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butwhyduh · 3 years

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Jumping

Tim drake x reader

This is during the time that Dick has to fake his own death. I’m also ignoring most of canon tbh. Mentions suicide ideals.

You worried about Tim. I mean, you always had since you met him in a coffee shop and they gave him your order instead of his and all he did was ask for a shot of espresso to go with it. But tonight you were terribly concerned because Tim was so sad that he was dull. His shiny black hair hang limp and his bright blue eyes looked dull and blood shot.

You couldn’t exactly blame him. It was only 2 week before that his brother Dick had died. He hadn’t touched his computer all day but instead sat staring at various places around his apartment. You forced him to eat a very late meal and he took all of 3 bite from his food.

You washed up and went back in the living room for him to be gone.

“Tim? Tim?” You asked. You noticed the window to the fire escape was open. You walked over and shivered at the cold breeze.

He was standing on the edge of the roof and you froze. Your first thought was ‘is he going to jump?’ Your heart pounded as you gently called him and it scared you even more when he didn’t respond.

“Tim? Timothy? Tim, what are you doing?” You said with fear creeping in your voice. There was no way that you could climb the stairs up a level to stop him if he jumped right now. He looked down at you disoriented.

“What?”

“Please step back. You’re- you’re scaring me. Tim, please,” you said and he took a step back but looked bewildered. You quickly climbed the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a daze. You pulled him into a hug and farther from the edge. Your body was shaking and he confusingly pat your back reassuringly.

“Don’t scare me like that,” you chided him before mentally kicking yourself. If he was that bad, he needed support not anger. He really didn’t seem to get it.

“What are you talking about? What’s got you so scared?” He finally said clearly.

“I thought- I thought you were going to jump,” you said burying your head in crook of his neck. Your fingers gripped the back of his shirt tightly and you listened to his heartbeat. You might never let go of him.

“Oh shit. I wasn’t- no. I just needed to think,” he said rubbing your hair gently. “Sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay. I’m just worried. It’s a lot to lose your brother. Maybe you should talk to someone,” you said gently. He looked at you guiltily.

“I’ve been a little too lost in it, hu? Sorry. It’s just that.... I never expected this to happen. He always seemed invincible. He’d jump off the roof with no hooks or nets and swing on light poles before landing on the ground and wouldn’t hurt a thing. He’d take on metas and come out unscathed. That was just Dick, you know?” Tim said after a minute. “Nobody knew how he did it.”

Tim pulled you both to sit on a lawn chair on the roof. Your fingers played with the back of his hair and you couldn’t stop looking at him because you had never been so worried to lose Tim before. He flinched at the sight of how you looked at him. You were genuinely terrified earlier.

“I wouldn’t jump. I wouldn’t do that. Especially not to you,” Tim said and it scared you that you weren’t sure if he meant that he’d never do it or not where you’d possibly see. “Don’t worry. I’m right here.”

You let yourself believe that and you leaned into him, pressing your ear against his chest. His heartbeat calmed you and you listened to it as he rubbed your back. He stared out at the sky and Tim didn’t know how long you were both out there before he noticed that you had fallen asleep. He smiled a little.

Then his next thought was the logistics of getting you down to your bed without waking you. The fire escape wasn’t exactly built for carrying people through. Soft goosebumps were on your arms in the cold and Tim carefully picked you up and miraculously made it back into your apartment. After a few hair raising seconds where he almost smacked your head and feet on a door frame, he managed to get you in bed.

You hands had a death grip on his shirt and Tim was pulled into bed. It wasn’t the worst idea to get some sleep. And he certainly felt that he owed you some peace of mind after he scared you so bad. When was the last time he fell asleep? He laid back and you clung to him tightly.

The next morning you woke up warm. Far too warm. And arm was thrown over your face that you wiggled out from under and another held your back. You stretched your fingers that felt like they had been gripping something all night. The sun was out and Tim was still in bed. You put the pieces from the night before together and looked up at his face.

There was no scowl or wrinkle in his brow. He looked peaceful. His lips had a slight pout in sleep. His face had a light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks and his hair had fallen over his eyes. You gently brushed it back to get a better look at his beautiful face. You held the back of his head as light as you could while staring at him. You almost never got this view and you just watched him sleep for a few minutes.

“Isn’t it rude to stare,” he said after a while. You jumped a little and laughed.

“Did I wake you?” You asked.

“No. I think I actually got a full night sleep,” Tim said and he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Yeah, we should probably get breakfast,” you said moving to get up. Tim wrapped his arms around you tighter and squished you to his chest. You squeaked.

“Not yet. A few more minutes,” he mumbled almost back asleep. You chuckled and booped his nose. Tim’s eyes flew open. “What was that?”

“Waking you up,” you said and he gave you a fake glare before his arms slowly moved. Then Tim attacked your sides with a tickle. You shrieked and jumped back before he stopped. He smiled at you almost ruefully before gently kissing you chastely. His smile fell when he pulled back.

“I’ve got to go to Bludhaven today. Take care of some of his stuff that he’d want to keep,” Tim said and you frowned.

“Do you need me to go?” You were still worried about him.

“No, Jason is going. Don’t worry about me, okay,” Tim said seriously. “I need to get up because he’ll be here in 30 minutes? Maybe?”

The knock on the door said that his timing was a little off. Tim got up to go answer it. Jason stood there and he frowned as he looked Tim over.

“That’s your clothes from yesterday.”

“I’ve got to change,” Tim said, letting him in. You came out of the room with a sweater over your clothes and smiled at Jason who nodded his head at you. Tim went in the bedroom to change.

“Hey,” you whispered, barely audible. Jason looked at you confused. You hadn’t really interacted much before. “Watch out for him. He’s not okay. Alright?”

Jadon just nodded. “Anything I should know?”

“No. Not really. He scared me last night,” you admitted as you put on a pot of coffee. Jason gave you a look that clearly read ‘do I need to kick his ass?’

“What did he do?”

“He just stood on the roof edge. I thought- I thought he was going to jump,” you whispered and Jason’s face dropped. Tim hadn’t exactly had the most self preservation in his history.

“Shit, seriously?” He said with a sigh. You nodded.

“But he just seemed confused when I found him. I’m worried. Just watch out for him, okay?” You said.

“What are you two talking about?” Tim said walking in the room, throwing on a tie.

“Really? A full suit?” Jason said rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, one of us needs to look like a functional adult in case someone stops by. I can’t exactly wear sweats everywhere as WE’s CEO,” Tim said. You straightened the tie and collar.

“... and then there is you,” Tim said looking at Jason after you were done. “You look like you tattoo out of the back parking lot of a Denny’s.”

“Maybe I do,” he said dryly with a little curl to his lip. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

Tim nodded and gave you a kiss and Jason groaned by the door. He gave the ‘come on’ hand gesture. Tim rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know when I’m going to be back. See you later.”

“Bye.”

Half ways down the highway, with Tim as a captive audience, Jason starts to talk.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Cut the shit. For real,” Jason said, violently passing a slow car on the highway in his truck. Tim grips the dash and is sure he’s going to die.

“I’m fine. Why do you think I’m lying?” Tim said through gritted teeth. Jason keeps driving roughly.

“Well, your girlfriend thought you were going to kill yourself last night and that isn’t exactly the first thought I’d have if I saw you on the roof. So either she’s being dramatic or you’re acting really off. Which is it, Timbo?” Jason said. Tim never missed Dick more. Jason had the subtly of a butter knife to the gut.

“I might be a little sadder, sure. I mean, my brother died,” Tim said. “Can you drive without trying to kill us?”

“I’m driving fine. Go on,” Jason said, crossing 3 lanes. The squeals of car horns behind them tell Tim he isn’t the only one that doesn’t like his driving.

“I’m gonna die in this car,” Tim muttered. Jason glared at him. “Watch the road! Okay. Fine. I feel numb. Okay? Like I don’t feel happy or sad about anything. And I’m fucking guilty because I should be over the moon because I just moved in with my girlfriend and then...”

“Then your brother died. It’s normal to feel like shit Tim. But to be numb.... you ever think you’re depressed?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know. I have anxiety,” Tim answered.

“You can have both. Is it this exit or the next?” Jason asked two second before the ramp comes up.

“This!” Tim yelped and Jason turned them off to a side road going at least 70 mph. Tim held the dash and considered praying despite being an atheist. Jason finally slowed down enough to not look like he’s driving a getaway car.

“I think you should see a therapist. I can give you mine’s number,” Jason said and Tim quickly turned to look at him.

“I didn’t know you went to therapy.”

“I was tortured, beat to death, and had to dig myself out of my own coffin. Does that seem mentally okay in anyway?”

“I mean, no. But I don’t know,” Tim said with a shrug. He just hadn’t thought about it.

“Anyways that’s not the point. The point is that she’s used to Gotham’s brand of bullshit and will help you. Okay?” Jason said driving into a parking lot and skidding into a space. “If you scare your girl like that again, I’ll knock you out.”

“Yeah. I won’t scare her again. It was an accident. And I’ll talk to your therapist,” Tim agreed. Jason nodded.

“Let’s go do something I’ve been dreading all week. Clean out golden boy’s apartment,” he said with a grimace. And they did. Anything of value was personally taken by the pair. Anything of Nightwing or Robin. Any Flying Grayson stuff. Anything that his brothers had gotten him. A moving service was moving the rest to a storage unit later that day.

Jason sat on the concrete steps outside the apartment and tossed Tim a beer. Tim barely caught it before sitting down himself. Jason pulled out his own.

“Jason, I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars to not drink that before we leave. Can we have this moment at the manor after we survive the drive home?” Tim asked and Jason sighed.

“Sure kid. Dickhead wouldn’t have liked me getting you drunk anyways. Let’s get this stuff back,” Jason said and they both went to the truck.

After dropping off the stuff and talking to Alfred, Tim and Jason were back in the truck. The beers were mercifully forgotten. Jason passed him a paper with a name and number.

“My therapist. You better call them. If not for you, for your girlfriend. You can just talk and shit,” he said not looking off the road. Jason knew better than to think that this kind of thing could be done for someone else. But he also knew it probably only took a tiny push for Tim to get help.

“Yeah, thanks.”

A few hours later Tim sat on his bed with his phone in hand. Yeah, he needed to call them.

#tim drake angst #tim drake x reader #Red Robin x reader #Jason todd is a good brother #dick is dead #batboy x reader

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redhoodieone · 3 years

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Welcome Home

A/N: Hi everyone! This is an old fic that I’m re-posting for those who want to read it. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language and Smut.

I knew my family was different the moment I found out my adoptive father was Batman. I was just a ten-year-old girl when I snuck down the stairs at midnight for a drink of water and spotted Batman leaving a trail of blood from his study and calling out for Alfred for help. The moment our eyes locked, Bruce instantly knew that I was clearly aware of his secret. He had also confessed it was him who saved me from a shootout that my parents were involved in and that it was him, as Batman. I felt I owed Bruce my own life for saving me, and I vowed to keep my father’s secret and pray that he would return home safely every night back to me.

It didn’t help that I soon discovered my adoptive older brother Dick Grayson was Robin. Not only did I have to keep his secret as well, but it made it more impossible to not have a crush on him. I mean, Dick has such a charming personality, beautiful baby blue eyes, and a devilish smile that can make any girl crawl on her hands and knees. And that ass…

I later found myself becoming the second Robin once Dick left to assume his own identity, Nightwing. Bruce trusted me, and he saw potential in me the second I told him I couldn’t see myself being a hero forever. Perhaps he never really wanted me to be his sidekick and figured if I got it out of my system that I could resume my life as a sixteen-year-old and do normal teenager activities. As if my life was normal anyways.

But things changed as soon as I was finally embracing myself as a hero. Bruce had taken in a new kid, Jason Todd. He was a troublemaker, a rebel, and a mysterious kid, who had never even spoken to me unless he had to. I don’t think my age helped the situation either; I was a couple of years older than him and he may not have seen me as an equal. But of course, the dark haired, icy blue eyed, bad attitude boy was given the Robin title, and I was removed because of a patrol-gone-wrong situation.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Then the unthinkable happened. The second Robin was killed by the Joker. Jason Todd’s death put Bruce into a depression, and he swore he would never put another kid’s life in danger. Our father and daughter relationship broke apart before my very eyes. I spent my remaining teenage years in the mansion isolated, except for Alfred’s loving company.

I had graduated high school on time and I quickly decided to go to Gotham University to escape the Bat family. Before I moved out, I discovered Bruce had taken in another kid, Tim Drake, who was currently the new Robin. Was I hurt? Of course, I felt I was somehow replaced. Would I miss the Bat family? Maybe. Maybe not.

I did in fact wish the new younger Robin good luck. When Tim looked up at me, his light blue eyes were so innocent and frightened about me leaving him behind. I didn’t know why he would be so upset about me leaving; wouldn’t he want all of Bruce’s attention without me hanging around the mansion?

Now I’m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

As I sit in a taxi while anxiously waiting to pull up to Wayne Manor, I honestly don’t know why Bruce wants me back at home. Alfred has kept me up to date about the Bat family incidents and activities I have missed out those few years such as:

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

Tim Drake is Red Robin (does the fast food chain restaurant know about his superhero name?), and he’s currently assisting the Teen Titans when necessary while simultaneously aiding Bruce with detective work.

Damian Wayne is Bruce Wayne’s unknown biological child. I think he’s about fifteen-years-old now; from what I remember the last time I spoke to Alfred. I met Damian once, when Bruce asked me to meet him once Talia al Ghul practically dropped him off at Bruce’s doorstep. The boy was a little shit: bratty, stuck up, and insensitive. Even though he is the spitting image of Bruce, minus the different colored eyes (Bruce has blue and Damian’s are green), Damian claims he is set to take over the cowl when Bruce is either dead or done. God help us all…

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I jump in surprise once the taxi comes to a hard stop. After paying the man, I grab my duffel bag and I climb the front steps that I suddenly remember jumping off them as a kid. Alfred scolded me many times, and I still did it because being bad was fun.

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

I find the wooden front door unlocked, which is odd considering Alfred always makes sure to lock it. As a matter of fact, Alfred hasn’t greeted me like he always does when I come home. Where is Alfred?

After I unwrap my scarf, I pull my hoodie over my head to be more comfortable in the warm house. Sadly, I forgot to do laundry yesterday, so I came home in just my black yoga pants and red tank top. What would Alfred say?

I kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen barefoot. Pulling my long hair into a ponytail, I notice a note on the counter that’s written for me. I unfold the note and stare at the nicest, well done cursive handwriting only one man can do here.

Dear Lady Y/N,

I sincerely apologize for not being there to greet you properly. Master Bruce had wanted me to take my holiday to London early, and Lord knows I can use a week to myself after stitching up countless wounds, tidying up bedrooms and Bat caves, and playing messenger between you and your father. I have a cooked roast with garlic mash potatoes in the refrigerator if you are hungry. Do heat it up and perhaps show your father and brothers how to use the microwave.

I dearly love you and the boys,

Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“Welcome home, Y/N. I missed you so much,” Bruce whispers in my ear. I can feel his hot breath above my shoulder and neck. The familiar smell of his expensive cologne fills my nostrils. His large hands rub my legs and grip onto my hips very hard. “Did you miss me?”

“H-hi dad. W-what are you doing?” I ask softly, but I know it came out like a whisper. One of his hands is holding my waist, while the other caresses my abdomen. It feels strange considering Bruce is supposed to be my father, and we shouldn’t be this close or even touching each other. But a part of me wants to keep feeling his hands on me and see what he does next.

“Holding you. Smelling you. Touching you,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He breathes harder when I press my backside against his front by accident. “It appears you want this too. Am I correct, Y/N?”

His hand pulls down my yoga pants enough, so he can reach into my underwear. Bruce continues to breathe hard from his nose when his fingers find my core. His thumb rubs fast circles on my clit, while he pushes two fingers inside me. I bite my bottom lip to stop a loud moan from coming out of me, but he appears he’ll have none of that. He stops fingering me.

“You better be loud, or I won’t let you cum, Y/N.”

Before I can beg him to keep going, he turns my face, so I can look him in those cold, pale blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re…not a virgin.” Bruce’s face is twisted in pleasure from just fingering me, but I can tell his lips are trembling and there’s a soft but pleading look in his eyes. This must hurt him as much as it’s hurting me.

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

Before I can answer, Bruce shoves the front of my body onto the counter, while he pulls down my yoga pants. My adrenaline is rushing, and I can feel myself wetting the counter from just his roughness. I can feel him unzip his pants and I can already imagine this thick, hard cock fucking me into oblivion.

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I want to turn around and watch him jack off. Hearing him pleasure himself isn’t enough. Bruce then jams two fingers back into my pussy and I whimper loudly. It has been too long since I’ve been intimate with a man. I need his cock now!

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Do I need to remind you who you are supposed to answer to?” he says seriously before adding a third finger inside me. I grip the counter and I breathe harder. I find myself rubbing my pussy on the edge of the smooth countertop for more friction, but he grabs my hips and stops me. “Now, do you want me to fuck you, Y/N, or should I leave you here, so you can dry hump the countertop alone?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately wonder if I killed the mood. Why would I call him ‘dad’ when we’re about to have hot, rough sex in the kitchen? I need to apologize. I push myself up on my elbows and I shift my head to the side to apologize. I open my mouth to speak but stop when Bruce’s eyes darkened, and he growls as he slams his thick cock inside me.

I moan louder than I have in my entire life. His cock fills me up so much that I fear I won’t be able to walk straight for the next week or two. Bruce lifts my legs up and continues to shove me against the counter with every hard thrust. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck me. The man is practically drilling into me with no kindness at all.

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

Bruce growls and rams his cock faster into me. He keeps knocking the air out from my lungs, and I can feel my body pulsating against his. I grip the countertop harder each time, and I know my knuckles are turning white and becoming numb every second. With one hand on my hips, Bruce moves his other hand up my tank top to hold my tits.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

“Excuses,” he manages to say, as he holds me up more, so he can penetrate me deeper. His cock is hitting a deeper spot in me. It must be my g-spot, because I have read about it but never actually felt it to know. I can feel myself clenching his dick tightly, and I know I’m getting closer to release. “You wanted me and your brothers to see your tits, huh?”

“Maybe,” I cry out louder than what I intended to. Fuck, what if one of my brothers hears me? They’ll really think I’m insane for fucking our father and for loving it every second. Bruce readjusts our position once more, so he can hit that spot continuously. “I-I think I’m going to cum!”

“Not yet, you better not!” Bruce growls, and drills into me harder and faster. With his powerful thrusts and the constant friction from the countertop on my clit, I know for a fact that I can’t last longer. His hands hold onto my hips while he fucks me harder than before.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

The sounds of skin on skin is louder because of my mess. I drop my head onto the counter while Bruce continues to fuck me. Before I can catch my breath, Bruce chuckles and lifts me up. “I just made you squirt. That has never happened before, has it?”

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“You’re so wet,” Bruce grunts into my ear. Breathing heavily, he lifts my hips again, so he can rub my clit with his fingers. “You’re making a mess all over my cock. You’re such a bad girl.”

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

With every rough thrust, I know Bruce won’t last. I whimper once more when my pussy clenches his dick as he fucks me through my orgasm. A few more hard thrusts, Bruce pulls out and turns me over onto my back. He jacks himself off as I watch his cum spurt out all over my stomach.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

Bruce sighs heavily, and just when I think I should try to get up and clean myself, he pulls me up and kisses me. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and we explore each other’s mouths as if this was our last chance to. He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You belong to me, and the Batfamily. I don’t care who wants you, because you will never give them what you have given me. Do you understand?” Bruce asks, before giving me his famous bat glare.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

I grab a paper towel and wipe Bruce’s cum off my stomach before I pull up my yoga pants. As soon as I toss the damped paper towel into the trash, I immediately notice Dick Grayson is standing there at the entrance of the kitchen staring at me with fire in his eyes.

#dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x reader smut #bruce wayne x y/n smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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pawsitivelymiraculous · 3 years

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Le parfum de l'amour

This is the @maribat-secret-santa-2020 piece for @saltandfluff I am so sorry for being late!

Anyway, I will be using the quantic kids, but you don't necessary have to know them to understand this fic.

The only have to know that "Melodie" is Allegra's nickname.

Ao3

It was always a bad idea to try to mess with fate. Everyone knew this. Allegra knew this, but she didn't care. Not when it was taking a toll on her sanity.

There were only so many times a person could see two literal soulmates walk past each other before they decided to take matters into their own hands.

So that's what she did.

Or well, was going to do once she could convince her friends to help her out.

"I don't know, Mel." Allan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "These things take time you know? You cannot rush it." He glanced at the corkboard that was behind Allegra and winced, it was going to be impossible to talk her out of the crazy plan.

On the corkboard, there were two pictures. One was a selfie of Marinette Dupain-cheng. A twenty-year-old who was a regular at the café where Allegra and Claude worked at. After chatting with her in the mornings, Allegra decided to adopt the girl, and she introduced her to the rest of the group. She quickly became friends with Allan and surprisingly enough, with Felix as well.

The second picture was a rather blurry photo that was clearly taken from afar. You could sort of make out the image of Timothy Drake. The sleep-deprived twenty-one-year-old who had started going to the café for about a month. All the employees loved him because he never failed to amuse everyone with his half-asleep antics.

The one thing that both pictures had in common was a coffee cup.

On Marinette's collarbone, there was a small tattoo-like mark that looked like a coffee cup. The same one that was on Tim's wrist. Soul marks . Granted, they looked a bit plain compared to most people's soul marks, but in Allegra's eyes, they were the excuse she needed to get them together.

Allegra had shipped her two favorite customers long before she noticed their soul marks. But now that she knew they were soulmates . Well, she was not going to rest until they finally met.

"I'm not trying to rush things!" Allegra insisted. "I just want to push them in the right direction."

Allan looked at her, doubtful. "That's basically the same thing. Plus do actually think that," he squinted to read the list of plans that was tacked on the corkboard. "'Locking them inside a room with no escape' is merely pushing them in the right direction? 'Cause I think that sounds more like a hostage situation."

Allegra glared at him. "You know what? I don't need your help. Claude will help me. Right, Claude?"

Claude looked at her with wide eyes. "Oh no no no. Sorry Melodie but I can't."

"Uh, I'm sorry what?" Allegra blinked. It was very out of character for Claude to turn down the opportunity to help her with one of her elaborate plans. Not to mention that in this case, they were doing it to help Marinette.

"Allegra," he said solemnly, "this is a destiny thing. We just can't interfere."

Allegra facepalmed. "You can't be serious."

Claude looked at her dead in the eye. "If we interfere we might end up," he leaned towards her and whispered " cursed"

"Oh give me a break." Allegra pushed Claude away. "Are you guys kidding me? This is Marinette we're talking about. You all can't possibly think that Marinette wouldn't want to meet her soulmate, and as her friends, we have to help her."

"I agree with Allegra."

Everyone spun around in surprise.

Felix rolled his eyes at his friends' incredulous expressions. "What? Marinette is my friend as well. Is it really that shocking that I want to see her happy?" The three of them nodded. He ignored them. "Besides, I've heard Marinette ramble about soulmates nonstop, so it's clear that meeting hers is what she would want."

Allegra was the first to react "See guys? Even Felix agrees with me!"

Felix huffed. "Yes, but I also think that your plans are ridiculous and ineffective."

"Ouch"

"I think the best thing we can do to help is to get them to interact and we-"

"That's literally what my plans are for!" Allegra interrupted.

Claude crossed his arms. "And what do you mean by 'we'? I haven't agreed to do anything."

Shooting both of them a glare, Felix continued. "- can do that without needing to kidnap them. We simply have to make it so that they have no other choice but to sit at the same table at the café. You all know how friendly Marinette is, it will only be a matter of time before they start talking."

There was a beat of silence.

"That… that might actually work," Allan admitted. "Soulmates are naturally drawn to each other so once they actually have a conversation we won't have to do anything else. They can figure out that they're soulmates by themselves." He paused and then chuckled. "We'll just have to push them in the right direction."

"But how are we going to get them in the café at the same time?" Allegra asked. "Tim always comes in right after Mari has left."

