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bicycle4two · 1 year

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fine as we are, but we want more || Jason Todd x Female!Reader || Chapter 1 of 8

Summary:

all things considered, you're pretty lucky.

in all your years living in gotham city, you've never been mugged, never had your apartment broken into, never been held as a hostage.

until now.

it seems your luck has run out and there's nothing you can do about it other than wait for someone to come rescue you. . . .

or, jason and you reunite after a long time.

Notes:

title's from "fools" by lauren aquilina

i haven't written fic in a good while and well, playing gotham knights made me want to write jason todd fic because i love him

this is mostly self indulgent, just scenes i wanted to write all crammed together. it's been a hot minute so i'm very rusty

hope you enjoy it though!

...

Read on AO3

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Chapter 1:

You like to think that all things considered, you’re pretty lucky.

Living in Gotham is no walk in the park. You imagine that people don’t normally have to look over their shoulder as often as you do when you leave the comforts of your apartment. You think that maybe people outside of Gotham don’t play Bad Guy Bingo with their friends, checking to see if they’ve got the wining row of cliches and chaos on their way home.

One night, you found yourself texting BINGO to your group chat within thirty minutes of leaving the café, having witnessed a bunch of Freaks setting fire to the streets—obviously just because they can—while trying to break open an armored truck’s door. It didn’t take long before Nightwing somersaulted into the scene and quickly beat the group to the ground, quite literally, if you do say yourself.

It was the description of Nightwing’s spectacular entrance that caused your win. Your friends tend to forget the theatrics of the hero.

Anyway. For all the years you’ve been living in Gotham, walking its streets, and being witness to the disorder and mayhem that the city seems to be victim to much too often, you’d been lucky. Your apartment has never been broken into, you’ve never had your purse stolen in broad daylight, nor have you been held at gunpoint.

Maybe you were born with the knack of always being in the right place at the right time. Or maybe, just maybe, you had someone looking out for you.

At least, that’s what if felt like a few years ago.

You wonder if anyone else has noticed that the Robin they see fighting on the streets, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, was not the original Robin.

You’ve heard stories of the Batman for years, practically grew up watching the news cover his fights with major threats like the Joker and the Riddler, and he almost seemed like a fairytale—the dark hero that keeps the monsters from coming to get you in the night. It wouldn’t surprise you if no one questioned the child, now teenager, fighting alongside him, maybe because he seemed like a myth, too. You remember the time Robin first appeared alongside the Dark Knight, flipping over bad guys with a boyish laugh only to hit them where it hurts when they least expect it.

You remember the first Robin and you’ve met, befriended, maybe even loved (if teenage you even knew what that meant, what that entailed) the second.

Your Robin.

The boy who fought with strength that seemed to come from someone much bigger than himself.

You were a couple months into your freshmen year of high school when you first ran into him.

You were once again out late at night, not your choice, really, the library had run out of paper and you really needed to photocopy several chapters from a first edition (something you cannot check out) for your homework, and were just about to take a short cut through an alley when you stumbled into something you were sure you were going to see all over social media tomorrow.

Robin stood with his back to you, his attention on four grown men in different states of collapse. Two were face down on the ground, hands zip tied behind their back. One was leaning against a dumpster, eyes unfocused and drool and blood dripping from his mouth. The last was dangling upside down from the fire escape. He was missing a shoe and his jacket was slipping off his arms.

You were so focused on taking in the sight of it all (it really is different witnessing something in person than seeing it on a screen) that you didn’t realize that Robin was now looking at you, a curious frown on his face.

“I wouldn’t go down here if I were you,” he said, forcing your attention to him, thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the scene behind him like he needed to clarify what he was talking about.

“I, I need to get home,” you told him, almost embarrassed by how small your voice sounded. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to talk to Robin. “It’s, uh, faster through here.”

“Faster doesn’t always mean safer.” Robin gestured to the bodies behind him again, emphasizing the scene once more. “If that wasn’t obvious.”

“Good thing I wasn’t here a minute too soon then,” you let out a huff. You wanted to take his advice, you really did, but again, you needed to get home and it was only getting later. “I doubt there’re more hiding around the corner there… maybe if I’m quick…”

“I think it would be better if you stick to where the light is, Miss.” There was a bit of impatience laced in his tone. You figured that Robin had better places to be now that his job here was done. There was only more crime to stop in Gotham. “Or, I don’t know, maybe call someone to get you.”

You couldn’t keep yourself from pouting at his insistence that you don’t take the shortcut. You really didn’t want to be picked up and lectured if you could help it. There was a reason why you chose to walk home despite the risks.

“But that could take like thirty minutes. Can’t you just, I don’t know, escort me? Isn’t that like in your guidelines?”

The Boy Wonder let out a short, surprised laugh. The restless energy he was exuding fading. “Guidelines?”

“Yeah.” You perked up as well, glad that he no longer seemed like he was trying to get rid of you. “Superheroes save cats from trees and help old ladies cross the street. Things like that.”

“I must have missed the memo,” Robin said, grinning. “It really says that?”

“Yup. Pretty sure I’ve read it in Superheroing for Dummies or something.” You gave him a smile. “So, what do you say?”

The boy put his hand on his hip, a sort of thinking pose, you guessed, before he shrugged his shoulder. “Oh, what the heck,” he said under his breath. “C’mon. What kind of hero would I be if I don’t make sure you get home safely?”

And he did get you home in one piece, his presence reassuring and comforting on the walk back to your old apartment building.

You didn’t expect him to make small talk, he looked like the type who was comfortable in silence, preferred it, but he asked about the papers you had cradled in your arms and surprised you with some recommendations for your paper, suggested other books to look into. When you reached the front steps of the building, keys out to unlock the door, you didn’t even have the chance to thank him before he disappeared into the night. You looked into the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of him but, alas, all you saw was darkness.

With a sigh of disappointment, you figured that maybe that was the last time you would see the Boy Wonder.

But then you caught sight of him right before the bank down the street practically burst into flames, people in heavy body armor running out with bags of money, and you watched him jump down from an impressive height, landing a kick on a goon twice his size.

And, again, you saw him brooding on one of the buildings you walked past on your way home, almost missing him if not for the chill that went down your spine, the telltale sign that you were being watched. Once you saw how his brightly colored suit looked in contrast with the dark skies of Gotham, it got easier to spot him running on top of buildings before disappearing into the shadows.

And again, and again, and again, outside the library’s doors, back against the wall, waiting for you.

“It’s late,” he would say, like this wasn’t the first time he’d wait for you to finish your schoolwork.

He said it like it was a coincidence that he was there, like he hadn’t waited for you about a dozen times before—in front of the school’s gates after you stayed back to decorate the classroom for the holidays, by the bus stop when you returned to the city after a weekend at your grandparents, behind the gazebo in the park when you stayed out late into the night just because being at home was too stifling.

“Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“And leave you with nothing to do during your patrol?” You smiled when he took your backpack from you, the weight of your borrowed books practically nothing to him. “We all know how quiet Gotham is at night.”

“Safest city in the country.” He agreed before a thoughtful look passed over his features.

It was a familiar sight and you stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak.

Your friendship with the Boy Wonder (confirmed after a particularly awkward conversation that involved a lot of uhms and uhs and flushed faces) was special, unique—the kind of friendship that you were pretty sure you’d trust him with your secrets, your life, but he couldn’t return the favor, because of course he couldn’t, but you still trusted him and he still tried, tried to give you what he could, so you waited for him to gather his thoughts and put it into words that he could say.

“You’re…,” he began, clearing his throat. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“I don’t think I am. I do live on like the tenth floor. Why?”

Robin pulled out what you’d come to know as a grappling hook from his back, waving it with a grin on his face. It didn’t take you even a second to know what he was trying to say, and you found yourself returning his excited look.

“No. Can we, really?”

“Just hold tight,” he said as his only warning, arm suddenly tight around your waist, forcing you to press close to his side, your arms immediately wrapping around him before he lifted the grappling hook and shot upwards, sending you both into the midnight sky of Gotham, laughter lost in the wind.

A year into knowing Robin, he handed you what you at first thought was simply a keychain shaped like a bat. The visit started with him practically scaring you out of your seat, pointing out a misspelling you had in your research paper, his face so close to yours that you caught a whiff of his mint toothpaste in his breath.

“Jesus.” You breathed out, heart practically in your throat. You heard him laugh behind you, footsteps walking away. With a quick glance at the clock on your desk you saw that you’ve been working on your paper for a good couple of hours, so focused that you’ve literally lost track of time and your surroundings.

“Hello to you, too, Robin,” you said to him with a roll of your eyes, pushing your chair back and turning to look at him. He’s climbed into your room through the window again, tracking the dirt and grime from Gotham’s streets onto your fluffy rug.

“Here,” he said, tossing the keychain over his back. You barely caught it, jumping out of your chair to keep it from clattering to the ground, glaring at him when you have it safely in your hands. “Keep this with you, will ya?”

“And what is this?” You looked it over, thumb gliding over the metal finish. The wings felt sharp enough to slice through your skin if you weren’t careful.

“Good luck charm.” Robin said with a shrug, purposely not looking at you. “Might save you one day.”

“Oh yeah? How so?” You asked even though you saw the button. It reminded you of those anti-crime buzzers the school handed out at the beginning of the year. You had yours hanging on your backpack, unused, luckily.

Robin finally looked at you and frowned deeply, unamused, when he saw the look on your face. You knew that he knew that you knew what it was, what you were supposed to do with it when the time came, but you wanted him to explain it to you anyway, just to show that he cared. You watched him struggle with himself for a minute before he let out a grumble, marching over to you.

You immediately realized that you’d miscalculated your teasing because Robin was in front of you, standing close as he flipped the bat in your hands. You looked at him through your lashes, took in his features up close. You thought that his nose was slightly crooked, probably from being broken a few times, and there was a cut on his lip that was healing nicely. You remembered when it was fresh and bleeding, half his face discolored from a blossoming bruise, and you were rightly horrified at the sight, never thinking that Robin would crawl through your window, hands on his bruised ribs, cape and uniform dirty and torn.

It was nerve wracking having to patch him back up to the best of your ability with your makeshift First Aid kit. And keeping an eye on him as he slept over the covers of your bed, the sun only just beginning to rise, waiting for your alarm to ring. He had promptly passed out after a quick call to, you want to say Batman to reassure him that he was alive and that he’d be home soon. You promised that you’d wake him before morning so that he could go back to the Bat Cave.

(Bat Cave! You never would have thought such a thing existed.)

You let him sleep in just a bit longer, scared that he’d probably collapse on his way to homebase.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Robin wasn’t indestructible. That like you, he was only human.

And he was young.

It was fairly easy to see that he was your age, voice young but had definitely already cracked before you’d met. You were about the same height, but you could already see that in time—probably sooner than you’d like—he’d outgrow you, shoot up like bean and gloat about it for the foreseeable future.

But for now, for now you were the same height, and if Robin were to look up from your hands to see if you understood his explanation—there really wasn’t much to say, really, just press the button when you’re in danger and he’d come save you—you’d find that everything would align—you’d be eye to eye, nose to nose, and lips to lips.

The thought caused you to blush and take a step away from him when he did look up.

“Press the button, gotcha,” you said, clearing your throat. The room was warmer all of a sudden, but the weight of the key chain felt heavy in your hand—it scared you to think that one day you were going to have to use it.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Robin said, voice soft, clearly catching the change in your mood, practically read your mind. “Angel,” he held your hand tightly in his, grounding you. “No matter what, I’ll come to you, okay? Nothing can stop me from coming back to you.”

“Promise?” You asked, looking him in the eyes. Or in the mask. The whites of his domino mask hid one of the biggest secrets you’d always wanted to know.

“I promise,” he swore and a moment between you two, both unmoving, eye to eye, passed before he cleared his throat, red blossoming on his cheeks. You felt the same warmth on your own, but you didn’t look away from him. He probably felt the weight of his words in that moment, realized the kind of promise he’s made. But he didn’t take it back. Instead, he tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal.

“Besides,” he said, grin forming on his lips once again. “If you’re lucky you’ll never have to use it.”

And you were lucky, for the most part.

You kept the keychain with you, fashioned it into a necklace when you figured that if you were in any danger, your bag and phone would probably be the first to go. You never had to use it, thankfully, never found yourself in a situation that called for it.

But oh, was it tempting. Because although you and Robin were friends, it wasn’t like you could send him a text or an email and ask if he wanted to meet up for a movie. Or you could if only you had his contact details.

Apparently, friends of vigilantes aren’t exactly privy to that kind of information. Like his name or what he really looks like.

So, yes, it was tempting to use, what you fondly called, the bat buzzer because you knew it would bring Robin to you and maybe it would make him mad, make him think that you’re in danger, but some nights when the pressure from your parents and school and maybe just life in general was too much, you wished there was an easier way to get Robin to your side, to have him be with you if only just to listen to you rant or hold you when you cry.

But you wouldn’t do that to him. No. You wouldn’t abuse the power of the buzzer like that. You wouldn’t take Robin’s attention away from what could be something important just to keep you company.

So, the bat stayed around your neck, the metal cool against your skin, as you waited for the next time you would see Robin again.

And wait you did.

You waited for him. You waited for him outside the library, looked out for him when the sky grew dark on your way home, and stayed by your window, eyes scanning roof tops in the hopes that you’d see the bright red of his uniform.

You waited for what felt like a lifetime, worried when for a time after Batman sent Joker to Arkham in a full body cast, you’d see pictures of the Dark Knight on your feed, alone, fighting crime without the Boy Wonder by his side. You wanted to use the buzzer then, just to see him, to see if he was alright. But something told you that even if you pressed the button he wasn’t going to come.

And the thought of that made your chest cold, made your heart hurt in a way that made you understand why they described it as broken, so to ease the pain, you decided that maybe not knowing was better than knowing. That if you never called for him, there was still a possibility that somewhere out there, he was okay and, in time, maybe, hopefully, he’d come back.

So, you left the button alone and waited.

Waited until images popped up online of a costumed boy with a familiar R on his brightly colored suit fighting off bad guys with a bō staff.

It was Robin.

Only, he wasn’t your Robin.

And maybe that was the confirmation that you needed that if you were to push the button, your Robin wasn’t going to come.

But right now, on the cold hard floor of the cage you’re in, with music blaring from the speakers that the Freaks dragged into the building, you wonder if you should take that risk.

You hear the moans and cries of the other hostages, pleading for someone to save them, hear the taunting of the Freaks as they tell you that no one was going to come, and you wonder what would happen if you pushed the button on the bat’s back.

Because what was there to lose? Your luck has run out. You were taken in the night and now you’re forced to listen to awful heavy metal music and stare up at your captor’s made up face, his awful excuse of clown make up smeared from sweat and grime, and you think that this isn’t how you want to go, that this freak isn’t the last thing you want to see, that this noise isn’t the last thing you want to hear, and God forbid this stench is the last thing you’re going to smell, so with nothing else to lose, you bring out the bat around your neck and push the button down as hard as you can.

And you wait.

...

Chapter 2

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awhitehead17 · 1 year

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Hanging by a thread, I am

Tim & Dick, Tim & Jason, Angst, Arguing, Canon Divergence, Upset!Tim, Big Brother Jason.

Summary: Upset and angry, Tim doesn't react well when Dick asks him to give up the Robin mantle. After arguing with Dick, Tim storms away and bumps into an unlikely person who surprisingly supports him in the way Dick doesn’t.

A/N: This idea came about when I thought ‘what if Dick asked Tim to give Damian robin’ and this is the result. It’s canon divergence and while Jason doesn’t necessarily get along with the bats he’s not completely separated from them. Title is from ‘Saviour’ by Onerepublic.

Enjoy! :D

For a moment Tim wonders if he had heard things right. There’s no way his brother is suggesting what Tim thinks he’s suggesting. Like hell was he giving that demon child the Robin mantle!

Tim blinks at Dick, utter disbelief written across his expression. “You’re joking right? This is just – wait, no. There’s no way you just asked me to give Damian Robin.”

Opposite him, where Dick is stood by the bat computer wearing the Batman suit with the cowl down, Dick lets out a heavy sigh and sends Tim a pleading look. “Look Tim, please listen to what I’m saying-”

Tim cuts Dick off before he could finish that sentence. “I don’t need to listen to what you have to say Dick! I won’t listen to you while you try to justify why you want me to give up Robin, I have put my heart and soul into this and now you’re asking me to give it up, to throw away everything I have worked for. It’s not happening!”

“Tim.” Dick’s voice now has a hard edge to it, his brother coming close to losing that infamous patience of his. “I understand why you’re upset about this but think about it rationally. We all have to move on. You are no longer a little boy who needs guidance or a mentor, you have the skill and experience to be more than a sidekick.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

Dick, however, continues speaking like Tim never said anything. “I can’t look at you and see you as my protégé, I want you by my side as my equal. Damian, on the other hand, he’s going to-”

“It’s always about fucking Damian.” Tim shouts at him, throwing his hands up in disbelief. He starts pacing, his hands and arms moving erratically with each step. “It’s always about that snot-nosed brat. Ever since he's come into our lives it’s always about him. Are you forgetting when he almost killed me? Damian would never, never, understand the meaning of Robin, not in the way we do.

“I had to work my ass off to be accepted as Robin, I had to earn the right, Bruce was adamant about me not taking it on but I proved my worth. Now you want me to pass it over with a bow on top to someone who will abuse it.”

“Well Bruce isn’t here!”

Dick’s shout freezes Tim on the spot. The words washing over him like ice water chilling him to the bone. Opposite him Dick’s face is flushed and his hands are clenched at his sides, he’s looking at Tim with an expression he couldn’t read but Tim could hear the pain and defeat in his voice.

“Bruce isn’t here,” Dick repeats quietly, “not anymore. We all have to move on and this is the way to do it. I become Batman with Damian as my Robin. And you Tim, you on my other side as my Nightwing.”

The silence that settles around them is thick and suffocating. Tim could hear the way his heart is pounding inside his chest and he could hear every breath he takes. His hands are shaking and there’s sweat building up across his forehead. Inside himself Tim could still feel the rage stirring, despite Dick’s words and the meanings behind them Tim cannot accept them.

Deep down he knows this is wrong. Dick is wrong.

Tim shakes his head. “No,” he declares firmly, “you’re wrong. Bruce isn’t gone. How can you accept that? He isn’t gone.”

“Tim, please, we’ve been over this,” Dick sighs, running a hand down his face. “He’s gone, we’ve seen the footage. You’re in denial, a lot has happened over the last few months and I get why you are but see the facts.”

Gritting his teeth he sends Dick a dark look. A lot has happened, Dick isn’t wrong about that. Tim’s lost two of best friends, his girlfriend, his biological father and now, supposedly, his adoptive father.

“We can get you help Tim,” Dick says carefully, his tone purposefully soft and gentle as if talking to a frightened animal. “We can get through this.”

“Help?” Tim scoffs at the notion. “I don’t need help, what I need is to prove to you is that Bruce is alive. Damian isn’t getting shit from me. No matter how much, or how sweetly, you ask me to hand the mantle over.”

“You need to accept Bruce is gone!” Dick cries at him. “I don’t like it any more than you do but we can’t sit here doing nothing. He’s dead! He ain’t coming back!”

Tim scoffs again and decides he’s had enough of this conversation. They’re going around in circles simply riling each other up. Neither of them are going to achieve anything at this point. Dismissing Dick’s presence Tim turns and stalks away, he needs to go before anything else happens.

“All I’m asking you is to think about it Tim. Give Damian Robin and you can forge your own hero.”

Stopping in his tracks Tim turns back around and glares at the man. “I don’t need to think about it. The answer is no. I’m Robin and it’s going to stay that way. I can’t believe you’re asking me to give up something I have worked so hard for and something I have shaped to be my own.”

“Stop being so selfish!”

