#[the fact that Jason is now like half a foot taller than dick just makes these nicknames so much better tbh xD]

[dramatisperscnae]

Big bird. For Dick.

[First Word Associated With My Muse || accepting]

"Guess some things never change, huh, little wing?'

#Communication #messeduphood #dick ic #[the fact that Jason is now like half a foot taller than dick just makes these nicknames so much better tbh xD] #dick verse: knightwing

[miss-choco-chips]

Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed. 

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.” 

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is. 

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing. 

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him. 

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of  orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters. 

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second.  If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive,  but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms. 

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion. 

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind. 

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him?  It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof. 

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets. 

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death. 

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now. 

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard. 

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

#My writing #Tim drake #batman fanfic #red robin #trigger warning: #depression #suicide attempts #discussion of suicide #overdose #mental illness #hurt comfort #Tim doing the comfort and being the hurt #until he gets the comfort #happy ending #wholesome #I swear the tags are scary but it IS wholesome #Tim drake centric #my writting

[soulmate-game]

IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT YOU GUYS HAVE ADOPTED ME. THIS IS MY REBELLION (thanks)

Now, a proper introduction to this story:

—*—*—*—*—*

“I do not see why we all had to come,” Damian groused, hands shoved into his pockets. Bruce had decided to set up a new branch of Wayne Enterprises in Paris, and apparently that required him and all his sons to come with him on a weeklong trip to scout out the perfect location from a set of possibilities and start networking. Selina and the girls had decided to allow all the boys the much needed vacation, taking over Gotham-sitting in their absence. There were the Zeta Tubes in Paris if all else failed anyway.

(The girls only made this deal with the agreement that they would get their own, twice as long vacation to some tropical island once they got back).

Bruce straightened out his suit. “This trip serves two purposes at once, Damian,” he started to tell his youngest in what all his sons dubbed the Lecture Voice. “Obviously, the public reason is setting up WE’s new headquarters here. The real reason, however, is that Diana is bad at keeping secrets for long periods of time.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jason asked, hands shoved in his jean pockets as he still had absolutely no idea how he managed to get roped into this shit. He didn’t want to be in Paris, let alone on a trip alone with his ‘family.’

Bruce hummed for a moment, looking around to make sure nobody was listening to the foreigners speaking in soft English. Nobody was. They continued walking down the street, but Bruce was careful to keep his voice low regardless. “Clark mentioned something about Lois wanting to visit a reporter friend of hers here in Paris, and Diana immediately changed the subject. What with her having worked at the Louvre in the past, Clark had wanted her feedback on the best places to take Lois to eat. Diana nearly exploded from how badly she was trying to steer the conversation as far away from Paris as possible.”

“You think she’s hiding something from the League?” Tim asked, eyebrows furrowed. He was the least upset about this whole thing, since he would have been forced to come on the trip anyway as WE’s COO. “That doesn’t seem like her thing.”

“It isn’t,” Bruce agreed. “Unless she felt honor bound to keep a secret. And if Diana of all people feels honor bound to keep a secret…”

“Then it’s big,” Dick finished with a nod. “She probably has a contact or friend here who convinced her to keep something away from the League. So you brought us all here to figure it out, then?”

“I had Barbara look into things on the Computer, but she didn’t turn up as much as we expected. Apparently something is messing with the electronic signals leaving Paris, hardly any information leaves this city on any electronic waves at all unless it’s specifically meant to, like business emails or political business. Local shows and news, any small time websites or blogs, all of those sorts of things are suddenly mysteriously inaccessible anywhere outside of city limits. Even social media posts.”

Tim frowned. That wasn’t… good.

Their conversation was interrupted by an explosion, followed by the collapse of the Eiffel Tower and the ringing of alarm bells.

“AKUMA ALERT. AKUMA ALERT. EVACUATE TO DESIGNATED SHELTERS. AKUMA ALERT.”

The group of civilian-dressed heroes tensed, looking around to see that the majority of locals seemed rather calm about the whole thing. They were brisk and efficient in evacuating, but not overly panicked. Bruce decided that was a good enough reason to tap a native’s shoulder and ask what was going on. Luckily, he and all his sons were fluent in French so none of them would be left confused.

The citizen they had pulled aside, a blond that Bruce belatedly realized was the mayor’s daughter, blinked up at them as if surprised to be interrupted. Then realization came over her face, making her relax slightly.

“Oh! You are the Waynes, correct? Daddy told me you all would be visiting from Gotham this week,” she turned her head over her shoulder to survey the chaos around them. “This is an Akuma attack. It’s the result of Paris’s own resident nut job super villain. Since you will all be here for the next few days, it’s important for you to know,” she put her hands on her hips and stared the group down as if all of them weren’t half a foot taller than her and much more well built, and ignoring the fact that everyone else around them was fleeing to safety. “Keep your emotions in check. HawkMoth, the villain behind this whole disaster, takes advantage of people’s negative emotions to turn them into temporary super powered villains called Akumas. If you get too angry or sad or even scared, you’re vulnerable to him.”

“Attacks like this happen almost every day, at this point. It’s been going on for three years now. But you shouldn’t have to worry— right on time,” Chloè Bourgeois suddenly smiled smugly as a red and black figure could be seen running across rooftops in a blur. “That’s our primary superhero, Ladybug. Her partner Chat Noir shouldn’t be far behind. As long as we go to a shelter, everything should be fine. The closest one is this way,” she told them, starting to lead the group away.

“Are you not at all worried about the Eiffel Tower?” Dick asked, disbelief clear in his tone even as he and his family followed the teenager. “Isn’t that a massive source of tourism for this place?”

Chloè snorted, waving her hand dismissively. “Please. The Eiffel Tower gets destroyed every Tuesday, practically. The news station gets ransacked almost every Thursday, and for some reason the Louvre only gets attacked every other Saturday or so. The Seine gets decent action too. Everything will go back to normal as soon as the Akuma is defeated.”

“Normal?” Jason interjected, eyebrows furrowed. “How can the Eiffel Tower suddenly come back from being rubble?”

Chloé laughed, very out of place considering the emptying streets. “That’s because of Ladybug. Her power reverses all the damage from an Akuma attack, as if it never happened in the first place. If we’re caught outside and flattened by a thrown car or giant falling rock? Poof, brought back to life without any injuries once Ladybug beats the Akuma. Drown during an attack? Poof, brought back. Beheaded by a maniac Akuma after revenge? Poof, head back on,” the heiress explained rather crassly.

Her examples were making the men behind her grimmer and grimmer. They came to the girl far too easily to just be made up scenarios.

“Watch out!” An unfamiliar voice called out, a red figure suddenly landing right in front of them before a resounding explosion rocked the whole street. Chloé shrieked, covering her head with her hands. The Waynes braced themselves and did their best to stay upright, getting right back up as quickly as possible when that failed.

When the dust cleared, it revealed the woman they had briefly caught a glimpse at before. Ladybug. True to form, she was dressed in red with black spots, though it looked as if her skin tight uniform wouldn’t offer much protection. In front of her was a slightly transparent pink shield which—oh. Nope. That was a shield she made by swinging a yo-yo.

An honest-to-Batman YO-YO was her main weapon, and it apparently could create magical shields to deflect explosives.

“Chloe! What have I told you about getting to a shelter as soon as possible?” The heroine shouted at the blonde heiress, who just pointed at the men she had been leading.

“I was! But I ran into tourists who had no idea what to do, I was trying to get all of us to a shelter!” The blond defended herself, before her eyes widened and her pointing finger moved. “Behind you!”

Ladybug turned a bit, but didn’t seem surprised at all when a black blur came out of seemingly nowhere and knocked into the floating villain dressed in gaudy oranges and yellows, knocking the Akuma’s aim off track. The explosion that the villain had meant for Ladybug and the civilians she was protecting hit the side of the road instead, hurting nothing but concrete.

“You were almost late, Chaton,” Ladybug called to the figure dressed in black, her voice teasing and eyes amused. The figure batted the Akuma away on buy time before jogging over, revealing a blond boy in a distressingly leather costume that was far too similar to Catwoman’s for any of the Gotham males to be comfortable with.

“Not my fault you took off ahead of me, Milady!” He shot right back, just as teasingly.

“Graaaaaah!” The Akuma, Explosion, pushed himself back up to his feet and glared at the heroes. “Die, die, die! You want to laugh at me, you want to say how I’ve ‘blown up,’ I’ll blow YOU up! See how you like it!”

“Their dialogue never gets any better,” Chaton, who the Gotham boys guessed was the Chat Noir that Chloé has mentioned, quipped as he spun a bo staff in his hands lazily. “Milady?”

Ladybug nodded. “The Akuma is in their belt. We’re gonna have to get up close for this one,” she remarked, getting her yo-yo ready to call on Lucky Charm. But, before she got a chance to, a blur ran out from behind her and tackled the super villain. “No!”

Ladybug immediately ran over, not caring that the green eyed boy was an amazing fighter and managed to grapple the Akuma to the ground in seconds. Power flowed into the Akuma’s gloved hands, and Ladybug was barely able to pull the civilian away before he got blasted.

“Don’t tackle a magically powered villain, what are you thinking?!” She yelled at him, grabbing the boy into a princess hold and jumping back as Explosion tried to hit them. She ignored the boy’s protests and attempts to escape her grip, dodging around every punch and kick. Her eyes strayed to the side, and the heroine suddenly smirked.

“Chat noir! Now!”

Her partner lunged, using Explosion’s distraction to use Cataclysm on the guy’s belt. Ladybug released Damian’s legs so she could purify the butterfly, one-handedly swinging her yo-yo with barely any effort. After a few seconds the cure was cast, and the damage reversed. The red clad heroine looked over at her partner and Chloé, her mouth straightening into a frown.

“Chloé, can you get the victim to calm down and try to sort out the whole issue surrounding the video that was posted without his consent? Chat, go ahead and go. I got this sorted out.”

Ladybug didn’t wait for a response, turning her head to lock gazes with Bruce, who was clearly the oldest of her group of tourists and the one in charge. “Follow me, monsieur,” she said curtly, turning and half-dragging Damian with her by the arm. She waited until they reached an alleyway that would keep any of them from being easily noticed. She didn’t want anyone to catch this confrontation on camera.

“I understand you are new to Paris,” she said softly, her voice hard as she released her hold on the teen and swept her eyes over everyone he was with. “But this is not a game. You do not tackle an Akuma unless you have a nearly indestructible suit on and the powers to combat one, do you understand me?”

“I thought you could bring the dead back to life?” Another male said, his blue eyes sharp her his fluffy black hair. “Tim Drake, by the way.”

Ladybug nodded. “I can. But that doesn’t mean I want anyone injured or dead if I can help it. X-rays have shown that even the Cure leaves a few residual marks. If someone drowns and is brought back, their lungs are weaker than before. If someone was smashed by rubble, their x-rays show evidence of the breaks even if they are healed far better than normal time and medical procedures can accomplish. Phantom pains, aches, the damage done by death doesn’t go away just because magic fixed it. Little things remain, even if your memory of the death doesn’t,” she explained sharply. She turned to the green-eyed boy again, making mutual eye contact for the first time.

“Paris is my city. I don’t care how good you are at fighting, you cannot run into a battle like that again. I asked for heroes and vigilantes to be distracted or entirely sent away from coming here to avoid this exact situation and having to fight Akumas I might not be able to handle, and I am not above using my influence to get you deported for the same reasons. Am I understood?”

