’m sorry. For the record, I actually kind of get where you’re coming from.”

Colin looks up at him.

“Wish I didn’t, but. That’s life.”

“You should adopt her,” Colin says again, softly.

Jason shakes his head. “Colin…”

“You’ll think about it.”

He exhales. “Sure, I’ll think about it.” Like he’ll be able to think about anything else after this.

“She needs you,” Colin insists stubbornly.

Jason doesn’t reply. He knows on some level Colin is right - Dani does need him right now. She needs someone, at least, someone who can take care of her and protect her. Someone who isn’t afraid to shed blood to keep her safe. Jason doesn’t relish the thought, but he’s certain this won’t end tidily. Mob cases never do. It’ll be messy, and bloody, and Bruce will have a shit fit, and Dick probably will too, and Jason will go back to Crime Alley and Dani will get shipped off to Witness Protection or something, and damn, does that hurt to think about.

He looks over at Colin, still hunched over on himself, vulnerability written into every line of his posture. He’s desperately in need of a hug, or some kind of affection, validation, maybe. Or that’s just Jason projecting, who the fuck knows. If Dick was here, he would know exactly what to do for him. Jason’s at a loss, unable to separate his young self from the damaged kid sitting next to him.

He adjusts his hold on Dani carefully, laying her down flat along his arm, while he works out what to say. Finally, he settles on, “Damian’s lucky to have you.”

Colin sits up a little straighter. He looks like he’s waiting for more, but he’s shit out of luck, because Jason has no idea what else he needs to hear. No idea what he could say that wouldn’t be completely insincere, anyways. We can be your family, Colin. Like hell. Bruce has enough kids lined up waiting to die for him, he’s not about to encourage another one to be turned into cannon fodder for the man’s principles.

“Uh, yeah,” Jason says, after a moment. “That’s all I got.”

Colin smiles wanly. “Thanks, anyways.”

Jason snorts. “Sure.”

“Can I hug you?”

Jason stares. “Can you…what? Me?”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Colin adds, averting his eyes.

Jason can’t even remember the last time someone hugged him. He thinks Roy might’ve, some eight or nine months ago, after they’d narrowly survived a warehouse explosion. Jason’s whole body had been ringing from the blast, so he doesn’t exactly remember the sensation of it. And before that…?

He imagines Dick’s reaction, if he was here. He’d be disappointed in Jason, that’s for sure. Really, Jay? You can’t hug a child? It’s a fair argument, he has to admit. Jason’s fucked up personal space issues don’t really apply to children, or babies, clearly. Colin’s obviously attention-starved, and Jason’s already holding one kid. What’s another, really.

“Okay,” he relents. “Hit me.”

There’s a shuffling motion next to him, and then Colin is hugging his free arm, leaning his head against Jason’s shoulder. Jason can’t quite contain his surprise - it’s weird, as expected, but it’s not dramatically increasing his desire to bolt through the nearest exit like he’d thought it would. It’s a little funny, actually. He’s pretty sure both Bruce and Damian would lose their shit if they could see him right now. Dick, too, most likely, but to his credit, it would be a happy kind of shit-losing. Damian would probably try to gut him.

Are there cameras in the library? Jason can’t remember. He kind of hopes there aren’t, because if anyone else sees this, he will absolutely never live it down.

***

(dick)

“Wait, I think that’s him.” Dick leans forward to peer at Tim’s screen. He points to the familiar looking figure. “That guy. Do you have a clearer shot?”

Tim skips a few photos ahead, and zooms in. “Him?”

“Yes. That’s the guy. Jason said he recognized him from your surveillance files. He was at the club the night we caught Susie Falcone.”

“The fourth night, was it?” Tim asks, innocently.

“Don’t be mean, Timmy.”

“Just clarifying,” Tim grins. Dick raises an eyebrow. “Okay, okay. I don’t have a ton of intel on this guy, he’s really slippery. According to my informant, he goes by Tiberius - some kind of mercenary, Greek or Albanian national. I doubt that’s his real name.”

Dick nods, studying the photographs. Tim continues, “He came over with Intergang as an enforcer, I think. Might’ve been Reynolds’ personal bodyguard.”

“Could explain how Reynolds got taken out,” Dick says thoughtfully. “He’s on the Falcones’ payroll now, but he’s not family. Might be an easy target.”

Tim opens his mouth, about to reply, when there’s a choked-off sound of fury from the Batcave below them.

“Was that Damian? He’s up already?” Dick asks, glancing down towards Bruce’s computer. He hops over the ramp to see what the fuss is about. Tim follows close behind.

“Everything okay?” Dick asks, approaching the wall of screens. There’s nothing that jumps out at him as being particularly alarming; Bruce is looking at DNA analyses, and Damian is looking at the Manor surveillance, tapping furiously at his ear.

“Todd!” he hisses. “What do you think you’re doing? Colin is my friend!”

“Robin,” Oracle’s voice comes through the speaker. “No names on the comms. And Hood isn’t wearing his earpiece, so you’ll have to tell him in person.” She sounds amused. “Oracle out.”

Damian swears.

“Holy shit,” Tim says faintly. “Look at them.”