For a third time that evening Dick’s words make Tim freeze. First the question. Secondly how Dick truly seems to believe Bruce is dead. Now this.

“Selfish? How am I being selfish? I own Robin, I am Robin, I don’t have to do shit. And least of all I don’t have to give that demon child anything. He doesn’t even know Bruce, what right does he have to suddenly become an integral part of the family?”

Dick huffs out a sardonic laugh with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe you just said that. I’m not even going to answer that. I ask you to do one simple thing Tim. You’re blowing this completely out of proportion.”

“Simple? I’m blowing this out of proportion?” Tim repeats. “You’re the one insisting Bruce is dead.”

“Because he is!” Dick explodes again. “You’re being delusional Tim! Listen to what you are saying, look at the evidence we have. Why are you insisting otherwise, you’re causing us more pain than what we already have.”

“You know what Dick,” Tim says, having had enough. It’s more than clear he’s alone in his corner, his brother choosing a psychotic ten year old over him. “Go fuck yourself.”

With that Tim turns and leaves. He ignores the calls Dick makes behind him and heads for the vehicle bay. He needs to get out of the cave as soon as possible or risk another argument with Dick. Not wasting a second he grabs his helmet, straddles his bike, turning it on he reeves the engine before zooming out of the cave. He has no destination in mind other than the further away the better.

Sometime later he’s speeding through the streets of Gotham, his mind completely occupied on what occurred in the cave earlier. He repeats their spoken words and instead of seeing the argument logically, it only riles Tim up more and his anger at the situation increases.

A piercing scream cuts through his thoughts and Tim jolts, with a wrench of the handlebars he swerves his bike to the side and narrowly avoids hitting a group of girls standing on the sidewalk. Once he's stable and back on the road Tim takes a deep breath and steadies himself. After almost causing an accident he knows he’s in no state to drive. Working out where he is in the city he comes up with a good hiding spot nearby in the back alleys between buildings, navigating himself there Tim turns off the engine and takes a moment to breathe in attempts to calm himself down.

He shouldn’t have been driving angry. It’s reckless and dangerous. He almost caused an accident because he isn’t in the right head space to be able to fully concentrate on what he’s doing and on his surroundings. Yanking off his helmet Tim climbs off the bike and begins to pace, unable to stay still any longer.

Dick’s words repeat themselves in his mind and they make it difficult to focus on anything else. Tim can’t believe Dick wants him to give up the Robin mantle. After everything he’s been through, Dick wants him to give up the one thing that’s keeping him sane. Tim's lost his father, Kon, Bart, Steph, and Bruce (no, he hasn’t, he’ll find him) and now Dick wants Tim to lose Robin too.

Dick’s told him he can come up with a new persona but he doesn’t want to, a new one wouldn’t be the same. He’s not ready for that.

He's not giving up Robin.

Tim feels the need to hit something as another wave of anger flows through him. With his fists clenched impossibly tight by his sides Tim ends up taking his anger out on his bike, the force of the kick he strikes the vehicle with causes it to fall over with a loud clatter. In the moment the damage done was the last thing on Tim's mind. As he steps back from the bike his eyes get drawn to an old metal pipe propped up against the wall, stalking over to it he grabs the pipe and weighs it in his hands, figuring it'll do he walks back to his bike and takes a swing at it. As the pipe collides with the rear breaks a loud clang could be heard. Tim swings again before moving to the front of the bike.

He loses track of how long he spends whacking his bike with the pipe. With every swing he lets out a swear followed by a curse against Dick. All of his anger and emotions bleed out in an unforgivable manner, all of the tension he’s been holding for months finally spilling out of him like water bursting through a broken dam.

By the time Tim is done he’s feeling exhausted. His arms and shoulders ache, his fingers are cramping from where he’s held onto the bar too tightly and for too long, his head is pounding and he’s breathing heavily.

Tim slumps down onto the ground and ducks his head to his chest as he tries to get his breathing under control. He doesn’t feel any better, his temper tantrum hasn’t solved anything because all the same problems will still be there when he goes back to the cave. All he’s achieved is damaging his bike which will likely take weeks to repair.

A loud thump coming from his right gets his attention. Despite feeling exhausted his body is still working through the adrenaline, instinctively Tim is back up onto his feet before he even thinks about it, his staff in his hands and he’s automatically in a defensive position facing an opponent.

It takes him a moment to realise who it is opposite him. Standing casually like Tim is no threat at all is the Red Hood. The man is stood in the middle of the alleyway with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and his red helmet in place, Tim could see guns and weapons stashed across his body but what Tim couldn’t work out is why he’s here.

Red Hood steps closer to him and Tim doesn’t soften his stance. “When one of my snitches told me there’s a disturbance in the area, I certainly didn’t expect it to be you, replacement. Done with your temper tantrum?”

Tim grits his teeth and stays quiet. He’s not in a good mood and seeing Jason Todd, another supposed family member whose tried to kill him, that day is souring his mood even more than before. He’s not falling into Hood’s baiting games.

“What no snarky comeback?” Hood taunts. The man comes even closer and peers down at his bike, taking in the damage Tim has done to it. “Isn’t that what Robin’s all about, witty comebacks and the sense of humour?”

At the mention of Robin Tim snaps. “Shut up and fuck off.” Tim knows he fell into the trap, it didn’t take much, but he couldn’t help it, it was the mention of the exact thing that’s caused his bad mood.

Hood whistles. “Oh, the little birdie has a bite after all.” He stops walking, choosing to stand opposite Tim with the bike between them. “Oh relax replacement, I ain’t going to do anything. You can put that stick of yours down.”

Tim narrows his eyes at the man and doesn’t move.

“Alright, whatever,” he hears Hood sigh with a shake of his head. The man then crosses his arms, “so what’s got you in the middle of the city throwing it down with your bike? Not like you to lose your temper easily.”

“It’s none of your business.” Tim says, his voice hard and cold. “There’s nothing to see here so you can bugger off back to where you came from.”

There's a pause and Tim could count every second that passes in silence by his rapid heartbeat. The man stays quiet as he crouches down to the vehicle and examines it more closely, fiddling with bits to see how bad the damage is. Tim allows him to do what he wants and he even drops the defensive stance and puts away his staff.

“Let me guess,” Hood drawls out while looking at the breaks, “you got into an argument with goldie? Or perhaps it was the new kid, Bruce’s biological one, that’s caused you to lose your shit? Maybe it was both!”

Tim has no idea how the hell Hood’s been able to hit the nail right on the head but Tim doesn't confirm or deny anything, he stays quiet and keeps an eagle eye on the man’s movements.

“Not going to answer that?” Hood enquiries, the man looks up and even though he’s wearing the stupid helmet, Tim could tell he’s looking straight at him. After a moment Hood snorts and shakes his head yet again. “Both it is then.”

“It’s none of your business.” Tim repeats his earlier words in the same cold tone, but there’s an underlying shakiness to it. It’s nerved him on how right Jason’s been able to guess the reason behind his mental breakdown.

“If you’re wondering how I guessed well most of it was a lucky guess. However the fact your half dressed also gave it away. You’re lucky no one else has come to check out what the noise was all about.”

Tim blinks before frowning. He looks down at himself and noticed for the first time the attire he’s adventured out in. He's still got his armoured pants and boots on, his utility belt is wrapped around his waist however he’s only wearing a thin cotton jumper he had put on once he got out of his Robin tunic. A surge of panic hits Tim and he reaches up to his face, the panic intensifies when he doesn’t feel anything but skin there. His eyes widen and he feels sick. He’s been out here in his robin gear openly showing his face. Anyone could work out his identity! He’s fucked up big time.

“Jesus christ, relax, replacement,” Hood’s robotic voice cuts through his thoughts. “I’ve already disabled any cameras nearby and have wiped out any footage of the last hour since you’ve been here. Whatever happened really fucked you up huh? Reckless driving. Vandalizing your own vehicle. Swearing as bad as a sailor. Almost blowing the whole family’s secret.”

“Yes, thank you!” Tim cuts in, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed at Hood’s response to list off everything he’s done wrong in the last hour. “How would you like it if I listed everything you’ve done wrong Hood? Have you got time, because we’ll be here all day.”

Jason’s own response was to snort in amusement. Obviously he’s not as bothered by it as Tim is. Huffing Tim walks to where his helmet lies on the floor, picking it up he dusts off the dirt and puts it on, at least no one will be able to see his face with this on.

“What do you want Hood? I’m evidently having a shitty day and you’re not improving it.” Tim says with a sigh, he’s tired and done with everything, all the fight having now left him. “If you have nothing to do and you’re only here to annoy me, can I ask you to do it on another day. I don’t have the energy.”

Now standing up right Hood stares at him and Tim stares back. When the man doesn't relent Tim looks away first, he changes his attention to his poor bike and starts to feel the regret of his childish actions.

To his surprise though Hood bends down and picks the bike up, using the handlebar to keep it balanced and steady. Miraculously it’s somehow standing, perhaps Tim hadn’t too much damage to it after all. Wordlessly the man starts guiding the bike down the alleyway leaving Tim blinking in confusion behind him.

“Uh Hood? What you doing?”

“Well you can’t get anywhere with the damage done to this. We’ll go to my garage and fix her up. Then you can go off and do whatever it is you need to do.”

Tim doesn't know what part of that to try and comprehend first.

“Why do you want to help me? Not long back you were trying to kill me.”

Hood shrugs. “Well today I fancy being a good Samaritan, sue me. Well, you could try but you can’t sue a dead man,” the man then pauses, “or can you?”

Tim is the most confused he’s been all night. “What? I don’t know. That’s not an answer.”

The other man doesn’t offer anything up so Tim quickly darts forward to catch up to him as Jason leads them through the narrow alleyways. The other part of what he said also sits in Tim’s mind, it’s like Jason already knows that Tim is planning on doing something about proving how Bruce isn’t dead. Like he knows Tim may go off to prove his point. Tim decides to not think about how well the man seems to read him despite them hardly ever interacting unless Jason’s actively trying to kill him.

The two of them remain silent the entire way to Jason’s garage. Tim should be weary of him and the situation but after the day he’s had he couldn’t quite bring himself to care, if Jason wants to try and kill him then he could go ahead, it’ll just be icing on the cake at this point. Hell Damian will end up having the Robin mantle if Jason kills him, then Dick will also get his wish. Two for one. Lucky them….

“Whatever it is, it’ll pass,” Hood mutters to him, it’s said so quietly Tim almost misses it, “I don’t know the situation or what’s happened between you and Dick but things have a way to sort themselves out.”

Tim doesn't offer a response to his words although Jason didn’t seem to be after one. The two of them eventually make their way to Jason’s garage and they instantly set up the bike onto the racks. Together they start making a log of what needs to be replaced and what can be fixed. It should scare Tim how well they work together when they’re not engaged in a fight but it doesn’t. In a weird way it feels right, of course he doesn’t comment on the situation, instead he silently accepts the helping hand Jason is offering.

No one needs to know how later that night, when Tim falls asleep on the old recliner Jason has in his garage, how Jason covers Tim with his jacket and leaves him to sleep while he works on the bike. The two of them in a comfortable silence like they’ve never experienced before.

Jason may or may not be starting to develop protective feelings for the kid who looks like he’s wearing the world on his shoulders. Learning to get past his previous feelings Jason figures that if the Bats are going to treat Tim like shit then he’ll will do his best to make sure the kid remembers that he isn’t alone.

#Tim Drake #dick grayson #Jason Todd #canon divergence #arguing #angst #very angsty #angst with a hopeful ending #angry!tim #big brother jason #Dick's not great in this #but neither is tim really #upset tim #Robin #dc comics #batfamily #some swearing #onerepublic savior #fanfiction

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mssidekick · 1 year

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Before he played the Joker on screen, Jared Leto wrote an album that could be a Batman musical waiting to happen.

I'm probably insane for making this connection and this will likely go nowhere but I need it out of my head before it consumes me.

The album "Love Lust Faith + Dreams" by 30 Seconds to Mars feels like it's supposed to be about Batman and the Joker's relationship. If you haven't heard it, go give it a quick listen, read the below, and tell me I'm crazy.

The order of the songs could be adjusted to make a "Death in the Family" Batman musical out of the songs but in track order here is who I hear as singing (most of the times it's Joker), purpose of the song, and why/who they are singing for:

Birth - Sung by Joker. Setting up his twisted view of the situation, "I will save you from yourself". Sung to a bloodied near death Jason Todd.

Conquistador - Sung by Joker and his cronies as backup "This is a fight to the DEATH" - Joker "We will, we will, we will rise again" - Cronies. Directed at the henchmen as he moves through the chemical plant about the upcoming plan for taking over Gotham, includes scene of him singing to a portrait of Batman.

Up in the Air - Sung by Joker. Night of the plan coming together, moment of reflection from Joker while he sings about Batman. "I wrap my hands around your neck so tight with love, love, love."

City of Angels - Sung by a flashback, new to the city, Jason Todd - It's his first night working with Batman and he's still excited about fighting crime in the big city. Sung to himself.

The Race - Sung by Batman - "I promise you I said: Never again! Never Again! No never!" Heartbroken from the loss and angry from the pain, Batman is ready to give up on the city. "I'm not running, no not running." Ends song knowing he cannot run and must face the Joker. Sung to himself and to Jason Todd's sealed in glass Robin costume still covered in his blood.

End of All Days - Sung by James Gordon and the people of Gotham. "The hunger of a loin is written on his face" talking about Batman, "the maniac's new love song, destruction is his game" talking about Joker, "I need a new direction, cause I have lost my way" talking about himself in his hopelessness and loss within the GCPD. Chorus from the people of Gotham looking for Batman to save them "All we need is faith, faith is all we need" Ending of the song could cut to Joker singing to Harley the punish and pleasure bit.

Bright Lights - Sung by Harley Quin. Singing about Joker and her relationship, knowing he'll never love her, there's only room for one obsession with him and it's Batman (could be cut from musical since it's the hardest to find a good spot but it still fits) "Bright lights, big city, she dreams of love. Bright lights, big city, he dreams to run".

Pyres of Varanasi - Instrumental, opener, closer, or intermission song but has themes from the rest of the album.

Do or Die - Batman and Joker sing in tandem. This feels like it could be the closer of the show song, "You and I will never die. It's a dark embrace." "And the story goes on and on"

Convergence - Instrumental, similar to Pyres.

Northern Lights - Batman upon finding Jason Todd, singing to Joker. "Don't even take a single second to breathe. They're going to send me on a murdering spree. I can not wait to dance upon your grave. They don't even have soul left to be saved." Chorus would be sung to the body of Jason Todd.

Depuis Le Debut - Batman and Joker trade lines before heading out to face each other. "There will be blood"

#batman #batman x joker #30 seconds to mars #jared leto #tell me i'm wrong #wish i was a better writer or i'd make this a thing #dc comcis #jason todd

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

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hi, I was wondering if you had any fic recs for dc? i dont mind what ship/character they might include so you can just go wild. also, I love your blog and writing!! thanks in advance if you answer this <3

oh but of course, babe! i’ve got so many fic recs dear lord. hopefully the ones on here will be ones that i haven’t already recced before. and also ahhhh thank you so so much!!

a heart just cant contain all of this empty space by TheMermaidLord (if anyone knows their tumblr, please let me know!) ~27k. the young justice universe, except after season 1, the canon events of the batfamily get woven in. you get to see dick leaving robin, jason joining then dying, how tim first meets the team, how they react to learning jason’s alive again all through the eyes of the yj team (mainly artemis, wally, and dick, but there are others.) this fic is beautiful and heartbreaking and oh so satisfying.

Candle Light and Plastic Bats by @jackdaw-kraai 10k. you know all those hc and concept fics about the relationship batman has with the city of gotham? well this fic is an absolutely gorgeous homage to that. told from the pov of the people of lower gotham, it goes through their relationship with this demon that seemed to haunt their city, going from mistrust and fear to acceptance and kinship. just a really really beautiful fic.

Detective Work by @bekkoni ~8k. i don’t actually ship superbat for a multitude of reasons, but this fic was so goddamn hilarious and cute that i can’t not love it. set in the jlu universe, wally discovers that superman and batman are acting a little ~odd.~ then he does a little more snooping and dear god the consequences are hilarious. featuring identity porn by the bucket-load.

It’s Your Right to Hurt Me Baby (If You Wanted To) by @pluckyredhead 8k. granted, jayroy doesn’t make much sense outside of specific rhato runs, but inside those runs its an actually beautiful ship, and this fic is just one of many testaments to that. smut with feelings, and jason gets the love and affection he sorely needs.

Little Talks by @theo-ography 26k. who here doesn’t love dumb boys in love finally talking about their feelings?? because i love it more than words, but this author somehow did the impossible and managed to put it in words. in this series, dick and wally have some important conversations, do some cuddling, and finally get together. gosh, i love birdflash so. fucking. much.

The Maybe Man by @dustorange ~48k. this is me, screaming about dustorange’s works again because i am such a fangirl for her writing oh my god. after dick leaves bruce and while jason is robin, dick gets abducted and tortured by the court of owls, and then is sent to kill bruce. and bruce fights with every fiber of his being to get his son back. also, jason and bruce’s relationship is so good in this jesus christ. i love reading fics that show just how close jason and bruce were before jason was killed, and this fic had that and more.

Those Who Wait by @last01standing 11k. in a reverse robins fic done beautifully well, this entire fic is written from jon’s pov, and explores damian and jon’s relationship over the years. (basically, jon just falling more and more hopelessly in love with damian.) also, everyone ships it because jon is basically all of the kids’ “uncle jon” and it’s hilarious and i love it. one of my favourite damijon fics, and the p i n i n g is just AHHHH.

un haeng il chi by @danishsweethearts 17k. i can’t actually put into words how much i love this fic, so everyone needs to just go and read it right now so you feel what i feel when finishing this fic. a cass centric fic, this piece of art has the literal best characterizations and metaphors for those characterizations i’ve ever read in my entire life. cass’ relationship with each member of the batfam is unique and beautiful and dear god i could reread this fic a thousand times over without ever getting tired of it.

Watch This by snackbaskets (again, if anyone knows their tumblr, please let me know!) ~2k. this fic is just a oneshot of pure adorableness. the league meets little baby robin!dick for the first time. hal and barry are, at first, terrified for the kid’s life, and then terrified of the devious little mastermind in bright green hotpants. this is just humor and fluff and i love it.

Yesterday’s Voices by @lemonadegarden 49k. oh god i cannot scream my love for this fic enough. bruce, in a time with most of the batfam (including up to steph, damian, cass), gets de-aged to a time where jason was robin and dick was barely speaking to him. and it’s absolutely heartbreaking, because the rest of the batfam get to see how open, kind, and less jaded bruce used to be. if you want a good cry but a happy ending, this fic is wonderful.

if it were deemed socially acceptable, i would build a shrine to all of these wonderful authors in the middle of the street, but unfortunately i have neither the time nor the resources to do that, so i guess screaming about how talented and brilliant they are will have to do instead. hope you enjoy reading these babe!

#fic recs #dc fic recs #batfam fic recs

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iphoenixrising · 3 years

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More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler.

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read.

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go.

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat.

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did.

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.”

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach.

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses.

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder.

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand.

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side.

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice.

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor.

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out.

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something.

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding.

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath.

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night.

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.”

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this.

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy.

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something.

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him.

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan.

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates.

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly.

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force.

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways.

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…”

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture.

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change. He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years.

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind.

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy.

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while.

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question.

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own. I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore.

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months.

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible.

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth.

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.”

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit.

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan.

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years.

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his.

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

#winter writes #robinpile soulmate au #just a bit more #ANGST #be aware #this is how my life is going #chippon is really patient with me #please give chip your love

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suzukiblu · 3 years

Note

I wish you would write a fic where there's age regression, and possibly more Kon/Conner. How do you age-regress a quick-aged genetic experiment? Or, conversely, Conner takes care of an age-regressed teammate (and has no idea what he's doing)!

