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batbirdies · 3 years

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It was late, and the gala was only about half over but Tim was maybe a little exhausted and not wanting to admit that he might not be 100% over his most recent illness. He was perfectly fine, but the residual phlegm, throat clearing, and coughing that was mild during the day tended to get more prominent at night. So he’d slipped out of the ballroom earlier than he might normally allow himself and retreated to his room, where he took off his tux and put on a hoodie and sweats and decided to just veg for the rest of the night.

The den was quiet and watching mind numbing television sounded like the best way to waste some time in the place of schmoozing the rich and famous.

He must have drifted off, leaned back against the armrest with his eyes drooping. The next thing he was aware of was faint shuffling sounds coming from behind the couch. He figured it was Alfred, taking a short break from the event himself and checking in when he didn’t see Tim in the ballroom anymore. However, when he took a deep breath and shuffled himself to an upright position what he found was not Alfred, but Damian.

Tim blinked at the image before him, because the kid was still in his mini tux, red bow-tie in place, and he was methodically arranging a chess board that hovered near the back wall between two bookshelves. Tim stared for a bit, the voices from the tv behind him sounding more like low buzzing than words.

It had been louder before, someone - he supposed Damian - must have turned it down.

“What are you-” Of course his voice came out in phlegm and gravel and he had to pause, clearing his throat before he finished. “What are you doing in here?”

“I have grown tired of the Gotham elite. Father excused me for an early ‘bedtime’.” While Damian didn’t look up, he still put air quotes around ‘bedtime’ and glared at the chess board with all of his derisive might.

“Care for a game of chess, Timothy?” At this, he did finally look up.

He stiffened though when he saw Tim’s no-doubt dumbfounded look.

He quickly schooled his expression, grimacing internally at the awkward silence that followed before Tim watched whatever openness had been on Damian’s face quickly shutter away. “Sure,” he tried after a too-long pause, a twinge of guilt in his stomach at the forced blankness on Damian’s face as he turned back to the board.

“You do not have to,” he spat back, shoulders high and tense, “I am only bored and do not wish to indulge in your trash tv, as you so call it.”

“No, it - uh, it’s a good idea. I’m bored too.” It took a moment to untangle himself from the blanket he’d wrapped up in on the couch. He left it draped over the armrest, shuffling over to the chess table. Sliding into the seat opposite Damian always felt a little bit like sitting on the other side of a police interview, with how intensely he stared, but it no longer held the underlying edge Tim used to expect.

He’d called him Timothy, even. Which was...not entirely new, but something Tim had been noticing more and more. It wasn’t his favorite but it was definitely better than Drake, and didn’t hold any of the old animosity he was once accustomed to either.

That didn’t mean Tim still wasn’t a little bit cautious as he watched him finish arranging the pieces. Nor did Damian’s shoulders completely lower as he set the last one in place.

“You have first move,” he gestured lightly to Tim’s pieces as he leaned back in his chair, surveying the board.

Tim looked down, mildly surprised to see he indeed had the white set in front of him, meaning Damian purposefully gave him the first move. It was definitely odd, he thought, as he moved his first piece, not putting that much thought into it.

Damian normally stayed at those events until the very last one of them was finally heading back up to the private areas of the manor (usually Bruce), refusing to “give in” or something, Tim didn’t know. But it was a pattern. And here he was, taking an ‘early bedtime’ to come in here and play chess with him. The very implication of a bedtime was normally grating to Damian, as it would be to Tim.

There weren’t a lot of reasons Tim could think of that would send him up early, unless something had upset him, enough that Bruce told him to leave. Or, it was something he didn’t want the others to know about.

“So,” he started, watching as Damian confidently made his first counter move. “These things are the worst, right?” Tim could cringe at himself. Of all the ice breakers…

Damian, however, didn’t give him a disdainful look or make a snide comment, he only sniffed haughtily and nodded. “Indeed. Father’s peers are insufferable.”

Tim glanced down at the board, doing his best to actually concentrate, knowing Damian wouldn’t take it well if he thought he wasn’t trying. Three moves later they already had two pawns in deadlock and Tim was still trying to wrap his head around how to ask without getting his head bitten off.

Maybe it was none of his business. And Tim wondered, a little, why he was suddenly concerned; but for how Damian’s shoulders were still high and tight and he knew how the people at these things could be. He probably saw the least of it of all of them, really. Most of the sycophants who tried to talk to them instead of either ignoring them or just existing in the peripheral already knew Tim from when he was small. He’d existed in these circles for years. And not to mention he was white, and “well bred” by most of their standards. Damian had no such advantages.

But Tim wasn’t good at the older brother thing, really, if he even considered himself one. Dick seemed to think so, though, and Cass. Even Jason sometimes made offhand comments about ‘little brothers - right Tim?’ when he was in a good enough mood.

So maybe.

Quietly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. He opened his text window and scanned the conversations there. No new messages.

“Dick’s asking if I’ve seen you.” He glanced up, gauging Damian’s reaction, but he only looked up in mild surprise, eyebrows raised. “Should I tell him no? Or does it matter?” Tim knew that if Damian was upset, and he hadn’t gone to find Dick, he either didn’t want to see him for some reason, or he felt like he couldn’t interrupt whatever he was in the middle of in the ballroom. Maybe he was dancing, or charming some reporter into writing the right article.

“You may tell him whatever you wish,” was the cryptic response, as Damian looked back down, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. Tim frowned, locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket.

“He’s probably just surprised you headed up early. It’s a little out of the norm, I mean.”

Damian’s hand paused where his fingers rested just on top of his knight. “Yes well,” he said quietly, “even I grow tired of acting.”

Tim hesitated briefly, before sucking it up and asking directly, hoping this shift in dynamic might stick. “Did somebody say something rude? Because if they were being -” He didn’t want to outright ask if someone was being racist, but it had happened before. “Bruce puts on a show but he honestly doesn’t put up with that stuff. If you tell him who it was, he’ll make sure they don’t get invited to these things anymore.”

Damian pulled his hand away after making his move and finally looked up, expression unchanged, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen. “What, exactly, do you assume was said?”

“I...I don’t know.” Tim shrugged, feeling mildly wary, like this could be a trap he hadn’t seen coming. “Most of the people at these things just suck.” He had to clear his throat at the end, residual phlegm taking that moment to come up and mangle his last word, following up with a short round of wet coughs he tried to smother into his elbow.

Damian was frowning at him when he looked back up. “I am fine,” he said, voice a little more forceful than necessary. “I’m not sure the same can be said for you, however.”

There was a curl of distaste to his mouth as he watched Tim make his next move, sniffling loudly and glancing around for his water that he’d left on the coffee table. Tim almost snapped something defensive back but just then there was noise outside the room

They both looked up to find Jason swinging around the doorway, tie undone and hanging loose around his neck. “This where you made off to, Gremlin?” He asked, glancing between them as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe.

“I do not see why that is any of your business.” Damian grumbled, reaching across the board and taking Tim’s bishop. Tim stared at it for a moment, the move computing in his head before he swore under his breath and Damian smirked.

Jason’s heavy footsteps padded across the carpet until they stopped just next to the board.

“This is priceless, you didn’t even change your clothes.”

Damian looked up with a glare, eyebrows drawn low, “And I see you must have chosen to change into a second tux then.”

Jason snorted, hiking his pant legs up before he squatted down to stared at the board at eye level, scrutinizing their game. “Nah, B sent me to find Tim and make sure he wasn’t hacking up a lung in secret. I’ll take any excuse to leave these things early. Dames, he’s gonna take your knight.”

“Jason,” Tim held no compunction about reaching over and shoving Jason in the shoulder, knocking him off balance enough that he fell sideways, landing on his hip and holding himself up with one hand.

“I do not need your help.” Damian added for good measure, though his expression when he looked back at the board was distinctly unhappy.

Instead of getting back up, Jason shifted until he sat cross legged on the floor. “You two are a picture.” He slipped his phone out from somewhere, Tim noticed when he glanced away from the board, and held it up, “Damian in a tux, Timmers in his pajamas, I feel like it’s a real representation of who you are as people.”

Tim looked down, mildly concerned at the phone pointed his direction. “Are you drunk?”

“That would explain it,” Damian mumbled under his breath. Tim let out a huff of unexpected laughter, having to suppress another cough when Jason dropped his phone back in his lap.

“Hey, it’s the only way to get through these things. I’m sending those to Dick, by the way.”

Tim made eye contact with Damian over the board and they both rolled their eyes.

“So in sending you to come find me, Bruce was actually just trying to get you out of there before you embarrassed yourself.”

Damian snickered, stifling a grin as he curled over the board a little more closely.

“Hey now, I am not drunk, just a little tipsy, I don’t overdo it at these things, ok?” Jason pointed a finger at both of them in turn and then smirked as he leaned back on his hands. “It may have been a fool’s errand though, since Damian was already on duty.”

Tim was ready to roll his eyes again but Damian sent a glare toward Jason and hissed, “I was merely bored.”

“Sure you were,” Jason grinned, “no way you were concerned about recovering-little Timmy, vanishing out from under our noses.”

Tim blinked while Damian sputtered, face going slightly red, “I am not under the impression that Drake needs a babysitter,” he finally managed to snap, glancing at Tim just in time to make fleeting eye contact before his gaze darted away again.

“Jay,” Tim said under his breath, a warning tone to it before the other man raised a hand in surrender, picking his phone up to look at and summarily dropping the subject.

Damian looked tense again, jaw and eyes hard as he glared at the board, refusing to look up when Tim didn’t make his next move right away.

He almost brushed it off, letting his gaze fall back to the match...but it did make sense. It would explain why Damian left the party early, why he didn’t seem to care if Dick knew, and why he might be willing to play the part of a tired little kid to get out of there for the night. And why he was suddenly so defensive when Jason implied it.

Tim was utterly blank for a moment, processing that. He glanced up for a second as he reached toward the board and found Damian staring at him again, before his eyes flitted back to the game between them, the tips of his ears going bright red.

Tim was about to push his rook forward, putting Damian in check, but he veered his hand toward the other side of the board at the last second, moving his second bishop to take a pawn instead. Jason was watching again, sitting up just straight enough to see over the top of the board and when Tim looked over, he winked.

Tim felt his own face heat as he rolled his eyes a second time, leaning over the game board and swiping a wrist under his nose briefly as he let Damian take his Queen, resting his chin in his hand.

Damian won, which was no surprise. “Ah well,” he said as he stretched over the back of his chair. Jason had eventually retreated to change out of his tux and returned in sweats and a t-shirt. He was currently lounging across the couch on his phone.

Dick appeared just as the match was ending, clearly having showered, hair wet and a damp ring around the neck of his shirt. “Good game,” Tim said as their oldest brother wandered into the room.

“Yes,” Damian agreed with a short nod, beginning to put the pieces away in their respective boxes. “It is unfortunate you are at a disadvantage while you recover. We will be on more even footing next time.” Tim cleared his throat, suppressing a smile as Damian stood up. “I will go change.”

He spun around in time to almost run into Dick, who quickly veered out of his path, brushing a hand over his head as Damian ducked away and out of the room. Jason peered over the edge of the couch and Tim stifled another cough as Dick fell into the chair Damian had just vacated.

“Having fun?” He asked, obviously suppressing a smirk.

“Shut up,” Tim went to kick him under the table and he laughed, grin spreading over his face. Tim looked away the minute it turned to something softer, fiddling with the top of the one of the game piece boxes and thinking he could probably do this if things kept on the way they were...make the whole older brother thing work.

@lilan-norah

#fanfiction #Batman #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #fluff #sibling relationships #JUST BE HONESTY WITH EACH OTHER #ITS OK TO BE CONCERNED #idk #this is from a super old prompt I was sent back in August #but I needed a break from my Nano project #so decided to go back through them #don't ask me when this is supposed to take place #sometime between when Damian and Tim hated each other and now lol #They do love each other #Batbirdies writes

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iphoenixrising · 4 years

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Ok but how will Jay react to Tim waking up from a nightmare about Jsy killing him?

Oh babe. How would Jay even take that?

It’s the early am on one of their few nights off together, and Jason Todd intends to spend it wrapped right the fuck around his snarky asshole boyfriend.

Jay’s a hard-working vigilante, Sweets. He’s earned a nice night with Timmy’s sweet ass in bed with ‘im, and he intends to have just fucking that.

So he’s already pissy waking up when he ain’t godda wear the helmet and the bed cold goddammit. He already told Timmy no working tonight, just a full night’s sleep after a little footsie under the blanket.

(’Cause Jason’s a man what knows his boy, and how ta get Timmy all nice n’ wore out, yeah?)

An’ he comes down the hallway bare ass naked, scars and skin on display since they ain’t havin’ a talk ‘bout nothing but going back ta the nice, warm bed waiting on ‘em.

When he sees the computer on the kitchen table is dark, he takes a pause, wonders if maybe he’d jumped the gun. When he spots Timmers huddled down on the floor by the couch, a hand over his face, other arm hitched tightly around his knees, he backtracks soundlessly just to put on some pants before he comes back down the hallway, making sure Tim can hear him this time.

He folds himself down gingerly, sneaks a hand up in Timmy’s hair before he leans in to ease his boy against him.

Tim doesn’t want to tell him the nightmare at first, and Jason can pretty much guess why.

“Which one was it, baby? That time in Titan’s Tower? Battle fer the Bat?” “Your eyes were green, that’s how I knew...in the dream.” “I’m s–” “No, no. We’ve already moved past all that. I’m sorry my brain fails sometimes.” “Aw, no. I ain’t over none a’ it. Trauma ain’t got an expiration date. Someday, maybe, it’ll be better, but not tonight.” “...I love you, Jay.” “I love you, too, Baby Bird.” And Jay tries to be easy with his boy after that, after hearing Tim remembers the feel of bleeding out, of the tip of the bat-a-rang skipping over his sternum.

He skritches Timmy’s scalp with his nails and rubs his jaw along the top of that messy head, whiskers catching sometimes. He rubs the knot of tension out of his boy’s lower back, waits for ‘im ta get nice n’ warm, floating down. Breath against Jay’s throat gets deeper, evens out just fine.

He does what he needs ta do when their ugly past rears up sometimes. S’ the same thing Timmy does fer him when he wakes up screaming for Bruce or Dick or his fucking mother, someone, anyone, ta get ‘im outta the dirt, outta that coffin. Screaming he’s alive, someone help him, he’s alive.

Don’t matter if he’s lashing out when he comes outta ones like that, Timmy just puts on an unGodly amount of patience, and wraps himself around Jay like a limpet, refusing to let ‘im go out in the mask and work it out with fists and solving every case he comes across.

Jay has come down from bad nights and the worst moments of his life replayed in color with Tim’s nose in the back of his neck, arms tight around his chest, soft things trying ta make ‘im talk n’ shit.

Little motherfucker what can’t stop trying ta save him.

So he don’t mind holding Tim in the cradle of his body, close as he can get, to push those bad times back with ones like these. Feel their hearts beatin’ together, watching until the sun comes up and lights up Timmy’s features. He don’t mind being the strength when he needs to.

And if he thinks about these things on mornings Tim needs him, if he thinks about being right here after shitty board meetings and hard nights, fucking around in the kitchen, giving Tim something to do so he doesn’t burn the damn place down, laying in the tub together talking about the day or the night, patching each other’s asses whenever the need arises.

If he thinks about doing this for the rest of his life, for however long he’s got left in this world, well, only him and the sun are ever gonna know.

#winter rambles #ask #jaytim #jason todd #tim drake #cute boyfriends #my drab #my writing

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awhitehead17 · 4 years

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Would You Go If I Asked You?

TimKon, High School AU, Prom, Friendship, Suit Shopping, Fluff, Humour, Getting Together.

Summary: It's that time of year when everyone talks about nothing except prom. Tim hates it. He doesn't want to go and has repeatedly told his friends this, they just aren't listening to him. However, his adamant decision about not going becomes questionable when his best friend appears at his house, dressed to the nines, and asks him a certain question.

Enjoy! :D

“Cassie that’s beautiful!”

“You’re going to look stunning!”

“I wished mine looked like that!”

Tim rubs his hands over his face and groans. Thanks to Bart, Jamie and Kon he had been left alone at the lunch table with all of the girls in their friendship group. While he loved them all, being alone with them while they gossip and talk about dresses and make-up wasn’t something Tim enjoyed doing.

At the moment, because it’s that time of year, all they were talking about was prom. Cassie was showing everyone at the table a picture of the dress she will be wearing. Tim catches a glimpse of the photo and has to admit, that was a stunning dress. A long red dress, covered in a gold glitter pattern, the glitter wasn’t too in your face but was just enough that in certain lighting you could see it sparkle.

This goes on for most of lunch, the girls each show the others what dress they’ll be wearing or are planning on buying. Tim blanks out of the conversation in favour of his phone, how could the guys leave him to the wolves like this? He knows that Kon and Jamie both have football training (a short session during lunch) and how Bart is stuck in chemistry catching up with work, but that didn’t stop Tim from scowling and cussing them out.

It was nearing the end of lunch and most of the girls start to get up from the table, saying their goodbyes before leaving for class. Soon enough it was just Cassie and Tim left at the table.

