Mistaken identity au
I need delicious protective Bruce and traumatized Danny
Tim drops off the face of the earth. He's done this deliberately, but he's gone on a mission that so big he goes completely and totally dark without telling a soul.
Like, not even Batman.
So he laid down a false trail to the middle of nowhere, and buried that trail in a million others, confident that Bruce would entertain himself.
So what if it was some weird town who's claim to fame was ghosts? That added confusion would buy Tim more time until the Bat realized he'd been duped.
So Bruce wakes up one morning and Tim is just fucking gone.
He searches, brings in the others, and cannot find this kid.
They track him to Amity Park, and from there the scent goes cold again.
Finally one of Barbara's scans pings a possible hit, from a security feed in a private residence.
So the Bats gather around the computer, eager to see where the little troublemaker is, only to see someone that could be Tim in the process of getting vivisected, strapped to a table and screaming his throat bloody.
To clarify, once cleaned up of blood and gore Danny and Tim do not look alike. But covered the way Danny is, the facial recognition just was like "I mean. Why would a civilian be covered in that much blood? Black hair, blue eyes. Prrrrobaably Tim".
Now Tim is safe in his little safe house in the Alps, and the entire Batfam is out for blood because as far as they're concerned; Tim is being tortured in a mad scientist lair, next to a green glow that they can't see the source of.
Danny would like off the pain train, please.
612 notes
·
View notes
this is ridiculously late but belated happy birthday, mackie! (@stevethehairington) everything you do is golden and being able to call you a friend is an honor. here’s some cheesy fluff for my friend. ily. 💛
“Where’s this one from?” Featherlight warmth spreads through Steve’s core. Eddie’s finger touches his taut skin, a memory weaved in between blood and skin.
Steve presses against the touch, “That one is from when Billy Hargrove broke a plate in my head.”
Eddie’s mouth gapes open, blinking at him in disbelief, “What now?”
Steve laughs, pressing his head at the blade of Eddie’s shoulders. He basks at the heat, like a kid in a summer field, remnants of passion and magic still in the air.
“Have I never told you that story?” Steve says, muffled as he presses kisses into Eddie’s shoulders, skin and scars making up his person.
“No?!” Eddie yelps, pushing him away gently, his face slacked with confusion and concern, “Does this look like the reaction of someone who knew that Billy fucking Hargrove broke a plate on your head?”
Steve smiles, pressing his thumb against Eddie’s forehead and smoothing the furrow away, “Well, I told you that story, right? Our second time with the Upside Down. It was around that time, when Billy attacked Lucas and we got into a fight.”
“Oh.” Eddie sighs, “I really don’t want to speak ill of the dead. But— Billy.” Eddie makes a face of disgust and cringe, that makes Steve laugh.
“Let me do one.” Steve urges on, making Eddie smile and nod.
There is something so magical with the way Eddie maps out Steve. Some nights, they stay up way past making love to learn every bit of skin. Steve never understood why, no one really stayed long enough to learn the stories burrowed in his skin.
Eddie says— like a person from an actual fucking fairy tale— that Steve is a map, a map of constellations and stories, all formed from years of journey and life. If anything, Eddie says, he’s very happy that he’s the first one to do it, to discover it, to write stories about it. Steve isn’t the best explorer, but he does his best to do the same for Eddie.
Steve lets his finger dance on skin, weaving through stories he hasn’t learned yet. He wishes— hopes— that his touch is just as gentle and as warm as Eddie’s and that it brings him the same comfort his touch does for Steve.
Steve pauses on a scar too small under his jaw, barely visible now that it’s been swallowed whole by bursts of scars from where the bats gnawed at him.
“How about this one?”
Eddie smiles, brown eyes lighting up with recognition, “Oh. You found that one, huh?” Steve hums.
“Well, that one I got from dancing on stairs. I was holding a fire truck, and I slipped and fell down the stairs. My mom said I was very smart and I was trying to brace for my fall, but the fire truck got me instead.”
Steve caresses the scar, like it’s still healing and bleeding in his hands, like the same way he did some months ago, when he found Eddie bleeding to his— almost— death.
“Did you need stitches?” Steve whispers, scared that it might’ve hurt for a younger version of his Eddie.
Eddie chuckles, smoothing over his hair and leaving a kiss on his crown, kissing away the worries, “Nope. Just bled a lot, but it did stop. Left a scar though. Had so much worse since then.”
Steve nods, pursing his lips into a smile, as his hands explore against bursts of red painted on Eddie’s skin. It’s the biggest most prominent scar, the ones they’ve barely talked about since they started exploring.
“Well, that one, I am not ready to talk about yet,” Eddie says, his hands shaking as it makes contact with Steve’s scar, directly mirroring his scar, “But one thing is for sure, it’s pretty fucking metal that we have matching scars.”
Steve chokes out a laugh, batting his hands away, “One day, when you’re ready to talk about it, it’ll be a story of survival and bravery.”
Eddie doesn’t speak, but he does pull him closer, forehead against Steve’s. That’s okay, if Eddie doesn’t believe it right now. He will, someday. Because that’s what healing is, bleeding and healing and living to tell the story.
It’s okay, because Steve will be there, until stories wrinkle and fold. To explore every scar and bump and listen to his stories as Eddie writes stories about bright stars engraved on his skin.
For now, he finds another one.
Steve smiles and says, “How about this one?”
933 notes
·
View notes