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peppersonironi · 4 years

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Batfam/Avengers Crossover Chapter One: Arrival

Yo, this has been on Ao3 for a while and people seem to really love it, So I thought I’d post it here! Chapter below the cut.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Category: Gen Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Natasha Romanov & Damian Wayne, Clint Barton & Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tim Drake & Duke Thomas, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd, Characters: Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Justice League (DCU), Alfred Pennyworth, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Thor (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Alfred the Cat (DCU), Bat-Cow (DCU), Goliath (DCU), Selina Kyle's Cat Isis, Kate Kane (DCU), Duke Thomas, Additional Tags: Batbrothers (DCU), Avengers Meet The Batfam, MCU/Batfam crossover, Crossover, no beta we die like robins, rated T for Jason's language, I bleeped it out though. Just to be safe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, canon? What's canon?, Deaf Clint Barton,Deaf Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Happy Batfamily (DCU), Birdflash and joyfire are implied/referenced,

Summary:

The Avengers find themselves in an alternate universe where none of them exist. Instead, there is a different group of heroes: The Justice League. They decide to work together to get the Avengers home. But not not everything is instantaneous, so the Avengers need a place to stay. The only place available is Wayne Manor.

Que Batfamily shenanigans!

Multi-chapter fanfic, with some one shots that go along with the plot thrown in.

Notes:

This is my first time writing anything with the Avengers - especially a deaf!clint - and the Batfam, so I apologize if anything is doc. Constructive criticism is appreciated!

This is mainly comic DCU with Movie Avengers (Set after the first avengers movie, plus Spiderman, cause I can ;-)

Crack! Bang! There was a flash of blindingly bright light, followed by a huge explosion.

"Wha- where are we?"

Tony Stark looked over to Peter who had been the first to speak. Crap, the kid had come here too. But wherever here was, he did not know.

Tony, Steve, Hulk, Thor, Clint, Peter, and Natasha stood in a loose clump at the center of a smoking crater. The sky was cloudy and dark, and they appeared to be at least five miles outside of a big city, judging from the buildings in the distance. There was also a highway filled with streaming cars a couple of miles to Tony’s right.

“This isn’t right,” He muttered, opening his faceplate. Where were the sunny tropical trees that housed the compound of Anagnorisis - weird name, he knew - who was some D-list villain who thought some slightly advanced tech made them a world-conqueror. But Tony was beginning to think that those guns were a bit stranger and more advanced than he had previously believed.

“Tell me about it,” replied Steve. “Any idea where we are? Was it some sort of teleportation gun that was shot at us? This looks nothing like the Amazon.”

Before anyone could speak, Tony received a notification. Multiple incoming objects were approaching, fast . With the exception of the second fastest, they seemed to be airborne. “Multiple incomings, perhaps hostile. Most are flying. And they aren’t missiles. I think people ? But -”

“Who are you?”

Suddenly the first object arrived, and Stark was right. It was a black haired man in a blue skin tight suit with a red “S” on it and a flowing red cape. It would look ridiculous if he wasn’t glaring daggers at the group while flying .

He was joined almost immediately by another man, this time wearing an all red bodysuit with a lightning bolt on the chest and cowl. He was not flying though. He stopped in front of them swinging his arms as lightning dissipated. He had run there.

Next came a woman dressed in the colors of the american flag, with golden cuffs, tiara, and lasso by her side. She came with a man in a green, white, and black skin tight suit with some sort of symbol - perhaps a lantern? - on his chest. He also wore a green ring and black domino mask with white lenses on his face. They were both joined by another, a split second later. This was by far the strangest arrival. He was completely bald, with green skin and red eyes. He wore navy blue pants and cape, with only a red “X” over his chest. All three were floating.

“Who are you?” The blue and red man repeated.

Tony scoffed. Was this guy serious? “We’re the Avengers, obviously.”

The group shared a look. “Is that some new kind of villain group? I swear to all that is good and holy if I need to deal with another group who think they can rule the world, I. Will. Quit.” This time the man who spoke was the runner.

Steve replied, confusion clear on his face. “We’re not villains! We’re the Avengers; Earth’s mightiest heroes!”

Instead of coming to their senses, the strangely dressed newcomers laughed .

“You do realize you are speaking to members of the Justice League?” The woman spoke, her lips pursed.

“The who now?”

“Be quiet Kid, we don’t know what we’re dealing with.” Tony spoke to Peter. He was getting more worried by the second. Something was seriously wrong.

“Dealing with?” The green dressed man frowned, clearly suspicious of the Avengers. He started to fidget with his ring. “Well, since you don’t seem to know, let me enlighten you.” He gestured to each of his companions. “Superman, son of Krypton. Wonder Woman, Amazonian Princess. The Flash, fastest man alive. Martian Manhunter, well, a martian. And Me, Green Lantern. Member of the Green Lantern Core.”

Well, that explained everything. Not.

“We do not know you, strangers.” Thor spoke this time. “Perhaps you leave us be, our green friend over here gets frustrated easily.” He pointed to Hulk, who was breathing heavily.

The green man - martian, apparently - spoke for the first time. “Not until you tell us who you are and why you are in a smoking crater near His city.”

“His?” Clint clearly did not like the way the martian spoke of this character. To be honest, Stark didn’t either.

This got the most surprised reactions from the five. They looked at each other, and Tony could have sworn there was a hint of fear in their faces.

“Oh, He is so not going to like that.” Green Lantern said.

“Combined with the fact that we ditched Him.” The Flash cringed. Then looked worried again. “Yo, green grape, you okay.

The Hulk’s breathing was growing heavier, his face contorted into that of utter rage.

“Uh-oh,” Steve said.

“I . . . Not . . . GRAPE!” Hulk roared as he charged the The Flash who nimbly dodged. Superman went down to intercede, and just got punched by the Hulk. Though it did not seem to physically bother him, he was clearly angry.

Tony shut his face plate and moved forward, intending to stop the fight, but he only got attacked by the martian. Peter jumped forward to help, and soon everyone was fighting.

Thor was pitted against the Wonder Woman, and they seemed evenly matched. Black Widow was against The flash, and despite his incredible speed she seemed to be almost winning. Both Hawkeye and Captain America were battling Green Lantern.

No one seemed to have the upper hand, which worried Tony. These people were tough. If they couldn’t beat them . . . he didn’t know what would happen.

Peter didn’t seem to share his worry though. He instead seemed to be having fun. Tony could tell the kid was smiling beneath his mask, and his body language screamed hyper and happy. He seemed to get that way whenever they fought together, and a small part of Tony was filled with a sense of parental pride.

The fight seemed endless, no one gaining traction. Until something incredible happened. Thor threw Mjolnir directly at his opponent, and instead of being knocked down like everyone else, she caught the hammer. Every Avenger - even the Hulk - immediately froze, catching the attention of the newcomers.

“This is a very well crafted weapon, though a bit clunky,” Wonder Woman said as she tossed the hammer from one hand to the other. She paused, seeing their reactions.

“You are worthy.” Thor spoke with disbelief and a tint of resignation in his voice.

“Pardon?” Superman spoke, his frown apparent.

“Only those worthy can lift Mjolnir - my hammer. She clearly can, which means that you are trustworthy.”

*****

Five minutes of somewhat confused conversation later, they had reached an uneasy truce. Neither spoke much at first, but they soon began to compare notes. Apparently They both believed themselves to be the protectors of Earth, which brought on a bout of argument before Peter stepped in.

“Woah hold on, calm down. Something is clearly up, so there’s no need to argue!”

Wonder Woman looked contemplative. “How old are you boy, you seem young.”

Peter bristled. “I’m 15, and I’ve been a superhero for a while now, so I’m not inexperienced!”

Green Lantern laughed. “That’s not what she met, kid. We aren’t going to tell you how old you need to be to fight crime. The amount of we work with, and some even younger than you . . .” He shook his head and laughed. Then he realised how he had sounded. “I mean, we don’t force them, it's up to each individual to make that choice for themselves. Well, with the mentor’s approval of course.”