“Sorry for ignoring you Tim.” She says apologetically turning to face him.

Tim shrugs and gives her an easy smile, “Na don’t worry about it, I know what you girls all get like. Especially this time of year with prom around the corner.”

“Yeah. So…” She trails off looking at him expectantly.

He raises an eyebrow, “So what?”

She huff and smacks him in the arm, “You know what! Got yourself a nice looking tux yet?”

This time Tim huffs and shakes his head. It was only a matter of time before that question came up, though he’s surprised it didn’t come up earlier when the whole group was together.

Cassie sighs, “Tim come on, we’ve talked about this. Why don’t you want to go? It’ll be fun and everyone is going.”

Tim shrugs, “I don’t know, I just don’t see the point in going. I don’t really want to go if I’m being honest.”

“There’ll be food, music, dancing and we’ll all have a blast because the whole group is going!”

“Sounds great, I hope you have fun.” Tim deadpans. She uses that same line every time when trying to convince him to go.

That’s when the first warning bell rings, indicating the end of lunch and to start getting to class. Together they start getting up and walking to class. Before they part ways, Tim turns to her, “I’ll think about it.”

She doesn’t look convinced, “You said that three weeks ago. Better think quickly because it’s only four weeks away!”

They part ways and Tim shakes his head. Right, another four weeks of nonstop talking about prom and everything surrounding the topic. Great times.

“I’ve still got to decide on what colour I want. I know what style I want but just can’t pick a colour. I’m stuck between light grey and dark grey.”

“How dark is the dark grey?”

“A charcoal kind of grey.”

“I would say go for that one. It’ll match your hair better.”

“I suppose.”

Tim was ready to smash his face into a brick wall. If anyone thinks that girls are worse than guys for getting ready, or worrying about their appearance, they are very wrong. Guys are just as bad, if not worse, than girls.

It was after school and they were chilling at the local park on the grass in the nice weather. It didn’t take long for the conversation they were having to turn to the topic of prom. Tim just couldn’t get away from it.

Bart had brought the topic up wanting opinions on what suit colour they think he should get. Kon and Jamie immediately jump in on the topic and offer him their opinions.

Kon leans back on his arms and looks up at the sky, “Man I’m glad I got mine done early, saves me worrying about it now and at last minute.”

Next to him Jamie snorts, “The only reason you’re done is because your Ma made you get it early. We all know you would’ve been getting it the day before amigo.”

Grins at him, “but my point still stands. What about you? You got yours yet?”

Jamie nods, “Nearly, just need to get a tie now.”

“Aw man that's what else I gotta think about!” Bart exclaims, “I need to work out whether I get a tie or a bowtie!”

The two of them start bickering about what would look better and Tim decides just to let them get on with it. That’s when Kon turns to him, poking him in the leg to get his attention. “You’ve been awfully quiet Timmers. How about you? What suit you got?”

Tim takes a breath and reminds himself that Kon is his best friend and lashing out at him for the question, when he very well knows Tim’s opinion on prom, wasn’t really acceptable. “I don’t have one and I won’t be getting one. You know that I don’t want to go.”

Kon frowns and Tim feels slightly guilty for the harsh tone of voice he had used but thankfully his friend doesn’t take any offence. “Well I didn’t know if you had changed your mind about it yet that’s all. There's still time if you do want to go.”

He shakes his head not really want to hear it. Thankfully, Tim is saved from that conversation when the others get their attention again.

“Hey guys, we’re going to go shopping this weekend to look at accessories. Want to come?”

Kon sends Tim one last look before turning away, “Yeah sure. I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”

They all look at Tim waiting for his answer and after a moment of debating he shrugs, “Fine, at least it’ll get me out the house for a bit.” He rather not go, there was a new RP game that was coming out this weekend that was calling his name but as he said, at least he’ll get out of the house and at the same time be with his mates.

That Saturday afternoon Tim finds himself in a clothes store trailing behind his friends. They had been to at least three different shops before this one in search for accessories for Bart’s prom suit. Bart has been leading them all over the mall for several hours looking for what he wants and it didn’t seem like he was going to be stopping any time soon.

He and Jamie were over by the ties looking and comparing different ones while bickering about everything the other pulls up. Tim rolls his eyes at their behaviour. At this rate they’ll be leaving this shop with empty hands.

Tim was soon distracted when a heavy arm wraps itself around his neck, he’s then forced to bend over as knuckles rub harshly against his scalp. Letting out a squawk Tim fights back until he’s released, he pushes the other body away and stands up straight to sort out the damage that had been done to his hair.

Opposite him Kon was laughing and Tim couldn’t fight the smile that makes its way onto his face as he watches his best friend. After a moment Kon gets a hold of himself and chucks his arm back over Tim, this time letting it rest against his shoulders.

“Would you stop frowning man? I swear it’s going to end up sticking and you’ll look like that for the rest of your life. What’s wrong dude?”

Tim sighs and shrugs, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Kon’s other hand comes up and flicks him in the ear. Tim complains and rubs the sore spot. “Yeah right dude, I know you, remember.”

Well he’s not wrong, they’ve known one another since they were pubescent teenagers. Kon gives him a squeeze, “Now come on, we may as well make use of our time because I don’t think they’ll be finished arguing over ties anytime soon.”

His best friend leads them through the shop and Tim simply lets him, it wasn’t until they were standing in front of suits that Tim gives him a disapproving look. “Just at least look at some of them, see if any catches your eye!”

Tim rolls his eyes and goes to argue but seeing the determination on Kon’s face he thinks better of it and decides to humour his friend instead. Looking can’t hurt anyone right?

Two hours later, somehow, Tim finds himself walking out of the store carrying a new suit. He doesn’t know how it happened, just that it did and how it was mostly Kon’s fault. Jamie and Bart also walk out of the store carrying something of their own. Bart now has a bowtie that matches the colour of his suit and Jamie walks out with the tie he wanted.

Tim still doesn’t know if he’ll go to prom, even after finally getting a suit for it. He couldn’t deny that spending the day with Kon, just the two of them by some extent, was actually pretty nice. They don’t spend a lot of time together just by themselves, the only thing that would have made today better would have been if they were doing anything else other than suit shopping.

Three weeks go by and it’s finally the night of prom. His grade at school had been buzzing and that’s all people could talk about. Tim very much wanted to skip the day at school but he was forced to go anyway. Somehow he came out the other side still somewhat sane.

However he wasn’t going.

He didn’t want to go. The suit he brought a few weeks ago remains hung up on the back of his bedroom door completely untouched and still in its bag it came in.

Instead, he was choosing to spend this night in his comfy clothes, surrounded by his favourite snacks and watching a few new films that’s popped up on Netflix recently. At least that’s what he was planning because then a knock came from the front door and Dana was shouting up to him.

“Tim, your friend’s here. I’ll let him up!”

Tim barely had time to try and work out what she means when his bedroom door was opening and revealing his best friend. His mouth drops open when Kon walks into the room, dressed in a navy tux with a white shirt, fancy dress shoes and his hair was styled and jelled back. He looked hot.

Kon beams at him, his smile unintentionally finishing off his whole look. He looked perfect. Not that Tim was going to tell him that of course.

“Hey man.” Kon greets him in the end.

Getting over himself Tim sits up on his bed and shoots his friend a look, “Hey Kon. What you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with everyone else?”

“I thought I’d make a small diversion on my way to Cassie’s.” He explains giving Tim a once over. “You’re not dressed.”

Tim rolls his eyes, “Kon I’m not going, I’ve told you this. Therefore I don’t need to get dressed. I hope you all have a good time though and I’ll have a look at the photos later on.”

Kon sighs and Tim feels himself bristle at the action. “That just won’t do…” Kon mumbles to himself before walking around Tim’s room, he finds Tim’s suit hanging on the door and picks it up, bringing it over to his bed.

“Now come on, get dressed, shouldn’t take you too long and we can be at Cassie’s by the hour.”

Tim glares at his friend and crosses his arms over his chest, refusing to even make a comment at the behaviour.

Kon’s frown soon morphs into his puppy dog eyes look, the one he uses when he wants to get his own way. “Please Timmy.”

“No Kon. I am this close to telling you to fuck off right now.”

“Oh come on dude please!” Kon whines, he then moves and sits down next to Tim on the bed, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “It won’t be the same without you man. Please come, at least for me if not anything else.”

Tim snorts at his words, “You asking me to prom Kon?” He teases with a small smile. In the back of his mind he’s screaming at the idea of it.

Next to him Kon stiffens, “Would that work? Would you change your mind if I asked you?”

Most likely. “Well I know you wouldn’t actually mean it now though.” Tim comments with a raised eyebrow.

Kon shoots him a determined look and stands up off the bed, he moves around so he’s in front of Tim and kneels on the ground. He reaches out and takes one of Tim’s hands in his own, holding it steady, “Timothy Jackson Drake, would you do me the honour and be my date to tonight’s prom?”

God, why does this seem so much like a wedding proposal? Kon looks absolutely stunning and the way he was just looking up at Tim with hope in his eyes. Tim feels his barriers finally break, the ones he’s had up since this whole prom nonsense started

“Yeah okay, fine. I’ll go.” Tim mutters in the end, defeated. He wishes that it was really real, not that he’ll ever tell Kon that. He’s kept his crush very close to his heart and hasn’t told anyone about it, he’s really tried to not make it obvious the entire time.

Once again Kon beams at him, he stands up and makes Tim rise up with him. Before Tim could protest Kon was wrapping him up in a hug and holding him close. Tim tenses for a moment but soon relaxes into the contact.

They pull apart but neither of them actually let go of the other and Tim finds himself staring up at Kon’s face. He doesn’t know who moves first but he certainly knows when their lips make contact, the world could end and he wouldn’t have even noticed.

Kon’s lips were soft and kind of tasted minty, he feels the other teens hand rise up and cup the back of his head as they tilt their heads to accommodate the action better. When Kon nips his lips Tim lets out a moan and opens his mouth which Kon instantly takes advantage of.

They eventually separate and Tim blinks up at him, wondering what the hell that was all about. Did that really just happen?

“Okay so I have wanted to do that for a really long time and I really hope this doesn’t end our friendship, but in all seriousness would you actually like to go to prom with me despite you obviously not wanting to go. I know the group is all just going as friends but I would really like it-”

Tim stops Kon’s nervous rambling by kissing him again. This time keeping it short and sweet.

“Yes, you know what yes, I’ll go with you to prom Conner Kent. And I have also wanted to do that for a long time.”

There’s a pause between them but eventually Kon leans forward and rests his forehead against Tim’s, smiling dopily. There’s a similar smile on Tim’s own face that he doesn’t bother try to fight.

No one comments when they turn up late to prom. Their group of friends all smile knowingly at Tim and he gets the suspicious feeling that he had somehow been set up on the whole thing, especially when no one comments on how he’s turned up after, very clearly, stating he didn’t want to go.

Tim wasn’t going to complain however, especially not then because he gets to hold Kon’s hand and dance with him, he’ll just demand answers out of them all later on. He’s glad he went prom after all.

#Tim Drake #Kon-El #timkon #TimKon Week 2020 #cassie sandsmark #bart allen #high school au #prom #tim really doesn't want to go #maybe someone can change his mind...#friendship #humour #fluff #jamie reyes #shopping #fanfiction #general rating #day two

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wordswithkittywitch · 4 years

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Donner, Blizten, and Pooka

The traditional host for Billy and Zoë, DeviantArt, is being recalcitrant, so I’m posting it directly to my tumblr this year. If AO3 had a spot for original work, I’d use that just because I love how straightforward their system is. I should look for a better platform, I guess. But for now, this year’s is hosted on tumblr. (I don’t know why I never say Zoë and Billy. I guess it’s just that I’ve been saying their names in alphabetical order since 2002, and I’m not likely to start now.) This is actually an idea I've had since the first year I starting writing these, and I'm so glad I've finally done something with it.

This year’s story has a few instances of gruesome imagery, but no major triggers behind the obvious “character death”, as you know at least one character, be it recurring or otherwise, is going to be a dead one.

With no further ado, enjoy 2019′s addition to the Billy and Zoë universe.

(4940 words, 9 pages, several horror elements. Because it’s a freaken horror story.) Recomended audio accompaniment.

Donner, Blitzen and Pooka

No, this isn’t the same story as last year, just the same exposition

Billy and Zoë were always said to be good kids, not getting in fights, making the sports teams, honor roll, debate team, cheer squad, chorus and band. Both moderately popular jacks-of-all-trades, they managed to make prom king and queen even though they were just friends, and got scholarships to the same college. Billy played sports year round, but managed to talk about other things, mainly debating, singing or playing clarinet. Well, not when he was doing those things, as they involved his mouth. He had a tall, muscular build, his features seemingly mismatched. He had soccer legs and basketball feet, baseball arms on a football torso, which his head was thankfully not too small for, his white blond hair contrasting with his cheeks, which were always red for some reason, be it anger, embarrassment, or chill. Zoë’s body, however, seemed more perfectly constructed. Her complexion was warm and comforting like a cup of cocoa and she had shiny black hair, large brown eyes, long willowy arms and legs rippling with muscles and small, athletic breasts that did not get in the way when she cheered, played the flute, lacrosse, tennis or cricket. Both frequently smiled, especially when the life-long friends found out they were going to college together.

It was a bright, cold day, one of those days in mid-December when there’s finally what to Billy’s mind counted as an “adequate” amount of snow. It was just so hard for him to really get into the spirit of things when the weather looked less like a Christmas card and more like a whole lot of dead plants stuck together with asphalt. Why someone who went for a jog through the woods every morning before class was so excited about five inches of snow was beyond even Zoë’s understanding and also Billy’s ability to explain. The cold air just felt so… crunchy on his lungs. It sounded bizarre, even to Billy, but once he’d been going long enough that he didn’t feel too cold, running in the snow was so refreshing.

So, despite the fact that his cheeks looked like the entire cheer squad had slapped the shit out of him and there wasn’t exactly what one might call feeling in his fingers, Billy was in a very good mood. He turned away from the main road and jogged into what was charitably called the cross-country trail by the college track team. It kept the name mainly because very few people were wiling to reassess it. There was nothing quite like going over broken ground to get the blood pumping, Billy thought. He was immediately greeted by the smell of pine and the crunch of unbroken snow under his feet. He took it from the fact he couldn’t hear water trickling that the river had finally frozen over. He couldn’t see it from the trail, but from his previous morning jogs he knew that it ran parallel to the trail for about half a mile.

Some people asked him, and quite rightly, when exactly a first-year college student had found them time for a morning jog, but it was early in Billy’s athletic career when he learned how to have the “Why am I doing this? It’s way too cold out. It’s way too early. I hate every choice that led me to jogging in the snow.” during the first ten minutes of the jog itself instead of for a twenty minute block beforehand, so that saved a lot of time. It was all a matter of dedication and mind over matter. Also, he had dropped his 8:00 AM ethics lecture within the first month, so that gave him plenty of time. He could drop one course if it gave him enough energy for his other classes, this college had a notoriously high freshman drop-out rate, and Billy refused to be just another fresher who dropped off the face of the earth.

It was nice to have a jog into the thin strip of forest that the college seemed have bought to be a pleasant stripe of green forty feet in the background of the models in their early thirties wearing backpacks that came around about once a year to pose for photos that would make the college look more fun-loving and ethnically diverse on the website. It was one of the few places on campus that was far enough away from the Laundromat basement to not smell heavily of dollar-store Febreze knockoffs. Even on days when he had to substitute his morning job for an afternoon jog, because after all, no amount of Red Bull can hide the fact an all-nighter was all that stood between Billy and a “incomplete” assignment, especially not if you were the teacher’s aide who had to read the damn thing; Billy almost never saw any other students or faculty on his jogs. Unless, of course, you counted the caretaker’s distressingly fat Maine Coon a part of the faculty, but Billy had only encountered one student who was willing to argue Timmers worked for the college, and that person was a third-year law student who had just smoked a bag of marijuana so large Billy honestly wondered if it was now available at Costco.

The fact of the matter was that Billy had never seen another human walking the cross-country trail at eight in the morning, so when a slender figure stepped out from between the trees Billy let out a manly exclamation of surprise that he would insist did not sound remotely like a three-year-old girl stepping on the tail of a cat of the same age. Fortunately, that slim figure was Zoë, and she’d been friends with him long enough that there was no point in trying to fake having dignity in that moment.

“Zoë!” Billy exclaimed, deeper than his previous scream but still high enough that he took a moment to cough and compose himself before he continued, “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Zoë said urgently, which is never a good way to start a conversation. She held out her hands in that position people usually only take if they’re trying to calm down someone who is on the verge of throwing a fit or if they’re pretending to tame a flock of velociraptors.

“You look like hell,” said Billy, which was true. She was still wearing the outfit she had been the night before, but appeared to have taken her morning shower anyway. Water dripped miserably out of her sweatshirt and dribbled down her leggings, her long black hair plastered to her face in a single black, tattered sheet. Her makeup ran down her face in long black streams that made her eyes look large and hollow, and heavy brown stripes that showed thin strips of bluish-pale skin between them.

