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harveywritings92 · 3 years

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BNHA Dad scenario: You get your quirk!

Warnings: Blood, death and Shiggy angst!

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Shigaraki:

[Your mom's quirk was self healing it could heal any physical damage on her body in a blink of an eye and so it cancelled your dad's Quirk out, the two Quirks mutated with you so, Your Quirk is called Second chance: you can bring people back from the dead, (like the Piemaker from pushing up daisies) when you touch them, but only once, you touch them again they rapidly decay and turn into dust...Though it varies depending on how long they’ve been reanimated for, recently deceased people don’t decay they just drop dead. Unfortunately you found this out the hard way with your mom... and now you're boyfriend.]

No one knew that your mom was part of the league let alone it's leader's wife! At least that what your parents had thought! You and your mom were at the park together after grocery shopping, Your mom called you from the bench she was sitting on telling you it was time to go home! You said okay and ran over to her when suddenly there was a loud pop! and you felt something wet and sticky hit your cheek... your fingers grazed and saw red, and your mommy was on ground surrounded by red, not moving which confused you.

Your [y/ec] watched as parents ran around grabbing their kids and ran from the park, then it was time to go and patted your mommy's telling her to wake up. "C'mon mommy time to go!" she let out a gasp and shot up looking at you stunned, then down at herself she was shot in the chest and was still bleeding! why wasn't she healing? how is she... Your mom was snapped out of her frantic state by the sound of men shouting.

"She's still alive!" she hissed and snapped at you to run! as she got up and followed you while calling your dad telling him what was happening, when she saw you run into the road and grabbed your hand... next thing you knew you were under your mothers body as the men who were chasing you both caught up, they saw your mom not moving and figure she finally bled out, thought one of them was voicing his confusion; he said he was sure he had shot her with a Quirk erasing bullet?

"What do we do wit' the brat?" they were fighting over whether they should kill you or take you to their boss? when this purple haze suddenly appeared behind them, before they could react two hands shot out of the haze and wrapped their necks, there were no screams as the men’s bodies decayed into dust, then you father walked out the portal.

His red eyes widened in horror as he lost all the strength in his body and fell to his knees in aguish, when he thought was looking at the bodies of his wife and child... until he heard you whimper and sob, he gasped and carefully removed your mother's dead body to find you alive, crying and cover in blood but otherwise unharmed...

Shigaraki let out out a choked sob as you got up and hugged him, his arms froze realizing he didn't have his gloves and couldn't hug you back! until someone held his gloves out in front of him, he looked up and saw Dabi looking at him with an unreadable expression, he put them on and held onto you, then turned away knowing what the cremator intend to do. "I'll be sure bring back some of her ashes for the brat..." he said calmly your dad just nodded somberly and carried you through the portal...

It was three months after your mother's death when your dad found out about your Quirk, you had brought your cat back to life after it was hit by a car, but then it died again when you went to pet it, he realized what had happened to your mom... but, he didn't blame you how could you have known? you didn't even realize your Quirk had manifest. he did however become very very protective and forbid you from using your Quirk unless he says it was okay.

Ten years later

Your dad was in his room playing God of War, when you barged in with a panic look on your face. "What?" he asked pausing his game very shocked as you always knock before coming in. "Uh...Do you have any spare Quirk cancelling gloves?" you asked timidly as your dad's red eyes narrowed. "Why?..." then his eyes widened he saw your hands covered in blood "did you use it?!" he snapped standing at his full height just as your boyfriend staggered in missing an arm and looking like he got mauled by a bear... well hell!

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Dabi:

[Your mom's Quirk is called fairy-lights she can make little balls of light appear out of the palm of her hands that float around when she blows on them, the lights are pretty to look at, but are actually made up of a very combustible gases, which makes it very compatible with Dabi's Cremation, Your Quirk is called: Will-o-Wisp which works like your mom's you can make little blue fireballs manifest from your hands that float around, you can make them explode by snapping your fingers.]

It was winter and you had accidently set your clubhouse on fire! you didn't know how to tell your parents about it, because you thought they'd be mad! so you hid in the wood behind the house, and course they freaked out when they saw the shed a smoldering mess! and you nowhere in sight!

Your mom was screaming and crying your name while digging through the wreckage, While Dabi was just frozen he was standing; staring blankly what was essentially his entire damn world shattering before his eyes; it became hard to breath for him as he felt blood tears dripping down his cheeks, before something told him to look at the ground... he gasped seeing little footsteps in the snow leading into wooded area behind the house.

He called out to your mom and the two of them followed the tracks before finding you hiding out in a hollowed tree crying both your parents where in hysterics as the you scooped you into their arms and started hugging and kissing you like it was their last day on earth, of course you were still scared they were gonna be mad you wrecked the shed.

"Firefly... we don't give a flying rat's ass about some shoddy ass shed!" Dabi said with a tremor in his voice as he calmed down kissing your forehead, Your mom butted in "What we care about is you! do you have any idea how scared we were when we thought you were still in there?!" then your dad noticed your hands, your mittens...they were burnt from the inside. You mom noticed too, they locked eyes then looked back at you.

He asked how the fire happened as he had made sure there were no chemicals or anything flammable inside that shed; Dabi was sure of it when he fixed it! Your mom asked if any of her patrons gave you matches or something?

You shook your head then bit you lip as your parents kept trying to coaxed you into talking, before bring your hand up and away from your face, Your parents watched as these little blue fire balls manifested in your hand and floated about three feet away before blowing up! sending little sparks everywhere.

Luckily the snow kept the forest from igniting into an inferno, Both your parents were in shock, they expected you to have either a fire-quirk or a chemical-quirk, not a hybrid of the two, and strong one at that! Dabi saw your hand smoking and he took what little remined of you mittens off, and much to his relief you had inherited You know who's heat resistance, don't get him wrong he still hates he who will not named, but he's just glad you won't look like you'll be starring in the next Tim Burton movie anytime soon...

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Katsuki:

[You inherited your mom's quirk Freeze-Frame, it's a time manipulation Quirk that can pause people and objects by clapping your hands or snapping your fingers and keeping your eyes on them (though your Quirk is much stronger then your mom's as you can freeze things at farther range and longer time frame than she can...) ]

You were about to be hit by a out of control truck during hero visit event at your pre-school, Katsuki saw it at the last second and realized he wouldn't be able to get to you in time! but something stunning happen before you were a smear on the road, there was a loud *CLAP!*

The truck suddenly stopped, at least that what it looked like to everyone else, Katsuki noticed the truck was starting to move, and immediately launched himself in the air towards you; scooping you up just in time the second your eyes were off that truck it wrapped around the tree you'd standing in front of mere seconds before!

Katsuki wrapped his arms around you and tucked rolled as the two of you hit the ground, He came to sliding halt before starring up at the clear blue sky in shock over what just happened. "Dad...Y-you're crushing me!" your voice whimpered snapping Katsuki out of his stupor, and realizing he had you in a bone crushing bear hug...

He suddenly let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding in, before sitting up and holding you at arms length, he look at the truck then back at you. "Are you hurt?" he croaked keeping his eyes on you checking for any pain or distress in your [y/ec] eyes you shook your head and he has shaking as he pulled you into another tight hug.

Katsuki didn't let go of you and signed you out school as the event was cancelled, when he got home he decided to get his mind off of what happened by testing your newly manifested quirk, by throwing a foam dodgeball at you and ordering you to clap to stop it from hitting you.

Of course he forgot to tell your mother about what had happened! So, when she walked through the front door, Katsuki got one look at her face and knew he was sleeping on the couch tonight!

#boku no hero academia #boku no hero fic #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #daughter reader #bnha angst #Dad! Dabi #Dad! Shigaraki #Dad! Bakugou #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #tenko shimura #shigaraki angst

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catxsnow · 3 years

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LOST IN YESTERDAY J.T.

Request: Hi! The realisation that your requests are open are just the serotonin hit I needed while recovering from surgery! I'm a sucker for fluff, so if you don't mind I'd love to steal some from you. Could I please have Jason attending a Wayne Gala masquerade and falling in love with a person, only to not know their identity? Later, at another gala, he remeets them and figures out it was someone he used to live on the streets with. Does this make sense? I hope so; I love your writing. Tell me if not ♥

Warning: swearing, mentions of blood, alcoholic beverages being consumed

A/N: forever will be naming fics after Tame Impala songs and no one can stop me. Link to get on my taglist is at the bottom of this fic.

Word count: 3,5k

Everyone knew that Jason hated the Gala's that Bruce held. The non-stop complaining that came from him occurred every time that it was brought up. Tim got annoyed, Dick was frustrated, Damian was threatening to punch Jason if he spoke another word about it. They were all tired of his antics.

Nonetheless, he went to these events - especially when there was an open bar. Jason spent his time avoiding people and (occasionally) hitting on some of the beautiful women that looked his way. It was easy to hold up the "son of a playboy act" even if he didn't care about any of the people he talked to.

To feel even more ridiculous, Bruce hosted a masquerade ball. Jason hated them to begin with, but to have a room full of strangers in masks, in Gotham? Bruce knew better, but it was what his company wanted. At least with Batman and every Robin that there was there, the people would be safe.

Jason took a sip out of the glass he was holding. Ice and whiskey sloshed around in it before meeting his lips. He leaned against the counter of the bar, eyes glazing over the crowd and not looking for anyone in particular. A red mask covered half his face. Gold decor lined around his eyes that matched the tie he was wearing.

There were a dozen other things that he could have been doing that night. Taking down criminals, getting one step closer to taking down the current biggest drug lord in town, hell he could have been saving a kitten from a tree and he would have been more content. Instead, he was stuck in a room full of rich people who couldn't care less about the people of Gotham.

Jason raised his glass to the bartender, indicating another drink. "Make that two more," a voice spoke beside him. They wore a mask similar to Jason's with the exception of silver. All black attire. Lack of a smile until looking over at him. "You looked lonely standing over here."

"That was kind of the point," Jason told them. Sarcasm was heavy in his voice, though it didn't seem to bother them. The bartender set both drinks in front of them. The stranger knocked the whiskey back in one go. Jason raised his eyebrows, shocked by the behaviour of someone attending an infamous Wayne Gala.

"(Y/N)," they stuck their hand out for him to shake. He accepted, still hesitant on what to think about this person. "What's someone like you doing at an event like this?"

"Someone like me?" Jason raised an eyebrow, though it couldn't be seen through the mask. This person clearly didn't know who he was or a thing about him. He was skeptical enough on how they were that quick to pick up on his lack of enthusiasm for being there, particularly hidden behind a mask.

Nonetheless, his curiosity piqued about them.

There was something about this person that made him feel nostalgic. Back before he was the son of Bruce Wayne and everyone knew his face, before he died, hell before he was Robin. Jason didn't get that feeling very often, but he enjoyed it all the same. For that reason alone he would entertain the idea of this person.

"Tense shoulders, wandering eyes, you don't wanna be here," they pointed out to him. He could see their face scrunch up with concentration, trying to figure out exactly where those beautiful blue eyes were from. "So why stay? Or more Importantly why come at all?"

"Call it a requirement," Jason vaguely replied. He didn't know who this person was or why they were so interested in his reason for being there, but it was starting to get on his nerves. Sure, he was curious about her - but there was nothing more frustrating than someone trying to force a conversation.

Jason adjusted the uncomfortable mask that sat on the bridge of his nose. For someone who wore a mask half their life, he despised the one that he had on. The glitter and sequence dug into his skin and he wished for nothing more than to be able to wear the domino mask he usually had on instead.

Then again, he'd rather be anywhere else but there.

"Care to dance, Jason?" His whole body froze out the sound of his name. Sure, he was recognizable as a Wayne son, but the stranger spoke it so smoothly like they had said it a thousand times - as if they had known him. He didn't like the tone in their voice or the smile on their face as they spoke his name.

They noticed how he tensed - just as he noticed the devious smirk on their lips because of his reaction. He tried so hard to think about who this person was and what they wanted out of him. Money? Murder? Was it an old enemy of his that returned from the grave? He couldn't figure it out.

A song that Jason had grown up to, one that Bruce had gotten him to elegantly learn to dance to, began playing. As much as his mind was telling him to get out of there, to figure out what this person wanted, he offered a hand to them instead. His muscles were tense, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Jason effortlessly guided them through the dance floor. One hand rested on the small of their back, the other clasping theirs. Their bodies were flush together as they swayed to the music. Jason's eyes swept the dance floor but he could feel the gaze of the stranger's eyes on him.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" He asked suddenly.

"You're supposed to be the smart one," they remarked. Jason bit his tongue. He could have easily caused a scene, forced the name out of this person through intimidation but he knew he couldn't. Bruce would have a fit if he did anything out of line - especially anything related to being the Red Hood.

He didn't like being at a disadvantage, in fact, if there was one thing he despised it was just that. There was nothing worse than an enemy - or potential enemy- being two steps ahead of him. This person knew things about him, too many things for someone hiding behind a mask and too afraid to show their face.

Jason suddenly dipped the person, hoping to catch them off guard. The stranger was just as quick as him. They latched onto his shoulders, daring to go even lower than he had already dipped them. Their closeness had Jason completely allured by the fragrance rolling off of them. He felt himself get comfortable around them, just for a moment.

Quickly, he pulled them back up. A smile rested on their face like he had done exactly what they had wanted him to.

They pressed themselves into Jason. Hand going from his shoulder to the back of his neck. He felt a shiver run down his spine from her touch, cool hands making his baby hair stand prominent. They pressed into his skin, guiding him to lower his lips to just inches away from their own.

A sudden wave of trust filled him. He found himself wanting to lean in more until there was no space between. Before he succumbed to these desires, he sharply pulled away. The mystery person was twirled out of his chest, an arms-length apart and only held together by their fingertips.

Jason pressed his mask farther up his face as it slipped down. He pulled them back in, this time making sure to keep their hands nowhere near his bare skin.

As soon as the song was over, Jason broke apart from the mystery person. His eyes darted towards the exit. If they weren't going to leave, then he was. Jason had been there long enough to make Bruce happy and now it was time to get onto his evening with more important things.

"It was nice seeing you, Jason," The person reached up to leave a delicate kiss on his cheek. He wanted to pull away before they could connect with his skin but he was frozen to his spot. They winked at him once more from under their mask before leaving him alone on the dance floor.

He didn't know who it was, but he sure as hell was going to find out.

Bruce was surprised to see Jason come so willingly to a gala - especially considering that he had gone to one barely even a month ago. The gala that evening had been an extremely last minute but WE considered it necessary. So, Bruce reluctantly decided to host yet another, and Jason was on the ball to be willing to attend.

What the great Batman didn't know, was that Jason's detective work when trying to find who this mystery person was, completely failed. He couldn't find a single thing about them. They weren't on the guest list, facial recognition couldn't get a good picture of them, and he was running out of clues.

Jason was dying to know who this was and what they wanted with him to the point that he would gladly put on another suit and tie to discover the truth. Then again, it was a long shot to see if they were going to attend as well. Considering that they had just snuck in the first time, he was really pulling a hail mary that she was going to do the same again.

The most frustrating part was that this whole time he had been living on the edge. What if this person was trying to kill him? What if they had found a way to outsmart him and get to him with ease? It was agitating that he couldn't figure out how to get ahead of whoever was after him. If they were after him.

Bruce instilled it in him to be paranoid. Maybe this was just someone that knew him for being the son of Bruce Wayne or had seen him around town before. He couldn't be sure that they were even after him. Nonetheless, it was time to put an end to this relentless suffering on his own behalf.

Once again, Jason found himself planted at the open bar Bruce provided for his guests. This time, however, he was far more alert than he was last time. He could see everything happening behind him with the mirror behind the bar, his peripherals were wide open - no one could sneak up to him.

At least he thought so.

Dressed in all black, hair styled differently than the last time that he had seen them, they had sat beside him. A glass of champagne swirled around in their hands. Jason looked at them in the mirror in front of them both. Striking eyes stared back at him, a playful smirk on their face at the idea of leaving him wondering.

"You sneak in again?" Jason asked, taking a sip of his own drink. They shrugged, though the answer was clearly a yes. They leaned against the edge of the bar and faced him. It was surprising that he hadn't put the pieces together yet - usually, he was faster than this. Jason hesitated before mimicking her.

They were stunning, he could admit that.

"What do you want from me?" He asked, getting straight to the point. He was tired of being tense because of them. "How do you know me?"

They chuckled. As frustrating as it was for him - they had no idea how paranoid he really was. They didn't know about his life as Red Hood or that he was raised by Batman. They knew him as Jason Todd, the kid that persevered through everything, the kid that was lucky enough to be taken in by Bruce Wayne.

They reached out to his arm. Before they could even get close, Jason grabbed their wrist with a deathly tight grip. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Jason," They spoke calmly as if this had happened before. Hesitantly, he let go of their wrist. Gently, they pushed back the suit jacket sleeve he wore to expose his forearm.

His skin was always laced with scars and bruises - even more so since the last time that they had seen him. However, there was one thick, faint scar on his wrist that wasn't from being the Red Hood or Robin. It was from when he was a kid - a stupid accident that left him bleeding and crying.

Jason froze as the tip of their finger ran over the scar. He had gotten so many over the years that he had forgotten where most of them were from. This one, this was one of the first ones that he had gotten. One that he remembered clear as day. For this stranger to randomly pick one scar out of the dozens on his body that weren't from being a hero - it was slim. They would have had to know about it.

"It's fine, it was an accident."

"Jason! You're bleeding. We need to get you to a hospital!" Their voice was higher back then. Filled with worry and fear about the small cut that he had gotten. Jason was trying to be brave, to be strong for them. He knew how they didn't like to see him hurt in any way, especially when it had been their fault.

It was an accident. He wasn't mad, not at them. Never at them. However, the deep cut stung and he could barely stop the tears in his eyes from the pain. Maybe he did need a hospital, however, he knew he couldn't afford it - not for something that he could Maytag himself at home.

"I'm fine," Jason scowled. The cloth wrapped around his arm was becoming stained dark red. They had far more tears on their face than he had. Guilt, worry, all feelings that a kid shouldn't have run through them. Jason sighed, trying to compose himself before speaking again. "It's not your fault (Y/N). It's okay, I'm okay."

"But-"

"But nothing," Jason cut them off. "Accidents happen. Remember just last week I pushed into you and you scraped your knee. Did you blame me?" They shook their head. OF course not, they were running together when they finally stopped and Jason hadn't noticed in time. It wasn't his fault - it was theirs. Just like how this time it was his fault for not watching out. "Exactly. I gotta go home to try and fix this."

"At least let me come home with you to make sure you're alright?" They asked, wiping the salty tears off their cheeks. Jason nodded. (Y/N) was always the one to worry about him.

"What would I do without you (Y/N)?" Jason tried to heighten their mood. The boyish smile that they loved was on his face.

"I don't ever want to find out Jason Todd."

But they did. (Y/N) did have to find out what it was like to live without Jason. It was a couple of years after that incident did Catherine die, his father gone. Bruce Wayne took him in as his new ward and (Y/N) was completely forgotten about. They couldn't blame him, not really. Not when the life of his dreams was handed to him.

They always pictured Jason being happy in that big mansion. He'd get everything that he'd ever wanted, everything that they talked about as kids. He could go to a good school, use his big brains to go to college. Jason must have been happy living with Bruce, that was the only reason that he would have forgotten about his old life.

That was far from the truth.

"(Y/N)," Jason breathed out. He felt like a fool for not realizing this sooner. (Y/N) had been his closet friend growing up. They did everything together - getting away from home, being kids through all their hardships. They were inseparable until he fell off the face of the earth. Until Bruce took him in and he had to push himself away from everybody to keep them safe.

"You're getting slow with your old age," They joked. (Y/N) dropped his wrist and returned to their drink. It had to have been close to a decade since they had seen each other. Jason was far bigger than he was as a kid and it made him almost unrecognizable. "White hair and all, I guess being rich aged you."

"You..." Jason lost all trail of thought. He couldn't believe that it was really them sitting in front of him. More stunning than ever. They loved seeing him stuttering over himself, flustered that after all these years he realized that he never came back. Mostly, it was nice to see him with his cheeks flushed for the first time since they had known each other.

"It's okay Jay," They took another sip of their drink. "I figured living the high life as a Wayne would dull your street skills. I never expected you to recognize me last month." (Y/N) had gotten far more confident over the years. Never would they have acted like this when they were kids.

They were nowhere near the truth, but they were still right. He felt like a damn fool for not being to recognize them through a stupid masquerade mask. Jason stuttered out a few words before giving up altogether. He had so many things that he wanted to ask about, or even just to catch up. Instead, he just remained a flustered mess.

(Y/N) stood up from the bar stool. They leaned in to Jason, planting a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. He felt a warmth spread through his body, just like the last time they had kissed him.

"Keep an eye out, Jason. I'll be seeing you soon."

"Wait," Jason grabbed onto their wrist before they could make a step out. (Y/N) looked down to him. The large man suddenly looked small with those big, pitiful eyes. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I'm so sorry that I never came back for you. I wish I would have, I wish I wouldn't have been so selfish."

(Y/N) sighed. They sat back down in the chair that they once occupied. Jason looked pleased with the decision, though even more fear ran through him at the moment. What did he have to say that would make everything right? Why would they show back up now?

"You don't need to apologize. You did nothing wrong," there was sincerity in their voice. Jason was no longer the bold and brave that everyone knew him as. He was brought back to his childhood in a single moment and reminded of just how vulnerable he could be. "I'm here... I'm here because I saw you in the paper a while ago... I thought you died, Jason."

I did.

All he could hear was the worry in their voice. The worry that he had died and they never got to see them again. Never got to relieve their childhood just one more time, or tell him how far he got in their life. (Y/N) was scared that they would never get to tell him that they did everything that they promised as a kid.

He nearly lost his guard for a moment. The boyish grin that he had learned to fake from Bruce spread across his face. He gestured to himself, "as you can see I'm clearly not dead." Except he had been. Except that paper had been right and they had every right to be worried about him dying. Just as it had happened once, it would surely happen again.

(Y/N) (L/N), someone who hadn't seen Jason in years, worried to death about a rumour that spread in town. His heart ached for the first time in a long time.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Jason suddenly blurted out. "I hate these stupid galas, and I don't know about you but I'm starving." To be honest, he didn't care about where they went, he just didn't want to be under the watchful eyes of the public for such a vulnerable moment.

(Y/N)'s lips turned up at his words. "You paying, rich boy?"

"As long as you let me make up for all these years," he countered. If they wanted to, Jason fully intended to bring (Y/N) back into his life. He never realized this empty hole in his heard had been because of them. His whole childhood revolved around their times together. He craved that again.

"You drive a hard bargain." (Y/N) stuck their hand out for Jason to shake. He accepted it gladly. "You've got a deal Jason Todd. It's a pleasure doing business with you."

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mochegato · 4 years

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Pixie Spy

Written for the Jasonette July Wayne Gala prompt.

Why?!? Why was she doing this again? Oh right, because John Constantine promised to give her some help with a particularly difficult part of the Grimoire if she did. And he needed the information he was currently obtaining in order to give said help. That is how she ended up with an invitation, still not sure how Constantine pulled that off, to the most exclusive event of the year, the Wayne Gala.

Plus, Adrien was kind of right, ordinarily it would be a great opportunity to showcase her designs. The problem was on its surface, her dress wasn't one of her best works. The black dress had a high, cowl neckline in front and in back, adding a bit of drama and a small homage to the local heroes, vigilantes she silently corrected herself. The high neckline also offset the incredibly short bubble skirt, making her legs look longer than the Nile. Despite being a bit uncomfortable showing that much leg, it was necessary for this particular design and if she could actually feel like she had long legs for once, she was willing to deal with the discomfort. She also added a glittery belt to show her shape and add some bling, which seemed like something the people at this particular event would value. It was functional, not fashionable. Not that it was ugly, just that it was designed to be passable, enough to fit in but not enough to get noticed.

She fidgeted slightly as she stood in the entryway trying to get past the people piling up trying to not so discretely pay homage to the king. That king being Bruce Wayne. From her research, he actually did seem like he was a good guy. The list of charities he started or contributed to was longer than she was tall. She scowled at the voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Adrien's saying that wasn't much. Adrien, who got out of coming tonight because the mission was to observe the Waynes unnoticed and Adrien Agreste would get a bit too much attention, that cat bastard.

Despite the laundry list of charity work, Marinette was still suspicious of Wayne. First of all, he was rich, filthy rich. Anyone that rich had to have some dark and twisted secrets they were hiding. He wouldn’t be the first rich person to hide their illicit activities behind a veil of charity work. Second, he chose to live in Gotham, the most crime-riddled city in the world. And that is just the reported crime. A great deal of the crime never got reported to or investigated by the police, whether through corruption or exhaustion. The kind of place a rich person could be confident they would get away with literal murder.

But mostly, it was Constantine that made her suspicious of Bruce Wayne. Not that Constantine had ever said anything negative about him, well nothing more than calling him a pain in the ass, but that was really not so much an insult as a compliment coming from Constantine. But, Wayne had information Constantine needed to help them with the Grimoire and Constantine refused to say how Wayne had gotten that information. How and why would a playboy billionaire have that information? There is absolutely no reason someone outside of the hero/villain/magic community would have that information. And, if he was such a good guy, why would Constantine need to go to these lengths to get it without Wayne’s knowledge? Unless it was related to one of his illicit secrets.

Her eyes darted around the room taking in its grandeur, muttering to herself about how ostentatious it all was. Normally, she would be completely mesmerized by the grandeur and pomp of the scene. The room was decorated to perfection. Everything was absolutely exquisite. However, she was too anxious and wary to enjoy it. So instead of being inspired, each gorgeous detail grated on her. She reached up to tug on her hair before remembering her hair had been pulled up into an elegant twist held in place with a single silver pin. With her normal anxiety relief method unavailable, she instead shifted nervously from foot to foot while she scanned the room trying to catch sight of the rest of the Waynes, gently tightening and loosening her grip on her purse, trying not to crush Tikki.

She was so lost in her anxiety she didn't notice the dark haired man walking behind her take notice of her and stop. He stood behind her with a nonchalance that didn’t seem to fit a man his size. He watched her fidget and muttering to herself about “damn rich people” with a smile on his face.

“You don't seem excited to be here” he said quietly.

She turned around with wide eyes, shocked that someone had heard her. Whatever she was expecting to see it was not what she saw in front of her. The man towered over her. Even in her ridiculously, dangerously high heels, Chloe insisted, her head didn’t even come up to his chin. He was also extremely handsome, with chiseled features and the most gorgeous blue eyes she had ever seen. Those eyes were going to be a problem. They were clear and kind and roguish and hypnotizing. His black hair with a shock of white was slightly tousled giving the impression of a rouge trying to look sophisticated. Was it inappropriate to imagine running her hand through his hair and along his sharp jawline? Yeah, probably not appropriate and likely not welcome. Clean up your thoughts, girl! Great, now Alya was in her head scolding her. No, that’s not right, because that would definitely not be Alya’s advice.

He was grinning at her with an impish look in his eyes. “What? Not impressed with the ‘we care about whatever the point of this gala is, but we’re not hobos so let’s not skimp on the luxury for us’ décor? Or maybe it is the illustrious, soul sucking, benefactors of Gotham that have set you on edge.” The smile he shot her was guarded and critical. She chuckled lightly and looked away. “You have good judgement and a good reason to be suspicious. But you made it to The event of the season, so you must have done something right… or wrong.”

She hummed and looked away. “Have you ever had one of those days where everything went wrong and now you don't know how you got where you are or why you are there?”

“I’m familiar with the feeling,” he nodded.

“That's my life. All of it. Every single fucking day. This one included."

He barked out a laugh and looked at her again appraising her. “Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine. I think I like you. You might just make this torture session more bearable. See you around,” he chuckled as he walked away.