Natasha furrowed her brows. “How young are some of these kids?” Tony knew she had a thing against child soldiers, so he wasn’t surprised she was disapproving.

Green Lantern looks to the Flash. “How old is Robin at this point? 9?”

Flash laughed. “Naw, that little devil is 11. He was very adamant on that fact when he threatened me with his katana.” He shook his head.

Green Lantern laughed. “Yeah, most of the others are teenagers. Robin is the youngest, and I’d say most deadly, but Red Hood . . .”

“The Dark Knight really does have a problem,” Flash said.

His last comment made Green Lantern freeze. They both looked at each other then turned to Peter.

“Kid, stay away from The Dark Knight.” Green Lantern says.

“Yeah, if He sees you, there’s no way you’ll ever leave.”

“He’s the most dangerous man on earth,” Green Lantern adds.

“Guys, stop. You’re scaring him.” Superman looks disappointedly at the two heroes who Tony pegged as the trouble makers of the group. This idea was further cemented in Tony when they started laughing. Despite this, he decided to keep Peter as far away from this supposed Dark Knight as possible.

“Speak of the devil, he’s on his way.” Superman says this with a smile, then he cringes. “And we’re going to get an earful alright. Ten minutes ahead of him is a big deal apparently.”

In a moment. Tony got an alert that something was approaching. Fast. Soon he saw a large black military type armoured car fly down the highway from the city and off the road. It zoomed toward them.

It was a sight indeed to see the menacing black car swerve and expertly stop a few yards from the group. The top opened and a dark form shot straight up before landing in a kneeling position in front of them. The figure rose, and Tony got the first good look at him. He was a tall man with a broad chest and shoulders, dresses in complete black. There was a bat-like symbol on his chest, also in black. He wore a cape that flowed around menacingly. His face was covered by a cowl with pointed ears, like that of an owl, or perhaps a bat. The only part of his costume that was not black was the dark gold utility belt at his waist. Altogether, he was utterly frightening.

Tony took a step forward, effectively blocking Peter, who scoffed.

“Batman,” Superman said, a smile on his face.

Batman fixed the most impressive and terrifying glare upon the man that Stark had ever seen. “You broke protocol by going ahead of me. You are in my territory Superman. And you know that I cannot fly or run at the speed of sound.” He fixed his glare on the rest of his group who all reacted with either flinches or sheepish shrugs.

Batman grunted before looking at the Avengers. He sized each of them up, staying longest on Stark. Tony felt as if his entire being was being stripped away under the scrutiny.

“Alternate Dimension jumpers, not by choice I’m assuming.”

He spoke so simply that it took a minute for Tony to react. Even then, the man was already on his way back to his car.

“We’re near Gotham, let’s regroup at the Cave.”

Tony didn’t know what this Cave was, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. “Are you the Dark Knight?” He asked, before he lost his nerve.

The man looked immediately at the Flash and Green Lantern, who looked both scared and amused. Their sheepish smirks and chuckles dissipated when Batman looked away and back to Tony.

“The Dark Knight, The World’s Greatest Detective, The Caped Crusader, The Batman. All are titles I have earned. See you at the cave.”

And with that he hopped in his car and sped off back toward the gloomy city beyond.

#Avengers Meet The Batfam #MCU/Batfam crossover #Batfam/Avengers Crossover #batfam #avengers #bruce wayne #tony stark #steve rogers #clint barton #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor odinson #peter parker #justice league #batman

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

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Soul Shards Au Headcanons

Dunno if this already exists, but if not, here it is.

Tim Drake Soul Shards au.

—-.—–

Okay I wanted to write about this, but really, between Twisted Soulmates and Put a Ring on it, and *finals* (I’m halfway through hell, I have to keep going), I just can’t. But this wouldn’t leave me alone, so here.

Au where everyone is born hugging a shiny small orb, which encompasses their soul. To anyone else, the orb is solid, like diamond perfectly polished. But to the owner, it changes as they see fit, from rock solid to malleable. Commonly, mothers, fathers and close relatives will gift their kids with little pieces of their own souls, shaping them to be little rings, necklaces, headsets, etc. Kids are discouraged from giving soul shards to anyone other than their relatives until they grow up a bit, but some still give bits and pieces to their best friends. The bit of soul given away always carries the feeling the person who gave it has for the person receiving it, so kids always carry their mother’s love, their father’s pride, their aunts or uncles fondness, etc.

Now, into the headcannons. Please keep in mind I wrote this in one go so it’s not edited. Probably full of mistakes.

Tim’s parents were always careful with their souls, carrying them on little pouches or leather bags. They are full and perfectly unscathed. Jack’s soul was a little more reduced, since he gave bits and pieces of himself to his own parents when he was a little kid, but Janet’s is whole.

They never gave him a piece of themselves, Janet firmly against the act altogether, Jack following on her example.

Little Timmy always watched his classmates on kindergarten running around, shinny shards of soul decorating them, radiating a love he never felt on his own skin.

Fast forward the night the Graysons fell, little Tim went back home and made a little necklace for the boy that flew for him and gave him a hug so warm he likes to think it’s what being gifted a soul feels like.

He never really gets around to giving it to him though. It sits on a wooden box in a hidey hole under Tim’s bed, along with his most precious Batman and Robin photos.

He once tries to give his parents soul shards (a wonderfully made ring and headset for dad and mom respectively). His mother is outraged, to the point to slap him. Then, for maybe the second or third time in his life, she hugs him.

“-You stupid boy. Don’t give your soul away so easily, or you’ll have none left for yourself. And what do you think will happen to you, if you are soulless?”

He never tries again.

Tim once falls from a high spot, where he was perched taking pictures of the second Robin. His hero saves him, gives him an earful, and they become friends (Robin drops in before or after patrol to make sure Tim listened to his warnings and stopped sneaking out at night. Tim kept doing it, but was sneakier about it and Robin, despite being suspicious, has no proof that the kid disobeyed).

Tim gives Robin/Jason a soul shard once, a little birdarang he craved after the one Jason gifted him, but shiny blue like his soul. It’s filled with awe, respect, shyness, adoration and what would equal as a crush if Tim were socially adept enough to recognize it. Jason is a stuttering mess for weeks, keeps the birdarang with himself at all times, right next to the soulshard Bruce gave him, and never takes it off. He plans on giving Tim something back, but is unsure as to what. Earing? The kid needed a little pre teen rebellion…

He never gets around to doing it.

He’s clutching Tim’s birdarang when he dies. Bruce doesn’t know who gave it to Jay, and is too overwhelmed with grief to investigate. He just buries Jason with it.

After Tim becomes Robin, he finally gathers enough courage to give Dick his soulshard. He explains how much Dick meant to him growing up, but that Dick doesn’t need to give anything back. They’ve just officially met not long ago, after all. Dick promises to give him something soon, though.

He doesn’t. Other things are more important. IT’ll happen when it happens, he figures. No rush.

Bruce gets a watch and Alfred a tie pin, but Bruce refuses to give anyone else a piece of himself, less of all Tim. He’s sure his soul is poisoned or something (He gave some to his parents, they died. Dick, he left. Jason, he died. Clark and Diana, they were superhuman, they don’t count. Alfred… well, Alfred is always the exception), and won’t allow his darkness to touch the boy (OH BOY IS HE WRONG). But because he doesn’t want Tim to feel like Bruce has a personal problem with him (*epic fail on his part*), instead of calmly explaining his reasoning, he also forbids Alfred from giving Tim a soul shard (That shit’s gonna explode on his face).

Tim goes around to giving bits and pieces to his friends, too. Doesn’t really expect any back though, used as he is to giving and never receiving.

