#conner sucked. tim sucked. cassie heh

[iphoenixrising]

No Home for Dead Birds: What’s in a Name?

Shout-out to Arkaedia and @poison-basil for helping with the naming conventions. Seriously. The struggle was REAL. I don’t want to kill the surprise, but @yangmallow was the one that gave me the last name ;)

**

**Rachel**

She very easily puts the mug down and lifts a hand to the back of Tim’s neck, her skin cool and smooth, her smile the ghost of fond.

“Muninn?” He asks, muffled where his head is buried on his arms because damn the island is just the perfect height for him to plop down on a stool and maybe take a nap. But, he wants the answer. He wants the answer from them all.

Why that name?

(Maybe so he can finally pick another?)

And turns his head enough for a fresh breath of air and to sleepily regard her as she slides on the stool next to him with her own caffeine and the smallest of smiles he can’t remember ever seeing on her face before.

“Because I am accustomed to being Raven,” she sighs a little sadly without losing that smile, and Tim makes a mental note to do some digging, find out where she was during his time out. “And Odin kept ravens Huguinn and Muninn as his Memory. I like this idea perhaps. To be the keeper of memory.”

She sips at her tea, watching him with calm, cool, and collected.

“I like it for you,” he leans up enough to grip the mug in front of him with both hands. “I like the idea, so we’re def going to go with it.”

She hums a little, “I am glad. This...choice is freeing in a way, Tim. More so than I anticipated when he informed the Justice League of our parting.”

She has his full attention and uses it strategically, “it had been coming for some time, I think. Everyone, all of us, had been growing out of their control for quite some time. Gar and I, well, we have been operating on our own outside the team for years. You are aware of this.”

He nods gently back at her, one foot idly swinging off the rung of the stool, and yes, he knew. All of them had their own baddies, their own pet projects, their own ghosts and demons.

Just like him.

What kept them together? They all knew when it was time to come back.

(And that’s what he’s doing now, isn’t he?)

Raven… Muninn gives him a sharper edge to that smile like she knows exactly what he’s thinking— and couldn’t agree more.

“It’s good,” she sips at her mug, eyes soft while he’s still bleary and unfocused, “that you have decided to join back with us.”

With a yawn, he scrubs the grit out of his eyes, “I know...I wasn’t okay for a while, but I was still moving, you know? I was getting to the part where it was all fine.”

She hums lightly, reading into his bullshit without a hitch, “like all Robins, Tim, you could have continued alone. However, unlike the others, I believe you have a potential for more,” and her graceful hand gestures around the comfortable commons room, her dark gaze coming back to rest on him pointedly.

And if he laughs a little at her blatant humanity showing through, shoving a hand through his hair with eyes only slightly wet, well, that’s just going to be a little secret between them.

**Conner**

“Belenus?”

The clone smiles at him, hands dangling between the knees of his torn jeans. It’s just them in this new reality, and those blue, blue eyes have picked up a new trick, trying to look past the surface to find something…

(The truth)

Once upon a time, his bullshit tech could throw the clone off when needed. Anymore, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be the case.

At the top of their HQ, Conner isn’t floating above the lip of the roof, stays firmly rooted beside Tim, so close their thighs could almost be touching.

“It’s—”

“Yeah. Sun God reference, but—” he shrugs, but the leftovers still Superboy are there in the tightness of his forearms (“Robin, why does Superman seem to...hate me? Have I done something against regulations?” “That’s...that’s not it, Superboy, really.” But at the time, he’d already seen how disappointing and degrading it was to the clone, to know he wasn’t wanted by his biological donor. Some things? He gets.)

“You know Clark is an asshole, Con. Don’t feel like you need to do anything.” Like give Superman the fucking satisfaction.

“When we left the Tower for good, after we found out with the Justice League did, what they’ve been doing for a while, I spent some time out in the world, like I never have before. I…” and Conner sighs, his expression changes, smooths out like the days when he’d first come alive. The blank, expressionless face was a default when he didn't’ understand something or when he felt he needed to hide.

