#since tim's ��too tired to grapple himself”

[pokeberry5]

late night/early morning stakeout

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

 Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid. 

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving. 

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously. 

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride. 

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible. 

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer. 

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.

Part 5

Masterpost

[hailsatanacab]

For the prompt ask game!

9. Sleep deprivation and/or 37. Secret Relationship and/or 40. Identity reveal/major secret reveal

(I selected a few so you can chose the one that resonates the most.)

For any DPxDC characters. <3

*emerges from a google docs, covered in blood and panting* i did it... it is done.

thank you for the prompt!! because i love a challenge, or because i can't stop myself, i went and did all of them!! for everyone!! everyone is sleep deprived and everyone is revealing secrets ^^'

Danny/Tim, mentioned Jazz/Jason

(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) enjoy!! prompt ask game

kid napping

“Red Robin, sound off. Status?”

“All good here, Oracle. Everything okay?”

It’s been a slow night, never a good sign. Pent up energy itches under his skin and he stretches when he stands, preparing for whatever Oracle is going to throw his way. It’s going to be something, he can tell.

“Good.” Relief briefly colours her voice answers, before she becomes serious again, keys clacking away in the background. “There’s been a report from Agent A. It appears that one Timothy Drake has been kidnapped and is being ransomed for five million dollars and a helicopter. I’m tracing the call now.”

“A helicopter, too? Kidnappers these days, used to be they just wanted their money and that would be the end of it… a fucking helicopter, wow.” Red Hood scoffs, and Red Robin can’t help but join in the laughter over the comms.

“Doesn’t exactly sound like these are the brightest tools in the shed now, does it, Hood? Wonder what poor schmuck they’ve got instead.” Nightwing says, slightly out of breath. 

The smile slips off Red Robin’s face and clammy, cold dread shivers down his spine. A stone settles in his stomach. He wets his lips and clears his throat. “Oracle, can you pull up the CCTV on my apartment near WE? Any closer to tracing the call?”

“Still on the trace, they’re using a jammer. Agent A is cooperating so they should phone back soon, which will help.” she reports, falling into silence as he finds the video feed.

“You know who it is?”

“I hope not.”

It’s tense, he taps his feet on the rooftop, fingers tightening over his grapple as he fights the urge to fly off the roof and check for himself. It better not be him. Please, dear God, don’t let it not be him.

“What are you thinking, Red Robin?” Batman growls through the comms. Red Robin can hear the wind under his words, whipping fast as he no doubt makes his way over to his position.

“I had a, uh, a friend coming over tonight. From behind, he… he could be mistaken for Tim Drake.”

The jokes fall silent, the comms growing serious as they pick up on his tone.

“Well, fuck.” 

“Eloquent as always, Hood.”

“Shut up, bat-brat.”

“You were right, Red Robin, it looks like it was your… friend they caught, instead. About two hours before the call came in. I’m following their van now, I should have the destination soon. In the meantime, it looks like they’re heading towards the docks.”

Red Robin throws himself off the building, shooting his grapple as low as he dares to get the fastest swing he can. 

They have Danny. 

Worry gnaws at his gut even as gravity pulls it into his throat with another swing.

Danny is… And Red Robin means this in the nicest way possible, but Danny is fragile. They haven’t talked about it, but RR knows that Danny has health problems. Something plaguing him since he was young, that’s landed him in the hospital more than once. A weak heart, far too slow to be normal, possibly chronic fatigue—he’s always so tired, falling asleep anywhere he can.

Sometimes, he doesn’t even need to put his head down. Once, when they had gone to the corner store to get some popcorn to enjoy their movie (which Danny had explicitly and repeatedly promised he wouldn’t snore through this time), Danny had rested his head on Tim’s shoulder while they were waiting and he’d just… gone. On his feet, asleep, just like that.

He’d laughed, when Tim woke him up. Apologised. Said Tim made him feel safe enough to fall asleep just about anywhere and—

Red Robin grits his teeth and corrects his course as Oracle updates them with more precise coordinates.

Tim had carried him home that night, piggy-back for four blocks, but by the end of it, he wasn’t tired at all. And that’s another thing, Danny’s just so light. It’s concerning.

They never did watch that movie, but it’s a night that Tim can’t help remembering fondly all the same. They’d ended up rewatching some old sitcom that Danny’s seen countless times but Tim’s never really bothered with, Danny drifting off to sleep again and Tim eventually following him, because… sleep is easy with Danny.

It’s the same for him, he thinks. He can’t explain it, but he feels safe enough to sleep with Danny, too.

He needs to be alright.

“So… Is this friend just a friend? Or a friend friend?” 

“A friend, Nightwing. Now hurry up.”

He’s not in the mood to play these games, not now. There’s a reason why none of them know about Danny, and this is one of them. His family, as much as he loves them, are just too damn nosey for their own good.

“You know that doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“Then why don’t you ask something intelligible, rather than continue with your childish antics?” Robin snarks, and for once, Red Robin has to agree with him. Or, rather, he’s grateful for the distraction that it gives him.

Tim has secrets. He’s sure that Danny does, too, and so far—aside from the standard background check he always runs on new friends and friend friends alike—he’s done very well to respect them. He just can’t say that his family would do the same.

They can be overwhelming, to say the least, and Tim has tried his best to protect Danny from that.

Only to fail to protect him in every other way that it counts.

“How long have you guys been ‘friends’?”

“Nightwing, save it, please.”

“What’s his name?”

He ignores him.

Red Robin lands on the building first, thank goodness. He wastes no time in finding a skylight that can be pried open fairly quietly, slipping inside without a second thought.

“Wait for backup, Red Robin, that is an order!” Batman says, when he lets them know he’s in.

“Negative, Batman. I’m getting him back.”

“Red Robin!”

He weaves silently through the desks on the second floor of the warehouse, always moving, always keeping a trained eye on the shadows around him.

When he reaches the stairs, he hears voices.

“Looks like three of them, armed. The-the hostage is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, he…” Red Robin takes a steadying breath. The person has a burlap sack over their head is slumped to the side, from where he is, Red Robin can’t see if his chest is moving. There’s blood on the floor. “He needs medical assistance. Another two on the northside entrance.”

The comms explode in admonitions, everyone pleading with him to stay where he is, to wait for help, but fuck that. With a tap, he switches them off and he can finally, just about make out the words of the kidnappers as he creeps down the first few steps.

“—shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re the one that hit him! Do you think he’s—”

“No! I didn’t even hit him that hard, I swear!” the man cries, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just couldn’t take any more of his stupid jokes!”

If there was any doubt in Red Robin’s mind that they picked up Danny by mistake, it’s gone now. Yeah. If you get Danny, you get his stupid jokes, too.

He creeps closer. 

There’s some storage crates between him and Danny, if he can get behind there without being seen then that leaves him in a good position for when whoever’s next in takes out the guys at the front. He can’t do anything without them gone first, not without risking them taking shots inside and endangering Danny.

The man that hit Danny circles round behind him and grabs at his hands.

“What are you even doing, Pat? Who gives a shit, leave him alone.”

“I’m just checking! I just gotta see!”

“Fuck’s sake, guys, who cares? We just gotta get our money, that’s it—”

“And our helicopter!”

“And our—”

“Shit, I can’t find a pulse! Shit, Frank, I killed him, I—”

Jason told him once that when the Pits overtook him, he used to see green. Instead of blacking out, he’d be swimming in that putrid Lazarus colour and he’d slip into that rage and bad things would happen.

He’s heard of people seeing red, too, but really, he thinks that’s more of a literary device.

Tim doesn’t see anything aside from his targets.

A barrage of birdarangs take the guns from the guys at the front, the three around Danny startling badly enough that the guy that kil—that’s behind Danny—stumbles, losing his footing.

Only one of them shoots.

Amateurs. 

There’s a round of curses on the comms as the shots come through. Oracle must have turned them back on.

“Fucking hell—Nightwing and I are at the front, Red Robin, don’t worry about them.”

Red Robin’s barely listening.

He spins, kicking the largest guy in the stomach hard enough so that he doubles over, wheezing. Following through the movement, another kick lands on the side of his head and he’s down. 

The second one, Frank, gets his wits about him and raises his gun, spraying wildly. He’s a shit shot, going wide in panic, and Red Robin simply ducks and rushes forward, keeping low. Tackling the guy, he grabs the gun off of him and uses it to smash him across the face, once, twice, three times, before he stops moving.

“Oracle, get police and paramedics on scene, now.” Batman says, the displeasure in his voice evident. “Red Robin, Robin and I are coming in from the top.”

Pat hasn’t even made it up off the floor yet, scrambling backwards, fear plain on his face. 

Red Robin stands, breathing heavily, gun still in hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to do it! Please—please, don’t, please!”

Red Robin doesn’t kill.

Well, no, Red Robin doesn’t normally kill.

No, that’s not quite right, either.

Red Robin has killed. Red Robin will more than likely kill again. Red Robin sees no problem with killing.

The gun is up, pointing towards the guy without any real thought about it.

Footsteps rush behind him, the familiar heavy footfalls of Batman and Robin, so he doesn’t bother turning around. The gun follows the guy as he keeps pulling himself backwards, snot and tears mingling down his face.

“Red Robin,” Batman says, softly.

It’s always weird hearing Batman’s voice like that. It’s not the first time, obviously—Batman can’t use his scary intimidating voice on victims or children, after all—but having it used on him is weird. 

“Breathe.”

“He’s dead. They killed him.”

If hearing Batman’s voice was weird, Red Robin can’t even recognise his own.

Distantly, he realises he’s dissociating. There’s a tightness in his chest, it’s hard to breathe, a growing buzz drowns out any noise in his ears and he can’t think, he can’t—

A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Batman reaches around and gently removes the gun from his grip, and Tim feels the instant loss of it. He should have done it, why hadn’t he done it?

Robin takes care of the last man, his crying cut off by a swift kick to the head. Nightwing and Red Hood join them, zip-tying the men on the floor and starting to drag them back to the entrance of the warehouse one by one.

No one says a word.

Shrugging off Batman’s hand, Tim moves towards the chair.

Shaking, he takes a deep breath and removes the sack. The small part of him that was left hoping it wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him, please dear God let it not be him, shatters.

Even dead, he looks peaceful.

Tim’s seen death. He’s no stranger to it, he’s seen what it can do to a person. There’s some blood coagulating over his eyebrows, but otherwise, he looks peaceful. Is that comforting? That he didn’t suffer?

Danny’s head lolls to the side as the sack comes completely away, his hair flopping over his eyes. Tim’s been on at him to get a haircut lately, he thinks it’ll be nice tidied up a bit, just on the sides. It’ll get rid of that permanent bedhead. Help him with job interviews, he’s got to be thinking about that now that he’s in his last year of college.

It’s about the only thing that’ll hold him back, Tim thinks. Danny’s brilliant. Any employer would be a fool to turn him down because of his shaggy hair, but employers are stupid so it makes sense to put your best foot forward and—

Tim falls to his knees.

Fuck.

He’s dead, he’s really—Danny’s skin is horribly pale, cold to the touch. Gone is his bright, cheerful smile. 

“Danny, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I—” 

He stops himself with a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t break down here, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Instead, he tips forward to rest his head in Danny’s lap, arms curling around himself. They were too late. They got here as fast as they could and they were too late.

 “Danny, I’m so sorry…” he whispers. “I… I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.”

Dimly, he can feel the others standing around them. Someone crouches down beside him, resting a comforting arm over his back, but he doesn’t turn his head to see who it is. He squeezes his grip on Danny’s legs tighter.

“Come on, baby bird. Let’s—”

They’re interrupted by a huge, honking snore as Danny jerks himself awake.

Tim’s head snaps up, staring at Danny with wide eyes.

“You were asleep?” Red Robin springs up, several different emotions rapidly flip flopping through him.

“Wha… What?” Danny heaves a yawn, blinking blearily down at him. “Sorry, I’m just… they were shit kidnappers, man, really boring. Honestly, worst abduction yet.”

“You were asleep? I thought you were dead!”

“Not mutually exlusive, you know.” Danny says through another yawn. He rolls his neck around with an almighty crack and glances at everyone. “Didn’t think I’d warrant the whole Bat brigade, though…”

“The kidnappers thought they had Tim Drake.” Batman supplies, while Red Robin tries to work through the emotional whiplash.

“Ah, makes sense… wait.” Danny sits up suddenly, squinting at Red Robin. “Did you say you loved me?”

“No, of course not, why would I—”

“Tim? Is that—are you—are you Red Robin?”

“Everyone, hold the fuck up!” Red Hood shouts from the other side of the warehouse, having finished securing the perps to a streetlight outside. “Double R is dating Danny fucking Nightingale?”

Well, there goes his identity… Oh, who’s he kidding, Danny’s smart. There’s no way he could have salvaged that. This was not how he thought the night was going to go.

“Cranberry, is that you?” Danny twists in his chair, somehow delighted to see Red Hood rescuing him, too. “I thought I smelled you lurking about!”

“Shut it, you little shit. Since when were you dating this dweeb?”

“I’m sorry,” Red Robin pleads, hands in the air to try and slow down the onslaught of information and insults, “you two know each other?”

“Cranberry?” Nightwing echoes, looking as lost as Red Robin feels.

“Yeah, Cranberry—The Cranberries—zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie. Obviously. Also he’s wearing a big, fuck off red helmet.”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense.”

It’s about the only thing that does.

“And please don’t call my boyfriend a dweeb, Cranberry. Especially when he just said he loves me for the first time.”

“He only said it because he thought you were dead.”

“I am dead, so it counts.”

“Only half, so I’d say that puts you at a solid ‘like’. Tim’s—and savour this, Tim, because I’m only going to say it once—Tim’s intelligent, so I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

Danny just throws Red Hood such a shit-eating grin. A level of feral that Tim’s only seen before in Damian. 

“That’s what I used to say about Jazz, too.”

Hood scoffs in offence, and to be honest, Tim’s not sure where he should go from here. What the hell is happening, how do they know each other?

“Come on, is anyone going to untie me or am I really meeting your family mafia-style?”

“Do it yourself, Slimer.” Red Hood laughs, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, you suck so much. I’ll fucking slime you, just you wait. Can’t believe Jazz even likes you, I preferred it when she was dating Johnny.”

And then, without Danny doing anything other than muttering obscenities at Red Hood, the ropes fall to the ground. In one swift motion, Danny stands up and stretches himself to his full height of 5’6.

“All of you need to explain, now.” commands Batman, and honestly, Red Robin’s very much on his side of it.

“I can’t believe it… Jason and Timmy are both in secret relationships? That’s… How come no one told me?” Poor Nightwing sounds the most shocked out of all of them. He turns to Damian and clasps onto both of his shoulders. “You’re not secretly dating, are you, D? Please tell me you’re not, please tell me you’re single, please?”

Of course, Robin just clicks his tongue and pushes his hands away. Really, Red Robin doesn’t think that Nightwing’s in any danger of that happening, he’d be surprised if anyone could stand Robin enough to actually date him.

He shakes his head and turns to Danny, who’s staring right back at him, worry clear on his face.

Fuck, he... He's alive. He's really alive.

Tim pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, fingers buried deep in his NASA shirt. Tucking his face into the crook of Danny's shoulder, he laughs wetly with the joy of it. He's alive. He hasn't lost him. He's safe.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now, starshine, but…” Danny breaks the hug and softly pulls away from him to rise on his tiptoes to place a kiss his cheek. The skin burns cold where his lips touch. “I love you, too. Also, you’re gonna wanna sit down. This is going to be a lot.”

[yaderyngoch]

Tim hadn’t been expecting Jason’s outburst, but in a way he wasn’t surprised. He knew he should’ve been angry at Jason’s words and accusations. Instead, he just felt tired. So fucking tired. He’d spent years feeling so much so intensely when it came to Jason. Hurt and anger and pain, and those feelings were still there somewhere but Fuck they were exhausting and Tim just didn’t have it in him to feel those things as brightly as he used to. 

Maybe he was wrong for being grateful that Jason grappled away before he could say anything. It certainly made things easier. Tim could only hope that this wouldn’t jeopardize their case. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose to will away the headache blossoming at his temple, a sigh deflating his shoulders before he pushed himself onto his feet, getting on with his patrol. 

--

It was 5am by the time Tim made it home, and 6:30 when he had to get up to get ready for class, leaving him with an impressive hour and a half of sleep. Less, technically, since he needed time to take off his armour and write a report. Usually he tried to sneak in a few hours between the end of all his classes and patrol, but last night things hadn’t worked out like that, so Tim scraped himself together with an utterly offensive amount of coffee and he made it work.

Classes were uneventful, labs were filled with recordings and analyses of substances likely far too dangerous to be in a university classroom. Less rigorous classes were spent multitasking, flipping back and forth between tabs to take notes and forge necessary documents for Jason. Only in classes where he sat in the back so no one could look over his shoulder. 

He finished his physics exam early enough to hack into the school database and register Jason as a student, adding just enough plausible background details to his record to seem fleshed out and authentic. 

Before he knew it, he was back at the library with the very same study group, scrunching his nose up at his laptop screen when the algorithm he was programming wasn’t working out the way he wanted it to. 

“Hey Tim, this is the chemical structure for ice, right?” Tim looked up from his laptop at Bernard’s notebook, to the sketch of a molecule displayed in it. 

He pursed his lips. “Kind of? Dihydrogen monoxide is really weird and complicated so there’s multiple structures for ice, but for the sake of your class, yeah that’s what the professor is looking for.”

Birds of a Feather

(closed RP with @muuuumin)

Things were not going according to plan. 

Tim really didn’t like it when things didn’t go according to plan.

Sadly, that was the nature of Gotham City, which was exactly why Tim had backup plan after backup plan, accounting for every conceivable variable. He’d written an algorithm just for this case. There was a stack of paperwork heavier than Tim was. 

And yet, somehow, none of that accounted for faulty construction of the barrier along the route Tim expected to chase the criminal along, and just like that all 27 of Tim’s backup plans went out the window, and he and this thug were tearing through the streets of Gotham City. 

Fortunately, Tim had always been quick. Maybe not quite as strong as some of the other bats, but he was balanced in agility, which was useful when it came to jumping over the wooden palettes that had been knocked in his way. 

He’d been chasing this guy for months, the leader of a trafficking ring that made Tim’s stomach turn with each new detail he learned. Finally, Tim had him… nearly. Weeks of careful planning were reduced to instinct, fueled by the base knowledge that whatever happened, he had to catch this guy. Because of that, he wasn’t particularly paying attention to where the man was running, only that Tim needed to catch up to him.

Tim was getting close. His chest burned with it, but he was closing the distance. The leader was about three times Tim’s size, but that made him slow, which Tim used to his advantage. 

One last turn lead them down a long alley with far fewer obstacles to jump over, and Tim took that as his chance. Putting one last burst of energy into moving forward, he could reach out and touch the man before him. So, he did. He leapt forward and used all his momentum to send the both of them tumbling to the ground, pinning the man’s arms behind him. 