The boy opened his mouth, but couldn’t get a word out before him and Ladybug’s worlds shifted. Their eye contact sparked something, sending electricity through their bodies and making both of them blink and gasp.

Their point of view was cut in half. Damian found himself staring at Ladybug, but he could also see what could only be Ladybug’s point of view as she stared right back at him.

He raised one eyebrow slowly. Figures his soulmate would be a hero. He couldn’t see how a relationship with a civilian would work for him, though he hardly gave thought to relationships in general. From both her lecture and the way she handled the fight, he knew her to be experienced and professional. The way she held herself alone was enough to garner a spark of respect from him. The fact that the Wayne name didn’t seem to mean much of anything to her also helped.

And not just anybody could grab hold of him that easily and tote him around as he tried to escape their grip.

With a smirk, he held out his hand. Ladybug clearly had no idea that he was a vigilante as well, and he was going to have fun with that.

“My name is Damian Wayne, and apparently Paris is going to become an important city for me as well if you’re my soulmate. I promise not to interfere without your permission from here on.”

Ladybug just swallowed, her eyes wide and… scared? She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

If she didn’t already know that running away would mean he would find out her identity, she would have. But since they could see from each other’s point of view, that was not a good idea.

A few beeps sounded from her earrings, making Ladybug bite her lip.

“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen,” she said, ignoring the incredulous stares they were getting from Damian’s family. “I’m gonna go on the other side of this door,” she pointed to the door that she knew was unlocked and a safe place to detransform. “And then we are going to meditate until we can find a way to undo… this,” she gestured to her eyes, indicating the point of view issue.

“And then we can meet on the rooftops tonight, right?” Damian tried, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Ladybug glared at him, knowing what he was doing. He could obviously read that she was going to run away the moment she got the chance, her concern over her identity overruling her desire to know her soulmate. He was trying to make sure she didn’t.

“Fine,” she bit out reluctantly, opening the door in the alleyway and entering the fire exit it led to. She shut the door, allowing herself to detransform. Tikki remained dutifully out of eyeshot. “Meditate. Now,” she barked to the other side of the door.

Kwami, what is my luck?

—*—*—*—*—*

“I hate you so much,” Marinette growled, pouting as she buried her face into Damian’s shoulder. Her boyfriend, her soulmate, just chuckled as he returned her hug. “You were Robin this whole time?”

“Yes, Habibiti,” he said with amusement lacing his tone. It had taken two months and a Wayne-funded weekend trip to Gotham City (for only Marinette) for the girl to put together her boyfriend’s identity.

He had figured out her’s after two weeks.

“In my defense, I didn’t meet Robin until last night and I figured out it was you as soon as I got some sleep,” she defended herself.

“Maybe you would have put it together immediately if you hadn’t stayed up for the past thirty-six hours on a commission,” Damian gently scolded, earning a snort from his girlfriend.

“I’ll sleep when I die. Speaking of die. You owe me a lot of fabric and good food to apologize for keeping this secret before I kill you. I know you only did it to mess with me.”

Damian just laughed, unrepentant. It was true.

“I’ll ask Pennyworth to make your favorites.”

“You better.”

—*—*—*—*—*

#maribat #damian x marinette #daminette #soulmate AU #mlb x dc

[themusicplayedherlife]

Can you write a continuation of the Tim Drake x demigod reader where he introduced reader to the rest of the family?

a/n: This time it didn’t take years for me to finish this request lmfao! I didn’t write much interaction between the family because they’re so many members of the batfam and I can’t write group settings for the life of me??? but I def had some ideas about Damian and his curiosity towards Reader, anyway, anon! Hope you enjoy!

Meeting the family is inevitable, according to Annabeth after a long and winded rant about having dinner with Tim and his family from your end. 

Granted, you knew most of his brothers and sisters in the Hermes cabin (including his three adopted siblings that he arrived at camp with), but knowing your fellow campers is one thing, getting to know them as the family he was raised with? That’s another matter altogether.

You knew of Dick Grayson, son of Aphrodite; Jason Todd, son of Ares; and Cassandra, daughter of Psyche. How could you not? They are prominent members of Camp Half-Blood. Maybe not like Percy and the rest of your group, but it‘s hard to ignore the adopted children of Bruce Wayne, ally of the gods and demigods (you had Wonder Woman and his adopted children to thank for that). Not only were they good looking, but they excelled in combat from the very moment they stepped foot into camp.  

But you only know them as that—fellow campers. This is you getting to know them... better—intimately. And not to mention getting to finally meet THE Bruce Wayne and the rest of his mortal family members in person! No more second hand stories from Tim, or listening in on the stories his siblings would recount to the curious campers.

Wow. This is definitely out of your comfort zone, isn’t it?

A warm hand wraps around your cold fingers, steadying your shaky limbs.

“Hey,” Tim softly says, squeezing your fingers as another hand cradles your cheek. “They’re going to love you, χρυσή μου.”

My golden one. You practically melt at the softness and love in his voice when he calls you so. A reminder of how much you mean to him, of how much he loves you.

You smile involuntarily and lean into his touch.

You’re not given the chance to return the affection, the double doors of the manor being thrown open followed by a loud raucous of:

“He’s right there!” from Jason, and “Stop being such a dick,” from a tall, beautiful redhead with freckles followed by a lot more noise and bickering from what you assume is the rest of his family members.

You practically recoil, pulse beginning to pick up and fingers slowly beginning to twitch in his hold.

“Babe,” Tim starts, cutting through all the noise and he flashes you a smile, a reassuring one, with a squeeze of your hand. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

You nod and try to return the smile, but there’s no denying that his words and touch manage to ground you just a bit further.

“That's enough,” a deep, calm voice interjects, the earlier bickering coming to an abrupt stop as you remind yourself to breathe.

Bruce Wayne is a lot taller than you had imagined him to be—very handsome too. His stare is even more intense than you had expected, sharper and darker than the smolders he’d spare the pictures taken of him prompted or unprompted. And you can’t help the way your mind scans over him, searching and prodding like it usually does--there’s a darkness in this man that you can’t ignore. Burning deep and hot like hellfire. You wonder if it originates from his traumatic childhood, or if the darkness began to grow with the years--with his journey as the masked vigilante.

Tim has his own darkness, and so do his siblings, but Mr. Wayne? It seems to be tenfold. Controlled, sure, but barely hanging on by a thread.

Bruce pulls you out of your momentary awe, his voice somewhat gruff, but still managing to be kind. “Welcome home,” he says, mostly to Tim, but the small lift of his lips in your direction makes you feel welcomed as well. Yes, there’s a darkness in him, but there’s also a kindness that is rarely seen in others. It’s that kindness that you’re sure has raised Tim and his siblings, taught them that unbearable need to help others with no expectations of reciprocation. They’re just... kind to be kind.

Is it that kindness that stops him from bursting?

Tim tugs you along with him up the final steps of the manor where he hugs his adopted father after letting you go momentarily. “Thank you, Bruce.” He turns to you, holding out his hand for you to take and introducing you to him with an air of pride, as if he’s talked about you aside from being his partner to him before. And seeing the expression of familiarity flash behind Bruce’s blue eyes, you know he has.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” you offer a bit shyly, unsure of whether to offer him your hand or if to lean in for a hug. You’re not exactly sure what the proper etiquette is to greeting a parent, let alone your boyfriend’s father. You’ve only had the chance to interact with Percy’s mom, and even that is rare. With the rest it’s always been a “hello! Must steal your child for a quest, bye!” Never a proper sit down where you can properly introduce yourself to them. 

Relief fills you when Bruce helps you by offering you his hand, mindful of which hand Tim is holding to keep you steady—emotionally and physically. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Tim and Diana speak highly of you.”

You immediately feel the heat crawl on your skin. What exactly have they said? “Likewise, Mr. Wayne. And I just want to say, on behalf of all my friends, thank you for all that you have done for us at camp. We really appreciate it.”

Tim squeezes your hand when Bruce chuckles lowly and asks for you to drop the formalities, telling you to call him Bruce instead.

Before anyone else can introduce themselves to you or you can take note of who else has followed Bruce and Jason to the door, Jason lets out a loud groan. “Can we hurry this along? We know who she is already and I’m hungry!”

“Jason,” the same redhead from before scolds him, smacking him—quite harshly, might you add—on the arm before extending her hand in your direction. “Barbara Gordon.” Ah! Dick’s ex girlfriend! You’ve heard Tim and Dick mention her a couple of times before. Mostly about how she’s always down Dick’s throat for being too reckless or something, you’re not entirely sure. “I’m so glad you’re finally able to join us for dinner! We’ve been trying to convince Tim to bring you along for a while now!”

You know they have been. Tim has mentioned it before, but at the time, you weren’t exactly ready to be in a crowded room with strangers. You’re still not completely ready, but after a talk with Hazel and Annabeth, you decided you couldn’t put it off for much longer.

As Hazel said, “You love Tim, whether you want to admit it or not. And it’s pretty obvious Tim loves you, too! Making an effort to meet his family would show that to Tim without you having to say those words just yet.”

You squeeze Tim’s hand, hoping she’s right. “I’m sorry.”

She waves her hand, a warm smile on her face. “No, I’m sorry if we all seem a little impatient. I really hope we don’t put you off! We’re all just a little... eager to meet the person that has stolen our Timmy’s heart.”

“Babs!” Tim whines, but it goes ignored by Barbara.

She laughs. “Come on in! The rest of the family is waiting in the den.”

Dinner is chaotic. Not as chaotic as dinner is back at camp, but it’s still pretty chaotic.

The youngest and only biological child of Bruce Wayne, is Damian, a boy with a sharp tongue and a curious thing, eyeing you before quickly looking away with a huff and pretending he hadn’t just been staring at you. Unlike the rest of the family, the darkness in him is a speck compared to theirs, even if he speaks with harsh words and an air of indifference. There’s more of a childish innocence that surrounds him, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s attributed to the rest of his family trying to help him make the most of his childhood. 

You offer him a smile, one you hope doesn’t look strained or unnatural. You really do want to make him feel at ease with you. Make it easier for him to ask questions about you and your lineage like the rest of his family does.

Duke is the funniest of the group, not adopted, but still very much part of the family. He’s motivated, and just as smart as Tim, if their conversation about some riddle and case you briefly heard mentioned on the news is anything to go by. And just like Bruce and the rest of the family, he’s observant, maybe even more so than they are; offering you an out when it all becomes overwhelming by changing conversations or asking you if you need anything. He especially takes a liking to hearing stories of you and your mother, Athena, seemingly realizing that speaking about your mother is a clutch to you.

You can’t help it when you ask, “Are you sure you’re not a son of Athena’s?”

He’s taken aback by your question before laughing jovially. “That’d be so cool if I were, honestly! But nah, I’m just a regular ol’ meta-human.”

Dick snorts, leaning into your space to whisper loudly, as if to tease Duke—and completely ignoring the fact you lean away from him and closer to Tim—“Look at him nonchalantly trying to slip in that he’s not exactly human.”

Tim nudges Dick away from you with the palm of his hand, making his brother chuckle and back away with palms up in surrender. You thank Tim with a small smile which he returns.

Duke rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “How else was I supposed to say it?”

“Not at all,” Barbara adds in with a chirp, passing Cassandra the bowl of fruit that had been placed down by Alfred, their butler, something that you find really weird to say or even think. A butler! So weird.

“You guys are just jealous!”

Dick quirks an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m a child of Aphrodite.”

