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ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole · 3 years

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Heather

A one shot based on Conan Gray's Heather song.

First attempt at writing since an early teenager so apologies if it's a little disjointed. And thank you @boldlyanxious for your encouragement to take the plunge and actually get this idea out my head!

Also to @zambie-trashart @loveswifi for being amazing and connecting people ❤️

Masterlist

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Damian and Jon were a dynamic duo. Best friends. Super sons since they were “forced together” Damian taking the lead with Jon following shortly behind. Damian’s brothers liked to tease him, that Jon was like a puppy dog, with his “adoring eyes” only for Damian. ‘Tt’ thought Damian. Jon was his acquaintance and team mate of course he would follow him. They were a Super Son duo team; it was them against the world.

Jon and Damian were in the training room when Batman and Wonder Woman wandered with an unknown person.

“Robin, Superboy, this is Ladybug, Wonder Woman’s apprentice.” Batman said when Damian and Jon had paused from training. “She will be joining you on your next recon mission. She has just rejoined the world from being in Themyscira for a while. Working with you two will help her readjust to working with the Justice League.”

Jon, rushing up to the newly introduced Ladybug “Hi there, I’m Superboy! WOw you’ve been to Themyscira? What is it like?? Do you have super powers! We have a briefing on the mission in an hour, have you been shown around the base yet?”

Damian turned to Batman and hissed “Can we trust her? We don’t know her at all. She will be a liability” not impressed by the surprise new element and glaring at her when he got the chance.

“Robin” growled Batman, “She can be trusted, you will work with her nicely”.

Wonder Woman observed the situation with mirth while Ladybug just looked overwhelmed with the conflicting energy pulsing between everyone.

Diana’s apprentice, “Ladybug” was a similar age to them and after that initial mission she ended up joining them on other missions.

Damian wasn’t happy with this initially, but he slowly started to warm to her. Ladybug held secret identities in high regard and never tried to “uncover” his or Jon’s, she took missions seriously, far more than Jon, and was apt at strategizing and working with the bare minimum. She didn’t demand their attention, monopolise Jon or try to be best friends with them. She needed work on her fighting technique outside the suit and had trust issues too, but eventually she grew on Damian. It helped she listened to his critique and responded accordingly as well as took any opportunity to train especially with him and Jon. Compared to others Damian and Jon could have been paired with, she was adequate.

Jon welcomed her too quickly from Damian’s point of view, but he followed Damian’s lead for the most part when socialising with her, though always friendly didn’t reveal too many secrets unintentionally. On the positive, Jon had ‘finally learnt’ some etiquette with others. Jon didn’t drape his arm over her shoulder or continually try to initiate his tactile friendship with her like he had with him. Damian would rather not scare Ladybug off with Jon’s annoying need to hang off people. After the last mission when paired with a Green Lantern, he’d rather work with her than be paired with someone else, she was tolerable at least.

….....................................................................

Damian had been noticing a shift occurring in his best friend over the last year or so. At first, he was finally learning how to tone down his tactility with their friendship. Damian was pleased with the result as Jon was finally growing up, though he did miss the warmth of Jon’s arm over him occasionally or the enthusiastic hugs when they met up, especially when it was just the pair of them. He would never admit it out loud, but the hugs were something he never thought he would miss. He missed Jon lean his head on his shoulder when they watched films together. The sleepovers had subtly reduced too. That Damian really did miss. At least Jon’s social etiquette had improved though.

Well, that was Damians originally though, more recently he had noticed Jon was slowly losing his newly gained etiquette with Ladybug. His tactility was starting to return around her, and it was very unbecoming. Damian had sworn Jon had finally been trained out of that, what was worse though, was Ladybug started to respond in subtle tactility too. Not as extreme as Jon’s and was, a hand on his shoulder, a 'la bise’ when greeting, all within socially acceptable etiquette, but it should be frowned on. They were professionals. She was encouraging Jon’s behaviour to return. Damian did note that it seemed only with her though, he couldn’t make that out. Part of him wanted it to return with him too or only him maybe.

….........................................................................

Damian was sulking down in the Batcave when his “idiotic” brothers found him.

Upon seeing Damian growling at the computer searching through a case “What’s up little D? I thought you usually patrol with Jon tonight” echod around the cave. Damian glared at Dick “He cancelled. Jon said he is training Ladybug this evening”.

Jason whistled “So he finally got over his crush on you and moved on to Ladybug huh!”

Tim replied “Kon says he doesn’t shut up about her at home.” putting on a ‘high pitched voice Tim continued “‘Oh, what blue eyes she has’ ‘Oh, how strong she is’ ‘how pretty her smile is’”

Damian turned his glare to his other brothers. “Tt, Drake stop with that infuriating voice. Todd, Jon does not have a crush on me! That is ridiculous! He is training with Ladybug to improve her fighting skills and strength. She is overly cautious when in her suit with those without super strength therefore Jon is the perfect candidate. And Drake you are being ridiculous. If Jon and I mean IF he likes her it should be for her hero professionalism not for her looks! Tt'' rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

“Oh please! Jon has been flirting with you for years and not got anywhere. Ladybug turns up and responds to his flirting of course he’ll move on and want to spend time with her. He is using the training as an excuse to be close with her ALONE. If he really wanted to train, he’d have invited you too for feedback.” Jason snarked back.

That got Damian to pause for a second, though still scowling at his siblings. ‘Why hadn’t he invited him along to help train. He was always up for training and was happy that Ladybug had started to get Jon to consider training more seriously… wait, what if Todd was right and that wasn’t what Jon was after…. And Jon flirting with him... when did he do that???’

“Please tell me, you knew Jon was flirting with you right! That you were ignoring his advances due to being uninterested and didn’t want to hurt his feelings more than you were. Don’t say that you are pulling a Bruce and being dense on the emotion spectrum” supplied Tim.

“Jon has never flirted with me Todd! Drake! He is my best friend that is all and being a good partner to Ladybug” spat out Damian and looked as if he would reach for his katana any moment now.

Dick taking pity on Damian, stepped in before any maiming occurred and the conversation got any more heated. “Little D, you do realise that there are other methods of flirting other than the ones we typically witness at Gala’s where people ‘thrusting’ themselves on to us. That there are different languages of love? Jon’s most obvious ones are spending time, touch… I’d agree with Jay and Timmy. Jon did have a crush on you with him following you around all the time, even at his own inconvenience. His constant touch and being near you. The puppy dog eyes which he only gave you. You must have noticed this. And this had started to decrease before Ladybug’s arrival. I’m betting he got fed up with waiting for you to notice him and started noticing others. Ladybug has just kick jumped his next crush, and I’m guessing, and I do mean I’m guessing, but based on the facts and observations she returns his feelings.” Dick then turned and grabbed Tim and Jason and started drag them to change for patrol, “We’ll leave you to process”, frowning at Tim and putting a hand over Jason’s mouth when they looked like they wanted to say something more.

Post patrol Damian went to do research in his room on his ‘secret laptop’, he did not trust Tim not to try and hack into his known tech. Damian looked up “flirting techniques”, language of “love”, then “how to tell if someone is flirting with you” “how to tell if you like or love someone” and “how to interpret your own feelings”. Dread built in his stomach.

When Damian did fall asleep it was not fitful slumber at all.

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

You said it looked better on me than it did you

Only if you knew how much I liked you

But I watch your eyes as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

It was at the Justice Leagues winter party; Jon was wrestling Damian into an old Christmas jumper of his. “There! See. It looks fab on you. Actually Dames, I’m pretty sure you wear it better than I did'' Jon stated with a cheeky grin. Damian “Tt, the jumper is hideous” fighting a subtle blush by looking away with Jon being so close. “C’mon Dames. It’s Christmas. The jumpers aren’t meant to be ‘tasteful’ and whatever. It's meant to be....” Jon tailed off. Damian looked back at Jon to follow his line of sight. Ladybug had entered the room with Diana. Damian finally got what his brothers meant with “puppy dog eyes” Jon’s whole face softened as he smiled and waved her over. Damian’s stomach clenched.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather

Jon greeted Ladybug with a kiss on her cheek, “M you made it! But where’s your jumper?!”. Ladybug replied with a smile “I said I would be here Jon.” then uncharacteristically nervously stated “I wasn’t sure about the jumpers though. It was so open ended” before going into a ranting “Did you mean thick ones, or thin ones, sparkley, tasteful, ugly! Urgh! AND you didn’t respond to my messages to help!”

Damian felt the girl was a whiplash of emotions at times. Jon laughed kindly while semi leaning on Damian though put his hand on Ladybug’s shoulder “Calm down M, here take mine. I brought lots with me as I knew Dames would potentially kick up a fuss. His is the fifth one he tried on”

Jon took his jumper off and handed it to Ladybug. As soon as she had it on Jon fussed over her “We need to have you looking perfect! You pull this jumper off amazingly” causing Ladybug to sport a faint blush.

Damian felt sick. It hit him. Jon liked Ladybug. Jon knew Ladybug’s identity. Jon had liked him, but he only was realising now that he liked him back, but it was too late. Jon was moving on. And Damian couldn’t even blame him. Ladybug was objectively pretty, but she was more. She was a good hero, not just a vigilante but a hero. He’d seen her on missions, and she cared about others, civilians, her team and even criminals and villains she took done with force but strange care. It made sense that Jon would move on with her.

Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand

Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

But how could I hate her, she's such an angel

But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

From there Damian witnessed Ladybug holding Jon’s hand as he dragged her around introducing her to other members of the league she’d yet to meet. Jon draping his arm over her shoulder, while they held conversations. ‘Just like he used to do with me’ Damian’s brain supplied.

“Hey Brat, how you holding up? You’re looking pretty glum here without Jon and the others keeping you company” Tim surprisingly snuck up on Damian. “Tt, I’m fine Drake. Jon is introducing Ladybug to everyone and ensuring her first party isn’t unpleasant.”

“That doesn’t explain why you aren’t there with them”

Damian looked at Drake with narrow eyes trying to figure out what he was digging for.

“Look Damian. I’m probably not the best here”

“Tt, I’d agree to that” snapped Damian rolling his eyes

“Oi Brat! I meant comfort, support and what not. That’s Dick’s department really” Tim sighed “Damian! Look I’m offering a listening ear, as unfortunately for the pair of us you are my brother, and you look like you need to talk to someone.”

Damian looked at Drake for a moment and contemplated what he wanted to do, other than grab his katana and maim someone. Preferably Drake or... maybe Ladybug, which was a surprising thought.

“I want to hate her, but I can’t as she is a literal angel, and she makes Jon happy.” Damian quietly disclosed to Tim before wandering off to avoid the bombardment of questions that potentially could follow. ‘At least Drake is better than Grayson or Todd to admit that too, his form of torment is less overt’.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

I wish I were Heather

Oh, I wish I were Heather

Oh, oh, wish I were Heather

Damian now wasn’t sure whether wondering off from Drake was a good idea after all. He had sneaked out of the main hall where the party was to try and find somewhere quiet to untangle his increasingly chaotic thoughts. Unluckily for him though, he’d stumbled upon Jon showing Ladybug the stars from the gallery room. Before Damian could react by letting them know of his existence or get away, Damain witnessed something he really wished he could unsee. Jon gently lifted Ladybug’s chin and slowly kissed her. He had given her every chance to move away if she had wanted too but she hadn’t.

The nausea and pain returned by the time Damian slipped away from them.

Jon liked Ladybug; Ladybug liked Jon. They were kissing.

‘I wish it was me instead’ ‘I like Jon’ ‘Jon likes Ladybug’ ‘I missed my chance’ whizzed around Damians head.

Damian thoughts spiralled from there. He reviewed his interactions with Jon. He could bash his head against the wall with his obliviousness. Damian took a deep breath and schooled his icy façade back into place. He re-joined the party like he hadn’t witnessed Jon kissing Ladybug and his heart was finally admitting to hurting.

When Jon joined him later, Damian kept his hurt locked up with Jon bounced with happiness in front of him.

“I asked M, I mean Ladybug to be my girlfriend. I was so worried she’d reject me, but she didn’t! She said Yes Dames! M said yes. To me Dames, she actually likes me! Oh gods I didn’t imagine it did I”

Pushing down the hurt, Damian replied “Tt, tonight is real Jon, and she would be an idiot to reject you” ‘like me’ left unspoken.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were

#maribat #maribat au #marijon #marinette x jon #jon x marinette

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buttofgrayson · 3 years

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As someone, who's favorite character is Dick Grayson and I find often reasons to be angry at or even hate the batfam, can I ask you to rank them from your most preferred character to the one you dislike the most?

Haha you feel my pain! Yeah being a Dick Grayson fan is rough when it comes to the batfamily. Let's see if I can rank them for ya!

1. Dick Grayson

Of course my favorite batfamily member and my favorite fictional character of all time! I tend to really like characters I feel like I would like if they were a real person and Dick fits that perfectly. Not only that I feel like he works as a character more than so many others. He's Batman and Superman without their narrative problems (being to powerful, not able to be an underdog, limited story potential, lack of fun). So honestly I think he's DC's best protagonist. Likeable, admirable, fun, sexy and exciting and engaging. Dick has this energy to his character that leaps off the page and it just pulls you to him.