“Get off- you little shit,” the criminal squirmed violently, pinned face down as he was. Tim was fully sitting on his back, using his entire body weight to keep him down and frankly unconvinced that was enough. Tim was strong, but he couldn’t hold someone like this forever. “I ain’t getting taken down by some pipsqueak-ass kid. I’ll fucking kill you.”

Tim used his position to secure handcuffs around the man’s wrists, trying to catch his breath. He might’ve secured them a little tighter than necessary, but knowing what this man did Tim frankly didn’t feel bad about it. 

Things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, but Tim had gotten the criminal in the end. This would just serve as… something to keep in mind for the next time he had to make a plan. Always double check the strength of the barricades along the predicted potential chase route.

Breathless and full of adrenaline, Tim forgot another much more important rule: Always pay attention to where your target is leading you.

[paulbunyanstatue]

When Tim’s head finally dropped and landed heavily on Bruce’s arm with a small snore passing through his parted lips, the man understood patrol over Gotham’s twilight-shadowed streets was coming to an end for the night. Batman and Robin already stopped two attempted robberies and helped a small child find her parents after accidentally wandering away from a local gas station in the middle of a long overnight trip through the town. Tim was never as talkative as Dick on patrol, or even Jason for that matter, but Bruce noticed when he became particularly quiet just after the Gotham clock rang midnight. Bruce wondered if something related to his schooling was bothering the kid, but Tim just said they were fine when Bruce asked about the classes he was taking. Bruce then asked how Tim’s father was, wondering if the quiet demeanor was due to an argument at home, but Tim said he was fine too.

Bruce understood when Tim’s eyes slipped closed the first time, long past a blink and shown in a mimicking movement of the lenses of his domino mask. His chin slowly inched down toward his own chest and Bruce bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He found it hilarious that the kid could sleep anywhere. Bruce once found him stretched across Dick’s old gymnastic bars in the bat cave, mouth hung ajar and feet dangling over the edge. Alfred found Tim sprawled out across a pool table one evening. He and Dick had been playing but when the older stepped away to accept a work phone call, Tim fell asleep there. Bruce's favorite by far was finding Tim standing propped up against the desk at the bank, bo staff extended and acting as a support beam, while Bruce finished apprehending the robbers. Now, Bruce cleared his throat and pretended not to see when Tim’s head snapped up alongside the sudden widening of the gray lens. The second time Tim fell asleep on patrol that night, the child’s temple landed resting against Bruce’s upper arm and he glanced carefully at his gauntlet to see it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. The hour was earlier than he would normally call off patrol, but the idea of keeping Tim out of a bed for much longer felt heavy in his chest.

Bruce purposefully scuffed his boot against the edge of the building on which the pair were perched, climbing to his feet in the process and watching from the corner of his eye as Tim scrambled up on shaky legs. Bruce knew those blue eyes were blown wide underneath the mask with the surprise of suddenly being woken up. He guided Tim to the opposite edge of the building, momentarily considering they grapple to the neighboring roof to further wake him. But he dismissed that as exceptionally dangerous given his Robin had already fallen asleep twice that night.

Tim crouched down next to Batman, purposefully on his haunches in favor of sitting comfortably flat on the ground, and crossed his arms over his knees. Bruce was bored tonight, but he couldn’t deny he preferred it this way on the evenings that he was accompanied by a child. He still felt his skin crawl when they were forced to fight a violent rogue, particularly after Tim was trapped in a silo with Dick acting violently on fear gas. Bruce often thought back to that night and his cheeks flushed with shame. He despised the way he reacted, so caught up in his anger and terror that he made Tim feel small and like a failure. Alfred had given Bruce a sharp, furious look when he found out what happened during Robin’s rescue that evening. He gave Bruce the silent treatment and provided disappointed looks until Bruce relented and apologized to Tim in earnest.

After another hour of silence disturbed only by the tearing of tires along a road and one screeching car alarm sounding (which was followed by a muttered curse by the owner before the noise ceased and left an echoing of this disturbance in the quiet air), Bruce granted them both the opportunity to go home. Catching up on sleep would benefit him too, as it turns out. He knows he’s heard that enough from Alfred.

“Robin,” his gravely voice was only a hint softer than usual, even Tim had a difficult time noticing. “Come.” With a bitten groan, Tim stood up and stretched up toward the polluted sky, bending his back and yawning largely.

Like a cat, Bruce thought. No wonder Selena thought the kid was adorable.

“What’s happening, Batman?” Tim whispered, listening carefully for sirens. “Did you get a call?”

“No,” Bruce responded easily. “We are done for the night. The streets are gentle enough.”

Tim nodded in agreement. They did seem gentle enough.

They approached the edge of the roof and Bruce glanced down at the hard concrete far below their feet, and sudden terror filled his mind. This particular fear consisted of seeing Robin sprawled out on the sidewalk, so far from the roof and twisted on the ground next to a missed or broken grapple, was a near-constant nuisance in the back of his mind. Sometimes in the thick of his anxious dreams, he still heard the sound of Dick’s parents when they fell to their death before him, a sickening thud that echoed throughout the crowd. Today and standing next to one so tired brought that thought forward with a blow to his gut.

“Robin...” he began, a hesitant whisper that brought Tim blinking largely up at him. “I’m going to repel us both down, okay?”

Tim frowned at the notion. He hadn’t repelled with Bruce since his first few training days when he was still growing accustomed to the sensation of falling that flooded his belly after his feet left the roof top, save one instance in that silo when Tim’s grappling hook was broken. But other than that, Bruce had always trusted that Tim was able to do that himself. Tim was suddenly riddled with the fear that he did something wrong, something to anger Bruce. The man called off patrol early in the night and now he was ordering Tim not to use his own grappling hook. Tim warily looked out at the night sky and wondered if Bruce was planning on firing him.

The thick silence stood in companionship to the changes of worry dancing across the face before Bruce, and he tried to soften the lines tracing his own jaw in response. He could clarify his reasoning, and he even knew that he should do that to alleviate the tension and anxiety. He should tell Tim that he saw him falling asleep and this was simply a precaution, nothing more. But instead, he beckoned the boy with a glove and ordered, “Come.”

Tim’s heels begged to remain planted on the concrete roof, urging him to defend his place as Batman’s new Robin. But his sworn obedience pushed him forward anyway, nearer to Bruce. He tried to ignore the arm wrapping around his waist and the feeling of being pulled against Bruce’s chest as his feet lifted from the ground, but an embarrassed flush colored his cheeks anyway. The position was comfortable and he wished for this modified hug more often after having had the privilege of being held by the very person that he could never admit out loud to holding a parental position in his mind. But his stubborn brain reminded him harshly of the reality surrounding him. Bruce wasn’t his father, and Tim believed Bruce saw him as more of a business partner. Batman and Robin; Tim knew that from the very start of the arrangement.

Tim saw Bruce act fatherly toward his first two Robins, even during their time spent as “normal people.” He had witnessed Bruce hugging Dick and draping his arm around Jason’s shoulders at the fancy parties his own parents forced him to. He witnessed Bruce murmur jokes to his children who snickered in response and shoved him back playfully, and Tim watched as they shared food from a single plate and silently mimicked the ridiculous high society that surrounded them. Tim longed for that attention as he turned back to his own parents who hardly spoke to him during these parties. Instead, they waved toward him and bragged about his grades to other parents who also didn’t really care.

Tim wanted those hugs and shoulder drapes as well, as Bruce’s new Robin. But that was different, Dick and Jason were actually Bruce’s sons. And Tim was not his-

Tim’s feet landed on the solid alleyway stone, his heel dipped in a sticking puddle, and didn’t that suit his situation perfectly?

“Come on,” Bruce said again and Tim sucked in a deep breath through his nose. Bruce never wasted his time on patrol ordering Tim to follow. That was a mandatory expectation since his very first day wearing the dark cape and R across his chest. But he did follow, tailing closely behind Bruce until he slid silently into the passenger seat of the sleekly-hidden Batmobile. He buckled his seat belt as Bruce started the engine from his place behind the wheel.

“Batman,” Tim began, forcing his voice louder than the mere whisper he wished to produce. Bruce grunted in question. “Are we patrolling somewhere else tonight?”

“At home in a bed,” Bruce answered smoothly.

“And is something wrong with my grapple?”

“I sure hope not.” The same easy answer.

Tim bit his lower lip and thought, so Bruce doesn't care that he is ridding himself of me so soon after allowing me to join in crime-fighting. Ouch. Tim took another deep breath and silently worked on removing his domino mask, snatching the solution from the glove box and slowly peeling the corners from his face. When at last he was free of the mask, he stared out the window and watched the street lamps pass by with a pale yellow glow, seemingly taunting Tim throughout the long drive back home.

Not home, Tim reminded himself sharply. Even though he stayed there a few times overnight when patrol leaked into dusk and when he suffered an injury that required him a safe bed in Bruce’s sick bay and guest bedroom, it was not his home. Tim had a home and he had a living father, and Bruce wasn’t his dad. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, sinking lower into his seat and purposefully ignoring the confused look it gained from Bruce. He watched the shadowed alleyways pass by as his temple fell back to lean against the head rest so he could only watch the streets pass them by. Tim did not notice when his eyes slipped closed.

Bruce finally pulled into the cave entrance and threw another glance toward Tim. The kid was still asleep and Bruce had to fight the urge to chuckle because the poor guy must have been exhausted to sleep through the bumping terrain that brought them back. He turned off the ignition and faced Tim once more.

“Tim?” He whispered, pushing back his own cowl. But the kid still didn’t stir. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to shake Tim awake, and he instead slid out of his own seat and glided over to the passenger side where he opened the door. He bent over and moved toward Tim, just about to slide an arm under his knees and the other behind his back when he quickly froze. What am I doing? His thoughts halted. This child already has a father, someone who specifically is not Bruce. He couldn’t overstep the barrier that sternly separated himself as a mentor from that of a parent, especially while Tim was positioned so that he had no say in the matter.

Sure, he had carried both Dick and Jason inside after they fell asleep either during patrol or the car ride after, but they were his children. Tim already knew Bruce adopted the two Robins that preceded him, but that knowledge itself wasn’t permission for Bruce to fill a similar position in his own life, no matter how much Bruce believed he needed and deserved it. Tim staying at Bruce’s manor several nights each week without so much as a phone call from his father was proof enough that Tim wasn’t receiving attention like one deserved.

But simply having an absent father was not an invite for Bruce to become his. Despite this, Bruce couldn’t leave him in the car  to wake up cold and alone, and he definitely couldn’t wake up that face that relaxed so peacefully while dreaming. And so despite his screeching brain, he reached forward and snaked his arms under Tim, one under his knees and the other behind his back, and he lifted him up to rest against his chest. At the touch, Tim unconsciously moved closer, turning his head toward the warmth that held him, but he otherwise did not stir. This brought a smile to Bruce’s lips.

He carefully carried Tim toward the staircase leading up to the main house’s library, stopping only to flick the lights off. As he entered the manor, he was met with Alfred’s near-frown. It was an expression that meant he was awaiting an explanation for something that he already knew he would not agree with. Bruce shrugged carefully in response to the blatant disappointment at disobeying the one rule of 'no Batman and Robin in the main house.'

“He fell asleep in the car. I couldn’t leave him down there.”

“You could have woken him to change out of the suit first,” Alfred responded coolly, though Bruce noticed the man spoke in a hushed whisper to avoid senselessly waking Tim. Bruce gave him a pointed look and guided the man’s gaze down to the sleeping face below them, only chest-high to Bruce and with his cheeks puffed out with the exhales of the unconscious. Neither man could feign supporting the idea of purposefully waking Tim.

Bruce slipped past Alfred with a swear to clean himself up after he put Tim to bed, something that notably did not receive argument. He climbed the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle Tim too much during the ascent. Despite the efforts, Tim’s eyes cracked open at the top of the stairs as Bruce carried him toward the bedroom door that Alfred and Bruce knew as Tim’s room. His expression flickered from confusion to realization and frustration all in the span of one second. Tim frowned up at Bruce, face so disgruntled that Bruce was forced to swallow a laugh as he met the fierce gaze.

“I can walk.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he stated with a hint of humor still present.

“Bruce, are you going to fire me?” Tim’s voice was firm, a question of business leaving no room for his personal feelings that could so easily be hurt right now.

Bruce didn’t feel the need to laugh anymore; the urge was replaced efficiently with an ache of stabbing guilt. “What?” He whispered. His feet stopped carrying the pair forward immediately, and he was frozen on the carpet.

“I promise I can do better. I am really sorry.” The plea was in stark contrast to the hardness of his previous tone. Now apprehension and begging pounded heavily from behind his words, born deep in his gut. It was obvious Tim didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but he still hoped it would change Bruce’s mind. Tim looked down at the Robin suit he still wore and visibly relaxed a fraction, hoping that because Bruce hadn't already snatched it from him meant it wasn’t too late for Tim.

“Tim, what are you apologizing for?” Bruce asked, voice still hushed but presenting a hint of worry. He did not know what he had missed in the time between driving Tim home and now, standing on the second floor of the mansion and holding the child.

Tim’s eyes met Bruce's for a brief moment before falling and landing at his collar instead, while he threaded the corner of his own cape through shaking fingers. He stayed quiet for longer than Bruce was comfortable with, but the man waited in patient silence anyway while Tim wracked his brain for the thing he supposedly did wrong. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough, but I promise I will be. I will try even harder.”

“Tim,” Bruce began again, eyebrows furrowing and tightening his grip on Tim protectively. You have nothing to apologize for. You are already trying so hard and it shows with your excellent work. You are good enough and you have been from the very beginning because you are strong and brilliant and loyal and-

“Please don’t fire me,” Tim whispered before Bruce could spit out any of the overwhelming thoughts that cluttered his worried mind.

“I am not firing you. What is this about?” He asked, instead.

“Patrol ended early tonight, and you didn’t trust me to grapple down from that building...” Tim rambled softly, picking at his fingernail with intense interest.

“I ended patrol and grappled down with you because you fell asleep-“

“I didn’t fall asleep,” Tim snapped gruffly and Bruce couldn’t help the challenge in his fast-lifting eyebrow. Tim appeared sheepish as his cheeks colored, and he murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I promise it will never happen again.”

“You aren’t in trouble for falling asleep, and you aren’t fired. You were tired so we came home a little early,” Bruce stated firmly.

“What?” Tim stiffened, suddenly feeling very small while still clutched firmly in Bruce’s strong arms, who stood like a rock as though Tim’s weight was not a hindrance. “I’m not in trouble?”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” And now it was Bruce’s turn to freeze. He couldn’t believe he allowed that word to slip from his lips while speaking to Tim Drake, the child technically in his care as Batman and Robin, but one that already had a father. Tim was not another orphan in need of love and attention, waiting for Bruce to take him into his home.

“Oh,” Tim whispered, staring with pupils blown and cheeks darkening further. And against all odds, Bruce felt Tim relax in his arms as he returned his head to the man’s chest. With a deep breath of relief, Bruce continued his trek. “But, I really can walk now. You didn’t have to carry me.”

“I’m expecting you to carry me up all of these stairs next time,” Bruce responded easily, earning a small giggle.

“Won’t Alfred be mad about us wearing all of this stuff up here?” Tim murmured, lightly kicking his boot-covered toes and holding a corner of his cape up as clear evidence of their misdemeanor.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I already told Alfred it was your fault.” Bruce tossed Tim onto the bed-Tim’s bed, as it was in Bruce’s and Alfred’s minds. Tim saw the room as the guest bedroom because he didn’t know it was only ever occupied by him. He remained seemingly oblivious to the fact that Alfred had purchased posters of Tim’s favorite movies for the walls and Bruce lined the bookshelves with comics, novels, and figurines all for him. Tim noticed the items, but he assumed they belonged to Dick.

Tim landed on the mattress with a surprised burst of air forced out in the shape of a laugh. Where Dick would complain dramatically while wearing a smirk and Jason would bite back with a playful eye roll, Tim just giggled at Bruce’s antics. Bruce thought they were all three so perfect.

“Do you need to call your father?” Bruce asked, trying to sound passive though watching carefully as Tim toed off his boots and unclipped his cape, tossing them both to the floor in a messy heap. He worked hard to hide the bitterness in his voice regarding Tim’s distant upbringing, but it shone violently when he spoke in private about the matter to Alfred.

“Nah, he’s probably asleep, and he won’t want me to bother him. I’ll text him tomorrow,” Tim’s voice didn’t waver because this negligence was considered normal based on years of experience. Bruce swallowed a frustrated growl that threatened to break through with force and fury, and he turned to the dresser.

“Want clean clothes? We put some of Dick’s old t-shirts and shorts in here for you.” Tim’s chest thumped sore hearing that. Being offered Bruce’s child’s clothing seemed very personal, very loving. But Tim reminded himself that he was not Bruce’s son, though he often wished to be. He wanted from Bruce what he didn’t get from his own father, the things he saw at those fancy parties from afar, painfully apparent with the hugs and forehead kisses. The taste of it he had when he woke up being carried to the guest bedroom instead of left in the dark cave downstairs. Tim longed for that. Bruce didn’t notice his dilemma, and he continued muttering instead, “Most of it is Superman-themed because he is a brat...”

“But you love him,” Tim stated aloud, catching Bruce by surprise. Bruce had noticed that this particular one had a tendency to do that. He surprised Bruce when he admitted he knew he was Batman. He surprised Bruce daily with his impressive detective skills. He surprised Bruce now. The man turned toward him with eyebrows high, but Tim ducked around his look as he hopped off the bed and approached the dresser. The words sounded like a spoken fact but felt almost like a question to Bruce, and so he answered it.

“I do love him.” He confirmed as he watched Tim shuffle through Dick’s clothes before settling on a Mario and Luigi t-shirt and a black pair of shorts.

“And you loved Jason,” another statement-question hybrid as he slipped into the attached bathroom, closing the door and peeling his suit from his body.

“I will always love Jason,” Bruce answered firmly through the door. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

He winced as he said it. Another slip that sounded a bit too parental. Though he couldn’t deny the tug at his chest when he heard the faucet turn on and the sound of bristles against teeth whispered underneath the door.

And of course Tim had a toothbrush in his bathroom at the manor.

“Because they are your sons.” Tim stepped out of the bathroom moments later and walked to the bed, crawling atop and sitting on the warm duvet. “Your mishpachah.”

Bruce slowly approached the bed, tilting his head and drawing his eyebrows with concern. “I love them because I love them. They are my mishpachah and the rest is an added privilege. Is something wrong?”

Tim grinned widely in response and shook his head. “‘Course not, Bruce.” But something was wrong and Tim wasn’t sure how to voice it. “I was just wondering is all.”

The gut feeling deep in Bruce's abdomen poked him and whispered, he’s lying. Bruce hummed in response and gave the kid a scrutinizing look, eyes narrowing slightly. Tim just continued to wear a goofy grin, and Bruce reached out and dropped a hand softly to the top of his head. Tim giggled between his teeth and continued to watch Bruce with an interested look of his own.

“Tim,” Bruce spoke with a light voice, gentle and warm. “You know, you are also my mishpachah.” Tim’s eyes widened comically and his mouth clenched tightly closed. “Even though you don’t live here, you are my family.”