The screen that all the Manor surveillance feeds run to is showing just one room - the library, of all places, but Dick vaguely recalls it being some kind of sanctuary to Jason, years and years ago. It makes sense that he’d end up back there, and it makes sense that he’d have Dani with him. What Dick doesn’t expect to see is little Colin Wilkes, all five feet and change of him, snuggled up to Jason’s side and hugging him, wrapped around his arm like a gangly koala. Dick can’t help but notice that Jason’s bicep is about as big around as Colin’s head, which is certainly...something. He’s not quite ready to classify how he feels about that, so he refocuses on the hug itself, which is nothing short of charming.

Damian grinds his teeth audibly. “It’s still going.”

“Oh, man.” Dick can’t help the grin he feels creeping up the sides of his face. “Bruce, are you seeing this?”

“I am,” Bruce says, stiffly. He looks like he’s in pain. Dick fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Look how sweet they are!” he exclaims, gesturing. It’s adorable.

“It is not sweet,” Damian snarls, whirling on him. “Todd is a corruptive influence, and Colin is young and impressionable! Where is your concern for him?”

Tim coughs, and it sounds a little bit like “jealous”. Surprisingly, this does not diffuse Damian’s indignation.

“I don’t get it,” Dick says, stepping between them quickly to block Damian’s spinning kick. “I thought you and Jason were fine, Damian. You’ve been spending enough time in our - in his room lately. Where’s this coming from?”

“Incredibly, I don’t feel as concerned about Todd recruiting an infant onto the path of lawlessness,” Damian retorts. “Colin lacks paternal guidance in his life, as you know. Todd clearly senses it.”

“Jason is very paternal these days,” Tim agrees.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a hug,” Dick says in exasperation. “No one’s recruiting anyone, Damian. And look, it’s over. Your friend is just a hugger, that’s all.”

“I must agree with Master Richard,” Alfred says from behind them. “Having been the recipient of many such embraces from young Master Colin myself.”

“See? I’ve gotten hugs from him too,” Dick tells Damian. “And I know you have, so don’t bother denying it. He’s probably gearing up the courage to get one from Bruce one of these days.”

Bruce looks slightly alarmed by the prospect. “He is?”

Damian looks conflicted. “He is?”

Dick casts his eyes heavenward. “Colin, I’m so sorry.”

Before he can say anything else, the Cave door opens below them, and Duke’s bike comes shooting in, whipping around into its parking spot in a move that would send Dick flying over the handlebars. Bruce takes about half a second to look impressed, and then clears the main screen to pull up their intel on the Falcone case.

“What’s up, guys,” Duke calls, pulling off his helmet and jogging up the steps. “I’ve got news. Where’s Jason?”

“Being hugged, in the library,” Dick tells him. “You just missed it.”

Duke looks nonplussed. “Damn. Wait, that’s not some kind of weird euphemism, is it? If it is, I don’t want to know.”

“It most certainly is not,” Damian says venomously.

“Cool. I tried to get him on the comm, but he didn’t respond. Should I go get him? He’ll want to hear this.”

“Damian will get him,” Bruce says.

Damian is…already on the elevator. Dick spares a thought for Jason. At least he’s holding Dani, so Damian won’t attack him outright.

“Your news?” Bruce prompts.

“Right,” Duke nods. “I’ve been all over City Hall records, and spent yesterday afternoon getting intel in the East End. I’ve got names and faces of most of the major players in this. They’re trying hard to front some distant nephew of Carmine Falcone as the head of the whole operation, but it wasn’t quite adding up. You said the new Falcone boss is a woman, right?” he asks Tim.

Tim nods affirmatively.

Duke looks triumphant. “Then I know who she is.”

***

#jaydick #in which there is so much plot all to justify the existence of 1 baby #low key this fic is my maternal love letter to colin wilkes #i miss him dc bring him back #my fics #heartlandverse

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black-streak · 5 years ago

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Little Pistols - The Killing Type

Chapter 5

First Previous Next

So more from Tim here. A look into how dark he's gotten, if you will. I promise, this is showing more the extremes of how far he's willing to go. Not how he is on the day to day. But, I digress. Mari will be the next chapter.

Btw, to anyone I haven't replied to on comments, I see you! I appreciate you very much, I've just lost track (and time) please know I still am very grateful to for your thoughts and support!

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~---~

The first time Tim tried his newest method of fighting crime, he felt exhilarated. Freed. Able to breathe freely and know he made an actual difference. Felt justified and right. Coming home to someone who wouldn't condemn him for it only made it better.

"How're you holding up, babybird?" Jason idly inquired as the other slid through the front door and started to kick off his shoes and shrug off a jacket.

"Fine. Better than fine, really. I think I understand now, what you meant before."

"Plan on elaborating, Timmers?" Jason quirked a brow, hands stilling on a book page, mid-turn.

"Sometimes, just scaring people isn't enough. Sometimes striking fear of repercussions or enforcing them won't stop bad people from doing bad things."

"Yeah?" He glanced up, watching Tim as he engaged the security system and picked his way over towards the armchair perpendicular to Jason where his laptop waited.

"Mm. Every now and then, some of these people need to be taken out of commision entirely. I understand that now."