And before his best friend says a word, tries to spit out some acceptable explanation he might have already crafted for the rest of the team rather than the truth, Tim’s hand on his wrist stops it.

(Because he’s known Conner from Day 1, and there’s no need for him to get defensive about his choice. There’s no need for him to explain one of the turning points in his life was the time he’d been badly injured and Superman had snagged his clone up in the blink of an eye and flown them both directly to the sun in hopes it would have the same healing effect. It was the first time Clark showed concern and care, it was the first time Conner had felt like he wasn’t just some abomination. The name Kon-El, the addition in the Book of the House of El came not long after it, but still. By the time they’d met him in Ma’s house on his way out, it was so far too little, too late that all he could do was this, this name.)

And Tim gets it. Really, he does. The second Bruce handed him the tunic with the R, it was the same intense rush. The first time Batman called him Robin. “Believe it or not, I understand, man. I’m completely on board. Belenus it is.”

And those eyes come back to him, absolutely familiar in every way that he has to consciously catch himself from putting a hand to the back of Con’s neck to give a familiar squeeze, from a familiar pull for the clone to let himself list into Tim’s body..

“Heh. Thanks, T. You don’t know how much that means.”

And well, considering Con is holding on to the flash drive with all the files on Project 13 from CADMUS, of which he brought out after Clark snubbed him time and time again, thumb rubbing across the thing like a security blanket, Tim can absolutely guess.

He doesn’t put that hand on the back of Conner’s neck, but he does grip the wrist tighter to just hold on.

**Garfield**

Usually it’s him hanging upside down playing electrician. Nice to see Gar pulling it out like a boss.

“Saturn?”

“Titan of time, man,” the older superhero replies from half-inside the ceiling tiles. “Do you even know how long I’ve been at this game, T?”

He laughs a little and goes back to the motherboard in his lap, getting it ready for Gar to install. “I might have heard once or twice." He doesn’t need to say the only other of them in the game since he was eight was... (Dick) that guy; both of them are already aware of the metaphorical elephant in the room. Still, Tim appreciates the consideration since, well, Gar used to worship the ground Dick walked on. It’s nice to know the shape-shifter still welcomed him back regardless.

"Rach told me it was, um, you that lead the charge against the Justice League.”

There’s a shift, a random surge of energy, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end (because, you know, meta powers), and the low pop is just a random chimpanzee hanging upside down from the ceiling tiles by the tail. He grins because seeing a monkey smirk is never not going to be entertaining.

But Gar can work better and have this little convo, Timbo, because, man, why not just talk about it.

“So, look, T,” and Gar’s deeper baritone coming out of the monkey gets his attention, “I’m in my late twenties no matter how bangin’ I look. Rach is in her, I don’t know, hundreds or something, Cassie is nineteen, Bart is who knows how old, and Con is like six or something. Anyway, the point is— we don’t need someone to task us. Especially with whatevs is their deal. B-man’s little assignments? The League’s second-hitters? Nah, thanks for not lookin’ out. Then, for the JL to tell us who we can fight with? Who we can trust? The days when they could do that are long over. I was pretty sure we had that understanding when Dick had to lay it out that we?” the monkey pauses to wave his hands in emphasis, “are autonomous. Sure, we wanna take on that fight, why not? But that was supposed to be our call, dude. We got to make the team decisions, so the crap they pulled with you? Nah, bro, not happening anymore.”

Tim goes back to the motherboard in his hands, staring down at it, taking in the justifications.

“But the fact they did it to you?” Gar goes on with a sneer as he splices two wires together, using his feet to tape and hands to connect, “that’s total bullshit. Like, straw that broke the camel’s back, ‘kay?”

Tim blinks at the monkey owlishly because, well, he really didn’t think he was Gar’s fave Robin.

“Okay,” he replies softly, looking up at the green-eyed monkey.