"Pft that's easy!" Claude exclaimed. "Just tell her that you need help with something and that you'll need for her to stay a while longer at the café. Since Mari doesn't have early classes on Wednesday she'll agree and- oh!" Claude suddenly slapped his hand over his mouth as his eyes widened with horror. "This does not mean that I'm helping." He mumbled from underneath his hand.

Allan laughed. "I think you just did."

"Looks like someone's going to end up cursed." Allegra singed songed. "Not even ladybug is going to be able to help you with that bad luck that's to come." She teased.

Claude pouted. "Haha, laugh all you want." He then looked up at the corkboard and grimaced. "But you're right, there's no turning back now. What do you need me to do?"

Allegra clapped her hands in glee.

"Okay so here's the plan."

~♡~♡~♡~

Just like Claude had predicted, it was incredibly easy to convince Marinette to stay at the café. All that was left to do was orchestrate everything just so that the two soulmates had to sit at the same table.

It was easier said than done but after enlisting more people to help out, they were able to make sure that the café was full for that morning.

Everything was going according to plan…

Until…

"WHERE. IS. TIM?"

Claude looked around. "He hasn't arrived yet?"

"No!" Allegra cried. She glanced down at her watch and winced. They were running out of time.

Claude frowned. "And you know, it would have been nice if Marinette hadn't chosen today to wear a turtleneck."

Allegra couldn't help but agree. Sure, Marinette looked amazing with the turtleneck and skirt outfit but did she really have to wear it today? When they needed for her to show off her soul mark?

It was like the universe was against them.

But finally, Allegra heard a tinkling sound at the door. She spun around praying that it was Tim.

And it was!

He looked more tired than usual as he stumbled around trying to find a seat.

Allegra watched as Tim danced around the tables that were being occupied just as he was about to take a seat.

One after the other until finally, a good push later, he ended up at Marinette's table.

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim was too tired to deal with this.

All he wanted was to sit down, have a couple of cups of coffee at his favorite coffee shop and finally be awake enough to continue investigating the moth guy.

But apparently, that was too much to ask because almost all the tables were full.

"Sorry man," Claude whispered as he guided a couple and motioned them to sit at the table that Tim had beelined for.

"Oh, actually I'm waiting for Adam." Felix had said when Tim asked if he could sit with him. Which was strange since Adam had said that he was waiting for Felix when he asked him.

But he could barely comprehend what they were saying, so he was not conscious enough to complain.

Tim continued on his journey when he felt someone push him from behind. In his half-asleep haze, Tim lunged at the chair that was in front of him hoping that it would break his fall.

It took him a few seconds to recover. He wanted nothing more than to pass out right then and there, splayed out on a coffee shop chair as everyone stared at him wondering if he was drunk.

He too wondered if he was drunk, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so if he was drunk, he was not going to figure it out on his own.

When he finally looked up, his eyes met with a pair of beautiful bluebell eyes.

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette watched as a guy stumbled around the café until finally flopping onto the other chair at her table.

It was clear that he was sleep-deprived. She had seen enough videos that her evil friends had taken when she was in a similar state to know the poor guy probably hadn't slept at all for the last week or so.

Marinette wanted nothing more than to drag the guy to the nearest bed or couch and wrap him up in a bunch of blankets. Just because she didn't comprehend the term "self-care" for herself didn't make Marinette any less of a "mom friend"

But she had to remind herself that she didn't know the guy, so it might be considered kidnapping to drag someone somewhere against their will.

Too bad.

The best she could do was offer him her own coffee.

"Hey, I think you need this more than I do at the moment." She said, pushing the drink his way as he stood up.

He mumbled something that could be interpreted as a "thank you" and eagerly took the drink. His eyes lit up when the heavenly liquid touched his tongue.

It was almost miraculous how quickly the caffeine took effect.

Actually, it was Marinette may or may not have mixed a little concoction she made with Tikki that helped her when she stayed up late with her regular coffee.

The guy blinked. "This. Is. Incredible."

Marinette laughed "Yeah, it's what I always get. Though you still look like you need to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah whatever." He waved her off. "But seriously, what is this called? I need a gallon of this."

"Sorry," Marinette said sheepishly "but I'm afraid that's a secret, you know, I'm kind of everyone's favorite, so I get the miracle coffee." Okay so that was a lie but what else could she say?

The guy pouted. Marinette had to admit that he looked adorable.

"Well, then I'm sure you can get me some then... um"

"Marinette."

"Ah, nice to meet you, coffee goddess, I'm Tim."

Marinette's cheeks heated up. "Uh, coffee goddess? Shouldn't they be the coffee gods and goddesses?" She pointed at Allegra, Claude, and the others.

"Nah, you have blessed me with this amazing coffee. Claude didn't even help me in my time of need."

"You know Claude?" Marinette asked, surprised.

"Yep, I've been coming here since I arrived in Paris, so I've gotten to know Allegra and Claude a bit."

"That's funny, I've never seen you. And I come here every day." Marinette said.

"Huh, that's weird. I've never seen you either. "

And from there they kept talking. Like they were old friends and not just acquaintances. Marinette found out that Tim had come from Gotham city. That he was in Paris because of business. Meanwhile, Tim learned that Marinette was an aspiring fashion designer and a college student who was close friends with almost everyone from the café.

Hours passed and the two were still deep in conversation completely oblivious to the crowd that had gathered behind the cafe's counter to watch the soulmates.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this before." Adrien, who had arrived after Tim, whispered to his cousin.

"I was under the impression that your father needed your assistance for the upcoming fashion show. I was not about to ask my dear uncle Gabe if I could steal you so that we could set up our friend and his future competitor, Marinette Dupain-cheng, with her soulmate."

Adrien hated to admit that he had a point. "Fine, but can you at least catch me up to date? Who is he?"

"He's a rich guy from Gotham city. He's pretty cool though he's basically Marinette when it comes to coffee which is honestly kinda scary now that I'm seeing them interact." Allegra whispered.

Adrien looked down to look at her. "Alright, I guess I'm going to have to do my own research since you guys are useless. What's his job? Why is he rich? If his from Gotham then who knows, maybe this guy is actually dangerous and wants to take Marinette as ransom for-"

"Oh please Adrien, stop with your theatrics. Do you honestly think that I would allow this if he was dangerous?" Felix interrupted.

"I mean-"

Felix glared at him.

"No?"

Felix sighed. "Timothy Drake is Marinette's soulmate, and I can assure you that he's clean. So don't worry about Marinette."

Allegra shushed the cousins. "Guys, I'm trying to listen here you know?"

"Um, you could probably hear better from up here" Felix nodded in agreement.

"Thanks, Adrien, but I don't want to risk Marinette seeing me and then remembering about time and stuff."

"Ah"

"Speaking of time, it's been years since I last ate, I'm hungry." Claude cut in.

"Claude! You're supposed to be with the customers!" Allegra whisper-shouted.

"Whoops."

~♡~♡~♡~

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Marinette eventually remembered the reason she had stayed in the cafe. Not only that but when she looked at her watch she realized that she was running late for class.

After Marinette's rushed exit, Tim went back to investigating Hawkmoth. But while they were trying to concentrate on their own thing. Marinette with her class and Tim with his research they found themselves zoning out and thinking about each other.

It was strange, they had quite literally just met.

Why had they made such an impact on each other?

~♡~♡~♡~

It wasn't until Marinette was getting ready to go to bed that she found the answer.

"Tikki is… is that what I think it is." Marinette's voice trembled as she stared at her reflection on the mirror.

Tikki gasped. "Oh Marinette, I think it is!"

Staring back at her was her soul mark, which no longer was a regular coffee cup but rather a gorgeous cup with beautiful red flowers that surrounded a somewhat familiar symbol.

"But, how? I mean they're not supposed to change… right? And why?" Marinette's eyes widened. "Does this mean that I met my soulmate? Who is it?"

Tikki giggled, "You seriously don't know?"

"Umm no? Should I?" Tikki continued to giggle as her holder looked at her confused. "Who is it Tikki?"

"Oh Marinette, how many new people did you meet today?"

"Uh, I don't know? I mean surely I must've passed by lots of strangers in the street." Marinette panicked. "Oh no Tikki! What if one of them is my soulmate? I'll never find out who they are!"

"So you don't remember meeting anyone else?"

"I don't think so, well other than ohhh- "

"Exactly"

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim could not believe what he was seeing. Gone was the plain coffee cup he was used to seeing, the daily reminder of the fact that he was still painfully single, it now had an intricate flower pattern that surrounded a symbol.

He recognized that symbol.

After weeks of researching and tailing the red Parisian heroine, he knew that it was the Ladybug symbol.

But why was it on his soul mark?

Unless…

No, the heroine couldn't be his soulmate, Tim hasn't even officially met her. Nor had he even seen her today.

The only blue-eyed girl he had met was Marinette.

Marinette

No, it was impossible. Except it wasn't. Tim had only known the girl for a couple of hours, but he knew that Marinette would make a great heroine or vigilante.

But, he… he was probably hallucinating, right? Tim hadn't slept for weeks, so surely he was just seeing things and his soul mark was still a plain coffee cup and the Marinette conclusion was just wishful thinking.

Right?

Because otherwise, his first meeting with his soulmate was him acting like a sleep-deprived zombie and Tim could not allow that.

Well, one thing was for sure, he really needed to get some sleep.

~♡~♡~♡~

Three days.

It took three days for Marinette to find Tim.

She looked everywhere. The coffee shop, Le Grand Paris Hotel, the tourist areas, and when she was ladybug she looked down from all the rooftops trying to find him.

But he had vanished, leaving Marinette worried sick that he had either A. Gone back to Gotham B. Died or C. Been so horrified that she was his soulmate that he decided to move to a remote island and changed his name in hopes of never seeing her again.

Gosh, she was starting to sound like her fourteen-year-old self.

But finally, she saw him, sitting on a bench, not far from her own home, looking down at his wrist.

He looked at his wrist like it was some puzzle he needed to solve. Marinette also noticed that he looked a lot more refreshed, so he must've finally gotten some sleep.

Marinette cleared her throat. "Well, you've been a very hard person to find Mr. Drake."

Tim looked up. "Ma- Marinette!"

"We need to talk."

Tim nodded his mouth hanging wide open as he stared at her soul mark.

"How do you feel about coffee? There's a coffee shop that's not very far from here, I hear their coffee is divine.

~♡~♡~♡~

Bonus:

(this was going to be a scene on the fic but I didn't know how to add it but it has important info sooo)

*They are at the coffee shop*

Marinette: So you're red robin.

Tim: And you're Ladybug

Marinette: Should I be worried? Like doesn't this compromise our secret identities?

*Claude and Allegra appear with some pastries*

Claude: Yooo Marinette! So you found your soulmate! Crazy right? We totally didn't have anything to do with it!

*Allegra elbows him*

Claude: So uh, congratulations! I um feel happy for you.

*looks nervously at Allegra who is glaring at him*

Claude: Bummer about the soul mark though…

*Allegra keeps glaring*

~♡~♡~♡~ Permanent tag list ~♡~♡~♡~

Claude: What? It's just a plain white cup!

Bonus bonus:

(here's a bad doodle and my crappy handwriting)

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

@charme-de-malchan, @theatreandcomicfreak, @m3owww, @elliebelliegirl, @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @waffleyunsure, @technicallyburninggarden, @azuremayscarlet, @vroomtaka, @emimar7, @ichigorose, @maskedpainter, @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry

#maribat #timari #tim x marinette #maribat secret santa #ml x dc #mlb x dc #quantic kids #My writing #my trash writing #my art #my trash art

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afni-fics · 3 years

Text

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn: Chapter 34: Hot Springs

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn: Chapter 34: Hot Springs by C_R_Scott Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius, Kaidan (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Tim Drake-centric, Trope: It sucks to be the chosen one, Trope: Trapped in another world, Trope: Kidnapped by the Call

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Summary:

Along the way to Ivarstead, the trio happen upon a set of hot springs...

Despite how rocky things started off that morning, as Tim and his companions continued along the road leading towards Ivarstead, things mellowed out somewhat.

The most obvious quality of life improvement with Kaidan now travelling with them was that weaker threats like skeevers, small wolves, and the occasional small group of bandits that would've tried to take a chunk out of him or Lucien previously were content to keep their distance. Dressed in heavy steel armor with that giant sword longer than most men strapped to his back, Tim was honestly glad for the obvious visual threat deterrence Kaidan provided. After his argument with Lucien, and after spending half the night rescuing their new friend from the Thalmor, Tim was not in a mood to finish any fights started by the wildlife or wandering criminal population of Skyrim.

While Lucien focused on conversing with Kaidan for most of the morning, Tim enjoyed the newfound peace and quiet of this leg of the journey and having a few hours to observe his surroundings alone with his own thoughts. The further they went, the more mountainous and wooded the terrain became, and the more enamored he became with his surroundings

The young man took note of the types of trees and plants that grew in abundance around him. Idly he wondered which were useful, potentially edible plants and which were toxic. He also made it a point to be mindful of movements of the animals that wandered amongst the trees. If he was going to have to survive out here, he needed to learn know how to identify, at a glance, the harmless creatures from the more dangerous ones that would immediately see him and his companions as a quick meal.

"I should buy another journal, just for field notes, and pencils for sketching," Tim thought to himself. "I wish cameras were a thing here." There was so much... too much... to see and learn.

"Word is, the waters here are good for you."

The sun was starting to get affectionate with the horizon and Tim glanced backward to notice that Kaidan had paused to look at something just off the cobblestone path. He followed the swordsman's gaze to an interesting looking location on the other side of the river they'd been following towards their destination.

"What is that?" he asked

"Hot springs," Kaidan explained as he went to a better ledge overlooking the river and the pools beyond. "I've passed by every now and again over the years, but never indulged myself. The locals believe the water has healin' properties, and somehow they stay warm all year round."

"We have to camp here tonight!"

Kaidan and Lucien both looked at Tim curiously, who was staring at the hot springs with an expression of obvious longing.

"We 'have' to?" Lucien asked.

Tim whipped his head to his two travelling companions. "Yes! We 'have' to!" he insisted. Then, without even waiting for the other two to agree or disagree, Tim started making is way off the beaten path towards an obvious set of large stones that could easily serve as a makeshift bridge to across the river. After sharing a confused glance and a shrug of shoulders, Kaidan and Lucien both followed after him.

It didn't take Tim long to reach the outer edges of the hot springs ahead of his companions. The air was unfamiliarly warm and humid and there was a distinct medicinal aroma in the air. Tim took it all in with relish. As he got to the waters' edge, he tugged off one of his gloves and tested the temperature of both the sands on the shoreline as well as the water with his hand. He didn't even bother trying to mask the murmur of approval that escaped his lips.

"Are you seriously considering indulging in these springs, Timothy?"

Tim nodded at Lucien as he rose to his feet and tugged his glove back on. "I am not passing up this opportunity," he said as he glanced at the clearing just a dozen or so yards away from the water's edge. There was more than enough room to comfortably set up camp, and Tim was quick to set down his pack and pull out the things needed to set up their tent.

"Opportunity?" Kaidan echoed with with confusion, which was rewarded with an exasperated grumble.

"It has been literal weeks since I've been able to take a decent bath since I woke up in Skyrim," Tim told Kaidan as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Not to mention it's cold all the damned time out here, especially at night! Every day the choice is either be clean and flirting with frostbite or stay decently warm but filthy." He glanced at Lucien, who was observing him with a fair amount of growing amusement.

"I think you're exaggerating a bit regarding how cold it is out here," the scholar chuckled.

"I probably am, but I don't care," Tim said matter-of-factly as he started setting up the tent as quickly and efficiently as he could. "You want me to not look for trouble tonight? Then this is your best chance for it, because short of a fucking dragon attack I am not squandering the chance for a hot bath and a decent night's sleep in a place that's actually radiating warmth instead of sucking it out of me."

While Kaidan regarded Tim with a fair amount of undisguised concern before borrowing an axe to collect firewood, Lucien just continued to snicker under his breath as he pulled out the cooking gear and ingredients from his own bag. It was his turn to cook, after all.

"I am never taking hot baths for granted ever again," Tim thought to himself with a content sigh once he finally sank chest deep into the springs after finding a spot where there was a natural stone ledge next to the water's edge that allowed him to lounge comfortably while submerged. After camp had been set up, the sun had set, and Lucien had just started cooking, Tim was adamant about enjoying the springs as early and as long as he possibly could. After assuring Lucien and Kaidan he'd only be a few yards away, Tim made his way to the nearest deep pool he could find, stripped off his gear and clothing, and stepped into the deliciously hot waters. After taking several minutes to actually clean his skin and hair, the young man finally settled into a mostly tranquil state as he stared up at the starry night sky with its twin moons. It was so warm and peaceful out there. One could almost forget that Skyrim was a wild mostly-untamed land full of a wide variety of things that wanted him dead.

Almost...

The subtle sound of something skulking in the shadows of some nearby trees behind him caught his ear. Without moving his head, Tim's eyes glanced towards the trees and recognized the outline of a man among the evergreens. Casually, Tim moved from where he was sitting and made his way back to the shore where his clothes were folded. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a length of linen cloth he was planning on using as a towel.

A feint.

From beneath the cover of the linen cloth, Tim slipped several throwing stars into his hand. Then, as quickly as he could, he threw the stars at the evergreens right where the shadows looked most man-shaped. They whistled through the air and embedded themselves in the trunks of the trees with solid "THUNKS".

"What the fu--?!" the man in the darkness shouted as he quickly stumbled away from where the wickedly sharp metal stars had nearly clipped him. Unfortunately for that poor soul, the stars themselves had been another feint.

While the stranger was distracted, Tim had wrapped the linen cloth around his waist and recovered his metal quarterstaff. On the silence of bare feet and without the weight of his own armor slowing him down, the vigilante rushed his distracted stalker and struck him with a headshot and a couple of body blows from his staff before finally taking him completely off his feet, where he crashed to the sandy shore with a clatter of metal.

Wait... Metal?

"What in the world is going on?" Lucien called out as he rushed to where Tim stood with a lantern in hand. As soon as the light was close enough to chase the shadows away, it was clear who Tim's unfortunate victim was.

"Kaidan?!"

Their new swordsman, flat on his back on the sand, groaned as he brought a hand up to his head. "What the Oblivion was that?"

Tim relaxed his defensive stance. "Were you... spying on me?!"

"Guardin'," Kaidan muttered as he gingerly eased himself up into a seated position. "Least, that was the plan. To keep watch your back while you were... vulnerable." He glanced at Lucien. "I thought you said he was bad at self-preservation?"

"I did, but I meant that in the way that he frequently throws himself into dangerous situations without any concern for his own health and wellbeing." Lucien shook his head, set down the lantern, and cast a quick healing spell over their swordsman. "When it comes to actual combat, Timothy's really quite skilled."

Tim leaned against his staff as he watched Lucien finish his healing. "Y'know Kaidan, you could've just told me you were worried about my safety before I went into the water."

"You wanted to bathe. I figured you'd tell me to sod off for privacy."

"I would've said, 'Do what you want. I don't give a fuck.' I can watch my own back just fine though." After taking a moment to retrieve his throwing stars from the nearby tree, Tim turned back to the pool. "Now if you guys don't mind, I'm going back to finish my bath."

Now that Kaidan was upright and he could see Tim more clearly in the lantern light, the swordsman took a moment to get a good look at the lines of the young man's body that had previously been hidden beneath layers of leather armor. Though he'd originally assumed he was a noble or scholar based on how Tim spoke and carried himself, as well as how he interacted with Lucien, Tim's body told a different story. His muscles were lean and well defined, looking like they'd been built over years of training for speed and finesse, rather than raw power and brute strength. His pale skin was also a map of scars scattered across both his torso and his limbs.

As Tim walked off, Kaidan noticed something that made his breath catch in his throat. It was the sight of Tim's burn scars consuming nearly the entirety of the young man's back and part of his left upper arm.

--- NOTE:

Indulging in little slices of life as Tim, Luci, and Kai travel towards Ivarstead. I'd forgotten initially during the playthrough that the hot springs were along one of the main paths to Ivarstead, so when Kaidan commented on it in-game I couldn't resist the pit stop.

It's been in the back of my mind that Tim has been missing a lot of modern conveniences since waking up in Skyrim. Motorized vehicles, computers, and cell phones/communication devices have been obvious ones. However, it occurred to me that things like regular access to hot baths would also be sorely missed too, especially in a region as cold as Skyrim, especially when you're spending days to weeks on end out on the road or in the wilderness.

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#kaidan skyrim#afewnovelideas

#elder scrolls dc #fanfiction #tim drake #skyrim fanfiction #red robin #batfam #crossover #lucien flavius #kaidan skyrim #wip #afewnovelideas

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huilian · 4 years

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Character: Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

Summary: One person's hobby can quickly be the entire family's business, especially with a family like this (aka, Cass's adventures with ballet featuring her relationship with her siblings and Steph)

***

It’s rare that Cass would willingly sit in front of a laptop for an extended period of time for something that is not a case. It’s even rarer that her schedule would coincide with Tim’s enough to allow them to be sitting in front of their laptops together. (Well, separately, but in the same room at the same time. So, close enough to being together.)

It’s only because Tim has been expecting it for a few minutes now that the sound of a laptop being slammed closed doesn’t startle him. Tim looks up to find Cass putting her head into her hands while saying, “Ugh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This… this damned website!” Cass all but shouts. “How am I supposed to know which shoes fit me best if I haven’t worn them ever? I’m reading your website to figure that out!”

“Umm… Cass?” Tim is now confused. Very confused. “Can you backtrack a little? What shoes?”

“Ballet shoes!”

“I thought you have them already? What shoes have you been wearing to class then?” Cass has been taking dance classes for months now. She must have ballet shoes, there’s little to no chance of her doing all those classes barefooted. Tim knows that ballet requires special shoes, which is about 50% of his current knowledge about ballet.

“Not those shoes. These are the… the… the pointe shoes!”

Tim is now even more confused. “So? There you go. The shoes you’re looking for are those pointe shoes.”

“No! There’re different kinds of them!”

“Huh?”

“Different brands and models and years and… and the endless modifications!”

“Okay.” Tim raises his hands placatingly. This sounds like an information problem, which he can help with. “Can I maybe, you know, look at the website? Maybe I can help?”

Cass slides her laptop to Tim. Tim closes his own laptop, then opens Cass’. Fifteen tabs greet him from the screens of Cass’s laptop. Tim sees that this is not the only window opened, and is then greeted with another three windows, each having tabs ranging from ten to thirty. Huh. It’s usually Tim who has that problem, opening too many tabs and windows and finding himself trapped in an information hellhole before he looks up to find that he has spent the entire day reading about the probabilities of oak tree getting struck by lightning.

Thankfully, that same thing has prepared Tim for this day. He quickly skims about every other tab. About a quarter of them is measuring tips, half of them are blogs with fitting and choosing tips, some are lists of pros and cons, and the rest are catalogs.

“Are all of these for choosing pointe shoes, Cass?”

“Yes,” Cass grits out.

“I… I never knew there are so many brands of pointe shoes.”

“Exactly! How am I supposed to choose if there’s so many of them!”

Tim, armed with his years of experience of sorting through bullshit on the internet, finds the most promising blog article titled ‘How To Choose Your Pointe Shoes: Guide to Getting the Best Shoes’ and starts to read.

“It says to go for a professional fitting? Maybe we should do that.” Cass makes a sound of protest. “I can start researching, but it’ll take ages and I’m not sure I’ll get it right. I’m pretty sure that poor pointe shoes fitting causes injuries, Cass. When do you need it anyway?”

Cass mumbles something. Tim, whose attention is now partially reading the section titled ‘Shank Strength’ and wondering what on earth a shank even is, doesn’t catch it at first. Then, the connecting nerves between his ears and his brain rebooted, and Tim screeches out, “Tomorrow? Yeah, no. We’re going to a professional fitting right now.”

“Ugh.”

“Cass,” Tim says, drawing out the syllable.

“Ugh.”

“Come on.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re seriously gonna make me read all of this before tomorrow? Have some mercy, Cass,” Tim teases. But seriously, he doesn’t want to have to read all of it in the short time-frame he has. He can do it, but then he’s gonna skip dinner and forgoes sleep and rest entirely and he just got Alfred to stop hounding him to go to sleep after his latest incident . He doesn’t want to have to do it again.