"Tim, you trying to tell me you're killing now?"

He felt how Jason's look turned sceptical, but appraising.

"Yeah, total murder bunny now, wanna see my collection of decapitated heads? I got a new duffle bag to match yours" He drew out, gaze flat.

"Fuck off," Jay shook his head, mumbling to himself, "Should've known you'd never let that go," then raised his voice back again, "Okay, so if not taking them out of their rotten misery, how have you magically cured them, oh perfect one."

A vindictive little smirk lit the side of his mouth as he turned on his laptop, eyes cutting to his companion with a calculating look, "You of all people know how few of our asylum patients are actually mentally ill in a way that would justify their actions."

"Still say the insanity plea should only stand for recently mind controlled or Lazarus dipped, the poor bastards. Mental Disabilities don't equate violent people. It's such a fucking rude stigma to paint on people who actually have them. Add on that the regular patients are sharing space with actual criminals and of course no one willingly admits themselves, so the people who need the help aren't getting any. Also, if you are going to allow the plea for so many of them, then fund these damn places properly to help them, not just hold them captive until they get bored and escape," Jason went off, book forgone in preference for one of his more impassioned rants.

Tim indulged him for the moment, agreeing but having already heard twenty variations of the same speech, before cutting in towards the end, "Yes well, I figure if they're going to receive the charge anyways, I might as well help them make it more believable, right? So why not give them that little push."

That really caught the other's attention, drawing him in to properly lean over the space between them, elbows propped on knees and fingers laced in the space between as he watched Tim with a curious smile, "What'd you get up to, little bird?"

Clicking through the encrypted files he'd transferred over just tonight, he pulled up a video feed. Inside, bodies were attacking each other, another curled up in the corner, one banging its head against a wall away from the others. They weren't easily distinguishable from one another in their state. Tim felt Jason lean to the side to peak at the screen, brows rising as a whistle left his lips.

"They killed your friend, right?" He grimaced after the words but didn't apologize, for which Tim was grateful.

"Yeah. The flash rogues."

"Why are they..?"

"Psychological torture. They're afraid to leave the room, even though it's unlocked. They're afraid of each other. Of the world. What they do now is up to them. Leave the room and live on paralyzed by fear or stay there and tear themselves apart. I won't kill people. I don't have it in me. But their actions are their own. What do you think?"

Jason's eyes were kind of wide and off guard as he stared at him, "I think you might be the fucked up one here, Tim. Not to say I don't get it, but shit, that's just brutal."

"Eh, killing them seems to lack in proper punishment. It's just getting rid of the problem without making them face the consequences. No need to make a deal of it anyways, not like I put them through anything we haven't survived ourselves."

That got a bark of laughter as Jason relaxed back into the couch, reopening the book. Hm. Through the Looking Glass today. "Well in that case, if they can't handle it like we can, that's their problem," Tim grinned at his conclusion, "glad you found your own way of working. It's about damn time you decided your own morals."

Silence fell over the room, "Jay, did you forget it was your turn to make dinner?"

"... No?"

…

Okay, so it hadn't always been this way. They started off kilter and unsure and lost. Tim, an absolute mess in his grief and lack of direction, Jason freshly returned to Gotham again and wanting to help, but not knowing how with the distance between them.

He knew Jason had offered a position to him in the past, but that'd been within the violence and cruelty. With the pits still lingering and the desire to take him away from Bruce. He knew Jason saw him as an asset to his own agenda then, strictly professional. Now though, it came with personal attachments, shared space, a camaraderie that couldn't be forced. They were both replaced. Both seen as not good enough, outcasts of the family. Both broken in their own ways.

It was like chewing on shattered glass, trying to find footing around each other.

Jay brought him back to a lesser safe house, had let him stay there. Help gather intel on his cases, play his own personal Oracle at times. The first time Tim watched the Red Hood kill from the helmet's camera, he nearly threw up.

He let him teach Tim how to shoot, the ins and outs of every gun the man had on hand. Learned exactly what each was capable of. Unfortunately for Hood, he wasn't capable of wielding them against anyone. Not really.

It took months before Red Hood tried to bring him out into the nightlife, partly due to his own hesitance to chance a run in with the new Batman and Robin. But he let himself be led out anyways. A small patrol of the Bowery and down into Crime Alley then back. When all went smoothly, Tim felt himself relax into the new routine. By the third outing, he officially took up his new title. Red Robin.

However, Tim still hadn't broke out of the moral code ingrained into him for so long.

It took really stopping, really taking the time to watch Hood as he interacted with the girls on the corner or the kids that hid in the night, just as he once had, to fully understand what motivated his partner. It took the reminder of his own loss to determine his need for a stronger method.

It was sheer dumb luck that he decided this before having tracked down the flash rogues. That it was perfectly timed for him to experiment on people he wouldn't regret ruining. That upon telling Jason that he needed to disappear for a little while, the other had agreed readily, with no argument nor lecture. Like true equals.

…

It took longer to perfect his style. How much to hold back or not depending on who they were up against. If Jason chose to kill them, he didn't stand in the way unless it was uncalled for. But if Jason chose not to, Tim decided how far they went with each rogue they encountered. They had a system and it worked. They worked. When the two of them hit the darkened world before them, they painted it with Red and Red and the true scum of the city learned a new type of fear.

