#this can be the start of an angsty slight horror idea lol

[teecupangel]

This is kind of odd and very specific but idea:

Desmond in either Ezio or Altaïrs time (and I know which one you have a bias towards) and he’s just a normal guy except he’s moving at x2 speed. He can’t turn it off. The whole everything for him is just at x2 speed (as in he’s faster). And it’s not like super speed where he can still talk and stuff at normal speed, EVERYTHING is x2 speed.

I was thinking how this would impact Desmond because the entire world would look like it’s 2x slower than him. And how would it even look like if he talks? Like his entire face is moving normally while the rest of his body is faster? XD

Desmond would probably be grabbed by Altaïr or Ezio (and yeah, we all know who I would pick) and they’d be like “Stay still, Desmond.”

The only way to have a conversation with Desmond without being distracted by his… everything… is when he stays still.

But if he sees the world slower, doesn’t that mean he hears everything slower as well?

That sounds like the kind of nightmare we will ‘give’ him affectionately, to be perfectly honest.

In combat, he’d definitely be the best and even during missions.

But conversation-wise, it’ll take a lot of time getting used to.

Unless…

His ancestor is the one to adapt to his needs and starts to speak faster.

It makes it harder for the two of them to be understood by others but this is the best way for Desmond to understand him and he’s willing to make such adjustment to make Desmond feel normal.

Also…

Does this mean that Desmond’s metabolic rate and sleeping habits are sped up as well?

Does this mean Desmond would burn through what he’d eaten faster and he would need to eat more frequently?

Does this mean that Desmond’s sleeping pattern is shorter but more frequently?

Because what is part of the ‘stuff’ portion of the ‘he can still talk and stuff at normal speed’?

His body moves x2 speed.

Doesn’t this mean that his body, in general, is aging faster???

[kookieswan]

Beyond Decaying Walls

- Level 2 -

Yoongi x Reader (f)

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre: Backrooms AU, Horror, Angsty, Fluffy to help with the angst lol

Warnings: Fenweal mind fuck that comes with liminal spaces. MC has a slight panic attack. Weird creatures, injury, read cautiously.

Summary: You’ve been traveling with Yoongi for a while now, and apparently he’s come to like you enough to not let you die. Yay.

Notes: I decided to skip the whole meeting other survivors thing, mostly because it would have just been feeding an obscene amount of info to you all. If you’re interested in that though, I could always write it! I hope you all like this part. Dedicated to @parkdatjimin ♥️

Find the BDW Masterlist here!

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“It’s so fucking hot I’m dying…” You’ve been wandering this new level, two apparently, for days now, not doing much else besides looking. Looking for food, almond water, clothes even… and especially doors. Any door that could lead you out, Yoongi had tired to break through everyone as you checked your nails. The polish is almost completely fine now…

“You are not dying. Keep up with me.” Yoongi walks ahead of you slightly, not looking back as he continues to look down. Likely as his notes, the billions he took when you finally came across people a few days back. They had been helpful apparently, but what good will it do when you’re wandering through the halls of hell? You had wandered into what seems to be level two by accident, the halls narrow and the lack of light horrifying.

The people, MEG, piled on more and more info, Yoongi taking it in stride and you… not so much. It’s a lot. You’re lost in some other reality, where strange monsters exist. There’s no apparent way out and all you can do is search for a way out. One that’s never been found. You knew you shouldn’t have gone into work on that Tuesday, a nice trip to the spa would have been much better…

“Yooooooongi! Come on, let’s take a break. I can feel like, a bazillion blisters on my feet.” A bazillion and one, the man never stops walking, eager to find the next floor level. He kept muttering about getting to floor four, because apparently the people from MEG surmised that three wasn’t a good idea. When you asked why, Yoongi deflected completely. Meanie.

The older man (you had found that he’s going to be thirty soon after pestering him while you sit at twenty four) finally stops with a sigh, turning to look at you. He has bags under his eyes, and it makes you wince slightly. You’re sure that you don’t look any better. If anything, you probably look a million times worse because he’s handling things a lot better than you are. If only you were on a level dedicated to shower.

“We have to find a door, _____. Any unlocked door so we can leave this floor and hopefully get to the fourth. Just a bit longer and then we can take a rest, yeah?” You pout but nod, giving him big puppy eyes as he rolls his own and turns away.

“Okay…” Staring to follow, a door to the far left of the room catches your eye and makes you pause. Hoping it’ll make him happy, you swerve off quickly and go to see if you can budge it open. All of the others have been firmly locked, and you’ve only found three so far in your days of searching. Low and behold, the door starts to open so you call out to him.

“Yoon, look!” You spot him across the room, rummaging through a box. The supplies on this level have been plentiful, more than enough to keep you fed and energized (the fear of being killed has not kept you energized though). Not nearly enough sweets though if you say so yourself.

“Give me just a second, there’s rations here we could use…” He keeps rummaging, not even looking toward you. Rude of him, so you huff and stomp your foot once, turning back toward the door to push it further open. It creaks loudly, and you can’t see much inside except for darkness.

“Come on Yoongo, I found an exit I think! It’s opening up!” It opens, and opens, and opens, but you can’t see much. It’s almost completely dark, and you can’t make out much on the other side. Stepping a little closer, you can feel the heat radiating from inside this new room.

“Oh yeah, and how- NO!” The smell hits then. Somethings rotting, and whatever has slid around your ankles when you weren’t paying attention doesn’t waste any time. It pulls and you tumble down hard, landing in your butt as it starts to tug you through.

“FUCK! Yoongi?!” You’re pulled deeper into the room, your screams and the echoing of Yoongi’s boots hitting the floor all you can hear. He’s yelling too, and then everything stops. Something touches you again after a beat and you thrash, clenching your eyes shut and preparing for pain.

It doesn’t come though, strong hands holding your shoulders firmly. Glancing up through teary eyes, the dim light allows you to see Yoongi’s face concerned. His eyes look wild, flitting across your own face and body quickly as his hands slowly slide down your arms.

And then you burst into violent sobs.

“You’re fine! Hey, hey, don’t cry! It’s okay, it’s okay, shhh…” Yoongi drips down and wraps himself around you quickly, holding you close to his chest as you try your best to quiet down. Burying your face into his chest, you gasp for air as he rubs your back, slowly rocking back and forth to try and sooth you.

It works after a while, your tears and snot finally drying up enough for you to pull away from him. He pats your head a few times, his own special way to show affection apparently, and then sits back slowly. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about the fluids you’ve left on his poor chest. His words come out calculated and cautious then.

“I do not want to scare you and we likely do not have a lot of time… But we’re on floor three now I think. I didn’t tell you about it before because I did not think it would matter, but it has a pretty high entity count.” The man draws away then, pulling his pack off of his back quickly. He rummaged around for something and that’s all the time you need to start panicking again. You’re soft, you weren’t made for this kind of shit, you’re made for fluffy blankets and mimosas.

“Yoongi that thing-“ He grabs your hand before you can spiral again, squeezing it once to draw your attention. You quiet down, shifting so you’re sitting closer to him again. Handing you a bottle of water he pulled out, he watches warily as you start to take slow sips before putting it down.

“… We’re going to fucking die oh my go-“ And then he’s squishing your cheeks between his hands. You look at him with wide watery eyes, slightly bewildered by his actions. He raises a brow as you stick out your tongue automatically, leaving a light pinch on your cheek before letting go. He’s lucky he’s walking eye candy.

“No, no we are not. We just need to be smart and keep our wits about us. We have plenty of resources and weapons to keep ourselves safe, alright? Hold on…” Your add hurts terribly now that the adrenaline is gone, and not for any reason you’d like it to hurt. Shifting from side to side, Yoongi pulls out his notes again and starts to read over then quickly, mumbling quietly to himself in Korean before nodding.

“Our best bet of getting to level four from here would be to find an elevator. Even if we end up on five, it is safer than here. Stay close to me.” An elevator…? He doesn’t give you much time to think, standing up and holding out his hand. You take it, slowly getting to your feet and assessing the situation. He asks if anything hurts, but you’re alright beside your broken ass, so you shake your head.

“Four and five are safe…?” Looking around, it’s clear that this level is different from two. It’s made up more of hallways so far, ones lined with bars like prisoner cells. And it’s much warmer, warm enough that you’ll be stopping down if it gets any hotter. You certainly won’t be mad if Yoongi does. Still, his good looks can’t distract you from every dark corner…

“Yes. The people I talked to from MEG insisted we avoid three if we go further and get to four or five if we intend on exploring. What just attacked you looked to be a Stalker, but they’re usually harmless so we should be fine. I have a whole list of notes of what we should and shouldn’t avoid.” He goes to pull his hand away, but you won’t let him, holding it tightly in your own. The older man doesn’t protest thankfully, just holds your hand in his as he tugs you gently down the corridor.

“But- but the entities…” level two had some, but none had actually touched you like that, had tried to attack you. Maybe you got a little too comfortable, but you like being comfy. You’re whole life has been comfy. This shit is not comfy.

“There’ll be a lot, but we’ll stay in the light if we can, okay? Come on.” He walks ahead of you, head held high as he surveys every new corner or twist you come upon. You’re secretly more than thankfully that he protected you, chased the creature down to dave you, but still… You love to tease him, even if you’re likely going to die.

“… Is it break time yet Yoonie?”

[warriorstale001]

some headcanons and possible predictions for your Itty bitty brother fic

(possible spoilers warning since I don't know if the predictions are actually correct)

- cross is very clingy to nightmare, he adores all of the gang really but mostly nightmare for obvious reasons

- dream will be probably hesitant the first days around the hideout after the birthday party and will slowly start getting used to each one of the gang members (probably getting used to cross first)

- nightmare probably already has planned what to buy for dream now that he is a bitty and he's got them all written on a list for the next time they go out and raid an au to get the stuff

- after dream gets somewhat comfortable and talks to his brother he questions why they all seem to spoil cross a bit and after nightmare tells dream how traumatized he is from the past and how ink has played a major part in it he starts to question his friendship with him (that is if ink is an asshole in this fic and if he abandoned cross in the white void)

- killer is the second in charge whenever nightmare is busy or out and because of that the kitchen has been set on fire multiple times

(none of these are canon unless the author says so, these are merely just headcanons and predictions)

Ooo I like your thoughts Anon, so thanks for sharing them with me!

And yes there will be slight spoilers for some sections of Itty Bitty Brother in this so feel free to skip if you don't want anything spoiled.

I'd say Cross is definitely the clingiest of the group and would require more assurance from Nightmare than the others that he's a valuable and important member of the gang for sure, since he has quite a few issues with self-esteem in this fic (though only Nightmare knows since he puts on a somewhat 'tough' act in front of the others... Or he tries to anyway)

Yeah Dream is feeling a little better about staying in the hideout with his brother now that he's seen what he's truly like, but the other gang members are still a mystery to him. And yes Cross is probably going to be the one he gets used to first.

Nightmare doesn't have a list per say of what he needs to buy Dream (though he has some basic ideas), because he wants Dream to be able to pick out what he wants. There will be a chapter dedicated to the two going shopping together in a bitty AU at some point... Might be a fluffy chapter... But it could also get a little angsty who knows =) .

I can confirm that Dream will be chatting with the group about their backstories in the future. As for Ink, well let's just say the Ink in this story is the same as the Ink I write for my other fic Xtra Small and I've tried to hint at that at several points of Itty Bitty Brother so far (like Dream's thoughts about how he Ink and Blue aren't really that close, all they do is work when they're together etc). If you know what Ink is like in XS... You should be able to tell if this Ink is an asshole or not (or if you don't wanna read XS, just look through the comments on the last chapter posted and it should give you a good insight into what people think of Ink's character in that fic lol)

Killer is indeed second in command, though he is not allowed to cook in the kitchen anymore ever since the Great Fire of 22 a few years ago (called that because that's how many rooms in the hideout were lost that day to the flames). Also Horror watches him like a hawk even when he's just making a sandwich now as a result. He doesn't trust it won't suddenly combust. After all, stupider things have happened in the hideout so he always expects the unexpected now.

