#this is graphic but like i am growing a dick!!! and i think its bigger than average when hard and like thick too im | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldkirk · 5 years ago

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Blackbird, a Tim Drake/Batfam fic

Chapter 12: I had to learn to be the hero, I started over here from zero

Content Warning: Vomiting in the first scene. Self harm/cutting mentions, non-graphic description but mentions of cuts and the treatment of them. Needles/vaccine/injection mention in the paragraph where Steph hums along to a Lizzo song, but it's only a mention, no description.

Barbara Gordon comes home to Gotham the next day, tossing the mantle of Oracle aside once more to be Batgirl again for what remains of July and August before she goes back to school.

“I am,” she groans, leaning over to drop her head onto Dick’s shoulder across the gap as she settles into a middle seat of Bruce’s minivan, “so tired. And never teaching Comp Sci 101 as a summer course again. I don’t care how much Dr. Holland begs. I don’t care how many free lunches they give me. It’s bad enough as a 16-week course. I don’t ever want to teach an 8-week night class again for as long as I live. Being a TA doesn’t pay enough to make that hell worth it.”

“But you did it,” Dick says, dropping a light kiss on her wild hair.

“I did,” Babs concedes. “And I did a damn good job of it, whatever Dean McGrouchyPants has to say about my methods. I dragged those kids through kicking and screaming, but they can write code better than most of the junior class at this point. Which benefits me in the long run, since I’m going to be the department’s indentured servant and overflow grader for probably the next million years, based on how slowly my thesis work is going.”

“That’s our girl,” Bruce says proudly, as he adjusts the rear-view mirror slightly so he can still see all the kids. “Everybody buckled?”

“Yes,” Tim choruses along with the others. He’s trying hard not to constantly fidget in his seat from excitement.

Jason may love him, but they’re both crammed in the backseat with Cass, and Nova and Peanut are taking up most of the floor area, so space is at a premium and Tim isn’t about to push the edges of his brother’s patience. Even the ever-calm Ace is starting to look a little strained where he lies wedged between the two middle seats.

“Bruce,” Jason says, echoing Tim’s thoughts. “No offense? But I think you might need to get a bigger minivan. Like, soon.”

“Well,” Bruce says slowly as he pulls away from the curb. “You’re going off to college, aren’t you, all grown up and everything? It’s not like you’re going to need a seat for much longer. Wave to Gordon, kids.”

Tim’s heart does a strange little flip for a moment. They all wave to the Commissioner through the windows as he disappears behind them, and the van makes its turn onto the freeway.

“B,” Jason whines. “I’m not leaving forever! And I’ll be home during breaks. You can’t just write me out of this family. I have rights.”

Tim smiles at the exchange, but grips his camera case a bit more tightly than necessary. Cass looks down at his hands and presses her shoulder into his, and he doesn’t know what she’s trying to say, exactly. But it sort of helps. He can hear his mother’s voice in his head, reprimanding him on the first day of kindergarten that you’re a big boy now, Tim, you can take the bus and you’ll be just fine. There’s nothing to cry about, silly, you’re just growing up. You’ll be fine. Daddy and I have to leave. Come on, you have to let go, you can’t ride with us, we’re going to the airport. You have your own life here, now, and you’re a big boy. You get to ride the bus with Sonia.

Janet dropping a warm kiss on his forehead as she squeezes him in a long, tight hug, then patting him firmly, encouragingly, on the back. Go on now. The weight of his too-long Batman backpack, barely filled up with just a notebook, crayons, and his lunchbox, bumping gently into the backs of his knees with every step Tim takes towards the nanny of that school year. Reaching up and taking her hand while all he wants is to hold his parents. He doesn’t want to be a big boy. He’s tired of it, he wants to be little again, and have his mom and dad home. When he looks back, his parents are already in the car, shutting the doors. And that’s it.

He shakes his head a few times, scratching one nail back and forth on the woven material of his camera strap over and over, and focuses on the feel of that in order to keep the memory from drowning him. He tunes back into the conversation, ignoring the way Cass is still watching him through the curtain of her dark hair that’s falling out from where she tucks it behind her ear.

“Of course I can’t write you out of the family,” Bruce says calmly. “You’re my son. You can’t get out of this if you try. I’m not letting you go.”

“Lord knows that’s true,” Alfred adds from the passenger seat while he furiously knits away at either a very small sweater or a very large scarf. “I thought I’d serve the Wayne family for a few years while I got back on my feet, and now here I am with a son, four grandchildren, and more animals than I can shake a stick at. And I’ve learned to make a rather mean peach cobbler, if I do say so myself. I’ve been domesticated.”

“Alfred,” Bruce chuckles. “You’re the most domesticated human being I’ve ever met.”

“Pretty sure Bruce has never seen Alfred in one of his stress-cleaning sessions,” Jason mutters, only just loud enough for Cass and Tim to hear. “Seeing as he’s, you know, usually the cause of them.”

Alfred sniffs. “You’ve only known me since I moved to America, my boy. You know the stories I’ve told you about my days in Her Majesty’s service. I have not made them a secret to you.”

“No,” says Bruce. “But imagining you as a—a spy? And an actor? I can see it, but it’s—you’re Alfred . I can hardly imagine this life without you in it as the family rock. I don’t think I really want to.”

“My dear boy,” Alfred says. “You galavant around our city in an animal costume every night and adopt every orphan who drops unceremoniously into your lap, all while running the company you swore as a teenage boy you hated and would never take on.”

Bruce grumbles back at him, shoulders hunching a bit. “Nineteen years ago I was a card-carrying punk rock kid about to embark on a literal world tour of the underworld, trying to stumble upon my own karate kid moment. Now I’m a respectable CEO with a healthy appreciation for masala chai. I have an interview with Esquire next month about what life is like as the internet’s favorite ‘DILF’ father, which I deeply wish I didn’t understand. People change.”

Dick makes a sort of choking noise somewhere in the back of his throat, while Babs claps a hand over her mouth and Jason’s face screws up into something very red and deeply pained. Tim scrabbles to hold onto the thread of the conversation, holds onto it like a lifeline, and tries to keep his focus on what they’re heading out to do.

