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starsonthewalls · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday

so a friend/irl nuisance double-dared me to start "sharing content in the process, it doesn't have to be good". it sounded a lot better and inspiring when he said it ngl.

so here's a segment from tell me where the good men go, my beloved batfam medieval fantasy au.

Rating: Teen and Up Category: Gen Relationships: Dick Grayson & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Tim Drake & Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne & Duke Thomas Additional Tags: Presumed Dead (Dick), Magic Medieval Fantasy AU

Additional Context: Dick's been presumed dead by his siblings for three years, for Reasons that are relevant to the overall plot lol (no spoilers!!) In those three years, he traveled across the continent, met up with the Wally and Garth (and later Donna and Roy ala classic Fab Five) to form the Titans. Eventually, news of the Titans and their mysterious leader makes its way back East to Gotham, prompting people to investigate.

This is a Tim-centered POV of some of the events that lead up to Dick's highly-exaggerated disappearance, and how he's been coping in the present, and it's been sitting in my drafts for... three years, roughly. Enjoy!

~•~

Before

“I don’t like it.”

“Hm. Tough.”

Tim doesn’t do something so undignified as whine, though it’s a very close thing. Dick is a big brother several times over, and is very used to Little Sibling Dramatics, and therefore manages to restrain from rolling his eyes or calling Tim a little brat. Jason and Damian have no such restraint.

“You made this plan, Tim,” Jason says, poking Tim in the shoulder just as he starts yet another misguided attempt to sit up on his own strength. Tim makes a little wheezing sound- not entirely unlike the noise a balloon makes as it deflates- and all but collapses back onto his pillows. This, of course, sets off Jason’s mothering tendencies, which in turn sets off another round of Tim’s not-whining ‘I’m fine’s that none of them are inclined to believe anymore.

Jason’s scowl grows into a truly fearsome thing (not that any of them are in any way affected by it) as he fusses over the multitude of blankets and pillows that surround Tim. “As I recall,” he says as he works, voice dry, “we were very concerned about the amount of risks incorporated into this plan, but you were the one who insisted that ‘it’s really nothing to worry about, you see,’ and ‘you’re all being unreasonably ridiculous and overprotective about this.’”

“Yes, well, things were different. Are different,” Tim bites out as he lies back against the (newly fluffed) pillows. Tim’s skin, already naturally pale, is nearly as white as the clean sheets he’s lying against, and the absence of further protest from him at Jason’s fussing makes the rest of them exchange glances.

None of the others had been present when Dick had sat down with Alfred and Lady Thompkins as she'd solemnly walked them through the damage Tim's time with Ra's had done to his body, and the long road to recovery that loomed over Dick's second-youngest brother.

"I was clearly compromised," Tim ends up snapping at Jason's prodding, stubbornly trying once again to sit up on his won. "It's a stupid plan, and no-one's going through with it."

“Things were different,” Tim snaps, struggling to sit upright. He doesn't quite manage it, but he does find the strength to bat away Jason's hands. “I was compromised. It’s a stupid plan, and no-one’s going through with it.”

“Why?” Dick asks, softly. “Because you’re no longer the one carrying it out?”

None of them quite freeze at the implications of Dick’s question, though there is a tenseness in the way they all settle afterwards, gravitating to Tim’s bed from where they are scattered across the room.

Tim himself gives up on sitting upright, falling back onto sweat-damp sheets and pillows with a huff. After a moment, he grabs a pillow and throws it- judging by the direction, he's aiming for Damian, but weakened as he is, it just falls sadly over the edge. Jason sighs at the destruction of his hard work and opts to carefully pull Tim forward, supporting him all the while, so that Dick can plump the pillows up against the headboard and settle against them. Once done, he holds his arms open to lean Tim back against his chest while Jason sits on Tim's other side. Duke takes a seat at the foot of the bed, a hand on Tim's ankle, while Cass gracefully slots herself next to Tim, her head on Jason's lap. Damian clambers up and sits near Tim's feet, arms wrapped around Tim's fallen pillow, glaring petulantly at nothing in particular. Tim nudges him with his foot, and Damian gently whaps him with the pillow, and it's enough to bring smiles to everyone's faces, for a moment.