He gives Steph a locket, when she tells him she’s pregnant, so she can keep a picture of the baby if she wants (or anything else if she doesn’t), even after giving him or her away. Steph doesn’t reciprocate since pregnant women are advised against molding and sharding their souls, in case it hurts the baby’s soul development. Then she ‘dies’, and after she comes back Tim is angry at her, and there’s never a right moment for her to give him a shard.

Cass… well, Cass is so touched when Tim gifts her a soul-made compass that always points towards the Manor (“So you can always find your way back home”), but her father has damaged her soul by throwing it around and dropping it a lot, on top of his emotional and physical abuse, and it’s just too bruised for her to give any away, though she promises herself she will the moment it’s healthy enough.

Tim’s team… God, his team. By this time, Tim is kinda concerned, because he gave too much recently and his soul is looking kinda… malnourished? small? He can’t really put a finger on it, and he’s worried his parents will notice, so he doesn’t give his team a shard at first.

It’s after his parents die (buried with the soul pieces Tim made for them, even if they never wanted to wear them) that he thinks ‘fuck it’ and, while hanging out with Kon and Bart, gatters courage and asks them what would they like.

After being reassured that he wants to do it, Kon shyly asks for an earing (of course he does) and Bart for a ring (kinda like his grandfather’s? few other things would stay on him at the speed he runs, too). They wished they could give back, but Kon, as a clone and alien, was created with a soul no one can touch, like a phantom light following him around, and Bart already told them how everyone in the future was born with theirs inside their bodies.

He sees the soul-made birdarang again, and that’s what cues him on the fact that Jason Todd came back to life. It’s colour had changed from blue to red, the only reason he recognized it was the tiny R he carved on the middle. He sees it close and personal when his former hero tries to gut him.

He gives Cassie a bracelet on Kon’s funeral. Turns around and leaves before she can say anything about it.

Tim lays in bed at night and remembers his mother’s words (“You stupid boy.”), and wonders what, indeed, is the danger of going soulless. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. His soul has shrunk, that’s obvious, but, thinking back on all the pieces he gave away, he should have run out of it a long time ago.

Bruce dies. Everyone whose soul he gave to are the ones that carry his casket. Damian and Tim are sitting on the front rows, but their lack of deep blue soulshards is telling.

Not too long after, Dick gives Damian a little Robin sky blue brooch, to fasten the cape of his new uniform with. Tim wears black and red, not a hint of shiny soul on him. He leaves Gotham and looks for Bruce.

Ra’s is the first person ever to inquire about his shocking lack of soulmade gifts. To wonder about the bruised state of his soul.

“The Pit could heal it, restore it to it’s former grandness” “I’ve seen what it did to the bit of my soul I gave to Jason… no thank you.” “You’ve given far too much. It’s state is sad enough a hundred cynics wouldn’t be able to describe it without bawling” “It wasn’t a matter of give, it was a lack of take. And it’s not like giving it away is the only abuse my soul had to endure.”

He brings Bruce back, but he’s so tired. His soul hasn’t been growing back on itself like it did the first few times he took from it.

The love he felt when someone smiled at his soul shards was what feed his soul, he realizes. It’s past malnourished at this point.

If he had enough soul left, maybe he’d have cared.

The final straw is Damian, of fucking course. He doesn’t even remember what the argument was about, even five minutes after it had ended. He simply didn’t care anymore. Something about Wayne Enterprises, the right heir, the blood son…

Tim blinks blankly at Damian, hand reaching inside his pocket, looking for the now tiny, ping pong ball- sized piece of soul. The last he had left.

Silently, he stopped Damian’s rant short by taking the gesturing teen’s hand mid air and holding it open, dropping the remains of his soul in it, and closing the now still fingers around it.

“There. Now you truly have everything that was mine. Happy?”

He turns away, and leaves. Damian stays behind, heart hammering away in his chest, clutching the tiny (too tiny) soul.

In different places, different people feel a sudden heat from the pieces of Tim’s soul they carry with them. Steph, Cass, Bruce, Kon, Bart, Dick, Jason, Alfred, Cassie… they all look for theirs.

The soul is now mostly red with flecks of black, very little of the icy blue remains. It’s a bleeding soul.

A dying soul.

“And what do you think will happen to you, if you are soulless?” Sorry, mom.

Apparently, decides Tim, dragging his hoodie over his head to hide his features as he boards the plane, you stop caring.

—–.—–

Did I make you cry? I made myself cry. Was gonna give this a happy ending but I HAVE TO STUDY, FUCKING FINALS.

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sladedick · 5 years

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im just creepin on your twitter (as you do) and i wondering if u would ever write some rastim? bc 👀👀

yes!!!!! sorry this too k so long i love ra’stim owo

noncon/underage/switching/violence/black humor | on ao3

Timothy Drake stares at his American school lunch in the fuzzy security camera. His dark circles are visible under his eyes even from this height, and his hair is visibly unwashed. Equations trail their way up pale arms in smudged ink. He shovels another soggy french fry into his mouth, scratching his armpit with the other hand.

“Are you sure you want that one, Master?” Ra’s’s assistant inquires, standing meekly next to him as he watches the screen.

“You dare question the will of the Demon?” Ra’s booms.

“N-no, master, of course not,” he mutters, looking down. Ra’s turns his attention back to Timothy. He’s facedown in his applesauce, clearly snoring.

“He’s perfect.”

Share the happy news with your detective

“Happy engagement,” Ra’s says. Tim blinks at him.

“To who?”

“To you.”

“I’m not engaged,” he says blankly.

“I am pleased to inform you that you are. To me, the Demon’s Head.”

“No,” Tim declares.

“Yes.” Ra’s’s grin shows teeth.

“No!”

“This is not a discussion,” Ra’s says. “It is the respectful thing to do before I deflower you, Detective.”

Tim makes a disgusted face. “You won’t be ‘deflowering’ me. I had sex with Superboy.” It had been an ordeal. Kon’s Kryptonian dick had gained semi-sentience and tried to lay its eggs in Tim. Turns out Clark hadn’t bothered to give him ‘the talk’.

Ra’s’s lip curls. “How inappropriate.”

“No premarital sex, huh, but rape is a-okay,” Tim mocks.

“Victor’s rights, Timothy.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tim says. Ra’s wags a finger in his face.

“Language, Detective.”

Tim sticks his tongue out. “You can’t marry minors without parental consent. Your marriage is null and void. Ra’s! Ra’s, listen to me, we have to be in Alabama—”

Keep excessive amounts of alcohol away from your detective

The reception is ostentatious, of course.

Ra’s first notices the problem when Tim’s step is slightly halting at the reception, cheeks slightly redder—always red, really, given how pale his skin is even for a European. They’re even red through the several layers of makeup that Ra’s had his servants apply.

Tim gives a lopsided grin, showing off teeth that, until recently, had had braces on them. That’s the second sign something is off. Timothy has been pouting ever since he was kidnapped.

“I want — some more campaign,” he says, quite sincerely. A face, as if he knows that’s not quite right. “Clam pain.” A pause. “Sham veins?”

“Champaign, dear,” Ra’s says softly. Timothy grabs another glass from a passing server before Ra’s can stop it. The reception is ostentatious, and Timothy’s dress is no exception, in lacy whites and pale greens, showing off his body just enough to tell everyone what Ra’s has that they don’t. And how they should be jealous of Ra’s’s high school concubine.

“It’s poor taste to be drunk at your own reception,” Ra’s says.

“Your … fault,�� Tim says. He sways slightly. Ra’s catches his arm. “Kidnapped me. Miss my family.”

“You’ll make a new one quite soon.”

“Fuck you. Hate you,” he mumbles. “Don’t wanna get pregnanant. Pregant. Prenengant.”

Ra’s snatches the glass of champagne from Timothy’s hand as the boy slumps slightly against him.

“I insist,” he says coldly, angrily, “that you be conscious for the consummation.”

He takes some pleasure in seeing Timothy’s skin lose its redness for the first time that night, falling away to reveal a pale face. Timothy grabs desperately for the alcohol, but Ra’s whisks it away just in time.