Thanks for sharing your headcanon for the story! Feel free to send more in any time, because these were a lot of fun to answer!

[courtlyharlequin]

omg this event you've made is so adorable 🥺🥺 congrats on 100 followers too btw! 🎉🎉 for my request... I'd like to order a Lavender Rose White Mocha with Cater please !

The Only One

Warning(s): female reader, mutual pining, slight angst, slight fluff at the end

A/N: Aww thank you, Marzi~ And I’m at 250 now. Whoops lol. This took so long to write because I wanted to make it angsty even though it was supposed to be funny.. I literally can only write angst. It’s kind of sad. But Cater is good angst material ohoho~ But don’t worry it’s just a little sad not heart wrenching. I hope you like it

Cater took a liking to you. More than he would've liked. It was silly, after all. You were just another regular at this coffeeshop. There were a handful of you, but out of all of them, he just had to like you enough for it to be labeled as a crush by his colleagues. His juniors poked fun at his "special treatment" towards you. But what of it? There was nothing. He simply thought you were down to earth and nothing more.

You were mundane, nothing striking about your appearance. You were pretty, yes, but you were pretty in a way where everyone looked at you for a moment, concluding that your appearance was a little above average, then turn away and rarely ever steal a glance at you again. You dressed comfortably and did not care much about how others perceived you. You dressed for yourself, nothing sparkly, nothing that stands out too much. To someone like Vil Schoenheit, a fellow barista, you would be named a potato on the spot. If you were a potato, you would be Cater's favorite potato. But, you're not a potato. You were more like a yellow carrot. A simple vegetable, but striking in your own, unique way.

Punctual, you were. You came to the café every day at the same time to order something to-go and leave within ten minutes. The only exception was on the weekends because you reserved those days to catch up on sleep lost during the week whilst selling your soul to the oh so prestigious Night Raven College, the school which he also attended. He saw you around, but never properly conversed with you.

He preferred keeping his fondness for you as a customer as just that– fondness.  Fondness from afar. He liked this invisible bond you two had, how he just knows what you're in the mood for, how he prepared a shot of espresso especially for you, and left it on standby, waiting for you to claim it.

There was nothing more than that. You weren't even friends. He was content with the fact that he could even talk to you at all. Perhaps it might be a self-projection, but he liked you because you seemed to have everything Cater ever wanted– an appearance that wasn't over the top and a distaste for all things eye-catching and glittery. But most of all, an authentic personality. You were real. There was no pretending. You didn't beat around the bush when ordering your initial order– the rosé latte.

"I just wanted to see if my soulmate is here," you smiled.

But they weren't. Or so you said.

"He's not here, I guess..."

Anyone would have been crushed, but you... you shrugged it off and came back the next day and the day after that and the day after that. You came every, single day.

Cater made sure not to touch on the subject of soulmates during your conversations. A little part of himself hoped that you were "the one", but he knew from his sisters' horror stories, that love does not always last. From their tales, he was much more cautious and hoped for someone while aware that they won't be around forever. "The one" is not just the person you first lock eyes with in a hallway. "The one" is always your first kiss or your first time. "The one" could be from a different universe. "The one" was unrealistic.

When he had met you, it was love at first sight and also love at first response. When you admitted that you believed the rumors about the latte unlike the many customers who denied the fact that they were desperate for love, Cater was taken aback by your honesty. He was bewitched by it.

Part of him was hoping that you would say that he was your fated lover though he acknowledged that the chances of that happening was as slim as Vil's stiletto heels. At the moment, he was completely, and utterly infatuated by your simple appearance. He had subconsciously projected his idea of "the one" onto you, hoping, by the love of god, that you were his soulmate. He knew it was a long shot from the start.

Nevertheless, when you said that there was no soulmate for you at all,  it hurt. For him. For you. But, if there was one thing Cater was good at, it was faking a smile and hoping for the best. And he did just that for you.

"Ah... don't worry, (y/n), they're bound to be here for sure!" he winked.

God, it was painful.

Some time passed after that and the way his heart throbbed at the thought of you not having a soulmate, and that he was not said soulmate, only festered. You came every day, on the hour. As punctual as ever. As vivacious as ever. You came as if the concept of soulmates did not exist. You came happily. You talked to him so easily as if he was not the one who witnessed your pitiful epiphany. Not that he questioned it, of course. He never wanted you to leave. He wanted to spend more time with you and defy fate just to be with you, but he kept his distance.

On the contrary, you concluded that he was holding back on something, but you did not want to push your luck. You didn't even have to ask. His body language displayed dejection, a slight discomfort. You often wondered why he was so chummy with you compared to the rest of the regulars in the shop. It was probably out of pity after your first encounter. But in truth, you had found your soulmate. Were you certain that he was your soulmate? Of course not. There is no certain way to confirm it. You've watched other girls come in and simply declare that someone was their soulmate after sipping that latte.

"How did the other person feel?" you wondered.

You were unsure as to how to go about it so you just left it at that. It was so silly. But what's even more absurd is that a drink could help one find their "one and only". You decided to go with your gut... even if you took a liking to a certain quirky and peppy barista. You wanted to get to know him more.

Part of you wanted to shout: "I'm your soulmate!", but that was ridiculous. That declaration was something the other person cannot decline. It was unfair for "your soulmate" if they did not feel the same way. If you had shouted: "I'm your soulmate!", it would be more of an obligation for the other person to love you. You did not want that for him. But... you did like him. A lot. You took it upon yourself to mold a relationship with him more organically.

You came to know that despite Cater's appearance, he was a coffee nerd at best. He liked to make small talk with you, talking about how stainless steel cups were the absolute bane of coffee and how ceramic cups were superior. Cater appreciated the fact that you were a woman of culture, who used ceramic cups for her to-go orders, who understood his coffee trivia or his random talks about events on Magicam.

While no significant bond formed between the two of you, one could say that you knew each other well enough to be acquaintances. There were rare occasions he shared Magicam posts with you, ones that he found worthy of wheezing whilst waiting for an order with a particularly long assembly process:

"Pfttt, (y/n)! Have you seen that video of a chicken running around in pants?"

"No? Wait! Is there such a thing?!"

"Here–"

"No!! It's probably really cursed like that picture of Professor Trein in stripper attire!" you yelped, covering your eyes.

"Okay fine. Have a picture of puppies instead."

You turned your attention back to his phone, only to regret it the moment you saw the post, "Cater!! I said I didn't want to see it! Now I can't get it out of my head..."

"It's funny though isn't it?"

You stifled a laugh, "I suppose. But it's very wrong at the same time. Animals and clothes don't go together, usually."

"Hmm... I think they weren't meant to be, but they still look good together. Like dogs look good in clothes. You can confirm that with Professor Crewel's Magicam page. It's like ahh- what is it called- oh! A happy accident! That's what that artist called it right?"

"But it looks so wrong on a chicken."

"Now are you saying a chicken can't pull off jeans?"

"Well, maybe?"

"I'm just messing, (y/n)," he chuckled, turning back to work on your beverage, sliding his phone into his back pocket.

You watched his back in silence. When he was done with your order, you thanked him and left the café.

That night, you searched up the video yourself, wondering why you found it funny the second time around. It shouldn't be funny, but it was.

It became apparent to you that Cater liked those animal videos. He showed you the next day as well.

"They're cute," you said.

In truth, they were. Were they his favorite kinds of posts? Perhaps. He did like adorable animals, but he leaned towards posts about music. Or at least, the side of the personality he showed to a majority of others did. Cater wanted to be himself around you. He tried. He showed posts about kittens and puppies to you to stir up a casual conversation. It worked most of the time. However, he also wanted others (and you, of course) to like him. Whenever his classmates came around, he would cease conversation with you or, if he was showing you a post and could not put his phone away fast enough, he would swipe to his more "manly" posts, the ones about skateboarding tournaments and such.

"Yea–"

"Mornin', Cater!"

"Pfft! No, they aren't! Oh but check this out instead! There's a new set of headphones and it sorta matches my skateboard, dontcha think?" he nervously shrugged, turning to his colleague, "Mornin', Ace!"

"Can I see the headphones too? They sound so cool!"

"What kind of upperclassman would I be if I didn't show my junior something like this," Cater grinned.

A struggle, it was.

After you left the café, Cater cursed himself. Did it come off as rude when he abruptly halted the conversation to greet a fellow barista? Did it come off as rude when he changed the subject of the conversation the moment Ace came onto the scene? He sure hopes not. He loved to make you laugh. Many have told him that the opinions of others don't matter, but old habits die hard. He's always been a people pleaser even if they weren't looking or listening to him rambling to you about animals.

Well, whatever, right? This was his poor attempt to flirt with a crush without being too direct. Cater didn't know why he even tried. You probably found your soulmate already. You might've met him after you left the shop outside on the sidewalk or something. Cater was content with seeing you every morning before you headed off to school. There was a time where he was mopey about it, but he needed extra cash so he chose that course so he could work the morning shift at this café. Now, he was glad he had late start classes if it meant having one on one time with you. He loved to talk to you; he also liked the days where you sat in the silence, listening to the clinks of cups and spoons.

Cater wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, but he wasn't the dullest either. He was perceptive as one would say. You came here around the same time every day– always wanting to try something new, but always leaning towards the drinks with subtle floral. He liked how your nose crinkled whenever the fragrance was too strong, meaning you would have a hard time swallowing the concoction. From there, he assured you that he would dilute the flowery flavors for your sake, thus opening your options. Your grateful beam was what he lived for these days. Your giggle was like jingles of bells, like how fairies talked. Seeing you on a daily basis was his dose of caffeine. It brightened his day. He hated how he waited for you and panicked when you were just a few minutes late. You were always on time. You always ordered to-go but stayed for a few minutes to dilly dally with him. Cater wasn't one for routine or rules. He never understood Riddle, his coworker, for always wanting things to be a certain way– all day and every day. But with you, he understood the redhead just a little bit more.

And because he more or less understood Riddle's need for things to be in order, today was an off day. You were late. Very late. Later than usual. Later than ever before. It was the weekend and you slept in, meaning you swung by around early noon when the sun was at its midpoint in the sky. It was sundown now. Moreover, it was raining. Cater assumed that you stayed home because of the rain, but it was not raining in the morning so what kept you?

He hated himself for relying on you as a source of happiness. How could he not though? You made his heart race a thousand miles per hour. You weren't that pretty. You were plain, but he liked that. He was confused as to why... but he liked the fact that you did not invest your time in over-the-top ensembles. He liked how your lashes were of a decent length and how they didn't look like butterflies were resting on your eyes. He liked how your makeup if you were wearing any on a particular day, enhanced your natural beauty rather than make you look like a clown.

Cater liked, no– loved, you more than he should've. You were not meant to be with him. He was not your soulmate and you were not his. It was like how people were meant to fall in love, but could not be together in the long run. You didn't have to say anything to him. He knew that he wasn't meant for you. You deserved someone real, someone unlike him.

The barista smiled sadly as he wiped the last speck of dust on the worktable. Yes, you deserved better than a café fling. You deserved better than a facade that was molded so that he could survive school.

He stared out the rose-tinted windows. The rain poured like an endless stream of tears. There was not a soul on the streets. Cater turned to deposit the rag into the to-wash bin. The door chimed, signaling a new customer. Oh boy... he was not in the mood for this...

"Hey, sorry, we're closed right now!" he said, feigning a peppy aura.

"Cater..."