#maribat #ml x dc #timinette #timari #Dark!timinette #tw: mental health #tw: psychological torture

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timtimmersdrake · 5 years ago

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Stray Bullet - Tim Drake x Reader

Well, look at this, I’m writing another one. Like I said in my last, this isn’t a regular thing. This is only my second imagine, but you guys seemed to really enjoy the last one so *shrugs* here we go?

Summary: You’ve been struck by a stray bullet as a civilian, and you decide instead of being the damsel, you hide it from Tim. I’m thinking this is set after the Red Robin comics, everyone is alive and Tim is starting to relax after being a tense hero for so long. (Pre-52) Warning for a little blood, not very graphic though.

In retrospect, you should have known it was going to happen eventually. You live in Gotham City after all. You just didn’t expect for it to catch you off guard like this.

You expected immediate medical attention. Maybe a vigilante or two already on the scene.

Not this chaotic.

But when has Gotham ever conformed to the norm? She liked to rear her ugly, unexpected head when it inconvenienced you the most.

And now you’ve been shot.

Stupid Penguin. Stupid underground gun market I’m not even supposed to know about. Stupid me.

Hissing, you leaned up against the brick wall, not daring to look down at the bullet wound. A stray gunshot in the sudden gang fight that had broken out on the street you had been walking on to get to the nearest crossing to summon a taxi home.

Around you everyone was screaming, guns were still firing rounds and you were trying you’re best not to let the panic rise.

Your boyfriend was a vigilante, but dammit, you were not going to be a damsel in distress.

Closing your eyes, you focused on breathing in through your mouth and out through your nose. This proved to be two mistakes, the first being that deep breaths hurt and the second is now your eyes knew the world was spinning and didn’t want to open again.

Do. Not. Panic.

Tim would be here soon, or someone from his family. You just had to be patient…and not lose too much blood while waiting. You would not let them see you as the civilian you were. Tim worried enough as it was, and if he saw you panic he would go berserk. Leaving the apartment the two of you shared alone would never happen again.

Digging into your bag you pulled out your keychain, one that had many gadgets Tim insisted you carried on your person at all times. Fumbling through a flashlight, a portable charger, pepper spray, and the keys you finally grabbed the pocket knife.

I liked this shirt too.

Gritting teeth, you ripped the edge of your camisole, the undershirt tearing with a few tugs; you had a makeshift bandage.

Bullet just grazed my hip, but damn it took a chunk of me with it.

Tying the fabric around your waist as tight as you could stand to keep pressure on it, dizziness took over.

Hands bloody, you reached back into the bag and pulled out your next trick; a bottle of Tylenol. Something to help until Tim could give you something better. Just to hold you till whichever bat would show up.

A bat would show up, right?

The cell phone that had been in your hand when the incident had occurred lay innocently on the ground. Maybe you shouldn’t call him.

Don’t be stupid, he’d want you too.

But you were a big girl, you lived in Gotham. You were dating Tim Drake-Wayne, one of the richest men in the city and also on the top ten most wanted for criminals bartering tool.

It was in the middle of the day, and there wasn’t a cape in sight.

Sucking in the deepest breath you could manage, you resigned yourself to the inevitable solo trip to the hospital. Walking down the alleyway you had slipped down to the next street over, pulling your coat closer so no one could see the blood soaking though, you hailed a cab.

“Where too, miss?”

The driver didn’t even bother to look at you, simply chewed on a toothpick and kept messing with his radio.

Opening your mouth you almost spat out the name of the closest hospital before realizing if your plan was to not call Tim, he would be angrier if you went to the hospital without telling him either.

“Leslie Thompkins Medical Practice, please, the one near crime alley.”

You had only met the woman a handful of times, all of them when Tim had been hurt on his night job and you were visiting. She had been a formidable role-model, caring and loyal. She would have you good as new, and hopefully, if you played your cards right, a certain pretty boy in your life would never know you were there.

Learning long ago that trying to cook dinner for Tim was an unwinnable battle, his schedule too unpredictable, you settled on leaving the take-out menus on the table for when he got home.

You had stolen Tim’s biggest sweater, hiding your frame to the best of your ability, and hopefully the bandage. Tim would find out eventually, but you were aiming to play your cards right enough that it wouldn’t be till long after it had healed to where it didn’t look as bad as it did.

Leslie promised not to say anything; oh how the glorious patient confidentiality had been to your advantage.

The door opened, jerking you from your thoughts as Tim’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Y/N, dear, I’m back!”

Smiling, you inwardly chuckled at the pet name. Tim had liked to use it when he was being sarcastic with you, but eventually, it became a habit.

“You’re back early, what time is it? 10:30?”

Tim entered the living room of your renovated theater apartment, grinning at the sight of you.

“Scandalous,” he commented, coming over to gently tilt your chin up and place a kiss before turning his attention to the scattered menus. “I’m starving, what are you in the mood for?”

Relieved that Tim was adequately distracted from you, you took advantage of the situation.