Despite knowing as little about makeup as he could manage, Billy was aware that Zoë was not exactly a beauty vlogger and her usual approach to makeup involved pulling random tubes of liquid out of her coat pockets and saying things like, “Oh shit. I’ll just blend it out I guess.” or “Or don’t look at me! Don’t look at my eyes, I hate this, I guess I’m just catwoman now!” or “I guess that’s what blotting is for.” Somehow seeing it running off her face made it look more dramatic and distorting to her features, rather than “I’m a woman performing a musical recital and if I do not rub something on my face it will appear from where the audience is sitting that I have rubbed something on my face, but in a way I do not want.” That was definitely not the effect it was creating now; now it looked like something had tried to rub her face off her head.

Billy thought that he could see faint white etching of frost forming on her hands and up her neck, but he was fairly sure that was an optical illusion caused by the thin light through the branches and the part of his sock that melted snow had now soaked through sending a “it’s too cold out here to be alive” message every few seconds.

“Billy.” Zoë said urgently. She stumbled forward, her legs seemingly unwilling to bend properly. Her hand grasped his shoulder, so cold he inhaled sharply with pain. It was like the mere touch of her skin on the fabric of his sweatshirt was actively stabbing him through to the bone with knives so cold his flesh stuck to the blade like lips on cold metal. She looked into his eyes and he shuddered again. There was something wrong with her eyes, they looked concave, like the eyes on fish that has no business being still sold as edible at that age.

With apparent effort, Zoë forced out another four words. Though the phrase was short, each word was spoken with the slow intensity of someone fighting both the urge to scream in someone’s face and the urge to collapse with exhaustion. Billy was far too distressed by the state of his friend to notice that, as thin and breathy as her voice was, she didn’t inhale before speaking.

“Leave the reindeer alone.”

Startled and not yet getting a concept out of what Zoë had just said, Billy pulled away from her instinctively. He tried to parse out a meaning from her statement, but with only half of a mind on the subject, as the rest of his mind was taken up by worrying about what Zoë had done to get in that condition, it seemed meaningless.

“What happened to you?” Billy asked, trying to fight his urge to recoil and losing. Zoë simply shook her head and began to back away. Okay, she was clearly not in a state to discuss it, maybe once she had warmed up and was in a safe place and dry clothes he, or maybe a therapist, could get her to talk about what had happened. Billy didn’t like the idea of that, he was bad at giving emotional support and would much rather hurt whoever hurt his friend. To be honest, he didn’t have any experience fighting someone physically, but he was very big and muscular and thought he had pretty good odds beating up someone if he had to. After all, he was motivated, and more importantly, he was eighteen, and eighteen year olds have an inflated concept of their ability to come out on top in a fight.

Someone had hurt his best friend and he needed her well enough to tell him who it was before he beat the tar out of them. That meant getting her inside immediately. She probably already had hypothermia, based on the fact it was late December and she was dripping wet.

“Let’s get you inside.” said Billy, taking a cautious step towards Zoë. She drew further back, stepping over a fallen branch without taking her eyes off of Billy. He put up his hands as unthreateningly as possible.

“You’re going to be okay.” he insisted, moving closer. Zoë shook her head, she looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, but god what was wrong with her eyes? Every time Billy tried to make eye contact with her, he felt something deep inside himself forcing him to look away before he figured out what he was looking away from.

“Leave the reindeer alone.” Zoë repeated, her voice low and urgent. Billy lifted his hand, and much quicker than he would have expected, she spun around and walked briskly back into the woods. He broke off into a run after her. Cross-country it was. While it seemed that every branch in the forest was trying to high-five his face, Zoë moved forward quickly without appearing to be impeded by the woods at in the least. Branches cracked loudly as he pushed by them, snow crunched beneath his soaking wet sneakers, his breath came in long ragged gasps as he ran. Strangely, it seemed like the only noises in the forest were the ones Billy was making himself.

“Zoë!” Billy cried out, not expecting her to react but desperately wanting a noise to blot out the awful silence around him. She didn’t appear to hear him at all, and she certainly didn’t call back. Zoë made no sound. Not even the woods made a sound, no birds chirping or squirrels chittering threats to animals fifty times their size, no distant sounds of other students waking up in the campus just beyond the trees.

Billy had no idea how she managed to walk that fast, but at least it meant she was doing better than she looked like, he wouldn’t have expected someone who looked as bad as she did to be able to walk at all. He should have caught up to her by now, Billy thought, pressing on with a fresh gust of effort, but she seemed to only get further away the more he ran. He ignored the pain and the wet and the branches lashing out at him, not daring to take his eyes off of Zoë least he lose sight of her. She was getting harder to follow, her wet gray sweatshirt blending into the shadows between the trees. She moved silently behind a tree and failed to emerge from the other side. Billy blinked furiously and forced himself forward a few more yards, as his mind argued between the two ideas that if she stopped behind that tree, he could catch up, and the fact that tree was too young and thin to hide a toaster behind it, much less a teenage girl. He grabbed onto the tree when he reached it, more to stop himself from falling facelong into the snow than anything else.

Bent over double, face red as plastic holly, Billy gave up on catching Zoë and tried to catch his breath instead. He was fast enough on the sports field, but he knew that in a footrace Zoë could overtake him nine times out of ten. The tenth time Billy wasn’t sure if Zoë was just sick of being asked to a rematch and let him win one. She was shorter, but had much longer strides than he did. Billy pressed his eyes closed and cursed himself internally for not thinking of this sooner. No one went off the trail in these woods, she could run as fast as she could, but her footprints would still lead Billy to wherever she stopped.

He opened his eyes but didn’t straighten up. He looked at the snow. Billy wasn’t much of a tracker, but he could tell the difference between four inches of untouched snow and snow someone had just walked through. He was so sure she had been standing just here when he lost sight of her, that this was the tree she had darted behind. He glared at the tree accusingly, as if it were the tree’s fault that he lost track of her. Taking a deep breath, Billy drew up to his full height and looked around. Behind him, there was a distinct path he had been crashing along as he chased her, but aside from that Billy had no indication of where he was. He inhaled deeply, and the cold air was like daggers on his heaving lungs. How could he had been enjoying the weather less than half an hour ago? It was less than half an hour, wasn’t it? How long had he been running through the woods? He might not have been used to running between trees but he was still exhausted. He even didn’t feel this tired at the end of a football match, so how long had he been in the woods? He looked around, trying to remember which way the shadows were falling when he started his run, less to guess at how long he’d been out there and more to see if he’d gotten turned around. He must have done, Billy reasoned, as the woods weren’t that deep. It was just a strip of young trees between the quad and the river, wasn’t it? He should have been able to see at least one of them from any point in the woods.

Finally, Billy’s eyes fell on something other than glittering white snow and twisted branches. In the snow, not far from him, the trees thinned enough that there was what should have been another stretch of unbroken snow. But this snow had fresh tracks left in it. Sadly, he could tell in a moment that these were the tracks of an animal, not Zoë, but they were so odd that for a moment, Zoë flew from his mind. They were large, but delicate and round, cleft in the middle like a deer but with two dots behind them. Part of Billy thought that they looked a little like rabbit ears with little round eyes under them, but he had as little experience with rabbits as with deer.

The strange thing about the prints is that they started in the very center of the clearing and moved out into the deeper woods, like some giant hand had placed the animal delicately in the center of the clearing and let it wander away. Billy put that thought out of his mind, because it was ridiculous, it was creeping him out, and if the animal had held still while the snow started to fall that could have covered its tracks. Probably. Not that it had snowed in the past week, but Billy put this out of his mind and moved closer to the tracks.

These tracks were broad and easy to follow, even with him churning up the snow beside them as he traced their path. He asked himself why he was following these tracks when Zoë was clearly in danger of something, but he found himself reluctant to give up on them and look for signs of someone who hadn’t left any tracks he could follow until this point. There was a movement at the edge of his vision, and Billy began moving towards it before he fully looked up. Maybe these tracks had lead him to Zoë after all. There was something grey moving between the trees, and his heart shot up in his chest with hope, failing to quiet down appropriately when he saw whatever it was it was far too large to be Zoë. And whatever it was, it was moving towards him.

Billy held still for a moment, not daring to move lest whatever it was spook as easily as Zoë did. Maybe it was her, after all, and she was just much closer than he thought she was. No. It was coming out of the trees now, it was looking at him, and it was clearly what left the hoofmarks.

As he had been conscious the past few years, Billy was aware of the movie Frozen and was able to think “Yeah, I guess that looks like the reindeer owned by dude who people keep saying I look like, so I guess that’s what reindeer look like.” despite the fact a small part of him had until this point always pictured reindeer as looking more like Bambi than Sven. Whatever it was, it was wearing a bright red bridle so it was clearly tame. Also, he rationalized, a wild animal wouldn’t be happily trotting up to a human it had never seen before.

“Hey.” said Billy weakly, holding up his hand and immediately feeling stupid for doing so. The reindeer cocked its head and trotted forward a few more steps.

“I, uh, don’t have anything…” Billy said quickly, patting down his pockets. A reindeer with a bridle walking up to a random human was definitely something that had broken out of a petting zoo. That would account for why the red bridle covered in round brass bells.

“I know.”

Billy blinked hard and cocked his head. The reindeer looked down at him. Billy had really not expected reindeers to be this big, but that didn’t account for where the voice came from.

“Who’s there?” asked Billy, looking around.

“I am.” said the reindeer. Billy hadn’t caught its mouth moving but that was definitely where the sound was coming from. He took in the bizarre appearance of the enormous creature. It’s antlers seemed to branch up forever into the trees, its thick creamy-white mane shook gently with every breath. Thick white and brown fur covered powerful muscles and the smell coming off of it was like nothing Billy had ever experienced. Because he was watching it so closely, he could see the dark, furry lips form the words, “You’ve lost your friend.”

It wasn’t a question.

Mind racing, Billy desperately tried to figure out what the appropriate thing to do in this situation was. Either he was losing his mind, in which case what he did next didn’t really matter, or a reindeer was talking to him.

“Do you know where Zoë is?” Billy asked carefully. The animal smiled. It’s mouth wasn’t suited for it, and there was something very odd about the teeth.

“I can take you to her.” the reindeer replied.

This was weird. There was no getting around that. He had just found a talking reindeer in woods that were much, much bigger than they were on the outside, but the important thing was that Zoë was still missing.

“I promise,” the reindeer said slowly, with a warm and husky voice. Billy couldn’t quite understand how the animal’s lips were forming English sentences, but they were definitely moving in time with the speech. Tentatively, Billy reached forward and touched the animal’s head. Warmth immediately flooded into his hand, and the reindeer rubbed against it affectionately. It reminded Billy how cold he was, and suddenly all he wanted was to bury himself in the animal’s fur and start feeling his fingers again.

“I promise to bring you to Zoë.” the reindeer repeated. Billy flexed his cold fingers. If he was this cold, then Zoë, soaking wet and turning blue, needed help now. The last doubt out of his mind, Billy moved to the reindeer’s side and tried to figure out the fastest way to get up it. Steeling himself, he took a firm hold of the red bridle and swung his weight up on the animal’s back with all his might. He got a leg over and pulled himself into a balance, and it seemed to him that the reindeer flexed its muscles to settle him more firmly astride itself. Warmth flooded up into Billy from the thick, shaggy fur.

For a moment, there was nothing but the stillness of the woods and the ragged warm fur beneath Billy’s hands. Neither of them moved. Then, he heard the animal’s voice again.

“Dear god, you are stupid.” said the reindeer.

Before Billy had fully registered what the reindeer had said, the thick, warm fur wriggled around his hands like maggots eating a corpse and tightened onto every part of him it could grab. Like thick cords, the fur wrapped itself around his fingers, his wrists, and up his arms. A sickening thought crushed the air out Billy’s lungs: This was not a reindeer. Billy knew almost nothing about reindeer but this was not a reindeer and it never had been one.

The reindeer arched this neck back and laughed, its mouth opening at entirely the wrong angle and showing entirely the wrong set of teeth. It was as if someone had transplanted a wolf’s mouth into a reindeer’s head, but did it wrong so that the mouth could open up to an obtuse angle. A long, horrible tongue rolled past the fangs and writhed in the air like a dying snake as the creature snarled out a sickening noise that was slightly an agonised screech but mostly a cruel laugh.

Billy became aware of the fact he was screaming and probably had been since the fur moved. The creature’s laughter rang through the icy woods, echoing and shattering icicles off the trees. The animal reared, and Billy hoped for a moment it would throw him off but the fur moved like snakes, rooting him firmly to the spot.

Then it ran.

Ice-encased branches whipped across his face, but could not dislodge him even when he pulled with the force. The forest was still morning-bright, the sunlight cracking through the branches and casting a thousand periwinkle-blue shadows dancing around the snow like dying spiders. The not-a-deer’s hooves passed over the landscape, sending a flurry of snow in its wake.

Before them, the woods appeared to finally thin. They were reaching the edge of the woods, and a last gasp of hope awoke in Billy’s chest. If they got out of the woods, would the not-a-deer let him go? Was that it’s plan all along? Sunlight danced on the ice, and Billy’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what the thing’s destination was. He threw himself as hard to the left as he could, but something… momentum? The twisting fur? The sheer will of the creature? Righted him again. There was nothing Billy could do.

They were heading right for the river.

With a leap, the not-a-deer broke out of the woods, hanging in the air for a moment, the icy surface of the river sparkling beneath them like a delicate spun glass sheet.

“The ice!” Billy screamed. “It won’t hold us!” But even as he wailed these words, Billy knew that was exactly the idea. The crash of hooves meeting ice was enormous, but even that was drowned out by the sickly crack of the ice’s surface giving way. Billy’s last scream was cut off as the water hit him; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, all he felt was the water shredding icy cold through his whole body, it felt like even his heart forgot to beat.

Billy knew he was going to die. He would probably drown before he froze to death, and all that was left to do was decide if he was going to die with his eyes closed or not. It was the only choice he had left in this world. Billy forced his eyes open against the icy water. At what he saw, he almost wished he hadn’t.

Zoë’s body floated unfettered mere yards away from him. Her eyes were closed, her skin was discolored, and her hair floated around her face like smoke. Blood cut red streamers in the water from where something with a large mouth and sharp teeth had removed a chunk of her leg. But still, he could see it was just a taste missing. This was where the thing took it’s meals. This was not a dinner table, this was a larder. This was were the thing brought it’s meat to eat slowly over the long, cold winter.

There was something else in the water, something small and moving towards him. It didn’t swim, it didn’t float, it merely stood upright in the water, pulled ever closer to Billy by some unseen force. It was also Zoë. But it was Zoë as he saw her in the woods before this all started. She was underwater with him, but water dripped off her heavily, tears rolled down her cheeks from her sunken, lifeless eyes. Billy knew no sound could carry through water, so when he heard Zoë speak, he knew she wasn’t using her mouth to do it.

“I told you.” said Zoë’s ghost, her voice trembling. “I told you.”

Billy couldn’t respond, his lungs full of water, but his last thought as the cold and the water and the shock drained what little life was left in him, was this:

I found Zoë after all. I found her.

Above the surface, the ice rocked gently and slowed in its movements. The world was quiet, but after a few moments, one finch let out a tentative twitter. The silence of the wood was broken. The thing had fed once again. A few more animals dared to start moving. What appeared to be a small clump of leaves stood up and stretched its back. Timmers shook snow out of his fluffy mane and trotted delicately to the edge of the river. Humans were so horribly predictable: they see an animal and automatically assume it’s there for their benefit. Timmers had long since stopped trying to warn the students about the pooka himself, no amount of purring around their ankles or hissing and charging from the woods or growling ominously at the river seemed to do any good. Every human who had gone to the river had met the pooka and every human who met the pooka were drowned by it.

Timmers thought that this time, leading a real human with a real voice, even if they were a ghost at the moment, to the next victim would have some effect. The plan had almost worked perfectly: the ghost had spoken to her friend, the human was warned, and he still jumped on the reindeer the first chance he got. Timmers stretched out his body in the feline equivalent of a sigh of resignation and turned back to the caretaker’s cottage, where a tin of good wet food and an army blanket twisted into a turban-like affair waited for him in front of the electric heater, Timmers’ salary for his important work on campus, even if no one bothered to listen to him.

There was just no helping humans.

#Billy and Zoë #stuff Kittywitch wrote #holidays #horror

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miss-choco-chips · 5 years

Text

Miraculous Ladybug Au part 1

For @iphoenixrising who I think might like the idea. Thanks for always giving me confidence hon. I hope this cheers you up a lil bit.

Where Dick is guilty for wanting what he wants, Jason is confused about who he wants, and Tim just wants to sleep.

<<-Hey, Tim, check this out! You missed big time! That’ll show you not to go on vacation without me to keep you in touch with the real, exciting world.

-Uh?

-Someone on Instagram just posted a twenty seconds clip of Robin doing something.

-People are always posting about the bats. How is this news, Steph?

-Shh, I’m getting there. Look at this. This Robin is waaay too short. It’s not the one we’ve had for the last three years.

-... and? There were two different Robins before him, maybe he just outgrew it or something.

-But, where is he? The others came back, with new names and powers, they… they didn’t left us.

-Maybe it’s just taking him some time, to decide who is he going to be now.