2. Barbara Gordon

I love Barbara so much and really always longed for better stories for her. She's someone (like Dick) that you really feel like you would like and admire even if they were real. She works amazing as a character and could fill almost any role you want for her. So versatile. Personally though I think she's pretty hard headed and can come off as very condescending. I feel she's kinda bad at thinking about others feelings because she's just so in touch with her own. Not a total bad thing but something that can be a bit annoying.

3. Bruce Wayne

As I get older I find myself amazed at how much more interesting the rest of the batfamily is compared to Bruce. He's like our window into these more likeable characters lol. That sounds bad. I like Bruce because he's such a pure idea. You always understand his actions through the person you know him to be. He's such a clear understandable character that you can instantly spot something he says or does that's off because "Bruce wouldn't say or do that". He has a consistent voice. As a person? He's infuriating. He's hard headed and he expects his family to take sacrifices for him just because it's what he wants. He's been especially terrible to Dick but in all its consistent with the person I know him to be.

4. Cassandra Cain

Cassandra just like Bruce is a very boiled down consistent character. And she's best girl! So strong and so caring she really is a lot like Dick. More than a lot of other batfamily members (minus the quips). And she just has such an interesting backstory and themes of her own. I can't find things to dislike about her. The only thing is that I'm just more likely to read other batfamily characters because sometimes she can be a bit one note.

5. Damian Wayne

Damian is a mistake. He should've never been invented. As a character his entire purpose is "what if batman had a son?" But he does. He had three of them already. Damian's existence actively makes the batfamily worse because it takes from all his brothers relationship with Bruce in a "well those weren't his REAL sons" sort of way. This was the moment there became too many batman characters. Does he work as a Robin? Yes. Does he work as a Robin as well as Tim? No. So why is Damian higher on the list than Tim? Because Damian breaks everything around him but isn't broken as a character. As a person though I like Damian a lot. His demeanor as a mean kid is pretty charming and it makes it really mean something when he progresses and is actually a really good person.

6. Tim Drake

Poor Tim. He's too old to be Robin and too young to be his own man. Red Robin and Drake both didn't really work well as identities and at this point he might just be the character with the most unused potential. It sucks because this character used to work so well. He works as THE NEW ROBIN! A Robin for the new age! Kinda spiderman-like. Learning from the successes and mistakes of his predecessors and making his way to be Robin the way he wants to be. It works so well! He's so likeable and charming and he fits the role so well. Sadly he doesn't have it anymore. Big oof. Sorry Tim.

7. Jason Todd

Jason is a broken character. And I don't mean that in a "he's so broken and sad!" Kind of way. I literally mean he doesn't work in a storytelling sense. He's incredibly inconsistent. A muddled character because people wanted to have their cake and eat it too. They want Jason to be a killer who hunts criminals and is against the batfamily but they also want him to be a part of the batfamily and to have his murders overlooked. It makes no sense unless you want everyone involved to look like an idiot. Look guys I know the animated movie was good but that character that was in that movie is only worth telling that one story with. Keeping him as the killer villian would be to tell that story over and over again (like we've been doing forever) and making him a proper batfamily member would take everything his fans like about him away from him. Jason isn't who fans want him to be either. He isn't charming or funny or sexy like Dick. He's pretty unlikeable and the parts you like about him is the parts he got from Dick (and Dick does better). I know I sound like I hate Jason but I really don't want to. It's just the honest truth.

8. Stephanie Brown

How dare I! Stephanie is best girl! She really is. I think she's pretty fun and likeable. I never dislike seeing her or anything. I like her spoiler costume a lot. So why is she so low on the list? Because I don't know much about her. Something really just stopped me from connecting to this character and I don't know why? Unlike Damian or Jason I have zero strong feelings for Stephanie in either direction and that's almost as bad as if I disliked her. I don't know there just hasn't been a hook for me to feel like she's worth taking a dive into. I can tell at the very least she is a better character than Jason but aside from that I can't say I like her. I have no attachment to her.

#nightwing #Dick Grayson #barabra gordon #batgirl #Oracle #Bruce Wayne #batman #Cassandra cain #spoiler #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #red hood #jason todd #Stephanie brown #batfamily #orphan #dc comics

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squireofgeekdom · 3 years

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yknow what i would love? batfam sitcom

the intro starts dramatically - batman standing on a rooftop, silhouetted against the night sky, a solitary protector, a dark knight ...

suddenly! lights from across the street illuminate -

a whole ridiculous, chaotic family on the rooftop with him! roll upbeat sitcom credits

featuring:

- Bruce’s love of & devotion to the trashfire that is the city of Gotham, to the point of absurdity, see:

- Batman, holding up someone under the influence of fear toxin, completely unperturbed as they try repeatedly to stab him: ‘do you see that? they had a swiss army knife in their boot. that’s the kind of ingenuity and preparedness you only see in the people of Gotham. We have the best people in the country -’ *supervillain runs past behind him*

- Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne, having been caught outside a downtown donut shop carrying a ridiculous number of boxes of donuts, while standing in front of a dumpster that is literally on fire, and asked about why he continues to invest so much in Gotham/keep his business there: ‘Gotham is the best city in the country and way better than Starling City and another thing -’

- If Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne is known for two things it’s for absurd levels of generosity and spoiling his kids rotten. If he’s known for three things it’s for absurd levels of generosity, spoiling his kids rotten, and chaotic energy. If he’s known for four things it’s for absurd levels of generosity, spoiling his kids rotten, chaotic energy, and being really annoyed if the press misreports that he’s a billionaire, he has ethics

- The number of things in the city named after Thomas and Martha Wayne because Bruce Wayne funds them reaches comic levels of absurdity. There’s a montage, and then more of them keep showing up in the background.

- Crime doesn’t pay but Wayne Enterprises does. Every few episodes a henchman from a previous episode will just. Show up in the background working at WE.

- Cass expressed an interest in ballet and now Gotham has a fully funded ballet troupe and extra money to refurbish the old theater. At least one episode is Bruce getting through increasingly convoluted obstacles to get to Cass’s ballet recital.

- Gotham’s animal shelters are fully funded and no one knows what kind of animal Damian will bring home next. Increasingly odd pets wander through the background of Wayne manor shots. There is at least one pet centric pov episode.

- The other kids warned Steph and Duke to express an interest in something only if they want their name on a building dedicated to it. They took this as a challenge to see the most absurd things Bruce would name after them.

- There’s a Jason Todd memorial wing of the Gotham library that keeps getting tagged with ‘I’m not dead’

- Bruce Wayne is asked for comment: *meme voice* sometimes i can still hear his voice

- *on patrol* ‘Wait, where’s Jason’ *sound of gunshots* *sighs* ‘Dick, please go get your brother and tell him he’s grounded.’ ‘... dad, he’s 23.’ Tim: ‘wait, how come Jason gets to be 23 and I’m still 17?’

- Bruce Wayne leaves tip jars stuffed with hundreds. By pure coincidence, so does Batman.

- All of Gotham’s regular citizens know who the Batfam are. None of the villains do. Both heroes and villains are convinced the Batfam have airtight secret identities. All of Gotham’s regular citizens think it’s really obvious, but play along with not knowing who they are because they like the Batfam, although there are occasionally near misses: (Holy Musical B@man voice) ‘thanks for saving me, Bruce man - I mean Bat Wayne - fuck!’ The Batfam comes up with increasingly absurd excuses for these slip ups other than their identities having been discovered. Alfred knows what’s up.

- *there is A Crime* *dramatic build up to a fight* *cut to Batman sitting with the scared kid caught in the crossfire in the foreground, while the batkids beat up the villain in the background*

- Batman: *pulling out various things that could not possibly fit within the same pocket of his utility belt* Do you need a tissue? a teddy bear? a blanket? a cup of tea?

- The utility belt breaks the laws of physics more than anything else on the show

more to come as things come to mind that make me laugh

#squire in the batcave #batfam #batfam sitcom

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arrowverse-next-gen · 3 years

Photo

The Queen Family

For information read more (if you have any questions feel free to send in an ask)

Felicity Smoak & Oliver Queen: The Parents

Felicity runs a successful company called Smoak Tech while also running Team Arrow from the Bunker.

Oliver runs the city in the daytime & the nighttime as Mayor & Green Arrow. He does this while also making enough food to feed a college.

William Clayton: The CEO

William is married to Zoe Ramirez but is still very good friends with his ex boyfriend.

He helps Felicity run Smoak Tech & The Bunker while everyone is out on the field.

Thomas Jonas Queen: The Emerald Archer

Thomas is originally from another earth.

His mother died when he was young, his dad died on the Gambit.

He and his sister were separated from that point on until meeting again on this earth.

His girlfriend Jade Ramirez was with him through everything but when they jumped earths, they broke apart and lost each other for a few years.

Thomas is his name but Oliver is the only person who calls him that. Everyone else calls him TJ & Jade calls him Tommy.

Elizabeth Thomas Queen: The Teenage Runaway

Oldest daughter & Ada’s twin

Eliza’s first ever boyfriend, despite her father’s wishes, was Jason Todd. They had a strong relationship even if it was her first one. He died before her 18th birthday.

After Jason died, Eliza became anti-vigilante work and decided that if her family wanted to continue this business, she was going to transfer her college plans to take place down in Vegas with Donna & Quentin.

She had a rough 3 years (partying, rebounds, drinking, drugs etc) but by the time she turned 21 her cousin set her up with a friend’s friend and after they started to date all of those bad days were over

And then Jason came back...

Adaline Dearden Queen: The Star

Ada is a Daddy’s girl. She loves her mom but she will openly admit to Oliver being her favorite.

She met JJ a week after she was born and since they grew up together, they became very close and started dating as early as possible.

They broke up once or twice (Ada denies ever kissing another man during this time, Eliza takes the fall for her on the pictures released)

Ada moved to NYC after graduating High School so she could attend NYU and spend more time with JJ since he was there for work.

When Ada is home, she spends family time by dressing in leather and annoying Oliver on the field because she’s extremely cocky and has a crossbow that is purple.

Mia Donna Smoak: The Troublemaker

Mia is a Momma’s girl. Sorry not sorry @ Oliver

Though she is a momma’s girl, she is a lot like Oliver when he first came back from the island.

She is uncontrollable on the field to the point that she had to form her own team as a separate branch from TA so Oliver would stop telling her what to do.

Jason was like a big brother to her and when he died and Eliza left, she became even more uncontrollable.

She is “Dating” Connor Diggle but she refuses to admit it. She will however keep telling people she’s dating Jocelyn Anastas because she’s her soulmate.

Miriam Moira Queen: The Playboy

Oliver’s worst nightmare is having any child be who he was before the island..Miriam is his worst nightmare.

She’s the older twin to Owen.

She’s very musical.

But very bad at math.

She’s also a lesbian which is the only reason Oliver has not died of a heart attack yet.

She’s very determined to take over CEO from William while also playing every single Oliver Queen card in the book of Frat Boy(tm)

She calls herself one of the guys but Eliza is her favorite sister because she gets to play dress up and make a mess with make up

Eliza’s boyfriend is also another reason why Eliza is her favorite.

Owen Quentin Queen: The Soft Boy

Complete opposite of Miriam

Looks like he would have f*ckboy energy but he doesn’t

His best friend sells drugs but he’s worried he’d get grounded or die if he even looked at them

Also very musical

Likes to travel a lot even though he loves his family

Better at math than Miriam

Claire Noah Queen: The Lone Wolf

She never knew her mom because her mom died not long after she was born

She was on the Gambit when it went down, but didn’t make it to the lifeboat

She was found on the island by Talia and raised by the League of Assassins until she ended up on Earth 1 on a mission and found Thomas.

She likes the idea of having a big family but she’s very hesitant to get close to anyone because of what happened and what she went through

She lives with Thomas 50% of the time at his apartment downtown in Star City because he and Jade are the most familiar to her.

Rosemary Blair Queen: The Baby

Rosemary was found not far from the Bunker when she was 4

She has the power of invisibility but she doesn’t use it because she’s sneaky enough on her own

Her parents were killed in a battle on her earth so her sister sent her through a portal to this earth to be with another family

Mia is her favorite because she had a Mia on her earth and so she immediately connected with her.

#olicity #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #arrow next gen #arrowverse next gen #william clayton #thomas queen #elizabeth queen #ada queen #mia smoak #miriam queen #owen queen #clara queen #rosemary queen

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imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 9/?

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: Y/N- Your Name, A/N - Any Name (Your Best Friend’s Name)

I am sorry. lmao.

Half of my links are glitched tf out fuck this shit, touched grass yesterday but that grind don’t fuckin stop babey

Warnings: Angst - Injury, Description of said injury, Mentions of Jason’s past, Swearing, Dark Themes, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Jason clutched his right side as he gasped for a long breath of the cold, rainy air surrounding him. Everything hurt and he could barely move enough to text Dick that he was down. He would hold and add pressure to the stab wound sitting directly on his waist, but he could feel the blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers as he held it. His hands were covered by the blood and he was losing it fast.

He wasn’t going to walk this off by any means, he was going to need Dick to go get him and bring him back to the hospital wing of the Batcave because he couldn’t move and he felt his eyes drooping as he waiting and tried to keep his breathing in check, while Dick was scrambling to go get him.

There would be a few questions he would have to answer to Y/N. Not even just Y/N, to Lian, his Goddaughter, who he was planning on seeing in the morning since Y/N was going to a dance competition, or at least he thought she was.