Marinette watched the man’s retreating back. The night was already going better than she thought it would. But the plan for the night wasn’t to find a date it was to act as a scout and keep tabs on the… enemy? For all intents and purposes, that is what the Waynes were tonight, right? They had information that she needed, that Paris needed, and they apparently weren’t going to part with it willingly, so they were the enemy. No, enemy sounded too harsh she chided herself. Opposition? Yes, they were the opposition. That sounded much less hostile, more like a game… a game where people’s lives were on the line. You know, just for fun, no pressure.

She found a spot against a wall she could use. It was slightly raised but not well lit so it wouldn’t draw attention to her. From her spot she could finally see the family. It was very thoughtful of them to group together like that. She could see the little one, stiff and military-like posture, glowering at the people around him. He was standing as far away from the rest of the people there as he could without actually leaving the room. Much closer to the dancefloor, she could see the middle boy talking to a few business men. They all had fake smiles plastered on their faces as they made seemingly insignificant small talk. She did not envy him that experience. Between the two and to the side was the oldest son. He was chatting up some business person’s daughter, leaning in a lot closer than etiquette would dictate. Just the father then… there he was still not too far from the door talking to a dark haired woman. He had his arm around her waist as she leaned into him. She must be the girlfriend then. Mari made a note that she should probably pay attention to where she was as well. Fortunately, the spot she had chosen gave her a great vantage point. Unfortunately, her observation spot wasn’t as unnoticed as she had hoped.

___________________________________________________________

Jason made his way over to the bar and ordered a beer. He still hadn’t spoken to his family to let them know he was there and he definitely needed a drink before he approached them. Why the fuck was he here again? Fucking Batman.

Fresh glass of beer in hand, he made his way over to his brothers, refusing to acknowledge any of the partygoers along the way. He watched as his brothers took note of his approach and excused themselves from their conversation partners. Dick didn’t look too happy to turn away from the latest interest, smiling at her and giving her reassurances before sending her away. Tim looked less happy to have to turn away from the men he was talking with. He should be thanking Jason really. He was giving him an out from having to deal with them and their god awful personalities and fashion. Seriously, who told that guy that tie was okay. Even the Riddler would think that tie was obnoxious.

“Okay, I’m here,” Jason said taking a large swig of his drink. “How long before I can ditch this bottomless pit of misery?”

“Woah, slow down there. You’re going to get drunk before the announcement.” Dick cautioned him.

“Do you want me here or do you want me sober? You’re going to have to choose one. They’re mutually exclusive, Dickweed.”

“Come on Jaybird, we all have to be here. None of the rest of us are getting drunk.”

“That’s just because I’m smarter than you guys are,” he said tipping his glass to Tim who had scoffed at the suggestion and took another drink. “There is no reason we all have to be here. We shouldn’t all have to suffer. And officially, I’m not even a member of this hellscape of a family anymore so I really shouldn’t have to be here.”

“If The Disappointment gets to leave, so do I. Someone should be patrolling tonight instead of all of us wasting our time entertaining these harpies. And if one more person tries to touch me on my head I’m going to break a hand.”

“Stop it! Nobody is leaving, Damian. We’re in this together. And Jason, if anyone got to go home it wouldn’t be you. You are the reason we all have to be here in the first place; so we can ALL show our support when we officially announce that you are part of this ‘hellscape of a family’ again. So enjoy it,” he said with a cutting smile.

“Not everyone enjoys getting groped by the gold-digging, trust fund whores. I’ve found a way to cope. It’s called alcohol. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he downed the drink in his hand, “my drink is empty. I’m going to go find another.”

“At least try not to interact with anyone. We don’t want to piss anyone off tonight. And I don’t want to have to fix your messes.”

“Way ahead of you, Replacement.” Jason turned and walked away before Dick could reprimand him again. He needed to get away. He could only handle his family in small does, very small doses, miniscule amounts, and he had already surpassed that limit.

He grabbed two more drinks off of a passing waiter’s tray and looked for the Sunshine Girl. He scanned the room sipping the champagne, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the room. His size and demeanor was usually enough to keep people away but making eye contact made people think he was open to talking. He was not. He had no interest in making nice with Gotham’s elite. He wanted to get this night over with, with as little pain as possible.

He finally spotted her off to the side of the room speaking with the obnoxious tie guy. Jason watched as the man slid his hand up the side of her leg starting to move under her skirt. Jason started to make his way over to them until he saw her move closer to the man. She was close enough to whisper seductively into his ear now. Ah, not uninvited then. Maybe he had misread her. Well there goes his hope of this party not sucking balls. He started to turn away but noticed a pained expression on the man’s face. He turned back to reexamine the scene. She was holding the man’s hand at an unnatural angle. It was a hold he’d used a few times himself, it was discrete but extremely effective, causing intense pain with a small movement. He knew if she moved her hand just a few more centimeters, she could easily break his wrist.

She let go with a viscous look pushing him away from her as she did. The man shook his hand and scowled at her. He started back toward her and Jason took off running, not pausing to apologize to the people he bumped into along the way. Before he could get to her, she had already taken care of it. She squared her shoulders and glared at the man, making it clear that she could and would continue with her actions if he persisted. When she moved her hand ever so slightly, just enough so he could see it and remember what she had done, the man turned away and smiled at the people who had been standing behind him as though nothing had happened. Jason chuckled to himself watching her move away from the man. She was definitely going to make this night more bearable.

“Looks like you don’t need me around for protection. Although I did bring a drink so maybe I can earn my keep that way,” he said handing her one of the glasses in his hand. “That was extremely impressive. How did you lean to handle yourself like that?”

She accepted the glass and shrugged. “You live in Paris long enough you pick up a few things.”

“That isn’t something you just ‘pick up’. That’s experience.”

“And that is exactly what you get when you have a supervillain terrorizing your streets and thoughts for 5 years; experience. And how do you know about that move? Rich boy secretly a vigilante?” She raised an eyebrow at him giving him a daring smile and pretending to take a drink from the glass. She was on a mission and she didn’t know him. She wasn’t about to actually drink anything a stranger gave her, let alone get drunk.

“You don’t grow up in Gotham without learning how to take down someone trying to cop a feel. And what do you mean about a supervillain in Paris?” he asked taking a step closer to her, concern edging into his stare.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant for tonight.” She said taking a step away and scanning the room again to locate the Waynes.

He looked at her for a few moments taking her in, not just her appearance but how she held herself. She stood with confidence and nonchalance. She wasn’t acting coy, she wasn’t baiting him to ask her more questions, she was serious. There was some kind of supervillain running around Paris that they had no idea about. Well that piqued his interest. He wanted to find out more about that and just his luck, the only person around who knew about it was the gorgeous and badass Sunshine Child in front of him. Guess he’ll just have to suffer and spend more time talking to her. The things he does for Gotham, he smirked to himself. “I’m Jason,” he said putting his hand out for her to shake.

She looked at his hand before hesitantly taking it. His hand absolutely engulfed hers. “Nice to meet you Jason,” she said looking toward the dancefloor. She had last seen the Waynes near the dancefloor and they couldn’t have gotten far, right? They were likely to be near it.

Misinterpreting her focus he asked, “Wanna dance?” placing down his now empty glass.

She needed a better vantage point to locate the Waynes and even if they weren’t on the dancefloor anymore, the dancefloor would be the ideal place get an unobstructed, overall view of the room. She could see the entire room from the dancefloor. She just had to scope it out discretely so Jason didn’t get suspicious. “Sure,” she said smiling at him and accepting the hand he had offered her.

He guided her out onto the dancefloor. Jason noticed a little girl standing nervously next to the dancefloor looking at a group of kids nearby. “Hold on just a second,” he said dropping her hand to kneel down next to the little girl. “Hey, I just wanted to say what a beautiful dress you have. I wish you had a smile to match. Anything wrong, kid?” he asked gently. The little girl gave him a nervous smile.

“Thanks. My Mom said I could pick out a dress and I chose this one. But Mom says it looks silly. It’s too fluffy and gets in everyone’s way.”

At that Marinette kneeled down next to her as well. “Oh. Well, let me fill you in on a little secret. I’m a fashion designer and I can tell you there is nothing wrong with fluffy. You did a great job picking it out. It is perfect for you. I couldn’t design anything better. I wish I looked as confident and effortlessly beautiful as you do. ”

The smile the little girl gave her was genuine this time. “You really like it?”

“I do,” Marinette responded.

“I do, too. I’m not a fashion designer, but I still think you look good, kid. And if anyone tells you they don’t like it, scr… I mean, forget them. Who cares what they think. A fashion designer and a delinquent think it looks amazing. Don’t let someone else tell you what you like.” Jason added. The little girl beamed at both of them and bounded off to join the kids with much more confidence.

Marinette watched him as he watched the kid play with her friends making raucous noise as they played, a grin on his face until he saw some parents come to reprimand their kids for being so noisy. So, rich boy has a heart and is really protective of kids. Well that wasn’t going to help Marinette focus solely on the mission. “That was incredibly nice of you. That’s not advice I would have expected from someone attending a party like this.” Marinette said taking Jason’s outstretched hand again.

“Just because we’re miserable here doesn’t mean she should be, too. Kids should be happy. It’s ridiculous to bring a kid to a party if you aren’t going to let them be a kid. Adults in Gotham expect too much of their kids. They treat them like props instead of kids, tools to help them achieve a goal.” He said voice getting gruff as he spoke. He looked back at her and shook his head as if to clear his head of his thoughts. He smiled at her instead and took her waist with his free hand to start dancing with her.

“You know, I noticed you never did give me your name.”

She looked into his eyes for a just a moment before she looked back to the dancefloor, “You know, I noticed that too.”

“Hmmm. Secretive. No name but a fashion designer from Paris,” he said. Marinette paled slightly refusing to look back at him. He was paying attention to her and noticing details. She hadn’t expected that from this crowd. She was going to have to be more careful about what she said. ‘Not get noticed’ played over and over in her head. She was supposed to slip in and out with nobody remembering her. She might have blown the mission already. But, was she ready to walk away from those blue eyes? Surely, talking with him couldn’t do any harm, right? “So, did you design the dress you’re wearing?”

She was brought back to reality with a jolt. “Yes. Not… not my best work, but it fit the uh, occasion,” she stuttered out.

“Was the occasion to look stunning? Because you do.” He grinned smugly as she blushed heavily under his praise. This was fun. This was his new mission for the night; to see how many times he could make her blush. “Still not going to tell me your name, huh?”

She looked back at him before dropping her eyes again. Stupid mission. If it were just her here for herself, she could stay here dancing with Jason and gazing into his eyes for the rest of the night, and tomorrow, and the day after for that matter. But she wasn’t here for herself. She was here for a reason and that reason demanded she be anonymous and keep track of the Waynes.

She scanned the floor again and finally spotted the Waynes, confirming they were all there. Nobody had snuck off. They really liked sticking around each other didn’t they?

“No, it takes more than a pretty line from a pretty boy to get my name” she said looking back to Jason and plastering on a fake smile. “I don’t need any rich boys remembering me after this is over. Tomorrow I’ll go back to my real life and it will be like none of this ever happened. I can report that I came, I danced, and I even smiled a few times, then never speak of it again.”

“Friends or family forced you to come because they thought you needed some excitement in your life, Pixie Pop?”

“Something like that… Pixie Pop?”

“You won’t tell me your name and I need to call you something. You’re little and mischievous and can handle yourself… Pixie Pop. Honestly, you’re lucky I didn’t go with Odysseus. Also, you think I’m pretty?” He grinned down at her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, cheeks flushing slightly. “I think that would have made you Polyphemus, which you certainly have the size for,” she grinned up at him. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here. How about you?”

“Oh, my family thinks I have enough fun already. I’m here because if they have to suffer, so do I. And all to bolster the name of the illustrious Bruce Wayne.”

Marinette examined his face as he stared toward where she last seen Bruce Wayne. He looked annoyed and frustrated. This was a side of Mr. Wayne she had not heard about in her research, a side that frustrated native Gothamites. A bit more information could be helpful for her to figure out what role he played in the Grimoire information Constantine was gathering, figure out whether or not he was a threat. “Not a fan?” she asked delicately.

He looked back at her examining her face for any malice. “Depends on the day.”

She hummed in response. “What can you tell me about Bruce Wayne?” she finally asked.

“Why do you want to know?” he responded suspiciously. Most people looking for more information wanted it as a weapon. Bruce might not be his favorite person, he might actually hate him right now, but he wasn’t going to help someone take him down unless it was him.

She shrugged, “everything I’ve seen shows an exemplary record for him. You don’t seem to be a fan though and you’ve grown up in Gotham so you would have some good insights. So, I’m wondering what your take on him is. What he’s done to draw your ire.”

Jason nodded slightly seeming to mull over what she said. “He does good things. He helps a lot of charities. He honestly does care about the city and the people and about making their lives better. His parenting skills could use some work though. He could show his sons that he actually cares about them as more than tools, you know, whether they live or died…” he furrowed his brows and looked away for a few seconds before he schooled his expression. His eyes got a wicked gleam to them and he leaned towards her to whisper conspiratorially “… and I hear he’s sleeping with Batman.”

Mari looks at him surprised. “Huh, I guess he has a type then, supermodels, superheroes…”

“Supervillains…” Jason says under her breath looking back at Bruce and his date.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he covered quickly, but the damage had already been done. She had started thinking about Bruce’s involvement with the super community. If he was sleeping with superheroes and super villains, that meant he was part of the same circles as Constantine… and Constantine liked dating in the super community. Could Bruce Wayne be in the super community? That would explain why he had information pertaining to the Grimoire. And she might need to revisit exactly how Constantine knew Bruce Wayne.

“Are you okay? I didn’t break you, did I?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah, fine I could just maybe use some uh, water?” she gave an awkward smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please?” She just needed a bit of space to think.

Jason left to grab a glass of water and turned back to her. She watched Bruce with her head crooked to the side. He saw her finger discretely swiping to the right a few times as she stared intently at Bruce. After a few times her finger swiped left instead and head straightened. She looked around to the other members of the family as if she was counting, confirming something in her head.

Marinette’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized why Bruce Wayne could have information they needed and why Constantine needed her to keep an eye on the Waynes. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. She turned away quickly. This could not be happening. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening. She did NOT help him break into the BATCAVE while she kept tabs on BATMAN.

And if Constantine was trying desperately to avoid him, like he did all his exes…That little…

Jason had no idea what happened but as he got closer to his Pixie he could hear her muttering under her breath in French. His French was a bit rusty so even the pieces he could pick up were scarce and nonsensical. Something about maybe “lying” and “Roast Beef” and “bat” and “shark” and “fucking”. He couldn’t be positive about any of the words except two; “fucking” and “bat” those he was pretty familiar with. Not to brag but he could swear like a sailor in at least 7 languages. And “bat”, he knew that word in a few more languages for obvious reasons.

She was abruptly moving and ran right into him before she could take notice of her surroundings. She looked at Jason with wide eyes, reexamining the man she had spent the evening speaking and dancing with. Suddenly, everything clicking into place. There was one more hero she hadn’t accounted for, Red Hood, who while he hid his face behind a mask, just so happened to have the same towering build as Jason. But Bruce Wayne didn’t have any more kids, right? And if the other vigilantes were his sons, Red Hood should be too, right? He just had the three boys and the two girls who were out of town. That was it. He had another son, but that son had died. What was his name… She gasped loudly, “Oh God! You’re Jason,” she exclaimed out loud.

“Yeah?” He said confused. They’d been over this before.

“You’re Jason Todd,” she said looking down and taking slow breaths. “You’re Bruce Wayne’s son.”

He looked at her startled. She put that together quicker than he was expecting especially since she didn’t seem to know much about the family. “For what it’s worth, I don’t feel like his son most of the time,” he tried to joke. “Sorry for not telling you before. I don’t like talking about being in the family, or being in the family at all, actually.” He winced looking at her wide eyes.

“I wasn’t supposed to get noticed by the Waynes. Shit!”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress… or that face… or that smile, Pixie.” He said grinning suavely.

She examined him for a few seconds, emotions flittering across her face almost too quickly to identify them. Confusion, bashful, flattered, hopeful, guilt, pain, melancholy.

“I have to go.” She finally spoke up.

“Wait. What?”

“I… I have to go”

“Wait, is it… you have to go because I’m Wayne’s son?”

“No, I… shit. Putain de bâtard.” Yep, that one he understood too. Wait... “Me?” He asked pointing to himself.

“No, not you… Not because you’re a Wayne, well kind of because you’re a Wayne. It’s…” she faltered for a few seconds then muttered under her breath again “Je vais tuer cette putain de mère.”

“Wait, who is the mother fucker you’re talking about? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just going to kill a bitch when I get home.”

“Okay… Okay, first, that is a lot more swearing than I thought you were capable of and I’m extremely impressed… and turned on,” he chuckled as she rolled her eyes at him and mumbled under her breath “you should have heard what was going on in my head”. He raised his eyebrows at her suggestion. “Okay, you’re making it really hard not to make out with you right now.” He watched proudly as her cheeks suddenly blazed red at his comment. Another point for him tonight.

“Second, if you’re just worried about Bruce finding out you were here, it never happened. I never saw you. You were never here,” he assured her. Instead of calming her she seemed more panicked, eyes darting from the door to him. This seemed like more than just not wanting to get noticed. She was into something and didn’t want to be. “Or, if you’re in trouble, I can help. You just need to tell me what is going on. You don’t seem like you would willingly work with someone out to hurt others, so whatever it is, I’m sure you aren’t willingly doing it. If it is something bad. I just really have no idea what is going on right now and I would like you to tell me.” He continued earnestly, looking her in her eyes to make sure she understood how deathly serious he was about it. If she needed help, he WOULD help her. Even if he didn’t like her, which he really did, he was going to help put that smile back on her face.

She looked at him for another few moments opening her mouth slightly to say something then seemed to think better of it and closed it again. She narrowed her eyes and looked away scanning the room as she thought about what to say and do next. She seemed to come to a conclusion as she turned back to him and set her feet firmly on the ground.

“I never told you why I was here, did I?” Even before he shook his head she continued. “I’m here to keep an eye on the Waynes. On you, apparently. Didn’t know you were back from the dead though, so I wasn’t looking out for you. Congratulations on that, by the way, you know, on the whole not being dead thing. That’s really amazing. I’m glad you can be around to enjoy life and laugh and be sarcastic and look at me with those eyes and look like that in a suit… probably even better out of it.” She muttered the last part under her breath.

“I’d love to see you out of that dress, too.” He smiled smugly at her.

She huffed out a breath, cheeks reddening again, “Yeah, not happening. I’m burning this dress as soon as I get out of here.”

“I can help you with that, too. I like setting fires. Two birds, one pyrotechnic.” He preened for a moment enjoying the flirting. Wait, less flirting, more focusing back on the more important part of her earlier speech.

“Wait, why are you keeping an eye on us?” he asked apprehensively.

“So I could warn my… associate if any of you left. So he could have plenty of time to… what is the best way to say this…” she looked up to the ceiling and took a deep steadying breath thinking about the words she wanted to use. None of this was part of the plan. “…so he could have plenty of time to evacuate your… lair? No, lair makes you sound like villains… your illicit… cavern of, actually I don’t know if it is a cavern… and it isn’t really illicit, is it? Well, actually I guess it kind of is, but that still makes it sound like you’re a villain…your underground… no, I don’t even know if it is underground… to evacuate your… uh… secret… base of… um, operations?”

“My what?” Jason demanded now more than a little concerned. “Who are you?”

“Nobody. Absolutely nobody of consequence. And nobody who should be here right now.” She turned to walk away before Jason stopped her.

“No. You don’t get to say something like that then try to slink away like nothing happened. Come on, we’re going to go talk to some people,” he said grabbing her arm a bit harder than strictly necessary and dragging her towards his brothers and Bruce. She definitely figured out who they all were or at least who Bruce was and that they knew too, which put her in danger, and she was working with someone to break into the Batcave, which put them all in danger. Everything about this situation was dangerous and bad and they needed to talk to the family to figure out the best next steps.

Marinette dug her heels into the ground pulling against him, a really bad idea considering how high her heels were. Instead of stopping him she stumbled into his chest allowing him the opportunity to wrap his arms around her, “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said squirming to get out of his embrace. “This is between you guys. I have neither the desire nor the interest to get involved in this little lover’s spat. I have more important things to be doing right now. Things that asshole was supposed to be doing instead of pulling practical jokes.”

“Jokes? What do you mean jokes? What the fuck is going on?” He looked at her again. She wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t gloating, she wasn’t even nervous. She was annoyed verging on enraged.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Red.” She threw in the moniker at him to get him to back down. She knew how important secret identities were, and how finding out someone knew yours could throw you off your game. She felt a bit of guilt as she used that knowledge against him but this was no longer fun. Now this was infuriating. John was playing games with his former lover, or current lover, whatever Bruce was to him, instead of just helping. He was taking time she didn’t want to spend, time the people of Paris should not have to wait. They had spent weeks planning this when he could have just walked in and asked for the information. They had wasted so much time.

“I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This. This is not a joke. This is not some gag for you overgrown children to play at,” she said hitting her finger into his chest with each word. “I have people in need relying on me. I have children counting on me. Parents counting on me. Single people, who also deserve to live just as much as everyone else, counting on me and all suffering while they wait. I. Am. Done. And I am leaving”

Jason listened to her shocked. Something was happening and he had absolutely no idea what, but somehow they were involved. He hated not knowing what was going on. Apparently children were suffering because of all of this and he didn’t know why. But, he was going to figure it out. She was right. They did not have time for this. Whatever was going on, they were going to help. He turned away loosening his grip on her waist to just laying his arm on her instead of encircling her. He touched his hand to his ear to activate the com hidden inside, “Tim, can you check the security video for the uh… our base of operations?”

It appeared that Tim was giving Jason some resistance because Jason turned away even further and started yell whispering threats into the air. He was trying to be as discrete as possible in the crowded room, which normally wouldn’t be such a concern but there was a group of dancers headed their way, just leaving the dance floor after the song ended. Marinette took advantage of his distraction and the sudden cover to twist away from him and slip into the crowd.

Jason called after her and tried to grasp her arm but missed her. He searched for her but the crowd was too thick, having had to bottleneck to get past the tables surrounding the dance floor. He scanned the crowd for her twisted hair or the black dress, but couldn’t see her in the group. She had effectively disappeared, but if she went into the crowd, she would have to come out and cross the dancefloor in order to leave. He could just wait for her on the other side of the group and keep an eye on the dancefloor. He moved to go around the table, but that side was just as crowded so he did the only rational, discrete thing he could in the situation, he slid across the top of the table landing on the dancefloor and waited to grab her there, but she never came out.

_____________________________________________________________

Marinette had a habit of catastrophizing. She knew this. Everyone who knew her knew this. She thought of all of the worst case scenarios and tried to plan for them. Generally, it was a wasted effort that did little more than stress her out and annoy her teammates. Today, however, today it paid off. She had anticipated having to make a quick escape and once she decided it was time to go, she put her escape plan into action. Freeing herself from Jason, she pulled off her belt before even getting to the crowd. As she entered the crowd of people, she pulled out her hair pin, letting her hair fall down. She didn’t even have to hunch down much at all to disappear into the crowd as she weaved her way through them. One advantage to being short. She ran her left hand through her hair tousling it so her long raven hair cascaded around her shoulders. With her right hand, she yanked at the cowl neckline of her dress, allowing the fabric overlay to drop forming a floor length skirt, revealing the bodice of her now red Harlow inspired dress that had been hidden underneath. Her new dress hugged her body until it reached her hips then fell freely.

Finally, she reached into her red purse, removed her phone, the cookie for Tikki, and Kaalki’s glasses, nodded to Tikki, turned her purse inside out revealing a now black purse with red detailing, and returned her phone, glasses, cookie, hairpin, and belt into it, leaving plenty of room for Tikki. The entire change took all of 10 seconds. By the time she would walk out of the crowd, she would be completely unrecognizable, at least by anyone who didn’t already know her. Unless that is, if they were looking for someone moving against the tide of people. That would be a dead giveaway. So instead, she pivoted and moved with the crowd instead of against it, parting with them after a few tables and moving laterally toward the exit.

Marinette made her way to the exit quickly, but not quickly enough to draw attention to herself. She needed to get to Constantine before the “bat family”, as her research had called them, got to him. They had reasons for keeping other superheroes out of Paris and she had no interest in having that particular awkward and slightly guilt laden (stupid gorgeous blue eyes she wanted to get lost in) conversation with them. Especially when she was this utterly livid with Constantine, which was another reason she was rushing. She needed to get to him so she could beat the asshole out of him. Oh, she was going to make him pay for this, and not in a way he would enjoy.

She was angry and frustrated and guilty and grieved. She knew Jason didn’t deserve for her to snap at him like she had but she had been too frustrated to hold back and he was part of the problem. She had been having fun with Jason. She had been enjoying bantering with him and looking into his eyes. She had really, really been enjoying having him look at her like she was the most interesting thing in Gotham and having him hold her closer than he had to while they danced. And now it was gone. She was a hero and he was a vigilante so he had to be kept at a distance. A 3,670 mile distance to be precise, well approximate.

She was just about to cross through the exit when a voice stopped her.

“Hey,” a woman with short black hair and green eyes called out to her. Marinette slowed down weighing the risk of just blowing her off vs the risk of stopping. She decided ignoring her might lead to the woman calling after her, which would bring unwanted attention, which she wanted to avoid. Stopping seemed the safer answer. As long as she didn’t look back at the gala or do anything else that might incriminate herself, she would be able to get away without any awkward conversations or fights.

“Yes” she answered with a strained smile.

“I saw that little quick change back there,” the woman responded. Marinette’s eyes widened in panic. Before anxiety could start going over all the worst case scenarios her mind could come up with, she was already in the midst of one of them in real life she really didn’t need to start thinking of worse things to add to it, the woman continued, nonchalantly scanning the people at the gala, “don’t worry, I’m not going to out you. I just might have occasion to use a quick change myself from time to time, so I was hoping you might share where you got your dress.” She shot Marinette a wicked smile. ”Just because you’re hustling doesn’t mean you can’t look killer doing it.”

Marinette relaxed minutely and gave her a small smile, “it’s called MDC Designs. She’s online. What’s your name so she’ll know who to look out for?”

“Thanks kitten. I appreciate it.” She said never looking back at Marinette. “Selina. Selina Kyle. I’d say nice to meet you, but we never met, did we?”

Marinette smiled to herself as she walked out the door. Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss. Hopefully, Constantine got the information they needed, she’ll get to punch his smug face as soon as she sees him, and she’ll get a new client. Guess Adrien was right about showcasing her design after all. He must never know. Not such a bad night at all.

Chapter 2

Tag:

@fsketchart @jasonette-july-2k20

#maribat #jasonette #jasonette july 2k20 #Pixie Spy

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heyitsani · 3 years

Text

Little Did I Know Chapter 1

@jaydick-week Day 1 fic: Historical AU

Word Count: 8,770

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse (nothing graphic)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson

Summary: After being dealt a poor hand for the first twenty years of his life, Jason take the opportunity of a new life as the spouse of Dick Grayson, a friend of Roy Harper’s. Along the road of adjusting to his life, he discovers new adventures and finds them both a family of their own along the way.

Notes: This is the first part of this story that is focused on character developing and relationship building. The second part will introduce a few more familiar faces and give us our mystery. No clue when I’ll have it finished, but I do have some of it done. It will also shift to Dick’s POV.

I posted this on AO3 yesterday, but didn’t get onto tumblr until today so this is late here.

You can also read it on AO3 here

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The instant he stepped off the train at the first stop, he took the chance to glance around at the people who were either waiting for people to arrive or leave themselves. A woman with two small children kept glancing down the line and Jason knew she was probably here to greet her husband. The kid who looked like he was about sixteen or seventeen in ratty clothes was definitely looking to get on the train. But the look of all the people told him one thing, this was a poor man’s town. It made Jason think about all the money Dick had sent with his final letter, enough for a ticket and travel expenses, and how he could probably buy all of their tickets if he wanted. And still have some left over.

But he also knew better than poking his nose into other people’s business. So he pushed his hands into his pockets and made his way off the platform and onto the street. He had a few hours before the train was ready to leave again, so he scanned the area for a place to get something warm to eat. Something filling because the stale biscuits with the stew each meal were starting to grate on him.