I LOVE age regression but I like neeeeever write it, it's such a weird oversight on my part. I actually even HAVE an unfinished YJ fic about the whole team getting de-aged that's just, like, chilling in my docs. I never figured out where it was going aside from "making things weird for Superman", though, although I really liked it at the time.

So hey, you know what, have a read more:

There's some kind of fuss going on around Young Justice, although Clark isn't sure what. He overhears Hal and Dinah bickering about something to do with Artemis and Speedy—Red Arrow, although “Speedy” is so much clearer a memory—but they don't go into detail. Something about mad science and a mission gone wrong and . . . Lunchables?

Clark very rarely mishears things, but that he is CERTAIN he did.

It isn't his business, though, so he doesn't ask for clarification. If the League needs his help, they'll ask him; otherwise it has nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, then Bruce actually asks for his help.

There's no excuse good enough to get by Batman, and so Clark finds himself materializing inside Mount Justice with the halfhearted hope that they just need something improbably heavy moved—ANYTHING that will just take a moment, in and out. Oddly, there's no one waiting to meet him, although he can hear arguing and laughter and running water and a dozen other sounds of life from different corners of the mountain.

Closer, and more concerning, he can hear tears.

Clark ignores the other voices and Bruce's distant, Kevlar-muffled heartbeat to follow the tiny, hitched breaths down the hall. He doesn't have to go far.

There's a little boy curled up in a shadowed alcove not even big enough to be a broom closet, five years old if he's a day and wearing a black T-shirt and cargo pants and oddly heavy-looking boots. He looks wounded and small and brokenhearted from the lie of his shoulders alone.

Clark stares in bemusement for a moment—a child THIS young in Mount Justice?—but another muffled sob takes immediate precedence and he drops into a crouch just outside the boy's personal space.

“Are you alright?” he asks gently, and the boy jumps in surprise and jerks his head up. He has the most ENORMOUS blue eyes Clark thinks he's ever seen, and also the most horrified.

“I wasn't crying!” the boy blurts, still crying, and scrubs the tears away frantically.

“It's fine if you were,” Clark tells him, gentling his voice even more, and the boy looks at him like the world just ended. Blue eyes, black hair, broken heart; he remembers Dick four years ago, remembers what happened to make Dick ROBIN. Wonders what Bruce is doing, exactly, and if THIS is the emergency he is supposed to help with.

“YOU wouldn't,” the boy says, hiccuping around another sob, and Clark just smiles reassuringly at him.

“Everyone does,” he says, and fresh tears well in the boy's eyes and he turns his face into the corner, huddled up so small it actually HURTS to see. Clark is used to misery, he has seen more of it than he can stand to remember, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch.

He could ask what happened, what is so upsetting, but doesn't want the boy to have to think about what's making him cry like that, so devastated and LONELY in a place full of people, and so instead reaches out and rests a hand on his shoulder, carefully. The boy freezes, sobs and breath and HEART all stopping, and Clark lightens the contact, but doesn't quite withdraw.

“Are you hurt?” he asks with all the gentleness he would usually reserve for restraining the full scope of Superman's strength down into catching a falling body, embracing a victim, kissing a loved one. The boy SHUDDERS and starts back up again, tears falling faster and his attempts to respond all breaking up too much to finish. Finally he just shakes his head, HARD, and buries his face back in his arms.

He is so small.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Clark asks, and the boy just cries HARDER, somehow, and now he's concerned because how can every attempt to do something for the boy make him that much more UPSET? All the power in the world means nothing when he can't help a person who's in pieces.

There's a shriek somewhere in the base, loud and childish and startlingly giddy in comparison to this moment, and Clark startles slightly and looks towards it, automatically dropping the hand on the boy's shoulder to touch his earpiece, meaning to call Bruce and ask what, exactly, is going on here—but then the boy whimpers.

But no. “Whimper” is not enough of a word, “whimper” cannot possibly contain the pain and DESPAIR in that sound, the way it TEARS out of the boy and through Clark worse than any other kind of hit, worse than perhaps ANYTHING.

“It's alright,” he says, fast, forgetting about the communicator altogether and reaching out again. “Shhh, it's alright, it's alright, son—”

The boy SOBS.

Clark has never in his life heard a worse sound than that sob.

Something like panic flits through him, he doesn't even know where from, and he barely keeps himself from grabbing the boy and yanking him to his chest—it would be too hard, too sudden, too frightening for an already distraught child. The moment it takes him to force down the driving NEED to is literally painful, and when it passes it still doesn't really pass.

Clark takes off his cape, carefully, and wraps the boy up in it—hides him in it, he admits to himself, but it's not hard to admit when the boy himself seems to welcome the idea of vanishing inside its folds. He picks him up in one arm, cradles him in the crook of it, and the boy curls up as tight as if he really COULD disappear. The sobbing dies down into almost-silence, barely more than hitched breath again, and Clark holds him close and heads towards the sound of people. He can't help the child if he doesn't know what's wrong, and clearly the boy's in no condition to explain what's happened to him for himself.

He thinks of plenty of awful possibilities on the way, but doesn't get halfway there before a sudden blur of black and red and yellow tears down the hall and skids to a stop in front of him, solidifying into two more small boys, although not as small as the one in his arms.

Infinitely more recognizable, though.

Clark blinks, and looks down at a brightly grinning nine-year old Robin riding piggyback on a beaming Kid Flash . . . that IS Kid Flash, isn't it, he thinks, except he can't be a day past nine himself, and Kid Flash DEFINITELY never wore that suit or ran like that when he was nine.

NEITHER of them should be nine.

“What . . .” he starts, slowly, and the boy in his arms peers out from underneath his cape and sniffles, once.

“Found him!” Kid Flash yells back down the hall, and Robin throws both hands up in the air with a crow of triumph, falling off Kid Flash's back into an effortless back walkover in the process.

“We win!” he says gleefully. “Go Team Batflash, suck it, Team Aquamartian and Double-Arrow!”

“'BATflash'? Why isn't it FlashBAT?” Kid Flash demands indignantly, and Robin just laughs condescendingly and reaches up to give his head a little pat.

“Oh please, it is SO Batflash,” he says. Clark stares down at both of them with a certain sinking feeling, and the boy in his arms scrubs at his tear-streaked face again, and the cape slips lower and for the first time he sees the front of the boy's shirt.

Sees the symbol on the front of the boy's shirt.

He hears a Kevlar-muffled heartbeat and then Bruce is there, staring evenly at him. For a moment Clark is . . . shaken, that is the only word for it, and then Bruce's arms are up and then he's completely bemused, because it LOOKS like Bruce wants him to give him . . .

“Superboy,” Bruce says, and the boy fumbles out of his cape and his arms and into BRUCE'S and latches on, latches on so hard Bruce's body armor audibly CREAKS. Clark feels a sudden irrational rush of frustration—Superboy did anything BUT hold onto him—and then everything actually sinks in.

“What happened?” he manages, or mostly manages, still holding his empty cape and feeling . . . feeling very strange for it. Kid Flash starts babbling at super-speed, Robin too busy scowling sulkily up at Superboy to properly contribute, and it's not very different from overhearing Hal and Dinah—mad science and a mission gone wrong and Black Canary totally bought them all Lunchables she is the AWESOMEST EVER—except this time Clark is actually listening.

This time it has something to DO with him.

“I see,” Clark says when Kid Flash finally runs out of air and falls over gasping, taking Robin down with him. Robin yelps, and Kid Flash laughs breathlessly, and they scuffle for no apparent reason. Superboy is still hiding against Bruce, holding on with that Kevlar-creaking grip.

Then it occurs to Clark that he's been too busy staring at Superboy to pay attention to Bruce, and his eyes flick to the other man's.

It . . . takes a lot of distraction to not notice Bruce has been glaring at you.

To not notice BATMAN has been glaring at you.

“You're late,” Bruce says, sharply.

“You only called ten minutes ago,” Clark reminds him, and Bruce's lips thin and even without the X-ray vision Clark can read the look the other is sending him: you could've been here in two. It's not that he . . . he didn't mean to AVOID . . .

He didn't want to come, Clark admits to himself, and his eyes trail back down to Superboy like all the weight of creation is calling them down. If he has ever, ever held that weight, this is that moment. But why should it be, he wonders, why NOW—

What a stupid question, he thinks, watching the closest thing he will ever have to blood hide from him in such obvious shame and fear.

“Superboy,” he says, slowly, and Superboy flinches. Kevlar creaks, and Bruce's lips go even thinner; Clark doesn't have to be Superman to know that HURT. But Bruce doesn't say a word or change his grip at all, and . . . and Clark remembers being a child, remembers running into Pa's arms crying and covered in mud and Pa hadn't cared about getting his good suit dirty; remembers Ma wrapping her arms around him when he slipped in shivering from sleet and rain, not minding the icy meltwater soaking into her dress. Remembers growing older, watching other families, and thinking that parents who did things like that were the best anyone could hope for.

Remembers finding out he would never BE a parent, because he wasn't human. Because Kryptonians and humans couldn't crossbreed. Because he was the last and would ALWAYS be, because he was going to die someday and so would EVERYTHING of his people, everything his birth parents had wanted to SAVE—

Clark is aware, very suddenly, that he is responsible for Superboy's existence. He is the one who decided to put on the cape. He is the one who decided to BE the cape.

He made Superman, and no one would ever have made Superboy if he hadn't.

He made a choice.

He made a choice, and that means . . .

Bruce inhales, a little stiffly with the way Superboy is crushing his body armor, and turns on his heel and walks away. Robin and Kid Flash tear after him, Robin grabbing the edge of his cape like a little . . . like a child, of course, Clark thinks, and follows as well.

Superboy is still hiding from him.

“Batman,” he starts, but doesn't know where to go from there. Bruce ignores him, and Clark struggles for words, for SOMETHING that will . . . for something. Robin disappears under Bruce's cape, Kid Flash bolts restlessly from place to place in the hall, almost fast enough to blur to even Clark's vision, and Superboy never releases his grip on Bruce's armor or lifts his head.

They come to the end of the hall, and it opens into a common room; Dinah looks up, her face flushed and upset and a boy who can't be more than one or two sniffling in her arms, chubby little hands covering his masked face. Red Arrow, Clark recognizes immediately, because Dinah could not possibly look like that for anyone else, and that armored and forbidding costume looks so ODD on a child so small—as odd as Superboy's steel-toed boots. Artemis is scowling angrily, arms crossed in a defensive posture, and she is all skinny limbs and knobby knees, twelve years old if she's a day. Kid Flash and Robin immediately fix her with matching scowls.

“What'd you do to Speedy?” they demand in near-perfect indignant unison, and Artemis GLOWERS.

“Nothing!” she snaps. “He just wants Green Arrow and Green Arrow's still in Star City, it's not MY fault he's too stupid to understand, y'know!”

“I bet you were a jerk to him again!” Kid Flash accuses, pointing at her.

“I was NOT!” Artemis fumes.

“Then how come he always ends up cryin' whenever we leave him with you?” Robin asks grumpily, foot tap-tap-tapping erratically against the floor and fingers fisting tighter in Bruce's cape. He keeps sneaking glances that are closer to glares up at Superboy, and Clark, irrationally, wants to scold him for it—as if that were even his place, in regards to either boy.

“'Cause he's STUPID, I told you!” Artemis snaps back, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, and Dinah grits her teeth.

“That's ENOUGH,” she says sharply, cradling Red Arrow tighter to herself, and he sniffles again and grabs at her hair with his sticky little tear and snot-stained gloves, burying his equally sticky little face in it. Dinah's expression turns pained, but she doesn't shoo him away. “I'm going to kill Ollie,” she says, in a surprisingly sweet tone, and pats Red Arrow's back soothingly.

“Wan' OWWY!” Red Arrow wails, and the children all cringe at the volume, clapping their hands over their ears. Clark barely represses the urge to do the same.

“There, there, darling, Ollie's coming,” Dinah croons, swaying gently and stroking a hand through Red Arrow's hair. “And he'll probably bring a camera and NEVER let you live this down, oh no he won't. And blubber all over you, that too, yes!”

Clark considers asking what Red Arrow was even DOING with Young Justice and also if anyone in the room even slightly cares about Green Arrow's secret identity, but decides there's not much point. He's more curious about the fact that the kids have somehow all turned out vastly different ages despite apparently having been hit with the same still-unidentified ray—with the exception of Robin and Kid Flash, that is, but even that's strange considering they were different ages to start with, and the gaps between one and eighteen and twelve and fifteen are MILES more than that. As for Superboy . . .

Clark's not even sure Superboy ever actually WAS five years old, and if he was it probably didn't last this long.

“Is Red Tornado still with Aqualad and Miss Martian?” Bruce asks, and Dinah nods, looking weary but almost amused despite that.

“Aqualad INSISTED on checking the pool and showers for Superboy,” she says. “He seemed pretty convinced no one could possibly want to hide anywhere dry if they were feeling sad.”

“Well, we HAVE found him holed up in the showers before,” Artemis says, tugging absently at the bottom of her ponytail. “They kinda remind him of his pod, y'know? But they're, y'know, probably too big now.” Bruce grunts assent, and Clark remembers how tight the alcove he found Superboy tucked into was, and feels . . . strange about it.

He should have the whole SKY, something whispers in the back of his head. He should have wide open fields and miles and miles where the only buildings are barns and silos and little houses and there aren't even trees or planes overhead, where everything is flat and bright and clear and ENDLESS.

“Contact Miss Martian and inform her we've found Superboy,” Bruce tells the—currently—older children, and they all nod and squeeze their eyes shut tight with extremely concentrated expressions. Clark wonders when Bruce is going to put Superboy down. That can't be COMFORTABLE, being held onto that tightly for so long; the merciless grip of Superboy's small arms probably feels like being slowly crushed.

Clark isn't sure how strong the boy actually is, of course, because Superboy wasn't holding onto him at all when he carried him, much less holding on that hard. Much stronger than he was at that age, he knows, just like Kid Flash is much faster than he should be and Robin and Artemis both a little too graceful.

He should say something, he thinks in the silence, but then Red Arrow starts sniffling again and Dinah starts singing him a lilty little Irish lullaby and Robin and Kid Flash immediately swarm her while Artemis pretends not to be perking up curiously, and Superboy lifts his face just a little, just for a moment.

Then he sees Clark, and hides it again.

That's . . .

“We're here, we're here!” a loud, childish voice shouts, and Miss Martian darts into the room on chubby little-girl legs, huffing and puffing excitedly and with her cape all tangled up around her shoulders. She looks five or six, and Aqualad who's right on her heels with a worried expression and attempting to untangle her might be seven. Red Tornado follows them in, apparently unconcerned about the clothing issue, and Miss Martian hops up into the air and starts tugging at Superboy's shirt. “Superboy, don't be—don't be scared, you're not lost anymore! We found you!”

“WE found him!” Robin protests indignantly, scowling up at her.

“Superman found him,” Batman corrects, visibly unimpressed, and it's the most acknowledgment Clark's had from anyone in the conversation since they left the hall. He tries to take it as reason to speak, but the right words won't come—they never do, when it's about Superboy.

“Superman doesn't count,” Kid Flash says, glowering with startling vehemence, more startling for the way Robin and Artemis match it. Even Miss Martian frowns, although on her it looks closer to a pout, and Aqualad just sighs and reaches up to tug lightly at the bottom of Superboy's shirt, so small and so serious.

“Superboy, do you want to come play with us?” he asks, the picture of a too-responsible and too-concerned little boy. “It is your turn to pick the game.”

“I don't know any games,” Superboy mumbles, still hiding against Bruce. “Just the ones you guys taught me today.”

“Which was your favorite? We can play that one again,” Aqualad suggests, and Superboy finally peers down at him. He still looks uncomfortable and unhappy, but not so upset anymore—thirty seconds, and Aqualad has calmed and comforted Superboy in a way Clark hadn't even come CLOSE to when he'd tried.

Annnnnd that's as far as I ever got, alas. But I did really enjoy writing it, so I'm all for an excuse to share it, haha.

#percygranger #rintalk

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boldlyanxious · 4 years

Text

Remember when 12

the Right thing

Timinette

RW masterlist

They had argued back and forth for hours after bringing Marinette back to the base. Everything was circumstantial. They all had heard her talking with the supposed captors freely. No one could prove either way whether she had been there willingly. Batgirl had gotten information from her and Red Robin had been close enough to hear but the others were not close enough so they could only go by what they had seen. She was giving them information and when the time came they were leaving with her.

She had basically broken their drug ring case wide open and claimed it was all an accident. They knew there was a new product and new players but no one had any information on it until last night. Oracle displayed it on the screen and they confirmed the 3 men involved. They had been working with Falcone but apparently they decided to take over the drug trade with their new product. All had been actively seeking Batman when Black Mask had put a large bounty on him. How they began working together was unknown.

Jack Buchinsky--Electrocutioner-

-Costume can generate electric shocks

-alias Jack Gruber

Lieutenant Howard Branden

-former SWAT GCPD

-corrupt cop

Garfield Lynns--Firefly

-pyro terrorist

-costume with flight capabilities

Nightwing had actually become almost convinced. He still had questions and doubts but believed what the others had seen and didn't think she seemed like she was plotting. He made the case that she had been seen and connected to the men and therefore would not be safe on her own. Hood was convinced by this argument and Batgirl and Oracle stopped arguing the point. The discussion ended and they all went about their day.

Red Robin went off to sleep. She was fed and someone sat with her throughout the day. Batgirl had the last shift before patrol. She brought her dinner and fresh clothes. Batgirl was adjusting the equipment so she could put on a movie. Red Robin was careful not to be seen entering the Batcave. He had to wait until daylight was fading and it worked it perfectly with Batgirl being the least likely to stop him.

"You aren't trying to sneak up on me are you?" Batgirl said without turning around. "You think your plan is a shock to me?"

"I think you know I am right. You will either help me or not try to stop me." Red Robin replied.

"What if I try to stop you?"

"I think you won't. You remember when it was you in a similar position. You know this is wrong."

"She can't know how to get back here."

He held up a blind fold that he had with his spare helmet. She nodded and walked away. Red Robin approached Marinette. Since she was no longer needing medical treatment she had been moved to a chair but her hands were still cuffed to it so she couldn't get to the manor from the inside or outside. He picked up the keys and unshackled her hands.

"Come," he said.

She followed after him rubbing her wrists a bit. They were not locked painfully but they still felt funny being released after so long. When they got to his motorcycle he explained that she would need to be blindfolded to protect the location. She nodded and he wrapped the cloth around her face before helping her put the helmet on.

Once she was securely behind him in the motorcycle with her arms around him from behind he rode off. He wove in and out of the cars and traveled up and down the streets with no particular location in mind, but just to confuse her sense of direction. He pulled into a parking garage and rode all the way to the top. It was within a mile of the coffee shop that she worked at and not far from the grocery store so he suspected she lived close.

He helped her off and undid the blindfold every though she probably could have managed on her own. She wasn't sure how she felt about him now. He hadn't positively responded to any of her flirting even if it made him blush but he had defended her and probably upset his team by helping her escape. Part of her really wanted to ride away with him on his motorcycle. She didn't know if she liked the idea of running away with him or if she really liked the feeling of leaning against him. He pulled her out of her thoughts by asking a question.

"Will you be okay from here? Will the magic you use work?"

"I just have to say the magic words," she responded. "Are they going to be mad at you?"

"Yes. But it is the right thing to do. They will get over it eventually."

---

"So you just let him walk out of here with her?" Batman asked.

"What else should I have done? He is right about this." Batgirl replied.

"We still need information from her and she is probably in danger. These men are not known for being nice." Nightwing added.