"(y/n)? What are you doing here? And you're soaking too! Wait let me get you a towel. I'll be right back–"

His body reacted before his mind could process. Before he knew it, he was right by your side. He was close enough to touch you, but he only hovered, waiting for permission to lightly hold you by the shoulders.

"No, no, Cater... It's fine. I just wanted to talk to you," you whimpered, taking his wrists and bringing them to your shoulders.

"You're freezing! Sit down. I'll make you something to warm you up."

He ran back to the counter, whipping out his supplies and getting to work as fast as his hands could allow him to.

"No, listen, this will be quick, I promise. I don't intend to waste any more of your time than I already have."

You obeyed, making yourself comfortable at one of the barstools.

"You've never wasted my time, (y/n)," he said, staring intently into your eyes, sliding you a to-go cup.

That was... fast. You hoped Cater wasn't waiting for you all day, just to give you this beverage. The cup was filled to the rim with whipped cream and lavender sprigs. It looked like something out of wonderland, something the Mad Hatter would serve Alice if it had to be something other than tea. His viridian green eyes peered into your soul. It was hard to decline. Hesitantly, you took the cup, taking a sip out of it. Ah... warm. Thank goodness he wasn't waiting for you. Or was he? You weren't sure how brewing coffee worked, but you knew he always kept a shot (or was it a pot?) for you on the side. He seemed distraught. The last thing you wanted was for your beloved barista to wear such a raw and broken expression.

"Did you wait for me all day?"

"...Yes, but don't worry about it! It's not your job to come here every day. How's the mocha though? I made it in such a rush that I don't know if I eyeballed the ingredients properly."

"Mocha? That's new."

"Oh yeah!  That's a Lavender Rose White Mocha! I heard lavender is supposed to have calming effects. Thought it would help you with whatever you're dealing with."

"How thoughtful of you."

"I know, I know," he smirked, "Now, answer my question: what are you doing here so late? And in the rain with no umbrella or coat too!"

"I wanted to see you."

"You could have seen me in the morning," he groaned, flopping his upper body onto the counter.

"I needed some time to think about exactly what to say."

"Well, you're here now. Shoot."

You inhaled, "I'm your soulmate."

Cater shot up from his sprawled positioned, eyes glistening, brimmed with excitement– a flood of emotions. You could not tell if they were positive or not.

You continued before he could say anything, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything before. I just... wanted our relationship to develop organically."

"There's a 'but' somewhere in this, isn't there?" he smiled sadly.

You nodded, "Our relationship developed organically, alright, but I feel... like... you don't deserve someone as ordinary as I am. You like to skateboard and you like to raise the cutest mandrakes for the fun of it... and I... I'm just a girl who likes people with interesting stories, people who lead lives without a single pause. I like you, I do, but I feel like 'the one' for you is so much more than what I can offer. I feel that is so unfair for you. Just because I drank something and declared that you are mine does not mean that you don't have a say in this too. I didn't know how to tell you, knowing that you would probably want someone better. I tried. Every single day since I tried that damn latte... but I couldn't... I always chickened out..."

"(y/n)..."

"But, now that I told you, I can finally let you shine like the star you are. Thank you for everything, Cater."

"Wait, (y/n), I also–"

"I don't need your pity. It's okay," you sighed, leaning forward to press a kiss on his lips, "I just wanted to do that... at least once."

And with that, you bolted out of the coffeeshop in embarrassment, in regret, and woe. You ran as fast as you could. It was so stupid!! The sole concept of someone to be "made for you" was so superficial, unreliable, and unrealistic. You hated how you fell for the idea of a soulmate rather than the person himself, believing that Cater was the boy for you. But that's burdensome for someone who never felt the same way. He would have liked a "cooler" girl not a plain Jane, vanilla kind of girl. The rain masked your tears. It truly hurt you. Your heart was so detrimental.

"(y/n)!! Wait!"

You stopped to turn around to meet the owner of the voice. It was all too familiar. You had spent at least ten minutes with him every day for a couple of months now, after all.

"Cater?"

"S-Slow down... I'm in the light music club, not track and field," he wheezed.

You did not heed his words and spun your heel, preparing to run off to your dorm once more.

"HEY!!! LISTEN!!!" he yelled as he tackled you with a bear hug from behind.

"No!"

You squirmed, but to no avail.

"Cater...What is there to listen to? I'm just in love with the idea of you being my soulmate, not you... I doubt that you would ever fall for such a simple girl like me without that latte. You're so cool and trendy. I could never be your lover! T-That's just not fair to you!" you sobbed, the tension in your muscles relaxed in his grip.

"Who said anything about being fair?! You just jumped to conclusions without asking about my feelings!"

"I still don't think we belong together. We're on completely different levels."

"CHICKENS IN PANTS!" he screeched as his grip on you tightened.

"What??"

"You heard me. Chickens in pants... They're not meant to be together, but they exist anyhow and they look really good together in my opinion. So if you feel that way about not being "meant for me" then think of use like that! But for your information: I actually really like simple girls! I really, really like them a lot! I like you too, idiot! I like you a lot! You're not interested in how 'cool' I am and I couldn't care less about anything flashy. I need a break from that lifestyle. You're just that for me. Please accept my feelings."

He nuzzled the back of your neck. You felt the trail of hot tears running down his cheeks.

"Pfttt. Okay. I accept. On one condition though: I'm the chicken. I don't want to be the pants," you laughed.

"Deal. Let’s head back to the café. The rain isn’t going to clear any time soon. We might catch colds.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” you hummed as you intertwined your fingers with his.

“You know, this could have been way easier if you just told me that you were my soulmate from the get-go,” Cater exasperated.

“I don’t like the idea of soulmates. I think you’ve heard me say it a thousand times before. I don’t think ‘the one’ exists at all. I feel that nobody should be projecting their fantasies onto their lover and expect said person to fulfill that ideal. I was a hypocrite though because I ended up assuming your type and who you would like. I apologize for that.”

“Ahhh so formal! So deep! I never thought about it that way. And..  I’m sorry for giving you mixed signals too.”

“They weren’t that mixed. I just felt like you wanted a girlfriend who had the same aesthetic you had.”

“Those signals were definitely mixed. I… grew up in a place, a really well off place where even the streets shimmered. It was so sparkly. I also had two sisters so I ended up taking a liking to cute things and such. Turns out that in middle school and beyond don’t like pretty boys from sparkly places who like cute things. I’ve been hiding behind something myself. I’m actually not that cool, you know, especially for hiding behind this cheerful persona.”

“I guess we’re both in the wrong now.”

“But since, we’re chickens in pants, we can do anything together!”

“Oh my god, Cater, no!”

“Yes!”

“I already have my work cut out for me already… Oh! We’re here, let’s dry up. Wait? Did you really leave the shop unattended just to chase after me?”

“I forgot about that, oops!” he shrugged.

“Well, your managers aren’t here so it should be alright.”

“Wait! Before we go in, I want to take a picture.”

“Cater, we’re soaking wet and it’s still raining.”

“Just for a second, okay?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

“Say ‘soulmates’!”

“Soulmates…” you rolled your eyes.

“Cute. Caption: I finally found her. Oh and for the tags– hashtag: soulmates, hashtag: chickens-in-pants, hashtag: rainy-day-kisses andddd posted!”

“Wait. Chickens in pants?”

“That’s our new shtick now!” he winked, kissing your cheek and opening the café’s door.

It was then and there you finally let all of your emotions out in the form of a hyena’s laugh.

It was then and there you finally let all of your emotions out in the form of a hyena’s laugh. The real Cater was quite dorky. You were hoping to get to know him more and in turn, he did the same for you.

Because for you, there are no such things as soulmates or “the one”, it was just a person who would walk alongside you. And that person, as fate would have it, was Cater and he was the only one for you.

[iphoenixrising]

Anything Angsty with Tim please. Recommendations, a fic anything, just feeling angsty .... (P.S doctor!tim is everything I've ever needed and looking forward to AOB part 5! You're amazing! Good luck with your day)

Hi babe. I’m sorry I kept this for so long, but I am def aware how much you love your pain (lol) and I had this idea spinning for a while, so… Yeah. But ah, I started thinking about this what-if from the Fracture Verse and it got really long and intense really fast>.Destroyed. Basically, the Titans take on theinvaders and most the JL mentors take their sidekicks for some R&R exceptfor Red Robin, who goes back to the Tower to take care of himself and Batmanjust kind of lets him go.Well, What-If B just wasn’t having any of that? What if shit started getting so real there and just ALL THE KNOWLEDGE DROP HAPPENS THERE INSTEAD OF A YEAR LATER O_O  Like, Tim has only been back from his little torture vacay and then the mind fuckery of the Insurgents and just!

So…here it is.

**

All-in-all, invading aliens are douche canoes.

Seriously.

Kon, Cassie, Bart, Rave, Gar, and Miguel are allin agreement with him on this one; especially after they were all trapped in anendless of loop of their worst moment, worst losses, worst failures while stuckin the alien’s most powerful weapon: the Mind Trap.

Sure, it had been his brilliant, last-ditch ideato jump ball to the wall into the trap, giving him the access to their neuralnet he needed to break the hive mentality and shut them down from the inside.

It doesn’t make anything, any of it, anybetter.

While he’s reliving Kon’s final moments, Raven’snear insanity at the hand of Trigon, Gar’s out-of-control power ripping hisbody apart, Cassie’s nearly fatal injuries, Bart’s last wishes while hecoughs up blood and bile, Miguel watching his beloved slip in a coma to hoveron the edge of death—

While he’s doing all of that, Cassie is gettinghit with a two week span of time he was tortured as Tim Drake, Kon is getting aload of life with a ruptured spleen bleeding out, Bart is feeling the contagiontaking hold to kill Batman’s sidekick, Gar is feeling the pain when he, Damian,and Dick are fighting it out after the Robin tunic was given away without hisconsent, and Miguel is feeling a whole lot of owfuck from that time theRed Hood tried giving him a second smile to worry about.

But what matters in the end? With Raven’s help,he’s able to keep part of his mind partitioned off from the alien device so hecan live through the atrocities of his team and hack the invader’s tech at thesame time—enough to put in his carefully recalibrated virus to take them thefuck down.

The trap faded around them once the virus his jackpotand breaks the neural-net connection, essentially making the invaders as potentas five-year olds throwing temper tantrums.

The following beat-down is enjoyableenough to make up for the hour spent reliving their worst moments and fears, inhaving those moments share with the rest of the team.

Well, not really.

But still, it’s a pretty sweet revenge fight.

As per usual, the JL appears out of the sky overSan Fran once the main body of fighting is pretty much over and done with.They’ve already started on clean-up with the local authorities when Superman,Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Zatanna, the Flash, Martian Manhunter, GreenArrow, and the Batman show up to take a look around at the nice pile of former mayhem.

It’s a surprise when Superman goes straight forSuperboy, eyes wide with concern, gripping the teen’s arms and asking quietlyif he’s been hurt, is he okay? Does he need to go to the fortress for somehealing time?

Wonder Woman is similarly concerned upon seeingWonder Girl wavering with some bloody patches on her elbows and ribs, but it’sthe younger hero’s eyes that really bother her. Without a word to therest of the Justice League, she takes one of her protégé’s arms around hershoulders and takes to the sky, intent on going to Paradise Island for theyounger to recuperate.

The Flash pretty much catches KF in anall-encompassing hug, blurting out how bad ass the younger speedster didon such terrible bad guys, how proud he is of what KF did here today,how they need to check him over before he collapses, and just let me feedand care for you, little bro.

Zatanna feels the sharp, aching throb of paincoming directly from Raven, the power radiating in shards of agony. As a fellow magic user, she has no qualms going directly to the youngerwoman and talking gently, almost begging her to come to New York and the quietroom set-up to negate magic and allow for healing.