But in that moment, so many memories flew back into his head, the hopelessness as he sat there for a few seconds, bleeding out after the explosion that Joker had set off on him. And then the minutes in the Lazarus Pit as he drowned himself back to life, the water filling his lungs as he cried and screamed. But no one came.

This time, however, Dick came.

Dick swooped his baby brother up and onto his back and he tried to run to the Batmobile as fast as he could, knowing time was of the essence for saving Jason’s life. Jason had broke off from Dick for a few seconds before this moment, and it was the only thing Dick was worried about. That Dick had said to come back to him, alive.

In the car, Dick put his hands on Jason's gaping wound, trying to press his hands into it as well to slow the bleeding, the Batmobile had the ability to drive itself, and Dick thanked whatever God was watching that it did. Jason was struggling for breath at this moment, and Dick was terrified.

“You’re going to be oaky, Jase. I swear. Please. Don’t die on me, it feels like yesterday that I got you back,” he leaned into Jason’s face, “Not again, please,” Dick begged and begged as he rushed Jason to Alfred, who was waiting to operate on Jason.

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

Y/N woke up as always, this time, without a text from Jason. She thought nothing of it, thinking he was safe in his house with his loving family. She went to go get coffee to kick start her day, and A/N wasn’t in the kitchen. She, still, thought nothing of it, since A/N’s lover was over the night before and she had to turn up her music to ignore the sounds coming from the other side of the house. She sent Jason a quick text,

Good morning, Jay. I hope you slept well.

And she returned to her room, coffee in hand, to write some quick little stories about what she had placed in her journal. Not many of the ideas in there were able to be built off of, but she still tried her best with every idea she had, to see if it could be something more.

It normally never was, but it was always something she craved. The ideas of writing a book always enticed her, but she never thought she was talented enough to do so.

She heard her roommate’s door open and then the front door as A/N waved off her lover. It was a quiet Saturday morning, and Y/N loved that as she dove further and further into her work, immersing herself in the story of two lovers who were destined to meet after one moved to the hometown of the other to pursue criminal psychology.

She couldn’t get her mind off of Jason. They hadn’t even known each other for a week but she knew he was worth her time. A few hours passed by from when she sent the first text.

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

Dick held Jason’s hand as he was hooked up to many different machines, he could breathe on his own, but the IV and the blood bags were hard to keep Dick’s eyes off of. If only I had been watching a little closer, he thought.

Jason fumbled in his pain-induced sleep, moaning and groaning as he did so when he opened his eyes to find a worried, sleep-deprived and very rough-looking Dick at his bedside, to which, Dick collapsed on Jason in a hug.

“Thank God,” Dick breathed.

“What... what the fuck.... what the fuck happened?” Jason stuttered, like a blanket of sleep and drugs had limited his mobility and brain function.

“I don’t know, Jase. That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me, but then again, your blood alcohol level was suspicious.”

“I... I didn’t drink... drink that much.”

“No, you didn’t. But you did drink, who was with you?”

“I don’t... know.”

“I think you were roofied so they could get the upper hand on you. You almost died, Jase.”

“Come...c’mere,” Jason managed to say, and when Dick came to him, he moved on of his hands onto Dick’s cheek, “Big... big annoying... big little annoying brother.”

“Shhhhhh, little wing,” Dick comforted his little brother, “You weren’t supposed to grow that much taller than me,” he laughed, “Dickhead,” he laughed again, then sighed, and stepped back from Jason to pace back and forth, he was stressed, “I told Roy-”

“Will.”

“Will, sorry. I told Will that you won’t be able to see Lian today, he asked what happened, he might drop by.”

“He should... shouldn’t have to... see me this... this way,” Jason said, eyes pooling with tears, “No one... should.”

“Don’t know how we’re going to explain this to your little girlfriend.”

“Oh... Man... I like... I like her.”

“I know you do, and that’s an issue when you’re high as a kite in a hospital bed, bleeding out, Jase,” Dick tried to explain, “Especially when she doesn’t know you’re Red Hood, dumbass.”

“Oh,” he said.

“I know, Jase. If it was me and Barbara didn’t know, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he sighed, “Haven’t even met this girl,” he laughed.

“It’s... it’s only been... 5 days,” he stuttered.

“and 3 back-to-back, multiple hour, spanning days, worth of dates. You don’t do that with someone you don’t think should meet your family.”

“You’re... stubborn.”

“And you’re my brother. It doesn’t take blood to exhibit the same traits.”

“The meds... are... are wearing off.”

“Do you need more?”

“Not... yet,” he struggled with his words, “Phone?”

“I mean, yeah I can give you your phone,” Dick said as he went to go unplug and hand Jason his phone, realizing that Y/N had texted Jason he said, “Guess you have someone who wants to know where you are more than Will does.”

“Will cares,” Jason said as he took the phone and read Y/N’s text,

I guess it isn’t morning anymore, huh.

Well that’s on me for texting you at 6 in the morning after I know you’ve been working late.

And I’m going to see my Goddaughter today, so I’ve been sleeping in to preserve energy for her.

Can’t forget that she’s what, 1 year old? Girl must have a lot of energy.

Her name’s Lian, and yeah. She’s a ball of energy.

He said as Lian and her dad, Will, formerly known as Roy, walked into the hospital wing of the Batcave. The secret wasn’t hidden to the little girl yet because she couldn’t remember a lot. But, she sure did recognize her Uncle Jay when she screamed her name.

Will brought his daughter up and put her beside her Uncle, and she cuddled into him, he would hold her back.

“Hey... Will.”

“You look like shit, Jaybird.”

“I feel... feel like shit.”

“You’re also talking slow, bud.”

“Drugs... do that... Will.”

“At least you’re not dead, I have no idea how I’d cope or even explain that to Lian.”

“She... she has your... eyes.”

“She’s growing into my nose too.”

“Your nose... looks like shit... on your face.”

“Okay, dickhead. You’re bedridden but yeah, attack me like you used to, I’ll just pull the plug.”

“Lian... would hate you... you for that,” he groaned as he said it.

“Do you need more drugs? I can tell Dick,” Will asked.

“Yeah... I think-”

“Don’t worry about finishing that, Jaybird. I got you.”

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

The wet ground surrounding the house Y/N lived in was a representation of what she considered, the bad things, washing away from her life as she got to know Jason more. She wished they could talk more that day, but she did not want to take away time from him and his Goddaughter. Family matters a lot to Y/N, so a thought like that just seemed selfish for her to think when she knew that little girl needed him.

She didn’t think he got injured or anything from the Office, it was a safer place than the fuckin Wayne Manor hallways. She texted Artemis,

So, you’re Wally’s girlfriend, and Wally is Dick’s best friend? Am I hearing you right?

That’s basically the intertwine we have here, yes.

So once you’re in this family, you’re IN, huh?

Nervous?

Not a chance.

The thrill of flipping off pap hasn’t left you yet?

Does everyone know about that? And yes, it’s still massively fun to do.

Wally says Dick is the only one who doesn’t think its that funny.

Lame.

C’mon now, that’s my best friend, but yeah, that’s pretty fucking lame.

You’re the fun best friend, then. You see the fun in making a fool of the pap.

You know it.

Artemis knew of what happened on patrol between Jason and his unknown attacker. Dick had told Artemis to distract Y/N from wondering why Jason seemed drunk, if he seemed drunk. The extents they went to to hide the fact that they were the vigilantes protecting the city, they didn’t know if she was going to be able to keep the secret.

Jason would talk to her after that message,

That storm last night was terrible.

I wish that we were together when it happened. I hate lightning.

Well, you were in Cali.

Did I not tell you? My competition was cancelled because the entire country is fucked with weather.

Oh. That sucks.

Do you want to spend the night here?

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

Do you want to spend the night here?

Jason stared at that text for a while. He did, he wanted to spend the night with her, but he was in pain, hooked to machines, with obvious wounds and bandages. He couldn’t spend the night with her.

I can’t. I’m in Metropolis with Will and Lian. Can we reschedule?

Of course we can. As long as you make sure we actually get to spend the night together.

He asked Dick in that moment, “How... how long... long til I heal?”

“Depends. You’ll be okay-ish in 5 days, but in 7-10 we have to take out your stitches if you’ve been taking care of them,” he said.

“That... that long? Damn.”

36 notes · View notes

wordsfromthesol · 4 years

Text

And They Were Roommates

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Warnings: Cursing, drinking, injuries, fighting…all the good stuff. Word Count: 2.9k Requested: @nadderlover1 A/N: I feel like I’m really bad at writing jealousy…but here ya go anyways! Also it’s kinda long, sorry not sorry

“I still don’t understand why you are getting a roommate. Or why it’s not one of your fabulous brothers.” Jason chided his older brother.

“Cop salary? And I spend enough time with you guys.”

“Please, we all know you could just ask daddy –”

“No.” Dick quickly cut his brother off. “It’ll be fine. I did a background check on her and everything.”

“Her?! Oh Dickieboy, you didn’t tell me it was girl.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course! What if you fall madly in love with her? What if I do?”

“You will not be going near her, so that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh you take the fun out of everything.” Jason whimpered.

“You poor child. Now get out before she gets here.” Dick started pushing his brother out of the apartment.

“If she’s hot I call dibs!” Jason called over his shoulder as he resisted the force on his shoulders, before finally giving in and scrambling out the door.

Another hour passed before Dick heard rapping at his door. He swung open the door and saw you standing, suitcase in hand.

“Y/N, uh welcome…” Dick gestured you inside.

“Thanks. I uhm, have a few more things in my car…” You mumbled as you set the suitcase just inside the door. As you turned to head back downstairs, you noticed Dick step out of the front door. You looked back, slightly shocked, “So have long have you been in Bludhaven?”

“Traveled a bit when I was younger, then was in Gotham until a few years ago.”

“Gotham? I didn’t realize sane people actually lived in the city. My parents thought I was crazy enough for coming to Bludhaven.”

“Well, I lived just outside the city, technically.”

“So you ever see the clown? Or maybe that scarecrow guy?”

Dick held back his laughter, “Oh yeah. I’ve seen them all.”

“Wait seriously?” You stopped short and turned towards him, eyes wide. “And you’re still alive?”

“Luck of the draw I suppose.”

“Geez, someone is looking out for you.”

“Heh, yeah. Usually there’s a few.”

Over the next few months the two of you grew closer, roommates to friends. Movie nights and dinner dates weren’t out of the ordinary.

“Wait, so you’re father is Bruce Wayne.” You fell back into the couch with laughter.

“Well, adopted father. But yeah.”

“And you decided to be a cop.”

“Yeah…”

“Oh come on!” You slapped his shoulder, “Trust fund baby is such a better occupation!”

“Hey!” Dick’s hand flew up to his chest, pretending to be offended by your commentary. “Besides, if I was, then you wouldn’t have met me.” He elbowed you as a smile grew on his lips.

“Oh,” your voice exaggerated and raspy, “and how would I have lived without knowledge of THE DICK GRAYSON.”

Dick folded his arms, ignoring the obvious sarcasm dripping from your words. “Exactly.” He huffed out just as a notification came across his phone. He glanced at it and you noticed his expression sour. “I’m sorry,” Dick looked up at you, “I know it’s movie night but I have to go.”

“Oh yeah, it’s fine…” You tried to brush off the obvious hurt in your voice. His phone rang again, you glanced at the screen seeing the name “Barbara” flash. “Uhm, well don’t get shot. I do hate apartment hunting.”

“I’ll try my hardest.” Dick smirked as he hurried out the door.

You sighed as you pressed play on the movie. I wonder who that is…her name pops up on his phone an awful lot. Are they dating? You tried to shake the thoughts from your mind, who cares if they are dating. He’s your roommate. Your friend and your roommate. You repeated the last line like a mantra until your mind became invested in the movie in front of you.

Another few months went by and it seemed you couldn’t have asked for a better roommate. You had become friends with his brothers and Dick…Dick had become your best friend. Even though he was obviously keeping a secret from you.

“So pizza tonight?” You called out as you threw open the front door. Today had been awful and you just wanted a relaxing night with Dick at your side.

“Oh Y/N/N, I was actually just leaving.” Dick’s phone buzzed. You tensed as you saw “Barbara” flash across the screen. “I uhm, have a family thing. Don’t wait up.”

Your jealousy got the better of you and you pulled out your phone, dialing Jason.

“Well, if it isn’t my brother’s beautiful roommate. Finally realize I’m the hotter one?”

“Ha ha Jay. We’re just roommates.”

“Yeah okay, and my name’s actually Sam.”

You let out a loud sigh, “I need a drink and your brother just left.”

“Ooh is this like the ‘I’m home alone’ text?”

“No, this is like the I don’t want to drink alone, so I’m asking an annoying friend to come over.”

“Alright alright, I’ll leave in 10.”

You had already emptied half a bottle of wine when Jason arrived. A smile graced your face as you swung open the front door and lunged at Jason.

“Jay, you’re here!” you cried out as you enveloped him in a hug.

“And I see I need to catch up.” Jason smirked as he lifted you slightly off the ground and carried you inside.

“I’m fine, really. Just…” You let go of him and picked up your fresh glass of wine. “Just a bad day.”

“Hm, been there.” Jason poured himself a glass of whiskey and joined you on the couch. “What happened?”