“You’re gonna do it anyway.” He is, but still. It’s the thought that counts. “Fine. It can’t be worse than comparing the box length of Grishko and Bloch.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

“Do you know where?”

Tim freezes. “Shit.” Now he still has to research the fitter in Gotham, and vet the places, and do all sorts of things he was hoping to not have to do by going to a fitter. Damn it.

Cass, being the absolute horrible sister that she is, just laughed at him.

“It’s your shoes, Cass! You do it!”

“No. You read about it. It’s your project now,” Cass smiles triumphantly.

“You are the worst.”

“I am the best.”

***

Jason only comes to the Manor to return Alfred’s pans, swear to god. There’s about half a dozen of Alfred’s pans (because even though it’s Bruce’s money that bought them, they are Alfred’s pans) in his latest apartment, and it’s getting ridiculous. Maybe take a book or two from the library while he’s there, because even with all of Bruce’s fault, he still keeps the library well-stocked with Jason’s favourite books.

So how come that leads to him being dragged by Cass to the Cave?

“Cass. Cass, please,” he tries.

Cass’ response is only to drag him even faster. How a girl half his size has the strength to drag him down the Cave’s stairs, Jason doesn’t know.

“Cass.”

“You said you don’t have anything else to do today. So you can do this.”

“Well, Cass, I-”

“It’ll be fun. You only have to sit. You can even read the entire time.”

“What if-”

“Alfred agrees.”

Jason sighs. “I doubt this is what he meant when he told you to go somewhere else to practice, Cass.”

“I asked him. He agrees.”

Jason sighs again. The problem is, she did ask Alfred, and Alfred did agree. Though why Cass chose to ask Alfred for permission to use Jason as a living, human barre for her ballet practice after Alfred banished her from using the kitchen countertop is a mystery. Maybe she thinks that Jason is not going to protest if Alfred said yes?

“Why me? You can have literally anyone to be your personal barre, Cass.”

“You are the right height.”

There’s nothing to say to that, is there? What’s Jason going to do, argue that he is not the right height? He doesn’t even know how high a ballet barre should be. Besides, Cass is right. Alfred already said yes, and he even went so far as expressing his delight in seeing Jason interacting with his siblings outside of their ‘nighttime activities’. So there’s that. There’s no arguing with Alfred when he had given out his verdict like that.

They arrive at the Cave, and then Cass drags Jason towards the empty space somewhere in between the sparring mats and the computer. Then, she lets Jason’s arm go, which should be enough of an opening for Jason to escape, but Jason knows what Cass can do. She’ll just catch him and drag him back. Jason accepts his fate and stays put even when Cass leaves his side to in search of a chair. Cass finds one, then drags it over, and then says, “Sit.”

Jason, who knows that this girl can easily force him to sit, sits. Cass smiles and nods her approval. She scrolls down on her phone for a while, and then music fils the Cave via the speaker system Bruce installed. Jason allows himself a small shake of the head. It’s just like Bruce to install a speaker system and then let it go to waste by preferring to brood in silence.

Cass puts her hand on Jason’s shoulder, and starts dancing. The hand is feather-light throughout her first combination, and Jason knows enough about ballet to know that this meant Cass doesn’t particularly need a barre to do the movements.

But. Well. It’s not half bad, watching his sister dance in between reading his book. That, coupled with the knowledge that Alfred is somewhere upstairs, most definitely preparing Jason’s favorite foods, made Jason relax.

“Stop moving!” Oh. Jason relaxing meant that his shoulder is now not in the same place it was before.

Jason smiles and says, “Sorry, sorry,” surprising himself that he actually meant the apology.

***

“Cass? Are you there?” Cass had promised to teach Steph a new throw today, but she’s not in the Cave, so Steph is now up in Wayne Manor, hoping she’ll find Cass in her room. “Cass? You promised to show me that throw, remember?”

Steph hears movement from inside Cass’ room, so she opens the door, considering Cass to be well and truly notified of her presence by her hollering in the hallway, only to be greeted with the sight of Cass with surgical tape and cotton balls in her hands. Steph goes to full-alert mode immediately, because anything or anyone that can get Cass to be hurt is a huge threat.

(Steph still hasn’t forgotten about Lady Shiva.)

“Cass, are you alright?” Steph says.

“I’m fine.”

“Where are you hurt? Do I need to call Alfred? Or dr. Thompkins?”

“I’m fine, Steph,” Cass’ voice is calm, but Steph has seen her take a bullet and still talks in the same calm voice as she is using now, so that is not an accurate meter to gauge Cass’ wellbeing.

“You’re holding bandages, Cass. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. Watch out for the bucket.”

“Bucket? What bucket?”

“That bucket,” Cass points to her right.

“Why do you need a bucket?” Steph pauses, then the implication of a bucket in Cass’ bedroom hits her. “Are you sick as well?”

“No, it’s for my toes.”

Toes? What? “Okay, back up. Your toes?”

“Ballet.” Oh. Oh . Now that Steph is no longer worried that Cass is going to bleed out, she realizes that Cass is not putting on the tapes, but pulling it off. Oh, again. “Can you push the bucket here?”

Steph pushes the bucket, which Steph now notices is filled with ice, towards Cass with her foot. Cass puts her feet inside, groaning all the way.

“Ballet?” Steph asks. It seems weird that something so innocent can make Cassandra Cain react this extensively. But again, Steph has long learned not to underestimate anything.

“Ballet,” Cass answers.

“Is it the pointe shoes thing? I’ve read about it somewhere. That’s why I don’t want to go into ballet,” Steph says, lifting up a towel that’s next to Cass and replacing its position.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?” Steph puts her head on Cass’ shoulders, looking up a while to check whether or not this is okay.

“Yes,” Cass says, both as an answer for Steph’s question and Steph’s unspoken question.

“Can you still teach me that throw?”

“Yes. Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay.” They sit in silence for a while, until Steph suddenly has a thought. “Is it weird that you can take bullets without flinching, but groans at this, or is it just me?”

Cass hums. “It’s a different kind of pain. Never had it before. Not prepared for it.”

“Okay, but is it weird, or is it just me?”

“It’s weird.”

“Are you ready to teach me that throw now?”

“Sure.” Cass pulls out her feet and motions for the towel. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because of this.”

Steph hands her the towel, and says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

Dick is walking down the hallways of the Manor when he hears Cass swearing from inside a bathroom. Normally, that wouldn’t be a cause of alarm, but since the only reason he’s at the Manor today is because Cass has a ballet recital and everyone is going to go watch it, Dick calls out, “Cass? Is there something wrong?”

“No!” Cass’ voice replies. “Yes! No! I don’t know!”

Okay, that warrants further investigation. “Can I come in?”

Cass makes an affirmative sound, so Dick opens the door, just in time to see Cass putting on false eyelashes in a truly dangerous fashion. As in, almost putting it straight into her eyes. Yeah, something is wrong.

Of course, the false eyelashes do not stick the way it’s supposed to, because Cass is not putting it on properly. Cass swears, again, and picks up the fallen eyelashes from the sink. Dick has seen enough.

“Do you know how to put those on?” Dick says.

“No! Why do they keep falling down? I’m doing it exactly the way they told me to!”

Dick takes a look to the false eyelashes on Cass’ hands, then to Cass’ eyes. “It’s too long for your eyelids, Cass.” Dick frowns. It has been a while since he has to handle false eyelashes. “At least, I think that’s why they keep falling down.”

Cass, who has been furiously dabbing glue to the false eyelashes, looks up to him with wide eyes. “You know how to do this?”

“I mean… I guess, yeah? My mom used to put this on for performances. She would let me help, sometimes.”

“You know how to do this!”

Dick takes a look at Cass’ hopeful face, then says, “Do you want me to do it for you?”

“ Please .”

“It’s been a while since I’ve put this on on anybody. It’s not going to be perfect.”

“ I don’t care . Just put it on.”

“Okay, then. Do you have scissors?”

Cass looks at him, and scrunchs her nose as she says, “No.”

“I’ll get one. Do you want to…,” Dick searches his memory for the times he helped his mom put on false eyelashes, “...clean the glue from the eyelashes? Too much glue will make it stick less, if I’m not wrong.”

“How come too much glue makes it stick less ?”

“I think it’ll make it stiff or something. My mom always cleans the glue off before putting it on. You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” Dick says, but Cass is already picking off the dried glue from the false eyelashes.

When he returns with scissors that’s suitable enough ( not the kitchen scissors, Master Dick), Cass is already sitting down on the toilet.

“Are you still sure about this? I’m not sure I can do a good job, Cass.”

“You will not be worse than me,” Cass says, which, considering she almost poked her eye out trying to put it on, Dick is inclined to (grudgingly) agree.

“Alright. Close your eyes.”

Cass obediently closes her eyes. Dick picks up the false eyelashes from the sink and starts to measure it to Cass’ eyes.

“You did this a lot,” Cass says.

“What? Make-up?”

Cass hums. “ Stage make-up.”

“Oh. I guess, yeah, back at the circus. I didn’t have to put on false eyelashes, though.” Dick dabs on the glue to the eyelashes and starts to gently place it to Cass’ eyelids. “But everything else, yeah. Can you open your eyes?”

Cass opens her eyes, and that makes it clear that one of the ends is misplaced. Dick makes a motion for her to close her eyes again.

“Can you do the rest of my make-up too?” Cass says while Dick is pulling down the misplaced end.

Dick stops, surveys the state of Cass’ face, noting the base already on and the mostly done eye make-up, then says, “You just need some blush and lipstick, and you’re done.”

“Do it anyway.”

Dick exhales out a small laugh. “Fine, little sister. Is there anything else I can do for you, oh most talented princess?”

Cass’s response is to stick out her tongue.

“Don’t do that! You’ll make it harder for the lipstick to stay on!”

Cass opens one eye (one that’s not the one Dick is working on now, thank god) and locks eyes with Dick as she proceeds to lick her entire lip. Dick should be annoyed, but he just laughs harder.

***

Damian watches his sister dance in the exercise room. Not the practice and training space down in the Cave, but in the exercise room upstairs that Father remade to be a dance floor with floor-to-ceiling mirrors after too many incidents of pointe shoes flying in the Cave. Cassandra is truly a master of her body, and watching her do this, a very different use of her body than fighting, is mesmerizing. Damian has watched Cassandra’s dancing before, of course, the entire family went out to watch Cassandra’s recital, but that was with make-up and costume and stage-lights. This, just Cassandra with her leotard and tights in the bare room, is somehow a purer and more hypnotizing version.

It has been brought to Damian’s attention that he should do more moving sketches. Damian reviewed his drawings and concluded that that suggestion has value. He has been drawing more still-life lately, and it would be well to branch out from it. So here he is, debating whether or not to ask Cassandra to allow him to sketch her in her practice.

Damian is tempted to just start drawing, but Richard had said to ask for permission before drawing anyone after Damian had just started sketching his brother’s acrobatics practice. Before Damian can decide on anything though, Cassandra notices him and beckons him over.

“Cain,” Damian greets.

Cassandra tilts her head.

Well, now or never, Damian supposes. With her body-language reading capabilities, Cassandra might already know what Damian is there to do and is simply waiting him out. “May I sketch your dancing?”

Cassandra smiles. “Of course, little brother.” And without waiting for further clarification, she simply moves backward enough to not kick Damian with her dancing and starts where she left off. Damian, perplexed but satisfied enough not to make a fuss, sits down on the wooden floor and opens his sketchbook. He has never sketched a person dancing ballet before, and this is a welcome challenge.

As if she knows what is going on, Cassandra switches her routine, moving to a slower piece with lots of holds and balances, all without losing her graceful movements. It is infinitely easier to sketch this routine, especially with Damian never drawing ballet movements before.

Damian doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling that his sister already knows his appreciation for the change. Why be redundant and say it?

It’s a surprisingly pleasant way to spend an afternoon, especially when Cassandra grows tired of watching Damian sketch and drags him into joining her in a routine. He protests at first, only to give in eventually. And if he ends the session with laughter, well, nobody has to know.

(And if he plans on giving Cassandra a painting of her dancing sometime in the future, well, nobody has to know that either.)

#dc #cassandra cain #tim drake #jason todd #stephanie brown #dick grayson #damian wayne #fic #lian writes #batmanbingo2020

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cdelphiki · 5 years

Note

Hello! Could you do "I'm not leaving you here!" with Tim and Damian? Can't wait to see what all you do!

There was no time.

Normally, Tim could form half a dozen plans, and then five more for every outcome of the first six whenever anything happened to them. But this time—there wasn’t time.

They had really gotten themselves into quite a pickle.

Well…

Damian had gotten them into said pickle.

He was too brash sometimes.

Maybe if he stoped to think more often, Tim would have more time to think now.

But instead, he found himself collapsed on the floor, trying his best to hold all his insides in where they belonged, while Damian subtly panicked by his side, similarly applying pressure to the massive gash in Tim’s abdomen.

It’d been a lucky hit, honestly. Tim had been distracted by trying to disarm the moron with the gun and wrongfully assumed Damian was handling the idiot with the knife. He hadn’t been. And that guy managed to slash out at Tim and get him, right in the side.

At least Damian took him out immediately after. What he’d been doing before Tim nearly lost more of his organs, he isn’t sure. But at least he pulled through in the end…

Now, though. Now they were royally screwed.

They were in a room, deep inside the compound they’d infiltrated, essentially trapped. There were two unconscious guys handcuffed to the radiator pipes, and about three hundred more outside.

Looking for them.

Tim could hear gunfire down the hall. The periodic bang bang of a trained gunman, walking through rooms, and shooting at whatever he saw. It was setting Tim on edge, because he knew they were looking for them.

And Tim couldn’t walk.

He could do nothing to defend Robin. To defend himself. He’d just be a passive observer to Robin’s death.

“Robin,” he wheezed, causing Damian to look up from his wound, the whites of his lenses not revealing anything the boy was feeling, “Go.”

There was nothing Tim could do. He wouldn’t be able to follow Damian. Wouldn’t be able to even make it out of this room, much less follow the complicated path they’d taken to get in this far. And Damian most certainly couldn’t carry him. Sure, he was strong, but Tim weighed more than him, and at this point he’d be pretty much dead weight.

“What?” he demanded, “and what, you’ll just cartwheel your way out behind me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

After pushing himself into a sitting position, Tim tried to shove Damian away from him, but all he succeeded in doing was groaning as his side protested at the movement.

“Drake,” Damian snapped, “do not be stupid. You are in danger of bleeding out if we don’t staunch the blood.”

“You,” Tim said, his breathing labored as he tried to get his body to obey him, tried to keep his strength in check, “need to leave.”

Instead of respond, Damian pushed Tim back down into a laying position and started rifling through his pockets. He pulled out an emergency suture kit, and Tim just reached out and grabbed his hand.

The gunshots were getting closer, and each double tap filled Tim with more dread. Because if they entered this room, there was absolutely nothing he could do. He’d be helpless, just laying here. As he calculated, he only had a few more minutes of consciousness before the blood loss got him, and then not much longer beyond of actual…. Aliveness. And Damian would likely get himself shot trying to defend Tim, and he did not want his last minutes on this earth to be crying over the death of Robin.

No thank you.

He’d much rather Robin leave and get away. Go find help, maybe. It didn’t really matter what he did, as long as he had a chance.

“No. There isn’t time. You have to get out of here.”

Damian scowled and pushed Tim’s hand away from the wound, after he’d threaded the needle and stuck a flashlight in his own mouth, to point directly at the wound.

Tim grimaced as the needle went into his skin, then clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might crack the crown in there when Damian pulled it through.

“Damian,” he plead, between stitches, “Please. You have to go.”

“No,” Damian snapped, pausing just long enough to hold the flashlight so he could talk, “I am not leaving you. So shut up.”

The gunfire paused for a moment, and Damian took it as an opportunity to get three more stitches in, each one making Tim suppress a groan. Because, damn, Damian was not being gentle.

“Sorry,” Damian mumbled, around the flashlight, “we’ll have to redo…”

“If you don’t get leave,” Tim whispered, just as the gunfire started up again, now more constant than before, “they’re gonna catch us. The sutures won’t matter.”

Scowling harder, Damian picked up the speed and put four more stitches in before finally cutting the thread. He spat the flashlight off onto the ground and snapped, “Do you want to die?”

“I want you to not die,” Tim replied, echoing Damian’s tone.

“Right,” he said, aggressively ripping open a clean pack of gauze before he placed it over the fresh stitches and started wrapping Tim’s entire abdomen, “Great. I live, you die. Just how everyone would want it, right? Is that what you think?”

The next gunshot happened not even 30 feet away, outside the locked door they were hiding behind. It made Damian jump, just slightly, before his scowl deepened.

Tim closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. “You bought us time,” he mumbled, trying to think through the haze that had started to set in, “You can get away and go get help. Then come back for me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered harshly.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” he shot back, succeeded this time at sitting himself up, Damian now done wrapping the wound. It was still bleeding, ever so slightly, but it wasn’t a danger of bleeding out anytime soon.

Kill him with infection? Sure. But that required he lived long enough for it to get infected. Either he’d be shot in about 64 seconds, or they’d escape and Alfred would fix it.

He was kind of counting on the getting shot option.

Damian looked around frantically and locked eyes on a pipe, laying on the ground among a pile of random repair pieces. He grabbed it, then tip toed to the door, positioning himself just beside it, waiting for their hunter to bust in the door.

“Damian,” Tim pleaded, whispering as loudly as he dared with someone just outside.

“Shut up, Tim,” Damian whispered back.

Just a second later, the door knob jiggled, and Tim sucked in a breath. Damian gripped the pipe tighter and lifted it high, ready to bring it down on the head of whoever broke in.

A gunshot went off, blasting the lock into a dozen tiny pieces, and then the door was kicked open, faster than a strike of lightning.

Tim was unable to suppress the pained cry he made when he jumped, possibly tearing one of the already shitty stitches.

At the same time, Damian swung the pipe and connected solidly with the helmet of their hunter, causing a crack to form right at the crown of it.

“The fuck,” Jason cursed, snatching the pipe from a stunned Damian and throwing it across the room, away from both Tim and the unconscious thugs, “Watch where you’re swinging shit, brat. You’re lucky I wear a helmet, unlike you dumbasses.”

“Hood,” Damian sighed, the relief in his voice so palpable, it made even Jason freeze.

“Yeah, kid,” he said, awkwardly patting Damian on the head, “I’m here.”

“Was that you shooting?” Tim asked, pausing in the middle to take a breath. His side was hurting about fifty times more, now. With the definitely popped stitch.

“Uh huh.” Jason crossed the room in three long strides and knelt beside Tim. Damian retrieved his pipe and took up position by the door, but considering how relaxed Jason was acting, Tim doubted there were anymore men outside to post threats to them.

He just hoped Jason hadn’t killed everyone in the building…

“Heard you two were infiltrating this place tonight. You should have talked to me first, I’ve been watching this operation for months. You were woefully unprepared.”

“Yeah,” Tim laughed, moving his hands so Jason could look at the quickly bleeding through bandages, “Figured that out.”

“Seriously, you brats taking on an entire gang’s main operation? By yourself? Idiots.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, “We were fine until Red got himself stabbed.”

“It was your guy,” Tim protested, “Your guy stabbed me.”

“And then he wanted me to abandon him to die,” Damian continued, completely ignoring Tim.

Jason added another layer of gauze to the wrap, then pat Tim on the shoulder. “I know teaming up with the demon is difficult,” he said, slipping one arm behind Tim’s back and the other under his knees, “but really, there are much better ways to be rid of him than dying. Trust me. Been there. Done that. 0/10 would not do again.”

“Shut up,” Tim whined, trying his best not to cry a little as Jason jostled him. He wrapped one arm around Jason’s neck and closed his eyes tight. “I didn’t know you were the idiot shooting everyone.”

“Yes,” Damian drawled, falling in step just before Jason as they began making their way out of the compound, “I was not aware you were in Gotham tonight.”

“This idiot just saved your hide, you ungrateful little brats. And I lied about going on a mission. I wanted a break. But nooooooo, you morons had to go on a suicide mission instead.”

“Tt. It was not-”

“Red is actively dying,” Jason interrupted, “So zip it.”

Surprisingly, Damian did zip it. And he kept it zipped, at least as long as Tim could remember. Because he did eventually fall asleep, lulled there by the gentle swaying motion caused by Jason’s gait. If Jay tried to wake him, it didn’t work, and in retrospect, Tim was glad for that.

Because the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the Batcave, his torso properly cleaned and sewn up, an IV in his hand, delivering what Tim was sure to be heavy antibiotics to stave off whatever infection the crappy field suturing probably caused.

When he looked around, he was mildly surprised to find no Bruce sitting at his side. Usually Bruce was all over these sorts of things. His guilt complex awesome at making him be comforting after nearly dying.

Honestly, there was nothing like a ‘I’m glad you didn’t die, Tim,’ hug from Bruce.

But Bruce wasn’t there. Instead, Damian was sitting in the chair, his legs thrown up over the side as he watched something on his tablet, completely oblivious to the world.

“Where’s Bruce?” Tim croaked, then paused to clear his throat, because wow. He hadn’t used his voice in a while, had he? “How long was I out?”

Damian looked at his watch and said, almost uninterested, “About 17 hours. Pennyworth made Father go to bed a couple hours ago.”

Tim wanted to ask Damian why he was there, then, but he had the feeling doing so would just make Damian leave. And Tim didn’t really want to be alone. He always hated being alone, trapped in the medbay in the cave. It was dark and spooky down there, honestly. When alone and unable to work on anything. The screeching of the bats was just creepy. Sometimes.

So instead, he asked, “What are you watching?” as he sat his bed up some.

“A documentary series I found on youtube. It’s about royal families in Europe and how they’re all related.”

“Uh,” Tim said, scrunching his eyebrows, “That’s interesting.”

“Hardly,” Damian dismissed, waving a hand at Tim, as if asking him to stop talking.

And maybe being alone down here wouldn’t be so bad, after all. “What are you doing down here?”

Annoyance flickered on Damian’s face before he clicked the tablet off and stood. “If you ever,” he said darkly, taking the few steps to Tim’s bedside to point a finger at him, “ever ask me to leave you to die again, I’ll…”

Damian paused, and narrowed his eyes. Tim couldn’t help it, he had to ask, “You’ll what? Kill me?”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, scowling now, “Obviously not. That would be counterproductive.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll tell on you,” Damian decided, nodding to himself.

“You’ll tell on me? What are we, five?”

“Yes. I’ll tell Father and Grayson about your recklessness and—”

“I wasn’t being reckless,” Tim said, “Your guy stabbed me. Not! Reckless!”

“Whatever,” Damian said, rolling his eyes, “Just don’t do it again.”

Tim wanted to keep arguing. He wanted to tell Damian there was nothing he could threaten Tim with to make him value his own life above that of a literal child’s, especially when that child was kind of technically his little brother. But instead he could see the underlying anxiety forcing this entire encounter, so he couldn’t help himself saying, “Aww, you were worried about me.”

And instead of snap back and deny it, as Tim was expecting, Damian just scowled harder and said, “Of course I was. You were trying make me let you die.”

“Damian,” he sighed, rubbing at his face with his free hand. He was honestly so exhausted. Which was weird, sleeping 17 hours and all. “I was just trying to save you.”

“We’re family,” Damian said slowly, looking away from Tim as he did and crossing his arms, “I can’t….”

“Damian,” Tim interrupted, reaching out and latching onto Damian’s sleeve.

“Tim. Don’t ask me to do that again.”

All Tim could do was nod. Because he was afraid if he tried to say anything, he might just cry. Or say something stupid and ruin the entire moment.

But Damian spoke up, holding his tablet up for Tim to see. “I have movies on this.”

With a smile, Tim scooted over the best he could and let Damian climb up next to him. About an hour into The Incredibles, when Damian’s eyes keep drooping more and more with ever blink, and Tim was just about as close to falling back asleep, Tim whispered, “Sorry.”

And when Damian just nodded and leaned his head against Tim’s shoulder to fully fall asleep, he took it as forgiveness.

