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timtimmersdrake · 4 years

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Stray Bullet - Tim Drake x Reader

Well, look at this, I’m writing another one. Like I said in my last, this isn’t a regular thing. This is only my second imagine, but you guys seemed to really enjoy the last one so *shrugs* here we go?

Summary: You’ve been struck by a stray bullet as a civilian, and you decide instead of being the damsel, you hide it from Tim. I’m thinking this is set after the Red Robin comics, everyone is alive and Tim is starting to relax after being a tense hero for so long. (Pre-52) Warning for a little blood, not very graphic though.

In retrospect, you should have known it was going to happen eventually. You live in Gotham City after all. You just didn’t expect for it to catch you off guard like this.

You expected immediate medical attention. Maybe a vigilante or two already on the scene.

Not this chaotic.

But when has Gotham ever conformed to the norm? She liked to rear her ugly, unexpected head when it inconvenienced you the most.

And now you’ve been shot.

Stupid Penguin. Stupid underground gun market I’m not even supposed to know about. Stupid me.

Hissing, you leaned up against the brick wall, not daring to look down at the bullet wound. A stray gunshot in the sudden gang fight that had broken out on the street you had been walking on to get to the nearest crossing to summon a taxi home.

Around you everyone was screaming, guns were still firing rounds and you were trying you’re best not to let the panic rise.

Your boyfriend was a vigilante, but dammit, you were not going to be a damsel in distress.

Closing your eyes, you focused on breathing in through your mouth and out through your nose. This proved to be two mistakes, the first being that deep breaths hurt and the second is now your eyes knew the world was spinning and didn’t want to open again.

Do. Not. Panic.

Tim would be here soon, or someone from his family. You just had to be patient…and not lose too much blood while waiting. You would not let them see you as the civilian you were. Tim worried enough as it was, and if he saw you panic he would go berserk. Leaving the apartment the two of you shared alone would never happen again.

Digging into your bag you pulled out your keychain, one that had many gadgets Tim insisted you carried on your person at all times. Fumbling through a flashlight, a portable charger, pepper spray, and the keys you finally grabbed the pocket knife.

I liked this shirt too.

Gritting teeth, you ripped the edge of your camisole, the undershirt tearing with a few tugs; you had a makeshift bandage.

Bullet just grazed my hip, but damn it took a chunk of me with it.

Tying the fabric around your waist as tight as you could stand to keep pressure on it, dizziness took over.

Hands bloody, you reached back into the bag and pulled out your next trick; a bottle of Tylenol. Something to help until Tim could give you something better. Just to hold you till whichever bat would show up.

A bat would show up, right?

The cell phone that had been in your hand when the incident had occurred lay innocently on the ground. Maybe you shouldn’t call him.

Don’t be stupid, he’d want you too.

But you were a big girl, you lived in Gotham. You were dating Tim Drake-Wayne, one of the richest men in the city and also on the top ten most wanted for criminals bartering tool.

It was in the middle of the day, and there wasn’t a cape in sight.

Sucking in the deepest breath you could manage, you resigned yourself to the inevitable solo trip to the hospital. Walking down the alleyway you had slipped down to the next street over, pulling your coat closer so no one could see the blood soaking though, you hailed a cab.

“Where too, miss?”

The driver didn’t even bother to look at you, simply chewed on a toothpick and kept messing with his radio.

Opening your mouth you almost spat out the name of the closest hospital before realizing if your plan was to not call Tim, he would be angrier if you went to the hospital without telling him either.

“Leslie Thompkins Medical Practice, please, the one near crime alley.”

You had only met the woman a handful of times, all of them when Tim had been hurt on his night job and you were visiting. She had been a formidable role-model, caring and loyal. She would have you good as new, and hopefully, if you played your cards right, a certain pretty boy in your life would never know you were there.

Learning long ago that trying to cook dinner for Tim was an unwinnable battle, his schedule too unpredictable, you settled on leaving the take-out menus on the table for when he got home.

You had stolen Tim’s biggest sweater, hiding your frame to the best of your ability, and hopefully the bandage. Tim would find out eventually, but you were aiming to play your cards right enough that it wouldn’t be till long after it had healed to where it didn’t look as bad as it did.

Leslie promised not to say anything; oh how the glorious patient confidentiality had been to your advantage.

The door opened, jerking you from your thoughts as Tim’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Y/N, dear, I’m back!”

