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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

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Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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is-it-art-tho · 3 years

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Summary: What happens when two of the most emotionally damaged members of the Batfam are tricked into spending quality time together?

Damian and Jason have complicated histories when it comes to family and revenge, but a Father's Day card could help them start to work through it.

____

“You didn’t have to come,” Jason pointed out, trailing his fingers along the wall of greeting cards.

Damian scowled at a New Year’s card with a drawing of Superman on the front being pulled into the air by a balloon over the caption Up, up, and away to a new year! It was infuriatingly nonsensical. Why would the alien need a balloon if he could already fly?

“Pennyworth insisted. And I was under the impression that this was going to be some form of surveillance operation. It seems he didn’t find it necessary to disabuse me of that notion before we left.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the pleased slant to Pennyworth’s mouth as Damian had gotten in Todd’s car. The younger boy had assumed it was because Alfred would get to have the house to himself for the afternoon. Now he suspected a much more nefarious motive.

Jason chuckled. “Played by the old man, huh? Anyone who thinks Bruce is the master manipulator hasn’t met Alfred.”

“Tt. I wonder what I have done to upset him.”

“Hm?” Jason plucked a card from the wall and skimmed it. He chuckled at whatever it said.

“Pennyworth must be fairly irritated to have set this up. Obviously he knows how we feel about each other.”

At that Jason raised an eyebrow, putting the card back in its slot and grabbing another. “Oh yeah?”

“Of course he does.”

“And how do we feel about each other?” There was a subtle lilt in his voice; Damian could see the older boy fighting back a smile.

His jaw clenched. “Stop acting like a fool. You know the status of our relationship.”

“Thought by now you’d realize it’s not an act. I really am just an idiot.”

Damian scrunched his mouth together, but continued with forced calm. Meanwhile a woman pushed her cart past them slowly, clearly eavesdropping as she pretended to examine the envelop options.

“We are colleagues. That is all. Otherwise, we stay out of each other’s way.”

“Right,” Jason agreed as he flipped open yet another card. This one had Green Lantern grinning on the front and saying something that Damian couldn’t see around Jason’s fingers. “Why do you think that is?”

“What?”

“The whole ‘staying out of each other’s way’ thing. Why is it like that with us?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve got actual beef with Bruce, Dick-wing, and Replacement. Or at least, I did. You, on the other hand,” he glanced at Damian now. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Damian echoed incredulously, his voice grating under the strain of keeping it at least somewhat moderated. “Since the moment we met, you have made it abundantly clear that you want no part of me. Most of the time, you refuse to even look in my direction. You set the terms of this relationship, and I have accepted them. That, Todd, is my deal.”

Damian’s face felt hot, and it took more effort than it should have for him to slow his breathing. The nosy woman was openly staring at them now.

Jason blinked at him, his eyebrows arched in surprise, then looked back at the wall of cards. His expression reverted into something smooth and inscrutable, but his ears had gone red.

“Hm,” was all he said in response, exchanging the card in his hands for yet another.

Damian, on the other hand, felt as if his head might pop, and Jason’s lack of reaction was only making it worse. Now on top of being inexplicably angry, he was also embarrassed. Compared to Jason’s calm, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum in a store.

He was also embarrassed that Alfred had tricked him into coming here for a reason he apparently did not understand, and that Damian had also apparently misinterpreted something about the dynamic between him and Jason. All this time Damian had thought he’d understood the rules of engagement between them. Now it seemed as though he had been mistaken; that fact burned in his stomach like acid.

But Damian knew what he saw. He had not made up the aura of revulsion that had initially wafted off of Todd in waves whenever Damian had come around. He had not imagined the surreptitious glances of rage or disgust, the loaded silences between them. And he would not let Todd try to make him think that he had. As if all this time he’d been playing make-believe like some foolish child.

“What are you even doing?” Damian spit. For the first time, he noticed that Jason was looking at Father’s Day cards.

The older boy offered a delayed and distracted, “What?”

“What are you doing?” Damian repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

Jason looked at the card in his hands before looking back at Damian, the blush in his ears intensifying. There was an edge in his voice when he retorted, “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re browsing Father’s Day cards, which is odd seeing as how you don’t have one.”

Jason recoiled, and Damian relished the wild fury that flared in his eyes – the break in his vexing calm. The younger boy found himself bracing for a physical attack; the others would never be so reckless in public, but from what he’d seen of Todd, this boy was careless and unpredictable enough to launch into an all-out assault right here in the pharmacy.

But then the fury faded into something barely restrained, and he muttered,“You’re lucky you’re still just a brat and that I don’t pummel children.”

“I am not a child,” Damian snarled, trying not to cringe at how utterly childish that response sounded on his lips.

“You’re an infant. And I’m sick of looking at you. Go wait in the car.”

Although he wanted nothing more than to do just that, part of Damian despised the fact that it would now look like he was taking orders. He stood there, weighing his dignity against his overwhelming desire to be elsewhere, until he caught the flash of ire in Todd’s eyes again and decided that the consequences of his defiance would not be worth whatever satisfaction he might glean from it.

He stalked out of the pharmacy, ignoring an employee’s too-bubbly farewell as he slammed open the door and marched toward the old, definitely-stolen Jeep in the lot. It wasn’t until he yanked on the locked passenger door that he realized he’d forgotten to get the keys, and he threw his head back and screamed a curse that would have turned Alfred to stone.

There was no way he was going back inside now, so he found himself sitting on the curb, his arms crossed tightly around his knees as he glared at the asphalt.

A few minutes later, he heard the chime over the door, then the crunch and shuffle of boots on pavement followed by the sound of the car doors unlocking. He got in without a word and glowered straight ahead.

Beside him, Todd got in empty-handed and started the car, but they didn’t move right away. The following silence felt like a precursor to something, and Damian was glad he hadn’t yet put his seatbelt on. Adrenaline bubbling up in his chest, he slid his hand over to unlock his door, ready to make a quick exit.

At last, he chanced a glance in the older boy’s direction, expecting to find unbridled fury and perhaps even murderous intent. While Todd did still looked incensed, his unnaturally green eyes burning a hole in the windshield, he also looked oddly wounded and confused. The expression was enough to distract Damian from his escape plan, and he paused with his hand on the plastic nub of the lock.

Jason muttered something, and Damian asked, “What?”

“I said ‘I don’t hate you.’ I mean, I do – I did. But it was never personal.”

“That doesn’t make any–”

“Would you just shut up? I know, okay? I know it doesn’t make sense. Just let me–” Jason exhaled loudly, running his hand over his face as he tipped his head back into the seat.

When he spoke again, it was with his eyes closed and his hand still resting over his mouth. “I’m trying to communicate. Just work with me, all right?”

“Tt.” But Damian fell silent, allowing the older boy to continue.

Jason at last let his hand drop, his eyes slipping open so that he was staring at the stained and scuffed cream-colored ceiling. “When I first met Tim, it was like I’d been punched in the face. I don’t know how much you know about me and my… history, but even when I was Robin, Bruce and I never completely agreed on how we should handle things. We got along most of the time, but we argued a lot. He thought I was too aggressive, I thought he was too soft. He thought I was impulsive and reckless, I thought he had a stick up his ass.”

He paused. “Butt. Don’t tell Alfred I cursed in front of you. Anyways, we were just so different. The poor kid from Crime Alley and the billionaire CEO. It shouldn’t have worked, but when it did, it was great. And when it didn’t…”

Todd paused again, his gaze becoming distant and… pained, Damian thought. Not a sharp, lancing pain, but something dull, like an old bruise.

“Then I died and I came back and there’s this new kid– the new Robin. For some reason, I’d gotten it in my head that Bruce would just retire the role all together after me. As if he cared enough to do something like that.”

He smirked, but there wasn’t an ounce of joy in it; it was a sour twist of his mouth that reminded Damian of poison.

“So, there he was. Robin 3.0. And he was good. Like really good. I was a good Robin, Dick was a good Robin, but Replacement.” Todd shook his head in rueful appreciation. “The kid is a genius. He’s like a mini-Bruce. Even Dick was never like that. Apparently he even figured out the whole secret on his own when he was like fourteen or something?”

“Thirteen,” Damian corrected quietly. He, too, often found himself impressed by Drake’s mental acumen, even if he’d never admit it aloud. Damian was sharp, but he’d had to work for years to get like that; for Drake, it just came naturally. Watching him solve a puzzle was like watching a prodigy at their craft. There were connections that Drake could make that Damian knew he never could, no matter how many years of training he got under his belt.

“What are you getting at?” he asked, perhaps more sharply than he’d meant to.

“I’m saying, that when I first met Tim, I hated him. Like really, genuinely hated him. But it wasn’t him that I was pissed at. It was what he was. He was everything I never was and could never be.”

“Smart?” As soon as Damian said it, he regretted it. He could never figure out why he was like this, always throwing barbs even when he didn’t really want to. It was like a reflex, and he again braced for the equally reflexive response he expected from Todd.

Instead, the older boy barked a laugh. The sound was as genuine as it was sad.

“Yeah, that. But mostly, when I saw him I saw someone who was more like a son to Bruce than I ever was. And a way better Robin. They just fit together. Rich kid to rich kid. Like puzzle pieces. Then I met you. My worst effin’ nightmare.”

Damian bristled. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I hated Tim because he was like Bruce’s actual son. How do you think I felt about you?”

Any quick retort died in the younger boy’s throat. He swallowed and frowned at the glove compartment. “I fail to see how my biological relation to Father has anything to do with you.”

Jason sighed. “It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. But I look at you and Tim and even Dick and all I can think is, ‘I bet Bruce would kill for them.’”

He chuckled wryly. “Jesus, it sounds even more effed up out loud.”

And again, he lapsed into a heavy silence, this one so cold and absolute that Damian hardly dared to breathe.

After some time, when it was beginning to feel as if Jason wouldn’t speak again, Damian cleared his throat and said, “Obviously, I was not there when you had your… incident.”