“Don’t get it twisted, dude. All the mentors screw up. Ollie and Roy, Clark and Con, Diana and Donna, hell, Bats and Dick. We’re human,” and Gar wags a brow as his hairy arms give a helpless motion, “or some form of it. People fuck up. But ousting you without even talking to us first? Just letting us think it was your call all along? Nope, not schway. Not schway At. All.”

With his throat oddly clogged, he zaps the motherboard one last time with his own brand of tech magic and stands to hand it up.

“I...I could understand why Dick wanted Dami to step up with the Titans,” and even saying that makes his chest go cold. “Robin has always had a place on the team. I mean...it fucking sucked, but I still got it, Gar. The way of things, you know? Robin is part of the team.”

A green brow arches, “oh? You mean all those years of Discowing leading the call was any different than you as Red Robin?”

And that moment in front of the Justice League when he’d made the same damn argument passes by, making him avert his gaze as the monkey slides the motherboard home. The connects are super easy, man. Not even any trouble.

In a swift, smooth move, the monkey jumps and twists, turning into the human as he lands it, and faces the former Robin with brows drawn and a frown marring his features.

“T-man. Dude. You know how close I am with Dick. None of that is a newsflash. He’s always going to be one of my closest bros. Years of being on a team and just being in this life together takes bonding to a whole new level. But, I’m not blind to the fact the guy can be super impulsive and seriously dramatic. All you Bats are, inherit it from the Big Guy,” Gar makes both pointer fingers cowl ears behind his head in reference. “But that time? He was wrong, Tim. I don’t know the down an’ dirty, and you don’t need to lay it out for me, but I know he seriously messed up with you all the way around.”

But it hits Tim in a belated wave, makes him stare at Gar and blink. Of all the people he thought would side with Dick (because he was strong enough to win the cowl, so of course it was his opinion on who should wear the tunic that really fucking mattered, right? Not the goddamned kid that was already in it), he was sure Gar would be right on that side of the equation.

(And he is very, very carefully not going to think about the straight-out end of their relationship—no word and no warning. Because that? Had no place in the here and now.)

The shape shifter is easy when he wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders, subtly steering them to the main doors. He ignored the furious wiping of the face and only vaguely acknowledges the husky, watery, “thanks, man. Seriously,” without being offended.

Instead, Gar just gives a little, “de nada. We’re going to do what we do best, and that, my friend, is kick ass and take names.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees with a small grin, “we do have a knack for kicking ass, right?”

“Totes,” and Gar leads him back to the Communal Floor where at least someone would be lounging around after a rigorous morning testing the lower floors. Something tells Gar a board game night will most def be on the roster.

**Cassie**

She’s cozied up in the window seat, watching the rain. The sweatshirt is an old one of Con's, big enough that her hands barely peep through the end of the sleeves, but the healing scabs on her bruised and battered knuckles make him duck his head with a smile. It's an easy thing to put the kettle on by muscle memory and hunt around in cabinets until he finds the right one.

(It's a simple, fat glass jar she'd found in one of the markets in the French Quarter. Terribly perfect for the purpose.)

It smells like spices when he opens it, the teas all neatly arranged.

The jasmine is light at it steeps, and for once he foregoes coffee to have a mug himself.

He's still in the new CEO skin, and the proposal today went far better than he could have imagined. His new line of products were going to start in R&D, then out for testing. The possibilities of growth in the next five years alone could put them higher in the Fortune 500 ratings.

Too bad for Bruce. He might have made a half-way decent CEO for Wayne Enterprises.

Crazy thing that.

But Cassie starts gently from her thoughts when he holds the mug down and fits himself across from her in the window seat, room for them both to look out at the rain and the throngs of people dancing in it.

"Ceres. I like it."

The comment is mild and unassuming, but she lays her forehead against the glass and rolls her eyes at what's becoming his usual, careful intrusions. It’s still just so…strange, seeing him like this, so subdued and grown-up from the Robin she knew, from the Tim she briefly dated when their lives were crumbling under their feet…and there was really nowhere else to go but down.