Dick brushes back Tim’s sweat-soaked bangs, studying the unhealthy paleness of his brother’s skin. Underneath the soaked nightshirt, he knows, bandages near-completely wrap around his brother's torso. Tim catches him looking and rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. This is fine. The wound’s settled nicely, and the healers give me less than a month before I’m back to full capacity.”

“Funny,” Duke murmurs. “I could’ve sworn it was longer. Two, three months, wasn’t it, Cass?”

“Mn,” Cassandra hums agreeably, carding her fingers through Tim’s hair. Tim makes an antagonized sound.

“Duke,” he groans. “Please shut up.”

“No,” Duke says pleasantly, at the same time Cass gently chastises him. “Injuries aren’t an excuse to be rude,” she says, her voice still soft but firm.

“Yes, Cass,” Tim sighs, ignoring Duke’s pleased grin and Jason’s snort. He lets it slide because he knows that they’re just as bad as he is when it comes to indulging their sister, who is a force of nature and one of the best things in this world, and therefore they had no room to talk.

The silence that fills the room afterwards is neither unpleasant nor comfortable. They are well-attuned to one another, all of them, and they know the outcome of the conversation- if it can even be called that, Tim thinks bitterly, what with him an invalid laid up in bed like some damsel in distress.

“I don’t like it,” he says again, but it’s softer this time. Quieter, and full of resignation. His eyes flicker up to meet Dick’s. “It’s not safe,” his voice is pleading, even if he knows it won’t make a difference. He’d defended his case and the risks involved far too well last time, and even as his brain raced, trying to restructure the plan now, he couldn’t think of anything that would be as effective, or didn’t risk another one of their siblings. Dick only smiles indulgently at him as he continues to gently card his fingers through Tim’s hair.

“Good,” he says brightly. “Now, when you make plans, you’ll be making them as if we were the ones carrying them out, and maybe we’ll get you a sense of self-preservation yet.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay, little brother.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“I’m older therefore I know better therefore this is exactly how it works.”

“I’m stealing your coffee supply.”

“Mkay.”

“All of it.”

“I look forward to hearing you defend a sudden increase in coffee consumption to Alfred.”

...

"Be careful."

"I always am."

"...come home?"

...

"I'll do my very best."

Now

There are two jars of coffee beans in the royal family kitchens- one is plain gray and utilitarian. The other is garishly painted in red, yellow, and green, as if by a child. There are chips and scratches on the base, and the red robin on top of the lid is missing a wing and has glue smeared messily around it from the last time it fell off and was put back. Dick's name is engraved in gold on the front.

Years ago, Tim had sat at the marble counter of the small kitchenette in the Royal family’s inner rooms, watching intently as Dick Grayson, then-heir to the throne of Gotham, had taught him how to make coffee for the first time. “The secret, Timmy,” he’d said, pulling the colorful jar close for Tim to inspect, “is in the beans. The ones we get here in the palace are alright,” Dick had pulled a silly expression, making Tim laugh, “But mine are special and so much better. You’ll see.”

Truthfully, Tim hadn’t liked the bitter drink very much at first, though Dick was right that it was better than the stuff they drank more regularly. He’d delighted in the scandalized faces Dick had made as he’d added liberal amounts of cream and honey to his cup to make it palatable. It had become a tradition, eventually, for Tim to gravitate to Dick’s corner of the kitchen in the early mornings and help his brother prepare coffee for the family.

When Dick and the others had left him and Damian for the campaign against Ra’s, years ago, Tim had seriously contemplated emptying Dick’s special stores of coffee beans (he'd found all of them years ago) as a form of petty revenge.

He had ended up hiding them, and then crying over the stupid jar for months before finally returning it to the kitchens. No one had said anything about it, though they’d cancelled court after Damian had first spotted it and consequently disappeared for the rest of the morning.