Jason scoffed, perhaps at Damian’s choice of words, and it rankled him, but Damian continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

“But I have heard stories from that time, and the time shortly after. From what I understand, your death was not insignificant. It nearly killed him.”

Jason seemed to be working hard to maintain his sardonic grin; he was failing. “Is that what they told you?”

“It’s what I’ve gleaned. And after living with Father for several years, I don’t doubt that it’s true.”

“Tell me something,” Jason said, his eyes searching Damian’s thoughtfully. Any trace of humor, false or otherwise, was gone from his expression. “If someone killed you tonight, what would Talia do?”

Damian stiffened but said nothing. He knew the answer and he knew that Todd knew as well. His mother would be enraged by his failure, for certain. She would talk grandly about how Damian was no longer her concern since he’d chosen to be with Father, but the same day she would unleash utter destruction upon everyone responsible. She would lay waste to them and their families and salt the earth at her feet. His killer would know the full wrath of the League of Shadows, and the last thing they would see would be the tip of his mother’s blade.

Damian knew this implicitly, but the knowledge did not inspire any feelings of love in him the way Jason apparently suspected. The younger boy did not feel flattered by this assurance. If anything, it made him sick.

“Father does not grieve in blood,” Damian said at last, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “He isn’t like us.” Damian didn’t know if us meant himself and the League of Shadows, or him and Jason. Perhaps both.

He’s better, is what he wanted to add, but instead Damian continued, “And vengeance is not always love.”

He thought again of his mother. The same woman who would wage a war on his behalf had also nearly killed him dozens of times herself. The fact that both of these things could be true at once still made his head spin.

Jason gazed out the windshield for a moment before offering a simple, “Hm.” It would have sounded dismissive, but Damian could see the consideration in his eyes.

Outside, the sun was tipping into late afternoon, and shadows were creeping longer and longer across the ground. Damian watched two birds dance together in the air. At first it looked like they were fighting, but then they landed side by side on a powerline, so close their wings were nearly touching.

His finger worried at the plastic lock as he built up his nerve.

“I don’t hate you either,” he offered, and he was grateful that his umber complexion a least somewhat camouflaged any flush that might be creeping into his face. Even staring out his window, he felt Jason’s eyes on him.

“You should.”

“I don’t.” He took a breath. “Where I come from, love is earned. Every day you must prove yourself worthy of it and every day is another opportunity to lose it. The slightest failure could cost you everything.”

He forced himself to continue quickly, outpacing the memories he felt rushing to meet him. “That is the mindset I arrived in Gotham with. My first few years with Father were marked by that conviction. It made sense to me. Dick and Tim are worthy combatants. I understood why Father would offer them his affection. But you… All I knew of you was that you had failed.”

At that, Damian’s head swiveled to look at Jason, realizing too late how his words must have sounded. The older boy was rigid, but he didn’t look angry.

“I didn’t mean–”

“I get it. It’s okay.”

“No,” Damian insisted sternly. “It is not. I was raised to believe that to die in battle was the ultimate failure. But that was wrong. Like much of what I learned back then.”

When Jason didn’t say anything, Damian continued, “I heard stories about how you were when you first returned. How you hurt Father and the others over and over again. I know about Father’s attempts to reach out to you and how you turned your back on him for years.”

Damian could feel the temperature around Jason dropping, as if the older boy was turning to ice at Damian’s side, but he continued, feeling now as if he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. The words flowed out of him, unfiltered and unrelenting.

“Your grievances against him were so numerous and severe, it didn’t make sense to me that he would still love you. And yet he did.

“Meanwhile, I live in constant fear that I will inevitably prove them right. That I’m not worthy of…” Damian’s nail carved into the hard plastic of the car lock as the words hitched and stuck in his throat. He swallowed.

“Who?” Jason asked quietly.

“What?”

“Prove who right?”

My mother. My grandfather.

Everyone.

Me.

“That’s not the point,” Damian answered. “I resented you and your unearned love and and how absolutely oblivious you seemed to be to that blessing. Even now, it is clear to me that you fail to recognize how fortunate you are.”

A few years ago, Damian would not have been able to say this without lacing the words with venom. Now he was able to say them plainly, though something in the center of his chest still ached.

“You know it’s not like that with you, though, right?” Jason confirmed. “That whole earning and losing love thing– Bruce would never make you do that. You’re his son.”

“As are you.” Damian forced himself to look Jason dead in the eye then, and Jason held the gaze for a beat before looking away, his ears once again going red.

“You do not see the way Father looks at you,” he explained. “It is like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.”

Jason was speechless for a second before muttering, “Whatever you say, kid,” as he put his hands on the wheel and backed out of the parking spot. When they hit the road, the older boy switched on the radio, and Damian was grateful for the blanket of sound to quell any further discussion.

He sunk into the seat then, oddly exhausted, and turned around in time to watch as the two birds on the wire took off towards the clouds.

*********

“Just admit it. You killed him, didn’t you?” Tim asked, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair. “You finished the job.”

Damian’s eyes flicked up from his book to glare at the boy across the kitchen table. This particular joke had been going on for over two weeks, and while Tim’s attempts at humor were never amusing, this one was particularly grating since it also managed to twist Damian’s guts into guilty knots.

No one had seen or heard from Jason since he had returned Damian to the manor after their disastrous pharmacy outing, and now all the younger boy could think about was everything he had done wrong. He never should have been so transparent; he never should have been so cruel. In retrospect, he could concede at least that much.

Damian typically preferred to apologize with his actions rather than explicit words, and he’d thought that he had managed to convey that while he and Jason were in the car together, but perhaps the older boy had not seen it that way. Perhaps he’d been waiting for a formal apology, and now that so much time had elapse, they had finally fallen below even the status of colleagues – not quite enemies, but certainly no longer allies.

Damian straightened in his seat, setting his shoulders. If that was the case, then so be it. He was the last person who would ever weep over a burned bridge. The loss would be inconvenient – Todd had proven himself a useful aid in the field at times – but it was not as if they had ever been particularly close or worked together often. If Todd wanted to move on, then Damian would do the same.

He returned his attention to his book, but after a few seconds of rereading the same sentence over and over, he slapped it on the table with a frustrated sigh and took a sip of his lukewarm tea.

There was distant knock at the front door followed by some muffled conversation between Alfred and whoever the other person was. A moment later, Damian shouted as a plastic bag rocketed into the side of his head and fell to the floor. He whirled toward the source, but all of his rage evaporated into blank shock when he saw Todd leaning in the doorway, a fading bruise on his cheek and a butterfly bandage over his eye.

“You like those, right?” he asked.

Damian blinked down at the bag on the floor. Reese’s cups.

He nodded.

“Good. You and I are patrolling together tonight, got it?” Jason’s tone was decisive, leaving little room for disagreement. Two weeks ago Damian would have bristled at it, but for once, he felt he was reading the older boy correctly, and for all Jason’s gruffness, Damian was certain that this was not an order, but a request.

He nodded again, and Todd’s mouth twitched at the side.

“Wait, you disappear for two weeks and come back with free candy?” Tim exclaimed. “Where’s mine?”

“Get your own, Replacement,” Jason shot back, disappearing back through the door and shouting, “Bruce! C’mon, I wanna kick your ass in pool. Sorry, Alfred…”

Damian ignored Tim’s dumbfounded stare as he bent to pick the candy up off the tile. His chest suddenly felt warm and buoyant, and he lingered out of sight below the table for a second longer than necessary as his lips curled into a tiny smile.

#damian wayne #jason todd #jason todd and damian wayne #whump #emotional hurt/comfort #the boys just gotta talk it out #robin #batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #batfam fanfic #batfam fanfiction #batfam #red hood

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incoherentbabblings · 3 years

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Why TimSteph is nice

Because I honest to goodness think they are. Prompted by @tsukiakari1203 who needed cheering up but also just because it’s that kind of evening you know?

I also have a TimSteph meta tag if you want to go through four years of me moaning about them. I am going to be repeating myself from some of those posts. Sorry. These are just little things which I love to infer more meaning out of then what was (probably) intended.

This is long. As always.

Pre-New 52 there are a lot parallels with each other. Their Batgirl and Red Robin runs copy each other thematically. Their characters over their thirty years of publication flip on the cynicism and idealism scale. Tim is initially good at making and keeping friends. Steph is initially not. Tim comes from a relatively stable home, albeit it with distant at best or neglectful at worst parents. Steph comes from an unstable home, with neglectful at best and abusive at worst parents. Tim pushes his way into the inner circle of the batfam and is successful at doing so on like his second or third try. Stephanie pushes her way into the inner circle of the batfam, but it takes approximately 20 tries plus (nearly) dying to get people to take her heroics seriously. Both form close familial relationships with the originator of the mantle they hold.

Tim starts helping because he believes no-one else can step up to the plate and help Bruce, and he continues to help people because it is simply the right thing to do. After multiple tragedies he loses any desire to exist as his genuine self outside his superhero mask, and the reader is left with the idea that there isn’t really a Tim Drake left at the end of his solo run anymore, only different factors of Red Robin. Stephanie starts helping because she believes no-one else is capable of stepping up to the plate and stopping her father, and over time her spite and anger turns to genuine altruism and compassion, which makes it impossible for her to willingly hang up her costume. After multiple tragedies, the line between her Stephanie self and Batgirl self is practically non-existent. She is never not genuinely herself, and is on the path to get her degree, repair her relationship with her mother, work alongside the new friends she has made and pursue everything that may have been denied to her when she was fourteen years old.

One of Tim’s first major missions as Robin had him face Scarecrow. One of Stephanie’s first missions as Batgirl was to face Scarecrow. As @our-happygirl500-fan once pointed out - Stephanie’s super heroics started with her trying to kill her father. Tim’s super heroics ended with him trying to kill his father’s killer. Stephanie gains Bruce’s unequivocal trust, Tim loses it. The future Tim sees for himself ten years down the line is lonely, dead or in a position he does not want to take (Batman). The future Stephanie sees for herself ten years down the line is being a parent, mentoring younger heroes, living in a nice house, and running around in a beloved mantle (Nightwing).