"I do too," she admits candidly, holding the mug in both palms, "I needed...something different. Wonder Girl was like a noose around my neck sometimes, you know? I'm not like Diana or even Donna."

With a quirk of his mouth, he sips at his own mug because they’ve had this conversation before. Third Robin. You know, the one not chosen, so yeah, Cassie, he gets it.

“Their powers were innate things, Tim. A part of them. When I asked Zeus for his blessing and he gave me these abilities, I thought I would feel different, be different, and… I’m not. I can’t keep doing the same thing over and over without thinking about something better. It’s not enough for me to keep fighting the same engineered plots, to put the bad guys in jail, and wake-up to do the same thing over and over and over again. There...there has to be a better way. There has to be something more than just…this.”

He smiles, reaches out and wraps one hand around his dainty ankle, his thumb moving absently over the bone while he listens.

She sighs, staring out into the mid-day, sinking deeper in the seat, “I always thought I’d be Wonder Girl until I needed to take a break from the life. But, I don’t want to stop. There’s so much more to do. Just not…in their way.”

Ceres is such a fitting name he thinks absently while he sips and rubs.

“You weren’t using all your potential,” he leads gently, laying his head back. “You had to adhere to Amazonian standards. It’s not who you are.”

“Exactly! I mean, I was wearing the uniform for long enough, Tim. I’d taken my ass-chewings, fought the good fight, I put in my time, and where did it get me? No where. And you’re right. I’m not Amazonian, so they were never really going to trust me anyway.”

His fingers sink into her ankle, grounding her from old regrets.

But Cassie sighs and sips on her tea, “it’s hilarious how we’re all like that a little, isn’t it?”

He hums and uses a thumb to rub into the arch of her foot like how he used to when it was weekends and sometimes other bad guy gatherings, making her sigh when the muscles and tendons are worked out under firm circles.

“I was the Robin that wasn’t chosen,” he starts out slowly, setting his tea aside to work with both hands. “Con was the clone in a family of last survivors of Krypton, Bart is the speedster out of line with the rest of the current Flash family, Rach is literally the only good guy in a family full of bad guys, Gar can’t go anwhere because his meta powers were the result of an accident, and you,” he glances up at her, rubbing a tender spot, “are not an Amazon. You don’t want to fight because of war. You want to fight for people.”

She huffs against the window in relief and her other foot wiggles into his lap for similar attention, “that sums it up, I think. But, it’s one of the things that keeps us together.”

“Agreed,” both thumbs work out her instep, strained from a day of wearing heels, “as much as working alone is kind of my thing at times, even considering current circumstances, I...missed you guys. It’s great to come back in a way.”

Cassie turns from the window finally and a grin slides across her face, lighting up her eyes with mirth. “Ah! Did we finally get you, Mister Detective?”

“I said I was going to stay weeks ago!”

“When you stop planning contingencies, then I’ll believe that,” and sticks her tongue out at him.

When he laughs back at her, it’s something genuine. “I’m only planning contingencies to get the team out of the building if it gets compromised, thank-you very much.”

And a few intentional strokes against the bottom of her foot has Cassie howling with laughter and beginning to helplessly flail, but Tim is completely unrepentant.

“Tim, you suck!”

The black eye he’s going to be sporting for the next few days is unequivocally worth it.

**Bart Allen**

“Vakaris. That? Sounds totally bad ass.”

Bart Allen shifts, braces his feet to pull himself out from under the husk of their old Super-Cycle and grin up at the suited CEO with motor oil still on his face.

“God of the Wind, dude. How mode is that shit?”

And even if it’s strange to be standing here, looking down a little at his former lover and still bestie, the old affections are still there, right under his skin in the muscles and sinew.

“I’d say you’ve got it about right,” Tim replies, letting his suit jacket fall down his arms. He’s already unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to take a look at the remains of their old bike. The alien AI long gone, they’re left with the usual human tech to work with.

He takes the side across from B and starts pulling out bolts and burnt-out parts, letting the movement be soothing and automatic, something he doesn’t even really have to think about.