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fandom-scribe · 5 years

Text

Whumptober: Day 1 - Shaking Hands

Title: Living Empty

Word Count: 1,597

Author’s Note: Oh shit. I’m back and I actually wrote instead of just saying I’m gonna write. Sorry to say I’ve returned with this utter crap. It’s bad. Really. I’m just gonna apologize for the bad quality, especially the first two paragraphs. I’m really bad at beginnings so this rambling shit is just me getting into the groove.

On AO3

—

Alfred knew how a butler was meant to behave. Straight back, pressed suit, polished shoes, no emotion. He was supposed to be a statue, a wooden Pinocchio, only becoming a real boy when the Master calls. That’s what his father taught him, what the sharks of high society Gotham expected. How funny it was, the looks on their faces when he proved himself to be a human being. The way a started hand rushed to press against a sharply risen bosom, the way thick brows knotted together in an offended embrace, accompanied by the twitching of a mustache. Alfred didn’t get that in the Manor. Master Bruce and his young charges were far too used to his snark and sarcasm and passive-aggressive demeanor. Alfred only got the good reactions during a Wayne hosted gala.

Alfred knew how a butler was meant to behave, but he wasn’t perfect at it. He had the posture, the suit, the shoes. He also had emotions. So maybe he wasn’t a typical butler, but that was fine: he didn’t live a typical life, didn’t serve a typical family, didn’t have a typical Master. He also wasn’t just a butler. He was the family chef, the chauffeur, the medic, and the supporter of an entire family of vigilantes. He juggled all of these positions almost flawlessly, placing on the butler mask and never letting his family see him falter. He didn’t stumble in front of them, didn’t hesitate, his hands never shook.

His hands never shook.

Why were his hands shaking?

“Alfie, you gotta take care of yourself,” Master Richard chided, voice light despite the heavy concern in his eyes. Alfred shot him a withering glare that said back off and a raised brow that asked are you seriously telling me to take care of myself? Master Richard smiled in return, having the decency to look sheepish. “Ok, ok, point taken. I’m just worried.”

“You have no reason to be,” Alfred replied, turning half his attention back to the tea cup in his hands. He bit back a grunt of effort as he attempted once more to lift the cup to his lips. His hands shook in protest, and tea that had turned cold ages ago sloshed over the rim, splashing onto his hands and pants. “Alfie, stop. Please.” Richard’s hands cupped his, stabling the tea cup. His hands were warm with life, the contrast nearly shocking against Alfred’s freezing skin.

“I am fine, Master Richard.” And in that moment he believed it, even if Richard so clearly didn’t. How could he not be fine with his grandson - yes, his grandson - was in front of him, skin warm, eyes alive, chest rising and falling steadily to the rhythm of an undoubtedly beating heart. So many tried to take Richard away from them, from him, but Richard always returned. Always.

Always.

“Is everything alright?” a deep voice asked and Alfred went from fine to better than fine. Good. Great, even, as Master Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. His son’s - his son! Oh how he wished he could see the look on his father’s face if the older man knew how he thought of his Master - hand was larger than Richard’s but just as warm. His blue eyes held the same glint of life, his chest moving to the same rhythm.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Alfred felt as if he could watch the simple movement for hours.

“Alfred’s sick and won’t admit it,” Richard said, bringing him back to the present. Alfred blinked a few times, turning his eyes away from his son’s chest and up towards his face which now wore the same concerned expression. Maybe he was sick, Alfred mused. He never spaced out, always found pride in his ability to focus and multitask. Alfred was grateful every time his family survived another day, came home another night, woke up another morning, but it was never a distraction. If anything, it’s the thing that kept him focus.

“Doesn’t feel feverish,” Bruce said as the back of his hand - Warm. Alive. - pressed against Alfred’s forehead.

“His hands are shaking.” Richard removed his hands from Alfred’s. They began to shake once more, fingers nearly numb with cold. It was as if he was dead and the physical warmth of his family was the only thing animating his frozen corpse.

Alfred set his tea cup down. There was no point in holding it anymore: it was empty, it’s previous contents cold and sticky as it soaked through his trousers.

“Don’t,” Alfred said, after Bruce’s mouth had opened but before any sounds could escape. “Please, don’t.” His hands weren’t shaking anymore, or maybe he simply didn’t notice them shaking anymore as his whole body began to quiver. “I am fine, Master Bruce, I promise. Please do not ruin this nice afternoon with your needless worrying.”

Master Bruce blinked. Then he blinked again. His mouth open, closed, open, closed. No words came out. Then he looked around, taking in the lovely afternoon that Alfred had decided to fully embrace by having his tea outside. He looked down, eyes searching Alfred before moving onto his eldest son, who had joined Alfred without invitation but with much welcome. Looked at the large blanket they sat on in the middle of the great lawn. He shrugged and joined them on it.

“Okay,” was all he said but Alfred could tell that he wasn’t going to let it go. It wouldn’t be Master Bruce - his son, his son! - if he did. Bruce sat closer than necessary, shoulder-to-shoulder with his elder, no doubt to catch him if he were to faint or something. On any other day Alfred would chide him for it, just a simple look that demanded his space. Bruce would receive the look loud and clear and Alfred would truly know how bad he looked depending on Bruce’s reaction. Today, though, Alfred simply let the man fret, welcoming any warmth his family could provide his old bones.

Time ticked by. Master Bruce and Master Richard shared the rest of the tea, Alfred accepting that he could not partake. He closed his eyes and listened to the amiable chatter. It was suggested that Alfred moved inside for his own sake, but Alfred refused. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, not when they wouldn’t move with him. Going inside meant ending the moment. With his eyes closed, Alfred could make this moment last forever, even if that meant worrying his family with his stillness. So instead of moving, he sat there and listened to the chaos that was his family as their group got bigger.

“Father, I demand you eject Drake from the family!”

“I’m not going anywhere! Tell him, Bruce!”

“Yeah, tell him Bruce!”

Alfred sighed, but he couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed as the rest of his grandsons did what they all did best and destroyed the peace. Master Damian first, still struggling with his insecurities and not quite able to grasp the idea that he could have his own place in the family without someone else losing theirs. Then Master Tim, feigning confidence but requesting validation all the same. And finally Master Jason, instigating as always and still unsure of how to interact with the family in any other way. It was all apart of his facade, Alfred knew. He instigated and laughed at the chaos he caused, pretending he only stuck around for a laugh when they all knew otherwise.

Facades. Everyone in this family had one, and that wasn’t including their vigilante masks.

The fight continued. Bruce and Richard broke it up. The three young masters joined them on the blanket. More tea was brought out. The air turned crisp as the sun set. And through it all Alfred kept his eyes closed, too focused on those around him for it to be considered meditating. His hands still shook and every now and then Master Bruce would give them a comforting squeeze. Alfred would squeeze back. It was the least he could do to calm his son’s worries. For once, Alfred couldn’t even call it paranoia. Bruce had every right to be worried: Alfred was acting strangely and the older gent knew it. He was becoming all to aware of it, of the situation around him and the actuality of it.

The actuality of it was what made Alfred refuse to open his eyes.

“Alfred. Time to go inside,” Master Bruce eventually said, when the sun had gone down and the cold breeze made Alfred’s shaking even worse. The elder knew there would be no delaying it anymore. Bruce’s voice had become fainter, a whisper against his ears. His grandsons had gone silent. How Alfred hated the silence.

Alfred opened his eyes and glared at the ground. He ignored the burning behind his eyes as he got up and packed his tea kit into the picnic basket. No one offered to help, not like they used to. They couldn’t help anymore. A ghost of a touch landed on his shoulder and Bruce spoke again, voice even fainter as Alfred greeted reality.

“Same time and place tomorrow?”

“Of course.” It was not as if Alfred had responsibilities anymore. Not as if they could meet anywhere else.

Alfred shouldered the basket and brushed off his suit, nearly seething at how his hands still shook. His suit was stiff where the tea had dried. The elderly man straightened his spine and turned to bid his family farewell. No one was there.

With a bitter chuckle, Alfred readjusted his grip on the basket and left the graveyard.

—

Author’s Note: I don’t want to be patronizing or whatever by explaining the story but I also know I didn’t convey it will. So here’s what I’ll say: as time went on, Alfred became more aware of reality and thus the boys did too and became more aware that they didn’t actually exist.

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elareine · 5 years

Text

Just a fool for you

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson (side), Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain (side) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Getting Back Together, Misunderstandings, Romance, Light Angst AO3: /18630514

“Tim! Dick!” Steph ran into the library without knocking. “Have you heard?”

Dick smiled at her in greeting. “Hello, dearest sister. What has got you so excited?”

“Soldiers!”

Tim groaned and Dick laughed. “Aye, that dream of every young girl. Aren’t you sworn to your Cassandra?”

Steph rolled her eyes and let herself fall into the armchair opposite her brothers in a distinctly un-lady-like fashion. “Of course. But only imagine the excitement their arrival will cause in town.”

“I can well imagine,” Tim replied drily. “We have been severely lacking in excitement in this town for, oh, days now.”

“I think the hens escaped from Ms Kyle’s coop yesterday,” Dick pointed out thoughtfully.

“You are right. Soldiers cannot hold a candle against that.”

Against her will, Stephanie laughed. “I see you will not take it seriously, though I can assure you, the ladies (and some of the lads!) of this town would beg to differ. Three officers returning from the wars, young, unattached, in the position to support a spouse well… one of them is even supposed to be a war hero.”

Dick leaned back on the settée. Iris flew into his lap and made herself at home, obviously settling in for some prime gossip. “Oh?”

“Yes, though I must confess, I have never heard of his family before. That makes it only more romantic, doesn’t?” she asked, fanning herself in an obvious parody of the young ladies she had gleaned this gossip from. “A Captain Todd. He’s supposed to be very handsome, too, and not at all scarred…”

Tim didn’t drop the book in his hands. His face was blank. Lachesis did not utter a single noise from her perch on the open window.

Dick’s smile, however, turned forced. “Captain Todd, you say? What would be his given name?”

“Jason. Do you know him?” Stephanie was sharp as a tack.

“Oh, I was acquainted only slightly with him, before you came back to Gotham,” Dick told her nonchalantly. “I’m happy to hear that he has come up in the world since then.”

Tim heaved an inner sigh. Though it honoured Dick, what was the use of subterfuge - she would find out within minutes by asking anyone in this town. “I was engaged to him for a time.”

“What happened?” Stephanie asked, astonishment evident on her face.

“We didn’t suit.” He looked at Dick. “You wanted to discuss some wedding matters with me before we were interrupted, yes?”

His siblings took the hint. Dick said, “Ah, yes, there was the matter of the church ceremony I wanted to discuss with you,” and Stephanie smiled as she got up. “I need to go see what mischief my dæmon is getting himself into now. I will see you at dinner?”

“Of course,” Tim said.

Dick waited until she had left the room, then both he and Iris turned towards Tim with worry written clear in their faces.

Tim precipitated his question. “I’m fine.”

“Tim-“

“There is no reason to worry, Dick, really,” he told his brother a little too forcefully. “We will likely never cross paths, and if we do, I’m sure we will both behave civilly.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, brother,” Dick replied in a gentle tone. “I do not want you to be hurt.”

“It was I who broke off the engagement,” Tim pointed out.

“Only after he decided to enlist without consulting you first.”

“I simply realised that our visions for the future did not match, Dick. It was an entirely rational decision.” There was something that sounded suspiciously like a snort coming from Lachesis, but Tim ignored her.

“If you say so,” Dick sighed. “Now, I do actually require your assistance in the planning of the church ceremony. You see, the pastor insists on…”

Over the next three days, Tim had the fortune of being regaled with tales of Captain Todd’s accomplishment by no less than five different people. He wrote and complained to Conner about it, but found no sympathy there. Even Lachesis thought his avoidance of the topic was amusing.

Dick’s wedding came as a welcome distraction. He was not the best man - one of Dick’s closest friends, Sir Roy Harper, had returned with Captain Todd and was promptly asked to take that role - which left him with more time to simply enjoy the festivities as much as he could.

Barbara looked beautiful, of course, as her father rolled her chair down the aisle, the skirt of her dress tastefully arranged to look like a white cascade and her curls gleaming. She reminded Tim of the illustrations depicting mermaids in his old fairy tale books. Dick looked the part of the prince, too, of course, all handsome and grinning widely as if he would never stop.

The reception was held at Wayne Manor, the future home of the happy couple. Tim privately doubted the newlyweds would stay here forever, but who knew. Maybe Bruce would mellow out enough that Barbara would not murder him within three months of moving in.

Yes, that sounded likely.

For now, though, everyone was happy. There was a long line to congratulate Dick and Barbara and their fathers, so Tim was able to stand aside and watch, his version of mingling.

After a few enjoyably quiet minutes of sipping his champagne, Misses Aubin, one of their old neighbours, waved him over, her little rat companion peeking out of her pockets. She was a reliable conveyor of gossip without having a mean bone in her body. If he had to socialise, he might as well start with her, so he walked towards her.

Too late he saw just who was standing next to her.

Captain Jason Peter Todd looked just as handsome as Tim remembered. Maybe even more so. Age had filled him out more, had let him grow into a well-built man that exuded confidence where before had only been bravado. His clothes were well-cut and far beyond anything he’d been able to afford back then. Those shoulders stretched out the dinner jacket admirably, and his thighs… Well.

Tim became aware that he was staring when Lachesis dug her talons deeper into the pad on his shoulder. Her warning came just in time to allow him to wear a polite smile when Captain Todd turned to him. “Captain Todd, how nice to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” The smile on the other man’s face was painfully fake. “Lachesis, how do you do.”

Misses Aubin continued talking as if oblivious the tension. “We were just saying what a lovely celebration this is, dear Timothy.”

“Thank you, I will pass your compliment on.”

“Dick and Barbara look very happy together.” She winked at Tim. “Any chance you will be topping this event yourself next year? Now that the oldest son is out of the house…”

Tim forced himself to laugh. “Oh, Stephanie would kill me! Her wedding is set for Spring, as you surely know, and I would not deprive her of being the centre of attention for anything.”

“How about you, Captain Todd? Surely you have noticed the stir your arrival has caused here. Or is there anyone waiting for you?”

Tim was going to kill that old hag for the triumphant look that sprang into Captain Todd’s eyes as he replied: “Oh, no, no one waiting for me, Misses Aubin. I must confess, though, that I was hoping to maybe form an attachment now that the war is over for good.”

Of course he did. Tim was fuming. Captain Todd wanted to find a suitable spouse, did he? Well, if that was what he wanted, he would get it.

“Ah, I understand,” he said. “Perhaps I could introduce to some of our debutantes this year? I think everyone has come out full force for this occasion.”

“I would like that, thank you.”

“Well,” Misses Aubin beamed, “I can see that I will not need to fret about introducing to everyone here, Captain Todd, if you are in the capable hands of Timothy.”

Neither of them, it seemed, knew quite what to say to that.

Dick came to find him after. Tim greeted him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you leaving your own reception?”

“Once I realised I forgot to warn you about Todd’s attendance, yes,” his brother replied. “Sorry, Tim. Apparently, he and Roy were in the same regiment for some time and became the best of friends. I didn’t think I could refuse him an invitation to the reception.”

“No, no, in those circumstances… and anyway, as I said, it doesn’t matter. It was fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Of course. Besides, he seemed quite taken with Philip Rawkes when I introduced them.”

It had been painful, really, watching them exchange flirtatious words while everyone in the room watched the three of them, but Tim was willing to do a lot more if it just helped this entire business being over and done with as soon as possible.

After that, it was inevitable that Tim would run into Captain Todd at just about every social gathering he was invited to. Gotham was a small town, and its gentry moved in limited circles.

It was fine. They usually embarked on some painfully formal small-talk, then Tim introduced him to whatever eligible bachelor or maiden was around and watched Captain Todd flirt for a few minutes before

It was all fine.

Then he overheard Captain Todd speaking to a potential suitor one day.

“Yes, it was quite the talk of the town back then, though of course I was still in the schoolroom,” she was saying. “Of course, no one blamed either of you. Wartime relationships are so difficult.”

“So he says, I hear.”

“Oh?” Tim saw her eyelashes turn up at this piece of potential gossip. “Are you implying it wasn’t that?”

Captain Todd obliged. “He and his family made it very clear that my lower social status wasn’t considered suitable.”

“How dreadful! I wouldn’t allow that thought to enter into my consideration.”

Perversely, that answer didn’t seem to please Captain Todd either, for he replied: “Then you are a fool. Everyone must consider their future. Being poor is not as amusing as many seem to think.”

Tim didn’t hear her answer because he was busy inwardly fuming, barely managing to wait until Captain Todd finally disengaged from the conversation to confront him.

Tim caught him at the edge of the gathering, just enough noise behind them that no one would listen in. He spared a brief moment to wonder where Tisiphone had gone to, but his anger took precedence.

“Why are you insinuating that I gave you a false reason for breaking our engagement? I understand that we might not regard each other with fondness anymore, but I would thank you not to spread lies.”

“Isn’t that what happened?” Captain Todd spat.

“I wouldn’t,” Tim swore, angry at even the idea that it had been the difference in their social status that made him call off their engagement. He was ready for the argument to escalate if need be; he did not like a scene, but he liked being accused of being a heartless liar even less.

But now Captain Todd looked thoughtful. “Ask your father about that, then, before you make hasty oaths. Have a good evening.”

Tim did not ask Bruce about it. He knew very well that if he himself didn’t know about, there was only one person in this house who would, and that person was far easier to guilt into an answer than his father.

Dick crumpled the second time Tim repeated his question. “Look, I only heard about it afterwards, alright? But Bruce did something. From what I gathered, it was along the lines of the family not welcoming Captain Todd and intending to cast you out if you insisted on the engagement. He may have imitated a message by you to the effect of you choosing the family over him, but I’m not sure about that part. He was drugged when he told me.”

Tim struggled to breathe.

“If it helps any, even then he did not look so sure about whether he did the right thing,” Dick offered. “I don’t think he knows how to say he regrets something, but I’m sure he does.”

“How long have you known?”

“Tim…”

“How long have you known, Dick?”

“I found out about a year later.”

A year. He could have known five years ago that Captain Todd hadn’t just left him. If Dick had told him then, he could have written to Captain Todd, apologised for his family, could have tried -

But no. Captain Todd had already been on the battlefields of the continent then. The chances of a letter reaching him were slim. Tim couldn’t have travelled after him, not with his own network of spies to conduct from here. And what could Tim have said that would have made up for the humiliation Captain Todd had been put through on his behalf?

No, this wasn’t Dick’s fault. It was Bruce’s, and it was Tim’s.

He should have seen it coming. He had been the one to always laugh off Captain Todd’s worries about the difference in their status, certain that the other would either prove himself or not - Tim had enough money for both of them, who cared?

And he knew Bruce. It had been a difficult time, then, for his father, and he had not yet learned to keep from interfering in the affairs of his children. Tim should have anticipated an attempt by him to sabotage their relationship.

He should have known that Captain Todd wouldn’t have just abandoned him without cause. He should have asked. He should have had a modicum of trust into him, and he hadn’t.

(Captain Todd hadn’t either, but Tim knew how convincing Bruce could be. He had a talent for making people believe the worst in each other sometimes.)

“Tim? I’m sorry.”

Tim, however, was busy replaying all his interactions with Captain Todd during those last few weeks in a new light. Now he could see - was letting himself see - how what he had perceived as arrogance was merely a cover for the hurt the Captain must have been feeling.

Oh, no. Tim had been holding on to his anger whenever he met him. What would be left now that he had to let that go?

The conversation with Dick only strengthened his resolve to help find Captain Todd a good match. After all, if he had allowed his family to destroy their hopes back then, he owed it to the Captain. When the time came for Bruce to host a dinner party, Tim casually mentioned that they should invite both him and Philip Rawkes to even out the numbers. To his surprise, Bruce acquiesced quite readily. Perhaps he approved of Tim’s matchmaking scheme.

Of course, it also meant that Alfred would seat the two close to the centre of the table, near Bruce, Dick and Barbara. It was a small, intimate party, so talking across the table was permitted. Naturally, the conversation turned to the scandalous rejection of the Crown Prince by Lady Diana.

“It will be the talk of the entire country for years to come, I expect,” Dick was saying.

“I’m sure it won’t be as bad as that,” Tim replied absently, focused on not looking at Captain Todd across from him.

“Oh, you would know, wouldn’t you?” Rawkes said. Tim gritted his teeth, fearing he would be tactless enough to mention his failed engagement to Captain Todd. But Rawkes continued: “The Honourable Conner Kent of Metropolis Hall offered for you, didn’t he? It caused quite a stir back then.”

Oh, that. It had been a well-meant offer to shelter Tim after the storm the calling off of his engagement to Captain Todd had inevitably caused. If Tim had even for one moment believed Conner to actually be in love with him, he might have considered it, but he wasn’t going to be married out of pity.

It had established him a worthy object of courting once again, so Tim supposed Conner’s offer did its job well enough. Too bad none of the potential suitors had been really to Tim’s taste.

Barbara, bless her, broke the awkward pause that had followed Rawkes’ comment by asking: “I was wondering, Mister Rawkes - your dæmon’s name, it has its roots in Sanskrit, doesn’t it?”

“Old family tradition, I’m afraid. Dashed difficult to pronounce for strangers, so I’m not sure I agree with continuing it.” Rawkes turned to the head of the table. “Lord Wayne - your own family uses classical Greek names, does it not?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“But your dæmon doesn’t, if I remember correctly?” Rawkes asked.

Few people had seen Bruce’s dæmon. He excused it with a bat’s natural need for darkness, but privately Tim had always suspected he just liked making it harder for people to read him.

As if to prove his point, Bruce smiled. “No, no, poor dear, she’s not really Greek god material, is she?” His speech was slurred. Tim was sure he had poured most of the alcohol he had been served this evening down the pot of a houseplant.

Captain Todd smiled. It looked wicked. “Unlike Dick’s dæmon, who is named after the rainbow, and a more apt naming I have never heard of.”

Dick squawked but his robin preened. “I do have beautiful feathers.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I meant.”

“And your dæmon, Captain Todd?” Rawkes asked. Tim thought he should be gratified by the flirtatious tone he had taken to using.

“Funnily enough, her name is Greek, too. She is called Tisiphone.”

Tisiphone had been offered a place at the table, but Captain Todd had refused it, laughingly telling his host: “Thank you for your consideration, but to repay it in kind: honey badgers are not neat eaters, and they prefer their food raw. I’m sure a light repaste in the kitchen would suit everyone much better.”

“My mother told me they did consider ‘Medusa’ for a while,” Captain Todd continued now, “I’m glad they chose differently - imagine the irony of an avid snake-hunter being named after a gorgon who wore them as her hair. Still, I suppose ‘Tisiphone’ is not a good omen, either.”

“I don’t know,” Tim replied before he could stop himself, “the role of a fury seems to fit her quite well, though I do not think it needs a murder to set her off.”

Captain Todd laughed. “Ah, it’s the truth - she’s an avenger of everything from a social snub to a spilt cup of tea in the morning.”

Rawkes looked displeased. It was clear that he did not like the way this conversation was going, though Tim was not sure why. The man turned to him. “Of course, Mister Wayne Drake, your dæmon’s name is quite unusual yourself, isn’t it? I must confess that I would not have picked something so obscure myself.”

Lachesis ruffled her feathers behind him, but Tim merely mentally raised his eyes to the heavens. Some people would just find fault everywhere they went, not neglecting to remark on even the smallest offence to their sensibilities.

But before he could cut him down to size, Captain Todd replied for him. “You think it obscure? I have always considered the fates to be the most underestimated figures of Greek myths. And after all, Lachesis is the one that measured the thread, thereby apportioning fate and lifespan to each mortal. I would say she is one of the most important figures of all.”

Tim really hoped Lachesis wasn’t preening behind him. It looked far more ridiculous on a kestrel than a robin.

Rawkes was glaring. “I was not aware of that.”

“Perhaps you are more familiar with a variant of the spelling?” Tim smiled sweetly at him. “Greek transliteration can be so confusing. We spell her name with a C-H, but there are of course other variants your encyclopaedias could employ. Or you could just look up the Roman version, ‘Decima’.”

That shot had gone home. It was clear to everyone at the table that Rawkes had likely never opened an encyclopaedia in his life.