Smiling, you inwardly chuckled at the pet name. Tim had liked to use it when he was being sarcastic with you, but eventually, it became a habit.

“You’re back early, what time is it? 10:30?”

Tim entered the living room of your renovated theater apartment, grinning at the sight of you.

“Scandalous,” he commented, coming over to gently tilt your chin up and place a kiss before turning his attention to the scattered menus. “I’m starving, what are you in the mood for?”

Relieved that Tim was adequately distracted from you, you took advantage of the situation.

“You choose,” You smiled. Had it not been for the anesthetic, adrenaline, and pain, you might have been able to give more to the conversation, but you were exhausted.

“Something quick,” Tim stated, rifling through restaurant choices. “Told Dick I’d help him with a lead on a gang turf war going on.”

Spine stiffening, you played it cool.

“Oh? The one involving Penguin’s underground illegal arms trading with Bludhaven?”

Tim nodded, a suddenly serious expression crossing his face.

“I don’t like how close they got to where you work today. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Ah, there it was. Every person you had ever met that dated a vigilante like you all had the same inevitable experience. The ‘be safe, I’m protecting you I promise’ speech. You hated the fact that Tim meant it so earnestly too, about wanting you to be safe. It made you feel like a helpless damsel in distress all the time.

If I make a fuss, he’ll get suspicious. You reminded yourself.

Instead of grumbling, you opted to nod.

“Of course, you taught me everything I know after all. Pepper spray in hand, phone in other.”

“That reminds me, I need to give you Jason’s new number.”

“Oh? Are we talking to him as part of the family again?” You ask, taking the menu of a small burger joint down the road from his outstretched hand.

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see how long it lasts. You know how it is. Jason’s morals have always been questionable and his decisions switch faster than whiplash.”

Humming, you took a seat next to him as he pulled out his laptop. Thankfully, the action made it so he missed the wince of pain you habited.

“Says the guy who broke him out of prison, once.”

Tim didn’t seem to want to get into it.

“You order? I got some W. E. work to jump on while I can.”

Far too used to this routine, you only nod once more.

It was almost too easy to pull your secret under his nose.

He’ll find out eventually, but not tonight.

You managed a week. It wasn’t long, but when you were hiding it from arguably the world’s greatest detective, a week should have earned you a gold medal. Or some more recognition than you were probably going to get.

You just wish it wasn’t the tiny stupid mistake that it was that gave you away.

“Y/N, can I borrow your portable charger?”

“What happened to yours?” You asked, idly scrolling through your phone. “Take it apart again?”

“Damaged in a fight actually,” He smiled sheepishly.

“It’s in my bag,” You answered with a humble roll of your eyes.

He left the living room for a moment, the peaceful calm of Saturday morning blissful once more. You hadn’t even thought twice about letting Tim rummage through your bag when he was marching back into the room dropping it on the coffee table in front of you.

“What the h- “

“Why is there dried blood on your stuff?”

Silence.

Tim had a habit of wiggling his nose when he was upset, something you thought was adorable until you saw the furious eyes behind them. His nose may have been cute, but his eyes were well trained to be terrifying when riled up.

“I didn’t kill someone,” You blurt out in a panic.

Granted that wasn’t your best moment. Of course, Tim didn’t think you murdered someone. Did he?

“Then it’s good that wasn’t my conclusion,” He answered, holding up an orange bottle in his hand instead.

He had found the pain killers. No denying them, your name was printed very clearly.

“What. Happened.”

Shame on anyone who thought Tim couldn’t be intimidating. The boy had been trained around the world by the best, including Lady Shiva. He had picked up tips from the League of Assassins, studied the Council of Spiders. Tim Drake maintained a cool demeanor, but he knew just as well how to be scary without raising his voice.

“It was an accident.”

He didn’t interrupt, but his brows furrowed just a tad more.

“I got shot?”

He gripped the back of the couch, looking away from you for a moment before taking a breath.

“When?”

“Last Friday, on my way home from work.”

You could see the wheels working in his head, running through all the scenarios. Which was more likely, where it had happened, who the culprit could be. It took him only a few seconds before…

“The gang fight, Penguins’ men.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded, accepting defeat.

“Stray bullet,” you admitted.

“Did you- “His voice sounded strained. “Did you at least go to the hospital?”

“I went to Leslie,” You sighed, gently prying the pill bottle from his hand. Placing it on the table you watched his face give nothing away to how he was feeling.