Tim bit at his lip, and he lowered his eyes for a moment. He thought of Dick’s clothes that he wore, his toothbrush drying in the bathroom, this bedroom that he always stayed in when he spent the night at Bruce’s. He thought of Bruce carrying him inside the mansion when he could have simply woken him up. Tim tends to sleep like the dead, or so his father told him, but if he were pulled out of the car by an arm, he would have eventually woken up. Finally, the corner of his mouth lifted in a shy smile, and he whispered, “Thank you.”

Bruce smiled with pride and continued, “You did an excellent job tonight, Timothy.”

“Timothy,” he parroted with a snicker. “So formal.” Bruce rolled his eyes and ruffled Tim’s hair with that hand that still rested on his head. He then stepped away from him while Tim slid under the covers and laid his head on the pillow. Gravity was already pulling his eyelids closed to sleep once more. “Thanks, Bruce. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Tim.” He had to stop himself from leaning in and pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead. Because the kid already had a father, no matter how much Bruce wanted to fill that role. “Sleep well, ziskayt.”

Though truth be told, he already considered this child his own.

:) The rest can be found here: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32502511/chapters/80612944

[river-bottom-nightmare]

red had always been a comforting colour. his parents eye-catching uniforms of the brightest scarlet had been a keystone part of circ d’haleé, and he drew comfort in the colours of his family. but then, the fall happened. and year after year after year, he became unable to separate red from blood. it didn’t matter that the red was light and bright and happy. the faintest glimpse, and dark deep red pooled in, sluggish and staining, bringing to mind nothing but bruce kneeling over in pain, harsh breaths from his family members as they tried to hide the agony they were in. 

orange was good, though. wally could call himself a “redhead” all he wanted, but the speedster’s hair matched his freckles, and they were both a bold, eye-catching orange. barbara’s hair was more deep and kori’s hair was made of fire, but wally’s hair and freckles and general person was one of the warmest things he’d had ever felt. it meant easy laughter, the kind that he’d been sorely lacking ever since he came to live in the mausoleum bruce called a manor. it meant casual hugs and nights out with the team and indulging in junk food for once and friendship. he’d never expected to like it, but it had somehow wormed its way into becoming one of his favourite colours.

yellow was warm, too, but a different kind. yellow meant a deep shade of dijon, dark enough to blend in with the night, but bright enough that when it was splayed across the bat’s chest, it brought some feeling of safety in both vicitms batman rescued and in robin himself. yellow meant a new addition to the family, and he didn’t know duke all that well yet but he was determined to, because he’d long since given up on understanding bruce’s adopting tendencies but having a semi-mentally stable sibling sounded like fun. yellow meant horrible fashion choices that he tried out with donna, the colour of alfred’s stand mixer, crayons scattered on the ground as damian tried to prove one could, in fact, create a masterpiece with only crayola. yellow was his safety net.

green used to bring to mind family, too. there were green accents on his old acrobat uniform, and so there was green he made sure robin had green as well. but he got older and the colour got duller and now the only thing he could see was the league of assassins. damian hunched over a dark green tunic he’d brought with him, clutching it as if his mother’s perfume was embedded in the fabric, always searching for her smile and always ignorant of her nails digging into his back. and a sickly neon green glow came from jason’s eyes whenever he got angry, whenever he was filled with pit rage, and it reminded him that nobody came back to the dead fully healed. he waited until damian had stopped shaking to hug him and offered jason a chili dog laced with the promise of a don’t-ask-don’t-tell friendship and tried to quiet that bitter voice in the back of his head that complained about how tired he was of his second family ruining the colours of his first. 

blue, though. blue was his escape. blue was freedom, blue was beauty, blue was life. ever since the first time he flung himself recklessly into the sky, surrounded by a shade of cerulean that seeped into his skin and never left, he was convinced that blue was his birthright. no, that wasn’t right. his destiny. blue was him recklessly flinging himself onto a moving train, blue was diving into the ocean with nothing but the clothes on his back and a plan, blue was laughing as he jumped from building to building without a grapple. blue was adrenaline thrumming through his veins, singing a chorus of seductive danger. blue was falling to the ground over and over and over again, but always finding a way to pick himself back up. and no matter how many hits he took, tracing his fingers over that blue emblem in his suit gave him a surge of courage, the strength to keep smiling in a way that was genuine, never forced.

he hadn’t really cared much about purple, before. it was the colour of royalty, and royalty he was not. but then an eggplant-coloured whirlwind of a girl bust her way, not into his own life, but into the gotham vigilante scene. and suddenly, tim’s laughter was ringing out into the air, ten times more often than before. babs was quirking her eyebrows with fond exasperation, commenting on how nice it was to have another girl around. cass was coming out of her shell, responding beautifully to a purple cape and hood, gaining the confidence to start speaking. later on, purple was the colour of the bridge that formed between the red hood and the bats, because nothing said friendship like shared upbringings and shared hatred for the same man. so no, he never really got to know the girl clad in purple. what he did know was that she somehow brought the family together, accidentally of course, but it happened nonetheless. the colour purple was draped in his respect.

black and white were two sides of the same coin, and he was torn between loving and hating each one. black was known to be the colour of death, the colour of mourning, yet his family had always told him that you wear white to a funeral. white was the colour of purity and innocence, yet it was black-clad glove that hesitantly took his hand, trying his best to be a parent. emily dickinson said white was the colour of passion though, and emily dickinson meant jason’s quiet rambing when he was passionate. but how to train your dragon said that black could be comforting, and batman’s cape protecting him from the world only ever supported that theory. he would walk along the edge of that two-faced coin, except his family hated coins because of two-face. but one of the constants of life was that it was never constant, and he could change his opinion on black and white colours if he wanted to. 

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,someone please tell me what the fuck i just wrote because believe you me i have no idea. 

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @dangerduckjpeg @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog

[flyingkiki]

I Do? (1/?)

NEW #TIMRAE SERIES ALERT, my lovelies!! I couldn’t help myself. This came to me and I needed to get this going. Steam up ahead! Celebrating a steamy Valentine’s Day month for our favorite little birbs!

Full chapter 1 one now up! All the chaotic goodness is below the line. As promised - multi-chaptered, multi-chaos, and multi-steamy.  

Hi! @athenadione!!! hihihi.  

~

When Tim woke up the next day, he felt like a 10-wheeler truck had run over him. His head was pounding, quite literally close to exploding, and he could barely see through the haze of pain. Blindly pushing his blanket off his naked torso, he silently groaned at the movement and willed the world to stop spinning. He silently wondered just how tired he was from last night’s mission.

Rolling to his side, Tim groaned at the movement and felt his world cant dangerously to the side. His stomach lurched and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer top stop the treacherous motions. His world seemed to take another dip again, in a soft up and down motion, before stilling as he pressed his eyes tighter together. Pressing his face into his pillow, he gathered every ounce of his willpower to pull himself up into a seated position and grab the glass of water he usually would leave next to his bedside table the night before.

With a soft groan, Tim heaved himself up and pressed his bare back against his headboard. He was mildly aware that his rather naked legs and ass easily slid against his sheets – he must have been so tired last night that he just stripped out of his clothes and tumbled into bed. Wiggling his toes to get some sense of alertness back into his body, Tim cracked open his eyes, wiped his left hand against his face, and blinked blearily at his bedroom.

He immediately noticed several things:

There was no water next to him on his bedside table.

The ugly vase that Dick gave to him as a birthday present all those years ago was broken in one corner of the room.

Clothes were strewn all over the room – some of it definitely not his own.

There was someone in his bed.

Tim’s stomach churned and he momentarily broke through his delirious haze and stared at the painfully familiar asleep face that had turned to him. His chest tightened in panic and he felt a million warning bells go off in his head as he searched for at least one memory from last night. Last night’s debrief came to mind and that was it. Tim silently panicked – what exactly happened last night?

He watched in slow motion as the woman shifted next to him, bare shoulder peeking through his comforter as she curled towards him, making Tim all too aware that she was naked. He felt her feet brush against his right leg and he heard her sigh in content.

His gaze drifted to her small hand splayed over his pillow, familiar shoulder length black hair tangled into her fingers. Tim felt his panic immediately rise to this throat as his gaze dropped to the gold ring on her ring finger. Married. His pain addled brain told him she was not married because he had reread her files before she came to Gotham for the mission. So –?

His heart felt ready to explode as his eyes flew to his left hand. Through the haze of pain and panic, he inhaled sharply and stared at the identical gold ring on his left ring finger.

Holy fucking shit.

Tim felt his stomach take another painful lurch and his mind swam through the fog of last night, trying to make sense of what exactly happened in the last – he checked his watch – 7 hours. He could hear his ears ringing and he felt his chest tighten.

Next to him, Tim felt the bed move again followed by a soft sigh. He wondered if he was going to have a heart attack as his heart beat pounded in his chest and watched familiar deep blue eyes open slowly and blink blearily into his pillow.

“Your emotions are so loud,” she croaked into his pillows.

Tim watched a little breathlessly as his bedmate sleepily pressed her face into his pillow before slowly uncurling next to him. Dark blue eyes blinked up at him and he watched as her brows slowly drew together in confusion, and probably pain, as she finally registered him next to her. In bed.

“Oh shit,” Raven breathed.

Holy fucking shit indeed, Tim thought. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Raven slowly wake up and realization dawned in her eyes. She shrank into his bed, her blue eyes catching his own. “Tim,” she whispered, drawing out his name breathlessly as she stared at his chest then back at his face. Her fingers instinctively drew around her and pulled his blankets closer to her naked chest.

“What happened last night?” she whispered harshly, pulling herself up to sit in bed next to him and she glared. She sounded exhausted, her voice rough and cracking. Raven tugged the blanket around her chest tighter as her mind caught up with her and Tim had to hold on to his end of the blanket to avoid losing it around his waist – not that it really mattered any more, since they both obviously had sex at this point. Tim mentally groaned. Dick was going to kill him. Dragging his hand across his face again, he sighed. Scratch that – Bruce was going to kill him, Tim realized as he became all too aware again of the foreign press of a ring against his cheek. Fuck.

Tim offered her a pained look as Raven stared openly at the mess in his bedroom. His chest tightened as he watched her, things definitely should not have turned out this way. “I don’t know,” he said earnestly. He watched Raven sigh in frustration, drawing her eyebrows together and run her hand through her black hair – a tick he had observed her do over the last couple of days while she and Cyborg were helping out in Gotham. She swept her long hair over her right shoulder with a frustrated sigh. He caught sight of her slender neck and suddenly felt like he was punched in the throat. Hickeys. Lots of them ran from her shoulder to her neck – a rather large one prominently stood out just at the base of her neck.

“You don’t know?” Raven asked incredulously with a frown. It was honestly a bit surprising how well she took the whole situation, waking up naked in bed with him after a long night of sex both obviously could not remember. He figured there were stranger things that had happened in their lives. But still – this was terrible. “I cannot remember anything after last night’s debrief,” she paused as she tried to recall last night’s events. “And coffee?”

Coffee. Tim blankly stared at his hands on top of his comforter as he tried to recall going out for coffee at two in the morning. Yeah – they somehow did end up getting coffee at an empty dinner. But what happened after? His mind whizzed, trying to blindly grapple through the fog when his heart stuttered to a halt as a whisper of a memory slipped through his mind – a breathy laugh, a small hand pressed into his arm, a kiss to the cheek, a soft body pressed into the corner of the booth.

Holy hell. Tim inhaled sharply and ignored the warm jolt that spread through his body. He backpedaled from the whispy memory because this was certainly not the time to get morning wood. Oh god.

“What the fuck is this?”

Raven stared at her ring finger, her hand raised in front of her face and she gapped at the gold ring. Her eyes flew to Tim, who winced at the glare she sent him. “What the fuck did we do, Tim?!” she snapped and her eyes widened at the sight of the identical ring on his finger.

It was a stupid question, Tim thought, because if by the soreness of their bodies and the visible bruising and bite-marks along the just the right places were any indication, they both knew exactly what happened last night. “I’m trying to figure that out,” he replied, a little tense.

“Did we get married?!” she asked in bewilderment. He listened to her release a string of curses as he shifted in bed. Did they get married? Maybe the wedding rings were just that – rings. Without any legal documents, they were not technically married. Tim could check. Yeah, he thought to himself, if there was no legal document they could just sweep this – whatever this was – behind them.

Ignoring Raven, Tim groaned as he rolled himself out of bed and stood up. He was vaguely aware of the soft intake of breath and her eyes boring into his naked form. At this point he could care less with propriety – they already had sex anyway. Walking across his bedroom, albeit a little wobbly, Tim picked up his boxers and pulled them back on. He groaned, bending down made his muscles ache. Fishing through the discarded (torn) clothes on the ground, he tried to find his phone to use to hack into the civil registry system to cross check their names.

“What are you doing!?” Raven hissed watching Tim walk around naked. Tim finally found his phone in his discarded jeans. As he pulled out his phone a haphazardly folded up piece of paper fell out with it. His muscles ached as he instinctively bent down to pick up the folded piece of paper. Unfolding the piece of paper, Tim felt immediate dread pool low in his stomach. Ignoring Raven as she called his name, Tim’s heart dropped and he realized it would have been much better to have been hit by a 10-wheeler truck than find himself in this current clusterfuck they were in. Oh, Dick and Bruce were going to skin him alive. Tim blinked and stared at the cheap gaudy curved script that stared back at him.

This certifies that Timothy Jackson Wayne and Rachel Roth were united in marriage on…

“Fuck.” Tim felt like he was getting lightheaded.

He barely noticed Raven shuffle towards him, heavily bundled up in his thick comforter. Under different circumstances, he would have thought she looked cute. He sighed in resignation as he held out the crumpled paper for her to read. He watched as sheer horror crossed her face.

“Elvis officiated our wedding?!”

~

They were infected by Ivy’s pheromone pollen. Sex pollen. A pollen that lowered inhibitions, played with their desires, and made people generally horny and stupid. Raven was not sure how exactly they missed the pollen last night but she vaguely remembered the pollen did not come up when Cyborg scanned her for any injuries last night.

Raven knew that coming to Gotham for this crazy Doctor Light manhunt with Cyborg was a terrible idea. Doctor Light was in Gotham to ransack Wayne Tech and somehow ended up teaming up with Poison Ivy and Harley. Everything was fine until last night, after they apprehended their little circus. Fuck her damn life.

Raven bounced her leg absently, another nervous tick she really was not proud of. Tim and her were in back in the Batcave, they immediately drove over after this morning’s rather surprising discovery. Seeing the hulking form of Bruce Wayne dressed in a business suit had her just a tiny bit intimidated. Bruce had returned to the manor immediately after receiving a call from Tim that morning that he was unable to report to work and they had to meet back at the Cave immediately. Code Zeta, apparently – code for probably “I had a one-night stand and I got married last night in Vegas. Help.” A look of total bewilderment and sheer disbelief crossed his face after Tim explained what happened – glossing over most parts though.

Cyborg looked just about ready to blow a fuse as he all but glowered at Tim. Tim shot him a dark look as well, patience obviously drawing thin. No one in the cave was a fan of the recent developments.

“You are what?” Bruce asked, voice raised and blue eyes blown wide. Raven shrank in her oversized t-shirt and sweatpants – both Tim’s because whatever clothes she wore last night to Tim’s place were in shreds. Both seemed very eager last night to consummate their marriage.

“Married?” Tim snapped, tired of repeating himself over and over. He sat slumped on the medbay bed, sleeve rolled up for where an amused Alfred drew a blood sample earlier. Raven watched Tim scowl darkly at Bruce, who returned the scowl with equal intensity.

“What exactly happened last night?!” Cyborg growled. He stood in the middle of the Cave and glanced at the large BatComputer screen where they had scanned and uploaded Tim and Raven’s marriage certificate (Raven’s stomach heaved) and confirmed that yes, that shit was authentic and yes, Elvis officiated their wedding. His cybernetic eye flashed dangerously and glared both at Raven and Tim, though largely at Tim.

“I’d rather not give you a blow by blow,” shot back Raven, glaring back at Cyborg. Tim winced at her poor choice of words and Cyborg returned her scowl. “Because all of us in this this shitty Cave know exactly what happened last night,”

Bruce sighed loudly, swiping his hand over his face and loosened his tie. He needed to breathe. “This is a nightmare,” he grumbled and turned towards the computer.

“You’re telling me,” Raven breathed and glared at Bruce’s back as he began typing into the computer. She just wanted to go back to the Tower and forget this entire thing happened. She wanted her single status back.

“O?” Bruce called after patching in Barbara.

“Hey, B,” Raven watched as the redhead appeared on the screen. A look of surprise crossed Barbara’s face as she saw the rest of the occupants of the Cave. “I thought you guys would be back in Jump by now, Vic?”

“Looks like someone might just stay here much longer,” Cyborg grumbled and shot Raven a dirty look who quickly glared back.

“What’s going on?” Barbara cocked her head curiously.

“We have a bit of a situation,” Bruce said with a strained voice. (“Bit?!” huffed Cyborg.) “Look,” he said and sent her the scanned marriage certificate. “Could you do something about this?”

Raven watched as Barbara’s eyes widened and a look of sheer surprise crossed her face. “What the fuck,” Barbara breathed. She stared at Tim, who had walked up to Bruce with an annoyed expression. “Tim!” she hissed, drawing out his name.

Tim sighed, “Can you do something about this? Erase the files?”

Barbara hummed, typing into her computer. She made a face and looked back up at them. “You guys are definitely legally married. You even have a marriage license – how on earth did you even get a license at 3 in the morning?”

“When you’re drugged and horny anything is possible,” Raven said sardonically. Cyborg shot her pained look. Tim released a strangled groan.

Barbara made a face and returned to her typing. After a few minutes, Barbara looked up and her look was a beautiful mix of amusement and apologetic. “So,” she breathed. “I could totally erase the files, that’s easy enough,” she said.

Raven’s eyes narrowed as she caught Barbara’s tone. She watched Tim tense and cross his arms defensively. “But?” she asked.

Despite sounding apologetic, she shot them a highly amused look. “#WayneVegasWedding is currently trending number one on Twitter worldwide,” She made a face. “I don’t think there’s a lot I can do at this point to make that go away,”

“These cuties came in and got married today! Best wishes to Tim and Rachel! <3 #WayneVegasWedding,”

Raven stared in horror as Elvis’ tweet (@HoundDogVegasBoi) flashed on the screen. His ugly Elvis hairdo took up half of the picture, but there right next to the grinning Elvis impersonator was a very clear image of Tim and Raven, pressed into her each other. Tim was grinning broadly at the camera, arm slung over Raven’s shoulder while she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Is that Tim Wayne?! #WayneVegasWedding????”

“OMG. Hottie no longer on the market! #WayneVegasWedding!”

“WHO IS SHE!? Why did she take my boi? #WayneVegasWedding”

Raven glowered and several lights exploded over their heads. “Well, fuck.”

