#I’m not saying he’s a criminal but his second option after nightwing was blackmail

[deadsetobsessions]

Tim Drake had a lot of free time.

In between the time little Timmy was deemed old enough to not need a nanny and his ninth birthday when he got his first film camera, Tim Drake had so much time after school to explore his big, empty house. And so he did, hours upon hours were spent exploring his house.

Mansion, Tim corrects himself. His house isn’t a house. It’s an abandoned mausoleum disguised as a mansion. He intimately knows every creak of the floorboards in the out of the way galleries, every heavy weight curtain shut closed so what little sun that makes it way through Gotham’s gloom is reflected in order to protect the artifacts stored within the walls. Tim probably knows the exact amount of fleur-de-lys on the fourth sitting room’s wall paper- by extrapolation from preexisting data and personal data collection. Basically, he laid on the floor and counted.

Tim had a lot of time. He also had a lot of artifacts to pore over, making stories as he goes and double checking the actual history of the object.

Tim thinks he’s an artifact, almost. To his parents, at least. A child, a thing, they collected at one point in their lives and put on display at the galas they deem worthy to return to Gotham for. Perhaps he’s worth even less, had his parents bothered to look at him more than the lesser art pieces in their storage-mansion. The story everyone knows about him is prerecorded by people who weren’t really there.

Regardless, Tim Drake knows every single corner of his prison mansion. He’s catalogued everything, after all, on a nice spreadsheet. 

And that’s why, as he entered the fifth- and least used- guest bedroom, Tim’s attention immediately cut to the wrong bit of detail. Eyes flickering between the indent on the bed, the mussed- but not terribly dirty- state of the sheets, Tim slowly backed towards the door. His eyes fixed on the spot on the bed, he called out a soft “hello?”

He immediately cringed. He’s not an amateur, and that little “hello” was a mistake that might get him killed.

Tim trembled as the panic set in, tears pooling at his eyes. He wished Batman and Robin were here, they’d know how to-

There’s something appearing on the bed. Tim Drake stares as a glowing figure with white, wispy hair and a black hazmat suit appeared sitting cross crossed on the guest bed. His gloved hands were held out in the universal I-mean-no-harm gesture.

“Don’t- don’t panic!” The thing said, looking rather panicked itself. “I’m, uh, Phantom.”

Tim Drake’s curiosity and mystery-solving mindset slammed down on the toddler’s mind, quickly banishing the fear and panick in favor of interrogating this new, exciting thing.

“I’m Tim. Are you…” Tim frowns, wishing he had Batman’s intimidating growl. “A ghost?”

“Got it in one, kiddo. I’m, uh, not here to harm you. Or steal anything! I just wanted to rest.”

Tim blinked. He decided right then and there that he likes this person. This… Phantom. If his trust was based on the fact that the loneliness was worse than a dead person, no, it wasn’t.

“I thought you sleep when you’re dead..?”

——

Danny stared at the child in front of him, watching the kid- Tim- pout at something. Danny is distracted from the staples holding his ghostly guts from falling out of his non-consensual vivisection when the kid asks him if he’s a ghost.

“Got it in one, kiddo!” Oo, he should tone down the energy. Danny’s too tired right now to maintain that level when speaking to Tim. Now, gotta reassure the kid he means no harm before he reports Danny’s presence to whatever authorities around.

His parents, at best. The cops, at worst.

“I’m, uh, not here to harm you. Or steal anything!” He could tell he landed in some richie rich mansion by the opulent decorations in a seemingly impersonal room alone. “I just wanted to rest.”

Ancients, that had been more honest than he’d wanted. He really was out of it.

“I thought you sleep when you’re dead?”

Danny snorted.

“Yeah, but you can almost never have enough sleep, you know?”

The toddler looks unsure but nods anyways.

“Listen, would you… not tell anyone that I’m here? I’ll be out of your hair soon, promise.

Tim looks like a smart kid. There’s no way he’d fall for-

“Okay.” He fell for it. Danny blinked, stupefied. “My parents won’t be home for a while.”

“What.”

Tim shrugged. “You can stay. The housekeeper is only around a couple of days.”

“You… are you supposed to tell me that?”

Tim sent him a derisive look, clearly bolder now that Danny made no moves to hurt him.

On his cherubic but skinny face, the effect is both adorable and absolutely devastating.

“You’re hurt.” Tim fidgeted with his hands. “I can… I can get you water…?”

His core purred.

“Please. Thanks… Tim?”

The kid beamed at him and left.

Crap. New fraid member it is.

——

Danny, naive: “Surely him trusting strangers is just a one time thing, he’s so well behaved”

Tim, staring Danny in the eyes as he jumps out of the window to go stalk his vigilantes: “I’m gonna go take a walk in Crime Alley”

——

Tim gets Danny water, but it’s tap water from Gotham and is infected with both an ungodly amount of toxins (that doesn’t affect either of them bc one’s dead and the other had been chugging it since they were a baby- Gothamites get bottled water or from Wayne Foundation’s Clean Water Stations) and also like trace amounts of ectoplasm.