-...Yeah, maybe. He saved me and my daughter once, you know. Took one hell of a blow for us. Wherever he is, I hope he’s doing okay, and gets himself on track quickly. The city needs him.

-I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment. And… I hope that, too.>>

Now...

He tumbled through the open window, face planting into his bed, the transformation letting up even before his forehead was properly buried in the pillow. His muscles practically melting against his Nightwing comforter (birthday present from Dick, oh the irony), the scent of smoke still clinging to it from the last time the boys dropped in for a impromptu visit (nearly scaring the bejesus out of him when he heard their voices and footsteps climbing up the stairs to his bedroom while he still was in the suit, holy fuck-!).

He wanted to sleep so badly. But he had maybe (it was around five a.m, right?) two hours until he needed to leave for work, and if he took a nap now, he might not be able to wake up on time.

-Are you alright, Timmy?

Gathering whatever leftover strength he had in him, he turned his head to the side, his almost closed eyes finding the worried ones of his kwami.

-Yeah. Only tired.

-I’d bet -the little bird-like creature huffed, his tiny black and red chest puffing like an offended peacock-. You are running yourself too ragged.

-Well, lots of things to do. Work stuff, Red Robin stuff, Tim Drake stuff... Not to mention, college.

-Speaking of… -trailed off the kwami, his big blue eyes signaling towards the desk, where his Advanced Economic’s paper awaited for attention.

Tim followed Rouge’s line of sight and promptly groaned when he got the hint, dropping his head once again in the mattress.

-Fuuuuuck. When was that due for?

-Tomorrow. And you’re supposed to met up with Jason today, and dinner with Dick after that. If you cancel on any of them again...

-...Well, it’s not like I actually expected to get any sleep today.

-Two all nighters in a row?

-It’s like you read my mind.

----.----.----

Then...

He met Richard at the circus, when he was four, but since the other boy didn’t remember (his parent’s death probably overwrote anything else in his memory of that night), their official meeting happened two months later, when Dick was formally introduced to high society as Bruce Wayne’s ward.

-Mister Wayne -his father shook Bruce's hand, fake smile firmly in place- and this must be young Richard. Hi, champ, I'm Jack Drake, and this is my lovely Janet.

Behind his mother, Tim couldn't repress a giggle. Champ, dad? Really?

-Good evening, gentleman -his mother, the perfect picture of a lady, smiled delicately behind her gloved hand. It didn't reach her glacial blue irises, but it was enough to fool most businessmen in lowering their defenses.

Tim himself had eyes only for the boy clutching the taciturn billionaire's sleeve. He wondered how was he feeling, if he had tried to fly at all since his parents deaths. He hoped so.

Dick had looked so happy while flying.

—I'm Tim —he butted in, when it was obvious his father intended to speak business and leave the introductions behind them— A pleshure.

He winced internally when the last word was mispronounced, and externally when his mother's nails sank into his shoulder in consequence.

-You'll have to forgive him, he's a baby still -laughed his mother, her hand letting him go and reaching for his father’s elbow-. Go explore, Tim. Your dad has people he needs to talk to, all boring stuff. I’m sure it’s the same with Mister Wayne.

Said man seemed to agree, though how Tim knew, he couldn’t tell, as the man’s expression barely changed.

Dick, on the other side, seemed absolutely crestfallen.

And he knows, he knows he's going to get into trouble for this the moment they are home, but the expression in the boy’s face is just… He wants to wipe it clean, like his nanny does for him when he gets tomato sauce on his cheek.

(It's so different from how he looked that night, soaring the skies besides his parents. Had been so… free)

«Was it then, when he started to put Dick's happiness before his own?»

—Mister Wayne -he finally gathered enough courage to talk, going as far as to interrumput his father’s speech about current politics- can Richard come play with me? Please? We’ll behave.

Dick's small, thankful smile was enough to warrant Bruce's permission, and seal Tim's destiny away.

----.----.----

Now...

-Tiiiiiiimmmyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!

He regrets picking up without double checking the caller id. So strongly.

In defense of his sleep deprived brain, it was an unknown number. So either Dick had a new phone, was burrowing someone’s for any reason, or he had caught on on Tim’s attempt at taking distance, decided to try and catch him when he knew he had his defenses low (before eight a.m) and bought a burner to accomplish it.

-It’s six in the morning. You better have a damn good reason to be calling me so… chirpily, at this ungodly hour. You don’t even have to work till nine, why are you awake?

Because Nightwing, along with Red Robin, had been fighting an akumatized nurse not two hours ago. But, since Dick didn’t know Tim knew, his obvious response at such a close corner was to deflect with a practiced, not awkward-totally-but-still-noticeably laugh.

-Come on, honey, where’s my happy Timmers? Who spat in your cereal?

Rouge passed by his bathroom mirror, where Tim was inspecting his reflection in search of his will to live, and like the god-like tiny thing he was, he rubbed comfortingly against his partner’s cheek, as if lending him strength.

Tim sighed and put the phone in speaker, dropping it on the marble countertop. He wasn’t getting out of this conversation anytime soon, so might as well continue with his morning routine.

Tam once compared it to watching a snake changing skins. From the tired, more-than- slightly-murderous teen, to the wow-lookit-a-respectable-young-man.

-First, you ever call me that again, I’ll rearrange your face a la Picasso. Second, no one uses that expression. And lastly, only you eat that crap anyway.

-That’s a lie, I know for a fact you have at least two different brands in your kitchen, even though one is an insult to the cereal industry. Fiber, blegh.

-Because one is for you when you visit, and the other I bought on an impulse of spite to punish you for… I don’t remember now, but I’m sure it was horrible and deserving of drastic measures.

He could hear Dick’s laugh over the line. Once upon a time, the sound would make Tim’s mood lighten, like an echo of the other.

Now it hurt a little.

-You’re spending too much time with Jason and not nearly enough with me. You used to be such a sweet, eager to please angel. What happened?

-I asked your dad to let you play with me, and here I am, fourteen, fifteen years later, looking at my life, looking at my choices -and looking for his damn tie, which he swore he left by the toothbrush yesterday, where the fuck… - Asking myself where I went wrong.

-Yeah, now I remember why I never call you this early.

-About that, was there a reason, or you just wanted to take Jason’s place of honour in my hit-list?

Dick choked on a laugh, and Tim took the chance to quickly brush his teeth. His hair was a lost cause and he had learned to ignore it or risk spending too much time in a battle he wouldn't win. Easier to just ask Tam to brush it for him at the office, because that woman was a magician and Tim would fire the whole board of investor from D.I before letting her go.

-Just checking in. We are still on for movie night, right? Because I might just use my power as a law enforcer and arrest you if you cancel on me again.

With one last look at his reflection (making damn sure his concealer hid both the black and blue spot by his jaw and his ever-growing eye bags), he picked up his phone and started for the kitchen. Rouge, bless his little soul, had plugged in the coffee maker, and the smell called to him like light to a moth.

And there was his tie, by the pot. Score.

-Movie night? -he asked, dubiously, glancing at his kwami. Rouge’s brow furrowed and he shook his head- No, we were going out for dinner. I’m sure.

-It’s Tuesday. Tuesdays were always movie night days. I thought it was implied, Timmy, for God’s sake.

Tuesday were movie night days back when they were five and eleven respectively, even before Jason was adopted, up until Dick started getting busier and calling it quits more often than not. It had been a while since they followed the tradition.

-Uhm, no, sorry. I have a paper due tomorrow, and was going to work on it after dinner with you. Can’t stay the night at your place. Rain check?

-...Yeah. Okay, sure. But you aren’t getting out of dinner.

He could hear Dick’s disappointment over the line. Once upon a time, the sound would ruin Tim’s mood, like an echo of the other.

Now, it still hurt a little.

(More than a little. Fuck)

It’d be easier if he could just cut ties with them all as Tim Drake. If he could get up and leave them, betray their trust, their love.

Like Nightwing had done with Red Robin. Or, to be fair, Robin.

----.----.----

Then…

Tim had known of the Akumas since… forever, really. They had been haunting Gotham long before he was born, hurting people, destroying things, breaking everything in their reach apart.

And then, when he was but a baby, the Batman appeared. Mrs Mac, the housekeeper, told him about it once. How, when the city was going through it’s darkest times, a knight of shadows and justice had risen, taking upon himself the responsibility of protecting the city.

Protecting everyone, really.

He, as any gothamite born and raised, had watched in wonder at whatever recordings the News Channels could provide, talked theories with his friends, stayed up at night wondering who the magic hero might be…

Until said magic hero recruited a sidekick, and Tim stayed up at night for totally new reasons.

(He’d recognize those moves, those tricks, but above all else, that laugh, anywhere)

He wanted so badly to knock at Wayne Manor’s doors, hunt down Bruce and fucking scream at him. Akumas were dangerous, whoever sent them was dangerous, fucking Gotham was dangerous, and Dick was his friend. His thirteen year old friend, who had been a hero for years before the lucky camera man had caught him on frame, revealing the mysterious partner to the world. And while Tim was a kid himself, barely seven, he was smarter than tons of adults he knows. Smarter than Bruce, at least, since he, unlike the other, understood the dangers of the night. Of Gotham herself.

He got as far as the inner gym, where Dick was practicing by the trapezius, flying from end of the room to the other, spinning, twisting mid air, laughing when the roof got too close to his face in one of the highest jumps. And then (maybe because he caught sight of Tim watching by the door, maybe he wanted to show off just a little, maybe he wanted to tell him something and this was the only way to properly express it...), a quadruple somersault, the one he performed for Tim that first night -even if he doesn’t remember that-, the one Robin was caught on camera doing, the one that gave him away.

And Tim, caught in his amazement of the boy, unable to take away this if it was what gave him his wings back, could only clap and yell ‘again!’.

----.----.----

Now...

-You look like death warmed over -greeted Tam when he passed by her desk in his way to his office. Like the well trained boy he was, he detoured, dropping in the empty chair by her side she always had ready for him. Within a second, his assistant took a hairbrush from her purse and started to work her magic in his head.

-Didn’t sleep and had to deal with a morning person before seven. You’d look just as bad, thank you very much.

-Dick called?

He huffed. Rouge, in the inner pocket of his jacket, pressed closer to him for the movement. He stilled immediately, knowing the kwami needed all the sleep he could get.

-That obvious?

-You don’t associate with a lot of morning people.

-There’s something inherently wrong with them, if they are happy that early.

-One of your best friends is like that -Tam tutted, working on a specially difficult knot. Tim didn’t dare complain, even when the tug to his scalp made him wince.

-Bart is a special case, he lives in a perpetual state of high. I still believe he takes cocaine and redbull with his breakfast.

She hummed, hairbrush now discarded in favour of her fingers. They passed through his hair without resistance, his bedhead (could it be called that, when he hadn’t actually slept?) all but gone, the movements soothing. There weren’t a lot of things capable to relax him, these days.

-Well, you have an eleven o’clock appointment with a possible investor, but between that and the board meeting at three, you are a free man. I can make sure no one bothers you while you cat nap.

-I’d love to, but Jason will come and drag me out of here kicking and screaming if I miss lunch with him. Or worse, he might find me asleep and princess carry me all the way to the restaurant in plain view of as many cameras as he can as punishment.

Tam shook her head in amusement and fondness, releasing his hair and straightening on her chair, her ‘back to business’ pose- I’ll never understand your relationship with those boys, I swear.

A sigh, roll of shoulders and he was ready to face the day too.

-Neither will I.

-But you’ll miss them, if they leave.

A flash of something passes through his eyes.

----.----.----

Then...

-I miss you. Don’t you miss me?

Dick, sixteen in body but about five in soul pouted at the screen of his computer, trying to convey the ‘mean, little brother!’ expression as perfectly as possible.

Tim snorted through his nose, getting comfortable on the bed; the notebook on his lap, back to the headboard of the too-big matres, pillows everywhere.

-I can use your bed whenever you go away, so I’ll go with a tentative ‘maybe’. ‘sides, you’ve been gone for two months, Dick. The exchange program goes for seven to eight. Give me another one or so, and I’ll be crying for you to come back.

-That’s an ugly lie, but I appreciate the effort -a change of stance, then the voice turned utterly blank- How are things over there?

Tim bites his lip, wondering, but what would he gain hiding it? If Dick already knew, he would expect Tim, as a young kid, to mention it. If he didn’t, he would find out soon enough and wonder why he didn’t tell him.

-You know how for the last few months Robin just… stopped appearing?

-...yeah?

-Well, he came back a few days ago, and either he shrunk, or it’s someone else.

Dick’s expression doesn’t change, so Tim knows he made the right call telling him; he was already aware.

-Oh? Another kid, putting his life in danger? I wonder what those child activists think about it.

-Keep asking for Batman’s head on a platter, like usual. I think it helps that this one isn’t as small as the previous one was when he first appeared, but, you know. Still setting on fire Batman merchandise in the streets.

-The original Robin wasn’t small. You are small.

-Reaaally mature, Dick. Since when are you in Robin’s protection squad?

-Always been my favorite hero.

Self centered, much?

-Hm… And what about the new one?

-...Let’s wait and see if he can fill the shoes.

-Lucky for him, they’re just kid shoes, no clown ones.

A small, real smile steals his way into Dick’s face, and Tim wants to throw a happy fist to the air.

He lives for that smile.

-You are a dork. Anything else new?

Again, uncertainty, but this one was easier to explain if detected. After all, Dick was aware of how uncomfortable was Tim in his new position as the mediator.

-Jason’s adapting. His grades went up and…

-Oh, look at that. Sorry, Timmers, I gotta go. My roommate is texting me that he wants to hang out.

-Oh… okay. Are we… are we face timing for movie night later? right?

-Yeah, yeah, sure -he waved a hand, as if discarding Tim, and he just knew Dick was going to forget about it… again-. Go have fun. Your parents are still traveling, right? Give Bruce a few white hairs while you’re at the Manor for me. I think he might get bored, without me there to spice things and kickstart his nervous system once an hour. The life of a businessman is soooooo dull.

(Except when said business man is practically a magical girl. God, once Stpeh had made that comparison, Tim just couldn’t unsee it)

He tries to laugh, but it’s empty. He won’t push the issue, and Dick won’t talk about it willingly, but they are both aware of the elephant in the room.

-Wouldn't dream of taking your place as the ever-evolving ulcer in his stomach. Take care. Bye.

He closed the computer lid and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The situation made him uneasy. It was hard, being Dick’s loyal, loving little brother, Bruce’s unproblematic charge (since his parents decided that letting Tim stay with Wayne during their trips was cheaper than the nanny and housekeeper), and Jason’s-

-Hey, Baby Bird, you done talking to the jackass?

He nearly jumped out of his skin, neck almost breaking with how quickly he turned to face the door.

-Jason! -the automatic smile, brought to fore by the mere sight of his friend in workout clothes (he must have been training) melt into a frown when the words sank in- Don’t be a jerk.

-He’s a dick, pun unintended.

-Cut him some slack, it’s the ‘no more single child’ symptom. He’s just jealous to have to share Bruce’s attention.

-Ain’t he a little too old for that?

-I don’t think ‘old’ is a word you could ever use to describe Dick. Ever. I mean, he’ll be retired and have like twenty grandchildren, and still give off the ‘young, single and ready to mingle’ vibe.

The laugh is so sudden, so surprising, Jason chokes on his own spit.

-You’re a riot. Why do I like you, again?

-Because if not for me, you’ll be alone in this big, scary house, with only Alfred and Bruce for company.

-Alf’s cool.

-Yeah, but he’ll put you to do chores if he thought you’re bored enough to get up to some mischief.

-Sometimes you talk like an 90’s British book.

-Shut up, Harry Potter is my Bible. Besides, not like you can talk about british literature.

Another laugh, and the last of Jason’s tension faded away like a charm. Tim left the computer on the bedside table and stretched, getting up.

-Come on, let’s go find some way to make your Dad rethink his life choices.

-Fuck French, you speak the language of love.

----.----.----

Now...

It was on his way to that new Barbeque on Cameron Street, northwest from Diamond district, when the ground beneath his feet shifted and he and another fifteen passers-by were caught in what seemed like an asphalt cage.

In the middle of the street. With no corner to hide and transform.

Great.

There wasn’t any villian in sight, so the akumatized person probably had just wanted some back up hostages. Most likely, they weren’t the only ones trapped.

And that in the corner was a street cam. Fuck.

He needs to get out and help catch the bad guy of the day, but can’t exactly break asphalt with his bare hands, and transforming in front of fifteen eyewitnesses and a camera isn’t exactly an option.

So, he takes out his phone.

-What’ll you do? -comes the whisper from within his jacket, and he looks down just enough to look at his kwami without drawing attention at himself.

-Well, at this rate I’m going to be late for lunch. It’d be rude of me if I don’t tell Jay about it -he types quickly while he talks, making sure the annoyed (and it always stuns Conner, his friend from metropolis, how Gothamites consider freaks and monsters running around a minor inconvenience; how used to crazy they are) people around him aren’t paying his actions enough attention-. There. Sent.

-Hope he’s not mad at you.

-He can't be, I didn't postpone anything. Just told him I'll be held up here until Red Hood gets his ass on gear and does his job.

-Should you text Dick as well?

-Nah, that'd be too much of an overkill.

-...