[anothertimdrakestan]

Heat Waves (TimKon)

Words: 3k

Hi! I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been working on this for way too long and definitely have a pt2 planned out if you guys like part one! I hope you’ll take the time to read this because I spent way too long on it and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out!

for the like 0.1% of my audience that this overlaps with, yes, i too am utterly obsessed with Heat Waves for DNF and have been listening to this song on repeat for three days straight waiting for chapter 8. But, i figured why not let that amazing piece of absolute art inspire a Timkon fic cuz they have the same dynamic as DNF in my eyes! All credits go to tbhyourelame on ao3!

if you don’t know what heat waves is that’s fine this is just a regular fic but I highly recommend you checkout the amazing song here 

It was as hot as death itself in Kansas. Not to mention a farm with no AC was just about the worst place Conner could be forced to “vacation” at. But Ma and Pa had been begging to have him over and the month of June just seemed to overlap, so there Kon was, sweating buckets in the middle of nowhere. 

It felt so cold in Gotham. Though, the temperature was comfortable- the most comfortable it had been all year- but Tim always felt colder, lonelier, when Conner wasn’t by his side. The two of them were a duo, fitting together like a puzzle piece, the absolute best of friends and best of heroes. But now, he was using his mandatory away-from-the-tower weeks up while Conner was in Kansas, it was some sort of mandate that Bruce’s kids come home occasionally and instead of suffering weekends in Gotham Tim opted to just grind out a few weeks at the manor, even if it meant dealing with Damian’s unrelenting murder attempts. But it wasn’t all bad, Tim got to patrol with Bruce again, hang out with Jason occasionally, and even see Dick from time to time. “Family” bonding at it’s finest. 

“Hello?” Tim’s voice was quiet, Kon constantly felt himself turning the volume button up on his phone just to hear a decibel more of his best friend’s comforting tone. 

“Hey Timbers how was your day?” Conner felt himself relaxing to the light sound of Tim breathing, he was laying on the floor, spread like a starfish so that no sticky part of his body could touch and create more sweat. 

“Nothing much, no patrol tonight- I guess you remembered,” Tim’s voice was filling his ears. I remember everything you tell me. “Yeah, yeah I did,” Conner quickly replied. “Any boring farm chores today?” Conner heard the familiar rustling, he could hear Tim stand up, he’d memorized the sound of Tim taking him off speaker and resting the phone in between his shoulder and ear. He could hear Tim’s hair, that he knew he was probably growing out, brush the mic. I always liked his hair longer. 

“Kon?” Tim snapped him back into the stiflingly hot room. “Oh sorry, it’s really hot here, kinda makes me zone out. Um, I’m alright I got to hangout with the cows today which was cool- they don’t like the heat either but Ma says it’ll be over soon,” Conner rambled, all too focused on Tim’s breath in his ear. 

“Sorry for making you zone out, I guess nothing interesting is happening here,” Tim sighed, Conner shook his head, rolling over on the floor, leaning down into the mic of his phone. 

“Nothing about you bores me Tim,” 

Tim didn’t reply. Conner mentally cursed himself, he was really too tired, too hot and bothered to be this flirtatious with Tim, who was a complete wild card when it came to Conner. 

And then he answered, Tim’s voice was higher pitched, the way it ascended when he was blushing- he was blushing. “Well that’s not true, I’m very boring. When I’m doing cases or training or-” Conner couldn’t take it. 

“Nothing about you could bore me Tim. I’m down to be with you whenever, doing whatever, you know that,” he felt his tone soften, loving the way Tim’s breath hitched with every compliment.

“Be with me?” Tim shot back playfully, Conner could practically hear the smirk toying on the smaller boy’s lips. 

“Did I stutter?” Conner heard a loud noise, a thump. Tim’s voice was high pitched again, “Sorry- uh I dropped my phone,” Conner felt himself growing warmer, if at all physically possible. “No problem. So, what are you doing tomorrow with Bruce?” Conner didn’t like pushing Tim too far, hell, he barely knew how he felt half the time. Tim’s voice brightened, “Oh! We’re gonna go to this old ice cream shop I adored as a kid! It’s been too long since I’ve been there, you remember me talking about it?” 

Conner didn’t need a second to answer, “Sub 30, you always get the one with the espresso poured over it,” he couldn’t lie, ice cream sounded absolutely heavenly at the moment. Tim’s voice flooded through the heat, “Right as always- I swear they programmed some sort of photographic memory inside of you,” Tim teased, Conner answered honestly, “I just listen when you tell me things”. The night went on, Tim quickly had to go, believe it or not he did sleep when given the opportunity. “Try not to die of heat exhaustion, drink lots of water throughout the day, not all at once,” Conner smiled, “will do, goodnight Timmy,” Tim answered mid yawn, “night Kon”.

And then he was alone. Alone with the heat, with his thoughts, the latter far more dangerous. He’s my best friend, of course I remember everything. Conner found himself staring at the ceiling, Ma had painted constellations on the walls and ceilings of the room, something funny about alien genes liking the stars. Conner used to be able to find every pattern, name every star, but the only shape he could trace was Tim. There were his eyes, they were pools of deep blue, they sparkled when he laughed but could glare bullets when he tried. If he stared hard enough Kon could find his hair, it’s always soft and smells delicious, layers falling effortlessly- cascading to frame his face. Then there were his lips, Conner found himself constantly mesmerized with the way Tim bit his bottom lip when thinking, the way they scrunched together when he said something funny, how they constricted when he bit the inside of his cheek just enough to hide the emotion he was so scared of portraying. They were perfect. 

He let the heat take his mind, flowing with the stars as he thought dangerous thoughts about his best friend. His thoughts danced around Tim’s waist, flowing carefully around his chest, wrapping Kon in every layer of Tim’s personality, every smile, laugh, tear, scowl, it was Tim. Kon’s Tim. 

And there, on the floor, he drifted to an uncomfortable, sweaty sleep.

~

Tim was scrolling aimlessly through his phone, Gotham was surprisingly boring. He once found the city bustling and distinctly alive but now it only left him cold, cold and bored. 

“Ice cream as good as you remember?” Bruce’s voice lifted him from his device. “Yup! Can’t believe you let me have espresso at like 10, you basically started my addiction.” Tim threw on a smile, glancing down at the half eaten dessert. “Yeah, can’t say I was the best father but, I tried,” Bruce’s shoulders shook lightly, but the laughter didn’t make it to his eyes. Did you really try? Truly? Tim dove back into the creamy sweet, admiring the bitterness the espresso brought the flavor. His phone buzzed.

K: Did you get the ice cream?

T: yeah, you remembered?

K: You literally told me last night

T: have i been off your mind since? 

K: No.

Conner always did this, every time Tim thought he’d throw him off guard with something funny or flirtatious just to have a little fun Kon took it and ran with it. And I’m always the one who ends up blushing. Tim thought, shaking his head. It was really his fault he let Conner get him riled up. They were best friends, flirting or dealing out little sexual quips were natural, and often pretty funny. 

“Earth to Tim? I’ve got a meeting you wanna head back while I head to the office?” Tim glanced over at Bruce who was now standing up in front of him. “Yeah, I can work on cases back at the manor, you gonna head to the office?” stretching his arms he stood up, noticing Bruce had put on his business face- the one stone cold and dry that only brought back the worst memories. “Yes.” His response was gruff, Tim suppressed the shudder that tried to dance down his spine. “Uh yeah, I’ll head back, have a nice day B,” he smiled, hoping it made it to his eyes. 

~

“You can’t keep calling me while I’m on patrol, it’s not safe,” Tim chastised Conner loosely, appreciating the company as his patrol with Damian was always deathly silent. “C’mon, you’re used to having me in your ear,” Tim gulped, glancing around for Damian who was three buildings over, deeply uninterested. “Kon, oh my god, I’m gonna mute you,” Tim whispered, revelling in the chuckle that stirred in Conner’s chest. It was deep, and warm, so distinctly warm Tim felt the heat budding in his chest. 

“So, patrol with the demon? He hasn’t cut your grapple line yet?” Conner’s tone was low and silky smooth. Coughing to clear his throat Tim replied, “nope, he’s most horrific when Bruce is here, when he’s not the punk couldn’t care less whether I live or die,” 

“I care,”

“I know Kon,” If only you knew how much I appreciated it. 

“Asshole, can you hear me? I said we’ve got a gang robbery on second? You coming genius?” Damian’s disgusted tone flooded over his comm, and Tim quickly turned his attention to the bat-brat who was already grappling towards the alarms and shouts. Conner’s whisper asked, “can he hear me?” and Tim replied, “no, you’re on a separate channel, Dami can only hear me when I unmute. Just be quiet while I take out these thugs,”

“Why? Because my voice distracts you?” Conner’s tone shifted into dangerously flirtatious. 

“No, cuz you’re annoying as shit,” Tim smirked, running across the top of a building, letting Damian call the signals so he didn’t get all upset. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable Tim? Do I make you forget just exactly what you’re doing, whether you want to use your batarang or bo staff? Do I make you, warm? Because it’s so warm here, so hot, god I’m just so hot I-”

“Shut. Up.” Tim struck the gun out of a scared looking man. Rolling his eyes at the man in his ear.

“Why? Are you too focused? We’ve taken out much harder criminals all while talking. Aren’t we just talking right now?” Kon’s voice was ringing in his head like never before. 

“I’m trying to focus but it’s no good when you’re in my ear.”

“And what if I wasn’t in your ear? You remember? When we work side by side, so close- are you an affectionate person Tim?” Tim could feel the heat dripping off of Conner’s voice, but he was taken aback by Conner’s new line of thought.

“Wha- what? Am I affectionate? I don’t know. Sometimes?” Tim almost missed a hit, huffing as Damian blocked what would’ve been a hard blow on him. “Start paying attention Drake,” Damian’s tone was acidic. But he was drawn back into his com as Conner’s voice flooded his ears again.

“Would you be affectionate with me?”

“Yes” Tim’s breathless reply was instant, his brain not giving him a chance to think.

“Good, I like that. You know I’m very affectionate too? I like getting to hold the people I care about close, feeling their warmth. You know I’m very warm right now?”

“I- I know Kon, I bet, are you doing alright? Drinking water?” Tim shook out the thought of Conner lazing out in his room, sweaty, lips parted as he pushed out warm breath- Stop. Focus. Your job is to defend these people. Damian’s doing a good job, You just have to round up the civilians. Tim forced himself back into the real world, taking on one of the gang members with ease, tying him up swiftly before moving on to the next.

“I heard that, I can hear it every time you take out one of those men. This is easy isn’t it? I can’t be that distracting to you. You’re too good.”

“You always do this,” Tim felt his cheeks heating up, his steps felt forced, like he had to remind himself to breathe. Tim carefully rounded up civilians, escorting them to safety as Conner started again in his ear. 

“Always do what Tim? Tell you how much I appreciate you? How much I miss you? Do you not think you deserve to be missed? To be loved?”

“Conner” Tim’s tone was harsher than he wanted it to be. But nonetheless Conner continued. 

“Why not? Why the hell not? You’re amazing Tim.”

Tim scoffed, playing it off as a cough to the people in front of him.

“What do you need to hear Tim? That you’re amazing? Brilliant?-”

“Oh my god Kon-” Tim interrupted, but Conner wasn’t done.

“Talented? Impressive? [his tone deepended] - Attractive?” 

“I’m gonna hang up,” Tim was breathing so hard he was practically hyperventilating. The compliments were all that consumed his thoughts, swirling around his brain, packing it full of deep, dangerously flammable thoughts. 

And Conner was ready to let it burn.

“You need to be kissed Tim,” Conner murmurs, throat raw, “so hard that you can’t remember your name- maybe then you’ll understand what I mean.”

The batarang in Tim’s hand clattered to the floor. Damian’s head whipped to him as Tim struggled to regain function. 

“I’m muting you, see you in a bit,” was all Tim could choke out before he ripped the earpiece out, unable to let it sit, burning into his skull. You’re almost done here, cool down, finish up. Tim told himself as he manually reminded himself to breathe. You’ve got this. 

~

Conner knew Tim ended the call. But he didn’t have the energy to stop the endless beeping from the disconnected phone. 

He was laying on the floor of his room, limbs spread out as he clawed for anything that could cool him down, but all he could feel was heat as he stared up at the stars.

He had to admit, he’d pushed Tim further than ever before. But it felt too right to stop, too good. He couldn’t stop replaying the way Tim’s breath hitched after every word, desperately grasping for the feeling budding up in his chest. It was too addictive to not let the words he’d spent too long crafting pour from his lips into Tim’s heart. 

Kon didn’t know how long he laid there, dazed in the heat, just trying to relive word after perfect word. 

Until his phone rang.

“Tim?” his voice was ragged and raw.

Tim’s was high pitched and tight. “Conner what the hell was that? Was that funny to you? Saying all those things- flirting with me while I’m trying to do my job?” 

“Flirting?” Conner mused, staring at the stars with a tattered smirk on his face.

“Don’t act dumb, I don’t know what kind of sick joke it was saying all that while I’m on patrol but I’m glad you think you’re funny,” Tim’s voice was cold. But not the cooling tone, it was sharp, like the way the freeze of ice can feel so painfully hot when applied too harshly. 

“I would’ve said it to you no matter what you were doing,” Conner whispered, resting his phone on his chest, wincing at the sticky noise it made as he tried to adjust it’s positioning. 

“So that was just all for you? To let you listen as you screwed with my brain?” Tim retorted. 

Conner was done dancing around the truth, all forms of control eluding his mind. “Yes,”

“That’s cruel Kon, can you imagine if I did that with you? Told you how you needed to be kissed while you’re out with Jon or something?” Tim sounded exasperated, but at the end of each quip Kon could hear the deep breaths he was taking. Does- Does he like this?

Tim continued. “Don’t answer that. Shut up, I know what you’re gonna say. ‘Oh Tim it’s not the same,’ just- just get out of my head!”

Conner sat up. He was floating. Floating in the middle of his room, the phone on his chest tumbling to the floor as he scrambled to grab it again, feeling his feet touch the ground as he held the phone as close to his lips as he could.

“What do you mean Tim? How am I in your head?” Do you feel the same way I do right now?

“You- you just know me. So well, and when you say stuff like that- when you’re in my ear saying those things your voice, it’s like fire, it burns.” Tim sounded desperate, his voice painfully strained. 

Conner’s head was spinning, “I burn you?” he matched Tim’s desperate tone.

“You melt me.” 

Conner’s head slammed against the roof of his room, as he tried to regain control of his senses he heard Tim murmur, “does that make sense?”

“More than you know Timbers, more than you know,” Conner could hear Tim let out a sigh, the kind that told him all would be okay. 

As Conner took a deep breath, steadying himself for what was to come Tim spoke first. “It’s so late Kon, I’ve been up to long, I think I need to go to bed,” Tim’s tone was soft again, the cooling, comforting tone that Kon was scared he’d never hear again. 

"Yeah, I- uh, have chores in the morning anyways.” Conner answered, hoping to give Tim some peace of mind.

“Okay, sounds good. Goodnight Conner,” Tim said quietly, his tone thoughtful and slow, finally letting the sleep crowd his mind. 

“Goodnight Tim, talk to you tomorrow?” Conner let too much hope sink into those last few words. 

“Yes, night now,” Tim answered easily, quickly hanging up the call, letting Conner sink down back into the carpet of his floor. 

“Tomorrow,” Conner whispered to himself, feeling the intense heat start to creep back in as he drifted into a sweaty sleep.

~

“Tomorrow,” Tim whispered to himself, trying to swallow the nerves he didn’t know Conner could draw out of him. 

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

-

-

-

not my usual fic but I really hope you enjoyed! 

taglist: @vintageroses10 @idkmanicantenglish @kishony-the-geek @foenixphire @how--are--you @psych0crybaby @romance-is-tragic @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @officiallydarkgeek also kita cuz i love u and wanted to try writing timkon more in your style hehehe @river-bottom-nightmare 

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 8

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 8

-----------

About that… It turned out he was very wrong.

It was already past eight when the couple was awoken by the sound of an army trumpet. Immediately, both of them jumped up and took a battle stance, only to see Tim rolling on the floor laughing. Behind him, Jason was snickering and Cass had a bright smile on her face. Damian grabbed the closest item, which happened to be Marinette’s pocket mirror and tossed it at the group. 

Tim and Jason ducked and Cass simply grabbed the mirror from the air, smirked, and checked herself over to make sure her face was still flawless. 

“Tt. Did anyone invite you to this room?”

“Technically, Demon Spawn, only the replacement is inside.” Red Hood sassed him. 

“Where did Drake even get an army trumpet?” Marinette didn’t even realize that she was channeling Damian. His brothers did though and started laughing even harder. 

“Internet,” Cass explained before covering her mouth to stifle a giggle. 

“Tt. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself, but kindly get the hell away from here.” Damian scoffed. 

“Suuureee. I’m not leaving you alone…” Jason was about to reach for his wallet when a small, sharp object flew right past his head. A Batarang embedded itself into the wall.

“I explained it to you in the past Todd. I will draw blood if I need to when it comes to defending my wife’s honor.”

“Calm down, Demon Spawn.” The older brother dismissed him, but his hand was no longer close to his wallet. “We came to spare you the embarrassment of being found like that by Mrs. Cheng.”

Until now, Marinette was too focused on the prank to realize what exactly happened and turned beet red. She meeped and jumped under the covers, red. Damian sent a glare at his brothers (and sister) and rushed at them with his fist. They all quickly scrambled and he closed the doors. 

“Tt. Pests.” He scoffed and turned to his beloved, who peaked from under the covers. 

“They will never let us live it down…” She complained. 

“We can always drop them off on some empty island when they’re asleep,” he offered with a hopeful look.

“But… won’t they wake up too soon?”

“The knock-out gas has more than one use, Angel.” He grinned. 

“So… you want to start a prank war?” She asked with a slight smirk, embarrassment forgotten.

“No. I want to leave them on some empty island.”

“Damian!” 

“Tt. Fine. Prank War. But you’re no fun.” 

Damian left to let Marinette get changed and put on some new clothes himself. They soon met near the stairs and went to dinner. 

Since today both Tim and Jason decided to come by, it was louder. The young couple had to suffer enough teasing to last them a lifetime. Damian promised horrible vengeance to both his brothers. 

“Can I have your katana? I mean now that you’re settling down you won’t need it, right? Maybe for cutting the vegetables. Will you be the househusband?” Jason was slowly approaching the peak of what Damian could take. Right now only the fact that Marinette was holding his hand under the table and that they weren’t saying anything inappropriate yet stopped him from drawing blood. 

“Ehm.” Bruce tried to interrupt the discussion and touch the matter that was actually important.

“Oh! Oh! I want the grappling hook! Mine never works that well!”

“If I tie you up with it and hang you from Wayne Tower, will you shut up?” He grumbled.

“Now, what kind of example will that be for…” Jason started, but then his gaze met Sabine’s and he froze. Suddenly, Hell seemed like a nice place to take vacations. 

“Tt. I dare you to finish, Todd.” Damian smirked, knowing full-well why his brother hesitated. 

“Um… I think I choose to live a little longer.” 