Maybe he was not such a good match for Captain Todd then. Even when the other man had not been able to afford anything else he had been a regular visitor of their local library. Tim still remembered his absolute joy when Tim had invited him into the much more extensive library at Wayne Manor (chaperoned by Alfred, of course).

No, it would need to be someone more well-read, who would appreciate Captain Todd’s little references and knew a Shakespeare sonnet when it was recited to them.

He deserved nothing less.

As soon as they were alone in their room that evening, Lachesis confronted him. “You are sabotaging their relationship.”

“What relationship? Can I help it if Rawkes is an imbecile? Surely Captain Todd does not need my help to see that.”

Her gaze was unflinching. “Tim. You do not want them together.”

“I just think they don’t suit,” Tim murmured.

His dæmon cackled. It was a very unsettling sound from a bird. “Try again.”

“They don’t suit. I will find someone better and arrange another dinner.”

“Does it not change anything, what you found out?”

Tim had thought about this. “It only makes me more responsible for finding him a suitable match, doesn’t it? It wasn’t his fault, after all, and I… I would see him happy.”

Lachesis sighed. He could feel the upset radiating from her, and it only served to increase his own. “And what about your happiness?”

Tim shrugged.

“When was the last time you were really, truly happy, Tim? When were you last optimistic about your future?”

Tim thought about it. The last time he had looked forward to the years that were to come…. He got up from the bed and walked over to the little alcove behind his closet. Here, a small wooden box was kept hidden, safeguarding its content even from Dick’s skilful snooping.

A layer of dust sprang into the air as he opened it. He had not touched these letters in years.

Lachesis flew to his shoulder. He felt her smooth feathers press against his neck comfortingly as she murmured, “Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not,” Tim admitted. He took one of the letters out anyway.

Dear Tim,

I’m sure it pointless to try to flatter you with romantic lines about your eyes or hair or face (as lovely as these are and as sincere these compliments would be). Nevertheless, I will presume upon our brief introduction to tell you: I saw you at the banquet at the town hall today. It never fails to astonish me how you seem to vanish at these occasions. Your sharp mind notices everything, but no one seems inclined to listen.

So - tell me? What were you thinking about?

Yours sincerely,

Jason Todd

Tim smiled. He barely remembered that banquet; it had likely been much like any other. These days, he was a much livelier presence, but back then he hadn’t yet learned how to shine next to his older brother and his father.

The next letter his fingers unfolded came from much further into their acquaintance.

Dear Tim,

I feel ridiculous, writing to you just hours after I last saw you, and yet.

And yet.

I find myself wanting to share every thought with you. Curious, isn’t it? They aren’t even particularly interesting thoughts. I was taking out the new stallion and thought how much you would enjoy the quiet of the woods, far away from everyone. I went to buy ribbons for your sister and found myself considering how they’d suit your eyes instead. I was reading Shakespeare and thought of how you gifted me with this very precious copy - not for its value, but for the very fact that it came from you.

You see, my complaint is quite severe. You should make haste and write to me again so that I might have something more interesting to think about.

Yours sincerely,

Jason

Oh, Jason. Tim had allowed himself to forget how dramatic the other man could be. Yet, he had never doubted his sincerity.

He read on, letter after letter, until he came to one that had been unfolded and re-folded over and over again.

Dearest Tim,

I hope it is alright to address you in such a way? For that is what you are to me, dearest.

Will you allow me to call on you tomorrow? I need to see you. Maybe we can take a walk together.

I’m sure you already know what I want to ask you. You must know.

Yours,

Jason

Tim couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved the papers back into the box and clicked it shut, the ‘clack’ ringing through his ears with horrible finality. Even Lachesis’ cooing into his ear couldn’t calm him down anymore because this - this was proof Jason had loved him. Had wanted him, had wanted to marry him, to stay with him.

He curled himself over the box, hid his face in his arms and, for the first time in six years, let himself cry over Jason.

On a beautiful sunny day a week later, Tim and Bruce were paying social visits in the village and running a few errands for Alfred when they spotted Jason leading his horse through the village square, Tisiphone perched in the saddle.

“Captain Todd,” Bruce hailed him when it became clear that there was no avoiding the conversation without being rude in public. “Are you leaving Gotham?”

“Lord Wayne, Mister Drake Wayne,” Jason greeted them. “I will be visiting Metropolis.”

“A beautiful town. Will you be staying long?” Tim asked. It felt like the wrong thing to ask - as if he wanted Jason to come back soon - but it was what convention dictated.

“Oh, no, I only intend to visit a soldier friend of mine there. He doesn’t travel well these days, so it felt opportune to use this nice weather and make a trip of it.” Jason smiled at Tim. “I will be back in three days at the latest.”

“How nice. Who will you be staying with?”

“Ah, my friend is one of the Kents and owns a cottage on their lands, so I will be staying with him.”

Inwardly Tim groaned. Judging by Conner’s letters, he could only pray that his best friend and his ex-fiancé would not cross paths. Conner had ideas and plans. That never boded well for Tim. “Ah? Which one of them is it?”

“Bizarro.”

It was Bruce who answered. “I’ve heard about him, yes.” His tone was acerbic.

“Oh?” Jason arched an eyebrow. It was an incongruously elegant expression on his face and clearly meant to provoke Bruce.

Tim had heard of Bizarro, too, of course. The Kent family wasn’t prone to judge others; indeed, compared to the Waynes they were kindness themselves. Conner Kent had been his best friend since their days together at Eton and Oxford and a brother to him even if they didn’t see each other as often anymore.

Bizarro, though, had always been the outcast, the black sheep of the family. Tim hadn’t even been aware of his existence until two years ago when news came that a cousin of the great Admiral Kent had been severely wounded in Belgium. It seemed the Kents did not entirely trust or like him.

Bruce hinting at that was beyond rude, of course. And his next words made it worse.

“One that showed great promises in strength and skill, but none of the intelligence needed to make a career out of it. A foot soldier that was invalidated out of the army.”

Jason seemed calm. His hand, however, had made its way into Tisiphone’s fur, gripping tightly. The dæmon was snarling. “Is that how you judge those in the field? I am fully aware that you are a war veteran yourself, Lord Wayne. What I do not suppose you can see is what it is like as a foot soldier. No one cares for our wounds, Sir. If your friend does not carry you back to your camp, no one will. One could not ask for a more loyal companion that Bizarro Kent.”

Tim did not like the image his words conjured up before his eyes. This was precisely what had plagued him when Jason talked about enlisting, made a thousand times worse when he’d left for war and they had parted in dispute - his fiancé bleeding, helpless, wounded to the point of death.

If Bizarro Kent had done what Jason was suggesting he had, Tim would forever feel in his debt.

“I do not doubt his accomplishments on the field,” Bruce was saying, “but-“

“He sounds like a good person and an even better friend.” Tim wasn’t looking at Bruce. “We could all use that, couldn’t we, Bruce?”

Bruce didn’t answer. Satisfied that his shot had gone home, Tim looked at Jason. And blinked, surprised to find him smiling at him openly. “Uh,” he stumbled, but soldiered on, “there will be a small surprise gathering for Cassandra’s birthday on the twenty-sixth at our house. Would you like to come? I’m sure she will be happy to see you if you are back by then.”

“I will make sure to return in time, then,” Jason promised. “Have a good day, Lord Wayne, Tim.”

Oh. He’d become ‘Tim’ again.

Bruce didn’t mention the incident again. Actually, he didn’t talk to Tim beyond the necessary at all that day. Somehow, Tim couldn’t care less.

The birthday surprise for Cass looked to be a complete success. Every guest was on time and brought small, tasteful presents. Even Damian was on his best behaviour.

Tim didn’t imagine they had actually managed to keep it a secret from her - she was the most astute observer he’d ever met - but the pleasure on her face when they all greeted her was unfeigned.

Jason had arrived on time, bearing a small but thoughtful gift of colourful ribbons in the exact shade of blue Tim knew Cass loved. There was no one Tim could introduce Jason to at this gathering - it was family and friends only - but the other man stuck to Tim’s side regardless, conversing amiably about his trip and Cass’ and Stephanie’s upcoming wedding. They were never alone, but Tim enjoyed it, nonetheless.

Of course, Tim’s hell-sent brat of a younger brother, allowed to participate for this special occasion, had to go and ruin it. Tim hadn’t even seen it coming - one moment he’d been exchanging pleasantries with Jason and Brenda Miller, the next his brother’s voice cut through all conversation.

“I do not understand,” Damian asked loudly, “if Tim and Captain Todd are not intending to finally be engaged, then why are their dæmons constantly hiding away together?”

No one said anything for a moment, making it painfully clear that everyone had heard him.

Tim wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. How had he not noticed? When they talked in the village square - Lachesis had flown over to sit with Tisiphone on the saddle. After dinner parties, both dæmons disappeared. He’d chalked it up to their mutual dislike of social occasions (shared by Tim and Jason, really, but humans had less choice in the matter) but of course it wasn’t just that, of course the other half of his soul had gravitated towards Jason’s, of course his dæmon had missed Tisiphone, too - and everyone must have seen it.

Everyone had seen how Tim was still pining over the lover he had driven away years ago, how he was practically throwing himself at someone who didn’t want him anymore. It was mortifying. For one thing, it probably looked as though it was Jason’s change in social status that had changed his mind when in truth Tim couldn’t care less. More than that, though, it went against Tim’s very nature to have his emotions on public display.

There was a gentle press of a shoulder against his as conversation resumed, everyone pretending to not have heard the remark. Tim appreciated the silent show of support from Jason, though he was sure the other man must be mortified (if for entirely different reasons).

“I heard Metropolis is quite the sight these days,” Brenda said, “what were your impressions, Captain Todd?”

From the corner of his eyes, Tim saw Alfred ushering a smug looking Damian out of the room, scolding him severely. Jason’s face remained unreadable.

“I’m afraid I cannot speak to that, as I only went to see a friend, not to take in the sights. Mister Drake Wayne,” he turned to Tim, “I apologise, but I must beg my leave. Thank you for inviting me to this charming gathering.”

Tim hoped the smile on his face didn’t look too forced. “Of course, you must be tired. Thank you for coming.”

Jason seemed to hesitate for a moment, then his hand reached out to squeeze Tim’s shoulder, his gaze meaningful. “I hope to see you again soon.”

There was a subtle angle to his body. He was directing Tim somewhere. Behind him was the coat room - but what could that mean?

After Jason had left, conversation kept running in its usual circles. Everyone avoided mention of dæmons to the point it became slightly ridiculous, though Tim appreciated the thought.

At the earliest opportunity, Tim excused himself. Everyone let him go without comments, no doubt presuming that he wished to stew in his shame alone (or, for those who knew him better, that he needed some quiet to better plot Damian’s painful and slow demise).

Instead, he slid into the coat room. There was an envelope on the bureau, ‘Tim’ written on it in large, blocky letters. Tim opened it with his heart racing.

It was simple paper, he noted, but not the kind that Alfred preferred to use. The envelope was from the guesthouse. Jason must have brought the letter with him from there. This wasn’t a spontaneous note chewing him out for letting Damian embarrass him in public then.

This conclusion allowed him to finally read the words.

Dearest Tim,

I’m sorry. Let me ask you again?

Yours,

Jason

The door to Wayne manor burst open. Lachesis flew ahead, her cry triumphant and loud. Tim ran, mindless of his dignity, towards the town square.

It had only been twenty minutes since Jason had left. Surely he hadn’t gone far. Surely he would be - ah.

Just around the corner, Jason was already waiting for him, Lachesis sitting on his shoulder. Distantly, Tim thought that her claws must surely be hurting him, he didn’t have leather protection sewn into every piece of his clothing; but mostly his heart just soared at the sight. His dæmon touching Jason in full view of everyone - it was a public declaration that spoke more loudly than any wedding announcement.

Judging by Jason’s wide grin, he knew it, too.

Tim took less than a second to take stock of the situation (Jason’s stance, the fondness he could feel radiating from the place Lachesis and he touched, the people around them staring) and launched himself into Jason’s arms.

Jason pulled him in immediately. There was a warm, smaller body pressing against his legs, and Tim knew Tisiphone had joined them, too. It was a perfect circle now, Jason’s emotions flowing into him and Tim’s into Jason, both of them knowing exactly what the other was feeling for once.

Therefore it was entirely unnecessary for Jason to whisper “Will you marry me?” into Tim’s ear and for Tim to whisper back “Yes,” but it filled them with joy nonetheless.

#jaytim #fanfic #foolish perhaps #elareine writes #my fic #look there's an explanation for Bruce it's just a different fic

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codenamed-queenie · 5 years

Note

ohhhh i just blew my own mind. consider this: six of crows batfam au. not sure how it'd work but they're fully qualified and the banter would be insane.

You just blew my mind too, anon! 😲

This is a really great idea, and I think we need to get fic writers and artists on this ASAP! I swear not all my headcanons are gonna be this long, but here’s just my take on what this would look like:

Barbara Gordon: She and her father traveled to Gotham to make their fortune after Barbara’s mother passed away, and the family farm went under. A mob boss calling himself the Joker spotted a pair of easy marks and moved in. Barbara’s father was killed, and Barbara herself took a bullet to the leg. She walks with a permanent limp now, and relies on a weighted cane topped with a pair of bat wings.

Vowing revenge on the Joker, Barbara joined a Gotham City gang called the Signals (Bat signal? Eh? Eh? Yeah, I feel like I should come up with a better name…) and quickly rose through the ranks. She always keeps her face hidden behind a masquerade mask, just in case Joker or any of his people might recognize her (he’d know her face, but not her name), and the act itself becomes a local legend. People can’t decide why she hides her face, and it only adds to her mystique. Especially once she starts going by the moniker ‘Oracle’. As in, ‘All-seeing’. Once she was powerful enough amongst Gotham’s criminal community, she formed her own inner circle within the Signals starting with a sharpshooting street kid she recruited and a Suli acrobat she rescued from a brothel.

Jason Todd: A stray kid from the streets of Gotham. He knows his way around a gun, and has a mind almost as sharp as his wit. After falling into heavy debt with Joker’s gang, he resorted to thievery, and even tried to steal Barbara’s cane to earn the money he needed. He almost got away with it too, but Barbara caught him in the act, and offered him a job. Work for her, and the Signals would have his back. Turn down the generous offer, and she’d kill him. Jason, surprisingly, agreed.

Dick Grayson: Grew up in a family of Suli acrobats, performing all over the world. One day, he and his little sister Cassandra were kidnapped from their family’s tent, and sold into slavery in Gotham, far away from their home. Dick went to a brothel, and Cassandra was sold elsewhere. One day, he ran into Barbara on one of her trips to collect protection money from the brothel’s owner, Tony Zucco, and impressed her with his stealth and ability to read people. (Much like Inej’s backstory in SOC) Barbara bought Dick from Zucco, and recruited him into the Signals, giving him the choice to join or walk away freely (deciding that the man had suffered enough.) Dick decided to join up, on the condition that Barbara help him find his little sister. Barbara agreed, and took him on as her right hand man and personal spy. On the streets, he’s known as the Nightwing, a name that earns almost as much fear and respect as ‘Barbara Gordon–the All-seeing Oracle’. Dick has since fallen head-over-heels for her, but Barbara’s only loves are money and revenge. (Or, at least, that’s what she tells herself…)

The trio received a tip on a job from Councilman Dent. A dangerous endeavor involving a highly-addictive drug that can supposedly grant humans ‘meta powers’ like the Grisha, and rescuing the only man who knows how to make it from the clutches of the Al Ghul clan. The man’s name? Bruce Wayne. The score? Thirty Million Dollars. The stakes are high; no one has ever crossed the Al Ghuls and survived. But if they do nothing, the metagene drug will be released on the world–and worst of all, they won’t get paid.

But first, they need to put together a good crew. Barbara’s first choice is

Stephanie Brown: A bright and bubbly Grisha Heartrender (The SOC equivalent of a metahuman with the ability to manipulate the human body at a molecular level) with an enormous love for waffles. (I thought Steph and Nina were way to similar to overlook!) She works for the Signals as a healer and assassin, but relies on the gang for protection. Currently, she’s on the run from the Al Ghuls–vicious Grisha killers who believe that Grisha power needs to be controlled or else wiped off the face of the earth. She had a run-in with one of them, but managed to escape…landing squarely in the Signals’ cross-hairs. Barbara has been hiding her, and the two share a strained relationship. Stephanie only agrees to help on one condition: her friend/partner, Duke Thomas, gets safe passage away from Gotham.

Duke Thomas: Duke wasn’t sure how he ended up in this situation. One moment, he’s living a quiet, normal life, and the next thing he knows, the mob leader Joker is extorting his family for everything they own. After the mobster kills his parents, Duke is left adrift on the streets of Gotham, never a safe place to be when you’re a lone Grisha. He was found and picked up by Stephanie Brown, and together, they do odd jobs for the Signals in exchange for shelter from the other gangs. All he wants is to get out of Gotham, but he’s willing to see one more job through if it means finally escaping this cursed city.

With the two Grisha on board, Barbara, Dick and Jason have one more potential recruit to pick up:

Timothy Drake: As the Signals’ best demolitions expert and chemist, Tim makes a valuable asset. But as the estranged ward of Councilman Dent, he makes even more valuable collateral. After running away from his legal guardian, Tim tried to make it on his own in the streets and alleyways of Gotham. He lasted about a day and a half, before he was cornered by a pack of thugs working for the Joker. Lucky for him, Jason and Dick were both in the neighborhood, and managed to fend off the attackers. They took the younger boy under their wings (after voting on whether or not to take him for everything he owned. Dick voted ‘no’. Jason voted ‘maybe’.) Barbara recognized him immediately, and decided to keep him around. Only so she’d have something on Dent. Not because she developed a soft spot for the wide-eyed little society brat. No. Not at all…

The last member of the crew arrives a bit later, but he proves to be every bit as valuable:

Damian Al Ghul: The heir to the Al Ghul clan, Damian was cast out of the family for showing mercy to a Grisha he’d been hunting in Gotham. Thanks to his quick thinking, Stephanie was able to get away. But when she turned him over to the police, he was unceremoniously thrown in prison. His family stripped him of his assassin rank, and essentially disowned him. But no walls could hold the pint-sized Al Ghul for long, and he escaped with a bitter mission to take revenge on the blonde Grisha. However, he seriously underestimated the people backing her up, and was beaten quickly. Barbara recognized a valuable asset when she saw one–an ‘in’ with the Al Ghuls, if you will–and offered him a deal. Run this one job against his family, and he’d have his pardon and safe passage to anywhere his heart desired.

But unbeknownst to the Signals, they aren’t the only gang after Mr. Wayne and the valuable information he holds. The Black Sirens, the Rogues and the Owl Court are all gunning for the same prize. Plus one more mysterious player…

Just kidding. It’s:

Cassandra Cain-Grayson: Raised in a Suli acrobat troupe, she and her brother Dick were kidnapped and separated. Cassandra was sold to the notorious Al Ghul family, and forced to begin training as one of their assassins. She has been tasked with protecting Bruce Wayne and his secrets with her life. If she can manage to destroy the thieves who are out to steal him, the head of the family, Ra’s Al Ghul, will grant her her freedom. And at last she will be able to seek out her brother and reunite them with their parents…

Aaaand, there you have it! I totally agree with you, anon, that the banter would be absolutely golden. You’d have gems straight out of the book, like:

Barbara: “Stephanie, love, always hit where the mark isn’t looking.”

Tim: “Who’s mark?”

Duke: “You have no finesse! No technique!”

Jason: “Sure I do. I practice the art of ‘pull his shirt over his head and punch till you see blood’.”

Steph [smirking]: “I can hear the change in Barbara’s breathing whenever she looks at you.”

Dick: “You…you can?”

Steph: “Mm-hmm. It catches every time, like she’s never seen you before.”

Jason: “ Usually people don’t start hating each other until a week into the job, but you two have a head start.”

[Steph and Damian glare at each other]

Duke: “She’s going to get us all killed!”

Dick: “Nah. Statistically, she’ll only get some of us killed.”

Barbara: “Who’d deny a poor cripple her cane?”

Damian: “If the cripple is you, then any man with sense.”

Steph: “ If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket. The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

Jason: “If the Joker kills us all, I’m going to get Tim’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.”

Barbara: “ I’ll just hire Damian’s ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.”

Damian: “ My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

Honestly, this was too fun. Maybe I should write a fic on this??? 🤔

Btw, if any of you haven’t read the book yet, definitely give it a try! You won’t regret it!

#batfam #ask queenie #six of crows #leigh bardugo #batfamily #grishaverse #anon #this was way too fun #i could write this as a fic #if i had more time #to work on my current one #six of crows au

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violetsmoak · 4 years

Text

no safety or surprise [2/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035168/chapters/42616919

( See First Chapter for full Disclaimers & Warnings)

Summary: A haunting broadcast reveals the Joker’s final act and sets off a chain of events that will destroy the world. Terry finds himself collaborating once more with the estranged members of Bruce’s former team. As the end nears, however, he and the other Bats are faced with hard choices about survival—and forgiveness.

Rating: T (may change depending on the amount of graphic/details I decide on)

________________________________________________________________

chapter two: laughter is the best medicine

Neo-Gotham, Friday, June 13 2042 9:10 AM

GRAYSON

The laughter hasn’t stopped.

Even as the television whites out, it continues to vibrate through him. Pain slashes across Dick’s hand, hot coffee, and blood from the crushed ug in his hand. The pieces fall to lie, forgotten, on the counter and floor.

Dimly, he shakes the injured appendage, not judging it worth immediate treatment, and creeps closer to the windows of his apartment. The laughter continues to get louder, echoing up from the streets, bouncing off the glass and bricks of the skyscrapers, and mixing with the sound of explosions and people screaming.

From his vantage point, he watches cars veer off-course and masses of pedestrians on the street altering their everyday routes to suddenly teem in every other direction. They crowd together in a frenzy of indescribable movement; there are explosions and more screams, but somehow, it’s all muted by the persistent presence of the laughter, which isn’t just inside anymore.

Whirling around, Dick recoils as Black appears in the hallway, completely nude. She lurches forward, the movement a parody of her usual slinking gait, but Dick’s attention is on her face. It’s pulled into a grin that causes obvious pain, judging by the tears dripping trails of smoky mascara down her cheeks. Her pupils are wide and sightless, and the disturbing giggles rasp like they are being torn from her throat.

“Well, this isn’t good,” he mutters, edging away from the window and automatically looking for a spot in his apartment that has the most maneuvering space.

The minute he moves, Black lunges forward, splitting herself into nine cackling doppelgangers that consume the remaining space of his apartment.

________________________________________________________________

DRAKE

9:15 AM

Tim rocks back and forth, stomach clenched with dread and nausea that threatens to send bile spilling up his throat.

‘Hush little baby, don’t say a word,

Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.’

He stumbles from the kitchen, needing air, needing to escape—

His laptop lies on the floor, a mass of smoking screen and wire, while outside the television is blaring again.

Except no one’s talking.

It’s just the laughter; the blue, humanoid shape has morphed, the identity filter warbled and stretched over a grin that isn’t human.

‘And if that mockingbird don’t sing,

Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.’

His knees buckle, hands clapped to his ears to drown out the echoing memory of Harley Quinn’s mocking singsong. He’s already folding forward in a reflexive fetal position, waiting for the crackle of electricity or the shock of cold water in his face.

He needs to get out, he needs distance, needs a shield—

What the hell do you think you’re doing, Replacement?

Tim startles, hearing a sneer in his mind just as loud—louder than—the other voice. He can almost imagine him standing in front of him—the ancient Robin suit torn and bloody, morphing into the Kevlar armor, red helmet beneath his arm.

The image of white-streaked hair and challenging smirk is the bastion against the monsters in his head.

Tim has never questioned why his mind’s defenses against the pull of insanity took the form of Jason Todd. It makes a certain, lopsided amount of sense—they were both victims of the Joker, both ruined by him,

The Robin who died, and the Robin that went insane.

To this day, Tim couldn’t say which was which.

Are you seriously going to let him get to you again ? The fucker’s dead.