Danny: woah this is so healthy water!

Tim, pleased because Danny ruffled his hair: yes, I’m perfect

The rest of Gotham, if they knew: making warding sigils against these two eldritch gods

——

Basically, Danny gets attached and stays mostly because of said attachment but also Danny could see Tim’s budding world dictator tendencies and went yeah gotta curb that

#tim drake #bamf danny phantom #danny phantom #ghost king danny #baby tim drake #Tim Drake is a menace #Tim Drake’s stalker tendencies #I’m not saying he’s a criminal but his second option after nightwing was blackmail #Gotham #Gotham’s tap water #ectoplasm #found family #dc canon can suck my ass #dc x dp

[schweeeppess]

Chapter I

---

Tim knew something was wrong when he called Dick twice and was sent to voicemail both times. Normally that was fine; Dick was a pretty busy person, so Tim could understand that; he just texted his brother instead, telling him to call when he got the chance, and didn’t give it much more thought until after patrol when he checked his phone and still didn’t have a response.

Frowning, Tim turned his phone off and looked over at Bruce. Normally whenever Dick didn’t answer text messages it meant he was either undercover or isolating himself.

If this was the first option, Tim would check with Barbara first then let Bruce know just in case he tried contacting Dick and couldn’t reach him. Bruce got overprotective.

If it was the second option, though… There was an entirely different protocol for that between Tim and Dick.

So he texted Babs and went to change out of the Robin uniform, running up the stairs once he was hopping into his shorts to get to the Manor because it was almost four in the morning and he had to get home in case Dad woke up and decided to check up on him, only stopping to say bye to Bruce and Alfred before booking it for the Drake estate.

As he approached the looming mansion, concern continued to roll in Tim’s gut as he thought back to the fact that Dick might need him and he wouldn’t know about it until Barbara answered.

Because something was definitely very wrong. Tim could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in his lungs. The sharp and bitter taste of fear was in the air, and it was unforgiving as it attacked Tim’s psyche worse than the toxin designed to induce it did. Underfoot grass crunched softly; quietly, in contrast to the raging storm and rolling of Tim’s gut caused by anxiety.

Maybe, he wondered as he crawled into his room through the window, Dick was just tired of him. Maybe Dick wasn’t avoiding Bruce, and maybe he wasn’t undercover. Maybe Dick was sick of talking to him, maybe he’d taken advantage of having a brother too much, maybe it was Tim’s fault—

No.

Tim shook his head, pulling his pajama pants up.

No, Dick wasn’t like that. He was a good and genuine person, and if Tim were annoying him he’d say it. Dick was honest. He was real.

Right before he curled up under his blankets, Tim checked his phone for a text from Barbara.

Barbara G: Nope.

Tim frowned, turning off his phone.

So Dick wasn’t undercover, then. That meant he was avoiding Bruce. Something was wrong, so Tim was going to have to get Bruce off his case on patrol tomorrow, which meant he was going to have a long night.

___

“You’re planning on doing what?”

Predictably, the whole ‘ditching Bruce’ plan wasn’t working. Maybe that was because Bruce was real mother-henny even after about a half a year or so of Tim being Robin. He doubted that the hovering would get any better with time, actually.

He paused on the rooftop he was on, shifting a little uncomfortably as he did, Tim answered, “Visiting Nightwing.”

“…and you want to go alone. Through Gotham, and into Blüdhaven, unaccompanied. Am I correct in assuming this?”

“Yeah, and?” Like hell if Tim was backing down now. He hadn’t when he’d stared Bruce down about a year ago to blackmail Batman, and he wasn’t about to start doing it now.

Robin stood up to Batman. (It was, like, a requirement.)

Bruce grunted.

“No.”

“Come again.”

“I said no.” The tone Bruce was using brokered no room for argument, and Tim tightened his jaw. “Finish your route then head back.”

“Ba—”

“This conversation is over. I’ll see you back home, Robin.”

Yeah, Tim bitterly thought to himself as he readied himself to continue heading toward Blüd full of bitter spite. See you back home when I get back.

Just as he fired his grapple, he heard a loud stream of curse words spout off from behind him and Tim whipped around, only for whoever it was that needed their mouth washed out with soap to run right past him and jump off the roof.

Heart jumping to his throat, Tim was ready to jump down after the person to catch them, but he stopped short when he saw the figure—male, Tim could finally make out, and with a red helmet—pull out their own grapple gun and shoot a line with what looked like practiced ease.

Tim didn’t hesitate to follow the red-helmet wearing guy. Normally, whenever someone was running, they either needed help, were trying to get away from Robin or Batman, or were just in a rush.