-...How long until he comes guns blazing to the rescue?

-Two, three minutes tops.

It was the basis of his and Jason's relationship, the knowledge that, if in peril, they could always count on the other to come running to either save them or hold their hands while everything went to shit.

----.----.----

Elsewhere…

-Hm… the little shit is taking his time. Think I should go get him?

The kwami popped her head out of the bike helmet Jason had left in the extra chair he requested for the table. She seemed deeply unimpressed.

-okay, okay, I'll give him five more minutes. Then, it's fair game.

A sudden ping called his attention to the cell phone carelessly left above the tablecloth. It was the most obnoxious sound he could think of, and was as such his ringtone for the young man he was actually waiting for. It was a sound he couldn't ignore, or sleep over it.

BabyBird:

^Hey Jay, might be a little late for lunch

-That little…

Another ping.

BabyBird:

^Got held up on my way there, some akuma caged me and other fifteen people. Don’t know how long until one of the masks comes to the rescue

^Lol, some woman doesn't give a DUCK and just keeps fighting with someone over the phone about someone named Jerry

Ping.

BabyBird:

^update; Apparently Jerry is her son and she's fighting her ex.

Another ping, quickly following the former.

BabyBird:

^...I'm going to kill either you or Dick. Who programmed my phone to replace all swear words? You motherHUGGERS.

He was out of the door before the last text actually sank in and, by the time he ducked behind a corner, was already laughing.

-Tireur, arm me up!

----.----.----

Then…

He didn’t care who he pushed or tripped on his way to Jason’s room. He wasn’t hearing their screams and complaints. The sound he heard when turning left on the next corner might have been a paparazzi’s camera, or an IV stand he knocked down in his haste, but, again, it wasn’t important at the moment.

The only thing in his head right now, was the echo of that psychotic laughter, of Batman’s screams, of his own gasp when the news coverage showed footage of Robin, bloodied and hurt, trying to get away from a building about to blow up… and failing.

The full blown panic attack that followed made him hyperventilate so bad he actually lost consciousness, only to wake up to the sound of his phone going off and Alfred’s voice on the line telling him how Master Jason, along some other victims, had been caught in the same explosion the Joker, the clown that got akumatized every other week, caused. The same that took Robin out.

He refrained from yelling at Alfred to not lie to him, he already knows who Robin is and who he was before. He knows everything, so don't lie to him, not about something as serious as this…! But only because it was Alfred, and no one yelled at him.

Instead, he asked for updates, still on his phone while running to Wayne Manor, where the butler was ready to give him a lift to the hospital.

Jason was just asleep, they told him, like he was too young and naive to hear the truth. His body needed time to get better, so his head had taken a little vacay.

He was just asleep, the doctors said. All the while Tim kept running numbers in his head, statistics on how likely it was for comatose patients to wake up.

But Jason wasn’t another statistic. He was his friend, his brother, his hero.

Robin. His Robin. The one he watched from the very beginning, the one he discretely helped easing into the hero life by being always there, to unwind after a fight or hang out when the dangers of the life he lead hounded up on him.

The sobs he tried so hard to reign in were now freely bursting out of his dry lips.

When Tim cried, it usually was a quiet thing, tears rolling down marble cheeks, not a sound escaping his mouth. A cry for help from a child who knew no one would come running at the sound of his pain. A resigned thing.

There, at Jason’s bedside, clasping the boy’s hand on his own, what came out of his chest through his mouth was a full out, loud, broken wail.

The next couple of days were kind of a blur to him. He was aware that, at some point, Mister Wayne had tried to coax him away from the room and to his home. He knows, too, that had his parents been there to witness his hysterical tantrum, he would have been grounded until it was time for him to leave for college. Every few hours, Alfred would came and feed him small bits of food. Sometimes he threw up, sometimes he didn't. It was like tossing a coin on that one.

He thinks it’s a week later, but it could very well be a month, when he weaseled his way into Jay’s bed, careful of the IVs attached to his arms, and spoke out loud for probably the first time since the explosion.

-You don’t have to keep hiding. I know about you. About how… you gave Dick, and then Jay, their powers. I… I know I’m not the only one grieving, so if you want, we could… keep each other company.

A few moments passed by. It was okay. Tim wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, a small green and yellow head poked out of Jason’s pillowcase, big blue eyes staring at Tim in wonder and wariness.

-...how?

-Dick’s not nearly as inconspicuous as he believes he is. I already knew he was Robin, but couldn’t figure out how exactly did he get his powers… Until one day, he thought I was asleep, and transformed in the bathroom attached to the room I was in. Doofus didn’t even completely close the door.

The little thing laughed, like a bell. Tim borrowed deeper into Jay’s side.

-My name is Merle, Robin’s kwami.

-I’m Tim. Robin’s friend.

----.----.----

Now…

Red Hood arrived at the scene in record time. He was almost impressed.

Once there, the masked hero drew his guns, loading each of them with a brown and gold magazine. As far as Tim understood, Hood’s powers derived from his firearms, and he had different kind of bullets for specific situations.

He shot at strategic points in the asphalt cage, crumbling it to the ground. Coincidently, none of those points were near the corner were Tim was crouched. Typical.

-Is everyone alright? -asked the hero, once the dust had settled and they were free.

A few nods, some ‘thanks for the save’ then and there, the occasional ‘any clue where the Akuma is? I’d like to avoid it today’, and then the people scattered. A woman strode past Red Hood, phone at hand, yelling something about child support.

Tim took his time getting up, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt at controlling the strands again.

-Hey -the masked man approached him, concern palpable in his tone- you alright, Tim?

It said something about his life as Tim Drake, that he was on first name basis with Gotham’s heroes.

-Yep, just hungry. I was on my way to have lunch with my friend, so I’ll be leaving now.

He saw the anxiety flash through Hood’s expression at the mention, remembering that Tim was expecting to see his alter ego at the restaurant, but he still had an Akuma to catch.

-Ah, wait! You mean, that Jason dude, right?

-Yeah?

Tim wondered if it made him a sadist, the satisfaction he got from making Jason, Dick or Damian squirm like this, putting them on the fence with his ‘innocent’ worry about their alter egos.

-I saw him on m’way here, actually. Said somethin’ came up, and he’s gonna take a raincheck on lunch.

He let the tiniest bit of disbelief slip into his facade, before seemingly deciding to trust the masked man.

-Oh, what a shame. I’ll be very busy the next couple of weeks, it’s going to be a while before we can meet up again.

-That.. that sucks. But, ah, ‘m sure he’ll get it. I gotta go now, kid. See ya around.

He watched Hood’s retreating back as he shot a line at the nearest rooftop. Perfect, since now he’d have the time to transform and catch up with him to help with the Akuma as Red Robin. If Tim Drake got the chance at skipping bonding time with Jason? Even better.

He wasn’t mad at Jason, the way he was at Dick’s alter ego, Nightwing. Jay never hurt him, never casted either him nor Red Robin out (exception made for the very first encounters they had as heroes, back when he still used the Robin miraculous).

But, since his alter ego had slept with Jason’s, he figured he had every reason to feel a little shy.

----.----.----

Then…

-You never tried to get to know him -he said, and it wasn’t a reproach, just a fact. Nevertheless, Dick still cringed in place, bending in on himself like a kid sent to time out.

-I… I know.

-He is just a kid Bruce saw something in. Like you, a kid who needed someone to see his brightest parts, and take him in to give him a chance at a better future.

-I know.

-He’s… he’s a very good person. Really smart, loyal and caring.

-I… know. You told me.

-You are/ Dick, you are one of the best people I know, if not THE best. Why would you treat an innocent kid like the gum stuck in your shoe?

Dick squirms in his place by the door, not daring to get closer to the bed where both Tim and Jason laid, but obviously wanting. Not that it mattered. Jason wouldn’t want him so close by, specially at his most vulnerable, and Tim was nothing if not the ferocious dragon protecting the sleeping Prince’s will, his surname all too fitting.

-Just… It’s just stupid, okay? And it doesn’t matter now. All that matters, is that he gets better. And if… when, he wakes up, I’ll explain it to him.

Dick wouldn’t be able to see him, because of the angle, but Tim catched the yearning and sad look Merle, hiding between Jason’s covers, sent his oldest partner. The little fairy (kwami, Tim reminded himself), his companion this last weeks in guarding Jason’s room, seemed as troubled as Tim had been when he was expected to mediate between the two adopted brothers.

-But not me.

There was something a little dark, a little sad and a little empty in Dick’s eyes. For the first time ever, he didn’t feel the compulsion to fill that void with happiness.

-I don’t think I can stomach telling you, BabyBird.

----.----.----

Now…

He intercepts Red Hood two blocks away from Newtown, still in Crime Alley territory but close enough to the other neighborhood. Since D.I was by Moench Row, just between the Fashion and Diamond districts, it took some time to catch up on the hero.

The fight is well in its final course when he arrives. The Bat is here, which means Red Hood is content on just sharpshooting from a close by rooftop. N and R are missing, but Tim already knew they would be: it’s not Dick’s patrol time, and R must be at school.

As the independent vigilantes, neither Red Robin nor Red Hood follow Batman’s patrol routes nor schedules. For the later, it means he can choose to stay close to the Bowery, Crime Alle and Chinatown, where he feels he’s more useful. For himself, it means he doesn’t have someone putting a hand to his shoulder and mandating down time after a few consecutive hard patrols.

When he was Robin, he wasn’t allowed to fight during school hours, nor after three a.m. If there was some kind of emergency that required all hands on dock, it meant almost a week of taking things slow, because even if B didn’t know his nightlife protege was also his daylife charge, he would never leave a kid under his protection unsupervised enough to hurt themselves. Now, he can choose whenever the fuck he wants to help, and when he feels like leaving the others to deal with it (watching from afar how Dick and Jason dealt with a akuma with the powers of body switching people, and how the heroes had to improvise working with bodies and powers that didn’t suit them, had been too funny to actually put any effort to stop).

Shaking his head to clear it from the memories, he landed softly by Hood’s side, careful to not startle the hero laying on his stomach by the edge of the roof, with a long-distance rifle ready to go on his hands.

-Ya came all t’way here for nothin, Pretty Bird. The old man has it all in hand.

Letting himself fall at the edge, legs dangling and resting his weight on his arms behind him, he allows his gaze to travel through the skyline of buildings. It was a nice view, for those used to the air pollution and angry drivers yelling a few stories bellow.

-Had lunch cancelled, thought I might as well.

Hood grunts, shifting his stance to a less alert one. B clearly didn’t need their help.

-I had fucking plans, man. If B wasn’t in the fucking way, I’d put a bullet through the bastard, see if he lets himself get akumatized again.

Tim crooked his head to the side, analyzing the crazy of the hour.

-It’s a new one, though. I don’t recognize him. Probably his first time getting transformed?

-It’s already one too many. Our lives are just as shitty as anyone’s in the city, and you don’t see us fucking shit up.

-To be fair, we get our chances at therapeutic skull smashing when we keep those guys in check.

A few feet under them, Batman’s batarang was already boomeranging past the former akumatized transit police woman, slicing through the black and green butterfly and setting free the white and pink one trapped inside it.

And he hadn’t needed to move a single muscle. Sighing in defeat (he sooo could have used this time to power nap before his next meeting at work), he climbed to his feet.

-Seems like you were right, we shouldn’t have bothered to come. See ya, Hoo/

-Hey -interrupted the other, suddenly standing, rifle out of sight and way too deep into Tim’s personal bubble-, since we r' both here… no energy lost… n' we didn’t use our miraculous, so no chance of us de-transformin' suddenly…

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Hood, please don’t say it.

-One of my safe spot’s near. Want ta come for a cup of tea?

Don’t play along. Don’t play along. Goddammit, Tim, Don’t play along.

He takes that last step separating them, hands carefully delineating the outline of Hood’s suit of armor.

-You know I don’t drink your dirty leaf-water.

The other hero’s hands were big enough, they could almost completely envelope his waist, something never failed to arouse him.

-Good. Then we can go straight to the cake.

All the way to Hood’s (Jason’s) secret apartment, Tim berated himself, again and again, about how bad of an idea this was. How fucked up (in both senses, oh my god) was he going to be by the end of it. How uncomfortable was it going to be for him to actually talk to the man when the masks came out and Jay was looking at his best friend, not knowing he had had his tongue on his mouth, his neck, deep inside his ass. Not knowing why Tim was suddenly avoiding him.

Why he felt so goddamned guilty.

But, once they arrived to the place, and his back was to the wall not two seconds later, Hood’s strong body pressed tight against his, hands grabbing anything they could, mouth hot and dirty and doting…

He could only throw his head back and moan.

----.----.----

Then...

The city was in absolute chaos. From his place by Jason’s windowsill, Tim winced at the fiery remnants of the last explosion (by the library? It could have also been the post office), the hospital one of the few places untouched by the madness that was Gotham right now.

In his hands, his smartphone kept him up to speed about what was taking place on the streets. Apparently, the patients at Arkham Asylum had been akumatized again, only at the same fucking time. The Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy and Two Faces so far. Apparently, the first two had already been apprehended and de transformed, and the third was calm and unobtrusive at Robinson Park, but since they had kept the Bat focused on them until now, that meant the last of the lot had enough time to completely cover the city in bombs.

Which exploded two at a time, every two hours and twenty two minutes. There was a serious OCD there.

Perched on Tim’s propped up knee, Merle’s sky blue eyes danced from one burning spot to the other, shining like little red and yellow dots on the map that was Gotham from such a height.

-The library -quietly commented the kwami.

-And the Museum -Tim added, fingers tapping the location on the screen of the phone, on the downloaded blueprints of the city.

-Before that, it was the park.

-And the Aquarium.

-And the first two where the Zoo…

-...and planetarium.

-Why those places?

Minutes were ticking by. Bombs kept going off, unpredictable locations being blown up with everyone inside with them. Batman and Nightwing, Gotham’s newest hero, were running themselves ragged, trying to contain the damage and stop the villain. Batgirl worked with the authorities to keep buildings standing, her Eye of Insight (which, Tim was now aware, was her Miraculous) determining the most flimsy spots in the structures, the ones they needed to reinforce before the entire thing crumbled down.

And Tim was here, at the hospital, hearing the nurses and doctors doing their best to save everyone from being a casualty of the akuma’s violence, useless to both his family and the innocents from Gotham that were most likely going to die today.

(Everything because Bruce couldn’t think straight)

-Kids, Merle -he answered, his phone going, once again, to the billionaire's voicemail-. Those are all places where kids like to go, or have to. If he keeps the timeline, the next attack would be at two twenty two a.m, and it’s going to be…

-Gotham’s kindergarten? -the little creature tried to guess. It wasn’t too far off, since, judging by how many witnesses on twitter swore to have spotted the bat at Gotham’s primary school, B thought the same.

But it was wrong.

(Everything because, since Jason died, Bruce stopped thinking about the akumatized people as… people. People with minds of their own. With feelings)

-The orphanage.

(Horrible and twisted feelings, but feelings after all)

-We have to stop him!

-How? B isn’t picking up. Neither is Alf. Dick’s phone is at my house where he left it yesterday. I have no other way to contact them. And Bruce is so deep in his rage because of Jason’s accident, he’s so desperate to hurt something, he’s being impulsive. Reckless. He’s not going to think about orphans until it’s too late.

-We can’t just stay here! -Merle cried out, desperate at the sight of his city in flames, of one of his boys out there risking his life, and the other fighting for it in the bed behind their backs.

-Well, what would you have me do? -Tim finally snapped, standing from the windowsill and turning to face the kwami- I can’t just take a bus to Gotham’s school and yell at B to move his ass!

-Yes you can! You have to!

-I’ll never make it in time! There’s no vehicle that could dodge the shitstorm that must be the streets now, and unless you have some way for me to travel via rooftops, I would never make it there! I can’t help anyone! I’m not Robin!

When no reply came, Tim’s eyes, that had strayed to the window again, looked for the kwami.

Merle floated right in front of him, face determined, eyes pleading. He held a too familiar necklace, that almost every boy and girl wore as an ode to their hero. A green ‘R’, encircled in red, on a golden chain.

Robin’s necklace.

-But you could be. If you take this and fly with me, you could be. Gotham needs a hero. Batman needs a Robin. Your family needs you.

On the little screen, the reporters said something about Nightwing being hurt by a burning beam falling on him.

He made the decision before he could even think about it.

-Merle, help me fly.

Robin soared the skies again.

#my writing #i can't believe i did this #i'm so tired #i did this instead of sleeping #Tim Drake #dick grayson #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #Barbara gordon #Miraculous Ladybug au #Batman is a magical girl #No edit we die like women #no beta #JayTim #future TimDick #future JayTimDick #secret identity

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poison-basil · 6 years

Text

Detective Richard Grayson - Chapter 5

Tension in Tim’s back tightens like a bow string and Dick prepares himself for him to try and deflect the conversation, move it onto something else, try to distract him. The scars move and shift across the tightening muscles, new ones catching his eye as Tim turns.

His gaze is dark and heavy, but completely different from earlier, no longer is there the hint of lust, now it’s just a stare of someone with a heavy burden on their shoulders. Someone who has long given up on people and lets the weight of the world bury them.