Both of their biggest fears are simply not being good enough at what they need and want to be.

Onto fluffier things below the cut...

Absolute favourite thing is how they are often drawn holding each other’s cheeks. Hands are a big them for them (for me) so look out for their interactions. Even when they aren’t a couple, their hands are resting on the other or reaching out for the other. It’s not uncommon for Tim to put his right arm around Steph when they are sitting together and press her into his chest.

Tim’s the only person to call Stephanie Stephie aside from her father and Dean, and therefore is the only one to mean it as a genuine endearment. He is also the only person aside from her parents to call her sweetie, though again, unlike her father but like her mother, Tim means it as a genuine endearment.

One of the side purposes of Stephanie’s pregnancy arc was to give Tim and Steph a reason to get to know each other outside of the costume. Early on, even before they got together, Stephanie pushed against there being a distinction between the mask and the person wearing it. She continually both pre and post new 52 decries Tim claiming there is any kind of separation. Stephanie had a crush on Robin, but she fell in love with the boy who kissed her in the cinema, took her to the highest point in Gotham because he thought the views were romantic, and took her to birthing classes with a fake beard on. She loved Tim. There is no distinction. For about a year in universe she was the only person who had a reason to exist in both Tim and Robin’s lives. Giving up one would not necessitate giving up Steph. Though she would insist on dragging Tim back to the surface. Therefore, I think, if the Pre-New 52 universe had been allowed to continue, Steph would have been important in getting Tim back to the surface over Red Robin. Look what she managed to do in their crossover. The mere threat that she doesn’t recognize Tim anymore helps get him back on track. It’s also a thing in Rebirth. Tim is Tim is Robin is Red Robin is Drake is Tim. No difference.

I cannot find exact proof of this right now but there’s a panel where Tim’s on a date with Ari, and he can’t focus on her, as he’s too worried about a case. Tim can’t flipping focus ever with Zo because at that point his mind is just too full of trauma by then.

Steph takes him to the cinema, he relaxes. Steph makes out with him; his mind goes blank. I dunno where I’m going with this. Steph makes Tim feel safe, I guess. He lets his guard down bad with her.

When they’re younger they’re both kind of jealous over the other. Tim (playfully) threatens to shoot a guy who has a crush on Steph, and she does the very logical thing when seeing Tim being kissed and decides to make a Robin costume and force her way into the Batcave. Love was conditional for the both of them growing up, so the concept that they love each other for realsies doesn’t really compute. The other will leave. Eventually. Tim has better prospects and Steph will get bored of Mr Goody-Two-Shoes. Spoiler: They don’t.

Steph trusts Tim with the stories of her assault. She says her favourite things about him are his gentle nature, the fact that he’s not afraid to show her he’s frightened, and his empathy. Tim loves how warm Stephanie is and he loves how consistent her affection for him is. He knows that she only has his best interests at heart, even when she listens to the wrong people for what that is (coughBrucecough). They often can be found bolstering and comforting the other against Bruce’s actions as much as they can be seen supporting him, which makes for some juicy conflict.

In Rebirth Tim only sets the drones to target himself when Steph calls him thinking she’s going to die. In Rebirth the last person Tim chooses to speak to is Steph. In Rebirth the thought of Steph is one of the things that keeps his will to go home alive and his sanity after spending months alone intact. In Rebirth his renewed relationship with Steph was partially unravelling Dr Manhattan’s reboot of the earth (the power of adolescence crushes). In Rebirth Stephanie wins over the bad guys by assuring her boyfriend that a) he is a good person who b) she trusts to do the right thing. She saves the day with the Power of Love. In the bad Batman of Tomorrow future, Tim is looking for Steph, implied that he still has feelings for her even though she says he is essentially dead to her, he goes to see young Stephanie and begs forgiveness from her, then uses her - referring to her as something to possess in one interpretation - to throw young Tim off in a fight. Again, in Young Justice, the thought of Stephanie is one of Tim’s biggest motivators to go home. She is his home. He is her cornerstone.

And that is why I think they are a neat couple.

#dc #timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph meta

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 4 years

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Missions in Other Worlds (Jason Todd X Stark!Reader

Characters: Jason Todd X Stark!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers, DC, Batman

Request: Ooh this just hit me this afternoon. last one for me I promise!! A tony stark's daughter and batfam crossover: She is on a secret mission with Peter and Bucky and get's kidnapped by the joker and harley, Jason's the one to her rescue as Tony and Bruce show up at the same time, Tony yells at Peter for not watching and protecting his daughter etc.. Stark!daughter and Jason end up falling for each other at the end and Tony and Bruce walk in to see their kids kissing. angst and fluff!!

Since the incident of everyone coming back to life after 5 years of just being dust, and your father miraculously surviving the snap of his own fingers, there had been several ripples due to it. Most notably- rifts in time and space opening to other worlds where either things were minorly different or vastly. Each had to be investigated and documented and controlled to the best of the ability that it could, and so a team was set up for the rare times this happened: You and Peter were the main on the team and you usually had someone to supervise/ be your backup. Recently that had been Bucky. Your dad would be the one doing it but he’d been put on strict bed rest for the time being and you’d made him promise not to get in a suit unless absolutely necessary, and instead allow your little sister to play doctor with him. You’d even instructed Morgan to not let him out of bed and bribed her with a tummy ache amount of cookies if she agreed, which of course she did.

A new rift had been found, and after getting it safely open, you and Peter, falling onto the roof of an apartment complex, feeling the cool night air and hearing the sirens of a police car nearby. You were clearly in a city, though looking around made it unidentifiable. “First difference, it seems there’s a 12 hour difference.” Peter noted into the earpiece which you’d managed to make to be able to stay connected to your side of the rift where Bucky could hear you.

“Forget that, this is a totally different city. A city that doesn’t exist in our world.” You noted, looking out. “Look, there’s New York!” You pointed out, them following your finger to the distant sight of the buildings of New York City, with a large bridge seeming to attach the two.

“Am I the only one getting bad vibes from this place?” Peter asked.

“No, I’m getting it too… Let’s get off this roof.” You suggested, before you two found the stairway down to an alley. “Okay, how about we search for some authorities?”

“Ain’t any of them around here.” You turned, seeing several shapes heading towards you. You retrieved your pistol pointing it ahead at them while Peter scanned behind you to make sure there weren’t more. The light nudge to your side told you it was bad news.

It was as they got closer did you realise they were armed with bats and wearing freaky clown masks. What kind of world had you dropped into. You heard Peter shoot a web, and you took it as your opportunity to take a final warning to them; a shot in the air, and it only made them pause before advancing quicker. Then you aimed at them and shot the first one approaching, before approaching yourself, dodging a swing of a bat before kicking him in the chest, knocking him into some of those behind him, before another charged. You continued to fight till two got your arms pinned behind you, and you saw Peter take a baseball bat to the head, knocking him out. “Leave ‘im, she’s the leader.” One of them said, before one came in front of you, and you met their fist.

You woke up tied with your hands behind you, sat on the cold damp floor of what seemed to be an abandoned rotting building, you actually being tied to a support frame. Your head was hung low and you kept yourself like that as you gathered your bearings, able to hear several men bickering. “What does the Joke want with her anyway? She’s dressed like a spy, but she looks 21 at best.” One said.

“You seen those light things happening around Gotham? It’s getting reported all over the world- well her and that kid in the suit came through one. They might be from another world, which means a bigger playground for the boss.” Another answered. You fiddled with the ropes binding you as best you could, before deciding it was best to try and get answers. You looked up.

“Who’s your boss anyway?” You spoke, making them look at you, still in those masks. “Joker, you said? Some sort of clown?” You asked.

“Well… yeah.” One answered. You smirked, letting out a chuckle.

“Oh, is that it? He wouldn’t make it in my world. We’ve been invaded by aliens more than once, we’ve been invaded by killer robots all across the world, I’ve met literal gods… a clown is purely a joke for us.” You informed them cockily.

“You’re tied up and on the floor, you don’t seem that competent.” One stated. You didn’t falter.

“We also had a titan play god- destroy half of all living things, and guess what? We brought them back. I’ve met men who were drafted in the second world war but don’t look older than their thirties. One of them was trained to be a weapon and has a lot of kills to his name, and he heard what happened in that alleyway… and he’ll bring back up, and that back up are the gods and heroes you should be scared about.” You told them.

“Does he have more kills than me?” A voice spoke up, and the men turned, before a gunshot rang out, one of them men dropping. You used this distraction to worm your way out of the ropes, getting up and using your ropes to choke the closest man and kicking his legs from under him, before you decked the next man who turned to you, knocking him to the ground, and the next two were kicked to the ground and even thrown across the room by your supposed saviour- a man in a red helmet. The ones that were conscious soon scarpered, leaving you and the man. “You alright?” He asked you.

“Yeah, I’ve dealt with worse, but thanks, really.” You told him.

“Were you bullshitting them about the whole other world thing?” He asked you. You chuckled.

“I’m afraid not. When I mentioned the guy who killed half the population, we ended up time travelling in a way to get things to undo what was done, and it’s been causing rips through time and space. We investigate to make sure there’s no immediate danger and to document the differences when the rips appear. Wasn’t expecting to be jumped in an alley though.” You chuckled. “Gonna guess you’re sort of a hero for this world?”

“Hero? Not anymore. Anti hero seems to fit me better.” He informed you. He offered a hand for you to shake. “Red Hood.” He told you. You sighed and shook his hand.

“Y/N Stark.” You told him.

“No hero name for you?”

“My last name is hero enough; my dad spilled the beans about him being a hero to the press ages ago so… Yeah, not many people hide their identities in my world.” You told him. He chuckled, removing his helmet to present his face, though covered with a domino mask still. It was now you realised he was about your age. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know what happened to my friend?” You asked.