“I just don’t understand why people are intentionally bitchy. Like for no reason. It makes everyone around them miserable. And it makes them miserable. So why do it?”

“They just want everyone to be as miserable as them.”

“But they make it worse that way! If you surround yourself with happy people you are more likely to be happy. So if your sole purpose is to make everyone miserable, then you’re solidifying your own miserable life.”

“Maybe they think they deserve to be miserable.” Jason solemnly looked down at his glass.

“I hope, Jason Peter Todd, you are not talking about yourself. Don’t make me fight you.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m working on it. You sure that’s the only thing bothering you.”

Your eyes darted around, avoiding contact with Jason’s. “Of course. What else would it be?”

“Something to do with my brother perhaps?”

“Wha –” your eyes narrowed as you grabbed the bottle of wine beside you, emptying the rest into your glass. You proceeded to take a long drink in order to avoid further questioning.

“We both know I can out drink you. So we can do this the easy way. Or the way that gives you a hangover in the morning.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You looked up at him as a smirk formed on his lips. He knew he had won. “I just know he’s keeping something from me. But what am I supposed to say? Plus, I’m just –”

“Don’t even finish that sentence Y/N Y/M/N. You are way more to him than just a roommate. Everyone can see that, even if you two can’t.”

Another bottle of wine later and Dick opened the front door, garnished with a new black eye. “Jason…?” He questioned as he saw the two of you sitting on the couch.

“And that’s my queue to leave.” Jason got up and whispered to his brother as he passed, “You should really just tell her. Though I’d do it in the morning, she’s two bottles in.”

Dick’s face grimaced with confusion as he walked over to you, slumped over on the couch.

“Richard John Grayson. Is that a black eye?” Your words were slurred and drawn out.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the important thing here. Why are you hammered?”

“I’m fine.” You attempted to stand, thankfully Dick was there to catch you before you hit the ground. You pushed out of his arms, “Really. I’m fine.” You blinked intently at the ground, trying to get rid of the blurriness. You took one deliberate step after the other, determined to make it to your bedroom. Dick followed at your side, arms ready to catch you.

“Y/N, will you just –”

“No! You can go on with your secrets I’ll be going to sleep now.”

“I –” Dick was left dumbfounded standing at your bedroom door, until a crashing sound shook him. He looked over to see you on the floor, blood beginning to seep from your head. “Shit.” He ran over to you, “Y/N. Y/N, I need you to look at me.” You pushed his hands away.

“I’m fine!”

“You’re bleeding. And I don’t give a shit if you’re mad at me right now. I’m going to help you get to bed and then you can hate me later.”

You let out a stubborn huff, but quickly realized you did not have the energy or the sobriety to argue with him. Dick picked you up, bringing you into his own bathroom and set you on the counter. He opened a cabinet full of way too many medical supplies for the average person and pulled out some bandages and glue.

“This is probably going to hurt, but it’s pretty deep. I’m going to have to glue it.”

“You can’t glue my face!”

Dick couldn’t help himself, as he let out a laugh. “Y/N/N, I promise it’s safe. I’ve used it a million times.” Your lower lip puffed out as you stared into his impossibly blue eyes. Your little pout broke his heart, “You’ll still be as breathtaking as ever.” His hand cradled your face in an attempt to console you. Once you were patched up, he brought you over to his bed. “Now my drunken little Y/N, I’m going to bring you some water. Wait here.”

You kind of followed his instructions, only you fell backwards and promptly fell asleep. Dick walked back in, carrying the biggest water bottle he could find. He stopped in the doorway when he saw you already asleep. Dick contemplated if he should carry you to your own room or leave you in his. He, somewhat selfishly, chose the latter. He tucked you under the blankets and got ready for bed, crawling in next to you.

Dick woke several hours later, with you on his chest. He dared not move, after logging this into his memory, he attempted to fall back asleep. You began to stir a few moments later, forcing your eyes open you glanced around in confusion. Your mind raced as you felt someone’s chest beneath your head. Slowly, you rose, letting out a sigh of relief once you noticed it was Dick. Quietly you tip-toed to your own room, grabbing the bottle of water and aleve Dick left for you on the dresser. You crawled into your own bed and fell back asleep, tomorrow was going to be hell.

Unshockingly, the two of you completely ignored the past nights events and fell back into routine.

You were looking forward to movie night, Dick had missed the last three and you really needed some best friend time. As soon as Dick walked through the door you rushed to his side.

“So, decided on a movie?” You looped your arm into his.

“Actu –” His response was interrupted by the buzz of his phone. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

You threw your hands up in the air. “Of course you can’t. You haven’t been here all month, why start now.”

“Y/N/N…” He glanced down at his phone, Barbara was calling again. He sighed before continuing, “I have to go.”

“Girlfriend calling again, I get it. Have fun.” You turned to leave, as Dick grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards him.

“That’s not – I’ll explain everything when I get back. I promise.” You were left speechless and confused as he walked out of the front door. The slam of the front door shook you free from the trance. You walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine. Before you could open you heard a knock on the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you went to open it.

“Forget your –” you stopped once you realized it was not Dick, and the two men were both armed. You attempted to slam the door, but the first man shoved in. Slamming the unopened bottle of wine against his head, it shattered as he fell to the floor.

“You bitch!” The second man screamed as he grabbed you, wrapping his hands around your neck. You repeatedly punched him in the side, but to no avail and soon everything went black. When you woke, you were gagged and tied to a chair. Thankfully, you recognized the surroundings, they hadn’t moved you from the apartment.

“Oh the birdie is awake. Don’t worry, we just want your little Detective friend.”

You looked around and noticed the first man was awake, holding a bag of frozen vegetables to his head.

“Yeah, so when the fuck is he coming back? If it ain’t soon, I may need to start paying you back for this.” The man pointed to his injured head, which was still bleeding. “Can’t we just call him from the bitch’s phone?” He pleaded to his partner.

“No. He can’t know something is wrong. The boss wants him alive. Teach him a lesson about poking around where he shouldn’t.”

You made the mistake of rolling your eyes at the comment. The action was quickly met with a swift punch to the jaw. Honestly, you had no idea how long you were sequestered to the chair. All you know is the two idiots couldn’t stop arguing about what to do. Finally, you heard footsteps in the hall. They stopped at your front door, but it seemed as if they would never open it. At last you heard the key in the lock just before light from the hall began to flood the room.

“Y/N?” Dick’s voice sounded worried. Did he know something was wrong?

You attempted to scream, but the sound was muffled by the fabric in your mouth. Somehow, it was enough. Dick rushed to your side, but you shook your head furiously in an attempt to warn him. He didn’t seem to need it. Your eyes went wide as a man came up behind him. Dick sunk to the floor, sweeping the assailant’s feet from under him. The next man came out of the shadows and charged at him with a knife. Dick swept his body to the side as he jabbed underneath the man’s shoulder, forcing the knife to crash to the ground. The man clutched his arm, as you watched Dick’s fist collide with the man’s jaw.

Dick walked over to you, pulling the gag from your mouth just in time for you to scream out, “Behind you!” Once again, it seemed as if he didn’t even need your warning. Dick’s arm came up just in time to block the attempted blow to his face. He stretched the arm out and slammed it against the man’s neck. Before you could blink Dick’s foot collided with the man’s chest, sending him flying into the wall. You watched as the man sunk to the ground.

“So obviously I’m –” Dick’s eyes darted towards the man attempting to sneak out. “Well you’re not going anywhere.” He raced over, grabbing the man’s forearm, Dick swung him into the wall. Dick flipped on the light and his eyes went wide as he saw the bruises forming on your neck and jaw. He raced up to you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “What did they do to you?” His hands cradled your face.

“I’m okay Dick. Really, just…”

“What?” His expression filled with fear as his eyes searched yours for an answer.

“I’m still tied to a chair.”

Dick’s hand went up to cover his face, stifling a laugh. He withdrew a knife from his pocket and cut your hands and feet loose. Before you could move from the chair, he was kneeling in front you again. “You’re okay though?” He asked worriedly, as his hand lightly grazed your bruised jaw.

“I’m okay.”

Dick let out a sigh of relief as he hung his head. “Alright, I’m going to call the station.” When Dick got off the phone he walked over and sat next to you on the couch. “They are going to come take pictures, get your statement…I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

“Dick, it’s not your fault. You were doing your job.”

“I was…I was only looking into them for my other job though. I should’ve known better.”

“Your other job?”

“This is, uhm, this is what I wanted to explain. I’m Nightwing. And and I get so many calls from Barbara, she’s like uh the woman in the chair? Behind the scenes…gathering intel.” He looked over at you, eyes hopeful for your approval. He was not expecting you to burst out in laughter. Which is exactly what you did. “Y/N?”

“I’m sorry Dick. I just…it makes so much sense!” You took in a deep breath to compose yourself.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Mad? Of course not.”

“Good. Because there’s something else I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“What’s a bigger secret than –” Your words were cut off by his lips moving against yours. He pulled back, leaving his forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you.”

336 notes · View notes

jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 22

Drugged | Withdrawal

Ao3

Note: Jason is Robin

-o-o-o-o-

It's the same thing every day. The day begins with nothing. Just sitting here, with his hands chained to the wall, watching the table in front of him and waiting for Dick—who's strapped to the aforementioned table—to slowly wake up. Dick's been waking up later and later every day, but that's not really his fault.

It's the drug's fault. But Jason's getting ahead of himself.

Because, after Dick wakes up, the shakes would begin. Dick will insist over and over again, every time Jason asks, that he's okay. But Jason doesn't believe him. He's seen this before in his own mother. As the day progresses, the symptoms would as well. The shakes would be joined by a sweaty parlor. Dick's stomach would grumble angrily. He'd constantly shift and move in his bindings in a clear state of anxiety, tugging at his wrists and ankles to the point that they began to bleed.

By the time they bring lunch, Dick's barely able to keep a sentence, his voice wobbles so much and his memory begins to hold onto less and less. Their captors are practically formless, their faces and body types all hidden behind layers of cloaks and black masks. They don't speak either. They just toss Jason a bottle of water and a wrapped sandwich that definitely came from a gas station. Then, they spoon feed Dick some sort of broth with soggy vegetables and very unsatisfying looking chunks of meat. At first, Jason and Dick both refused to eat, even if the caps were sealed and the packaging untorn.

But days passed. The withdrawal made Dick starving and malleable, willing to eat without arguing too much. With Jason, he started eating because it became clear that if they wanted to poison or drug him, they clearly would have already.

After lunch, they were left alone again. For hours. Hours that Jason spent curled up against the wall, tearing strips into the plastic packaging of his eaten sandwich and tying knots with them… just to keep himself occupied as Dick would begin gagging and sniffing and groaning and trembling. Jason would look up at him every so often to see him deeper and deeper into withdrawal and being able to do nothing about it except writhe.

Hours would pass. Then, the people who captured them would come back with dinner. They'd confiscate Jason's plastic knots and braids, give him another sandwich, then immediately inject an unmarked syringe filled with a yellowish liquid straight into the crook of Dick's elbow.

Dick would immediately go still. Silent. Lax. He'd stare at the ceiling, completely calm and breathing deep. At first, Dick didn't go so still so quickly. It's clear this kind of drug has some sort of tolerance that has to built up to.

Dick screamed and jerked in his restraints the first time. Cried during the couple after. And isn't that strange? The guy is a legend. While Bruce doesn't talk about him often… Jason knows the legacy he's trying to carry while being Robin. He honestly can't believe that he's this guy's… adopted… younger brother. No one in Gotham doesn't know who the original Robin was. Jason's still trying to earn even a smidge of the same respect, even from the criminals.

Sure, in the beginning, Dick and Jason started off a bit rough. But it ended out alright, yeah? Dick gave him his blessing to be Robin, and then handed him a slip of paper with his apartment's phone number. They went skiing a couple weeks ago, and Jason had a lot of fun.

Dick Grayson is so perfect. And Jason's just watched him scream and struggle and sob because of drugs.

Jason really hates drugs.

Now though, Jason's not sure if Dick's instant dissociation is better or worse. They've worked Dick up to a point where his body feels like it needs the drug more than air to breathe. The withdrawal is getting more and more intense every day that passes, to the point Jason's sure that if his mom…

Well... to the point that most druggies would be taking multiple doses a day by now.

"What do you shitheads want?" Jason asks for the billionth time. He tries to ask every time they enter the room.

They don't answer. They never do. They don't even look his way.

Jason's begun to think that he's just there as collateral. They haven't done anything to him. Not even an annoyed slap when Jason screamed his voice raw at them the third time they drugged Dick.

They just use Dick's gagging reflex to put more brothy soup in his mouth, and then they leave.

This is when it gets absolutely awful. Jason's known even before becoming Robin that when someone is this high, there's no point trying to talk to them. It's like his mom- it's like Dick isn't even in the room. It's just Jason, alone, sitting on the moth-eaten sofa and forcing himself to pay attention to Treasure Island even though he's already read it a thousand times.

No. No he doesn't sit on the couch. He sits against the cold wall, his tailbone aching, his wrists stinging against the shackles, trying to work up the energy to eat his sandwich while Dick falls deeper and deeper into a forced addiction.

The night wears on. What Jason assumes is… the end of the ninth day? He's mostly measuring days by meals and when they come to drug Dick. The little cell they are chained up in doesn't have any windows to know for sure. Could be more than nine days, could be less.