“Hey kid,” he called over to a scrawny boy that was hiding just in the shadows of one of the alleyways. “You tell me where I can find some decent grub?” He approached the boy but froze when he noticed the kid cowering back away from him. It wasn’t odd for people to be intimidated by the sheer size of him, but he couldn’t recall a kid ever feeling that way. “Kid?”

“I’m sorry, mister. I cannot help you,” the boy muttered, pressing himself against a brick wall and glancing out into the street behind Jason. “Please.”

But Jason knew that look. He knew what drove a child to react to an adult like that. And it made his blood boil. But he pulled it in and knelt down, just outside of the shadow the boy was trying to hide in and looked him over. His clothes were ratty, too short in length, and definitely not warm enough for the time of year. It was concerning. And though the shadow hid most of him from Jason’s full scrutiny, he could see the discoloration on his face. Probably a few days old, from what he knew about bruising.

Glancing around the street, Jason tried to think of what he should do. He had a feeling if he tried to find an authority, the boy would just end up back in the hands of whoever had done this to him. So he had choice to ignore it and walk away or he fixed it.

“Are you hungry?” Jason asked, looking back to the boy. The kid frowned and leaned forward just a bit, considering him for a few moments. Then Jason received a small nod and Jason stood up. “Point me in the direction of a shop I can get a few things and I’ll bring some back to you. And some clothes. You have to be freezing.” But the kid’s frown deepened, and he didn’t say anything. “It’s not a trick. I know you’re hiding from someone and I’m just looking to help you. I’m passing through, on my way West. I’ll help and then vanish.”

“But I cannot pay you.”

“I ain’t asking you to, kid. I have some extra money and if I can help you out just a little, then I would like to do it.” And though the kid still looked wary, he stepped forward a bit more and pointed to a building across the street about five doors down.

“General store. They have warm hand food.” Jason glanced at the building and nodded before looking back down at the kid.

He quickly glanced around the alley and frowned. There wasn’t much cover, but Jason also knew there was no way he could bring the kid with him since people here probably knew him. “If someone comes close, hide.” The kid rolled his eyes and Jason let out a snort before he headed out and crossed the street to head to the shop the kid had directed him to.

Once inside, Jason easily made his way through some premade clothes that looked like they should mostly fit the kid. But he could always find a way to alter the items once they got to California to fit better if they were too oversized. Laying the basics down on the counter, Jason asked the man for one of the leather suitcases behind him and then a few of the hand food that was displayed. The merchant asked a few questions, seemed a little too curious for his own good, but Jason simply brushed him off saying he was from New York and traveling to California. It didn’t explain the kid clothing and suitcase, but that wasn’t anything Jason was concerned about at the moment.

All he cared about was getting this food and clothes to the kid and maybe convincing him to get on the train with him. They could work out the details later.

So with the suitcase full of clothes and the bag of warm food in hand, Jason made his way back in the direction he had come in. And since he wasn’t a fool who believed the merchant would keep his nose out of a stranger’s business, he simply glanced at the alley where the kid was hiding and gave a nod of his head toward the train station. He didn’t pause to look back and see if the kid was following and he didn’t look back to see if the merchant was still watching him. He simply went to the ticket window and paid for another ticket on the same train he would be boarding as soon as he was ready.

“What’s that for?” The kid spoke up as Jason turned away from the ticket window and found him standing a few feet away. Jason ignored the question for a minute as he handed over the bag of food and set the suitcase next to him.

“It’s a proposition,” Jason said, holding onto the ticket as the kid started shoving food into his mouth. It made his chest ache to see him so consumed with the food. Mostly because he knew what it was like. He knew how an abusive parent could use basic survival against you and how hard it was to grasp when the danger was gone. “I’m heading to California to get married to a man who is the Law. The way I see it, you can come with me now and start a new life. Or you can go home to whoever it is you’re hiding from and either end up back in the streets or on the train.”

The kid slowed his chewing and stared at Jason. And though he hadn’t agreed, Jason knew the kid would come with him. He knew he was just calculating the risk and Jason would come out favorable in the end. He knew the look.

“Name’s Timothy,” the kid finally told him.

“Nice to meet you Timothy, I’m Jason.” Glancing over at the waiting train, he saw a few people boarding leisurely. “Let’s get you on the train and you can use one of the lavatories to change out of those clothes and into the ones I got you.” Tim gave a smile around the food in his mouth and Jason just chuckled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and herding him toward the man checking tickets before they got on the train.

He gave no thought to the man he was planning to marry in California or whether this would change everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jason stepped off the train at their destination, he looked back to make sure Tim was right behind him before he started searching for the man Roy had described as unnaturally beautiful. There were a handful of older couples and even some kids running around on the platform, but he didn’t see anyone who really fit the description he had been given. At least not until a lean man with raven locks and startling blue eyes came running up the steps, breathing heavily as if he had run a few miles to get here.

“Come on, kid,” Jason said quietly, holding out his hand for Tim to take before leading him over to the man he assumed was Dick Grayson. And the closer he got to him; the more Jason knew this had to be him. And fuck if Roy wasn’t spot on with the description of unnaturally beautiful. He had never seen anyone as gorgeous as this man was. No man or lady. And though Jason was certainly larger than he was, the three-piece suit he wore did nothing to hide the strong lines of his body. He was the picture of youth and beauty, physically a catch for anyone who was given the chance to stake claim on him.

And Jason allowed a moment of uncertainty to creep in. Would this man renege on their contract when he saw Jason wasn’t nearly as beautiful as he was? And with a face like that, how had he not already found himself a wife or husband? “Dick Grayson?” Jason pushed the thoughts away and tried to steel himself. He could feel Tim shifting next to him, half his body hidden by Jason’s own form.

At the sound of his name, Jason watched Dick look over at him and freeze. And as the man’s jaw literally dropped, Jason nudged Tim when the kid snickered at the reaction. “Jason Todd?” The breathless sound of Dick’s voice questioned, the man almost visibly shaking himself out of a stupor.

Nodding, Jason held out his hand and waited for Dick to shake it. He was pleasantly surprised by the warm, firm grip Dick had. Another thing Roy had commented on. Dick Grayson looked delicate and soft, but he was stronger than most and would easily knock down someone twice his size.

“Who is this?” Dick questioned, trying to look around Jason to see Tim. But the kid just moved further behind Jason and the older man sighed.

“This is Tim,” Jason offered, tugging the kid out from behind him to stand in front of him with both of Jason’s hands on his shoulder. “We’re a package deal now.” Dick’s eyebrows rose as he listened to the tone of authority Jason gave before he looked down and took in Tim’s appearance. The new clothes Jason had bought for him actually fit, but it wasn’t hard to see the still healing bruising on his eye and neck. And he was obviously undernourished. But Jason didn’t know what Dick would make of all of that.

There was another beat of silence before Dick smiled. “Well, welcome to California Tim. And you too, Jason. Of course.” And Jason felt himself relax just a bit at the words because he really didn’t know what he would have done if Dick had said no. He didn’t exactly have a backup plan for his own living situation if the thing with Dick fell through. But now he didn’t need to worry.

“Thank you, sir,” Tim said quietly, and Jason felt himself tense again in fear of what Dick would say in response.

But the man just laughed and reached forward to ruffle the kid’s hair. “None of that sir stuff here,” he said, gesturing for Jason to give him the two bags he had. “I walked here from the office, so I hope you two don’t mind? We need to go sign a few papers before I take you both home,” he told Jason as he shouldered both bags on one side and headed down the platform.

“Seeing the town and stretching our legs would be nice, right Timmy?” Tim rolled his eyes and moved to walk next to Dick, looking up at him curiously. It hurt Jason’s heart a little to see how quickly the kid latched onto some positive attention. It was different watching it from the outside in as opposed to experiencing it like he had when he had found the kid cowering in a dark alley.

Dick glanced at him over his shoulder, giving Jason a small smile, before he pointed out a building to Tim and explained how it was the local schoolhouse. “We’ll get you fully settled before you need to worry about school, though,” Dick told him and though Jason couldn’t see his face, he could tell Tim’s shoulders relaxed a little at the thought of not being dropped right into the thick of it before he was ready. It had only been a few days since his entire world had changed, Jason didn’t want him to have to navigate yet another change. “How old are you, Timmy?”

“Thirteen,” the boy offered, and Jason cleared his throat, drawing both of their gazes. But he kept his eyes on Tim and raised a brow. “Eleven,” he muttered, and Dick chuckled easily. Like it didn’t matter that the kid had tried to lie about his age to him. A kid he hadn’t even been expecting and yet seemed to be taking in stride.

Jason didn’t know what to make of that.

He didn’t know what to make of someone who could just let things slide off their back. Roy had made it clear that Dick hadn’t had an easy life and that he had been orphaned at eight, being adopted by a family friend who had been there the night his parents had died. Dick had apparently spent years mute, hiding away from everyone due to the trauma of watching his parents fall to their deaths during a trapeze act that traveled with a circus over in Europe. It wasn’t until after Roy had met him that Dick actually started speaking again and opening up to people again.

But Dick had been gifted with a bit of a charmed life once he had been adopted thanks to his new father being old money from England and making quite the name for himself in America once he came across with Dick beside him. Where most kids would have been left by the wayside if they had refused to speak, Dick had been provided with his every need.

Jason had struggled just to be sure his mother had enough medicine and he had at least one small meal a day, despite his father’s lack of effort to provide for any of their needs. And who knew what Tim had struggled with, but Jason could definitely make an educated guess just on the condition of the kid when he had met him.

“Do you have horses?” Tim’s voice pulled Jason out of his musings.

“Not in town,” Dick answered, glancing to the side before gesturing for them to cross the street. “My adoptive father, Bruce, lives outside of town and has a couple in his stables that are technically mine. Do you like horses?”

“Love them!” Jason watched Tim bounce excitedly as he talked about how they had horses when he was younger, but that they had to sell them for some reason a few years ago. Jason could guess what those reasons might be. Very few people sold valuable items unless they had debts to pay. But Jason kept his mouth shut and just let the pair in front of him continue to talk about horses as they made their way into a large building in what looked to be the center of the town.

“This is my work. The county clerk is here, and we can sign the marriage papers before I take you both home. I’ll need to return to work for a bit, but that will give you two some time to get settled without me around,” Dick explained as he led them to an office behind the front desk, which held a woman who regarded them both curiously. The entire process was quicker and far less painful than Jason had been imaging and in less than an hour, the pair were officially married and Tim was their son.

Not that Tim seemed to care much, not once Dick showed him his office and the drawer of penny candies he kept there for his crew’s kids when they came in. Dick had smiled innocently and told Jason that he liked being the favorite among the kids.

Jason couldn’t have held back the laugh if he had tried. And he tried not too think too much about the fact that he could definitely get used to being around someone who seemed to be so open with their emotions. It was startling to say the least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the three of them were walking through the front door of Dick’s far too large home a few blocks from the center of town, Jason was ready to fix some food and just settle in for the remainder of the day. It was early afternoon and they had skipped lunch in favor of getting a few errands done, but now Tim was complaining of being hungry and Dick was glancing at his watch and saying he needed to head back to the office.

“Everything here is now yours too,” Dick said as they walked into the house. He pointed out the sitting room, the library and office, and pointed down the hall to where the kitchen and pantry were located. Jason marveled at the amount of space Dick had for just himself. “I wanted to have a home for a family,” he shrugged when Jason asked. “Timmy why don’t you pick out your room upstairs? The one at the very end of the hall is…ours.” Jason looked at Dick, who had a soft dusting of pink across his cheeks and was avoiding Jason’s gaze.

“Neat!” Tim called out as he ran up the stairs with thundering steps. Jason shook his head at the sound of his footsteps as he ran from room to room, talking to himself as he tried to decide.

Jason took the chance to look around as Dick placed his and Tim’s bags at the foot of the stairs. For the most part the home was clean and uncluttered, but there was definitely a layer of dust covering everything Dick didn’t seem to use on the regular. He knew he would need to go through each room and do a deep cleaning before he deemed the home really livable.

But when he made his way into the kitchen, he was pleasantly surprised at just how clean the room actually was. And just how stocked it was. Dick had just shrugged and mentioned that he wanted to be prepared for Jason’s arrival.

“I don’t cook much, but I know the importance of a clean area for cooking. I just don’t have much time for cleaning the rest of the house.” Jason could understand that. A Sheriff was important and had a lot of responsibilities. Plus he couldn’t fault the man for not cleaning what he never used.

Running a finger along the stove top, Jason nodded. “I like to cook,” he admitted. “I’ll have supper ready for when you come home tonight.” Dick looked somewhat surprised by that but Jason just waved a hand. “I’m not a housewife, but cleaning and cooking are two things I like to do. Laundry is not.”

Dick chuckled. “I employ a service. We can keep that service easily enough.” Oh, thank heavens, Jason thought. Laundry had been something he had really never enjoyed. He hadn’t been looking forward to doing it for three when one had been boring enough. “If there is something else you need or want, I’ll show you where I keep the money safe tonight. I’ll also stop by the bank and have you added to my accounts so you can use them while in town.”

“But that’s your money.”

“What’s mine is yours now, Jason. I have more than enough money to be sure you and Tim live a comfortable life. One you haven’t had until now.” That made Jason pause. He didn’t know how much Roy had told Dick about his life, but he knew he had mentioned a bit. And Jason knew even a fool could take a guess at what Tim had gone through based on his appearance alone. But he hadn’t expected Dick to be the kind of person to just open his entire world to both of them immediately.

“Dick is the best kind of person, Jay. He’s a bleeding heart through and through.” Roy had told him one night as Jason revealed some reservation of moving West even though he had already agreed to go.

“I need to head back into work, but expect some knocks on the door. The neighbors are nice, but nosy ones,” Dick laughed before going to the foot of the stairs. “Bye Timmy! I’ll see you later!”

“Bye, Dick! Thank you!” The kid called back and Dick just chuckled despite Jason’s cringe at the rude behavior. But a voice in the back of his mind whispered that this was how a kid should be allowed to act in his home. Comfortable.

“Thank you, Jason. I can’t tell you how happy I am that I’m not coming home to a dark, empty home tonight.” Jason didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he just nodded and walked Dick to the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So Tim…” Dick said as he sat down on the edge of the bed they were supposed to share, because married. And Jason knew exactly what it was he was asking without actually asking. And part of him wondered how much Roy had told Dick about Jason’s own experience. But knowing his friend, he probably hadn’t said much because it wasn’t his place. “Was it the malnutrition or the bruises?”

“Both,” Jason admitted, not giving anything more.

Dick hummed and Jason sat down on what would be his side of the bed, watching the man tug off his boots and toss them in the corner. Jason cringed at the basic lack of cleanliness, but his letters had admitted that part of wanting a spouse was wanting someone to help him clean because he just wasn’t good at it.

“You should take him into the tailor tomorrow to get him sized for some more clothes. The few things he has now won’t last long.” Jason furrowed his brow at the easy acceptance of the whole situation and wondered, much like he had earlier that day, what was going through the man’s head. His confusion must have been evident because Dick let out a laugh when he looked over his shoulder before standing and grabbing some clothes from the wardrobe. “I like kids, Jason. And I like that you couldn’t leave him to whatever it was he was enduring. I have seen it plenty of times over the years. He would have either ended up on the train or…”

Or dead.

Dick didn’t have to say it. It was the exact reason why Jason had offered to let the kid join him on the journey. And he had done it without pausing to think that it might cost them both a home once they reached California. But Jason’s normal cynicism of people hadn’t applied to Dick Grayson. And he didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know what to make of Dick Grayson.

“I know we haven’t had much of a chance to get to know each other except for a few letters but I would like to. I would like for us to be a family. That’s what I wanted from the very beginning and adding a surprise child to the mix doesn’t change that.” Jason frowned and looked at the wall as Dick talked. Sure, he knew Dick had wanted a real marriage between them, but marriage and family were different. At least they were in his experience.

Glancing over at Dick, who had managed to switch out of his work clothes and into his night clothes, Jason caught his eye for a moment. And what he saw there was truth. Just absolute truth and honesty. “I’m not sure I know how to be a family,” Jason admitted quietly, and his chest ached at Dick’s frown. “I don’t know how, but I suppose Timmy doesn’t either. So maybe the two of us can learn from you.”

He watched Dick watch him, considering his words carefully before giving a single nod. “I’d be more than honored to show you both.”

And Jason fell asleep a while later with Dick softly breathing beside him and those words circling around in his brain.

A real family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took a few days for Jason to adjust to the schedule Dick kept. Not because he was an early riser or a night owl, but because he had the tendency to be in a constant rush. And it left Jason in a constant state of unsettled. Because he was the type of man who planned everything out and liked order, but Dick was the type who would stop to have a full 10-minute conversation with Tim at breakfast when he only had five minutes to eat before he had to run out the door to be at the station on time.

Even though he was the boss and could get there whenever he wanted.

“It’s disrespectful if I demand they arrive on time for their shifts and yet I waltz in whenever I please,” Dick had told Jason one night when he had felt the courage to ask. And when Jason had asked why that mattered so much, Dick had just shrugged and said if he didn’t respect the people who worked for him then he couldn’t expect them to respect and trust him. “If there’s no respect or trust then the field becomes dangerous. We’ve come a long way out here, but we are not New York or Boston. We have a long way to go before we are settled, and things can go south quickly.”

And Jason was starting to see that Dick Grayson was self-sacrificing to a fault. The wellbeing and lives of others would always matter more to him than his own. He just hoped that wasn’t going to be a problem in the future.

“This is delicious,” Dick commented as he took another bite of the pastry Jason had learned to make at one of the jobs he had held in New York. To Jason they were too sweet, but when he heard Dick liked sweets from a friend he had introduced Jason to a few days ago, he figured they were worth trying. And apparently it was worth it because Dick was grabbing a second before the first was fully chewed, trying to shrug on his suit coat at the same time.

With an amused snort, Jason grabbed the coat from Dick and circled his finger to tell Dick to turn around so Jason could help it. With only a slight surprised hesitation, Dick did as he was told and held the pastry in his mouth as he slipped both his arms into the coat. Carefully pulling it up, Jason smoothed his hands over the shoulders and down the back to sort out any winkles brought on by Dick’s attempts just moments earlier.

“Thanks,” Dick said, his voice sounding a bit like he had swallowed sand. Looking into the man’s sapphire eyes, Jason wasn’t sure what emotion he was seeing. He was too used to people hiding those from him. But Dick was just so open with them, particularly the good ones.

“Can I go into town with you, Dick?” Tim questioned as he walked into the kitchen, effectively and innocently breaking the moment between the two men.

Dick turned and smiled at the kid, nodding his head. “Of course, Timmy! Do you have all your things? Make sure to get a pastry for the walk. They’re divine,” he said, glancing over at Jason with a much more playful look in his eye than before. Jason held his eye for a moment before looking away as an unfamiliar feeling rose in his chest. A heat he had never felt before, but was curious as to what it meant. Maybe he’d have to write an embarrassing letter to Roy and see if the man had any idea what was wrong with him.

“Lunch,” Jason said to both men as he held out two separate lunch pails. The two of them quickly took their respective tins with a thanks and Tim grabbed himself two pastries before giving Jason a side hug. It was quite a change from the kid Jason had found huddled in the alleyway of some nowhere town just two weeks earlier.

And Jason wasn’t simple enough to think it was because of him. There was something about Dick that was just so bright and warm. Tim had blossomed under it and even Jason felt as though he was more comfortable than he had ever been.

“I’ll be there to walk you home,” Jason told Tim as he walked with the pair to the front door. “We have an appointment with the tailor after school is done for the day.” Tim gave him a smile and nodded before hurrying out the door.

“Have a good day, Dear!” Dick called out teasingly as he bounded down the front steps and Jason hoped all that was powerful that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. But he couldn’t help the small lift to the corners of his mouth at the tease. And though he could see a few of their neighbors watching him curiously, he stayed out on the porch to watch the pair walk away until they rounded a corner and he couldn’t track them any longer.

It wasn’t until then that he had the courage to glance around and found two women watching him with wide smiles, looking like they were about to head his direction. And since that was the last thing Jason wanted to deal with, he quickly retreated into the house and sighed.

Cleaning was way more preferable than dealing with gossiping women.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason stood a few feet away, watching the tailor adjust the clothes he had made for Tim since the appointment a little over three weeks ago. Dick had been right about the few items Jason had bought him that first day, they were already starting to wear out. Between the work at the house and the somewhat harsher land of the town, even his leather shoes would need replacing soon. Dick had only laughed and told Jason that he knew where the money was kept and to get the kid some better shoes if he needed them.

It was nerve wracking to have someone be so free with their hard-earned money.

But at the same time, it was warming to know that even though he and Dick had only known each other for a month that he trusted the man enough to just let him spend as he saw fit. And, of course, Jason knew he wouldn’t spend it frivolously, but Dick hadn’t known that the first evening he had shown Jason how to work the safe he kept in the office on the first floor. But he had trusted Roy enough to trust Jason.

“Mr. Grayson-Todd, are these to your liking?” Jason jerked and looked over at Tim, who was examining the current outfit in the full-length mirror. “The other items will be altered to fit these articles if it is to your liking.”

“Timmy?” Jason questioned instead of answering. “What do you think?”

The kid looked at himself for a bit longer before looking over at Jason and nodding. The tailor smiled and gestured for Tim to change back out of the items and gave a warning to be careful of the pins.

“Should we pay you now?” Jason questioned, watching the man pack away his items.

With a wave of his hand, the tailor placed his kit on a shelf behind his desk. “Not until the items are finished. And I have been instructed to just send the bill to your husband’s place of employment so he can direct the funds to me.” Jason raised his eyebrows at that. Dick hadn’t mentioned that when he had sent him and Tim to this tailor. “Now, is there anything I might prepare for you? Your husband was insistent that you both be taken care of.”

Frowning, Jason looked down at his own pants and shirt. He would have been plain back home in New York, but here in San Francisco he seemed to fit in fairly well. They lived a simpler life here and he enjoyed that. More labor and less…fluff.

“Do you think it necessary?”

The old man looked him over before moving to circle him slowly as Tim walked out from behind the partition with a smirk on his face. “You certainly fit in with the townsfolk, but your husband dresses above their standards given the family he comes from, and his employment status. We could upgrade some of your pieces so that you are on the same level as him.”

“Oh yes, Pa,” Tim chimed in, drawing Jason’s eyes in surprise at the name. It wasn’t the first time the kid had called him that, but the tone he said it in was much more confident this time. “Dat would love to see you all dolled up.” And Tim had certainly never called Dick “Dat” before. It left him too stunned to fight the tailor when the man tugged him over to the pedestal so he could take his measurements.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason was in the kitchen when Dick came home from work that day. He could hear Tim’s voice floating in from down the hall as the kid told Dick all about their outing and how he had convinced Jason to be fitted for some new clothes after the tailor had been finished with him. He could hear the treble of Dick’s voice, but he spoke to lowly to hear what he said. And though Jason wasn’t actually trying to eavesdrop, he had to admit he liked listening to his husband and their kid just chatting away.

“He’s going to look so fine, Dat! Just wait until you see that we picked out!” Tim’s excitement was amusing, so much to the point that Jason didn’t think twice about what Tim had called Dick and was surprised to find Dick frozen in the doorway as he stared at Tim, who looked bashful and uncertain.

“Where did you learn that word?” Dick’s voice was strained and hushed, but it didn’t sound angry.

Tim glanced over at Jason before looking down at the floor between him and Dick. “Teacher Barbara said that you were Romani and that it’s what you call fathers in your language.” Jason had known about Dick’s heritage since about a week after they had come together, but he wasn’t aware Tim had learned. He also hadn’t known “Dat” was a Romani word, he just figured it was something from Tim’s own past. But he should have known better because Tim was too smart and too observant for his own good most days.

But somedays that paid off.

“Dick?” Jason prompted, drawing the man’s eyes from Tim to him. Jason could see the tears brimming his sapphire eyes and there was a deep sadness, one he recognized from the night Dick had told him about his parents and his loss. It made him want to step forward and gather him u in his arms, protect him from that hurt that still haunted him from all those years ago.

But instead he watched Dick blink a few times before turning back to a wilting Tim. “Teacher Barbara is right,” he told the kid softly. Jason watched Tim turn his eyes upward to look at Dick when Dick placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Timmy. I just haven’t heard that word in a long time and I was the last person to say it. It caught me by surprise.”

“I could not say it…”

“Oh no, I’d like it very much if you kept saying it. Just give me a little time to get used to hearing it again, okay?” The boy nodded and Jason breathed out a relieved sigh that he was being understanding without really understanding. “Thank you, Timmy. I’m honored you think of me as your Dat.” Tim lunged forward and hugged Dick around his middle before shooting Jason a wide smile and shooting out of the room. A moment later they could hear his loud footsteps heading upstairs.

Jason turned his eyes to watch Dick as he stared in the direction Tim had run off in. “You okay?” Jason asked softly, not wanting to disturb Dick’s thoughts but wanting to be sure. “I was going to warn you when you got home, but he beat me to it. He called you that at the tailor.”

“I know he’s been testing the waters with Pa and you, but I figured it would take a bit longer for him to come up with something for me. If he ever did.”

“You’re having a go, right?” Jason laughed, turning back to the pot of stew on the stovetop. “That kid’s own father was obviously the worst of the worst. You come into his life and show him what a real father should be and think he’s not going to think of you as one? I know you’re not that daft.” He glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Dick, who just shrugged.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing most days. I just keep pausing to think ‘what would Dat do, Dick?’ and hope that I’m making the right decision,” Dick said. Jason hummed and put the spoon down before turning to face Dick fully.

With only a slight hesitation, Jason reached for Dick’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. “If that’s what you’ve been doing, then keep doing it because it’s definitely working. That kid adores you.” Dick’s gaze turned grateful and Jason’s chest warmed at the sight. “Now, you need to go get cleaned up. You stink of work and supper is almost ready.”

Dick’s laugh was soft and bright as he allowed Jason to push him out of the kitchen. And Jason was thankful for the moment alone so he could hide the smile Dick’s laugh had caused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you again,” Jason said as he held the door of the barber open for Tim to head outside and him to follow. With a deep breath, he took a look around and frowned at the crowd gathered at the station. “What do you suppose that’s about?” He asked, glancing over at Tim, who had the same frown on his face.

The kid shrugged and looked at him to see what he wanted to do. So Jason let his curiosity lead him and they headed toward the crowd to see what exactly was happening. The closer he got, the more understanding he gained. From couples leading dirty children away from the area, to the tops of tiny heads he could see just above the heads of the crowd.

The Orphan Train had come into town.

“Pa?”

Looking down at Tim, he creased his brow. Did he want to expose the kid to what could have been his life? Or did he want to shield him from the truth? He and Dick had given him a good home in the past few months. He, and Jason, had gotten to experience what a good family was supposed to be like. But that didn’t mean old hurts were completely healed.

“If that blonde girl would let the other one go, I’d bring her home,” a man was grumbling as he passed, walking with another man away from the crowd. “Not gettin’ involved in that rukus.” That made Jason frown more. Looking away from Tim he craned his neck to see if he could figure out what the man was referencing.

Then he saw a small blonde girl clinging tightly to an even smaller black haired girl. The final two on the stage. And Jason knew exactly what he was about to do. He just hoped Dick meant what he said when he mentioned he liked kids.

Gripping Tim’s hand, Jason pushed through the crowd and went to the person in charge.

“I’ll take them both in,” he told the man who was still trying to convince people to take the girls. The man stopped and looked at him, eyes wide and frozen. Jason knew he looked much more up to Dick’s standards now and the people of the town knew him as the Sheriff’s husband, making him respectable.

“Uh sir, perhaps you should speak with the Sheriff first.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed and he felt his temper rising, but he kept it under check. “I said,” he ground out, “I’ll take both of them. The Sheriff would back me up on this decision.” Releasing Tim’s hand, Jason pulled out his money clip and tossed some money at the man before walking up the stairs to speak to the two girls. He stopped a few feet in front of them and looked them both other. Both were skinny and dirty, but they didn’t look bruised or broken like Tim had when Jason had found him. “My name is Jason and this is my boy, Tim,” Jason gestured to Tim who gave the two girls a wide smile that seemed to pique their curiosity.