“He wasn’t in the alley… I can put a word out to look for him?” He offered. You smiled and nodded before wincing, feeling the side of your face. “They must’ve hit you pretty hard… It looks like it’s gonna leave a bruise…” He spoke, his hand hovering around your face and him peaking to have a look.

“At least he didn’t break my nose…” You commented, knowing from experience.

“You’ve been punched before?” He asked.

“You kidding? I help my dad and friend with hero stuff despite not having any powers and my 5 year old sister likes to rough house. I’m surprised I still have a nose.” You joked, making him chuckle.

“I know the feeling with siblings and rough housing, I’ve got two sisters and three other brothers. I’m the second oldest.” He told you as you started walking out of the building. You checked your ear, finding your earpiece, though it was broken, probably from you being punched and hitting the floor or something. “What does your friend look like?”

“He’s wearing red and blue, a full body suit. Will answer Spiderman. God… I hope he’s okay, he’s just a kid.” You told him with a heavy sigh, your face stinging lightly when the cold air hit it. “What’s this place called anyway, it doesn’t exist in your universe.” You told him.

“Gotham- lucky you it’s a shitshow.”

“I can tell, I got jumped literally five minutes into being here, and I’m a trained agent.” You laughed lightly. “Can’t imagine the shit you put up with.” You told him.

“Yeah… those guys are just goons for the joker… the guy’s insane, and I mean it… He’s killed me before, and ended up coming back by some fucked up shit.” He told you, scratching a faint scar on his cheek that you just noticed.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that…” You said softly. “I hope you get revenge. I really do.” You told him. He looked you right in the eye, seemingly surprised by your words.

“You’re the first person to wish that for me… all this time I thought I was being angry and over dramatic of wanting him dead for not just killing me but thousands others, even putting my friend in a wheelchair… hearing someone agree with me… thank you.” He told you, making you smile sadly. You looked around the abandoned streets.

“Well… since there’s bad guys here and such… we could arrange a partnership between the universes, someone needs help, the other comes to help… I’ll inform my friends of the Joker and his crimes and I’m sure I can get a pretty decent team together to help take him down.” You offered. Red Hood grinned.

“Where the hell have you been all my life?”

You and your saviour ended up on another roof, overlooking the city, your feet dangling over the side. You had been trying to get your comm back on so Peter could locate you, and while you did it, you two shared stories. You told him about your little sister, the Avengers and about each member, and he told you about his family and other heroes, which then made you discover all the other cities that were different. Soon you told him a bit more about your family, and how your dad straight up told the press he was Iron Man.

“He a celebrity or something?” He asked.

“Billionaire philanthropist. Built a load of things.” You told him.

“Huh. Guess we have billionaire dads in common.” He joked, making you smile, before you saw him freeze a little and sigh. “God… with all the hints I’ve given you when you find out about who’s rich here you’ll easily find out my real identity and my entire family… If I tell you my real name you can’t tell anyone in this world.” He requested.

“I mean it would make it easier to contact you when we start a partnership… and I promise.” You assured. He sighed, and he slowly removed his domino mask, and faced you.

“My name is Jason. Jason Todd.” He told you. You smiled softly, offering to shake his hand. He smiled and shook it.

“Hello Jason Todd.”

Soon you got the comm back on and you waited on the roof for Peter to arrive, when you heard the familiar sound of one of your father’s suits. “Oh no….” You whined.

“What?” Jason asked with a chuckle, seeing you whine like a child.

“It’s my dad, he’s supposed to be recovering. I swear, he acts like I’m the same age as my sister.” You huffed, hearing it come closer.

“Red Hood.” You jumped, turning to see a dark figure with a cape standing just feet away. Jason didn’t seem too surprised. “What’s going on?”

“Rift in time and space, this girl and her friend came through, I saved her, and now her back up is arriving. She suggests a partnership of some sort.” Jason asked shortly. From your conversation about his family and his relationship with his father, you quickly guessed who this was. Bruce looked over at you, before you heard your father land behind you.

“You okay Y/N?” Your dad asked.

“Oh thank god you’re okay Y/N!” You got hugged by a relieved and slightly battered Peter, before he realised what was happening and backed up.

“I’m good. Dad, this is Batman and Red Hood, Batman, Red Hood, this is Iron man, my father, and Spiderman.” You introduced them. “Red Hood saved me and we’ve discussed a partnership in case either of us need help. It shouldn’t cause paradoxes due to our worlds being so different.”

“I think we could use an extra pair of hands every now and again.” Jason agreed. There was a silence, before Batman sighed.

“We’ll have to discuss this further…”

“Understandable.” You agreed. You then turned to your dad. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“Oh I’m sorry, you got jumped and kidnapped in a different universe, I think it falls under fatherly duties to make sure you’re not dead.”

“You’ll be the one dead when Morgan finds out you’re not in bed.” You responded quickly. You swear you could hear Jason snort as your father was silent before sighing.

“Okay, good point… trust you can look after yourself?”

“I’ll keep her safe.” Jason offered. Tony did a double glance at him before pointing at him.

“Stay away from my daughter.”

“Too late.” You said, putting a hand over his shoulder, and Jason grinned and copied. Your dad looked disappointed before turning, beckoning Parker to follow, who waved and wished you luck before following your dad. You and Jason turned to Bruce, still with your arms over each other’s shoulders.

“Alright, let’s start discussing this arrangement.”

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @klanceiscannon14 @waywardemo @marvelhoeingismyhobby @bellamyblakemorley @abbybills22 @waywardemo @mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @aesthetjic @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lena-stan-xavier @lady-of-lies @sebstanismylife @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines

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spooky-z · 4 years

Text

The Soulmate AU [2]

Maribat by @ozmav

I didn't get much into the first part about their relationship (of the couple and with other people), so here's a post about it.

DAMIAN:

At 8, Damian, influenced by Marinette, manages to escape from the League to Batfam.

Not before stopping by to finally meet the girl in person. Of course.

Marinette's parents are relieved to know her little girl's soulmate, but also in a panic, as he has no shame in talking about his life with the League of Assassins.

"I don't want to be secret between us, since one day Marinette and I are getting married."

They accept. Bad. But they accept and try to be understanding.

He spends a week living with the Dupain-Cheng before deciding it was time to meet his father.

Marinette is sad. One week was too little and she wanted him safe by her side, not in a place where she could do nothing to help.

She attaches a discreet bracelet to the boy's wrist, claiming to be a lucky charm,and shows an equal resting on her pale wrist.

They say goodbye.

When Damian arrives in Gotham and meets Bruce, the man seems not at all surprised to learn that he had a son and that this son was coming to stay.

(The League and Talia had gone looking for Damian in Gotham, but were unable to find him.)

"Typical. She thinks she can predict my movements. I'm much smarter than that.” Damian snorts contemptuously and Mari laughs softly beside him.

She was by his side the whole trip. Only disappearing when she slept.

His relationship with Bruce and his brothers had a rocky beginning.

Damian was very closed and volatile.

Shoot first, ask questions later.

But our strawberry shortcake aka Marinette, with Alfred's help (even though the man didn't know he was helping her) managed to soften him enough to make things work.

Jonathan and Damian meet for the first time on duty.

Batman and Robin on patrol when Superman appears with Superboy and is dislike at first glance.

What changes after they meet again at school and Jonathan remembers Damian through Adrien's memories.

Best Friends Distributing Chaos Through Metropolis ™

He lives in Gotham with his father and siblings until he is 15, when he decides that living away from his soulmate is no longer working and signs up for an exchange in Paris.

MARINETTE:

Despite having a soulmate trained to be a assassin, she lived a normal, sweet childhood.

She had classmates, but also had her best friends: Kim and Sabrina.

Mari also becomes friends with Adrien at six.

The two know each other thanks to a visit from the Agreste family to the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

It is instant friendship! And families encourage both.

(Gabriel more for not wanting Adrien too close to Chloe).

Because soulmates are rare, she has been harassed by people (other children and adults)

Which didn't last long, because it was no wonder, she was Damian Al-Ghul Wayne's soulmate.

Marinette never depended on Damian for dangerous skills.

Things like steal, act, observe and gymnastics.

She was a very observant child, able to understand things that not even her parents were capable of before she pointed out the evidence.

She still wants to be a designer, this time with Gabriel's support.

But there was also a part (she didn't know if it was because of Damian) that simply wanted to fight off the Paris criminals.

The relationship with her parents is the best. They don't hide anything from each other because trust is a serious thing in this family.

When Damian goes to Paris and they meet in person for the first time, she makes a point of feeding him sweets, since his diet in the League was very strict.

She introduced Damian to Sabrina, Adrien and Kim at a picnic with the families.

(To Adrien's soulmate too and it was a mess)

At 9, she convinces Emilie that Adrien would learn much more from studying at a school like her.

They go to school together and she teaches Adrien some ways to fight that her parents wouldn't approve of, but she knew would be useful in the future.

Mari is fucking smart.

She and Adrien are fucking scary together.

Chloe avoids them even if Sabrina is their friend.

Everyone thinks she and Adrien are soulmates (except Sabrina and Kim, who had already met Damian).

At thirteen, on the first day of school a drunk man broke into the school assaulting one of the teachers who tried to kindly ask him to leave...

That day was marked "Never mess with Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

JONATHAN:

He lived part of his childhood living on his grandparents' farm.

He always knew who his father and mother were, so being half alien wasn't something he didn't know about.

No one really believed that he had a soulmate (even if his eyes proved otherwise) because of his alien heritage.

He learned Kryptonian as he grew older.

As well as his powers and abilities.

After his parents decide to stop hiding, they move to Metropolis and Jon starts studying at a private school.

The signs of his soulmate only became evident after Jonathan recognized the face and model names on billboards.

And he had never been interested in modeling or the fashion world.

Then came the dreams.

Dreams of photo shoot, a green-eyed blonde woman and a stern-looking skinny man. Both French.

The first thought had been that he was going crazy.