“No,” Tim says out loud, taking a trembling breath and forcing himself to stand straight. He has to keep his head, has to get his wife to safety, has to figure out how all this happened—

“Arlie,” he remembers, though it comes out more like a croak. “Arlie, we have to—”

As he turns, he catches a flash of movement in his periphery, and his long-buried reflexes kick in, allowing him to narrowly dodge the butchers' knife being lobbed at his head. It shatters a red vase of flowers in the living room.

His wife stumbles toward him from the kitchen—when did she come downstairs? —her face twisted into a replica of the one that has haunted Tim’s dreams for decades.

________________________________________________________________

GORDON

9: 15 AM

It’s not just her work computer, but the screen of her cell and tablet as well.

Every screen that she can see—each one she can hear from beyond the thin walls of her office—has been commandeered by the Joker’s likeness.

The video might have paralyzed others with inactivity, but Barbara immediately throws herself into action. Puzzling this out means ignoring that horrible voice, not getting sucked down into a morass of memory and pain.

“Williams! Fillmore! You’d better be ready to trace this thing!” she snaps over the intercom and starts typing commands into her computer, trying to wrest back control of it from whatever has taken over her system.

She might not have been Oracle for decades now, but it’s like riding a bike.

“And get a quad out on the street, now! I don’t want chaos in the streets!”

Especially not after the last Joker-related attack.

She regains control of her system halfway through the video and has started tracking IP addresses even as the clown’s hair-raising cackle and tinny music fade away. On another screen, she pulls up every file that exists on the Joker, his pretenders, the gangs, known snitches—

She will not allow this city to fall into chaos because of a damn video.

Except, maybe she won’t have time to worry about the chaos outside, because it hits her suddenly that the laughing hasn’t stopped. Only now, it’s coming from right outside her office and not from her devices.

Narrowing her eyes, Barbara has her service weapon in hand and the other hovering over her belt where she secretly keeps a Batarang (just in case). She’s barely n her feet when the door to her office opens and there’s one of her lieutenants, shoulders shaking and teeth bared in a pained grin.

She can’t fight the momentary sliver of terror that ripples up her back—

Gunshot. Spilled tea. Falling, falling back. Glass table shattering. Dad crying out—pain. So much pain.

—before returning to herself.

The man in front of her now, his eyes are vacant but there’s enough intelligence remaining that he’s able to raise his own gun at her and disengage the safety.

“Davis,” she says slowly, a warning and a plea despite knowing it’s futile at this point. She doesn’t want to have to shoot him. He has a wife and three kids. They attended his commendation ceremony, the youngest daughter wants to be a cop— “Davis, put the gun dow—!”

BANG!

________________________________________________________________

WAYNE

9:15 AM

There will always be a part of Bruce Wayne that freezes to the core when he hears that voice.

Instantaneous reactions have always been a trademark of Batman, drilled into him by years of training at the hands of assassins and thieves alike. But when it comes to the Joker, there is always that fraction of a second that gives way to hesitation—something born of fear or disbelief, he doesn’t know—before he throws himself into action. Before his brain registers the immediacy of a threat.

Maybe that’s why the maniac got away. Maybe that half-second was all he needed to dictate the entire course of their encounters; his defeats included. The clown always had the same ability to predict several moves ahead, more so than Bruce; sometimes he wondered if the Joker wasn’t a little bit precognitive.

That won’t happen now—that shouldn’t happen now—because the Joker is dead.

Batman buried him.

He destroyed the chip linking him to Tim, he ensured that no one would ever hear that high-pitched, pitiless cackle ever again.

And yet, here it is, filling the underground caverns and startling the roosted bats into a shrieking frenzy as the video feed goes blank.

Bruce starts toward the computer, half-a-dozen plans of action coming together in his head, to trace and deal with whatever this threat is—whoever this pretender is. Before he can reach the command station, however, his field of vision goes brown.

Hundreds of the tiny, flying creatures surround him, screaming; their tiny claws slicing the exposed skin of his hands and face.

He stumbles, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow, while his hand digs into his pocket; it’s difficult with the tiny creatures clinging to him, clinging to wrist and fingers and sinking their teeth into him in distinctly non-bat behavior.

Fingers catching on his prize, he takes a deep breath and then depresses the button on the quarter-sized device.

The nerve agent is meant to disorient an opponent or, depending on body weight, knock them out for the few seconds needed to subdue them. For the tiny creatures attacking him, it will render them unconscious for a lot longer.

They drop and tumble around him in a circle, and when he can’t feel anymore slashing at him, he carefully navigates through the tiny bodies and out of the area affected by the nerve agent. Only then does he allow himself to take a breath, considering the strewn bodies around him in concern; they are still alive, but he doesn’t know exactly how the chemicals will affect them.

It makes no sense. The bats in here never attack, not unless he engages the subsonic alarms, which he hasn’t had to do in decades.

Bruce doesn’t believe in coincidences and knows that somehow, there’s a connection between the video and the bats. He just doesn’t know—

There’s a gasping, snorting sound behind him.

He realizes it was hidden by the shrieking of the bats before, but now it’s clearly discernible.

Turning around, he stares in horror as Ace, staggers forward on shaking legs, mouth-frothing and ears pulled back against his head. The dog’s lips are pulled up high over sharp canines in a grin that should not be possible on an animal.

“Ace,” Bruce croaks.

The beast huffs, the sound a painful, morbid facsimile of a human laugh, and then snarls, throwing itself bodily at Bruce.

________________________________________________________________

MCGINNIS

9:15 AM

It’s not the Joker, Terry tells himself, teeth clenched and hand already fumbling around his phone to call Bruce. It can’t be him. It’s just a copy-cat.

But the laugh…he will never forget that sound in his whole life. And that’s real.

“Mom, I have to—” he begins, only to choke when he watches his mother collapse. “Mom!”

He hurries to her side just as seems to go into some kind of seizure.

“Matt, call an ambulance!” Terry snaps, tossing his phone in the vicinity of his brother’s blanket-wrapped body. He is on his knees then, carefully turning his mother onto her side while she shakes and curls into herself.

There’s a gasping, wheezing sound from behind him, but he can’t pay attention to it, too busy trying to keep his mother from clawing at her face. Her skin begins to drain of color as if all the blood in her body has disappeared, and he finds himself seeking some kind of wound that might explain it.

Then his eyes land on her face, and his stomach clenches.

Mom’s eyes have gone blank, her face twitching violently as if there’s an electric current running through it. Her lips part over her teeth, mouth lifting at the corners until the muscles strain to an unnatural degree. Her lips have gone violently red, and her breathing changes from gasping to a stunted, wheezing rattle.

And then there’s laughter.

It echoes behind him and Terry jerks his head to one side, watching in horror as his little brother shuffles from the couch, giggling madly with an identical smile on his face.

Joker toxin, he realizes before something smacks into his face and he tumbles back on his heels.

Mom’s hand trembles—broken thumb, she hit with a closed fist—but she still crawls toward him with an insane gleam in her eye.

She is laughing, and Matt is laughing and—

Then Terry feels hands around his throat, as tiny but strong fingers curl into his throat, cutting off his air supply.

________________________________________________________________

WAYNE

9:17 AM

Bruce has a fleeting impression of teeth and bared claws before the giant body comes down hard on his. It’s only the reflex of a lifetime of brawls with larger, stronger opponents that saves him. He jabs outward with knees as he falls, curving to hit against the backside and shoulders while kicking up into the ribs of the animal. Bruce then thrusts the triangle between his thumb and forefinger into the dog’s throat as he boosts Ace over his head.

There’s a pained whine as the dog hits the ground, but he’s not unconscious, already struggling to his paws with the grace of a sleepwalker and determination of a piranha.

He’s just going to keep coming.

Bruce’s body screams in protest—muscles he hasn’t used in far too long, the incision from the transplant stretching—and he feels dizzy. But he forces himself to focus.

First the bats. Then Ace. Something that just affects animals?

It would certainly cause chaos, which the Joker was always trying for. But this particular trick has been done before.

The clown never revisited his jokes.

And the way Ace’s features are twisted, eyes white and sightless. When Bruce squints at the downed bats, sees that they seem paler, their faces also bent against their natural shape.

Joker toxin. It has to be.

Except, there was no delivery method and it’s not affecting Bruce. Maybe it is just animals.

He hurries toward the lab as quick as his body allows, depressing the panel in the cabinet that keeps his stock of antitoxin safe. Thumbs past vials until he has the right one, and fits it into the modified tranquilizer gun,

By the harsh panting behind him, he knows the dog is bearing down on him once again,

Calculations tear through his sluggish brain, dosages and body weight and differences between human and canine anatomy—

Ace leaps again, snapping at Bruce’s neck, and he fires, aiming for the cluster of muscles closest to the dog’s heart. He doesn’t see if it connects, forced to throw up a fist to protect his throat.

Teeth shred his hand, sending sharp lances of pain through him, but he keeps his arm up, aiming a nerve strike near the solar plexus and kidneys.

The dog continues snorting and snapping at him for longer than he’d like, before going limp.

Bruce struggles out from beneath Ace’s weight, sparing a moment to check breathing and pulse rate and then arrange the dog into a recovery position on its right side. Then he staggers to the comms, grabbing a roll of bandages on his way.

“Terry!” he barks as he wraps his shredded hand to staunch the bleeding; he’ll need to stitch it, and soon—the blood thinners he takes won’t allow it to stop on its own.

Once at the computer, he brings up CCTV footage and any voice recordings from the last ten minutes; at the same time, he repeats, “Terry!”

________________________________________________________________

MCGINNIS

9:17 AM

Terry hears the comms in the cowl go off, but it’s too far away, stuffed into his schoolbag. That, and he’s a little busy dodging his mother’s wild attempts to claw his eyes out while shaking his brother off without harming him.

Their laughter is loud and pained in his ears.

Straining, he finally manages to flip Matt onto the couch while dodging his mother’s grasping hand. He vaults across the room to his bag, digging desperately through it until his fingers close on the utility belt.

He has more than enough sedatives there to put them down. At the last second, however, he pauses, because they aren’t infected with just anything—it’s Joker toxin. Who knows what complications adding unknown sedatives could have on that.

So instead, he gabs the tiny vials he’s been carrying with him since the encounter with Tim Drake’s insane alter ego.

It’s a careful dance of evasion and trying not to break bones, avoiding his mother—and Matt, who even as some kind of mindless Joker automaton has an innate ability to evade Terry’s grasp. Eventually, he manages it and then he’s panting on the floor, mother and brother unconscious heaps beside him.

Heart still beating anxiously, he watches as their faces ease back to normal, free of the sinister rictus.

He’s already shrugging out of his coat as he reaches for the costume.

Looks like test or not, school’s not happening today.

The cowl is on now and his comm frizzes to life.

“—rry?”

“Bruce, what’s going on?” he demands. “Mom and Matt just went nuts. And their faces—it looks and acts like Joker toxin, but—”

“I know,” Bruce interrupts. “There’s no origin, no delivery system.”

“Exactly.”

Terry uses the magnification option in his mask to check his family. “If it’s not airborne, there should be injection points, but I don’t see any.” He does a sweep of the room. “There’s no vents or grates where it could have come in. Air filter's not picking up anything, either.”

“As near as I can tell, there won’t be. This is something new.”

“The word ‘new’ should never be used with the Joker.”

“Hm.”

“So why aren’t I affected?”

“I guess the dermal implant is doing its job.”

“Good thing,” Terry says, swallowing at the idea of what he might have done if hopped up on that chemical. “So, where’s it coming from?”

He grabs a pen and paper from his mother’s desk and jots down a note.

“That’s what we have to figure out. In the meantime, the goods news is the usual anti-venom appears to be working. It’s just a matter of mass-producing and getting out there.”

You guys fainted from the bug going around. Got a medical alert from Mr. Wayne, had to go check on him. Don’t leave the house!

He underlines that last bit and circles it several times before signing his name.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he tells them, and heads for the window, tapping his comm again. “So, what’s the ‘but’? Because with you there’s always a ‘but’.”

“But it’s not just Gotham,” Bruce says, grim. “I’m looking at CCTV feeds from Tokyo, London, New York—it’s everywhere. Satellite imaging’s showing even more conclusive data: the entire planet’s been exposed to this.”

Terry doesn’t even get a chance to swear when a new voice interjects, “And the longer you’re exposed to it, the longer it takes to recover.”

________________________________________________________________

GRAYSON

9:17 AM

Dick grunts as he evades and dances out of the way of Catwoman’s doppelgangers.

“If you even do,” he adds on an exhale as one of them lands a hard blow to his chest.

There are twin intakes of breath across the line.

“Mr. Grayson?” the McGinnis kid asks, sounding choked. Dick doubts it’s about him. He caught the bit about being attacked by his family, and he knows from experience what it is to have to subdue loved ones.

“You’d think after all this time you’d eventually switch frequencies, B.”

“Nightwing,” the old man grunts, voice as inexpressive as ever. “Seems like you used the tech I sent you after all.”

“Only after I made sure you didn’t include any nano-surveillance devices.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dick rolls his eyes.

“Well, it’s working for me, but not for—” Something sharp slices across his chest, sending him flying backward. One of the doppelgänger’s grab hold of him and flips him over with the intention of sending him through the window and a fall several stories down. He recovers in midair, lands on his hands and tosses himself away from the bodies. “Hold that thought.”

He tries to find the original Black, the one who laughs and gasps for breath a millisecond before her doppelgängers. The sound is grating in his ear, echoed everywhere and drifting up from the city center below, in the apartments around him—

“Is there someone there with you?” Bruce wants to know.

“No, I’m alone in my apartment beating myself up,” Dick snaps.

“Who am I to judge what you do for fun?”

“Regular anti-toxin works on whatever this is,” McGinnis repeats like he’s trying to be helpful.

“Well, I don’t exactly carry that around,” Dick mutters, though he knows it’s in the background. Getting there will be a pain in the ass, and fighting in such close quarters with so many opponents, even if it’s technically only one…

It takes several unsuccessful feints and a few sucker-punches before he can grab hold of the original Black, holding her throat in the crook of his elbow while enduring her clones’ attempts to take chunks out of his kin.

Bruce and McGinnis are saying something—to him, to each other, he’s not sure. He blocks them out for now.

Walking backward, he keeps close to the walls of the hallway leading to the bathroom, ignoring the way Black struggles and claws against him before finally going limp.

Immediately, the doppelgängers vanish, but he knows he doesn’t have long. He practically smashes the bathroom mirror going for the anti-toxin, fits it into an injector and jams it into her thigh.

He lets her fall to the floor in an ungraceful heap, panting as he examines the bloody welts on his chest and arms.

“Wrestling with you was a lot more fun last time,” he informs the unconscious woman, before returning to his bedroom and opening the secret space in the closet behind his clothing.

His spare suit is there, and he scowls at it.

“You said this was all over the planet,” he says into the comm as he reaches for the material. “If that’s the case, we’re going to have every living thing ripping itself to pieces within the next few hours.”

“Frag,” McGinnis mutters. “I need to find Dana and Max before something happens to them.”

Predictably, Bruce says, “They’re not priority right now.”

“They’re priority for me, alright?”

“Flexible as ever, aren’t you old man?” Dick mocks.

“We have to focus our energy on reversing whatever happened,” Bruce retorts, unapologetic.

“Yeah, well, we look to our own first, Bats, or there’s no hope of fixing anything.” His tone turns sharp. “And you’d better hope Tim’s okay.”

________________________________________________________________

DRAKE

9:17 AM

Tim is not okay.

He is so far from okay, he thinks he might have lost feeling in his extremities. Which is problematic, since he’s trying to fight off both a panic attack and the wild swings of his wife.

She staring down at him with that horrid grin, gripping another huge kitchen knife in hand.

Tim’s chest feels close, and he wants to throw up, but he also knows he has to help Arlene. And to do that, he needs to calm down and think logically.

There was no gas anywhere, no traps. Joker liked the kind of traps that were showy and made noise.

But there’s no weapon, no delivery system, no broken windows the toxin could have come from. It couldn’t have been the coffee, otherwise, he’d be affected as well.

Why haven’t I? Out of anyone, it should be me.

But no—the dermal implant he helped Bruce design. Apparently, it works, filtering out the toxin before it even enters the bloodstream. It had been a wing and a prayer that it would work, a failsafe only, and now that it has, he wishes he’d thought to make more than the prototypes.

One for Arlene.

“Hon, I’m real sorry about this,” he apologizes, knowing she can’t hear him now. And then he surges forward, swooping beneath the arc of the knife coming toward him, gets behind her and uses a nerve pinch to knock her to the ground.

Outside, he hears cars colliding and frantic cries, turning to laughter and then agonized shrieking.

What the hell is going on?

He carries Arlene to the couch and hurries to his study to locate this last batch of anti-toxin. When the Joker returned, he’d spent hours every day mixing it up, and though he sent most of it back to Bruce and Barbara for their stocks, he kept enough.

It’s quick work to inject his wife; it will take a little longer before she wakes up again.

That done, his brief burst of battle-calm vanishes and the spirit of Robin that prompted him to action begins to fade. He begins to shiver, swallows back a hysterical sob or giggle.

The noises from outside get louder and he sits on the couch, hauling his knees up to his chest and leaning into his wife’s shoulders. He almost relishes the pain of his joints in the unfamiliar movements, trying to counteract the legitimate terror trying to creep upon him.

His eyes catch on the red vase, broken, its rounded bottom lying among the shards. It’s the same shade as a familiar helmet.

What the hell do you think you’re doing, Replacement? Jason’s voice is back, angry and frustrated. Going to curl up and cry? The bastard wasn’t supposed to beat both of us.

Tim swallows and closes his eyes, taking a further moment to ground himself, and then goes looking for his cellphone. He’s not far gone enough to reach out to Bruce—yet—but he’s not the only one who can help.

The speed-dial to Barbara’s personal line rings out.

________________________________________________________________

GORDON

9:17 AM

The gunshot echoes, but it isn’t from the lieutenant’s gun. Instead, a stray shot from behind them both barrels through Davis’ body and into the wall. He crumples, and Barbra whirls around, taking in the sight of the entire police force in the pit, dissolving into madness.

They’re all crazed grins and mad giggling, grabbling with each other and shooting their service weapons with wild abandon.

They’ve all been infected.

Her phone is ringing—not the office, but her cellphone. She spares a moment to see that it’s from Tim, but she can’t answer him right now. Not with the chaos threatening to destroy her building.

Hurrying around the pit, dodging grabbing arms and bodies being thrown in her path, she makes a beeline for the master computer responsible for all automated functions of the department. Fingers flying, she enacts the protocol for emergency safety.

It was original installed to stop another massacre from having in the middle of the police stronghold, and as far as she’s concerned, that’s exactly what’s about to happen if she doesn’t act fast.

“Sorry, boys,” she mutters, opening the panel hiding the lever, and yanks it down.

Instantly blue sparks explode all around the pit, creating a facsimile of a faraday cage. The charge isn’t enough to kill, just to incapacitate; every man and woman in uniform drops to the ground, stunned.

The sudden silence in the wake of the laughter is chilling, but not complete; in the offices and on the floors above she still hears signs of struggle, meaning all she’s managed is a brief reprieve.

Her cellphone is ringing again; this time she takes the call.

“Barbara, it’s not me!” he gasps right away, voice tight with fear. “It has to be a copycat, I swear it’s not met!”

“Never even thought it was,” she informs him honestly.

“What’s going on?!”

“I don’t know. Going to find out.”

“All I can think is that whatever this is has to be airborne.”

“Like a neurochemical attack?”

“Actually, I think it might be more like a virus. Some bacterial strains are still able to evade air filtration technology,” Tim says, taking measured breaths. Having to solve a problem has always been the best way to keep him calm. “Otherwise the city sensors would have detected it.”

“Unless it was a toxin designed specifically to evade those sensors.”

“It’s possible…”

But he still sounds preoccupied.

“Well, it’s a starting point,” she says. “Thanks, Tim. Is Arlene alright?”

“Knocked out on the couch,” he sighs. “I’ve dosed her. The usual strain against Joker toxin seems to be effective, at least.”

“Good to know.” Something outside explodes on the street, and she winces. “Listen, Tim, we’re going to handle it. Just stay put and take care of yourself and Arlene. Call me if there’s anything, but otherwise, keep the line clear.”

“I know. It’s everywhere, isn’t it?”

“It looks like it.” She hangs up, dials Nissa first, but the heir to her cowl doesn’t pick up.

Crown Point’s probably a war zone. Can’t think about that right now.

Next, the Cave. Just as predictably, he picks up on the first ring.

“What the hell is going on, Bruce?”

________________________________________________________________

WAYNE

9:20 AM

“At this point, your guess is as good as mine,” he replies, forwarding the call to the Bat-Computer.

Barbara’s voice is tense. “Is it really him again?”

“I don’t know.”

He navigates through multiple windows on the computer, examining the security footage of the chaos erupting around the globe. Through the comm in his ear, he hears Dick muttering something about his suit, while Terry keeps him updated on his flyover of the city.

Apparently, there are a lot of people falling or jumping off high-rises.

Bruce has a blood sample from Ace in the corner of the screen, running a diagnostic to find any clue how the toxin was spread.

There are differences in composition, which accounts for it working on the animals.

“I’ve got a program tracing the origin, but that’s taking a backseat to deploying an antidote,” he informs her. “I’m synthesizing it using Tim’s program from the last time.”

“Is it just me, or are there too many ‘last times’?” Terry wants to know, sounding winded.

Bruce ignores that, addresses Barbara, “I’ll send the first wave of Bat-drones to emergency service hubs.”

“That’s appreciated since I’ve got a precinct full of unconscious cops right now.”

“Emergency protocol worked, then?”

“Don’t be smug. It’s not a good look on you.”

“Once we’ve restored emergency services, I’ll send a second contingent to help the rest of Gotham.”

And then, somehow, the entire planet.

“But is it him?” Barbara asks.

“No. He’s dead.”

“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Terry says. “Did the Joker really set all this up? Before he died?”

Bruce glances at another small window on-screen, where he captured a recording of the video that started all of this. “Judging by the resolution, the video footage is archival. That’s definitely him. I’d say it’s from forty years ago. Someone’s remastered it, but there are tells.”

“So why’s it being released now? He couldn’t have known exactly when he was going to die.”

“I suspect something specific happened to trigger its release. Some criterion was met.”

“So the Joker is definitely not back, but this is definitely his work,” Barbara concludes with a sigh. “Any idea on how to stop it?”

“Still looking.”

“Tim thinks it’s airborne. Like a virus.”

Bruce’s fingers pause in their typing, a sudden wave of concern washing over him. “Is he—?”

“He’s okay,” Barbara says. “Shaken, but he’ll hold up.”

Bruce nods to himself, tabling his relief to concentrate on the current conundrum.

“Batman, while I’m perfecting and sending out the antidote, patrolling. Help where you can.” To Barbara, “He’ll need backup.”

“That’s going to be hard since I just had to tase everyone here. I don’t want to know what’s going on with the officers that were patrolling outside.”

Law enforcement is trigger-happy on a normal day; we both know that means there’s going to be a lot of police-related deaths at the end of this thing.

“How much anti-toxin do you keep at the precinct? Didn’t Tim send you a batch recently?”

“Still probably not enough for everyone on the force.”

“Doesn’t matter. Inoculate everyone you can; once I get more of it spread around the city, there’s going to be even greater chaos. Right now, the population is mindlessly violent—once their wits come back, that’s when the real violence starts.”

“Hm.” She doesn’t argue; she knows it’s true.

“This is going to take as many people as we have to pitch in. Keep a comm on you—I know you have one on you. If some poor Jokerized fool takes out the power grid, you’ll lose access to all conventional communication.”

“We have back-ups, you know,” Barbara says dryly, but he hears her shifting around and then the squeaking feedback as she puts a comm in her ear and hangs up the phone.

“Not as good as mine.”

“So what exactly are you expecting I do in the meantime?” Terry wants to know. “Patrol is kind of a broad term.”

“Try to keep the peace as well as possible.”

“…I’d think you were joking, except you don’t have a sense of humor.”

“Oh, he does, kid,” Dick remarks. “But if you haven’t found it yet, better pray you don’t.”