Come on, Tim, it’s fine, He tells himself. Everything is fine. You’re finally going to the state park, you idiot, get it together! Think about how many photos you’re gonna get to take. And all the candid shots you’re going to get. Maybe even one of Cass smelling some bright flowers against her dark hair in the sunlight or something. Or Bruce watching Dick do flips off a tree. It’s going to be great. Everything’s fine. Nova noses hard at his knee, collar jingling faintly, and Tim absentmindedly reaches down to scratch behind her ear.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Alfred waves one hand, knitting needle drifting dangerously close to Bruce’s ear but never quite touching. “All I am trying to say is that people would hardly recognize your younger self either even if he walked beside you on the street. I don’t believe you have a leg to stand on, here.”

“Is this Alfred’s way of saying ‘Pot, kettle?’” Dick asks.

“I believe it is,” Bruce says. “All right, Alfie. Point taken. But I mean it, you know. I don’t know where I—where any of us would be without you here. I couldn’t have asked for a better father all these years.”

“Well,” Alfred says, then, his fingers stumbling to a halt with yarn still half-wrapped around the needles, and everyone in the van has been trained by the Bat. Except for the Bat, of course, who was trained, in all the ways that matter, by his Da. They all hear the hidden dampness in his tone, however well he manages to stamp it down.

“All right,” Bruce says with a grin. “I’ll lay off on the feelings talk for now. I think that must fill our annual quota, don’t you?”

“Quite so, Master Bruce,” Alfred replies, and goes back to his knitting. He stops only once to blow his nose delicately with the ever-present handkerchief from his breast pocket before getting back to it with a vengeance.

Cass raises her hand, and Bruce catches it in the mirror.

“Yes, Cass? What is it?”

Cass points with one hand at Tim beside her, and Bruce’s brows furrow as his gaze darts over. Tim ducks his head, trying to avoid eye contact, but now Jason is eyeing him too, and there’s not much Tim can do about it short of unbuckling and scrambling over the seat back to hide in the back of the minivan. And he doesn’t particularly want to get the safety lecture from Bruce, Alfred, and Dick today.

“Tim?” Bruce asks, and Dick cranes his neck around to peer into the backseat as well. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” Tim says quickly.

But Jason is looking at him and frowning. “B,” he says, low, warning.

Tim shoots Jason a glare, then turns to meet Bruce’s eyes in the rearview mirror as they flick between Tim and the road every couple seconds. Tim straightens, leaning away from Cass and opens his mouth. “I’m fi—” he starts to bite out, then loses his voice in the middle of the sentence. His eyes widen and his hand shoots up to cover his mouth on pure instinct.

“B!” snaps Jason, and Bruce is already pulling off to the shoulder of the road.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Tim says suddenly, confused and more than a little bewildered, as he fights through the rolling nausea, and then someone’s got his buckle popped open and Dick’s hands are leading him firmly out of the back and through the sliding side door. Tim would have dropped to his knees hard at the edge of the drainage ditch if Bruce hadn’t caught him and eased him down with the same careful movement that accompanies everything he did, as Batman and as their dad.

“It’s all right,” Bruce says gently. “Deep breaths.”

Tim tries, he breathes and breathes and breathes some more as his stomach clenches and flips, and then finally his airway closes off in one final choke and he’s retching up the remains of his breakfast into a thistle bush while Bruce holds him up through it all.

Tim falls back against Bruce’s chest after one final heave, panting a little, and one of Bruce’s hands moves up to wipe at his sweaty forehead with a wet wipe someone must have dug out of the console.

"Sorry,” Tim chokes out. He kind of wants to cry, and kind of wants to vanish into the dirt and never come out again.

“Shhhh,” says Bruce. His hand on Tim’s forehead pulls Tim to lay his head back further onto Bruce’s shoulder, and Tim squeezes his eyes shut while he tries to get control back over his rebelling body.

“Didn’t realize—” he starts.

“Tim.” Bruce cuts him off, thumb brushing across his temple. His arms don’t loosen, and Tim can’t help feeling secure even while he’s kind of falling apart. “It’s okay. No one is upset with you. I promise, sweetheart.”

Tim swallows. But I made a mess, he thinks. I interrupted the drive. If I could have just—

“Hey,” comes Jason’s voice, and there are knuckles rapping twice on his cheekbone. “What did Bruce-man just say, huh? No one’s mad. I can hear you yelling at yourself from here. Your brain is awfully loud.”

“Buzz off, momma bird,” Tim mumbles, without any real heat to it. He blinks his eyes open to see Jason’s grin.

“Nah,” Jason says. “Think I’ll stay here instead. I’ve put a lotta investment into you. I don’t feel like leaving you on the side of the highway to blame yourself for things that aren’t a problem just because you had to puke up some pancakes.”

“Don’t know what happened,” Tim says, sounding about as miserable as he feels. Bruce hands him a fresh wet wipe, and it feels like heaven as he wipes down his neck and mouth himself before passing it back to be thrown in the van’s trash bag. “I was fine.”

Cass hops through the side door, then, gently cradling her now-much-bigger kitten in its new little harness, and raises one eyebrow. Not, she thumbs against her chin.

Tim’s too... something, whatever, who knows, to try to figure out what she means.

Cass huffs, and gestures furiously at Jason, who blinks and tries to expand on what he figures she means.

“Uh,” Jason says. “You weren’t fine?” Cass nods. “But...you didn’t realize. Uh.” He frowns in concentration as Cass signs at him rapidfire, and Tim just keeps his eyes drifting between the two of them while he quietly tries to push his way off of Bruce and Bruce firmly holds him right where he’s at. Tim’s thoroughly embarrassed at this point and just wants to put the whole thing behind him.

Jason turns to look at Tim fully again. “She’s right. I noticed too. You looked…” he searches for the right word. “Upset? Pale?”

“Carsick?” Dick offers.

Tim shakes his head. “Don’t get carsick.”

“Scrambled eggs,” Bruce says, then. Tim frowns. He didn’t eat any eggs this morning. Some kind of understanding dawns on Jason’s face, though.

“Oh,” says Jason. “Tim. Timmers. Which part was it, when we were all talking? What upset you?”

“What? I don’t know,” Tim grumbles. “I don’t think...”