“Absolutely not.”

2. Keep your detective well entertained

“You can’t all be monks,” Tim tries to explain. The ninja sat in a circle around him squint at him through the eyeholes in their masks, heavy armor clinking as they shift. Tim repeats it in Arabic for the two that don’t speak English, and then switches to it for good.

“I wish to be of the shadow subclass,” Ninja No. 3 says.

“As do I,” adds Ninja No. 1.

“The point of Dungeons and Dragons is to be something you’re not. It’s escapism.” The four guards, practically brainwashed into the service of Ra’s al Ghul, stare at him. “Nobody is allowed to be a ninja monk.”

“I will be a warlock,” says Ninja No. 2, waving about the bit of paper that Tim had given him, translated from what Tim remembers of the Player’s Guide. “In service of the great Head of the Demon—”

“This is a fantastical universe. Ra’s doesn’t exist. See? Escapism!” Tim sighs. “If you don’t cooperate I’m going to tell him you were very inadequate and suggest severe punishment.” He stares sternly.

The ninja pale. Tim wouldn’t do that, really, because then they would end up dead. He knows exactly how much influence he has with Ra’s. The threat, however, is still good.

“I will be a fighter,” sighs Ninja No. 2. “In the service of nobody.”

“Perfect!” Tim grins. He feels like he should patronizingly pat their heads, but refrains. That’s the kind of thing they might only accept from Ra’s.

“I will be a sorcerer,” says Ninja No. 4, “who works for only himself, and wields fantastic power.”

Tim nods enthusiastically.

“I will be a rogue,” says Ninja No. 1, “who overthrows his glorious leader and takes his place, murdering his kin and raping his wife—”

“Wait just a second—”

“—and sending all his castles and being to endless ruin, in search of individuality.”

“I mean,” Tim says, “I’ll allow it …”

(Ninja No. 1 doesn’t show up the next week. Neither do any of the others. It wasn’t your fault, Ra’s assures him, though please do not encourage individuality, Timothy.)

3. Be assured your detective is sexually satisfied and interested

Tim sits on one side of the wooden table, idly tracing the patterned texture with one

finger. Ra’s sits stiff and regal as always, a few slips of paper right in front of him. This is obviously a Meeting. Ra’s is always around Tim, but a Meeting is different. Ra’s has something to talk about, and Tim probably doesn’t want to hear it.

“Beloved,” Ra’s says.

“Ra’s,” Tim replies. His voice is considerably cold. More tired.

“I’ve been doing some research,” Ra’s says. “You have been quite uninterested in our sexual activity.”

“It’s because I object to the rape,” Tim says.

“Ah, I think not. I think you’re simply not … stimulated enough. So I found out what you might be interested in.”

“Please don’t—”

The papers are slapped onto the table like a death warrant, and Tim is stared in the face by his last six months of search history.

man turns little brother gay big dick blowjob looks back at him like the antichrist with flaming, doomed eyes. Tim pales. He tries to think of exactly what he’d been searching on PornHero before Ra’s had caught up with him, but his mind is suddenly completely blank.

bears rail twink anal dp rimming glares accusingly at him. Tim knows that Ra’s has a perfectly neutral expression on his face. He always does. But Tim can’t force himself to meet the green eyes, not even on the pain of losing some of his pride.

“And some more enlightening content,” Ra’s adds, putting another piece of paper on the table. Tim can barely bring himself to open his eyes and look.

batman fucks robin hard in the ass, batman and robin blowjob, batmanxrobin—

Tim covers his eyes. He can’t take it.

“You’re particularly understimulated in the bedroom. Would you prefer that I don a suit in the manner of your adopted father? Would you enjoy referring to me as—”

“No!” Tim almost screams. He wants to cover his ears. “Ra’s, please. Please don’t, okay? I’ll be good, okay? I’ll pretend I like getting fucked. Just please stop.”

Ra’s makes a little humming sound. “This is not a punishment, Beloved. I am simply curious.” The rustling sound of papers lets him know what’s going on. “Though perhaps you can explain this? Superboy x reader fluffy love fanfiction?”

Tim turns white.

“I’m going to kill myself,” he declares, and he’s not sure if he’s joking or not.

4. Install safety bars on windows; learn modern youth jargon

“I’m going to kill myself,” Timothy says.

It’s something he says a lot. Quite a bit, really, typically any time something goes even a little wrong. Timothy had explained to him, a sullen glare in his eyes, that it was a joke. Ra’s had eventually been persuaded.

The fact that Timothy is crouched on the window ledge, the mountain wind making long-grown dark hair—tended to with the most expensive shampoos—swirl out behind Timothy, makes the thought of him joking much less likely.

“That is a choice you will regret,” Ra’s says coolly. He could try to grab him, but Timothy would fall out of the window and die anyways. Then when it came time to punish him properly, Timothy could attempt to childishly shift the blame.

Timothy flips him off.

Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “How rude, Beloved.”

“Yeet,” Timothy says. Ra’s assumes this also means I’m going to kill myself because right after Timothy does it, he’s falling through the air. Ra’s doesn’t hear the crack of his bones or see the blood spatter, but he sees the broken body splayed in the snow below, certainly dead.

“How inconvenient,” Ra’s says, to nobody in particular. Except, perhaps, the three guards who monitor Timothy at all times. He makes a mental note to have them executed.

6. Discourage your detective from staging coups

“Fuck,” Tim says.

“Indeed.” Ra’s’s teeth are perfect, pearly white. A wickedly curved sword at his side slowly drips blood into the oceans pooled around his feet, the corpses’ blood eking its way towards Tim’s booted feet.

Tim stomps. Blood splashes, staining the bottom of his robes. “Fuck!”

Ra’s sheathes his sword. The front of his shirt is crimson, showing that he, at least, did not escape unscathed. Tim draws some small satisfaction from that, even though he feels the guards still loyal to Ra’s grab at his shoulders, yanking his arms behind his back and holding him still.

“A valiant attempt, Detective,” Ra’s says. “Next time, I suggest purging your dissenters’ ranks for spies more carefully.” He moves forward, and Tim sags slightly in the arms of the guards.

“I’m sorry?” Tim offers.

“You’re not.”

Tim sticks his tongue out.

7. Properly reprimand your detective

“I’m sorry,” Tim whimpers, head hanging between his shoulders as he stares down at the bed beneath him, fingers curled in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

A hand cards gently through sweaty hair. “Shh, Timothy, it will be over soon,” Ra’s murmurs. The back of the boy’s thighs and buttocks are covered in red switch marks, from the birch thing that Ra’s holds in the hand that does not hold Timothy. The skin burns red and pink and parts bleed. Timothy won’t be able to sit down for a month without remembering this.

The next one whips down with a wicked noise. Timothy chokes, spasms, arms shaking. He gasps, tears clinging to his long, pretty lashes like pearls.

“You are free to cry if you like, Beloved,” Ra’s says softly. “Forty out of fifty. You’re almost finished.”

8. Curb attempts to relate to the youth

Ra’s throws his sword. It impales the man through the gut; a wound that will leave him squirming for hours in agony before he finally expires.

“Yeet.”

(Timothy doesn’t speak to him for a week.)

9. Keep track of possessions around your detective

“Is that my cape, Detective?”

Tim wraps the green folds further around himself, his small form almost disappearing inside of it. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to return it?”

The high collar hides Timothy’s face, and slightly muffles his answer. “No.”

10. Take very good care of your detective, and give it nobody else to turn to when it hurts

Timothy’s eyes are wide, blank oceans, full of a sort of pain and sadness that Ra’s knows will pass, but he still almost dislikes seeing in his consort’s eyes. Ra’s’s arm is wrapped around him, fingers splaying dark hair around them, Timothy warm against his chest. His eyes are closed, the two of them wrapped in Ra’s’s cape. Before, Timothy would flinch away whenever he was to be held. Now, he almost begs to be touched with his eyes, even when he is too proud to ask.