________________________________________________________________

MCGINNIS

9:25 AM

Terry dodges what feels like the hundredth car that’s flipped over an overpass, only just managing to get the passengers out and back on the ground. They immediately start grabbing at his throat and trying to gouge his eyes and he’s forced to take off again.

So far, the short trip between his apartment and the school has taken three times as long as it should have.

And every second means Dana and Max could be…

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Down below, people are actually tearing each other to pieces, scratching and biting and using everyday detritus to whale on each other. There are two many for him to stop them all, and the fact he’s all-but useless until Bruce manages to deploy the antidote doesn’t make him feel any better.

“This is insane.”

“I believe that was the point," Bruce grunts.

“Even if I had enough anti-toxin for the entire city, this isn’t exactly a one-man job,” Terry complains.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not the only one still cognisant.”

“Yeah, but that’s still just a handful of us. And if this stuff is in the air, even any anti-toxin we have is only going to be temporary.”

“Once we figure out what’s delivering this toxin or virus, it’s just a matter of tweaking it to deploy the antidote instead. Until then, be grateful your device is working properly.”

“Is there anyone else out there with one of these, except your chosen?”

“Anyone who had access to the anti-toxin and was able to dose themselves before it took over.”

Terry snorts. “So, maybe three people? Great. I feel so comforted.”

“You shouldn’t. They’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“You’re such an optimist. What about Su—”

“He’s compromised.”

“Compromised like…?”

“Trust me when I say it’s not something you ever want to encounter.”

Terry shivers at the idea of a Jokerized Superman. “I can’t even picture that. I wouldn’t even think it was possible. How did you—?”

“Dumb luck.”

“Frag.”

“Just don’t attract his attention and hope you don’t need to use the last resort.”

Meaning Kryptonite.

“And how do you propose that?”

“Don’t call for help.”

“Of course,” Terry sighs, and then grumbles, “This is not my best day ever.”

It’s another ten minutes of fighting through the smoke of several wrecked cars, stopping a bunch of thugs from beating on a frazzled, confounded kid crying despite her Glasgow smile, before he makes it to Hamilton Hill High.

Probably going to need some help, he decides, remotely activating the Batmobile’s onboard computer to track his location.

It might as well be a warzone, the way the staff and students—kids he’s been in school with for years—are attacking each other. Everyone’s bleeding in some way, a number of bodies litter the ground, some still twitching, some not. Terry tries not to think too closely about it as he speeds through the hallways to his second-period classroom.

Inside, the light panels have been destroyed, creating a strobe light effect that Terry winces at. He adjusts the screen in his mask to account for the light, and looks desperately around.

The teacher’s dead, bleeding from what looks like a shard of someone’s tablet shoved through his throat. His classmates are grouped off in individual melees, all of them laughing hysterically as they beat on each other or take blows.

Chelsea Cunningham straddles Nelson Nash and repeatedly strikes his head against the ground, giggling shrilly as his blood spatters her once crisp white shirt. Nelson’s not quite laughing anymore, making choked-off noises like he’s trying to breathe.

Terry doesn’t think twice about using two of his anti-toxins on both of them—it’s about all he can do—before moving on.

Dana and Max are near the back, seemingly in the midst of trying to choke the life out of one another. Dana has several patches of hair torn out, and Max has an ugly gash down her cheeks from Dana’s nails.

“Okay, time to break up this girl fight,” he declares, materializing behind them and knocking them both out before inoculating them.

The other students have taken notice of him by now, and begin to close in.

“And that’s my exit,” he murmurs, hoisting a girl over each shoulder.

There’s an explosion beside him, as a blast of concentrated fire opens a hole in the ceiling. A cord extends downward and he steps into the foothold, holding tight to his best friend and his girlfriend as the Batmobile yanks them upward and away from the high school.

“Oof,” he mutters once inside the cockpit, laying the girls gently in the passenger seat.

“Everyone alright?” Bruce asks.

“They’ll live.”

“Good. Time to get back to work.”

“On it.” Terry jumps out of the car and hovers beside it for a moment, keying in commands to take it back to the Batcave. “Special delivery. Maybe you can figure out how this thing is spreading to human victims and keep them safe.”

“We’re not a relief center,” Bruce grumps.

“Tough. I’m not leaving them to get ripped apart or rip each other apart here, or in their homes.”

“Then drop them off with your mother and brother.”

“No time to double back,” Terry replies. “And the Cave’s the safest place within two hundred miles. They know about you anyway, so deal with it.”

He considers the school beneath him and dives back in, trying to see how many he can incapacitate before they all kill each other.

________________________________________________________________

GRAYSON

9:30 AM

“Think I’m really starting to like this kid,” Dick tells Bruce as he digs through his medicine cabinet again. A medicine cabinet that’s more of a fully stocked home hospital.

Old habits die hard.

“Where the hell are the reinforcements?” he demands. “You know, the ones hanging out on high?”

“Watchtower’s dark.”

Dick pauses; that actually startles him. “Even for you? How’s that possible? You put so many backdoors into that system.”

“Hence my concern.”

Dick finds the tube he’s looking for, good for a concentrated shot of adrenaline and makes his way back to Black and doses her.

There’s a beat, and then she gasps awake, shooting into a sitting position.

“Sorry,” he says, “but the city’s going to hell. There’s no time to play Sleeping Beauty. Suit up.”

“Sure know how to show a girl a good time,” she groans, accepting his outstretched hand.

"What can I say, I'm the life of the party." While she shimmies into her clothes and checks her gear, Dick asks Bruce, “Speaking of your ‘chosen’, who else have you immunized, besides you, me, the kid and Babs?”

“Who are you calling a kid?” McGinnis demands.

Bruce ignores him. “In an ideal world? The Family.”

“You mean the Family you’ve pissed off and distanced yourself from for the past forty years? That Family? Hell of a time to reach out.” Dick grunts. “What about—”

“Red Robin is fine.”

Dick huffs out a bitter chuckle. “Now there’s a handle I haven’t heard in a while.”

“No real names on the comms.”

“I’m pretty sure anyone we’d have to worry about names with is roaming the streets laughing their heads off right now,” McGinnis says. "Maybe literally."

“Kid’s got a point,” Dick says. “Speaking of people roaming. Who else do we have in our corner? And by that I mean, who’s not dead, geriatric, off-world or part of the Jokerized masses?”

“Anyone with a superior metabolism or who can burn off the toxin before it takes hold. Flash is working Central City right now, but she’s got her hands full. Same for Static out in Dakota City.”

“That's it? What about everyone else?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“And the Justice League still isn’t answering.”

“No.”

Which is…not good.

Black reappears from the bedroom, mask on and hands on her hips. “You ready to roll, soldier?”

“Make sure you take some anti-toxin with you. What I dosed you with will eventually run out, and I’d rather not have to worry about you going after me when you’re supposed to be watching my back.

“I’d love to know how I went from a thief to saving the city on a regular basis,” she quips.

“The first Catwoman used to ask that all that time."

________________________________________________________________

GORDON

9:30 AM

“Whoever’s doing this was thinking ahead,” Barbara says as she goes from officer to officer and injects them with the anti-toxin. “Way ahead.”

She wasn’t kidding when she said there wasn’t enough for the entire force; as it is she’ll be lucky if it’s enough for the ones in the bullpen. The rest are going to have to be put in cells until help arrives.

“Hm.”

“But it also…” she trails off.

“What?”

“It doesn’t feel like the Joker. Besides the video and the toxin, I mean. Other than that…”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Bruce agrees. “The theatricality is him, but the rest…I’m still analyzing the video clip for clues.”

Barbara purses her lips. It should be a relief to hear that it’s not him, but it’s not. The legend of the Joker makes even his imitators a force to be reckoned with.

Just as the first of her officers begin to stir, she pulls out her cellphone and runs an encryption program to secure the line. It’s a program Maxine Gibson set her up with when she expressed a need to get in touch during emergency situations...especially when the new Batgirl doesn’t want her to.

This time, the line connects to the biometric communicator Nissa always carries on her. Barbara waits until her protégé’s blasé voicemail starts playing and listens through the recording.

“I know you’ve probably been hit by the toxin,” she says after the shrill beep, “but that’s going to be dealt with soon. The minute you’re conscious, get your gear on and get your butt into that city. Even if this all gets fixed in the next ten minutes, Gotham’s going to be pulling herself apart for days. We need all hands. Consider this your debutante ball.”

She disconnects and then reaches for her service weapon, checking her ammo, and mentally decides what orders she’s going to give the men and women getting back on their feet. None of them know what’s going on, and it’s not going to be an easy explanation.

Her eyes fall upon the photo of Sam on her desk, and she swallows. There are still two more calls she needs to make before she goes out on the street.

“Sam? When you get this…Just know that everything’s going to be alright. I’ll see you at dinner, hon…”

________________________________________________________________

DRAKE

9:35 AM

When the phone rings again, Tim jumps, having forgotten it was in his hand. He’s been trying not to twitch at every sound from outside when he’s not checking his wife to make sure she’s still breathing.

He knows she is—he’s watching her chest rise and fall—but he keeps having visions of her seizing and dying on his watch.

“Babs?” he chokes.

“It’s me,” she confirms. “The Bats are working on a toxin and doing crowd control. You should have drones incoming within the half-hour.”

Tim exhales. “That’s a relief at least.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m managing,” he replies. “Arlie should be waking up soon. Then we’re getting the hell out of Gotham supposing I have to hitchhike.”

“It won’t help,” Barbara replies grimly. “From what Bruce says, this is happening all over. There’s nowhere to escape to.” Tim’s heart sinks. “Believe it or not, Gotham’s going to be one of the safe zones for a while.”

“Gotham is never safe,” he deadpans.

“I know. Tim…I’m sorry you have to go through this, with everything you’ve been through. The best thing for you to do is batten down the hatches. Stay put and stay safe—or as safe as you can manage. I’ve got some of my force up and about again. As soon as I can spare the manpower, I’ll send someone over to protect you.”

“Yeah…”

Tim stays still for a while after she hangs up, staring down at the phone in deep thought.

Something about that bothers him, niggling at some long-buried part of him.

Didn’t you used to make a big deal about people trying to protect you? Jason’s voice wonders. When did you become such a burden, Timbers?

“About the time a lunatic crown tried to lobotomize me,” he mutters to no one.

Maybe. But just because you’re out of the game, doesn’t mean you’re completely useless. You’re not Bruce…but you’ve still got contingencies on contingencies.

He wants to argue that—ignoring the fact he’d be arguing with himself because Jason’s not here—but then he really thinks about it.

He knows his house isn’t fortified, isn’t defensively in any way against his Jokerized neighbors or whatever other chaotic groups will emerge as the Bats try to spread the anti-toxin.

But…I still know where all the safehouses are.

The ones that were built to stand the test of time and outlived the breaking of team bonds. He’s thinking of one in particular—his old haunt beneath his former apartment in the old theater district. The apartment was demolished ages ago, bought up with the rest of the block and replaced with a high-rise parking garage.

But the Nest beneath it was never found, and there are still one or two secret entrances to get in. If there’s nowhere safe in the world to flee, then he must look for safety in the city he knows.

Maybe…I can be Red Robin one last time.

He gets up, plans coalescing in his mind.

As soon as Arlene wakes, they’re leaving.

⁂

________________________________________________________________

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butwhyduh · 3 years

Note

Can I request sth more fluffy? Middle of the night cuddle with my boi Tim and fem!reader (*^*). You wrote some good spice now can I ask for some sugar?

Christmas party

Tim drake x reader

Christmas series 1

It was a cold still night in Gotham. One where the moon was visible and the air was crisp. You snuggled under your blankets on your with your heaters on high but you had a bone chill that wouldn’t disappear easily. You shivered and wished Tim was there.

He had patrol. The city never slept and this was a prime night for crime. It was a perfect night. Or a Gotham perfect night anyways. He had given you a quick kiss and literally jumped off your fire escape. Your scream was caught in your throat as you watched him rappel away. It never got easier to watch. It didn’t help you sleep either.

Your eyes finally started to get tired and your comfort watch-a-hundred-times Netflix show wasn’t holding your attention anymore and you fell asleep. The street below was surprisingly quiet even.

You woke to the sounds of something or someone outside your window. You couldn’t see out because of the closed curtains. You quickly looked at your clock. It was only 2 AM. He was usually out until 4. You reached for the bat you kept by the bed and quietly stood up as the window opened. Your heart beat quickly and you clenched the bat. Tim had been very certain that you should swing on sight of an intruder. Use the element of surprise.

Legs slid into your apartment and you swung. Hard. A soft “oof” sounded and they grabbed your bat.

“Sunshine, it’s me! It’s Tim,” he whispered loudly. You relaxed. “Good hit though.” Groan.

“Sorry Timmy! Are you okay?” You asked turning on a lamp. He stood in his suit, his cowl still on. He pulled it off.

“I’m fine. I’m just glad you protected yourself,” Tim said pulling off his suit. He put it in the hamper and came up to you. He gave you a little kiss. You moved to hold his hips and he hissed and pulled away. You pulled back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just kinda got shot today,” Tim answered lightly and you gasped. “It didn’t go through the suit though. I’m fine. Just a bruise. Not even a bone bruise. I swear.”

You looked at him in the lamp light and there was a blue bruise forming on his hip. “Timmy, what happened?”

“I didn’t duck,” he joked and you blanched. “Just some drug dealers. Red Hood was there and he took care of it. That’s why I’ve got the night off. Not the bruise. Sorta the bruise,” Tim grimaced as he climbed in bed.

“Red Hood then shot out their kneecaps and said that he’d shoot any criminals on sight if they were out tonight. Said it was ‘fucking Christmas so go the fuck home.’ So B thought it was best to have the night off of Red Robin,” Tim said laying flat. Your eyebrows rose at that one. He tried to hide a tiny groan as he adjusted to be more comfortable. You laid beside him careful not to touch him.

“Does this hurt,” you asked, gently leaning against his arm. You’d rather full on cuddle but you didn’t want to hurt him. Tim moved and pulled you close to him from the waist up.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. It’s late. Let’s get some sleep,” he said rubbing his thumb on your back. You rested your head on his chest.

“Yeah, but I’m definitely worried about you because you got shot. Please, be careful,” you pleaded. He had a hard time looking you in the eyes. Guilt over making you worrying was a bitch.

“Of course, always. I’ll at least have patrol off for a few days. Give me a kiss,” Tim said hopefully. You leaned over and kissed him delicately like he was breakable. He was so strong but still only a human.

“If anything happens to you, I’ll beat Batman up myself.”

“That’s the nicest and most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. We’ll hang out tomorrow, before the Christmas party, okay Sunshine?” Tim said with his eyes already closed. He was severely sleep deprived and wasn’t going to be up much longer.

“Sure, Tim,” you whispered as his breathing evened in sleep.

——————————————

All morning, you both laid in bed and watched tv. Tim tried to get a little handsy but his hip was in more pain than he had anticipated and one touch by your hand had him almost jumping out of the bed in pain. It really was black and blue. But this was a rare moment to just cuddle with him and you weren’t missing it for the world. Tim was on the phone most of the afternoon.

The weather had changed from nice to sleet but the time you were getting ready for the party. You had changed and were finishing your look. Tim was throwing on a sweater and watch you had gotten him for his birthday. He pushed his hair back before it flopped right back in place.

“You’re beautiful,” he said suddenly like he was finally watching you. He meant it as a compliment but it came out almost like ‘who knew?’ You gave him an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. You look great tonight,” Tim said with some pink around his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you said giving him a kiss on the cheek. He groaned and wiped the lipstick off his pale skin. You smirked. He walked over to the coat rake with just the slightest stiffness to his walk to show how bruises up he was.

“Are you ready? Don’t forget your coat. It’s nasty out there. I think we might have to stay over at the manor tonight,” Tim said grimacing. “It’s okay right now but if it gets worse..”

“You sure?” You asked. You didn’t want to miss it but if the weather was awful you didn’t want to chance an accident.

“Yeah we’ll be fine. I can drive through just about any weather,” Tim said with a wink. You grabbed your coat and left.

Nude hose was a bad idea. It was frigid outside. You should have worn the fleece lined thick tights you had considered as you were shivering in Tim nice red sport coupe.

Wayne manor couldn’t come in view fast enough and you happily ran up the stairs and in the house from the parking garage. Tim chuckled and then grimaced when he tried to catch up.

“Careful on your bruise,” you reminded him. He nodded. The house was much warmer than outside. Alfred warmly invited you into the study. Bruce, and Duke were already hanging out. They were talking about movies and Tim jumped in. He didn’t get much free time but when he did, he was a huge nerd.

Damian and his friend? Girlfriend? Walked in and started playing chess.

Dinner was served in the dinning room. Alfred always made amazing food. A traditional mushroom soup. Apparently Bruce’s mother had it as a Christmas tradition and, while the boys barely touched theirs, Bruce happily enjoyed it.

You saw Jason and his date before he cleared his throat from your seat at the table. Alfred was so happy and quickly ushered them to their seat at the table. Tim held your hand as often as he could as the meal continued. His long fingers stroked the inside of your palm in a soothing way. Whether it was for you or him, you couldn’t tell.

Down at the other end of the table, Dick said something loudly and it took you a second to realize what was going on. He was proposing. Tim had a little smile as Dick stuttered his way through his words. That was new.

She looked at the box in shock. She wasn’t going to say no was she?!? You couldn’t handle the stress and you gripped Tim’s hand tightly. Dick literally pleaded for an answer and that broke the spell she seemed to be under and she said yes.

Kisses. Applause. Champagne.

Tim lightly squeezed your hand that you had relaxed and he smiled at you. You both were young enough that a proposal wasn’t an awkward thing to watch. You were seen as just too young. Dick and his new fiancé retired for the night and the party was moved to the parlor.

You sat on a stool by the billiards table. Tim and Jason immediately began playing a game while you talked to his girlfriend and Cass.

“So if I win,” Jason said a full hour later. By this time, Damian’s girlfriend had fallen asleep on his shoulder and Bruce had announced the storm too bad to travel. “I get the penthouse.”

“Sure Jay. That’s Bruce’s. But I’m willing to gamble it,” Tim said throwing his hands up at the ridiculousness.

“I accept terms,” Bruce said. Both boys looked at him surprised. “Whoever wins gets the penthouse.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at Bruce and Tim gave you a wtf look but neither questioned the decision. Jason played seriously. He was a natural. His rough upbringing had him playing pool in many hazy bars as a kid as well as the occasional trip to a bar on the weekend he enjoyed regularly. Tim just didn’t have time to play games. Plus he had a nasty bruise on his hip. Jason won the game easily.

“So the penthouse is mine?” Jason asked. Bruce nodded and shrugged. Tim softly coughed in his hand.

“If you’ll live in it,” Bruce said. Damian was carefully carrying his girlfriend upstairs.

“Deal.”

“I guess, deal?” Tim said confused. “Though you should owe me. You’re the one that got me shot.”

“What?! You got him shot?” You asked loudly. Tim blanched.

“Not my fault,” Jason defended.

“Literally your fault,” Tim countered.

“What did you do?” Jason’s girlfriend asked looking at him suspiciously. He offered her a sheepish smile.

“I might have said ‘what are you gonna do, shoot us?’ I meant me. Not Tim! He also has a bulletproof suit,” Jason said.

“That’s not in the report,” Bruce said slowly and both boys flinched.

“Good night everybody. Merry Christmas,” Jason said pulling his date from the room.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Bruce called down the hall. Everyone else took it as a cue that the party was over.

You moved upstairs to Tim’s old bedroom. A My Chemical Romance poster and Dragon Ball Z poster hung on the back of his door as the only personal items. You smirked at him when you saw it.

“I forgot that was there,” Tim groaned reaching for it. His pale skin was flush with embarrassment. You grabbed his arm.

“Leave it. It’s cute. It’s got personality,” you said with a laugh. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. A complete nerd,” he said looking away.

“And you think you’ve changed since? You wear Spider-Man boxers under your suit sometimes,” you whispered in his ear.

“How do you know that?”

“When I pull them off of you..” you winked.

“Speaking of, having a hot girlfriend isn’t exactly nerdy,” Tim said getting a little handsy.

“Are you trying to get laid in your childhood bedroom?” You asked fake scandalized. He pulled you closer.

“Maybe.”

“Very nerdy to try and get in my pants right now with anime posters on the wall, Timbers,” you said pulling him towards the bed and into a kiss before he could protest.

#fns #dc #Tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #Red Robin #yum #Tim drake fluff #timothy jackson drake #red hood

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redhoodieone · 5 years

Text

Welcome Home

This is technically my first smut. I feel like since I always requests smuts, I figured I should give one back to Tumblr and for those who always make my fantasies come true.

Warnings: Major Smut.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Now I’m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

Dear Lady Y/N,

I dearly love you and the boys,

Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“You better be loud, or I won’t let you cum, Y/N.”

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

Yeah it’s my first smut...so I’m sorry if it sucks. (Pun intended)

#batfamily #bruce wayne #smut #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut

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the-sweetest-dragon · 5 years

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Character Sheet

This is the last one of my DC characters that I’ve revised and I really like the amount of detail I put back into this character. I hope to start writing her story soon, but I’ll have to thank @incorrectbatfamiliaquotes once again for all her help because if it wasn’t for her, I don’t think I’d even consider rewriting any of these.

_____________________________________________________

Full Name: Ashton Poppy Nazari

Nickname: Ash

Ethnicity: Arabic and German (Her father was Arabic and her mother was German)

Birthday: November 13, 2000

Age: 18

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Basic Personality: Ash would describe herself as a rebel with a heart of gold, which is mostly true. She’s kind and cares a lot about other people, but often forgets that not everyone thinks as quickly as she does. Quick to start an argument, or physical fight, to defend what she believes is right. Ash likes to move around; she constantly taps her foot or drums her fingers against things. She’s scary intelligent, and may be a better detective than Tim Drake.

Deeper Personality:

Aggressive: Ash refuses to leave well enough alone and it gets her into trouble at the orphanage and with foster parents. Starts fights with other kids, and usually wins, due to her background in boxing. She wouldn’t describe herself as aggressive, but others would.

Outspoken: She’s a hardcore feminist, to the point that others can recite her speeches from memory. Ash believes that her body is her own to control, her sexuality is valid, and that LGBTQ people deserve the same rights and opportunists that cishet people are allowed to have.

Hyper: Ashton likes to move around a lot. She got in trouble a lot in school for tapping her feet and drumming her fingers against her desk. Ash also gets distracted a lot, but once focused, she’ll rarely drop whatever she’s interested in.

Best Friend: Jonathan Kent

Her and Jon met while she lived in Metropolis. She saved him from making a complete fool of himself by tripping and spilling milk on the school bully. Jon loves her to death and once harbored a small crush on her, but grew out of it fairly quickly. They kept in touch over the years and are still great friends to this day.

Family: Unknown to her, however, as the author, I can tell you that they were involved in the League of Assassins and were killed because they didn’t want to raise Ashton in such a harsh environment. They desperately wanted her to have a normal life. They worked for the League because they were forced to; they had no choice. When they saw a chance to escape, they took it but at a harsh consequence of Ashton growing up without parents. Ra’s, as a way to try and keep them under his control, wanted to marry Ash off to Damian when they came of age. Talia thought it would be a wonderful match and Ashton’s parents knew that it was just another way to control them, prompting them to plan their escape in secret. Talia was the one to kill them.

Love Life: Ashton likes to date, but not seriously. She’s not one to be tied down. Ash identifies as bisexual but leans more towards guys than girls. Her last relationship ended pretty badly, and it left her with a black eye. She now knows to not trust Gotham street rats.

Political Viewpoint: Ash is very liberal, but also knows that people are allowed to have different opinions to her own. That doesn’t stop her from starting fights though.

Basic Description: Ashton is pretty but in an unusual way. Her features are large but somehow delicate. Ash has heterochromia, with one green eye and one brown eye. Her hair is cut short and is dark brown, with honey blonde highlights. She has freckles and moles everywhere. Jon always used to joke that its because the sun is in love with her. Her hair never gets longer than shoulder length because it bothers her if it’s too long. Ash isn’t tall, but she isn’t short either. She’s curvy and has thighs that would Jason Todd to shame. Muscular without being boxy; she used to box a lot in her spare time. She has a lot of piercings; her earlobes are pierced twice each and in her right ear, her cartilage is pierced too. Her nose is also pierced and she typically wears a stud in it. Ash has a few tattoos, all of which were saved up for and paid for with her own money from working jobs in coffee houses or babysitting. On her calf, she has an electric blue skeleton that is skateboarding and wearing a Hawaiian shirt. She has a blue and purple hummingbird on her left shoulder and a bat hanging upside down beneath her boobs. (We stan a tattooed queen in this house.)