“We ain’t leavin’ each other.” The blonde glared at Jason and the man just laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m not asking you to separate. I’m asking if you two would like to come home with us. My husband and I have a room big enough for the pair of you and you’ll be safe.” Both girls watched him for a moment before looking at each other, the black-haired girl rapidly moving her fingers in the most fascinating way. He recognized it as sign language from one of his neighbors back in New York having been deaf and he learned a bit to be able to speak to the man, but he didn’t know much. Apparently, though, the blonde girl did.

“I’m Stephanie and this is Cassandra,” the blonde finally spoke again, straightening her shoulders and giving Jason a nod. “Cass doesn’t speak but she can hear just fine. Her father was a bastard, and I stole her away from him.”

That was curious.

“Pa and I know a bit about bastard fathers,” Tim spoke up, stepping forward. “He and Dat aren’t bastard fathers.”

With another glance shared between the two, Cass and Stephanie gave identical nods and Jason nodded back. “All right, I suppose we should go break the news to Dick. Do you have any belongings?” The girls both held up small satchels that Jason hadn’t noticed before and he frowned. He’d have to ask Dick to grab them a few premade items on his way home. With a jerk of his head, he turned and headed toward the main road so they could drop in on Dick at his office. Hopefully the man wasn’t too busy and none of the town gossips who had seen him already made a point to drop by.

Jason trusted the man with his life, but there were still a few things he didn’t know about Dick. And hearing big news like ‘surprise you’re a father of three now!’ was probably something that he didn’t want to hear from a random person.

Glancing back, he almost came to an abrupt stop when he saw Tim walking between the two girls with one of their hands clasped in each of his own. Jason hadn’t bothered to think how Tim would take to him randomly adding to their family, but apparently he hadn’t needed to worry. It made that warm feeling that had been taking up residence in his chest a lot more frequently since coming to California grow just a bit more. It was a nice feeling, something he had only ever experienced with Roy and Lian, and he wondered if this was how home was supposed to feel.

“Here we are,” Jason heard Tim tell the girls as Jason grabbed the hand of the door and pulled it open so the three of them could go inside. While Stephanie and Cassandra seemed a bit hesitant, Tim just walked them in with him with no hesitation.

“Timmy!” Jason heard Dick’s voice call out before he had even stepped foot into the building himself. “Is this a surprise visit?” He questioned and Jason watched from near the door as Dick rounded the counter and moved over in front of the three kids. “Are these your...friends…?” Dick asked, eyes looking over at Jason with a bit of a curious look before his eyes widen slightly and he figured out what exactly was happening. “Sisters, then.”

Tim nodded and introduced the two girls to Dick, who knelt down to get on their level and smiled at the pair. “Pa said they could live with us.” Dick looked over at him with an amused twinkle in his eyes and chuckled before looking back at the girls.

“Well, Pa is correct. We have more than enough room and I think you two seem like just the ones to join our little family.” Jason could see the girls relaxing just a bit more as Dick stood and ran a hand over each of their heads. “Timmy, why don’t you show them your stash in my desk while I talk to Pa for a moment.”

Without needing anymore prompting, the boy tugged the two of them around the front desk and toward the office in the back where Dick worked. Once they were both sure the kids were out of earshot, Dick looked at Jason with an amused smile and raised eyebrows.

A shrug of his shoulders, Jason slipped his hands into his pockets. “They wouldn’t be separated, and no one wanted both. I didn’t get much out of them other than Cassandra doesn’t talk but knows sign language and can hear just fine. I’m assuming the no talking has something to do with her father who Stephanie called a bastard.” Dick hummed and looked back in the direction the kids had run off in. Jason knew he wasn’t worried about what trouble they could get into, but more needed a moment to process. The muteness probably hit close to home.

“They have nothing in way of the basics?”

“Not unless those small satchels are magical.” Dick laughed and shook his head as he turned his back on Jason and leaned over the desk, displaying the long line of his back and the all too tempting ass perfectly as he grabbed a paper and pen. When Dick turned around and Jason’s eyes were still where Dick’s ass had been, Dick smirked and Jason coughed, looking away and mentally begging for his blush to vanish.

“Make a list of what they need,” Dick handed over the paper and pen. “I’ll leave a little early tonight and get enough to hold them over until you can get them to the tailor for a proper fitting.”

Jason took the items but didn’t make a move to start writing, taking a moment really look at Dick. “Something’s wrong.” It might have only been a few months, but Jason knew how to read the man in front of him. Glancing around the station, he took in the fact that none of the usual paper pushers were around and the building was mostly silent. “Where is everyone?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Dick tried to wave it off, but Jason just stared at him, unimpressed. It was a few more moments before Dick sighed and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. It pulled the white button up shirt he wore taut over the muscles of his chest and arms and Jason thought it wasn’t fair to have so much beauty in one man. Especially a man he had to sleep next to each night but hadn’t gotten the courage to touch yet. “There’s some trouble outside of town. Sent some of the crew to go see what they could unfold. The others are doing the regular patrols.” There was a pause but Jason knew not to say anything because Dick had more to say, he was just trying to figure out how to say it. “Just maybe…” The man sighed and dropped his arms and Jason couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked in that moment.

And maybe he had looked tired for a while now but Jason had been too focused on the beauty of the man every day to notice the exhaustion, but he could definitely see it now. The dark circles brushing his under eyes, the slump of his shoulders, and the paleness to his golden skin. Had he been sleeping peacefully through Dick’s distress each night? How long had this been going on?

“Just maybe stay away from the edge of town for a while. You and the kids. We don’t want to alarm anyone in town just yet, but I’d feel a lot better knowing my family wasn’t close to the danger.” Jason considered the words and gave Dick a nod. He could do that. He could keep the Tim, and now the girls, close to home and not stray far from the center of town. He could do that for their safety because Dick would know what that meant more than he would.

“Okay,” Jason agreed, moving forward to use the desk behind Dick as a writing surface. He stood close to Dick and gave his upper arm a squeeze before leaning over and scratching out a quick list on the paper for Dick to use to get things for the girls. “Kids!” Jason called out once he had finished the list as best he could. “Tim and I will move one of the beds from another room into the one across from his. They don’t want to be separated, so they can share a room.”

“That sounds good. They might even want to share a bed.” Jason hadn’t thought of that. He would have to ask them on their way home. But at the sound of the three of them emerging from Dick’s office, penny candies in their hands and smiles on their faces, Jason turned his focus back to the list.

He waited for them to round the desk and Tim to say thanks to Dick, the older man ruffling Tim’s hair with a soft smile. “Stephanie, Cassandra,” Jason addressed the girls, who went rigid and their smiled fading away. “Dick is going to pick up some things for the two of you on his way home tonight. For clothing would you prefer skirts and dresses or pants?”

The two girls seemed to relax again and look at each other before Cass was using her hands to communicate and Steph nodding along. “Pants,” Stephanie turned back to them and stated. Jason looked over at Dick, who was watching Cassandra with a curious gleam in his eyes. Jason had learned that this particular look usually meant good things, but something he worked through on his own before he presented them.

“I will come home laden with goods, then,” Dick joked, looking over at Jason and smiling brightly. “Also, I do believe we are due a visit to B’s this weekend. I will see if the crew can manage without me Saturday.” The question was in Dick’s eyes and Jason just gave a nod in return. He wasn’t particularly fond of the lavish life of Bruce Wayne, but he was family and he could see the fondness and love between father and son when Bruce and Dick were around each other.

And Jason definitely enjoyed the company of Alfred, Bruce’s manservant who was actually more like a father to the man. Dick called him a grandpa.

“Come on kids, let’s head home. It’s time for some lunch anyway. You have yours?” Jason asked Dick, who nodded and smiled fondly. Jason gave his own nod and watched as Tim took up the girls’ hands again and led them out the door.

“Stay safe,” Dick called out just before Jason exited and Jason gave him one last smile that promised he would.

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #mail order bride au #set in the 1890s #anikah writes

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Sick Fic I Didn’t Bother to Name Part 2

Basically Jon is sick post canon and Tim lives and is looking after him while Martin is at work. See look you don't have to read chapter one!

Okay so I know we all expect my fics on Wednesday, but next week it will probably have to be early Tuesday morning. So keep an eye out. Wish I didn't have to switch it up, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

cw fever, delusions sort of? sort of flashback?, past strained friendships, I think that's it?

Jon is starting to lose track of time. Getting lost between the seconds. Gaping spaces where he isn’t awake enough to register what is going on or what episode he and Tim are supposed to be on. He’s lost in the moments his gummy eyes are closed and between strained breaths.

He knows it’s the fever. And he thinks he knows where he is.

He’s on the couch with Tim.

In his and Martin’s home.

But between blinking and the gaping chasms between one tick of the clock and the next, he finds himself in places that have been gone. Long gone. Burned to the ground. Both the places and the things that occurred.

He’s on the couch he’s on the couch. He is on the couch. He is using Tim as a pillow. While Tim gently runs a hand through his curls. It would be soothing if he wasn’t also seeing another time. Another place. Another Tim.

A Tim with his face twisted in a familiar rage.

Shoving him. Redirecting a forgotten, graceless fall. Legs giving way under the strain of the worst couple months of his life. Whichever worst months those were… Because for a while each month was the worst in a new and horrifying way.

He is on the couch.

And Tim is speaking to him soothingly as his breath catches in a panic he knows is lost in time. Out of time. Unstuck like Billy Pilgrim. So it goes.

It would have been a sensible fear years ago.

It Was sensible.

When the exhausted slip of the tongue and static echoed off the hatred behind Tim’s eyes, ricocheting. At least once slamming Jon against the wall when he lost control.

And he knows he isn’t making sense. And he knows that Tim would never raise a hand against him. And it wasn’t as if Tim ever really did. But he wasn’t gentle. Touches that once-and-now mean comfort and safety then meant something too tight too rough too much and sent him into walls or to the floor or caused bruises on his stupidly sensitive skin.

Jon is on the couch, mumbling to himself feverishly.

Tim is worried. Jon’s fever is up, despite the recent medication and the damp flannel on his forehead. Tim doesn’t even think it’s too high, but Jon has always been delicate. Or has been recently. Tim wishes he could cast his mind back far enough to confirm that this is just the way his friend has always been, and not a recent development in the years in the Archives where the world was against this slip of a person.

Tim tries not to think about it. Because he can’t lose himself to regret when Jon is facing whatever his mind is throwing at him. Even when his mind could very well be throwing the memory of a Tim that the present Tim regrets. Guilt is something for the bottom of a bottle. Or in the muscle cramping heat of the heavy beat pounding music and pounding feet. Or in the thick of paint fumes and the wet splat of a brush against the walls.

Guilt and anger are not meant for quiet moments on the couch watching over a sick friend. Not for episodes of Avatar the Last of the Airbenders.

No, this is how you rewrite the guilt and rage.

He will regret and be angry with himself and the situation that is no longer the situation when he has his coping mechanisms, both constructive and self destructive.

He soothes Jon. With quiet reassurances and a gentle embrace, trying to gauge if Tim will have to step back to sooth, or if the words are helping, or if he should pause the show or if the familiar noise will help ground Jon.

In another time, Jon stumbles across Tim in the break room. Limping his way to make some tea and let that sooth the fire beneath his skin and the heavy weight of trauma. Rubbed raw wrists. His body failing to bounce back after kidnapping. And the taste of static as the question he’s already forgotten pulls and answer he can’t comprehend from Tim.

The twist of lips in a snarl.

Jon reaching out to apologize, but Tim jerks away.

Sending the unsteady Jon reeling.

Tim is gone before Jon hits the ground. Too dizzy to keep his feet.

Jon is crying, and Tim wonders if he has grounds to blame himself. He will anyhow, but he wonders if it is justified this time.

But he can’t act on that sort of regret. Substantiated or not. This is not the time.

“Hey, ace.” If Jon were more lucid, he would absolutely hate the nickname. Tim loves it. It combines a lovely gender neutral expression with the happy double meaning of Jon’s sexuality. Tim feels that it could serve to ground Jon to a friendlier memory. Not to mention, well. Okay he wouldn’t Hate the term. But he would love to make a show of hating it. “You with me?” He pats Jon’s face lightly, and gently wipes away the tears. He isn’t really sure if Jon is sleeping or hallucinating or just uncomfortable.

Jon frowns. He struggles with coordination enough to rub at his eyes. Eventually he cracks open a fever glazed eye, bringing (Tim assumes) the world into whatever blurry focus he can without glasses.

“Tim?” Jon’s voice is rough. Tim isn’t sure if it from congestion settling or just disuse.

“The one and only.” He throws in a cheeky wink. He wants to say more, but doesn’t know where Jon is in his mind.

A clammy hand reaches up and traces some of the scars Tim got in the unknowing.

Tentative. Both with the lack of clear vision, probably, and with a hesitation that Tim is fairly certain that comes with an uncertainty of where their relationship stands.

“What?”

Again, Tim isn’t sure if this is Jon lost in the past or just hazy on some details.

“It’s Tuesday and Martin made you call out from work today. Martin would have stayed, but I got off from work earlier today, so I am keeping you company. Sasha is at work, though. She’s probably jealous. Uh… We’re watching Avatar. Which you always complain about, but I know that’s just for show because I know you watch it on your own. Oh! And my favorite part! The Magnus Institute has been burned to the ground! And please don’t try to know anything, because you’re sick enough please don’t give yourself a migraine.”

Jon doesn’t give him the typical annoyed look at over-explanations, so Tim has to guess that Jon was missing some of those details. Jon relaxes, however. Which is good. Lucid enough to understand what he’s saying.

“You back with me?” He asks Jon.

Jon makes a so-so gesture. He’s stopped crying, which is good, but he’s still hesitant to relax against Tim.

“Where had you gone?” Tim asks against his better judgement.

“Felt unstuck.” Jon’s hand closes over Tim’s wrist. Using it to cling to the here and now. Tim understands that feeling.

“Anything I can do?”

“Just… be here?”

“Not going anywhere, bud.” Tim promises.

Being shoved. Hitting the ground. Curled on the unforgiving tile.

He’s on the couch. Tim is here, and he’s kind and solid.

Tim is shouting. Angry. Biting. Chilling words. Bent too far to be a friend. Twisted.

Jon is getting dizzy from the unstuck feeling.

Everything is spinning and he is dreadfully cold.

Aching cold.

But he’s afraid that every drag of his eyelids will take him back to echoing shouts and freezing tile and bruising hands.

Jon wakes up screaming. He tries to pull himself up, the blanket wrapped around him like restraints and he wants to be up and moving and free. He screams when someone grabs his arms.

Tight grip, enough to leave marks over his raw wrists. Tim shaking him until the world upends itself and he’s on the floor. On the floor. On the floor.

As Tim looms. Angry and shouting and tall. And Jon is so so so small. Breakable. In a way that no one seems to notice until he’s broken in front of them.

He’s on the floor of his living room. There are no bruises. No rope burns.

Just a precariously high fever. Sitting crying and dizzy in the thick tangled blankets.

Tim kneeling before him, making his posture as unthreatening as possible.

“Jon? Bud? You back with me?”

Five things he can see. Tim. The laptop. His cane. The couch. His ace ring.

Four he can hear. His own pounding heart. His strained breaths. Uncle Iroh on the laptop. Tim’s voice.

Three he can feel. His sweat damp frizzed hairs plastered to his forehead. The thick blanket that takes turns being a comforting weight and a panic inducing restriction. Again, his heartbeat.

Did he take his medicine this morning?

Is he up for more medicine for his fever yet?

The heat of anxiety is easing him back into the ice fever chills.

Tim is reaching for him. Offering him a hand. Instead he tips forwards against him.

“Back with you.” Jon assures, finding his voice at length.

For sure this time.

Nothing like panic to jolt him back aware.

Tim settles him back on the couch with care. Presses a kiss to his forehead, and tucks him in again against the shivers.

Jon settles back to watch another episode, Tim as his pillow once more.

#the magnus archives #fic #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #cw fever #cw strained frindships #in the past its all good now #cw hallucinations #sort of

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years

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Red Hood: Robin Protector

Written for @badthingshappenbingo prompt big brother instinct Fandom: Batman Pairing: Jason & Tim Word Count: 1,094 Rating: Teen Summary: Talia wanted Tim gone, she tried to use Jason she just forgot one thing Jason doesn't hurt kids.

A retelling of Jason breaking into the Titans Tower to protect Tim not to hurt him. You can also read it on AO3

Talia Al Ghul hates Timothy Drake the third Robin with a passion unlike anything else. Jason may be many things but a fool he is not. He knows there is a reason Talia is willing to do anything to be rid of Tim even if that means twisting Bruce's sons to be her swords. Jason refuses to be anyone's pawn and instead protects Tim as he unravels the mystery of Timothy Drake.

Jason Todd was many things.

Crime Alley Kid.

Formerly Robin.

Formerly dead at the hands of that mother fucker the Joker.

League of Assassins trained.

Now known as the Red Hood.

What he wasn't is a fool.

Talia Al Ghul has a deep burning passionate hate for the third Robin Timothy Drake. Jason saw it in her eyes every time she brought him up to Jason. She made sure to go on about how Bruce had replaced him, with a newer better Robin months after he had been dead.

Now at first Jason, was poisoned by the Pit Madness and he believed every word that fell from her beautifully poisoned lips. He soaked up her vile and let it consume him until he was beginning to give to his hate. He had plans written up until it hit him that he was being groomed to torture a child.

Jason may be a lot of things but he didn't torture children.

So he played along with Talia and her mind games and he began noticing things that Talia was working the same mind games on her son Damian, and hadn't that been a shock that Bruce had a spawn with Talia. He saw her poisoning Damian that if he wanted to take his place at his father's side he needed to do away with Tim the one standing in the way of his heritage of inheriting the Robin mantel.

Jason remembers Tim Drake, his little stalker who he would find on rooftops photographing him and Batman as they flew across Gotham doing their best to keep her safe. Jason never told Bruce about their little visitor or how some nights he would bring a milkshake on the hot nights and share it with the baby stalker or on the cold nights give him hot chocolate before sending him home.

Talia wanted him dead but didn't seem to think that Jason would do his research into the third Robin, she had just banked on the pit feeding into his rage making him do what she wanted with no questions asked.

He had been curious as to how Tim at such a young age had been able to sneak out to follow them around and once he looked into the Drake family he had felt a new kind of rage build towards Jack and Janet Drake. They were home maybe two months out of the year, they barely spent time with their kid and they had no fucking problem in leaving their young son home alone for that length of time without a nanny or babysitter in Gotham of all places. Tim might have the money but he didn't have family, he grew up alone and abandon and Jason felt sorry for the kid.

He couldn't understand why Talia hated Tim so much, why she wanted him dead and wasn't afraid of using her son to do it. Jason needed to do research and that couldn't happen here where he was under Talia's watchful eye, he had to leave the league but at the same time that would mean leaving Damian without protection against his mother's training and mind games.

Letting out a sigh Jason ran a hand through his hair, "This fucking sucks." He had no real plans on returning to Gotham. He knew that he couldn't be in the same room with Bruce without being consumed by the pit madness but he needed to protect the new Robin. Talia wanted the kid out of the way and she would do everything in her power to make that happen.

"Well, it looks like I'm going into the Robin Protection business." Jason couldn't believe that this was his life now.

+******+

Growing up in Gotham, following Batman and the first two Robins around since he was a boy and now being Robin himself and working with Young Justice one would think that Tim would be used to impossible things. The man known as Red Hood, who had been giving Bruce and Dick the run around was seated at their table with his dirty boots on their table. "Boots off the table. Were you raised in a barn?" Tim growled out.

"No, I was raised on Gotham streets." Hood shot back.

Tim blinked, he knew that voice. But it couldn't be. "Jason?"

"Hey, Timbo. It looks like I am going to be your new babysitter. Seems Talia wants you dead and since I ain't into killing kids I'm going to have to keep you safe from her."

There was a lot for Tim to unpack from there and he didn't know where to start somehow his Robin, his hero, his role model was alive and here to protect him from Talia Al Ghul so instead he went with, "You know Alfred is going to be very disappointed in you for having your dirty boots on the table, he taught you better than that."

A gruff laugh escaped Jason, "That he did." Removing his boots from the table, "Now let's talk about how I am going to keep your skin ass safe from Talia."

Crossing his arms over his chest Tim raised an eyebrow, "How about we start with you coming to the Batcave with me and explaining to everyone how you are alive." Tim suggested.

"There is no way in hell that I am going back to the Batcave," Jason growled out.

Shrugging his shoulders Tim gave Jason a devious smirk, "That's okay I'm sure that I can wait until Nightwing and Batman arrive her and help me drag you to the cave. I'm sure my friends will love seeing the big bad Red Hood on the receiving end of one of Nightwing's legendary hugs."

Jason's eyes narrowed, "You are evil kid. I just might end up liking you."

Tim beamed, "I try."

+******+

Jason will admit that seeing the shocked looks on Bruce and Dick's faces and getting a hug from Alfred was well worth the smug look Tim wore for the rest of the week. Talia might have just met her match in Tim Drake.

'Let's just hope that Ra never takes a liking to Tim.'

#bad things happen bingo #jason todd #tim drake #sherri writes #my fics #protective!jason

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mia-ugly · 4 years

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Breakable Things

Martin is big.

Not in a strapping film-star kind of way. Not tall or broad-shouldered, not a ‘mountain of a man’ or a ‘tall drink of water’ or anything like that.

Just big (a dumb, blunt, smack of a word.)

He was big as a lad, he’s bigger now. He always had the kind of body that inspired too many teachers to push him toward wrestling, football, rugby even (apparently his dad had been involved with the clubs. Apparently he’d been a fair tighthead back in the day, before he left Martin’s mum, and left Martin to gather up the pieces, cutting his fingertips on every one.)

It didn’t take Martin’s teachers or schoolmates long to realize that Martin’s size did not equate to any sort of athletic skill. And once the - inevitable rumours started circulating around Year Seven, well. Any motivation he might have had to be ‘part of a team’ was drained out of him like a tire going flat (that metaphor needs work. Doesn’t really convey the violence, try again.) His motivation left him like the air being knocked from his lungs, shove after hard shove against the lockers.

Martin is strong.

Physically. He doesn’t know why - got it from his father, didn’t he - his wide back, his thick fingers, his solid legs. He took a cricket bat to the face once - ought to have broken his nose, blackened his eyes, but it didn’t. Got in a car accident when he was seventeen, didn’t even crack a rib. Flipped the whole thing into the ditch, and his mum screamed herself hoarse when she found out, but Martin walked away from it. Physically. He walked away.

He doesn’t bruise easily. If he cuts his hand chopping vegetables, it heals quickly. He doesn’t have any scars (he has stretch marks though, all over his stomach and thighs, and for all that he is strong, he’s soft. He’s soft and he knows it, all pudding and poetry and fear, oh, fear most of all. It's pathetic how easy he is, how quickly he caves, rolls over and does whatever's asked of him.

In most situations, anyway. With most people.)

“Why don’t you want me coming with you?”

Jon is in his office, seated in front of that bloody tape recorder as always. The sight of him there is so familiar, like the negatives from a film camera. Like even if Jon wasn’t there, the imprint of him would still linger, white as a ghost against the darkness.

He doesn’t seem surprised to hear Martin’s voice. Neither does he glance up from the desk where he’s shuffling papers, gathering up books. His hands move constantly, restless and bird-boned and Martin is always looking at them, even when he tries not to.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.” Jon’s voice is low, rough with exhaustion, and it makes Martin wince. Makes him want to fuss (when is the last time the man got a decent night's sleep? Someone should bring him a cup of tea, someone should rub his shoulders, someone should do something -

He knows he has a caretaking thing. He knows it’s not - good. And the sharp ones get to him like anything, he wants to win them over in a pathetic, salivating way. It’s a sickness, but -

- but there was a point when it suddenly stopped being about Martin’s Whole Thing, and just started being about Jon.

He’ll talk to someone about it, swear. A professional, even. If the world doesn’t end.)

“It’s fine if you get hurt, though, is it?”

Jon does look up now, and Martin forces himself not to take a step back under the dark-lashed scrutiny. The heavy eyebrows, the shimmer of scars. Sometimes Jon’s skin reminds Martin of the surface of a planet, a rough and distant moon. He wonders how it is that Jon can be so narrow, so small, and still take up so much room in the Archives, and in the world, and in Martin’s big (and soft and so so stupid ) heart.

“It is my job.”

“No. This - this is not your job.” Martin struggles to put the words together in the face of this vast, ridiculous injustice. “Going off to - what? Do battle with some sort of evil, circussy death-cult, that’s not your job . You don’t get paid for that.”

Jon snorts, derisive, and Martin wishes he could be angry. It’d be easier if he was angry with Jon.

But he isn’t.

“Melanie needs you here. And I can’t be - there, thinking about -“ Jon stops. He swallows and looks back down at the scattered papers on his desk. A snowfall of horror stories, laid out neatly on Hammermill Bright White. “Worrying about you.”

(“Leave it, Martin, I’m fine just - leave me alone -” Mum smacks him away with a vein-bruised hand.)

“Because I’ll make a mess of things - is that what you think? I can help you, I want to help you-”

“I will feel better knowing you’re here.”

“And how do you think I’ll feel? Knowing you - you and, um Tim and Daisy - are out risking your lives while I’m sat on my hands, drinking tea, being useless -”

“You aren’t.” Jon’s voice is suddenly loud, as if he’s in pain. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “And I don’t - I can’t - you’ll be helpful here. The Institute needs you, and Melanie needs you, and I -”

-don’t, Martin hears.

Though Jon doesn’t say it, Martin hears it.

“Right,” he manages. “All right.”

He should go. He’s going to go. But he lingers for a moment more, committing as much of Jonathan Sims to memory as he can. The angles of him, compact and rigid with anxiety. The fall of hair across his forehead, ink black shot through with grey. Thin pink lines that a blade left below his jaw, a ripple of lacy scar tissue on his hand (and Martin mostly, mostly doesn’t wonder what those scars would feel like against his own skin. On his shoulder or - or sliding down the length of his throat. At the back of his neck, tugging him into a kiss.)

Come back, come back, come fucking back. Martin isn’t religious, never one for church, but it’s as much of a prayer as he’s ever said.

“Is there something else you want?” Jon asks, terse and tired and - for one thoughtless moment he is the Archivist and only the Archivist, and Martin can’t help but gasp out a shocked, “yes.”

Jon knocks a book off the desk. It slams to the floor loud as a gunshot, and Martin flinches.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, “I’m sorry, I -”

“No, I’m - I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking -”

“It’s fine - I know you didn’t -”

“I would never -”

“But you can.”

There’s a horrible silence, like the moment after the tape recorder shuts off, statement ends. Martin feels sick to his stomach and Jon looks like - like -

He doesn’t know what Jon looks like. Maybe that’s why he keeps talking.

“You can ask me. What I - what I want.” Heat is rushing to his face, a blush that feels like thorns. Jon just stares at him, and this was a bad, bad idea. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Jon doesn’t even need to ask the question, probably knows the whole awful story just by looking at him. “If you wanted.”

When Jon says nothing, just keeps staring, Martin tries desperately to double back.

“Never mind, that was -” He flaps his hands a bit, moving towards the door. His shoulders hunch, an old defense mechanism, useless body trying to make itself look as harmless as possible. Trying to make itself so small it’s beyond notice (it never works.) “I shouldn’t have. I can’t believe I - just - be safe. All right? That’s all I -”

“Martin -”

“That was - stupid, such a - I’m sorry, I only -”

“-what do you want?”

The words are spoken quietly. Barely above a whisper. But Martin doesn’t need to hear them - his whole body hears them, and suddenly every syllable feels golden in his mouth. Saying it out loud isn’t frightening or humiliating, it’s easy. Answering the Archivist is like falling asleep in a patch of sun-warmed grass, or gasping for air after holding your breath underwater.