A shift of him. Ra’s stays still, doesn’t move, enjoying the fact of Timothy against him. A hand slowly pets his hair.

Something is wet against his chest, where the neck of his shirt is cut down to reveal his chest. Ra’s almost has to pry Tim’s face off of him, and it comes away teary.

“How do you fair, my love?”

A hand rests on Ra’s’s shoulder, pale fingers against dark, tanned skin. The eyes look past Ra’s.

“I hate you,” Timothy whispers. It’s not an accusation. Simply a sad, broken confession.

“I know,” Ra’s says, almost, almost sympathetic.

A pause,

A long, long pause.

“I love you,” Tim whispers, and it’s even softer, barely audible. And then he’s diving back against Ra’s’s chest, Ra’s’s head tucked above Tim’s.

“I know,” Ra’s murmurs.

The look in his eyes is the stare of a man who has killed millions, and will kill millions more.

#Anonymous #asks #ra'stim #ra's al ghul #tim drake #fic recs #freak fic #prompts/requests

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reallyautomaticvoid · 5 years

Text

Calling It: Good Intentions

Chapter 1: Calling It: The Beginning

Characters (in order of appearance): Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Conner Kent, Tam Fox, Bruce Wayne, Ra’s al Ghul

Summary:

Timothy Jackson Drake has been Red Robin for nearly three years now. Ever since he was summarily kicked out of the Batfam (no matter what anyone in the Batfamily said), he’s been taking care of himself. He has his own back and doesn’t need anybody else help, no matter what the Titans may say (and they have a lot to say on the matter). He doesn’t need a safety net when he flies.

Note:

This was inspired by @iphoenixrising beautiful piece, Fractured, which everyone should read because, frankly, it’s incredible. I would also like to thank them for all of the help they gave me when I was starting to write this piece. Seriously, they're a wonderful person who deserves all the lovely thing in their life.

Serene and Gotham do not go together. It was almost peaceful so long as you ignore the racket of car alarms and traffic. It was excellent for Gotham. Anytime there was peace (and Gotham was not on the verge of an alien invasion) was a blessing.

Something to celebrate.

A reason to be happy.

Drumming his thumbs on the concrete roof under him, Red Robin waits in the chill. There was always, always something to do in Gotham. Punching Two-Face in the face? Great. Foiling the latest Joker scheme? Fantastic. Catching Ivy before she releases the latest version of her plant toxin? All in a days work. Hell, usually there were muggers throughout Crime Alley that Red could punch.

Quiet nights, like tonight, grants a sense of false hope. Like Gotham could do this every day. That maybe Gotham could be like any other city.

It couldn’t be.

Red Robin knew that.

The worst part wasn't the boredom (which, don't get him wrong, was fucking awful. Shit, he'd almost welcome a Ra's attack, but that wasn't due until later this week), no it was the stealthy asshat sneaking his way over to Red because, clearly, Tim couldn't see him coming.

“Hood.” Red's thumbs accelerate their drumming.

“Damn, Red, and here I was tryin' ta be sneaky.” Red Hood sinks onto the roof next to Red Robin. Red could see Hood surveying him.

"Next time, leave the steel-toed boots at home then."

Jason snorts. "Ya need a hair cut."

Red ignores Jason. “You know it’s immensely stupid to sneak up on somebody in Gotham, right?”

“Whada ya going do? Shoot me? I'd love to see you try, Babybird.”

Red scoffs as his thumbs continue to play their beat, “oh yeah, I’m the one with a history of shooting people.”

“One time.”

“Three times.”

Red ignores Jason's flinch, too busy shoving his own unwelcome memories back into their black box. One of many. Hood slitting Red's (then Robin's) throat. The hot, dry Arabian desert. The cock of a pistol. Death. Gotham rooftops. Blood. Unknown basements. Pain.

Jason bumps Red, nudging Tim out of his thoughts, Hood forces a chuckle, “eh, the first time was barely a graze.”

For the first time, Tim's thumbs froze as his head swivels around to look at Hood. Tim gave Hood one of his best Red Robin glares which only appears to amuse Hood.

“How in the Hell do you figure?”

Red could tell that Hood was grinning at him under his hood, “yer still breathing.”

Tim shakes his head, suppressing a smile. It had been over a year since Red Hood had last tried to kill him. Well, really tried to kill him. Without the Pit pulling strings.

Enough time passed so Tim 'replacing' Jason wasn't a raw wound anymore. It didn't hurt that Red had also been replaced at this point too. Shoved out of the way to make room for the family. Like Jason. Like Damian. Like Dick. The real sons.

Mostly though, Tim thought Jason finds it more useful to keep Red breathing instead of trying to stab him with a Batarang.

Again.

It's moderately difficult for a person with a slit throat to track the drugs trade in Gotham.

Shaking his head, Red resumes drumming his thumbs. “You have a terrible sense of humor.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s to die for,” Hood snickers more to himself than Red.

Red closes his eyes briefly, resisting the urge to sigh (because, damn it Hood, that shouldn’t be funny, but it was, so fuck you) before asking, “how’s Roy?”

Tim internal wince when he hears Jason swoon.

He’s fucking swooning.

Like a goddamn Disney Princess.

Oh Gods, when did this become Red’s life.

“He’s fukin’ fantastic. No, really Replacement,” Hood continues loudly over Red’s groans, “he does dis thing, with his tongue, dat makes me c—”

“SO, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?” Red’s voice came out harsher than he intends in order to cover Jason’s gushing.

Red’s rules for dealing with the Bats:

1. Find out what the Bats want.

2. Give it to them.

3. Get the Hell out of Dodge.

The less time Red (Tim) had to spend with the Bats, the better. It wasn’t like he was a welcome part of the Batfamily anymore.

Hell, the only Bat member Red ever communicated with (outside of the job) was Jason. Even then only on the rare occasion Tim was in Gotham. Red put up with it because if Tim starts avoiding Jason, Hood would go out of his way to find and talk to Red. Or Tim. Either would work.

The Titans were not enthusiastic about having the formerly dead Robin on their doorstep, asking after Red and what kind of beer they had. ("PVR? Shit, Replacement, I thought you had class.")

Besides, it was better this way. Everyone was happier in their designated roles. It's easier than trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Tim is done trying to shove that peg in anymore.

And Red's perfectly fine with it.

“B wants ya ta come ta the Manner for dinner,” Red controls a flinch that Hood graciously ignores. “Alfred making pizza.”

“Can’t. I have to run a trace on a weapons shipment,” Red lies.

It's a white lie, really. The trace on the weapons cargo (a trail Red had been working for fucking weeks now) had long since run cold. Since there were not any criminals out and about, Red should call it a night.

Oblivious as ever, Hood suggests, "do it on da Batcomputer.”

Red stifles a groan. Yes, it made a lot of sense to do it on the Batcomputer. Red hates (and he really, really hates to) to admit it, but the Batcomputer is faster than any setup that he has in Gotham. Plus, it is already hooked into Gotham PD meaning Red wouldn't waste hacking in.

For some reason, the GPD was forever upgrading their systems. It woulda been annoying except for the sense of pride Red got every time he wormed his way back into the database.

Logically, Red should do it on the Batcomputer.

But, returning to the Batcave? Ugh.

For the sake of argument, Red entered the idea of going to the Batcave.

The facts:

1. Batman would be there; that would be…unavoidable.

2. Robin would defiantly be there along with his newest pet. Through the grapevine, Red heard that somehow Robin had convinced both Batman and Agent A that he should be allowed to keep a cow in the Batcave. A cow. And to think, Bats and Agent A nearly had an aneurysm when Red had bring a guinea pig back to the Manner for a science project. It had been in a cage for Heaven sakes, but it had still been a fight to get it through the front door.

Red briefly considered if Robin was keeping the cow (dubbed Batcow for some unholy reason) was being kept in his old workspace before banishing the thought. It wasn’t any of Red’s concern what was happening in the Batcave anymore.