Jason pauses in his indulgence on seconds to flash him a smirk. “Ares.”

“Psyche,” Cassandra quietly adds as she adds fruit to her plate.

Tim grins. “Hermès.”

Damian glares at him without any heat. “My grandfather is Ra’s Al Ghul; my mother is Thalia Al Ghul; and my father is Batman.” Which is still wild to you. Who would’ve thought. I mean, other than the few conspiracies running around.

Barbara turns to you with an eye roll and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“Okay, all right, point taken! No need to flex. Damn.” Duke shakes his head. “A guy can’t even feel special.”

Bruce chuckles lowly. “You are special, Duke.” Duke lifts his head after huffing and beams, the rest of the family following after their father’s sincere words. “All of you are special.”

“But I’m more special, correct, father?”

A fond an exasperated chorus of “Damian!” fills the room.

The manor is quiet at night. Surprisingly enough.

Eleven people under one rooftop and you’re certain you could drop a pin on the floor and it’d resound throughout the manor.

And yet, even in the quiet, you and Tim lay awake in his childhood bedroom, too wired to fall asleep and give into your tiredness; both of you laying on your side and facing each other.

“You’re drained,” you whisper to Tim, brushing his hair falling over his eyes behind his ear.

He hums, closing his eyes as your fingers trail down the back of his ear and to his jaw. “I love my family, but it can be too much when everyone is together.”

You let out a small huff of a laugh, tapping your finger against his chin gently before dropping your hand down next to your face. “It’s not as bad as camp.”

“Maybe,” he agrees absentmindedly. “But at least at camp I can go hide out with you in your cabin or sneak off to the lake.”

”Guess so.”

His lashes flutter as brilliant blue eyes appear once more. “Meeting my family didn’t tire you out?”

You smile, hearing the worry in his voice. “A little. But it was fun meeting them. Loved them.”

“Yeah?” he asks, wrapping you up in his arms.

“Yeah,” you whisper, patting his chest with your palms, his heartbeat a soothing thump against your hand. “Almost as much as I love you.”

His long fingers wrap around your wrist just as it stutters under your hand. “Do you mean it?” He asks breathless, barely heard in the darkness of his room full of wooden book shelves and books you can’t believe he actually read at some point in his life. 

“What?” You ask, watching him as he brings the hand that had been resting on his chest to his lips.

He presses a gentle kiss against your skin, eyes never leaving yours. “That you love me.”

You freeze, eyes moving from the hand he’s kissing to his brilliant blue eyes that don’t seem to ever stop sparkling. Even in the darkness he’s pure light, and you don’t understand how he can shine so brightly when the darkness surrounds him, practically ready to devour him. But you wouldn’t let it. You would never let that darkness take a hold of him. And if it ever did, you’d fight to bring him back, even if it meant going back to Tartarus, you would. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips curve, smile growing and taking shape as he leans closer. Your hand rests on his cheek as you take him in; as he practically melts under your confession and touch. “I love you too, χρυσή μου.”

#tim drake x you #tim drake x reader #tim drake x y/n #tim drake imagine #timothy drake x reader #reader insert #request #queue: out saving the world

[cassiestephensart]

Due to my lack of post today, have some soft Batfam Headcanons

Some of these are mine, others I found

- All the kids have (and will) hide under Bruce's cape. (Bonus if its everyone at the same time and Bruce is trying hard not to trip over an unseen arm or leg)

- Bruce is like a statue when standing. All the young Robins have taken to climbing him for various reasons (boredom, to get his attention, fear of a spider, ect)

- Jason is a culinary artist. Dick will burn cereal (god help him)

- Damian is four foot nothing and his two older brothers abuse the fact that they can pick him up or toss him onto a couch way too easily

- No one (NO ONE) can sneak up on Alfred. Its impossible. All the Bats have tried, and all have failed.

- Even though only the youngest kids live at the manor, every member of the Batfam has their own room with various belongings in case they need to crash. (Jason took the locks off the windows of his room so he sleeps at the manor way more than anyone realizes. Alfred knows, but says nothing)

- The Bats all have each other's backs at ALL times. You can't blindside one Bat because another one is already punching you.

- They take bullets for each other and then argue about it.

- You do not try and wake a Batkid. Don't. Just don't. I don't care how peaceful they look. If you put a hand on them, you will be punched. (Bruce has suffered many bruises because of this). Daddybats is the only one who doesn't because he can't risk hitting one of his kids who comes into his room after a nightmare.

- Diana Prince is named Godmother to all the Batchildren in Bruce's will. Alfred (of course) and Clark are both named Godfather.

- Stephanie runs an anonymous Snapchat for the vigilantes of Gotham. It involves lots of candid videos of Nightwing dancing and other Batkids falling asleep. The Snapchat is followed by almost every citizen of Gotham.

- Jason has been caught several times in public with his siblings by the paparazzi. So they decided he was a "bodyguard" for the Waynes. Of course, his appearance set off several conspiracy theories about Jason Todd's untimely death, but he looks so much older now no one can be sure.

- Half of Damian's closet is Dick's clothes. T-shirts, sweaters, even most of Dick's old clothes from when he was Damian's age. One time, Damian took one of Jason's sweatshirts by mistake. Everyone was too surprised to say anything and Damian was too stubborn to admit his fault. So Jason let him keep it.

- The other Bat guilty of stealing clothes is Cass. She regularly wears her brothers' clothes, resulting in outfits with Dick's shirt, Jason's jacket, Tim's sneakers and Damian's scarf. (They think she does it to establish dominance, but she genuinely likes the way all the clothes combine to smell like home)

- Damian snacks constantly, even more than Dick. He's a growing boy who burns off almost every calorie every night, so he's eating a hole through Alfred's pantry. Junk food used to make him sick, but he's since gotten used to chips and cheese puffs and HOARDS them.

- Jason and Dick are HUGE. Both of them. Dick is 6'0" and though he is more on the slender side, he's still hella built. Jason is taller by three inches, and much thicker (very much a tank). They unintentionally combine to make a very intimidating presence.

- All the batgirls have muscles that no one would BELIEVE. I'm talking full abs and bicep action. You can't be skinny trying to throw someone twice your weight.

- Jason (like Bruce) is a softie when it comes to kids. His niece asks to paint his nails neon pink? Knock yourself out kiddo. On the other hand, Tim has no clue how to handle children. He was once left to babysit a kidnapped child while the police showed up and tried making conversation with the two year old about physics (it didn't work out)

- Bruce has an open door policy for every young hero. No explanation needed. Just ask to stay the night and Alfred will have a bed ready for you in 20 mins.

- Damian and Duke binge watch Disney movies together and Dami will sing along if he's sleepy.

- Barbara will roll her wheelchair over another sibling's foot if they piss her off (she makes sure they're not wearing shoes to ensure maximum damage)

(Sorry for the long post :3 feel free to add your own!)

- Cas

#batfamily #batfam #batboys #batkids #batman #batman and robin #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #duke thomas #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #kate kane #alfred pennyworth #headcanon #dc headcanon #batfam headcanons #fluff #text post

[rxdshood-a]

the ghost of you // self para

WHO: Jason Todd & Stephanie Brown. Mentions of Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake.

WORD COUNT: 3159 words. 

LOCATION: Wayne Manor.

GENERAL NOTES: Jason comes to visit Steph finally at the manor. Steph tells him what she knows. A self para with a sprinkling of technically self-interaction! Jason angsts. We all cry.

WARNINGS: Mentions of past death, injuries, anxiety, past trauma, violence, blood.

Jason hated being in the manor more than anything. There were too many ghosts. Too many foggy memories that made his chest tighten with a storm of emotions that he didn’t want to name. It loomed over him like it did back when he was a foot shorter and daunted by the fact that Bruce could change his mind at any moment. Even older and taller than he was back then it still feels daunting, the anxiety was already threatening to make him turn tail and run, but he had to do this. If not for Steph herself, but Tim.

The mere thought of Tim made Jason grimace, like poking at a sleeping bear with a stick his anger was reignited with a fury. The green that always lingered in the back of his mind seemed to perk up, circling like a shark. He had to take a few even deep breaths, fingers curled up into two tight fists before he could feel the anger and green smoke recede back. The combination of his unresolved anger at his brother’s disappearance and the anxiety and bad blood the manor brought was likely a disaster waiting to happen. Regardless, Jason trucked on. He had to. He would.

Opening the door to the manor Jason surveyed the long, seemingly quiet hallways. It was like getting slapped in the face with nostalgia. Half memories he could somewhat recall. There were some happy ones, like trying on the Robin suit for the first time. Him jumping out from behind the batcomputer and scaring Alfred, laughing in utter excitement and claiming it was the best day of his life. The nights he would sit in the kitchen and read while eating whatever cookies Alfred had made. The feeling of finally belonging. There were bad memories too. Screaming matches with Bruce, too many ‘I’m not Dick!’s thrown around. Too many plans made with Dick that were left abandoned, Jason hoping and staying too close to the phone only to be met with silence. Lashing out at Dick as he reached the end of his very short line of patience with him, going as far to break formation in their sparring session to bite the older Robin’s arm.

Dick still had a scar on his arm from the incident. 

The anxiety stayed a constant presence, each step up the long manor stairs feeling all too dread inducing. The silence in the manor was something that Jason hated more than anything, even as a kid. It was so big and so quiet. The silence was always broken anytime Dick actually visited, whether it was broken by his squabbles with Bruce, or the pair of them actually laughing and enjoying video games or movies together. Other than that the silence was broken by him, making his presence bigger and louder. Constantly he was yelling, being reprimanded by the butler for shouting at inappropriate times, the laughter whenever he and Alfred would cook dinner together. If he didn’t make extra noise then Jason would drown in the silence, the cold the silence brought as the cavern between him and Bruce grew and grew, all before he even had died and it had become a grand canyon between them. 

It was just one foot after the other. Simple, right? Wrong. 

Each step brought ghosts, memories he didn’t want. Flickers of memories that haunted the man every time something triggered it. Passing the library, days and nights spent in there, reading all he could and perking up anytime Bruce entered, giving him a book suggestion. The time spent there together, reading in silence and feeling the smile that would play at his lips as he did, constantly aware of the man’s presence. It was their own form of bonding, it didn’t leave Jason no matter how hard he tried to forget it. The hope it gave him that led him to believe he actually could have a father. A family.

A shudder wracked through Jason’s body and he pushed forward, trying not to linger outside the library. A closed, all too familiar door, had him stopping in his tracks once more. His stomach lurched as he found his feet bringing him to the door, hand laying flat against the cool wood and staring at the doorknob like it’d open itself. 

His room. His old bedroom. If it wasn’t locked, Jason was sure that if he opened up that door it would be just how he had left it before it all. His clothes all folded and tucked away in the wardrobe drawers. His textbook lay on the desk collecting dust. The mere thought had Jason grimacing and staggering back, immediately looking away. Ghosts. It was a thought that had made itself repeatedly known the moment he stepped onto the Wayne Manor grounds. There was a piece of this place that wouldn’t ever leave him, no matter how far he traveled. It’d always be a part of him, as much as he despised it. 

Jason knew what room Steph was in, had been lamenting on it, whether he wanted to even do this, but ultimately pushed through. It wasn’t hard to figure she’d be holed up in Tim’s room. It didn’t take the skills of a Robin to know that she’d be in his room. As far as he knew of, Steph hadn’t seen many people save for those in the manor currently. Refusing to see anyone, staying silent on the groupchat end. He didn’t blame her. This trauma was something Jason was entirely too familiar with. 