Dick’s seen this look a couple times, at the precinct there are officers with the same damning look. Who no longer see the goodness in the world and only Gotham’s gritty underbelly. From working impossible cases with harrowing circumstances.

A sigh is dragged between the younger man's lips. He flops over onto his back and looks up at Dick, his face entirely blank, but his eyes moving rapidly and Dick can only wonder what's going on inside his mind right now.

Dick still has a hollow feeling in his chest from the stuff he’s now figured out about Tim.

That he died.

Dick slowly places a hand on Tim’s arm and squeezes, taking a moment just to feel that he’s real.

He can’t fathom how it happened, apparently something magical according to Red Robin. Something powerful. It was something that he would have to ask, but right now, he needed Tim to come out and say it to him, let him in a little, so Dick could be there for him.

“Dick… It’s not that I don’t want to tell you… I just don’t know how…” Tim says, his voice quite.

Dick’s grip tightens and he hopes that it comes across reassuring and not like a threat. “I don’t want you to lie to me Tim. I won’t force you to tell me anything but please don't treat me like an idiot. I think I deserve more than that.”

Silence stretches between them for a moment, neither of them saying anything and just looking each other. Tim’s lashes fluttering as he blinks, eyes flickering in thought.

“Tell me what you know,” Tim says, breaking the quiet. He leans up on his elbows. “And I’ll fill in the blanks where I can.”

Dick releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. This is going to be harder than Dick thought. He doesn’t know how much Tim is willing to tell him and though he said he’d fill in the blanks, that doesn’t mean he won’t leave things out.

But at least he is willing to talk, thats the main thing right now.

“You’re the Red Hood.” This is no time for subtlety. Tim has always been good at talking around discussions.

Tim’s face doesn’t change at the mention of his identity. Not a twitch. Dick has to give it to him that that's pretty impressive.

He nods slow, “Yes.” He doesn’t add anything else and Dick takes it that this is how it’s going to play out for now. Dick laying down what he knows and Tim comfiming.

“You got that graze on your arm from when you protected me, in that shoot out outside the coffee shop.” He begins, his gaze lingering on the wound for a moment before drifting back to Tim’s face.

Tim brings a hand up to the graze and nods.

“You were the Robin that hung around with me while I patrolled at night.” Dick says and cannot help but wonder at the young man beside him, with pale pink scars littering his delicate white skin. Showing that there is so much more that Dick doesn’t know.

He carries on before Tim does anything, “You know Batman because you were Robin.” It hurts and Dick feels like he’s looking at a stranger. Who is this man? Was the Tim he knew really? Or just another facade.

Tim and Robin were completely different,if Dick hadn’t of found out from Red Robin just who the Red hood was before, Dick never would of pegged that Tim and Robin were two in the same.

Tim was quiet and careful about everything that he did. Always sticking to the sidelines, never making a fuss. Robin was loud, brash, life of the night, always cracking jokes and telling terrible one liners. Two very different people.

And here was the Tim. The Red fucking Hood. Another face that Dick didn’t recognise but at the same time was closer to the Tim that he knew.

Tim’s mouth tightened at the corner. “That’s right.”

Dick can feel the frustration burning in his gut, he wants more than yes’s and no’s. But for now he will take what he can get.

“You own the theater that Bruce Wayne’s parents last visited. You were Bruce Wayne’s ward. You were the second Robin. Meaning there was a first, someone that came before you.” Dick mulls it over in his head for a second and it’s like smacking into a wall. It made so much more sense now. All of it. “Red Robin was the original Robin, partner to Batman. Jason fucking Todd was the original Robin right?” Dick can hear the hysteric tone in his own voice. “Batman is The Bruce Wayne, right?” Dick asks.

And this time he waits Tim out, he needs more than a nod. He needs to hear the words come from his mouth.

“Yes Dick,” Tim begins, he shifts to sit up against the headboard. “You’ve got it, Jason was the first Robin and Bruce is Batman. You have to swear Dick, that you won’t tell anyone else.” He’s bringing his knees up to his chest and Dick sees the tension tightening Tim’s muscles as he speaks.

“You know I wouldn’t do that Timmy.”

“I know,” He sighs. “It’s just been so long and the thought of trusting an-- an-- an outsider--” He cuts off for a moment taking a deep breath and Dick feels his chest constrict at the words, but he lets Tim have his moment. He doesn’t want to interrupt, not while Tim is willing to talk, no matter how much it hurts.

“I trust you with my life Dick, my secrets. But there are some secrets that aren’t just mine to share. You have to understand that. You figured out who I am and by association who Jason and Bruce are and that’s dangerous, for us and for you! I haven’t told anyone outside of the hero circle knows who I am, other than you that is. It's been ingrained into me from the start that no one is allowed to know. Bruce for all his teaching and preaching about keeping quiet about who we are, has let slip who he is, even to rather questionable people. But I wouldn’t be able to handle it. If something were to happen to you? Because I was selfish and wanted you to know? That-- that would ruin me.” Tim whispers the last bit is staring down at his hands, his gaze blank and eyes wide.

Dick reaches over and grips one of Tim’s hands when he sees Tim’s bottom lip tremble slightly.

Tim looks up at him and Dick can see the beginning of tears in his eyes. He can’t resist pulling the smaller man into his arms. Holding him close and tight against him, he can feel shudders running though his small frame as he suppresses his tears. Dick runs a hand through his too long hair and brushes light kisses to the top of Tim’s head.

“It’s ok Timmers, I’m here, I’m here.” He coo’s lightly and whispers soothing words into the young CEO’s hair, waiting for him to collect himself. He never thought that Tim would’ve thought about him to that extent. All the weight he has been carrying around because of the Bat and his rules.

Dick mentally makes himself a note that the next time he sees Batman to give him a piece of his mind for letting Tim go on like this and not helping. He’s supposed to be the world’s greatest detective right? How could he not see that Tim is suffering?

Tim wiggles in his arms and Dick loosens his hold slightly so that he can lean up on his elbows, when his face comes into view his eyes are red and slightly puffy and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

“You ok?” Dick asks, keeping his voice soft.

Tim nods and rolls over, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to word vomit all over you like that.” He says looking over his shoulder.

“No worries, in fact, I kinda like it.” Dick announces, he gets out of the bed and makes his way around to where Tim is sitting and smiles down at him, it grows wider at the look of confusion clouding Tim’s face. “That you can confide in me like that, that you don’t worry about what you’re about to say. Not the crying. But I’ll never say no to cuddles Timbo.”

Tim is laughing and Dick goes to pull on his clothes that are scattered all over, throwing Tim his stuff. “You’re aren’t an outside Dick.” Tim suddenly says as he pulls a top over his head. “And now that I’m back and you’ve figured out about the Red Hood, you better believe I’ll be around more.”

As soon as Dick pulls his pants up he rushes Tim and hugs him. “Thank God.” He breathes. “I had this horrible feeling that you were going to disappear on me again. I was going to use the Bat Signal on top on the GCPD to get the Bat to tell me where you were. You’re gonna tell him right?” Dick says, pulling away slightly to look Tim in the eye. “You’re going to let him know I know? I don’t want to have to hide from the Batman. I don’t think I’d do a very good job.”

Tim’s got a sly grin on his face. His eyes almost twinkelling in amusement. Dick feels his junk start to stir a little at that smile and the hidden promises behind it. “Don’t worry, I’ll let the big man know. He won’t be happy but he’ll just have to deal.”

“He isn’t just going ambush me right? I’ve heard stories man.” He jokes. But Tim’s just silent and Dick feels dread fill his stomach. “Timmy?”

“He might.” Tim say’s with a look of sympathy.

Dick groans, damn he hadn’t thought about having to deal with Batman. From what he’d heard from those unfortunate enough to meet him it was terrifying, whether you were a criminal or someone he was trying to help.

Dick looks at the time, “Do you have work today?”

“Shoot!” Tim shouts, stratelling Dick. “I have to be in early today! I have a RnD project to look over. Fuck.” He curses, he runs over to his closet and starts rummaging around.

Dick feels sadness seep into his bones. All hope that he could some extra time with Tim vanishing as he watches him rush around getting ready.

Dick has the day off, so he’ll be at home, alone.

Trying to shrug off the heavy feeling Dick collets the rest of his gear that he left lying around. “You want coffee before you go?.”He asks and Tim gives him a quick yes before disappearing into the bathroom.

He hears the shower turn on as he pops on the coffee maker.

Taking a moment while it does its thing Dick takes a wonder about the room. Looking at the books, dvd’s and albums Tim’s put on display. The record they were dancing to is still out so Dick pick’s it up and puts it back into the sleeve before setting it down on the side.

He would try putting it away but from what he can see there is no rhyme or reason as to how anything is put away, but he isn’t going to risk messing up Tim’s system.

He remembers once, back when they were younger and Tim would invite him to Drake manor once in a while, when his parents were abroad. He was looking through Tim’s dvd collection in the rec room and as he was putting them away. Tim had ran over to him and snatched the dvd’s right from his hands and informed him that he was doing it “all wrong”. Dick didn’t know that putting them in alphabetical order was such a crime, but from then on Dick wasn’t aloud to sort or put anything anywhere without Tim watching him carefully.

Dick’s still laughing at the image of Tim in all his tiny fury when the coffee maker beeps. He pours to cups and sits at the table and waits for Tim.

He’s halfway through his when he hears the shower shut off and couple of minutes later Tim comes out of the bedroom with wet hair and wearing a fitted suit that makes Dick just want to mess him up. He grips his cup a little tighter than necessary to keep from reaching out and untucking Tim’s shirt.

“Here.” He says, lifting the other cup upto Tim who takes it gratefully.

He’s inhaling it like someone’ll take it from him at any moment. “Thank you.” Tim sighs, shoulders sagging in pleasure.

Dick finishes his drink and puts his cup in the sink. “Are you going to be leaving soon?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’m going to finish this and head off, you want a lift home?” Tim asks.

Dick smiles and wraps a hand around Tim’s back. “That--” He breaks off momentarily to kiss those beautiful lips. “Would be fantastic.”

Tim grins up at him and quickly finishes his coffee. “Let's get going then handsome.” Tim grabs his keys and heads for the door.

Dick can’t keep the grin off his face for the rest of the day.

Thank you for reading! Had some trouble writing this chapter, hope its ok! Also if anyone knows how to get the read me link to work else where other than just the dashboard please let me know! I’ve tried a couple of things but I cannot seem to get it to work! Thank you!

#Detective!Dick #redhood!tim #My writing #myfic #DickTim #Tim Drake #dick grayson #fanfiction

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preciousthingsareprecious · 6 years

Text

Finding Us 12/?

Hey guys I’m a bit late with this chapter, but better late than never right? I hope you all enjoy it.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | AO3 Link

Tim didn’t want to admit it, but progress was finally being made on the Alkali case, progress that felt like it was being done by everyone but him. Which was good. But it wasn’t his progress, and that nagged him a bit. His fingers stilled over the keyboard in the cave and he sighed. Eyes glancing at the time, 3 A.M. and too late for this kind of thinking.

He should be happy. Jason had managed to squeeze his way into the Alkali’s ranks and was pretty sure he’d be able to dig up evidence sooner rather than later. Which was what Tim wanted. He just wished he’d been more help. Somewhere. Somehow. Helping on this was supposed to settle his place with everyone. Fill him into the slots quickly being taken over by everyone else.

If he couldn’t do this, then did Batman really need him? Did Bruce?

He shoved himself away from the computer and stood. It was dumb to think that way. Of course he was needed, and wanted. He’d just been up too late. Or early. Or whatever. What he needed was a nap. Or something to eat. Not in that order.

He made his way upstairs and paused at the quiet resting over the building sure it was quiet since most of the occupants were asleep (or still patrolling in Bruce’s case) but it wasn’t just the too late hours of the night it was quiet lately. With Jason gone undercover and Dick settled into the penthouse it was quieter than he’d been used to. Quieter than the chaos he’d so recently been bemoaning.

Cass kept to herself, and Damian- Damian did too. The most he heard from his little brother was Titus’s claws clicking against the floors or Alfred’s meows. Sometimes he heard Damian’s voice talking back to them, describing a walk or admonishing Alfred for not being where he should. Tim had let the strange apology at the mall settle at the back of his mind as something he’d get to later. After the Alkali’s. After he figured out the source of the strange letters he kept getting. After a million other things.

He found the kitchen empty and rifled through the fridge for sandwich materials. Bless Alfred for always having sliced ham and cheese stocked. He pulled them out thought about lettuce or tomato and decided he didn’t have the energy. On bread he layered ham, cheese, ham, and cheese again, grinned at it and stuck the last slice of bread on top. He took a huge bite, bread sticking to the roof of his mouth as he tried to chew and grinned.

He left the rest of the sandwich on the counter while he put everything else away and poured a glass of water. When he turned back around, he saw Jason standing there, sandwich poised for a bite. He was still dressed in his Red Hood uniform, sans helmet.

Tim swore, heart racing, and pointed at Jason, “Put down my food. Now.”

Jason lowered the sandwich and Tim snatched it from him, “Come on, man. Did you not see that I was already eating it?” he said, clutching it protectively.

“Sorry.” Jason shrugged, “It’s been a long night and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well make yourself one.” Tim said, and sighed, “It’s like no one in this family knows boundaries.”

Jason grinned at him, “Aww come on, Timmers, we do. You’re just not taking into account the fact that your wonderful big brother has spent the last eight or so hours being bored out of his mind on guard duty.”

Tim sat down at the island and eyed him, “And did you find out anything while being oh-so-bored?” he asked before taking another bite of his food, still irritated by the almost theft. Honestly, Jason had to have been sleep deprived on top of hungry to not notice the gaping hole in the sandwich. Or he just didn’t care. Tim wasn’t sure which was worse.

His brother hummed, pulling out supplies to match Tim’s, plus the lettuce and tomato. He lined them up on the counter, counted out four slices of bread and spun the package closed.

“The first half was nothing but talk about the last Knights game. You get to really understand a man when you hear his Knights opinions for half the night.” Jason pulled a knife from the block, and settled the tomato on a cutting board before slicing it, “This guy? He’s got terrible opinions. He thinks they should have kept old George Brant from last year.” Jason shook his head and pulled a few leaves off the head of lettuce.

“What’s wrong with that?” Tim asked.

Jason turned gave him a look that said ‘you know what’s wrong with it’ before he handed Tim two slices of the tomato and the leaves, “Here, your food was looking pretty monotone.”

“It had cheese.” Tim said, taking them.

“Pepperjack? No, your sandwich was 100% monotone.” Jason told him, turning back around.

Tim remade the rest of his sandwich while Jason built his. He had to admit the additions made it better. He probably should have taken the time to add them himself, but his brain was already playing with the idea of sleep, right here on this counter instead of his bed. It had been twenty four hours since he’d slept? Maybe? He’d been running a search of ex-Wayne Enterprises employees on a hunch about his stalker. There were a million reasons to stalk a Wayne kid, but fewer to be so threatening. Tim had let the computer do its check, then he’d wanted to go through the files one by one, it had been a long day- or night, or whatever.

“Anyway, not only does he think they should have kept Brant, but he also thinks they should have signed Felton .” Jason turned to glance at him again, “You want mustard or mayo?”

Tim shook his head and frowned, “That’s fascinating and all but, what other than bad sports opinions did you hear?”

Jason waved his question away, restocking the fridge. “I’ll get to that, gimme a sec.”

He pulled a bottle of sparkling water out of the fridge and carried it, plus his two sandwiches to sit across from Tim. One sandwich was dropped on Tim’s plate, landing half on and half off the one Tim was almost finished with.

Jason took a bite of his own seconds before Tim asked, “What’s this for?”

“It’s a ‘pology.” Jason said around his mouthful, then swallowed, “For almost eating your first one. Plus I have a feeling you skipped a meal or two before this.”

Tim motioned towards his sandwich, “I got food.”

“And you needed more.” Jason told him, before taking a swig of his water.

Tim scrunched his nose, “Ugh, I can’t believe you drink that stuff.”

“And I can’t believe you don’t Mr. Fancypants.” Jason pointed the bottle at him, “It’s got the perfect amount of fizz.”

“Whatever. What about the case?” Tim asked, digging the last bits of his previous sandwich from under the new one.

Asked for or not, Tim was totally going to eat the second sandwich. There was little better in the world than someone fixing your food for you. He briefly thought of splitting it in half and handing Jason a piece, but his stomach was greedy for food. Jason had been right, he’d skipped a meal or three. He had the last bite of his first in his mouth while picking up the second.

“It looks like they’re going to be bringing in a shipment tomorrow night. And,” Jason paused to tear off a piece of his sandwich and toss it in his mouth. Tim was tempted to step on his foot in retaliation, “Frank’s going to be overseeing it.”

“Frank Alkali?” Tim asked, “Jason that’s, this is big. Why didn’t you start with this?” He pushed his stool back to stand, “I’ve gotta tell B.”

Jason held out a hand, “Sit back down, Timmy. I told Bruce before I came in for food. We’re gonna plan something for tomorrow, but after food and sleep. Alfred’s orders.”