"You cannot protect people from evil by becoming evil. We should be better than that," Batgirl said before walking off.

"I found something on her," Oracle said. "My search was taking too long but then I remembered the French connection."

She loaded information on the screen. It was reports from Paris a few years back. The hero was called Ladybug and with her partner Chat Noir fought Hawkmoth for control of magical artifacts. As she searched she added more information for them to read. Knowing a location helped her search Paris records for an aged down picture of Rouge Gorge/Ladybug as a civilian.

It was another hour before they could put together the entire story. The public didn't seem to put together her identity but the bat family had already seen her unmasked. There was a defeat of the villain and the heroes had given a very odd press conference about it. They had recovered the artifacts but Chat Noir had done most of the speaking which was a change from how their past interactions had been.

As a civilian, Marinette had been treated by a series of doctors for amnesia from a supposed fall. Her memory was affected for several years of time. She no longer remembered her close friends and little was known about how to treat it. The story was told on a popular blog as a follow up a little over a month after the 'fall' because the girl was at the hospital again. This time after a fire.

She ran from the hospital during the night. It was later discovered that the arsonist was paid to set the bakery on fire and she was not supposed to escape. With her parents dead and her memories gone, no one knew where to look for her. She hadn't been seen since. Oracle checked the name in a number of databases and travel records. It hadn't been used for anything since then.

"That isn't the name she used at her job." Nightwing said. "Her name tag said Val."

"I already tried for records from the coffee shop. She doesn't exist in their records. Her employer probably pays her in cash." Oracle explained.

"So she is just in hiding here and accidentally cracked our drug ring case?" Hood asked.

"She was worried when she was shown the video of herself. All the information gathered strongly suggests she was hiding from this Hawkmoth, who was probably responsible for the fire." Oracle said.

Taglist

**the speed of this update brought to you by collective outrage and inspiration. 😘

#maribat #timinette

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blancheludis · 3 years

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@whumptober2021 Day 4: Taken Hostage / Pushed / “Do you trust me?”

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd Tags: Hurt Tim Drake, Kidnapping, Protective Jason Todd, Accidental Brother Acquisition, Jason is Robin Words: 7.826

Summary: “Batman will come for you, right?” Tim only realizes that is the wrong thing to ask when Robin’s face falls.

“I don’t need Batman to get out of here,” Robin insists with a stubborn tension in his shoulders. “I’m just saying we don’t have to wait.”

Waiting is the thing Tim does best. For the perfect picture opportunity, the best angle. For his parents to come home. He can sit tight for hours and days and become all but invisible.

But Tim agrees anyway. Why wouldn’t he? Robin is a hero. His hero. And he’s lucky they were kidnapped together. Now they only have to get out this cell in one piece.

---

The shove comes out of nowhere.

Tim has gotten good at navigating Gotham’s rooftops nearly blind, a camera pressed to his face. He has also learned to make sure nobody is around to catch him. What he does is not strictly illegal, but he is taking pictures of vigilantes at night and enough people take offence at that. He is not wearing a mask himself, but he still cannot be found out here. His parents are already not happy that he has not given up photography – a mere waste of time that will neither get him into a prestigious college nor bring the Drake name any profits – even without knowing about his nightly activities.

The roof was empty when Tim climbed up on it to get a better angle of Robin. It is a rare enough occurrence that Robin is out alone without the protective shadow of Batman hovering nearby and Tim does not want to miss a minute of it. So, he is crouching on the roof, his camera trained on Robin, when someone appears suddenly next to him and shoves him over the edge.

A sound escapes Tim’s lips, half a gasp due to the force of the unexpected push, and in the brief second he is hovering in the air, he can see Robin look up searchingly – and then he is falling.

Tim has a lot of experience with falling, but he will never get used to that navel-jerking feeling of tumbling into the unknown, those first moments of blind panic at having lost the ground beneath his feet. He clings to his camera, curls like he was taught to, and hopes fervently that he will not break anything. Bruises are easy to hide and something he has dealt with dozens of times before. Broken bones, however, need a bit more than his first-aid kit has to offer – and cause more questions than he cares to answer.

The falling is over as soon as it began. He was not too high up but the impact is still painful. The crack of plastic thunders in his ears and that is what throws his momentum, makes him tense too much as he tries to save his camera, and he feels his ankle bend.

Pain flares up, sudden and hot, before he comes to a panting halt on the pavement, a sharp throbbing in his foot and right side. He just lies there for a long moment, afraid to move his ankle but glad that his lungs still work as they are supposed to. The roof above him is empty. Nobody is looking down after him.

But – Tim did not just fall from nothing, did not trip. Somebody was there and pushed him. Just as he is sitting up, determined to have a look at his camera and then his foot before he gets out of here, he hears footsteps coming closes.

“Well, what do we have here?” a muffled voice asks.

Tim whirls around, but all he can see is a fist flying towards his face. And then nothing.

---

Tim comes to slowly. That in itself is a warning sign that something is wrong. He has a rather conflicted relationship with sleep and he does not slumber. Either he is awake or not. This in-between is strange, making his thoughts all sluggish.

He blinks, his vision curiously blurry, and wonders about the cracks in the ceiling – and then the pain hits. A low, insistent pounding like drum beats fills his head, growing worse with every breath he takes as if the miniscule movement alone is aggravating it.

With a rush, Tim remembers what happened. The rooftop. Being shoved. The cracking of his camera.

He shoots upright, battling the way the room spins before his vision settles. Bile rises in his throat but he swallows carefully, unwilling to give into the panic rising inside him. Perhaps his father’s lessons will have their use, after all.

His ankle throbs, but Tim ignores it for now in order to find out where he is, because this is somewhere inside instead of outside in the streets, and he definitely did not make it home.

The room is small and bare. Cracks run through the grey cement covering the ground and walls and ceiling. There is no window, but a lone light bulb dangles in the middle of the room, offering a bit of light. The ground is stained in places, the origin of which Tim does not want to think too closely about. No furniture, just a heavy metal door and Tim himself being cuddled into a corner.

This is bad. If his father finds out what he was doing, why someone managed to snatch him right off the street – he hopes this is not a play for ransom. His parents are out of the country and the last thing he and his father did before they left were yell at each other. Tim is not at all sure they are willing to pay a single dollar to get him back. And if so, likely only to preserve the family name.

Of course, Tim does not want to think about what other reasons there are for someone to kidnap him. Children go missing from Gotham’s streets every day, and only a few of them are found again. Mostly, they do not have anything to look for them. Tim does not, either.

The pounding in his head grows worse. With some effort, Tim pushes the growing panic down. Before he gives up on himself, he should try to find out more.

Carefully, Tim gets to his feet. The room starts spinning again, which is rather worrying, but it snaps into sudden focus when he puts some weight on his right ankle. A whimper breaks over his lips, echoing hauntingly in the empty room, as he sinks back to the ground.

Don’t be broken, he thinks as he pushes up the leg of his trousers. The ankle is swollen and the pain intensifies when he applies pressure. When he is careful, though, he can move it in every direction and he cannot feel any bones obviously out of place. That does not have to mean anything, he knows. Ever since he started following the masks around, he read up on first-aid, aware of how many things can go wrong. Hopefully it is just a sprain, although that does not make it any less painful, and it might still mess his leg up for good.

Before Tim can convince himself to get back up and try again, he hears a key being shoved in the lock and then the door is yanked open, making a terrible screeching noise that grates in his ears. The light outside is much brighter, stabbing Tim’s eyes so he cannot make out much of anything as he scrambles backwards, trying to get away from whoever has entered the room. Something big is thrown in and then the door slams shut again without explanation.

The something is a person clad in yellow and green and –

“Robin.” Tim’s voice breaks halfway through the name. His mouth is suddenly dry and his thoughts come to an abrupt halt.

This has just become so much worse. Someone did not just push Tim off a roof just because they could or for ransom, but they got Robin, too. Either Robin wanted to help and was overpowered, or they were after him and Tim is just collateral damage. Either way, he is doomed. Because he is not hard to catch, crawling around the city at night to take pictures of vigilantes. But Robin is in an entirely different league.

Robin looks up at him, eyes wide behind the mask, then untangles himself into a more dignified position even though his suit remains rumpled. “Oh good, you’re awake.”

Tim does not know what could possibly be good about that if this is the reality he woke up to.

“What happened?” he hates how weak he sounds, how young. His father would have his hide for that – but his father is not here because Tim had to do something forbidden and get himself caught. He breathes. In and out. In and out.

Robin is here. That means not all is lost. If nothing else is certain, Tim knows that Batman will come for Robin and they will not leave him behind, even if they find out about the pictures. They are the good guys. They might tell his parents about it – which will undoubtedly not end well for him either – but they will not leave him to die in this place.

“These assholes want me to help them out.” Robin makes a rude gesture at the door, then looks a bit sheepish at Tim. “Sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”

A weight drops off Tim’s shoulders. It is not his fault that Robin was caught. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it does not sit right with him, still.

“They went after me first,” Tim says, remembering clearly that Robin was still free and unbothered while Tim was already falling. He might have even gotten it on camera, that last, searching look around at Tim’s yell. But his camera is not here. They might have left it broken on the ground when they took Tim. It is unlikely he will ever see it again.

It is stupid to be bothered by that. It is only a camera and he can afford to buy a new one. But it is the one thing that brings him joy.

“Yeah.” Robin runs a hand through his hair, putting it into complete disarray. “You’re supposed to be my motivation.”

Oh. “They took me hostage to make you help them?” Tim is no stranger to being pulled into other people’s games. His parents’ business partners do that all the time, either hoping to gain something for the company or to get some advantage over his parents. It is almost familiar, to be used for his worth to other people instead on his own merit.

“Seems like it,” Robin says and sounds apologetic. He is also watching Tim very closely as if he expects him to have a breakdown. But Tim has been taught to appear calm even if he feels anything but.

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me.”

Tim should be glad. If all goes well and they do not die here, his parents might never find out what happened. He does not have to tell Robin his last name. He is just a nobody who had bad luck. Once they are out of here, he can just vanish. If they get out of here.

Robin cocks his head to the side, concern crossing his face. “You’re a civilian,” he explains then puffs out his chest and points at his suit. “That’s what this whole thing is about. Protecting people.”

Perhaps people who do not stalk them and take pictures without asking, who do not put themselves in danger constantly just because they are hoping for the right shot.

But Tim believes him anyway. He was raised by a cynic but he knows Robin. Knows him through endless nights of watching him do the right thing, of putting his life on the line for others.

“What do they want you to do?” Tim asks, changing the topic without much finesse.

He is also not sure he wants to know the answer to that. What if they are asking something terrible of Robin, like killing somebody. Tim cannot be the reason for Robin to do that.

But Robin scoffs, caught between amusement and annoyance. “Rob a bank or five.”

That is surprisingly mundane. Banks are robbed every day without the help of vigilantes. Some even successfully. “What do they need you for then?”

To his surprise, Robin pouts. “I could totally rob a bank, and probably better than them, too” he says, entirely missing the point.

Despite their situation, Tim finds himself grinning at Robin’s offended tone. He imagines him as some kind of modern Robin Hood, robbing a bank and then making it rain money right outside of it.

Then he sobers. They are still locked up in some cell and he has a busted ankle and a possible concussion. “Well, you shouldn’t do it.”

Robin’s expression grows serious, too. “They said they’d hurt you if I don’t,” he says in that same tone Tim’s father does when he is testing Tim, fishing for a reaction.

Now it is Tim’s turn to be offended. “You’re Robin,” he exclaims.

Robin nods but does not give an answer. Instead, he leans forwards, seemingly unconcerned with their situation. “What’s your name?”

Tim could lie. He is good at it and it would surely save him a lot of trouble. But it is not every day that one meets their hero and despite the circumstances, he wants this interaction between them to be real.

“Tim,” he says, hesitating long enough to make Robin frown. He still holds his last name back. That does not have a place here, and there is a small chance that Robin knows their next-door neighbours are called Drake and have a son named Tim, even though his life is certainly interesting enough to not bother with who is living down the street.

“Do you trust me, Tim?” Robin asks, his voice gentler now as if he does not want to spook Tim. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

With a start, Tim realizes Robin thinks he is afraid. Well, he is, but for the entirely wrong reasons. They are in a bad situation but it could be so much worse. For one, Tim could be here alone.

He nods because that seems like the thing to do. He is cold and in pain and his hero might be forced to commit a crime to keep him alive. While he is aware of all of that, he can barely touch those thoughts, like his head is underwater but he is seeing lights on the surface, jumping out of reach whenever he reaches for them.

Tim is fine. Beneath the mask, Robin is just a kid, too, and Tim will not make it harder on him by whining. Or panicking. That will not do either of them any good.

“Batman will come for you, right?” It is a mistake to ask, Tim notices that right away when Robin’s shoulders stiffen.

He does not understand. Batman and Robin are a team. They have each other’s back and, of course, one would come running when the other is in danger. Right?

“I don’t need Batman to get out of here,” Robin says, crossing his arms in front of him only to let them fall again a moment later.

That certainly puts a crack in Tim’s picture-perfect idea of his favourite vigilantes. He knows better than most that things are seldom as calm and shiny as they appear on the surface, but Batman and Robin – nothing is supposed to taint that.

“I’m sorry,” he says because he is not sure what else to do. His mother taught him that other people’s weaknesses are there to be exploited, but he does not want to be that kind of person.

Robin looks at him, then sighs. “No, you’re right.” He sounds conflicted, making him sound even younger. Like that, he is more human, mask or not, but that is not helpful in the situation they are in. “I’m just saying we don’t have to wait.”

Waiting is the thing Tim does best. For the perfect picture opportunity, the best angle. For his parents to come home. He can sit tight for hours and days and become all but invisible.

“I can’t fight,” Tim points out, afraid that he will be the reason Robin gets hurt, after all. He had some training, bullies and his family name made that a necessity, but he is no Robin, no hero.

“You don’t have to,” Robin says, full of conviction. “I’ll protect you.”

Tim wants to ask how but he has learned that too many questions only make things harder, at times. Instead, he offers, “You could pretend to be me.”

He is not sure where it comes from, but a plan is forming in front of his eyes. Tim is a bit smaller than Robin and a lot scrawnier, but people tend to look only at the suit. And they only needed a few moments to jump the kidnappers anyway. As soon as an actual fight begins, the ruse will be up.

“They’ll notice,” Robin scoffs. He does not quite dismiss Tim, but Tim knows that tone very well. It is hard not to let it get to him because some part of him desperately wants to impress Robin, but he has practice with that, too. “And what good would that bring us anyway?”

“We’ll swap clothes,” Tim explains, shamefully eager at the very idea of touching the suit. “They don’t think I’m a danger, so when they come back, they’ll go right for the suit and ignore you. So, you can take them by surprise.”

It is a good plan, or as good as they will likely get. They are locked in a windowless room that does not stop spinning before Tim’s eyes, and only one of them is really capable of getting them out if Robin does not want to wait for Batman – and Tim does not want to either, yearning for some pain meds, an ice pack and his bed. Taking the bad guys by surprise is their only chance, really. Otherwise, they are simply two children sitting in a trap.

“I’m Robin,” Robin insists as if Tim has forgotten that. As if, in addition to taking his clothes, he suggested stripping him of the title as well. “I can’t take off the mask.”

There is that, true. Tim opens his mouth to say Robin can keep the mask, that they will just keep their heads down until it is too late for the kidnappers to realize the wrong boy is in the suit. What falls from his lips instead is, “I know who you are.”

Robin moves quicker than Tim’s probably concussed brain can follow and then he is right in from of Tim, shoving him against the cold, unforgiving wall. The impact knocks the air out of Tim’s lungs and, before he can react, Robin’s arm is pressed against his throat, not quite choking him but a definite threat.

“What did you say?” Robin growls in a clear imitation of Batman, a few decades too young. It still causes a shiver to run down Tim’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he pushes out, only to have Robin increase the pressure. How did things go so wrong so quickly? He just – masks, secret identities. Tim has gotten so comfortable with following them around that he forgot nobody is supposed to know who they are. “I live next door to you,” he blurts out, not caring anymore about keeping his last name secret.

For the first time since waking up in this room, he is afraid instead of just panicked. When he started following Batman and Robin around, he knew he could never let them catch him. They might be the good guys, but they do have their identities to protect, and he has seen countless times what Batman does to the people that cross him. He did not even try to find out who they are. It just made sense.

“I haven’t told anyone,” Tim croaks, growing desperate when Robin does nothing but stare at him, never relenting his hold. “I won’t.”

“How?”

Tim whimpers when Robin shoves him again, aggravating his headache. This is not supposed to happen. He never thought Robin would like him, really, the kid with stalkerish tendencies, but he did not think meeting his hero would go quite like this either.

“I’m running BatWatch.”

That stupid blog that started as a challenge to himself but has quickly become the centre of Tim’s life, uploading pictures and commentary on Gotham’s very own vigilante bats. All complimentary, of course, because they protect the city and certain journalists just do not know what they are writing. Tim just tries to put the Bats back into a more positive light. Sometimes, it makes him feel like a hero in his own right. That is his secret identity.

After a long, tense moment, Robin’s hold loosens, even if he does not take the arm away. His expression is still closed off. “You? The blog has been around for years.”

Tim takes pride in that. It grew from a few blurry pictures every other week to detailed articles. People like to complain about Batman, and Tim just wants to remind people of all the good the vigilantes are doing.

“You’ve been Robin for years,” Tim shoots back, voice still more of a croak from the shock. He is not sure the danger is over.

Robin sits back. His hands are still on Tim but not quite as threatening anymore. That can change again any moment, Tim knows, so he clears his throat and just breathes.

“You know who Batman is and you never told anybody?” The incredulity in Robin’s tone is insulting, but Tim guesses a certain paranoia is part of the job.

“You’re heroes,” Tim exclaims and winces inwardly. That made him sound entirely too young. There is no hiding he is still a kid but he does not have to act immaturely, too.

“And you want me to believe it is a mere coincidence that you were in the right place to be kidnapped along with me?” Robin says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue, which Tim does not fully hear because his mind is stuck on right place. “How do I know you’re not working with them?”

The accusation hurts worse than the shove earlier, although it leaves him just as trapped. “I would never,” Tim says and glares in the best imitation of his mother as he can manage.

Feeling, cornered, he bats Robin’s hands away with what little strength he has left, pain and disappointment having taken their toll. To his surprise, Robin lets him go. He gets up and ignores the way his vision swims and the pain in his ankle flares up. There is nowhere to go. The room is still bare and the door is still locked. But he needs to get away from Robin and his accusations, so he limps to the far corner and sinks rather ungraciously back to the floor.

Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he can hear his father laugh at his naivety. What did he think would happen? That Robin would be impressed? That he would expect a scrawny teenager to be good for anything? He had been dreaming about meeting Robin for years but – well, he should have listened better to what his parents say about dreams.

“You’re hurt,” Robin says, sounding sheepish.

Tim glances over his shoulder and sees that Robin stood up, too, but he thankfully does not come closer. In fact, he looks a bit lost, all suited up with no way to escape.

“It’s nothing,” Tim mutters, looking back at the wall. A crack runs through it right in front of his face. He imagines digging here and finding nothing but more cement. A grave in the middle of the city.

“You were limping.”

What does that have to do with anything? “Just a strain.” And definitely a concussion. He should better not mention that, he is already enough of a liability.

“We can’t get out of here if you can’t walk,” Robin says, sounding almost agitated, but when Tim looks at him it does not show on his face.

So, this is how it is. He knows this game very well. “Then you had better leave me behind. That’s safer anyway if I’m one of them.”

That cutting tone is from his mother. Any other time, he would hate how much of his parents he recognizes in himself, but it does come in handy every now and then. Although it does not bring him any satisfaction to watch Robin flinch. Tim is the faulty one here, the obstacle to overcome. It is better to just take him out of the equation.