(The sound of maniacal cackling echoed in his head, phantom pains of bones breaking and sticky blood beneath his body caused Jason to shudder.)

It wasn’t something you could get over within a few days. Months even. She was grieving and processing trauma she endured all in one sitting. That could knock even the most trained bat kids on their ass. There’s only so much you can compartmentalize before it's all spilling over and you’re cracking and breaking at every seam. Maybe it comes out in anger like it did with Jason. Or maybe it came out in agonizing sadness. Whatever Jason was about to walk into, he was more than wary to see what state the Gotham girl was in. Scared that he may just see entirely too much of himself reflected back in her. 

Approaching the door, Jason hesitated in his approach. He didn’t like feeling like this, off balance. The manor did that to him, left him unstable and on shaky ground that never stopped moving underneath his feet. A heavy sigh left the man and he scowled, finally making a decision and moving forward, turning the doorknob in his hand and entering the bedroom. The sight of the evidence walls was what Jason registered first, entirely too amazed at how chaotic Tim’s brain seemed to work. He was constantly analyzing, thinking, moving. That was reflected in the evidence thrown up on his walls. Then his green eyes moved to the unmoving lump buried under the comforter on the former Robin’s bed, a tuft of blonde hair sticking out near the pillows. 

“Your footsteps don’t sound like Alfred. Too light to be Bruce’s, but too heavy to be Dick’s. So I can only assume it’s Jason.”

Steph’s voice startled Jason slightly, hand gripping the doorknob entirely too tight as he stared into the bedroom and hovered in the doorway. He didn’t know what to say. What do you say in these situations? You would think he’d be an expert on this, how to deal with trauma from torture and yet. 

“Look at you. You still got those Robin trained ears.” Jason’s voice sounded stilted against the silence of the room. 

“Not Robin anymore, or Batgirl. Or Spoiler even.”

Jason frowned at that, finally fully entering the room and shutting the door behind him quietly. He grabbed the desk chair at Tim’s unoccupied desk and sat down, wheeling it closer to the bedside but still staying a slight distance away to give her the space she may want. Her back was still to him, unmoving, not even shifting to look at him when he sat down. 

“What does that mean?”

A sharp sigh, irritation bleeding into the girl’s tone in an instant, “what do you think it means, Jason? I’m nothing. I’m hanging up the suit. I’m burning it, whatever I can do to get it away from me. What good am I as a vigilante, as some makeshift hero, if I can’t even save Tim?” The tremble was clear in her voice now, body seeming to follow suit in the way it was now shaking beneath the covers. “I was like a lamb sent to the slaughter. I made it so easy for them to get me and use me as a pawn so he could get to Tim. How am I supposed to believe I can help people like that? I let Tim get sent off to his death, Jason.”

Her words had Jason alarmed in an instant. Death? 

“Stephanie, you didn’t do anything. Ra’s al Ghul is one fucked up old ass man with a lot of experience and power at his fingertips. He would’ve done something, anything, to get to Tim one way or another, even if it meant not using you to get to him. You didn’t send him off to his death, I don’t—” Jason let out a harsh breath, running his hands through his hair and causing entirely too many strands to stick up every which way in a chaotic mess. “How would you have sent him off to his death? You didn’t do anything to cause that, Stephanie. We will find him. You know we won’t stop until we do.”

The silence grew, tension palpable in the air of the room and then finally, the lump that Jason had been talking to moved. Steph hissed and shifted to turn to look at him head on, tugging the blanket down and moving enough that she was propped up somewhat against the stack of pillows behind her. Jason took in the purple and yellowing bruises on her face, the bandage covering her cheek. The finger shaped bruises that were healing on her chin and neck were enough to cause his stomach to roll, a flare of anger igniting in his chest. There was a peak of a bandage from the collar of her sweater that was laid over her collarbone. Ra’s clearly did a number on her, it made Jason grimace. The poor kid. 

“He took him, Jason.” Steph started, swallowing hard and tears shining in her tired eyes. “He wanted him. He kept going on about his obsession with Tim, that he wanted him and that’s why he used me. That Tim would yield to him because—” a broken sob left Stephanie’s mouth and before Jason registered it, his calloused fingers closed around hers and squeezed, her smaller hand trembling in his. “—because he wanted to save me, a girl that he thought he could have even though...even though Ra’s had already ‘laid claim’. He’s with him, Jason. Wherever Ra’s is, that is where you’ll find Tim.”

She looked exhausted. The words having taken a toll on her already bruised and battered body. Jason’s mind was going fast, taking in all the information the girl had offered up to him. His hand squeezed her own and he swallowed hard. That was more information than any of them had. He could work with that. He could get Tim back, or try to at least. 

“He’ll expect you.” 

Stephanie’s words had Jason faltering, looking at her face with a furrowed brow, “what do you mean?”

“The bats. I’m sure he’ll expect us. We’re his family. Of course we’d go after him. We’re just some trained vigilantes he’s come up against before. He has his knowledge on us already, I have no doubts about that. So how do we get around that? How do we get an edge against, as much as I fucking loathe to admit, an incredibly intelligent man?” 

The thought posed a good question, Jason at a loss of an answer and merely shook his head, looking to Steph to see where she was going with this. 

“Would he be expecting powered individuals who care just as much for Tim as we do?” Steph finally asked and in a moment it clicked, Jason sitting up fully with wide eyes.

“You want to have his old team help save him.”

Steph nodded. It was a valid thought. It was the bare bones of a plan, an idea barely if he was honest. Despite the clear anguish and pain in the girl’s features there was a fire that burned in her eyes, one he recognized in his own gaze, in Tim’s. It came with the territory of being a Gotham kid, of seeing this city in all its ugly glory and still loving it with everything you had in you. No matter how many times it beat you down, unrelenting and merciless in the pain it dealt upon you, you still came back. You still called it home, nowhere would compare, no matter how hard you tried. It was different for those who weren’t born here, grew up in its grungy streets and was brought up in the belly of the beast. 

Sure, Dick grew up there to a degree, but he didn’t really get it. Not in Jason’s mind at least. Tim got it, of course he did. He was a Gotham boy, born and raised, but he and Steph understood it differently. They saw the streets, the ugly and violence that you had to wade your way through, trusting yourself before anyone else. Jason came out jaded, guarded and all too quick to throw out harsh and angry words to keep people at arm’s length. Steph on the other side of the coin was warm and loud, personality filling up a room in an instant to fill up the emptiness she felt and mistrust she quietly hid behind big smiles and sarcastic quips. That mistrust stayed with you, no matter how long you hadn’t been fighting your way through Gotham’s shady underworld. 

What also stayed with you was a fire that no matter how dim it got, stayed lit. Gotham could break your spirits, your bones, your everything, but you’d still come back kicking and screaming. All Gothamites did. That was the fire that Jason saw in Steph’s eyes, the determination that was attempting to trump the trauma and fear she clearly felt. Despite how much pain and emotional trauma she had been put through with her time spent at Ra’s hands, she was still determined to get Tim back. It was a sentiment that Jason could return.

The thought of being anywhere close to the man had shivers running up Jason’s spine. The thought that they both shared the pit rage and the effects of it made him sick. He never wanted anything in common with that man. To think that he could lash out in a similar way to the villain painted a grimace upon his face. There were nights he wondered if the old fuck ever agonized over it like he did. If he felt out of control when that green haze crept to the forefront of his brain and took over, painting everything an angry, ugly shade of green that made him go charging in like a bull. Probably not. Jason hated that part of him more than anything like he had been broken and put together wrong when he came back. There were jagged edges that stuck out still, cutting even those he cared for the most despite himself. 

Looking at Steph, Jason saw too much of himself. She was falling apart, doing her best to keep it together enough to tell him what she knew, the only way she thought she could help in her state. His fingers squeezed hers and his lips pulled up the faintest bit in a smile. He was never good at this part, being comforting. He wasn’t Dick who comfort seemed to come to all too easily. His comfort was stilted at best, unsure and awkward, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Even when he was Robin there were far too many times Dick had the right thing to say to quiet the fierce anger that raged inside of him. It was one reason he had looked up to the first Robin so much, he was just so good at everything he did while Jason felt like everything he touched turned rotten and crumbled beneath his fingertips. 

“Thank you for telling me, Steph.” 

Was that the right thing to say? Sometimes...sometimes Jason wished he could ask his brother for advice without the immediate urge to take it back, to lash out in unresolved anger he held towards the older man. 

“I know this is hard to talk about, that you’re having a hard time with this, but this will help. We’ll find him. You know we will.” Jason said firmly, the former Batgirl’s fingers trembling in his own and a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I hope so. God, I hope so.” Steph’s breath hitched and a sob fell from her lips, pulling her hand back in an instant to cover her face with both of them. 

“Hey, you did good. You did great, even. Come on, lay back down. You talked enough for one day.” Jason soothed, standing up and pushing the desk chair back to gently wrap his scarred fingers around Stephanie’s arms and squeezed. 

He eased her back down into a lying position, hating the way her sobs and hiccups tugged painfully at his heart. As much of a pain in the ass she was, Jason had grown fond of the girl who stuck around the bats and had heart eyes for the boy he once loathed for replacing him, now a little brother in his eyes. He pulled the blanket up over Steph’s trembling form and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. 

“You tell anyone I was this nice to you, I’ll kick your ass.”

A startled laugh left Steph, it obviously surprised both of them if her eyes widening a beat later was anything to go by. Jason’s lips pulled up into a wry smile and he patted her shoulder. 

“Get some rest, kid.”

Stepping back, Jason looked at the larger than life girl who now seemed entirely too small and reluctantly moved out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence in the manor halls weighed down on him. Jason had vital information now, but no plan. He hardly ever was the man with a plan, that was Tim, even Dick. Now he had to be that man to save his little brother and bring him back home. He had no idea how in the hell he was going to do that. 

#int: self para #self para: 002 #self para: the ghost of you #int: stephanie brown #stephanie brown: 001 #blood tw #death mention tw #trauma mention tw #violence tw #injury tw #anxiety tw

[bat-losers-inc]

Kintsugi: Chapter 9

Summary: Final Crisis/Red Robin AU. Dick admits Tim to a psychiatric facility after Bruce is lost in time. Jason finds him suffering at the hands of a Scarecrow-copycat and breaks him out. While safe in Jason’s apartment, Tim still struggles with panic attacks and drug withdrawal. At a loss for what to do, Jason calls Roy Harper.

Pairings: Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Roy Harper & Jason Todd.

                                               ___________________

Jason cut a path through the crowded club with Roy trailing after him, his head thrown back to peer over the mass of bodies on the dancefloor.

Jason stopped to orient himself before shouting back to Roy, “See anything?”

“Nothing yet!”

Jason muttered a curse to himself. The club was so loud he could barely hear himself think, though a small voice at the back of his head piped in that the bass might not sound nearly as loud if it wasn’t combined with the anxiety-induced thump of blood pounding incessantly at Jason’s temples.

He checked his phone again, hoping more than ever for a text from Tim saying he’d just gone out to get some air. Or, hell, even a text from Dick saying he’d found Tim— that he was safe and sober and at the manor. An hour ago his blood would have run cold at getting a text like that— thinking about how betrayed Tim would feel if he let something like that happen to him, but now? Now even knowing that Tim was with Dick: his brother who he didn’t trust and who he saw as more of a jailer than a family member, would be better than the alternatives. Because the alternatives weren’t good.