3. Oh fucking hell, Nightwing would be there too, come to think about it. N had moved back to Gotham after the Battle of the Cowl and the ensuing chaos that followed. As far as Red knew, N hadn't gone back to Blüdhaven nor would he after 'Haven had fallen. Nightwing would be inescapable, that is, if N even noticed Red was there. Red started drumming his thumbs again, Gods, he was beginning to sound like an angsty tween. He was twenty, not twelve for fuck sakes.

As much as his stomach yearns for Alfred's pizza, Red didn't want to go through the tedious process of expulsion from the Manor.

Not my place anymore Hood, remember?

"No, I already have all the info synced on my systems. Next time.” The tone that came out of Red's mouth was nothing like his usual tone. It was smooth. Unemotional. Insincere.

If Hood noticed the change in Red's tones, he didn't comment.

* * *

“Where were you?” Dick flips off of the high training bar, landing lightly onto the mat near Jason. Jason fought a grimace at Dick’s smirk. He had never been able to achieve Dick’s level of grace and dat fuckin' acrobatic knew it. And Jason would be damn (again) if that fuckin' asshole didn’t rub it in ta Jason’s face every fuckin' chance he got. Dick strolled pass the Demon who happened to be busy practicing with his katana (and who da fuck's bright idea was it ta give that back ta the kid? Jason, really, really didn't want ta have ta get stitches again) ta invade Jason's bubble.

“Talkin’ ta Tim,” Jason slams his helmet down onto his workbench before starting ta clean his guns.

Each of the members of the Batfamily had their own work area in the cave. Jason’s area near da garage which made it great fer a quick escape. Goldie's has his workbench next ta da mats. Demon Brat's was between Bruce's (next ta da Batcomputer) and Dick's.

The only bench dat had never been touched was fer da Replacement. It stood, damn near gleaming next ta the back of the Batcomputer where the person who was supposed ta be workin' there would have easy access ta da Batcomputer if they (Tim) needs ta repairs it.

Goldie hardly took any notice of what Jason was sayin' ‘cause he was distracted by da Brat. In fairness, it did look like the Demon Brat was tryin' ta hack the practice dummy ta death.

“Oh, that’s nice. Is he coming to dinner?”

“Busy,” Jason grunts.

“Huh, he’s been busy a lot recently,” Dick replies, still starin' at da Demon. “Damian, what on Earth are you doing with that katana? I only gave it back to you because you promised not to hurt anything with it.”

Jason misses da Brat’s response as Dick went over to correct (bicker with) Damian about the katana.

Sometimes, Jason thought, Dick was a fuckin’ idiot.

Replacement—Damn it, Tim, not Replacement (Jason was working on that)— hadn’t been near the Manner for over a year. He hadn’t been near the Batcave in almost half that time.

Yet, neither Bruce nor fuckin’ Goldie seems ta have a goddamn clue about the fucking kid. Sure, they knew what fuckin' CEO: Tim Wayne was doin’. But fuckin' really though, what tabloid didn’t?

Tim though? Ickly Baby Bird though? Dork wonder? They didn’t have a fuckin’ clue. What's worse, neither of them seem ta have a clue dat they didn't have a clue. World Greatest Detective? Shit, they couldn’t see what was goin’ on two inches from their fuckin’ face.

Jason glares down at his workbench. Shit, when had the Replacement—shit Tim— wellbeing been become fuckin’ Jason’s problem?

About a year ago, Re—Tim had gotten Jason’s nuts out of the fire. Not that Jason wouldn’t have figured a way out. He had been pinned down by drug dealers before. Sure, Jason mighta gone in a little hot (and without enough bullets and he mighta been ridin' da pit a bit, but who needed to know that?). He didn’t like drug dealers who would push their crap onto kids. It rubbed 'em the wrong way.

But Tim (fuck yeah, he got his name right)—icky Timmy-wimmy—swung in like it was noth’ and kicked some major ass. He managed to knock all the fuckin’ dealer and tied ‘em up before Jason could say shit.

Then Tim did something that Jason never expected.

He fuckin’ dragged Jason’s sorry ass back ta one of Jason’s safe houses (which Jason still doesn't know how Tim knew about dat one. It wasn't one on any of B's radar) and patched him up before leaving.

“Da fuck you do that for?” Jason slurred.

Blood loss was always a bitch.

Tim shrugged. It mighta been da blood loss, but Replacement- Tim's eyes seemed empty. “Couldn’t leave you there to die, could I?”

Tim left before Jason could respond.

It wasn’t long after dat Jason gave in to Bruce and Dick and started hanging ‘round the bats again.

Jason had expected to see Tim around the cave. After a month of not seeing Tim, he finally cracked and asked the Demon about it.

“Where’s Replacement?”

Dami looked around at him. “Tt. If you’re talking about Drake ,” he sneered the name which made Jason’s eyes roll, “he doesn’t live here anymore.”

"Isn't the kid only like, eighteen?"

Damian stared blankly at Jason. "And your point, Todd?"

Dat was da last time Jason had asked any Tim question ta any of da Bats. He did, from time to time, still yanked on Timmy’s chain, ta make sure the kid was still kickin’.

Alfred's voice pulls 'em from his thoughts as the butler calls them up fer dinner.

* * *

Tim took a deep breath in as he parked his Ducati before entering his Perch.

It had been a long week. If Tim saw one more proposal to sell WE tech to Lexcorp, he was going to scream. Some of the ideas people were having…. Tim had begun to worry about the intelligence level of those who worked for him.

Tim heavily sigh before sliding off his cowl and tunic. He glances down at the rainbow of bruises that were blooming over his torso. No need for (new) stitches tonight. Yay.

Maybe Tam would let him have an easy day tomorrow...? Tim snorts at that idea as he pokes a particular large bruise that's three different shades of purple. He was the CEO of a major company who, on average, spent less than a week a month in the office. So when Tam got him in the office…well, there was lots of paperwork. Tam likes to claim that if he was here more that there’d be less paperwork. Tim disagrees with this. If Tim were in the office more, he would have more paperwork.

Tim finally gets his costume off and pulls on his sweats. Sweats were, in Tim's opinion, one of the best things ever invented. They allow him to feel a bit more like Tim rather than Mr. Wayne or Red Robin.

Tim hums to himself as he left his perch to go up to his apartment.

Unlike his perch (where everything was in prestige condition) Tim's apartment is a disaster. While in Gotham, he was also almost always too busy to clean. After the fourth (or was the fifth?) time Tam had entered his apartment to find it in shambles, she suggested (ordered) Tim get a cleaning service. She even offered to do it herself. Tim had declined the offer because of, well, Bat.

That's how Tim found himself (at three o’clock in the fucking morning) washing his coffee mug before setting up his coffee maker for the morning.

As Tim washed the cup, he debated with himself about whether he needs to sleep tonight when he heard his phone buzz. He glances down to see Conner had sent him a text.

GO TO BED.

Tim grinning types back:

How do you know that I wasn’t snug as a bug in bed and asleep until my phone went off?

Tim sent the message off. Less than ten seconds later (which, crap, that means Con means business), his phone buzzed again.

Because I know you. Go the fuck to bed or you're grounded all weekend.

Tim snorts at that. It isn’t like the metas in the Titans would (could) ground him. He had escape plans for every one of grounding. Although, Raven had threatened she’d poof in his room and take all his Red Robin uniforms. He didn’t want to test that. So Tim texts back:

Fine. Going to bed.

Tim barely gets the coffee grounds out before his phone buzzed again.

NOW or I’m flying over there.

Tim rolls his eyes at his best friend before sending back:

My God, I need to get your cameras out of here. I’m making coffee for the A.M. then straight to bed. Night, worrywart.

As Tim put the finishing touches on the coffee, his phone went off again.

Night, reason why I have an ulcer. Oh, and don’t forget to take your vitamins!

* * *

The next morning at WE was not as bad as he was expecting.