Martian Manhunter, who’s known Gar for years,sees the strain, the trembling, flinching muscle, and just pulls theunresisting Beast Boy up in his arms with something spoken softly against themop of green hair, and flies off with a nod to the Bat.

Red Robin, beaten and abused, bloody andlimping, is glad the JL came for his team; the aftermath of this, the rawnessof it, the pain, would be a real bitch for them to deal with. They would needthe support and the time to come back from the slideshow of horrors they allexperienced.

He turns away from the members of his team beingtaken away by their mentors and friends, going up to Cyborg with a copy of thevirus he created to take the Insurgents down, and gave the JL membersome of the deets about the who, what, when, where, and why since, you know,invading aliens are usually part of the JL’s extensive repertoire ofass-kicking.

He finally puts the bo away now that clean-upcrews are underway and the invaders are being detained by A.R.G.U.S.  Withthe job over and done with, he pulls a grapple in one bloody hand, fires it atthe convenient rooftop to take to flight. Their part is done and AmandaWaller’s people can figure out what the fuck to do with the aliens.

At least from here, he’s close enough to theTower to get half-way there without doing more damage to his ribs and theterrible concussion—

(V)

—Vash the Stampede, hitting the back of hisbrain pan. He needs antibiotics and first-aid to stop the bleeding as well aspossible other bad shit, like septic shock, from setting in (since,really, it’s ass) before he starts up adding this little sitch to theTitan’s records. Then he needs to get back on the hunt for those curiouslywell-funded labs getting Black Market equipment, and—

The slight paf of another zip line shakeshim a little in mid-air.

The shadow of the Bat is coming right up behindhim, dark cape flaring out behind the older vigilante so Red can plainly seeB’s arm already out to grab him around the middle and pretty much pull himright the hell off his own zip line.

“What the f—!?”

But they’re moving through the air, his wordslost to the rushing wind while B’s line attaches to the Batplane flyingoverhead, retracting to bring them closer to the dark silhouette in the sky.

With his back pressed up against the yellow ovaland symbol on B’s chest (and once upon a fucking time this meantsomething, didn’t it?), and that arm like iron around him, Red’s lip curls upin a sneer, shouting over the Batplane’s engine making his hurting jaw achejust that much more.

“What the hell do you need?” The unsaid can’tthis wait? Is right there.

B leans in to talk against his ear while they’restill in mid-air, probably not at all aware of the ringing so loudanyway, “I don’t need anything. Hold on.”

But through the lightheadedness, the strikes ofvertigo, the nausea rising up, Red still clenches his aching jaw and focuses onhow the hold around his gut hurting this much proves he’s pulledsomething probably important.

“Then I don’t want a ride to the Tower. I’ve gotit” Because he does. He’s had to have his own back for the better partof two years, before and after he brought B back from being lost in time andleft the Bats to figure their own shit out. He’s stayed away from their familywhen he’s in Gotham, stayed back because, well, Replacement, right?

Even if he and Jason are on better terms than ‘letme show you the pointy end of this knife,’ he’s still not even fucking goingthere.

The exit door to the Batplane slides open rightunder the cockpit. “I’m not giving you a ride to Titan’s Tower.” Is B’srumbling reply as they close in.

“Not all of us can jump from one crisis to thenext. Give me 48 hours and then you can email me with whatever intel you’reafter.” But he’s blinking behind the whiteouts, feeling sick and fuzzy, theinjuries that apparently aren’t going to just wait a minute.

“I don’t need any intel, Tim,” B snapsout, seemingly angry at something.

Red is too far into the pain game to really givea fuck about more of this little back-and-forth with his former partner.“Then what the hell do you want?” He snaps back, gripping the armaround him at the wrist, pulling his secondary grapple for, you know, justin case.

(Well, it’s not like they’re on good termsor anything—B has a Robin, so what’s this all about?)

“Stop it. You’re going to fall,” the arms getstighter with his meddling, and Red gasps out a pained noise when somethingtender is squeezed right along with it. His upper body flops over B’s arm in anattempt to curl up against the pain.

He barely realizes they’re up through the doorand into the cockpit while the plane glides smoothly on auto-pilot. The minuteB’s arm falls away, he can brace himself on the control panel and try tobreathe without puking.

Gloved hands turning him makes him jerk back astep as far as he can in the small space, pulling away.

“Just…just get me to the damn Tower,” ishoarse, blood on the Batplane’s floor now. Great, he’s going to probably get a rightbitching in his voicemail from Alfred explaining what a pain in the assbloodstains are to get out, Sir.

“I’m not taking you to the Tower,” Bgrowls back.

And there it is again, Batman is gripping hisbicep, pulling him closer, the whiteouts dipped down and the free hand rovingover the torn places in his suit.

“Then why the fuck am I in here, and—and stopthat. Shit!” His knees wobble, his move to pull back aborted when agloved hand presses along his left side. Bile rushes up into his throat,swallowed back down by sheer fucking willpower.

“The Titans just took on invading aliens,Tim. You need medical attention and time to recuperate. Your suit stood up tomost of it, but you’re bleeding.”

Again. There it is. B saidhis name more times in the last ten minutes than he has in the last year. What.The. Ever. Loving. Fuck. Is. Happening?

“Then—” he stutters out between panting breaths,fighting the dizziness and pending gray edges to his vision, “let me go to the fuckingTower so I can patch myself up.”

B seems to finally get that something isrotten in Denmark, and lets Red pull out of the hold. With his vision failingand go time eminent, Red fumbles back at the control panel in an attemptto slam the button that will open the door back for him to jump out of and firehis extra grapple. Then he’s going to be hitting the Medical floor in like, sixminutes tops because much longer and he’s going to be in oh shit landjust like when the Triad—

He misses on the first shot because B knocks hishand away and the exit stays closed.

“Wh-What the hell are you—?”

And sometimes, B is just that guy becausethe corresponding blow to his worst injury is such a fucking dickmove.

But it has the intended effect, showing how weakhe apparently is because his knees knock together and go out on him. He wouldhave ended up on the floor if B hadn’t swept him up like some fainting lily andkicked the co-pilot’s chair around with one foot to set him down in it.

“You’re in no shape to go back to the Tower,” Bmakes it statement punctuated with the last hit.

“…asshole…” he faintly gasps while the painmakes him clench his jaw against a noise.

“We’re going to talk when I’m not worried aboutinternal bleeding and broken bones. Since when have you been taking care ofinjuries this extensive on your own? I’m fairly sure a stipulation to joiningthe Titans was that you keep me updated when you get hurt.” B fills in, handspausing when he realizes the Red Robin’s suit design is…different. Verydifferent. The design has changed, along with the security traps (and hewonders when it happened. He should have the current designs of allhis sons’ suits, including armor schematics and the necessary details).

His Bat sense is going off about everything,more so than when Clark first picked him up from Gotham to inform him theTitans are in the fight of their lives because invading aliens managedto bypass the Watchtower’s systems.

He’d set the Batplane for follow them, alreadyworried about how Red Robin would be holding up while Clark sped them as fastas possible to San Francisco, meeting up with the other JL members on the way.

None of them had to say how worried they were,it was evident, even if you weren’t the so-called World’s GreatestDetective.

But the nagging something tugging at hisinner sense when Red shot his grapple without even a word to him isgetting stronger, is making him worry a hell of a lot more than he was even anhour ago.

He feels out the obvious injuries, even withRed’s hand weakly shoving his away.

“No internal bleeding, nothing broken. Thisconcussion is the bee’s knees thanks. A stop at the Tower to drop me offwould be just—” and yes, B, that was one of their agreements.Back when he was still Robin, when someone actually gave a fuck. Healmost comes out with that, but stutters to a halt because Batman gives nofucks about anything but flicking out a razor-sharp batarang and cuttingthe tunic right up the center, pulling away the dented, broken armor to get tothe body suit and main bleeders underneath.

“Tim, I said I’m not taking you there. No one isgoing back for the moment, and you need medical treatment, these look serious.”B already has the gloves and gauntlets off, “Batcomputer,” he turns slightlyand gets the acknowledging boop, “full body scan of Red Robin. Send results toAgent A.”

“N-No, no, not—” but his arms flop uselessly andthe six-minute window has already passed him up. It’s fail timeapparently.

Behind the whiteouts, B’s eyes narrow with thisconsistent fight. There’s something very wrong here, something wrong when hisformer Robin is fighting him tooth and nail when he’s half-loopy on blood lossand exertion. “Yes. There is no way in hell I’m leaving you in the Towerby yourself like this. Not going to happen, Tim. I am not goingto let you bleed out all over your computers.”

And B shoves his cowl back to show thoseelectric blue eyes, narrowed stubbornly when there’s my way or no waygoing down.

“Why,” he stutters when black replaces gray andhis brain fuzzes more, starts shutting down because of the impending owfuck,“the hell does it matter? I’m not your fucking responsibility anymore, right?”

He tries to sneer, tries to move, tries to snarland snap about why not a little bit of fuck-off for your day, butnothing is responding to command. Before he blacks out, though, he gets to see thelook of utter shock on Batman’s face, and well, the small surge of satisfactionat getting the drop on the Dark Knight leads him to the way—

Out

**

“Septic shock?” Dick gasps, utterly dumbfounded.

“Yes, Master Dick,” Alfred carefully works,aproned and gloved, cleaning the last of the ragged, raw injuries before hewould need to wrap them. The boy on the bed isn’t moving except for his chestrising and falling with slow, even breaths.

He does, however, press a button on the touchpadabove the bed in the Cave’s medical area to show the outline of a human bodywith a glaring red circle.

“It seems Master Timothy is no longer inpossession of the viscera necessary for fighting off infections.”

Bruce in only the body suit, Dick in sweats andt-shirt, and Damian without the domino all turn to Alfred.

And stare.

“You are saying he no longer has a spleen?” Damiverified, “and is thus more prone to illness?”

“That is precisely what the scans are showing,Master Damian, and I ran them several times to verify.”

The youngest Bat blinks once, blinks twice, andturns back to the unconscious form of Tim Drake lying still and silent. It wasbad enough the four of them received a nasty shock while peeling the RedRobin body suit off to reveal a mass of still-healing welts, burns, and brokenskin marring the span of Tim’s back (what the hell happened?) andthe other injuries in the process of healing, injuries that look suspiciouslylike torture on his upper body, arms, and hands; not to mention howAlfred huffs angrily at the visible curve of ribs standing out against paleskin, but finding out he also lost, you know, a semi-crucial body part sometimesince his last Bat-physical (hearing the date is the next shocker of thenight) is pretty much the last straw.

“I’m going to do some research. Let me know ifhe comes to, Alfred.” B turns away with a snarl, the muscles in his back andshoulders tight.

“I shall, Master Bruce. However, I have nointention of tying him down to the bed frame. Should I be detained with dinner,please refrain from using cuffs.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Bruce snaps back,already in his chair at the Batcomputer to start digging into the last sixmonths of Red Robin’s vigilante career and Tim Drake’s personal life.

Gingerly, Dick ruffles Damian’s hair and movesto sit on the medical bed by Tim’s hip, staring up at the closed eyes and slackfeatures. He doesn’t process Alfred taping gauze down on the current injuries,but picks up a bruised and battered hand to hold in both of his while lookingat a very obvious scar now that he knows some of what’s been going on inthe time since Tim has been back to the Manor after the Robin mantle went toDami.