“You choose,” You smiled. Had it not been for the anesthetic, adrenaline, and pain, you might have been able to give more to the conversation, but you were exhausted.

“Something quick,” Tim stated, rifling through restaurant choices. “Told Dick I’d help him with a lead on a gang turf war going on.”

Spine stiffening, you played it cool.

“Oh? The one involving Penguin’s underground illegal arms trading with Bludhaven?”

Tim nodded, a suddenly serious expression crossing his face.

“I don’t like how close they got to where you work today. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Ah, there it was. Every person you had ever met that dated a vigilante like you all had the same inevitable experience. The ‘be safe, I’m protecting you I promise’ speech. You hated the fact that Tim meant it so earnestly too, about wanting you to be safe. It made you feel like a helpless damsel in distress all the time.

If I make a fuss, he’ll get suspicious. You reminded yourself.

Instead of grumbling, you opted to nod.

“Of course, you taught me everything I know after all. Pepper spray in hand, phone in other.”

“That reminds me, I need to give you Jason’s new number.”

“Oh? Are we talking to him as part of the family again?” You ask, taking the menu of a small burger joint down the road from his outstretched hand.

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see how long it lasts. You know how it is. Jason’s morals have always been questionable and his decisions switch faster than whiplash.”

Humming, you took a seat next to him as he pulled out his laptop. Thankfully, the action made it so he missed the wince of pain you habited.

“Says the guy who broke him out of prison, once.”

Tim didn’t seem to want to get into it.

“You order? I got some W. E. work to jump on while I can.”

Far too used to this routine, you only nod once more.

It was almost too easy to pull your secret under his nose.

He’ll find out eventually, but not tonight.

You managed a week. It wasn’t long, but when you were hiding it from arguably the world’s greatest detective, a week should have earned you a gold medal. Or some more recognition than you were probably going to get.

You just wish it wasn’t the tiny stupid mistake that it was that gave you away.

“Y/N, can I borrow your portable charger?”

“What happened to yours?” You asked, idly scrolling through your phone. “Take it apart again?”

“Damaged in a fight actually,” He smiled sheepishly.

“It’s in my bag,” You answered with a humble roll of your eyes.

He left the living room for a moment, the peaceful calm of Saturday morning blissful once more. You hadn’t even thought twice about letting Tim rummage through your bag when he was marching back into the room dropping it on the coffee table in front of you.

“What the h- “

“Why is there dried blood on your stuff?”

Silence.

Tim had a habit of wiggling his nose when he was upset, something you thought was adorable until you saw the furious eyes behind them. His nose may have been cute, but his eyes were well trained to be terrifying when riled up.

“I didn’t kill someone,” You blurt out in a panic.

Granted that wasn’t your best moment. Of course, Tim didn’t think you murdered someone. Did he?

“Then it’s good that wasn’t my conclusion,” He answered, holding up an orange bottle in his hand instead.

He had found the pain killers. No denying them, your name was printed very clearly.

“What. Happened.”

Shame on anyone who thought Tim couldn’t be intimidating. The boy had been trained around the world by the best, including Lady Shiva. He had picked up tips from the League of Assassins, studied the Council of Spiders. Tim Drake maintained a cool demeanor, but he knew just as well how to be scary without raising his voice.

“It was an accident.”

He didn’t interrupt, but his brows furrowed just a tad more.

“I got shot?”

He gripped the back of the couch, looking away from you for a moment before taking a breath.

“When?”

“Last Friday, on my way home from work.”

You could see the wheels working in his head, running through all the scenarios. Which was more likely, where it had happened, who the culprit could be. It took him only a few seconds before…

“The gang fight, Penguins’ men.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded, accepting defeat.

“Stray bullet,” you admitted.

“Did you- “His voice sounded strained. “Did you at least go to the hospital?”

“I went to Leslie,” You sighed, gently prying the pill bottle from his hand. Placing it on the table you watched his face give nothing away to how he was feeling.

“So, you were trying to hide it from me?”

Did you mention your boyfriend wasn’t an idiot?

“I didn’t want to worry you,” You mumbled, playing with the strings of a Gotham University hoodie you had stolen from him a year ago and never given back.

“This is so much worse, where? Where did it get you?”

Finally, he was looking at you again. His face twisted in a mixture of worry and frustration, maybe even a bit of anger still.

Gently, you pulled up the side of your shirt, revealing the angry red stitching that was still in the process of healing. The bandages had been removed a while ago, but you almost wished you still had them on to hide how bad the stitches made the wound look.

“It was just a graze,” You tried to appease him. “I handled it just fine. Leslie said I was lucky. If I take care of it well, the scar won’t even be that bad.”

His thumb gently rubbed over it, analyzing. You wished you were privy to what he was thinking, but he kept them carefully concealed.

“This could have hit a major organ,” He finally breathed.

“It didn’t.”

He frowned.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I was fine!” You snapped, picking at your shirt more aggressively, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t panic. I stayed completely calm; I immediately used my shirt to tie over it. I put pressure on it like you showed me. Then I went to Leslie. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

“Wasn’t anything-There was a million things I could have done! I could have helped. I could have been there! Isn’t that my job?”