“I know what you want to ask, T,” Bart starts softly from around the bike, “you can. Ask, I mean.”

But the question is if he really wants those answers.

“You’ve made sure the future is on a better course, what you set out to do when you came here in the beginning,” and the words get husky, Tim clearing his throat so he can be as neutral as possible. “Are you planning to... go back?”

Where he can’t see around the bike, Bart slowly lowers the wrench, braces it on his prosthetic knee. There was so much there, everything about Max and Jay and Barry and Wally. The twins and the potential disaster if he did go back to the future to stay.

(And one day, when he could talk about it without breaking down, without wanting to gnaw himself into pieces. Eventually...he’d give them the deets. All the whys behind his reasons for staying in the past. Not the Flashpoint, but all the fucking backlash Barry forgot to mention.)

“I’m not going anywhere, dude. Not back to the future anyway. It’s...better if I stay here.”

And, well, it’s Tim. He can venture a guess on the possibilities behind that statements. Really, meeting their former future selves was an eye-opening experience on what kind of bad shit could go down in the next ten years. Maybe choosing a different path was the only way to divert it, but who really knew how much of that changed? And how much had Bart seen on his journey back to the past again?

(Never using a gun again. Never.)

“Call me an asshole here, but I’m glad.” Is what comes out of his mouth instead, something stupidly soft in his old come here and let me hold you kind of way.

The pause across the bike from him, the lack of noise or movement makes his heart beat just a little faster, just a hitch—

And Bart is leaning around the tire on his hands and knees, coming far enough around to put their faces a foot apart, his eyes are dark amber, warm and inviting.

Uh-oh. (That looks makes him a little breathless, makes his heart skip just once)

“Ditto, former Boy Wonder,” and for a moment Tim just blinks and stares because if he didn’t know better (he does), by the way those eyes flicker down to his mouth, he would think Bart might—

But a slow, knowing grin just slides over the mouth he can’t help but stare at before Bart pulls back slowly and disappears back around the other side.

“Hand me the 3/18th while you’re there.”

“...yeah, here.”

“Ah! Don’t throw it! What’s wrong with you?”

“You have super speed. Are you really telling me you couldn’t have caught that?”

“…you’re an asshole, T.”

“I also answer to wise ass, in case you were wondering.”

“Filing it away as we speak, Fearless Leader.”

The light-hearted bickering eases down the pressure in his belly from that almost-could-have-been, and Tim gives the status update on the office he’s established in the Business District and temp back office hideout for just in case. Luckily, they’re in a city with enough random bolt holes for safe houses that he’s pretty much got the city and perspective surrounding area mapped out. And if they head up to the Communal Floor later, covered in grease smears and standing closer while the elevator moves, it’s just another indication how close to normal things are becoming.

How close to ready they are to finally move again.

**

The Team

“So this is an all-or-nothing kind of session?”

Tim leans back against the console in their newly completed Control Room, crosses his ankles, and regards his waiting team. “I’m saying it would probably be smart to test the system at seventy percent. Make sure it can take what we dish out.”

Bart perks up because statements like that mean playtime and everyone usually gets right on board that train. He and Cassie exchange a grin while she cracks her knuckles with enthusiasm.

"I've put it through the standard paces already," and nope, he can't help the smile cutting across his face, "but a real world battering will help in making adjustments."

Con’s arms are crossed over his chest, blue eyes bright with anticipation, “We’re down. Let’s try to break some stuff.”

“It’s sooo about time,” Gar fills in with a righteous fist pump.

“Well, why not split into two teams. Belenus and Saturn,” and each perk at the (new) names rolling off his tongue like it had been a part of them since the beginning, “team one. Vakaris and Muninn, team two. Ceres plays air support.”

Then he gets a few raised eyebrows, “join us and it can be three and three,” Con points out.

“I need to monitor the system. Besides, I can see what kind of kick-ass new moves everyone is bringing to the table.”