Tim fell back onto the stool, “Okay. Good. That’s, this is good. Frank doesn’t have a lot of hold in the company, but he’s a part of it, a weak link. If we can get some dirt on him--”

“The whole house will start to fall.” Jason nodded, “I’m not on duty tomorrow night, too new for it, so I can help with a reconnaissance mission. And cover your back if anything happens.”

“I��m going?” Tim asked.

Jason grinned, “Of course, who else knows these guys in and out?”

Tim was excited. This was a good break. They could gather more information, learn what was going to be happening when, and maybe where the majority of the drugs were going to be stored once the shipment was moved. His exhaustion was giving way to his brain cranking out a hundred different ways to track them and listen in, but Jason had said they weren’t going to move forward until tomorrow. Which was fine, he could always get started a little early.

“Nuh uh.” Jason said, pointing at him, “None of that planning to stay up later stuff.”

Tim blinked at him, “How’d you know?”

“I can see your gears turning with all the new fun info.” Jason said, “You’re going to finish your food and I’m walking you to your room. Alfred wanted everyone to get a solid eight hours, and you’re no exception. If you want to help tomorrow you need rest.” he sighed, “Man I sound like Dick or Alfred. Just, I dunno get some sleep, please? I don’t want you passing out at a crucial moment, and Cass says you didn’t go to bed last night.”

“The traitor.” Tim said, “She promised she wouldn’t tell in exchange for ice cream.”

Jason grinned, “You’ve got to do better than that with Cass, we both know that.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep, but only because Alfred said so.”

“That’s the only reason anyone needs.”

He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but the moment Tim’s head hit his pillow he was out. He’d set an alarm for 9. Someone, most likely Alfred, had turned it off and let him sleep in. He woke blinking to what was practically midday sun and the realization that he’d been out longer than he’d wished.

A text from Bruce told him they’d go over plans after he returned from a meeting. Tim was instructed to relax and rest up. Apparently his appointments for the day had been cancelled already. Stupid alarm and sleeping and everything else. He groaned and rolled over to stare up at his ceiling.

He could try to sleep more. Only, that felt like a waste of time. Sneaking down to the cave to pour over files would only get him caught and hauled back upstairs. He could work out. Or do some work on his computer. Nothing really sounded interesting, nothing except real work.

He didn’t have long to worry about how he’d spend his day. Cass found him wandering towards the kitchen and coffee, and glued herself to his side for the few hours between waking and Bruce getting back. She dragged him outside to play with Titus, then back inside to paint her nails and watch a Chopped marathon. Tim found himself thoroughly distracted by taking turns judging the competitors for deciding to make another bread pudding and betting against Cass on who’d be chopped and when.

He lost almost every guess and had to let Cass paint his nails. She put a different color on each one, red, blue, green, purple, and yellow, then added glitter on top and did the same to his other hand.

“Perfect.” she told him, finishing, “Do not move or you will ruin them.”

“I wouldn’t dare mess up your masterpiece.” Tim told her.

“If you do, I’ll paint your face.” She said, waving a brush, still dotted with glitter at him.

He laughed, “You’ve been spending too much time with Steph.”

Cass wiggled her eyebrows at him and smiled before sitting back against the couch to keep enjoying their marathon.

Tim didn’t get antsy again until Bruce had arrived back and he had to wait through his dad settling in, then dinner. Finally they met down in the cave. Everyone was there. Cassandra, Stephanie, Dick, Damian, and Jason. And there was Bruce seated at the computer.

“Jason’s picked up a lead on a shipment that’s coming in tonight.” Bruce opened, “Beyond he and Tim running a stakeout, I want to night to be as normal as possible. We don’t want to let on that we known anything.”

“What about you?” Tim asked, “Are you not going to be there?”

Bruce shook his head, “No. Oracle’s heard buzz about Scarface running a job tonight, something big with explosions. I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Damian asked.

“I need you, Dick, Cassandra, and Stephanie covering your usual patrols. I should be able to handle this on my own.” he looked at each of them, “It’s going to be a busy night, so I want everyone on their toes. You get a call for help, go, you hear nothing stay on track.”

Damian frowned, but didn’t argue further. With that Bruce got to laying out a more detailed plan for the night, with Jason chiming in on where he and Tim would be and what they’d be doing. It looked like they’d be together, keeping an eye on and recording everything that went down. They were to plant trackers on the shipment and, if they had the chance, follow it to its destination. And with that, all that was really left to do was get ready.

#finding us #chapter 12 #Tim drake #Jason todd #Cassandra cain #batfam #fanfiction #precious posts

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drabblemeister · 6 years

Text

All Revved Up & Nowhere To Go

AO3 Link: All Revved Up & Nowhere To Go Pairing: JayTim Summary: Tim dips out of prom early; he definitely doesn’t expect Jason Todd to pick him up. Comments: My Secret Santa for @assclass-more-like-assholeclass. First time participating in the @jaytimsecretsanta exchange~ Hope you like it!

Tim watched the dance floor with tired eyes, the world around him glowing and kaleidoscopic. Brilliant stretches of colored cloth draped across the banquet hall, pearl-colored streamers tangled in their folds – and the lighting, dim and sheathed by decor, made the space look like a sprawling neon storm. “ Oh my god,” Cassie said, emerging from the fray, her coiled up-do loose with curls. Her cheeks were flushed and her dress wafted like starlight – a swathe of dark blue powdered in tiny beads of glitter that caught every bit of flickering light. “Why aren’t you dancing? ”

Tim, sitting in relative darkness at one of the abandoned tables, opened his mouth to comment – but lost his words to the sight of a hand curling around Cassie’s waist from behind.

“Have you seen Tim dance?” Conner Kent laughed, slipping next to Cassie, pulling her closer by the hip. The red in his cheeks climbed to her ears and she bit her lower lip, looking like a girl swept up and into a fairytale, all magic and stardust, paired with a real-life knight in shining armor.

“Ha ha,” Tim replied, with no real bite. It gave him the opportunity to take in Conner’s appearance for the umpteenth time; slicked back hair, sleek rented suit, a boutonniere that could pass for a small, fledgling midnight sky – and dark, warm eyes and impossible dimples and squared shoulders that made Tim shift uncomfortably in his chair.

Conner said, “This dance was expensive – come on, dance with us,” and he held out a hand, looking brilliant and kind and smiling like as he always smiled, ever since they’d first met in first grade.

Tim saw it though, the way that Cassie’s grin wavered, just for a moment; he’d been friends with her for nearly as long and knew what this night meant, and thought, blandly, that this was what it felt like to be a third wheel.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Tim prompted, rising from his chair with casual grace. He was good at acting when he wanted to be, and so he donned an easy smile and shooed them off. “Have fun. I’ll find you later?”

Conner’s brows did that thing , the one where he was trying to read between the lines; it meant he suspected Tim might be lying but couldn’t quite get to the heart of it – but Cassie, unaware, let out a startled gasp as a slow song bled into the room.

“I love this one! Oh my god , we have to dance–” and Tim watched her long, slender fingers curl around the cuff of Conner’s sleeve as she took a few steps backwards, beckoning him back to the lazy, romantic sway.

Conner gave Tim a questioning look as he was tugged backwards, and Tim, being Tim, offered a wry two-fingered salute. And then Tim turned, not really wanting Conner’s lingering attention, equally burnt out of watching anymore awkward, budding adults practice the twelve-inch rule.

Sighing, he set off.

Around the hall, music reverberated. It was a gust of notes competing with the soft breath of air conditioning, interlaced with the tinkling sound of silverware against china as some prom-goers finished their desserts. Laughter spilled from unexpected places, and small clusters of girls stood off the the side, grinning as they stood, barefoot, heels dangling from their hands.

They were pretty. Everyone was. It felt likes a spell had been cast over the bargain bin populace of Gotham High, a Cinderella-like magic that gave the gift of spilling gowns and golden crowns, pearled cufflinks and lavish silk ties.

And Tim, stepping into the bathroom and pausing in front of the mirror, wondered how one could look the part and still somehow not fit in.

Dark hair, combed back.

Bright eyes, too blue against the paleness of his skin.

A suit, all sharp edges, all business – just like his dad. How could anyone put on a suit and have it feel like anything but?

Throwing on the tap, Tim doused his hands in water and ran them back through his hair, loosening the gel that held it so rigidly in place. It came apart like rebellion, and he thought, if his reflection were in a magazine, it would be fashion . Here – amidst a dance set on formality, he simply looked undone.

When the door opened behind him, ushering in a handsy couple, Tim made up his mind. Prom – it just wasn’t for him.

There was no enchantment to boredom, no real magic in celebrating high school to begin with.

Slipping out was easier than it should have been; dipping past teachers as he tugged his tie loose felt less like stealth and more like escape. The ground buzzed with bass-line as Tim weaved between elegant, draping pinafores and glitzy tulle dresses, bumping shoulders with grinning athletes holding cups that reeked of contraband liquor.

One of Conner’s teammates caught Tim’s eyes and tried to say hi , but Tim was already halfway out the door, pulling his phone from his pocket.

I’m sorry, but can you come pick me up?

Tim typed the text as he walked, his eyes scanning the hotel’s lot. It was packed to the brim with cars, and Tim lamented the fact his dad was one of those dads – one who was making him work to save to buy his own.

His phone vibrated and Dick replied: Already?

The sound of Tim’s shoes scuffing pavement almost seemed to echo. A couple of times, the front doors to the hotel opened behind him and he was caught in a sudden, sweeping draft of outpouring music. Against his neck, the notes seemed to chase him, as if trying to lure him back.

Yeah, he typed another text to Dick. For measure, he added, I’m bored.

While it was true, it wasn’t the entire truth. That had more to do with a crush long withered that somehow still had roots and, every once in a while, chose to remind Tim at incredibly inconvenient times.

Why was Conner Kent so impossible to get over?

The question haunted him, even though the answer was simple.

Because no one else knew him like that. No one else knew his favorite movies by heart, could recite quotes back and forth with practiced ease. No one else really got him, or knew what he’d gone through years back, when his mom had passed and his dad had lost it and Tim had spent nearly every other night climbing out of his window and clambering into Conner’s car, where they drove off and into the night, telling tall tales of where their lives would take them.

Tim had always thought they’d be side-by-side...

...but sports and tech scholarships didn’t really go together and that meant none of their college applications matched up.

With a sigh, Tim glanced down at his phone, where Dick had sent the message: I’m sending Jason .

Tim froze.

“Jason?” he asked aloud. No one was close enough to hear, and there definitely wasn’t anyone nearby to diffuse the definitive confusion in Tim’s tone.

Jason.

Dick’s younger, somewhat-recently adopted brother, all leather jackets and quick wit – the type of guy you didn’t just talk to, because one sharp glare meant murder. Even though Tim wasn’t feeling prom, this alternative left him feeling a bit like: I’m too young to die .

He’d never been alone with Jason, much less shared more than a muffled hello , when Jason had dropped by the diner to complain to Dick about something, only to catch Tim in the storeroom instead. And, from unintentional eavesdropping, Tim had only learned a whopping three things: one, that Jason was less than two years older than him; two, that Jason had been to juvie, and three: that he apparently liked literature which, when looking at him, made absolutely no sense.

Not that Tim wasn’t an advocate for not judging books by their covers, but Jason’s cover was pretty Mad Max , and Pride and Prejudice just didn’t seem to fit the bill.

He was an enigma, really.

But Tim supposed that he was as well.

It took a few rounds of pacing before Tim got a text, and for a split second, he thought it might be Dick. Instead, it was Conner, asking where he was – which, for a moment, stoked that pitiful little undying fire until Tim made the conscious choice to snuff it.

Tried to find you, he lied, before adding: Headed home. Have fun. It earned a slew of replies; Conner asking again where he was, then asking why, then asking if he was okay.

And Tim – he didn’t answer right away because he was annoyed. He typed out and deleted just go dance three times before rolling his eyes, but the delay was a mistake; Conner came looking for him, and Tim was an idiot, standing on the hotel’s sidewalk in plain sight.

“Hey,” Conner said, and Tim noticed that Cassie wasn’t with him, which, really, didn’t mean much of anything. Conner had a knowing look when he said, “You’re bored, aren’t you?”

Tim took that and ran with it because it wasn’t entirely untrue. “I’m dying,” Tim said. “But seriously, go have fun.”

The expression that crossed Conners’ face was unfamiliar – not guilt, but close. He said, “It’s not...it’s not because of me and–” and was forced to stop, his words overlapped by someone else’s voice.

“Oi, Timmers. We got a date, or what?”

Tim frowned just before tossing a look over his shoulder, completely caught off guard by the fact that Jason was pulled over less than ten feet away, hazard lights flashing in a no-parking zone, eyes glued to Tim as he leaned across the middle consul and into the passenger seat.

“Who is that?” Conner asked, bewildered.

And Tim, having lost all sense of self-preservation for the sake of what felt like an opportunity, replied, “My date.”

Conner’s brows crinkled in concern.

“Tell Cass I said bye,” Tim smiled. Before he’d realized it, he’d turned and when his fingers met with the cold metal of the car’s handle he glanced back, offering Conner a small, departing wave.

Tim didn’t wait for a rebuttal before he pulled back the door and slid inside, the seat cool through the fabric of his pants. As he drew the seatbelt across his chest, he lifted his gaze, catching Jason’s eyes on his boutonniere, on the suit – on Tim’s general state of formal disarray.

“Can I help you?” Tim asked, because Jason seemed like the type you had to hold your own to and not give an inch.

The question earned a quirked eyebrow, and under the glow of the interior lights, Tim learned fact number four: Jason’s eyes were green. They were also intense, and even though Jason was barely older, his jawline was sharp, giving him an expert glare that Tim suspected could compete with his own.

Flicking off the car’s emergency lights, Jason leaned between them to grip the shift and tapped the gas beneath his foot. The engine hummed happily, anxious for him to release the clutch.

“All revved up with no place to go,” he sang, voice low and teasing.

Tim couldn’t help but feel like it was a pass at his attire, but his response came before he could really digest. “Meatloaf?” he asked. “Really?”

It was satisfying to see Jason look even the smallest bit surprised. “ I was nothing but an all-American boy– ”

“Could you not?” Tim interrupted, flattening invisible creases in his lapel. Then, to no one in particular and born from complete bewilderment, he asked, “Meatloaf?”

“Classic rock,” Jason emphasized, and he finally let off the clutch, giving his car the opportunity to peel out of the lot.

When the seatbelt didn’t constrict, Tim found himself clutching the edges of his seat. He could feel Jason’s eyes on him, but when he peered over, Jason was quick to look away.

Tim said, “Prom,” like that explained everything.

“I can see that,” Jason replied.

“What else do you see?” Tim asked, because sarcasm without sarcasm was tragedy.

Jason caught him completely off guard, however, when he said, “That the boutonniere I bought for you looks good.”

Tim parted his lips, completely prepared for some smart-mouthed reply, only to close them, bewildered. “You...what? Dick bought me this.”

Saying it was embarrassing; it was enough that he hadn’t had a date , but his dad had forgotten the damn boutonniere (because he had a knack for forgetting anything important ) and so Dick (his boss), acting as the older brother Tim didn’t have, had surprised him with a brilliant little burst of red orchid.

“Correction. I bought it,” Jason stated, “because Dick would have bought a fucking carnation.”

As Jason cut off a car with little to no remorse, Tim asked, “Is that bad?”

“In France, they give them out at funerals,” Jason remarked.

Tim was unimpressed. “I mean,” he said, “that kind of felt like a funeral.”

Jason snorted, then threw his head back as he grit out, “Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper –”

“Stop–”

“– baby, take my hand, don’t fear the reaper, ” Jason continued, his grin carrying into the lyrics as he lifted his fingers from the stick-shift and motioned to Tim, come hither – and Tim felt a heart-pounding rush of panic as he reached for Jason’s hand and forced it back down, fingers unintentionally interlacing in the process.

“ Baby, I’m your man,” Jason practically hummed, and Tim could feel heat rise on his skin at the unexpected lyric. When Jason’s eyes darted over at Tim’s sudden quiet, he laughed, loud and honest.

In revolt, Tim jerked his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest, irritated. For the umpteenth time, he thought, I just want to go home.

But Jason, before his humor really even faded, asked, “So really, though. Why’d you cut out early?”

“Of the dance?” Tim asked, his head lulling Jason’s direction. He wasn’t really sure why Jason would be interested in the first place.

As they entered a darker stretch of highway, shadows played across the dashboard, folding across the seats with each rare, passing light. Headlights beaded the distance, and Jason’s looked like foggy breath over old, cracked speedway.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Jason said.

“Did you go to prom?”

“You can’t just ask people if they’ve gone to prom, Tim,” Jason countered. His fingers were loose against the wheel when he chuckled and said, “I missed it.”

“Missed it?” Tim questioned. Then the pieces fell together. “Oh, yeah. Because you were in…” but the words trailed off. It felt like being caught knowing a secret, and he shook his head and returned his attention to the road. “You didn’t miss anything, to be honest.”

Jason smirked. “You afraid to say it?”

Tim wasn’t sure what he was. It hadn’t really occurred to him, until now at least, that he’d been picked up by someone who’d been incarcerated – and it wasn’t as if he had a clue what Jason had done.

“You were arrested,” Tim stated.