He does not want to be left behind, of course. Chances are low that the kidnappers will simply let him go when they do not need him anymore. And he has no particular desire to find out where Gotham’s lost children end up.

“I’m – I won’t leave you here.” Robin has come closer, looking down at Tim with a seriousness that hurts.

Tim smiles, but it feels all wrong, hollow yet sharp at the edges. It should not surprise him that he does not measure up. Just because he looks up to Robin does not mean that Robin will find anything worthwhile when looking back. Something about him always turns people away, he is never quite enough.

“They won’t need me once you’re gone,” Tim points out and does not say that he is very aware that this will likely end with a bullet in his head. It is not like he can change that. He is tired and, for once, wants nothing more than to go home – without putting Robin in more danger.

Silence stretches between them for a long moment in which Tim thinks he really is doomed. Then Robin says, “Come,” his jaw set with new determination. “I’ll need your clothes.”

Tim does not move, even as Robin begins to take off the suit, no trace of hesitation left in his movements. In the privacy of his mind, Tim has longed for years to wear the Robin colours. But not like this, not here, not when the real Robin has already made his judgement of Tim.

“What about the mask?” Tim asks quietly, intent on reminding Robin what a stupid idea this is.

“I can’t let them see my face, so I’ll keep it on,” Robin says matter-of-factly, as if this very problem did not end in a physical altercation only minutes before. “But you can stay with your back to the door and I’ll jump them before they can notice anything.”

That is what Tim thought they should do earlier, but now he is full of doubt. Turning his back to the door alone fills him with uneasiness. He might not be a fighter, but it feels wrong to serve himself on a silver platter, too. And, since Tim is the hostage in this scenario, what if they do not go for Robin, which would squander their element of surprise. What if Robin will not be able to deal with whoever is coming for them? What if there are too many opponents? What if –

“Hey.” Suddenly, Robin is right in front of Tim, one hand on Tim’s shoulder and blatant concern on his face. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”

Tim takes a deep breath, concentrates on the ground beneath him and the warmth from Robin’s hand and even the way his ankle throbs. The situation is not ideal, but he is alive and mostly intact. He is not alone.

He believes Robin. What would life be if he could not trust his hero anymore? Robin helps people. It is his job.

But Tim has been following Batman and Robin around for a bit too long. He has seen them share street food during long patrols. He has watched Robin jump around in circles around Batman when bored and limp home after a bad fight. Beneath the mask, Tim knows very well, is just a boy not much older than him. Jason Todd, child of Gotham’s darkest streets, full of foul words and endless bravado.

This is not a heroic story. Tim is not behind the camera taking pictures. He is not a bystander, sequestered safely away on a rooftop. This is real. And Tim might have dreamt of himself as Robin – or at least as Robin’s sidekick – but not like this. He is acutely aware of how inadequate he is.

And yet, Tim nods. If he knows anything, it is how to pretend, how to keep his head held high. His hands, when he unzips his jacket, are shaking. If Robin notices, he does not comment on it. That makes it easier, if only slightly.

It is hard not to stare as the Robin suit lands piece by piece on the ground, rumpled and nearly unassuming, just flimsy looking material in too bright colours. The shaking gets worse as Tim reaches for it, but he does not allow himself to hesitate. It is now or never.

The suit does not quite fit. Tim is too small and too scrawny. Worse is the way his skin burns, touching something forbidden. He guesses he will not have those dreams of being Robin anymore, considering how miserable he feels while pretending for even just a moment.

“You look good,” Rob- Jason says. Because in Tim’s clothes he looks altogether too young, just another boy stranded in a bad situation. Tim cannot detect any condescension in his tone.

Still, Tim scoffs and avoids looking down at himself. “Let’s hope it fools them.”

He would be surprised if it does. He certainly feels like a bad impostor, radiating his uneasiness for everybody to pick up.

Robin opens his mouth, doubtlessly to tell Tim some more reassuring lies, but Tim turns away, effectively cutting him off. He just wants to get this over with.

He lies down on the ground, trying for a posture that is not too conspicuous while still allowing Jason to blend into the background. Even though all his instincts scream that it is wrong, he turns his back to the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jason put his hood up and mess up his hair until his face is shrouded in shadows and the mask is not so obvious anymore.

And then, they wait.

Or, rather Tim plans to wait. Jason apparently does not deal too well with silences because he first shifts around impatiently, then huffs. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Hey, Tim –”

“I’m fine,” Tim cuts him off. This is his one-in-a-lifetime chance of being cooped up with Robin, but talking did not turn out too well before, and he would rather not make things worse. “You don’t need to keep asking.”

It is also not a lie. The pain in both his ankle and his head have dulled to a low throbbing and the panic is under control. He is aware this will change once they are moving again, but for now everything is all right.

Jason hums, clearly not believing him, but then he says, “Actually, I wanted to know why you never said anything.”

Tim closes his eyes briefly. “About what?”

“Who we are. If you knew all this time.” Of course, Jason will not let this go. Perhaps he has a right to, considering how carefully Batman has hidden his identity all these years.

“It’s a secret.” Tim cranes his neck to stare at Jason. He admires Robin and would never endanger him like that. But if Jason is still not fully convinced Tim is not working with the enemy here, his doubt should be expected.

But then Jason asks, “Why didn’t you talk to us?” His tone is way too innocent for such a loaded question.

Tim is silent for a long moment. The truth would be that he did not want anyone to stop him from going out at night, but he can hardly say that. Jason Todd might understand the lack of parental supervision that lets Tim do as he pleases, but as Robin, he might ask questions that Tim really does not want to answer. And Batman surely would not let that stand. He is happy with things as they are. Getting a glimpse of all the excitement from afar is enough.

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “You have better things to do.” Better than indulging Tim’s stupid dreams.

He feels Jason’s stare on his back but does not look up again. “Well, what if someone kidnapped you and made you tell them?”

The veiled accusation sits like hot coals in Tim’s stomach. He wants to snap back, say that nobody would kidnap him. But the very fact that he is sitting in a locked room with Robin right at this moment makes that argument void.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says when Tim does not answer. He should not apologize when he is right.

Footsteps come closer, effectively cutting their conversation off. Saved by the very real possibility of being killed, Tim thinks and tries to relax his tense muscles.

The door opens with the same screeching protest as before and Tim feels woefully unprepared. All he has to do is lie here and let the real Robin do the work and yet his hands start shaking again.

“Have you thought about our offer, little birdie?” a voice asks, sounding too close for comfort already. “Or do we need to make the kid scream?”

Don’t go to Jason, Tim thinks fervently, even as he forces himself to keep his face turned away. The entire game will be up before they can even make the first move if they recognize him.

There is another set of footsteps, perhaps two, but Tim cannot look up. He has to give Jason the chance to get them out.

“Ignoring us won’t –” The man cuts off with a grunt and Tim looks up just in time to see him doubling over while Jason whirls around him, using his leg as a ladder to jump up and kick at the second guy before punching the first in the temple with his elbow. The man goes down like someone cut his strings.

All Tim can do is try to not get crushed and watch as Jason never loses momentum but makes short work of the other two men. It is over so quickly that Tim is left with too much adrenaline in the sudden silence, his heart beating as loud as a war drum and his hands balled into fists he thankfully did not have to use.

“Yes,” Jason exclaims. His grin is very much out of place but Tim still finds himself answering in kind. He did not even do anything and yet he feels victorious. “The credit goes to you, of course, since it was your idea.”

Tim wants to say that they are not yet out of here, but his face heats up and he lets his eyes drop. Looking at the unconscious men is better than to meet Jason’s undeserved praise.

“I mean it, Tim,” Jason adds, putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You were already thinking up plans while I wasted time on being angry. You kept a cool head. Not everybody could.”

The warmth from Jason’s hand and words spreads right into Tim’s core. They should not just stand around but get going but Tim cannot help himself. He does not get compliments like this, barely does anything worth noticing. Even ignoring the whole kidnapping, this is a night he will never forget.

“We should make sure they won’t be able to follow us,” Tim says, still feeling the glow in his cheeks. “And we should probably change clothes again.” Silently, he prays Jason will agree that there is no time for that. Even just pretending, the suit is a comfort now that they survived the first hurdle of getting out of here.

“Let’s stay like this. The colour suits you.” Jason winks but gets serious a moment later. He leans forward and fishes two pairs of handcuffs out of a pocket of the suit. “Put these on two of them. I’ll take care of the third.”

It is strange to move the unconscious bodies, even though they are definitely breathing. There is not even blood. Tim hurries to finish the task and then watches Jason string up the last guy with his own shoelaces.

“Ready to go?” Jason asks as he gets to his feet, looking strangely energetic for someone in their position. “I think I know the way out, so follow after me. We’ll try to avoid running into any more of these idiots.”

So, there are more. Their victory quickly turns sour at this reminder that they have not yet escaped. But Tim nods. He is very much out of his depth and really, really glad he is not alone.

At the door, Jason pauses again. “Will you be okay with your ankle?” Concern passes over his face and he looks Tim up and down as if he considers carrying him.

“I’m fine,” Tim says quickly. He will not slow them down and he will not make this harder on Jason. It is bad enough that he had to be rescued.

When Jason turns away, thankfully believing him, Tim takes a probing step. His ankle hurts and he knows it will only get worse from here on out. But he stands by his word. He will manage. Once he is safely at home, he can put some ice on it and recover. And home is so much more within reach now.

Jason hurries ahead, light-footed and with the easy elegance of a fighter. Following after him, Tim feels clumsy and loud. He closes the door to their cell and then looks cautiously down the hall. It looks identical on both sides but Jason never hesitates over which way to choose. That has to be enough.

They make it out without issue. Tim’s chest hurts as if he held his breath the entire time until they finally step out into the night air. He breathes and feels a smile spread on his face. They did it.

Jason touches his elbow briefly, motioning him to keep walking. Of course, they are not out of danger yet. So, Tim follows, down dark streets then up to the roofs. It is different to walk Gotham next to Robin, even if Tim is still the one wearing the suit. It feels like nothing in this city can touch them.

The throbbing in his ankle has turned into a constant burning. He does not say anything, though. It is still manageable and they are not yet safe. Still, he is glad when Jason is finally content with how far they have come and signals Tim to stop.

“How’s the foot?” Jason asks and reaches out for it almost as soon as they are sitting down.

Out of instinct, Tim withdraws. He is not used to being coddled, so they do not need to start now. “It’s fine.” At Jason’s blatantly unbelieving look, he adds, “I’ll put some ice on it and it’ll be right as rain.”

Jason clearly does not like that. “We should do an x-ray, just to be sure.”

“No hospitals,” Tim refuses immediately, the vehemence in his voice biting. If his parents find out about this they will never again let him set a single foot out their house unchaperoned.

And since they got out without anybody learning who Tim is, chances are good that he can keep this entire night secret. His parents will likely not come back before his ankle is healed, and even so he could lie to them. A sudden hospital visit, on the odder hand, is not so easily explained away.

Jason narrows his eyes but wisely does not decide to ask about the hidden implication. “We’ve got all we need at home.”

With home Jason means the manor. Bruce Wayne’s manor. Or even the rumoured Batcave.

“I can’t go home with you.” The mere thought has his brain sputtering to a halt. He needs to go to his own house, sort out his ankle and concussion, and then probably look for something else to take photos of. Batman cannot be made aware that he has a stalker, especially not a kid running around rooftops at night. “And you can’t tell anybody about me.”

He is not making a very good case for himself here, Tim realizes, feeding into Jason’s suspicions about him.

“I feel like that’s my line.” With a pointed look, Jason asks, “Is anybody even waiting for you at home?”

Tim hates the way his shoulders straighten automatically. Jason has no reason to suspect that his home life is anything but orderly and normal. Apart from him being out alone at night. Plenty of children do that, certainly, sneaking out of their window with no one being the wiser. They would not want their parents to find out. Nothing here indicates that Tim’s parents are away from home more often than they actually sleep in their own beds or that Tim has been managing his own life without anybody’s input for years. Nothing indicates that, one of these days, Tim’s father will run out of patience and beat some sense into him instead of just shouting and throwing things, or that his mother’s disappointment in him will simply grow too much to bear and she will not come home at all anymore.

Tim plasters a smile on his face and rolls his eyes. The effort is wasted, certainly, but appearances must be upheld. “I very much hope they’re not waiting because then they’d know I snuck out.” If he times it right, he will even miss the housekeeper who’s coming in the next day, and then he will have all the time in the world to sort himself out.

Jason does not believe him. He stares at Tim, looking suddenly much older than his years. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “How do you do this, Alfred?”, but Tim does not know who Alfred is or what he has to do with this, so he ignores it.

Finally, Jason nods, even if he does not look happy about it. “I’ll bring you home.”

Tim already told him that he is living next door, but that does not mean he wants Jason to come. “You can’t –”

But Jason shakes his head, interrupting him. “I’ll drop you off outside your door, then we’ll exchange numbers. And you will call me if you need anything.” It sounds like a threat more than an offer of help.

Tim should be elated. He has met his hero, got out of their adventure together more or less intact, and he gets Robin’s number out of it, even if he already knows he will never use it. He also got to wear the Robin suit, no matter the reason.

“We should change our clothes,” Tim says because he will not be tricked into going to the Wayne house after all because they put this off.

He realizes his caution was right when Jason starts grinning. “Oh, no,” he exclaims far too happily. “You will keep that on and I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I check in on you.”

Check in – the only person checking in on Tim is the housekeeper, who is paid handsomely for it and for not telling anybody that Tim’s parents are constantly out of the country. “You don’t need to check in on me,” Tim says, barely able to comprehend the concept. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He is. Or he will be if only people stopped putting their noses into his business.

“It’s non-negotiable, Tim” Jason says and cocks his head. “Now, do you want to stay stubborn and let me carry you or can I call someone to drive us?”

Neither of these, Tim thinks. Especially because the only one Jason would call that Tim can think of is Batman. Then again, Jason did not sound so eager to have Batman come for them, earlier, so perhaps that is an empty threat.

“You don’t have to carry me,” Tim says pointedly but does not make a move to get up. He will when they get going again. Until then, he is happy to rest.

Jason clicks his tongue. “I’m not going to let you limp,” he says as if that is the worst thing that happened this night. “And to stop your next argument, they guy who’ll pick us up knows all about the suit.”

So, not Batman? But it does not matter. He is fine, and he really cannot have anyone else see him and find out about this night. “I can –”

“Listen, Tim,” Jason cuts him off and puts that damned hand back on Tim’s shoulder as if he knows how grounding that is. “I’m not the motherly type. That’s what we’ve got Dick for. But this was a stressful night and you’re hurt. Let me please make sure that you get home in one piece.”

He sounds earnest, but also like he is reaching the end of the rope. And Tim does not want that. It was a stressful night. “Fine.” If he is honest with himself, giving in is a relief because he really does not want to get back to his feet and his vision is still swimming, although he better not even hint at that if he wants to get Jason off his back. If he is that concerned about a busted ankle, he will definitely not let Tim out of sight if he learns about the possible – definite – concussion.

“Great, I knew you’d see reason.” Jason claps his hands and gets to his feet, seemingly not at all tired. “Now, let me make a call and then you can give me your number.”

Tim hums and leans back, desperate to just rest his eyes for a moment. His heart is still beating too quickly, not yet reassured that the danger is over. He listens to Jason talk on the phone and then to him telling some stories about too big manors with perfect banisters. Tim wishes he could take a picture of this moment, the two of them on this roof, but his camera was lost somewhere in that basement or on the way there. He will grieve for it tomorrow. Right now, he is just glad that he is alive, happy to let Jason talk and bask in the surrealism of this night.

Perhaps he dreamt this whole thing up. Exhaustion might have caught up with him and he slipped at home, hit his head. Perhaps – but then Jason nudges him awake and says, “Alfie’s here.”

They climb down the roof and into a car and the old man who introduces himself as Alfred has the warmest concerned expression that Tim has ever seen.

No, he decides, this was real. He is in the Robin suit and tomorrow Jason will visit him and pretend to believe whatever lies Tim will make up about his parents. Swimming in the exhausted void left behind by too much adrenaline, Tim grins at Jason, carefree and just happy to be alive. With a conspiratorial glint in his eyes, Jason grins back.

Yes, very much real.

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #do you trust me?#batman #fanfiction #tim drake #jason todd #jason is robin #hurt tim drake #My writing

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akimmito · 4 years

Text

They thought they won #1

"Ok. So, this is a fanfic that follows the directions posted by @chocolate1721. I liked it and wanted to write it, so here it is.

I divided it into two parts because it had 7546 words and I had only written about Gotham, I was still missing Paris. So, to allow a more pleasant reading I separated it.

This is a Timinette fanfic because I think there are very few of them and I want more content from these two.

So, let's get started.

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Taggued: @elmokingkong

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A trip to Gotham did not go as badly as Marinette thought it would. And they were talking about Gotham, a city so dangerous that you cannot set foot on the streets without suffering an attempted assault. She can only think that Ladybug's luck allowed them to pass the two weeks of the trip without any incident that attempted against the life of any of their companions (although the class screamed to be attacked with Lila spreading scandalous lies). So everything was fine ... Until his last night in the city.

A quiet night, if they could ignore the screams that were occasionally heard (Damn it, Bustier, why so close to the Crime Alley?). The class dined as if there was not a three-front war brewing between the students, it was a time when Lila's lies were hardly heard. It was a great night for Marinette... but then again, why so close to the Crime Alley?

As soon as they left the small restaurant they met two well-known Gotham villains, causing panic in almost all the members of the French class. Only two girls saw that there really is no danger, too many injuries to pose a threat. Harley and Ivy barely can see the students, they can't even stop.

Marinette, sweet Marinette, approaches them to see their wounds. She's not going to let someone bleed to death in front of her, not if she can help it.

Chloe follows her closely; each taking one of the women to identify the wounds and see how to get them to the hospital. However, Marinette believes that if she lets them bleed freely it won't do to take them anywhere; She began tearing her clothes to make makeshift bandages with the pieces for the most bleeding wounds ... That was until the class stopped being a bunch of screaming and inconsistency.

"Oh, I didn't want to believe it, but you're working with villains!" Lila's comment sparked the class hostility, Chloe just huffs mockingly.

"Damn it, Marinette. Don't you get tired of being such a bitch? "

"Joining Chloe, what did they expect? If they both work for Hawkmoth, obviously they would for the villains here." Someone, Marinette doesn't want to identify the voice, accuses them (again) of working with the Parisian villain, when clearly the man has put a target on her back to corrupt her and turn her into an Akuma. Anyway, idiots.

"You suck, Marinette!"

"What a disappointment, Marinette, you would know better that you must be a good example for class."

"Fools. " Chloe curses under her breath at her teacher's comment.

"I'm. No matter who the person is, I'm not going to see them die if I can help avoid it. ”Marinette frowns at the teacher. There was a time when she thought it was amazing, but those were childish thoughts of a thirteen year old girl who thought the world was divide in black and white. The world is more than that.

Everyone is so engrossed in the uproar that they are not alert enough, Marinette gets mad at herself for not being more careful. The Joker, FUCKING JOKER, is in front of them with a stuffed animal? Marinette isn't going to question it, as far as she knows, it could be a bomb. Even so…

The class doesn't wait a second when they run away, Joker just laughs at the reaction. Chloe stands in front of the two wounded women, waiting for any sign of her best friend, whether to flee or fight.

Marinette scans her surroundings without taking her attention from the madman in front of her. Her first option would be to run, but she's not going to leave Harley and Ivy helpless in the face of the brutal clown-themed killer (all fully justified childhood fears). A moment of silence when the class screams are lost in the streets, it almost seems like a dramatic moment from an action movie.