It was so, so, so much worse.

As soon as he got in, Tam grabbed him to tell him that an investor was waiting in Tim’s office. The investor wanted to discuss why his product wasn’t in production yet.

Tim's ears were still ringing as, an hour later, he heads to a board meeting. Trying to get the board to make a decision was like trying to get Bart to slow down. Frustrating and ultimately useless.

By the end of the meeting, Tim wasn’t sure what the meeting had been about or if a decision had even been made. This all happened before lunch.

“You want the usual, Tim?” Tam asks, as Tim was about to reenter his office.

“That sounds fanatics, Tam, thanks.” He gives her a grateful half smile.

Tam hums back. “Oh and Tim, Mr. Wayne requested a meeting with you. Again.”

Tim suppresses a sigh. “What’d you say?”

“That you were going back out of town tonight and I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. Which isn't a lie because I don’t know when you’re going to be back."

Tim rubs his temples ignoring Tam’s glare. A migraine had been threatening to form for the last hour and a guilt trip from Tam was the last thing that Tim needs.

“I promise Tam, when I know, you’ll know.”

She huffs. “Fine then. I’ll get your lunch for you.”

Tim smiles at her. “Thanks, Tam.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t thank me yet. Once Mr. Wayne found out that you were going out of town again he—” but the rest of her sentence was cut off by Bruce.

Bruce coming out of Tim’s office.

Great.

Tim felt his best CEO mask slip into place. He hadn’t seen Bruce since…well, Tim wasn’t sure when the last time that he’d seen Bruce. Let alone been close enough to talk to him.

“There you are, Tim!” Brucie came out in full force this morning.

Great, this is exactly what Tim’s head needs this morning.

“He decided to stop by for a bit. See you in a few, Tim.” Tam shoots him an apologetic look before leaving.

Tam may not know all of what went down between Tim and the Bats, but she did know that it was best to keep them separate if possible or, if not, to get out of the way.

“Bruce. I wasn’t expecting to see you today. How’s Selina?” Tim keeps his voice detached as he processes these new turn of events.

What he wouldn't give for a cup of coffee...

Tim strolls into his office with Brucie following him, the door squeaking shut behind them.

“She’s great! So, son,” Tim suppresses a flinch (not your kid, remember? Just the placeholder between kids. We’re all clear on that, right? Right.). “I didn’t even know that you were in town. I thought you were still in San Francisco.”

“I’m headed there tonight,” Tim begrudgingly informs Bruce. Though neither his expression nor tone changes from the CEO mask. “So, what can I do for you?”

Bruce extracted some files from his jacket (Where did those folders come from? Red did not like not knowing that.) before thrusting them at Tim.

“Can you run the data for me on this case?”

“Not a problem.” Tim flips open the top file.

“Alfred wants you to come for dinner.”

It was a statement. Not a question.

“Can’t, sorry. I’m going to the Tower right after work. Maybe next time.” Tim replies automatically without looking up.

Brucie, however, didn’t seem to notice the tone. He was already on his cellphone, checking something.

“Right then. Next time.” Bruce left before Tim gets a chance to respond. Tim drops the files next to his desk before walking around it and sinking down into his chair. He lightly raps his head against the desk for a minute.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Tim thinks to himself. He tries to make it a point to not tell the any of Bats of his coming or goings. Really, though, it wasn’t like any of them cared.

A voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like Con) whispers that it must be the sleep deprivation, which didn’t make any sense. Tim had gotten almost two whole hours of sleep this morning. And that's like ten normal people hours of sleep.

It really isn’t Tim’s fault that the police reports that he had been waiting weeks for had finally been put on to the Gotham server last night. Of course, he had to read them last night just to make sure they were the right ones. He wasn’t going to send the Titans, his team, off on a wild goose chase. So, he had read the report and made his own before going to bed last—this morning.

Tim's pulled from these thoughts by a knock on the door. Tam was standing there, holding a carb salad with raises eyebrows.

“Here is the thing you claim is lunch.” Tam crosses the room and places the box onto Tim’s desk.

Tim sniffs, shuffling Bruce’s papers away. “There is nothing wrong with eating a salad for lunch.”

“It’s not the salad itself I object to. It's the fact that it's your only eating a salad for lunch that weird."

“Who doesn’t like salad?”

“Most sane people.”

Tim snorts. “You realize calling your boss insane isn’t a good idea?”

“Tim, if you fired me, then you’d have to do all the paperwork,” Tam smirks at Tim’s horrified expression. “Yeah, I think my job is safe. What did Mr. Wayne want?” She nonchalantly asks.

Tim stiffens at the question. “He just wanted some data.” Tim flips the lid off the salad to see a full family sized salad sitting in front of him. “I think you may have gotten too much.”

“No, I didn't. You'll need the energy. The Lexcorp officials are coming after lunch for an impromptu meeting. Don't worry,” Tam continues at Tim's groan, "I've already told Steve down at Security to run interference." Tam turns to leave. “And I expect all of that salad to be gone by the time I get back mister,” she adds in her best mock motherly voice.

“Yes, Ma’am.” And Tim took an exaggeratedly large bit at Tam’s glare.

* * *

The rest of the day at WE went by relatively smoothly. Tim's even able to get out at a reasonable hour.

Miraculous, Tim had been able to finish the whole salad. Or, maybe it wasn’t a miracle; just Tim failing at remembering to feed himself. Tam was always good at making sure Tim ate. She claims that he was just too skinny and would attempt to force-feed him every chance she got.

Tim hums to himself as he unlocks the front door to his apartment. He was supposed to be at the tower by midnight. For once, he didn’t have to rush to get there or run the risk of being late.

There were even times that Tim thought that his three-floor apartment a little…much.

When Tim had bought it, he'd never expected that all of the space would bother him. Spending most of his childhood alone at the Drake house and then at the Manner, large empty space had never been an issue.

And Tim had been fine with it until he had started to spend more time at the tower. Tim smiles at the thought of the other Titans while dumping his briefcase onto the couch and throwing his suit jacket down too (his mother, or Alfred for that matter, would have been horrified that Tim had just thrown a custom made Armani suit onto the ground, like trash? but, hey, they weren’t here so what they do?). Tim heads down the hallway towards his bedroom, taking off the pieces of Tim Wayne: CEO costume off so he could put on his Tim Drake: Red Robin uniform on instead.

The tie went on the guest bathroom’s doorknob, and the shoes get kicked down the hallway ahead (making a small crashing noise) of him into his room. By the time Tim reached his bedroom, he was just in his undershirt and pants.

Red stills.

Something wasn’t right.

Red looks around, trying to figure out what was misplaced. His eye roved over the neat mess also known as his closet. He really should get somebody in to clean it but who has the time to vet a new hire? His dresser was pulled open with clothing spilling out of it.

Tim did have a ridiculous amount of clothing.

Tim’s eyes froze on his bedside table. There was the usual clutter (empty soda cans, coffee mugs, Chinese food containers, etc.) but there, sitting neatly embedded on top of all of the disarray was a gleaming knife.

A blade used personally by the Demon’s Head.

Tim had only seen that dagger a handful of times before. None of those memories were pleasant.

A bubble of panic began to form in his chest. Shit, shit, shit. I do not have time for this today Ra’s. Tim casually reached towards his distress beacon.

He hadn’t even moved an inch before pain met him.

Tim was hurled forward before slamming down onto his bed by a force behind him.

“Now, now, Detective. We can’t have you spoiling all the fun now, can we?” Ra’s voice came from a spot a few feet in front of Tim where he'd magically appeared.

Fucking hell. I don’t have time for this.

“We wouldn’t want you to call those pesky Titans, now would we?”

“Go to Hell, Ra's.” Tim's voice was somewhat less intimidating, what with the three ninjas smashing into his back and a pillow smothering him.

“Tut, tut. Language, young Detective.” Tim feels the stab of a syringe going into his neck followed by a burning sensation. The world began to get fuzzy. “It wouldn’t do for the next Demon’s Head to insult his predecessor.”