Don’t turn this into a fight. Do not turn this into a fight.

“I didn’t want to be the damsel in distress,” You admitted calmly. “For once, I didn’t want to be the girl completely reliant on a superhero swinging in to save her. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Barbara doesn’t need Dick to save her, Stephanie doesn’t need anyone to save her. Neither does Cass, Helena or Kate! I’m the only girl in the family that doesn’t wear spandex.”

Tim was staring at you, apparently surprised.

“But I like the fact you’re not a vigilante.”

You bristled.

“What? You like me being feeble and meek?”

“No!” Tim quickly backtracked. “No, you know that’s not what I mean. It’s just not who you are. That doesn’t mean your anything less. I live with a bunch of them, trust me, dating outside of the job is refreshing. I’m sorry you had the impression that you needed to be. But Y/N, not even we try to tough out a bullet. You should hear Dick, he swears like a sailor for days when he’s been shot.”

You look at him skeptically.

“You guys get shot all the time, but you still don’t baby each other. I want the same treatment.”

“You don’t get shot regularly,” Tim argued. “Allow me to be a little worried. It was your first time, and please, for the sake of my sanity, let it be the last time.”

You look at him.

“What sanity?” You ask innocently.

He blinked, then rolled his eyes.

“Haha,” He came around the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist, far gentler than it had been the past few days. His chin rested on your head.

“You owe me for all the sanity you keep taking when you do things like this. The Office marathon? It’s a tradition whenever one of us gets seriously injured.”

“I’m not seriously-“

He poked your side that wasn’t hurt. You let out a laugh, pulling free.

“Fine! But you have to make popcorn with extra butter.”

“Deal.”

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #tim drake #tim drake x you #dc reader imagines #red robin

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iselsis · 4 years ago

Text

Unholy Matrimony 3

Trigger Warning: attempted sexual assault.

Tim briefly hoped that Oliver Queen had less moral character than Bruce Wayne and would agree to marry a reluctantly submitting thirteen-year-old, but the thought soured in his gut. They say that meeting your heroes is disappointing, how much worse would it be to marry one? He knew that adults mating with kids was bad, but Luthor was bad, and bad people doing bad things was nothing new. Heroes, though…

Tim didn’t want to live in a world where a hero would want a child as a wife. That was just wrong, and heroes weren’t allowed to be wrong like that.

He decided just to start compiling evidence of Mr. Luthor’s more egregious crimes – the dead business rivals, inconvenient employees, and private detectives, along with the swindling and stilted business deals. Those were the things that might actually convince them not to deal with Luthor. Not the fact that he was an extremely horrible person and a credibly accused serial rapist.

He stayed at his laptop for hours, assembling his evidence, and once he felt that he had enough, he finally closed his laptop and looked up.

The first light of dawn was starting to peek in through the gap in his curtains and he groaned. He was definitely going to regret pulling an all nighter later, especially while he was still in heat. At least he’d already been planning on avoiding his parents all day.

As an awareness dawned on him that time and his physical body were both things that, surprisingly, still existed even if he ignored both things indefinitely, he realized that he was hungry.

Tim tapped a nervous pattern with his fingers on the plastic casing of his laptop, weighing his options. He was pretty sure that he had at least half a granola bar stuffed in one of his backpacks, but he was hungrier than that. He wanted real food, which meant going down to the kitchen and running the risk of bumping into his parents. He’d had enough verbal beatdowns over the past days to last him the rest of his life, but they were probably still sleeping at…

Tim glanced at his alarm clock. 6:23. They were probably still asleep.

His stomach growled angrily at him, making the decision. It was a chance he’d have to take. Worse came to worse, he’d get to be told how worthless omegas are and how disappointed they were in him again, as if it were fresh news the hundred thirty-seventh time.

Tim quietly tiptoed across his room and turned the knob. The door swung open without a sound, courtesy of the well-oiled hinges he’d found were a staple of any kid who liked to sneak in and out of his house without getting caught. He could technically climb up the rugged brick exterior of their home, and he could even be doing that now, but it wasn’t a climb he liked to make in the dark, or when he was physically compromised, as he was in heat.

There was no light coming from under his parents’ bedroom, so Tim sneaked silently down the hall to the stairs. He stayed quiet, though less cautiously, as he got farther away.

Two flights of stairs and a hall later, Tim had reached the kitchen. He flipped on the light and made a move for the pantry, only to freeze when he noticed his father glaring at him.

“What are you doing up?” Jack asked brusquely.

Tim blinked twice, recalibrating quickly. “I just like getting up early. Wh-what are you doing up?”

Jack grunted. “Tashkent is nine hours ahead of Gotham. It takes some time to adjust. Of course, having to deal with the fallout of our only heir being an omega hasn’t helped our sleep schedule much.”

Tim wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to respond to that, so he just nodded and tried to look docile and submissive. Jack turned back to the bagel he’d been eating at the window, watching the sunrise, and Tim took that as his chance to sneak into the pantry.

He’d been hoping to be able to sneak a bunch of food back up to his bedroom so that he wouldn’t have to leave for the rest of the day, but with his dad right there, that plan was dashed. Tim stuffed some packaged food into the pockets of his pajama pants, then grabbed a box of cereal and took it to the counter.