At least with Dick, he’d be safe. At least with Dick, he’d stay clean. Jason tried to calm his racing heart but every time he reminded himself to just remain calm he pictured Tim lying dead in a back alley from an overdose or cardiac arrest.

He checked his phone again. Not even a missed call.

Someone stumbled into Jason, nearly knocking him into a group of dancers.

“Hey, watch it!” Jason shouted, pulling his eyes away from the crowd to the intruder who grasped tightly at his arms to stop his fall. It was a teenager, perhaps a few years younger than Tim, and definitely too young to be in a place like this.

They found their footing and the teen released Jason’s arms. A flash of red and pink caught Jason’s eye, standing out against the overwhelming palette of blue and chrome that blanketed every available surface of the Iceberg Lounge.

Jason caught the boy’s wrist and pulled it back towards him, peering critically at the small plastic bag and the pink and white capsules that rolled around inside.

“Where did you get these?”

“The ‘fuck’s it to you?”

Jason grabbed the boy by his shirt collar as he struggled to yank free of his grip and jerked him closer until they stood face to face in the press of bodies. The kid was skinny for someone his age but he didn’t show the sweaty, spacey look of someone in the throes of withdrawal.  

“I’m not gonna narc on you. I just wanna know if you bought it from a guy on the floor or at the back.”

The boy stopped struggling and eyed him warily. “On the floor. The guy said the back room was busy.”

‘Busy’, what the hell did that mean? Jason knew the look of most of the arms dealers’ hired help and hadn’t seen them lingering protectively about the club. That was good. It meant he could probably eliminate them from the list of potential occupants in the back rooms which left him with the bigger drug dealers and the mafia bosses. Walking in on the wrong scene could turn out to be deadly.

“What guy?” he asked.

The boy turned back towards the way he’d just come and stood up a bit taller on his toes to peek over the heads of the partygoers around them. He jabbed his finger at a man moving along the far wall on the outskirts of the dance floor. “Him.”

“Thanks,” Jason snatched the bag out of his fingers and upended it on the floor. He ground the pills into a powder under his boot and released the kid.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you? 

“Oh, please! You’re not gonna die.” The seal had already been broken on the bag when he’d first caught sight of it and he knew that nobody around here sold two-fers of those pills, at least not if they wanted to make any money. That meant the kid had already swallowed some, enough to cut his craving at the very least, and Jason didn’t feel bad for doing away with the spares in case they fell into the wrong hands. “Besides, I only said I wasn’t gonna narc. I made no promises about anything after that.”

“Asshole,” the kid spat before shoving past him.    

“Ah, don’t worry, Jaybird. I still love you.” Roy slung his arm across his shoulders before leaning in to be heard over the noise. “So, any clues?”

Jason’s eyes were still trailing the man by the far wall as he slipped through the crowd, his eyes searching the partygoers with more than a casual interest.  “Possibly. There’s a chance Tim’s in one of the back rooms, though I have no idea why if there’s a guy selling on the floor.”

It could have just been the coloring of the strobing lights as they washed across them, but Jason could have sworn Roy’s face paled a little.

“What?” he asked.

“That kid from earlier seemed like he was just a casual user from around these parts. Maybe he comes around every once and awhile and the dealer knows him so he sells as asked.”

Roy continued, “but Tim… well, he might be a different case. I mean, even if you ignore the bruises that haven’t faded yet, he doesn’t really look the type. If he is as bad off as we think he is, then he might seem like easy pickings for a dealer looking to turn a regular sell into a windfall.”

He was right.

Jason turned and shoved hurriedly towards the back of the club, eyes locked on the dealer as he pocketed some folded bills and headed towards the back rooms.

They broke free of the crowd on the dance floor.

“Jason,” Roy called in warning. “Wait a sec. Shouldn’t we make a plan before we—”

“In all of our years working together, when have we ever had a plan?”

Roy’s hand on his forearm drew him up short like a ship to anchor. Jason looked back and stared into Roy’s face, worry lines stretching his skin taught across his strong forehead and cheekbones.

“I’m serious, Jason. This is dangerous.”

Jason felt for him, but he couldn’t afford to add Roy’s worries to the anxious weight that he already carried within his chest— a nauseating sensation that made him unsure if his heart was sinking deeper into his gut or if his stomach was rising like a wave to meet it. Either way, the balance was precarious and one wrong word from Roy could tip it.

So Jason pulled away, saying simply, “Tim needs us.”

He turned just in time to duck under the raised arm of a waitress, her tray piled high with empty glasses and beer bottles. His eyes cut back to the dealer, picking up the lost trail like a hunter in the forest, only to find a door swinging shut in his wake.

Jason lunged forward and wedged his body in between the door and its frame. The dealer turned back and for one wordless second, they locked eyes with Jason half-pinned in place before he shoved his way into the back room with Roy right on his heels.

Roy locked the door.

Jason scanned the room, working out the exits and all of the people who could pose as obstacles to that exit point. Were they armed or would they just get in his way?

“Jason!”

Tim seemed pleased to see him. It should have been flattering, but looking closer Jason saw how Tim’s eyes kept trying to fix on his face only to slip off with each attempt, his lids heavy and blinking at half-mast. He noted the looseness of his limbs, that lack of a defined tension that had hummed as steady as an electric current through his every glance and action since Jason had first set eyes on him. By now, it felt like part of his genetic makeup and Jason wanted to be happy that it was gone— but this calm demeanor that Tim was putting off felt equally foreign and inhospitable: hermetically sealed to keep out all the bad sensations no matter what that cost him. So yeah, Jason couldn’t trick himself into feeling flattered by Tim’s excitement to see him here, after all, it was easy to be friendly with strangers when everything was dulled out to the fourth degree.

Jason pulled his gaze from Tim to the other two men who lounged next to him on the couch. One sat on the far side, watching them with mild interest as he sipped his drink. The other leaned forward to throw his arm across Tim’s back.

He perched his chin on Tim’s shoulder. “Friend of yours?”

The hint of a smile on his lips. Tim nodded, seemingly unfazed by the physical contact of the stranger against him. Jason reminded himself to breathe and not take it personally that Tim would react like this with a stranger but still flinched back any time Jason made a sudden reach for his phone. It’s the drugs, he reminded himself, but that didn’t change the fact that this guy was far too familiar for someone Tim had only just met.

“Are you looking for anything in particular, or just browsing?” His eyes were on Jason now. He winked.

He doesn’t matter, Jason thought furiously. He swallowed back whatever self-righteous rage was rising in him, slipped his hand into Tim’s, and pulled him up from the couch.

“C’mon. We’re going home.”

Tim wobbled before righting himself with a hand on Jason’s bicep.“But, I—”

“Hang on,” the man on the far side of the couch sat up suddenly, his drink sloshing in its glass. “He hasn’t paid up yet.”

Jason yanked his wallet from his back pocket. “How much?”

“Well, that depends,” this time from the other dealer as he stood up and moved towards a table where a variety of small pill bags were spread out in neat little piles. He spread his hands out over them like a magician showing off an ordinary deck of cards before pulling off a magic trick. “How much is he buying? 5 pills? 10? 30, if he’s looking to share. It looks like it would do you both some good to relax a little.”

“We’re not buying anything. I’ll pay for whatever he’s taken already and that’s it.”

The men shared a look across the back of the couch. It clearly wasn’t what they had planned for. Still, they recovered fast, Jason had to give them that.

“Harsh, it’s no wonder he came here without you looking all wrung out like he did. It was all we could do to give him something on the house, just to keep him upright.”

“Rodney, shut up,” the man on the far side of the couch stood. “What he’s trying to say is that we haven’t gotten the chance to start talking prices.”

“I’m sorry, are you two running a drug business or a social event?”

Rodney apparently thought nothing of taking his partner’s advice.

“Listen,” he stepped around the table and came back to face Jason, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder like he was dispensing some sage wisdom.

Jason shrugged off his hand.

“For God’s sake, Rodney. Can’t you ever just shut your mouth— ”

“Mick…” Rodney held up a hand. “Mickey, chill out, would you? I’m only trying to make a point here.”

He turned back to Jason. “As I was saying, a sales job is a sales job, no matter what you’re selling. And some customers need a bit of wooing before they make a deal.”

“Wooing?” Jason’s calm snapped. He grabbed the man by the neck and threw him up against the wall, his choking grip cutting off his pained cry as his head connected with a bang . “Is that what you call loading a 17-year-old kid up with drugs and alcohol before taking him for all the money he’s got, and maybe then some? Trust me, I know you’re type, Rodney , and I don’t buy this ‘friendly guy’ act for one fucking second.”

“Leave him alone, Jason.” Tim was yanking at his arm where it was applying ever-increasing pressure to the dealer’s throat. “Leave him!”

“Roy, take Tim out the back. I’ll settle this and meet you across the street.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Roy step up to Tim and attempt to steer him out of the room by the elbow, urging quietly, “Come on, let’s go”.

Rodney was spraying spittle onto Jason’s wrist in his laborious attempts to draw a full breath.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tim snapped back, “I chose to come here. If you don’t like it, then… leave.”

“We’re not leaving here without you,” said Jason.

“Well, grab a drink then!”

Jason had lost all his patience. “Roy, get him out of here!”

More sounds of a struggle outside of Jason’s peripheral vision. Jason imagined Roy making a more aggressive grab at Tim’s arm this time and Tim shoving just as violently out of his grip. Suddenly, Tim was standing on Jason’s right. Before he had time to do more than register this fact, he struck down at his elbow, breaking his grip on Rodney’s neck. The man slid to the floor, spluttering and clutching at his throat.

Jason stared at Tim where he stood beside him, wavering ever so slightly to keep his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to keep you safe. To bring you home.”

Tim laughed and placed a hand against the wall to brace himself. “Home, Jason?”

“Why are you being like this, Tim? We had an agreement.”

“We did, but now I think we should…” The words took a long time to come to him, “part ways.”

Yeah, thought Jason, that sounds like a great idea when you can’t even stand up straight.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I got you out of that hellhole that Dick left you to rot in. I saved you… I’m still trying to save you, though apparently from your own stupidity.”

Tim shoved off the wall and took a lurching step forward until he could glare right up at Jason.“First of all, fuck you! I don’t need you to save me, you egotistical prick.”

“Second,” Tim laughed again and threw his hands out at his sides. “One act of brotherly kindness in the eight years we’ve known each other — eight years —  doesn’t mean you can decide what’s best for me. Do you get it now, Jason? Ha! Do you under— ”  

Jason slapped him once, hard and fast. Tim’s head snapped to the side, a red bloom spreading across his cheek and chin. He stumbled backward and caught himself with his shoulder against the wall, where he slumped and stayed that way.

“Jason!” Roy was pulling him a safe distance away, one step, two, his grip on his arm tight and reprimanding without anything needing to be said.

Tim reached up to touch his cheek, his finger worrying a cut on his bottom lip that was starting to ooze a slow trickle of blood. It felt like an eternity before he returned his gaze and Jason was struck with the sudden need to shout, I’m sorry! Can’t you see I’m sorry? Can’t you see how much I put on the line: my heart, my reputation, and my sanity, all of it just to help you? What more do I have to do to convince you?

“My, my,” Jason witnessed Tim’s startled flinch— the way he jerked to attention. His eyes jumped to a spot behind Jason’s shoulder and widened, he pressed himself back against the wall, palms flat. Jason didn’t need to look, he knew that voice. “It’s like a telenovela in here. Good for T.V., but so very bad for businesses.”