“Smart boy.” Sabine praised him with a bright smile. 

“Ehm.” Bruce tried to get everyone’s attention for the second time. This time, everyone looked at him curiously.

“Tomorrow the class will be visiting Wayne Tower. I would ask all of you to be on your best behavior and either not reveal who you are or what your relation to Damian is.” He started. 

“Did you finally disown him!?” Jason cheered. 

“No. But if the french class learns that Damian is dating someone, the news will be all over the internet within five minutes and we won’t be able to stop it on time.”

“Stop them with legal means you mean?”

“I know what I said. The class is accompanied by an A.I. advanced enough to be vulnerable to possession that is normally reserved to humans. I don’t know what else they have in terms of technology”

“So we get to treat Damian and Nettie as strangers the whole day?”

“No. It would be best if you just avoided the class, but I know it’s too much to ask.”

“Oh! I don’t think it would actually be that hard.” Sabine smiled brightly at the two boys. “After all, they are good boys who don’t want to needlessly make my trip harder, right?” Even though she was smiling, there was this dangerous edge in her voice. 

“Maman. Have you thought about taking tomorrow off? I know how hard dealing with the class is.” Her daughter asked worriedly. Sabine was acting angrier and angrier each time she saw them.

“I’m sorry sweetie. Dealing with that group is indeed tiring. And Caline is beyond useless.”

“It’s a wonder she is even a teacher,” Jason grumbled. 

“She is a good teacher when it comes to her subject, but she just can’t deal with kids…” Marinette said before stopping herself.

“So she is an awful teacher.” Her father commented. “Teaching at school is more than just helping someone learn, Cupcake.” 

“Listen. Tomorrow is the last day before the Gala on Friday. I really want us to have some control over how and what the press learns.”

“So… they don’t hear that Demon Spawn got hitched?”

“That stays strictly in the family. God knows it would make our life even more complicated if we had to somehow explain that mess. We’re almost done with the paperwork to make it binding.”

“I still think we could just ignore it.” Jason tried to push again. Back when Damian was in Paris, each of his attempts was rejected.

“Tt. While I do not need any formal documents, it will make sure that if needed the proper paperwork exists and there is no need to forge it.” 

“It’s a pointless risk though. Personally, I don’t care for the tabloid dramas that much…” 

“You caused a fair share of them,” Tim mumbled. 

“...But I wouldn’t want them,” he nodded toward Tom and Sabine, “to suddenly find themselves swarmed with journalists.” 

“Can’t they just wait two years?” The baker asked, scratching the back of his head. 

“We don’t know how the League will act. We are married so I don’t see any reason not to just have it out of the way. Once we’re adults, we will simply make a public ceremony to give those vultures something to choke on.” Damian said in an emotionless voice. By now Marinette learned that the more he was feeling at the moment, the more passive he tried to appear.

“We can discuss this later on. For now, I want you two to promise that you won’t intentionally reveal Damian.”

“And employees?”

“They won’t be a problem. The ones we must interact with received their instructions already and others will simply avoid me as usual.” 

“I’ll volunteer to serve as the guide and replacement as chaperone,” Jason said suddenly.

“That’s sweet of you, but I can do it. It’s only until Monday anyway. Then, the class will be Gotham Academy’s problem.” Sabine dismissed him. 

“But you and her,” Selina pointed at Marinette, “are coming with me and Stephanie for a spa day. We must look the part at the Gala after all.”

“You won’t hear me protesting.” The tired woman nodded. Cass looked curious between the two of them but didn’t speak anything. It didn’t escape Sabine’s notice. 

“Of course you can come too, Cassandra. That was never under question.” 

“Thank you.” The girl nodded. 

“And don’t forget me!” Chloé reminded everyone that she was still there, even though she opted to for once stay out of the discussion that was not about her. But just this once. 

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

“Is it time?”

“Not yet.” 

“But there are so many potential targets just waiting.” 

“It’s just an illusion. You must wait until something stands out from the crowd.”

“But I want it now!” 

“Don’t act like a spoiled brat. God knows I’ve seen my share of them to last me a lifetime.”

“Soon. Soon we will all get what we wanted.” 

“Indeed.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe, maybe not. If the plan is to succeed, we need to get their attention. Robin was not seen since Hawkmoth’s Fall.”

“It doesn’t matter. They will come. They’ll need to.”

“And if not? If the Justice League comes instead?”

“None of them can purify the Akuma. If they come… You know how Stoneheart ended.” 

“Good.” 

“So now we just wait.”

“It is boring.”

“We could always…”

“No. I prefer to be bored.”

-----------

When the class arrived at Wayne Enterprises, they were greeted by Jason dressed in a semi-formal suit. He looked somewhat professional. If he wasn’t carrying a large plushy centipede that is.

“Um… Are you supposed to be our guide?”

“Oh! No. Not possible. I was supposed to lead a group of six-years-old.” He smirked. 

Damian scowled deeply. He didn’t like to be pranked like that. Then, he noted a Bluetooth headset in Jason’s left ear. Smirking, he pulled a small device from his inner pocket and directed it at him. Seeing Marinette’s questioning gaze, he smirked and activated the tool.

Jason was in the middle of arguing with Madame Bustier when he suddenly jumped and tossed the headset on the ground. 

“Fuck!” He cursed loud enough to get the attention of other employees.

“Please refrain from using such language near kids!” Sabine chastised him. She took perhaps more pleasure in it than she should’ve. 

“Ugh. Sorry. My headset short-circuited.” 

“I see.” The older woman smirked. “And what about the class trip?”

“Right… Wait just a second.” He quickly ran to the nearby janitor’s closet and put away the centipede, instead coming back with a large bat plushy. “Okay. Listen up. You’re to follow the bat. Where the bat goes, you go. If the Bat isn’t there, you don’t go there. Simple enough?”

A chorus of “Yessir” gave him some hope. Sabine, Damian, and Marinette gave him a detailed overview of the class and exactly what he should expect. And he was not impressed. Teenagers were stupid, reckless, and malleable, but they had to be idiots. 

Half-way across the trip his hope was dead and buried next to his fake body. 

The Lila brat continued to make subtle suggestions that she knew it all and already received a similar trip. The fact she never said anything that could make her vulnerable to a lawsuit or even have her as the reason for being kicked was mildly impressive but highly annoying. She just made some suggestions that the class later overinterpreted. 

Damian and Marinette stayed at the very end of the group. He gave her a ‘premium’ trip with much more juicy details than what Jason told. Chloé listened too, but she was more focused on texting with someone. The skater girl stayed close, but not too close. Looks like the best parting gift for the class would be a set of iron spines. They definitely need some. 

Finally, they arrived near a conference room where they would eat lunch, not to disturb the employees at the cafeteria. 

“Listen up. You’ll get the lunch brought in shortly. Remember what I said at the very beginning?”

“It rhymed with ‘duck’,” Damian smirked. 

“Not that, brat. You should forget that one entirely.” He glared at his brother (not that anyone knew that).

“Tt. Shut up.” 

“Damian! Don’t be rude to our guide.” Caline reacted. 

“Yeah! Mr. Wayne was so nice to offer this trip to Lila and us.” 

“Funny you need to put her sepa…” The angry boy started, but Marinette grabbed his hand and squeezed. Strong. 

“Whatever. The Bat stays in this room. Just so you get it into your one collective brain cell, that means you don’t leave this room until I’m back. Touch the bat and it explodes.” He warned before putting it on the doorframe and leaving. 

Damian and Marinette stayed in the back, talking in hushed voices about their plans for the Gala. To make sure nobody got the wind of it, they used Mandarin. Chloé listened too, but she was still on the phone. 

“Come on! You must introduce me, Lila!” Alya pleaded with the girl. 

“I want to. I really do. But Bruce Wayne is a busy man. Besides, we must stay with the bat.” 

“That trashy toy? Why do you need to listen to him? He is just an employee.” Alya complained. To prove her point, she grabbed the bat from the top of the doorframe. There was a sudden screeching sound and she instinctively handed it to Lila who threw the plushy away… right at Damian and Marinette. 

When it landed in front of the pair, their eyes widened. 

An explosion of yellow and black paint engulfed them. Momentarily they were both covered head to toes in paint while standing in a large Batman symbol.

Everyone but Chloe (who was also partially caught in the explosion) and Sabine (who glared daggers at Alya) laughed. Caline tried to hold it together, but a small giggle escaped her.

It was three minutes later that Jason came in with two more guards. He took a look at the room and zeroed on the painted couple. 

“I gave you brats a simple order. I even warned you that the bat can explode.” 

“It was Marinette!” Several people immediately pointed at the girl.

“Marinette?” Jason chuckled. “Don’t make me laugh. It’s obvious someone threw the Bat at her.”

“And how do you know it?” Lila tried to argue.

“Simple. She wouldn’t be able to grab the bat and cover that distance with it to end up sitting on the chair while it was in front of her before it exploded. Shadows in paint tell me everything.” Jason explained. You don’t live with the world’s greatest detective without picking some skills.

“Now I’m sure we can just dismiss it as an accident and…”

“Sorry, missy, but I’m under strict orders from B, right now. The party responsible for that is to be removed from the premise.” He spoke strictly professional, but to Marinette and Damian, it was clear he was enjoying it too much. 

“But… But…” Madame bustier tried still to say something, but nothing came to her mind that could solve this. 

“If the guilty confesses, the rest can stay. But I can’t legally send away a minor without a guardian’s supervision.”

“Tt. Lila and Alya were the ones that messed up.” Damian had a vindictive smirk on his face. 

“Liar!” The liar shouted.

“That can easily be checked. Show your hands.” 

“What does it have to…” She started, but Jason simply shined a violet-light flashlight at them and revealed they had some invisible dust at them. 

“Someone will have to go with them.” He looked at the two guardians on the trip.

“I’ll go. I think girls need a lecture on appropriate behavior.” Sabine’s grin was borderline feral. 

“Sab… Madame Cheng. I think it would be best if you stay with the group while I talk with the pair.” Caline tried to defuse the situation. 

“Nonsense. You should enjoy the trip. I’ll take care of them for the day.” Yup. Her grin was definitely feral. It was like a cat just got handed a crippled bird, but at the same time, it was friendly and inviting. 

“But… I think you should stay with Marinette! For at least the last few days until the next part of the exchange starts.” It was clear that the teacher disagreed with the idea of Sabine going with the girls.

“Oh! Don’t worry. I’m not leaving Gotham any time soon. I want to get to know my niece better and Tom got a great business offer.”

“Indeed.” The teacher did her best to keep a smile on her face. “Still, I’ll go with the girls and you stay with the class.” She said, resigned and started leaving, completely ignoring the discussion they just had.

“Caline.” Sabine’s face turned emotionless. “Remember that you are supposed to be giving them a good example.”

She received no answer. 

---------

Without the two main problems and the enabler, the rest of the trip passed mostly peacefully. Marinette enjoyed seeing the various departments, even though many of them seemed boring. During the remainder of the break, she and Damian changed into the spare clothes she had prepared. Tim brought them to work with him when he left earlier and had them waiting at the reception. 

When they were done, Sabine escorted the class to the hotel before coming back to the manor. Marinette was already locked in her room, giving the designs a final touch. Exhausted, the woman fell asleep on the couch in the library, only to wake in Tom’s embrace. She really loved her husband and would never replace him for anything.

The spa day went well. Marinette, when separate from Damian and his brothers, found herself the sole receiver of all the good-natured teasing. It was the first time she really participated in something like that, but she liked it. Mostly because of the company, not because of activities, but it was still nice to for once let herself be pampered. Her usually dark-blue hair was now a brighter shade, making the blue actually visible. It wasn’t anything close to Luka, but the metallic highlight gave her a bit more forward look.

The Gala was closing in and it was high time to get ready to rock.

---------

Masterlist // Next

[toosicktoocare]

No one asked for this... I just still have BatFam on the mind.

Jason’s perched on the ledge of a roof, weight shifting between the balls of his feet, eager to bring some sense of warmth back to his limbs. He scans the dark alleyway below him, finding it understandably empty considering the single-digit temperature with the aggressive wind chill that’s practically seeping through his thick suit.

“Remind me again,” he starts, dragging his eyes across dark shadows until they fall on Dick, who’s corner covered and peeping around a grimy brick wall, “what we’re looking for? In the middle of January? When it’s cold as fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Dick’s voice crackles in his ear, hoarse, thick, a few notes lower than normal. “Suspicious activity?” Dick’s words end with a few coughs, and Jason sighs, watching as Dick muffles the coughs into the crook of his arm.

“Suspicious activity from a sketchy tip,” Jason reminds him. “A tip that’s probably not even valid. My guess is some boomer bumped into a few drunks on her way out of a convenience store.” He stands when his calf muscles begin to burn, and he shakes out his legs a few times, mindful of his balance, before dropping back down into a crouch and casting the barrel of his gun down the alleyway behind Dick.

“The message said area g-gang violence.” Dick coughs again, harder this time, and Jason swallows back a wince.

“Anything in Gotham can be perceived as area gang violence,” Jason mutters flatly when Dick sucks in a shuddering breath. “You good, golden boy?”

“Aw, Jay, are you worried about me?”

Jason groans deep in his throat. “Not a chance, Dickie Bird. I’m just trying to figure out who took your one remaining brain cell. Surely you’ve realized that you’re too sick to be out playing superhero right now.” 

“B would kill me if he found out I had information on a potential gang and didn’t follow through with an investigation.” Dick’s voice comes out in small, shuddering gasps, and he groans lowly into the comm before falling into a sneezing fit that leaves Jason sighing pointedly.

“And you don’t think he’d kill you harder if he finds out you’re risking your precious health?” He cocks his head to the side when Dick briefly whips his gaze up to him, and he can imagine Dick’s eye roll based on the huff that echoes in his ear.

“How would he kill me harder if I’m already dead?”

There’s a flick of movement in Jason’s peripherals, and he whips his gaze and gun to the left just in time to see a shadow passing under a street light. He starts toward it, careful, gun steady in his hands.

“You could try the whole coming back from the dead thing. I could give you some pointers.” His tone is flat, and Dick sighs into the comm.

“Jay...”

“Save it, Wing,” Jason mutters, barrel of the gun following a line of four men stumbling into the alleyway. “I think I found your area gang.” He’s got a clear shot on the leader, one rubber bullet to the knee and he’d be down for weeks, if not longer.

“Don’t,” Dick growls into his ear, and Jason’s shoulders tighten as he whips a frown toward Dick, who’s already moving toward the four men.

“Rubber bullets can still kill from that height.”

“Careful, Wing,” Jason starts, still following each movement easily with the tip of his gun. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jason laughs, a sly smile playing at his lips. “There’s my little rebel bird.”

“Okay, A) I’m older than you,” Dick starts around a few wet coughs, “and B) just no.”

Jason laughs louder, promptly distracting the four men, who all jump and turn to squint up at the rooftops.

“Is that the Red Hood?”

Jason offers a wave, fingers waggling. “You got this, Wing?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, coughing harshly, and Jason frowns deeper.

“Are you sure? You kinda sound like you’re dying.”

“Shut up, Hood.”

Jason’s not sure if it’s just because Dick is clearly sick, way too sick to be out playing superhero, but he finds he’s drawn to this level of aggravated sass. Or maybe, he considers, that he’s just finally rubbing off on Dick.

He watches as Dick approaches the crew, arms outstretched, a visible sign of peace, but Jason knows this type well, and Dick only gets about two sentences out before one of the very clear drunks swings at him.

Dick dodges it with practiced ease, and Jason keeps his hand steady on his gun in the minutes that follow, only easing up when Dick’s standing before four unconscious men and phoning Gotham PD.

“I hate to say it, but nicely done, Wing.” Jason stands from his crouch, hissing sharply at the wind that whips against him. Dick’s following silence has Jason frowning, and he looks down to see Dick swaying slightly.

“Wing? You good?”

When Dick still doesn’t reply, Jason’s unnerved enough to leap off the roof, landing just in time to catch Dick when his knees buckle and give out.

“Shit! Dick?” Even through the suit, Jason can feel a worrying heat pouring off Dick in loud waves. On instinct, he begins smoothing his palms down Dick’s back and sides. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Dick grumbles into Jason’s neck, coughing weakly. “Just feel like shit.”

“Clearly,” Jason mutters, shoving Dick back until he’s leaning against the cold brick wall.

Dick instantly hugs himself tightly at the sudden absence of brief warmth, and Jason takes the time that Dick’s able to mostly stand on his own to bite his glove off and slap a palm to Dick’s forehead, finding it unsurprisingly hot and damp to the touch.

“You’re burning up,” he mutters, and Dick shivers hard before him with a groan that falls into a few coughs.

“Weird because I’m freezing.”

“You are such an idiot,” Jason drags out, pulling Dick from the wall and snaking an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “How’d you get here?”

“Grapple hook?” Dick drops his too-hot forehead to Jason’s neck.

“Christ,” Jason mutters, patting his pocket with his free hand for his bike keys. His apartment is a lot closer than the manor, especially if he’s going to have to figure out how to get Dick on his bike without toppling off.

Dick coughs against him, hard, repeated, until he’s gasping for breath and shaking hard at his side.

“Do you need a hospital?”

“Ugh, please no.”

“Great,” Jason says. “We’re going back to mine then. Try to stay awake.”

***

By the time Jason gets Dick into his apartment, Dick’s shivering consistently, and he hasn’t stopped coughing since he got onto the bike minutes before. Jason moves fast, uneasiness threatening to succumb him. He helps Dick change, gets him pumped full of medicine, and when he finally gets Dick into bed, he’s promptly exhausted and falls face first onto the empty side, still in his suit but mask thrown across the floor.

“Jay? You okay?”

Jason laughs lowly into the pillow before he twists his neck until he’s facing Dick. “You would be the one to ask me that when you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Dick stresses, coughing harshly into his fist. “But I kinda feel like it. I thought it was just a cold.”

Jason sits up, smooths one palm across Dick’s forehead as if his temperature would have gone down by now. “Probably was until you decided to run around in the deadass middle of winter.”

Dick groans, dragging an arm over his eyes. “Sorry for wasting your time tonight. And contaminating your bed.”

Jason slips off the bed, patting Dick’s covered leg. “It’s fine. I hate these sheets anyway. Now shut up and sleep.”

Dick nods off mere moments later, a small smile on his lips, and Jason grabs some clean clothes and moves to the bathroom, typing out a text on his way.

To Timmers: D’s sick. Took him back to mine. Can you send a car or someone to get him when you’re done with the charity event?

He’s out of suit and slipping into a fleece hoodie when his phone chimes.

From Timmers: Sure. Is he okay?

To Timmers: Yeah, just Gotham’s second biggest idiot.

From Timmers: Do I even need to ask who the first is?

To Timmers: ;)

***

Jason’s nodding off on the couch when he hears a knock on the door. It startles him enough to leave him cursing under his breath as he shuffles to the door, on edge but still too tired to grab a weapon, a habit he can’t quite break.

He undos the locks and pulls the door open, and any trace of lingering sleep is shoved away in an instant.

“Jason...”

“Bruce,” Jason bites out.