He tried not to look directly at his dad while he made himself a giant bowl of cereal. It was more than he’d normally eat, but if he ate it all, and what was in his pockets, he might be able to hole up in his room, at least until his parents went to bed. If they were getting up early, they’d be sleeping early too.

He did have to present his “please don’t make me marry this terrible person, not because you care in anyway for my well being or anything, but because it’ll probably turn out badly for you too” plan, though, and he’d have to do it before anything with Luthor was finalized. He couldn’t hide all day, unless he got it over with now.

Tim sat down at the island and took a few bites, trying to come up with a natural sounding conversation starter that wouldn’t get him berated, but he gave up quickly.

“Dad?” Tim tried.

Jack’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and Tim remembered all the “you’re not our son” stuff.

Tim lowered his head and tried again, trying to keep the hurt out of his tone and scent. “Sir.”

“What?”

Tim poked at his cereal with a waning appetite. “H-Have you decided who I’m going to marry?”

Tim chanced a quick glance to Jack, who seemed annoyed, but not violent as he had been before. Not yet, at least.

“You’ll marry who I tell you to marry, bitch,” Jack snarled.

Tim nodded obediently, then started tapping nervously on the counter.

“Cut that out,” Jack warned, and Tim stopped immediately.

“It’s just-” Tim took a deep breath and raised his head to meet his father’s eyes. “You know that Luthor is suspected of several murders, and of defrauding his business partners, right?”

Jack’s expression briefly flickered to surprise before the glower was back. “If you think that making up things is going to get you out of this-”

“It’s not that!” Tim rushed, and nearly panicked when he realized that he had just interrupted his dad, which would have landed him in a heap of trouble even before he had presented. He had less than five seconds before his dad exploded, though, and then he’d never get a word in edgewise, so Tim just went for it. “I have a lot of evidence on my computer. I’ll show it to you. I’m fine with anyone else, but I don’t think that Luthor is a-”

Jack stood with enough force to send his chair crashing to the floor, and he stormed toward Tim. Tim scrambled off his barstool and backed toward the door, watching his father with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, sir, I just-”

Jack grabbed Tim by the throat and slammed him against the doorframe, hard. Tim cried out in pain, a second cry choked off when his dad tightened his grip. Tim could barely breathe, and tears of pain and fear sprang unbidden to his eyes. He can’t hurt me permanently, he wants that money, he can’t hurt me, he can’t hurt me.

That didn’t make it hurt any less as the hard wooden corners jabbed into his back and his father’s fingers dug deep into the flesh of his neck.

“You’ll marry who I tell you to marry, whether you like it or not,” Jack snarled, leaning in close to Tim’s face. Jack stopped, then closed his eyes and put his nose against Tim’s collarbone, right on the scent gland, and took a deep breath. “This, right here, is all you have anymore. This scent and this…” Jack’s free hand came up and rested on Tim’s chest, then began to trail, slowly and uncomfortably, down the front of Tim’s body.

“Dad?” Tim whimpered. Jack’s hand hit the waistband of Tim’s pajama pants and started to toy with it. “Dad?!”

Jack pulled back to look at Tim’s face, a lecherous gleam to his eye to match his vicious grin. His scent was shifting too, becoming muskier and stronger.

His dad was going into rut.

Jack’s hand started to tug Tim’s waistband lower and lower on his hips. “If you’re so scared of what Luthor’s going to do to you, maybe I should give you a preview.”

Tim grabbed his pants and tried to pull them up, but his dad growled at him and tugged more insistently.

“Dad, please don’t do this! Please!” Tim choked out.

Jack pressed his body against Tim’s, pinning him to the doorframe more effectively. His hand slid away from Tim’s throat, and he started sloppily mouthing Tim’s neck. “We wouldn’t want you to be scared when your new husband stakes his claim, would we?”

“Dad, please!” Tim’s protest and struggles were ineffectual. Both of his father’s hands lustily gripped the dips of his waist, the fingers tight enough to bruise, then slowly felt their way down Tim’s sides. He wasn’t going to stop. There was no way to stop him, no way to-

“MOM!” Tim screamed. Jack growled in annoyance and tried to cover Tim’s mouth, but Tim turned in time to scream once more before his dad clapped his hand across Tim’s face.

“Do you think she’s going to help you, Timmy? She might decide to join me in breaking you in,” Jack snapped.

But she wouldn’t, because his mom was a beta and not in rut, and she was smart enough to know that he was worth a lot more as a virgin. It was a big house, but if she had heard him, he might stand a prayer of not getting knotted by his dad. Jack knew that too, or he wouldn’t have covered Tim’s mouth.

Before Jack could resume his groping, Janet Drake rushed into the kitchen from another door. She took one look at Jack, then at Tim, and huffed in frustration.

“Jack, what in the world are you doing?” she snapped, storming over and pulling Jack off of Tim.

Tim’s knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He raised his trembling hands to cover his face and the silent tears of fear and relief that he couldn’t stop.