Jason turned to see Penguin standing in the corner of the room, his suit cutting a sharp black and white outline on his robust figure, the shiny head of his cane glowing a menacing icy blue under the Iceberg lounge’s lights. Two men flanked them, guns held up at the ready. The dealer from the floor was no longer in the room, hell, he was probably the one that had slipped out and gone crying to Penguin in the first place. If I was him I wouldn’t show my face again either.

Jason felt like the room had suddenly become a scene in a snowglobe, all of them frozen where they stood.

“We’re sorry,” Roy finally broke the silence. “We’ll pay and leave right away. You won’t see us in the Iceberg Lounge again, we swear.”

“Oh, but after you put on such a performance for my other valued customers? No, no, you’ve obviously had some serious problems at the hands of my salesmen here. Let’s sit down and see if we can work things out like gentlemen, hmm?”

Jason’s palms were sweating. He wanted to wipe them on his pant legs but was too afraid that the sudden movement might earn him a bullet in the head. Instead, he raised them slowly.

“It was just a personal issue between brothers.” he gestured between himself and Tim. “We shouldn’t have brought it into your place of business. We’ll just take it outside.”

He reached blindly behind him and grabbed at Tim’s shirt, tugging him as he started for the door. “Come on, Tim.”

“Sit down.”

“I—”

“Sit down, ” A series of clicks as multiple guns released their safeties as if on some silent cue. “Or I’ll blow a hole in your friend’s face where his eye used to be.”

The muzzle of a gun was pressed against the back of Roy’s head where he stood half-turned between Penguin and his men and Jason and Tim across the room. He stared between Jason and the couch in front of him. Back and forth. His eyes pleading with Jason silently.

Fuck.

Jason sat, pulling Tim down onto the couch with him. Roy was shoved down on Jason’s other side.

“Now,” started Penguin, taking a seat and undoing the button on his suit jacket so it fell easily at his sides, “as I understand it, your brother came here looking to have a good time. There’s nothing wrong with that, I mean, we all need to take the edge off a bit every once and awhile, right?”

Jason didn’t like the words he was putting in his mouth.“Yes, but—”

“And he has the money to pay for his drug of choice?”

“Yes,” Tim replied, fishing a fold of crumpled bills out of his pant pocket and dropped it into Penguin’s extended hand.

That’s my money, thought Jason. It’s not his to use and fuck up his life with. If only he could say that in a way that didn’t make him sound like a cranky five-year-old who got his toy fire truck stolen at playtime. Even if he could, it didn’t matter. To Penguin, money was money and business was business; no matter who the customer was or whose money they were using to pay for products with. For as long as he could buy off public officials and use their influence to rise a little higher into the inner circle of Gotham’s elites, Penguin took no sides.

Penguin adjusted his monocle and counted off the bills. “Benzodiazepine, was it?”

This question wasn’t directed at Jason and it was the dealer, Mick, who answered him. “Yeah, Charlie said that’s all he asked for on the floor.”

Penguin harrumphed testily, “So, what’s the problem here? Don’t you want him to get what he came here for? I mean, what’s it to you if it makes him happy?”

“Yeah, Jason,” Tim eyed him, “Don’t you want me to be happy? I thought you cared about me.”

There it was again, that ever so manipulative streak that Tim had of playing Jason’s affections against him. He wasn’t trying to hide it now and Jason could do nothing but stare him down and reply, “We have Bezos at home. We don’t need anymore.”

Penguin motioned Rodney over. Jason watched the dealer lean down to Penguin’s level and exchanged whispered notes. Finally, Penguin leaned back in his chair.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Chum, but Guppy here’s only taken two. The price of that isn’t even worth ten minutes of my time. Make it an even four, at the very least, and we have a deal.”

“Yeah, okay, four then. I’ll pay for four.”

Rodney stepped in and placed two pills on the glass tabletop: one in front of Jason and the other in front of Roy.

“Why don’t you give them a try, see what all the hype's about.”

Roy’s hand gave a discreet spasm against him where it rested on the couch between them. There wasn’t a lot of space dividing them on the small couch so Jason could feel the bump of his knuckles as his hand curled into a tight fist. Jason dropped his eyes to it, examining the white knuckle grip turning red where his fingernails pierced the flesh of his palm.

Jason glanced at Roy, his emotional turmoil almost palpable in the small closed-off room. It filled Jason’s lungs like second-hand smoke until he too sat rigid in his seat, choking on a gut-twisting fear.

He forced himself to think of something to say that would get them out of this situation. If he refused them another time their opinion of him might change from rude to downright ungracious. It was one thing to try to sidestep a confrontation, but another entirely to flat out refuse one of Penguin’s offers. After all, this wasn’t the Red Hood doing the refusing, it was Jason Todd: the parentless, penniless nobody from nowhere with nothing to offer to anybody.

“Alright,” Jason snatched up Tim’s abandoned whiskey glass, “what the hell!” He swiped both pills up off the table in what he hoped was a careless gesture.

A hand came down heavily on his arm before he could finish bringing the pills up to his mouth. Rodney stood over his shoulder, his face looking menacingly sincere. “Don’t you want to share with your pal?”

That small smile again. Jason still wanted to punch it off his face, maybe now more than ever.

“It’s not really his thing,” said Jason. The pills in his fist were becoming clammy from his sweaty palms but he didn’t dare release them.

“How does he know if he doesn’t try?”

“Oh, I’ve tried them,” Roy’s voice was no more than a croak. “believe me.”

Roy's eyes stayed trained directly down at his knees, the messy tangle of his hair hiding his face from view. Perhaps he thought that if he blocked out the world around him as much as possible than the temptation would simply go away. It brought to Jason’s mind the painful imagery of a child hiding inside a closet, afraid of the boogeyman.  

“Oh, come now!” cheered Penguin, his joviality hitting Jason like a slap to the face. He was relishing in this. “Share with your friend!”

Tim laughed. It sounded to Jason like it came from a long way off.

His mouth was dry. Roy started to rock in small back in forth motions in his seat, mumbling something to himself quietly. Jason counted the beats like a metronome as the leather cushion they shared crackled with every forward rock of his body. In a last-ditch attempt, he tried for the truth, hoping despite it all that he could appeal to their better natures. “Please, he’s been clean for a year now. He’s got the chip to prove it and everything.”

Penguin only smiled.

Roy’s mumbling rose in pitch to a steady mantra. Jason knew what he was saying before he could even make out the words. It was the well-worn rhythm of it that gave it away, inscribed in his memory from so many long nights staying up together inside the shitty apartments of foreign countries, two days from Roy’s last fix with no hope of another on the horizon. “ — grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

As soon as he finished the words he started them again.

“Christ! Make him shut up!” groaned Mick, after a minute of this. “I feel like I’m in a fucking church.”

Jason couldn't take it anymore either. “You want to fuck someone up? Fine. I’ll take whatever the fuck you want me to take. Snort it, shoot it, smoke it, I don’t fucking care. Just let him get up and walk out of here with my brother and you can take all the money I’ve got and make me do anything you fucking want, alright?”

He tossed the wad of folded bills on the table where Penguin had placed Tim’s counted stack. “Just let them leave.”

Penguin uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his seat to stare closely at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very bad negotiator.”

“I guess I’m not used to having something to negotiate for.”

Roy’s voice continued in a breathless whisper next to him. Jason repeated his words silently, steeling himself for what was to come. The courage to change the things I can. Roy didn’t try to interfere or object. They had made a vow a long time ago that for as much as they could help it, their friendship would never come in the way of Roy’s sobriety. Jason was already formulating a plan for the rest of the evening. He would get through whatever shit show happened after Roy and Tim were clear of the club, check himself into the nearest rehab facility until he cleared the drugs from his system—  

The door closed with a click.

“Lucky for him, I’m a very good negotiator.” Nobody had heard him come in and they all looked at once to the source. Dick was still in civvies but he held his badge in one hand, letting it catch the light and the eye of every man in the room, Penguin especially.

“Now the question you should really be asking yourself, Cobblepot, is: Do I think playing this little mind game is worth having a police officer shout out his presence in a club full of customers who depend on my discreteness and security? Because, oof, that’s gonna be some bad PR you have to deal with, so I hope he’s worth it.”

Jason laughed, the pills slipping from his fist. There were tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t fucking believe it. Roy too seemed shocked, for his prayers had stopped in favor of holding his breath.

Penguin glared around the room. It was hard to say who he was more pissed at. His men for not noticing Dick’s intrusion until it was too late, Dick for pulling such a trick, or Jason and Roy for being the motivation for it.

“Get out of my club. And stay out.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Jason grabbed Tim by the arm and slung it over his shoulder. Sometime in the span of a few minutes, Tim had gone from dazed to near-unconsciousness. Jason carried his dead weight with him to the fire exit and they stumbled out into Gotham’s cool damp night. They walk for more than a mile before finally stopping under a dim street light beside a bodega shuttered up for the evening.

“Well, that was close,” Jason said finally. “Thanks for the help back there. Seriously, we would have been screwed if you hadn’t shown up.”

“It’s no—” Dick had started to say when Roy cut over him aggressively.

“And whose fault was that?”

Jason stared at him, shifting Tim’s heavy weight. “I’m sorry, what? You’re not seriously trying to blame me for this, are you? I just risked my life to keep you clean.”

Roy shoved his messy tangles out of his face, looking like he wanted nothing more than to rip them out at the roots.“You wouldn’t have had to if you had listened to me in the first place and stopped to come up with a plan before barging in there.”

“And what would you have decided to do, Mr. Know-it-all, huh?” snapped Jason. “What would your big plan be?”

Roy shrugged, “I would have left him. The second I saw that he made the choice to stay in that room, I would have left. If he came home, then great! If not? It’s his life. But you need to let him hit bottom because all the help you have to give will mean nothing to him until he realizes he’s got nowhere else to go but up.”

“And what if his bottom is six feet under? I can’t leave him knowing it might be the last time I see him alive.”

Roy shrugged again. “It’s not up to you. Either way, I can’t do this anymore. Not like this.”

Roy turned to Dick who had been hanging back in the shadows, hoping to be overlooked. “Any chance I can get a ride to Blackgate Penitentiary?”

Dick looked between them, his eyes sending a silent apology to Jason. “Yeah... sure.”

“Roy,” Jason called out, watching in vain as Roy turned away and started walking up the sidewalk with Dick.

Tim’s head lolled onto his shoulder and Jason shifted the weight of his heavy limbs again. He stared down his careless face, feeling something akin to anger rising up inside him.

He pushed it down, shifted Tim’s dead weight again, and started the long walk home.

#kintsugi #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #roy harper #dick grayson #Oswald Cobblepot #Penguin #batman #batman fandom #dc comics #batman fic #tw drugs #tw drug use #tw drug addiction #tw drug problems #agnst #friendship #hurt comfort #friendship hurt comfort #red hood #Red Robin #Arsenal #nightwing #LittleDarlingXOX #bat-losers-inc

[sassycassie-s-series]

All My Fault 7

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Damian Wayne/Batman

Rating: PG

Notes: (Masterlist) Ooh now the internet’s getting involved. Everything isn’t quite going to Jason’s original plan, but the modifications make it better XD It was kinda fun coming up with everyone’s handles. Fun fact, this is the first time Cloudy’s first name is used/revealed!