The second, that he was developing a new power.

This continued until the "Swap" and he understood what was going on.

He and Adrien become best friends (first).

His classmates liked to tease him that Jonathan spent so much time “talking to himself”

His parents found the boy's innocent joy so cute.

He “introduces” Adrien to his parents and the boy blushes with Lois's attention.

Clark too, since please, it was Superman there.

Romantic feelings only come at 10 (for both), but they only start dating at 13.

Damian is his best friend, since he understands his situation very well.

He is the one who puts the idea in Damian's mind to take the exchange in Paris.

Convince the parents is a little harder than Bruce Wayne, but he manages.

Imagine the disaster that will be Paris in the hands of these four.

ADRIEN:

Having met Marinette much earlier than in canon and becoming her best friend, he has a drastic change of character here.

Although his pacifist side remains firm, it is not as strong as in canon.

Jonathan's bonus for being his soul mate as well, as it directly affects his behavior.

Influenced by Marinette, he is not taken in by Chloe's crazy and childish ideas

He even tries to help the girl, knowing that her bad behavior was more to draw attention, since her parents were far from exemplary parents, but she runs away from him as soon as she finds out that he is friends with Mari.

He makes other friends, but none compare to Marinette, Jonathan and Damian.

Learning to fight and growing a backbone was something he enjoyed, but baking was his passion.

Mr. Dupain really wanted to be able to adopt the boy.

He cried when he could see Jonathan for the first time.

When his mother dies in a car accident, he is 12 years old.

Adrien goes into shock.

He didn't eat, didn't talk, didn't sleep.

Jonathan was panicking that they were in distant countries, different continents.

Adrien did not react.

It went on like this until Marinette decided that was enough of it and broke into the Agreste mansion, sparing not even a glance at Gabriel.

Adrien was forced to shower, put on clean clothes, comb the hair, eat, brush the teeth and cry.

Yes, forced to cry.

Marinette knew that in order for him to get out of the nest of dark thoughts (which Jonathan had warned her), he needed to vent all that was trapped.

The day had been long, the night even more so.

It took months, but he managed to return to normal gradually. With the help of his friends, Adrien was able to suffer his grief in the least painful way possible.

When Gabriel decides it's best for Adrien to be home schooled again and fill the boy's schedule with photo essays, Marinette gets angry.

Or maybe it was Damian. Or both together. Anyway,

When Gabriel decides to be a dick, Marinette threatens to report the man to the police for child exploitation.

He tries to dissuade Marinette by threatening her back, but Adrien supports her and confronts his father.

OTHER THINGS:

Because of Adrien's “rebellion”, Gabriel decides to do nothing at the moment, but devises plans to change that.

What he doesn't know is that Marinette, with Damian's help, Jonathan, her parents, is two steps ahead of him. Waiting for his first slip.

Damian does not introduce Marinette to Batfam, he avoids, but the girl insists until one day she introduces herself and he just stands by his arms crossed and annoyed.

Jason and Marinette become best friends for Damian's chagrin and Bruce's happiness.

(Jason was having a hard time... and Marinette was being the light at the end of the tunnel for Bruce.)

The first time they make the "Swap" at Wayne Mansion, everyone is horrified to watch Damian spin happily around the kitchen, all smiles, while decorating Batfam-themed cupcakes.

Timothy had recorded and sent it to all family friends.

When Gabriel tries to force Adrien to do a late-night photo shoot on a school day, Jonathan curses the man with all the low vocabulary he has learned living on the farm.

His parents are not proud to find the boy at 3am cursing loudly in the kitchen, but understand his frustration.

Adrien is the one who anchors Jonathan's powers, so he doesn't lose too much control.

Alya and Lila will die a slow and painful death in this au.

And I say that not for Damian but for Tikki.

I will make one for the kwamis and soon I will post the fanfiction!

[tag list]

@sassydepression @emjrabbitwolf @actual-disaster-human @mystery-5-5 @thequestionablyhuman @alexresides @officiallyathiana @interobanginyourmom @2sunchild2 @vixen-uchiha @timetomakeanewwish @ranger-gothamite @thanks-captain-obvious @wargraymon0709 @krispydefendorpolice @chocolatecatstheron @kazjaurelia @lysslovsanime @fandomkitty8 @g-arya @zerotosiki @bananaapplewaffle @graduatedmelon @schrodingers25 @queencommonsense @mindfulmagics @michellemagic @kceedraws @littleblue5mcdork @be-happy-every-day-please @razzledazzle247

#soulmate au #daminette #damian #damian x marinette #maribat #jondrien #ml salt #miraculous ladybug

1K notes · View notes

meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

#batfam #dc fanfic #batfam fanfic #batfam big bang 2020 #bbb 2020 #tim drake fanfic #tim drake #ra's al ghul #tam fox #no grave can hold my body down #ngchmbd #my writing #read the warnings

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teentitanimals · 4 years

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Carrie Kelley in the Batfam

I freaking love Carrie Kelley, she’s so awesome. I desperately wish to see more content of her (I say, never even having read the comics she’s in- so sue me, I’ll get to it eventually). So, I’m taking it upon myself to write how I think she’d function with the rest of the Batfam! In ‘my’ version/understanding of the Batfam, she becomes Robin when Damian is AWOL. She quickly assumes the identity of Catgirl after Damian returns (angry, of course), and then eventually becomes Batgirl when no one else takes that mantle.

I personally view Carrie as someone who’s really, really eager to have a true family, and if she gets to kick criminals’ asses to have that family, then that’s just a big bonus. In basic, I see her as someone who’s very outwardly bubbly, energetic, eager to please, full of determination, enthusiastic, and somewhat stubborn, but has layers of doubt and anxiety expertly pushed down (as is the Bats’ way). In more depth, I see her as someone who knows what she has to do, and will do it no matter what. When she’s given an order, she will go through with it. When she needs to lead, she will. When she needs to follow, she will. Still though, she is inexperienced and untrained compared to the others, both on the physical side and emotional side. While she can put on that facade of coldness, strictness, when she no longer needs that mask, she can break down. For example, when she unhesitatingly punished that Batboy (Mutant guy) for killing some one, but later cried about it. She does what she believes needs to be done in the moment, but can often doubt or regret afterwards, when it’s safer to do so.

Anyway, here’s how I view her relationships with the Batfam! I might do this with some of the other Batfam as well, like Duke :)

Bruce - Carrie instantly views Batman as a parental figure. Her parental figures barely even remember she exists, so when Batman finally accepted her temporarily as Robin, she immediately started to view him as a positive adult role model in her life. She’s always very eager to impress him and relishes in every moment she’s near him, but she can get super anxious when he’s silent, often interrupting it as him ignoring her, just like her real parents do.

Alfred - Carrie loves Alfred, no surprise there. Who doesn’t, after all? She’s only seen her grandparents a few times, so it’s much like what she did with Bruce, instantly viewing him as a grandfather figure. She loves getting him little gifts and enjoys helping him with the work he does around the manor. She would spend every moment telling him how much she appreciates him, if she could.

Selina - She’s a bit hesitant with Selina, because she doesn’t really know much about the woman past her sort of being Batman’s “lover” and also a criminal dressed in a catsuit sometimes. She wants to view Selina as a mother figure, but she gets nervous and shy around her. The two do bond over a love of cats and dogs, though. (I actually have an idea/AU where Carrie becomes Catgirl but as Catwoman’s ‘sidekick’.)

Commissioner Gordon - She has a good amount of respect towards the Commissioner, along with a certain amount of pity. Sometimes, when she’s able to, she’ll prompt him to tell stories to her, and just sit down and listen. She wants to know him better, maybe become like uncle and niece, but she doesn’t really know how to do that.

Kate - Carrie takes well to Batwoman, admiring and respecting her a great deed. She adapts easily to viewing Kate as an aunt. She isn’t as eager to impress Kate like she is with Bruce, but she does value her opinion a lot. Carrie really enjoys hanging out with Kate outside of their masks too, and finds her to be really fun and cool, especially compared to Bruce- although, she would never tell Bruce that to his face.

Dick - Carrie was really, really anxious for Dick’s approval. No, not for being Robin, but rather for being accepted into the family. He was the eldest sibling. The first sibling. Needless to say, getting his immediate acceptance was so relieving it was almost addicting. And, not to mention, Dick was the first person to really hug her in a long while. A full on, arms wrapped around, tight squeeze, warm, loving kind of hug. She about cried on the spot. An unfortunate side effect is that having Dick hug her and seeing him hug everyone else made her Dick’s rival as the most touchy-feely of the Batfam. At least the fam has better luck escaping Carrie’s hugs than they do Dick’s.

Barbara - Carrie also was really anxious for Babs’s approval as well, this time more focused on being a Batgirl than with being accepted into the family. The two aren’t super close, or super chatty, but Carrie always appreciates Babs’s easy and quiet acceptance of her. Even when Carrie feels ignored and forgotten by the rest of the family, she can always count on having Babs simply just greeting her, or sending her out on a mission, just a casual acknowledgement of her existence. In return, Carrie also enjoys giving her small gifts from time to time like she does with Alfred.

Jason - She was a bit nervous initially meeting the infamous Red Hood, but she covered it well with guts and confidence. After she overcame her wariness of him, she definitely tried a bit harder to impress him, viewing him as the ‘cool older brother’. Jason isn’t all that touchy-feely with her like Dick, but every pat on the head, shoulder or back feels like ‘He Accepts Me as His Little Sister’ heaven to her. The two don’t always mesh well together, but they don’t have any animosity or history between them, so it’s easy for them to get along well.

Cass - Cass both fills Carrie with anxiety and love. On one hand, Cass is often very silent, and that really activates Carrie’s ‘She’s Ignoring Me, She Doesn’t Care About Me’, but on the other hand, Cass is very warm and comforting, even without words. Carrie would compare her to a ‘blanket’- warm, soft, comforting, always there for you, even without saying anything, but sometimes when it gets too hot (too silent), you need to get rid of the blanket until its colder (too loud) again. It’s an odd simile, but Cass finds it amusing. Cass more than makes up with her silence with many friendly pats and hugs to her new little sister (which Carrie was ecstatic to find out Cass viewed her as such almost as immediately as Carrie viewed her as an older sister).