Jason sighed, and it sounded almost wistful. “Yeah. And it turns out there’re no winter formals in juvie.”

“What did you do?” Tim asked, eyes wandering the blackened spills of shadow between street lamps.

The question caught Jason as funny. “What do you think I did?”

At that, Tim did look at him, humorless. “How would I know?”

“You know a lot more than you let on,” Jason pointed out, and Tim wasn’t really sure what to make of that. He was frowning when he said, “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

His tone came across clipped, and so Jason noticed – and Jason was still smirking when he glanced Tim’s direction again. It gave Tim the impression that Jason didn’t really care if Tim knew or not, but that he liked to tease.

“A truth for a truth,” Jason said. “I’ll tell you my dirty past, and you tell me the haunting story of Prom Night.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but Jason was already talking.

“My dad, he was a pretty cool guy,” Jason said. “Super smart. Stole the shit out of cars – taught me. I picked the wrong one though – belonged to the Bruce Wayne – got caught.”

Tim absorbed that – saw Jason in a new light. The way he sank into the seat of his car, the way his fingers fell loose over the gear shift, the way he seemed at home in the driver’s seat. Tim could only imagine him joyriding.

“Did you race?” Tim asked.

Jason’s eyes looked like fire. “When I knew I wouldn’t get caught.”

Tim hummed in thought. It seemed fitting, somehow. Even sitting, Jason seemed to emanate energy; he was all moving lines and forward momentum.

“So,” Jason pressed. “Let me guess. You couldn’t stay because they kept playing Despacito on repeat.”

That earned wry look. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a Belieber.”

“Oh no,” Jason’s gaze drifted skyward. “He didn’t mean it.”

Tim looked up, following Jason’s gaze. “Who are you talking to?”

“Jim Morrison. He’s up there, and he heard you say that.”

“Take the highway,” Tim said, a quickened verse with only a hint of melody, “to the end of the night ...” and when Jason looked at him, Tim said, very pointedly, “Des-pa-cito.”

Whatever Jason had expected, it wasn’t that, and so he ended up laughing, hard . He tossed furtive glances Tim’s direction, shaking his head all the while – and, as they passed a heady strobe of a low-sitting street lamp, Tim happened upon fact number five: Jason had freckles that fell like constellations over his skin.

Tim said, “My best friend and I are going to go to different colleges.”

And it took a moment for Jason’s laughter to dim a bit, for him to think on what Tim had just said.

“You decided this on the dance floor?” is how he replied.

Tim huffed, scraping fingers back and through his hair. Warm air blasted from the car’s heaters, and so he slowly began to work off his jacket around the restriction of the seatbelt.

“I don’t really believe in long distance things,” Tim decided to say. “There are other factors as well, but...I guess, it’s hard for me to enjoy these moments because it seems stupid. They just feel like the end. ”

The thought sat a bit heavy, and Tim felt like an idiot as soon as he said it.

“ The end ,” Jason pronounced dramatically, which made Tim scowl. “If you tell me that my boutonniere didn’t get one dance because you were too busy pining over philosophy–” he glanced over, pinning Tim with a searching look. And then, when Tim looked defeated, Jason said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

Tim shrugged. “It was boring!”

“Where’s your inner Whitney? Didn’t you just wanna dance with someone?”

Tim sank low in his seat, arms folding across his chest, a bit petulant. “No one wanted to dance with me.”

That had a marginal effect – in fact, Tim’s seatbelt failed to restrain him as Jason nearly screeched to a halt, pulling over onto the side of the road. The world smelled like burnt rubber and gasoline, and Jason jammed the car into park.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, as Jason fiddled with the dial on his radio. A thousand songs battled for dominance as he surfed, until he paused on a slow, sultry song that sounded like something from a diner jukebox.

When Jason lifted his attention to Tim, he was serious. “May I have this dance?”

Tim said, “ What?”

But Jason licked his lips and Tim couldn’t help but notice, and then Jason was shifting – unlatching his own seatbelt in order to get out of the car, making his way to Tim’s side. He rapped on Tim’s window, to which Tim slowly, anxiously rolled down the window.

“No.” Tim said, before Jason could even ask again, but Jason dipped low and rested his elbows on the ledge of the window, close enough now that Tim felt the uncomfortable sensation of butterflies in his stomach.

“Dance with me,” Jason said, and Tim thought it was odd, how much he felt like he could just go along with it. After all, it didn't seem like Jason would let him not. So he was moving before he realized it, opening the door with reluctance – quickly tugged out by Jason who, Tim realized, was nearly a head taller.

“This is ridiculous,” Tim said, stumbling over gravel on the road’s edge. It didn’t keep Jason from dragging him to the front of the car, where dirt tangled with the headlights and ghosted long, pouring light. A car drove by, making Tim feel self-conscious, but Jason’s fingers laced with his and drew him close in a way that made Tim think that he hadn’t had much practice on the dance floor either.

The music came, soft and slow. It didn’t fall heavy like in the hotel; it drifted and sauntered, folding out and into the night.

“Fun, right?” Jason asked, and Tim peered up at him dryly. It wasn’t not fun, it was...silly. Different. Jason’s hands were warm, and when one of them dropped to Tim’s waist, he felt the heat through the thin fabric of his button-up. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he’d left his jacket in the car.

“Next time we’ll have to wear matching colors,” Tim said.

“You could just wear leather.”

“There are dress codes, Jason,” Tim mentioned. “Save Indiana Jones for Comic Con.”

Jason stepped forward, bringing them closer, until Tim felt like he might be able to breathe Jason in.

“Are you asking me on a date, Timothy?”

It was simple banter, but it did something. Tim felt his heart pick up and he cursed his existence – his quick wit struggled to surface, until he finally asked, “And who would I be? I can’t pull off Sean Connery.”

“Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds and the sky…” Jason quoted, managing a perfect impersonation.

This time, Tim laughed. “Okay. You can be Sean Connery. I’ll be Indiana.”

Jason said, conspiratorially, “We named the dog Indiana.”

Shaking his head, Tim pulled away as a song the song changed, feeling remnant warmth and a bit lightheaded. He was tired, and Jason was hard to keep up with.

“So,” Jason prompted, stretching his arms high enough that his shirt lifted above the waistband of his denims. “How was Roadside Prom?”

From the car, a commercial blared, and Tim laughed again as he rolled his eyes. Then, very seriously, he said, “Kind of disappointing. Prom usually comes with dinner.”

It occurred to him, only after he’d said it, that it definitely sounded like a proposition, but before he had time to properly panic, Jason sighed.

“Well, I do know this diner…”

Tim narrowed his eyes just before deciding to tap his chin in thought, caught up in Jason's pace.

“My adoptive older brother owns it. It’s like, a pretty big deal…”

“Hmm,” Tim hummed.

Jason added, “And actually, there’s this part-timer that works there and to be honest, I always try to drop by when I might see him, but he doesn’t seem to have, you know, a regular schedule. Probably because of school. Preparing for the end and all of that.”

“ What?” Tim asked.

Fact number 6: Jason apparently had a thing for Timothy Drake.

“Do you want a burger or not?” Jason asked, headed back to the car.

Tim wondered if he could pass the flush off as cold, or if Jason would see right through him. He also recounted all the times he’d seen Jason, all the unnecessary refills, the way Jason’s gaze had seemed cutting, when it was entirely something else.

“A milkshake,” Tim said slowly, turning, feeling on fire - spontaneous. As he tugged open his car door, his eyes danced up to Jason, whose gaze sauntered back.

“A milkshake,” he agreed.

Tim felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, not entirely surprised to see a text from Conner letting him know that he and Cassie were leaving and that he hoped Tim was okay - and also, who was that guy?

Tim wasn’t too sure how to reply, but he thought about what Jason had said - about things ending, and happened to look over to Jason, who was fiddling with radio stations, trying to find his way back to something recognizable.

Change wasn’t bad.

Actually, it kind of felt like a new beginning.

#jaytim #jaytimss #assclass-more-like-assholeclass #high school au #tim drake #jason todd

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wonderlandleighleigh · 7 years

Text

Early October, Gotham City

Early October. Sunday morning.

It happens a few times a year, mostly in the summer and fall. He’ll send Clark out to patrol in his place and go to bed early so he can wake up in the morning, ready to go.

“You’ve taken in a baseball team,” Barry once commented, years ago. “I don’t know why you don’t take advantage of that.”

So he started to.

He doesn’t bother showering. He pulls on a pair of faded blue jeans and a t-shirt, and the black hoodie Damian had given him as a birthday gift that year.

“This is for days off, Father,” his son had ordered. “Do not take this undercover.”

Sometimes Bruce listens to his children.

Sometimes.

Amongst the dozens of pairs of shoes in his closet, amidst the soft leather and suede, are a pair of old cleats. He grabs them and pulls them on,

“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred says as he steps into the room. “Up already, I see.”

Bruce grins. “It’s baseball day.”

Alfred chuckles. “Quite, sir. I have the car loaded up, and Damian and Duke are ready to leave.”

When he gets downstairs, he finds the boys standing by the door, wolfing down breakfast sandwiches and thermoses full of coffee or tea, and Alfred hands him one of his own.

“Ready?”

“I will crush them all this year,” Damian answers.

“You don’t even know whose team you’ll be on yet,” Duke points out as they head out the door to the car.

“Irelivent.”

Bruce chuckles softly as they pile into the car and head to a small, quiet neighborhood in the city.

It’s starting to warm up a little, and when they reach the baseball field, it’s to find half of their players hanging out on the rusted bleachers, chatting and drinking coffee.

Bruce helps Alfred and the boys grab the equipment from the trunk and when he gets to the group, Dick smiles.

“Beautiful day for a baseball game.”

“You say that every year,” Jason complains, but Bruce knows he’s not actually too annoyed.

If he were annoyed, he wouldn’t actually be here.

Kate smirks, adjusting the red ballcap she’s wearing so it’s backwards. “You ready to get your ass kicked, Bruce?” she asks.

“No, actually,” Bruce replies, grinning. “But I hope you are.”

The kids around them all hoot and “oooo” and nudge each other.

“We’re not even all here yet,” Barbara points out. “You can’t start shittalking until everybody is here.”

Bruce chuckles and sips his coffee. Everyone talks and laughs and little by little, the rest of the group shows up. Tim and Cassandra and Stephanie, Helena and Jean-Paul.

“So who are our ringers this year?” Tim asks.

While there are enough of them for one baseball team, there aren’t enough for two. Last year’s additions were Conner Kent, Big Barda, Roy Harper and John Stewart.

“Can we have Barda again?” Jason asks. “She crushed the blue team last year. It was amazing.”

Bruce grimaces. Barda broke a couple of bats, hit a grand slam and ensured his team lost last year.

“She had kind of an unfair advantage,” Dick points out.

“You had Superboy!” Jason cries.

“Big. Barda.”

“She was mad, too, Steph points out. “Like super mad.”

Two cars and a motorcycle pull up, and Bruce squints to take a look. Both team captains get to choose a ringer, and so do both unofficial assistant captains (Dick and Barbara).

Dinah Lance hops off the motorcycle. Barbara’s pick, no doubt.

Zatanna Zatarra steps out of one of the cars. She’s Bruce’s ringer, and he grins and waves a little.

The other car produces Renee Montoya, looking like she might actually be a pro ball player with her own expensive pair of cleats and dusty jeans.

“Your girlfriend?” Bruce asks Kate.

“You brought in your almost-ex,” Kate snaps. “Don’t even try it.”

“That’s only because Mama Selina doesn’t play sportsball,” Jason teases.

“She is not our mother,” Damian snaps.

“Where’s the other ringer?” Duke asks, ignoring the bickering next to him.

Dick sighs heavily, and Barbara looks amused, but also sympathetic.

“You didn’t.”

“He was all mad last year cause I asked Roy and not him!” Dick cries. “I had to!”

“Him who?” Cass asks, tilting her head.

A blur of red produces Wally West.

“Me!”

Jason groans. “Augh. You.”

“What’s wrong with Wally?” Tim asks.

“He’s annooooyyiiiiiiing!” Jason complains.

“You mean like you, Todd?” Damian asks. “You should look in a mirror on occasion.”

Bruce clears his throat and gets to his feet, standing in front of the group. “Now that we’re all here, Kate and I can pick teams.”

“Excuse you.”

He turns around, and Selina steps up, looking flawless in a pair of black skinny jeans and a cute, dark purple baseball t-shirt.

Bruce leans in for a kiss, but is avoided.

“If you think you’re getting a good morning kiss after nearly starting without me here, you’re insane.”

Bruce can’t help grinning. He loves a good challenge. “Alright. Now that we are all here.” He nods to Kate, who hops down to stand next to him.

“You’re going down, Cousin Bruce,” Kate says, poking him in the chest.

“In your dreams, Cousin Kate,” Bruce responds, nudging her good-naturedly.

Selina pulls a coin from her purse, and Bruce raises an eyebrow. It’s a double-sided coin, with one side scratched on.

She shrugs delicately. “What? If Harvey is going to leave his toy lying around when I come to dinner, he deserves to have it stolen.”

“Just flip the coin, please,” Kate grouses.

Selina flips it into the air.

“Scratchy side!” Kate cries, as the coin comes down, and when it lands in Selina’s palm, she lifts it to show them the pristine side of the coin.

Kate groans. “Damn!”

Bruce grins. “Jean-Paul.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Dick cries. “Everything frickin year!”

“At this point, he’s just doing it because it’s funny,” Tim says. “Calm down.”

“Or maybe I’m just a better ballplayer than you are, Dick,” Jean-Paul grins.

Duck grumbles. “I’ll show you a better ballplayer, you-”

“Steph!” Kate calls.

“Aw, yeah,” Steph laughs as she hops over to stand with Kate.

“Duke,” Bruce calls out, and Dick’s mouth opens wide again.

“What the-”

“Cassandra,” Kate yells out.

“Jason,” Bruce says, and Jason laughs before joining Bruce and Duke and Jean-Paul.

Barbara laughs and nudges Dick. “C’mon, Shortpants, they’re just pulling your leg.”

Dick grumbles again.

“Tim!” Kate yells.

Tim grins and stretches as he stands, wandering down to join Steph and Cass. “Hey guys. Nice day for some baseball.”

Steph glowers at him. “I swear to god, Timmers, if you spend all your at bats fishing, I’m going to-”

“Dick,” Bruce grins.

“No,” Dick snaps. “I don’t wanna play on your team anymore. You picked Jean-Paul and Jason before me.”

“Somebody’s scaly panties are in a twist,” Jason mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.

Bruce shakes his head and grins just a little. “Okay. Barbara.”

“She’s not playing for you either, in solidarity,” Dick snaps.

Barbara snorts. “Eff that. Jason and I are an unbeatable Pitcher/Catcher combo.”

“Is that dirty?” Steph asks as Barbara high-fives Jason. “I feel like that might be dirty.”

Cassandra frowns deeply. “Is it?”

“Huh.”

“C’mon over, Dick, let me put you out of your misery,” Kate smiles.

Dick trudges over, still pouting slightly.

“Damian, come on,” Bruce says, and Damian steps over.

“I was wondering when you would get around to me, Father.”

Bruce pats his shoulder as Kate calls for Helena to head over.

Helena steps down and grins at them. “Ladies. Tim.”

“Yes, you’re very funny,” Dick drawls out. “Har har har.”

“Harper,” Bruce calls.

“WINNER!” Harper cries. “What’s up, boss, you ready to kick some butt?”

Kate smirks. “Luke, let’s go.”

“Finally,” Luke huffs. “You guys know I’m a genius, right?”

Tim wrinkles his nose, but says nothing.

Steph smirks. “That’s Timmy for ‘I’m also a genius, and I’m judging you, because you are a horrifically terrible baseball player.’”

“Hey!”

“Alright, everyone,” Alfred calls. “We’re now onto the ringers. Your choices are Renee Montoya, Dinah Lance, Zatanna Zatara and Wally West. Since Master Bruce won the general coin toss, Miss Kate, you can go first.”

Kate points at Renee, and then crooks her finger.

Renee smirks and walks over. “Hi, babe.”

Kate kisses her cheek. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“And miss a chance to watch Billionaire Bruce Wayne whiff? Never.”

Bruce nods a little. “Zatanna?”

Zatanna grins and walks over. “Hey.”

“Morning.”

“This should be fun, right?” Zatanna grins.

“West, come on over,” Kate grins. “Us gingers gotta stick together.”

“I resent that,” Barbara pouts slightly.

“I do, too, but I can’t remember why,” Jason adds.

“Dinah, you’re with us,” Bruce nods.

Dinah smirks and steps over. “This is gonna be hilarious. I’m gonna kick the crap out of all of them.”

“Alright, children,” Selina says, getting to her feet. “The teams as they stand right now are as follows: On the blue team, we have Bruce, Jean-Paul, Duke, Barbara, Jason, Harper, Damian, Zatanna and Dinah. On the red team, Kate, Stephanie, Cassandra, Tim, Dick, Helena, Luke, Renee and Wally.”

“Since Master Bruce won the coin toss, they’re first up at bat,” Alfred tells them. “You’ll have ten minutes to chat about your line-ups and starting positions. Spit-spot.”

They get to work, making the most of their ten minutes, and then it’s game-on.

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