Jason does his best to just... ignore Dick, because it's this stretch of hours that has Jason's anxiety spiking the most. There's too many bad memories with drugs. Too many awful moments that conspired because of them. If he looks up, he won't see a completely relaxed and high-off-his-ass Dick Grayson.

He'll see Catherine Todd, foam leaking from the corners of her mouth and her body colder than what it should be. He'll see the syringe still in her arm. He'll see a still chest.

He busies himself by moving as much as the chains allow him. The tether to his shackled wrists is welded about half a foot above his head, and there's just enough length for him to touch a small diameter of stone floor around him. When he stands up, he's not able to lift his hands above his head. He's not able to move more than a few feet towards Dick. He makes the best of it though. He stretches as much as his shackles will allow. He leans forward against the wall and does makeshift pushups. He counts the links in the chain. He goes down to touch his toes.

He keeps going until Dick finally groans, the drugs wearing off hours later.

Though, it feels sooner than normal. Maybe Dick's accidentally built a tolerance and the doses are starting to wear off quicker.

Whatever the case, Dick groaning out of a nauseating trip is the sign for Jason to finally sit down and curl up the best he can on his side. He watches Dick's twitching fingers. Listens to his small whimpers and noises of confusion. He sits there and watches Dick be alive until his eyes fall closed and he doesn't dream of Dick being still. Dead. Next to the body of his mom while his dad (Bruce?) screamed about how Jason's a failure and he should have stopped it.

He falls asleep, wakes up a little while later, and the day repeats.

-o-o-o-o-

"How long…?"

"I think… thirteen days?"

"…"

"Nightwing?"

"N-nothing. It just… it just…"

"Hurts?"

"Yeah… it- I- everything just really- b-but I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

"… You don't have to lie to me. I know. I understand."

"Sorry… I just… hngh- fuck"

"…"

"Is it… getting worse or-?"

"Ca-can we talk about something else?"

"Yeah. Sure, big bird. I'm okay to talk about something else."

They talk about something else for about fifteen minutes, both of them persistently not talking about drugs or withdrawal or addiction or dead mom's and angry deadbeat dads. They also don't talk about Bruce, because while Jason's still holding out hope that Bruce will come for them, Jason's pretty sure Dick doesn't.

But it's okay. Jason will hope for the two of them.

Twenty minutes pass before Dick simply can't keep a conversation anymore. The stuff he's one must be strong. Severe. The kind of stuff someone like Black Mask would sell. The stuff that would get you so deep on its hooks that you'll lose your job, house, family, everything just to have a single more drop in your system.

Thirty minutes pass. Then more. And Jason sits quietly as Dick falls apart.

It's not even close to lunch yet.

-o-o-o-o-

Something finally changes on what Jason's pretty sure is day fifteen. He knows something has changed when lunch passes without a single visitor. He knows something has changed when the time ticks ever onwards and Jason's left clutching his completely empty stomach and watching Dick suffer. Cry. Writhe. Gag.

He knows something's finally changed when the door finally opens, but it's a long time after lunch; and yet still a little while before dinner.

He knows something hasn't changed for the good when their captors enter in a group of six instead their usual three or four.

He knows somethings definitely changed for the worse when they surround Dick like a pack of hungry cultists around some poor virgin.

"What are you doing?" Jason demands, standing up and walking forward as far as his chains will allow. It's not very far. He's not even within kicking distance of the closest person.

One of the kidnappers reach into their cloak and brings out that stupid syringe. However, instead of immediately injecting it into Dick's practically torn apart arm, they hold it above Dick's head.

Jason feels like he's swallowed something sour when Dick immediately stills.

Oh.

Jason understands now.

"Tell us the name of Batman, and we'll let you have it," the person says. Voice is deep, probably male, but Jason doesn't care. All he cares about is that the man waves the syringe back and forth above Dick's bound form like it's a bone and Dick is a very, very desperate dog.

"You sick bastards," Jason breathes. He can't... even process how much he hates this. It's not fair. Addictions shouldn't be… used against someone like this. They've patiently worked Dick to this point, and then they're going to give Dick a choice between something he never wanted but feels like he needs… or something he cannot tell. "You fucking fuckers."

Jason goes completely ignored. By the kidnappers because they've been ignoring Jason this long, why stop now. By Dick because he's too focused on watching the syringe and licking his chapped lips.

Finally, Dick speaks, and Jason really wishes he hadn't.

"P-please…"

"Tell us who Batman is," the man repeats and Dick immediately dissolves into pathetic sobs.

"Please… puh-please… I- I can't-"

Dick jerks in his restraints, like he wants to jump forward and stab the needle into his own arm himself.

The man repeats his question and Jason finally has enough.

"HEY! YOU CULT WANNABES!" He shouts, tugging on his restraints and snarling. "Get the fuck away from him or I'll tear your throats out!"

"Batman's name, Nightwing. Then you can have this."

"N-no- st-stop- I don't-"

"Listen to me! Stop ignorin' me!" Jason tugs harder on the chains, but all he succeeds in doing is breaking the scabs next to the biting metal, allowing blood to flow down his filthy wrists. "Don't listen to them, N! Ya don't want it!"

And for the first time, one of the kidnappers turns to face Jason. They walk forward so suddenly that Jason takes a startled step back. Before Jason knows it, his cheek is stinging from a vicious slap he didn't expect. He doesn't get a chance to recover from it either, because suddenly his wrists are grabbed and the tethering chain is hooked onto something high above his head against the wall. Something he hasn't even noticed till now. Jason struggles to place his footing as he finds himself almost hanging by his wrists; helpless to the kidnapper as they shove a strip of tape over his mouth.

Effectively gagged, Jason goes back to being ignored while the kidnapper returns to the others surrounding Dick.

Jason growls and tugs in the chains, but he goes nowhere.

He can only hang there and watch as they continue to wave that stupid dose of drugs above Dick's head, asking the same question over and over again with the same steady, manipulative voice.

Jason's seen Dick cry many times these past several days, but never as desperate and broken as this. Jason sorta hopes that Dick just… throws everything away to tell them Bruce's name. Just so this could end. Just so they'll give Dick what he needs so his body will stop torturing itself.

"Br- n-no-"

"Batman's name."

Dick shuts his eyes and shakes his head, tears escape the corners of his mask as he twitches and chokes on gags.

The kidnappers seem to be getting impatient now. The man holding the syringe sighs then bends forward and presses the tip of the needle on the inside of Dick's arm. Dick jolts like he's been electrocuted, his eyes flying open and the tears doubling as the needle enters the already severely scarred area of skin. The man doesn't press down on the needle and Dick wails.

Jason feels like he's going to throw up.

This is so sick. So messed up. He wants to scream but all he can do is throw himself against the chains and slam his back uselessly against the wall. He tries to work the tape off his mouth, but he can't quite move his jaw or tongue the way he wants to.

"Batman's name, Nightwing. And make sure it's honest, otherwise we have smaller needles for smaller people."

Well, at least Jason knows why he's here now.

The bad thing is, it works. Dick shutters around the needle in his arm and chokes back another sob. "Ok-kay- d-don't- hurt Robin- kay- okay-"

Jason falls still. There's nothing he can do. At least, when Dick tells who Batman is, he won't be in so much pain anymore. But that's only if the kidnappers actually decide to let him have the dose.

"Name, Nightwing. We don't have all day."

"-kay- I- n-name… bah- Bru-"

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Jason sags against his restraints in sheer, knee numbing relief. None other than Batman makes it in the nick of time to slug the closest bad guy straight across the jaw. The kidnappers go down hard, and immediately the rest are scrambling to figure out if they should fight or run.

Batman doesn't give them a choice.

In a terrifying series of events every single kidnapper in the room ends up in crumpled heaps on the floor. Without a single pause, Batman stalks towards Dick. Jason doesn't have a single chance to stop him before he grabs the still full needle in Dick's arm, and rips it out before tossing it across the room. Dick goes perfectly still for a single moment, ridged like his body is desperately trying to figure out what to do. Then, he completely falls apart.

Bruce stills as if he has no idea why Dick is reacting this way.

Jason has enough.

"Rrs!" Jason shouts behind the tape, tugging on the shackles so hard he feels a streak of heat travel down both of his arms. Blood is dripping from his elbows by the time Bruce rushes over to Jason and picks him loose.

The moment Jason's hands are free, he doesn't even bother to rip off the tape on his mouth. He ducks under Bruce's arms towards the disregarded syringe. Thankfully, it's not broken and it's still full. Jason wipes off the needle with the torn remains of his cape as he rushes back towards Dick.

Bruce makes a noise of both shock and questioning when Jason jams the needle into the inside Dick's elbow, pushing in the liquid until only a few drops are left.

Dick lets out a few more sobs, but slowly relaxes, then goes completely still. It's eerie. Jason feels like he's going to be sick.

He pulls the needle out and holds it in his shaking hand. He reaches the other to his mouth to rip off the tape, blinking tears from his eyes. Maybe from the sting of tape. Maybe from guilt.

Either way, he looks at Bruce and holds out the syringe.

"It's not his fault," he whispers. "It's not."

"Robin…" Bruce says slowly, taking the syringe.

"It's not… he… he tried to fight it- but they- and he-"

Bruce suddenly wraps Jason into a hug while Jason finally shatters.

But a good kind of shatter. The kind of shatter that makes you feel like you can make a stained glass window with broken beer bottles and string.

Dick's not okay. Jason's not okay. Neither of them are anything close to okay.

But Bruce is here. He came, even though Jason went against his wishes and went to visit Dick. Even though Dick and Bruce are still fighting. He came.

And it will only get better from here. Jason knows it.

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 8 months

Text

The Truth is Forced to Come Out

by AlexaAffect Silence engulfed the four, only disturbed the quiet clicks of Bruce working away at the antidote, at least Jason assumed that’s what he was doing. “As nice as this little reunion is, don’t you have things to do other than antagonize me?” Jason asked, annoyed, clasping his hands in front of him as he prayed his brothers would just take the hint and leave him alone. Maybe that was the wrong word choice. Now Dick looked at him in the eyes as though something had just clicked and a smug smile spread across his lips. Fuck. “So truth serum, huh?” Dick said and Jason felt a familiar prickle of fear. God damnit. This had been just what he’d been trying to avoid. “Did you steal my dark blue Gotham University sweater when you were 14?” Dick asked, the question falling from his lips as though he’d been preparing to ask it for years. Jason blinked twice, then the answer forced itself out. He didn’t know if he had the energy left to fight it. "Yes." Or alternatively; Jason is drugged with truth serum and needs an antidote, his brothers decide bullying him is more of a priority. Words: 7131, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Roy Harper Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Roy Harper/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Jason Todd-centric, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd is Bad at Feelings, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Jason Todd is So Done, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay Jason Todd, Established Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Minor Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Past Koriand'r/Jason Todd, Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry, Bullying, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Sibling, Tim Drake Tries to be a Good Sibling, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Tries, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Protective Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne is Good With Kids, Drugs, Drugged Jason Todd, Truth Serum, Truth, Vulnerability, Emotional Constipation, Medical Inaccuracies, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, (but it's barely there), Pain, Panic Attacks, (basically), Coming Out, Crack Treated Seriously via https://ift.tt/B2nZwNA

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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violetsmoak · 4 years

Text

The Specter at the Feast [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556579/chapters/59300599

Summary: A tragic incident as a child left Tim Drake with the ability to commune with the dead. It’s a skill he’s used to close some of the most confounding cases to come across his desk at Gotham City’s Major Crimes Unit. But when he learns of an apparent murder-suicide that could link to a very personal case he’s been working for ten years, he might need more than a connection to the afterlife to solve it. Especially when Detective Jason Todd, a man in denial about his own psychic abilities, is assigned lead on the same case.

Sparks immediately fly between the two detectives—and not necessarily in a good way—as they are forced to work together to take down a macabre serial killer before it’s too late.

Disclaimer: This story uses characters, situations and premises that are copyright DC Comics, Inc. No infringement pertaining to graphic novels, television series or films is intended by violetsmoak in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: Here’s one of the stories I’ve been working on for JayTimWeek. As I mentioned on tumblr, I got hit by a big blast of inspiration for one of my original stories and have kind of been working on that like mad for the past three weeks, so unfortunately I didn’t have time to dedicate to the prompt fills for JTW as I wanted to. As soon as I run out of steam for that, I’ll get back to filling the prompts. So, bad news I probably won’t post anything else during the event, but eventually my prompts will all crop up once I recapture my attention span :P Huge thank you to strawberyjei for taking the time to beta-read this chapter!

_______________________________________________________________

“That stuff will kill you one day.”

Tim Drake frowns and glances to his right, noticing the half-amused and half-exasperated smile playing on his best friend’s face.

“Will not,” he retorts with the instantaneity of an oft-repeated argument and leans more securely against sun-warmed stone. He takes a defiant sip from his jumbo travel mug, enjoying the bitterness of his favorite morning indulgence—slow-brewed light roast with three shots of espresso. “Besides, how else do you expect me to be awake enough to drive out here at this hour?”

He doesn’t have to see Kon to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“You don’t actually have to—you’re the one who keeps showing up; I just wait here.”

There’s something buried in the joking tone, and Tim shifts in discomfort as he detects the unspoken scolding. Choosing to ignore it, he swallows another mouthful of coffee and stares past the well-kept shrubbery, observing the gentle waves on the river.