Joker is excited. The two girls stayed behind to protect their toy and the redhead. He might be impressed; not just anyone would stay to face it. No one is so crazy. His gaze falls on the dark-haired girl, she looks too calm and in ambient. He smiles when he sees her walking to face him and bends down to grab a lever too convenient in the middle of the sidewalk. She's a fun girl! Before she does, he lunges for her. It will be a fun game between the two.

Chloe watches Marinette fight the Joker with a crowbar, take and hit. She can tell he wants to knock him out, but, well, he's not doing it. Brutal would be a good word to describe the little Parisian drawing blood from the man as he laughs as if he had been given the top prize in the lottery (Chloe firmly believes he really feels that way). And it seems he really likes Marinette, a shiver running down her spine at the thought. Chloe bends quickly towards the two women trying to get up, the more time passes the more possibilities there are for that crazy man to become obsessed with her friend and she will not allow it (Kagami will dismember her with her katana if she allows it).

Harley and Ivy barely manage to stand up, but lean heavily on Chloe. It does not bother her, her training has allowed her to support a little extra weight and as long as she does not have to carry them, there's no problem.

"If you don't hit harder, you won't win," Joker laughs with each comment, wanting to force the girl to be more brutal, even though she is too calm and his comments don't seem to reach her.

"Who said something about winning?" It's the first time she've answered him, he smiles. Marinette bites her tongue to containing any other comment, if she opens her mouth she will get the maniac to follow her to Paris and a madman behind her is enough.

Somehow, while fighting, he has cornered the group in a corner. Marinette berates herself for worrying too much about useless things and now she must win, but give him that satisfaction. Her hair stands on end, a bad blow and her weapon goes in the opposite direction and away from her. Now she only has a clean fist. She can work with it, even though her brain screams at her to run. She swallows thick when he lunges at her again. His mind is a constant alarm of: there's no cure, there's no cure, there's no cure.

But at that moment dark figures leap from the surrounding buildings and confront him, Marinette backs down without letting her guard down until her mind focuses enough to recognize them. The city vigilants.

From there everything is a whirlwind of thoughts and Marinette does not realize when the Joker has been placated and has them close, to the surprise them, she launches herself towards one totally random and remains in the arms of Nightwing who only smiles kindly at the agitated girl about to cry with relief.

"I, help ... them, yes ... wounds, that." Marinette can't hold a coherent sentence toward Nightwing.

"What he meant is that they are injured and need immediate medical attention." Chloe stands firm and will never admit that her legs are shaking, or that being held by Red Hood was welcome help. First dead than looking vulnerable.

Marinette lets herself slip into Nightwing's arms as all the adrenaline leaves her. It's been a long time since she felt this way helpless towards some danger, but she was just Marinette and there was no chance of Ladybug showing up. Thank heaven for the arrival of the vigilants.

"Robin has already alerted the police, he should be here soon." Batman looks at both girls for a moment, but turns to watch the unconscious Joker.

"Everything is fine. " Nightwing whispers to the little girl in his arms, he feels her tremble against him and he is no longer sure if it is the fear or has another origin.

In a short time the police are there and the two Parisian girls have to give a statement (unfortunately the loss of blood left the two women out of action).

"How it happend?" Chloe takes the initiative, Marinette doesn't seem to be ready to leave Nightwing or say something more coherent than a barely audible babble, clearly struggling to stay together between anxiety and guilt, because yes, Marinette Dupain-Cheng can't help blame herself. Sometimes, Chloe thinks, want to shake her until she regains her senses (but that doesn't work, Luka's melodies, on the contrary. Oh, they're magical).

"To begin with, this is the fault of our teacher's incompetence to choose a restaurant so close to the Crime Alley. Second, I am very surprised that it did not happen before because our companions were struggling to get the attention of a madman. They said so many stupid things." The vigilants raise an eyebrow at the girl's words, if they didn't know better they could believe that the girls didn't suffer a close encounter with the Joker. "And third, Dupain-Cheng is too good to let someone bleed to death in front of her and I too good a friend to see her jump into danger alone. This leaves me with the experience of never going on a trip with that band of incompetents. "

"Can you relate the incident?" Commissioner Gordon is tired, with each passing day new characters appear in the city and he is never ready. The girl hiding in Nightwing's arms and her friend who seems ready to declare war to anyone.

"They appeared bleeding, our companions being stupid, the madman appears and they all flee leaving us behind. Ha, surely they would have thrown us towards him if they had not been so afraid" Chloe doesn't miss the opportunity to make a dismissive comment to her class, Marinette is out of combat to reprimand her for being too cruel with her sincerity. "Dupain-Cheng being so sweet as an acid candy defends us, is done with a lever and gets into a fight with the madman. Somehow we ended up in this horrible place and well, they came along and Dupain-Cheng falls apart in her standard nervous form. It will be fine, it just tends to over-think. The only thing recorded is the split lip, the rest is her realizing a thousand possible scenarios where everything went wrong. "

That said, the four women are rushed to the hospital (Nightwing accompanies them because the young woman in his arms refused to release him and also didn't have the heart to leave her alone when it was obvious that she needed comfort). As soon as they arrive they are checked and Nightwing leaves, giving the girls a brief look before leaving.

"We will stay here, we want to make sure they are okay." Chloe takes control of the situation, refusing to abandon the women. Anyway, after the act on the street, he doubts that they will be well received by the class. She is sure they are not worried and can almost hear their irritating voices speaking nonsense about it.

The doctors allow it stay there with the endorsement of the police, they fall asleep on a sofa in the room where Harley and Ivy are locate. Marinette calmed down throughout the trip to the hospital, muttering apologies to the caretaker who accompanied her for sticking like a koala to his person. And her rest is very calm, without nightmares or anything; Maybe it's the emotional exhaustion of the experience, but there are no dreams riddled with deaths or with the Joker, there is only a deep black who embraces her like a good friend.

The next morning they are awakened by the voices of Harley and Ivy talking to the doctor, Chloe also recognizes the voice of the officer who took the statement yesterday.

"They were very daring and their classmates abandoned them, even the adult with them. "

"You should do something, Jimmy!"

Gordon notices the looks of the two girls and approaches to talk to them, being much more rested can better appreciate the mettle of the two young girls. Especially the dark-haired one, last night was a bunch of inconsistencies and today she looks completely calm, looking towards Harley and Ivy looking for confirmation of their health.

"Good morning, ladies. "

"Good morning, Officer. " Marinette greets with a friendly smile, focusing her attention on the officer. She knows that they must return to their class and return to Paris.

"No one reported two girls missing, but you mentioned they are on a class trip. Can I know the name of the person in charge to call them?"

"Claine Bustier from Paris, France. College Françoise Dupont, we stayed at the Gotham Royal Hotel. Our room is the 155. "Marinette enters all her data, but she also decides that it is better that she has absolutely all of them. "My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 17 years old. My parents are Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, they have a bakery. Tom & Sabine Boulangerie."

"Chloe Burgeois, I reside at the Hotel Le Grand Paris. My father is the mayor, André Burgeois, and my mother is Audrey Burgeois, the Queen of Style. "

Gordon takes note of all the information they have given him, if he cannot contact her teacher he has two pairs of parents to call for their daughters. And for them to be giving that contingency, he can intuit that they know that perhaps they imagine that it will be the case.

He immediately retires and leaves them alone with the two women. He has a job to do.

Gordon spent the whole morning trying to locate the teacher, according to the hotel they left him early in the morning and they have no idea about anything. He doesn't want to alarm the girls' parents yet, so he will first talk to them to find out if they know where they could be, he sends them to bring to the police station to facilitate the whole process, and he also asks for food for the girls. It's almost lunch time.

"Welcome, sit down." The two girls obey with slightly worried expressions, they seem to be fearing the worst. "I have been unable to locate their teacher or class, according to the hotel, they left early in the morning. "

Marinette holds her breath, reality hit her in the face. Chloe's not much better. It was their last night in Gotham, today they had to take a flight to Paris... they didn't it because they are sure that they abandoned them. They start muttering in French at Gordon's confusion, they look alarmed.

"Sir, we are supposed to go back to Paris today. And... well, lately our teacher hasn't been taking roll. Also, she take what our comrades say as fact." Marinette panics again, but this time there are no saviors and they are trapped in another country. "I just hope they didn't go to Paris without us..."

"Don't be innocent, Maribug." Chloe addresses her with her friend's loving nickname, sees her on the verge of panic and hopes to remind her that they are in this together. "Of course they left without us, she didn't count for a visit to the museum. What will be different today? A word from Lie-la and everything goes under her will."

There was a small second of surprise that gave way to panic interspersed with fury in Gordon's features, he turns to pick up the phone and call the airport in a frenzy. He began to demand passengers on flights to Paris, but was repeatedly denied and his patience goes overboard.

"Ladies, would you mind waiting outside?" "Marinette and Chloe obey. They stay near the door because they don't know where to go and catch the officer's scream." THERE ARE TWO CHILDREN WHO COULD HAVE BEEN ABANDONED BY THEIR TEACHER IN THE CITY! NOW TELL ME IF CALINE BUSTIER BOEARDED THE FUNCKING PLANE WITH HER STUDENTS OR NOT! "

Boiling with anger and after a few more screams, Gordon has the information. But he's still so furious that he could commit murder on the spot. Worst of all, he also has video evidence of a student tearing up two airline tickets that, if you have to guess, are those of the girls they left behind. What do those people have in mind? He already feel the migraine coming.

He drops into his chair, counts to ten, and decides to call Bruce. Technically, being a Wayne Foundation sponsored trip, he's responsible for the two girls and with him in charge it will be easier to deal with the parents.

"Hey, Bruce. I have a situation, the Wayne Foundation sponsored a class trip for the Françoise Dupont School and the teacher in charge left two of his students abandoned in the country; I have video evidence of their negligence and I am sure that in every place they went to there is has least one camera that must have caught something. " He massages his forehead, it's not his jurisdiction, but when doing it in his territory he can form a case and send it to the Paris police for follow. "You should come and take care of them while we resolve to take them home, one of her classmates broke their tickets and I'm not even sure if their belongings are in good condition. "

"I understand, Jim. I'll take over, I'll be there soon. "

Gordon is relatively more relieved, but no less angry. He gets up to ask them to come back in and tell them what will happen, so they won't be surprised to see Bruce Wayne coming for them.

"Bruce will take care of you, make all the preparations for your return trip to Paris. And while you come, how normal is the situation with your teacher and your classmates?" He watches the silent interaction and the blonde is the one talking.

"We are the only two people in our class who do not believe Lie-la's lies. Maribug earned her hatred by trying to expose her stories for what they are: lies. And I, well, I was never going to let myself be bowed down by someone like her. "Marinette denies because of the choice of words.

"She considers us an obstacle in her reign. When she arrived, I never believed her because the stories were too unrealistic even for our standards in the class, considering that we all know a fair amount of celebrities and we all form a very diverse group with a promising future, I mean we have Max, he create an AI capable of feeling emotions. So when I didn't believe her and tried to make my friends see reason, she swore that she would take everything away from me ... And she did, it wouldn't have been so bad if it were just that, I realized who my true friends are and that I shouldn't trust anyone. The real problem is the way in which he influenced them all, I cann't longer recognize Alya, she is even worse than Chloe years ago. "Marinette sighs, remembering the last years is exhausting in many ways. "So they have marginalized us, they attack us only because Lila says that we did something to her even when we were not there and we have witnesses who can confirm our stories..."

"Seeing them is like seeing a surreal work with abstract tendencies, impossible to believe what you are seeing. The worst is Bustier, she's a facilitator. I hadn't seen the problem before, but now that I'm in Maribug's place too, well, we were clearly wrong about what kind of teacher she was. She believes all her lies and even congratulates her on them! She let use everyone to her holy whim and antagonize those who don't. ”Chloe gets up indignant and ready to continue ranting, not many adults stop to listen to them. "I'm tired of hearing the same speech from her must be the best person, Marinette. Be a good example! Someone should teach him didactics, she obviously doesn't know what she's doing. And now she leaves us in another country! Negligent, stupid, facilitator ..."

"Chloe, stop it. He understood your point. "Marinette is the voice of reason and tries to appease her friend's overflowing anger. It's true that having someone willing to listen is cathartic, but they should not take so many liberties.

"It's not fair, Maribug, not with you. Always ready to help others and they simply attack you when you decide to think about yourself and your future. They think you owe them something and it's totally the other way around because without you, that class wouldn't be half as good as it's ... because when you took the class presidency they all grew in their areas..."Chloe sits down again, her brow furrowed and still very angry. "They don't deserve you. "

"Miss Bustier often asks me to help her with different tasks, before it meant an additional workload… I became her disappointment when I told her that I would not do more work outside of my duties as class president, it dictated by the rules of the institution. She lectured me that I should not be selfish, that it's for the benefit of the class ... and well, I told him that if she gave me half her salary I would gladly continue doing her job. She punished me, but it was the truth. "Marinette looks at her hands, that conversation was before the trip to Gotham and her punishment would start as soon as they returned to Paris, a pity that left her abandoned.

Surprised is a word that falls short, Gordon doesn't understand how an adult woman can be so irrational. What kind of alternate dimension does that class live in? A person with at least two functioning neurons would not be so ridiculous; At least, he thinks, perhaps the lies are well crafted as unrealistic as they may have seemed, correct?

"All this arose from the lies of that girl, how are those lies? "He feels like asking was a bad idea and the looks of the two girls are confirmation.

"She has tinnitus because she saved Jagged Stone's kitten from being run over by an airplane." Marinette replies completely blank.

"She knows half of Hollywood and recently said that she knows the whole Wayne family and that Damian Wayne has been her friend since she was five years old. "Marinette snorts not holding her stoic expression, they only said some lies, but it is that the others border on the delirium that they do not they want to end up in Arkham just for repeating it. That last one, of course, was very close. "I wish someone would warn her that the boy lived with his mother until he was ten years old. "

From there, Chloe gives more details and there is no longer Marinette who can stop her. By the time Bruce arrives with two of his boys, Gordon is on a call with the French police for a case to be brought to the French Board of Education about the school and its unethical methods of education, citing Marinette's unfair expulsion which looks it's still on the school record.

Bruce looks at the two girls in Gordon's office, the blonde looks ready for war and the other girl is sitting quietly. Dick and Tim walk behind him; Richard couldn't resist seeing the girl who hung on him as a koala baby again and Tim is there for exactly the same as Bruce, taking charge because is also his responsibility.

"Good afternoon." Bruce greets, catching the attention of the two Parisian girls. They return the greeting and Gordon only makes a gesture of recognition, the police chief reviews the video he sent and the evidence he has of the case, he can hear him muttering indignantly and something about his daughter being part of all that circus.

"Hey!" Richard greets as well, being friendlier than his adoptive father. "I'm Richard, but you can call me Dick and this is Tim, my little brother. ”Tim gives him a contemplative look and just nods at them. His eyes fixed on everything but the two girls.

"I'm Marinette and she's Chloe, nice to meet you." Marinette smiles brightly. Dick can't believe he's the same girl of last night, but apparently she is.

Gordon ends the call at that time, the police said to initiate a police investigation and to involve the Board of Education.

"Well, ladies. When they get home they will ask for your formal statement and the presentation of the charges, although it seems that the prosecution will take care of that. ”He smiles at the girls, who agree with his words. Chloe celebrates, of course it will involve her father too. "Hi Bruce, thanks for coming."

"Of course. And since you mentioned the investigation, Tim collected all of the security camera files from the past two weeks. Every place they were in is in the file. " Tim hands the memory over to the commissioner, he still has a copy on the computer to review in detail himself.

"Thanks, I will review it and send the parts of interest to France."

After that, the five retreat to the Wayne Manor. The suitcases, or what is left of them, awaits they there. Any impression they might have on seeing the mansion falls short because of the disgust of seeing its things ruined.

"Well, Maribug, can I take this as evidence for my theory?" The hosts are still close enough to hear his words, even though they were about to leave them alone.

"Lila's being a meta or the Akuma's?" Marinette rummages in the secret compartments of her suitcase to make sure it was not raped, fortunately it's intact. It's safe to say that none of them thought that it would have a false base with a secret content, the place where the box of miracles rests. Ever since Hawkmoth decided to target her, she has been a little paranoid, or well, very paranoid. She has two secret compartments inside a secret compartment in her room, to store it, but being so far away she didn't feel calm and decided to carry it with her. Maybe it should include some riddle like firewall.

"Akuma, but Lie-la's also fits."

"I think it's the second one, only the class behaves this stupid so we can't blame Hawkmoth, half Paris continues to maintain it's logical reasoning. "Marinette shrugs and classifies the clothes that still serve and the clothes which inevitably must Discard.

Chloe just hums in agreement, it's a valid point. Long nights of conversation with Kagami and Luka (Marinette's small notes) to determine the motives of the class being so incoherent and violent without a truly logical reason led to those two theories.

"You have to call home, Chloe. You already heard Mr. Wayne. "

"Yeah yeah, I'm going to. At least I brought the least glamorous clothes for this trip. "

That's a ground call for Tim, who had overheard their conversation upon hearing something curious. He must prepare the trip to Paris with Wayne's private plane, Bruce wants to take charge of the situation and speak in person with the parents of both girls. Every hour he knows they won't be leaving until the next day, giving them time to spend time with their unexpected guests.

The call is quick and enough for Marinette to fear that her mother will become Akuma. A message from her father confirms that her fears were unfounded, that her mother's anger is cold and will not fall into Hawkmoth's hands.

When the two girls relax and take a breather, knowing that they will sleep in that mansion, they don't even have time to think twice when Jason drags them into a room full of weapons, Marinette can barely contain her surprise and Chloe glows with excitement.

"Ready to learn how to shoot a gun?" Chloe jumps with badly contained enthusiasm, Marinette is not so enthusiastic about it, but learning to remove a weapon considers that it is something useful for what she asks to start there. "Okay, pixie-pop, I'll teach you how to take apart and lock a weapon."

They spend an entire two hours immersed in the world of weapons, Chloe going through each type as Marinette confronts Jason to disarm him, showing off her quick learning, though not good enough to beat her temporary master.

When Marinette leaves, claiming she doesn't want to shoot, she bumps into Damian and asks him for directions to get out of there.

"Because I should?"

"If I get lost it will be your fault." He snorts, but accepts. He doesn't want a stranger sniffing around the mansion and sticking his nose where it shouldn't. They walk in silence when she notices he is carrying a sword. "Is it a katana?"

"What else would it be?"

"An umbrella." She laughs at the boy's annoyed expression when he turns to look at her as if he thinks she's crazy. "There is a design inspired by katanas, a friend decided it was a good idea to scare us with it..."

"Pff. And why did you believe it?"

"She really tried to cut off someone's hand one day, it was with a saber, but ... we really believed her capable of attacking someone with a katana" Damian only raises an eyebrow with a curiosity that he refuses to admit even to himself. "And she's deadly with a sword, we vowed never to face her again with real swords unless we somehow became Superman. "

"Can you fight with swords?" He was being tolerant by allowing her to speak at first, but the latter did catch his attention. It may not be a good one, but having someone who won't cut its finger on themselves in a workout can be helpful, and if he can get her better, a decent opponent to practice with.

"I avoided she cutting my arm with a katana, does that count?"

It changes course and they head to another room, similar to the weapons room, but this time it is full of swords and knives. She respects people's hobbies, she does, but the amount is over the top and she has a slight suspicion that there is more somewhere in the big mansion. Will there be a pump room? She wouldn't be surprised if one of the other two brothers suddenly came out claiming fanaticism about the explosives.

"I want to see how bad you are."

Ouch, Marinette thinks. She has been ruled out immediately, but will not decline now that she's surrounded by so many weapons. She does feel more excited about a sword than a gun, they can't blame her for preferring close combat.