Bruce is standing before him, dressed in a sleek black suit and matching thick coat. He looks worried, and Jason kind of wants to slam the door in his face and just deal with Dick himself.

“I texted Tim.”

“And he informed me that you did. How’s Dick?”

“Alive,” Jason spits out, and Bruce winces visibly before his eyes go soft, somber.

“May I come in?”

Jason wordlessly moves to the side, and Bruce steps in, mindful, quiet, only walking further when Jason points to the bedroom. He follows Bruce to the bedroom, slipping in but staying close to the wall when Bruce drops to the edge of the bed and smooths a careful palm over Dick’s forehead.

Dick stirs under his touch, blinking slowly, damp brow furrowed.

“B?” He croaks out, swallowing back a few coughs.

“Chum,” Bruce says, concern laced heavily in his tone. “You weren’t nearly this bad when we left. What happened?”

“Got a message about a gang,” Dick mutters, wincing at the sharp look Bruce shoots him. “Got it handled. Jay came to cover me.”

Bruce only sighs, smoothing a few damp strands of hair from Dick’s too-warm face. “Well, I’m glad you were diligent in your work, but I do wish you would have waited until you were feeling better. Are you ready to go?”

Dick nods and struggles to sit up, coughing harshly when he swings his legs over the bed. He staggers, and both Bruce and Jason reach out to him, but Jason drops his arms and moves back when Dick steadies himself with a hand to the wall.

“I’m fine.” He manages out in between coughs, yet he’s already shivering and he’s gone far too pale.

Bruce slips out of his coat and drapes it over Dick’s shoulders before snaking an arm around him, pulling him in close.

They start out the room, with Jason following quietly behind, unsure of what to do and not trusting what will come out of his mouth. He stops when Dick suddenly spins around, smiling at him.

“Thanks for the everything, Jay. I’ll get you some new sheets.”

Jason laughs quietly. “Yeah, okay, Dickie Bird. Just get better first.”

“Aw, Jay you are worried about me.”

“No,” Jason spits out flatly, ushering both to the door. “Fuck off.” He slams it to the sound of Dick’s painful mixture of laughing and coughing.

[phoebenavarro]

rest assured, the night will come

realized I haven’t posted this here! a continuation of my “Jon trusts Tim” s2 AU, but this is first chronologically so reading the other parts isn’t necessary

After the Prentiss attack, Jon finds himself exhausted, in pain, and dreading having to be alone, so that’s how he finds himself outside of Tim’s flat propping himself up on the cane the doctors gave him with two containers of curry takeaway in his free hand. Together, Jon and Tim grapple with the events of the day, and Jon makes a decision on who he can trust.

the magnus archives, jontim, 2500 words

on ao3 here

When Jon finally leaves the Institute, statements taken and pain meds all but worn off, exhausted and bone-weary, the last thing he wants to do is to be alone in his flat. He wants nothing more than to sleep, but even as tired as he is, the nightmares that are sure to come turn him off the concept. His stomach clenches, and he realizes that it’s from hunger, not fear or anxiety or disgust like he’d been assuming since he woke up. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep any food down, but he figures he’s got to  at least try. And he really doesn’t want to be alone, so that’s how he finds himself outside of Tim’s flat propping himself up on the cane the doctors gave him with two containers of curry takeaway in his free hand.

I should have texted, he thinks, rather belatedly, after he’s knocked on the door.

Tim answers the door after a few moments, and he looks slightly better than he did the last time Jon saw him. Maybe he took a nap. He looks surprised to see Jon.

“Sorry, I should’ve let you know I was coming,” Jon says before Tim gets a chance to say anything, “But I really didn’t want to be alone, so.” He holds up the food. “Curry?”

Tim smiles the first genuine smile Jon’s seen from him since they both woke up in the ECDC tent.

“God, yeah, you read my mind,” Tim says, “Come in.”

Jon’s been to Tim’s flat a few times, so he makes a bee line for the coffee table and sets the food down. A nature documentary of some sort is playing on the TV, volume low. He smiles a bit; Tim always needs his background noise. Jon carefully sits down on the sofa, wincing as the movement pulls on his wounds, and leans the cane against the armrest.  

Tim looks at him with concern. “Boss, did you just now leave the Institute?”

“Yes,” Jon sighs. The pain medication has now worn off entirely, he thinks, and his entire body aches. The worst is in his hip, where the worms dug particularly deep. The doctors gave him a prescription for more, but he didn’t think to go pick it up before the pharmacies closed, something he is now seriously regretting.

“Jon,” Tim says, exasperated.

“I know, I know…”

Tim turns on his heel and rummages around in the kitchen, returning with some napkins and a pill bottle, which he holds out to Jon.

“I’m assuming you didn’t get a chance to get these then,” he says, giving the bottle a shake, “Good thing I did, huh?” Jon wordlessly takes the bottle. “Food first, though.”

“Oh! Right,” Jon says, “Thank you, Tim. You’re a life saver.” Tim hums. “Quite literally.”

“Yeah. Guess there are some perks of getting eaten by worms together, huh? Sharing food and drugs.” He stands up. “Want something to drink? Alcohol is a big no no on the medication, otherwise I would be getting wasted.”

“Water’s fine,” Jon says. Tim goes back to the kitchen, and Jon starts unpacking the containers of food. Tim returns with two glasses of water, and they eat mostly in silence, too exhausted for the animated banter they usually share. Jon doesn’t mind, the quiet companionship is comforting, so they just sit and watch the documentary. Jon doesn’t really absorb any of it, but the soothing voice of the narrator is also comforting.

After they finish eating, Tim starts cleaning up, taking the empty containers to the kitchen. Jon takes a moment to read the directions on the pill bottle before taking one, very much looking forward to the pain easing up. Tim returns, settling next to Jon on the couch, sitting close enough that Jon can lean against him. They finish up the documentary, and Jon finally lets himself relax as the pain medication kicks in.

“What now?” Tim asks. Jon shrugs.

“I don’t care. Put on whatever you want.” “Alright,” Tim says, “A comfort movie then.” Jon nods, letting himself zone out while Tim scrolls through menus on the TV. Tim selects something, and Jon rouses himself from his thoughts.

“What are we watching?” Jon asks.

“Stand By Me.”

“Oh, I’ve never seen it.”

“Boss,” Tim sighs, shaking his head in disappointment, but he’s still grinning, “You’ve got to watch more movies. It’s a classic!”

Tim talks throughout the movie, but Jon doesn’t mind, because he has the subtitles on and everything he mentions is related to the movie, little tidbits and trivia. (“It’s based on a short story by Stephen King called The Body, and Stephen King actually saw a friend of his get killed by a train, but he doesn’t remember it because he repressed it so thoroughly,” Tim says. Jon admits he hasn’t read much Stephen King, and he is treated to a mini lecture about how “Stephen King is one of the most prolific authors of our time and you can’t discount him just because he is known for horror.”)

Tim is… remarkably normal, considering the day they had. Jon knows he copes with humor, so it’s not all that surprising, but Jon can’t muster up the energy to pretend to be annoyed by Tim’s quips. His mind keeps wandering back to Gertrude, murdered and then left in the tunnels for months, no one caring enough to truly look for her, not even the police.

That could happen to you, a horrible part of his mind whispers, and he shivers.

“Jon, what’s wrong?” Tim asks, gently, very sincerely, and he pauses the movie, turning to face Jon, “I mean, other than the obvious. I can practically hear you thinking.” Jon hesitates. It’s never been his nature to share his feelings with anyone, not even the people he’s closest with, but as he looks at Tim, at the bandages covering his skin that Jon can’t help but feel responsible for, he finds himself wanting to tell Tim. Tim suffered the worst right along him, he can trust Tim, especially when he’s looking at Jon like he is.

“You heard about Gertrude?” Jon asks quietly.

“Yeah, Martin told me, after I finally got him to stop apologizing for losing us in the tunnels.”

“Did he…” Jon swallows, “Did he tell you how she died?”

“No, but I’m guessing it wasn’t natural causes.”

“She ah, she was shot.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Tim breathes, “Seriously?” Jon nods. “Christ, who would want to kill Gertrude?”

“I don’t know, but it scares me,” Jon admits, “Even more than if she was killed by some… Monster. Because…”

“Because this was a person,” Tim finishes, “And they could do it again.” Jon nods again. “Yeah, I get it.” Tim cocks his head, makes the face he always makes when he’s about to make a joke to try to lighten the mood, “Although, it could have been a monster with a gun. We don’t know that they can’t use guns.” And Jon can’t help it, he does grin a little.

“Yes, well, somehow I don’t think that’s likely,” he says.

“No,” Tim sighs mournfully, “But that would be pretty cool. I mean, bad for us, Jane Prentiss managed to fuck us up pretty badly with just the worms, I’m glad we didn’t have to worry about being shot—“

“Tim,” Jon says, stopping him, because this topic of conversation is not good for his anxiety.

“Sorry,” Tim says, picking up on Jon’s discomfort, “Uh, do the police have any leads?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Jon says, “I’d imagine the trail is pretty cold by now. I mean, it was probably someone at the Institute, to be able to get into the tunnels, but we have no idea if there are other entrances outside the Institute… So it really could’ve been anyone.”

“But why would someone kill Gertrude?” Tim wonders, “I mean, other than for gross incompetence at actual archiving. Unless she was a secret badass or something.”

“At this point, I wouldn’t even be all that surprised,” Jon mutters, “I don’t want to believe that there’s a murderer at the Institute, but that’s what makes the most sense.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, “Probably.”

“I— It feels like I’m being watched, when I’m in the Archives. And with the tunnels— there’s more to the Institute than I thought. There’s something off. And I think Gertrude’s death has something to do with that. And…” Jon bites his lip.

“And?” Tim prompts.

“And what if whoever killed her comes after me as well?”

“Jon…”

“I know, I know, it’s stupid, but I can’t shake the feeling.”

“After the day we’ve had, I don’t think that’s stupid. A bit paranoid, maybe, but not stupid.”

“Oh,” Jon says. He hadn’t expected Tim to take him seriously.

“Considering the way Prentiss seemed to single you out, I mean, it kind of makes sense that people— or monsters might have it out for the archivist.” And that’s something Jon’s been trying not to think about, but he definitely agrees.

“And that is a whole other terrifying question,” Jon sighs, “What exactly I’ve gotten us into. But my more immediate concern is whether or not there is a murderer in our midst.”

“Bit more pressing,” Tim agrees, “You think the cops can handle it?”

Jon shrugs, “They weren’t particularly interested in finding her the first time, I don’t think finding her killer is going to be a priority.”

Tim snorts. “No, of course not.”

“It could have been anyone, even Martin, even Sasha. I really hope it wasn’t them, but I’m starting to think that we can’t afford to trust anyone. I know how paranoid that sounds, but—“

“But it makes sense,” Tim says. They lapse into silence for a moment. “What about me?

“What?”

“How can you be sure I didn’t kill Gertrude?”

Jon considers it. He probably shouldn’t trust Tim, if he’s being purely logical. But he does. He knows Tim; he saw Tim, when he first came to the Institute, deeply traumatized and clearly in a bad place (and he’d been curious about what happened, of course he was, but he’s known for a very long time that there are things you don’t ask about.) Jon helped coax him into a better place, watched as Tim found himself again. All that, and what they’d been through today was a hell of a bonding experience, and well, they were alone a lot during the attack. If Tim wanted him dead, he’d had plenty of opportunities.

But really, it all comes down to: Jon is scared, and he doesn’t want to do this alone, and Tim is the safest option. No, not just that, he wants to trust Tim.

“Because you’re my friend and I’m choosing to trust you,” Jon says.

Tim has a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look to him, like he wasn’t expecting Jon to be sincere.

“Yeah,” Tim says, and he looks away from Jon, and he sounds a bit strained, “Yeah boss, I trust you too.” Jon grins.

“I appreciate it,” Jon says, “Considering you’re allergic to sincerity.” He nudges Tim with his elbow, and Tim laughs, pulling Jon into a loose embrace, careful not to put too much pressure on their wounds. Tim sighs, and he starts gently brushing his fingers through Jon’s hair. Jon melts into the touch, and they settle back against the couch cushions in each other’s arms. It feels right.

“If you want to do your own investigation into Gertrude’s killer, I will help you,” Tim says, “One hundred percent. But right now we can’t really do anything. The Institute’s closed, we’re out on sick leave. The trail’s not gonna get any colder. First we need to focus on healing, okay?” Jon nods. “We can figure out all the suspects and make a murder board later, but I don’t think either of us are up to it right now.” As much as Jon’s skin is buzzing with the need to do something, or else he’s leaving himself open to attack, his more rational side knows that Tim is right. They’re safer together, anyway.

“Yeah,” Jon says, “Right. Let’s finish the movie.” They resume the movie, and Tim is a bit more subdued, content to watch the screen and idly run his fingers through Jon’s hair. As the film draws to a close, Tim starts to doze, breathing softly. Jon looks down at Tim’s peaceful face, covered in bandages, and his heart twists. This is his fault. If Tim hadn’t been helping Jon walk, he probably would’ve kept up with Martin, or if he’d left Jon to his fate, maybe he would have been able to outrun Prentiss and the worms.

This isn’t helpful, Jon chastises himself, but he can’t stop. If he can’t protect his employees, his friends, then what is the point? He tries not to spiral, and he directs his attention to the end of the movie. It’s not the kind of movie he would normally pick for himself, but he can see why Tim likes it. There are few things Tim values more than family, whether that be blood family or found family. Tim doesn’t talk much about his parents, but there are pictures of them and a brother around the place. Tim will talk more about his brother, but it’s always tinged with sadness, like he isn’t around anymore. Jon doesn’t ask; he feels like he hasn’t earned the right.

“I guess I should head back to my flat.” Jon says while the credits are rolling,  because he can feel himself starting to nod off next to Tim. That wakes Tim up, though.

“Jon,” he groans, “It’s midnight. You’re staying here.” He says it with finality, like it’s obvious. “I’m not letting you take the tube in the middle of the night when you can barely walk.” He gestures at Jon’s cane. Jon feels like he needs to object out of politeness, to make sure that it’s really alright, but he is, quite frankly, too tired, and he knows Tim wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it. But still, that part within him that won’t allow him to be a burden on anybody squirms. He pushes the feeling down.

Jon nods. “Thank you, Tim.”

“Come on,” Tim says, slowly getting to his feet, “The guest bed is made up, and we’re really gonna regret it in the morning if we sleep on the couch.” He offers a hand to help Jon up, but Jon waves him off, not wanting to hurt him. He uses his cane to help him get to his feet, and Tim leads him to the guest bedroom.

“Bathroom’s across the hall,” Tim says, “Let me know if you need anything.” And then Tim pulls him into a hug, resting his chin on Jon’s shoulder. “I’m really glad we’re alive,” he says into Jon’s hair, “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

“Okay,” Jon replies, “Thanks Tim.”

That night, at least, they both sleep soundly, too exhausted for nightmares.

[scribble-blog]

Soulmate AU part 7!!

First • Previous • Here • Next

Damian was not panicking.

Marinette was at his side, her hand securely in his offered arm, and whatever sixth sense produced the electricity between them mellowed as they kept in contact. They were walking the gardens, but aside from their initial introductions, he hadn’t been able to think of a single thing to say that wasn’t overly blunt, didn’t reveal his own confused nervousness, or wouldn’t sound entirely idiotic.

Marinette, for her part, seemed content to walk in silence. Which, from what he’d read from her and what Tim has said about his meeting- which Damian was still scowling about- with her last night, was out of character. But he found that with his own normal faculties so misaligned, he couldn’t exactly hold it against her.

“Here,” she said, letting go of him, and as Damian stopped accordingly he realized she’d drawn him to one of the further greenhouses, which was empty of people. Even with him leading, she’d drawn him somewhere alone, which sent off his internal alarms instantly.

Except that she was his soulmate. And perhaps she just wanted to talk to him for the first time without the threat of the public recognizing him.

He’d been grappling since Tim had mentioned her ability to take him down without warning with the thought that- perhaps, despite what he’d been trying to do for years in making himself someone worthy of being both Batman’s son and Robin, he was still the person who was raised as an assassin, and his soulmate might, possibly, also be on the less savory side of those who knew how to defend themselves.

The immediate revelation about supervillains in Paris and the fact that she knew how to fight like that to protect her life was a point back towards comfort, but he still couldn’t discount it.

And then his whole family had wondered why Tim had stopped to speak with a random civilian on a rooftop in the first place, and he was mostly sure they hadn’t bought Tim’s half assed excuses, so they would surely know about her by noon.

He realized he’d just been staring at her, yet again. Photos didn’t do her eyes justice, he thought, the blue both sweet and dazzling. Her mouth was still curved into a small half smile, the way it had been since she’d spotted him. In her white dress, surrounded by plants and with the natural light filtering in from the windows, she looked almost- angelic.

“I’ll go out on a limb,” Marinette said, eyes meeting his. “We’re soulmates. I’m sure with your status you’ve had people try to fake it, so-“

She moved the neckline of her dress, pulling it low but not scandalously so, until he saw the tidy script of his own handwriting across her shoulder. For half a moment, he wanted to reach out and trace it.

She licked the pad of her thumb and scrubbed it against the mark, but there was no movement, no blurring or smearing.

“You realize that is entirely unnecessary,” He couldn’t stop himself from saying scornfully. “Seeing as how your name is also on my skin. Though you’ll excuse me if I don’t show you.” He chose deliberately not to bring up the electric feeling that still thrummed faintly in the space between them.

“Not everything is as easy as shoulders,” Marinette just shrugged, the motion slipping the dress back into place.

“You successfully pulled me away from any onlookers,” he kept going, and somewhere in his mind he was already despairing over himself. “What did you want?”

She didn’t wince, but it seemed like a close thing. “I wanted to be able to introduce ourselves. Properly.” She sat on one of the garden benches, and he sat beside her. “I know nothing about you.”

“Surely you don’t expect me to believe you didn’t do hours of research on me when the marks first appeared.” He knew that even in France the Wayne name was well known, even if it wasn’t a household name like in Gotham.

“Did you?” She asked, and he made a face. She laughed in response to it, and it made him want to smile. Before he could think about it to much, he let his mouth tug upwards, sharing just a bit of her infectious joy. “I didn’t think so, somehow. No, when the marks appeared I was entirely in love with someone else, and I refused to look you up out of spite. It was only yesterday after running into you like that, my friends made me look you up.”

He was not comfortable with whatever ugly feeling settled in his chest when she mentioned being in love with someone else, so he firmly pushed it aside. “I googled your last name- two years ago, but I didn’t actually look you up until last night. I have to say, you’ve got quite an impressive resume from that google search alone.”

He didn’t miss the slight twist to her lips. Insecure about her accomplishments, perhaps? He’d have to put an end to that.

He realized he was already very much thinking about her being around for a very long while.

Shit.

“I barely found anything on you, though,” she hummed instead of acknowledging his praise. “Only articles about you arriving here in Gotham, and something about you being presumed dead for a while? But I’m sure you don’t want to talk about that. Do you like animals?”