From a distance, Gotham’s elegance is deceptive. By daylight, the riot of architectural styles jutting into the horizon appear whimsical instead of grotesque, and the layers of filth and decay suggest character as opposed to rampant corruption. Even on a Sunday, it teems with energy.

I guess that’s what still convinces people to move to the crime capital of America.

Tim knows from experience that the city’s grandeur is not as noticeable when combing her streets for the criminal element.

That knowledge doesn’t stop him from digging out his cellphone and snapping a few lazy photos. The quality won’t compare to shots taken with the Nikon he has at home, but it’s rare to perceive the city of his birth as something other than sinister; he won’t squander the opportunity.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Tim suggests in a light tone. “I could just be out here, minding my business, taking in the scenery—”

“Hah!”

“—and you’re stalking me.”

“Stalking’s your thing.”

“Is it really stalking if you get paid for it?”

“Whatever you say, detective,” Kon sneers without true malice and crosses his arms across his chest. Despite the chilly early spring air, he’s wearing only a black t-shirt with a red Superman symbol. Tim gave it to him for his birthday a few years ago, but the sight of it these days still elicits a nostalgia-induced lump in his throat. “Either way, you’re the chump who showed up here on his first day off in forever. Sunday, remember? You’re supposed to be spending the day lounging at your fancy estate, getting ready to gorge yourself on Alfred-made dinner, not bumming around with me.”

“That’s not for hours,” Tim dismisses, “and to be honest, I’d rather skip it.”

Kon glances sideways at him. “Haven’t you missed it all month?”

“I was working the entire time. Everyone in the family has to do the occasional weekend rotation, Alfred knows that. Besides, I see them all at some point or another every week.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kon taunts. “I thought we agreed you needed to stop isolating yourself?”

The furrow in his brow is one that Tim recognizes as a prelude to concern, though, and he suspects he won’t be able to deter his friend.

“I’m not isolating myself.”

“That so? When was your last date?”

And there it is.

“I left myself wide open for that one,” Tim sighs.

“You know I’m right.”

“Here it comes…”

“I’m serious—you can’t still be carrying a torch for your ex—”

“There are no torches.”

“—hoping it’ll work out—”

“I’m not!”

“—because that ship has sailed,” Kon concludes. “She’s dating your sister for God’s sake.”

“I’m aware.”

“And it’s been two years.”

“I’ve been on dates in the last two years,” Tim protests.

“Cassie doesn’t count,” Kon replies.

That earns a wince. “We agreed never to speak about that.”

“And I told you I was fine with it, man, it’s not like I was there.”

There’s a heavy sensation in Tim’s chest at that reminder, and he scowls at Kon for bringing it up. That usually earns a shrug or palms-up gesture of surrender, but today Kon squares his shoulders and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“I already told you it meant nothing. We were both hurting and just…needed someone,” Tim insists.

Kon ignores him. “Which I’m okay with—relieved, even. I know you guys wouldn’t have looked at each other if circumstances were different. Which brings me back to Cassie, not counting.”

“She was there for me as much as I was there for her—can we please talk about something else?”

“Depends—do you have a better example than my last girlfriend?”

“Hey, I’ve been with other people! Remember Tam?”

“Yeah, your dad’s former business manager’s daughter,” Kon deadpans, “who you only started dating because everyone thought it was convenient. And she left you because you weren’t interested enough in the relationship.”

“What are you talking about? I was interested!”

“You didn’t even get to second base with her, man.”

“Are you seriously using the baseball metaphor?”

“Then there’s Bernard Whatshisname for the occasional booty call.”

“I regret ever telling you about that.”

“And don’t even get me started on that cop from Hong Kong that you hooked up with last month.”

“Okay, that one was a mistake,” Tim admits.

“But none of those were actual relationships. You haven’t had one of those since Steph.”

“I don’t recall you being this judgy before.”

“You’re one of my only sources of entertainment,” Kon deflects. “It’s like binge-watching Netflix and yelling at the idiot hero to stop screwing up his life. Except in this case, the idiot hero can actually hear me and have to listen.”

“‘Have to’ is debatable…”

Kon pushes off the stone they are both leaning against and turns to face him. It always annoys Tim when he pulls this, given he’s three inches taller and has twice the upper body strength.

“This is what you do, Tim. You keep people at a distance and on the rare occasion where they disappoint you or hurt you, you close yourself off,” Kon sighs. “You need to relax, man.”

Tim’s phone rings, granting him a welcome distraction.

“The last time I relaxed, I got stabbed,” he reminds Kon as he glances at the device. He blinks in surprise when he recognizes his brother’s scowling face and phone number flashing up at him. “Speak of the devil.” He swipes at the screen and answers, making a face at his best friend. “Gremlin.”

“Timothy,” is the terse answer, and Tim can almost hear the scowl in the younger man’s voice.

Huh. First name today. Either something bad happened, or he wants something.

Tim ignores the tiny edge of worry blossoming at the thought; if it were a family emergency, Alfred or Dick would call him, not Damian.

It must be the second thing.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you this morning?” the younger man asks, ignoring the question.

“It’s Sunday, where do you think I am?” he shoots back, deciding two can play ‘answer-with-a-question.’

Except Damian seems to have no intention of following the usual script.

“Of course,” he says instead, sounding distracted. “Then you should be close enough.”

“…For what?”

There’s a beat of hesitation, and then Damian says, “I may have stumbled upon something you’d find…interesting.”

Because that doesn’t sound ominous…

“Define ‘interesting’.”

“I’m at work,” Damian says. “Securing a crime scene.”

That moves Tim along the spectrum from wary to defensive at once. He goes to substantial lengths to avoid working with any of his siblings in a professional capacity. It’s a necessity in a family where law enforcement is all but synonymous with the name Wayne. Even if their older brother Dick hadn’t started the tradition of downplaying that link in the professional sphere, Tim has always been diligent in establishing professional boundaries. So far, his family has respected them. Damian, in particular, has always been gleeful—almost militant—in keeping to that maxim; for him to break it, something must have upset him.

And for him to reach out to me instead of Dick is…I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“Are you sure you should have called me then?” Tim queries in a careful tone, wanting to make sure he’s not misreading the situation. “Dick might be a better option.”

“Richard wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t view it the same way.”

“The same way,” Tim repeats, the words sparking something—a flicker of suspicion begins to take shape.

“I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Damian continues, “so you’d better be appreciative—”

“Spit it out, Damian.” Tim doesn’t have the patience for the adult version of ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’.

“Murder-suicide. Apparently. The bodies were posed,” Damian says, voice low as if he doesn’t want someone to overhear him, “And all the victims are holding hands.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry and his entire body tenses. “All?”

“Five,” Damian tells him shortly.

That makes Tim close his eyes in dismay. “Other than the number it’s the same MO as the others?”

“The crime itself, yes. Don’t your files say the last one was five years ago?”

Tim knows it should irritate him that Damian’s been poking around his casefiles—he always considered office protocol as more guidelines than law. But the infraction pales next to the knowledge blossoming into being.

It’s happening again.

“If you want to see for yourself, get here before whoever they assign as the lead detective does,” Damian is saying.

Torn, Tim’s eyes flick to Kon, who clearly knows what is being said and whose expression is all-too knowing for Tim’s liking.

“Where is it?” Tim asks at last.

“Diamond District. Gotham Tower Apartments.”

“That’s unusual,” Tim grunts, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Only one of the earlier cases took place in what either of them would consider an upper-class neighborhood. “Also, outside of my jurisdiction.”

“That wouldn’t stop me if I were in your position.”

There’s a click and then a dial tone.

Tim gives a slow exhale, closing his eyes.

He and Damian were never the closest, but once the early friction between them eased, they developed their own dynamic. And one specific shared understanding that they bonded over in secret, away from the prying and often unintentionally judging eyes of family.

“How is he a jerk even when he’s trying to be helpful?” Tim mutters more to himself than Kon. He’s already calculating how long it will take him to get across the bridge from Metropolis.

Half an hour, with no traffic.

It will be cutting it close, assuming Damian holds off giving his own precinct the details until the last second.

He must be serious about this if he’ll risk being called up on discipline for not following protocol.

Tim turns to Kon. “Sorry, but I need to head out.”

“Like I won’t see you again next week,” Kon dismisses with a grim smile. “After all, you’re always here.”

“You say that like you don’t want me to be,” Tim replies, suspicious.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re my best friend, I obviously want you to visit. But you need more in your life than work, checking in with me and—I dunno—chasing some white whale.”

“Really?” Tim deadpans. “You, of all people? You want me to give up trying to get justice—”

“Not what I’m saying,” Kon interrupts. “I’m just trying to tell you there’s more out there and you deserve to find it.” He pauses. “And agrees with me.”

Tim cuts off a curse with a hiss. “That is a low blow, you two ganging up on me.”

“What can I say? You’d better listen, or he’ll do something impulsive, if he hasn’t already.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim grumbles, keying the coordinates of the crime scene into his phone’s GPS.

“Remember,” Kon calls after him, “ ”

“Always do,” Tim replies. As he heads for the gates of the cemetery, brushing his fingers against the headstone that reads: Connor Kent, Beloved Son, Brother, Friend—Brave Fireman of the Metropolis Fire Department.

⁂

“Six days,” Jason Todd fumes, glaring down at the muddle of papers and file folders in front of him. “I’m gone for six days, and you jerks decide to turn my desk into an episode of Hoarders.”

“Relax, Todd, it’s just paper, not toxic waste,” Detective Adams drawls as she passes by, unapologetically grabbing a few of the offending folders on her way.

“This? This is not just paper, it’s a potential biohazard.”

His desk, usually the immaculate outlier in the chaotic, open concept dumping ground of the 12th Precinct, is now covered in empty coffee cups, old take-out cartons, and other detritus.

“Says the man who filled my desk drawer with a cubic foot of golf balls the last time I was on leave.”

“None of which were covered in saliva—I mean, come on!” He holds up several crumpled napkins. “It’s just common fucking courtesy!”

“Take it up with Rayner.”

“Of course it was him. Guy has it out for me…”

“You did shoot him.”

“One time! And it was a shoulder wound! If I hadn’t, both our covers would have been blown and we’d both be dead.”

“Cry me a river, Todd,” Adams snorts. “I’ve got a lead on the Kirano case and don’t have time to wipe away your tears of manly angst.”

She stalks away, totally missing how he flips her the bird. Not that his heart is in it; he’s actually fond of Onyx and would even work with her if she could stand him. But the one time they were partnered together, it ended with them running away from an exploding truck and a two-inch-thick shard of metal through her shoulder.

Still trying to figure out how I got the blame for that one…

It’s not like he goes into a situation intending to get the people next to him injured. For some reason, he just happens to be better at intuiting incoming threats, whether it be a perp taking a swing with a knife or stopping just short of being shot.

It happens, sometimes, this inexplicable intuition. Roy always called it a sixth sense, but Jason takes issue with any of that hokey paranormal crap. He gets hunches—gut feelings that have served him extremely well in his career and helped him rise quickly through the ranks.

But he doesn’t like to think of himself as psychic.

He likes thinking of the possible reason for his “hunches” even less.

Finally getting the worst of the garbage into the trashcan beneath his desk, Jason starts on the wayward papers, pleased that most of it can be shredded and won’t require a trip to the file room. There’s one folder, however, that doesn’t fit anywhere: some arson report that has nothing to do with any of his ongoing cases.

He skims through the particulars of the folder and notes the name on the CSI report—B. Allen—which suggests it isn’t even recent. He’s been friends with the new ME, Stephanie Brown, for two years now, and never met the guy that was here before her.

Maybe someone’s trying to find a pattern or something.

Jason decides to bring it to the captain; if anyone’s missing a file related to their case, she’ll have a better idea.

He skirts around uniformed officers moving to and fro, some leading handcuffed offenders to the holding cells at the back of the building, others talking over their cases with each other or on the phone. He passes the office corkboard, filled with everything from sketches of perps at large (it seems Dr. Pamela Isley is up to her usual eco-terrorism) to reminders about the Gotham General Blood Drive (anyone who donates in uniform gets the rest of the day off, as well as the next one).

By the time he reaches the captain’s office, he’s sweating. It might be crisp outside, but inside there are so many bodies moving around that it might as well be the hottest day of summer.

Raising his hand to knock, he’s surprised when the door opens inward and the captain steps out.

“Todd,” she says with a blink, then nods to herself. “Right. You’re back today. That works. Get in here—I’ve got a case for you.”

He’s too used to Artemis’ brusque manner to be bemused; instead, he ducks into her office and closes the door behind him.

“It’s not another missing kid, is it?” he asks apprehensively; the last case involved a fourteen-year-old girl. “No promises I won’t break some scumbag’s teeth again if that’s the case.”

“You’d better not break anyone’s teeth,” Artemis chides him, a warning glint in her eyes. “Especially since you just got off suspension.”

And that for using “unnecessary force” in apprehending a drug dealer selling his shit to a bunch of kids.

“But no,” she continues, sitting behind her desk and reaching for a file, “it’s not. The officers on the scene are reporting it as an apparent murder-suicide.”

“And you thought that’s how I wanted to spend my first day back at work? I’m touched. Whatever made you think of me?”