Luke - Carrie doesn’t see Luke or Batwing all that much, but she kind of enjoys that. It’s like having a distant cousin you see on holidays that you get along well with. It really solidifies the whole ‘family’ thing for her. She likes hanging out with his siblings, too.

Harper - Harper, too, is more like a cousin, but one Carrie is just in awe of. She definitely wants to get to know Harper better, but they haven’t found the time too.

Tim - She often finds it hard to get along with Tim. Not that they clash heads or anything, it’s more like an awkward silence (and you know by now how much she hates silence). Carrie is loud and energetic even without coffee, yet Tim sometimes can barely stay awake even with coffee. She also isn’t as good with tech as the other, having less experience and access to even the more simpler digital devices due to her parents neglect of her and her childhood. She admires his intelligence and skill greatly, and often feels inferior to him because of it. It’s weird, because she also knows and acknowledges that the rest of the Batfam is greater than her in most skills simply due to more experience and training, but for some reason Tim’s skills make her feel worthless and unimportant to the family. Still though, the two find ways to get along, even if it is just something as minor as Carrie offering to get him some coffee and watching him work. Tim has offered to teach her more on tech too, which she’s pretty eager about, even if a lot of it flies over her head.

Steph - Once again, Steph is one of those people Carrie highly admires. Steph was, after all, both a Robin and Batgirl like Carrie too. Plus, Carrie just really loves Steph’s personality, humor, and wit. She’s the older sister Carrie wants to impress the most. The two got along immediately, personalities bouncing well off each other, like an echo chamber but better. Steph greatly enjoys having a little sister to teach ‘girl stuff’ too, and is happy to pull Carrie along on any trips to the mail, or to paint nails with her and Cass. Inviting Carrie to watch reality TV and musicals with her and Damian. Their text messages between each other consist solely of memes and random ramblings done at 2am. Bruce often has to separate them on patrols or missions, because Steph brings out Carrie’s ‘lack of brain cells’ side, making her more eager to just jump head-on into danger without a proper plan or instructions to do so.

Duke - She and Duke are both the ‘new kids’, but Duke knows just a little bit more about the Batfamily than her. He enjoys showing her ‘the ropes’ when getting used to the family’s insanity. She’s more rambunctious and eager to join in on the chaos than he was, but they can still bond over giving each other those little glances of ‘Are you seeing this too? I’m not crazy right?’ and ‘They can’t be serious.’ Carrie enjoys the more calmed down energy she can have with him. Everyone else in the family’s high energy brings out hers, but Duke has that perfect balance that she appreciates. Even someone as eager for familial attention can be overwhelmed at times. Sometimes they just enjoy calmly, casually talking about whatever, relaxing as they eat, or read, or watch TV.

Damian - Damian is by far the one Carrie admires the most. She’s the one she craves the most acceptance from, and Damian being Damian, it’s very hard to get it, especially since she was a ‘copycat’, a ‘temporary replacement’, a ‘little girl scout looking at the big leagues’ to him. Despite Damian’s many, many insults and jabs and overall disrespect to her, she took it as best she could in stride, not wanting to upset him further. Much like Jason was Tim’s Robin, Damian was Carrie’s Robin, the one she looked up to. It’s why she so easily gave up being Robin and became Catgirl when Damian came back. It was his role, and Carrie didn’t mean to ‘steal it’ from him, or to ‘replace him’, just to help Batman when he didn’t have anyone else. It takes awhile, a long while, but Damian begins to warm up to her, slowly, slowly, accepting her as his sister. Eventually, he actually becomes pretty protective of her, after all, Robin and Batgirl are just as iconic a pair as Robin and Batman. Despite Damian being younger than Carrie (in my eyes), Carrie views him as a protective older brother. They enjoy taking care of all their pets and animals together, and complaining about school to one another, and crashing on the couch after a long day, watching random shows until they fall asleep and one of their older siblings has to carry them to their respective beds.

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crazyfreckledginger · 5 years

Text

Tim Drake x Reader - “You Guys? Together?”

Being one of the top bachelorettes of Gotham wasn’t a title you would have expected to earn at all. Though, your successful career had brought you to be one of the richest in town, you were often invited to special events to raise popularity. What the batboys didn’t expect, was that your now-boyfriend turned out of be the third bird, Tim, especially since you nothing alike.

Requested by anon: “Can I have a Tim drake X reader where she’s like one of the top bachelorette and her and Tim start dating and they really don’t seem like each others type but they just are (Bonus points if she gets jealous and the batfam is like how??!!!??)”

A/N: Hope you like it! ^^

Warning: Jason being a fanboy, I’m sure Jason swears at least once in this.

“Good morning losers,” Jason entered the dining room, seeing his younger and older brother sitting quietly and eating at the table.

“Jason,” Bruce’s usual warning tone at his flattering nicknames seemed more distant than normal, too absorbed in the newspaper

“Hmm?” Dick perked up at his unusual behaviour, Tim raised a questioning eyebrow as well never seeing him so immersed in a single article.

“Thank you Alfred,” Jason’s voice was nearly ignored by the first robin.

“What’s so interesting that you don’t give Jason his usual scolding?” Grayson inquired

“Maybe he’s finally accepted that you are all losers!” Red Hood expressed before taking a spoonful of cereal and plopping into his mouth.

Tim glared at his stupid brother before munching on his toast.

“This (Y/N) (L/N) is peculiar.” he admitted, folding the daily newspaper and placing it on the side of his plate before digging into his meal.

“What about her?” Tim asked, thankful that his voice didn’t waver.

“Oh, the really hot chick, I love that woman,” Jason spoke with his mouthful.

“Shut up until you finished eating, you look like a more filthy pig than usual,” Damian entered the kitchen in black sports clothes and untied Titus’ leash.

“Feel free to restrain from any insults, masters,” Alfred sighed in defeat as he paced to the kitchen to wash up some of their dishes.

“She’s very...outspoken,” the millionaire chose his words carefully.

“Good for her,” Dick encouraged.

“What’s wrong with being outspoken?” Tim scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

“People don’t want to hear the truth sometimes,” He sighed.

“You’re one to talk,” Red Hood snorted, only earning himself a glare.

“I think she’s doing things the correct way,” Damian sat down among them, knowing Alfred would scold him for being impolite even if he had breakfast before talking Titus for a walk,

“I don’t want to but I’m agreeing with demon spawn, she doesn’t let people step on her, if she’s so famous and doing alot for the city then yes, it’s a good thing because the reporters in Gotham suck ass!” Jason groaned.

“....tt, you’re one of her fanboys aren’t you?” Damian tutted.

“Yes, I love my fashion queen!” Tim nearly cringed at the admiration in Jason’s eyes.

“What do you think Tim?” Dick’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the unusually quiet and stoic man.

“I haven’t paid much attention to her if I’m being honest,” the person in question answered.

“Hmm,” The eldest nodded at his opinion. His gaze lingered on him until he picked up his vibrating phone.

“I need to go,” the second to youngest stood up and made a beeline for his room.

“Welp, don’t know what he’s hiding but he’s being very obvious about it.” Jason murmured, “he got all tense when we started talking about (Y/N).”

“I think someone has got a crush ~” Nightwing teased with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

“You’re going to try and get them together aren’t you, Grayson?” Damian grumbled.

“Why not, you saw how uncomfortable he became, and he only gets like that when he gets a crush.” a small giggle erupted from his lungs as Damian shook his head dismissively.

“What of the Gala next weekend, Master Bruce?” Alfred re-entered the dining room with more tea and coffee.

“Our job here is done Alfred, invitations have been sent out and now we’re receiving the confirmations.” Batman answered.

“You invited (Y/N) right??” Dick nearly lept out of his seat.

“What do you plan on doing?”

*****

“You seriously need a life, Dick,” Jason sighed as he leaned against the wall, watching the numerous guests being welcomed inside by the Bat.

“What? It’s a great idea, do you see her anywhere?” Nightwing scanned the room.

“No, she hasn’t arrived yet.” he answered.

“For someone who is so annoying about the topic, you seem to be keeping a close eye out for her,” Damian grumbled.

“What, she’s my idol!” his eyes were practically sparkling.

“You’re a grown ass man Jason hitting on a single famous girl that is at least 4 years younger than you.” The youngest robin scoffed.

“Listen, if you even followed anything she does you would see how much of an inspiration she is.” he sighed happily.

“You would think you would take notes and do something constructive with your life,” the bloodson whispered. Jason glared at him, preparing to express a sarcastic retort before Bruce walked up to three of his sons.

“Jason,” his warning tone came back and the man in question turned to him.

“She’s a nice girl.” was all he stated.

“Oh my god, she’s here?” Todd squeaked.

“Yes, we talked for a little bit, it was quite refreshing hearing of such inspirational actions from our youth,” Bruce expressed pleased.

“God, you’re old,” Jason muttered.

“Where is Tim?” Dick raised an eyebrow, wanting to put his plan into action as quickly as possible.

“Haven’t seen him,” Batman spoke.

“Oh no, let’s hope they aren’t becoming interested in other people, come on!!”

*****

His arm snaked tightly around her waist, securing her tightly against his chest.

“Mmh,” his lips trailed down her neck to her exposed shoulder, “Timmy,”

“You’re beautiful in that dress,” he murmured, capturing her lips in another sweet kiss.

“I missed you too,” her hands rested against the back of his neck as she offered him a shy smile.

“You talked to my father, didn’t you?” he sighed in realisation, placing his forehead on her shoulder.

“I did, but he was nice,” she reassured, cupping his cheeks so he would look at her.

“It’s only a matter of time before you meet my brothers.” Tim warned.

“I’m sure they’re as nice as your father,” a cute chuckle escaped her lips before she pecked his.

