#he's absolutely terrible but he's fine as hell which is the case for most ak characters but he's on a different level of atrocious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iphoenixrising · 7 years

Text

Tim Drake Week, Day 7: Injury/Healing

This is so laaaate and I’m sorry. But it’s cute, so enjoy.

Day 7: Healing/Injury

The warning is all there to read:

“Timmy.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

The brief flash, building a contingency, is short and bittersweet because the only thing that can deflect Dick Grayson’s mother-hen instinct is literally the wrath of God.

Maybe an alien invasion.

Or not.

The point is, once Dick’s got a hint of hurt vigilante, the man is an unstoppable tank, tearing through cities, bad guys, good guys, unimaginable boxes of cereal, any and all Party Cities and obscure comic book shops to find the culprit.

B couldn’t escape him in outer-fucking-space.

So, there’s that.

Take into account he’d been dodging the Titans also, and it’s just a hodgepodge of fuckery from there because this game thing they’ve got going on? The “Where’s Red?” game. It’s seriously balls, and is severely cramping his style.

Even Ra’s is refusing to pick up his phone calls, so you know shit has apparently gotten real on the good guy side of things.

Welp, he did his utmost best this time.

“Hi Big Wing,” he says over the comm in his ear and taps it to mute before kicking the thug out of his path and continuing on.

“What is this I hear about a really bad fight with the Fatal Five?”

Dammit.

“That about sums it up, really. A bad fight. A bad fight we totally won, by the way, thanks for asking.” He doesn’t make a sound as his left side twinges anyway, still raw under the bandages because he might have broken a few stitches or something.

Just not a big deal. Not enough to warrant

Dick’s Sixth Sense

“I hear the Persuader nailed you pretty good,” all easy, just big brother Dick. He’s not fooled for a second, oh hell no.

He huffs and climbs up into the vents, ignoring the pain of the aforementioned injury (and yes, an atomic axe is a weapon no one should try taking on without a serious enjoyment for pain) taps the comm back on and talks low enough to still listen for the usual signals of main bad guy HQ --->This way.

“I deflected his axe with repurposed Luthor tech. The calibrations weren’t that hard.” Which is completely, totally, unequivocally true. After the first hit took out a good piece of him because he’s good, but no one is that good.

Dick hums, fake and telling, making him freeze right in the middle of the vent. “Oh? Well, that’s fine. Knew you could do it, Timmy, but you’ve got to be taking it easy after a fight like that, right?”

“Sure am,” behind the whiteouts, he gets a load of very carefully stacked canisters in a storage room, which is just exactly what he’d been looking for. Almost. Bad guys too. He really liked wrapping up all the loose ends in a case before he puts it to bed. “Doing a little maintenance to the mainframe, cleaning up my old notes, doing some data analysis. All pretty tame.”

HA! ALSO TRUE.

He’s got this. It’s in the bag.

Mutes the comm and gingerly removes the vent cover, swinging in easy but the damn side pulls anyway. His wrist computer scans the labels, computes the explosive power in the room (there’s an app for that) while voices pass by, talking about the deal going down in a few hours.

(Yeah, bad news for you.)

“Good, good,” Dick is saying absently as the keypad case comes off and he works a little magic to change the access codes. “I’m glad you’re resting up, Tim. Taking care of yourself like you should since infections are terrible for you.”

Well, the thing about that is--

He was running out of time here. Yes, he took his antibiotics, but maybe he might be just, you know, feeling it a little.

Wisely, he taps the comm on just enough to “mmhmm,” his way through it.

“I mean, I would really hate it if you were working a case right now like that. Just, that would upset me so much, Tim.”

He pauses as the door slides open softly, thinking for a second he might not be able to bullshit his way out of this one.

His vigilante sense is tingling.

Not in any good kind of way.

But, the clock is ticking, and he strafes out of the weapons room to the door shutting behind him. Cracks his knuckles and his neck before it’s time to take to the shadows, do this as quickly and quietly as possible.

“You’d be out there. All alone. Without your team since they’re all taking a well-deserved vacay, Tim. They’re not out doing anything strenuous.”

He sucks in a breath, presses flat into the shadows until the first with a very nice AK-47 come right up on him--

And is down for the count.

“Hey, I just got a really good ping,” he zip ties the guy and keeps moving, “let me call you back when I get something--”

“And you’d just be making is worse, Tim,” Dick goes on, “because you don’t know your limitations sometimes--”

Shit. Here we go.

Second and third armed mercenary go down seamlessly. All kinds of winning right here.

By the time Dick has gotten somewhere around the, “and with what we do, Timmy, you have to understand the lines you can cross with your body and your health,” he has put down twelve, maybe fifteen, ready to come up on the big boss for the night so he can just get this over with and head back to the safe house for a nice long soak in a hot tub.

When the main doors open, however--

He sighs because he really hates when it’s twenty to one. Not that he doesn’t like those odds, but it’s still not his preferred ending of the night.

There’s a whole lot of guns cocking, shiny barrels pointed at him, and a sharp flash of white is his teeth in the glow because he’s smiling at how cute that is.

His gauntlet spits out a whirly bird, other hand full of pellets, and it’s time to rock.

“...but the best thing to keeping yourself on the up-and-up, Timmy? Something you taught all of us?”

The room explodes in a cacophonous mess of shit just breaking. Everywhere. Shit is breaking all over the place, and he didn’t even move.

His mouth drops open a little as the Outlaws and a dozen members of the Justice League form a half circle around the busted out wall and face his bad guys with a whole lot of yes please, I’ll have this dance.

Nightwing is in the center, celly held up to his ear, and the expression on his face under the domino is downright murderous.

“You need to know when to call in some friends.”

The ensuing fight is just absolutely bullshit.

Every time. Every. Time. he jumps in somewhere to take someone down, another superhero catches him and throws him out of the way.

He understood Hood doing it. He understood B. He understood Flash. He even understood Superman and Wonder Woman, but when it’s fucking Booster Gold?

That is beyond insulting.

He got here first for fuck’s sake and already called goddamned dibs!

“Stay out of this or Batman is going to kick my ass,” Booster just lays it out, “and I would much rather not do that.”

His utter frustration is compounded when Cyborg is downloading all their data and sending it to the Watchtower for analysis, the baddies in charge are already being questioned and a team sent out to meet the buyers, the weapons are being safely transported away, and just!

Dibs!

But instead, he’s got to contend with the stalking Nightwing, growling low and dangerous under his breath. He doesn’t even get enough time to fight being pretty much thrown over one of the older vigilante’s shoulders.

“Dammit! Put me down.”

“Oh? You think that’s going to happen?” Nightwing growls in that tone and send shivers, just all the shivers.

“I’m fine, I swear. I was on a time limit, I didn’t--!”

One powerful kick and the door is banging open, reinforced locks breaking apart. The Batplane is waiting, warmed up and ready to go.

“C’mon! I don’t need all this! There were only twenty of them, dammit.”

And nope. He sees a week full of bed rest and cuddles with his name written all over it apparently because even the most minute movement had Nightwing’s hand clamping down hard on the back of his thighs, very, very close to a pressure point that will put him out for hours.

Shit. Just, shit.

“I should warn you in advance, though,” as the leap up puts them in the cockpit, course already set for Gotham, “Alfred? Is even more pissed than I am, Timmy.”

His eyes go wide behind the whiteout, and his scramble to run is thwarted as the plane starts to rise.

#HA!#this #timdrakeweek2017 #tim drake #dick grayson #mentions of #everyone else in the DCU lol #my fic #my writing #day 7

194 notes · View notes