“The fact that you were conveniently in front of me when I opened the door.”

“Aw, here I was expectin’ you to say something like, ‘well, you’re a constant pain in my ass, but you’ve also got the best record for closin’ cases in this department’.”

“You don’t need the ego boost. Now either take it and be grateful, or I’m giving it to Adams as I planned—”

“Gimme,” Jason interrupts, snatching the file folder from her.

“That’s what I thought.”

He settles into one of the chairs in front of the captain’s desk and opens the folder.

“I want this one looked into and closed as soon as possible,” Artemis goes on.

“Why?”

“Because of who the victim is.”

Jason frowns, scans through the preliminary report to see that the victim—victims—have, in fact, been identified. His eyebrows shoot upward.

“J. Devlin Davenport.” He looks up at Artemis, askance. “The investment guy? The one being investigated for embezzlement?”

“Fraud Squad’s been building a case against him for six months now,” Artemis confirms. “The guy set up a fake company and defrauded his investors out of 200 million. They’re still trying to track the stuff he funneled through the Bahamas.”

“If they find it, send it my way,” Jason says, still skimming through the papers.

“Could you sound any more cliché?”

“If I tried, maybe,” he replies, distracted as he slides the folder he brought to one side of her desk.

“What’s that?” Artemis asks.

“Dunno. File was on my desk. Arson, I think. Figured someone left it there.”

“We don’t have any arson cases ongoing at the moment, but I’ll ask around. Maybe someone’s doing case research.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason murmurs. He taps the paper in front of him. “Listen, if they’re saying this is a murder-suicide, that’s probably what it is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Look at the transcript from when it was called in.”

“‘Bodies of the deceased were…arranged around the dinner table’,” Jason reads. “What the… ‘lack of struggle might suggest sedation before they were removed to the dining room and posed’—posed? Like a photographer does?” He makes a face. “Kind of a lot of effort for someone who just committed suicide right after…”

“If I’m not mistaken, that would be the thing that needs investigating.”

Jason ignores the sarcasm, checking to see who called this in.

Al-Ghul. Huh. Well, at least he’ll keep the place from being overrun. Kid’s scary good at keeping the rubberneckers away.

And pissing off the MEs by lurking around while they work.

Jason knows the new officer just wants to learn, but he also tends to be a bit of an entitled know-it-all like most of his generation. It’s a trait he’ll lose the longer he walks a beat and works up through the ranks, but right now it makes most people want to punch him.

Jason might be one of those people if it weren’t for the fact Al-Ghul is meticulous about taking statements, prompt in securing crime scenes, and entirely willing to go the extra mile to help a detective close a case even when he’s off the clock. He recognizes the ambition and the need to prove himself from his own first years as a cop.

If he adjusts that attitude a bit, I might even put in a recommendation to put him on detective track…

Jason closes the folder and grins at Artemis.

“So, who’s the unlucky bastard you’re pairing me with today?”

He doesn’t work well with a partner, given his tendency to ignore rules in favor of his gut instincts. Especially since it’s never steered him wrong. Most other detectives can’t stand that, with the exception of his last partner, Roy Harper, who transferred to Star City six months ago to be closer to his daughter. Then again, Roy always considered rules arbitrary anyhow.

Since then, Jason’s been cycled through almost all the detectives at the 9th Precinct, all without finding a decent fit.

Pretty sure it’s Artemis’ way of torturing me since plenty of other guys work their cases solo.

It’s a blatant implication that he needs a babysitter.

“Rayner wrapped up most of his cases last week,” Artemis replies without even checking the duty roster on her desk.

“Hell no.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I giving you the impression you have a choice?”

“Unless you want me back on suspension, you’re not putting me with that asshole.”

“Well, Jason,” she says, finally looking up at him with an expression that suggests she’s fully ready to call his bluff, “you have this tendency to either piss off or sleep with whoever gets assigned to you. At least if you’re working with someone that pisses you off, I’m less likely to need to fill out the paperwork to reassign them afterward.”

“And if they happen to fall into both categories?” he leers at her in an exaggerated manner. She was one of his partners once, both on the job and briefly outside of it. He prods at the plaque on her desk that reads Captain A. Bana-Migdhall. In retaliation, she reaches over and raps him on the knuckles with it. “Ow!”

“You’re not helping your case right now.”

“You know, it’s not my fault Eddie decided he’d rather play Bond Babe for the scary CIA chick with the one eye. And Miguel’s the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me, so…”

“Just…go find Rayner,” Artemis sighs, waving her hand in dismissal. “I need that crime scene checked over and wrapped up quickly. The Mayor’s office wants an answer on this pronto.”

Jason sneers at that. “Of course they do. Because the Waynes and Davenports are old country club buddies, right?”

“Maybe fifty years ago. But Bruce Wayne spent more time as a cop than some rich college co-ed. He got elected based on his tough-on-crime stance, so it’s more likely he just wants to make sure the high-profile target of a class-action suit hasn’t been the victim of foul play.” Artemis pauses. “Especially since, having met the man, I’m pretty sure Wayne would have liked to beat the truth out of Davenport personally.”

“Now there’s a reality show I’d watch.”

“On your own time. Now go do your job.”

“Or Rayner.”

Artemis drops her pen and stares. “What?”

“Well, from what you said before, I figure if I fuck Rayner, it means you won’t ever make me work with him again, so—”

“Get the hell out of my office!” Artemis barks, throwing her tissue box at his head. Jason ducks and slips out of her office with a grin on his face.

There are a few good-natured laughs from his coworkers—“In trouble again, Todd?”—and he heads across the room to Kyle Rayner’s desk.

“What do you want?” the other detective demands, nose wrinkling at Jason like he’s just smelled something rank. It’s his default expression whenever they cross paths.

It’s also the expression that drives Jason to mess with him whenever he can.

Time for a bit of payback for the desk thing.

“Not me,” he says, affecting a nonchalant shrug. “Captain wanted to know if you could head down to the 7th.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Apparently her opposite number there has something she needs to be sent over and doesn’t want to wait on official channels to slow everything down.”

“What do I look like, a courier?” Rayner growls, but Jason can see from the way he smooths a hand through his hair that he’s got him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Jason’s workplace nemesis has a thing for Precinct 7’s Captain Troy, or that he’ll take any excuse to go flirt with her.

It’s unrequited, of course, and Jason’s bound to get an earful from Donna the next time they run into each other, but worth it to get Rayner out of his way.

“Whatever, man, I just work here,” he says, only half-pretending irritation. “You want to tell Captain ‘no’, it’s your balls in a vice, not mine.”

“Yeah, that’d be a switch, wouldn’t it?”

But the other man pushes back his chair and grabs his jacket.

Jason smirks at his retreating back and spins on his heel, returning to his own desk to grab his car keys.

Maybe the day’s looking up a bit.

⁂

There’s a gaggle of reporters already on the scene when Tim arrives, and he wonders not for the first time just how many of them have their own inside sources in the various police precincts of Gotham. There are also two ambulances on the scene, but thankfully someone had the foresight to park them in a way that shields the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

Officer Kelley, Damian’s partner of six months, is walking back and forth along the police tape to ensure none of the intrepid rubberneckers can get through. Head down and dark glasses firmly in place, Tim hurries past the press before they can recognize him (it thankfully doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it’s a pain in the ass) and approaches Kelly. Though they’ve met before, he flashes his badge and identifies himself.

All of Tim’s official identification name him as Timothy Drake-Wayne and have since he was about seventeen, but he only uses the latter name if he absolutely must. With regards to work, he’s only ever used it during official meetings with the Commissioner or during obligatory police ceremonies.

Or when Bruce makes up some official sounding excuse to check up on me when he feels he hasn’t heard from me in a while.

He's endured at least one of those this past month.

Kelley barely raises an eyebrow, suggesting Damian must have warned her who he was calling and waves him through. It speaks to how much they trust each other as partners that she’s going along with what’s clearly a personal issue. Most other cops would question the need for two law enforcement officers from the same family needing to be at the same crime scene.

There are two elevators in the lobby, one of which is already open with a sign posted to warn residents from using it. Another officer Tim doesn’t recognize is waiting beside it, and Tim once again flashes his badge before heading up.

He’s subjected to a brief interlude of elevator muzak, before the doors open to the foyer outside of what has to be the victims’ apartment. Two ambulance techs are just exiting, carrying with them tools that are clearly useless here. He waits for them to pass and slips inside, taking in the stylish décor of the hall and nearby living room. Inside the latter, there’s a small woman speaking to another EMT, a blanket over her shoulders as she tries to speak through sobs.

Damian is watching the scene from across the room, mouth pulled into his habitual frown; this deepens when he sees Tim. Undeterred, Tim strides over—he was invited, after all.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m risking Cassie’s wrath this morning?” he asks as he joins the younger man. Tim's friend might not be the type of captain to fire him for the flagrant conduct unbecoming, but she can make his life miserable for the foreseeable future.

“The bodies were found this morning by the cleaning lady,” Damian says, also not bothering with such trite pleasantries as a greeting. “No signs of break-in or struggle.”

“Cleaning lady? This early on a Sunday? They must have been paying her overtime.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Pennyworth works Sundays.”

“Only because it would take the same amount of phenobarbital to stun a moose as it would to make Alfred take a day of rest.” They exchange a wry look of agreement, and Tim returns to the subject at hand. “So, she identified the bodies?”

“Yes. Joseph Devlin Davenport, his wife Lina, and the three teenaged offspring—Neil, Irene, and Roderick.”

Tim’s eyes go wide; he’s met every one of them before. “Shit.”

“Indeed.” Damian flips through his notepad, though they both know it’s for show. “All the victims were executed by two gunshots to the head, except Davenport himself; the medical examiner was here, and her preliminary findings suggest the husband shot his wife and children first, then turned the gun on himself. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising, or markings on the bodies…”

“None of that’s particularly extraordinary though.”

“And then there’s their hands.”

They share a look.

“Did you mention that when you called it in to your superiors?”

“No, when I called it in I gave them the basics. Since then I’ve noticed a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact a firearm was discharged several times in a residential complex and no one heard anything,” Damian says. “Yet I didn’t find a suppressor anywhere on the scene; just the weapon itself.”

“Is the penthouse soundproofed?” Tim asks.

“No. When I spoke to the downstairs residents, they told me they had even made several noise complaints to the building management in the past. Nothing ever came from it, of course—money talks—but someone should have heard something.”

“Assuming they recognized the sound of gunfire. This isn’t exactly Burnley. Which…could be a good thing. Buildings like this tend to have good security systems.”

“Obviously that was my next thought,” Damian drawls. “While Kelley was calming down the help, I went to speak with the security guards in case the camera system caught sight of anyone suspicious.”

"And did they?"

“No. They apparently had to run a routine update on their software, which knocked out the feed between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m.”

“And you think this is when the shooting took place.”

“I imagine Brown will find the time of death to be around that point,” Damian agrees with a smug upward quirk of his lips. “For Davenport to decide to kill himself at the exact time when the security feeds go offline is rather coincidental.”

Tim shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe not. Anything else?”

“What about the fact Davenport was left-handed but shot himself with his right hand?”

Tim blinks. “And how do you figure he was left-handed?”

“Please,” Damian dismisses with a snort, “I’ve been forced to attend enough fundraisers with Father in the past, and Davenport was often present. Even you would remember that ham-fisted troglodyte trying to sip from a champagne flute had you ever deigned to attend.”

Tim tilts his head in acknowledgment of both the barb and the observation. “Fair. Though so far all of this sounds pretty circumstantial—nothing really screams 'second shooter' here. And other than the hand thing—”

“Go see for yourself. The bodies are in the dining room. I imagine your specific talents will confirm my suspicions.” Tim starts into the apartment. “By the way, if you’re still here when the lead detective gets here, I’ll deny knowing you.”

Tim snorts. “As expected.”

“And you are not to tell Richard I was involved in this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tim has to hold back a chuckle at that; Damian is even more acquainted with Dick’s mollycoddling than he is.

“Noted. Let Alfred know I might be a bit late for dinner tonight.”

“It’s not Alfred you have to worry about.”

Tim heads down the hall, accepting a pair of plastic gloves from one of the passing investigators. As he pulls them on, he takes note of the doors to the bedrooms that remain open, and the photographs and paintings hanging on the walls. Nothing is disturbed, no signs of a struggle like there would be if the victims had been dragged from their beds, and there’s no sign of blood on the floors leading from the rooms or even the hallway itself.

That means the victims either walked voluntarily—which is unlikely—or sedated and carried.

It’s looking like Damian’s instincts might be on-point here, but it’s not until Tim steps foot in the dining room that he realizes just how much that’s the case.

He freezes in place, hit with a familiar jarring of his senses at something not meant to be perceived.

Davenport was a man in his mid-forties, tall and with the look of a skinny person that’s suddenly gained a whole lot of weight, and not in a healthy manner. Tim remembers meeting him at some dinner with his parents when he was younger, and his mother disparaging the man behind his back as a social-climbing schemer.

And that was before the Ponzi scheme.

The man’s blond hair implants are now plastered with blood and brain matter that oozes down the left side of his head. His eyes roll in wild fear, tears and snot running down his face, which is immobilized in a stiff smile from regular Botox injections. That mouth is now twisted in a grotesque scream that makes Tim wince even in its silence, the unsettling sensation of nails on a chalkboard traveling up through his nervous system.