“I know I don’t know the whole Tim situation quite as well as you all do,” interrupts Babs. “But...could it have been when Bruce was like ‘guess you won’t need to ride with us anymore, huh, since you’re going off to college and a big boy now’ and Jason joked about being written out of the family, or whatever?”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut as the memory of his first day of kindergarten tries to slam back into the forefront of his mind, just for a moment, and he forces his breathing to stay even. But he can’t hide the way his muscles tensed for just a second from Bruce. Not when they’re in such close contact.

Leaving, Cass confirms above his head. Jason looks a little stricken.

“It’s not your fault, Jason,” Bruce says immediately. “Stop that.”

“But—”

“No,” Bruce says firmly, chest rumbling against Tim’s back. “These things happen. You know it’s not your fault any more than it was mine the other day when I accidentally triggered you during movie night, or today when I joked about you being too grown-up to ride in the van anymore.”

Jason sighs. “Okay, B.” He squats down and brushes some of Tim’s flyaways back from his face, and Tim grins for a second. “Sorry, Tim. At least we know another thing to avoid now.”

“No,” says Tim. He shakes his head. “To work on.”

“You don’t have to work to get rid of every single trigger in like, two years,” Jason huffs. “Damn, Timmy. Give yourself a break. You can’t rationalize your way through everything, no matter how stubborn you are.”

“That,” Bruce says lightly, “I can confirm. You feel like getting up?”

Tim nods, and allows Bruce to haul him to his feet, keeping one of his hands wrapped around Bruce’s forearm until he’s sure he’s not going to suddenly throw up again or anything.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I don’t—I don’t think that normally would have bothered me so much. I think it was just today. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Bruce reassures him.

“No one cares, Tim,” Jason says. “We’ve all puked on the side of the road once or twice, in or out of costume. No shame in it.”

Tim rolls his eyes.

“Would you like some water?” Alfred asks, then, window rolled down and Tim’s water bottle in his hand.

“Yes, please,” Tim says gratefully, and chases the last of the bad taste out of his mouth as he rinses and spits once into the thistles before chugging half the bottle in one go.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asks gently, as Tim is following Jason and Cass back up into the backseat.

“Absolutely not,” Tim says with an impressive amount of cheer, and although Dick exchanges an unreadable glance with Bruce, who’s about to shut the door behind them, he doesn’t push. Tim’s grateful. He makes sure to give Nova some extra rubs as he settles back into the seat, in a sort of apology for not realizing earlier what she was trying to tell him. She seems satisfied, at least, and settles back down across his boots without complaint. He’s grateful for the weight. It helps keep him here and now, in the van with his family, fifteen years old, having a belated birthday and not a little kid anymore.

But after a few more minutes of driving, the old truth settles in about how much easier it is to talk about things in a moving vehicle, and Tim finds himself opening his mouth against his own better judgement.

“I was…” he tries. Pauses. Everyone’s attention snaps to him, even if they’re kind enough not to turn around in their seats. He can tell. “Uh. I remembered my first day of kindergarten. Mom and dad left for Egypt, or something, and I wanted to ride with them. But Mom said I was, like, a big kid now, and I could take the bus with my nanny, and…” he trails off, shrugs a little helplessly. “I dunno. I’m not sure why it was suddenly such a big deal.”

“When you’re small,” Bruce says, catching Tim’s eye in the mirror for a moment before looking back at the road as he turns smoothly onto the exit ramp, “feelings are big. Just because older you can look at the situation and say that it wasn’t a big deal, since everything was fine and you were safe, it doesn’t mean the little you wasn’t afraid and upset. When you’re small, every bad thing is literally the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. Dropping your ice cream can feel like the end of the world when you were excited about getting it all day and then it suddenly falls and you can’t have it anymore.”

That makes sense, Tim admits, but. Still.

“So,” Bruce goes on, and the van starts shaking slightly as it hits gravel instead of asphalt. “Put yourself in little you’s shoes, hm? He was starting kindergarten. That’s a big deal, and a big change. It’s a new school, and lots of unfamiliar kids and grown-ups, right? And all little kids want some comfort when they’re nervous, so usually parents come with them to the first day of school so everyone’s nerves are a little soothed. You just wanted your mom and dad. You didn’t want to be alone on your first day.”

“But I had the nanny,” Tim points out. “I liked Sonia.”

“Sure,” Dick says. “But she wasn’t your parents. And were you scared?”

Tim thinks back, tries to really put himself in the moment from his younger self’s eyes this time, but keep it controlled. He feels Cass pulling his hands over to gently rest on Teacup’s soft little fur, and shoots her a quick smile as his fingers start to rub lightly.

And, yeah. Tim.

Tim was definitely scared. He’d never gone to preschool. His parents had just hired a Montessori tutor, and pushed him as hard as they could. Tim was smart. He liked the challenge. But he hadn’t really been around many kids before, and school was going to have a lot. And new teachers. And it was in a building he’d never seen before, because his parents had a business event the day they were supposed to go to the open house, and his nanny had a cold. So. Tim was definitely nervous. He didn’t feel big at all back then. He felt really small, and he wanted someone to hold him, not just his hand, and--

“Tim,” Jason says. Tim blinks a few times, and looks over. Jason reaches out a hand and his fingers are suddenly brushing across Tim’s cheek.

“What?” Tim asks.

“You’re crying bud,” Jason says softly.

“Oh,” Tim says, surprised. He reaches up, letting go of Teacup, and feels his eyes. Sure enough, they’re damp. “Huh.”

Bruce has put the car in park along the side of the state park’s gravel lot sometime in the past minute or so, and he turns around in his seat now, keys in hand, and locks eyes with Tim. “You think you’re okay to head out right now?” he asks, not the slightest bit of accusation or disappointment in his voice. Tim still feels braced for it anyway.

"I think so,” Tim answers. He unbuckles, and tugs Nova’s collar gently as he calls up.

“Because we can wait a little while if that would help,” Bruce says. “Or the others can go on ahead, and you and I can just catch up.”

“No, I’m okay,” Tim says. And he’s pretty sure he means it.

“Nature is always an excellent remedy for the soul,” Alfred says, as they all pile out through the various doors. “I dare say you’ll feel better before we even make it to the top of the ridge.”