(And Dick feels like a right bastardbecause he remembers coming up the stairs, thinking Tim might have been in hisold room after their thing with Ra’s people before B had been found—whenhe thought Tim might have come to his senses and come home to be RedRobin here with them…and found Tim’s room empty. His things moved out, theshelves missing his usual array of books and video games, no clothes in theclosets, no extra suits in the hidey holes, no shampoo in the shower ortoothpaste on the sink. The Flash shower curtain is gone, replaced by a genericone in most of the other guest rooms. And just turning in circles, the hardweight in his chest, the utter pain when he realized Tim never meant to comeback. He was already gone from the Cave where Alfred had patched him up,where Tim had told Dick specifically, “You’re my brother. I knew you’dcatch me.”)

He sighs, shoulders rising with the move. Hedoesn’t say anything as Alfred continues to dress the injuries and Tim sleepson.

It’s not very long before a sharp intake ofbreath from the computer draws their eyes, and B is typing furiously to getmore information. Hacking into the Tower’s mainframe is child’s play,especially when he has Vic doing the hard work.

Tim’s ghost drive, however, is yielding moreresults than he anticipated.

The video file labeled Triad makes hisstomach churn.

Dick leaves Tim to sleep off the drugs andantibiotics, for his fever to slowly come down under their ministrations. Hegrins a little at Damian asleep in the chair next to the medical bed and stepsover to the computer where Bruce is looking grim, fists clenched tight on thecontrol panel.

Dick almost asks, almost, until hecatches the video playing—

And watches Tim Drake take a whip to the backwhile their former Robin is screaming.

“Oh��Oh my God,” he blinks, chest tight,nausea rising up when the footage skips and the next scene is Tim being helddown by the arms and shoulders, the remains of his business suit ripped to givea span of bloody skin for the glowing hot iron bar to be set down.

He doesn’t know when he moved or when B got tohis feet while the two of them try very hard not to be sick as Tim screamedover and over on the security footage.

They stand together, silenced by horror as theslideshow continues, as Tim is tortured over and over, as one of their ownattempt to escape, gets to the control room and tries to get a communicationout to the outside world.

By the time they have the full picture of howthose marks got there and what Tim Drake had to go through, Bruce is deep inthe Bat, anger radiating from every pore.

Tim was abducted outside Wayne Enterprises ashis daytime persona, as Tim Drake, CEO, and none of them had known a damn thingabout it.

**

It’s almost forty-eight hours later.

The Bats are in from patrol and upstairs to dohuman things, like sleep and eat and bathe (because the sewers of Gotham are nastyno matter how many times you’ve been down there—the sitch never gets any better).B has scrubbed down and changed in the Cave, making sure he was free ofcontaminants before coming over to check on his still-sleeping Robin. Handsaccustomed to delivering pain are absurdly gentle when he lays a palm on theback of Tim’s neck, glad to see his temperature is finally getting back tonormal, and checking the IVs as well as the bandages on Tim’s healing back andnewer injuries on his side and knee. He ruffles the too-long hair gently beforegoing up to check quickly on Alfred and the boys before planning on coming backdown to stay close to Tim, hoping he might be stable enough to wake up and talkto them.

So the Cave is empty for the moment when themachines attached to the sensor clamped on Tim’s finger and the little stickypads on his chest start to pick up slightly. Not enough to trigger analert, just enough for him to blink open his bleary eyes riding the dredges ofpainkillers and sedatives.

It’s the Bat-cocktail of owfuck.

Really, he should have known better.

The fog is clearing out while his head flops onone side to look around and see where he’s—and what’s happ—how did—?

His head flops to the other side, eyes wideningwhen he realizes the big car is parked a little past the curtain, and on theother side of him, the Batcomputer looks the same, but there’s a few morethings on the control panel.

He gets the urge to violently hurl oncethe screeching overhead signals where he’s at just in case, you know, theremight be any doubt.

The air in his chest chokes off, leaving himcoughing hard for a few seconds, enough that the pulsox beeps once in warningand he struggles to get himself under control.

The haze of painkillers is still there, but nothingshort of death is going to stop him. Instead, he uses the lead to pull thelittle machine close to him and manages to pop the casing off. A few wires and boom,he takes the sensor off his finger and the monitor keeps going. It takesmaneuvering for him to sit up enough to reach the heart monitor and do prettymuch the same.

There’s cameras everywhere, but he’s sure no onewould be watching (because why would they?) as he stands on stiff,aching legs, manages to stumble a little before righting himself.

The knee isn’t going to get better anytime soon,so he’s good to be limping around because at least that means he’s onhis feet.

The Red Robin suit they must have taken off ofhim is folded neatly on a workstation table, easy to pick up.

He feels immensely better with the body suit on(even if the pressure on still-healing injuries is about a bitch, damn);boots, gloves and gauntlets, harness and utility belt. It’s enough to rock.

A domino goes on while he nabs his somewhatstitched back together cape, but the armored tunic is totes a lost cause.

Bummer.

With the machines beeping steadily behind him,Tim leaves the tunic, makes his way further down into the Cave, favoring theleg, moves as straight-backed as possible to keep the marks on his back frompulling and getting sore all over again, as been the pattern in the last monthsince he’s been back from a certain little vacay.

(And it’s fucked how B probably saw thosemarks isn’t it? Just another check in the who gives a shit category…but,the old memorial case with Jason’s Robin suit is still there where it’s alwaysbeen—and a double-take confirms it. His first Robin suit is in a new case nextto it. Mother. Fucker does it makes his chest hurt.)

The line of just in case vehicles is inthe same place it always was. A crappy beater for Matches Malone, a van forpick-ups, an Ambulance in case shit gets real. A covered car in the backcorner that is terribly, achingly familiar, and his eyes skitter away from it,just like he did with the memorial cases.

Instead, he goes to one of the four Ducati’sserviced and ready to rock, lifts up the seat while balancing on his good leg.Keys fall into his palm, so score.

His hip only hitches slightly when he throws thebad leg over the bike so the good one can steady it, and the bruises tomorroware going to be fucking beautiful.

But for the moment, all good. He’ssitting down at least, and flips the bike on, raises the bad leg to start theengine—

When Dami drops down from the ceiling vent andlands a few feet in front of him at a crouch.

No suit, no domino, but the pose is all Robin.

A Robin in his pjs, but then, well, there’sschool and shit in the morning isn’t there?

“Drake,” a low, almost-question.

“Nice to see you too,” he smirks with oldbitterness, just waiting for it.

Dami’s eyes go from the whiteouts to the bikeand back up. “This…is not a favorable course of action,” is said morecarefully than he can remember the Demon ever being.

“What now?” Because seriously, what now?

“You have been recovering from septic shock,”the youngest informs him, still in that crazy careful tone. “Among otherinjuries. It would be best if you stayed where you could be monitored shouldyou relapse.”

Now he thinks he might be more loopy on the I’mfucked up cocktail than initially assessed. Things just aren’t…aren’tmaking sense here.

“I’m in a multiverse aren’t I?” Is a stupid butkind of valid question.

Damian, however, is not amused.

“You are a fool. This is not surprising. However,as I have been informed, your team stopped an alien invasion. That if nothingelse would merit time, Drake.”

“Telepaths that want to take over our world are assholes.Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He comes back easily, “and I have a place torecoup. It would be nice to be on my way there right about now.”

The bad leg comes down, shooting a thrill ofpain up, but fuck it. Really. He needs to get out of here before JasonTodd comes around to give him a bro fist or something else just ascrazy.

The engine purrs to life against his thighs.

Again, it’s opposite day because thatlittle brat is leaning against the handlebars, scowling and talking over theengine instead of doing things like, you know, moving.

“I would not do this if I were you.”

He blinks behind the whiteouts. “I don’t knowwhat the fuck is going on here, but this is getting to creep-tasticsproportions.” He leans over the handlebars as much as he can without someserious owfuck hitting, “you wanted me gone, Demon. Riff raff,remember? That cut zip line? You think I need a written invitation toget the fuck out?”

Dami’s eye widen a fraction before narrowing,the little asshole leaning in as well like they’re going to fight it out forsome crazy reason because this is what they all wanted butwere too chicken-shit to tell him.

“Dick’s too nice to say it, but you think hereally has to after all this time?”

“Grayson—” Dami starts, voice raised to be heardover the purring engine.

“Never wanted me either. I guess you and JasonTodd were right all along. Want to gloat about it? How about you do it overSkype so I can get back to my life?”

Dami growls, baring his teeth in a snarl, “no,you fool. Grayson has missed you unbearably in the last twoyears. He has attempted to keep track of you while you searched for Father andthen later when you re-joined the Titans. He is the one that built the case foryour Robin suit.”

And just…what the ever-loving fuck?

“I am aware of how things were left whenI began my own time as Robin, Drake. I am aware of—”

“Get off.” Because now he’s blinking behind thewhiteout, his eyes getting hot and wet fast. “Get the fuck off.”

“No!” Damian snarls back, gripping thehandlebars tighter, like he has every intention of holding on. “I refuseto let you leave like this!”

And so, apparently it’s time to spell it out.“No one gives a shit if I’m here or not.” He shoves himselfstanding, old, buried pain rearing up from the terrible place in his brain panwhere he’d buried it all just so he could keep moving. “They let meinherit the cape because I was an asshole kid and found out theirsecret. They let me keep it because I did an alright job at keeping Bfrom fucking himself up like Robin is supposed to do. And he took me inbecause my fucking father was murdered when my identity was compromised.It’s ‘adopt an orphan syndrome,’ Damian. That’s it. I fucking Get.It. Now.”

Those eyes narrow, color rising to the youngervigilante’s face. But Tim leans down, blinking rapidly behind the whiteoutbecause he’s not going to give him or any of them that fuckingsatisfaction.

His voice is low, almost angry if it didn’tcrack, giving away more than he wants, especially to Damian. “Besides,why would they want the replacement when they’ve got the real son in thecape anyway, right? You said that, and you were right, weren’t you?”

“N-none of that—Drake…Timothy, youdon’t honestly,” and the twelve year old almost looks his age for once, “youdon’t honestly believe that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a veryunfunny smirk, “I’m a detective, Damian. I don’t believe anything until I haveevidence.”

The younger Bat sputters a moment, looking oddlyshell-shocked, but he doesn’t let go, refuses to give up, “evidence? Openyour eyes, Drake. Father ordered the Justice League to attend your battleas soon as he knew, made Kent come to pick him up as he knew it would be thefastest way to get to you.”

“What part of aliens wasn’t clear? Thatis usually JL territory, we just happened to call dibs.”

Dami’s fists tighten around the handlebars, “Ihave been Robin for three years. Three years, Drake. If there isanything I have learned in that time, it is how Father would not leave any ofhis Robins behind. Not even you.”

Welp, that’s going to be a very hardeventual realization for the kid. But really, it isn’t any of his businessanymore. None of this is.

He sinks back down slowly, painfully becauseit’s time to go. “Get out of the way.”

The hair on the back of his neck, however, cutshim off, makes his straighten up again on the bike and rev up the engine. Damiisn’t moving, but is just staring at him looking like he might pull out thatwicked katanna for a little sliced n’ diced vigilante rather than dealwith his shenanigans. Not like it’s nothing new.

But the ghost sensation has drawn the brat’sattention as well, those eyes drawn over Tim’s left shoulder.

Without turning to look, he gives the standard,“thanks for the pick-up. Let me know when you need the next batch of intel.We’ll have a crime-fighting party with confetti and everything.”

The hand on his bicep is something he hadn’tanticipated, startling him to look up at Bruce’s bare face and angry eyes.

Oh shit. Batman’s not a happy camper. Time tohit the dirt.

From his other side, Dick comes out of nowhereand reaches around him to turn the bike off and take the key out of the ignition.

Oh, so that’s how it is? After all theyears he put into maintaining the bikes and cars just like everyone else—

“Like I said,” he deadpans, trying very, veryhard not to get pissed off at the snub, “thanks for the pick-up. I’ll gettogether whatever data you’re looking for when—”

“Get off the bike, Tim,” Bruce emphasizes theorder with a tug to his arm.