“I want you to come back.” It’s honey dripping off his tongue. “I want you to come back for me. And I want the world not to end, and I want to know what your hair feels like, whether it’s soft or coarse and whether I can tell the difference between the black parts and the silvery parts just by touching them.”

Jon is absolutely frozen behind his desk. He might not even be breathing, but that’s okay; Martin can’t remember why anyone needs to breathe.

“And I want to help you. And the others. I want to matter. And I want Sasha to be okay, and I want Tim to be okay, and I want Elias to finally face some fucking consequences for once. I want to take you on holiday and - and watch you while you sleep so you know you don’t have to be afraid. I want to wake you up if you have nightmares and make you tea in the morning and bake things for you, and - and I want to kiss you, even if it’s just once. Only once, just so I know, and only if you want me to. That’s what I want.”

The sweetness ends the moment the last word leaves his mouth. Suddenly the honey is cloying and acrid, suddenly his heart is unsteady with embarrassment, skipping beats like he’s just had a shot of adrenaline. Martin chokes on a breath and slams his eyes shut against the spinning room.

“Fuck.” His voice cracks on the word, insult to injury, and he claps a hand over his mouth. “Oh God - I’m - oh God. That was -” He barely remembers what he said, which is the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. He just knows it was soft, pathetically soft. Even his fantasies are as weak as his jawline. “I’m going to - go, I’ll go. I shouldn’t have -”

“W-wait.”

Martin doesn’t want to open his eyes. But he does. Just in time to see Jonathan Sims stand up. Start to walk around the desk.

And Jon is not big. Or strong, physically. Martin knows a bit about anatomy, took a couple art classes, was always fascinated by the bones of things. As Jon steps closer, Martin can only see the breakable things about him. Collarbones, fingers, bridge of his nose. What’s that bone in the arm that everyone’s always breaking?

Humerus.

Ulna.

Jon is not strong, and he is scarred, and he is small and fragile and God he is the bravest person Martin’s ever met.

“Martin, you -” Jon stops in front of him and Martin looks down, gaze almost level with the top of Jon’s head. “You can ask me. What - what I want.”

He’s shaking, Martin can see it - and it makes him realize that he’s shaking too. He barely manages the “What -” before he forgets how to say the rest, forgets how words work (but Jon, Jon is brave.)

“I think - I would like -” Jon reaches for Martin’s hand, and lifts it to his mouth. Presses a dry kiss right in the centre of Martin’s palm.

It’s a ruining sort of softness, and Martin’s big (physically) and strong (physically) but somehow Jon knows where his weaknesses are - the loose dragonscale, the slipped disc.

(And of course, after this the world will almost end (but not quite.) After this, there will be Elias and Martin’s humiliating tears over a statement he knew damn well, a beholding that came as no surprise to anyone.

After this Jon will die.

Almost. Not quite.)

But now: Jon is murmuring, “I think -” as he leans up to kiss Martin (and his warm mouth is shocking and brief, a knife sliding home.)

But now: Jon is still shaking when their lips part, and Martin’s hands are on either side of his face, tips of his fingers settled lightly in Jon's hair (it’s softer than anything, as it turns out, and the silvery parts are softest of all.)

Their foreheads press together, both of them breathing harder than one kiss should warrant. And Martin doesn’t say any of those other things he wants, any of the white-hot words he’s scratched down on paper or typed into the notes app. He doesn’t say anything about the shape of Jon’s shoulder-blades through that thin grey t-shirt he wears, doesn’t bring up any metaphors about fading light or seaglass or breakable things that are also strangely beautiful.

Because what good is poetry at the end of the world?

“Be careful,” Martin says instead (and Jon won’t be.)

“Come back,” he says (and Jon isn’t going to. Not for a long, long time).

And hours later, standing in that empty office, Martin will see the lighter that Jon left on his desk. He will notice the black handful of ashes in the rubbish bin, and wonder what Jon was burning.

And Martin is soft. People-pleasing and pathetic and terribly, terribly in love.

But Jonathan Sims kissed him once (once) and for a moment, in that office, with a small blue flame leaping in his hand -

Martin is not afraid.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #trying to remember how this writing thing goes #some consensual beholding between bros #Season 3 episode 117 #missing scene #homophobia cw #bullying cw

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toosicktoocare · 3 years

Note

Hi, uh, this is awkward since you're the first person I have ever requested a fic from. Anyway, if you're still taking requests for dc, would you mind making a sick Alfred? I just want the boys to do something for their father/grandfather. Thanks. Love your fics btw.

This is super cute, and I lowkey feel honored (?? lmao) that I’m your first request. I hope you like the fic!

Dick’s rounding a corner, with Jason hot on his heels, but he freezes, one socked foot seconds from leaving the dark wood of the hallway to plant on the white, almost pristine, linoleum of the kitchen, and he quickly braces both hands on either side of the doorframe when Jason slams into his back.

“What the fuck, Dickbrain?”

Frowning, Dick narrows his eyes as Bruce turns away from the stove. He’s donned in a navy blue apron, and he’s got one oven mit on to protect his hand from the hot frying pan he’s holding.

“Where’s Alfred?”

Jason peers over Dick’s shoulder, wordlessly studying the black smoke that billows up from the pan. “Christ, we’re gonna starve.”

“Jason,” Dick hisses, sparing a brief glare to Jason’s direction before bringing a worried gaze back to Bruce, his brows furrowed.

“Alfred’s sick” is all Bruce offers, his voice low and worn, and he turns back to the stove with a sigh.

“Sick?” Dick parrots back, the single word so unfamilair on his tongue within this context. “How sick?”

“He’s, like, really old,” Jason mutters, tense at Dick’s back. “Is he dying?”

“Jay,” Dick groans, his words getting lost when Damian shoves past him to squeeze into the kitchen, a small crinkle to his raised nose.

“Father, are you trying to burn down the entire manor?”

Bruce’s sigh fades to a low growl. He leaves the pan on the stove and turns back to the three, running one hand down his face. “Alfred’s fine. He’s been working through a cold the last few days, and he just pushed himself a little too hard. He’s on bed rest for the rest of the week.”

Dick gnaws lightly at his bottom lip, worried, and Jason spares a weary glance around the kitchen, fanning away some of the lingering smoke. “You’ve never cooked a day in your life, have you, Bats?”

“Jason,” Bruce warns, but, despite the gravel in his tone, his face falls around an endless sigh, and he sinks down into a chair, dropping the oven mit atop the table. “I admit I’m a little out of my element here.”

“Clearly,” Jason spits out, examining some of the spices Bruce has littered all over the counter. He pokes at whatever charred, burned mess is stuck to the bottom of a pan with a wooden spoon, groaning deep in his throat.

“Maybe we can order in?” Dick questions, peering over Jason’s shoulder with a wince.

“Nah,” Jason says, already shuffling spices around to clear space. “I’ve got this.” He turns back to the others. “Also, scram? I don’t need your deadweight in here.”

Dick offers a mock salute and clamps a hand to Damian’s shoulder, guiding him out of the kitchen.

“Grayson, Todd’s going to kill us all.”

“Relax,” Dick says, waving for Bruce to follow. “Jay’s been feeding himself for a while. He’s actually a really good cook.”

“I did not know this,” Bruce says lowly, and Dick spares a side glance, brows rising.

“Save the emotional constipation for another day, B. We’ve got Alfred to worry about.” Dick expertly ducks when Bruce swings at the back of his head, and he slips around until he’s walking backwards, facing Bruce and Damian. “I’m going to go check on him.” At the look Bruce gives him, the sharp, borderline Batman look, Dick raises both hands in defense. “I’ll be quiet; I promise.”

“I don’t believe that one bit,” Bruce grumbles. “But I’m too tired to stop you.” He starts to guide Damian to the library, to maybe pick out a book Alfred will want to read, but he stops, glancing over his shoulder. “Dick, remember. Just because Alfred’s sick, it doesn’t mean he’s incapable of tossing you out the window in a heartbeat.”

Dick grabs at his chest. “He would never!” He spins on his heels, taking the steps back up the stairs two at a time, and he’s just about to turn toward Alfred’s room when Tim steps out from his own room, somehow looking simultaneously like he’s slept for days yet hasn’t slept at all.

“What’s burning?” Tim questions around a yawn. “Alfred doesn’t burn things.”

“Bruce was cooking.”

Frowning, Tim glances toward Alfred’s room, taking mental note of the closed bedroom door. “Why? Where’s Alfred?”

“Sick,” Dick says, and immediately, Tim turns on his heel and starts toward Alfred’s room, promptly dodging Dick’s quick attempts at grabbing him until Dick’s bear-hugging him and pulling him back right before he can twist open the door.

“Let me go, Dick.” Tim wriggles in Dick’s arms, but Dick only tightens his hold and starts back to the stairs.

“Not a chance, Tim. You can’t be around him.”

“It’s not going to kill me, Dick.”

Dick sets Tim down on the top step, frowning. “Maybe not, but I’ve seen you hooked up to IVs too many times now, baby bird. So, humor me? I’ll tell Alfred you say hi.”

Tim doesn’t pout. He pulls his lips into a wordless, flat line, eyes sharp against Dick’s blue ones, and they remain like that for an endless minute before Tim breaks the gaze with a sigh. “Who’s cooking?”

“Jay is. I’m sure he could use the help.”

“Doubtful,” Tim mutters, but he starts down the steps anyway, and Dick smiles, watching Tim turn into the kitchen, before he starts back to Alfred’s room, offering two courtesy knocks before slipping quietly into the room.

Alfred’s propped up into a seated position, his pale face pulled to the window, but when Dick steps in, he turns to him, offering a tired smile.

“Master Richard,” Alfred rasps out, and Dick winces, crossing the room and dropping to the edge of the bed.

“Hey, Al. How’re you feeling?” He reaches over, brushing the back of his hand to Alfred’s cheek. It’s warm, he thinks, but not alarmingly so. “You feel a little feverish.”

“Oh, don’t dote, Master Richard. I’m quite alright.”

“B has you on bed rest,” Dick replies, and Alfred sighs around a light laugh that gives way to a few coughs.

“Master Bruce has a tendency to panic...”

“Oh,” Dick drags out, “we know.” He smooths his hand over Alfred’s blanket. “I’m sorry we didn’t notice you were sick before,” Dick sighs, and Alfred pats his hand warmly.

“No apology necessary, Master Richard. I’ll be fine in a few days tops, I assure you.”

Nodding, Dick drags his fingers through his hair. “Can we get you anything?”

“Soup would be nice,” Alfred starts. “I specifically told Master Bruce to keep far away from my kitchen, but based on the faint scent of burning eggs, I presume he did not listen.”

If there’s one thing that will consistently impress Dick, it’s Jason’s impeccable timing. At this, the latter slips into the room, kicking the door open with his foot. He’s carrying a tray that looks out of place in his hands, and atop it, there’s a large, steaming bowl of soup that smells incredible.

“Master Jason,” Alfred smiles, and Jason shoos Dick off the bed, gently placing the tray across Alfred’s lap.

“Ah, Master Jason, I’ve quite missed your cooking.”

“Wait,” Dick draws out, “You’ve had Jay’s cooking?”

“We have a thing,” Jason smirks, jabbing right where he knows it will bother Dick the most. “He comes to my apartment to patch me up, and I cook us dinner.”

“You guys have a thing?” Dick works his jaw, a pout pressing against his lips. “Al, do we have a thing?” He paces the length of the room, unfazed at Jason’s loud groan. “We definitely have a thing, right?”

“Jealously doesn’t suit you, Dick.”

Dick whips around to see Bruce walking in, with Damian close behind, a novel in hand. “B, how the hell does Jay have a thing with Alfred, and I don’t?”

“I almost want to be offended by that,” Jason spits out, smiling. “Almost.”

Dick whips a sharp gaze back to Jason, prepared to take the very clear bait Jason’s dangling before him, but he stops when Tim shuffles in, silently, and drops onto a loveseat that’s a reasonable distance from Alfred’s bed.

“You all seriously have the worst bedside manner.”

“Tim-”

“You can’t be in here, Tim.”

“You’ll get sick.”

“Are you double-masked, Master Timothy?” Alfred’s voice, though a tired rasp, carries over everyone else, and Tim hooks a finger under the top mask covering his mouth and nose, pulling it back to reveal a second mask.

“I’ll be okay,” Tim assures, and Bruce and Dick look seconds away from arguing, but Jason interrupts, flopping down onto the couch beside Tim.

“Is someone going to start reading this sh- stuff, or what?” He motions to the book in Damian’s hand, and Damian holds to book out to Bruce, eyes wide, expectant.

Bruce drags a large chair up to Alfred’s bed, muttering “careful” as Damain climbs onto the bed, situating himself beside Alfred. Dick eyes Tim wearily, shares a silent conversation with Jason, then drops onto the plush carpet below him, his back pressed against the side of the bed and one foot stretched out in front of him.

Alfred watches, an unreadable expression painted across his face. He looks to Jason, who’s tugging Tim’s legs up over his, and then to Dick, who’s face has gone soft as he watches the two. He’s slowly moves to see Damian curled up at his side, small and still beside him, and then he meets Bruce’s eyes, and Bruce smiles, a rare sight that never fails to warm him to the core.

“I’m sure you all have much work to do,” Alfred tries, and Bruce shakes his head and flicks open the book.

“There’s nowhere else we’d rather be, Al.”

#batfam #batfamily #sickfic #fanfiction #dick grayson #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #Damian Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #Tim Drake #i literally struggle writing more than 2 people in a fic #like how do you balance??

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Note

Been thinking about Martin being sad about/hating the way he looks bc he looks like his dad, and he tries to talk to Jon abt it, but he's Too Vague so Jon thinks he's worried that Jon doesn't like that he's fat and consequently comforts him about the wrong thing

This took so long, anon, sorry!

Because of the subject matter, there are content warnings in the tags

The first time Martin sees his own face, limp-eyed, flat and drained in the feeble straining light of the bathroom, he starts shaking. A stretching in his chest, like he's swallowed a swelling balloon that is pushing all the air out of him, bunging up his lungs and throat and mouth. That's how Jon finds him, tears sprung to his eyes as he sucks in scant and skittish breathes, his fingers clenching the lip of the sink and wondering why he can't be stronger than all this.

After that, Martin takes to avoiding mirrors while he's in the safehouse.

It's not hard. He's had lots of practise recently. The Lonely had displayed many double-edged poisons in its folds disguised as furtive blessings. His reflection had been one of them. Martin had counted it as a grateful novelty, to walk past glass shop fronts and the over-stark bathroom mirrors in the staff toilets and see the refusal of light to grant his image returned to him. Even his exile to the seafront, the rock-pools vacant of crawling life or stubborn salt-encrusted fronds of lichen, had shown him only the eddy of tide, the ripples that his steps barely disturbed in the landscape.

It had been a kindness of sorts, to take his image from him. The mirror had never shown Martin anything but things he hadn't cared to see, his own neurosis writ large and backwards.

The morning is not unusual. The birds had woken him, piping shrill even through the double glazing, and Jon, still dozy and drooling his words into his pillow, had cursed and moaned indignant at the vocal wildlife. Martin had dropped back off for another twenty or so minutes, a smirk raising the sleep-dry corners of his lips, waking up when the bed creaked and Jon had stood and stretched and made all sorts of horrendous cracking noises like some sort of human castanet.

This morning though, Jon is in the bathroom, shaving, and making a worrying racket doing so, and Martin is still in that sort of headachy realm of not quite awake yet, where he still gathering the components than make him functional as he shuffles around in his boxers and waits for the shower to be free. Martin's not sure why today, but he finds himself opening the wardrobe. Inside, on the back of the left-hand side door, there's a full length mirror, pocked a little with age and smeared with dust.

Martin's not sure why he feels strong enough today to look.

The thing he expects to see first: his hair shorn down, just shy of a buzz cut. Martin's been doing it himself for years, every month or so hunching over the sink and bathroom mirror in his old flat in Stockwell and uniformly mowing his hair down to a prickly ginger fuzz.

His mum never liked his hair when he grew it out. Snapped and sniped about how long it was getting whenever it started to bend in a curl, encroaching over his ears, and he'd not always had the money or time to go into town and go to the barber's. When he got his first job, scrimping aside the little he'd left over at the end of the month, he'd bought clippers from the nearest Boots, attached the first guard he'd picked up and ran it over his scalp until the up-scrub was spiky and even. The first time was a bit of a hack-job, lopsided and uneven, but he's improved his technique with time. The method and cut was cheap and basic and he wasn't fond of the way it made his ears look stuck out, but it was one less thing he had to worry about, one less thing his mum could disapprove of.

His hair now hangs, uninspired, slightly greasy and knotted over his ears. Shaggy-dog over his forehead until he swipes it back, a small curl down to the nape of his neck.

He looks like his dad. Sees the man he barely knew staring back, the image lost that Elias had so viciously returned. Studies his snubnose struck centre, a wide jaw that rounds out his face, ruddy cheeks with sparse and spotting freckles. Some of the hairs of his eyebrows are starting to grey. His eyes seem suspicious, washed out, unhappy. He wonders if this is what Jon sees, a man whose closed-off expression does not appear to trust the world nor its motives.

The sort of man who might just up and leave if the going gets tough.

Jon pads into the room, though Martin doesn't turn round. He puts all his weight on the front of his feet, always has; even in the Archives, Martin could place Jon's footsteps next to Sasha's sturdier stride, Tim's faster tread.

Jon plants his face against Martin's back, grumbles through a good morning. He's smooth jawed again, his skin baking from the shower, his hair not quite towelled off properly, still dripping.

“Lookin' handsome,” Jon mumbles, throwing out a hand to gesture at the mirror, at the twin men standing awkward and self-conscious opposite each other.

Martin observes at his own hands cast back at him through the mirror. His thick arms, the round and pasty pale of them. He has big hands, he thinks to himself. Broad, weathered palms, the skin cracking dry, short and stubby fingers. Hair starts to grow sparse on the back of his hand close to his wrist and only gets thicker and denser up his arms. Jon slumped standing immediately behind him isn't visible in the reflection; Martin's body takes up too much room, wide and solid, even when he wants to secrete himself smaller. He's tall, like Dad was, he guesses, though he stoops and hunches in his shoulders to try and negate it. Martin thinks he looks like the sort of man that plays rugby and drinks too much. When he's walking home, trudging through the residential streets between the tube station and his flat, people passing him sometimes scrunch their body in away from him, and every time that hurts. In the dark, without his stumbling words and over-eager expression and his clumsiness, something about him looks like it could turn nasty, and Martin doesn't know how to take that.

He went drinking with Tim and Sasha once in Lambeth. They'd had four or five and Sasha had bought them obnoxiously coloured and overpriced cocktails before dragging Tim over to the pool table, Martin sitting out to the side amiably, sipping his sugar-heavy drink and tapping his feet to the music someone put on the jukebox. Two men came over ten minutes later, drunker than them, arguing that they'd been there first, and Sasha had been fired up enough to snap back. It had looked like a scrap brewing, so Martin had put his drink down and stood up, anxiously ready and willing to urge Tim and Sasha away just to keep the peace. The two had looked at him, eyes roving up before they held up their hands, backing off, saying they'd come back when they'd finish.

“No bother, ey, big lad?” they'd slurred at Martin. “Didn't mean anything by it.”

Sasha had beamed as they left, and called Martin a lucky charm. He hadn't felt very lucky. He'd felt sick at the reminder.

The problem as he sees it, is that everything about him is big.

Inside: too big heart and too raw-open soul. A great vast reservoir where he keeps every bubbling expression of fear and grief and rage that he's never expressed with his body.

Outside: big stocky arms, an over-hanging stomach matched with a tall spine and the sort of footsteps that announce his arrival well before he enters a room.

Martin's dad never hit his mum. He assumes that's something Elias would have glibly enjoyed sharing. But sometimes he'd stood too close when they'd been fighting, looming, deliberately crowding in her space, and she'd noticed how much taller he was, how much stronger. She'd thought she saw something mean and nasty in his eyes, the way he clenched his fists that meant he wanted to.

She'd imagined she saw that look in her son sometimes too.

Martin worries about that. Worries what other poisoned legacies his dad left him with.

“Mart'n?” Jon says. He's encircled his arms as far as he can around him, though they don't link up, scratching his nails through the hair on his chest. His hands long-boned but smaller, slighter.

Jon is not a small man nor a tall one, average in appearance in most ways if not for the scars, if not for the way the composite of his image makes Martin's heart something stronger in his chest. But Martin is bigger than him when they lie together, Jon's side of the bed made less by default, shunting him further over to the corners. Martin is stronger than him, because Martin has lifted him bodily to hear Jon's laughing protestations as Martin manhandled him onto the sofa and kissed the veins down his throat, the blush risen in his cheeks.

And Martin's angrier than he used to be. Or angrier than he used to admit to being. His mood pinballing from flat to frustrated as everything the Lonely dulled ploughs back into him, all of Martin's mechanisms, the checks-and-balances he built within himself gone ruinous. Martin can be so angry these days, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Martin doesn't like the way that worry fizzes under his tongue.

“My dad had big hands,” he says out of nowhere. “He wore some rings, I think, and he had to get them resized to fit his fingers.”

“You making plans to get us rings already?”

Jon's joke is shy and nudging, but Martin doesn't feel like raising the corners of his mouth in a smile.

Martin moves a hand to squeeze the flesh that bunches around his upper arms, pats his stomach.

“I've definitely got his belly,” he says. “His arms. Prob'ly end up with his hair to boot, he was receding a bit.”

Jon's hands stroke palm down over what stomach he can reach.

“I like your stomach,” he says, and it's not that Martin doesn't believe him, because he's getting better at not doubting people, at allowing himself to trust they might like something about him. It's that that wasn't the point.

“Hmm,” Martin says noncommittally, and glances at his own hands again. Square chewed nails and the small bumps of veins.

“You don't look happy,” Jon says.

“What? No, I mean, it – it's fine, it's...”

“Do you... not like looking in the mirror?”

Martin sighs.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you have a problem with how you look?”

“You don't have to spell it out like that, Jon.”

“Like what?”

“Like you're a – my therapist or something. I don't want to – to be questioned o-or psychoanalysed about it. I just, no – I don't like looking at myself. That's all.”

Jon's arms don't unhook from around him. Martin exhales and feels the frustration like sediment build up.

“I look exactly like my dad,” Martin says finally, bitterly.

“You don't,” Jon replies quietly, into the meat of Martin's shoulder.

“You can't know that,” Martin says, although the words are empty of meaning and they both know it. Jon both can and does, whether he means to or not.

Feeling his Adam's apple bob, he continues: “Elias, he showed me. When I was – er, when we needed him distracted.”

Jon's arms clench around him.

“Elias showed you what he wanted you to see,” he says after a careful moment.

Martin shakes his head, because he saw what he'd known already, what his mum had seen, the trickle of memory gushing torrential. That he has his dad's big fingers, big hands and big anger, and he is frightened of what sort of a man that makes him.

“I could....” Jon's fingers flex and skate over the skin where Martin's stretch marks root down to his hips. “I could look? If you wanted? Tell you if Elias was... if what he showed you was true.”

Martin thinks about it, but Jon feels the silence of his refusal and presses his nose against the freckled handful of skin where Martin's shoulder blades are.

“I'll tell you what I see then?”

“See see, you mean?”

“No. Normal seeing. With my own two eyeballs.”

“I am being blessed with the originals today, what a gift.”

Jon headbutts him with his forehead, and the small laugh and a 'Jon!' is pushed out of him as a scarred palm is held up near his face, an eyelid opening in the skin to leer at Martin.

“Put your bloody Pan's Labyrinth eyeball away,” Martin grouches, and he can feel Jon grinning mischievous as the disconcerting eyeball winks before being sunk closed back into the skin.

“Better?”

“I am never going to get used to that.”

Jon makes a noise of agreement. He unplasters himself from Martin's back, and takes a tugging hold of his wrist.

“Look at me?”

Martin lets himself be turned round. Weak-willed, soft-spined to the last wherever Jon is concerned.

Jon looking up at him now, fringed with damp locks seaweeding down his face. Martin brushes them back out of the way, and Jon captures his hand, meshes their fingers together slowly and precisely.

“Tell me?” he asks quietly. “What you've been thinking about? And I'll tell you what I see.”

“My hands,” Martin says after a moment and Jon nods and hums and holds Martin's captured palm in front of him.

“Bigger than mine,” Jon says, demonstrating, holding the two of them as imperfect reflections of each other. “You've got short nails because you bite them. The cold's making the skin dry, but they're soft, usually. Sturdy. Even when – even when we were leaving the Lonely, I knew once you took my hand we wouldn't get separated.”

“My – er, my arms,” Martin says after a while, prodding with his free hand at the loose flesh at the undersides of his arms. “Well, my bingo wings.”

Jon frowns, reaches up to encircle his grip around them.

“You've got muscle under there,” he says. “You can lift me, no trouble. The first time you did, I, um, couldn't help but hope you'd do it again.”

Martin finds it in himself to meet Jon's gaze.

“Yeah?” he says, pleased.

Jon is starting to blotch with blush, but he carries on, fingers stroking Martin's upper arms.

“Even if you weren't strong,” he says. “You've got – your, um. Freckles. There's no pattern to them, of course, but I like seeing if I can find one anyway.”

“You're a big softie,” Martin chides roughly, dry-mouthed and watery eyed.

Jon doesn't deny it.

“What else?” he asks delicately.

“I'm – I'm heavy,” Martin says, the words shrivelling quiet on his tongue. “I-I don't mind – I'm not ashamed of being, you know, not the smallest guy, I've never had a-a problem with it, not exactly, but I-I'm bigger than you. I'm stronger than you and I take up more room and, my dad, I look so much like him s-s-so what if – ”

He trails off. Swallowing. Unable to finish.

Jon's arms embrace him and he allows himself to be bent down, the angle uncomfortable and Jon on tip-toe, his face mushed into the side of Jon's throat.

Jon rubs at the broad expanse of his back.

“You'd never hurt me,” Jon says, fiercely. “Whether you look like your father or not. You're not him, Martin. I can't, I know I can't convince you, but it doesn't matter if you've got his arms or his eyes or his hair. He's never been where you've been, or done what you've managed. I bet he doesn't – doesn't write poetry, or whistle the Archer's theme tune, or I dunno, is completely useless at catching things.” Martin gives a wet attempt at a laugh. Jon's hands move comfortingly up and down.

“You're not your dad,” Jon continues after a moment. “You aren't responsible for the man he was, or the man your mother thought she saw in you. That's not – it's not your burden to carry. Fuck whatever shadows Elias showed you. You're not him. It's – I can't make you like what you see in the mirror, but when I look at you, I don't see any of the things you're scared of.”

“You can really just, know all that, huh,” Martin says after a minute, lifting up his head, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

“I don't need to,” Jon replies.

Martin's hugs are crushing and enveloping but Jon clings back as tightly.

Martin pulls back after a minute, wiping his eyes again though he knows they've gone red and puffy, already feeling the crimping heat of self-consciousness in his chest. Jon leans back in to kiss him, first his lips, and then his cheek, quick and affirming, as he trails his fingers through his hair.

“You'll be wanting this cut soon,” Jon says, although he seems disappointed at the thought, combing his fingers through the tangle self-indulgently.

“I might try growing it out.” Martin tests the water of the idea, and Jon looks approving at this, nods and hums and runs his fingers through again.

It's been a long time since his hair was longer. Martin thinks he might suit it.

“What would you say to a beard?” Martin follows up, just to see Jon try to valiantly quash his dissatisfaction and keep a neutral expression. He almost succeeds.

“If you... If you think it best,” Jon manages stiffly.

Martin's laugh is a free and booming thing in his chest.

#the magnus archives #tma #cw self esteem issues #cw discussions of domestic violence #cw body image #cw mild body horror #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #fic

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ieattaperecorders · 3 years

Text

Something's Different About You Lately - Epilogue: Borrowed Time

Life goes on, impossibly.