Odds were, though, since this guy had a red helmet, that he was a bad guy or something. Gotham villains seemed to have a theme of being flashy.

Somewhere in Tim’s mind he remembered the Red Hood—Joker’s ex-alias way back in the day—because of the red helmet. That couldn’t be intentional, could it? Was it?

God, Tim hoped not as he landed on the roof the other guy had and ran after him. The Joker had a history with Robins that Tim wasn’t eager to continue.

…that sounded vaguely insensitive, even in Tim’s brain. He hadn’t even voiced that comment and it still came out wrong.

Oh shit was the follow-up thought, which was completely warranted because red helmet had stopped at the edge of this roof to face him, and Tim was entirely unprepared for that—bad guys didn’t normally stop and turn around to face the good guys, at least the henchmen didn’t.

“I am really busy right now, Robin,” the guy quickly said, his voice coming out chillingly robotic but distinctly young—maybe early twenties?—even with the modulator, “so I don’t have time for your shit—if Batman’s around, tell him to fuck off too, actually—and I therefore ask you to please jump off the nearest roof and have a great face-punching night and kindly stop following me, thanks.”

With that, the guy jumped off the roof onto the neighboring one, leaving Tim with his mouth in a surprised and wholly undignified O.

Did—did that guy just—

No fucking way.

Now very intrigued, Tim followed Mr. Badass, vaguely wondering if Jason would mind if Tim added this guy as his hero.

“Hey, wait a sec mister!”

A very loud, very long, and very dramatic groan was heard probably from space at Tim’s shout, and he continued to silently gape in marvel and run to catch up.

Bruce would probably disapprove, Tim thought to himself.

…he didn’t really care. Robins hardly ever cared what Batman thought, actually, from what Tim had both experienced and seen.

Despite the overexaggerated noise of frustration, red helmet waited for him clearly anxious as he stood on the roof, arms crossed and looking for all the world like he had somewhere to be.

“What can I help you with and how fast can I do it?” were the first words from his mouth, and Tim’s amazement spiked.

Just who was this guy?

“What’s your rush?” Tim blurted. “What’s your name, too? Why the red helmet? Who are you?”

“I have something very time-sensitive I need to get to, my name is Noneya Business—call me Noneya, Business was my father—the red helmet looks cool, and I’m nobody you need to worry about, ‘kay?” Noneya answered, ticking off his responses on his fingers as he said them. “That all?”

Tim absorbed the answers, processed them, and finally said, “Can I help somehow? With your ‘time-sensitive something’?”

It surprised him when Noneya seemed to think about his offer, and it surprised him even more when Noneya said, “…fine, you’re his brother anyways right?”

He didn’t have time to think about that question before Noneya added, “No Batman if I say yes, a’ight? It’s enough with your ass Robin self.”

Noneya’s sudden accent sounded natural—like he’d been hiding it the entire conversation and had given up.

“No Batman if we’re not gonna be doing ‘ny criminal stuff,” Tim promised, letting a bit of his own accent slip into his speech.

A scoff of resignation was as much as he got before Noneya bit out a quick, “Hurry up, kid,” and was running off the roof again.

Tim paused to think about what he was doing. He was about to go off with a stranger to do fuck knows what and had promised to not get Bruce involved if criminal activity was uninvolved.

Growing progressively stressed out, Tim ran after Noneya, and re-thought his life choices as something Noneya’d said flashed back into mind sometime during the pursuit.

“You’re his brother anyways right?”

What did he…

Oh, shit.

Tim looked at the person to his right, bulked up with respectable and clear muscle, almost reminding him of Bruce, and suspected he knew how to use those muscles to fight.  He couldn’t have meant Dick, could he? But who else could he have meant?

“Where’re we goin’?” he decided to ask, carefully adding a little space between himself and Noneya, ready to reactivate his comm to contact Bruce. If this guy had something to do with Dick’s radio silence…

“Middle ground,” was Noneya's response.

Scowling a little, Tim resigned himself to wait for them to reach this ‘middle ground’ to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue. What did you to do Dick?

It took eight minutes to arrive at the ‘middle ground’ that Tim discovered was an abandoned electronics store.

An entire eight minutes of awkward silence, at least it was awkward on Tim’s side.

Noneya beckoned him to follow, pulling the helmet off, and Tim did, hand hovering over his bo as he did, ready for a fight.

He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have kept it from Batman, shouldn’t have followed Noneya in the first place—stupid, stupid, stupid—he was gonna get Jason’ed and it was his dumbass fault.

Stupid, he mentally hissed at himself as the door closed. Utterly brainless! Dumb, thoughtless, moronic, half-witted, empty-headed, dim, daft, dumb as fuck.