“Seriously?” Well, there goes the best ofintentions, “I’ll bring it back if this is a problem.”

“Not the point. Get the hell off the bike.”

He shoves himself to his feet, already planningon hitting up Kon in a quick text just to get a ride out of here as fast asfucking possible, itching to jerk his arm out of B’s hold (and dammit,he hates to do that now that Clark isn’t being an asshat extraordinaire). So helets it ride for the moment since, well, he pretty much shouldn’t be hereanyway, so the lecture is probably going to be fucking spectacular.

His hip hitches again when he swings his legback over the bike, but it’s only slightly painful this time around. Nope,there’s more pain elsewhere that has nothing to do with skin and soft,fleshy bits.

He in no way is prepared for Bruce pulling hisarm up and around those massive shoulders, bending down enough to be aboutTim’s height. The limp isn’t as bad with B supporting him with an arm aroundhis waist (under the worst of the older marks) and gripping the wrist, walkinghim right the fuck back into the depths of the Cave where Alfred is waitingwith hands properly folded behind him.

“Ah, the patient is awake,” Alfred is calm,cool, and collected as per usual. “Perhaps a stronger dose of painkillersshould have been in order.”

“Not necessary,” he fills in shortly, pullingaway from Bruce as soon as possible, a passing glance off the machines he’dreconfigured. “Thanks for patching me up, Alfred.”

The butler sighs through his nose and it’s sopainfully familiar. “Of course, Master Tim. If you would be sokind as to change clothing, the bandages will need to be checked again.”

He holds up a hand, “again, not necessary. I’mon my way out—”

Dick shoves sweats and a t-shirt in his chest,jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle is jumping there, and it’s fine,he gets it. Dick doesn’t want him there. He really doesn’t need this—

“I’m trying to be out of your hair,” hegrowls back at the former Batman and current Nightwing. “I didn’t ask tocome here. Not my bad.”

If anything, Dick’s expression gets even angrier.Angry enough that the hands holding the clothes are trembling finely until Timtakes them just to get the older vigilante to step back.

“Drake,” and it’s really saying something when Damianis the one stepping between them, trying to keep, well, whatever peacedistance can realistically bring. “This is difficult to believe, but there is agrave misunderstanding happening here.”

His eyebrows draw together, head tilted down tothe youngest, but he wisely remains silent because there’s volumes hecould say about that.

“Do you need assistance, Master Tim?” Alfredcuts in, trying to divert the brewing storm raging in Dick and Bruce’sexpressions, “I should say some of your injuries must be rather painful at thisjuncture. Your back, for example—”

“I’ve got it. Thank-you.”

“Very good, Sir. Once you have changed, I have adelightful pot of coffee and breakfast—”

But those words make his head snaparound, “coffee?”

Because yes. The answer is always yes.

Alfred hums knowingly, “indeed. I believe it isthe Sumatra brand you seem to favor?”

And dammit. Just, dammit Alfred.

In reply, he limps back to pull the curtainclosed in the sectioned-off medical area, flopping the sweats and t-shirt downon the gurney. Deep, cleansing breath, and he reverses order, taking off glovesand gauntlets, boots, utility belt and harness, cape and dom, leaving the bodysuit for last (since there’s the most owfuck of the day).

“Tim? You okay?” B’s voice is softer, floatingover the partition, his silhouette against the curtain.

“I’m fine,” he taps on his wrist computer withone arm through the t-shirt. Getting the sweats on is painful but it’s whateverreally, the knee isn’t going to get any better so no use whining about it.

Instead, he puts the wrist computer back on hisforearm and comes out a la civvies, his too-long hair probably wrecked,but with a KO of approximately two days?

He shoves the curtain back, cracking his neck,and starting to move to intercept Alfred’s approach. “Bandages are clean, soI’m good. Thanks.”

The butler tisks and gently simply steers MasterTim back to the gurney, “I will need to check your levels as well as theinjuries you are unable to see, Master Tim. You certainly cannot assessyour back unless you’ve taken to perform feats of magic?”

The others approach, watching with grave facesas the butler allows a cup and saucer inside the medical area, an excuse tokeep Tim’s hands busy so work can be done.

“My levels are f—” The smell hits like anaphrodisiac and his eyes fall half-mast just because coffee.

“Do not say ‘fine.’ For a young man without thenecessary organ to build up proper immunities, then I would dare to say yes.However, for a crime-fighting vigilante, your white cell count is woefully deficient.”

Oh. So that’s whatthis is about?

Shit.

“I’ve had enough time to adjust.” Is all hebites out as the butler gloves up, winds a stethoscope around his neck.

When B’s hands plant on his hips like he iswinding up for the mother of all lectures, and Damian puts a hand toDick’s forearm to stop him from saying whatever might be ready to comeout of his mouth, Tim realizes how much of a thing this might be.

The butler, however, just frowns, “then I willpose the obvious question, Master Tim. How many episodes of septic shock haveyou experienced before now?”

His jaw clenches, eyes close briefly becausewhen he got off that fucking ship—

The pinch to his inner elbow jars him out of it(luckily) or he might still be smelling stagnant water and imagine the worldrocking under his feet.

“Twice,” and he leaves it at that, going morepale at the bits flashing through his brain pan.

Alfred removes the syringe, tapes a cotton ballto the small wound. “Twice, Sir?” is quiet, neutral.

Tim swallows, looking at the span of wallinstead of any of them, “yeah.”

“Once recently I’m afraid?” And Alfred sets theblood sample aside, easily moves a gloved hand to be under Master Tim’s stillholding the delicate saucer. The minute clattering stops when he does.

“Yeah,” hoarse, but fuck yes.

“Your back, Tim?” now Alfred’s tone is movinginto soothing, someone that can (used to be) be trusted.

Still staring at the wall, keeping himselftogether, Tim gives a short, pointed nod.

“What—” Dick steps a little closer to his side,not enough to set him off, but enough to reach out, slowly, easy, “who did thatto you, Timmy?”

His shoulders tense with the contact, and heblinks hard, shaking himself out of it, shaking himself the fuck back tothe present. He lifts the cup and takes a drink of utter heaven.

It helps to steady him, to keep his head outof the two weeks he spent being tortured as Tim Drake, CEO, and the more recentfight with dick bag aliens.

“I took care of it.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything,” Dick counters.“Timmy…you were tortured.”

And well, yes. Yes, he was.

“Yup,” is his soft admission, staring down intothe depths of his coffee while Alfred moves around behind him and the shirtinches up his spine, making his hackles rise just slightly. “I was.”

And he knows, he knows, Alfred was tryingto be careful, wasn’t trying to do anything, but the wounds, the memories, allof it was still so new and raw, that when the touch hits the wrong spot,reminds him of a burning iron bar pressed against his shoulders, he chokes andmoves without thinking.

The cup and saucer crash to the floor, and he isup, moving away, spinning in mid-air, landing at a crouch with his legand back screaming, his eyes wide, hand automatically poised in a nerve strike.And he can fight, he can fight, and he can win. He can save them thistime, save them all, and he can—

He can, he will.

Whizzing and moving, focused on not throwing up,focused on not stopping.

Bruce is gripping his face between those massivepalms from one blink to the next, and Tim realizes he must have been movingagain because they aren’t standing by the medical area anymore.

Instead, he’s pinned down on one of the big matsused for practice and training half-way across the Cave, the vinyl soft andworn-in under the arm Bruce has pinned at the wrist. His back is fucking agonybecause he’s laying down on the healing injuries. Worse, he’s shaking likefuck, the coffee in his stomach rolling with it.

“Tim! You need to stop. Just. Stop.”

But it’s just as bad because he can’t be helddown.

That…he’s not good with that, and hiships take over regardless of owfuck, bucking up enough to get Bruce offhim so he can turn over, land on all fours and gag.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…fuck…”

He gets a million vigilante points for notthrowing up his coffee.

A. Million.

Plopping down on his ass to try getting air backinto his lungs, however, is seriously the best idea for the moment even if he’sshaky as fuck and probably embarrassed the shit out of himself.

(Regretting letting him back in now,aren’t you?)

Dick kneels in plain sight, ducking down tocatch Tim’s rapidly blinking eyes. “Hey, just me,” is meant to be soft andsoothing.

It’s not.

Instead, Tim closes his eyes again it and triesto calm himself but his brain is too fuzzy, still half-stuck on the ship, inthe mind trap, in his team’s memories—

“…something for me, Tim. Let me know you’rewith us.”

He doesn’t open his eyes so he can’t see whateverexpression is on those faces.

“Should have just…dropped me at the goddamnedTower,” he manages hoarsely, bringing his knees up to hold his heavy head.

Bruce, refusing to be diverted, gets closeenough to wrap his long fingers around Tim’s ankle slowly, carefully. “No,” heclaims slowly, mind working furiously at the flow of new and disturbinginformation, “no, Tim. I’m glad, very glad, I brought you home.”

The laugh coming out of Tim’s bent head ishalf-way to a sob (home? There hasn’t been a home in a while actually),and Bruce’s hand moves up to grip into a calf instead, sliding subtly closer onhis knees.

Dick paces right beside him, being absurdlycareful, recognizing the reactions, the instincts Bruce bred into all hisRobins to fight when you’re out of all other options. It’s knee-jerkreaction to any situation.

“You blanked out for a few minutes there, Timmy.It looked like,” he hesitates slightly from saying it even if he has plentyof experience dealing with this kind of thing, “you were having a flashback.”

“I don’t talk about it,” is the hoarse reply,the horrible panting sounds finally easing down.

“I think we’re going to try checking over yourinjuries again,” Dick gingerly touches a few fingers to Tim’s limp hand,“without trying to set you off, okay? We’ll…Timmy, we’ll be right here withyou.” His finger firm a little, squeeze Tim’s fingers before the hand jerks outof his hold, the leg moving away from Bruce.

Tim scrambles backwards on the mat, shoves tohis feet because ignoring pain is something he does like a boss, but pity?Oh, he gets all kinds of pissed off about it.

Just ask Kon. The impressive choke hold issomething the super is probably never going to forget.

“I don’t need checked over. I don’t needanything other than a way to get back to my damn Tower—” and the fuckaway from here is implied.

Because really. They can stop this moundof variable bullshit anytime now.

“I don’t need whatever in the hell this,” andhis hands flutter around for a second, “this shit is all of a sudden. I lead mydamn team, and it doesn’t effect how I work. How I’ve workedfor the last few years. I’m. Fucking. Good.”

Bruce’s mouth flattens into a grim line, staringat his third Robin, the son that took his name without qualm, the son he’d letget too far the fuck away because he felt like he didn’t belong in hisown home. And Dick might share the burden of that, the younger vigilantenearly radiating beside him facing Tim down, ready to stop him if he tries tobolt.

And Bruce doesn’t feel bad about Damian andAlfred slowly coming up behind Tim to box him in, takes a moment to beratehimself for thinking he was doing the right thing in giving Tim the spacehe thought the former Robin needed to heal. The same space Dick needed when hehad to move on from the Robin mantle.

But he’d inadvertently caused both hisformer Robins nothing but pain by giving them the space to throw their bodiesinto the Mission to try and escape the devastation, the loss.

It’s another black mark under his name, but ifanything, Bruce, the Bat, has no qualms rectifying his mistakes.

And he’s perfectly fine starting now.

“Tim,” interrupts the snarling commentary on howRed Robin isn’t fucking anything up (which is unnecessary because Brucealready knows it), and makes the injured bird abruptly pause. “Let meget this straight.”

The third Robin stops, seems to mentally re-set,like when they started up a new case and the personal lives had to be left inthe Cave before they got into the big car for the upcoming night. It’s enoughof the old Tim that Bruce takes a few cautions steps, holding up fingersto tick off so he’s got Tim’s attention on the visual.