Tim is careful not to draw the attention to himself, not just because of the crime scene team still milling about the scene, but because the last thing he needs right now is a panicked ghost latching on to him. Davenport’s spirit is still in too much shock for rationality and may fixate on Tim if he discovers he can see him. Which he knows from experience is not fun.

The newly dead are like drowning victims—if they catch hold of you, they’ll drag you under with them. Best case scenario, Tim experiences a few seconds of possession and a week of dissociative identity issues; worst-case scenario, he could die from the same trauma.

Unfortunately, given the lack of control newly dead spirits have, the latter is most likely.

The ghost is luckily far enough from the dining room table that Tim can edge past him without ostensibly acknowledging its presence; instead, he studies the actual bodies and tries not to regret his coffee that morning.

The five victims have not yet been moved, but the placement of tarps over them suggests the crime scene photographers have already been by. Going from one body to the next, Tim lifts the sheets carefully, trying not to disturb anything too much in his investigation. The victims are all dressed in their nightclothes, seated around the table on wooden, cloth-back chairs.

Damian wasn’t lying; all of them holding hands.

The dining room table is fully laden with dishes and cutlery, glasses filled with orange juice and bowls with the soggy remnants of cereal and milk. Other than the angry red entrance wounds on their foreheads—two shots each—there are no other visible injuries. Only the body of the presumed shooter, based on the position of the gun and his hand, is splayed out unnaturally across the table, ostensibly from the force of the gunshot.

Otherwise, it looks like they were all just sitting down to breakfast at the time of death.

His stomach roils a bit at the notion, not only because of the clearly depraved mind behind arranging the tableau but because the scene is familiar to him in a way he wishes it wasn’t.

Teeth clenched, Tim digs out his phone and starts to take his own pictures, not wanting to have to contact the lead detective and beg for copies. In the periphery, Davenport’s ghost continues to spasm and flail, making it hard for Tim to concentrate.

His eyes rest on the spot where the murder weapon fell and is struck by a sudden idea. Hoping he’s right, he takes a quick tour of the rest of the apartment but makes deliberate stops in the bedroom and the home office.

It’s another fifteen minutes of taking pictures and lightly rummaging through the belongings of the dead before he finds something. Striding out of the office and back toward the scene of the murder, Tim shoots a text message off to his friend Victor at the ATF.

Running gun serial numbers might be a little more complicated than on TV, but the guy owes me a favor. And if I’m right—

His thoughts cut off as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye, a movement that belongs to someone living this time.

There’s a newcomer on the scene, and from the way he flashes the badge, Tim would guess it’s the detective who’s actually supposed to be here. He’s redheaded, wearing a leather jacket and a loose tie that looks like he threw it on in a hurry. Even from this distance, Tim can make out a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin and the edge to his mouth that’s inherently challenging. The man’s whole esthetic reads scrapper, but his posture and carriage inarguably declare cop. Tim would know, his family is made up almost entirely of them.

Pretending like he hasn’t noticed the stranger, Tim shifts to face the scene once again, continuing to study him under his lashes as the man exchanges words with Damian.

He blames Kon entirely for the way his attention rests on the man’s muscular thighs, before the man turns toward Tim and starts forward, conversation with Damian clearly over.

Well shit…

⁂

Jason has an uneasy feeling in his stomach even before he even arrives at the Davenports’ penthouse apartment.

It’s not an anticipatory reaction to seeing the aftermath of a murder—he’s worked homicide long enough to have developed a means of distancing himself from the crimes he investigates. The feeling is more like expectation, a nagging sense that something huge is about to happen.

Never a good sign in my experience.

“Detective Todd?”

Jason pauses as he finishes putting on a pair of plastic gloves and glances up at the speaker.

“Officer Al-Ghul,” he replies, more formal than usual as he tries to shove the weird feeling to the back of his mind. “What’ve we got?”

The kid excuses himself from the small, tearful woman he’s speaking to and strides over.

“It seems to be a murder-suicide,” he says and launches into a report that’s almost word-for-word the transcript of what he called into the precinct, with a few extra additions. Jason lets the words wash over him, keeping an ear out for anything that deviates too much from what he already knows while casting his eyes about the apartment.

Geeze, you could fit three Crime Alley families in the living room alone. Who the fuck needs all this space?

His eyes fall upon someone across the room that he doesn’t recognize.

Young—maybe a bit younger than Jason—with an athletic build and good looks that, despite being clean-cut, give no clue as to whether they’re male or female. Whoever it is, they’re not dressed as a CSI or in an officer’s uniform, but they’re studying the crime scene with the eye of someone in the business. When the stranger notices Jason, he or she turns around, apparently fascinated by the photographs on the living room wall.

“Who’s that?” Jason interrupts Al-Ghul. “New CSI?”

Al-Ghul scowls in annoyance, either at the interruption or at the subject of the question, Jason isn’t sure.

“Major Crimes,” he says after a beat.

That immediately puts Jason’s back up. “What the hell is MCU doing here?”

Al-Ghul shrugs, as if to say, ‘that’s your problem, not mine’, and returns his attention to the woman from before. Deciding this is a welcome distraction from his own unease, Jason stalks toward the stranger, ready to rip them a new one.

“Hey, buddy—wanna tell me what you think you’re doing at my crime scene?”

“Just taking a look around,” the detective replies, not turning around immediately.

Jason’s eyes flick to the photos on the wall, wondering what seems so captivating.

Most of them are glamor shots, professionally done, but some are clearly personal photos. Davenport and his wife on a golf course, the teenagers lounging around against a tropical beach backdrop, and another of Davenport sitting in a bed surrounded by his kids. Though his surroundings seem comfortable, he’s hooked up to some kind of IV stand, and despite the smile on everyone’s faces, there’s a haunted edge to it.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

A while back there was something in the news about him undergoing treatment for some kind of blood cancer. He actually tried to use that to discourage his case from being investigated. Just proves what kind of scumbag Davenport is.

Was.

Which brings him back to the present.

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that unless you want me making a call to the brass up at MCU,” Jason warns.

The detective turns to offer Jason what is clearly intended to be a disarming smile. “No need for that, I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Jason prides himself on not being susceptible to that sort of thing, but—

Holy shit, he’s hot up close.

And yes, that’s definitely a male face studying him with an air of appraisal, in spite of the deceptively delicate features. The guy is mostly clean-shaven and wearing a smart-looking peacoat that offers a compliment to his eyes, which are very blue. It’s the intense color you don’t see very often outside of newborn babies, but with a pronounced gleam of intelligence that feels almost penetrating.

There’s also a confident set to his shoulders and a stubborn bend to his lips that instantly puts Jason’s mind on the defensive (and other parts at attention).

“Detective Drake,” the guy goes on, offering a hand to Jason. His voice is warm and smooth, the kind that’s more suited for phone sex than reciting Miranda rights. “Major Crimes, as you already seem to be aware.”

Jason refrains from taking the hand. “Detective Todd. 12th Precinct. Homicide. There a reason you guys are sticking your noses into a murder-suicide?”

“There’s reason to believe this may actually be the work of a serial murderer,” Drake replies, looking unbothered by the rebuff.

“Really,” Jason says flatly. “And what are you basing that on? Because the report I got is leanin’ pretty hard on this guy killing his wife and kids, then himself. That’s probably how the city’s going to record it. This isn’t a scene that needs in-depth investigating and there’s no need for one lead detective here, let alone two—especially not a guy who’s clearly out of his jurisdiction.”

‘Detective Drake’ doesn’t appear to notice the clear marking of territory.

“Have you been in there yet?” he asks instead.

“No, because I’m wasting my time explainin’ protocol to a smart-ass out of his jurisdiction.”

Drake smirks at that, sharp and unwavering. “Well, when you get around to it, you’ll probably cotton on to the fact the murder weapon was a .32 automatic with the serial filed off.”

“So?”

“So, first of all, the neighbors would have heard the discharge if it was fired without a decent suppressor, but there’s no evidence of one at the scene of the crime.”

Which, Jason can admit, is out of the ordinary. Most people committing suicide don’t care about how loud the shot will be that takes them out, but if they did use one, it would still be attached to the gun.

“Second, Davenport was an ardent supporter of gun rights. I remember seeing a clip of him on the news, going at it with the Mayor over his proposed gun-control laws.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

“My point is that generally, gun rights activists own guns. Which Davenport did—you’ll find them in his closet and his study, next to all the relevant paperwork: 9mm Glocks. And they have serial numbers.” Drake levels a challenging stare at Jason. “What’s the point of procuring an unregistered weapon when you have your own within easy reach? And why chisel the number off if you’re just going to commit suicide? It’s not like you need to care about it being traced once you’re dead.”

“The guy was rich—rich people do weird things. Probably some convoluted insurance thing,” he suggests.

“Or it wasn’t his.”

“So maybe he was holdin’ it for a friend. It happens. Still doesn’t change the fact this tool offed his own family.”

“And what about the fact that the same model gun has been found at the scene of at least fourteen other murder-suicides in this city in the past ten years?”

“It’s Gotham. Play the probabilities game long enough, you’ll get a bunch of seemingly random crimes that resemble each other.”

“Maybe. But in the ninety-something years before that—in fact, as long as the city’s kept records on this sort of thing—there have been only two murder-suicides that could fit that pattern, and those had enough additional evidence to solve immediately. But in the past decade, we've got two particular years where a series of murder-suicides were committed using an unregistered .32, where neighbors didn’t hear any of the gunshots and yet there was no sign of a suppressor. Five years ago, and ten years ago,” Drake tells him grimly. “Both those years there were exactly seven incidents, and then they stopped. None of those have been solved.”

“That says more about the investigating cops than the crimes themselves. You don’t solve a murder-suicide—the evidence is right there,” Jason insists, though what Drake has to say is uncomfortably close to what his own gut was telling him when he walked into the apartment.

“And the fact that in each situation, the victims are found holding hands?” Drake challenges, with the air of someone presenting a winning argument.

And, yeah, that’s a bit of a weird coincidence, but still not an argument for a major investigation.

“If that’s an actual detail in all these supposed cases of yours, it would have been noted.”

“Not if no one thought it was worth noting,” Drake retorts. “Not if whoever made those reports just thought it was some kind of death pact or…cult related suicide. They weren’t looking for it.”

“But you are.”

“Clearly.”

Jason peers at him another beat and then shakes his head. “Look, I have about seven other cases of actual homicide that need my attention, so if you could just—"

“Seriously?” Drake demands, losing some of his smooth calm at last. “You don’t find any of that compelling enough to—”

“To what? Start imagining serial killers where there are none? No, I don’t,” Jason snaps. “All I see so far is some rich bastard got caught running a Ponzi scheme, so he decided to take the easy way out and dragged his poor family with him. It’s what rich people do when things get hard; because if they can’t have it, no one can.”

That earns him a cold look. “Out of the other fourteen cases, only one of them involved a couple who could be considered rich.”

“Fourteen other cases where only you seem to notice the pattern. I dunno what you want me to say, buddy. Clearly, you got an ax to grind, so do me a favor and grind it away from my scene.”

Despite his words, it’s not a suggestion, and Drake recognizes it.

Scowling at Jason in something like disgust, he straightens up. “Fine. I’m going. But when another family is slaughtered by this nutjob—and it will happen—you’ll remember this discussion. Hopefully, before you have to answer another six homicide calls.”

Drake spares Jason one final judgmental look and heads for the front door.

Jason watches him, briefly admiring the man’s ass as he walks away, and then puts the encounter out of his mind. He’s got a job to do, and Artemis said she wanted this sorted out today.

Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for another grim sight—he hates crime scenes that involve kids—he heads out of the living room toward the back of the apartment and the scene of the crime.

Crossing the threshold to the dining room, Jason’s earlier disquiet morphs, evolving from nervous apprehension to a full-blown dip towards dread. He barely catches a glimpse of the tarps draped over the bodies, when his stomach pulls tight, shoulders tensing as if waiting for a blow from the right, but there’s no one there. Something far too close to fear chokes at his throat, forcing him to pause in the doorway and put a steadying hand on the doorframe.

Spots appear across his vision, a chill winding up his spine, and—

—sobbing, hysterical tears, please don’t do this, please just let them go, heart racing, blood thundering, please no, I’ll give you anything, someone help, click, bang, agony, nothing—

Jason shudders as he comes back to himself, reeling back a step.

The sensations ebb a little but don’t completely vanish, and he has to take a few breaths to regain his control. Now that he expects it, it won’t be too hard entering the room, but the fact it hit him like that...

Jason glances back to the entrance of the apartment, mouth setting into a grimace. He’s cleaned up plenty of suicides, and they never hit him with that degree of dread before.

He has a bad feeling that Detective Drake might have been right—whatever happened in the apartment, it wasn’t as simple as it's meant to look.

________________________________________________________________

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel! ❤️️ = I love this story!

😳 = this was hot!

💐 = thank you for sharing this

🍵 = tea spilled

🍬 = so sweet and fluffy!

🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good!

😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER

😢 = you got me right in the feels

🤯mind blown

🤬god damn cliffhanger

😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

#JayTimWeek2020 #JayTimWeek #jaytim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #DCU #batman #casefic #day 5 #detective!jason #detective!tim #psychic!jason #medium!tim #mystery #romance #drama

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