Short Term Goals: Ash just wants to have a nice summer and to not worry about the future for a few months.

Long Term Goals: Ashton is determined to become a music teacher and find a home to settle down in. She isn’t sure if she’d want to get married or even have kids, but likes to think about her future quite often.

Favorite Outfit: Ash’s dress sense depends on the day, but her favorite outfit is a vintage Queen shirt paired with ripped mom jeans, which have fishnets underneath them, and clunky boots she found at a thrift store.

Favorite Song: Black Sheep by The Clash at Demonhead

Hobbies: Ash enjoys a number of things. She used to box a lot, and knows a lot of self defense that she taught to girls in the orphanage before she left. Ashton can play the guitar and sings a little. She’ll occasionally write her own songs, but prefers to not share them with anyone.

Favorite Candy: She’s partial to dark chocolate Crunch Bars or Peeps, but only the pink ones (the yellow ones don’t taste the same)

Favorite Drink: Ashton loves frozen hot chocolate with whipped cream and caramel drizzle; she has a sweet tooth like no other.

Fatal Flaw: She hates opening up to other people about her feelings. She’ll tell you her opinion in a heartbeat but when she’s feeling sad, she’ll refuse to talk to people.

Habits: Ashton chews on her nails. They’re rarely longer than where her finger is and finds it easier to not chew them if they aren’t long.

Favorite Color: She’s partial to blood red and black.

Favorite Food: Vegetarian zucchini lasagna is her absolute favorite. Ash is vegetarian and loves to experiment with food. This is one of her favorite recipes that she’s tried in the past few years.

Fears: Ash is afraid of snakes and dark holes. She has nightmares of being thrown into the sea from a ship in the night. Ash is terrified that people will get to know the real her and leave anyways.

Life Motto: Be the woman who fixes another woman’s crown without telling the world it was crooked.

Favorite Movie: A Knight’s Tale because it’s awesome.

Weird Talent: She’s managed to figure out a good portion of superheroes secret identities by doing basic detective work. It’s one of her favorite things to surprise Jon with.

“Hey, I know who Kid Flash is.”

“No you don’t.”

“Dude, it’s obviously Bart Allen, I’m not dumb.”

*Surprised Pikachu face*

Role Model: Batgirl, otherwise known as Stephanie Brown. Ash admires her strength and resilience. Coming back after a pregnancy must have been one of the hardest things in the world. Plus, she has to put up with Tim Drake, which means she’s an amazing person with a great temperament.

Religion: Ash is agnostic and doesn’t enjoy going to church.

Prized Possession: When Ashton found her way into her first orphanage, she came with a small golden locket that doesn’t open but is engraved with what she believes to be her parents initials.

#ashtonnazari #original character #she's my little punk rock child #a sweet baby #old character new story

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bat-losers-inc · 5 years

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Too Close for Comfort (Pt: 2)

Summary: Black Mask makes a house call to Jason and Tim’s apartment after Jason’s newest stunt against the False Facers. Jason realizes his actions now have greater consequences than before. A what-if fic set after Black Mask learns Jason’s real identity during Red Hood and the Outlaws Rebirth.

Pairings: Jason Todd / Tim Drake, Jason Todd / Roman Sionis (one-side), Jason Todd & Dick Grayson

Dick let himself into Jason’s apartment through the window off of the fire escape. Jason and Tim were on the floor, and at some point it looked like Jason had stripped the shirt off his back and bundled it up as a makeshift bandage. Now his leather jacket hung loosely off of his naked torso with one of Tim’s hands keeping pressure on the bandage at his ribs.

“Seriously, guys? Both of you?” Dick crouched next to Jason and categorized the various wounds between the pair based on their severity. “I swear you guys do this instead of getting matching tattoos.”

He slipped the backpack around to his front and started laying out the first aid supplies on the floor next to him. Dick decided it was best to do the quick job first and deal with Jason’s injuries.

Jason flinched away from him, however, when he reached out with an alcohol soaked gauze wipe.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Jason.

He jerked his head towards Tim. “Do him first, idiot. I didn’t call you to dab at my scratches. He’s the one with the real wounds.”

“It looks worse than it feels, to be honest,” said Tim.

Dick took in Tim’s wounds and shared in Jason’s skepticism.

Jason grimaced. “Pay no attention to anything he says. That’s the bloodloss talking.”

“He has lacerations all over his torso. I’m going to need a second set of hands if I’m going to wrap his wounds. I know you’re worried about him, but this is how it has to go. You first, then him, sound good?”

Jason’s affirmation was less actual words and more of an apprehensive rumble. That was enough confirmation for Dick to get to work. If he got into the habit of waiting around for Jason to give him a real answer to any of his questions he’d be waiting all year. He’d come to learn that Jason was only ever comfortable enough to meet him halfway.

Dick shooed Tim’s hand away from where it was pressed to Jason’s side, noting the way that Tim’s thumb stilled its stroking motion against Jason’s ribs before he dropped his hand to the floor. Without the pressure of his hand to hold it up, the bandage over Jason’s ribs fell to the floor with a sodden thwap.

In the end, Jason was right. Once Dick cleared away the blood, Jason’s injury was nothing more than a few glorified cuts left to bleed out unattended while on patrol. It was an easy patch up job, and before long, Jason had one hand propped up between Tim’s shoulderblades to keep his upper body off the floor while Dick wrapped his stitched-up torso in clean bandages.

It was only later, after Tim was helped gently to the couch and Dick had joined Jason in scrubbing the blood off of the floors and walls, that Jason confessed to him what had happened to cause all this carnage.

Dick’s first instinct was to grab him by the shoulder and shake him hard enough to jar some sense into him. Jason must have sensed the anger that Dick was trying to keep in check, since he watched Dick with an intensity that stilled his other movements. Dick hadn’t seen Jason act this way around him in awhile. Not since the first time Bruce had brought Jason to live at the manor. Back when the wariness permeated his every action and spoken word, with Jason forever unsure of what the consequences would be if he said or did the wrong thing.

Dick had to stare hard at the floor, tinted pink from the watery mess that remained to be cleaned, to rein in the extent of emotions that washed over him in that moment before he could stand to meet Jason’s eyes again.

“How could you be so— so—” He stopped, trying to find the right word that would cover thoughtless stupidity taken to this extreme. Finally, he gave up.

“If you’re resisting the urge to punch me right now, don’t,” Jason reassured. “I deserve it.”

Dick glanced at him, considering his proposition, and stood up, tossing the dirty brush back into the bucket. “No, Jason. You want it, there’s a difference. You want it because it means you feel like you’ve taken your beating for your mistakes and can move on from this. But I’m not going to play your father with his belt reprimanding you for doing without thinking.”

Jason dropped his brush and stepped towards him, anger flashing across his face. Dick couldn’t tell what the cause of it was. The mention of Jason’s dad? His own instinct to defend his actions? Or a last ditch effort to provoke Dick to violence? Whatever the reason, Dick halted him with a shake of his head.

“I get it, you made a mistake. We all make mistakes. But, what happened here tonight? Make sure you never have a repeat incident because I refuse to come here and patch up wounds inflicted in your own home. The secret identities, the safe houses, the security systems… all of those things are in place so that those villains we fight in the streets at night don’t follow us into our own homes.”

Dick gestured sharply at Tim who was silently taking in the scene from the couch with one hand resting against his bandaged chest. “Tim could have died tonight. You could have died. I could have lost two brothers in less than an hour because you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us your identity had been compromised.”

Jason’s hands fell open at his sides. “What do you want me to say, Dick? Do you really think any words that come out of my mouth now are going to make it better?”

“I do,” Tim’s answer drew Jason’s undivided attention, though his eyes were on anything but Tim’s face.

Dick shook his head again. “I’m gonna go take a walk. Try to sort out this mess while I’m gone.”

The slam of the apartment door seemed incredibly loud to Tim in the newfound silence of their apartment. Tim chewed at his bottom lip, minding the cut on one side, and looked at Jason who now stood with his back to him, scratching at the dried blood on the wall.

“You know,” said Tim, “he’s angry at you because he knows you aren’t stupid. You’re rash at times, but you’re smart enough to evaluate a situation before jumping into it. I know this, and he knows this, which is why he can’t figure out why this shit show happened. But, I have a feeling this would have happened whether you’d told me about Black Mask or not… and I don’t blame you, Jason.”

Jason’s palm struck the wall. “Well you should. I should have told you about Roman.”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “you should have.”

“So, stop with this Mother Teresa bullshit and tell me how you really feel. Be angry.”

“I was angry before,” replied Tim, “when Roman showed up here, when I realized you and he had a whole fucked up history that you never spoke a word about to me. When Tony was throwing me across my own home… I was fucking angry. But, what I’m feeling now isn’t anger. Not when you look like you’d rather die than look me in the eyes.”

“So, what then? Pity? Is that what I get from you?”

“Honesty.”

“What?” Finally Jason’s eyes found their way to Tim’s face as confusion flickered across his features.

Tim rephrased himself, honing in on the newfound calm he felt in the wake of his previous anger and panic. “You want to know what I’m really feeling right now? I feel like I want an honest answer from you. Besides those one hundred apologies that you promised me earlier. I think that’s the only meaningful thing you can give me right now.”

He waited a beat before asking, “So, why didn’t you tell me that Black Mask knew who you were? Why didn’t you tell me he might come after me to get to you?”

Jason opened his mouth ready to answer and hesitated. “You’re not gonna like my answer.”

Tim wasn’t sure if that was a preamble to his big confession or a last ditch effort to avoid answering. He couldn’t tell what Jason was thinking at the moment.

He nodded slowly, taking that comment in and attempting to prepare himself. “I’m almost positive that I won’t. But it’s obviously important if you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

You’d think he was asking Jason to chop off his pinky finger or something with the way he was obviously psyching himself up. It made Tim uncomfortable enough that he almost wanted to put an end to all of this. Forget that it had ever happened. Then he remembered he was laid out with a collection of new stitches and stamped down on that urge. Jason could handle a little more discomfort.

“That’s the thing… It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you, it’s just that I shouldn’t have had to.”

Tim blinked at him, his calm demeanor evaporating in an instant. “I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time figuring this out. So, either you’re saying you didn’t care enough to tell me there was a threat on my life, or you, what, thought I was fucking psychic?”

“Neither, Tim. Fuck, see now you’re pissed at me again! Let me try to explain—”

“Please do.”

Jason perched himself on the couch cushion adjacent to Tim. He steepled his fingers and Tim watched the way he rubbed one thumb against the other while he spoke.

“You’re right to say that Roman and I have history, and yeah it’s fucked up. But his interest has only ever been focused on me. For a long time I thought we had an unspoken agreement that, whatever moves we made against each other’s operations, we wouldn’t bring other movers into the mix. If one of us was going to be killed it was going to be by the other’s hand and it would be done properly, without all those ploys and games that the Joker likes to play with Batman.”

Tim’s sudden spike of anger was dwindling again, but it wasn’t quite out of his system enough to stop his next comment from slipping out. “Well, whoopie for you. You’re stalker villain has rules for how he’s going to beat you. Don’t rub it in.”

Jason didn’t look too haughty at the moment.“Don’t worry, I’m not. Since it seems like he’s thrown out the rule book now and is playing dirty to get back at me.”

“He had to come here and beat me up to even the score?” asked Tim, “What kind of logic is that?”

“I left him for dead,” responded Jason. “The last time we went up against each other, I had the chance to kill him and I didn’t take it. I left him there to rot and I think that by coming here tonight he wanted to make me feel just as helpless as when I left him lying there paralysed.”

That uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at Tim’s insides made a sudden reappearance. “He was in our bedroom, Jason. And you should have heard the way he talked to me about you. Kept calling you ‘our boy’ like he was proud to share you with me… I don’t think you pissed him off, Jason. I think when you didn’t take the easy way out… didn’t kill him… you piqued his interest and now he wants to make the game a little more interesting by bringing me into it.”

“Oh God.”

Tim could see the moment when the full weight of what that entailed sank in for Jason as he pressed his face into his hands. “Roman… He said I kept you from him. Like he owned you now. I’m going to have to kill him, aren’t I? That’s the only way to keep him from going after you.”

Tim hadn’t even heard anyone enter the apartment until the door closed. Dick pressed his back against the door behind him, but it was clear from his thoughtful expression that he’d been standing there listening to the end of their conversation.

“No, you won’t.” He replied from across the room.

“Oh, yeah genius?” snapped Jason, “Why’s that?”

Dick crossed his arms. “Because, someone else is going to make sure this never happens again.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jason snapped. “I know you can’t be offering to take out Black Mask for me. You don’t love me that much.”

It took Tim a stupidly long time to catch on, for while Dick was speaking Tim was busy envying his older brother’s ability to keep his composure under trying circumstances and wishing he also possessed such a skill. Even after Tim repeated Dick’s words in his head, he peered closely at Dick, not entirely sure he was suggesting was Tim thought he was suggesting.

Dick’s confirmation was sealed with a small smile and his searching glance up at the ceiling and the tops of the bookcases.

Tim shook his head and turned to Jason with a fond smile. “You’re stalker villain has rules and boundaries. Mine doesn’t.”

Jason’s brow crinkled. “Why are you smiling like that? Is this like… late onset stockholm syndrome?”

“I know you’ve got security video feed for this place,” said Dick, stepping further into the apartment, eyes still hovering around for hidden cameras. “Send it to Ra’s, pack up your bags, and find a new place to crash before shit hits the fan.”

Jason glanced between Dick and Tim, unsure. “Are we really gonna do this? This is inviting a shit load of trouble for us down the road.”

There really wasn’t anything like the prospect of unleashing one Gotham villain onto another to help move people past their previous disagreements. It was almost impossible for them to stay mad at each other, even Dick was grinning when a few minutes ago it looked like he wanted to punch Jason’s face in.

Tim shrugged. “Who’s to say Ra’s wouldn’t have found out about this anyway and acted on it. He’s horrifyingly possessive when it concerns things he has a personal stake in.”

Jason gave a startled laugh. “Oh man. Roman’s never gonna see him coming. Say ‘hi’ to Ra’s for me, yeah?”

“You really don’t want me to do that,” said Tim. “He literally called you a curse upon this world.”

Jason was already up off the couch, tossing belongings into an empty duffel bag. He stopped to address this issue, gesturing broadly with the hand that clutched his bloody shirt. “I don’t know what his problem is. Honestly, I’m a delight.”

Tim rolled his eyes and pulled up his security feed on his phone.

#LittleDarlingXOX #bat-losers-inc #batman #batman fic #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #JayTim #roman sionis #black mask #dick grayson #red hood #Red Robin #nightwing #hurt/comfort #batfamily

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awhitehead17 · 5 years

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Red Challenge: Day Three - Red Alert

Summary: Tim and Kon have a very promising night planned with one another but it gets ruined when a certain alarm goes off.

Enjoy! :D

Strong hands were the only thing keeping him up off the floor as he continues to kiss his lips. Kon’s arms were hooked underneath his thighs, his hands resting against the backs of them, almost on his ass. His legs were wrapped tightly around Kon’s waist, his arms locked around the meta’s neck as they share a heated kiss.

Tim let’s out a moan when he feels Kon squeeze the back of his thighs, the action making him want more. He runs a hand through Kon’s short, cropped hair and his other hand over his shoulders and down his back. Tim pulls out of the kiss breathing heavily. He looks down into Kon’s eyes, “Take us to the bed.” The demand was quiet and came out in a raspy voice.

Kon doesn’t question it. He does what Tim wants and takes them over to the bed, never letting go of him as he does so. As he begins to walk he stretches up and captures Tim’s lips in another series of kisses, these ones were somehow more sloppily yet heated than the ones before.

Tim was so caught up in the reality of Kon’s lips that he didn’t even realise that they had made it to the bed until his back was hitting the mattress. Kon had tossed him onto it and was looking at him from the foot of the bed with a hungry look in his eyes. Tim smirks at him as he wiggles on the mattress until his head was on the pillows at the top of the bed. Once situated he crooks a finger at Kon and gestures for him to come forward.

His boyfriend obeys the silent command and begins to climb on the bed, a predatory look taking over his expression. It heats Tim’s inside and he starts to get excited for what’s about to come, because when Kon has that look on his face, it means good things are going happen.

When Kon reaches him, he straddles Tim at the hips and grabs his wrists before pinning them to the bed. He’s then bending down and kissing Tim once again. Tim allows him to take control, for once enjoying not having the responsibility to worry and take charge of everything.

It’s not long until Kon moves away from his lips and starts to press kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Tim cranes his neck up to allow more room for Kon. He couldn’t help the moan that escapes him when Kon moves onto sucking his neck.

Getting lost in the sensation that was Kon, Tim almost missed the shrilling sound of an alarm going off. He feels Kon freeze against him and as his own body tenses up at the sound. No matter what he was doing or where he was, he’s been conditioned to respond to that particular alarm going off.

Next to his neck Conner groans, not the sexy kind of groaning but the annoyed and fed up kind of groan. “Please tell me that isn’t the red alert alarm going off. I don’t want to stop.”

Tim lets out his own disappointed groan but starts squirming in Kon’s hold. The meta lets go of him and climbs off the bed as Tim does. Tim is quick to collect his cowl and cape on the back of the chair and his belt which was next to it. With fluent motions he suits himself up and immediately heads for the door knowing Kon was right behind him.

Whoever was causing the alarm to go off better be worth the fight. Tim is seriously not happy about stopping his activity with Kon for this. The two of them hadn’t been together in almost three weeks, today was the first time they could do something together but as fates would have it of course it wasn’t going to be easy.

As they run through the Tower’s corridors the shrill of the red alert alarm carried on going off. They need to find the source of it and shut it down. Turning a corner they bump into Bart who was buzzing with energy, “Bart what’s going on? What we dealing with?” Tim questions him as they carry on traveling through the Tower.

Bart slows down enough for Tim to understand him, “Well, it’s nothing major but the situation is really strange. He’s asking for you.”

Tim comes to an abrupt stop at hearing that, “Me? Why me? Who is it?”

“It’s Slade.”

Tim blinks at him, trying to understand if he heard right or not. After a few seconds he finally asks, “Where is he?”

“In the common room. He told us that he isn’t there to fight he just wants some information from you.”

“Right.” Tim says trying to get a grasp of the situation at hand. He looks at Bart, “Go and turn the alarms off then join us back in the common room. Kon let’s go.”

Bart speeds off without question and Kon flies over to him and picks him up. As they fly through the Tower the red alert alarms turn off meaning Bart’s done what’s been asked of him. Kon gets them to the common room in a matter of seconds.

He puts Tim down on his feet and they walk in together to find Cassie standing defensively clutching her lasso. She was the only one in the room other than Slade who stood opposite her in full gear.

Tim comes up beside Cassie and gets his bo staff out, “What do you want Slade?”

Slade turns and looks at him for a moment before answering, “I want information. Where’s Nightwing?”

Tim blinks at him for a moment. Of all the things Slade could have asked or demanded that was something Tim hadn’t even considered. The mercenary had broken into the Tower, purposely triggered off their red alert alarm all because he wanted to know where Dick was? Tim couldn’t actually understand the motives behind this action.

“Why can’t you find him yourself?”

He hears Slade let out an annoyed huff, “Because it’s taking too long. He’s gone underground and I need him now. So where is he?”

Tim raises an eyebrow, because wow, Slade is actually being lazy and not bothering to find his brother on his own. He certainly is curious on why Slade would go through so much trouble to find Dick, but Tim figures that he should probably just stay out of it. It wasn’t his business and he’s already got enough on his plate so this does not need to be added to it.

As for Dick’s whereabouts, well Tim doesn’t actually know. He hasn’t talked to the older man in weeks.

“I don’t know.” He tells Slade. “I have no idea where Dick is, even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

In one swift movement Slade has a gun pointed at his head. Tim works hard to not roll his eyes at the action. He isn’t fazed by the gun, it’s not the first time one’s been drawn on him and it won’t be the last. Next to him Cassie tenses and he feels Conner step up right next to him in a protective manner. Keeping his eyes on Slade Tim raises a hand at them both, a gesture telling them to step down.

“Where is he Drake?”

“I don’t know.” He repeats. “I haven’t spoken to him. Now if you wouldn’t mind Slade but you can fuck off out of here. I am not in the mood for your shit tonight. I’ve just got back from a three week mission and you’ve disturbed my very promising night with my boyfriend by breaking into the Tower and triggering off the alarms. If you want Dick, go find him yourself. I am not a messenger.”

After his rant there was complete silence as his words hang in the air. Even Slade seemed to be hesitant now which Tim would find amusing if he wasn’t pissed off. Tim crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the mercenary through the cowl, daring him to do something.

Eventually Slade puts down the gun and stares at him, “Very well. I didn’t come here to fight. I’ll find him another way.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

With no more words Slade surprisingly disappears without any hassle. Once the assassin had gone his friends all turn to him wide eyed and mouths agape. “Dude, I can’t believe you just told Slade to fuck off and he actually listened.”

Tim just grunts in acknowledgement and starts making his way out of the common room back to his own room. There’s no point in going back with Kon now, his whole mood has turned sour and there’s no way he’ll be able to relax again for the rest of the night.

When he gets back to his room he gets his phone out and shoots Dick a message. The whole situation was just bizarre and Tim needed some information on what was actually going on.

TD: Hey, haven’t spoken to you in a while but Slade just stopped by looking for you. What did you do?

To his surprise Dick actually responded in a really short amount of time.

DG: What’s up little bro! And really? I haven’t done anything. What was he after?

TD: Not sure. He broke into Titan’s Tower and demanded I tell him where you were. Didn’t ask for details. Personally didn’t know where you are anyway.

DG: He didn’t harm you did he?

TD: No, just left me super confused. Any ideas on why he wants to see you?

DG: Because I’m irresistible. Everyone wants to see me ;)

TD: Ugh as if. Seriously though. Where are you and why does he want you?

DG: Got injured on patrol about 4 days ago been lying low at one of Jay’s apartments in Blud, probably why Slade hasn’t found me. No idea what he wants though.

TD: You good? Do you want a hand in dealing with him?

DG: I’m fine Timmy, don’t worry about me. And na, I should be fine, once I’m on my feet I’ll go looking for him. Shouldn’t be anything major, once I find him I’ll let you know.

TD: Thanks, just be careful.

DG: Aw, you do care <3

TD: No I don’t. I hope you fall into a ditch and get eaten by a snake.

DG: Wow Timmy. I’m really feeling the love.

TD: Night Dick.

DG: Night little bro! Have sweet dreams!

Tim turns his phone off and chucks it onto his bed. Well at least he knows Dick is alive. As for Slade he’s sure that Dick will find out and relay what’s going on to him.

Letting out a sigh Tim takes off his cowl, cape and belt and hangs them up in his wardrobe. He then moves over to the bed and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. As he does so the door to his bedroom opens up to reveal Conner walking into the room. The meta closes the door behind him and stands looking at Tim.

“You okay dude?”

“Fine.”

There’s a pause between them before Conner was asking, “I guess you don’t want to carry on with what we were doing?”

Tim shakes his head and lets out a soft laugh, “I really would like to but it wouldn’t be the same. The moods gone to be honest Kon. Slade’s appearance has just thrown me off.”

Conner shrugs as an easy smile appears on his face, “It’s no problem. It’s still getting late though, fancy watching a film or playing some video games instead?”

Tim shares Conner’s smile, “A movie would be good actually.”

The meta walks over and places a kiss on Tim’s forehead before walking to the TV. Tim watches him as he sets up the DVD player. Maybe the night isn’t wasted after all, they may not be doing what they originally intended to do but at least it was something. Damn that stupid red alert alarm going off and ruining their night.

#timkon #Tim Drake #Kon-El #dick grayson #slade wilson #fanfiction #kissing #humour #Red Challenge #red alert #bart allen

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