“You were kidnapped as your daytime persona, asTim Drake, not Red Robin—”

Oh shit. Well, World’s GreatestDetective. Of course he’d find out. It happened in his city.

“—they tortured you on a ship in the middle ofthe ocean. You escaped, brought them down, and turned them in to severalbranches of authorities. Four days ago, you showed up as Red Robin when theInsurgents hit Earth’s atmosphere. You went into a fight with your team againsta psychic horde without calling for back-up. And you won. Allright so far?”

“Sounds…about right.”

Bruce hums, nods, “and…why do you thinkI would questioning how effective you are as a vigilante?”

Wait.

Tim’s mouth works but nothing comes out because,well, point.

“I have no idea why you’re trying to convince mewhen I’m already well aware how incredible you are in the field. I don’tneed any other justifications. What I need to know,” and Bruce unfoldshis arms, hands loose at his sides, trying to look less intimidating so Tim’shackles won’t rise again, “is when your spleen was removed and what criminalcaused it. What I want to know is if you’ve seen anyone to help youthrough the trauma you went through on that ship. What I want to know is whyyou keep telling me you’re fine and you handle it when you are obviously notfine. No one, Tim, no one could be after all that.”

And the younger vigilante stares up at him,taller than the last time Bruce had a chance to really see him, withnarrow eyes that are already calculating his next moves. B knows it because hesees Tim’s eyes slide to Alfred and Damian, slide over to Dick before comingback to him. It’s saying something when the Bat is hovering at the fore of hismind, ready for another mad attack if Tim flips back into those flashbacks andstarts fighting by instinct.

“What I need to know is,” B counterssoftly, “why you didn’t come home when you needed to.”

When Tim stays silent, when his beaten, batteredbody gets as straight as it can, Bruce sees enough, knows enough.

He nods slowly, like he gets it, whateversilent message Tim is putting out, and returns that intense look, sees so muchhidden under the exterior that he should have picked up long before this verymoment.

“You three go upstairs. Have some downtime,” hewaves a shooing hand at Dick, Damian, and Alfred, “Tim didn’t get his coffee,and I honestly don’t need any more caffeine induced contingencies on my hands.”

“Bruce—” is Dick’s desperate attempt tostay because now he knows how much of this, how much of it isright on his head.

“Dick. Go have some downtime.”

Dami isn’t happy, is looking with his headtilted up, those dark eyes all for the scowl on Tim’s face, the sneer.

Alfred, however, steps between them, MasterTimothy and Master Bruce to break the stare down and lift a fresh cup andsaucer into the younger vigilante’s hand. It breaks the oldest man’s heart whenMaster Tim…hesitates.

But the hands are steady when the coffee istaken, and the young Master is looking carefully away from the butler, a musclein his jaw flickering.

“Thank-you,” is said softer than the rest.

“What else could I do, Master Tim? My life isdedicated to caring for my family, and that includes you.” A small pat to theyounger man’s head while the angry, defensive expression falls to wide-eyed andslack, like the younger Master is genuinely surprised. The saucer isheld tighter in busted fingers when Timothy’s spine snaps straighter and heblinks rapidly, trying to harden himself, pull his strength around him like acloak so none of them can see what abject pain he is in—how he obviouslywas very certain he no longer belonged here, with them all.

“Oh Tim,” the butler sighs sadly, gently, “thismay be untoward, so forgive me, but it is so nice to see you. As much as wehave missed, as much as you have suffered and succeeded, I am still so happy tohave you home.”

The reaction is those wide eyes, the true tellto Master Timothy’s thoughts returning to his face and immediately seeking outany deception on the butler’s part, any lies or placations, any shred ofevidence to support his previous theories.

Alfred smiles, just a small curve of his lowerlip, when the younger man’s shoulders lose a small bit of tension, just enoughto prove he found no lies here. When he can have just a hint of belief. It’sjust enough for Alfred to fit a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezewith infinite gentleness before he’s herding two of his other charges up into theManor, casting a glance back at the long line of Master Bruce’s tense backbefore he and Master Dick exchange a very concerned look.

**

And they leave Tim and Bruce in the Cave withthe fluttering of bats, the gentle hum of working equipment, with damagedsuits, and healing bodies, with injuries and trauma.

It’s such a painful thing for Bruce, staring atTim and remembering a younger kid standing in the same place with the Rover his heart, the suit of his Robin and that crazy, wide grin in anticipationfor nightfall when they could move together.

When Tim’s team was Batman and Robin.

“None of this is necessary,” and it’s RedRobin’s voice, unshakeable and reliable. A leader. A vigilante.

And not the person Bruce wants to talk toright at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce cuts off that train ofthought, seeing past the denials and old pain, seeing past everythingTim is spitting out, the abject hurt, the theory that maybe, maybethey’d just been-been using him all this time. That he was just a kid ina cape or something just as ridiculous. “I’m sorry it got this far. I’m sorrynone of us, me or Dick or Alfred jumped in to remind you that you will alwayshave a home here, no matter what.  There’s no excuse for it, Tim,absolutely none.”

The younger vigilante frowns harder, his thoughtprocesses obvious to the World’s Greatest Detective.

“Once Damian and I could realistically worktogether, Dick left out of Gotham to trail the Titans and see if he could atleast talk to you, but the team was moving fast, so he wanted to waituntil you were in town again. But, regardless, we let this go on for toolong, letting you get further and further away without checking in, withoutcoming back.”

“I didn’t need to.” Tim interjects, firming hisjaw, still staying as far inside the mask as he possibly can, trying to protecthimself.

And Bruce finally sees it.

“And you don’t have to do this,” the youngervigilante puts the cup and saucer down immediately, eyes never losing that hardedge, “at all. It’s not necessary at this point. I’m still going to be theintel guy, the IT solution. I’ll still come when you call just like I’ve alwaysdone.”

“That’s not good enough.” Bruce insistsback, arms loose by his sides, “it was never supposed to be needed over wanted,and it isn’t like that. You won’t believe me until you have evidence, I knowalready, but Tim,” and Bruce comes up on him, not the stalk of the Bat or thestride of the daytime persona, it’s all Bruce Wayne—

Dad.

He’s careful but firm, hands tilting his son’sface up a little, taking in the widening eyes of surprise, “Tim, you arealways, will always be one of my sons. Just like Dick and Jasonand Damian. That’s what you agreed to when you took on the mask. You becamemine and the Batman’s, our Robin, our partner, our son, and yes,yes this is necessary. It’s completely and totally necessary becausealong the way the important things got pushed to the wayside, and it’s so farfrom fine that I can’t even begin to list the problems here.”

And the younger vigilante has the most probablereaction Bruce can predict.

He fights.

“Bullshit,” is hoarse, angry when Tim shovesaway, steps back, “and I don’t need bullshit, Bruce. You think Idon’t get it? I was the kid that figured out your secret, you hadto keep me, to keep me quiet about it. So of fucking course you’d let mewear the R. What would I have done if you hadn’t? Just because I got goodat it doesn’t mean I don’t fucking recognize how it never should have been me.It should have been Jason and then Damian. It should have been blood,not some fucking kid you never wanted.”

And God it hurts, these things tearingout him like fucking poison, like rancid bile he can finally vomit up, to get outof him.

“And you did good. You did great, Bruce,dealing with me. You really did. You did the best you could under thecircumstances,” and fuck, yes, he means it because Bruce was there forhim when he was Robin, when Dad died, when his world was going to shittime and time again. Bruce put up with his crap more than anyone in his entire life—evenhis real Dad. “I appreciate it, all the shit from back then. You don’t—” andhis chest hitches, but he grinds his teeth, straightens his back for it, “youdon’t even know how much I needed you. How much I respect you, how muchI wanted to be your partner and friend, and you gave me that, Bruce. You didthat for me, but…but your real son has the cape now, just like italways should have been, and I understand that. This,” and his handswaffle back-and-forth while he looks away, tries to choke down the bitternessall these realizations still leave behind, “this is the way it should havehappened. This is—” not okay, never fine, not really, “how itshould be.”

But when he looks back, chances a glance, hejerks a little because Bruce’s expression is—

(Is there some fear toxin somewhere? What thehell?)

The hands at Bruce’s sides are clenching intotight fists, his forearms cording, muscles getting tight.

“How long have you felt like this?” Theoldest vigilante demands in a low, dangerous voice, “how long do youthink I’ve just been tolerating you? How could you even— Jesus,Tim.”

But really, he’s the detective, right? “Iforced my way in,” he deadpans, “you never chose me, Bruce.”

And even though he’s come a long way from thatRobin to now, he’s still not fast enough to dodge Batman.

Nope. That’s not happening.

Because Bruce is across the span separating themin a skiff of shadows, literally picking him up off his feet with an arm aroundhis waist below the healing whip marks, the other hand buried in the hair atthe back of his head, pushing his face into Bruce’s neck and shoulder (and he’sshaking, Bruce, Batman, the unstoppable, the indomitable, is shaking).

The move is so out of what he expected,so unpredictable, Tim’s eyes are wide, just blinking wetly, hands up toautomatically brace himself on Bruce’s biceps.

“In…in the beginning, I was terrifiedof you,” Bruce blinks back his own wet eyes against the side of Tim’s too-longhair, “I was so scared of getting another innocent kid hurt, and you were…youwere so smart and so brave. You were fearless, Tim. You were perfect forthe job, but if I got you hurt, if I got you killed, if this world losteverything you are because of me and my Mission… then there would be noredemption. And I—” and Bruce grips him tighter, breathes in slowly,presses the side of his face into Tim’s hair harder, “I couldn’t lose you too.I couldn’t lose you, Tim.”

And that. To hear that it wasn’t becauseof Jason Todd, to hear that he was valued back then for himself, has Tim’sheart give a painful throb in his chest, makes him hold on to Bruce like he wasstill that Robin.

“In the beginning, I didn’t want anotherkid in danger. I didn’t want another person’s life in my hands, I didn’twant anyone else to suffer because of my choice to do this, to be Batman, to bethe crime fighter Gotham needed. So…so you-you were partially right. Backthen, I didn’t want you involved. When you helped solve Dick’s caseand-and you gave me no choice, Tim. You proved to me you were everything Ineeded Robin to be, everything Dick was, everything Jason was, everythingDamian is learning to be. There was no way I could let you go.”

And God, to hear that, just to hearthat from Bruce.

It’s more than he ever expected.

“You’re more than just a kid in a cape.You always were. You were always the kid I needed, the kid that groundedme, the kid that was so much like me that you should have been a Waynefrom the get-go. Just like Dick and Jason. You taught me just as much as Itaught you, and even though I never wanted to overstep my boundaries, I neverwanted to try and take your Dad away from you because—” and Bruce has to pause,has to let his eyes spill over because back then? Back then when Jack was anass, was a damn terrible father, Bruce still couldn’t fight him because, “—becauseif mine had lived, even if he couldn’t understand me and what I grew into…Istill would have at least had him.”

And Tim bites down on his lip hard enough todraw blood, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from spilling over too, from his armsmoving to wrap around Bruce’s shoulders and hold the fuck on.

“But,” Bruce breathes in, rolls his eyes upwardto try and calm down, “but when you still lost him, I…There was no question,Tim. There never was. You were my son just as much as his, and there was nevera question as to where you belonged, that you have a home here. Not-nota room, not a cot in the Cave, not a locker for your gear. Your home,Tim. And I…I thought I was helping, letting you be the vigilante you needed tobe. When you brought me back and it was Damian in the R, I… I understood why,but I still missed you. I was still…upset with Dick, doing thatwithout telling you, without giving you an opportunity to have your say. I wastrying to give you time to stop hurting, to grow from it. I was trying not topush you too hard, to make it hurt worse.”