He felt a bit thrown by her rapid change of subjects but also- grateful, that he wouldn’t have to start immediately lying to her. It didn’t hurt that she’d chosen a favorite topic of his. “I have several. My dog, Titus, who my father gave to me, a cat named Alfred, given to me by our butler, and a cow.”

“Hold on- you have a cow?”

He held back his amusement at her bewilderment. “Her name is Bat-Cow.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He thought it looked cute, like when Alfred had been a kitten, eager to attack his foot when he walked by.

“I’m not sure if I believe you.”

He shrugged. “Bat-Cow doesn’t need your belief to be any more or less real.”

She continued staring him down before finally nodding to herself. “I’ll take it on good faith.”

“Do you have any pets?” He returned the question, still awkward but trying to be as interested in her as she was in him without all of the- quirks of his personality. He was historically not good with first (or continuing) impressions.

“None,” she sighed, “but I desperately want them. If you googled my last name-“

“Ah, the bakery. No pets allowed?” He inferred, and she nodded.

“I’ve always wanted a hamster. Maybe a cat. Although that dream has died off a little in recent years...” She looked more amused than sad, so he let it go. “How do you take your coffee?”

He managed to keep up with her constantly changing topics, flitting from coffee to school subjects to languages. He found himself- for once- falling into actual easy conversation, and she kept up with him just the same. She was smart, he realized as they talked about school, where she told him about being moved up a grade and still taking advanced classes, and whenever he said something a bit too wry and sarcastic her eyes would flit away and one side of her smile would tick up, as if trying not to laugh and agree. He get uncomfortably as if he were flying, the swooping sensation in his stomach uneasy but- she would smile at him again for something and he would find himself hard pressed not to give her a small smile in return. And then they were interrupted.

“Ah, the littlest Wayne.”

The woman at the door was very familiar to Damian. Her long red hair, skin with its faint green pallor- Poison Ivy, but mostly now just Pam Isley, who was practically the reason his father had poured so much into these gardens and other green initiatives.

And she was bleeding from a bullet wound in her side.

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

[voiceless-terror]

Resignation (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Twenty Eight: Mugged

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker

Summary: 

Who was it this time? Plenty of avatars seemed to have a bone to pick with him these days. He closed his eyes, not even attempting to fight back. Just waited for the inevitable “Archivist” said with utter loathing. So the words he heard next surprised him.

“Empty your pockets. Now.”

Jon gets mugged. It’s surprising how little this bothers him.

He could almost laugh at the sheer mundanity of it. 

Stumbling towards the tube, soaked with rain and bone-tired, Jonathan Sims ran into some trouble. He’d been running into trouble a lot lately. Just last week he’d been burned, thrown through the sky, and hunted like a dog in the span of hours and now, here he was, being pulled into an alley and thrown against a brick wall with painful force.

Who was it this time? Plenty of avatars seemed to have a bone to pick with him these days. He closed his eyes, not even attempting to fight back. Just waited for the inevitable “Archivist” said with utter loathing. So the words he heard next surprised him.

“Empty your pockets. Now.” 

Jon opened his eyes, baffled. It was a human. A man with wild, desperate eyes and an unwashed smell. But human. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill robbery. He was getting mugged. He couldn’t help the delirious smile that made its way to his face. This of course didn’t please the man robbing him and he was promptly slammed back against the wall, his head bouncing off the brick with a painful thunk. Stars flooded his vision as shaking hands moved in his pockets, pulling out a phone and a mostly empty wallet.

“Here,” he whispered, holding his hands out beseechingly. “It’s all I have. Sorry.” Sorry was his default response, apparently. Even when getting assaulted. 

“Fuck’s sake,” the man murmured, flipping through the empty wallet and holding Jon against the wall with one fairly lax hand. He wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t even fighting. Jon was very, very tired of fighting. The man paused, seeming to consider his options.

“The jacket too, then,” he demanded, ripping it off one of Jon’s shoulders. He hastily complied, peeling the other arm off and handing it over. It was one of Georgie’s, oversized and warm. He would miss it, and she certainly wouldn’t be pleased. His legs started to shake as he watched the man grapple with his things- it had to be over now, Jon had nothing left. Except for perhaps his shoes, the one nice thing he had been wearing when he went on the run. The man was agitated, conflicted. Just leave, he pleaded, unable to get the words out. I don’t have anything else to give you.

“Stop lookin’, freak!” A hit to the face, another slam against the wall but this time the hands didn’t stay, letting him sink to the cold, wet ground. A kick to his ribs for good measure and finally the man was off, his footsteps echoing on the pavement as Jon keened in pain. 

Everything hurt, the pain throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His head was swimming and black spots were dancing in his vision. He couldn’t call anyone, not without his phone. Why not just cough and shiver for a few more minutes, perhaps someone would walk by and see? You left at midnight, idiot. No one’s out except for you. And robbers. He would have to handle this himself, then. So with great effort, he managed to raise himself with weak arms into a sitting position with his back resting on the wall behind him. Blood trickled down his cheek like a stray tear- that must be where the throbbing in his temple was coming from.

It was strange to think about how easily he let things happen to him. He was so shocked, so pleased that it wasn’t another supernatural being coming after him that he did nothing, acting like it was inevitable. He could still hurt, still feel pain, still experience things that normal humans did. It certainly wasn’t normal that he found this so comforting. He let out a bark of laughter that turned into a groan of pain- time to get out of the cold. The Institute wasn’t so far, he had only been walking for ten minutes. He could do ten minutes, if he leaned against a few walls and took a few breaks. Jon would manage. 

It was painstakingly slow and each move was torturous, but he eventually made it back, leaning against the front door with so much force that it slammed open and he stumbled to the floor on all fours. Nausea rose in his throat but he couldn’t throw up, not in the main hallway. It was bad enough that his palms left a bloody handprint that would surely spook the janitor; to leave him with vomit as well would be too much. Ed was always so nice to me, he thought, mind in a fog. Even when I didn’t deserve it.

On all fours was how he made his way over to the door to the Archives. Standing was no longer an option, not with his consciousness fading like it was. He had no time to feel embarrassed about scooting down the stairs like a child; by the time he collapsed in an office chair, he was already gone.

______

Another day in paradise.

Tim arrived unusually early to the Archives that day; he accidentally left his charger at the office and his phone was his main source of entertainment nowadays. He could always convince Martin or Melanie to take a long lunch break with him to make up for it. What the boss doesn’t know, the boss won’t mind!

There was a wet floor sign in the lobby, likely the result of last night’s rain, although the sidewalks had looked fairly dry as Tim walked in. He’d grabbed a coffee on the way, feeling unusually perky for another day in the hellscape they called the Magnus Institute. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad day after all-

No, it wouldn’t. It would be even worse.

The Archives were dark; not unusual since he was the first one in. On flicking the lights, however, he found his desk to be occupied by one sleeping boss.

Fucking Jon.

He groaned aloud but still the man didn’t wake. What the fuck was he playing at- the man had an entire office at his disposal and he decided to take a nap here, of all places? Was Jon trying to piss him off? Tim stomped towards the desk, ready to shake the man awake with a hand on his shoulder when he paused.

Jon’s shirt was oddly damp, like he’d been caught in the rain and never truly dried off. Tim could feel his shoulder blade through his shirt- this was typical for Jon, he’d always been bony, but this was verging on downright unhealthy. And he was shaking, small, trembling motions that Tim could feel even from his light hold on his back. 

Concern warred with anger in his chest. Jon had always inspired his big-brother instincts, small and nervous as he was. But now the over-protectiveness was unwanted, a burden to the rage he kindled in his heart. You don’t deserve my sympathy. Not anymore.

But he found himself pitching his voice low and shaking his shoulder as gently as possible. “Boss?” he whispered. “C’mon, time to get up.”

“Hnngh?” the voice that responded was nasally and barely audible from the pillow of Jon’s arms. Tim let go as he watched Jon come to, raising his head to reveal a grotesque crime scene of a face. It was bloody and bruised, even swollen in parts. His nose was coated with blood and his eyes blackened. 

“What the fuck?” he swore, grabbing at the bottom of his face and pulling it towards him, shock overriding his concern. Jon gasped in pain from the motion and his arms curled around his stomach as if shielding himself. He looked like he’d been beaten, and badly at that. Tim felt his ire rise- whether it was at whoever had done this to Jon, or at Jon himself for letting this happen, he couldn’t tell.

“Seriously, why are you here?” he asked severely, grabbing onto the man’s shoulders and ignoring his wince. “Go home, or the hospital or wherever the fuck you need to- not work, not my fucking desk.” He let go as the man seemed to shrink in on himself, looking so small and defenseless. Jon had no right to look like that. “Should I be calling an ambulance? It’s too early for this shit.” The anger kept spewing forth. It was easier to blame Jon than see him as a victim. It didn’t feel great- but then again, what did anymore? 

“I’m- m’ so sorry,” Jon croaked. His eyes refused to focus, staring somewhere left of Tim. “Took m’ phone, took-took everything.” Jon’s eyes were starting to water and Tim had to look away; he couldn’t face this pathetic, vulnerable display. He didn’t like what it made him feel. “Nowhere else t’go, not- not anymore.” The hiccup was the final straw and Tim found himself shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around Jon’s shoulders in an almost involuntary gesture.

“Only you would get in this mess,” he muttered, unwilling to match his words to his actions. He gingerly took a hand to Jon’s side, ready to help him up. “C’mon. You’ve got to go to a hospital. I’m not letting you bleed all over my desk.” Jon began his typical protests, mumbles of “I’m fine” and “Jus’ take me to my office” that Tim ignored in favor of gathering the man up in his arms as gently as possible. His head was already lolling against Tim’s chest, surely a bad sign. He went completely silent as Tim carried him out of the institute, only waking when Tim managed to buckle the seatbelt across his lap in his car.

“Wher’ we?” he swiveled his head around, trying to get his bearings. “Where we goin’?”

“The hospital, like I said,” his voice struggled to carry the irritation he wanted it to. “Like you should’ve done last night. What happened, anyway? Piss off another person trying to get a statement?” He pulled the car out of the parking lot in an unsafe maneuver and merged into traffic. 

“Nnnh,” Jon’s head dropped back to his chest and Tim sped up in response. Damn, damn. “Jus’ a guy, y’know?” And he laughed. It was an unhinged and painful sound; Jon grabbed at his sides again. “Jus- just got jumped. S’ kind of sad.”

Tim let the information sink in with a growing dread. Jon had been jumped, robbed, and beaten to shit and his first response was to go back to work. To laugh. To think a year and a half ago this would have horrified him- Jon would be inconsolable, embarrassed and angry. Jon wasn’t angry anymore. Tim had enough of that for the both of him. He wanted Jon to get angry, to be mad, to yell. At least then he would recognize him.

Jon went on, every word a dagger in his chest. “Y’know, this is the sec’nd time this happen’d in a week. S’weird.” He paused, his eyes squinting ahead in confusion. “I mean, if y’count Daisy. Took my stuff. Laughed. She gave it back, though. When- when Basira convince- convinced her not t’kill me. Dead-” Another hiccup and a laugh. “Dead men don’t need wallets.”

“Stop,” Tim said, his voice hardened. “Just stop. Stop talking.” No more reminders that Jon almost died. That the woman who did it still walked around the Archives and Jon said nothing. That if this were six months ago, Tim would have killed her for even touching a hair on Jon’s head with the intent to hurt.

“S’rry,” Jon mumbled. They didn’t speak for the rest of the way.

Tim waited at the A & E for more than a few hours, firing off a text or two to Martin, telling him not to worry if he saw any blood at his desk. This had the opposite effect, but Tim was too tired to deal with his fussing. He’d had enough excitement for the morning.

Jon was released surprisingly quickly, a nurse hurriedly pushing him into Tim’s arms with a rather false sounding “Feel better soon!” Jon had bandages all over his face and neck, and Tim could see through his thin button-up that he’d had his ribs wrapped up. He was listless as Tim wrapped him in his coat again, leaning heavily into his side as papers fell from his hand- a pamphlet on broken ribs, concussions, and a prescription for heavy painkillers. Tim balanced him with one arm, reaching down to pick up the paperwork with the other.

“That was quick. They ask a lot of questions? You look like a battered housewife. No offense.”

Jon laughed a bit at that- more loopy than unhinged. “Just tol’ em I worked at the Magnus Institute- didn’t ask questions after that. Wanted me in and out, I suppose.” Another horror of their job- nobody to run to when things got rough. Turned out hospitals were just as bad as the police. Fucking figures.

They continued to walk out to the car, Jon limping along in his hold. “This had nothing to do with whatever shit Elias has you doing, though,” he responded, slowing down as Jon winced in pain. “Shouldn’t you be reporting this? You lost your wallet, your phone. Gonna need that.”

“Oh, Tim,” Jon sounded so resigned, but gave him a soppy, unnerving smile. “S’not worth it. Who's gonna call me, anyway?” 

Tim didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just buckled him into the passenger seat and got in the car, sighing. “Where’s home?”

Jon gave him a surprised look. “Institute’s fine, really-”

“No,” Tim raised his voice, stern. “I’m not taking you back there. Just give me an address, and take one fucking day off. No arguments.”

Jon shrunk back at his tone; he’d forgotten how much he hated yelling. Never reacted well to it. Even when Tim was trying to be nice, he still fucked it all up. Jon rattled off an address about twenty minutes away and they drove there in silence, Jon’s hands fidgeting in his lap and Tim’s hands gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force.

He didn’t help Jon to the door. He didn’t want to see how he was living. If he needed help getting around. When Jon tilted out of the car, trying to shrug off his coat, Tim stopped him with a hand to his arm.

“Just bring it back tomorrow. You look like you need it.”

And Jon nodded, so surprised and so thankful. It’s just a fucking jacket! He wanted to scream. Stop looking at me like that!

He watched as Jon stumbled up the stairway, knocking at a door. It opened and a hand reached out to steady him, Jon leaning into it gratefully. Tim drove off before he could get a better look.

Jon came in the next day. He limped and Martin fussed. He tried to smile at Tim. 

Tim did not smile back.

_______

Months later, Jon will wake up in his cot, curled around the jacket. It was Tim’s favorite- well-worn but expensive. Jon had tried to give it back but Tim just shook his head. A week later, he died. And then it didn’t matter anymore.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251512

[octalove]

VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

*

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

*

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

*

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

*

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

*

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

[writingblock101]

Growing Pains (Damian x Reader)

This is the first time I’ve written Damian! I hope y’all like it. In this fic, he’s 17. I found the picture on Google so I’m not sure who the original artists it (it was reposted from Pinterest and the artist wasn’t listed), but know that the art is not mine! 

Request for @idkmanicantenglish​ (thanks for your patience!):  Reader and Damian got in a fight while they were out in patrol, and when they go back to the Bat Cave, Damian ignores her and she goes to sleep in the guests room and later into the night Damian decides to go apologize because she was just trying to help him and he got mad for no reason

Words: 1,800

“I had it handled,” Robin growls, resheathing his katana. 

“Yeah, that looked handled,” You remark sarcastically, putting your knives away.  

“I was fine, I didn’t need a savior,” He storms past you. 

You roll your eyes but follow Robin. 

“It’s not that deep. I was just helping.” 

He whips around to glare at you. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t need help.” 

“You know a thank you wouldn’t kill you!” 

“I can handle myself! I didn’t need your help!” Then Robin grapples to the next rooftop. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Nightwing asks in your ear. 

You groan. 

“You have no idea.” 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He offers. 

“Where are you?” 

“On top of Gotham City Bank. Come tell me about your boy problems,” Nightwing snickers. 

You roll your eyes, but shoot your grappling hook and head to Gotham City Bank to rant to Nightwing. 

“Hey, Falcon,” He greets as you land gracefully on the roof. “What’s troubling you?”

“Your stupid brother,” You grumble, sitting down next to Nightwing. 

He chuckles. 

“Yeah, you’re not the first person.”

“He’s been so pissy on patrol lately. It’s annoying.” 

“What happened?” 

Your shoulders slump.

“Robin crashed one of Dent’s meetups, but there were more guns than he anticipated so I helped him out but of course, he’s all pissed because he thinks that I think he can’t handle himself or something!” You cross your arms. “I know he’s capable, but geez, even Batman has back up!” 

Nightwing hums along, nodding his head. You continue ranting. 

“He’s been so touchy lately! Like any time I back him up or join him in a fight, he gets pissed! And I’m fed up with it! I don’t get pissy when he helps me out! I don’t get it! This had never been an issue until a few weeks ago and I’m over it!” 

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” Nightwing suggests but you scoft. 

“Come on, Wing. You know Robin. He’s more emotionally constipated than Batman. Talking it out isn’t exactly his strong suit.” 

“You’re right,” Nightwing agrees. “He’s stubborn with that kind of thing but you’re just going to have to corner him.” 

Your shoulders slump. 

“I know but I don’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s just going to end in a fight! Something is up and he won’t tell me… But I don't know why! I want to help him and be there for him but…” Your voice lowers as you slump in further on yourself. “He doesn’t trust me.” 

“Seriously, Falcon? Robin not trust you? You’re the first person he’s ever truly let in!” Nightwing insists. “Talk to him, it sounds like he needs someone to be there for him.” 

“Well, that’s not going to happen tonight,” You snap. “I’m still pissed. No matter what’s going on, taking out on me isn’t cool.” 

“That’s fair,” He shrugs. “Robin is stubborn like that. I don’t know anyone else like that,” He sighs dramatically. 

“Shut up, Wing!” You hear Red Hood’s distant voice yell, getting you to crack a smile. 

“And we’ve got a smile,” Nightwing grins. “Don’t let Robin ruin the rest of your patrol. Go beat up a mugger or something.” 

“Thanks for the advice, Wing,” You smile then dive off the roof, letting the wind catch your cap and allow you to glide onto the next roof. 

. . . 

Your night improved after talking to Dick, but as you get closer to the Cave, you begin dreading to see Damian. He’s been so snappy lately and you’re tired of it. Whatever his issue is, he needs to handle it like an adult and stop taking it out on you. 

As your feet touch the ground, you decide you’re not talking to him tonight. Any necessary conversation can happen in the morning. Once you finish your debrief of the night with Bruce, you’re about to head upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms when Damian catches your arm. 

“Can we talk?” He asks. 

You pull your arm away from him, wishing he’d never hit that growth spirit that made him taller than Jason. You feel tiny in comparison despite spending your free nights beating up criminals much bigger than you. 

“What?” You snap. 

He sighs. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

You raise your eyebrows. What an amazing detective. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that since you flipped your shit at me in the warehouse?” 

“I had the situation under control,” He growls. “I was angry that you didn’t seem to trust me enough to handle it.” 

“I trust you, I was just helping.” 

“It was unnecessary, I had it handled.” 

“Well, it certainly made it go faster.” 

“You didn’t pop in to help with speed,” Damian snaps. “I’m not some helpless child. I can handle myself!” 

“I never said you couldn’t. I was just being backup.”

“I didn’t need a savior.” 

“Stop trying to put words in my mouth,” You snap. “I was just helping.” 