But Noneya didn’t move to attack him, instead flicking some lights on to reveal the electronics store wasn’t an electronics store at all anymore—it was entirely renovated and looked more like either a very small apartment or a very big bedroom.

A cot was tucked into the furthermost corner—with a view of all vantage points, Tim noticed—and there was a pillow and light blanket tossed on it, a microwave rested on a desk across from it with a minifridge right beside that, and a lamp also on the shabby desk. Several monitors were set up on a separate table, nearest to the entrance, and looked to be working on something.

Noneya tossed his helmet on the cot and ran a hand through his hair, back to Tim, and Tim found himself curious as to just who this man was. Maybe if he could get a look at Noneya’s face, he could snap a picture with the domino lenses and run it through databases back in the Batcave to give Noneya an actual name.

“Right, well, we’ve reached the middle ground, Robin,” Noneya sighed, dropping his hand to his hip and turning his head to face Tim. “You can call me Simon.”

No way that was Noneya’s real name, but it was a start.

Tim nodded, then couldn’t hold his question back any longer.

“Did you do something to Nightwing?”

Simon snorted, not missing a beat as he tossed himself into the chair in front of the desk with the monitors and started to analyze what was being displayed. “Way to keep a secret, Rob.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Key-clacking was his only response for a few seconds, then Simon hummed and said, “I know.”

Narrowing his eyes, Tim rested his hand on the bo-staff.

Glancing over at the subtle movement, Simon threw his head back and laughed, his hands going to his gut as he did.

“Is that you threatening me?” he continued to laugh. “God, how long have you been at the gig?”

The laughter was surprisingly offensive, and Tim gritted his teeth. “Answer the question.”

“I didn’t do shit to Dick, kid.”

Simon had returned to whatever he’d been doing, attention wholly on the screens displayed before him, and didn’t seem to notice the name he’d dropped.

It made Tim tense.

“What did you just say?” Tim asked, hand tightening around his bo-staff. This guy would be a risk if he knew their identities—Tim took back mentally wanting this guy to be one of his heroes. This was a big issue.

“I said,” Simon repeated in an irritated exhale, “that I didn’t do shit to Dick.” Lower, he muttered, “Why does everyone think I’m the issue?”

He didn’t really think before he was moving, if anyone would believe him (which they probably wouldn’t).

Tim blinked and he was behind Simon—had slammed Simon’s face into the desk, actually, and Simon was swearing a blue streak.

“I—uh, I’m sorry!”

He was panicking. Why was he panicking? He’d trained for this! Tim was Robin, he’d dealt with scarier villains! (No he hadn’t. The worst Batman let him deal with was Riddler, and this guy was much more intimidating than some dude who shoved himself into a purple and green suit)

Simon continued swearing his heart out as he held his nose, but he was doing it in Spanish now, and wow Tim hadn’t ever heard swearing like that before.

“Joder—fucking hell, kid, that hurt.”

Refusing to continue apologizing, Tim tried to play it off and said, “Who’s Dick?”

That surprised a laugh out of Simon.

“Puto, you basically just spoiled the secret. If I hadn’t known who was behind what mask before, Batman would probably be within whatever fucked up rights he has he has to either ground you or fire you.” Simon eyed him, holding his nose, and asked, “Are you even one of his kids? Damn he replaced the last one quicker than a speedster on drugs, huh?”

Tim…

Had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to say to that.

“Uh…”

Simon rolled his eyes and returned to the monitors.

“To answer your original question, no hice nada,” he said, clicking into different tabs. “Penguin got the drop on your brother. Auctioned him off to Edward Skeevers.”

Tim sucked in a sharp breath at the name, and Simon hummed.

“Exactamente. I’m tryna help y’all get your Dick back,” Simon continued, turning to give Tim a pointed look. “I don’ appreciate the effort you made t’break my nose.”

Still at a loss for words, Tim didn’t think before he was saying, “It didn’t work?”

Fucking hell, where’s the filter between my brain and my mouth?

Thankfully, Simon barked a laugh at that and replied, “Not quite. Casi. M’nose hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Oh.” Tim sat down on the floor next to Simon and looked up at him, eyeing the shock of white in the guy’s hair. “S’too bad.”

Simon hummed again and it went silent as he worked on the computers and updated some files.

When Tim had collected himself and his thoughts, he made a decision and sat up straighter.

“How can I help?”

Simon raised a brow and glanced over at him.

“Pardon?” he asked.

“How can I help?” Tim repeated, gaze locked on Simon’s own, and he noticed that Simon’s eyes were an unnatural, vivid acidic green.

He knew that shade from somewhere.

“You’re looking for Dick, right?” Tim pressed, scooting a little closer.

Simon frowned.

“…how willing are ya to do some footwork?”

And Tim was in.

#my writing #my work #my fanfiction #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Robiin #Robiiin #chapter two my peeps #enjoy!