Gentle movement, Bruce walking carefully towardthe medical gurney still carrying Tim without even straining, still holding himclose, still so painfully angry at himself for how long these thingsmust have been buried in Tim’s psyche, how all of it must have pushed thisyoung man to his breaking point.

“And I…” Bruce closes his eyes briefly as ithitches, “and I failed you, Tim. I’m so sorry that I failed you as your Dad.I’m sorry you ever thought I only wanted to keep you from telling mysecret because it was never about that.”

But Tim, hanging there, limply, pain a dull redthrob in his brain pain, gripping Bruce around the shoulders tight,hides his face away from the realizations, from the things he never imagined.

Bruce folds himself down and rocks justslightly, comforting them both a little with the motion, “and you’re not goingto believe all this. Not for a while. I know you, young man, and you’regoing to need time to believe in me again, to believe in the family, andthat’s-that’s okay. That’s completely understandable. I’ll give you as muchtime as you need, but goddammit, Tim, I’m not letting you getthat far out of my sight again. I’m not ever going to let you go. Whether youlike it or not, you’re stuck with us, kid.”

He doesn’t laugh or chuckle, still in a state ofshock since he really didn’t imagine this in his future, or well ever.

After all this time, all the bad guys andterrible night, all the sacrifices and job well dones, he’d pretty much figuredit was really…over.

This is a whole lot of unexpected that his brainpan can’t handle all at once. He needs time to think about it, to review theevidence.

“Give me a chance, Tim,” is breathed gently againsthis ear, “don’t give up on me yet. Please, don’t give up on me.”

“You’re an idiot,” he finds himself saying backwith a scratchy throat, “I didn’t give up on you when the world thought youwere dead. Like I’m going to start now?”

And Bruce, B, the Batman, just breathesout in the quiet dim of the Cave, holds this almost nineteen-year-old on hislap like he used to do to Dick when the kid was on overload or he’s finallygotten Damian to just deal with it.

“When I really believe you mean that, I’ll let yougo back to Titan’s Tower.”

That does earn a snickerbecause really, Bruce?

“Can you just—” and the World’s GreatestDetective hesitates for a second, not sure how hard he wants to push whenthere’s been some progress made tonight.

“…you want to know about the spleen thing,don’t you?”

Bruce pats the uninjured leg a little and nodswith Tim’s head tucked under his chin.

Closing his eyes, Tim sighs out through hisnose. But, well, to start gathering evidence, this might just be the way tostart.

[mirvns-blog]

OK SO here’s my proper intro!! i’m so excited to be here tbh, and for the sake of.. idk, something, i’m lia ( again ) and i’m a panini obsessed, suffering uni student from canada, the nt specifically — aka the most unnecessary tz ?? i’m kpop, sci-fi and alt rock trash, csi reruns have kinda become my life now and when my social life isn’t dormant like it is rn, you can usually find me at the campus bar having a wild time with a couple of my ra’s lol. anyway, on to my content, frivolous bab miran who rly.. doesn’t know what she’s doing with herself despite finally getting her career on track, but she’s trying:

so lil kang miran was born in incheon to a korean-american father and her mother who had moved from changwon abt ten years prior ??

has a younger brother by about four years and ig you could say they were middle class

so most of her family bg is still up in the air for me but

her parents were always v big on education, wanting the best for their kids and to be cared for in their old age, so mimi and her brother were diligent in their studies as kids

however, she became a bit.. lax ig ?? like she studied but she didn’t go overboard

her grades were still good, she just didn’t get as into it and overwhelmed by it as before

prob took up a job at some local fast food place like every other teen to save for uni

so fast forward and she graduated !!! she thought she’d do medical science and had no real worries about changing her mind

got into snu and was set on medicine.. until she finally began attending uni, about a month in and she was fucking clueless

keep in mind that at the same time, she had just met a dude maybe twenty years her senior that decided to idk, impress/dazzle the pretty girl chilling by the racks of some luxury store that she was merely browsing ( bc hello ?? uni student ? she can’t afford shit ) by buying her a dress that she kept going back to

this girl.. just went along with no complaints bc she liked the attention, liked the dress and hey, if the dude wanted to buy her something for the hell of it, she’d be stupid to reject it

the guy asked her to dinner shortly after and again, why not ?? 

side note: she’s an idiot to just go along with a strange dude but

long story short, he asks her to be his sugar baby — which was something that had she thought of it sooner, she’d fucking go for it in a heartbeat bc attention !! pretty things !! keeping her head above water financially !!!

she’s down, thought he was good-looking so bonus if things went beyond just having someone around to talk to

which it did, btw lol

so despite her suffering with academics, other aspects of her life were p good and she was content for the most part

a year later, she dropped out of snu to pursue fashion instead, especially since she always had an interest in it and had kinda had a knack for things like sewing

and guess who financed it ?? 

ok so it’s a tad messy, but long story short, she moved to gangnam to be closer to her sugar daddy ( .. can u guess how she’s able to afford to l i v e these days ?? i’ll give u a minute ) and to get away from her currently v disappointed parents

she proposed he put his spendings on her into helping her establish something that would make her v happy and he went along with it

so to the present, miran is still with the dude but it’s not.. rly a relationship, never has been, and she still doesn’t know what to do with herself

she doesn’t know if she has actual feelings for the dude beyond gratitude and lust so she’s coming to this point of questioning everything ?

not to mention that one of the only reasons she’s still in this is bc she feels like she owes it to him, he p much handed her a small business without any negative consequences after all

so she has a small clothing line, has a website for it and it’s doing ok in the area and a couple of other regions of south korea and she wants nothing more than to make it up to her parents by making it big, but tbh it’s still mostly a dream for herself so

anyway she’s kinda a mess, not rly sure of what else to say lol

personality and other stuff ig

soft af !!

spontaneous, if her suddenly becoming a sugar baby isn’t already an indication lol

obsessed with the idea of leading a luxurious lifestyle after getting a taste of it 

has a bit of a dependency on others, even if she tries to deny it bc she knows she does deep down

a generally cheery person who wants the best for people

C L U M S Y

won’t admit to this either, but she tends to feel rly insecure bc she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life once she actually dived into uni or how to tell her parents, or how some people tend to walk over her bc of her occasional naiveté, see her as weak for being a more gentle soul, etc

idk i’m still working on some aspects of her personality

super chill though, always smiling, just a rly cute bean

loves cats and dogs, she’ll never pick one over the other

hc: when she has a family and all that and they decide to adopt a puppy, she’ll leave the kids with her partner and snatch a tabby cat bc why not have both ??

the biggest meat hoe™

but loves cocoa more than life itself

tries to dress in a sophisticated manner but also rly loves wearing cute baggy sweatshirts and ball caps

skIRTS

loves all of the cult classic teen movies, has a soft spot for well done romance flicks and kdramas too

also a hopeless romantic, legit will fall in love with/develop a crush on you so easily, hence why she doesn’t know what to do with this whole sugar baby thing anymore

has never been in a relationship tho lol

.. wh y am i saying that like she’s a loser when neither have i 

i rly just played myself, why am i not surprised lfjdkgh

loves indie/electropop music

has a profound admiration for classical as well

not the heaviest drinker or user of sorts but it’s prob for the best bc she’s such a lightweight lmao

can be like four different people when she’s drunk so.. yeah js hahaha

so she’s sometimes that chick™ that has a wild time at a party but surprise !! she’s stone cold sober

has a slight oral fixation ig ? not in a sexual manner though so don’t get any ideas hahaha

.. ok maybe a little but it’s rly innocent on her part 99% of the time. you’ll almost never see her without a straw in her drink for example; she’s also a lollipop and liquorice hoe so yeah

she’ll never bite her nails though, at least not beyond a light nip that’s p subconscious when she’s concentrating on something

.. funny how i typed more about this than her feelings abt her career rIP

but listen when i said she’s lowkey freaky i fucking meant it lmAO. idek if she realizes it herself but yeah.. she’s not that pure sdhfkg i hate myself for this you doNT UNDERSTAND

like i think this’ll do for now, i’ll add a few connection ideas below !!

i could’ve just put that last point here but oH WELL

a brot3/girl gang/idk ?? [ 1/2 ] : kinda speaks for itself bc i can just imagine her having like two or three people that she met at once when she moved into her apartment or something that she’ll do anything for, like late night study sessions ( for them, she’s just along for moral support lmao ) in the lib with tons of soda and candy to keep them hyped up or being squished together on her bed to watch movies. just.. rly pure, or it can be a bit trying but it ends up being mostly just a cute bond  [ jake oh + ]

ride or die : ahh yeah, so this girl ?? super friendly, a gem, it wouldn’t be too hard for her to start an acquaintanceship with most people. but this person is her number one supporter and vice versa, they’re probably one in the same or they’re complete opposites, idk hahaha. anyways, they’d know everything about her sugar baby lifestyle, prob be the one to talk her out of it 

heR SUGAR DADDY’S KID !! : plEASE OK IT’D BE AWKWARD AF FOR THE GIRL. it’d prob get angsty where they both know that she wasn’t the one to suggest being in this arrangement with their dad but they’d still see her negatively or something ?? maybe the man’s an ass since i haven’t rly figured him out as a person and they don’t like seeing mimi subject herself to his bullshit for the sake of being looked after. i just rly want this above all else

pen/online pal : so this might have occurred during her high school days, maybe it was the idea of her school if it was writing to someone, or it just happened when she started using tumblr or something, idk but suddenly she got a pal and just rly took to them bc she almost always does. she put in the effort to keep that person around, but if they lost touch or not, knew who they were, etc can be figured out between us so yeah 

the older sibling she never had : ok, so she is indebted to this person after prob pouring her heart out while drunk at 4am and them ( prob taking pity on her, lbr ) kinda just looking after her ?? they now know some of her biggest insecurities and they’re not gonna use them against her like she always fears people will. like idk man, she just rly needs someone to protect her and tell her everything will be okay and cuddle her while they watch some rly bad, borderline hilarious horror movies that still fuck her up badly with the jumpscares lol

mutual pining perhaps ?? who rly knows : so we’ve established that miran’s a hopeless romantic. maybe this is someone she’s been interested in for like, two seconds, maybe a year, who rly knows bc she wants to suppress her feelings while she’s in her sugar baby arrangement, it just makes it so much easier for everyone.. except maybe her lmao. also prob has lingering feelings for someone else so it wouldn't be fair to them but i just rly wanna see two shy buns ( or just two people in general lmao ) dance around each other and !!! 

bad influences : idk, it rly just speaks for itself. she can let loose every now and again, but she hates to go beyond mildly drunk since she’s a rl lightweight, but maybe they persuade her to go further or to just do rly dumb shit knowing she’ll agree to most things lmao

good influence on your muse : like i said, she’s a rly soft, kind-hearted person when it comes to helping others out, or just in general. so she’d probably be ready to drop everything and be there for someone, encourage better lifestyle choices, etc

soft baby protects fellow soft baby : she feels some kind of responsibility over them and looks out for them often, basically an excuse for two soft-hearted cuties to bond and freely be soft-hearted cuties together ( how many times will i say soft ?? lmao )  [ song yoobin ]

frenemies : speaks for itself ( btw this girl is rarely capable of actual hatred so enemies is prob a no lol ) , but this is someone she finds discomforting to be around. something about their demeanour rubs her the wrong way, and perhaps it’s reciprocal ?? bc lbr, most wouldn’t consider many people to be as polite as they tend to appear, so idk  [ seo minsook ]

neighbours : just.. idk, make it as mundane or as eclectic as possible, either works lol

honestly ?? idk anymore rip

so that’s miran !! if you’d like to plot and haven’t already messaged me/gotten one from me, just like this or message me !