Read on Ao3

---

Martin shifted the bag of groceries in his arms as he climbed the stairs, still feeling a bit nervous.

The dinner had been Jon's idea – his O&M instructor was covering kitchen skills, and he'd thought it would be fun for the two of them to try making something together. The recipe had sounded a little elaborate to Martin, who'd protested that he didn't cook much, but Jon promised that it wasn't beyond them. He added that Martin was ‘perfectly capable' in the kitchen anyway, and said it with such prim, knowing confidence that Martin hadn't even bothered to ask. Before he knew it, he was writing down a list of ingredients to bring over.

He supposed that was just going to keep happening, Jon telling him things about himself. It was . . . strange. Sometimes it was endearing, sometimes just annoying. Occasionally it made him feel sentimental and a little bit sad in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

The door to the flat opened after a moment of knocking, and he smiled as Jon appeared.

"Hi Jon, it's Martin," he said. He'd read online it was polite to say your name, to not assume the other person will recognize your voice. "I've got the groceries."

"I know it's you, Martin." His tone was light and a little condescending, and Martin felt heat rise to his ears. "Come on inside. You know where the kitchen is."

Martin slipped past him and set down the bag, pulling things out and arranging them on the counter as Jon followed him to the kitchen.

"The store was out of chili paste," he mentioned.

Jon shrugged. "We'll improvise, then."

"If you say so."

Jon began taking out cookware, placing things down wherever he found counter space. "Do anything interesting today?" he asked, over the clatter of pans.

"Not especially. Filled out a few applications, then took a walk," he said. "Met a really friendly dog in the park."

"Flattered that you tore yourself away to come here."

"Wasn't by choice, her owner wouldn't let me keep her."

"How unreasonable."

It was weird, not having to worry so much about money. Not that Martin was complaining of course, but there was still a voice in his head telling him he was being too slow and selective in his job search, that it was lazy of him. And he felt anxious dipping into the new funds too much.

He'd just about gone into conniptions when Sasha told him what she'd done while she'd been fiddling with Elias's computer. Embezzlement might not have been an escalation when they were already committing arson, but they could still get caught, and wouldn't a financial windfall point a lot of suspicion towards them? But she kept assuring him that it was untraceable, some hidden fund Elias had, ready to be drawn on by anyone with the account information. The running theory was that he'd been keeping it for his next identity, which . . . yeah, the less Martin thought about that, the better.

Fear of discovery aside, he couldn't deny it was nice having a buffer like this. There was space he'd never had before to think about where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do with himself. And with the bills taken care of, Jon could focus his time on recovering. At the urging of his O&M teacher (and some amount of prodding on Martin's end) he'd even started talking to a counselor every few weeks. It was ostensibly just about handling the emotions that come up with sudden, traumatic vision loss, and he doubted Jon would be discussing the more exotic traumas he'd been through. Still. It was probably good he had something like that.

They went about the business of prepping ingredients, talking idly about food, things they'd done in the past few days, updates from Tim and Sasha. Martin's initial nerves already dissolving into the steady flow of conversation. There was something comfortable, he reflected, in being around someone who was so comfortable with him.

"Would you mind--" Jon frowned, fiddling with the hob on the stove. "I've got this, I'm fairly sure. Just . . . make sure I keep the pan centered?"

"Sure."

He came to stand behind Jon, watching over his shoulder as he set the carefully oiled pan on the stove and turned on the heat. Martin was a terribly distracted spotter, his attention frequently straying from the pan to look at Jon's face, pinched slightly in concentration. There was a single bead of sesame oil on his cheek, and it made his intensely serious expression that much more charming.

Despite his concerns, Jon had the pan well handled as he heated the oil and added in the aromatics. Martin only noticed him drifting once, the flames going high on one side of the pan.

"A little left," he advised.

In a moment of impulse and bravery, Martin curved an arm around him – placing a hand on his elbow, then running it down his arm to cover Jon's hand with his own, guiding the pan carefully into place. Jon leaned back, fitting the curve of his body into Martin's and sighing deeply.

"God, I've missed this," Jon exhaled. "Just . . . cooking dinner with you. All these little domestic things."

His voice was so unselfconsciously fond. It made Martin dizzy, just how easily affection poured out of him.

In hindsight, at least part of Jon's strange, awkward behavior around Martin had been a result of him holding back, wary of letting his feelings show. He never held anything back now -- his demeanor going from nonchalant or haughty to unbelievably soft and loving at the slightest prompting. It still took Martin by surprise, inspiring so much unreserved affection in someone. It wasn't anything he'd usually associate with himself. It was strange, and lovely, and at times made him feel almost frighteningly powerful.

He leaned forward, kissing the soft skin just beside Jon's ear. Jon smiled, holding his pose for a moment before gradually returning his attention to the pan, shaking it gently to move the vegetables around. Martin kept a hand on his, now fully for the sake of touch rather than any pretense of assistance, letting Jon's movements guide them both.

"Did we cook together in that cabin a lot?" he asked.

Jon nodded. "It was one of a handful of things we could do that felt . . . well, like a date, I suppose. We couldn't really go anywhere since we were lying low. I mean, we could walk around the area, isolated as it was, but trips to the village were all short and functional. So preparing something elaborate together made an evening feel special," he smirked. "You used to get defensive, too, just like today . . . saying you didn't really cook, like you were trying to lower my expectations."

"In my defense, I never said I didn't cook, just . . . ." Not since mum left , he thought. "Not for a while."

"To be honest, we were both at a disadvantage in that kitchen," Jon continued. "There weren't a lot of modern conveniences there. The power came from a generator, and the stove was an ancient, wood-burning thing that neither of us quite knew what to do with at first. Took a lot of trial and error before we really managed."

"Sounds cozy."

"Oh yes. So cozy we almost suffocated ourselves before we figured out how to adjust the vents."

Martin smiled, listening to Jon describe the little kitchen in that place. The cabin in Scotland had supposedly been a remote safehouse the two of them laid low in, but the way Jon talked about it sometimes it might as well have been a romantic holiday retreat. He made it sound so nice that Martin once idly suggested they go see it someday. Jon had gone tense and quiet at that, had shaken his head and said softly that they had to stay far, far away from that place. That there was nothing good that happened there now.

Jon was mostly open about the things he remembered. But sometimes "open" meant he'd easily speak at length about something, and other times "open" meant he'd answer your questions with short, one-sentence explanations, volunteering nothing unless pushed. And anything about the police officers he'd apparently worked with fell solidly into the second category.

Sometimes it seemed like they might have been friends, but Jon was always adamant that no one ever try to contact them. Daisy in particular seemed hard to talk about. Martin did know about the coffin. Jon had told him in a soft, emotional voice how another Martin had stepped from his cloud of isolation to set out tape recorders calling him home, how it had been one of very few things that let Jon believe he hadn't given up on him yet. And he knew something had been different about Daisy after the coffin, some sinister force like the one that had kept them at the Institute had loosened its hold on her.

He also knew that Jon was terrified of her, that he said again and again she was too dangerous to go near. That something about her made him sad -- and, Martin suspected, guilty, though he wasn't sure why. It was a topic he'd decided not to push . . . if Jon ever wanted to talk more about it, he would in his own time.

There were other things, things closer to home for Martin that Jon had hesitated over. Once while he was recounting the events of those years he'd paused mid-sentence. Stammered that it wasn't all supernatural in nature and some of it may still happen, and was he sure he wanted to know everything? Martin imagined Jon thought he was being subtle, but it wasn't a hard guess.

He told Jon not to give him the date. It was obviously going to be within the next couple of years, there was no spitting out that apple of knowledge. But he didn't want to be able to mark it on his calendar.

It shouldn't have felt like news, that his mum was going to die soon. Shouldn't have been the uncomfortable weight in his chest that it was. She was ill, of course it was coming, it had been coming for a while, hadn't it? But maybe that was the problem. It had been ‘any day now' for such a long time, ‘any day' had stopped feeling like a reality. And he still wasn't sure what to do with this information, if it really changed anything. Should he try to get some sort of closure? How did you make the most of the time you had left with a person who refuses to see you?

Martin hadn't asked Jon how much he knew about his mum, that just wasn't a conversation he was eager to have. But the careful, hesitant way Jon talked around the subject suggested . . . something, at least. Just like how the gentle, quiet tone he got when he talked about the Lonely told Martin more than he really wanted to have explained.

There was only one thing Jon flatly refused to tell him about, and that was whatever Elias had done to him on the day of the Unknowing. When pushed, Jon had gone quiet for a while, then said he didn't remember. It had been a lie, and a bad one, and both of them knew it. But it was clear there was no point in asking for more.

"You like pizzelles, don't you?"

Jon's voice snapped Martin to the present. With a last squeeze of Martin's hand, he turned off the flame, moved away from the stove and over to the pantry.

"Um, dunno?" Martin said, pulling his thoughts back together. "Never tried them."

"Really?" Jon frowned, pausing halfway to the cabinet door. Then he shrugged. "Well, no matter. You will."

Martin rolled his eyes. Jon spoke with so much more authority than anyone deserved to hold over another person's cookie preferences, and he couldn't help feeling contrary.

"No. You stepped on a butterfly last week and set off a chain of events that forever changed my feelings on pizzelles, I hate them now."

"That's all right," Jon said, popping open the plastic package and arranging the cookies on a plate. "If you don't want these, there's also canned peaches for dessert."

"Oh, don't you dare --"

Jon snickered, picking out a broken piece of one of the large, thin cookies and holding it out, just short of passing it into Martin's mouth. With an annoyed grunt, Martin leaned forward, taking a bite.

Damn it. It was really, really good.

---

Jon sank into the couch, pleasantly full and a little bit tired. He leaned back and listened to the sound of running water coming from the next room.

Martin had insisted on doing the dishes, on the basis that Jon had done "all the real work" of cooking. He wasn't sure that was true, but didn't argue. Just asked that he leave everything in the drainboard when he was finished so Jon could put it away later. He knew he'd be frustrated for hours if the dishes weren't where he expected them to be.

There were so many frustrations in his life now. His O&M instructor had promised he'd learn new ways to move through the world, that in time the frustrations would be fewer and fewer, and he'd find himself capable of nearly everything he'd done before the loss of his sight. Jon believed her, but it didn't make the prospect of getting there any less daunting. Nor did it make the learning process any easier.

The worst were the things his instructor would never understand, that no resource or guidebook would mention. The dread that gripped him when he became disoriented and found a door where he wasn't expecting one. The phantom tickles on his body that prompted him to pat himself down for spiders again and again.

Still. He was alive. The others were freed from the institute, and he was there with them, to struggle and to mourn and to continue on.

A part of him would always fear it had been a mistake. That the Web, or the Eye, or some other power still had plans for him that would reach apotheosis someday. Maybe he saw the fear as vigilance, as though something was waiting for him to feel safe so that it could rip that security from him. And as long as he never allowed himself to be truly, entirely at ease, that day would never come.

Irrational, perhaps. But it was so hard to tell anymore which irrational fears were truly irrational, and which would one day manifest with teeth and claws.

Even if nothing ever came for him, they had only bought the world some time. One day, maybe soon, someone would figure it out and attempt a ritual again. Maybe there would be others out there who would catch it in time, postponing the end over and over, forever. Or maybe someone would do it next week, and Jon would be plunged along with everyone else into unspeakable suffering until Terminus claimed them all. He could follow Gertrude's path if he chose, devote his life to stopping rituals at the cost of everything he cared for. Even then one could slip past him, come from someplace he hadn't been watching, or had been made not to notice. At some point he was going to have to find a way to live with that knowledge.

He'd work on it. But for the moment . . . .

The sound of running water stopped. Jon smiled, scooting to make room on the couch, feeling the cushions sink and shift as they took the weight of another person. With a hmm that came out with more whine to it than he'd wanted, Jon found Martin's arm and tugged it towards him. With a quiet laugh, Martin obliged, leaning into him and resting his head against his chest.

"Better," Jon arranged their limbs more comfortably. Martin's hands were still cold, and he smelled faintly of dish soap.

"Glad to hear it."

Jon knew Martin found it amusing, how clingy he was. The first time he'd commented on it had been profoundly embarrassing. Part of it was just the way Jon was, but he also remembered the days after the Lonely. The skittish, uncertain moments of contact, the times when Martin stiffened at his touch but whimpered when he pulled away. The other days, when they could barely let go of one another, when Jon would plant himself beside Martin or wrap his arms over his shoulders, and he would relax into it, sighing with release. Both of them too grateful for the fragile miracle of each other's touch to consider breaking contact.

This Martin didn't remember those days, and if he ever sensed anything desperate or reverent in the way Jon clung, he didn't comment on it. Still, even if he found it funny, he didn't seem to mind how ardently Jon held on to him.

Jon moved a hand into the space between Martin's shoulder blades and scratched down his spine, the particular way he used to like. Jon felt him shiver with pleasure under the soothing contact, and a powerful warmth spread through him.

"God . . ." Martin whispered, "you really know everything about me, don't you?"

Jon snorted. "Hardly. In a very real way, we barely had time to get to know each other. And when we did, well . . . it was close by necessity. It was intimate, and intense. But there's still a great deal I've no idea about."

"You were never tempted to use those powers of omniscience to look inside my head?"

"Constantly," Jon said, with great seriousness. "But I never did. I promised."

Martin went quiet at that. Maybe Jon's reply had been a little intense, or maybe Martin hadn't actually realized that looking inside his head had been a possibility when he'd asked the question as a joke.

"Oh," he said eventually. "Um . . . good?"

"I have picked up a few things," Jon continued, speaking with quiet and fond admiration. "For example . . . I know you'd like a pet, but your landlord won't allow them so you keep plants instead. You can't say no to panhandlers. You have a favorite hoodie that you only wear when you're sad and need the comfort. You like old, careworn furniture, and rainy days, and sitcoms that were made before you were born. You're kind to people who aren't kind to you, but you never forget the unkindness."

"Wow. Okay," Martin made a soft noise, shifting in his arms, voice tight and quiet. "Okay. Y-You're, uh, probably going to kill me if you keep that up, you know."

"Trust me, you've survived worse."

He felt Martin move a little higher, slotting himself beside Jon and giving him a tight squeeze. Jon grinned as the breath was pushed out of him, all twenty-four of his ribs contracting at the assault.

That was another difference, one of dozens of subtle changes Jon couldn't keep his mind from analyzing. Martin wasn't ungentle, exactly. But he hugged Jon more tightly, shoved or poked him when he was annoyed, whereas the Martin in his memories had held back a little. Been more mindful of his strength, as if wary he might handle him too roughly. It had been subtle, a thing Jon hadn't even noticed until he had something to contrast it against.

It made sense, he supposed. The other Martin had seen Jon limp back to the institute with fresh wounds and new scars one too many times. This one didn't have to have those images in his head.

There were some things that were lost between them, Jon knew that. Memories too small and simple to explain, questions he couldn't ask anymore. Moments they would never share, both good and bad. But there was also so much they had gained. This Martin hadn't had an easy life, not by any measure. But he hadn't had to watch helplessly as the people around him died or disappeared or became monstrous. Hadn't been lost in grinning corridors, or attacked by Hopworth's hooligans, or made to feel the heat of the endless tenement fire. And for that, Jon was so, so grateful.

"You look thoughtful," Martin commented.

"Mmm," Jon sat quietly for a while sifting through his thoughts before speaking. "We should go to a movie sometime. When I'm up for going out out."

"That sounds less fun for you than me . . . ."

"Depends on the movie. I could listen, even without description. And I'd enjoy being with you," he said. "Or maybe a concert? Though I don't really know what sort of music you like . . . ."

"Really? There's actually a blank spot in your catalogue of Martin trivia?" he said sarcastically. "Surprised it never came up."

"You only ever used headphones at work," Jon bristled, feeling oddly defensive about it, "and we obviously couldn't bring our devices to the cabin. Too traceable."

"Hmm," there was a teasing smile in Martin's voice. "Don't know if I want to tell, now. Feels like I've got a secret."

"Oh, except . . . there was one song? I don't know the lyrics, but you used to hum it all the time in the cabin."

"What was it called?"

"I didn't actually ask. It sounded nice, though. Maybe we could listen to it together. . . "

"How'd it go, then?"

He hummed the tune from memory. It came easily to mind, connected as it was with images of Martin sipping tea or wiping down a countertop, a bright, easy smile on his face. After a moment, Martin burst out laughing.

"That's -- that's from a soap commercial!"

". . . What?"

"Floors and doors, walls and halls, Liquid Lather cleans them all," he spoke-sang along with the tune. "It was probably just stuck in my head."

Jon frowned, mildly disappointed. "Well. It sounded nice when you were humming it, anyway."

"God. If you want I can serenade you with an insurance advert sometime."

"No thank you."

"Or we could listen to your album from uni," he pushed, the satisfied smile in his voice growing.

"Thankfully we never recorded anything," Jon grinned ruefully, "so that's lost to time."

"Bet you could still sing some of it."

"Try me the next time I'm not expecting to live through the night."

Martin made a displeased sound at that, but said nothing.

"I'm sorry that you always have to come over here," Jon said. "I should probably be making more of an effort to get out of the flat. But it's so much still, even with a guide. I can do it if I have to, but I can't relax."

"C'mon . . . you know I don't mind, and even if I did it wouldn't be something to apologize for. You're going at your own pace."

"Suppose I'm just impatient with myself. It feels absurd, I've walked through a London warped by unfathomable terror, but now ordinary city life is overwhelming. I think I never understood how many people there are on every block until each one became another unpredictable factor to be aware of on my way to the damn corner store," he sighed. "It may be a while before I'm up for anything like a concert."

"It's alright," Martin gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm good at waiting."

For a moment Jon's mind went to a dark, creaking bedroom, air heavy with dust and thick with terror. It's all right. I'm good at waiting. The same phrasing, almost the same tone. Maybe it was to be expected, little parallels like this. Given a person's linguistic habits and enough time it was probably inevitable, but every time something like it happened it floored Jon in the most wonderful way. Some small but meaningful part of the man he loved reflecting and echoing back at him.

If the world didn't end, if he didn't dissolve into spiders or die at the hands of some unfathomable terror, Jon swore someday he'd find the words for how moments like that made him feel. And if he had any courage left in him, he'd tell Martin about it.

"Though, as long as we're talking about that," Martin said, "I've been thinking . . . ."

"In general?" Jon teased.

"Sort of. I've been reading some stuff about adjusting to vision loss? And I know this is fast – well, maybe not fast to you – but it seems to me like it's probably easier, especially at first, if you've got a sighted person staying with you . . ."

He felt himself breathe in sharply, and Martin's words came faster, his tone careful.

"Not - not to do everything for you, of course! I know you can do things yourself. Just to make little things easier, and – you know, that aspect aside it – it might just be nice –"

"Yes," Jon said decisively.

"Because it isn't really just the vision thing – I mean, it's alright if you do need help but it's also alright if you don't – but there's other reasons – "

"My answer is yes."

A faint laugh came out of Martin and he slapped Jon's chest lightly. "Stop agreeing and let me finish."

"Sorry."

"I'm not suggesting moving in. That would be too fast, at least for me," he said. "I'd want to keep my own place, and I'd probably still spend some time there."

"Of course," Jon nodded solemnly. "Perfectly reasonable to want some space of your own."

"Yeah. But if it works for you, I thought I might get a bag together, y'know, just sort of stay for a while? I – hell, I wouldn't, uh, mind the excuse to cook more dinners with you? And I slept better than I had in a while the night I stayed over here."

"So did I."

"I just think it might be nice. If you think so too, of course."

There was a pause as Jon waited, not sure if Martin had more to say. After the silence had dragged on for a while, he spoke up. "Am I allowed to say yes now?"

Martin laughed, nodding against Jon's chest.

"Then yes. I'd be very happy to have you stay here with me."

"Cool. Cool . . . " Martin exhaled. " . . . I love you."

"And I love you."

"More than I'll ever know?"

There was a teasing smile in Martin as he echoed the words Jon had said to him back in the tunnel. Jon was quiet for a moment.

He'd meant those words when he'd said them. It hadn't been a romantic turn of phrase. He'd confessed his feelings in that moment with the understanding that Martin would never be able to see how deep they ran. That he could tell Martin he loved him, but he'd never be able to show him that. He wouldn't have the chance. He found Martin's cheek with a hand, turned his face towards him, then bent down and kissed him, once.

"No," he said. "Not if I can help it."

#tma fanfic #tma #jonmartin #food mention

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

Note

For the prompts: how about Tim getting hurt/injured on patrol? (how bad is up to you) And Dick or Jay (or both) rescue him and take care of him.

Thanks for the prompt that’s been sat in my inbox for who knows how long at this point! I kind of got carried away with this story but it was fun to write and I hope you enjoy it! :D

Tim had been patrolling the streets of Gotham, covering his usual route and taking out the normal petty criminals as time went on. It had been an easy night which Tim didn’t mind, he was perfectly happy with the pace, after a long and gruelling week, this patrol has been enough for him to work away some stress and to let go a little.

It had been nearing 2am when he came across the biggest case for the night. He had been passing over a back alley when two black anonymous cars got his attention. They were parked together however he couldn’t see anyone standing nearby.

While it doesn’t appear to be much, Tim’s instincts are telling him there’s more to the cars and he decides to hover around to see if something would happen or not. After several minutes of waiting, Tim’s taken by surprise when more cars pull up to the location. A single black car along with a black van park at the opposite end of the alleyway, keeping a respective distance away from the others.

All car doors open and various of people climb out of the vehicles as they move to meet in the middle. Tim frowns as he watches the scene. To his knowledge none of the Bats have been informed about this kind of arrangement happening that night. Oracle hadn’t said anything nor did the police.

How had something like this slipped past their radars? Tim switches his mask into night vision mode to get a clearer view of those involved but he’s stumped even more when he doesn’t recognise a single face.

Realising that this is part of something bigger Tim decides to stay hidden, this is a perfect opportunity to gather more intel about what’s happening first-hand. He sent out a ping to his location to the others on patrol that night, alerting them that he’s going to need back-up. Tim estimates about 15 minutes before someone arrives.

The group in the middle continue to talk and after a pause the back of the van is opened and what looks like various of brief cases are brought out into the open. The men carrying the cases drop them in front of the other group and take a step back.

From his current position on the rooftops above the alleyway, Tim doesn’t have a clear view of the contents inside those cases. After a glance around he makes a plan to switch to another location that’ll give him a new vantage point. Unfortunately when he goes to make a move he startles a pigeon that had settled nearby without him realising. Tim had been so absorbed into the scene before him that he lost all sense of his surroundings.

The pigeon freaks out and takes off into the night sky, grabbing the attention of the men down below as it goes. Tim freezes on the spot when the men see him and everything comes to a stop. Tim blinks at the men as they blink back at him.

Then it’s chaos. One of the men suddenly yell and gunfire immediately follows. Snapping into action Tim dodges the bullets and jumps down to the alley in the midst of the group. Without thinking about it, he starts taking them out one by one engaging each of them in a fight. As he fights Tim tries to take into account how many of them there are and even where the vehicles were parked but the men were making it difficult to concentrate.

A poor misjudgement on his part ends up with Tim getting a knife sliced across his thigh. While he’s able to ignore the stinging sensation, the unexpectedness of it causes him to stumble. In that moment of weakness, Tim finds his legs being swept out from underneath him and he lands on the ground with a grunt.

In no time at all Tim finds himself surrounded and different parts of his body are targeted as he receives blow after blow. For a long moment Tim’s completely disorientated as he tries to fight his way out. He’s not sure how long he stays on the ground but with a bout of luck Tim catches one of them in the chest with his foot and kicks them away. He gets lucky again when his fist collides with a cheek, successfully knocking another away from him.

Ignoring the pain developing throughout his body, Tim kips up to his feet and immediately swings for the person on his right, he follows the action through and spins back around bringing up an elbow into someone’s nose as he does so.

After that Tim finds a gap in the group around him and takes off sprinting down the length of the alleyway. He needs to get away and find somewhere to hide, there’s too many of them to take on by himself.

Tim’s running is put to an abrupt stop when pain flares up through his calf. The shock of it makes him stagger and as he tries to right himself his ankles rolls causing him to crumple to the ground. He doesn’t stop though. Hissing through the pain Tim wills himself to keep going.

On the floor, he scrambles on his knees and hands until he comes across a large stack of crates piled up against the wall. Tim dives behind them, using them as cover as he tries to evaluate the situation.

His thoughts are interrupted when gunfire sounds out. He flinches and curls up against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible to avoid getting hit by any stray bullets.

The wall and crates are providing a good temporary cover for him but it won’t be long until the bullets begin to pass through the thick wood. He needs to try and move elsewhere before the men come around and reach him.

When the gun fire ceases Tim decides to risk a glance over the top of the crates, he wants to get some idea on how close they are to him. However he’s stopped from looking when a hand suddenly clamps down on his shoulder and forces him to stay still.

Tim jerks in surprise and is about to swing with his fist when he catches sight of who’s there.

“Stay down. We’ve got it from here.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say when Dick’s authoritative voice sounds out. He’s looking at Tim with a frown and his hand stays on Tim’s shoulder as if making sure Tim follows his order. From the corner of his eye Tim spots more movement and sees a familiar red helmet go by.

“Hey shitheads, why don’t you take on someone your own size?”

Even without seeing the helmet, Tim would know Jason’s sarcastic voice anywhere.

After the comment more gunfire erupts, there’s even more now that Jason’s is added into the mix. Dick’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before he’s jumping over the crates and joining the fight.

Disliking the idea, Tim stays put. He really ought to be out there with his brothers fighting but he knows that the best thing to do is to stay out of the way. Nightwing and Red Hood can handle it.

Tim sighs and slumps against the wall, finally taking the chance to assess his body for the first time. The wound on his thigh is stinging, the knife having cut through the fabric of his leggings and catching his skin. The wound, while not deep, is large and is sluggishly bleeding. It’ll probably need stitches.

He moves his attention away from his thigh down to his calf. Now he’s paying attention to it, he could feel the wound throbbing, how the slightest bit of movement or twitch causes pain to flare through his muscle.

Tim hisses when he readjusts his position to try and get a better look at the wound. Lighting from the streetlamp isn’t enough so Tim digs out his pocket torch to get a better look. He instantly grimaces when the bloody wound becomes clear to see.

He can see where the bullet would have entered his calf muscle and if the pain is anything to go by, he thinks that the bullet may still be in there. The wound is bleeding but Tim’s pretty sure it hasn’t hit a major artery, he would be in a very different state if that was the case.

“Baby bird?”

Tim jerks at the voice and looks up to find his brothers now crouched in front of him. When had they gotten there? Is it all over?

“It’s all being sorted, the police are on their way and everyone involved tonight is currently tied up and unconscious. We’ll be finding out more about this soon and we’ll work out what bigger play this exchange is part of.” Dick says as if he read Tim’s mind.

Jason shifts his position and gently takes the torch out of Tim’s hand. Tim lets it go without protest and lets his arm flop down by his side. He’s feeling rather tired now, putting his head back he closes his eyes and allows Jason to check the wound in his leg.

Not a second later he’s feeling rough pats against his cheek. “Hey, you can’t go to sleep Tim. Stay awake buddy.”

Tim grumbles about code names and grudgingly opens his eyes. In front of him Jason is beginning to carefully prod the wound and Dick is watching his face with a concerned frown. After a particular prod Tim flinches and hisses, if he had the energy he would smack Jason.

“It’s pretty bad, the bullet’s still in there.” Jason informs Dick, Tim already knew this of course. “Are there any other injuries?”

Tim vaguely gestures to his thigh where the knife wound is. Whatever Jason says next is lost to Tim as his vision suddenly spins before it goes dark.

-------

When he comes to, Tim’s instantly hit with the smell of antiseptic and is blinded by bright lights. He groans in displeasure before slowly blinking his eyes open again, this time letting his sight adjust to the brightness.

He lets out a second groan when he registers the pain throughout his body. Most of it seems to be centred around his legs but there’s a noticeable throbbing sensation in his head alongside achiness in his torso.