Janet dragged Jack a few paces away, keeping her body between the rutting alpha and the heat-stricken omega. “We offered Luthor a virgin omega. You know as well as I do what happens when people cheat Lex Luthor. If you could keep your instincts in check so that we don’t get ourselves killed, that would be quite satisfactory, dear.”

Jack growled, but it seemed a token protest. He clearly knew that his wife was right.

“I’m sure a little…practice, for the boy, wouldn’t hurt, don’t you think? Just touching,” Jack promised.

The trembling in Tim’s hands spread to the rest of his body and he nearly threw up.

“I’m your son!” Tim cried, unable to stop himself. Didn’t that count for anything?

Jack growled at him, but Janet silenced them both with a disapproving glower.

“Honestly, Timothy, you should have known better than to be around an alpha alone in your state. Why do you think I’ve stayed close to you during your heat? It certainly wasn’t the quality of the company,” Janet scoffed. “Omegas are a temptation to alphas in the best of conditions. In heat, they are nearly irresistible. Add to that the stress your father has been under, and of course he would be in an unfit state of mind. If you didn’t want to be assaulted, then you should have stayed in your room.”

Tim stared at her in horror. “B-but-”

“Go upstairs, Timothy,” Janet sighed.

Janet took Jack by the arm and led him away, leaving Tim a shaking, terrified mess. He had to make three attempts at standing before his ankles and knees agreed to hold him up, and even then, it was only long enough for him to stumble to the sink and vomit up everything he’d eaten.

They knew.

He leaned back, supporting himself with a white knuckled grip on the rim of the sink.

They knew that Luthor was dangerous for them, they had to know that he was also a danger to Tim, and they’d chosen to force him to marry Luthor anyway. There was no way out.

His sides tingled as phantom versions of his father’s hands grabbed his sides slid down to his hips. His stomach churned violently, and he barely leaned forward in time for the bile to land in the sink. He swiped the cuff of his sleeve across his mouth, but caught the scents of fear and rut that lingered where his sleeve had hit his father’s wrist scent gland, and he threw up again.

Finally, when there was truly nothing left in his stomach, Tim stood up. He didn’t rinse out the sink. It was a small, meaningless victory, but one of them would have to do it.

Walking up the stairs felt like climbing a mountain, even though it was only two flights. He couldn’t escape the sensation of his father’s hands sneaking up on him and grabbing him. He couldn’t stop the tears blurring his vision, either.

When he reached the third floor, he took a deep, shuddering breath, rubbing his hands up and down his sides to cover the feeling of hands. It helped, but the phantom fingers went deeper than his hands could hope to.

He practically ran into his bedroom, locked the door, and shoved his desk up against it. With that secure, he rushed into his bedroom and started pulling off his clothes, which he hated because now he was uncovered and even more vulnerable than before, but those clothes smelled unescapably like his father. He shoved them into the trash can, then stuffed a towel over them to stop it up.

Tim turned the water on as hot as it could go, then jumped into the spray and viciously scrubbed everywhere his father had touched, not even stopping when his skin was red and raw. He just wanted it to go away, but he could still feel him.

The tears that had been so quiet and manageable caught in Tim’s throat and he choked on a sob. If he couldn’t even trust his own father not to do this to him, and if he couldn’t trust his mother to save him for anything other than her own benefit, then who could he trust?

The sobs kept coming, wracking his whole body. He wanted to stop, so he could get out and get dressed and hide and not be so vulnerable, but he couldn’t do anything more than huddle miserably on the floor of the shower and cry, even as the burning hot water ran out and turned frigid.

He left his room once the rest of the day. He briefly napped, hidden under his bed, but it was a restless sleep and plagued by nightmares. He didn’t eat, either, but he dumped all the packaged food he’d stolen from the kitchen into his backpack, along with several pairs of dark clothes that would cover almost his whole body, a toothbrush, a sleeping bag, and all of his money.

He waited until he hear his parents in the kitchen for an early dinner, then sneaked into their room, found their wallets. About half of it was in foreign currency that he couldn’t use, but he got nearly three hundred American dollars between the two wallets. He considered taking the cards, too, but decided against it. If he got caught, that was a crime they could prove. They wouldn’t actually be able to prove that the cash he’d taken was theirs and not his allowance. He also found a box of scent blocking patches that his parents wore in business meetings, and took those too.

He quickly went back to his room, locked and barricaded the door, then waited. It was another hour or two before they made their way up to their bedroom. He gave it another hour, until it was nearly dark and he was sure that they were asleep.

Opening the window and swinging out onto the brick footholds for the last time should have felt awful. He should have had second thoughts, and then third and fourth thoughts, until he realized that his parents were not as bad as he thought, and climbed back inside and then never speak of his aborted runaway attempt again.

But it didn’t.

Gotham was a dangerous city, especially for packless children and omegas, but it was far more home than his house was. Gotham, for all its faults, would hide him from his parents, and his marriage. He could do odd jobs, maybe forge some papers and pretend to be older than he was to get hired some place, or even just steal. It didn’t even matter anymore, but he was never letting an alpha touch him again.

#batman #bruce wayne is a good dad #Bruce Wayne #Tim Drake #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #Alpha Bruce Wayne #Omega Tim Drake #fake marriage au

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