"We will fight with katana, take whatever you want. They are all polished and sharp. ”She feels something dark when she mentions the sharp, as well as pride in the perfect maintenance of her weapons. She smiles confidently, the boy reminds her of Kagami (albeit much more somber and clearly hostile).

Having chosen, the two are placed in position. And he begins to criticize hard and coldly.

"Your posture is very loose, you will only get him to cut your throat with the first blow. Your friend is an idiot, she must has corrected you since he saw you. ”Mariette nods. "Imitate me. ”She obeys, reflecting her posture. "But be firmer, this is not a dance, it's a fight and if you don't stand up fine. Well, you will dead. "

After several minutes in the same position, they begin. A couple of movements and he correct her again.

"The movement must be strong and fluid, you will cause a fracture on your own if you allow the elbow to continue flexing like this. You must be precise in the movements, you cann't start to experiment if you don't have dominated the base. Again. "

With each criticism and correction the girl makes, she becomes more excited. Damian is relentless with his comments, openly insulting her for her mistakes, but gives the correct and fair corrections for the problem she presents.

"You are agile and flexible, use it to your advantage. Put aside unnecessary movements, sword fighting is offensive and deadly." Marinette notices that she is having fun, if the smile says anything (however mischievous it is when she mocks her mistakes). At least until he stumbles over his own feet and falls flat on his face in front of Damian. "You're an idiot?! You almost stabbed yourself, you can't fall like this! Get up and regain the dignity you have left. Again and don't fall or I’ll stab yourself. "

Marinette has a good time, she doesn't even notice the time she spends training with Damian. Alfred interrupts them by announcing that dinner has been served since fifteen minutes.

"Thanks Alfred." She smiles kindly.

Damian reluctantly guards the sword, his brothers always choose other weapons when training. It was satisfying to have someone willing to fight him in his area, especially for his quick learning, he only had to correct twice about posture and movement; he also noticed that she was imitating his movements to correct himself as they fought. Less useless than his brothers, he will give she that.

When they enter, everyone is eating or so it seems. Tim looks at his plate as if he is going to speak to him at any moment, Dick talks more than he eats (with Stephanie who came interested in the two girls who could be victims of Bruce's adoption), Jason has not even touched the plate and in change is arguing over the theory of how to disassemble a grenade launcher with Chloe. Bruce is the only one who eats in silence, at least until he sees his youngest son arrive with Marinette.

"Excuse me." Marinette sits in the empty seat next to Tim, who barely registers the movement. She worries a little, she seems to be in her bad weeks (say Hawkmoth and her Akuma at three in the morning).

Dinner passes unceremoniously, past Damian demanding they shut up, almost stabbing Marinette's hand with his fork. And contrary to what anyone might think, she just laughs, the whole situation seemed so refreshing, so many people at a table and the familiarity with which they were received. She feels comfortable, even with Damian's passive-aggressive attitude.

Somehow, an hour later, they are dragged back into another room. This time both Chloe and Marinette want to scream, and Mari feels she can be relieved because it didn't result in bombs or anything more dangerous than the other two. He gets them comfortable clothes so they can get on, knowing that they have been sweating and going in normal clothes.

Chloe does not hesitate to climb on the trapeze after warming up, but Marinette sits on the parallel bars, not that she is not willing to do the same as Chloe, but she flies often enough as Ladybug to look for something calmer, although she should take advantage and she would like to have a private gym like that, because there are also weights and a punching bag.

Dick is in cloud nine watching how the two girls look like fish in the water, he imagined that it would be so. Especially when she saw Marinette training with Damian and the movements she made, she is clearly a gymnast. And being there, well, that the two of them are so enthusiastic only makes it better. Unlike his brothers, he just wants them to have fun.

At some point in the time they take turns between the bars and the trapeze, Dick and Chloe end up competing. While Marinette is happy on the uneven bars until Damian re-monopolizes her and they move to the weapons room; leaving the other two doing jumps and twists in the air (Dick wins, of course).

Of course, Marinette enjoys the workout and is glad she didn't end up hurt in any way. It would be funny to explain to her parents that they ended up fighting with swords with a boy four years younger and that he did not have the mercy to avoid hurting her.

"Better than a few hours ago, you're not that horrible anymore. "

"Decent, right?"

"That is too favorable for you, you still trip over the air and almost take your eye out." Damian frowns in disappointment at the incompetence of maintaining a decent balance when he has both feet on the ground. When he saw her on the uneven bars, it was almost believed that the jumps that ended in disaster were fake, but no, she really stumbled into nothingness itself.

"Uh, sorry. I will do it better.

"You better, I won't admit any more stupid mistakes."

Damian would have preferred to go on patrol, but he won't complain about the training either. He had fun at the girl's expense and, above all, he knows that if he sees her again and she keeps practicing (he will make sure of that) he will be a better rival than today. She can even introduce that friend of her to measure levels, he's better of course but it never hurts to re-confirm.

At ten at night they go to bed, Alfred shows the room to the two girls and lets them settle down. Marinette can't sleep, after four hours of tossing and turning, she resigns herself and leaves, looking at Tikki on her pillow sleeping comfortably, she can't help envying her good rest. Pick up your phone and it's 2:15.

She curses her insomnia and wanders around the mansion, somehow miraculously ends up in the kitchen. It is a dim light that directs her there, since everything else is dark, she didn't even feel when went downstairs.

In the kitchen, Tim is leaning against the table with his computer on and a steaming coffee. Suddenly he gets up and turns to her with a surprised (and very confused) expression, but more surprised Marinette is when he does that.

"Oh Im sorry…"

"No, no ... Uh, can't you sleep?"

"Usually not. What are you doing?" Marinette knows that she is taking, perhaps, too much liberties when curious about what Tim is doing, but she is not sleepy and there is nothing else to do.

"Work, Wayne Industries is developing a new model of heavy machinery for moving cargo containers, much more resistant to be located on the coasts for the rainy seasons… I am reviewing all the designs, suggested materials and profitability of each project to present to the board in three weeks. There are seven different models, and none are tailored to it needs. " Tim shows the blueprint of the last model he has reviewed, flipped it over several times, and revised the materials, but they are not entirely satisfactory for what he is seeking to present.

"It looks complicated, how do you know if it adapts to it needs or not?" Marinette sits next to him, interested in the project. She know he is the CEO of Wayne Enterprise and every division in the company, but seeing the work he does is something different. "If you have to go through those kinds of projects and take care of other tasks, i'm not surprised that you're so sleep deprived"

"Well, the demand is analyzed first." Open another file of the works of the sector where the new project is directed. "Here, the work of the machinery must meet the standards in relation to the pace of work and the climate, considering that it wants to deliver a specific model for working on coasts. This is only to increase efficiency and allow a slightly longer time frame between maintenances. Metals corrode with greater speed and, sometimes, the weather is so bad that it avoids correct maintenance; storms in mid-spring flood the ports. fairly frequently and parts need to be replaced more frequently This new model should allow greater resistance to these conditions. "

"Interesting, and are you always watching projects?"

"Not all projects, Wayne Biotechnology projects do not review this way, it is not my area. It's usually the manager of the division who presents new projects to the board. However, I still have to review other aspects of all the divisions of the company and that includes them all…"

"It's still a lot of work, is it that heavy or do you overload yourself?" Marinette inquires with playful curiosity, Tim shifts nervously.

"A little of both?"

"Oh.So, you need a better coffee. ”She takes the liberty of trying the one she is drinking. "It's still very light. I will share with you my winning recipe, it has kept me up for an entire week with one hour of daily sleep. "

Marinette gets up and moves in the kitchen as if she were the owner of the place, looking for what she needs. Seeing the coffee, she is surprised.

"Black Insomnia?"

"I can only have one cup a week, Alfred thinks it's going to kill me if I drink it every day. I have made an agreement, he doesn't tell me anything about not sleeping and I comply with taking it once a week."

"It's totally valid. " Marinette laughs and puts the coffee back in its place. "Whiskey. It will come handy. "

"What?" Tim watches the girl open the bottle to smell her, it's one of the ones Alfred confiscated from Jason a week ago. "Why Whiskey?"

"Other flavor, vodka is better, but I can work with this. Do you have mint?"

Tim remains dubious as he watches her work with the most random ingredients he could think of for a coffee, also yogurt? He won't question it, but was France so strange?

A few minutes later Marinette hands him a cup.

"It has less caffeine than a regular cup, but the energy it provides is much greater. If you drink one cup per hour, with this you only need one to run at least four. It's magical, come on, don't see it like that. ”She pouts and he decides to take it.

"It is safe? I don't think Alfred is happy that you murder me with coffee."

"I think Damian would have a party."

"Oh, the demon's ally. Since I didn't see it coming, I gave you my trust and that's how you pay me. "

They both laugh, Tim finally trying the coffee. He will give she points for the taste, he don't even feel that it has alcohol and ultimately he feel more alive than a moment ago. He can continue working.

They both stay in the kitchen, Tim works until five in the morning. Marinette fell asleep at one point in that time and he settled her in such a way that when he falls asleep she is his pillow. The sad thing is that not even putting together the hours of sleep of both can they add up to three.

Alfred enters deciding to wake up the teenagers, the plane will leave in two hours and they must prepare. Tim looks for his cup of coffee and has finished it, he doesn't want to move.

"Now, Master Tim. Be a responsible boy and they'll go change. ”Marinette is barely aware of her surroundings as she is dragged into the rooms by Tim, but neither is he does.

Neither of them fully records what happens, except getting to a bed and going back to sleep. Totally out of combat. When they are close to leaving, Bruce doesn't even know what think on seeing the two young sleeping like corpses, dressed exactly the same as the day before.

"Chloe, help Marinette get ready. Dick, help Tim. We're leaving in ten minutes. ”The two mentioned only look at each other in panic before running to wake up the dead.

Marinette barely registers, feeling terribly drained now that all the effort from the day before is building up. He could sleep a thousand years if he were allowed to. They get ready in record time and move to the airport, for the only thing Marinette is aware of is to her luggage, being that she hugs it and when she asks, she murmurs: I love this suitcase, but don't tell my other suitcases, they get angry. No one says anything except for Jason's small laugh and a snort from a more sleepy than awake Tim who responds: who will tell them? No one knows them. Jason breaks down after that and laughs out loud.

Richard regrets not having recorded the most hilarious conversation he has ever witnessed, he has heard his little brother say inconsistent things in his sleep deprivation, but seeing an exchange is something very different. And it's so funy.

And they spend hours on the plane, Marinette basically asleep on Tim while he seems to melt in the seat. Richard took lots of photos every time they moved. By the time they get to Paris, they are both more awake.

Chloe smiles at her city, excited for what awaits all the bastards who left them behind. Maybe it is justice for everyone else, but for her it's revenge and she wants to see them suffer for hurting them both.

------------

Thanks for reading!

#timari #Timinette #tim x marinette #marinette x tim #maribat #bustier salt #ml x dc

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elareine · 4 years

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the song better place by rachel platten and jay/dick or maybe just some jay-centric bat fam. hope this prompt works for you. love your fics <3

Thank you <3 That’s a very JayDick song, but I love writing batfam, too, so... have both.

Steph took one look at Jason’s old-new room and pronounced: “You need to redecorate.”

“No shit.”

“Let’s go.”

Which was how Jason found himself in Ikea of all places. She even dragged a flustered-looking Tim with her, who proved to be supremely unhelpful when it came to curtain color (“I don’t think either red or purple will look good with those walls,” bullshit) but very willing to hand over his credit card. It was… fun. The room felt less like a tomb when Steph was done with it, which was great.

He told her that.

“Well, duh.” She grinned. “No one in this house knows how to decorate for shit. You should see what Tim did with his bedroom…”

Jason spent a minute considering his options. “Anime girls?”

“Nope.”

“Superman posters.”

“Nope, but I like the way you’re thinking.”

“Bad Picasso replicas.”

“Nooo,”

“I give up.”

“He did…” Steph paused dramatically. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. It still looks like it did in the eighties.”

Jason laughed, and she looked gratified. “Sounds terrible.”

They kept working on the bookshelf. Ikea was great for those; that’s why they went there in the first place. Well, that and the look on Bruce’s face when he saw the boxes.

After a minute, Jason asked: “So… are you seeing a lot of Tim’s bedroom, then?”

“Yeah. So what?” She glared at him, which he was starting to realize was a sure sign that she was embarrassed.

“So nothing. Didn’t know that was happening again, that’s all.”

It took her a minute, but she softened. “Yeah. I… guess we’re giving it a second chance.”

“That’s cool,” he told her sincerely. “I mean, you could clearly do better, but he damn well knows what he’s got now.”

“Hmm.” Steph was hiding behind the shelf she was holding up, but he could still tell she was pleased. “So how about your own second chance, huh?”

…damn, he’d walked right into that one. “Shut up.”

—

“Home invasion in sector 6R. Three 1Cs, suspected armed. Neighbors reporting shots, five people in the house. Hood, you’re closest.”

Jason had already changed course. “I’m on it.”

He waited—this was the point where Batman would send a Robin or two after him, maybe even Nightwing or himself, “just as back-up.” There was no way they would let him operate as part of the team without close supervision for at least a year. Jason was determined to grit his teeth and bear it, even if he wasn’t sure for how long he could. He was chafing already, running like this with the others when he’d been on his own for so long.

However, Bruce only confirmed that he’d heard him, and then the line went silent.

Huh.

—

There was no better time to be awake in the manor than the early morning in Jason’s opinion. The light fell softly into the kitchen as he entered, barefoot and in his pajamas.

Alfred was there, of course. “Good morning, Jason.”

It was their private ritual; had been even before Jason had moved back into the fold. Six a.m., tea and sandwiches. The only difference was that now, Jason hadn’t vanished by the time Damian stomped into the kitchen, glowering at them for being awake and having the audacity to send him to school.

It was kinda adorable, not that Jason would ever tell him that. Instead, he watched Damian make his way through his own breakfast and nodded toward the packed lunch waiting for him. “I see you’re not taking advantage of the school cafeteria, then?”

“Them?” The amount of scorn Damian managed to pack into a single word would have weighed down a ship or two. “They would not know good food if it chased after them with a sword.”

“Let me guess—still only three spices, and these are salt, pepper, and ketchup?” Jason asked.

“I believe there is a fourth one now—they have a particularly intolerable mixture that they like to label ‘Chinese.’” Damian’s whole face scrunched up with distaste. “It tastes nothing like what Mother used to cook.”

“While I am sorry to hear that,” Alfred inserted, “we will be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Damian grumbled but hopped off his chair. Jason glanced at the clock — seven a.m. Dick would get up soon. Might as well make him a sandwich, too.

He pulled the ingredients closer, already compiling a list of recipes in his head. Talia had shown him how to make most of Damian’s favorites. He could teach those to Alfred, no problem.

—

“Hood. Stop it right now.” Dick looked at him with big eyes, or so Jason assumed, considering they were both wearing their masks.

“No, continue.” Barbara sounded choked, audibly forcing down laugher.

And, hey. Love was one thing, but Jason knew who gave him the best intel night after night. “So big bird and B decide that they have to infiltrate this organization, right? Only… they’re all swingers…”

Her laughter was brighter than the streetlights.

—

Jason stepped into the corridor and silently closed the door behind him.

God, but it had taken a long time to get Dick tired and ready to sleep. Jason himself was still feeling too wired to pass out, but then he wasn’t operating on a 40-hour sleep deficit, so it was totally not the same thing.

He decided to wander down to the cave. Bruce was still up, of course, acknowledging Jason’s presence with a grunt. The only other person present was Tim, who was bent over some files.

…like, really bent over them. One could almost think…yup, he’d fallen asleep at the table.

Jason gently poked him. Then he harshly poked him. When nothing happened, he sighed and moved one arm under Tim’s legs, the other gripping his shoulders. The kid would fuck up his back if he stayed like that. It took a bit of effort, but they were soon making their way up the stairs, Tim cradled securely in Jason’s arms.

They’d almost made it upstairs when Tim stirred, blue eyes opening halfway and looking at him.

Heart in his throat, Jason waited. This family had a bad habit of coming awake swinging, and with Jason hovering over them… well, it wouldn’t be entirely unjustified, wouldn’t it? Especially in Tim’s case.

Tim grumbled and went right back to sleep.

—

Jason pinched his nose. Or tried to, but he was wearing his helmet, so he basically poked himself in the face. Judging from Duke’s expression, that wasn’t helping his point.

“So you decided to buy us time by…”

“Ninja traps,” Cassie finished for him. Looking as if that made total sense.

“Ninja traps.”

“Well, it was more of an obstacle course, really,” Duke added helpfully.

“Okay, that’s a weird-ass move, but I can respect that. Then why did that warehouse explode?”

“Fire.” Cassie’s expression gave nothing away.

Jason looked to Duke. “What she said.”

“And the fire was there because…?”

“Fire is an obstacle.”

Jason groaned. “I cannot believe I’m the responsible person here,” he lamented. “Is this how you feel most of the time, D?”

There was laughter over the com. “Oh, Nightwing has finally acquired a co-parent,” Steph commented, followed by Tim’s: “About time.”

(Everyone ignored Bruce’s “Hey!”.)

—

“Jason.”

Bruce was hovering. He probably didn’t intend to it; it just came naturally. Jason still felt that nervous lurch in his stomach whenever Bruce did that, but he was trying to get over it, so he just asked: “Yeah?”

“Let me show you something.”

They went into one of the rooms behind Bruce’s office that Jason had always assumed held nothing but files. He was very wrong.

“After you… left, I found myself reading books and thinking—he would’ve loved that.”

The walls were lined with bookcases. There were special editions of Jane Austen reprints, thick sci-fi novels, and nineteenth-century murder mysteries. It was eclectic and weird and precisely what Jason liked. What they both liked.

“I kept collecting them,” Bruce told him, voice too even. “Just… in case, I suppose.”

Jason stared at the shelves and shelves full of books, all read exactly once. His eyes were stinging because the glass display downstairs—that was bullshit. That uniform was about and for Bruce, and the new Robins, not Jason.

But this?

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Bruce almost-smiled, relief written across his face. “You’re welcome. Uh. I’ll leave you to it.”

Jason let him take two steps, then he said: “Bruce. If there was ever a time for a hug, this is it.”

“Oh. Right.”

Jason let Bruce pull him into an embrace—hugged back just as fiercely and told him: “It’s okay. You can stop grieving now. I’m here.”

If Bruce’s shoulders were shaking, neither of them mentioned it.

—

It was a total accident. Jason had felt like holding Dick’s hand, so he did. It was only when he looked up and caught Tim’s eye that he remembered—right. They were surrounded by Dick’s family. Their family.

Tim winked. The conversation didn’t stop. No one else commented or even gave them a second glance.

Something in Jason exhaled.

Dick squeezed his hand, smiling at something Damian was saying, and ugh, sometimes Jason was so full of feelings, he didn’t know what to do with it. Dick was just so—so—

Yeah. Jason was so fucking gone for him. All he could think about was how it would feel if there was a ring, there, pressing against his own.

He leaned back, adding a sarcastic comment or two to the conversation just to bask in the sunshine of Dick’s laughter. That thought warranted some serious consideration, not to mention talking to Dick, but—just the idea that he could have that? That he trusted himself, and Dick, and their family, enough to have that?

It was more than enough.

—

(Three days before Jason moved into the manor, Dick called a family gathering.

“Why is Jason not here, then?” Tim asked, frowning. “If it’s a family matter, it concerns him, too.”

Dick could kiss him for that. Instead he said: “Because it’s about him. I’m gonna lay down some ground rules, okay?”

Jason letting Dick convince him to move back in with them… that was huge. And dangerous. Dick had figured out long ago that Jay and Bruce had no idea how to handle each other anymore. Neither did the rest. That didn’t mean they didn’t want to. Dick was hopeful.

It was just… Jay was the best thing in Dick’s world; his support, his light, his conscience. He just made everything better. And Dick had no intentions of letting their family or anyone else fuck that up.)