And it’s a good enough argument because the rest of them can’t find a flaw in his logic. “But,” he placates with a hand in the air, “I’m going out every night this week to patrol the city. All of you get to go so we can do some research on the hidey-holes and bust some criminal heads.”

Bart’s mouth doesn’t drop open, but it’s an almost thing. “You are going to let us patrol with you?” Because they’d never gotten that from Robin—any of them. The big fights, the team gatherings, never a step into the realm of the Bat. For Tim, especially; patrolling the streets is his own cathartic need to do the down-and-dirty work (where he’d been for the last year since the original Batman had come back).

Tim nods, his expression amused, “if we’re serious about doing it...differently this time, then it’s a good idea to get different techniques laid out. You know, like stealth. Not every fight is going to be super-powered bad guys, so sometimes we’re going to need to be on the down-low rather than destroying buildings. Sometimes it’s going to be in places where you can’t expose yourself, and nothing is going to teach you stealth like staying in the shadows of one of the busiest cities in the US.”

Now Con is wondering if he should go with a mask this time instead of bare face. Just another thing to figure out before their night on the town.

“All the more reason to set the machine to record the session and join us,” Rachel points out while subtly adjusting her winged cape, a little something old and something new. “So we may begin working with you, and you may observe our...kick-ass new moves up close.”

The grins and guffaws from all around make him laugh out loud and give in, “all right, all right, I’m in.” A few keystrokes and the system is set.

Even if they’re all mostly in workout clothes, pieces of suits that might someday be, it still feels like a triangle of power when he’s standing with them, staring down a hell of a lot of guns and holograms of baddies, bo right behind his left ankle, ready for the right moment to move. It’s like he never really left.

“All right, dude.” Bart is working out his hammies, holding one leg behind him, “before we get this shit started, give up the name.”

Gar’s eyes light up, “so true, V. Fearless Leader has the roster. So what’s it gonna be?”

He grins a little, pulls the bo up to stretch his shoulders out just a bit for this little sitch. The anticipation is right on his bare heels, the power breathing down his neck from the metas at his back.

“For the time being,” he watches the laser cannons minutely adjust, the room powering on, “I’m going by Erebus,” the God of Darkness. “Maybe I’ll try something else for the other side.”

“That? Is pretty kick ass.” Con muses, eyeing the line of guns and probable owfuck around them.

“Glad you’re with it,” is his reply as the bo slides down his shoulders, goes right back behind his ankle, and he straight-arms it, eyes narrowing when the machinery begins to rotate.

That familiar stance echoes, reverberates, and the metas behind him take point, facing out for whatever might come their way.

It’s the new one that replaces the old name still on the back of his tongue; it’s a new call out to gather and defend, the new name that makes them tense with time to fight. When the red of the laser sites blips over the lot of them, he sinks just a little to balance on the balls of his feet, “Varangians. Strike!”

They’re off and moving before the first shot erupts.

And it's better than the first time because back then they hadn't worked with each other, known one another, trusted. So many integral things weren't there yet. So, this?

Is everything rolled up and hand-fucking-delivered.

Because they do break the system.

And it's the best power-down he's ever been in.

**

The Child

“Ah, there, there, precious one,” the deep voice coos.

The child in the bassinette calms, her eyes a stunning blue-violet just like her other father, picks out the silhouette in the shadows. Her whimpers ease into happy, gurgling sounds.

“My sweet is ready to play,” and he reaches down to lift her with unerring care, to pull her against the green robes she will one day inherit.

His beautiful, perfect heir.

Her noises follow them down the fire-lit corridors, past training rooms, through a busily working command center coordinating efforts around the globe.

“And one day,” he continues to her as they enter the throne room where her caretakers wait and his seconds have updates on their progression, “all of this will be at your disposal. And no one will be able to stop you, yes, my little Robin? One day, you shall rule the world.”

#no home for dead birds #tim drake #cassie sandsmark #conner kent #bart allen #garfield logan #rachel roth #my fic #my writing #taking on the team was really hard >.< #i hope you like it :D