“Come on, Dickiebird,” Jason says, clipping Peanut’s hands-free leash to his belt. Dick takes Ace’s lead and wraps it around his wrist a few times. “Race.”

Dick sighs, but doesn’t actually sound all that put out. “How far?”

“Just the trailhead,” Jason says. “Bet I beat you by two strides.”

“Bet you a Snickers you don’t,” Dick snorts.

“Babs!” Jason calls over to where Babs has already walked over to read some of the plaques by the rain garden. “Start us.”

“Three,” she yells back. “Two...one...one and a half.”

“Babs,” Jason groans.

“GO!” she yells, and the boys are off.

Tim find himself grinning as he slips Nova’s over-the-shoulder leash over his head and adjusts it to fit how he wants. He straightens his camera case around his neck, takes the offered backpack from Alfred that contains his water bottles and snacks, and pulls his camera out just in time to snap a photo of Teacup’s reaction as Cass sets him down on the faint dirt trail for the first time.

“Good catch,” Bruce says over Tim’s shoulder, as they watch Cass begin attempting to lead her wayward little cat down the walking path instead of off towards the butterfly bushes. She isn’t having all that much success, but Alfred is already on it, sweeping in to take charge.

“I can’t believe she decided to bring Teacup on a hike,” Tim laughs a little. Bruce’s free hand lands on the center of his back, and Tim doesn’t flinch away as he’s steered toward the trailhead where Jason and Dick are already bickering good-naturedly over who actually out-touched the other, and Babs is staring up at the sky as if a cloud will give her guidance over how to wrangle the two of them. Tim can almost imagine from here her lips soundlessly mouthing out Lord give me patience to not stab them with a Batarang before lunch.

“As long as I’m not the one carrying the cat for five and a half miles,” Bruce says, watching Cass fondly, “I don’t particularly care. I learned a long time ago to pick my battles, and this isn’t a hill I plan to die on.”

“Yeah,” Tim snorts. “That’s fair.”

“Are you really okay?” Bruce asks quietly.

“I’m okay,” Tim confirms. “It was just...a weird moment. I’m okay now. And thanks, for that in the car. I didn’t really think about that before.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” Bruce says. “If you do want to talk about it later, or if you need a break, tell me or Alfred, all right? This is your day. You should be happy and comfortable, not stressed.”

“Thanks, Bruce.” Tim twists around and hugs Bruce for a few seconds as they stop in the middle of the narrow dirt path. “I love you a lot.”

Bruce smiles and hugs Tim back tightly for a moment. “I love you too a lot,” he says. Tim pulls away, and Bruce slings his arm back around Tim’s shoulders as they start to walk. “Come on. There’s a particularly good photo spot about a mile and a half up the trail I think you’ll like. And if we make good time, we can picnic in the big meadow for lunch and let the dogs run around for a while.”

“TIM,” comes the holler from over by the trail. Tim squints over, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun.

“WHAT?” he yells back, ignoring Bruce’s wince.

“SUNSCREEN,” Jason hollers, and the next thing Tim knows, there’s a bottle flying at his face in a frankly beautiful overhand throw. Jason’s old baseball coach must be proud.

Bruce’s hand catches it before Tim can get his own up high enough, and he passes it off to Tim with a fond grin.

“Still mother henning you, huh?” Bruce asks, as Tim pops the cap open and starts to squirt out sunscreen lotion with a sigh.

“So much,” Tim says. He smears some of the sunscreen on his face and neck, then sticks his white-covered hand in the air as they get closer to the others, and calls out, “Happy, Momma Bird?”

“Ecstatic,” Jason shouts back dryly. “I’ll positively die of joy if you actually smear it everywhere it’s supposed to go, too, instead of forgetting your ears and back again like last time.”

“You’re a pain in my butt,” Tim grumbles under his breath, and Bruce barely holds in his laugh. Tim feels Bruce’s arm shake slightly where it rests across his shoulders.

“What was that?” Jason asks, grinning.

“I said, you’re a blessing in my life and I’m lucky to have you watching out for my pale Irish-Japanese butt,” Tim says.

“Damn straight,” says Jason, and then he reaches out and snatches the bottle from Tim’s hand. “Aw, nuts, Timmy. You already missed half your forehead, dummy. Just—let me do it, okay?”

“Okay, Jason,” Tim says, and lets his older brother do what he needs to do to feel better after the whole car thing.

Nothing gets Jason back on an even keel faster than being needed by Tim, and no one knows how to push Jason’s buttons effectively better than Tim. They’ve turned it into a dance, of sorts, and it works out.

Jason gets a little bit in Tim’s eye. But they’re okay. He’s still got the other one to look out of while taking photos, and it’s worth it to see Jason fully relaxed again. Besides, Tim thinks cheerfully. Now we can both gang up on Cass together. She’s as pale as Tim is, and probably doesn’t even know what sunscreen is for.

She’s got no idea what’s gonna hit her.

Steph scrubs a hand across her forehead, trying to wipe away some of the sweat before it gets into her eye, but really only manages to smear some flour across her skin. She sighs and reaches for the dirty kitchen towel. It doesn’t look like it’s going to do any better a job, really, with how dirty its gotten. Her mom hasn’t done the laundry in...a while. And Steph’s been more focused on making sure they all have clean underwear, not on getting the bedding and towels washed. So.

Maybe she’ll just...use the hem of her shirt instead.

She does, and it goes about as well as she expected, honestly I don’t know why I even bother, and then the oven timer is going off and her dad is yelling something from the living room and her mom shouts back in a moan from somewhere upstairs and Steph just wants it all to stop. Just.

For two seconds. That’s all she wants.

“I KNOW,” she hollers out the kitchen doorway, and she yanks out the metal pan and (gently) bangs it down onto the stovetop. If her dad wants some stupid cake for himself and his “friends”, he should bake it himself. Steph has other things she should be doing. Like finishing an article. And volunteering at the clinic, which she’s already six minutes late for.

She grabs her backpack from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and slings it over one shoulder as she opens the back door.

“I’ll ice the cake when I get back,” she calls over her shoulder. “Bye!”