“So, you were trying to hide it from me?”

Did you mention your boyfriend wasn’t an idiot?

“I didn’t want to worry you,” You mumbled, playing with the strings of a Gotham University hoodie you had stolen from him a year ago and never given back.

“This is so much worse, where? Where did it get you?”

Finally, he was looking at you again. His face twisted in a mixture of worry and frustration, maybe even a bit of anger still.

Gently, you pulled up the side of your shirt, revealing the angry red stitching that was still in the process of healing. The bandages had been removed a while ago, but you almost wished you still had them on to hide how bad the stitches made the wound look.

“It was just a graze,” You tried to appease him. “I handled it just fine. Leslie said I was lucky. If I take care of it well, the scar won’t even be that bad.”

His thumb gently rubbed over it, analyzing. You wished you were privy to what he was thinking, but he kept them carefully concealed.

“This could have hit a major organ,” He finally breathed.

“It didn’t.”

He frowned.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I was fine!” You snapped, picking at your shirt more aggressively, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t panic. I stayed completely calm; I immediately used my shirt to tie over it. I put pressure on it like you showed me. Then I went to Leslie. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

“Wasn’t anything-There was a million things I could have done! I could have helped. I could have been there! Isn’t that my job?”

Don’t turn this into a fight. Do not turn this into a fight.

“I didn’t want to be the damsel in distress,” You admitted calmly. “For once, I didn’t want to be the girl completely reliant on a superhero swinging in to save her. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Barbara doesn’t need Dick to save her, Stephanie doesn’t need anyone to save her. Neither does Cass, Helena or Kate! I’m the only girl in the family that doesn’t wear spandex.”

Tim was staring at you, apparently surprised.

“But I like the fact you’re not a vigilante.”

You bristled.

“What? You like me being feeble and meek?”

“No!” Tim quickly backtracked. “No, you know that’s not what I mean. It’s just not who you are. That doesn’t mean your anything less. I live with a bunch of them, trust me, dating outside of the job is refreshing. I’m sorry you had the impression that you needed to be. But Y/N, not even we try to tough out a bullet. You should hear Dick, he swears like a sailor for days when he’s been shot.”

You look at him skeptically.

“You guys get shot all the time, but you still don’t baby each other. I want the same treatment.”

“You don’t get shot regularly,” Tim argued. “Allow me to be a little worried. It was your first time, and please, for the sake of my sanity, let it be the last time.”

You look at him.

“What sanity?” You ask innocently.

He blinked, then rolled his eyes.

“Haha,” He came around the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist, far gentler than it had been the past few days. His chin rested on your head.

“You owe me for all the sanity you keep taking when you do things like this. The Office marathon? It’s a tradition whenever one of us gets seriously injured.”

“I’m not seriously-“

He poked your side that wasn’t hurt. You let out a laugh, pulling free.

“Fine! But you have to make popcorn with extra butter.”

“Deal.”

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #tim drake #tim drake x you #dc reader imagines #red robin

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likeadeuce · 4 years

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Raven Cycle Headcanons: Comic Book Heroes

Gansey says he doesn’t keep any secrets from his friends, but they still mostly learn about his life history when he drops comments like, “The last time I went base jumping in Borneo. . .” at which point Adam has to call him ‘Master Bruce’ in the Michael-Caine-as-Alfred voice. This makes Ronan laugh-snort through his nose so of course Adam has to keep calling Gansey that again and again for the rest of the day.

Gansey wearily informs them that he is, as they know, a Marvel guy and also the Nolan Batman movies are overrated. This just makes Adam (who is an extremely good mimic) need to do the voice more and the others have to join in. Ronan does a decent “Christian Bale as Batman” and also “Christian Bale yelling at the guy who got in his light from that viral video,” but Blue steals the show with her Tom Hardy-as-Bane. (Although, technically, the one who does all of these voices better than anyone is Chainsaw).

II.

Gansey says he’s a Marvel guy but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have opinions. Adam finds this out when he makes a crack about how Dick isn’t such a bad name; Gansey shares it with Dick Grayson who is indisputably the best Robin.

This results in a pained Gansey face -- the ‘I’m not thrilled about correcting you but I’m going to be correcting you’ face -- and the statement that Tim Drake, self-taught boy detective, is just objectively the best Robin.