Tag List (Open): @batboys-and-other-messes​ @welovegroot @nanna-the-batmum @probsjosh

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

^^^^^

Knock-knock!

I glanced up from where I was bandaging my bleeding knuckles after the first patrol I’d been on since I arrived in the future. “Who is it?” I called.

“Damian,” Damian’s voice replied.

“Come in,” I said.

The door to my bedroom creaked open. “You’re trending,” he said, stepping in.

“Huh?”

“The Instagram photo you shared to your Cloudburst account at the beginning of the night has gone absolutely viral.” Damian approached me. “Here. Let me wrap your right hand.” He took the bandages from me with one hand, and my right hand in his other one. Gently, he began to wrap the bandage around my bleeding knuckles that had split open again when I showered.

I grinned. I’d taken a photo of my boots standing on the edge of a skyscraper and captioned it, “It’s good to be home. #CloudburstsBack” and put it on my old verified @CloudburstofGotham Instagram account, also sharing it to my vigilante Twitter. “Thanks,” I said to Damian while I picked up my phone and opened Instagram—then Twitter. The hashtag #CloudburstsBack was trending on both platforms.

Every single vigilante and hero who knew me and had social media accounts for their hero personas had liked and commented on it. One was Clark Kent, though, on his personal account that he used for journalism. Asking if he could get an exclusive interview for the Daily Planet. Vicki Vale was asking the same, but for the Gotham Gazette. Part of me wanted to keep my city pride and accept Vale’s invitation over Clark’s, but the other that really didn’t like Vicki—she just rubbed me the wrong way—wanted to accept Clark’s. Also because he was a friend.

“Well, this is going to be interesting,” I said, setting my phone down. Damian tied off the bandages. “Thank you. If I’d done that on my own they’d be a mess. My left hand is so useless at refined motor control.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Did you… enjoy patrol?”

“Heck yeah. Two days in a future I don’t know but patrol is a constant. Felt almost like old times. You’re a lot taller to fight next to now, though,” I said. “I used to be able to throw stuff over your head. But I guess now it’s my turn to get stuff thrown over my head.”

Damian gave a little, “Hmm,” that sounded more like a laugh than a grunt. “I suppose it is,” he said. He set his hands on my shoulders. “It is unfamiliar to have you be so much smaller than I am.”

“We should spar tomorrow. Get used to the difference,” I suggested, sitting down on my bed with my hairbrush and combing through my wet hair. “Do a partner-up where we go against Jay, Dick, and Tim. I missed a lot and you and Tim growing taller is one of those things.”

“Drake only grew three extra inches,” Damian remarked, sitting in my desk chair on a gesture from me.

“Well yeah but five-eight to five-eleven is still significant,” I remarked. “Especially when you being six-three means Dick is now shorter than all of his younger brothers.”

Damian grunted and crossed one leg over the other. “Have you made a decision on the charity ball? Regarding your escort?”

“Not yet. Figure I can wait till at least after I as a civilian am discovered,” I said.

“If it would help your decision, I would like to accompany you. I remember you always insisted I dance with you at least once per event, despite how small I was compared to you and how reluctant I was to dance.”

“I said it was good for you,” I recalled with a smile. “Told you that dancing would help you loosen up.”

“‘I am as loose as I am required to be,’ I believe is what I said in response.”

“Yeah.” I chuckled. “Okay. I’ll go. But you have to promise to dance with me.”

“I have improved since the last gala you attended,” he said.

“I'm sure you have,” I agreed.

He contemplated me for a moment. “I am not usually in the business of making promises, but this one I can fulfill. I promise to dance with you.”

I grinned widely. “Great! I look forward to it.”

“As do I.” Damian got up and moved to leave.

“Damian!” I said, reaching out and then letting my hand drop, not sure why I was reaching. Damian turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. I glanced down at the gentle-but-firmly wrapped bandages on my right hand. “Thanks for this.” I showed him the bandages as an indication of what I meant.

He ducked his head in a nod. “Of course, McCloud. Get some rest,” he said before leaving my room.

I sighed as he shut the door and flopped backward, my head hitting the pile of pillows.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark, I scrunched my eyebrows. Why was I feeling so…conflicted? Like, I wanted to go to the charity ball and I wouldn’t mind going with Damian, but I felt a certain reservation about the whole idea that I couldn’t pinpoint.

Was it the media attention I knew we’d get? I could already see the trashy tabloid headline in all caps and yellow letters: BRUCE WAYNE’S SON DATING BRUCE WAYNE’S WARD?! And sixteen clickbait Buzzfeed articles coming across my social media feeds. Was that it? Was I worried about dealing with that or putting Damian in that position? Much as I hated to admit it, Jason was right: the paparazzi and media had always loved me.

But that didn’t feel like the source of my internal struggle. If Damian didn’t want the media attention he wouldn’t have said he wanted to go with me. He would have told me to let Jason escort me—under an alias since he was technically still dead.

I crawled under the covers. I’d figure it out in the morning. Maybe I was just confused and conflicted because I was tired after a long and difficult patrol.

Burrowing into my bed on my side, I rubbed my right-hand knuckles with my left palm, still feeling Damian’s warm, callused hand holding mine as he gently bandaged my bleeding knuckles. His touch was kinder, softer, and gentler than I’d ever felt it. Damian had never really had the word “soft” in his behavioral vocabulary when I knew him as a thirteen-year-old.

I liked it. Damian as an adult had loosened up a little and unwound. It was nice. Especially when I was eight years ahead of where I should have been and a heck-of-a-lot more scared than I was willing to admit out loud. Almost a decade was plenty enough time for things to change—for the better, for the worst, for the crazier—and I was thrown in the deep end. I didn’t even know who the president was anymore. Having Damian show me a little bit more heart when I was doing my best to hide how freaked out I felt was comforting.

I drifted off to sleep.

^^^^^

@RealSuperman: “Welcome back, @CloudburstofGotham! Good to see you’re back! You were sorely missed! #CloudburstsBack”

@WonderWomanOfficial: “The world welcomes the return of the great hero of Gotham, Cloudburst. #CloudburstsBack @CloudburstofGotham”

@RealArsenal: “Yo! Cloudburst! You’re back! Stop by Star City sometime and catch up, yeah? @CloudburstofGotham #CloudburstsBack”

@OfficialOutlawHood: “Huge welcome home to my favorite member of the Bat-family! @CloudburstofGotham has returned! #CloudburstsBack !”

@NightwingOFCL: “#CloudburstsBack! We missed you so much, @CloudburstofGotham! So happy you’re home! Love you, sister!”

@OfficialNewBatman: “@CloudburstofGotham, Warm salutations.”

@OfficialOutlawHood, replying to @OfficialNewBatman: “Dude, seriously? That’s the best you can do?”

@OfficialNewBatman, replying to @OfficialOutlawHood: “I have welcomed Cloudburst in person. I am acknowledging her return online for the sake of expectations.”

@OriginalBatman, replying to @OfficialNewBatman, @OfficialOutlawHood: “Boys, behave.”

@RedRobinVigilante: “ICYMI: #CloudburstsBack! My ‘sister’ has recently returned after having been missing for 8 years! Super excited! I missed you so much, @CloudburstofGotham!”

@ClarkKentDP: “@CloudburstofGotham would you like to do an exclusive interview for the Daily Planet? Tell everyone where you were and why you’re back? DM me if you’re interested! #CloudburstsBack”

@GGVickiVale: “@CloudburstofGotham How about an interview with the Gotham Gazette now that #CloudburstsBack?”

Damian scrolled through the top hits in the #CloudburstsBack trend over breakfast, sipping his breakfast tea and munching on an apple for starters. He was grateful for the attention being on Cloudburst because, in five days, Nora McCloud would return from being lost in the time stream. She’d be bruised and exhausted in torn clothing. McCloud had already agreed to get no sleep for a night or two beforehand and let her bruises from patrol show without bothering to hide them before turning up at the Gotham PD station.

And as long as Cloudburst had been established as being back first, no one would have to know that she and McCloud were the same person. Damian took another sip of his tea thoughtfully, scrolling down. He came across another Tweet that he hadn’t seen before.

It was Cloudburst’s own. A photo of she and Damian jumping off the edge of the building, Damian’s coat flaring out around him and her hair doing the same, and another one of the moment before, when they were both standing on the edge of the building, showing off how much taller than Cloudburst Damian had grown. In both pictures, their backs were to the camera.

The caption read, “Last time I saw Batman he was still Robin and more than half a foot shorter than me! What else did I miss? XD #CloudburstsBack @OfficialNewBatman” and a second Tweet that said, “Photo creds to @RedRobinVigilante! I missed you too, brother!”

Damian “liked” and “retweeted” it saying, “We will catch you up.” On his official Batman account.

Tim stumbled into the kitchen, tablet in his hand playing the local news’ livestream.

“—top story this morning is the return of the Gotham vigilante known as Cloudburst. The vigilante was last seen eight years ago when the android fleet known as the Time Bombs attacked for the first time. Since then there has been no trace of her until last night when she posted this image to Instagram and Twitter with the caption, ‘It’s good to be home. Hashtag-Cloudburst’s Back.’ The post quickly went viral and several citizens of Gotham Tweeted about sightings of her with the other members of the team of Gotham protectors commonly nicknamed the Bat-Family. She was seen with the younger Batman for most of the night, according to most sightings. She has yet to release an official statement about where she’s been, but we’re grateful to have a familiar pair of eyes watching our streets,” the lady was saying.

Tim sat at the breakfast bar and started to munch distractedly on a bagel, not even realizing it. Damian could have put a rotten tomato in its place and Tim probably wouldn’t even notice. He was too focused on his tablet. “They’re wrong,” he muttered. “The Time Bombs didn’t attack for the first time back then. It just seemed like that since they jumped back in time. Their first attack was now because they were made now…”

Damian didn’t say anything, just continued to eat his apple and look through the social media feed.

Next

#All My Fault #All My Fault Chapter 7 #Chapter 7 #Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne Imagine #Damian Wayne FanFiction #Robin #Robin Imagine #Robin FanFiction #Batman #Batman Imagine #Batman FanFiction #BatFam #BatFam Imagine #BatFam FanFiction #DC #DC Imagine #DC FanFiction

[writteninpinecones]

Batfam Dating a Tall Bean

Dick Grayson: •he’s a smol bean himself and he doesn’t care that you’re taller than him. •He actually really likes it!! •You get to be the big spoon because he is always the little spoon, and also, him curling up into your side?? Adorable. • Likes the fact you can reach the high shelves for him. •Doesn’t like the fact you keep the cereal there when he pisses you off. • Lives for piggyback rides. Fight me on this.

Jason Todd: •Okay so you may be tall but Jason still has like a good half foot over you?? • Like this boy is tall as hell and lords it over everyone. • Purposefully goes out of his way to rest his arm on your head as if you’re short but it ends up being uncomfortable for everyone involved. •Sometimes he wears your sweat pants around the house and they actually fit?? •Granted they’re a little tight around his thighs but still. •Will not be happy if you wear heels because then you’re pretty much his height. •But he loves that kissing is comfortable for both of you, no tip toes, no slouching.

Tim Drake:

•So it’d be similar to Dick, but Tim would be so salty about it. •Like he doesn’t need your help to reach things thank you very much. • Buying him step stools as gag gifts so he can be taller. •INSISTS ON BEING THE BIG SPOON EVEN THOUGH YOU DWARF HIM. • But he’s the only one who can complain about your height. •Anybody else making negative comments about how tall you are will be on the receiving end of a troll.