"Come back here!” her dad starts, and Stephanie shuts the door to cut off the rest before he can really get going.

She hums along to a Lizzo song as she pops her headphones in her ears and takes off down the sidewalk at a jog. If she hurries, she might still make it in time to sneak Eddie Miller an extra lollipop after he finishes getting his vaccines. She knows he was scared to get them, because he’s hated needles ever since he had to get stitches from Dr. Thompkins when he knocked the bookcase down on his forehead. Steph couldn’t really blame him.

“Hi Leslie!” she calls as she lets herself in the back door. She makes sure to lock it again carefully behind her. No repeats, she thinks. Not on my watch.

“In here, Steph!”

Stephanie drops her bag and takes a moment to scrub her arms up to her elbows at the sink, then ducks around the corner into the only occupied exam room.

“Hi, kiddo,” Dr. Thompkins says, shooting her a quick smile from where she’s just smoothing down a second Band-Aid over Eddie’s skinny little thigh.

“Hey, Dr. Thompkins,” Steph replies cheerfully. “Hey, little dude. Whadja pick out this time?”

Eddie sniffs, and Steph can see he was clearly crying a minute or two earlier. But he’s already pulled himself together and is cheering up. Brave little kid.

“Batman!” he says. “And Robin.”

“Batman and Robin, huh?” she says, smile still firmly in place. She really does hope Robin is okay. At least he’s finally back on patrol, so that’s a good sign, right? She doesn’t know what she was thinking, hitting him in the head like that. She just—panicked.

She panicked. That was bad. Oh, god. Batman probably hates her forever now. Some vigilante she was turning out to be.

“Yep,” Eddie says. “They’re my favorites.”

“He’s been very, very into them, this year,” his Mom sighs, but she doesn’t seem truly exasperated. Just fond.

“You’ve got good taste,” Steph says, and she ruffles his hair before Dr. Thompkins helps him down from the exam table and out through the hallway to the lobby.

“Keep watch for any reaction symptoms, like fever, too much swelling, any kind of shortness of breath or nausea, you know the drill,” Dr. Thompkins is saying to Mrs. Miller.

“I sure hope so, by now,” Mrs. Miller says wryly, as she ushers her other four kids up out of their chairs and towards the door. “Thanks, Dr. Thompkins. I appreciate it. Say bye bye, Eddie.”

“Bye!” Eddie says quickly, before popping a bright green lollipop in his mouth to match the red one he had just polished off a minute earlier. The family sweeps out the door in a jumble of controlled chaos, and the clinic seems jarringly quiet and empty in their wake.

“I saw that,” says Dr. Thompkins, as she turns to scribble something on the clipboard at the front desk before handing it back to the volunteer receptionist.

“Saw what?” Steph says, innocently.

“You gave him that lollipop. I don’t know when you snatched it, but I saw you sneak it to him the second his mom set eyes on the other kiddos. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.” She holds the door to the back open again and ushers Steph through before shutting it behind herself.

Steph laughs. “You’ve got years of practice catching all kinds of people doing all kinds of things,” she protests. “I don’t have to be that sneaky around normal people. His mom didn’t even realize before they left.”

“She will in the car,” Dr. Thompkins says, grinning now. “That was nice of you. He’ll remember that, next time. You’d better be here to sneak him another one if you know what’s good for you.”

“I hope I can be,” Steph says. “And, uh, on that note, sorry I’m late.”

“Everything okay at home?” Dr. Thompkins asks. She drops into the procedure room’s worn-out spinning chair as Steph takes up her usual perch on the counter.

“Dad wanted me to bake a cake,” Steph sighs. “I don’t know why he can’t just order buffalo wings for his buddies like a normal person.”

“Mm. And on that note, do you need a refill, Steph?”

Stephanie looks down for a second before meeting Dr. Thompkin’s eyes.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m almost out and I don’t want to risk anything. Thanks, Leslie.”

“It’s literally no trouble,” Dr. Thompkins says, with a wave of her hand. She scribbles on a notepad and folds the paper into a little football before tossing it at Steph, who laughs as she snatches it out of the air. “That should get you another month. Make sure you give it to Louis, during the night shifts. He’ll give you the discount as long as I’m around.”

“Thanks,” Steph says again.

“And how’s your mom?” Dr. Thompkins asks, then, leaning back in the chair.

“She’s fine.”

“Fine?”

“Status quo,” Stephanie amends. “She’s got good and bad days. She hasn’t started taking any more than her usual, so for now I guess...things are okay. She’s not getting better, but she’s not getting worse anymore. Half the days she even remembers to do stuff around the house.”

“And you’re left with the other half,” Dr. Thompkins says gently.

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can. I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well.” Stephanie kicks her sneaker against the old 80s tile a couple times, and digs the toe of her shoe into a nick. “It is what it is. It’s bound to get better sometime. Dad just needs to get caught and thrown in prison again.” She snorts and looks up at Dr. Thompkins. “Is it bad that that’s something I’m looking forward to?”

“Nah,” Dr. Thompkins says. “Not in this case. I think you’re good.”

“Bet,” Steph mutters, and leans back to thunk her head against one of the cabinets. “Slow afternoon today?”

“Mm hm. Nothing scheduled till three-thirty, actually. Which means there’s plenty of time for us to catch up, since we’ve barely gotten enough time to say hello these past couple of weeks.”

“Yeah,” Steph agrees. “It seems like every kid in the neighborhood has broken a bone or needed stitches this month.”

“So it goes, in summers,” Dr. Thompkins says, mock-sagely. “And how about you? Any new mysterious injuries you can’t tell me about after a night on the town?”

Stephanie has always had the distinct impression that Dr. Thompkins sees right through her, and knows a whole lot more than she lets on. She could probably rival Batman if she wanted to. But Steph isn’t about to give up the game unless she has to, and if she admitted to being Spoiler for no good reason and Dr. Thompkins hadn’t known after all, that would suck. Plus, there was the whole “mandated reporter” thing that they already tap danced circles around with Steph’s home life, just barely avoiding social services because Steph’s mom was minimally functional for now.

“Nope,” Steph says, popping the p and grinning at Dr. Thompkins.