Ronan knows exactly enough about this topic, ie, one of those straight to DVD animated movies that Gansey threw on when they were drinking and bored, to declare Jason Todd the best Robin, especially when he came back from the dead and started calling himself Red Hood and kicking the shit out of people. This is Ronan’s only contribution to the conversation except to make occasional jokes about tiny shorts.

“Thoughts, Jane?” Gansey asks and Blue, reliably, raises a fist and says, “Justice for Stephanie Brown!”

III.

Gansey says he’s a Marvel guy, he loves the Stan Lee “Excelsior” schtick, but he mostly means that he has the 102 issues of the original Lee/Kirby ‘Fantastic Four’ run memorized -- it’s classic, like the Camaro -- and he got the $100 /volume omnibus editions when he was 10, along with the Steve Ditko era of Spider-Man.

He also sometimes wears a Silver Age “Iron Man” T-shirt that he bought when he decided to train for a triathlon, in the few months between Wales and Aglionby. (Gansey never actually made it to the point of entering a triathlon, though he had a very respectable time in the Charlottesville Half-Marathon last spring and he’s definitely, perpetually, going to go home for the Marine Corps Marathon next year). But he got the shirt because he liked the classic red and gold Don Heck art, and because he thought it would be a good ‘Iron Man triathlon’ joke if anybody asked about the shirt, which they never did.

He’s not actually an Iron Man fan, though, he doesn’t really have time for any hero who takes two-thirds of the movie to realize he should maybe stop being a complete asshole to everybody, and then is somehow supposed to get points for being slightly less of an asshole in the six minutes after it occurs to him? Also Tony Stark is entirely too familiar as type who gets loud at, and then gets thrown out on his ear from, the kind of parties hosted at the Gansey household. No thank you.

Adam and Blue can talk to each other through references to seventies and eighties X-Men and Excalibur comics like it’s some kind of secret code. Gansey will occasionally ask, “Wait, which one is that? Whose codename does that go with?” and Adam says he ought to just read the books himself. No thank you, Gansey says. Too many retcons, he says. If he wants to piece together narratives full of inconsistencies that lose story threads and run all over the place, he has pre-Galfridian texts, and those have the excuse of being medieval and mostly in Welsh. “Just tell me the good parts of the stories,” Gansey says, “So I can understand what you’re talking about,” and sometimes they do.

IV.

Blue and Adam have very similar points of reference when it comes to comics. In fact, it develops that they have the exact same points of reference: namely, everything that was available in trade paperback in the teen room of the Henrietta public library during the years they were in sixth through eighth grade.

“I spent so much time in there,” Blue says. “Trying to get a little peace and quite away from my house.“

“Relatable,” says Adam. Although, he’s well aware by now, for different reasons.

“Weird we never ran into each other.”

Adam stops, raises his eyes, takes a good look at her, trying to mentally subtract a few years and some teenage attitude, to reimagine her creative haircut. “Oh,” he says, “Yeah actually that makes sense. I probably did see you there.”

“Oh.Sorry, I don’t remember --”

“It’s fine,” says Adam hastily. Adam’s home was technically in Augusta County, across the Henrietta Town Line, which was why he and Blue had never been at the same school when they were younger. It was close enough for Adam to bike to town, though, and he figured out the Henrietta library had a considerably better collection than the one near his school where his mother had exasperatedly signed him up for a card.

Adam figured out that he was eligible to apply for a library card in Henrietta, but that he would need a parent to come down to the branch and sign him up for it. Even assuming that he could find his mother or father in a hospitable mood, it would completely defeat the purpose of having a quiet place to read where they couldn’t track him down. (If he just said ‘the library’ he wasn’t responsible for what they assumed. . .) So Adam would just take stacks of books with him and slump down in a chair or camp out in a corner and take all the time he could get away with.

“If you didn’t see me,” he tells Blue, “It’s because I didn’t want anybody to see me. I was definitely hiding.” He would doubly have been hiding if he saw a pretty girl hanging out around the comic books. Way too stressful.

Blue pouts a little. “You should have come and said, ‘Hi.’ We could have been friends five years earlier.”

Adam makes a face of regret. “I should have,” he says, “Sorry.”

The truth is, as neither of them says but both of them suspect, if a boy had come up and tried to talk to twelve-year old Blue Sargent when she was trying to read, she absolutely would have yelled at him.

Sometimes, things need to happen on their own time.

#the raven cycle #headcanons #comic books #adam parrish #blue sargent #ronan lynch #richard gansey iii

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