There's a rushing noise in Tim's ears which is only drowned out by the steady beat of his heart. Lights begain to dim. Tim's arms were getting heavery as he struggled to move. Tim give a weak kick towards the person pinning him down wich barely rocks the bed. The world is quickly closing in on Tim.

Before he completely passes the fuck out, Tim manage to say, “What would you prefer Ra’s, Real Housewives of Gotham or Metropolis? Because one of those will be playing on a loop for days before I’m done.”

The last sound Tim hears before sleep overtakes him is of Ra's laughing.

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#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Conner Kent #Tam Fox #Bruce Wayne #Ra's al Ghul

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elareine · 5 years

Text

A fool to believe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, mention of war and injury Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Daemons, though they barely feature here tbh, Getting Back Together, Misunderstandings, mention of serious injury, but no details given, Fluff, the lightest of angst, Epistolary Series: Part 3 of foolish, perhabs AO3: /18771535

When Jason Todd is tired, frustrated, angry, happy - in short, when he feels any emotion at all -, he writes a letter. Here are six letters he never sent.

A letter that was torn up by the writer in disgust at himself:

Dearest Dear Tim,

I know what I’ve done will be a shock to you. I know you will be angry. So am I. As I write this, I am in London, waiting to be shipped out to France, maybe Spain.

However, what could you expect if your father tells me that your family will never accept me us and that we’re over? Of course you choose them. Why wouldn’t you? I understand. But you could’ve at least told me yourself, not through your father! He’s always looked down on me. I could tell he was utterly convinced he was saving you.

I expected better from you. I thought you would at least tell me yourself. Why didn’t you? I don’t understand.

Do you even remember what you told me? How it didn’t matter that I don’t have a family anymore, because we would make our own? Ha.

Was I just a diversion? An amusement because you were bored? Do you not love me?

Why? I just don’t understand

Damn it

A letter that was replaced by a terse note of acknowledgement:

Tim,

I see that I have my answer then. I was wondering - hoping, even - if it hadn’t just been a misunderstanding, your father testing me, perhaps, that somehow, you still loved wanted me. But no.

“It is obvious that our visions for the future do not match.”

What vision was that, then? A vision where I am somehow highborn, with rank and income enough to impress your family? Because it can’t be the future we have been talking about, with us together, come what may, for better or worse, in sickness and health, or you wouldn’t have had your father deliver the notice and only write me yourself weeks later.

Could you at least explain yourself? Tell me what made you change your mind? Was it really just the pressure of potentially losing your family? What did I do wrong? I love loved you so much; why wasn’t that enough?

A letter that Roy found and threw away because it wasn’t legible:

How is it that I still find myself talking to you in my mind? I want to tell you about the people I met here. About General Prince, who is the most amazing fighter I have ever seen and the best person, too.

It wasn’t her fault. Sometimes, the enemy is just too strong.

I made friends, you know. I talk to them. I’m not alone but for you anymore. One of them carried me out of that hell.

And still, I keep thinking I hear your laugh. Or, more likely here, your sarcastic comments. You would have had that coward cowing at his knees…

I’m not making any sense, I know. They fixed me up, we thought, but fever is setting in. My hands are shaking. I just wanted to say… I miss you very much.

Maybe your father was right. You would have been a widower within a year.

A letter that was thrown into the fire, unnoticed by cheering sailors:

Dear Mister Drake Wayne,

I would hereby like to inform you that I have just received my commission as an officer. I am navy, now. The General saw how I fought and gave me an opportunity to transfer and buy my commission. I must confess to being very pleased. Not only does this mean a much better income and chance to advance, but I have also always longed to see more of the world than an infantry soldier could.

My new rank also means that I was informed about your and your family’s activities for the Crown, by the way. I cannot escape you, it seems. So there is no need to keep that a secret anymore.

I suppose you wonder why I am writing to you, three years after we’ve broken our engagement. I must admit that there is some curiosity still lingering after that event, that I would hereby seek to satisfy.

Back then, you spoke of different visions for the future. My lower social status, in particular, was objectionable, as you insinuated. What do you think now? Would I fulfil your standards? Or would my birth still speak against me? Am I good enough now?

I am glad to inform you that others do not find me as repulsive. Now, if only I could stop comparing everyone to you and find them wanting. Hopefully, I will find myself married soon enough, so that we both may be spared any embarrassment when I return to Gotham eventually, as I am sure you have found another long ago. Is it the oldest Kent boy? Some wealthy stranger, perhaps, sweeping you off your feet, giving you everything I never could

A letter that would have arrived in Gotham after the writer did, anyway:

Dear Tim,

How are you? I’m doing well, thank you for never asking. It’s “Captain” now. Captured two ships, made money, made the General proud. I was even able to pay her back.

So now it’s back to England for us. I will not leave the navy - where would I go? - but we have accumulated many days of leave, and Roy Harper wants to go to his best friend’s wedding. That’s Sir Roy Harper, now, in case you are wondering, and that best friend is your brother. Small world, huh? He wants me to come along, and I have no excuse to give.

I suppose I should have known that I couldn’t avoid Gotham forever that this day would come.

You told me about Dick and Barbara Gordon. I remember the exasperation in your voice when you spoke of his puppy love and their inability to see how true it ran. There will be no way to avoid seeing each other at this wedding.

I don’t know how I feel about that. I miss you - I can admit that now - but I don’t want to see you. What if you are still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? What if six years did nothing but make me love you more?

What am I saying? We both know that my pride and temper will prevail once I see you.

Hopefully, our meeting will show me that I have been holding on to a phantom all this time. My idea of you, that idealized memory tainted by nostalgia for peacetime, cannot possibly compare to reality.

A letter that the writer left on his writing desk, but that Tisiphone and Lachesis hid under Tim’s pillow for him to find upon waking:

Dearest Tim,

Do you know how many times over the last seven years I have found myself in this exact position? Sitting at my desk, thinking of you, writing a letter that you will never read… Yet today I write with the hope that it will be the last time, for tomorrow, I will stand in front of God and vow to be with you for the rest of our lives.

I do not kid myself that we will never be apart. You have your work, and I have mine. We are both quite stubborn about it, too, which I think we have adequately proved in this lifetime. But I swear to you that I will not let words go unspoken anymore. Everything I write here, I have told you or will tell you, if need be, again and again. I will not see us hurt for lack of communication again.

When I returned to Gotham, I was so angry to see you behaving as if nothing had happened. You introduced me to eligible bachelors - it seems so ridiculous now. What in God’s name ever possessed us to do such a thing?

Still, I knew you better than we both remembered, and I couldn’t understand how you could look so sad even as you were smiling and surrounded by your family. Yet something in me recognized that feeling and echoed it. It’s a loneliness that’s not borne out of a lack of friends or family, but out of want for a heart that calls to your own.

There is, simply put, no one else I could ever imagine spending my life with.

I know what marriage means. I know it means more than just declarations of love and long walks together; that there will be hard times. I swear to love you even when you are in a foul mood or withdrawn; when we fight again and again over the small and big things; when one of us has to leave for long periods of time, and we don’t know when we will see each other again; when one of us wishes the other would just go away for need of some quiet. I will even endure weekly dinners with your family. Yes, even Damian. There, that is a proper declaration of love, is it not?

I started writing this as a way to prepare for my vows tomorrow. Now that I think about it, though, I am reconsidering my strategy. As much as you’ve always secretly appreciated my letters (and you needn’t lie about that - Lachesis told me), public displays of affection still make you blush.

Well. With the notable exception of the day I proposed a second time, of course. You always know just what I need.

Still. Perhaps you would not appreciate it if I poured out my heart in front of everyone. I think I will keep my vows to the most crucial point, the one thing you need to know:

I love you.

Yours,

Jason

#jaytim #foolish perhaps #jason todd #tim drake #elareine writes #fanfic

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