Leave it at that, she begs. C’mon, Leslie, leave it at that for this week. Let’s talk about the Knights game or something.

“Good,” Dr. Thompkins says. “And have you cut any more since we last talked?”

Steph groans.

“Leslie,” she complains.

“Answer the question, Steph.”

“Yes,” Steph mutters, giving Dr. Thompkins the stink eye.

“How many times.”

“Four.”

“Did you—”

“I used clean blades, I wiped them down with alcohol before and afterwards, I put butterfly bandaids on the one deep cut, and I’ve been applying ointment every day,” Stephanie interrupts, feeling cranky now. This was a good day. She doesn’t want to think about the bad while she’s in Leslie’s sanctuary. Tonight is already going to be shitty enough.

“That’s good,” Dr. Thompkins says, undeterred. “And are you keeping them covered?”

Stephanie is silent.

“Steph,” Dr. Thomkins says, exasperated. She reaches behind her and pulls on a pair of examination gloves. “You’ve got to take care of them. You’ve been lucky to not get any infections so far, with how active you are and the fact that you work at a pool. Having wounds rubbing against your clothing and bathing suit constantly isn’t going to help them heal.”

“I know that,” Steph snaps.

“Let me see,” says Dr. Thompkins, as gently as Steph’s ever heard her. “Come on, Steph.” She’s standing in front of Stephanie now, careful to leave open a path to the door. Steph can’t really stay mad at her when she knows she’s just looking out for Steph.

God knows Steph wishes someone would, more often. She's so goddamn tired of raising herself.

“Fine,” she says, and unbuttons her jeans. She shimmies out of them without hopping off the counter, and watches Leslie’s hands like a hawk as the older woman folds Steph’s underwear down just enough to see what she needs to on either side, gently prodding the edges of cuts up and down Steph’s hip area in various stages of healing. She’s careful to narrate everything she’s doing. Steph appreciates that.

“Can I clean and dress them really quick?” she asks finally, looking up at Stephanie.

It can’t hurt, Steph thinks. At the very least, that’s one round of bandages I don’t have to pay for from the drugstore. And it’ll hold up better than anything I can manage while I’m out tonight.

“Okay,” she says. Dr. Thompkins nods and pulls out what she needs, working quickly and efficiently as always; clean, medicate, bandage, check for secure seal. When she’s finished, she gives Steph’s legs one final pat and holds the jeans out for Steph to grap.

“I’m sorry,” Steph says quietly. “I know I said I was going to stop, and I was really trying, I did for a while, I just—”

Dr. Thompkins holds up a hand, throws her gloves in the waste bin, and turns to look Steph right in the eye.

"You don’t need to apologize to me for anything,” she says. “Steph, honey, you’re doing what you have to do to make it through when things are intolerable. This isn’t the first thing you try. I know that. I know how hard you’re fighting to stop hurting yourself, and I’m proud of you. It’s better for you to fall back on self harming to cope when you’re really desperate than for you to end up even worse and doing something you can’t heal from so easily, hm?”Stephanie swallows.

“Okay,” she whispers. “You’re not—you’re not gonna make me stop helping out around here?”

Dr. Thompkins frowns, looking genuinely confused. “Why would I do that?”

Steph shrugs. “I dunno. Just. Dad said if he ever caught me with cuts or scars again I’d be out of the house, since I’d be bad publicity, or a risk to others, or something, so I just...I figured maybe you wouldn’t want me around kids, or something.”

“Honey,” Dr. Thompkins says, and finally reels Steph into a hug. “No. I know you’d never hurt anyone. You’re fantastic with the kids, and a big help around here. I’m happy to have you around whenever you have time. And listen,” she adds, pulling back and staring at Steph with something fierce in her eyes. “If your dad ever does try to kick you out, you come straight here and you tell me. I won’t let you end up on the street. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Steph says, again. “I—thanks, Dr. Thompkins.”

“Any time,” the older woman says, patting Stephanie’s shoulder firmly. “Now come on. Let’s see if we can get another few boxes sorted through before the next appointment shows up. It’s Mr. Lewis, so I’ll bet you he’ll be late, as usual.”

Steph follows her out the door, and the rest of the afternoon flies by in a blur of comfortable busywork and friendly banter with both Dr. Thompkins and the patients. She always likes the days she can spend at Leslie’s clinic. They feel normal . They feel kind of like how she imagines a good home.

And if she does occasionally sneaks a popsicle or lollipop for herself from one of the stashes? Leslie doesn’t really seem to mind.

Steph publishes the anonymous article to the Batwatch community site as she walks home, to be vetted by one of the mods. If all goes well, it’ll be up by tonight, and things might finally start picking up.

Her moss has been doing well, and it’s definitely been getting notice. But only by the people in little clusters around each location. She’d thought there would be more of a buzz about the messages once the moss really became visible, but apparently she’d underestimated how much most people stuck to their own neighborhoods across most of the city. So the article was her backup, a nice guest piece on how someone has “noticed” on their daily bike rides that there was moss graffiti popping up around Gotham, and that they had made it their mission to compile a list of the clues. Or, rather, the spoilers.

Steph uses a voice scrambler app to place a call to GCPD just before she made it back to her house, warning them about a robbery that was supposed to take place tonight at Gotham First Bank, and hangs up before they could convince her to give anything else away. She has to protect her identity, especially in case anyone on her dad’s side got a hold of the call recording after the fact. She has to be careful.

With any luck, her dad will be arrested tonight and tossed back in jail where he belongs, and that’ll be one fewer thing for Steph to worry about. It’s too late for that to stop the big plan in motion—Steph knows that. It was much bigger than just her dad, anyway. Much, much bigger. Steph doesn’t know exactly who’s behind all of it, herself, and she’s been hunting . But at least this will be a step. And if the article gets published, that’ll at least get some of the information onto Batman’s radar, too.

She can work from there. As soon as she figures out how to get back in contact with them after, you know, nearly killing Robin. But it was an accident!

Hope Batman sees it that way, she thinks dejectedly. Hope he doesn’t just take me down in two seconds and tie me up for the police as soon as he sees me.

She pushes open the rusty gate to their side yard and heads for the house. That’s a problem for future Steph to figure out.

Right now, she’s got a cake to finish. And it’s going to be spectacular.