(I’m taking prompts.)

#elareine writes #batfamily #jaydick #jason todd #this was meant to be shorter and is totally unedited because it's 1am and i wanna bedone with it #sorry

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lunap95 · 3 years

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Chapters: 6/7 Fandom: Super Sons (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Maya Ducard, Collin Wilkes, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Kara Zor-El Additional Tags: Roommates, Domestic Fluff, adopting a pet, High School, Jealousy, Running Away, Partners in Crime, Fake/Pretend Relationship, getting caught, Heartbeats, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Masquerade, Family Vacation, Marriage Proposal, JonDami Week 2021 Summary:

Hey hey hey! So I have to admit that this one is my favourite one in the @jondami-week so far because I just had sooo much fun with the names of the tales you cannot imagine

Day 6: Royalty AU | Masquerade | different first meeting

And guess what? You can also read it under the tag

A set of firecrackers exploded every time a royal family crossed the door of the Metropolis palace. Jon has counted five families arriving today for the great ball that meant his coming of age. Although it would be great to see some of his dad’s friends again, it was not an event he was waiting for. He understood why it was important that the heir and future king of such a big kingdom like Metropolis should be presented in society at his 18th birthday, but he also knew there were a lot of people with second intentions coming to the party. It was part of the reason he insisted so much on making it a masquerade party.

“Don’t you think that blue and red might be a bit… obvious?” asked Conner watching the mask he had chosen.

“Well, they are the colours of the house of El so…” he shrugged. “And aren’t you going to use a similar one?”

“Yes, but I actually want Tim to recognise me.”

Jon rolled his eyes at the antics of his older brother. It was a pity that Conner could not inherit the kingdom instead of him but being an attempted evil clone of his father created by an evil sorcerer made the council a bit reticent to accept him. If it was not by the intervention of his father Conner would not probably be even there.

“You crushing after one of the Gotham princes is creepy as hell.”

“Oh, is that so? Weren’t you the one excited about meeting ‘the Robin’ for the first time?”

The young prince suppressed the urges of throwing the mask at his head. Not because he was not right, but only to shut him up. Because his brother actually had a point, he had been excited about meeting the youngest prince of Gotham for a while, since his deeds started to arrive in the form of songs and stories. It was not weird for the princes of Gotham to be the protagonist of several adventures, having in consideration that his father was the great Dark Knight. Jon had been a fan of the Gotham royal family for a while, reading The Ballads of Nightwing, The Perils of Batgirl, The Dark Adventures of Red Hood among others every night. His brother favourite was The Hardships of the Red Robin, which encouraged him to join the Young Justice Force after hearing the Red Robin was going to be its commander. Jon was still too young to join any of the battalions of the Justice League Alliance, but after the party he would probably join one. Hopefully the Teen Titans so he could fight along with Damian Wayne. The youngest of the Gotahm princes was a complete mystery, a young knight with excellent capabilities that claimed to be the biological son of Bruce Wayne. No one had ever heard about him before that but it seemed like the Gotham royalty was quite fine with him and soon his adventures turned into The Song of the Robin, Jon’s favourite.

So when in the middle of the dance Jon observed a green masks with red, yellow and black details, he knew it was him. Apart from the fact that Nightwing was beside him of course (and Nightwing did not even need a mask because everyone knew about his particular bottom).

“This is a waste of time,” he heard the young prince whispering. “I don’t understand why Father insisted I have to come.”

“He thinks you and Jon could be good friends,” Jon smiled at the words of Nightwing. “As long as you know who to behave of course.”

“I have excellent manners, Grayson.”

“Then you wouldn’t refuse me this dance,” interrupted Jon offering his hand.

When he felt warm skin against him, he dared to rise only to fine green eyes staring at him. Damian looked slightly annoyed but not angry, which Jon supposed was a good start. They moved slowly to the ballroom, where the Gothamite let him put his hand over his hip so he could lead. The soft music guided them in a strange silence, his brain trying to think of a topic interesting enough to impress him.

“You know who I am,” said Damian. “You came looking for me.”

“Indeed,” Jon did not see the point in trying to hide it. “I might be a big fan of yours.”

“Oh, please,” the young prince tried to get away but Jon skilfully redirected him as if he was making him turn. “Let me go, I’m not in the mood of a fanboy.”

“You’re not even going to give me a chance,” Jon knew he should be enjoying teasing him this much but the way Robin nose wrinkles was just too cute.

“Don’t see why I should,” again his attempts at leaving were being cut short by swift moves of his companion. “Stop.”

“My, my, don’t tell me the great Robin is not able of surpassing a simple boy.”

Damian smiled, finally interested in the challenge the masqueraded boy was proposing. To anyone on the crowd, it looked like the two young boys were following an intricate dance while in fact both were just trying to win their strange competition. Jon used his speed to cut and guide Damian around him every time he tried to sneak away while the older boy calculated his every move making it harder every time. The song stopped with Damian finally kicking his feet. His body was about to crash against the floor when an arm wrapped his hips. Looking up he could see a mischievous spark inside those stunning green eyes.

“Congratulations, farm boy,” the boy smiled. “You entertained me more than I expected.”

“Always a pleasure,” Jon took the liberty of kissing his hand. “Would it be too risky to ask for the next dance?”

“Hmm,” Damian seemed to think for a bit. “Very well, but only one more, I must leave in order to meet the prince of Metropolis. I’m afraid politics demands that I at least attempt to befriend him.”

“Oh, in that case,” he winked at him. “I think we might be able to enjoy more than one dance.”

#jondami #damijon #jondami week 2021 #jondami week #damian wayne #jon kent #jonathan samuel kent #batman media #superman media #fanfic

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x-gotham-rogues · 4 years

Text

If Jonathan was to join the Batfamily, how would that work out?

Suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about this idea.

Also, a few thousand words of this post got deleted when I tried to save but my computer froze and decided to say goodbye to all that work. Hours upon hours, wasted. I feel like shit. Just a teensy bit.

Here’s to always writing on Google Docs before copy and pasting on tumblr from now on.

This stuff happens around Year One, so the Batfam is currently only Bruce, Dick and Alfred

Let’s just assume Jonathan gets kidnapped/forcibly adopted into the family by Bruce right before he got to kill anyone because I cannot recall whatever detailed prequel I had written for this idea

All I do remember is that there was some sort of emotional blackmail going on that kept Jonathan from running away and trying to kill someone again

Month by month, Bruce and Dick try to 1) chip at Jonathan’s walls, 2) make sure Jonathan doesn’t find out about them being Batman and Robin, and 3) make Jonathan healthy again because the man looks like he is going to crumble the second he gets poked

Because of the whole ‘forcing Jonathan to stay at Wayne Manor’, Jonathan’s obsession with fear never really gets developed all that much

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still there, he’s just not a crazy mad scientist anymore

BOOKS, however

Everyone, Jonathan Crane’s got a new drug, and it ain’t fear toxin

Wayne Manor’s library is far larger than Keeny Manor’s library

There are so many more subjects, so many more stories, so much more stuff Keeny Manor didn’t have because of the heavy superstition like Edgar Allan Poe, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare, etc.

Jon is 1001% addicted

At times, Alfred would have to act like an annoyed parent because Jonathan is just so reluctant to stop reading

Like, where was all this absolute gold when he was a kid!?

Meals are very awkward because Jonathan doesn’t understand people at all, Dick’s still kind of doubtful of Jonathan, and Bruce is also just a tad bit paranoid

But also, whenever Jonathan eats Alfred’s cooking, his eyes light up because as a kid and teen he was fed slop from his great granny, and even as an adult he was rather poor and hardly ate because of his obsession with fear-based revenge, so he appreciates any bit of good food he gets

One morning when he explains to Dick that he’s never eaten bacon before, Dick laughs, takes a look at Jonathan’s face, realises he was being serious and practically drags Jonathan around the whole day eating junk food

Bruce was a bit disappointed at Dick but lets Jonathan finish his ice cream cone

At some point, Bruce decides that if wants to unlock Jonathan’s backstory, he’s going to have to do more research

With Bruce spending more time down at the Batcave doing research and Jonathan still holing up in the library, Dick’s bored as all Hell

That’s... not a good thing

He tries to rope Jonathan into some chaos, but Jonathan’s never been the type to cause mischief

Plus he’s too busy reading

Dick sees that he’s definitely not going to get anywhere trying to get this fully grown adult who might possibly be even older than Bruce to break some shit with him

So he sits down and plays a popular indie game his friends have been recommending to him; a certain game called ‘Five Nights at Freddy’s’

(Yes, I am aware this doesn’t fit into the timeline, let a person have some fun)

Bruce couldn’t hear him down in the Batcave, but Jonathan hears Dick’s scream loud and clear

He runs to wherever Dick was playing the game and sees Dick just staring at the screen

Jonathan raises an eyebrow and asks what happened

“The... the power went out... I was so-! 5AM. IT WAS 5AM WHEN THE POWER WENT OUT. THERE WAS PROBABLY LIKE A MINUTE LEFT. I WAS SO CLOSE! ARGGGHHH!”

Gone was the shocked face, replaced with one of unadulterated rage

“Why is Night 4 so hard?! Can’t you have waited one minute Freddy? ONE!?”

Should he... leave? Was Richard talking to him?? What was he supposed to do???

Eventually, Alfred finds Jonathan awkwardly doing nothing and tells him he could go back to the library, but the game was a horror game and he thinks Jonathan may have an interest in it

Jonathan, worried for the sanity of the boy in front of him, agrees to watch him play

Dick tries to rage quit multiple times, but then Jonathan would try his hand at the game and Dick keeps telling him he’s doing something wrong and takes back the controller

In an unexpected turn of events, Jonathan gets super invested in the plot

Soon enough, both Dick and Jonathan are heatedly discussing FNAF’s possible canon, and Dick mentions that there’s more games

Upon this revelation, Jonathan half demands half pleads to play the others and so they do

Sister Location did have some triggers, but Dick helped Jon get through them

Bruce came up from the Batcave to find Dick and Jonathan shouting about someone named ‘Afton’

When Bruce asked about it, he fully expected it to be either one of Dick’s friends or maybe Jonathan’s old coworkers, boy was he wrong

He’s glad the two are getting along (easier to get Jonathan to open up), but now he has to deal with two horror nerds

Yes, Jonathan has converted Dick into a horror junkie

Yes, Dick has converted Jonathan into a game theorist

(I kind of want to give them a YouTube channel but that might be stretching it a bit)

Eventually, Jonathan tells them his entire tragic backstory, including details they didn’t already know, like great granny Keeny’s abuse other than starvation

When Dick privately asks Bruce why he decided to do this in the first place, Bruce confesses that during the first fight between Scarecrow and Batman + Robin, he felt like he and Jonathan were far too similar for his own liking and that seeing someone so similar to him nearly kill drives him just a bit crazy, so he needed to prove to himself that even if he goes down the wrong path he could reform

Jonathan hears this

He’s really mad at first, but just decides he doesn’t have the energy for it (honestly, mood, but relatable) and lets it go

Then simultaneously realises that these two people are Batman and Robin

And smacks himself mentally because just look at their body sizes, their entire dynamic, of-fucking-course they’re Batman and Robin

He doesn’t confront them for a while

But when he does and they ask him how he knows, he says, “You’re just really loud.”

Bruce gets worried about Jon lashing out and Dick is upset because he considers Jon a friend (aww)

But Jonathan just brushes it off like it’s nothing and explains that he’s glad they stopped him early into his criminal career, otherwise he might’ve gone down a road he couldn’t come back from

And that he was glad he got to stay with them and be considered their friend

Bruce gives this tiny smile, Alfred pats Jon on the back and Dick straight-up tackles him into a bone-crushing hug

So Jonathan is now officially in the Batfamily

Dick convinces Bruce to give Jon a costume and teach him to fight

So Gotham gets a new vigilante named Crow

Though his targets always seem to be those who harm children or those who use their money for corrupt purposes

Ending on a happy note! I don’t know what this is, to be honest, but if you did make it to the end, I hope you liked it!

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #The Scarecrow #well not anymore #he's Crow now #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Dick Grayson #Robin #Alfred Pennyworth #Batfamily #what if headcanons #what if #imagine #AU #dc #Crow AU #batfam Jon

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iselsis · 4 years

Text

Unholy Matrimony 1

Summary: When Tim Drake presents as an omega, his parents decide to get the only use they can out of him by marrying him off. To Bruce Wayne.

Tim’s head spun as he closed the door behind him and dragged himself the remaining distance to his bed. It almost seemed like too much effort, since he had a perfectly hospitable pile of dirty laundry right… everywhere, and he would be perfectly comfortable on the floor.

Mom and Dad are coming in tomorrow, though, he reminded himself. His parents, especially his mother, wouldn’t abide by him sleeping on the floor because he was too sick to get all the way to his perfectly serviceable bed.

He dropped face-first onto his mattress with a groan. Was it really worth the effort of turning his face? At least suffocating would put him out of his misery.

It had been a mistake not to come home immediately when he’d started to feel bad, but the Gotham night sky had been such a perfect aesthetic, and Tim had wanted to see if Robin was going to turn up and join Batman. He hadn’t for a few days, but Tim hadn’t seen him get injured, and normally Robin helped Batman every night during the summer. In the end, it had cost him a grueling walk to the bus station once he’d finally realized that he was seriously getting sick, and another grueling walk from the bus station to his house.

He did, eventually, roll onto his side and pull off his camera bag, which landed with a padded thud on the floor next to him, before drifting off to sleep.

Tim was snatched roughly from sleep and his bed by strong hands. The world spun in a fog of blurry shapes and the scent of angry alpha, and a haze of an unfamiliar sweet smell. The biggest blur in front of him shook him furiously.

“What the hell is this!”

Tim blinked a few times to clear his vision, stunned to find his father dangling him by the collar of his night photography hoody he’d fallen asleep in.

“A jacket?” Tim mumbled sleepily.

Jack Drake snarled in a rage and threw Tim to the floor. Tim landed hard, his fall cushioned unevenly by discarded clothes.

Tim inhaled sharply and willed himself to wake up faster. Usually, he knew what he’d done to make his parents hate him, but this time, he was too thrown off by exhaustion, and the pain in his gut, and that overpowering stench of honey that seemed to cling to him. In fact, everything smelled more strongly than normal. His father’s fury, his own fear, and the normally slight smell of beta disappointment that wafted in strong enough to alert him to the presence of Janet Drake in the doorway.

“I told you he was never going to be an alpha,” his mother snapped, not even looking at him.

Tim winced at the anger and dismissal in her voice, and his own confusion, because nothing made sense and he couldn’t understand what was going on or why they were mad, or why everything hurt. He just wanted to curl up in a small, dark place and hide. And what was that smell?

That sweet honey…

Omega.

Where had that come from? Neither of his parents were omegas, so who-

No.

No, no, no, no, no!

It was him.

Tim’s heart pounded, and he tried to stand up, but Jack kicked him in the ribs.

“Thirteen years, raising you, feeding you, educating you, wasted! You’re fucking useless!” Jack seized a fistful of Tim’s shirt and slammed him against the wall. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with an omega for an heir, you stupid bitch!”

“I-” Tim started. His eyes stung fiercely, but his parents would be even more furious if he started crying too. He was an omega?

Tim couldn’t be an omega. He’d heard the vitrious gossip and spite his parents had for omegas for years; how useless and pathetic they were, flighty whores ruled by their pendulum mood swings. Tim was pretty sure that he wasn’t those things, or maybe he was a bit useless, but he tried his best. The thought of being just an omega to his parents was terrifying. Omegas didn’t even have full rights.

“You-” Jack raised his fist and Tim flinched, hard, waiting for the blow.

Janet moved from her spot at the door with an air of utter contempt. “Jack, dear, don’t hurt him.”

Tim frowned, unable to reconcile her tone with her words. Janet Drake had never been a very maternal woman. She read him financial reports instead of bedtime stories, and had started teaching him how to manipulate his business rivals by the time he was five years old, but maybe, in her own way, she did care about him, and she just had a strange way of showing it.

His heart swelled in hope. If some kind of dormant maternal instincts had been awoken, seeing her pup in danger, she might save him before his dad beat him too much, even if he was a disappointment.

“He might be completely useless as an heir, but there are other uses for an omega in the business world, Jack.”

Tim’s hope withered and died with a pain worse than his father’s kick, and this time he couldn’t blink back the tears. “Mom?”

She locked eyes with him just long enough for her lip to curl in distaste.

Her eyes flicked to Jack and pointedly stayed there. “He’s worth less to us if you break him. Set him down.”

Jack growled unhappily, but he gave Tim a final shake before dropping his shirt.

Tim’s knees crumpled under his weight, and he collapsed in a barely controlled fall. Tears streamed down his face, no matter how hard he tried to stop. This was so stupid, why couldn’t he stop? He was acting just like the omegas that his parents hated so much, and his own body was betraying him, because it wouldn’t let him stop crying like a baby or an omega.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whimpered.

“Don’t grovel,” Janet said, her voice even and businesslike. “You might be an omega, but you’re still a Drake. Act like it.”

Tim swiped at his face with his sleeve and didn’t sniffle. He lowered his gaze so they couldn’t see his face. She was right; falling apart like this was a weakness, and Drakes weren’t weak.

“I’m sorry, mother. I didn’t mean to be-”

“What you meant doesn’t matter. Only what you are,” Janet interrupted. “You might be a lost cause as an heir, but there are still…possibilities. You can still redeem yourself.”

Tim slowly raised his head so that he could bare his neck in submission. If he just behaved well enough, then they’d eave on their next grand adventure and forget about him for the next six months. He just had to placate them for the rest of their visit. They might pull him out of school, but he could maybe enroll himself in an online school without them knowing.

“Anything, mother,” he whispered.

Jack glared at his wife, a question in his scowl. “What are you thinking, Jan?”

Janet raised her chin and smirked slightly. “I think that I’ve solved the problem we’ve been having with our…less cooperative business partner.”

Realization dawned on Jack’s face and settled into a vicious grin. “I see. How thoughtful of you.”

Dread curdled in Tim’s stomach. He wasn’t any use to them as an heir anymore. If they wanted him to deal with a business partner who was giving them trouble- Surely they cared more about him than that. They wouldn’t rent him out to solve their problems.

They wouldn’t.

They would.

He knew it, just like he knew that the sky was blue and Bruce Wayne had poor coping mechanisms.

He wouldn’t let them. He’d run before he let anyone touch him like that. He’d never submit.

But he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t run from them. They had too much money; they’d find him wherever he went, and even if they didn’t, could he really survive alone on the streets of Gotham? He was helpless.

“I’ll set up a meeting. Do you think he’ll accept, though?” Jack asked, stepping towards his wife as though his son on the floor was nothing but a broken toy.

“He has a different omega on his arm at every gala. Clearly, he likes their company quite a bit. He’ll certainly accept a bride who cannot deny him, even if he tried,” Janet said coolly.

Tim shuddered and tried to hide his tears. She wanted to give him to someone she knew would rape him, someone he couldn’t escape. How- She was his mother! He knew that she didn’t love him, but couldn’t she care just a bit?

“I’m being sold?” He tried to say it calmly, confidently, but his voice broke into a strangled whimper.

His mother scoffed at him without even looking down. “Of course. There’s no other use for an omega. You’ll submit to your husband like a good whore, and your pack will benefit. This is your responsibility.”

“Wh-who?” Tim couldn’t choke out the rest of the sentence. Who had they decided would rape him?

His father crossed his arms. “You’re going to marry Bruce Wayne.”

#Batman #Unorthodox adoption #bruce wayne is a good dad #Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne #alpha beta omega #Fake Marriage au #bad parents jack and janet #alpha Bruce Wayne #Omega Tim Drake #alpha Jason Todd #alpha Dick Grayson

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