Cass Cain • SHE IS SHORT AS HELL AND YOU ARE TALL AF SO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?? HEIGHT DYNAMICS. • Resting your head on her head during back hugs. • Hitching her up onto the counter when kissing • Helping her get things that are too high, and purposely making them too high so you have to help. • Her stealing all your clothes because they’re bigger and thus more comfortable. • LONG SLEEVES TO HIT YOU WITH (OH MY GOD I’M SCREAMING)

Stephanie Brown: • You’re both about the same height, and you just might be slightly taller. • Tall wars: purposely wearing obnoxiously tall heels to be taller than the other. • Stumbling around downtown together because both of you are stubborn shits. • Insisting on reaching high things for each other.

Damian Wayne: • I’m doing this as if you’re friends. • He hates that you’re taller than him. • Like he is low-key frustrated because it’s not slightly, it’s significant and you refuse to let it go. • When he’s pouting you just kind of rest your arm on his head. Cue more pouting. • It’s adorable really. • Secretly loves piggy back rides because oh sHIT HE’S TALL NOW.

Duke Thomas: • Really likes it. You’re taller than him and he is proud of it. • 100% likes it more than you do • Makes him feel safe • He loves to show it off. • In public? Tip toes so he can kiss your cheek • Someone making fun of your height? Really aggressively polite, tells them to shut their trap, etc. • Just loves that you’re tall

♥

TAGGED: @hyp-oh-critical, @nightwingasm

#batfamily #batfam #batfam headcanons #batfamily headcanons #reader x batfam #DC #dc headcanon #Dick Grayson #tim drake #jason todd #stephanie brown #Cass Cain #duke thomas #damian wayne #Robin #Nightwing #spoiler #Red Robin #Red Hood #Batgirl #black bat #orphan #Lark

[holy-n-evil]

Jason Todd MMA Fighter AU

Character: Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd X Reader

Type: one shot, fluff

Warnings: fighting, violence, mentions of Jason’s death

Requested: hell nah, just my complexes

  The lights died down as she stood behind Jason who changed his expression from passive to a cocky smile when he heard the first chords of ACDC's 'Highway to Hell'. He chose it as a low mockery not just of his death, but a mockery of where his opponent was heading after the fight. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze as the lights came back on and it was time to walk. They took a couple of steps towards the octagon and were greeted by cameras shoved in their faces by the camera men. Jason's face held a strong mixture of a cold and smug expression while she walked behind him with a softly narrowed look. Fans cheered for him, the crowd was going wild. They screamed louder for Jason than they did for the man he was fighting. No ordinary fighter would challenge a five time MMA Champion to a fight in such a straight forward way, but she knew Jason was far from ordinary, she has learnt that from all those years of working with him and Bruce. It made her wonder how did they end up here at Madison Square Garden just moments before the fight which will undoubtedly go down as one of the most memorable ones. It made her wonder how Jason just waltzed back into her life and how she took him back with arms wide open so easily, although she hasn't regretted a moment. She stood in an empty gym at 11.20 p.m. beating a punching bag repeatedly, not even breaking a sweat, letting the pent up frustration and anger out of her system. The sound of punches were the only thing filling the room. Jab. Hook. Hook. Jab. Hook. The door slammed and heavy footsteps occupied her, distracting her from the endless fight against the bag. The person behind her stopped and cleared their throat. "The gym is closed." she said sternly and breathed in through her nose. The shadow of the person stayed still meaning they had no intention leaving. "I said the gym is closed." she gritted through her teeth and landed a punch harder than the previous ones. "I know it is." A deep voice came from behind her. It sounded so familiar, so close that it caused a slight shiver run down her spine. "I actually came to see you, pumpkin." Her arms dropped down her sides as she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Only one person in this whole world could get her attention with that nickname, with that voice. She dragged her left leg back next to the right and turned around to face him. He stood firm towering in front of her, taller and more muscular than he ever was before. His look hasn't changed all that much, the only difference being the hair which now was pushed back, instead of covering almost half of his forehead, and a single white streak which added a stark contrast. Another thing she noticed even in dim lighting was the scar on his cheek which was in a shape of the letter 'J'. A smug smile was plastered on his lips, but his eyes held much more emotion she couldn't distinct. "Jason." she whispered because she was certain her voice would shake. "(Y/N)." Jason retorted still smiling. They stood in silence for a moment before he stepped closer to her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Just a quiet whimper before she closed it and looked at him in the eyes as she took off the gloves and threw them on the ground. "Before you get completely mad at me," he started and put one of his hands up in a 'stop' gesture, "just give me five minutes to explain some things." She sighed, and closed the space between them by wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. He mimicked her by circling his own arms around her waist, and leaned down a bit to press his lips against her temple. "Jay, start talking." she pulled away, but they still kept their arms tight around one another, and established eye contact once more. His pupils dialeted and an unreadable emotion washed over his features. "I've been back for a while now, (Y/N)..." "I'm familiar with the fact." (Y/N) spat out. "Right. Dick told you." Jason sighed not really knowing how to aproach the subject. "But he also filled me in on with your falling out with Bruce." She tore away from his embrace at the mention of the incident, but Jason gripped her wrist and pulled her back into him. "Look, pumpkin, I'm not here to bring back bad memories, I-" "Did he tell you why Bruce basically kicked me out?" her voice started trembling with anger. "Did Dick tell you what I've become after you died? Did he tell you how much I wanted that clown dead after taking my family away me? After taking away you from me? After doing what he did to Barbara?" Jason stayed quiet, just looking at her with a guilty expression. "I started plotting Joker's murder and Bruce didn't like that. After all this time I wonder why he's letting that clown live." her voice was now dangerously low that it reminded him how fiery she can get. "So he made it clear he didn't trust you, I know how that feels. When you turned 18 he made it clear he doesn't want you on the team and you persuaded your MMA career." he finished the story. "Dick told me a watered down version so I went to Alfred for the whole truth." "What brings you back to me, Jay?" (Y/N) spoke sofly and shook her head. "Listen," he looked at his feet then back to her. "I understand if you're mad about me not coming to see you sooner, but I just couldn't, (Y/N). I couldn't. Not as fucked up as I was. Still am, in fact." Her face softened, she was hurt by his words. She put her hand in his cheek making his heart beat faster. "Jaybird, I'm not mad. I just... I wanted you back for so long and now you're here for God knows how long. I'm just scared you'll disappear again." she stuttered as she felt tears pooling in her eyes. "I'm here for a long upcoming time, babe. But I need you." he tried his best to reassure her. "I need a coach." (Y/N) sighed and rested her head on his  hard, muscular shoulder. "What do you mean by that?" "I've been in a couple fights. MMA fights." "You? MMA?" she snorted, but gained a serious composure when Jason hummed in confirmation. (Y/N) lifted her gaze to him who smiled down at her. "I know how to fight, obviously." he stated. "I need you, (Y/N), to train me professionally, to keep me grounded so I don't kill anyone during the fights." "Jason, tell me one thing." "Anything." Jason said and took her left hand to unwrap the bandages. "Tell me what fighting means to you." she searched for the answer. "Anger outlet. Makes me calm." She nodded and smiled widely. "Inside this gym I respond only to 'Coach'." Jason stood opposite of Tommy Wilson, a champion who he challenged to an epic fight after beating a couple of other famous fighters. He could afford the fight since he stood undefeated and people called it a wonder that Wilson responded to an underdog's proposal. The referee gave them instructions after which Jason held his fists up for the curtsy fist bump, but Wilson flipped him off causing (Y/N) to wince because she knew that would only Jay's anger which he would then channel in a fight just like they worked on. She stepped inside the octagon for the last face to face conversation before the fight. Jason sat in front of her on a stool ans she crouched down. "You've got this, Jay. Just relax your shoulders." "Yes, coach!" he responded. "Did see them?" "Who?" "They're here." Jason motioned to his left and (Y/N) looked in the direction and saw Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Tim and Damian sitting in the second row. Dick met her gaze and sent her a little wave at which she smiled. "It's not a distraction, I promise. It's just weird they're here. Probably to mock me." "Todd!" she snapped. "They can never mock a winner. I'm down right there in your corner. Just listen to my instructions if you get stuck anywhere, okay?" "Okay." "And now for a fight you've all been waiting for." A voice came from the booth. "Go get him." (Y/N) hyped Jason up and  walked out of the octagon and settled down in the corner, right in front of where the Waynes were. "A five time heavyweight champion Thomas Wilson versus a heavyweight underdog Jason Todd!" "Ready?" the referee pointed at Wilson who nodded and then pointed at Jason and asked the same thing. He threw his hands up in an orthodox stance. This is what he wanted. Jason wanted to make a name for himself in the MMA world and show how good of a fighter he is. Now he stood again toe to toe with his opponent. Wilson threw a punch at Jason who ducked, but straightened his composure and threw a clear hook at Wilson who wobbled as he tried to stay on his feet. "Again, Jason!" (Y/N) screamed at him. Jason kicked the opponent in the chest and sent him against the fence panel. Wilson shook it off and came at him once more this time managing to land a punch in Jay's stomach. (Y/N) knew Jason was now filled with anger. He turned on his left foot and lifted his right leg up which collided with Wilson's face causing Wilson to fall down still conscious. "Now, Jason. Go for it!" she guided him and he lounged at the guy on the floor, straddling him and throwing punch after punch. Wilson's whole body went limp as he fell unconscious. The referee blew the whistle and tore Jason away. The crowd screamed in delight for Jason who was enjoying it way too much than he should have. He backed up in his corner as (Y/N) ran over to him. Jason opened his arms wide and litfed (Y/N) up as soon as she landed in his embrace. "You fucker! You did it!" she cheered and Jason laughed loudly and set her down. She took his arm and dragged him to the centre of the octagon where the referee was holding a belt and Wilson' coach was trying to help him up. The announcer's voice boomed through the room over the cheers. "This is unbelievable, people. The champion's fight against the underdog lasted only 17 seconds and we already have a winner." Wilson was back on his feet and stood with his coach on referees right side as Jason and (Y/N) stood at his left side. "And the winner is..." the announcer started again, "...Jason Todd!" The referee lifted Jason's arm up as another guy clasped the UFC belt around his waist. Jason yelled out in triumph before to his coach and pulling her into another tight hug. Then he leaned down and crashed his lips against hers. She was taken aback by the action, but immediately leaned into the kiss. Jason deepened the kiss before he started to pull back. (Y/N) leaned forwards as he broke the kiss, but as soon as he noticed that, he locked lips with her once again. A person walked over to them and cleared their throat. They broke apart and saw Bruce standing in the octagon awkwardly. He opened his arms for Jason who was reluctant for a moment before deciding to hug the billionaire after all. "I'm proud of you, Jason." Bruce praised him. "I really am." That's all that took for Jason to feel like a kid again. "Thank you, Bruce." Dick followed behind Bruce and was the first one to embrace (Y/N) after the win. "You guided him well, (Y/N)." "No, he did all of this by himself." she argued, but Bruce shut her up by pulling both Dick and her into a group hug with him and Jason. "Congratulations, Jaybird." Grayson patted Jason on the back who was now smiling wide. "Let's go get something to eat, okay? All of us." Bruce proposed and (Y/N) knew he wouldn't take no for an answer. "Yeah, okay." Jason nodded and turned to her and stole a quick kiss before heading out of the room to celebrate his win.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd au #red hood imagine #batfamily imagine