Steph ices the cake.

It’s pristine, a chocolate buttercream coating she made herself and taste-tested to perfection. She pipes on white icing as well, in little shells around the edges, and tops it all off with very tasteful rainbow sprinkles and “Happy Thursday!” in precise cursive that would make her 5th grade handwriting teacher weep.

Also, every single part of the cake and icing is chock full of laxatives. This is going to be the worst night of her dad’s life.

Steph can’t wait to spy on the police station after this one.

She places the pan, covered, on the coffee table, with plates and forks and a serving knife and Here you go, Dad, I hope you like it, it’s your nana’s old recipe like the good little daughter she is. Then she takes the stairs two at a time to her room, strips out of her clothes, and tugs on the underlayer of her costume. It takes a bit of time and tugging to get all the layers of leggings and undershirts and belts to play nicely with each other, but she manages. Then it’s time to tug on the outer layer, and the head covering, and more belts, and her mini-backpack with a few anonymous tips she’s planning to drop off at various offices, and she’s off.

Steph slips out the window, closing it without pulling the latch behind her, and swings her way silently across the awning, hand over hand, till she reaches the porch roof. She drops down through the few-inch gap, sticking to the darkest part of the roof, and then with a running jump she’s flying through the air, onto the fence with barely a rattle, and scrambling up and over and out into freedom and the great big night.

Gotham may be a shitty city, in a lot of ways, sure. But it’s her city. It’s her flesh and blood and bone and hard pavement, it’s her smoggy air and Crime Alley neighborhood and games with little kids who don’t know to be so afraid yet, and she’s not going to let it get taken down without a fight.

Steph sprints across the alleys, heading towards Uptown, getting a decent head start.

This night is going to work. She knows it. The plan is going to work out if it kills her. And if she’s right—which, duh, she totally is—it’s going to be the first big step towards stopping the Big Bad Plan of Unfathomable Suckiness, as she’s taken to calling it.

After tonight, she thinks, t his whole city’s gonna know the name Spoiler. And they’re going to have to sit up and notice what’s going on under everyone’s noses. No more hiding from the shadows. Not when the shadows are gonna come knocking whether you hide from them or not.

A fter tonight, Steph says to herself, firmly, everyone is going to know there’s a new player in town. And no matter what it takes, she vows, while kick-running and vaulting over a concrete barrier blocking her way to the city hall, I’m going to win.

[ Read on ao3 ]