Tim reaches instead for the dull gray container, measuring out the beans and grinding them with the ease of familiarity while carefully monitoring the pot set to boil over the stove. The routine grounds him in the foreign silence of the early morning and the empty kitchen. Normally, the royal family kitchens were filled with sound and movement as the siblings maneuvered around one another in the familiar dance of preparing for the day ahead.

But Cass, Jason, and Damian had gone West three months now, and Duke had been called away to settle a spat between two minor fiefs to the northern borders about a week ago- leaving Tim to manage the affairs of court by himself.

‘So much for none of us carrying the burden of a throne by ourselves,’ Tim can’t help thinking, a little bitterly. He checks the pot again, draining half the water into the sink before he pours the coffee grounds and takes it off the stove. Three months, and he still prepares too much water lest Damian complain about not having any left for his tea. One would think that he’d get used to the absence after so long.

But then again, he thinks, turning back to stare at the red-yellow-green jar with a robin on top, one of the last things he had left to remember his brother by, some absences are impossible to get used to.

The familiar, rich scent of coffee fills the small kitchenette as he works, drawing a small, bittersweet smile on his face. The early morning routine is a small comfort amongst the burdens and stress of running a kingdom, but these days, it feels like memories, routines, and small comforts are all Tim has left.

And maybe... maybe a little hope.

Tim eyes the letters on the counter. One is from Duke. The minor disturbance on the northern border is more complicated than they'd initially thought, but not as drastic as he'd feared as of his last writing. A week, maybe two, and Tim would have one of his brothers home. Two are from Cass and Jason. They've crossed the Western Wastes, and are headed for Salire, the fabled base of the Titans.

The last is from Damian. It's a picture he found in an inn, in Hatton Corners, he writes. It's a poster of three young men. Two are unknown to him, but the last-

The last Tim would recognize at the end of the world.

"I didn't show Cassandra and Jason. Latest rumors report Robin missing and the Titans on guard. But it's a lead.

We finally found him."

Yes. Maybe a little hope.

#starsonthewalls: tell me where the good men go #drabble #wip wednesday #batfam

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starsonthewalls · 2 years

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tagged by @applejee to do this fun lil thing!! :smek: and the only reason it took me this long was because i kept opening my laptop only to get distracted by something else

rules: post the last line/snippet of a wip. tag as many people as there are words in what you've posted. make a new post; don't reblog.

asdfjkl i don't know if i know as many people as i have words in this

Tim remembers first ascending the newly-instated obsidian dais of Gotham what feels like a lifetime ago, side by side with his siblings. Together, they’d sworn to defend and protect Gotham, to uphold her laws and to rule her fairly and justly as they were able- and sworn fealty and loyalty to one another as Gotham’s monarchs and as equals. They’d promised to guard one another’s backs,; to hold love for one another second only to the love for their kingdom; to always stand together for as long as they were able and to never abandon one another.

And yet, five of the six thrones of Gotham were now empty- one of them for good. Three of his siblings had gone far west, with no way for him to know if they were alive and well, or if their errand had proved fruitful. And his last sibling and newest sibling- Duke, who’d been adopted by their father scarcely a year before his passing- had ridden off to their northern borders a few days prior, with their aunt the Lady Kane and Tim’s old friend Knight Stephanie at his side and as much of their troops as Tim could spare without leaving Gotham grossly unprotected.

“It’s probably some Fell creature poking at the wards, Tim,” Duke had said, eyes wide at the amount of soldiers lined up in the courtyard to accompany him for what was probably just a routine border check. “You don’t have to worry.”

False. Tim had every reason and right to worry when he was the one left behind, because someone needed to make sure Gotham didn’t run herself into the ground in her monarchs’ absence.

He had every reason to worry when all of his siblings were gone, and it was just him and an empty throne room.

no pressure tags (sorry if you got tagged again): @blas-ph-emy @kgraces @writergeek @aeligsido @salparadiselost @geminibabyhere @huilian @motleyfam @jaddison

#writing tag #m writes #starsonthewalls: tell me where the good men go #asdfjkl latest wip really do be a relative thing these days #batfam #plot irrelevant tim worrying over his sibs

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