“I love you Timmy,” her forehead pressed against his as his thumbs rubbed circles on her hips.

“I love you too,” he smiled softly.

“WOAH WHAT THE HELL AM I WITNESSING RIGHT NOW!?” a voice echoed in the empty room.

The couple nearly jumped out of their skin but only jumped away from each other as two grown men, a familiar father figure and a teenager stood in the doorway, some offering them surprised looks.

“O-oh, Mr Wayne, h-hi,” (Y/N) blushed in embarrassment, too caught off guard to know how to deal with it.

“B-but you got all tense and shy when we talked about her and you guys were actually together?” The eldest’s voice hitched as he got to the end of his question.

“W-what?” the girl frowned in confusion.

“Let me explain,” Tim sighed.

Here we go!

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fishfingersandjellybabies · 7 years

Text

The Moons And Their Suns - fic

Characters: The Batfams and The Superfams Summary: Some call it meddling, others call it helping. Regardless, every Bat has a Super, whether they want one or not. A/N: More trash. I just love the relationships of all the bats and supers and how the supers love them so much, waaaah.

Clark found him in the cave. Cowl off, but the rest of that terrible uniform on.

He wasn’t answering League pages. When called by others, Alfred answered, and claimed Bruce was dealing with a personal situation.

But Clark wasn’t one of the others.

So he didn’t call. Didn’t ask to come see him. Just waltzed into the cave like he was the Batman himself. And when he silently moved over to Bruce’s side, he wasn’t chastised, or snapped at. Bruce didn’t even raise his head from where it was hidden in his hands.

“…I have a son.” Bruce whispered after a moment. Clark raised his eyebrows in question, and a little bit of surprise. “A blood son. With Talia al Ghul.”

“…Oh.”

“His name is Damian. He’s nearly ten.” Bruce continued. Lifted his head, stared blankly ahead. “…Talia’s trained him since near birth in the way of the assassins. He’s ten, he’s a brat, and he’s killed. Multiple times.”

Clark waited.

“He’s ten, and she’s hurt him.” Bruce murmured, and his voice was pained. Strained beyond almost anything Clark had ever heard. “She’s forced him to do things no child should.”

Clark waited still.

“He’s ten, and I never even knew he existed.” Bruce sounded so sad. So sorrowful. It hurt Clark’s own heart, as Bruce ran his hand over his face one more time. “Clark…what do I do?”

“…Where is this child?” Clark asked.

“…I don’t know. Dead maybe. Probably not.” Bruce hummed. “Talia gave him an ultimatum. Me or her. He didn’t answer how she wanted, so she blew up the submarine we were on. I made it out. I never found either of them.”

“Then, step one: you find them.” Clark said, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You find them, and you get that boy to safety.”

Bruce didn’t answer. Just remained hunched in on himself.

“Bruce, you can’t blame yourself for this.” Clark tried. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I sired a child and left him in the hands of a demon.” Bruce countered bitterly. “How is it not?”

“Because you didn’t know. And you had no reason to look, or question.” Clark urged, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder. “Because if you had known, I know you would have fought tooth and nail for this boy. Just like you do for the others.”

Bruce took a deep, shuddering breath. Leaned back in his chair and looked up at Clark. He looked old and tired. Repeated: “What do I do, Clark?”

“You go find him. Bring him to Gotham. Bring him home.” Clark smiled. “And here – I’ll help you.”

“Clark, no.” Bruce tried, even as Clark moved towards the computer. “You don’t have to-”

“Want to.” Clark returned cheerfully. Smirked when Bruce stepped up beside him. “It’s what friends are for, Bruce.”

Bruce just stared at him. And if Clark didn’t know any better, he’d say the Batman looked grateful.

“Besides,” Clark teased. “You totally already made me his godfather, right?”

Bruce frowned and rolled his eyes, turning towards the computer himself as Clark laughed.

Dick chugged the whiskey as he heard the other approach. Slammed the glass down onto the bar as they sat next to him.

He sneered as he glanced over. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Kara hummed. “Got a call from Barbara. And Steph.” A pause, and a small smile. “And little Tim.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

“Hey, it was either me or Tim.” Kara tried. “In fact, he’s waiting outside right now, with that mystery friend of yours, the Red Hood or whatever? The Red Hood is cranky and Tim is being protective of you. If we don’t hurry, there’s probably a good chance they’d kill each other in a public spectacle.” Then sarcastically: “And I’m sure that’s exactly the kind of news story Lois or Clark would want to cover.”

Dick took another swig. “And when the word got back to Bruce, I’m sure I’d still somehow be blamed.”

Kara waited, politely waved the bartender away when she stopped in front of them. “Dick, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?” He snapped, though the regret on his face immediately after was clear. “Bruce is never around, Jason’s back and crazy. Tim is getting distant and I just…I can’t help anyone.”

“Who said it was your job to?” Kara asked incredulously.

“They’re my family. Even Jason.” Dick sighed. “I’m the oldest. It is my job to.”

“I’m technically the oldest El on planet Earth, and that’s not how it is for Clark and I.” Kara countered.

“Not for lack of trying, though.” Dick murmured. “Your pod got knocked off course. Clark grew up in the meantime. It’s different.”

“Not that different.” Kara hummed.

“I just.” Dick huffed, held his face in his hands. “Everything is changing, and…I don’t know what to do.”

“Who said you had to do anything? Despite evidence, the members of your family can actually take care of themselves. I promise. Bruce, Tim…even Jason. If they needed you, they’d come to you. And even if they didn’t, you’d know when you had to intervene. You’re upset right now because you can’t help anyone…but that’s because you don’t need to. You’re feeling lost because you’re so used to busying yourself helping others, that now that you’re not explicitly needed, you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to help yourself.” Kara leaned towards him, put a hand on his shoulder. “…Dick, change is inevitable. You taught me that yourself.”

“Yeah, well. This change sucks.”

“So Bruce is busy now. And Jason is alive and…not the person you remember. And Tim is growing up. That’s not your fault. Nor is it your problem.” Kara reminded.

“…I guess.” Dick mumbled. “But it’s not just that.”

“No? Then what else?”

“The Titans…My friends…” He looked down into his glass. “I never see them. Sometimes I almost convince myself they don’t even exist anymore. Like we were never friends in the first place.”

Kara listened for a moment, then leaned her head back. “Oh. I get it now.”

Dick took a swig, glanced over at her. “Get what?”

“It’s not just stress at the idea that those you love are suffering and you can’t help.” Kara explained. “You’re lonely.”

Dick blinked, then stared back down into his drink. Pursed his lips, but didn’t respond.

“…Going out on your own and becoming Nightwing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” Kara smiled softly. She looked at Dick until the bartender passed by again. She held her hand up, and quietly placed an order. Jack and Coke, and she’d be paying for Dick’s next round.

Dick watched her, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

The beverage was placed in front of her. She thanked the tender, and took a long gulp.

“The easiest way to fix feeling lonely is to not be alone.” Kara hummed, eye twitching at the bitterness of the alcohol. She frowned a little then. “And…Dick, I know you and I aren’t the closest, but…mind if I stick around?”

Dick snorted. “Surely the Girl of Steel has a better place to be.”

“Absolutely not. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get home safe at the end of this night anyway.” Kara smiled. “So. Drink as much as you want, Mr. Grayson. Consider me your DD. Wingman. Wing-girl? Designated Wing-girl? Since I didn’t bring a car, and will be flying you home…”

Dick felt himself smirk. “And what about Tim and the Red Hood? Didn’t you say they were outside?”

“Oh, Conner forcibly picked them up twenty minutes ago.” Kara winked. “I was just hoping to use them as an excuse to get you moving. But now that we’re staying…”

Dick couldn’t help his bark of laughter. Let it fade into a sigh. He looked over at Kara – she just kept smiling sympathetically at him – and carefully put his hand over hers.

“Thank you, Kara.”

Kara blushed, just a little, then held up her glass, as if in mock-toast.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

The landing wasn’t subtle. The ground shook, and Jason knew if he turned around, there’d probably be a crater in the yard.

Well, it was Bruce’s yard so he hoped there was. Served the old man right.

“Red…?” Was hummed awkwardly. Jason sighed.

“Go back to Artemis, Bizarro.” Jason drawled. “I’m fine.”

But, of course, Bizarro didn’t listen. Instead came up to Jason’s side, staring first at the ground where Jason was looking, then up to Jason himself.

“No you not.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Jason tried instead. “It’s okay, nothing for you to worry about.”

He could feel Bizarro still staring.

“Lying.” Bizarro decided. “Red Him, why lying?”

“Because it’s none of your business.” Jason snapped, though he didn’t mean to. “Now go away.”

“It is.” Bizarro pushed. “Is my business. You my business.”

Jason didn’t respond. Just kept staring at the ground. At the gravestone rotting there.

At his gravestone, rotting there.

“Red Him my business.” Bizarro hummed. “Me love Red Him.”

Jason sniffed, tried to look away. But suddenly, arms were wrapping around his, trapping him against a chest. A tight embrace that lifted him off the ground, full of a lot of emotions that Jason forgot he’d been deprived of until right now.

“Is okay.” Bizarro murmured, rocking Jason back and forth as he leaned his face between Jason’s shoulder blades. “Red Him okay.”

Jason sniffed again, and this time felt a tear run down his face.

“No cry, Red.” Bizarro soothed. “No cry. Me and Red go home, ‘kay?”

Jason didn’t have a choice. Bizarro never put him down, just jumped into the sky, creating another crater, flying in zagged lines back to their base.

“We go home.”

Tim sensed him before he saw him. Kept his arm across his eyes, even as his immediate thought was:

“Go away, Conner.”

There was a snort from the windowsill. “Why?”

“I’d rather you not see me like this.”

“Dude, I’ve seen you in worse states.” The pleasant voice changed though, to one of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Tim listened as Conner stepped through the window, silently picked up some of the mess that was littered across the floor. He frankly couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried to clean his apartment. The last time he was motivated to, or even home to actually do it. “…What isn’t?”