Tim takes a deep breath and starts trying to work out what happened. To begin with his mind is fuzzy, his headache makes it difficult to recall the details of what happened. It’s not until he shifts his body, moving his leg a fraction, that it all comes back, allowing him to remember what happened.

He groans a third time, though this is in annoyance at himself and the situation he’s now in. Thank god that Dick and Jason arrived when they did or else it would have ended so much worse for Tim than a bullet in the leg.

Gritting his teeth, Tim raises himself up to his elbows and glances around the room. He’s in the cave’s med bay, a blanket is draped over him and there are machines quietly thrumming beside the bed he’s on.

Tim gingerly lifts the blanket and looks down at his legs, both of them were covered in bandages, his right calf covered up where the bullet wound is and his left thigh patched up from the knife wound he received.

“Finally awake then?”

Tim’s head jerks up at the voice. Jason, followed by Dick, enters the med bay and comes to stand by the bedside. Tim notices how his eyes linger on his face before traveling down his body, as if checking him over. Dick’s doing the exact same thing as he stands next to Jason.

“Obviously.” Tim retorts with an eye roll. That probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, especially when the room spins afterwards, he takes a breath to steady himself.

“How are you feeling?” Dick asks looking concerned. He and Jason pull up some chairs and settle down beside him.

Tim drops back down onto the mattress, turning his head so he can keep looking at his brothers and answers, “sore.”

“Well that’s not surprising, Alfred did play operation on you after all.” Jason comments stiffly.

Not sure on how to respond to that, Tim simply hums in acknowledgement. A wave of guilt washes over him at the thought of putting Alfred through that, he appreciates it of course, he would be dead a hundred times over if it weren’t for Alfred. Maybe he should look into getting him a present, or maybe paying for a vacation for him.

Tim takes another deep breath. “What happened?” He starts pushing himself back up onto his elbows, now wanting to sit up again. Seeing his movements, Dick jumps up to his feet and helps him sit up right as he raises the bed into a comfortable incline position.

“You sent out a ping to your position and at the time Dick and I were together. As soon as it came in we immediately headed towards you. However when we arrived, we find you hidden behind some crates bleeding out! What the hell were you thinking Tim!” Jason exclaims sounding agitated. His voice had kept on rising with each word until he’s basically shouting.

Tim looks away feeling conflicted. He’s annoyed because it’s not like he planned for it to happen, he didn’t know what he was walking into and he certainly never planned to get into a fight. On the other hand he probably should have done more to get away or to figure out what was going on.

“Knock it off Jason.” Dick snaps at their brother.

Jason jumps up to his feet, glaring down at Dick, his arms swinging around as he gestures wildly while speaking. “He almost died Dick! What if we didn’t get there in time huh? What if we arrived five minutes later? They would have found him, he wouldn’t have been able to get away and then they would have shot him until he looked like a fucking dart board full of holes!”

“Jason!”

Jason opens his mouth to say something but seems to rethink it, he ends up shaking his head and storming out of the med bay without another word.

Dick gets to his feet and shouts at Jason, trying to get his attention but the younger man ignores him as he storms off. The entire time Tim watches this happen from the bed. He feels frozen in place, unable to speak up, unable to get Jason to stay and feels extremely bad for causing his brother that much distress.

His thoughts must have been showing because Dick leans over the bed and grasps Tim’s hand in his own, giving it a comforting squeeze. “It’s not your fault Timmy. The situation is being handled, they’re all in custody and are now being investigated. We’re working on why something like that slipped our radars but none of that is your fault.”

He knows that’s true of course but knowing and believing are two different things. It’s nice to know that it’s being looked into though.

Tim glances at the doorway where Jason had just left and sighs. “But he isn’t wrong Dick. I got myself into a situation that I couldn’t easily get out of and it would have ended badly if you two hadn’t come when you did.”

“Hey.” Dick’s voice is low, sounding both stern and soft at the same time. Tim blinks at him, his eyes meeting Dick’s own. “We’ve all been in those kind of situations before Tim. Unfortunately it happens, but at the end of the day, we did get there in time and nothing major happened, that’s a win in my books. We also got the bad guys.”

Tim swallows thickly and looks away from Dick, knowing he’s right but the guilt inside of him is making it difficult to accept the words.

“Before we got your call, Jason was having a difficult night. A situation he stumbled on brought up old memories and it shook him. I happened to be near by and talked him down, that’s when your call came in. I think that on top of seeing you hurt and then passing out pushed him a little too far emotionally. He’ll come around once he’s calmed down.”

If Tim was feeling bad before, now he’s just feeling downright awful. Tim doesn’t respond to Dick, he ends up getting lost in his own thoughts for a long moment, reflecting back on what occurred and how it obviously has affected Jason.

He’s brought out of his head when a hand runs through his hair, he blinks dazedly at Dick, coming back into the moment. Dick smiles at him knowingly. “I’m going to grab you some pain killers and then some food okay, Alfred will be down later to check the wounds and then we can see about moving you upstairs.”

Tim sends Dick a strained smile, truly grateful for his brother and just the way he understands these things. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you.”

-------

The following day, Tim finds himself limping down the hallway using the wall to support himself as he goes. He’s supposed to be in bed, resting his legs and getting some sleep but there’s one thing on his mind and it won’t leave him alone until he confronts it.

Tim travels through the hallway, with one destination in mind. A bedroom several doors down from his own because there’s a certain someone he needs to speak to.

When he finally reaches the door, Tim takes a moment to pause to take a deep breath. That small walk has left him feeling knackered! That’s also not mentioning how much his legs are protesting at him for moving around. He takes another breath before knocking on the door and when a voice calls for him to enter, Tim does so.

The person he’s looking for is sprawled out on the bed with a book in hand. When Tim enters Jason peers over the top of the book to look at him. Tim sees the surprise cross Jason’s face, clearly the elder had not been expecting him. He quickly sits up, bookmarks his page and places the book down on the bed.

“Tim what are you doing up? You should be resting!”

“I needed to talk to you.” Tim answers honestly.

Tim sees Jason’s jaw clench, his brother looks away for a moment before he’s staring at Tim again. It comes as a surprise when Jason pats the space on the mattress in front of him, Tim had been expecting to be rejected. Finding that he’s welcome, Tim quickly accepts the offer and limps to the bed before slumping down on it, it’s a bit of relief when the weight is taken off of his legs.

Now he’s there in front of Jason, Tim is having trouble finding his words. All day he’s been preparing what he’s going to say to his brother, he planned to talk about what happened and also wants to make sure Jason is okay but now he has no idea on how to start the conversation.

“How are you feeling?” Jason asks him, sounding almost cautious. Tim knows that Jason knows exactly what he wants to talk about, the real reason why he’s come to see him.

“Uh, better, getting there at least.” Tim answers. “Alfred said the wounds are healing nicely but I’m on strict rest for at least a week.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” Jason says smirking, he crosses his arms and leans back against the headboard.

Tim cracks a grin at that and shakes his head slightly. “Probably not, five days maybe?”

They both share a light laugh before sobering up again. Tim turns and faces Jason head on. His bother looks back, blinking at him, expectantly waiting.

“Jason-”

“Tim-”

They both talk at the same time and stop before staring at one another for a long moment. Jason then gestures for Tim to talk.

Tim frowns. “Dick told me that you were having a bad night the other day. I’m sorry that you had to go through that and then obviously dealing with me and the situation didn’t help anything. I wanted to apologise and to see if you were okay. What happened the other night-”

Jason makes a slashing action with his hand and pins Tim with a hard determined look. “I’m going to stop you right there baby bird. You have nothing to apologise for alright. I’m the one who overreacted, especially after you woke up. I did have a rough night yes, seeing you hurt worried me, yes, but that doesn’t mean I should have taken it out on you.”

“I don’t blame you for-”

“It’s not about blame Tim.” Jason cuts him off again. “You got hurt and I should have been there for you and I wasn’t. That’s my fault, not yours.”

Tim shakes his head. He doesn’t like that Jason is blaming himself in this equation. “It’s not. You were there for me Jay, remember, you saved my life. If you and Dick hadn’t of come I would have been a goner for sure. I’m just sorry that you found me in that state.”

Jason stares at him before rubbing a hand over his face. Tim notices that he looks exhausted, like he’s both mentally and physically drained. “You know what,” Jason sighs, “we’re not getting anywhere if we keep blaming ourselves here. It was a shitty situation, one that we were all unprepared for.”

Tim nods. “Exactly. The bad guys were caught, that’s what Dick told me, and very little damage was done.”

Jason sends him a deadpan look. “You got shot and stabbed Tim.”

“Only one bullet…” Tim mutters quietly, glancing away.

He hears Jason huff in both amusement and frustration. Tim looks back up at Jason when he would feel the other’s gaze on him. “What?”

“Do you need help getting back to your room? You really should be resting.”

“I should be fine thanks…”

Tim makes a move to get up, preparing himself for the discomfort that’s going to come walking on injured legs but before he could, Jason is shifting on the mattress, creating more space on one side. When Tim sends him a questioning look, his brother waves at the space.

“Get comfy, I’ll stick a film on.”

Tim knows he should probably refuse, he should let Jason have his space, but the idea of leaving isn’t all that appealing. Instead of refusing he finds himself shuffling up and lying down on the mattress, getting comfy as he does so, while Jason gets up and puts a DVD on before returning to the bed.

With no hesitation Jason wraps one arm around Tim’s shoulders and hugs him close. Tim instantly soaks in the warmth and comfort that’s provided like a sponge to water. Since getting injured he can finally let himself relax, now feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off his chest. He smiles to himself and sinks into Jason’s side as the film begins to play on the screen in front of him.

#tim drake #Jason Todd #dick grayson #bat bros #hurt and comfort #injuries #injured tim #sibling relationship #minor violence #fanfiction #prompts #thanks for the prompt #hope you enjoy it

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

Her Little Robins | Tim’s Addition

“Hey, what’s a little kid doing outside on this cold winter night?” Little Timothy Drake turns around face red. He tries to hide the pair of binoculars behind his back. There standing before him is one of Gotham’s vigilantes—Kismet in her dark red halter bodysuit with black heeled combat boots and matching jacket. Her red and black mask covering her eyes that was clearly amused to see the young boy watching for the heroes.

“I, um… cookie?” Tim digs into his backpack and pulls it a single Oreo. Kismet giggles and takes the sweet treat away from the boy.

“But seriously kid, what are you doing out here all alone, in the middle of the night no less?” Kismet asks once again; however, this time she takes a seat next to the boy who was now pouting for being caught in such a situation.

“Robin and Batman are my favorite heroes,” He beams, “The way that they work as a team and beat the bad guy. I have every villain card that can be found in Gotham…and I just really want to meet them up close.” Tim’s enthusiasm fades away as he continues to talk about the vigilantes. Kismet hums in responses never once interrupting the boy.

“That was a nice explanation…” Kismet says but her voice fades leaving the blank to be filled.

Tim notices her trailing off and pipes up, “I’m Timothy, but everyone calls me Tim.” He smiles at the hero to which she rubs his head much to his liking. “Hey,” He whines squirming away from her.

“It’s nice to meet you Tim but isn’t it past your bedtime.” Kismet wonders tapping her chin with a thoughtful look on her face.

Tim becomes deflated. “They won’t notice that I’m gone.” He murmurs turning his attention to the bag that lays deflated on the ground. Kismet presses her lips together and places a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“I’m sure they did, do you wanna talk about or do you want me to take you home?” She asks the second Tim turns to her with watering eyes.

“Don’t you have patrol?” There is hope in his voice.

“This is Batman’s city, I’m just visiting, so technically I don’t have to worry about patrol right now.” She answers finally sitting down next to the young boy. Tim not knowing any better rest his head on her arm. Kismet tense but one look at how comfortable the kid was against her made her relax. “Tu es trop précieux pour ce monde, Tim.” Tim was too precious for the world that is within Gotham.

“What did you say?” He asks softly.

“How about I tell you stories of my adventures until you feel comfortable to go home?” Kismet offers, deflecting Tim’s questions. There will come a day when Tim will learn French that day is not today. Tim nods excitedly and looked up to her with a question in mind. She nods giving him the approval he needed to climb into her lap. Kismet begins to tell him her first mission being Kismet. Starting the blossoming mother-son relationship that Tim desperately needed.

~*~

Tim was having a rough day. This morning his assistant insistent that the Co-CEO of WE should not be drinking coffee after a certain time, which just so happened to be right before noon. They should be lucky that Tim didn’t fire them right then and there. He needs coffee to survive a single workday at WE and that was just his morning drinks. Then during a meeting, there were missing reports upon missing paperwork that still needed to be signed and approved for projects that were ready for the next step. He just wants to take a break and enjoy the remains of his day.

“You know, you shouldn’t work on an empty stomach, my petit oiseau de café.” The one person that could make his whole day bright joke from behind. Marinette was wearing her usual business casual getup which consists of a pale pink blouse with her signature apple blossom emblem on the breast pocket and a grey (sometimes black) knee-length pencil skirt. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but he knows she isn’t upset because of the playful look in her eyes.

“Coffee?” He queries with underlying hope.

“Coffee.” She replies with a chuckle. “But I’m driving.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tim says as she jingles the keys in front of him.

The two share a smile as Marinette walks closer to him and grabs his wrist.

Tim misses this feeling. Here he was sitting at the Cozy Miracles Café, a café that is specifically for him and his mother figure to hang out without any disturbance, drinking coffee, and talking. They spoke about the company and how its success is growing before switching the subject every now and then. Tim had asked her about any latest trips that she had gone on since her last visit. Apparently, she’s been to Brazil, Taiwan, England, and Japan a couple of times. Each visit was for a different reason. However, after a while, their conversation turns into long periods of silence and more looking at one another with worry.

“Timmy, what’s wrong?” This question takes Tim by surprise. He was hoping that she wouldn’t catch his depressed state. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted to even answer that question as he knows she’ll go all mother bird on him. Which is ten times worse compared to Dick’s.

“It’s nothing, ‘spresso.” He sighs but he should know better than to say something like that.

“Tim, you’re barely an adult, and yet here you are running a multi-billion company. I may oversee retail and own twenty-five percent of the company, but I can tell when you have a lot on your shoulders. Does this have anything to do with your brothers? Bruce? You being RR?” She wasn’t wrong with either of those options.

Tim stays silent, which did nothing but cause her to pout. Instead of opening her mouth, Marinette gets up and orders another round of coffee. Nothing fancy, just something to sip on. She returns and slides back into her seat with fresh cups of drinks.

“Alright, oiseau de café, I’m here to listen. I promise I won’t tell Bruce, nor Alfred. Psychologist honor.” She says holding her hand up giving him her word.

Tim takes a big breath, pulls the fresh cup of coffee closer to him, and opens his mouth. The words came out like a flood. All his anxieties and fears aired out like they are usually are when speaking to Marinette. By the time he was done, he was close to a breakdown. Marinette had gotten up and wrapped her arms around him.

“Tu es digne, Tim, et personne ne peut te l’enlever.” He is worthy of everything he has been through, and she was right no one could take that away from him. For years he felt unworthy of being a part of the Wayne family like he was only here because Jason had died. He remembers Bruce being reluctant about taking in another Robin. If it wasn’t for Mari, he probably still be trying to prove his existence to Bruce. No matter how many years and discussions have passed, he still feels like an outsider. Marinette never treated him like such.

“Thank you, Mari.” He whispers to her to which she smiles and places a kiss on his forehead.

“Ahem,” The two coffee addicts break apart to be greeted Damian, someone that probably should have been at school. “I am in need of tatie’s assistance.” He states keeping his head held high. Marinette looks back at Tim silently communicating to see if it was okay for her to leave. Tim shrugs and drinks his coffee like he hasn’t just cried his heart out just moments ago.

“Of course, Dami, do you wanna speak in my car or go for a walk.” She asks after sending Tim a bright smile.

“Walk, please.” Marinette nods and gets out of her seat and usher Damian out of the café.

Tim pulls out his phone and sends a text message to the group chat he has with his older brothers. The message was simple, and it was, “Demon just invaded my one-on-one time with ☕” The replies he received were hilarious and worrisome.

It turned out that Damian didn’t need Marinette for anything, he just wanted her away from Drake. This caused Marinette to take Damian out for ice cream before allowing him to return with her to WE for the rest of her workday. Bruce was not happy with Damian, who actually skipped school in favor of spending time with his tatie.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#maribat #sibling brucinette #auntinette #ml x dc #mlb x dc #ml crossover #dc crossover

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Feverish and Teary & How Long Has it Been Since You’ve Eaten- Prompt Fill

@thatonekidellis Jon, Tim, and Martin have a rough time after the Unknowing. Especially Jon. I hope this is kind of what you were asking for?

@janekfan you get a ping because this is your au!

CWs: nausea, vomiting, fainting, fever, food mention, alcohol mention, canon typical mentions of Tim's pre-unknowing mindset, canon typical Jon not taking care of himself.

I am still accepting bingo prompts, so let me know which character, which prompt, and if you want a drawing of a fic! Bingo card by the wonderful @celosiaa! This one is twice my usual length because it is two prompts and I did not want to cheat!

The Unknowing blows up.

As simple as that.

All according to plan.

It really is as simple as that.

Jon, Tim, Daisy, Basira. Piled back in Daisy's car. Ears ringing. Soot slowly settling. Trying to drive away before the actually police get there.

It hasn't been Jon's problem how to avoid arrest.

He is even more glad it isn't his problem now, as he slides down the beat up seat in the back of Daisy's car. Ash streaks the window, mixing with the light rains that is starting to fall.

Jon tries not to vomit the nothing he's eaten in the last couple days. Nothing in him but frayed nerves and statements. Hadn't even managed to stomach dramamine before their trip.

Jon just wants to sleep.

They still have their hotel reservation for another couple hours, so Daisy drives them back there to clean up before heading back to London. Yes they have to go back today, it's less suspicious. Jon isn't sure if that is actually true, but he doesn't have the energy to argue.

Tim showers. Jon sends a text to Martin. 'Alive.'

He doesn't answer Martin's near-immediate call because just then he's dry-heaving into the small bin in the corner. Stiff and shaking and sweaty and miserable.

Jon showers. Too dizzy to stand, he sits on the shower floor. He hates that. The tub feels filthy. He feels filthy. He scrubs his skin raw. He stands. He throws up more nothing. He scrubs himself again, leaning heavily on the wall.

He wants to talk to Tim. He wants to tuck himself into Tim's arms and never move again. Christ, he's running an impressive fever. Probably. It's hard to tell. And his brain is swimming too much to even think about asking the Eye.

He's cold. He shivers in his threadbare joggers and stolen jumper (Martin's).

He wants to join Tim on the bed by the window, but Tim ...looks too deep in a melancholy thought to even notice. Somewhere between losing his drive for anything, adrenaline crash, and losing the last hope of a last glimpse of Danny, if Jon were to guess.

Jon could say something. He knows he could. But, hasn't he caused enough of a fuss? Made Tim and Martin trail after him after the ...the.... with Daisy and... that. If he'd have just stayed quiet and stayed still... well Tim would still hate him... and might not be alive... but ....but he's caused so much worry with that. And then with... his other kidnapping No. He can't think about what that... what... not without puking again which... the point is not to worry Tim. Which means he should try some medicine again.... if he can keep it in him half an hour he'll survive the drive back. Probably.

Christ, when is the last time he bothered to drink anything?

He lays there in a daze until Daisy bangs on the door telling them it's time to leave.

Tim sleeps on the drive back. Finally giving into the last few sleepless nights. Jon is jealous.

Last night had been spent tangled together, shaking, awake, and silent. Anxiety too thick to slice with words. Not even nothing to turn off the lights, because the fear is a little easier to manage in the light. Jon couldn't stop thinking about Nikola. He couldn't stop thinking about plastic hands on him. Couldn't stop thinking about how many things could go wrong and how he could lose Tim and Martin when he only just got Tim back.

Jon was pretty sure Tim hadn't been sleeping the last few nights. Jon knows he hasn't. Not that he has slept well in a long time.

In any case, Tim sleeps. Jon doesn't.

Daisy glares at him through the review mirror. Jon isn't sure if she is still waiting for him to prove himself monstrous so she can attack, or if she is making sure he isn't ill in her car... again. (He really wishes he could forget his first ride in her car. Really really really wishes. It was not a pleasant experience for anyone, and Daisy had made him pay the cleaning bill.)

It doesn't matter, he slides down further in his seat and closes his eyes tightly.

His head hurts.

Thankfully the medicine knocks him out soon enough.

Martin greets them at the institute door. Melanie by his side.

Jon hazily wakes up to Martin gently touching his shoulder.

"You actually made it! I'm so glad you're safe... I was so worried, Jon why didn't you answer your phone, I've been so worried, I mean I know you would have said something if something had happened, but Christ I've been so worried about you, come here."

Jon starts mumbling some apologies, but is interrupted by Martin gently gathering him in a hug. Jon sinks into it, fervently hoping Martin doesn't notice the heat rolling off of him.

Thankfully Martin is too distracted, gathering Tim in a crushing embrace. Likely very relieved that Tim didn't die, and knowing Tim is harder to break than Jon with his delicate bones and fragility following many incidents.

Jon... doesn't really know what he's trying to accomplish. Just... get out? Or go in? Or get to the cot? Or just curl up on the cold tile of the basement toilets? Get away from people he will inevitably worry?

Just go somewhere where he can fall apart without taking anyone else down with him.

It looks like Martin has been crying. Jon hopes it isn't over him.

Tim needs to recover from the emotional toll of the last few days without having to pick up the pieces after Jon Again.

Jon slowly backs away.

His head is swimming, but that's okay. If he can just reach the Archives. The cot. Anywhere. Anywhere away from this moment. This breath.

His vision swims violently, and there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to be very well acquainted with the pavement in a matter of seconds. Either that or he's going to be ill? No. Sidewalk. He's going to eat the sidewalk. Heh... first thing he'll have eaten in days.

He isn't sure if he loses consciousness or not. It's hard to tell in the blur of motion and sounds and his spinning head. Sound is almost gooey in this state of almost unconsciousness, but he thinks someone might be shouting. Or several someones. He should maybe worry about this? But in actuality, he is praying he properly passes out to save himself any more embarrassment and save himself from his unsteady insides.

His face hurts.

Someone is holding him.

Jon fights to open his eyes. They don't seem to want to look in the same direction, rolling in their sockets instead of doing what he wants them to. He blinks hard a few times, failing to bring things into focus. Glasses? Does he still have those? Did they break? No... still there. Skewed on his face. Just... too dizzy to see, then.

Daisy and Basira are glaring at him. Melanie is walking away. Possibly. Hard to tell when the world is tilting with unsteady regularity.

Jon closes his eyes again, pressing a groan against the nausea that threatens to overcome him, despite the medicine.

"Jon?"

"Burning up."

He's too hazy to put a name to a voice. The words dripping in the air around him, tightening around his chest, silly string sitting on his skin in fibrous heaps that jiggle uncomfortably, cold and clammy.

Shit, thinking in gibberish. That can't be good.

“Does anyone know how long he’s been ill?”

Someone grunts.

Footsteps. Two sets? I’m asking away. Leaving him.

“I.... I don’t know. I don’t think he was feverish last night? But... I haven’t exactly been... It’s. It’s been hard.”

“Jon?”

He’s being jostled. He whines. Stomach flopping dangerously.

"Jon? Are you awake? Can you open your eyes for me?"

"Oh shit, he's gonna puke."

He's being lifted, shifted on his side, bin shoved in his hands. Where he throws up more nothing.

He's crying now, feeling like utter shit, and unfortunately more awake.

He isn't sure if eyes swimming with tears is better or worse than the unsteady world tipping around him and making him feel worse.

"Christ, Jon!"

He finally pries his eyes open. Martin and Tim solidify above him. More or less. Still fuzzing in and out of focus.

Now that he's crying, he just... can't stop. Fistfuls of Martin's sweater.

"Oh Jon..." Martin's arms circle him, carefully. Gentle not to jostle him more.

"Buddy. Think we can get you off the sidewalk?" Tim. Cupping his face. Smoothing back sweat and tear soaked hair, long since escaped his bun, still not dried from his earlier shower. "My flat isn't far, you know? Didn't bring my car here, though. Still... wasn't..."

Tim cuts himself off, but even addled as he is, Jon can fill in the rest of the sentence.

So can Martin apparently, because Martin frowns. It's never been more apparent that he's been crying quite recently. "Still weren't sure you were coming home... Tim..." And his eyes start looking damp.

Tim is tearing up now. "Martin... let's not in the street... I can carry Jon back to mine, it isn't far. You can come too. We'll get some take out. Drink some whiskey. Get Mr. Smoking hot cooled off. We can talk then. It's.... it's been a rough week."

"Jon? Can I carry you? I think that might be less rough than a cab ride? Do you need a few minutes?"

Martin's voice is soft, and Jon thinks he could sleep right there. In fact, he might. So he nods.

Martin lifts him carefully. His head swims again. This all is feeling rather familiar. Jon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He tries to relax despite the lingering anxieties about heights. Martin feels safe. Tim is also safe now. He lets himself drift.

He wakes briefly on the trip.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?" Tim. Tim seems off. Too many things crossing his face to parse out, probably even for someone with a better sense than Jon of what those subtle face changes mean. But Jon is too hazy to think.

Jon's mouth feels gummed up. His eyes feel gummed up.

He's thankful his mouth doesn't taste like something died in it, though. Although he is very aware how unhealthy it was that he's spent a good portion of the day with his body trying to turn itself inside out, and he couldn't so much as produce bile.

Jon feels sick thinking about it, so stops. He drifts again.

He wakes to a damp rag on his forehead, no memory of anything past the explosion.

How did he get here?

"Sorry, that looked like a nice sleep, but you'll feel better with some medicine in you, and some water. We can try some tea later, once the meds work. And some food hopefully."

Martin helping him sit up. Just enough to get a few sips and some pills into Jon. Which, Jon thought was probably optimistic, but he'd try it for Martin.

"When was the last time you ate?" Martin again.

Jon blinks at him in confusion. "Is it over?"

"Is what over?" Still Martin.

Where's Tim? Where's Daisy? Where's Basira? Where's Melanie?

His breathing picks up, and that makes his head spin again, and makes him wonder just how long he can keep the medicine down.

"Is it over, what happened?" He's panting now, halfway to a panic attack.

"Jon? Jon! Calm down. Can you take a breath for me?"

How did he get here? Where is he? This looks like Tim's flat, but there is Tim? Did he survive.

Jon reaches for anything. But comes up blank.

"Where's Tim? What happened?" He gasps out. It feels like his ribcage is shrinking, being laced up the front. fighter than the corset he had worn in acting class in uni.

"Tim's... taking a moment. As soon as we got you here... he.... it's been rough on him, you know? He did all this for... and I know he said he wanted to live. He wants to live... but he's... not been in a good place and it's helped that you two are talking again... and that he's had company more... but he saw an old picture with.... with his brother.... and that polaroid with ... with Sasha. Well, he keeps going between you know tearful and sorry and cackling about how everything blew up. It's... probably a lot to have three revenge schemes going at once for the same.... not a person really... but ... Her. And then... having it sorted. But... Listen Jon I don't know. What don't you remember... or what's the last thing you remember?" Martin edges on histerical near the middle, but takes a turn for the sad near the end.

"I remember the... the world was all wrong. Then... then it blew up. Is it over? Martin are you real. Is everyone alive? What happened to you?" He's desperate. Desperate breaths too shallow. Words interrupted by jagged pulling of too thin oxygen. He's going to pass out.

He does.

He wakes feeling... clearer. The last period of wakefulness a distant and flighty thing, dancing just out of his reach. The rest of the embarrassing day back in vivid detail. Tim's sitting over him. Or rather, curled around him. Jon's hair is being played with. A stray curl looped around Tim's finger as he laughs softly to himself. Muttering that he's alive. That Jon's alive. That Martin is alive. he didn't lose anyone else. That that clown is finally dead. Finally.

Gentle and warm hand on his face, refreshing the cloth. Checking his temperature.