#tim drake #stephanie brown #batfam #dc #shutterbug series

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topicprinter · 6 years ago

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Hey - Pat from StarterStory.com here with another interview.Today's interview is with Steve Watts of Slyde Handboards, a brand that makes mini surfboards (handboards).They also had success on Shark Tank, landing a $200k investment!Some stats:Product: Handboards.Revenue/mo: $80,000Started: October 2010Location: San Clemente, CAFounders: 2Employees: 2Hello! Who are you and what are you working on?My name is Steve Watts, I am the founder and co-owner of Slyde Handboards with my wife Angela. Slyde is based of out of San Clemente, California. Handboards are little surfboards that strap to your hand that give you more lift, speed and control when bodysurfing.Handboards have been around for centuries, nobody is quite sure where or when they started, but there is evidence of the ancient polynesians using palm fronds or drift wood placed on their hands to get more speed, distance and lift when bodysurfing. A handboard is the perfect ocean toy, which allows anybody no matter their age or skill level the ability to ride a wave like a pro. Handboards are the most portable and lightweight wave riding equipment, which means you don't have to be the local pack mule when going down to the beach It is a sport that is super easy to learn and safe for kids to get comfortable in the ocean, without having the worry of a big board. As with any awesome sport it’s fun to master, plus it’s perfect for getting barreled. Our handboards allow you to take your ocean fun to the next level. We also have pro-models that are ridden by the very best bodysurfers in the world at some of the best surf breaks, like Pipeline and Waimea in Hawaii to Australia, Brazil, and beyond.Since we LLC’d the company in late 2010, Slyde has grown. We’re doubling in revenue every year. We were on Season 7 Episode 24 of Shark Tank, where we were fortunate enough to land a deal with Mark Cuban and Ashton Kutcher, who are still both very much involved in the company.What's your backstory and how did you come up with the idea?The Idea of Slyde Handboards started back on the beaches of Cape Town South Africa where I grew up. My Mother would take me and my brother down to the beach a lot to get us out the house. We spent most of the time bodyboarding or bodysurfing. We used to find all sorts of objects that we would use as a planning device to get us a little more speed and lift on the wave from frisbees to flip flops, some worked well others not so much. It wasn't until my teens that I decided to break open an old surfboard and re-use the foam to shape into a mini handheld board that would later become the very first prototypes for Slyde.I figured we were the only ones doing this, but It wasn't until I went travel surfing around the world and met other surfers and water men and women and heard their stories of growing up using all sorts of found objects like lunch trays or even making boards themselves. It was then I realized there was a possible opportunity to create a brand around this awesome growing watersport movement, as no other company was doing this.There is definitely a defined problem that we solve, in that a handboard is easy to learn, hassle free and fun to take to the beach. The idea was really born from simple enjoyment that I was having using one. It felt almost selfish to not share it with the world. It turns out I wasn't wrong, because almost immediately we started to form a community and movement as more and more people started to find out about us either online or through friends.Describe the process of designing, prototyping, and manufacturing the product.I have a degree in Product Design so my strength lies in the creative design side of the business, from the start that has been my focus. I also grew up immersed in surf culture and it was always my dream to own a surf related company. Prototyping was obviously a huge part of this company. By the time I decided to launch it, I had been prototyping for 16 years and knew exactly which shape board we were going create.We live in a very connected world these days and finding manufacturers in general was not a problem. Finding the right manufacturer was a little more tricky and we have been through 5 or 6 Manufacturers since launch. We found that in many cases the small size of the boards was actually a problem. All the equipment was designed and made for bigger surfboards and our boards are no more than 19 inches. A full length surfboard can reach 12 feet. Also, I had always had the dream to be able to create boards with beautiful graphics, but at the time the cost was very prohibitive. This forced us to look at other manufacturing capabilities. In about year 4 we stumbled on a manufacturer that made snowboards and we figured out a way to mix the manufacturing process of a snowboard with a manufacturing process of a surfboard. It took a bit of tweaking, but the result was a board with the strength and durability of a snowboard and stunning graphics. This is why we offer a lifetime warranty on all our high-end boards.My advice for finding a good manufacturer is to do your research well and inspect prototypes thoroughly for quality. Beyond that make a point to meet face to face and make sure they understand your vision for the product. Watch out for manufacturers that look like they are in it for the short term.Describe the process of launching the online store/business.Starting Slyde in 2010 was a little different than it is now. Shopify was small, Facebook was still very new and Instagram had just started the month before.I knew online was the only way to go, so I taught myself basic code and we started our initial website on Big Cartel and had to patch in a cart. We then moved over to Squarespace, finally in 2013 we moved to Shopify where we never looked back.At the time of starting Slyde I was teaching surfing in Venice Beach. I had just received my green card to stay in the country and that also allowed me to legally start a business. While teaching a student, I told him all about this awesome company I was trying to start. About 2 months later we met for dinner. He loved the concept so much that he decided to invest right there and then, without even seeing a handboard. Russell is still involved and we are good friends 8 years later.In 2011 Russell and I bought a Dodge van and made our way across the country from California to Florida to our first Surf Expo. On the way I had a lot of free time and I wrote a lot of tutorial articles and taught myself SEO and those articles, to this day have, been a huge source of free traffic for the website.For a lean startup (apart from your time) it’s a great way to get free traffic until you can afford to pay for traffic later on. Also building valuable content for your customers is really important in creating engaged visitors to your site.Since launch, what has worked to attract and retain customers?Our biggest driver of revenue has been our onsite content. We now have about a thousand blog posts and around 20 long form tutorial type articles. These have helped us grow as we are in many cases the first position in Google and Bing for most of the relevant keywords.We have also become very efficient at getting press and have been featured in New York Times, Los angeles Times, Forbes, Huffington Post and Business insider. Shark Tank was also a massive boost for us that has helped put our story on steroids.Getting a really good story written about your company takes more than an email requesting a feature, it takes (in some cases) months and even years of back and forth. It’s important to know what is important to the writer in terms of if your story fits their narrative. Remember these are people that want to write articles that will further their blog or career, so its important to do your research and cater towards their requirements to get the most articles publishedWe also started using AdWords pretty soon, initially using a fairly modest budget to cover all the keywords that the organic traffic missed. Another core ingredient, has been collecting emails. We have a very solid subscription base that we segment to filter the best possible content into the right place of the customer's email life cycle.What are some of the metrics of the business?The sport of handboarding has grown exponentially since we launched in 2010. There are now competitions across the globe in Hawaii, Brazil, Peru, United Kingdom, Chile, Japan and Australia. We have now sold boards to over 40 countries and growing every month. We have 500k visitors a year to our website. We just got our first order from Dicks Sporting Goods this month.Through starting the business, have you learned anything particularly helpful or advantageous?Starting and running a company teaches you so much on a regular basis it's hard to list them all. I think above all it teaches you a lot about yourself and what you are capable of achieving.Olympic Gold Medalist Michael Johnson once said that the hardest thing he has ever done was to start his business.As for mistakes, we have been pretty fortunate that we haven't made any really big mistakes or I guess I wouldn't be writing this. Very early on learned the lesson of gross profit margin. It was kind of a funny "Aha" moment that was also the turning point for the company to becoming more profitable. I am sure we have missed some opportunities but none I can recall as very memorable. I prefer to work hard and always be looking for the next opportunity than thinking about the one that could have been. I think in general we have been very good at taking advantage of the opportunities we have been given.I really like the concept of 80/20. I try to focus on the 20% that are going to get the most return every day. It can get tricky when you have a lot of opportunities but generally it is obvious what is going to reap the most reward for the business in the end.The best decision I made was to bring on my, then girlfriend, now wife Angela, who was instrumental in helping to take the company to the next level by getting all sorts of awesome press, including Shark Tank. Bringing her on allowed me to spend more time on the design, marketing and branding.What platform/tools do you use for your business?We have been using Shopify for around 4 or 5 years nowWe use Klaviyo for email marketing which I can't recommend enough if you want to take your list to the next level.We use Yotpo for reviews which are great however for the starter they are a little expensiveWe use a few of the Bold Apps on shopify for cross selling and easy sale set upWe use Sumome for email gatheringOne of the biggest opportunities was given to us by Mark Cuban. He offered help with optimizing our Amazon and since that, we have continued to grow exponentially on that platform.What have been the most influential books, podcasts, or other resources?For product design and development I would recommend any of Tom Kelley books particularly "The Ten Faces of Innovation". I would also recommend In the “In the Bubble” by John Thackara.For good business advice "The Immutable Laws of Branding" by Al Ries and Jack TroutAlso I really enjoyed "Story Brand" by Donald Miller.My favorite podcast are "Master of Scale" with Linkedin founder Reid Hoffman and the NPR show "How I Built This" with Guy Raz.For Practical Facebook Marketing advice look no further than "Perpetual Traffic".Advice for other entrepreneurs who want to get started or are just starting out?Starting a company is not for everyone. Being an entrepreneur seems to be a buzzword these days. The media glorifies the very few billion dollar exits and CEO’s that it almost seems easy. In reality, it takes an enormous toll on you and is exceptionally hard. Don't take the idea to start a company lightly for the most part it isn't glamorous and it's downright hard work. However, if you are willing work hard for a very long time and put everything into it the rewards are amazing.My advice for anyone starting a company is to find your "why". What makes you keep on working when any sane person would have quit. That special something that fuels your passion and drives you to never ever give up no matter how hard it is.Another one is: Keep on learning. As a small business owner you need to be the jack of all trades. If it doesn't work, find a way to make it work by teaching yourself. Google is an incredible tool. We didn't know gross margin till 2 years in so go figure.Are you looking to hire for certain positions right now?Anybody who has experience with Facebook Ads, Google AdWords and email marketing on Klaviyo.Liked this interview? Check out more founders that shared their story on StarterStory.com.

#/r/entrepreneur #reddit

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