“Tim.” Conner sighed, sounding like a parent. “I got used to your angst-induced sass years ago. And you know I’m not leaving until you actually tell me, so. You might as well just get it over with.”

Tim waited another minute, listened as Conner disappeared further into the home and came back with a trash bag. “…Damian’s a good freaking person and everything’s ruined.”

“Oh?”

“And I’d laugh, if everything wasn’t in shambles because of it.” Slowly, Tim dropped his arm away from his eyes. Spread his arms like a bird. “…He was the glue that held our family together, did you know that?”

The crinkle of a bag, the sound of a bottle being dropped into it. “No. I thought you said that was Dick, honestly. Or Bruce himself.”

“I thought they were too. Objectively, they should be.” Tim grumbled. “But no, see? Apparently, it’s that brat. And it pisses me off.”

“Knowing you, you have evidence of this new status for your brother.” Conner said slowly. Tim heard something being put on a shelf. Kept his eyes on the ceiling. “Mind sharing it? Because frankly, I still don’t see it.”

“It’s not new, I’ve just only recently realized it.” Tim snapped. Conner didn’t react. “…When he was dead, the whole family was absolutely lost. Bruce and Dick especially. But so was Jason. So was Cass. …So was I.”

“Wow.”

“And at first I just chocked it up to the fact that I’ve lost so much already. That he was just another in a long line of people who associated with me and ended up dead.” Tim rambled. “But then he came back, and everything was better. Not perfect, but…better. Coming home didn’t hurt as much.”

“Mhm.”

“And then.” Tim hissed. “Then that garbage with the Court of Owls, and with Dick. He’s barely older than an infant-”

“That’s not true.”

“-And there he goes, willingly sacrificing himself to one of the most dangerous organizations in the entire world. Just because he loves Dick, and would rather himself be tortured than someone in this stupid family.”

“…Someone in this stupid family.” Conner repeated slowly. “Doesn’t that include you?”

“That’s exactly my point.” Tim whined. “Because yeah, at first, I thought – it was just for Dick. But the more I thought about it, and the more I went over the evidence, I realized he’d done it for me and Jason too. Like how stupid is that.”

“…Tim…”

“And I cared, okay?!” Tim almost shouted, finally sitting up and looking at his friend. Half his room was spotless now, reorganized into a sense of order. “When I realized what he’d done for Dick – what he’d done for all of us – it sucked. It downright hurt. I couldn’t sleep for a week because of it.”

“You’re mad you love your brother.” Conner surmised, a small smile on his lips. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“How dare him!” Tim yelled, flopping dramatically back down. “How dare that little shit make me love him, and care about him, and worry about him when he runs stupidily headfirst into danger!”

“Well, I mean. I think it’s only fair.” Conner offered. “Since it kind of sounds like he cared about you first, and for a long while.”

“That just makes it worse.”

Conner snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Shut up.” Tim sighed, closing his eyes. “…Thanks for listening.”

There was another swish of the bag, and then the mattress dipped as Conner sat next to him. “It’s what I’m here for. Want me to mention to Jon so he can subtly tell Damian?”

Tim snorted, smirking as he turned his head towards Conner. “Absolutely not.”

Conner returned the smirk. “Wimp.”

“Jerk.” Tim countered playfully. “Pizza?”

Conner groaned, practically floating off the bed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Tim sniggered as he rolled off the bed. “And you had the gall to call me dramatic.”

“Hey.” Conner shrugged, coming up behind him and throwing his arm around Tim’s shoulders. Gave him a wink. “I learn from the best.”

And Tim didn’t answer beyond a light chuckle, but Conner felt his shoulders sag in relief, in a semblance of relaxation, and chalked that up to a victory.

Bruce was in a panic. Dick too. Even Tim was worried, and that was almost a shock. But only almost.

No one could find Damian.

Well, almost no one.

Jon just walked through the cave, Titus and Alfred the cat at his sides. Past the high-tech hub, beyond the winding road and vehicle tracks. To a darker, and entirely unused part of the cave.

And he hadn’t known what to make of it at the time, when after a mission, Damian pulled himself and Maya aside and gave them very specific coordinates of the cave. Just said to remember them, that they might be important one day, if they wanted them to be.

He hadn’t realized then. Maybe Maya did, but he didn’t. Didn’t realize that Damian was giving him the location of his secret hideaway. A place where he felt safe, a place he went when it was all too much.

A place he could be found, when he needed to be. A place only his most trusted partners were allowed to know about.

And not even Dick Grayson knew.

But he did. Jon Kent did.

So he kept Damian’s confidence. Gave him a few hours to calm down or keep to himself or be alone – whatever he needed. Then grabbed a flashlight and his friend’s pets, and entered the cave, following the near nonexistent trail left by their wayward Robin.

He found him by his heartbeat. By Titus starting to whine and Alfred meowing gently, almost calling for their boy. Raised the flashlight and saw a splash of gold from his cape spilling over an otherwise dark ledge.

“Damian?”

“I shouldn’t be here.” Damian returned. His voice was rough and dry. “I need to go home.”

“You are home.” Jon offered.

“Back to my mother.” Damian reworded. “I don’t belong here.”

Titus whined sadly, as Jon moved forward, carefully began floating towards Damian’s perch. “Says who?”

“Says me. I…I can’t do anything right. The Titans don’t accept me. Half of my family hates me. The League and everyone thinks I’m a joke.” Damian listed off. When Jon could finally see him properly, he saw he was curled in on himself. Knees to chest, head bowed, ungloved nails chipped and bloody from his climb, digging into his shins. “But I guess they’re all right to think that. I was too stubborn to see it before, but now…”

Jon landed in front of him. Slowly lowered to his knees. “Now?”

“Now I see it too. See what everyone else has all along.” And Damian almost sounded guilty. “I’m too damaged.”

Jon jerked back at the declaration, felt his own heart break, just a little bit.

“I’m ruled by my own weaknesses. My emotions cloud my judgments. My past distracts me from the present. I push people away with my attitude, even when I try not to.” Damian continued, his voice becoming tighter. Jon now noticed the tear trails on his face, and realized he was about to cry again. Damian must have realized it too, as he suddenly shifted, hid his face in his hands. “Grayson never let this happen. Todd does, but he can adapt enough to still be useful. Drake has the skills to hide it, and a support system to assist. The Batgirls have each other. And now I’ve been replaced by Duke Thomas, and rightfully so.”

“Damian…”

“I’m a burden. To this family, to this city, to everyone.” Damian hunched, a watery inhale wracking his frame. “So I should just save everyone the misery and leave.”

And Jon couldn’t hear anymore. Felt tears welling up in his own eyes that his friend could ever think such a thing about himself. So did the only thing he could think of – cut Damian’s next thought off by lurching forward and wrapping Damian in a hug.

“Wha…” Damian breathed, then began to squirm, pushing at Jon’s chest. “Get off!”

“No.” Jon said forcefully, holding on tighter. “Because you are not damaged. You are not a burden. You are loved and I need you to know that.”

“Yeah?” Damian snorted bitterly. “By whom?”

“Me. Your dad. Dick. Your siblings. Your pets. Goliath. Maya.” Jon listed off. “Everyone, practically.”

“Everyone.” Damian deadpanned, still fighting, but less so now. Didn’t struggle when Jon leaned back onto his ankles, and dragged Damian with him. “If that’s true, then where is everyone? No one came after me. I’m sure no one even notices I’m gone.”

“I did.” Jon countered softly. Then chuckled, just a little. “And are you kidding me? Your dad is freaking out. Dick is making Tim hack the League computers to use their radars and tech. Jason took Cassandra and Stephanie to Arkham and the prisons to interrogate those they think might hurt you.”

Damian didn’t say anything.

“…You came to the one place you knew they couldn’t find you, to prove that lie to yourself.” Jon whispered, glancing over his shoulder when he heard Titus whine again, and scratch at the rock. “But it’s not true, okay? You are wanted. You are loved.”

Damian didn’t respond still, but Jon felt him relax a little, lean his face against Jon’s chest.

“So, do you mind if I sit with you?” Jon asked. “Until you’re feeling better?”

“…If you want.” Damian murmured tiredly.

“Well, I do.” Jon returned cheerfully. Gently, though, he shifted Damian in his grip, and reached for Robin’s turned off communicator. Flipped it on and held it to his own ear. Listed for a second, as the family rambled on the line, giving locations and updates and disappointed reports of not finding anything. He cleared his throat, and hummed, “Batman?”

All voices on the line ceased. “I know Robin gave you a communicator, Superboy, but now is not the time to use it for-”

“I found him, Batman. He’s okay.” Jon pushed. Immediately there were demands of where, and injuries, and status. “I’ll bring him back when he’s ready, I just called to say you can all go home!”

Immediately, he shut the communicator off, hoping he did so before anyone could track them. Dropped it onto the stone, then wrapped both arms around Damian once more.

And for a moment, there was silence. Then: “…Thank you, Jonathan.”

Jon just smiled. “It’s what friends are for, Damian.”

“…You know?” Stephanie hummed thoughtfully. She tilted her head and watched the yard in front of them.

Lois glanced first at Cassandra – who shrugged – then at Steph, raising her drink to her lips. “Hm?”

“Have I ever mentioned how lost these losers would be without your losers?”

Lois blinked, and looked across the yard herself. Bruce and Clark at the grill, Conner and Tim sitting under the tree, Kara and Dick gleefully watching Jason and Artemis with Bizzaro, and Jon and Damian with their dogs. All of the members of the Batfamily were either smiling or looked more relaxed than they had in ages.

“Steph,” Lois laughed, looking at the other girl and patting her hand. “You’ve never had to.”

#bruce wayne #clark kent #dick grayson #kara zor-el #Jason Todd #bizarro #Tim Drake #kon el #Damian Wayne #jon kent #Lois Lane #Stephanie Brown

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