"I..." Tim chokes on a sob. And Jon tries to remember how his arms work so he can let Tim know he's there.

"Tim?"

"Hey bud... sorry." Tim wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "It's been a hell of a week. I... don't know how to feel about it. Fuck I need a drink.... And to check in with Martin. I... he hasn't told me what happened, but he's upset. And. Fuck I should have noticed you were ill, why didn't you say anything?" Tim's voice starts to rise, and Jon tenses. All the times Tim yelled at him still too fresh in his mind. He trusts Tim. he does... but Christ he is still afraid. Afraid that it can't last, that it isn't real. Where it be a trick of his mind, or some manipulation tactic to an end Jon can't see, he doesn't know.

"Hey. Hey. Buddy... Jon. I'm sorry. didn't mean to yell. It's just... been a day. I'm not mad at you. I just... I'm worried about you and Martin and I...I don't know how to feel about everything that happened. I'm sorry you feel like shit."

Jon feels... like shit. Marginally less nauseous, however. A little less like he's going to pass out again. Probably been given plenty of pills by Martin.

"Sorry." He croaks. Voice probably shredded with smoke. And fever.

"He, bud, don't apologize. I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't well. I... I thought I knew better than to be that preoccupied. I mean... I guess I didn't make it worse this time, but..." Tim sighs. "I'm disappointed in myself because I don't want to fuck this up again. And no don't apologize again part of that was on me and yes part of that was on you and we've done apologies to death. All we can do now is keep going. I just wanted to protect you and I couldn't see you were fading in front of my eyes. Again. I know you haven't been eating or sleeping, but I haven't been either so I didn't want to call you on it, and I didn't want you to call me on it, but I should have noticed. I know I couldn't have done much, but I didn't do anything but shut you out again. I could have told someone to stop to get you medicine, or food or even a bit more rest. I know that would have done fuck-all, but I still could have offered you a little comfort and warmth and had us brought straight back here."

Tim's crying properly now. Jon is too. Not sure if it is the fever, or just... everything. There is so much to feel and think and worry about and yes they saved the world but that the fuck comes next.

What comes next is that Martin enters with tea for Jon and a bottle of whiskey.

Jon scrubs at his eyes. "Martin what happened?" Jon can see he's been crying again. That is starting to scare him. It's a goddamn miracle he hasn't pulled an answer out of anyone yet today.

"It's... well it isn't fine. I... well our plan worked here too. Just... you know... Elias. He can.... He can do things. It's fine. It's worth it." Martin swipes at his eyes furiously.

Jon pushes himself up, ignoring the room tilting around him, and hugs Martin. Jon's still crying. Martin sniffling. Tim also crying. It's... a very damp hug. And Jon knows he's too warm to be comfortable to hold, and he's shivering hard enough to rattle Tim and Martin.

"I'm... I'm so sorry Martin." Jon chokes out.

"It's alright. It was worth it. And you both. Christ I am so glad to see you again... I thought... I thought.... I didn't..." Martin is fully sobbing now. Tea set down on Tim's bedside table, the whiskey being pried from his hands by TIm.

Late that night the bottle is empty (and so are a couple more), Tim and Martin have killer headaches, and Jon is still feverish, but less so. A lot of tears have been shed. And Jon has been plied with enough liquids that he feels a little less like a crumbling husk.

By the time that Tim and Martin are ready to think about food, Jon is finally feeling like he can maybe stomach something. They order takeout. Jon... has some broth.

By morning Jon manages a few bites of leftovers.

By afternoon, Elias Bushard is arrested.

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #fic #sickfic #cw nausea #cw vomit #cw vomiting #cw emeto #cw fainting #cw food #cw fever #fever #cw alcohol #my writing #my words #my art #my fic

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flyingkiki · 3 years

Text

The Screaming Bunny, 3/?

Deep down, we know that Tim has all these secret fantasies.

Here you go guys, enjoy our curious little Timmy!

Despite the initial crowd out in the bar of the club, the Screaming Bunny’s inner halls and chambers were sparsely packed with people. It seemed that most of the Halloween revelers were out in front enjoying the bar. The hallways that lead to chambers and bigger halls were dimly lit, illuminated by lights that reminded Tim of the color of the sea. Muted ambient music filled the halls along with whispers of secrets behind closed steel bars and the occasional cracking of a whip or a rough demand. The deeper they went into the club, the thicker the atmosphere seemed.

The more secrets the club held for him to discover. He wondered how many secrets he could uncover from Raven. Tim swallowed at the thought.

They were walking through one of the many halls in the club with Raven leading him past closed doors. He could hear faint movement behind the doors. Tim tried not to allow his mind to wander and instead focused on Raven, watching her move just a little ahead of him. He tried to ignore the curious thrill that ran down his spine when for a brief moment his gaze dropped down to the sway of her hips before quickly back up to her shoulders.

When they reached the end of the hall, Raven stopped and turned around to face him. There was that amused little smile playing on her lips again, and Tim silently marveled how different this Raven was from the deadly Titan he’d see out in battle.

“Do you have any fantasies?”

Tim blinked at her, feeling a heat rise to his face and his chest tighten all of the sudden. He swallowed thickly as he watched her tilt her head curiously at him and casually leaned against the grey wall with her shoulder. “Sorry, what?” Tim asked and chuckled nervously.

Raven looked like she was trying to hold off her amusement as the corners of her lips twitched. She seemed to enjoy his moment of discomfort. Crossing her arms casually, she pointedly looked at one of the doors they were standing next to. “These rooms are private rooms couples can book for scene play,” she said.

Tim glanced at the nondescript door before turning back to an amused Raven. “Oh,” he breathed lamely. A middle-aged couple, one dressed as a cop, walked past them. He heard the door behind him open and close soundly. Swallowing, Raven caught his gaze and her lips curled into a smile. He knew that she was enjoying how his composure would falter at times.

His curiosity piqued at her delight.

“They’re designed to suit whatever fantasy you’d like to have,” Raven continued. Leaning over and just into his personal space, she grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. It swung open and Tim half expected a couple to be mid-way having sex or flagellating or something. It revealed a doctor’s examination room, very white and sterile, save for the little pink flower that sat on the doctor’s table. An examination bed was tucked into the corner of the room. Nothing was out of the ordinary – save for the black straps, red bondage rope, and a few harnesses that hung from the wall.

“It’s a med room,” said Raven as they peaked into the room. Tim watched her scan the room before his own gaze swept through the room again. “It’s for those who like to play med scenes. Patients, doctors, nurses, check-ups,” she continued with a shrug.

There was brief image of Raven in a nurse’s costume and Tim had to squash that image as quickly as it appeared. Raven seemed to have caught on the spike of emotions because she tilted her head in his direction curiously. “Is that something you’re interested in?” she asked innocently, a playful lilt in her voice.

Was it? Tim chuckled and leaned into the doorframe. “I’m honestly not sure,” he said. There was a whisper of an image that played in his mind but he respectfully ignored it. Blinking, he curiously eyed her. “Are you?”

Raven released a breathy laugh, a sound Tim was desperate to hear more of. She leaned into the room and closed the door. “No, not really,” she admitted.

“So what is?” he asked before he could think that maybe too much prodding was impolite. But then again, they were in an exclusive BDSM club in Gotham, maybe his level of curiosity was allowed.

Raven hummed and looked unfazed at his prodding. Instead she shrugged, an air of mystery around her. “C’mon,” she said and turned on her strappy heels. He followed her out of the hall and they stepped into a large-sized, dimly lit atrium.

It was one of the many pleasure chambers, dungeons if you will, of the Screaming Bunny. Tim schooled his face as the stepped closer to the ledge of the second floor landing and looked down at the different activities, furniture, and contraptions that filled the hall. A few spectators were around the ledge of the second floor, watching as scenes unfolded on the by the Saint Andrew’s Cross and the bondage couch. There was a masked man in one of the standup cages in the corner of the room and a woman strapped to a bondage bench.

A sharp clap of a riding crop hitting skin rang through the air, followed by a soft whimper and a sharp teasing command. Tim stared as the red headed woman, dressed in a tight fitting black cat-suit similar to Selina’s, wielded her riding crop sharply down on the blindfolded man’s thigh strapped in the bondage couch. He lightly jolted at the sound of leather hitting flesh but listened curiously at the soft whimper of pleasure that followed. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Raven lean over the metal railing and drink in the sight below them. He followed her suit with a soft thrill running down his spine and curiously catalogued everything to memory.

They could see Lady X and Tracy by the Saint Andrew’s Cross. They were in the middle of scene with Lady X sharply working a small whip across Tracy’s back and thighs. There were harsh whispered commands that Tim could barely make out, but he was captured by the sight. The room was silent, except for some hushed whispers and the scenes between doms and subs. Spectators kept their distance, watching from the second floor landing or some few feet away on the dungeon floor. The air was thick with a myriad of emotions and Tim was stunned at the level of trust in the room.

“C’mon,” Raven announced suddenly, voice just a little lower. She tilted towards another hallway and pushed herself away from the railing. Tim nodded and after one final glance at the scenes below them, he followed her silently down a new hallway.

They passed a few people, curiously dressed in the most intricate Halloween costumes Tim had ever seen. They soon entered a new dungeon, smaller this time and without a second floor landing. A bondage stage was in the center of the room with a few stockade and bondage horse set-ups on the side. Three people were using the black padded bondage stage with two women taking turns in dripping candle wax and running feathers over the bound man on the stage.

Tim watched captured at the scene of complete surrender. He swallowed as a stray thought crossed his mind and he absently looked at Raven, who seemed completely enraptured by the scene. Her eyes were bright and her lips were curled into a small smile. He watched briefly as the dim lights danced across her cheek bones and disappeared into the hallows of her neck. He forgot how much a stunning sight Raven was.

Noticing that he was staring, Raven turned her attention to him. A small faint blush on her cheeks and she blinked. “You good?” she asked.

Tim nodded. “Yeah,”

Raven watched him nod and his eyes briefly flittered back to the scene in front of them as a soft groan filled the air. His gaze settled at the scene before looking at the other bondage furniture in the room. Raven started walking away from him and into the room, keeping a respectable distance away from the scene and instead leading him towards some of the other available furniture. He curiously followed her, watching as she absently ran her hand along the length of bondage horse. He watched the movement as ringed fingers danced over one metal hoop attachment point. Her movement stalled as her index finger looped through the silver hoop and Tim watched her give the hoop an absent tug.

“Did you want to try something out?”

Tim felt his heart leap into his throat and he faltered in his step as he quickly looked up from her index finger to her steady gaze. She blinked and sent him a soft smile over the large leather bondage horse. Her gaze was genuine, not teasing, and her tone held no lilt. It was soft and kind. The corner of her red lips lifted just a little more as she held his surprised gaze.

“Did I want--” Tim breathed, stumbled over his words. It was embarrassing how much he stumbled and floundered tonight, not very much like the intellectual boardroom WE CEO he was known for. He could hear the soft gasp of the sub behind them through the loud sound of his heart beating in his ears. Did he want to?

Raven released the hoop and stepped away from the bondage horse. Her heels clicked loudly against the black marbled floor with each step she took. Smiling at Tim, she tilted her head towards yet another dimly lit hallway down the room. “C’mon,” she said.

He followed her again silently and tried to ignore the thrill that ran down his spine again. As they seemed to get deeper into the club, the crowd had trickled out and the music became more muted. He watched as the violet lights danced across Raven’s back and slide over precise muscle. Tim tried to still his beating heart as curiosity, anxiety, and excitement gnawed at his nerves.

“Is this room free?” Raven asked one of the Dungeon Monitors who hung out in front of the doors. At the woman’s nod, Raven thanked her and turned to open the large steel door. Turning over her shoulder, she nodded at the open door. “C’mon,”

Tim inhaled deeply as he stepped into large room filled with numerous bondage furniture and contraptions. A large leather swing hung in one corner of the room, ropes were neatly rolled up on an intricate black armoire lined next to dildos, electrodes, and other contraptions. A Saint Andrew’s Cross stood prominently in the center with a bondage couch behind it and a dungeon bed with chains and leather straps pressed against the wall. There was a myriad of contraptions, leather, wood, chains, and steel. Tim released a breath as he tried to take in the sight and steady his beating heart.

“This is,” he breathed and turned his gaze to Raven, who casually stood next to the Saint Andrew’s Cross, patiently waiting for his response. “Impressive,”

“Is it?” she asked curiously. Tim watched her absently walk through the room. She looked like a beacon of white, her white angel costume beautifully standing out in the starkness of black leather around them.

“Yeah,” Tim chuckled a little breathlessly. He followed her deeper into the room, his curious blue eyes studying the contraptions and furniture.

“So these are the more private dungeons,” explained Raven. She sat down on the bondage chair and watched Tim curiously take in the room. Her voice carried clearly through the empty room. “The rules of the club are straightforward. You can play scenes out in the open back in the atrium. To some degree some form of submission and dominance can be played in the bar, but all scenes with equipment should be played in the dungeons. Sex is not allowed in the open dungeons or anywhere else in the club, except in here – in the private dungeon,”

Tim blinked and swallowed thickly as heat spread across his chest as he listed to Raven explain the rules of the club and each of the rooms they went through. He looked at her from across the room, his breath catching at the sight of her on top of the bondage couch. She looked so comfortable and at ease. How often did she come here? How often had she been doing this? How often did she come into this room with someone –

“Did you like the tour so far?” Raven asked, eyeing him curiously.

Tim chuckled, tension slowly leaving his shoulders, and he slowly approached her. He absently fiddled with the silver chains that held the sex swing in placed and watched swing and hit his thigh. She shot him an amused look. “It’s been quite a tour,” he told her. He awkwardly sat down on the leader swing, releasing an amused huff as he sunk a little lower than expected and swung around a bit. He heard Raven snort in amusement. “Well, this is comfortable,” he chuckled and threw her a crooked smile. Tugging off the ugly domino mask, he stuffed it into his pocket.

“Not getting scared and overwhelmed?” Raven asked as she watched Tim lightly swing himself on the bondage swing.

“Ah, well.” Tim breathed and he planted his feet firmly on the ground to stop the swaying. “Not really. Maybe just a bit overwhelmed. But I got a really patient tour guide, so I’m giving her a five-star rating later on Yelp,”

Raven released a soft bark of laughter and Tim grinned boyishly at her. It was nice seeing her so free. He would love to see this side more. “So,” he breathed. “How long have you been coming here? To Gotham?”

Raven shrugged her shoulder absently. “I think around three years or so,” she said. “I heard that this was a good private club. Jump’s club were too close to home for me and I didn’t really want to share my secret with anyone on the team,” her lips curled into an amused smile. “So this place was a good choice. Far away from the rest of the world and close enough for me to still teleport back to Jump,”

Tim hummed in understanding. He cast her another curious glance and she seemed to wait for him to ask his question. “So, do you play scenes too?”

He watched her absently fiddle with one of the loops of the bondage bed. Her fingers looped tightly around the silver hoop and he wondered if she preferred to be a sub or a dom – since she seemed to be looking for a switch. Though he instantly killed that thought. “Sometimes, not really very often. There are a few friends who like to play a few scenes. Given who and what I am, it’s a bit difficult for me to find a permanent switch,” she confessed. Her piercing blue gaze caught his own and Tim felt his heart stutter for a brief moment. “But I’ve never really used this room before,”

Tim caught the implication and watched her curiously as she continued. “Since I can’t enjoy the things I’d like to enjoy, I come here and live through the emotions in the club. If I can’t be tied up the way I’d like to, I get to feel the thrill through others. It’s still quite enjoyable,” she shared.

Right. Empath. She was feeding off all the emotions in the room. Tim stared at her, completely in awe. He blinked as a thought caught up with him. “Who you are,” he corrected, sitting up awkwardly on the swing. It creaked under his weight. “Not what you are. It doesn’t really matter what you are. You’re Raven, err, Rachel. And that’s it,”

Raven smiled at him. “That’s sweet. Thank you,”

There was a beat and they stared at each other. Tim smiled at her, as the tension and awkwardness he initially felt seemed to have finally dissipated. “So, tied up, huh?”

For the first time since he saw her, her confident exterior broke for a moment and she blushed and chuckled, looking away briefly. “I like it,” she said.

“I’ve seen some really intricate rope patterns,” Tim said, awkwardly pulling himself out of the swing, and throwing her an assuring smile.

Raven raised a curious eyebrow. “You did?”

He laughed and nervously ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “So I did a little research before coming back here tonight,” he admitted.

Raven hummed and nodded. Standing up, her heels again clicked against the black marble floor as she made her way around the room. “Always doing your research, Tim Drake-Wayne,”

“Guilty as charged,” Tim chuckled.

Raven stopped and looked at him curiously. Her lips curled into that tempting smile again and Tim felt his breath catch. “Is there anything you’d like to try,” she paused and her smile widened a fraction of an inch. “For research?”

The air seemed to change in the room and Tim felt his heart speed up again. She had a way to make his heart speed up tonight. He swallowed as he watched Raven wait for his answer. Did he want to try something out? Wasn’t this why he came back in the first place? “I – uh,”

“Only if you want to,” Raven said reassuringly.

Tim released the breath he had been holding. His curiosity gnawed at him – he wanted to know more about this side of Raven. And yes, he did want to know about this – all of this. “Sure,” he whispered.

He watched a delighted expression cross her face, her eyes bright and her lips curl into that smile he suddenly could not get enough of. Tim walked towards her, curious which contraption she would lead him to.

“We’ll do something easy,” she said and they stopped below the medieval suspension bar. They booth looked up at the large wooden beam that was suspended from the ceiling by heavy silver chains. A hot jolt of excitement ran down Tim’s spine again as he watched Raven lower the beam to his height. The chains rustled noisily and the leather wrist cuffs swung invitingly as the bar lowered.

“This is a suspension bar,” said Raven and Tim watched her grab one of the leather wrist cuffs and open it open. “They keep your subs in place, if you like being tied up. It’s fun for some kinky play,” she said, while opening up the other cuff.

She eyed him curiously. “Is this okay?” she asked.

Tim felt his nerves stutter but excitement that ran through him made him slowly nod. “Yeah,” he mumbled and felt the air around them thicken just a fraction. He blinked up at the beam and turned back to stare at her curiously. “Where do you want me?”

“Here,” she said, pointing right below the beam. When he stood next to her, Raven hummed. “Can I –” fingers feathered over his wrist. “Yeah,” he replied.

Raven made quick work to binding his wrists into the cuffs, keeping the cuffs tight enough that were comfortable but still enough for the illusion of being tied down. Tim was sure his nerves were singing at this point as he felt his wrist strain against the confines of the cuffs and his arm muscles flexed at the feeling of being restrained.

“You good?” she asked when she stepped away from him and Tim stood there in front of her, arms restrained and whole body slowly buzzing at the idea of being so on display in front of her.

He could feel the tension in his arms and despite how often in the past he had been restrained and chained up, this time, holy shit it actually felt good. There were a thousand different ways he could break from restrains, he thought. But tonight, these restraints felt right.

“Yeah,” he breathed and he involuntarily moved his wrists, making the leather creak with the movement. Raven stared at the cuff with interest.

Raven hummed again and smiled in satisfaction. Tim watched with bated breath as she just stood there for a moment, her head tilted and she seemed to study him. The way here blue eyes seemed to sweep over his form, studying and memorizing every inch of skin, dip of muscle and scar, sent heat through his body that he thought was not possible. Holy shit.

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat. Taking a step back, she slowly walked back to the bondage couch. She picked up her riding crop. Tim shifted in anticipation. He watched her white form slowly walk back towards him and he drank her sight in, taking in the sway of her hips and the teasing smile that played on her lips. He caught her gaze and felt his breath catch at the predatory gaze that held her eyes.

She stood in front of him, he could feel her warm proximity. He smelled her lavender scent and watched as her eyes danced over his face and down his body again, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she absently tapped her riding crop against her thigh. “Can I touch you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” it came out a bit faster than he wanted. Tim inhaled to steady himself and watched a satisfied smile on Raven’s lips.

“Is there somewhere you don’t want me to touch? Are you hurt somewhere?” she asked.

Tim cleared his throat. “Just a bit sore from last night’s patrol and run-in with Ivy. Right ribs,” he said.

Raven nodded. With a soft hum, she stepped closer to him, and placed her free hand on his waist. Tim inhaled sharply at the warm touch and his muscles immediately contracted. Giving him a moment to adjust, she then slipped her hand up his abs and over the dips of well-defined muscle before resting on his ribs. Her warm fingers pressed into his skin and he felt the warm rush of her powers seep into him, steadily healing sore muscle. The tingling warmth of her healing powers had jolted him briefly, surprised at the exciting warmth that spread through him.

“There,” she mumbled and looked up to catch Tim’s surprised gaze. “All better,”

“You didn’t need to –”

“I wanted to,” Raven teased and tapped the riding crop against his chest to cut him off. Tim’s eyes widened at the action. His skin seemed to flare up with excitement and nervousness as Raven tapped his chest again before allowing the riding crop to slide down his chest at a treacherously slow pace. Tim watched as Raven held his gaze, her eyes bright and filled with excitement. His muscles contracted as the leather tip of the crop pressed into the dips of his abs and stopped just shy below his belly button. He inhaled sharply when Raven pressed into him. There was a trail of heat that followed the riding crop.

She then stepped away and Tim’s muscles flexed at the sudden loss of proximity and contact. His mind was slowly turning hazy and he inhaled as he watched Raven study him again. He moved his wrists and they strained against their confines. The way she was riling him up was exciting. He wondered what she’d do next.

Raven hummed softly to a tune he was not familiar with. He watched her step into his space again before disappearing behind his back and slowly pressing into his back. He could feel her soft curves press into his side and he craned his neck to the side to catch a glimpse of her.

“Stop moving around, Tim,” she said, voice steady and the riding crop pressed into his side. Excitement ran through him at the order and he did as she told him.

He felt her stand on her toes, stretching her body along his side so she could reach his ear. He felt Raven’s breath fan over his right cheek and she held onto this shoulder to steady herself. “Have you been a good Red Robin? Hmm?” she whispered into his ear, her voice holding a teasing lilt.

Holy hell. Tim tried to hold back the groan that rumbled low in his chest. He felt heat pool low in his abdomen and he squirmed under her teasing gaze. His arm muscles contracted as he tried to move again as heat seemed to just spread everywhere.

It was dizzying how a little teasing could send him into overdrive.

“Steady,” Raven warned and Tim stilled under her voice. She then began her careful trek with her riding crop, running it up his sides and over his arms and under his chin, using it to nudge his face towards her and catch his blown gaze. He swallowed as he stared in to her bright eyes. She drank in his reaction.

“Let’s try some hits,” she said, her voice still so enticingly low. “Would you like that? Tell me if you don’t. Green is go, red is stop,”

“Okay. Green,” he breathed, releasing a breath he did not know he was holding. He felt like his whole body was burning up, as Raven continued to study him under her watchful gaze.

She hummed in delight and with precision landed a sharp hit with her riding crop against his right thigh. Tim hissed, muscles contracting and a sharp pool of heat jumped low in his abdomen. Fuck.

The riding crop came down again on his other thigh. The pain was sharp and nice. He blinked through the jolt of pain and excitement and watched as Raven smiled brightly at him. There was blush dusting her cheeks and he was sure she felt his jumbled emotions.

Raven tapped his bicep and he felt the muscle contract under the leather. Raven’s eyes seemed to sparkle at the reaction and her lips curled into a languid smile. “I think you’ve been a good Red Robin,” she said, her voice hushed. He felt his skin bristle pleasantly at the praise.

She allowed him to adjust for a moment, studying his reaction again, before stepping closer and eyeing how his wrists strained against the cuffs. “Maybe that’s enough for tonight,” she said and slowly worked on releasing his wrists from their confines.

Despite how little time he spent in the confines, perhaps it was the thrill of the moment, his arms and shoulder burned as she released him from the hold of the beam. The burn was pleasant and Tim sighed softly as his nerves still burned under his skin. He ignored how he wished they could have continued.

“Here,” Raven mumbled and wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his chest. Tim wrapped his arms around her small frame, marveling at how easily she fit into him. “Aftercare is important,”

Tim hummed as his heart still beat loudly against his chest and he was sure that Raven could hear it. He felt his mind still reeling, dizzy, from the rollercoaster of thrill and excitement over what just happened. He enjoyed the warm press of her body against his and Raven seemed to respond in kind as her arms tightened just a fraction around his waist.

They stayed like that for a few more moments before Raven slowly pulled away. Stepping back, she eyed him curiously as Tim took a steading breath. “You did good,” she said, smiling softly at him.

“That was,” Tim breathed unsteadily, huffing a soft chuckle and sheepishly smiling at her. He still felt flushed and breathless. “Definitely something else,”

“In a good way?”

He caught her gaze, patiently waiting for his response. His smile grew. “Yeah, in a good way.”

Raven seemed pleased and they both shared another smile. He was sure that something changed, shifted, between them, but Tim settled for now to not probing further. Whatever shifted was pleasant and exciting, and he desperately wanted to get to know more of this Raven.

They settled to tidying up the space they used. Removing the cuffs from the beam, sanitizing them, and placing them into designating cleaning bins. Tim pulled his domino mask back on and they made idle conversation as they slowly moved back up into the higher levels of the club, occasionally teasing and learning just a little bit more of the other. They had one more round of drinks before finally calling it a night.

Tim waited for her outside the coatroom. When she emerged she had a disgruntled look on her face as she buttoned up her trench coat. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I think someone took my shirt by mistake,” she said while adjusting the lapels of her coat. She guessed it wasn’t too much of a problem, she was wearing a coat.

Tim frowned. “Here,” he said. He removed his grey down jacket and thrust it into a surprised Raven’s hands. He made quick work to remove his blue button up shirt. Taking back his jacket, he placed his button up in her hands. “Take that, I’m parked close by anyway,” he said and started to put on his down jacket over his naked chest.

Raven blinked and wordlessly nodded. She disappeared back into the coatroom and remerged moments later, buttoning up her trench coat and offering Tim a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she said while securing the belt around her waist. “It’s a bit chilly outside around this time,”

“Don’t mention it,” he said and pushed open steel door for her. They stepped out into the cold empty street of Gotham and briefly looked around to study the streets for any potential threats.

“So,” Tim breathed, casually stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and eyeing Raven curiously. “How do you get home?”

Raven shrugged and smiled at him. “I have a safehouse here. I’ll go there for the night to sleep and go back to Jump tomorrow morning,” she explained.

He raised his brows in surprise. “Really? A safehouse?”

“We have personal safehouses everywhere in case the team gets compromised. Standard protocol,” she explained. Tim nodded, yeah, that made sense. They all did.

“Right,” he breathed. He glanced at the street behind her and silently marveled at how fast the night seemed to have passed. Perhaps he could see her again?

“I had fun tonight, Tim,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Me too,”

Raven smiled teasingly, nose wrinkling in that adorable way that Tim hope he could see more of. “I hope I did not scare you away,”

Tim snorted and he grinned at her. “Far from it,”

Raven released a soft chuckle. “Good,” she breathed. Straightening, she sighed softly and briefly looked over her shoulder to study the empty street and turned back to Tim. “Well, I’m this way,”

“I could drive you home?” Tim asked quickly.

Raven paused and seemed to mull over the offer before smiling softly and shaking her head. Stepping closer to Tim, she grabbed his forearm for a little leverage and leaned up to press a chase kiss to his cheeks. “Not tonight, Tim,” she mumbled and stepped away. She gave him a small smile. “But next time, yeah.”

“Okay,” Tim said, just a little breathless from the soft contact and the whispered promise of another time. He returned her smile and nodded. “Good night, Rachel.”

“Good night, Tim,” she replied and Tim watched her turn on her heels and slowly walk down the street, heels resonating loudly in the silent street. As he watched her disappear into the distance, he felt his chest warm and his mind still reel from tonight’s events. Tim released a deep breath he had been holding.

What a night. His skin still tingled with excitement.

#TimRae #Tim Drake #Raven #The Screaming Bunny #artists on tumblr #Red Robin #TimRae Fanfiction

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