“I didn’t need your help!” 

“You were getting overwhelmed!” 

“I had it handled!” 

“No, you didn’t!” You yell. “I don’t give a shit who you were trained by Damian! You’re not bulletproof! And if I hadn’t stepped in tonight, you would’ve gotten shot!” 

“I’ve had worse,” Damian sneers. 

“That’s not the fucking point!” You snap. “If you’re going to stand here and be pissed at me for having your back then fine! I’d rather you be mad at me than be dead. And if that makes me an idiot, so be it!”

“If I had gotten shot, it would’ve been my own damn fault and I would have dealt with it! I don’t need you to be watching my every move!” 

“Your arrogance is going to get you killed if you can’t even accept help from someone who’s supposed to watch your back,” You growl. “That’s what all of us do, we look out for each other.” 

“Yeah, look out for each other, not babysit,” Damian snaps. 

“Fuck this, I’m going to bed. I don’t know what your deal has been lately but I’m tired of being your punching bag! So, when you’re ready to own up to your shit, you know where to find me,” Then you storm off. 

You cannot believe Damian has the audacity to accuse you of being a babysitter! For a long time, he felt he had to prove himself which he hid under a thick layer of arrogance, but you thought he was passed that! Apparently, he’s back to needing to prove himself to God knows who and has decided he’s going to take out any frustration about his shortcomings on you. 

Not anymore. You’re tired of this. If Damian thinks he can continue speaking to you that way, he’s got another thing coming. 

After showering, you go to bed in a guest room, still fuming. Usually, you sleep in Damian’s room, but after your argument tonight, you don’t want to be near him. You spend thirty minutes tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable or take your mind off your boyfriend. 

Seriously, what is his deal? Damian’s never spoken to you like that! You two always had mutual respect for each other since you were always the two youngest in the room. The pressure of living up to your predecessors could fade when it was you two because you both understood each other, so why Damian decided you were now babysitting him--

The door opens. You flip over, your back to the door, knowing exactly who just walked into the room. 

“Y/N,” He says quietly.

“What do you want, Damian?” You snap, refusing to face him. 

“I want to apologize.” 

You sit up in bed and face him with a clenched jaw. 

“For what?” You demand. 

“For tonight,” Damian admits, looking at you for a moment then looking away. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” You growl. 

He sighs. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you and accusing you of not trusting me. You were just helping and you were right-- I was taking on too many men by myself.” 

You soften and pull back the covers, inviting Damian into bed. He crawls in bed, wrapping his arms around you. 

“What’s up with you, Dames?” You ask, leaning back against his chest. 

“What are you talking about?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“You know what I’m talking about. Why have you been so snappy on patrol lately?” 

He sighs, twirling a piece of your hair instead of answering for a moment. You wait, knowing he’ll answer you. Whatever is bothering him, Damian doesn’t want to admit. He’s ashamed, but he’ll get over his pride.  

“Grandfather called me.” 

You wince, unsure of the last time Damian spoke to his grandfather. You’re pretty sure it didn’t end well then either

“What did he say?” 

“He told me I’m wasting my time as a sidekick and that I could be a great ruler right now if I was not wasting my time with trivial matters.” 

You turn to face Damian, forcing him to look at you. 

“Damian, what you do is not trivial. You help people every night. You save lives. What you’re doing in Gotham is so much greater than anything you could be doing in the League of Assassins.”

“Doesn’t feel like that sometimes,” He mutters. “I get treated like a criminal here. At least there, I was respected.” 

“You were also murdering people,” You remind him.

“I know,” He goes silent, but you can tell something is still bothering him.

“Maybe you’ve outgrown Robin,” You suggest, resettling on his chest. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, everyone that has been Robin, after a certain point eventually became someone else of their own creation. Dick became Nightwing, Jason became Red Hood, Tim became Red Robin.” 

“Are you suggesting I quit as Robin?” 

You shrug. 

“I think you are starting to outgrow the role and need a new role to fill.” 

Damian is silent for a moment, mulling over your words. 

“Perhaps…” He agrees, resting his head on top of yours. “I don’t know what I would call myself.” 

“You don’t have to decide now, you have time. Talk to Bruce about it, maybe he has some suggestions, but for now, stop being rude on patrol.” 

He chuckles, hugging you tighter for a moment and kissing the top of your head. 

“Yes, Beloved.” 

“I love you, Damian. I don’t want anything to happen to you so it worries me when you brush stuff off by saying you’ve had worse.” 

“I know. I’m sorry, I just…” He trails off. 

You turn to look up at him, reaching up to stroke his face for a moment. 

“I know.” 

You get it. You and Damian have always understood each other in a way neither of you had ever experienced before meeting each other. It’s why you two worked as well as you did, even with both of your stubbornness and tough exteriors. 

He smiles fondly at you and kisses you. 

“I love you too,” Damian whispers back. 

This is the first time I’ve written for Damian so hopefully, I did okay! I’m not sure if Damian ever becomes someone else other than Batman, but it’s fanfiction. Keep an eye out for some future fics I’ve been working on! 

[cdelphiki]

Tim didn’t like the think about that night. 

It was painful enough just having happened. 

When he landed on the roof, his jaw aching and his lip bleeding, he had looked up and looked around and realized something. 

He was absolutely alone. 

In his own family. He was alone. 

But, no. It was worse than alone. 

Alone was back when he was living with Jack and Janet. Alone was puttering around a mansion, shifting between boarding schools and nannies and a housekeeper who checked in on him during the day and left him to his own devices at night. 

Yeah, being alone sucked, but Tim knew how to be alone. He thrived there. He’d been alone his entire life. 

This was worse than alone. This was…. unappreciated. This was mistreated. This was disliked. This was despised.

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

If Bruce didn’t appreciate his love and devotion, then fine. Tim was done offering it. He put himself out there again and again, sacrificed himself for his family over and over, gave everything he had just to be pushed aside every single time. 

Every. Single. Time.

Tim was tired of always being the one pushed aside. Everyone was more important than him in this family. Damian was younger and cuter. Jason was bigger and stronger. Dick was older and wiser. Tim was… he was just there. He was a placeholder. Someone to sacrifice when needed. 

Toss aside. 

Ignore.

And now. Now, he was a punching bag, apparently. 

Because when he looked around, no one said anything. He saw a couple shocked faces, sure, but no one said a damn thing. 

It was just another night. Bruce was hurting. Bruce was broken. Everyone needed to move on and not press his buttons anymore. Be nice to Bruce and comfort Bruce.

What about Tim? 

Bruce didn’t even look sorry. 

That’s probably what set Tim off, most. 

Internally, of course, because externally all he did was wipe the blood off his face and stand, a little shakily. 

All this time. All these years. Everything. Tim had given Bruce everything. Even his name. He’d changed his name to Tim Wayne and given his all to help Bruce in his mission to save Gotham. 

But did any of it matter?

No.

Because Tim didn’t matter. All that mattered was Bruce and his hurts.

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

He didn’t have to take it, either. He wasn’t that little boy, all alone in a mansion, craving the attention of anyone who gave him the time of day. 

Tim was an adult now. Well… in the eyes of the law at least. Emancipated was an adult, even if he was still only 16. 

But he was an adult, and he had friends. 

Friends he knew loved him and cared about him. He didn’t need Bruce or anyone else in this stupid ‘family.’ He’d be just fine without them. 

When no one said anything for a solid minute after he stood, Tim decided he was done. He rolled his shoulders, took out his grapple, and made his way back to his apartment with a quickly swelling eye. 

The entire right side of his face felt both numb and on fire. It wasn’t a foreign feeling to him, but knowing Bruce had done it. On purpose. Out of anger. Just made it….

Tim didn’t want to think about it.

He was so tired of it all. So tired of giving so much of himself to just be hurt over and over. 

But he didn’t have to keep going this way. And when he arrived back at his apartment and changed out of uniform, he debated whether he’d ever work with the family again. Work under Batman. 

And looking at his puffy face in the mirror, he asked why he’d ever started in the first place.

Because was it honestly worth it?

- - - 

The first thing Tim did was change his name.

He’d always kind of hated himself, anyway, for changing it to Tim Wayne, back when Bruce adopted him. It had been the reason for one of his breakdowns, after all. Tim Wayne. 

No one had cared about that break of his, either, now had they?

Honestly, he just felt like an idiot for being strung along so long. But who was he kidding? No one had ever asked for Tim to be around. He just planted himself in the family. Pushed his way in and insisted he be included in everything. 

Like a fungus. 

It was no wonder he got back nothing but hurt. 

But that didn’t matter. He had his friends. They made him happy. They loved him and wanted him around. Why would he need anyone else?

His lawyer had looked more than mildly alarmed, though, when Tim met with him the following Monday.

The swelling in his face had disappeared by then, but the bruise had fully blossomed and looked rather painful. Deep purple right at the jawline, right where Bruce’s knuckle had hit, softening out to lighter purple and greens, the further away from the center one looked. 

It was clearly a fist print, too. 

And it took up a good fourth of his face. 

“Mr. Drake,” his lawyer, Esteban, had said, “if- if Mr. Wayne…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said. He had purposely not covered the bruise in anticipation of the meeting. He knew what image it would broadcast. And he didn’t care. It would help his case, make his lawyer more sympathetic, mean there was no argument over the decision. Removing ‘Wayne’ from their name in Gotham, after all, was not something anyone had ever done. 

Wayne was a powerful name. Even more powerful when Bruce Wayne himself had given it. 

But Tim was done with Bruce Wayne. He was ready to just be Tim Drake. 

Tim Drake. Robin. A member of Young Justice.

Maybe he should think about his superhero name, now. Disconnect himself completely from Batman. 

He had certainly already disconnected himself from all of Bruce’s assets. It was probably only a matter of time before Bruce himself cut Tim off, so he’d just taken the initiative. 

It’s not like he couldn’t support himself on his own. Yeah, Drake Industries had gone bankrupt when Jack was still alive, but Tim had been working on it. And, ever since he became the primary shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, he’d been squirreling away as much as he could without arousing suspicion. 

He had more than enough to live for the next twenty years without changing his spending habits. If he put himself on a budget, though? He could live indefinitely. There was no need to be attached to Bruce’s accounts.

Besides, he took some pleasure in cutting every one of Bruce’s credit cards in half and placing them all in an envelope to mail to Bruce. Just so he could be sure, himself, that Tim was done with him.

“We can press charges,” Esteban said, after taking a breath and putting his best ‘lawyer face’ on, “if that is why, we should press charges. He still has another kid at home.”

“You’ve signed a NDA,” Tim reminded him, “just get my name changed.”

“Which doesn’t apply to child abuse,” Esteban said, “Which you knew.”

Tim did know that. He also didn’t care if his lawyer reported it. Damian didn’t need to be living with Bruce, anyway. And Bruce deserved whatever scrutiny such a report would bring down on him. Tim almost didn’t even care if it exposed Batman.

That ‘almost’ was the only thing keeping him from reporting it himself, to get Damian out of there.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a child. And Bruce didn’t do this. So relax.”

Damian could take care of himself, Tim was sure. He lived with the Teen Titans half the time, anyway. Plus the Kents adored him. They’d watch out for him.

Besides, it’s not like Bruce didn’t want Damian around, right? He loved Damian. So Damian had nothing to worry about.

Except…

He hadn’t really chosen Damian. The boy had kind of just… appeared. And stuck himself to Bruce. Demanded to be made heir and everything else. 

So there was a chance he would end up in the same boat…

Maybe he should report it…

But if Tim told Kon, he was fairly certain Kon would tell Clark, who would deal with Bruce himself. Clark was Bruce’s best friend, but he knew Clark would protect Damian from Bruce if he felt it necessary. There was no way he’d stand for Bruce hitting any of his allies. Especially not one he claimed as a ‘son,’ no matter how superficial the paperwork was.

Yeah. That was the perfect plan. 

That’s what he’d do. 

“Then who did it, Tim?”Esteban asked, gently, as if he were going to get Tim to open up and talk by simply being kind. 

Smiling his ‘Tim Wayne’ smile, Tim just said, “Timothy Jackson Drake is what I want my legal name to be.” 

As soon as he was done cutting himself off completely, he’d call Kon and talk to him. Then he’d start his new life, working with Young Justice and maybe finding a profession. 

The more he thought about it, the more excited he got about his life on his own.

It would be nice to live for himself for once.

- - - 

Weeks passed. 

No one seemed to understand why Tim left.

Even though he told himself no one wanted him around in the first place, he’d still been expecting… something. Someone to react to him leaving. To miss him for him. Not for what he was ‘doing to Bruce.’ 

But Bruce acted like nothing happened. When the media went crazy over the revelation that Tim severed ties, sold his shares back to Bruce, and changed his name, Bruce refused to comment. And still hadn’t said anything about it.

That didn’t stop the various members of the batfamily from trying to convince him to stop ‘hurting the family’ and ‘making everything worse’ by ‘blowing everything out of proportion.’ 

Honestly, Tim was tired of them all. 

‘That’s just how Bruce is,’ Babs had said.

‘He was upset,’ Helena explained. 

‘Dude lost everything,’ Duke reasoned. 

‘Master Tim, you must understand-’ Alfred had started, but Tim hung up on him.

Tim didn’t bother to ask Damian his opinion. 

No one understood, and Tim was done trying to explain it to them.

If he could go the rest of his life without thinking about it or Bruce again, he’d live a happy life. 

He didn’t need any of them, anyway.

Jason, though?

Well. Tim had not been planning on Jason. He was fine alone. Because, again, he had his friends. 

But someone told Jason.

Tim wasn’t sure who, but someone did. It was obvious, by the mere fact that Jason Todd was in his apartment, in the dark, waiting for Tim to get home.

It had been almost a month. 

And while he and Jason might not have had a bad relationship, they hadn’t been much more than friendly acquaintances. Ever. At best.

Hostile enemies at worst.

“Welcome to the club, kid,” Jason said, not even looking up when Tim cut the light on to reveal Jason sitting sideways in the armchair, one leg slung up over the side, as he read something on his kindle. One of the ones that lit up.

Tim didn’t really like kindles. He wasn’t a huge fan of reading, in general, but he definitely didn’t like kindles. Tim would have never guessed that Jason, being a book nerd, used a kindle. He kind of seemed like the kind of dork who would prefer to smell the books, or something, while reading.

“Go away,” Tim said flatly, as he dropped his bag down on the ground and went to fix himself something to eat. He’d been away on a mission with his team for the last week. All he wanted to do was eat a bowl of something. Soup, probably. Lie on the couch and eat it while he watched something light and funny, then fall asleep. Possibly right there on the couch. 

Talking to Jason was not any of those things. 

“Heard you cut ties to Bat completely,” Jason said, “Gotta say. I’m impressed.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he looked through the various cans of soup he had in the cupboard, before he picked a hardy chicken and rice thing. “Don’t care. Go away.”

“Bat’s pissed, of course,” Jason said, as if Tim hadn’t said anything, “it’s kind of great.”

He watched his bowl spin in the microwave, while trying to blow Jason up with sheer willpower. Maybe if he thought hard enough, he’d discover latent super power abilities and make Jason disappear. 

It could happen. 

“But what I don’t get is: What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Tim echoed, spinning to stare at Jason, “What the fuck do you mean, what did I do?”

“To piss him off.” 

“Does it matter?” 

It’s not like it took much to piss Bruce off enough to be on the receiving end of a blow. The more Tim thought about it, the more surprised he was it’d taken as long as it did. Bruce had hit both Jason and Dick many times while angry. And Bruce actually chose both of them. Right from the beginning. 

“Well, sure. You always seemed like a goody-goody to me. Daddy’s perfect little solider. What could you possibly do to-”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim shouted, “Just like you didn’t do anything, and Dick didn’t do anything to deserve it. No one-”

“Let’s be fair here, Timbo. I tried to kill a dude.” 

“So?” Tim asked, shaking his head, “Why does that make it okay for Bruce, your literal Dad, to attack you?”

Jason opened his mouth, but then just blinked at Tim. 

He’d never really- They didn’t use that word. Tim wasn’t sure why he used that word. 

But, that’s what he was, wasn’t it? Even if he only adopted them out of convenience. Or obligation. That’s what he was. 

Bruce was the one who was there for parental guidance, right? He’d signed Tim’s report cards and everything. Gone to his school performances. Attended parent-teacher conferences. Taken him out for pizza and ice cream and to the movies. 

There had been good times. Several years of good times. Tim had felt… wanted. And loved. For years. Bruce even said he loved him. Loved them all. 

And yet, here they were. 

Dealing with the repercussions of living in a lie.

“He- He-” Tim said, absolutely flabbergasted by Jason’s apparent… acceptance? Of all this? Out of all the people in the world, Tim thought Jason would understand. 

Abuse was abuse. It was wrong. Regardless of what the victim did. Or who they were. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, as his hand started to shake. He stepped forward and gripped onto one of the bar stools at his island, and kept going, “And that’s what no one seems to get.”

And Bruce had… Bruce had abused him. 

That’s what this was. It wasn’t just an attack. It wasn’t just….and… he’d done it to Jason before him. And Dick before that. 

It didn’t matter how he came into Bruce’s life. What he’d ever done. Bruce had adopted him. Bruce had adopted them all. 

“Parents are supposed to- Dads are supposed to- supposed to love their kids,” Tim said, his voice quieting with each word, as his focus slipped from Jason, to off in the distance. 

Bruce was their dad. And he was abusive. 

“Tim.” 

“I was just telling him I cared,” Tim snapped, angry Jason was making him feel things when all he wanted was some soup and an episode of The Simpsons. Or, maybe something like Futurama would be better. “And he just- he just…”

“Tim.”

Bruce had attacked him. 

For trying to say he cared about him. 

All Tim had done was love his dad, and that was how Bruce reciprocated. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim whispered, letting go of the bar stool to wipe at his eyes.

Jason slowly got up and came to the counter, then sat down on the other side of the island. He placed his hands on the counter, then splayed out his fingers while he stared at them.

Tim never had a good example of a parent. His parents had loved him, he was sure, but they weren’t very good parents. He realized that, now. They cared more about their careers than they did about Tim. So when Bruce came around and actually talked to him. Spent time with him. Smiled at him, as if just his presence was enough to make Bruce happy, Tim had been absolutely overjoyed. Enamored with his new dad.

But Bruce had never been a good parent, either. Had he? 

Nothing like Jack and Janet, but still unfit in his own ways. 

Abusive in his own ways.

Eventually, long after the microwave had beeped, and Tim had ignored it in favor of staring at Jason’s hands, too, while he tried to keep his vision from blurring any further, Jason said, “Sorry, kid.” 

“It was wrong,” Tim said numbly, and Jason just nodded, “it was wrong when he did it to you, too.”

At that, Jason scrubbed at his own eye, just briefly, before he seemed to realize he was doing it and put his hand back down on the counter. “It’s whatever,” he said, so nonchalantly that Tim realized Jason was a much better actor than he’d ever realized. 

“He’s our dad,” Tim whispered.

“Yeah.”

Tim didn’t know much about good parents, but he did know one thing. “That’s not how Dads are supposed to be.”